#this tag is here to cause space to be taken up to avoid a spoiler!!

[skellebonez]

72 and 73 for a continuation/part 3 of that thing with Macaque impersonating Pigsy and then nabbing Tang because AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHALSKMGAOWMFE?

Exactly what does Macaque have planned... I wonder. Original Prompt! The Sequel!

Don’t you dare./You’re putting an awful lot of trust in them.

Everything was warmer than Tang had expected when he woke up.

The scholar wasn't sure what Macaque had given him, probably some stolen pain medication from the nearby hospital, but he must have giving him something at some point when he was still half out of it. Or even when he was unconscious. At least his head had stopped hurting so much. His eye was still sore and was certainly going to be bruised for days, but he would manage. He just wished he could see without his glasses.

He'd been taken... somewhere. He wasn't sure where. It didn't feel like the demon monkey had gone far enough fast enough to be outside the city at least, and Tang was certain he could hear cars honking far off. But he was hurt and he couldn't be entirely confident in his guesses. But he had to try to figure something out. Because Macaque wanted something that Tang knew he could not have under any circumstances.

There was a palpable fear running down his spine, icy and cold, as he waited for the demon monkey to return. He hadn’t seen him once since waking up, at least since waking up fully coherent, but there was no way he wouldn’t return soon. He had to have something up his sleeve, something that he would hold over Tang’s head... he worried, for a moment, if he would use his own form to hurt Pigsy... Tang had invariable hurt the chef more than he could possibly make up for in his knee jerk reaction... if only he had taken the time to think! Go to Sandy first instead of going to get the artifact... maybe MK would be safe at home right now instead of wherever he was.

He remembered somewhere, in the vague coherence of his concussion, Macaque had explained part of what had happened. Maybe he just wanted to gloat. He’d had this planned for a while, intending to sow discord between the group of MK’s friends to keep them distracted by using Pigsy’s form since he had the most to hide. Use it to get close to MK, hand him over to DBK to get something out of their plan for himself. Tang getting the artifact wasn’t planned, but it made things so much easier. And he had a much better plan now, one that he didn’t need DBK or “his brat” for anymore. He had Tang and all the encyclopedic knowledge his brain held. And that brain knew where the exact thing he wanted might be.

Maybe if he cooperated nicely he would let him go back home.

Tang just hoped that Pigsy would let him apologize when he did. Before he left. Because he knew he had no home to really go back to after this.

"Oh Scholar!" Macaque's voice echoed through the empty building, startling Tang from his thoughts. There was an odd warble to it at first, like the air around him was warping. "I have a little... incentive for you to cooperate. I know I said this could come after but, you know, I’m feeling nice and that little artifact you handed over helped grease the wheels with old DBK pretty easily. Never tell anyone I can't be generous."

Generous? The way Macaque said that made Tang feel he was being anything but. Surely there had to be some kind of trick to-

"M-Mr. Tang?"

“MK?” Tang asked quietly, not wanting to allow himself to believe it was him. Macaque was tricky, a shapeshifter, even his shadow clones of legend could probably shapeshift into whatever form he demanded. But the hope that rose in his chest hurt with the idea that it could have been a lie. What purpose could MK have served to the Demon Bull Family? Would the immortal monkey have really left him there and taken the time to make a clone to trick him when his Wukong disguise had failed so quickly?

But then again... he had believed his Pigsy disguise so readily, in his anger and sorrow muddled mind.

There were two blurs in front of him, judging by the way one of them hovered off the ground he assumed Macaque was holding “MK” in his tail. That smaller blur was tossed at him, and he let out sound of pain as his full body weight slammed into Tang’s stomach.

“Mr. Tang! You’re hurt!” MK said, grabbing onto his face and Tang could almost see the wince of sympathy pain on the younger man’s face. Just this once he was glad he was more nearsighted, even if his vision was bad overall. He heard MK growl, turning back to Macaque as he wrapped a protective arm around the scholar from beside him. “When I get my powers back I’m going to kill you.”

Tang had never heard MK sound like that before. Full of anger and rage and murderous intent. But it was too strong in his voice to be faked, at least that’s how it felt.

“Don’t you dare,” Macaque hissed out, and the room darkened around the two of them. “You may know how to fight, but you’re no match for me even at full power, not with your staff at the bottom of the ocean.” MK froze beside Tang, his hand gripping the fabric of his scarf behind his head as it shook in anger. “That’s what I thought...” The room brightened and Macaque chuckled, and if he wasn’t smirking Tang would have been surprised. “Now, whether or not you make it out of here alive is no skin off my back. Hell, it’d probably be better for me if I got rid of you both before Mr. Man of the Hour shows up. And he will. But in the meantime, we’re going to do three things.”

Macaque moved toward the door, tossing something in their direction. A basket of... something.

“I’m gonna let you two have some quality father-son time before we get the ball rolling.”

And then he was gone. Door opened and slammed shut faster than either could react.

“MK...” Tang started slowly, keeping his breathing even. “What happened on my birthday 4 years ago?”

It was an odd question, one that had clearly thrown the person beside him off. But it was a necessary question. He had to make sure this MK was real. Not a clone made to look and sound like him, and not Macaque in disguise again. No, he needed to know he could trust the person beside him. Hopefully Macaque had been just as through in trying to trick him as he had been in his Wukong disguise.

MK was quiet for a moment, clearly trying his best to remember, before answering. “Your... your apartment burnt down and Pigsy offered you a place to stay. We made you a cake at Pigsy’s and Mei brought everyone cheese tea. I drew you a portrait and you were a mess.” He chuckled, the memory bittersweet. “And you accidentally called me son. It was the first time you did something like that.”

Tang tensed for a moment before reaching over and pulling MK into a tight hug, sighing in relief. He and MK were the only two people who knew that part. There was no reason for Macaque to have asked such a simple but out of left field question to MK before faking him to trick Tang into cooperating. “MK, I am so sorry! I should have done something to stop him, I-I thought he-I should have done more!”

“It’s ok Mr. Tang,” MK said softly, holding his father figure back just as tight. “We’ll figure something out, we always do!” He pulled away from the hug, just enough to pick up the basket in front of them. “At least we won’t starve...”

He held something out and gently took Tang’s hand, pressing some kind of fruit into it. A... peach? No, a plum. It was too dark in color.

“MK... did he tell you what he wanted?” Tang asked, rubbing the skin of the fruit with his fingertips.

“No,” MK admitted, mouth full of plum before Tang could tell him not to eat it. He hoped that Macaque hadn’t tampered with the fruit. “Just that he needed me more than DBK did. Did he tell you anything?”

“Yeah...” Tang said softly, lifting the plum to his lips before taking a bite. If he had tampered with the fruit, to hell with it. He would rather die from poisoned plums than tell him what he wanted, but Macaque would have likely not done that unless it was something that wouldn’t kill him outright. His brain told him 'You’re putting an awful lot of trust in them' when he thought about what he would say, but after all that had happened he had to trust someone. Anyone. “He wants... MK... he wants me to tell him where... a copy of The Golden Fillet is...”

[yona-chan]

Ah! Sorry anon, I read your previous ask completely the wrong way >_<

Imo, 168 is a very intense chapter for the Four Dragons. I know a lot of the spoilers have been focusing on Hak, but my interest was more drawn to how Zeno and Jae-Ha are behaving, and the reaction from Kija and Shin-Ah. Jae-Ha is drawn so beautifully (read: well) in this chapter: you can tell that he’s just so tired. Not in the sense that he’s done caring and wants to give up on his friends/allies (his face when one of Kuervo’s troops points a bow at Kija is nothing short of controlled rage) but I get the sense he wants nothing more than for time to stop so he can catch his breath. Poor man looks exhausted, physically and emotionally. I wanna give him a hug (´;︵;`)

The action in this chapter is also super well-drawn. Like, I think Kusanagi-sensei’s style is always gorgeous, but damn if you wanna see more dragon powers and Hak looking terrifying get pumped! *rubs hands together* It’s pretty darn cool. Waiting eagerly for a Kuervo fight now >:)

Lastly, I’m ngl I actually might have laughed a little at the end of the chapter. All the spoilers I accidentally saw before reading were people flipping that Hak was going to die and I got scared that Kuervo was going to appear and surprise attack Hak sometime during the chapter cause he’d figured out who he was somehow. But nah, Hak gets poked in the side by some no-face and falls off his horse, so that panel that’s been making the rounds of him lying on the ground is the last in the chapter. It’s totally used for shock value and a cliffhanger, but I was expecting so much more that I laughed a little in relief. I mean, I’m sad Hak’s hurt, but if he honestly dies from a no-namer in the middle of the arc without meeting the arc’s villain I’ll eat the clear file they’re giving away with the next issue :P

[halcyonstorm]

Ahhh my final submission for LH drabble week: Angst Monday (yes i posted it on a tuesday)! Please enjoy and comment your thoughts and feedback. @levihan-drabbles

Fandom: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Levi Ackerman/Hange Zoë, Levi Ackerman & Hange Zoë Characters: Levi Ackerman, Hange Zoë Additional Tags: Canon Compliant, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Shingeki no Kyojin Chapter 126: Pride Spoilers, Shingeki no Kyojin Chapter 126: Pride, Shingeki no Kyojin Chapter 132: Wings of Freedom Spoilers, Angst and Feels, right person wrong time, What-If Series: Part 8 of Short Fics Summary:

They just wanted an ending.

The sound of the shotgun rang in Hange’s ears as she shot two of her ex-soldiers dead, tears trickling down her face. She hated that it had to end up like this. She had known them personally, too. The whole world was against them. She took a deep sigh. After surveying the forest and deeming it safe, she returned back to Levi’s side. He was unconscious with Hange’s Survey Corps cloak wrapped around his face. Her heart ached when she started unraveling the cloak, exposing his injured, tainted face. The biggest scar ran from the top of his forehead, through his right eye, into his cheek. She felt herself get overwhelmed seeing him in this shape.

“The pursuers are all gone, Levi…” It’s safe, for now, she wanted to say. You’re safe with me. She knew this was temporary, though. They would never truly be safe again.

-

Hange had begun to set up camp. She pitched a tent, chopped at trees and gathered sticks to start a fire and was able to clean Levi’s wounds and body. He could develop an infection if she didn’t act fast. After all, she wasn’t sure how long he’d been face down in the mud unconscious. She started with his hand, using a wet cloth to clean the dirt as gently as she possibly could. Then, she wrapped his exposed wound, starting at his wrist and weaving the bandage around the empty space on his hand. She brought his hand to her lips and placed a gentle kiss on top. It broke her heart to see him in such critical condition.

After his hand, she tended to his face. She dampened her cloth in the basin of water, slowly and gently caressing his face to clean off the dirt and mud. She took this moment to indulge in admiring him. He looked peaceful, at least for that moment. She brushed his raven black hair out of his face, patting his gash with the cloth, blood crusted on the scar. His skin was smooth as she couldn’t resist the urge to touch his cheek with the back of her hand. His eyelashes were long and straight which she never noticed before. She had never been this close to him before. She made her way down his face to his lips. She dunked the cloth in the basin again, wringing it out, and then dabbed at his lips to cleanse them. As she cleaned him, she felt tears well up in her eyes. 

“The fact that you're still alive with these wounds is because you’re an Ackerman,” she determined, starting to sterilize her needles in the fire. She grabbed the thread and started to stitch his face. She was careful, making sure to only go as deep as she needed to avoid causing more pain. Her heart throbbed in her chest when she imagined how much pain he was in. I wish it were me instead. She thought. After carefully poking and prodding at his face, stitching him up as well as she could, she dumped her tools into a pot of boiling water to be cleansed. She ran a hand through her hair, gripping a chunk of it and squeezing, tempted to pull it out. She felt like she was going to explode. After everything her and Eren had been through, he still turned his back on her and her soldiers. Rage boiled up inside her, poisoning every cell in her body. 

Why couldn’t things be different? She’d ask herself.

“I’d rather the two of us just live here. Right, Levi?” She said softly aloud, turning to look at Levi’s unconscious face. Her selfish ideas spilled from her mouth and into the ears of her partner. She truly wanted to live with him. She wanted a life with him. She wanted to wake up with him every morning, make him tea, explore the forest, forget about the shitty world they were born into for even just a moment. She was grateful he was unconscious and couldn’t hear her. She allowed the tears to flow for just a brief period. No one was around, she was safe to let it go. Her exhale was shaky as her throat tightened. She blinked and hot tears came rushing down. She covered her face with her hands, allowing herself to cry. Not just cry… to sob. Her heart felt as if it was being torn apart strand by strand. Like someone physically shoved their hands inside her chest, pulling it apart. She felt a strong urge to scream, but she covered her mouth tightly with her hand, allowing a few moans to escape.

All she wanted was peace. She wanted all the suffering to end. She wanted Levi to be healthy and happy. She wanted to explore the world with him, try new things with him. There was so much she wanted to do couldn’t, and she knew that. When she joined the Survey Corps, she knew what she signed up for. She wasn’t afraid to die for the cause, but she just wanted Levi to be happy. She knew how deeply he had suffered. He lost his mother, Isabel, Farlan, Gunther, Eld, Petra, Oulo, Mike, Erwin, and countless more soldiers. She would do everything in her power to make him happy and not just survive but to truly live.

Later that evening, she began to work on building the cart to carry Levi. She contemplated carrying him on her back, but it was unrealistic. She was strong, but not strong enough to carry him for possibly days on end. She was working on hammering a nail into the wheel when there was a crash of lightning. Suddenly, she was knelt in soft, white sand. The sky shone turquoise behind her. She placed her makeshift hammer down, leaving an imprint on the sand. She put her hands on the ground to help her stand up. That is where she saw a familiar tall man with his dark brown hair tied in a knot. He was facing away from her, sitting in the sand with his knees to his chest. She slowly walked up to him, sand filling her shoes.

“Eren?” The man turned his head to face Hange. She is hesitant to sit down, but he waves her over to him.

“Hange-san,” he began. “I am sorry for everything.”

“Wh… What are you talking about?”

“You’re going to die soon,” he admitted, drawing circles in the sand. “Levi will try to stop you, but you can’t let him.”

“I don’t understand… how do you know all this?”

“This is all a part of my plan to eradicate the Titans…” he muttered. “But I am sorry it has to end this way. I know how much you and Levi care for each other. It will be painful, I will admit. But it is for a good cause.” 

Hange shook her head in confusion. “What the hell? What will happen to Levi? Isn’t there another way?”

“No… There's no other way. Levi will be survive in the end. Don’t worry about that.” He had already made up his mind. “I am sorry. Go inside. Levi is waiting for you.” As Eren spoke, he pointed into the distance. Suddenly, they weren’t in the sand staring at the turquoise sky anymore. They were in a similar forest with tall pine trees. There was a small cabin with smoke exiting through the chimney. The cabin looked like it was something Hange and Levi could’ve made themselves. She opened the door hesitantly to find Levi sitting in the rocking chair, a cup of hot tea in his hand. 

“Hange, you’re home,” Levi said, pleasantly surprised. She noticed his scar was present, clean and healed. He didn’t wear an eyepatch like she did. His right eye was white and cloudy. He stood up slowly, placed his tea cup in the tea dish, and walked towards her. She was able to admire his outfit. He wasn’t in his military gear, but in a beige sweater and grey trousers. He looked comfortable and at peace, which is what Hange always wanted for him. She was at a loss for words.

“What is this?” 

“This is the most I can give you, Hange-san. A life with Levi.” She felt tears well up in her eyes. “I can let you stay here a little while longer.” Eren disappeared when she looked back to where she heard his voice. She looked at Levi, placing her hands on his cheeks. Levi’s lips curled into a small, sad smile.

“Look at our house, Hange,” he said, gesturing towards the center of the room. She looked away from him to admire the house. Their house. It was very cozy: it had two large burgundy sofas against the back and right wall, a fireplace in the center of the living room which had fierce flames. Levi led her to the kitchen and dining room. The kitchen had off-white square tiles as the floor and wooden cabinets, as well as a stove. There was a wooden table with two chairs. It made Hange’s heart swell, even bringing tears to her eyes. They did get to live together in another life.

“Levi…” she whimpered, looking at him again. He grabbed her hand, interlocking their fingers.

“We’ll be here again, one day…” Levi said. Suddenly, she felt a breeze flow through her hair. Then, the house started to fade into nothingness and blow away. Levi was the last to disappear. Hange felt herself reaching out and grasping for him, begging him to come back. 

Then, she was back to reality; hammer in hand, arm in the air, ready to swing.

What just happened? She asked herself. She felt as if she had taken a long nap, dreaming of a place so distant. She swore she had a dream, but it was long forgotten, deep in her unconscious mind. A tear was streaming down her face, her heart pounding in her chest, as if she just woke up from a nightmare.

“Don’t tell me… Eren… the world…” she muttered. The words came spewing out of her mouth for a reason unknown to her. “LEVI!” She turned to look at her partner only to find out he’d woken up. He was attempting to sit up.

“That damned beast titan…” he groaned, pain overwhelming him. 

“You don’t need to get up,” Hange insisted, placing her hands gently on his chest. He eased back to his previous supine position. “What happened?” He briefly explained what happened, how Zeke was prepared to die for the cause. Hange sighed. She could barely handle the thought of what happened. She did hear the thunder spear go off, after all… She felt guilt tug at her damaged heart. Maybe she could’ve prevented it.

“I know you’re full of regret, but for now…” She was interrupted.

“What's left if we run and hide like this?” Levi asked, looking her in the eyes so fiercely she couldn’t look away.  She felt her face turn red and hot.

“So, you heard my soliloquy, huh…” She mustered up the strength to look away. She was embarrassed, but then she realized he didn’t reject her. He said ‘what if we run away and hide like this?’ Him, her, together. He looked past her shoulder.

“What is that? Are you planning to pull me by horse? I know you, you aren’t able to stay out of the action…” She noticed his eyes were starting to appear wet… was he tearing up?

“That’s right. I can’t.” Hange sighed, looking into her lap.

The two knew what was to come; Hange and Levi knew what was coming from the moment they joined the Survey Corps. Duty first. Love second. They yearned to be together, but they knew that they had met each other at the worst time. Perhaps in another life, they would find peace. They would find freedom from this terrible world and find comfort in each other. They just wanted an ending. An ending to the war, an ending to the suppression of true emotions, an ending to the strain on their hearts since the first day of joining the military. They didn’t care where or how, as long as it was an ending together.

[strawbeebo]

~♡ Shio, Shoyu, Miso ♡~ [3/3]

Fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen

Pairing: Megumi Fushiguro x Fem! (She/Her) Reader

Warnings: SPOILERS!!! the spoiler is implied in the anime already and I think is coming up this week’s episode or the next, however I still want to put a warning just so y’all know!

Words: 3.6K

Genre: Fluff

A/N: the final chapter is here! hope ya enjoy

TAG LIST: @fairytailwzard​ @itadaklmasu​ @thebiggestnaturaldisaster​ @drealugo31 @minnieminnie00-got7

As always, if you enjoy this and want to see more of my work, PLEASE consider reblogging as it’s the best way for my works to get around and keepin’ me motivated to make more for y’all!

PART 1 | PART 2

When Fushiguro didn’t show up the following week, you didn’t pay much mind. The second week of his absence wasn’t that strange either. By the third, however, you were starting to wonder if maybe something happened, but your hopefulness filled your mind with assurances that he was probably just busy, maybe he had some sort of exams coming up or maybe he had just been too tired to make his way into town. Still, your hopefulness could only lift your spirits for so long and after a month of not seeing him, your mind couldn’t help but go to places of self doubt. Had you been too forward? You thought you had done a decent job of hiding your feelings, but maybe you weren’t so clever after all. Maybe he realized and got nervous and, not wanting to have to tell you off, decided it would be best to just cut your friendship short before things got awkward. Or maybe he just was never that interested in your friendship, or rather what you assumed was friendship. Maybe your lovesick mind was just filling in the blanks, putting meaning into every small smile he’d send you or every accidental touch even when he was nothing more than a polite customer. 

Another week and all you felt was embarrassment at the thought that you let your emotions get this out of hand. The two of you were barely friends, he was just a nice guy who made conversation with someone his age while getting a meal. There was nothing special, in fact you probably didn’t even really like him like that. Most of your friends were in relationships and it was making you a little bit of a hopeless romantic is all. You probably would’ve latched onto the first attractive person who gave you attention that could be perceived as romantic interest. Every part of your heart and mind were telling you that it was all just one thing or another, anything but a serious crush, and yet despite all that time and overthinking, eventually you had to admit defeat and throw up the white flag.

You liked Fushiguro. A lot. You loved his passion for his friends that he tried so hard to hide under a grumpy frown, you loved how he always seemed to put others first, you loved his goofy hair that he complained he could never get to lay flat, you loved everything about him to bits. However now it seemed like you had waited too long, decided to avoid the embarrassment of admitting to liking someone so much even though you hadn’t known him for long and now you were stuck with these feelings and didn’t even have the option to let them out. Another week passed and you had made one final decision: if you ever saw him again you were going to ask for his number and then ask him out. No if’s, and’s, or but’s about it. You thought your chances were slim of you seeing him again and even slimmer of him returning your feelings, but it was actually quite the opposite, the problem was that things for Fushiguro had just been...complicated.

He couldn’t even think of a way to explain the rollercoaster that had been his life lately, especially not to someone like you who knew nothing about what his life was really like. Hell, the past month and a half had moved so quickly even he was sure he had missed some of it. A few big fights were one thing, but losing Itadori after having the shit beat out of him by Sukuna was like getting hit with a ton of bricks. It didn’t feel real, it felt like a mistake, as if somehow he had dreamt up the whole thing. But it was real, he knew that from the look on Kugisaki’s face, and probably his own too, when they received the final news. He didn’t cry, hell he didn’t really know what to feel, and for a while you were gone from his thoughts just like everything else. He was moving on autopilot for a long time, only starting to get himself back on track when he was introduced to the second years once more as the two classes, or what remained of them, worked on some training for the upcoming challenge against Kyoto's students. 

It was then that thoughts of you slowly began to weasel their way back into his mind, only now he didn’t know where he was going with those thoughts and feelings. It made him feel a bit sick at first, or maybe he just felt guilty that despite losing his friend he couldn’t help but think about you amidst the aftermath, but he couldn’t do anything to stop it. At night when he’d try to fall asleep he’d think about Itadori and naturally his thoughts would drift to you. He’d tell himself that you probably couldn’t begin to understand his own self made hell that was his life and, even if you could, he wouldn’t want to drag you into something that could turn so dark in a matter of minutes. From there he moved on to convincing himself that maybe the two of you could just be friends and he could go back to how things were, but that just made him realize you’d be needing an explanation as to why Itadori wasn’t around anymore, plus he already tried to whole ‘acting like his feelings were strictly platonic’ thing and it never worked out once he was actually with you. So things stayed that way, with him having you on his mind whenever he would drift from thinking about school, but not actually doing anything about his situation. See, he thought he was getting back into a normal groove until once again his world was flipped over on its head.

Itadori was back. He was seemingly happier than ever and, y’know, without a giant hole in his chest. Not only that, but he had been back since only a few days after his ‘death’ and it was Gojō’s decision to keep him hidden until then. If Fushiguro could’ve, he would have beaten the ever living shit out of both of them, but there were more important things at hand so both he and Kugisaki were a bit forced to accept this new reality, act like they hadn’t been torn up by losing Itadori, and move on. And move on they did, and on and on and on. More unexpected turns of events, more fights, more questions and curses and all sorts of inexplicable things until finally, for a moment, they could breathe. And of course, just like any other time when his mental space wasn’t filled to the brim with more dangerous and serious matters, his mind drifted back to you.

 It had been about two months now since he had seen you, maybe more, and yet now he was more hesitant to visit you then he had been before. Itadori, however, was not, and he had a feeling it might be a good idea to pay you a visit without the company of his friends and that’s exactly what he did. The two of you talked for a bit as he ate, obviously not about the...odd events of his life, but there was one thing that even he couldn’t dismiss. First it was how excited you were to see him when he first walked in, then it was the look of disappointment on your face when you asked if Fushiguro was joining him and he said no. You tried to hide it, maybe you didn’t want him to feel bad that you were more looking forward to seeing Fushiguro rather than him, but he could tell regardless. You went on to explain that you hadn’t seen him in months and while you didn’t say how much you missed him or tell him anything about your revelation of your crush on his friend, he could tell that something was up. Still, you talked with him a bit more, wished him well, and he went on his way, practically making a beeline for Fushiguro’s room the second he got home.

His incessant knocking was more than enough to bring Fushiguro’s concentration on the book he was reading to a grinding halt and he could tell before even opening the door that it was probably Itadori. 

“What.” He asked, making zero effort to hide his annoyance as he opened the door to see his beaming friend.

“Guess what! I went and saw (Y/N)!”

Your name alone was enough to cause his eyes to widen and a wide range of questions and emotions to fly through his head. It wasn’t that he had forgotten about you, god knows that’s far from true, but he had sort of...pushed you back. Figured if he procrastinated or didn’t think about this one little issue for long enough that maybe it would go away, but Itadori just made sure that wouldn’t happen anytime soon.

“You what?”

“I said ‘I went and saw (Y/N)’! Do you need to get your hearing checked?”

“Why?” Was all he could ask, catching himself before he managed to ask his list of questions. Were you okay? Were you mad? Did you even care? Itadori simply gave a shrug in response, putting his hand under his chin as if he were thinking very hard on what he should say.

“Well I just figured it’s been a while since I’ve seen her, I like her a lot y’know, she seems cool.” He spoke, missing the way Fushiguro’s eye twitched at the notion of Itadori ‘liking her a lot’. “She seemed kinda sad too, she got real excited when I walked in, but seemed pretty disappointed when I told her you weren’t with me. She said she hasn’t seen you in months, what’s up with that man?”

For a moment his heart jumped at the prospect of you missing him, but then he was left with guilt just as quickly.

“We’ve been busy.” He muttered, already knowing that was partially bullshit. He had been busy before, but he had a good amount of recuperating free time over the past two weeks that he spent properly avoiding you and his feelings for you.

“I guess…” Itadori hummed. 

From their second or third visit to see you, he had a tiny suspicion that Fushiguro had taken a little bit of an interest in you, but judging by his reaction even he could guess that there was a significant amount more than just a ‘little’ interest.

“You should go see her.” He said, quite matter-of-factly, “I mean we’ve got some free time with it being summer and all. She’d probably like that a lot. Besides, you only live once right? Well- ok I guess that’s not right for me to say but you get what I mean.” 

Fushiguro rolled his eyes and gave him a short “Yeah.” in response and since Itadori had said all he really wanted to say, he gave him a goodbye shortly after that before making his way to his own room, leaving Fushiguro alone with his thoughts. He didn't want to get his hopes up as he tried to think this through without losing his head. Itadori said you seemed sad and that he only assumed you had missed him and if he knew Itadori, he knew he wasn’t always the best at reading the room. Besides, even if he was right and you really did want to see him, that didn’t mean you thought anything of him aside from being a friend, but then again, wasn’t that enough? Either way, hadn’t he been itching to see you and just avoiding it because he didn’t know what to say? He closed his door with a sigh before running a hand down his face with a groan. He still didn’t really know what he was doing or how to navigate his feelings for you, but he just wanted to see you, enough so that he was willing to forego his usual ‘think first and act second’ methods and simply decided that if time allowed it, he’d stop by to see you this weekend, which was exactly what you had been crossing your fingers for.

You had been halfway over the moon since Itadori paid you a visit and once again it seemed like you had forgotten your prior shortcomings, though it wasn’t really that you had forgotten, you had just sort of come to terms with the outcome. Even though you were a bit sad that Itadori had come alone, he didn’t mention Fushiguro having any ill will towards you and seemed equally surprised that he hadn’t visited you which made you think that at least he probably wasn’t upset with you in any way. Granted if he wasn’t upset with you and he didn’t not like you, that left you not really knowing why he had been gone for so long, but with Itadori coming in it gave you high hopes that you could either ask him about Fushiguro or Fushiguro would come in on his own. You hadn’t backed down from your promise to yourself and now you actually felt less nervous about the prospect of confessing. You felt like even if he didn’t return your feelings, having him around as a friend would be just fine for you, though while your spirits were up in comparison to how they had been, his had dropped to the bottom of his stomach.

He made it all this way, which really wasn’t that far from home or anything, but now that he was standing just out of view of the restaurant windows, he was having a bit of trouble getting his legs to keep going. He had practically been repeating ‘the outcome doesn’t really matter’ as a mantra to himself the last couple days and his whole walk here, but now he realized the outcome did matter to him. A lot. He only thought it didn’t matter because he figured if you rejected him there was no way you’d want to flat out cut him off entirely, but now he was worried staying strictly friends would be so much worse. Could he really push his feelings down just like that? If he wasn’t able to stop his feelings for you, would you be able to tell? Would that push you to stop contact? He knew the only way to find out was to see for himself, but his heart was currently trying very hard to just say ‘fuck it’, turn around, and save himself the possible heartbreak, but his resolve to do so was cut short and all it took was hearing his name.

“Fushiguro?”

You had gone outside to set up a little sign announcing some new menu options when out of the corner of your eyes you saw him, standing about ten feet away from the entrance with furrowed brows as he glared down at his feet. You couldn’t help the grin that bloomed on your face as you closed the distance between the two of you, stopping a few feet in front of him as his eyes finally snapped up to meet yours. If your heart could have burst with joy it surely would have, meanwhile his was hammering in his chest like there was no tomorrow. He heard you speaking, asking him where he had been and explaining your worry that he’d never come back, but it felt like your words were going in one ear and out the other as he simply stared at you.

“Am I losing you? Sorry it’s just-... actually I can talk your ear off while you eat.” You laughed nervously, trying to keep your composure and act like you weren’t bursting at the seams with intent to confess.

 “Anyways, what’s it going to be for you today? Salt, soy, or-“

“Actually, I wanted to ask for your number.”

His jaw clenched as he realized what he had just said without even thinking. He wanted to backtrack, to make some excuse, say he misspoke, but he knew this was his last chance so despite the look of sudden shock on your face he decided to keep going.

“I just- I thought it was kind of weird. That I don’t have your number yet, I mean.” 

Your face flickered with confusion and for a second he felt sick to his stomach. He was mentally stumbling over himself, suddenly not sure what the hell he was doing as he could feel redness creeping up his skin all the way up to the tips of his ears.

“And uh,-“ C’mon brain, please just give him at least a few more moments of functionality before crapping out on him. “Damnit, this is so stupid….do you think maybe you’d want to go out with me some time?”

He muttered part of that at himself, but you really didn’t care. All you could feel were the butterflies erupting in your stomach and the heat warming your cheeks even more than the setting summer sun had.

“...You mean like here?” You muttered, almost immediately mentally smacking yourself a second after the words left your lips. It was like your brain just had to make sure this was real and what he was asking of you wasn’t just some misunderstanding.

“What? No- I mean, I guess it could be? I was thinking more like...getting ice cream or something...together.”

Now he was avoiding your eyes, one hand nervously rubbing at the back of his neck and his cheeks ablaze with color. A moment passed and his heart began to sink and he was fully prepared to turn his ass around and strongly ignore any questions about where he had gone, but it was the sound of your laughter that kept him from doing so and instead brought his eyes back up to meet yours.

“Sorry, I’m laughing at myself, not you.” You said with a smile so big you had to bite your inner cheek in an attempt to make yourself look less thrilled. “I’m kinda jealous, I’ve been working myself up to ask you the same thing all week y’know. You kinda stole my thunder.”

He blinked, his brain taking a moment to process that you were accepting his offer- no, not even just that, but you had been wanting to ask him? Suddenly he felt even more guilty for avoiding you, then he just felt plain stupid for not asking you sooner.

“I’m…sorry about that.” He replied, eyes still a bit wide as his brain continued to mull over what was happening. “And about not coming by sooner. I’ve been busy...and I had some stuff going on.”

“Oh, that’s ok.” You responded, your giddiness only ceasing for a moment. “Honestly I was pretty worried about you, but I figured if you felt comfortable explaining then you would. But if not that’s fine too I’m just...really glad I got to see you again.”

“Yeah, same here.”

The conversation between the two of you quieted and you were left simply staring at one another, a mix of apprehension and excitement brewing inside both of you, but before more words could be exchanged the two of you were interrupted by your mother opening the shop door and yelling at you to come back inside.

“Ahh, ok so- How about I get you something to eat first and then we can figure out where we’re going to go, huh?” You asked with a shaky laugh and a nervous smile that for some reason made him feel like he could finally let out the breath he had been holding for what felt like ages as he gave you a short nod and followed you inside. 

All these worries about what would or could happen and yet here you were, just like always. Talking happily over food, though of course this time the conversation was a bit different as you discussed the different places you both liked trying to decide where to go as if you both knew it didn’t really matter where because the feelings were already there even before you had your first date planned. Your smile still made his heart skip a beat and the feeling of his eyes on yours still made your skin feel warm, but now it felt better without needless excuses or worries.

It felt like the two of you spent hours together over one bowl of ramen and when it finally was time to say goodbye, you both felt comforted in the known fact that it wasn’t permanent and that you weren’t leaving each other dissatisfied. Sure there was no knowing the future, hell he hadn’t even been five minutes away from you before new thoughts and concerns about where this was going entered his head, but it only took one look at the small slip of notebook paper he held in his hand with your name, number, and a small heart scribbled onto it to remind him that for once, he really didn’t care about the possible negative outcomes because he knew one thing for sure. For you, he was willing to take the risk, to take the good along with the bad and let himself be happy for once and if that’s what you wanted too, he was more than happy to let this story that started with an option between salt, soy, and miso ramen play out for as long as it possibly could and, if he was lucky, maybe, just maybe, that story would never have to end.

[skipppppy]

I’m so fascinated by your she ra fan character! I’m trying to understand the storyline but it’s a little hard to find everything, and I was wondering if you would mind explaining it here?

Thank you very much! Her story is SUPER convuluted, I elaborated on it a bit on another ask about her relationship with Entrapta, but I’ll try to sum it up as cleanly as possible but a lot of different factors come into play so it still might be LOOONNGG. It’s also not a very happy story, unfortunately, but it would be helpful for me to get it all written down!

In terms of things that might be triggering, her backstory involves mention of a wide range of abuse. It won’t be explicit but I just want to be safe!

I’m actually gonna put most of it under the cut for the sake of anyone who follows me or any tags so they aren’t cursed with a mile long post on their timeline. I know the pain 😅

So here it is! I present A COMPREHENSIVE TIMELINE OF ALL THE BULLSHIT ARIA HAD TO PUT UP WITH!!!!

-For background context, she’s a Wingfolk, a species of Bird People native to Etheria who live in a kingdom built into a forest of giant trees named Ornithia. I could go on about them for hours but all you really need to know is that they have hollow bones to achieve flight (which is also the case for real life birds), which makes Aria’s body very light and frail. So she’s basically useless in physical combat which is why she never really defends herself. She was also a particularly weak flyer, which is why she doesn’t avoid a lot of situations by simply flying away.

-EXTRA BACKGROUND CONTEXT, Aria was born around the time the Horde landed on Etheria. Her father was a sorcerer at Mystacor, who had a reputation for ignoring ethics in the name of science. This all came to a head when a meteorite struck the surface of the planet; he rushed to the sight, stole it, studied it for a while, and after learning it had a powerful magic, decided to try a ritual in which he extracted the magic from the meteorite and fused it with his daughter’s soul. It took a few years for people to find out but when they did he was exiled for his actions, and Aria, still a child, was given to her mother.

-ONE MORE SMALL DETAIL: from about the age of 18/19 onward, she started having dreams about a mysterious figure made of blinding light who knew secrets about the universe and promised to find her one day so they could “finally be together again.” 3 guesses who THAT is lmao (hint: it’s Horde Prime)

-I won’t go into details about her childhood because we’d be here forever but the most important things you need to know are 1) Aria’s mother was a HORRIBLE parent and preferred to get blackout drunk rather than look after her children. 2) Aria had 4 younger brothers who, due to her mother’s negligence, she had to raise entirely by herself, which is why she feels responsible over others and has such a “nurturing” disposition, it was forced on her. 3) She took her brothers and ran away from Ornithia when she was 15, and built a home in a small woodland in the mountains of Dryl where she has lived ever since. 4) Throughout her childhood she befriended Princess Entrapta and the two were extremely close due to their isolated upbringings.

-When the BFS visited Dryl for the first time in Season 1, Aria was there acting as both a lab assistant and royal advisor to Entrapta, and joined the rebellion alongside her. Nothing crazy happened, but when Entrapta “died” Aria was beside herself with grief and ended up leaving the rebellion in order to go tend to Dryl, since it needed a ruler and as advisor it was her job to step up and take responsibility. Unlike the others, however, she refused to return to aid in the battle of Brightmoon, since she was kinda miffed at how the Princesses treated Entrapta (lookin’ at you, leash lady Perfuma) and was thoroughly pissed that they didn’t even TRY to go back for her, even if it was just to find her body and give her a dignified burial.

-Season 2 was when things truly went to shit. When the Horde came to claim Dryl, Aria resisted but was defeated pretty easily. When Glimmer and Bow came to scout out the situation, they saw her being hauled away and tried to save her but basically got caught in a stalemate where they couldn’t act because the Horde threatened to harm Entrapta if they acted. They told Aria to go with the Horde and promised that they would form a rescue party to save the both of them. But after they learned that Entrapta had joined the Horde by choice and had more important missions to deal with, rescuing her just..stopped being a priority. She wasn’t a rebel so they had no obligation to get her, so eventually they forgot about her entirely.

-Aria was kept as a prisoner for a while, but Entrapta found out pretty quickly what happened and went to find her. At that point Catra was growing frustrated with all the menial paperwork she had to do, and since she’d had experience being an advisor/secretary type, Entrapta basically proposed to Hordak that Aria act as his assistant in the same way she used to at Dryl. He accepted since it meant he would be spending less time running the Horde and more time building the portal. Aria was against the idea of helping him since she was still holding out hope that the rebels would come save her, but she was simply threatened with the classic Evil Horde punishments (torture, more torture, being locked in a cell for weeks without food or water, a tad more torture). So from mid-Season 2 to the end of Season 4, that was pretty much the position she was in. Being the Fright Zone’s resident desk jockey.

-Not much happened in that timespan, most of what occurred revolved around the portal incident and the aftermath. While Aria had been playing the part of Hordak’s pretty little secretary she was trying to find weak points in the Fright Zone’s security system so she could bust her and Entrapta out of there. Due to her and Hordak building the portal (and smooching lol) she’d been spending less and less time with Aria, which had been making her a little upset. She felt like someone she’d spent her entire life caring for was replacing her for something better, but her suspicions weren’t confirmed until she asked Entrapta about leaving together and she refused. That was the first small nudge towards a downward spiral. Then Catra returned with Adora and the Sword in hand and the Princesses came to stop the Portal. The rebels had come to save Adora and forgot about her. She was willing to forgive and join them, until they saw that she had been assisting the Horde, assumed she had betrayed them alongside Entrapta, and decided to leave her behind without giving her a chance to explain herself. That was the second, slightly stronger nudge that made her teeter over the edge of a breakdown. And then Catra told her that Entrapta had abandoned her to rejoin the rebels. While it was a lie, it was perfectly placed salt in the wound, and the straw that broke the camels back into her shifting allegiance and properly joining the Horde.

-Throughout Season 4 she had the same role as before, except this time she actually cared about her work, and had taken on the additional role of helping Hordak with his busted tech since Entrapta wasn’t around to do it. He had already come to rely on Aria for paperwork, but now she was helping him with his machines and they had a shared trauma over being “abandoned” by someone they cared deeply for. She was literally filling the void Entrapta left, and in a way they started to care for each other. Aria, being a hopeless romantic who had read about a trillion love stories about gentle protagonists who healed the evil monster men with their kindness, took to him like a moth to a flame and happily played the role of “the next best thing” against her better judgement. It wasn’t really a healthy relationship, but they did genuinely care for each other and found comfort in one another’s presence.

-It didn’t last, however. Catra was vaguely aware of the “thing” they had, and while she was indifferent for the most part, she was dealing with a downward spiral of her own, and she slowly became paranoid that Aria would distract him from completing their plans. In her poor, burnt out kitty cat frame of mind, the only way to deal with the situation was to get rid of her. So, deciding to kill 2 birds with one stone, she told Hordak that Aria had been jealous of his relationship with Entrapta, and SHE had been the one to send her to beast island. And Hordak believed her.

-I won’t go into detail about what happened after that, because it was VERY GRUESOME! We all saw how Hordak reacted when he found out what Catra had done in the original show. Now remember when I mentioned that Aria has hollow bones that made her incredibly frail and physically incapable of defending herself? Yeah. It was not pretty. Hordak wasn’t completely at fault, since he thought his anger was warranted, but by the time he’d learnt the truth and realised his mistake she was dead. In the space between the incident and learning what really happened he’d thrown her in the abandoned black garnet chamber with no food or water and basically left her to rot. He was EXTRA mad at Catra for pulling that with him, but he didn’t have time to grieve since he, Glimmer, Catra, and Aria’s lifeless corpse were beamed up into Horde Prime’s flagship.

-When Prime initially found her she was still dead. However, remember the healing magic that came from the mysterious meteorite that had now fused with her soul? Spoiler alert! It belonged to him. The meteorite was one of his most prized possessions, and the dreams Aria had been having were the magic’s attempts at trying to establish a connection with him across dimensions. (the meteorite was somewhat sentient. This is perfectly normal and well thought out writing I swear) And being reunited caused a huge surge of magical energy that resuscitated her, allowing Prime’s clones to give her some much needed medical help.

-After being pretty much comatose for 2 weeks Aria finally woke up, and was finally able to speak with Prime in person. When she found out that the “mysterious figure” from her dreams who had promised to find her was REAL and had just saved her life, she basically just latched onto him. She was, understandably, TRAUMATISED from the last 2 or so years of her life, so she was too scared to go anywhere else or trust anyone, so Prime didn’t even have to try to win her allegiance. He was also very happy to have his meteorite back, even if it now had a mortal body with skin and a face and a slew of emotional baggage. So she spends most of Season 5 being showered in love and affection by Prime and all her attendants, eventually being crowned Empress. While Prime was unequivocally evil and Aria was aware of that, he mostly sheltered her from what he was doing, in fear that her loyalty to him might falter. Maybe in a fun au she could’ve convinced him to leave Etheria alone so they could be together for longer, but alas, it was not to be.

-In the aftermath of the Heart being destroyed and Prime being killed, her downward spiral returned and shifted into OVERDRIVE. The people who had abandoned and neglected her took her one safe person away from her and they were being hailed as heroes for it. While she now knew that Entrapta had never abandoned her and was instead sent to beast island, seeing her get a happy ending with the man who had, to be quite blunt, physically abused and assaulted her, shattered any part of their friendship that might have been recoverable. She retreated into herself, taking over Horde Prime’s role as ruler over the Clones. She turned the Velvet Glove into their new home, trying to be civil with the other Princesses but eventually descended into a cold, bitter, vindictive Empress who ended up making terrible decisions as a cry for help.

-I’m still undecided on what to do with her after her fun villain arc, but I do know that in the aftermath she’d probably either step down from the throne so she could properly heal from her trauma, or work with her clones to fix up Prime’s flagship and get as far away from Etheria as possible and find peace in a new life away from everything that hurt her. I may also bring back Horde Prime from the dead through my sheer will to ignore canon so they can be together, since they are for all intents and purposes, soulmates. And I don’t think it would be very fair to let my poor hopeless romantic who just wants to be loved lose her handsome prince forever. I think it would be sexy if I committed necromancy I think.

ANYWAY...THAT WAS A HEFTY READ..SORRY IT WAS SO LONG, BUT THANK YOU FOR THE ASK!! I CAN COME BACK TO THIS FOR REFERENCE NOW

TLDR: babygirl has had it ROUGH

[thekrazykeke]

title: just keep breathing

fandom(s): fallen hero rebirth/retribution

pairing(s): wei chen x sidestep. ricardo ortega x sidestep. wei chen x ricardo ortega x sidestep. ricardo ortega x wei chen. 

playlist/song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AMkz9JF7teY

rating: t+

summary: maybe it’s not about fixing what’s broken. maybe it’s about starting over and creating something better.

warning(s): pre poly relationship, comfort food, pining, mild spoilers for the alpha build, angst and hurt/comfort.

Listen. 

I played Fallen Hero Rebirth and rated it a solid 9, and the story initially left me crying my eyeballs out but mildly confused, wanting to understand things. So I replayed and replayed and replayed. I picked up things and the clues started fitting together. I paid for the Retribution alpha build and I’m still crying my eyeballs out at night over it but I wanted resolution. I wanted to give (one of) my character(s) a light at the end of the tunnel. 

So this is what it is. Or an attempt at it because FHR is really quite dark and not for the faint hearted. Those warning tags are not for show. 

Sidestep’s name is Tyndall Bowman in this one.

~

It happens on a Sunday. The last weekend before a new month started, technically.

Ortega frequently visits Chen’s apartment and brings food, lightly ribbing the other man for his lackluster kitchen space. Chen’s routine response becoming less and less exasperated each time. 

You think that he not so secretly fears that you’ll both starve or subsist off canned food and cheap takeout. ...Which probably isn’t a far off assumption, considering the implication day one of your temporary living situation.

It could be considered sweet, if it wasn’t so very funny. (You had to get your kicks somewhere).

Your legs are still broken. 

Progress is frustratingly slow. 

You’d tried to move to a schedule of crutches-only by the second week out of sheer boredom and the flat look Chen had leveled in your direction caused you to nix that idea stat. 

There’s a tension between Chen and you now. 

Not to say that there rarely isn’t tension, but that’s usually due to an aftermath of an argument. Now? Now, you’re aware of him. Aware of him in a way that you’d only been aware of Ortega.

Fucking hell.

Someone’s knee brushes lightly against yours, breaking you out of your reverie. You glance to the left and catch sight of Ricardo watching you with soft, worried eyes. Chen also watching, but less obvious in his concern, features more stoic, controlled. The three of you are in the living room, they are siting on the couch, you’re in your wheelchair. 

They probably asked you something and you were zoned out.

The lie is on the tip of your tongue, “I’m fine,” you mumble and grip your bowl which has half melted blueberry swirl ice cream and salted caramel cheesecake. Sweets are your kryptonite but Ricardo has pulled out your top favorites...

“You’re fine?” Ricardo scoffs, his tone skeptic. 

A muscle jumped in your jaw. “Yep, just fine,” you reply, using your spoon to scoop up some ice cream, take a bite and enjoy the flavor. Refusing to give an inch and let him win. 

The two of you had played this game many times, too many actually, and it usually ends with you being the one to fall for the prodding, and then you get angry, lash out. 

Walk away.  Only this time you can’t. 

Another scoff. “Typical. You do this every time, you know.” There’s a surprising amount of bitterness in Ricardo’s voice now. 

“Ricardo,” Chen starts to interject, the strain clear in his voice. “Tyndall. Stop.”

It’s too late though. 

Placing down the bowl on the nearest surface, freeing up your hands, you clench then unclench your fingers, trying to avoid cracking your knuckles. “And what about you, then huh, Saint Ortega?” The sneer on your face is ugly. “You’re always on about me being honest with my feelings and talking, but the truth of it is, you’re just like me, or worse!”

Ortega looks dumbfounded. As if he can’t believe you’d dare to throw the truth in his face like this, so obviously. He recovers quicker than you’d like, much to your annoyance, though. “...Maybe so,” he acknowledges, his voice softer. Enough to lull a more gullible individual into complacency or just anyone not paying attention. You know better. “That’s a topic we can revisit in a moment. I’m more curious about how long the two of you expect me to play the idiot here.”

Unwillingly, your eyes dart to Chen’s, then away. 

Not focusing on any particular point in the room. Does Ortega know that you’re Mastermind? Since when, and did Chen tell him? Or is he bluffing right now and he doesn’t know? Is he talking about something totally different than what you’re thinking about?

Quick! Think up an appropriate answer and throw him off the trail!

“....I don’t....know what you mean.”

That’s not what you should say!!

Chen sighs deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose.  He looks pretty much done with the both of you right now, not that you can blame him. “Be clearer, the two of you have a propensity for telling half truths which leads to the majority of these absurd arguments.” 

Ricardo winced and you feel the sting from that particular burn as well. 

“In response to your statement, though, no one is expecting you to play the fool.” He looks a little nervous, guilty. “ I... We’ve kissed.” There’s a pinch to his brow, the tips of his ears turning pink. “That wasn’t an example of being a good friend to you, kissing Tyndall and murkying the waters further when I knew the two of you were...” There’s a pause as he tries to find a word for what you and Ortega shared before you and he tentatively stopped antagonizing each other and bonded over Spoon. 

You snorted, lips twisting into a wry smile, “The phrasing of that sentence makes it sound as if I found it a chore to kiss you or something.” Chen cuts you an admonishing look which you temporarily ignore as you turn to glance at Ortega who’d been watching the byplay between you and Chen with an unreadable expression. For the nth time, you wish you could read his mind, and at the same time, you’re grateful that you can’t. 

“...He’s right though. It was an epically shitty thing to do, kissing your oldest friend, who’s probably had a crush on you since he’s met you, while we were kissing. Totally and unnecessarily complicated.”

He just looked at the two of you for a moment. Then Ricardo sighed heavily, running a hand over his face, wearily. “Esto es un desastre.”

You say nothing, staying quiet because honestly, you agree. This is a mess, and it was poorly handled, on all sides. You’d already spilled the beans about Chen having a crush Ortega before it got to this point because you sincerely thought the conversation should have come up properly over seven years ago, your ‘death’ should have been a nonfactor. 

They likely would’ve been a couple already if they weren’t such obtuse idiots.

“Okay... okay...” Ricardo seems to have come to a conclusion. He nods resolutely, turning all his considerably intense focus onto Chen who seems taken aback by it. Leaning forward into the other man’s space, slow enough that it’d be easy to shove him back, but of course Chen doesn’t. Ricardo’s hand went to the nape of his neck, lightly urging Chen forward, the other man obeying that silent request, and in the span of a breath, they’re kissing.

Your don’t avert your gaze, as much as you want to. 

This is a private thing, you shouldn’t look, shouldn’t stare like a pervert. 

‘Isn’t this what you knew would happen?’ Of course, your brain isn’t nice. 

This is what you wanted right, for them to get their act together. 

Humans falling in love with each other is normal and acceptable. (Although your education depicted of men and women falling in love, primarily). It happens all the time. 

Such emotion is a luxury a Re-Gene cannot afford, nor can they sincerely feel it, that’s what you were taught on the Farm. So resistant to the idea of going back to being treated as an unfeeling thing, your re-education had been particularly brutal.

“Whatever horrible thing your mind is telling you, it isn’t true.”

Once again caught off guard, lost in thought, you’re unprepared for Ricardo to kiss you. He tastes faintly of blueberry swirl ice cream and sweet tea, and maybe it’s your imagination, but maybe even a little bit like Chen. It’s that stray thought that has you jerk your head, trying to turn away from him. “W...what the hell, asshole?”

He snorted. “You know you sound really cute when you curse.” 

Baring your teeth, you snap, “Tomber d'une falaise!” Although the idiot clearly didn’t know what you said in French, basically telling him to fall off a cliff, it didn’t stop him from dramatically clutching at his chest, as if he’d been stabbed in the heart; he could probably guess it was at least an insult.

“Stop teasing him, Ricardo.” Chen admonished. Ricardo mock pouted. “I mean it. Can’t you see that he’s overwhelmed?”

“I am not overwhelmed!”, you vehemently protest.

“Out of your depth then,” Chen countered and before you could complain that it was pretty much the same thing, only with differing meanings, he continued on, “What our resident idiot is clumsily trying to show instead of explain, is that he wants both of us.”

“If you want a threesome, fine. It’ll have to wait, as I’m a bit physically impaired at the moment.” You’re almost surprised by the bitterness in your voice. 

Chen stared at you for a brief moment and then he braced both hands on either side of your wheelchair. Heart slowly turning over in your chest, oddly feeling as if you’re caught in the gaze of a hunter, you stubbornly keep eye contact for a second or two, but can’t maintain it for long. That doesn’t stop him from murmuring in your right ear, “Stop being so stubborn. Stop lying. You want this. To be in a relationship with both of us.”  A brief pause. “Correct?”

Fucking hell... 

Swallowing thickly, wondering the logistics of how that would work out. Wondering if you were about to once again make a horrible mistake. Then again, since you’d come back to Los Diablos, since Ortega found you again, that’s all you’ve been doing so far, haven’t you. Making mistake after mistake after mistake. 

“Yes.” 

As Chen’s left hand buried itself in your curls, taking control, tilting your head back, idly you wondered if the next time you hit the ground, if it’d hurt less. This is after a freefall into madness, it feels like, and twice as foolish. Yet you surrender, and you stop thinking, enjoy the kiss. 

[alyssawritesssfics]

Hounded [1] 1. Pilot

Pairings: Bellamy x OC // Kane x daughter!OC

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: violence, series spoilers

Summary: After being locked away for eight months, Athena Kane alongside 99 other criminals is sent to the ground to find out if it's survivable. The ground was the dream, but who knew it would turn out to be a nightmare?

Author’s Note: Hii, this is the repost of my series Hounded! I’ve decided to have each chapter represent an episode. I just personally like the look of it way more and find it easier for me to follow along with while writing (and hopefully you find it easier to follow along while reading it). Please remember to note and reblog! It really helps me see interest and therefore update the story more often. Thank you! PS. If you’d like to be tagged in future chapters, please send me an ask with your @ and I will add you to my list!

previous chapter // series masterlist

The cement floor of my cell was cold against my legs, the sensation searing through the fabric of my jeans. I had sat here many times over the last few months, visualizing myself being blasted into space. It was a morbid thought, but one I could never seem to shake.

My cellmate Octavia let out a heavy sigh, pulling me from my thoughts. I examined her, lying across her cot on her stomach, her feet swaying back and forth in the air as she reread one of the few books she had for the hundredth time.

As I watched Octavia, an alarm began to sound within Skybox, causing Octavia to close her book and sit on the edge of her cot.

“What’s going on out there?”

I stood from my place on the ground, making my way over to our cell door. Peeking through the bars, I noticed guards piling in the main doors, opening cells and dragging people out of them.

“The guards, they’re removing people,” I spoke, my voice shaking.

Octavia stood up. “Moving people? Moving them where?”

I shrugged. “I have no idea.”

We both watched the guards remove more and more people before finally, two reached our cell. Octavia and I stepped back, allowing the guards to enter. The first guard to enter carried a case with him.

“Prisoners 395 and 530, stand facing the wall.” One of the guards said.

Octavia and I complied, as the other guard asked us to extend our dominant hands. Octavia extended her right arm, while I extended my left. The guards reached into the case, pulling out large metal wristbands and placing them around our wrists.

“What’s going on? Neither of us is eighteen yet.”

Eighteen. That was when we’d be up for reevaluation, the council deciding whether or not we’d be floated.

“No questions.” One of the guards responded, pulling me away from the wall. “Let’s go, both of you.”

Octavia and I exited our cell, the place we’d called home for nearly a year now, entering the chaos that was Skybox. There were long lines of teenagers, most younger than myself, on each side, on all levels. We followed the line all the way out of Skybox, into a long corridor.

“I want to speak with my father,” I said, turning to face the guard behind me. “Marcus Kane, he’s on the council.”

The guard stared at me, his face expressionless. “Keep moving.”

“No,” I spoke, a glare appearing across my face. “Where is my father?”

The guard pulled out his shock baton, extending it. “I said, keep moving.”

Not wanting to go through being shocked again, I took a deep breath, turning back around and continuing to follow the line. Eventually, the guards who had taken Octavia and I disappeared, more guards lining the path to wherever we were going.

The further I get down the line, I finally see it. One of the Ark’s guards were scanning identification cards before ushering them onto… a dropship?

A dropship.

“Holy shit,” I mumbled to myself. “They’re sending us to the ground.”

…

“Prisoners of The Ark, hear me now.” I listened on as Chancellor Jaha appeared on several screens within the dropship.

Octavia and I had been separated, sent to different levels of the dropship. Looking around, I didn’t recognize many faces, only a few from Earth Skills.

“You've been given a second chance, and as your Chancellor, it is my hope that you see this as not just a chance for you, but a chance for all of us, indeed for mankind itself.” He continued. “We have no idea what is waiting for you down there. If the odds of survival were better, we would've sent others. Frankly, we're sending you because your crimes have made you expendable.”

The sound of booing filled the dropship.

“The drop site has been chosen carefully. Before the last war, Mount Weather was a military base built within a mountain. It was to be stocked with enough non-perishables to sustain three hundred people for up to two years. If you survive this mission, your crimes will be forgiven, your records wiped clean.”

Chancellor Jaha continued on, though I began to tune it out. All I could think about was my father. Did he know about this? He had to have known, him being one of the Chancellor’s closet allies on the Ark.

As the thought of my father’s involvement drifted from my mind, the dropship jolted, sending my head forward, then back against the seat with brutal force. The dropship continued to shake, as screams filled the air.

“What’s happening?” A girl called out.

I had the same question.

The shaking lasted several minutes before finally, the dropship crashed. Everyone remained silent, unsure if we’d actually landed. After a few moments, people began unbuckling themselves, rushing towards the dropship doors.

I was one of the last to unbuckle myself, wanting to avoid the rush. By the time I had arrived, nearly everyone within the dropship was surrounding the door. As I peeked through the crowd, I spotted Octavia standing by the door, next to a taller boy I’d never seen before.

“Where’s your wristband?” I knew that voice.

Octavia spun around to face someone out of my view. “Do you mind? I haven’t seen my brother in over a year.”

While sharing a cell with Octavia, she’d told me many stories about her brother Bellamy. I almost wouldn’t have believed she even had one, if she didn’t bring him up so often. It was sweet though. I’d always wished I could’ve had a sibling.

That was against the law on the Ark.

“No one has a brother,” someone spoke.

“That’s Octavia Blake, the girl they found hidden under the floor!”

I watched as Octavia lunged forward, Bellamy grabbing her arm. “Octavia, no. Let’s give them something else to remember you by.”

By now, I’d pushed my way further through the crowd.

“Yeah?” Octavia asked, looking back at her brother. “Like what?”

Bellamy smirked. “Like being the first person on the ground in a hundred years.”

With those words, Bellamy reached over and grabbed the dropship door’s handle, pulling it down. There was a faint bang before the door slowly began lowering, creating a platform that led to the ground.

It was beautiful, more so than I ever could’ve imagined. The ground was covered in grass, just like I’d seen in books on the Ark. Trees surrounded us, nearly covering the clear blue sky above us entirely. 

I watched as Octavia slowly made her way down the platform, looking back at her brother. He gave her a reassuring nod, and Octavia in turn took a deep breath before jumping off of the platform, her feet colliding with the ground.

We all watched her as she looked around, silent for a few moments. Finally, Octavia threw her hands in the air. 

“We’re back, bitches!”

Cheers erupted through the dropship, delinquents spilling out around Octavia and running through the forest surrounding us. I slowly made my way down the platform, bracing myself as if I expected to burst into flames the second I touched the ground.

Octavia looked back at me, smiling. “What are you waiting for?”

I jumped from the platform, my boots meeting the hard ground. “Oh my god… We’re really here.”

Octavia squealed, pulling me in for a hug. “No more tiny cells and uncomfortable beds for us.”

“Well, I imagine uncomfortable beds aren’t quite out of the picture yet.” I laughed.

“You’re probably right.” Octavia shrugged with a giggle.

Octavia rushed off to catch up with Bellamy, while I stood in place, taking everything in. As I looked around, my eyes fell upon the girl whose voice I recognized earlier; Clarke Griffin, my childhood best friend.

Clarke stood by the edge of a cliff, staring down at the map in her hands. A tall boy with medium-length brown hair stood next to her. Based on the look upon her face, I figured I should head over there.

“Clarke?”

Clarke turned around, her eyes widening. “Athena?”

I couldn’t help but smile. It had been a year since I’d spoken to Clarke, and she looked exactly the same today as she did then. I remembered hearing stories of Clarke being arrested, the reasons often varying, but I never actually thought those rumours were true.

“What’s with the map?” I finally asked.

Clarke took a deep breath. “Do you two see that peak over there?”

Both I and the boy nodded.

“Mount Weather,” Clarke said. “There’s a radiation-soaked forest between us and our next meal. They dropped us on the wrong damn mountain.”

“Please tell me you’re joking?”

Clarke shook her head. “I wish I was.”

“We’ve got problems-” Wells Jaha, the son the Chancellor, spoke as he reached our little group. He stopped as his eyes landed on me. “Athena?”

I blinked, confusion setting over me. “Wells? What the hell did you do to get sent down here?”

“Don’t ask.” Wells shook his head, before continuing. “We’ve got problems. The communication system is dead. I went to the roof. A dozen panels are missing. Heat fried the wires.”

“Well, all that matters right now is getting to Mount Weather,” Clarke responded, marching closer to the dropship. She spread her map out on one of the wings. “See? This is us.” Clarke pointed to a spot on the map. “This is where we need to get to if we want to survive.” She moved her finger across the map.

“Where’d you learn to do that?” Wells asked.

Clarke’s face turned pale as she looked away. 

Wells sighed. “Your father.”

The two remained silent, as another boy with a pair of goggles strapped to his head approached. He leaned over Clarke’s shoulder, surveying the map.

“Cool, a map.” He spoke, looking Clarke up and down. “They got a bar in this town? I’ll buy you a beer.”

Wells lightly pushed the boy back. “Do you mind?”

“Woah.” The boy spoke, holding his hands up.

“Hey, hands off of him.” I turned to see a group of boys approaching. “He’s with us.” The rest of the delinquents were also gathered around us.

“Relax,” Wells spoke, stepping back. “We’re just trying to find out where we are.”

“We’re on the ground,” Bellamy spoke. “Is that not good enough for you?”

“We need to find Mount Weather. You heard my father’s message. That has to be our first priority.”

“Screw your father,” Octavia called out. “What, you think you’re in charge here? You and your little princess?” She was staring at Clarke.

Clarke shook her head. “Do you think we care who's in charge? We need to get to Mount Weather not because the Chancellor said so, but because the longer we wait, the hungrier we'll get and the harder it’ll be. How long do you think we'll last without those supplies? We're looking at a twenty-mile trek. So if we want to get there before dark, we need to leave now.”

“I’ve got a better idea,” Bellamy responded. “You two go, find it for us. Let the privileged do the hard work for a change.”

Everyone around us cheered.

“You’re not listening, we all need to go!” Wells urged. “Athena?”

Before I could respond, another boy spoke. “Athena Kane? You’re Marcus Kane’s daughter!”

“Your father floated my mother!”

“And my father!”

“Mine too!”

I looked at Wells, narrowing my eyes.

Wells shook it off. “We have to go, now.”

“Look at this everybody,” A boy stepped forward. “The Chancellor of Earth.”

“You think that’s funny?” Wells asked.

“No,” The boy responded, kicking Wells in the leg and watching him fall to the ground. “But that sure was.”

Cheers erupted through the forest, people begging them to fight.

“Come on, Wells.” The boy egged him on.

Wells stood up, getting into a fighting stance. Before any swings could be thrown, the medium-length haired boy jumped from the top of the dropship, landing between them.

“The kids got one leg.” He spoke to the boy. “Why don’t you wait until it’s a fair fight?”

“Hey, spacewalker!” Octavia called out. “Rescue me next.”

People began to laugh, the crowd dispersing. Bellamy grabbed Octavia’s arm, pulling her away.

“Uh,” The boy spoke to Clarke. “So, Mount Weather? When do we leave?”

“Right now,” Clarke replied, looking at Wells. “Finn and I will be back tomorrow with food.”

“How are the two of you going to carry enough food for a hundred people?”

Finn looked around, grabbing goggles boy and another. “Four of us.”

“Sounds like a party!” Octavia had rejoined the group. “Count me in.”

“What are you doing?” Bellamy asked.

Octavia rolled her eyes. “Going for a walk.”

Clarke suddenly reached for Finn’s hand. “Were you trying to take this off?”

The wristband.

“Yeah, so?”

“Well, I don't know. Do you want the people you love to think you're dead? Do you want them to follow you down here in two months? Because they won't if they think we're dying.”

Finn nodded. “Okay.”

“Now, let’s go.”

“Wait,” I spoke up. “I’m coming with you.”

Clarke grabbed my hand, leading me away slightly. “I need you to stay here.”

“Why?”

“Wells can hardly walk and I need someone to help him keep an eye on things here. I know it’s been forever since we’ve talked, but I trust you a hell of a lot more than anyone else here.” Clarke spoke, her eyes shifting to Wells for a moment.

I smiled. “I don’t know if I should take that as a compliment.”

She smiled back. “You got this?”

I nodded. “Be safe.”

Clarke and I made our way back to the group. She grabbed a bag before looking at Wells, who sat on the ground leaning against the dropship. “You really shouldn’t have come here, Wells.”

With that, Clarke headed off into the forest alongside Finn, Octavia, and the two other boys I’d yet to meet.

I looked at Wells, frowning. “Let’s get you into the dropship so you can rest your foot in peace.”

…

A few hours later, I found myself returning to camp after going on a water run, my efforts having been futile. Just as I was about to reach the camp, I spotted Wells gathering sticks. He had also been searching for water the last I’d seen him.

“No luck?”

Wells looked up, startled. “No, you?”

I shook my head. “There’s gotta be water somewhere.”

“Just not anywhere near us,” Wells sighed. “Want to give me a hand with these?”

I picked up a pile of sticks, following Wells towards the dropship. We began dropping them in an already started pile when footsteps came up behind us.

“Find any water yet?” It was the same boy who had tried to fight Wells earlier. I recently learned his name was John Murphy. He stood beside another boy, also named John.

“No, not yet-” Wells paused, his face going pale before he quickly pulled himself back together. “I’m going back out if you want to come.”

I followed Wells’ gaze, spotting something carved into the dropship: first son, first to dye.

“You know, my father begged for mercy in the airlock chamber before your father floated him,” Murphy spoke, his eyes narrowed in on Wells.

Wells shook his head, pushing past the pair. “You spelt die wrong, geniuses.”

I attempted to follow Wells, though both boys blocked my way. “Where do you think you’re going? Don’t think we haven’t forgotten about what your father did.”

Shaking my head, I took a step back. “That was my father’s doing, not mine. The same goes for Wells. Feel free to take it up with them when they come down here though. I’ll be the last to stop you.”

Murphy looked me up and down for a moment before a smirk crept across his face. He didn’t say anything, simply stepping out of my way. I took it as an opportunity to join Wells, who still stood just a few paces behind them.

“We’re not safe here, Athena,” Wells whispered.

“No, we’re not,” I agreed. “There’s nothing you or I can do about it, not until Clarke and the others get back. We just have to lay low, watch each other’s backs, like the good old days.”

Wells smiled. “I’d give anything to go back there right now.”

I let out a small, shaking breath. “You and me both.”

…

Wells and I spent the rest of the afternoon searching for water, with no luck. As we came closer to the camp, I stopped. Noticing my absence from beside him, Wells also stopped, turning around to face me.

“Can I ask you something?” Wells nodded. “What happened with Clarke? I heard stories in lockup but never from anyone who had actually been there.”

Wells was quiet for a moment, kicking his feet around in the dirt. “Her father discovered a flaw in the Ark. That they’re running out of air. He wanted to go public with it.”

“But he didn’t?”

“Clarke found out and told me, and a few days later her father was arrested.”

My heart sank into my stomach. “You told your father, didn’t you?”

Wells shook his head. “It wasn’t me, but Clarke thinks it was.”

“So he was floated?” I was having a hard time processing all of this.

“Yeah,” Wells responded. “Clarke saw it happen, and then she was arrested too.”

I shook my head. “I had no idea…”

“That was kinda the point,” Wells mumbled.

I frowned. “You haven’t told Clarke it wasn’t you, have you?”

“I can’t tell her, Athena,” Wells said, not able to look me in the eye.

“Why not?”

Wells once again fell silent. “It was her mother.”

My eyes grew wide. “You’re sure?”

“It wasn’t me and I’m the only one Clarke told. Do you really think she’d expect her mother to turn her father in?” Wells asked. “I can’t tell her. It would break her, especially now.”

“So you let her hate you…”

Wells frowned. “Better than her hating her mother.”

I smiled softly. “You’re a really good friend, you know that?”

Before Wells could respond, the sound of screams filled the air. They were coming from the camp. Both of us looked at each other before hurrying our way back. By the time we arrived, there was a large crowd surrounding the campfire.

We both pushed our way through the crowd, spotting Murphy prying off a girl named Fox’s wristband. She winced as the wristband popped off, and Murphy tossed it into the fire.

“Who’s next?” Bellamy asked.

“What the hell are you doing?” Wells asked, his eyebrows furrowed.

Bellamy smirked. “We’re liberating ourselves. What does it look like?”

“It looks like you’re trying to kill us all.” I hissed.

“The communication system is dead. These wristbands are all we got. Take them off, and the Ark will think we're dying, that it's not safe for them to follow.” Wells added.

“That’s the point, Chancellor,” Bellamy replied. “We can take care of ourselves, can’t we?”

Everyone around them cheered.

“Do you think this is a game? Those aren't just our friends and our parents up there. They're our farmers, our doctors, our engineers.” Wells shouted, looking around the crowd. “I don't care what he tells you. We won't survive here on our own, and besides, if it really is safe, how could you not want the rest of our people to come down?”

“My people are already down here,” Bellamy replied. “Those people locked my people up. Those people killed my mother for the crime of having a second child. Your father did that.”

Wells shook his head. “My father didn’t write the laws.”

“No, he enforced them, but not anymore, not here. Here there are no laws. Here, we do whatever the hell we want, whenever the hell we want. Now, you two don't have to like it. You can even try to stop it or change it, kill me even. You know why?” Bellamy’s smirk only grew wider. “Whatever the hell we want.”

“Whatever the hell we want!” Murphy cheered.

Everyone began chanting around us, repeating those five words over and over again. I couldn’t believe it. How could they all be so stupid? So selfish? They were going to get all of us killed.

Suddenly, I felt a speck of water hit my bare arm. Then another, and another. Then, water began falling from the sky rapidly.

“It’s rain,” A girl called out. “Real rain!”

The cheering began once again, as I lifted my head to stare at the sky, letting the rain wash over my face. It was as if all of my previous worries washed away for a few moments.

“We need to collect this,” Wells spoke up, yanking me from my bliss.

Bellamy smiled. “Whatever the hell you want.”

~

next chapter

[thesoundofnat]

Heaven, apparently

Poe/Finn

Summary: Poe keeps complimenting Finn, panicking, and running away. It becomes a problem.

A/N: The first scenario was based on this. I hope you like it! No association with and therefore no spoilers for The Rise of Skywalker.

Words: 2 079

Poe could remember running, a crash, and then: blinding pain before he presumably passed out. Now he blinked and blinked, trying to make sense of what he was seeing, body heavy with involuntary sleep of some sort, but his head didn’t make him want to die, so he reckoned that was something.

“Am I in heaven or hell?” he asked, voice low, the question making sense to him, but evidently not to Finn, whom Poe was starting to see take shape before him.

Finn blinked, almost mimicking him. “Uh, you’re in my quarters?”

Poe tried to sit, but Finn’s hands were right there, light on his shoulders as he pushed him back down. Poe didn’t protest, simply groaned. Yeah, it could’ve been worse, but he could feel so so much better too.

“So heaven?” he mumbled, realizing the effort it took to speak, but not being able to shut up anyway. “Thank god.”

“What-” Finn fell silent, and had Poe not just woken up from a mild concussion, as he was told afterward, he might’ve realized what he’d said.

Instead, he remembered it much much later when Jess, who had been present along with apparently a handful of other people from the Resistance, recounted the moment.

“Oh no,” he cried, wishing she would show him mercy for once and let him be oblivious. “Did I really?”

She shrugged, her lips twitching with a grin she tried to hold back. “You did. It was cute.”

“That’s fucking terrible.”

“Oh, come on, it just shows you trust him.”

Poe shook his head, even though they’d told him to not make any quick movements. Jess’ fault, he would tell them. “I can never face him again.”

“Poe,” she sighed, exasperated. “This doesn’t mean you have to come clean about liking him, even though I think you should. You were delirious. He didn’t seem to understand the compliment anyway.”

“Oh, he did,” Poe said sadly. “He’s smarter than you think, Jess. He probably just didn’t know what to say.”

“So you find his space comforting. What’s wrong about that?”

What indeed.

Poe wasn’t calmed by her words, despite knowing how logical they were. Apparently he’d always been obvious about his crush, but never to Finn. Never to him.

Coward. Always a coward, terrified of his own emotions and how they could - and had - ruined things for him beyond repair. But still he felt. Still he felt.

He avoided him. Could anyone blame him? He wasn’t being obvious about it. He didn’t turn on his heels if he walked into a room where Finn was, or dive into a conversation with someone else if Finn started approaching him. He just didn’t seek him out. Didn’t initiate the late night conversations he was so fond of. Treated him like any other.

But Finn wasn’t like any other. Not even close.

“Can I talk to you?” Finn asked, having come out of nowhere. So sudden Poe was genuinely startled, his first instinct to run, run, run. Since when had he been afraid of Finn?

“Sure,” he said, ignoring his rioting heart. “What’s up?”

“Can we talk in private?” Finn looked around, the people around them busy, but close enough to eavesdrop had they wanted to. Poe could appreciate his caution.

“My room or-” Or yours. Heaven, apparently.

“Yours works.”

They walked in silence. It was eerie. They could have comfortable silences, but their mouths never seemed to be able to keep quiet for too long when they were together. Poe loved that about their relationship. They had an understanding, but their never-ending conversations made it stronger. A constant development. Always communicating. No wonder Finn was about to ask him why he’d suddenly gone quiet.

But when they reached Poe’s quarters, he asked him how his head was.

“What?”

“Your head.” Finn tilted his own, scowling. “Is it hurting? Giving you trouble? I never got around to asking.”

“Oh.” Poe rubbed at the bump. “Not really. It keeps me from tagging along on missions, which is awful, but other than that, it’s healing.”

“Good.”

Poe blinked. “You wanted to talk in private to ask… that?”

Finn shrugged, sheepish. “In case you wanted to talk, but not worry anyone else.”

“Ah.” Poe had to grin. “You’re cute. I mean-” Shit, shit, shit. “The thought was cute. Sweet, is what I’m trying to say. Considerate.”

Finn raised an eyebrow. “Poe?”

“I gotta go.”

“We’re in your room.”

“You can stay if you want.”

“Where are you going?”

Poe didn’t reply. Only ran.

That went well!

*

From that day on, Poe’s mouth refused to obey him whenever he was around Finn. He could have blamed the concussion the first time, and partly the second time, but he was running out of excuses now. It was getting ridiculous.

His crew were having the time of their lives watching him fumble, evidently.

“You act like a fool,” Snap said, his grin making Poe flush almost as much as his words.

“I can’t help it,” he whined. “There’s just… something about him. I have to compliment him.”

“That’s not a bad thing,” Rose said, sweet Rose, who had kissed Finn once and instantly apologized to Poe of all people. “I just don’t think running away each time helps. I bet he’s confused.”

“I mean, friends can compliment friends, right?”

“Sure, but you never compliment me,” Jess said, mock offended.

“Sure I do.”

“Not in the way you compliment Finn.”

Poe let out a laugh. “That’s a bit different, isn’t it?”

“Because you’re in love with him?”

Love. Dear god. “I’m not! I- it’s not like that.”

She was shaking her head. “Oh, Poe. You can’t call this a crush anymore.”

He crossed his arms. “I wasn’t aware you were in my head.”

“I know you. I’ve practically been on top of you for years now. You have signs.”

“I don’t wanna talk about this,” he said, turning away from them, if only to hide his constantly burning cheeks. Truly he would be the first man in the universe to die of embarrassment.

“Ouff.” In his haste to flee he’d walked right into Finn himself; literally stumbling back from having hit his chest. “Finn! Buddy. Didn’t see you there.”

“Clearly.” Finn’s tone was light, his smile teasing. “Better watch where you’re going, old man.”

“Old?” Poe was shaking his head, aware of the wide grin he couldn’t help. “Now you’re just being mean to be mean,” he said, poking at Finn’s ribs, making him back away with a laugh.

“Sorry,” he replied, hands in front of him. “It was a joke.”

“You used to be able to handle those once, Poe,” Snap said somewhere behind him, and Poe remembered where he was, who he was, and took a step away from Finn.

“Oh, come on now,” Jess was saying. “He can definitely handle those. He just likes pretending to be upset.”

“He is standing right here,” Poe said, rolling his eyes.

“Sorry. It seemed as if you were a little occupied staring at Finn to defend yourself.”

“Can you blame me?” Jesus fucking Christ, Dameron. “I mean-” He saw his friends nearly facepalm.

“Blame you?” Finn was frowning when Poe chanced a look at him. “What-”

“Gotta go.”

“Poe, come on.” Finn’s voice sounded so small now. Almost pleading.

But Poe had never handled these things well, so he left anyway. Left like a coward.

*

Finn found him. Not that he was hiding, necessarily, but thus far Finn hadn’t purposefully sought him out to talk about what the hell was happening with him, which Poe assumed he wanted to bring up when he walked up to where he was sitting. Poe didn’t even have anything in front of him to pretend to be busy. He was just sitting, staring straight ahead until he had to look at Finn, finally, who had taken a seat beside him.

“Hi,” he said, because Finn wasn’t saying anything and it was somehow worse.

“Hi.” Poe was the cause of that wrinkle between his eyebrows. He didn’t like it. “You didn’t have to run away.”

“I didn’t.”

“Poe.”

Poe deflated. “Okay, I did.”

“They were just messing with you. I know you can handle a joke.”

Ah. So maybe Finn hadn’t caught the compliment after all. Or maybe he thought it didn’t matter. Poe wasn’t sure what was worse.

“Right.” Poe squirmed in his seat, forcing himself to not look away. “They’ve just been… a lot. Recently.”

“You’ve been quite jumpy recently.”

“Right. Well. They won’t let me be and it doesn’t help.”

“Should I talk to them?”

Poe waved a hand at him. “Nah. I’ll deal with it.”

“Okay.” Finn crossed his arms. “You wanna talk about why you’re so skittish then?”

Damn. “Not really?”

Finn snorted. “Fair enough. I won’t push. Not yet, at least.”

Poe ran a hand through his curls. “When will you push then?”

“When it starts becoming a problem.”

“So never?”

“We’ll see about that, Dameron.”

*

It was becoming a problem. Had probably been one since this whole mess started.

Finn was too damn beautiful for Poe to not compliment him. Over and over. Saying shit like “your eyes are pretty” and “I never mind when it’s you” when Finn was just trying to hold a regular conversation with him. The fifth time Poe ran away that week was when he knew Finn was done with his bullshit, mostly because he followed him down the hallway rather than just letting him go.

“What’s your problem?”

Exasperation, maybe hurt. Not mere irritation or confusion, but actual real concern in his voice now. Poe’s fault.

He rubbed at his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m having a hard time accepting your apology if I don’t know what’s wrong.” The anger was out of his voice as quickly as it had arrived. “Talk to me, Poe.”

“I want to,” Poe said, almost a whisper. “Trust me, I do, but-”

“But?”

“I feel like I could mess things up so easily if I do.”

“How bad can it be?”

“Bad enough to ruin us.”

“Us?”

Poe leaned against the wall, giving up, giving in. “I’m sure you’ve noticed my strange behavior has only been related to you, right?”

“I’ve had an inkling.”

Poe had to smile. “Of course you did. You’re smart.” He fought against the urge to turn on his heels and flee after the compliment. That was a regular fucking compliment, Dameron. It could be given to anyone, calm down. “Well. Uh. It’s… complicated.” He shook his head. “It’s not. I don’t know why I said that. It’s really easy, actually.”

“So tell me.”

“That part’s harder.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s like ripping my heart out and handing it to you.” Poe shut his eyes. Couldn’t do much else. “And even though I trust you, trusting your heart to someone is a lot. It’s unsafe.”

Finn didn’t say anything, but Poe felt his hands on his cheeks, but it was too much, too much, so Poe couldn’t look.

“Poe.”

He opened his eyes to see Finn in front of him, looking like a goddamn angel. “Stop.”

“What?”

“Stop looking at me like that.”

Finn didn’t let go of his cheeks. “Like what?”

“Like you reciprocate.”

“You like me.” Not a question.

Poe inhaled. “Too much for my own good.”

“Why’s that?”

“I look at you and I act a fool.”

“That’s not a bad thing.” A pause. “And I do reciprocate.”

Poe narrowed his eyes. “You do?”

“Of course.” Finn licked his lips. “That’s why I never confronted you about the compliments. They felt too good to be true and I didn’t want to hear you say they didn’t mean anything.”

“They meant everything.”

When they kissed, it was with desperation; both of them clutching at each other for dear life, and Poe kept thinking that this was real, real, it was fucking real, he could feel Finn’s back and lips and breath. Finn’s hands in his hair.

“You’re too good for me,” Poe said when they broke apart, and Finn rolled his eyes, breathless.

“We need to work on your confidence, Poe. Have you seen yourself?”

Poe briefly wondered what he’d feel if Finn ran away after the dropped compliment, but he relished in the fact that he could just lean in with a laugh and kiss him again and again and again. He needed to make up for his running away, but he realized he had a whole life to make it up to him now.

[myqueenjudeduarte]

Hurt You Back: Chapter 1

POST-QUEEN OF NOTHING AND CONTAINS SPOILERS!!!

Summary: It seemed like the worst was over for Jude and Cardan -- but what could ever be worse for them than each other?

Word Count: 1,382

Tagging: @thehuntersmoon-haven​ and I can’t remember who else wants to be tagged in all my stuff but reply/message me if you want to be tagged in this!

The warmth of fragile peace which existed between Jude Duarte and Cardan Greenbriar in the weeks after their mortal world wedding party lasted just that — weeks. Those weeks were full of brushed hands, whispered words, and sharing the same bed night after night. They were full of sex. Those weeks were also full of unspoken discomforts, unacknowledged hardships that came from everything changing and oh-so quickly. From two people with little reason to trust anyone trying to trust each other, a trust stemming from love rather than growing as love’s foundation.

There was happiness for a week, semi-happiness for another, and something like terror for the week after that, the week of “I love you” laced with fear. Then the fighting began.

“Will you give me space?” was one snapped sentence.

“Do you think you can control me?” was another.

At first they made up, and those were the moments when they truly believed the tenuous grasp they had on each other would hold. Those were moments of gentleness and affection, moments they would both try to bring to mind during the fights that followed.

And fights certainly followed.

One problem, one problem of many, one problem of hundreds or thousands, was that Cardan trusted Jude — to an extent, Cardan trusted Jude — and Jude did not trust Cardan. Cardan did not trust Jude never to hurt him, even deliberately, even cruelly, but he trusted her to be Jude, and to be solid, and that was what he meant when he said, “I trust you.”

Jude trusted Cardan very little.

Jude did not even trust herself to be Jude, and to be solid.

And Jude didn’t know that Cardan’s fragile trust wouldn’t be enough until it was already too late.

—

There was no clear moment when true trouble began. After all, there had always been trouble for and between Jude and Cardan, so what was a little more?

The trouble that broke something within them might have begun when Jude told Cardan she didn’t trust him, or when he replied, “I would never have believed otherwise.”

It might have begun when Cardan started leaving the throne room right as Jude arrived, whispered excuses and silent apologies following, a feeling of “I wish I could stay but I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.”

It had certainly started by the time they had the fight that burned through all they had worked for, the work of years and pain and hurt and, ultimately, love.

This fight began with an attempt at peace.

“Cardan,” Jude said. “Things have been difficult lately, I know, but you need not leave the room when I arrive.”

Jude, in her way, believed this would help. Jude’s way was not to bring peace, but chaos. Jude had blood on her hands and no idea how to clean them.

“Do I not?” asked Cardan in response, cruelty lighting his features in a way it more and more often did. “Lately your presence has not been especially comforting.”

Jude’s anger spiked.

“I am not here for your comfort,” she said, to mask her hurt. “And you have never been a comfort to me,” she said, to mask her fear.

Cardan was silent for a moment, trying to temper his cruel impulses with the love he knew was there.

“I never wanted this.”

Jude heard, “I never wanted you,” and she said, “and yet it was always our fate.”

Cardan, having been raised with a cruel and inescapable “fate” hanging over his head, resented the word.

“Do you see why I leave the room when you arrive? Why would I want to go through this? Is it not better to be alone?”

“When you married me, that was the choice you made. When you told me you loved me you weren’t telling me you wanted to be alone.”

“Perhaps I made a mistake,” Cardan said, knowing as he said it that he should not have.

“Perhaps we both did,” said Jude, not even thinking of whether she should have said it.

The fight was not one of screaming, which perhaps would have made things worse, but likely would have made them better.

The fight was not vicious with “I hate you” and “I wish I could escape you,” but it was vicious all the same.

The fight was soft and truthful and all the more painful for it.

—

Cardan was angry. That was why he thought he did it.

Cardan was afraid. That was why he actually did it.

It was hours later, hours of silent avoidance, hours of fear and pain and longing and wishing for taken-back words on both sides.

Cardan was in the throne room when the faerie approached him.

“Forgive me, my King,” she said, bowing her head. “This may appear impudent. There have been rumors… there have been rumors that perhaps you are in need of a consort.”

Cardan could tell that her nervousness was faked, that she was acting for his benefit, and he did not care.

Cardan was in no need of a consort, and yet he found himself with the faerie — her name was Anlia — at his side, then in his lap, then taking him by the hand and pulling him from the throne. Cardan felt daring in a way he had not in some time. He felt reckless and free.

He felt horrid.

And that was before Jude walked in.

When Jude walked in, Cardan saw her instantly, his eyes as drawn to her human figure as they always had been. He felt love and pain and longing, and in the moment that her eyes rested on him and him alone, he thought he saw those feelings mirrored in them.

Then she noticed his hand joined with Anlia’s hand and all was lost. Then she looked at him with nothing but hatred, nothing but the pure betrayal of someone who realizes how far the game will go. Nothing but desire, not desire for Cardan but desire for hurting Cardan.

Cardan saw this, and he was empty, and he led Anlia from the throne room.

—

Jude had a decision to make. She could trust Cardan, but that was out of the question, and she was nearly certain it would be a waste of trust, anyway. There were two real options — leave Cardan to his business with the faerie, presumably the first random faerie he found after their fight, or catch him in the act.

Jude had never been one to turn her back and decide not to know.

So it was that she walked down the halls, and she felt the tension in her body, the burning anxiety and fear and near-panic, grow and grow and grow as she walked. She opened the door to Cardan’s chambers, and she heard Anlia’s laughter and barely processed it, having come too far to accept this as proof and turn back now. Jude walked into Cardan’s chambers, and she saw him naked, and Anlia naked and on her knees in front of him, on her knees like Jude herself had once been, and she turned and walked from the room, from the chambers, from the palace.

She felt her entire body folding into the pit in the bottom of her stomach, a bottomless hole she would never escape. Then she felt nothing. Then she felt homesick for a while, homesick for Madoc’s estate and a place she could call home that didn’t cause her quite this much pain. Then she remembered Madoc stabbing her and the pain she carried everywhere.

Then she wanted Cardan. It was a vicious cycle that ended when Jude found her way to the shore and stared into the water, bile rising in her throat as she remembered her time in the undersea. The horrors that had occurred there, and the horrors that were occurring here. Horror seemed to be Jude’s fate, she thought, and perhaps it was horror she deserved.

Then a memory, unbidden, came to Jude, a memory of a time when Locke had been alive, and when she had told him, even thinking she could one day love him, that if he hurt her, she wouldn’t cry. She would hurt him back.

Cardan had hurt her.

But she wouldn’t cry.

She would hurt him back.

[composeregg]

Hey I mean this gently but I wish you (and everyone tbh) would clarify what you mean when you say "anti". Because the problem is it means everything from "people who get mad if you include immoral acts in your story" to "people who think, actually romanticizing pedophilia, racism, and misogyny is bad even if the story itself is fake, because you are expressing those ideas as your own true beliefs." Saying "anti" on it's own is ambiguous because it's different depending on who is talking.

(I’m answering this publicly but if you want me to take it down just let me know and I will!)

So this is going to be heavily focused on the fandom sphere and specifically the drama I’ve seen surrounding Ao3 and their refusal to ban content.

My stance is basically “I do not give a fuck what you write, you’re allowed to do whatever you want with words and I will not stop you, just properly tag it and give warnings so I can filter it out so I don’t gotta see the stuff I do not want to see.” 

Obviously the stuff you listed is bad, I don’t support it, but things like that in fiction? with regards to the author’s own views? That need to be handled case-by-case. The issue with taking a stance as an “anti” is that from what I have seen, those people want to flat-out ban content like that, they want to get rid of it all. And that’s not feasible. And the line of what can stay and what can go varies from person to person.

If someone supports pedophilia, or racism, or misogyny, then that’s an issue to take up with that person. Where do we draw the line? Who gets to decide what is romanticizing those things? How do you know if that was the author’s intent or if they were trying to do something else, a poorly executed idea? It’s subjective, it’s impossible to implement one rule to deal with it all without causing collateral damage. And you can’t figure out the author’s beliefs solely on the basis of what they’ve written.

One of the fanfics I am proudest of, Event Horizon, is all about being in a dangerous relationship that makes you stop caring about yourself and makes you self destructive, and in the end, rather than confronting this and dealing with it maturely, a non-consensual memory wipe happens, leaving both characters hurt and hollow. That’s not me attempting to glorify those types of relationships, or the crossing of those boundaries, that’s me showing how messy things can be, but it could be read as support of that stuff by some, because I never have it debunked or anything. I rely on the readers’ ability to critically think, to deduce that “wow, that was fucked up and painful, and not a good relationship in any way, and it shouldn’t have gone like that.”

That’s my best personal example. I think it’s well-executed, and not glorifying, but some others would disagree. Some people don’t want anyone to ship Josh and Neku at all, because (to avoid spoilers for anyone else who reads this post, though really, if you follow me and don’t know twewy I don’t know why lol), the things that happened in the game supposedly make it inherently toxic, and Joshua’s position creates an imbalance of power.

Who gets to decide what can stay and what must go? What topics are allowed? What is the line? What is glorifying bad things, and what is asking readers to critically think? What is a vent fic dealing with trauma someone has gone through, and is that allowed? Are authors not allowed to use fiction to explore dark and otherwise taboo topics in a safe environment where people are not actually being harmed?

Antis of all types, in my experience, want the burden of answering these questions and policing content to fall on Ao3′s team. They want wide, sweeping bans. They hate that the underage and non-con warnings exist at all, or that incestous/pedophillic/abusive ships are allowed to be tagged and have a space on the archive. The thing is, that stuff would exist either way, and the warning system, the tagging system? It lets me filter that shit out. You don’t have to see it if you don’t want to. It’s only ever faulty when people don’t use it as intended. I never have to see Hanekoma/Joshua if I don’t want to, or Reigen/Mob, or Ritsu/Mob. I can sort all that shit out, and I do. People will do what they do, and I won’t stop them as long as they make sure I don’t have to see it.

Authors can be shitty, horrible people, and they can write their own views in, but that’s an issue with the person, not with the rules of what’s allowed and what’s not. If we ban misogynistic works, do we ban people from exploring the misogyny they’ve experienced? If we ban racism, do we ban PoC from exploring those topics in fiction? If we ban incest and pedophilia, do we ban survivors from using fiction as a coping method to deal with their trauma? If we ban ableism or queerphobia from being touched on, am I no longer allowed to write autistic queer characters facing real-life issues, because we wanted to stop someone else from publishing their actual views?

Bigoted people exist, and they will also write this stuff, but we cannot ban their content without hurting the rest. What we can do is think critically, and learn how to avoid what we don’t want to see, and maybe, if you can manage it, you might be able to engage in discussion with people who believe that sorta stuff, and change their minds. But that’s not your task, and you don’t have to read or engage in fiction that carries negative views or does not appeal to you. 

There’s a few posts that really express this thing well:

1 - “Is the author  dead? Is your baby in the bathwater?” (this is one of the best posts on this topic in my opinion)

2 - It is not the author’s fault if you read their fic that has been appropriately tagged with stuff you know will trigger you

3 - Having a black and white view of morality is not the approach that should be taken here

[famder-news]

Video Review Wednesday: Dealing with INTRUSIVE THOUGHTS

Hello, everyone!!! Before we begin, I wanted to let y’all know that due to the new-ness of this video, ALL of our normal top-of-the-post chatter, including the characters in the video and the length of the video, will be under the cut in order to avoid spoilers. This post will remain not properly tagged as well; at least, it sill remain so until 2 weeks after the video’s been up to refrain from spoilers. Mobile users, just,... scroll REALLY FAST!!!

Watch the NEWEST Sanders Sides video HERE!!! (But make sure to read the warning card at the start of the video first!!! Keep yourselves safe!!!)

SO!!! To be fair, I was going to write a video review for Selfishness Vs Selflessness. BUT!!! This video is New and Exciting and we’re going to review it!!! Unlike other Sanders Sides Reviews, I’ll be writing about this one as I watch it!! I’ll be numbering my thoughts as I go under Stray Thoughts plus my random thoughts that might be wrong about the video’s content, along with the time in the video (

put in parenthesis and then italicized

) that I thought of it so that you guys can keep up. I’m really excited to watch this, so let’s go!!!

Video Length: 41:16

Characters In Order Of Appearance: Thomas, Virgil, Patton, Roman, Logan, [DATA EXPUNGED]

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Our video starts with!!!! A CONTENT WARNING!!! The first content warning placed in-video for Thomas’s content, save for possibly Accepting Anxiety because I’m not about to go and check. Then (ignoring the ad), the video opens with a LATE and TOTALLY PANICKING Thomas getting ready to film. I noticed that he looked REALLY tired, but at this point I’m pretty sure it’s Thomas and not Virgil.

Then, the intro card!!!

Thomas is... in a bath robe, obviously exhausted, and trying to film his video. He’s rambling, he’s exhausted, he looks like the emotional equivalent of getting hit by a bus, AAAND Virgil and Patton show up when Thomas is like “yeah everything has gone to SHIT.” Patton looks.... Surprisingly anxious, even for him. Virgil agrees to try and change the subject, but Virgil looks FAR more tired than normal. His eyeshadow is darker than it’s been in a long, long time.

And then Roman appears RIGHT as they’re trying to change the subject. Patton and Virgil won’t tell Roman what’s going on; weird, to be honest. BUT since they’re lying, I’m pretty sure Deceit will appear (2:10). Roman insists that he wants to know what’s going on. Thomas AND Virgil both said Ro wouldn’t want to know, and Patton’s just trying to help kep Ro distracted, and failing miserably.

AND HEEEERES LOGAN!!! Who gets IMMEDIATELY roasted because he’s pretty sure the whole Thomas Feeling Bad thing is because of Lee and Mary Lee VS The Callback. He calls Patton and Virgil’s reactions an over-reaction only to get roasted because of Logan’s self-defined state of having no feelings. Cue the falsehood screech when he gets called out, and then Roman’s STILL trying to figure out what’s going on.

AND LOGAN DAMN NEAR REVEALED IT!!! and EVERYONE starts yelling at him to SHUT HIS MOUTH!!! To be honest, I’ve never seen this happen in ANY Sanders Side video--Like, sure, we’ve had 1 side yell at another, but THIS? Dang...

HE WAS GONNA SAY INTRUSIVE THOUGHTS!!! HOT DAMN LOGAN, YOU GO!!! And NOW I know why there was so much yelling!!! Thomas wants to Not Think About It!!!

And now they’re talking about a movie (that I, Mod Wheat, have never seen), and Thomas... Spaces out. And has an Intrusive Thought. AND holy shit THERE ARE hands BEHIND rOMAN’S TV!!!!!!!

Ladies and Gents, introducing our Newest Side: Bastard Man!!! He’s got the world’s most COMICAL mustache and, honestly, his appearance is Unnerving. But, that’s probably the point!!! I had to pause the video because of my yelling about the new side, so... Back to the vid!!!

And OH WOW, Patton and Virgil are SCARED SHITLESS of him!!! And now Bastard has a staff!!! WHAT IS GOING ON!!! IT WAS A MACE NOT A STAFF HE HIT ROMAN!!! BASTARD MAN IS A DOUCHE!!!!

And NOW we can call Bastard Man Duke!!! I... Don’t know how I feel about how Roman was handled.

AND: MUSICAL NUMBER!!! Duke jumps STRAIGHT into an adam and eve comparison, and we have Virgil and Patton looking uncomfortable and nauseous. AND THEN HE STARTS SINGING ABOUT GETTING THE SCARY PIECES OF CREATIVITY!!! Which, base don the fact that Thomas canonically and IRL doesn’t like Scary Content, is... Weird. And the other sides... Can’t seem to get this New Boi to STFU. WILD.

DECEIT KIND OF APPEARS!!! MY SNAKE SON!!! STOPPED HOLDING DUKE BACK!!! Honestly, it looks like Duke took Dee venting about the whole Lee and Mary Lee situation WAY OUT OF HAND, but still!!!

and NOW we get into more interesting material!!! Duke starts running through... What I would call intrusive thoughts. Licking the blowhole of a dolphin? Wild. Best friend shut inside a coffin? ALSO Wild, but in a less good way.

And Duke just straight-up saying “YEAH you’re a BAD PERSON because you THINK these things????” Like... Holy SHIT, dude. If I had to guess, Duke is Intrusive Thoughts. We’ll see if I’m right.

Music ends, and Duke claims he’s Thomas’s Creativity. But, only a piece of it. The piece that goes to the gore and the scary and the “juicy stuff”, as Duke puts it.

And then they talk about Jeffery Dahmer... Thomas tries to get the Duke to shut up, which only succeeds in getting the Duke to... NOT shut up.

And then they get into WHAT the Duke is. He’s half of Thomas’s creativity--the half that he’s squirreled away, banished as bad imagination. This, in turn, led to the Duke being experienced as Intrusive Thoughts by Thomas. Which, at about 15 minutes into the video, shouldn’t be where they leave the defining off.

And then... Virgil says that Thomas is, inherently, NOT the good person he wants to be. Because of the intrusive thoughts caused by the Duke. Now, I don’t know much about how intrusive thoughts perpetuate, but I DO know that having them doesn’t inherently make you a bad person; it’s when you ACT on them (and by them I mean the WORST ones) that you are.

After that, Virgil tries to claim that the Duke is, well, kind of useless because some thoughts have no meaning. Which is great!!! Except that he immediately crumbles afterwards, stating that clearly they MUST have a purpose otherwise why would they have been thought? this goes on to claiming that the thoughts aren’t Thomas’s, and that therefore means Thomas is innocent. Which... doesn’t end well, since only Thomas can think Thomas’s thoughts.

I’m going to... SKIP a bunch of content here, since I’m 20 minutes in and I want to finish the post before I hit a word limit or my power goes out aka I got distracted watching the video akdfhklshd, so we’re jumping to... LOGAN!!!

Logan starts debunking the Duke, running through why the Duke exists at all as well as the fact that the Duke having as much power as he does is because of Patton and Virgil. Virgil, because the thoughts make him anxious and make the anxiety jump WAY through the roof, and Patton because Patton doesn’t want to just... leave the thoughts be and let them happen.

And with this reveal, and the use of Logic to dismantle the Duke, we are left with several things to think of; the fact that intrusive thoughts can be combated with Logic, the fact that if you just relax and let them go they can’t hurt you (very much), and the Duke’s name: Remus.

After that, Remus nyooms off to... wherever Remus goes, and Roman’s back to consciousness!!! God bless you Roman, we missed you!!! And then... Roman apologizes to Logan for calling him a name!!! Score!!! And then Thomas is feeling alright, and HE THANKS LOGAN AND CALLS LOGAN COOL!!!! AND MY GOD!!! MY SMART SON!!! LOOKS SO BAMBOOZLED BUT LIKE CONTENT!!!! HELL YEAH!!!

And Remus pops back up one more time, Roman reveals that he doesn’t LIKE Remus because Remus is all the BAD things bout creativity, and then it’s Thomas and Virgil. And BOY OH BOY does Virgil have ONE HELL OF A REVEAL!!! For the sake of those whose mobile doesn’t scroll fast enough, I won’t spoil it (even though I’ve spoiled pretty much most of the episode), since SOME things must be discovered for their own merit!!!

And then... it’s the end of the video!!! It’s confirmed that the Thomas that does the Ads in the beginning of the longer videos is the Sanders-verse canon Thomas!!! Really interesting take, honestly!!!

End Card:

Remus is the Trash Man. He eats the deodorant while watching Thomas, it’s fucking WILD!!! And then at the LAST SECOND, Remus pops up like “There’s a snake in my butt!!!” like HELL YEAH REMUS YOU GO REMUS!!!

Stray Thoughts:

(1) The music cover for the content warning is a Bop tbfh (like 4 seconds in)

(2) I know the robe is probably a bad thing but I am LIVING for the tired robe life. Reminds me of college student horse shit surrounding engineering finals (1:42)

(3) “It’s Virgil, everybody give it up for the purp man...” has me CACKLING (3:55)

(4) I do not LIKE the bastard man... But god DAMN does he look good in Green (6:22)

(5) When Duke said Thomas Lacked Imagination after knocking Roman out and then yeeted STRAIGHT into an Adam and Eve thing... Makes me wonder if he can control the Imagination too :/ (6:54)

(6) Ok as much as I don’t like the Duke he is just... a litel creatchure... he canot change this... (17:35)

(7) The duke is... Growing on me. Still doesn’t take Dee’s spot as my favorite, but he’s a Chaotic Neutral at its finest. (25-ish mins in)

Quotes:

"It’s Virgil.... Everybody give it up for the purp man...” -Thomas, un-enthused

"Roman is sort of like Netflix kids and family. He’s the option that you select if you want to--” “Block out all the juicy stuff!!!” -Logan & Duke

“Either way, you’re not my creativity.” “Yeah! That’s the brave, handsome, unbeatable ROMAN!” *Roman, still unconscious and mumbling things* -Thomas, Patton, and Roman

“There’s a snake in my butt!!!” -Remus

This was a super good episode!!! I really like Remus, even though he could, admittedly, be taken to be More Evil than Deceit currently is. I need to watch and re-watch the video to have more theories about it, but I am LOVING our newest side and I cannot WAIT for an episode with both Remus AND Dee in it. It’d be a pretty interesting episode!!!

- Mod Wheat

[depressed-sock]

Reveal AU Part 12

A Fallen Hero Fanfic

This series will have spoilers! I also tried to make sure this chapter didn’t need any tag warnings but if you feel it needs some kind, message me so I can add them.

This is also the last part for the time being. There are some other works I want to work on right now but I may come back and add more to this series later.

Unexpected

Steel present:

You feel like you could strangle him the moment the words leave his mouth and he rushes out the door. This was not a part of the plan that the two of you had discussed. He was definitely hoping to use this as a distraction but neither of you would fall for-  "YOU'VE HAD A CRUSH ON ME!?" Of course... Of course, Ortega falls for it hook, line, and sinker. You sigh pinching the bridge of your nose.  "This isn't really-"  "All the times I've tried to set you up…." Realization dawning on his face, "Fuck! I thought you just weren't interested in relationships. Oh my god, you've-"  "Kiyo just left. On his own. I think that issue is more pressing," you try to move past him but he steadfastly blocks your way.  "He can handle himself," he crosses his arms in agitation, starring you down, expecting some kind of truth. You don't understand why either of them are pushing an issue that won't change anything.   You find yourself shaking your head in disbelief at him. He's the one that insisted someone stay with Kiyo, "You're the one-"  "I know what I said and he can definitely be an idiot on his own but he can take care of himself long enough for this to be addressed first," he remains unbudging. Stubborn as always.  "I know he can handle himself, I told you that, but he also has a stab wound. If anyone takes him by surprise-"  "He's a telepath," more confidence. You really do not want to discuss who you definitely do not have a crush on.  So you use a piece of information you’ve been holding onto for when Kiyo was more recovered and you could all start planning your next move, "Hollow Ground knows he's a telepath. When we went to rescue you they had telepathic dampeners that Argent accidentally took out." You watch as his face turns immediately to worry.  "…Fuck," he hesitates, sighing in frustration and turning towards the door only to swing angrily back, "This talk isn't over." His face turns from anger to contemplation before he shakes it, turning back and heading out the door.… without shoes.

 Goddamnit, why do you feel like the only adult here? You sigh hand wiping down your face and finally looking down at Spoon as he runs up happily to you. You lean down to pet him, before standing back up to head into the kitchen to double check that he has food and water and to grab your keys.

 “I need you to stay here for now,” you murmur, scratching gently behind his ears. He responds with a happy bark before trotting off to his bed. You smile softly and rise to your feet as Ortega walks back through the door.

 “Not a word,” he reaches down and grabs his shoes, heading back out the door. You shake your head in response, following him down the stairs. “He’s probably heading to his apartment,” he comments struggling to get his shoes on as he walks.

 “Do you know where that is?” You snort unintentionally as you try not to laugh as he almost falls over. He glances back at you with glare, stopping to fix his left shoe.

 “Yeah, where’s your car?” he steadies himself back upright, looking at you to make sure he sees you point out your car. You vaguely point in the right direction and he turns to move towards your care. “Just drive straight ahead, I’ll tell you when you need to turn.”

 You unlock your car, taking note of the empty space in front of it, and you quickly fall into the driver's seat, with Ortega already slamming his door shut. You start the car, following his directions. A quiet settling between the both of you, causing a nervousness to itch between your shoulder blades.

 “I can’t believe you never told me,” it comes unexpectedly as he glowers out the window, refusing to meet your gaze. You sigh in response, maybe the car was a bad idea.

 “There was nothing to tell,” you respond because you know you’re not getting out of this conversation now. You could pull over and walk but as tempting as that is, this is the only fast solution of finding wherever Kiyo ran off too.

 “There was apparently plenty to tell if Kiyo thought it was worth knowing,” he crosses his arms leaning back into the seat.

 “He was using it to distract both of us.”

 “Wei,” he finally looks at you even though you can’t, too focused on the street ahead, too focused on avoiding his gaze. “Why didn’t you say anything.” you can hear the hurt in his voice, can see the way his lips frown when you look at him from the corner of your eye.

 “I thought you were straight,” a simple safe statement but you know he won’t be satisfied with just that, “And then Kiyo showed up and you…. Well, I realized I missed my chance,” you’re still not sure with who though. Memories of Ortega’s bright smile and how he did everything with reckless confidence. Kiyo young, brash, but always so fascinated by simple things others would have taken for granted. Both of them are so different now... No, you should say all of you are different now.

 He’s quiet, studying you before shifting uncomfortably in his seat, “Why didn’t you ask after...” It’s said so softly you almost miss it, and it hurts more than it should that you both know exactly why you didn’t ask after Heartbreak. That he wants an answer he already has.

 “You were mourning,” you respond just as softly, “we both were.” He remains silent in response, looking back out the window. “Which way?”

 “Take a right at the next light,” he murmurs, lost in thought. You can almost understand Kiyo’s frustration with not being able to read his mind. “I don't think I ever expected you to say you mourned for him,” you turn to look at him almost offended but he matches you with a roll of his eyes, “Don't look at me like that. You never made an effort to make people think you could even stand him.”

  You turn your gaze back to the road, a frown on your lips, “I mourned him, and I regretted the way I acted...I admit I fucked up. Maybe things would have been different if I hadn't acted the way I did but we can't change the past,” you can’t change what you did or what you didn’t do.

  He huffs out a laugh, shaking his head demeanor shifting as a smile creeps onto his face, “...Sooo, if Kiyo and I weren't-”

 “Do not say what you’re about to say.”

 “Come on, it’s a hypothetical question.”

 “It’s you trying to stroke your ego.”

 “Wei, I’m sure you know I can stroke more than that,” he grins at you, arching his eyebrows suggestively, “Next building on the left is our stop by the way.” You curse, willing the heat to leave your face as you pull over into the next available spot. You try to ignore him, unbuckling your seatbelt only to pause as you move to get out of the car.

 “I wouldn’t have pursued you,” you stress the last part, getting out of the car with a smirk.

 “...Wait...What???”

…

 The door is ajar when you finally reach it, with you still steadfastly ignoring Ortega’s questions and only talking to him to demand the room number.

 “Seriously, what did that mean-”

 “Ortega shut up,” you motion to the door and he immediately quiets. You flex your hands, belatedly remembering they're your civilian hands. Maybe you should have come more prepared just in case.

 “I’ll go first, wait for my say,” Ortega whispers, hands sparking as he pushes past you, falling easily back into being a Ranger, a leader. He gently opens the door, peering inside and signals to you that the room is empty. He slips inside, moving with quiet determination. You wait, listening carefully but all you can hear are Ortega’s soft footsteps. A moment later he opens the door with a frown, “It’s empty but it looks like someone tore through here looking for something.”

 Peering past him, the room is a mess, items thrown haphazardly around but nothing looks purposely broken, “Kiyo maybe?”

 “How would he have beat us here?”

 “I’m pretty sure he hotwired the car that was sitting in front of mine. It had been sitting there for weeks untouched,” you cross your arms entering the room. It’s smaller and more rundown than what you would have expected. You remember in the past, he had been living in where ever he could find shelter. This place is probably his first proper home.

 He moves towards a table picking up a picture frame that had been knocked to the ground, “Why would he have left the door open then?” You watch as he frowns, setting the picture face down on the table.

 “He’s already in a rush avoiding us,” you do one more glance over, “And most of this just looks like someone hasn’t cleaned in a while. Is this what it looked like when you came over?” Maybe you’re just seeing things this way because you’re trying not to worry. He doesn’t respond and you turn to find him rubbing the back of his neck. “Ortega,” you sigh.

 “I found it on accident… looking into another lead,” he shrugs, crossing his arms defensively.

 “Do I even want to know?”

 “Probably not,” he shrugs again, “If he’s already been here we should look elsewhere.” He looks around before his gaze settles back on you, “So what do you mean you wouldn’t have pursued me?”

  You cross your arms matching his stance, eye’s narrowing on him, “What lead were you following that led you here?” He pouts as you look at him expectantly, before throwing up his hands in surrender.

 “Fine, we won’t talk about that. Where else do you think he would go?”

 “I have a few ideas.”

…

 Five hours later and no lead to tell where Kiyo went or if he was alright. You pull into your parking spot, sighing tiredly. You’re not sure what to do other than wait for a sign from him.

 “Is that the car you were talking about?” Ortega sits straight in his seat and you immediately notice it too.

 “Yes,” you're both out of the car without a second thought, heading straight for your apartment.

 Ortega already ahead of you, way faster than you could ever hope to be. He takes the stairs to by two and you find yourself slowing down. If Kiyo's back you may as well give them some time together. Let Ortega worry over him.

 So you climb the stairs normally, holding back the urgent need to know he's okay. Kiyo has always been able to take care of himself… maybe that's another problem though. You remember seeing the scars that marred his arms. Wounds hastily stitched together by his own hand.

 You shake your head, another thought for another time. You reach the door, it easily opening and the sound of Kiyo laughing feels the room. You enter to find them both on the ground spoon happily laying next to Ortega as Kiyo holds….

 “You didn't,” you pinch the bridge of your nose in frustration. Kiyo looks up at you with a smile, holding a bundle of fur that looks far too large to be the puppy you know it is.

 “I told you I was going to get one,” he shrugs as the puppy barks happily, trying to escape to play with Spoon.

 “Please tell me you didn't steal it,” this is a complication no one needed right now.

 “Hey! I bought him!” he looks at you offended as he hugs the dog closer to his chest.

 “With stolen money,” you cross your arms looking at him disapprovingly.

 “Chen,” Ortega stands up, a mischievous smile on his face, “Lighten up,” you don't register what he's doing until his mouth is pressed against yours. You open your mouth ready to tell him off and your hands ready to push him away but he takes advantage adding tongue to the kiss.

 You can feel a blush creeping into your cheeks, and when he finally pushes away you feel like you've been punched in the gut. Fucking Ricardo Ortega.

 He has the gall to wink at you, “That's for not telling me.” You stare at him even as Kiyo breaks into a fit of laughter.

 Kiyo breathes hard trying to catch his breath long enough to speak. “Holy fuck, Chen feel free to punch him.”

 “Hey wait a sec-”

 You don't even hesitate.

[joddit-y]

Gabriel and Beelzebub's Divintively Terrible Plan (a Good Omens fanfiction)

if you’d rather read it A03, click here

chapter one is here, two is here, four is here

WARNING: IF YOU ARE TRIGGERED BY ANXIETY/PANIC ATTACKS, READ WITH CAUTION

CHAPTER THREE

Aziraphale was a bit worried about his friend. Logically speaking, there wasn’t anything wrong with him- the apocalypse had been called off, Adam had put reality back on its feet, their respective head offices weren’t calling for their heads. And yet, the angel couldn’t help but feel the demon was acting strange. He had called on Aziraphale several times per week during the months that followed the Apocalypse-That-Wasn’t, and although Aziraphale found this to be a rather pleasant surprise (he initiated many of their days together now as well), he’d begun to notice a significant trend in Crowley’s increasingly regular visits. That being, he didn’t. Crowley seemed determined to avoid the bookshop at all costs. 

If Aziraphale invited him over, he’d make a counter offer or abruptly cancel and reschedule at a different location. As a result Aziraphale was becoming better acquainted with his best friend’s flat, but he was beginning to worry if the demon simply did not like the bookshop anymore. But, he supposed, it was irrelevant. The time spent with Crowley is what mattered.

Sighing into the musty air, Aziraphale gently closed Agnes Nutter’s book of Nice and Accurate Prophecies (He’d had to beg Adam to let him keep a copy without stealing Anathema’s). He’d taken great delight in deciphering her already proven accurate predictions, it was like playing some grand game of connect the dots- he’d had a good laugh with Crowley over her instructions regarding Betamax.

But there was no point in worrying over something if you weren’t going to do anything about, he decided. Removing his gloves, he scootched the chair back and picked his way over several small stacks of books littering the floors (not that he particularly condoned a dishevelled shop, but it had served rather well as a customer deterrent in the past- twisted ankles were something no one enjoyed) to the telephone. Well, it was actually his new “flip phone” that Crowley had coaxed him into buying. Said owning a rotary phone was an affront to human innovation, and that the least he could do to keep up with the times would be getting an upgrade. His demonic friend had been pushing a smartphone, but Aziraphale met him halfway with a Nokia flip phone. He hadn’t been too fond of it originally- still didn’t like the idea that Crowley may have been right about the usefulness of modern technology, but the little contraption (“Little?! It’s a brick with a price tag!” Crowley had exclaimed at that remark. He’d been torn between hating the flip phone and grateful that Aziraphale finally had a mobile) had grown on him. It really was quite handy for taking calls, and although texting took him an inordinate amount of time, he did enjoy righteously snapping the lid shut when he wished to hang up on someone with flair.

Scrolling through his contacts to Crowley’s name, he paused. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. If he pushed Crowley too far...no, Crowley is a demon and of strong character, this wouldn’t cause problems. It wouldn’t. As his phone dialed a loud and annoying tune, he noticed vaguely that in stories whenever a character has to reassure themselves that their course of action was right, it never was.

Unfortunately this thought had been drowned out by the first few seconds of a voicemail message, interrupted by the sleepy sounds of his friend waking himself up.

“Ngh...hey ‘ziraphale, what’ss up?” he mumbled, a drowsy hiss escaping his defences.

“Crowley! Ah, good morning dear boy, I hope I didn’t wake you?” He stuttered, mentally kicking himself for not thinking of something to say before calling.

“Nah, you’re fine. I mean, you did. But it’ss fine…” Crowley said, dangerously close to falling back asleep.

“Well, I was wondering if you would like to have a drink this evening?” He began, his mind desperately scrabbling for plausible reasoning for his next query almost audible.

Crowley seemed to perk up at that.

“Yeah, sure, sounds great. So- so, the Ritz? My place?”

Aziraphale rubbed a manicured nail anxiously.

“Ah, well, see, I was thinking. And I thought that since I...have something to show you here at the bookshop, why don’t you just meet me here, I can show you that, ah, thing , and then we can indulge ourselves afterwards?”

Silence from the other end of the line.

Aziraphale sucked in a breath. He had to convince Crowley that it was necessary he come or he might never find out why he was avoiding their old haunt.

“I, erm, well- I’ll be frank with you my dear, I received something recently that is unexpectedly demonic, it can’t be moved outside the shop, and I require your assistance in managing it.”

It is important to know at the point that Aziraphale hadn’t manipulated his best friend completely. He actually had received a mysterious package that radiated demonic energy. So he had no choice but to open it at some point, it’s not like he could give it to a human, it could be dangerous (besides, the box was rather large and was taking up far too much space in the shop to be ignored).

“-It’s just. Well. Crowley, I need your help with this, and I was really hoping you’d be willing.” he babbled. He hoped his friend would cooperate.

“...Yea, uh if you really need me at the shop, than I can..I can do that.”

The angel sighed in relief, a hand fluttering to his chest.

“Oh, oh thank you, dear boy, that’s really very--”

He would have kept talking if not for the telltale shrill from his phone that Crowley had hung up on him. A white eyebrow arched.

Strange behaviour indeed.

~~~

The sun was setting, evening had fallen. Washed out pink and gold streaks coloured the darkening sky, the few puffy clouds that were still dithering overhead hastened over the hills like obedient sheep called by their shepherd. London was calm, street lights becoming visible and casting a warm yellow glow over the roads. The atmosphere was serene, a perfect night to enjoy a glass (or several) of fine alcohol with a loved one. Yet the demon Crowley wasn’t picking up on this. He was sitting in his Bentley, white knuckling the wheel, staring doggedly at the dash as if it had compared his fashion sense to Aziraphale’s. The car was not moving. Crowley had slumped into the leather seat near ten minutes ago and hadn’t done anything since. He was waiting. Waiting, to not fear dread seeing the bookshop again. He wouldn’t admit it, but the demon hadn’t dealt with all the... feelings the fire gave him. It was almost like he was afraid to go back to the scene of the crime.

He’d considered dropping by the shop several times before, but had never gone through with it, always swerving into some back alley (or on one memorable occasion, a window- the Bentley’s to be precise) to avoid it. Het let out a growly sigh, removed his sunglasses, stared at the ceiling, reconsidered his last course of action and put the glasses on again, and finally willed the ever patient car into life.

Contrary to popular belief, the Bentley had been getting fed up with its driver’s antics and had been about thirty seconds away from kicking its engine into gear and driving him there itself.

Thankfully the stalling demon got his act together before that happened and remained blissfully unaware of his automobile’s opinions.

Crowley didn’t think about much while on the road. He simply focused on the fact that he would be helping Aziraphale and as a plus, consuming a concerning amount of alcohol. And that was enough for him. Except for the one occasion when it wasn’t and he regretted everything, letting loose a string of curse words screamed at the top of his lungs.

Soon enough he was pulling into the parking space on the corner of the shop, and the majority of his anxiety had been dealt with.

Spoiler alert, it hadn’t. Crowley just happens to be rather good at lying to himself. (Which is also a lie. Or is it?)

In the blink of a golden eye, Crowley was standing before the wooden door once again. But the major difference was that it was not burning to charcoal before him, and he did his best to remind himself of that fact. Rapping politely, his gaze drifted towards Aziraphale’s unnecessarily convoluted sign regarding his store’s hours, snorting under his breath at the ridiculous measures his angel took to keep out customers.

Wait.

Crowley was a demon . Demons did not “rapp politely.” Demons were rude and did what they wanted, and Crowley liked to consider himself somewhat of an unsavoury character- working for Hell or not, he had a reputation to uphold. So the obvious thing to do would be to barge in on whatever the angel was doing in a rather insensitive manner. But Crowley didn’t want to do that. He’d rather put off going into the shop for as long as possible, as he’d made quite clear over the past months. The serpentine demon decided a compromise would have to do, banging out a thundering rhythm on the poor abused tree the moment Aziraphale decided to open the door.

Crowley, nearly whacking the unsuspecting shopkeep soundly on the nose, retracted his fist quickly and arranged his face in an expression of vague distaste. Aziraphale blinked, a hand shooting up belatedly to protect his face. He chuckled lightly, chapped lips quirking upwards at the sight before him. Hands shoved into his pockets, eyes unreadable through dark shades, was his best friend Crowley. A mumbled sort of apology escaped his sharp tongue, seemingly without the consent of its master.

“Well do come in, dear boy, that box isn’t going to open itself.” Aziraphale said warmly, beckoning the demon inside.

His shoulders tensed as he strutted into the cluttered space. Everything seemed perfectly fine, he could even smell a whiff of cocoa in the air. He supposed the box was the thing that couldn’t leave the shop and required Crowley’s personal assistance-

Now that he thought about it, that sounded like-

“Angel, did you make up that whole box thing just to get me in the shop?” he questioned.

“Why would I need to, unless you’ve been avoiding it?” Aziraphale responded, an innocent look on his face.

Sneaky angel, Crowley thought. Kinda endearing.

...No, he amended.

The angel gave a little half-smile and clapped his hands. “So! Recently I was delivered an anonymous package, see that large crate over there-?” he pointed out the conspicuous looking wooden crate occupying a back corner of the book shop. It had an aura, almost like it was...wait. Crowley sniffed. He’d been shoving his more unappealing emotions into a hole for the past few minutes, but now there was something... in the air- acrid, smoky,

b u r n i n g

A flicker of red orange light appeared out of the corner of his eye. No, no no, this could not be happening again Aziraphale was too careful and oh god someone his angel was still here , he might not be so lucky again--

“...so you see the problem is the demonic aura this beastie is emanating, I really think that you would be more suited to…”

--his heart was beating wildly in his chest, it usually didn’t beat at all--

Crowley whirled around to beat out the flames -- he could feel the heat creeping up the back of his neck--

Only to find that there was nothing? Nothing, just nothing, that couldn’t be right -- short, erratic breaths pushed themselves out, desperate for air he didn’t need-- He frowned, somewhat aware of the plump man in his peripherals calling after him confusedly.

“Crowley?”

Crowley didn’t seem to hear him, fidgeting and glaring at a spot by his desk.

--he could smell smoke, it didn’t make sense it DIDN’T MAKE SENSE--

Aziraphale approached his friend. He’d never seen him like this, he didn’t seem quite well, chest almost heaving as he stood stock still.

“Crowley are you alright, you’re starting to worry me!” He exclaimed, and laid a gentle hand on the suited shoulder. Crowley started, blinking rapidly behind his glasses and jerkily maneuvering himself away from the angel’s touch. Now that was definitely odd, Crowley never had a problem with contact- several occasions where Crowley had draped himself over Aziraphale when he was hungover attest to that.

“Dear boy, do tell me what’s wrong.” He worried insistently.

Crowley smiled awkwardly and suggested they take the box outside in case whatever was inside damaged his precious books. Aziraphale considered this to actually be a sound idea, but one look at the wheezing demon practically wringing his hands beside him made his mind up for him.

“That sounds like a fantastic idea my dear, why don’t we go, ah, scope out a good place for it first hm?” He said soothingly, guiding his friend towards the back door.

Crowley felt the cool night air like a slap to the face. It was all hitting him now.

Tears streaming down his face, eyes burning-

aziraphale-

smoke pooling in his lungs, burning him from the inside, scorching heat charring everything he loved to cinders-

he’s gone, gone-

the roar of the flames hammered in his eardrums, the sickening sounds of home crumbling to ash behind him-

AZIRAPHALE HE’S DEAD-

he couldn’t see couldn’t breathe couldn’t   t h i n k

SOMEBODY  KILLED  MY  BEST  FRIEND

~thanks for reading!~

[moistwithgender]

Monthly Media Roundup (May 2019)

The march of time inexorably proceeds beyond my grasp and so I must write another post. I’ve been a bit burned out, just focusing on one diversion (it was Zelda, you know it was Zelda), but after finishing it I recovered enough energy to get a few more things done in the last half of the month. I didn’t watch any anime or read any manga in May, though I did read some 70s Marvel, which I liveblog in my “curry reads comics” tag. Last time I did an actual capital-P Post about my Marvel reading was a year ago after marathoning a full(ish) decade. If people are interested in more of that I could work at making posts for each year of issues I read, recapping the developments and my thoughts on them (which will become more relevant as Events become more common, I imagine). I’ve just got a few games to talk about this month, but I imagine I have a lot to say about at least one of them.

The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild (Switch): 2 years ago I did something I extremely rarely do: stood in line at a Best Buy at midnight for the release of the Switch so that I could buy it with BotW. BotW was also out on Wii U, which I had, but the promotional material for BotW had struck such a chord in me that it justified making the jump for the new console (this would eventually become troublesome when the first model of joycons failed, but, well). I got home, put some ten odd hours into it, and then put it down for two years. I’ve always had a problem where, struck with the intuition that I will end up forming a deep relationship with a work, I will put it off for years. I put off Persona 3 for five years after buying it at launch, and it eventually became the most personal game experience I would have, even seven years onward. I think the two factors that pushed me to finally play through BotW was wanting to watch a friend stream it (but also not wanting it spoiled for me), and needing a distraction for when I was taking care of my cat.

It’s been about two months now since he passed away, and I finally finished the game at 215+ hours about half a month ago. So, I was playing this game as a coping method while preparing for loss, and in dealing with loss. It’s appropriate that the game is effectively both a fantasy about reclaiming at least part of what you have lost, and a colossal exercise in coping. The game is as much about getting distracted from your responsibilities and fucking off to snowboard in the mountains as it is about being aware of the world around you. The Zelda games have frequently used themes of Shintoism to portray harmony in nature and in civilization. I’m currently replaying Ocarina of Time and the cosmogony myth (is it a myth if a talking tree explains it to you?) specifically words the goddesses as “[giving] the spirit of law to the world” and “[producing] all life forms who would uphold the law.” When I was younger (see: early 20s) I didn’t scrutinize the text much but now I figure it’s reasonable to read “law” as “natural order”. It should be noted that for an N64 game, OoT has remarkably good prose. BotW, in transitioning the series in what may be its third main genre (as opposed to the genres of Zelda 1 and OoT), has taken that Shintoist aesthetic and incorporated it into the entire philosophy of the game’s design. More than just being a game whose narrative concerns an imbalanced world, BotW embraces the trends of open worlds and immersive sims to create an immense, varied space where the coded laws of physics are always impacting the experience. Thunderstorms make metal equipment a liability, while rain covers the sounds of footsteps. Wind can sweep away items, fire and high temperatures affect flammable objects (including yourself), and aforementioned metallic items can conduct electricity, which can be used to solve puzzles in unintended ways. Weather changes regularly based on the region and changes the world in tandem. Rain doesn’t just fall, it actively collects, and ponds become bigger, and surfaces become slicker. Each systemic element (pun not intended) that was incorporated affected everything else in the world, and in interviews there were mentions that changing the volume of wind in one area had a butterfly effect on another, causing pots to fly off of patios in a village. It’s no wonder the game took five years to make, considering how rarely glitches occur in the game (and most that I know of have to be deliberately recreated for exploitation). You’re engaging with enemies as much as you are with the environment, and at times even with your own body, creating and consuming food and drink for the purpose of staving off sunstroke or frostbite. As a result, BotW’s Hyrule is immensely palpable, and easy to lose oneself in from how livable it feels.

When I first started playing at release, I was a bit disappointed to discover that villages existed in-game, as early promotional material and the state of the Great Plateau you start on painted a picture of a lonely world. In the end, the soundtrack and vast amount of uncolonized land does give an understated sense of melancholy that defines the game, though the fact that every five steps you’ll find a Korok micropuzzle waiting to YA HA HA and fanfare at you betrays that a bit (I still love those Koroks and their puzzles, don’t @ me). The NPCs in this are numerous, though, from the occupants of the villages to wandering traders, and their personalities are all distinct and charming, and probably the best I’ve ever seen in a game, or at least in a long time. If this game wasn’t railroading the Link/Zelda relationship so hard, I would have liked a Dragon’s Dogma-style “date any NPC (within reason)” mechanic. I’m just going to have to start a “NPCs you should marry” side-tumblr.

Another defining aspect of the gameplay, and easily what makes the game surpass arguably every other Zelda, is how Nintendo heard the decade or so of complaints about the linear Zelda lock-and-key formula being reiterated to the point of stagnation, and, after great success with A Link Between Worlds’ item rental subversion, just decided to make everything optional. You do the tutorial on the Great Plateau, and, if you feel especially gutsy, you can beeline it straight to Ganon. He’s in horse-riding distance, or running distance, if you’re tenacious. Will you make it to him, survive the hordes of enemies, and take him down? If it’s your first time playing the game and you haven’t learned the systems, probably not. Is it possible? Absolutely. Much like how the monthly cycle of a Persona game is a proverbial Rocky training montage of preparing for The Big Fight, everything you do in BotW is in preparation. A lot of open world games can feel dissonant in that you’re incentivized to be distracted as a player and make your own fun, meanwhile the protagonist keeps saying “I’m gonna get bloody revenge on the mafia boss!” during bowling matches. There is still, unavoidably, a sense of urgency played up for narrative sake in BotW, since Impa insists Zelda is waiting and can’t hold Ganon back forever, but it’s all much more narratively justifiable, if you want that. You know, because Zelda is for hardcore roleplaying.

I couldn’t resist a second playthrough, even after logging 215+ hours, so I went ahead and started a separate file on Master Mode, Nintendo’s weird in-house, in-franchise rebranding of, uh, a hard mode. Previously it was called Hero Mode. Why do you--well, okay, I know why they do it. They’re likely trying to distinguish it from a “we just tweaked the numbers” hard mode, and also want to make it feel less threatening than something labeled hard mode. If they’re going to go to the trouble to make it a distinct form of play, they want to try and appeal to everyone. And it is fairly distinct. All enemies are bumped up one rank, so a red bokoblin is blue, and a blue bokoblin is black, and so on. There is a new strongest rank of enemy, though in my run I did not seek them out. There are enemies (and treasure chests!) perched on flying rafts, which can be one-shot with proper bow aiming, but also carry dangerous elemental arrows, and can alert all other enemies in the area. Stealth is much more difficult, and pointless early in. All enemies regenerate up to a third of their health, including bosses! Though, that can be temporarily interrupted by inflicting any amount of damage on them, so it behooves you to be on the offense. Less autosave slots! This wasn’t a problem for me. Guardians randomly delay the firing of their beams! This was absolutely a problem for me and I avoided them entirely in my run. In the beginning when tools and resources are scare, particularly on the Great Plateau, Master Mode is at its hardest, and its most thrilling. Rather than aimlessly exploring, I was pressured to decide where I knew things were, and beeline it to them. Sometime in-between two of the four main optional dungeons, I had amassed enough valuable resources that the game had settled back into the same kind of difficulty as normal mode. Bosses were a little harder due to regen and my resources being somewhat scarcer, but they were manageable. Competently performing flurry attacks (upon successfully dodging attacks at the last second) was extremely valuable to me, but I imagine with enough food in my inventory, I could have brute forced my way through a lot of the fights (though, uh, obviously thou wouldst like to live deliciously (please hate me for this phrasing)). I chose to forego the Master Sword for the sake of challenge, and beat Master Mode with only seven hearts, in around 25 hours. You should play Master Mode, it’s fun.

Here’s a little gameplay SPOILER:

Something I haven’t done, but would like to eventually do, is avoid the main dungeons and just head straight to Ganon. When I played Master Mode, I wasn’t totally confident, and did the dungeons for the resources. After watching some speedruns I learned that if you skip the dungeons, and therefore the main bosses, you have to fight them all at once immediately before the fight with Ganon, without breaks.

That. Sounds. Great.

Wandersong (PC/Steam): Have you heard about Homestuck?

Okay, wait. Wait. Come back, wait. Stop leaving. PLEASE.

Okay, I got the most inflammatory sentence out of the way. Now that we’re eased into that: Wandersong is unignorably influenced by Homestuck. Homestuck conjured a lot of baggage, from having a really difficult, pretentious, arrogant author (I should know, I gave him the benefit of the doubt for way too long), to having some unfortunate narrative turns, to being a billion words long. Wandersong invokes the vaster-than-God scope, the minute and personal perspective of the heroes, and its inclinations toward emotional intelligence (it still surprises me Homestuck had these moments given the author’s deeply unsympathetic sense of humor), and… condenses it! It also makes it a light puzzle-platformer and is about performing music (note: not rhythm, you don’t have to have ANY rhythm), and looks like a Paper Mario game. It is very charming, very funny, very optimistic, and most surprisingly, uncompromising at times. Wandersong says that you, despite your role, are capable of great things, especially self growth and change, as long as you commit to it. If, faced with the consequences of your bad decisions, you choose to double down and keep at it, you will reap what you sow. This is distinctly different from Undertale’s brand of pacifism route optimism, where “no one has to die!” This brand of optimism is a measured but enthusiastic “you can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved, but you can save the rest” and I think that’s a uniquely valuable message.

I was a little confused about the resolution of the communist uprising chapter, but I recall the game bringing my cynicism into question, and the most important thing a work can do is make you question yourself.

(Also, if any of my mutuals are low on funds but interested, I do have a drm-free version I can share.)

Minit (PC/Steam): I don’t think I actually have a lot to say about Minit! It’s very fun and curious and short. You play a little… duck… thing, and you pick up a cursed sword which kills you in one minute. Then you wake up the next day, and die in a minute. Then you wake up the next day. Having only sixty seconds of vitality, you have to optimize your exploration. There’s a slow-speaking old man who you will die listening to, but the hint he gives at the end of his sentence will lead you to something valuable. There’s a guy in a bar angry about the lack of music. If you change the music, he will probably dislike it. If you keep changing the music, you might live to see him like it. There’s a boat ride to a tropical island you have to grit your teeth and wait through. Not all of the events are slow, some are quick bouts of hurried exploration. Most of it is, given the time limit. I’d say more, but given the overall length (it took me about an hour to finish), I’d risk spoiling a sizable fraction of the experience. It’s about $10, though I got mine in a Humble Bundle Monthly subscription. The spec requirements are very low, so your laptop can likely run it.

A Hat in Time (PC/Steam): Heads up, I’m gonna get into a lot of spoilers for this game, including endgame spoilers, but also heads up, the story isn’t really the point in this game. This is a game about tone and platforming. That said, I’m gonna be talking exclusively about the weird ideas in this game, and if you want those weird ideas to be a surprise, then just skip ahead until I put up big letters.

I’m somewhat hesitant to be critical of A Hat in Time because despite a number of weird Things about it, I recognize that it’s quite popular with a lot of people, and that always makes me pause and want to figure out what it is that makes it pass the bar for others. My guess at this point is that it invokes nostalgia through its unmitigated imitation of games that came before. The games it chooses to ape are all your childhood’s Greatest Hits, Wind Waker (which it most resembled in its earliest development), Super Mario Sunshine/Galaxy (which it most resembles now), Banjo-Kazooie, Psychonauts, etc. It never really surpasses those games, for me, and at times cribs from them to the degree that it obscures the game’s own identity. After all, what you enjoy may help define you, but you wouldn’t say it’s your personality. Well. Unless you kin the Gamecube. I guess. There are bonus levels to the game’s different “worlds” (I thought they were different planets, since your hub area is a spaceship, and you access them via different telescopes, but it turns out it’s just one planet?), and you can collect photographs, which sequentially tell a story about the residents of that “world”. Psychonauts did this because each level took place in the mind of a character, and the photos together told a story about the character that fundamentally changed the way you thought about them, and made the whole game feel richer as a result. I collected the photos for all but the DLC levels in AHiT (those are Really Hard), and of those five or so worlds, none of those bonus photos told me anything that changed how I thought about the characters. There’s a dock town run by a mafia (s-sorta) led by a chef, but did you know they all used to work at a processing factory before going there? There are two manipulative bird directors who are fighting over the same studio to produce their own film and win an award, but did you know they… wanted to be directors since they were kids? There’s a devil analogue who steals people’s souls if they wander into his forest, but did you know he was a prince, and the princess was mad he talked to another girl (it was a flower girl, he was getting flowers for the princess), and imprisoned him until they both the prince and princess turned into evil ghosts? That’s the only one that comes close to being an “oh” moment, but I don’t think it does for the reasons the writer was hoping for. In general, these are prologues without substance.

Speaking of substance, the game has a bit of an issue with theming. At least, it does at first. The first town is the previously mentioned dock town, run by a mafia. By “mafia”, I mean a bunch of meatheads who talk about how they like punching people, and refer to themselves individually, in the third person, as Mafia. Mafia loves to punch the poor and the birds. Mafia is a one-dimensional character copy-pasted across 20% of the game. Mafia laughs. They’re run by a chef, but also they can’t cook, so there’s a cat chef in hiding who routinely swaps out their food with his so no one has to eat bad food. I don’t know why, when the town has maybe three non-Mafia character. He does eventually leave and board your ship, so maybe he’s just looking for something to do. The leader of the mafia also boards your ship, for a joke and to sell you an upgrade. The mafia are also afraid of mud monsters, or aliens, or something. There’s a girl with a moustache named Moustache Girl who wants to use your Time Macguffins to overthrow organized crime, and Hat Girl decides that’s a no-go. There are giant faucets around the town that replace all the water with lava. You might be noticing these things have little to no connection. You might be suspecting this level was made first when the dev was inexperienced. I might be suspecting this. It’s fine.

Later worlds do a much better job of theming. There’s the movie studio split between two birds. One of them a penguin, who prefers science fiction, the other a…

...hmmm. I suspect this guy, The Conductor, is an OC the director has had for a while, maybe since childhood, that they just decided Is A Bird, and carried it into the game, since the game occasionally is like... bird?? Alternatively, it’s some sort of corruption of Woodstock from Peanuts. Possibly both. Anyway, this guy just wants to make movies that take place on wild western trains. He has a strong fake Scottish accent, and the penguin, named DJ Grooves, is some sort of disco Elvis. They’ve both hired owls as actors, and some crows have snuck onto the train set (the crows are so obviously the G-Men from Psychonauts’ Milkman level it bothers me a bit). This is already a little busy, but it’s okay! Birds, movies, two distinct genres, and you trapped in-between them, just trying to collect your macguffins. It works. You take part in both of their movies, and your performance in both determines the winner, when suddenly… CORRUPTION WAS AFOOT, and you have to explore the depths of the studio and engage in a showdown.

Another world is a spooky forest where your access is restricted by completing certain contracts for the devilish character. Sometimes it’s murder (reasonable), exploring a haunted mansion in survival horror format (ooh!), fixing the plumbing in a well (wait, what), and doing mail delivery (back up back up). Half of that works. The finale of the forest makes up for it, though. This game insists on most of its bosses having like 4-5 phases and breaks for dialogue and the gall required to get away with that honestly earned my respect. They’re pretty fun times.

The best level to play is, unsurprisingly, the first DLC. I say unsurprising because it’s clear the dev is learning as they go, and the level design improves as they go along. Aside from bonus levels, the first DLC takes place on a massive cruise liner titled the SS Literally Can’t Sink. Ha ha. It’s split into three parts. The first part has you exploring the many interconnected rooms of the ship to find broken shards of a macguffin, the second part has you taking that mental map and using it to frantically complete multiple timed fetch quests at once, and the third part, now that you understand the ship pretty intimately, capsizes the ship, requiring you to traverse frigid waters and overturned scenery to retrieve babies and the ship’s incompetent but adorable baby seal crew (the seals speak in hewwo talk, the game is unforgivably loaded with memes but let me have this). This progression is my favorite in the game, and while I haven’t bought the Nyakuza Metro DLC, I’m looking forward to it.

The ending level had me a bit bewildered at first because in the beginning when Hat Kid refuses to use time powers to stop organized crime, I saw it as a hamfisted way to create tension between Hat Kid and Moustache Girl. Apparently it was working up towards the moral of the story. In the final level, Moustache Girl has stolen all the macguffins, and possessing ultimate power, becomes corrupted ultimately, and summons everyone in the world to her Bowser castle to be judged and die. On first glance, I thought “well, sure, that’s sensible,” but when Hat Kid finds the support of all the villains in the game, I was a little confused. The villains sacrifice themselves to give you infinite health, explicitly stating that they’ll just come back through time magic if you win so who cares (cool stakes), and you overcome authoritarianism with the support of corrupt hollywood, organized crime, and the literal devil. This would be fine if at some point Hat Kid, you know, took them on a Zuko Quest to face turn all of them, but that doesn’t happen. They just all decide “hey yeah, fuck this girl! Also we don’t have time for the nuance this might require!” After all is said and done and you collect all your macguffins, you’re given the choice of leaving the defeated Moustache Girl a single macguffin so she can defeat the mafia (whose side are we on) or just saying nahhh. Neither appears to make a difference, but maybe in a year or two we’ll get a DLC that makes you regret your words and deeds. You try to fly your ship to your home planet, and the villains all grab on to your ship, which is in space, begging you not to leave. I seriously suspect they intended to incorporate face-turn scenes and just couldn’t find the time, because nothing but physical proximity implies these guys would have any emotional attachment to Hat Kid, and that’s a bit of a stretch. Anyway, Hat Kid brooms them off the ship to plummet down to earth and flies away. Sheds a tear about the whole thing. In the end, the moral was that Order good, but too much Order bad, except if you are Hat Kid, in which case Chaos good. Or maybe…

After finishing the game I decided to look into any left over secrets, since my completion score was in the 80s of percents. Turns out that if you use the camera badge to finagle the free look feature into a marginally open armoire somewhere on your spaceship, you can find a shrine to Hat Kid with a couple skulls, a bunch of blurry photos, and some strange symbols. If you doing this while wearing the mask that lets you see the secrets of the dead (for platforming and puzzle purposes, of course), there’s a bunch of alien text you can decode. And then there’s some youtube channels. And a twitter account. All sharing more of those decodable ciphers, all talking about vague dreamy apocalyptic histories and dark betrayals. Or something. That’s right, this game’s got a fucking ARG. I cut things off there. If the developer Gears for Breakfast is gonna make an occultist grimdark sequel to A Hat in Time, they can put up a trailer for it.

OKAY I’M DONE TALKING ABOUT A HAT IN TIME, the short of it is that I had a lot of mixed feelings but had fun.

How did I end up talking more about A Hat in Time than Breath of the Wild? What are my priorities?

Well, that’s everything I finished in May! Will I get back to anime and manga in June? Guess we’ll see! Again, let me know if you want me to do year-recap Marvel posts, since my liveblogging is mostly just shitposts, and the occasional attempt at thoughtfulness among those posts feels kind of out of place. Honestly, I’m probably gonna do that anyway, but it’s nice to see interest. If you read all this, thanks a lot! Go play Breath of the Wild and Wandersong.

[witchymarvelspacecase]

An Enemy on the One Hand: Pt 3.

Summary: (Reader Insert - Soulmate AU/Enemy AU) The universe determined your soulmate and enemy at birth, giving you one hint for each; their initials on one of your wrists. BUt what happens if BOTH sets of initials are for the same person? Set during CA:CW

Word Count: 2109

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of violence, angst(ish), CA:CW spoilers (but seriously, what are you DOING here if you haven’t seen that yet?)

A/N: Okay, I’m taking a stab at this. I wanna thank @writingwithadinosaur (as usual) for helping me with EVERYTHING EVER, and being totally fabulous! And @imhereforbvcky for encouraging me to try in the first place.

I tagged everyone who liked/reblogged/commented on the announcement post cause I am a needy bitch, I need validation! But I am MORE than happy to add OR remove you if you’d like.

An Enemy on the One Hand Masterlist

Updated: 8/20/18

It was two years before you felt anything again.

In that time, you’d been on countless missions and made a place for yourself among the Avengers. You’d met Wanda and Pietro, and you were in the room when Vision was “born”. You fought against Ultron, and saved thousands of lives, including Pietro’s. You’d flown in at just the right moment and managed to knock Clint, the child he was protecting, and Pietro out of the way of the bullets. Wanda, Pietro, and Clint had become your closest friends; Natasha pretended to be put out about it, but she was happy that you had fit into the family so well.

Tony had needed a lot of help after Ultron. Since Bruce was AWOL, Tony had taken all of the blame for their creation, and though he honestly felt that it was all his fault, the blame sat very heavily on his shoulders. Tony seemed to harbor a lot of self-hatred, and Ultron just gave him another reason for the hate. He covered his hate in jokes and sarcasm, but if you waited long enough, you could find him in his broken moments; moments where he’d lose his facade.

Natasha had needed help too, but she was as shielded about it as Tony. Neither of them wanted to talk, to anyone, but you’d managed to get them to open up, if only a little.

Tony was easier. If you could catch him in the kitchen at about 4:30 in the morning making his umpteenth cup of coffee, and you just happened to be awake, you could get him to talk. It was easier for him if it seemed like a coincidence, although judging by the small smile that spread across his face when he saw you every morning, he was aware that your early morning trips to the kitchen were for him.

You wore down Natasha over time. She already trusted you, but she never allowed herself to really have problems. Like Tony, she accepted fault and blame because she felt she deserved it. Not because of self-hatred like Tony, but because she felt that due to the bad things she had been taught to do, due to the “red in her ledger”, she deserved whatever came her way. It was like she thought that she should have to live with the guilt and hatred as some sort of atonement for the wrongs she’d committed. As if she felt that in order to balance the cosmic scales, she had to suffer. Bruce leaving had hurt her; not because she loved him, (because as she’d say “love is for children”) but because he had needed her.  She had been necessary. Even if it was just for the lullabies, she had been needed. Need and want were different things though. You did your best to convince her that even if she didn’t feel especially needed, she was definitely wanted.

Then came the “Accords” situation. Tony and Natasha’s feelings of guilt drove them to support the restrictions that the accords imposed. Rhodey and Vision sided with them as well. Wanda was in no state to make a decision either way; she still felt incredibly guilty about what had happened with the recent bomb incident. You, Pietro, and Steve had done your best to reassure her, but you could tell she still felt the blame. Ross blaming her outright for not only that incident, but several past incidents as well, hadn’t helped. You’d had to physically restrain Pietro, who’d wanted to throttle Ross for upsetting his sister; you had to debate whether or not to let him.

You had been present at the meeting in Vienna, not to sign the accords, but to show unity among the Avengers, even if it was just for appearances sake. You’d been relatively close to the blast, but avoided most of the shrapnel.

Steve called you as soon as you left the building. “You okay?”

“Well, I’ve definitely been better, but I got off pretty easy.”

“They’re claiming Bucky did it.” Your head was still ringing from the blast, so it took you a moment to process what Steve had just said, but when you did, you had an instant response.

“Couldn’t have,” you coughed into the phone, “I didn’t feel anything.”

“What?” Steve asked. You coughed hard several times, clearing your throat before speaking again.

“I didn’t feel anything, Steve. He couldn’t have been here. I would have felt something.” Either of your marks would have burned if Bucky or the Winter Soldier had been present, even if he wasn’t in the building. You’d felt nothing.

Steve exhaled heavily before responding. He gave you an address to meet up with him and Sam. You hung up just as Nat approached you.

“You okay?” she asked, repeating Steve’s words.

“My head’s still ringing, and I imagine my makeup is a wreck, but I’m good. You?”

She raised her eyebrows a little, but nodded. She opened her mouth to speak, but her phone rang.

After a few seconds, you realized that Steve was on the other end of the line, and you took your moment to escape. If Nat had seen you leaving the scene, she would have followed you. Natasha didn’t have the marks, whether they’d never appeared on her wrists or they’d been removed somehow by the Red Room, you didn’t know. You only knew that she was a skeptic when it came to the marks. She likely wouldn’t have listened to what you had to say about your marks. So you snuck away.

…

Steve and Sam were remarkably close by. You called them from your car instead of going inside the bar that they were hiding in. The car was from Embassy, you’d removed the tracker, but you hoped to switch cars soon.

“You look like shit,” Sam observed as he Steve climbed into borrowed sedan.

“Thanks for noticing. This is my ‘I just got blown up’ look,” you said, not really caring about his sarcasm. You knew you were bleeding through your shredded clothes. “Where are we headed?”

“Do you have a change of clothes with you? Your gear?” Steve asked.

“Yes, it’s in the trunk. I don’t have all of my gear; most of it’s still at the compound.”

“I grabbed what you had in the locker room,” Sam said, “we just gotta stop and pick it up.”

“Awesome. We also need to ditch this car. It’s the Embassy’s. I removed the tracker, but it’ll still be pretty easy to find.” The guys nodded.

You left the car and picked up the gear while Steve found an alternative vehicle. Once you changed into your gear, you put on the loose fitting sweatshirt and joggers that you’d had in the trunk of the embassy car. They weren’t fashionable, but they hid the leather and spandex of your tactical gear, which would have drawn quite a bit of attention. Not that fashion should have been one of your worries; Steve’s idea of a “low profile car” was a rusty old volkswagen.

...

“Can this thing even go freeway speeds?” you asked. It had been hours since you’d squished yourself into the back seat of the VW and your cuts and bruises were throbbing, and your ass was numb.

“Barely,” Sam grumbled from the passenger seat. Steve elected to ignore both of you, so you asked a different question.

“Where are we going anyway?”

“Bucharest.”

“So another 3 hours then,” you sighed, scrunching yourself back into the seat, trying to get comfortable.

“Just about,” Steve replied, looking at you in the rearview mirror, “Are you sure okay?”

“Just scrapes and bruises, Cap; I’ll be fine. I’m more worried about Bucky.” And what could happen to him if the others got to him first…

The rest of the drive was uncomfortably silent.

…

Bucky had made a life for himself; a small one, but one of his own. He had an apartment that he’d sparsely decorated, and a kitchen that appeared to be well used. The windows were all covered, but inside the one room space, you could see a personality coming through. Steve found a journal filled with notes, memories and thoughts that Bucky must have jotted down whenever he remembered something. The covers and pages were worn, but not damaged, as if he opened and leafed through it often, like he would read through his notes to remind himself of who he was and where he came from.

He was rebuilding; you felt hope spreading in your heart. You also felt a slight burning on your right wrist. It started to burn just a little, but the temperature increased as Bucky got closer to the building, and eventually headed to his room. When he opened the door, Steve was the first person he saw.

Steve asked if Bucky knew who he was, and Bucky seemed to avoid the question, saying he saw the exhibit at the museum.

Slowly, you stepped into Bucky’s line of sight. “Do you remember me? We met in D.C. a while ago.”

“Yeah, I remember you.” His eyes darted from you to Steve, then back to you, and you saw his right wrist twitch.

“Remember what I said about your wrist?” you asked. Your wrist wasn’t burning anymore, it was more of a tingle now.

Bucky nodded in response before meeting Steve’s eyes, “I wasn’t in Vienna. I don’t do that anymore.”

“We know you weren’t there,” you said quickly, drawing his attention back to you, “but people who think you were are on their way here. And they’re not planning on taking you alive.”

“That’s smart. Good strategy,” Bucky deadpanned. Your heart squeezed; he really didn’t value his life much did he?

Bucky and Steve were still talking, but Sam called a breach and a grenade flew through the window a moment later.

Everything after that seemed to pass in a blur. Bucky said he wasn’t gonna kill anyone, and aside from some rather devastating blows, he appeared to keep that promise. Then he was jumping off the building, and landing on the roof of the building across the street. It was an easy leap for you, with your powers, and you landed just in time to tackle a man who was wearing what looked like a black cat costume, who had almost been within reach of Bucky. Landing with a thud, the man rolled to his feet very quickly and he was off after Bucky again, attacking him with sharp claws that protruded from the fingertips of his suit. He swiped quite close to Bucky’s face and you tackled him again. Bucky managed to escape the roof and headed for the nearby freeway underpass. You weren’t able to hold off the attacker for long, but while he was fast on his feet, you could fly.

You caught up to Bucky as he ran down the highway, against traffic. You were just behind him when the cat-man caught your leg and threw you to the ground. Hissing in pain, you rolled to your hands and knees. As Bucky sped away from you, your wrist began to burn again. When he had been near you, it had been a tingle, but as he moved farther away it became a burn.  

There were puncture wounds around your calf, and you were pretty sure your shoulder was dislocated, not to mention all of the wounds you already had from the bombing that were now reopened and bleeding freely. The guys had left you in the dust, but as you closed in on them, all you saw was flashing blue lights. As you got closer, the burning lessened again, not that you noticed much, you were much too preoccupied by the scene in front of you. Sam, Steve, Bucky and their attacker were all surrounded by armed officers, and Rhodey in his full War Machine suit.

You kept to the shadows, wanting to avoid notice, but you needed to know what was going on, and where the boys were being taken.

Berlin, as it turned out.

Exhaustion threatened, but you knew that you needed to beat the transport to its destination if you were going to be of any help to the guys.

You had to be able to make Natasha, and anyone else there, believe that you hadn’t had anything to do with what just happened in Bucharest; otherwise, the guys didn’t stand a chance of getting out. So, shoulder throbbing, you launched into the air and headed for Berlin. You had to stop in Vienna on the way there though to grab your things; it wouldn’t do to leave anything behind.

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[gazingupatthemoon]

This Is How It Ends (1/1)

Found here at ff.net or A03 

Summary:  "You're going to have to make it a kill shot" Clarke makes a shot, but not to kill. Now she and Bellamy have to live with the consequences of her actions and of the hatch door not opening.

Rating: M

Authors Note: Please pay attention to the tags! This is probably the darkest angsty-est fic I have ever written. It is what would have happened had Bellamy failed to open the hatch door and let Octavia and the Grounders in. This is life in the bunker with just Skaikru, and how everyone copes. Spoiler alert, it does not end well. And if you're expecting happy Bellarke, this is not the fic for you.

She shoots him in the leg.

It's not the kill shot he had haphazardly dangled in her face nor is it anywhere near how she wanted this all to end. It was the only option she saw, the only option that got her what she wanted as well as Bellamy. But, the moment the bullet entered his flesh and he curled towards the floor, she knew it was over before it began.

Clarke would never have Bellamy the way she wanted, not after this.

Her heart had stopped when he tumbled down the ladder, his groan large and painful when his body connected with the cement floor. Clarke was frozen in place, starring at what she had done. Not really believing what she had done. But there Bellamy lay, curled and pathetic with blood seeping through the bullet wound in his leg. His eyes met hers. Horrified. Broken. Shocked. Angry.

The wound kept Bellamy in the infirmary for two weeks. Two weeks were he refused to speak to anyone. Not her, not Miller, no one. He just lay in bed, starring into nothingness. His anger was hot and thick and suffocated the small space he took up. It made Clarke's lung burn. It created a thick shell around him, protecting him from the people he thought he could trust. (Protecting him from her)

Bellamy had wanted his sister and Clarke had denied him. The one person who he loved more than life, Clarke had taken away.

She imagined a life where she hadn't shot him. Where Bellamy had opened the hatch door, and Octavia had come down with a crew of Grounders at her back. That somehow they had made it all work. That they survived the Death Wave together.

It was one of the happier dreams Clarke had.

The majority of them were nightmares, plagued with death and sadness. Of people who counted on her dying. Of their faces. Of every mistake she ever made since coming down to Earth that lead to this moment. But mostly, of what she had done to Bellamy.

There would be no forgiveness for this action. No matter how much time passed.

But Clarke no longer hoped for such impossible things. There would be no forgiveness for the things she had done. The people she betrayed. Octavia. Kane. Indra. Hundreds of Grounders who she promised she'd save. And the hits just kept coming.

Raven had radioed in, requesting help. Monty and Harper did the same.

There was no help to be had.

Getting to Raven was impossible. Letting Monty and Harper into the bunker too. Both of those things meant opening the hatch door. (The door she had shot Bellamy for). Helping them meant inviting the wrath of the Grounders. Though Clarke didn't have to make this decision by herself, she knew she was the most guilty of them all. She had come up with the plan to begin with, after all. She needed to accept the consequences that came with it. All the consequences.

3 more friends she couldn't save. 3 more betrayals. 3 more bullets to her already dying heart.

Clarke didn't know how Bellamy reacted to the news when he finally found it out. He avoided her like the plague. She did the same. Though, she was sure, his hatred for her only burned brighter.

She tried to keep herself busy. It helped, if she wasn't paying too much attention to the darkness of her mind, and there was plenty enough to do. Jaha and she took over leadership, without any contention, and were busy making sure everyone knew their roles in the bunker. That there were enough supplies. The system of rationing them out for the next couple of years.

When there wasn't anything immediate to focus on, Clarke retreated to her room. She didn't feel comfortable around anyone else now a days. Being with Jaha was necessary, but a constant reminder of the deal with the devil she had made. Miller was companionable enough, but Clarke noticed the hesitant way his eyes would sometimes meet hers. They shone with the knowledge of what she had done but he couldn't hate her too much for it since he had blindly followed.

And her mother.

Abbey was no longer Abbey. She was what Bellamy had been when had been recovering. A shell. Though, there seemed to be no end in sight for this affliction. Anger did not follow her in waves as she walked the halls, nothing seemed to emit from her pale, sickly skin. Her eyes were blank, listless, and she performed tasks like a robot. Without any care or passion, just moving to finish whatever it was and move on to the next thing. She stayed in the infirmary most days, even sleeping and taking her meals there. She barely spoke to anyone, only the necessary times when advising a patient.

Clarke wanted to say it was the loss of Kane that caused Abbey to be the way she was. Maybe it would be easier then. But it wasn't. Certainly, Kane's death weighed on her mother's heart immensely but not enough to make this zombie that haunted the bunker. It was something else, something deeper, and Clarke was helpless to do anything about. Abbey spared her a few words here and there, just for the sake she was her daughter and she knew she loved her, but other than that it was the same stone face and avoidance Clarke was now accustomed to. She even refused to fix whatever Ali had left in her mind.

Clarke had no one anymore.

She was too numb to cry.

She wished that the Death Wave had just taken them all.

Clarke wasn't sure where Bellamy spent his time that they never managed to run into each other. Maybe he kept to his room like she did. She knew where it was, as she knew where everyone's room was, and always avoided going to the east wing of the third level. But other then that, it was really a chance of fate if they managed to run into each other.

They never did.

Clarke was happy for it. Clarke hated it. Clarke wasn't sure about anything anymore.

Surprisingly, Murphy and she seemed to grow closer. Well, close enough. Clarke wasn't really close to anyone now a days. But he understood her. Knew the pain and regret that came when becoming a survivor. Of doing what needed to be done, no matter the cost. He did not look at her with hate or disgust and Clarke felt like she could actually breathe sometimes. Even Emori had slowly warmed up to her after everything that went down in Becca's lab.

The three of them had been in the cafeteria, one of the rare times Clarke actually chose to eat in public, when it happened.

It had been 3 months since Primfaya. Three months and three days since Clarke had shot Bellamy in the leg. 2 months and 28 days since Clarke had looked upon Bellamy's face.

And then there he was.

He stalks into the cafeteria, looking angry and miserable to be there. Clarke stops short at seeing him, her eyes widening and her limbs locking into place. He doesn't see her yet, for which she is grateful, for it lets her have a few peaceful moments to examine him. She forgot how large he was. Broad chest, muscular build, his shirt seeming always a bit too tight for his form. His hair is wild, but she remembers that (she even dreams about it). What's new, though, is the slight stubble now on his lower face. It's not enough for a beard, not enough for anything really, but the fact his face isn't its usual clean shaven self touches something in Clarke. No matter what they faced on Earth, what hells they had entered and exited by the skin of their teeth, he had always kept his face shaved.

Now he didn't.

"Uh oh." Murphy murmurs none too quietly beside her.

Bellamy still hasn't seen her but her starring is now obvious to others. Murphy looks unimpressed and Emori nervous. Clarke blinks a couple times, regaining herself, then drops her gaze to the grey mush of food on her plate. She doesn't say anything.

She can't help but look up again.

Bellamy is getting food. He waits in line, patiently, but still holds the glare on his face. While Abbey is a ghost, Bellamy is a rabid dog. They both keep to themselves, do what they need to, but let out such different airs. His whole body seems to almost quiver with the despair and rage that has now become his second nature. His only nature. No one speaks or looks his way, no one but Clarke who is waiting any minute now for the punishment that is sure to come.

Her heart bursts with energy she hasn't felt in months. Not since they day she shot Bellamy and herself as well. She yearns for Bellamy to finally notice her. To deliver the penalty her crimes deserve. To scream, and rage, and finally-

Bellamy grabs his plate of food and turns around.

The cafeteria seems to grow silent. Everyone knows. They know what Clarke has done to Bellamy. What she had taken away from him. Of how close they had once been and the pathetic excuse of people they now where.

Even Murphy grows still.

She should look away. But she can't. She doesn't want to.

Bellamy doesn't move. He doesn't look away either.

The anger doesn't go away. His eyes are blackened with it. Clarke remembers how warm they once were. How she could look into them and feel safe, no matter what was going on around them. So many moments together when she had starred endlessly into them. And now this. This cheap imitation of what they once were. No, not an imitation. Those eyes had died. This gaze was something new. Something born of the darker depths of Bellamy's damaged soul.

His jaw ticks. The hands holding his plate tighten.

Clarke waits for it. Whatever it is.

It doesn't come.

Bellamy's upper lip curls into a sneer. His eyes narrow and then move off her. He turns his back on Clarke and marches out of the cafeteria the same way he came in.

Clarke wants to scream.

She's running in the opposite direction, forgetting her food. No one calls after her.

She goes to her room and punches her pillow. She throws the papers off her desk. Finally, alone and surrounded by concrete walls, she wails. The noise clawing up her throat is an animal which she does not know not. It's small and pathetic but loud and miserable. It cries in anger and defeat. It screams and screams till Clarke is face down on her bed. Her cheeks are dry and her breath hollow.

Why did he do nothing?

Why? Why? Why?

Nothing gets better.

Clarke feels like her mother now. Maybe even like Bellamy. Aimless. Dead inside. Doing the motions of everyday life but with no true feeling behind it. Though she leads her people, the problems that had existed in the outside world are not here. She isn't needed as much as she used to be. And Jaha seems more than happy to do more than her. He doesn't even ask. She doesn't have the energy to argue.

5 years of this. How was she going to survive 5 years of this?

It's exactly one year in the bunker when Abbey kills herself.

Clarke belatedly wonders if her mother had planned it that way. Had she been waiting for this exact day? For this exact amount of time to pass? She'll never know. Not now.

The infirmary had been empty that night and Jackson came in the next morning to find her. Hanging from a pipe with rope. Her skin just as pale as it had been when she was alive.

Clarke doesn't cry. She knew she was already dead inside so now, she is just rotting. She is upset, but not the way she used to be upset about things. She feels loss, but is already so familiar with the feeling.

Clarke hopes her mother finds some peace wherever she is. Maybe she's with Kane now. Or her dad. Anywhere, she hopes, that would make Abbey smile one more time.

Jaha insists on having a service.

Abbey is the first person to die in the bunker. No one really knows what to do, but Jaha is there to guide them. It's the kind of funeral they would have on the Ark, the kind of funeral there had been no time for on the Ground.

Clarke sits in the front row wishing she was invisible in the back. Jaha talks, as does Jackson, but no one else. It's short, quiet and somber, and everyone retires to their rooms when it's over. No one wants to deal with death, not anymore. They thought they'd have some time before the Grim Reaper plagued them again. Abbey apparently had other plans.

When the room thins out, Clarke walks toward the exit. She ignores the well wishers, doesn't even nod her head at them. She wants to go to sleep. She stops short of the door, because Bellamy is there.

It's been a year in the bunker and they haven't shared a word since the day she shot him. They've seen each other more since the day in the cafeteria but it usually plays out the same way. He glares, she waits with bated breaths for him to lash out, then he stomps away. It's their new routine. The new Bellamy and Clarke.

She sees him now, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed across his chest.

Now, he has something that could be called a beard. Clarke hasn't decided if she likes it or not.

Bellamy is looking at Abbey's coffin, for once, not with his usual revulsion. He looks calm for the first time since being sentenced to this underground prison. He even looks…sad. Clarke forgets, sometimes, Abbey had tried to help Bellamy so long ago. Perhaps he's mourning the one person down here who had tried to do the right thing with him.

Then he looks at her.

They're closer then they have ever been, so much so Clarke could just reach out and touch him.

But she doesn't. She just stands and stares and waits.

Bellamy doesn't move either. He considers her, tilting his to the side. It's disturbing how he isn't glaring at her and Clarke isn't sure what to do. This wasn't the routine they've made for themselves. This wasn't their new normal.

"How does it feel?" He asks, and the sound of his voice almost brings tears to her eyes. It would if she cried anymore.

Clarke's throat is dry, and she slightly coughs as she pushes the words out. "How does what feel?"

They're talking. They're actually talking.

"To lose the person you love most in this world?"

And then he smirks.

It's Bellamy on the first day of Earth. The Bellamy who had called her privileged, and mocked and belittled her. Who had almost killed her. The Bellamy she had hated.

She doesn't know what she feels for this Bellamy now.

He's gone before she responds. She wasn't even sure what she was going to say.

She's not the one I love most.

Clarke remembers the throne room at Polis, when Ali had tried to torture information out of her. How she had used Abbey to do it. Clarke cried seeing her mother try and hang herself that day but remembered, with pain and guilt, it wasn't enough to get her to talk. She was going to let Abbey die. And Bellamy had been on his way up. The next victim that would be used against her. She never had to find out but Clarke knew she couldn't bear to see Bellamy in pain. She knew she would have talked just to spare herself that image.

Their new normal changes again a month later.

Murphy and Miller have teamed up to drag her out of her room and come hang out with them and some other young Arcadians. It's a thing now, now that people are set up in what is their new lives and there is no reason to be scared anymore, to have fun. Clarke isn't sure she is capable of it.

But she allows them to drag her along, if anything so they'd leave her alone in the foreseeable future.

The main room of the bunker is flooded with music, not too loud but loud enough, and people are drinking moonshine out of cups.

She remembers Monty. And Jasper. And Harper.

"Here," Murphy pushes a drink in her hand. "Maybe this will loosen you up."

She swallows it down hoping to forget.

Miller gives her another, but there is some warning in his expression. She ignores it and chug that one down too.

If anything, she'll get drunk enough so she can easily pass out.

Clarke looses count of how many she has. No one stops her and she certainly doesn't stop herself. There's plenty to go around and people seem almost obligated to make sure her hand is never empty. Clarke isn't really friends with any of these people but they're polite enough to each other. The night is mostly filled with small talk and games Clarke avoids playing. She walks here, and there, in circles, and with more than enough trips to the bathroom.

Murphy and Emori are, as usual, glued to each other's sides and playing a game. Miller is with Jackson, the two of them leaning against the wall and talking quietly to each other. Clarke doesn't feel like being a third wheel to either of them. So she walks and drinks and waits for it to be late enough to disappear.

Niylah is there, laughing and talking with the others as if she had always been part of Arcadia. Clarke doesn't talk to her much either now a days. Niylah had, ever since they met, been something of an escape for Clarke. Sure, there had been some genuine feelings there (Clarke hadn't been an empty monster at that time, not like she was now) but not enough to constitute for something serious. And Clarke didn't want to escape anymore. This was her life, born of the choices she had made, and she would accept whatever came with it. Niylah couldn't help her anymore. No one could. Their split wasn't even a split since they hadn't actually been together. Niylah let her go without any argument. It was almost as if it had never happened.

Bellamy is here.

How long has he been here? Clarke isn't sure. But there he is, drinking as well, amidst a crowd of people she does not know. They're talking to him but he's barely talking back, and while he doesn't look unhappy to be here, he doesn't look too interested either.

He chugs his drink and Clarke follows the bob of his Adam's apple.

"Don't even," Miller is suddenly at her side, his hand strong on her shoulder. Had she been walking toward Bellamy? "That's a bad idea."

Of course it is.

"What is?"

"Don't act dumb. Stay out of his way, he'll stay out of yours."

"Maybe I don't want to stay out of his way."

"Clarke," Miller looks serious now. His hand squeezes her shoulder, but it doesn't feel comforting. "You're drunk. Let me take you back to your room-"

Clarke rips away from his grasp. But she is drunk, so she does it dramatically, and it catches the attention of those around them. Like Bellamy.

"I don't need your help!" Clarke spits in his face. She sees herself. Hears the nastiness of her words and sees the angry scowl her face has taken up. But she's powerless to stop it. "Stay the hell away from me."

For his part, Miller doesn't look too upset. But he's definitely pissed. He raises his hands up and silently turns on his heel, doing as she asked.

Is that it now? For the people she doesn't lose, she's just going to push away?

"Very nice, Princess."

His voice makes her shiver. He's close, right behind her, but Clarke doesn't turn around. She's nervous he'll just disappear like he usually does after giving her a death stare.

"What do you want?" She asks. She's staring at the wall.

"From you? Nothing."

Then why are you here?

Clarke stays silent.

"I don't even know why they bother with you anymore." He continues. "You showed just how disposable all your friends are to you."

"Not all my friends."

She waits to see how he reacts to that.

She isn't disappointed.

Clarke is twirled around viciously. The air is knocked from her lungs and her upper arms feel like they're put in tight shackles. Bellamy's face is right there and he looks ready to kill her.

Do it. End it all.

"Don't you dare," He growls. His breath blows out in hot puffs on her skin. "Try and act like you care about me."

"I do." Clarke whispers knowing it's not what he wants to hear. But it's the truth. If there is truly anyone Clarke cares about anymore, it's him. Even despite how much he loathes her. Maybe even because of it.

"You're a fucking liar." Bellamy snarls. But he's not loud. He's not yelling one bit. His voice is so low only she can hear him. And though the room can't make out their conversation, they can certainly see their little scene. Everyone is on edge waiting for Bellamy to finally break. So is Clarke.

"If you cared about me you wouldn't have done what you did."

Clarke wants to push him over. She needs to. "You waited a year to say that to me?"

He seethes at her words. His grip grows tighter. "I could kill you."

"Then what are you waiting for?"

The words don't make Bellamy flinch. He seems completely unbothered by them. But, for some reason, he lets go and takes a step back.

No, no, no, no.

He's leaving.

But Clarke is following right after him.

She follows him straight to his room. He even leaves the door open for her. She doesn't want any eaves droppers, people will be gossiping enough after this night, so she slams it loudly behind her. "What the hell Bellamy?" She yells.

The world is warm with liquor and their anger.

Bellamy rounds on her. "Get the fuck out."

He wants her here, for wherever twisted reason, else he would have stopped her.

"Do it," Clarke goads. She steps forward, close but not close enough. "Yell at me. Curse at me. Christ, hit me. Just-please-do something."

His head flings back and a hollow laugh escapes him. "That's what this is about then? I fucking knew it."

Clarke stares at him in confusion.

"I know you. I hate you but God do I know you. You want to be punished. You need it, don't you?"

Yes. A million times yes.

Clarke just stares.

"I thought of a million ways to get back at you." Bellamy begins, practically stalking towards her. "Lying there in that bed, after you. Shot. Me. A million ways to make you hurt and suffer like I was. Hell, I even thought about killing Abbey."

Clarke swallows at that.

"Cause that's how gone I was Clarke. That's how far gone you made me. But we always knew I was a murder, right? It's imbedded in me. And since Octavia was gone, I didn't care anymore. Nothing mattered anymore. You and I are responsible for the deaths of so many people, what was one more to the list?"

He shakes his head, stopping right in front of her.

"But I couldn't. She tried to help me. She was the only one who tried to help me. So I had to think of something else. And then I saw you, Clarke. I saw what you've become."

Clarke stares at him with as much courage as she can muster. It isn't much.

Bellamy smirks something mean. "So dead inside. The great Wanheda, brought down so low. You're pathetic now, Clarke. After everything we've done, after everything you've done, you've finally hit rock bottom. And that was good enough for me. To see you like that, to know that this was your life now." Bellamy reaches forward and grabs her chin. It's too much. His nails are digging into her skin. It hurts.

Clarke relishes in it.

"It was even better knowing you were waiting for me to lash out at you. Every time you looked at me, it was written all over your face. And it felt great-amazing to see you disappointed every single time. Like right now, you want it so bad. Don't you?"

Please her mind whispered. Just do it.

"Beg for it, Clarke." Bellamy leaned forward. They were eye to eye, sharing the same air. Sharing the same heat. Sharing the same misery. "Beg me for it."

Her voice was quiet but it wasn't low enough to hide her desperation. "Please."

Then Bellamy kisses her.

She imagined kissing Bellamy Blake before. More than she wanted to admit. But this wasn't anything she ever imagined. This kiss would make her heart break if she still had one. Maybe she did, for something painful was bleeding deep inside.

He kissed her as strongly as he hated her. It was teeth, and aggression, and hot and fast, and punishing.

He was punishing her and Clarke was helpless for it. She let him slam her body down onto his bed, laid compliantly as he ripped off her clothes. Clarke was torn between watching and closing her eyes.

Bellamy wouldn't meet her gaze. He grabbed her breasts and squeezed. Clarke gasped and arched her back up, silently asking for more. His hands were rough, his fingertips calloused, and he tweaked and pinched her nipples so hard tears blurred her eyes.

When her eyes shut for a moment a hard slap to her ass snapped them back open.

"You fucking watch," Bellamy warned. He reached forward and grabbed the base of her skull, pulling back on the skin and hair there. "You watch everything I do to you." He bit her neck.

Clarke moaned.

Bellamy hit her again and the sensation blew tingles up her body. He was mouthing down her neck, branding every inch of pale skin, and Clarke realized he was still fully clothed. But she dared not touch him.

After bruising her breasts with his lips, Bellamy reached down to his zipper and tugged his pants off. His shirt remained on, much to Clarke's frustration, but she didn't have much time to complain. Bellamy slammed into her, and Clarke screamed at the intrusion.

She didn't know why she even considered he'd be gentle.

Bellamy didn't wait for her, or allow any time for her to get used to him. His hands latched onto her hips and he began pounding into her. It was a brutal pace. It pushed them up the bed till Clarke's head was bumping into the wall. Her hands flew up, to grab anything for some purchase, but then one of Bellamy's hands reached forward to stop them. He pushed them above her head, right against the wall, and held them there.

Clarke moaned. Cried. Gasped. Preened. It was all too much but she wanted more.

Bellamy still didn't look at her.

He stared at her chest as he fucked her into oblivion. He was biting him bottom lip, tightening and loosening the hand at her hip. There would be bruises after this.

"Bellamy," Clarke breathed when she felt her orgasm approaching.

Now, he looked at her. He seemed almost surprised, as if he had forgotten she had the ability to speak. "Again." He commanded.

His tone made Clarke groan. Hard. Unyielding. "Bellamy. Bellamy, Bellamy, Bellamy-"

It crashed into her all at once. She screamed, his name of her lips. He came quickly after, rutting into her one final and hard time.

Clarke was weightless. She closed her eyes again, without any complaint this time. She felt him slide out of her, and then collapse onto to the bed right to her left. The heat from his body was slowly caressing her. She had the wild urge to turn over, to curl into his side-

"Get out."

It was suddenly cold.

But what had she been expecting? This-all of this-had been what she wanted. And even now, kicking her out, gave her the sick pleasure she has constantly been seeking from him.

This is what she deserved. This was who he was now and who she was. Because of her and what she had done.

Clarke didn't look at him once as she gathered her things and left.

It happened again a week later.

At first, Clarke thought it had all been a dream. She had been pretty drunk and woke up with the worst hangover in the world. But then she looked in the mirror and saw the marks. She didn't bother to hide them when leaving her room. No one questioned them on her. Miller was avoiding her, which she understood, but Murphy did raise his eyebrows. Emori elbowed him, saving Clarke from making any comments.

She was in the infirmary late at night, all the beds empty and only a lone lamp on. Clarke had taken to helping out here more and more as it made her feel the most useful. It reminded her of her mother, and of a time when things had been less unhappy.

It was nearing midnight, and she was ready to put the paper work off till the next day, when Bellamy walked in.

He marched right over to her desk, rounding it and then crowding her against the edge. Clarke wasn't really sure what was happening, but didn't want it to stop either, so she let him lift her up and turn her around. She tried not to shiver as he pushed right between her shoulder blades, her upper body smoothing against the desk top and papers. They crinkled nosily beneath her.

"Do you know what yesterday was?"

She shook her head.

"Octavia's birthday."

Her stomach dropped.

"She would have been one year older."

Her pants were pulled down from her waist.

"All I ever wanted was to see her grow old and happy."

He slapped her right cheek. Then her left.

Clarke gripped the edge of the desk.

"But she's dead."

The sound of his zipper hissed in the room. His dick, hard and long, nudged against her folds. Clarke lifted her ass up more. Bellay grabbed her hair.

"I hate you so much." His whisper was vibrating with anger but also hurt. Pain. Clarke nearly turned around to comfort him. She hadn't heard him sound so lost in ages that it was instinct to try and make it all go away. But then he slammed into her. Clarke remembered he was broken because of her. Then she couldn't remember anything at all.

Bellamy fucked her mercilessly into the desk. It scratched against the floor. She gritted her teeth he was pulling her hair so hard.

"Scream for me," He growled, angling up higher and deeper.

Clarke screamed.

Again, when it was over, it was over. This time it was Bellamy to leave, quick and without any words of goodbye.

Clarke again was reminded of her emptiness and the justness of it all.

This became them now.

Bellamy always found her as she was too unsure of it all to go to him. It was always in an odd place, at on odd time, and never in their bedrooms. Clarke wondered why, that if the one time she had laid in his bed had been too much. Too intimate. She didn't ask. It was always rough, and left her sore and marked. She loved it. She looked forward to it. She wondered how Bellamy felt about it all. His words to her were always short, clipped, to the point and expressing-in different ways-how much he despised her. Mostly he griped about Octavia, other times Raven, Monty, and Harper.

She took it all because she deserved it all.

It happened at least twice a week, Clarke never sure when it was going to come. It made her more-well, just more. She wasn't a robot anymore, getting up, doing work, eating, and then going to bed. Now there was Bellamy. She had him back, even in this twisted capacity. She wasn't going to complain. It was more then she deserved. More than she ever hoped for.

Murphy makes a comment on it the third month in.

"You two are fucked up, you know that?"

She bandaging a long thin cut on his forearm, received from his work down in the boiler room. His skin is hot and sweaty, and his hair pulled back in a short ponytail. Long hair didn't suit him, in Clarkes opinion, but Emori likes it so that's that.

She isn't sure how to respond to his statement. He's right, of course, but that doesn't mean she has to say it. So she hums a noncommittal noise.

The answer doesn't deter him. "I'm just trying to wrap my head around it. Because, look, I'm the last person who's ever going to judge someone. We all have our damages, right? But this-you two-you guys are a real piece of work and I can't exactly figure it out."

Clarke focuses on making the bandage tight.

"Cause Bellamy hates you. Like, with a burning passion as strong as the sun hates you. And it's like you get off on that."

Oh, how she does.

"It's not healthy."

The bandage is done and she can't avoid his words anymore. "I thought you weren't going to judge."

Murphy shrugs. "First time for everything I guess. Clarke, you tell me you're happy with this sick arrangement you two have then fine, end of conversation. But I don't think you are. And if you do think you're happy with it, then I'm calling bullshit."

She glowers at him. "Does Bellamy get this talking to?"

"You kidding me? You're the more reasonable one, I'm not going to stick my head out for him just to get it bit off. Besides, I think he's well aware of what he's doing to you. But you, you're the one taking it."

Clarke takes the gloves off her hands and steps back. "We're done here. Clean it tomorrow morning and put a new bandage on."

With a shrug, Murphy hops off the table. "Can't say I didn't try."

He apparently isn't the only one who has something to say about the situation.

A week later Miller finds her in the main office she and Jaha use to discuss business. She is going over their rations, as she does every week, just to make sure they're keeping to their schedule and not eating or drinking too much.

He taps once at the door before letting himself in. "Morning"

They're okay, now, Clarke's little outburst forgotten and blamed on alcohol and the bad mood she is continuously in.

The smile she gives him is weak, she hasn't had a genuine smile in the bunker once, but he accepts it with a nod of the head.

"Came to talk to you."

"About? Are the guards good? Schedules working?"

"Yea, everything's fine. It's nothing about that. It's about Bellamy."

Her lips thin into a straight line. "I don't want to talk about that."

"Clarke-"

"It's none of your business."

"The hell it isn't. You're both my friends. And I'm not going to sit back and watch you destroy each other."

Clarke shakes her head. "What we do is between us."

"Clarke, if you think what's happening isn't affecting him too-"

"How do you know about it?" Clarke interrupts, quick and sharp. "Does he talk to you about us?" And suddenly she's desperate to know. To get just a peak into Bellamy's head and wonder what's going on up there. To know if punishing her is the only thing he was getting out of this relationship.

Miller scratches his head. "We're friends, obviously we talk-"

"But you chose this too. Chose to put our people in the bunker." It's a cheap shot. Clarke knows it is. And she knows, ultimately, it's all her fault. There's no one to blame for locking the Grounders and their friends out but her. But a small part of her feels cheated. It's Jasper all over again. She, Bellamy, and Monty had killed the people in the Mountain yet it was only she Jasper hated and scorned for it. This is different, worse even, because it's Bellamy and it had been Octavia to die, but Clarke still can't help but just ask why.

Miller, at least, doesn't seem to argue her on it. His shoulders slump and a pained look takes over his face. "I know. God, I know. But, I guess everyone needs someone, right?"

It's true, to an extent. She has him, and Murphy, and Emori. She isn't as close to them as she had been other people but they're still there. And now, she supposes, she has Bellamy too.

"And me, well, no offense, but I'm a much better choice than you."

She isn't offended. It's true.

"Look, I just came to say, you two are hurting. And what you're doing to each other, its only making it worse. I preferred the Bellamy that ignored you to this Bellamy. The same for you Clarke. You're different from before, but not better. I know I'm not saying it right, it's hard to explain, but even Murphy sees it and you know if he thinks something is wrong then something is really fucked up."

Clarke doesn't know what to say. Of how to explain it. Nothing is better but Miller didn't get it. No one got it. Nothing was going to be better, not anymore. Not for Clarke and Bellamy, at least. This path they were taking wasn't leading to forgiveness or recovery or some kind of happy ending. Happiness was no longer an option for them. It was forfeited the moment the bullet entered Bellamy's leg.

So again, she repeats, her voice hollow, "It's none of your business."

Miller leaves in a huff of frustration.

Clarke tries to ignore both what Murphy and Miller had said, but their words follow along for the rest of the day. She goes to bed with them, and wakes up with them, and they're still there when Bellamy has her pushed up against the wall in a relatively ignored hallway on the lowest level of the bunker.

The concrete is hard on her bare back and his body is crushing her so much it's almost hard to breathe. Her nails are buried in his back and by the noises Bellamy is making, he likes it. So she drags them up and down hoping, for once, she leaves some marks on him.

He's sucking at the point her neck meets her shoulder and snapping their hips together. Clarke's legs are wrapped around his waist but they're beginning to feel like jelly. They were both nearing their edges, their noises getting more animalistic and their moves sloppy.

When Clarke comes her skull hits the wall, hard, and Bellamy's orgasm has his left hand punching the space right next to her head. She blearily watches the skin on his knuckles tear open, little drop of blood squeezing out.

"Bellamy-"

He drops her without warning and draws back. Clarke is quick enough to catch herself, if not stumbling a little. He reaches for his shirt and pants, wordlessly redressing.

She tries again. "Bellamy-"

"Don't," He growls. "I can take care of it."

But you don't have to.

Clarke grabs her clothes as well, frowning the whole time as she does. She was breaking an unspoken rule between them, to care more than she should.

"Bellamy-"

"God, what Clarke?"

He looks at her like she's a fly that won't stop buzzing in his face.

She suddenly feels foolish to bring it up, well, it's definitely foolish but she can't stop now. "Murphy was talking to me-"

"As if I give a crap what Murphy says-"

"And so was Miller."

His mouth snaps shut at that.

"What we're doing, Bellamy, it's…I'm not sure…"

"Sure of what?" He demands. "You want to stop?"

"No, I didn't say that-"

"Then what are you saying? And why do you care what they're saying?"

"I don't want to hurt you anymore than I have Bellamy."

His lips twisted into an ugly, bemused smile. "You think this is hurting me?"

It's been three months of doing this and Clarke has always lead Bellamy lead. Always let Bellamy talk. Because she deserved whatever punishment he wanted to doll out to her. But now, now it was changing, her friends made her see that, and it was finally time to find her voice again. And maybe Bellamy knew Clarke well, but Clarke also knew Bellamy.

"Yes," She says, her voice stronger then she remembers it being for so long. She sounded like the Clarke form long ago. The Clarke people had actually liked. "I think being around me hurts you so I don't know why you keep coming back."

"Fuck you." He hisses but doesn't really argue what she said.

"The last thing I want to do is hurt you anymore, Bellamy."

"Worry about yourself. You gave up the right to worry about me."

Clarke glares at him, for once. "I'll do what I want."

"Oh, we all know that."

"Well I'll end it then." She proclaims, crossing her arms over her chest. "This is done."

"Oh really?" Her back is again against the wall, and Bellamy is sliding his knee between her legs. Clarke hates herself when she rubs against him and hates it even more when a whimper squeezes past her lips. Bellamy palms her breasts through her shirt, rubbing them forcefully till her nipples become hard little pebbles. "You're ready to give this up? Who else is going to make you feel the way I do?"

"Anyone," Clarke gasps out, her words in direct contrast to her actions. She's rubbing more forcefully against his knee, lost in the friction it's creating against her clit. Her back arches as well, and she wishes desperately she hadn't put her shirt back on. "I could get anyone."

His eyes darken at that and Clarke wonders if it's possible to make him jealous.

"Who would have you?" He counters. "The Commander of Death. Who would want to touch you and your bloody hands?"

She slaps him.

It shocks them both.

All their movements freeze and they stare at each other wide eyed. Bellamy usually gives her some slaps during their fucking but never has she struck him. And this wasn't even in the name of being frisky. Even now, a pink red outline is forming on his cheek.

Even more outrageous, Bellamy lifts her up and kisses her.

Clarke's legs immediately wrap around him and he starts to rut into her. It's madness with their clothes on. It's like they're teenagers whose only act of being sexual is dry humping. But, fuck, if it isn't driving Clarke to the edge. Bellamy kisses her like he's desperate for it, but its different than their usual kissing. It's more…vulnerable. Clarke can't think too much on it, maybe later she will. But now, now all she wants to do is drown in Bellamy Blake.

And so she does. She cries out her orgasm, her voice weak and light and her breathing uneven. She sounds so small, even to her own ears. Bellamy swallows the sound with his lips.

It isn't certain if Bellamy comes, but he makes a pleasurable enough sound and slows down his movements. When they're both completely spent, and are reduced to only labored breathing, they don't immediately dethatch themselves from each other.

Even worse, their foreheads manage to tip against each other, making their noses brush and the air between them hot and sticky.

Clarke is terrified to open her eyes.

"It does hurt to be around you," Bellamy whispers, the words a caress against her lips. "But I can't stop."

And then Clarke realizes. She thought this whole time was about just punishing her. But Bellamy has been punishing himself as well.

She still can't look at him. "Then let's end it. Let's not do this to each other."

"You really want that?" His words seem lost and afraid. They are of a small child unsure of what's to come next. "I'm a monster" He once said to her. "All I do is hurt people". He's never shown her this side of him in so long. She used to know how to calm him and make it all better. She isn't so sure anymore.

"I want you." Clarke admits, her voice heavy with emotion. With what they have lost and can't get back. "But I don't know how to have you without destroying each other."

His hand smoothes against her cheek, cupping the flesh gently. Clarke leans into the rare show of kindness, desperate for more. "Don't you already know? There's nothing left of us to destroy."

And so, again, their relationship changes.

The sex becomes less rough. Less punishing. They're gentle with each other but it's not the kind of love making Clarke has had before. It's not gentle out of affection, if there is any affection between them it is buried deep and hidden under their depths of pain. This gentleness comes with a certain kind of fear. Fear of what being together does to them. Fear of what not being together does for them. There's no right choice to make, only wrongs ones, and neither knows which one is worse than the other.

That's not say they are never rough with each other anymore. There are certain days when the ghosts of their pasts are too loud to ignore. When the blood that can never be washed from their hands burns too red. When their crimes need to be answered for, and the only ones who can do it is themselves. At least now, they are both aware they are punishing each other as well as themselves.

Miller still does not approve and neither does Murphy, but at least the latter doesn't let it be read so easily on his face.

They do this for a year.

Clarke can't exactly say things get better for her, but they don't get much worse much either.

It's month three of year 2 in the bunker when things boil over with the Arcadians.

Things have gone smoothly enough up until this point. Jobs aren't great or glamorous but they're jobs nonetheless and keep people busy. Food has never been good since the Arc, and even then the meals hadn't been so wholesome. No, what proves to be a final push over the edge is, ironically, being cut off from the outside world. It's silly, really, considering they had spent a majority of their lives in space without so much of a small breeze of natural air. But apparently being on the ground has made them all selfish and greedy, desperate for more. Its cabin fever at its' finest and someone needs to be blamed for it.

Clarke and Jaha pull the short straws.

Who else would there to be the point fingers at? They're the leaders and when things go wrong, they're at the top of the list of suspects. Clarke isn't surprised or affronted, she can't even blame them. Most things were her fault, so why not this? So when there's a large group of people surrounding her, red faced and verging on yelling, she stays calm and poised.

Miller's presence at her side helps as well.

"It's been two years!" A man named John spits. Literally, spits. Clarke flinches slightly when she feels some of it on her face. "We can't stand it in here. At least on the Arc there were stars. Here is rock and more rock!"

"Five years," Clarke beings calmly. "We can't go back out for five years. It's been two."

"Maybe you were wrong!" A feminine voice shouts.

"Raven came up with that number and she isn't even here!" Another joins in.

The sound of her late friend's name finally makes Clarke's expression break a little. But only for a second. Then it's back to normal and she meets all their heated glares with one of her own. "If you'd like to open the hatch and test the air, go right ahead. We can lock that room so the radiation won't leak into the bunker and kill us all. Who's first?"

Their shouting dies down but isn't completely silent, the angry chorus now reduced to irritated grumbling. But they don't want walk away yet either.

"This still could be a trick." The man John accuses.

"Why don't you test it for us?"

"Yea, make her open the hatch!"

Miller has a hand on his gun, still holstered, but his grip tightens.

Clarke wonders if they would really go so far to try and force her. Where they that angry? That crazed? She's actually curious to find out. But it would never get far. Miller would take some of them down and then the other guards would come running. The riot would be squashed before it ever gained any real steam.

"Enough"

The voice is loud and authoritative, and everyone silences at the tone.

Even Clarke's breath stills.

Bellamy pushes through the crowds and comes to stand by Clarke. He doesn't look at her but instead levels his ice cold gaze on the crowd. His eyes seem to narrow even more when they pass over John, the self proclaimed ringleader. The man is red in the face but doesn't open his mouth.

"You're angry," Bellamy begins. It's the Bellamy who led the 100 on those early days in the ground. The one who continued to try and lead the Arcadians through every good and bad decision he made. Who tried to save them all from the end of the world.

It's him, but there are differences. He doesn't stand as tall. His eyes aren't as resolute. Even his words, though firm and clear, seem to lack the inspiration that use to move people. But he's Bellamy Blake and the people know him. And though he isn't the motivational speaker he once was, it doesn't mean what he's about to say isn't true.

"We're all angry. We're all tired. We all want out of this place. But the fact is, we can't. You know this. You may be pissed about it, but you know it. Open that hatch door and it's over. Raven isn't here but that doesn't make what she said untrue. But you know what? You're alive. It isn't the life you pictured but you're still here. We're all still here. And we need to make this work because there is no other option. We live, or we die. Blame Clarke if you want, but who are you going to blame after she's gone? And then who are you going to blame after that? You'll blame everyone until there's no one left and you'll still be in this bunker until you decide to kill yourself and step outside."

Clarke watches him, fascinated and awed. His words tug something deep inside, but not enough to bring whatever it is to the surface. Clarke hopes he keeps talking, hopes whatever it is he's pulling loosens and breaks to the surface.

"You're alive," Bellamy repeats again, this time accusation clear in his voice. "Others died for you to be here. Hundreds of people, hell, thousands of people dead. Burned up in fire and radioactivity so you could be given a fucking chance. So if you want to whine and blame someone, I'll throw you out of the damn hatch myself and save us all the bother."

No one us says another word.

The crowd disperses, their expressions still unhappy. Clarke stands still until they're all gone and then she finally turns to Bellamy. She doesn't say anything, just merely raises an eyebrow.

Bellamy hasn't done anything close to leading since coming into the bunker. And this, this was like cannoning balling into the deep end.

But…

Was it in her defense?

Or was he just trying to calm a situation that could have gone terribly south?

Clarke does and doesn't want to know.

Bellamy glares, but it doesn't hold its usual heat. If anything, it's exasperated. It's saying, don't you start with me.

Behind them, Miller actually chuckles.

Bellamy comes with her now, sometimes, to discuss things with Jaha. He just listens, though, and doesn't really comment much. It's as if he's hesitant to take on any real responsibility. But no, hesitant isn't the right word. It's more unwilling. But then that begs the question, why bother to begin with?

The only logical reason, Clarke is too afraid to believe, is her.

Bellamy seems to really only pay attention to the things Clarke is involved with. To always be at her side when she addresses their people or do something in public. Even in private meetings with Jaha, his eyes only focus when Clarke truly cares for a certain topic.

But why? Why the sudden protectiveness?

Why?

She wants to ask but can't bring herself to. So, as usual, Clarke takes what she can get with Bellamy. It's that, are loose it all and have nothing. And that, she cannot accept.

Clarke is going over the numbers of their water supply one afternoon, sitting quietly at her desk and scribbling away math. Bellamy is there too, sitting off to the side of the room with a book in his hand.

"This doesn't make sense," She says suddenly, exasperated and tired. She flings the pencil down and leans back, trying to clear her head.

"What's wrong?" Bellamy asks without looking up from his reading.

"Our supply is low which doesn't make sense since it isn't showing anyone taking more then they're allotted each week."

"So then the numbers are wrong."

"But how? I can't find the problem."

The book quietly closes in his hands and then Bellamy is beside her, squinting down at her math. He silent for a few moments but then his brow is furrowing as well, confusion clear on his features. "You're right. This doesn't make sense."

"See?"

"Which means you have a bigger problem."

"Bigger than not having enough water for the next three years?"

"The supply isn't that bad yet. It's salvageable if we ration more. Your bigger problem is someone is taking more then they deserve and they're getting away with it. Which means someone is helping that person screw with the numbers."

"Fantastic. That means we have to look into every person who has ever been on water duty. Ever person who reports back with the statistics each week."

"Let me do it."

Clarke eyes him curiously. "You?"

Bellamy is pointedly not looking at her, his eyes still trained on the paper below but very forcefully. "I can handle it."

"I never said you couldn't. Just wondering why."

"Why I care?"

"Well I'm assuming you care because you don't want us to all die of dehydration. But…"

"Just say what you want to say, Clarke."

"Anyone else could do this. You don't have to."

"But I want to."

"But why?"

She pushing, she knows, and she wants to stop but her mouth suddenly has a brain of its own.

Bellamy huffs and pushes away from the table. Away from her. He marches over to the door but Clarke sees the frustration clear as day on his face. At her? Himself? This whole situation?

"I'll take care of it." Is all he says before he leaves her alone in the room.

It's a week later when Bellamy comes to her with a group of four men.

Miller is with him, the two of them herding the disgruntled men into the office where she and Jaha are.

Clarke tries to catch his eye but Bellamy looks resolutely at Jaha. "We've solved your water problem."

Jaha raises an eyebrow. "Care to explain?"

Bellamy shoves a man in his forties, with dusty blonde hair and a hunched posture, forward. "Talk."

"My wife," The man begins, his voice strained and clipped. "She's always had an issue with dehydration. Has a metabolic disorder. She needs more then you all have decided she deserves."

"And why would you not come to us?" Jaha asks.

"What good would it have done? I already knew what answer I would have gotten."

"You don't know that," Clarke snaps. Suddenly, she's very, extremely, passionately, pissed off. Because this man isn't being fair. Blaming her for something she hadn't even done, just something he'd assume she'd do. And they could have made it work. Somehow, even if it meant some people volunteering to cut back on rations, they could have made it work. They wouldn't have let the woman die. "And what about the rest of you? Do we all have sick wives?"

Bellamy glances at her then but she barely acknowledges him. She doesn't care to know what he thinks of the man's accusation.

One of the men she knows. His name is Regald. He works in the cafeteria, more specifically, dealing out water rations. He looks the angriest out of the group and meets Clarke's stare without any remorse. "I was helping out a sick man's wife." He proclaims unabashedly.

"And what of the rest of these men?" Jaha counters.

The two others are tense but at least a bit more ashamed. They keep their heads bowed and their gaze on the ground.

"Speak for yourselves." Jaha snaps.

"We heard what Mike was doing." One stutters and nods to the man with the wife. "Thought we could get in on it."

Clarke scoffs. "Get in on water that we need to survive?"

"Don't act like you all don't got more stashed away!" the other man shouts. "Having your own secret supply for you higher ups. It's like the Ark all over again!"

"Are you serious?" Clarke all but growls.

"I did what I do for my wife, that's it." Mike proclaims again. "I didn't know anything about them."

Regald shifts and Clarke's notices his hands curl into fists. "They approached me for help after they found out about Mike, it's true. And what they said made sense."

"That we were hiding secret rations of water?" Clarke exclaimed incredulously.

"And you didn't on the Ark?" Regald argues. "Maybe in the beginning we were all in this together but how long is that going to last? How long did it last on the Ark? It's our second year here, it was only a matter of time before the lines were drawn. We were just getting a head start."

Clarke shakes her head. "No, you're wrong."

"Says you!" One of the other offenders shouts. "You, Clarke Griffin. You were royalty on the Ark, on the Ground, and here. Of course you don't have to worry about these things. You've never had to worry about them. Not like us. We live everyday wondering when the other shoe is going to drop."

"Enough." Jaha growls and everyone in the room grows silent. "You've committed a crime against everyone in this bunker. You've committed a crime against the last of humanity. This will not go unanswered. "

Punishment for crimes in the bunker had briefly been discussed. No one really wanted to consider the fact it would be a possibility but not one was too naïve to think it would never happen either. It just hadn't been imperative at the time, there had been so many more important things to discuss. And now here it was, two years later.

The solution had been the room Bellamy had been kept in so long ago. When he had tried to fight his way to Octavia, and to the rest of the people waiting above ground for salvation. Before Clarke had shot him. Before everything had gone wrong. It was more secure now, as obvious by Bellamy's escape, and would serve to house anyone committing any wrongs.

"Three weeks," Jaha sentences, not waiting for any court or jury. "Your families will not be punished for your crimes, but you will. Your usual rations will be thinned in an attempt to compensate for what you've unjustly taken. You will not be starved near death but you will certainly feel the difference."

All the men's eyes widen in indignation but Mike looks ready to jump up and actually throttle Jaha.

"Your wife," Jaha says, noticing Mike's anger. "Will be cared for. As she would have had you just come to us to begin with. Now, take them away."

And then it's over.

Bellamy and Miller do as they're told, shuffling the men up and out of the room without anyone uttering another word.

Clarke watches them leave, tasting ash in her mouth as their hateful accusations linger in her head.

The screen replays in her head for two days, the words causing her blood to boil and her heart stutter with uncertainty. This wasn't the Ark. They were wrong. Things would not turn out the same way. Clarke wants to talk to someone about it, just to make sure she's not deluding herself, but she's not sure who to go to. Jaha, obviously, thinks the same as she but he has been wrong so many times before. And he had once been one of the privileged to make matters even more unsure. Likewise, Murphy and Miller had been at the opposite side of spectrum. Criminals beaten down but the laws of the Ark. She's being unfair, maybe. They're her friends. If she asked them a question, they would be honest.

Wouldn't they?

It's late at night and she and Bellamy are on one of the infirmary beds.

They're bodies are hot and the stench of sex lingers over them. They're close but only because the bed is too small. They don't cuddle. They never cuddle. But this is the closest they ever get. Skin barely brushing, breaths intermingling, and Clarke trying so hard to show she is not counting every freckle on his skin.

But tonight, she doesn't want him to dash off right away. She never wants him to dash off right away but that's a dream she knows will never become true.

"Are they right?" She whispers into the dark, her words dropping gently onto his shoulder. If she only leant forward a bit more, she could put her face in the crook on his neck, kiss his warm skin, feel his heartbeat beneath her skin…

He doesn't answer right away.

Bellamy is starring up at the ceiling, his chest falling up and down. His eyelids are drooping, as if he was about to fall asleep, but there is an awareness there that Clarke recognizes.

He doesn't ask who she is talking about. He knows.

"People are unhappy," Bellamy replies, just as low as she. "And I don't think you can fix that."

"Why?" She hears the way her voice near whines, a child upset with the situation around her.

"This situation was never going to be perfect. And it was never going to be easy. This is the Ark, Clarke. We're just below ground instead of above it this time."

"What they said, it's not going to happen."

"You don't know that."

"Bellamy-"

He rolls to his side, facing her and now looking very awake. "You can't control everything, Clarke. Least of all how people feel or act. They're upset and angry and they're going to lash out. And you-you need to be careful."

"What does that mean?"

His mouth thins. "People need someone to be angry with. You're at the top of their list."

It's not surprising. She basically already knew that. But they way Bellamy says it…the way he looks right now…

"That's why you're suddenly so interested." Clarke whispers. The realization gets stronger with every passing second. "You're….worried for me. For what someone might do to me."

Bellamy rolls off the bed.

He doesn't deny her statement or confirm it. He's just quiet. Quiet and gathering his clothes. Quiet and changing. Quiet and leaving.

She wishes she could cry. Just to have something to do. Just to release the mayhem going on in her head.

And it happens.

Lines begin to get drawn amongst everyone. Those with more administrative jobs against those in labor. Those in charge of doling out rations verse those who just follow along. People remembering who they were on the Ark, on the Ground, and wanting to keep up the "persona" in the bunker.

It happens and Clarke can't stop it just as Bellamy warned her.

The only thing she can do is make sure it's not as corrupt as it once had been.

But even that she fails to do.

Since the water incident, Clarke looks at their supplies more closely and finds more discrepancies.

She wants to scream.

Bellamy, again, offers his assistance and it soon becomes his permanent job. He looks for corruption in the Bunker and tries to resolve it. But Clarke, and Jaha, are always the ones to pass the sentence on those he finds guilty. That he does not partake in.

More and more, Clarke finds people grow quiet around her when she enters a room. She notices the looks of suspicion, or disdain. She wonders if had been like this on the Ark as well and she had just never noticed. On the Ground they had all been so focused on surviving. But in the Bunker, circumstances aren't so dire. People can afford to be petty and angry and hateful.

If Bellamy isn't busy looking into some situation, he's always sticks close to Clarke. She finds it more nerving then comforting. He is there because he thinks someone is going to try and hurt her. Not because he wants to be.

"Hey Princess," Murphy greets, leaning against the wall next to her.

The nickname makes Clarke jump. She hasn't been called that in a while. Bellamy will probably never call her that again.

"How looks your Court?"

"Shut up, Murphy."

"You're testy this morning."

"Our vegetable supply is low."

"Sick world we live in when people are stealing vegetables, eh?"

Clarke looks at him out of the side of her eye. "You wouldn't know anything about that would you?"

He smirks, but the expression could mean anything when it comes to Murphy. "You accusing me of something? I thought that was your boyfriend's job."

"He's not-" Clarke sighs. "I asked you a question."

"No, I don't know anything about it."

"Would you tell me even if you did?"

"Probably not."

She wants to be angry at him. A part of her is. But it's Murphy, and she isn't surprised anymore. So she pushes off the wall and stomps away from him before she does something stupid.

Nothing gets better.

Bellamy is doing a well enough job but when one problem gets fixed, another one rises right up. And then people start getting pregnant.

Which is just ridiculous really. The implants apparently do have an expiration date which sucks because about 8 women get pregnant all at the same time. Probably more will start coming forward soon enough as well and no one had been prepared for this. Now on top of people stealing rations, they'd have to account for all these new mouths to feed.

"We have to limit it," Jaha says one day.

Clarke knows he is right but she hadn't wanted to be the one to say it. Especially with Bellamy in the room.

His whole body tenses and he glares at Jaha. "Because that worked so well last time?"

"It did work," Jaha counters. "Your sister was the only anomaly."

"So what happens when another anomaly occurs? There's no floating down here so what's the preferred choice of murder?"

Clarke can't breathe let alone try and enter the conversation. She never talks to Bellamy bout anything relating to Octavia. She just can't. And he wouldn't even let her if she dared attempt.

Jaha closes his eyes with a sigh. "It won't come to that."

"I'm sure you said the same thing to yourself on the Ark."

"Blake, your mother broke the law-"

"She couldn't help having a child." Bellamy growls. "Her implantation didn't work. That wasn't her fault. And she didn't want to give Octavia up."

"I know this is personal for you-"

"Screw you," Bellamy snaps and then he's out of the room and slamming the door behind him.

Jaha looks to Clarke for something, anything, but she can't even meet his gaze.

"Clarke…"

He's tired, just like her, and she feels bad for making him deal with that whole matter. "We'll think of some form of protection. And…and we just hope it works."

Because if it doesn't, things were going to get a lot worse.

Emori gets pregnant.

Murphy is a wreck and isn't it a sight to see. Clarke would tease him if she wasn't so sure he would hit her for it. Everything she does, he monitors, everything she doesn't do, he questions. Emori is bothered but patient. Murphy has lost almost everyone in his life, he doesn't want to lose his love either. Especially not his unborn child. So when his actions become near exasperating, no one pushes too much, because they understand.

But Clarke doesn't understand when Bellamy stops touching her.

No, that's not true. She does understand. Baby fever is going around and it's now a fact that the implantations don't work. Bellamy doesn't want to impregnate her, plain and simple. It hurts and doesn't hurt. She wants to yell but also hold back.

She wants. Oh, she wants.

He's still there for business, but that's about it. And since they're not exactly friends, this is all she can get with Bellamy. Sex and business and now one is gone. It's sad she can't bring herself to talk to him about it. Which is sad too.

She punches the wall one day. It's weak and pathetic and makes her knuckles scab and ache.

Again, oh how she wishes she could just sit and cry.

"Clarke," Miller is in her doorway. His breathe is short, his eyes wide and frantic. "You need to come. Now. It's Emori."

Emori is in the infirmary, squirming and screaming on one of the too small beds. Sweat drips down her red face. Her good hand clenches the white sheet in a death grip while her bad one flails wildly. Murphy is next to her, talking fast and frantic, his words coming out more in a ramble rather than anything rational or comforting. Her eyes her squeezed shut and never open, despite Murphy's words or her own.

She's eight months pregnant.

Eight months of no touch from Bellamy.

Eight months of not talking about it.

Eight months of a different sort of pain and misery than Clarke has become accustomed to.

"You need to breathe," Clarke instructs, feeling her pulse point. It's beating too wildly. Too fast to be healthy. "Please, for your baby. Emori, you need to calm down."

Her words do little. Her words do nothing. Murphy curses.

"Jackson," He's there, somewhere behind her back. "We need sedatives."

Murphy's head snaps up. "Is that going to hurt her? The baby?"

Clarke shakes her head no and continues to urge Emori to calm down. She's not sure what's wrong. It could be a plethora of things, too many to list. But they don't have the resources to name it or hope to help it. All they could do is their best and honestly, Clarke isn't sure she's capable of that anymore.

Bellamy shows up at some point.

He's stays in the back, away from the chaos, but is clearly present and there if needed. Miller eventually gravitates toward him, because he is just as useless as him in this situation.

Clarke should have known.

There is no such thing as happy endings. Not anymore.

Emori gives premature birth.

The baby is a stillborn.

Emori dies in labor.

Clarke stares numbly at the frozen body on the bed. Blood pools the once pristine white sheets. Sweat still sticks to her now chilling skin. Jackson takes away the still small body. Murphy hasn't moved. His hand is clutching Emori's bad one, and he hasn't let go. Not yet.

Clarke can't wait to see how he reacts.

It's too much death. She should be use to it by now. So many people, so many names. Finn, Lexa, Jasper, Monty, Harper, Marcus, Raven, Octavia, and Abbey. Why does it still hurt? Why does it still scare her so? Why can't she just be numb to it all?

She makes it to her room before she falls to her knees. Air bursts from her lungs, makes her gasp and flail. Blood boils and reddens the skin, and while angry tears sting her eyes, they refuse to fall. No crying, no more. It's not her fault, Clarke knows this, and yet she still blames herself. Because she was there, she tried to make it work, to make it alright. And she couldn't. Emori died. Her baby died. Murphy's soul died with them.

"Clarke"

Of course he would be here.

She doesn't look at him. Tries her best to ignore him and silently say fuck off.

"You did your best."

"Oh really?" Her words are sharp and vicious. "If I did my best then I would have a happy and healthy mother and baby."

"It wasn't your fault."

"Go away."

"Clarke-"

"I hate you," Clarke admits, her eyes blearily focused on the grim concrete floor. Her fingers dig into her denim clad thighs, hurting both her blunt nails and too frail skin. But her words hurt her heart. Because she does hate Bellamy. She never wanted to admit it, not to herself or to anyone else. Yet, while she does hate him, she also loves him. And to admit one causes pain to admit the other. She needs him yet loathes him. Yearns his touch yet fears it. She can't stay away from him though a deep part of herself warns too. These past months have been a torture and reprieve. She needs him because he understands her suffering and she understands his. Because he knows her sins and can punish her for them, as she does the same for him. Because there is no one else left who can see her. There is no one else left that can see him.

"I hate you too."

The words don't hurt as much as she thought they would.

"You don't want me to have your baby."

It's not a fair accusation. Neither of them want children for so many reasons. To blame him for it, to place it solely on his shoulders…it's a low blow and she's not mature enough to amend it.

But then he answers her, and Clarke doesn't feel so guilty anymore.

"No, I don't want to have a baby with you."

Bellamy means it. Means it in the way he said it and with no ulterior motives.

Clarke gasps out another painful blow.

"Clarke…you didn't think I would…."

At least he sounds a bit apologetic.

It isn't enough.

"Why can't you leave me alone?" She begs, desperate, painful. Suddenly she realizes what Miller had tried to warn her about. Murphy as well. She realizes that maybe she doesn't want to kill whatever of her soul is left. It's not a lot, Clarke knows this, but it's not completely gone either. And while her body and heart craves Bellamy, his presence also is poisoning her.

And she isn't strong enough to let go.

That's the worst part.

"Then I'd be alone too."

Nothing gets better.

The bunker enters its third year.

Murphy is an empty shell. More spiteful than ever. Angry. Sarcastic. Violent. Uncaring.

No one can fix him. He can't fix himself. It's like watching a car crash. At least, what Clarke imagines what would be a car crash. She'd never seen one in real life. Only movies. Knowing the accident was going to happen, watching one car aim and slowly makes it way in the path of another. Waiting for the impact. Holding your breath and praying for the best. Knowing your prayers wouldn't be answered.

Rations are still being stolen. They weren't going to last at this point. Bellamy is doing his best but it's like a disease. Where it originates in one point, it spreads viciously to another. No way to eradicate the whole thing. No way to cure the body of its sickness.

The pregnancies don't stop. More and more women grow fat with children. The already depleted rations have to be thinned even more.

It's all falling apart.

It's not a secret.

Everyone knows there is not enough food or water. Everyone knows that the chance of making it to the fifth year was growing slimmer and slimmer.

Bellamy and Clarke barely talk anymore. Not alone anyway. She resents the pregnancies for it. It's not fair, no one planned for that to happen, and yet here they were. She misses for what they were before the pregnancies, before the poisonous words they said to each other. Before she realized how far low they had sunk.

Clarke barely talks to anyone anymore. Sometimes she goes whole days without hearing her own voice. Even when people through curses and spite her way, which is becoming a daily routine, she lets the words pierce her skin and sink slowly within. Let them blacken her already dark blood. She does this and continues walking on, toward a end that is no longer in sight.

It all falls apart.

Fights erupt. Punching and cursing and blaming and hate. It's the fourth year in the bunker when all is lost. No one cares anymore. Life doesn't matter anymore. Making it to the fifth year is impossible. The food is gone. The water. The will to live.

Clarke wonders if it had been worth it. Shooting Bellamy. Denying Octavia and the Grounders the chance to live. Would it have ended differently? Would they have survived? Had her people always been so selfish? So uncaring?

The answer comes when she looks at herself. Clarke had always been willing to sacrifice. To betray those close to her. She had always been selfish. Selfish for life and for the greater good. She was just like everyone else, just in different terms. She can't hate her people for what they have done. She wishes she could. Really, she does. But as she sits in her room, away from the riots and violence, she can't bring herself to do it. Life in the bunker had only been accomplished through death and betrayal. It only fits it would end this way as well.

"Clarke."

She looks up at Bellamy. She had thought she had locked her door. Well, maybe she wanted to pretend she had locked the door. To secretly allow someone to come in, to end it all. To just be done.

She does not know where Miller or Murphy is, what has happened to them. Perhaps their bodies are now lifeless on the floor like so many others. Hers would soon add to the list.

"Bellamy."

His name feels odd on her tongue. She hasn't said it in a while.

There is blood on his face and his shirt. But his eyes are not bright with violence or adrenaline. They are quiet, somber. He shuts the door behind him. He locks it.

"It was all for nothing," Clarke says. Her voice is hollow and sounds somewhere far, far away. "Saving the human race…killing all those people…it meant nothing."

Bellamy doesn't answer her. He just stares for a moment and then, almost hesitantly, makes his way over. Slowly, he leans against the wall and slides down, placing himself right next to her. "All for nothing." He echoes.

"I know I've said it before but…I'm sorry, Bellamy. I'm so sorry. I know what she meant to you."

In four years Clarke has never said her name. She'll die not saying it.

Bellamy is silent. For minutes or hours, Clarke is not sure. She doesn't look at him. She doesn't have the energy to do so.

"I imagine….sometimes….if you didn't do it."

If she hadn't shot him. If she hadn't damned both their souls to hell.

Clarke closes her eyes. Allows herself to drown in his voice. Only his voice and nothing else. "What is it like?"

"It's hard," Bellamy admits but not hatefully. "It's always hard on the Ground. But…we make it work. Because we always make it work."

"Tell me." Clarke all but begs.

Bellamy's leg brushes against hers. "You don't shoot me. We let everyone in. It's…difficult but we manage to make it work. But then Raven calls and we go to help. Monty and Harper meet us along the way. Murphy and Emori come too because they want to help Raven. But we make it too late. Too late to come back. So we…we go to space."

Clarke does something she didn't think possible anymore. She laughs.

"Space?"

She hears Bellamy's smile. "Ironic, yeah. But because Raven is a genius, it works. We go back to space, we survive, we wait five years and we come back."

"And then what?"

"We meet up with everyone. Octavia, Kane, Miller, your mom. We all reunite and be happy."

Clarke's eyes burn. "Happy?"

"Happy." Bellamy confirms. Resolute. Believing. "We deserved that. After everything, we deserved that."

She is afraid to ask, but she does. "And us?"

Bellamy's hand finds hers. Their fingers intertwine, curling and gripping together. "We're happy too. So happy. We…we love each other. We get the chance we never had before. To be together and to start something. No death around us. No guilt. It's just you and me and the future."

Clarke drops her head against his shoulder. "That sounds nice."

"It is."

"I ruined it."

"Don't talk about that now."

"I can't."

"Clarke-"

"How is this going to end?" Bellamy had locked the door but how long would that last? There was no food in her room, no water. And outside was the angry mob. Blood thirsty and angry to fix a problem that wasn't really a problem. There was no way out of this. After everything they had all been through, even the apocalypse, this was truly the end.

Bellamy tightened his grip. "It's you and me. We're not going down without a fight."

Clarke grins and for once in four years, feels tears drip down her face. She relishes in them rather than mourns. "Tell me how it ends. You and me. Please."

Bellamy answers without hesitation. "We love each other. We grow old together. We have children. Abbey is a proud grandmother. Raven and Octavia fight over the best aunt. Our daughter has blonde hair like you, but my eyes. She's stubborn as hell, more than the both of us put together. She gives Octavia a run for her money for being rebellious. We have a boy too, who looks like me but as your beautiful blue eyes. He's softer, but strong, and has a love for reading like me."

"I like reading." Clarke says indignantly.

Bellamy chuckles and kisses her forehead. She feels tears on his lips.

"We're so happy…it kills me how happy we could have been."

Clarke sobs harshly.

Happy. They could have been happy.

"I love you." Bellamy admits. "I hate you but I love you. So much."

Clarke opens her eyes.

"I love you too."

They kiss. It's like their first kiss in the bunker. Frantic. Desperate. Messy. Overflowing with emotions. It over quicker then it began.

They don't wait to starve or dehydrate.

They go outside the room. They don't go down without a fight. They die the way they lived, fighting tooth and nail. They die next to each other. They die with each other's eye on the other.

The bunker doesn't last. The human race does not survive.

This is it how it ends.