#the rift rewrite

[natalievoncatte]

There was a knock at Lena’s door, and it startled her awake. She was awake, but also wasn’t, sitting in a side chair beside her sofa with a glass of whisky still in her hand, loosely held by tired, nerveless fingers. It nearly fell from her palm when the sound jolted her from the twilight between fitful wakefulness and falling asleep sitting up. By her side was that goddamn picture, the glass still cracked. She grabbed it and forced it down so she didn’t have to see her grinning face, feel the ghost of a warm soft cheek lightly grazing hers.

The whisky made a fiery stab at her heart as she finished it and went to the door. She already knew who it was, the only person who’d dare disturb her at this hour, and who could get past her security.

Kara stood in the hall, clad in fluffy pajamas and disbelieved, tracks left by hot tears still cut into her soft rosy cheeks. There she was, the pretty little crying princess again.

It was an act. It was bullshit. The real her was hiding behind it, standing tall, appraising Lena’s faults with eyes that could burn mountains, the cold judgment of an extinct empire carved into her godlike, inhuman beauty. Lena made herself see that, refused to let her guard down.

“What, Kara?”

“Can I come in?”

Lena didn’t even answer. She began to close the door, only for her movement to be arrested by a single word.

“Please.”

Part of her made her stop. She seethed against it, hated it. She had carved icy knives of vengeance to carve it out herself. Alcohol had failed to drown it and the sharpest logic was dull against it. It was both too hard to crush and too soft to squeeze, this hateful thing that coiled around her heart and made her feel when she had sworn never to feel again.

Kara took a halting step forward. Lena threw out her palm and pressed it into her chests, stopping her.

She shouldn’t have done that. There was something heady and intoxicating in it. Kara froze in place, and Lena could feel her pulse along her collarbones. The pinnacle of alien might, strength so vast that nothing could stand as her equal, and she stopped from Lena’s lightest touch. That was power.

“What do you want?”

“Just to talk.”

“I’ve heard your apologies. Don’t waste my time unless you have some new material.”

Kara licked her lips. “Maybe.”

They couldn’t stay like this. Resting a hand on her chest had too many possibilities. Touching her had too many implications. It would be so easy to let the soft thing win and bring her hand up and hold her palm to that soft cheek and seek to balm those tears, make it better, care.

She let herself remember that Kara’s pain was a shoeld for Supergirl’s judging wrath and pulled back, but she didn’t close the door. Kara did as she slipped inside.

Thee was a heavy pause of silence, where Kara just breathed, soft and ragged.

“Why are you here?” said Lena.

“I needed to see you. I needed to know you’re safe.”

“Nightmares?”

“Worse,” said Kara. “It was so much worse.”

The agony in her voice shook Lena.

Forcing herself to composure, she poured another three fingers of single malt and flipped into her chair, extending neither drink nor invitation to Kara. The drink was a bad idea. It was dangerous. The smokey, hazy heat of it burned the soft bitter taste of regret from her teeth. Lena didn’t look at her.

“It was the imp.”

“Excuse me?”

“It calls itself Mxy. It says it’s from the fifth dimension but I have no idea if that’s true or not. All I know is that it has vast powers, even godlike. The last time it… it tried to force me to marry it.”

Lena knew what darkness in her birthed the hot rage in her gut, the possessive jealous fury that welled within her at those worse. This thing, how dare he.

She took a drink.

“It… he came to me tonight and said he wanted to make amends. He offered to let me change the past. I could fix whatever I wanted.”

“Hmm. Must have been a trick,” said Lena. “Let me guess, restoring Krypton had some ironic Twilight Zone twist.”

Kara blanched, blinking. “No, I… I didn’t even think of that. I asked him to help me fix us.”

There is no us, Lena began to say, but the words died on her tongue. She washed the taste away.

Something in her twisted, a cold shiver like a water dumped over her head. She knew Kara’s bullshit super senses would pick up on it and steeled herself.

Rubbing her arms, Kara paced.

“I tried telling you at different times, so you’d hear it from me and not Lex or someone else.”

“What happened?” Lena said, trying to look more interested in her whisky than the answer.

It was purely an intellectual curiosity, she told herself.

“You died,” Kara said, blunt. “You died every time.”

“How?”

Every which way. Reign killed you five or six times. Mercy blew your brains out all over my chest. Lex… Lex could be creative. Poison, blades, fire once. He was fond of sadistic choices and clever tortures. Say, use red wavelengths to negate my powers and set up a sadistic challenge I could never pass, that sort of thing. It got so bad I stupidly wished I’d never met you.”

Her voice was ragged, breathing uneven. Fresh tears glittered on her cheeks and Lena felt herself lunge, start to stand. Kara’s pain called out to something in her, something beyond the physical or even the emotional. It was like something in Lena’s soul yearned to stop that terrible pain.

“The worst was when you drowned. Almost.”

Lena looked away, swirled her drink.

“Sounds like you kept trying.”

“I did. The timeline where we never met was one of the worst. I wasn’t there when your chopper crashed. Your mother… you tried to kill me and I couldn’t even fight back.”

“Is this where we segue into the ‘I would never hurt you’ lecture?”

“No. I did hurt you. I deserve your hate. If someone else did to you what I did, I’d snap their neck.”

Lena flinched. There was something cold in that admission, something brutal and beyond even Supergirl. Raw.

None of her rules matter for me.

A tiny voice in that darkness whispered to her: And if some poor bastard locked her in a Kryptonite cage the way you did, they’d be begging you for death. They’d know you’re a Luthor.

Lena shuddered.

“What do you do?”

“I kept trying. I thought… I felt… I had to keep trying.”

“Well, you gave up and came here eventually. You…”

Kara swallowed hard. “It thought it worked, finally. I picked the night I reached you from Corben. Remember that?”

“I remember,” Lena said, hesitant.

Kara Danvers believes in you.

“I told you when you asked me why I saved you. I took you home, made sure you were safe. Life went on. These… these timelines or whatever they were, Lena, they were real. I lived them. That one was, it was…”

“What?”

“A few days later after things calmed down we went to lunch. We were just chatting about something unimportant and you looked at me and our eyes met and it was like…”

Kara looked away from her, wrapping her arms around herself the way she did, not a smug Supergirl pose but a woman shielding her heart from the world that clawed at it.

“When I first arrived on Earth there was a night where my powers had just kicked in and I looked at the sky. I could see more than stars. There was an aurora that was invisible to humans. I could see invisible lines of energy crackling between the stars, the cosmic background radiation shimmering on the dark. Can you imagine that? I can see the remnants of the Big Bang when I stargaze.”

Lena’s had trembled, the dregs of her booze shaking in the bottom of the glass.

“It was like that,” said Kara. “I knew I’d never be the same. I was staring at you like a big goof and you just stopped talking and stared back. I blurted out ‘is this a date?’”

Lena clutched the glass so she wouldn’t drop it and forced the tears back with all her might, but she was weak. Always weak.

“I take it I said yes,” she managed to say, voice quivering.

“We got married three years later. Lori was born a year after that.”

“Kara,” Lena began.

“Then it happened.”

“Kara, shut up.”

“Kalibak killed you. My sister. My little girl. My everything.”

Lena hurled the glass and Kara snatched it from the air in a superhuman blur. Lena was already on her feet, stabbing an accusing finger.

“So what?” Lena demanded. “We’re star-crossed lovers, now? Is this your ploy to fix it? Make me realize how in love we are? It’s a sick joke, Kara.”

“I know I can’t fix it,” said Kara. “I don’t want to.”

Lena blinked, her rage momentarily cooled. “What?”

“I would rather live in a world where you hate me as long as you’re still in it.”

“Kara,” Lena said.

“We are star-crossed. I don’t know want I did to deserve this but I can’t fix it. There was never a right time to tell you. It was doomed from the start. I’m here to tell you to let me go, Lena.”

She blinked. “What?”

“I know about Non Nocere. I know what you’re trying to do. I’m here to ask you to stop. Please. Don’t do this. Don’t ruin you life over me.”

“Why couldn’t you just save me and leave?” Lena demanded. “That’s what everyone else gets. A quick rescue and a wave and a wink and you’re gone. Why did you have to drag yourself through my life and wreck everything?”

“I tried that.”

Lena screamed, bellowed at the top of her lungs.

“So what? So fucking what, Kara?”

Kara just stood there.

“I don’t know. I just… I just had to see… all I want is for you to be safe.”

Lena turned away from her.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry,” Kara choked out, behind her. “I did go back to Krypton one time. I told him I wanted to stay and die with my world, that it was the only way.”

“Let me guess, you did that and…”

“Car accident.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Lena cried. “You have to be kidding me.”

“He made me watch. Not just you, everyone else that died because there was no Supergirl. I… I think I’m in Hell.”

Lena blinked. She turned slowly. A memory came flooding back to her from another time, a closed casket in a small Irish church with Lionel Luthor lurking, waiting for her with an entourage. She’d asked the priest in her precious child voice, am I in Hell, Father?

A sob forced itself out of her. She let herself look at Kara, standing there bedraggled and teary eyed in rumpled Hello Kitty pajamas and felt sick, like she’d swallowed a belly full of rancid oil. All she could see was the hurting, and she wondered if that was it, if this pain was the source of the unbreakable quantum entanglement that had dragged this alien being across a gulf of stars to fuck up her life.

Or save it.

“Kara,” Lena whispered. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I dragged you into my life.”

“I’m not,” Kara whispered. “It was a gift, every minute of it. I wouldn’t trade a single moment for anything. Even the ones that didn’t happen.”

“What the hell do we do?” said Lena.

“I leave. I keep saving you. You find someone else, live your life, be happy. I do everything I can to keep you in this world and watch you grow old. That’s it. I should go.”

Kara turned and Lena screamed, balling her fists.

“Don’t you fucking dare leave this penthouse, Kara Danvers.”

Kara froze.

“I went back.”

“Went back to what?” said Kara.

“I went back to let you out of the Kryptonite cage. I couldn’t stop thinking of you lying on that cold floor in pain so I had to go back, but you weren’t there. I… I… I don’t know what I’m doing. I want to stop this but I just keep going and I don’t know what to fucking do anymore. I’m so lost.”

Kara’s shoulders slumped.

“I would take it back if I could.”

Kara turned back to her.

“You don’t have to.”

Lena backed away, unable to look at her. Kara crossed the gap in seconds and tenderly rested her hands on Lena’s arms.

“I’m sorry. I mean it. I am truly sorry from the depths of my soul. I would fix this if I could.”

“I’m sorry I hurt you,” said Lena. “It makes my soul hurt, and I don’t believe in souls.”

Lena pulled her in, clinging to her as if she might disappear. Kara was tentative, testing with every movement.

God, they had a daughter. A child! Lena could imagine, almost see… what had she done?

“It’s going to be okay,” Kara said. “I think this is what I was supposed to learn.”

“What?”

“To own my mistakes, and if I don’t want you to be a villain, I shouldn’t treat you like one.”

“I’m so tired.”

“I should go home and let you rest. This is a lot, I know, and it’s late. I…”

Kara trailed off, and Lena looked up at her. Their eyes met, and Lena… knew.

“Will you come back?” said Lena.

“Always.”

[bumblevoid]

a wild mags!

yes hi this is my design for mags. specifically for my au

for sparkbird's circle maker contest! i don't think that's on tumblr at all but im proud of this piece which is rare

w/o the lyric version:

tried a lot of new things on this! i can remember exactly one other time ive actually drawn a face in 3/4 view and it was awful (but also middle school art class sO). also new style of digital shading,, usually only throw an actual noticeable light source drawing traditionally and not characters for some reason?? idk

[theredcapeofk]

It's a Super life

Inspired by @fazedlight 's ficlet Do-Over

Mxy left. Kara looked around her apartment, her eyes tracing the familiar contours of her furniture. It was something she did frequently when she was anxious. Tonight was no different. She stood in her living room, tired after all the night's events, the weight of the world somehow heavier than it was a few hours before.

Kara sighed deeply. She felt so incredibly lonely. Not because Mxy left or because Alex wasn't with her in the apartment. No company could fill the void Lena's absence had created in her heart. As she was trying not to spiral back into the recent events with Lena, like she usually did when she wasn't actively focusing on anything else, something became very clear. She needed to see Lena, to tell her she still had hope for them.

She was about to fly off into the night when she thought it would be a good idea to write down what she wanted Lena to hear, just in case she couldn't tell her now. It was…she looked at her watch, ten o'clock. Not exactly late but not exactly early either. Better write it down so Lena could get the message.

She flew across town with a heavy heart. She approached Lena's penthouse carefully like she was afraid to startle Lena if she caught sight of her. Lena was there, pouring herself a cup of tea. She looked so calm and relaxed for once, Kara almost turned around to leave her in peace. She could make sure Lena would get the letter but not see her.

Kara was seriously considering this option when she realized Lena's balcony door was open. There could be a dozen reasons why this door was open, none of which had likely anything to do with Kara, but she couldn't help but feel invited to come forward somehow.

She landed softly, but hard enough for Lena to hear the sound of her boots. Lena looked up. Several emotions flashed across her eyes, and her hands shook lightly around her tea cup. She schooled her features, put the cup down, and walked towards her balcony door. Kara was standing on the threshold, not daring to go any further.

"Are you here to give me a speech about what I should or should not do?" Lena challenged.

"No Lena. What you do or do not do isn't my responsibility or mine to control. I know that now, and I'm sorry if I came out bossy or controlling the last time we saw each other. I was simply worried about you.

Tonight, I'm here to share an experience with you. Something happened to me tonight, something unexpected that opened my eyes to a lot of things. And…" she added hastily as Lena opened her mouth to cut her "While I'm sure you don't care about what happened to me tonight, I think you could be interested in the outcome. But I don't want to impose my presence on you, so I wrote you a letter so you can read it if you'd rather not hear it."

Lena took a minute to consider her options. Kara knew there was a risk Lena would choose neither and tell her to get lost. Lena gazed at the piece of paper in Kara's hand.

"Give me the letter." Lena chose.

Read it on Ao3

[riftwalker-limbro]

horrific realisations tonight

you guys have no clue what human verica, pule and jay look like

this is one of the only mentions of appearance in the fucking Prologue

I am so bad at mentioning appearances in writing. And I do not have the skills to commit art about them. Oh my god

[gardenergulfie]

E2 False poem

For @noodles-07

Written for @tangodyke ‘s Secret September

Breaks in the world, times changed and different,

all these unnerve the hermit ice queen

When machinery chirrs to vaguely answer,

she leaves, afraid of repetition

Later called to observe it with friends

she answered, hesitant but willing,

Seeing the wrongness again,

face to face, eye to infinity,

she swallows down her fear

and only stumbles once

before letting it consume her

Jumbled and changed,

she awakes from a dream,

In no place she can remember,

longing for home unnamed and lost

Life is hard to recollect,

pieces sharp and hazy all at once,

but she tries, the now copper leader,

growing into her new home and world,

filling in the empty with new memories,

but always chasing dreams of sky

Looking over her shoulder, she wonders,

what is her past, who did she leave behind?

Her questions lay unanswered,

till the Bard sends mail, an invitation

She attends the festivities

and pointedly ignores the fissure’s haunting

till its call is too great, and she approaches,

hanging back as the others listen to song

Then, it reaches them

From the other side, a note,

Familiarity, and False remembers

But she is not the hermit ice queen no more

and she retreats, the first to slink away

Barely missing the Rift’s exhale

and her old family’s reentrance

[meyecy]

<— immortal idiot cannot escape the finding out (descendants) of fucking around (self explanatory) in the unrelenting flow of time

[starsandwriting]

Oh i might be slow but it JUST occured to me. What if the new series revolves around hill top road👁👁

Was wracking my brain for what plot they could potentially follow that would require 3 seasons at least,

given that the fears are supposed to have left their world and i dont think? rq would follow jmart Somewhere Else

But a prequal kinda series that heavily follows hilltop road would give us SO much

Go more into depth on the origin of the fears, all the people who occupied the space over the centuries, agnes montague, the web-desolation rivalry, GERTRUDE, new characters

Plus it could also explain us hearing martin talk to a tape recorder in Oh Hello, even tho they should be free of them now, since hilltop road definitely messes with time/space.

Like maybe its an echo from the future?? Like martin talking to the tapes in s3 and we're hearing it in the prequal cos time fuckery??

Or maybe they're in somewhere else and the echo travels through dimensions to this universe??

Idk just. You know. You know???

[threesorrows]

Hello! I hope you're doing well!

I know it's been a long time, but I was wondering if there was any updates on the status of The Rift That Tore This World in Two? No pressure, I was just curious given I just finished my twenty-eighth reread (according to AO3 history) after falling back into the Naruto rabbithole (after leaving it for like, 3 years, sheesh this brings me back).

Regardless of whether or not you have an update planned for that fic, I just want you to know that I love it very much and I'm so happy with what you've already put out; of course I would love for there to be more, but what we already have is more than I could have expected. Yugito & Naruto, particularly, is a friendship I wished could've been explored more and your fic gave me everything I was hoping for and more. It's one of my all-time favourites, being that it's centered around the jinchuuriki and explores the individual relationships between each one. And the worldbuilding is absolutely insane, so much so I don't think I have the word count to properly describe how I feel about it. I have absolutely fallen in love with this fic, more so than any other. You are the kind of writer I aspire to be.

This has gotten a little offtrack haha, I apologise for that. Basically... even if there isn't a status update on the fic, or any planned update in the near future, I just wanted to say thank you so much for The Rift That Tore This World in Two, it's gotten me through many shit days by making me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

I hope you have a good day!! <3

Oh wow! Thank you!

I never imagined someone would read Rift so much, it’s really exciting for me! I was smiling for like an hour after I read this you really made my week.

I do have a status update available. The first half of the next chapter is written and I’ve been picking away at the second half. It’s definitely going to be slow going on updates but my goal is to get at least one chapter out per year. Fingers crossed it will happen sooner.

I have the rest of the story all plotted out already, so I want to finish it. It will get there someday!

[cagesofgold]

GEL

Shigaraki Tomura x Reader

“Easy does it…” You cooed, pressing your fingers to the side of his neck and kneading the soothing gel into the fraying skin. He winced in response to your movements, face crestfallen and eyes which always harboured his orphic thoughts downcast to his hands - where he fidgeted. You’d take a glance at his face ever so often, the plains which weren’t hidden by his tufts of pale hair slightly flushed by your closeness - the intimacy of your current act. Kindness he had never been shown.

The room was quiet, the dim warmth from the lamp resting on his bedside cast just enough light onto his rigid body to ensure the precision of your application. Your pyjamas would ruffle with the breeze from the window you had cracked open when you first entered his bedroom, where he sat hunched over his desk, fingernails digging rifts into his battlefield of a neck.

Each scar, each piece of skin that had been scratched raw filled you with unease. Unchecked emotions leading to the abuse of the only outlet he had, himself.

Dip. Your nail picked up a new clot of gel, and you adjusted yourself on his bed as you raised your hand upwards once again. He still never met your eyes, yet his previously sporadic fidgeting grew more consistent as his leg began to bounce - his bottom lip receding under his teeth in an anxious means to relieve some of whatever he was feeling.

“Tomura?” You whispered, vocal chords wrapped in every piece of empathy you could harvest from deep within you. He hummed in response, peeling one hand from the other as he ran it along his pulsing knee - breathing growing ragged.

Strangely, during your time in the league you were so accustomed to seeing Shigaraki as your leader. To follow him blindly, trust his wisdom like it was a spoken oath, footsteps moulding into his.

And yet, as you sat before him, knees tucked under yourself and gel slipping down your fingers. You saw for a split second, his truth. He was just a boy. You forgot sometimes, that he was younger than you - only 20 and was already leading the entirety of the anti - hero movement of Japan. A boy who had been wronged by every person in his life, and it made every protective vein inside of you pulse with anguish.

His countenance was marcid, and when your fingers gently traced along the side of his jaw his spine stiffened. The whisper of his name which fell from your lips reverberating around his entire body and rewriting every circuit that had been carefully crafted by those around him, cultivated until he was a prime product of his cruel environment.

“Tomura.” You smiled gently, pulling his face towards you softly. His eyes met yours for the first time since you popped the lid off the gel, and the usual sturdiness of his irises were replaced by unsteady waves of confusion. Confusion to how he felt, and the horrific realisation that he would never feel the same.

Your touch was like nothing he had ever had the pleasure of knowing. No firm pressure was planted, no spiteful words spit from your lips. You just smiled. Rubbing your thumb against the face he never wanted to look at - your eyes telling him everything he pleaded to hear his entire life.

Maybe everything will be okay. Maybe the blow to his well constructed persona has shone light on the true fragmented person beneath it. And it was all thanks to you.

“Can I do the other side, now?”

God, he’d do anything for you.

[zapreportsblog]

Hi deary!!

So I'm in the mood for some angst!

Could you write about poly! Lost boys x reader who after an argument with them (why idk) is very quiet, because they told reader that their voice is annoying and complaining how annoying their voice is.

What would they do?

I was thinking a lil sexy time? (about how much they love their voice lol) if you don't do angst then just skip this part hahah

↱ fractured bonds ↰

➘ summary : the lost find themselves at odds with their mate (y/n), seems one wrong choice of words ruined that bond… or did it?

➘ the lost boys x reader , marko x paul x reader x david x dwayne

➘ a/n : had to rewrite this because I mixed up the fandoms so I do apologize for that

The winds of Santa Carla swept through the bustling boardwalk, carrying laughter and the scent of the sea. Among the vibrant crowd, (y/n) moved with a bright energy, her infectious laughter catching the attention of everyone around her. She was a burst of sunshine among the dark undercurrents of the town.

But her laughter and vivacity were not limited to her human life. The Lost Boys – Dwayne, Paul, Marko, and David – had been captivated by (y/n)'s spirit, drawn to her like moths to a flame. They were a group of vampires who roamed the night, seeking thrills and defying death.

One evening, as the moon hung heavy in the sky, (y/n) found herself at odds with her mates, their tension palpable. The topic that had ignited their disagreement was a trivial one – (y/n)'s impending transformation into a vampire. She wasn't ready for it, and the Lost Boys were growing impatient with her hesitation.

In the dimly lit lair they called home, the argument escalated into a heated exchange. Voices clashed, emotions ran high, and (y/n)'s bubbly demeanor was overshadowed by frustration.

"(Y/n), you've been a human for so long. It's time to embrace your true nature," David argued, his eyes dark and stormy.

"No, David," (y/n) retorted, her voice quivering with a mix of determination and fear. "I want to hold onto my humanity a little longer. I'm not ready to change."

Dwayne and Paul exchanged glances, tension radiating between them. Marko leaned against a wall, his arms crossed, as if waiting for the confrontation to escalate.

"Enough!" David's voice boomed, his patience at an end. "You're being stubborn, (y/n). We're not asking for much."

(Y/n)'s eyes blazed with defiance, her frustration reaching its peak. "I won't be forced into this, David. My decision is mine alone."

As the words hung in the air, a charged silence settled over the room. The atmosphere was thick with anger, each heartbeat a drumming reminder of the tension that had erupted.

In the stillness that followed, David's lips twisted into a snarl. "Shut up, (y/n)! Your voice is annoying."

A stunned hush fell upon the group, (y/n)'s eyes wide with shock. It was as if time had frozen, a chasm of hurt and resentment separating them.

And as the chapter came to an end, the words lingered in the air like an echo, a painful reminder of the fractured bond between (y/n) and David. The shadows of their disagreement stretched out, leaving their fate hanging on a precipice of uncertainty.

The days that followed the explosive argument were marked by an eerie silence that hung over the lair like a heavy fog. (Y/n) had become a mere whisper of her former self, her vibrant spirit dampened by the pain of the confrontation. Her laughter had vanished, replaced by a haunting quietness that the Lost Boys found deeply unsettling.

Dwayne, the quietest and perhaps the most empathetic of the group, was the first to truly sense the rift that had formed between them. One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, he gathered Paul, Marko, and David together in the dimly lit chamber they called home.

"We need to talk," Dwayne began, his voice heavy with concern. "Something isn't right. Our bond with (y/n) is weakening."

The others exchanged worried glances, their expressions mirroring the concern that had etched itself onto Dwayne's face.

"What do you mean?" David asked, his voice laced with unease.

"It's like every day she draws further away from us, it's hurting me more," Dwayne confessed, his voice tinged with sadness. "I can feel it – the connection that once bound us is fraying."

Paul's brow furrowed, his thoughts racing. "But why? What did we do wrong?"

Dwayne's gaze shifted towards the window, his eyes distant. "I don't know, but we need to find out before it's too late."

And so, guided by their shared concern, the Lost Boys sought out Max, the charismatic owner of a local video store who seemed to hold secrets beyond what met the eye.

Sitting in Max's dimly lit office, the group spilled out their worries, their fears, and the sense of impending loss that had gripped them.

Max leaned back in his chair, studying them with a knowing expression. "The bond of a mate is both strong and fragile, my friends. It's delicate, like a glass sculpture. One wrong move, one misstep, and it can shatter completely."

"But what does that have to do with (y/n)?" Marko asked, his voice laced with desperation.

Max's gaze softened. "A mate bond is a two-way street. If the human mate begins to draw away, to feel pain and heartbreak, it can reverberate through the bond. The vampire mate begins to feel their heart hurting, and if it goes on for too long, it can lead to their own demise."

The room fell into a heavy silence, the gravity of Max's words settling over them like a shroud. The realization hit them like a tidal wave – their bond was teetering on the edge, and (y/n)'s emotional withdrawal was pushing them closer to the brink.

The lair seemed to hold its breath as the Lost Boys gathered in somber unity. Marko's suggestion to confront (y/n) had been met with a unanimous agreement, driven by their shared desire to mend the bonds that had been stretched thin. With a sense of cautious determination, they made their way to the spare bedroom where (y/n) had taken refuge.

The door creaked open, revealing (y/n) sitting on the edge of the bed, her gaze distant. The room was dimly lit, the shadows emphasizing the weight of their situation.

Marko, his voice gentle, was the first to speak. "We need to talk, (y/n). Can we come in?"

She offered a weary nod, her eyes briefly meeting his before she looked away.

Paul stepped forward, his expression a mixture of guilt and regret. "We're sorry, (y/n). We were wrong to push you into something you weren't ready for."

(Y/n) didn't respond, her silence speaking volumes about the pain she had been feeling.

Dwayne, his usually calm demeanor showing signs of vulnerability, stepped up next. "I should have intervened, (y/n). I'm sorry for not stopping it before things got out of hand."

Finally, David entered the room, his movements slow and deliberate. He knelt beside (y/n)'s bed, his gaze locked onto her downcast eyes.

"(Y/n)," he began, his voice uncharacteristically soft, "I want to apologize for my behavior. I was an ass, and I shouldn't have spoken to you that way."

Tears welled up in (y/n)'s eyes as she looked at David, a mixture of emotions swirling within her. His vulnerability touched her in ways she hadn't expected.

"I miss your voice too," she admitted, her voice catching slightly. "And I'm tired of feeling like I don't belong anymore."

David gently lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss against her skin. "You do belong, (y/n). You're our mate, and we want you with us."

As the room hung in a delicate balance of vulnerability, (y/n)'s emotions began to unravel. The hurt and pain she had been carrying seemed to seep out with every touch and whispered apology.

David continued, his words sincere. "I love your voice, (y/n). I miss it. I was wrong to tell you to shut up."

The tension that had plagued the room began to dissipate, replaced by a sense of connection and understanding. The Lost Boys' apologies were like stitches threading together the frayed edges of their bond.

The sun painted the horizon with hues of gold and pink as the dawn broke over Santa Carla. Inside the lair of the Lost Boys, (y/n) awoke with a sense of tranquility she hadn't felt in days. The air was tinged with a residual warmth from the night before, a reminder of the passion they had shared.

With a lightness in her step, (y/n) moved about the lair, her cheerful spirit back in full force. Her laughter seemed to echo through the space, and the Lost Boys couldn't help but smile at the sight of her renewed energy.

As the morning progressed, the group gathered, the atmosphere charged with a sense of anticipation. (Y/n)'s cheerful demeanor had returned, and her mates exchanged knowing glances, their hearts lifted by her transformation.

Dwayne, ever the gentle soul, approached (y/n), his eyes softening as he spoke. "You seem different today, (y/n)."

Her smile widened, radiant with a newfound resolve. "I am different, Dwayne. I've made a decision."

The others leaned in, their curiosity piqued. "What decision?" Marko asked, his voice brimming with enthusiasm.

(Y/n)'s gaze locked onto David's, her expression unwavering. "I'm ready. I want to be turned."

The joy that erupted in the room was palpable, a chorus of cheers and smiles that reflected their relief and happiness. Yet, David's eyes held a trace of concern.

He stepped forward, his hand offering a small bottle of blood. "Are you sure about this, (y/n)? You don't have to do it if you're not ready."

Taking the bottle from him, (y/n)'s fingers brushed against his, the connection between them sparking a sense of security. "I'm ready, David. I want this – as long as you all stay by my side."

A collective sigh of relief seemed to fill the room, a testament to the strength of their bond. The Lost Boys gathered around (y/n), their expressions a mixture of pride and affection.

"We're not going anywhere," Paul assured, his voice carrying a promise that echoed in each of their hearts.

David's gaze held an intensity that pierced through (y/n)'s soul. "We're in this together, (y/n). No matter what."

(Y/n) felt a mixture of excitement and apprehension. The road ahead was uncertain, the transformation she was about to undergo a step into the unknown. But she knew that as long as the Lost Boys were by her side, she could face anything that came her way with a fearless heart.

[bumblevoid]

had a randomidea while writing the outline for my long fic and now im just writing fictional sci fi police records. what happeneD--

[centeris2]

What people think I mean when I say I miss the old SSO: 4 polygon graphics, low texture world map, janky animations and models, original character designs, honestly idk

What I actually mean: SSO's storyline before it went through several years of retcons and rewrites, deviating from the original Starshine Legacy games and Star Stable quests I played.

(So much has happened and it's been 10+ years since I started I don't remember the story anymore. What's the intro sequence say now? I know they redid the intro quests but not I'm spending $70ish rebuying (and replaying) the game. What quests have been removed that I still think are canon because how I would know they've been removed? What's even the story sequence anymore, I see people 'breaking the order' of quests on accident? Do people still do any Druid rep via druid training? Is there still rep grinding with closing Pandoric rifts with the shadow vacuum thing? What about those Pandoric Energy Reading dailies where you used the rune wand and it was kind of musical?? Do the Kallter get mentioned or are they 100% gone? I don't know and I shouldn't HAVE to make and buy a whole new account to find out and understand what is going on in the story!)

God I wish this game would be released as a Single Player Story game so it was a complete package when it was finished. Because I'm sure once the story is done and cleaned up it'll be okay, or at least on par with the Starshine Legacy games' storyline (which let's face it, were pretty bare bones, they didn't have much budget/resources to do much)

[theyapper0]

LUCIFER AND LILITH!!!! Here are my designs for them (⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠)

So there's a LOT of changes I made for them, both in their designs AND their story/personalities that I won't go TOO into detail about here bc my next post is gonna be dedicated to their dynamic and their backstory and whatnot :)

BUT I WILL tell you that they actually MADE Charlie (like they literally molded a doll/child out of the elements of Hell and brought it to life with Satanic magic- she's like Pinocchio hahaha) so she was never a baby.

But that's also why her horns are crooked, one of her horns drooped when Lucifer was molding them (it was his fault LOL, he's sloppy)

Also Lilith -and by extension Adam and Eve- are Persian and African bc there are a lot of implications in the bible that the Garden of Eden was located in the middle east. AND also humans first evolved in Africa so I basically just combined real life evolution with Christianity to determine their races when they were human/alive

(I'll elaborate more in this in another post but those Hunting Trips you see w Lucifer and Charlie is especially just when Charlie was younger her and Lucifer would go out and torture/kill Sinners, a nice bonding time. I imagine that as Charlie got older, she realized that that was SUPER WRONG and stopped going out w him to do it- it caused a huge rift between them 🤐🤐)

AND CHARLIE DOES NOOOOOT HATE LUCIFER I PROMISE!!! THEY BOTH LOVE EACH OTHER BUT THEIR RELATIONSHIP IS JUST REALLY STRAINED........

AND ALSO in this rewrite, Lucifer is not in season 1 at ALL!!! Like, he'll be mentioned here and there but we do NOT see him in the first season. I just think that the writers relied on him way too much when it came to conflict (like his first appearance was in ep 5 and then he shows up to save the day in ep 8......... (and i DONT like how he was basically the only reason they won the war and how Charlie was able to get the meeting w Heaven in the first place, it feels like they took a lot of power away from Charlie, it was her problem, she shouldnt have had to call dAdDy to help her ykwim????)

[fazedlight]

Kara was supposed to be a Worldkiller.

Let me explain why I wrote Darkness in All Things.

The crux of it really starts with this canon line. In 3x11, Kara ventures to Fort Rozz to find Jindah Kol Rozz - the priestess witch who might know how to defeat Reign.

It's there that Jindah - who emphasizes that there is "darkness in all things, in every soul you know" - reveals that Reign is not the only worldkiller. The others will awake, and unite beneath the banner of Reign.

The Power. The Pestilence. The Purity.

But who is Power?

To answer who is Power, we may need to start with who are the worldkillers.

In the comics, the worldkillers were created by Zor-El (who also experimented on his daughter). There were actually many worldkillers before Krypton's destruction, including Reign and her three followers.

This show has a way of reinventing comic plots. The black mercy plot, Red Son, World's Finest - all comic lore that was reimagined for Arrowverse Kara.

In season 3, we see Erica Durance (famous for Smallville's Lois Lane) take on the role of Alura. This in itself implies something big for Alura. It's not too much of a stretch to think that maybe she would take Zor-El's place as creator of the worldkillers.

And it would sure explain Sam's nightmare above, which we see at the very end of 3x01, and is never addressed again.

So we have a hint that there may be a fourth worldkiller named Power, and that perhaps Alura would take Zor-El's role in the comic of having created them. Why Kara?

Kara dreams of the worldkillers - for reasons she doesn't quite understand. But she only dreams of three. If Jindah says there are four, why don't we see the fourth in Kara's dream?

I've spoiled it already, of course: the dreamer is one.

So why didn't we see Worldkiller Kara?

It's important to note that an abusive showrunner was fired in the middle of the season - prompting rewrites & the odd midspring break.

It explains why the nightmare with Alura was never revisited, why Lena wasn't made evil despite the showrunner saying otherwise, and why Sam survived when the plot & casting call hinted at Sam's death & Ruby being adopted by Alex. It also explains why the show emphasized Alura's line from the pilot - you will do extraordinary things - 3x02 Triggers.

I could be wrong, of course - but it's still an idea that ate at me. What would it look like for Kara have to wrestle with a destructive purpose? How would the team defeat the worldkillers if their strongest fighter was one of them? What would that mean for the rift that was developing between Lena and Kara with the kryptonite and spying?

... which is why I wrote Darkness in All Things.

[braunbakery]

oohh can it be like ‘are we still friends?’ a modern au? that’s one of my favs ❤️

don't delete the kisses

☞ jean kirstein x fem reader [ one-shot word count: 4.2k]

☞ sfw, angst with fluff at the end i promiseeeee, modern college au

☞ plot: 'rewriting old excuses, delete the kisses at the end' - even after you break up - jean kirstein seems to occupy a lot more space in your head than you'd care to admit.

☞ inspired by don't delete the kisses - wolf alice

☞ don't delete the kisses

when you and jean first broke up it was more so a scramble to make sure everything was okay for everybody around you. that everything could resolve to being as close to normal as before without anyone feeling in anyway inconvenienced, awkward, or disappointed due to the rift now between the two of you.

at least, that was what it was like for you.

of course people wanted to make sure you were okay, they were your friends and they cared about you. but they were both of your friends, and despite how much everyone wanted to pretend that that made no difference, it made it all the more difficult to even imagine talking about how you felt. (how you actually felt – which was more than disappointed or frustrated or a little upset – as you had been basically rattling off like a mantra to whoever asked.)

so you adapted.

you made friends outside of this mutual friend group, you adopted new hobbies, you had a means of escape when you no longer wanted to watch everyone laugh over jean’s antics like he was such a breath of joy. when you felt this bitter pessimism sink in at the wrong time, you adapted.

because it definitely wasn’t a dramatic break up. it was perfectly amicable.

(“i’m so sorry,” jean practically sobs into your shoulder as you both sit in his dark car, shrouded by the trees outside and only accompanied by crickets and the occasional distant car horn.

“it’s okay, it’s okay,” you’re repeating over and over, swallowing your own tears, “i’ll be fine.”

“i just can’t do it–” jean hiccups and slightly leans back to hold your face in his palms and nudge his nose against yours, “ i don’t know why...i just can’t. and i’m trying, i swear.”

“i believe you,” you whisper, grasping onto his shirt, “i know you are.”

“i- i’ve never felt this way about anyone else. i’m just not ready.”

you can’t bring yourself to say anything back to that. you don’t want him to see you break and you don’t know if it’s because you don’t want him to tear himself apart with the guilt of what he’s doing to you or from some twisted sense of pride – some desire to make sure he doesn’t think he has as much of an effect on you as he really does.

it seems worse that he can tearfully speak of how much he feels for you yet he’s still unable to actually be with you.

you know that the truth is you probably won’t be fine. that in your heart, in your soul, you would’ve stayed with him for as long as possible. there was no thought in your head of when this would potentially end, no plan in the future that didn’t somehow automatically account for him.

this obviously wasn’t the case for him.

he hugs you tighter than he ever has before and you feel like your heart is about to lurch out of your body and try batter its way into his. why must it be that when you are completely and utterly committed to him, he is hindered by some unexplainable force in his mind to do the same for you? why can’t it be another girl? why can’t it be that he’s moving away? why does it have to be just…him?

“i’m sorry,” he says a final time after he drives you to your doorstep. he holds your hand and gazes at you one last time and you can’t help but offer him a smile to try ease his pain. it is too difficult for you to feel in anyway betrayed, at least in this moment, because you are too busy thinking of how he feels. you want to hold him for the rest of the night as he sobs and sobs about hurting you.

you feel utterly pathetic.

that night, when you are finally in your bed, you let the first feeling that isn’t in some way catering to him through. it is the sensation of your heart caving in. )

eventually it gets easier. the concerned glances go from sparse to none and you follow almost a routine. when you pass each other on campus it’s a friendly smile, when you’re seated next to each other you act as if it is anyone else, and when you’re at the same parties and he kisses someone you turn away and hold your breath and hope no one can tell.

you pretend that it was never you on the receiving end, that it was never you laughing away with him or swaying to whatever stupid song is playing, or holding his hand as you weave through the crowd, or occupying one single corner of the room for the majority of the night or–

you just pretend.

and when the group brings up dates jean is going on that you had no idea about, you do that very thing. you sit and you nod and when he catches your gaze as the boys are practically squawking over stupid jokes about jean and how he is somehow going to mess it up, you rip your eyes away and laugh along.

when sasha and mikasa ask how you feel about it, you pretend it makes perfect sense that he’d be going on dates. that it isn’t so utterly confusing, that you aren’t going to lay awake at night wondering why he couldn’t be with you – why he wasn’t ready for you – but he is ready to entertain the idea of someone else. you laugh and you say you wish him luck.

luck is what friends wish each other.

and when you kiss someone yourself, you bury the darkest feeling of hoping he’d see and feel a pang – feel anything more than the baseline friendliness you’ve both resorted to having for each other. that you’ve agreed to only have for each other.

(“fuck, sorry!” jean exclaims before he even realises that the person he’s just walked into and spilled half of his beer on is you.

“shit,” the sticky liquid is soaking through your shirt and is currently trailing its way down your body. you look up at him and you hate that you can tell the redness lightly painted on his cheeks is more so from his alcohol buzz and less from the embarrassment of spilling his drink down a girls shirt.

because it’s you. why would he be embarrassed around you? he knows–

he knew you inside and out.

“i didn’t see you, i swear,” he says, but the genuineness of his apology is given away by the cheeky smile adorning his face, “suits you though.”

“shut up, jean,” you quickly remark, taking off your jacket and trying to pat yourself dry.

“here,” and jean is suddenly taking off the plaid shirt he has thrown on top of his t-shirt and using it to pat you down. or more so using it for his sad attempt at helping.

“i don’t think that’s really doing anything, jean.”

“no, no. trust me,” he quickly interjects, and you can’t help but mirror the stupid smile he has on his face.

“jean, it’s fine. i’ll just get a paper tow– ”you attempt to side step him, but he’s shoved in front of you, still pushing his shirt to your top. but this time he’s a lot closer.

this time if you just reached up to your tip toes, you could brush your nose against his. and you’re suddenly hyperaware of your proximity and how there is no one else around you and how the blaring music of whatever party your group all decided to go to tonight is all but muffled in this kitchen.

jean’s eyes travel up from the stain on your top to you and you feel like you’re frozen in place. it’s been months since you broke up – a year maybe. you’ve both watched each other kiss other people, you’ve listened to him recount those stupid dates and pretend you don’t harbour some kind of bitter resentment towards him for it.

but right now it seems like no time at all has passed.

it seems like only yesterday you were leaning into each other, just like you are now. it seems like only yesterday jean’s hand slowly but instinctively went up to the side of your neck, like it is now. you’ve never realised how easy it is to fall into old habits.

“jean?” you mutter faintly, and he looks down at your lips mouthing his name and you swear you think your heart is going to stop. his eyes flick back up to you and you can see yourself through them.

“yeah?” he mindlessly responds, “are you okay?”

are you? you could kiss him now. you could let him kiss you now. just for a moment. and tomorrow you’d make yourself forget, tomorrow you’d pretend it was one big blip – something just between you and him.

when you nod your head at his question his hand slides up into the hair at your nape and it feels so familiar, so comfortable, that it is so easy to forget you have not been this close to jean in almost a year. you have not spent this much time alone with jean in almost a year. you have not heard him not speak to you in the same transactional tone you’d speak to a shop assistant with in almost a year.

“i –”

the door to the kitchen is opening behind you and you’re both practically jumping away from each other, hearts beating so fast against your chests and eyes wide and worried. jean watches whoever’s interrupted whatever weird moment you were having rummage through the cupboards and looks back at you.

“i’ll see you–” you start.

“later.” he instinctively finishes off for you, before pausing for a moment and making his way around you and back out into the bustling party.

you don’t see him for the rest of the night.)

it does really start feel like you’re friends sometimes. and you suppose living with that just becomes a way of life. the weird lingering feeling when you first see him still remains – but it starts to feel normal. you start to simply allow it the space to live and hope that on its own accord it’ll leave.

and sometimes, with all the time that has passed and all the other flings with boys you’ve had, it feels stupid. and sometimes, you’re tired of feeling stupid so you just feel it.

you text about assignments in classes you share, you text about carpooling when jean is bringing a few of you somewhere. and, yes, it is the most surface level friendship and the conversation will never really expand from those two topics and maybe you are yet to actually spend any time together alone. maybe there is some hidden agenda between your friends to not let there be moments where you two have to be alone – but this is better than whatever the lonely alternative would be.

however, it seems whatever way your friends have been figuring out to not have you two alone for the past year and a half (disregarding the party incident – they will never know about that) is failing.

because you’re currently stranded at a bus stop for a bus that doesn’t look like it will ever come, trying to make it to connie’s house for his goodbye party before he goes away for the summer and almost an hour late. because you’re staring down at your phone trying to figure out how you feel, trying to reason with your gritted teeth and racing heart that everything will be okay.

staring down at jean’s message into the group chat you all share after you’ve explained your situation.

jean

Only leaving mine now I’ll swing by and get you

fuck.

this is not something you have a plan for. this is not a situation that you’ve dealt with before in the tribulations that have followed your break up. this doesn’t have a solution tucked away in your head. there is no adapting to this, there is no pretending, there is just you alone with jean in his car for the first time since you broke up. the last time you were in that stupid fucking car was when you broke up and oh god, what a joke.

you know he’s driving and he won’t check his phone so there’s no point in telling him not to and figuring out some alternative transport. and you know he’s not waiting for some confirmation from you because…because you know him.

cars are speeding past you and you’re trying so hard to get a handle on your thoughts but you can’t seem to just get a grip. it feels like every next car is going to be him. you turn your back to the road and try to start writing some kind of text to mikasa…but what is there to even say?

you’ve crafted the perfect unbothered-about-jean persona over the past year and a half. you’ve basically mastered a straight face whenever a crude joke is made about him and whatever girl he’s casually seeing, you’ve perfected acting completely normal when asked about him – you cannot give yourself away.

no, you refuse to give yourself away.

“hey!” a voice bellows out from behind you, and you can instinctively tell that when you turn around it’s going to be jean with his elbow hanging out his open car window. so you do – you turn around (and you’re right about his exact pose, but that’s a victory you don’t allow yourself to celebrate) and you make your way to the passenger side, get in, close the door and brace yourself.

“thanks for getting me,” you say as you put on your seat belt and jean pulls out onto the road.

“no worries.”

it’s only when you’re well on your way that you can think of something else to say – any kind of bland conversation to cut you out of your thoughts.

“how come you’re late?”

“how come you are?” jean almost instinctively says.

“no need to get defensive,” you laugh.

“what can i say,” jean smiles, “i’m quite a private person.”

“oh, really?”

“yep,” he swiftly responds, eyes darting to you before he sighs, “i fell asleep watching a movie.”

now you’re cackling, “of course you did, jean.” you try not to notice the corners of his mouth turning upwards as you laugh and he focuses on the road.

“you didn’t say why you were, i can’t be the only one revealing all here.”

“i wouldn’t say this is revealing all,” you say and jean animatedly rolls his eyes, “i was at work.”

“oh,” jean replies, “work…where’re you working now?” he asks with such hesitance, like it’s almost rude for him to want to know anything about your life beyond what he knew when he was with you and the bits and pieces he can put together from everyone else. you try not to think about how you wish you could tell him everything – everything that has changed and everything that hasn’t.

“the same shop.”

“that shop is a shithole–”

“hey!” you’re immediately interjecting and jean is chuckling at your offense.

“it is!”

jean starts swatting your hand away with one hand as you try to punch him in his arm, laughing in a way you haven’t heard him for a while. in a way you haven’t had a chance to hear.

“take it back, take it back” you’re repeating in between lunges and jean exclaiming ‘you’re gonna get us both killed’ and ‘i’m literally driving’.

“fine! i take it back!” he’s saying as the car finally comes to a standstill in a long line of traffic. he looks over to you for the first time this entire ride, turning his entire head and scanning your face. you hope your composure holds, “all i’m trying to say is that it doesn’t deserve you.”

you really hope your composure holds.

“right,” you say after a pause. jean’s eyes flit between yours and you feel like maybe there’s something more you’re supposed to say. maybe there’s something more he’s trying to say. or maybe the ultimately doomed remnants of your feelings towards him combined with his unwavering stare and tapping fingers on his wheel are making you think things and see things that don’t make sense.

jean only turns his head back to the road when a car horn blares behind him and he realises the light’s gone green.

“fuck,” jean raises his hand up to the driver and then glances at you as the car moves again, “sorry.”

“distracted,” you quip, and jean laughs again.

“i guess you could say that.”

“what’s on your mind?” you ask.

“huh? nothing.” his head momentarily turns to you, “beer.” and you both break out into the same smiles you used to wear around each other without noticing.

“not your familiar brigade of girls?” you’re saying without realising, and before you can even begin to regret your stupidly pointed joke, jean is guffawing so loudly you’re convinced he’s going to run the next red light.

“brigade?!” he questions, looking at you with wide eyes, “you’re making me sound like some sort of…” he loses his words and you feel maybe you really did take him by surprise with your unexpected candour.

“some sort of what?” you implore.

jean is silent, then turns to you with feigned annoyance and a twinkle in his eye, “shut up.”

and you’re both laughing and looking at each other and there it is again. that twinkle. that sparkle. you could miss it if you didn’t know exactly where to find it from so long ago.

a comfortable silence settles between the two of you and you can tell connie’s house is nearby. jean speaks first, “i can assure you there’s no such brigade.”

you snigger, “i don’t need to be assured.”

then jean is pulling into connie’s house and you can slightly make out music blaring from inside and silhouettes through the drawn curtains and the last bit of light from the late summer sun. he turns off the engine and you wait for him to take out his keys, yet he never does. you stare at the door handle, yet never go to pull it. neither one of you is making a move and when you turn your head to him, he’s already looking at you.

“i– ” “i–” you both attempt to start simultaneously, and then cut yourselves off with laughter.

“we haven’t spoken properly in so long,” jean eventually starts, “like this i mean.” (your heart is in your throat. you wonder if he can make out its outline when he looks at you.)

“yeah,” you softly say, “i know.”

“it’s nice.”

“it is.”

you’re looking at each other in silence again, and you can tell that his mind is racing with thoughts and he’s waiting to see which one catches onto his tongue and makes its way out. you think he can probably tell the same about you. it’s like some kind of competition, some game on who is going to keep this conversation going so you can stay in the car together for longer. alone.

you wonder if anyone inside has peeked through the window and noticed yet.

“you know…” jean speaks again and you are internally grateful, because you don’t think you can trust yourself to say anything right now, “you know, i notice that you avoid me, right?”

“that is not true.”

jean practically giggles at your immediate denial.

“it is,” he says, “it’s fine. i think i understand.”

“you do?”

“yeah, i–” jean trips over his own words, like they keep getting muddled in his mouth and he has to sound them out in his head before he can continue, “like… i can imagine it’s not easy. it wasn’t for me.”

your eyebrows instinctively raise, “it wasn’t?”

he laughs, and you suppose it is stupid to assume that he wasn’t in anyway upset about breaking up or stressed about having to maintain a friendship with you. you suppose it was easier to assume he didn’t care about you, like he was some kind of heartless villain.

“well, was it for you?”

you pause. a decision: how honest can you be with the person that seems to have haunted you for so long?

“no,” you shake your head, “not really. not at first.”

now jean’s eyebrows raise, “so it is now?”

“i… i don’t know,” the words practically tumble out of you, “why are you asking?”

your phone buzzes in your lap and both of your eyes instinctively dart to the lit up screen.

mikasa

You coming in?

you look back up at the house and can spot the curtain rustling. you’ve been noticed. but when you look back at jean, regardless of whatever audience might be wondering what you two are still doing in the car, you still have no desire to leave. this might be the only chance you have to finally be honest with yourself – with anyone – about how you feel.

you take a deep breath, and jean watches you carefully.

“you…” you try to start, unsure of what you’re saying or what you’re trying to achieve, “you know you really hurt me?”

“i know,” jean nods, regret undeniably flashing in his eyes, “i will always feel so bad–”

“you made me feel…small. like i wasn’t enough–”

“you are enough,” jean looks like he’s almost pleading with you. it feels like you’re back in his car on that damned night. like you’re back walking on eggshells and waiting for one to finally pierce through your foot.

“then…then why would you go on dates when you said you weren’t ready for a relationship? that you couldn’t do it?”

your throat feels raw and tight. you cannot break in front of him again. jean seems surprised to hear his words from that night repeated back to him.

“i don’t know. it was stupid,” he breathes, “i…i was trying to forget.”

“forget what?”

“forget you.”

it feels like if the world was to collapse around you, you would not be able to bat an eyelid if you were to remain in this car with jean. it’s a terrifying thought and it feels like the rush of your blood and the pulsing of your heart is going to get too big for your body and you’re going to burst.

“and did it help?” you slowly ask – and you don’t know why. you don’t know why it matters. you’re over. you’ve been over. whatever he answers doesn’t matter, it doesn’t change anything. it won’t change anything.

right?

jean is staring at you with enough intent to make you want to melt, like he means to take in every part of your face and sear it into his memory. it makes your head foggy.

“i…” jean’s chest is rising and falling and only then do you notice that yours is as well. and you are out of breath.

“you?”

“i was scared. you’re… you’re so good and i’m–” he’s practically mumbling. but you can hear him, you always hear him, “i don’t know what i am. it just felt like i was going to ruin you.”

suddenly a tear is rolling down your cheek. and another and another and jean is leaning into you like he’s meaning to catch them.

“why didn’t you say that?” you whisper.

“because i didn’t deserve you,” he says like it is the most obvious thing, “i don’t deserve you.”

“jean…” your hand is reaching up to his jaw, and you’re cupping his cheek without even thinking, thumb swiping over stubble, “that’s not true.”

“i don’t say the right things,” jean interjects, “i don’t do the right things. i never did. it just feels like i’ve been living in…some fucking limbo around you.” he leans his head on your hand, and then slowly picks up your other one and laces his fingers through it.

his hand fits like always. like it’s meant to.

you sigh, “what do you want from me, jean?”

“for you to not hate me.”

you giggle, “unfortunately, i could never hate you.” you feel his teeth against your palm as he beams at you, eyes watering and heart pounding.

“i… i want you.”

“really this time?”

“there was never a time i didn’t.”

he peers at you, like he’s trying to see into your head and unravel your thoughts one by one to read for himself. this time when he nestles his head into your hand again, he brings his head closer and closer to you, until you feel his breath fanning your damp cheeks.

nose to nose.

“please just let me…” he murmurs, eyes unwavering and hand gripping yours.

“okay,” you say softly, and he’s slowly but surely kissing you like you’re made of glass. like any wrong move and you will crumble right in front of him. you can feel the final tears that were resting on your waterline make their way down your face and he pulls away to let go of your hand and wipe them away.

he presses his lips to the exact spot on your cheek where they once were.

“i’m not stupid anymore,” he says. you laugh quietly.

“okay.”

“and i want you.”

you nod your head and he smiles, then kisses you again.

[genericpuff]

Hello! Recently got into your lore rekindled series and as a (used to be) fan of lore Olympus I LOVE what you have done to the world and characters. Everything flows so naturally and you actually made Persephone a cool protagonist.

One question I had (if it will come up in future episodes no need to answer) is will Persephone’s interest in law school be a thing? When I was rewriting my own AU of lore Olympus I used Persephone’s interest in law to be the reason why she went to the Underworld and met Hades. As in the original comic it says that the underworld creates the finest lawyers in a throw away line. I also used Persephone’s love of law to be one of the major reasons why she and Demeter being to have conflict. Demeter wanting her to be into agriculture and horticulture like her and seeing Persephone becoming a soulless lawyer creating one of the driving conflicts of their relationship.

Heyo! Thanks so much, I'm glad you like it! <3

There won't really be a law school interest in Rekindled as that already felt like a half-thought-out plotline in LO with very little foundation (and honestly I always saw that mention about the Underworld having the only law school as a throwaway joke about lawyers being terrible people from hell LOL)

HOWEVER she still does have her own motivations for wanting to work in the Underworld that remain to be fully seen. There are lil' hints here and there that have been dropped (and more on the way, esp in the next couple episodes) but I'm waiting to see who pieces the puzzle together by the time it's revealed ;)

That idea you just pitched though for Persephone wanting to pursue law instead of agriculture would have been really interesting! I feel like if Rachel had actually planned out that plotline more she could have definitely gone at it from that angle. Couold have even set it up in the beginning for her to go to law school in the Underworld instead of university in Olympus which could have created an interesting scenario as that would have explained a lot more why Demeter didn't want her to move away.

I still would have been annoyed at the rift between them existing at all but it would have made more sense than "mom signed me up for the virgin club and now she's mad that I'm running off with the 2000+ year old man >:(" LMAO (or at least the way LO writes it, bleh)