#John open the sanctum I just want to talk

[castellankurze]

Here's the thing that interests me about the dueling scene in Gideon the Ninth. Yeah, the narrative phrasing Harrowhark rose to the occasion like an evening star is peak and the line "Death first to the vultures and scavengers" is pure fire but why is she in that position to begin with?

The situation is thus: Camilla Hect has just won a duel against Marta Dyas attempting to claim the Sixth House's necromancy challenge keys, but she was wounded in so doing. Naberius Tern, backed by Ianthe Tridentarius, is pressing a dueling challenge against the injured Camilla in a flagrant bid to beat Camilla down and take the keys for the Third House while she's already recovering from one match. Gideon is standing by watching things unfold and, to her relief, Harrowhark steps up to put Gideon in the ring as a substitute for the injured Camilla and thus shut down Naberius' vulturing.

Except...why? You'd think that in anything like a polite societal dueling code (I know, I know, but go with it-) Camilla and Palamedes would have the option to demure, saying something like "the Sixth House cavalier just fought a duel and is wounded to boot, piss off for a day and we'll see then." But that's not even floated as an option. Palamedes isn't a dumb guy - far from it - and even if he were out of his element, you'd think someone else could just lean in and say 'dude tell them to shove it.' Judith Deuteros objects by saying "There are rules" and Ianthe shuts that down by pointing out she pressed Marta's duel on incredibly flimsy pretext, so that seems to be an objection on the grounds for presenting the challenge, rather than probing for an option to refuse. If Harrow and Gideon (or Jeannemary, jumping on the bandwagon) hadn't interceded, Camilla was about to fight her second duel back to back.

(Even in the first dueling challenge, the tone of onlookers seems to be that people want Palamedes to default and hand over his key to the Second House to spare Camilla the fight, because they assume the Sixth House is weak and don't know how good Camilla is.)

To sum up: the Sixth House seems to have no recourse but to either accept the repeated dueling challenges or default; with no way to decline except to give the Third House something they want (in this case, a Canaan House key).

That's insane.

And if that's deliberate, rather than an oversight on Tamsyn Muir's part, that suggests so much about the Nine Houses' dueling culture. It suggests that a challenge from a cavalier primary can't be refused; you have to either throw down or roll over as if they won. It speaks to a distinct lack of value placed on human lives, that the cavaliers are forced to accept a challenge on pain of their house losing face at best, something material at worst. The defending house can only negotiate to a degree that the attacking house is willing to let them. This is, depressingly, fully in keeping with the series' characters' treatment of the cavaliers. The subsequent books and short stories (especially The Unwanted Guest) really hammer this idea in, that the cavaliers are nominally viewed as a source of blades and shields in the hands of the necromancers, even if the laypeople of the setting don't know all the reasons behind the traditions.

In real life, formal dueling typically had customs and rules for negotiation and ceremony, with multiple exit points for parties to back out of a potential threat to life without losing face. Only truly aggrieved parties would press a suit to the point of confrontation. The Nine Houses say screw that, put up or shut up. They've more or less raised up the informal tradition of 'swords now motherfucker.'

To steal a phrase from another tumblrite, 'congrats god that's the worst anyone's ever done it.'

[the-infamous-coat-of-baron-zemo]

Fall Into You | Laszlo Kreizler x Reader

Alright my friends. Here is my latest piece of insanity.

It is completely raw and unedited. So, if there are a ton of mistakes, I apologize in advance.

What a whirlwind thing this was. I literally only planned to write the last little bit at the end, that was the entire premise and then 7000 more words came along with it.

-----

This is a partial crossover fic.

TFATWS | The Alienist | Dr. Strange | Loki | universe all mushed together in bits and pieces.

But mostly The Alienist.

Hopefully the characterizations feel okay. Dr. Kreizler and John Moore can be a bit tricky to write and I've never written them before. So, please bear with me on this.

Buckle up. It's going to be a doozy. Kinda.

-----

Word Count: 6,900 - ish

What happens when you wind up 124 years into the past and meet a relative of Baron Helmut Zemo's?

A lot.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

It was early evening and you were perched on one of Dr. Kreizler's fine couches, in front of the fireplace, reading a book.

You were waiting for Stevie to drop by and drag you to some musical street performance not terribly far from Dr. Kreizler's residence. Normally, you would have stayed hidden indoors, but you took a liking to the kid when you first met him, and decided you couldn't let him down.

Hopefully Stevie wouldn't drag you out too long, otherwise Dr. Kreizler would start to worry. Although, he would never outright admit to it, but it was the subtle things he did that indicated his concern. Or perhaps it was annoyance. That wouldn't surprise you either. You were loud and very talkative. He'd probably grateful to have to leave his house; so he can finally get some peace and quiet.

Dr. Kreizler always kept to himself and rarely made a display of his feelings to anyone, but you were a good friend of his in the short time you had come to know him. So, you got little peeks into what lay hidden away.

He was gracious enough to allow you stay in his home until you could figure out a way to get back to your own time. One minute you were talking to Wong inside Dr. Strange's sanctum in New York, and the next a portal opened up underneath you and you were falling.

After travelling through an empty void that seemed to go on forever, you finally exited through the other side, which landed you in front of a police precinct. You had looked around after picking yourself up and realized you were in quite the pickle. It didn't take a genius to figure out that this was not your New York.

People were starting to stare at as you took in your surroundings. You initially thought it was because you had randomly fallen out of the sky, but realization had dawned on you; it was because of your clothing.

Ah, yes. You suppose compared to what all the other women were wearing, you were a sight to behold. Jeans, a forest green blouse, and short brown leather jacket, would draw some attention, when all the other women were dressed so conservatively in dresses. You laughed nervously backing away from the small crowd on the sidewalk. You calmly but quickly darted over to a newsie holding up a paper for sale.

You paid the kid a dollar and snatched the paper out of his hand. Not paying attention in the least to his shouts of joy on making so much off of one measly paper, but you were too focused on finding out what time period you were in.

You caught the date at the top of the newspaper: April 1st, 1897.

April Fool's Day.

Typical, something like this would happen to you. Joke's on them, as someone is going to have a hell of time trying to figure out where you went. You're quite sure Wong was trying to sort through what happened and had already calling Strange.

Well, you hope he had.

You put down the paper and tried to think of what to do, but a small crowd of people were still stopped and whispering to each other, pointing in your general direction.

One man was gesturing in your direction and started shouting, but not at you.

"Hey Kreizler, this one looks like a crazy. Should probably haul her off to Bellevue!"

You raised your eyebrow at the man, but didn't say anything, instead choosing to turn and see who he was yelling at.

A very well dressed man wearing a bowler hat was walking down the steps of the police precinct in a rushed sort of manner. He had a cane with him, and it appeared his right arm was tucked against his body as if protecting it. A few steps behind him there was another man darting to catch up with him, also well dressed and carrying what seemed to be a sketchbook.

The guy on the street had yelled at the gentleman in the bowler hat again, which you had assumed at this point was Dr. Kreizler. As the two men reached the bottom of the steps and were about to step into their carriage, the incessant yelling had managed to grab Kreizler's attention. At least it seemed so, because the man with the cane had paused and turned his attention towards the direction of the yelling.

You could see from his body language he wasn't all that interested, but when his eye-line landed on you, he backed away from getting inside.

The other gentleman that was accompanying him, the one with the sketchbook, said something to him, but Dr. Kreizler just waved him off as he started to walk over to you.

Great.

You look over to the rude gentleman that had now drawn even more attention to you and gave him an unappreciative stare.

You steeled yourself, ready for whatever this stranger was going to say to you, but your guard had dropped slightly upon getting a better look at his face.

No way.

This was not possible.

The man that had come over to you was the spitting image of one genius, criminal mastermind and general pain in your ass, you knew all too well. One who's currently locked up in The Raft.

If it wasn't for the beard, you'd swear you were looking at Baron Helmut Zemo.

As Dr. Kreizler stopped a few feet from you, he tilted his head to the side and eyed you warily, but not unkindly.

That head tilt, a family trait for sure. Zemo had to be some distant relative of this man in some way, there's no chance they aren't with how closely the two resemble each other. She'd have to make a trip to The Raft and ask him about it sometime, if she ever got back home.

"My dear, you seem out of sorts. Are you alright?" the man inquired, gazing at the small gathering of people and then back to you.

"I kinda stick out like a sore thumb, yeah?" You laughed as you answer his question, peering down at your outfit.

"Quite," he replied.

You saw while he may be cautious around you, you've seem to grab his interest with the scrutiny and intensity of his gaze.

"If I may introduce myself, my name is Doctor Laszlo Kreizler," the gentleman stated.

Ah, so this was indeed the man who was being called out from the street. You noticed he didn't extend his hand in greeting, but then again perhaps it wasn't a pertinent gesture for the time period either. So, you didn't take offense to it.

Your eyeline moved behind Dr. Kreizler and could see his friend at the carriage watching with interest, but also growing impatience.

You gave a kind smile as you introduced yourself and added, "Thank you for humoring the nosy man over there, but I'm not in need of a doctor. I'm terribly sorry for interrupting your day."

"Not in the least. And I may be a doctor, but I am an alienist more specifically," Kreizler explained.

Your eyebrows shot into your forehead and then contemplated his title. An alienist? Where had you heard that before? If you remembered correctly, an alienist was someone who assessed individuals for competence?

Oh.

The shouty man had mentioned Bellevue. Okay, now you understood.

"An alienist! That term is...." you paused trying to think of a better way to phrase you response. "The term is outdated where I'm from. Instead we simply acknowledge your specific doctorate profession as psychologists, since the very definition of what you do is to study the mind and behavior of individuals," you answered, satisfied with your explanation.

"Outdated. How intriguing. Perhaps we could continue this conversation away from prying eyes and gossipy busy-bodies?" Kreizler asked.

You wouldn't be able to read it on his face, but you can tell you've piqued his interest even more so now with his body language. And his eyes had this sparkle in them as you spoke of his profession so specifically.

Though you felt you could trust this man, you couldn't take the chance that he might, in fact, lure you into his carriage and ship you off to the nearest mental institution, such as Bellevue Hospital.

You'd be lying if you weren't equally intrigued by this enigma of a man standing before you. The resemblance to Baron Zemo was uncanny, and that alone made you want to find out more about him; however, Zemo was not to be trusted as far as you could throw him. Though he did have his moments. You'd give him some credit. Doesn't mean distrustful behavior runs in the family, but it also could. It was a difficult decision.

Your eyes narrowed assessing Dr. Kreizler as you came to decision.

"Shouldn't you give me a mental health assessment test before asking a complete stranger to travel off to who knows where with you? Why shouldn't I be suspicious you aren't going to drop me off at the nearest institute? No offense," you replied warily.

"Thank you!" the man with the sketchbook at the carriage shouted at both you and Dr. Kreizler, clearly in agreement with your answer.

You snickered at his sarcastic reply, but attempted to cover your ever growing smile by coughing.

The corner of Dr. Kreizler's mouth ticked up in a smile as well.

"No my dear, if anything you've just proven you're at least slightly more sane than my counterpart, Mr. John Moore," Dr. Kreizler shook his head and jutted his thumb behind him.

"Heard that Laszlo!" Moore responded with indignation.

"That was the point John," Dr. Kreizler answered back with dry wit.

Yeah, she liked him already.

"Shall we?" Kreizler turned slightly to gesture to his carriage.

You sighed internally. Why the hell not? You had nothing better to do and no idea what your next move should be trying to get home. Dr. Kreizler would no doubt be curious about your attire and that alone with most likely bring up a slew of never ending questions. You'd have to be careful how to explain your situation and make sure what you revealed was limited, but truthful. You wanted to tell him the truth about where you were from, but you needed to word it in a way that doesn't make you out to be a crazy person, but present the information with facts and evidence that Dr. Kreizler could not refute. Luckily you had some tech with you that could prove your point rather efficiently should the need arise you convince him of what time period you come from in the future. 124 years it a length period of time. It would be difficult for anyone to accept your explanation, but Dr. Kreizler seemed to be different. Let's hope you aren't wrong about him.

"I accept your offer Dr. Kreizler, thank you," you spoke kindly.

You were formally introduced to Mr. Moore and to Stevie before getting in the carriage. Mr. Moore seemed uneasy, but went along with Dr. Kreizler's acceptance of you. He was a trusting friend of his, you could tell right away. And something told you, Dr. Kreizler was a tough nut to crack and didn't seem to be the type of person who might have very many. Only a close few.

"What made you decide to take Dr. Kreizler up on his offer so quickly," Moore asked standing outside the carriage as Stevie was getting the horses ready.

Dr. Kreizler had held the door open for you and waited patiently.

You looked at Dr. Kreizler before turning back to Mr. Moore, "You mean besides his sparkling personality?" you winked and got in the carriage.

John leaned into Kreizler before adjusting his hold on his sketchbook and climbing into the carriage himself.

"Oh, well I like her already Laszlo," he grinned incessantly and gave Kreizler a clap on the back.

You saw Dr. Kreizler bend his head down in amused exasperation as a small huff of laughter sounded with the movement. He sighed somewhat dramatically before getting in the carriage and closing the door.

"You know, I've never actually ridden in one of these before," you say slightly awed.

Both Moore and Kreizler gave you confusing looks before Dr. Kreizler used his cane to tap on the rear enclosure signaling Stevie to head home.

Home. Well, this should be interesting indeed.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

You closed your book with a snap and slumped into the couch you were perched on. It had been six months, since that day. Six months, you've been trapped in this pocket of 1897.

You had reflected back on how well John and Dr. Kreizler had taken the explanation you were from the future. As you told your story, your only requirement was that they wait until the very end before asking any questions. That gave you the chance to be very methodical about how you explained the future and how it was you ended up in 1897, which to be fair, you don't know exactly how that portal opened still, but magic was involved to say the very least.

It was oddly reminiscent of when Loki used the space stone, which gave her pause. All the infinity stones had been destroyed, and yet you knew that there was an errant 2012 Loki running around the universe with one. It is plausible, he could factor into this, but how or why you, you have no idea.

After you had explained your fanatical circumstance, to help prove you weren't absolutely off your rocker and have Dr. Kreizler change his mind about you, you showed them your phone.

Yes, there may not be any service available, but you could still access all your photos and videos and holographic imagery, etc. That was what allowed John and Dr. Kreizler to accept your story; paired with your unique clothes; they had a surprisingly open mind. John had gaped like a fish for a good 10 minutes before Dr. Kreizler told him to get over it already. John was somewhat outraged that he wasn't more shocked by your existence. But like all things, Dr. Kreizler took everything in stride, which was quite a relief to you. He was incredibly understanding and offered a room in his home to you until you were able to get back to your own time. You made a promise to Dr. Kreizler that you would never lie to him, about anything. It was the least you could do since he opened up his home and essentially part of his life to you.

You understood why he was an expert in his field. His patience and intellect allowed him to be open-minded and grasp concepts others word merely scoff at. However, there was another side to that coin; he was also closed off, and could at times, be calculating and manipulative. Though, none of these traits were used in any nefarious manners, they were there all the same.

He reminded you of Zemo to be sure in this regard. Some personality traits apparently do get passed down through the generations. In some ways, after meeting Dr. Kreizler, you felt you knew Helmut Zemo a bit better. And somehow, you missed him. Not that you were ever particularly close to him, but the time you spent with him in Latvia with Sam and Bucky forever altered your opinion of him.

So while you've been living at Dr. Kreizler's residence, in your spare time, you had been working different avenues of how to achieve ways to get home. You couldn't just solely rely on your friends to get you out of this mess. So, while Dr. Kreizler was at work, you enlisted the help of Stevie to run down leads of potential scientist and gathering of general information of the time period to help you put together some sort of road map. None had turned out to be very promising.

You had, over time, gotten more acclimated to living in 1897, though you mostly refused to wear the clothing of the time period. John Moore would always comment about how you would draw attention in the public eye, should you dare to go out. But you refused to give in most of the time, saying that 1897 would just have to catch up to your fashion sense, and you weren't about to apologize for it. If you were going to be stuck here, you were going to be stuck here, comfortably. You fondly remember Dr. Kreizler's reaction. He seemed pleased, possibly proud of you in that moment. Probably because you had refused to conform to the times, and set your own rules to live by. Not giving in to anyone.

The question lingered, how exactly did you get away with living in this time without having to dress in the clothing of the period? Well, a friend of yours, Scott Lang, had gifted you a device that allowed you to chose one object to shrink and return to it's normal size. So, of course, since you traveled so often with the Sam, Bucky and the other Avengers, you chose your wardrobe. You were just thankful you had it on you already when you got dumped into that portal. So, essentially you had all your clothes with you, making things a bit easier.

Life was not fast paced here, which made things a bit difficult for you. You were used to always being on the go, another crisis to fight through, another area of the world that needed help. But here, here everything was, for the most part, quiet.

It drove you nuts sometimes. Made you antsy. You managed to weasel your way into helping John, Sara and Dr. Kreizler on one of their serial killer cases recently to pass the time. Dr. Kreizler was unhappy at first. You were able to prove your usefulness though with advanced techniques and theories on how to potentially catch the killer in question. Be that as it may, Dr. Kreizler still seemed grumpy, if that were the correct word to use, about you working on the case. You confronted him about it one evening, but he glossed over the whole thing. He was holding back, but what that was, you weren't sure. Maybe he still didn't fully trust you yet. It was a fair assumption, but he was always so hard to read. Though you've managed to get a few good laughs out of him from time to time. Those were the days that really made you smile. Seeing him happy, as most of the time he was always so guarded. It made you feel like you and Dr. Kreizler shared this little secret when no one else was around.

Dr. Kreizler let himself relax ever so slightly around you, but it was far and fleeting. On rare occasions. You savored all those memories and tucked them away. Everyone was so refined and conservative in their mannerisms. You missed just wanting to hug someone. You craved some sort of physical affection, and it was hard, realizing just how different the times were from the future. They weren't terrible by any means, but the social norms of the times had been trying on you, to say the very least. Dr. Kreizler, ever astute, had picked up on this.

He had been gracious enough to offer himself if you ever needed to hug someone. This had been roughly 4 months into your stay at Dr. Kreizler's. You both had gotten more comfortable around the other, and even had a routine of sorts. You had thanked him for his offer, and told him you would not abuse the privilege he had bestowed on you.

Something told her there was more to it, but you hadn't dwelled on it, you were simply appreciative of his friendship.

However more recently, it was more than just friendship you felt. You kept squashing your feelings down, telling yourself this was the worst possible time to develop feelings for someone. Especially someone like Dr. Kreizler. There would never be a happy ending. At some point, you would return home, and that would be that. But there was that nagging sensation in the back of your mind, reminding you, you might not ever get back home. You tried to reason to yourself that you were possibly transferring some of your fondness of Zemo to Dr. Kreizler because of how he reminds you of him. But then you were just lying to yourself. Dr. Kreizler was a person all on his own and one of a kind. You knew better, you were just fighting yourself tooth and nail to live in denial a bit longer.

Footsteps from the kitchen were headed in your direction knocking you out of your musings.

You twisted on the couch to see Dr. Kreizler had returned home from his institute.

"Dr. Kreizler! Good evening," you voiced into the low lit parlor room.

"Good evening to you as well, I trust your day was fruitful?" Dr. Kreizler inquired, coming to rest on the opposite end of the couch.

"It was, thank you. I was somewhat restless earlier, so I took it upon myself to work on the cryptogram the killer left his last victim, with the hopes of figuring out his next location before he strikes," you sheepishly stated.

Dr. Kreizler ruefully smiled at you and shook his head. At one time, he might have gotten upset, but he had been taking your antics more in stride, and you managed to be helpful providing much needed information. So, he'd act unhappy, but silently was thrilled.

"And did you uncover anything useful?" Kreizler queried, he got up from his seat and walked over to the chalk board.

"Not completely, I believe I've broken the code word and the book that the killer has been using to write his cryptograms, but I have yet to comb through all the evidence to gather the page numbers, line and word number to crack the full message. I planned on working on it when I got back with Stevie later this evening," you happily expressed while fidgeting with the watch on your wrist.

"Impressive work. And what book has our killer been using?" Kreizler asked, eyes still going over the work on the board.

"Mary Shelley's Frankenstein. You'd think we could have figured that one out sooner given our killer's eclectic methods of murdering people," you answered sarcastically.

Dr. Kreizler bent his knees in utter annoyance, "Of course it is. Of course. How ridiculous to have missed such an obvious choice."

You smiled knowingly. He was irritated he hadn't figured it out sooner.

A companionable silence continued for a few minutes after his outburst.

Dr. Kreizler was still staring at the board with mild interest when he spoke next, "May I ask you a personal question?"

You had just reached over to place the book on the coffee table next to you when he asked his question and you froze mid motion.

Dr. Kreizler generally didn't push too much into your personal life, so this was somewhat out of left field for him. Never-the-less, you recovered after a beat and placed the book on the table.

"Of-of course Dr. Kreizler. I told you I would always be truthful with you regarding anything. Please, go ahead," you answered, motioning for him to continue.

"Why do you always regard me as Dr. Kreizler and not by my first name?" he questioned softly, almost hesitantly.

This was not the question you thought he would ask. There were a million questions he could have chose, but it was this one he went with.

This really was personal.

You glanced down at your hands sitting in your lap as you pondered how to answer his questions. You could lie about it, and he'd be none the wiser, but it's not who you are. And you promised.

Dr. Kreizler went on to further express his inquiry with a bit more confidence, "You call John Moore by his first name and the same with Ms. Howard, including our other friends we work with, but not me. Why?"

You opened your mouth to answer him when the front door slammed open and Stevie came barging in.

"You ready?" he exclaimed loudly. Stevie was clearly excited at the prospect of showing off his musical talent. "Oh, excuse me Dr. Kreizler, I didn't realize you'd gotten home yet. Thought you were working late," Stevie took off his hat and looked sheepish as he apologized for the disruption in his home.

You sighed. This was your saving grace. You could probably make an excuse and make a run for it with Stevie. You mulled over what to do, battling with the decision.

"Hey Stevie. Nice to see you too! Go on outside, I'll be right there. I just need to put my coat on," you laugh at his enthusiasm.

He nodded at you and dashed back down the hallway and out the door. You could hear one last shout as he exited, "Okay, but don't be too long, we're going to be late!"

Dr. Kreizler gave a look of displeasure at Stevie's unrefined outburst, but didn't say anything as he knows his antics all too well from over the years.

You stood up grabbing Dr. Kreizler's attention.

"Walk me to the door?" you ask, jutting your head in the direction of where your coat hangs.

"Do you plan on providing me with an answer?" he kindly jabbed as he nodded his agreement to follow you out.

You outwardly sighed, trying to figure out how to best answer his question. As you both walked to the front door, you start to answer him.

"Okay, so I address you as Dr. Kreizler 33% of the time, because you deserve the respect that comes with that title. You went to school for many years, and you earned it. So, it's only fair to address you as such," you tell him confidently.

A completely reasonable and partial explanation, you thought.

You both reached the front door, and you grabbed your jacket. Dr. Kreizler, the gentleman that he is, assisted you in putting your coat on. You gave yourself a once over in the mirror, making sure you looked okay before heading out.

You caught Dr. Kreizler staring at you in the mirror as you adjusted a stray hair that had fallen onto your face.

"You look lovely," he quietly voiced.

You turned to face him as he had opened the door for you and stepped outside.

"Thank you," you said, a bit bashful by his sudden compliment.

His expression had gotten softer and his eyes were glowing in the evening lit night.

Your resolve was crumbling even more so now.

"And the other 67%?" Kreizler softly spoke, head cocked to the side.

"Hey - Miss! We need to be going!" Stevie cried.

You turned to Stevie and hollered, "One mo, Stevie! Don't lose your head!"

"I'm sorry I have to go otherwise Stevie is going to have a coronary," you apologized to Dr. Kreizler.

You walked down a few steps, but stopped. You couldn't not answer him.

You go up a step but not completely back to where you where standing in front of Dr. Kreizler. You inhaled a deep breath and exhaled before continuing, looking up to see Dr. Kreizler eyeing you with slight confusion and anticipation with your hesitance to answer his question in full.

"And the other 67% of the time, I call you Dr. Kreizler because..because," you drifted off closing your eyes. You open them again with quiet resolve shining through, finding your confidence. You take another step up to now stand just a foot away from where Dr. Kreizler was.

"Because, I love you Laszlo. And I use your professional title as a barrier, to - to remind myself I have boundaries. It's just easier to separate you this way or well, to keep myself living in denial," you quietly and defeatedly said, laying it all out for him.

You wanted to open your mouth to say something else to him, to let him know it was okay he didn't feel the same way, but you could never quite form the words that needed to come out.

The shock was written clearly on his face. You had completely gob-smacked this man. His eyes had widened considerably and his jaw had gone slack from your answer.

But he never said anything back. You weren't expecting him to.

So instead, you did what you did best. Ran.

"You've got your answer. I-I really have to go now, I'll see you later," you stuttered out, suddenly drained from your revelation.

You took one last glance at Dr. Kreizler before making a mad dash for it with Stevie.

You were gone before Dr. Kreizler recovered from what just happened. And you never got to see the expression on his face after.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

[doortotomorrow]

Wives of Arkadia : A Spacekru Sisters AU / Shopping Spree : As a private investigator, Echo’s ability to track people is second to none, always managing to clock her target and bring them into the court house to stand trial, but even with her keen sense it was almost impossible to keep tabs on the ever elusive Emori Murphy these days. Finding a day to just chill or do something fun together in both their schedules was like trying to find a contact lens in a pool, but finally, they landed on a blank Friday on the calendar. Emori, wanting to spoil her, took Echo into Polis on a trip to the mall after getting off at work, splurging on things for Echo and Raven’s upcoming honeymoon in Rome. 

At first, Echo was decidedly against Emori opening up her wallet for her sake, but Emori completely insisted, reassuring her sister it would barely put a dent in her debit card. Echo relented, giving Emori free reign as they passed through shop after shop, buying whatever their hearts desired until they tired and needed to recuperate in the food court. 

“It always throws me off whenever I see you in your power suit, Emori. You look damn near unrecognizable,” Echo looks over her shoulder at Emori, stocking up on bottled water, and earns a laugh from Emori in the process when she sees Echo wearing her new accessories fresh out of the bag with the tags still on.

“Well, I gotta look the part, y’know. Half the battle is in the presentation,” Emori explains, tearing a chicken tender in half, dipping it into her favourite spicy chipotle sauce and pops it into her mouth, savoring the immediate heat and the subsequent afterburn on her tongue. 

“What’s got you so busy these days because Raven and I barely see you. After our wedding, you just dropped off the grid.”

“My firm’s helping an up and coming tech company that’s trying to compete with Franko’s Infinity Corporation, meaning I’m having to log in a lot of hours at the office. There’s big money involved and it’s putting so much pressure on my team, but we’re resilient and know when to strike the hardest. I’m not gonna let Becca intimidate us whatsoever,” Emori takes a sip of her Sprite, displaying an air of confidence that was truly enviable. 

“Speaking of big money, how’s life living with the elite in Sanctum Hills? I still can’t believe I know someone who lives there,” Echo plants herself across from Emori, settling back into her spot.

“It’s a sort of monkey’s paw kinda situation. Yeah, John and I are living in luxury with a near limitless amount of cash, but at the same time, it’s so competitive and petty over there. There’s this one heinous bitch named Josie who won’t stop ogling and flirting with my husband at the monthly potlucks she insists everyone take part in. She keeps using keywords like ‘upgrading’ around him, implying he should get a divorce, and it makes my skin crawl. Honestly, it makes me miss the days when we used to live in the roughest parts of Polis. At least when you lived there people were upfront about hating your guts. However, the price for admission is more than worth it and I can’t complain too much because I have a big fuckin’ mansion with a big fuckin’ pool and a big fuckin’ yacht.”

“Now THERE’S the bad bitch I met in college! You earned that castle of yours!” Echo throws her her back laughing, making the fries in her hand bounce from side to side, and Emori breaks out into a full on grin. 

“I am so tempted to smuggle myself into your suitcase when you leave because I’m in desperate need of a vacation after this project is done and dusted. All that’s left is the final preparations and we can submit it...so close and yet so far,” Emori vents away to a responsive Echo, allowing her sister the chance to say her piece.

Time passes by, and eventually Emori drives Echo back to her and Raven’s place, saying a quick hello to Raven before heading back home. 

“How was the shopping trip? Emori spoil you rotten as usual?” Raven presses a quick kiss on Echo’s lips and helps her bring in her bags into their house, Echo wrapping her arm around Raven’s waist as they enter.

“I tried telling her not to, but she doubled down, so I couldn’t say no. Emori’s super cute that way.”

The moment they finish packing all of Echo’s new things away, Raven and Echo settle onto their couch, continuing talking about this, that, and so many other things, although constantly circling back to their honeymoon.

“So, think we’re all prepared for Rome now, Mrs. Reyes?” Raven asks, kissing the back of Echo’s hand, peering up into her warm, honey brown eyes, getting soothed by the sound of her wife’s heartbeat. 

“You should be asking if Rome is ready for us.”

[pretend-writer]

Down Below (Chapter 76)

Summary: After being sent down on Earth with the other prisoners from the Ark, Y/N Reyes faces series of events and learns about survival. With new things happening around her, she is now starting a new chapter in her life.

Pairing: Bellamy Blake x reader, John Murphy x reader, Raven Reyes x sister!reader

Word Count: 2.6k words

Warning: swearing, mention of violence

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Bellamy's POV;

Murphy and Y/N was outside from where I was eating dinner, seemed as though they were arguing or in some sort of disagreement. She was crying about something, it was visibly obvious that her and Murphy got into an altercation.

Was it bad that I was happy? Having a sense of relief that Y/N wasn't particularly in good terms with Murphy anymore? I hated seeing her cry and upset but perhaps this might give me some chance to get closer to her again.

'Maybe if you stop staring, you won't seem desperate.' Echo sat down next to me, 'How's your attempt in getting Y/N back?'

'Terrible.' As much as I wanted Y/N to be mine again, she seemed so happy with Murphy until the altercation of course. She deserved happiness and more, she had suffered enough and I didn't want to be the one to ruin that. Not after all the pain I caused her.

'You can maybe try harder.' Echo laughed, 'Although Murphy and Y/N make a cute couple.'

I rolled my eyes, 'Stop. That doesn't make me feel better.'

'Sorry, sorry. I'm only kidding.' The door flung open as Murphy came inside. I watched the door close behind him, hoping that Y/N would follow him inside but she didn't.

'Glad to have you back Murphy.' Echo waved at Murphy as he took a seat with us. 'Are you doing okay? Did Russell or Josephine hurt you?'

'I'm good. Never better.' Murphy was good at hiding his pain; If I didn't see the argument that had happened, I wouldn't be able to tell that he was upset about something. 'Do you guys have a plan for... you know?'

'We don't, at least not yet. We needed to make sure if you were on the same page as us.'

Echo raised her eyebrows. 'Us? I never said I wanted to attack Sanctum.'

'What? So you'd rather just stand here and do nothing?' Murphy questioned her.

'Of course not. Y/N said she made a deal with Russell, blackmailing him for things in exchange. We don't have to kill anybody and we get a compound that we desperately need. What's wrong with that?'

'Clarke is dead, Echo.'

'And since when do you give a crap about her?'

Murphy huffed. 'That's not the point. The point is, they've killed one of our own for their selfish reasons. Bellamy, please don't tell me you're in on this too.'

'I agree with you.'

Echo looked at me, more so glaring at me. I knew that after talking about this situation with the rest of our people, majority agreed with Y/N with staying peaceful but I couldn't stand and do nothing either.

'Well, good luck to you two. I have a bunch of guilt that would last me a life time, I don't want another blood on my hands especially when we don't have to fight.' Echo got up, 'You guys have fun continuing to hurt Y/N.'

As Murphy watched her walk away, he turned back to me. 'This is so much bigger than Y/N, right? Is this so wrong to avenge for our friend?'

I didn't know the answer anymore; Was it worth doing all of this just to hurt Y/N again? Put her through another suffering of potentially losing more people. This could lead to a lot of us dying, including Murphy or Raven. If she lost either of them, I couldn't imagine how much pain she'd be in.

Murphy saw my facial expression, sensing that my mind was somewhere else. 'What... Don't tell me you suddenly change your mind, Bellamy.'

'Er, you really think it's a good idea to go on about this? Imagine the people we'd lose going against Russell.'

'We have a bunch of war criminals with us, no way we will lose against these freaks. Plus once we get Diyoza and Blodreina back, we'd be golden.'

I sighed, 'We don't even know where they are.'

'So we go find them. I'm sure you're worried about your sister.'

Of course I was worried, after having my emotions get to me and kicking my own sister off the ship, I couldn't just change my mind and look for her. My pride and my stubbornness wouldn't let me do it, as stupid as it sounded.

'Why do you want to fight so bad?' I was a hypocrite, after promising Emori that we'd do this together. Seeing Y/N so sad when she talked to Murphy made me chicken out.

Murphy stared at me for a bit before he continued, 'Why are you backing out all of the sudden? Two seconds ago, you told me you agreed with me. Is this about Y/N?'

'If it is about her, what are you going to do about it?' There was no point of denying, everyone knew I fucked our relationship up, now desperately trying to mend it back together.

'You're going to not fight Russell because she doesn't want to? What sense does that make.'

'I'm just tired of hurting her, Murphy. I've waited 6 years up on The Ring, wishing I'd see her again. When I finally did, I messed it all up. I can't do that again.'

The wrinkles between his eyes disappeared once he had a realization that I was serious about Y/N. I've never opened up to him before, since our friendship had been rocky since we've both fallen in love with her. My statement obviously surprised him, knowing how much I cared for her to a point where I'd tell him.

That didn't stop him from changing his mind; It probably had made him angrier, at least that was what it seemed like. 'Do what you want, Bellamy. I'm going to kill that son of a bitch whether Y/N likes it or not.'

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Y/N's POV;

Waking up the next morning was the worst feeling ever. My whole life had been snatched just like that; The freedom, the happiness, hope, everything was gone.

I've known to be cautious, told myself that being in Sanctum wouldn't end well. Every time we had to adapt to a new place, there was always a flaw. I took my eyes off for a few seconds and everything had gone to shit, just as I predicted.

Not only did we lost the freedom once again, I had lost someone I loved, feeling lonely as I woke up alone on my bed.

Except I had a visitor that was waiting for me by my bedside, sitting on the chair across from me.

'Hey.' Bellamy lightly smiled as I sat up on my bed. 'Sorry, I-'

'What do you want, Blake? Weren't you on your way to terrorize Sanctum yesterday?' It was a bit harsh, I know but given the circumstances, I couldn't care about how I approached him.

He inhaled nervously, scratching the armrest of the chair as he thought about what to say. 'Uhm. I-uh.'

'Just say it but know that I'm not going to agree with what you're about to say next.'

'No, I was going to say you were right. About solving this issue without violence. It's not right to involve innocent people when Russell caused all of this.'

I crossed my arms, 'What made you change your mind all of the sudden?'

Bellamy curled his lips, hesitant about speaking at first. 'As much as I wish we can seek revenge for Clarke, I realized it's important not to stoop to their level.'

It was quite odd that one day he wanted to make sure everyone paid for what they did to Clarke, then the next day he was okay with standing down. 'You just changed your mind over night?'

'I know it sounds bizarre given the fact that I've been acting like a dick the past several days but Echo had talked to me and-' Bellamy paused, sitting up properly on the chair before he continued. 'and I just want to support your decision, Reyes.'

Bellamy being a dick was an understatement, after the way he treated his sister and the way he had been acting around me from the day we landed on this moon. Maybe this was the beginning of him coming around, bettering himself and whatnot.

Whatever Echo had told him worked, at least giving us the hand on the votes; Not that the votes matter since I knew Emori and John were going to do whatever they wanted to do anyways.

'Well, thank you for that.'

'Yeah.' Bellamy answered. It sort of felt awkward in a sense, it had been a while since we talked normally to each other instead of yelling. 'So, what are you going to do? About Russell, I mean.'

'Raven and the rest agreed for me to go talk to Russell personally, making sure we're both on the same page.'

Bellamy nodded. 'If you need someone by your side, I can go with you.'

'I'd like that.' He smiled in return, a genuine smile I haven't seen from him in a long time.

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The both of us walked to the palace, passing through the guards that were weirdly staring at us. It was surprising that they haven't kicked us out, knowing that we basically threatened to build a compound for us.

'You ready?' Bellamy asked as we stood in front of a huge door that led to a dining hall, where Russell was waiting.

I nodded in response, opening the doors where he was sitting on a chair with his wife next to him. As he raised his head, Russell smiled at us. 'Hello, what can I do for you two?'

'Good morning. Uh, I know Josephine has talke-'

'Josephine?' His wife's eyes widened, turned her face to Russell. 'How do they know?'

'Y/N is her favorite, it seems. I was informed and surprised myself.'

'And you never told me, Russell?'

I rolled my eyes, having enough of this family drama. 'You guys can sort out your issues later, I'm here to talk to you about our deal.'

'Deal?' His wife, Simone shook her head in distraught. It seemed as though she wasn't informed about this information as well. She walked away from us, dramatically stomping away as her heels clicked against the floor.

'Excuse my wife, she's been very stressful lately.'

'With you as her husband, I bet.'

Russell's brows raised followed by Bellamy's light chuckle next to me. He crossed his arms, staring directly into my eyes. 'Is that how you talk to people who's trying to help you?'

'Help? You've triggered my friends because you couldn't keep your hands to yourself. We were at peace until you killed one of us. You know some of our people want you dead right?'

'People like who?' Russell laughed quite devilishly, as if he was plotting something. 'Just so you know, someone from your end came to me and offered a better deal.'

I looked at Bellamy, who was already looking at me. He seemed speechless, which possibly meant that he had no idea someone went to Russell behind our backs.

'You two seem surprised?' A chuckle escaped his mouth once again, only making me angrier by the second. 'Emori couldn't care less about you guys, especially you Y/N.'

Emori? There was no way she'd betray her people. Sure, we both had our fair share in hurting each other but she had spent six years up in The Ring with majority of them.

'You're lying, she'd never do that to us.' Bellamy denied, believing that the bond she had with the crew that flew up to space actually meant something.

'But I did.' Emori came out of the room next door, walking in with a huge smug on her face.

'What are you doing?' I asked her, not understand why she was doing this.

'Saving the only lives I care about.'

Differences aside, I didn't think Emori would betray us like this. 'If you're angry with me, it's between us. Don't get the others involved in our conflict.'

'You have no idea what you're talking about Reyes. The years I spent up in The Ring wasn't as happy and wonderful everyone made it seem.'

'That doesn't mean to turn your back on the people who were your family.'

Bellamy sighed, taking a step towards Emori but she took a step back. 'We've been through a lot together. I know how things were tough up there, but this isn't the real you.'

'It's too late, you know.' Emori exhaled, 'I've already told Russell about how nightblood was made and that's how Clarke turned.'

There could've been many reasons why Emori knew how to make nightblood; It could've been Murphy that discussed it with her when they were dating, or Abby talking to her in a casual conversation. Either way, it didn't matter because we we're screwed. Since that was the only thing that the Prime wanted.

'All this for what, Emori? What did you possibly want so badly that you sacrificed all of us for?'

'I've lost everything in The Ring. I've grew up having nothing and John helped me overcome that.' Emori pointed at me aggressively, 'And you took that away from me!'

'How can you say that when I wasn't even on The Ring? I have no part in the feud between Blake and John. They've fought on their own, they made their own decisions.'

'Well it's still your fucking fault because even when you weren't there, it was like you were still with us. Heard your name every single day, you were all everyone talked about. Monty, Raven, hell, even Echo kept talking about how sorry she was for you. It's pathetic.'

Emori was broken, just as everyone else was. It wasn't like I couldn't empathize but just as she went through tough shit, everyone did also. People had hardships but had to overcome them.

If this was her way of doing that, then so be it. She didn't have to bring others down as well when she was angry towards me.

'You two are bickering but I already know everything. Emori has her present from me and I have all the knowledge of the royal blood.' Russell cut in. Oh, how I wish I could just slap the smug off of his face. 'And since you guys know our little secret, I'm going to have to take you guys in.'

'You know if you guys would've just shut up and minded your own business, we didn't have to do this.' Emori stood behind me, grabbing my hand as she tried to tie a rope around it . 'We tried to sneak around you guys without hurting you and you had to come.'

'Emori, you better keep your hands away from her.' He wiggled his hands but the guard behind him tying his hands was stronger.

I pulled away from Emori's grip, elbowing her in her chest. 'Get away from me!'

'Ah, be smart about what you do next Y/N.' Russell said as other three guards stood next to him, aiming a gun at us. 'Keep doing what you're doing and your friends will be next.'

'You touch my friends and-'

'Reyes, just stay quiet.' Bellamy stopped me, knowing that my smart mouth wouldn't get me anywhere.

It was hard sometimes, especially when someone like Russell that sacrificed his own people just stood in front of me. But once Russell lays his hands on my friends, the peaceful approach that I promised him will be gone.

'Change of plans. We're marching into their ship, doing whatever we can to get the royal blood. If anyone is in your way, eliminate them.'

Emori rushed in front of him, 'That's not what we promised. You sa-'

'The deal was to give you the mind drives in exchange of you making the royal blood. We never said how.'

'You never said you'll kill people!'

'I never said I won't either.' Russell rolled his eyes, 'Don't worry. I won't hurt you or John Murphy like we promised.'

'Thanks, Emori.' I smiled sarcastically, forcefully being pushed by the guard that was behind me.

At this point, I just really hoped that Raven, Miller and the rest of our people who were here in Sanctum with us were safe.

[slippinmickeys]

Five Seconds (1/8)

This is the sequel to “Of the Eight Winds,” which began from a small simple prompt from Sunflowerdeedsandscience: “Mulder is unhappily married when Scully is partnered with him, and while he doesn't cheat (because sorry that's not romantic), he falls for her so hard that he finally gets the courage to end the marriage and start fresh.” That prompt took on a life of its own that became ‘Of the Eight Winds.’ This fic immediately follows the events of that piece — I would encourage reading it first if you haven’t.

This is not written in the same Rashomon structure as the original — it is absolutely linear. Hope that doesn’t throw anyone.

I’ll be posting the first two chapters today, and then one chapter a day until next Monday. You can also find it on AO3 here.

PROLOGUE

They say in the heat of the moment, you have five seconds to make a decision. Five seconds between right and wrong. Five seconds between life and death. As Mulder stood watching one gun pointed at his children and another pointed at an immensely pregnant Scully, five seconds seemed an eternity.

XxXxXxXxXxX

6 Months Earlier

She watched the house from the shadows. Occasionally from her car. It was harder to follow the woman as she worked at a secure government facility, but the man was easy. He had a small private psychology practice in a townhouse in Old Town. He usually ate lunch at a Panera near the office or brown bagged it from home.

The kids both attended a private prep school out in McLean. The girl drove herself and her brother most days. The boy would often stay late for sports practice (ice hockey, if the equipment was any indication) and the man would usually pick him up. Their lives were pretty routine.

After two weeks, she finally made an appointment with the man’s scheduling service and waited nervously in the outer office. Right on time, he opened the door.

“Olivia?” Dr. Mulder smiled at her, “come on back.”

She passed him through the doorway and settled into a plush leather couch.

He sat down in a chair across from her and crossed his leg, looking relaxed. Up close, she noticed that his hair was starting to grey at the temples, but he still looked fit, and conveyed an easy manner.

“Thank you for seeing me,” she said, trying to calm her nerves.

“Of course,” he said, looking down at his notebook, “I see you were referred to me by Dr. Heitz Werber?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Why don’t you tell me a little about yourself,” he said.

She took a breath.

“I grew up here in DC. After grad school… My father worked for the State Department and I, uh, went into the family business.”

Dr. Mulder nodded, his expression neutral.

“I can imagine that’s pretty stressful work,” he said.

“It was,” she said, “I don’t do it anymore.”

He nodded again, waiting for her to fill the silence. She went on.

“The work I did… it hurt people. And I’m… I’m trying to make amends.”

His expression gave nothing away. She steeled herself, took a deep breath.

“Dr. Mulder, my name is Olivia Kurtzweil. Our fathers knew each other a long time ago. I’m here to warn you. You and your family are in danger. Your wife and her baby…”

His nostrils flared, but he maintained his composure.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out several pictures.

“I can prove it,” she said, “This is me and my father, this is me and your sister Samantha. And this is our fathers together.”

“I think you need to leave,” he said, his voice tight for the first time. He was not looking at the pictures.  

She rose.

“There’s not a lot of time.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a piece of paper with a phone number on it, set it next to the pictures, which she left on the office’s small coffee table. “Call me at this number. Soon. I’ll tell you all I can.”

With that she left, her heart hammering in her chest.

CHAPTER ONE

Arlington Cemetery May 2nd, 2018

Mulder descended the stairs quickly, the leather bottoms of his dress shoes scraping loudly on the dusty grit of the steps. The occupants of the underground lair were the perfect people to call when you needed information, but good housekeepers they were not.

He entered the code on the security box at the door at the bottom of the staircase, and the door swung open.

“Guys?” he called into the cavernous space once the door sealed shut behind him.

“In here!” he heard a muffled call from near the back.

He stepped around gunmetal shelves awash in circuitry and computer parts and turned right into the sanctum sanctorum of the place: the desktop on which sat the AMD Threadripper 3000. Two men were hunched over the screen, one sitting, one standing just behind him.

Grease-stained napkins were wadded up next to the keyboard and crinkled butcher paper sat nearby, sporting the red-splotched remains of marinara sauce and a few errant banana peppers.

“You want a meatball sub, Mulder?” came the nasally voice of the man standing, “We got extra.”

“I don’t relish the thought of being up all night with heartburn, Langly, but thanks,” Mulder said, and Frohike turned from the chair, his wispy hair now more white than grey.

“They’re from Gino’s,” he said around a mouthful, “you’re missing out.”

“Tell that to Gino,” Mulder said, “didn’t he die of a heart attack in ‘04?”

“His wife is still running the place, bursting with health,” Frohike said, and reached for a styrofoam cup.

“But she doesn’t eat the subs,” said Mulder, and swung into a nearby chair. “Where’s Byers?”

“Staying with Suzanne for the weekend,” Langly said, like he couldn’t imagine why.

“Is that safe?” Mulder asked. The Gunmen had been hiding out in a government-built safehouse under their own graves in Arlington Cemetery for more than a decade.

Langly shrugged.

The three men looked at each other for a moment. Finally, Mulder spoke again.

“What did you find?”

“Enough,” said Frohike, turning back to the screen. Mulder stood and walked up behind him.

Frohike tapped a picture on the screen.

“Olivia Kurtzweil,” he said, “born December 4th, 1963, daughter of Dr. Alvin Kurtzweil and Ruth O’Brien Kurtzweil. Graduated from Sidwell Friends School in Washington DC in 1981, got a PhD in both Biology and Virology from Boston University in 1987. Employment records get kind of muddled after that, but it would make sense if she worked for the State Department, though what a Biologist/Virologist would be doing for State is troubling.”

Mulder leaned back. It was the same woman who’d been in his office earlier that day.

“And the pictures?” he asked, “of our fathers together? Of her and Samantha?”

“The real McCoy,” Langly said, “they don’t appear to be altered in any way. Sent them to Chuck Burks, too. He concurs.”

Mulder sighed heavily.

“What’s going on, Mulder?” Frohike asked, his tone serious.

“She came to my office today, Olivia Kurtzweil,” he said, nodding at the screen, “she told me that Scully is in danger.”

“In danger?” Langly said, puzzled, “how?”

“Scully is…” Mulder paused, “she’s pregnant,” he said, and he saw both men’s eyebrows go up. “This woman told me that our family... that Scully and the baby are in danger.”

Frohike and Langly traded looks.

“We haven’t told anyone about the pregnancy,” Mulder went on, “and Scully’s OB is an old friend from med school that she trusts implicitly. This Kurtzweil woman knows about the baby and insists it’s in danger. I need to know what’s going on.”

“Firstly,” said Frohike, who stood and put a hand on Mulder’s shoulder, “Mazel tov.” Mulder smiled at him. “Secondly,” he went on, “it appears as though this woman is telling the truth -- at least about who she is -- I would talk to her. See what you can find out.”

“How’s Scully taking this?” Langly asked.

“I haven’t told her yet,” Mulder said, and the boys traded another look. “I didn’t want to scare her without knowing more.”

Frohike squeezed his shoulder again and then let his arm fall.

“Let us know, huh?” he said, “However we can help.”

Mulder nodded and drifted back toward the door, a ball of worry sitting heavy in his gut.

XxXxXxXxXxX

“Where are the kids?” he asked as soon as he walked in the kitchen. He hadn’t even taken off his coat.

“I had a good day, thanks for asking,” said Scully with a grin. She was loading the dishwasher and turned to look at him. Her face fell, turning serious. “The kids are upstairs. What’s wrong?”

“I had a patient come in today…” he started, and her features softened. She probably thought it was just empathy for one of his patients, a tough case. “Scully, she showed me a picture of herself as a kid. With Samantha.”

“What?” Scully said, standing up straight, “how?”

“I don’t know,” he said, and moved past her and into the living room, making for the bookshelf that held old family photo albums. He pulled one out and skimmed through it. Pulled out another. Halfway through, something caught his eye and he flipped back a couple of pages until he saw it. A picture from the same 70’s-era party at his childhood home on the Vineyard that Olivia had shown him. There was his father standing next to Alvin Kurtzweil, and down in the corner, both wearing swimsuits and gap-toothed smiles, pigtails frizzy and wet, sat Samantha and a 7 year-old Olivia Kurtzweil.

He felt his breath leave him.

Scully had come up quietly behind him, put her hand on his arm.

“Mulder?” she said.

“I need to make a call,” he said.

He pulled the note Olivia had left with him out of his pocket. She picked up on the first ring.

“Olivia, this is Dr. Mulder,” he said. “We need to talk.”

XxXxXxXxXxX

The next morning at 9:00am, they found themselves sitting across their kitchen table from Olivia Kurtzweil, Special Agent Monica Reyes, ASAC John Doggett and Assistant Director Walter Skinner.

Scully was sitting, arms crossed in front of her defensively, at the head of the table. Reyes sat next to her, looking at Kurtzweil with an equal amount of curiosity and distrust. Doggett was too amped up to sit and paced through their kitchen. Skinner sat, quiet and still, looking as menacing as ever at the far end of the table.

Mulder felt a certain odd protectiveness toward Olivia, and couldn’t help but treat her a bit like a patient.

“Olivia,” he said calmly, “why don’t you start at the beginning.”

The tale she spun was as fantastic as anything they’d ever heard in their years on the X-Files. Olivia had been groomed from childhood to work on what she called “The Project.” When Samantha Mulder had been abducted, The Project had used her DNA to create alien-human hybrids. Throughout the years, these hybrids had been used by different factions of The Project to further their agendas in relation to a colonization project that Olivia said once threatened the world. She had fought with others to bring it down and now, The Project’s last ditch effort to resurrect itself lay in the cells of the child Scully was carrying.

“How was my father involved?” Mulder said, his voice like ice.

“Your father did everything he could to protect you and your sister,” Olivia said after a pause. “He was the person I initially approached when I became disenchanted. He and I worked together for years dismantling everything we could.”

Mulder narrowed his eyes at her.

“You were at my father’s funeral a couple years ago,” he said, recognition dawning on him, “I saw you at his wake.”

Olivia nodded.

“He couldn’t save your sister,” she said, “but he saved you. And in the end, he saved me.”

“My sister,” Mulder said, his stomach feeling as though it were in his feet, “is she alive?”

“No,” Olivia said, “I’m so sorry. And that’s the problem. Your sister’s DNA was the only one that was able to create viable hybrids. Her DNA was the key. And the last living hybrid sacrificed herself before a rogue faction could get her. That rogue faction is after Scully and your baby for the DNA markers particular to your family.”

“Then why aren’t they after me?”

“The particular markers they’re looking for are rendered dormant after a baby is born. The genetic material they can use is only found in--”

Scully spoke for the first time, finishing Olivia’s explanation. “Embryonic stem cells from our baby.”

Olivia looked pained and nodded. “It’s their last, best hope for restarting the program,” she said.

“How do they even know about the pregnancy? We haven’t told a soul.”

“A hack on your medical records is my guess. HIPAA means nothing to these people.”

“I’m less concerned with the how and more concerned with the why,” Mulder said. “You say embryonic cells. That means they’re on a clock, right? Once the baby is born...”

“Destroy the umbilical cord. The placenta. Those cells are only found in a few places. Destroy anything they might be able to use. After that… you and your baby will be safe.”

“So no one else in our family is in danger?” Scully asked. Her eyes darted unconsciously to a family picture that was framed on the wall above Olivia. It was a candid photo, taken the year before when they had hired a photographer to take Lily’s senior portraits. In it, Mulder and Scully were holding hands, looking at their two kids who were laughing about something Will had said. They were all smiling and carefree. In the moment, it felt like a world away.

“I know the technology and the biology it draws from,” Olivia said, “I helped design it. Their only hope is getting their hands on the embryonic stem cells from your baby. If you were planning on getting an amniocentesis test -- don’t.”

“Why not?” Skinner asked, “why not just give them what they want?”

“Because they’ll never stop,” Reyes said.

Olivia shook her head sadly. “She’s right. They take and they take, and they don’t care who gets hurt or what is lost.” She looked to Mulder. “Your father and I worked for years to shut it down. Finish it. Hide your wife. Protect your baby. Once it’s born, you should all be out of danger.”

“Tell me about this rogue faction,” Doggett’s voice coming from the corner of the kitchen startled everyone.

“Mercs for hire,” Olivia said, “Only one of them that I know of is familiar with the working pieces of The Project. I don’t know him well. I only ever saw him in the periphery.”

“Do you have a name?” Doggett asked.

“I doubt it’s his real one,” Olivia said.

“We’ll take whatever you can give us,” said Reyes, who shot a look to Doggett.

“I only ever heard him called ‘Krycek,’” she said.

Mulder felt his gut drop.

XxX

“What do you think?” Mulder asked Scully, as they sat together around their empty dining room table. Doggett, Reyes and Skinner had left and it was nearly noon, the sun bright outside their windows. Nevertheless, the room felt cold. Mulder could feel anxiety press on him from all sides as though he were under water.

“I don’t know what to think,” Scully said, a hand resting unconsciously on her stomach, which had just started to push out. “Mulder, for almost fifteen years our lives have been ordinary, calm. After all this time…? It strains credulity.”

“Scully I would agree with you. But… some of the things we saw when we were on the X-Files… We know credible threats. This feels like a credible threat.”

“Do you really believe everything she said? About your sister?” He could see her skeptical reserve crumbling.

Mulder let that question sit in the air for several long moments. “Just tell me if the science checks out,” he finally said.

Scully huffed an almost amused sigh. “I couldn’t even begin to-” she started.

“Scully, you yourself were filling in the blanks of Olivia’s story. If what she says is true, does the science check out?”

Scully gave him a long look. “Yes,” she finally said.

He held her gaze, a feeling of overwhelming affection coming over him. “Scully,” he said quietly, “we have to get you somewhere safe.”

She looked down, added another hand to her abdomen so she was cradling it with both. On the countertop, there was a half drunk bottle of Deer Park and a single yellowing banana. Someone had left their iPhone headphones sitting in a semi-coiled loop, and there were crumbs in front of the toaster, dishes in the sink. They sat in the middle of a half-lived life.

“I won’t leave without you,” she finally said, “without you and the kids. We all do this together. If the threat is really what Kurtzweil says it is, I couldn’t bear the thought of them trying to use you or the kids to get to me.”

Mulder nodded curtly.

“I’ll go to the guys,” he said, “see what they can do for us. Skinner and Doggett and Reyes will do what they can to protect us, but I think given everything we’ve heard, it’s best to avoid… governmental oversight.”

“I’m inclined to agree with you,” Scully said.

“We need to leave soon. We can’t wait.”

Apgar jumped on the table then, looking for affection. Scully, who normally wouldn’t tolerate a cat on any eating surface, reached out and pet the cat absently, her eyes far away.

“Where are we even going to go?” she asked.

[salty-ironstrange-shipper]

First Line Meme

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line. Then tag your favorite authors!

tagged by the lovely @ironstrange-is-the-endgame  (❤️❤️❤️)   tagging: @funkylittlebidiot, @stark-strange-love2, and anyone else who wants to 

"Stephen stumbled into Kamar-Taj, only narrowly avoiding breaking his skull on the floor by an apprentice sorcerer lurching forward and taking his arm.” (Don’t Lift The Veil)

“Tony wasn't really tired, even after a night of repairs on the briefcase suit, but his chest was aching from the arc reactor and the palladium and his eyes were blurring, so he decided to turn in anyway. He expected to find Stephen already asleep, or maybe reading if he'd stayed up for him. The reality was so much better.“ (Celebration)

“Stephen set the small human down in the cave, carefully uncurling his claws.“ (Who Would Ever Dare To Love A Dragon?)

“Steve had no idea what was going on.“ (Alone/Together)

“Christine crossed her legs, then uncrossed them. The carriage was moving along steadily, a team of four fine horses trotting energetically. Across from her, Stephen was reading one of his medical books by the light of an open window.“ (Of All The Stars Most Beautiful)

“She was there when he woke up, sitting just beyond the containment field with a phone in hand as she texted Yaz's mum (Najia was an excellent texter).” (Stay A Thousand Years)

““So how do you want to do this?” Tony asked, bouncing back and forth on his heels for a lack of something else to do. “Do you want me to prep you first, or—”“ (How Can I Repay You?)

“Tony dipped his razor into the cool stream of water, shaking it off. "Doc, you wanna hurry up? There's an Avengers meeting we have to be at in twenty minutes, and you're usually the one telling me to get ready. Are we in the Upside Down?"“ (So what if we grow old together?)

“Tony smiled fondly at his mate, flying through the sky on grand scarlet wings, saltwater spraying through the air.” (The Dragon Prince)

“"I can too be seductive!" Christine had no idea how she'd ended up in this argument. She only knew that Stephen, for all that they were best friends, had a way of pushing her buttons. Normally she was happy that he was on her side — his ability to pinpoint the exact way to rip a person's self-esteem to shreds in under a minute was both impressive and terrifying — now she was blushing and wanting to tear his perfect hair out.” (Seduce Me)

““We should leave soon," Sherlock said abruptly, typing on his (John's) laptop and not bothering to look up. "We have a plane to catch.” John stopped, lowering his newspaper to look at his flatmate. “What? Where?” “California.”” (A Strange Wedding)

“They did not talk about what happened at the wedding. As soon as they touched down in London, Lestrade had them on the phone. Then Moriarty happened, and the fall, and . . . that was that.“ (A Strange Love)

“The Sanctum Sanctorum was fucking creepy.“ (Welcome Home)

“Stephen spent the car ride to the hotel happily seated in Tony's lap, grinding down while Tony ran his hands up and down Stephen’s back. One of his hands held Tony’s jaw, pulling him in for kiss after kiss as his tongue curled in Tony’s mouth. Stephen nipped at his neck, murmuring, “God, I want to fuck you.”“ (Beg)

“Tony woke up hungover.” (Begin Again)

“Ned leaned back in his chair, holding pointing his pen at Peter like an intellectual. “Tell them your plan.”“ (From the Top: Phase Two)

“Stephen Strange woke up in a great mood. His friend, Mordo, lay in his bed as Stephen woke early and showered, singing “Bohemian Rhapsody” at the top of his lungs as he did. After he summoned his clothes, he made his coffee with far more espresso than was medically recommended, messed around with the Eye of Agamotto before being told off by the Ancient One (again), and was in the middle of training a group of novices when the Ancient One summoned him and Mordo to her quarters.” (Synergy)

“You do that thing with your tongue when you’re curious or excited.” (being known is being loved)

“It started as an accident. Or at the very least something he hadn’t intended to repeat.” (I Wanna Hold Your Hand)

“Charles woke with sweat on his face. This was quickly becoming the usual state of affairs. Genosha was almost directly on top of the equator, and no one could question the fact. The island was hot, and more humid than England or even New York in the summer. Every night for the past week, he fell asleep with his blanket half over his legs and by the time he woke, it had been pushed to the edge of the bed. Even so, sweat beaded on his face and neck, patiently waiting to be wiped away.” (A Treatise on Evolution and Extinction)

I think, if I had to determine a pattern, I (like @ironstrange-is-the-endgame) tend to go for in media res, or else I start with faux-artistic description. I dig it.

[dothwrites]

Destiel, perhaps arranged marriage enemies to lovers tropes, with one or both thinking the other is dead and then REUNION. Bonus points for medieval au, mafia au, or no one actually says “I love you” until AFTER THE REUNION

---

I fiddled around with the prompt a little bit; hopefully this is what you wanted! also this has been in my inbox for forever and a day i’m such trash i’m sorry

---

Dean wakes to a hand clamped over his mouth and nose. He’s suffocating. 

His hand grabs under the pillow for his gun before he remembers: there are no weapons allowed in the Novak’s inner sanctum. At least, he’s not allowed weapons. He jerks against the hand but those fingers are pure steel, pushing down on his mouth and nose until the lack of air makes him dizzy. 

Cold eyes glint down at him. Dean’s brain, working at double-speed, easily places the face. 

Castiel Novak. 

When it comes to Castiel Novak, son of Michael Novak, there’s a whole host of emotions swirling in Dean’s chest. Some of them are good, some of them are murderous, and all of them roar up to the surface as he looks at Cas. 

Castiel isn’t supposed to enter his bedroom without express permission. It was one of the many rules hashed out when the exchange was made. For Castiel to break it means that he has some kind of death wish. Either that, or something’s very wrong. 

Judging from the grim look on Cas’ face, Dean’s willing to go with the second option.  

“What’s wrong?” He tries to ask, except Castiel’s hand is still over his mouth, so the words come out in a garbled wuss wruuung. Dean glares venom at Castiel and finally manages to yank Castiel’s hand away from his mouth (no small task, Castiel is like a brick wall). 

“You need to come with me,” Castiel says, his low, rough voice brooking no disagreement. 

“What the hell are you talking about?” 

If possible, Castiel’s expression hardens further. “Get out of bed and get dressed.” 

Furious, Dean starts to argue, but the soft click of a safety being removed stops him. Moonlight glints off the barrel of Castiel’s gun as he points it directly at Dean’s face. “I said,” Castiel orders, his voice smooth and deadly as poisoned silk, “get out of bed and get dressed.” 

Dean’s upper lip lifts in a snarl, but he does as ordered. For now, he’s forced into compliance, at least until he can come up with a plan. “You’re fucking dead, Novak,” he mutters, searching for his pants. 

Castiel says nothing, but keeps the gun trained on him until Dean is dressed down to his boots and jacket. “Pack a bag. Only take what you need.” 

Questions rise, but Dean voices none of them. He already knows it wouldn’t do him any good. Castiel’s not a chatty man at the best of times, less so when he has a gun in his hand. Dean turns to his closet, looking for his duffel back, left virtually untouched. He’s never unpacked since he moved into the Novak compound, too homesick and resentful to try making a new home out of this place. 

“You gonna kill me, Cas?” he asks, turning to face Castiel and holding his arms open in apparent surrender. 

“Come with me,” is all Castiel says, before he gestures with the gun towards the door. “Quietly. If you scream, it’s worth your life.” 

---

The kicker is, Dean thought that he and Castiel were actually...well...not friends exactly, but whatever came before friends. Allies. Maybe partners, if he was being optimistic. After all, it’s not like Castiel didn’t get equally screwed in the deal between John Winchester and Michael Novak. 

Everyone who wasn’t John Winchester or Michael Novak got screwed in the deal. It was simple: an exchange between the families, an eldest son for an eldest son. Dean Winchester went to the Novaks, while Gabriel Novak went to the Winchesters. The exchange was meant to keep peace between the two families, and usher in a new era of cooperation, or whatever bullshit they said to try and sell it. Dean’s brain had shut down around the same time his father told him he would be going to the Novaks. One look at his father told him that protesting would be for naught: he would be going to the Novaks, as helpless as a child bride, while an enemy would be coming to take his place. 

Dean had arrived at the Novak’s compound and been met by Castiel Novak. If he hadn’t hated the other man for everything he stood for, then he would have been impressed by the unruly dark hair, the luminous blue eyes, the chiseled jaw, all topping a taut, muscular body dressed in an impeccably tailored suit. But Castiel’s family had ripped him away from everything he’d known, taken him away from Sam, and put an imposter in his place. 

When Dean was dumped into an unfamiliar place, it was Castiel who was his guide. Castiel, who was about as thrilled at Dean’s presence in his house as Dean was, but who still tolerated his presence. Dean followed Castiel around, learning the layout of the mansion, but never coming close to the Novak’s secrets. Not that he expected to, but he still felt like he was falling down on the job, failing his family by not gathering every piece of information about an enemy that he could. Eventually, Castiel’s taciturn nature had softened, leading Dean to the apparently mistaken presumption that he and Castiel were on track to become partners. 

How wrong he’d been. 

---

Dean and Castiel walk through familiar halls to an unfamiliar staircase. The gun pointed at his back keeps their pace fairly brisk. Dean keeps searching for some kind of weapon, only to come up empty. He would try to rush Castiel and take the gun, but he’s sparred against Cas a few times. Though it’s a hit to his pride to admit, he’s not entirely sure he could beat Castiel in a fight, even if the qualifier of the gun weren’t an issue. 

“If you’re going to kill me, don’t you want an audience?” Dean’s steps echo on the steps, Castiel following close behind. “Got the definite impression most of you Novaks would be only too happy to see my brains blown out.” 

Dean Winchester is not known for making friends. 

“Hurry up,” is all Castiel says in reply, as he leads Dean to a door almost hidden in the dark paneling of the room. Dean’s never seen this part of the Novak mansion, and he hesitates to think of what’s behind that door--torture chambers? Whatever it is, it’s likely to be unpleasant. 

Still, it’s not like he has a choice in the matter, so he opens the door, and steps into...

“A garage?” Of all possible rooms, he wasn’t expecting this. Dozens of cars, antiques as well as the newest models of sport cars, sit gleaming in the dim light. “You want me to fix your engine?” 

“Do you ever shut up?” Castiel growls, but there’s more exasperation than true anger in the voice. “Come here, and hurry, we don’t have a lot of time.” 

For the first time, it occurs to Dean that he might not have a full grip on this situation. 

Castiel passes all of the cherries in the garage and leads him to a small, dumpy looking sedan. Dean wrinkles his nose in distaste (every car he compares to the Impala is ultimately found lacking, but this car is particularly offensive), even as Castiel presses a pair of keys and a thin slip of paper into his hand. 

“Take this car and go to that address. Everything’s been set up; you’ll have food and supplies for about six weeks. I assume you know enough to change cars as soon as you can so that one can’t be traced. You’ll have to dump your phone as soon as you can, preferably in a different place than you dump the car.” 

“Cas, what the hell are you talking about?” Dean’s been willing to go along with this for a while (guns are a good way of ensuring compliance), but here is where he draws the line. “You need to explain yourself right the fuck now.” 

Castiel clenches his jaw as thunder and lightning flicker in his eyes. Dean knows, from painful experience, that Castiel doesn’t enjoy having his will thwarted, but there’s no alternative. Castiel seems to assume that Dean will placidly comply with his whims, but Dean has never placidly complied with anything. 

“You’re in danger, but if you do what I say, then you’ll be in slightly less danger.” 

Cas pushes at Dean’s shoulder, but Dean whips his hand out, catching Cas’ wrist in his hand. “Gonna have to do a lot better than that, Cas,” he warns, squeezing just tightly enough to spark a hint of pain as the tiny bones grind together. 

Cas snarls with impatience before yanking his wrist out of Dean’s grip. “This whole agreement, the exchange...It’s all a setup. You, me, Gabriel, and Sam--we’re all pawns.” 

Dean blinks. “What the hell are you talking about?” 

“In about twenty minutes, several members of the Novak family are going to storm your bedroom with the intent to kill you, while across town, the same thing is happening in Gabriel’s room. In the morning, the eldest son of the Winchesters and the eldest son of the Novaks will both be dead, under the roof of the family who was, up until a few weeks ago, their worst enemy.” A twisted, bitter smile plays at Castiel’s mouth. 

“They want to start a war,” Dean breathes, disbelief and horror warring within him. What Cas is saying sounds so ludicrous, and yet...What reason would Cas have to lie? 

Castiel’s face is grim as he nods. “The Novaks blame the Winchesters, the Winchesters blame the Novaks, and then, just to complicate matters, Lucifer will also claim responsibility.” 

“Why?” 

Castiel shrugs, arms thrown wide in helplessness. “To sow chaos? Power? The city’s three most powerful families caught in a war? Whoever survives, whoever’s alive at the end...That family will have everything. They’ll own everything.” 

“And that’s worth the risk?” 

Castiel shrugs, a helpless little edge in the gesture. “If you think you’ll win, then I suppose so. The problem is, all three think they can win.” 

Castiel’s eyes are dark as something complicated swirls behind them. Absurdly, Dean’s heart lurches forward. For a second, he wants--But then he forces himself to pull back. “And running away will help?”

“It’s the best plan I could come up with on short notice,” Castiel snaps. “You need to get to the safe house now.” 

“Wait,” Dean breathes, as the pieces finally start to click. “You said...the assholes that are coming to kill me...They’re coming to my house...” Rage lights in him and Dean surges forward. Heedless of the gun in Castiel’s hand, he wraps his fingers around the other man’s throat. “You son of a bitch, my brother is there!” 

He squeezes, sick satisfaction curling in him as he watches a red flush spread to Castiel’s cheeks. He only has a moment to savor the feeling before Castiel shoves him away. 

“Asshole,” he coughs. His eyes water but he never blinks as he stares at Dean. “My brother’s in that house too. You think I’d let him get killed?” His upper lip curls, whether in anger or disdain, Dean doesn’t know. “Gabriel and Sam are headed to the same safe house that you are.” 

“And you? Where are you going?” 

Castiel fixes his gaze on a point beyond Dean’s shoulder. “We can’t all disappear. Someone has to stay.” 

Furious for reasons he can’t comprehend, Dean snaps, “And that someone has to be you?” 

Castiel clenches his jaw around his words. “It’s bad enough that you, Gabriel, and Sam are all going to disappear on the same night. You’re going to have the Winchesters, the Novaks, and Lucifer all on your trail. But if I stay, then I can try to cover you for as long as I can.” 

“Or you could get yourself killed!” Dean drags his fingers through his hair. He doesn’t know why the thought of Cas getting hurt sits so sour in his stomach, but it does, to the point where he thinks he might vomit if he thinks about it too long. “Your family isn’t stupid. They’re going to see me gone, and they’re going to connect the dots pretty damn quickly!” 

“I can make it look like you overpowered me. I can take care of myself.” Cas glares. “And none of this is going to matter if you don’t get the hell out of here.” 

“I’m not leaving without you.” Dean plants his feet.  

Dean’s ready for Cas to throw a punch or shove a gun in his face. But he’s not ready for Cas to lunge forward, face like a tempest, and drag him close with one hand twisted in his hair. He’s not ready for Cas’ lips to crash into his, he’s not ready for a swirl of lust and want and affection to hit him with the force of a truck. 

For a few blessed seconds, he and Cas are the only people in the world. Dean’s world narrows to Cas’ lips, Cas’ touch, Cas’ body pressed against him. Dean’s mouth opens under the onslaught and Cas takes advantage, his tongue mapping the contours of Dean’s mouth with a thoroughness bordering on savagery. 

Dean could get lost in Cas, could go so far under that he never makes it back to the surface. He pulls himself away and tries to get rid of the feeling like he left something important behind. 

“Please,” Cas asks, his voice rough and wrecked. “Please go.” He forces a sickly smile. “Once the heat dies down, I’ll join you. I promise.” 

Over the course of his life, Dean’s become quite the accomplished liar. He thought Cas be the same, but the man folds like a bad hand of cards. Grief rips through Dean as Cas pushes him towards the car. 

“If you don’t come--” Dean starts, only to be cut off by Cas’ lips pressed into his. He pulls away, much as it hurts, and holds Cas’ chin in a harsh grip. “If you don’t show up, then we’re coming for you, and that’s going to cause a damn big ruckus, so you’d better show up.” 

“Of course.” Cas’ mouth might say one thing, but his sad eyes say another. “Please, you’re running out of time. Please Dean, please go.” 

Dean throws his duffel into the backseat and turns back to Cas. This time, they move as one, their hands grappling through hair and clothes, mouths and teeth clacking in an awkward tangle of need and want. “You’d better fucking show up,” Dean hisses, nipping at Cas’ lower lip hard enough to draw blood. 

“Go,” Cas pleas. 

Cas pulls Dean’s hand away from him. His touch is so deft and sure that Dean doesn’t realize he’s been given the gun until Cas wraps his fingers around the barrel. He looks between it and Cas, confusion and fear clashing within him. 

“You have to make this look real.” 

Dean looks down at the gun again. “I’m not going to shoot you!” 

A quick smile flashes across Cas’ face, sweet enough to break Dean’s heart. “Please don’t. But if you want to help me sell this thing, then you have to make it look like we had a struggle.” 

Cas’ eyes are steady as he looks at Dean, and the gun is a solid weight in his hand. Dean’s stomach clenches as he lifts the gun. “Do it,” Cas whispers, and he might think that helps, but it just sends another jolt of guilt straight through him. 

Dean looks past Cas’ shoulder as he hefts the gun. He brings it crashing against Cas’ temple in one quick, harsh blow. The sound of impact churns his stomach and he can’t help but moan as Cas crashes down to his knees. Blood trickles from underneath his hairline, tracing a thin path down his cheek. 

Castiel Novak is a tough son of a bitch. 

Dean hit him, full strength, with the intention of putting him down. Cas isn’t fighting against him, Cas wants to go down. And yet, the part of Cas that claws to survival with a tenacious, desperate grip, is still clinging onto consciousness. 

Make it real, Cas said, knowing that being knocked unconscious was the only way he could ever hope to sell the subterfuge of Dean’s escape. 

Dean owes Cas not only his life, but Sam’s life as well. If there’s anything he can do for Cas, even if it tears him apart, he has to try. 

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, just before he slams the butt of the gun into Cas’ head. 

With a sick, wet sound, Cas hits the ground and doesn’t get up. 

“Shit, shit, shit.” Dean turns Cas onto his side, careful not to jostle him too much. The thin trickle of blood has become a stream which covers the side of his face in crimson. Dean’s heart catches in his chest at the sight, and he doesn’t relax until his shaking fingers press against Cas’ jaw to find his pulse. It’s a little thready, but still steady. 

Reluctantly, Dean pulls away. He wants to take the time to lay Cas out and make him comfortable. It feels wrong, leaving Cas unconscious on the cold, dirty floor, but it would look suspicious if Cas was arranged neatly. Cas is trusting him to do this right; Cas is trusting Dean to take care of him. 

Dean swings himself into the car and starts the engine. The garage door opens and freedom beckons by way of the open road. Down that road is Sam and safety. Dean knows he needs to follow that path. He needs to take care of Sam. 

But he still can’t help looking back in the rearview, heart twisting in his chest at the sight of Cas’ crumpled figure. 

--

part ii | part iii | part iv | part v | part vi

NOW COMPLETE

[slytherinbarnes]

bright stars and black holes

pairing: Josephine Lightbourne x Clarke Griffin

word count: 5.6k

warnings: language, anxiety, some death, some angst, some fluff, a hint of smut if you squint your eyes. 

summary: Josephine Lightbourne is used to getting what she wants. everything changes when she meets Clarke Griffin.

a/n: this is my secret santa gift for @lovelessdyke​​! I know I went way over the 1k word limit, but when I was told the pairing, I got really excited and just couldn’t stop! thank you to my bff for helping me figure out the plot and work out the kinks, I love you the mostest! also thank you to @hyperion-moonbabe-art3mis​​ and @johnmurphyisqueer​​ for hosting this! it was so much fun, and a very good distraction from my holiday stress. okay, enough rambling, here’s the fic!

my masterlist

Josephine Lightbourne is used to getting what she wants. 

So when she is put into another host, one that fights back, it lights a fire in her that she hasn’t felt in decades. She loves Gabriel, she knows that for sure, but even things with him had become complacent. They’re in love, but they’re at odds, too fundamentally different in their approach to immortalhood to really be anything more than star crossed lovers. 

Everything changes for her when she meets Clarke Griffin.

Of course, she doesn’t meet Clarke in the traditional sense, not the way that most friends or lovers are introduced. Instead, Josephine is resurrected in Clarke’s body and meets her first through her friends, her family, her people. Forced to pretend to be the fallen Nightblood from Earth, John Murphy teaches her how to trick the people in Clarke’s life into believing that she’s still alive. But of course, it all goes to shit when Bellamy figures out her secret and threatens revenge. Luckily for her, she can be very persuasive. 

And because Josephine always gets what she wants, Bellamy and his people agree to put everything behind them, to forget that her parents gave her an unwilling host. But when Josephine goes to bed for the first time in her new body, aided by a sleeping pill, a smile of satisfaction on her face, she soon learns that Clarke is not one to give up easy, not even in death.

When she meets Clarke in her mindspace, surrounded by metal and the hum of an engine, the face of her original body reflected back to her in the pointed glare of Clarke’s blue eyes, she suddenly realizes that the feelings she has for her stolen body are deeper than an appreciation for Clarke’s form. Instead, Josephine finds herself enamored with another person, more interesting than Gabriel, maybe even more interesting than herself. She finds herself falling for the angry Wanheda, the Commander of Death, the girl who refuses to back down even when faced with love.

-

Clarke Griffin is tired. 

Tired of war and death and running for her life, tired of killing and bearing it so her people don’t have to. She is too young to be this tired, but she has shouldered a lifetime of burdens in just a few short years, and it’s finally worn her down. So after the initial sadness of not getting to tell Madi and her mother and her friends goodbye, she finally starts to feel at peace for the first time in years. She thinks that maybe she can live forever in the Shallow Valley in her head, surrounded by her sketched memories, the scent of her father’s cologne still hanging in the air. Something rare that her mother had found at the trade post, some relic from pre Praimfaya Earth. Clarke’s sure it must have cost thousands of ration points, or at least a really good bribe, but she’s thankful her mom found it, because the smell is comforting to her. She’s sure that if she was back on the Ark and went into her parents room, that scent would still linger, despite the years it’s been since her dad’s death.

But just as Clarke starts to settle in her new home, her sketchbook in hand, something starts to happen. 

A low rumble, a prickle of unease across her skin, and she finds herself on her feet and out the door before she even knows what’s happening. And as she stares at the red door at the end of the hall, anxiety heavy in her chest, it swings open, blinding her with light before a pretty blonde girl steps into her space. Clarke knows immediately that it’s Josephine, she remembers the pictures from the shrine, but she’s sure that even without the pictures, she would know the imposter in her body. And at the sight of her, Clarke’s earlier peace has faded, replaced now with anger and determination, because as Clarke stares at Josephine, a smirk on the girl’s face, she is reminded of who she is. 

Clarke Griffin, Wanheda, the Commander of Death. 

And the Commander of Death backs down for nobody. 

-

Josephine stalks down the halls of the unfamiliar Ark, searching the ship for a sign of the girl that she sent running, scared for her life. 

She can hear the thump of her dad’s footsteps nearby, but there’s no sign of Clarke, the hallways suspiciously clear of any sign of her. She shakes her head, determined to get this over with once and for all, to finally have control of the body that does not belong to her. But as she turns a corner, her eyes land on an airlock. Down the hall, another door closes, Clarke surely disappearing behind it, but Josephine doesn’t care about that right now. 

Right now, she just wants to know what’s behind door number one. 

She walks towards the airlock door and pushes the button, stepping inside, and the doors slide shut behind her. When she turns to look, she sees that she’s no longer in the airlock, but just outside of it, transported into Clarke’s memory with the push of a button. Josephine smiles, aware that this memory must be strong, traumatic, if it sits on its own, away from Clarke’s sketches. 

She looks around at the scene in front of her, through the dimmed lights of the Ark. She can see a man, and who appears to be his son, lingering in the room, a handful of guards, and a woman with a long braid that Josephine immediately identifies as Abby, Clarke’s mom. Another man is standing in front of Abby, tall, handsome, whispering quietly, and Josephine only has to wonder who he is for a second before Clarke comes tearing around the corner, screaming out, “Dad!”

She watches with intrigue as Clarke is held back by a pair of guards, released on the command of the other man in the room. Clarke runs across the room and into her father’s arms, both of them crying as he holds her tight. He presses a watch into his daughter’s hand, and the man from before suddenly announces, “Jake, it’s time.”

Jake says his final goodbyes before he crosses the room and stands in front of the airlock, waiting for the doors to slide open. When he does, he steps inside, turning around to face the small crowd, Josephine among them. And in a move that Josephine is unprepared for, the guard near the airlock hits the button, sending Clarke’s dad flying out into space. Josephine’s breath stutters in her throat despite herself, watching as a younger Clarke falls apart in her mother’s arms, and she suddenly understands why Clarke ran past this memory. 

And as Josephine steps out of the airlock and back into the Ark in Clarke’s mind, she gets a flash of understanding for the scared girl running from her, all too familiar with watching a parent die.

-

Clarke glares at the red door at the end of the hall, a wreath adorned on it. 

Josephine now knows exactly how to get her our of her own head. Something that Clarke revealed to her in a moment of weakness, reminded of the tiredness that weighs heavy in her bones. But then Monty showed up this morning and reminded her of her need to fight and her desire to protect others, which is why Clarke now stands in front of the door to Josephine’s head. 

Monty offered to go with her, but she shook her head, letting him know that this is something she needs to do alone. So she takes a deep breath to steady herself, and then she twists the knob and steps inside of Josephine’s mindspace. It’s organized, cleaner than her own, all of Josephine’s memories arranged into books and stacked onto row upon row of shelves. Clarke feels a rush of overwhelming anxiety, wondering how she’ll find anything to help her in a library this big, but then she remembers what her dad used to tell her when she got stuck on a particularly difficult word problem in school. Take a deep breath and start at the beginning. 

Clarke wanders to the first stack of books, her eyes roaming across the titles quickly, trying to find anything useful. She sees Josephine’s first date, her prom, her graduation from college. Training for the Eligius mission, journeying through space, her first few days on Sanctum. But suddenly, the books end and the next set of volumes begin, all labeled Josephine Ada Lightbourne II. Clarke backtracks a little, to the final copy of Josephine I, and she pulls the book out and flips it open. 

The library around her transforms into the chaotic landscape of Sanctum. There are trees on all sides of her, except for in the small clearing to her left, which houses a series of tents. Clarke steps into the clearing as two motorbikes drive up, and when they pull their helmets off, Clarke finds Josephine approaching with a guy. They’re talking quietly to each other, but Josephine seems to be in an excited rush, searching for her father. As she draws closer to a large tent in the center of the clearing, a woman lets out a wail from inside, and Josephine’s smile drops as she starts to slow down outside of the tent, trying to figure out what’s wrong. Clarke moves closer to the pretty blonde, starting to understand a little bit of the obsession that Josephine has for herself, but she shakes the thought free as a woman bursts out of the tent in front of them, clutching the side of her neck and chest. 

Josephine takes off running towards her, a worried cry ripping from her throat as she reaches the woman. “Mom! Mom!”

Clarke watches as Simone hits the ground, Josephine immediately sinking to her knees beside her. And before she can even truly process the loss of her mother, an older man stalks out of the tent, an axe in his hand. Josephine’s expression morphs into one of horror as her mind starts to put the pieces together, looking at him with fear. “Dad, what are you doing?”

Clarke has one second to take in Russell’s first body before he grinds out, “Sanctum is mine”, and slashes his daughter’s throat. Clarke can feel Josephine’s terror as she processes the idea that her father just killed her mother, and now her, and she can feel Josephine’s final wave of emotions as she struggles through her last few breaths. The last emotion Clarke feels surprises her, an emotion so strong it washes over her like a tidal wave: regret. She can feel it squeezing her chest as she watches Josephine take one final breath, the light behind her eyes now dead to the world.

Clarke snaps the book that is still in her hand closed, taking her back to Josephine’s mindspace. She starts to feel like she might be a little in over her head, because she can feel herself pitying the woman who snatched her body. She shakes her head and shoves the book back onto the shelf, stuffing the ounce of feeling she had for Josephine back down with it. 

And with another steadying breath, she opens her mouth and yells towards the open door, “Monty, I need your help!”

-

Josephine got really into meditation when she was in college.

Her mom swore up and down it would help her with her studies, but the only thing it ever did for her was give her a headache and piss her off. That is, until she started body snatching, and she found that sometimes, she could find memories that lingered in the brain, unreached by the mind wiping fluid. She got a sick sense of pleasure searching for these memories in each new host, watching the memories of someone else’s life unfold, that person now pushed out of their own body, and she always made sure to seek them out the first few nights in her new host. 

The exception, of course, is her current host. 

With Clarke still in her own mind, and Ryker now working to help rid her of the problem, Josephine hasn’t had a chance to search Clarke’s mind for these phantom memories. Not that she’d need to, because she could just waltz right into Clarke’s mindspace and start touching the sketches on the walls, but she’s starting to wonder if those phantom memories exist before a mind is completely gone. They must, if they remain even after the procedure. 

So as Ryker works in the shop downstairs, building her an EMP to rid Clarke of her neural mesh, she sits upstairs in the loft, cross legged, her eyes closed, her breathing slowed. She repeats a few mantras for a while, clearing her mind and peeling away the layers of this world until the only thing around her is her inner mind. She imagines herself pulling back the layers of her brain, Clarke’s brain, searching between the folds and around the corners for any memories hidden deep inside of her. 

Finally, after what feels like hours, Josephine finds one.

She pushes herself inside the memory, the blank space around her transforming to a cool brown stone. There’s a long hallway stretched in front of her, a door halfway through it, and she can hear soft murmurs from the other side. She walks towards it and pushes her away inside, unaffected by the locks on the thick metal door, and her eyes roam over a control room of sorts. In front of her, stretching from one wall to the next, are a series of cameras, chaos flickering across each one. She sees someone strapped down to a table, their mouth open in a silent scream, and it takes Josephine a second to realize that it’s Abby. On another video feed beside it, she can see Octavia, surrounded by a large group of people, guns pointed at her from every angle. As she takes in the videos in front of her, trying to piece together where she is, she hears a voice behind her mutter, “Together.”

Josephine spins around, her eyes landing on Bellamy and Clarke, unnoticed by her before this moment, their hands slowly pushing a lever forward. Josephine rolls her eyes, remembering John’s stories of Clarke’s genocide in Mount Weather, her eyes now privy to the moment in question. She can see the turmoil on Bellamy and Clarke’s faces, the heartbreak they’re now faced with as they kill hundreds of people in one swift motion. 

Josephine starts to walk towards the pair, but the scenery changes, and she realizes this must be a series of memories, hidden deep in her mind so Clarke can pretend they don’t exist. She sees now that they’re outside a settlement of some sort, a sign at the front labeled, “Camp Jaha”. Bellamy and Clarke stand just outside the gates as the rest of their people file inside, and Josephine can tell that this is a goodbye based on their body language alone. She’s always been good at reading people, especially in their most vulnerable moments, and right now the young leaders have heartbreak written all over their faces. 

She watches them hug before Clarke walks away, straight towards her, disappearing into the woods before the scene changes again. This time, Clarke is crouched low between a pair of trees, hidden in their shadows, the moon high overhead. Clarke’s hands are covering her face and her shoulders are shaking, and when her hands finally drop, her mouth is open in a silent sob. She’s trying to keep quiet, fearful of whatever may be lurking in the night, but every now and then a soft sob pushes past her lips and echoes in the space between them. 

Josephine finds herself wanting to comfort this girl, to reassure her that she made the right choice in Mount Weather, genocide or not, but she can’t. Because this is a memory and Clarke is her enemy, and she shouldn’t care at all for the young blonde breaking down in front of her. She starts to wonder if she should try to leave the memory, starting to feel like she’s overstepping, something unfamiliar to her, when she feels a hand push her shoulder, hard. 

Her eyes fly open and land on Ryker, a tired expression on his face, his hand pointing to the shop down below. “It’s nearly time.”

-

Clarke frantically steps into the library, looking around at the piles of discarded books. 

The barrier between their minds is breaking down and the clock for her body is ticking, making it easier for her to grasp bits and pieces of whatever is going on outside of her head. From what she can gather, she and Josephine are now with Bellamy, the EMP used to temporarily disable the shield instead of wipe her mind, and now Clarke is desperately trying to find anything that will save her life.

She is burning through memories as fast as she can, picking up books, exploring the contents inside, and then tossing them aside if they’re useless to her. 

And so far, they’ve all been useless. 

She’s been jumping around from version to version, too anxious to explore the memories chronologically, and she currently finds herself back at Josephine Lightbourne the First, her hand reaching for a book labeled, Long Nights. Clarke flips it open and feels herself get pulled into the memory, landing in an elevator, right beside Josephine. Her blonde hair is the longest she’s seen it at this point, falling over her shoulder in soft waves. A black, sparkly dress hugs her figure, and there’s glitter smeared around her eyes. Red lipstick is traced around the perfect curve of her lips, and Clarke feels a low tug in her stomach, a flutter of something she wants to ignore.

Because Josephine Lightbourne is standing in front of her, and she looks hot.

Clarke shakes her head and lets out a sigh of relief when the elevator dings, letting them off into some long hallway, and Clarke is thankful for the space she can now keep between her and her enemy. She’s hoping if she says it enough, she’ll start to believe it again. Josephine clicks down the hall on a pair of heels, confident and beautiful, finally stopping when she reaches a door at the end of the hall. She knocks twice and waits patiently for someone to answer the door.

The door swings open and Clarke has three seconds to take in one of the most incredible women she’s ever seen. She looks a lot like Lexa, her eyes bright green and her brown hair cascading down her back, and she greets Josephine with a pretty smile. 

They’re motioned inside and Clarke scrambles in after Josephine, even though the closing door will have no effect on her, and she watches as the two women greet each other softly. 

“Did anyone see you?”

“Only the doorman.”

The brunette smiles. “James is discreet.”

“Good, because I don’t think Eligius can handle another scandal. Not after losing the prisoner ship.”

“You and I both know that ship isn’t lost. Those prisoners were killed.”

Josephine shrugs, a slight lift of her right shoulder, uninterested in the conversation. “Maybe. But you and I both know that I don’t care.”

The brunette smirks again, cocking her head to the side, playing along. “And what do you care about, Josephine?”

“You.”

And then they collide in a kiss.

Clarke feels her breath stutter in her lungs, watching as the two women kiss passionately, unaware of her presence in this memory. They move from the doorway to the couch, kicking off their shoes as they move, and Clarke is frozen in her place by the door, unsure what to do. It’s only when she sees the woman slide Josephine’s dress straps down her arms does she slam the book closed, sending her back into the large library. 

She throws the book away as if it burned her, turning to lean against the shelves and catch her breath, willing away the butterflies in her stomach and the blush along her cheeks. She fans herself slightly, glad that no one is here to see her in this moment, unable to escape the memory as one single thought repeats in her mind on a loop:

Maybe the memories weren’t useless after all. 

-

Josephine looks away from Bellamy’s sleeping form, wondering how the hell anyone could get comfortable enough in a cave to get some sleep. 

But then she starts to think that he might have the right idea, because who knows what’s gonna happen to them tomorrow. Maybe she’ll need the strength to fight. Maybe she’ll need energy to run. So she closes her eyes, relying on some of her meditation tricks to clear her mind and lull her to sleep, the cave around her fading into a large stone tower. Josephine doesn’t recognize the building, which means that the pull of Clarke’s mind is getting stronger, and that the barrier between their minds is getting weaker. At this rate, they must only have a few hours left.

And Josephine knows that she should wake herself up, resist the pull of Clarke’s mind to her own and try to buy them a few more hours, but then she catches sight of her.

Lexa.

The woman that John told her all about before she saw her for herself in Clarke’s memories. Josephine usually skips any of Clarke’s memories that involve the dark haired Commander, something about her presence annoying the shit out of Josephine. But this time, she stays, catching an eyeful of blonde hair near the back of the room, curious about what is happening between Clarke and Lexa at this moment. 

Clarke’s hair is long, with streaks of pink and various braids, and she looks angry, hardened, different from the soft girl in the earlier memories. Josephine can’t decide if she loves or hates it, if she craves the quiet girl or the angry warrior, but she doesn't have long to think before Clarke opens her mouth and speaks to an approaching Lexa. “I stayed because it was the right thing to do for my people.”

“Our people.”

Clarke and Josephine both roll their eyes, not believing the warrior turned heda. Clarke closes the space between herself and Lexa, and Josephine moves closer to Clarke, subconsciously drawn to her at this point. She watches as the blonde narrows her eyes, her voice threatening. “If you betray me again, I-”

“I won’t.” Lexa takes a deep breath before dropping to her knees in front of Clarke, looking up at her with a serious expression. “I swear fealty to you, Clarke kom Skaikru. I vow to treat your needs as my own, and your people as my people.”

The energy in the room changes, and Josephine watches Clarke intently, willing her to turn away from the woman that left her to commit a genocide on her own. But instead, Clarke reaches out for Lexa, urging her to take her hand, and Josephine rolls her eyes, turning away. 

She forces herself awake, unable to stand the sight of the couple any longer, something akin to jealousy burning in her gut. Except that Josephine Lightbourne does not get jealous, because she always gets what she wants, and that Clarke Griffin is her enemy. Josephine feels nothing for her beyond a desire to have her body, and that’s. it. 

-

Clarke runs through the halls of the Ark, grabbing books and tossing them into the airlock, trying desperately to put space between her mind and Josephine’s. Right now, everything is blurring together, Josephine’s memories manifesting and moving all over Clarke’s space, and a warning message blares overhead. 

Clarke pushes the button to seal the airlock and send the books out into space before she opens the door and repeats the process, frantically tossing books into the gray coffin. As she picks up a particularly large stack of books, one of them tumbles off the top, the spine smacking loudly on the floor, the book falling open. And before Clarke can help it, she is sucked in, taken into one of Josephine’s memories, dropped right onto the stairs of Sanctum. 

Clarke picks the book up from its place at her feet, fully intending on closing it and getting back to dumping Josephine’s memories, when the woman in question runs past her, tears streaming down her face, expression distraught. Clarke can’t help the wave of curiosity that washes over her, and she turns to run after Josephine, following her down the steps, around the mountain, and through the fields around Sanctum. Josephine is quiet for a long time, just softly crying as she runs after a figure in the distance, and Clarke has no idea what’s going on until Josephine sees the figure near the edge of the shield, and she screams, “Gabriel!”

Gabriel stops and turns around, wearing a body unfamiliar to Clarke, and he looks at Josephine, clearly conflicted. Josephine closes the space between them as much as he will allow, stopping a few feet apart, just at the edge. She can hear guards in the distance heading their way, and Gabriel looks behind them warily, before looking back to his lover. “What you did was wrong, Josephine, and I can’t sit around and pretend like everything is okay anymore!”

“Gabriel, I’m sorry! Everything I did, I did for us. But if you want this to stop, we’ll stop, okay? These will be our last bodies, and when we die, we die for good. Just come back with me, okay? Let me fix this.”

“You can’t fix this.”

“Baby, yes I can. You know I can.”

Gabriel seems to be softening, until an angry expression crosses his features and he yells, “No! Stop it! I’m not gonna let you manipulate me anymore, okay? I’m done.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Yes. I do.' The guards start to sound closer now, and Gabriel confirms as much when he frantically looks over Clarke’s shoulder before turning back to Josephine, one last time. “I’ve loved you for over a century, but our love is not worth the price we are paying.”

Josephine’s distraught expression deepens, and she watches Gabriel back up towards the shield. “Gabriel, please!”

He mutters, “I’m sorry”, and then he runs through the shield, bursting out on the other side, unaffected by the radiation, thanks to his Nightblood. Josephine drops to her knees, a heartbroken cry ripping from her throat, no longer following Gabriel despite her ability to step through the shield too. The guards rush past her, waiting for the shield to drop so they can pursue the man she loves, but she doesn’t notice.

Josephine Lightbourne is too busy falling apart, learning for the first time what it feels like to lose.

Clarke is sucked out of the memory, pulled back into the Ark and plopped down in front of an angry looking Josephine. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Clarke rolls her eyes, faking a bravery she doesn't feel in the face of the angry woman. “Oh please, like you haven’t spent the last few days snooping through my memories?”

Josephine looks surprised that she noticed, as if she couldn’t, and she shakes her head, her expression softening. “That’s different.”

“Doubt it.”

Their argument is cut short by the warning system intensifying, and Clarke knows that if they don’t vent everything right now, they’re both dead. She sets the outer doors to remain open, and then she grabs Josephine’s hand, dragging her through the halls of the Ark, back to her room. She pulls the door shut tight, ignoring Josephine’s protests, and seconds later they hear all of her memories vent, sucked out into the space that is the rest of their shared brain. As soon as it’s done, Josephine disappears, returning to the real world and leaving Clarke alone in her head. 

-

She doesn’t see her again until her body is strapped up to a series of machines, and Clarke is sedated prior to her scheduled death, putting Josephine right back in her head. She smiles at Clarke as soon as she sees her, and it seems genuine, lighting up her eyes and making her look younger. It makes Clarke feel warm all over, despite everything, and she tries to push it away as Josephine closes the space between them. “All I ever wanted was immortality, but now I’m starting to think that I was wrong. The immortality was about something else, a way to keep me alive until I got what I really wanted.”

Clarke shakes her head, not understanding, and Josephine mutters, “You.”

Clarke thinks of the knife she slipped into her pants earlier, the one she pulled from her memory of killing Finn, tucking it into her waistband in case she needed it. Her fingers twitch a little as she tries to figure out the conversation, giving Josephine a hard look. “Me? Or my body?”

“You, Clarke. Just you.”

“So does that mean you’ll let me have my body back?” Josephine nods, and Clarke eyes her suspiciously. “Everything you put me through the last couple of days, and you’re choosing to just give up? I don’t buy it.”

“Not choosing to give up, choosing you. Don’t you get it, Clarke? We’re meant for each other. Your entire life was spent cycling through boring boy after boring girl, always in search of something better, greater. You thought you had it with Lexa, but even she would become nothing to you.”

“That’s not true.”

Josephine scoffs, “I’ve been inside your head, Clarke. I know what you want, even if you won’t admit it to yourself. Lexa was a star, one that would burn bright and hot until she dimmed and you eventually left her, bored. I’m a black hole, endless, an adversary, something you’re always trying to fight off, but eventually you’ll get sucked into. That’s what you want. You want the fight. Lexa was wrapped around your finger; she bent her entire rule as Commander to cater to your wishes. But I’ll never be that for you. I’m someone enamored by you, someone who wants to see what makes you tick, what gets you going. But I want to be the one that makes you tick. I want to crawl inside your head and break you down piece by piece until I have every part of you figured out.”

“How romantic. You’re really selling yourself here.”

“I don’t have to sell myself because you’ve already bought in. You, Clarke Griffin, you love a challenge. You love to save the broken, redeem the sinner. You want a love that swallows you up and keeps you wild, a love that challenges you and distracts you from the mess in your head. And you already know that I can give that to you, otherwise, you would have slit my throat with that knife already.”

Clarke’s eyes widen, her hand subconsciously hovering over the knife tucked into her waistband. Josephine raises a single brow, unconcerned. “I told you. I know you, Clarke.”

Clarke rolls her eyes. “Watching a few of my memories doesn’t mean that you know me.”

“Maybe not, but I know enough. Now put the knife down, and choose me. Choose me over everyone else, and your body is yours.”

“So I pick you and Gabriel boots you out of my head. Then what?”

“You find me a new host.”

Clarke scoffs, “And what makes you so sure that I will? Who’s to say I won’t agree to your terms right now, and then smash your mind drive once I get my body back?”

Josephine shakes her head, a smirk on her face. “You won’t.”

And Clarke sighs, because she knows she’s right. Because the second that Josephine mentioned a host, she started running through options in her head. Somehow, throughout this crazy fight to get her body back, she saw a new side of Josephine. She saw beyond the sarcasm and body snatching, down to the scared girl that was killed by her own father, that lost Gabriel despite everything she did for him, the girl who watched someone shoot themselves just because she ignored their advances. Somehow, throughout it all, Clarke Griffin started to fall in love.

Which is why she looks up at Josephine with a nod, grabbing the knife from her waistband and tossing it away. “Fine, I choose you.”

Josephine’s face splits into a grin, and Clarke swears she hears her let out a little breath, as if she was actually nervous that Clarke would refuse her offer. Still, she maintains her air of confidence as she looks at Clarke, scrunching her nose up a little when she says, “Good. Now kiss me the way you always wanted to be kissed. The way you dreamed about when you tried to imagine your future.”

Clarke shakes her head, ignoring the vague reference to a memory that Josephine has clearly seen, already reaching out to pull Josephine closer, her hands automatically tangling in her hair. She crashes her lips to Josephine’s, both of them clutching each other tight, afraid to let go, and Clarke suddenly realizes that Josephine was right. 

She is a black hole. 

Clarke can feel herself spinning, spiraling, being pulled in by the chaos of the woman in her arms, and for the first time in her life, instead of hanging on...

She lets go.

-

[procrastinatorimagines]

Scars

Fandom: The 100

Character/s: John Murphy x Reader

Warning/s: scars, past trauma I guess

Word Count: 851

Request:  Idk if you are taking requests but can you write a John Murphy Fic where he's kinda insecure about his body and scars but reader just keeps complimenting him...?

Summary: This probably isn’t exactly what you wanted but... Murphy and Reader have a heart to heart about whether their scars, and the scars of their past, define them.

You found Murphy where you usually found him, leaning out of the balcony and staring into the night sky when most everyone else was alseep, letting the cool air blow over his bare skin. He always looked peaceful like that, but you knew he only did it when he was troubled. 

Wrapping your blanket around your shoulders you wandered over to him sleepily, putting an arm through his and resting your head on his shoulder when you got to him. He kissed the top of your head, still deep in thought.

“It’s so quiet this time of night,” he mused and you shifted your head to look at him as he stared out into the distance. “Almost like you can pretend it’s... normal, peaceful even.” 

“It is,” you replied, shivering in the cool breeze as you considered what he was actually trying to say, “it can be you know, the new normal.” He shook his head a little, turning to face you this time, sorrow and doubt in his eyes.

“Can it?” He didn’t dare be hopeful, and you couldn’t blame him, how many places had you lived since the Ark? How many places had been destroyed, burned down? Maybe that was the only normal you’d ever know.

“We have to try,” you said, “we have a chance in Sanctum to build something new, be better-” John cut you off with a scoff at that phrase, ‘be better’, everyone seemed to be saying it, but no one really knew exactly what it meant.

“You know we keep talking about being better, being the good guys, but we aren’t, and I don’t think any amount of good we do will ever erase that,” he admitted, frowning as he cast a glance down to the scars visible on his body, “we’ll always have reminders of the past.” 

He sounded distant, lost, like he was trying to reconcile whether he even deserved the chance to have a nice, normal life, if that was even possible, if any of you even deserved it. There was blood on everyone’s hands, but you knew it affected Murphy more than he ever let on.

“Scars don’t define us John,” you told him, finally breaking the silence that had fallen between the two of you as you contemplated everything that had happened since you were sent down from the Ark. “They’re reminders of what we’ve survivored.”

“Or reminders of what we’ve inflicted on others,” he responded bitterly, looking away from you almost guiltily as you turned and ran your hand down on of his scars. “Can’t really say I didn’t deserve these.” 

You finally met his eyes, “John we have- we have all done things that we regret, and we all have the scars to remind us of that, physically and mentally, but as much as we want to, the past is just that, the past,” you tried, knowing how self-conscious he was about them, what they meant to him. 

He swallowed a lump in his throat, considering your words but clearly not feeling like he deserved to hear them. “So what do we do? What do I do?” His voice sounded smaller than usual; it hadn’t been easy to break down his walls, to get him to let you in, his overconfidence and arrogance masked so many insecurities and so much pain. 

You chose your words carefully when you spoke again, considering the weight of the question; “We use them, use our scars, to remind us of what we survived to get here, how much stronger they can make us if we let them, they remind us we’re alive John Murphy, and-” you smiled, “-as much as saying this like a broken record, they really can remind us to do better here.” 

A tear fell down his cheek and he closed his eyes, leaning his forehead into yours. “I’ve never really thanked you, have I?” He asked.

“For what?” You didn’t really think he had anything to thank you for.

“For just... being you. I love you.” He told you, smiling a little as he kissed you softly, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you in. When you broke apart you rested your head into his shoulder, holding each other in the night.

“I love you too, scars and all,” you mutted, feeling him relax into your embrace, completely open and bare to you in every way. “Besides,” you continued with a grin as you drew back, facing him again, “scars can be kind of sexy.”

He shook his head and laughed, not really quite knowing how he got so lucky. “Never change,” he told you, putting his arm around you shoulder and looking out into the night, the peace you could have, the potential future you could have together.

“You’re a survivor John Murphy, and contrary to popular belief, and what you may belief, you’re actually a good man, and there’s nothing I’d change about you, or your scars; I’ll never stop being me, but promise you won’t ever stop being you,” you told him with love.

“I think I can manage that,” he smiled.

[girlobsessed21]

My thoughts on The 100 7x05

Hey, guys,

Sorry for not doing any comments on the last two episodes. I’ve been a little busy and I struggled to connect to the show, so it hindered my enjoyment, but it’s all better now. Liked episode 4 and 5 was even better, jampacked with info and it answered a lot of questions.

Welcome to Bardo

Badass Octavia is da bomb (people don’t say that anymore, right?). When she was captured in episode two, I thought she had lost her fighting spirit, but it’s back, bitches. Well, until she runs into an invisible wall trying to escape. She’s captured and transported to M-cap (whatever that means). Then we get a welcome little flashback to Lincoln but it’s obvious that Bellamy would be the hand reaching out. He’s her rock, like she’s expressed many times.

Unlike John Murphy who is not quite a friend, or family and definitely not a lover. Introducing so many new characters in the final season of a show is never a good idea, because this is the time to wrap up all the stories of the existing ones, but come on, who cannot love Levitt. Even when he first meets Octavia, he doesn’t want to hurt her. Jason, you better not harm one hair on this precious little puppy’s head!

As he binges The 100 through Octavia’s eyes, he starts rooting for her, and he actually gives a damn, unlike most people on this show. He understands her strengths and weaknesses and he makes her see it too. “You’re a warrior to be sure, but your heart is pure.” Wow, what an honest and beautiful line. (Scroll down for my shipping comments.)

So is O and Hope’s fleeting little reunion. It’s amazing to experience this deep loving side of Octavia after her darkness. She’s truly one of the most diverse and developed characters on the series. Now Hope and her resilience is quickly making it to the top as well.

While Hope is trying to send her back home, we learn that memory loss is due to the time dilation. One quick note on this, it’s not linear, there’s no easy equation to calculate it unless you’re Stephen Hawking or Einstein. I don’t think it’s constant either. 10 years on Skyring = 11 days on Bardo = a few minutes on Sanctum. In the current time, 5 years on Skyring = 1 day on Sanctum = 7 days on Bardo. So, it’s clear that the planets are moving, and other factors are playing into the phenomenon. It’s more important to understand the time relative to each planet.

Levitt was the one who tattooed Hope’s code onto O’s back, also the one who planted the note into Hope’s arm. Indeed the kind of man you want on the inside, he even accepts a blow to the face as thank you.

Sheep-ish?

Thirty minutes on the clock and the trio gets led to a congregation to praise the shepherd. I never thought it was Anders, I do, however think it might be Cadogan. The Bordoan’s built the underground forest because they destroyed their planet. Ugh, what’s new? The shepherd herded his sheep from earth to Bardo via the stone. Cadogan and his second dawn cult?

Back to Clarke. So, after last episode I thought ‘the key to winning the last war’ line was an artifice for luring Clarke to disciples, but now it’s clearly true. They’ve located the key and they will win the last war. Levitt was interested in Clarke surviving the City of Light with the flame in her head, they probably assume she still has it. Cadogan burned Becca alive. Could it be because of the flame? Is this all because of that damn little chip that can’t seem to die?

Bellamy is not dead, I repeat, Bellamy is not dead! I believe that memory could be staged or implanted for a reason. Also, there’s no body, he jumped through the bridge. In the promo photos, he wears a ring but his actions towards Octavia seem a little cold and generic. On first watch, I thought it was bad acting but if he was programmed to do this, it makes sense.

Note the sequence of events. Octavia returned 7 days ago and was asked to talk her brother down, but we don’t see the actual scene. Instead we’re shown a memory. They could have implanted it to make her vulnerable and perhaps more susceptible to the procedure. I don’t know, but this theory could lead to Robot-sheep!Bellamy on Nakara, where he’ll encounter Clarke and the gang.

I have to be honest, I really don’t like this character arc for Bellamy. It’s unoriginal and a mime of Peeta’s storyline in Mockingjay. Sorry, but so far it feels like the writers were so over the show, they just wanted to get it done. And that attitude really bleeds into one’s creative concepts. I could be completely wrong, in fact, I hope I am.

Echo spins a Finn

My word, I lost the love of my life once, but I sure didn’t kill anyone. When Echo received that vision of Roan, I was hoping for some progression on her individual arc, they’ve made me care about her, and now we get the opposite. Why? One thing I have to admit, a killer performance from Tasya Teles! No pun intended.

Look, this show hasn’t explored Bellamy and Echo’s relationship enough to make her murder believable. It was the exact same thing with Finn. I wasn’t invested in Finn and Clarke’s connection, so his actions of killing a grounder tribe was more repulsive than understandable. Sure, Echo loves Bellamy and her sole purpose is to save him, but I’ve never truly witnessed their love for each other. They had one or two intimate scenes which cannot compel a deed like this. And in the process, she screwed Hope and Diyoza.

Anyway, I don’t think there’s any coming back from it. She murdered an innocent person in cold blood. That’s sure to open a door to the dark side.  Just look at Octavia after killing Pike and her actions were justified by jus drein jus daun.

Say Sanctum three times slowly and it sounds like… Sanctum

Blind faith

Look, I’m just gonna come out and say this song is getting old. Every episode featuring Sanctum is the exact same thing with different lines. Can we please move on from it, already? Yes, we know the COG want Russel dead, and the adjusters will go to extreme lengths to free Russel and the prisoners are background noise.

I did appreciate Nelson stepping in to try and save the girl, though. Still doesn’t save the fact that it’s repetitive. The Sanctum plotline is really struggling to take shape and I hope it happens soon. Dramatic eyeroll.

At least in the drought of a desert, you can always count on Murphy. “…I say we live and let die.” Typical cockroach line, right, but it’s ironic when he’s the one to step up, even if it is for Emori. Under the magnifying glass it’s the exact same plot as episode 1 and 3. He hesitates to take action, and eventually becomes the hero.

I mean, he saved that poor kid from being burned alive. Can you imagine sacrificing your own child in such a horrific away? Cults are beyond whacked, and, unfortunately, it’s reality that cult members are so blinded by their faith that they do not see rhyme or reason.

How did Murphy fail that test? I didn’t. When Trey named the four pillars, I thought, isn’t rejoice one of them? Surely, a cockroach would have smelled that trap a mile away.

Indra the great

Can we just give a massive round of applause to Adina Porter!!! That powerhouse walk vibrates strength and majesty, damn, she should be a false god, I wouldn’t dare threaten her with or without an army.

Three little words was all it took for her to recognize evil. “There’s a spider on your shoulder.” Smooth. Too bad she can’t kill him. Why not, how many of the faithful are left to cause an uproar? Wonkru doesn’t know it’s Sheidheda, they won’t care, the COG will fall in line and the prisoners will be happy as long as they get their compound. Sorry, I don’t get it and I don’t understand why she doesn’t tell anyone.  Someone please explain?

Granted, JR Bourne as Russel is way better, but I still don’t understand his actions. I hope they explore and explain him more, because he still feels flat unless he knows something of this final war. I’m hoping these two storylines align soon since it’s really driving a wedge between me and my love for the show.

Shipwreck

I’ll start with the easy stuff, Murphy, Emori and the perfect dress gets a heart eye emoji from me. They are so damn cute this season, can they please live happily ever after in the palace?

Octabriel vs Levittavia

Now, I enjoy Levitt fangirling over Octavia. I feel like he has a deep sense of her through her memories. If I have to root for an underdeveloped relationship, it will have to be one where the characters share thoughts and experiences even if it is through a sick, sci-fi procedure.

On the other hand, Gabriel and Octavia have immense chemistry, two seconds of them together bends my mouth into an “Aah, cute” pout. This will also add some approval and representation for mixed racial relationships.

I really don’t mind either way as long as they make me care through showing and not telling.

Bellarke

So, if my theory is correct, and Bellamy does end up on Nakara, Bellarke will encounter each other quite soon. Bellamy won’t be himself though, but he might pretend to be Bellamy to win Clarke’s co-operation. Is there hope for Bellarke yet?

Echo is now trotting a dangerous path and Bellamy might be pledged to a cause, so I doubt there will be a happy ending for Becho. Since 7x01 I’ve been thinking that the writers might want to develop something between Clarke and Gaia but if they are separated, is there enough time? Guess we’ll see.

This monster of a review is finally done… If you read through everything, you deserve a gold star! Let me know what you think, till we meet again…

[thecursedhellblazer]

‘Cause We’re Living in a Mad World

{ @adventurepunks​ }

(( Hiiii! I fished this out of a couple of memes I had done ages ago and...it seemed fun and it gave me the chance to ramble about stuff we mentioned, so...here you go! It’s mostly Nick and John, but I throw in some Zee because the gal deserves some space :3 ))

Who said “I love you” first Definitely John. He was either drunk or totally out of it for not having slept in days (or both) and Nick had been forced to escort his sorry ass to lie down somewhere. Among all the incomprehensible, nonsensical babbling he had been doing, at some point he had just gone on and mumbled something on the lines of “N’ aye, tha’ th’ bloody t’in’, Cap. I think I do love yeh...I bloody do”. By the time Nick had registered the non-sequitur, John had been out cold and drooling very much unattractively on his pillow, leaving his mentor to wonder, hardly for the first time, what the hell he was supposed to do about his disaster youth.

Who would have the other’s picture as their phone background Neither of them does. John doesn’t have a phone (and that’s the reason why both Nick and Zatanna dread the times he uses the one in the Sanctum to phone Chas back to London...Two hours of non-stop Scouse rambling about everything one can find worth complaining about). As for Nick, he simply doesn’t bother with such things. However, John has one, slightly creased picture of him and Nick (a Polaroid taken by accident by some tourist who had been nice enough to hand it over to John) and another with the two them and Zee glued against the wall of his bedroom, right next to a group photograph of his closest English mates, a picture of him and Chas and a black and white one of a younger Cheryl. Also, Zatanna has made sure to have a better, properly framed picture of the three of them hanging inconspicuously from one of the walls in the main room of the Sanctum, not enough to catch the eye, but in a position that makes sure that you must look at it if you know that it’s there. Nick never acknowledged any of those, but you might catch his eyes wandering in the direction of the pictures every time he is in the room with them (yes, at times he dares to wonder in that reign of chaos that’s John’s bedroom).

Who leaves notes written in fog on the bathroom mirror John...when he is trying to be funny. Usually he writes the messages on some other window or piece of glass and then magicks them on the bathroom mirror when he knows that either Nick or Zatanna are inside. Of course, he doesn’t always get it right and at times the wrong person receives a message that wasn’t intended for them. Like Nick finding questions about women lingerie (he never asks, because he is pretty sure that, whatever John wants with it, it’s not something he wants to know or guess). The most memorable mishap, at least in Zee’s opinion, has been when, after having come back from one of her shows at 3 am and after a very much earned shower, she had found herself staring at the suddenly foggy mirror while the words “wudl u shag me een if I ws a gost?” materialised on it. Judging by the bad spelling and by how smeared the calligraphy was, John had to be shitface drunk, wherever he was. Not that the fact excused him in her eyes. Not in the least. She had marched out of the bathroom, told Nick that John wanted to talk to him and then had gone to bed. Useless to say, Nick had gone from confused to extremely unimpressed as soon as he had seen the note on the mirror.

Who buys steals the other cheesy gifts John is the one who, from time to time, comes back from his wanderings bearing “gifts”, pretty much like a not so domesticated cat would do. Thankfully, usually they aren’t dead animals (aside that one time with the still dripping goat’s head...but they don’t talk about it). They range from things he has won at the poker table to stuff he has either con out of someone’s hands or straight out nicked. He has learnt pretty quickly that he can’t tell Zatanna if he’s giving her something he has stolen, not after the one time she has forced him to return the necklace he had got her, much to his annoyance and embarrassment. This has also caused him to get more stuff for Nick than for her. She’s always suspicious now (and with reasons), while his mentor doesn’t really care how he has got his hands on it. The only one time the older sorcerer has shown concern about John’s kleptomaniac habits has been when the younger man brought home a very ancient, very valuable, and also very cursed book. The cleansing ritual took them hours. However, on the other hand, it turned out that the contents of said tome were very much worth the trouble, so John got away with just a mild scolding, much to Zatanna’s incredulity.

Who initiated the first kiss Nick did...after John had driven him crazy with half angry flirting and ambiguous provocations (and talks about shagging ghosts). The whole situation had started from a lot of unresolved tension between them (and not of the good kind), but considering where it has landed them...It might as well have been worth it, even if the original issue lies still mostly unsolved.

Who kisses the other awake in the morning If anyone does in the first place, it would probably be Nick, for the mere reason that John isn’t an early bird (unless he simply forgoes sleeping completely), no matter in whose bed he falls asleep. However, it’s still far more likely that Nick chooses to wakes him up by shaking him or with a shove, simply because something as light as a kiss wouldn’t do the job. Or it would lead to John getting his hands busy even before he has opened his eyes and that’s unacceptable when they have a schedule and lessons to attend to. A few times, John has crawled in Nick’s bed before dawn and, in those occasions, he is the one to wake his mentor up with kisses. There’s an equal chance of either being kicked out of the room pr being allowed to carry on, and, in his eyes, the second thing is definitely worth facing the risk of rejection. John usually gets his nicest wake up calls from Zatanna, when she lures him out of the sheets with a kiss on the cheek and the promising smell of coffee and bacon. She has also learnt to throw a fresh pair of underwear in his face before walking back to the kitchen, though, because that’s the only way to make sure he doesn't show up stark nake for breakfast.

Who starts tickle fights Tickle fights aren’t something that happens frequently, but they did happen. Mostly when they were all at least a bit tipsy. John started the very first one, almost accidentally, by rambling about how Cheryl used to tickle him till he cried and couldn’t breathe as a payback for when he messed with her things. Useless to say, that led him to ask Zatanna if she was ticklish and to the poor homo magi being assaulted. Nick had made the mistake to declare that he found the whole affair “undignified”, which had been enough to make John tackle and tickle him too. Zatanna might have retaliate, on them both (John for starting it, Nick for not defending her), even though, if asked, she would deny it. After that episode, both Zatanna and Nick have become very, very wary of whenever John is drunk and feeling both touchy-feely and playful. Of course, he still manages to find a way to catch them both off guard.

Who asks who if they can join the other in the shower John’s “asking” consists in him sticking his head inside the bathroom (or straight past the shower curtain) and make comments about how there’s just enough room for another person under the stream or about how great he is at scrubbing backs, full trademark smirk in place. Nick usually asks before anyone gets in the shower and it usually happens after a very intense roll in the sheet when all the participants might use a wash up. However, there have been times when he has just hopped in the shower while John was already in it, without warnings or questions, because the smug idiot can use a taste of his own medicine from time to time. The main issue with that tact is that John, after the initial moment of astonishment, always gets a bit too mesmerised to really grasp the lesson.

Who surprises the other in the middle of the day at work with lunch Nick can get completely absorbed in his studying and researches and John at times forgets that human beings need to eat to survive, so it’s definitely Zee. When she is around, she makes sure to bring them both, if not a full meal, at least a snack twice a day. She has found that it usually also prevents John from raiding their fridge during the night and, considering how messy that affair gets, it’s a very good thing. When Zatanna isn’t around, Nick is the one who has a more “regular” (if it can be called that) routine, so he takes over the task of keeping them both fed (also because John can’t be trusted around the kitchen at). There are times, though, when John knocks at Nick’s door, after making sure that the older man is done with whatever he’s doing, with takeaway already laid down at the table or saying that he has discovered a new pub that makes nice steaks or pizza and that they should totally go and try it out.

Who was nervous and shy on the first date Definitely John, even if, as per usual, he covered it up with cockiness and smugness. Especially since he felt like a idiot for being nervous in the first place. He and Nick had gone out plenty of times together (with and without Zatanna), so sharing a night that was perhaps a bit more intimate shouldn’t have been such a big deal. And yet, he still spent an incredibly long amount of time (especially for his standards) tidying himself up in the bathroom and deciding which of his clothes were more suitable for the occasion. It earned him a few raised eyebrows from Nick’s part, which made it clear to them both that the older man knew, but John obviously refused to acknowledge both the gestures and the fact.

Who kills/takes out the spiders Spiders are usually either left to mind their business. Zatanna might use her magic to coax them out of a window when they are in the way, but for the rest no one really cares. It doesn’t happen too often that they manage to get inside the Sanctum, so when they do...it’s safe to say that they have earned their right to stay. There are times, though, when the poor creatures become the unfortunate subjects of John’s practice. Once he has learnt how to open portals towards other realms, it has become very much not unusual to see him trying to shove the spiders inside very small rips in the fabric of reality. Nick has pointed out that he has no way to find out whether or not he has managed to send them where he was planning to, but he has soon given up trying to make John see his point, because his words always earn him nothing but a snicker.

Who loudly proclaims their love when they’re drunk John, even if calling his drunk claims “love declarations” would be pushing it. For the most, what leaves his lips are comments about his and Nick alone time together and far too bold to be nice compliments. And, if he is really in the mood, also short rants about what he would love for them to do that they haven’t tried yet. Whenever magic or the undead start being thrown in the mix, Zatanna takes it as her cue to dump him in Nick’s capable, even if exasperated, hands and go spend the rest of her night elsewhere. The real slips can happen after John has ceased being loud, when his mind is more in Dreamland than on the material plane. They are quiet whispers, compared to all the noise he makes before, and that alone is very telling of how much more sincere they are.

[pretend-writer]

Down Below (Chapter 72)

Summary: After being sent down on Earth with the other prisoners from the Ark, Y/N Reyes faces series of events and learns about survival. With new things happening around her, she is now starting a new chapter in her life.

Pairing: Bellamy Blake x reader, John Murphy x reader, Raven Reyes x sister!reader

Word Count: 2k words

Warning: swearing, mention of death

✤  ·  ✤  ·  ✤  ·  ✤  ·  ✤

It was hard to grasp why majority of us were in on staying in Sanctum. Call me paranoid but it was hard to trust someone who we barely knew; I mean look what happened with the grounders, Mount Weather, Diyoza and McCreary.

But Clarke always knew what was best for us right? She was the person we had to listen to because she kept us together, kept us sane and had our back throughout everything. Obviously Clarke knew what she was doing.

She knew it was a great idea to leave Raven, Marcus and Octavia outside when the radiation was going to kill us. Clarke knew to shoot me in the head when I tried to save them. She knew to betray her family and side with the enemy that was trying to kill them for the valley.

So it was such a great idea to listen to her to stay here. Not that we had a say in it at all.

Some of us knew that this was a terrible idea. They interviewed Clarke, horrible candidate to represent us, to show us that we were reliable to the community. That we were no harm.

But that was a lie wasn't it? All we've been doing since we landed on Earth was fight war one day after another. We've made enemies, soon joined clans but continued to kill each other. Who were we to tell them that we deserve to live with them.

Somehow, someway Russell and his people accepted us into their community. Don't know what lie Clarke pulled out of her ass but they were more than excited for us to stay with them. Too excited.

So enthused about welcoming us that they've invited us to attend their Opening Ceremony for "Naming Day", whatever that meant.

John and I sat together, watching everyone mingling and introducing themselves to our new "people."

'You know it's bad for your skin to crinkle your brows like that.' John laughed softly, watching me stress over these new people that we had to live with.

Looking over at Murphy, I rubbed my forehead as I tried to hide my facial expression. 'I'm sorry. Force of habit to not trust people, that's all.'

'Enemies wouldn't save lives. Matter of fact, I wouldn't be alive if it weren't for them.'

'Please don't tell me you're defending them.'

'Ah, no. It's just that-' He bit his lip as he gazed at the people. 'I don't know, it doesn't hurt to have a little hope. For us.'

My jaw dropped, 'John Murphy talking about hope? Wow, you must be a different person.'

He nudged me, 'I died, didn't I?'

'Not funny.'

'What? Too soon?' He chuckled a little until he saw that I wasn't joking. 'Aw, baby I'm sorry.'

The flashback of that moment still terrified me, the way he lied silently, not moving a muscle. 'I was scared that I was going to lose you.'

John smiled, kissing me on my temple as he wrapped his arm around me. 'I'm not going anywhere. Your sister calls me cockroach remember?'

'Right, the infamous cockroach.' I kissed his cheek, leaning into his chest.

As I look up I see Raven approaching us with a huge grin on her face. 'It's been a long, long time since I've seen you two cozying up like this. You two lovebirds need a room?'

'I think you should get Jordan a room.' John pointed at him flirting with Delilah, the girl that everyone was celebrating Naming Day for. 'Man, I bet Monty is so proud.'

As I was laughing at the joke, I saw Bellamy and Clarke talking in a serious tone then eventually hugging. I didn't know what they were talking about but my guess was she was apologizing for the billionth time about all the "mistakes" she had made.

Raven stood in front of my view, looking over me with her arms crossed in front of her. She was probably confused, assuming that I was staring at Bellamy for a different reason.

As I looked up and met my eyes with Raven, she shook her head. I continued to stare at her with a straight face, showing her that I didn't care about what he did, more so annoyed about what Clarke was doing. I didn't want to say that aloud, of course.

Besides, I was angry with Bellamy. I didn't give a damn about what he was doing. If he wanted to make amends with Clarke that was going to betray us again, he can knock himself out.

Speaking of the devil, I heard their voice getting closer. Knowing Clarke's voice from miles away, I rolled my eyes as she started to speak to us.

'The ceremony is about to start soon. Don't really know what we're supposed to do but it'll be good for us to attend.'

'Count me out.' I laughed sarcastically, 'You guys can have your fun.'

Clarke rested her hands on her hips, 'We don't want them to think we're being disrespectful right?'

'I don't give a damn about what they think about us. I never agreed to stay here anyways.' I stood up and approached Clarke. 'They were digging into our history, did you ever think to ask them questions as well?'

Bellamy cut in, defending Clarke. 'She's doing the best she can for our people. They've agreed to take us in and because of that, we have a home now.'

'Okay, so where are the rest of our people? Some are still in cryo and stuck in the ship, correct?' I shook my head, 'It's always whatever that's convenient for you. Not us as a whole.'

'Soon enough, we will bring them here. Right now, we just bring whoever can represent us as a whole and look the best we can.'

'Mhm.' I hummed, staring at Clarke as my thoughts went elsewhere. She brought Madi back, having Gaia by her side as she was trained to control the flame in her neck.

She only brought people who were convenient for her, using us as bait to make ourselves look good when in all reality was that we had a ugly history behind us.

Why couldn't she bring Indra? She was smart in these situations, great at communicating and talking with people. Matter of fact, knew how to handle and escape tough situations. Yet she brought Gaia with us; without her mother. Only to use her to benefit her "daughter", Madi.

The fact was that nothing that was coming out of her mouth made sense; if we were safe and welcomed into the family, why couldn't we bring the rest of our people? Why couldn't we start settling into this "wonderful" place if this was our home now?

'Clarke again with the bullshit. How long will it take for you to betray us this time?' A chuckle escaped my mouth. 'I'll be in here, away from these people while I enjoying the booze I haven't had in years.'

'Same here. I'm going to the bar.' Raven didn't bat an eye before she walked away. I followed her to the back, where the bar counter was.

Sitting down as I took a deep breath, I pouring my first shot. 'I probably should just go back to cryo, pretend that none of this is happening.'

'I hear ya. I'll join you if you actually mean it.' John jumped in, sitting next to me as he poured a shot as well.

'Do we really believe this crap? I mean come on, it's so obvious Russell or someone has something on Clarke.' Raven shook her head, taking a sip from her beer that she had before.

'Clearly, he didn't want us near Sanctum and now he's so welcoming. I agree, something is definitely not right.' I knew I sounded paranoid, but given the fact that Russell almost wanted nothing to do with us, it did sound a bit odd.

Raven looked at me with a smirk on her face. 'You want to snoop around? I mean no offense to them but I just don't trust them.'

Murphy raised his brows, 'The perfect Raven Reyes suddenly wants to be bad? Wow.'

'How is this bad? I need to make sure we're not falling into some trap.'

'I'm down for that. Whatever we need to do to keep us safe.' I smiled.

'Do we have to ruin this?' John sighed, 'I mean come on. We're in paradise right now. Let's leave it be for a few days, enjoy ourselves.'

Raven shook her head as she grinned, 'Okay now you're crazy. You want to turn down being bad?'

John nudged Raven, 'Leave me alone. Recently died here.'

I instantly looked over at him, Murphy noticed too because he apologized. 'I-Sorry Y/N. I guess it's just my way of coping. I'm sorry.'

'Yeah, I know.' I sighed, understanding his part but also sensitive to the subject. It hurt to see him like that and the flashbacks just drove me crazy.'

'This is why we need to keep it be, for now. Let's just enjoy this moment. Y/N, when was the last time you were relaxed?' John smiled, 'Let's go on a date, you and me.'

'A date?' I didn't know why but my mind went blank, what is a date exactly?

My whole life I was trapped in a metal box that was floating out of space, the life after that all I knew was fight and survival. I've never in my life never dreamed or even thought of a date. A moment to spend quality time with a significant other.

'What did you sound like that.' John scratched his head. 'I mean if you don-'

'No, no. It's just that, I've never even thought about any of that stuff.' My cheeks got warmer, I could feel myself blushing. 'I'd love to go on a date with you.'

His eyes widened, John's cheeks getting pink as well. Raven giggled, 'You two act like you haven't seen each other naked. Why are you guys shy all of the sudden.'

The joke made everything worse, our cheeks getting redder. I took another shot and then hit my sister, 'Okay stop with that!'

'What? It's true.'

Murphy rolled his eyes as he laughed at Raven, then turned back to me. 'Meet me in front of the staircase tomorrow night. The one that goes up to that palace, okay?'

I nodded, butterflies in my stomach as I was excited. It had been a long time since I've looked forward to something, hell, it had been a long time since I've been genuinely happy.

Bellamy's POV;

She was smiling, so beautifully and so happily. I haven't seen Y/N smile so genuinely since I left her on Earth. Now she was smiling, except I wasn't the reason behind that joy.

Reyes was done with me now, I knew all the reasoning behind it. Everything she had said about me was true; I was a hypocrite, I was a cheater, I was everything she didn't deserve at all.

Of course she left me for Murphy, he was good. He'd done a lot better in the Ring than I ever did. Hell, anyone up there did better.

Now, I deserve what had come to me. The love of my life with another man, me being miserable once again. But I couldn't complain, I deserve this. After hurting Y/N, not pulling her out of the struggle that she had been facing under the bunker.

She had called for help so many times, the silence but loud cries of suffering that I ignored. Not to mention the fact that I've pushed my sister away also; I didn't know why I was behaving the way that I was.

This time, I was alone. Facing these new strangers that we started sharing their spaces with, facing them by myself. No one wanted to be near me but Clarke. I didn't know how I felt about it, considering Y/N had really strong feeling towards her but it was better than nothing.

The fact of the matter was I had to do better, I had to win Reyes back and make her love me again. Go how it used to be, how it was supposed to be when she flew up to the Ring with us.

But I couldn't tell her my secret; Y/N couldn't know about the six years that happened with me while I was up there. She should never know.

[thedefinitionofendgame]

Fall To Pieces

by @thedefinitionofendgame

You can find the original ao3 posting here

It was peaceful being free.

Free of pain, free of hurt, suffering and worry. Free of feelings, especially the ones that hit like a ceiling falling on top of you. Emori could speak from experience that it hurt to have tons of concrete crash over top of you; not only quenching all places of escape, but in turn separating you from your love. The one person who made all this fighting to survive, all this existing, worth it. Emori had felt the pain her John felt, but kept it inside. She didn’t cry. He did at times, in the middle of the night when everyone else in Sanctum was asleep. Emori knew he liked to hold her close, fingers entwined in his because her being there for him kept him grounded. Gave him reason to put himself into the position of a hero. He was a hero to her, and he always had been. It just was about time other people saw John Murphy the way Emori saw him.

Though now, Emori was stripped of those feelings, that pain. She was finally at peace with herself. She didn’t know what had happened, however she couldn’t help but wonder where John was. If she had transcended, whatever that meant, he would too. It was only what he deserved. And there was no way in hell she would be going somewhere new without him. Take me back to him, she wanted to scream.

Emori opened her eyes. There was a moment of panic, as a shiver was sent down her spine. She breathed in once, then again, lips trembling. The place she was in felt unfamiliar, yet as she sat up, it looked like the palace. Perhaps the trip back to Sanctum hadn’t been such a haze after all. Was she in Kaylee Prime’s bed? Soft silken sheets withered their way between her fused fingers. For all their glory and grace, the Primes really did have the nicest things. Perhaps that was another part of ‘playing primes’ that Emori liked.

Wherever she was, Emori could tell automatically she wasn’t herself. A dress of green satin with black lace trim covered her slim figure, cutting in at the waist. She breathed in, watching as the fabric moved with the curve of her body, and Emori felt nostalgic all of a sudden. The memories of John holding her waist delicately in his hands, as he took all of her in during those late nights after their long days. As a prime, you’d think they slept longer and more deeply than any other citizen of Sanctum. But for Emori and John, they slept the least because in the depths of night, they connected like never before. Underneath the sheets as their bodies became one, their souls and minds joined too. A world of ecstasy only one person, one man in the world could bring her too. Emori was only sad that in this place of utter perfection, she was alone.

The light seemed to come from an invisible source. Said source had also healed her wound, the wound she would take over and over again if it meant John was okay and safe. The bleeding she would endure for her family, Echo and Raven especially. John hated seeing her in pain but he would be able to live without her. She was doing good wherever she was. Maybe if she died, John would be able to live a life that didn’t require thinking about her survival all the time. He needed to do things for himself. Being with her only endangered his life.

Emori, that’s crazy talk, she heard in her head, as she rose from the bed and walked towards the window. John would be nothing without you. The voice sounded so alike to her love’s; was it him? No, it couldn’t be because in this place, she was alone.

Through the cracks in the curtains, a beacon of light seemed to shine. Emori parted the fabric, which spilled an endless golden hue into her room. The place she was in overlooked a dessert. The Dead Zone. The place she found herself, in a complete stranger. John always said she meant everything to him, when in reality, he was everything to her. She never would have come to Earth aboard a ship for which she spent one hundred and twenty-five years in, in cryo. Without him, she never would have been given a reason to survive. Emori was thankful for everything he had done for her; everything he would continue to do for her. She loved him, with every fiber of what she was, she loved him.

“I remember that,” a voice spoke from behind her. Emori turned, almost losing her breath when she saw the figure standing there. John. She smiled, standing in amazement that he made it to this place the same as she had. “The place we first met. Love at first knife to throat.” His chuckle sent another shiver down her spine. His tone of voice was the same that he had in their bed, whispering words only meant for her ears.

She couldn’t stop the corners of her mouth turning up, as he stared at her. Her knees felt weak, as if she could fall over at any point in time. Emori knew if that happened, John would be right there to catch her, as he always had. Emori looked right back at him, his gaze unwavering as he took in the vision of beauty in front of him. “Oh, you are so beautiful,” he breathed. Her stomach fluttered, the same way it did back in the Dead Zone. The way he turned up the corner of his lips in a smile for her, sharing his precious water with a girl he didn’t know. He took a chance on her, in that moment. And his chance ended up dealing him a whole-goddamned fortune. A fortune he knew he could never take for granted.

It was the way John’s gaze stayed holding hers as he complimented her. As his fiancée, Emori knew John loved her figure, with the way her hips turned in and her chest pushed out when she showed off for him. He smiled and would kiss her hungrily, whispering naughty things in her ear. She’d laugh and while they played primes, they always had to be so careful so no one would call them out for incestry. As much as she wanted to rip John’s clothes off at all times, dignity and remembering the role she was playing always sat at the front of her conscious. However, his eyes looking into hers as he said those words about her being beautiful, that was everything to her. He saw her true beauty, the irresistible fire of her soul, through her eyes. John didn’t need to flick his gaze over her delicate frame to find her attractive. She just, was.

Emori’s head was swimming with emotions, as she tilted her head upwards to look at him. “John, where are we?” She asked, looking around at the sight before her. Besides what was outside, she had only really looked at John. Now she took in how very much like the Sanctum Palace this place was.

“Josephine called it the mindspace,” John answered, cocking his head to focus on her better. “If it were up to me, I would have chosen our cave, but-” He stopped speaking, as Emori travelled her hand up his chest, feeling the hard muscle under her fingertips through the rough fabric of his shirt. His chin dipped down, regarding her delicate touch. Her hand stopped just on his heart, which John was sure Emori could feel beating wildly. Her mind attempted to process what John had just told her.

Whether it was his aching heart she could sense though his pulsing skin, or the way his gaze tore at her insides, Emori was hit with the realization of what had happened, and why exactly she was in his place of utter beauty. “I died.”

He nodded, a watery gaze clouding his iridescent blue eyes. “You did.” John’s set expression faltered every so slightly, as he pushed through the emotions he had felt when she passed on. In the way he always chose to move past hard feelings, he smirked and told her, “Not acceptable.”

Emori let out a huff, one that was both a laugh and sassy, for when John placed limits on Emori, she was bound to exceed them. He knew that, of course, which is why he rarely did. It was in a moment of time like this, when he did it. To get a rise out of her, perhaps.

If I’m dead, how am I here having this conversation, Emori thought. Something didn’t line up. She thought back to Josephine and what a shared mindspace meant. Mind drives. John’s proposal gift; the gift of forever. “You put my mind drive in your head,” she said, slowly. John didn’t say anything, only nodded slightly. “Two minds, one body. You’ll die, too.” The hard hit of the truth came like a giant wave. No. You’re not dying for me.

Emori thought the answer was plain and simple. “You’ll have to take it out.” John knew she wouldn’t understand that he had put it into his head because he wanted another moment like this with her. Another chance at forever. Maybe their forever wasn’t going to be for a long time, but it was going to be theirs.

Her hand still lingered near his collar bone. He sucked in air, as he told her, “Without you, I’d just be surviving, Emori. I wouldn’t be living.” The emotional gravity in each word, the words he meant with his whole heart. John Murphy was known to be a survivor, one that would do anything to save his own ass. Though these past few days, weeks, months, he had realized he wasn’t surviving anymore. He was living, all because of her. He survived for himself, but he lived for her. Experienced life. Laughed, loved and made love to. She was his whole world. His heart. With her hand over the pulsing muscle deep within his chest, she had never felt closer.

“No.” Emori’s opinion on the matter was short and clipped. She tried to back away, to separate him from her. But he held on, not bearing to have their skin untouching for even a moment.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he said, cupping her face in his hands. John felt as though he had been doing this a lot. It was more intimate than a hand on her waist, he felt. He felt as though it was ultimate trust, to be able to have so much control over the part of the body that expressed so much. Her face with it’s scars both visible and invisible. Ones he knew lay beneath the surface of her cheekbones, the skin that held so much. He couldn’t imagine not being able to feel the roughness of her cheeks beneath his finger tips or brush the tears from her eyes as they fell. The thought made him emotional, and he held tight to her. “I would take a few more hours with you over forever without.”

Her heart breaking, Emori’s lower lip trembles. She stares at this shell of a man in front of her. This fragile person hiding behind a stoic expression and a mountain of sarcasm. Some people think they know John but they only know who he chooses to show them. It’s Emori though, who really knows him. Or maybe she knows most of him, because right now she thinks he’s being irrational with his emotions. Risking his life to have a few more hours with her? No way. If Emori has anything to do with it, she will not let him stop living to help her. No way in heaven, hell or mindspace. “No, no, no.” She said aloud, breaking away from his touch. “You can’t do this. I won’t let you do this, so wake up.”

John could see the pain in her face as she pushed him away. “Emori.”

“Wake up.” She shoved him, her fingertips pressing hard against his chest. He can feel heat lingering where she touched him and all he wants to do is drink her in. Her smell, the feel of her lips on his, a hand running through her curls. But she’s shouting at him. “Just wake up! Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!” The raw desperation in her voice cuts through his heart; she wants him to go. How can he explain to her that every cell in his being functions for her? He wouldn’t have a life without her. And he refused to, which is the reason he was ready to carve Emori’s mind drive out of her head in a desperate pursuit of saving her himself.

Emori took her pleas to a whole new level, as she frantically scanned the room of supposed paradise. She searched for a way to contact someone outside this mindspace; someone who could tell Murphy not to waste his life on her. She was already gone. He still had a chance. “Jackson! Jackson, wake him up!”

“Emori.” John saying her name normally made Emori smile and feel weak. She was anything but at the moment.

John followed her as she moved across the room, holding out from crumbling to the ground in sobs until a more appropriate time. Don’t let him do this! Jackson!” Emori screamed, her voice straining.

That was enough. John couldn’t bear to let her cry out any longer. His heart had already been broken today, crushed into a thousand pieces when her heart flatlined. He wouldn’t survive it happening again. So he grabbed her, wrapping his arms over hers, pinning her flailing limbs to her body. She struggled-Emori wasn’t weak to say the least-but he was used to pinning her. Normally it was against the wall, though when she wasn’t herself, John could make use of the ability for this reason. “John, John!” She cried out, louder and more desperate. There was no way she was letting him do this. Not for her. Never for her. Growing up worthless taught her to never be a problem, or else she’d be treated harshly. She was taught to keep quiet, never let anyone do anything in place of her. Her survival was based on her instincts alone. Meeting John surely put a wrench in her one self-made rule. It was one thing when they were working together. However, now it was only John keeping her grounded. If she needed to go free for him to forget about saving her, that’s what she would do. Before she felt peace being free. Now free felt painful, but if she sacrificed herself for John then it would be okay.

It was a matter of who would break first. John’s grip on her hadn’t loosened and her screaming hadn’t quieted. Nothing was getting through to Emori. She wasn’t focusing, and she was practically shaking as she wrestled against him. At last, five words broke through the haze of her mind and reached her core. “This is okay with me.” John told her. He told her the words he never thought he’d say. His face crumpled, as he understood those words he had just said.

This is okay with me. Okay, he was using his last few hours alive to be in the mindspace with the person who taught him to live. Okay, to die at the hands of love. Okay to fall apart for her because hell, she made him fall apart. She fucking made him fall apart. Only her. Only Emori. His girl, his true love, his forever. That was all he needed. And in those five words, he understood that.

It was now Emori’s turn to realize. “No. It’s not okay with me.” Emori shot back. She moved to leave John’s grasp one last time, and he held tight, feeling that her fight was ending now. The dry sobs were racking her body, her heart rate dangerously fast. John was worried but as long as her heart was beating and she wasn’t flatlining, he was okay. Hearing that blaring line beep on the monitor would haunt his waking and sleeping hours until the end of time, he was sure of it. But he’d deal with it, because Emori was here right now. At this moment, she was with him. In his arms where she belonged.

“It’s okay. It’s okay.” John’s tone lowered, and he whispered the words to her. They were never the type of couple to yell or scream, unless upset. Whispering was their thing, the way he whispered words to her when he thought she was asleep. And the way she told him things about her past in a whisper, saying words only for each other. Whispers could only be heard by those meant to hear them, John and Emori liked to believe.

Their breath mingled as they both heaved sighs. His body was still pressed up tightly against hers; he wasn’t thinking of moving anytime soon. In the distance, a tune rang out. Emori was the first to recover, most likely looking for a distraction. “What is that?” she asked, calming almost automatically in John’s embrace.

John let out a short breath when he figured it out. Emori was confused, but John was quick to explain. “The last time I asked you to dance, you stabbed me with a butcher knife.” They had just gotten back together and had just set foot in Sanctum. They both knew it was because of the Red Sun Toxin, at least now they did. Back then, he was confused as to why his girlfriend-now she was his fiancée-was trying to kill him. Now they were technically going to die. If it was one thing John wanted, he wanted to dance with his girl.

A small smile broke through Emori’s lips. “Relationships,” she said.

“Yeah.” John smiled too. He paused only or a moment to collect himself, then offered out his hand. Emori, who had predicted what he wanted, only hesitated for a moment before gently placing her hand in hers. Their fingers brushed before they melted together, like two water droplets finding themselves to be more powerful together. John relaxed in the way her arm clung her to him, as if she was holding on for dear life. Afraid to lose her, his arms hold tight at about the height of her shoulder blades. A tear dropped onto her arm, the reason being John’s eyes were watering. He didn’t care though. He had his Emori in his arms. The world could fall to pieces, so long as he had Emori in his arms.

The statement had never been truer. Outside their shared mindspace, a “last war” was raging. A last war that Murphy already fought, when he lost Emori. Now he had her, and though it wasn’t going to be for forever, it was enough. She was enough. Everything that made her happy, well that was enough for him.

He breathed in. The smell of home in her hair, loving the way her body fit just right against hers. They were, perhaps it was true, endgame. Until the bitter end, they would be together. John and Emori. Falling over and over for each other, until one plunged into the deep end. Pulling the other with them. For they were the same mind now, all jokes aside. Together, forever and ever.

Before the song was over, John had pulled back and was pressing his lips to Emori’s. This time, she didn’t hesitate. She kissed him back just as passionately, pressing her body tighter up against her. One of his arms slid down her back, an agonizing trail really. The dress she was wearing wasn’t exactly thick, and he could feel her wanting him. He didn’t hide what he felt. All the emotions they had felt over the past few days, well they were about to put them all into what they did best; loving each other. Unconditional love was what they had. And unconditional love, even with the condition of looming death over their heads, well that wouldn’t stop them from what they wanted to do.

Their lips parted as Emori shoved John again, this time so that he would fall back onto the bed. He tipped back, happy to oblige and scooted backwards on the blankets, ditching his shoes on the way. Emori let out a giggle, then crawled overtop of him. He grunted and she giggled some more. A smirk formed on his face, a finger darting out as he pushed the left strap of her dress off her shoulder. She watched as he repeated the action on the other side, until her dress just slipped off and ended somewhere on the floor.

It was then that he took her in. All of her, her scars, her imperfections, her bare skin. Her badass hand splayed out on his chest, fitting in the curves of his chest. His heart beat loudly because they were so close to really being together. No interruptions in their mindspace. Sort of like a level heading to heaven, for them.

Her turn to stare at him was next. She pushed the fabric of his shirt open, his belt buckle fumbling between her fingers. The hard, pleated lines of his chest and the way she knew he was his. Bullet wound scars were only visible to her eyes, for she was the only who really looked at the war marks on his skin. Each was a memory she wished she could forget. But then again, they made him the man he was today. The man she was undyingly in love with. The man who was willing to sacrifice his lifetime for her, in exchange for a few hours of her time. What an exchange. Yet he had made it and without hesitation.

There was a moment of silence. A beat. A pause. Then they come crashing back together, and it’s anything but slow and steady. It’s passion, heat and desire and everything they want to feel together. It’s the heated kisses Emori presses to John’s chest; in turn his hand slipped between her legs. A muffled groan escapes her lips and he chases her quiet with another kiss. They’re falling, together all at once.

The covers were pulled back and Emori fell to the side as John pulled the sheet over their heads. It’s stuffy, but Emori’s laughing. “What’s this for?” She asked, not minding them stopping for a moment.

“You liked the palace. I liked our cave. This is how we have both,” John explained.

Emori’s heart was bursting as she smiled up. Her forever was staring right back at her, his blue gaze searching her brown one. “I love you.”

“I love you.” He echoed her words. In his eyes was nothing but love. The invisible force that held him to this mindspace. The invisible line that was keeping him to his humanity. Love.

If this was going to be the way to go, so be it. Love at all costs. John was the unlovable; Emori, the unloved. Between the two of them they created meaning to the word. Show love, give love, make love. It was all together.

When they came together once and for all, John struggled to hold on, waiting for Emori to fall apart before he did. Though it shouldn’t have come as a surprise when they both came undone together. Breathing heavy, bodies spent from not just this activity. The pair of survivors had been through so much in the last short while. They were living. And it was fucking incredible.

After, while curled up in John’s arms, Emori’s feelings were starting to come back, John could tell. He kissed her head, and his fingers found hers. They laced together, him softly squeezing. His mouth moved to press against her ear. “Think you can love me forever?” He whispered.

A small smile made its way onto Emori’s face. She turned in his arms and lay her head on his bare chest. “I’ll love you forever. Even when we die today.” The change of wording compared to her proposal answer hurts but at least he’s here with her. Just as it should be and always will be.

“Just think, while they’re fighting a war out there, you and I are loving in here. I wonder if it was this peaceful in the mindspace for Clarke.”

“We’re fighting our own war, John.” Emori said, glancing up to meet his gaze. “A war of love. And I don’t think the mindspace was exactly the place of happiness for Clarke, considering Josephine was trying to kill her and all.”

John chuckled. “Right.” With his free hand, he brushed the hair out of Emori’s eyes. “You are the most perfect person in this universe.”

“I’ll admit, you’re kinda hot.” Emori winked and John snuck a quick kiss. She giggled again, then became serious. “John, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

This girl managed to tear John apart every time. She had the power to reduce him to a stuttering mess. Maybe that was why only her happiness mattered. He would be okay in the end, so long as she was okay. “I-I love you. And I know you’re perfect. I don’t need to be, because you are. When we die today, it’ll be okay. I love you.”

Tears sprung to Emori’s eyes, mimicking the ones already in John’s. “I love you,” she whispered, snuggling closer to John. This was how they were going to die, and surprisingly, they were both at peace with it.

The two broken halves of forever lay together, finally whole. They had each other, and that was all that mattered. If the world was in shambles around them, they wouldn’t know. When they passed on, they would be together.

Both started out in the world alone. Both grew up alone. Both thought that alone was the only thing they’d ever feel. Then finally, two ‘lones found love.

Love. What a funny word. It had the power to break people up, only to have them fall back together again and tear them apart. It dictated irrational choices and rational fears. People may fall to pieces because of it, with another picking up the pieces. Whatever it was, Emori and John had found it.

It was love, found.

[mikrowrites]

all hail the magic man

•part one•

Doctor Strange x Apprentice!OC(platonic)

A/N: Thanks for all the love for Charlie! Tag list is open and after the chapter! Thanks lovelies xx

Charlie opens her eyes.

It isn’t like the movies where she’s blinded by light, she squints her eyes and finally noticed the world around her.

No, Charlie was immediately aware and terrified.

She sat up in her bed, her eyes darting around to see two figures standing still in the shadows. “H-Hello?”

They step forward, making Charlie go rigid and her breathing stop.

Mary Anne Greyson steps forward first, her face pale and her brown hair now a deep auburn with blood. A mystic mirror knife goes straight through her head, blood decorating her face, neck, and light green Master robes.

Then Henry John Greyson steps up milliseconds later. His face pale, his eyes dark and glossy, the trails and salt deposites of shed tears on his taut cheeks. Another knife goes straight through his abdomen, bloodieing his blue Master robes.

The two figures glower at young Charlie, before they open their mouths.

“Why did you watch, Charlotte? Why didn’t you try to save us? You’re weak and pathetic. We’re dead because of you.”

Charlie screams.

- - - - - -

It’s a beautiful and ugly thing, a funeral for a Master of the mystic arts.

Charlie has only attended one before, when she was seven, the Master of the London Sanctum had passed of old age and sickness. She remembered the old man, he had a kind smile and a silly accent and would sneak Charlie candies behind her parent’s backs.

But this funeral was for five poor souls.

Jeon Sihyung, a sweet but stoic man from Korea who headed the Hong Kong Sanctum.

Gieva Frueble, the Master of the London Sanctum.

Henry Greyson, Master of the New York Sanctum and his wife, Mary Anne Greyson.

And lastly, the Sorcerer Supreme, The Ancient One, had passed in a battle against Kaecillius, the woman fought valiantly along side Stephen and Modor.

Charlie stood in all black robes, her face stoic and emotionless through the whole service. She could sense Stephen staring at her the entire time, trying to catch her eye.

She had been approached by Wong, explaining that one of the Ancient Ones’ last decisions was to appoint Stephen the Master of the New York Sanctum (with good chances of him being the next sorcerer supreme; he was clearly immensely exceptional in the mystic arts).

After the service, Charlie felt a tug on her arm. Stephen towered over her, his face softened and littered with healing cuts. “I’m sorry, Charlie.”

The girl looked down at her feet. “S’Okay...”

Stephen put his hand on her shoulder. “Wong told you about her offer to me?” At Charlie’s nod he continued, “If myself being in the role makes you uncomfortable or you do not want me as that position, I won’t do it. It’s okay, it’s up to you.”

Charlie shook her head, finally looking Stephen in the eye. “No, no, take the position. Please. As of right now, I can’t think of anyone I’d want in that role more than you. If the Ancient One believed you could do it, so do I.”

Stephen smiled softly, leaning down and pulling Charlie into a quick embrace. “You’ll be coming back to the Sanctum, right? I know Wong was kind of hoping you would.”

“Wong did?” Charlie raised an eyebrow.

Stephen shrugged sheepishly, chuckling. “And um... maybe me too...” he mumbled.

Charlie smiled.

“I’ll see you at the Sanctum, then.”

- - - - - -

Living in the New York Sanctum with Stephen and Wong was... interesting for sure.

Wong and Charlie would read in silence together, merely enjoying each other’s presence. They’d also care for the relics together, Charlie recommending him new music and Wong teaching her random new little spells here and there.

Pranking Stephen was also something they delighted in.

Stephen and Charlie would talk about 70s-80s music together, as well as Charlie helping teaching him the basic of heading the Sanctum. They’d often go out for sandwiches together, and sometimes they’d just talk about everything and nothing.

If you had told Stephen Strange he’d get close with a kid—he simply wouldn’t have believed you.

So after much discussion with Wong, they finally sat down with Charlie (much like two parents would sit down their child. The irony was not lost on Charlie, she found it hilarious actually).

Stephen nervously cleared his throat, looking up at Charlie.

“I’d like to make you my apprentice.”

- - - - - -

OC Information:

Name: Charlotte (Charlie) Lynn Greyson

Age: 13 (Doctor Strange) 14 (Thor Ragnarok) 15 (Infinity War) 19 (Endgame)

Height: 5’4”-5’7”

Appearance: DS-IW: light brown hair length to chest Endgame: short, above the shoulder light brown hair | green eyes, lightly tanned skin, a light scar on the left of her forehead (as a kid she tried to ride down the banister of the staircase)

- - - - - -

Taglist: @knightofreaders @imabookworm31 @lizlil

[laughingmagi]

@strangcrdoctor​ prompted: (💥) Our muses get a power outage.

Moonlight Aesthetic Starters // accepting

     “Don’t even think it,” John said when the lights went out. Were they in the Sanctum, they probably wouldn’t have been affected by the blackout, but they were holed up in a hotel suite because sometimes John just didn’t want to deal with all that magical nonsense. It was a nice change from time to time, to do simple things without worrying about turning the corner into an unfamiliar hallway or the fact that he was pretty sure the Sanctum was trying to get him to quit smoking given that his packs of cigarettes tended to turn migrant the instant he set them aside. 

     Between the two of them, they could probably solve this wee problem, but it seemed like a waste of effort when he was reasonably certain the lights would be back up soon enough. Life wasn’t a horror movie in the most common expectations. However, Stephen had that nasty empathetic streak that often overrode good sense. What if this was part of a larger, more sinister narrative? What if it extended to a hospital block, never mind the existence of generators for public and private institutions? John wouldn’t be surprised if one kicked in soon for parts of this building. They were a business, after all. There was a restaurant and bar on the ground floor open to the public and food waste was a killer to profits.

     “I’m gonna go downstairs an’ talk t’the clerk an’ see if I can scare up some tea lights,” John insisted, his determination slightly undermined by the fact that he was fumbling around by the light of his zippo’s flame looking for his trousers and shoes. “At the very least they could lend us a bloody torch f’as much as we spent on this fucking room.”

[chase-the-windandtouch-the-sky]

Lindseyyyy is it too late for this? lol I wish you would write a fic where it took so long for the gang to figure out Clarke wasn’t Clarke, that when she did return(maybe saved herself somehow—I’m such a sucker for your fics when C is her own friggin’ savior tyvm 🙌🏽 lol) major angst ensues. Sorry, I’m feeling lots today😬😂☺️

Looooooove! No, no! Not too late - I’m having way too much fun with it!

Clarke felt everything.

She felt the moment her breathing slowed, when her brain started toshut off. It was excruciating and terrifying, and something she wouldn’t wishon anyone. Then, she had to watch her body be used for horrifying acts, againsther own people, against her family,without them realizing it.

Perhaps that’s where they were. Where she stood with everyone. Theycouldn’t put it together, they couldn’t separate who she was from whatthey did. There were days when she wanted to give up – to succumb to the hellthat became her mind as she was locked away. But then… then she thought of whatshe would say to them if she had another chance. How she would approach itdifferently, how she would lean forward with herself, no longer keeping peopleat arm’s lengths.

So when she can see the horror in their expressions, Josephine still incontrol, Clarke knows she has to do something. She has to save them, even if itmeans saving them from herself.

“No,” Bellamy breathes, taking a step away from her. “I-It can’t be.”

Josephine tilts her head in a murderous way. “Is it really so hard tobelieve, Bellamy? That she’s gone?”

“You’re lying!” Murphy spits to Bellamy’s left. “Clarke is one toughbitch who wouldn’t be taken out by someone as pathetic as you. You can’t kill—”

“A cockroach?” Josephine asks. “Sure you can, John. You just have to paralyzeit.”

Bellamy’s expression is one that Clarke wishes she never had to see.The heartbreak. The despair. She’s seen it before – even worse, she’s seen itdirected at her – and all she wantsto do is cry out. But she knows he can’t hear her, he can’t see her. He can’tsee how she’s fought to get back to him, to back to all of them, only to be behindglass. It’s as if she is back atMount Weather, but she never escaped.

“No,” Bellamy swallows. “No, Clarke can’t be—”

“Dead?” Josephine taunts. “I assure you, she can. Because this is allmine.” Josephine gestures to Clarke’s body. “It was kinda a drag at first, butI learned that I can get over all the baggage if people listen to me all thetime. I mean, you guys bitch so much,I don’t know how she hasn’t just murdered you all yet because it makes life somuch easier, but you know. C’est la vie.”

“Josie,” Russell warns behind her. “Don’t be cruel.”

“I’m right and I should say it.” Josephine says, gesturing at them. “They’vebeen super annoying.”

Bellamy still looks at her as if she’s shot him. His eyes are widerthan Clarke has ever seen them and they glisten.

“Actually, I think turning them into – what do you call it,nightbloods? Super catchy, not going to lie,” Josephine says. “And then we justbreed them so we can bring all the primes back. And just keep them so we canhave endless nightbloods and we’ll live forever. It’s the perfect plan.”

“Josie!” Russell exclaims, eyes wide. “That is sociopathic. We can’t—”

“Actually, I wasn’t asking.” Josephine says, nodding to guards behindhim.

“Hail Josephine, hallowed be her name.” People say behind her, theireyes glazed over.

“Josephine!” Russell cries when people restrain him. “This is not whatwe agreed on!”

“No, but as usual, I need to make the decisions because yours are soweak.” Josephine sighs. “Tie them up. We’ll start the procedures immediately.”

Clarke watches in horror. She wants to scream. So wants to reach out tothem. “I bore it so they didn’t have to. I killed so they didn’t have to. I did everything so they didn’t have to!”Clarke screams. She puts her hands on her head. “I didn’t want to do it. I didn’twant to do it!”

Clarke takes her hands off her head. “I just want to protect them. It’swhat I’ve always wanted.”

Josephine flicks her fingers. “Bring them—”

She stops.

Everyone stares at her as she looks around. “My lady, everythingalright?” Someone asks.

“I—”

Clarke knows.

She never wanted more blood on her hands. She never wanted to killanother person. But they are too important. They are all so important.

Clarke will not apologize forsaving those she loves.

Everything comes back in pieces. It’s like someone turned a television,but the signal isn’t fully available. It’s fuzzy and in pieces, and at onepoint she feels something sharp against her back. It feels like she’s drowning –her head hurts, her body hurts, and she can’t breathe.

When she comes to, people are surrounding her. She’s vaguely aware ofsomething wet on the back of her neck. Her head lolls on the ground and someoneprops her up. “Josephine!” They cry. “Josephine, please!”

Clarke’s eyes flit open, her body trembling.

“Josephine!”

“Try again.” Clarke manages, her cheeks dragging across the ground asshe tries to stabilize herself.

People recoil.

Clarke brings her hands in front of her, hoisting herself on herforearms. “Clarke?”

Clarke moves her head to the noise, seeing Bellamy’s face yards away. “Bellamy?”She breathes, her lower lip trembling.

His face breaks into something mixed between relief and sorrow. “Oh mygod, Clarke.”

There’s a few clicks and Clarke looks up to see weapons pointed at herheads. “What have you done with Josephine?” Someone asks. A piece of metal ispressed against her head. “What have you done?”

Clarke brings her hands to the back of her neck. Her fingers are wetwith blood. Open flesh.

Clarke rummages around until her hands scramble against the Mind Drivethat’s on the ground next to her. She grabs it, taking it in her fingers. “Takenback what’s mine.”

No one stops her when she stands to her feet.

Clarke steadies.

She stands in the center of everyone, still. Sure. Her family is off tothe left, Russell and his on the right. The people of Sanctum filling inbetween.

She stands.

Mind Drive in hand, Clarke looks at her family. She sees the pain ontheir faces. Losing her and regaining her all at once.

Her body doesn’t quite feel like her own. It’s foreign and strange.Like putting on an outfit that you haven’t tried in years. It doesn’t fitright.

The guards blink and stare at Clarke. “W-What?” Someone asks, staringwhere Clarke is. “H-How are you… they are gods. They are immortal!”

Clarke shakes her head. “No.” She responds. “They are humans, just likeyou. Just like us. The only difference is, we try to save each other.” Shemoves and places a hand on one of the Sanctums’ guards faces. “The differenceis, we don’t take each other’s lives under the guise of faith.”

***

It ends like it started.

Quietly.

Except instead of being paralyzed, Clarke is surrounded by a bubble.People who are afraid to talk to her, people who are afraid that she isn’t her.Clarke learns to ignore it, settling back into the loneliness she was used to.

“What are you planning on doing with Russell?” Clarke asks, barginginto a meeting where everyone is circled. A few people jump. Someone even movesaway from her. Clarke would be lying to herself if she said it didn’t hurt, soshe looks to the ground.

“Why?” Emori asks suspiciously.

“I’d like to speak with him.” Clarke answers. “And I’d like to takeresponsibility of him.”

“Sounds like something Josephine would say—”

“I wish you would treat me like I hurt you on purpose.” Clarke states,her eyes watering. “I never wanted to hurt you.” She lets out a hollow laugh. “Doesn’tmatter, though, right? All I do is apologize and then do it again.”

Raven recoils. “Clarke, I—” she clears her throat. “This is different,someone stole a body, you didn’t have a choice—”

“And I did before? It was the only choice.” Clarke asks, shutting her eyes. She hears Bellamy’s intake of breath. “I was told youguys or Mount Weather, I chose you guys. I was told Grounders or you guys, Ichose you guys. I was told you guys or the City of Light and I chose you guys.Enough.”

Clarke clears her throat. “I am no longer going to apologize for savingthe ones I love. And I wish you would stop asking me to.”

Clarke turns to leave, whirling around. “Clarke,” Bellamy reaches outand grabs her arm. “I—” He looks around to the room. “I can’t believe I wasn’tthere again.”

She closes her eyes. When she does that for sleep, she sees thenightmare. When she opens them, the nightmares remain. “It’s not your fault,”Clarke says, blinking. “I would never put that on you.”

He shakes her head. “You don’t have to bear it anymore. That’s why I’mhere. We can bear it.”

“Bellamy, I—”

“You don’t have to be alone anymore.” Bellamy insists. “I’m here for you, do you understand? I’m here.”

Clarke pauses. His words reverberate again and again, and it clicks.

The world is so lonely. It doesn’t mean you have to be alone.

Clarke sucks in a breath. “If you’ll excuse me.”

Moving throughout Sanctum, she moves quickly so no one can stop her.She doesn’t stop until she’s at Russell’s cell, trying to find the anger towardhim she expected.

He’s crumpled against the cell, his hair disheveled and clothes dirty. Whenhe catches her eye, he scoffs. “Come to finish the job?”

Clarke doesn’t respond. Instead, she looks to the guard, who gives herthe key. Unlocking the cell, Clarke moves toward him. “I understand your pain.”She states, eyes watering. “People leaving before you’re ready for them to doso. People leaving because of decisions youmade. I understand.”

Whatever Russell expected Clarke to say, it clearly wasn’t that. Hestares at her, eyes incredulous, but doesn’t respond.

Kneeling in front of him, Clarke places a hand on his knee. “I used tobe afraid of dying. That I would die young. It seemed like I was destined forit, you know? So much had happened. You cannot prevent death from happens. Itis all around us. It is like air. The people we love, they leave us. Peoplenever realize being left behind is so painful.”

Clarke moves in front of him. “I realize, I’m afraid of dying alone.Surrounded by nothing but my demons. The faces of those I killed. Of those Icouldn’t save.” She squeezes her eyes shut. “I’m not afraid of death, Russell.”

Sucking in a breath, Clarke smiles at him. “I realize that you havenever had to face death. You’ve been postponing it for so long, I thought youmay like some company. Because I wouldn’t want to die alone. I can’t imagineyou would want to either.”

Clarke pulls something out of her pocket and shows it to him. Russell’seyes widen. “I am to be publicly executed for my crimes.”

Shaking her head, Clarke says, “Not if you don’t want to. And if you’reafraid, I’m here for you.”

Russell stares at the pill in her hands. She’d grabbed it in the lab duringone of her lucid moments, ready to take Josephine out if it meant the end ofher. He takes it from her, holding it close. “Clarke—”

“I know.”

Russell squeezes his eyes shut. “I just wanted to make up for theeclipse. I never meant to hurt anyone.”

“I know.”

Because she does.

“I’m here.” Clarke says as he places the pill in his mouth. “I’m here,so you don’t have to be scared.” She reaches out and grabs his hand.

“Why are you doing this?” Russell asks. “I-I killed you, I took yourbody.”

“You don’t have to apologize for trying to save the ones you love tome.” Clarke says, eyes watering. “You never had to face death before. There wasalways another body, another host. This is uncharted territory. I’m not sayingwhat you did was right. But I’m here for you anyways. Because I’d like to thinkin the grand scheme of things, we’re not alone.”

“You’re not.”

Clarke frowns at Russell’s statement as he slumps against her shoulder.His weight grows heavier against her. She looks up to see a throng of people standingoutside the cell. Bellamy, Murphy, Jordan, Raven, Madi, Emori and Echo. Theyall stand before her as she holds Russell’s hand. “Don’t be afraid. We’re hereto help you.”

“I’m so sorry, Clarke.” Russell states, his words slow.

She squeezes her eyes shut and a tear streams down her cheek. “Don’t beafraid, I have you.”

Staring ahead at the people she always called family, Clarke takes abreath. “In peace, may you leave this shore. In love, may you find the next.Safe passage in your travels, until our final journey to the ground.” Clarkelocks eyes with Bellamy, who stares at her like he’s afraid she’ll disappear. “Maywe meet again.”

Bellamy closes his eyes. He mouths it, as if just for her.

“May we meet again.”