FREE CHOICE: Fan fiction set during the season finale of S.2
Blue and Black Skies
“What if, from now on, wherever you run, I run with you. I don’t know what we are together and if we have any chance in the future — but I do know that I’m free with you. Like with no one else.”
[Soundtrack for this fic is Malibu by Miley Cyrus. Because I like making happy songs turn sad. If you listen along with this you won’t regret it.]
And it wasn’t like before, because this time they did run together. They had conquered the impossible together. And when they ended it atop the roof, they didn’t know what to do or say but follow through with the promise to run. It hardly mattered that he didn’t have a passport or that he was leaving everyone behind with no explanation. It didn’t matter that she couldn’t maintain the tight control on her father’s assets that she had wanted to have. They grabbed things in a hasty and haphazard manner before they found themselves on a jet and disappeared. She took him to an actual beach. Since he had never left New York, he’d never been to one. He could get a slight idea of the view, but the surroundings were almost paradise. The grainy feeling of the hot sand underneath his feet was both disarming and enchanting. And the heat sunk into his skin as she wrapped her arms around him from behind. She hadn’t lied when she said that this life was fantastic. This wasn’t the way he would have ever pictured he’d experience it. Although, honestly, he never thought he would. He turned towards her: “Was this your idea of a sexy place to hide?” Her bell-like laugh made him smile, “This is just the beginning, Matthew.”
She moved around towards his front and kissed him. He could taste the salt in the air and on her lips. He was intoxicated by the smell of jasmine in her hair and the surf and driftwood a few paces from where they stood. She grasped his hands and playfully pulled him towards the water and then pushed him in.
She laughed as Matthew chastised her for pushing him. She didn’t care. She had him. And they were free —even if for a while. They had to forego her usual places but the Hand would hardly know or care that Clara and Jack Brown had rented a shack in the Caribbean amongst the palatial homes of the ultra wealthy. They hadn’t even flown directly. But after some time, they “settled.” She had said that she would die in the suburbs, but this was an island full of little things to discover…and steal the occasional bauble just to mess with people.
Much to her surprise, though, her favourite thing to do was spend time with Matthew at the beach. He was still getting his sea legs and it was so fun to try and catch him unaware. It usually ended with her being flipped onto the sand, however. She couldn’t get enough. In a way, it was ridiculous, really. They were acting like teenagers who had the whole world at their feet and not like two people running from a secret, murderous cult. But here…they couldn’t touch them. They wouldn’t dare. She didn’t care how many other Nobus she needed to dismember, she would do it. They weren’t going to use her and they certainly weren’t going to take Matthew from her. Nothing ever would. Not again.
The thought prompted her to throw herself at him and kiss him violently. They could both drown for all she cared. But there was no way anyone could take this from her…from him…from either of them. They came up for air and she bit his shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said. “I know.”
It wasn’t up for debate. But they still wound up fighting on the shore and getting revved up enough that they broke a few things in the rental home before they fucked roughly against a wall. And when the fog of ecstasy was lifted, he caressed her cheek softly and it was everything to her because she felt…good. She felt that *she* was good. He did this to her. Disarmed her with something so simple and reminded her that she wasn’t alone. That he knew her completely and wouldn’t run away. That she was loved. She looked at him with kind eyes, “I love you, Matthew.” He smiled, that brilliant infuriating smile, “I love you too.”
Before she knew it, they were in Madrid and they held hands as they drunkenly walked from bar to bar around the Plaza Mayor. And those late nights led to her exerting her violence under the guise of his predilection for justice. Same as they had done since they had left New York. She would like to say that nothing had changed between them, but it had. It was new and odd and wonderful, even if she didn’t want to admit to it. Underneath their explosive passion, there was substance. She discovered it one late morning as she awoke amidst the Spanish heat to find she had buried her face in his neck while she slept. Their legs were messily entwined and the sheets were sticking out at odd angles. But he was there…with her. And a foreign tenderness bubbled in her chest as she took in his sleeping form and felt no desire to wake him. She just saw him as he was: both innocent and violent…his angelic face relaxed while nearby, a bruise had blossomed in all it’s tyrian purple glory. She had never been more in love and it frightened her more than she could’ve thought possible.
He would never tell her that her heartbeat and her breath were the best lullaby he’d ever had. That when she woke, he was on the fringes of consciousness. But he didn’t care to get up or to ruin her moment. So he feigned sleep for her. Because even if she thought he deserved better, he knew what she didn’t. That she was it for him, no matter what he had told himself or how many times he had tried to deny it.
But the tender mornings never changed the passion or deterred the violent nights. And they ran…and they ran…and they made a life together on the run. They lost all sense of time and despite the lack of logic in it, it was paradise. The sky had never been more blue…
She gasped as she felt the life draining out of her. The sky was pure ink above her and Matthew held her. She had told him that this was not the end and though her eyes were now closed and she could hear his grief, her mind was elsewhere. Because there he was, spitting out saltwater in the Caribbean. And he was nursing a bruise while his limbs were wrapped around her in Madrid. And he complained about the beer in London. And he was kissing her in Paris. And they got drunk for the hell of it in San Sebastian. And they got lost in the market in Tunisia. And they ran through Machu Picchu like children. He was there. He was hers. And not the night sky or any foreign entity could say any different.
Then her mind stopped. And he would never know that she had lived a thousand lifetimes with him in her final moments. He would never know that regardless of where they were or what they did, with him, her sky was ever clear and ever blue. That reality would not separate them because her last thought had been of him. That would never change… and her death was not the end.
This was the second thing i did for the anniverssary. I came with the idea for this comic when i was over a hard time and i think it’s kind of strange how this relate with what happened in the fandom a few days ago.
Maybe all what we need is to have a little star around us.
You see a sentence
written in cyrillic. Some of the letters are familiar. You see the
meaning shimmering underneath the surface. You almost grasp it, but it slips away. The letters on the page mock you silently.
You know this Czech word. You’ve already learnt it in Polish. It is not the same word. It is a grave insult. Your slavic friends are shocked and embarassed for you when they hear you speak it.
There is a sentence in
Croatian. There is a sentence in Serbian. There is a sentence in
Bosnian. They are all the same sentence.
You have to write about your day in Slovak. You spend the night polishing the draft. You fail your assigment. It’s written in Czech. You don’t know Czech.
P is not what it seems. You have to remember that.
The Croatian sentence
does not mean what the Bosnian sentence means. They both mean the same in Serbian.
That word has a diminutive. The diminutive has its own diminutive. The diminutive of the diminutive also has a diminutive. Nobody knows what the final diminutive of a word is. Some say the knowledge had been lost in centuries past and matrioshkas are the echo, the tangible warning left for us to remember. No living creature should hold the means of diminishing something into nonexistence. Others say you may still find some of them in old soviet textbooks, if you dare to look in abandoned schools of Chernobyl.
Someone is speaking to you. Is that a he or a she? You aren’t sure. It’s an abstract concept. Why does it have gender.
You see a word in a
dictionary. It has seventeen letters and only one vowel. You close the dictionary very carefully not
looking at the phonetic transcription. The shape of it haunts you in
your sleep. You wake
up face damp with tears, a bitter taste on your tongue. The clock blinks 3:03AM. You do not dare look up that word again.
This word means the
same thing in the five slavic languages you’re familiar with. You use
it in the sixth one. That word does not exist in this language. It never
did. There is now a word-shaped void in the fabric of this language.
The natives look at you uneasily. There is a new quality to the silence and your palms start to sweat.
H is not H. H is not H. H is not H. H is not H.
One day you flip through your dictionary. A page is missing. What was the word? You can’t remember. There is pressure building at the back of your head. The clock blinks 3:03AM.
You write my name
is in cyrillic. There are shadows dancing on the walls. They grow
longer with each letter you write down. It is not cyrillic you’re
using. You keep writing my name is. The shadows now bleed from
the tip of your pen. It’s irrelevant. You need to remember the right
N is not N is not N is
not N is not N is not N is not N is not N is not N is not N is not N
is not… If only you could remember the letters. The letters are important. What was it, that wasn’t N?
There are nine different prefixes
you can add to a verb to change its meaning. There are fifty three different suffixes you have to add to a verb to make it
work. In the end the only thing left of the original is a vague shape
of one of its middle consonants.
You can feel the anguish radiating from the verb’s mutialted form. A desperate sob escapes through your clenched teeth.
You’re so, so sorry, you didn’t meant to. You didn’t. It doesn’t matter.
You now read a text in
Russian. You’ve never learnt Russian. Why are you reading that text? The words burn your eyes,
the meaning searing your mind.
There’s a shot of vodka in front of
you. You don’t drink alcohol. You don’t care. All existence is
meaningless, your soul’s in eternal pain. A broken matrioshka lays at your feet. There is no salvation, she says boring into your eyes. You open your mouth to answer, but there is only a burst of harsh rustle. It dies in whispering echoes a moment later. Your glass is empty again.
okok theres one part of elements i really liked but keep forgetting to talk about so ill post it b4 i forget again
but HEYO finn and pb’s platonic relationship is. really very important to me holy shit, AT’s been pushing the ‘moving on’ from his crush thing for a couple of seasons now and i still go hell yeah every time its reinforced
LSP tries to break the fire elemental curse on finn by telling him to go to his happy place but his brain automatically goes to all this past romantic stuff with PB at first, its real bad because its still wrapped in flames but Then
finn crushes it, puts out the fire (or rage and anger/pain as the element represents here)
and he goes back to his real happy place, back to pajama wars (still a super fav ep!!) where all they did was hang out like best friends w no hint of romance whatsoever
it felt like a real throwback to Dont Look where finn’s “true perception” of PB wasn’t an infatuated crush but just one of his bros
my boy’s moved on and is learning and enjoying his friendships and im proud of him
Daniel: *walks in* Hello Dav- Max: *runs at Daniel, viscously screaming curses and obscenities at the top of his lungs* Daniel: *SHRIEKING* DAVID GET YOUR SON! David: *without looking up from his book* He doesn’t bite. Daniel: *jumping into the highest surface away from a seething Max* YES HE DOES! GET HIM!
Ravenclaws get over excited when they talk about things they’re passionate about. It’s they kind of excitement where people either get very annoyed by it very quickly, or become so enraptured by what Ravenclaw is saying that they forget how much time has passed.
Yuuri despises socializing with people he doesn’t know, but his unconventional family and marriage is one of the hottest gossip topics in town especially among the other mums. One day, he decides to just fuck it all…and sorely regrets it afterwards.