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seasonofthewicth · 3 years

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nobody does it like you do - act 2

Thank you so much for all your reactions to part 1! I hope you enjoy part two just as much :)

CW: mentions of past minor character death (incl. a pregnant woman)

7.3k - masterlist - ao3

Her first day of shooting isn’t great. It’s not bad by a long way, but it could have easily been better. They’re on location in a forest somewhere in the outskirts of Rifthold and she didn’t even know there were places in the city like this, she’d assumed it was all the sprawling metropolis of skyscrapers and crowded streets, but apparently not.

She’s cold. There’s a machine beating down torrents of fake rain on her and Fenrys where they stand opposite each other on the muddy path through the trees, they’re filming the scene where their characters first meet. Her feet are soggy inside the canvas trainers she’s wearing and they keep spraying water on her hair to keep the wet look running throughout all of the takes and she hates it. She’s uncomfortable and stiff but she comforts herself with the knowledge that Fenrys is the same if the frown he wears whenever the camera isn’t on him is anything to go by.

It helps, barely.

She keeps having to spit water out of her mouth between lines, she swears it never rains this heavily in real life but who is she to comment, and she watches Rowan’s lips twist in displeasure where he sits behind the camera every time she does it. Aelin’s not sure what else she’s supposed to do, he can sit there out of the line of the water all fine, but she can’t speak with her mouth full.

It can take time to fall into the natural rhythm of shooting a new project, even the shitty ones she’s done in the past have shown her that, but there’s something about the way Rowan watches her that prickles the back of her neck, his stare intense and heavy as he watches, that adds the pressure. She wants to show him that she can do this. She wants his approval.

She ignores the reasons why.

After they finish and Rowan has called cut she sulks back to her trailer, she’s only just managed to change out of her sodden clothes when there’s a knock at the door. It’s Fenrys, warm and dry now in his own change of clothes.

They’ve sort of become friends recently, after swapping numbers after the table read he had texted her first. The studio has put him in the same complex as her and they’ve shared a car back there a couple of times after some of their meetings. She likes him a lot actually, and while she knows his reputation of infamy with the ladies follows him around like a bad smell, she feels comfortable with him.

“That could have gone better,” he tells her as he flops down onto the two-seater sofa at the end of her trailer, the other half has a mound of clothes dumped on it that she hasn’t bothered to sort through yet.

She just shoots him a look that she hopes says tell me about it.

“Tomorrow will be better,” he tells her, reassuringly. He would know she supposes, he has far more experience than her.

“I hope so.”

“How’re you finding it so far, working with Rowan?” he asks, and she frowns, bristling at the fact that he somehow knows the worst question to ask already. Aelin doesn’t think she’s behaved weirdly around Rowan since the day at the table read, in fact she’s tried to avoid him where possible. Maybe that’s it.

“Fine,” she says, but that’s not quite true. It messes with her in a dangerous way every time she knows he’s watching her. She should be able to turn that part of her brain off during a scene, she trained for years to learn how to do that, but he gets to her. She’s working on it.

Fenrys laughs, seeing right through her.

“He’s not bad once you get to know him, the first time we worked together I thought he was a total dick.” She gives him the same look as before as she clears the clothes and sits down next to him.

“I swear he’s not that bad. He’s just-” Fenrys pauses, weighing her up with a look, and something that he takes in from the way she stands, gnawing on her lower lip with her hair still wet, has him saying; “He’s got a lot riding on this.”

“Why?”

It doesn’t feel like he has a lot riding on this, his last piece was nominated for the Oscars, how much higher than that can you get? It’s not like he’s in the same position as her, desperately clawing herself back to a place where she can be cast in a role and it not be followed by a stunned, oh?

She knows there were articles written when her casting was announced that were doubtful of her ability to do this movie, that questioned whether she’s up to the task and whether she’s good enough to be standing next to names like Fenrys and Rowan. Some of the articles were straight up mean, and she only knows that because she searched them up like a masochist when all the ones Elide sent over were far too nice.

A dark part of herself can’t help but fall prey to some of the headlines. The ones that throw around words like nepotism, the ones that question whether Aelin is talented enough to be where she is cut deeper than any knife, and only half of it is because she sometimes wonders the same. She should be better than that, but the reminder catches in her throat that she really does have a lot riding on this.

“It’s not really my place to say.”

That’s a load of shit, and she tells him so. He only shrugs, not willing to so openly gossip about their boss.

“How well do you know him exactly?” She’s fishing for any details, but it definitely could be passed off as casual curiosity.

“He directed my debut, we keep in touch every so often.” He’s nonchalant. “He asked me to audition for this.”

“Nice humble brag.”

Fenrys only flashes her his movie star grin, in combination with the wink he throws at her it’s almost an effort not to blush.

“He wanted you cast, you know?” That she didn’t know, but it’s nice to hear.

“Why? He doesn’t know me.”

“You’re hard work, you know?” He’s joking but it doesn’t sit quite right. She knows it’s true. “Come with us tonight. There's a group of us getting dinner, and you can ask him yourself.”

It’s an olive branch. She knows it’s obvious to everyone that she’s uncomfortable, still hasn’t quite found her feet on set after taking such a break, and it’s one that she’s grateful for. No matter how closed off she knows she still seems to them.

“Okay,” she says and Fenrys’ smile is genuine and a part of her lifts, it’s a start.

They share a car to the restaurant and he fills the journey with easy chatter. She appreciates it because she feels really fucking rusty. It’s been a while since she spoke to anyone outside of her immediate circle of friends and family, and it’s always been easy with them. This is different, but not unwelcome.

Sometimes she worries that, as much as they love her, Aedion, Lysandra and Elide are inclined to tread lightly around her. She’d like to think that she’s not that fragile, that she could take the full front of their humour and teasing like she used to, but then remembers when Fenrys’ joke fell flat for her in the trailer and she thinks again.

Either way, the cast and crew here don’t treat her like she’s broken, or even breakable, and it’s refreshing.

Fenrys leads the way into the restaurant, and there’s definitely paparazzi down the street snapping away at them as they cross the short distance from the car to the door. She tries to ignore it, she’ll text Elide once they’re done here, even though Elide will probably be overjoyed. It’s probably (definitely) easier to publicise your talent when she’s out there doing things with other famous people compared to staying inside her home alone.

Fenrys greets the staff on the door and they lead them through the restaurant to a staircase at the back of the room and it leads up to a private space with only one table. Right, privacy. Some of these guys are proper celebrities.

They’re the last ones there, and there’s two seats left at the table. Manon is here, so is Rowan and one of the executive producers who she thinks is called Gavriel.

“Alright guys, you all know Aelin,” Fenrys says and she smiles as they greet her.

Fenrys holds a chair out for her, the one next to Rowan, and she slides into it as he takes the one on her other side.

Rowan offers her a quirk of his lips, one she returns as she takes him in. He’s wearing short sleeves this time and she gets a good look at the tattoo snaking the whole way down his left arm. It’s in the Old Language and she can’t read it, even though her father had spent hours trying to teach her when she was a kid, but the lettering is beautiful and neat. She wants to reach out and touch, to trace the lines that roll down his golden skin.

She doesn’t. Obviously.

A waiter comes over to take their drink orders, Fenrys gets a beer, Manon and Gavriel opt for wine, but Rowan asks for an orange juice. He’s not drinking either and she wonders if it’s related to the reason he needs this movie to go well. So she’s nosy? So what?

She sits back and observes as the conversation flows, laughing along at the easy banter that flows between the three men and the sarcastic quips Manon throws in. Fenrys clearly understated his relationship with Rowan, they seem tight and have a clear fondness for one another. It’s easy to slot herself in as the night progresses, snarking with Manon and joining in with the general light-hearted mockery of Fenrys.

She thinks maybe so far she’s got Rowan wrong.

Tonight he’s quick-witted and charming, and he makes his best effort to include her in the conversation which she appreciates. It’s a contrast to the dark and teasing side of him she’s seen so far in the hallway and the table read. Maybe he’s decided to just start again, pretend they never met before she was cast, and she can do that too.

“So, Aelin.” Manon turns the spotlight to her after a while. “Tell us the scoop. I’ve not seen you in anything for a while.”

It’s not a nasty question, Aelin can just tell from the way she asks it, nothing more than genuine curiosity lies in her tone even if the phrasing is somewhat harsh. Manon might not be the bubbliest of characters, she’s blunt and doesn’t beat around the bush, but she’s not unkind, and Aelin doubts if she knew the truth she’d ask that question in such a way.

Elide managed to keep the worst of her… career break? One could phrase it more like breakdown, out of the limelight. She somehow managed to keep the worst of it hidden, and Aelin will owe her that for the rest of her life.

All the world knows is that Sam was murdered when they were both still newbies to their respective industries, neither of them had had their big break yet, and after that she took a break. For three years.

She remembers the headlines from the time, most were in smaller magazines, Sam wasn’t famous enough to make the front pages. Her mouth tastes like bile.

Singer-Songwriter Sam Cortland, 20, murdered in random street attack in Orynth, girlfriend Aelin Ashryver unharmed and working with police to identify suspect.

No one knows she knelt there in his blood begging for him to open his eyes, not even Aedion, or Lysandra or Elide, and she blinks back the image now. Her hands are curled into fists below the table and she forces herself to uncurl them and lay them flat against her jeans.

“Yeah,” she says after clearing her throat. “I took a break from it all for a few years, but I’m back now obviously and really excited for it.”

Manon nods and Gavriel raises a glass. He’s been nothing but kind to her all night. He kind of reminds her of her father, though he’s not that old, probably not even forty yet. He’s softly spoken and counters each snarky comment from Fenrys or Manon with something softer but no less amusing.

“Good to hear,” Fenrys says with a grin, clinking his glass against Gavriel’s.

The way Rowan watches her as he raises his own glass in a toast to her, careful and without speaking, tells her he knows. At least the basics about Sam, and it seems like maybe he did google her just like she joked back at the table read.

Their meals arrive then, mercifully taking the attention away from her. She needs to find a better way to deal with the attention than shutting down, especially if this film is going to be as big as everyone thinks it will be. She should call her therapist.

She will.

Eventually.

They leave the restaurant not long after, Fenrys covering the bill, emphasising that this was a celebration and an initiation for Aelin. She almost blushes for some unknown reason at his words, but she likes it. It sounds good. Like she really is back, or at least will be.

They each give her their numbers, and she likes the way he’s in her phone now as Rowan rather than Rowan Whitethorn, it feels like he’s not just someone from work. Not just her boss.

They each say goodbye and share a series of embraces, ignoring the small group of paparazzi that follow, desperate for any kind of incriminating image of any of the five of them. It’s clear that most of them are here for Fenrys, but she still makes sure to keep her expression clear and guarded as Rowan wraps her into a one-armed hug when they leave. It’s not just for the paparazzi.

Back in her apartment, when she’s tucked up in bed knowing she should be asleep, she can’t stop herself from googling him. She’s honestly surprised she’s lasted this long.

The first few news articles to come up are all about the movie and she scrolls past them, instead pulling up his Wikipedia page and scrolling straight to the personal life section. Maybe this is the weirdest way anyone’s ever got to know a friend, but she’s intrigued and still slightly flustered by him so it will do.

The section on his personal life is relatively bare, and it doesn’t surprise her. His Instagram account alone told her pretty explicitly that he’s a private kind of guy. She almost scrolls away after the first few lines, they don’t give her much information other than the college he went to and the languages he speaks, but she reads the final few lines of the section anyway.

In March 2018 Whitethorn’s fiance, Lyria Woods, passed away as the result of a road traffic accident. The driver of the other vehicle was found to be under the influence of alcohol at the time of the accident and was later sentenced to 6 years in prison for death by dangerous driving. Woods was 12 weeks pregnant with their child at the time of the accident.

Only a couple of weeks after the Oscars that she and Lysandra watched. She does the maths and realises this is his first film since then and thinks she knows what Fenrys meant.

Fucking shit.

Her second day of shooting goes better than the first, just as Fenrys said it would.

She’s more relaxed when she crosses the set from her trailer with a coffee in hand and she thinks she knows her place a little better now, even after only one night spent with the others.

She lies back while her make up is done, chatting to the make-up artist instead of sitting silently like the day before, and she’s almost ready for the discomfort that her wet hair will bring. The weather adds to the atmosphere of the film, dark and dreary and moody, and she gets why they’re doing it, but it still sucks.

Fenrys is ready when she gets there, and while she’s not avoiding Rowan today after finding out about his… past, she just finds it difficult to look him in the eye knowing what she does. He probably wouldn’t be surprised that she knew, if it’s on Wikipedia it’s public knowledge and they have made jokes about googling each other, but she feels weird in a way that she didn’t learn it from him. It feels intrusive, or invasive, to find out about something like that through Wikipedia.

But even though they bonded somewhat last night, and he greeted her this morning with an easy hey, they’re still not close. No matter that she thinks she might want them to be. She’s trying again to ignore the way she feels drawn to him, the way her eyes seek him out without her permission.

She knows she kills the take. Knows it from the high five Fenrys slaps against her palm once Rowan’s called cut and from the swift nod he offers her when she glances towards him.

There seem to be two Rowan’s too, there’s the award winning director Rowan Whitethorn, and then just Rowan.

Rowan Whitethorn is cool and calculating and distant, quiet while he watches their scene from his place behind the camera, the big black headphones he uses pushed down around his neck. His eyes are as sharp as a hawk’s while he watches for all the minute details of their expressions and any improvements they could make. He doesn’t give her that many she’s pleased to note.

The way he instructs them is impressive, with clear directions and thoughtful analyses. She’s been here two days and she knows how he got the Oscar nomination, he’s scarily intelligent and seems to know exactly what’s off about a performance before she figures it out herself.

The other side to him, the side that is just Rowan is…

Just Rowan is the one she likes more.

She suspects the smile he gives her later, after they’ve nailed the bulk of the scene in one take and she’s being twirled around by Fenrys, comes from him.

She has two full days off in a row, and she decides the best use of her time is to go and stay with Aedion and Lysandra. Fenrys isn’t free, and the reason she is is that he has a load of solo scenes to shoot, and she doesn’t envy him at all.

Lysandra is ecstatic when she announces via a group text to her and Aedion that she’ll be at their house for lunchtime, and she loves it, but it makes her feel a little guilty. That she’s let it get to the point when her friend reacts like that at her promise of a visit is quite frankly appalling, but she finally feels as if she’s taken the first step. She’s on the bottom rung of the ladder, and it’s taken her a while, but she’s there now.

Aedion and Lysandra live in a disgustingly big house in a gated part of the suburbs, and she knows the house isn’t exactly what they would have chosen in an ideal world, it’s too big and garish and grey, but there are gates by the entrance and 24 hour security.

It still messes with her head that Aedion is that famous. Aedion. Her gangly cousin, always too tall for his own good, who used to pull her hair when they were kids and sneak her extra helpings of cake at family parties before her parents divorced. She doesn’t know that much about football, so little in fact that her dad and Aedion teased her relentlessly for years, but everyone tells her he’s good.

Like really good.

The salary he gets from the Ravens is more than enough proof.

She rings their front door bell and she can hear Lysandra’s quick steps before the big wooden door is pulled open.

Her friend is glowing. Her dark hair falls into waves near the end and her staggeringly beautiful face is free of any make-up and unblemished and dewy. She’s had time to get over the insecurities that come from being friends with Lysandra so it barely phases her as she wraps her arms around her friend.

“I’ve missed you,” she whispers into Lysandra’s hair. It smells like coconut and citrus and just Lysandra.

“I missed you too. So much,” Lysandra sighs as she pulls back, dragging Aelin into the house and shutting the door.

Their hallway is grand and open but there’s a pile of their shoes by the wall and a rack of coats that make it feel more homely. There are framed photos carefully arranged on the sideboard in the entry way that show the two of them with their whole family and all of their friends.

There’s one on there of Aelin and Lysandra at eighteen, their arms thrown tightly around each other while they grin massive, excited smiles at the camera, or more likely Elide behind it. She remembers the day it was taken, Lysandra had signed to her first agency and arranged to move to Rifthold, and they had taken her out to celebrate.

It was around the same time she signed for her first movie, a tiny role with two lines and twenty seconds of screen time but it got the ball rolling with her first proper acting credit, and she’ll never forget it.

A head of golden hair pokes around the kitchen doorway at the end of the hall and she lets her cousin sweep her up into a hug, swinging her up and around so her feet dangle above the floor.

“Alien, we’ve missed you.”

A stupid nickname from when they were young, the kind of young where he thought it was hilarious to replace her name with an extraterrestrial, but it only makes her smile now, squeezing her cousin tight before he puts her back down.

“Yeah, I bet you’ve been lost without me.” She beams at them, taking a moment to soak in how it feels to be with them even as Aedion rolls his eyes. “I’ve missed you both too.”

“Lunch is ready, come on,” Aedion tells her as he takes her case and drags it through the house, leaving it by the bottom of the stairs. It’s then that she spots the frilly pink apron tied around his waist.

“Alright,” she laughs. “I can’t wait to try what the domestic goddess has in store for us.”

Peals of laughter burst out of Lysandra and she grins back at her, forever grateful that they managed to keep their relationship with each other from ever impacting on their relationship with Aelin. At first she had been worried that Aedion and Lysandra would become AedionAndLysandra and that she wouldn’t have a place left with them, but she needn’t have worried, and they worked too well together for Aelin to have ever wished for anything different.

“Gods, shut up,” he mutters, slinging an arm around her shoulders and leading her to the kitchen. “So annoying, both of you.”

She grins as she hears Lysandra smack an overly dramatic kiss to his cheek.

Aedion’s a surprisingly good cook, the lunch he’s made is tasty despite being carefully planned to fit into both his and Lysandra’s strict meal plans. If they’re the cost needed to be able to live in a house like this, Aelin doesn’t want it.

“So,” Aedion says after he’s finished chewing a mouthful. “How are things going?”

He asks it with a gentle kind of sensitivity that she understands what he’s really asking. She knows it’s code for are you still sober? but she also knows he hasn’t asked it because he doubts her. Aedion and Lysandra have always been in her corner, even in her darkest moments they were there.

She never wants to put them through anything like that ever again. Never wants them to experience anything as terrifying as the last night she ever touched a drug. That night, almost a year ago now, will forever be the bottom of her pit. She doesn’t remember much of it, other than the devastation on Aedion’s face as he carried her out of the men’s toilets of a seedy nightclub in Perranth. The way he’d bitten his lip as he picked her up off the sticky floor, pulling the hem of her dress down to cover her underwear where it had ridden up.

The thought makes her sick.

He’d had to skip a game, leading to a bollocking from his coach, but he’d done it for her. Had carried her out of the club and into a car, waiting to take them back to his house. Lysandra had stroked her hair where she lay on the cool tiles of the bathroom floor while Aedion called a doctor to the house. Even through his panic he had thought of her and how little she would want it publicised that she’d been pulled out of a club, off her fucking rocker on whatever substance she’d been given by the lowlives she had fallen in with. She’s really, really lucky that for once Aedion hadn’t been followed by paparazzi.

She takes a sip of her sparkling water before she answers, it feels like all she ever drinks these days and it tastes like shit but it’s worth it if she never reverts back to where she was.

“I’m good.” She’s almost surprised to find that it’s true. “I’m feeling much better.”

She can barely look at them, can barely take the level of subdued joy on their faces.

“We’re glad Aelin, really glad.” Lysandra’s voice is sincere.

“So, how’s the new project going?” Aedion asks her, sensing her discomfort almost immediately.

“That’s good too actually.” It is. It feels good to have something positive to focus on, something that she feels is productive and worth doing. “It’s nice to be back and be busy even if the morning shoots begin disgustingly early. It’s good to be on set, surrounded by it all again and to remember that I can actually do this.”

She stabs her fork through a piece of tomato a little aggressively as she finishes and the look Lysandra shoots her tells her she’s not impressed with the self-deprecation but that she’ll let it slide for now.

“And Fenrys Moonbeam, is he really that good looking in real life?”

Aelin laughs. “More actually, sometimes it's too much.”

“Nice,” Lysandra nods appreciatively.

“Is he alright though?” Ever the overprotective older brother figure, she expected some version of this question from Aedion.

“He’s great. He’s hilarious and it really helps on the long days,” she says before taking her next bite.

“And Rowan Whitethorn’s directing isn’t he? What’s he like?”

Aelin blinks and finishes chewing slowly. “He’s… fine.”

She knows she’s fucked it when Aedion and Lysandra share a look, matching smirks beginning on each of their faces.

“Fine,” Lysandra repeats. “What exactly does fine mean Aelin?”

She purses her lips. “He’s a great director.”

Lysandra rolls her eyes. “And?”

She could probably lie here, they’d probably let it slide if she said some bullshit about how they’ve not spoken much and how she barely knows him, but she honestly needs to talk to someone about this. You know, to set her straight.

“And he’s really hot.”

She’s blushing as Lysandra laughs and Aedion chuckles.

“You’ve got a crush,” Lysandra sing-songs, and when she doesn't respond she says, “Have you got a picture of him? I don’t think I actually know what he looks like.”

She can’t blame Lysandra for that, she’s still kicking herself for not recognising him that day in the hallway, but he was only on screen for a few seconds at the Oscars and it wasn’t long after Sam so it wasn’t like she was paying attention in that way. She still thinks she should have noticed.

She pulls her phone out to find the only picture she has on there with Rowan. She had only taken it this week when they were eating breakfast with Fenrys one morning, in one of the tents that had been set up for them to sit in between takes, and Fenrys had pulled his phone out to snap a photo of her for his Instagram story.

She’d been wrapped up in one of the huge parkas they’re given for the times in between scenes holding her croissant high up in the air when he’d taken it. He’d captioned it she could have dropped her croissant and tagged her, and she’d gained a good few thousand followers. She’s almost at a million and they’re only a couple of weeks into shooting.

She had taken one of him in response and then spun around to force Rowan into a selfie with her, he’d protested but she’d pouted until he relented, grumbling something about actors that she knew he didn’t mean. She didn’t post it anywhere, she kept it to herself and she can’t lie, she’s looked at it way too many times since.

She’s smiling a wide smile, cheeks stuffed full of her croissant and it’s really kind of gross, but the small smile on Rowan’s face makes it bearable. More than bearable, she has to resist the temptation to make it her lock screen because that would be weird.

She remembers the heat of his chest where he had stood behind her to lean down so their faces were level, the hand he rested on her shoulder to steady himself and the way his fingers had brushed against her neck in the lightest caress.

She hands the phone over to Lysandra and wants to pull it back almost immediately.

It’s not that she’s embarrassed or whatever, even if they think it’s a bad idea they’d let her down gently, it's just that their opinion matters to her a lot. And while they haven’t exactly approved of her string of random hookups in the years since Sam, they’ve never tried to comment on it other than to check she’s in a good place with it, but she knows they’re waiting for the next person she sees seriously.

There’s a fairly large part of her that thinks her first relationship since Sam shouldn’t be with her boss. And that fucks her up a bit, because since when was she considering a relationship with him?

“Oh yeah,” Lysandra says, scaring away the intrusive thought and raising one perfectly arched eyebrow. “He’s hot alright.”

Aedion nods along, peering over Lysandra’s shoulder. Lysandra’s eyes are far too knowing when she looks back up at Aelin and passes the phone over. She doesn’t say a word before locking the phone and sliding it back into her pocket.

“You’ll have to invite us to set sometime.” Lysandra is sneaky but not subtle.

“I will,” she agrees.

The next week flies by, she shoots every single day but one, and she’s far too exhausted each night to do anything other than scrounge up a measly meal that can be pulled together from her cupboard basics and the limited vegetables in her fridge before falling straight asleep. They’ve made good progress so far, and she knows it's going to be good, but she’s tired.

She’s seen a lot more of the process outside of her own character by now too, and she’s amazed, but not surprised, when she persuades one of the crew to let her watch back one of Fenrys’ solo scenes from the previous week. He’s a phenomenal actor, that much is clear, but she had allowed herself to get caught up in Fenrys as her friend, the happy and funny guy she spends her time with, forgetting the talented and driven lead actor of their movie.

Not that she can forget it in the scenes they share, but she’s mostly concentrating on the emotions her character is going through, and responding to what Fenrys gives her. It almost feels too natural for him, and she forgets that it takes work.

His text meets her at lunchtime on the Sunday they both have off, when she’s still in her pyjamas on the couch, debating whether to start a new series or watch the latest cheesy rom-com that Netflix has released.

She auditioned for one of them a couple of years ago, and she’s far enough past the bitterness that comes with not getting the role that she could enjoy it. Maybe a little, cynical part of herself thinks she’s glad she didn’t get it. What she has now is far better. She’s being a snob, but she straight up doesn’t care. It’s not like anyone else is here to judge her.

Fancy coming to Rowan’s to watch the game? I’m leaving in 20 his text reads.

She didn’t plan on doing anything today, but the invitation sparks something in her, and she’s never been to Rowan’s place before. The studio put him in a house about thirty minutes from set, and she’s curious. How much luxury does the big name director get compared to what she and Fenrys have got? She’s lucky really, that Dorian managed to negotiate the same for her as they offered Fenrys.

rowan’s??? She replies, followed by what game????

She gets up off the couch, putting the lid on the tub of yoghurt she was tucking into with a spoon and walking through to the kitchen to throw it back into the fridge.

Tall, grumpy guy that bosses us around all the time comes through a minute later and she grins at her phone at the description. It’s followed up by Ravens v Panthers.

She taps out, getting changed will be ready in 15 and he replies with three smiling emojis.

She doesn’t think it will be anything fancy if her impromptu invitation is anything to go by so she only swaps her pyjama bottoms with tiny cartoon sheep down the legs for a pair of black leggings and throws a sweatshirt over her oversized t-shirt.

Manon is there when they get there, sprawled across the two seater sofa at the far side of Rowan’s living room, and she gives them both a wave when they enter the room. The house is a pretty modest, two-up two-down in a sweet neighbourhood and it’s cosy inside with relatively modern decor. She doesn’t know for sure whether or not that fits Rowan, but she feels like it does.

He doesn’t let them in, Fenrys swings the door open and marches in like it’s his own place and she wonders how much he and Rowan have hung out, or whether that’s just him. Rowan appears in the doorway about a minute after they come in, a bowl of snacks in his hand that she thinks could be popcorn and he puts it down before coming over to wrap Fenrys in a hug. They slap each other on the back in the way that guys do before pulling back.

Aelin stands at Fenrys’ side watching the exchange, unsure whether to greet Rowan or just take a seat, and once they’re done he seems to regard her with the same sort of uncertainty. Fenrys darts around Rowan to throw himself onto the other sofa and she doesn’t give herself long enough to doubt her decision before she opens her arms and steps towards him.

“Hey,” he says simply as he wraps her into a brief hug. “Thanks for coming.”

She wraps her arms around his own broad shoulders, and it feels nice. He’s warm and strong beneath her hands and the way his arms loop around her waist, so far his hands reach back around to her stomach, gets her in a way that she really doesn’t need to think about. It feels really good pressed up against him like that.

“Hey,” she breathes as he pulls back, and she knows he sees the blush on her cheeks. She’s not fifteen, she really needs to sort herself out. “Thanks for having us.”

“Of course, make yourself at home.” He gives her another half smile, offering a flash of his straight, white teeth, and again she’s struck by him. That his place is behind the camera is a crime. “I’ve got more snacks and drinks in the kitchen if you want.”

“Beer?” Fenrys asks her, already heading to a door that she assumes leads to the kitchen.

She shakes her head, “do you have sparkling water?” She directs the question to Rowan who nods.

He doesn’t have to speak before Fenrys says “on it,” and leaves the room.

She assesses the seating choices left in the room, there’s a cream two-seater sofa opposite where Manon lies, and that’s probably her best bet, but Rowan has already taken his seat on it, an ankle crossed over a knee as he settles into the cushions. There’s plenty of room to sit by him and not touch, and she weighs it up against having to ask Manon to move.

She’s friendly with the girl, but still feels slightly intimidated by the calculating and sarcastic blonde despite the fact that she’s a few years younger than Aelin herself, so maybe Rowan is the safer choice.

Fenrys comes back into the room just as she takes her seat.

“Move your feet, Blackbeak,” he demands as he hands her a glass of sparkling water, it’s chilled with a couple of cubes of ice and she appreciates it.

Manon lifts her legs for Fenrys to sit, but plops her legs back down across his lap immediately and sticks her tongue out at him as she does. Aelin feels herself smile at the display, and the fact that she’s included in this circle of friends. She hasn’t really made an effort with anyone new since Sam, the only people she’s really spoken to are Elide, Lysandra and Aedion, and they were all there for her before Sam. It feels really damn good.

She really, really, doesn’t understand the rules of football, but it’s easy enough to cheer along when the others do and laugh at their outrage when something doesn’t go their way. It’s the most animated she’s seen Rowan so far, and she’s not quite sure which way their allegiances lie, but it’s probably with the Ravens being in Rifthold and all, and she knows her own is.

Everytime Aedion gets the ball or is shown on screen she can’t hold back the cheers. She’s proud of him and she knows how hard he works to be as good as he is, and even knowing as little as she does, it's special to watch him excel.

Rowan and Fenrys both seem a little starstruck that he’s her cousin, to her he’s just Aedion and they’re the real, scary celebrities, but they gush about him like starstruck little boys.

“And you were at his house last weekend?” Fenrys cries, almost outraged that this is the first he’s ever heard of it, but honestly? They’re both Ashryvers; it’s not like it's a secret.

“Yes,” she laughs. “He’s basically like my brother.”

“Gods, Aelin.” He sounds almost pained that she hasn’t brought this up before. “You've been holding out on us! Please give me his number or introduce me or something.”

“Sorry.” She laughs again and throws a smile to Rowan that he returns with another quirk of his lips. “Invite me earlier next time and I’ll ask him to sort a box for us at the stadium.”

“Seriously?” Even Rowan sounds awed now.

“Yeah, just let me know,” she says. “It’s no big deal.”

It really wouldn't be, Aedion has been telling her for years to invite any friends she wants to games, she would just need some friends outside of him, Lysandra and Elide first.

“It’s definitely a big deal,” he says, watching her with a smirk still playing on his lips.

She shrugs. “Just make sure you text me early next time.”

“Oh, I will,” he says, and she has to look away from him. The way his voice curves around the words, all low and intense, is definitely about more than just the game.

She tries to pass it off as just looking to where Fenrys is cheering loudly at the next play, but Manon is there again, looking at her with such a knowing expression that she immediately focuses back on the TV.

At half time she needs to use the bathroom and Rowan gives her a quick rundown of the layout of the house. She’s quick to do her thing and runs by the kitchen afterwards to grab a refill of her drink and find something to eat.

Rowan had told them all to help themselves, explaining that he felt they had as much right as he to poke through the cupboards in the only just filled rental property and she gets it. The places the studio rent out for them are nice enough, and she’s more than grateful that they do, but it’s never quite home. Even if her home is somewhat impersonal, it’s still home.

She’s on her tiptoes, scanning through the relatively well stocked cupboards on the hunt for anything chocolate, when someone enters the kitchen behind her.

“I know I said help yourselves, but you’re going to eat me out of house and home at this rate.”

It’s Rowan, and he leans against the doorframe as he watches her startle and spin to face him, his legs are crossed at the ankles and his arms are folded over his chest. The pose highlights his powerful arms that she wants to be wrapped up in again and he looks really good in the dim lighting of the kitchen. It bounces off the lines of his tattoo, shining and highlighting the swirls that she can barely look away. She wants to ask what it means.

Aelin scoffs and pushes the cupboard door shut gently, they’re not eating that much and if they are it’s definitely not her, Fenrys and Manon are another story.

“There’s nothing stopping you from kicking us all out,” she says and he laughs, shaking his head.

He tilts his head to the side, his gaze picking her apart by the second before he says “maybe not all of you.”

His words and the way he shifts in the doorway as his eyes run her up and down gives her the confidence to bite her lip and look up at him through her lashes. He pushes off the door frame and comes to lean against the counter by her side.

He opens a cupboard door on her other side and rummages through a shelf before handing her a foil packet.

“I have a feeling this is what you were after.”

She accepts the chocolate and tucks it onto the counter at her side as she mirrors him and leans against it too.

“Unsurprisingly, you’d be correct.”

He presses his lips together before his lips twist again, it’s the same expression from before that she knows means he wants to smile but he can’t quite commit, and she feels her body loosen like she wants to lean forward to press into him. She doesn’t though.

What she does instead is take a sharp breath and a step back. “Thanks.” She waves the bar of chocolate in the air before stepping around him and making her way back into the living room, forcing her steps to seem calm and collected as she feels his gaze heavy on her back.

“Anytime.” His words follow her out of the room, they’re a promise.

Luckily, Fenrys and Manon both ignore it when Rowan follows her and retakes his place next to her.

#rowaelin #throne of glass #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius #rowaelin au #ndilyd #nobody does it like you do #cw: minor character death

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rubykgrant · 3 years

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I’m gonna write out little high-lights of my RVB Monster AU for Halloween reasons~ Things happen in a mostly normal-world modern setting, but obviously with monsters/fantasy creatures and such. Things plot-related happen almost the same way, but some stuff is earlier/later, shuffled around to work for my own purposes (so some of the key moments still happen, but occasionally in a different order). Here is the beginning, which as always, starts with two morons asking a big question-

“Hey?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you ever wonder why we’re here?”

“Well, that’s one of life’s great mysteries, isn’t it?”

The two men were standing on the rooftop of an old warehouse. The building had gone through several owners, being used as a storage facility, a garage for fixing up cars and various vehicles, a shipping business, a veterinary clinic for large animals and livestock, a recycling center… and possibly some kind of drug lab at one point. It was none of these now, but if a stranger saw the inside, they would assume the new owner was a combination a mechanic/pet doctor, using the left-behind equipment (and considering how shady everything appeared, a stranger would also probably assume this was a front for yet another drug lab). It was still none of these things. In truth, it was much stranger.

One man stood slouching with the late-afternoon sun on his back. The other was leaning against a vent that came out of the roof, in the shadows. He had a red long-sleeved button-up shirt on (despite the hot temperature), and black jeans. His shirt was neatly tucked-in, and his matching red hair was trimmed short in what was decidedly a “going to a job interview” style. His eyes were two different colors. Once, they had both been a soft brown, but now one was glass, the color of the iris some kind of magenta… or maroon. The other eye (the one that was still organic) was a golden-yellow. He looked like somebody who had gone through a growth-spurt some years back, and still hadn’t settled into himself; too lanky and gawky for his own good.

His companion in the sun was a little shorter, and considerably larger, but completely at ease with his shape and his weight. His skin was mostly a warm copper brown… but he had several patches of mis-matched skin tones on his left side; around his eye, his chest, his arm, his leg. Each area also showed several scars, signifying that it was the result of surgery and skin-grafts. His dark brown hair was parted in the center, falling down around his shoulders in long curls, and stubble on his chin. His eyes were so dark, they almost looked black. He wore an old faded baseball shirt (once white with orange on the collar and short sleeves, now a dingy-peachy color), and loose gray jeans that were worn-out at the knees. They were quite the odd pair, opposites in many ways that were obvious (and more that were evident in their interactions), yet it was clear they were used to each other’s company.

“Why ARE we here?” the man in the sun continued, answering the question from his friend in the shadows. “I mean, are we the product of some cosmic coincidence, or is there really a god watching everything? You know, with a plan for us and stuff. I don't know man, but it keeps me up at night…”

“WHAT?” the other man stood up a little straighter, but remained behind the vent. “I meant why are we out HERE, in broad daylight? Sarge KNOWS it’ll burn me, and there’s not even anything for us to do! The only reason he sends us out to keep watch is because there’s that building over there he thinks is haunted, but we can’t see anything from here… and if there WAS anything going on over there, like ghosts or whatever, they could definitely see US! We don’t have any cover on the roof, but whoever might be over THERE is hidden behind the windows!”

“Oh… uh, yeah…”

“What was all that stuff about god?”

“Nothing,”

“You sure?”

“Yeah,”

They both decided to just skip it, and move on.

“But seriously, why ARE we out here, and why does Sarge care about that building so much?” the taller man waved his arm, gesturing to the building in question.

“I guess he wants to try catching ghosts next, or something?” the shorter man shrugged.

“Then we should just GO OVER THERE, right?”

“Pfff… nah, are you kidding? Just standing around, looking at a building? This is the easiest job I ever had,” he sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Grif, you- OK, first of all! This isn’t a JOB, we aren’t getting paid! Second, you don’t even remember most of your life before a few months ago, you have no basis of comparison!”

“Fair point, but come on Simmons… seriously? What job could I have possibly had that would be easier than this?”

From his spot in the shadows, Simmons looked away for a moment, thinking.

“Hmm… well, I remember reading about people being paid to take part in sleep studies. You just nap and keep a dream journal, or whatever…”

“Oh man, are you kidding!? I WISH that was my life!” Grif kicked at an old rusty can, causing it to fall off the roof. “Instead, here I am, stuck in this stupid building, in this stupid town, in this stupid canyon-”

“Where we have to look at a potentially haunted building, at random intervals, day and night…” Simmons added.

“All because Scruffy the Vampire Slayer is paranoid!”

Despite himself, this caused Simmons to snort laughter. Grif grinned, pleased that his pun was appreciated.

“Even if that building IS haunted… it doesn’t seem like something bad, you know? I never see anybody running out of there screaming bloody murder. If we just ignored it, what would happen? Nothing. It would just be a boring building with boring ghosts, and we’d just be another boring building with boring… whatever we are,” Simmons leaned once more on the vent, glaring up at the sky that was still dangerously bright.

“I think monsters sums us up pretty good,” Griff suggested.

“Right, monsters who don’t do anything. Over there are ghosts who don’t do anything. Whoopty-fucking-doo…”

“You gonna actually SAY that to Sarge? Hmm? Gonna finally stand up to him, use your big-boy voice, and tell the crazy old man you don’t wanna follow orders anymore? Is this beginning of your rebellious phase?” Grif reached over, shoving Simmons lightly on the arm.

“Well… no… but! I’m gonna remind him that me being outside in the day is a bad idea! YOU should get the day shift, and I should get the night shift. It just makes sense,”

“Aww, but Simmons… then we wouldn’t get to spend quality time together, having all these deep and meaningful conversations!” Grif gave him a look of fake-concern, like he was hurt and might start crying.

“Oh, right. I forgot. We’re philosophers discussing the secrets of the universe, life’s great mysteries, right?” Simmons smirked.

“Exactly… like, if you could only taste one thing for the rest of your life, what would it be? No matter what you ate, it has the same flavor?” Grif asked.

“That’s a stupid question for a vampire, man. Everything I eat DOES have the same flavor now. It all tastes like blood, because guess what? I have to drink blood. Because I’m a VAMPIRE,” Simmons shook his head.

“No, but I mean, if you could magically taste something ELSE, whether you were drinking blood or eating a salad, or whatever, what would you pick?” Grif pressed on. “I’d want everything to taste like chocolate. Milk chocolate. That’s my favorite, and I’d never get sick of it…”

“Jeez… it would’ve been impossible to get you to chill out if you tasted chocolate every time you tried to eat a person!” Simmons replied, remembering how it had been with Grif when they first found him.

“Yeah, I don’t know what those other zombies were on about… brains and human flesh is GROSS. Chocolate, though? MMM, I could do the zombie-shuffle-walk for days to get some good chocolate,”

“Uh-huh, and that’s EXACTLY how we caught you!” Simmons almost reached out to return the arm-punch, but managed to hesitate and stop in time… Grif was still in direct sunlight, and Simmons would get scorched if he left his little patch of shadow. Grif seemed to realize this, in that quiet and easy way that caused both of them to somehow pick-up each other’s habits. Grif leaned over to nudge Simmons with his shoulder, and they both laughed together.

#red vs blue #rvb fic #monsters #vampires #zombies

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blossom-hwa · 3 years

Text

Light the Pyres |Strike| - SUNGYOON

Based off the Burn It mv? Yeah I know it was like five months ago but whatever. Writing this honestly hurt me so I’m sorry if you’re reading it <3

(But no, really. This is a heavier and bloodier story. If this isn’t for you, please don’t read!)

Pairing: Sungyoon x gender neutral!reader

Genre: angst, bits of fluff, apocalypse!au

Triggers: cursing, death, side character commits suicide (no mention of suicidal thoughts though), semi-graphic depictions of blood

Word Count: 3.8k

As the world burns its last goodbyes, you find a jewel amidst the ashes.

Strike >> Next: Light

Golden Child Masterlist

“It’s insane, isn’t it?” You pace around your dorm. “I can’t believe it went so wrong. Not to say that I ever agreed with the testing in the first place, but –”

“I know.” Your mother sighs into the phone. “Anyone would’ve thought such a project would be handled carefully, no? It’s a miracle anyone survived at all.”

You sit on the edge of your bed. “I’m just glad you’re safe,” you say. “When I heard the shaking could be felt even from home…”

She laughs, soft and gentle in a way that sends a pleasant warmth tickling down your spine. God, you love hearing your mother’s laugh. “I’m fine, Y/N.” You can almost hear the smile in her voice. “I appreciate you checking in on me, but I’m perfectly fine. We had a few tremors, that’s all. No one is hurt.”

“Yeah, I know, I know.” You smile. “I have to go to class now, but stay safe, okay? I’ll see you this winter break, I promise.”

“I’m counting the days, darling. I love you and miss you.”

“Same here, Mom.”

You press your head against the car window as Daeyeol speeds down the empty highway. It’s been months since that call, months since the test bomb failed, mutating the few who survived into flesh-eating shades of their human selves.

Of course, no one knew it then. The survivors were rushed to a nearby hospital for treatment and when they first woke up, there were no signs of abnormality besides some slightly shrunken pupils.

Then veins blackened, skin paled, and they attacked.

One infected hospital turned into an entire city. The few who managed to escape tried to spread the news, but no one believed them. Only a couple of the smallest news outlets, looking for a good scoop, related the stories of the shaking survivors of what they called a zombie apocalypse. Unbelievable, right?

Not so much when one zombie made its way into an otherwise healthy city and began biting people in full daylight.

Only a few states away, your mother was living her life when the government imposed a strict lockdown. No one was to leave their home. Certain stores would be open on certain days, and blocks would be allowed to shop at certain times. Otherwise, stay at home and do not go outside.

She called you that day and every day after until communications shut off. On the other side of the country, you panicked when your calls stopped going through, when your texts only rebounded with an “unable to send – try again” message that made you want to smash your phone against the ground.

Until several days later, in the middle of a class no one was paying attention to, she picked up.

Your professor doesn’t even blink an eye as you run out of the room, already halfway to tears. “Oh my God, Mom –”

“Darling, we don’t have time.” You can hear the cracks in her voice. “So many cities nearby have been overrun already, and we can’t use internet or even power anymore because we need to conserve. I don’t know how your call managed to go through.”

“I thought you were dead.” You slide to the floor, back pressed against the wall as you try hard not to cry. “Mom, I –”

“No, I’m alive.” She laughs, but there’s a frightened edge to it that you’ve never heard before. It feels like being doused with cold water, horrible – your mother, the woman who raised you so fearlessly in the wake of her husband’s death, is scared.

You can barely comprehend it.

“I’m alive, Y/N.” A tiny sniffle on the other end. “I just want you to know that I love you very much. I always will.”

“I love you too, Mom.” A tear trickles down your face. “I love you. I’m going to come for you, okay? I’ll come. Don’t go anywhere. I’ll come for you.”

No reply. You look down at your phone, only to realize the call’s disconnected with no way for you to know how much your mother heard of your last words.

You haven’t been able to call her since, not with her power completely cut off and your university going on lockdown just a couple of weeks later. But it doesn’t matter. When rumors that a wave of flesh-eating non-humans was going to hit your city soon, you rented a car with Daeyeol and set off for home, driving in a direction from where no zombies had come.

You’re pretty sure the rental owner knew you had no intention of returning the car, judging from the thin press of his lips as you handed over your card. He softened, though, when you slid into the driver’s seat. “Good luck,” he’d said.

That bit of luck seems to have paid off. After weeks of alternately walking and driving, weeks of crippling paranoia and sudden attacks, neither you nor Daeyeol has been bitten. You might be dehydrated, half-starved, and ready to collapse at any given moment, but at least you have no shrunken pupils, no blackened veins, and no hunger for flesh.

Daeyeol’s voice cuts through the car tires jostling on the road. “All right?”

“Mm.” You nod slightly, head still pressed against the window. A tiny smirk widens your cracked lips. “Still alive.”

It’s morbid. So many people you know or knew have died, probably more than you realize, so it maybe isn’t the best move to joke about being alive. But it makes Daeyeol smile, even if it’s more of a smirk than a real smile, and after everything that’s happened, you both need a reason to laugh every so often.

“Same here,” he says, words cracking slightly with disuse. His voice used to be smooth, sweet with his singer’s tones, but it’s all faded over days and weeks of silence.

Don’t exactly want to attract a horde of zombies for the sake of a bit of song.

His voice breaks you out of depressing thoughts again. “Get some sleep,” he says, glancing over. “We’ll stop at sundown.”

“Cool.” You stretch slightly, yawning. “I guess I’ll drive through the night?”

“If we don’t break down by then.” As if on cue, the motor sputters, nearly launching you forward, but thankfully, the car doesn’t stop just yet. Daeyeol sighs. “Halfway there,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you.

“Halfway there,” you echo as another faded highway sign flashes past. After nearly two months of travel, you’re over halfway home.

You let that thought comfort you into an uneasy sleep.

. . . . .

“Shit.”

You wake up to Daeyeol’s curse and the sputtering sound of the engine. He’s gone off the highway since you fell asleep, now trying to start the choking car on a street in what looks like it used to be a city. As you blink the sleep out of your eyes, he presses down on the accelerator, hard. The car jerks forward for a second, then stops.

Daeyeol groans. “We didn’t even make it to sundown.”

Sure enough, the sun still hasn’t fallen. From the beat up watch on your wrist, you estimate an hour or so before dark. Probably enough time to try and take a crack at fixing the engine or whatever’s gone wrong with the car.

“I’ll take a look.” You rub your eyes. “See if it’s something I can fix. Stay close, I might need your help.”

After years of growing up beside your mechanic mother, mechanical engineering was a no-brainer when you entered university. Since then, your technical skills have grown a little rusty when it comes to repairing cars (hey, not a lot of people drove around your college town), but in the months after the explosion, you’ve had to relearn those skills fast.

You don’t dare roll up your sleeves, not even in the heat of the afternoon sun and the warmth radiating off the engine. If a zombie comes out of nowhere, your layers are the only chance of surviving a bite.

Wincing at the memory of your first close call, you start poking around the engine. It isn’t smoking, which is good, but something rattles when you tap at it with a wrench.

Great.

Sweat pours down your face as you fiddle around with the engine. A few bolts are loose – how you didn’t notice when you first took the car, you don’t know – but you tighten them carefully as the sun sinks lower in the sky. “Hopefully that’s it,” you mutter before pulling the hood down. Even in such an empty place, the small thunk makes you flinch, looking around for zombies to come pouring out of nowhere.

Nothing happens. You sigh in relief, plucking the keys from Daeyeol’s hand. “Let’s see if it works.”

It does. After an initial sputtering, the car moves forward. Reflexes keep your mouth shut before you can whoop, but you settle for a satisfied sigh as you beckon Daeyeol into the car, his eyes smiling in a way that’s become rare in the past month.

Then –

A shout.

A bang.

You freeze, one hand on the wheel.

Gunshots.

Daeyeol’s already opening his door, eyes wide with worry as someone screams and the familiar sound of dead groaning fills the air. “Come on,” he says, his tone booking no room for argument. “Let’s go.”

He’s too kind. Too selfless. As you run behind him, pulling out the gun holstered at your own waist, you try to push down the urge to drag him back to the car and just drive away from the growing screams and groans.

But Daeyeol is your best friend, one of your two last anchors to his barren earth. You may not have the same selfless streak that he does, but you’ll follow him into danger and watch his back if it’s the last thing you do.

Someone like Daeyeol deserves that much and more.

Following the noise, you sprint between two buildings, tall and dirty and abandoned. Broken glass crunches under your feet as you turn a corner –

And come face to face with black veins and white faces, pupils shrunken in death.

Whirling away from bloody, grasping hands, you club the first zombie over the head with the butt of your gun. It falls. Bang. Dead. You twist around the mass of stilted limbs and race after Daeyeol, yelling for him to slow down as you run into the fray.

Bang. Bang bang bang. Gunshots lead you into a space between four buildings where the ground opens up to reveal what probably was a subway. A horde of zombies claws at a tall bus stranded in the square, a lone man standing on top.

Him. Your eyes zero in on the tall figure, gun in hand that he aims at the zombies. There are too many, though, even if there don’t seem to be more coming.

Daeyeol scrambles on top of an abandoned car. You quickly follow. The man hasn’t caught sight of you just yet, still focused on avoiding zombies that get too close. There’s only a matter of time before they sense your presence and start chasing you instead.

Think. Think!

“You pick them off,” you gasp. “Pick them off from here.”

He nods. “Watch the back. Help me if I run out.”

You turn around. Back to back, you raise your guns, aim, and begin to fire.

Your gunshots and the allure of more meat turn deadened eyes and bloody mouths your way. Trampling over their shot companions, they lurch over to your car, stumbler closer even as you pick them away.

One. Two. Three. Each of your last thirteen bullets has to make a difference. Gritting your teeth against the smell of rotting flesh that still makes you gag even after so many weeks on the road, you shoot down another zombie that’s gotten too close and lock eyes with the man still standing on the bus roof.

The horde has thinned. The groaning has decreased. Zombies still claw at the roof, but if he jumps far enough and runs fast enough, he’ll make it.

“JUMP!” you scream, another bullet embedding itself into a head caked in dried blood. Three bullets left. “NOW!”

An uncertain glance. Daeyeol shoots away another clawing hand and glares at his still figure. “JUMP!”

He jumps.

Lands.

Pitches onto the ground.

Not far enough.

Zombies lurch forward, rotting arms reaching for the man who’s still scrambling to stand. You want to scream. He isn’t going to make it, all of this was for nothing, you’ve wasted ten bullets – eleven, now, as another tears into a zombie head – on a rescue mission that’s going to fail –

Daeyeol jumps down from the car and fires a last shot that goes haywire before grabbing the man and literally dragging him forward, narrowly missing a lurching zombie.

“DAEYEOL!” You jump from the car, kicking away a clawing hand. “YOU FUCKING IDIOT –”

He begins to turn, helping the man stumble forward. Something’s happened to his leg. Your eyebrows furrow – God, you’re going to have words with Daeyeol about putting himself in unnecessary danger when you all are out of this – as you grab at one of the stranger’s arms, dragging him across the bloody square.

All facing the same direction, none of you notice several leftover zombies creeping up from behind.

Daeyeol yells. His hand releases the stranger’s wrist and you watch in disbelief as skeletal, bloody hands drag him backward.

You scream. Fingers fumble for your gun that still has two rounds left, two rounds, more than enough –

But Daeyeol is already staring in disbelief at the blood seeping through a prominent bite mark on the top of his arm that’s beginning to turn black.

No.

No!

Letting go of the stranger with a shriek, you raise both hands and shoot away the zombie still hanging onto Daeyeol’s shoulder. But you have only one bullet left in your gun and there are several zombies lurching towards you and it doesn’t even matter because Daeyeol’s been bitten, you’ve made it halfway home already and he’s been bitten –

Disbelieving eyes meet yours. Something crumbles in his expression and in his gaze you see everything – pain, horror, care, love, determination, resolve.

“Go,” he chokes, stepping backward directly into the path of the remaining undead. “Go!”

Tears blur your vision. “Daeyeol –”

“TAKE HIM AND GO!”

Dimly, you register a hand closing around your trembling wrist, dragging you back, away from your best friend of over twenty years, away from one of your last anchors to life. Gunshots tear through the air and you blink in time to see two of the zombies fall, Daeyeol gritting his teeth as he pulls the trigger on his gun again. And again.

He locks eyes with you once more. His gaze shines with twenty years of friendship and memories as he steps backward over and over, luring the last zombies away.

His instructions pound through your head. Go. Go. Take him and go.

Take him and go!

Your mind screams to stay but your body turns traitor, latching onto the stranger’s arm and stumbling between buildings, back in the direction of the car. He doesn’t move fast but you drag him along, shoes crunching glass and bricks and dried blood.

Something turns your head back in time for the last shot. It doesn’t split a zombie’s skull.

Instead, you watch the muzzle of Daeyeol’s gun fall away from his temple as he collapses to the ground.

Dead.

Dead. Dead. Your best friend is dead. Dead. Dead. Daeyeol is dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead dead dead dead your best friend is dead dead dead Daeyeol’s dead dead dead he’s dead dead dead dead dead he’s DEAD HE’S DEAD –

With a burst of strength you didn’t know you had, you haul the stranger forward to the car still parked on the street. Tossing open the passenger door, you shove him in, then throw yourself into the driver’s seat.

You jam the key into the ignition, turn it and hear the engine sputter to life. Instinct alone moves your limbs, foot pressing down on the gas, hands clenching the wheel so hard your knuckles burn.

Tears stream down your face as you drive into the setting sun.

. . . . .

The car dies ten miles down the road. Far enough to escape straggling zombies.

Not far enough to escape bloody memories.

You curse loudly, slamming a hand on the steering wheel as if it’ll do anything (it won’t. You don’t need two degrees in mechanical engineering to have that measure of common fucking sense). Next to you, the boy remains quiet, barely looking over as you hit the wheel again. And again.

It doesn’t bring Daeyeol back.

Still, you give the steering wheel one more whack before throwing open the car door to kick the vehicle in the side once. Twice.

“Don’t injure yourself.”

Ah. So he speaks. Mystery boy’s voice is a little higher than you expected. If you’d met him before the apocalypse, you might even say it was smooth. Nice. Like a singer’s.

Like Daeyeol’s.

You kick the car a third time, insides writhing.

And you hate it.

It’s irrational, of course, fully irrational. He hasn’t done anything to earn your anger. It’s probably not his fault he got cornered by a horde of zombies. It definitely isn’t his fault Daeyeol has – had – Jesus Christ, you can’t think of him in the past tense, your knees are already going wobbly and the tears are coming again – a stupid selfless streak that ultimately got him killed –

But how dare he speak. How dare he use his voice to warn you not to injure yourself when Daeyeol is the one who should be sitting there saying that. Daeyeol should be the one telling you to take care of yourself when the anger, the stress, the sheer enormity of the world and your own insignificance in the grand scheme of the universe start getting to your head.

If this boy hadn’t been in trouble, Daeyeol would still be here. He’d be here, alive, and though you’d still be stuck ten miles down the fucking road, at least he wouldn’t be dead. Dead because he sacrificed himself for a guy caught in the middle of a zombie horde on top of a fucking bus whom neither of you even knows.

With the last of your strength, you slam the car door shut before you say something you’ll regret. Sinking down on the dirty, empty highway, you close your eyes and take a shuddering breath.

You don’t cry. You just sit there, eyes staring into the darkness of your closed lids. There’s no telling how much time passes until a car door opens and shuts.

There’s a soft grunt. A gasp of pain. Then a presence settles itself on your side of the car, hovering over your still body.

Your fists clench. Unclench. It’s not his fault. Not his fault. Not his fault, not his fault, not his fault –

You open your eyes to stare flatly at the boy standing over you. “Yes?”

He flinches. It must have come out more accusatory than you wanted. You don’t do anything, though, only stare as he keeps standing, leg shifting awkwardly.

Not shifting. You lower your gaze, narrowing your eyes at his trembling limbs. Your mind flashes back to him jumping off the bus, the noise with which he landed, the way he was limping slightly as first Daeyeol, then you dragged him away.

He’s injured. No bones broken since he can still support his weight, but maybe a fracture. Something you don’t have the capacity to heal with anything but time.

Time that you don’t have.

“I…” He swallows. “I wanted to thank you. For helping – saving me.”

For some reason, that rubs you the wrong way.

“Don’t thank me.” Your voice slices the air, bitterly caustic. “Thank my friend. He’s the one who wanted to help.” You look away. “You know, the one who’s dead.”

He flinches again, hard enough to stumble backward. Only the car keeps him from falling over. A pang of guilt hits at your sharp words, but anger and grief for Daeyeol keep it at bay. “You can stay the night,” you say, still averting your gaze. “Take the backseat. Not like I’ll be driving any fucking further.” You stand and kick the car again, this time leaving a dent in the rusty metal. “Gonna have to go back to walking…”

Walking.

Your mouth goes dry.

This is the first time you’ll be walking alone. No Daeyeol to watch your back, no knowledge that someone who’s known you for over twenty years will be at your side. That’s gone, all of it. Gone with his death.

The thought ices your veins. You just want to curl into a ball and cry. But that’s not an option, not with this mystery boy enclosed in the same space as you, so you just throw open the door and slide back inside. He follows a little more cautiously, gingerly entering the car and closing his door softly before sitting in the back.

You sigh. “Close it fully.”

He blinks up at you in the grimy rearview mirror.

“Close the door fully,” you snap. “If a zombie manages to get in because you didn’t close it properly, we’re both fucked.”

It stings a little to be so rude, especially when he only opens the door again like you said and shuts it with more force. But nothing changes the fact that Daeyeol died for him, a person he didn’t even know, and that this boy is the reason why Daeyeol isn’t sitting next to you in the passenger seat, his silent, familiar presence comforting you into sleep.

A tear blinks out of your closed eyes. Why? you want to scream. Why did he do it? Why did he always want to help everybody, even if he knew it might come at the cost of his own life?

You know the answer. Humanity. Daeyeol told you every time you asked, every time you had another brush with death to save anyone you could. He had to keep faith, had to believe that there was something, anything he could do to alleviate some of the pain brought on by this tragedy.

It’s why you always admired him, were so loyal to him from the day you two first became friends in elementary school. Daeyeol always believed in strength that comes from kindness, believed in helping those who couldn’t always help themselves. It’s why you always followed him into the fight, regardless of how much you wanted to shove him back in the car and just drive away.

Bitterness lodges in a lump in your throat.

So much for humanity when all that kindness just got him killed.

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 prayer for Daeyeol’s soul :/)

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mizumelona · 3 years

Text

opuntia | sakusa x reader

PAIRING: timeskip!sakusa x gn!reader

PREMISE: It's no secret that Sakusa Kiyoomi is a prickly person. More than that he's a particular person. He hates careless people, messy people, and most of all he hates crowds. The last thing he expected was to develop a soft spot for a rando who thriving at the center of attention at a party his teammates forced him to go to. Cut to pining, jealousy, and maybe even compromising his touch aversion.

NOTES: Got the idea for this series at 3am last night and immediately wrote it down. Haven’t written for a while, so I might be a bit rusty, but I hope yall still enjoy this!

MASTERLIST

01. A Party? Really? | NEXT

The walk home after Sakusa's middle school volleyball game was quiet, just how he liked it. His team had won and all the coaches came up after to complement his spikes. His parents were out of town again and didn't see him play, but that was fine. As long as he knew he was getting better, that was all that mattered.

"Congrats on the game today. You were so cool!"

Sakusa jolted at the sound of the voice. He turned to see an unfamiliar kid wearing the same school uniform walking a few steps behind him.

"Ah sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I just moved here and happened to see some of your game at the volleyball courts earlier and my house is in the same direction so..."

They trailed off and he nodded.

Tentatively they spoke up again. "Is it okay if I ask for your name?"

"Sakusa", he bluntly replied.

They smiled a bit at that. "What a cool name. I'm—"

Sakusa missed the days when he was surrounded by people who were actually considerate, or at least would act like they were unlike these dumbass MSBY teammates who had the audacity to drag him to a house party. Sure they were excellent volleyball players. He'd been getting along well with them recently, which is why he let his guard down but now look where it got him.

He frowned at the intrusive bass that vibrated through the floor of whoever's house this was. They'd only been here for five minutes but Bokuto and Hinata had already pulled a crowd while having a dance battle. Idiots. He couldn't even be bothered to roll his eyes.

Sakusa shuffled toward the edge of the room. The only reason he came along in the first place was because they said it was just going to be a small gathering with great food, but they arrived to a crowded house with tons of booze but not much else. He couldn't even drink because he was on his in-season health regimen. He was honestly most upset at himself for getting into this situation. Sakusa clicked his tongue.

As he scanned the room, his gaze landed on another group of people clustered around someone. The person was animatedly telling a story and as they hit the punchline, the whole crowd bent over and laughed. He couldn't imagine what it must feel like to be the life of the party, and he frankly didn't want to either. As he thought this, the person noticed at him staring then hesitated for a moment before shooting over a bright smile. Sakusa averted his eyes. Yeah, he definitely couldn't relate.

"Oh my gosh. Is that Sakusa from the Black Jackals??"

Shit.

"Is it really him?"

Bad news. He started shrinking away from the direction of the voices.

For some reason he couldn't figure out, recently fans had singled him out as the most eligible bachelor on his team. Being swarmed by fangirls is the last thing he wanted. Why couldn't they go bother someone who actually wanted their attention? Bokuto would be thrilled.

Sakusa tried to sneak out the back door, but it was already too late. A stylish girl had already thrown herself in his path, while some of her friends giddily watched from the sidelines.

"Hey. You're that famous player from the Black Jackals, right? So great to have you at my party."

She put her hand on his shoulder and he flinched, though she didn't seem to notice. He scowled under his mask and grumbled under his breath.

Just as he was about to rather rudely push her off, someone cut in.

"Ami! This party is amazing!"

Ami finally took her arm off of him, as the person with the sunshine smile from before ran up to her for a hug. As they embraced, his mystery savior shot him a wink before nodding toward the door.

Sakusa wasn't sure what their deal was, but he wasn't about to turn down an opportunity for escape and made a beeline out to the back yard. He stumbled out to a secluded spot and sighed, then looked at the shoulder of his jacket and grimaced. He was about to search for his disinfectant when he realized that Bokuto had rushed him into the party so quickly, he'd forgotten his bag in the car. Just great.

A voice called out to him teasingly, "You know you've gotta let them know if they're making you uncomfy"

Sakusa glared at you.

"Okay okay. Didn't mean to press you about it."

You noticed the way he'd been glowering at his jacket before, and reached to pull something out of your bag. "Need some wet naps?"

He paused before answering, "Sure"

You handed him the pack of disinfectant wipes, and he quietly thanked you then went to work cleaning the shoulder of his jacket. He made to hand the pack of wipes back, but you stopped him.

"You can keep it. I tend to get sick easily so I have a ton of these sitting around anyways"

He raised his eyebrows then tucked the wipes in his pocket. "Pretty careless of you to go around hugging people then"

You chuckled, "Ah it's okay. It's not so serious that I can't spare a hug now and again, and anyways you looked like you were in a pinch."

He scoffed in response. Then thought for a second before following up "Thanks for the napkins but don't get your hopes up you thought this was going to lead to something romantic. I'm not interested."

You snickered, "Pfft, see that's what you have to do when people approach you like earlier, but yes noted."

Seeing that he was done, you waved goodbye and turned to head back into the party

Sakusa finally managed to drag Bokuto out to unlock the car so he could grab his stuff and escape. He realized his house wasn't actually that far away and decided to leave his teammates behind and walk home.

He was almost back to his apartment when he noticed that another pair of footsteps had been following him for a while. He jerked around found himself face to face with the sunshine-smile-wet-nap person from before.

If it was a rando fan then they might have snapped, but since you lent him the wipes earlier he tried to be ever so slightly more respectful as he called back, "Why are you following me? Don't tell me you're actually a stalker?”

They scratched their head and had a sheepish smile as they replied, “Ah. Sorry didn't mean to bother you but my apartment is on the next block over.”

"That doesn't make sense. That's where my apartment is, and I've never seen you before."

"Yeah. I actually just moved here this week.", they stopped and pulled out a key. "If you don't believe me you can follow me to my door and see if this key works. You can call security if it doesn't"

Sakusa sighed and went back to walking. They soon followed after him. He appreciated how they respected the silence and didn't force him to make small talk.

He snuck a peek at them as they both walked down the street. At the party, he'd taken them to be the loud and obnoxious type, but now that they'd left they had a serene ambiance about them. It was like their demeanor had completely shifted to suit the moment.

"You're staring again", they called out playfully.

"Hmph", he ignored their comment, but they didn't seem to mind.

He was starting to get a little concerned as they got off the elevator on the same floor as him. It was going to be such a pain if he really had to call security.

Two doors before his apartment he noticed their steps come to a halt. Sakusa paused to look back at them and their face softened into a smile. It was still warm, but it was more measured than the one they gave people at the party.

They slid their key in and pushed open the door. "Guess this is where we part for the night."

He nodded in response and was about to continue home when they warmly called out. "See you around Sakusa"

He paused. "You know me?"

"Everyone does", they casually replied and slipped into the apartment.

#sakusa #sakusa x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #sakusa kiyoomi #opuntia

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amwritingmeta · 3 years

Note

You don't think killing Dean the way they did was contradicting to his character arc and development?

Hello, lovely!

As the initial shock of watching Dean die is wearing off more with each passing day, I can tell you that no, I don’t think that killing Dean the way they did was contradicting to his character arc and development.

Let me explain.

And let me be clear, I’m basing this on my hopes and wishes for the narrative, for Dean, and they, in turn, sprung up from my reading of the narrative.

My reading has always, as all meta readings are, been wholly subjective, though I’ve striven to be objective, trying to base my reading in my understanding of narrative structure and possible production choices as much as possible. The initial shock after the finale came from how the delivery of Dean’s endgame stepped outside of what I wanted and had grown to expect in those weeks leading up to it, due to 15x18 and queer love suddenly being a stated part of the narrative.

Letting go of the idea of a long and happy life for Dean with Cas as a human on Earth, because that was simply the framework my brain invented to give them a happily ever after, I’d like to take a look at some of the other hopes and wishes I’ve had for Dean, in no particular order:

Dismantling the toxic masculinity ideal

Non-performance

Open communication and honesty

Self-acceptance leading to self-worth leading to self-actualisation

Integration

Clear sense of identity

Learning to let go of need for control

Learning to trust

Feeling deserving of happiness and embracing it

Ending the codependency

Teamwork and sharing responsibility/not feeling it’s all on him

Admitting to himself that what he longs for is to love and be loved

Believing in deserving to have a future

The world balanced out (no more firewall)

Putting the past to rest

Letting go of Protect Sammy as predominant purpose

Letting go of fear

No more Butch and Sundance/blaze of glory ending

Now, the more I think about all of these things in relation to S15 in general and the final three episodes in particular, the more those finale three episodes make me feel nothing short of delight for our characters. (sorry but it’s true) (I feel the distress of our family and it’s just horrifying but oh I do feel we need to take a breath together and calm down)

Here’s what I see. And what I see may come off as dismissive of people’s frustration and anger and disgust with the finale, but it’s not meant to be. I’ve always read this narrative how I described above, knowing that it’s impossible not to be subjective, but striving for objectivity.

Striving for objectivity by looking at what’s come before, the threads I’ve seen them pulling on, the overarching themes that have been consistent for fifteen years, the character traits that have been explored and narratively stated over and over again, and basing my analysis in these narrative constants.

So first, let us ask ourselves: was Dean’s death foreshadowed in S15?

The simple answer is that yes, it was.

It was foreshadowed by Amara saying that she wanted to release Dean from his anger, it was foreshadowed by Billie asking if it wasn’t time for the sweet release of death, and it was foreshadowed by the heart symbology peppered throughout the entire season.

Had it been coming for a long time?

Well, yes, it had. There were only two ways that his arc could end: him living or him dying, right? He’s died a lot, which is why I thought it should end in him living, finally, but let’s look at what the narrative tells us living constitutes:

fear (of losing his brother and of what’s around the next bend), as Dean admits in 15x17: he’s always afraid

pain, because the pain of losing Cas will never go away

Has Dean decided to deal with that? Yes, he has. He’s decided, by 15x20, to accept the loss, to look to the future, to not give up, to keep on fighting. He’s not even self-destructively looking for a case to distract him: instead he brings Sam to a freaking pie festival. Yeah? Dean is living his life.

This means that we’re shown him as having let go of toxic masculinity because he’s wholly non-performing at the start of 15x20, he’s openly communicating and being honest about the pain he feels over losing Cas, but as opposed to Chuck’s version of the “perfect ending” which was always tragic, where Dean losing Cas meant that he saw no purpose to living or fighting anymore, Dean takes that pain and is able to handle it because?

Because of Cas. Because of Dean internalising Cas’ view of him. Because of Dean being shown in 15x19 to grieve Cas, to want Cas back, to go through the motions (getting drunk etc.), only for him to realise (and yes the execution is lacking but I’m going to go with the narrative we have for the sake of this reading) that Cas isn’t coming back.

By the end of 15x19, Cas’ words have taken such hold that Dean not only eases up on control and is shown to confidently share the responsibility for de-powering Chuck by working as a well-oiled team machine with Jack and Sam - because he trusts them, he’s also symbolically allowed to fully integrate by refusing to kill Chuck, because his Shadow (toxic masculinity as passed along by John the Bad Father Figure) (John also has a good side but he had a very bad side, for sure) no longer holds any sway over Dean, and because of Cas’ words, because of Cas’ faith in him, through Cas’ love for all that Dean is, Dean is given the sense of self-worth needed to finally be able to move into self-acceptance, allowing him to self-actualise, to integrate.

Cas saved Dean’s life AND saved Dean from his crappy self-view. I mean. It’s kinda fucking remarkable that this reading is right there for the taking.

So here we have the narrative ticking boxes like JAYSUS, yeah?

Let’s look it:

Dismantling the toxic masculinity ideal

Non-performance

Open communication and honesty

Self-acceptance leading to self-worth leading to self-actualisation

Integration

Clear sense of identity

Learning to let go of need for control

Learning to trust

Feeling deserving of happiness and embracing it

Teamwork and sharing responsibility/not feeling it’s all on him

Believing in deserving to have a future

The world balanced out (no more firewall)

And this, all of it, is thanks to LOVE.

Because this is a story about love and... love.

So Dean being able to integrate thanks to Cas’ love is, to me, all about Dean opening himself up to the fact that what he wants, truly wants, and has always wanted (and needed, for that matter) is to be loved for who he is, and to allow himself to feel that very same unconditional love for another.

In the act of letting go of needing Cas back to somehow validate that love or validate Dean actually truly being deserving of receiving and giving love, we get the unconditional aspect of it underlined. There’s no dependency anymore. No fear attached to the emotion. Just the love itself, untouched by death. The healthy side to that profound bond that’s always kind of tripped these two up before. I mean. I think it’s kind of breathtaking.

Also, I’ve been told there’s an application that we see on Dean’s desk for him to get a job as a mechanic, which seems to me an underlining that Dean is looking to the future and in so doing is shown to feel deserving of happiness and embracing it. Something that I feel is established at the beginning of the episode, even without this detail, but is brought into focus thanks to it.

Dean doesn’t want to die. He has no desire to die. The implication being that he’s trying to make the best of what he’s got and is completely honest with himself about what he wants. Not owning a bar, but working on cars. The good side of John getting a nod, or so I would say. Especially poignant in an episode so heavily focused on Good Father Figures.

I haven’t seen the detail of this application for myself though, I just trust my sources. :)

Now we get to the meatier part of this reading: Dean and Sam.

What do we have left on the list of hopes and wishes of stuff to be addressed as pertaining to Dean?

We’ve got:

Ending the codependency

Putting the past to rest

Letting go of Protect Sammy as predominant purpose

Letting go of fear

No more Butch and Sundance/blaze of glory ending

I wonder if you might already be seeing where I’m going with this, but for good measure, let’s discuss the death scene and what it narratively results in for Dean and for Sam.

Dean and Sam end up in that barn because they’re two men who will not stand for harm coming to innocent lives, especially when those innocent lives belong to two little kids. This is who they are at their core.

Dean is killed by a vampire wearing a mask. Yeah. Someday perhaps I’ll make proper sense of it. Point is: Dean is impaled on a rusty nail that imbeds itself in his heart and sort of holds him together until the moment of his passing, giving him time to ask his brother to stay (zero performance and only vulnerability) and tell Sam exactly what Sam has always meant to him.

Which, for Dean, is vulnerability on steroids. Honesty times one thousand. In your face true identity flares of beauty.

This scene is stunning. When I watched it the second time around last Saturday I was blown away. Jensen makes this scene what it is, because it is such an absolute mirror of Dean’s scene with Cas and the differences to Jensen’s acting choices are paramount to the emotional significance of either. (oh Misha was extremely paramount to the declaration of love, don’t get me wrong, but here we have Jensen pivotally impactful, since he’s in both)

And through this mirroring we have two major threads of this narrative on display and effectively highlighted and tied up: the familial vs the romantic.

Because this is a story about love and... love.

The thing that I’ve been turning over in my head a lot is the codependency aspect here. I’ve had issues with it. Could it only be broken by Dean’s death?

And no, I don’t think that’s what’s happening here at all.

This moment is absolutely about the codependency breaking. In part. But it’s also about Dean going out bittersweetly, suddenly, without any glory or blaze, and it’s a very human, very real, very grounding moment to me for his arc: he didn’t expect it to be today, but it is.

*i’m seriously cry*

And Sam’s grief is so raw. I wish Sam had gotten to break away on his own. I’ll always wish that for him. That he could’ve seen his worth as a leader and leaned on that and on his love for Eileen, but Sam’s arc was always, always dependent on Dean’s progression, and this is what Dean’s arc needed in his final moment: clarity, honesty, trust, faith, letting go. A voicing of the fear, of the past, of what got them here, of the dependency - it was always you... and me - and both of them choosing, in the moment, to recognise the finality of it.

The entire show has revolved around these two men’s absolute inability to let go of each other and the stupidity and recklessness this inability has resulted in. Choice after choice serving to bring about the near apocalypses they’ve kept finding themselves in.

And reflecting itself in that has been the dependency Dean has felt for Cas’ presence, his annoyance and worry and fear whenever Cas has disappeared, how Dean’s progression has stopped in its tracks whenever Cas has been removed from the narrative.

So for this scene of the familial love allowing a letting go of that dependency to reflect itself once more so beautifully in how the romantic love allowed for a letting go of that dependency is kind of. I don’t even know. Everything glitters?

Dean finding peace ultimately has everything to do with having met, known and fallen in love with and having been loved by this angel of his.

But is that canon?

I mean, it’s subtextual canon, which is good enough for me, because it was all I ever expected and it’s such a blatant statement through the couples in love losing each other leading into Dean and Cas losing each other that there’s just no doubt in my mind how we’re meant to be understanding what these two men mean to each other, and from that draw the conclusions of what it is that’s influencing Dean’s moment of integration.

Does Dean’s death make a statement that happiness and love can only be found in death?

No. It really does not. Because that’s not what the narrative message is. Because Sam finds love and happiness by living his life. And I sincerely disagree with Sam being depicted as being depressed his whole life (the way Dean was with Lisa) because he lost his brother. Sure, there could’ve been pictures of all the found family when Sam is on his death bed, but he’s also thinking about the brother he lost and that’s simply a visual establishing of this fact. Could there have been more? Sure! But that doesn’t mean that all Sam cares about was Dean for all his life, living it in grief and loss.

Sam loves his son, helps his son, laughs with his son, is a good father figure to his son, and this thread is pulled on throughout the episode: the good father figure thread.

Dean’s goodbye to Sam isn’t just a brother saying goodbye to a brother.

It’s a father bidding farewell to his child. It’s a father gently relieved to not have to watch his son die. To get to go first. And yes, sure, that’s sad, but it’s also very human and real and says so much about their relationship.

Dabb era has hit the father/parental thread so hard that the Good Father thread running through this episode makes perfect sense to me.

Dean goes to Heaven not to find Cas, not expecting Cas to be there, but finding Cas there all the same (reward for letting go and having faith that if he’s meant to, and why wouldn’t he be, then he’ll see Cas again *headcanon*), and more than that, learning that Cas has made Heaven what it is now, moved Heaven away from trapping souls in endless memory loops (which was benevolent enough, but completely missed the point of what it means to be human) and that now there’s discovery and exploration and more life to be lived, because Heaven is overflowing with free will, with choice, with all the possibility for longevity and happiness.

The eternity that Dean deserves.

Created for him by Cas.

Cas ensuring Dean’s death is not an ending, but a beginning. That it’s not a prison for Dean’s mind, but instead a homecoming, filled with the prospect of reconnecting with all the people Dean has ever cared about, ever loved.

I mean, the fact that Cas’ prevailing faith in Jack has enabled all this is like strobe lights for the fucking brain.

And the irony is that while I focused entirely on how Cas needed to be grounded and choose to live a human life on Earth, the narrative had other plans (okay yeah the writers) and instead brought Dean to Heaven, and immortality.

It takes away the final obstacles for giving these two a happily ever after.

It also reflects itself in how Mary, in Heaven, is “complete”. She’s with John. She’s at peace. She’s happy. And who have always been fairly strongly tied (through mixtapes and whatnot) to Mary and John Winchester? Yeah.

Also, Cas the angel will never age and will never die, and him with human Dean, watching Dean grow old and die only to go visit Dean in his little Heaven always made me depressed. Human!Cas took care of that, but left the Heaven conundrum wide open. And now it’s just gloriously fixed.

And, speaking of, Cas got to FIX HEAVEN. And he’s fixing it together with his son. All of that faith, all of that struggle, completely rewarded. And Cas building that Heaven in wait for Dean to arrive, because if Dean hadn’t died in that barn (take me back to the night we met...) Dean would’ve died at some point, and Cas can wait, he just wants to make sure there’s happiness waiting for Dean when he arrives. I’m sorry but OMFG. I’m just so happy for our Castiel!!

Could Dean not know happiness on Earth?

I think he was on his way. I think there would always be that pain and that fear, but he was ready to accept that and make the most of it and live his life. Only... his heart is missing, because his heart went away, and perhaps there’s this chance that he’ll find it again, because he always has before, but he doesn’t know, and he doesn't expect it, and that’s okay, he can wait, and then he’s brought to Heaven, and there it is, and he smiles that smile and Heaven is basically complete apart for one final piece.

Because of course Dean would wait for Sam.

Now. I realise this is my reading of this narrative. No one needs to accept it as the begin all, end all reading. I’m only hoping that it will offer a counterweight to the absolute and utter negativity being bandied around as the only true begin all, end all, because I do not see it or believe that it’s all there is to this finale.

There’s beauty here. And discounting it, at least the possibility of it, even if it’s not exactly what I’ve laid out in this reply, because of frustration of not getting textual Destiel is not doing anyone any good. We got subtextual Destiel, we got subtextual bisexual Dean, and it’s confirmed. To my mind, it’s confirmed.

That’s everything I ever dared expect. And that expectation came solely from how clear the subtext has always been, how invested the writers have seemed in it, and the actors too.

And Cas is canonically queer.

Which is fucking amazing and truly enormous and I’ll talk very gently about why I don’t feel his death was a case of BYG in a separate post, but Cas is alive in the narrative as it’s been presented to us, and he’s in love with Dean and they get to be together in the Heaven Dean deserves, remodelled for Dean by Cas. If that’s not the beginning of a happily ever after, then I don’t know what is!

Thanks for asking, love. I’ve been meaning to write all this down and have spent the afternoon doing so. It’s quite cathartic!

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cowboyified · 3 years

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Below are some WIPs I’m releasing into the wild. They were all written at different times over the past two years so any mistakes/cliches you can blame on past June, I don’t know them.

Go, be free.

This first one I think is the one I’m most fond of. I had such a vision for it; bottlecaps in trees, river swimming, making out against the fridge, all that good stuff you get with weecest.

The summer Sam is seventeen they stay in one place for long enough Dean starts referring to it as ‘home’.

It’s an old farmhouse, miles from any other structure, bar an outhouse and hay shed. There’s a porch running the length of the front and back, the wooden boards pulled up from their nails, wavy with the weather. Weatherboard paint peeling, wallpaper inside torn and missing in most places.

They’re squatting, technically. The property owned by a family saved by hunters once, friends of friends of Bobby’s, too distraught by what they’d witnessed to raise their kids on cursed land. Dean had told Sam that Dad had been told by Bobby that had been told by Pastor Jim that it was chupacabras. A whole pack of ‘em, feeding off the lambs in the back paddock, tried to take a bite out of the baby girl and Sam had said, “As if man, those things are tiny, I’ve seen pictures, you could kick one and it would limp away like a fucking chihuaha, you scared of chihuahas, huh, Dean?” But Sam still hikes his sheet up under his chin when he hears scuffling under their window between sleep.

There’s remnants of the house’s past inhabitants still scattered around the place. Sam had stood and slid two inches on the wheels of a tiny replica car that had been jammed under the couch the second day they arrived, piffed it at his brother’s head, who’d caught it, exclaimed that it was Camero, dude, treat her with some respect and had sat it on top of the fridge.

The bookshelf in the corner of their shared bedroom holds mostly dust and tattered occult books stolen from libraries from all over the country, left by hunters who have found what they’ve needed and moved on. There are a few of the worst Stephen King novels shoved haphazardly on the top shelf and Sam finds something funny in that, the irony in enjoying bad horror when the real deal lurks behind the screen door.

Dean gives him a look when Sam pulls down and cracks open a copy of The Tommyknockers, snorts, “Haven’t you read that one already?” and Sam says, tucking himself into bed, “Yeah, it fucking sucks, King was royally off his head while writing it, that’s why it’s so good.” Sam finishes three quarters of it in one sitting while listening to Dean’s quiet snores from the other side of the room.

It’s a ten minute drive to the closest town, an off the highway, invisible to the outside world, kind of one-street community. No reason to take the exit if you don’t already know it’s there, one store, one gas station, one bar in an old brick post office building, unfitting, the carpet pulled up at the corners but home to the best fries Sam has ever had in his life.

Sam follows Dean out to the courtyard, neither of them are legally old enough to drink but there’s nothing else to do but to get respectably drunk in a place like this, anyone that has lived long enough in the true country is some kind of functioning alcoholic, so Dean orders a beer and isn’t asked for ID. In a town small enough for everyone to know every intricate detail in the threads of dirty laundry, they are foreigners. No one knows where they’re from or where they’re going and Sam knows that Dean likes it that way.

It’s never been a secret that Sam prefers to feel like he has a part in everyday normalcy. Dean thrives under anonymity, gets a kick out of it because it makes him feel dangerous. He had stopped accompanying Sam to school two states ago, a silent agreement with their father when Dean had come home early and helped John cut splits into the tips of bullets instead. Like hell I’m signing up for compulsory extra curricular activities. What’s the point in making friends with people whose biggest concerns are the answers to whatever bullshit test and who fucked who last Friday?

Finding comfort in a nine-to-five kind of community is a flaw Sam’s been burdened to deal with.

It’s early afternoon, the courtyard is empty and the table they chose rocks on its legs every time Dean slides his drink over for Sam to share. It’s bitter and Sam hasn’t had enough beer in his life to know if it’s supposed to be like that or if it has just soured from the long journey it took to get from the brewery to their glass. He drinks it and doesn’t grimace because his brother is looking at him through the rays of warm country sun.

“Tastes like piss, huh,” Dean says, leaning forward out of the light so Sam can see him clearly again. He takes back the glass.

“S’not that bad,” Sam replies, rubbing the leftover condensation into his hand, doesn’t look at Dean, finds it hard these days, twists in his gut all wrong. Sam knows why.

His brother hums, “There’s gotta be something else to do around here.”

Sam thinks, Dad’s left the car, we can go wherever we want, but doesn’t say it because his brother is loyal to a disastrous fault.

That’s a recurring thought. Sam in the shotgun seat, his brother behind the wheel, driving away. Just away, to someplace else and they’d be okay because they’d have each other and all Sam ever needs is his brother, like water. But John will be back in two weeks, term starts again in a month and he needs his father to sign the enrollment forms. Two more years.

“You see the old dredge outside of town?” Sam asks, remembers passing it when they arrived, all twisted, rusting metal, the bones of it against the setting sun.

“What did I tell you about respecting your elders?”

“You told me that they all smell like porridge and are easily susceptible to sleight of hand. No, Dean, Dredge,” Sam stresses. “Big rusty old machine that pulls minerals out of water.”

“Looking to strike big, Sammy?”

“Yeah, you see, my family is poor, brother at home too dumb to get a job. Our father went to get milk and never came back,” Sam sniffs for effect. “I can’t go home empty handed again, sir.”

“Ah, a real sob story,” Dean nods in understanding, tips his head back and finishes the beer. “Let’s get out there then, sonny. We shan't let that simpleton, downright fool of a brother go hungry.” Dean jabs Sam in the ribs when he stands, hard enough for him to gasp, gets Sam’s head under his arm before he can recover. Sam claws embarrassingly at his brother’s torso, face pressed warm into the side of Dean’s waist.

“I will pray for us young Samuel, for I too, dream of riches,” his brother is exclaiming, tripping them out and onto the street. “I only ask that we share whatever bounty dredged as I saw the most exquisite pony a few miles back and I simply must have it.”

And Sam thinks - with his flushed cheek hard against Dean’s skin through the thin sweaty fabric of his shirt, heart beating too fast against his ribs in a way that has nothing to do with exhaustion - you can have it all.

---

Sam’s brother’s perpetual state of being is ten miles over the speed limit; this can be applied to almost every aspect of him. Dean goes and goes and rarely stops. They’re pushing double that out of town, north of their property, into the forever stretch of flat land and Sam loses himself in it. That idea of away, of going and going and that Dean could take him because he’s an expert in the field.

The Impala blasts Born To Be Wild and Sam imagines the lyrics spreading out over the dry grass. He rolls the window down and throws his head out, trying his best to keep his eyes open against the road’s wind. The sun beats down, warmth soaking through and into his bones and Sam laughs as the cattle turn to catch a glimpse of them soaring.

Dean pulls him in, tugs at the back of his shirt, says something along the lines of, what are you, a dog? Should get you a shock collar for all the times you’re a little bitch, but Sam can’t hear him over the roaring of the open window and the look of transparent glee on Dean’s face, it’s loud and assaulting and Sam has to turn away because seeing Dean like that wobbles him dangerously from the nonchalant facade he has going on in relation to how he feels about his brother. But mostly his face hurts from smiling too wide.

Used as a warm up last year. Boyking!Sam

He thinks he’s in Louisiana, maybe. That he got here in the tray of a pickup and that he couldn’t feel the wind in his hair like maybe he should. The driver had stopped for a piss-break and Sam had snapped his neck without his hands.

He rubs them together now, tries to feel guilty but there’s nothing to feel guilty about because his hands are clean; he doesn’t have to use them anymore.

Sam thinks he’s in Louisiana because he stepped out of the truck and into a wet kind of heat. There’s a church with thick greenery growing over the roof and white wood that’s been mold-blackened by the humidity. He laughs to the darkness because it's very funny to him that he’s driven himself subconsciously to a place of grace.

He skips up the steps, two at a time, gleefully. The smell of the bayou and rotting wood has put him in a good mood. The lock snaps when he blinks, the chain unraveling and snaking into a coil at his feet. The doors open for him and maybe he did that with his mind too, or maybe they were just expecting him.

The church has been used recently, its interior better kept than the outside, bibles tucked neatly in the backs of pews, ribbons tied into plaits. The white of the moon falls in blankets through the windows, shadows of leaves moving over the floor like rippling water and the bust of Mother Mary prays for him at the altar.

Sam spreads his arms and addresses her, says to the room at large, “Shall I repent for my sins, oh Lord?” and it echoes, gives him goosebumps, a current under his skin. He has an audience here because God is omnipresent, this is a place of worship and Sam has always been good at that.

A church in Louisiana, standing before a plaster of his mother’s namesake in a church for a God he used to think could have some defying factor in a destiny that was always going to be concrete. It’s funny, blatantly. Sam puts his hands gently to Mary’s cold face, kisses her on her lips before crushing her head, spraying ceramic.

Sam stands behind the lectern, hands red with his own blood now, sticking the pages of the Good Book. He’s read it before anyway.

“Am I to be forgiven?”

Last is a casefic I had planned out in 2019. I didn’t get very far into the actual writing part of it, but I still think the setting is cool, less so the plot I had in mind.

Just outside of Bridgeport, Connecticut there’s a community built on a sandbar. A small secluded semi-island, connected to the mainland by a mile-long beachfront. A town of forty to fifty now abandoned, vandalised residences.

The police find the bodies of the boys there, bleeding out and into the sand, each other’s skin caught under their fingernails.

Sam watches as his brother pulls the sheet back from one of the corpses, laying blue on the steel morgue tray. He’s a kid, a boy, not even eighteen. Hairless, lanky, multiple stab wounds puckered around his belly and Sam thinks he does not look peaceful for someone who is meant to be at rest.

Dean is quieter than usual, his body language stiff. They’ve seen their fair share of dead kids but Sam thinks that this one might look a little too much like an adolescent version of himself. Shaggy brown hair, too long limbs, college on the horizon. Sam blankets the sheet back over the boy’s face and hears his brother exhale in what he thinks might be relief.

The coroner tells them that the other two are the same, besides the youngest one. He’d been blinded, thumbs pushed through his eyes until they popped like grapes. He asks if they want to see him too and Sam says no, thank you, we’ve got what we need.

Which is a whole lot of nothing, but they’ve only just arrived and there’s evidence that doesn’t involve corpses that needs to be checked.

“Pussied out in there huh, Sammy?” Dean says as they’re walking down the funeral home’s front steps, past the manicured roses and trimmed lawn. You see these perfect hedges? We’ll treat your dead mother with the same detailed care!

Sam pulls at his tie and scoffs because he knows he wasn’t the only one uncomfortable standing in the morgue; cases that involve kids always rub them both wrong.

#wip dump #wincest #my words

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writer-and-artist27 · 3 years

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Chaldean Master Vy (Character Profile)

Roughly inspired by @panyum’s enthusiasm for my most recent artwork, it’s about time I divulge more on the Mastersona/main protagonist of Passing Days, Vy. Here we go.

Name: Vy

Age: 17-18 (beginning of Part 1), 19-20 (by Lostbelt 3)

Gender: Cis-female

Orientation: Asexual/Demisexual (questioning) and Demiromantic

Closest Servants: Mash Kyrielight (Level 80), Arturia Pendragon (Level 100), Achilles (Level 100), Marie Antoinette (Level 80), Robin Hood (Level 100), Archer EMIYA (Level 80), Diarmuid Ua Duibhne (Lancer - Level 70), Medea (Level 70), Chevalier D’eon (Level 80), Sieg (Level 80), Chiron (Level 80), Scathach-Skadi (Level 90), Sitonai (Level 90), Ereshkigal (Level 90), Ruler Martha (Level 80), Katsushika Hokusai (Level 90).

Notable Facts:

In another place, Vy would have lost her life in a car crash and reincarnated into another world as a civilian pianist, but in FGO’s timeline, she was scouted by Chaldea before she could start her second quarter in college. Chaldea had noticed her family lineage having some kind of Mystic aspects through a blood test she had taken for a yearly checkup before donating blood to a local blood drive. It resulted in them reaching out to her for an “extracurricular volunteer opportunity” that no college student could refuse. Vy would accept, albeit with her parents encouraging her, not realizing it would later lead her to becoming the main Chaldean Master in the Grand Order.

Vy went into Chaldea thinking she’d be a medical assistant from her resume stating her interest in science and medicine, only to find herself drafted into the Rayshift training that the FGO protagonist went through in canon as a result of her impressive stamina (thanks to biking miles around their home in America with her parents when growing up), tiring herself from all the shifting to the point of nearly dozing off in one of Chaldea’s hallways if not for Mash.

The “Mystic” part of Vy’s blood that drew Chaldea’s attention was something Vy’s parents nor grandparents were actually aware of, no thanks to how all grew up in poverty in Vietnam before coming to America and later, Japan, but it is actually from one of Vy’s ancestors coming in contact with a mage from the Mage’s Association. No one really knows what exactly happened between said ancestor and that mage, but it seems to explain Vy’s uncanny luck in getting some of the bigger names in the Throne of Heroes before confronting Goetia, including Arjuna, Minamoto no Raikou, and Achilles by the dawn of Camelot. Her luck has definitely made the Crypters scratch their heads, since Vy had used a nearly Fully Ascended Scathach-Skadi to take down Kadoc before having reached Scandinavia.

Vy adores Mash a lot, both from how earnest Mash is and her eagerness to learn about everything of the outside world past Chaldea’s blizzards. Dr. Roman at one point commented that they looked like sisters, just once, and Vy latched onto Mash as a surrogate little sister since, being conscientious of Mash’s health whenever they Rayshift together.

Since Vy’s family took her on a lot of cross-country road trips when growing up, including visiting national parks such as Yosemite and Zion to hike and sight-see, one of Vy’s goals when going into the Grand Order is making sure Mash gets to experience all nature has to offer one day like she did, wanting to introduce her to her parents when the fighting is all over. She has jokingly asked Dr. Roman and Da Vinci for adoption papers for her parents to sign for Mash.

When starting in Singularity F, Vy was initially scared of paving the way to Humanity’s salvation, but sucked it up once Mash saved her. At that moment, one of the thoughts running through her head was, “Mash is fighting so hard, so why can’t I?!” Since then, Vy has made quite the distinct image of herself when fighting with her Servants, being a no-nonsense leader who can and will sarcastically snark at anyone, including Kiara and BB of all people, when they are opposing her. To allies, she is both understanding and empathic, usually not asking any imposing questions and issuing orders only when emergencies call for it.

Anyone who tries to “bed” her will spark a loud and angry reaction, since Vy is not interested in any sexual relations and instead is still loyal to her family and friends that were left to the dust by Goetia and later the Foreign God. Expect some cursing too.

Vy’s romantic orientation is why Agartha is an untouched subject amongst all the Servants when bringing in new faces, because when Dahut in Drake’s body proposed rape to her outright during the Pseudo-Singularity, Vy’s reaction was basically, “I AM ACE, YOU JERK! SEX IS NOT FOR ME, CONSENT MATTERS, SO SHUT UP AND FIGHT ALREADY! IF NOT, I WILL KILL YOU WITH A RUSTY SPOON MYSELF, GODDAMMIT!” It’s another reason why Fergus and some of the other romantically inclined Servants such as Kiyohime and Elizabeth Bathory have kept their distance since, because Vy’s rage point back then was that unsettling. Robin Hood doesn’t bring up the subject of picking up girls in front of her anymore. D’Eon and Astolfo both have tried to keep Vy away from thinking about Dahut since.

The first Servants Vy ever summoned in the Grand Order was Lancer Diarmuid, Medea, and Chevalier d’Eon. The first 4-stars she ever summoned after them was Marie Antoinette and Archer EMIYA, so because of this and a lot of other things, all five Servants still find themselves in the occasional team because Vy grew that attached to them.

Her only Grailed Servants so far are Saber Arturia Pendragon, Rider Achilles, and Archer Robin Hood, both because they were there when fighting opponents such as the Lion King, Tiamat, and the Alter Egos in SERAPH, and how she loved all three of them for their legends even before coming to Chaldea.

When Vy first got a Holy Grail, she tried to give it to Mash as thanks for Mash protecting her for so long, but because of Mash’s status as a designer baby and Demi-Servant, she wasn’t able to take it. Instead, Mash still finds herself at the front lines team Vy has for mixed enemy battles, since Vy can’t find it in her to leave Mash behind.

Some of the Servants who have been with Vy longer find themselves getting a nickname for Vy to call out to just them, all because Vy sees them as part of her family and wants to be good to them. Robin Hood is a prominent example, where she calls him “big Robin” as a way to boost his confidence about being a Heroic Spirit, and in turn, he calls her “little sparrow.” Marie Antoinette is sometimes called “my Queen,” and some of the more younger Servants such as Illya and Miyu are called with the “-chan” honorific or “baby sis.” Mash never got a nickname simply because to Vy, “Mash is Mash, and I love your name.” There were many “awww”s.

It’s because of how she affectionately considers a majority of her Servants family that a lot of them tone down their arguments and bad qualities in her presence, simply because she’s there. An example is how during Babylonia, Vy had answered at the Underworld’s gates, “Ereshkigal is more beautiful!” to Ishtar’s face, both because she had summoned Ereshkigal long before entering Babylonia and that she had known Eresh longer. Eresh, who hadn’t Rayshifted to the Singularity at the time, could be found later hiding her red face in her hands as Da Vinci laughed out loud. Dr. Roman meanwhile had looked like he had swallowed a lemon at the time because of how blatantly Vy had put down Ishtar, and Ishtar barely reacted. Vy’s only reasoning afterwards was, “I did not appreciate being made into a makeshift cushion in our first meeting, Ishtar, thank you very little.”

There were a lot of times during Singularities where Vy, feeling bad for Dr. Roman being a butt-monkey of jokes, brought home a souvenir or two for the good doctor to take part in some of the better moments of the Grand Order. One such souvenir was a butter cake slice from Siduri in Babylonia, because he expressed wanting to eat it one night and she carefully preserved it with Mash to give it to him before confronting “Solomon” in the Temple of Time. It’s because of this that she dearly misses him, having found him as another surrogate father when he’d call her in for daily check-ups and talks over how Mash was doing.

When the Lostbelts happened, Vy started working a lot harder to raise her Servants and the morale of the rest of Chaldea’s staff, resulting in her gaining eyebags from losing sleep over too many Golden Apples and farming quests. Most of the Servants are all at Final Ascension and Max Level at the cost of this and QP, but it’s helped in making the Crypters lose some of their momentum.

Hope this helps in giving some nice insight and lore!

#mastersona Vy #passing days #long text post #character profile #oc things #fate grand order #vy plays fate grand order #writer thoughts #vy says something #tw: rape mention #tw: long post

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lavenderek · 3 years

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tw abuse

so my parents are out in bakersfield because my grandfather had a pulmonary embolism and is in the hospital. he is in critical condition

my grandmother, his wife, is going blind. they are both alcoholics and should probably be in some kind of care facility, but they do not trust medical professionals (or mexicans. not related, just a fun detail)

covid rules restrict who can visit patients, how many can be there, for how long, etc, so my mom has mostly been at their house. and it is disgusting. they’ve always been hoarders.

yesterday grandma was very upset because mom cleared off part of the patio so that they could sit outside, and not inside the gross house, and this necessitated moving some old, rusty tools that grandpa hadn’t touched in seven years. grandma was concerned because she was sure he would come home from the hospital and be angry that his tools had been moved.

my mom was like, “that’s ridiculous. she needs to stand up to him.”

and i was like, “she’s scared of him.”

when my mom was growing up, grandpa was a mean drunk and hated women. he would corner grandma in the kitchen and yell at her and hit her for not doing laundry right. if he said he didn’t like one of her friends, she had to stop seeing that friend. by the time mom was married and having kids, grandma didn’t have friends anymore.

my mom has very clear memories of him “whaling on her” for crying or for touching his tools. sometimes he would come home from work angry and accuse her of touching his tools so that he could hit her. it made him happy. if he was drunk enough he’d start laughing about it.

so grandma having a deeply rooted trauma response to his tools being moved in his absence is very logical to me.

he is too old, tired, and weak to hit the women in his life anymore. but i can’t tell if it really just didn’t occur to my mom that grandma being blind and going senile might have given grandpa another way of controlling her.

i’ve been wondering that for years. i know he likes to bully her for her weight and i wonder if he withholds food from her if she makes him angry. he used to keep guns, and i wonder if he ever uses those to intimidate her.

she can’t see. she has trouble keeping information straight. she is more dependent on him than ever before. and my mom is like, “she should stand up to him.” how lmao

anyway yeah so my grandfather might die, and i have a lot of complicated feelings about that but mostly i’m not worried about his particular well being?

he was never cruel to me as a kid. when my brother was a baby she found one of his hunting rifles out, and she dismantled it and told them that if she ever brought him over and found a gun ever again she was putting him back in the car and leaving and they would never see him again. i think they knew they couldn’t touch us, so they didn’t.

so i never knew until i was much older. mom confessed a couple instances of severe emotional abuse to me when i was a teenager and since then, over the years, bit by bit i learn more horrible things. am i supposed to just ignore that?

they always forget my birthday and they didn’t come to my brother’s wedding. we visited them not long before my brother’s college graduation and grandpa “joked” that they would come out for the graduation if grandma could lose twenty pounds by then. (they didn’t come out for the graduation.) they came and visited us in colorado for the first time a couple years ago. we moved here twenty years ago.

i have positive memories of him when i was a kid. i remember hot, still afternoons drinking lukewarm pepsi while country music played on the back porch. i remember the smell of steak that he grilled on this weird wood burning grill. i remember this horrible lamp they have that is a statue of a boy holding what appears to be a lump of shit in his weirdly ochre-colored hand.

but i haven’t had that kind of comforting, happy feeling around them since i was like, nine years old.

i pity him because he’s dying in a very painful way, and because he’s crafted a miserable, lonely, dirty little life for himself. he is also incontinent and that can’t feel great.

but he’s also like, a bad person, you know? i don’t know how to feel about it.

like, it feels irredeemable to be like, “i don’t love him and don’t care that he’s dying.” i’m mostly focusing on the fact that i feel bad for grandma, even though she was also a pretty bad mom, and for my mom and her sister.

but i also can’t tell how mom feels about it lmao

idk idk

#diary post

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treatian · 3 years

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The Chronicles of the Dark One: Magical Loopholes

Chapter 56: Tense Relations

He hated the waiting. He hated the waiting more than anything else, but he was certain Regina presented him with little option. Now that he'd included her on the plan, she had some power over him. She'd told him herself that she didn't want to lie to Henry. If he disappeared before she was all right with it, Henry might get suspicious or start asking questions, and he could no longer be certain that she would lie for him. So, he waited. As much as he hated it, he waited. He counted the minutes until the clock struck noon, and Regina went with Henry to fetch some food at Granny's, and then he counted the seconds until they returned, and he could officially remind her it was "after lunch." Fortunately, she took that out of his hands for him.

When they returned from Granny's, Regina sent Henry into the back. They didn't say a word, merely exchanged glances as the sound of Henry's muted reading filled the space around them.

He raised an eyebrow. Are you ready?

With a sigh that projected a silent groan through the air, she nodded. Yes.

Regina disappeared into the back, presumably to talk to Henry about their departure, and as she did, he went to a case he'd gotten out and ready in preparation for this very moment. After the Curse broke, he'd hidden the fairy wands in his possession away; with people regaining their magical skills, those were items he wanted kept to himself. Now he retrieved them. He opened the box, pulled out the Gold Fairy's Wand, and pocketed it safely in his jacket. By the time Regina came back out to meet him, it was already out of sight.

Ordinarily, he might take her hand and use magic to get them where they were going to go. But magic worked differently in this world, and he was confident this would use a fair portion of what they had. In an effort to preserve that magic, he took out his keys and drove them both to the mines in his car.

Regina was silent most of the way, the only time she broke her silence was when he hit a pothole too hard, and she snapped "careful!" with a glaring stare. He hadn't responded to the comment, and she just continued to gaze out the window wistfully, obviously feeling guilty about what was about to occur. Still, he was all too happy to let her wrestle with those issues for now because when the time came, he would have no room for doubt or questioning.

"Do you know where it is?" he asked when they arrived in the mines.

She shook her head.

"No, bother, we'll just have to go by smell alone." He could feel the magic here now. He hadn't the last time he'd been here to search for Belle though he imaged that had more to do with the fact that his mind was occupied that last time. Now it was clear. Now he could sense the magic calling to him with that disconcerting tone that Fairy Magic often had. He suspected he'd always be able to smell fairies, and their dust, even if it was in its raw crystal form and he wasn't the Dark One. He focused on the noise and followed it, taking them into the mines and through turn after turn, choosing which direction to go at each fork in the road until Regina's curiosity finally got the best of her.

"How are you doing that?"

"Fairy Magic has a very particular feel to it," he explained. "I've felt it so often in my life, it's not hard to pick up on."

Annoying as the magic was, it was a trait he was grateful for at the moment, especially because sensing magic was never something Regina had mastered as her sister had. Even if she tried it right now, he knew how unhappy she was with this plan because she was just as unhappy with it as he was. But if she was unable to put that aside, she'd never be able to sus it out when her heart wasn't really into it.

"Oh…" she groaned without emotion or conviction. He was fine with that when it came to searching for the dust, but if she was to later give him a kernel of her magic, he was going to need a little bit more from her than simple "oh."

"I'm really glad you, uh, came to your senses," he commented as they continued forward, trying to engage her so her magic might rally.

"Let's just get this over with," she growled as a stronger wave of magic rolled into him. Oh, they had to be right on top of it. And Regina's attitude might not be what he wanted it to be at the moment, but he hoped that seeing a light at the end of the tunnel might help.

"It's right through here," he assumed, moving through what looked like a small hole in the wall.

Another wave of it crashed into him, threatening to knock him off his feet. He glanced up in the direction the power had come from. The crystals hung from the ceiling, shimming and glittering in the beam of Regina's flashlight, full of raw energy and power. Far more than he'd expected, but shockingly enough to satisfy. That much Light Magic…he wouldn't need Regina at all. Considering her attitude at the moment, he was rather pleased with that fact, though disappointed that he hadn't come to check on this last night himself to make that discovery. He could have had this over and done with by now if not for that. Oh, no, he'd never be able to use it for himself. There was far too much Light Magic for a being of Dark Magic to control. But the wand, however…

"Ah, yes. Should suit our purposes, no?"

"How much do we need?" she asked.

He huffed at her stupid question. How much to guard against Cora?

"All of it."

Regina balked at his answer, looked up at the ceiling, then back to him again. "How are we going to do that?"

"With a little help from a fairy," he muttered, taking the wand out of his jacket pocket. At her questioning glare, he glanced over at her and shrugged. "Dead one…believe me," he muttered, turning back to his work, "no one mourns her."

He was rusty, but he remembered the general way to work it was to have good intentions in mind. Good intentions…he lodged his determination to protect Storybrooke, protect Belle and Henry, from Cora, firmly in his mind. He drew breath, willed the magic of the wand to gather the crystals into dust. It worked. The wand glowed and warmed in his hand, and slowly the crystals started to dissolve into blackish-purple dust, which curled itself into white and blue haze and absorbed into the wand in his hand.

Excellent.

"Now, all we have to do is set the trap."

"And figure out where they're going to come through in order to set that trap," Regina corrected.

He smiled as his mind automatically went to the image of the upside-down magician's hat, which faded into the location he had in mind. "Oh, I have a good idea as to where that will be already. And if I'm right, we should already be seeing signs of their arrival."

"So, where might that be?"

He glanced up at her as he pocketed the wand once more. Given her current attitude and the fact that he no longer needed her as he once thought he did, he wasn't particularly ready to play that card. Not yet. He knew better than to reveal too much at one time.

So instead, he grinned at her, said, "You'll see," and led them back out the tunnels to his car.

#Rumbelle #Rumple #Rumpelstiltskin #Dark One #Mr. Gold #Regina Mills #Evil Queen #Cora #Queen of Hearts #Henry Mills #ouat #ouat fanfiction #fanfic

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insomniac-dot-ink · 4 years

Text

Breadcrumbs

It was Saturday night so you knew it wasn’t going to be a good time. I mean, someone would probably be having a good time, but that was usually the problem. I work as an EMT downtown and a “good time” didn’t always turn out right for everyone. Weekends in particular often saw a good number of drunken brawls, passed out Freshmen on lawns, people accidentally locked out of their homes and close to frostbite, and all sorts of mild concussions.

I had been dreading this particular day for the entire week. Madison is a college town, meaning that most of the population is young adults trying to get a degree in psychology or international relations or getting alcohol poisoning by the age of 22. It also meant that when things happened at the college, the rest of the city felt it.

It was the weekend after finals and we felt it. The night before had seen a tiny girl in a rainbow shirt puking in the ambulance three times (and on me) and a pre-law student having a nervous breakdown over their test results while I asked them over and over what they had taken. And at the very end of my shift around 3 am a frat boy tried to punch me and then cried, asked to call his mom, and fell asleep all in the span of ten minutes.

I was actually one of those students just a few years earlier with the same panic and sleep-deprived wildness in me. I tried my best to help with sutures and calming words and a very large puke bag. “Doctor” had been the dream job since I was old enough to google youtube videos of live-surgeries, but getting to “Dr. Braginsky” was a thing far in the future.

For now, it was just me and my crew and the frigid streets.

It was the regular gang that night for the Ford pick-up rig: Mary Keynes who was at least forty but drove like hell and texted her kids every few hours. She had been there longer than any of us and often regaled us with the story of how she left her husband and decided to make several “life changes.” Driving an ambulance was one of those changes.

And then there was the other paramedic on duty: Jimmy Newark. He wasn’t even that interested in medicine as far as I knew and worked as an accountant during the day. He told us he just wanted something to fill his nights and was a slow-talking calm man with a sad-dog look about him, like he had been kicked a few too many times as a puppy. I also knew that I only ever saw him really come alive was when he was staunching a head wound or trying to resuscitate an old lady from heart failure.

It seemed he got some weird thrill from it, but he was good at his job so I never said anything.

It was me, Mary, and Jimmy. We were pretty chummy at that point and worked well together and the first few hours flew by.

We picked up a kid with a badly sprained ankle after he took a spill on some black ice and visited two seniors who had taken some party drug that had them picking at invisible scabs and babbling. I didn’t think anything of it.

It was a ten hour shift and we were four hours in. Downtown was all lights and red faces and bad music coming from somewhere. I had my flash cards out. I had been studying for the MCAT for almost a year and a half by that point and being an EMT was good practice, but it wasn't a replacement for the actual book knowledge med school would take. And I kept getting nervous.

My hands are steady and there was no end to my fascination with the weird things of the human body, but thinking about testing into competitive schools like Johns Hopkins always got me a little stomach sick. I was getting that nervous sick feeling thinking about applications when we got the call.

It came in over the radio and Mary took it right away. I didn’t hear most of the conversation since I was absorbed in my own thoughts and figured it was something like a college student slipping on a beer bottle. But it was different.

“Right, Sherman Avenue.” We made a quick U-turn and turned on our lights just as I stuffed my flashcards away into a separate compartment as to not get in the way. “Good Samaritan call-in.” Mary said over her shoulder, “an injured man off Sherman avenue. Near the park.” Jimmy leaned forward, “Cuts? Broken bones?” “Didn’t say,” Mary said and made a sharp right turn. “He said it might be a homeless guy. That he just looked bad.” “Okay,” I said and mentally prepared myself for any of the “worst” possibilities. There was a relatively small homeless population in Madison, but they were the most vulnerable to violence and the worst of the Wisconsin winter.

We made it in good time to Warner Park and I looked up just in time to see the slate grey skies starting to release little tiny puffs of snow. “Oh great,” Jimmy sighed and looked up with me. “I left one my house windows open.”

I rolled my eyes and we pulled up to Sherman Avenue with a Goodwill across the street and dark stretches of park on the other. I sighed, “I don’t suppose there was a better tip-off for where this person actually is?” Mary stopped the engine. “Better get out and give it a quick sweep.” We usually only spend a little while looking for an injured person on busy nights like this, but Jimmy pointed first.

“There,” he said and jerked a finger up. “By the light.” There was an upright figure caught in the pure white light of the street lamp on the sidewalk and standing perfectly still. “Is he… hurt?” I asked and squinted and Jimmy was already out of the car. “What are you talking about?” He pinched his gloves on and was running, I got my own gloves on and ducked after him.

“Don’t you want the stretcher?” Mary asked, but I didn’t pause. The man looked like he was standing just fine by himself.

Snowflakes kissed my cheeks softly and I followed Jimmy’s hurried steps toward the figure. “Hold on sir! We’re coming.”

My heart was pounding and I didn’t know why. It beat it in my ears with a hot sticky pulse and my breathing was feverish and far too fast for our light jog. I blinked once, twice, and then the man was farther away. Standing in the light of the next street lamp.

“Wait,” I didn’t like this. I turned to reach for Jimmy, but there was only air besides me. I slowed and looked left and right, “Jimmy?”

Soft snow landed on the tip of my nose and there was a red and visceral scent on the breeze. I took a deep breath of it and recognized the rusty hardened stench of old blood. The type that’s been left there to turn to copper and old musty globs.

I tensed from head to foot and when I looked down there were several tiny drops of blood spattering across the sidewalk. Leading me forward. They were wet and must have been what gave the air a putrid smell.

“Jimmy?” I looked around again, but the street was empty as the wind whipped through the branches of the park trees nearby. I turned to get away from this new eerie twilight feeling.

I took a step and the toe of my shoe dipped into a small puddle of blood. I jumped back, I wasn’t a stranger to blood but it looked darker than normal and seemed to sit...wrong. It was too thick and too shiny in the light.

I stood there as if transfixed, and a soft moan crawled through the space. It matched the wind itself and crooned almost sweetly. I jerked my head up and there was the figure again.

He was standing this time inside the park itself by a bench and tall beech tree. I scanned the area around for Jimmy one more time and then figured maybe he got ahead of me. The moan weaved through the air and I reached out a hand toward it.

“Sir?” The smell of cooking meat and winter chill filled my mouth and I covered my nose with my sleeve. The man stood next to the bench, unmoving, and I tried to be rational, there’s blood. Someone’s hurt. Do your job.

I walked quickly on autopilot to get closer to the stranger. Nothing about him came into sharper focus: he was still a faded silhouette among long shadows. I did notice however there was a light I hadn’t seen before.

It was so faint you might be able to convince yourself it wasn’t there, but it burnt pale and tinted blue around his form. An outline a very determined child might have painted around someone.

I sucked in a deep breath and swallowed down the brackish scent once more as I drew closer to him. Spots of blood appeared as shiny pools on the ground. The moan was even softer now and barely audible.

“I’m here to help.” I heard myself say as I indicated the medical insignia on my jacket. The wind slapped me in the face and I winced.

I looked up and there was no one by the bench, but my gaze was driven deeper into the wooded park by a gentle light. And the figure.

I shivered and knew I needed to turn back, I needed it like water or air or a hug after a long day. But there was this smooth line of blood slithering toward him and I was walking. I tried to make it make sense- I couldn’t just leave the fellow and surely once I had him I could drag him back toward the ambulance and find Jimmy again.

I walked past the park bench and past the leafless trees and some of the slush left over from a storm a few days earlier. The snowflakes caressed my cheeks and I squinted ahead.

The moan was musical at this point and I almost started swaying along to it. I didn’t, but I found that I was still walking and walking.

The park passed by and my eyes were filled with the soft glowing blue light and the deep melodic groan that led me toward the earthy blood scent and faded outline.

I couldn’t tear my eyes away and barely noticed as the landscape opened up. The trees fell away and the wind died down and all I was left with was the smooth ground and shiftless dull winter skies. I was however aware of the crack. There was a crackling, electric sound alike to fireworks or eggshells being crunched on the floor.

The moan fell away altogether and it was quiet with only the crackling of the ground and the lovely blue light that seemed to seep inside me. A strange beckoning feeling followed. “Sir,” I whispered as I finally, finally, reached the outline, “You’re injured…”

That’s all I got out before the thing turned around and something stood before me. Featureless, blank skin and something in the middle of its face like a tearing, violent slash that you might describe as a smile. No eyes, no nose, but a jagged smile that split the face in two with the same sick crackling sound as the ground. Something shifted under me.

I gasped and looked down to see that I had stepped out onto the park lake and that’s when the utter cold swallowed me whole.

Cold and cold and freezing water engulfed my head and my vision went white. I tried to pry my eyes open, but the water was black and thick and there was only the barest hint of shine ahead. A shine like long teeth and something looming and huge just beyond me.

“Ah!” A yell like a battle cry erupted from above and I was being wrenched out of the water just as quickly as I had fallen into it.

I sputtered for air above ground.

“Don’t follow the glowing man.” A hoarse voice wheezed into my ear like a chant over and over. “Never follow the glowing man.” I passed out in a twinkling haze of shaking and murmuring.

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

I was saved by a homeless man sleeping on one of the park benches by the lake. No one on my shift remembered me leaving or where I went. All I knew was that I had followed something thoughtlessly out onto the Warner Park lake and fell in.

I asked a nurse, once, if she thought there was something in that lake, but she just gave me a funny look and said that the lake wasn’t deep enough to house much wildlife. I shut up after that.

In the years that followed I never stopped trying to help people, but sometimes I hesitated now. When it was dark, hard to see, and drops of blood littered the ground. I stopped and listened for melodic moaning in the distance.

I didn’t see anything like it again, but working the ambulance wasn’t the same. I looked around corners too much and jumped too easily at different sounds. I took the MCAT as quickly as I could and things become easier in well-lit fluorescent rooms.

I do stop whenever I can though and give out blankets to anyone sleeping on the street and avidly tell college students and locals to avoid the lakes at night. And not to follow any trails of blood that lead you onward and onward into the dark.

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

If you enjoyed the story I have a patreon for long term support and exclusive bonus content and a ko-fi for one-time tipping and $3 coffee trips, please consider giving to the artist if you can! Even a little helps 🤗

#horror story #supernatural #supernatural story #writing #original story #my work #blood/#creepy/

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justlightlysedated · 4 years

Text

this one is called, are we destined to burn or will we last the night, a fic where alex hacks into caufield before they go on their roadtrip and notices a very familiar pair of eyes on one of the captives, and realizes that it’s michael’s mom:

It had been dark when Michael got home so he doesn't immediately realize that he isn't alone when he parks the truck beside the Airstream and leans his head down on the steering wheel.

He feels exhausted, but he knows he's not going to be able to fall asleep for a while still.

He's still worried about Isobel even though she seems to be getting more and more like her old self despite the circumstances, and since he can't drink himself into oblivion at the Wild Pony, because he's giving Maria some space, he's been getting less sleep than usual.

A sharp rap on the truck window startles him hard enough that the truck jumps with him.

He looks up to see Alex and feels equal amounts of relief and dread.

Alex looked concerned, and while Michael knows that he wouldn’t be here without a good reason, he really doesn't want to deal with whatever it is that Alex has to say.

At least not without copious amounts of alcohol.

He motions for Alex to move back and opens the door.

Alex steps back accordingly and steps into the light cast by the closest lamp post and Michael gets a good look at his face and sees that he's not the only one who's been sleeping badly.

Michael had been trying really hard not to think about Alex since he walked away, again. After saying that he was tired of walking away.

If Michael is being one hundred percent honest with himself, he's been hoping that Alex would come across something alien related that he would need Michael's help with, so that he would come back.

But he hadn't let himself really think about it.

"What are you doing here, Alex?" He asks when Alex just stands there watching him as though he's in a trance.

"I expected not to see you again for another six weeks at least," he continues when Alex just blinks at him.

The words seem to spark something because Alex's face loses that dazed look and shakes his head before he steps forward again, looking a little manic.

"I'm here because I don't want to keep secrets from you, either," he starts and Michael freezes, looking at him with wide eyes. "And there's something that you have to see."

***

They spend ten minutes arguing over taking Alex’s car or the truck, and then ten more minutes arguing over who is driving, until Alex sways and has to reach out to catch himself on the side of the car, and Michael just tugs the keys right out of his hand and snatches them out of the air.

Alex looks at him accusingly, but gets into the passenger seat of his car.

They drive in silence for about five minutes after Alex tells him to head towards the old Air Force Base, until Alex sighs and seems to lose whatever strength was keeping him sitting upright with perfect posture, like Michael was a stranger instead of someone he’s gotten naked with.

He moves and Michael can see him out of the corner of his eye settling himself so that he can see Michael, as much as the seatbelt lets him move.

He leans his head against the headrest and Michael can feel Alex’s gaze on him.

He swallows hard and clenches his fingers around the steering wheel.

“Kyle got these letters that my father has been desperate to get his hands on from Jim, written days before he died. They were in code, but we managed to break it.”

Michael clenches his jaw, and his knuckles go white, and he can hear the engine of the car revving even though he hasn’t stepped down on the gas.

“You and Kyle, huh?” and he can’t help the way his voice goes a little brittle.

He can feel Alex rolling his eyes. “Yes, the keyword to break the cypher was something that I would’ve never been able to figure out on my own.”

“So we’re just forgiving him for the hell he put you through?”

He hears Alex scoffing, but he can hear the smile in his voice when he talks. “High school is ten years to the left, Guerin. There’s more important things to be worried about, like the old abandoned prison, Caulfield, that’s maybe not so abandoned.”

Michael darts a look at Alex, who is looking back at him with eyes that aren’t hiding anything at all.

He must be more exhausted than Michael thought.

Michael looks back to the road. “Don’t tell me. More alien secrets. Let me guess. The actual remaining pieces of the ship, stripped bare. Its technology being what has advanced technology in the US for the last seventy years?”

Alex stays silent, and when Michael looks back at him to see that he’s staring out of the windshield and to the stars.

“Alex?” he says, licking his lips.

Alex inhales deeply, clenching his jaw.

Before he says anything a phone rings loud and jarring in the silent car.

Alex tugs his phone from the front pocket of his jacket and sighs.

“What is it, Kyle?” he answers leaning back in his seat and closing his eyes as he listens to whatever Kyle is saying.

“I’m not going back to the bunker tonight,” Alex says and it sounds like he’s repeating what Kyle is saying.

“I’m not lying,” Alex says sighing. “I’m not going there alone, I promise.”

He scoffs and Michael can just see him rolling his eyes.

“I always do,” Alex answers whatever Kyle asked, and then hangs up the phone.

He inhales deeply again. “I think that maybe I’ll wait to tell you the rest with proof.”

Michael darts a look at him, at the way that he’s refusing to turn back and look at Michael and just pushes the car over the speed limit.

***

“I went to Caulfield,” Alex says when Michael turns the car off and plunges them into darkness.

Michael swallows hard.

"And found above human average heat signatures."

Michael feels like all the air has been punched out of his lungs.

"No way," he says immediately knowing where Alex is heading with this. "You can't mean-"

"We both know you run hot, Guerin."

And Michael can't believe that he actually said that, but he ignores the teasing tilt to his voice and concentrates on the rest of the conversation.

"There's no way. We would've felt something."

"I figured you'd say that. That's why we're here," Alex says and then gets out of the car before Michael can ask what he means.

Michael follows behind him as he heads towards a rusty door that would lead down into a bunker, and turns him around before Alex can lean down to open them.

"What did you do?"

Alex looks at Michael and bites down on his lip before he inhales deeply and speaks.

"I found that my father is keeping everything within the family, and people who he can either blackmail to work with him or scare into working for him, so it wasn’t that difficult to figure out the weak point to exploit. I hacked into the system from here and gave myself access using my brother's username and password and have been looking through the files and the security footage, because I wanted to confirm it before I told you anything."

Michael lets him go and Alex just nods once before he's leaning back down to open the doors.

Michael follows him down into the bunker, trying not to feel like he's being led to an execution, but it's difficult when he thinks about what this bunker was probably used for back in the day.

Alex leads him into a small room, the space mostly taken up by a small conference table and the multiple monitors of a desktop that are all on. Some are crunching data and numbers, decoding and copying files too fast for Michael to actually read anything and others flashing through different camera footage, some live, some from the archives, once again everything is being copied into the servers here.

But the one thing that catches and traps Michael's attention is the piece of shimmering glass on top of the table. The biggest piece that he's ever seen besides the one he's been attempting to assemble his entire life.

He takes a step towards it and Alex makes a noise in his throat. "That's mine. Don't touch it."

Michael halts and turns to Alex who looks back at him steadily.

Michael's brow furrows and Alex just raises an eyebrow.

"I found it, so I get to keep it."

Michael gives Alex a look of disbelief.

"And besides, I think you're going to find this much more important than that."

Michael sighs and then walks to where Alex is sitting down in front of the computer, looking at Alex trying to figure out what he's playing at.

"Don't look at me like that," Alex says as he turns towards the screen in front of him. "You know I'd do anything to keep you on this planet."

Michael sees how the back of his neck and ears goes red, which means that he hadn't meant to say any of that.

"Can we just ignore that and concentrate on this?"

He makes a motion towards the monitors, and while Michael really wants to talk about that comment, he inhales deeply and looks towards the monitors.

"What am I supposed to-?"

Alex types something on the keyboard and one of the bigger monitors changes to a single camera view of the inside of an empty cell.

Michael distantly notes that the date is from 1947, but his heart starts beating rapidly in his chest when a woman is thrown inside of the cell. He can’t hear what she’s saying, but she’s slamming her hands against the glass doors, and he can only imagine that she’s yelling.

He moves closer, and feels Alex moving the chair to the side, before he clicks on the keyboard and the footage starts cycling through faster.

Michael watches as they drag her out and back over and over again, and how she rages and fights until one day she comes back and seems like a shell.

She doesn’t move, lying down on the cot for several days, and then it’s almost like she notices the camera for the first time.

She looks at it, and comes closer, and Michael’s breath catches painfully in his throat, and he steps even closer, a hand reaching out as the image pauses on her face.

“I know her,” Michael says, feeling like he’s having an out of body experience.

“You have her eyes,” Alex says voice soft and shaking.

Michael blinks several times, and he looks at Alex who is looking at the monitor with a sad expression on his face.

Michael looks back to the image, and he can see it, and other similarities, the shape of her mouth, and the arch of her brow.

“What are you trying to say?” Michael asks out of breath.

“I think she’s your-” Alex starts and trails off, swallowing hard.

“My mother,” Michael finishes for him. “Is this live?”

Alex doesn’t respond, only presses the keyboard again, and the image flickers and changes and Michael sees the red blinking light in the corner and the date and time stamped on one edge.

He can make out her form lying down on the cot, looking out of the glass.

Her eyes are closed and she looks so frail, and so much older.

Michael’s breath shudders out of him.

“How many?” he asks voice just barely shaking.

“Currently there are twenty two cells under constant surveillance, but there’s no way of knowing for sure, until we go there ourselves.”

Michael nods his head, and darts a look at Alex, who is looking at him, eyes red rimmed and bloodshot, “Then what are we still doing here?”

Alex sits up at that. “Guerin, we can’t just-”

“You mean you can’t,” Michael says sneering in Alex’s direction, and feeling a small stab of satisfaction when Alex looks away. “I’m not tied to the government or to the man in charge of that facility. I don’t have any obligation to just sit around and-”

“I’m not just sitting around doing nothing,” Alex snaps standing up and making Michael take a step back, startled. “But we can’t just go guns blazing, Guerin! There are security measures that we need to consider, and-”

“There is literally nothing that can stand in my way,” Michael says waving a hand to the side and sweeping the table and the other chairs towards the back of the bunker.

“It’s not that simple-” Alex starts taking a step towards him.

Michael takes several steps back, shaking his head. “It’s as simple as they’ve been trapped for decades and I refuse to let it go on any longer.”

Michael turns and heads towards the exit.

“Guerin!” Alex calls out to him, and Michael speeds up when he hears him walking down the stairs that lead up the monitors.

He makes it out of the bunker, and is almost at the car, when Alex tackles him to the ground.

Michael is just angry enough to fight back, but Alex overpowers him easily, trapping him on the ground on his back with his hands wrapped around his wrists keeping them above his head, with his knees on either side of Michael’s hips, the weight of his body keeping Michael on the ground.

“Listen to me,”Alex says as he leans over him.

Michael pants and pulls against Alex’s hold, only for Alex to tighten his fingers and lean even heavier against him.

Michael bucks his hips up and Alex just rolls with the movement, pressing in even closer. Until Michael just expels a sharp breath and glares at Alex mutinously.

"Are you done?" Alex asks, and Michael just sighs and looks away from him.

"I know what this means to you," Alex starts, fingers going tight around Michael's wrists before he lets go and sits up, making Michael's gaze snap back to him.

"I was going to wait until I had it all figured out to tell you. I've been working day and night since I found out trying to figure out how to counter the security measures and how to disable the bomb that will go off if you try to open any cell without using the passcode, but I-"

He swallows hard and shakes his head not looking away from Michael, "I couldn't not tell you after I saw her face, and knew what it could mean."

Michael can't seem to find it in himself to speak, but Alex just sighs and looks away.

"You can hate me afterwards if you want," he says. "But I'm not going to let you go there alone, and I'm not going to let you kill yourself trying to get them out. I want to save them too, but we're going to do this right, okay?"

He looks back down at Michael and Michael exhales and shakes his head.

"I don't want them to be there any longer, Alex. This ends tonight."

Alex stares at him for a long moment and Michael doesn't know what kind of face he makes, but Alex nods his head after a couple of minutes.

"Okay," he says, and inhales deeply before he moves, getting to his feet and turns and heads back inside of the bunker.

Michael inhales deeply, looks up at the bright twinkling stars, and then exhales harshly.

He pushes himself up, and follows Alex.

***

Michael doesn't realize that he's fallen asleep until he feels Alex's fingers gently tugging on his hair and sliding down the back of his neck, a soft caress to rouse him.

Since the last time that Alex had woken him up by shaking him, Michael had almost punched him in the face.

Michael leans into the touch for a second, before he remembers where they are and what they're doing.

He sits up a little too fast and Alex's fingers catch a little painfully in his curls before he manages to pull his hand away.

Michael feels dazed for a second trying to clear the fog of sleep from his brain.

He remembers coming after Alex and deciding against sitting at the table to drop right on the floor next to Alex, eyes trained on the single monitor that didn’t change from the view of the cell of the woman who Alex called his mother.

Michael had gathered his knees to his chest and had rested his face against them trying not to think about it too much because then the rage would take over with no target besides the obvious.

And besides he had to save all of that rage so that he’d be strong enough to help when Alex figured out what to do.

He remembers moving too much, because he was full of restless energy, until Alex had asked him how good he was with rewiring and Michael had scoffed and grabbed the box of different parts that Alex had obviously been using to create some sort of handheld transceiver.

The task was mindless for Michael, and it always helped to do something with his hands, always seemed to calm the restless energy in his mind to focus so entirely on fixing or creating something instead of worrying about things that were out of his control.

He’d finished and had felt gravity tug at him until he leaned his head on top of Alex’s thigh, and had sighed wrapping a hand around his ankle, fingers pressing into the cool skin.

Alex had jumped a little, but had settled a hand on Michael’s hair, petting him almost absently.

Michael must’ve fallen asleep sometime then.

He looks up at Alex now, and feels his heart start to race at the look on his face, the wild look in his eyes and how his lips are stretched into a smile.

“I figured it out,” he breathes, and Michael’s heart starts beating even faster.

“Yeah?” Michael asks moving so that he’s kneeling bseides Alex, whose smile widens even more.

“Definitely,” he says, and there is a strange catch to his voice, but Michael is too busy feeling the surge of adrenaline pouring through him as he pulls himself to his feet using Alex’s chair, and then tugs him out of the chair in one movement, while Alex yelps and grabs on to him to find his balance, to actually pay attention to it.

“Wait,” he says as Michael makes to drag them both out of the bunker and to the car. “There are a few things I have to get.”

Michael stops and stares at him and Alex rolls his eyes.

“It’ll take like five more minutes,” he says and pulls away from Michael to walk over to the table.

Michael rocks on his heels watching as Alex grabs the black bag leaning against the table and starts to pack it with stuff that had scattered and clattered to the floor earlier.

It takes him exactly five minutes to grab everything, including the two handheld transceivers that Michael had put together and swing the bag over his shoulder before turning to him.

Michael gave him a look, and Alex rolls his eyes. “It never hurts to be prepared.”

Michael shrugs and turns.

Alex scoffs walking after him. “Not all of us can move things with our brains, or contact others with our brains, or take people out with one single shocking touch, okay?”

Michael rolls his eyes, and tries not to let the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth stretch across his face.

This time Alex doesn’t fight him as he heads to the driver’s seat. He just gets in the car and sets up the GPS.

The roads are dark and silent, and the closer they get to Caulfield the more the restless feeling inside of Michael calms down.

Alex doesn’t say much as he studies the tablet in his hands with an intense look of concentration, tapping something occasionally.

Michael’s eyes dart to the time on the dashboard and realizes that it was almost five in the morning.

His eyes dart back to Alex, who is squinting at his tablet, and thinks about him working nonstop for the last couple of hours just because Michael said he wanted it over with tonight, and thinks about the fact that Alex admitted to working on this nonstop for days.

“When was the last time you actually slept?” Michael asks and Alex jumps as though he had forgotten that Michael was there.

He looks at Michael and blinks at him several times.

“A little under seventy five hours ago,” Alex answers and then looks back at the tablet. “But don’t worry. Kyle made sure I took a nap yesterday, granted it was only for an hour, but it helped. I can go longer without sleeping and it won’t affect my ability to correctly interpret information. It does, however, affect my brain to mouth filter, as you already know.”

Michael licks his lips and opens his mouth to tell Alex that he should sleep for at least the twenty more minutes it was going to take them to get to Caulfield when his phone rings.

He sighs and pulls it out of his pocket. “What is it now, Kyle?”

Michael turns to look back at the road as Alex makes a face at whatever Kyle said.

“That’s because we’re on our way to Caulfield right now.”

And then he sighs, and Michael can hear Kyle yelling.

“I know I promised-” Alex starts and stops when Kyle cuts him off.

“No, I’m not doing that,” Alex snaps. “We have one shot at this and I’m not going to miss it waiting for you. Get there if you must, but we’re doing this now.”

Kyle says something before Alex can hang up the phone, and Alex exhales harshly. “I get it okay? But all the information you need to know is right there at the bunker on the drives. I’m not going to sit down and just watch when there’s something that I can do about this.”

Alex hangs up and then turns his phone off and throws it into the glove compartment.

He sighs and shakes his head.

“Kyle is on his way,” he says, and Michael darts a look at him to see him rolling his eyes as he looks down at the tablet.

“What do you mean we have one shot?” Michael asks instead, and he can feel the way that Alex freezes a little before he inhales deeply.

“There’s a shift change at five thirty, a small window of opportunity where we can get inside undetected, and once we’re in the rest will fall into place, easily.”

This time Michael’s eyes narrow at the strange hitch in his voice.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

Alex is quiet for long enough that Michael feels the dread spill through him.

“Flint is going to be there,” he says, and Michael can tell that that’s not it, but before he can ask, the GPS sounds out jarring them both, letting them know that they are five miles away from their destination.

Michael decides to let it drop for now, and steps harder on the gas.

Once the building appears in their line of vision, Alex makes Michael turn the car lights off, and they slow to a stop several feet away from what looks like an abandoned school bus.

Michael turns the car off and looks at the building. It’s dark and quiet and looks abandoned, but Michael knows better than anyone that things aren't always what they seem.

Michael closes his eyes, inhaling deeply and concentrates and trying to see if he can sense anyone.

His breath caught in his throat as he feels a wave of something that feels like an amalgamation of at least thirty people just like him, screaming and crying out in pain.

He opens his eyes when he feels Alex's hand on his shoulder, and turns to him, and he can feel how wet his eyes are, so he can only imagine the face that he must be making.

"Okay," Alex says after staring at him for a few minutes. "Are you really sure you want to do this? I can always wait for Kyle and wait for the next shift change."

Michael looks at Alex as for a beat and shakes his head, before he gets out of the car without saying a word.

He walks until he's right next to the bus, and Alex follows after him after taking a few seconds to get his bag.

"Okay, we've got a few minutes, so just follow me, and we'll be fine."

Michael just nods his head, trying to tamp down the restless jittery feeling that started to overwhelm him.

"Here," Alex says and Michael turns to him and Alex hands him one of the handheld transceivers with an earpiece. "I've already paired them, just turn the dial and we're set."

Michael gave him a look, and Alex just smiles a little before putting his own earpiece into his ear and tucking the radio to his pants.

Michael does the same, and Alex nods his head before he pulls the tablet back out from his back and moves so that he’s rounding the front of the bus.

Michael follows after him, watching as Alex gets into soldier mode, how his posture straightens out, how his feet are shoulder width apart, how even his breathing evens out steadily where Michael can hear it echoed in the earpiece he’s wearing.

“Okay,” Alex says again, and looks at his watch before he looks at Michael. “Remember follow exactly the path I take. We’re using the camera’s blindspot, just in case there is anyone in the control room.”

Michael nods his head, and when Alex moves, he follows right behind him.

They get inside easily, and Michael becomes distracted as the feeling that overwhelmed him in the car gets stronger to really watch where he’s going so he bumps into Alex when Alex stops in the middle of where the hall branches out into three corridors and a set of stairs.

“Look,” Alex says, wrapping a hand around Michael’s arm and turning him towards the stairs. “Go up three flights until you hit the N corridor, that’s where they’re keeping everyone. Wait for my signal, and don’t freak out if anyone walks by, just hide. They do a cursory check right at the beginning of the shift, but I doubt they’ll enter the room since it’s too early for anyone to be awake yet.”

“Wait,” Michael says as Alex turns to head towards the corridor in the center. Alex stops but doesn’t turn to him. “Where are you going?”

Alex takes a second before he turns to him, and Michael knows that he’s hiding something.

“I have to get to the control room. It’s the only way to disable everything. It shouldn’t take long, and you have a direct line to me at all times.”

He points towards the earpiece, and Michael relaxes minutely, because he has a point, but there is still something that Alex isn’t telling him.

Alex seems to realize that Michael isn’t completely placated, because he sighs shaking his head, before he gives Michael a serious look.

“Trust me, Guerin. I know what I’m doing.”

“I do trust you,” Michael says immediately.

“Good,” Alex says nodding and then points towards the stairs with his chin. “I’ll see you later.”

He turns and Michael grabs him again, turning him around, and Alex looks at him startled.

Michael exhales roughly, and squeezes his arm once before he lets him go. “Just, be careful.”

Alex swallows hard and licks his lips, eyes darting to Michael’s mouth and away. “Only if you are.”

Michael huffs out a breath and shakes his head. “I’m going to do exactly what you said. Wait for your signal.”

Alex nods his head. “I promise we’ll get them out of here before the sun rises.”

Michael gives him a long look before he nods his head and turns towards the stairs.

He hears Alex’s footsteps as he walks down the corridor before he’s climbing up the stairs and can’t hear anything else but his own footsteps and Alex breathing in his ear.

Finding where everyone is kept isn’t that difficult, what is difficult is the psychic wave that sweeps through him that tells him he found them. These are his people. His people in cages.

It's hard to not do something, and he must make some sort of noise without realizing it because Alex speaks, startling Michael.

"I know it has to be overwhelming," he says sounding sympathetic. "Seeing something for yourself and not behind a screen always is, but please wait for my signal. I’m almost there.”

Michael opens his mouth to speak when he looks over at one of the cells and his entire nervous system just shuts down.

The feeling is much, much, much more overwhelming in person.

He moves almost like he’s hypnotized, until he’s touching the glass that prevents him from entering the room.

She sits up immediately staring at him with wide shocked eyes and Michael needs to get into this cell right now.

"Guerin," Alex's voice is a warning and a reminder, that Michael really wants to ignore.

Until the sound of gunshots echo through the earpiece and Alex makes a low, pained hissing sound, and mutters a heartfelt, "Fuck."

"Alex," Michael says looking away from the glass and turning his face to the side he has the earpiece in like that will help him see what's going on.

"I'm fine," Alex says, grunting in pain. "Give me a sec."

Then Michael hears another low grunt that doesn't sound like Alex followed the sounds a short scuffle, and then something hard and plastic cracking against someone's skull.

Alex exhales roughly then, and Michael hears him drop whatever he used to knock the guard out to the floor.

"Okay," Alex says. "If they know I'm here, they probably know you are too. Protect yourself by any means necessary, Guerin. I'm at the door to the control room, the lights will start flashing as soon as I unlock the doors. Ignore them."

He's panting heavily by the time he finishes talking which makes it hard for Michael to concentrate on what he's saying.

"Alex," he starts again, and he can hear the worried edge to his tone.

"Trust me, Guerin," he says. "I've had worse injuries. I'm fine."

There is a rapid beeping noise and then the sound of a door unlocking, and Alex making a low noise in victory at the back of his throat.

Michael feels a low throb at the back of his neck, like someone is tugging on a line directly connected to his brain, and he inhales sharply, turning towards the glass door again.

She has her hand pressed to the glass, eyes wide open and full of tears as she watches him like she's drinking him in. Her palm starts glowing a soft red as Michael watches her, and Michael steps closer, pressing his hand to the glass.

The connection snaps between them automatically like it was dormant in his brain and just waiting for the right person to come along and bring it to life.

His eyes fall shut as he inhales sharply, and he could see her clearly in his mind just like she looked when she was first thrown into the cell.

--Once Michael gets everyone out, he asks Alex where he is, and Alex tells him that he's been stalling the bomb to give Michael enough time to leave.

--Goodbyes and ANGST

--When it seems like all hope is lost, Mara steps up and shows Michael that he can convert the energy expelled by the bomb into energy that can sustain him.

--He does what she says, and saves Alex who passed out because he'd gotten shot, he saves Alex.

--He staggers outside with him as the sun starts peeking over the horizon, he staggers to his mom, who helps him to the ground, along with Alex, who is still breathing, but weak since he lost a lot of blood. Michael only lets himself pass out when he hears Max’s terrified, “Michael!”

#malexunfinishedfics #another fic with sleep deprived alex #i think the first scene i ever wrote for this fic was when they walk into the bunker and alex is all #that piece of the spaceship is mine and you can't have it

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