too many of you guys think nico is the loser and not lewis for letting the divorce go on for so long. like they're both losers about each other. emotionally constipated idiots who can't talk about their toxic homoerotic friendship that imploded on itself like 8 years ago and are now making it everyone else's problem. yeah nico's on television or in beer gardens talking about lewis all the time but like every other month some reporter is like "lewis, what's your favorite moment in your career?" and lewis no hesitation is like "oh man, karting, y'know? everything was simpler then" and then spends another six months skirting around nico's name. like this whole thing they're doing in the media isn't some kinda extended foreplay for them. they're both still pressing on the bruise to make sure it's still there!!! every few months, they're literally just asking on public television, does it still hurt for you like it does for me? and like clockwork, someone will release new information about them or one of them will say something about each other (in my heart, he's still my best friend/yes... and teammate) and the answer will remain the same, yes, of course, always.
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everything crowley and aziraphale do for each other is just a silent i love you shouted as loudly as possible
here, i'll protect you with my wing, i love you. i will do you this favour, i love you. i will do this for you because i know you, because you will love it, because i love making you happy, i love you.
i will help you home while drunk and hold you as closely as possible because this one time i can, because i love you.
let's go for lunch, i love you. let's dine at the ritz, i love you. let's drink in your home, together, i love you, i love you, too.
to the world, to my world, to you.
i will risk your life because you asked me to. i love you. please don't leave me.
i'm glad to have given up the stars if it means getting to love you, here, like this.
i love you, i love you, i love you, over and over again, and they can both hear it, they both know it's there, and yet they cannot allow themselves to believe it.
i love you, and they both still aren't saying it, instead they're looking at each other thinking i love you, but you cannot love me, i cannot be loved, not by someone like you, and now you're leaving.
you're leaving, i love you. you're staying behind, i love you.
let's meet again, please.
i love you, too.
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He looks for her. He had seen her fall, in that brief moment before the zombie had distracted him. She’d been telling the truth, about that. He follows her over the edge.
He calls for her. It's not over yet. He looks for her. It can't be over yet. He hasn't died.
He can smell the faint scent of ozone and scorched earth as he jumps down into the hole. Is she hiding? Running? It is far too late in the game for that. Pearl knows that. She wouldn’t. But then where was she?
He stands there, sword in hand, calling her name. She doesn’t answer.
The wind picks up, blowing at his cloak and knocking his hood back, revealing grey-streaked hair. His skin prickles, the feeling of eyes on the back of his head, and a quiet voice finds its way into his ears.
“She’s dead, Scar,” Grian tells him, echoey and distorted and everywhere. “You won.”
Oh, he thinks.
Winning had never really felt like an option, to him. He had made too many enemies and too few friends for it to feel like something within reach. No one had been on his side, and he was still the only one left standing, alone in a trench with a zombie. He kills it on autopilot at the last second, still half waiting for Pearl to pop back out and stab him.
But she’s dead. He won.
It’s quiet.
Scar pulls himself up out of the trench, his clothes stained with blood and dirt, and he looks out across the field. All he can hear is the wind. The world is all craters and ghosts and empty bases, eerily still. He stumbles on his first few steps forward, about as injured as it gets. His own base is right there, right to his left, and he spends a few slow seconds staring at the sunflowers, all facing him. The wind blows, and he moves on.
He passes by the empty grave of Lizzie. They like to pretend, sure, but there are never any bodies. People die, and it’s like they were never there at all. Pearl is dead, and there is nothing to bury but his guilt.
The Secret Keeper looks the same as always, untouched and pristine and looming. It’s waiting for him to press the button. He’s succeeded, after all.
Scar stands there, staring blankly up at the statue, and remembers the days where they would all gather around the button, laughing at their ridiculous tasks. There’s not even an echo of it left. The blood is drying on his hands, and he is cold, and he is still alone.
“The villain’s not supposed to win,” Scar tells the Secret Keeper, voice hoarse and emotionless. “You got the story wrong.”
The Secret Keeper does not reply.
Scar presses the button.
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Thinking about Jon mourning his relationship with Elias and doing it alone.
Thinking about Jon having so many little fond memories of Elias. Discussions with him when he still worked in research. Little bickering arguments from when Jon was first promoted. His fondness for scheduling. Thinking about Jon missing those times so much that it aches. Thinking about Jon mourning the person he thought he knew, the person he did know, the connection they always had. When Elias is in prison and won't even see him. When Elias is in the panopticon above the world, far away from Jon. Thinking about Jon still caring about Elias, missing him despite everything.
Jon would have all those little memories of Elias, I think. And he would pick over them, and wonder which ones were real (all of them, in a way), and which ones were lies (all of them, in a way). And he would never be able to say anything. Because he's the only one who ever had that connection to Elias, and by the time Elias is out of Jon's reach nobody who would understand is left.
Just. Just thinking of Jon mourning his relationship with Elias, and having to do it alone.
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