#half the tragedy of everything on either side is that the other side of it exists

[veilkeeper]

"which do you prefer, pre or post amnesia durgetash" actually i prefer the haunting image of both side by side as perfect mirrors, because nothing has changed even though everything has. in case you were wondering.

[thestarlightforge]

TBOSAS Meta

This started as a couple-paragraphs-long Everlark & Coryo x Lucy Gray rant. It turned into an essay on the politics of systemic oppression and how we illustrate it in fiction, with The Hunger Games and Ballad as case studies. Regardless, I hope others enjoy, lol. This is where my brain lives, now, as I expect it will the rest of 2023. Cheers!

***

It’s been interesting, the last few days, some of the discourse that’s popped up around TBOSAS. FASCINATING political discussions, as I’ve come to expect for a Suzanne Collins release. (#1 in my heart.)

Personally, I always separate books vs. movie canon with her franchise. With the OG Hunger Games, sometimes I felt the films were better—like she got another pass at it and REALLY took advantage, and utilized the hell out of taking it out of Katniss’s first-person POV to develop other characters and the world (still without detracting from her narrative)—while for some details, I preferred the books.

With TBOSAS, though, the book and movie feel almost entirely different to me.

There are MANY shared elements, of course, and I feel either version gels quite nicely with the OG franchise. It’s not even that there’s that many continuity differences—some things cut or altered for time, sure, but the bones of the plot are the same. Both illustrate astute political commentary, Coriolanus’s descent into madness, Tigris’s shift in position on him (foreshadowing her full turn by Mockingjay), and Lucy Gray’s role in his life in both his initial downfall and his defeat by Katniss. The actors and creative team all did BEAUTIFUL work bringing it to life, and I honestly love both versions.

But fans who mainly like the book may be frustrated by the sympathy Coryo garners in the film.

Normally, I’d say this is because the book reveals more internal monologue—and it does. But honestly, one of the things I was most impressed by in this film was how legible the actors’ internal monologues were. It was clear, the amount of work they all did to that end. So I don’t know that it is just more. I think it’s also different.

Book Coriolanus devolves much earlier and more obviously. He starts from the same pressed circumstances and has moments of goodness, but he becomes the villain we know him eventually to be pretty damn fast.

Film-Coriolanus has a much slower descent. Ironic, honestly, given the film has far less time than the book does.

I think as a result of this, I’ve seen discourse comparing beats in his relationship with Lucy Gray to Katniss and Peeta. For example, that beautifully shot/choreographed/performed scene in TBOSAS with him and Lucy Gray on either side of the fence after the bombings that night, where they almost kiss and he asks her, “Is this real? If I’m going to risk everything?” being compared to Peeta’s long game of “real or not real” throughout Mockingjay. Everlark folks (rightfully) pointing out that for Peeta, the refrain is about shared trauma, especially between him and Katniss, and both of them grounding their relationship in mutual trust—while asserting that for Coryo, the same refrain comes from a place of selfishness.

I get where this opinion comes from: President Snow is probably one of the most violent, sadistic, genocidal dictators in modern popular fiction. His relationship with Lucy Gray started as transactional—even more acutely in the book. Nearly everything Book-Coryo does is for his or his family’s personal gain.

But to me, half the beauty and tragedy of the film is this delicious possibility—the hope—they showed us.

THG has always had a strong anti-war philosophy in general, with through-line commentary on showmanship, propaganda, surveillance and performance: The recurrent themes of cameras always bring on them, the arenas and entirety of Panem being a stage/game—and how those things impact authentic human relationships. Everlark hit for so many because of the ways authenticity bloomed out of that hellish, contrived pit. Coriolanus and Lucy Gray’s relationship started out similarly contrived: Thrown together by the politics of the Academy, the uprising, the districts, the Capitol and the Games—helping one another survive. Largely unlike Katniss and Peeta, they both played the game intentionally, to varying degrees. (Personality wise, these four really have almost nothing in common, lol.) Lucy Gray is a good person, both in the end and from her start (unlike the terrorist Coriolanus becomes). But she is a performer. He’s right about that.

So honestly, I don’t see much purpose in reading Peeta’s question as valid while Coryo’s wasn’t. I think that judgment is colored by dramatic irony—us knowing who they each become. But in theatre, we talk about living honestly in imagined circumstances. It’s used in a lot of acting techniques, but particularly for people playing villains. To stay grounded in the truth of it, you have to believe honestly in the imagined moment, not the gestalt; Leslie Odom Jr. was a great Aaron Burr because every performance, he believed in the whole journey, from hope to ruin. Tom Blythe was a great Coryo because he invested in the earnest reality of Snow as a young man, not the devil we know he becomes. And at that point in the story, at the cages that night with Lucy Gray, Coriolanus was honestly grounded in similar struggles as our OG heroes: Trying to provide for and protect his starving family. His family (and the Capitol at large) reeks of privilege, and his prejudices were obviously flawed. But in his developing love for her, he was steeped in starvation, the same political forces as lashed all citizens of Panem, and was clawing his way from beneath just as much Capitol propaganda as people from the Districts—perhaps even more so, given his Grandma’am and how his father died. Because of their given circumstances, politics bled into everything—but eventually, so did feeling, and they had several moments of genuine bonding, trust and connection which the actors invested in beyond their political need for each other. There’s a constant push and pull: Holding hands at the zoo for the cameras was political; her reaching for his hand in the arena visit was less so. The first “Stop treating me like I’ve already lost” in front of everyone was wit-soaked survival, while “Please don’t let me die in that arena tomorrow,” near-whispered and with hands held between them where the camera would struggle to see, bled into real vulnerability. Saving him from the other tributes in the cage-ride to the zoo was about survival; risking her life to go back for him when the arena was bombed was at least a mix. Her motivations for singing in her interview are complex—perhaps guilt that a “rebel” attack nearly killed Coriolanus, his advice she’d get the most money that way—but I feel strongly that a non-zero amount of her was motivated by wanting to demonstrate that she trusts him, which for her is even higher-prized than love. And I also feel that, after the hospital and her “final performance”—leading up to their near-kiss at the zoo—Coriolanus scoped out the arena (and ultimately took all those risks to help her cheat the Games) both because he wanted the Plinth prize, in theory, and because he increasingly desperately wanted her to live.

The waters between them were thoroughly, legitimately muddied—which I believe was intentional, that constant tension between authenticity and politics. And as much as he was falling for her, Coriolanus saw that Lucy Gray was just as clever and good at crowd-work as he was—maybe better.

So to circle all the way back to this Everlark comparison: Given the absurdly multilayered situation, is it really that selfish or unreasonable he would check in with her during that moment through the fence? That this child—wrapped in oppressive patriarchy, violence, starvation and propaganda—would ask for reassurance before he was willing to be vulnerable, or to potentially risk his family’s lives?

Some artists are hesitant to engage with the humanity of “villains,” their origins, because they feel humanizing them excuses them. In real life, I get this: Second chances aren’t always the answer, and people need to be held accountable. But isn’t it more powerful storytelling to demonstrate the corrosive nature of all systems of oppression in our fiction, to show how they can corrupt even those who try, than to condemn people before they’ve even had a chance? Isn’t the beauty of Lucy Gray’s whole thing that everyone starts out good, and it’s our job to choose to stay on the right side of that line?

And when President Coriolanus Snow finally chokes on his last rose, wouldn’t it be a more satisfying victory if we imagined him as a real-feeling person—full owner of sixty years of horrifying choices—rather than a cartoonishly evil cardboard cutout?

Book-Coryo has a more obviously manipulative/evil streak, much earlier on. To make it plain: He’s an ass, and his “love” for her reads more like obsession. But my favorite aspect of the film (and I feel one of the most compelling) was how it illustrated that these systems of oppression can make tragedies of almost anyone: All but those at the very, very top. Suzanne’s anti-capitalist politicking—how classism turns everyone below the 1% against each other, where the “upper middle class” (doctors/lawyers/actors) is vilified to the poor as a red herring while a handful of robber-baron CEOs amass almost all wealth on the planet—strikes again. She, Francis Lawrence, the film’s creative team and these actors came together to put tragically human faces on that struggle—how hard it is to stay a good person amidst intense, violent, systemic oppression.

But none of that sings quite as true if you go into it having decided that Coriolanus was evil in his bones. The stakes are so much higher, richer, otherwise. If his love—for Tigris, for his family, for Sejanus, and yes, for Lucy Gray—was, or became, authentic.

It’s not a descent into madness if he’s already mad. Or, as he put it in the original Hunger Games film: “Hope. It is the only thing stronger than fear.”

[dyns33]

Rafiq alruwh

I'm not sure yet if this will be a Bane x reader oneshot or not.

I like it like that, but I could find ideas for part 2. My only problem being that I still need to finish others Tom Hardy's characters story, while wanting to write Feyd Rautha stories.

As much as Y/N listened to these stories over and over again, she couldn't imagine the feeling everyone would describe.

The moment your skin touched your soulmate's skin, and suddenly everything became clear, better. A feeling of joy and the burning need to stay by this person's side forever.

It was a rare phenomenon that scientists could not explain. It was completely impossible to know when this would happen, or if it would happen, because fate seemed cruel. Most people either didn't have soulmates or didn't have the chance to meet them in their lifetime. The world was too big and time too short.

There were still skeptics, who claimed that it was all nonsense, lies, invented by people blinded by love or who wanted to give themselves a certain gender. Only those who ended up meeting the person changed their mind, the others remaining too jealous to accept the truth, considering that it was only a romantic utopia.

Y/N wanted to believe in it. She dreamed of meeting her soulmate and experiencing this special moment.

Her parents were not meant to be together. It was visible.

In her entourage, she had an uncle who had had this experience, a few neighbors, a friend, and all had said the same thing.

What they had in common was that they were all good people. Maybe that was one of the reasons.

“You might have had to choose another type of profession then.”

"Mom…"

“I’m just saying that cop is not the most popular job in the world.”

"And I would say that choosing to be a non-corrupt police officer in Gotham is almost like being a saint."

"You'll end up getting killed, long before you meet your soulmate. I'll never understand why you wanted to be a cop, especially in this town."

There came a day when her mother's fears almost became a reality. The day when terrorists took the entire city hostage with a bomb, preventing everyone from entering and leaving.

It was probably not what she had thought when she talked about dying, but for several months, hidden with her colleagues, Y/N thought about her soulmate, trying to imagine this meeting that would probably never happen.

Staying mainly with Blake and Gordon, she tried to hide her pain, but it did not escape Miranda Tate, who took her hand with a gentle smile and asked what was tormenting her.

“We’re going to die here.” Y/N whispered. "I mean, I'm not afraid of that, that's the risk of the job. But… I didn't think it would be like this now. I wish I had met my soulmate before."

"Your rafiq alruwh. I didn't think many people cared about it here."

"My what ?"

"That's how my father called soulmates. I grew up with a lot of stories about it, because he and my mother were related. I prayed a lot to be that for one of my friends, but no. Our destinies are linked, but not like that.”

"Sorry."

"Even if I would have liked him to be mine, I wish him happiness and that he meets his other half one day. A being worthy of him, of his love and his protection. He deserves to be happy. You too, you seem kind. Maybe you shouldn't have been here."

Her words were strange, but Y/N didn’t tell the others. It wouldn't have changed anything anyway. Even though she had discovered that Miranda Tate had the detonator, that she was the real leader of the terrorists, the streets remained controlled by the militias.

As always, they were saved by the Batman. She had never really known what to think of the vigilante, protected by Gordon and hated by everyone else. He clearly wanted to help Gotham, but his methods remained illegal, and not necessarily effective in the long term.

His death was a tragedy, but not necessarily the end of a symbol. Hope was still there, even stronger, and the Gotham police were determined to ensure everyone's safety.

Y/N felt this determination too.

Still, she froze as she inspected the sewers with Blake and Ramirez. They too had a moment of hesitation, as their lamps illuminated a body. A huge body, sitting against the wall, face hidden by this frightening mask.

There had been a search for Bane and his men after the explosion. Witnesses said the Batman fought him, and won, but they found nothing.

Obviously, the terrorist had managed to drag himself here to die.

"What do we do ?" Ramirez asked shyly. “Should we put a bullet in his head ?”

"What ? Why do you want to do this ?"

"To make sure he's dead. I've seen a lot of movies, man, I know the mistakes to avoid."

She didn't approve of the speech, but Y/N agreed, it was necessary to check it out.

Feeling almost stupid, she moved forward slowly, her hand reaching towards Bane to see if he felt a pulse.

She didn't expect the large hand that quickly grabbed her neck before she could touch him.

Fear paralyzed her body, and yet there was something else. An indescribable, incredible feeling, which resembled happiness but more intense, which was absurd in this situation.

Y/N felt so lost that she didn't realize the hand was relaxing, just resting against her skin instead of squeezing and snapping her neck like it easily could have done.

"Habibi…" was the word spoken with difficulty by Bane, who stared at her with an indecipherable expression.

“Let her go right now, you bastard !”

Maybe he was as confused as her, or maybe he was too weak, but the terrorist didn't avoid Ramirez's punch, while Blake grabbed Y/N to pull her as far away as possible.

She stood still, not understanding what was happening, as Ramirez called for reinforcements, proud of having been able to knock out the giant, even though he knew as well as anyone that he would have had no chance. if his mask hadn't been damaged and he wasn't half dead. It was not possible.

Bane couldn't be her soulmate, Y/N refused to believe it. A man like him had no soul, not after everything he had done, and above all why would he be destined for her ? She didn't feel like she had committed a crime that deserved such punishment.

She was probably never going to see him again anyway.

If he survived to Blackgate, he would be locked there forever. Even if she had permission, she had no intention of visiting him.

But the feeling remained there, strong, impossible to ignore, demanding more. An incomprehensible need to be close to the one who had touched her, so that he would touch her again.

Y/N resisted. She gave her report to Commissioner Gordon, forgetting a few small details, and indicating that she did not wish to follow this case, leaving Bane's case to better agents than her.

This seemed to surprise him, as he considered her one of his best people, but he accepted.

However, it was impossible not to think of her soulmate, since the whole town was only talking about him and his arrest. The television was on loop every day, and her colleagues thought they were doing the right thing by keeping her informed of progress.

"They say his face is horrible. I think there are photos in the file."

"I'd love to see that ! I can't imagine that fucker at all without his weird mask. Do you think he has a normal voice without that thing ?"

“I can go get it so we check.”

Ramirez's gaze met hers as he stood, and without her needing to speak, he knew it was best for him to sit back down and change the subject.

Y/N didn’t see the photos. She absolutely didn't want to.

After several weeks, she asked to take a vacation, claiming to still be traumatized by what had happened to her, in addition to the near destruction of Gotham. She needed some time to rest.

Turning off all the screens and her phone, she tried meditation to clear her mind, so she could get some sleep and forget that her soulmate was a crazy, half-dead terrorist who would soon be judged.

This miserable attempt being a failure, she turned her phone back on shortly after midnight, only to be bombarded with calls and messages, coming from several colleagues, Blake, and Gordon.

"What is happening ?" she asked, calling the Commissioner back.

"Damn, I almost sent men to check on you, you weren't responding ! Where are you ? Are you okay ?"

“I’m at home, why ?”

"Don't panic. Blake will come get you."

“Gordon, what’s going on ?”

"He hasn't said anything since his arrest, keeping very quiet, and then yesterday Bane spoke. He asked to see you, giving your name. The other agents are categorical, it's impossible that he knows ot, no one told him. The agent simply replied that you were not on the investigation, and even on vacation… Damn, he…"

“Gordon, what ?”

"He escaped, Y/N. We don't know how. No one knows where he is, or what he's going to do. But since he talked about you, I don't want to take any risks. Don't move, John will come right away."

She could have told him that she knew very well why Bane had spoken about her, and that it was undoubtedly necessary for her to leave without delay, but fear held her back.

Even if it wasn't her fault, what would the commissioner think when he learned of her connection to the fugitive ? He was a good man, but all men had their limits, and she would be the first to be wary of someone designated as Bane's soulmate.

After hanging up, she jumped out of bed to grab her gun and shoes, ready to wait for Blake to arrive in her living room.

Y/N froze in the middle of the hallway, seeing the huge figure standing between her and the front door.

His face was covered by a scarf, his posture a little less proud than in the videos she had seen of him during his city hostage situation, he appeared to be in pain, but it was obvious that if she tried to pass, he would retain her without the slightest difficulty.

“Habibi.” he whispered, and indeed his voice was different without his mask, more human. "What a joy to see you again. More beautiful than I remember or on pictures. Will you come with us without resistance ? I don't want to hurt you."

"Hands in the air." she replied, pointing her gun at him, ignoring the urge to hug him. “Don’t move, my colleagues are coming.”

"I admire your sense of duty and honor, Habibi. But I will not return to prison, ever again. And I will not leave you either. I thought of you every day. Is your neck healed ? I need to repair my wrongs to you.”

“I said, put your hands in the air.”

“So you leave us no choice, Habibi.” he sighed, looking behind her.

We. He said we, and someone gave him her name. Y/N reacted too late, one man grabbing her gun, and the other not holding her shoulder, injecting something into her neck with a syringe.

In an instant, she found herself on the ground, her vision blurring, but her body not panicking, as it was invaded by an incredible sensation. Bane had reached out to hug her, his eyes smiling as he ran a hand over her cheek.

"It's okay. I'm taking you home, rafiq alruwh."

All her life, Y/N had waited for this moment, this feeling, this sentence. She told herself that the stories we said to children were really stupid, as her eyes closed.

[physalian]

10 Plot Premises That Never Get Old

There’s a great many lists out there complaining about the worst and most overused tropes in fiction. I want to pass the mic to tropes that will never get old. The love-to-hate ones, the knife-twisting ones, the shipping fodder.

1. Killing the character who knew too much

Or, the “Maes Hughes” effect. Your story centers around a massive mystery or conspiracy and one lone character is unfortunately not genre-savvy enough to remember that the phrase “the early bird gets the worm” ends in “but the second mouse gets the cheese”.

This is the character who has unraveled the partial, if not entire truth, coming to a shocking realization moments before their untimely murder. Usually, they’re alone. Usually, this death rocks the remaining characters, sometimes for the entirety of the remaining plot (see FullMetal Alchemist). Usually, they become genre-savvy at exactly the moment they realize there’s no way out of this. Conveniently, they’re never on the phone with the right person, or there’s never any cell service. They didn’t write their findings down or didn’t hit record.

This whole entire tragedy is only a tragedy because this character made the wrong choice that is also the only choice this character would have made.

2. The enemy of my enemy

As OSP once said, anyone can be a minion, even the presumed Big Bad. Whether it’s a serialized cartoon with well established sides of good and bad or a single movie, having two entities that loathe each other reluctantly and bitterly join forces to deal with an even Bigger Bad… that’s the good stuff.

Either the villain has been minion-ed, or the good guys and the bad guys’ enduring battle of morals is interrupted by a wild card third party that insults them both or threatens the world both sides are trying to save in their own ways.

This is *not* a redemption arc. This is the temporary alliance that usually terminates once the threat is dealt with (see: Transformers Prime, or ‘Marabounta’ from Code Lyoko). Extra points if they’re age-old rivals who fight better together than the hero does with the rest of their team. Extra extra points if they both realize this and firmly deny that it happens (and even more if the villain tries to exploit the hero with this fact later on).

3. The redemption arc

***Emphasis on the word ‘arc’*** The ones that span 56 out of 61 episodes (see: you know the show). The ones that cost the redeemer their ideals, the friends they thought they had on the wrong side, maybe a limb or two. The ones that start with a villain so convinced they’re right, only to slowly question everything they’ve come to know and, without shedding their entire personality, do the right thing and still survive the process.

This is not redemption equals death. This is not a half-assed heel turn at the very last second—that’s a button mash impulsive act for shock value. This is taking a character almost all of the heroes have given up on trying to save, someone they themselves have nearly written off, and deciding to try anyway. This is a character deciding to do the right thing even if it doesn’t ever redeem them at all. This is a character whose whole life ahead of them is spent doing better than what was done before, and we love them for it.

4. The haunted ashes of a fallen empire

This one is a bit more tricky to define but think Prometheus of the Alien franchise, or Xerxes from FMAB. These are characters in the present exploring the ruins of a civilization that never should have fallen, but did due to the Big Bad they either created or tried to imprison. This is those characters looking around at what used to be, and making history repeat itself whether they’re genre-savvy or not.

These are the glaring red sign posts telling the heroes to turn around every step further in *or else* and they do it anyway. Or, these are the heroes who know exactly what happened and in their own hubris, are convinced it won’t happen this time to them.

5. The Most Dangerous Game

The originator: An island owned by a big game hunter who has evolved into hunting humans. The trope: Powerful and/or incredibly skilled character in any other situation is trapped in the confines of a dwindling clock matched up against the very antithesis of who they are and what they represent, but who is also just like them.

I just love seeing characters who are normally incredibly competent and rarely fazed, tripped up by the horror of being hunted by someone just like them who lost their humanity. So many juicy existential questions arise, so much angst. Double points if the character has a firm no-kill policy or extremely picky morals and has to wager tossing them aside to survive.

6. Stranger in a strange land

Whether it’s a character in a foreign country trying to learn and respect the ways of the people who saved them (see: Last Samurai, or Avatar '09), or an alien who crash-landed on Earth and struggles to assimilate and not get caught by the government (see any PG 13 alien adventure movie), a time traveler to the past or the future (Outlander, Back to the Future), either drama or hilarity ensues, often with a heaping helping of socio-political commentary.

It gets kind of troublesome when the writer is a white guy taking all the wrong messages from throwing his white guy protagonist into a land of the ‘savages’ (see uhhhh all variations of Pocahontas). But then you have strange lands like Wonderland, or Narnia.

7. Magical Otherworlds

Speaking of Narnia and Wonderland—magical hidden otherworlds. They can be incredibly blandly executed sometimes, but some of our most cherished stories come from living vicariously through Harry Potter or the Pevensie siblings. In this case I’m specifically talking about complete otherworlds, not hidden-in-plain-sight otherworlds (see: Percy Jackson) because of the complete freedom and creativity you have in geography, history, and world mechanics.

The possibilities are endless! Double points if the otherworld is a metaphor for childhood adventure and living without adult responsibilities (see: Peter Pan), a world in which we know, no matter how cool the world is, the protagonist was never meant to stay there. They must always inevitably, inexorably, return home and take what they’ve learned there to live a better and profound life.

8. “I know you’re in there somewhere”

Is it done to death? Yes. Is every situation different because it’s completely dependent on the relationship between the characters involved? Also yes. Tends to overlap with a redemption arc, but more often a hero-turned-temporary-villain. The drama! The angst! The shipping fodder! (see: many, many anime, too many to count)

This trope also has some uncertainty to it. You never know if the confrontation will be a success, if the character in question will commit some heinous act to wrack them with guilt later, if they even want to be saved, or if they really were saved and not just faking it. Either we get a POV of the stricken character’s battle in the mind or are left watching on the edge of our seat as unknowing as those trying to save them, and sometimes, rarely, they’re just not salvageable.

9. On the Run

The base has been discovered, the ship has been overrun, the house has burned down, the government is on the hunt. The hero team is forced apart with only the clothes on their back and what they can carry with only one or two others and loses all contact with most of their team, scattered to the wind. They leave a trail of sketchy motel rooms and diner take-away boxes, or they sleep in their car, or are forced to hide out in old bases that the villain definitely knows about but wouldn’t bother checking, built in a bygone era with a friend that’s no more.

Everything they ever knew has been called into question. The character they find themselves stuck with wasn’t their closest buddy on the hero team, but both forge a newfound respect for each other in this new unknown. Poignant conversations are had as one keeps watch in the dark so the other can sleep, and yet doesn’t, as they mourn the passing of the life both knew and vow to take it all back in their darkest hour.

10. The Thing

As in, a mysterious entity or illness has invaded the story and knowing which characters are infected and compromised is impossible. This entity either bodysnatches other characters and can be expunged, zombifies them, or kills and replicates them (see many zombie shows, iterations of The Thing, or “Croatoan” from Supernatural). This entity is a sickness slowly spreading throughout the town or the base or the ship and the heroes (or villains) realize far too late that something is very, very wrong.

This entity brings characters to their breaking point, paranoia making them do very bad things in the name of survival, killing off characters the audience knows is clean, but their murderer doesn’t, for extra knife-twisty fun. This entity brings a morally devout character near to ruin as they almost cross a line trying to do what’s right. This is an entity where, even when it’s defeated, is never really gone for certain… is it?

[its-all-stardust]

Head Above Water

Matt Murcock/GN!Reader

3.9k

Summary: A month after Thanos turns half of all life to dust with the snap of his fingers, you find a man sitting on a bench in the rain, alone.

Notes: This is my first fic here, and to be honest, I'm testing the waters a little bit with it lol. I hope to write more fics for Matt and other characters in the future! My ask box is open and feedback is appreciated ❤️

Thunder claps in the distance, and you know the rain is only going to get heavier. Part of you doesn’t mind, despite the already-soaked legs of your jeans. Your small umbrella barely covers your shoulders, the occasional drip hitting you when you let it tilt the wrong way in your daze. You meant to get a new one ages ago, especially when the fabric started lifting away from the metal. But you never got around to it.

And now, you don’t care.

It’s been a month since the world ended. A month since you lost your sister.

A month since half the world—or half the universe, if what the news report you barely listened to is true—turned to dust.

And fuck, do you hope Lizzie turned to dust. Hope that she didn’t go down with the plane as it crashed in the middle of some town, engulfing everything in a fiery blaze.

You hope she turned to dust. You think about her last moments often.

Would she have been terrified if she noticed her limbs fading away before she ceased to exist? Or would she have been confused? Was she awake when it happened, or was she asleep?

Did she cry when the plane started to plummet?

Dust or fire, either way, she’s gone.

The rain feels nice, in a way. A chilling reminder that the world stopped and still stops. The streets are practically empty with so many people gone and the natural dislike of being caught out in a storm.

But it never feels like enough.

The world stopped, but it didn’t end.

Someone walks by on the other side of the street.

A month.

It’s only been a month, and you and everyone else are expected to live as if the worst tragedy in history hadn’t just happened.

You can’t go back to work. You were supposed to. But your days are consumed by grief after losing the only person you loved. How can you go back, pretend that it never happened, that you’re fine?

You’re not fine.

You don’t think you’ll ever be fine.

You don’t have a job anymore.

Your foot catches on something, sending you stumbling and pulling you out of your dark reverie. Rain spills down your back as your umbrella tilts forward. You don’t know what you tripped over, nor do you care very much. You adjust your umbrella and try to take another step forward, but stop when you send a cane clattering down the sidewalk.

The sight of it makes you pause, confused. Your state of mind slows any thoughts that aren’t of Lizzie. It takes a moment to realize you’ve stopped next to a bench. 

A bench with a man sitting on it.

“I’m sorry,” you quickly say. The cane must belong to him. 

You’re still not used to how empty the streets of New York City feel and have grown used to the lack of people running about, no longer needing to carefully avoid hitting others or having someone slam into you with abandon. You haven’t needed to avoid being in someone’s way for what feels like an eternity.

It’s been a month.

Shaking away the cloud of thought, you reach down, pick up the cane, and turn to the man, who hasn’t said a word since you ripped it away from him.

Holding it out, you wait for the man to take it, but he doesn’t move. Then you notice his dark glasses and what type of cane you’re holding.

The man is blind.

“Uh…” you start, stumbling over what to say. “Here’s your cane. Sorry.”

Like a statue coming to life, the man finally moves. Reaching for his cane, you set it in his hand.

“Thank you,” he says quietly, settling back into the bench. 

You should leave. You’ve done your due diligence and given the man back his cane, but your feet don’t want to move.

The man is soaking wet, dressed in a t-shirt and sweatpants. He had no jacket or umbrella of his own. His hair is plastered to his head, and raindrops collect on the lenses of his glasses briefly before falling. He looks like a mess. You’re not one to judge because you looked much the same over the past month. 

Looking past him, you see the church.

“You uh…need help getting inside? It’s a little wet out here,” you finish awkwardly. You have no idea if he even believes in God enough to want to go inside, if he just came from it, or if this is just the first bench he found. Whichever it is, you don’t like the idea of him sitting out in the rain with not even a jacket to keep the rain off, especially not with a storm coming.

More thunder nearly drowns out the man’s answer: a short, simple “No.”

But still, you stand there in front of him, watching water drip down through his dark hair and land on his cheek.

“Here,” you say suddenly, mind made up. “Take this.”

The man looks confused, the first expression you’ve seen on his face. But he doesn’t say anything, just holds out his free hand, where you place the handle of your umbrella.

“What’s this?” he finally asks.

“An umbrella,” you say and start to turn away.

“Don’t you need it?” the man calls after you.

You pause and turn back. “Not anymore.”

Despite his frown, the man goes quiet and settles the umbrella against his shoulder, the rain now no longer able to reach his face. Water still drips down his hair as you turn to leave, walking a little faster to get back to your apartment before you end up like the man outside the church.

It’s still raining the next day, but it does nothing to stop you from going on your daily depression walk.

You couldn’t stay curled up on the floor of your apartment any longer, so you’ve taken to spending the day wandering the city streets, lost in thought, trying to wear yourself out so you can sleep at night.

You’re berating yourself today, one of the iterations of thoughts you cycle through these days.

How can you walk miles throughout the city for days on end but can’t make yourself go to work? You lost your job, and the landlord—the new landlord, after the old one turned to dust, is bound to catch on that your rent payment is late. You don’t think you can get evicted during a state of emergency, but you wouldn’t bet on it.

The world ended. Your world ended. You shouldn’t be expected to have picked up the pieces and moved on like everyone else.

The world never stopped turning, though. Part of you knows you can’t keep doing this forever—avoiding life and praying everything goes back to normal. It won’t, not with Lizzie dead. But if you don’t, you’re sure you’ll find some way to join your sister in whatever afterlife she ended up in.

Your foot knocks against something, and you stop. You wandered too close to a bench where someone sits, making you walk right into a cane extended into your path.

Not thinking much of it, you’re about to step around it when you recognize the man on the bench. You’re at the church again, and the same man as yesterday sits outside. Without the umbrella you gave him.

You’re afraid he’s been here since yesterday without moving, but you see that the t-shirt and sweats he’s wearing today are black as opposed to the gray he had on when you first saw him.

You can’t help but be a little annoyed that the man appears to have lost your umbrella. But as you stare at him, at the blank expression on his face, and the defeated slump of his shoulders, it reminds you of yourself. If you didn’t despise wearing soaking wet clothes, you’d likely be without an umbrella, too.

You want to help, but you’re not particularly inclined to give him another umbrella for him to lose, not since you just bought this one on the way home yesterday.

So you sigh and, unsure if the man even knows you’re there, sit next to him on his right side, immediately soaking the seat of your pants on the wet bench. Shifting your umbrella to cover both you and the man, you sit back and wait.

Silence surrounds you for long enough to congratulate yourself on buying a larger umbrella. Your right side, and presumably the man’s left, is being hit by the rain, but it’s doing a decent job of covering two people not pressed close together.

“What…are you doing?” the man finally asks, either just noticing your presence or deciding to acknowledge it. His voice cracks, making you wonder when he last spoke and how long he’s been in the rain.

“Waiting for the rain to stop,” you tell him as if it were obvious. You adjust your grip on the handle to rest it against your arm. You could be here for a while and want to be as comfortable as possible.

“...why?”

“You lost my umbrella,” you say, looking at him. “At least, I assume you did since you don’t have it, and I don’t want you to get wet. Well, any wetter than you already are.” You finish awkwardly.

A look of realization comes over the man’s face. He recognizes you now.

“I…forgot it,” he says simply, and you wonder if that’s true. Maybe he wandered out into the city without it on purpose, hoping the rain would either cleanse him or punish him.

You know the feeling well.

Silence descends again. So far, the rain hasn’t shown any signs of stopping, nor has the man seemed uncomfortable with your presence.

Then he shivers. Maybe you’ll bring him a jacket tomorrow if he’s still here. If you find one his size, which you can only guess at.

Next, the man’s hands start fidgeting with his cane, the most movement you’ve seen from him during your brief interactions.

“Are you okay?” you ask softly.

The man scoffs, a bitter smile on his face. “No.”

His voice shakes, and you watch as he swallows and clenches his jaw. You’re familiar with the reaction. You’ve done it a lot over the past month when you want to avoid crying in front of others.

You look away from his face and down to his hands. He’s clutching his cane in a white-knuckle grip with both hands, and it’s a wonder he doesn’t snap the thing in two.

Something comes over you then, and you don’t know if you should do it or if it’s even a good idea. But you give in to temptation, sitting up to reach over with your right hand and place it on the man’s clenched fists.

“Neither am I,” you say softly, pressure starting to build in the back of your throat.

The man freezes, and you’re afraid you’ve overstepped, crossed a line with this stranger that you had no business crossing.

You’re about to pull away when he shifts, one of his hands turning to grasp yours, clutching it like a lifeline.

Neither of you speaks, both trying to breathe through the wave of emotion welling up inside you.

Connecting like this with someone is…nice. Practically everyone around you lost someone because of the attack, but this is the first time you don’t feel alone in your grief.

You don’t know how long you sit like that, but you’re disappointed when you notice the rain finally stopped. Letting go of the man’s hand, you move your umbrella off to the side and close it.

You’re unsure where to go from here, what the next step is now that you’ve held hands with and found comfort in a stranger.

Glancing over at the man, you see his hand is still open as if waiting for you to take it again. You hesitate briefly before giving him your name.

It’s almost as if he comes alive then, taking a deep breath like it’s his first taste of air. He shifts, turning to face you.

“I’m Matt,” he says.

“Matt,” you repeat, a small smile on your lips. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Matt kept sitting on the bench outside Clinton Church. He’d been doing it since the day everyone died. First Karen and Foggy turned to dust in front of him. Then, when his head cleared enough, he went to the orphanage to look for Maggie.

She was gone, too.

And so he sits outside the church, going back to his apartment when he needs to. But he always returns. Matt doesn’t go inside, doesn’t pray. He’s just numb and doesn’t have anywhere else to go.

Then, one day, you appeared and gave him an umbrella.

And you kept coming back.

A week in, though the two of you barely spoke, Matt asked why you did. You tensed and hesitated long enough that Matt was about to try to take the question back when you quietly admitted, “I like sitting with you.”

He froze, not knowing how to react. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but the thought that you enjoyed his silent company never occurred to him. It was an odd thing for Matt to hear.

The fallout with his friends was only just recovering after his disappearing act. He had just learned to truly let the people who cared about him in. And with everyone suddenly gone, the idea that a stranger wanted to be around Matt was shocking.

Uncomfortable with the feeling welling up in his chest, Matt changed the topic.

“Do you always walk this way?” He’s mostly out of it while losing himself outside the church, but even so, he didn’t remember someone walking by every day at the same time like clockwork.

“I only just started this way,” you explained with a shrug. “Needed to change up my route.”

You went silent, and Matt could feel the melancholy pouring out of you.

He didn’t ask why. He could guess well enough why you’d be sad about changing a familiar walking route or why you never seemed to be going anywhere in particular. Instead, he stayed silent, thinking about how he liked sitting with you, too, and how warmth still radiated on his skin from when you held his hand.

As the days went on, you and Matt slowly started talking more, carefully avoiding mentions of friends or family. You started sitting with him for longer, and Matt began to expect you at 2:14 every day and looked forward to your warmth at his side.

But it’s 2:22, and you’re not here. Matt listens for your heartbeat, the sound of your footsteps on the concrete, but there’s no trace of you. He fidgets with his phone, having it repeat the time as if it’ll go back or make you appear. Ever since that first day, you were never late, and something in his chest—which he refuses to believe is his heart—constricts at the thought that something happened to you.

He wants to believe that you simply changed your route again. That maybe you were tired of him, didn’t want to be around him, and just didn’t know how to tell him. But Matt remembers how quiet you were yesterday. How your silence reminded him not of the unfamiliarity of a stranger but of a sadness barely held in check. Your breath hitched, and you let out a small gasp before cutting your visit short and leaving with a strained smile pulling at the corners of your mouth and a promise to see him tomorrow.

But you’re not here.

Matt’s conflicted. Should he try to find you? Does he have any right to? What would you think of him if he did? Should he stay and wait, see if you show up late? Wait until tomorrow before truly worrying?

Something is wrong.

The thought won’t leave him. What started as a scratch has turned into claws digging into his gut, trying to pull him forward toward—

Where would he even look for you?

Matt stops a few feet away from the bench. He hadn’t realized he had even started moving.

Where would he look for you? He doesn’t know where you live or the route you take. Finding you would be nearly impossible.

Except he hears the faintest trace of your voice. He’s familiar with the cadence, matching perfectly with the one in his memory.

Matt follows without a thought, crossing into the street and forcing someone to slam on their breaks to avoid hitting him with their car. He tries not to run, instead staying at a fast-paced walk. You don’t sound like you’re hurt. In fact, you’re…humming?

Matt forces himself to stop. The tune sounds familiar, but in his panic, he can’t quite place it before you stop.

Maybe…maybe you are fine, and you just… didn’t want to see him anymore, unable to find the same comfort in him that he found in you. His stomach sours at the thought, his face twisted at the small pain in his chest.

And then he hears something else.

“I miss you.”

Your voice is so quiet, and Matt is so far away he almost misses it. The pain in his chest eases, but now he’s less sure about what to do.

You’re clearly unharmed, but Matt remembers what you said to each other that second day.

Neither of you are okay.

And you wouldn’t have kept coming back for days if you hadn’t found some sort of stability, some familiarity in him.

Matt keeps walking. You’ve stopped talking, but he has a decent idea where you are. He doesn’t think you moved, either. If you do, Matt’s sure he’ll be able to follow you easily, especially now that he’s caught your heartbeat.

Within minutes, he finds you sitting on some other bench, hunched forward, holding something in your hands. There’s saline in the air around you. You’ve been crying. There aren’t any tears on your cheeks now, but he can tell your eyelids are swollen from earlier.

Matt stands there, taking you in, unsure if he should approach or walk by and hope you’ll say something. He licks his lips and starts forward, decided. When he gets close enough to the bench, Matt taps the end with his cane before sliding it along the ground to hit your foot.

Startled, you jerk your feet back as he says, “Sorry, is this seat taken?”

“Matt?” you ask, confused when you see him standing next to you. “You…left your bench.”

“I…did.” He was in such a rush to find you that he hadn’t considered that you would find it strange for him to be somewhere else.

“Why?”

Matt flounders for a moment, unable to tell you the truth, before repeating something you said to him. “I needed to change my bench.”

You nod in understanding, believing he could no longer sit somewhere that held so many memories—the reason you had to change your route.

You slide down the bench. “Sit.”

The usual silence falls between you as Matt takes the spot next to you, but he isn’t comfortable in it this time. You’re staring at the thing in your hands and chewing your lip. Matt shifts in his seat, unable to maintain his usual stillness. He doesn’t know where to go from here. He didn’t come up with a plan.

“Do you like this place?” you ask suddenly.

“The…city?” Now it’s Matt’s turn to be confused.

You laugh lightly. “The bakery.” You tilt your head back to gesture. “Behind us,” you say when you remember he can’t see.

Matt has been so focused on you that he blocked everything else out. Now, as he takes in the space around him, the scent of all sorts of baked goods wafting over him from the building only feet away. He doesn’t even need his heightened sense for it. It’s a bit of a wonder, he thinks, that it’s still open.

“I’ve never actually been here,” he admits. “Have you?” As soon as he says it, he realizes that the thing in your hands is a cupcake and that you’ve just come from the bakery yourself.

“Yeah,” you say softly, focusing intently on the desert. “It’s my sister’s favorite place. Was her favorite.”

With those words, you start crying. For the first time, you cross the unspoken line between you to not talk about whoever you lost. You both avoided the topic not to create a barrier or to keep from knowing too much about each other but because it was too hard. Your tears are evidence. But even still, you told him.

Matt is shocked but won’t stop you if you are ready to take that step.

“What’s her name?” he asks gently, careful not to pry too deeply. When your breath hitches, he reaches out, fingers brushing your forearm.

“Elizabeth. Lizzie. She was my best friend.” Raising a hand, you wipe your face. “It’s her birthday.”

Matt lets out a breath, practically feeling your pain. No wonder you’re so upset, why you left yesterday.

“Here,” you say suddenly before Matt can speak. “It’s a cupcake.”

“Isn’t it for her? Shouldn’t you eat it?” he asks, yet reaches for it anyway. You wince as you set the cupcake in his hand.

“I actually hate red velvet. It was always her favorite flavor. Uh…I heard it’s good, though,” you awkwardly assure, making Matt let out a soft chuckle.

“We’ll find out.” Matt starts peeling the wrapper off but doesn’t take a bite. Instead, he sits there, wondering if he should share with you what he lost. If he even can.

But he wants to try.

“When I was a kid,” he starts slowly, finding the words and prying them out from that place in his heart where he locked them away.

“I lost my dad and grew up in the orphanage just behind the church we sit at.”

You stay silent, letting Matt speak, giving him your rapt attention. It seems you’re just as shocked that he’s sharing with you.

“I didn’t really have anyone growing up. And then I met Foggy while I was in college. And Karen a couple of years ago. And then, a few months ago, I…found my mother in that very church. Maggie.” A fond smile finds its way onto Matt’s face. He hasn’t said any of their names in so long. It feels good.

But it quickly falls.

“They’re gone now,” he finishes. He doesn’t need to explain how.

You reach out, taking Matt’s free hand in your own and intertwining your fingers. He feels the warmth radiating from you, driving away the permanent chill in his bones.

“I don’t think I’ll ever stop missing her,” you say.

“I know I won’t stop wishing they were still here.” Matt feels tears starting to well up in his eyes. But his hands are full, and he can’t wipe away the tear that slips down his cheek.

“Do you want to be friends, Matt?” you ask, a spark of hope filling you, making a small smile appear on your face.

The two of you weren’t yet friends, despite how much time you spent together on the bench. You never shared enough, never talked enough for it to happen.

Matt nods and squeezes your hand.

“I’d like that.”

And unbeknownst to the other, you both think that now that you’ve met, you’ll be able to get through the rest of this life together and, perhaps, be happy.

[morganwrites12672]

Evan Buckley x Reader

Summary: Buck needs some comfort after losing someone at work.

Reader info: Firefighter!Reader, Female!Reader

A/N: Send in some Evan Buckley requests! Also don't forget to reboot and leave a comment! I would also like to add I am really proud of this.

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Buck was extremely quiet on the drive home. He hadn't been telling you some crazy story of how he saved someone while you were busy else where. And when you did get to see his heroic saves it always made you so happy. The way he smiled once the person was safe was to die for.

Not tonight. He hadn't smiled once. He sat in the passenger seat, fidgeting with his hands. Another weird thing. He usually had his hand on your thigh no matter who was driving. Tonight, he kept his hands to himself. A very un-Buck thing to do.

As you pulled into the parking lot of your apartment building, you saw Buck look up. He seemed to of snapped out of whatever daydream he was in and grabbed his phone as you parked.

As the two of you walked back to the apartment, Buck grabbed your hand. He held on tighter than usual.

Once you two had reached the apartment, after a walk filled with silence. You knew you had to help him. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

"Buck, I was only there for half a shift, did something happen?" You ask placing your hands on either side of his face.

His eyes looked glassy and he sighed before opening his mouth. He closed it immediately. He couldn't find the words to explain the tragedy.

"I, it." He took a deep breath before continuing, "There was a boy. He was practically a kid, early 20's. We couldn't save him. I couldn't save him," Buck said as a tear slid down his cheek.

Your heart tote apart as you watched Buck fall apart. You pulled him into a hug as sobs wracked his body. You held him. That was all you could do for him right now.

Being a paramedic was hard. Everyone lost someone eventually, usually more often than most would like. But it was part of the job. You just had to focus on who you saved, not who you lost. That was the unspoken rule on the job.

You had to move on right then and there. Other people needed you. But when you get home, everything falls apart. Emotions can't be suppressed forever.

Buck pulled away from the hug with red rimmed eyes and he kicked off his shoes. You walked up the stairs to your shared bed as he sniffled.

He pulls his shirt off and throws it into a corner before plopping down. You join him on the bed and he instantly wraps his arms around your body.

"What do you need?" You whisper and place a kiss on his bicep.

"I just need you," he whispers back. His grip loosens (he was worried he was hurting you) and he begins to succumb to the heaviness in his eyes. As he falls asleep you watch his chest rise and fall.

He was almost peaceful as he slept. The pain and horrible emotions were no were to be seen. He looked peaceful as he slept. You would almost say happy but you know that's a lie. Almost isn't. But after the day he's had.

[bonefall]

So why's BB!Skystar like That? I'm not looking for a justification or excuse mind you, and I understand he completely refuses to better himself, but not even someone like him is born evil.

I'll get to his origin and tell you exactly how he grew up, but lemmie be clear about something. I don't think people respond to what they experience in a proportionate, 1:1, "hard times go in, bad guy comes out" sort of way.

People aren't bread and yeast. We don't follow a recipe for "becoming a bad person." You don't add trauma and then from there they choose to be a bad person because of their pain or not. No one is born evil, and the other side of that coin is that EVERYONE has the capacity for it.

Extremely privileged, charmed, blessed people with wonderful home lives can also become awful people. Violent, demanding, murderous ones. The "why" is "choice."

That answer's not satisfying because we want it to be deep and interesting. Like it makes it "mean" something, or adds some kind of "logic" to it. But you won't get it.

EVIL is simple. It feels good to get what you want. It feels good to hurt the people who keep it from you. POWER is even simpler. It is the act of making others do what you want. It's as simple as childish entitlement, indifference, or spite. Gratification that outweighs guilt.

If you're looking for some grand tragedy, you won't find it here. Nothing he went through was particularly unique and there was no grand ideology at play. His dad vanished when he was young and so did Gray Wing's. The Tribe dealt with a famine and several people died, including members of Bright Storm's family.

The only thing special about his birth and upbringing, in particular, was that he was quite privileged from the start.

Clear Sky and Gray Wing in the Tribe

From their very birth, both kits were welcomed and celebrated. They were destined for greatness from the start. Their mother was Quiet Wing, a direct descendant of the Stoneteller, Half Moon, and the father was a respected leader and political figure, Tempest Sky.

(This was before the Tribe would eventually become three camps, "Wards," united by a river. Tempest might have been considered an early leader of such a Ward.)

The older kit, a perfect image of xeir mother, was said to be the inheritor of her legacy as a relative of their founder and holy speaker. Xey were named Gray Wing. The younger, who would surely become the natural leader his father was, got the name Clear Sky. In their language, Koof Yaawrl-- Not just a sky without clouds. A perfect, flawless sky.

The two of them grew up with great opportunities. Connections are everything to their culture, and they had their pick of any amount of interests they wanted a paw in. The hunters would happily bring them along if asked. The crafters had extra patience set aside just for them. A good deployment of a mew and baby eyes could get them some extra scraps at dinner. Everyone wanted to make their little mark on such special, talented kits.

Clear Sky was a little general type. He wanted to be a leader right away. He loved hunts, he loved being in charge of other kids, he loved the way people listened to him. He wasn't familiar with the word No and was almost always the top banana of a group of other children. Even if they were older.

(Gray Wing in contrast was more of the game-creator, the "old soul," the kid who got along better with adults than other kids. Less of a leader and more of the guru, good at networking and settling disputes between people.)

While they were still kids, Tempest Sky vanished.

He was missing for days, and was assumed dead. There's plenty of ways to vanish in the mountains, but no remains were found. The Stoneteller tried to contact his spirit over and over to confirm his death, and he never came. So it was most likely that he just... left. Or maybe was taken.

Either way, they didn't really get closure for it. It was an awful thing to happen to a little kid, and Clear Sky took it really hard. A while after that, their stepdad entered the equation. Stone Peak wasn't big or strong or special, he just made their mom happy.

Gray Wing LOVED this man. After some friction, him and Stone Peak became excellent friends. They had a deep sense of respect and camaraderie. Clear Sky hated this. It was like Tempest Sky was being replaced before his eyes.

It was years before Stone Peak and Quiet Rain had a litter, well into Clear Sky and Gray Wing's adulthoods. It burned Clear Sky a new one to think that she was moving on from his father, who could still be alive. Maybe it's part of why he was so willing to throw his half-brother out into the snow, that fateful winter.

When Jagged Peak and Fluttering Wing were about half a year old, there was a terrible drought. It wasn't "overpopulation." It was a bad season. NOTHING could have stopped it. Lots of cats died.

Fluttering Wing was one of them-- along with some of Bright Storm's immediate family, Fox Claw and Petal Claw's mother during a hunting accident, and many more.

At the height of this drought, the southern river's level was so low that it became a scorched, crackled path with only a wet scratch of mud running along the middle. This dry riverbed beckoned to be followed downwards, until the water could be found again. THIS is the "Sun Trail;" a path carved by the sun.

It was Gray Wing the Wise who interpreted this as an omen. Xey believed it was their ancestors showing them the way to safety. The rest is history.

But the bottom line is...

Skystar's upbringing wasn't a supreme tragedy. He faced adversity just like everyone else, but he'd NEVER bring up the privilege that he had when he was young as something unfair to be examined. Tempest being a respected leader whose connections gave Clear Sky lots of opportunities is only spoken about in terms of Clear Sky being a "born leader" or "coming from greatness."

All of his charisma, his achievements, his command over other cats, that's all something he's "worked for." All of the adversities are examples of how strong HE is, in contrast to other cats, even if they went through the same exact struggles.

Why is he the way he is? Why is he so controlling? Why is he violent? Because he will take what he wants, and no one can stop him. He likes power more than he cares about the consequences of treating people poorly, so he cries "unfair!" if you take his toys away.

Stand by him and the rewards are sweet and delicious. Deny him what he wants, and he will crush you. He chooses how he treats you based on how much he likes you, and at the rotten heart of his behavior, is the simple choice to be this way.

[wandabear]

WISH YOU WERE HERE - WANDA MAXIMOFF X F!READER

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Summary: 17 years ago, a New Jersey high school girls' soccer team travels to Seattle for a national tournament. While flying over Canada, their plane crashes deep in the wilderness, and the surviving team members are left stranded for nineteen months.

Warnings: This is a fic based on the tv show 'Yellowjackets'. If you didn't see the show, don't worry. This is not the same for make it more interesting.

CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN FINALE

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Jules is portrayed by Adelaide Kane. Here.

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“I'll never forget the day I heard their plane had gone missing.”

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The man looked out the window with his arms crossed behind his back. Nick Fury looked at the students who entered the school excited, others silent and some others laughing. Every year it was the same. But the thought of that day always gives him goosebumps.

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“So… what do you think really happened out there?” asked Christine Everhart, Westview’s Ledger reporter, wrote down everything the man said.

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“All I know is that what happened was a tragedy. A terrible tragedy.” Principal Fury took a moment before continuing to speak. “I probably shouldn't say this, but... some of these kids, eh, no big loss, if we're honest. But those girls were special…”

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Melancholy was reflected in the principal's eyes. “Those girls were champions.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ17 YEARS AGO…

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The cheering of the people made everything even more exciting. The referee whistled and the ball was in the air once more. The blonde girl from the Hydra team side-kicked for her teammate to catch, but it was impossible.

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Yellowjackets defense player, Jennifer Walters, jumped as high as she could to steal the ball and ran with incredible agility.

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“LET’S GO!” Pietro shouted from the bench, cheering the girls who ran like huge beasts defending their place. His sister, Wanda, watched the game carefully, biting her lower lip.

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She loved watching those girls play, even if half of them were bitches, Wanda always loved watching them. Sure she'd tried to make the team, but couldn't even kick well. Wasn't one of the popular girls either, so she couldn’t be a cheerleader.

Wanda was the dorky, cute, smart one. The girl who had almost perfect grades, the girl who didn't get into trouble but all the popular girls used to avoid.

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It's not like she wanted to be around them anyway.

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Coach Coulson watched the team carefully, had an enormous faith in his girls. It was all thanks to him, the support of a great Coach and his affection made the team come together and move forward.

The tension brewing slowly, like slow motion. Jennifer kicked again.

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Y/N took control of the ball and ran towards the goal, making the goalkeeper feel the pressure. Everyone in the stands was expectant, excited, if they score one more goal, the nationals would be their next destination.

Timer marked 94:20. The most decisive moment of their lives.

Of course it was a tough game, the ninety minutes of play had been decisive for both teams.

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“Y/N, over here!” Natasha waved at her. If Y/N continued, she might be able to score, but could also be attacked by the two defenders coming at her.

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What to do? She had to choose right now, whether to lose the ball and thereby lose a good opportunity -besides shining as the match's top scorer- or try to play a bit and give it to Nat, winning the whole game. Y/N decided to do a long pass towards Natasha, who with a header scored the goal they needed to win the match.

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Natasha screamed, knowing that it was the decisive moment. The referee blew his whistle and the game ended.

Everyone in the stands jumped up and down, cheering, clapping and laughing just as much as the players.

Y/N ran over to Natasha and jumped for the redhead to catch her in a big hug, her teammates quickly following behind.

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Westview Yellowjackets 4 – Newport Hydras 3

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“Good shot!” Nat congratulated Y/N who just smiled, so damn happy.

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They all laughed as the goalkeeper, Monica, ran towards them from the other side of the field screaming.

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‘AND THAT’S IT! THE  NEW JERSEY ‘YELLOWJACKETS’ ARE GOING TO NATIONALS! WE’RE IN, WESTVIEW!’ reported Peter Parker, a freshman student ‘working’ for the school radio from the stands.

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“WE’RE GOING TO NATIONALS!” Y/N yelled as her team lifted her into the air. ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ It was incredible, everything she ever dreamed of was coming true. Despite the fact that her life was falling apart at times, Y/N managed to reach an unexpected place with her friends.

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They all formed a circle and began that typical ritual, chanting: “BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ!”

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It was a beautiful day in New Jersey, a wonderful morning in Westview’s suburbs.

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The girl parked her mom’s car outside the Romanoffs' house, checking the watch to make sure they would make it to class on time.

What she didn't expect was to see a black-haired girl come out of one of the bedroom’s window, sneaking through the bushes to escape, but not before seeing that Y/N caught her.

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Shaking her head, Y/N just waited another ten minutes until Natasha left her house in a bit of a hurry, but still walking with a unique elegance. Her red hair was wet so she must have taken a quick bath.

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“Hey, Y/N/N. Good morning.”

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“Morning.” Y/N handed over the coffee she picked up earlier and kept her own. “This one is for you.”

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“My lifesaver.  Everything okay?” Natasha asked after kissing her best friend's cheek.

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“Peachy.” Y/N finally started the car and drove out of the place quickly, hurrying so she could be on time. Didn't want to miss chemistry class again.

ㅤㅤㅤ Y/N drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, enjoying the song on the radio, ‘Mr. Jones’ by Counting Crows.

Natasha turned to see her and smiled mischievously at what she would do. Without further ado, she stretched out her finger to remove the cassette and put the radio, playing a much more fun song.

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“Oh, sorry. Were you listening to that?” Nat teased. She always did that.

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“No, no.” Y/N just shrugged, going along with her joke. “It fell into the tape deck, and I accidentally pressed play.”

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But the russian girl didn't say anything, just looked out the window hoping that would wake her up more than coffee. Of course she hadn't slept all night.

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“I saw Jules come out of your room.” Y/N couldn't wait to say it.  “What happened to no distractions before nationals? Ripping off the Band-Aid and all that?”

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“Yep.” Natasha just pursed her lips, she didn't have much to say. She was guilty.

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“Is that all you're gonna say?” Y/N just shook her head, really annoyed. “You swore to me that it was the last time!”

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“I know…” Natasha didn't seem very sorry. “It’s just-”

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“You'll break her heart.” She stopped her before Nat could go on.

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“Why does it bother you so much what we do?” Natasha sighed in defeat, crossing her arms. She definitely didn't understand why all of this had to be such a big deal. “It's not like I force her to do it, okay? Jules wants to have sex with me.”

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“Because she's my cousin and I didn't beat your ass just because you're my friend!” Y/N growled. “You’ll go to Yale, she’s going to Harvard. You don't want anything serious with her... and she's in love with you.”

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Nat just drank her coffee.

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“This has to stop, Natasha.”

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“OK. I promise it's over. I'll talk to her before nationals.” Nat rolled her eyes.

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“After.” Y/N stopped the car and waited for the light to turn green. “We don't need our best midfielder to go in a big depressive hole before the most important game.”

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They both continued chatting about the next game when Natasha frowned, seeing a huge billboard in front of them.

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‘WE’RE PROUD OF OUR BOYS! GO VARSITY FOOTBALL! GO JACKETS!” said the Walker's Pizza billboard.

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John Walker's father -one of the attempts at a good american football player- owned that Pizza restaurant, the man was always really annoyed by their success.

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“The hell is this bullshit?” Natasha scoffed.

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“What?” Y/N frowned, looking at the billboard. “These assholes were under 500 all season!”

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“Y/N, honk at that thing.” Nat patted Y/N's shoulder and opened the window, ready to scream.

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“They're just gonna think we're, like, saluting mediocre football.” The brunette smirked. Sometimes her friend was incredibly crazy, but was always by her side.

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“No, they'll know.” Nat persisted, grinning widely as Y/N slowed down so she could yell: “Try undefeated, bitches!”

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Y/N chuckled. “Oh my God, Nat!”

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“We're going to motherfucking nationaaaals!” Natasha whooped and Y/N sped up, laughing so hard.

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The girls' locker room looked quite lively, full of energy, especially when Jennifer walked in with her radio playing loud Salt N' Pepa's 'Shoop', making the girls to start dancing.

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Of course, winning a decisive match and being two days away from fucking nationals made everyone have a good mood. Those girls were the pride and celebrity of the whole town.

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“Here I go, here I go, here I go again! Girls, what's my weakness?! Ok then, chillin', chillin', mindin' my business!” They all sang as they finished changing clothes, even Jessica Jones -who was the grumpiest of all- was dancing.

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Natasha moved through the dancing girls as Y/N smiled looking at them, finishing painting an adorable bee on Titania's cheek.

The door to the changing room opened, a girl with brown hair and huge glasses went in looking for the team captain. Some girls started to make fun of the girl, throwing some clothes and calling her 'Braces’, but Wanda just ignored them.

ㅤㅤㅤ That was when she was ten years old, she didn't even wear braces anymore, she didn't understand how those girls didn't get over that.

Wanda Maximoff, Coach Coulson's assistant, carried a big bag of new jackets for the girls.

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“Coach Coulson said that everything is ready.” She handed the bag to Natasha. “Principal Fury send this... Each has their own here. After the pep rally, we will go to practice.”

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“Thanks, Wanda.”  Natasha nodded began to hand out the jackets to each of the girls, they were all delighted.  Screaming excited.

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Wanda just nodded and turned to leave, but not before looking at Y/N who just looked at her completely dazed. Oh, she was so in love with that girl and would never admit it.

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“Hey, Y/N.”  Wanda smiled shyly.

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Y/N cleared her throat.  “Hey, Wands. All good?”

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She felt her heart jump out of her chest every time she saw Wanda. Y/N had a crush since Freshman year, when she met her. Wanda had just arrived from Sokovia, she wasn't as good at socializing as Pietro. Her only friend was a girl named Darcy Lewis, a dork like she was.

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At that time Y/N had failed two tests and Wanda agreed to help her, otherwise, she couldn't continue playing on the team. But since that day, Y/N couldn't see another girl that wasn't that adorable sokovian, with a gloomy look and black eyeliner.

Of course she couldn't do anything, Wanda was straight and had a stupid crush on Jeremy Sumpter, fucking Peter Pan.

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“All good. The bee is cute by the way.”

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“Thanks.” Y/N smiled. All the girls on the team were silent, making the moment even more tense.  “Going to the bonfire party tonight?”

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“I don’t know yet. Vision said he'd pick me up later, maybe take me on a surprise date.” She smiled a bit nervous again and decided to leave, somewhat in a hurry.

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Y/N said nothing, just babbled like a fish out of water seeing her go. As soon as Wanda walked through the door, all the girls began to whistle and tease her, yelling: 'Y/N has a crush on Braces!'

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“Oh, shut up you all. Told you to stop calling her like that!” The brunette grunted and shook her head, painting Titania's face. The girl seemed somewhat nervous.

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“You all right?” Y/N watched as Titania looked worried.  “It's just a pep rally.”

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“I’m okay.”

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“Honestly, I think the whole point is just to give freshmen something to jerk off to later.” She tried to be supportive but the girl didn't seem to take it very well.

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“Told you I'm not nervous.” Titania tried to appear disinterested, but Y/N just rolled her eyes.  “I'm the only freshman who got asked, you know?”

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“Are you sure of that?” Y/N just watched Jules who was coming, exchanging amused glances. The Boston girl only covered her mouth, trying not to laugh.

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“It's so unfair.” Titania whined like a baby.  It wasn't the end of the world either, but for her, it was.  “My dress was gonna be amazing.”

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“Well, hey, at least you can wear it next year.” Jules tried to cheer her up as she put on some lipstick.

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Titania narrowed her eyes, somewhat annoyed.  “You don't get it, Jules, 'cause nobody asked you.”

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Clenching her jaw hard, incredulous at that girl's words, Y/N smiled wryly.

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“Okay, you're done, dipshit. Outta my face.” She pushed Titania away, who just rolled her eyes.

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The brunette looked at Jules, who was just smiling surprised.

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“Jesus Christ! Does someone want to tell to that primadonna to maybe worry less about prom and more about not fucking up nationals?” Jules looked at herself in the mirror one more time, fixing her hair. Carol reached over to do the same, tucking it into a side braid.

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“Don't worry, you look hot anyway. Surely someone will invite you.” Carol winked at her and Y/N rolled her eyes again.

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“Come on, Danvers. But about Titania… If she plays like she did at states… We don't have a chance at nationals.”

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“Well, don't worry about that my friend. That's not gonna happen, I've got that covered..” Carol's voice and the way she said that was so sure about it, that it was a bit weird. Neither Y/N nor Jules said anything, Carol was sometimes a bit rough, but definitely an amazing friend.

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“Okay, Yellowjackets. Let’s go!”

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The bleachers of that gym were occupied by all the students of that school.  Some seemed excited while others seemed fed up, sick of having to attend to this.

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The team's signature blue and yellow colors graced the walls, along with huge banners reading 'GO YELLOWJACKETS!' 'WE CAN SMELL YOUR FEAR!’ ‘YOU'RE NOW ENTERING IN OUR TERRITORY!'

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“All right, let's hear it for the boys! Let's give the boys a hand!” Principal Fury said, thanking the football team who lost again. There was scattered applause, John Walker's face telling how embarrassed he felt to be there right now. It was priceless. “Thanks, guys. You did your best.”

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Pietro chuckled but Wanda nudged him, shushing him. Both were next to Coach Coulson, who was waiting for his team with enormous pride.

Nicholas Fury cleared his throat, now grinning widely.

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“Now, our next act needs no introduction, so let's all just make some noise for your New Jersey State Girls' Soccer Champions!” Fury exclaimed excitedly pointing to the entrance. ㅤㅤㅤ

‘It's such a good vibration, it's such a sweet sensation’ That catchy song began to play and everyone started shouting and whooping, dancing to that song, even those who didn't want to be there couldn't help it.

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The crowd began to cheer as soon as they saw how the girls trotted in with elegance and proud smiles. Their hair moved in a divine way, they were not going to deny that being on the winning team gave them immediate popularity. Even those who were the 'weirdos'.

Wanda's huge eyes lit up when she saw how those girls moved in slow motion, totally fascinated. Wasn't going to deny that she admired them, especially since she couldn't play. That is why she was satisfied with helping the Coach and, of course, Yale valued if you were on the winning team.

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“Buzz, buzz, buzz!” The crowd was chanting.

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All the girls smiled and applauded, grateful that everyone received them with such kindness, although some seemed a bit shy. Y/N turned around to see Nat, their looks shared an enormous happiness as big as their smiles.

This was all they wanted in their lives. They would do anything to win that game. They wanted to be champions.

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The moon was shining high in the sky, the relaxing noise of the fire and the warmth of it was welcoming. It was quite a nice night. 'I'm Only Happy When It Rains' by Garbage played while some guys were surrounding the huge bonfire on the woods.

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Y/N got out of the car along with Natasha and Jules, it seemed to be a nice party. Some guys brought some beer barrels, pizzas and good music.

She hated going out to these parties but, what the hell, they had a lot to celebrate. Right? It was a tradition every year, to start that year with a good party.

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They approached their teammates who were gathered sharing a few beers and laughs.

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“Hey, they’re here!” Valkyrie said laughing out loud, she definitely smoked something with Carol and Jessica.

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Y/N rolled her eyes when she saw Carol a bit wasted, but still accepting one of the beers the girls offered.

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The brunette couldn't even look at her, not since in afternoon practice. It was all a shit show. Carol kicked Titania so hard she'd knocked her out of the game and out of nationals. The girl ended up with her broken leg, and of course Y/N thought Carol did that on purpose.

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On the other side of the party, Wanda sighed deeply, looking around really uncomfortable. Of course she liked being with her boyfriend, but she admitted that the people Vision surrounded himself with were stupid and irresponsible.

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Vision kept up talking with Tony, Rhodes, Bruce Banner, and some other dude she didn't know his name. The small group of nerds who were also lazy assholes. Especially Tony Stark, who believed that with daddy’s money would solve everything.

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“What am I doing here again?”  Wanda whispered as Vision leaned in to kiss her cheek.

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“Come on, you need this.” Vision said while drinking some beer. “You need to socialize more, Wanda. Also tomorrow you're going on that trip...”

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“I’m okay with who I am, thanks.” She crossed her arms, looking away.

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“Bloody hell, Wanda! Why are you so obnoxious today?”  Vision frowned.

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Wanda was going to answer that with a 'fuck you', but she decided to sigh and calm down. Especially when Vision was the one who was going to take her home later.

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“One of the girls broke her leg in practice today and won't be able to go to Nationals tomorrow. A lot of blood, a lot of stress.” She winced thinking of Titania. “Though the whole team seems to give a shit tho.”

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She looked up to see how everyone was there celebrating, but her gaze landed on Y/N, who was the only one of them she liked, maybe Jules or Natasha sometimes.

Laughing at one of Jennifer's jokes, Y/N turned to find the person she most expected to see at this party.

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Wanda was there, watching her. She looked so beautiful, she was wearing a beautiful long shirt and dark jeans. Her hair was down, of course she was still wearing those huge glasses that made her look adorable.

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Y/N smiled and waved at her, but all her joy vanished when Wanda cupped Vision’s face and kissed him, causing endless sensations in Y/N and none of them were good.

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“Dude, you're so in love with her. Give up. She has a boyfriend, even if he’s a asshole. The emo girl loves the dick.” Jules stood next to her, drinking some beer.

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Y/N turned to look at her, trying not to say anything she would regret. “Why don't you mind your business? Especially with Natasha, where is she now, huh? Surely behind Stark's truck eating another girl’s pussy.”

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Her cousin seemed quite hurt and surprised by those words. Clearly she answered in the worst way, but right now she had no time to put up with other people's feelings. She warned Jules many times. Clenching her jaw to bear the anger, Y/N decided to walk away for a while when she bumped into Carol, who was pouring herself another beer cup.

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“You should calm down, we have a flight tomorrow.” Y/N said completely annoyed.

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“Yeah, boss. Whatever.”  Danvers just rolled her eyes, didn't have to put up with anyone.

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“I admire your resilience, Danvers.” Y/N hissed as she moved closer, perhaps a bit intimidating.  “Can't be easy, knowing you fucking crippled someone today.”

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Carol laughed wryly and just turned to leave. “Cool. Good talk.”

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Y/N wasn’t going to stay like this, walked after her willing to continue the fight. “Just admit you did it on purpose.”

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“Excuse me?” Carol turns to face her.

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“You heard me.”  They both stood facing each other, staring at each other for a few seconds until Carol shook her head.

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“You're wasted, Y/N.”

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“And you're a fucking sociopath.” The brunette moved towards her but Carol pushed her away. At that moment Jules decided to intervene, along with Valkyrie who positioned herself next to Carol.

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“Whoa! Calm down.” Jules got between them both, trying to push Y/N away but her cousin refused.

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“No! Listen, you guys, we don't have to worry about the Titania problem anymore.” Y/N yelled pointing at the blonde. “…because Carol fixed it for us.”

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“What?” Kate Bishop frowned, not understanding what they were talking about.  Kate and Yelena were almost the only freshmen babies being accepted into the team.  “What's she talking about?”

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“She's talking about Carol's little plan.” Yelena scoffed, shaking her head.

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“Oh, please. Since when do you give a shit anyway? You hardly care about the team, baby widow.” Carol rolled her eyes.

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“Guys, come on. This is not the time to talk about it, we are all drunk and tomorrow we have a flight.” Jules tried to calm things down.

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“Don't you have a bong to hit or a dick to suck? Oh, yeah, you do Nat’s pussy.” Carol's eyes narrowed, she was so drunk.

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“Don't talk to her that way!” Y/N defended Jules quickly, pointing to Carol.

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“Oh, fuck off, Y/N!” Jules narrowed her eyes, finally exploding.  “I don't need you to defend me. Last time I checked, you were asking Natasha to leave me. What did you just say? Oh, yes, minding my own business!”

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“Okay, seriously, what are you talking about?” Kate asked again but was startled when they all yelled at her:

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“Shut the fuck up, Kate!”

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“Okay, come on guys, stop it.”  Jennifer moved closer to try to calm them down.

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“Somebody needs to take her wasted ass home.” Y/N hissed looking at Carol but the blonde was finally done.

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“Say that again, bitch. Say that again!”

“I will say it again!”

They finished the distance and began to push each other when the girls intervened again. Y/N and Carol tried to break free and hit each other.

But some guys around them started shouting 'GIRLS FIGHT!' when they saw the whole situation, drawing the attention of Natasha who was busy flirting with a girl far away.

ㅤㅤㅤ The redhead approached her friends who were still screaming at each other and yelled:

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“That's it! Enough!” Natasha got between them and pushed them both.  “You all, with me. NOW!”

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They all fell silent and looked around as everyone looked at them surprised or amused. Feeling a little embarrassed, Y/N just nodded and walked after Natasha.

They all moved far enough from the party not to be heard, staying in a clearing between the trees.

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“I don't know what the fuck that was, but I do know that it's over.” Natasha turned to face them, shaking her head. Couldn't believe that they did this one day before the most awaited day for all.  “We're about to go to nationals.”

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Y/N just pursed her lips, knowing that she was right but was carried away by jealousy and anger.

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“And based on what I'm looking at right now, we might as well not even bother getting on that plane.”  Natasha looked at them one by one, but none of them said anything. They just drank their beer and looked the other way, like scolded puppies.

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“All right. Everybody line up.” The russian commanded.

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“Nat, come on…” Y/N tried but Nat just gave her a deadly look.

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“No, I'm fucking serious. Line up!”

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The annoyance in Natasha's voice made them all settled into a row. She could be quite imposing when she wanted it to. Not for nothing was the team captain.

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“Here's what we're gonna do. I want each of you to go down this line and say one nice, true thing about every other girl on this team.” Nat walked in front of them.

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“What is this, fucking Girl Scout camp?” Carol rolled her eyes, making Valkyrie laugh. Y/N was going to shut her up but Natasha went first.

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“Do you want to go first, Danvers?” Natasha cocked her head, daring her to, but Carol said nothing. She just pressed her lips together.

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“Okay. I'll go first.” Natasha stood in front of Y/N.  “Y/N… You have more fight in you than anyone I've ever known. I'm inspired by your determination.”

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Surprised by those words, Y/N didn't know what to say. Finally someone noticed her, Natasha noticing that she was always by her side.  That made her feel good.

Not even her mom cared that much about her.

Natasha walked over to Kate, who was looking at her like an expectant puppy.

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 “Kate Bishop… Your smile makes me feel happy every time I see it.”

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The Bishop girl smiled happily. Nat kept walking standing in front of Yelena, who was raising an eyebrow. Come on, she was her sister.

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“Yelena… I love that you don't care what anybody thinks and you're so completely yourself.”

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“She's also deadly at beer pong.” Y/N added and they all chuckled.

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“So, go on. Tell her.” Nat pushed them to tell each other what they though.

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Despite the fact that many did not seem to want to, they all turned to see those in front of them. ㅤㅤㅤ

“Jennifer, you have very shiny hair and I love it.”  Daisy Johnson told her friend who just smiled tenderly.

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“Thank you, Daisy. I like that you’re presistent, motivated and really brave.”

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Y/N stood in front of Carol who hesitated to do it, keeping her hands in the jacket pockets. They both looked quite uncomfortable doing this.

Swallowing, the brunette broke the silence. “I'm sorry, for what I said before, about you... I was mad about something else.”

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“I didn't…” Carol started and bite her lips, trying not to show the sensitivity within. Life taught her that she had to be tough, but her eyes filled with tears. “You know, mean to hurt her. It really was an accident, I didn't mean to do it. I was such a dick cause I was angry at myself.”

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Y/N nodded and just hugged her.

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“Are we cool then?” Carol asked something afraid of losing a friend.

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“I don’t know…You haven't said anything nice about me yet.” Y/N joked and they both laughed.

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Natasha turned to see Jules, who was looking at her a little excited to hear her.  “What?”

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“You haven't said anything to me.” The girl smiled flirtatiously.

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Nat rolled her eyes and chuckled, standing in front of her.  “Jules, you never talk shit unless someone really deserves it.”

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The girl smiled widely, nodding.

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“You are a really good dancer... and you have seriously questionable taste in music... You can't hold your liquor for shit.” Nat continued, a little nervous but sincere. “But you're the only one who's always been there for me.”

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Feeling her heart pound, Jules felt on cloud nine. Oh, she was so in love with Natasha that she couldn't deny it anymore.

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“You're the best friend I've ever had.”  The redhead put her hand on the girl's shoulder, knowing that this would end up breaking any hope. “You know that, right?”

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Jules didn't know what to say, really. Feeling her heart break inside and her eyes filled with tears, but didn't allow herself to cry.

The brown-eyed girl just nodded.  “Yeah. I know.”

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Y/N watched that situation from afar and was grateful that it was that way. Natasha wasn't in love with Jules, she had to let go of all those hopes with her. Would be the best.

She walked to the bonfire, smiling to see that an adorable sokovian was pouring some beer from the barrel.

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“Hey.”

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“Hi.” Wanda smiled kindly.

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“Enjoying the party?”

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“Yeah, it is… pretty… interesting.” Wanda stammered, watching out of the corner of her eye as some of the boys played a game of who drank the most beer in the least amount of time possible. Oh, wishing she could be home right now.

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“I heard everything that happened there…” She lowered her gaze, somewhat embarrassed but also curious.  “All good?”

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“Yeah, everything is fine. We had a fight but we were able to work it out, nothing to screw up the nationals.”

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“I’m glad you all worked it out.” Wanda looked her up. “I understand that you were upset. I was also when I saw Titania like that. Even if she was a dick…”

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Y/N shrugged. “I know Carol didn't want to hurt her on purpose, she's an idiot sometimes but…she's not an total asshole.”

ㅤㅤㅤ

“It's good to know that. She doesn't seem like a crazy aggressive bitch even though she is a jerk sometimes.”

ㅤㅤㅤ

They both looked at each other for a moment, the silence wasn’t uncomfortable between them.

ㅤㅤㅤ

“You look beautiful today.”  Y/N said without even thinking about it, and she didn't regret it. It was getting harder and harder to hide her feelings for Wanda. Come on, everyone knew.

ㅤㅤㅤ

“Thank you.” Those words surprised her, she wasn’t used to hear that. Well, not from anyone other than Vision, he was rarely so…romantic.  “You look cool, as always. I like your leather jacket.”

ㅤㅤㅤ

Y/N looked at herself, she was wearing a white half sleeve shirt and tight-fitting jeans.  For one day she left her varsity jacket behind.

ㅤㅤㅤ

“Thanks.”

ㅤㅤㅤ

The flames of the fire moved back and forth in a mesmerizing way, making Wanda's beautiful eyes pop more, looking adorable.

ㅤㅤㅤ

Little fish, big fish, swimming in the water. That song seemed to invite them to lose each other, unite and never let go again. Like two kindred spirits claiming, pushing and pulling each other back.

ㅤㅤㅤ

“I’ve to go… Vision is waiting for me.” Wanda broke the tension, scared of the connection that the two of them could have.

ㅤㅤㅤ

“Yeah, it looks like he's waiting for you.” Y/N said ironically and drank some beer, the boy didn't even seem to care that his girlfriend wasn't there.

ㅤㅤㅤ

“Why's that?” Wanda narrowed her eyes somewhat annoyed.

ㅤㅤㅤ

“You know he doesn't deserve you, don't you?” Y/N just shook her head, now she was talking too much because she was drunk, and even though she knew it, didn't stop. “He spends all the time flirting with Eve, with Mantis, with Virginia. Come on, Wanda…”

ㅤㅤㅤ

Wanda didn't say anything, she just crossed her arms and pursed her lips trying to calm the anger. In the end, she just chuckled wryly, rather disappointed. ㅤㅤㅤ “Now I can see it, you're not that different from your friends. Fuck you, Y/N.”

ㅤㅤㅤ

“Why me? I’m not the one who’s cheating on you.”

ㅤㅤㅤ

“And yet, I still choose him. Not you.” The Sokovian shook her head and walked away.

ㅤㅤㅤ

“Whatever!” Y/N sighed and looks at the beer cup before taking a sip. “Sure your boyfriend is waiting for you.” Out of the corner of her eye Y/N saw how Wanda walked away, hugging Vision’s waist.

ㅤㅤㅤ

Next morning was all chaos.

Waking up with a hell of hangover, after a good sandwich and some juice for breakfast, Y/N  finished packing everything in the suitcase.

She sighed deeply, looking around her bedroom one last time. Posters of bands like 'Garbage,' 'No Doubt' or singers like Alanis Morrisette surrounded her. Many books on the shelves, and some stuffed animals.

ㅤㅤㅤ

The gameboy was on the table, charging the battery. CD player was in her backpack as well as some of her favorite discs, she would surely take advantage of the flight to listen to music and read or play.

The biggest adventure awaited her and she didn't know it.

Y/N took the suitcase and her backpack and went downstairs, finding her mother passed out on the couch last night. A half-filled glass of whiskey, she still had her robe and pajamas, and bottles on the floor told Y/N she'd been drinking all night.

Feeling so tired of this, and kinda grateful to go and leave all this chaos for a while.

ㅤㅤㅤ

“Mom, wake up… I've to go.” Y/N tried to wake up her mom but it was impossible.  “MOM!”

ㅤㅤㅤ

Y/N clenched her jaw and ended up giving in to the anger, walking to the door and slamming it shut.

She was so damn upset, so hurt that her mom hadn't even considered that this was HER day. Didn't expect her to make breakfast or  kiss her forehead before go, but inside… the hope sometimes played really cruel tricks.

ㅤㅤㅤ

Sighing, Y/N waited outside the house with arms crossed for ten minutes until the car pulled up. Jules waved at her, next to her was a woman with dark brown hair, small brown eyes, and chubby cheeks. She honked three times, making Y/N smile.

ㅤㅤㅤ

“Hey there, cutie!” Auntie Claire got out of the car and hugged her like a big bear, then helped to put the suitcase in the trunk. Y/N  got into the back of the car, as Claire sped away from the house.

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“You okay?”  Jules asked, she knew her perfectly.

ㅤㅤㅤ

“She didn't even realize that I left, she was wasted, dude.” Y/N just shook her head, looking out the window.

ㅤㅤㅤ

Jules didn't say anything, Auntie Claire and her looked at each other, knowing that woman perfectly. It wasn't the first time nor the last time to be honest. Y/N’s mom had always been a jerk to Y/N, especially the past few years.

ㅤㅤㅤ

“Sorry, sweetie.” Aunt Claire looking at Y/N in the rearview mirror. “My sister has always been a bit… difficult… always.”

ㅤㅤㅤ

“It’s okay, auntie.” Auntie Claire was always trying to make her feel better, she leaned down to put a hand on her aunt's shoulder. “Thank you for coming for me.”

ㅤㅤㅤ

“Oh, don't worry, dear. You know I'll always be there for you.”

ㅤㅤㅤ

Aunt Claire drove them to the airport, but not before buying a bunch of sweets that they all shared.

The lady escorted them to the boarding area, hugging them tightly and wishing them both a safe and beautiful trip. She apologized for not being able to go see the game, but she had to stay home and finish some work. That was a lie, she planned to travel tonight and surprise them tomorrow.

ㅤㅤㅤ

“Bye, auntie Claire.” Y/N hugged her again before grabbing the backpack and walking towards the boarding zone.

ㅤㅤㅤ

“Bye, mom!” Jules kissed Claire's cheek and ran to catch up with Y/N. “Love you!”

ㅤㅤㅤ

“Bye, kids! Remember, the most important thing is to have fun! Love you!” The lady tenderly yelled at them, waving her hand.

ㅤㅤㅤ

“Here, I'll give you guys a hand.” Pietro offered to help some girls as they walked down the aisle of the plane, looking for a seat.

ㅤㅤㅤ

Wanda just rolled her eyes knowing how flirtatious Pietro was. She just kept walking until she found an empty seat and put her bag in the luggage compartment.

ㅤㅤㅤ

“Wicked.” Jules whispered smiling while looking at that plane, it looked much smaller than the ones she knew but still, quite good. She took a seat next to Daisy, who was also quite excited.

ㅤㅤㅤ

“I can't believe your dad paid for a private plane.” Jennifer  said to Hope Van Dyne, who was sipping her smoothie and sitting in one of the front seats.

ㅤㅤㅤ

“It's pretty much his only form of parenting.” Hope shrugged. “I guess I'll take it.”

ㅤㅤㅤ

“Well, thank you, Mr. Van Dyne!” They all exclaimed at the same time, laughing.

ㅤㅤㅤ

“All right, hustle up.” Coach Ward settled into one of the seats, looking that everyone was doing the same. Couch Coulson was already in Seattle, finishing up some paperwork or something. “It's gonna be a long flight.”

ㅤㅤㅤ

[pilot over speakers] ‘This is your captain. Our flight plan to Seattle has us going a bit farther north than expected. We're gonna try to avoid a storm system that's coming in. Should get some great views of the Canadian Rockies.’

ㅤㅤㅤ

Pietro returned to sit next to Wanda, who had saved his place by the window.

He settled and buckled in, noticing that Wanda kept moving her leg and playing with the rings on those soft hands. Something she did whenever she felt nervous.

ㅤㅤㅤ

“You okay, sestra?” Pietro raised an eyebrow.

ㅤㅤㅤ

Wanda didn't say anything, just nodded and faked the kindest smile she could. But not good enough to fool her twin brother.

ㅤㅤㅤ

“Remember when you came to Hilton Head with us in second grade and you cried the whole flight?” Pietro reached into his backpack and pulled out a bag, Twizzlers plus two delicious packs of Marinela's Pingüinos.  “I brought these for you. I know you love them, always help you feel better. I also saw that you forgot some of your cassettes on the kitchen table, so I brought them for you.”

ㅤㅤㅤ

He handed the bag to Wanda who just smiled and squeezed her brother's hand, totally grateful.

ㅤㅤㅤ

“I know you're doing this for me, coming on the trip when you shouldn't.” Wanda rested her head on his shoulder. “Thank you.”

ㅤㅤㅤ

“I know. I'm basically the best brother you have.” He smiled all smug.

ㅤㅤㅤ

“You’re the only brother I have.” Wanda smiled, they stayed that way for a moment until the boy gave her his  Hummel jacket, that one he loved so much. The one with some cool white arrows on the sides of the sleeves.

ㅤㅤㅤ

“And take this, in case you're cold. It's a good luck charm. Now nothing can touch you.”

ㅤㅤㅤ

Wanda chuckles softly.

ㅤㅤㅤ

From afar, Sharon Carter watched this and tried to get the attention of one of her friends.

ㅤㅤㅤ

“Psst. Dottie. Look at the weirdbros.” Sharon nodded at the twins, making her friend laugh.

What they didn't expect is that Y/N was listening behind them, so she kicked her seat making them jump.

ㅤㅤㅤ

“Stop saying that or I’ll break your fucking leg too.” Y/N said between her teeth, making Sharon open her eyes wide like a scared mouse and settle back into the seat.  “You’re still in trial period, baby-Yellowjacket.”

ㅤㅤㅤ

Next to Y/N, Natasha just smiled and shook her head.

The plane finally took off towards Seattle and everyone cheered, although as the pilot said, they would make a detour for a moment to avoid a huge storm without knowing that soon, their lives would change radically.

ㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ2023

ㅤㅤㅤ

Like every day, Wanda Maximoff got up early to make breakfast for the kids. Vision left two hours ago, he was in too much of a hurry saying  he had to get to an important meeting or something.

She waited for the bus to pick up the twins, then did the laundry -she cursed Vision three times under her breath for getting lipstick or tomato sauce on a shirt, she didn't know what the fuck was exactly-and finished cleaning the house.

ㅤㅤㅤ

Her life has been the same for years, a routine life, boring perhaps… and she never knew exactly why. She changed a lot, although physically not so much. Wanda stepped out of the lovely suburban home in Westview, a pretty, family-friendly place. She kindly greeted her nosy neighbor and began to water the plants, until something caught her eye.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

“What the hell…” She murmured, half of those plants were bitten, completely devoured.

ㅤㅤㅤ

At that moment, a blonde woman got out of her car and walked slowly towards the entrance. Wanda was looking at her flowers, muttering some insults in Sokovian, didn't seem very happy.

ㅤㅤㅤ

“Aphids?”  The blonde asked, taking off her sunglasses.

ㅤㅤㅤ

“Rabbits.” Wanda looked up, surprised to find someone in the garden, but above all, someone she didn't know.

ㅤㅤㅤ

“Poor little guys.” The woman chuckled softly, getting closer. “Just trying to survive, I guess.”

ㅤㅤㅤ

Wanda brushed the dirt from her hands and approached the woman.  “I'm sorry, do we know each other?”

ㅤㅤㅤ

“Christine Everhart, Westview’s Ledger. I left you a few voice mails.” Christine wrinkles her nose knowing that Wanda wouldn't take that well, and she was right.

ㅤㅤㅤ

“Right.” Wanda exhaled and turned to leave. “Fuck off, Christine.”

ㅤㅤㅤ

“Wanda, wait. Wait!” The reporter walked after her, trying to stop her.

ㅤㅤㅤ

“I don't talk to reporters, but I'm guessing you already know that.” Wanda opened the door ready to lock herself in her house.

ㅤㅤㅤ

“I know that you've been letting other people tell your story. People who barely knew you, and they are making a lot of money doing it.” The blonde couldn't believe how she didn't talk about what happened on that trip. How come none of them spoke?

Everyone was eager to know what the hell happened, the huge mystery that surrounded the Yellowjackets for seventeen years.

ㅤㅤㅤ

“Five minutes. That's all I ask.” Christine begged with her best puppy face.  “If you don't like what I have to say, I will leave you alone. Promise.”

ㅤㅤㅤ

Hesitating for a moment, Wanda looked around, then allowed the reporter into her home. If she was going to get rid of her, she would do it in the least violent way possible or it would get more attention.

Trying to be as polite as possible, Wanda served some coffee for the guest while she organized the stuff she bought in the market.

ㅤㅤㅤ

“I know what you want to hear.” Wanda opened the fridge and put some meat and vegetables in the fridge.  “But the truth is… the plane crashed, a bunch of my friends died… and the rest of us starved and scavenged and prayed for 19 months, till they finally found us.”

ㅤㅤㅤ

She took a bunch of bananas and smiled somewhat ironically, leaving it in the fruit bowl. It was so simple, getting food just by leaving the house and walking a few streets.

Everything they lived through that time in the Canadian Rockies had been truly cruel and painful.

ㅤㅤㅤ

She swallowed hard, remembering with regret. “And that's the end of the story.”

ㅤㅤㅤ

The reporter nodded and then narrowed her eyes, completely unwilling to believe it was as simple as that.  “I think we both know there's a... bit more to it than that.”

ㅤㅤㅤ

Christine noted that in one of the bags, there was a 'US WEEKLY' magazine and on the cover was the huge wrecked plane in addition to the headline: ‘LITTLE GIRLS LOST.  17 YEARS LATER: remembering the Yellowjackets tragedy. Where are they now?’

ㅤㅤㅤ

“I can't imagine what you guys went through out there… Nobody can.”  She tried to pretend, in a very poor way, how sorry she was.

ㅤㅤㅤ

The brunette approached to take the magazine and put it in a drawer, out of sight.

ㅤㅤㅤ

“And that is worth something. It's worth a lot, actually.” Christine perched on the breakfast counter.  “Wanda… I can guarantee you a seven-figure book advance right here, right now.”

ㅤㅤㅤ

Wanda snorted, shaking her head. As if other people or chains had not tried it before, especially with Netflix pushing to do their thing.

ㅤㅤㅤ

“We could write it together but it's your name on the cover.”

ㅤㅤㅤ

Wanda looked up, there didn't even seem to be interested. “Mmm, not interested. Sorry.”

ㅤㅤㅤ

Christine bit her lower lip, trying her last card completely desperate. “What if I told you the others were?”

ㅤㅤㅤ

Wanda smiled ironically.  “Then I would say that you're lying.”

ㅤㅤㅤ

“So you're still in touch.” Touché. Christine smiled finding something else, something more than what she knew. “As well as Natasha Romanoff, who you keep as close friends. But how about the others?”

ㅤㅤㅤ

“I haven't spoken to any of them in years. I would not know how to get ahold of them even if I wanted to.” Rolling her eyes, Wanda seemed more and more disinterested, more uncomfortable and more annoyed. The memory of her friends ached inside, still, so bad.

ㅤㅤㅤ

“What about Y/N?”  That question caught her off guard. Like an arrow shot straight to her heart, that name made her entire body shudder.

ㅤㅤㅤ

Wanda shrugged, trying to look uninterested.

ㅤㅤㅤ

“I moved on, and I genuinely hope that they were able to do the same.” Wanda exhaled deeply, even thinking about Y/N made her stomach drop painfully.  “Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm late to...”

ㅤㅤㅤ

“Wanda, this is the kind of money that could change your life.”

ㅤㅤㅤ

Wanda closed her eyes, trying to regain all the patience that remained inside her. She hated journalists so much, especially the ones who wrote shit about them and then stood there begging them for a bit of fame.

ㅤㅤㅤ

“You were a brilliant girl. Straight A's. Early admission to Yale. Is this really how you thought your life was gonna turn out?” Christine snorted, she couldn't believe that the future of that woman was so different from what was expected.

ㅤㅤㅤ

Wanda tilted her head, making Christine to rethink everything that came out of her mouth. Wanda's look was definitely an imposing one.

ㅤㅤㅤ

“Sorry.” The journalist stammered.  “I didn't mean to, uh...”

ㅤㅤㅤ

“I don't give a shit what you meant, you smug little bitch.” Wanda went from being an adorable soccer mom to a much more dangerous woman, a totally cold look. If she had powers, Christine would be in pieces right now.  “You don't know a fucking thing about my life.”

ㅤㅤㅤ

The coldness in Wanda's gaze made the blonde shiver, but she was grateful that the Sokovian woman just turned around and continued with her business, completely ignoring her.

ㅤㅤㅤ

“Well... if you change your mind...” The blonde approached to take a pen and write the exact amount that she could offer, and her pone number.

ㅤㅤㅤ

Wanda just pointed at the door.

ㅤㅤㅤ

“Get out of my house, my children will arrive soon.”

Hours later, the doorbell rang again, pulling Wanda out of her thoughts. She was grateful that Vision took the kids to the movies.

She hurried to open the door, who quickly entered the house.

ㅤㅤㅤ

“Sorry, I'm late.”  Natasha apologized, taking off her jacket, feeling the warmth of the home.

ㅤㅤㅤ

Wanda smiled and they both walked towards the living room. “It’s okay. Do you want some tea or coffee?”

ㅤㅤㅤ

“No, I’m okay.” Nat licked her lips and sat on the sofa, expectant. She noticed that Vision and the twins were not there, so the urgent call from her friend must be a really important one. “What's going on?”

ㅤㅤㅤ

“A reporter approached me today.” Wanda handed her the card Christine left. “She said she was with the local paper, but I googled her and she wasn't credited in any bylines anywhere. Maybe it's a fake name.”

ㅤㅤㅤ

Natasha exhaled, taking the card to look at it. A phone number, the name of the journalist and a rather large number.

ㅤㅤㅤ

“These people come out of the woodwork every few years on some anniversary or another.” The redhead sighed, shaking her head. She was really exhausted from always having to deal with the same idiots.  “You know that. There's no reason to think this is any different, Wands.”

ㅤㅤㅤ

“I can think of a few.” Wanda lowered her gaze, playing with her rings.  “We agreed to say no more than we have to, stay out of the public eye. Last night, Jennifer appeared speaking to reporters as she was leaving the Courthouse. ”

ㅤㅤㅤ

“Wands, she's a lawyer... and a really good one.”

ㅤㅤㅤ

“No, Nat, I mean it… If someone's digging, we are all fucked.” Wanda got up to help herself to a little more coffee, maybe that wasn't helping so much. “You’re a cop. Take care of it.”

ㅤㅤㅤ

“I’ll do it, don’t worry.” she sighed somewhat tired.

ㅤㅤㅤ

Noticing that Natasha was telling her the truth, Wanda nodded much more relaxed.  “Thank you.”

ㅤㅤㅤ

Nat didn't say anything, just moved closer so she could take her hand and squeeze it gently. After a little silence, Wanda hesitated whether to ask what she wanted so much but ended up doing it. “Have you talked to her?”

ㅤㅤㅤ

Natasha pursed her lips. “All I know was she was in rehab. Again.”

ㅤㅤㅤ

Feeling deep sorrow and sadness upon hearing that, Wanda nodded. “And there's still no sign of the others?”

ㅤㅤㅤ

“Not for months.” The Russian played with that card between her fingers.

ㅤㅤㅤ

“Then we're fine. We’re okay.” Wanda tried to calm down. Maybe she was being too paranoid, but her whole life she was surrounded by all these crazy people wanting to know what they did in that place. “I just don't want to hurt my kids.”

ㅤㅤㅤ

“Don’t worry, okay?” Nat reached out to hug her tightly, knowing it was all her best friend needed.  “Twins are safe. Long as nobody does anything crazy... we have nothing to worry about.”

ㅤㅤㅤ

“Thank you, Nat.” Wanda closed her eyes, losing in that hug for a while until they moved away.

ㅤㅤㅤ

“I've to go now.” The redhead put her jacket back on and walked towards the door with Wanda. “She's going to be so upset if I don't show up for dinner tonight. I made a promise.”

ㅤㅤㅤ

“She’s too good. Say hi to your wife for me.” Wanda opened the door and kissed Nat’s cheek, watching her walk away.  “Tell Jules the Pavlova dessert was delicious, the kids loved it.”

ㅤㅤㅤ

“She’s amazing at cooking, right? I feel very lucky sometimes.” Nat smiled fondly and then walked to her car.  “Love you, Wands. Take care.”

ㅤㅤㅤ

Wanda stayed in the doorway, watching her friend drive away. Losing herself in thoughts once more.

ㅤㅤㅤ

With the gaze lost in the swell of the waves, the sound of the seagulls and the beautiful landscape, Y/N tried to drown out all the chaos of her mind. ㅤㅤㅤ

Seventeen years later and a lot of pain, she was there. Her hair was a bit shorter, but she hadn't changed much. She seemed more mature, a scar on her eyebrow marked a change in her. She was wearing this huge dark T-shirt from some band so old, that no young man would recognize it.

Sitting with her eyes closed, she tried to meditate for a long time, breathing deeply and exhaling slowly. But of course there was always something that got in her way.

ㅤㅤㅤ

“Y/N, time for group.”

ㅤㅤㅤ

Until that stupid voice kicked her out of her paradise. Y/N cocked her head to see how that blonde boy invited her to attend the meeting. That stupid face of fake kindness made her stomach churn.

Anyway, she decided to take another deep breath and nodded, getting up to walk to the therapy room.

ㅤㅤㅤ

About fifteen minutes later, she was sitting across from all these people she didn't even know well, talking about their own problems.

ㅤㅤㅤ

“Remember, anger can be good.” Said the counselor, pulling Y/N out of her thoughts.

ㅤㅤㅤ

“Sure tell that to my parole officer.” One of the women in the group complained, she seemed quite upset. “I mean, all I'm saying is this bitch cut me in line.”

ㅤㅤㅤ

“Y/N?” The counselor looked at her, expecting that this time she would speak.  “Seeing as how this is your last day with us, any final inspirations you'd like to pass on to the group?”

ㅤㅤㅤ

After a few seconds of silence, Y/N sighed, leaning back in the chair. “Purpose. Find a purpose.”

ㅤㅤㅤ

She licked her lips and noticed how everyone listened carefully to everything she was going to say. Didn't know if it was because they were really interested in her or just because she was a Yellowjacket, and those were morbid bastards.

ㅤㅤㅤ

“I used to think all the drinking, drugs and the sex…” Y/N inhaled deeply. “I used to think I did those things because of… what happened out there.”

ㅤㅤㅤ

Y/N’s gaze was lost. She could still hear the screams, could still feel the hunger, could still feel the cold burning her skin.  

ㅤㅤㅤ

“What I... saw.” Y/N murmured, remembering the sound of the plane crashing. The screams of who her friends were. “What I... did.”

ㅤㅤㅤ

“Oh, my God. What did you do?!” One of the girls in the group ended up exploding, expectant and exhausted from never knowing the answer.  “You literally never told us.”

ㅤㅤㅤ

“Zip it, Ariana!” She was silenced by another one.

ㅤㅤㅤ

“Anyway, the real reason is much simpler.” Y/N spoke again, coming back to reality.  “After they rescued us, I lost my purpose and thanks to my time here... I finally know how to get it back.”

ㅤㅤㅤ

The group therapy ended and after saying goodbye to everyone, Y/N sat on the steps at the entrance of that place, waiting for the cab that would soon pick her up.

She didn't have many belongings other than a suitcase with clothes and her keys.

ㅤㅤㅤ

Y/N sighed, wishing with all her heart that she could have a cigarette but decided to look for something in the pocket of the leather jacket.

It was postcard, someone sent it with her mail, of course she didn't have mail so that had definitely surprised Y/N a lot. ㅤㅤㅤ The postcard had a beautiful landscape of the Canadian Rockies and a typical: WISH YOU WERE HERE!

ㅤㅤㅤ

But the strange thing about this was the drawing on it, in a reddish color. Some kind of symbol, starting with a circle, a triangle as the body and four lines on the sides of it. But the last of the lines went through the triangle and below, a kind of hook.

ㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤ

Of course she recognized that fucking symbol perfectly, whoever sent it knew what they did.

ㅤㅤㅤ

The cab lights blinded her for a moment. She took the suitcase and got into the taxi, happy to get the hell out of that damn place.

ㅤㅤㅤ

“Where to?” The driver asked, watching her in the rearview mirror.

ㅤㅤㅤ

“You pick up a lot of people here?” Y/N raised an eyebrow.

ㅤㅤㅤ

“A few, sure.”

ㅤㅤㅤ

Y/N chuckled softly. “How many go straight to a bar?”

ㅤㅤㅤ

“You want to go to a bar?”

ㅤㅤㅤ

Y/N thought about it for a moment and then settled into the seat.  “LAX. I'll catch a red-eye flight.”

ㅤㅤㅤ

The taxi moved forward leaving that place behind and with it, a completely different Y/N. The dark-haired girl took a chewing gum, closing her eyes as she tasted it.

Wishing with all her heart that everything turned out well.

After six hours of flight and two large cups of coffee, Y/N opened the door of that self-storage on the outskirts of New Jersey. It was quite a safe place and very discreet, that's why she had left her baby there.

ㅤㅤㅤ

She swallowed hard when she saw the car, covered by a huge dusty sheet which she carefully removed, uncovering that wonderful car.

It was a beautiful black Porsche Carrera 993, still immaculate, still badass.

ㅤㅤㅤ

Y/N slid her fingers over its roof, caressing it gently and reliving so many memories. Her heart sank as she remembered Auntie Claire’s smile when she was driving the Carrera.

She held on and closed her eyes, knowing that she should live in reality and not in those memories. Once she was able to get over all those bad feelings that tried to drown her, Y/N walked to the trunk to look for some stuff.

ㅤㅤㅤ

A sports bag with money, some documents and passports, but mostly a gun,a shotgun and some bullets. She covered everything quickly with the same sheet. ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ

“Nice ride.”

ㅤㅤㅤ

That male voice forced her to turn around quickly. A man in his fifties and rather good-natured appearance was watching her from afar.

ㅤㅤㅤ

“Sorry. I'm Dave. The manager.” Dave smiled friendly.

ㅤㅤㅤ

“Hi, Dave.” Y/N arched an eyebrow, waiting for the man to say something else.

ㅤㅤㅤ

“I'm sorry. It's just...” He shrugged somewhat embarrassedly, definitely making Y/N feel somewhat guilty.  “Haven't seen anyone around this unit since I've been here. Vultures have been circling it for years, but I keep telling 'em, long as the bill's paid, it’s not my thing to touch.” The man chuckled.

ㅤㅤㅤ

“Then thank you, Dave. I really appreciate what you have done.”  Y/N gave him a bit of a friendly smile, for the first time in a long time.

ㅤㅤㅤ

“You local?” Sure enough the chubby man tried to get some info of her but she just shrugged.

ㅤㅤㅤ

“Was.” The dark-haired woman turned to look at her car and narrowed her eyes, pulling out the key to unlock the alarm.  “Been a while since I've been... home.”

ㅤㅤㅤ

“Then welcome back.” Dave smiled tenderly again and held out his hand. Y/N hesitated for a moment but she ended up shaking it.

ㅤㅤㅤ

“Thanks, Dave.” Y/N opened the door, but not before turning to see the trunk, knowing what was kept there.  “I wasn't sure how I'd feel, but... I think it'll be good to reconnect with some old friends.”

Well, I hope you liked it! It is the beginning. I am very delighted with the tv show! I want you to know that there will be stuff that I am not going to write here, or there are things that I will take her my way. This is my own dumb version. Example, pregnancy, I'm not going to bring that here.

ㅤㅤㅤ

Enjoy it, I hope you do. If you want to be tagged, just ask!

ㅤㅤㅤ

the cutest and lovely people tags ✨ : @imnotasuperhero @yourfavunsub @kaiidth-wandika

ㅤㅤㅤ

[chibi-celesti]

Infelious Rhaplanca (May my Love Reach You Someday)

Pairing: Your TW fav x Reader. (For this story, they are the role of Prefect.) Gender neutral pronouns used for Reader.

Synopsis: You chose to save those you love by ending it all.

(To end the Overblot pandemic, one live is forsakened for the survival of many.)

A/N: Rhaplanca and Maoh are mythological Gods in the lore of Ar Tonelico(specifically AT II: Melodies of Metafalss), but you can perceive Maoh as another way of Reader referring their love as Maoh in this case as they(Reader) are the Rhaplanca of this tragedy.

This is based on the song of the same title of Ar Tonelico III Soundtrack. The translation was from AbstracGarden, one of many channels that have translations of Ar Tonelico and Ar Nosurge songs.

~Infelious Rhaplanca~

Everyone… I'm so sorry.

I don't want to leave you all, but if I don't do this then you all the rest of the world will suffer.

There is hardly any semblance of life left. The black iquor spreading like wildfire to many realms, transforming-no corrupting-everyone, magical and magicless. Relishing in tormenting so many people of this beautiful world. 

That's why…!

The Prefect of Ramshackle ran as fast they could to the highest point of their destination, the Tower of the Great Sorcerer. While it is leagues away from everyone else fighting for their lives against the Blot in each of the Seven Realms they've seen during their time in Twisted Wonderland, they knew it was the best choice for what they had planned. 

They looked down to their hands at the eight blot stones, knowing the ritual needed them plus one more energy source to expunge the malicious darkness once and for all. Looking back at everything they've experienced in the last year and a half in this world, it was hard to hold back their tears. It wasn't long before the dam finally broke. I don't want to leave you, but I don't want you to die either. Please forgive me, and may my love reach you and others.

They thought back of their friends, the highs and lows they experienced with them. The chaos of challenging each Overblot born from years of concealed anger and sorrow. And lastly, their thoughts drifted to him. That one person who made a difference in their lives. The person they loved so much, one who they wanted to share their future with. Live on for my sake, please?

Once they felt like they had nothing left to shed, they proceeded with the ritual. Placing the stones around them in a circle, they rose to their feet and began the rite of (METAFALICA) to save the world.

~Rrha ki ra chs longherna mea sos juelicc yor etealune,

En wearquewie yorr iehaw anw plargamera der zayea pauwel.~

~Presia, rrha quel ra shyfac rre Lasnatine chs weareqye oz plargmera.~

~En rre murfanare oz mea,

Meycray tes inferiare terrma, Maoh.~

MARRSEFXIL

EFAHECDOY

TITSSSYE

AZIYVRS

FOGQUW

AABIM

LXAE

IYX

CI

A

[I call upon the creation of the new World, METAFALICA.]

With each word recited, they felt parts of their body deteriorate. They thought it would hurt more than this; however, that wasn’t the case. It was painless, freeing almost. And the more they sang the rite for crafting a better world, the lighter they felt. The tears fell from their cheeks again, wishing they saw their beloved once more and hoping that he is not angry at their decision to do this.

“Prefect!!” They heard someone shout at them in the tower. They looked as best they could in their current state-

And saw the one they love, battered but still alive. With horror written all over their face. “What are you- STOP!! PLEASE!!” He rushed to their side, begging them not to leave him. He grabbed at them, or as much of them that is left. “Why?! Why would you do this?!”

“I…wanted…to save you… and everyone.” They were beginning to feel tired. “Saving everyone…is more important…than a magicless human’s.”

“THAT’S NOT TRUE!!” He rebuked them. “YOU ARE IMPORTANT!! TO OUR FRIENDS, TO ME!! DO WE NOT MATTER TO YOU?!”

They shook their head. “No…never…you all…,” they’re having trouble speaking and their eyelids were getting heavy as more of their body faded up to their upper chest. “I love you all…so much…” One more tear slipped from their eyes as they felt their lover leaving them a kiss on their lips one last time.

“I love you, too.” His voice broke as he saw the remnants of his beloved disappear in his arms.

Soon, the ground beneath his feet began to glow, blinding and swallowing him in a warm light. The light continued to spread all over Twisted Wonderland from the Queendom of Roses, Briar Valley and the Far East, to the depths of the Coral Sea and Isle of Woes. Monsters and Phantoms of Blot, and people close to succumbing to the darkness were engulfed in the light. The beasts dissolved away into the light mercifully, and those close to death were healed and rescued from its clutches. The nature of the planet was reforming itself, cleansing away the Blot from its veins.

The Prefect’s last wish to save those they cared about was fulfilled.

>///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////<

Hope you enjoyed this bucket full of angst. The sad feels hit me like a truck and this came out from it.

[roguerambles]

Blood of Zeus Season 2 Thoughts

Overall, I really liked this season! I'm so glad the show is back, and I really feel like they fleshed out what they had in the first season and I'm very eager to see more.

Random thoughts --

I loved Hestia. She doesn't get much spotlight, but her and Athena get a lot of screentime in the first episode. I think they did a good job of conveying a lot about her in fairly subtle ways. She's the Goddess of the Hearth, she's not a warrior like the others, she's gentle and nurturing but when she has to she'll fight. She's still a FIRE goddess, and even though it clearly doesn't come naturally to her, she fights tooth and nail to do what she has to. Her and Zeus seemed to have something of a bond, which was unexpected and kind of sweet.

Athena, loved her. Wish we'd seen her in Season 1, tbh. Loved her big sister vibes to Heron and all her other siblings, kicks a lot of ass.

I liked what they did with Heron this season. I liked him well enough in season 1, but he gets more fleshed out here, and it really made me like him even more. HE MUST BE PROTECTED GIVE HIM A HAPPY ENDING DAMN IT.

Loved everything between him and Seraphim, their interactions in the latter half of the season really got to me. I'm very curious to see what the future holds for them both. Their entire relationship screams tragedy but I'm gonna cross my fingers and hope for a happy ending somehow.

HADES AND PERSEPHONE. I thought this was a great take on them, and maybe a controversial opinion but I actually liked the show's take on Demeter. I always thought the fact that Demeter inflicts winter on the world whenever Persephone leaves suggested a much darker side to her - yes I know in some myths its because she's sad and despondent over Persephone being missing, but in others it seemed more like a conscious choice on her end. "I will starve the entire world until I get Persephone back." Even when the arrangement is made, she continues to bring winter, so with that in mind it makes sense to me she'd have the potential for more selfish or ruthless actions. She's not PURE EVIL exactly (at least not anymore so than any of the other Olympians, let's be real) but she's definitely not nice either.

I want to kick Ares in the head. That's all. (Aphrodite, girl, I think you can do better - and honestly Hephaestus can get it, give him another shot, anyone else really)

I loved the Underworld and the trials and the judges. Hera surprised me this season too, I'm very interested to see where things go with her.

Not a lot of Poseidon this season, which bummed me out a little.

What was going on with Evios? I guess they are saving that for Season 3 but I was very confused with him, and who this mysterious woman he and Kofi worked with before. Was she involved with the giant remains thing as well?

[nerdyrevelries]

Jo March: The Pragmatist

One of the most common complaints I hear about Little Women is the way it ends. Many people think that Jo stifles her creativity and gives up on her writing in order to marry Professor Bhaer, which isn't true. Jo writes a very successful book in one of the sequels, Jo’s Boys, but let's set that to the side because what I really want to discuss is what Jo actually thinks of the writing she’s doing in the latter half of Little Women. 

In Part I of Little Women, we see the type of writing that Jo does prior to selling her work. In “A Merry Christmas,” the family puts on The Witch’s Curse, an Operatic Tragedy, which seems to be a Shakespearean melodrama. In “Jo Meets Apollyon,” the book Amy burns in anger is “half a dozen little fairy tales.” In “The P.C. and P.O.,” Jo writes a comedic poem and a lament for one of Beth’s cats. Finally, in “Secrets,” Jo submits a tragic romance to The Spread Eagle (one assumes that this name was less funny when Little Women was originally published in 1868.) The Spread Eagle doesn’t pay beginners, so we can assume that everything written up until this point is the type of writing Jo does for herself when there’s no pressure to make changes to please an editor in order to get a paycheck. 

Part II begins with the chapter “Gossip,” which catches us up on what’s been happening over the past three years. Jo is now a regular contributor to The Spread Eagle who receives a dollar for each story. She refers to them as “rubbish,” so she doesn’t seem particularly proud of the writing she’s doing, but she’s in the process of writing a novel she hopes will win her fame and prestige. 

In “Literary Lessons,” Jo observes a boy reading a newspaper story illustrated with a dramatic scene of “an Indian in full war costume, tumbling over a precipice with a wolf at his throat” and two men stabbing each other while a terrified woman flees the scene. When the boy offers to share, Jo agrees more because she likes the boy than because of an interest in the story. The story is sensation fiction, which Jo privately thinks is trash anyone could have written. However, when she learns the author is making a good living from her stories, Jo decides to try her hand at this new style of writing. She submits the story to a contest the newspaper is running and wins $100. Jo uses the money to send Beth and Marmee to the seashore. She’s proud of her ability to earn money to help her family, so she continues to write these kinds of stories since they are lucrative. 

She later finishes her novel and sends it to multiple publishers, only one of whom is interested, and only if there are major cuts and revisions. After conflicting advice from her family, she decides to make the requested changes, which earns her $300 and some very mixed reviews that lead Jo to respond, “Some make fun of it, some over-praise, and nearly all insist that I had a deep theory to expound, when I only wrote it for the pleasure and the money. I wish I’d printed it whole or not at all, for I do hate to be so misjudged.” 

In “Calls,” Jo reluctantly joins Amy to return calls to their neighbors with generally disastrous results. One incident involves Jo receiving a compliment on her writing. 

Any mention of her “works” always had a bad effect upon Jo, who either grew rigid and looked offended, or changed the subject with a brusque remark, as now. “Sorry you could find nothing better to read. I write that rubbish because it sells, and ordinary people like it.”

This passage makes it very clear that Jo isn’t proud or fond of what she is writing. The reception to her novel combined with the money she can make from sensation fiction has changed Jo’s primary motivation for writing. She is no longer doing it for the love of writing or because she’s pursuing her dreams. She’s trying to make money to help out her family.

I don’t think this is necessarily a bad thing. We all have periods in our life when we take a job that we aren’t extremely excited about because it will allow us to achieve something that is more important to us. However, it’s a different narrative than is usually spun about Jo who is frequently depicted as continually working towards her dream. There is a role in Castles in the Air that fits that narrative. It’s called the Striver, but I don’t think that’s the role that Jo has. Instead, Jo is the Pragmatist, which is a role about setting aside your dreams for the moment because you have other responsibilities. Both are interesting conflicts, but they lead to very different conclusions when it comes to Jo’s story! 

With that in mind, let’s take a look at “Friend,” which follows Jo in New York. She’s now writing for a newspaper called the Weekly Volcano, which has required Jo to make so many changes to her stories that she decides to have her work published anonymously. That certainly wouldn’t be a good career move if she was truly trying for fame! She’s also come to greatly respect a man staying at her boarding house named Professor Bhaer. One day, he makes a comment about a newspaper that publishes sensation stories like the ones Jo is writing. Her response is telling:

Jo glanced at the sheet, and saw a pleasing illustration composed of a lunatic, a corpse, a villain, and a viper. She did not like it; but the impulse that made her turn it over was not one of displeasure, but fear, because, for a minute, she fancied the paper was the “Volcano.” 

Professor Bhaer notices her look and guesses the truth, but instead of letting her know this, he decides to gently explain his reasoning. After this, Jo goes back to reread the stories she has been writing and decides to burn them. Far from stifling her creativity, Professor Bhaer is the one who sees that Jo is ashamed of her writing and reminds her that she is capable of more.

This is part of a series on the literary inspirations behind game elements for my upcoming tabletop RPG based on the novels of Louisa May Alcott and L.M. Montgomery, Castles in the Air. To see a complete list of the posts I’ve written thus far, check out the master post. If you would like more information, visit the game’s website!

[lxndrys]

𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐦𝐞 (𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐦𝐞?) — 𝐞.𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐲

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 -> grief and trust don’t mix well. part one of three.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 -> blood, swearing, violence (weapons)

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 -> ethan landry x carpenter!sister reader

ANY FILM BUFF would laugh at her - laugh at how she fell into classic trope of the horror movie survivors moving away to a different city, with delusional hopes of shedding her tragedy and scars.

But, realistically, what sane person could stay where half of her friends — boyfriend included — were either gutted or were the knife wielders themselves? And, the concrete jungle that is NYC wasn’t a stranger to greeting those with ghosts on their shoulders.

Her ghost? The bloodied and bruised shell of a once keen-eyed, ash-brown haired boy who adored her endlessly; killed by a psychotic fanboy who was nothing more than a whiny bitch when she slit his throat for what he had done to that boy of hers.

His (Dalton’s — her therapist said that part of acceptance was to still refer to him by his name, as opposed to some nameless wanderer in her memory) ghost was a companion through and through each day; he’d trace along her shoulder blades as a feathery reminder that he was still there, even as she left Woodsboro with the others.

NYC, once you peer beneath the facade of entertainment wannabes and elitist assholes, was a haven for ghosts of the past and their harbingers. But, anything was better than Woodsboro.

She only felt his ghost fading from its place in her conscious when she met Chad’s roommate; a meek boy with a tousle of brown curls, that didn’t look at her as if she would crumble at any second beneath the weight of the past. Perhaps it was her soul wanting to be relinquished of the crippling grief that had throttled it for nearly a year — maybe that’s why she trusted this boy, Ethan Landry, allowed him after that year to be in Dalton’s place as the doting boyfriend. Not a replacement, never, rather a step towards accepting Dalton’s permanent fate.

And, abruptly, Dalton was just another Woodsboro memory whether she chose it or not, residing amidst all the slashed youths in the small town.

Mindy, per her tendency to hand out cryptic forewarnings based on movie tropes, had told her how it never ended well for the main character who finds a new love interest after enduring tragedy — naming Sidney Prescott with emphasis in her example.

“Who are we to forget what happened to poor Sidney Prescott? Finds herself a new boy toy, and boom, he gets shot. Adore that woman and everything, but once death found her, it latched onto her and fucked up everyone else to make her miserable,” Mindy ranted, her rambles accompanied by the obnoxious crunch of a potato chip. Chewing, she gestured towards Y/N with a half bitten chip, “And, because you’re one of the main characters now in this franchise, you’re not immune to it. There will always be someone after us.”

Y/N decided her forewarning was more of a projection of her thorough dislike of Ethan, as opposed to a semblance of concern.

That’s why, now as she leaned against the doorframe alongside the subtly intoxicated Landry boy, she opted to disregard the squinted glare Mindy cast from the living room.

“Did she just come to this party to stare me down the whole night?” Ethan mused over the resounding bass that rattled the wood grain walls.

“She’s just cautious of newcomers, especially when they’re of the male species,” Tara laughed over the rim of her solo cup, a similar chuckle drifting from Y/N’s mouth a beat later.

“Don’t take it personally, dude. She’ll get over herself,” Chad shrugged, nudging slightly at Ethan’s side with his elbow.

“She might just have to wring you through the hazing process first, E,” Y/N smirked, bright tones of blue and white dynamically moving across the curve of her cheekbones as she smiled at him.

He begrudged an eye roll, the feigned annoyance betrayed by the smile that he reflected down to her. A belittling voice — his father’s — mockingly danced at the rear of his head at this thoughtless moment of adoration, disgusted that this girl was gradually consuming his senses. Ruining the plan.

It was fleeting, interrupted as Y/N’s hand fell upon his forearm, featherlight but enough to cast out the taunting whispers.

“Seriously, she is just quick to assume that everyone who enters our lives is out to slit our throats,” a half-hearted simper wandered across her lips, the gesture never quite reaching her eyes, “It’s nothing against you.”

Ethan hated — or at least acknowledged that he should be — at how an ember of sorrow coiled around the existent knot in his stomach, extending to the tension in his posture as he observed the sadness that festered as a glint in her gaze, as her mind wandered to the sorrows in her memories. The bravado of his father’s contempt for him meanwhile urged him to suppress every last ounce of sympathy he formed for the girl before him; torture him with the recollections of what her friends and perhaps even she had done to Richie.

No, some lovesick - perhaps even delusional - corner of his mind stifled the notion, she did nothing. Not her.

“But, can’t blame her for being so Fort Knox about who’s around us….especially after Dalton,” Chad more or less mumbled to himself, his own caution thrown to the wind by the flush of vodka in his system.

Y/N’s entire posture tensed with a hastiness compared to someone who’s fingertip was met with flame. Whilst this nonverbal response eluded the likes of a muddled Tara and Chad, it didn’t skirt past the attentive eyes of Ethan, whose brewing vendetta for the two teens increased ten fold.

The curly-haired boy seldom knew anything about Dalton; anything he was aware of came from media coverage about last years Woodsboro murders. A golden boy, track captain who died after running in between Y/N and one of the Ghostfaces, ultimately enduring the wrath of the blade meant for her.

“You really can’t handle your alcohol tonight,” Y/N only sighed in spite of the tension exuding from every vulnerability in her facade, “I’m, uh, actually gonna go get some air.”

Tara, with a frown that cast a discomforting tightness around her mouths, glanced at her sister with pity in her doe-eyes, “Y/N/N—”

“No, it’s fine. I kinda can’t stand being around a bunch of frat fucknuts in Ghostface masks, anyway,” the other girl was prompt to interject, sounding profoundly frustrated, something that bubbled painfully beneath a front of nonchalantness. She discarded her nearly empty cup to the adjacent side table, then hastily retrieved her dorm keys from her purse, “See you back at home, T.”

Tara’s mouth shifted as if to continue her actively failing effort to make Y/N stay, choose to ignore or even berate Chad for his loose tongue. Ultimately, however, she held onto reluctant silence as her friend quickly turned her back, agitation in her gait as she departed through the open front door. The younger Carpenter girl blinked away her concerned gaze from the distancing figure of Y/N, and to the Landry boy who spared no second before pursuing her into the October evening before she could.

—

SHE GAZED TIREDLY AT THE VAGUE STARS that simmered through NYC’s light pollution, having settled onto the curb a few houses down from fraternity house; the devastating combination of vodka’s numbing grasp and Dalton’s mention, throttling her sense of direction and desire to be alone.

With her side cradled against the lamppost’s slender pole, arms tucked in a cradle in her lap, her intoxication was bordered by an impression of forebode — as if the ghostly, sweetly bloody fingers of a boy who was failed, raced delves info her rigid shoulder blades. They were ambassadors from a misery far away from the comprehension of the sane, from her friends — Ethan — still in the house behind her.

For a fleeting moment, she screwed her eyes shut away from the flicker of streetlights, replaced by the distinct sense of being in Woodsboro; the blinding white fear of being chased like feeble prey through the corridors of Amber’s house…of being harshly pinned to the bathroom floor by Richie as he tinkered the honed tip of his blade in her Amber-inflicted wounds, only for Dalton to tackle his weight off her bloodied chest….of heaving in a crumpled mess on the floor as Richie brutalized Dalton….how she clawed her mangled self off the bathroom mat, grabbed the scissors from the marble counter and slit Richie’s own throat. How Sam assumed the responsibility of his murder so she would be spared the media scrutiny.

All memories that the acrid anodyne that is vodka couldn’t touch with its palliative influence.

Cramped fingers shakily reached to apply pressure to the wounds she could see within the dim light projecting from the hallway. Dalton subtly gasped through gritted teeth, his blood now painting her hands and her own wounds distanced in her mound of worries.

“Come on. The ambulance i-is on its way…Sam and Tara are w-waiting downstairs,” Y/N urged through the agony that trembled through her frame as she attempted to propel him off the tiled floor. He quickly thwarted her limp effort by bracing his hand against her forearm.

“I think I just…I think I just need a second, Y/N/N,” he almost panted through his clenched teeth.

Glancing up in his flurry of pain, he could see her with horror petrified amidst the lacerations and tears on her face, it being no different than the feeling devouring his chest as she begrudgingly nodded at his words.

“Y/N!”

The pale hand that sought to extend through the hopeless, burdensome gloom of Death retreated at the presence of Ethan’s voice.

Her eyes dubiously opened to allow reality to resume, Ethan’s lanky frame bounding into her periphery. A low oomph split from his lips as he dropped himself entirely onto the vacant side alongside her on the curb, their knees fleetingly touching in his maneuver.

“You didn’t have to leave the party,” she mumbled, an exhausted gesture towards the residence that still thrived with drunken twenty-something’s and questionable music.

“And what kind of boyfriend would that make me?” the corner of his mouth faltered with a half-hearted quirk, observing as her head bowed, chin coming to a lean against her chest as she toyed with the hem of her costume.

Stress stretched a horizon beneath her ragged eyes as they shifted tiredly towards him, murmuring of a vague appreciation, and his reluctant hand reached forward to ease away the flyaways that dropped away from her updo.

“Do you want to talk about it?” a previously stifled morbid curiosity fell through the cracks in his caution….a question perhaps his father or sister would have fashioned into this conversation. His discomfort with the fumbling in his thoughts prompted a quick amendment, nervous hand snapping away, “You don’t have to or anything though, just wanted —”

An intense stare then bridged between their eyes as his agitated hands eased into a heap on his lap.

“I know,” her chest deflated with waning misery, her response subtly slurred amidst the breathy alleviation, as the fabric of her costume was dampened by a few lithe tears.

Y/N sucked in her cheeks, the teary glint in her subtly bloodshot eyes betraying her on every front, her bottom lip now gradually quivering as she looked down. A burrowing ache washed over her like the long laggard waves on a beach, the ache clashing with the alcoholic temptation to just lay everything out, reveal to Ethan just how fucked up she is even if he could already see it.

“But this night is miserable enough,” was her ultimate decision as she dryly chuckled. Mindful of her costume, she steadied her knees against her chest, leaning her cheek against her kneecap.

The moonlight cast a grayish, silver lining onto her features as she peered towards him with a lopsided smile encouraged by the alcohol in her system.

That deranged whisper of macabre desire wilted beneath the smile she cast towards him, vanishing into a recess of his mind where everything that could ruin this — her — resided.

And that’s was how it was most days; a thrashing tug-of-war between the instilled desires of his family and those of a boy who adored a girl he could never be worthy of.

“I should probably get home before Sam finds out where I am…and throws away the key after locking me in my room,” she exhaled with exasperation, shifting herself to the curb’s concave edge to stand up. The movement up from the curb was ultimately cumbersome, telling of the dregs of alcohol that stirred in her system still.

Stifling the bitterness that cooled in his veins at the mention of his brother’s assumed killer, Ethan reflected her movements as to ease her subtle swaying by settling his hands on her biceps.

“Whoa, whoa, you good?” he murmured, breath fanning over the rouge and silver tears on her cheekbones.

“Is that a rhetorical question?” a dampened smile accompanied the slurred facet of her voice, hand clasped around his wrist that relaxed against her shoulder.

Beyond his own control, crimson flushed against the collar of his homemade knight costume — adequate conversation was always an embarrassing shortfall of his, a flaw his father prided on deriding him about.

“You don’t have to answer,” Y/N teasingly rolled her eyes, a light nudge spared to his arm upon regarding the scramble for a response within his chestnut eyes. Her hand then rose to brush away at his tousled hair beneath his costume’s headpiece, “Walk me home?”

He nodded, the gesture nearly too earnest, “Always.”

And he tried not to engross himself in the thoughts of about having to see Quinn. About how every inch of his moral being fell nauseated at the notion of abiding to their family’s plan for retribution. About how he wanted to keep Y/N as far away from them.

[chrismcleaneatspants]

General season 2 opinions. MASSIVE TDI 2023 season 2 spoilers ahead (as well as a huge wall of text.) You've been warned.

Ok, so here's everything I like about the season (I can count them on my fingers)

-There were some funny jokes

-MKulia was entertaining and it's now in my top 5 favorite ships, but it's not perfect, as I'll explain later

-Hockey dudes were a joy to watch I suppose

-Bowie stole the show as usual

-There are a lot of neat challenges (The canoe, slide, and dog challenges was a particular stand outs to me)

-MK herself was really funny

-MacArthur's cameo was a surprise to be sure, but a welcome one, and she bounces off of Chris really well

-Duncney is still broken up lol

Honestly that's about it in terms of positives, cuz I have a million other negatives for this supposed sequel to (imo) the best written season of the show.

-The Relationships were the single worst aspect about this season full stop. Ripaxel and Praleb are probably the worst couples the show has ever subjected me to. For Ripaxel, they basically removed anything interesting Ripper had going on and Axel wasn't allowed to live up to any kind of hype she created because one lame ass poem turned her into Ripper's girlfriend for the remaining duration of her run, only for the both of them to be tossed aside in episode 7 in perhaps the worst double elimination in the entire show.

-Praleb started off ok. I thought it was gonna be a one-sided crush plot initially before Episode 6. They had a couple cute moments before episode 8, of which their screentime became suffocating because afterwards is was this painful back and forth where Caleb tried explaining himself and Priya would be mad at him, then ally with him, then be mad at him again like it was so tiresome. By the time they got together in the finale again, I was wishing they had just followed up on Pramien instead. Caleb by himself was funny in the first half of season 2 and Priya was great in season 1, but the two of them together were insufferable

-Speaking of Priya, she went from one of the best characters in season 1 to one of the worst in season 2. Why did she have to make it all the way to episode fucking 12 after winning season 1?? Just for some generic heterosexual romance? They also made her so dumb with shit like knowing Julia is manipulating her but then getting a surprise Pikachu face when Julia manipulated her??? You spent your entire life preparing for this show, how the fuck did you not see this coming???

-Segwayying into Julia, she's the worst antagonist full stop. I've never seen such an absolute downgrade of a character. She was a goat in season 1 who was aware of her situation and acted accordingly because the stakes were real. Here? Reality basically warps around her just to keep her in the game. She does things characters would never fall for in season 1 and they just go with it?? They insist on keeping her in the finale and do basically nothing interesting with her. She's not even as funny as Island Heather at the end of the day.

-I mentioned MKulia earlier, so I'll just get to it here: I like it in concept. Two evil sapphics causing chaos together is really fun. My main issue is that it was very sudden. They both were not fans of each other at the end of season 1 and now I'm supposed to just believe they became friends off screen? I mean, I guess, but it's kinda cheap. I would have really liked it if it was straight up enemies to lovers ngl. Also the fact MK had very little agency outside of being Julia's lackey doesn't help either. I want to point to the fake contract thing, for instance. Why did Julia do that? That sounds like an MK thing to do.

-Time to dive into other characters: Damien is an absolute fucking tragedy. At the end of season 1, Damien had one ambition: win next season. They kinda did that, sure, but they regressed Damien into being a complete coward to do so, not to mention he didn't even go all the way either. Damien didn't get a W until episode 6 and tbh that was his only W. By the end of his tenure, I was left confused on what the point of his run was. (I'll come back to this later.)

-What was the point of Nichelle? Like seriously, what did she contribute to the season at all? They didn't do the ironic underdog story with her, and considering she was getting all egotistical and aggressive, i thought she was gonna be the antagonist for sure...until Julia got rid of her in episode 5 in a way that really shouldn't make sense cuz like Nichelle is an actual celebrity that stars in blockbuster movies, I'm pretty sure she could sniff a fake contract a mile away, right?

-Hockey dudes were great, but I felt like they were very dumbed down at times? Like they were just generic dumb dudes that just meandered around a lot of the time (Wayne in particular just straight up floated away from a challenge at one point)

-Bowie was alright too. His line delivery is great as usual, but let's not kid ourselves: In a well written season, he'd be going straight for Julia the next time his team lost. Bowraj was nice to see even if the season didn't really do a whole lot with it

-Am I the only one who thinks this season is a tad bit misogynistic? Like this is the shortest them phase the show as ever had (to the point where i'd argue teams don't really matter) and 4 of the 5 team phase boots were girls. Millie and Emma in particular were really bad. Like, you could make Millie a team phase boot without like shitting on her that hard. And Emma got like fuck all closure outside of breaking up with Chase off screen like wow, way to utilize such a high potential character, Fresh. And this is saying nothing about how the girls that did make it to the merge had plots basically dominated by romance and like nothing else. And then there's MKulia which is apparently intended to be a friendship but like is written like a romantic one at times. It gives me all-stars gwourtney vibes and (as a fan of gwourtney myself) not in a good way. At least MK and Julia were somewhat in character I guess, but they had their edges really sanded off and honestly as a friendship (situationship?) it's a complete downgrade from Millie and Priya in so many ways

-And another thing: who's the protagonist this season? Outside of Praleb, who am I supposed to care for? Who am I supposed to root for? By the halfway mark, the show doesn't really make any convincing arguments to root for like anyone there outside of maybe Damien? And he went gone in episode 10, so like, hockey dudes? No one has an interesting enough narrative for me to care.

-The immunity idol stinks as usual. Like, why did Damien do THE SAME FUCKING THING HEATHER DID IN ALL-STARS?? That actually pissed me off so much holy shit. The immunity idol as it stands in the show is basically a shitty plot device made to keep characters in as there's no real strategy revolved around it.

-Oh and another minor thing: Owen's cameo sucks, and that's entirely due to him not being physically aged up at all and just being a vehicle for the same dumb jokes they always make with him. so stupid

-Anyways, I spend an entire season with two shitass straight relationships taking up screentime, a whole multiude of potential plotlines from last season (pramien) and this season (scary girl's revenge, millie being the new ripper, damien's comeback, julia having internal conflict over her friendship (feelings?) for MK) being set up and just nothing being done with them, and characters in general just being nerfed or borderline out of character (Ripper) and what am I rewarded with?

-Soar Losers. The most boring nothing finale in the entire show. The choices for finalists suck, Wayne, while being the least bad option for a winner (and i do still like him a lot), is still a mid ass winner in the grand scheme of the entire show. And more praleb drama? fuck off I hate them so much. The challenge did not feel finale worthy at all, and honestly it was the worst challenge in the whole season. On top of being a bunch of nothing, the show decides to bring back the worst trope it ever had: losing hair as karma. I almost ragequit the episode on the spot that shit makes me so irrationally mad. I think it's even worse here because Julia still had hair after the fact, which makes it seem like they were aware it's not a popular TD trope but wanted to half commit to it anyways for the sake of tradition or something. Terrible finale to an already decently sized letdown of a season, but it has some ok MKulia moments I guess. The finale was just emblematic of the entire season, where things just happen and you're just expected to go along with everything. (Also side note how come Chase wasn't the one to jump off of the cart for pizza immediately?)

TL;DR reboot season 2 imo was a step down in every conceivable way from season 1 apart of i guess comedy and it's left a very sour taste in my mouth. I'm probably missing a few points that I'll add onto later but man it feels nice putting my opinion out there.

[it-happened-one-fic]

Hours in the Moonlight: Fairest Midnight - 14. A Return to Normalcy

Summary: After the night you’d just had, you honestly would have believed that you needed time to yourself. But sometimes there are others who know what you need better than you do, and you couldn’t deny that you were lucky to have such a person to look out for you.

Type: Gender-neutral reader/ Vampire AU/ romantic/ angst/ angst with comfort/ fluff/ sfw/ platonic interactions too!

Trigger Warning: Vampire

Word Count: 1259

Hours in the Moonlight Master-List

I hadn’t been home long at all, really just enough time to take a shower, before I heard a familiar tapping on my window. And, to be honest, I wasn’t surprised.

Because while Rook had been accepting of my silent confusion and allowed me the time alone that I had requested but wasn’t entirely sure I needed, it was very like Vil to be worried enough to come by to visit.

And sure enough, as soon as I pulled back my curtains, I was greeted by the sight of Vil, who already had my window open and was sitting on the edge of my windowsill like some sort of male lead out of a young adult fiction novel.

It was a thought that brought a smile to my face even as he twisted to look my way and briefly scanned my form in a way that spoke of checking for any injuries. Even though I knew good and well that Rook had already reassured him that I had not been injured. 

“Are you alright?” His question was a solemn one, but I nodded calmly. I’d had time to get more adjusted to everything that had happened this evening. And though I still wasn’t comfortable with the fact that I had just killed someone, it was an inescapable fact. And I was going to be fine.

I had chosen this and I wasn’t going to back out now. I’d known for quite a long time that I probably wouldn’t be able to stay in the strange limbo I’d been living my life in. Between the world of normalcy and the world of the vampires who had been pursuing me all this time.

“More or less, it was just a little more upsetting than I’d been expecting,” Vil hummed at my words but nodded understandingly as he stood from his seated position and slipped into the room.

“That’s to be expected. It could never be easy to end another’s life. Even if it is their second, more undead one.” I stepped to the side, turning to head back towards my couch and leaving Vil to follow me.

And sure enough, after hearing the window shut softly behind me, I could hear him walk towards where I now sat. 

“Do you want to back out?” His voice was soft as he looked down at me from where he stood, illuminated by the moon and stars that shone faintly through the curtains that now hung long on either side of my window.

And I was silent for a moment, not sure how to respond. 

Did I want to back out? In some ways, yes. I did want to back out and never have to kill another vampire ever again. 

The knowledge that I’d killed someone, even an undead someone, was heavy. And even if Rook had said I was doing them a kindness and that there was little to no choice, it still felt wrong. 

I knew that the vampires who lost themselves to the disease were a danger to everyone they met, but that didn’t mean it felt any less wrong to kill them.

But then I could clearly recall the broken faces of the Felmier family and how much it had hurt when both Epel and Rook had been turned into vampires. 

This was a job that had to be done to ensure more tragedies didn’t occur and so that I could find out why this was all happening as well as who it was that was forcing my hand slowly but surely by welcoming me to the world of vampires.

I shook my head tiredly at Vil’s words and answered him honestly, if a little tiredly, “Yes, I do want out of this mess. But I can’t leave. Not when this is a necessary job and when there is someone out there who seems determined to force me into the world of vampires.”

I met his gaze, noting the frown on his face as I offered him a half-hearted smile, “But it’ll be okay, Vil. Just give me some time, and I’ll be adjusted.”

I could distantly hear rain starting to fall as clouds shifted to block the moon from sight. Darkening the room and briefly obscuring Vil’s face from sight as I leaned over to cut on a light.

And by the time the light clicked on, I genuinely wondered what subtle expression changes I’d missed from Vil. Because sometimes those were the only indicators of his true thoughts. 

He wasn’t going to say anything when I’d obviously made up my mind. No, Vil would stand by me and support my decision. 

Just like he always did.

I watched him as he sat down next to me before looking my way once more, a smile working its way onto his face as his gaze met mine, “I suppose I’ll need to tell you about what we’ve decided for the future then.”

I tilted my head curiously, and his smile only spread further, “There’s a ball coming up. One that will be attended solely by vampires. I intend to introduce our new clan there. But it will also serve as the perfect time for you to go and meet all of your new customers.”

My new customers… the clans. 

My hands curled on my lap, “A ball…. I don’t know much about how to behave at a ball.”

“We’ll teach you, Epel has to learn anyway as well,” Vil lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug that was at odds with his statuesque appearance. 

But I found myself nodding as I reached over and swiped the remote control off the side table next to me, “So what are you going to be naming your clan?” 

“Working together, Rook and Epel came up with ‘Pomefiore.’” I smiled at his words, perfectly able to picture the two of them discussing names with Epel no doubt getting far more heated about the entire matter, while Rook waxed rhapsodic about the beauty of the various options.

“Mind if we watch TV while you explain your plan?” I clicked on the television as I spoke. Turning it to the old movies channel so that I could continue conducting my research into whether or not me and Epel were right and Vil really was an old time celebrity. After all, he did quite enjoy cinema, and seeing him in a movie would help me deduce his actual age.

“Not at all,” Vil leaned back on the couch as he glanced my way with a slight smile. And I felt myself similarly relax as our interaction shifted out of dealing with the drama of late and into something more normal.

And it was nice, because it had been far too long since the two of us had been able to relax like this with everything that had been going on as of late. Without entirely realizing it, I had come to miss Vil’s evening visits, where we could just exist in one another’s presence without having to worry about anything else.

I didn’t mind Rook or Epel’s presence by any means, but there was something comforting about this return to normalcy. Just relaxing on the couch next to Vil, as if nothing were wrong at all. 

This was what I had missed, and this was one of the reasons I had decided to accept my invitation to the world of vampires and fight for my own place here.

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[cassyapper]

i am so curious about your pucci thoughts...

I AM SO FUCKING SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG TO GET TO THIS ASK OH MY FUCKING GOD my life has been crazy lately but still i am So Sorry

okay so basically i love pucci we have to kill him. here is a list of my thoughts in no particular order

he makes me so ill like genuinely he is one of the most well written jojo characters ever and DEFINITELY the most well written villain. like holy shit. i think a lot about how weather said the evilest of people are those who think they are good and how that relates to pucci oh my GOD it makes me sick. pucci like many villains are a "ends justify the means" kinda guy like while he was cruel at many points i truly think he was jsut like, yes this is a moment of weakness but it wont matter because im going to fix it. i think aobut how he really thought he was going to save everyone. he was going to save perla. he was going to save dio. he was going to save himself. and thinking baout things from his side, like, oh my god. dio was his only friend. we the audience know that dio groomed him (not necessarily sexually but still grooming) and even though dio did seem to grow to truly care for pucci, he didnt care enough to not use him for his plan to restart the world -- but PUCCI didnt know that. im sure he had inklings and feelings like he's not NAIVE, im sure he KNEW dio was using him at SOME point, but it wouldnt change the fact dio still eventually saw him and was his friend either way. it wouldnt change the fact that he would do this one thing for his only friend, even if his only friend BECAME his friend in the first place just to make him fulfill this task. god dio and pucci's relationship is so insane i hate hate hate that people boil it down to just shipping LIKE THERE WAS RESENTMENT THERE WAS ANGER THERE WAS SO MUCH LOVE AND HALF OF IT WAS LOVE FOR WHAT THE OTHER COULD DO FOR HIM INSTEAD OF JUST HIM HIMSELF . LIKE FUCK'S SAKE im sick of ppl putting a romantic spin on everything and YES this is half me being aromatnic but also COME ON. and that's not even getting into the fact dio and pucci's relationship is supposed to parallel jolyne and jotaro's/jolyne and jonathan's. but anyway

god he loved his sister so much man it makes me sick he jsut wanted her safe man. after everything....i choose to believe his final thoughts were of perla. it's why he was begging for everything he did to have meant SOMETHING -- please let if have meant perla got a good life in whatever universe the world will end up in. i like to believe she did. he won't be there to see it. oh god he wont be there ot see it. fuck. maybe that was for the best in his mind anyway

his drama and tragedy aside he's also the funniest guy in the entire world. why the hell is a catholic priest wearing gucci. well i guess that answers the question but still. he is so fucking funny he is not even subtle about it he is LITERALLY like EOUGH DONT TOUCH MY EXPENSIVE DESIGNER PANTS and then he kicks a cop to his death for it. he's so fucking funny i love him so much. i love that whitesnake is independent enough to have its own personality and he and pucci get into spats sometimes OS FUCKING FUNNY. MFW I ARGUE WITH MY OWN SOUL.

also my disdain for shipping culture aside i cannot deny that pucci is a homophobic homosexual. he and jotaro totally banged a couple times and awkwardly called it off when pucci first sees jotaro's birthmark and he's like oh no. SO FUCKING FUNNY

ugh sorry i jsut want to go back to this point he's so smart he's so Aware of how people work and connect he's always had a fine sense for it (do you believe in gravity...) OUGH like there's no WAY HE DIDN'T KNOW DIO WAS USING HIM BUT HE STILL LOVED DIO AND I THINK BEYOND THAT. I THINK HE TRUY BELIEVED WHAT DIO WAS SAYING. I THINK HE TRULY BELIEVED OKAY EVEN IF DIO HAS HIS OWN MOTIVES HERE, THIS END IS JSUT. SO I WILL KEEP FOLLWOING ALONG. LIKE. I. i truly think he thought this would save everyone, especially perla. ohuogh my god PUCCIIIIIIIIIIIII

in short, he makes me sick we have to kill him. i like him a lot

[shadowbriar]

Fred Weasley - Mother

Pairing : (F/M) || Fred Weasley x Reader Word Count : 1.1k Warning : Angst. Let me know if I miss anything. Synopsis : Inspired by Mother by Matt Maltese. The fact that their relationship didn't work out was such a tragedy no one could have expected and Fred has no one else to blame but himself. Notes : Third post of my 7-days post celebration. Very short, I’m sorry for that. If you like this story and would like to support me, please visit my kofi page and perhaps get me a coffee?☕  

Walking home without his soul, Fred drags his feet to his apartment. The pile of letters scattered on the doorstep was beginning to make it hard to move the door, forcing him to collect them and read whatever overdue message they contained. Familiar names were written on the envelopes, people he once called friends who now has stopped bothering to write to him. He scans through them, not really paying any mind to whatever message they may convey. Something along how are you holding up, are you well, we haven't talked in a while, all the larks he has no energy to reply to.

Fred tossed the letters to the kitchen table, grabbing himself a bottle of beer to ease the tension in his head. Days have been long and nights even longer. It feels like he was stuck in time, doing all the chores and activities when the sun is up, only to get back to square one when night falls. Fred wasn't sure when this cycle would stop, nor how much longer could his weary bones carry such a habit. He has no preference to which would end first, the infinite loop or his will to live, either way would end his misery.

The cold beer runs through his throat like a burning liquid. It has become his sole friend during the dark stormy days. He couldn't even share his troubles with George because he knows deep down that George misses her too, though hardly ever close to the measure Fred is feeling. She was someone close to his family. The other Weasley daughter, people even called. The fact that their relationship didn't work out was such a tragedy no one could have expected.

He rests his hand over his eyes, exhaling another defeated sigh as guilt and disappointment consumes him. He blames himself for their broken fairytale. He should've fought for her harder, loved her louder, kissed her deeper, anything to keep her by his side. He hates how it wasn't just him who's losing her. He hates how Ginny now lost her confidant, he hates how his brothers now lost another sister, and he most definitely hates how his mother lost another daughter. He hates the fact that everyone he loves is caught in the crossfire and are now wounded for the cut love tie.

It has been months since he visited the Burrow. The last time was when she was still by his side, her hands clinging on his arm as if it was her life line. Fred couldn't bring himself to come home and face his family. He wouldn't know what to tell them. He doesn't even know if his family would still take him after losing her. She was the perfecting jigsaw to their puzzle, the warmth to their light. Without her the Weasleys are hollow.

But Fred knows that rekindling their relationship is impossible. They wouldn't have ended it if they hadn't tried everything in their power to salvage their sunken ship, at least he knows that she did and asking her to go back to his arms would be cruel for that very reason. Fred loves her too much to ever bring her back to their now dark romantic avenue.

Fred turns to reach for the family portrait standing tall by his working desk. He smiles lightly at the joyful expression his family has. The big bright smile on their faces that seemed to overshine their red hair, they were beyond happy that day.

Tears started to fall from his eyes. He feels ashamed, blaming himself to have lost her. Now his family wouldn't know the joy of having her as a Weasley, to have her on every family dinner to come, to have her on his siblings' weddings. Even if she were to come as a guest, nothing would feel half as comforting as how it used to and Fred has no other person to blame but himself.

Fred now reaches for a new sheet of paper and wet his quill to the inkwell. Perhaps he has hidden behind his sorrow for too long. Perhaps he's been suffering in silence for too many nights. Perhaps it's time for him to ask for forgiveness.

“Dear Mother,

I honestly know not of where to begin this letter, nor do I know where I would end this. My head hasn't been mine for days and my heart has been gone for too many nights for me to be able to write a proper letter to you, let alone to face you in the flesh. For that, I apologise. I hope you can find it in your heart another grace of forgiveness for your troublesome son.

Mum, I miss her. I haven't been able to function without her. I see her everywhere, everyday. I see her wet curls in the morning, I smell her cooking in the kitchen, and I hear her laugh echo through my walls. She's taken my mind, my heart, and my soul, leaving me with nothing but a jaded body, an empty casing with nothing left inside.

I know that you want to write to her, or perhaps you've done that already. I know you never thought you'd grow a blood bond to another. I know that she stumbles into your heart for all time. I know that you love her, probably more than I love her.

I've lost her and myself. I have nothing left to my name and I hate to know that you understand my sorrow. I hate to know that you understand my torment because you feel it too, because you lost her too. I'm so very sorry for that, Mum. I'm sorry that she is now the daughter you never had. I'm sorry.

But Mum, if there is anything she ever told me to believe in, is that time will heal everything. Though I'm still struggling to hang on to such words, I hope you'll be willing to give it a try too. I hope one day, if the universe ever let me mend my heart and find someone who'd take whatever is left of it, you could learn to love again. I hope you could learn to love them the same way you loved her.

I know I am asking too much of you. I'm not even sure that I could ever pull myself out of this void, but I will try, for the sake of her, for the sake of our family. I will try to learn to be human again. I will try to learn to function as I used to. I will try to learn to love someone. I hope when that day comes, we could finally fill the gap she left in us and become whole again.

Your son,

Fred Weasley.”