"you’ve been so brave…"
"you’ve been so brave…"
Teen Wolf!AU: Laura comes back as a ghost to make sure her brother is okay, but Stiles is the only one who can see her. (x)
Bonus Soundtrack: The Scientist - Coldplay
“Derek…” Stiles tries, hand reaching and pausing in the air between them, not sure where to go. Derek shifts away from any attempt, somehow closing in on himself without moving much at all.
“Don’t,” he mutters, and Stiles’ hand drops. He steels himself, reaches forward again, managing to close the distance until Derek shrugs him off roughly.
“Stiles,” Derek snaps, gaze focused on the ground, like he can’t stand looking up and not seeing his sister when she’s right there, “Don’t.”
Stiles takes in Derek’s defensive posture, the way he’s almost trembling from trying to hold himself together, and nods quickly, making a decision. It’s a hazardous one, but it’s a risk he has to take.
Pushing himself out of his chair, he throws his arms around Derek before the man can stop him, squeezing tightly even though he knows Derek could throw him off without any effort at all.
Derek doesn’t; he freezes, breathing shallow and muscles taut, ready to react if need be.
“Is this from Laura?” he asks after a few tense seconds have passed. Stiles can feel the strain of him fighting not to push away all throughout his body.
“No, you asshole,” he mutters, words muffled against Derek’s shoulder. “This is from me.”
asdlkjfl can these guys just do ever PSA for television ever.
“Who are you? Why do you smell like Stiles?”
“What? You don’t recognize me?” The man didn’t wilt, not even when Derek’s hands twisted the worn leather in his grip. “I’m hurt.”
Derek’s thought stuttered for a second. There was no chance in hell- “He’s dead,” he spit with a sense of finality that he’d worked so hard on in the past years.
The man in front of him chuckled as if Derek had just told a funny joke. “And yet you can smell it on me, don’t you?” He reclined his head against the wall where Derek had him pinned, baring his throat. But his eyes won’t leave Derek’s. “Come on, get a good whiff.”
The words sounded like a playful dare to Derek’s ears, and that alone made him even angrier, his hold on the man’s jacket tightening as he bared his fangs. “Don’t even fucking try-” he said, ready to tear the man to pieces, rip away from him Stiles’ scent and with it all the lies and the uncertainties that he carried in his pockets.
There wasn’t a damn to be continued engraved on Stiles’ tombstone, no happy end waiting for them around the corner. It was just how things were, and this man was not allowed to pile up all these facts and set them on fire as if they were nothing but origami cranes, as if Stiles’ death hadn’t left an ugly, perpetually open wound inside Derek’s chest, there where his heart kept beating only by sheer inertia-
“Come on, sourwolf,” the man grinned. And Derek’s reality tipped over once again.
aaannnd I’m dead.
Daily Doctor, Tuesday April 17th, 2012
I was searching
my eyes were closed
I was drowning so far from home
You threw flowers into the sea
and every flower came floating right back to me
She can barely walk at first. Processing anything—data, emotions, how to put one foot in front of the other—is too much. For the first few cycles, she sits and watches the Creator work. Flynn manipulates the Grid effortlessly, even in the Outlands; he carves a home for them out of nothing. Energy flows from his fingers like rivers from an ocean; he wills it to be so and it is so. He insists that she refer to him as ‘Flynn’ and not ‘the Creator’, insists that he had only a small hand in her making.
As she stands in the finished space—a luminous enclave with bright white tiles, elegant furniture and piles of what she soon learns are books—she cannot understand it as anything but the work of a god.
“C’mere,” he says, picking up one of the books; it’s a heavy, dark thing that falls open in his lap. Words decorate the pages, which she grasps easily enough; it’s the book’s form that mystifies her. The leather is marbled, feeling both soft and tough under her palm, and the pages have a curious smell—something organic, watery, foreign.
“This is an artifact from your world,” she says.
“Totally analog, man,” he replies, nodding. “Well, as much as it gets in here, anyway.”
She sits with him on the couch, leans over to read along as he begins to pronounce the words aloud. The stories are short—Flynn calls them fables—and deal with topics like jealousy, greed and betrayal.
“They’re meant to be instructive,” he explains. “I was trying to upload a library for all of you. I think I should have made it a higher priority.”
Quorra listens intently, learning all she can, soaking up the scenes and their meanings as though drinking from a well of energy. The effort distracts her from the overwhelming sense of loss and rage in her heart that makes her want to run from this safe, stark room and back to the city for another ill-fated confrontation with Clu. Flynn has already stopped her from doing this several times. She is the last, he says. If Clu captures her, the miracle will die.
Eventually Quorra’s gaze strays from the page, to lock with Flynn’s. The book is merely a prop for her edification; he does not look at it while he spins the tale.
“You all right, Q?” he says, pausing when he realizes that she’s suddenly laser-focused on him.
“No,” she says, seeing little reason to lie.
Flynn shuts the book. “Yeah. I know what you mean.”
He’s fighting it, too. She sees it plainly in his eyes, and in the frantic way he works and paces and spends hours adjusting the code for a plate or a chandelier.
“Finish the story,” she urges. She takes the book from him and quickly finds the proper place.
He smiles and brings them both back to a world of sour grapes, dogs and their reflections, tortoises outsmarting hares.
She supposes that they are tortoises, trying to wait, trying to rely on the hare’s overconfidence. But she can’t imagine that Clu ever stops for a nap. She can’t imagine that he stops at all.
Flynn’s voice becomes hoarse. He reads the entire volume and begins to sound slightly manic. Quorra touches his arm.
“Let’s rest a while,” she says. Flynn blinks as though awakening from a fugue.
She takes the books from him and replaces them on the shelf. Now that the storytelling is done, Flynn falls silent. He folds his hands in his lap and waits for her.
Gently, Quorra pulls Flynn up from the couch and leads him to his room.
She sits down with him on the bed, legs folded one under the other. He leans back against the headboard, shuts his eyes, breathes deep. His posture is wilted, crumpled; the lines around his mouth are creased with stress. Flynn begins to shake.
Quorra doesn’t react immediately. She operates on instinct, working from some intrinsic, empathic sense of how to respond. He needs a moment. When his shoulders stop trembling, she reaches for him. She holds both of his hands and does not speak.
Flynn opens his eyes. He squeezes her hands and exhales a weak, shuddering breath. But the longer they sit together, the more even his breathing becomes. His expression clears, softens. Quorra wonders what he’s thinking, but asking would break the gentle silence between them, would introduce too many sharp-edged uncertainties.
Instead, she lies down. She feels his body curl around hers; his arms cinch her waist; his cheek rests against the nape of her neck.
She feels the rapid thrum of his heart and the blood rushing hotly beneath his skin.
“Are you all right?” she says.
“No,” he replies. “But I’m better.”
This is all they can do for each other, and it is both more and less than enough.
You give me strength
You give me grace
You give me every little thing I ever craved
You hold the power, you are the light
You are the one I came so far to find
(we will now return you to your regularly scheduled ultraviolence)
Rebloging without cutting because this is a stunning piece of writing. Please read it!
GET OFF THE FLOOR AND GET BACK IN THE BED, KEVIN.
oh my god
Robin and Superboy will always wow the crowd ;)
skldjfl DYING, it’s young justice SUPERBOY AND ROBIN. *_*
And SuperBoy even has THE HAIR. AND THE JACKET AND BELTS lol. <3
That was the sound of my hormones in a state of combustion.
God. I don’t even-…how is he so gorgeous. His EYES are just….guh. <3333