#That pain and raw grief are what keep me going at this point.... he will never experience life after that moment in time

[the-cooler-king]

One of those texts I kind of need to sit on before I decide how I'm going to word it.

I never know how to start these, but I always have an idea on what to say. Your opinion of me actually matters a lot & the implication that you believe that I lie to you or I'm not doing enough is kinda hurtful. It comes across to me like my effort is worthless to you & that what I want doesn't matter at all. I wouldn't bring it up if I didn't think you cared, and I know you're going through a lot and shouldn't have to worry about me, but I'm getting mixed signals that are really throwing me off. What do you want from me? Am I asking too much of you and you don't know how to tell me? I sincerely want to be there for you, regardless of what it looks like to get to that point, but if you don't want me there you can tell me! What you want matters just as much, if not more, to me. I'm not the kind of person to be hostile about things if they don't work out. I don't want to be another source of stress or negativity for you, and I don't want you to be afraid of being honest with me. I constantly question if you're just too nice to tell me you aren't interested anymore, and even if you are, I might need more reassurance than you can give me because I don't think I'm very worth it to anyone for anything. If you don't think I'm trying hard enough then tell me what I need to do to change that! I'm at the point of just not knowing what I bring to your life, if anything at all. You don't need to deal with me on top of everything else, so, I'm sorry for this. Even if you don't text me back I'll feel better once I get it out there. The only thing I've ever been afraid of is not communicating exactly how much I care about you & how much you mean to me - even if it doesn't matter to you, or you don't believe me. If there comes a day where we aren't in each other's lives anymore for whatever reason, I don't want either of us to question what could've been said or done differently or regret not doing more.

[monacodarling]

Cant stop thinking about how paradoxical Charles and Max are I mean the narrative is there right but

Max growing up in a harsh condition—almost to the breaking point. Wanting nothing but to be the best. Conditioned to be alone. Used to being lonely.

Charles growing up in a loving family. Support from the family, having friends, growing up with different people hes still friends with today.

Max growing up under public scrutiny. Nothing like a famous father whose expectations you have to live up to. You can say he was born to race. That was his sole purpose.

Charles growing up wanting to be the best. The adoration and belief and faith from his family.

Max finally drawing boundaries with his own father. Christian and other people stepping in. Years of understanding. Finally in F1 in Red Bull.

Charles and his grief. One loss after the other. Finally in Ferrari, although a bit too late.

Max and his teammates—Carlos, and Daniel, and Pierre, and Alex, and Sergio. Some people he really start to let in, and be genuine friends. People like Lando start to come in. His demeanor slowly changes as people get to know him who he is and his love for animals.

Charles and his teammates—Seb and Carlos. Seb as someone who’s gotten to know what it’s like living with grief. Grief being a part of you. How much promises and faith weigh you down. Charles is very accessible. Kind and open to people. But he holds most at a distance. Like this is only where you get to only know me. This as far as you can go.

Max, doesn’t care what the public thinks, used to him being painted the villain, as someone who is angry and mad and raw all the time. But proves you can be as hungry and greedy as you can be, and only have a few people at your back. He’s fine with it. He’s used to be alone, he’s genuinely grateful of the people who’s been with him through thick and thin over the years. At the end of the day, he does things for himself. Because if being the best is his purpose in life, to make people happy, then that’s what he’s going to be. And if he’s tired of being the best, he can go because he knows there are people no matter who he is, they’ll be there.

Charles slowly suffering with the burden of the tifosi’s faith, his promise to Jules, his dad, to Anthoine. Charles wanting to be hungry and greedy but can’t stand of losing someone, of people abandoning him. Like I feel the more reckless and desperate he gets, it’s because he’s pushed by his own want. Sometimes what he needs to do and who he needs to be versus who he really is messes up his own vision of what he wants. He needs to be the best because it is a debt to be paid. And as long as it goes unpaid, he ignores the blood, he ignores the pain, he ignores the gnawing loss and sadness because he deserves it. He’s not winning, and he keeps on losing, and he is afraid if he’s unable to win, people will leave him. It’s either he leaves first, or he makes people leave, or in the end, he’s sure that people will leave him. He doesn’t know how to be alone.

Max with the faith in himself.

Charles’s faith of others towards him. Never from himself.

And I think that’s beautiful.

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

JOHN WICK WIPS (INSPO FROM THE BRILLIANT @scarlettspectra) ; READ TW 🕊️

──────── #1 SAVE ME, JW

“You want me to leave you alone, don’t you?” You’re willing to let this one slide, despite the trouble you’ll get in later for it. Maybe a few bruising slaps, nothing you can’t handle. 

“You can’t now.” 

You look at him strangely. “I can.”

“Your boss is expecting you to deliver.” 

You wonder how he knows all this, how he can be casual about it. 

“Look at me.” You grin, unbothered, only a little frightened of consequences and repercussions. “You think I’m not used to losing?” 

He does look at you, really, and it makes you shudder. Underneath all that grief is slaughter. Bodies piled and burning. Your mouth runs dry and the grin falls. “What are you here for?” 

He wipes alcohol from his bottom lip. “Your boss.” 

You prickle. “Please.” He betrays no sympathy, so you try again. “Please don’t. I need to protect them.” 

“Den mother?” He asks.

You look over your shoulder to the oblivious family you’ve grown to love. Men and women in scantily clad outfits just trying to live in this fucked up world.

“Yeah,” you nod, taking a huge drink of alcohol to numb the future.

It doesn’t help. 

He puts his hand on your arm, steadying the shakes. “I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

You find yourself laughing despite the gravity of the situation. “You’re one man. He’ll have you killed, and we’ll get caught in the crossfire.” 

He tips down the last of his drink. “Get them out.”

“And then he’ll come looking for me,” you hiss, leaning on the table with your head in your hands.

He says, without a crumb of doubt: “no he won’t.” 

──────── #2 NONCON ; DEAD DOVE ; DARK DARK DARK JW

There’s black hellfire in his eyes, a dark promise to make you sorry for your miserable little John-free existence, and, for a second, you resign to the notion that he is going to keep his iron grip around your suffocating throat until you pass out. Your vision is already blurring and darkening, claws scratching pitifully at his arms. A little woodland creature in a big bear trap. 

But, he lets you go, dropping you right on the hard floor, and you land on your ass, gasping for air, face soaked from tears, dress ripped down the middle. He jams his pointy shoe in between your legs, pressing the tip into your cunt, hurting you. 

“John, please,” you whimper through gritty teeth, trying to push his leg away and only getting a big black dress shoe crushing your pussy as reward. 

Your head flips back, neck craning just enough to put agonizing tension on your scalp and spine. His fist nets what feels like every tearing hair on your head, and you can’t help but screech in pain. 

“Please,” he repeats, voice eerily calm even as he’s shoving his fingers down your throat and making you choke. He pulls out and leaves thick white spit dripping onto your pouty lips and chin. He smears the excess on your cheek and smiles down at you - almost lovingly - “you’re begging already? Fucking pathetic.” His foot digs deeper into your sensitive pussy and you let out a cry, proving his point. 

“Oh, I missed this tight little cunt,” he sighs and closes his eyes as if talking to himself. “Thought about her every fucking day.” 

“John, I’m sorry, I-“ 

“Shut up.” He slaps you on the cheek, hard enough to leave a big red welt, then lugs you up by your hair. He doesn’t bother to move his leg, so your bare skin scrapes raw on the rough fabric of his pants. “The only thing that’s gonna come out of that pretty mouth from now on is ‘yes, John.’”

He spins you around, manhandles you onto the counter, presses his cock into the cotton of your panties and slaps your ass harder than he had done to your face. He watches your plump jiggle and retract, wets his lips, grunts. “Did you hear me, baby?” He slaps the same spot, and you yelp and claw at the counter. 

“Yes, John.” The phone is right beside your head, you see the screen light up with worried texts from your friends, asking if you’re home yet. You could try and pick it up, call someone, dial 911, but this is John, and you know there’s not a chance in hell you could touch that phone without him crushing it in one grip. 

“Oh?” He sees where your eyes are, of course he does. He’s a fucking lethal predator, and you’re just a stupid girl. “You wanna call somebody to come save you? Do it. Call them. But you’re gonna watch attentively while I kill them all, I can promise you that, honey.”

──────── #3 HOUSE PET

The cute baby blue collar around your squishy, bruised neck - and how can he help but mark you up? It’s so easy to dig his teeth into your skin and latch on.

The cream-pink cheeky underwear nestled tight to your flesh, hidden under a mid thigh denim skirt. 

The delicate bralette, useless in caging your heavy, bouncing breasts - even with the aid of the tight pink camisole.

Just for him, an opaque, creamy white, mock garter hugging your thighs and making the fat bulge and jiggle over the snug tops. 

John wants to lap at that flesh like you would with melting ice cream from the cone. 

He tugs on your little leather leash. The one accessory on your body that’s not pastel and sickly feminine. This shiny lead indicates that the tether between your neck and his hand belongs solely to him.

Adorable cuffs around your wrists and ankles - color made to match collar. 

His hands, so steady and thick, inching up your inner thighs and making you giggle and twitch. 

He knows you’re so very ticklish right in the crease of your thighs. So adorable trying to squirm away from him even though you know it’s completely useless. 

“Johnny, stop it,” you gurgle, slapping at his plucking and pinching fingers. 

His mouth contradicts his rough hands, giving you tiny, loving kisses all over your hot face. His smile melts you into a pliant doll, ready to be played with.

At his total mercy - eager to be at his total mercy - not one vulnerability he doesn’t see and latch onto, yet so completely safe and sheltered under him. Like standing in the eye of a tornado, or being a sucker fish on the side of a big great white. 

You card your hands through his silky hair, pushing it out of his face and pushing your caged cunt up into his teasing thumb. “I love you.” 

“I love you.” He licks at your lips and you open for him, ready to be devoured and left breathless from his mouth.

──────── #4 THAT FUCKIN WHITE HENLEY

“Good boy,” I say, “good boy. Who’s my good boy, huh?” 

The tiny Italian greyhound bounces high enough to kiss my face, and I’m giggling in delight. “Yes! You’re my good boy. Go get it!” I throw the ball and he’s gone in a flash, fast a lightning, legs moving so swift I can’t even see them under his little body. 

I turn back to the house, where John is situated on our little deck and fixing the grill up.

Instead of coming to me, Oz runs to Dad, and drops the ball at his feet. 

My husband picks it up, shows it to Oz, then shows it to me, still leaning down, the upper half of his torso partially obscured by porch rails. 

He smiles at me, eyebrow raised.

“Yeah, yeah,” I call over, giggling, “you throw better than me!”

He looks back at the dog. “Don’t be mean to your mom, Oz. It’s not her fault she sucked at gym class.”

Ozzie barks, uninterested in our banter, all eyes for his toy, and I laugh, mouth popping open in mock offensive gesture. “I’m sorry we can’t all be built for high impact sports.” I stick my tongue out at John, and earn a soft chuckle.

He stands up, brushes his blue jeans off and - oh - I haven’t seen this shirt before. 

It’s just a damn shirt, and I’ve seen this man at least more than a couple times completely naked, so why am I salivating while he saunters up to me to hand me the ball. Oz, blissfully ignorant to the tension between us, happily trots after him.

He puts the ball in my hand, grins at me. “Thought you’d never wake up, sunshine.” 

“I-uh-had a long night.” My cunt gives a diabolical throb. The thick fingers handing me the toy were the same ones scissor fucking my sopping cunt only a few hours ago. 

“Poor baby,” he tsks, leaning down to kiss my head. 

That fucking shirt. White, marled Henley with the v cut out so his chest can wink teasingly at me. Something about it makes me pulse in more places than my loving heart. 

“Wear’d you get this shirt?” I ask him.

“You like it?” He says, twisting around so that I can see the taut bend in his waist and the way the fabric rumples and clings against his sinew and tendon.

I feel the urge to chomp down on my knuckle to avoid screaming. 

“You look good,” I say, treading carefully, salivating. Jesus Christ to lord 

His smile is all knowing, mischievous, awful, going straight to my pussy.

“I’m thinking barbecue chicken for lunch,” he says. “Would you like that?”

I’m not crazy, that last sentence is 100% dipped in sin and low toned. My cunt puckers. “Sounds good.” 

He goes back to fixing the grill while I play with Oz. My throws are even worse now that I’m entirely distracted by watching his muscles move under creamy fabric.

Before I know it, he’s got my back pressed up against his front again, big body engulfing me. “Bad news, baby,” he murmurs, kissing my neck.

I giggle as his beard tickles my skin. 

“The grill is out of commission. Let me take you out.” His smile is warm against my shoulder. 

My stomach gives a little growl. “What’d you have in mind?” I ask.

“Whatever you want,” he tells me. 

“Want you,” I tell him, reaching around to feel for the hard bulge under his denim.

He grabs my hand, spins me around, kisses my fingers and then sucks them into his mouth while I make an absolutely fool of myself and moan involuntarily. 

“So impatient,” he tsks, “do I have to spank you again, needy little girl?” 

This isn’t fucking fair.

[crustyfloor]

FUCK THEM UPPPPPPP TILL OH MY GODDDDDDDDDDD

The visuals of Till's splash art (in my humble opinion, the best one so far) is STUNNING. AND very interesting.

For Till specifically to cover All-In is an interesting message to give off, All-In is a song about freedom. A type of freedom that allows you to live confidently and freely, creating whatever type of world you want, the stage is yours, so make what you want of it. living confidently in YOUR OWN SKIN. And living freely "cause you only got one life to live"

Freedom is something Till fights for relentlessly, and confidence is a bravado, as by far the most uncontrolled and tested person in the cast, he still fights for his boundaries and self-expression even when he's punished, molded into something he's not, or beaten into obedience, tested far past the limit; he never loses his bite. A wild dog can never be tamed.

This is the cover that follows what becomes of Till after round 6, and still, in Till's all-in, he sounds so raw, pained, energized, and passionate desperation is evident. It's a contrast from HyunA's celebratory cheers and upbeat mood because Till isn't celebrating the idea of freedom; he's angrily proving to everyone, especially the aliens, that he isn't backing down yet and he'll still keep fighting and that he can fight for his own freedom.

Till's cover of All-in is truly the most powerful depiction of Till's fighting spirit, after everything he's gone through, the pain, the grief. It's all in his voice and the way he sings he's pained the entire time he sings and he's aggressive because the fire of his spirit is lit once again. He's going "all-in" so to speak and expressing himself.

The tape around his neck--

It's a contrast to HyunA who doesn't mind showing her brand, even proudly showing it off as a form of reclaiming her individualism.

Till is different. Because being reminded that he is and was once a pet is not something he would want to remember about himself, he will always bitterly try to distance himself from that fact in any way he can, HyunA feels free from the system when she can own it, but when Till sees his branding, he'll still always feel that collar. It's a testament to his self-deprecation, as long as the evidence of his past is present, and he still feels all the pain the aliens inflicted on him, It'd be presumptuous to think he'd ever feel like he can relate and fit in with the other "fools" who are so free.

It'd be presumptuous to think he'd ever feel free. That's what the aliens wanted, right?

Another interesting part of this is that the name 'All-in" is actually a real-life poker reference, to go "all-in" in poker is to voluntarily bet all of your remaining chips, there is nothing else you can do but hope for the best after that point (and hope you win).

When HyunA sings All-in, she deceives you into thinking she has the upper hand or good hand, and that she will win. When Till sings it, he's giving it all away recklessly, he's showing all he has. Basically, him saying fuck it. he doesn't know if he'll win or not but says, "Let's go all-in and risk it all anyways" Even if internally he knows that this is stupid and risky, this is his foolish rebellion.

At this point he has nothing to lose and nothing to gain, it's his final stand as he lets his heart out not for the crowd, but for the family he lost, himself, a form of self-expression. He will be so nervous, so aggrieved but it's the freest he will ever feel on that stage.

The color symbolism also drives me CRAZY.

For his other two splash art, he's been represented with a color close enough to teal. In both songs, he's open when he sings and fully serene. Teal is a generally calming color, and it's not too evocative. It's more emotional (and has it's own reservations)

And then, we have green, which is a general symbol of growth, new beginnings, and freshness. After all, Till has been through all-in is a sign of his growth. And a new era of his life, or in other words a sudden tonal shift from his depressive state in round 6.

And for my favorite (it's not.) part! the head shot, (interesting how his has nearly the biggest impact out of them all.)

A bit of a theory.

It's a bit similar to one particular art of him, he has a little shape that's almost akin to impact from a gunshot near the same area.

So, I think this is tell-tale symbolism for a future injury, but the gun portrayed is a bubble gun. I believe it is symbolism for the wound being non-fatal, so even if Till loses and gets shot, he'll survive, fundamentally changed. and will probably join the rebellion, too.

/side note

The heartbeats in Till's version of all-in are faster and louder than HyunA's version, similar to CURE.

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Congratulations on your milestone!

If it’s not too late, I’d like to request Spencer/Reader post prison with this lyric.

“You’re the cure, and your eyes have dug me out of my grave more times than I could ever count. You’ve always been the one to breathe me back to life - The Cure by The Movielife

Thank you.

Oh how I love post prison angst! And this was the perfect song for, thank you darling!

You’re the Cure

Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Summary - you’ve always been the ray of light in Spencer Reid’s often dark life. But in the wake of his incarceration, can you be his cure?

CW - past drug addiction, past parental abandonment, mentions of Maeve arc, prison arc, emotionally distant Spencer, break ups, bad mental health, mentions of not eating and bathing, an almost relapse, heavy drinking, maybe one swear, tears, hopeful ending.

WC - 4.4k

Spencer Reid had never seen himself as someone who needed saving. Being forced to grow up at ten years old when his father abandoned him and his sick mother, had a way of instilling in him that when things went wrong, he could only rely on himself. 

His drug addiction only went to further perpetuate the notion that he was on his own. Even when his brain was muddled by the dilaudid he knew his team was aware of what was going on and not a single one of them ever said anything. 

So Spencer got used to fending for himself, keeping his emotional issues internalised. He loved his friends but he learnt not to count on them. As such he made a habit of keeping his cards close to his chest, never letting anyone in fully. 

Spencer Reid could only truly depend on one person and that was Spencer Reid. 

But then he met you. 

You admittedly joined the BAU at the worst possible time. Spencer was off work while he dealt with the grief of losing Maeve and he heard all about you through stories from Garcia and JJ. Both women described you as a bouncy, happy-go-lucky, ray of human sunshine. And to be perfectly honest, that filled Spencer with dread. 

It was one of the darker moments of his life and the idea of someone coming in and trying to force their light onto him was the last thing he needed. Spencer liked to deal with his trauma by wallowing in it on his own, he didn’t need other’s trying to cheer him up, to drag him out of the shadows. He wasn’t looking for someone to try and make it better, to take his pain away. 

And then you showed up and you breathed him back to life without even realising you were doing so.

From the moment he met you he had instinctively gravitated towards you, like you were magnets of opposing poles who were inherently drawn to one another. But his wounds caused by Maeve’s death were still so raw that he wasn’t in a position to open his heart up again. 

So the two of you fell into a wonderful friendship, probably the best one Spencer had ever had in his life. You were the light to his dark, the sunshine on his cloudy day. You were the first sip of coffee in the morning, the crisp pages of a new book. You were his favourite song. 

You were his cure. 

The whole team joked about the two of you, often referring to you as work husband and wife. Truthfully what you had was essentially a romantic relationship minus the intimacy. And at some point Spencer found the scars start to heal and his heart began to open up again without his realising. 

Almost two years after you joined the team, when Spencer kissed you for the first time, it was like the most natural thing in the world. 

You’d been leaving work together one night and you offered him a ride home like always but somedays Spencer enjoyed taking the metro to clear his head after particularly long days. 

He walked you to your car nonetheless and as you were saying goodbye he leant in and kissed the corner of your mouth as though it was something he did all the time. And then he kissed you again, this time directly on the lips and the strangest part of it was how it didn’t feel strange at all.

You never talked about what it meant but you didn’t need to. The next time the two of you went to the movies he slid his hands in yours as you walked towards the theatre. He spent the night with his arm protectively around your shoulders while you snuggled against him. 

And outside of your door after he walked you home, he kissed you again, this time much more passionately. You’d subsequently invited him in and the two of you finally took your relationship to a whole new level. 

You never defined your relationship per se. Somewhere over time Spencer started referring to you as his girlfriend and it was just so simple. 

Your relationship had grown and blossomed as though it was the easiest thing in the world, like you’d always meant to be together. Up until he’d met you, Spencer’s life had been full of complications but you were the least complicated thing in the world. 

You were the full stop to the end of all his paragraphs, you banished all the darkness from his life. You were the cure for everything that ailed him. 

But then he was arrested. 

Being locked in a cage for two and half months for a crime he didn’t commit brought all those demons out of the shadows that you had chased away with your light. He was sure even your sunny aura couldn’t bring him back from this. 

And after his release, he started shutting down. 

It started in small ways, ones in which you didn’t even really notice at first. Conversations became more one sided, his casual touches were few and far between. Then he started leaving for work earlier and earlier and you started getting used to waking up alone in an empty bed. 

During his stints of mandatory leave from the BAU you barely saw him and you knew that was by design. It became apparent that he was avoiding you, pushing you away along with the rest of the team. 

But you weren't the rest of the team. You were his partner, you shared a home together; a life together. You were once able to pull him out of any hell he was going through without even really trying. But this time he seemed so lost you worried he’d never find his way back to you. 

Even when he was home, mentally he was elsewhere. Perhaps he was still stuck inside a prison cell at Milburn, or maybe he was trapped in a perpetual nightmare that revolved around Cat Adams. 

You tried to comfort him, to offer him a reprieve from his dark thoughts but after so many attempts you gave up trying. There was only so much you could do and to be perfectly honest, you didn’t think there was any way of freeing him from the clutches of his monsters. 

Seven months after his release from prison, the two of you called time on your relationship. 

You moved out of his apartment and in with Penelope as a temporary measure while you found your own place. You took an indefinite leave of absence from the BAU while you worked on piecing your life back together. 

You didn’t see or speak to Spencer for several months that followed the break up. You made Penelope promise you not to tell you anything pertaining to him, it wasn’t your job to worry about him anymore. And even thought it killed her to do so, Penelope agreed to do this one thing for you. 

Spencer had allowed himself to get swallowed up in the darkness and this time even your magnificent light wasn’t enough to cure him.

***

Three months after the break up you still felt just as fragile as you did the day you moved out of his apartment. Your heart had taken a beating, it was bruised and battered and it would take a long time for it to heal, you knew that. But after three months you thought you might have made some progress. Instead you were still stuck at square one.

You’d moved out of Penelope’s last month into a tiny little studio apartment not far from Dupont Circle. You hated it if you were honest, but it was better than continuing to put Garcia out by sleeping on her couch. 

You hadn't been back to the BAU since the break up and had recently started looking for other jobs. You’d interview at the DC Field Office and were hopeful to get an offer, but it would be bitter sweet. You loved the BAU, you didn’t want to leave, but you knew you couldn’t work with Spencer again. Not with the way your heart shattered everytime you simply thought his name. 

You were trying to move on, it was all you could do. But what you didn’t realise was Spencer living in a whole new level of hell. 

***

The final nail in Spencer Reid’s coffin was when you moved out of the apartment. And what made it a harder pill to swallow was the fact it was his own fault you’d done so. 

He’d thought he’d been protecting you by bottling up his emotions and not dragging you down into the pit created by his time in prison. He thought if he didn’t talk about it, it would go away. This was one thing you couldn’t shield him from, one thing he needed to work through on his own the way he’d grown so accustomed to doing before he met you. 

But he’d pushed you too far, right out the door. And from there his life simply spiralled out of control. 

He left the BAU, just up and quit one day without any warning. He knew it was terrible timing with you taking a leave of absence but he couldn’t stop himself. He woke up one day and decided he’d had enough. 

For the months that followed he didn’t leave his apartment much at all. He wasn’t eating properly, wasn’t showering as frequently as he should and barely sleeping more than a couple of fretful hours a night. 

To be alone with himself like this for eternity would be agony. Without you there to breathe him back to life his appetite for living died. 

On one of his rare trips outside of the four walls of his tiringly lonely apartment, he brought a vial of dilaudid. He kept it in the middle of his coffee table for weeks, unopened, just as a reminder that he could take it if he wanted to. 

But thankfully it never did come to that. Instead of getting high, a particular rabbit hole he may never find his way out of, he drank. 

In actuality, it wasn’t much better and he knew that. Just because he’d never had a dependency to alcohol before didn’t mean he couldn’t develop one, clearly he was susceptible to addiction. But drinking was the only thing that helped numb the pain, aided in distancing himself from his tormented thoughts. 

Without you the demons were able to sneak closer and he lived with them among the shadows. You were always the one to shoulder the brunt of his misery but now he had to face it alone because he’d pushed you away. The lightness in your heart that he had always envied was gone, casting him forever into blackness.

He needed you here, the cure when his thoughts turned to cyanide, when he was going out of his fucking mind. 

He’d been drunk for more days straight than he could count and with each passing day the dilaudid grew more tempting. He moved it from the coffee table more often, rolling the vial around his hand, tapping his nails against it; contemplating the sweet release that would come with just one hit. 

But it never would be just one hit. 

The things he’d seen and done in prison haunted his every waking breath and seeped over into the small window of sleep he managed. He was never going to be the same after that experience, it had hardened him in a way he never realised possible. 

It had created a shell around his heart, a solid armour snugly encasing the organ in order to protect himself from his own emotions. But ultimately it hadn’t just been himself his emotions had been locked away from. 

In the seven months you stayed by his side after his release he hadn’t once been able to tell you he loved you. It only occurred to him after you walked away that he hadn’t said that to you since the morning he’d left for Mexico. 

In seven months the most physical contact the two of you had was a few occasions when you’d dared to place a kiss on his cheek. You hadn’t kissed properly, hadn’t been intimate, hadn’t even so much as held hands since before he made the decision to go to Mexico. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t think about it. There were multiple times he’d almost initiated something, almost drawn you into his body when you were laying in bed side by side yet miles apart. But he always stopped himself.

The sad fact of the matter was: Spencer didn’t trust himself to be with you anymore. But in order to survive in prison he’d had to become someone he didn’t recognise and it wasn’t so easy for him to shed that new persona. And as if to really drive that point home, when he’d had Cat pinned against the wall with his hand around her throat, he knew he would never trust himself with you again. 

The darkness was inside of him now, leaching into every pore. If he was the kind of man who could have killed Cat, or Scratch, and slept well afterwards, who’s to say where he would draw that line? 

As much as he missed you with every strangled beat of his shattered heart, keeping you away from him kept you safe. And he only ever wanted you to be safe. 

But without you, he may well meet his demise at the bottom of a bottle, or the bottom of a vial.

You were the cure. Your eyes have dug him out of his grave more times than he could ever count. You’ve always been the one to breathe him back to life. 

And so maybe it was inevitable that he called you, perhaps it was a feat in itself that he’d managed months on his own. But when he found himself on his bathroom floor, half a bottle of whiskey clouding his brain and a needle full of dilaudid in his hand, the only thing that was going to stop his relapse was you.

He didn’t expect you to answer but he prayed you would. And maybe someone was looking out for him, maybe there was some kind of higher power smiling down on him because you answered after three rings. 

“Spencer…” your voice was barely above a whisper as you spoke his name. Just those two simple syllables from your lips wrapped him in a blanket of your warmth. 

“H-hi Y/N.” His own was hoarse, run down. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d spoken out loud and it showed. 

Tears rolled down his cheeks, heavy and thick as the hand holding the needle trembled. 

“Did you…did you want something?” Your voice held the weight of the pain he’d cause you and made even more tears fall. 

“Uh…” he stared at the needle, brushing his thumb along the plastic tube. This was so unfair of him. He couldn’t do this to you, drag you back into his mess like this. He knew if he asked you would come running in a heartbeat. But it wasn’t fair of him to ask. “It’s nothing. Forget I called.” 

“Are you sure?” Your tone was riddled in concern. 

“Y-yeah. Sure. V-very sure.” He stuttered, choking a little on his own tears. 

Before you could reply he hung up the phone before he could change his mind and beg you to come and save him from himself. He tossed the device aside and focused on the needle. He leant back against the bathroom wall, pulling his knees up to meet his chest. 

The cool tile on his bare feet was a nice repreve, but the dilaudid would be better. 

His shirt sleeve was already pushed up to his elbow, the tie was already secured around his bicep. The needle was full, all he had to do was press it into his waiting vein and all of his problems would melt away. 

But this was one grave he may never be able to dig himself out of. Once he relapsed there would be no going back, no getting sober this time. But his sobriety didn’t mean as much to him as it once had, and perhaps it was worth succumbing to his demons for a chance at peace.

***

Despite how hard he tried to sound like himself, it was easy for you to see through Spencer’s thinly veiled lie. And as much as you didn’t want to involve yourself anymore, you couldn’t help yourself. 

Taking care of Spencer Reid came as naturally to you as breathing. You didn’t intend on doing it, and most of the time he didn’t need looking after. But you did it anyway in small, every day ways. 

You did it in the way you made him coffee every morning before work. You did it in the way you ran your fingers through his hair after a stressful day. You did it in the way you grasped his hand when he needed something to ground him, when you offered him a soft smile of encouragement when he needed it. 

He’d always called you his cure, as though you were the antidote to all the horrors in the world. He’d told you that your smile was the sweetest medicine, that your mere presence in his life was therapeutic. 

So if there was any way you could help him, even after he’d pushed you away and caused you to leave, you would find it and you would do it. Which was why after he hung up on you, you were quickly jumping in your car and driving across town to the apartment you used to reside in. 

The door wasn’t just unlocked but it was open a crack. Immediately your heart started to race and you were so glad you hadn’t officially quit the BAU yet and you were still in possession of your firearm. 

Your hand shook as you pulled the weapon from your holster, nudging the door further open with your shoulder. You made quick work of taking in the room. It looked to be ransacked, like someone had broken in and turned the place upside down in search of something. 

You held your breath as you silently started across the room, manoeuvring in and out of piles of debris left behind in someone's wake. You headed towards the closed bedroom door, gun pointing right ahead of you. You focused your hearing but thus far couldn’t make out any distinctive sounds. 

Pushing open the door, you found the bedroom in much the same state as the living room. You tried not to allow yourself to get sentimental as your eyes swept across the unmade bed and you thought back to late nights and early mornings snug beneath those sheets with Spencer. The bed that was so big but you’d never know it as he always kept you as close as humanly possible. 

The bathroom door, like the front door, was open a crack and a light pooled from inside. It was then you heard the sound of haggard breathing punctuated by loud sniffing, causing the hairs on the back of your neck to well and truly stand to attention. 

As you listened to the unmistakable sounds of a grown man sobbing, you lowered your gun and tucked it back in your holster. 

A deeply disturbed and troubled man had ravaged this apartment but it was not the work of some petty criminal. Spencer had turned his home into a reflection of his own tortured mind, you had no doubt. 

You were somehow more tentative after you knew someone hadn’t broken in. You had never seen Spencer cry before, he always liked to put up a tough exterior, probably something to do with him being the baby of the BAU for so many years. 

You’d seen him vulnerable, probably more than he’d ever let anyone else see him, but you’d never witnessed him with his walls stripped away completely. And honestly, the thought of it scared you a little. 

But no matter how scared you were, despite how much he had hurt you, you pressed on. 

You inched open the bathroom not wanting to startle him and found him on the floor, hugging his legs to his chest and sobbing into his knees. But the truly terrifying part was the vial and needle discarded at his side. A silk tie was fashioned into a tourniquet around his arm.

“S-Spencer?” You gasped, covering your gaping mouth with your hands. 

He stiffened and slowly lifted his head from where it had been buried in the fabric of his slacks. His eyes were red rimmed and tears silently streamed down his cheeks. His hair drooped lifelessly onto his forehead and his face clearly hadn’t seen a razor in months. 

He somehow looked even worse than when you visited him in prison. 

“Why are you here?” His voice cracked and his words were slightly slurred. 

“You didn’t sound like yourself on the phone. I needed to see you with my own eyes.” You heard the sadness in your own tone, unable to hide it. 

“I’m not myself.” He exhaled a breath that sounded like he had been holding it in for years. “I haven’t been since prison.” 

You swallowed, daring to take a few steps further into the bathroom. Spencer let his legs fall and stretch out in front of him on the linoleum and you slid down to sit next to him, the only thing separating you was the drug paraphernalia. As if reading your mind he exhaled again before he spoke.

“I didn’t take it.” He wouldn’t look at you, instead he looked down at his hands. “I wanted to, but I didn’t.” 

“Why are you slurring then?” You watched the side of his face. He clenched and unclenched his jaw several times. 

“Whiskey. Not dilaudid. I swear.” 

“I’ve never known you to drink.” Of course it was a relief that he hadn’t taken the drugs, but hearing that he was drunk wasn’t a whole lot better. 

“I hadn’t had a drink in nearly ten years. I gave it up around the same time as I quit dilaudid, I guess I worried it would become one vice replacing another. But I needed something. And alcohol was the lesser of two evils.” He was still slurring but he was surprisingly coherent. 

It didn’t surprise you in the least that Spencer could still string a logical sentence together when he was inebriated. 

“Why did you call me, Spencer? Of all the people you could have called, why me?” You whispered as though you weren’t entirely sure you really wanted an answer to that. 

He finally looked at you, glancing to his side with his eyebrows knitted together in confusion. He ran his tongue along his bottom lip in contemplation for a moment or two as though formulating a carefully curated answer. But really, the answer was incredibly simple. 

“Because you’re my cure.” He shrugged, his tears had dried up but the stains on his cheeks remained. “And right now I am in desperate need of remedy.” 

“Spencer…” You sighed, your own eyes misting over with tears. “I was always here for you, you could have talked to me about anything but instead you shoved me aside and tried to deal with things on your own.”

“I’ve never been very good at asking for help. I’ve only ever been able to rely on myself. People leave. People aren’t reliable. But you…” he trailed off, shaking his head. “You brought the kind of sunshine into my life I could only dream of. You have saved me in more ways than you will ever know. Your mere existence in my life has been more help to me than I can explain to you. That’s why I call you my cure, because it's the best way I can think to describe what you are to me.” 

“I knew you would be different after prison, Spencer. No decent man can go through an experience like that and come out unchanged. But in your bones you are still the Spencer Reid I fell in love with.” You tried to tell him much like you had countless times in those torrid seven months. You hoped this time he might actually hear it. 

“I’m really not sure that I am, Y/N.” He raked his fingers through his tangled hair with a meek shake of his head. 

“I am.” You nodded. “I’m sure. Spencer, whatever you had to do inside was for your own protection. It was every man for himself and you did what you did to survive. And Cat…? After everything she’s done to you, I wanted to strangle the bitch too.” 

Spencer’s eyes widened, looking a little like deer caught in headlights. He was gnawing on his bottom lip haphazardly as he stared at you. 

“Really?” 

“Yes, Spencer.” 

“Do you really think I can come back from this?” 

“Yes, Spencer.” You repeated, defiance in your voice. “And I’m going to help you. Whether you want me to or not. Because my love for you is stronger than the pain you caused me. I will be by your side, showering you in light until there is not even a sliver of a shadow for your demons to hide in. Let me be your cure, Spence.” 

You reached out your hands towards him, palm upwards and fingers spread to create enough space for his own to slot between them. He glanced between your face and your hand a few times before his lip quipped up ever so slightly at the corner in a small smile. 

And then he reached for you, his fingers finding those spaces between your own that always seemed like they were made intentionally to fit his. It was as though someone had crafted you both perfectly for each other. 

Spencer had never been a believer in higher powers but it was the only reason he could fathom for how you had found him. 

In a world consisting of nearly eight billion people, what were the chances of the two of you meeting? What were the odds of two perfectly imperfect people finding each other and slotting together in such an inconceivably faultless way? 

As you sat there hand in hand, Spencer knew he would do anything to keep you by his side for as long as he lived. Even if it meant allowing you to see all his flaws, all his cracks. Because he was certain now you would love every one of his broken pieces. 

You were the light casting away his shadows. You were the air being breathed into his lungs. You were the thread holding him together. 

You were the cure. 

[melodramaticatheart]

Buy Me A Coffee? - Lyra x Grayson

word count: 798

book: the grandest game

ship: lyra kane x grayson hawthorne

“You’re not going to say anything?” “You’re the one who wanted to meet up” Me and Grayson Hawthorne had been sitting in a cafe outside of the city for half an hour and none of us had said a word the smell of coffee and pastries was getting to me. We sat in the corner of the shop staring down into our coffees.  He had called me last night and made an offer for stupid enough coffee. I slowly recall the late-night call.

“What do you want blondie?” I answer the phone tired after a long study session “Well, Lyra Kane the truth is what do you want? You’ve been calling my number for three months now and I’ve just now learned your name and location.” I’m quickly taken aback at the sound of him using my full name “You know what I want Hawthorne boy. I’m hanging up now bye bye.” I say anger creeping into my voice. I just wanted this asshole to tell me what his family did to my father. I never once wanted him to get involved in who I was. I was going to hang up when he asked “Buy me a coffee?” God, why was he so confusing? “What, you’re serious right now? I am not taking you out to a cup of fucking coffee.” I was pissed now “Fine then I’ll buy you a coffee. Tomorrow the little cafe near the outskirts, I know you know which one I’m talking about. I’ll send you the time.” I was about to counter him when he hung up the phone. That little son of a bi- “Lyra?” “Yes,” I say looking at the boy sitting across from me I can tell he was speaking while I was zoned out. 

“Sorry, Hawthorne I would rather your voice not be the first I hear in the morning, probably not the last time I zone out during our conversation.” “What you’d rather I sing to get your attention.” I cock my head to the side and give him half a smile. He was amusing. Very amusing.

“Look unlike you I have a job the get to, so if you’ll tell me why I’m here drinking a cold coffee at 8 in the morning I’d be very pleased” I had work in a bit and class in the late morning if he didn’t hurry I would have to leave. But maybe that was a good thing. “Right because my one mission this morning is to please you.” He smiles, then says “It’s been three months and I have not been able to figure out your riddle.” He looks at me as he says it waiting for any sign of a reaction. He continues when I don’t say anything “Not even my brother who speaks in tongues can figure it out. So I’ve come to bring you a proposition: I think we should team up.” But by the time he’s finished, I’m laughing into my hands “No.” I shake my head not even hiding my smile “Why not? tell me what could be so bad about working with me to figure out your father's suicide.” I flinch my face falling at his words. I always knew my dad was dead I just never knew how, it was only until two years ago that the memory of his death started visiting me in dreams. It made the grief feel brand new.

 “Why would you even need my help you don’t think that if I had any way of figuring it out by myself I would, instead of asking a bratty rich heir who doesn’t know anything about real life?” I thought that would get a reaction out of him but he just set his hands on the table and looked at me “First if you don’t know the story I am not an heir and second we wouldn’t even have to work close, you can send me some photos of him to pass through my grandfathers' files. Some information that you can acquire from your mom-” “No, we are not bringing my mother into this” 

I interrupt him my mom and dad had divorced a couple of months after I was born but she still cared about him. I couldn’t imagine bringing up the raw pain of my father's death. “Fine, I’ll work with you but you will never show up to my city unannounced ever again,” I lift a finger to prove a point. “Nor will you keep any information from.” I lift a second finger up and wait for his answer. “Deal, can’t wait to work with you Ms. Kane,” He says with a smile and I have to look away. I get up and start to walk away, wondering what I’ve just gotten myself into

⊹‿︵‿୨ི୧‿︵‿⊹

requested by @reminiscentreader hope you like!

@art-of-fools

sorry this is kind of long btw

[coldflasher]

so me and my friend had to put our flash (re)watch on pause for a while bc she broke her ankle so we haven't seen each other in a while, but we finally picked season 8 back up and. god. i don't even have anything funny or insightful to say about it because it's just bad. it's so bad. and i couldn't even put my finger on why it was so bad at first, but eventually my friend pointed out that like. NOTHING happens. the characters literally just stand in a circle and talk. then whenever something DOES happen they go "hey so this thing just happened, hold on a sec while i describe it word for word in case you missed it." there's no action 90% of the time and there's no meta of the week for the most part so every episode feels samey and directionless as we slowly crawl our way towards a resolution of a plotline that isn't particularly compelling anyway

the characters are flat and nothingy. barry, the main character of the show, does FUCKING NOTHING EVER. there was one scene where he was running down the street, which he obviously used to do in every single ep, and my friend was like "holy shit i feel like we haven't actually seen him RUN in ages" and she was right. the man whose WHOLE SUPERPOWER IS RUNNING VERY FAST DOESN'T RUN ANYWHERE ONSCREEN FOR LIKE SIX EPS STRAIGHT. we see him run in and out of rooms but never see a straight shot of him running TO anywhere. WHY?

then there's the fact that the overarching plots are bad. the characters are split into two factions that don't interact at all. iris having time sickness could be cool and interesting and there's lots of potential for interesting character work there, but instead of making anything happen they have her sit on a couch and not touch anything in case she erases it from the timeline.

at one point she literally GOES MISSING and barry just. DOES NOTHING?? im sorry, fuck whatever else is happening, you know if iris disappeared he'd be tearing the city apart looking for her but all that happens is cecile is like "omg barry i can feel that you're sad, what's going on??" and he's like "iris is missing, im worried about her." WHAT!! THEN FUCKING LOOK FOR HER YOU DINGBAT!! i've said this before but s1-4 barry would absolutely beat the shit out of this version of himself if he found out about this

and don't even get me STARTED on caitlin and her almost husband, the skeleton fire demon who eats grief---again, this had the bare bones (pun intended) of an interesting plotline; a meta that feeds off people's grief could actually be really powerful and interesting to explore, but he's a magic skeleton from another universe who tricks her by pretending to be her dead husband so it's just stupid. at one point the characters like "why are we doing this plotline now, 7 years after ronnie died?" and i'm like yes, why ARE we? because again, having caitlin fall prey to the manipulations of a malevolent force that feeds on grief would actually be very topical and interesting if it had happened in, say, s2, when ronnie had just died for the second time. if her grief was fresh and raw and painful it could be conceivable that she'd be desperate enough to go "well i thought he was dead once and he survived, maybe he did it again", and cling to that, allowing herself to be tricked into believing this evil sentient flame skull was really ronnie. but it's been SEVEN YEARS and she literally just got a new boyfriend who has no personality and who we never see again, so it doesn't make any sense and i don't care. also the show keeps trying to convince you to care by having caitlin go "ronnie was such a valuable member of the team, you knew and loved him!!" and it's like... did we though? did we really? he's never made a big impression on me personally. the only character who was close to ronnie and actually knew him was cisco and he's not here. they added a few flashbacks and a proposal scene to try and make us care more about the caitlin/ronnie relationship but they didnt do anything for me because i was too busy staring at danielle's terrible wig. like babes that is NOT what caitlin's s1 hair looked like, did you even try

the skeleton fire demon stuff is actually kind of enjoyable to watch at times purely because it's so fucking ridiculous, the whole thing is a trainwreck, so i did somewhat enjoy getting to make fun of it but JESUS CHRIST IT'S SO TERRIBLE. HOW DID THE SHOW FALL SO FAR. WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED

[intothemultifandom]

in spite of what critics are saying about the last few episodes of the the walking dead’s 11th and final season, there were a few things that just hit different especially with the finale: 

SPOILERS FOR TWD “REST IN PEACE” 11.24!!

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daryl barricading judith in the hospital the same way shane did to rick in 01x01 – like father, like daughter and even brother because he also carried her the same way rick carried carl when he got shot

 actually, daryl carrying judith into the hospital to save her life vs how he carried beth out after she was killed. the FEAR he must’ve felt given the last time he carried someone in/out from the hospital.

any scene between them + carol (keeping this short bc i can write a whole novel about their scenes) 

luke dying & being comforted by magna, yumiko, connie & kelly (his og group) during his final moments; even though he wasn’t seen for most of the season, dan folger’s acting + that of nadia hilker, eleanor matsuura, lauren ridloff & angel theory was TOP-TIER 

people always die in twd, but up until luke, the newish members of the group didn’t really suffer a sudden and harsh loss like the group from earlier seasons until now

that’s why his death + the group’s raw grief hit different when you consider how this is the first time we’ve seen them have to mourn one of their own so suddenly and with walkers literally banging on their doors

the team up of eugene porter & gabriel stokes = the two characters who, at one point of the story, were the weakest and most cowardly members of the group. i mean, the parallels of how they started vs. how they ended are insane:

eugene, who lied to abraham and rosita about knowing how to cure the infection almost making himself a martyr by telling the truth about the common wealth’s corruption, and 

gabriel, who locked his congregation outside his church to die being the first to open the gates for everyone even when pamela’s people had their guns pointed at him 

if twd did anything right, it was the development of these two characters

even if i didn’t know christian serratos chose rosita’s ending, i still would’ve thought she had a fitting end as one of the original (and last) big hitters for rick’s group on the road

it wasn’t painful and gory like abraham or glenn, shocking like sasha’s or even bittersweet like carl’s in the midst of war– rosita dies a dignified and otherwise peaceful death after all the bloodshed is said & done

she sees her people are safe, knows her daughter’s in good hands and finally lays to rest after fighting on the frontlines for so long

even with her gone, her final interaction with eugene at her side really cements that he is her and abraham’s legacy because “i’m glad it was you at the end” 

(someone make baby rosie looking up to older coco because her mom was her namesake + uncle eugene canon right now) 

this post-war celebration dinner mirroring the what-if dream dinner from 7x01 about what could’ve been (credit to this article for the pic: here) also makes rosita’s death so poignant to me because negan had likened the dream as something that wouldn’t ever happen

it’s not the same exact group and it wasn’t exactly her dream, but the sentiment remains the same

in the end, peace was possible for the alexandrians after all & i’m so glad rosita got to see this before she went & re-joined the others who are no longer at the table 

negan & maggie now established as two sides of the same coin: motives, beliefs and and now shared trauma of being unable to stop their partner from being killed (or almost killed, in negan’s case) as they’re about to start a family

maggie was never going to forgive him for what he did, but that in itself gives so much more substance to their spin-off and i can’t wait to see it happen 

rick “we are the walking dead” grimes + michonne “it’s true. forever” grimes – welcome back. 

[give-soup-please]

been doing some thinking about good omens (when don't i these days?)

and i've noticed that, especially in season 1, we get a lot more of a 'behind the scenes' look at crowley than we do aziraphale, especially where emotional responses are concerned. we often see crowley's pain, but almost never see aziraphale's. Take for example when he's asking god what she's doing, and the 'i lost my best friend' line.

^ this one too. a very public expression of grief.

these are all extremely vulnerable moments for crowley, any way you slice it. but what i thought about as i woke up this morning was that (besides the finale of season 2, which i'll talk about in a sec) there are no points when aziraphale gets this vulnerable.

i think the closest two we see in season 1 are when crowley leaves aziraphale at the bandstand-

and just after this scene when the metatron says that the point of the war isn't to avoid it. (i can't find that exact expression, this is the closest i can manage to get to it)

right after this, his hopes are dashed, and he has this heartbreaking expression on his face

WOOF. poor angel. but these scenes with aziraphale are much more reserved than the vulnerability we see with crowley. It's still there, it's not as if he feels nothing. Now, is this an example of self control, or repression?

personally, i'm willing to bet repression.

so i think what i'm trying to say is, my initial idea that aziraphale felt less than crowley was completely false. what's been on my mind is that there's so much going on under aziraphale's mask that we just- don't have access to.

there are times throughout the show where crowley is devastated, whereas aziraphale is much, much more restrained. and the truth is, if we look at the narratives, i think there's much more of a focus on how crowley feels (possibly because he's the more expressive of the two? but it feels intentional to me)

a demon is supposed to be miserable, according to hell. it's probably part of the job description somewhere.

which makes me so curious on whether or not heaven has its own toxic counterpart to that, where angels are 'required' to appear happy at all times.

take for example, the multitude of fake smiles aziraphale gives to the other angels.

keeping up appearances? the dude's freaking miserable when he has to talk to other angels. the quick scans, the smile not really reaching his eyes. this is someone who's anxious as heck. doing his best to hold it together as the world crashes down around him. i'm not going to do an analysis of fake vs real smiles for aziraphale, because others have done that much better than i have. but if we compare these with aziraphale's real smiles...

much brighter, huh?

so... i'm not great at critical readings when i let my own feelings and biases get in the way. and i kind of did with good omens.

i assumed that aziraphale didn't feel as much, that his control was greater. in comparison to crowley, he's got better emotional regulation. in a lot of fanfics, he's placed in the role of caretaker, of guardian. and yeah, it makes sense.

then season 2 happened. with that finale. and suddenly aziraphale is just as raw.

holy shit. this entire time, aziraphale has been feeling strongly, struggling under the weight of his responsibilities, and is desperate for things to be okay just as much as crowley is. and it feels like up until these moments, he's been hiding it from everyone, including the audience. i don't want to depart from what's shown on screen, but i'm so curious what's going on under the hood.

is aziraphale supposed to be 'the strong one'? does he he feel like it's not safe to express his emotions? it seems that way, doesn't it?

i assumed (incorrectly) that aziraphale was more 'put together'. more 'rational'. more able to 'control himself' (which i interpreted as a good thing, for complicated and personal reasons. because the toxicity in heaven is very similar to my bio family, and i came to the wrong conclusion.)

no. he's wounded, and struggling just as much. i didn't see it until now. on my first viewing, that's why the ending for S2 felt so out of left field for me. i was thinking to myself, 'where the hell is this coming from? aziraphale's supposed to be making smarter decisions than this. he's supposed to be better, supposed to-'

i was wrong. my anger was somewhat misplaced. he's broken and scared too. he's just better at hiding it.

[di-writes-stuff]

Evermore

Joel Miller x fem!Reader

Part 5

TW: Nightmares, suggested ptsd, death, familial loss, suggested sewerslide. Sad stuff in general.

Joel’s POV:

Joel’s entire world was this moment. The one he couldn’t stop repeating. His ears ring from the sound of gunfire, the smell of smoke fills the air, and he can hear screaming somewhere far away. His arms are filled with a weight, a weight he’s carried ever since this moment.

His daughter.

His sweet, innocent, precious daughter.

Sarah was gone. Laying limp in his arms as he sobbed, trying to will her back to life. But she was gone. His world. The one thing that kept him going. His purpose was to take care of her. And now, she’s gone.

A scream rips from his throat, but he can barely hear it, the sound is almost murky as it exits him. But despite that, it’s raw, animalistic, the kind of sound only grief can create.

His breathing quickens as he stares at her. He can’t do this. He needs her. He needs something. She’s slipping from his grasp and there’s nothing he can do to stop it.

“Joel?”

Your POV:

You wake up, stumbling to your feet when you realize how late it is. You guys should have been up at least an hour ago, but you’ve had a long week.

You groan, rubbing your head when you feel a sharp pain stab through it. You’re hungover. Not a lot, but enough to feel like shit. You and Joel clearly got a bit carried away with the drinking last night.

It’s become your usual routine ever since you’re talk about the infamous “this”. You set up camp, Ellie falls asleep, and you two drink. Sometimes in silence, but usually you talk, swap stories, never anything too deep though. It’s relaxing, nice. Feels like something you would’ve done before the world fell apart.

You trudge over to Joel, kneeling down to wake him up.

“Joel.” You say, knowing he probably won’t wake up right away. If there’s anything you’ve learned about him, it’s that the man knows how to sleep.

You sigh, repeating his name a bit louder this time.

Nothing.

“Joel!” You’re practically yelling at this point, and it’s starting to get worrisome.

You grab his shoulder, shaking him a bit while you repeat his name.

His eyes flash open like a rabid animal, and before you can move he has your wrist in an iron hard grip, his fist wrapped tight around it.

“Joel! What the hell are you doing?!” You shout, tugging away from him, but his hand stays right where it is.

You haven’t been scared of Joel since you met him, but right now? There’s not an ounce of recognition in his eyes, he just looks empty.

You begin to guess what this might be in the midst of your struggle when he finally wakes up fully, his hand loosening around your wrist.

You pull back, sitting a bit further away from him than you usually would. You try to contain the fear in your eyes, but it’s clear.

You turn around when you hear Ellie walk up behind you.

“Y/N?” She sounds scared, and it kills Joel to hear it. That coupled with the look in your eyes terrifies him.

“Give us a minute. Everything’s fine, we just need to talk, okay?” You reply, trying not to scare her. She nods and starts to walk away, but not before glancing down at your quickly bruising arm.

You turn back to him. He’s sat up now, staring at your arm in clear distress.

He would never hurt you.

Ever.

But he just did.

“Y/N I swear I-“

You cut him off, placing your hand on his shoulder.

“You weren’t all there. You didn’t know it was me, I know you wouldn’t. It’s okay.” You start to stand up, hoping to just brush this off.

Joel quickly stands, gently, so very gently, touching your shoulder, stopping you.

You turn around to find him staring at your arm, it’s red and angry looking, and there’s some darker spots forming in the vague shape of his hand.

His eyebrows furrow and he runs a hand through his hair, rattled by his own behavior.

He hurt you.

The thought keeps running through his head over and over. How could he have not realized it was you. What if it had been Ellie? How would he have explained this to her. At the very least you understand. You know he wasn’t trying to hurt you.

“Joel. Stop it. You didn’t mean to, and I’m fine.”

You look up and him, not knowing what to do. He looks horrified, and his eyes haven’t left your arm since he stopped you.

“You’re not fine. I hurt you.”

You sigh, rubbing your nose as you try to fix the situation. He’s gonna hold this against himself for a long time if you don’t clean it up. That’s another thing you’ve learned that about him. Joel Miller does not grant himself forgiveness.

“It was an accident, Joel. You weren’t even fully awake. You can’t blame yourself for it.”

You’re being reasonable, deep down he knows that. But that doesn’t mean he’s going to be.

“Then who do I blame?” He questions, finally looking you in the eyes, searching for any hint of the fear he saw earlier. But there’s none.

He just finds sympathy.

Kindness.

Warmth.

You trust him. You whole heartedly believe he didn’t mean to hurt you. And he didn’t, but the fact that you can look at him, a man you’ve seen kill mercilessly, and think that? Know that without a single doubt?

It knocks the wind out of him.

He touches your arm with the force of a fly, lifting it with a gentleness you wouldn’t have thought he was capable of.

“I’m sorry..I’m so sorry.”

He repeats it under his breath. It’s not even the injury itself, it’s not severe. It won’t last. In a week you’ll forget it ever happened.

It’s that he caused it.

He did this.

And you don’t even care.

He wishes you would be angry, that you would yell at him or something. Just so that he felt like he paid for it somehow.

But no.

You stand there, treating him with the same kindness you always do.

And it kills him to see it.

“There’s nobody to blame, Joel. You weren’t even really awake yet. So stop worrying, and stop apologizing. If you wanna repay me help me clean up this camp, okay?” You smile at him gently, trying anything you can to make him realize this isn’t as big of a deal as he thinks it is.

He’s been through a lot, it’s not shocking to think he’ll have some nightmares every once in a while.

He looks back up at you, forcing himself to smile a bit.

You squeeze his arm a bit before walking away to clean up. You roll up your bedroll and go to lift it before it’s scooped out of your hands by Joel. You shrug, you did tell him to help, after all.

“Thanks.” You say when he reattaches it to your backpack for you.

He just nods, a gruff noise exiting him, one that you assume is just him acknowledging that you spoke. You see Ellie watching and take her to the side, speaking quietly.

“Ellie, what happened back there wasn’t anybody’s fault, okay. Joel was still partially asleep, he had no idea it was me. I don’t want you acting weird with him, okay?” You speak to her gently, hoping to God she doesn’t think he was trying to hurt you.

“I know that. I think he’s the only one who’s gonna beat himself up over it.” She replies. 

You sigh, looking back over at him, watching as he gets all your packs together.

“Yeah, I know.”

You walk away, slinging your backpack over your shoulders and starting the day.

……………………………………………………………………………………

It’s been a few hours since the incident, and you think your about to kill Joel.

It’s constant. You go to pick something up? Joel’s got it. You make a single noise? He in a tizzy asking if your okay. God forbid you try to step over something on your own? He’s practically carrying you over it.

It’s sweet, in a way. Or at least it was the first few times. But at this point, it’s getting exhausting.

You go to step over a fallen lamppost, you guys have found yourselves in a deserted little town on the outskirts of the woods, and then you feel it. Joel holds your arm like you’re just learning how to walk. You freeze, snapping your head towards him.

“Joel. You can stop.”

He stares up at you, the most confused look plastered on his face as you speak.

“What?”

You roll your eyes, and you hear Ellie laugh a tiny bit from ahead of you. She’s been keeping track, and hes done this about twenty times.

“Treating me like I’m glass. You squeezed my arm, Joel. I’m okay. I can walk, I can pick things up, get this, I can even step over something.” You make a big show of stepping over the lamp post by yourself, looking at him exasperatedly.

“Maybe you overestimate your strength, but I’m really okay. Just act normal for the love of God. Talk to me. Do what you always do.” You try to sound humorous, and the situation is starting to become a bit funny. You feel bad, you know he’s still feeling guilty, but watching him be this attentive, it’s like having a mother around.

Joel stands up a little straighter, putting his hands up in surrender.

“Alright alright. Sorry.” He says, starting to walk again, a bit embarrassed, but honestly, it made him feel a bit better.

You resume walking, wondering how far you can pry without making him clam up.

“…So, Joel.” You begin carefully. “What…what was going on earlier? I mean, the nightmare, or whatever.”

He stiffens up a bit, looking down at you. For a moment he instinctively ignores you, not saying a word, not allowing himself to open up to you.

But damn, do you have a way of cracking his walls.

“I-“ His voice shakes a bit, and he hates it. “It’s always the same. My uhm…my daughter. She…” He clenches and unclenches his fists as he speaks lowly “She was killed. When this all started. Officer shot at us, I was carrying her, she got hit. And I just…” Joel trails off, looking away from you when he feels tears brimming in his eyes.

You stare ahead, mulling over what he just told you.

It explains a lot.

The protectiveness.

How closed off he is.

Ellie.

“Joel…I’m so sorry.”

He breathes shakily as you speak. He would never do this, not with anybody else. But you.

You make him open up, and it’s like you don’t even have to try.

You exhale, feeling the obligation to share something as well, even the playing field.

“My father-“

Joel cuts you off.

“You don’t have to do this.”

You look up at him, his eyes. They’re still shining a bit from his tears, but they have never looked more beautiful.

“I know. I trust you.”

You trust him.

He could have guessed, but hearing you say it?

It means more than an I love you, in a way. Trust, in a world like this. A world where most strangers you meet will rob you blind, if not worse. A world where everybody is competing just to survive. Trust feels intimate.

Trust matters.

You continue, and stares at you as you speak.

“My father, I started out with him. We were just trying to get to a QZ, when uh, he got bit. It was bad. And he…” You such shakily, it’s been a long time since you told somebody this story. “He didn’t want to hurt me. Or anyone, for that matter. So he uhm, he ended it, before he could turn. Said he loved me, went behind a building, and that was the last time I saw him.”

You finish speaking and it’s silent for a moment, save for a couple birds chirping and the sound of footsteps.

“…Damn.” Joel’s voice sounds from next to you.

And you laugh.

You laugh harder than you have in a long time, and soon Joel’s joining in.

You two stand there, keeling over, laughing at your dead dad.

It’s morbid.

It’s probably horrible.

And you know there’s nobody else you could ever trust enough to do it with.

Nobody you would want to do this with.

Nobody else you would want to know. Know your past. Know you. Really, know you.

Nobody but Joel.

Ellie turns around, a small smile on her face. She got the gist of the conversation you two were having, and she’s confused to say the least.

“What the hell, guys?!” She asks, laughing too now.

You wave your hand, attempting and failing to calm down.

The three of you stand there, laughing like mad men in the streets, eventually calming down. Ellie starts walking again and so do you and Joel.

You’re still snickering a bit, quietly now, and you hear the occasional chuckle from Joel. You don’t even realize tears are slipping down your face until a rough, calloused hand wipes one away.

He looks a bit worried, but when you see him you mostly see understanding. There’s still a smile on his face, and God knows you need it. If he were being entirely serious about the situation, if you really had to face it for what it was.

You wouldn’t make it. You’ve shoved this memory away for so long, and if you’re forced to really think about it. Seriously think about it?

You couldn’t.

And Joel knows that.

He knows what you need. He knows you need him to be there, but he also knows you need him to laugh with you, to be morbid with you.

And he’s happy to do it.

“You okay?” He asks gently.

You nod, smiling down at the ground, still laughing a bit, but it’s wearing off. Reality is starting to hit you.

He’s gone.

You’re on the edge of slipping. Slipping into the memory of him. The crack of the gunshot, the moment you knew he was gone.

A hand slips into yours and holds it.

Joel’s hand.

You look up at him, tears brimming in your eyes. He looks straight ahead, not forcing either of you to acknowledge what’s happening.

“You wanna…talk about something else?”

His voice is like a rumble, low and quiet. It could be threatening, but to you?

It’s becoming the most comforting sound in the world.

“Yeah…yeah, that would be nice.” Your voice is shaky when you speak.

Construction work.

Joel starts telling you about construction work.

It’s all he can think to do. It feels stupid, he feels like he should just shut his mouth and stop while he’s ahead.

But he doesn’t.

Because he hears you stop sniffling. Your hand stops reaching up to wipe away tears.

It’s not the topic. You couldn’t care less about the topic.

It’s him. It’s Joel being there. There for you.

It’s all you need.

A/N: Okay ngl these last two chapters have kinda been filler. I’m just trying to build up Joel and readers relationship before shit hits the fan. for anybody reading tysm. Like seriously just knowing people are enjoying this is awesome.

-di

[cosmicjoke]

After yesterday’s episode I had to re-read your meta about “Hange’s sacrifice and the culmination of Levi’s loss and grief” just to hurt myself again haha. Man, I won’t deny it, I do ship those two, but is their deep bond and understanding of each other and just their friendship what I really love. So, seeing them say goodbye was hard for me. Seeing Hange’s scared expression and the way Levi looked in that plane…and the way he said See you, Hange…I mean, Hange is my favorite character, so I was already crying seeing her fighting, but was the last goodbye of Levi and the soundtrack at the back that made cry like a bitch lmao. I can’t stop thinking about Hange, the way they animated Hange getting burn was so raw, but I’m glad they animate their death with such Bang like she would want. They truly made Hange looked like a hero, so I’m grateful for that. Bauklotze is on repeat since yesterday and Levi at the plane represents the state I was on watching the episode after Hange’s sacrifice haha. Anyways, I really enjoy reading your metas and I hope the last episode don’t disappoint :)

Thank you so much! I'm right there with you, with how much this episode hurt, and seeing Hange go out the way they did, with so much heroism and commitment and courage. That's the thing, Hange was so courageous in the end. They knew they were going to die, and they were scared, but they didn't let that stop them. And I was in awe of how they animated their death too, the brutal and raw nature of it, it must have been so unbelievably painful. And yes, Levi's resignation and sadness and grief was on full display. His expression on the plane was simply heartbreaking, and I can't even fully grasp the kind of pain he had to have been in, being unable to help or save his best friend. They truly did have such a deep and meaningful bond. Whether you ship them or not, that can't be denied. Hange dying like that was Levi losing his last person, in a way, the last person he was close to, and it's kind of the curse he always has had to carry. Being the strongest, he always somehow survives, while everyone he loves and cares about seems to die, despite all his efforts to protect them. Every loss effects Levi on such a deep level, and Levi's broken expression is him finally reaching his threshold of what he can take. It's just too much at this point. Which makes it all the more remarkable that he was able to carry on and keep fighting, despite it all, despite his own physical and mental anguish. Well, there's a reason Levi and Hange both are generally seen as the most heroic characters in AoT. Because they are.

I'm sure, given the incredible quality on display from MAPPA up to this point, that there's nothing to worry about with the final part airing in the fall. It's going to be so incredibly emotional.

Thank you again!

[ejzah]

NCIS LA Season 14 Countdown, Day 5

A/N: For Better Angels.

***

Sorrow

“Hey, we’re home,” Deeks said. Kensi was vaguely aware that he’d parked his truck in the driveway, but continued staring out the window, thoughts consumed with the horrors of the past day. It was the wee hours of the morning after getting everything settled at the—with David Sarraf. Her mind flashed to his body, pinned against that cold brick, and she quickly pushed it away.

They’d filed their reports back at the mission. Having to do all that mindless, bureaucratic work after David’s horrific death was awful. As though any of that mattered when a good, kind man was now dead.

Deeks nudged her shoulder gently. “Kens, you ok?”

“No.” She sighed heavily, unable to hide her pain and despair. She’d tried to keep it at bay around the others, but the effort was too much now. Shifting her torso, she turned to face him, though she kept her chin tipped down, unable to look Deeks directly in the eye. She knew she would find compassion and concern there. Which was more than she could handle at the moment with her emotions so raw and espoused.

“I keep thinking about his poor wife. Her last memory of him is going to be of a horrible phone call right before he died. He deserved so much better,” she murmured. Her throat felt tight and chest heavy.

“I know.”

“He was just trying to do the right thing. To stop more people from dying like his son, and he died for it. It’s not fair,” Kensi continued hoarsely. She shook her head quickly, roughly palming tears off her cheeks.

“You’re right, it isn’t,” Deeks agreed softly. “But at least he had you.”

“Everyone keeps saying that, like it makes everything better. All I did was give him false hope, and then destroy that hope it bit by bit.” Making a bitter sound, she dug her fingers into her thighs, biting through the material of her jeans. Really, she wanted to hit something. To cause the kind of destruction she’d seen today. “And the whole time David acted grateful. Told me I was his “angel” and not someone who was keeping him alive long enough to get what I wanted.”

“I’m sure that’s he was grateful, and in that moment, you were a blessing,” Deeks replied. She started to protest again, but he covers her hand with his. “You stayed with him the whole time. You reassured him when no one else would. You were honest. And most importantly, you did everything in your power to connect him and his wife one last time.

“I know if it was me, I’d want you there by my side.”

“Yeah, well, you’re highly biased,” she told him, not resisting when he tugged her hand to his mouth.

“We’ll get through this,” he told her with a soft kiss.

“And what if I don’t? What if I can’t get rid of this anger and—and—” she waved her hand in frustration as she tried to find the words to express herself. “Futility. Like what we do is pointless,” she finished.

“Then I’ll be there to help you. Through the grief, the rage, all of it. And every step, I’ll remind you why you love this job, and what a difference you make every day.”

Kensi chuckled softly, suddenly overcome with tears again. Her anger was gone just as suddenly as it had come, and once again she was reminded of her love for Deeks. Just as she had earlier that evening.

She stretched across the console to embrace Deeks, burying her face in his neck again.

“I love you,” she whispered again. “That’s the only thing I’m certain of right now.”

***

A/N: I feel like this would be a case that would stick with Kensi in particular for a while. And although Deeks is still eager to get out of NCIS at this point, I don’t think he’d take advantage of Kensi’s confusion, vulnerability, and distress to push the issue.

[gettingovergreta]

Here are my questioooons!!

8. Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

14. What’s the worst writing advice you’ve ever come across?

28. Share three of your favorite fic writers and why you like them so much.

37. Talk about your current wips.

Oooh these are tough! Okay, we'll start with the first one.

8. This is a passage from The Dragon of Bear Island (honestly if I have earlier dialogue I'm proud of I have...largely forgotten it 😂).

“You were at war, Daenerys. Warriors can make bad choices in the heat of battle, and anger and inexperience make poor companions.”

“Inexperience?” Daenerys huffs. “Now I’m poisonous and naive. Do keep telling me all the reasons you adore your wife, ser.”

“Aye, inexperience. That was what, your fourth battle? Fifth? I fought as many before I could grow a beard.” That hardly surprises her, when she has learned how easily the island can be attacked. “Frankly, the end result is the same, Daenerys. The wildfire explodes, you’re injured, the Keep is destroyed. Even if they were going to ring the bells, if Cersei Lannister had any sense, she would have surrendered sooner.” His voice deepens on the last in a way that makes the back of her neck prickle with heat, despite everything.

Though perhaps it’s simply the sensation of standing on a precipice, without her children’s protection nearby. Daenerys stares baldly at him, every muscle still taut with fear, with disbelief. This can’t be so easy. “So you would just...ignore what I’ve told you? That I - that I’m this monster...”

Jorah groans and scrubs his face with his hands, coming around the table to her side. “What would you have me do, Daenerys? Put you on trial? Send you back to King’s Landing? The lady who destroyed the Greyjoy fleet and reads to children and wipes the brow of her handmaid when she’s laboring? Those are all things you’ve done, too, despite your grief, and despite your temper.”

“But Jorah…” Daenerys can’t believe it’s that simple. She can’t.

“Am I a slaver, Daenerys?” Jorah interrupts, and she stops short. “It’s a simple question. Am I a slaver?”

“As I recall, ser, you received a pardon. Lord Varys can vouch for it.” It’s a harsh blow, but part of her is feeling rather raw, and draws some satisfaction from his subtle wince. She adds, a little more gently. “And of course you aren’t. You helped me free thousands of slaves, in Astapor and Yunkai and Meereen. You ended up a slave yourself.”

“Yet under the law, that was exactly what I was. Hell, if I’d been the one on that wall in chains, most of the North would have said it was justice finally done. When I returned to Westeros, I thought if needs must...that I would see you become queen, and I would choose the Wall rather than cause any trouble for your reign. Because that crime was still something that I did, no matter who I am.”

I was particularly proud of this bit because I made a TERRIBLE CHOICE back in like Chapter 8 despite giving myself an AU-out where wildfire exploding is actually what caused the disaster in King's Landing (it also wasn't as widespread as what actually happened in canon). That choice was to have Daenerys remember that she decided to purposefully attack King's Landing despite observing signs of surrender. Verrrry bad behavior, which of course led to the question of how to forgive the unforgiveable?

To a degree, though, Jorah simply can't. That's not his place, not his role to grant her that forgiveness. Instead he points out the circumstances that led to the situation, and that he has been seeking redemption for his own crimes all along. Her fear has been that he won't love her, but I think the scene revealed that Jorah understood that Daenerys is not a saint, and that while he spoke of her gentle heart, he knows that her temper and her pain are real too.

More to the point, there's no undoing what she's done, and Daenerys has to live with that, but she can decide what she chooses to do now and in the future. To me, this was something Jorah realized long ago, and he's trying to impart that lesson now.

I'll put the rest below a cut, because this one's already kinda long, LOL.

14. I guess the worst writing advice is "write what you know." I think it's more like "write what you can convincingly research and have someone check your work if you're not sure." It might be good advice for literary fiction but seems kind of useless in genre work. I also have to admit that I find outlining only vaguely helpful. Stories can take on a life of their own and grow way beyond an original plan. Why hold them back?

28. YOU'RE ALL MY FAVORITES! Ok but for real, I really, really admire people who are great at writing a) long, plotty fics, and b) multiple genres of fic. For those reasons I just loved reading sunken_standard's Sherlock fics (from delicious smut to cheese wheel mayhem), ladymelodrama's amazing fix-it epics, and enigma731's perfect genre slides.

37. Hahaha what WIPs? 😭 I actually didn't have any plans for anything new after I finished my last romcom thing, LOL. I may have one brewing that is a pre-S8 canon divergence - I found the idea in some old exchange prompts and I am very intrigued by it. I'm going to check with the prompter to make sure that it didn't find its destination elsewhere! I also found what was basically a Dany/Jorah PWP that I had forgotten about that just needs a bit more to be finished. Which means it will take me like 10 years because I immediately get rusty when it comes to writing the spicy stuff. 😂

[anotherhumanpet]

What about Dennis and his emotions during the death of Optimus Prime

Send me a scene that happened in canon and I’ll write in detail how my muse felt in it!

Hilariously, that is one of the things Cricket and I completely rewrote for the timeline because we both love Optimus, didn't care for his death, and she's a great player of him (in my personal, humble opinion anyway). So, when Optimus tried to throw himself down the Well, Primus almost immediately spat him back up like "Nope. Not yet." and he was just kinda left there to sit on the edge for a minute before picking himself back up to (reluctantly) keep going.

In an instance where Optimus does die and stays dead though, it's a major point of devastation, grief, and loss for Dennis. Optimus is like a father to him, and losing that in a more permanent way than "oh he just moved back to his planet" really shakes the kid down his core, leaving him with some very big, very heavy emotions he doesn't know how to deal with. He feels raw and exposed to the world, and deals with it by withdrawing socially and-or lashing out when he gets over stimulated - and he is very easily over stimulated.

Eventually though, the pain subsides. There was already a sense of loss from most of the Autobots leaving Earth so this doesn't change much. It just takes the possibility of seeing Optimus again out of the picture.

[glitterytrashcan]

Alive

Severus Snape x OC/reader

Severus did not survive the battle of Hogwarts. Roman just barely did and lives with the pain of losing their love and closest friend. Through it all they have been struggling to feel alive. On the anniversary of his death, they find themself at his grave pouring out their heart and hurt and by the end they are ready to live and feel alive again. 

Heavily inspired by Sia’s “Alive”

Looking down on the wet dirt of his grave they take a shaky breath letting the cold rain wash away the tears flowing freely down their face. The grave was one among many who sadly did not survive the battle of Hogwarts, a gravestone marked with their own name and birth date is already placed next to his. Not many had faith they would survive the injuries inflicted, others doubted they would survive the grief and heartbreak of learning Severus was among the dead.

They are thinner now, pale, wearing one of his cloaks to fight off the rain though by this point its soaked through. Their eyes have long since lost their fire. It pains Severus to see his lover mourning him in such a way, watching from afar there is truly nothing he can do but listen. 

  “I got your letter. how dare you.... you lie to me and let me think we would have a future together you bastard... I forgive you.” their voice is heavy as the cloak they wear as told by the way they drop too their knees before his grave. “It's not fair I've been nothing like the person you once loved since you left. They didn't think I'd survive the physical injuries; little did they know it was the emotional ones that have nearly killed me.” 

   Finally, they manage to remove the cloak setting it off to the side. “Harry testified for you, told them all the truth. He let me see your memories to.... I missed you, still do. They have all started to look at me like I'm a ticking time bomb and in a way, I guess I am.... some poor student may never see me the same after saying something disgusting about you. At first, they looked at me like I was fragile now they look scared.” it caused them to laugh a little. “Minerva said i reminded her of you with how I hid my pain with anger, how I snapped at students. She cried with me that night... We all miss you. I'm not alive anymore I miss being alive. I know you wouldn't want this for me but it's so.... so hard to let the pain go. I've been trying so hard to let the pain fuel me every day but it's dragging me down. “ 

    There's a soft sob that manages to force its way out of their chest though they keep talking. “I need to live again Severus; I need to feel alive if not for me.... For you.” several deep shuttering breaths later they look up from the dirt and to his gravestone. “This is goodbye. I can't keep mourning you my love.... I'm going to do my best to celebrate what we had... Minerva offered me potions professor and I think I'm going to take up her offer. Carry on the Professor Snape legacy, in my own way... You deserved better, but so do I. I love you, and for you and myself I'm going to live starting tomorrow, tonight ill love you with all the pain and grief I have...”  their voice trailed off to a comfortable silence where he knows they are crying. Until Minerva walks slowly over sitting next to them rubbing small, measured circles on their back. 

   “Did you let it all out finally dear?”

   “I couldn't say it, no matter what I can't be mad at him...”

    “How does your heart feel?”

   “Raw, open, like a fresh wound... gods above it hurts so much Minerva.”

    “I know it does, now let's focusing on healing that hurt. No more hiding and holding yourself together with thin threads.” her voice was stern not taking No for an answer and for the first time in months they find themself smiling weakly. 

     “Yes mother” The sarcastic tone of voice said volumes of unspoken words. 

(again im not going to reread this or really edit. have my 3 am angst and comfort writing.)

[jungk0oksthighs]

OKAY! HI again! I’m pretty much going to be spamming and blowing up your inbox with countless messages and rants and moments of me just going GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH BECAUSE I HAVE NEVER ENOUGH WORDS TO SAY HOW MUCH YOUR WRITING MEANS TO ME AND HOW IMPACTFUL IT IS!

Funny thing is I started reading your masterlist with Pi Gasu but somehow I ended up ranting about the stories that followed BUT. BUT. Every single story of yours deserves nothing but endless praise and compliment and for me to weep over your masterpieces in the way that moment when A R T moves you. Because that’s what your writing is. ART.

I remember starting this story a while back before it had as many chapters as it does now and I remember going WHEEEEEW because it was such a new dynamic to read, of vampire and blood donor but also RECENT PHOTO FOLIO VAMPIRE JUNGKOOK HELLO?!?!? AND?!?! ALL THE OUTFITS YOU’VE DESCRIBED WITH HIM ARE ALREADY BURNED INTO MY MEMORY SO SEEING THEM IN THIS FIC MAKES ME A WHOLE NEW LEVEL OF FERAL. Because VAMPIRE Jungkook is wearing them; and that makes me SO SO FERAL

I remember reading this and being blown away by the sheer cocktail of FEELS happening in this fic and yet again experiencing visceral, raw HATE for the mother in this fic who just uses her daughter as a means of money but constantly gaslights and undermines and POISONS HER WITH ROSE-THORN and GRRRRRRRRR

Because I understand the terminal illness of a child on ANY parent must be such a struggle and pain and especially a long-term condition wears down on a parent– there will never ALWAYS just be sadness and grief, there’ll also be anger and misery and RAGE that it’s unfair which I understand… so I tried to keep an open mind. That got shot down RIGHT AWAY with the piece of *censored MULTIPLE swear words and curses* she is. Because no child should EVER have to feel guilty or ashamed of being healthy and well whilst another is sick. Because life doesn't choose to burden one child with illness and keep the other– ALTHOUGH THAT TURNED OUT TO BE INTENTIONAL AND PART OF THE GRAND SCHEME OF THINGS WHICH MASTERMIND BECAUSE!! The idea that her death will complete her brother’s transformation… that her enthral, her siren blood DRAWING IN the vampires– in particular Jungkook… OOF. JUST OOF. new level of achy angst BECAUSE SHE WAS READY TO DIE.

I also have to say your DIALOGUE in this fic was like OTHERWORLDLY tier because there were so many moments I thought… I stopped and paused and ached as I processed the words… because they just struck DEEP. There were so many pieces in the story where I thought– I’m coming back to this and I’m going to write this down. There’s a genuine MASTERY you have with words that truly RESONATE and haunt and LINGERED in my mind long after I finished devouring this story.

I can’t remember the EXACT exact words but. When Jungkook says in his entire time of being dead, he’s never felt so alive.

THAT ACHING BREAK POINT WHEN HE SURRENDERS WHEN SHE TRIES TO KILL HERSELF. The way he begs for her to never threaten to take away the thing that was forcefully taken from him...that the ACHE of her killing herself, of valuing her living so little...HURTS HIM

THE MOST HEART WRENCHING MOMENT WHEN HE SAYS HE DOESN’T HAVE A SOUL BUT IF HE DID IT’D BE HERS.

WHEN THOSE RAW ACHING MOMENTS OF PASSION AND PAIN WERE SO ACHY TO READ that I could feel every instant of their need and want and that unravelling restraint ESPECIALLY because he’s a vampire and she’s human, especially because there’s that whole FIERY dynamic of her pleasure-heavy blood making him ADDICTED, because that moment when she feeds on even a DROPLET of his blood– IN THE KISS to stop her from being physically hurt because he’s that strong…

THE FACT THAT SEX could physically and literally BROKE her…. The dialogue and WEIGHT of emotions in that description. Like it felt like a new level of carnal, primal ACHE between them and was a new level of feral I reached… but. But there was also this physical anguish and pain to understand love in a way I haven’t EVER, EVER heard it being described. It was new and haunting and BEAUTIFUL.

Because love in this story KILLS. It breaks, it batters, it bruises, it HURTS so viscerally, so deeply… it physically BREAKS her and SHE TURNED AT THE END (THANK GOD FOR THAT) but the idea of how poetic and rawly you described love as this consuming destructive force that ANNIHILATES. That love is this deadly DANGEROUS force and yet– when you fall, if you fall, it consumes you entirely.

I CANT WAIT to see how the transformation works in the next chapter, I can’t wait for her piece of shit mother to rightfully FUCK off and I can’t WAIT to see how their dynamic develops because it was the roughest, rawest description of sex– and yet now that she’s changed I wonder… I do…

It’s way overdue because Pi Gasu was the first I read– but the last I commented on… but I felt I NEEDED to get all the feeeeels off my chest AND vent and GAHHHHHHHH

Thank youuuuuu for writing such art🥺🥺🥺

And for sharing it too xx 💜💜💜

Oh my goodness gracious me @purplebeebs this is one of the most memorable messages I’ve ever received in terms of reviews! Thank you so much for taking the time to send FOUR HUGE MESSAGES in regards to my writing! I’m floored rn!! Thank you so so much!! 🥹😭

PG is definitely one of my favourites to write for! I really love the fantasy genre and I think it’s something that I would be very interested in writing more! Shoutout to my fully planned siren fic that will eventually see the light of day hehe. Just… thank you so so much for your kind words, I’m genuinely speechless and quite flabbergasted right now 😂🥰

It’s such a compliment to be told something you write sticks with someone and that’s something that I’m not gonna forget! Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, not only for reading seemingly all of my fics hehe but for taking time out your day to go into such detail in these messages! Truly I’m flattered! There’s so much more of PG to come!!! We’re only just getting started hehe, thank u thank u thank u I owe you my life sweet angel, you’ve made my night 4 times over tonight and genuinely you are so so sweet. I’m so grateful you found my blog and like my work!!!! Sending you so much love and positivity!! 💜💜💜💜