Thomas walked Joan to the door. When they got there, Joan turned and looked up at Thomas, who was still feeling more than a little shaken up.
“Hey. You okay?” they asked.
Thomas made a face, glancing over his shoulder, but the sides had retreated back to the couch and he couldn’t see them anymore. “I guess so?” he said, raking his hand through his hair again. “I mean…I’m feeling a little better now that I know you see them too, but I’m not sure what it means for the both of us. You know?”
“I really do.” Joan smirked, then shrugged. “But I mean, what else can we do but roll with it?”
“You sound like Logan,” Thomas said. “It’s happening, so let’s move forward from here.”
“Logan is a smart guy,” Joan agreed, patting Thomas on the shoulder. “You should listen to him.”
Thomas chuckled, then grabbed Joan’s hand on impulse and clutched it for a moment. “You’ll come right back?” he said. “Promise?”
“Yes, I promise, Thomas,” Joan assured him. “Hey. It’s gonna be cool. Okay?”
“Yeah. I guess. Okay.”
He watched as his friend climbed into their car and pulled out of the apartment’s parking lot, then turned and headed reluctantly back inside.
Now that he knew the sides were really there, he was feeling…oddly self-conscious about the whole thing. These were his characters–parts that he’d played for over a year now. And they were here, in his apartment. He doubted he could’ve been more gobsmacked if all his favorite Disney characters suddenly came to life and started asking for coffee.
He rounded the corner and there they were, still solid as ever, sitting on his sectional couch. At least I have a big couch? Thomas thought, then bit back an insane urge to giggle. He wasn’t sure it wouldn’t turn hysterical if he did.
The sides all looked up at him, and he flushed under their combined scrutiny. “Uh…do you…do you guys need anything? Drinks, or…or anything…?”
“Drinks might be good!” Patton said, climbing to his feet. “Let me help you with them, huh?”
The murmurs gathered into cheers, piercing the veil of fear that once lay over the crowd. They’d done it. The villains were defeated, the heroes victorious. Sunlight, bright but gentle, filtered through the clouds of dust and smoke, as clear a sign of any that hope had triumphed over all.
You could see it in the girl’s face, reflecting an eerie sort of pulse in the air. Power. His power. Fading. Fading but fighting, though for what it wasn’t clear. Then nothing. And that was all, giving her an ache in her chest and a sense of overwhelming dread. Everything that had transpired–every escape, every battle–it was all scattered, like a blurred dream whose pieces refused to align.
No one spared the jackal a glance as she walked towards the tower, tail sweeping over the earth and leaving not so much as a line in the dust. The flames that blazed over the horizon filled her with a fire of her own, a rage that flared in her eyes as her mouth curled in a snarl. This world was their home. A home he had sworn to fight for, so long as she stood by his side.
And then suddenly, that wasn’t enough. He needed more–needed power–and one by one, his promises had fallen like the victims he’d claimed.
This was his fault. All the lives lost. All the dreams scorched and withered by his hand.
Why should she mourn?
The cheering, though growing faint as the distance between them grew, only fueled her rage. It was what he deserved, after all. No tears. No heartache. Just joy. Pure, unrelenting joy that the nightmare was over.
Her stride widened into a sprint, teeth bared as rain began to fall. The crumbling silhouette of the tower rose before her and cast ominous shadows on the earth, a blatant reminder of all that the world had lost.
How could you do this?
The thought echoed in every drop of silvery rain that leaked through the twisted metal as she raced inside.
We were a team.
She dodged past debris, breath coming in ragged gasps and eyes stinging with tears.
We were a family.
Her tail lashed behind her, ears pulled to the sides of her head as she ran. What did it matter what she found? He had taken his life and thrown it away, dragging countless others down with him. Pain was what he had wrought and pain was what he deserved.
But it never had to be like this. Despite his best claims, the choice he’d made had never been for them. Had never been to save their lives. No, that decision was for no one but himself. And now…
Now they were gone.
She was almost to the center, the damage growing greater every second, and the fire in her eyes with it.
The core came into view, a mad tangle of fire and electricity, and she could hold the accusation in no longer.
“MONSTER!!” she screeched, the words lingering in the air as she fell to her knees. The currents, blue and pink and flaring with light, seemed to blaze all the brighter with her cry….and there it was, flickering just within her reach–the symbol of all he’d chosen to become.
The beginning of his end.
She couldn’t move, gaze locked on the mask as the rage in her eyes melted away. With a trembling hand she reached out and pulled it close, blinking away the flood of tears that threatened to engulf her.
“You were weak…” she whispered, looking into its eyes as if they were his own. All the magic…it wasn’t enough to hide that reality. He hadn’t been able to resist. Hadn’t been strong enough to stand against the temptations that the whispers of power had promised.
The air seemed to quiver in a flurry of rage and regret, spurred by a claim it could not allow to persist. And with a hushed breath and trembling smile, she let it silence the words. Let it steal the final shards of truth that had given her heart…
95% of the people cheering at the red carpet will be ARMYs singing every BTS song (The 5 other % are celebrities and reporters)
One of BTS’ songs will be playing during the red carpet maybe
BTS will arrive being the best-dressed humans ever (VOGUE be shaking and faint asap)
BTS hair will make people wishing to have the same haircut and Suga’s hair will be bluer than the clearest sky maybe
Everyone in the red carpet will want to interview BTS and start every sentence by “your fans are so passionate/love you guys … ” or “You are very good looking … ” or even “Are you nervous?”.
Namjoon will be answering questions with his dimples. V will for sure do something that is either super funny or very impressive. Jhope will scream something, Jimin I mean Christian will use his new bought impressive accent to kill some people on the way, Jungkook will turn heads and Suga will look soooo done but on the inside, he is just very nervous. Meanwhile, Jin will be making someone somewhere asking for his name.
BTS will get into the venue and everyone will startscreaming BTS and the fanchant, be ready to see people turning left and right.
BTS being the polite guys will applaud and cheer for everyone.
If there is a sexy performance be ready to see the whole crowd jamming to the song while our boys being so shaken.
Everyone will think “oh they are so cute” but they will surprise everyone once on stage *cough* their duality *cough*
BTS’ expressions when the camera zooms will be priceless. Gif material in every shot.
The cutest part will be knowing that their families and the whole company is there to support them.
The whole place will be already screaming to the heavens but if they sing another song I think the whole place will be like hit by a thunder of screams.
Do you know that thing that happens when the camera zooms on BTS and ARMY screams. Well, this will happen too.
BTS will meet Zedd and it will turn so extra
All the celebrities will be approaching BTS so be ready for many photos with global celebrities.
We will have people being so confused online asking who is who what is what
New memes will be made.
BTS will turn Vlive and Namjoon will cut the onions.
We will have expectations, but the reality will be even better.
If you thought these past few days were crazy, you will see insanity after this night. Let’s hope for the best!
He doesn’t see it at first. She stands to greet him with the others, tall and regal, face like ice. He knew she wouldn’t be happy, so it isn’t a surprise. But when he comes closer, he sees that she is slightly too pale, eyes glassy even in the dim winter light.
She talks to him, but just barely, and her voice is stoic and unused, like all her words have to be pulled out of somewhere deep inside her. She constantly clasps her hands in front of her, as if willing them not to shake.
No one else notices. No one else questions it. He’s too much of a coward to ask.
It isn’t until she faints in front of them, a week after their arrival, that they truly know something is wrong. Jon rushes to carry her to her rooms, sits idly by as Sam examines her, and he takes her hand once she wakes again. Sam rests a hand on her forehead. “She’s burning,” he says, and Sansa turns towards him, lips moving in fevered dreams, trying to talk but no words breaking through the fog of sickness.
He shushes her, tucks pieces of hair sticking to her forehead away, sits with ears sharp until they are told there is nothing to do but wait. Him, Arya and Bran take turns watching over her, Sam always close at hand.
She stays in her fever for a week. Arya feels guilty she didn’t notice it before. “Of course she would ignore it,” she says, frowning. “She’s stupid like that. Doesn’t know when to step back and let others do her work.” Arya looks so sad, and Jon takes her hand, squeezes it. “She works too hard,” he agrees, and Arya sniffles. Bran is ever quiet and thoughtful, sitting by her side.
They give her medicine by Sam’s instructions, honeyed water for nutrition and milk of the poppy if she grows so restless Sam is worried she’ll wear herself out. Whenever she wakes and he’s with her, she turns to him and tries talking, but either her mouth is too dry or she falls back asleep again. But once, in a moment of clarity, she grabs his hand hard.
“Jon,” she says fiercely, like a ghost with a vengeance, “How could you do this?” She’s breathless even from this, voice raw and hurt. “We don’t deserve this. We don’t.” Her grip on him loosens, and a tear slips over her cheek before she goes limp in sleep again. Jon feels tears of his own burn in his eyes. What has he done?
What if I lose her? he thinks, desperately. What if this is the last memory she has of me? And then, selfishly, What if this is the last memory I’ll have of her?
He won’t let it end like this. She has to live. He has to make things right.
She wakes on the seventh day, and doesn’t fall asleep again for hours. She is still assigned to strict rest by Sam, but the fever has broken, and all that’s left is to heal her weak body. She smiles when they all file in to see her, Arya sitting close and looking over her, Bran smiling from his wheelchair. Jon is last to join them, and he doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t fit into the picture in front of him.
“Jon,” Sansa says, looks up at him with hazy eyes, voice only slightly weaker than usual. It hits him like a boulder, the relief that she is fine, won’t leave him just yet, and he knows what he must do. “I’ll make it right, Sansa,” he vows. “To all of you. I’m so sorry. I’ll fix it, I promise.”
And she smiles at him, a weak, sad smile that’s almost enough to break him. “Oh, Jon,” she says fondly, and so sadly. “You can’t fix this. You know you can’t.” The words are like weights, dragging him further down into cold water. But Sansa’s eyes are not hostile. There’s a layer of sympathy there, of love.
She hesitates a second before talking again, something like hope creeping onto her face, making her voice lighter. “I’d rather have you stay here with us,” she says tentatively, “for now. For a moment.” It’s a plea, a request, made to mend things that have been broken.
His mouth goes dry, and he can’t deny her this. He nods, finds a chair and sits next to Bran. They sit like that a while, Sansa asking about the castle and all that’s happened while she’s been gone. Jon holds her hand, stroking his thumb over her knuckles, and vows to himself never to put himself, or any of them, in a situation like this again.
Sam comes in shortly and orders them all out, and Jon knows then, who he needs to hold onto in this world, what he is fighting for when he’s leaving for the North.
The day they leave, Sansa is there to send them off. She stands without help, her eyes heavy but still bright, tears shining in them. “Be careful,” she tells her sister, and Arya promises to be. Jon steps in front of her.
He kisses her cheek. “I will do anything I can to come back to you. And we’ll rule like we were supposed to.” She smiles, nods as she takes his hand in hers. “Yes,” she says, and her voice is strong, like this is the very moment the sickness rips itself from her entirely.
He leaves. But he comes back. She is not ill when he returns, but she holds him to her like he is, and there is something fevered about how his lips move over her when they are alone.
Okay if someone is heat intolerant and they’re really upset and miserable because they’re outside or without air conditioning when it’s really hot they’re not “having a fit” or being a baby. The heat is making them violently ill and putting them in danger. It’s a dangerous health concern and you’re a huge dick if you’re minimizing that and laughing at them.