#i have been grieving and screaming afraid of what kind of future all of us are going to have. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wonlouvre · 4 years ago

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pairing: doctor!wonwoo x lawyer!female oc genre: modern royalty, arranged marriage, fluff and future angst word count: 3.2k WARNINGS: ANGST, VIOLENCE, GUNS

a/n: we are nearing the end guys :( and i promise, it’s a HAPPY ENDING! but for now we have to face the angst, i’m so sorry. disclaimer!! as i have said from the previous parts, i am not well-versed with investigations and court procedures. PLEASE CORRECT ME IF I’M WRONG. thank you very much!! please enjoy this new part and hit my ask box with what you think of it <3

nine: grief | masterlist

Wonwoo has had difficult times in his life and he has managed to overcome them all. Growing up in the public eye, fulfilling duties decreed to him even before he became a teen, a break-up, excelling both academically and physically and most of all, loving himself for who he is. He knows his parents did everything in their power and love to make it a little easier for him. They are the reasons he kept going and going.

But his heart can’t seem to carry this overwhelming heaviness.

His parents wanted to end the engagement immediately. It was an argument, an angry one. His mother had her ears closed even before he could speak meanwhile his father’s closed lips already said it all. Of course, he was defensive. He understands his parents concern for their citizens, but nothing is final until a verdict is reached. He has to come back to Jung and Sam and he has to come back to you. Surely enough, when he stepped out of the doors of his home, he had chosen love over duty.

It’s just that he didn’t know that you had different plans.

“Where’s the pretty lady?” Sam asks out of the blue while he plays with the new toys Wonwoo brought for the kids at the welfare.

He has been visiting them frequently, at least four times a week in between his hospital schedule. Especially after you decided that he should distance himself from you, he has been in and out of here because the boys are one of the only reasons he’s here other than you. He’s hoping you only meant a break if that’s what you wanted. Because he’d give it to you with as much distance as you want just come back to him. Come back to him because he doesn’t and can’t let you go.

“She’s a bit busy now,” he tries to make up an excuse and Sam raises his sparkling eyes at his face, probably searching for some truth in his lie.

“You look different when she’s around,” the young boy says and goes back to his toys.

Wonwoo’s ears perk and his brows knit in question. “What do you mean?”

“Jung thinks I don’t see it, but his face,” Sam explains and gestures to his tiny yet swelling cheeks. “It changes because of this girl here that I think he’s crushing.”

Wonwoo can’t help the growing smile on his face. “Jung has a crush?”

“Yes.” Sam bobs his head cutely. “You’re just like Jung with the pretty lady around.”

“How about now?” He asks the observant boy who purses his tiny lips before narrowing his eyes at him.

“You look a little sad.”

Wonwoo didn’t need to ask who’s the pretty lady Sam was talking about because to him, you’re the only pretty lady in his life (second to his mother of course even though she’s angry at him at the moment). He tried to not make it obvious. He doesn’t want anyone to see him that the controversy and your father’s arrest is breaking the two of you apart. He can’t let them see him falling apart for that matter because he wants you to see him confident and strong.

He doesn’t want to further fuel your doubts and fears. If he can’t support you closely, he’ll do his best to support you even from afar.

That’s why life for him continued. He goes to work, attends to his patients and co-workers needs, he eats, he exercises and he even entertains drinking with Soonyoung despite having to take care of him because of how fast he gets drunk.

It’s an ineffective distraction because he misses you terribly. He misses going to your office just to take you away from your computer, he misses driving around town with you in the passenger seat and listening to your stories, he misses sleeping over at your apartment after a tiring day shift, he misses your warm and welcoming embrace, he misses your shy and soft kisses against his lips, cheeks, nose, forehead, neck and everywhere else.

Did he tell you he misses you?

He sends you messages every day. He doesn’t call and he doesn’t wait for a reply. He just wants you to know that he’s here whenever you’re ready. Jeongyeon is kind enough to keep him in the loop, but the updates are very minimal because she’s still your subject and she doesn’t want to hurt you any further.

For a moment, Wonwoo was afraid to take the leap. But when you asked him if he still wants to marry you which could be equivalent to you ending things, he had to. If you stay or not, he had to say it with all his heart. You had to know because he was sure that whatever it is his whole being is feeling, it’s only for you.

“I love you.”

Your heart drops at his confession, making you sob to the palm of your hands. He can’t do this to you right now. It’s already hard and painful. You want to be selfish, but it would be wrong to let him suffer with you when he has been nothing but kind and honest.

“You’re not your father, Y/N,” he promises and holds your hands down. “Please look at me.”

You shake your head, sniffling. You want to scream you love him too. But the words are nothing but a lump at the back of your throat. You continue shedding your tears and the sight breaks Wonwoo’s heart.

“It’s okay.” He lifts your head up by your cheeks. He wipes your tears away even though it’s futile. He wishes to share with your anguish, but he also respects the desires of your heart.

His smile was small when he leans down and briefly presses a kiss to your trembling lips. You accept it, fearing it might be the last. You also listen to his last words before he leaves with his bag and coat because it also might be the last time you’ll ever hear them.

“I love you.”

The rain patters on the roof of the car when Wonwoo’s words echoed inside your head. Just the thought of what had transpired the last few days brings tears to your eyes. You haven’t seen him since that night and the longing is unbearable. You wish to hear his voice, feel his touch against you or just see him. But you can’t and you have to persevere through it because you owe justice and accountability to your people.

You haven’t spoken to your mother even if you tried. She’s just tired, so tired you can’t bring a word out of her. You try to be understanding and a little more patient. After all, getting over a betrayal doesn’t happen overnight. That’s why you continued working even though almost every client you have has backed down and declined your services. Nonetheless, you still go to your office every day as if everything is okay. You drink your coffee, you run over your files and even do a little organizing and disposing here and there.

Your father’s first trial is today and you’re on your way to speak to him at his detention center. This is the first time you’ll see him aside from the television and newspapers. You’ve been crying ever since he got taken away. You can’t help it. You already know the truth and there’s no blinding away from it. But you want to hear from your father, whom you thought you have known all your life. You want his truth and maybe find some closure.

When you arrive at the parking lot, the rain has ceased and little by little the temperature is rising again. You really wish things were different. Something in you wishes that this is a set-up. You wish that your father was innocent and only being framed. But there is a bigger something that’s telling you to throw away those wishful thoughts because it’s wrong.

You ask yourself, am I angry at my father? while walking to the entrance leading to the visitor’s area. I should be, right? You argue because your family name and career is tarnished. Your upcoming marriage is no different which is most likely to be over.

“Hi my darling,” The King, stripped from his expensive suit, greets you with his usual smile.

The glass between you and your father is clear enough to see that he doesn’t look good. Your father used to look every day ready with his suit on and slick back hair. But right now, he doesn’t. Tears well up in your eyes but you hold it in. It will take a long time to get used to seeing him like this. It will take a painfully long one.

Maybe you’re not angry. Maybe you’re just hurting.

“Hi dad,” you greet back. “How are you?”

The old man smiles and warms his thighs with his hands while looking around the small room. “I’m okay.”

You nod and the cold silence engulfs the room.

“I’m sorry darling,” he finally says and hearing those words made you burst into tears. He sees you crying and this is the first time he can’t reach his hand out to wipe the tears away. “I’m really sorry that your father’s greed has left you and your mother a wound that might never heal.”

Greed. The news, the Royal Police, the prosecution and everyone else were talking about this. They’re still talking about this. It’s scandalous, it’s controversial. It’s unbelievable too. How could the head and protector of the kingdom do this?

How could your father do this?

“Dad,” you sob. “Dad.”

“I know,” he tells you. “I know.”

“Please tell me they’re lying,” you begged, your voice shaking.

“I cannot betray you any further, my darling,” he sadly says. “I have to set you all free from my lies.”

You harshly rub your fingers against your eyes, trying to dry the tears that won’t stop from falling. “Who’s Kim Mingyu?”

The alarming buzz! blasts, indicating that your time’s up. You’re quick to your feet and hold your sweating palm against the glass. Your father mirrors your action but it didn’t last long because he was being handcuffed again.

“Remember,” he says, struggling a little against the two uniformed men. “You are your own person, my darling.”

Maybe you’re not hurting. Maybe you’re grieving because you just lost your father.

You know who Kim Mingyu is. You already knew before you could even ask your father. You just wanted to know how your father met him and entangled himself with such a man. What led him to fall for his lies and money that he could trade every ounce of dignity and integrity in his being? Something of that sort.

Kim Mingyu’s mining business was proposed to the Secretary of the Trade and Industry Department. A mining business that will have children go underground for long agonizing hours. At first, they were immediately rejected knowing that there’s an obvious and strict law disallowing foreigners to the kingdom’s mineral resources. Much more the exploitation of young children. But, Mingyu was ambitious and a sniper to every man's weakness. It didn’t take long for the Secretary of the Trade and Industry to bite. It was easily followed by the Secretary of the Justice Department and your father. They all, among many others, eventually fell for his trap. Everything worked out for Kim Mingyu.

Your hip is against the hood of the car as you watched the prison guards surround the vehicle your father will ride to the court. Everyone is on high alert. Well, they should be. No one else is more high profile than a criminal king. It’s only the first trial but you’re already more than aware of how things will turn out in the end.

You clutch the lifebuoy pendant of the necklace you’re wearing, nervous and trying to keep everything together.

You could leave now, but the time and opportunity to see your father is running out. This prison is the only place you could linger just to see him, even for a short while. You won’t be able to follow him at court because Seungkwan advised you not to. Which you understand. This whole case involving your father is already causing a media frenzy so staying away is the smart thing to do.

As you wait, your phone suddenly rings with an unknown number flashed on the screen. You blink, wondering who could it be at this hour. After a beat of hesitation, you answered and held the phone against your ear.

“Hello?”

“Ah, Princess Y/N. How’s the King doing?”

You’re not that forgetful to not recognize this voice. “Mr. Kim, how did you get my number?”

“That’s not important right now,” he dodges the question. “What’s important is what I am about to tell you.”

“What do you want from me?” You say with gritted teeth and from your peripheral you can see the guards scramble. Your father is about to come out.

You can hear him scoff. “I don’t want anything from you, Your Highness. But listen…”

Your heart starts to beat faster. It’s a hard visual but your father is nearing the exit. Your bottom lip is starting to hurt from how hard you’re biting it and the few seconds of pause and suspense that Mingyu’s giving you is not helping at all.

“Listen you sick---” He cuts you off and your blood runs cold.

“I’m going to kill your father.”

What is the fondest memory that you have of your father?

They’re too many to count and every memory with him, small and big, will always mean everything to you. But as an example, it would be the day you finally took oath as a lawyer. He didn’t tell you, but he, together with your mother, was secretly present at the venue. He told you beforehand that they shouldn’t go because he didn’t want the people to make you uncomfortable and steal the spotlight. You ignored his lame excuse of fame and told him that he can do whatever he wants.

But he was really there. Tears brimming on his eyes together with pride beaming on his heart. Your mother had to calm him down because he got a little out of control, almost screaming with all his chest at the venue that you’re his daughter.

You only found out when you hopped on the car and they’re inside with a small cake, flowers and party hats on, shouting loud congratulations and surprise simultaneously.

Your father was always there. Your parents were.

You remember those when you ran and pushed your way against the guards blocking your father’s view. You were frantic as you screamed at them to get your father back inside. You fought with all your strength and thrashed against their hold just to reach your father. When you slipped away from them, you ran again, fast.

You did your best to not get caught. You just have to be close to your dad and push him back inside. You just have to be close to him. You just have to protect him.

You have to be there for him.

“Please stop!” You shout when another guard takes hold of your waist, locking you to the ground. “You have to bring my father back inside!”

“You’re Highness, please calm down!” The guard shouts back and you fight against him. When he didn’t let you go, you stomped the heel of your shoe on his feet, making him fall in pain.

“Dad!” You call when you’re finally nearing him. His head lifts up at the sound of your voice and searches for you among the sea of men. “Please! You have to take him back inside! I received a call from Kim Ming---”

BANG!

It was searingly fast. Your whole body collapses on the sweltering concrete before you could reach your father and when his eyes finally find you, you are already swimming in the pool of your blood.

“It’s always good to see you Mrs. Wang,” Wonwoo compliments the old lady who’s starting to frequent the emergency room. “But not in this manner.”

The old lady gives him a cheeky grin and pinches one of his cheeks. If Wonwoo doesn’t know any better, she’s doing this to not get scolded any further.

“Your blood sugar is high and I don’t think your granddaughter appreciates her grandma endangering her own life,” he lightly scolds her, if that’s how he can put it. He’s still a doctor after all. “She loves you and she wants you to be healthy when she walks down the aisle in the future.”

Mrs. Wang gives him a silent nod at the mention of her granddaughter, promising that she won’t disobey anymore. That relieves Wonwoo, his lips lifting in a smile. He signs her clearance and hands it back to the nurse. After a few more instructions, he takes his leave and walks back to the information desk.

He takes one of the patients charts to read. The phone rings and the nurse in charge immediately picks it up and answers. At first, Wonwoo didn’t bother looking up from the paper because emergency calls happen every three seconds. But when there was an eerie silence amidst the loud and busy room, his curiosity made his head tilt up only to get surprised at the widened eyes the nurse was giving him.

He was about to ask what’s wrong but when he heard the sound of the siren nearing, he ignores his suspicions and runs to the entrance.

The ambulance parks at a safe distance and the paramedics get out. They move quickly to get the patient out and when they see him, their mouth falls open but no words come out.

Wonwoo didn’t notice so he proceeded to ask, “How’s the patient?”

“Wonwoo!”

Soonyoung almost tripped on his feet as he tried to get a hold of his friend. He takes his arms and tries to pull him away from the ambulance he’s about to open. Wonwoo is starting to get irritated at the bizarre and disconcerting feeling that’s starting to settle in the emergency room.

Wonwoo knocks him off with a glare. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Wonwoo, please,” Soonyoung begs with an unsteady voice, clinging to his friend.

“Female, late twenties, two gunshot wounds,” one of the paramedics finally yet carefully reports while the other opens the doors of the ambulance. “It’s Her Highness, Princess Y/N.”

Wonwoo roughly removes his friends hand from his arm to step closer to the ambulance and when he sees your lifeless body, he didn’t waste any more time and helped the paramedics move the stretcher out. Soonyoung can see his friend’s hands shaking as he takes hold of the bloodied gurney. He knows he has to stop him right now.

“Baby,” Wonwoo calls as he runs and wheels you inside. You can’t hear him, but he has to try. He observes proper protocol of transferring you to the bed of the emergency room before applying more pressure to your wounds. You have lost a lot of blood already and it’s not helping Wonwoo that he can’t see your eyes.

“Please, please, please,” Wonwoo whispers as he removes all the obstructions on your body and when his eyes catch the necklace he gave around your neck, his legs grow weak and removing it from you made his tears fall.

“Baby, please,” he pleads. “Open your eyes, hmm?”

Soonyoung steps in together with the doctor who will perform the surgery and take everything from here. He slowly pulls his friend away from your body. Wonwoo didn’t protest anymore, there’s nothing in him left to do so. Your blood is in his hands, in his white coat, it’s everywhere.

This is not the distance Wonwoo wanted.

He can’t be apart from you forever.

#seventeen #wonwoo #seventeen scenarios #wonwoo scenarios #seventeen imagines #wonwoo imagines #seventeen scenario #wonwoo scenario #seventeen fluff #wonwoo fluff #seventeen imagine #wonwoo imagine #seventeen angst #wonwoo angst #seventeen wonwoo #wonwoo seventeen #fic: ifliys

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hoboal87 · 4 years ago

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Carry On

Pairing : Sam x Reader, Platonic!Dean x Reader

Summary : One year after defeating Chuck, Sam and Dean are still hunting, but you’ve quit the life. When the boys take a vacation that quickly turns into a hunt, none of you expect it to change your lives forever.

Characters : Y/N, Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, mentions of Bobby, Jody, Donna and the Girls

Word Count : 3.1k (I tried to keep it below 3k, but...😕)

Warnings : SPOILERS FOR 15X20, Angst, Feels, Fluff (it gets a little gross at the end), A Sprinkling of Pre-Smut, Pregnancy

A/N : This will keep the canon of the finale, and takes place during and after 15x20, but with an added reader insert. This was written as a sequel to “The Tie” but can be read as a stand-alone.

A/N 2 : This is my entry for @negans-lucille-tblr “6k Roll the Dice Challenge.” My prompt is “I didn’t have it in myself to go with grace,” which is bolded.

No Beta, all mistakes are my own.

Check out my Masterlist here

You pull another book down from the library wall; everything has been relatively quiet since Jack took over Heaven, Rowena has put a leash on the demons, the only monsters you and the boys had to worry about were run-of-the-mill, so to speak. Adjusting to this new life is easier than you thought it would be, using the last year to learn that without the necessity to hunt, you and Sam were finally free to live your own lives. After Chuck was rendered powerless, you decided to give up hunting for good. Sam won't, you know that, Sam and Dean had been hunting their whole lives, but you were thrust into the life.

You make your way back towards your shared room with Sam, twirling the small diamond ring on your finger, passing Dean’s along the way. You peer inside, glad to see that the once mass trove of empty beer and whiskey bottles were gone. Sure, there’s still a few bottles strewn throughout the room, but nothing like it was before. In the months following Cas’ death, Dean had been a shell of himself, drinking himself into an early grave. He never told you or Sam exactly how Cas summoned the empty, or why it took him along with Billie. Dean always kept himself bottled up, until he would explode, letting his grief out by way of yelling and screaming. Cas’ trench was usually hanging in the corner, but it wasn’t there now, Dean must’ve taken it with him. Dean was still in pain, that much was clear.

Sam and Dean are off at some pie fest, and you opted to stay behind. You waved the boys off, asking Dean to eat a pie just for you. Sam and Dean needed this; brother time. It was something that rarely happened since you joined them over five years ago, even before you were with Sam, you, Cas or Jack were always tagging along. You saw it as the perfect opportunity to take some time for yourself as well, figuring out where you and Sam would go from here. Sam talked about going back to school, finishing his degree and applying to Law School again, he even had you buy him books on LSAT prep. You talked at length about taking the next steps in your relationship, you couldn’t ever get legally married, but you starting planning a ceremony anyway. Before Chuck was gone, you were content to just be, never needing more, afraid that it would be ripped out from under you the minute you let your guard down.

As you settle into your and Sam’s bed, book in hand, you feel as the weight that’s been sitting on your chest has finally lifted, you can breathe. It's been years since you've been able to truly relax, and as much fun as a pie fest sounded, you wanted to stay at the bunker, taking comfort in your and Sam's shared room. They’d only been gone a few days, but you already missed Sam terribly, pathetic, you know. Never in your life would you have imagined wanting and needing someone like you did Sam. The next morning you wake up to a text from Sam. The brothers mini-vacation quickly turned into a vampire hunt, a nest John had hunted years ago. The boys could handle it, you know that much, it's a milk run compared to everything they've fought over the years. Be Safe, Love You. You responded and went on with your day.

Sam always keeps you in the loop when he and Dean go on a hunt without you, providing you with a source of comfort knowing that they’ve killed the bad guy or solved the mystery. But now, they’ve been silent for too long, a nest of Vamps shouldn’t take more than a few days, and you start to worry. You’re heading towards the garage, determined to track down Sam and Dean, and lay it on thick about how worried you were when they went silent. You’re about to open the door to the garage when it swings open and Sam’s long body fills the frame. It startles you at first, even causing Miracle to bark in surprise. You throw your arms around Sam, all anger gone now that he’s back home with you.

“Don’t ever do that again!” You scold Sam. “You know how much I hate it when you and Dean stop responding.” You want to be mad, but you’re so focused on the fact that Sam’s back home with you again, that nothing else seems to matter. “If you’re gonna keep hunting you have to keep me in the loop,” you mumble.

Sam’s body stiffens against your touch. It takes him a minute, but he reciprocates your hug, pulling you tight against him. You stand there, waiting for some smart remark from Dean, normally barking at the two of you to get a room, but there’s nothing but the echo of the Impala’s engine filling the air. You try to pull away from Sam, but his grip around you only tightens, this hunt must have been more difficult than he or Dean anticipated. Head pressed against Sam’s chest, you can hear his heart thumping loudly and rapidly. Dean would never let you and Sam hold on to each other as long as you have.

“Sammy?” You whisper, trying to pull away again. Sam’s grip finally loosens, but his hands don’t leave you as you take a small step back. Your eyes travel upwards, finally landing on Sam’s face, his eyes are bloodshot and puffy, almost as if he has been crying. “Sam? What’s wrong?”

Sam shakes his head as tears fill his eyes.

“Where’s Dean?” You ask as you watch Sam slowly break down. His head nods towards the Impala, and you pull away completely from Sam’s embrace.

You run towards the Impala as fast as your legs can carry you, a swing open the back door, hoping to see Dean’s shining emerald eyes. Tears blur your vision faster than you can comprehend what you’re seeing. Dean’s lifeless body lays in the back seat, all color drained from him. You scan him desperately, waiting for some kind of sign that this is all a cruel prank, that he and Sam were trying to get one over you for not coming with them on this hunt.

But, there’s nothing.

You scream out, falling to your knees, Dean was just as much your brother as he was Sam’s, he was your best friend, and now, he’s gone. Your cries fill the otherwise silent garage, he can’t be dead, not like this, not on some vampire hunt, something he’s done a hundred times before. Not when you know that he was looking to settle down, find some normalcy, or at least normal for him. He deserved to live, he didn’t deserve to die at the hands of a monster.

Dean wasn’t going to be there when you and Sam got married, when you told Sam about the baby you were carrying. God, how were you going to tell him that? Dean was going to help you surprise Sam, as soon as they came home, he was going to start dropping hints, see how long it took Sam to figure it out. But now, you stared at his body, tearing streaming down your face, you couldn’t stop crying if you wanted to. Sam’s strong arms wrap around you, holding you close to him, and you both sit on the floor, unable to do anything but mourn the loss of the elder Winchester.

Through your sobs, you can hear Sam trying to offer you some comfort, assuring you that he went down saving the victims. You could barely process anything he was saying, and if this is how you felt, you can’t even begin to imagine how he feels. Dean was the only real family that Sam had left, there had to be a way to get him back.

“No, baby,” Sam murmurs in your ear through his tears, “I promised him. No bringing him back.” You didn’t realize you had said it out loud. “He wants us to keep going, he wants us to live.”

Three days later you’re surrounded by all the family you’d gained through the boys. Jody, Donna, Claire, Bobby and Charlie plus too many people to keep track of. You and Sam had already given Dean his proper send-off, dividing his ashes between the graveyard where Mary and John were buried and keeping the rest for yourselves. Jody told the story of the first time she’d met the brothers over ten years ago and how she’d come to think of the boys as surrogate sons. Claire talked about the time she and Dean went mini-golfing and how offended he was when she didn’t understand his Caddyshack references. The bunker was full laughter, it was Dean told you he wanted all those years ago.

You and Sam couldn’t stay in the Bunker after that. You’d left it open to all hunters, you’d still come back occasionally, but it was no longer home. You and Sam packed up most of your and Dean’s things, fitting as much as you could into the Impala, knowing that the two rooms would always be off limits to future hunters. Sam nearly slides into the passenger seat when you leave, and you can see it hitting him all over again. Dean’s gone.

You drive around the country for a few weeks, unsure of where to make your new home. Neither of you ever had a real home before moving into the Bunker, and you were the only family you had left now. You settle in Sioux Falls, Jody and the girls were there, Donna was close enough, and if need be, you could be back in Lebanon in a matter of 5 hours.

You find a small house close to where Bobby’s used to be, it is still a salvage yard, but Bobby’s house is long gone. As the weeks pass you don’t know how much longer you can keep your pregnancy hidden from Sam. Every time you try to tell him, it feels wrong; you are both still grieving the loss of Dean, and Sam has fallen into a deep depression. You have Jody take you to your doctor appointments, and she scolds you for not telling Sam, but when she drops you at your new home, and sees the current state of Sam, she backs off.

At your next appointment, she laughs and cries with you when you learn that you were carrying a boy, Dean. When you first told Dean that you were pregnant, he immediately insisted that the newest Winchester should be named after him, “boy or girl!” He insisted, “I’m named after a Deanna.”

“I think the world only needs one Dean Winchester,” you retorted playfully. Now, it seems the perfect way to carry on Dean’s legacy.

When you leave the doctors, you finally realize how obvious it is that you’re pregnant, your stomach rounding out perfectly under your shirt. You’re almost insulted that Sam hasn’t noticed your ever-growing stomach and the extra pounds you’ve put on over the last month, but he hasn't been himself since Dean died. You hadn’t been intimate with him since you settled into your new house, and he spends most of his day sleeping or in a fugue-like state.

Jody insists on taking you shopping for baby supplies, and by the end you’ve got a shopping cart onesies, blankets, something called a diaper genie, and many other things you didn’t even know you needed. As you walk through the store an iron-on name display catches your eye, and you make your way towards it. The names are written in large cursive lettering, and you hope that you can find the right one. You nearly squeal when you do, and find a plain onesie to attach it to.

You’re glad that the baby store carries labeless bags, especially when Sam is up and about when you get home. He looks good today, he’s slightly sweaty, and you know that he left the house and went for a run. He greets you with a quick kiss, a sheen of sweat covering his face, and makes for your room. He eyes the bags in your hands, but doesn’t say anything, and a few minutes later you can hear the shower running. Thank God, you sigh and take the bags into an empty room, Miracle following closely behind you. You set the bags down in what will be baby Dean’s nursery, Jody’s right, you think, we’ve got a lot of catching up to do.

You find the onesie and the iron-on decal, you place it in the center and carefully attach the decal. After letting it cool you tuck it into a small gift bag. You hear the shower turn off, and make your way back into your bedroom, placing the bag on your bedside table, waiting for Sam to exit the bathroom. You can’t help but stare at him appreciatively when he opens the door, a towel wrapped around his waist. You’re suddenly very aware of how long it's been since you’d been with him. Sam catches you eyeing him, and smirks, sending a jolt straight down to your core. You missed this, not just the sex, but how he takes charge with you, his domineering presence making you melt. He leans over you, and places a tender yet eager kiss on your lips.

You reach for the towel, letting it slide onto the floor as Sam deepens the kiss, and start to work him over in your hands. Sam groans at your touch, and starts to pull at your shirt, pulling his face away just long enough to rid you of it. Sam’s lips are back on yours just as quickly as they were gone. His hands palm at your breasts, and you moan into his hands reach into the overflowing cups, you really loved your pregnancy boobs, but your bras were doing very little to keep them in place. Sam’s hands travel to your back, and undos your bra, letting your breasts fall free. Sam finally opens his eyes when his hands land on your protruding stomach and takes a few steps back.

He quickly pulls on a pair of sweatpants as you pull your shirt back over your head, trying you best not to cry as he starts pacing the floor of your bedroom. You wait for him to say something, anything; you weren’t trying when you realized you were pregnant. You’d just gone off your birth control, and everyone told you it would take at least a few months for your body to get back to its natural cycle. You both knew it was possible but figured you’d have at least 6 months before really actively trying for a baby.

Sam’s face is almost unreadable; you can’t tell if he’s happy or mad, if he’ll tell you it’s too soon, that he’s not ready. He opens and closes his mouth multiple times, as if he can’t figure out what to say. If Dean were here, he’d probably knock him upside his head, telling him this exactly what he’s always wanted.

“How– why–” Sam stammers as you move to the edge of the bed. “Are you– You’re pregnant.” He says it almost as if it’s a question and you nod your head. “How long?” There’s almost an accusation in his voice, you’re sure it’s not intentional, but it doesn’t make you feel any better.

“18 weeks,” you murmur, trying to hold back your tears. “I wanted to tell you sooner, but it’s– it never seemed to be the right time. When you and Dean–” Sam winces at the mention of Dean’s name, you hadn’t said it out loud in almost a month, not since you left the Bunker. “I found out right before you left, I was going to tell you when you got back. But… after… I was afraid that you’d say it wasn’t the right time. That it was too soon.”

“It is too soon,” Sam mutters under his breath, you’re sure it’s not meant to be malicious, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less. “You said it would take at least 6 months.”

“It’s different for everyone,” you offer, as Sam runs his hands through his hair, still pacing in front of you. “Please, Sam, can you sit down? You’re freaking me out.” Sam moves to the edge of the bed, and sits down next to you.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” Sam whispers, eyeing your belly. “I don’t know how– I don’t know how to be a dad.”

“Yes, you do,” you grab his hand, and place it on your belly. “Dean taught you everything you would ever need to know.”

Sam smiles sadly, “I ever tell you about the night I left for Stanford?” You shake your head. “Dad and me, we got into this huge fight. So of course, Dean steps in– gets between us, attempts to calm us, but we were both just– just too fucking stubborn to listen.” He removes his hand, focusing down on them as he fidgets. “When dad said don’t come back, I called his bluff, and I was– I was so pissed at Dean, I thought he was taking Dad’s side, that I didn’t even say bye to him. I didn’t have it myself to go with grace. I walked away from him, the only family that I had, and I regretted it for years. I- I feel like he should be the one here, that- that we’re moving on too quickly.”

“Dean, he– he wouldn’t want you, us, to live like this, we owe it to him to keep fighting, to live our lives. I know how much you miss him,” a tear slips from Sam’s eye. “I miss him too, but you know what keeps me going everyday?” Sam shakes his head, and you take his hand in yours again, and place it back on the swell of your belly just as little Dean decides to kick for the first time. The smile on Sam’s face is instant, you can’t stop the happy tears from falling as Sam shifts in front of you, and lays his head on your swollen stomach. “Our son.”

Sam cries, truly cries for the first time since the day he brought home Dean’s body. You hold him against you, he’s been so pent up for the last 3 months, bottling up his emotions, he needs this, you both do. You’d been so focused on the baby growing inside of you never realized that you hadn’t realized that Sam had never come to terms with Dean’s death.

“It’s a boy?” Sam asks as his cries cease. “We’re having a son?”

“We’re having a son,” you nod, and hand Sam the gift bag still sitting on your bedside table.

Sam opens the bag, and you smile as he pulls out the green onesie, his eyes lighting up as he reads the lettering.

“You’re sure?” He questions.

“The world lost one Dean Winchester, let’s give it another.”

Please give let me know what you think! Reblog or send an ask

Forever Tags:

@that-one-gay-girl

@akshi8278

#bees6krollthedicechallenge #sam x reader #sam winchester x reader #supernatural spoilers #supernatural fic #spn family #pregnant reader #supernatural #daddy!Sam

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bitch-for-a-rainbow · 3 years ago

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So there's a blanddcheadcanons post that says that "Kara is the mortal avatar of Rao" and I really don't like it, especially in the context of SG 3x04 (The Faithful). At best, as was pointed out to me by a friend with whom I discussed this post, the House of El is likely blessed and somewhat sponsored by Rao, which probably doesn't do much but produce Krypton's greatest heroes, given what the word "El" **means** in Kryptonian. I'm interested in your thoughts on this (pls post your answer).

I reject the headcannon solely because if it were true it would mean Coville was right and I fucking hate that bitch.

In all seriousness, though, this is an idea I've seen a lot and I'm not a huge fan of. I don't know much about Raoism beyond what appears in the show and that which can be inferred off of the show. One thing I would point out though is that El in Kryptonian (while obviously being intended to mean God by the original comic writers) can mean Sun or Stars, and since the Kryptonians in the show are, as far as I can tell, monotheistic, and worshipped only one particular star, the El family is not necessarily named God. It would, however, signify their enormous prestige on Krypton and contribute to the famous El pride (or rather, arrogance). I’m not sure it would necessarily have to mean anything more than that-- that the Els are a respected house who have produced a variety of successful politicians, civil servants, and scientists. And (this time reaching a little bit) that they are perhaps so old and respected that their house name was once a title.

There is a certain allure to the theory, for sure. Kara is a paragon character. She always, always does what she thinks is right, regardless of the cost, personal or global, and regardless of what other people might think of it. She has a very direct moral compass, and there are only a handful of times when she doesn’t follow it, all of which involve saving Lena. Ship who you want, but it is notable that Kara routinely prioritzes Lena’s life over that of others given the rarity of that happening otherwise. She never even considered breaking Rick Thompson’s father out of prison when he kidnapped Alex, and all he’d committed was bank robbery. Kara has lines she does not cross (though murder is clearly not one of them). She is a character that has seen some of the worst that sentient life is capable of, has seen more death and suffering than most people could imagine, and she came out of it with an all-encompassing desire to protect others. She lives to give people hope. Plus, the humor of having Kara-- the one person most offended by the idea of being an Avatar of Rao-- turn out to be an Avatar of Rao is great.

But, I would also say that having Kara want to do good because she is the avatar of a benevolent god is reductive and not particularly true to her character. It is true that helping and protecting people is a large part of the core of who Kara is. But there is a difference between altruism and the self-destructive, bordering of suicidal desperation to save absolutely everyone that Kara practices. And to anyone who doubts the suicidal bit, I direct you to the season 1 finale where Kara literally goes on a goodbye tour because she thinks if she goes out to fight Non she’ll die. She still goes because she has hope, but that hope is that she can at least save Earth with her life. She doesn’t fight because she is certain in the ultimate victory of good and justice. She does it because she more afraid to lose another family than she is to die. Kara doesn’t become Supergirl and risk her own life because she believes in good, she does it because she can’t stand to listen to people suffer-- because she has suffered. To use Alex’s words in 1x13 “You fight everyday to keep people from struggling like you have.” Notably also in 1x13, Kara wakes up from the Black Mercy and her first words are “Who did this to me?” and then she goes after Non in what could arguably be described as a homicidal rage-- a rage that is fueled entirely for personal reasons, not the greater good of Earth (though that comes as an added benefit), which is.... not very befitting the avatar of a benevolent god.

A major part of season 1 is Kara dealing with grief and rage. She nearly breaks a guy's arm in episode 6 because he screamed at her for damaging his car, to hell with the children he'd almost hit with it. In season 3's Midvale flashbacks we see her first put both hands through a lunch table, then attack Jake when she suspects him for Kenny's death. She gets better at controlling it as the seasons progress, but during Crisis she very nearly melts Lex. Also not particularly godly of her.

Then there is the fact that so much of who Kara is is shaped by fear: fear of the government, fear of humanity, fear of abandonment, and fear of herself. In her civilian life, Kara is, for the most part, unnoticeable. She's polite, soft-spoken, doesn't wear a lot of bold colors or styles, and is often a pushover. As shown by her encounter with Red Kryptonite, Kara would not dress or speak the same way to people without the pressure of hiding her identity (though much of her dialogue is purely the loss of her "don't be an asshole" filter, some of it is stuff she had every right to say before and just didn't). I have always found that episode to be very interesting purely for the fact that Kara doesn't actually seem to be seeking harm on others so much as seeking their attention. Her argument with Alex is almost entirely about how much she hates having to hide and pretend to be less than she is. Kara drops Cat off the balcony and then catches her. She attacks the police when they point weapons at her but doesn't kill or even hurt them that badly, instead of destroying the car they're using as shelter. Red-K removed her inhibitions, made her angrier, yes, but if her goal was to actually hurt people, she could have done so-- would have done so, and with great ease. She goes to a public bar and uses super strength to smash bottles by flicking peanuts. Why do that at a crowded bar? Why not just flick potato chips at the windows in her own apartment?

This is Kara at her absolute worst-- but does she seek out the DEO agents who shot her out of the sky? Does she go after Maxwell Lord or Non? No. She tries to make people pay attention to her. Her most shameful and hideous desire is for people to give her respect. (Admittedly, respect gained through fear, but still.). Kara's a nice person-- much, much nicer than average-- but a lot of that "nice" is just her avoiding conflict to avoid attention.

Kara is a good person. Kara inspires people. But that is because Kara gets up every day and chooses to be good and to inspire. It's one of the reasons I enjoy Non as a villain so much-- he and Astra are Kara's narrative foils. They also remember Krypton and grieve its loss. They also were trapped in the Phantom Zone. But where Kara had the Danvers to convince her that some good people existed and would risk themselves just to help others, Non and Astra had Alura sentencing them to eternal suffering rather than helping them save their planet (through the means they thought necessary) and then landed on Earth and found it headed on the same path as the planet they'd just lost. Kara had people to help her grieve. Non and Astra were surrounded by misery. They lost hope. Kara discovered it.

Kara is the Paragon of Hope because she has been hopeless. Because she has suffered so much, seen so much, and because she chooses to believe in a better future. She didn't have hope her first time in the Phantom Zone. She didn't even have hope for a while on earth. From what we can gather, Kara's choice to start actually believing in the future was a gradual shift that occurred sometime after Kenny's death and has lasted her ever since. For Kara, hope is learned. She chose to hope and she won't let it go, and to assign that incredible victory off to her being a God is an insult to her growth and to her character.

Now I personally thought “The Faithful” handled this concept very well. 3x04 is one of my favorite episodes of television in general, let alone in Supergirl. Season 3 is my second favorite season, and that says a lot for its good episodes when the bad of season 3 is so, so very bad (To say nothing of the episode to episode production value, we have the waste of Argo, Mon El’s return as obviously he’s grown he has a beard Mon El, and whatever the hell was going on with Kryptonian genetic engineering eclipse causing witches). To this day I don’t know why Kara had magic dreams. The show did nothing to explain it and I can’t imagine up a reason.

But “The Faithful” works because it highlights the whole paragon part of who Kara is. When you realize that every person in the room of Coville’s cult is a person she has personally saved-- that hits hard. Especially since only a fraction of the people she’s saved would ever set foot inside that building with the totally not-creepy, entirely wholesome way they deliver the invitations. (“Your daughter is special. She has been chosen. As have you.”) It works because it focuses on how the average human must view Kara, the ones who don’t see her argue with her sister over potstickers and crush her phone when she gets mad. It works because of how desperately hard Kara tries to be a human. It works because the writers know that we, the audience, do not see Kara as anything but a regular person with irregular abilities: a kind and remarkably devoted person, but not a god.

#I didnt discuss it above. but Kara gets REALLY mad about Covilles whole deal #I really love watching her reaction to kryptonian artifacts #girl goes suspicion first and anger second #and it highlights her humanity #even as it puts her on a pedastal #Kara saved all these people but she will still tear her holy book from your hands #and scream at you for daring to quote it #Supergirl 3x04 #Supergirl 1x13 #Supergirl 1x20 #Supergirl #Kara Danvers #Supergirl meta #Kara Zor el #Raoism

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mrsromeave · 4 years ago

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i love the idea of garroth raising alina and lilith! got any headcanons for their dynamic?

oh geez have I been waiting for this question.

in my mind, garroth gets some help from some old friends and they build a house for him and the girls in levin’s village. garroth has no idea how to be a parent, and is grieving heavily for aphmau. but he is determined to try.

but just this.. 6′11 huge guy, with scars and a relic and a brooding stare accompanied by 2 little girls by his side walking down town.

toddler alina having a nightmare about the day her mom died and garroth rushing upstairs, thinking by the screams that one of them was attacked. realizing why she screamed and comforting her, saying something like, “it’s okay, i get nightmares about that day too.”

lilith being kinda timid of garroth at first, every parent she has had has died, and she’s super protective of alina too. garroth telling them both stories of aphmau and her kindness and all of the adventures they went on. he doesn’t have as many stories about aaron but he tells them all.

alina’s birthday comes around and lilith is sad because she doesn’t know when her birthday is. garroth sends a letter to katelyn asking the exact date they found her, and choosing that day as the day to celebrate. he than surprised her with a big party, even though parties were never his style.

lilith being proud to have her middle name after garroth.

the girls get a little older and one of them accidentally calls garroth dad. he explains how he doesn’t want to be a replacement for their parents, but lilith explains that he’s not replacing them, he’s just another parent.

garroth teaching the older girls how to fight, and alina how to use her relic. she’s scared of all of the power in her, and garroth having the relic that killed their father in him, says how he is sometimes scared of it too.

levin retiring from lord business and offering alina or lilith the position. lilith declines, but alina wants to follow her moms footsteps. garroth helps her with lord duties and it reminds him of when aphmau first arrived. he expected looking back would be heavy, but it’s not anymore.

lilith falling in love with one of the kids in the village, and asking garroth for advice. the only advice he can give is to not be afraid, because you never know when you’ll get the opportunity again. she get’s married in the future, and even with garroth’s history with weddings, walks her down the isle proudly.

alina has a LOT of baggage, being the “daughters of irene”, and does something risky and gets hurt, and garroth is upset. alina says something like, “i thought being more like mom was what you wanted!” and garroth replies with, “i never wanted you to be more like your mother. i wanted you to be you.” and then she starts crying into his shoulder.

as garroth took his last breath, he could finally be at peace. he had done his duty as a guard. not just his duty to his lord, his duty to his daughters.

#aphmau #garroth #alina #lilith #mcd #minecraftdiaries #geez that was not meant to be that deep #i just have a lot of feelings about them #he's confused but he's got the spirit #just all of them finally being at peace #i'll shut up now but thank you for the ask!

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rosesgonerogue · 5 years ago

Text

Let the Sunshine In - Prologue

It’s here! This is the prologue of the Jasonette fic I’ve been promising to celebrate my 100+ followers. I’m going to apologize in advance, this particular section is kind of angsty. I recently watched Under the Red Hood, and I’m in the middle of Violet Evergarden and I HAVE EMOTIONS.

***********************

Ladybug collapsed in an empty alleyway, her entire body screaming from the latest akuma attack. She desperately wanted to cry, but she couldn’t give Hawkmoth any reason to try to akumatize her. Besides, in this state, she might just agree to his demands.

She still had a few minutes before she transformed back, and in desperation, she flipped open her yo-yo. “I know the Justice League told me to stop ‘prank calling,’ but… I just need to feel like someone cares about this city. Please find me one person who is willing to help.”

Jason should have been at school, but after getting in a fight he’d made the executive decision that he was taking the rest of the day off. He knew Alfred was planning on cleaning the mansion that day, so he found himself loitering around the Batcave when a call came in.

He was already in costume for… training, so Jason just had to slap on his Robin mask before answering. “Hello?”

On the screen was the most beautiful girl that Jason had ever seen. She looked around his age, wearing a red-spotted suit and a matching domino mask. However, her mask didn’t obscure the clearest blue eyes that Jason had ever seen. They were entrancing, but also a bit broken, like him. She had seen too much, done too much.

“Hello?” she said in heavily accented English. “Who is this?”

“You’re calling a super-secure super computer, sweetcheeks. I believe that’s my line,” Robin said with an impish grin.

He immediately regretted his statement when the girl looked close to crying. “I-I’m Ladybug, one of Paris’s heroes.”

“But Paris doesn’t have--”

“Obviously we do have heroes,” the girl--Ladybug--snapped. “I’m not just a child pretending like the Justice League accused me of. Our heroes are real, and our villain is very real. Hawkmoth is getting better and more dangerous as time goes by. I don’t know how much more our city can handle.”

Jason straightened, somehow already sold on this girl’s story. “Do you have any photographs or footage of any of the events? I can talk to Batman about it--or at the very least irritate him until he listens.”

Ladybug’s eyes widened, a glimmer of hope lighting up her face. “Batman? That means you’re--”

She was cut off by a beeping noise that made her curse softly under her breath. “I have to go, but I’ll call again. Thank you for listening, Robin.”

“I’ll do what research I can, Ladybug. We’ll help you out,” Jason promised earnestly.

Marinette smiled, the first genuine smile she’d had for days, possibly longer. Probably since she had become the Guardian of the Miracle Box. “You really don’t know how much I needed someone to care, Robin. Thank you. Bug out.”

From then on, Ladybug fought with the knowledge and hope that people could and did care about her city. She called Robin on and off to plan how to convince the League that the situation in Paris was very real. He was brilliant, although it was obvious that everyone could see it except Robin himself. They even got to the point that Marinette would call them friends. There were a lot of things she couldn’t tell him and he couldn’t tell her, but they learned to ease one another’s burdens in whatever ways they could. Robin made her feel like Marinette could handle being the Guardian, and Ladybug made Jason feel like he was more than a street kid who couldn’t fill Dick Grayson’s shoes.

Things seemed to be looking up for Marinette on all accounts--schoolwork seemed easier, she had just the perfect number of commissions, and Lila had at least temporarily directed her attention elsewhere.

They had set aside a time to plan every week, but one week Jason didn’t answer right away. Marinette didn’t think anything of it at first, he was probably busy. But when she tried again, it wasn't Robin that answered, but Batman.

“How did you get this channel?” he demanded in a voice gruffer than Marinette thought was possible for a human being to produce. “Who are you?”

“L-Ladybug. I’m Ladybug, sir, and I was calling for Robin.”

At these words, the man’s face distorted into the embodiment of distrust and rage. “You think this is funny? Because I will--”

“What’s wrong?” Marinette asked, dread curdling in her stomach. “Did something happen to Robin?”

She couldn’t see his eyes from behind the cowl, but Marinette knew Batman was glaring at her, the singularly most terrifying moment of her life. “Robin is dead, because that’s what happens when children try to play hero. Leave that kind of thing to the adults, little girl, unless you want to end up the same way.”

Robin is dead.

Those three words pounded through Marinette’s head like an inescapable drumbeat. At some point the yo-yo had fallen out of her hand, and Batman had hung up with the strict instructions never to call again.

The world felt fuzzy, not quite real to Marinette. In an unexpected moment of clarity, though, Marinette realized: strong emotions were coming. She knew she wouldn’t be able to deny Hawkmoth, not with the fresh grief coursing through her. Right now, even if it was just a short time, she needed to be able to feel.

Marinette swung herself through Paris’s streets faster than ever before, launching herself at her balcony with desperation. Her transformation timed out just as she landed, making it easier to slip on Kaalki’s glasses.

She had transformed with Kaalki once or twice before, and for some reason this kwami always made her feel a bit antsy. The second that the transformation settled, Marinette opened up a portal to the first place in her mind that was both out of Hawkmoth’s range, and secluded enough that she wouldn’t have to worry about being seen or heard.

It was too much, losing Master Fu and then Robin. They had been the only things keeping Marinette sane and grounded, and she couldn’t talk about them with anyone else. That combined with the pressure of being Ladybug made Marinette feel like she was going to explode. So she screamed, she screamed until her voice broke, dissolving into pathetic sobbing as she collapsed in on herself on the forest floor.

One by one, the kwamis emerged and surrounded her, concerned.

Tikki was the first to speak. “Are you alright, Marinette?”

“How did he die?”

The kwamis traded uneasy glances. “What?”

“Robin. Can you tell me how he died?” Marinette asked, clutching her knees to her chest. “I just… I need to know.”

“Marinette, I don’t think--”

“She deserves to know,” Wayzz said, interrupting Tikki. “Marinette is no child. SHe’s already had Master Fu taken from her, but she can’t grieve with anyone. She can’t even speak to anyone about it but us. She needs this closure, even if it’s heavy to bear.”

Tikki reluctantly agreed. “This would be easier if Plagg were here, but we can probably show you an approximation of what happened to the boy.”

The kwamis present circled around her, a soft magic glow spreading across all of them. A series of images flashed through her mind, each worse than the last: the glint of a raised crowbar, a pale face with a maniacal grin, blood spattered across grimy floorboards… The worst of all, however, was the image of Robin’s face as the bomb counted down to zero, the hopelessness that came from knowing that no one would come to save him.

Logically there had been no way for Marinette to know that any of this was happening, but she knew she would never be able to forgive herself. One of her only allies in the entire world had died scared and alone, and there was no excuse for that.

She allowed herself to cry for a while longer, the torrent of emotions too much. But alas, negative emotions, and often emotions in general were a luxury that Marinette Dupain-Cheng could not afford. When her tears ran out, Marinette simply straightened up, fed Kaalki a sugar cube, and went back to Paris.

From that day on, Marinette never spoke of Master Fu or Robin again, even to the kwami. She locked them deep in her heart where they could stay until Hawkmoth had been dealt with. As both Marinette and Ladybug, she devoted herself to ensuring that no one would ever feel as alone and afraid as Robin had.

Ladybug was stronger, better at her job than before while Marinette was kinder, more helpful, and more generous than ever. To some it seemed like it was the same as always, but those that really knew her had noticed: her smile was never the same. It was… damaged, somehow, something like seeing the outline of the sun through a veil of clouds.

**********************

This fic is NOT going to be like this most of the time, I swear. I have a good friend that I swap story ideas with named Kit, and we have a lot of fluffy nonsense ahead, with the occaisional splashes of angst. This is actually going to take place a few years in the future, when Marinette is starting college. Just as an FYI, I write fanfiction because it’s fun, but also because it gives me a medium to get feedback and improve my writing. Let me know what you guys think, and if you have any questions or suggestions. This is a side blog, so just know that when I reply in the comments, it’s under the username rogueptoridactyl. Just let me know if you want to be added to the taglist, and hopefully you guys like it!

Taglist: @slytherinsheashire @cravethosecrazysquares @krispydefendorpolice @thesunanditsangel @sonif50 @kris-pines04 @persephonebutkore @tbehartoo @corabeth11 @caffeinetheory @drarryismylife101 @bluerosette23 @weird-pale-blonde-person @mystery-5-5 @heaven428 @thethirdwheelfriend @thetinymoonflower @interobanginyourmom @chocolate1721 @akana-sama @skyel0ve @katiegardneriscoolerthanyou

#maribat #jasonette #jason x marinette

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vynnyal · 5 years ago

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dumping my random thoughts, comic ideas, and wildly misinformed theories abt hk onto my victims: part 2!!! p clear what I was doing in some of these, lmao

btw if you have any input im very, super interested please feel free 2 share

"So who's the mother?" Grimm: "Mother? No, there was no mother." "Then how--?" grimm: "Mitosis, obviously." Cut to two panels of the person dissociating over what they imagine the process to be.

FUCKIN... ASEXUAL PRIDE GRIMM

Hornet yelling shaw instead of yeet or koby.

Hornet yelling git gud at inappropriate times in place of like... Actual Advice. Alt: jdghghf or when she gets nervous, as a distraction.

Her thinking of something cool to say while waiting outside the black egg temple. alt: her thinking so hard she almost misses her cue, making her flub; aka the reason she says somn more like "geddun" in-game. alt alt: thk and ghost sharing a blank look (mid-battle) and thinking "she flubbed" in disbelief.

Hornet and something with the "spidersilk paper" lemm mentioned, maybe using it to """document""" her day when she has time to spare. She insists it's not a diary, so don't even try.

Hornet grieving the little weavers.

(speedrun) "You wanna fight? Huh? Huh? Well I dont, bye"

Zote "I only saved you for the money" joke.

Quirrel pretending not to understand modern slang.

Quirrel... Dad jokes... Holy shit

FUCKIN... DAD BOD???

conifer appearing in increasingly absurd locations.

Quirrel playfully commenting on the uh... "information"... The tablets display. alt: he can actually read it just fine, but is coy abt telling ghost what it says.

rather than just appearing, Quirrel and ghost walk through the archives together, the mood bittersweet.

Hollow knight passing the time in the black egg lightheartedly.

Wyrm and root trying to argue but the height difference just makes them both laugh.

ghost appearing before Root, expectant, only for them to slowly realize she doesn't actually... care about them. or any of the vessels, really. she expects them to do their duty, her claims of shame apparently not deterring her away from the fate they were created for. alt: she acts like that not out of any kind of malevolence, but out of pure ignorance. It doesn't occur to her how much it costs the little vessels... Or that they even have anything to lose, at all.

Cut to the future after the bad end, as yet another fragile vessel appears before the queen, far too late to save anyone now.

Godmaster traitor lord battle, ghost walks in looking very nervous. Traitor looks smug, asking if they're afraid (of him), only for the next panel to show ghost sweating profusely as they have Fragile Flower Flashbacks. alt, they're imagining/being pressured by the ghost girlfriends glaring at them/wailing "WAIIII" in tendem.

Ghost asks how thk got so big, only for them to reveal their body is still the same size, and they're just controlling a big suit of armor like false knight. Jdbfjfgjr

its been pointed out the bee knight doesnt... actually have any wings to buzz with. the noises are entirely vocalized. The reason buzzy baby makes buzz noises is because he felt left out when he was a kid; the queen, seeking to comfort him, explains how he can create his very own buzz sounds using an alternative method, instead. Despite his battle prowess, his mind never matured, continuing up to his very last moments to make the habitual noises of his childhood.

(godmaster) having soul left over and fuckin SCREAMING in the faces of the nail masters just before the bench.

Defeating bee boy by one mask, relaxing for a sec, before realizing the bees are stILL COMING ACTUALLY,,,,

The aftermath of the sheo fight, ghost just DRIPPING with rainbow-colored paint.

ze'mer and her lover meeting in their dreams.

flower lesbos hanging out with the thorn husbos (nailmaster/sheo hfshh)

Team cherry hid the gays behind some of the hardest missions because, let's be honest, no homophobe would put that much effort into anything.

Quirrel saying "I've only had ghost for a day, but if anything happened to them I'd -" Cuts to ghost, shade over their body Quirrel: "..."

Messing with the hot springs... geysers? Idk 3 heads things. whats in there? How were they made? By the ancient civilization, maybe pale king? alt: finding quirrel relaxing casually inside one of the eyesockets instead of in the spring, lmao.

"I'd sure like to be a shade, like heck- they can fly, they can do that weird teleport thing, and they have-", turns to it, "- ALL MY MONEY!!!"

Ngl I still don't fully understand the relationship between ghost, their shell, and their shade, and should prolly read up before blabbing, but what is it that separates ghost's body from their shade? Or their shade from ghost, themself? We see in the dnm ending they can very much "control" their shade, as they voluntarily rip off their shell to release it. Or... Oh shit am I dumb? Did ghost kill themselves right then? Oh fuck did ghost die to let their shade kill the radience. Please tell me I'm wrong I'm really upset now yfjfihrufhgi

Gonna be honest the previous one was me trying to contextualize the concept of ghost being able to fly like shades do but now I'm just thinking abt ghost, fuck. Still. Imagine ghost n thk just, like, hovering towards people with their funky tentacle legs. Or better, no tentacles, they can just Do That. Establish your dominance, little vessels.

Ghost doing the superman "ripping off your shirt to shift into super-mode" thing except they just tear apart their shell. Alt: hornet: "that looks painful"

Broken vessel was stuck. Out of all the dead vessels we see- the one in greenpath, those hung in nosk's den, the floor of the abyss, even ghost themself- not one retained their body after death. Except, that is, for broken vessel. Something, somehow, was anchoring their shade to their shattered shell and keeping it there, unable to seep away and reunite with their siblings below. They weren't just another corpse. That was ghost's sibling.

Just what is a vessel's coak? From what I've seen of the sprites, it's clearly attached to their shells; some in nosk's den are even hung from them, with their shells dangling below it. It seems biological- by which I mean, not some sort of clothing or ambiguously god-based substance- which makes its selective decay rather odd. On one hand, in greenpath, nosk's den, and some specific corpses within the abyss, their cloaks have stayed firmly attached. On the other, we have countless shells left naked all over the place- even ghost's shell is like this. Of course we have to keep in mind ari prolly just didn't wanna animate that, but that's no fun. I don't really have a prompt or theory here, as nothing I come up with quite fits the bill... Just more of a thinkpiece, I suppose.

Nyooming past quirrel at blue lake, freeze frame of ghost and q sharing a startled look.

Ghost distracting sheo by making him gush over his artwork. alt, "winning" the battle by showing him something they made, and/or just having a paint-off. Ghost wins no matter what, obviously.

Ohhh... Ghost learning to express themselves through art...

Lurien secretly has multiple eyes, fit neatly in the one socket.

Appreciating the genius of the mimic grub room (the real grub's location is hard-coded. im still mad)

Hearing Hornet say "get down" instead of "git gud" and the connotations of that. alt: hearing "git gud" when she's actually saying "get down", being offended or otherwise reacting to that, before being promptly smacked in the face by whatever she was warning them abt.

Hornet doing weird, obscure spider things.

Ghost: WHAT is THAT?? uumuu: uumuu emoji face

Where does the shade get its sword? Is it a void-sword? Did they scavange it? Did they make it???

The actual guttural horror of falling into the centipedes in deepnest.

The irony of feeling incredibly sad and hurt at thk's pain, but absolute bloodlust for pure knight.

What was written upon the journal found with the corpse in ash at hollownest’s edge. Alt: h. how did ash even get up there.

#blabbing.txt #Thonking abt hollowknight #FDhbfjfhf I had to cut this post in half #Only true chads make long texts posts on mobile and of them I am king #Sorry abt the angst lma o.... idk whether to include them r not #I am so melodramatic and idk how not to be help

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hornsandthings · 5 years ago

Text

victory in the wrong clothing;

pairing: (adult) richie tozier x reader

summary: richie returns to his s/o after having left abruptly for derry. still grieving for eddie, he struggles to talk about what has happened. his s/o is there to comfort him, learning more about what richie had once wanted as a child and what he wants now for his future as an adult.

warnings: canon-typical themes, fluff & angst, language lmao // word count: 2.2k (oops)

you felt like an impostor here, sitting on richie tozier’s couch inside his chicago high-rise. richie trashmouth tozier’s couch; comfortable, luxurious, expensive. despite this, you knew what you’d find if you were to have a look around: the awards in his office, the display of rare vinyls next to the record player in the living room, his collection of bizarre ties that he reserved for formal events only. god, you thought a little wildly, the tea in your hands long since gone cold, i feel like a stalker. an outsider who had broken into the comedy star’s apartment, an avid fan whose mind had gone a little haywire with obsession.

and, perhaps just as a stalker would’ve, you took richie’s absence personally. first, it had manifested as anger – you had half a mind to trash trashmouth’s apartment by day two – but then it transformed into a type of gnawing worry. even now, as you sat wide awake at midnight (like every other night of this past week), your gut roiled and your heart pounded as you stared out the big window over the city. chicago’s lights – once exciting and bright – were barely coherent against the night’s darkness, twinkling pitifully as it seemed moments from being swallowed up.

richie was out in that darkness somewhere, his number no longer in service. he had left on a tuesday, home only a moment after a show of his at one of the city’s intimate comedy clubs. your friends had said things like what a bastard! and maybe all those voices finally drove him crazy and oh hon, can’t you see? he found someone else. if it had been anyone else, perhaps you would’ve believed such things, but the way richie had left…

you still remembered it vividly, because it was scary.his hands were shaking, his face pale and drawn as he was throwing clothes into a suitcase, eyes glazed over. in answer to your bewildered questions, he’d been mumbling about home and a call and a promise. some of the panic dissipated into grim determination, but richie tozier had left still looking like a dead man walking.

i don’t understand, you’d nearly wailed, richie, please! talk to me!

richie barely remembered his childhood. for him to return to the town he couldn’t name – or perhaps wouldn’tname – on some sort of random whim…

it had you guiltily checking the medicine cabinet, fearing some sort of break – but no, he’d packed his ADHD medication too. there was this, but also the way he had turned back to you before closing the door. don’t forget me, he’d said, before giving you a desperate, rushed kiss.

the smell of sweat was still in your nose. the smell of fear. richie tozier had been afraid. so no, then. he hadn’t left you. he was running towards something, even if it was the absolute last thing he wanted to do.

so here you sat in the silent apartment, watching the night deepen. you were so in thought that you didn’t register the roll of a suitcase, or the click of a key turning the lock, but then the lights flicked on and footsteps shuffled and you turned and the mug shattered on the floor and there he was, richie tozier, your boyfriend, your goddamn lover.

god, you almost couldn’t believe it. perhaps you were gaping at him, but richie looked older, almost like a stranger. but then his face crumpled, long legs taking stagger-steps as he reached for you, and you all but jumpedhim, wrapping him up in your arms.

“richie! oh god, richie—richie, i—”

“i’m sorry, baby,” he whispered, leaning over you as he hid his face in your hair, almost crushing you as he held tight – but you didn’t care, you welcomed this almost-pain, reassuring you that this was real. his shoulders were shaking, his breath haggard, nails digging into your skin. richie was crying.

you whimpered against his chest, clutching at his crinkled shirt. it almost hurt to hold him like this, body all tense, but it was all you could do for a while, still standing there on the threshold of the living room. when he got a little too heavy, his knees too weak to even hold himself up, you gently pulled him onto that couch.

richie was loathe to let go of you; he clung on, manoeuvring your legs over his lap and your head to his shoulder. cradling the back of your neck, he pressed his lips to yours in a wet kiss, mouth moulding to yours slow and steady, again and again. you cupped his jaw, the scratch of stubble against your palms and as you held his face close, his nose cold as it brushed yours.

“i missed you,” you said, and he ran his thumb over your cheekbone. “i worried for you. you scaredme, richie.” he scared you a little even now, his eyes so solemn. it was a far cry from the richie who would shock audiences with sheer audacity, make you flustered in public, make you giddy and soft with his kindness and affection. i fucking adore you, he’d once whispered into your ear.

richie winced, averting his eyes. “i know. i’m sorry. but i had to, baby. and it—it worked, but—fuck!” he shuddered, squeezing his eyes shut. “not everyone—eddie—”

he was shaking now, removing his glasses before pinching the bridge of his nose. you shook your head, feeling your own eyes well up. he wasn’t making any sense, but he was clearly in such despairthat it made your heart ache. “baby,” you murmured, gently taking his hands. “baby, what happened to you? where did you go? who… who’s eddie?”

richie looked at you, taking in your careful grip, your soft tone, your honest face. his chest seized at the way you had said eddie, no suspicion there but only concern and sympathy. god, he didn’t know how to even begin to tell you. i killed a killer clown from outer space, baby, and his psychotic henchman! they both used to pick on me and my friends in middle school! i remembered a whole life i’d forgotten and lost half of it, all in one night! i had some fucking wild TIMES, BABY!

he wanted to tell you the truth – fuck, some part of him needed to – but for all the love he knew you had for him, any sane person would make moves to have him committed. there was this, yes, but it was mostly the burden of knowing which stopped him. to know that there were horrors lurking amongst the stars, things beyond human comprehension, things which had set foot on this fucking earth – it had broken stanley’s mind, the one who had been the most adult of them all. no, he couldn’t do that to you.

“richie,” you said, reverting to a much more simpler question, “are you okay?”

and he broke, a sob escaping his throat with a hitching, ugly sound. he leaned into your touch as you hugged him close, nuzzling his face in your neck as he shook against you. it hurt to cry like this, throat constricting and nose stinging and head aching and heart breaking. the memories in his head ran like a well-watched film reel: the scrape of ground beneath him. eddie’s smile. the splattering of blood. the harsh tug of hands all over him as he screamed, they screamed, the cavern around them screamed. it was all swallowing him again, the smell of the sewers, the unspeakable sights—

it was gradual, but richie started to shift his focus back to the here and now, guided out of the black hole that was the memory of derry by your murmured reassurances, by your hand running through his hair.

“i’m sorry,” he croaked again, but you only hushed him, pressing a kiss to his temple.

“i’m just glad you’re back.”

richie sighed, lifting his head to look at you. he felt a little pathetic, practically draped over you and weeping incoherently while you were being patient, so patient. “geez. fuck me,” he groaned, but you didn’t laugh. instead, you wiped away at a track a tear had left.

he caught your wrist, held onto it as he turned his head to kiss your palm. with a deep breath, richie steeled himself, trying to think of some way to frame the recent horrors into a reasonable narrative. eventually he managed, twisting the truth into a tale of how he and childhood friends – brought back to derry to reunite after hearing one of them had died – were targeted by a serial killer. it all culminated in some unstable underground tunnel, where eddie had died and the damned thing had collapsed before richie could get him out.

“eddie…eds,” he was saying. you had tears in your eyes, squeezing his hands tightly as richie swallowed hard, eyes shining. “oh, baby,” he sighed, wincing at you in weak apology but you shook your head, managing a small smile. you could already tell – it was in the way he had said eddie’s name, in the sorrow that lined his very shoulders. “i… i loved him. when—when we were children. the fucking hypochondriac. he was so fucking neurotic, you know? god… and i never told him. i fucking forgot—how could i—”

oh, it was so painful. when richie had seen him again, seen the whole loser’s club again, they had fallen back into their childhood roles so easily – the things they said, their behaviours, their feelings. there had been moments when richie felt it again – love – but it was tainted by derry’s ugly, ugly attitudes, his own insecurities and doubts. and when eddie had died, in richie’s fucking arms, eddie had ended it with a joke and richie still hadn’t told him, his confession left silent and anonymous on the kissing bridge for those two boys of 1989.

“and we left him there, in the ground, oh fuck he’s gonna hate it—”

his voice faltered as guilt started to gnaw at him again. every night since that horrible, fateful day did richie think about this, about the fact that they had left eddie in the sewers, left him to rotnext to that horrid fucking bitch clown monster fuck and turn into the very thing he feared the most: a putrid leper. a decaying corpse.

you didn’t know what to say. all you could do was watch as richie’s face hardened, eyes rimmed red and lips set in a thin line. there was no anger in you, no sense of betrayal. you knew how strange it could be, to return to your childhood friends – a kind of regression took place, and some part of your old sense of self was reasserted, if only for a little while.

you splayed a palm over his chest. “i am so sorry, richie.” perhaps a cliché phrase, but it was the truth – you wished all of that horrorhadn’t happened to him, wished that he hadn’t suffered such a tragedy. “i love you,” you added, because this was still the truth, too. “i’m here for you, in whatever way you need.”

richie’s brow furrowed, fingers curling over your own. studying the lines of your hand, his thoughts raced, stumbling over each other as emotions roiled and bubbled up within him.

“marry me,” he blurted, head snapping up as he looked at you with wide eyes. “life is so fucking fickle. marry me. marry me, baby.” he was leaning closer now, searching your eyes. “i love you. i know i sound like a fucking two-timer but i’m still in love with you. so much. but when, when he died i just felt everything i did as a kid—”

“you don’t have to explain it away, richie,” you murmured. your heart was pounding as the question – the proposal – settled in your mind, not entirely unrealistic but certainly abrupt. he squeezed your hand once – perhaps in acknowledgement, or perhaps with impatience. “but of course – of course i’ll marry you,” you smiled, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. richie gasped a laugh, grinning wide as he hugged you close. his big hands were roaming your back, eager to touch and to hold.

you had meant what you said – of course you did – yet knew him well enough to know that sometimes he said things before really considering them. careful to keep your voice low and gentle, you said, “but maybe reconsider when you’re not… when you’re not grieving, baby.” you pulled away to see his face fall, but richie nodded, reaching for his glasses.

“i’ll still be asking you,” he murmured.

“and i’ll still say yes.”

richie’s mouth quirked, kissing your forehead as he gathered you back into his arms, his heart still aching a little but warmer now. indeed, when he had first set eyes on you tonight, he realised that it was only now that he felt truly safe again.

“i think a part of every person who we love stays with us,” you spoke, and richie had to agree, because the scar on his palm and the one on his heart were never going to go away. and eventually, hopefully, a small stretch of skin on his ring finger would always be lighter, showing the impression of a ring which he only would seldom – if ever – take off.

with this image in his mind, richie kissed you again, big hands gentle as they curled over your ears. “wanna stay with you forever,” he murmured, hand sliding down to your neck to feel your pulse. such a fragile thing, the heart. but capable of extraordinary strength, too. perhaps his would heal in time. but if it didn’t, if the cracks proved too big to mend, then at least he had you there for him, with him, to hold him if the hurt was to stay.

and he was quite alright with that.

#richie tozier x reader #richie tozier x you #richie tozier imagine #richie tozier #it stephen king #some reddie discussion le cri #not too happy w/ the end but had to get it out & finish it!

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azaffranist · 5 years ago

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To think that Frozen 2 could've been so DARK. You think that kids would be psychologically damaged if Elsa had actually died, having grown emotionally attached to her over the past six years?

First off, sorry about the delay anon! I researched some more information about the topic before tackling this ask.

I was hoping the documentary would maybe give a little insight into this to understand those endings better, but sadly (and unsurprisingly) they didn’t. I wouldn’t expect them to talk about Elsa’s death because that’s scandalous, but at least I expected them to talk about A Place of Our Own, a scene and a concept that got cut late into development. So late, it’s actually in the Frozen 2 artbook. I’m not gonna go full conspiracy theorist because that’s pointless, but we know for sure they decided not to talk about the most controversial topics like Arendelle’s destruction or Hard Nokks. Which is understandable, but I’m not entirely too happy with that, lol.

I actually got new information about F2′s original/early plots. So far, I haven’t been able to find the link to the source (will definitely update the post if I do): allegedly, a storyboard artist called Jeff Ranjo, who also worked in F1, said in an animation symposium around early 2019 that he found the original script of F2 to be so dark that he couldn’t take it anymore and therefore left the team. His name is in the ending credits because he had worked for a while on the movie before quitting.

Jeff Ranjo is not some random dude. Jeff Ranjo is the artist behind pieces such as this. I’m sure everyone recognizes this unique artstyle.

Nevertheless, I haven’t found the source. It’s not easy to, because I’m not sure what animation symposium it was. There’s tons of them, and it’s something that he happened to mention, as it wasn’t focused on Frozen 2. So we’ll take this for now with a grain of salt, and I hope to update in the future if this is confirmed real or not.

But - it is good to consider when we’re talking about this, and it ties in with what we’ve talked about. Frozen 2′s original plot most likely was, according to multiple sources not related to each other, dark. And we know why.

As for your question (wow that took a long time!) I’m glad you asked it because it’s something that we haven’t discussed much. I think it would’ve simply been devastating. For a multitude of reasons. Something to note before going into detail, though, is to establish what we mean by “Elsa’s death” - some of the information we got points to her dying but in some versions, her presence would still be represented by the Unity Snowflake (with a chance to come back in a third movie). I don’t know what you guys think but that doesn’t scream “alive” to me. That’s... kind of dead with a touch of magic. So keep that in mind when I’m talking about dead Elsas.

Kids wouldn’t have taken it well. Most adults would’ve sort of... accepted it. But I know we as fans wouldn’t have taken it well, either. These characters are important to us. They’re role models. They represent the struggle many of us have gone through. And Elsa is one of the most relevant characters when it comes to that. Her powers in the first movie resonated with all sorts of people, because at the end of the day, they were a metaphor that we were free to interpret however we want. Mental illness, queerness, disability, being “different” - you name it. What’s vital is that because of this, all sorts of people connected with Elsa. And seeing her die would’ve hurt. A lot.

And well, it’s obvious that kids would’ve been deeply hurt by this. The younger audience already didn’t enjoy Elsa vs Nokk. They didn’t like at all when Elsa froze. And something interesting to note, the final version toned this all down a little bit. Elsa’s freezing and thawing was originally accompanied by a much, much sadder soundtrack. They removed Elsa’s last breath, maybe in an attempt to make her death feel less “final”. We know shots in the Dark Sea fight were cut and this is painfully apparent in the last movie. Here’s what I’m talking about.

So, if the movie was modified down to removing Elsa’s last breath as to not upset kids (kids were, unsurprisingly, still upset by it) just imagine what would’ve happened if Elsa didn’t come back. Sure, apparently there was gonna be a snowflake, but... that doesn’t scream alive to me, again.

The merch would’ve flopped. What kid would want the doll of a dead character for Christmas? And we’re sleeping on the fact that Olaf was not gonna come back as a consequence, either. In terms of popularity with kids, Elsa is obviously number one, especially among girls. Olaf is number two, and boys’ favorite.

So, yes. It would’ve been devastating. If Anna had died in F1, while it would’ve hurt lots, it wouldn’t have hurt as much, because it’s the first movie of a franchise that’s just starting out. But F2 is the sequel to a movie that was showered in love and that received 2 shorts thanks to its popularity. As you said, kids (and adults too!) got attached to these characters over the span of six years. And to see them die would’ve been soul crushing. I know plenty of kids would’ve grieved them as if they were a real person. In fact, I would have too.

Were they gonna die, like, absolutely, 100% permanently, and not come back ever? No, I don’t think so. In fact they were probably setting up F3. Yes, it’s true it wasn’t gonna happen right after F2 - but after F2′s huge monetary success, I’m not afraid to say that I would see it happening soon. 2 years from now, 3, 4 even. But definitely not six. The reason F2 took so long is because F1 was supposed to be standalone movie, but it was so well received it got a sequel. That’s how things work in this world. If it brings money, Disney will try to milk it.

But that doesn’t change the fact F2 seemed like it was gonna end with a not-very-alive Elsa and a definitely-dead Olaf. This would’ve led to people being furious, sad, but I don’t doubt some would sort of like it for being different. What I think, though, is that because this ending seemed to be planned with much more anticipation, the plot’s quality would’ve been better. That’s something you just sort of deduce by logic, honestly.

Elsa and Olaf dying would’ve hurt people. I really wish to know exactly how it went, because execution matters. Some things sound one way on paper but feel completely different onscreen because of the execution. And I hope we learn the truth one day.

#frozen 2 deleted content

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i-write-shakespeare-not-disney · 5 years ago

Text

Director’s Commentary- Lovesick Side Effects, Lance comes out to his mom

My commentary is in bold italics. I have so much of this memorized from when I revised it endlessly and then directed it aklfjakdjfak-

He walked to the kitchen where Mami was washing dishes. Lance took a deep breath and leaned against the fridge as he watched her scrub a pan, the white bubbles turning an orange red from the tomato residue. This was it. I really like the specifications, and I have very distinct memories of a pan turning orange from the rice. I wanted something concrete for Lance to focus on during his internal panic.

So far, he’d spent his break watching telenovelas with Mami when he wasn’t watching movies with Vero. He’d watch Mami cook and keep her company. I know a lot of guys don’t usually do this, but I mean. For one Lance is very close to his mom especially as the youngest. And for another, I had the idea that he was looking for a way to tell her each time. As they were watching, or cooking, he was constantly like, “I’ll do it now” then he wouldn’t. He always loved spending time with her when he was home, even if most of that break, he’d felt like he was lying to her.

“Que me ves?”

He blinked and reminded himself to breathe as he refocused. “Nada.”

Mami raised an eyebrow and kept scrubbing. She was almost done. “You’ve been quiet all day today. Te estás sintiendo mal? Tengo Vicks.” Cmon. All Latines understand the accuracy of this right?

Lance let out an amused huff through his nose. So the guy who played Lance in the skit delivered this line differently. More of a panic like l ah shit not vicks ma pls and I loved it. “No, Ma, I’m fine. I’m not sick or anything....” He clasped his hands together behind his back so she wouldn’t see them shaking.

“Is this about your graduation? Te dije que no te preocupes, your Papi and I are figuring it out.” Her head is in a different place than Lance’s. She assumes it’s about economic issues, the gown, the ring, the travel, etc. She gave him a slightly chastising look. “You focus on your studies, leave the rest to us.”

“No, it’s not that…. It’s just…” He gulped and forced himself to keep talking. “I wanted to talk to you about something…. I met someone.”

Her surprise was immediate.

“Really? You met someone….”

Lance’ mouth was dry, but he kept talking. “Well… we met a while ago, but we recently started... dating. Like officially.”

She tried to seem casual by rewashing the pan as he talked, keeping her expressions in check. This was mentioned in my workshop class, and I was really happy they picked up on it. She’s giving him a space to explain without putting too much pressure on him. The class called her emotionally intelligent, which made me happy bc as a mom, that’s important and that shows through the rest of this (I hope!) “It must be serious. I wasn’t sure when you would start dating again, but I knew that when you did it would be someone really special.” This line was influenced by something my professor said. She said that because of his age, she didn’t think the adults around him would believe he would absolutely never date again even if he did. And I wanted to be careful because I didn’t want it to come off as Caridad brushing off or minimizing the importance of Lance’s relationship with Allura. I still wanted her to be aware and understanding of the pain and permanence Lance felt. So for her it was like He’s very young, of course there’s going to be someone, but whether that’s in 30 years or 3 I don’t know. And it plays a lot into why Caridad is more accepting more easily. She just wants Lance to be happy (which she says)

“It is,” he said. His throat fought to cut his words off, but he pushed through it. He thought of those deep indigo eyes and a full-hearted laugh paired with a scrunched up nose. “That’s why I wanted to tell you about him.” This shows more in the skit, but I really wanted the pronoun to be a casual mention, though his actions would be more anxious. I didn’t want the “him” isolated because I wanted to show what it would be like in a world where gender and pronouns didn’t cause a big deal, it was just natural to hear. But of course, the following silence carries the tension and fear.

If the pronoun registered, he couldn’t tell. Mami just kept making the same circle on the pan, eyes cast downward in fixation. He didn’t notice any change in her breathing. Her expression remained the same with its slightly intrigued quirked eyebrow.

She rinsed the pan and set it on top of the other dishes where it balanced precariously, the pans balancing as precariously as her shock is ahaha no but really this little detail is just a nod at Caridad’s deliberateness. then she shut the water off and dried her hands on her apron. She looked up at him, her eyes glossy but not exactly tear-filled. “Quieres café? Voy a hacer café.” She turned away and grabbed the coffee pot.

“Uh. N-no.” He watched her as she measured out her Colombian roasted coffee and let it brew. In all that time, she didn’t speak, and Lance felt more and more tense.

“Mami?” he risked saying when enough time had passed that she’d started preparing her coffee with a lot of milk and more sugar than usual. This entire silence and pretext of coffee is just giving her time to think and sort through it. She heard the “him” she knows. And part of her had her suspicions since Christmas. This was just that moment of why didn’t I do better and catch on earlier? But also her thinking “this isn’t about me, this is about him, and I need to focus on that.”

“Let’s sit.” She walked past him to the dining room table. Her eyes remained on her coffee as the spoon clinked against the porcelain. Lance sat on the other side of the table, facing her. She looked at him, her gaze somewhat distant. “How serious is it?” Honestly this is... the safest question when you don’t know what you’re allowed to ask.

Again, he wondered if she’d caught what he said, but he answered anyway. “Mami, I… I wouldn’t be talking to you about it if it wasn’t serious. If I didn’t see a future… with him.” He caught the way she gulped, but her face remained composed. There’s a lot to unpack. I mean. A lot of beliefs to turn over. A lot of moments to rethink. A lot of “could this have been done better?” i.e. Christmas. “I don’t… I don’t want to hide a part of my life from you, especially not one this important. It’s been killing me to keep this from you, but I didn’t know how to… tell you…. The thing is, I’d like for you to meet him one day.”

Mami took a deep breath and nodded slowly. After a while of silence, she said, “That’s why you’ve been…. so hesitant. So quiet. So unlike yourself. Not to steal from Love, Simon, but it is a lot like holding your breath and tiptoeing around. She could see that. Mi niño. You know one of the hardest times for me as your mother was watching you fall apart after Allura’s death. Fue lo peor tener que verte así. You were so sure you would never want to be with anyone again. You didn’t eat, you didn’t write, you didn’t talk, you didn’t laugh. You weren’t yourself. Has estado en duelo por casi tres años-” This part... well to be honest, she was starting to veer towards an “Are you sure, or is this just because someone is making you feel happy, it might not be romantic” kind of thing. Like... is this just to get past all that pain?

“Grief doesn’t have a time limit, Mami. Even now…. he’s still mourning now and then” He sighed and shook his head. “You know I can’t write about her anymore.”

“Y ahora? Do you write poems for…?”

“His name is Keith.” Just saying his name gave Lance a small sense of comfort. He knew that whatever happened, he would have those arms to run to. “And no, I haven’t. But he makes me want to.”

Her eyebrows went up as she looked down at her coffee. because honestly, she expected him to say yes, and that would’ve made her say okay fine. If he brought that back to you, then this is it. But there’s something more meaningful I think in that sense of “not yet, but I want to because HE makes me want to” and being able to acknowledge that. It shows that Lance is actively trying to... create again. She didn’t stir it, she didn’t drink it. Lance expected many reactions. At worst, he expected screaming, slurs, maybe even a chancla thrown at him. At best, he figured she would cry and ask what she did wrong. The different scenarios had plagued him all night. But this silent, pensive response was somehow more terrifying. He didn’t know what to do about the fact that her mind seemed elsewhere entirely.

He reached across the table to take her hand, and while she didn’t pull away, she didn’t seem to even notice it. “If you have questions… Mami, please. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“I just don’t understand how…. I thought you loved Allura, but this boy…? No entiendo como…?” she doesn’t understand bisexuality/pansexuality. she’s also afraid to ask the wrong way because she doesnt want lance to shut down.

Her unformed questions fell between them in the empty silence that frustration and confusion left. He looked down at their hands.

“I did love her. I still do, and I know that, and so does Keith. What I feel for Keith… it’s new, and it’s wonderful, and once I let myself… feel it, it made sense. It’s just another part of me. It doesn’t erase Allura. It’s just… when I lost her, it felt like- like everything about myself was dimmed. Like part of me went with her, and I couldn’t….” Lance sighed and rubbed his face with his free hand. “With Keith I feel like myself again. Y el me quiere, de una manera que no pensé encontrar de nuevo, Mamita. I’m not dim anymore.”

“Lo amas?” she asked.

Lance squeezed her hand and smiled. “I think I could one day. I think if anyone could help me love again, it’s him.” again, back to the “he makes me want to write” there’s a lot of weight in being aware and wanting something you might also be scared of. if that makes sense.

So many people in his life had known him when he loved Allura, as he grieved her, and they all waited for him to become who he’d been before he lost her. Hunk, Pidge, his siblings, his parents. They all noticed how he seemed to flicker in and out of life, and they had all been waiting on that spark to come back for him. But not Keith. KEITH DOESNT LOVE HIM IN SPITE OF HIS GRIEF HE LOVES HIM WITH IT.

“Mami, he knows me the way I am now. He found reasons to want to be with me at my worst. He doesn’t need the version of me before Allura, he just… wants me as who I am now and who I want to become. Ahora es tan facil respirar, existir, vivir.”

She let out a shaky breath and started tracing the flower patterns on the placemat. “I don’t know if you remember, but when you were about five… you’d just met Pidge in school, and her and her brother would stop by to walk to the bus stop with you.” oh man i’d thought of this like.... this was one of the first scenes i had in mind with this memory.

Lance nodded. He recalled vague memories of those days. Skipping the lines on the sidewalk with Pidge as Matt would count to see how many they could avoid. How they’d meet Hunk and his mom at the bus stop. The only day that really stood out was when Lance tripped getting off the bus, and Matt and Pidge walked slowly with him until he got home.

“There was one day,” Mami continued, “you didn’t want to eat breakfast, you just wanted to go outside. And you started picking all the dandelions on the ground. I asked what you were doing and you- you said-” She broke off, laughing softly to herself. “You said, ‘Mami, es que son para Matt.’ Y dije, achis- what’s Matt gonna do with those?” Her eyes finally met Lance’s and seemed to focus. “Of course, I told you that you couldn’t give a boy flowers. Dios mio, the tantrum you threw. You got so upset, and you wouldn’t let me take the flowers, so I said, ‘Mira, ya se. Why don’t you give them to Pidge instead?’ Your face was still red when they came to find you, and you were still so mad when you gave them to Pidge.” She sighed and shook her head. “By the time you got home from school, you’d forgotten all about it, you just wanted to watch PBS Kids.” It’s just. not a big deal to kids until they’re taught that it’s supposed to be. This innocent little kid crush, or even if it isn’t a crush, it’s just giving a friend flowers because they’re pretty, it’s seen as such a bad thing and it’s like... really what is so wrong about a child doing that when you know there’s no ulterior motive the way there is with adults.

Lance furrowed his eyebrows. “I don’t remember that.”

Suddenly, there were the tears he’d been waiting for. They fell down her cheeks, each one a knife to his heart. He hated that he was the cause of them in any way.

He pulled her hand to his lips. “Mami, no llores.”

“Tengo miedo, mi niño.” heaven. hell. wrath of god. living against religion. yknow that shit. but also that the real world won’t care about lance the way she does. She wiped at her eyes only for more tears to slide down to her chin and drip to the table cloth. “I love you. I love you more than my life, and you know that. This doesn’t change that. You are my son. Y estoy tan orgullosa….”

She paused, trying to compose herself. When she began again, she sounded exhausted. “You fell in love at the worst age, mi amor. And to have lost her…. Le pedi a Diosito mil veces, I begged Him to help you heal, to show you that you could be happy again…. And if this is who makes you happy, then okay.” Her hand tightened around his, and with her other hand, she cupped his cheek. “You need to be careful. The world can be unkind. I know I can’t protect you from it, but you’re strong… so be careful.” this is entirely about the fear of people hurting lance just because he holds hands with a boy. She’s afraid for his safety. She barely got the last word out before she was overwhelmed by her cries.

He reached over and wiped her tears away, leaving his fingers cold and sticky. “Ya, Mamita. No llores. You didn’t cry this much when Ricky Martin came out.” He’d hoped to make her laugh. the audience did klsjdfkaj

Instead, she just sniffed and ran her thumb along his cheek. “Es diferente. When it’s your own child. It shouldn’t be, pero….” she was going to add it is but She shook her head. “It shouldn’t be. that’s the important part of the phrase. It shouldn’t be different. But I’ll pray. I’ll pray and I’ll… I’ll be okay.” the praying thing... idk. The reality is that for some reason accepting a kid’s sexuality is something parent’s gotta pray for peace about? And it sucks, but... if that’s what helps...

Lance nodded, reminding himself that this had been his best-case scenario. Reminded himself that he hadn’t been hoping for something better, a reaction that didn’t make him feel like he was being loved in spite oh look at that. IN SPITE OF of something. Lance never understood why people cried when someone came out. It wasn’t an identity she had to live with. It took a lot of effort to talk himself out of thinking she was crying because she was disappointed, but if that wasn’t the reason then what was? What was she so scared of? Why did she need to pray to be okay with who he was? honestly I don’t have answers to this question. And I’m not a mom, and if I was my beliefs are already so different. So I think the answers are here in Caridad’s responses and actions, but they elude me even as a writer. I think a parent might be able to understand her, but I just know I tried my best to keep Caridad’s reactions consistent and realistic.

“Y tu? Are you okay, mijo?” she asked, pulling him out of a series of questions that was bound to leave him upset. “This is a lot. Quien mas sabe?”

Lance cleared his throat and rubbed his neck nervously. “I told Veronica… Luis overheard me on the phone with him. They helped me tell Marco. Hunk and Pidge know.”

She tried to hide her expression, but Lance caught the way it crumbled. The way it hurt her to be so far down the list of people who knew. She feels that she didn’t do enough for Lance to trust her with these things. And that’s what hurt her. Lance wished he could get her to understand that it was because her thoughts mattered most.

“And I want to tell Papi, but….”

She cupped his face with a warm hand and smiled at him, the same deep blue eyes he inherited from her boring into him. “We’ll do it together. Sabes que el te quiere mucho. You’re his flesh and blood.”

“Yeah but you remember what happened on Christmas.”

“Oye. Give your Papi some credit. Es cabezon, but he loves you. We both do.”

He smiled and put his hand over hers as he nuzzled into her palm. “I know. It’s still scary.”

“You didn’t answer me. Are you okay?”

He considered it for a moment.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay, Mami.”

“Que bueno, mi amor,” she said, tears welling up in her eyes again. But she smiled and squeezed his hand tightly, like she was sending all of her affection through that single touch. “And I would really like to meet him. No puedo hablar por tu Papi, but I want to meet this boy who’s so special.”

Lance smiled and got up from his seat to kneel beside her as he hugged her tightly. He rested his head in her lap as she stroked his head gently. “Te quiero mucho, mi vida. Tu sigue siendo valiente.” Her voice was soft when she added, “Maybe you should pick some dandelions to take back to him.” because we gotta tie back to our motif yknow? Dandelions.

#director's commentary

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nocturna-starr · 5 years ago

Text

Losing Hope

Prompter: @idiot-cheesehead-archenemy

Prompt: Tucker is turned into a vampire

Length: 1718

Warnings: Implications

The motel room was cold and smelled like something had recently died in it. Yet this place was one of the few he could afford with his meagre savings and lack of ID. Here he could hang out until he could fix what was wrong with him.

It would be a while before anyone would even look for him. His parents believed he was sleeping over at Sam's while his friends believed he was at home sick. School had let out two weeks ago so there were going to be no nosy teachers questioning his whereabouts. He was home free.

Tucker Foley threw himself onto his bed. It creaked from all of his weight. He threw his bag against the wall, accidentally ripping part of the old floral wallpaper. The comforter smelled of mould. He was almost afraid to see the sheets beneath. At least it meant that maids don't come up here often. He wouldn't be noticed if he snuck back in...

He picked up the old remote on his bedside table. Half of the buttons were stuck, but it would have to do for now. He turned on the television.

The news was airing another ghost attack. Lance Thunder looked just as uncomfortable as ever.

“Well Amanda, the creep crate is attempting to rob the antique store once again. The Fentons are trying to subdue him. There is still no sign of Phantom.”

Behind the reporter, the Box Ghost was running as fast as he could. A box full of old clocks floated behind him while Jack Fenton chased him with a Fenton bazooka. Every time he shot at the blue ghost, he missed. It was laughable. Danny leaves them the weakest ghost and they still couldn't catch it!

Danny...

It wasn't fair! How come Danny managed to get the cool powers and keep his humanity? Danny got to be the world-famous hero, but Tucker would have to spend each and every day trying not to murder anyone. Why couldn't Sam had been bitten by her creepy friend instead of him? At least the style would have suited her! Why did Tucker always get the short end of the stick? Was this punishment for some awful crime he couldn't remember?

Tucker felt the bitterness creeping through his soul. That wasn't good! He needed to focus on something else before his powers went out of control. Who knew what horrible ability would make itself known? Besides, Jazz always told Danny that good things come to those with a positive attitude.

He changed the channel. A cartoon about a giant mouse and a cat was playing. They were going on some sort of adventure. It was the type of show his grandma used to put on when he was little. It was stupid and mindless, the perfect escape from his panicked mind.

He kicked his shoes off, leaving them to unceremoniously fall onto the floor. He thought about switching into his pyjamas, but what would be the point? He probably wasn't going to get much sleep at night anymore. His body needed to get used to his new needs.

Suddenly, there was a loud banging on the door. Tucker jolted upright, fear coursing through his body. Was it the police? How did they manage to find him?

“Room service!” The voice sounded like the high pitch Danny used to imitate Jazz.

“It's three in the morning lady!” Tucker yelled back, “Go away!”

The person who was most likely Danny, could not be deterred. Instead, the banging became louder and more frequent.

“Go away, Danny!” Tucker yelled. It was still dark out. He still may have those urges. The thought of accidentally killing his best friend only added to the rising panic attack.

And annoyed Danny Phantom phased through the wooden door. In his left hand was two paper bags with the Nasty Burger logo on them. In his right hand, he was balancing a tray of drinks.

“Really Tucker?” Danny rolled his eyes. The ghost boy summoned his transformation rings, “Why did you ru-“

“Stay in your ghost form!” Tucker yelled. The runaway wondered if he had woken up anyone. He hoped they would take him as a normal dude and not come down to investigate.

“Okay.” Danny placed the tray on the side table. He threw one of the greasy bags at Tucker before sitting down on the bed.

The runaway peeked inside the bag. Danny had bought him three burgers and filled the remaining bag full of fries. There was enough food to last him a day or two if he was careful. At Tucker's surprise, Danny smiled.

“Valerie was closing. When I told her I was ordering for you, she filled the bag. I think she may have developed a crush on you Tucker.”

Pain seared Tucker's heart. Why did he have to go on that stupid date?

Danny gracefully sat down on Tucker's bed. The two ate in silence, pretending to watch the inconsequential adventures of the cartoon rat and cat.

Inside his mind, Tucker was falling apart. He knew his best friend would try to convince him to go home, but Tucker could never go back again. Danny would try to find the positives, perhaps even suggest Tucker become his own superhero. Yet the ghost boy didn't understand the intense longing Tucker had every time he looked at a human.

Danny seemed to be deep in thought as well. He was frowning, and every so often he would narrow his eyes or cringe. It was like he was having a war within. Finally, Danny decided to speak.

“As much as I am enjoying watching whatever this is... We need to talk.”

We need to talk...

It sounded like something Sam would say. Her influence was rubbing off of Danny too much. Briefly, Tucker wondered if Danny would be embarrassed if he mentioned it.

“Why did you run away? Did one of the ghosts threaten you?”

“NOT EVERYTHING IS ABOUT GHOSTS!” Tucker shouted, “SOMETIMES YOU REALLY ARE A FENTON!”

His best friend took a deep breath. Tucker could almost hear Danny counting down from 10.

“Tucker,” Phantom said, barely keeping the hurt out of his voice, “What happened?”

Unearthly green eyes met emerald. Neither of them found themselves backing down. Minutes past before Danny finally seemed to yield. Tucker should have known better. Danny always had been the most determined of the trio.

“If you don't tell me, I'll just bring you back home,” The ghost boy stood up and crossed his arms. Tucker knew he would stick to the threat.

“I am a vampire.” Tucker was careful to keep emotion out of his voice. Admitting his problem had a calming effect. It was like accepting a punishment one didn't deserve. With the calm came a feeling of hopelessness.

“So, Sam was right…” Danny's stubbornness deflated. Now he looked lost and unsure. It was bizarre to see such emotions on the usually cocky ghost boys face.

“My life is over. No cheerleaders, no movie theatres, no graduation, and no future career in technology. Now, do you see why I can't go home?” Tucker brought his knees to his chest. Part of him wanted to feel something. He just felt so... Empty.

“We'll think of something. Maybe there's a way we can refocus those powers or-”

“No Danny, Tucker interrupted, “I'm not half-vampire! I bear the full curse! If you were in human form, I would have killed you! I barely stopped myself from killing the clerk. I’m a monster…”

“We will figure something out.” Danny had always been the optimist, almost to a fault. Tucker knew it was only a matter of time before the vampire overtook the human. Then Phantom would have to subdue him.

“You can't be the only vampire... Maybe Vlad can help! He kind of looks like one...” Danny had started to pace back and forth.

“Or Vlad will use me as a weapon against you?” Tucker suggested.

Danny paused and gave an unimpressed glare. Then he noticed the clock on the wall.

“I have to go. I'm sorry”

“Patrol?” Tucker felt anguish streak through his heart. He needed his best friend! Couldn’t Danny miss one stupid patrol? Memories of a grieving and guilty Phantom flickered in the back of his mind. Tucker was being selfish again. Bad things always happened when Danny missed his nightly rounds. There was a reason Amity Park was one of the safest places on earth.

“Trust me, Tuck. Sam and I will think of something. Remember to shut your blinds. (Sam said sunlight hurts you.) Sam has a book that you might find useful. See you tomorrow night!”

Within the next minute, Danny was gone. The vampire chuckled to himself as he cleaned the wrappers. If Danny thought he was going to stay put... Then he was way too trusting. Tucker would switch apartments for the rest of the night. Once the sunset, he would travel further away.

He couldn't burden his best friend with his mistakes. Danny already had the whole world on his shoulders with the ghosts. He didn't need any more difficulties. The hero couldn’t constantly watch him. If Tucker did massively screw up, which he undoubtedly would, the ghost boy would forever blame himself. The best thing to do would be for Tucker to leave.

After throwing away his and Danny’s wrappers, the teen grabbed his bag. He pulled out his cell phone and PDA. Tucker knew he should have left them at home, but he couldn't bear the part with his babies.

Here, Tucker needed to become a man. No one was going to solve his problems for him. Danny or the police will track him down (he cursed his stupidity for not getting rid of the find friends app). He turned the TV off and left.

He had to do this on his own. He would find a cure or learn to control his urges. He would go back to Amity Park. He would hug his parents, apologize to Danny and ask Valerie on a date. He would scream at Sam for setting him up with a vampire, and the two would be friends again. The trio would hunt ghosts like they used to. Everything would go back to normal.

He couldn’t lose hope.

#phic phight 2020 #Phic Phight #danny phantom #tucker foley #apparently I've been spelling mould wrong for years #vampire

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justatiredghost · 5 years ago

Text

Fixes to the Timeline Ch4

Dave was alive again, he was here in the future with him and Klaus couldn’t be happier. So why was there still an ache in his chest and the nagging fear that everything still might go wrong? After all, Dave lost everything by coming here and they’ve both been through so much pain. How were they supposed to heal and move on from that?

When Klaus woke, it was with a heavy certainty sitting in his gut like a stone. He’d had another one of those damned dreams, he’d been able to hold Dave again, to hear his laugh, but now he was awake and Dave was dead and Klaus was more alone than he’d ever felt before. Dave was gone and nothing would ever truly be okay again.

He felt tears prickling his eyes as he curled farther in on himself, a horrible ache in his bones, the bed feeling painfully cold and empty. He bit his lip, stifling a sob as he felt his grief flood back in full force like he was losing Dave all over again, like it was always waiting in the back of his mind to drown him over and over. He thought it might be less painful to have his heart ripped from his chest.

“Klaus?”

Sure, hearing a voice in his bedroom wasn’t exactly rare, there were always ghosts screaming his name, even now he wasn’t free of them as they lurked at the corners of his vision, but he would recognize Dave’s voice anywhere. He sat up so quickly he felt disoriented as he frantically looked around the room.

And there, sitting in a chair by the window, was Dave, wearing pajama pants and a tank top that didn’t fit quite right, not his uniform covered in blood. He looked concerned and a second away from jumping to his feet, gripping the arms of the chair like he was poised to launch himself forward. He must have seen something in Klaus’ expression because he did just that, quickly moving to sit beside him on the bed, pulling him into a tight hug.

For a horrible moment, Klaus expected his arms to go through him and he almost told him to stop, he wasn’t sure he could handle that right now. But then warm, solid arms were wrapping around him and he had to fight to choke back another sob as he remembered that Five really had saved Dave, none of it was a dream and they really were together again. Dave was alive. He was safe.

Klaus pulled him closer, holding him tighter until he was all he could feel, all he could smell, all he could see. Klaus was gripping him so tightly he was afraid it might hurt but he was so terrified that if he even just loosened his grip a tiny bit, Dave would disappear, he would be gone and Klaus would be alone again.

It took a while, but eventually, listening to Dave’s soothing voice as he whispered comfort and reassurances, he finally started to relax. He’d stopped crying at some point and now that he realized, he took in a shuddering breath, quickly rubbing at his face as Dave readjusted so he could run his fingers through his hair, placing a kiss to his temple.

“You wanna talk about it?” Dave asked, voice hushed as he continued to play with his hair..

But what was there to say, really? Klaus had watched the life leave Dave’s eyes. It didn’t seem to matter that he was here and very much alive now, Klaus still didn’t know how to move on, how to stop reliving the worst moment of his life, in a life already filled with terrible moments. There wasn’t anything to grieve anymore, except maybe the months spent apart, but he’d been grieving so long he wasn’t sure how to stop.

But then, while Klaus had to watch him die, Dave was the one who had to go through the pain. It didn’t seem right to whine about it when he had it so much worse. Dave was here and he should be focusing on that, on being there for him. He didn’t want to make this all about himself. He should be comforting Dave, not the other way around.

Klaus just wanted them both to be happy again. To put all of this aside so they could go back to how things were before, but better without all the war, preferably. So he pushed it all down, just feeling Dave against him and trying to focus on the present.

“Just a nightmare,” Klaus said dismissively as he cuddled more closely against Dave, grip more relaxed than desperate, hoping he wouldn’t press. “Better now.”

“Good,” Dave said with a chuckle, probably seeing through him but, thankfully, not demanding answers.

Klaus felt like he should be doing more, but he didn’t know what would even help. The image of how he had been sitting away, over by the window, flashed through his mind and the worry was back in full force. They’d both never been particularly good at sleeping, but what if it was space he had wanted, and instead Klaus had forced him closer. He steeled himself, trying to prepare for the worst, but he owed it to Dave to try.

“Hang on,” he said, hoping he sounded convincing. “Why were you up? Couldn’t sleep?”

“You know,” Dave said with a smile. “I spent all that time in Vietnam missing propper beds and now that I get to sleep somewhere nice again, it’s actually too comfortable.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Klaus said. “We’ll get some nice rocks in here and maybe a thin itchy blanket to lay over the top and it’ll feel like home in no time.”

“Perfect, there’s hope for me, then.”

It didn’t feel fair to doubt him, but Klaus couldn’t help but wonder if that was really all there was to it. They both did tend to deflect with humor after all. So much had changed in such a short amount of time for Dave, it somehow felt inevitable that he might grow bitter. Sure, Five had saved his life, but in coming here he’d lost his friends, his family, everything. It would only make sense for him to have regrets.

Maybe that wasn’t fair, Dave was too kind to hold anything against them. Then again, experience had taught Klaus to expect the worst. Maybe this would be the thing that finally pushed Dave too far. It was bound to happen eventually, wasn’t it? Klaus knew he wasn’t an easy person to deal with, he saw what putting up with him had done to his family. Klaus was good at pushing people away, at ruining the lives of those who cared about him.

But he didn’t want to push for reasurances, to make Dave comfort him once again when this shouldn’t be about him at all.

“So, how are you—” Klaus eventually got the courage to ask, waving his hands vaguely as he searched for the right words. “—handling all this?”

“I don’t know,” Dave said, hiding his face briefly in Klaus’ hair before the two of them got into a more comfortable position. “Honestly I’ve been trying not to think about it. It kinda feels like a dream still, like I’m gonna wake up and be back there again.”

“I know what you mean,” Klaus said, remembering what the culture shock of suddenly returning to life away from the war had been like for himself, and Dave had it even worse with the whole being displaced in time thing. “I wish I could say it gets better, but I haven’t seen it yet.”

“Did Five really do all this without telling you?” Dave asked and for some reason he seemed so apprehensive, not quite meeting his eyes.

“Yeah, he was probably worried I’d come along and ruin everything,” Klaus said. “He takes the timeline stuff very seriously.”

“Sounds like an awful lot of trouble to go to just for me,” Dave said and Klaus could hear how he was forcing his voice to sound casual.

“Hey, no, don’t say that,” Klaus said, raising a hand to Dave’s cheek as he pulled him closer. “Please don't.”

“Okay,” Dave said, mustering up a smile that wasn’t convincing at all.

“Really,” Klaus reemphasized. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Hey, I’ve got a question, actually,” Dave said and that mischievous grin of his was back which was a relief. “Does all this mean I sold my soul to your brother?” Klaus burst out laughing even as Dave continued. “No, seriously. Is he gonna expect me to kill for him? Is he gonna show up in fifty years and demand some sort of morally dubious favor?”

“If anything, I’m probably the one who owes him,” Klaus said, still giggling. “What could he possibly want? My firstborn? Whatever, still worth it. I really am glad you’re here.”

And there was his genuine smile again. Klaus kissed him, held him close as they closed their eyes. Maybe they could both actually get some sleep now. He knew they should probably talk more about this and maybe it wasn’t fair to fall silent now, but he couldn’t help but be selfish. Maybe they could have this for just a little longer.

It was early morning when they finally gave up on sleep and dragged themselves out of bed. Klaus was fairly certain that no one enjoyed a good bath more than himself, but Dave definitely came close after so long using the terrible shower tents the military provided. Then they got to spend some more time going through Klaus’ closet. He couldn’t wait until he could take Dave shopping for his own clothes. They’d have so much fun going to thrift shops and trying on every ridiculous outfit they could find.

He was smiling to himself at the thought as he went to find them some breakfast, leaving Dave to finish getting dressed. He was practically skipping down the halls when he spotted Ben. Was it the weekend already? Klaus had very little concept of time anymore, but he was always excited to see him back from college for a visit. But at least for once Klaus was the one with news to share.

“Ben, Ben, Ben,” he said as he bounded up to him, draping an arm across his shoulders. “How have classes been, oh brother of mine? Tell me everything.”

“What did you do?” Ben asked, barely suppressing a grin as he swatted him away.

“I hate that you always know when something’s up, you know that?”

“I spent almost 15 years haunting you, you can’t hide anything from me anymore.”

“Fine, yes, okay,” Klaus said, waving his hand dismissively. “But I think I actually have a surprise that even you won’t see coming. And it’s even a good surprise!”

“Did you get me a puppy?” Ben asked.

“Shit, I didn’t know you wanted a puppy, but I could probably steal you one.”

“Nevermind, forget I said anything,” Ben chuckled.

“Oh no, we’re definitely talking about this later, but for now, I have someone I want you to meet.”

“Who?” Ben asked with amused suspicion.

“It’s Dave! You finally get to meet him!”

“Were you finally able to summon him?” Ben asked in surprise.

“Even better,” Klaus exclaimed, gesturing broadly. “He’s here and he’s alive, Five saved him!”

“Holy shit, Klaus,” Ben said, taking his arm to stop him. “That’s amazing, I’m so happy for you.”

“I know, right?” Klaus said, elbowing him lightly as he continued to lead him along. And when they entered his room, he raised an arm dramatically. “Ben? I’d like you to meet Dave. And Dave? This is my brother, Ben.”

“Wait,” Dave said, taken by surprise where he had been looking through his book collection. Klaus felt a little guilty for taking him by surprises like this but he was just so excited to be able to introduce them at last. “Ghost Ben, Ben?”

“The one and the same,” Klaus said, nodding proudly.

“Yeah, I died but I got better. Seems that’s going around lately,” Ben said with a warm smile. “Good to finally meet you, Dave.”

“That’s awesome, good to meet you too. I suddenly have the urge to hug you,” Dave said, arms spread invitingly.

“Yeah, resist that urge,” Ben said, with a good natured laugh.

“Duly noted,” Dave let his arms drop quickly, but he was still smiling so at least he didn’t take it personally.

“I’ll give you a hug,” Klaus said, moving to stand beside him, throwing his arm across his shoulders.

“So, how are you doing?” Ben asked. “It’s gotta be weird being in the future. How long have you been here, anyway?”

“It’s only been two days,” Dave said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t think it’s really sunk in yet.”

“Yeah, I get it, being alive again is weird. So what have you got planned for today?” Ben asked, looking between the two of them.

“We were gonna eat breakfast, then, I dunno, watch a movie maybe?” Klaus asked, glancing at Dave. He didn't want to wear him out, after such a restless night it might be nice to take things easy.

“Sure,” Dave said with a shrug. “Want to join us, Ben?”

“I’ve got some time, sure,” Ben said.

Klaus was fairly certain he was grinning a bit too widely as they all headed back downstairs together. He was just so happy to have his two favorite people here together. For now he could put his concerns aside and focus on this moment. Allison was still out of town, but maybe he could sort of introduce Dave to her by watching one of her movies.

#klaus hargreeves #dave katz #klave #The Umbrella Academy #Umbrella Academy #fanfic #fixes to the timeline #my fic

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splendidlyimperfect · 5 years ago

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Sting and Rogue barely escape Sabertooth with their lives, and Sting turns to the only place he can think of to help - Fairy Tail. While they try to sort out their feelings and recover from the abuse Jiemma inflicted on them, Sting and Rogue must help the other guilds protect Fiore from their biggest threat yet - dragons.

Chapter Summary: Natsu grieves while Rogue wrestles with his shadow and the dark things it tells him. Wendy and Freed have a plan, but they're running out of time.

Chapters (8/?): 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Rogue Cheney/Sting Eucliffe, Natsu Dragneel/Gray Fullbuster, Laxus Dreyar/Freed Justine Characters: Rogue Cheney, Sting Eucliffe, Natsu Dragneel, Gray Fullbuster, Erza Scarlet, Lucy Heartfilia, Wendy Marvell, Porlyusica (Fairy Tail), Makarov Dreyar, Laxus Dreyar, Freed Justine, Future Rogue Cheney, Jiemma (Fairy Tail), Gajeel Redfox Additional Tags: Dai Matou Enbu | Grand Magic Games Arc, Abuse, Physical Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Injury, Serious Injuries, Developing Relationship, First Kiss, Platonic Cuddling, Sign Language, Magic Fusion, Unison Raids, Grief/Mourning, Dissociation, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Friendship, Tumblr: FTLGBTales Series: Part 3 of what we choose to become

** TW for violence & grieving

----

Rogue gripped Sting’s hand tightly as they darted across the gardens, narrowly avoiding the chunks of flaming rubble that pounded down, leaving craters like angry scars in the dirt. The sounds of battle raged on around them – screams and explosions that blended into a low, constant roar.

You can’t run from this.

The voice thrummed through Rogue and he stumbled, hissing in pain as his shin slammed into a broken piece of concrete.

“No,” he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut and exhaling sharply. “You’re not me.”

The voice laughed – an eerie, cold feeling that made Rogue feel sick. I am, and I always will be.

“Rogue?” Sting’s concerned face appeared in front of him, eyes wide and so, so blue. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t—”

We kill him first. The words slipped through Rogue’s defenses, tendrils of shadow tearing apart the walls he’d built up to keep them at bay. He’s fragile and bones break so easily. Such a pretty sound when they snap.

“Shut up!” Rogue clapped his hands over his ears and gritted his teeth. “I won’t.”

We already have.

Continue reading on AO3

“Rogue, look at me.” Sting’s hands were on Rogue’s cheeks, brushing hair out of his face, touching him gently. “Are you hurt?”

His power tastes sweet when we take it. He’s going to beg, and we’re going to laugh.

Rogue bit his lip until it bled, focusing on the sharp pain and trying to push the voice away, back behind the walls where it belonged. He could feel Sting’s fingertips, soft and kind, and he shook his head again.

“Rogue, love, look at me.”

Light flared up around them and Rogue managed to drag his gaze up to Sting, who was still crouched in front of him and glowing softly with holy light. Even through the blood and bruises, he was beautiful, and Rogue would never hurt him.

You wi—

The voice was interrupted by a sudden heavy pressure in the air, followed by a loud, furious howl of pain. An enormous column of blue flame split the sky in two, lighting up the ruined landscape before exploding outward in a shockwave of destruction. Sting quickly reached out and pulled Rogue into his arms, yanking him down to the ground and wrapping himself around Rogue as sharp pieces of debris pounded down around them.

“What the hell was that?” Sting gasped when the dust finally cleared. He slowly let go of Rogue and pushed himself up, looking over to where the flames had come from. “Was that Natsu?”

That was the first death, the voice murmured. Because of you.

“I wasn’t—I didn’t do anything,” Rogue insisted, staring down at his hands. “I didn’t, I wouldn’t, I…”

Look up, the voice whispered.

Sting’s hands were on Rogue’s cheeks now, but Rogue pulled away from him, tipping his head back and staring up at the dragons battling in the sky. A figure was balanced on the larger dragon, barely visible against the backdrop of flames and clouded stars, and—

—grief, overwhelming grief that tears him apart, and the shadow makes promises, it’ll fix things, make them right, it just needs one tiny thing in return, and Rogue says yes because he’s surrounded by blood and just wants to save him—

“No,” he whispered. “No, I can’t—it’s not…”

—but Rogue’s power isn’t enough, not enough to fix the things he’s broken, not enough to make things right, so light offers to meet the darkness, Sting’s magic with his own because that’s how they’ve always been, lightanddark, strong together—

“I won’t,” Rogue pleads, tugging at Sting’s grip on his arms.

—it does taste sweet, like honey and that one afternoon they shared together in the sun, but the shadow takes and takes and Rogue can’t stop it, it’s too strong, and Rogue begs and pleads but there’s nothing he can do but take the light and make it his own.

The sensation rushed out of Rogue and his breath with it, and when he saw the gentle glow of Sting’s hands on his arms, he shoved Sting away.

“Run,” he whispered, scrambling to his feet and staring down at his hands. “You have to—I’m not safe, you have to stop me.”

Sting frowned, looking up at Rogue. “It’s… that wasn’t you,” he said softly. He pushed himself up, reaching out again for Rogue, tentative this time.

“You saw it too?”

Sting nodded. “It hasn’t happened, though,” he said. “And it won’t. That—” he gestured up at the fight in the sky “—that’s not you. You’ve fought this thing before, and you can keep fighting it.” He grabbed Rogue’s arms again, refusing to let go when Rogue tugged weakly against his grip.

“What if I can’t control it?” Rogue said softly.

“You can.”

“But what if I—”

“I’m not afraid of you,” Sting interrupted, leaning in and kissing Rogue’s cheek. “And I won’t let anything hurt you, not even yourself.”

Rogue closed his eyes, letting the soft light of Sting’s magic wrap around both of them to keep the shadows at bay. He trusted Sting – always had, with every part of him.

As long as he’s with me, everything will be all right.

“We have to go.”

Lyon’s voice was soft, barely loud enough to break through the raging grief that surrounded Natsu. Natsu shook his head, eyes squeezed shut because if he opened them, he would see Gray, and Gray was…

“We’re not safe here,” Lyon insisted. “Those things are just going to keep coming.”

Natsu stared up at the thick clouds of smoke that obscured the stars and whispered, “Let them.” Flames sparked up his arms, still tinged with the bluish hue of Gray’s magic, an eerie mockery of his heartbreak.

It doesn’t matter, he thought.

“Everyone else needs us.” Lyon’s voice wavered and Natsu finally looked over at him. “We have to keep going.” Tears stained Lyon’s cheeks, and his hands were white where he gripped Gray’s arms, holding him close.

Holding his body close.

Gray was gone.

Natsu pushed himself up and stumbled closer to them, wiping his face with the back of his hand and falling to his knees next to Lyon. “I can’t,” he whispered, reaching out with a trembling hand and brushing his fingertips across Gray’s forehead. “It’s…”

“I know,” Lyon said, words thick with tears. “I know, but we have to.”

Another sob tried to break out of Natsu’s chest, but he bit it back, eyes never leaving Gray’s face. Please, he thought, running his fingers into Gray’s hair. Please open your eyes. I can’t do this without you.

“We can’t abandon everyone else,” Lyon said gently. “We have to keep going. Gray would want us to keep going.”

“Don’t,” Natsu managed. His chest was so tight he could barely breathe, and he reached out, taking Gray from Lyon’s arms and pulling him close. “I…”

“We need you,” Lyon insisted. He slowly let go of Gray, flinching when a blast hit somewhere close to them and the ground rumbled. “Get up,” Lyon said, pushing himself to his feet and reaching down for Natsu.

Natsu pressed his face to the crook of Gray’s neck, taking another shaky breath before kissing Gray’s cheek and then looking up at Lyon. The grief on Lyon’s face mirrored the dark, empty sensation in Natsu’s heart.

“Get up,” Lyon said again, and this time Natsu nodded, sliding his arms under Gray’s legs and staggering to his feet.

“I can’t leave him,” he said, fingers digging into Gray’s arms as he held him tightly.

“I know,” Lyon said, rubbing his face with both hands and then letting out a noisy breath. “What—where do we have to go?”

Natsu took an uncertain step forward, staring up at the sky, at the two dragons and the man responsible for Gray’s death.

“This way,” he said, pushing down the rage and heartache that warred inside him and stumbling forward into the dark.

When Sting and Rogue finally approached the fountain, the other dragon slayers – except Natsu – were already there. Gajeel leaned against a piece of rubble, wincing as Wendy ran her healing magic over a deep cut in his bicep. Freed and a girl that Sting didn’t recognize were sitting on the ruins of the fountain, talking quietly as they studied a large book. Laxus stood nearby, arms crossed over his chest.

Another man stood apart from the group, watching them all carefully. Sting frowned – he was clearly a dragon slayer, but he was unfamiliar and smelled strange, like dead leaves.

Sting tugged on Rogue’s hand and stumbled forward, leaning heavily against a shard of rubble as he tried to catch his breath. His lungs burned from the run, and he was pretty sure his broken rib was cracked again.

“Where’s Natsu?” he asked.

Gajeel and Laxus both turned, both looking past Sting to frown at Rogue. Their twin expressions of discomfort and uncertainty made Sting’s stomach twist with unease.

“On his way,” Laxus answered eventually. “He went to grab Gray; they should be here soon.”

An awkward silence hung in the air as everyone turned to stare at Rogue. Wendy’s usually cheerful expression was twisted into one of fear, and Laxus looked ready to attack at any second.

Rogue’s fingers tightened around Sting’s and Sting squeezed back gently, glancing at Rogue out of the corner of his eye. He looked exhausted. Pieces of hair that had fallen loose from his ponytail hung in his face, and a scrape on his cheek was slowly starting to purple into a bruise.

“I think we need to talk,” Freed said, standing up and taking a careful step towards them. Sting immediately clenched his fists, fear sparking a burst of adrenaline through his exhausted body. “It seems like—”

“He didn’t do anything,” Sting interrupted, shifting so he was between Rogue and everyone else. “That…” He looked up at the dragons in the sky. “Whatever that is, it isn’t Rogue.”

“He said he was.” Wendy’s voice was soft, but her expression was determined as she stepped forward to stand next to Freed. “Not you now, but…”

“From the future,” Freed said. “Like the dragons that you—he—brought through.” He sighed. “But why would you be attacking us?”

“He’s not,” Sting growled. The fear was starting to turn to panic, hot and sparking, and he tried desperately to hide it behind a scowl. “None of this makes any sense, but Rogue didn’t do anything.”

“We’re not blaming him,” Freed said gently. “And nobody’s going to hurt you.”

I won’t let them, Sting thought. Never again.

“Do you know what’s happening?” Freed asked. Sting shook his head, quickly signing don’t to Rogue. They were already angry, and if they knew about the shadow, they would—

“I had…” Rogue hesitated, squeezing Sting’s hand and moving out from behind him. “I saw something. We both did.”

“But it didn’t make sense,” Sting insisted. He wanted to push Rogue back, to get between him and the suspicious looks that Laxus and Gajeel were throwing at them, but if he moved too suddenly, they might take it the wrong way. “It was—none of it happened. You didn’t hurt anyone.”

“He said it would happen,” Rogue argued.

“Who?” Freed asked.

Rogue hesitated, running his thumb over Sting’s knuckles and taking a deep breath before he said, “The shadow.”

“Shadow?” The question, surprisingly, came from Gajeel. “You mean like when we were fighting?”

Rogue frowned, looking down at his hands. “I don’t…” He looked unsettled, suddenly. “When we… I don’t remember.” He let go of Sting’s hand and rubbed his face, letting out a frustrated sigh.

“You were different,” Gajeel said, frowning and crossing his arms over his chest. “Like it was somethin’ else talking – all this stuff about fate. Thought you were just upset about losin’, but…”

“I can’t remember,” Rogue said again, shaking his head. Sting could hear the edge of tears in his voice and he grabbed Rogue’s arm again, pulling him close and wrapping an arm around him. “I didn’t do anything,” Rogue whispered. “I promise, I’m—I just want to help. I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“We know that,” Freed said, and Sting saw him motion for both Laxus and Gajeel to back off. Then he gestured back at Levy and the book. “We think we have a solution to… whatever’s going on, and we do need your help. We need all the dragon slayers.”

Sting felt a bit of the tension in his body relax at Freed’s reassurances, but he didn’t let go of Rogue. “What’s the spell?” he asked.

“Natsu said that future-you is too strong,” Levy said, leaning forward and looking at Rogue. “Even for him. Freed and I had found this spell a while ago, but… well, we haven’t had much time to research it, so some parts are a bit…”

“Nebulous,” Freed suggested, and Levy nodded. “But what it’s supposed to do is take a portion of each of your powers and… transfer them, I suppose.”

“To what?” Sting asked, frowning.

“One of you, we think.” Freed’s uncertainty was unsettling. “Having the combination of everyone’s magic in one ‘vessel’ should be enough to give us a fighting chance.”

Rogue sighed, leaning heavily against Sting. “I’m not sure… maybe I shouldn’t be involved,” he said softly. “If it’s—”

“We don’t have a choice,” Levy said. “We need all of you or the spell doesn’t work.”

Sting could feel Gajeel and Laxus still staring and he glared at them, refusing to break eye contact.

“So what do we do now?” Rogue asked.

“We can’t do it without Natsu,” Freed replied, sighing and pulling his hair back into a ponytail. “So for now, we wait.”

The next half hour was awkward and quiet. The unfamiliar dragon slayer – Cobra – continued to stand a fair distance away from the rest of them and study the ruined city with an impassive expression. Gajeel and Laxus kept their distance from Sting and Rogue, and although the hostility from before had disappeared, Sting still felt uneasy.

“Is that better?” Wendy touched the back of Sting’s hand gently, pulling him out of his thoughts. He nodded, still on edge from letting her touch him but grateful all the same for the way her magic soothed the ache in his chest and made it easier to breathe. He hoped the thin smile he gave her was grateful.

“They’re coming!”

Sting sighed in relief, pushing himself to his feet and moving over to where Rogue was keeping lookout.

“Something’s wrong,” Rogue said softly as Sting touched the back of his hand. Sting frowned, squinting through the haze at the approaching figures. There was someone he vaguely recognized – the ice mage, from the other guild – and then Natsu, who was carrying—

“Gray,” Sting whispered.

All he could do was stare as the three of them approached the fountain. Natsu lagged behind, footsteps wavering and uncertain, and his skin glowed with an eerie light that matched the flames they’d seen earlier in the sky. As he got closer, Sting realized he was covered in scales, but instead of his usual red, they were a bright, icy blue.

“Wendy!” Sting shouted, stepping out from behind the rubble and moving toward Natsu. At first, Natsu didn’t notice him, but as he approached, Natsu’s gaze dragged across the dirt and up to Sting’s face.

“Don’t,” Natsu whispered, taking a step back and clutching Gray to his chest. Both of them were drenched with blood, and Sting’s eyes widened when he realized that Gray was limp and unmoving.

“It’s—it’s okay,” he managed, trying to keep his voice reassuring through the disquiet that was slowly spreading through him. “Wendy’s here, she—”

“No,” Natsu said, eyes still on Sting, but his eyes were clouded and vacant. He shook his head, fingers digging into Gray’s arms. “It’s—you can’t,” he whispered. “Help Lyon.”

Sting could hear the others behind them, the tense whispers nothing but a background to the angry grief that spilled from Natsu in waves. “No,” Sting whispered. “No, he…”

But Gray was still in Natsu’s arms, and his chest wasn’t moving, and Sting couldn’t hear his heartbeat.

Natsu stared at Sting for what felt like forever before he let out an aching sob and collapsed, knees hitting the dirt with a dull thud. His voice barely made it to Sting – desperate and pleading, whispering I’m sorry, I need you, over and over.

Sting couldn’t do anything but stare. All he could think about was the way everything inside him had shattered when he’d thought Rogue was dead. But Rogue was alive, and Gray wasn’t, and there was nothing Sting could do to make it better.

“Natsu,” Sting managed, taking another step forward. Now that he was closer, he could see the wounds in Gray’s chest, ragged and devastating. Natsu clutched at him desperately, lost in his pain as he pressed his forehead to Gray’s and cried.

Sting moved forward again, choking on his own heartbreak that wrapped around his chest and squeezed. He couldn’t breathe. “I’m so sorry.”

Natsu finally looked up, gaze wild and terrified as he snarled at Sting. The blood that stained his arms and chest was stark against the soft blue glow of the scales that still traced patterns across his body.

“Go away,” Natsu growled, low and threatening.

“Natsu, I—”

“Leave me alone!” The words tore out of him like a roar, furious and savage, thick with tears as he bared his teeth. This wasn’t the boy who had saved Rogue’s life; who had cried when he’d seen Sting’s scars. This Natsu was wild. Aching. Feral and dangerous and so very, very alone.

It was like looking in a mirror.

Sting took another step forward.

Natsu’s grip on Gray’s arms loosened as he laid him gently on the ground and pushed himself to his feet. “Go. Away.”

Sting could feel tears on his own cheeks as he shook his head and dug his nails into his palms. “I can’t,” he whispered. “We need you.”

“I don’t care!” Natsu roared, and then he was burning, blue flames racing down his arms to his fingertips, scorching the earth around him until everything was black. Sting barely had time to bring his arms up before Natsu slammed into him, heat blistering along Sting’s arms until the smell of charred flesh made him gag.

Natsu’s blows were wild and vicious, accompanied by angry sobs and words that made no sense. He held nothing back as he swung at Sting again, fist connecting solidly with his cheek. The skin split, hot blood trickling down to the corner of Sting’s mouth, taste of copper on his tongue—

—and he was ten again, struggling to stay on his feet. Everything hurt, and all he could taste was blood that dripped into his mouth from his broken nose. Fingers wrapped around his neck and he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, couldn’t feel anything but terror and panic. It was too much, everything sharp and hot, and he was gasping, couldn’t get enough air, too dark, he was going to die—

No. Sting shook his head, pushing the memory away where it couldn’t tear him apart. He wasn’t weak anymore. He wasn’t a scared little boy who begged and pleaded; he was strong and fierce, and nothing could break him.

White light burst up from the ground around Sting as he pushed back against the pain, snarling and returning the blows. He threw everything into the onslaught, slamming into his attacker and panting heavily as he dodged their hits. Another fist caught him on the chin, and he growled, shaking off the pain and retaliating with a swift kick.

It never connected. Instead, strong arms wrapped around him from behind, holding him in place as he struggled against the grip.

“Let go!” he shouted, thrashing desperately against the embrace. He couldn’t lose. Not again. Never again.

“Sting, stop.”

That was Rogue’s voice, soft and gentle in his ear, and Sting immediately stilled, panting as he looked down at the arms that held him. The haze of fury that coursed through him was slowly dissipating, bleeding out of him until nothing was left but a cold, heartsick sense of regret.

“There you go.” Rogue’s grip loosened and Sting slumped back against him, trembling and trying to breathe.

“Fuck,” he whispered as he looked over at Natsu. Laxus was holding his arms, talking quietly as the flames surrounding him slowly dissipated, leaving him once again with only the faint blue glow. The vacant expression on his face as he stared at the ground was haunting, and Sting felt like he was going to be sick.

“I’m so sorry,” Sting whispered, turning and pressing his face into Rogue’s shoulder as the tears returned. “I thought he was someone… I didn’t mean—”

“I know,” Rogue said, running a hand through Sting’s hair and kissing his temple. “Neither of you meant it, he’s just…”

“We need to do this now!” Freed shouted from back by the fountain, voice tinged with fear. “We’re running out of time.”

“Natsu, listen to me.”

Natsu shook his head, chest heaving as he tugged at Laxus’ grip on his shoulders. The fury of a few seconds ago was slowly dissipating, leaving him with nothing but numb exhaustion. He stared down at the ground, charred from the flames he’d thrown at Sting.

A tiny sliver of guilt wound its way through the slowly dimming anger that coursed through Natsu’s body. It wasn’t Sting’s fault. Sting had tried to help and Natsu had—oh god, he’d hit Sting, hurt him just like—

He turned to the side and threw up.

“Natsu.” Laxus’ voice was firm, one hand resting between Natsu’s shoulder blades as he gasped around the taste of bile in the back of his throat. Everything hurt. “Look at me. I know you’re hurting, but we need you right now.”

“I can’t,” Natsu whispered, taking a ragged breath and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Blood stained his skin, dark and sticky from where he’d held Gray, where he’d tried to press life back into the chest that had shuddered and stilled beneath his fingertips.

His stomach roiled again, and he ground his teeth together. “I can’t do this without him.”

“I know,” Laxus said. “I know. But you have to. Everyone’s counting on us. Think about them – about Lucy, and Erza, and everyone else that needs you. If you don’t help us right now, they’re all going to die, too.”

Natsu shuddered, looking up slowly at the circle of dragon slayers around the fountain. Sting was crying, clutching desperately at Rogue, and the angry part of Natsu hated him. Hated that Rogue was alive, and if Natsu didn’t do anything, Rogue would become the thing that killed Gray.

“Okay,” he said. He took a deep breath, turning back to where Lyon was now kneeling next to Gray and draping his jacket across the horrible wounds in his chest. “You’ll…”

“I will,” Lyon reassured him, fingertips resting lightly on Gray’s shoulders as he nodded to Natsu. “Go. They need you.”

Natsu gazed at Gray’s face, at the bloody fingerprints on his cheek, at the lips that Natsu had kissed and whispered promises against. Then he slowly turned back toward the group, pulling away from Laxus and taking an uncertain step forward.

#fairy tail #ftlgbtales #ftlgbtfics #stingue #gratsu #sting eucliffe #rogue cheney #gray fullbuster #natsu dragneel #tw: violence #fanfic #update #new chapter #my fic

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bunnylouisegrimes · 5 years ago

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Justice For My Carl (TWD Fic)

A/N: I wrote this a long while ago, but I’ve been having a lot of shit going on recently, so I felt like publishing it. It sums up my feelings about TWD pretty well (it’s a little more extreme to fit the story, but still). Hope y’all can enjoy it. It’s my first TWD fic in a while (and my first fic in general in a while), and maybe one of my last TWD fics (and last fic for a while). My big story with my 14 year old OC? I have no clue when it’s going to be done. My life has gotten so busy these past few months and I expect it to be just as busy if not busier for the next. Plus, Charlie/NOS4A2 has become more of a main interest to me. I’ll never stop loving Carl or my other fanfics from other stuff, however, including TWD. Please, enjoy.

Justice For My Carl

By: Bunny Louise Grimes

Recently, Negan has been a little upset, and questionably concerned, that I had been going outside in the middle of the cold night, uptop the fire escape of his factory, lost and grieving, but I had reminded him that he too was lost and grieving always carrying around that bat, and that seemed to shut him up, although I did receive a quick backhand slap as punishment for even using her against him and speaking of her that way. I apologized and he forgave, though I could tell he was still ticked. I had told him that me being outside was safe (due to his watchmen being like gargoyles in a church) and that I deserved it. I work hard and do what you ask, I had said. I deserve a reward, don’t I? Isn’t that what you’re all about?

He nodded and said, “Very well then. I suppose. Just don’t do anything stupid. Don’t fall off the edge of it or something.”

“Trust me, I’ve contemplated it,” I said. “After loosing my beloved, I’ve thought about it, but I’ve never came to a desicion. I’m sure you can relate to those feelings, right?”

He held back a deep chuckle and leaned back against the armchair. The sound of leather meeting leather and rubbing against each other filled the dim room. His zippers and belt also made some light metallic noises. The night was already quiet, and perfect for him to catch me uptop his fire escape in the night.

“Ah, kid,” said he, “I didn’t want to kill myself. That’s fuckin’ weak. I wanted to find a purpose. I wanted to find people to lead. I had nothing after my Lucille was gone, but I knew I wasn’t going to fucking kill myself. I’d die if I’d die, so fucking be it. But I wanted to find people to be with and lead. And what do you know? Months later, I found it. So next time you think of jumping off that ledge, think of me, okay?”

I nodded. “Okay,” I replied, appreciating his “kindness.”

“Now run along,” he shooed me away. “Go get some rest or something. I’m gonna go see if my wives are available. If not, my Lucy here is gonna get some good ol’ special time with Negan.”

I wanted to laugh, but I gave a weak smile. Really, laughter was hard anymore. I knew that if my dear was still alive, we would share a laugh over his dirty and eccentric humor, despite him not exactly being an ally.

The next morning, things were fairly normal, the constant hum of life throughout the industrial sanctum, when Simon approached me. Tall and lanky, with a ridiculous mustache, he almost looked like the bad guy of a cartoon or a Tim Burton character to an extent.

“So,” he told me. “You got a visitor.”

“A visitor?” I asked. “What do you mean?”

“Someone from Hilltop,” he explained. “He said he’d like to speak to you.”

“Very well then,” I replied, walking with him. “I will see him.”

The right hand man led me to the room where the inner circle would have their meetings. I would know because Negan allowed me to be there. He would let me run basic errands when requested by his best of the best and knew I barely spoke a word to anyone, especially about what they talked about, even to my friends from long ago. Even to Rick and Michonne, and little Judith, there was nothing to say. To Daryl, who was locked up briefly, and now released to do the most backbreaking things alongside Rick, words were lost.

We entered the room. Negan sat in that comfy chair with wheels with his bat by his side. I looked and saw someone else across from him on the table. His hair was crazy and dark, somewhat curly. His facial hair was dark as well. His skin was tan. His dark brown eyes turned to look at me. He was dressed in greyish tan clothing. He stood up. He was taller than me like my Carl was. His demeanor was soft and gentle.

“Hey,” his quiet voice greeted. “I hope you remember me.”

Remember you? I thought. I looked deep into my broken mind, trying to figure out who he was. So many faces now all a blur to me. The only face that stood out amongst the rest was my love’s.

He cleared his throat. “You... look... the same. Maybe... different.... worse than before... but still... you.”

Like the spark of a flame, a sense of familiarity started to dawn on me. He looks... like...

“I hope you are recovering well from your loss.”

He knows about my loss? Of course he would. Everybody across this whole post apocolypse globe practically knew. I bet people who hadn’t even met us knew about it. It was like the gunshot heard across the world. I was the girl who lost her love, and to all of us, regardless if we had hope or not, we were the people who lost the future.

“I understand, maybe it’s not the best timing?” He tried. “Or maybe... you’re unhappy with me.”

Unhappy with you? Why? I thought. It wasn’t your fault the future is dead. It’s mine. I got him killed. Carl tried saving me. You didn’t have to live with that guilt.

“Go ahead,” Negan urged. “You can say something.”

No words could come out of me. I just stood there, Simon beside me, drinking his tequila, the silence of the room deafening.

“You really don’t remember me?” He asked, surprised. “I expected you to be furious with me, my name and face burned into your mind.”

Name and face? Millions of names and faces were blurred together like in a melting pot and I couldn’t differentiate one from the other. Only one name and face stood out, like a beautiful imperfection on a painting.

He began to wring his hands nervously, clearing his throat again. “Uh... shall I introduce myself once more?”

Did I meet him in the sewer? I thought. Wait... those sewers... damp, disgusting, the low hanging strong stench adding to the weight on my entire body... somebody asking if he could get some meds... who was that? His voice was... that person’s voice...? But why was he there in the first place? We hadn’t met him before coming to Alexandria. We didn’t meet him there, did we? No, that can’t be right. We met him... where?

“We met at the gas station, and then the woods?” He tried again to jog my broken and sluggish memory clouded with grief.

Woods, I thought. Damn woods. So beautiful and peaceful to me before my loss, now a constant reminder of my loss. But... wait...

It hit me.

You were there.

You witnessed my foolishness getting my love killed. He couldn’t save both of us, right?

Wait, no...

I’m right. He couldn’t save both of us.

But... I never hit the ground and got surrounded. I know this because I couldn’t remember feeling the hard ground and seeing living dead faces around me. That was wrong. That was at the prison. Carl had two eyes in that memory. He had one eye for quite a few months now.

I remembered it wrong.

Which meant that I wasn’t foolish and Carl died saving me... you were foolish...

Which meant he died saving you.

You got him killed.

You were the fool who killed the future.

My heart sank. My God...

I remembered it wrong! I was so devestated and heartbroken that I put the blame on myself. I took an old memory and used it against me. I wanted to think of Carl dying with a purpose, not trying to save someone so stupid and pointless, but I thought the opposite was reality.

I blamed myself for no reason.

It wasn’t me, it was him.

My fists clutched in tight balls. I looked into him with fire and fury in my eyes. I began to sweat. I was burning a furious fever.

No forgiveness for you.

You bringing back the truth just awoke a sleeping giant.

I slammed him down against the table in a fit of seething enragement. I loomed over him, irate and heartbroken. Tears and sweat poured from my body onto his goosebumps covered and hair raised skin. He was pissing and shitting himself all at once. Good. This lousy excuse for a human being should be afraid.

“You.... murdered the future!” I screamed. “You killed him! You killed the future of us all! You made me blame myself for weeks! Do you know the pain I’ve felt?! Do you know how we all have no hope and purpose to live?! Why should you get to live when he doesn’t?! I will kill you, you bastard!”

Simon pulled me off of him, but I jumped out of Simon’s arms and slammed myself back on top of the inferior one. His breath rattled as I landed on his chest. I clutched my hands on his neck and began to squeeze the life out of him.

Negan intervened and I felt two leather arms around my stomach area heaving me up. He was surprisingly stronger than Simon was. Or perhaps he just happened to have a better grip on me. I kicked and screamed and fought. No! Negan, you are hindering me from wiping him clean! Don’t you understand?! He needs to die!

I screamed with tears streaming down my face. My face felt hot and red. To an outsider, I looked like a kid having a fit at a toy store and Negan was my father trying to calm me down and get me out of the store. But I wasn’t heartbroken and angry about not getting a toy. I was heartbroken and angry about not getting a chance at having a purpose for carrying on in this world anymore, along with others not. Carl was going to lead us all, and I would be alongside him. But this... thing... killed it all.

“Negan!” I screamed. “Let me kill him! Please! Let me throw him in the fire! Iron his entire body!”

Negan didn’t respond and instead shushed me as he held me close to him. Not facing him, of course. I was squealing and squirming and fighting like a pig about to be thrown into an oven. I glared at the terrified and petrified fool, staring dumbfounded at my fit. He wasn’t guilty at all. He was just... horrified at me.... not his actions.... but wasn’t I a byproduct of his actions?

I was what he made me.

I shouldn’t have let a foolish and useless being get to me this much. But all I needed was to eliminate him. It wouldn’t fix things, but by God, justice must be served!

Negan continued to try to silence me and calm me down when I saw Lucille sitting on the table.

She visits my love. She comforts him and keeps him company. She would understand Carl. She would understand the decision I would make. If the sickness that killed her was the person in front of us, Negan would make the decision I was about to make, so he would understand. But he didn’t think like that in the moment, which was why he was preventing me from grabbing the bat and ending this sad sack of shit.

“You need back up, boss?” Simon asked.

“I got it,” Negan sputtered.

“Let me kill him!” I cried. “Please!”

“Just settle down,” Negan whispered. “It’s okay.”

None of it was okay. The one who killed the future was to get away Scott free... justice must be served.

That’s when I went absolutely apeshit crazy and practically jumped out of Negan’s arms and back into the table. I crawled as fast as I could to the bat. I grabbed her just as Negan grabbed my foot.

“Just one hard swing to his head!” I squealed. “That’s all it takes!”

I got loose and jumped up. I ran over to the scared thing like a battle charge into a war and raised the barbed and beautiful bride above my head.

I could see the fear in his eyes. I could smell his fast flowing blood. I could hear his fast heartbeat. I could taste his sweat. I could feel his trembling and panic against my skin.

“Now die!” I screamed.

I was slammed down on the table by Negan grabbing my leg and making me trip. I nearly lost my teeth as my chin slammed against the table. I cried out in pain. Lucille rolled away from me and Simon grabbed her before she landed on the floor.

“Give her back to me!” I yelled. “Justice must be served!”

Negan pinned me in the same position again and said, “Give her to me.”

Simon obeyed, a little weary. Negan, holding me with one arm tight around me, tight enough that it was hard to breath, took Lucille in his hand and hit her wooden handle against my head.

I immediately went limp and felt heavy. My head hurt. I was seeing stars and spots. No, I thought. I lost. He gets away. I can’t fight anymore.

Tears poured down my cheeks and a weak and pathetic sob escaped my lips.

Negan buried my face in his neck and shushed me again, telling me reassuring and calming things. My fist was weak against the durable leather on his shoulder and went weaker, slipping down his body and dangling like a loose fishing line. I wept weakly into his jacket and neck. I was in pain both physically, mentally, and emotionally.

“Maybe... it was a mistake to come here...” I could hear his voice shake.

“Simon, take this young man back to Hilltop,” Negan ordered.

“Yes sir,” Simon responded.

“Justice will prevail.” I managed to slur amongst my crying and gave him one last hateful look. My voice was muffled by Negan’s leather. Tears ran down my red eyes and puffy cheeks. “Your actions will have consequences. I will see you in Hell.”

Negan continued to shush me and quiet me even after Simon and the sad sack left the room.

“He’s gone now, okay?” He hushed. “You don’t need to freak out anymore.”

Exhausted and weak from my scene, I collapsed onto Negan, weeping until I couldn’t anymore and fell asleep.

When I woke, I must’ve been out for hours, because it was no longer daylight and instead close to dusk. Negan had left some cookies and hot chocolate for me shortly before I woke up, due to the hot chocolate being warm still. I knew that I could remicrowave it if I wanted, so that’s probably why he gave it to me in the first place.

I weakly got up and picked the mug up. I sipped it, every sip calming and dimming my angry thoughts. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he laced everything with sedatives. Heavy sedatives, especially, considering the fact that I went absolutely ballistic on that son of a bitch.

I chuckled, thinking of how amusing it was that he was that terrified of me. Good. I want you to look at me and feel that fear. You should. What was the saying? Tiny but mighty? I was always tiny but mighty. That’s how I survived this world.

After finishing everything, I layed back down and stared up at the ceiling, wishing death upon the little bitch, when my door opened. Negan walked through my door.

“Well, look who’s finally awake,” he smirked.

“Is he dead?” I asked.

“No,” he told me, almost confused at my question.

“He needs to be.”

“And what will that do?” He said. “You can’t change the fact that Carl is dead.”

“But he will not die in vain,” I said.

“Killing him will make his death inexcusable,” Negan told me. “He risked his life for that kid.”

“Nothing excuses my love’s death, especially risking his life for someone as stupid as that,” I growled. “You don’t understand, Negan. He survived everything else, but this was how he died? We have no future. He was the future. You said it yourself. I am not the future. I am no leader. You are right that I cannot summon him, but justice can be delivered.”

Negan sat silent, not knowing what to say.

“Just let me be, please,” I begged him. My head rolled over and I looked him the eye.

Negan got up and left, closing the door behind him. I gazed up at the ceiling more, the dimming and last traces of golden sunlight from the foggy windows spread out against the ceiling and watched as they slowly disappeared and the windows were instead dark.

After about an hour of this, I got up and snuck up to the fire escape. I gazed up at the starry and beautiful night. The cool winds felt amazing on my hot and weak body. I looked up at the sky, lost in my starry world, when I heard a voice come from behind me.

“It’s a beautiful night, isn’t it?”

I turned around and found myself taken aback by seeing him.

“How did you get here?” I demanded.

“I snuck in,” he explained. “Long story short, I managed to sneak into one of their cars and hid around the complex. I needed to talk to you. I needed to find you and speak to you.”

“Even after the fit I threw?”

He nodded.

I laughed. “You really are a fool. You just don’t get it. Come to think of it, nobody seems to get it.”

I turned back to the night and continued to speak to him.

“You killed the future. Have you no guilt?”

“I have guilt, of course. I didn’t know this would happen.”

“Well, it did. And now, you must live with that guilt for the rest of your life. Or rather... maybe you don’t...”

I chuckled darkly to myself, but he seemed too stupid to understand what I was inferring.

“I want to apologize for what I did.”

“Apologizing isn’t enough. I don’t think you understand just how badly you messed up. The whole future is gone. All hope is lost. It is not the grief talking. It is the truth.”

“If you cannot accept my apology, than that is on you.”

I growled and grabbed him by the shoulders. “None of this is on me. All of this is on you. You did this, and you must suffer the consequences. I begged you two not to do those things, and I tried to sacrifice myself for Carl, but I couldn’t because you got in the way. You prevented my chances of saving him by pushing me out of the way when I could’ve saved the future. You didn’t even save Carl when the zombies surrounded him and the undead were on top of him. This proves how weak you are. Who had to kill them? I did and he did. This was your plan. Why didn’t you take it into your hands to save him?”

Silence came from him.

“That’s what I thought,” I whispered, releasing his shoulders and walking towards the ledge again, looking down upon the concrete. God, it never looked as soft as it did in that moment.

“You are awfully close to that ledge,” he pointed out. “You’re not going to kill yourself, are you?”

I chuckled and smiled suddenly. “No. You know what? No. That’s the weak way. I’m not weak like you. I’m not going to do that. I’m not gonna do what Carl had to do. We both will have to die because of you, and I’m not having that happen.”

I turned to him and smiled, circling him slowly and deadly. “Justice will prevail. Your actions will have consequences. I will see you in Hell.”

I backed him against the railing. He shivered and shook as I looked him straight into his fear filled eyes.

“If the strong future doesn’t deserve to live, then a weak being like you shouldn’t. If we shouldn’t have a purpose in carrying on, then you shouldn’t.”

“Please,” he begged. “Don’t do this...”

“I’m sorry, Siddiq,” I told him. “But it’s how it’s gotta be.”

I used all of my might to throw him off of the railing. His screams must’ve died before ever leaving his throat because he didn’t make a noise as he went splat across the concrete.

A rush of relief, satisfaction, and tranquility filled me after the sound of his bones crushing against the concrete entered my hearing.

I chuckled and looked up at the starry sky. “Into this house we’re born, into this world we’re thrown. Like a dog without a bone, an actor out on loan.”

I went down the steps and to where the now dead body lay on his bed of concrete. I dragged him over and crept to the gate of undead, also known as No Man’s Land, unnoticed by the watchmen. I threw him in and the undead’s attention went to his carcass. They began to eat him and I smiled satisfyingly. By morn, they would think him another dead bastard.

I went back inside and went straight back to my dim room. I closed my door quietly, put on “Riders on the Storm” on my record player, ate a Cadbury egg, hugged the Future’s cloth hat and placed it close to my chest near my beating heart that seemed to be slightly revived by my murder. A smile spread across my face again and I nuzzled the hat lovingly.

“Justice for my Carl,” I murmered, falling into the best sleep I’d have in weeks. “Justice for my Carl.”

#the walking dead #twd #twd carl #carl grimes #the walking dead carl

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seashellrosekitty · 6 years ago

Text

Crestfallen | Part Three

Pairing: Scott McCall x Female Reader (eventually), Stiles Stilinski x Reader (platonic)

Wordcount: 2k

Plot: You’re new to Beacon Hills, grieving your parents’ death. Scott befriends you in Biology class.

Chapter Characters: Natalie Martin, Lydia Martin, Stiles Stilinski, Coach Bobby Finstock, and Noah Stilinski; mentions of Isaac Lahey, Erica Reyes, and Vernon Boyd

Warning: Deep Angst. The reader’s character might come off as depressing to you. Real world AU - our beloved Alpha and Banshee are merely humans in this story.

A/N: First GIF isn’t mine. Got it from Google.

Part Two

It was almost November, roughly two months since I moved in with the Martins. Each day was getting colder. Gloomier. Lots of times I had thought about home. I thought about my friends Erica, Isaac, and Boyd. We weren’t the cool kids. And we certainly didn’t dream of being the cool kids. We were what you would consider invisible and happy with it. There weren’t defining cliques in our school. The four of us had our own world. And the one thing we all loved was Coldplay.

Isaac and Boyd worked at the local mechanic shop after school. Their thing was cars and motorcycles, but just like Stiles and Scott, they also had lacrosse to fill their afternoons and weekends. Erica loved going Star Trek conventions and more often than she should, to the hair salon. I, on the other hand, loved the movies. From the classics like Casablanca to pop culture ones like Pitch Perfect, I watched them all. I adore them all.

Sure, we had a common denominator. But we talked about lots of things. You know that kind of friendship that doesn’t need a reason to be together? That’s how we were. How we used to be. I missed them so much. But at this point in my life, I was not ready to face them. Is that weird? I missed them, but I didn’t wanna see them?

***

On the first week of the month, I didn’t know much about what was going on with me, but it sure got me to trouble. It was a dreading week in gym class and Coach Finstock was being a lot more annoying than usual. Such a loudmouth. He kept calling whoever was not as peppy as he was.

Unfortunately, I was one of those kids. Sometimes I mentally told him off, asking him what kind of teacher he is when he clearly lacks empathy or anything remotely close it. I mean, if a kid is less than energetic than other kids, what does that tell you?

I was getting annoyed by the way he kept snapping at me with his loud, phlegm-induced voice whenever he caught me just standing or sitting in a corner. No matter how loud he yelled me, he didn’t intimidate me at all. We had rock climbing and I didn’t want to participate. I was afraid of being up that wall, no matter how strong the harness was. There was no way I was going up.

“Y/L/N, everybody climbs! Now! Up you go!” He demanded. His voice was rough and loud, as always. I kept a straight face and didn’t move a foot. I already told him I didn’t want to go. I even explained how terrified I was of being up there. For some reason, his hostile temperament kept me calm no matter how I tried to explain and be firm with him.

I guess there was no way to reason with this guy. He turned his back on me when I thought I was still thinking, still trying to brace myself for that impossible climb, when I heard myself utter in my most sarcastic voice, “Up you go my ass.”

He turned around. He heard it. He heard me. Fuck.

“What was that young lady?” he threatened. My lips were sealed. But my eyes were screaming murder. “What? You’re mute all of a sudden?” He was chuckling now, enjoying this very moment of my embarrassment. Everybody was looking at us now. At me. I glared at everyone around us, looking at me. “Look, Y/L/N, I haven’t got all day. Detention. NOW.” I inhaled deeply and turned around. I could still feel my eyes murdering him. But somehow I was relieved for not having to climb that wall, but also just a tad bit worried about what Natalie would say. For sure, it was gonna be something I don’t wanna listen to.

I spent an hour in detention scribbling all sorts of profanity that I was screaming in my head. I drew trees. Lots of it. And they were all terrible ones. I’m no artist, that’s for sure. That whole hour, I realized how good Lydia and her friends were as students. They always had things coming and going. I think they were never in detention. I thought of them as my hand drew lines in my notebook.

Scott was getting mostly A’s in AP Biology. Two weeks ago, he started using big words like “ephemeral” in normal conversations. Everyday, he had a new word. I found it pretty funny, actually.

Meanwhile, Lydia got busy with her Math and Science clubs. There was an inter-school math olympiad competition coming up, and a science fair for middle schoolers that the high school Science club had organized. Stiles wasn’t academically competitive compared to the other two, but he devoted some of his free time helping out his dad at the police station. He’s so smart about detective stuff, I think he might join the police force in the future.

They’re such good kids. Sometimes I felt ashamed hanging out with them. Especially that Lydia is family. There’s always that thing. The chance to be compared to her. Anyway, I enjoyed detention. I was away from everybody. But as soon as the bell rang, my fun ended as well.

When Lydia and I got home, I rushed up to my room and buried my face to the bed. I felt like time was passing so fast that I could already picture Natalie’s face frowning at me. Judging me. The next thing I knew, Lydia was waking me up for dinner. I basically slept for two hours trying to escape this shithole I seem to have dug myself into.

I wasn’t wrong. I was bound to be confronted about my recent behaviors in school.

“I heard you were giving Coach Finstock a hard time today, Y/N,” Natalie began. I knew it. They pick up on trouble like fucking hound dogs. She didn’t even just call me to her office and waited ‘til all of us got home before she decided to do this talk. In front of the food. In front of my perfect cousin. I just looked at her as I picked on my food with my fork.

“He’s the one who gave me a hard time. I didn’t wanna climb.”

“How do you expect to be graded if you don’t participate in class? And speaking of which, Principal Thomas told me you’ve been skipping classes, too.” I didn’t say anything back. I’m surprised she hasn’t noticed when she herself was in school every day as well.

I also didn’t look at her. But I could already feel my face heating up. Lydia’s wide eyes were on me too, of course. She didn’t know I was in detention. If people’s bodies appeared literally the way they felt, then my head must be burning now.

“You better fix that attitude, Y/N,” Natalie commanded.

“OR WHAT? What are you gonna do, huh? Tell my parents?!” I don’t know why I said that but it just came out. My heartbeat was picking up and I wanted to scream at her. Instead, I stood up quickly before she could say anything back and rushed to my room and locked myself in there.

I badly wanted to run away. No. I wanted to disappear.

That night, Natalie tried to talk to me. She knocked a few times but my lights were already off and of course, I pretended to be asleep. The next morning on the ride to school, Lydia and I were silent as dead people in a graveyard. I was still cranky from the night before. I probably looked like I could kill someone with just a look in the eye.

***

Stiles and I agreed to meet after school for another History project. I asked him if we could go to his house this time. I didn’t want to come home early. I told Lydia I would be with Stiles. I guess she hated my guts so much that she didn’t even bother hanging out with her boyfriend for a while.

Our History project involved a lot of research and analysis for a thorough report and debate due the following week. Talk about making things complicated. Our discussion started at 5 PM and ended at around 8:30, when his dad had just arrived from the station, bringing us dinner. We were so into our discussion that we totally forgot about dinner.

An hour later, Sheriff Stilinski was already drowsy from drinking half a bottle of Jack while he studied cases from the station. He was talking to himself, trying to understand them. I watched Stiles get stressed over his dad. They would bicker just about anything, especially about food. At times, they forget I was around that they would exchange roles of being the parent and son in the room. Sometimes I found them amusing and sometimes I found things between them sad. A better term would be ‘bittersweet’. I never got to know this side of Stiles. I thought he was all sarcasm and jokes and the daily avoidance to face life’s shit. But here he was. Facing life’s shit daily.

He and his dad take care of each other. His mom passed away when he was young. Stiles had always made sure his dad ate well. Even though he allowed him to drink at night sometimes - just to soften a hard day’s work. Anticipating the day to come for another hardball to play was another thing, I guess. A drink, indeed, was necessary.

That night, Stiles caught his dad finishing a whole bag of fries from the takeouts. Of course, it was too late for anything except him scolding his dad about hypertension. After putting him to bed, he went downstairs mumbling, “People say it’s difficult to raise kids. But did they ever think of kids who try to raise their parents?” It was almost 9 PM and we just wanted to patch up a few details before calling it a night.

He offered to drive me home in exchange for finishing later than agreed. If I were to decide, I would say he needed the drive too. We were mostly quiet during the ride home. But I was comfortable with it. I wasn’t pressured to talk about anything. Stiles became someone so easy to be with. Perhaps that’s why, when he pulled over at the Martins’, I blurted out something that’s been in my head for a while.

“You’re lucky you still have your dad, Stiles,” I quietly said. He looked at me with the expression he’s never showed me before. I believe the word for it is ‘concern’. If not pity.

“I’m sorry, Y/N/N,” he muttered. I guess it was ‘pity’ then. “I shouldn’t have complained. It just...gets really difficult sometimes.” It turns out, I judged him for pitying me. When did I become so snobby and judgmental?

“No. I’m sorry,” I insisted. “I didn’t mean for you to compare your life to mine. I’m just...I know I’d do the same if I were in your shoes. It’s not like we have a choice, right?”

He looked at me in the eyes almost without blinking. I could tell he was thinking of what he wanted to say to me. But instead, he gave me that sad smile I’ve been seeing everywhere - from almost everyone I spoke to. I didn’t resent him for that. His mom died too. I can’t imagine growing up without my mom. And he did. And he became this really strong person he probably doesn’t even know he is. Since then, I never looked at Stiles the same way. He was a responsible kid, no matter how strongly he wore that clown facade. He has earned my respect that night.

If one of my parents were still alive, I would do what Stiles does. I’ll make sure they live longer than they expect themselves to.

Part Four

@bojabee @jurrasicpork @thejourneyofabrokenheart @sav625 @kim-hunter5 @seninjakitey

#stiles stilinski x reader #scott mccall x reader #teen wolf imagine #teen wolf au #scott mccall angst #teen wolf x reader #scott mccall #stiles stilinski

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