#my fic: not dead yet

[jemmalynette]

Not Dead Yet - Finale!!

Title: Not Dead Yet

Rating: T

Warnings: Some violence & death but not too graphic

Characters: Grace Mason (OC), Hal Mason, Ben Mason, Matt Mason, Tom Mason, Casey Taylor (OC by littletonpace), Anne Glass, Jimmy Boland, Capt Weaver and most of the other main cast.

Summary: Sequel to Heartbeat Away from Death and Grace Mason and The Battle of Fitchburg. Season 2. Three months have passed since Tom took off on the alien ship and he’s finally back, much to the relief of Grace and her brothers. But life hasn’t got much easier since his return. Now Grace must navigate new threats from the alien enemy, loss of a loved one, and the promise of a new safe haven. But can she make it with her family in one piece?​

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30593189/chapters/135415936

FF.Net Link: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13859316/45/Not-Dead-Yet

Beautiful poster made by @arrthurpendragon​

A/N: If you haven’t read my previous fics - Heartbeat Away From Death & Grace Mason and the Battle of Fitchburg - it covers the events of S1 and the off-screen battle that took place between S1 & 2 so please read, they can be found on my fanfic.net/AO3 page! This fic will also feature Casey Taylor, an OC created by my friend littletonpace. Casey’s story can be found on her fanfic.net page, entitled When Skies Are Grey.

This Chapter: FINALE!!!!!!!

Tags: @littletonpace @ocappreciationtag @allaboutocs @ochub @ocs-supporting-ocs @alchemypanda @jvstjewels @arrthurpendragon

[mail-me-a-snail]

one of my favorite things about unmasked spy is that he has such a peculiar hair pattern with his little gray wings. like if he grew a white streak he could be the next administrator.

also engie is here 👍

[damian-lil-babybat]

'Dead Poets Society' gang

Headcanon that these four drop poetry and literature quotes on their conversations unprompted.

Jason 'English-major-I-only-visit-the-manor-for-the-library' Todd-Wayne

Damian 'I-master-liberal-arts-unlike-you-plebs-PHD-holder' al Ghul-Wayne

Cassandra 'I-learn-English-thru-Shakespeare-as-god-intended' Cain-Wayne

Duke 'only-title-holder-of-vigilante-poet-and-will-cuss-you-just-as-poetically' Thomas-(future) Wayne

[fiepige]

Miguel and Hobie making their entrances (I love that they both get a slow-motion reaction shot from another spider-person as they enter)

[bill-y]

Is the arcana fandom still alive? I'm practically quaking in my boots wanting to publish a story about my half baked oc 😔☝️

[pettyprocrastination]

whoever this beloved anon was I am so touched by your kindness! You definitely didn’t have to do this but I am so happy you enjoy this idea and I will happily expand upon it for you!

this is just a collection of word vomit bullet points for the time being but I will happily answer any and all questions about this pair!!

warnings: violence, angst, child death (Sarah Miller), foul language, the same warnings that apply to tlou, reader is Sarah's mom and described as having similar features to her. 

So the general Idea is that you and Joel are happily married before the outbreak. 

You had been Sarah's mother, his high school sweetheart he got pregnant when neither of you were old enough to have any reaction to the pregnancy test other than a fucking panic attack in one another’s arms. but you made it work 

you both worked but made time for one another and your sweet girl, going to museums every other weekend and joel insisting on swooping you off for a date every now and then 

nothing special. He knows you’re more of a diner gal than anything too fancy that makes you both feel out of place. 

On his birthday in 2003, you had planned to tell him that you were pregnant again. But the memories of your own fears of motherhood from all those years ago begin to swirl through your head again and you get cold feel. deciding to tell him the morning after

it is his birthday afterall, you want to focus on him. 

but when you’re woken up in the middle of the night because tommy needs to get bailed out, Joel kisses you sweetly one last time before promising he’ll be back and you can’t shake the feeling that something bad is happening. 

its you that shakes sarah awake that night. shouting at her to put on her shoes when she’s still rubbing the sleep from her eyes because you’ve been listening to the radio for the past two hours, calling joel again and again and again praying for him to fucking pick up but to no avail. 

Sarah, bless your little girl’s bleeding heart is the one who insists you check on the adler’s against your better suspicions and when you find the eldest looming over her daughter, blood and sinew dripping from her mouth, you grab your daughter hand and burst into a full sprint until something slams into your back and sends you tumbling onto their front lawn

its how joel finds you, struggling to keep the once sweet old woman, whose now nothing more than dead eyes and gnashing teeth straining to snap at your pulse point as you push against her while sarah shrieks before your husband runs forward and cracks her skull with a wrench. 

there’s hardly a moment of pause, just enough for him to pull you up and into his arms before he’s ushering you both into the car with an urgency. 

when the truck crashes, you get separated from them. Perhaps at Tommy’s side when the flames rise and create a wall, separating you from your husband, or maybe pulled into the mob of chaos when trying to escape from those already infected-

all joel knows is that you promise you’ll find him: just get sarah to safety and you’ll meet him at the river

Poor thing is already so frightened, held in her father’s arms with tears streaming down her face insisting they can’t leave you they just can’t but her father kisses her forehead and reassures her its going to be okay 

“we just need to be brave, okay babygirl? Your mama’s real tough, she’s gonna be alright.” 

he isn’t sure if he’s saying it to his daughter or himself. 

but when he comes to the river you aren’t there. Only a soldier who points a gun at the scared little girl in his arms and then he loses everything

its when the light is gone from his daughter’s eyes that he realizes. His voice cracked and raw from sobbing that he looks around to see his brother with drawn in shoulders and tears in his eyes but his wife is nowhere to be found. 

Tommy says you got lost in the chaos. Everything was so loud, so sudden that he turned around and suddenly you weren’t there. 

Joel wants to go back but its Tommy that stops him, that dulls the red in his vision to a sad faded pink because his brother points at the orange horizon not too far from them, so much of the city is already in flames. 

“We’re gonna find her, but not there.” 

So Joel searches. for the first year spent in the world post-outbreak its all he did. 

He became a smuggler because of it. 

Information came at a price and he needed to be able to fucking pay it, whether it be in blood or ration cards. He was willing to do anything to find you or any thin thread that lead your way. 

But it’s Tommy that asks him to give up. Not in those words of course. 

The youngest Miller knows better than to say something so cruel that would make his brother, the only person he has in this world turn on him. 

But his voice is worried when he asks him one night in Boston when he hasn’t even had the chance to wash the blood from his knuckles 

“You think she would have wanted this for you?” 

the fight that followed his words was brutal. Vicious insults and scarred fists slamming against each brother until they're both too tired and bloody to continue. Each leaning against a wall for support and Tommy’s wavering voice breaking the silence. 

“I don’t know where she is, Joel. But I do know you're gonna get yourself killed if you keep lookin’ for her.” 

All he can do is nod. 

It’s a few days later when he meets Tess. Who has heard plenty of stories about the elder miller’s brutality and wants him to put that muscle to good use for some extra profit. 

It begins his new life. One that empty and cold but one he can live. 

Until of course, Ellie comes along. The sweet and incredibly opinionated girl that makes him become something akin to the man he thought died twenty years ago. 

its when he’s traveling with Ellie, that it happens. When a warm familiarity has settled between the two because so much blood and pain has been shared he can’t help but see her as something close, something bright even though all he can force himself to utter in her reference is “cargo” 

when theyre traveling through the woods as Ellie chatters away, probing his memory about a movie that may or may not have existed thirty years ago because her descriptions of the plot are incredibly odd he hears a voice shout for them to stop and finds himself staring at a man- no, a boy- pointing a gun at them. 

Ellie stills, but Joel can see enough to know that from the lanky figure and dimpled face that he’s young. Maybe twenty, twenty-two at the oldest, but his eyes dart from Joel to Ellie with a pinprick of fear that allows Joel the time to charge forward and slam him to the ground before wrestling the gun from his hands. 

He has enough to time to tuck it under the stranger’s chin before he hears the sound of the safety being turned off and finds himself looking up and seeing a gun just inches from his face. 

Joel’s head whips around when Ellie’s voice calls out his name in fear, he turns to see another stranger holding her a gun point, shoulders drawn back and a shadow cast over their face by the had obstructing their identity. 

“You hurt one of mine, I hurt one of yours. That a fair deal?” 

Its takes him a moment to recognize you. It’s been so long since he’s heard your voice, the sweet tease when you would poke at him each time he woke up late despite the fact that you reminded him to set his alarm the night before, the times you’d chide him with a harsh “Joel Miller!” whispered in public anytime he was able to grab you a bit too passionately to be appropriate in public but the laughter in your voice let him know you were never truly mad at him. You didn’t know how to be. 

But that sweetness is buried under a cold rasp that cuts through the air as you point a rifle at the scared little girl in front of you.

“You think I won’t?” You’re older now, skin covered in scars from a life he didn’t know you got the chance to live and your eyes are cold as they regard your husband. “Put the gun down and get the fuck off of him, I won’t repeat myself.” 

Joel mumbles your name in awe. The woman he loved, the woman he mourned the one he fought so hard to find stands before him like some sort of hallucination and suddenly the world feels like its spinning until you bark orders at him again. 

“You’ve got five seconds Joel, make a fucking choice before I make it for you.” 

He looks down and realizes the boy under him, the one with the bleeding nose and snarling face has your eyes and his dimples. 

“One.” 

The one above him has Sarah’s hair. Soft brown curls that shine under the sun. 

“Two”

Wait. No, they both do.

“Three.” 

Twins. Jesus fucking Christ you had twins. 

“Four.” 

Joel holds the rifle up above his head and the one boy standing snatches it from his grasp, tossing it to the ground and kicking it far from his reach. He slowly stands, allowing your son- dear god your son- to scramble to his feet. 

Your voice softens just for a moment. “You okay, Duke?” 

Blood stains the bottom half of his face from where Joel slammed his fist into the boy’s nose just moments before, but he nods nonetheless. 

Now, they both stand on one side of you and he can see the resemblance clear as day the same way he would whenever Sarah was by your side.

When you order him to hand over his bag, he does so without question before telling Ellie to do the same. 

She watches him with wide eyes, her hands still up in the air but gaping at her companion as if he had grown a second head. 

“Joel!” “Just do it, alright?”

He doesn’t miss the way you watch their interaction with narrowed eyes until she tosses her bag to you and you slowly lower your gun. 

“Now, you want to tell me what the fuck you think you’re doin’ at my home?” 

[misasimagines]

good luck / reader x Ren (Tokyo Debunker)

included characters: Ren!

rating: NSFW! None of this is sfw! Please avoid completely if you are uncomfortable with sexual content/a minor.

warnings: goodness me this is pure smut. cockwarming, its safe sex though even if he wishes it wasn't. Fem bodied reader, not GN.

inspo fics!!: pink by aayakashii and these hcs by kurosagi-h8r

im never beating the ren fucker allegations

Your boyfriend was so mean. He had you sitting on his lap, your chests pressed together, your arms over his shoulders and his around your waist, and his cock buried as deep in you it could go. You had already been like this for long enough that your brain had stopped functioning. The only thing you could think of was your own impending orgasm that he would not give you until he was done with all of his stupid raids.

He grumbled quietly about how their tank sucked and continued gaming on his phone. You whimpered and whined into his ear, peppering his neck with kisses and licks and occasionally sucking hard enough to leave a mark. Ren would complain about it later, but for now he was too stubborn to acknowledge what you were doing to him. His cock twitched in you each time you pleaded, “Please, please just fuck me.”

Whenever you started rocking your hips, he'd tighten his arms around you to stop you. “You're just going to make it worse for yourself, stop moving,” he warned. Worse for you to stay coherent, harder for him to not lose his composure and start bouncing you up and down until he came.

But you couldn't help it! He was so deep in you for so long, your core kept flexing, your walls clenching around him and he was trying. So hard. To stay stubborn enough to not give in. “Please, Ren,” you whimpered, “I need to come.”

He held his breath to keep from moaning at that. There were still several more waves to complete and he was not willing to give in to you, no matter how good you felt and how sweetly you begged. Still…he could teach you a lesson. “You can get yourself off but you're still staying like this until I'm done. You're just going to make it harder for yourself, you know.” He tried to sound unaffected, but you could hear the huskiness tinging his voice.

The other thing you heard was approval, so you gave his neck one more sloppy kiss and started rolling your hips, lifting yourself up on your weak legs just enough to feel him moving inside you. It was like pure bliss after cockwarming him for so long. It didn't even matter if you couldn't maneuver well enough to get him to rub against any of the right spots, you were so strung out and desperate that the most basic friction felt like heaven.

He didn't help you, but you were successfully distracting him from his game. He could barely move his character, too fixated on the way you were using him to get off. It took everything he had to not come from the way you were spasming around him, nearly already at your peak. He reminded himself how much better it was going to feel when you were overstimulated and begging for a break and he wasn't going to give you one. 

Your chest heaved and your breaths stuttered as you came, head dropping to his shoulder and body shaking. The pleasure came in waves and you felt the comfortable warmth of his hand against your waist, holding you still and upright while you shook and gushed all around his cock. 

And then the overstimulation started setting in. Your walls fluttered around him as if they could get away from the constant sensation of being stretched. You let out a quiet cry as he settled you back down, filled to the hilt, and he gave you one kiss against your neck as consolation.

“It's-” aftershocks of your orgasm rolled through you, “too much.”

“I told you it would be. Now stay still.” He responded, uncaring and unrelenting.

If your brain had stopped functioning before, it was glitching now. You couldn't think of anything else but his cock in you and how it didn't give you an inch of space and how you had no clue how long it was going to stay in you, so cruelly still. You didn't have the capacity to lift your head, to even try to negotiate with him anymore. Out of necessity, you had all but accepted your role as a glorified fleshlight. Shivers ran up your spine at your own imagination and you couldn't deny your own complicated desire for it.

On the other side of things, Ren was lamenting the fact that he was wearing a condom, that he had to be responsible and safe and everything, when all he wanted to do was fuck your desperate little brain out and fill you with more come you could fit. Maybe then you'd both be satisfied, but he hoped even then you'd always want more.

He had already missed some cues in his game, the raid party suffering because he wasn't using skills quickly enough off cooldown, because he had no idea what his strategy even was at this point. It wouldn't get any better, not with the way you were squeezing him, not with the way your lips were mouthing breathless pleas against his neck. He ran through the last fights, the last boss, barely paying attention. Particle effects and colors and chats popped up on his screen and they'd never been so annoying before. He wanted to see you instead. He needed to see you drooling and moaning under him.

The second the banner appeared announcing his victory, he threw his phone down, wrapped his arms around you, and flipped you both over.

You let out a near scream when he pulled out, cock soaked in your juices, and slammed back in. He pushed your knees up towards your ears and hammered into you, bullying your poor cervix and making you reach up to grab on to his headboard for some kind of stability. 

He wasn't going to last long, and he felt a pang of disappointment in the realization that once he did, he'd have to pull out and let you both have a break. In a perfect world, he wouldn't need a period to recover, he could come in you, relish in the feeling of your cunt milking him for every drop, and then start back up again before you had a chance to come to your senses. There was probably something, some anomalous tool that would let him do that… something to consider.

He slammed in and out of you until he couldn't even force himself to pull out fully. Keeping his hips as close to yours as possible, he bucked in as deep as he could and groaned at the feeling.

Your entire body was being pushed and pulled across his bed sheets. Yeah, a glorified fleshlight. As long as you were Ren's, you could put up with it. No, as long as you were Ren's, you’d beg for it. You shivered, toes curling, eyes rolled back in your skull as your second orgasm of the night hit you.

Eyes shutting, he pushed in as deep as he could and shuddered as he came. He filled the condom up and wished it away. You'd look so good, you'd feel so good dripping his cum. The thought alone forced out another spurt of jizz into the latex and he dropped down against you, almost panting as he tried to catch his breath.

When he slipped out of you, your cunt instinctively clenched around him. All that time being plugged up, begging for relief, and now that it came, you wanted nothing more than for him to thrust back into you. You couldn't protest either way, your legs were jelly and your muscles were tingling with static, too heavy to lift on your own.

He sat up, pulled the condom off and tied it off at the top, dropping it into the trash next to his bed and grabbing for his phone again. He scrolled through his rewards and gasped quietly. “This is good,” he told you, holding his phone in front of your face to show you the rare loot drops. As if you could see it. He took his phone back when he realized you were too braindead to understand. “Maybe you're good luck.”

He pulled his clothes back on right, left you half dressed and drooling next to him. “For reset tomorrow, you'll be my good luck charm again, right?”

You whined in agreement.

[aletterinthenameofsanity]

looking back on the fic I've written in the last few years and my own sexuality journey has made me realize that there is an argument that poly folk and ace/aro folk process love in a lot of the same ways, like the idea that you can have significant, life-defining relationships with different people and you get something important and sometimes even a similar flavor from each relationship but each one is still fundamentally different and significant in its own way and sometimes you don't want sex but you do want hugs and your partner may be having sex with their other partner but that does not make your relationship any less important because they come back to hug you and having more hearts bound up in your own is never a bad thing, because being loved no matter the form is never a bad thing, you are lovable and you can love so many people and having a heart overflowing with love for other people and things and the universe just means that you're healing and finding the people who fit you in whatever way that comes and there will always be someone cooking in the kitchen filling your heart and stomach no matter what and in this essay i will-

[ecstarry]

I need to read the bartylus 5 + 1 please if you don’t mind sharing!!! Trick or treat!

here's a little snippet <3

“Why did you make that face?” Barty arched his brow. 

“What face?” Regulus knew exactly what he was talking about, but he didn't feel like explaining himself. Barty seemed to be noticing him too much.

“That one,” He pointed at Regulus and smirked. 

“Stop it.” Regulus rolled his eyes and slapped Barty's hand out of his face, but he could tell there was a blush threatening to peek through. 

Barty took one more hit from his cigarette and passed it to Regulus “Stop what?”

“Reading me.” He let out all of the smoke right in Barty’s face.

The other boy coughed a bit, but kept looking at him, and somehow, it wasn’t uncomfortable. 

“I don’t think I’m doing a good job at it, actually.” 

I think you are doing just fine, Regulus thought but decided to keep that to himself for now. “Well, stop either way.” 

[read-write-thrive]

part 1

“Waiting for the other shoe to drop”, while pessimistic, seemed to be a running theme in Charles Rowland’s life. It wasn’t really a phrase he heard when he was alive, to be fair, but at some point he’d come across it (probably hanging out with too many Americans, but can’t remember for sure) and it felt a little too much accurate. His dad’s come home angry again? Time to wait for the fallout. He’d gotten written up at school for not paying attention? Just a disaster waiting to happen. He goes against his best mate’s advice? There he goes, literally torn from Charles’s arms and back to hell, just as he’d said. Maybe the last one was a little dramatic, but that’s the gist.

The looming anxiety of it all usually slid off of him for the minor stuff, and was otherwise bottled up and shoved far away for the heavier stuff, but regardless he didn’t let it show. Have to keep up appearances and all. He’d only had one real instance of all those emotions blowing up (and he still blames the Night Nurse for all that mess) so he thought he was doing a bang-up job keeping himself together.

That was until his dad died. Yeah, it was rough, and he ended up berating the old man on his death bed, which probably was a shitty thing to do. And yeah, he’d needed a bit of a cry afterwards. So what? Blokes cried sometimes, and he was man enough to admit to his emotions and all that. The girls had done a good job of emphasising that he (and, mostly, Edwin) needed to express their emotions more. That it was healthier to let it out than bottle it all up. Not sure if they still needed healthy habits as ghosts, but it wasn’t hurting anyone. Just a little uncomfortable.

All that to say, it felt like his friends had been treading on eggshells around him ever since his dad died. Which was infuriating, yeah, but also didn’t make sense to him. Especially after he’d already cried—did they expect him to get angry again? To blow up over a dead man? He thought he’d gotten it out of his system just fine, so getting these weird vibes was starting to stress him out more than anything. He’d resolved to bring it up on their next movie night and ask why they were acting funny—didn’t want to mess up a case, after all.

However, he didn’t get the chance before it all came crashing down on his head. Ultimately, Edwin was the messenger.

“Charles, I—“ he took an unnecessary breath, “Have you checked on your mother lately?”

His undead heart went cold, but his default smiley ways were still stuck on, “Not really, why?”

Edwin’s eyes were sad, which was never good. He didn’t emote unless it was serious, “I think you need to visit her. She’s not faring well.”

And so they went. Turns out everyone hadn’t been waiting for Charles to blow up, but rather for his mother to pass and then for him to break down all over again. Edwin had been checking on her daily since his father’s passing, deducing correctly that Charles would be too swept up in the emotions around his dad dying to remember that his mum wasn’t getting any younger.

The girls weren’t free until the evening, but they promised to stay in touch and maybe visit later if they could (particularly if they could figure out how to visit the Hospice without rousing suspicion). And so Edwin and Charles were on their own.

Charles had rushed into the room, as if running at the issue would evade the emotions of it, or as if getting there quickly would reveal it was all a lie—neither of which were true.

Instead, he was face to face with a dying woman with some resemblance to the photo on the mantle in the house he grew up in—his grandmother, or maybe his great grandmother, or some favourite aunt, he couldn’t remember anymore— hair gone fully white, pulled back into a tight bun so as to keep her curls controlled, keeping her gaunt, sleeping face exposed. Unlike that photo, this woman was in a hospital gown, tucked into sterile sheets, with a tube under her nose to help her breathe. Gone were her usually loud and ornate earrings, her bare fingernails stained from years of colour. There was a singular blanket laid across her lap, on top of the sheets, that almost looked more familiar than the woman it covered. It was her, but apparently he hadn’t stopped to just look at her any time recently, if ever. It felt too much like looking at a ghost, as ironic as that felt.

She was awake, but halfway to dozing. There was someone at her side, adjusting the blanket and murmuring reassurances in what was definitely Punjabi. It had been so long since he’d heard it, added to having never properly learned anything besides English under the threat of his father, that he couldn’t make out the words. That realisation left a stinging feeling in his chest.

“A relation of yours?” Edwin asked at a whisper, coming up to stand beside Charles, almost entirely copying his position from that fateful hospital room. It didn’t seem as if either of the room’s living occupants had noticed them.

Charles blindly reached for Edwin’s hand for comfort, not looking away from the scene in front of him and matching his partner’s volume, “No idea. Don’t think I’ve seen them before.”

Edwin hummed, “Perhaps a little too young to have met you. Or someone your mother reconnected with recently—“

“I’m not really in the mood for deductions, love.” Charles said, not unkindly. Everything felt too fragile to be picked apart like that.

“Right. Apologies.” Edwin squeezed his hand and went quiet.

Charles squeezed his hand back in forgiveness, joining in the silence. He kept going back to what the stranger was saying, familiar consonants both soothing and devastating. What kind of a son was he, failing to comfort his dying mother, unable to speak her mother tongue, a stranger to his relatives? His tears were thankfully silent.

It took much longer for his mother to see them than his father. Several days passed, with the mystery relative coming and going more days than not, and the usual nurses and caregivers administering various care. Over time, the boys (the girls couldn’t figure out how to enter the space, but were supportive from their distance) had learned that the stranger’s name was Sangeeta, and she was a niece of his mother’s who’d noticed her steady decline and was the one to take her to hospital and then to hospice care. Charles’s mother had apparently stopped taking care of herself after her husband’s death, and she had refused other care, so at this point all they could do was make her comfortable. Charles spent a whole morning ranting to Edwin about it, how unfair it was that her life was so tied up in his asshole father’s that she wasn’t even trying to live after he was gone. Edwin, the deeply kind person he was, had let Charles rant until he ran out of steam, then gently pointed out that she’d been under the thumb of his father for far longer than Charles was, and that she’d now had to mourn her husband and her only child, which presumably takes a toll. Charles had started crying before Edwin had even finished talking, and Edwin had held him close on the plush sofa for the rest of the day.

It was hard to tell if it was a comfort or not when she finally saw them, but Charles decided that wasn’t important to think about right now, if ever. Right now, his mother could see him for the first time in forty years, and they didn’t know for how much longer. And yet, with all this time to prepare, he still found himself speechless when the time finally came.

“Mere laal,” She beat him to the punch, eyes glazed over but clearly locked on Charles, “I am glad to see you again, beta. It’s been so long.”

Charles let out a shakey breath, “Hi, mum. It’s—well— it’s been longer for you. I’ve visited a few times, over the years.”

She reached out a sinewy hand on a bone-thin arm, and Charles flew to the seat by her side, keeping his focus to make sure his hand stayed solid in her grasp. He vaguely noticed Edwin taking the seat beside him.

“Such a handsome boy. You were so young.” Tears welled up in her eyes.

Charles, all anxious energy and nerves, tears of his own threatening to spill, was quick to respond, “It’s alright, mum, I’m alright. No need to cry over me.”

She huffed, “Nonsense. You were the light of my life. Who else should I cry over?”

They were both crying at this point, tears streaming as they sniffled in turns. Edwin laid a careful hand on Charles’s back in a show of comfort.

However, that seemed to give Charles an idea, “No, really mum, it’s okay! See the bloke next to me? His name’s Edwin, and he’s been by my side all these years! He’s the one who first found me, and we’ve been helping people ever since. It’s been aces. Not sad one bit.”

Edwin stiffened at the mention, then all but froze when her eyes turned to him. He knew he looked night and day from Charles, and if he started talking she was bound to find him as abrasive as everyone always did, so why had Charles pointed him out!? If ghosts could sweat, Edwin would be drowning in his nerves.

Her gaze stayed on him for a long moment before she broke the silence, “He’s been good to you? Not like those other boys.”

Edwin wasn’t sure what to do with that, but thankfully Charles was quick on the uptake, “Not like them at all. He’s— he’s the best, mum. None of those tossers could even compare.”

“Because the boys— the ones who—“

Charles gripped her hand, “I know, I know. He’s a genuinely good person, Edwin. I was bad at picking friends in life, but thankfully I chose well with this one.”

His attempt at joking was overlooked completely by her, “Those boys, how could they do that? I knew their families, John Parish’s mother went to your funeral… Such cruel boys…”

“I’m alright, mum, I’m okay.” Charles kept going, smiling even as the tears continued, “It’s all in the past.”

“I should’ve fought harder for you… kept you close… mere laal, taken from me…” She was sobbing, her whole frame shaking with hiccoughs.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Charles took a steadying breath, “You know I couldn’t have stayed in that house, mum. And no one could’ve known those lads would go that far…”

Her sobs were worse for a moment, then stilled suddenly as she fought for oxygen. She coughed weakly.

At that, Charles’s crying intensified, despite all he did to keep himself together. He could tell. He knew what was coming. It was still devastating to see. Edwin pulled him in for a proper side hug, taking care not to jostle his grip on his mum.

This did not go unnoticed, and the dying woman suddenly smiled, as if the devastation was forgotten with the oxygen. She looked back to her son, “I am glad you have been happy, beta. You deserved happiness.”

“I’m happy, I’ve been so happy mum, I promise,” Charles tried to calm himself down, stuck in his reassuring her.

“Mere laal, light of my life, darling boy,” She breathed with difficulty, smile dropping, “Can you forgive me? I failed you…”

Charles’s frame shook with his vigorous nodding, “I forgive you, mum, you did the best you could, I love you so much—“

Her weak smile returned, glinting in the lamplight of the evening room, “Thank you, beta. You were too good for me, for this world…”

“All because of you, I swear it, all thanks to you—“

“Charles.”

“I love you, I’m sorry I wasn’t a better son, I’m could’ve been better, gotten you out of that house—“

“Charles, darling.”

“You deserved better, I love you, I forgive you—“

“My love, the light—“

Edwin was right, a deep blue light had filled the space, illuminating the still body of his mother. Her face was pulled into a slight smile, eyes closed, as if she was having a pleasant dream, even as the tear tracks dried on her cheeks.

“No, no I’m not ready—“ Charles immediately started to protest, gripping onto her hand like a lifeline.

“Charles—“

“I only just got to see her! She only just got free of him! No, no, I won’t—“

Edwin gently but solidly grabbed under Charles’s arms, “I’m sorry my love but we should go—“

Charles was nothing but hysterics by this point, head thudding onto the sheets for a moment before Edwin fully pulled him away. He said more, but Charles was too overwhelmed to process it properly, buzzing in his ears and headache behind his eyes making him feel alive in all the worst ways. Maybe it was just the first time he had cried this hard in his afterlife, or maybe being this close to an active death did something to their physiology—

Everything was a blur as they returned to the flat, Edwin all but carrying him through the mirror so that he wouldn’t get lost on the way. They collapsed onto the sofa, extra large cushions taken up by their ghostly presences. The girls were already there, and joined into the cuddle pile without another word (or perhaps with a few, Charles still wasn’t all there yet). Edwin jostled them all slightly to better position everyone before settling in again, making sure Charles was properly surrounded.

Charles sobbed for a while longer. He wasn’t quite sure for how long, or what day it was, or if he was bothering his friends by taking up their time and space like this. His devastation had seemed to take over his entire being. But, when he did breathe a little easier, when he was finally able to sit up, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief. His mom was dead, yes, but so was he, and dying had granted them both freedom from that man, from that house, from the cruelties of the world. And in his death he was surrounded by people who loved him, people who were there for him when he needed them and would still be there for him tomorrow, and the next, and the next. The other shoe had dropped, and it certainly hurt, but thankfully he had people around him to help him through it. He was truly lucky to have them.

~

hope you enjoyed this impromptu series exploring Charles and his parents and grief and loss and all those lovely things. this was inspired by the complicated emotions I have / had after my grandparents passing, and I heavily encourage you to do something similar if you’re ever struggling with these big emotions—therapists and such will say that journaling is where it’s at, but sometimes it’s easier to project onto fictional characters and that’s ok !!! and, just to drive the point home, I want to reiterate that you are loved, and there are people around you who are there to support you, I promise ❤️

also, just to make it abundantly clear, I’m a v white midwestern american and as such have vvv limited knowledge of cultural aspects of Charles’s mom—I did research and tried my best, but if I screwed anything up PLEASE let me know so I can fix it!!!!! same goes for Britishisms ig but mostly looking for feedback on her Punjabi and her various cultural elements :)

[bloodydeanwinchester]

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN - now posted

[jemmalynette]

Not Dead Yet chapter 40

Title: Not Dead Yet

Rating: T

Warnings: Some violence & death but not too graphic

Characters: Grace Mason (OC), Hal Mason, Ben Mason, Matt Mason, Tom Mason, Casey Taylor (OC by littletonpace), Anne Glass, Jimmy Boland, Capt Weaver and most of the other main cast.

Summary: Sequel to Heartbeat Away from Death and Grace Mason and The Battle of Fitchburg. Season 2. Three months have passed since Tom took off on the alien ship and he’s finally back, much to the relief of Grace and her brothers. But life hasn’t got much easier since his return. Now Grace must navigate new threats from the alien enemy, loss of a loved one, and the promise of a new safe haven. But can she make it with her family in one piece?​

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30593189/chapters/133646518

FF.Net Link: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13859316/40/Not-Dead-Yet

A/N: If you haven’t read my previous fics - Heartbeat Away From Death & Grace Mason and the Battle of Fitchburg - it covers the events of S1 and the off-screen battle that took place between S1 & 2 so please read, they can be found on my fanfic.net/AO3 page! This fic will also feature Casey Taylor, an OC created by my friend littletonpace. Casey’s story can be found on her fanfic.net page, entitled When Skies Are Grey.

Beautiful banner by @arrthurpendragon

This Chapter - Chapter 40. Grace and the Second Mass have a chance to meet with the rebel skitters, but all doesn't go to plan.

Tags: @littletonpace​​​ @ocappreciationtag​​​ @allaboutocs​​​ @ochub​​​ @ocs-supporting-ocs​​​ @alchemypanda​​​ ​​​ @arrthurpendragon

[swagglessmoth]

Badly made comic of And So The Moon Wept bc it just finished and I’m devastated

‼️CHAPTER 15 SPOILERS‼️

I wanted to make one more page between the second and third bc pacing, but I didn’t wanna rethink all three of those pages’ compositions. It’s pretty ass bc it’s all sketches, but the last ones came out pretty decent I think👍

(Don’t look at the house too closely, I really didn’t wanna look at a reference so I just freestyled it)

Scrapped versions bc idk

Now that that’s out the way, I’ll start with the ranting, you can leave now this is for me

THE ENDING⁉️ DAMN⁉️⁉️⁉️

I would start rereading immediately to see all the details and analyze the psychology of the ‘tsukuyomi world’ characters BUT I unfortunately have my global exams next week 🥲

Warning for -1000 media literacy‼️ while writing all this I remembered that my memory is bad an my analytical skills are even worse! So be warned :p

BUT ANYWAY!! This was a top tear fanfic, seriously at no point did I consider the infinite tsukuyomi as a possibility. And I think this has to do with the fact that the psychology and individual lives of the characters in this dream were so well developed. There’s so many POVs! And they’re so complex and detailed!! Really makes you wonder if this was really the tsukuyomi or if Kakashi’s consciousness was sent to a different world all together. Which is what makes it so terribly tragic. Kakashi lived so many years in this perfect world just to regain all his memories and find out that it really was all fake, a world made up entirely of his own fantasies.

Oh and what a fantasy it was, getting hit by that boulder and fucking dying! The only reason he got to live was bc of ‘Hound’ (which could be interpreted as his consciousness telling him to wake tf up). Everything felt so wrong to Kakashi not because he noticed this things weren’t right, but bc he was never meant to live in this world. This was the prefect reality for everyone around him, his dream, a world without him (FUCK BRO💔💔💔💔). Which is the reason why I think the characters are so three dimensional in this dream, maybe, idk bro I just made this up.

But even then, things don’t exactly add up (if you think about it they do BUT SHHHHHH LET ME DREAM). Why did some characters suffer so much if this was meant to be a better world for everyone else? Why did Rin’s parent’s die? Why did Sakumo try suicide so many times?

We know Rin’s and Obito’s relationship started declining when Rin didn’t believe Obito when he swore up and down that Kakashi was somehow alive (which IS Hound’s fault in a way, he saved Kakashi and that’s why Obito saw Kakashi sinking into the ground, making him believe that Kakashi didn’t die), but it goes farther than that. Rin’s real problem with Obito was that he was so stuck on his dead teammate that he neglected the rest of his living team, Kakashi was literally everything he thought about to the point it started negatively affecting others (which, yeah him being obsessed is pretty normal considering that Kakashi was part of the reason he activated his sharingan and THE reason he activated the Mangekyo). So what did he do? Go hang out with the one other person who would ALSO only think of Kakashi all day, Sakumo. Obito eventually accepted that Kakashi was dead, but he and Rin never reconnected.

Was this really the perfect ending for them? Come on tsukuyomi, you’re more creative than that.

For some reason I think that the tsukuyomi was freestyling all this. Bc (by my interpretation) the point of Kakashi’s dream was that he died at Kannabi Bridge instead of Obito, period. The rest is extra stuff bc their lives have to go on ig? Or maybe the infinite tsukuyomi is really big brained and depicted a realistic depiction of 🖐️🖐️🖐️HOLD THE FUCK UP I’M DUMB I JUST FIGURED SMTH OUT

Bro this is why I need to reread this instead of talking to myself when I don’t remember half the details in the fic.

OK SO HOUND DID FUCK SHIT UP🔥🔥🔥

I was trying to think why Sakumo would be alive (if my shit theory above was true, which it isn’t but I’m not deleting all that) AND IT WAS BC SAKUMO NOT KILLING HIMSELF IS HIS PERFECT WORLD 😭😭😭😭. The one thing I’m not so sure ab is Kannabi (I bet if I keep writing this I’ll find the answer) bc Obito WAS gonna get hit by that rock, but hey, he entered the dream after the Obito reveal so maybe his consciousness already knew he would survive, so maybe he’d just appear later in the dream idk. BUT BRO 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 WAS HE ACTUALLY SUPPOSED TO COME BACK HOME TO HIS DAD??? AND THEN HIS CONSCIOUSNESS KICKED IN AND HE SAVED OBITO INSTEAD??!!,.. oh I’m sick, this is so evil

That would literally make everything make sense. He derailed the dream so bad that it fucked everything up, making it no longer a perfect world but more similar to reality. If he really was supposed to die, then why did his death have such negative repercussions on everyone he loves? It that was his dream, wouldn’t it be a better world with everybody happy? He wasn’t supposed to die at Kannabi but Hound appeared and saved Obito from a rock, causing a massive butterfly effect.

Pretty romantic if you asked me, “I would leave behind my perfect world just to save you form getting hurt” like damn, it’s not like he remembered that Obito survived at this point in time, but still STOPP I’M DOING IT AGAIN I’M FOCUSING ON THE DETAILS AND NOT THE BIGGER PICTURE AAAA

El cazador de elefantes by Def Con Dos is a pretty good song, hm

Where was I going with this? Don’t remember tbh

This is kinda long, I’m stopping here. Bye internet void ✌️

[zoomiezz]

Uhmuhm Javi zombie fic design concept stuff idk

I finished Arthur's design but I don't feel like posting it yet. Still have to finish Charles's, Sadie's, and a couple of others.

[bambiraptorx]

Raph eats spiders i guess

finally got around to drawing something else for IMNDY again and it's this lol

[iamamythologicalcreature]

COC Day 17: Fluff

"It's so...fluffy..."

For this @carryon-countdown prompt I wanted to draw Big Brother Baz because I adore him being a big brother. Fluffy just turned to fluffy dress in my head soon after that.

I can imagine Baz helping Mordelia find the right gown for her Leavers Ball, someday. Before they can try the dresses she actually likes they first have to try out the one Daphne picked out.

I imagine it goes something like this:

Baz: You look beautiful, Delia. *apologetically*

Mordelia: I look like a sherbert dessert or something.

Baz: Also true.

Mordelia: It's so... fluffy. How am I supposed to move in this?

Baz: Elegantly?

Mordelia: *gives him an unimpressed look*

Baz: .... I'll tell Daphne it didn't fit. Shall we continue shopping?

(Dialogue not set in stone; feel free to improve on it.)