#p: back from the dead

[witchysethharper]

Seth still almost couldn't believe Rhys (with Cairo's help) pulled it off the other day in bringing him back from Hell. He'd learned that time moved much differently in other realms; after what must've been a decade down there he'd nearly given up hope of ever getting out of that fiery pit of doom and gloom and way too much chaos happening. He quickly learned that ten years down there equated to about a month or nearly two up here. Seth had never been more excited to see his own bed and a shower again in his entire life... or afterlife now? Demons clearly weren't the same as vampires considering he still had a beating heart and didn't need to consume blood to survive, although there was that whole needing sexual energy and life forces to feed on. Though those were all things to figure out... later. At some point. He'd get there on his own time.

First and foremost, he needed a shower to scrub off the filth and odor of sulphur that still surrounded him immediately after coming back to earth, and a good fucking night's sleep. Somehow Rhys managed to keep his suite as it was with all his belongings so that helped. Next step was finding out where his beloved pup had gone because Circe was not in the kennel as expected. He remembered the last person who would've seen her would've been Shade when he'd asked him to bring the bag of dog food up to her. Good thing Shade was on the top of his list to visit.

He didn't bother texting first, figuring he'd make this a surprise. What could possibly go wrong with it? It's not like Shade could get angry that Seth was back from the dead, right? Hell, he bet he'd be interrogated about whether or not he was a zombie. Seth quickly made it down to Krovs Town from the castle with his newfound teleportation of whatever he was –– some kind of faerie and demon mix with witch he figured –– and headed into Cannabites knowing that Shade would more than likely be there working. Seth rolled up to the bar in the basement and leaned onto it, glad his intuition had been right. Shade was indeed there at the bar serving drinks and fortunately it wasn't too crowded to be missed. "Yo, Dempsey," he called out. "What drink you got for me? Oh, and where's my fucking dog, dude?"

@shadedempsey

[ceabu]

hs anniversary AND black butler season 4 !!!!!! fav media combo

[justaz]

once merlin puts arthur to rest, the world around him disappears and he’s in ealdor staring at his mother’s back. his sobs from the lake grow worse at the sight of his mother and he wails like he’s a child again, calling repeatedly for his ma. she spins around and finds him, without asking any questions she dashes forward and pulls him into a hug, holding his weight as he falls apart in her grasp, choking out nonsensical words and soaking her dress with tears, snot, and drool, his overwhelming grief causing him to ignore any sense of shame he might’ve felt at such a scene.

he doesn’t remember explaining anything to her, frankly he doesn’t remember much beyond the cries he pressed into her shoulder, but she says he’s been in ealdor for a week. she’s clearly worried and asks, no, begs him to eat or drink but he doesn’t feel the need or desire to, and even if he did, he simply doesn’t have the energy to bring the sustenance to his mouth. she cradles his head in her lap and runs her finger through his hair like she did when he had a nightmare when he was younger. it’s almost enough to make the entire thing seem like a horrible, horrible dream. but theres blood on his tunic where he held arthur’s body to his own so he knows it’s not true.

his mother doesn’t ask any questions, the look in her eyes telling him that she knows anyway. perhaps his nonsensical babble created a clear enough image for her to understand. maybe she just saw the broken look in his eyes and came to the conclusion on her own. she doesn’t mention him. merlin isn’t sure if he’s relieved about that or not. in the end, he brings it up, he asks how she was able to go on after balinor left. he asks how she was able to pick herself back up on her own two feet and carry on life as normal after receiving his letter informing her of his passing. she says sometimes she can’t, sometimes she lays in bed and listens to the birds sing and can’t help but hate them. she says she lives on for him anyway. she pushes herself up and makes food and works in the fields even when she hate the world around her.

merlin tries to relate, tries to understand, tries to imagine himself getting up every morning and living on in his name. he can’t. his parents loved each other, he knows that, but they were their own people and were able to stand the years apart. merlin…merlin is arthur’s, even in death. everything he is, everything he’s done, has been for arthur. he is half of merlin’s soul, the center of merlin’s world. how can anyone expect him to move on as if he’s capable of being alone? how can anyone expect him to function as if half of his soul, half of himself, isn’t dead in a lake? merlin can’t do it, he can’t imagine living a life without arthur. he barely got through the week and that’s only because he was passed out for a majority of it. how could he make it a year, much less another fifty?

he can’t. he can’t do it. he can’t breathe, he’s in agony, the world around him doesn’t exist anymore. not without arthur.

he’s back at the lake now, tears still streaming down his face despite the pounding headache from dehydration yet it doesn’t matter, not anymore. none of it does. he stumbles into the lake and sends his magic into the water to tug excalibur from the depths. he can feel freya pulling the sword back, but his magic overpowers hers easily and the sword springs from the lake, gleaming in the afternoon sun. freya’s face appears in the ripples of the water next to him, her expression pleading and sorrowful. merlin whispers an apology before turning back to the sword, staring at the sharp point of the blade. he brings it closer to hover just over his heart, the metal pressing against his skin but not enough to draw blood just yet.

peace washes over him. the sun warms his skin and the water cools him to keep it from being unbearable. the birds sing in the trees as the wind whistles through the leaves. merlin stares up at the brilliant blue sky and pure white clouds roll by, images of bunnies and birds and crowns and horses staring down at him. he wonders if avalon will be this peaceful, if he and arthur could lay out in a field for eternity, basking in the sun and laughing as they point out misshapen clouds that supposedly look like the other.

he plunges the sword into his chest, right through his heart, and falls back into the water. bubbles trail out of his mouth up towards the surface, blood spills from his wound and mixes with the water. he closes his eyes as he sinks further and further. he knows when he opens them, he’ll be with arthur once more. it’ll all be okay. he doesn’t feel his body hit the bottom before blackness fills his mind.

arthur awakens from his fitful slumber in a bed that is not his own. he squints at the room, or rather hut, around him and finds an old man hunched over a book in the corner. arthur tries to speak but all that comes out is a squeak of air, his throat too dry to speak. the man hears and whirls around to begin treating him once more, prattling on and on about how he found arthur in the woods outside his village donning shiny clothes which he discarded bc of the blood staining them yet he couldn’t find a wound. arthur’s hand reaches up to his side but there’s no stab wound there, not anymore, though he does sport the scar. he remembers how he got it, he remembers stumbling away from the battlefield, he remembers being found by merlin- merlin.

he asks the man about him but he seems confused and denies ever knowing someone by that name. arthur climbs out of the bed (the flash of golden eyes) and hastily pulls on his armor (“i’m a sorcerer. i have magic.”). he’s out the door before the old man can protest. he’s in a village he doesn’t recognize, they must not be anywhere near camelot (“i’m still the same person.”). he turns to the old man hobbling out of the hut and demands directs to camelot. the man stares at him oddly and scratches his ear before informing him that he’s never heard of a camelot before (“you’re my friend and i don’t want to lose you.”).

he instead asks for directions to the woods where he was found and sets off in that direction, the old man shuffling after him (“me, i was born to serve you, arthur.”). it doesn’t take long to reach where he was found. if the old man had carried him home it couldn’t’ve been much of a hike (“and i’m proud of that.”). he steps into a clearing where the man panted that he found him here (“and i wouldn’t change a thing.”). it’s no where near the lake where merlin held him as he took his last breath, it’s no where near camelot. the man didn’t even recognize the name of his kingdom (“it’s not why i do it.”).

arthur sits in the grass as he thinks on his next move and the man who watched over him sits next to him (“i’m not going to change now.”). he speaks lowly of a prophecy about a man from a time long forgotten sent on a journey, a quest, to retrieve what has been lost. he says how the prophecy led many to a sword lodged in stone (“i’m not going to lose you.”) but no one could pull it free. he points out arthur’s armor and calls it odd, he mentions camelot, a kingdom of which he’s never heard, and gestures around the clearing where he found the mystery man. he concludes that perhaps the prophecy spoke of him (“i can’t lose him.”).

arthur, with no other options, follows the man’s directions to a lake. not exactly lake avalon but close enough. theres a small island in the center that seems more like a hill. the sword, his sword, excalibur is buried in a stone covered in moss, misshaping it’s actual form. arthur wades across the water and climbs the hill. he wraps his hands around the hilt of excalibur and closes his eyes. he imagines merlin confident and reassuring expression as they and all his men stood in the woods around this damn sword in a different stone however long ago it was. he breathes in and out (“he’s my friend.”) and pulls.

excalibur comes free just as it did before. arthur watches the metal pull free and as it does, the moss on the stone falls away revealing its form. it looks like a collapsed figure, excalibur having been lodged in it’s chest, right where it’s heart would be. arthur squints at what looks like the head and feels a flash of familiarity. the stone slowly fades away from the hole where excalibur was all the way to the hill. as the stone fades, it leaves behind skin and clothes and hair and…merlin.

arthur drops excalibur and falls to his knees to hold up merlin’s limp form. he feels warm, as if he didn’t just spend however long with a sword in his chest as a stone. he’s not breathing. why isn’t he breathing? arthur grasps around, shifting his clothes out of the way to find the wound where excalibur had once been. the skin is stitching itself together with tiny golden threads. arthur looks back up at merlin’s lax face as the wound fully closes. he inhales sharply as his eyes fly open, glowing gold, and all around him it seemed the world finally inhaled after suffocating for millennia.

merlin exhales and golden sparks shoot from his lips to flurry around in the air. the grass under them grows longer and curls around both his and merlin’s body where they rest against the ground. the water around their island clears from the murky brown to a blindingly clear blue. the air is crisp and clean, the sun brighter and warmer, and one soul finally whole again.

[daisybell-on-a-carousel]

Fanfic idea: Nocturna, after disappearing during the crisis, wakes up to find herself in the current universe, where she spots the Red Hood, and can't help but compare him to the blood night sky she last saw, and oddly, the young Robin whom she had tried to adopt

[cheriboms]

doctober day 23: nostalgia

fact: doc has a saxophone in his garage in both 1955 and 1985, with seemingly no ties to his scientific pursuits. hypothesis: theres some sentimental reason, maybe he played (plays?) it as a hobby since and/or prior to 1955...? conclusion: they def had at least one jam session

[[ proof of my claims >:0 ]]

[bookishcat10]

you know what everything may be terrible but at least i have my silly little rotation of sitcoms i rewatch constantly and am unhealthily attached to!!

[fvkvrodani]

so im looking at the historical accuracy of federal pardons & whether someone like arthur morgan—wanted in 2 states w a 5k bounty on him; had committed multiple crimes etc.—& the closest one i could find is billy wilson, an outlaw & associate of the infamous billy the kid. he ran w the kid's gang for some time & even escaped multiple attempts at capturing him, then went to texas & started a ranch... like he didnt have a criminal record...

but the important part of all of this is that billy wilson's capturer—pat garrett—was the one who made the effort to the american govt so they could pardon billy's crimes... & they did.

theres so many other ppl who were federally pardoned & their crimes were... literally going against the american govt itself. james brooks, a texas ranger convicted of manslaughter, was pardoned (after lobbying from his fellow rangers tho). al jennings, a train robber who was imprisoned in 1899, was pardoned (in 1904 but still...)

all that is to say: arthur morgan couldve possibly been federally pardoned had he lived. do w this information what you will.

[daylighteclipsed]

actually it’s kinda funny how KH1 ends with Riku telling Sora to take care of Kairi and then Sora completely does not do that and searches for Riku refusing to go home at all without him

[chaotic-fandom-hoarder]

The angst goblins are running rampant around in my brain, specifically rotating about that one post with the idea for a bad ending of the sitcom au where Alex gets kidnapped by the Lankmann foundation

I missed the opportunity in my fanfic there to add in that, this is an alternate version of the incident with the police hunting down Alex. Meaning that they were asleep. Meaning that they wouldn’t be wearing their glasses.

Imagine the imagery of Clyde frantically searching the ransacked house, futilely hoping that Alex is somewhere in there, safe and ok, and then Clyde sees their glasses sitting on the floor, with a cracked lens from getting launched off the nightstand during the struggle. Imagine Clyde taking the glasses with it on its roaring rampage of revenge. Imagine

[hmshermitcraft]

pearl had never been more heartbroken than when cleo died. for months, she wouldn’t leave her house or talk to anyone. she rarely even ate. then one day, after a particularly rainy night, she wakes up to find muddy footprints leading from the door to a pair of shoes, haphazardly taken off and dropped to the floor. it’s as she’s looking at them that she finally registers the smell of food and sound of someone moving throughout the kitchen

The first thing Pearl does to a newly revived Cleo is hit her over the head.

Perhaps not the best way to react, but what else are you supposed to do when your dead wife is cooking in the kitchen? The food, at least, is lovely. And they don't burn the house down. But that doesn't change the fact Pearl's dead wife is eating at the table with her. Nor the silence between them.

Cleo - can Pearl even call her that - is still... Cleo. Just more dead. She answers all of Pearl's questions with her usual dry humour, still knows their home perfectly. She can tell Pearl about things in the cupboards that even Pearl's forgotten.

Pearl, though? Pearl thinks she's going to take a long nap. And deal with this in the morning.

Cleo's hands are cold as she tucks Pearl in. Her lips colder as she kisses Pearl's head. But it still feels the same. It still feels the same.

[thelesbianthespianposts]

Back to the Future the Musical should have been a 4 and a half hour rock opera with each hour and a half being one movie

[catzgam3rz]

*Crawls out of Artblock hole* TAKE SOME WORK IN PROGRESS BAD BOYS FOR YOUR DAY

[oh-gh0st]

totally not late on this. smiling (is 3 months late)

[miharuhebinata]

max is literally the love of el's life btw. if you guys even care

[villainsidestep]

ah., evil thoughts hour

[xxthefairywitchxx]

@kewpidity You've forced an old hyperfixation to awaken what the fuck have you done to me?