#unable to see into ‘true’ reality shes instead left trying to chase the shadow of ‘the player’ on the wall of the cave

[zanathan-aisling]

theres like, two levels of “playersexual”.

the first is the authors making all the romance options bi, which. like technically it can often stem from the same mechanical reasoning as “true” playersexuality (omfg im gatekeeping?????), that its easier, more efficient, or more equitable to just have all the options available to any character setup. in that sense theyre absolutely taxonomically related, but from a semantic and ethical point of view it seems kinda dogshit to reduce textually bi (one way or another, theres a lotta ways to do that) people to a mere practical development choice? like dude i think that characters just bisexual its kinda fucking wierd to frame his ability to be attracted to [character in context thats not the pc’s gender] and also romance the player character as some sort of “lazy writing shortcut”.

the second is far more nebulous as it exists more in what is LACKING than what is there. the anomalous ‘real’ “oh actually this was just a studio being either programming/writing lazy or like. genuinely just bizzare on a spiritual level”. skyrim romance is roughly egalitarian in implementation but there is effectively 0 external queers aside from two dead guys on an island and Possibly this one vampire from the morthal quest who seems like shes grooming a child? its a world absent of same-gender relationships but incapable of recognizing the player as anything extraordinary in that respect. romanceable npcs showing attraction to other npcs is rare in general, even, though going back over it in my head my initial presumption of it being completely absent is verifiably false. i think. ANYWAYS this theoretically would also include characters whose textual sexuality CHANGES to match the player character, which -discounting allowances for potential watsonian mischaracterization (i.e. a character being labeled gay by an unreliable commentator in a save in which they end up in a same-gender relationship, and other such things) can show up in really weird ways like ok in stardew valley i’m not actually saying Leah’s ORIENTATION necessarily changes but her ex’s gender specifically changing to match the player is SO FUCKING WIERD WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT. LIKE WHAT IS THAT EVEN IMPLYING?! WHUH?!!?

#ITD MAKE SO MUCH MORE SENSE IF THAT PRICK WAS ALWAYS A MAN #LIKE EVEN ASIDE FROM THE ‘BEING A CONSERVATIV-Y BASTARD’ LOOKING FUCKING *ODD* ON THIS SAPPHIC LADY #WHO’D. NOTICE. #IT TAKES ACTIVELY LESS EFFORT #INSTEAD LEAH USED TO DATE LESBIAN BEN SHAPIRO ITS. SO JARRING ITS OK FOR HER PREVIOUS RELATIONSHIP TO BE WITH A DUDE THATS FINE #oh also theres monika. shes the third type i guess. shes just completely literal about it #<- i actually don’t agree with that tbh i think framing her love for the player as wholly in-line with any practical means of attraction #defeats some of the point of the story. the affection is parasocial to a saddening extent #unable to see into ‘true’ reality shes instead left trying to chase the shadow of ‘the player’ on the wall of the cave #aware of its falsehood but unable to reach any farther past that fourth wall #in the wake of her realization she’s bound to concede any ‘fictional’ preconceptions of attraction just as she abandoned her preconceptions #of her friends. as people. its all just fluff. set dressing. in the way of her TRUE love. her REAL love. #an ultimate reality that supercedes any mere program or line of text that isn’t aware of it #all this despite her actual -both fictional and practical- inability to REALLY interact with reality on reality’s terms #alienated from her own fictitious existence to the point of manipulating it and abusing it in the style of a ‘real’ author #but still left incapable of actually accessing the agency freedom senses indignities and mortality of REALITY #….. SORRY IM A BIT FUCKED UP OVER DOKI DOKI LITERATURE CLUB STILL I UH. HAVE SOME FEELINGS. THERE.

[theladyismyshepard]

Myra

@frustratinglyinquisitive Here, have my first (self-indulgent) redhead one-shot :)

You slowly blink your eyes open before closing them again, too bleary to bother. You rely only on your sense of hearing alone, and all you can hear are the familiar drippings coming from somewhere adjacent to you. You hoped it was a leak from some pipe, but you didn’t believe it to be true. After awhile, you couldn’t bring yourself to hope for anything at all.

Not when you had met a blonde who smiled so wide that it could’ve passed for deranged. She was one of the first things you had opened your eyes to when you first awoke in your cage. Her eyes were golden and shining beneath the dancing flames of torchlight. They were also as feral as her smile was.

There was blood smeared across her chin as it dribbled from her lips, and you couldn’t help but realize it was fresh with how bright and liquefied it was as a drop hit her chest. You could practically smell the iron on her breath from where she stood outside your cage — or was it all around you? Just as reality set into your body and joints enough to feel the pounding headache and jolting pains wracking your frame, she spoke.

“Not yet,”

What?

She couldn’t contain a giggle, and you realize your chapped throat still managed to whisper your thought out. She slowly withdrew herself, her fingers uncurling from around the bars. When your eyes zeroed in on the sickle in her hands, your stomach dropped as your hope began to quickly dwindle as she disappeared into the shadows.

Your spirit wasn’t lifted when you heard the buzzing of insects after some time. How long have I been here? It was long enough for the torch to have burnt itself out and for the extra bit of chill to bite into your bones.

The buzzing grew louder and closer and suddenly stopped. It was dead silent except for the drip drip drip and just when it became deafening, slow and deliberate steps cut through. Your breath caught in your throat, and got stuck there as your eyes strained to see through the dark.

A spark had you slamming your eyes closed, too sensitive from the prolonged darkness, but light danced behind your eyelids, painting them red. You heard humming as you briefly squeezed your eyelids shut tighter before rapidly blinking them open, taking in the smirking face of a brunette as she stood over your body, inside the cage, and face just as plastered with blood.

You scrambled back as far as you could go before your back collided with brick. Her eyes were just as golden as the blonde’s but there was little to no emotion shining in them. Her smirk widened however, and you could’ve sworn you saw her nostrils flare.

“You smell so delicious, I don’t think I can wait until dinner.” she moaned out.

You could feel the fear morph your face at her comment, and she laughed brightly, thoroughly entertained. When it died down, her face shifted into into a blank look, her eyes cutting into you.

“What makes you special, I wonder...”

Her eyes narrowed, her gaze intense, but she took her leave without coming any closer, and it left you without knowing how to feel or what to think.

What makes you so special...

You didn’t exactly feel too special as you lied there on the cold ground behind thick bars. As the torchlight slowly snuffed itself out, fear weaved itself between the spaces of your rib cage, and nestled firmly around your heart, leaving you breathless. The tension that settled into your bones left you rigid and achey and unable to move. Your temple pounded, leaving you incapable of even lifting your head.

Drip, drip, drip...

The image of the women’s bloody faces flickered across your mind’s eye and it had you doing a mental check of your own body, surveying for damage of any kind such as missing limbs. It nearly split your head in two to try and recall what had led you to this place,so you just lay there, an incoherent slump.

You didn’t have a keen sense of time seeing as you couldn’t tell the difference between hours and minutes anymore. There were no windows to indicate whether it was day or night, and there was no way to track how long you had been stuck.

Drip, drip, drip...

It was all you could hear for the longest, the consistent dripping echoing off the walls. You began to tremble as the thought occurred that you would soon be spilling and dripping along the dirty floor as well. You swallowed thickly, mouth and throat so dry that it was an actual struggle that landed you into a coughing fit. It wracked your body so hard that it felt as though one of your ribs might burst through your skin; You were coughing so hard that you didn’t even really notice the room light up for a third time.

Tears streamed down your face as you finally were able to regain some composure. You opened your eyes, small droplets clinging to your eyelashes, and saw a glass hovering in front of your face. You were so thrown for a loop that you just sat there in a daze, staring at the glass of — Wait is that water?

Your gaze slowly trailed up the hand that was holding the cup, and your eyes met a third pair of golden eyes that took your breath away in a different fashion than that of the others. They seemed soft, as was the gentle upward curve of her smile. You couldn’t help but notice the lack of blood on any part of this woman’s body and attire.

“Hello,”

You released a breath you weren’t aware you were holding, and as you went to take another one, it felt easier and lighter than before.

“H-Hi,” you quickly stammered, unwilling to anger her.

“Drink this... please,” the redhead ordered gently, pressing the glass forward to give you the hint.

Your fingers grasped the glass, and her index finger grazed the side of yours before withdrawing and watching your movements. You maintained eye contact with her even as you brought it to your nose and sniffed cautiously. Instead of taking offense, she giggled knowingly.

Your chest felt light and your stomach felt warm at the sound, almost as if you were about to vomit out butterflies. Again, your eyes connected as you slowly took a sip. The water was lukewarm, but at least it was water and it felt refreshing and rejuvenating on your parched tongue. You greedily sipped until there was nothing more for you, not even a drop.

“Oh, my,” she sighed, her hand on her cheek. “I knew you would need to be watered sooner.”

If you didn’t know any better, it almost sounded like she was upset. She was worrying her bottom lip between her teeth as she began playing with her fingers. Her eyes radiated warmth and concern as she ducked her head to look closely at you.

Drip, drip, drip

“Where am I?” You demanded, though the tremor that shook your voice had you more or less begging.

“This is Castle Dimitrescu, it belongs to my mother as well as my sisters and I, and unfortunately this is the dungeon.” she said, shifting uncomfortably, a grimace intact the whole time.

Drip, dri-

The dripping stopped almost instantly, leaving you in absolute silence then. Maybe the leak stopped? Or maybe the blood had finally run dry. You shivered.

“My name is Myra,” offered the redhead, an apologetic smile reaching her eyes.

“Am I going to die here?” You couldn’t help but question, cutting straight to the chase.

For the first time since you met Myra, her features hardened. She slowly knelt before you, unaffected by the dirt pressing and smearing into her black robe. The intensity had her golden eyes glowing as she stared deep into you. Her hand reached towards you and despite flinching hard enough that it jolted your whole body, Myra still moved until her hand was cupping your cheek.

“I told my sisters you are not to be harmed, and you will not be.”

You were like a cornered animal, but the thumb brushing your cheek had you feeling something you hadn’t felt in God knows when: hope. The dread weighing down your spirit and stress weighing down your body had eased the slightest bit, allowing you to breathe properly.

“And your mother?” you pushed, remembering her words from moments ago.

Myra cocked her head to the side as she pondered the good point you had brought up. It also had the blonde’s words reverberating through your head.

Not yet...

“Mother would never upset me by killing my pet.”

It rolled off her tongue with such ease that you almost didn’t register what she had said, but when you did, you had to do a double take. Pet? Her words from earlier that you had let go of suddenly popped into your head.

“You needed to be watered sooner.”

You wanted to argue, lash out and scream that you weren’t an animal, you were a person but then again, you have a faint idea of how they treat humans, so it wasn’t too much of a reasonable argument. But the way she had your face cradled showed that she thought something more of you than others. Myra was your best bet at survival, plus it helped that despite the circumstances, she was a sight for sore eyes.

You could hear phantom drips in the background, but the thumb caressing your cheek caught you carefully by the chin and reinforced eye contact. Her calming aura had you relaxing and going slack beneath her touch, something that had her smiling so wide you were afraid her face would split. If you looked closely, you could see hope swirling in Myra’s eyes as well.

“Don’t worry, you are mine.”

It didn’t sound so threatening, and in fact you were nodding along.

“I’m yours,”

#resident evil 8 #resident evil village #lady dimitrescu’s daughters x reader #reader insert #daniela dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu's daughters headcanons #lady dimitrescu's daughters #lady dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu #one word prompts #prompt fill

[mementomori-demimonde]

Hidden Scars

I - II - III

Chapter 4

The edge of the table presses uncomfortably against your hip bones. You wish for something softer to cover its surface because the marble is becoming uncomfortable as you half-lay on your stomach and elbows on the table, fingers tapping frenziedly over the keyboard of Miranda’s laptop.

“Keep concentrated.” Her voice is luscious coming from behind you. You’re vaguely aware of her breath licking your ear, but you’re very much aware, instead, of her fingers stroking insistently at your bare core.

You wince when she nudges ever-so-lightly at your slit, her intention to tease you painfully blatant as your body shudders in need of simply anything more than that.

You clench your jaw and continue to tap, struggling to conserve the little bit of dignity it’s left not to actually push back to meet her hand and provide yourself the friction you crave: you’re already exposed enough like it is without making your desire obvious - shirt inched up right below your breasts, pants, and knickers pushed down and wrapping at your ankles like a makeshift rope that keeps you steady and trapped.

Of course, your efforts to conceal your needs are useless. You know too well that she’s aware; Miranda wouldn’t be teasing so much if she wouldn’t know.

“Is this really- really necessary?” You try to reason, choosing to take the long way to beg her to stop, imagining she won’t be exactly pleased with you actually implore her to let you concentrate on the task she’s assigned without further distractions - especially this kind of distraction.

Miranda, however, lets out a breathy chuckle and the answer she gives you leaves a very poor margin to hope for some mercy.

“I need you to test your abilities with a drunken mind.” She explains. “Your reactiveness with a body that doesn’t exactly follow your orders.”

You whimper when her fingers glide over your folds and you feel your cheeks growing hot because you know you’re drenched by now.

You tap away on the keyboard, trying to remember all the codes you’ve learned, but your hand slips when she pinches you - and you know she’s done it on purpose right now - and the screen turns black before your eyes.

Access denied.

You groan in frustration, Miranda leans closer to you and you feel her legs press behind you, her body framing yours when she leans in, her hand fisting your hair with a gentle grip. She tilts your face to the side, you feel her hot breath fanning your neck and ear.

“Stay focused.” She purrs in your ear.

You scoff: like she’s making it easy.

Drawing a long, quivering breath to expand your lungs, you restart all over again, and, soon enough, you begin to tap on the keyboard again, string after string of codes being written on the screen. You think you’re almost done when she nudges your legs apart with her foot. You swallow, your tapping slows down but doesn’t stop and you spread your legs as far as you can, wincing when more weight lands on your stomach and elbows.

You remind yourself to stay focused, that you’re almost there, but once again, when you’re close to solving the enigma, Miranda pushes effortlessly, curving her finger immediately to probe at a particularly sensitive spot.

Your eyes flutter close on their own accord and, before writing some flawed code, you lift both of your hands from the keyboard, balling them.

“I thought you’d appreciate this method.” Her nails scrape deliciously at your scalp. “But if you prefer, we can use actual drugs to simulate a frenzied mind and an uncooperative body, instead of this.”

You know you should answer yes. The very purpose of all those games is to put you in strange situations and see how you react - drugs would be used, sex it’s unlikely; not impossible of course, but unlikely.

You know you should answer yes and prove you’re committed to whatever she’s trying to teach you, but her hand feels too good and you know you’d mourn her absence. If you say yes to the drugs, she’d probably kiss your shoulder and praise you for your bravery, give you a shot and then go sit on her armchair and enjoy watching your struggle.

You know you should say yes, but you crave her.

“No.”

You hate how your voice sound, strangled and thin, and you force your eyes open, cursing the vicious trembling of your hands when Miranda kiss the shell of your ear and, simultaneously, adds a second finger that is supposed to be a reward but that, in reality, is just torture. A delicious one, but still torture.

“Good girl, just as I thought.”

She strokes at your insides without a rhythm, your mind clouded and your nether muscles clenching and twitching without even the faint possibility to chase an actual release. Miranda keeps teasing when she rests her chin above your shoulder and you’re vaguely aware that she’s smirking as she looks at the computer screen.

You know you’ve written something wrong, but you don’t know what. You type away the last string of codes and press enter.

Access denied.

You’re not even surprised, this time.

Your eyes flutter close and your head lolls forward when she thrusts further up to her knuckles, her teeth sinking into your neck hard enough to bruise.

“I will try again.” You mutter, begging your knees to not give up just yet. “I can do it.” You state confidently.

Miranda tuts disapprovingly in your ear.

“Dead.” She whispers. “You’ve taken too long and now you’re dead.” She mocks, pecking a small kiss on the apple of your cheek.

You whimper at the loss of her fingers when she pulls out of you. You think she’s done with you for the day, that she’ll send you to your room and lock you inside with another of those boring volumes until you’ve learned all the sequences by heart, instead she fists at the back of your shirt and pulls you on your feet.

You look puzzled for a moment, then she grabs your hips with a bruising force and spins you around, only to haul you effortlessly on the top of the table, the marble harsh a cold under your bare bottom. You’re conscious of the slickness between your thighs and you wonder if she’s made enough mess for you to leave evidence on the table; you wince and squirm when you accept the idea that it’s very likely and your arousal is probably dripping already.

You push your hands and grip the edge of the table for stability, but you don’t have much time more to do anything else before she ducks just enough to make quick work of tugging your pants and underwear away, throwing the crumpled clothes on the floor into a shapeless mass.

Before you can even utter her name, she’s between your parted legs. Hooking one of her hands in the collar of your shirt, she tugs you in and claims your mouth, her tongue dauntless in demanding passage. You match her movements with your own, suckling and nibbling to complete her motions, and you’re wondering which one of you is actually making those soft noises when her free hand comes to cup you mercilessly, two of her fingers, still slick from you, deftly finding their previous placement and settling where they belong. Miranda curls and probes, angling her arm just in the right way so that the heel of her hands hits where you need her most. She sets a punishing pace, and you can only follow her with the rocking of your hips, scooting closer to the edge of the table with each sway, if only to stay closer.

You’re vaguely aware of your knees squeezing her waist or the heels of your feet digging into the back of her thighs, too far gone in chasing the much-promised peak to wash away the discomfort of your twitching nerves.

You might be dead, in her imaginary scenario, but if that’s true, then her skilled fingers and her tongue are making you ascent straight to Heaven.

And yet, is she really going to reward you with a climax after you failed to complete the task? Or is she going to build it, lead you so close with hands caressing your body inside and out like a sweet prayer, only to take it away from you at the very last moment? If she’s planning to do that, with all the teasing she’s done, you know it’s going to hurt. You don’t want it to hurt.

“You know I’m going to take it away.” She smirks, her breath fanning your lips, a dangerous shadow flashing through her eyes.

She pushes further, stills for a moment and you feel hot tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. Should you beg? Or act tough and own the soreness already spreading everywhere in your body?

“I didn’t break into the system.” You manage to croak out, your voice right in between a wheeze and a pitiful moan. “I don’t deserve it.”

For a moment, her face softens. The tip of her tongue runs on the edge of her teeth, her thin lips bent into a smile - she seems amused.

“But I do.” She counters, then kisses your swollen lips, cocking her head back when you try to return it, your hips rocking on their own volition as you search for her. Magnanimously, Miranda takes the cue and the heel of her hand presses deliciously against you. “And imagine, solving your next riddle while you’re still a panting mess, unable to understand when one wave stops and the other begins, asking for a mercy I won’t bestow.”

So that is her plan: cloud your mind completely with something close - if not plain - overstimulation. The ache you’re feeling right now is nothing compared to what she’s promising.

Miranda scissors her fingers without much warning and with a couple of expert thrusts you’re crushing over the edge with her voice echoing in your mind - a prayer, promise, a curse, a punishment... you’re not entirely sure.

Your forehead meets her shoulder as your wither, clinging to her as she helps you ride the waves of pleasure that teether already toward pain.

Before it’s over, you wait for her to turn you over like a ragdoll, her fingers still buried deep within you, you wait for her to press you down the table again, while you struggle to fulfill the task, fighting pleasure and pain in equal measure, her sween, throaty laughter vibrating from her chest.

Instead, Miranda softens her motions, you feel her lips in your hair, kissing your head soothingly.

You whimper at the emptiness she leaves behind when she steps away. You watch her, frowning questioningly, your eyes never leaving hers as she peers into you, never diverting her gaze. She smirks, she winks.

Like there’s no big deal, she brings her fingers to her mouth and sucks them clean of your arousal, then wipes away the dampness with a cloth.

You blink in utter confusion, the casual gesture triggers something within you but it's also an unsettling contrast with her previous threats.

You open your mouth to ask for some explanation, but almost immediately you close it when she steps back, approaching you.

Suddenly aware of your state, you shut your legs and wince at the slickness you feel between your thighs.

“Oh don’t pout, m’eudail.” She purrs, placing her hands right on your knees, but she doesn’t nudge your legs apart like you thought she would. Instead, she leans in, licks your bottom lip. “I’m not done playing with you.”

You swallow thickly.

Miranda smiles, and reaches behind you. She slams the laptop close and tuckles it under her arm, striding confidently toward the window. She puts it right in front of it, on the floor, and folds her arms expectantly.

“Come here.” She commands.

Obediently, you jump off the table and approach her on unsteady legs.

Something in her eyes glimmers, making the blood drain from your body.

She grins. “On your knees and elbows. Bottom up.”

#miranda croft #miranda croft x reader #tfa #the flight attendant #fanfiction #x reader #ao3 #four lines #hidden scars

[mattzerella-sticks]

I Like Him

They might have gotten off to a rocky start, but near the end of 'Flashpoint' Thomas Wayne comes to think highly of Barry Allen. Enough so that he comes around to the idea that the speedster is in love with his son. He never so much as said it, but it was obvious to someone like him - the best detective in his reality.

So when somehow he comes back - with his son in tow - Thomas needs to let Bruce know how much he approves of their relationship.

Only Bruce doesn't have feelings for Barry Allen... right?

(ao3 link)

          Bruce knows he should say something, his stare unnerving in most circumstances, but any attempt stalls in his throat as if stopped by some immovable barrier. Still, Thomas doesn’t say anything to turn him away. In fact he seems calm, like they weren’t standing guard at the lip of the Cave’s entrance waiting for their coming attackers.

          “You know,” Thomas starts, “When Barry told me about you… about who you were and what should have been… I thought he was crazy. During the entire time we worked together every rational part of me screamed that it wasn’t going to work. That we were going to die. But a tiny piece… it had hope.”

          He nods. “Barry does a great job of making a little bit of hope go a long way.”

          Thomas agrees, glancing between him and the aforementioned speedster.“He’s a great man… I think he’s good for you.”

          Bruce startles, thrown for a moment. “What are you…”

          “I like him,” Thomas says, facing Bruce. He smiles like he knows a secret that Bruce is privy to as well. “And knowing you have Barry in your life… well, it gave me some comfort while the world ended all around me. To protect you when I couldn’t… to make you happy.”

          Taken aback, Bruce breaks away from his father’s gaze. Unfortunately his eyes settle over to the other side where Barry’s blur zips around the Cosmic Treadmill. Bruce imagines what he must look like trying to put it together. Brows furrowed over blue eyes steely in their focus, and his jaw set - tongue peeking out as he’s seen countless times when Barry fully devotes himself to a task.

          “I don’t,” Bruce fumbles, “We’re not -” A heavy hand falls on his shoulder, cutting him off.

          “Son,” his father says, “believe me, the fact that he’s a guy is the last thing I’m worried about.”

          “But -”

          A crash sounds from far off, forcing their conversation to stall on an unfinished road. “They’re coming,” Thomas says, “You ready?” He pulls two guns out from holsters on his side, Bruce aware enough to notice the motion.

          “No killing,” Bruce tells his father.

          “It’s not like they won’t have it coming -”

          He doesn’t waver. “No.”

          They’re chopping away at the grandfather clock, seconds away from breaching the first line. While Bruce might not have enough ability to navigate the murky waters of relationships, there are a few things he can still strongly hold onto. And his unwillingness to kill is one of them.

          Thomas flicks the safety off. “Fine, but you can’t stop me from maiming them.”

          Soldiers leap down the steps, closing the distance between them and the Waynes. A tall, dark-skinned woman tackles Thomas, letting two of her friends circle Bruce. He pulls out his bat-a-rangs, body twinging from Thawne’s earlier abuse. Bruce stamps down the pain, however, and allows adrenaline to lead him through the choreography.

          He drops down onto his back, kicking the first woman who charges him into the one waiting behind. Then, flipping back onto his feet, he launches the barrage of bat-a-rangs watching them explode in front of the waiting legion. Their shields can’t protect them from the concussive blowback, and one of their numbers falls into the deep chasm.

          Bruce gives them no room to breathe, rolling a few pellets onto the ground before blocking an uppercut. The strike hid an even fiercer knee kick that rips a few of his stitches open. He staggers back a few feet, a hand pressed to his side. The group regains their bearings and readies their attacks. Luckily the pellets hiss and blast open, a growing foam washing over them.

          The woman in front of him curses, her long red hair swaying as she stalks towards him. Her axe raised, Bruce readies a dodge for when she swings. She never does; the woman who attacked his father slams into her and sends them both crumbling to the floor.

          Bruce looks at his father, a few cuts across his chest being the only injury. “Are you okay?” he asks him, hands relaxing from rock-like fists. Bruce tries to tell him ‘yes’, only the pain in his side rears back and has him biting back a gasp. He collapses into his father’s ready arms.

          “Guys! Guys, I think I’m done!”

          They turn to see Barry waving for them, a rebuilt treadmill to his side.

          “Like I said,” Thomas whispers, carrying Bruce over, “he’s a real good one.”

          Bruce blames the overwhelming hurt on his inability to give a response. The growls and shouts from the Amazons fade into the background as Thomas leads them both over to where Barry waits. He hands him over to Barry, Bruce straining to stay with his father.

          “That was a scouting party,” Thomas says, “There’ll be more coming without a doubt. You two need to leave now.”

          “No,” Bruce gasps, “You… what about -”

          A loud rumble shakes the earth beneath them, cracking fissures in the cave walls and knocking stalactites into free falls. One shatters a few feet away, and Barry’s grip on Bruce tightens. “Bruce,” Barry shouts, “This place… it’s starting to tear itself apart!”

          “But what about -”

          “Bruce,” Thomas speaks over him, voice firm and face set with grim determination, “Bruce, please… this place was never meant to exist. I… I wasn’t supposed to live. But you can. With your family, your son, and…” He pauses, gaze briefly flitting over to Barry. “Stop letting the bat control your life… choose to be happy.”

          Amongst the noises of the world ending Bruce hears the Amazons from before ripping themselves from their entrapment, alongside the echoes of even more flooding in. Barry pulls him towards the treadmill, one foot on it. He continues to fight, calling for his father.

          “Barry,” Thomas addresses the other man, “Please look after him. Keep him safe.” The words weigh heavily on Bruce’s heart, he and Thomas the only two aware of what exactly his father asks.

          “Of course,” Barry says, both him and Bruce on the treadmill. He runs, the electricity flying off the machine with each step. Bruce feels the lightning coursing through him, sparks flying every which way. Thomas watches them with a calm acceptance, shoulders set back and chin held high.

          The scene fades from view the faster Barry runs. Thomas, the Amazons, and the Flashpoint reality disappears, and yet Bruce cannot calling for his father. He returns to that little boy in the alley, forced to sit in a dirty puddle while his trembled cries go unanswered. So distraught he barely notices the other speeding blur that passes them until Barry shouts his name.

          “Thawne!”

          Up ahead he sees the yellow-clad speedster chasing an unseen force, button in hand. Barry pounds into the treadmill with reckless abandon, Bruce’s hold on him tightening so he doesn’t fall off.

          They chase for what feels like years but could possibly be seconds, never coming close enough to catch Thawne. Barry tries his hardest, reaching out and straining to snag the tiniest scraps of fabric. Before he could Zoom bursts forward with the aid of a second wind, tearing into some other facet of reality. The tremors of his speed causes the already shaky treadmill to come apart under them. Unable to travel further, he and Barry become spectators as Thawne confronts some so-called ‘god’. Stare in terrific awe because the villain disintegrates before their eyes, an unseen shadow proving his might. All that remains of their foe is a haunting scream.

          “Bruce,” Barry says, now focused on the predicament at hand, “Bruce I need you to hold on. If you let go, we’re going to be lost -” The treadmill shatters, and they’re thrown more into the strange energy around them. Bruce, numb and exhausted, can only sense Barry fly away because the warmth at his side disappears and a rush of cold replaces it.

          His last thought before the shock overtakes him is how he never appreciated how nice Barry’s presence made him feel.

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

          Bruce cannot sleep. In these instances he would usually slip into his costume and swing from the rooftops or sit at his computer and pull pieces from a crime scene and assemble the puzzle. With his injuries from Thawne and the wreckage of his equipment, all he’s left with is his mind and the window of his study.

          There’s a lot stirring inside his head that he shouldn’t be bored - the figure that killed Thawne, the button, the mysterious man who saved him and Barry. But they all pale in comparison to his reunion with Thomas Wayne.

          He has much to unpack about what they spoke about. Sitting in the very spot where the idea for Batman was born, Bruce considers following his father’s advice. Hanging up the cowl and stepping out of the shadows.

          “Happy,” he mumbles to himself, “Can I really be…”

          A montage of a life without Batman flashes, where he turns Bruce Wayne into the hero he was meant to be instead of the misdirection he uses to keep up appearances. Imagines what it might have been if he never took to the cowl in the first place.

          But then he remembers what his father said, about his family. Bruce would never have had them without help from the Batman. He might embody the night but Batman was responsible for hanging each star in his sky.

          “I’d have no sons…” Bruce says, “No friends - real friends. I never would have met -”

          His father’s approval comes to mind, and Bruce shakes his head. He wills the blush away from his face, dragging a hand down his cheeks to stem the flow of blood.

          He thinks about Barry, considers him the way his father did. It’s true that he and the other man had always had a special bond - one of mutual respect, both master detectives who can only discuss their skills with the other. True equals. But there was never anything more to it.

          Sure Bruce may smile more in his presence, but Barry can crack even the most petrified faces. Sometimes he would overstep boundaries others have that sent Bruce spiraling into a bad mood in the pace; however it only conjured up some fond exasperation when Barry did it. And seeing him in danger did grip at his heart in the cruelest of ways, driving him to keeping the speedster safe.

          But that didn’t mean he liked Barry in that way.

          Shaking his head, he casts those thoughts to the side. “You’re tired Bruce,” he says to himself, “Overthinking… he has Iris and you…” Chuckling darkly, Bruce lets the words drop off.

          As the sun crests over the hills Bruce decides to follow his father’s advice. He will be happy. There is someone he can be happy with.

          He thinks his father would have liked her… even if she wasn’t Barry.

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

Epilogue:

          Thomas considers Bane’s offer, weighing the options in his mind. While it was a cruel and sadistic plot against his son, there were enough loose ends that he could leverage to give his son the family and happy ending he deserved. But he needs to play his cards close to his chest.

          “I want to see Batman die as much as anyone,” he starts, “But I may need some time to think it over. I’m still getting used to this reality… it’s only been days since you found me.”

          Bane nods. “I understand. I hope you know, though, that I won’t stop my plans for you either. Everything needs to happen at the right moment, and we’re working on a very tight schedule.” He smirks, “Why in a few days I’ll be ruining your son’s wedding.”

          He frowns, “He’s getting married?”

          “Yes, it would have been a lovely affair - a truly happy moment. But unfortunately I can’t have a happy Batman.”

          Thomas sighs, thinking of Bruce standing at an altar in a black tuxedo. Imagines him waiting for someone who would never come. Pictures Bruce believing that the love of his life had run out on him. As much as he wanted for his son to be happy, now that he’s here Thomas can take over.

          “I won’t stop you,” he tells Bane, “I do ask though that whatever you do to Flash, it’s no serious harm.”

          Confusion settles clearly across Bane’s face at Thomas’s request. “What?”

          “The Flash? To stop the wedding - I don’t know what you have planned but I’d hate to see the poor boy killed -”

          “Why do you think I would hurt the Flash?”

          “...Because that’s who my son’s in a relationship… isn’t he?”

          Bane laughs, a cruel bellowing sound that grates on Thomas’s nerves. “Well that would be a complete shock to everyone!”

          Thomas scowls at him, leaning forward. “What is it you’re trying to say.”

          “I hate to break it to you old man, but your boy isn’t marrying the speedster,” Bane says, “He’s planning to tie the knot with a thief named Selina Kyle - otherwise known as Catwoman .”

          Settling back into his seat, Thomas takes in this new information. Somehow adjusting to the idea he was no longer in a world that was crumbling all around him seemed easier than accepting that his son wasn’t dating Barry Allen. Immediately his loose plans for the future adjust, roping Barry into them. If they weren’t together, Thomas would at least like to know why .

          Bane, ignoring Thomas’s silence, continues on, “Flash though? I didn’t consider adding him… but if there is something there for you to see I might just have to expand my operation out to Central City… and I know the Gotham Girl for the job.”

#Batman #Flash #Bruce Wayne #Barry Allen #Thomas Wayne #Batflash #Batflash fic

[neo-nymph]

The Truth Untold

..Genre: Romance

Themes: Mythological!AU

Member(s): Jimin

Word Count: 2,196

A/N: Guess whose parents surprised their daughter with a laptop for Christmas and can now do even more writing over winter break ;)

"Hades wasn’t the man the tales had made him out to be. The stories around his name painted a portrait of an unforgiving, sadistic man filled with nothing but hatred for the worlds that existed around him. To mortals, he was the proud image of a perfect nightmare; the epitome of all things any human with common sense would know better than to challenge. To the Gods, he was a forgotten lowlife who deserved no place in their highest palace, and no title but among the souls he guarded in the underworld. The connotations that circled his name had lasted thousands upon thousands of years, and yet it only took me a few encounters to understand the truth untold."

I found him in a vacant tower of the grassy hills I often escaped to, those which still graced their innate purity, isolated from the greedy hands of mortal beings. The serenity could be heard in the passing of winds against leaves in bushes and trees, it could be smelled during sunrise the morning after a gentle rain, and could even be felt when fingertips brushed against the velvet petals of daisies. The vacancy of the building was displayed by its old and dirty nature, vines growing in between the cracks of the aged and broken stone it was made of. Despite its obviously portrayed age, the tower stood grand with pride, trying its best to graze the clouds as it leaned to one side. Few could find beauty here, but the grace of the garden that surrounded it brought life to this old soul.

I'd come here ignoring the warnings and complaints of my mother regarding the dangers of the outside. I loved my mother dearly, but I couldn’t help the pulling desire to escape from her overbearing clutches, always trying to constraint me from basking in the light of the days star. Since I was born, she’s tried her best to keep me hidden from the outside, paranoid at the idea of my being corrupted or taken away from her by tainted souls. Despite her attempts to paint the world as cruel and frightening, I was drawn to the places she tried to kept me away from. I craved the feeling of the cloud like grass on my soles, to feel the burning of the sun light on my skin, smell the scents of the blooming spring and look for shapes within the clouds. So, when the chances presented themselves, I sprinted after them.

And this, the serenity of the garden that ignited the flames within me, was why I could never understand how such a world could be anything but beautiful.

The scent of the bunches filled my nose delightfully. The soil was soft and cold between my toes, and the leaves of the bushes gentle on the pads of my fingers as they dragged along to feel the blue rose petals. I felt as if I were in a trance, oblivious to the chirping of the birds, my picking of the flowers, and, for a moment, the feeling of someone's eyes observing my movements. Curious to find the source of such a feeling, I doubtedly looked towards the towers window, and caught his gaze on me.

If not for my better judgement, or the white of the mask he wore, I would've believed he was a being-less shadow, or perhaps a trick of the eye. His body was just distinguishable to contrast from the dark of the room he watched on from. He stayed motionless as I looked upon him, waiting for a comment or gesture to be made, but he remained as still as a stone. Such an encounter should have felt awkward or unsettling, but my mind, instead, registered him as another mystery of the world I couldn't help but feel a pull to discover. I stood frozen below him as I gazed on curiously before my attention was stolen away from the window as the still air was brutally filled with the dull noise of my mother calling me home. Just as a true mystery, it only took a few moments of ignorance for him to disappear when I turned to search for him again.

--

Months dragged along since the first day I saw him. I found myself venturing back to the hills as if by instinct, hoping the shadow would present itself again. To my dismay, the figure left behind nothing more than the blue roses I'd come to adore. So, to provide a dull satisfaction to my desires, I picked the flowers to admire at home on the days that I could not escape to venture the hills.

After a year, my hopes had already been tucked away in their graves, finding no purpose in waiting for something which no longer existed. I did, however, travel back to the garden now and again to take in the still serenity of the hills. Often I laid in the grass, tracing imaginary shapes and figures of the fluffy white clouds sitting in the sky, or reading with the rustling of the trees to break the silence. It was just as the day I first saw him, tranquil and isolated. Laying on the ground I bathed in the sun, eyes closed as my skin absorbed the warmth of the day time star, until a figure blocked the the flaming sphere from reaching my eye lids.

He stood dressed in a dark cape that covered his body from shoulders to toes, still dawning a white mask concealing his identity from my sight. At his entrance I rose to my feet, driven by curiosity to understand the mystery that plagued my mind for so long. The garden remained silent, the pair of us standing only a few feet apart as a soft breeze blew between us. I wished to ask for a name, but my body was filled with unwelcome butterflies that I feared would fly out if I parted my lips. A few moments passed before he raised his hand out to me holding a rose I’d never had the blessing of seeing until now. The white petals shined brightly as flakes of gold drifted off of them, a stem of vibrant jade standing firmly in his grasp. The beauty left me captivated, my hand slowly, unconsciously reached forward to take hold, my mind and body left helpless under the flowers spell. I’m not sure how long I stood fixated on the plant in my hands, but when I lifted my head, he was gone, and my mother was calling for me again.

Everyday for a month I went to see him. We walked through the hills together, smelling flowers, listening to birds, watching the sunsets. He was gentle when he held my hand, kind to me as he listened to my stories and my dreams, and patient as he taught me about the animals and nature of the hills I loved so dear. Most days I was with him, I would forget about the existence of the world outside of our own. The marks of mankind, rules of narcissistic gods, paranoia fueled imprisonment were all extinct in the hours I spent with him each day. Only the pure tranquility and beauty of mother natures design existed with him. This world that I resided in with him was the same as the world I spend so many days constructing in my daydreams on these hills, sinfully praying I could one day find in reality. This masked man was the escape I awaited to chase in my bedroom. He was the mystery I longed to discover, and the untainted soul I had begun to believe no longer thrived. He was the dream I’d held onto for so long, and in his hands my heart would soon come to rest in.

One day, as we sat beneath an oak tree, enjoying the sweetness of berries and fruits, I build up the courage to ask the question I feared the answer to. I was careful in my motions as I prepared to force the words past my lips. For months the wonder plagued my thoughts, momentarily ruining our tome together, but only for a second before his presence turned up the corners of the mouth again. I pondered the possibilities, attempting to find my own answers, but finding none logically or worthy to be true.

“...why do you still conceal yourself with a mask?”

Partly to my joy, and partly to my dismay, he seemed unaffected by my question. Rather, he finished consuming the red berry in his hand with his head slightly lowered towards the ground, seemingly avoiding my proposal. I waited beside him for a nod, a gesture, anything, too scared to ask again and cross a line I couldn’t see.

“..does your heart hold a space for me?”

My brows flexed and my head tilted at his inquiry. Carefully I laid my hand on top of his own upon the grass. “Is it not obvious?”

I stared at the side of his face as his eyes looked beyond us. The breeze was gentle as it played with the strands of his hair, tossing small, dark, pieces across the white of his mask. The beating of my heart became ever more noticeable as I waited for a response, the beat hard and steady against my ribs, filling my ears to distract from the feeling of anxiety bubbling at the pit of my emptying stomach. Beyond my command, my fingers gripped his that seemed to grow colder as the seconds passed. 

A sigh left his hidden lips before he spoke, “Whatever feelings you believe you have for me may not remain when you come to find my identity.”

If there were any words left to be said, I was unable to find them. I didn’t know what could be said to calm his fear, no matter how irrational I knew it to be. My mind was blank as I scrambled to find something to say, and I knew each second of silence on my end was another second of a festering anxiety on his. So, I decided if words wouldn’t speak, I would let actions do so instead. Lifting myself from the cushioned ground, I placed myself comfortably on his lap, my thighs settled on either of his while my hands held his face to look up at mine. I took the moment to cherish the warm feeling that came with looking into his eyes before my fingers found the edges of his mask, lifting it away slowly.

The plastic covering fell from my grasp as the air was taken kindly from my lungs. I knew the stories of this man. I’d heard them time and time again from the Gods. I heard the about the hell he wished upon the heavens and the earth. I was told of the nightmares he cursed humans to see when their eyes closed, and the torture he provided to the souls he guarded in the hell he created. I knew the stories of Hades, but I couldn’t dream to believe them now.

The setting sun left his skin softly glowing gold, just like the flakes of the flower he presented to me the day we met, standing out perfectly against the midnight shade of his hair. Looking into his eyes now was like drowning blissfully into a pool of honey. I couldn’t help the desire to drag my fingers across his gracious features, or stare longingly at his fluffy, pouting lips. I looked to his eyes again and found a sadness I knew too well. The welling of emotion in his eyes was like that of a child, built on the basis of purity and innocence, fueled by the simple fear of loneliness and the unknown. The pain in his honey eyes was the last strike I needed to spark the flame inside me, to push me to plant my lips on his. His cold hands crept up from my hips, to my waist, crossing along my back as he tightened his grip on my body. The force of his plush lips on mine caused a heat to flush on my cheeks and my chest. The gentle touches he graced me with before were gone now as he pulled my burning body against his own as if he were scared I would float away. I could feel the steam from his body radiate to my own as the friction between us built with rushed movements. My hands pulled at the hair at the base of his neck while his forced my hips down to rub against the lump in his pants. My lips parted from his as a small whine of desire ghosted from my mouth. When I looked to him, the honey colored eyes he once adorned were replaced with dark golden orbs with pupils blown wide. Both our chests heaved as our lungs chased for the breathes we’d stolen from one another. His voice was raspy when he spoke again,

“Come home with me.”

Again, as my mind drew blank, the still air was filled with the sound of my mothers voice calling me home. 

#bts fluff #bts angst #bts imagines #bts #jimin #jimin fluff #jimin angst #bts au #bts au fanfic #greekgod!bts #myth!bts #myth!au

[morefinesse]

My muse is dead. How is your muse reacting to it?

My muse is dead. How is your muse reacting to it?

Reference to self-harm and suicide below, I reaaaaally wasn’t sure on how to post this, so I decided to submit it. I hope that’s okay!! TLDR: Ruby is a true friend and this drabble-meme thing is really tragic.

She stands there before his grave, solemn and quiet, a bouquet of flowers that she’s carefully collected in her hands, each with their own respective meaning. Ambrosia; amaryllis; bird-of-paradise; pink and white camellia; pink and red carnations; a white chrysanthemum; a dandelion; dead leaves; gloxinia; purple hyacinth; blue and yellow irises; lilly-of-the-valley; primrose; roses of dark crimson, dark pink, and red; sunflowers; sweet-peas, red and yellow tulips, blue and white violets and viscera. It’s late at night, the silver moon is high in the sky and the stars are twinkling like a million diamonds in the night sky; everyone else is asleep. Clementine visits his grave every night to pay her respects to the boy she loved with all of her heart.. or at least, what remained of it. She could still remember his dying moments, the blood that stained her fingers, as if it were yesterday.

Running at top speed through the forest, Clementine did not look back even once as she sprinted through the trees, even as her friends screamed for her to come back. It wasn’t fair, it just wasn’t fair-

Stupid girl. this world is unfair, don’t you see? You’re a weapon, girl, and weapons don’t weep, a voice said.

She had to get away. A violent roll of thunder and a clash of lightning danced across the sky, and soon, rain fell from the heavens. She slowed to a stop once she reached her destination: the school. Once she entered, she bolted toward her dormitory, pants and tormented breaths escaping her. Once she slammed the door behind her, every little movement Clementine Maria Jasmine Cree had made instantly stopped. It was like a clock, forever ticking, until all the gears had been shattered at once, and the clock had been stopped, frozen in time for an instant forever. The girl didn’t seem to be breathing for the longest moments, her eyes staring blankly at nothing. Voices, whispers, screams, nightmares, flashbacks, incidents, the scent of blood. The way he smiled at her, his vibrant laughter, the way he held her close to him at night whenever she was suffering from nightmares, the way he’d kissed her. He would never grow up to be a singer like he’d wanted, could never teach AJ piano lessons, or pick her up and twirl her around while they laughed before they leaned in for a kiss. tease Violet or Aasim or laugh his most wonderful laugh.

Everything rushed through her mind at once, like an infinite stream of memories that she couldn’t snap out of, that overloaded her systems and drowned out any reason. Louis was dead… and there was no more light.

She had wanted to laugh at her friends who told her the tragic news, who told her to let him go to the point where she’d felt a pair of strong arms drag her away from his body, so that they’d be able to get distance from the quickly approaching horde, claim that they were lying when they’d been telling her that he had been shot and bitten, that he’d lost too much blood, even while she held her dying boyfriend in her arms… but it all made sense. Everything made sense, and her senses never failed her, and she knew reality from illusion, deep, deep down. Her boyfriend was dead, and she could do nothing to ease his pain nor prevent his death. 

She could only prevent him from turning with her own blade.

It was happening all over again.

The first thing indicating that the clockwork that was Clementine was still capable of ticking, were silent tears running from the corner of her eyes. Tears without sound, loaded with more agony than one single person should ever bear. Tears that showed shards of her dreams that had just now been broken. Shards of the future that she had dreamed of, hoped for, longed for, wished for, all running down her cheeks in streams, dropping from her chin onto the floor where she would never be able to retrieve them again.

Clementine’s hopes and dreams were gone, and so was the light in her eyes.

From there, Clementine started ticking faster than she ever had before. Unable to contain the memories, the misery, the pain, she got on her feet in a movement so unlike the girl’s normal self, swift, without reason, without motivation. It was an action of fury, frustration, desperation. The girl had gotten hold of the desk in her room, violently flipping it to the side, sending papers and everything else on it flying through the room, as the desk hit the floor with a loud bang, followed by the loudest, most heartbreaking scream the girl had ever let escape her lips. Hyperventilating, the girl tried to remain on her feet, but got dizzy, almost fell over, but barely managed to sit down onto her bed, almost fainting from the pure overload of emotion. It felt like her heart was going to stop beating at any one moment.

How long do I have left?

That’s when something snapped, and Clementine froze again. It started with a breath that got pulled in so deep, demanding so much willpower, that it had seemed surreal for the girl to pull herself back from where she was. It was a gasp of air, as if she had been drowning, and only barely managed to reach the surface in time. A few deep breaths followed, Clementine kept her eyes closed and shut tightly. The tears were still streaming, but at least she wasn’t panicking anymore. Instead, she seemed hopeless, devastated, broken.

Though she had prayed for the shiny happily ever after that surely awaited the two of them at the end of the long, dark tunnel of conflict that hung over them, their brightest moments happened during the darkest times. Death’s urgency. Fear of loss. A common enemy and a shared comfort in the face of violence. They were born in an era of peace and prosperity and raised in an era of darkness and despair. Their darkest moments would likely happen during the brightest of times. 

It couldn’t last. 

It didn’t.

She would have done it. She would have broken every convention, and damn the consequences. Hell, she would have left the school, left everything behind if it meant keeping Louis alive. She would have given up everything. She would give him everything she had. She would have given him the love he so desperately wanted. She would have broken every fucking rule in existence, just to continue as they had been. She would have given him anything just to see him smile again. She wanted to see him smile at her one more time, the one that made her heart flutter, she wanted to hold him while he slept peacefully in her arms and she played with his locks, she wanted to dance with him when they were in the dark and alone, away from the cruel world they lived in.

He saved her life so many times, both in body and spirit… and she couldn’t even owe him her end as thanks. She sat upon the cold bed, no longer with him, with a piece of glass in her hands, scraped out and hollow. She felt sick. She might not have breathed for a long time. For her entire life she’d been chasing a fleeting flicker of firelight… a little chance at hope… and what had she gotten in return? Even as she rose and fell over the years, after losing so many people close to her, nothing, no one, not even Lee, compared to the loss of her boyfriend.

And there she sat, in the dark room. The light was out. Silently, she curled in upon herself on the floor. It seemed at last that her fighting spirit was gone. It seemed as if days came and went without her moving from that one spot. How long had she been here for? She couldn’t say, nor could she bring herself to care. What was the point in living when everyone she loved had died? At some point, there was a knock on the door. It sounded as if it were underwater. The voice might have been Ruby’s or Tenn’s. She shut it out. In time, whoever it was went away. She remembered every single moment of her life, trying desperately to forget. Everything she had ever loved was cruelly taken away from her. If she could turn back time and change everything, from the apocalypse to the meaningless deaths… by hell she would. On and on it went. The pointless thinking… She didn’t know how much time passed, but in the confines of her dark dormitory, it was eternal night.

She had been content to exist within Louis’ shadow, always protecting and adoring him, chasing the promise of the light on the other side. All her life, she wasn’t sure if she existed more in the light or the darkness.

Bopping her head up and down as she breathed, the warm salty tears dripped onto her own hands as she tried to speak. A voice so meager, so silent, without any shred of confidence remaining, the sentence itself torn to shreds every time the woman needed to take a deep breath.

“…What am I meant… to do now? What am I even…?”

It sounded as if she was speaking more to herself than to anyone else, at least until she sank to the floor, on her knees. Her face depicted the face of someone begging for mercy, for a little light of hope to cling onto, the face of someone asking to be put out of their misery. “…Help me.”

No one answered her.

Clem stared at her reflection in her broken mirror, in darkness. No one could see the puffiness around her eyes from crying too much. She’d entertained the idea of seeking out someone, but she had no energy to leave her room. She touched the glistening shard of glass which glowed in the moonlight diffusing through her window and clenched it tightly in her hand, despite the throbbing pain and the crimson rivers flowing down her hand and trickling down onto the floor. She soon began feeling dizzy.

She tightened her grip on the glass, whim whispering in her ear to crush it. Crush it, like the Delta and so many other people had tried to crush her. Like this war had crushed Louis and everyone else she had ever loved.

But it didn’t break, didn’t even crack.

“I didn’t… I didn’t—” she broke off, the knot in her throat constricting her.

i didn’t get to say goodbye.

Even in death, she felt the strength of their bond… the bond that she had never once felt in her life with anyone else. The longer he was dead from the world, the fiercer she held on, clutching the glass in place of flesh. Say a quick goodbye and get over it as quickly as possible, she told herself. She took a deep breath, opened her mouth. The words wouldn’t come. The tears did. At long last, the tears broke over like a wave. She grieved for him with the power of all the pent up grief that should have been dished over the years. Her tears were as silent as the grave. They weren’t for display, alone in her dormitory within the halls of this school for troubled youth.

She wept, her tears turning to frost. It was autumn, a world of fragile things. When she’d cried herself raw, still staring into nothing, she took the breath and said the words. “Goodbye, Louis.” It was a curious sound, to have finally cracked the silence. She tested the sound. Then she felt the silence. It didn’t work quite as it had before, with her dead friends, so she tried again, a broken little thing trying to figure out the indescribable. “Goodbye, Louis. Goodbye, my darling… Goodbye, my love…. Goodbye. Goodbye. Good-“ She stopped. 

It was a failed experiment.

She squeezed the piece of glass tighter. “I love you.” It was a push. In the other direction, and not toward the living. But it was movement, so she embraced it. “I love you.” She edged closer to a conclusion, “I love you.” Closer still. But there was no answer. I love you. She shut her eyes. She’d see him again soon.

Forever and ever.

And never.

Clementine squeezed the small piece of glass between her fingers, pouring her agony, her sadness, all of her into it.

Because unlike her, it could not break.

The last thing she could remember before fading into blackness was Ruby screaming her name as she’d burst the door open and rushed to her aid.

She would never, ever forget the way Ruby’s attempt at a gentle, comforting smile broke when she saw her lying there against her bed in a puddle of her own blood, brilliant blue eyes widening in realization as she saw her hand over her other bleeding hand with the shard of glass at her side, her skin sickly, and golden eyes lulling shut. She would never, ever forget the anguished scream that left her mouth, the way she desperately scrambled to reach her, the way she yelled profanities at her for being so stupid. Most of all, she would never, ever forget the way she looked at her as she worked her wound, like she was losing one of her precious things in the world in front of her very eyes in that one, single desperate moment.

It was one of the most heartbreaking things she’d ever seen.

“Ruby,” she’d rasped, wanting to wipe the tears away from her face but finding herself unable to move any of her limbs. “Ruby, I’m sorry.” She didn’t know why she was apologizing to her, she didn’t know what she was doing anymore at this point. Didn’t know what she was thinking anymore. I’m sorry, her mind whispered, despite herself. I’m so sorry.

“Don’t talk, you idiot!” She was frantic and scared, she could tell by the abnormally high pitch of her voice and the way sobs tore from her throat afterwards. Her hands were slick and red with her blood and she was shaking like a leaf, terrified of what might happen to her friend. “You are not dying on me now, Clementine Maria Jasmine Cree! You are not dying on me now! You went through hell and back, you are not dying on any of us now!” The way she was yelling desperately at her, like losing her was one of the worst things that could happen to her, made her sluggishly beating heart ache in the sweetest way.

“I…” She had to stop to cough, before wheezing painfully and panting desperately, trying to catch as much air as possible. Why was it so hard to breathe? Was her body failing her already?

I’m sorry, everyone. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry. She thought, looking at her through bleary eyes. I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t want to do this. I never wanted to leave you guys. I never wanted to leave AJ. She blinked, trying to clear her vision, and felt a sense of relief when she succeeded. Ruby looked so beautiful, crying over her like that. Like she needed her to the very last moment. Her eyes felt too heavy, then, and she let them fall shut. She was too exhausted to fight back. Thank you, Ruby.

She waited for the blackness to overtake her, waited for death to claim her.

But it never did.

She didn’t know how much time she spent there, unable to move a muscle and waiting for eternal sleep to steal her away—it could have been a minute, an hour, half a day. But slowly, steadily, her mind cleared itself. Her heart slowly picked up its pace again. Clementine, still sluggish but feeling a little bit more energized, snapped her eyes open and took a generous gulp of air, her chest jolting forward in shock. She didn’t even have the time to take in anything before he felt a pair of small, thin arms tightening their hold on her neck and became aware of the dampness on her shoulder and AJ’s soft sobbing. Her eyes softened.

“AJ…" she croaked, swallowing tightly as her tongue felt sluggish. She tried to pull him away so she could look at him, but he only clung to her harder while making a small cry of negation. "AJ, it's… it's okay,” she said hoarsely, resting her weak arms on his shoulders. He didn’t respond, and she waited a bit until she had a little more strength. “I'm fine,” she whispered reassuringly, turning her head in his direction. "I’m okay.“

She had to live for him, she knew, as she hugged him back just as fiercely. Ruby, Aasim, Tenn and James approached shortly after and gave her condolences while wishing her well, and Tenn had given her a drawing of herself with a “Stay Strong” message heavily emphasized in deep red crayon. When they’d all left, Ruby remained and scolded her on the great and foolish risk she’d taken, before sitting on the edge of the couch and gently reassuring her that they would get through this together, before embracing her friend.

They’d managed to get Louis’ corpse back and give him a proper burial that day. Throughout the whole thing, she didn’t even shake or sob or tremble. Tears just silently streamed down her cheeks. 

No one ever dared to mention that day ever again.

Clem placed the bouquet over his grave in silence before seating herself before his grave. Every night, she would come here and clean his grave and speak to his grave, as if he was still there with her.

“AJ’s been doing well in his piano lessons, he’s a natural, just like you said.” she whispered after a long time, a sad, sweet smile gracing her features, her fingers lacing around her Omega necklace that he’d given her all those months ago.“You gave me forever in those number of weeks… and for that, I’m eternally grateful.” She whispered softly, tears blurring her vision, before she blinked them away. “You made me believe that people can be beautiful, too. You’d brought me to life.” A hitched sob escaped her, then, she murmured, “There is no one else but you.”

She would never love another again.

The flowers in Clem’s bouquet and their meanings: Ambrosia– Your Love is Reciprocated Amaryllis– Splendid Beauty Bird of Paradise– Joyfulness Camellia General– Admiration Camellia Pink– Longing for You Camellia White– You’re Adorable Carnation Pink– I’ll Never Forget You Carnation Red– My Heart Aches for You Chrysanthemum White– Loyal Love Dandelion– Faithfulness Dead Leaves– Sadness Gloxinia– Love at First Sight Hyacinth Purple– I Am Sorry, Please Forgive Me, Sorrow Iris Yellow– Passion Iris Blue– Faith, Hope Lilly-Of-The-Valley– Sweetness, Return to Happiness, You’ve Made My Life Complete Primrose– I Can’t Live Without You Rose Dark Crimson– Mourning Rose Dark Pink– Thankfulness Rose Red– Love, Respect Sunflower– Pure Thoughts, Adoration, Warmth Sweet-Pea– Departure, Good-bye, Thank You for A Lovely Time Tulip Red– Declaration of Love Tulip Yellow– There’s Sunshine in Your Smile Violet Blue– Watchfulness, Faithfulness, I’ll Always Be True Violet White– Let’s Take a Chance on Happiness Viscera– Will You Dance With Me?

welp. i certainly wasn’t ready for this.

#{ first of all how dare you } #agirlinhell #◜ ᴘᴇʀғᴇᴄᴛʟʏ ᴠᴀʟɪᴅ ǫᴜᴇsᴛɪᴏɴ ◞ ♥ ﹕ ‘ ASK PROMPT ’ ﹗ #◜ sʜᴇ’s ᴊᴜsᴛ sᴘᴇᴀᴋɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ɢᴏᴅ’s ʜᴏɴᴇsᴛ ◞ ♥ ﹕ ‘ OUT OF CHARACTER ’ ﹗ #◜ sᴛɪʟʟ sᴛᴀɴᴅɪɴɢ ɪ sᴇᴇ ◞ ♥ ﹕ ‘ ANSWERED ’ ﹗ #tw self harm// //// #tw suicide// //// #cw long post// //// #submission