#did I get right back on the highway as soon I I regained control of my car? Yes.

[nefretemerson]

americans need to stop buying pickup trucks and SUVs fr bc they are so dangerous for like Everyone else on the road istg. this asshole in a huge fucking gmc suv forced me off 30 and into the median grass at 80 mph bc he merged Directly into me. like. he lined it up surgically. his driver side door was parallel to my front passenger door. and the fucked up thing was that there was no one in the left hand lane in front of me and no one behind me. there was sooo much space for him. He just. couldn't see me bc the top of my mazda sat below his windows. I kept moving out of the way and he kept coming and then there was no more Fucking asphalt left and I had to off-road it. holy shit. it's been an hour and I am still shaking.

[stargazingellie]

lazarus is risen

chapter seven: perseus & andromeda – part one

(masterlist) (part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5) (part 6)

hello beautiful people <3 here is chapter seven !!

synopsis: After deciding to let Abby live, Ellie has returned to Jackson. But given everything she's lost, it no longer feels like home. She's sad, she's confused, and above all else, she is so, so very lonely. So when a group of strangers shows up and offers her a second chance, she might just take them up on that. Ellie must decide between staying in Jackson – and living with the ghosts of her past – or leaving in search of new meaning. Whatever she decides, her choice will have far-reaching consequences – not just for herself, or for Jackson, but for all of humanity.

Or,

Ellie saves the world, maybe?

(ellie williams x reader, post-tlou2, useless lesbians, slow burn, cross country road trip, lots of references to greek mythology, etc.)

Andromeda: Princess of Greek myth, famous for her legendary beauty. Chained to a rock as sacrifice to the sea monster Cetus.

[Lucy]

Besides the occasional infected, the trip had been relatively quiet. But, as with all things in life, everything is quiet – until it isn’t.

As she watched the raindrops pelt the windshield, Lucy recalled lectures from the meteorology unit in science class. Her teacher’s voice rang in her head: The climate and geography of the midwest make it prone to thunderstorms, intense precipitation, and tornadoes.

Indeed, it did. Thick, heavy drops of water littered the front window faster than the windshield wipers could get rid of them. Bright, forked bolts of lightning split the  clouds and illuminated the otherwise darkened sky. Claps of thunder shook the inside of the truck so loud that Lucy could feel them reverberate in her teeth.

The truck crept its way down the highway, unable to go much faster than a crawl given the thick wall of water limiting visibility. To their left, periodic bolts of lightning backlit the skyline of a nearby city. Through the haze, Lucy could just barely make out the old green signs of the highway. Lincoln, ¼ Mile, they said.

“We’ll pull off and find shelter once we get past the city,” Jacobs yelled over the storm as he drove.

“Why not one of these buildings?” Lucy asked, gesturing down the off-ramp.

“We don’t know what’s down there. Should only be a few minutes. It’ll be safer further away,” Jacobs replied. 

As if on cue, a loud pop! echoed from below the truck. It wasn’t thunder.

“Shit – ” Jacobs muttered as he tried to regain control over the swerving vehicle, until it gradually came to a halt. He groaned, then sighed.

“There’s a spare in the back,” he announced as he and Alvaro prepared to get out. “Stay put, this shouldn’t take long.”

They disappeared from view as soon as their doors were shut. Inside, the heavy rain continued to beat rhythmically on the roof.

Lucy sighed and sunk lower in her seat. “Great timing, huh?” she said, looking over at Ellie. Ellie didn’t reply, instead wringing her hands as she nervously watched outside. It was obvious she was on edge.

Lucy took note and said, “Hey, it’s just a flat tire. They know what they’re doing. It’s gonna be fine.”

Keeping her gaze out the window, Ellie heaved a deep sigh and said, “I know, I know, I just… I have a bad feeling about this.”

“What do you mean?” Lucy asked.

“Well, the cities can be really dangerous. There are some really bad groups out there, and sometimes they’ll come up with these schemes…” she trailed off, clearly remembering something unpleasant. She shook her head. “But yeah, no, I’m sure you’re right.” She turned to Lucy and forced a small smile. Lucy returned the gesture.

Then, the doors flung open, gloved hands reached inside, and all three passengers were ripped out of the truck.

The first thing she felt was the rain – so heavy and so cold. She had to squint to keep the water from dripping into her eyes. Within a matter of seconds, her hair and clothes were completely soaked through, chilling her to the bone.

She lost her footing as she was pulled from the truck, leaving her scrambling on all fours. Strong hands clenched around her wrists from behind, and she desperately tried to gain purchase on the ground as they dragged her away from the vehicle. When her captor came to a stop, Lucy was forced to her knees as the sharp, cold blade of a knife pressed against her throat. The blade was pressed so tightly to her skin that any sudden movement was sure to draw blood.

Out of the corner of her eye, Lucy could see her father in the same position as a second captor held a knife to his throat. The gloved hand holding the knife was attached to a tall figure wearing a dark, hooded cloak that obscured the rest of their body.

Through the watery haze in front of her, she could just make out Alvaro and Jacobs wrestling with two more hooded figures near the back of the truck. Lucy frantically looked around for their fifth member, but Ellie had been pulled to the other side of the vehicle and was nowhere to be seen.

“Ellie!” Lucy yelled, desperate to be heard over the downpour. She thought she heard a voice yell from beyond the truck, but it was impossible to be sure over the storm.

“Shut up,” a gruff voice from behind her said as the blade pressed deeper into her neck.

Without further outburst, Lucy watched Alvaro and Jacobs as they tussled with their opponents. The strangers were quick and nimble, deftly avoiding the officers’ advances. But the officers were built like oxen, so when they finally landed a punch the hooded figures crumpled to the ground in a heap of fabric.

With their opponents knocked out, the officers stopped to gauge their surroundings. Over here! Help! Lucy wanted to scream, but the knife at her throat kept her quiet. She had no way of knowing what had happened to Ellie, but she thought at least one of the officers would come to her and her father’s aid. She was instantly relieved when they looked in her direction. Yes, yes, we’re over here! She could have sworn she even locked eyes with one of them. 

Needless to say, her stomach dropped when both officers disappeared behind the other side of the truck. She kneeled tensely as the cold rain poured down her back, listening for any sign of life.

Next to her, the figure holding her father shifted their weight. “Hey, what’s going on over there?” they yelled. No response.

“Hey, man,” they said to the person holding Lucy. “We should get out of here while we still can.”

“We can’t just leave them out here!” Lucy’s captor replied.

“C’mon, they could be dead already for all we know! You saw what those guys did to the others.”

Her captor considered for a moment. “Fine, let’s go,” they said, as they removed the knife from Lucy’s neck. “Blessed be the light.”

Lucy didn’t have time to question the statement before the hilt of the knife collided with her temple and everything went black.

------------------------------

Lucy was still in her wet clothes when she woke, and immediately she started shivering. Wrists shackled above her, she sat leaning against the cold, hard wall of what looked like an old conference room. She brought her knees to her chest in a futile attempt to hold onto whatever warmth she could.

The blow from the knife left a throbbing pain in her head and blurred her vision. She had to squint in the harsh fluorescent light. Blearily, she watched as someone wearing a dark hooded cloak entered from the hallway carrying a tray. The figure approached and knelt in front of her, offering a glass of water.

Lucy turned her head in refusal, too weak to say anything more than “Nnn…”

“Please, it will help with the pain,” a gentle girl’s voice emanated from under the hood. “I promise.”

Lucy tried to make out the details of the girl’s face. The lights were too harsh and the hood’s shadow too dark, but Lucy could tell the girl was quite young – maybe 14, if that. She looked sincere, and Lucy reluctantly sipped from the glass as the girl held it to her lips. Lucy accepted apple slices too, glad to have something in her stomach.

The girl looked behind her as if to check if anyone was there. In a hushed voice, she said, “When he comes in, don’t fight him. He’s nicer if he thinks you like him.” Three sharp knocks came from the door, signaling her time was up as she turned to go. “The sedative should help with the pain, too,” she whispered as she hurried away.

Lucy realized what the girl meant just as her eyelids grew heavy and she was pulled back into unconsciousness.

------------------------------

As the drugs wore off, Lucy groggily opened her eyes to find a man seated in a chair in front of her. Unlike the others, this man wore a crisp, pristine suit and tie, face clearly visible. He was clean shaven, and his long, gray hair was carefully styled so as to leave no stray hair out of place. When he smiled at her, she noticed his teeth were a harsh, abnormal white.

“Hello, darling. Welcome back.” He flashed that awful smile at her again. She was still having trouble forming words, so he kept talking. “My men tell me they saved you on the highway out there. Nasty weather, huh? Lucky we were there to help.”

Lucy furrowed her brows, trying to make sense of what he was saying. She knew she was probably nursing a concussion, and forming coherent thoughts proved to be an arduous task. “That’s… that’s not… what happened…” she managed.

“Mmm… must have been a nasty tumble you took,” he said, cocking his head. “Head injuries are no joke, you know.”

“I didn’t… f-fall…” she stammered as she glared at him.

“Ah, my sweet. Perhaps your memory will come back in time.” He raised his eyebrows and made a gesture of surprise with his hands. “Oh! How silly of me, I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Keane. I run things here in the city. I’m looking forward to showing you around, once you’ve healed a bit.” He leaned forward and used his hand to caress her knee. Lucy tried to pull away, but there was only so far she could go with her back against the wall. “I think you’ll be very useful here.” He flashed another smile, and being almost face to face with it made her stomach turn. She spat in his face.

Immediately, his demeanor changed. The smile disappeared, his eyebrows lowered, and a cold, cruel look crept into his eyes. He calmly wiped the spit off of his face and leaned back.

“I see you’re not quite healed enough yet. Maybe next time I see you, you’ll remember how lucky you are to be here. Blessed be the light, sister.” He stood up and walked out of the room without saying another word. As he left, a large hooded figure entered, gloved hands wielding a thick baton. Lucy cowered against the wall as the figure swiftly crossed the room, coming directly for her. With one deft strike to the head, everything went black.

------------------------------

“Lucy? Lucy, hey, are you there?” a voice called, sounding far away. Hands gripped her shoulders and shook her back into semi-consciousness. In her half-aware state, Lucy saw the dark hood on the figure in front of her and struggled weakly to get away.

“N-no… get off of m-me…” she mumbled as she curled herself as far away from the figure as she could in her delirious state.

“Hey, hey, look at me.” The voice was soft. The figure removed their hood and gripped her face. Strong, calloused hands gently turned her face so Lucy was forced to look at the person in front of her. As Lucy’s vision focused, she found herself looking into a familiar pair of green eyes.

“Hey, it’s me. It’s okay. You’re okay.” Ellie talked as she unlocked the shackles above Lucy’s head. “I’m gonna get you out of here. Can you walk?” Lucy nodded weakly, but as Ellie helped her stand up, she almost collapsed.

“Woah, woah, okay. That’s okay. Just hold on, alright?” Ellie wrapped one arm around Lucy’s back and the other under her knees as she picked her up. With whatever strength she could muster, Lucy wrapped her arms tightly around Ellie’s neck. She tucked her face into Ellie’s chest to block out the harsh light that made her head throb.

Lucy was conscious enough to keep herself upright, but otherwise everything passed in a blur. She registered doors opening, strange voices, the sensation of being set down and picked back up again. Occasionally, Ellie would mumble something like, “Hey, stay with me, okay?” or, “Almost out, just a little further.”

Eventually, everything faded to quiet. Lucy felt herself being laid on the ground, head propped up on something soft and solid. She managed to open her eyes, and was met not with the harsh fluorescence of before, but with soft morning light peeking through a leafy canopy. Above her, she watched as Ellie smiled softly down at her. Lucy’s head was in Ellie’s lap, and Ellie gently brushed stringy pieces of hair out of her face.

“Hey, you’re okay. I’ve got you,” Ellie said. “We’re safe, for now. You can rest if you need to.”

Grateful for the invitation, Lucy didn’t fight it this time as she slipped back into unconsciousness.

[dizzydennis]

Sonic x Metal Sonic Cover Story!

Translator note: I am not totally fluent in Japanese so please understand that my translations are not perfect, but I hope you can enjoy this fun story. Any constructive criticism is appreciated.

Deep within Dr. Eggman’s abandoned, secret lab... a robot connected to a database booted up made note of the current situation. The evaluation was as followed:

[[Current status... "unfavorable"]]

While this robot was in rest for maintenance, Dr. Eggman was once again defeated by Sonic. Yet again, “he” was unable to rush to protect his master from crisis.

The same amount of bitterness stirred inside him... or perhaps even more.

It longed for the opportunity to defeat Sonic.

This mechanical piece of intelligence was known as “Metal Sonic” and it was created for the sole purpose of destroying Sonic. It continued to analyze the situation:

[[Current status is "unfavorable"]]

☆ ★ ☆

"Speed ​​Highway" is a super-three-dimensional highway that runs through a plethora of high-rise buildings.

It has many acceleration lanes such as the “360-degree rotating loop” that rises to the sky and a corkscrew that stretches into a large spiral. It attracts the souls of speed enthusiasts everywhere!

Sonic was running around in good spirits as he hummed to himself.

CRASH!!

Suddenly, something attacked Sonic head-on! He barely avoided it as the road just ahead turned into a pile of rubble from such a shattering impact. Sonic let out a gleeful grin.

“I’m worried. You didn’t damage yourself with that stunt, did ya, Metal?”

It was, in fact, Metal Sonic that stood up from the rubble.

Metal gave a piercing, sharp gaze towards Sonic. Within a second, he quickly closed the gap between the two of them while pointing his left hand to Sonic.

“Hey! Isn’t that--!?”

It was the flickering of a Chaos Emerald. Metal’s other hand pointed to the innermost parts of Speed Highway. It was unwavering.

Sonic instantly understood what Metal Sonic meant.

“You’re gonna bet that in a competition against me? That doesn’t seem very fair now, does it?”

Sonic then took out his all of the Chaos Emeralds he had on him.

“Alright, Metal! This is for real then. All or nothing!”

In an instant, two blue shadows dashed out onto the street, illuminated by the lights of the skyscrapers at dusk. The race that moved faster than the speed of sound had begun!

☆ ★ ☆

As the sound barrier was broken, the rush of wind echoed through the elevated roads that were cast as a valley between the buildings.

A corkscrew twisted down from a 360-degree loop as it curved to the right and then to the left. It then went into a spiral that took them up and down and all around.

Sonic lightly traced across the road’s surface as he felt enthralled by the difficult course of the Speed Highway. Metal Sonic was able to glide across the road with the use of a jet engine.

The race continued with the two hedgehogs barely gaining a step on each other, but a big change occurred in the middle of the course. A super long and sharp curve came out after a speedy decent. Metal Sonic decided to engage in some close combat before this area.

He boosted forward as his body entered this shocking, electromagnetic state. It was a sudden attack, but Sonic was able to avoid it. He must have read his moves. Metal Sonic’s energy output temporarily dropped at the end of the boost as he slowed down; just as planned. He could clear the curve with just the right amount of speed. Sonic had to slow down here too and Metal Sonic had nothing to lose!

Everything was going fine, but at that moment, Sonic was speeding up and approaching fast. Metal Sonic’s thoughts became fragmented if only for a moment.

[[......!?]]

Sonic, as he started to tumble off the side of the course due to his great speed, had put his hand out and grabbed Metal Sonic’s head, curved inward, and accelerated towards the inner-section of the course. He pushed Metal downwards and perfectly made the curve.

“My bad!”

Metal Sonic, who managed to regain his posture, raised his face, he saw Sonic running far ahead.

Metal Sonic tried to analyze the situation

[[Current status... "unfavorable"]]

☆ ★ ☆

Metal Sonic continued to analyze everything while giving chase. He had never won again Sonic ever since their first battle. He was built for the best performance and had a tireless, steel body. There were many factors of his creation that should have meant he was unbeatable.

But I can never win.

Why? Why... it’s just a hedgehog that runs fast...

Right at that moment,

A buzz of electricity rippled through the robot’s AI and it’s train of thought.

Is it because it’s not just “fast.”

 [[............!]]

Why was this robot made to resemble Sonic?

Perhaps, the creator, Dr. Eggman, created this body simply to not waste time creating it, but to also be a replacement to Sonic.

It was created for that specific purpose. There’s something that had to be done.

Metal cut all non-essential parts such as “fire control” and the “electromagnetic spark capacitors.” All systems were set on full power to “Speed.” Metal sharpened and gutted himself on the inside.

A moment later, a creature of blue steel, which had become the pure concept of a new “Metal Sonic” began to chase after Sonic the Hedgehog.

☆ ★ ☆

Meanwhile, Sonic had already taken notice that something had changed with Metal Sonic. The distance between them was gradually getting shorter.

Metal Sonic was purely a machine. There’s no way to know what it could even be thinking about. However, Sonic could sometimes tell. He could sense Metal Sonic’s joy, willpower, and unhealthy obsession towards victory.

“Looks like things are heating up!”

Sonic sped up even more, with a serious expression, muttered words of amazement while suppressing a grin that was continuously rising to his mouth.

“Heh, you don’t feel like you’re getting burned out?”

It was a straight line from the left-twisting, half-corkscrew to the goal. Below, you could see the surface of the city piercing upwards. The two blue streaks sped up the outside of a vertical skyscraper.

The goal was just around the corner. Sonic was in the lead.

Metal Sonic’s AI became fully aware at this point. It would not win at this rate.

How can it win!? Perhaps it could increase the output from the jet propulsion unit a little more, but where there even enough resources to do so...!?

☆ ★ ☆

"...?"

Just a few hundred meters from the goal.

Right then, Sonic couldn’t understand what happened.

Metal Sonic pulled out to Sonic at an impossibly fast speed! A dazzling seven-colored light erupted from Metal’s chest as a bright red flame with black smoke gushed out of the jet exhaust hole on his back. Parts and debris flew off of him in a violent roar.

“Metal...!?”

That’s right. Metal Sonic absorbed and utilized Chaos Energy! However, the power of the Chaos Emeralds was not stable and was very uncontrollable.

While speeding ahead, Metal lost his balance and collapsed.

Upon seeing this, Sonic tried to call out...

In a single moment, Metal was swallowed the the seven bright lights as they were then engulfed by smoke. Metal Sonic turned into a glowing red bulb.

The explosion sent an impact out that knocked Sonic back. As he looked up to the sky...

Against the backdrop of the night sky, Metal Sonic’s scattered body parts, which drew a trail of red flames alongside shimmering shards of window glass seemed to fly by in slow motion.

For a single moment, Sonic thought it was strangely beautiful.

Immediately after, Sonic got to his feet while being shocked at the explosion sounds that came soon after. When suddenly...

Metal Sonic’s upper body, which only had the torso, head, and right arm attached had crashed to the floor. As it made attempts to crawl towards the goal. The efforts proved too exhausting as he soon stopped dead in his tracks... just 10 meters away.

Shortly after, Sonic begrudgingly crossed the finish line; putting this little game to an end.

A Chaos Emerald flew towards Sonic. As he caught it, he looked back with a unique and serious expression. Metal Sonic had tossed the emerald with the last of his power.

[[......!!]]

Metal Sonic jumped to restrain Sonic as he approached with his fiery eyes.

Sonic felt as if Metal Sonic was saying that it’s impossible for two people to have crossed the finish line.

The damage that Metal Sonic had taken wasn’t as bad as Sonic had expected.

Sonic spoke in his usual tone, feeling uncomfortable with how relieved the situation felt.

“It was a good race.”

As Sonic let out his remarks, he never turned back and said,

“I’ll be waiting for a rematch.”

☆ ★ ☆

The defeated Metal Sonic was analyzing the current situation.

This time, it was an utter defeat.

Metal tried to re-calibrate all of his resources, but still couldn’t win.

Metal Sonic tried to sharpen his strengths, but it was all too late. In the end, he lacked a way to channel his resources and self-destructed.

....However,

it should be noted that an unprecedented performance was achieved this time.

 Even with the final Chaos Emerald, considering that the race would have been lost regardless, it wasn’t necessarily a bad move... but a more detailed analysis is to be postponed.

A rescue signal was already issued. Aid was available and recovery could be achieved at Eggman’s base. If Metal connected to the base’s main computer and analyzed today’s data, he can definitely win next time. There is room to not only improve speed, but also inhibitory behaviors and attack patterns.

I can still reach a tier of being and there will others who can surpass or fall victim to that tier!

At the moment, Metal Sonic was forced into a deep sleep mode due to a drop in his voltage energy. His ability to think dropped rapidly and Metal Sonic obtained an analysis result that was unbiased and unemotional.

 [[Status is... “favorable."]] 

[poptod]

In the Heart of Atlas (Rami Malek x Reader)

Description: He doesn’t fear you––who thought such a simple thing would win your affections?

Notes: this is my first time writing for Rami himself! anyway, this is for the rami week. happy birthday rami!!! this is a bit of a strange story but i hope yall like it anyway. WC: 5.6k

+

His body twitched slightly before his eyes opened, slow and dry across his grey irises. A deep dehydration had seized his bones, as though his blood was drudging through his veins and muscles, losing water by the second. Still, he sat up, his head a weight upon his shoulders.

To his surprise, he found himself in the middle of an empty parking lot, the highway beside him mostly vacant. He looked around, finding a large but abandoned mall to his right, the lights long shattered and broken. Tension welled in his brow as he tried to piece together just how he got here.

"Most people don't get knocked out after they get ejected from their bodies," said a voice from behind him. He whirled around, scratching his pants on the rough pavement.

"Who are you?" He asked, scanning you.

For the most part, you looked normal. The only thing that stuck out was the massive katana strapped to your back and the darkness swarming around your eyes. He could barely see your face beneath the hood of your black sweatshirt, but that didn't matter all too much to him––there were more pressing, more important questions that required answers.

"Demons and angels call me (Y/N), but people call me the Reaper," you said as you offered him your hand.

He gingerly raised his hand to accept your help, faltering when your sleeve pulled back to reveal prominent bones and veins in the back of your hand. The bones poked out of the skin, glowing a faint white, while your veins remained a simple shade darker than your skin. Looking back up to you, he found no malice in what little expression he could see. With that he accepted your aid, pulling himself to his feet.

"The Reaper?"

"I go by a good many names. In the north alone I am called Gwyn ap Nudd, Cù Sith, the banshee, the Ankou, and more simply... death. Most of the time I have others collect souls, but.. you're an interesting case."

You reached forward, and though he instinctively flinched back, he soon regained control of himself and allowed you to cup his cheek. Even with that allowance, however, there was a decent amount of discomfort within him.

"I'm dead?"

"Not quite yet. That's where the interesting part comes in. Come––let's find a place away from the sun," you said, drifting past him and heading towards the abandoned mall.

Looking upwards, he found a blistering sun. He hadn't felt the heat, and looking back at the black pavement, he realized he hadn't felt that astonishing heat because he was, as you said, dead. No longer in his body. With that realization, he jogged back over to walk at your side.

"I'm a little confused, here. How did I die?" He asked.

"Again, not dead yet. Just out of your body. It's quite interesting, really," you said, opening the creaking door.

He entered gingerly, turning and waiting for you before wandering in any further. When he turned back to scan the building, he found instead a drawing room with a Victorian rug spread out across a hardwood floor, and red velvet couches filled to the brim with pillows and blankets. Paintings from all cultures covered the walls, nailed into place alongside maps of different eras. He hardly noticed his gaping mouth till you passed by and closed his jaw.

"Well... what happened to me?"

"Take a seat, Malek. I need to ask you some questions," you deflected, herding him to sit on one of the chaise lounges.

A clipboard materialized in your hands, a pen following as you sat down opposite of him.

"Now, what's your name?"

"You just said my name."

"And?" You said, quirking your brow.

He let out an exasperated sigh before answering with, "Rami Malek."

"What do you spend most of your time doing?"

"Work, mostly. I'm an actor."

"I'm aware. Most of your alternate reality personas look exactly like you. That usually only happens with actors," you said, scribbling down words with a harsh pressure on your pen. "You are given one million dollars. What do you do with it?"

"Um... I'd put it into my savings, let it collect interest until I die, and then donate it," he said after a moment's contemplation.

"Calculated. Nice. Significant others?"

"Not right now."

"Family members?"

"I've got a twin brother and an older sister. And my parents, of course."

"Are you religious?"

"Yes, sort of. My parents raised me Coptic Orthodox but I don't really interact with it much in my life."

"Is there a heaven and a hell?"

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" He asked.

"Answer the question, Malek."

"I don't think there's a heaven or hell."

"Good choice. Alright," you said, straightening your back after hunching over your clipboard. In a quick flash both the clipboard and pen were gone, and you were back on your feet. "Do you have any questions for me before we try to fix this dilemma?"

"Yes, lots," he chuckled humorlessly, watching you circle over to a liquor cabinet. "How did I die? Or – how did I get 'ejected' from my body?"

"Remember the movie you were just working on?"

"Yeah, James Bond."

"You tried to do your own stunts since your double was missing. You missed the catching net, landed on the ground, and your essence was accidentally absorbed by the earth. The earth decided you would be safer here––in Thailand."

"Thailand?? I have to finish filming. I can't be in Thailand," he said, jumping to his feet.

"Calm down, pretty boy. I'll take you to your body in due time, and from there we can decide how to move next. This is a rare opportunity for you," you said as you poured two glasses of sherry. "People don't usually get to see me. If they do, it's pretty much assured they won't interact with me. You're very lucky. I could also just reap you and get rid of the problem, but you're not supposed to die. Not yet."

"What, do I have something to do on earth yet?"

"Yes," you said, handing him the glass in your left hand. You sat back down, sipping from your own cup.

"Then what happens if people accidentally die?"

"The world goes on. We correct our calculations and figure out the fate of the earth again. It happens very rarely, thank everything. Our I.T. would be in hell if it happened a lot."

"What affect do I have on the world?"

"I'm not really allowed to tell you that," you said, eyeing him.

"Oh, sorry."

"I'm just kidding. I rule this universe. You're going to have a fan at one point who is very suicidal. They meet you on the street, get the will to live again, and their daughter will write a mystery novel that both furthers space-travel technology and surgical technology. Happy?" You took another sip from your cup.

"... I guess."

It was certainly, if anything, an interesting time to find out your entire existence was being protected by the embodiment of death just so a woman you didn't know could further technology just slightly. He didn't feel fantastic about it.

"It's not your only purpose, if you're worried about that," you said, noticing his fallen expression. "You inspire a lot of art and a lot of stories. Everything you do and inspire adds to the color of the world. Humans are one big organism and they can't seem to see that––I hope you, and others, will realize that soon."

"I hope we do as well," he said with a sigh, leaning back into the velvet. "I'm quite sick of people getting angry at each other all the time for useless shit."

"Yes, well..." you swirled the mixture in your cup, "the human condition, and all that."

"Were you ever once human?" He asked quietly.

"No. I am not truly a being. I am what you imagine me to be, a mirage of what you expect from death," you said in a low voice. "I will be here to kill God, and in the end of time I will be all that remains. The representation of all that ever existed, and its' inevitable demise."

"... comforting."

"Isn't it?" You said with a sardonic smile. "Are you ready to see your body yet?"

"I think so," he said. "What kinda state am I in?"

"I don't know. The state of destruction your physical form is in will dictate whether or not I can return you to yourself or take you into the unknown."

"Okay," he said, taking a deep breath in hopes of calming himself. "Take me to myself."

"Very well," you said as you stood, setting your cup aside and offering him your hand once more. He took it and rose to his feet.

In a single blink, and without warning, he was in a hospital––an American one, or at least one where the signs were all in English, and the nurses were speaking that same language. Fluorescent white light filled the room, mixed with the dreary daylight of a bright but cloudy day. The shades were open to the city outside, but what first caught his eye was the centerpiece of the room––him.

Gauze, linen, and casts covered more than half his body, cradling his leg, chest, head, and both arms. His eyes remained blissfully shut, not even fluttering from the bruises and cleaned scars circling his face.

"You look good," you said, unable to tear your eyes away from the body.

"Wow, thanks," he said sarcastically.

"I'm serious. You fell, like, 35 feet. Not a lot of people survive that, much less still have one of their legs."

"So does that mean I can go back to living?" He asked, sudden excitement filling his words.

"I suppose so. You've been out for a while, though, so be careful when you get back in. Listen to your doctors. Keep safe, and let professionals do stunts," you said.

He chuckled, turning to you before saying, "I thought Death would want me to die, not live."

"It doesn't matter. I will reap all. For now I can let society grow, let lives multiply to greater heights, as in the end you will all join my kingdom. I'm old as the universe. I can wait."

"Your kingdom?"

"Me. I carry the souls of the dead in my memory. They all live within me."

"And that's what happens when we die?"

"When you die, you become one with the universe. I become part of you just as much as you become part of me. Is that a comfort to you?"

"... yes, actually," he said softly, looking back to his body. "I think I'm ready to go back to living now."

"Very well, Malek. Take my hand," you said as you offered your see-through hand.

The moment he touched you, he noticed that he, too, became see through, and he wondered if that had always been happening and he simply hadn't noticed it. He had little time to think about it before you were leading him forward, taking him to the side of his hospital bed. From there you helped him into the bed, lining his soul up with his physical body, and telling him in a soft murmur to close his eyes.

The very next moment he remembered was opening his eyes to blistering hospital lights shining down on him. His memory of you was vague and blurred, but nonetheless present in a way that tested his image of the world, questioning if he was truly living his life.

Doctors, nurses, and friends rushed to his side once they noticed his consciousness, hurriedly asking questions and preparing tests on him. His bruised eye was swollen shut, but the other one could see alright, and it was a blessing to be able to see his mother above him. It took a good deal of time, but he returned to health and was luckily not disabled by the fall.

Years later the incident came to him in a dream, in a perfect clarity that he hadn't ever had as a waking person. He bolted awake, heavy breaths emphasizing the thin sheen of sweat that now covered his chest. You had explained to him the way the world worked––his purpose in life, the inevitability of humans and of the universe, and the beauty in that. The happy ending in that unavoidable death.

Never in any other time had he desired to see you again more than he did at that moment, stuck awake in the middle of a night plagued by rain and thunder. Wide eyes stared straight ahead, to the twisted sheets covering him, to the closet on the other side of his bedroom.

Shaken to his core, he slowly moved to his feet, the cold floor shocking him awake further. As he walked towards the kitchen, he attempted at calming himself with slow breaths. Once there he grabbed a glass of water, chugging the entire glass, and slamming it back down on the counter as though he'd done a shot, which it might as well have been this late at night.

Would it be possible to summon death? he thought hypothetically, before realizing the incredible stupidity of that statement. Who would want to summon death? Also, summoning death would probably involve putting himself in a dangerous situation, which you had specifically advised him against.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered to himself, leaning against the counter as he rubbed his face.

"His name is Yeshua, and he can't help you right now."

He jumped, spinning around in his kitchen to find you sitting on the counter across from him.

"Death!"

"People aren't usually that excited to see me, but yes," you said, looking down to scan your fingernails before looking back up at him with a smile.

"How did you know I was thinking about you?"

"You had one of my true forms in your thoughts. I remembered you from a little bit ago. How long has it been again?"

"11... maybe 12 years? I haven't thought all that much about the incident, but... I had a dream tonight. I remembered –"

"I know. You're not supposed to remember me while you're still living, so I had to come back and fix that," you said, jumping off the counter and approaching him with determined resolve.

"Wait, no!" He tried to back up, but he was already pressed against the kitchen island.

"We will meet again, quite shortly, you'll see," you said with a smile, a weak attempt to calm him as you raised your hand to his forehead.

"I don't want to forget you," he pleaded, fingers dug into his palm.

"That's awfully unfair to all the other people whose memory I had to fix. Makes their sacrifice a little silly if I allow you to go and tell the world how it'll all end just because you're pretty."

"I won't tell anyone. They'll think I'm crazy."

"You're a celebrity. Someone is going to believe you."

You pressed your thumb to his forehead, and in that moment he lost all control, leading him to make the first action he could think of, the one thing that might deter your work. He grabbed you by your sweatshirt, balling the material in his fists and pulling you till your chests met. With that he smashed his lips into yours, feeling your hand slip away as you weakened, shocked into stillness.

He wasn't quite sure whether you were actually enjoying yourself or if you were just shellshocked, but he continued to kiss and move against you for a moment before releasing you. When he let go of you and drew away, he watched your unmoving expression, staring at him with parted lips and wide eyes.

"What the fuck was that?"

"... a kiss?" He answered meekly.

"What does it do?"

"You don't know what a kiss is?"

"Malek, I have two trillion different planets that I reap from, all with multiple different societies and beliefs. I'm not going to memorize each of your customs."

"Oh," he said. He would have to devote some time, later on, to let the fact that there were aliens (and a lot of them) truly sink in. "It's a show of affection. It's kind of personal."

"So it is a gift," you said with deep concentration.

"Yeah, I guess you could say that."

"What for?"

"I like you. You're knowledgeable, and kind, and... I think you're pretty," he admitted, almost sheepishly in his low, rough voice.

Flirting with what could essentially be labelled as an eldritch monstrosity was a tad difficult, especially since you were millions of years older than him. From that point of view, he felt more like a child speaking with you, admitting to some silly, meaningless crush.

"You think I'm pretty?" You asked, your voice high pitched and coming out in almost a squeak. He nearly gawked at your reaction.

"Of course I do. Do people not tell you that?"

"I don't really talk to consciousnesses much, Malek. And most people don't find my bipedal form very nice to look at," you said quietly, looking down to the floor with fidgeting fingers.

He reached forward, pulling off your sweatshirt's hood, and allowing the warm light of his kitchen to finally show him the whole of your face. The skin around your eyes still retained that mystical darkness, like the ink of space, surrounding the cosmos of your eyes. It was quite clear now that you were not human, which explained the reasoning of hiding the whole of your whole form. 'Bi-pedal,' you called it––you had to fit in with alien worlds as well as his human world, and thus hiding many parts of yourself was required.

Now he would be the first person, the first creature, the first consciousness, the first life, to see your entirety. No one else had thought to flirt with death, but apparently that was how to avoid it. Ironic, considering the earth phrase 'flirting with death'.

You had gone into such a fluster by his words and actions that you stuttered out instructions for him to stay safe, and promptly disappeared in a cloud of smoke. He wouldn't see you again for three years, which saddened him greatly, but he made sure to remind himself that ten years for him was the blink of an eye for you. 2 trillion planets with life on them needed your attention.

In 3 years he found himself victim of yet another incident. He had been sitting in a donut shop for a little while, enjoying himself on his phone, before another customer entered and began to make a fuss. The man started yelling and he rose to the occasion, stepping over and attempting to take some of the stress off the poor teenager working on the till. Before he knew what was happening, he had a gun in his face, staring down a dark barrel of metal.

"You move and I'll slit your fucking throat," you said, appearing in a flash with your katana pressed against the stranger's throat. "Your gun's on safety mode. It'll take more than one move for you to kill this guy. Want to take that chance?"

The man faltered, and with that you nodded to the cashier, who quickly dialed up the police.

"Put it down, Michael," you said. The man, apparently Michael, slowly looked to you with wide, horrified eyes.

Rami could almost laugh at the incident, but his heart was far too full of fearful adrenaline for him to smile, much less laugh. It all happened so fast. The little bout was won the moment Michael met your eyes. He set the gun on the floor, turning to you with contempt and raised hands.

You waited until the police arrived for the sake of the cashier, but before anyone could question you, you were off again with Rami on your tail. Disappearing in a puff in front of mortals would do you no well, thus you had to start off with walking––something he could certainly follow. 3 years since he'd last seen you––grey had pervaded his hair more and more, skin more freckled and imperfect. You remained as you always were, even 15 years ago.

"Met anyone interesting lately?" He asked when he caught up with you.

Ideas of what creatures you were meeting, the types of things you got yourself into had been a decent source of inspiration for his daydreams. Such was his interest in what you wouldn't tell him that he wrote a screenplay, directed it, and shown it to the world. People often commented on the creativity of his imagination, but he always believed you to be the true source of actual creativity.

Of course, he hadn't ever actually heard about anything that you did. It was purely what he hypothesized.

"I met creatures that reproduced by stringing together DNA by hand. They are new consciousnesses in the cosmos, only recently earned souls... or what you would call, self-awareness," you said, staring ahead to the empty streets lined with cars.

"That's what gives something a soul? Self-awareness?"

"Not quite that simple, but for the most part, yes."

"How long ago did humans earn souls, then?"

"Longer back than you'd imagine. Remember, it's represented as more than self-awareness. It's societies, too, and ants have societies. I can't quite remember, but it was back when you were living in the trees," you said, taking moments to pause and correctly recall the facts.

He continued to walk alongside you for a moment more, pondering upon that information.

"Anyway. That's enough questions from you. What the hell were you doing?!" You said once you were out of sight from the cops, balling his shirt in your fists and forcing him up against a wall. Rami spluttered.

"What the hell were you doing? Aren't you not supposed to interfere with that kind of shit?" He asked, rattled from the sudden movement, and feeling bruises already building in his back. His skin and muscles had become more prone to injury over the years.

"I can do whatever I want. I don't have to worry about losing my mortal body. You're still tethered to this plane!"

"Who cares if I die? Everyone has to at some point, and helping others seems like a good way to die," he said, trying to ignore the aching in his body.

"Don't you have a wife? Kids? Family or friends? You're really ready to leave that all behind at the drop of a hat?" You scanned him.

"I was helping others," he hissed. "And I don't have a wife. Or kids. I've had more important things on my mind."

You watched him for a little while, trying to gauge his thoughts from his eyes. Eventually you released him, letting him drop to the ground, and watching carefully as he brushed off his clothes.

"Why do you want me alive now if I'm going to die soon anyway?"

"You're not going to die soon –"

"Relative to your sense of time, I'm going to die very soon," he interrupted, satisfied when you had no rebuttal. "Why do this? It's not even helping me. I know I won't really disappear when I die."

"Yes, you will. Gods, I shouldn't have told you about anything," you sighed, rubbing your face tiredly. "You misunderstand the concept of death. You, as you are, will not survive. You will disappear. I will carry your memories, but I will not be you. You will not be inside me, your memories will. I'm like a library, not some sort of vacation resort. Are you getting this?"

The blank look on his face told you everything you needed to know.

"There is no heaven or hell and I am not a substitute for their nonexistence! When you die, that's it. You're gone. Forever."

"I became a soul on earth. What about that?"

"Because you weren't fully dead, just separated from your body, like astral projecting. You either return to your body or you really die within a year. And if you try to astral project for that long, even if you do return to your body, you'll lose more and more control of it because you can't remember what it's like to have a physical form. It’s complicated, just – just stop getting in dangerous situations!" You practically yelled, clasping his head in your hands and talking quite loudly right in his face.

"There are a lot of technicalities to death," he said, putting his hands over yours and gently leading them down.

"There are a lot of technicalities to life. Why would I be any different?"

"I know, I just – I guess I don't know. Death, I... is it.. you're the only... consciousness I've ever.. loved," he admitted with a broken voice, unsure of his every word.

Your eyes widened, and you almost stumbled backwards with your own surprise. He kept you from doing so by keeping his grip on your hands.

"You want to know if you can stay with me," you said in an instant, soft realization.

He nodded.

"I don't understand," you murmured, suddenly shy. "I've tried to erase your memory so many times. Why do I keep failing?"

"You said none of your other victims ever spoke with you. I remember you because you're unforgettable, Death. I couldn't let go of you."

No one had ever thought of wooing you. You'd met creatures who tried to seduce you, yes, or to pay you off, but never romantically seek after. This would be the first time in your 14 billion years of being alive that someone did this––spoke sweet words and used your name without fear. Without shame. As though you were something to be honored.

Living things fought you so valiantly, and you loved them for that. Their desire to stay alive, to continue existing even when existing was more painful than simply facing you, to thrive in environments you yourself would've given up in. People were terrified of you. They hated you. Rightfully so––you were an easy scapegoat, something to pin blame on, like the actions of Kings weren't what actually killed them, but were the fault of the one who had to clean up the mess of souls left in an army's wake.

People also romanticized you. Thought of you as something to beat. Something to find beauty in, bliss in that nonexistence. People who hated being alive, who found their worlds too dull, or their minds too plagued with thoughts they couldn't help. It was not a true love––it was a desire to escape what they believed to be an inescapable life.

But people did not honor you. You were not a thing to give gifts to. You were not some sort of god of death––you were death. The essence of it. The misery and grief left in the wake of a taken friend.

Tears welled in your eyes, burning a bright white that trailed down your face like melted silver. The streaks were clear against the shadowed skin of your eyes. Instantly Rami thought he had done something wrong, said something to upset you, but he had no chance to apologize before you disappeared in a puff of smoke. In your wake you had left two tiny little puddles of silver teardrops on the pavement, reflecting sunlight like a mirror.

Years later, when he died, he expected to see you. He crawled out of his body, leaving behind the prolonged ringing of the heart monitor, and drifting away from his family. Long had he expected this, awaited this almost eagerly. But when he died, he was met by a man named Jynq, who went on a long spiel about death and the true meaning of the universe.

"Where is Death?" He asked once Jynq gave him a moment to speak.

"I am Death," he said with a confused frown.

"No, you're one of it's workers. I want to see the real Death," Rami stated firmly.

Jynq's expression fell into seriousness, the polite exterior of a worker making way for his true personality.

"It's on the other side of the universe right now. Several planets have been having a war for a while now, and the deathcount has kept them there for many years now," Jynq answered truthfully.

"Can you take me to them?"

"How do you remember Death?" He rebutted instead.

"They spoke to me. On several occassions. They tried to wipe my memory but it didn't work," he explained.

"You spoke to Death on several occasions?" Jynq asked, his mouth falling open.

"... yes?"

"Alright. I'll take you to it, but the journey will take a while. I hope your soul is resilient," the reaper said.

"Doesn't it take a year for a soul outside the body to die out?"

"Hm. You really did talk to it. But yes," he offered his hand, which Rami took, and they began to ascend towards the heavens, "it takes a year for the average soul to die. This journey will take several years. Are you ready for that kind of commitment?"

"Yes."

There was no spaceship in which to find a home, nor any set spot for rest or food. Neither he nor Jynq required any food or water, and certainly not any sleep, so the method of travel was a long, straight line towards the edge of the universe, unbreaking and unmoving.

Cosmos passed him by, and he became a part of them, leaving behind parts of his essence in the form of star dust that trailed after him. The further and faster he travelled, the more of himself he left behind, till he became a translucent outline of who he used to be. Jynq remained the same, just as you did. He couldn't calculate just how much time had passed, but as more of it did, he got a sense that he was experiencing time at a much faster rate than he imagined. Still, he remained oblivious to how much time was left in the journey.

At times he would go through solar systems, beside stars with planets that certainly carried life. Worlds made of diamonds, suns bigger than the whole of his home solar system, clusters of stardust reforming into young stars. Each of these worlds was one you had met––one you had left your mark on, no matter how young or old.

Life on earth didn't seem quite real when he reached the warring planets. There was so much going on in the universe––things humans would never know about. Worlds full of people that would never be found.

Jynq stopped Rami on the moon of a green planet, keeping him there while he went to go find you. He took the opportunity to sit, to rest after years of drifting through space, and to wonder which thought of his many collected thoughts he should first tell you.

"How in all the fucking WORLDS alive do you keep managing to endanger yourself, even after you die?!" You screamed, appearing in front of him in a millisecond and grasping his face tight again. "Are you insane or something?! Like clinically insane??"

"You've clearly never met someone who's in love with you," he chuckled, taking your hands and, again, gently pulling them away from their tight clutch on his face.

"Ohh, Malek," you said, anger falling away to the aching sorrow in your tone. "Look at you. You're so thin... does it hurt?"

"I feel weak, but I also feel light. I am okay," he assured you. "I left a trail of myself all across the universe. I've given myself back to the stars. Now I want to give what remains of me to you, but I had to talk to you again. Just once more."

"You speak like you’re old," you said with a weak laugh.

"I am old."

"How old do humans live to be?"

"The oldest was around 120 years, I think."

"Oh. Well, then I guess you're a little old. Not to me though," you said, flipping his sheer hands and taking them in yours.

"I'm old enough that I have accepted my own fate. I'm ready for you, Death," he said, his smile only visible in the bits of glittering stardust that made up the frame of his face.

Your smile fell.

"No," you said.

"... no?"

"No. I'm not going to do it," you stated.

"Can you do that? Like, legally?" He asked, quirking a brow.

"Who's going to stop me? I'm Death."

"Good point."

"I just wish I could heal you," you murmured, reaching up to stroke his cheek only to have your thumb fall through his face.

"I don't mind it," he said softly.

"Hmm," you said, taking a moment to think critically. "I think I know how to help you."

You found him a home in the heart of a star––Atlas, a part of the Pleiades that shone bright beside its' sister, Pleione. The intense pressure was lost on both of you as you entered, making your way to the heart, where the elements of matter and life were formed in overbearing heat. As was the nature of space, the center of Atlas was dead silent, leaving you and Rami in a white, detail-less expanse.

Slowly, over the years, parts of his body returned to him, building off the star-lit frame of his soul. As you suspected, the workers of the dead and afterlife were extremely dissatisfied with you, but could do nothing. You were older than all of them, and you decided you could allow yourself this one indulgence––this one moment of straying from the rules that Gods had so often broken.

They allowed you this one comfort: a home in the heart of Atlas, in the arms of a man who had given himself to the world, and then to the universe. The one Death who had taken so much from the universe, who would eventually take everything in the universe, wrapped in the embrace of the one who had given every part of himself to the world he lived in.

[phantaloon-books]

All We Are is Bullets

AFTG songfic, Andreil centric, Andrew POV, inspired by Demolition Lovers by My Chemical Romance

Trigger warnings:  violence, graphic descriptions of violence, death, major character death, gunshots, guns, gunshot wounds, injury, angst, hurt no comfort, sad ending, blood, car crash, life on the run. This one’s on the heavy side sorry.

Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard

I would drive on to the end with you, a liquor store or two keeps the gas tank full

It had been over 7 months since they last had an encounter with anyone from the Moriyamas or the remaining of the Butcher’s people. 

They had grown too comfortable, too soft. Andrew wasn’t even sure how that happened, considering both his and Neil’s upbringing, but it happened anyway. They were reckless and careless, jumping from town to town along the United States, jump starting cars and making gas station stops and robbing liquor stores, and they’d grown to feel safe.

What a ridiculous thing it is, safety. Neither Andrew nor Neil should be able to afford to feel safe.

But they did. 

And these are the consequences. 

Andrew shakes his head, pressing harder on the gas, willing the stolen sports car to just go faster. One hand on the wheel, the other hand hovering over Neil’s pressed against the bleeding wound on his stomach. 

Neil’s breaths are getting rougher, and Andrew tightens his hand on the wheel. Of course Neil notices, and icy blue eyes look up towards haunted hazel. 

“It’s fine, it’s fine, don’t worry, I’ve dealt with worse, it’s gonna be fine,” Neil’s words are supposed to be soothing, but his voice is too hoarse for them to work. Andrew snarls.

“Shut the fuck up, Josten, just stay awake, I’ll get us out of here, and we’ll stop soon to patch you up.”

“They’re gonna be on our tails soon, Drew, I don’t-”

He breaks off in a coughing fit, his lungs rattle, and when he pulls his hand away from his mouth, Andrew sees the red that paints his hand. Andrew swears his soul leaves his body.

“I’ll pull over on the next stop-”

“Andrew, we don’t have time to stop right now, you know we don’t, it’s fine, I’ll be fine, if we stop we’re dead.”

Andrew knows that’s true, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t hate it. Instead he holds on to Neil’s hand tighter, and Neil’s expression softens.

“Until the end, forever, remember?”

I will drive until the end with you. I mean this forever.

This isn’t supposed to be their lives. They were supposed to be done after the shitshow that was Neil’s freshman year. The Moriyamas were supposed to leave Neil alone. The FBI was supposed to deal with what was left of the Wesninski circle. They never should have trusted the feds to do their fucking job. Instead what was left of the Wesninski claimed war on the Moriyamas and Hatfords. Ichirou was beyond furious, with both Wesninskis and Hatfords out for blood and revenge. And he blamed it all on Neil. 

Andrew would never understand the Moriyama lord’s logic. To blame a mob war on a 19 year old kid, whose only crime was being born to two mob families, one of which was tied to the yakuza. 

But they were out for Neil’s blood then. Had nearly killed him outside the Court the first time, he would have been shot in the head if it wasn’t for his incredibly quick instincts. The shot hit his shoulder instead. They didn’t wait for a second time, Andrew just shoved their stuff in a bag, took Neil’s remaining money and together they ran. He only left a letter for Aaron, and he didn’t regret leaving their family behind. 

Neil had been upset with Andrew at first.

“You have no idea what you just did, Andrew! You have no idea what it’s like to run for your life every single day, not knowing if you’re gonna live long enough to see the next, you have no idea what you just did!”

“I don’t care about that, Neil.”

“You should! This isn’t a little adventure, this isn’t a road trip, this is fighting to stay alive, and bullets and knives and hiding and lying forever!” his voice broke, and dropped to a whisper, “I never wanted to put you through this.”

“You’re not understanding me here, I’m trying to show you but you don’t understand. You mean too much to me to care about all the things you’re saying, I’d end my days in a hail of bullets to keep you safe, I would drive on to the end with you, I’ll keep running with you to prove to you how much you mean to me.”

Leaving bought them 4 more years. 

Until today. 

Until the end of everything.

The sun is going down on the highway as Andrew floors it, going too high above the speed limit running from Neil’s demons. But he’d signed up for this, as Neil had so kindly put it. Neil’s hand trembles, growing cold. His blood is slowly pooling on the car seat below him. He fights to hide his grimace, but his face is pulled tightly in pain anyway. 

“I’m going to fucking stop, Neil.”

“Goddammit, Andrew! No, we can’t afford to stop, right now!”

I’m trying to let you know how much you mean.

“Andrew, we’re not stopping, I can hang on however long we need to get somewhere safe.”

“Nowhere is safe, Neil, we’ll never stop,” Andrew can’t help the snarl, anger is curling inside his chest and it’s too much, “You’re bleeding out, don’t you understand? We need to stop now.”

“I know this is frustrating for you, Drew, I get it, but we have to wait until we reach somewhere safer-”

“Goddammit, Neil-”

The car is thrown forward at once, and Andrew has to take both of his hands to the wheel to stop the car from veering sideways and crashing. With a curse, he takes a look through the rearview mirror, and he curses once more.

Fuck.

They’d been too busy arguing to notice the black SUVs and trucks on their tails. There’s a lot of them, nondescript, but obviously Moriyama. Andrew’s heart starts to race, as he wills the car to go faster, beyond its own limits. But there’s too many of them. There’s no way they’ll make it out this time. 

He glances at Neil, blank mask long forgotten, worry and dread and terror seeping out of him like it never has before. Because Neil is crying softly, despite the serenity of his entire posture. Tears are streaming down his face, eyes closed but body and face relaxed. 

The car is nearing 200 mph when Neil opens his eyes, tears flowing freely. The black SUVs are getting impossibly closer, caging them on the sides. 

“I’m so sorry, Drew,” Neil’s voice is a shattered whisper, and it breaks Andrew’s already shattering heart, “I never wanted to get you involved in all of this, I never wanted this life for you, I’m so so sorry, I ruined your life.”

“Shut the fuck up, Neil, I chose this, I chose to run with you, I wanted-” the words are stuck in his throat and he can’t get them out. I wanted to spend however much time was left with you. That’s how much you mean to me. That’s how much this means to me. “I meant it then, and I mean it now, Neil Josten, until the end.”

Neil’s eyes are pained, something like grief and sorrow shining through the icy blue. But he still forces himself to smile, as if he can read what Andrew thought, and Andrew knows full well he does. 

“We’ll show them all how much we mean.”

The first shot comes from Andrew’s side and he barely manages to dodge the bullet that cuts through the glass like it’s nothing, shattering the window at once. Neil crouches with a cry, and Andrew shoots a glance his way as much as he can as he attempts to keep the car under control. Neil’s right shoulder is bleeding, the window on his side just as shattered as his own. Andrew didn’t even notice the car getting close enough to Neil’s side, or the shot aimed his way. Neil feels his stare, the overwhelming alarm and horror that drowns Andrew from the inside, and turns pained yet calm eyes his way.

“It’s okay, it’s gonna be okay.”

Understanding.

Neil knows he’s not going to make it, they are not going to make it. This is going to be their last run. With a deep breath, Andrew buries all the fear and worry deep down, and stares at Neil with nothing but determination.

“I’m about to get us killed, but when it stops, we run in the other direction and into the city, we hide as best as we can.” The or die trying goes unsaid, but Andrew knows Neil understands, he always does. 

“I love you, until the end of everything.”

Andrew stares at Neil, and he wants to say I love you too, you mean everything to me, but instead what comes out is “Hang on, tight,” and he hits the brakes at once.

Despite Andrew’s eidetic memory should make sure that he remembers what happens next, but it’s all a blur, and when he can get to consciousness and focus his eyes, it’s to Neil half carrying him as he limps his way down the highway, looking frantically behind him. A quick glance behind them and Andrew sees the wreck he left behind; cars pile one on top of the other, some are on fire, including the one they were driving, and they set each other aflame, like pouring fuel on scarecrows. Moriyama men are dragging themselves out of the cars, and trying to find a way out of the wreck. Andrew can’t help the smile. He didn’t think they’d make it after braking a car going 200 mph, but he somehow manages to make his legs listen to him, as his ears echo. 

Neil notices when he feels Andrew take back some of his own weight, turns a bloodied and dirty face at him, and smiles back brightly. Neither of them have much hope of making it to the other side of the road and finding a place to hide, but in that one second, they begin to run hand in hand, and things are okay, despite Neil’s bleeding wounds, and Andrew’s aching head.

They both know it won’t last long, so Andrew pulls Neil for a kiss, as long as he dares to, it’s merely a brush of their lips, but it’s everything that matters. 

They’re about to reach the other lane when the first shot rings through the air, but Neil’s always bright instincts pull them both out of the way. They would be helpful if there were two or three men, but Andrew risks a glance back. There are dozens of men regaining their composure, readying their weapons, and before he knows what’s happening, both Neil and him are hitting the ground hard. 

Neil just pushed him.

And then the bullets come, lead rain passing through phantoms.

He’s too disoriented at first, but then burning pain lights his body, like nothing he has ever felt before. He gasps, but he pushes through the pain, and forces himself to look around. He doesn’t have to look far, he finds what he needs next to him.

“Neil! Neil!” His voice seems far, far away, but Neil is looking up at the blue, blue sky, breath coming in insignificant little huffs, more like sighs than breaths. Blood is pooling underneath them. “Neil, look at me, stay with me.”

Moving hurts, burns, but he makes himself push through it harder, until he’s somehow leaning on his side, with a clear view of Neil. Neil who’s bleeding too much. Neil who has too many bullet holes on his body. Neil who just pushed him to the side to protect him. Neil who is bleeding out. Neil who despite everything turns his head so he’s facing Andrew, even if his eyes are still looking up. 

Andrew’s own eyes are blurring with unshed tears, and he blindly reaches forward to grab Neil’s hand lying limply by his side. 

He feels like he’s falling.

Neil’s lips are turning red, and he’s coughing, choking, trying to force out words that can’t come out. He gasps and moans in agony, and Andrew’s own chest hurts, not just from the bullets he couldn’t escape. This is it, a pool of blood, falling and touching hands.

“Neil, look at me, look at me, it’s gonna be alright, we’re gonna be alright.”

Andrew’s own voice is cracking. He doesn’t understand how Neil remains awake, but his stubborn idiot rabbit is still breathing. With another strained whine and a choked sob, their eyes meet at last. Icy blue and deep hazel, one last time.

And Andrew is falling, falling, falling.

He squeezes Neil’s hand as tightly as he can, and chokes out a whisper despite the metallic taste flooding his mouth, “It’s okay, we’ll be okay, just let go, it’s okay.”

He feels the thuds of footsteps approaching, but black is already creeping at the edges of his vision, his eyelids are growing heavy, and Neil’s own breaths are coming slower.

Neil closes his eyes, and Andrew closes his as Neil’s shredded chest stops moving.

I’ll meet your eyes, I mean this, forever.

lol sorry

read on ao3

[emmy-writes-sometimes]

Whatever It Takes

Sebastian’s daughter spends half the time with him and half with her step-mother. Her step-dad goes too far, causing her to run back to her father.

A/N: I ended up combining two requests with this since they were both such good ideas! I hope both of them love it! 

-

           “Please don’t make me go,” you begged your dad as he looked through the apartment to make sure you weren’t leaving anything. “I hate it there.” He, of course, thought you were bluffing. He knew your mom wasn’t the best, but he had full confidence in her as a mother, at least. And he’d seen the house she lived in. It was fine. But he didn’t see how things really were.

           “You have to. It’s what…” He sat down on the arm of the couch.

           “What the court says, I know. But I’m old enough to decide for myself, and I wanna stay with you. Please?” You didn’t know how bad things would have to get for him to let you stay. He was your best friend, and you’d already bent the rules to be able to spend most of the summer with him. But today you absolutely had to go back before your mother threw a colossal fit.

           “You know I wouldn’t let you go unless I absolutely have to, and I absolutely have to. Unless you want to petition the court, there’s no way around it. You have to spend half the time there, it’s what we agreed on.”

           “Yeah, when I was five! Before everything hit the fan!” As soon as your mother had divorced Sebastian, she’d moved in with some crazy guy in his mansion in the Hamptons. And the guy treated you like absolute shit, so your mom did too. They bought you off their backs; every time you threatened to tell the court something, another Louis Vuitton headed your way. You were sick of it, and you were ready to make your own decision and decide to stay with your dad. He was an actor, and he was gone between Atlanta and California and New York, but at least he loved you. You knew he loved you, unlike your mother. Your mother loved the image of a perfect family, even if on the inside it was every kind of abuse but physical. You didn’t want to worry your dad unless you absolutely had to tell him, so you kept your mouth shut.

           “Things didn’t hit the fan, your mom married an asshole and now you don’t want to be there. I get it. Really. But we’ve been over this time and time again, sweetheart. You have to. Unless you have evidence that something’s wrong, they’re not going to change it now. And they already hate me because I’m an actor, because apparently that means I’m not stable.” You knew that wasn’t true. He was the most mentally stable person you knew. You could tell he was at his wit’s end, but you wanted to keep pushing. You wanted to stay. Any bad day with your dad was better than a good day with your mom.

           “Fine,” you said softly. You tried to hide the fact that you were about to cry. You really didn’t want to leave. You had left in the middle of a fight and you knew things were going to be even worse when you came back, especially if you told them that your dad had taken you to California with him without asking them first.

           “I love you,” he said as he stood up, noticing that you were visibly upset. “You know that. I’ll call the lawyers again and see what they say. It’s been a few years since anything happened, so maybe they’d be willing to hear you out. But don’t get your hopes up, okay?” You nodded and hugged him tightly, trying to regain control of your breathing before it got worse.

           “Okay.”

           “I’ll help you load up.” One by one, you got your bags in the overly luxurious SUV your mother had bought you, and before you knew it he was handing you a twenty for something to eat along the way. “Please get real food and not just iced coffee,” he insisted. You got into the driver’s seat and smiled. At least he knew enough about you to know that was your plan.

           “Only because you asked nicely.”

           “Drive safe, babe, okay?” You nodded and started the car, checking the blind spot monitor before driving off toward the highway. You spent most of the time in the car making an internal list of all of the terrible things your mother had done, even though you knew it wouldn’t be enough and you would never care to write it down.

           You settled with cruise control for most of the drive, even though it was a bumpy road back to East Hampton, and finally pulled into the perfectly landscaped driveway of your step-dad’s mansion. There weren’t any other cars in the driveway, so you assumed your mom was off shopping, as usual, and your step-dad was probably cheating on her because that was just how things worked. You were only half joking when you thought about it.

           “Hello?” You called when you reached the house, just to make sure. You strained your neck to look up to the balcony, the huge chandelier reflecting in the bright sunlight. No one was home, except maybe one of the housekeepers. You took your things up the elevator, because the house was just that crazy, and settled back into your room. Your room there was gorgeous. Blair Waldorf would be jealous of it. But it wasn’t you. You and your dad had painted all of the furniture in your room at his house, together, and you’d picked everything out until you had to leave. Your dad had finished the room, too, and he knew you so well that it was perfect. You loved it. You hated this room. What a problem, right? Sheets getting changed every day, a private closet full of designer clothes… What a terrible life it was. That was how they reeled you in; if things looked good on the outside, it meant that nobody would dare look on the inside. It was a dollhouse. A shitty, expensive dollhouse.

           You spent most of the afternoon unpacking everything and changing out of the clothes your mother hated seeing you in. Instead you changed into an uncomfortable but put together outfit and waited. You were unpacking your makeup, thinking about seeing if one of your friends wanted to go to the beach later, when your door blew open. It was your mother, fresh from a shopping trip.

           “I see you’re back,” she responded. “How was it?”

           “Great,” you said. “How is everything here?” Your mother shrugged.

           “It’s the Hamptons. Roger is having some friends over tonight, so don’t ruin things for us.” You internally rolled your eyes. “That means…”

           “Stay in my room,” you interrupted. “I know.” That was another thing – your mom and step-dad wanted you out of their way as much as possible. That meant being all but locked in your room when guests came over. It was like you didn’t even exist. That was another difference – your dad couldn’t wait to show you off, especially because you were interested in film.

           You did what she said. You stayed in your room, thankful that you kept snacks up there, and watched TV for most of the night until everybody left. You could tell that they were ridiculously drunk, but that wasn’t new. You wanted out of there, once and for all, and just in case someone tried anything, you set your phone to record sound before putting it in the pocket of your sweatshirt. You walked down the stairs, seeing the cleaning staff working in the kitchen, and made a beeline for it. Before you could get there, though, your step-dad grabbed onto your arm.

           “You’re back, I see,” he said. He was too close for comfort and you tried to wrestle your arm away, but you couldn’t. He was too strong. You could feel a bruise forming on your arm. That would be a fantastic picture.

           “Yeah,” you replied.

           “Thank you for not making any noise earlier. This was too important to have you mess up.” You knew he was just being an ass, but it hurt. Were you really that bad?

           “Yeah, whatever. I’m going to bed.” You started to walk, but he didn’t let go. “Can you let go of me?” He did what you asked, finally, and when you pulled your arm away there was a bruise on it. You hoped it would fade, but not before you took pictures of it. Maybe them being like this was a blessing in disguise. Still, though. They’d never gone so far as to put a hand on you.

           You were careful in the coming week. Beyond careful. You slipped in and out, minded your own business, and made yourself as scarce as possible. But they had a rule that you had to come home each night, so you did. As soon as the town curfew kicked in, you were home. They always found a reason to come to your room, whether it was lecturing you about leaving your car in the wrong spot in the driveway or taking the wrong towel out to the pool. And your step-dad kept getting more and more violent. As soon as one bruise would fade, another would start on your arm or your shoulder from him just grabbing onto you too hard. Of course your mom wouldn’t do anything about it. She only looked out for herself. You didn’t want to worry your dad, so you just pretended like everything was okay.

           “I’m glad things are going well,” he said over the phone one night. “Maybe they just needed some time.”

           “Yeah,” you responded. You were being fake as hell and you prayed that he didn’t notice it. You were also trying not to cry. That night had been a bad one; they’d had guests over without telling you and you’d gone down the stairs. You had another bruise on your wrist, and this time there was a fingernail mark, too.

           “Listen, I gotta go, I’m meeting up with some people for a dinner meeting.”

           “Okay.” You felt stupid, but you didn’t want to let him go. Your eyes filled to the brim with tears. You just wanted him. “I love you.”

           “I love you too, sweetie.” You hung up the phone and crawled back into bed, letting the tears roll down your cheeks. You wanted to go home. You had friends, sure, but you felt so lonely in that huge house with people who hated you. You were sure your mom and step-dad wouldn’t even care if you left. You wanted to test it, but you were scared. You let yourself cry a little more, just to get everything out, and decided to watch TV until you felt a little better. You wanted to watch LOST, the show you and your dad had been watching all summer together, but you didn’t want to watch it without him.

           It was late before you finally went down to the kitchen again, bare-footed so your feet wouldn’t make much noise, and tried to get some water. Unfortunately, you weren’t the only one with the idea. Your step dad was sitting there, at the table, drinking. As always. He was draining a bottle of rum that probably cost more than your car did.

           “Well, well, well,” he said. “Haven’t seen you the past few days.” That was right. Because you were avoiding him.

           “Yeah,” you tried to hide it with a shrug as you reached for a glass. The last bruise he’d left had disappeared, and hopefully it wouldn’t be replaced. “Haven’t been feeling well. I think I’m getting sick or something.” Your step-dad smirked.

           “Sure you are. Or maybe you just don’t want to see us. You want to run off with your real daddy, I know that, but you could at least try to be a part of this family.” Your eyes were filling up just as quickly as your glass was with ice. You switched it over to the water. You had a bad feeling in your stomach.

           “Okay,” you responded calmly. “I’ll try and make a better effort. I’m sorry.” He walked up to you then, like he always did, but he didn’t do anything. Not at first.

           “Sorry for what? Being such a little bitch all the time?” That was crossing a line. He’d never called you that, not to your face. You were always just the brat to him. Not bitch. You wanted to end the conversation. Fight or flight kicked in and you wanted to run away. Maybe you could take the back staircase. It was quicker, and you could lock your room so he couldn’t get in. You were frozen in fear, breathing heavily, about to start crying again like the little kid you were. He grabbed your arm, for real this time, and you noticed that you were shaking. This was going to leave a darker bruise than normal, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to see you upset.

           “That’s what I thought. Cry-baby. Go run off, see if we care. We’ll get full custody, anyway.” So you decided that’s what you would do. You walked away, noticing that he didn’t follow you, and he probably didn’t think you were serious. He was probably thinking you were going upstairs to cry, which you were. But you were going to pack, too.

           You packed as many of your clothes as you could get in a suitcase, a full backpack with your laptop in it, and the few pictures you knew you would want. You threw your makeup bag into another bag and started cleaning up the room. By the time you made up the bed and cleared the closet out, it was like no one even lived there. You went out to the balcony. He was in bed. Your mom had gone to bed long ago. So you lifted up your suitcase and brought it down to the entry hallway. It was pouring rain outside, but you didn’t care. You had to get out of there, fast. You started your car with your phone, turning the lights off so you wouldn’t be seen from their window, and loaded everything back into the car. The time to drive back to the city was two hours normally, but you could cut it down. It was nearly three in the morning, you knew that, but you had to get out of there. The last thing you did was leave the house key on the kitchen table, along with the two credit cards they gave you that you almost never used.

           You must have looked like a mess to anyone driving alongside you – you were still in your pajamas and a wet raincoat, your car was packed full, and you were crying. But you hit traffic at the bridge and, by the time you pulled into your dad’s garage, you could tell that the kitchen light was on. He was awake. You shut the car off and took your phone with you, walking up the stairs to the first floor.

           Your dad was standing there, making one of those protein shakes he always drank. He looked like he was about to go for a run. He looked over at you as you entered, eyes wide, and shut off the blender he was using.

           “You’re supposed to be at your mom’s!” He said.

           “I had to get out of there. I can’t stay there,” you explained. “I have it recorded, but I had to get out. Please just let me stay.”

           “Hold on, hold on, you drove here in the middle of the night by yourself?” You nodded. “Do they know?”

           “No.”

           “Jesus, Y/n. I need to call the lawyers right now. Do you know what you just did?” You took off your rain jacket, letting it fall to the floor, and held out your arm. The bruise was dark purple and clear as day. “Did he do that to you?”

           “Yes. I have all of the pictures and I recorded all of our conversations. I’m sorry I came here without telling you but I had to get out of there.” You could see the rage burning in his eyes, but it wasn’t for you. The first thing he did was wrap you in a hug, tightly, and that was enough. You let yourself start crying, again, just because you were so relieved. Nothing could hurt you here. Not your mom, not your step-dad.

           “I need to call the lawyers. Go un-pack for me and we’ll figure this out, okay, honey?” He rubbed your back for a second as you prepared to pull away from him. You went to go unpack your bags and your dad started calling everyone he knew to call. You doubted they would even care that you were gone, but you definitely didn’t want to cause a media frenzy that would make your dad look bad. That was the absolute last thing you wanted to do was screw him over. Finally, the calls were all over and your dad walked into your room. You’d taken a shower and changed clothes by then, warming up from the cold rain. You’d driven with your air on full blast the entire time without even realizing it.

           “Hey,” he said. “I called the lawyer. They’re sending some police and CPS over to talk things through, but it looks like I can get full custody at least temporarily. You might have to go to court for it, but…”

           “I don’t want to. I just want out of there.” He sat down beside you on the bed, pulling you in.

           “I know you don’t want to. And it’ll be hard. But they hurt you. Multiple times. And you literally have all of the proof you need on your phone. They’re not gonna hurt you again, I won’t let them. Whatever it takes.” You nodded, sniffling a little. You were such a crybaby. “I’m sorry I didn’t see it before.”

           “Nobody did. He never started acting like that until I got back.” He ran a hand through your hair.

           “It’s over now, okay? You’re home with me.” You were resting your head in his shoulder when there was a knock at the front door, followed by the shout that it was police. He offered you a hand and you took it, like you always did, and walked down the stairs.

[writing-the-end]

LoL Chapter 25- Checkmate

Masterpost

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU and Red belongs to @theguardiansofredland )

Captured by Dolios, it’s up to TFC to decide who lives, who dies, and who gets to walk away from the game Dolios plays with them. 

Chapter idea credit to @whumpster-dumpster

_____________________________________________

“How about a game of chess, guildmaster?” Dolios waves the hermits into the antechamber of the prison. The death dungeons Galena warned them of. TFC is pushed forward, standing before and alone from his friends. He stumbles and turns, head spinning from the sleep he was awoken from as he  looks at them all. Helmets cover the faces of the guards standing behind each hermit, but he can clearly see the knives at their throats. Every single one, a hair’s breadth from death. Some are stoic, like Doc. Unafraid and unblinking to the cold blade. Others are nearly collapsing to their knees- if doing so didn’t mean being cut by the knife. 

TFC turns back, a fierce growl rising from his throat “What is this about?” 

“I’m trying to be civil, can’t you see?” Dolios sweeps his purple robes to the side, revealing a table and two chairs. Atop the table, crystal and obsidian chess pieces glitter in the torchlight. “I’m letting you decide your team's fate. You see, each piece is a member of your illegal guild. On both sides. Each one that’s captured is eventual doom. Play my game, and decide the fate of your beloved friends. Who is more important, who will live? Who is sacrificed for the good of the cause?” 

“What kind of sick game-!” Grian claws his way out of his captor’s grip, biting down on the gloved hand before the masked man regains control over the spitfire. 

“And what happens when I win?” TFC puts a hand on his waist and raises a silvery eyebrow. 

“You won’t, but just to ease your fears, when you win your friends will get to live. It won’t be a nice time living, but they’ll be alive.” Dolios chuckles. “If you lose, those who are captured are killed and become another husk to add to my army. The rest may leave, in fact. But trust me- I won’t leave anyone alive. I play to dominate.” 

“What if I just don’t play?” TFC looks at the chess pieces. He picks up a knight, turning it over. Scrawled on the bottom of the crystal white horse, he can see Wels’s name. One piece, but one real life in this game of strategy. He has to be smarter than Dolios. 

“Then we can just make this fast and kill them all right now. I’m giving you the chance to free some, or all! Of your friends.” Dolios pulls out a chair and motions to it, brushing the cushioned velvet flat. “Sit, guildmaster. Let’s play a game. Show me your true worth as a champion guild.” 

Reluctantly, he does. He has no choice. This is the only way he can ensure some sort of life for his friends. But at the expense of others. As soon as he pulls his chair in, a blast of air and magic reverberates from the chess board. He winces, his hair blowing back and gripping the chair for support. When TFC reopens his eyes, the prison chamber has changed. 

Dolios and him are floating above the ground. Just beneath them, a massive chess board has appeared. The guards are gone, and on each checkered color stands a hermit. Only a few pieces are actual stone. Grian opens his wings, attempting to fly free from his place as bishop. But as soon as he takes off from the ground, his eyes widen and pain laces across his face. He crashes to the stone, black lightning shooting up his skin. Iskall and others step forward, before hesitating. They’re chess pieces now. Pawns. They can only move when the player moves them. Dolios looks down, chuckling. “He’s quite the wild child. Completely different from the last angel I quarreled with.” 

“Why are you doing this?” TFC hisses. “This isn’t fair!” 

“Since when did things ever become fair, guildmaster? You’re already playing with their lives by challenging me. Now you can see how your own mistakes led you here.” Dolios intertwines his fingers together, resting his elbows on the table. He leans his chin on his hands, a coy smile making his brown beard scratch at his skin. “I’ll let you make the first move, TFC.” 

The guildmaster looks across his chess board, as well as below him. It’s not just his pieces that are hermits, that are his friends. Dolios has some as well. Standing deathly still, waiting for the first move to be taken. TFC closes his eyes, thinking. He needs to be smart, to be a better strategist than the magistrate of Lairyon. This isn’t just a game. This is beyond what happens at the table before him. He needs to think of the repercussions each move will make. He has to make the least bloody moves as possible. Save as many of his friend’s lives as possible. 

“You promise no harm will come to my friends that survive?” TFC’s eyes open, realizing what he has to do. Without hesitation, TFC picks up a pawn, directly in front of Grian. It’s Mumbo. 

“I promise, on my word as the magistrate of Lairyon. May the ancient ones strike me down themselves.” TFC sets the pawn two spaces forward. Below him, he hears Mumbo’s yelp, followed by a cry of pain and feet scrabbling forward. When the crystal mage looks up, Dolios is grinning. “So the game begins.” 

He shoves his own pawn forward, moving exactly as TFC wants him to. The one directly in front of the king- of Dolios himself. TFC looks down, seeing Ren shuffle forward. He’s missing a sandal, only one flopping against the cold marble chess board beneath him. Two moves in front of him and to the left is Mumbo, shaking in his boots. 

TFC moves a second pawn- Scar. “You have my friends marked wrong. None of them are pawns. They’re all stronger than you could ever hope to be.” Wels is exposed, Scar standing beside Mumbo. 

“Tell that to this- checkmate.” TFC straightens his back, staring directly at Dolios as the magistrate shoves his queen diagonally. It’s not linked to any hermit, so a stone statue moves into the corner of the board. Turning and facing the white king. Capturing TFC. “You stupid mining moron! You lost in two moves!” Dolios cheers, his chair knocking backwards as he pumps his fist to the air and stands. “I didn’t even lose a single damned piece!” 

“Neither did I.” TFC whispers. “Now let my friends go.” 

Dolios stills, freezing mid celebration. His head turns, looking to TFC. He can see the magistrate slowly piece it all together, and the moment he realizes what’s happened. Elation breaks away in seething anger. A rage so bright and hot TFC swears he can feel it from his chair. “You tricked me!” 

“No, I played your game.” TFC’s voice is calm, collected. “You just happened to win. What was it you said before… you play to dominate? And dominate you did. Shouldn’t a good leader find a way to win without bloodshed?” 

Dolios waves his hand, a black magic circle appearing. A reverberating sonic wave shoves TFC out of his chair, throwing chess pieces all around him. Floating above his friends, he can hear them gasp. Only able to watch. Unable to move, to help their guildmaster. Their friend. Doc reaches out, but the black veins quickly reach back towards him. Towards his heart. TFC winces, sitting up. “You swore on your seat to let them go if I lost! If you go back on your word, everyone will know!” 

“Oh, I don’t plan on going back on my words.” Dolios snaps his fingers, and the hermits warp back to reality. The chamber is it’s old dull hall, torches and stone bricks. Hermits collapse together, checking one another for wounds sustained while apart. Grasping to stay together, to piece what happened between their last memory and now. Most only remember the capitol hall, then being woken up by the masked guards in individual cells.

 Dolios approaches TFC, setting his grey leather boot on the older man’s chest. Pressing his gilded heels harsh against his ribs. “But you still lost, you were captured. And all the pain your friends avoided? I’m going to do it tenfold to you!” 

A black ball of lightning grows as Dolios snarls, hand winding back and aiming directly for TFC. His eyes are wild, unhinged and untethered to reality. TFC raises his hand, a weak attempt to stop the growing dark magic before him. 

“Oh no you don’t!” X’s voice is sure, loud and reverberating off the stone walls. Unhindered by his mask. A snap follows soon after, and the dark lightning is dragged into nothingness. Into the void as X’s black hole grows. It threatened to eat up Dolios then and there, had he not taken an alarmed step back. 

“How? You shouldn’t be able to do that! You’re weak! My sleep spell should’ve...” Dolios turns, staring down the other hermits. Not noticing that Cub was hidden behind the others, or that TFC was no longer at his feet. 

“Nah, I’d say we’re pretty strong. Especially together.” X shrugs, and lets his black hole explode in a miniature big bang. 

With Dolios distracted, the crew makes their escape. Wels casts a shield and speed buffs, one hand raised to protect the retreat. Etho disappears down the hall, bouncing through shadows and silently taking out the guards ahead. At the top of the stairs, Mumbo hacks his way into the redstone powered door. Focusing all of his strength into forcing it open. Stress releases a sheet of ice before them, Jevin wraps everyone together into a bundle of bodies, and Impulse takes up a position next to Wels and his shield. Bracing against his friends, he casts his magic. Short spurts of explosions erupt from his hands, jetting the guild down the hall. 

Etho appears above the group from an arching shadow, grabbing Doc’s hand and joining them as they careen through the halls of the capitol building. Zipping past guards and wizards before anyone can even realize what they’ve seen, like a roller coaster ride. They don’t stop until they’ve burst out the back doors. Stress still doesn’t stop making a highway of ice, not until they’re well beyond the city limits, skating out into the open marshes that surround Milliara. 

Only then does the crew stop, breathing heavily and taking a moment to realize what just happened. And once they come to the same conclusion- they drown TFC in hugs. 

--------------------------------------------

“Sir… they escaped. Again.” Apatia runs up, his breath heavy as his chest rises and falls. “They’re well beyond the walls. Should we send the Arcane guard after them?” 

“No. I don’t want anyone to question why we’re chasing after our champions. Erase all memories to anyone that saw their escape.” Dolios growls, rubbing his hand. Feeling the void still against his skin, trying to tear it apart. 

“But what about the illegal guild? They know-” 

Dolios turns away from the guildmaster, forcing the redstone door closed. Hiding the dungeons beneath the capitol building. “They are not our main concern. Let them squirm, let them think they’ve won. I have more important things to deal with. I have more power to gain.” 

Dolios looks down as something rattles against the floor. He stoops low, picking up the black pawn. It’s chipped, the onyx stone heavy in his hand. The Order of Hermits have captured this pawn, but he’s just setting the stage. Playing the whole field. “Check.”

[celosiaa]

steady, love (chapter 1)

Summary:

Martin is not doing well.

Jon is there with him through every step.

(because I became obsessed (tm) with the idea of Martin dealing with the physical and emotional aftermath of leaving the Lonely)

WARNINGS: description of panic

Chapters 1-5 now up on ao3 (same username)!

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8)

---

Dusk is beginning to fall.

Glancing at the clock, Jon realizes with a start that it has been almost four hours since they left Martin’s apartment for Daisy’s safehouse, with him driving Martin’s car.  When he first pulled out into the streets of London, Martin had had to guide him softly through the city as Jon’s hands gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white.  He had been so gentle, even through the exhaustion that had forced Jon to be the driver in the first place.

“It’s alright, Jon. You’re doing fine.  Just take a deep breath.”

“I haven’t driven in years, Martin!  I could have hit that person a-and—”

“But you didn’t.  You didn’t, Jon.  You’re okay.  Everything will be alright once we get out of the city.  I promise you’re alright.”

Jon smirks and half-chuckles at the memory.  Martin had been right, of course, as always.  He began to relax as soon as they got out of London and onto the relatively empty highway.  Martin had closed his eyes soon afterwards, and was still curled up on the passenger seat beside him, as much as possible for someone so tall as Martin.  Glancing at him now, with his head tipped against the window, Jon sees him repeatedly half-open and close his eyes, muttering indistinctly as he does.  He’s not sleeping, not really, and Jon knows it—whether it was a lingering effect of the Lonely or his own mind preventing him from drifting off, Jon did not know.

Martin’s dark curls are now streaked grey and white, and his face ashen.  These things are the immediate effects of the Lonely, to be sure, but Jon has been worried for much longer about Martin’s physical state.  He has lost significant weight in the past months, his clothes now hanging loosely from his frame.  Of course, Jon can empathize—he has become almost skeletal in the wake of resisting his…hunger.  And the distinct lack of Martin’s fussing about his human eating habits has not helped.

There is something that I missed.  Something I could have done.

Sighing, Jon’s eyes drift back to Martin as he begins to stir.  He appears agitated, brows furrowed and limbs pressing his body away from Jon, further into the solidity of the door.  Jon furrows his own brows in concern, half-lifting his left hand to press against Martin’s forehead, which has become increasingly covered in sweat.  He thinks better of it, afraid to startle him, and pulls his hand back.  But as the minutes pass, Martin’s agitation only seems to grow, his movements growing more distressed.

How can I calm him?  Jon wonders, eyes flitting around the car for something he could do.

They land on a dusty stack of CDs that Jon had grabbed from Martin’s apartment at the last moment, out of a desire to somehow bring back the old Martin— the one who loved “lo-fi charm” and romantic poetry.  He grabs the top album and quickly pops it into the CD player.

A soft, yet driving rhythm begins to play from the speakers, and Jon quickly lowers the volume to an ambient level, anxiously hoping that he did not wake him.  On the contrary, Martin’s movements have slowed, his brow unknitting little by little, and his limbs unfurling.  With a soft smile that lasts just a bit longer than is probably safe to look away from the road, Jon shifts in his seat and turns his eyes back toward the growing dark.

A few hours later, and it seems that Martin has truly fallen asleep, to Jon’s relief.  They had stopped at a petrol station some ways back, where Jon had gently shaken Martin awake and asked him if he needed anything.  Martin had entered the shop for a bit, and when he returned, he had, of course, offered to drive.  Jon unequivocally refused, citing both the intense black under his eyes and the way he swayed slightly as he returned to the car.  No, Martin would not be driving tonight.  Jon had downed something with enough caffeine to revive the dead, stretched his aching muscles, and pushed on.

Martin now has his head tipped back against the seat, his face turned slightly in Jon’s direction.  A bit of drool seeps from the corner of his partially-open mouth, and his deep breathing has settled slowly into soft snores.  Jon is desperately glad that there is no one (save the Watcher) to see his foolish grin at the sight of his…whatever Martin is to him, now.

It should feel complicated, Jon thinks, but it just doesn’t.  Not at all.

The CD has once again come to an end, and Jon reaches forward to start it over again.  It is quite late in the night now, and while he is grateful for the background noise, he does not particularly care what that noise is at this point.  And Martin is not awake to complain about the monotony of it all.  So, for now, monotony suits Jon just fine.  

As he skips back to the first track, however, Martin jolts awake without warning, letting out such a terrified cry that Jon himself yelps and swerves off the highway.  Trying to regain control of the car, he throws his left arm across Martin’s chest as he slams on the brakes.

They both sit there for a moment, panting wildly, before Jon lowers his arm and looks at Martin, eyes still wide.  His breath is not slowing at all—in fact, it appears to be picking up, rather ragged and shallow.  Swallowing down his own shock, Jon chokes out his name.

“…Martin?  Are you alright?”

Martin does not answer, instead leaning forward to press his forehead against his palms.  He squeezes his eyes closed and breathes shakily—in through the nose, out through the mouth—in an attempt to slow down his breathing.  Not sure what to do, Jon puts the car in park and places a gentle hand on Martin’s shoulder, speaking softly.

“Martin?  What can I do?”

Martin flinches slightly at the contact, and Jon removes his hand quickly.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice low, never taking his eyes from Martin and trying his best not to feel hurt.

Martin shakes his head, then lifts it, finally turning to look at Jon.

“It’s alright.  I’m alright,” he rasps, his voice uncharacteristically rough. He clears his throat and continues, reaching a bit into his normal register.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“I know, Martin, it’s not your fault.”

“Still, I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

Without another word, Jon pulls the car back onto the road, and Martin leans against the window once again.  Even with the music, Jon can hear his labored attempts at measured breaths, and watches his leg bounce anxiously from the corner of his eye.

“Only thirty more minutes, Martin.  Will you be alright?”

Martin does not reply, merely nodding and curling up tighter against the window.

The second Jon parks, Martin bolts out of the car.

Jon, slightly stunned, remains seated for a moment, once again swallowing hurt he knows is misplaced.  He then drags his stiff form from the car, joints protesting at every move, and walks around to the boot.  Grabbing their bags, he watches Martin in his peripheral vision, pacing and running a hand through his hair.  Wanting to give him some privacy, Jon averts his gaze and takes much longer than is necessary to unpack.  He briefly considers lighting a cigarette, cursing himself for bringing them along at all.

He is not left in this state for long, however, as the gravel crunching beside him alerts him to Martin’s return.  He moves to lift his backpack, but stops, straightening up to his full height and meeting Jon’s gaze.

“I’m sorry, Jon, I just needed a moment,” he says lowly, his voice still unusually gravely and thick.  “Are you alright?  That’s a long way for one person to drive.”

“No need to apologize, Martin.  Really, I’m alright as well.” Offering a smile, Jon chuckles. “As you know, my primary hobby involves focusing intensely for long periods of time, so…I was well prepared.”

Martin does not laugh, staring into Jon’s eyes vacantly for a moment before dropping his gaze and lifting his bags.  Jon’s chest aches as he follows suit.

I miss him.

I miss him and he’s right in front of me.

They walk up to the front door together, which Jon then unlocks.

Inside, they find much of what they expected—a quiet, unassuming place with the smell of dust in the air. Both men drop their bags inside as they close the front door, flicking on the lights and moving to take a closer look around.  Jon sighs and turns on the kitchen light.  Dust everywhere, a few ungodly spiders of course, but it does look—a bit homey, after all.  Or perhaps that’s his imagination, which is unhelpfully feeding him an image of Martin cooking breakfast, humming pleasantly, while Jon sits at the kitchen table, doing homework with their son…

Jesus, STOP it, Jon thinks, closing his eyes and shaking his head as if clearing water from his ears. Just STOP. Focus.  

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Jon moves on from his visions of blessed and impossible domesticity and opens the cabinets, looking for anything he might cook for dinner.  Or, perhaps breakfast?  But the cabinets are, unfortunately, bare save for some dishes and a half-finished bottle of whisky.  A single glass sits next to the bottle.  Jon reaches out for it carefully, holding it like some precious thing.

Oh, Daisy.  I’m so sorry.

His eyes beginning to sting, he stares at the glass until a sound from the hall startles him back to the present.

“Martin?”

Upon receiving no reply, Jon sets the glass down and moves toward the source of the disturbance.  Light from the open door of the bathroom pours into the hall, Martin’s shadow stretching tall across the wooden floor.  Turning the corner, Jon sees him, staring into the mirror, hand clutching his white-streaked hair and beginnings of a beard with panic in his eyes.

“Martin…”

Jon reaches out his arms, intentionally staying within Martin’s eyeline—a wordless request for permission to touch him.  Martin indicates no awareness of Jon’s presence.  Jon opens his mouth to ask him again if he’s alright, when Martin’s breath hitches, and he doubles over, leaning heavily on the sink.  His breaths begin to come in rapid and shallow once again, and Jon sees his knees beginning to buckle.

“Woah, woah—Martin!  Easy, easy…”

Jon reaches out then, supporting him as much as his slightness will allow, and guides him gently to sit on the floor, back against the wall.  Martin immediately pulls his knees upward toward his face, elbows resting atop them and face in his hands as he continues to gasp for air.

“Hey, hey, easy now, easy…” Jon continues softly, placing his left hand on Martin’s knee, reaching the right toward his face.  He desperately wants to ease Martin’s anguish, to hold him, to—

“NO!” Martin yells sharply, and Jon throws his whole body back against the sink. Between pants, Martin continues shakily, “No, I-I—can’t—I’m so—s-so—so sorry.”

Jon’s heart is beating out of his chest, both from the shock of Martin’s yell and the prospect that he might have just made things worse.  He freezes, wide-eyed as Martin curls in on himself further, the gasps coming faster, wheezing, desperate.  He has to do something.

Moving slowly, Jon scoots from where he sits against the sink to the opposite wall, next to Martin, careful not to touch him.  Leaning his left side against the wall and tucking his legs to right, he swallows the lump that has formed in his throat.

“I’m here, Martin.  I’m right here.  You’re not alone.  I’m right here with you.”

At this, Martin’s gasping breaths begin to slow for just a moment, before turning into body-wracking sobs.

“I’m s-sorry J-Jon—god—I’m sorry—"

Jon does begin to weep then, silently, still whispering words he hopes are comforting in as steady a voice as he can muster.

After several minutes, Martin’s breaths really do begin to slow, and he returns his deep breathing techniques, Jon praising him all the way.

At last, wiping his face, Martin lowers his hands from his face and closes his eyes, tipping his head back against the wall.

“Thank you, Jon.  I’m sorry you had to see that,” he whispers.

Oh, Martin.

“It’s alright.  I want to be here for you, Martin.  I-I am here.  You have nothing to apologize for.”

Scrubbing a hand across his beard again, Martin continues, voice still wobbling.

“It…it was just bit of a shock to see my own face.  I didn’t realize how…how much I look like him, now.  With all this.”

He motions at his white hair and beard.

Jon leans his head against the wall, his gaze never leaving Martin’s face.

“I…I’m so sorry, Martin.”

Martin exhales forcefully, a ghost of a smile playing on his face, unless Jon is imagining things again.  He reaches his hand nervously toward Jon, eyes fixed on the ground.  Jon gapes at the extended hand for just a moment, before taking it quickly, almost desperately, in his own.  Martin begins stroking the back of Jon’s hand with his thumb, and Jon’s heart melts completely into the floor.

They stay just like that for several minutes before Martin scoots closer to him.  Jon shifts so that his body is parallel with Martin’s, their legs knocking together.  Jon turns to look at Martin, whose gaze is still on the floor.

“You’re nothing like him, Martin.  Not at all.  And…I’ve got an extra razor if you want to get rid of the beard.”

Martin does smile at that, letting out a quick exhale of a laugh, and finally meeting his eyes.  Jon, for his part, feels dizzy with relief.  Then Martin brings their still-clasped hands to his lips, kissing the back of Jon’s palm, and Jon thinks he might actually lose consciousness.  Martin lowers his head onto Jon’s bony shoulder, and Jon is all too pleased to nuzzle his chin into Martin’s soft curls.

Several minutes pass, just breathing, each taking comfort in the other’s presence.  Jon’s thoughts gradually extract themselves from the constant train of Martin on my shoulder Martin on my shoulder and return to his former task, which was to get some food into Martin.

He presses his lips to Martin’s hair briefly, and lifts his head.

“Do you think you could eat something?”

Martin, his head still resting on Jon’s shoulder, scrunches his nose at once, seemingly nauseated at the very thought.  Jon kisses the top of his head once again, and returns to coaxing him.

“I know.  But I really think we should try.  God knows we both need it.”

Martin’s face shifts from apprehensive to something nearing distress at this.  Jon notices this at once, immediately softening his voice and carding a hand through his hair.

“What about some tea?  And maybe a biscuit or two, if you feel up to it.”

Martin seems to ponder for a moment, then lifts his gaze to meet Jon’s at last, a small smile on his face.

“Yeah, I think I could manage that.”

Jon returns his smile before getting to his feet slowly, his knees popping in protest.  He offers a hand to Martin, who takes it, and stands.  To Jon’s dismay, Martin sways for a moment as he gets to his feet, and his arms immediately reach out to steady him.

“Easy, Martin!”

Martin lets out a soft “Woah” and leans back against the wall, eyes closed for a moment.  Jon’s hands stay firm beneath his elbows.

“Are you alright?”

Martin hums in response, opening his eyes blearily after a moment.

“Let’s go,” he nods.

Jon wraps one arm around Martin’s back as they walk, keeping the other firmly planted beneath his elbow, and deposits him in one of the kitchen chairs.  Martin lets out a long sigh, and Jon turns to fill the kettle and retrieve Martin’s tea and biscuits, which he had swiped from his apartment, just in case.  With all his puttering done, Jon turns back to face Martin, leaning back against the countertop.  Martin has placed his elbows on the dust-covered table, and is massaging his temples with his hands.  His face has gone ashen again, the perspiration coating his forehead.  Jon’s brows knit together in concern.

“You…don’t look well, Martin.”

At this, Martin picks his head up from his hands and gives Jon a smile, a bit of a forced thing.

“I’ll be alright Jon, really.  You’re fussing.”

“Hmm.”

Jon immediately turns around to investigate the cabinets again, hoping to find medicine for the fever he’s almost certain is plaguing Martin, knowing he will find nothing.

The kettle whistles, and Jon pulls some mugs out of the cabinet, wanting to choose the perfect mug for Martin’s sacred ritual.  He selects a pastel green mug, remembering Martin’s love of plants, and pours them both a cup.  With no small measure of dismay, he realizes that he hasn’t the faintest idea how Martin takes his tea.  His chest aches.  His body aches with the weight of it.  There’s no choice, he has to ask him now, when it is far, far too late to do so.

“Martin? I am so sorry but how…how do you take your tea?”

Martin lets out a humorless laugh, which turns briefly into a cough.  When he speaks, however, his tone is gentle.

“Is there any honey?”

Stupid, obvious. He’s losing his voice, damn it.

“Y-yes, of course, here—” Jon quickly places Martin’s mug in front of him, along with the honey he swiped from his apartment and a stirring spoon.  Martin regards it all with a soft smile, and Jon turns to his own tea, adding a bit of sugar.  He opens the packet of biscuits and spreads them on a plate, then places them on the table as he sits down.  Martin eyes the biscuits warily.  Jon sighs.

“Martin, you’ve got to eat something.”

“I know,” Martin replies a bit testily, rubbing a hand across his forehead.  Jon looks down into his mug.

“No, I…I’m sorry, Jon.  I didn’t mean to snap.  I’m just tired.”

Jon looks up, smiles.

“I know, Martin. It’s alright.”

He reaches for a biscuit, dips it in his tea, and eats.  A few moments later, Martin follows suit, albeit a bit more slowly.  Jon watches him carefully as he takes a bite, and then dips the other half of the biscuit back in his tea, popping it in his mouth.

Conversation becomes easier now.  Martin even lets out what sounds suspiciously like a full laugh when Jon recounts a tale of the Admiral ruining an entire stack of statements.  Between the two of them, they finish the plate of biscuits rather quickly.  Each of them notices that some color has returned to the other’s cheeks, and are delighted to see, for a moment, a restoration of joy.

The laughter fades into a warm and comfortable silence, and Jon eyes the empty plate of biscuits.

“Do you want anything else to eat, Martin?”

Martin snorts. “Do we have anything else?”

“Hmm…not really.”

“Then I suppose not.”

Jon stands from the table, collecting the plate and the now-empty mugs, and places them in the sink.  He then turns to where their bags sit at the front entrance, and starts to pick them up.  Before he can do so, a hand tenderly grabs his wrist.

“Jon.”

He looks over his shoulder to see Martin, his gaze intense, full of effort to convey the depth of his meaning.

“Thank you.  Seriously.  Thank you.”

His eyes are brimming now, and with a soft smile, Jon reaches up to wipe it all away.

“It’s nothing at all.”

Martin smiles back, then collects his bags, following Jon upstairs.

They stop in their tracks, staring at the unsettling problem before them.

There is only one bed.

After a few moments of silence, during which both curse themselves for blushing so furiously, they begin to speak over each other.

“I can take the couch, y—”

“NO, Jon no no—”

“I-it’s not a problem, you—”

“No, Jon, I think it’s—”

“You need the rest, and I—”

“Jon, wait.”

He does.

“I…I think it’s just two twin beds pushed together.”

“…oh.”

“Yeah.”

A moment’s pause, and then Jon speaks nervously.

“Do you…do you want to pull them apart?”

Another pause.

“…no.”

They turn to look at each other, soft smiles returning to their faces.  Jon approaches tentatively, only moving in such a way that Martin can clearly see him.  He reaches a hand up to rest on Martin’s upper arm, and the other to where Martin’s curls hang down over his brow, brushing them back, then resting his hand against Martin’s cheek.

“Your hair’s gotten long,” he speaks softly.

Martin places a hand on Jon’s waist, so utterly gently, as if he doesn’t really believe he’s there.  Encouraged by this, Jon moves closer, his own hand moving from where it rests on Martin’s arm down to his waist.  Martin smiles lopsidedly, tenderly, then cards his finger through Jon’s disheveled, graying waves, like he’s the most beautiful thing in the world.  He pulls Jon forward so that his face rests against his chest.

“That’s rich, coming from you,” he hums lowly, the vibrations from his chest radiating throughout Jon’s body.  Jon smiles against his chest, then pulls back slowly, his arms still resting on Martin’s waist.  Martin is looking at him with more love in his eyes than Jon has ever seen, and he makes a decision.

“Can I kiss you?” he whispers, lifting himself to his tip toes.

Martin flushes all the way to his ears, and stammers hurriedly.

“Y-yes, yes plea—mmm”

Jon doesn’t wait for him to finish his sentence.

[strangcrdoctor]

∞So here’s a headcanon that I’ve been meaning to put into words for a long while but have never taken the time to. But I’m going to put it under a cut because it has to do with the details of Stephen’s accident and the medical trauma he survived therein.

This is specifically based off of the 2016 film (which I also think did a spectacular job of justifying the crash, btw - road conditions, model of car, impact points and all), but I’ll toss in a few cents about how comic iterations in previous generations might be different just for shits ad giggles and because I love shit like this. 

First and foremost, especially working from the earliest DS comic canon, the cars were of the age and variety of “screaming metal death-trap.” Seatbelts weren’t required by law in the 1960s, and in fact many cars didn’t even come with them from the manufacturers because they weren’t considered a safety requirement. Granted they were made of hard body steel and could take impacts well by virtue of being fucking tanks, but the tire quality and torque ratios were... not made for the speeds they could suddenly get to, which did top out at 80-110 mph (in luxury models) with suspensions that were not clement for sustaining speed and road grip at the same time. It was statistically common that even non-reckless driving could result in horrible injuries under the wrong circumstances, therefore. Add in a 1960s inflated male ego, and frankly it’s amazing Stephen didn’t just die. Which is the entire plot point, I’ll grant. I also headcanon that in that era (and even regarding modern Stephen’s collector’s dream cars) Stephen would likely have been in a Rolls Royce Phantom or a Cadillac Coupe de Ville. He would definitely have his eye on a Jaguar E-Type (still does), but back in the 1960s maintaining one would have been more trouble than it was worth even by his standards and budget.

All that aside, let’s talk about the crash in the 2016 Doctor Strange movie. First and foremost, the overall accident itself is totally feasible for the model of car Stephen was driving. Lamborghini and other luxury super-car manufacturers have exceedingly specific impact testing, which is focused - unfortunately - more for track condition impacts than civilian driving conditions. In essence, super cars are built to handle rolling and lateral shear impacts to frankly insane degrees. They are not, however, well built for head-on collisions by nature of the priority of aerodynamics in the design. This feeds into why the Lamborghini in particular was undoubtedly an active choice on behalf of the producers. What’s notable about the crash is that in spite of the glance off of the side of the other car, the Lamborghini stays relatively solidly on the road surface which is design accurate. (There’s actually an entire other tangent I could get off on about this, but I will refrain.) Where things go haywire, however, is where that glancing blow hit on the vehicle. Now with many super-car companies, they mount the engine in the “trunk” of the vehicle, which improves traction and opens up space for the frankly insanely large engine blocks that, oh, I don’t know, V12s require. This pushes the cabin toward the front of the vehicle, and leaves the “trunk” space on the front end where most standard cars keep the engine. This makes the front light, but because of air intake and drag it maintains traction via the aerodynamics of the front grille. The back also has improved traction from the weight of the engine sitting over the rear axel, which is a big additive benefit because most sports cars are rear-wheel drive, and in front-engine vehicles this makes the back axel lighter and prone to fish-tailing on tight corners. Not so with Stephen’s Lamborghini. In essence, the weight of the vehicle sits on the axel that bears the drivetrain.

That rear traction is precisely what makes everything go wrong for this particular crash. Because the weight of the vehicle and the wheel drive are all centered in the back, having that portion of the vehicle get bumped is like flicking a coin to get it spinning. The front end of the vehicle, which is substantially lighter and only has the steering column and brakes to counter the inertia of that rear engine, is abjectly disadvantaged for regaining control of the vehicle. Even the most experienced racer doesn’t have the reaction time to regain control on a two-lane mountain highway, in the rain, at night, from an accident that realistically takes less than 10 seconds from impact to exit through the guard rail. In essence, there was zero chance of Stephen being able to recover as soon as the front end of the vehicle impacted the rock wall and put the car’s trajectory onto “death frisbee” instead of “manageable swerve.” 

This is also the second instance where the super-car design seals Stephen’s fate. So because Lamborghinis have an empty front end - again the “trunk” is where the engine is on most other cars, so essentially empty, un-structured, un-reinforced space - head on collisions absolutely crush the front ends. This also explains and in fact makes viable why Stephen’s hands go through the dash in the compound impacts: the front end is getting folded in like a tin can.

Now we get to the dark and scary medical part of the accident. Obviously the accident was catastrophically bad considering the car careened off of a steep mountain slope and impacted all the way down until it reached the river at the bottom of the ravine. But as we saw from the post-accident scenes, Stephen’s injuries weren’t isolated to his hands only. As was made clear from the state of his face, he definitely had cranial trauma - to the point that it seems very lucky he didn’t lose his left eye - which involved contusions at least to the orbit of his left eye and very probably a concussion, and it seems all but impossible that he didn’t also have thoracic and potentially leg trauma as well. Thoracic either from directly impacting the steering column (which I find very likely), or impacting the door (feasible, and does feed into why I think his left hand is worse off than his right, given from the production stills his left hand has eight - five pins and three plates - of the eleven in his hands). He definitely would have had broken ribs and internal bruising or bleeding from those impacts. The leg injuries are also probable for drivers especially because of impact against the dash and steering column.

Now we start getting to the painful part. Yes, just now. So as Christine mentions after Stephen regains consciousness (probably not for the first time but probably the first time cogently), the “Golden Hours” passed while he was in the car waiting for the mercy flight crew to find him. Now, the Golden Hours is actually the Golden Hour - it’s the span of 60 minutes immediately following intense trauma and injury. So not only was Stephen upside down, in and out of consciousness, alone, half-submerged in a river, in a car that could blow at any moment, for more than an hour, it surpassed the hour that was most vital to his potential for nerve recovery. It’s also frankly astounding that Stephen didn’t die from shock, hypovolemia, or hypothermia during the hours it took for them to find him. I will also just mention in passing that jaws of life situations are touchy enough as is with cars, but with someone as injured as Stephen was, in the exceedingly precarious position his car was in, the emergency responders would have had a hard fucking time getting him out alive at all.

But wait, there’s more! So after all of this, he has to get flown back to New York where the actual work of saving his ass begins. And again, I will emphasize that it’s unavoidable that Stephen - who was canonically on the table for ELEVEN HOURS - was not only in surgery for his hands. As a matter of fact, medically his hands would have been the lesser of many priorities. They would have spent some preliminary time trying to make sure his circulation was intact, but to be frank, amputation is a safer, viable option for hands, and they would have openly made that choice on his behalf and prioritized any cranial or thoracic injury. Hell, even prioritize saving his eye, because the trauma of eye removal/optic nerve disruption has a greater chance for fatality than amputation. So Stephen’s hands didn’t just lose the Golden Hour, but would not have gotten operated on for up to three to five additional hours, and that’s under-estimating the complexity his other, higher priority traumas.

Put it all together and what do you get? A man that, by rights, shouldn’t be alive at all. And who, rather than valuing the life that he got to still have, held it against himself that he could no longer inhabit the life he’d had. 

Secondarily, in light of all of the above and the seven consecutive surgeries that Stephen put himself through, you can absolutely bet your lunch money that this man developed an addiction to pain medication. It takes the body up to six months to filter out anesthetic, and given Stephen surely pushed his surgery scheduling to be more quick than advisable for recovery, his endocrine system would have been in free fall. To say nothing of the fact that the only way to deal with that much invasive surgery isn’t just eating healthy and hydrating...

Also please never forget that Stephen’s intern, Billy, was on the phone with him when the crash happened. So Billy was absolutely the one that made the call, and was undoubtedly sitting there, watching the clock as the Golden Hour slipped by and Stephen’s chances of survival dwindled by the second.

Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.∞

[tf-guru]

From selling to building [f->Raven] MC

Isn't it crazy how one simple decision can change your entire life. Investing in the right place at the right places, losing your life savings after a shady internet deal, hell even forgetting your coffee one morning causing you to collide with a lamppost. God I would kill for even a sip of coffee, hard to get it in my current situation. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

My name was Valley Jackson, one of the most successful realtors in Southern California. I don't know why I'm creating this manuscript in my head, its not like I'll be able to write or even tell someone about it. Maybe it's what I would create if I were to be human again. Maybe it's just to keep me sane. Regardless here's what happened.

I had been traveling north to LA to secure a deal with one of my higher paying clients, normally I'd have them come to me but due to their status I decided to make the drive. I was on the highway around 10:30 at night when I missed my exit. That little mistake cost me everything...

Valley let out an exasperated curse as she looked ahead to see when the next exit would be coming up. In her 42 years of living in California she had visited LA maybe three times. Seeing the next exit approached she signaled and got off the highway. She was 5'6" with an absolutely stunning figure. At that time her auburn hair hung just below her shoulders and her nails were painted white. She looked down at her gps and saw as it started to emmit static before shutting off entirely

"Damn it" she muttered as she realized she was in the middle of nowhere. After about a half hour of driving in circles she finally was about to give up and try again in the morning when a sign glinted just ahead. It read "Pan's antique shop. Open 24 hours! Maps and sightseeing guides provided."

"Oh thank god! Kinda strange its open 24 hours but I guess when tourism is your biggest income it wouldn't hurt to take in a late night traveler."

Soon she pulled into the long driveway marked by another sign. Down the road was a decent sized rustic store. Its arched windows alight with a yellow glow. She parked her car and entered the shop. Behind the counter was a twenty something man who was reading a book. He looked up and said

"Hi welcome to Pan's antique shop. What can I help you with?" Valley replied

"Oh I'm on my way to LA and missed my exit, do you have a map I could look at?"

"Sure, feel free to look around while I get them."

As he took a door behind his desk Valley looked around. There were various items, old political pins, rotary phones, a Walkman, but Valley only saw one thing that caught her eye. It was a pair of Raven shaped earrings. She was drawn to them almost magnetically, their golden beaks glinting in the shops lights.. She grabbed them and headed back to the counter. The man had returned with a few traveling maps.

"Did you find something you like?"

"Yeah, just these earrings. I take it you're Pan?"

He gave a small chuckle with a hint of something else but Valley couldn't quite determine what

"Oh no, definitely not. Pan's the owner, I just work night shift."

"Ah, well thank you!" She paid for the earrings and grabbed the maps.

"Drive safe!"

As Valley started to leave she suddenly felt really lightheaded before passing out completely.

"We're just gonna head about a hundred more feet ahead then we've made it to the camping spot."

Valley opened her eyes to see one of the magnificent California redwoods ahead of her. Confused, she looked over to see who spoke.

"You okay Valley? You look kinda pale." The speaker was a woman around her age with brown hair and a more slim figure than Valley's

"Who are you? How do you know my name?"

"Uh Valley are you okay? Its me, your childhood friend Hailey? Do you seriously not know? Maybe we should look at that medici-"

"Im just kidding Hailey!" She was sensitive about discussing her medication. New memories appeared as she realized she did know Hailey, of course she did. She also remembered how she had decided to take this trip to celebrate Haileys 40th birthday.

"So just another 100ft Hay?"

"Yeah, if you're sure you're alright."

The pair continued the 100 feet before coming across a good enough sized clearing. Valley looked around while Hailey removed her tent bag from her back.

"You gonna help or just gawk?"

"Be right there Hailey!"

After some tribulations the pair managed to secure the tent to the ground. Valley removed two sleeping bags from her backpack and the pair began to undress. However as Valley took off her jeans something clattered to the ground. She reached down and picked up a pair of Raven earrings. Hailey turned around and froze.

"That's odd, I thought I got these on my way to-" she stopped as regained recollection of what had just been happening a few hours prior. She scratched her arm and looked at Hailey

"Oh uh silly Valley dont you remember getting those at the trail gift shop?"

"I got these at an antique shop today. In fact, I don't remember what happened after that. Did you drug me?"

"Valley you're not thinking clearly must be the medi-"

"No! Its not my medication! I don't even know you!"

"Valley I-"

"Did you bring me here to kidnapp me? Are people coming to kill me? I'm leaving!" Valley exited the tent with no pants or shirt and started to head back to the road.

"Wait!" Valley gave the finger and continued.

"I said wait." Hailey said in a dominant tone and Valley suddenly felt her knees lock. Something or someone was controlling her.

"What the hell?"

"Valley, I'm sorry it has to go this way. I was hoping-"

"Somebody help! Somebod-"

"Silence" Valley tried to scream again but no sound came out. She looked back to Hailey, terrified.

"Im sorry you're having to go through this. Here's how its gonna go, you are going to transform into a raven in a minute or two. My name is Hailey but this isn't me"

Before Valleys eyes Hailey underwent her own transformation. Her breasts retreated slightly into her chest as she lost some height. Her features softened and when it completed she looked to be in her early twenties.

"Im gonna give you the ability to speak and move but please don't scream."

She snapped her fingers and Valley fell to the ground. She looked up at Hailey and retorted

"I dont know what kind of drugs you've filled me with but-" she looked at her arm as she felt and itch. On her left arm was a single black feather. Not laying on it but actually attached to it. She pulled at it only to feel a sharp pain. As she watched more feathers sprouted down her arm. With each feather she grimaced but as soon as they reached her hand something else happened.

Her fingers merged together to form a single appendage. Only then did she realize it was real.

"P-please don't do this to me. I have a life! A career!"

"Don't worry, Pan's already sorted everything out. All your clients belive they've been using a different realtor, your family only remembers your brother. Its all packed away."

"I want to talk to Pan, please!"

She looked at her foot and saw three sharp talons poke through her sock. With her good hand she reached down and removed the sock. To her shock her ankle was covered by a corse yellow layer of a scale like texture.

"Im sorry, no can do. Pan's pretty busy and doesn't worry about stuff like this. I can take a message though."

"Please tell him to stoooaaaawk!" She grabbed her mouth and felt as her lips began to hardnen and push back against her hand.

"I'll tell him that, here's this." She handed a small mirror to Valley who looked into it. Her face also had jet black feathers on it, removing her hand revealed a small beak forming. Three more talons burst from her other foot as she pleaded once again

"I caaaaw! I caan't be a raven! I'm a human!" Hailey walked over and removed Valley's undergarments. Looking into the mirror Valley saw her face was covered in feathers and her mouth had finished becoming a beak. Her other arm followed the first as she dropped the mirror. Trying one last time she tried to plead

"Caw! Caw caw!" No matter how hard she tried she couldn't speak. So, she reached out with her wing and touched Haileys hand. But as she reached out it became harder and harder to extend her arm as they slowly tucked behind her back. She looked down with a shiver of ironic pleasure as her anus and vagina moved together to form her cloaca. Then she began to shrink. She hunched over, her body reforming so she would never stand upright again. As the transformation finished Valley looked down into the mirror and saw her eye shift from brown to purple, she fully resembled a raven. New thoughts entered her mind

'Eggs'

'Nesting'

'Flight'

'Mating'

'Offspring'

While she retained her human thoughts and mind she now had these new impulses and urges. She looked up to see Hailey writing in small notebook.

"Valley, Raven with purple eyes, room..." she checks her watch

"Room a2e365. I'm sorry this happened but try to become acclimated with your new life. Goodbye Valley."

She then faded away, leaving Valley alone.

Well, that's my story. After Hailey left I was forced to adapt to my new body. The first month I would continually hope to just wake up in my bed, ready for my old life. But that never happened. I got used to eating whatever I could find and flying oh flying. If there is any upside to the change (I still want to go back to my old life every day) its flying. Being able to soar through the skies unrestricted is freeing. The area im in is strange because if I fly more than around two miles in any direction I blink and end up back at the (now gone) campsite. I eventually figured put how to build a nest. Its not much, just some twigs in a tree but its mine.

One day I was doing my daily routine when I heard a whistle from bellow me. Soaring down I saw Hailey with a bag of birdseed. I perched on a tree branch near her and stared at her with resent. I continued my gaze until she extended some seed and my bird instincts took over and I automatically ate some.

"Thats better, I'm sorry I took so long to visit. How are you doing? I know its a big change but at least you have plenty of room to fly around. I got you this by the way, should make things easier."

She hung a small bird feeder on a nearby branch and continued

"Well, I'll be back." And she left me alone once again. She still visits every once in a while telling me more about how I'm lucky I still have my intellect and how I could behave been left as a mindless bird. I guess I am kinda lucky. Hold on, I see another Raven approaching my nest. Ooo he's a male, maybe ill get to feel the full bird experience ;)

[atomic-taco-muffin]

The Lost Princess Chapter 64

Warnings: I actually don’t know this time

Rating: SFW

A woman sat in a tower in a dark realm while humming a song. (same song from the beginning of this story) She looked outside the window and saw the waves crash on the beach. 

“Don’t worry, (Y/N). You’ll see me soon,” she said. 

~~~~

You, Vanitas, Rumi, the twins, Sora, Donald and Goofy met at Yen Sid's Mysterious Tower. You all stood at attention as the former Keyblade Master sat in his tall chair.

“In order to defeat Xehanort, there are allies we must gather, acting now to rouse them from their slumber. We have discussed this before, Sora,” Yen Sid said. They all nodded. “Your Mark of Mastery exam was conducted in the hopes you would acquire the power to wake them. However, the darkness nearly took control of you, and your grasp of your new abilities leaves much to be desired.”

Sora looked sad and You, Vanitas, Rumi, the twins, Donald and Goofy shared concerned faces.

“Furthermore, Xehanort nearly made you, (Y/N), and Vanitas his vessel, and in the process stripped you of most of the power you had gained by then. I suspect you have already noticed this, correct? But first, you must regain all the strength you have lost. Perhaps it is foolish to expect a complete recovery, but it is absolutely vital you perfect one power--the power of waking, which you failed to master during your exam. There's someone who lost his strength and found it again, a true hero to whom you ought to pay a visit,” Yen Sid said. Sora perked up and struck various bodybuilding poses, to Donald's less- than-amusement. You and the girls giggled while Vanitas chuckled. “Perhaps he can point you in the right direction.”

“Got it,” Sora saluted. Yen Sid nodded. 

“Master Yen Sid...” Donald said. 

“You can count on us to take care of Sora!” Goofy said. 

“I would have it no other way. I put Sora in your hands. Girls, take care of them. Including you, Vanitas,” Yen Sid said. 

“You got it!” you said. 

“Oh come on! We can take care of ourselves!” Sora said.

“No you can’t,” Roxy said. 

“Well whatever!” Donald said. He turned to look at Sora. “And don't forget, we'll keep an eye on you.” he held out his hand. 

“Oh, this is gonna be lots of fun!” Goofy said as he joined with his own hand.

“It’s not a vacation!” Yui said as she put her own hand in. You, Rumi, Roxy, Vanitas, and Sora completed the handshake. 

“Let's go!” Rumi said. You all stood at attention toward Yen Sid.

“Count on us!” you all said. Yen Sid nodded and you all headed towards the Gummi Ship.

“Hey, Vani. Ready to see your sister in action?” you said. 

“I think you’re ready to see me in action,” Vanitas said. Later, you all flew in the Gummi Ship, seemingly going nowhere. You, Donald, Roxy, Vanitas, and Sora crossed your arms impatiently. Sora whined as Donald glared at him.

“How're we supposed to get there now?” Sora asked. 

“What? I thought you knew!” Roxy said.

“Looks like all the old highways are closed. Didn't Master Yen Sid say that Sora should trust the guidance his heart gives?” Rumi said. 

“C'mon, Sora. Which way?” Donald said.

“Ummm...” 

“Hey, would you get serious?” Vanitas asked.

“Gimme a break, I'm trying. These things take time!” You, the twins, Vanitas, and Donald sighed. 

“Well, since we've already been before, why don't you try picturing out friends like we're there?” Goofy asked. Sora stood up and walked behind his chair.

“Hmmm...” he said as he made a bicep pose, mimicking Hercules.

“What the hell are you doing?” you asked. Sora ignored you and continued making the pose.

“Well?” Yui asked.

“Sorry, I got nothin'. What did you expect?” Donald fell back into his chair, exasperated while you, Vanitas, and the girls sighed. 

“‘May your heart be your guiding key,’” Goofy said.

“Huh? What's that?” you asked.

“Master Yen Sid always said that, right before we went off on any of our real important adventures.” 

“Really?” Sora asked. You turned to look at Donald. 

“Ring a bell?” you asked. 

“Uh-uh...” Donald said. 

“Maybe I just imagined it,” Goofy said as he scratched his head.

“You imagine a lot of things,” Vanitas said. 

“‘May my heart be my guiding key,’” Sora said. He got an idea and ran back to his chair. “I've got it!” 

He summoned the Keyblade and aimed it forward. The tip glowed brightly and a portal opened ahead of the ship.

“It’s a gate!” you and the others said. Sora sat in his chair.

“All right! Olympus Coliseum, here we come!” he said. He grabbed the controls and the ship sped off into space through the portal. You, Sora, Donald, Goofy, Vanitas, Rumi, and the twins landed on Olympus in a small cave.

“Huh? Uh...” Sora said as he looked around. But there was no one around.

“No fanfare?” you asked. You mocked playing a trumpet. Donald listened for one, but shook his head.

“Un-uh...” he said as Goofy and the others looked around. 

“Nope, looks like we missed the Coliseum,” Goofy said. Sora continued looking around.

“Sora, YOU opened the gate!” Roxy said. Sora scratched his head bashfully.

“I was a little off again. Sorry! We'll find him. But we need to go!” he said as he started walking. You ran up to Sora and followed him.

“Up the mountain?” Yui asked. 

“Yeah. ‘Up’ is the usual direction,” you said. 

“Well, never hurts to have your head in the clouds,” Goofy said. 

“Yeah!” Sora said. Vanitas snorted. You and Sora smirked and made a tough fist. Goofy and the girls giggled and Donald and Vanitas gave a sigh. You and Sora continued walking with Goofy, Vanitas, and the girls following behind.

“Hey. We're leaving!” you said. Donald opened his eyes and jumped with a shout, running up to catch you all. Soon, you all reached a clearing with a few trees.

“I think we might be goin' in circles,” Goofy said as you and Sora thought.

“Sora...” you, Donald, Vanitas, and the twins said judgmentally.

“Did I make a turn at the wrong rock?” Sora asked as he walked closer to the edge and called out. “Hey, Hercules! Where are youuu?”

“What’s that going to do?” Rumi asked. 

“I don’t know. I thought that it might work.” A wisp of smoke landed near you all and out of the cloud appeared...

“All right. I know I dotted my I's, crossed my T's, zeroed the hero. So what gives? Who could possibly be trying to give me a migraine by yodeling that yutz's name?” Hades said. 

“Really? Hades?” you asked and Hades sighed. 

“Oh, it's just you. Oy vey. Don’t know who those people behind you are though,” he said. 

“It's just us? Even for you that's cold,” Sora said. 

“Don't forget...I can always TURN UP THE HEAT!”

“Wait. If Hades is here, then where's this Hercules person?” Rumi asked. Hades whirled toward Rumi, startling her. She yelped and hid behind Roxy.

“What is everyone's infatuation with that dolt?!” he said. The blue flame on his head bursted into a large red one, turning his skin red as well. He glared at Rumi for a moment before cooling himself down, becoming blue again.

“You know what? Never mind. Never mind. I'm cool. I'm good. Because...Wonderboy'll be outta my hair soon enough,” he said. You and the others summoned your weapons. 

“So you're up to no good again! Why am I not surprised?” you said. 

“Of course he is,” Goofy said.

“You bet!” Donald said. 

“Whoa, easy--what is this, Sparta? Kind of on a schedule. Don't have time to toss around the old fire and brimstone. The whole cosmos is basically waiting for me to, you know, conquer it!” Hades said. He walked away and you all dispelled your weapons.

“Poor Hades. He thinks he can actually pull it off this time,” Sora said. 

“Where are my Titans? Show me your power!” Hades called. The sky turned dark and the ground shook. An enormous shadow loomed over you and the others and Donald hid behind Sora while you clung to Vanitas and Roxy before a blast of icy wind came over the mountain. Above, lava flowed from a nearby precipice.

“Ahh! Love the breeze,” Hades said. The wind gained speed and shedded its icy qualities. You and the others struggled to hold on but were swept up and off the mountain. Hades looked over his handiwork.

“Ahh. That sent 'em sailing,” he said and suddenly paused. “Sailing right to where I left...Eh, no biggie.” He gazed upward at the Titans.

“Nice work, boys! So, back to the whole cosmic coup thing?” he said.

~Le Time Skip~

In the city of Thebes, Hercules wiped his hands together, having done some heavy lifting, when upon hearing the sound of screams, he turned, seeing You, Sora, Donald, Vanitas, Rumi, the twins, and Goofy flying towards him. His eyes widen and he jumped into the air, catching you, Rumi, Sora and Goofy in both arms. He landed on one knee and stood.

“See? Found him,” Sora said. 

“Yeah, guess this counts!” Rumi said. Hercules chuckled.

“Hey! Get us down!” Vanitas yelled. Herc turned to see Donald, Vanitas, and the twins caught on the fangs of a lion statue.

“Just a second!” Donald yelled and crossed his arms with a glare. Herc walked over and helped them down. 

“You guys are here! Sora, Donald, Goofy! You literally dropped in. Gotta say, I'm impressed,” he said.

“Thanks!” Yui said. 

“Liked the catch,” Goofy said. 

“Yeah, thanks Herc. But...what's going on?” you said. You looked around at the burning city, smoke plumed billowing into the sky. Several cracked stone buildings surround you all. Hercules sighed.

“Take a guess. Starts with an H,” Herc said. 

“Ah, I get the picture. Actually, we bumped into the H-ster on the way here,” Roxy said. 

“Uh-huh,” Donald nodded.

“He said something' about conquering the whole cosmos,” Yui said. 

“All of it, huh? Nice of him to show a little self-restraint. Well, whatever he's planning, I'll send him running back across the Styx.” Herc and Sora striked a pose, you, Vanitas, and the girls giggling. 

“That's our Herc!” Sora said. You all walked through the city toward a gigantic statue of the famous hero himself.

“So Sora, (Y/N), is there a reason you guys are visiting? I'm guessing it's not just for the cheese and olives,” Herc said. 

“Oh yeah!” you and Sora said. 

“It sounds like somebody forgot,” Rumi said. 

“That's Sora and (Y/N) for you,” Donald said. 

“Why am I not surprised?” Vanitas asked. You and Sora crossed your arms. 

“We just...took our time remembering. Herc, I came here so I could ask you something,” Sora said. 

“Ask ME?” Herc asked. 

“Yeah. Do you remember the last time we were together? You were feeling down and out. How'd you get your strength back--when you jumped in and saved Meg?”

“Hmm...that's tough. All I know is that she was in trouble. Suddenly, I wanted to save her with all my heart, but...it's not like I could tell you how.” Sora looked down.

“Oh man,” he said. 

“What's wrong?” Herc asked. 

“All my strength is gone from me too. That's why I need you--because I was hoping you might have a solution, or something.” 

“I'm sorry, Sora.” You, Donald, Vanitas, and the girls saw a shower of meteors over Herc's shoulder, but on closer look, they're actually...

“Heartless!” you all said. Most of the Heartless landed, while one struck the statue of Hercules on the foot, causing the enormous statue to topple over. You all took out your weapons.

“Let's talk later!” Herc said. 

“Right...once we've dealt with these guys,” you said. 

~Time Skip To Where We Meet Xigbar~

Facing no response, you and the others frowned before hearing footsteps. A large figure walked out of the cloud of dust, the hero himself coming into view. Hercules dusted off his armor and you all exclaimed joyfully. Herc brushed his chin with a sigh of relief.

“You scared us!” Sora said.

“It's nothing. That's what these are for,” Herc said. Herc flexed his biceps. Goofy chuckled and he and Donald mimicked Herc. You all heard a portal open and a familiar, though unwanted, face stepped through, peering at them through his yellow eye.

“Oh, wow! Very nice, full marks,” he said clapping.

“Uncle Xigbar!” the twins and Rumi said.

“You...” Vanitas growled.

“Go away!” Donald said.

“No Organization!” Goofy said.

“All this altruism is giving me the warm and fuzzies. So then, does having a heart of light come with an extremely good insurance policy?” Xigbar said.

“Just say what you mean,” you said.

“Oh, but I did though. No good will ever come from putting other people first.”

“I was able to save Meg's life because I was ready to risk my own,” Herc said.

“Because you've got friends in high places, you mean. Tricks like that don't fly for your average joe.” Hercules was speechless.

“What do you know? You weren't even there! If you were, you'd admire Herc's courage,” Yui said.

“I don't admire one guy leaping into danger if it means someone else might have to jump in to save him. You're all just lining up to lose out. Dooming others to take the fall with ya. Oh, and you can spare me the usual party line. Yes, hearts are powerful when they're connected. But if you put too much of that power in one place, some of those hearts might end up breaking.” He pointed toward you and the others. “Still, that doesn't mean you should change. Accept the power you're given. Find the hearts joined to yours.”

“Why would we ever take advice from YOU?” Vanitas asked.

“As if! You don't have any choice but to follow this sweet little trail of bread crumbs. And at the end, you'll finally realize what destiny has in store for you. In fact, your reward might be right around the corner. You're so close!” Suddenly, you felt something squeeze in your chest and you fell to the ground.

“(Y/N)!” your friends exclaimed. 

“Oh, I forgot. We put something inside of your heart. What it is still remains a mystery to me,” Xigbar said. He walked away, laughing to himself, and vanished. By the time he was gone, the squeezing in your chest ceased. 

“Are you okay?” Rumi asked. 

“I-I think so,” you said. Vanitas and Roxy helped you up and you tumbled into Roxy’s arms.

“Woah! I gotcha!” she said. 

“What happened?” Sora asked.

“I-I don’t know. But we know that the Organization did something to me,” you said. 

“We should keep going. We still need to protect the people,” Herc said.

“Right!” you and the others said. 

To be continued...

[seanfalco]

Road Trip | Punk!AU

Fandom: The Witcher Pairing: Punk!Jaskier x Reader, Punk!Geralt x Punk!Yennefer Word Count: 1509 Rating: T Taglist: @nevadawolfe​ @magic-multicolored-miracle​ @coffee-and-stories​ a/n: A little bit on the short side, but I had fun getting my toes wet with the group interactions.  Part three will be coming by @ficsandcatsandficsandcats​ soooon.  :3

[ Part I ]

Part II - Out Here in the Field

Trees flew by the window, the spaces between them obscured by a wispy layer of fog stubbornly clinging to the ground despite the weak rays of sunlight beginning to stream through the clouds.  Stirring, you stretched, careful not to jostle Jaskier, asleep against your shoulder and snoring softly.  Stifling a yawn with your fist you let your gaze roam the van, quiet but for the steady breathing of sleep and the low music playing in the background.

Everyone was still asleep and it took you a moment to realize Geralt was no longer in the driver’s seat.  Instead Aevryn’s telltale wild locks were just visible over the headrest, her fingers drumming a beat against the worn leather of the steering wheel in time with the soft music she was listening to, singing under her breath.

The song was unfamiliar to you and you closed your eyes to listen, not wanting to intrude on the moment.  The man’s voice that weaved through the speakers accompanied by the mellow cords of an acoustic guitar was haunting and beautiful, the lyrics compelling and poetic in a different way from Jaskier’s, but still you found you enjoyed it.

You were just about to ask Aev who the musician was when a pothole in the road shocked the van and Jaskier jerked awake.

“What th--?” he exclaimed, sitting up abruptly, his chestnut hair sticking up where he’d been leaning against your shoulder, blinking blearily as it took him a couple seconds to regain his bearings.

You caught a flash of Aevryn’s frantic expression, eyes wide in the rear view mirror before the song cut off suddenly, switching to something different.

“Geralt, what the fu--” Jaskier began, ready to lay into who he thought was driving when he noticed it was Aevryn in the front seat.  “Aev?” he yelped in confusion, glancing back at Geralt in the back seat; sawing logs.

“When did --?” he shook his head and began again.  “More to the point, Geralt actually let you drive?”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Aevryn asked, eyes narrowing in the mirror as you fought to stifle a laugh.  

You glanced at Jaskier who opened his mouth before apparently thinking better of it and closing it promptly, throwing you a ‘help me’ look.

Bemused smile firmly in place, you shook your head, the message clear -- ‘you’re on your own on this one’, to which Jaskier’s jaw fell open as he clutched dramatically at his heart.

“I’ll have you know Geralt trusts me implicitly,” Aevryn announced from the front seat, the mischievous grin tugging at her lips somewhat spoiling her self-important tone.  “He said I’m the only one he trusts enough to drive his little Roachie.”

“I never said that.”  Geralt’s voice interrupted from the back seat and you and Jaskier quickly turned to glance at him, his eyes still firmly closed and arms crossed against his chest.  “You just happened to be the only one awake at the time and as soon as I get a little more sleep I’m taking back over.  And don’t call her that.  It’s Roach.”

A moment of silence passed before you, Jaskier, and Aevryn were all gasping with laughter; the scowl that twisted Geralt’s lips only making you laugh harder.

——

Nearly an hour later, everyone was awake and Aev announced that you’d just entered Ohio, pulling off the highway at a roadside diner for lunch.  

Piling into the large corner booth, you picked up the menu, scanning the usual diner fare, deciding easily on a burger and fries while Win gasped, her eyes going wide as she stared at you.

“We’re in Ohio right?”

“Yeah,” Jaskier answered, giving your best friend a puzzled look, but you knew right away what she was getting at, rolling your eyes.

“You have to get the skyline chili,” she exclaimed, shaking the menu.  “We’re in Ohio,” she repeated as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Jaskier, Geralt, Yennefer, and Aevryn all looked to you for an explanation of your friend’s eccentric behaviour as you remembered they weren’t from the US.  Clearing your throat after getting your giggles under control you adopted your most pedantic voice in order to explain to the Brits that skyline chili was merely chili over a bed of spaghetti noodles, but that it was a quote Ohio Thing unquote.

Win groaned at your explanation, shaking her head in faux seriousness.  

“It’s not just any old chili, it’s an experience,” she exclaimed dramatically.  “There are some that say there’s chocolate in the secret recipe which gives it its distinct sweet flavour.”

Jaskier raised his eyebrows at you and you snorted.  “She’s originally from Ohio,” you explained, bumping against his shoulder, “it’s a comfort food thing.”  

“Ah, now that I can understand,” your boyfriend said with a grin.  “I’ll try it, why not?” Jaskier shrugged and Aev ordered it as well for the “experience”.

“I think I’ll pass,” Yennefer replied, looking unimpressed before ordering something else while Geralt “hmm’d”.

As you waited on the food everyone kind of dissolved into their own little pockets of conversations, and while Jaskier was engaged in a debate with Yen over the set list order you figured it was as good a time as any to ask Aevryn about that music from earlier.

“Hey Aev, what was that band you were listening to this morning?  I kinda dug it.”

Aevryn, in the midst of taking a drink, choked in surprise, the same deer in headlights look crossing her face as her eyes flicked first from Jask to Yennefer in rapid succession before returning to you.

“I didn’t realize anyone was awake,” she muttered ruefully.  “It’s just this indie musician that I listen to sometimes,” she said offhandedly, shrugging.  “None of the others really care for it, so…” she trailed off, blanching as Yennefer eyed her sharply.

Confused as to why that would seem to upset Yen so much you opened your mouth, ready to ask a follow up question when the waitress returned with the food, and Aevryn promptly shoveled a forkful of chili and noodles in her mouth, effectively cutting the conversation short, though Yen still eyed her suspiciously.

Jaskier, completely oblivious to the whole exchange perked up as his plate was set before him.  “Want a bite?” he asked, twirling spaghetti around his fork and offering it to you.  Grinning, you held his gaze as you took the pro-offered bite, covering your mouth with your hand as the chili smeared across your lips.

Wriggling his eyebrows at you Jaskier took the next bite and proceeded to make a show of chewing slowly as if deliberating.

“Hey Win,” he called across the table to your friend.  “Not bad!”

——

Back on the road with Geralt once more at the helm everyone fell back into comfortable silence, full and sleepy, the quiet broken only by the random urges to sing along to the music from time to time.  Until Jaskier sat up, blue eyes lighting up at something on his phone.

“Hey Geralt, I have an idea!” he called excitedly.

“No.”

“Oh, c’mon it’s just a teeny tiny detour,” Jaskier whined, and curious, you sat up, leaning into his shoulder to see what he had up on his phone.  It was an advertisement for this nearby eclectic road-side attraction, some sort of homespun local museum and it actually looked interesting.

You read the description aloud to dramatic ‘oooh’s’ and ‘ahhh’s’ from Aev and Win in the back seat, who both seemed in on the fun as well.

“Please Geralt, it’s really not that far out of the way,” Jaskier pleaded, leaning forward to grab the driver’s seat.  “If we’re going this road trip we ought to do it right, don’t you think?  I want to experience America, not just see it from the highway.”

Geralt sighed and turned to share a look with Yennefer.  “Oh why not?” she finally said, her lips twisting with amusement at Geralt’s momentary shock.

“Fine,” he bit out.  “Give me the directions.”

A half hour later you were completely lost and the sun was beginning to go down.

“I think we may have passed it…” Jaskier said weakly, “at some… point.”

Geralt merely stared ahead stonily.  “Yep, I think that’s pretty obvious.”

“Oh come on you guys,” you said, trying to salvage the situation; not wanting the two friends to fight any longer, and not being able to stand seeing your boyfriend look so dejected.  “Hey look at that field over there, why don’t we stop there for a bit to watch the sun go down and figure out where we are?” you suggested.

To your surprise Geralt didn’t protest, pulling off the road into the abandoned field, and throwing Roach into park.

“Okay, everyone out.”

“Brilliant idea babe,” Jaskier murmured in your ear as you unbuckled, his lips brushing against your cheek.

“I know,” you quipped, turning to catch his lips on yours, taking him by surprise before jumping out of the van, laughter pouring from your lungs as he lunged after you.

[pussy-puncher]

Up In Flames

Pairing: Past Natasha Romanoff x reader, some platonic Clint Barton x reader

Word Count: 1.4k+

Warnings: Fire, mentions of violent acts, mentions of major character death (Natasha's), angst, alcohol.

A/N: This is really bad lmao. Anyway it takes place after Endgame, and sadly Natasha and Tony are, in fact, dead in this fic. So sorry. But I was feeling angsty.

Mentioned song: Severed by The Decemberists

November 25, 2027.

You watch as the flames go up. The building burning along with everything and everyone inside of it. A small malevolent smile grazes your lips hearing the screams over 'Severed' by The Decemberists playing through your earbuds.

You laugh but you don't feel anything more than a slight twang of happiness, but it soon disappears. This would happen anytime you smiled or tried to be happy.

Your eyes watch and analyze every detail of the bright massacre happening before you. All if the mayhem being your doing. The red and orange fire reminding you of her.

Her fiery red hair, unmatched attitude and confident spirit. She somewhat always had the upper hand in any situation, and if, somehow she lost it, she could quickly regain control a simple charming smile. She had that kind of power over people. She could sell ice to and eskimo. She was just that charming and persuasive.

You missed her.

You missed the way she held your hand. How she held you close to her at night. The way she looked at you with nothing but love and happiness in her eyes. Or when she would get on her tiptoes and kiss your throat, because she was too short to reach anything higher up without your help. The way you could so easily pick her up. Or when she would hug you from behind and kisses your shoulder blades.

You missed everything about her.

Her green eyes that always showed such softness towards you. Her crooked teeth that she hated more than anything. The twitch of her lips indicating a soft smile and the way her eyes twinkled when she did this. Her soft, naturally red hair that she changed so often you lost count over the years. Her incredibly soft and pale skin that you always wanted to touch. All of her little freckles and moles that you had memorized. Her perfect body, that you swore up and down was sculpted by the gods above and Michelangelo himself. Her beautiful angelic laugh that could make you smile no matter what. Her somewhat dark and cruel sense of humor you found funny regardless of what she said.

You miss every little detail about her.

But she's gone now. You keep telling yourself that, in hopes that maybe one day you'll realize it's true.

You didn't realize that someone was behind you until they got close. You let them. Not caring if they were there to kill you or hurt you. You wouldn't feel it and you wouldn't care. You'd probably thank them.

They put their hand on your shoulder to turn you around. You see Clint standing there. He gives you a sad look and you know what's going to happen next.

×××

You sit in a chair at Clint's dinning room table with your arms crossed over your chest. He gives you a disappointed look. But he knows why you're doing this, going around causing havoc.

Because you miss her.

"You do realize I could lose my job if they find out in helping you, right? I could lose everything!"

"Yeah, I know. But at least you have everything you've ever wanted! I got that all ripped away from me!"

He takes a deep breath and sighs, calming his nerves.

"I miss her too, Y/N. But you don't see me going around burning down buildings and killing innocent people in the process." He says, using the disappointed parent tone.

"No. Not like I do." You say quietly.

He frowns, "What do you mean 'not like I do'? She was my best friend–"

You cut him off, standing up and slamming your hands down on the table, your voice loud but fragile, "She was the love of my life. My everything. My whole world."

He looks at you, his expression still stern but one of concern, "I lost the love of my life and my family when the snap happened-"

You cut him off again, "Yeah, but you got it all back. I can never get her back." You hold back tears and sit down, staring at a spot on the table. "We were going to get married, start a family. Have a happy little life, like you and Laura do." You sniffle and swallow the lump in your throat, "The last thing I said to her was 'let's hope this works'. Not 'I love you' or 'you mean the world to me'. No. I said 'let's hope this works'."

Choking on a sob you barely manage to say, "It should have been you."

"I know." He says softly, knowing you didn't mean it. You just want to hurt him. Letting his tears fall he walks over to you and hugs you tightly, cradling you like a child.

×××

You sit alone in Clint's guest room, crying. No. Sobbing. Yeah. You are sobbing in the guest bedroom on the Barton household.

You can't stop thinking about her. About how she sacrificed herself to bring everyone back. How she left you alone. In a world without her. You didn't know how to live in this world without her so you just went off.

You would beat the shit out of anyone if the mentioned her. Especially by name. You couldn't bare to hear it.

It was like a dagger being shoved through your heart every time you heard it. It only got worse as time went on. As did your temper. You would snap at the tiniest of things.

She was your rock. She kept you strong but now...

Now it's like your rock has been thrown into a lake. With you still attached to it. It's dragging you down and you have to let go in order to survive.

But you're not sure if you want to survive without your rock. The world just looks so different now. She always made everything seem so much better than it actually was.

Your would went up in flames the moment she died four years ago. Everyone else got their family back. But you lost it. You lost everything so everyone else would be happy.

You sigh and wipe your face then get up. You can't just sit around anymore. You won't allow yourself to. You pull on your clothes and shoes then gather your remaining things and leave the Barton household.

You don't know where your going but your definitely not staying here. You grab Clint's truck keys on the way out, making sure to be quiet. You walk out to the truck, get in and start it. But you sit there a moment. Thinking. You sigh and begin to drive off to some currently undecided location.

You drive for hours on the highway. You don't know where your headed to. You just let your heart lead you to where ever it is. Hoping to find something new.

You pull over for the night and stay at a ratty, old motel. The bed has stains and stinks of body odor. You sleep on it anyway though you feel dirty and unsafe.

The next morning you don't bother to shower and go straight to check out then get back on the road.

You haven't eaten since Laura fed you yesterday afternoon. You don't normally eat breakfast so it's fine. But you'll have to find food eventually. You drive for about two hours when you have to stop for gas.

Your life goes on like this for about a year. Sleeping in old dirty motels, not having proper showers or proper food. You live on the road for some time.

Until one day you stop. You get out of the truck in the middle on the Nevada desert. The road stretching for miles. You can't see any form of life.

Your drunk. Very drunk. You start to sob and slide down the side of the truck, until your bottom hits the ground and you're sitting. You just cry.

You want your friends back. You want your family back. You want your old life back. Before everything got screwed. You know you will never get her back. But you can get the rest of your family back.

You stand up and take a deep breath. You pull a lighter from your jacket pocket and look at it. You light it and stare at the red flame.

You move a few steps away from the truck then walk back to it, you open the gas tank hatch and unscrew the top.

You take several steps back and aim for the small hole of the tank, then toss the lighter into the tank watching the truck go up in flames just like the life you once had.

You pull your cellphone from your back pocket and dial a familiar number.

"Hey.... I'm gonna need a ride, Fury."

[thatswhatisee]

Remember, Remember - Chapter 2

Since Mulder is color blind in one episode only, I'm choosing to ignore this tidbit of information. Now he can appreciate Scully's gorgeous red hair. You're welcome, Mulder.

This chapter has been checked by Hemingway Editor and Grammarly. No Betas were ‘harmed’ in the making of this installment.

A big thank you to @mulderwantstobelieve, @frangipanidownunder, @greycoupons, @if-the-seascatchfire, and @baronessblixen for coming to the rescue when the English language got me and bit me in the butt. I hope there are no other bites left unnoticed by my Portuguese-native-speaker brain.

As always, feedback is much appreciated and cherished. It feeds the muse. Chapter 1 can be found here or at AO3.

 xXxXxXx

Chapter 2

 I drive my car as fast as I can to Scully’s place, hoping that no officer tries to stop me for speeding. The last thing I need right now is to waste time being pulled over and having to flash my badge. The streetlamps wash over me, wave after wave of dark and light. Buildings and a few vehicles buzz by me in a blur, as I change lanes and outpace slower drivers.

 A chill runs down my spine as I wonder what I might find when I get to her place. Will I find her blood smeared on a piece of furniture along with some of her red hair again? Will this be the time I will find her lifeless body lying on the floor?

 I halt at a red light, tires screeching. Fingers drum the steering wheel and I move my head from side to side to look at the intersection. I ease the car forward, inch by inch, and take advantage of the lighter flow of cars to run the red light.

 A black sedan behind me does the same trick.

I keep looking at the rearview mirror and the road ahead of me alternately. The car is there. It is always there on my tail. My hands sweat.

 As I enter George Washington Memorial Parkway, darkness surrounds me and I can only count on my headlights to show me the way. Fewer cars can be seen on the road, so I press the gas pedal further.

 The black sedan behind me does the same thing.

 I try to think of a way to mislead my pursuer, but all my ideas will slow me down and that I can not allow. I just keep driving and, even though the AC is on, the sweat drips down my body. One of my hands searches my hip holster to feel the cold of my gun. A sigh escapes my nose and I return the hand to the wheel again.

 After a few miles, I use the left lane to merge to Washington Boulevard, and the black sedan follows suit. My heart races faster, the mouth gets dry and I have to wipe the sweat out of my forehead. I grip the steering wheel as I keep driving around the Memorial Circle, instead of taking the right to the Arlington Memorial Bridge. The sedan, this time, continues onto Memorial Avenue making me release a deep breath and regain the circulation on my fingers.

 One more turn in the roundabout and I proceed to the original route, grieving those precious minutes lost to my paranoia. The Potomac River flows under me through the stone-arch bridge in an almost mockery. On both sides of the road, tall streetlights run by me. They lead me to Valor and Sacrifice, but The Arts of War are soon left behind in a blur of bronze.

 I pass by the Lincoln Memorial, hoping to be a savior as well, but to the reunion of Scully and her mother. The reunion of Scully to her future. I must save her one more time and balance out the endangerer plate on this scale of my role in our former alliance. 

 I finally reach the short buildings of Georgetown. My cell phone goes off and I fumble to answer it without losing control of the car.

 “Mulder, where are you?” Asks Langly on the other end of the line.

 “I’m getting to Scully’s place.”

 “Don't bother. Come to our office.”

 “I need to check if she is all right! Or at least if there is evidence that can help me find her!”

 “She's never made it home, Mulder. We’ve got something to show you. Come quick.”

 My cell phone falls. My hands turn the wheel fully to the left and the car skids to another lane, facing the direction where I came from. Squealing the tires, I drive off towards the Gunmen’s office.

  “We managed to hack some CCTV systems and we found footage from a camera near your place. It's from early this morning,” Langly says, as he turns on the computer screen for my inspection. “Take a look”.

 I sit on the chair in front of the screen and he presses the play button. In the grainy, black and white image, I recognize Scully crossing the street towards her car. She had parked some blocks away from my building and is now grabbing the car keys from her pockets. A white van halts next to her and a pair of arms tries to grab her from behind. Her elbow pounds the man’s chest. Then her knuckles find his nose. The man falls down to the ground and Scully tries to reach for her gun. A second man leaves the van and encircles her arm and neck in a chokehold, preventing her movements. She kicks his shin. His free hand places a white cloth on her face, making her movements slow down to a sudden stop. The guy on the floor stands up and grabs her feet. They place her torpid body inside the van, then get in the vehicle as it speeds off.

 “Where was this van headed?” I ask.

 “We’ve lost it after it reached Jefferson Davis Highway.”

 The one that leads people to the airport among other places. A cold wave washes over me from head to toe as I realize that by now she could be in Timbuktu.

 “Were you able to do your technological tricks and identify the plate?” I ask.

 They shake their heads with eyes cast downward. I pick up my phone and dial Skinner. I explain the situation and ask for an APB for a vehicle matching the description from the one on the video. I pace the room running my hands on my hair frantically. There has to be something that the Gunmen’s untrained eyes could not catch. That's why I ask them to rewind the footage.

 “Mulder, we have watched all these videos over and over while…”

 “Rewind the damn footage, please!” I interrupt Frohike.

 And they do it. Over and over again. After the fifth try, they teach me how to rewind it myself and leave me alone with the computer. I watch it one more time. Then another. And another. I try to burn it inside my mind. After almost an hour watching those same minutes, my eyes are the ones that seem on fire. I thump the desk, stand up and start to pace the room again. Think, Mulder. Think!

 “Mulder, you need to calm down and think straight. You will find her! You always do.” Says Byers.

 “It’s different this time!” I grab the clipping from the newspaper I had found this morning by my front door and show them. I had been keeping it in my jeans pocket since then.

 “‘Doctor accused of pedophilia found dead’? What does this have anything to do with Scully?” Asks Frohike.

 “This is the man who gave me the directions to all the clues in this case. He was murdered because he was feeding me information. Because we got too close to unveiling everything. First, he was discredited and then killed. Now they got Scully! They are targeting everybody who had aided me in exposing them!”

    I book myself the next flight to Dallas and rent another car as I arrive there. I thank my eidetic memory as I try to drive the same roads that had taken me and Scully to the domes and the cornfield. The scenery around me looks different, though; the colors are more vivid as the sun is getting high in the sky this time. The air conditioner can barely keep up with the heat from the desert outside.

 My eyes burn and I'm not sure if it's from not blinking enough or the dry air around me, but I focus solely on the drive ahead. One more time I reach the intersection at the end of the road. Without a second thought, I drive forward leaving a trail of dust behind me. Finding the train tracks, I follow it down, stop by the same hill and climb it.

 As I reach the top, my chest tightens and I shake my head in denial. I can’t believe my eyes. Instead of domes and cornfields, all I see now are flames, burning everything down.

 I fall down to my knees and weep.

  I fly back to DC. There's just nothing left for me to do. No leads, no double agent informants to point me where to go. Nothing.

 My eyes burn even more and now all the muscles in my body complain. That's what almost sixteen hours driving, and seven hours in airplanes can do to you. I drag my sorry, dehydrated ass out of the disembarking area. To my surprise, though, Skinner is waiting for me.

 “Where the hell have you been, Mulder?”

 I have no energy left, so I just keep walking as if he had never been there. If he follows me or not I don’t notice. And honestly, I don’t care. With every step, a deep breath to try and keep the tears out of my eyes.

 My arm is pulled. Skinner is demanding to know of my whereabouts and I see red. I make a lunge at him but am easily subdued by his alertness. He drags me out of the airport and into his car. Then everything is black.

 “Mulder! Wake up, Mulder! We’re here!”

 “Where is here?” I ask without bothering to open my eyes.

 “Your place.”

 I look out the window and notice night has fallen again. Another lost day. I must be too dry to shed tears, but my blood boils. Time was pivotal in disappearance cases. Didn't he know that?!

 “Why did you bring me here?! I need to find her!” I try to leave the car, but Skinner has still to unlock it.

 “You are not going anywhere, Mulder!”

 “They took Scully because I got too close to the truth. I need to find her, damn it! She is danger!” I jingle the lock to the door to no avail. “Unlock the fucking door!" I shout.

 “Mulder, listen to me!” Skinner barks and that stops me in my tracks. “You’re not going anywhere! You are not thinking straight. You’re just committing amateur errors and putting yourself in danger.” He sighs and softens his voice “You are not doing Scully any favors with such behavior. Get some rest and let the FBI handle this.”

 “One more thing.” Skinner adds “Why did Scully come to your place around 8:20 p.m and only left in the early hours of the following morning?”

 “That’s none of your business.”

 “It is if you are breaking the FBI's fraternization policy.”

 “We are not.” No lie in that statement, as she was not my partner anymore. “What does it matter anyway, she’s moving to Salt Lake City.”

 “Listen, we will find her. Get some rest and get ready for your OPR session tomorrow. I know the timing is the worst, but there’s nothing we can do about it. And it's your job at stake here.”

 “Why are you doing this?”

 “You saved my ass once. I owe you one and this is the least I can do. Good night, Mulder.”

 The lock clicks and I am out of the car. Skinner drives away as I get upstairs and pass out on my couch once again.

[minotaurman-ayjay]

Do not drink and drive

This post details the car accident that I survived.

It will be about how the accident occurred.

What happened to me (Injuries, Court).

What happened to the drunk driver (Prosecution)

and where I am, now.

TW: graphic details of car accident trauma, pictures of x-rays (when I get them). Details of out-of-body experience, and potential glimpse on the afterlife.

In 2015, I had just bought a brand new car, a black and gunmetal grey Volkswagen CC. I loved that car, and I was going to treat it like it was my baby. I bought the big, thick manual that details every part of the car so I can fix it myself if I ever need to.

I didn’t even have the car for more than 3 months.

I was at an intersection, about to go north (one way) on an entrance ramp to the highway. I saw these headlights coming toward me. I didn’t think anything of it at first until I remembered “Wait a minute, this is one way.” Before I could finish that thought, he had collided head-on with me. “Why didn’t you react earlier? You knew you were on a one-way street.” Let me tell you, even though you *know* you’re on a one-way street, to see headlights coming at you is confusing. It’s disorienting, and usually it’s way too late when you remember that YOU’RE the one going the right way, and this motherfucker is about to hit you.

He was in a huge pickup truck called a “dually”, it’s a pickup truck that has a set of two wheels in the back and has a hell of a lot of horsepower.

When he collided with me, his truck went over my car, nearly crushing me in the process. One of his tires was about 3 inches away from my face.

I was pinned under the dashboard, I had lost consciousness. I vaguely remember someone holding my hand and saying “It’s going to be okay. Just stay with me.“  I had an out-of-body experience, I saw myself getting extracted out of the car. I was pretty beat up, my face was scuffed up and bloody from the scrapes of the airbag hitting me. When I was pulled out of the car, my limbs were listless like noodles. I remember seeing my legs… My feet, in particular. Both of my ankles were dislocated, and my hip was dislocated and it looked like it was nearly coming out of my skin.

This is where my out-of-body experience ends. I briefly regained consciousness in the ambulance, I don’t remember if I had an exchange with the EMTs or anything like that, because soon I had fallen asleep again.

Then I remember waking up at this house that I had never seen before. There were people everywhere, music being blared, it looked like a party. I approached the door and my friend Evan, who had died several years before in an accident where he was killed by drunk driving, was at the door with is arms crossed.

I’ll never forget this shocked expression on his face as he asked me "What the hell are you doing here?” and I was like “What are you talking about? You invited me.” He scoffed “Like hell I did, man. Go back home. You’re not supposed to be here.” I thought he was just being an asshole, and we were always confrontational with each other… But it’s all in jest. I posted up to him and said “Fuckin make me, man.”, and then he shoved me.

The shove was so realistic, so jarring, so violent that I had fallen backwards— and then I woke up in the hospital, and according to my mother I was on my way to Radiology to get xrays when I came to. I don’t know if I caught a glimpse of some afterlife, or if I was dreaming, but it was very real. My mom knows that I almost died, and watched me fight for my life.

Anyway, they had to restrain me because the drugs that they had given me made me combative. I was taken to the hospital where my mom works, as it was the closest hospital to the accident scene. She was also on duty that day, and for her to see me like that *had* to have been traumatizing to her.

Apparently I continued to go in and out of consciousness, and when I finally came to for good, I was in the ICU.

The moment I woke up, I felt this whole body pain, like an elephant was sitting on me. Not just my chest, but my whole body felt crushed under this gigantic weight. It was so much pain that it literally felt like weight, like I had woken up on a different planet and the gravity was crushing me. I begged and begged and begged for pain relief, I couldn’t breathe. My mom put the morphine control in my hand and told me to press it. I clicked that thing probably 4 or 5 times. It probably only worked once, but by then I didn’t care. I was so divided from the pain that it didn’t matter anymore.

My mom told me what happened, and what my damage was.

1) I had brain damage and a severe concussion. I was monitored in the ICU for 3 days to make sure I didn’t have a brain bleed they couldn’t detect.  (I can’t remember the details of the brain damage). I had to relearn words, I had to relearn how to talk without stuttering or forgetting what I was saying mid-sentence, or having a word just disappear on me. This still happens from time to time.

2) My sternum had been displaced. Meaning it was fractured and pushed inward. Had my sternum been pushed in any further, I would have died. To this day, I still live with this. Because of this I cannot bind. I still cannot afford the surgery necessary to reposition my sternum.

3) My hip was so severely dislocated that it broke the acetabulum. This is the socket that cradles the ball joint in your hip. I still live with hip complications to this day. Because of this dislocation and the missing piece of acetabulum, I have degenerative osteoarthritis in my hip. I am a fall risk without a cane. I need a hip replacement, but surprise, I cannot afford the surgery.

4) Both of my ankles were dislocated and had bilatural fractures… Which means I had fractures on both sides of both ankles. One of the ankle bones was crushed beyond repair. I needed rods, plates, screws, and a bone graph. I still live with ankle complications to this day. Because of the surgeries and extensive injuries, I have degenerative osteoarthritis in my ankles. If I am to be on my feet or walking for more than an hour, I need to wear boots that are high topped to support my ankles. The drunk driver’s insurance was able to cover these surgery… However, as it became apparent over the years that I needed more surgeries and had more complications because of the MVA, it turned out that the drunk driver had changed auto insurance companies. Since America is the Greatest Country In The World™, health insurance providers DO NOT COVER INJURIES THAT ARE A RESULT FROM CAR ACCIDENTS. You have to go through the at-fault party’s Auto Insurance to get your bills paid. However, SOME health insurance companies WILL temporarily cover what is needed and will go after the at-fault party’s health insurance on your behalf.

But since this fucking shit smear changed insurance companies, I am absolutely fucked, and I can’t track him down to sue him.

5) I have damage to my eardrum. Luckily, it was not punctured by the force of the airbag hitting the right side of my face.

6) I have nerve damage in my knee (somehow? I don’t understand it, either) I can’t kneel on it. I either feel nothing (like the body part isn’t mine or something?) or excruciating pain when I try. There is no in between. Sometimes the nerve damage *itches like fuck*, but I cannot scratch it, as I will either feel nothing, or it will hurt.

7) I have nerve damage on the tops of my feet. I do not like it when my feet are touched. It causes electric shock feelings that travel to my ankle. It’s not pretty.

8) I have nerve damage in my face. I have Trigeminal Neuralgia that is secondary to trauma. Look at my “bloggy” tag to learn more about this.

9) I now have fibromyalgia. When it’s cold, or rainy, or if I’ve pushed myself too much, I will wake up the next morning feeling like I just came to in the ICU. Where I feel this full body pain that’s like an excruciating weight. Luckily, marijuana helps me with fibromyalgia and trigeminal neuralgia flare ups. I take a 2,000mg of gabapentin (spaced throughout the day) and 200mg of seroquil to manage them.

10) I have PTSD that is triggered by the smell of hot metal, the sound of circular saws, and by car accident scenes in movies. It took me forever to get over being gunshy in an intersection, and to even drive at all.

I was bedbound for 2 months, and wheelchair bound for 8 months. I was taking physical therapy and speech therapy for a year before my restitution to cover it had run out.

Needless to say, my quality of life had taken a drastic decline, compared to me pre-accident. Before the accident, I was in shape again. I was gaining muscle and I was close to meeting what I call my “healthy dad-bod” goals. I was going to go to police academy that year, but that was because I wanted to be an investigator for the Crimes Against Children Unit. I’ve had to reshape my future entirely. At the end of it all, my bills were $110,000. Luckily, I only had to pay $10,000 out of pocket, and that’s *LUCKILY*

So, what happened to the drunk driver?

The trial did not last long, he has been given 10 years probation (and straight to prison if he violates), mandatory rehabilitation, and to pay me restitution. Which had recently run out. I don’t know what has become of him, because as I said, I cannot track him down to sue him for my ongoing injuries.

If you are EVER considering driving while drunk, don’t fucking do it. Do not think you are invincible. Do not think it’s not going to happen to you. Do not think you’re not going to hurt someone. I don’t care if you are a “functioning alcoholic” or a “seasoned drinking veteran”, you WILL fuck up. This man that had hit me was 63 years old, and has probably been driving drunk for who knows how long. And once you DO fuck up, you are going to kill somebody. IF they DO manage to live through YOUR mistake, their life is changed *forever* and their quality of life will NEVER be the same again.

You are garbage the moment you sit in the driver’s side with booze in your blood.

[salmonthestoryteller]

All About Isobel

I’ll admit Isobel is my fav character.  I honestly didn’t expect that to happen.  She definitely wasn’t among my fav in the OG series, nor at the start of the book series. (Though, like RNM the book series version seems to be winning me over.)  Somewhere along the line, though, I was like - yah, nope, everybody else move a slot down, Isobel is claiming my top character spot.

If there’s one thing I love about Isobel it is how important Max and Michael are to her.  It seems to be why some people hate her.  To me, though, it’s one of the reasons I adore her character.  These are her brothers and if you hurt them she will end you.  The world can freakin’ burn, she is going to protect these two with all she has in her.

It isn’t surprising either, and I want to back up and look at her backstory first, especially with everything we learned in the last two episodes of the season.  So, yes, considering her plot involving both the Drifter and Noah, fair warning that some of the content may be triggering.

So there is at least two instances where Isobel is able to call out to Michael, one shared with Max, while completely unconscious.  We know Max and Isobel have their twin connection which Max describes as a “warm presence” with him all the time.  But the fact that she called to Michael twice shows that at some level she has to be telepathically connected to him as well.

They emerge from the pods at age seven, and are found by the highway.  From there they end up in a group home. Now, to my understanding a group home is not a foster family.  It is the modern day equivalent to an orphanage, with several adults looking after a group of children.  From there they are adopted by the Evans almost right away.  They still aren’t even speaking yet when they go with them. Max and their mother discuss the fact that it took them months to talk. And that when they did, they did so immediately with no trouble.  As if they’d been waiting to learn the whole language before speaking.

Michael, as we know, is left behind and doesn’t return to their lives until they are eleven.  However, Isobel probably could sense that he was missing the whole time.  She couldn’t say who was missing, because they hadn’t had words or names when they were separated.  She couldn’t say “Michael is missing” - she just knew someone was.  This is probably where Isobel’s fear of losing those she cares about first stems from.  An experience she couldn’t even fully explain at the time.

I have no doubt that when they found each other again at eleven, it was one of the best days of their lives to Isobel.  Because, to her, Michael is her brother. There’s no ifs in that to Isobel.  Michael says they aren’t family, Max tells Michael he isn’t his family in a moment of anger, but to Isobel the fact that Michael is her brother is indisputable. It’s plain fact.  It’s there in the way she treats him, in how she is willing to rely on him and trust him, and even how she speaks.  Not even the big statements like, “We’re a family.”  In small ways like how she refers to Max in 1x03 as “Our brother.”

Fast forward a few years.  (In 1x06 I thought it was their thirteenth birthday as it was 2004 and they are said to be 17 in 2008, but in 1x12 Max says Isobel was fourteen so I guess if their “birthday” was summer it's three years later?)  It seems like - compared to Max - Michael protected Isobel much more from the abuse he was suffering.  It doesn’t seem as if she has an understanding of just how bad things were.  The look on her face when he tells her the story of always going to Foster Homestead Ranch and his reasons why are further proof.  Isobel knew he wasn’t as lucky as them, but she was at a loss at how bad he truly had it.  How alone he truly felt.  Which I think was on purpose on Michael’s part.  It’s also why she’s probably closer to their mother than Max was.  She doesn’t seem to harbor the same resentment to their parents that Max felt for them not taking Michael in.  I think she’s closer to Ann because when she thinks she’s dying she tells Max, “We should call Mom.”  Not their parents. “Mom.”

However, Ann still says they both kept her at arms length to Max.  That they, not him but they, didn’t let her be a mom.  I don’t think this was true as much when they were younger.  I’m guessing the separation for Isobel and Ann occured when Isobel hit puberty.  Because - think about this for a moment - Isobel is an alien.  She knows this.  She knows she has powers others don’t.  That her biology isn’t quite the same. (Acetone, hello.)  And she had to go through puberty with not only no grown woman to talk to it about, but not even another girl her own age.  She couldn’t ask her mom if certain things happening were normal or not - because there was no way of knowing what was alien “normal.”  And if it turned out it wasn't human normal, and she brought it up she risked exposing them. Puberty is a pretty sucky thing already, and Isobel probably felt twice as isolated during it because she just damn didn’t know what was or wasn’t normal for their species.  In that Max and Michael at least had each other.  I doubt Isobel felt comfortable talking to her brothers about periods, cramps, etc.

And in the middle of this whole very isolating confusing time for her comes the Drifter.  It’s pretty clear what his intentions were when he grabbed her, though it is not made clear how far he got.  Isobel is still clothed, so I don’t think he raped her, but I have no doubt he touched her before Max and Michael got here.  And remember something else - Isobel is a telepath.  A telepath who they already knew could make others do things.  If she at all tried to touch the Drifter’s mind there’s no saying what was said in Mindspace to her.

Worse, this is when her telepathic scream brings her to Noah’s attention. Between the Drifter’s attack and witnessing Max kill him, Isobel shuts down.  The trauma is too much for her to handle, and she retreats inside her mind.  Noah takes the opportunity to connect to her that night, and he never lets go of that connection until his death.  Max said that she continued to have black outs after the attack, and Noah mentions how that allowed him to see through her eyes.  How soon he was able to start to use her body to move around is unclear.  And we are also unclear on what all influences Noah had on her otherwise.

Noah speaks of their connection several times.  We know he can control her actions when she is unconscious or withdrawn into her mind, but how deep did that connection run?  Max is concerned about Liz’s ability to consent when his mark is on her.  Noah has had his mind connected to Isobel’s since she was fourteen.  We cannot say how much that affected her - if she ever had complete autonomy after that night or if a part of her was always affected by Noah’s feelings and desires.

However, one thing is very much true - and that’s that after that night Isobel didn’t trust anyone who wasn’t Max or Michael for years.  There was never a time when the people around her weren’t listed as “potentially dangerous”.  We see that in how she reacts to everything, both in her teen years and even as an adult.  She kept everyone else at arms length.  Through barbs; through a mask of perfection.  The reason Isobel didn’t care about using her powers as a teen?

Because as long as other people were doing what she wanted she was safe.

This is someone who never feels safe.  Hasn’t been able to regain that feeling since that night in the desert.  The only place she felt remotely at ease was around Max and MIchael.  Isobel is clearly supposed to be the Queen Bee in high school, yet she goes to prom with her brothers.  Why?  Because Isobel didn't trust anyone else.  It’s why she kept withdrawing into herself and having blackouts as graduation approached.  If Max and Michael left - how was she ever going to feel safe? She had devoted her life to her brothers, because she knew she could trust them.  They would protect her, no matter what.  They’d already proven it.  Everybody else was suspect.

Only now her brother were becoming suspect.  If they were going to leave her to fend for herself, what did she have left? It’s clear from her lash out, “What am I supposed to do?” that Isobel had no plans right then for her future.  She doesn’t know what she’s going to do once Michael and Max leave - she never once mentions college herself.  And, actually, it seems her brothers have no idea either.  During the argument all Max says is “Live your life.”  There’s nothing there about anything Isobel might want or suggested she would do after graduation.  If Max and Michael had this argument, that line would have involved, “What are you talking about? You’re leaving for Albuquerque/You’re running off to Europe.”  For Isobel the best Max has to offer is “Live your life"?

This is actually where the fact that Roswell is supposed to be a small town probably plays a big part.  Because Isobel is the only girl among the three aliens.  It’s not surprising that in a small town Isobel’s lack of plans to go to college or pursue a career is never brought up.  The notion of girls staying home with the parents, working local jobs or simply getting married is still quite common.  From what we’ve seen, it’s actually what happens to Isobel after graduation, though that hasn’t completely been made clear yet.

One big thing did happen first, though. The murders.  Things change that night for Isobel in a very big way.  Until now Isobel has relied on her brother’s for protection.  After the cover up Isobel finds herself in a new role - One of protector.

To her, Michael may have killed Rosa, Jasmin, and Kate - but he is very much not to blame for it.  Think of the story Michael tells her.  He got into a fight and his hand was smashed.  He says he got drunk, but it's not like Michael could have gone to a hospital.  What is the only painkiller they have? Acetone.  To her, Michael was medicating himself because he had no way to receive the care he needed.  Then, drunk on the acetone, he ran into the other car and lost control of his powers.  He was drunk and in pain and alone and he lashed out to protect himself.  She may believe Michael killed them, but she doesn’t blame him.  If anything, she probably blames herself for blacking out and not being there when he needed her.

Then, a few days later, Max starts talking about telling Liz the truth.  Think about what this looks like from Isobel’s perspective.  Max is choosing some crush over Michael.  Michael, who buried the Drifter for him and kept his secret all these years.  He’s literally going to get Michael arrested, maybe even get them all killed if they find out what he is, because he cares about some girl more than their brother.  Is it any wonder she decides to go into Liz’s mind and tell her to stay away from Max?

However, I feel it's hinted at that Max kinda broke down after Liz left.  Isobel mentions something that sounds like a reference in a conversation with Michael in 1x02:

“Max is shutting me out. I thought maybe you could talk to him.  Something is wrong with him, Michael. And when that happened the last time, you were the only one he would open up to.”

I think seeing how using her powers on Liz affected Max really drove home what her powers were capable of to Isobel.  She’d never used her powers against her brothers in such a way.  I don’t think she ever used her powers to negatively affect those she cared about.  Others were free game, but anything that could hurt those she loved was off limits. And this is Max, her person as she calls him to Noah, and her using her powers has hurt him.  She tells Michael, “I don’t do that anymore.”   While it’s unclear when she stopped, my guess is that it was after she used them on Liz.

Then, while we can’t be certain how soon it happened, she met Noah.  She probably felt an instant trust in him because - hello - Noah was in her literal head.  She didn’t know why she felt safe with him, but he was the first person aside from Max and Michael who made her feel that way.  So she dated him, fell in love, got married.

All of this is disturbing enough, because essentially Noah has been grooming Isobel since she was fourteen and then he seeks her out physically and marries her once he gets out of the pod.  But what also bothers me is we don’t see any hint that Isobel is romantically with anyone else in the past.  She teases Max about Tess, Michael mentions dates limiting options, but Isobel is not shown with anyone.  The only feelings of desire Isobel experiences that we are shown is Noah’s for Rosa through her flashbacks, and her and Noah’s relationship.  There is literally nobody else that is even mentioned.  Every other character we get some mention of an ex or potential love interest, even Rosa.  But Isobel has only Noah.

Over the same time period, she witnessed Max and Michael’s friendship fall apart with no idea why.  She didn’t understand what was happening between them.  This was her family and now they were barely speaking.  She had her new position, though, and she wasn’t going to let them down.  She was going to be the one who was strong; the one who protected them and looked after them.  She devoted herself to that, and despite some bumps along the way, I don’t think she felt she failed at it.  She never knew Max was unhappy - he didn’t seem to show that to her after he got his act together.  She says as much to Noah in 1x03.  She thought Michael let his life fall apart because he’d killed three girls and couldn’t forget.  She tried to be there for him - she never cut him out of her life.  She had no idea how to make things better, but she made sure she was there if he needed her. We know this because Noah doesn’t just list Max when Isobel says she had something to take care of - he lists Michael too.

Then Liz comes back into town, and everything changes.  It’s little wonder she views Liz as a threat. Remember, Isobel never feels safe - everyone is a threat.  Liz most of all - Max almost turned on Michael and her for Liz once before.  Max was devastated after losing her the first time and now it's going to happen again. And while people like to say Isobel is overprotective and out of line for constantly lecturing Max about her - is she wrong?  Liz is using Max’s feelings because she’s searching for the truth, Liz does want revenge for Rosa. Liz's history doesn't look like someone she would trust with her brother's happiness. 

Isobel isn’t just using her powers for kicks.  She goes after Liz to protect her family.  She practices at Maria’s bar because she thinks she needs to strengthen her abilities.  If she fails - how will she ever keep Michael safe now that Liz knows an alien killed Rosa?  She isn’t thinking there’s some big secret to why Maria hates her - she probably thinks the reason is small and petty. She doesn’t know Maria.  Then everything becomes strange - because why did Rosa hate her?  Rosa was two years older than them - she was long gone from high school by the time Isobel would have been the head of Roswell High’s Mean Girls.  It makes no sense - she almost never  interacted with her.  Why would someone hate her she didn’t even know?

It’s no wonder the “truth” about the murders affects Isobel so deeply.  She’s spent ten years viewing the deaths as a terrible accident. Now they are murders - actual murders - that she herself committed.  And she doesn’t know why. She does know that for some reason Rosa hated her. But Rosa, Kate, and Jasmin weren't even a blip on her radar before the murders. Why would she suddenly kill them? She's spent her whole life afraid of others and now she can't even trust herself.

Then the flashbacks start after the cure. She has no reason to doubt them - they're her own memories. What's more is that they probably make sense to her.  There were probably days she was sick of the front she put on to keep others at a distance.  And here are these flashbacks saying she let down that guard with someone - with Rosa. And it seems like it was a wonderful thing - Rosa didn't let her down.  She was safe.  Maybe she even loved her? It's everything teen Isobel always wanted. She and Michael discuss it:

"I used to look in the sky when we were kids, and hope something up there would save me."

"I used to look around at the people of this town and hope for the same thing."

She feels invested in this now.  She had a close friend, the only truly close female friend she ever had as far as we see, maybe she even had a secret romance.  Then she finds out the horrifying truth that it was never her at all. She never had that friendship, and what's worse? Noah used her to attack an innocent girl. Just like she was attacked when she was fourteen. Only Rosa didn't have Max and Michael to save her.

Isobel's face off with Noah is painful because it truly is the worst betrayal imaginable.  Isobel doesn't let people close. Isobel doesn't trust. She did with Noah, when the truth is she never should have.  He was the one she should have been protecting herself from.

I am glad they gave us her final Mindscape conversation with Noah.  It may be a lie that she never loved him, but what truly mattered wasn't whether she loved him or not.  What mattered was facing him and letting him know he no longer had control of her.  She was done with him.

The season ends with Isobel exploding the picture frame with her mind. And while I'm excited to see her expand her powers, I am concerned for her in s2. The truth about Noah has already taken away one of her shelters. Losing Max? That is literally one of her greatest fears come to life.

In pursuit of feeling safe again - in protecting what she has left? There's really no saying what path Isobel might take.