#just because the grief never turned YOU into a cowboy

[lazy-toad]

"That's not me being selfish about my husband, I've got a backup remember! I'm kidding, I'm kidding, that's the cowboy's thing!" VHS Michael if you ever say anything like that about Sly ever again I'll rip you apart with my bare hands

[greensagephase]

a random thought/imagine because I NEED to run into a Miguel at a Mexican party and falling in love with him! @fairlyang 's post got me going, I was going to reblog my crazy scenario through their post, and then this turned TOO LONG (I'm delusional, so that's why this is so detailed)!!

If you're not Latina/Mexican - just hear a delusional woman out plsssss (me hoping to manifest by writing this fr fr)

Going to a Mexican party, sitting at a table with my family because soy una muchacha seria y callada (I'm a serious and quiet girl), so I'm not on the dance floor, but I see Miguel in the crowd with the other men talking, dressed with a sombrero and botas (cowboy hat and boots), wearing gold jewelry (he's Mexican he has to wear gold jewelry, sorry not sorry).

I'm trying very hard not to stare and make it obvious because my fam is there and I'm a good family girl, a proper señorita, who hasn't been with anyone nor has done anything with anyone (this is my version guys, so don't mind the personal touches here) but !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I'M ALREADY IMAGINING WHAT HIS VOICE SOUNDS LIKE, HOW MUCH TALLER HE'D BE IF I WERE STANDING IN FRONT OF EACH OTHER!! I'm subtly -oh so subtly- admiring his large broad shoulders and BACKKK (having some serious thoughts about this part; hint: my long nails, anywayyyy), the way he stands, his thick thighs, the way he lifts a cup to his mouth, his laugh, his smile - yall, I'm planning a whole wedding, even though I know I'm not making a damn move because your girl IS SHY IRL (a moment for the shy girls ✊🏼😔), but a girl can daydream behind the centros de mesa (table centerpieces) my mom and grandma are taking home by the end of the night!!

I keep watching him, subtly, telling myself it's silly but I keep daydreaming anyway. IT'S FREE!!!!!!

He ends up spotting me from across the room while some love song is playing in the background because you know, Latinos and our love songs!! It's probably something like "Háblame de Ti" by Banda MS or some song by Grupo Frontera like "Bebe Dame" 😍 (iykyk) anyway, the music is not helping your delusional girl (me, you, us, everyone).

Imagine imagine imagine - MAKING EYE CONTACT WITH HIM AS HE BRINGS THE CUP TO HIS MOUTH WITH A LITTLE SMIRKKK-(why did I just get goosebumps?) YALL YAL YALL

Freezing up and going through all stages of grief because I was caught staring !!!!!!!!!!!! I look away, trying to play it off even though my cheeks are the color of the red flowers adorning the room!!! I'm drinking some water, trying to C H I L L because I can feel his gaze on me.

Thinking it's safe, I look again AND - HE'S STARING

Then for idk how long it's just a lot of ignoring/pretending that's not happening because once again, I'M SHYYYY (once I get to know you I open up but like, it takes a hot week) but I'm just thinking, "este hombre" (this man; also wondering what his name is and why I've never seen this man before???) because I'm literally dying pretending I'm okay and fighting the inappropriate thoughts while sitting next to my grandma because Miguel keeps staring, going along with his conversation with the men (who have noticed him staring and probably tease him about making a move, or telling him to forget it because "esa muchacha/morra no baila con nadie" (that girl doesn't dance with anyone). So he just watches from a distance, trying to gather some info and noticing little things like how I'm avoiding his gaze, the nervous smile, trying to pretend that side of the building doesn't exist-

and thennnnnnnnnnnnnnn

at some point he leaves his side of the room, steps determined. I once again *subtly* notice this and then freak out when he's coming my way but I'm like "no way, right? right?" *hearts racing abnormally*

IMAGINE HIM APPROACHING THE TABLE AND INTRODUCING HIMSELF TO YOUR PARENTS AND GRANDMA, OR WHOEVER ELSE IS THERE?? And then looking at you, giving you a gentle, soft smile WITH SOME MISCHIEF BEHIND THE MOST BEAUTIFUL BROWN EYES YOU'VE EVER HAD THE PRIVILIGE LAYING EYES ON AND MAKING YOU FEEL THINGS - or like a commenter said the other day in one of my posts "senti cosas de mujer" (I felt women things)!! YOU'RE FEELING THINGS THINGS !!!

AND HE ASKS YOUR PARENTS IF HE CAN ASK YOU TO DANCE WITH HIM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! BECAUSE HE REALIZES YOU'RE A FAMILY GIRL, AND THAT'S HOW HE'S GOING TO WIN YOUR FAMILY SO HE CAN HAVE YOU BECAUSE MANS HAS ALSO ALREADY PLANNED THE WEDDING RECEPTION'S MENU !!!!!!!!!!!

ok bye, thank you for listening to my unhinged scenario but in all seriousness - God - I've seen what you've done for others !!!!! Send a Miguel O'Hara lookalike my way with sombrero y botas, chest hair, and gold jewelry, and who knows how to fix the light that turned on in my vehicle, which I've been ignoring for months, and who helps with the masa for the tamales para Navidad (helps with the tamales dough for Christmas) because he has large, warm hands 🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼

[hypnoneghoul]

Sundown: Chapter 7

WC: 3,1K

Relationship: SwissAlps

Tags: AU; Cowboy!Swiss x Barmaid!Mountain,Transfeminine Mountain, Angst, Crying, Alcohol, Makeup, Backstory, Grief

He can blame his father for that, but not for his choices later on. That’s all on him, hurting Mounty is all on him.

Notes: I’m not very happy with how this chapter turned out, but the idea was good lmao hope you enjoy :3 Divider by the lovely @ghuleh-recs <3 Also happy Pride Month everyone!!!

Playlist here. / Chapter 1 here or on AO3.

Read chapter 7 under the cut or on AO3.

Swiss slept in the stables with Monty. Curled up and shaking through the cold night on a falling-apart cube of hay.

As fragile as he is, if not less.

He thinks about the irony, looks back at his life and wonders where the fuck he went wrong. He’s well aware, of course, but when he looks far back, ultimately he didn’t put himself on that road on his own. Albeit, he can blame his father for that, but not for his choices later on.

That’s all on him, hurting Mounty is all on him.

It doesn’t matter now, anyway, he already fucked up the best thing that has ever happened to him.

The man gets up, only imagining how pitifully he looks—though there’s no pity he deserves—and turns for Monty’s tack. He’s getting the hell out of there as soon as his chick is ready. Mere minutes later she is and Swiss walks her out of the stable.

“Once again it’s gonna be just the two of us, girlie,” he sighs, rubbing Monty’s nose as she nudges it into his chest. She understands.

Swiss’ jaw is clenched tight and his eyes still sting and he’s about to hop on and walk away from the best few months of his life like it was nothing when he hears footsteps on the soft ground behind him, followed by a familiar voice.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Swiss flinches, not turning to the other.

“Dew, you don’t unders–”

“I do,” Dewdrop interrupts him. “I know everything, Mounty spent the night at our place.”

Swiss looks over his shoulder despite his voice wavering and hot tears threatening to fall already. “You should be chasing me out of here with a pitchfork,” he jokes, but there’s no real humor in it.

“And yet I asked what the fuck do you think you’re doing,” the other man repeats, coming closer. He puts a hand on Monty’s neck to pet her; she leans into it and it’s as if both Dewdrop and the mare want to show the cowboy he should stay.

“What else can I do?” He shrugs, still not looking Dewdrop in the eye. “I messed up.”

“Yeah, you did. Big time,” he points out, “but the Shadow never sounded like a coward.”

Silence falls for a moment. Swiss takes a shaky breath and when he speaks again it’s barely audible, “I ain’t him, Dew. A coward is all I am.”

The other shakes his head. “You can’t leave her. She loves you.”

“And I love her, more than life itself,” Swiss claims and both of them know he’s not exaggerating. He’s never loved anything or anyone as much as he loves Mounty. She’s everything he’s not, she’s the best thing that ever happened to humanity, she erases all of it’s faults. She’s perfect and he’s…far from that. “I’m doing all of you a favor, I can’t–I don’t deserve her.”

“It’s not your decision.” Dewdrop argues. Swiss is surprised by his persistence, even though he knows the man is stubborn and more sharp-witted and wiser than he lets on. “She’ll forgive you, it’s how she is, you just have to be patient. Don’t run away, it’ll hurt her even more.”

“She’s scared of me.”

“Yeah, because you murdered more people than this town even has!” he bites back, nearly laughing, and Swiss hurts. Although he deserves it, he supposes. “I’m scared of you, too.”

Swiss’ breath hitches and he lets it back out with a dry sob, “Then why the hell are you trying to stop me?”

Dewdrop throws his arms up, nearly spooking Monty. “Because none of that matters! You said that the Shadow is not the true you and you’ve been here for long enough for me to believe that. Get rid of him once and for all and everything will be alright. Mounty will forgive you and forget about the fear.”

There’s nothing else Swiss can say. He wants to believe Dewdrop’s right, he needs him to be right if he is to stay, but he knows he’ll fuck it up all over again if he does. That’s just what he does.

Heartbreak and grief follow him wherever he goes, why would Sundown be any different?

“Come on, let’s get you a drink,” Dewdrop sighs, taking Swiss’ arm. His eyes widen, he’s not ready to see Mounty just yet, it’s too– “Relax, she ain't there now.”

He doesn’t say anything, but he lets the other walk him to the saloon, leaving tacked-up Monty behind. She looks rather pleased with the outcome, going back to her hay right away.

Dewdrop lets Swiss and himself in from the back and goes to make him a drink, leaving the cowboy in the storage. His head is throbbing and he really does need a drink, but he doubts whatever Dewdrop is pouring is going to be enough.

Before he realizes what he's doing he grabs an unopened bottle of whiskey off a shelf and shoves it under his shirt.

Just then Dewdrop comes back and hands him a glass that Swiss downs in two gulps. It burns his throat and belly but it's not enough.

Still, he thanks the other, “I'm gonna go now, I'll…I'll try to bring myself to talk to Mounty tomorrow.”

“You better.” With that Dewdrop leaves and Swiss heads back to the stable. Maybe he'll be warmer later, when the night comes, thanks to the alcohol. He takes the tack off Monty and settles himself on that same cube of hay that he slept on.

He sighs at how pathetic he is as he opens the bottle and glues his lips to it, reveling in the bitter taste and the acidic burn going down his throat.

A few hours later he notices he's moved. Or was moved.

Where? He doesn't really know but it's harder under his ass than the hay. He hums an off-key tune under his breath, rolling his head from one side to the other against a piece of wood. Is it a wall?

He zones out with an empty mind and he giggles at the foggy void taking over his brain. He has no idea how long he's been there and even where he is or what he's doing. It's dark but it might just be that his eyes are closed.

“Swiss? What the hell are you doing?” someone asks. The man tries to blink but his eyes are closed so he just squeezes them tighter for a moment before he manages to actually open them. His face feels numb as he tries to smile.

Swiss wonders how that beautiful girl knows his name.

“I’m–nevermind, but I do know your name.” Did he say that out loud? “Do you know my name?”

“Hmpf…” he huffs, trying to open his mouth and actually say what he wants to, ”you're ver’pretty bu–but I can't.”

“Can't what?” the girl asks, standing over him with her hands on her hips.

Mounty doubts Swiss can register the emotions on her face if he can't even recognize her, but she tries to mask them anyway. She's worried, she didn't expect to see Swiss tonight, much less in such a state. She hasn't made peace with all of what happened yet, but she still loves him and cares about him.

“There’s a girl, I–” Swiss hiccups, “I don't think she likes me anymore but–but I'm in love with her, y’know? So I…I can't do anything w’you.”

“That's fine.” Mounty crouches down, smiling, despite everything, at Swiss' ramble. He's drunk out of his mind and doesn’t realize it's her before him, but he is still loyal. “I just wanted to make sure you're okay over here, kind sir.”

“I ain’t a sir,” he giggles. “‘m a mess.”

“Respectfully, you have a point,” the barmaid agrees. She comes closer and reaches out to grab Swiss’ hand, trying to not shudder at the feeling of his skin on hers again, even though it's been barely twenty four hours since everything went down. “Which is why you can't stay here, come on, let's get you up.”

“No, I can't go w’you, my–my girl’s gonna be angry,” Swiss slurs in protest, shaking his head clumsily.

“Yeah?” Mounty can't help but giggle now, too. “I think your girl is gonna be more angry if you freeze to death out here.”

“Hmmm…but–but you can't touch me, ‘cause ‘m hers, o–okay?”

“Okay, I promise to not touch you anywhere weird,” Mounty grabs his other hand and tries to haul him up. It works as well as it can with Swiss in such a state, with him stumbling into her arms once he's up, “but I think I have to help you walk up the stairs, don't I?”

“Uh…p–pos–billy,” he hiccups again, but nods, grinning up at the girl. His breath stinks, but Mounty doesn't really mind. She is a barmaid after all, it's not the first drunk man she's dealing with. It is her man, though, this time.

She all but hangs him over her shoulder and walks into the saloon. The stairs are a challenge, but neither of them falls down, so Mounty considers it a success when she drops Swiss onto a bed in one of the guest rooms. She’s not ready to put him back in hers, not before they have a proper talk about everything. She knows she is going to forgive him, especially after what Dewdrop told her earlier, but they have to talk first.

Still, there’s a little voice in the back of Mounty’s head telling her to milk more out of Swiss. “Tell me about your girl, won't ya?”

“Oh, oh, she's…she's s’pretty, y’know? No offense t’you, but she’s the prettiest girl ever,” the man rambles, gesturing wildly. His eyes are wide and glassy—not only because of alcohol—and his grin is as wide and bright as ever. “She's an angel! She’s kind and–and lovely…and a–also she has nice…very nice boobies.”

“Huh.” Mounty puts a hand over her mouth so as not to snort. Of course he had to mention her tits. “She sounds amazing.”

“She is…” Swiss sighs dreamily, freezing with a goofy smile as he—most likely—gets lost in memories from not so long ago.

“Anyway, it’s way past bedtime for you, kind sir,” she snaps him out of it when she notices his eyes start to close on their own. “I think your girl would agree.”

“Mhmmm,” he hums in acknowledgement. “She’s always tellin’ me to go to bed when I don't wanna.”

“Sounds like she’s smart, too.” Mounty pushes him on the shoulder and he falls back like a ragdoll, flat on the bed.

“Mmm, the smartest,” Swiss mumbles, wiggling on the bed in something that looks like a rather poor attempt at getting comfortable. The barmaid shakes her head and throws a blanket over him.

And resists the urge to bend down and kiss him.

Swiss blinks and suddenly it’s morning.

His head is pounding and someone knocks on the door again and it doesn’t help it—even though it’s rather quiet. He realizes that the knocking is what woke him up. He tries to roll over and maybe get up to get the door but a wave of dizziness washes over him so he resolves to calling out, “Come in.”

His heart skips a beat when he sees Mounty in the door. Only now he realizes that he’s in one of the saloon rooms, but how he ended up there is a mystery. Though he supposes it might have something to with that bottle of whiskey he snatched yesterday.

Fuck.

“Good morning,” Mounty says, leaning against the doorframe. Swiss’ stomach turns and it’s not his hangover’ fault. “How are you feeling?”

“I’ve had way too much,” he mumbles. “Who brought me in here?”

“I did.” The barmaid shrugs and the corner of her mouth twitches upwards at Swiss’ grimace. “Found you half-conscious on my doorstep last night. Don’t remember much, do you?”

“Not really,” the cowboy admits. He sits up to lean against the wall and watches as Mounty walks inside and shuts the door behind her. She has a little basket hanging off of her arm and Swiss notices there’s faint steam coming from it.

“I can imagine. Here,” she hands him the basket, “from Rain.”

The man groans as the smell finally reaches him; freshly fried sausage with a slice of buttered bread and a glass of water.

“Thank you. Not only for this, for…everything.” Swiss takes a sip of water first, and even though he is not a fan of such a simple drink, his dehydration makes it taste heavenly. “Can we talk?”

Mounty doesn’t reply, but she nods before sitting on the edge of an empty bed across the bed. The man takes a bite out of his breakfast and it is delicious—as anything made by Rain—but there’s a certain bitterness to it at the distance that the other has put between them. He couldn’t expect anything less, but it aches nonetheless.

“Let’s start with apologies. I shouldn’t have hid who I was. We wouldn’t have gotten where we did if I had been honest, but I should’ve been, you didn’t deserve getting lied to. All I wanted was to get out of that life once and for all. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, sweetheart. You have no idea how much I regret everything.”

Mounty remains silent, but her eyes are on Swiss. Her presence alone is more than he could’ve wished for after everything. He swallows a few more bites of the food she brought and washes it down with more water before he dares to continue.

“Can I…will you let me explain everything?” he asks once the breakfast is gone. Swiss pulls his knees up and curls up as much as he can under a scratchy blanket; he tries not to think about how Mounty must’ve pulled it over him yesterday. “Can I tell you my story? I don’t want it to be an excuse, nothing can excuse what I did, but I just…I need you to know. Will you let me tell you?”

The barmaid still doesn’t speak, but her gaze is soft and somewhat curious, as if she’s trying to be angry with him—mad, even—but can’t bring herself to hate him and is looking for a reason to forgive him, whether it’s there or not.

Swiss doesn’t deserve her in the slightest.

The problem, though, is that his lie—or rather avoiding the truth—is, after all, the least serious of his crimes. He's a murderer and even if Mounty can forgive his dishonesty, he can't imagine she'd be willing to look past all of his sins.

“I have…had a sister. Our dad was famous for getting into all kinds of trouble and one day he got himself killed and my sister—Sunny—kidnapped,” he pauses to take a deep, shuddering breath. He hasn’t uttered her name since the day he buried her. He wipes a tear from the corner of his eye, threatening to fall, before he continues. “I had nothing, there was nothing I could’ve done to get her back, but I went there and begged, offered my life in exchange for hers. They…those men decided that they’ll let her go when I pay off our father’s debt by doing all their dirty work for a while. That’s how the Shadow came to be.”

“How did…what happened to her?” Swiss flinches at Mounty’s voice. She sounds like Sunshine did, a bit; something he has noticed that first night down by the bar and tried so hard to ignore all these months.

“I did all they wanted, all their bidding, everything. I became a monster, a soulless–” he says, barely above a whisper. “I should’ve known it seemed too easy, that they weren’t men of their word.” 

He drops his head against his knees, still not fully able to say…it out loud. Saying something, letting it sound, makes things real and Swiss is far away from accepting the reality in which she’s not with him.

It’s barely audible when he does say it, “They killed her the moment they didn’t need me anymore.”

“Swiss, baby, I’m–” Mounty gasps. “I’m so, so sorry. Nobody should have to go through anything like that.”

“I killed all of them that night,” the man chuckles pitifully, sniffling wetly as he rubs his eyes against the blanket. “That’s why nobody heard of me after that, because there was no Shadow anymore, he died with his masters. I should’ve done that earlier, I should’ve fought and saved her, I–I failed her, Momo.”

The barmaid is speechless. She…Swiss shouldn’t have lied to her, but she understands—though not really, she’s never gone through something as awful as the man before her, but she can understand how all he wanted was…out. 

“I don’t–I don’t want you to forgive me and take me back with open arms,” the cowboy cries quietly, “it's just that…what I need is for you to–to understand. Please, sweetheart, just tell me you understand why I did what I did.”

“I do, darling,” Mounty states, loud and clear, and Swiss sobs with relief, choking on air. “But I will–I am taking you back with open arms. You're mine and I'm yours, Swiss.”

She gets up and walks over to the other bed—with her arms open, indeed. She’s not much bigger than the cowboy, but in that moment he’s tiny, as fragile as a man can be. Mounty wraps her arms around him and pulls him close, lets him sob into her chest.

“Seeing her body…seeing her, my baby sister, and having to bury her, I–I don’t… Believe me, sweetheart, I have paid for all I’ve done t–tenfold.”

“C’mere, lay down,” Mounty whispers as she strokes Swiss’ arm with all the gentleness in the world, not knowing any words that could fill the gaping hole in his heart. He keeps quiet, but obeys, resting his head on the barmaid’s shoulder. She brings them both down and tightens her arms around him, trying to comfort that broken, broken man as much as she can. She doesn’t feel like it’s enough and Swiss doesn’t have words to tell her that it’s more than enough and way more than he deserves.

What he can tell her, though, is words that he’s never going to be too overwhelmed, exhausted or hungover to say.

“I love you, girl.”

Swiss is afraid that he’s not going to hear it back ever again, but Mounty smiles and mutters, “I love you, too, cowboy.”

Somehow, hope fills him. Hope that they’re going to be okay.

He’s surprised to find himself believing it.

[gluion]

safe haven (how much longer do we have?) ➵ jacob bae

jacob bae x reader, slight lee hyunjae x reader

you can only hope for more tomorrows with jacob.

genre/warnings ➵ strangers to lovers, heavy angst with a happy ending, touch of fluff, afab reader (no-gendered terms), lowercase intended, apocalypse au, hurt/comfort (both physical and emotional), depictions of grief, descriptions of gore/blood, use of guns, allusions and discussions of suicide, minor character deaths, hyunjae is your ex, changmin and kevin appearance :'), elements of the last of us (don't support neil druckmann!), mostly written in past tense (because u're remembering!)

word count ➵ 6.2k words

inspired by ➵ “anaheim” by niki, “are you happy?” by @wavesmp3, “love wins all” by iu, episode three of hbo's the last of us, and “you’re gonna carry that weight” quote from cowboy bebop

a/n ➵ my life changed forever reading shawna's piece. thank you for letting me write a piece based on your work (if you haven't read it, go check it out!) just like you, i am a sucker for apocalypse aus :')) hope i did justice to your beautiful work. anyway, love wins all coming out yesterday was a miracle because it's definitely made for this fic </3 thank you to @heemingyu and @deobienthusiast for betareading a bit of this! if you enjoyed reading, please do reblog and leave feedback!

want to be part of my taglist? send me an ask! masterlist

time was the one thing that occupied everyone’s minds. it held value, something that shouldn’t be wasted, and people revolved their lives around it.

questions flew around with every tick and tock—what day is it today? when’s your next doctor’s appointment? how long has it been since you’ve last seen your friends from high school? until when does this meeting last? 

as the hands of the clock continue to rotate, the calendar pages would flip along. birthdays were celebrated with every revolution as candles on cakes were lit up, awaiting the puff of celebrants as they wished for their desires. holidays were ones to look forward to; people dressed up to celebrate periods of the year that mattered to them while others slept in until noon. and days were spent counting down until graduations, where caps with tassels would fly to the expanse of blue and orange as cheers and sobs sound throughout.

but now, no one keeps track of time. clocks stopped moving and calendars weren’t produced annually. once the surge of the infected took over, grabbing on humans, taking them away from the lives they’ve lived, everyone ran like they were running out of time. with every second that passes, people are ridden with possibilities of how they might bid farewell to life itself—would it be through the hands of the infected or their own?

now, only one question echoes within their minds: how long do we have?

yet, the clock continues—tick, tock, tick, tock. it keeps going, and going, and going, like how everyone expects it. while everyone seemed to let time go, you still kept track of it all: birthdays, holidays, a graduation you never had.

the outbreak hit two years ago on the day of hyunjae’s graduation. cheers turned into screams. white togas and diplomas were splattered with red. the lively became lifeless.

you remember hyunjae’s hand in yours, fingers gripping you as if you were his life, as you charged out of the gymnasium, legs keeping up with the speed of his. you darted off to nowhere as images of the infected tearing people apart took up every block, all the way from skin to bone.

and while it was a rush of tragedies, hyunjae was the only hope you had.

“keep your eyes on me,” he glanced at you, eyes off the path as he met your gaze. “don’t look at them. only look at me.”

it was impossible to ignore the wails that filled your ears, but you would repeat his words—his soft-spoken voice—to drown them out.

by nightfall, you and hyunjae found yourselves in a motel room, skin cleaned from blood splatters and dressed in clothes that engulfed your figures, and in each other’s arms on a twin-sized bed. the duvet that wrapped around you two is thin, not at all keeping you warm for the night, but the warmth of hyunjae was enough to provide you a sense of security—stability amidst the ever-changing world.

he whispered into the crown of your head, words meant to dispel your fears, all while you sobbed into his shirt. there was nothing that he could do but stay strong for you.

and for a few days, that room acted as your safe haven. the time spent within those four walls is the life you imagined your future with hyunjae. it would’ve been in a two-story house with a garden where a singular orange tree stands, lounging on the couch as you played movies to fall asleep to, but all you had was an old room with a carpeted floor with unrecognizable stains and a bathroom unable to fit two.

yet, you would choose this over anything. even if it meant eating instant noodles for every meal or sleeping on a mattress that ruins your backs, you would choose this if it meant hyunjae would be with you.

still, time continues to move. hyunjae knew that you both couldn’t stay in that room or else the infected may reach you. so when you both went to bed on that last night, you outlined his features from the space between his eyebrows all the way to his lips, and you spent that time memorizing his warmth to carry with you for the rest of your life. you could only hope that he stays with you until the end.

after a month passed, you and hyunjae met changmin, an injured boy who only wanted to live. at first, hyunjae was hesitant to take the stranger in, but you wouldn’t allow yourself to live with the idea of abandoning someone in need. in a world where the infected have taken over, it only seemed right to help out others, save them from a fate they’re not ready to meet.

what started off as a pair turned into a trio. you’ve learned more about what it takes to survive in this life. long gone is the need for money to buy necessities; you need to scavenge if you want to live in an infected-ridden world. thanks to changmin, you and hyunjae got to learn about how to find supplies in every building that you pass on the journey.

but it’s not enough to know where to find food and bullets. hyunjae decided that it was only right to teach you how to use a gun. with every morning that came, you two spent hours learning how to hold, reload, and fire.

“don’t worry,” he told you as his chin hovered over your shoulder. you both stared at the tin can situated on a stack of boxes only a few meters away. “you won’t have to worry about fighting alone. i’ll be here with you.” as you exhaled, your eyes zeroed in on the target. “now, shoot.”

six months have passed, and you were happy that you were still a trio. changmin became your best friend over that time. his laughs were enough to shine glimmers of hope onto you. you were glad that you decided to help him off the ground and tend his bullet wound that day.

until you found yourselves retreating from the horde of infected.

time moves at a constant speed but it can become swift if it decides to. when you and changmin reached the doors leading to safety, you remember seeing hyunjae fighting off those who were once like you, bullets firing at their heads. you remember your screams, telling him to run to you—go to where it’s safe—so that you can keep having tomorrows with him.

yet, hyunjae glanced at changmin, nodding at him before his eyes met yours. you watched how his mouth moves, a soundless three-word phrase leaving him before the doors shut before you. you would’ve pried them open but changmin kept his arms around you, holding you back from letting the infected reach you, from letting hyunjae come back to you.

the wails that left you are enough to attract the infected. if only the infected were to burst through the doors, grab onto you and bring you to hyunjae, then maybe you would stop crying. yet, changmin dragged you away. you never saw him as your best friend after that.

a month passed, and you still refused to talk to him. the boy tried to strike up a conversation with you, trying to earn your laugh like he used to, but he was only met with a cold shoulder. with every brick he put, you smashed your sledgehammer against it, dispelling any hope he had in rekindling his friendship with you.

the two of you learned to live in silence, fighting for survival while dealing with the loss of the one who would always bring you both to safety.

until you came across another boy who pointed his gun toward you. his defensive demeanor reminded you of hyunjae, and you wondered if this was his doing—his reincarnation. but before he could pull the trigger, changmin saved you from meeting your fate.

somehow, the duo had turned into a trio once more. you still refused to talk to changmin, but would eavesdrop on the conversations he shared with the stranger. you learned that the new addition is named jacob.

but even the stranger wasn’t enough to fill the void that hyunjae left. with every nightfall, when the soft snores of the two boys filled your ears, tears streamed down your face as sobs threatened to spill out of your mouth. the palm of your hand wasn’t enough to muffle your weeps. behind your eyelids, hyunjae’s last words to you play on repeat—the ones he failed to say, the ones you’ll never hear again.

maybe if you didn’t leave that motel room then he would’ve still been with you, arms finding their place around your waist as he trails kisses all over you. if the outbreak didn’t happen, then maybe you would be living in that two-story house with him. maybe you would wake up to a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice by the bedside table and the warmth of his lips on your forehead. and maybe you could finally tell him yes before he slips the silver band on your finger—you could’ve grown with him until your hair turns grey.

the weight you carry never got lighter with time. the void continued to consume you whole with the goal of ripping you apart. as another month passed, another life was lost—not to the infected but to the raiders.

“changmin, you have to stay with me.” those were the first words you told him since hyunjae’s death. crimson continued to spill out of his abdomen through the gaps between your fingertips in the same way tears flow out. “jacob! find gauze, betadine, anything!” you never glanced at the stranger, keeping your gaze on your best friend whose eyes continued to droop.

still, changmin caressed your face, thumb wiping teardrops. as he slowly entered territories that you both knew he would never escape, he grinned at you one last time. “i missed hearing you. i’m glad you’ll be the last thing i hear.”

but you tried to tell him that you couldn’t be the last voice he heard. it should’ve been with someone he can imagine his future with, maybe in a two-story house or a cramped flat in an apartment complex. he deserves more tomorrows in the same way hyunjae did.

but time continues to move. it took him away from you in a matter of minutes, slithering away without a second thought and no regard for the value of life, and all you were left with was his temple—still, lifeless. as you sobbed into his shirt, still holding the wound, the warmth of jacob’s hand stayed on your back, moving along with your wails. 

now, you carry the loss of two. it never got easier with time.

jacob still sticks with you. it only seemed right. stay strong in numbers as you wander off to nowhere, grasping at the loose ends of survival.

two weeks have passed. you and jacob got used to the new dynamic; while he goes hunting and you’re tasked with scavenging, you both played your roles in combat, ready for any raid or horde. when night would come, you both took shifts, keeping watch while the other got some shut-eye.

until that one evening.

you recall the sounds of wood crackling from the fire. it stood strong against the breeze—burning, shining—surrounded by greens that latch on browns. hues of amber cascaded over your skin, painting you with warmth—it’ll never compare to the one you craved. your eyes drifted to jacob who sat across from you, his eyes trained on the fire as he rubbed his palms together. perhaps he craved the same type of warmth you longed for.

“we used to be three.” his eyes snapped towards yours. “before you came, we used to be three—changmin, me, and—” it rose in you like bile, wanting to escape but never leaving. “we were three then.”

you glanced at the fire that continued to burn. “we met changmin a month after the outbreak, spent six months together until—” the claws of the void struck against your throat, holding you back from sharing with the stranger what your life was before he came. while you never found the right words to say, jacob never pushed, letting you say what you wanted to share while filling in the blanks on his own. 

“i resented changmin after what happened.” you moved your gaze to jacob whose eyes never left you. “refused to talk to him. refused to forgive.” and you remember how you hesitated, taking a deep breath in before sputtering out the next sentence. “refused to accept.”

nine months ago, the outbreak didn’t happen. nine months ago, you were attending hyunjae’s graduation. nine months ago, you two were imagining your tomorrows—together, for eternity.

and those nine months fractured all hopes and dreams; the glass is now littered with cracks, ready to burst into shards.

“but i think about the last time we saw changmin,” the image of him sitting in front of you all frail, treading the line between life and death, flashed in front of you; it’s quick but strong to remind you of what’s lost. “and i wish i could’ve learned how to forgive during those two months.”

but it was an impossible request. how could you ever forgive a boy you’ve known for only six months for taking your future away? how could you forgive a world that took him away? how could you forgive and live?

and still, you did.

you left it at that. they were enough. so when you told jacob that you’ll take over tonight’s shift, he never asked to hear more. instead, he laid near the campfire as you keep an eye out.

and once enough hours have passed, you allowed yourself to sob like other nights. the breeze that passed through branches reminded you of changmin; rustling leaves imitated the giggles of the boy you’ve only known during the apocalypse.

the wind that grazed against your skin should’ve been a nuisance, but the warmth of the fire wrapped you up like the duvet in that motel room. and you don’t complain—it’s the only part of hyunjae you have left.

the heat was enough to last you the night, but the chill of reality sent you back to the void.

that night, jacob listened to your sobs. not one of you got enough rest for the journey.

another two weeks went by. you two got into a better groove of the routine; instead of hunting and scavenging in silence, you and jacob found yourselves talking more about your lives before the outbreak. you learned that he was born the same year as hyunjae, and he shared that he had plans to pursue music.

“if the world finds a cure to this mess, you have to promise me that you’ll get me front-row tickets to your first show.” it was a joke. in what world could there be a cure for the infected? but the wishful thinking of what could be—what could’ve been—is all you had left.

still, jacob promised you that.

that night, you two stayed in the living room of an abandoned house. instead of lighting the fireplace, candles were placed on the coffee table. they shined in the middle of you two, you who stayed on the couch and jacob who sat on the mattress lying on the floor.

“where were you?” his eyes met yours. “on the day of the outbreak, i mean.”

he leaned back, hands resting on the mattress before he looked once more at the wax that continued to melt. “it was my graduation.” it hit you like a sudden downpour on a sunny day. “i was next in line to go up on the stage until the infected came.”

and when you said the name of the university, his gaze met yours as his shoulders stiffened. “m—my hyunjae.” it’s the first time you spoke of his name, and the sight of jacob’s eyes widening over it was enough to speak for himself.

“i—i didn’t know,” he whispered, but his words were loud enough to shatter glass. “i only spoke to him a few times. he spoke of you with so much love.”

your heart skipped beats; it should’ve been enough to send you off into the same territories where hyunjae and changmin now stay. your mouth turned dry as jacob’s voice morphed into radio silence.

before you knew it, the two of you left the information to hang in the air as you tried to drift into slumber. the clock continues to tick. minutes turned into hours; time moves like it usually does once more.

yet, you were stuck in the same gymnasium, fixing hyunjae’s toga as you scolded him about how wrinkled it’s become—hey! you’ll go up on stage soon. we can’t take pictures of you like this. despite your words, he smiled at you before grazing his lips on your temple—his silent way of telling you the three-word phrase.

in a split second, you were off the couch. you barged out of the house, clutching your chest as the knot constricted your throat, and your feet dragged you off to nowhere. every sound has turned into a buzz—only the voice of hyunjae being the one clear thing amidst the hysteria.

before you knew it, you stood before a horizon of green. it takes only one step into the woods, alone with no protection, for you to meet your demise. you would’ve charged into it in the same way you would’ve charged out to save hyunjae that day.

all it takes is one step, and—

“what are you doing?!” a pair of hands gripped your shoulders, spinning you around until you were face-to-face with the last form of life that you know of. his breaths were short as his fingers dug into your arms. “you can’t just rush out in the middle of the night! i woke up worried sick.” his eyebrows knitted in frustration. confusion. distress. 

the voice was caught in your throat. how does one begin to unpack the baggage they’ve learned to carry? when the items they bring are revolting, rotten, repugnant, how does someone not feel shame about showing all the tattered-up objects? how do you learn to open up to someone you’ve only known for three months?

your hands trembled; you’ve carried the weight of it all for too long.

in that split second, your nose met the juncture between his chin and shoulder. the material of his shirt against your cheek allowed you to bathe in what you miss—the hand of changmin that once caressed your face, the lips of hyunjae that lingered with every kiss. all the moments that you hoped time would freeze just for you lives in the boy you stick with for survival.

all it took were jacob’s hands to rest on the lower side of your back for the tears to begin their stream. the sobs spill out. for once, they weren’t muffled like those other nights. they sounded throughout the space that surrounded you two. you allowed yourself to drop the baggage only for a few minutes.

jacob took you back to the house that night, allowing you to sob about all that you’ve kept under the wraps. when sunrise came, you found your legs mixed with his as his arms remained wrapped around you, and your ear pressed against his chest. the sound of his breathing is the one reminder of what a safe haven is. 

half a year went by. jacob still stays by your side. the baggage got lighter.

it should’ve been the same routine; jacob goes off to hunt while you scavenge, and you’ll take turns on the night shifts. but that night shifted something between you two—stolen glances, quiet giggles, linked fingers.

two months have gone by. the moon shined through the trees, their shadows cascading on an abandoned cabin that you and jacob decided to stay in for that night.

it should’ve been the same set-up as other nights spent in abandoned houses; you’ll sleep on the couch while he sleeps on a dragged-out mattress. instead, he sat with you on the couch, your back resting on his chest along with his hand staying on your arm. 

a lit candle rested on the table; its amber tones painted the jacob’s skin—close to the fruit tree that stands in your lost future.

“what would you do if there is a cure to this?” you watched how his fingers danced across your skin, calloused from plucking guitar strings or wielding a gun. 

jacob’s chest rumbled against your back as he hummed. “what would you do?”

a giggle left you as you looked at the boy. “i was the one who asked you first!”

he shot you a grin as his hand slipped into yours. the candle continued to burn; it did a poor job of giving you light and warmth that night. but he did it all—one smile. one exhale. one indication to show that he lives.

“travel, maybe? or i’ll go back to writing music.” you nodded at his plans before looking back at the light source. “what about you?”

“i don’t know.”

there was no point in going back to university after such a catastrophe. if anything, the year spent surrounded by the infected, fighting for survival, has shown you that there’s more to life than the perpetual cycle of working a nine-to-five.

so…

“i would settle down if i could.” the wax continued to melt. “i think i’ve seen enough of the world. for once, i just want to stay home, indulge in my hobbies, live the life that i want.”

his breath grazed the top of your head. “with someone?” and suddenly, you became aware of it all—the heat that emitted from his palm, the movement of his chest against your back, the gravity of his question.

the words get caught in your throat. your heartbeat rang in your ears. for the first time since hyunjae’s death, you considered it. 

“with someone.”

before you knew it, his hand caressed your cheek. you were forced to meet his eyes—they glistened with devotion. he leaned forward, his breath grazing your skin while you held in yours. you didn’t miss how his gaze flickered to your lips before he met your eyes once more.

then, he held back. it’s a choice, one only you can make. but when your eyes shut, it’s a quiet plea—a silent yes.

his lips met yours. 

the warmth that blossomed in your chest wasn’t like the one in that motel room. not like the embrace of the one you’ve lost. it was one of all seasons—changing with the weather, bringing comfort throughout the everchanging times.

it’s a perpetual cycle of fighting for survival. you’ll endure through it all.

a month passed by, and you came across another boy on the journey. he’s named kevin, and he told you of a safe haven located in the town that you and jacob grew up in.

for a moment, it was an internal debate—should you go back to where the downfall started? can you go to where the memory of hyunjae still lives?

but one glance at jacob was enough to settle it. the three of you embarked on your journey.

you remember that day. it was a walk with the goal of finding a car to make the journey back an easy one. the heat of the sun prickled against your skin, but you still kept your arms crossed.

“are you two together?” kevin asked, causing you to whip your head towards him. your eyes met jacob’s for a split second—confusion, dejection—before they landed back at the stranger who kept his eyes on the path you took.

“no, we aren’t.”

for the rest of the journey, it was quiet.

sundown came, and you found yourselves in a convenience store for that night’s shelter. jacob was in charge of taking the night shift, allowing you and kevin to rest up. when the stranger went off to sleep on the makeshift bed, you were left alone with jacob.

you watched how he cleaned his gun with a rag stained with dark splotches. the moon gleamed through the window—it cannot compare to how jacob shines.

you needed to get some sleep is what you tell yourself. with one spin, you were about to make your way to where you’d sleep for that night.

“are we really not?” you halted in your tracks. you couldn’t look at him. “did it mean nothing?”

not a single answer left your mouth. your eyes remained straightforward, refusing to meet his gaze.

the warmth vanished with a lack of an answer. instead, it was replaced once more with the cold—the void—that attempted to consume you whole.

and when a scornful chuckle left jacob, you knew that you’d burnt the bridge. you walked away, leaving him to do his job, bidding farewell to the closest form of a safe haven.

two weeks went by, and another goodbye had to be done. kevin stood in front of you two, a grin on his lips while tears streamed down his face. his arm was out, revealing a bite mark. the veins near the wound had already turned black. he would’ve turned in a few hours.

“go out.” those were jacob’s first words to you since that night in the convenience store.

you remember the last thing you told kevin before you left the room—you’ll get to your safe haven. the sobs that spilled out of him are ones you’ll never forget. and when you shut the door behind you, it took 20 seconds until you heard a gunshot. 

the weight got heavier once more.

another two weeks went by, and you and jacob found yourselves standing in front of the remains of a safe haven. the fences were torn down. streaks of dark red littered over pavements. not a single sight of a soul lived.

still, you two trudged your way through the town, all the way until you reached jacob’s house. like others, his was abandoned. the cream walls were littered with red strokes and vines. when you both entered, you didn’t miss how jacob’s eyes lingered on a photo hung on the wall—a picture of him, his brother, and his parents.

you gave him all the time he needed to explore, to sit with the mess, while you stayed in the living room. as you sat on the couch that had gathered dust, you caught sight of a bowl of plastic produce that rested on the coffee table. it held a variety of fruits whose paint had chipped: watermelon, chestnut, and fig.

but amidst the crowd of old, torn-down, plastic fruits, a pear and an orange leaned against each other as grime collected on them. once your hands reached out to the fruits, you pulled them apart—a mess of green and orange stained the two.

he came back to you in 30 minutes, eyes glistening with tears. yet, he only gave you a nod, and you two went to another house. 

you then stood in front of your old house with jacob by your side. weeds grew in the front yard, and the wooden exterior has turned a few shades darker. silence settled between you two. 

to be back in a place you grew up in, where all your memories live, is a process—a grieving one. being face-to-face with the damage brought by the infected can only remind you of what you had and could’ve had.

and once you made your way to your childhood room, you were reminded of all your hopes and dreams before the outbreak. dust rested on top of books. the laptop on your desk had no charge. potted plants have withered.

when you approached the picture frames found on your table, your hand darted out to a photograph of you and hyunjae. there was no occasion when that picture was taken—the fact that you two were together was enough for it to be remembered. memorialized.

as you made your way back down the stairs, you saw jacob crouched in front of the console table with eyes. trained on photographs. “was this your high school graduation?” you approached him and saw the picture he was referring to, you who stood beside hyunjae with a big grin as his lips were on your temple.

“yeah,” you said as you crouched beside jacob. “we knew each other back when i was a freshman.” your fingers trailed on the wooden frame, gathering the dust before flicking it away. despite your efforts, it was still covered in grime, but you didn’t mind. 

“and you stayed together since?” all you did was hum. “did you find anything up there?”

for the first time since you entered your old house, you looked at jacob and he met your gaze. your eyes trailed his features. the eyes that speak of a thousand words. the lips that once kissed yours.

and it hit you like the gunshot that filled your ears, the breeze that rustled the leaves that one night, the doors that shut close. it was 20 months since the outbreak happened, 13 months since you lost hyunjae, and 11 months since changmin told you his last words—but it was also 13 months spent with jacob, choosing to survive with him. 

“yeah.”

you found a lot of things within those four walls. there were books you once read growing up, stuffed toys you slept with, and the one picture of you and hyunjae; they’re the remaining pieces you have left of a life that was good.

you would’ve kept it all, rebuilt the life that was ripped away by the hands of the infected—

“but nothing to hold on to.”

they’re memories, ones you’ll carry with you, but ones worth moving on from. 

“oh,” he said as his eyes still held your gaze. “okay.”

and with one exhale, you said, “let’s rebuild it, just a place for us two.”

it was a whirlwind of emotions in jacob’s eyes, ones you can’t identify. for a moment, you thought he’d say no. maybe he decided that 13 months was enough. one more day with you would be too much, and—

“okay.” when his hand reached out for yours, linking fingers with you like all other times, you gave him a small smile.

when you and jacob stood up, you made your way out of the house, off to find a place just for you two—a safe haven to last you many tomorrows with him.

a month passed. the safe haven was rebuilt; the fences stood strong with electrical wires and barbed wires, and the town was cleaned of all remnants of grime and blood. the two of you took up different tasks ranging from cleaning, cooking, building, and maintaining the haven.

but while you were okay with a knife, accidents did happen. “fuck!”

“what happened?” you remember how jacob came rushing in, only to see you pressing on the skin around the cut on your finger.

before you knew it, you were sitting down with him as he wrapped gauze around the wound. “jacob, it’s just a cut. i’ll be fine.”

“still, i don’t want you getting hurt.” you watched how his eyes were focused on treating your finger. “i’ll be in charge of cooking now.”

you shook your head. “no, i like to cook. i want to cook for us.” his gaze then met yours, his filled with worry while yours filled with determination. they flickered back to your finger, and his hands busied themselves with covering it up.

once he was done, his hand continued to hold yours. you remember the heat of his thumb as it drew patterns on your hand. he’s etched himself onto you.

his eyes met yours once more, and he said, “okay, just let me help out.” all you gave him was a nod.

another month went by, and you woke up to the sound of gunshots. you remember how hazy your vision was that night, fresh from sleep but panic coursing through your veins. and when you looked beside you to only see an empty spot, you didn’t think twice about rushing out of bed.

when you exited the house, you saw jacob holding his gun, firing at the people who attempted to tear down the haven’s fences. “jacob!” when he looked back at you, you caught sight of the crimson that poured out of his abdomen.

another gunshot was fired, grazing jacob’s leg, and he fell to his knees. you ran to him, reaching out to rest your hand on the wound as you began to sob. “fuck! you have to stay with me.” with his arm resting around your shoulders, you dragged him back to the house.

you set him on the table and moved his hand to hold where he was shot. “hold it.” you rushed to where the medical supplies were stored and gathered whatever you could hold. when you got back, you saw how blood continued to spill out.

you got to work, focused on trying to patch him up—making sure he stays. “you can’t go. i won’t let it happen.” and while your hands busied themselves with treating the injury, you remember how jacob’s hand caressed your cheek, thumb wiping away the spilled tears. 

“in the basement, there’s a piece of paper that has all the codes. if you ever—”

“no, you’ll be okay.”

still, he continued to talk. “if you ever forget the codes, you can always look at the paper. don’t forget that you need to always check the water system every two days, and—”

“jacob!” you croaked out his name in between sobs. “you’ll be okay. you have to, okay?” the more he went on about what to keep in mind, the baggage got heavier. “i can’t do this without you. i won’t allow it.”

because 15 months ago, you would’ve bid farewell to the mayhem. 13 months ago, you hoped for time to drag you away. 12 months ago, you would’ve walked into the forest. but it’s been 22 months, and you were still walking on this earth, choosing to live amidst the chaos—so long as jacob was with you. 

and when you leaned your forehead on his, eyes closed, you felt his breath graze against your lips. “i need you.”

all it took were three words from you. “okay.”

it’s been two months since that happened. the safe haven was rebuilt once more. you and jacob fortified the defense system, hoping they’ll be enough to keep any infected and raiders out. all that matters is that you two were protected—safe—from the chaos.

now, you sit on a couch as you flip through the pages of a book you didn’t have time to read before the outbreak. when all responsibilities vanished, you were able to find enough time to do things you couldn’t do then.

you were ready to get yourself sucked into the world of the novel, but jacob came into the living room with his hands behind his back and a small smile on his lips. “do you remember what you made me promise you before?”

you frown at him, confused, until he shows you an acoustic guitar. “oh my god, you found one?” you put the book on the coffee table.

he takes a seat beside you, body facing towards you as he rests the instrument on his lap. “here, first-row tickets to my first show.” you almost laughed because this is no stadium or club, but a home—one you built with him.

it takes only one smile from him for you to hold it back.

“any song requests?” he strums on the guitar strings, perfectly in tune. it’s almost as if he tuned it before coming to you.

a hum leaves you as you rest your head on your hand propped on the couch. “whatever you want to show me.”

it takes him a few seconds, fingers fiddling with the strings, until he figures out what to play. when he sings out the words—dearest, darling, my universe—you melt like the candles you lit up those nights. as he continues to play a song of a world in hysteria but a love that endures, that’s when you realize what you’ve had all this time.

time is the one thing that occupies your mind. it holds value, something that shouldn’t be wasted, and you learned to revolve your life around it.

it takes you two years to figure out that life doesn’t end after the outbreak—and 17 months to realize that your safe haven is not a two-story house with an orange tree in the garden but the boy in front of you.

when you lean closer to him, his fingers falter, messing up the chords. your hand reaches out to caress his face as your eyes flicker to his lips. you don’t miss how jacob holds his breath, how he stops playing the guitar, how his eyes look back at yours—it’s a slurry of warmth, tenderness.

“i love you.”

all it took was a three-word phrase from you for him to close the distance.

the warmth that spreads within you is like the one you experience in the abandoned cabin. but now, you’re full of hope—a reason to stay—in an infected-ridden world.

now, only one question echoes within your mind: how much longer do we have?

an eternity is what you hope.

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[multiverselibrarian]

Of Apocalypse Dogs and Grief

As someone who has been grieving the dog who saved my life and as an analytical nerd through and through, Fallout hit me deep.

Obviously Dogmeat (CXC404) is not the main focus of this series, but the Ghoul bonding with him was one of those dynamics that just made me sob. As a long time fan of science fiction/zombie media/apocalyptic media I’ve come to expect the cliche dog relationship. However, since the sudden death of my dog around a year ago, I’ve avoided some of my all time favorite movies to curb the hurt (I am Legend, for example). When this show came out, though, my excitement overshadowed that unspoken rule I had made for myself and I forgot my caution.

This slip up ultimately gifted me with so many wonderful memories to relive and also a reminder of one facet of grief I had yet to pay attention to.

For me personally, the most impactful scene of this topic was the brief clip of Dogmeat curling up on Cooper as he thought of his old dog, Rosevelt, from his past life.

“I’m sorry Dogmeat but you ain’t him.”

I could dive into how masterfully portrayed the Ghoul’s character is, and how the writing employed many interesting situations to show the audience his lasting humanity and vulnerability. Instead, I just miss my boy.

Because the Ghoul is right, nothing can compare to home. And that’s what my dog was to me: my home. It feels like I’ve been traversing my own wasteland without him ever since, which is disgustingly unfair because of all the zombie adventures I had imagined for the two of us.

I think a lot of my generation daydreams of the hypothetical post-apocalyptic world. Somehow it has become this fun future for when all the stress of our day-to-day catastrophes have boiled over and all we have left to do is breathe and survive the aftermath. It’s a genre that provides a lot of ironic comfort and commentary on what might drive us there.

I had always joked about what to do if zombies reigned or if bombs rained down, and my hypotheticals never left out my dog. I had always thought he’d be the finest apocalypse dog. A spunky mutt, athletic, protective and bonded to me above anyone else.

It would be me and him, cowboy and canine, against whatever may come.

That’s how we were in life, and so naturally that was how I saw us in this fictional future. It wasn’t the only future he joined me in. In fact, I had rarely pictured a near future without him. Then in the span of a couple hours he was gone. And I’ve been grappling with my own end of the world ever since.

I had been avoiding this trope like the plague as to not remind me of the futures I’d lost. But in Fallout, I found some odd closure. I could turn on the tv and see this adventure I had always wanted play out with some aspect of him waiting for me in it. I think, in small doses at least, this trope can help me after all.

So cheers to Fallout, a phenomenal world and story. And cheers to Dogmeat, who I see my own apocalypse dog in.

[ghoultygospel]

“Heya paL, Put that hand in here MatE, i’m wilrey jack, PLEASurE to meet you”

info:

The Woody theory is already known, which says that the next secret boss will be based on Woody from Toy Story, but what if the next boss was based on Jessie instead?

this lady's name is Wirley Jack.

She is a broken video game controller that is kept as replacement parts.

Once the co-star of a cowboy show, she loved her role even if it wasn't that important because she loved [redacted] the others.

Unfortunately, one day without warning the program was cancelled, the set was torn down, and her colleagues left.

She was devastated, wanting to know what happened to the program and no one willing to give her that answer, she began her own investigation, taking her mind, body and spirit, she searched every clue to the truth until she found someone who promised her answers.

From that day she was never heard from Wirley again, until one day, the heroes arrived.

In the normal route she wants to revive the show, so she asks Kris to send letters to the old team in her name, to give a proper ending to the series, you do it, they just send letters with the same message to her" "Leave it, Wirley, there's no point in going on."

She falls back into despair, she had the truth, she had the dedication,

What was she missing?

In that moment, she wanted power, the power to define the world, the power of light, she wanted your soul

"kris, Pal, pLEASE extend that light to me."

Before she could take your soul, the shadow mantle vibrated with your soul, giving you the ability to dash through her attacks, your soul turning orange.

You hold on long enough for your allies to arrive, but the detour has already begun.

"SO youR fRiends did arrive?"

"luckY you, KRIS"

"Well, that's ok"

"The most, the merrier"

"So, YOU better HELD up, PARTNERs, we're going the wild way"

If you defeat her fighting, she will fall into despair again, wishing at least that your dreams come true she will become the "show cutter".

If you decide to forgive her, you will do it by "performing" by reminding her of what she loved, she loved that show because she saw the wonder, the hopes and the smiles that she brought.

She desires a world like that so she lends her power to you so that you can achieve it, becoming the "cardinal poncho."

But there is a route, a route where instead of filling this world of darkness with light, you, out of simple morbidity and curiosity, begin to dismantle it. On this route, after seeing the desperation you bring, Wirley remembers what her objective onces was. And she procced  to fight you, she knows she can't win in a fight, but she can buy time for the "hero" to arrive.

"pal, I’M just the Co here, NO a great finale, no yet"

"but good grief if I don't go with style"

“SOme folks can take it afteR me, but Right now”

“its just You and me”

"so let us begin till the end”

“THIS WILL BE MY LAST STAND UP"

(if you want to know anything about her, ask without worries)

[cozage]

Five Stages of Grief

A/N: I'm so sorry.

CW: Major character death (you know the one. If you don’t, KEEP SCROLLING), spoilers for Marineford, depression, anger, just complete angst and sadness. 

Word count: 850

You didn’t think there was much to deny. You saw him die in front of you. It was a fact that the whole world knew. Portgas D. Ace was dead.

Denial came in the quiet moments. When you woke up in the middle of the night and reached for his warm body, only to find empty sheets. He must be in the bathroom, he’ll be back soon. 

It came at the dinner table, when you shot an irritated look at the man who sat down next to you. The guy didn’t even spare you a second glance, and you scoffed at his boldness. Everyone knows that Ace sits there. 

It came with orange hats and unexpected flames. A stranger in the crowd could turn into him at first glance just by a simple accessory. A building explosion down the street made your heart flutter.  He’s just around the corner. 

--

You weren’t an angry person. At least, not until after Ace died. Then the emotion came frequently and overwhelmed you. It was waiting for you at every corner, never letting you rest. Nobody was excluded from your wrath, either. 

Anger ripped into you the first time you laughed after his death. You turned to look for him, as you always did whenever someone on the crew made a fool of himself. You searched the room while you cackled with glee, not even realizing you were searching for him until you had done a complete circle. Laughter was instantly replaced with tears. You can’t laugh anymore, because he’s not here to share it with you. 

It ripped into you when you were sparring with a crew mate. You lost your footing, and he knocked you to the ground and disarmed you, forcing you to surrender. You screamed in rage, demanding a rematch. No wonder you lost him, you’re too weak to save anyone. 

It ripped into you when you heard another pirate crew make a jab at Pops in passing. Your blade is instantly against the leader's throat, telling him to repeat it to your face. They begged for mercy, and you granted it. They ran away, scared of the threat you posed. Why couldn’t he have run away, just once in his life?

--

You had started bargaining before you even went to rescue him. You begged and pleaded with every deity that you had ever heard of, and you abandoned them all for good when they failed you on that day. 

Bargaining began when you saw his wanted poster on an island after he was captured. You snatched it off the board, staring at his face. The face you were sure you’d never see again. The man who was supposed to be executed in five days. “Do you know him?” An elderly lady asked, a look of concern in her gaze. You ran out without answering, with the paper clutched against your chest. Please, don’t let this be the last time I see his face. 

It began when you saw the Strawhats all together again. You knew Kuma had sent them to different parts of the world with no way for them to return together before Ace’s death sentence. Everyone from the Whitebeard Pirates was at Marineford, a full crew united for one man. If Luffy's crew had been united too… If they had all been together, we might’ve been able to save him. 

It began when you awakened your devil fruit powers. Every single awakened devil fruit user was infinitely stronger than those who had not awakened theirs. If you had just awakened it earlier, you could’ve saved him.

--

You couldn’t hide your depression, and thankfully nobody asked you to. For a long time, you didn’t speak, didn’t acknowledge others, didn’t come out of your room. When you finally started to act somewhat like your old self, most people thought the worst was over. 

Depression found you when friends took you shopping. You passed a hat shop, and they led you in to try some on. “You always looked so cute with a cowboy hat! You should get another one that’s more your style!!” He had always let you wear it, and you didn’t want anything other than that one. Nothing fit right like the way his hat did. 

It found you when the sun set. The sky mocked you, reminding you every day of the colors you lost. The red, orange, and yellow that represented the flame of his life draining away every night. He should be sitting here, matching the colors of the sky with his flames.

It found you when they sold his Striker. It didn’t make sense to hold onto, since Ace was the only one who could operate it. And such a notorious boat would fetch a high price. You watched it float away with its new owner, a ghost of the vessel it used to be. That boat will never sail again, not in the way it was built to. 

--

Acceptance wasn’t here yet. And you weren’t sure you’d ever see its light. You would never recover from this, that was one thing you were sure of.

[applesontheground]

mirage 🎠

here go the first of my three vignettes for my fave horror protags of 2022, the haywoods + their adopted mentally unstable retail worker (angel).

first up is my fuckin cowboy... ❤

SFW | Word Count: 832 | OJ Haywood x GN Reader 🎼: x (OF COURSE I HAVE A NOPE PLAYLIST THIS MOVIE STILL STICKS TO MY BRAIN-)

You considered the fact that there were many people before you who spent too much time alone out in somewhere so arid and so silent and would start seeing things after awhile.

...Hearing things, though?

You stared at the sky for another long pause, hands still on the fence that kept your boyfriend's horses secured as you tried to catch that noise again. It wasn't an animal kind of screaming, one that mountain lions or even strange birds would be so close to calling. Nothing like an imitation.

It was a person, a person who was experiencing a deep sense of danger. How the hell it sounded as though it came spiraling from the sky, you weren't sure. That's what was making your slog around in your usual chores come to a halt in the first place to hear it again.

"[Y/N]." Speaking of your boyfriend, you heard the mellow hum from the other side of the pen, "[Guy/girl], you good?" When you didn't answer yet, raising a hand to quiet him as you kept listening, you then realized you were being silly.

Your eyes fell to your shoes, and you huffed, “J, you’d tell me if I was crazy, right?” From the other side of the fence, he mumbled, “Mm hm.”

You turned to him, and clarified, “OJ, really. I’m not the only one hearing shit, right?” His eyes cast over to you, chin settled on one arm as he merely let that question sit in the air. Your eyes slid from his, combing through your mind one last time before he finally replied, “No, [Y/N]. Sometimes I hear it, too. Sounds too much like us to be any animal.”

He then mosied over, minding the pacing horses to stand next to you from the other side of the gate. You slid across the hot surface that had been baking in the sun, settling your shoulder against the part of his arm that was now leaning over it. He was stock still as you looked at the sky with him and you murmured, “Is it the wind? We don’t get any animals this far out that can mimic like that, right?”

He hummed again, but then gently nodded with his head to the blemish almost straight ahead of the two of you in the plain horizon, fairly visible from where you two stood at the edge of the first corral by the house out at the Haywood Ranch. OJ commented, “Think it’s that rodeo show he puts on. All that alien shit, maybe it's some kind of special effect.”

You caught the circle of tall lightposts out in the dust, the two of you watching now in a stale silence. It wasn’t the usual peace that OJ and you would share, sometimes for hours on end (which drove his sister Emerald crazy whenever she found the time to visit the two of you), but more like a heavy rock settled in your stomach that came from knowing what that neighboring park represented.

The owner had been making deals even before OJ had taken over his family business with Em and it was still their father in charge. He knew he had the prices to not only push the Haywoods off this part of the land that they had lived on for so long, but also take their family's horses with it. You didn’t even know the guy’s name, but according to Em he had been a child star trying to chase after the glory, the money…whatever it was he had lost back then.

It still made you desolate at times to realize Otis had never gotten to be your father in law. A freak accident had happened only a few months ago, and you were only left with word of mouth from the paramedics who had tried to save him, and the consolation that you could muster as someone just as wordless as your boyfriend, especially in grief. You assured yourself that it was more because you and OJ were in no hurry to take your relationship to something more serious, even without his father here now.

OJ’s hand moved from the fence, sliding back to the top of it to go around your shoulder, still mute as he put his arm around the back of your neck. You slid even closer, gently knocking your head next to his, like it’d help you know what he was thinking.

“I’ll do whatever I can to keep you from selling those horses.” You sighed, “I don’t know how, but I want them to stay here with you. With Em, with the family.” You expected no answer, but he finally spoke just above that hum again.

“Hm-hm. You know I'm a firm believer in the real being real." He shook his head, making your own nudge slightly as you smiled to him, "It's not always recognized right away, but when time comes. I'm sure."

You hummed at that.

"I like that idea."

[pastelwitchling]

Michael wants to comfort Alex.

***

Alex wasn’t the comfort-seeking type. Michael knew that and was trying very hard to accept it, to accept that there were certain parts about Alex that were untouchable, that he couldn’t have.

Not that Alex didn’t curl into Michael after having woken up from a nightmare, or that he didn’t cling to his waist when he’d been having a particularly bad day, but there were instances, very small ones, when Alex didn’t seem to think the grief was bad enough to warrant comfort, and those were the instances that Michael tried to hold on the tightest.

“I’m tearing up over a movie,” Alex chuckled hoarsely, sniffling and wiping his eyes with the back of his hand as the credits for Red, White & Royal Blue rolled. “I don’t need a hug.”

“That’s true, that’s true,” Michael tried to sound mature and reasonable about it until he grit his teeth and confessed, “but I can’t stand it.”

Alex laughed fully at that, his face red, a stray tear slipping down his cheek. Michael brushed it away with his thumb and kissed the trail it had left away. “Guerin, I’m not, like, sad sad.”

“You’re crying!”

“Because I love it so much!” Alex took his face in his hands, forcing him to stop his caretaking, and planting a hard, chaste kiss on his lips. “Stop worrying. I’m fine, I’m great. What’s better than crying because you love something so much?”

“Not crying?” he grumbled, clutching fistfuls of Alex’s shirt at his waist. “It would be so bad if you just let me hold you when it happened.”

“I don’t need you to,” Alex’s smile softened, like Michael was the cutest man in the world. He kissed Michael’s lips again, the corner of his mouth, his cheek, and returned to the screen just in time to see the end credit scene.

Michael sighed and rested his chin on Alex’s shoulder. “Can’t you just let me hug you?”

Alex’s smile widened, and he nuzzled Michael’s nose. “I’m never going to say no to a hug from you, pretty cowboy. It’ll just be more for your sake than mine.”

Planting a brief kiss on Michael’s pouty mouth, Alex stood and announced he was going to make dinner. Michael glared after him, trying to burn holes into his back that did nothing but make Alex laugh harder.

The moment Michael had been waiting for came weeks later. Alex was winding down after a long day by reading in their bedroom, a small pleasure he was allowing himself and which Michael, despite missing his company for an hour or two every day, encouraged.

Michael himself was watching TV, some comedy playing while he wore nothing but sweats, an arm folded behind his head, when he heard their bedroom door open. Alex, who usually liked to read beside Michael on the couch, had wanted to finish this particular book alone. When he emerged, face tear-streaked and sniffling, shuddering with the force of his sobs, Michael understood why.

 “What the hell –” he started, about to stand when he caught sight of the book Alex was holding. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.

“I finished it,” Alex tried, voice constricted with his cries. Before Michael could ask what could’ve happened in a book that had his baby breaking apart like this, Alex set the book on the coffee table and wordlessly climbed onto the couch and curled up beside Michael, head on his lap and hugging Michael’s leg as he turned his face into Michael’s sweats, and truly sobbed his heart out.

“Oh my God,” Michael mouthed, gaping, but at the same time, as he ran a hand down Alex’s arm, his other hand in his hair, he couldn’t help but be touched that Alex wanted his comfort now, for nothing more than a book.

“I don’t know how to feel,” Alex whimpered, and Michael pressed his lips together to refrain from giggling. Now he understood why Alex had been so fond of his own worrying, why he’d acted like Michael was the cutest thing ever. In this moment, when his sweet-hearted love was shattering on his lap and clinging to Michael’s thigh like it was the world’s softest pillow, he couldn’t help but relate.

***

Guess what I'm reading now? 🥲

Happy malex Monday ❤️

[walker-extended-universe]

Like a Pheonix, We Rise, Chapter 3

Chapter 1, Chapter 2

Relationship(s): Hoyt Rawlins & Cordell Walker, Abigail Walker & Cordell Walker, Cordell Walker & Original Characters

Tags/Warnings: Inspired by Jared's Cameo, Immortality, Immortal Cordell, Immortal Hoyt, Adoption, Grief/Mourning, Difficult Decisions, Character Death

Summary: Cordell just needs one more lifetime with his family.

Written for @yeehawgust Day 10: Undead Cowboy

Taglist: @theladywyn, @ihavepointysticks, @klaatu51, @itsjessiegirl1, @neptunium134

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

Cordell couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a mother.

He’s sure he had a biological mother at some point, but that was easily a millenia ago, if not longer. He didn’t remember anything about her, nor a father or any siblings he might have had. He didn’t remember anyone else who might have served a motherly role for him. Again, he was sure there must have been someone, some kind soul who wanted to take in a youngster with nowhere else to go.

But it had been a long time since he’d had something like that. It had just been him and Hoyt for years, to the point where they’d taken care not to die at the same time if they could help it.

Having a mother was strange. But Abigail Walker made a fine one and Cordell didn’t think he could ever repay her for that, nevermind her insistence that she was repaying him.

Abby treated him as one of her own children, something that didn’t change even after she actually had children of her own. She even brought Hoyt into the fold when he added another death to his tally 10 years later.

Cordell had 20 good years with Abby. He helped her start up the family ranch, looked after the little ones when days got busy (he had a particular fondness for her youngest daughter, Coraline), and even taught her a few of the recipes he’d picked up over the years. Then, his mind started wandering. He’d never stayed in one place for so long. He’d started to make friends and feel like part of the family. It should be a comfort but it just made him antsy. He could tell Hoyt was feeling it too, though neither of them would dare say it to Abby’s face.

At least she was literate. Leaving a note was always easier.

The immortal friends planned their departure in hush whispers under the light of the moon. There was no need to alert anyone to their plans. They packed some necessities and carefully penned a note expressing their gratitude.

It was almost too easy to leave when the night finally came. Hoyt and Cordell grabbed their bags and made their way to the door, leaving their note on the dining table on their way. Hoyt’s hand turned the knob and-

“Cordi? Where are you going?”

Cordell sighed and turned to see Coraline wiping the sleep dust out of her eyes. “I’m just going to check on the horses, sweetpea,” he said gently. “What are you doing up this late anyhow?”

Coraline sniffed. “I had a bad dream….”

Cordell’s shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry. Here, let’s just get you back to bed, okay? You’ll feel better in the morning.” He cast an apologetic look to Hoyt over his shoulder and set his bag down so he could pick Coraline up.

He just couldn’t leave her with a bad dream like that. 

He stayed up until Coraline fell back asleep and promised Hoyt they’d try to leave again in a few days.

But in a few days, the family buggy broke and Cordell had to fix it, leaving him too tired to escape in the middle of the night. Then one of the older sons, Jared, fell ill and Cordell had to pick up his slack. Then there was a bad storm and Cordell had to help rebuild part of the barn and a few of their neighbors’ as well.

At least, he felt like he had to. Because this had become his home, his family, his friends.

He couldn’t just leave when they needed him, no matter how annoyed Hoyt got.

“You know this isn’t going to end well,” Hoyt told him one night. “They’re all gonna die one day and you’re going to be left alone. Again.”

“I know that,” he murmured. “I know. I just…. Aren’t you tired of running? Of constantly moving around, never having a place to just rest?”

“Yeah, but that’s just our life. We can’t have homes or families. We either have to leave or we get run out of town for being witches or demons or something. The longer we stay, the bigger the risk. You know that.”

He did know that. But that didn't keep him from hoping for the better.

“Would it be so bad to try, just this once?”

Hoyt sighed. “Look, you can get your heart broken if you want to. I can’t stop you. But I’m not gonna stick around longer than I have to.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying….” He sighed. “I’m saying I’m gonna go, but I’ll come visit you. If you want to stay, you can. I don’t think it’s a good idea, but I know how you get when you wanna do something. Just…. Be careful, okay?”

Cordell swallowed hard. They hadn’t split up since they found each other centuries ago. They had to be there for each other. No one else would be.

But now…. Now they were at an impasse. Cordell wanted to stay, to keep the life he’d started to build. And Hoyt wanted to leave, to keep going on as they always had. A part of Cordell wanted to follow his friend, just in case something happened to him.

But he really wanted to stay. He wanted to watch Coraline grow up and help Jared take over the ranch when Abby got too old. He wanted to help the neighbors with their harvest and share gossip with the Mulligan sisters at their store.

Just this once couldn’t hurt. Just one lifetime that felt normal couldn’t be so bad.

“Don’t stay away too long,” he requested. “I’ll…. I’ll miss you.”

Hoyt hugged him. “I’ll miss you too. I’ll always be around when you need me.”

The next day, Hoyt left, and Cordell stayed. Abigail understood and wished Hoyt well. She told Cordell that he would always have a place with her family, for as long as he wanted it.

So he stayed for a lifetime. He watched weddings and funerals pass by. He helped wrangle children and grandchildren and horses alike. He kept the ranch running when the others got ill and kept his distance from anyone who might want to make him an honest man.

It was one thing to become part of a family; it was another to be foolish enough to make his own.

About 20 years after Abigail Walker passed, Cordell had a bad horse accident. For the first time in a long time, he died alone. When he woke up again, he expected to still be alone. He expected that he would have to find his own way out and look for Hoyt again, as he always did.

He didn’t expect to find Coraline rocking him and humming a melody Abby used to sing.

Apparently, unbeknownst to him, Abigail had already passed on their story to her children. “She wanted you to always have a place here, if you wanted it,” Coraline explained. “You’re a part of the family, Cordi, no matter what.”

No one had ever done that for him before. Even the few others he had trusted with his secret were usually happy to see him on his way once he was no longer helpful. No one else had ever really wanted him around so badly before.

He decided then to stay one more lifetime. He couldn’t bear to break Coraline’s heart after such a  kindness.

One lifetime turned into two. Then three. Hoyt always floated in and out, offering to give him a ride out of town if he wanted it. And Cordell always thought about it. Part of him did miss running around the wild plains without a care in the world, living on the edge as if there was no tomorrow. 

But he had a life here. A home. A family, even. He wasn’t ready to give that up yet.

Just one more lifetime, he always told himself. One more lifetime, then I can go.

There would be plenty of lifetimes for him to run wild once he was done here. But for now, a little boy named Bonham needed a big brother to show him the ropes, and Cordell was more than up to the task.

[destieltaggedfic]

Hi! I love ur account. I’ve found so many awesome fics from here. I was wondering if you knew of any fics where during the widower arc dean wears a wedding ring for Cas and then Cas returns and dean forgets he’s wearing it and Cas sees it and is like “??” And dean is just like “ummm”. It can be explicit or not but I’ve been searching forever but apparently don’t know what I’m doing. Thanks!!!

ooooh Widower Arc for the wedding ring, I swear I read one just a few weeks ago, Dean was wearing his but had one he'd bought for Cas secretly on a chain under his clothes, but can I find it again? No. Interestingly even the fics that exist where they were secretly together Dean rarely wears a ring while Cas is dead. There is a few for post 15x18 obviously, and I'll link to a few of those.

Post 15x18

his voice a familiar sound - s7jacket (QueenTheatrics)   Ao3

Set 15x20 didn’t happen AU.  He knows its been a while since his death, but Cas doesn’t expect the very suburban looking house and for Dean to answer the door with a wedding ring and a baby.  But all isn’t what it first appears.

Word Count: 3k                                 Non-Graphic Sex

Early Mornings, New Beginnings Series – RedNotice   Ao3

15x20 didn’t happen AU. All that Dean has left is a necklace made of grace that Cas had given him in exchange of the mixed tape.  Somehow it had become a ring.  A ring that Dean never takes off.

Word Count: 7k                                 No Sex

A Second Grace – sometimeswelose   Ao3

15x20 didn’t happen AU.  When he surfaces from the worst of his grief, Dean buys a house, turn his barn into a bar and starts wearing a ring in honour of Cas. 

Word Count: 27k                              Non-Graphic Sex

your claim on me keeps me breathing - Ender_of_Pathel   Ao3

Set 15x20 didn’t happen AU.  After a lady hits on Dean during a case, Dean goes looking for his old ring to wear so people know he’s taken.  Even if he hasn’t managed to get Cas back yet.

Word Count: 1k                                 No Sex

Refers to Cas as his husband

Partners, but not in the cowboy sense – mirandamyth   Ao3

15x20 didn’t happen AU.  In the wake of Cas’ death, Dean accepts how he feels and starts referring to himself as a widower and starts to travel rather than hunt.

Word Count: 4k                                 No Sex

BTW, thanks for making me wade through a bunch of grieving Dean fics for this. [thumbs up crying cat.jpeg]

And I love the Dean just decided the easiest way of explaining why he's behaving like this is because he had a now dead husband and wears a ring for Cas, so if there are any I've missed, please send them through (Especially that one I mentioned)

[nights-flying-fox]

☆ ROTTMNT AU MASTERPOST ☆

☆ TMNT Blog: @eughboi ☆ ok to reblog ☆

✭ Dimension Hopper Leo AU: Leo managed to escape the Prison Dimension, but now he is in an alternative universe almost same as his. He has to go through many portals, trying to find his way back to his dimension.

[leo-centric] [MASTERPOST]

✭ Where You Belong: Mikey is the only turtle growing up with Splinter. When he becomes 13, he accidentally learns he actually had brothers. He and April try to connect to them once they find them with none other than the people trying to kill him for some reason.

[mostly mikey-centric, but POV changes often] [cw: abusive/manipulative parent]

✭ Let's Grab a Slice Together: Leo, Mikey, April, and Casey Jr end up time traveling all together. They are too late to find the key though, and now have to help their past selves to get it back and stop the Krang.

[cw: war themes, even if not detailed it is the bad future so beware; character death; temporary character death (?); injuries] [multiple povs, focused on the bad future fam]

✭ Last Hamatos Standing: Mikey is the only one escaping from the technodrome. Krang Prime has caught Leo and Donnie, and got Raph back in control. Now he and his family have to figure out to save the brothers and stop the Krang.

[cw: mind control, torture, hallucinations, manipulation, war themes, grief, body horror, loss of limbs (?)] [mostly mikey-centric]

✭ The Furthest Shores: After escaping from Draxum's lab, Splinter doesn't return to New York City, instead he hides in the Hidden City. He ends up in the Pirate Bazaar and meets with Piel. Seeing that Splints is just a poor guy with four babies he decides to give him a chance, inviting him to join his crew. Eventually the family grow up as pirates...

✭ We Ride at (Alien)Spawn: Apocalyptic AU except it somehow takes the turn of the cowboy concept- the boys become sheriff somehow (nobody questions mutants after being saved, especially since not many people are left). Join the new cowboys who ride Krang Hounds and a Krangfied train as they try to survive against Krang.

✭ Believe Me (I'm Warning You): Things turned out differently with the last fight against the Shredder. The Hamatos and Cassandra Jones never became friends. However, in the future a boy named Casey Jones Jr. is tasked to stop the Krang by Leonardo Hamato. How can he convince them, when no one believes him?

[casey jr-centric]

✭ Are We Pokémon, Dad? : Everything is same, except they are in the pokemon world... and maybe because they are in the pokemon world, everything is not the same...

✭ A Turtle Like You: A Separated AU inspired by the classic Barbie movies, that was a joke. Now it is about how the twins change roles for fun but things go bad, and how Mikey wishes to be freed from Draxum's lab, and how Raph and April accidentally discover the Hidden City and three turtle mutants.

[cw: manipulative/abusive parent] [mostly disaster twins-centric, but other have major focus too]

✭ Too Little Too Late: Donnie years ago watched his own Leo sacrifice himself and get trapped in Prison Dimension. For years he searched a way to bring him back. Now as he continues his studies, he is also making sure no other Leo suffers the same fate by traveling to any timeline that may need him.

[cw: hallucinations] [disaster twins-centric]

✭ Hopelessly Surviving: They saved Leo, but it was too late. As the family was still not accepting what happened, hours later Draxum shows up, and somehow he has the help they need. Now Leo is back to life, but something is different. Something is wrong and Leo has to figure out what is true and what is not to win this battle (with the help of his family).

[cw: temporary character death, hallucinations] [leo-centric]

✭ Future Genius vs. the Past: Donnie manages to go back to the past from his future accidentally. He can save it all by changing the events that lead to the apocalypse, but what about his family in the future?

[donnie-centric]

✭ Literally Purple Dragons: Aside from his twin being the most annoying brother ever as usual, the day was going well for Donnie. Until he found Kendra right out of the manhole as a mutant komodo dragon, asking for help from him.

[donnie-centric]

✭ Stuck: Mikey and Draxum practice mystic powers to get stronger against the Krang. Something goes wrong, and Mikey is now stuck in a timeloop and has no idea how to escape.

[cw: time loops, but in the worst way ever; depression (?)] [mikey-centric]

✭ [to be named]: Draxum succeeds. He raises the four brothers as warriors and Lou Jitsu is kept as a prisoner until he decides to join him (he believes one day the man will see the right path). Things go much differently than what the yokai expected. After all, Lou wouldn't let anyone suffer like that- not even turtle mutants.

✭ The Mummy inspired Kendratello (crack) AU: What the title says. Nothing serious, I just think it would be silly thinking them in situations like in the movie.

[actual-gremlin]

@crush-like-that here’s that song analysis you asked me about!

Buckle up cowboy because I’ve got a LOT to say. so, in my mind, this is set right after the Battle of Manhattan. Will has just lost most of his siblings, and he’s now in charge of not only his canon, but also the infirmary. That’s a HUGE responsibility for a 13 year old, ESPECIALLY a grieving one. My guys going through it, and this song perfectly captures it imo.

(lyrics are in italics)

It'll be fine by dusk light I'm tellin' you, baby These things eat at your bones and drive your young mind crazy

So this first little bit is Will trying to convince himself that he’s going to be fine without his siblings. He can’t stop thinking about his siblings and the patients he lost. -these things eat at your bones and drive your young kind crazy-

But when you place your head between my collar and jaw I don't know much but there's no weight at all

He misses his siblings more than life itself. To me, this lyric symbolizes the realization that you’ll never see the person, or feel them hug you ever again.

And I'm damned if I do and I'm damned if I don't 'Cause if I say I miss you I know that you won't

This might be a bit of a stretch, but HC that a lot of campers resent Micheal and Clarrise for their petty argument surrounding the Chariot and since most people are to scared of Clarrise to say anything to her face, they take it out on Michael’s memory instead, causing him to be a pariah of sorts. So this is Will knowing that he can’t say he misses Micheal, because he doesn’t want people to get mad at him for ‘defending someone who caused a bunch of deaths’. But I miss you in the mornings when I see the sun Somethin' in the orange tells me we're not done

Every sunrise is like a stab in the gut, because (HC) the Apollo kids used to watch them all the time. He can’t do that anymore. He’s too busy in the infirmary, and he has to push his grief down to keep moving.

To you I'm just a man, to me you're all I am Where the hell am I supposed to go?  I poisoned myself again Somethin' in the orange tells me you're never comin’ home

So to me, the chorus is Will trying to find solace (ha) in his mom, but she’s in the middle of touring, so she doesn’t have time for him. The ‘where the hell am I supposed to go?’ part is him realizing there’s no safe space for him to grieve and feel the way he needs to. So he pushes it all down and keeps moving forward. He overworks himself in the infirmary because he feels like he has no use elsewhere. On those short moments where he stops moving for long enough to remember, it almost destroys him because he’s kept it down for so long.

I need to hear you say you've been waitin' all night There's orange dancin' in your eyes from bulb light Your voice only trembles when you try to speak  Take me back to us dancin', this wood used to creak

Sibling Angst time!! He desperately wants to hear Lee tell him that he was ‘worried sick! You left no note and we had no idea where you were!’ When he sneaks out with Drew to hang in the woods. He misses the therapy sessions they used to have that always ended in dance party’s punctuated by the creaking of the wood floors.

If you leave today, I'll just stare at the way The orange touches all things around The grass, trees and dew, how I just hate you Please turn those headlights around Please turn those headlights around

He sees his siblings in everything. The way the sun radiates off of his fathers cabin, the grass where they played frisbee, the trees he climbed to get out of dish duty, the dew they used to roll around in first thing in the morning. He’s begging them to come home, even though he knows it’s impossible.

anyways, this was fun!

[dangermousie]

Farscape Rewatch - Different Destinations, 3x05

I think DD is the single most depressing, bleakest episode of Farscape and one I find hardest to watch and rewatch; it makes me cry. There are more heartbreaking episodes out there, true. Episodes I ended up sobbing in more than I do here (DMD for one). But the reason DD is so profoundly bleak is that the message, the meaning of the story seems to be: there is no point in trying, anything you do makes it worse and there is nothing you can do to make it right.

Because the whole situation is ultimately no one’s fault? Or everyone. I suppose, if you want to really attenuate the blame, you can blame John, because he wanted Stark to be comforted. Stark is, after all, now near catatonic in his loss of Zhaan. I think his initial composure was just shock and it wore off and he descended into this. Here he is imitating Zhaan’s words and gestures, as if he’s turning himself into a facsimile in grief.

I think that part of the reason that John wants to comfort Stark is because John is, despite everything, despite the fact that it has been beaten out of him until there is only narrow scope, is innately kind. But another part is that I think John recognizes a certain kinship, with insanity in Stark, and with loss of love driving one mad. It’s further and twisted but there and I think John has a certain ‘here but for the grace of God go I reaction. I love the scene with D’Argo, Aeryn, John and Stark, where Aeryn, frustrated, turns to D’Argo if he is feeling lonely because he and she are the only ones not hearing voices in their head. 

Or I am thinking of a later scene in ‘Meltdown’ when John tells Stark that Aeryn ‘is my Zhaan.’

But yeah, to give borderline insane, grieving, and very powerful energy being a vid which is half peace treaty, true, but half last battle? Bad idea. But no one in their right (or even wrong mind) would expect a tear in time created by Stark. We can’t blame John for it any more than we can blame Stark for creating the tear, or D’Argo and Aeryn fighting when they got there (they are attacked) etc etc. And John almost did fix everything right, if that nurse didn’t shoot the general at the last minute. I understand her, but I just want to shake her and yell ‘stupid woman.’

The is one of the episodes I get mildly frustrated with the crew playing ‘pin the blame on John’ game, even though they don’t do it overly much, and it’s frustration talking, not genuine blame.. It. Is. Not. His. Fault. UGH. Stop. I know, I know, emotional masochist. Still, come on.

I love the surreal scene of Scorpius playing the harmonica, in cowboy boots with ‘Andy’ on them. And I love Stark’s kindness, even in the midst of his own grief and madness, towards the little girl, Citrina. I never realized before that when he hugs her, once she said she never cried when her father died, he is crying instead and for her. Another transfer of sorts.

He is so gentle throughout, in a way death is his mileau.

But the show, in its consistent bleakness, does not allow a comfort of a peaceful death or life after or anything but bleakness. It refuses even crumbs of comfort.

Or Aeryn, amazing Aeryn, learning that the PK hero Deacon was still a hero, just a very different one, and that underneath the propaganda myths is truth of honor, and the past where PKs were not yet perverted but were defenders of truth and justice. And having to send this kid to die and it ending up meaning nothing in the scheme of things, except another burden for her. She has more optimism in the beginning of this episode than John (who is utterly bleak in his worldview and yet somehow it still goes below his nonexistent expectations, still breaks his heart.)

I love D’Argo’s moment of bonding with the kid, as well. But he is not as distraught at the end because ultimately, both he and Aeryn are tougher, soldiers from birth by nature and nurture and culture and blood. Unless it’s the death of a few very specific people, they can function on, stiff upper lip, no wound on them as bad as John’s, who is despite it all, just a talented amateur.

And so we end the episode with John utterly hollow, broken, sitting there just sifting sand through his fingers, because yes, they minimized the damage but the nurses were slaughtered anyway, the same nurses who would have been saved if they never went through. And I love that, as always, it is Aeryn who is there for him at his lowest, who is there to answer his hopelessly decent person’s ‘What was the point? [of the murders]’ with her PK-nihilistic ‘There probably was no point.’

The Universe is cruel and even trying to help ends up worse and how far has John come (been broken) from the idealist of the beginning, and how much further into darkness and despair he still has to travel. I think he is so shattered because he never gets truly used to the cruelty of the Universe. I wonder if it’s because he’s had a safe, proper childhood. It makes him fight because of his burning sense of injustice, but it also makes him vulnerable the way Aeryn and D’Argo, who are soldiers by birth, culture and breeding, or even Chiana and Zhaan never are. 

I love that at his lowest moment in this ep, in this season so far, Aeryn is there for him (I remember years ago on Farscape boards someone pointed out that her name, ‘Aeryn Sun’ is really ‘air and sun,’ two essentials for living. Because that is what she is to John. I have no idea if the makers thought of it, but how incredibly appropriate.)

And the fact that John tried to go back, to fix it, or to save them and die trying is…GUH. I love Crichton so much. Of course, I really don’t see how it’s his fault (not even not leaving the guns, they couldn’t leave future technology), so it’s just his enormous sense of responsibility (just as that is what made him talk to Nurse and tell her they were leaving, as if he wanted to be focal point for blame later).  

[devildomwriter]

Obey Me As Tumblr #15

Belphegor: Standing next to sunflowers always makes me feel weak like “look at this fucking flower. This flower is taller than I am. This flower is winning and I’m losing.”

Satan: Wow you are not ready to hear about trees

•

Mammon: Hey guys I’m making French toast sticks in the oven. I’m gonna take a quick nap wake me up in five minutes so I can flip them over

Lucifer: Mammon, it’s been five minutes flip your sticks

Mammon: Snnnnzzz

Beelzebub: MAMMON YOUR STICKS

•

Mammon: Why are shorts called shorts but pants aren’t called longs

Solomon: She wears short shorts I wear long longs

MC: She’s cheer cheerer and I’m on the sit sits

•

Leviathan: The internet is for cowboys only

Www ? Stands for wild Wild West

•

Mephistopheles: I have been sitting in this Burger King for four hours

Beelzebub: They don’t come to take your order you have to go to the counter

•

Mammon: I wanna be a reverse tooth fairy where I rob people and then scatter human teeth on their bed

Solomon: A dentist

MC: I don’t know what your dentist is doing to you but I think you need to go to the police

•

Leviathan: Beauty and the best but in reverse. I kiss the love of my life and she turns into a sick fucking monster and it’s awesome

Mammon: Shrek.

Leviathan: Never mind post cancelled.

•

Solomon: 63 earths can fit inside Uranus

Mammon: One day I’ll be mature enough to read this without laughing

•

Simeon: If you think about it maybe and maybe not means the same thing

Satan: What the fuck have you done

•

MC: I fell in love with him the way ketchup falls out of a bottle. Slowly and then all at once.

Mammon: Oh my god you managed to one up John Green.

•

MC: In the 7th grade I went to see a movie with a boy and in the middle of it he was like “do you wanna kiss” and I was like “excuse me” and he pulled a bag of Hershey’s kisses out of his coat

Asmodeus: DO YOU REALIZE WHAT A GOOD BACKUP PLAN THAT IS

•

Diavolo: Why aren’t there friend pick up lines?

Pick up lines to make friends

Like: Hey that a cute dress, you know where it would look better? On nobody else because you’re a beautiful individual.”

Belphegor: Be my friend or I’ll set your family on fire

Michael: There are two types of people

•

Solomon: Just because you’re trash doesn’t mean you can’t do great things. It’s called garbage can not garbage cannot.

Leviathan: I have found my senior quote.

•

Mammon: If no one comes from the future to stop you from doing it then how bad a decision can it really be?

Belphegor: #new life motto

MC: I think this will be my graduation quote

•

Diavolo: Hey I’ve never had a nightmare before and kinda wanna know what they’re like, can you help me out?

Raphael: Sure! See you soon

•

Mammon: I hate the term spinal fluid it conjures up horrible imagery in my mind

(Lightly taps a spigot I have attached to my spinal column) come get y’all juice

Dantalion: We’ve never met and I hope it stays that way

Mammon: This is the most powerful reply I’ve ever received

•

Belphegor: I will kill you: basic threat; overused; lacks serious weight

Pee your pants: up-and-coming; respectable; unexpected

I will pee your pants: full of promise of grief and terror; absolutely devastating

Solomon: Your pants can’t wait for my pee

Mammon: And here we have it, the most terrifying sentence in the universe

Last • Next

[fandomsandflyingstingrays]

Happy Ahsoka day to all who celebrate!! Have a very angsty little Sabine drabble as a reward for making it through almost two thousand days of waiting for our precious crew. (Most of them, anyway. Beloved cowboy Jedi you are always in our thoughts)

If Sabine turns the temperature up in the tower and closes her eyes, she can almost go back ten years. The dry air becomes Atollon's dust, and the metal beneath her feet becomes ancient coral, and if she really focuses, she can hear the echo of a voice at her side.

Okay, great. Yeah, that’s ready position. Now we go one, two…

She counts the positions off, perfectly follows the form he shows her in her mind. But always, at the end, she has to open her eyes, and the image of him disappears, leaving her to face reality: he is gone, and she has nothing but his saber in her hands and the memory of his voice.

It’s become a common theme, Sabine thinks dryly as she sets the saber down and takes a swig of water from the bottle leaning against the far wall. Almost all of her clan, her people’s homeworld, the Jedi who took her in— so many of the forces that raised her are now nothing but echoes. Hera says she has to focus on the present, and the future, on things she can do something about. And she tries. She failed Mandalore, so she does everything in her power to care for Lothal. She failed her clan, so she fights tooth and nail to make sure she’ll never fail Zeb, or Hera, or Jacen. 

She failed Kanan and Ezra, so the least she can do is keep practicing the forms they taught her. 

She’s not quite sure when it stopped feeling like enough. Maybe it never was. Maybe it was when the Empire fell, and she was left with no war to fight but the one against her own grief and guilt. Maybe it was when Mandalore fell, and she realized what a fool she’d been to believe a war could ever end.

Or maybe it’s this moment, right here, when she wishes, with a sudden, sharp ache, that it has been her who had been consumed by the fire at the duel depot instead of Kanan. 

Not because she wants to die. For everything that she’s lost, she still has work to do, art to spread and speeches to make and a family to defend. She still has people she loves. But suddenly she’s collapsing under the weight of wanting Kanan to live, because he would never have failed that family like she did. He could have kept them together.

How many times did she see it? When Kanan was captured by Tarkin, when Ezra was trapped on Reklam Station, when Hera was being held by Governor price— the Jedi always knew how to sense the missing piece. Ezra could always find Kanan, up until there was no Kanan to be found, and Kanan could always find Ezra.

And as she thinks about it, letting the water bottle drop as she slowly sinks to the ground under the weight of it, Sabine’s desire shifts. If Kanan couldn’t be alive, why couldn’t she have been gifted with his sense? Why can’t she reach out with the mystical Force, across all the stars that separate them, and find her best friend?

She buries her head in her hands.

Then slowly lifts it.

Why can’t she?

The Force resides in all living things. That’s what Kanan told Hera, back when he was beginning to train her in wielding the Darksaber. And she did learn to wield the Darksaber, didn’t she? She could feel the blade becoming lighter as she connected it, the same way Ezra’s blade has become lighter over time. Isn’t that like connecting with a crystal the way Jedi do? And didn’t she learn how to wield the sabers as good as any Jedi?

Maybe… maybe she can find Ezra. Maybe the reason she failed Mandalore so completely was that it was never Mandalore’s path she was meant to walk, but his and Kanan’s. They just weren’t looking for that power inside her, she reasons, so maybe they never found it.

But she can find it. And once she does, she can find him.

She closes her eyes and reaches for the water bottle, taking deep, measured breaths, trying to feel something in the space between it and her she can use to pull it towards her. She wishes for it so strongly that when she opens her eyes, it’s with the full expectation of seeing the bottle rolling towards her.

It’s still.

A sharp pain pierces her chest.

Then she takes a deep breath, pulls herself up to her full height, and squares her shoulders.

That’s okay.

She’ll keep trying.