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ofieugogyshz · 3 years

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🖊️🖊️ one for your husband and one for any of your kids!!

okay so the original meme is buried somewhere in my blog, but i very distinctly recall this one being something to do with favorite f/o quotes and talking/gushing about them?

even if it wasn’t that latter part, that’s what i’m doing, because i’ve had it on my mind for the last several times (”times for what?” shut up, language is all made up, i can unmake it if i damn well please.)

Unfortunately I won’t be able to answer for any of my kids, because I can’t think of anything of theirs that sticks out to me, after all this time this has been in my inbox. More importantly, this is already going to be a long post; I’m not about to make it longer.

Lance: "I never give up, no matter what. You must be the same?"

so.

This quote.... hits. A lot. Like, OHKO level. Handful of reasons for that but namely it all shifts down to timing.

(Head’s up, this is gonna be some heavy stuff, including depression, life frustrations, and parental death mention.)

The year is some fuckass year like 2011 or 2012, maybe even 2013. I’m pretty sure it was still the year that BW2 came out, or the spring quarter in the year right after. I’m in my college/university’s small food court, sitting in a quiet fume near the section that normally housed that college’s anime club that I could never quite integrate myself into as seamlessly as I could my community college’s anime club. Mostly on my part, as I was going through a lot at the time. I don’t even know if this was right before the calm of the storm or its aftermath, but it’s all a very shitty, shitty time for me.

I’m just trying to, very angrily, depressedly, distract myself from everything in my life at the time. College is already hard, but I like learning, I’m getting a BA in English, and I had a lot of fun at my community college, and could probably easily find friends here if I tried. There certainly were a few other people I ran into from high school. Even some classmates somehow managed to like me in some classes. I’m here by sheer luck of the financial draw, as FAFSA and my CalGrant level are both taking care of things like tuition and books, and I haven’t needed to get a job yet. Things, with regards to college, are going pretty well. I should be happy. Happy about that, at least.

Outside of that wonderful, fun, interesting and amazing bubble that was college? Life. My mom is dying. Maybe she’s already dead by this point; I don’t really remember, because I made it a point to rely on my shitty memory to get through that time and not have to remember every single day of those years. I’m not sure if I regret that, but it was the only coping tool I had available to me other than video games, since drugs and alcohol were not things I was interested in, even if I could have afforded it. Books were normally also an escape, but the downside of English Major is that you have to read so many large texts and sometimes dense stories, that you can’t really squeeze much fun reading in-between. If my mom died/was dying, I was having to prepare for moving on top of her death finally striking, after a long, slow battle with cancer that I knew she’d lose all along. (That’s an entirely different, albeit shorter, story). I didn’t want to move, was hoping I could stay, but I think, if this was after her death, I had to uproot my life for the first time. I had moved to a mobile home trailer park to live with an old woman who was very critical of some things and I just didn’t feel comfortable staying there for anything other than sleep or a shower. So I felt out of place, removed and detached from everything, because I had to uproot my entire life in a manner of days, because my dad had sold the house I grew up in, for reasons that felt entirely shitty at the time. And, maybe, a little shitty, but were somewhat good reasons, if they had been given or explained more properly (or from anyone other than my dad, aunt, and grandmother).

I kind of lost myself just now, so I’mma try this again. Mother, dead or dying. House, sold before I could move out, and forcibly moved out in a manner of days. Everything I’ve ever known for a, at the time, lukewarm but familiar life, taken from after years of expecting it, and hoping it’d be just a little bit later, just a little further on, when I could maybe financially support myself. Income? Nonexistent. Barely lucking out on tuition fees by only the good grace of my state’s grants, FAFSA, and going to two of the cheapest schools in the state and maybe the nation (at the time). So I’m just feeling shitty, pissy, angry, depressed, just, so much all at once, everything happening all at once, and I’m taking on extra units to make sure I graduate in a spring semester rather than take 2-3 classes and graduate in the fall of a sixth year. I’ve felt lied to about the time it takes to get a degree, and even though I’m the first in my family to actually do all of the education on time, it just sucks.

I’m trying to escape it. And what else do I turn to, but Pokemon?

And I’ve already beaten bw2 by this point, and I’m just trying to do the Champions Tournament, because I was a shameless fangirl and eager to fight against Lance. And win (Note: I did not win as often as I’d’ve liked in the PWT or was used to throughout normal gameplay). I’ve seen the phrase he says when you lose against him about 5 or 6 times now, so I know what it says. I know what he says. I’m forgetful, however, so while I’m sitting in that busy corner of the food court, fuming about life and existing and everything happening all at once, mindlessly pressing the A buttong while playing a game to escape it all for just a little bit until I can come back and deal, his words strike a chord within me for once, that it made me want to cry.

"I never give up, no matter what. You must be the same?"

Like, I think I had made his rp blog about this time, and I had used a variant of that quote as the sidebar header/quote. Maybe. But I knew that he said that, and it didn’t affect me those times before-- outside of general fangirling for getting to him. But at that moment, on that day, it just made me burst into tears that I had to close my ds and move away. Because I grew up on too much anime, too much power of friendship and hope and not ever giving up. Of course I was the same, or I had been for the longest time. But at that point, I was just so tired, I just wanted a break for so long already, that it cut me to the core.

It was like a reminder that, no matter how shitty things got, to not give up.

That’s why it’s my favorite quote of his. It means so much to me. He means a lot to me, but not nearly as much as this quote did at that moment.

#cw death mention #this is like the crux of my life story and basically the whole alluded to negative point between a unova and kalos trip #no i will not be talking further about the parental stuff outside of fics on here #and when it comes up in fic it's to be utilized as a coping and exploration method in order to move past it #sympathies for the death are also not needed as that's a whole shitass ocean's worth of issues that I don't feel like bringing to this blog #sympathies for all that bullshit that resulted *is* allowed #ventisizedbard #asks

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hayleysstark · 5 years

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GIVE US THE INTENSE ANALYSIS ON MERLIN AND KILGHARRAH YEEEES

may i just say, i am very glad you asked but i really don’t think you’re going to be, by the end of this. do you know how many Thoughts™️ i have had about one very stupid warlock and one very cryptic dragon???? do you????? do you know????? i could turn this into a fucking,,,,,, PowerPoint presentation if i cared to except i don’t and also i would never inflict PowerPoint on my followers, i love you guys far too much for that, i’m sorry for even suggesting it honestly

i AM sorry in advance for how long this is going to be, though, i’ll try to just reference key points, such as,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

The Dragon’s Call

I legitimately don’t even know where to start with this, to tell you the truth - there is just so much to talk about here, and I’m honestly a bit overwhelmed - but I think, most of all, it’s incredibly important to note how easily, how effortlessly, Kilgharrah handles Merlin here.

We don’t know yet how much Kilgharrah truly knows about Merlin as a person - all he ever mentions, in this interaction at least, is the destiny Merlin shares with Arthur - but Merlin gives himself away all too easily. There is such earnest desperation and hope on his face when Kilgharrah talks of fate. He lays bare the thing he wants more than anything else in the world–a purpose for himself and his power–and Kilgharrah immediately seizes this advantage. He dangles a “great destiny” in front of Merlin like a horse with a carrot, but he neglects the details and the specifics in favor of the big picture.

The only true instruction Merlin receives from Kilgharrah in this scene is “protect Arthur”. There’s some stuff about Albion, and freedom for sorcerers, of course, but Kilgharrah leaves it all a bit fuzzy, a bit scrambled. Clearly, he has plenty more to say on the subject, but he deliberately holds back. Like he’s going to clear it all up, yes, of course, but not tonight, no, maybe next time he sees Merlin.

And that’s exactly what he wants.

I know Kilgharrah’s cryptic, confusing, usually not-very-helpful advice is sort of treated a bit like a running joke, by the fandom and the series itself, but just think, for even a second, about the implications of it.

Kilgharrah does not intend to tell Merlin everything he needs to know to fulfill the prophecy. Kilgharrah does not intend to tell Merlin even a fraction of everything he needs to know. Kilgharrah wants to keep Merlin coming back for more. Kilgharrah needs Merlin. Kilgharrah needs to earn Merlin’s trust. Kilgharrah needs to establish a relationship with Merlin if he’s ever going to get free of his prison.

At this point in time, Kilgharrah does not care about Merlin. Kilgharrah does not care, even, about destiny, or Albion. Merlin is merely a means to an end, and so Kilgharrah treats him as such - gives him the bare minimum, gives him the slightest taste of what he wants, and pretends he’s doing Merlin an enormous favor the whole way through.

Perhaps Kilgharrah expects Merlin to jump at this chance - after all, great destinies bring much glory - but that’s absolutely not the case, and, as Merlin gets blunter and blunter about his doubts and reluctance, Kilgharrah takes away all other options.

Kilgharrah tells Merlin that the prophecy is not something he can cast off or leave behind. It’s not something he can outrun. As a matter of fact, their very next interaction in Valiant has a similar exchange.

Kilgharrah cuts off Merlin’s escape routes. Kilgharrah wants to trap Merlin. Kilgharrah wants Merlin to feel trapped, fettered, bound to something he doesn’t even want. Kilgharrah does not want Merlin to have a choice, so Kilgharrah denies him this choice right from the start. Kilgharrah teaches Merlin that he does not get to say no.

And it only gets worse as S1 drags on. Nearly all of their earliest interactions follow the same pattern, every single time: Kilgharrah never gives Merlin the whole truth, and Kilgharrah never forgets to make Merlin feel special.

And it works. It absolutely horrified me to sit through S1 at certain points - the pattern of malicious manipulation stood out to me so starkly, I couldn’t think how other people could even stomach it, to be honest. And even worse, you have to watch the hero wander right into the lions’ den, lay docilely down, and wait for the inevitable, because that manipulation fucking worked.

By as early as The Mark of Nimeuh, Merlin is clearly very at ease with Kilgharrah, visibly relaxed and even content in the caves with him. And it’s a horrific thing to see. If you recognize the pattern, if you recognize the way Kilgharrah draws Merlin in, it truly is a horrific thing to see.

And it only gets worse.

By The Beginning of the End, Merlin has started to take his destiny seriously–so seriously, he calls Arthur’s death “unthinkable”, so seriously that Kilgharrah advises him to kill a child, and Merlin actually takes the time to step back and consider it. This is where the true scope of Kilgharrah’s manipulation can best be seen, especially by the viewers who didn’t notice it, or just didn’t actively look for it in or after The Dragon’s Call.

As in The Dragon’s Call and Valiant, Kilgharrah cuts off Merlin’s escape routes. Kilgharrah traps Merlin. But it’s not like The Dragon’s Call, and it’s not like Valiant, not really, because this time, Kilgharrah is nowhere near as straightforward about it. He does not outright tell Merlin “you have no choice”–as a matter of fact, he is very quick to emphasize how much of a choice Merlin truly has.

And how, if Merlin dares to make the wrong one, it’s going to be all his fault.

Again, this is where the full extent of Kilgharrah’s machinations fully comes to light. For all but Merlin.

Because Merlin continues to trust Kilgharrah right up until

Le Morte d’Arthur

The term “emotional rollercoaster” is, in all honesty, a very weak way to describe this episode, but it’s the best I’ve got, so that’ll have to do. So, to make sure I don’t just fuck off right here, rewatch this one, and cry literal buckets, the way I’d really like to, I’ll just jump right on in. (I already have this whole episode memorized by heart anyway.)

If the casual way Kilgharrah sent Merlin off on an actual suicide mission - in absolutely every sense of the term - wasn’t enough to tip Merlin off that the cryptic lizard under the castle couldn’t be trusted, well, don’t worry, because the rest of the episode certainly does that.

This is the moment when Merlin finally starts to see through Kilgharrah’s pretty words, this is the moment when Merlin finally starts to see the web Kilgharrah has woven all around him, and it is done absolutely brilliantly.

Kilgharrah has grown so confident–so complacent, even–in his control over Merlin, he makes no attempt, at any point, to mask his true intentions.

And Merlin never wondered, not even once, if Kilgharrah might have an ulterior motive, a deeper reason, to see Arthur succeed, to see the prophecy come to fruition. Merlin never suspected Kilgharrah of treachery or deceit.

At first glance, this line is flat, unimaginative, unoriginal - you see it in every stereotypical fantasy series when the hero suffers a betrayal - but if you go back through S1 and you really pay attention to what’s led up to this, and damn, that line cuts deep. Because it’s true. It’s the truth. Merlin really believed Kilgharrah wanted the best for him.

Merlin really believed Kilgharrah was his friend.

Because Kilgharrah played him like a goddamned fiddle.

And even now, Kilgharrah thinks he can pull Merlin right back under his thumb, he truly thinks he’s still got a hold on Merlin, however small.

When Kilgharrah sees he’s lost the emotional advantage he had over Merlin, he immediately finds another angle to work with - the magical connections he and Merlin share. And it backfires spectacularly.

This is the first moment we see Kilgharrah truly fail. And this is the first moment we see Kilgharrah lose all control, and lash out in wild fury.

This was not a calculated move. This was not part of the plan. This was not the way Kilgharrah wanted things to go from here. This is raw, uncontrolled, unrestrained rage. This does not fit into the grand scheme Kilgharrah has cooked up over all those years in the dark, this is something far more primal than that. This is an emotional reaction in the deepest sense of the term, and it’s Merlin who dragged such an extreme response out of him.

But unlike in previous episodes, Merlin doesn’t come back and resolve it all. Things stay sour between them for–well, several weeks, actually, that’s my best guess, because we see in The Curse of Cornelius Sigan, Merlin’s outright refusal, at first, to return to Kilgharrah.

Gaius eventually convinces Merlin to mend fences with the dragon - Camelot will fall if he doesn’t, which certainly gives Merlin an incentive - but Kilgharrah’s help comes at a steep price now.

It’s clear Kilgharrah has realized he doesn’t need to play Merlin anymore. He doesn’t need to hide what he really wants, and he certainly doesn’t need to do anything special to keep Merlin coming back to him. Merlin needs him. Merlin will come back so long as he still has a prince to protect. So Kilgharrah, with this newfound sort of freedom, goes to the opposite extreme. He tears Merlin down for the smallest thing, he criticizes Merlin for every last little failure, he sneers at Merlin’s resolute hold to his own morality, he blames and belittles Merlin, he is needlessly and openly cruel to Merlin at absolutely every opportunity.

In The Nightmare Begins, we see he refuses to help Merlin with Morgana, he insists Morgana is not to be trusted and he calls Merlin a fool for his attempts to help her with her magic.

And, in The Witch’s Quickening, Kilgharrah reproaches Merlin for his failures with both Mordred and Morgana. (That’s honestly just a constant throughout S2 - Merlin does something, Kilgharrah tears him apart for it, Merlin defends himself and his decisions, Kilgharrah reminds Merlin of his promise to set him free, Merlin swears he will, and so on and so forth. I really don’t think we need to touch on every single interaction between them in S2, as many of them are largely the same.)

But a few key points here…..

The Fires of Idirsholas

Anyone notice how every season finale, with the exception of S4, marks a major turning point in Merlin and Kilgharrah’s relationship??? Because I fucking do. anyways, quick aside before we get into the more serious stuff

Merlin knows Kilgharrah well enough to know the dragon’s just fucking around, and honestly, that makes me so happy. one of them might be a scaly asshole and the other might be a magical bastard, but goddamn, their relationship still has its moments.

So this scene is,,,,,,,,,, honestly really important, I’ll just stick a bunch of screenshots in right here and dissect it as I go

Merlin acts rashly here, there’s definitely no doubt about that, but honest to God, this is one impulsive decision where you just can’t blame him at all. Kilgharrah has backed him completely into a corner–and, in keeping with his new attitude toward Merlin in S2, Kilgharrah doesn’t bother with subtlety, Kilgharrah doesn’t even try and rely on manipulation to get Merlin exactly where he wants him to be.

It seems overt threats and brute force are the tools Kilgharrah has turned to, since he lost his command over Merlin in S1.

As we can see here, Kilgharrah does not bother to try and lightly nudge Merlin down the “right” path–why would he bother to be kind if he doesn’t absolutely have to be, after all? This is just the most complete turnaround from The Beginning of the End, and it’s absolutely astounding how smoothly, how neatly, the change in Kilgharrah comes about.

But, as we all know, the overt threats and brute force actually work. Merlin does exactly as Kilgharrah wants - he poisons Morgana, he steals a sword from the Knights of Medhir, and he frees Kilgharrah (anyone else remember the fUCKING MAGIC STAIRS THAT LITERALLY DIDN’T EXIST UNTIL MERLIN NEEDED THEM Or nah just me?? maybe Merlin magicked them up with his phenomenal cosmic powers i dunno either way i fucking hate it)

And this string of Nice Job Breaking It, Hero! decisions leads us to……

The Last Dragonlord

There’s a lot of ground to cover in this episode, honestly, but for now, let’s focus on how Kilgharrah knew Balinor.

Let’s break that shit down, because it’s really fucking important, actually. Kilgharrah knew Balinor. To that end, he must have known Merlin. Maybe he knew Merlin’s ancestry right from the start, maybe he sensed it, even, through the telepathic connection he established with Merlin in The Dragon’s Call, or maybe, the moment he laid eyes on Merlin, he simply saw so much of Balinor there, and he put it all together, but however he worked it out, Kilgharrah knew Balinor, and Kilgharrah knew Merlin must be Balinor’s son.

And Kilgharrah deliberately withheld this from Merlin.

And Kilgharrah rarely makes a move without reason. Kilgharrah has always got some sort of plan, some sort of scheme, some kind of angle to work, and that’s exactly what he has right here.

Because, God knows, if Merlin ever met Balinor, if Merlin ever learned about dragonlords, if Merlin ever had any knowledge of the magical world Kilgharrah did not personally hand to him, it would give Merlin an advantage. However small, this knowledge would give Merlin an advantage.

And Kilgharrah cannot let him have that.

i previously touched pretty heavily on this episode, and what it means for Merlin and Kilgharrah’s relationship here, so i’ll just reiterate briefly ~

Ever since Le Morte d’Arthur, Merlin and Kilgharrah’s relationship has headed for something serious, something major–if all the bits of S2 weren’t enough to foreshadow that, Merlin’s final promise to free Kilgharrah in The Fires of Idirsholas certainly did–and that incredible tension finally comes to a head here. When Merlin discovers his own latent dragonlord abilities. When Merlin “finds the voice” that he and Kilgharrah share. When Merlin realizes Kilgharrah’s soul and his are “brothers”.

Oh, no, Merlin doesn’t forgive Kilgharrah here–and that’s what most powerful about it, in all honesty, it really just wouldn’t have packed the same punch, if Merlin had truly buried the hatchet here. But he doesn’t. The hard edges of his anger soften, he sees revenge is a pathetic and pointless thing to try and exact from Kilgharrah, and he sees he has laid unnecessary and unfair blame on Kilgharrah. But he doesn’t forgive Kilgharrah. Not at all.

And Kilgharrah doesn’t forgive Merlin.

Kilgharrah comes to respect Merlin. Up until now, Kilgharrah has seen Merlin as little more than a child–foolish and naive and entirely dependent on others, too easily tricked, too easy to take advantage of, too quick to trust, too quick to love, too quick to give his heart away–and while that perspective isn’t necessarily unfair, it’s not the whole picture, either. Merlin isn’t just a child. Merlin isn’t just foolish and naive and gullible.

And for the first time, Kilgharrah really sees that. Kilgharrah has believed, up until right this moment, that Merlin’s heart, Merlin’s compassion, Merlin’s love, would lead him to his death, to Arthur’s death, to the fall of Camelot, to the failure of the prophecy. Kilgharrah didn’t truly believe Merlin could achieve his destiny. Not until right now.

Because, for the first time, Merlin’s heart, Merlin’s compassion, Merlin’s love, serves Kilgharrah.

Merlin shows Kilgharrah mercy (and commands him to “do the same to others”) and in the face of such an unexpected and undeserved kindness, Kilgharrah finally sees Merlin in his entirety.

And Kilgharrah comes to respect Merlin.

Something fundamental has shifted between them. Something has changed here tonight, and it’s immediately obvious right from their very first scene together in S3.

If that - and the gentle, almost sweet way Kilgharrah cares for Merlin here - didn’t already indicate a serious shift in their dynamic, the rest of it certainly does.

If The Last Dragonlord wasn’t a thing, do you really think Kilgharrah would ever have said Merlin “showed great courage” when he followed his heart? Yeah. Neither do I. Oh, and then Kilgharrah allows Merlin to ride upon his back all the way to Camelot.

What a blatant change from S2, don’t you think? But the conflict between Merlin and Kilgharrah isn’t entirely over. With two such obstinate, contrary personalities, it’s almost inevitable, to tell the truth.

But The Crystal Cave is, I think, the first true example of how Merlin, rather than Kilgharrah, holds all the power in their relationship now.

In S1, Kilgharrah convinced Merlin he did not get to say no.

In S3, Merlin proves Kilgharrah truly does not get to say no. Kilgharrah has absolutely no choice in this, Kilgharrah has absolutely no power or control or command here. It all lies with Merlin. And Merlin is so damned out of line.

Don’t misunderstand me. It’s wonderful that Merlin has finally learned how to handle himself around Kilgharrah. He has finally learned how to stand on his own and stick to his guns, he has finally proven Kilgharrah cannot lead him around blindly as in S1.

But Merlin is out of line here. Merlin does mistreat Kilgharrah here. Merlin does abuse his power here. And that’s not okay.

Kilgharrah isn’t the sole “bad guy” in this dynamic, and Merlin is not his helpless, defenseless victim. It’s not so simple as all that. The minute the power is placed in Merlin’s hands, he uses it. He is every bit as cruel to Kilgharrah as Kilgharrah has ever been to him.

(something very interesting to note here: Merlin waits to see what Kilgharrah will do. He’s already given his orders, there is little more Kilgharrah can do, but Merlin is genuinely curious to see if a dragon can truly shake off his control. As we see in Kilgharrah’s acquiescence mere moments later, he cannot. this has nothing to do with anything, I just really like the little detail.)

Kilgharrah and Merlin never resolve this conflict, but the next time they get together, in The Coming of Arthur, things appear to be back to normal. There’s no lasting anger on either side. Kilgharrah even proclaims his loyalty to Merlin, and lets Merlin ride upon his back again.

In The Darkest Hour, the year’s gap has clearly only served to strengthen Merlin and Kilgharrah’s relationship even further.

Kilgharrah’s confession here is powerful enough all on its own, but the soft, sorrowful way he says it really plays up how much he would truly miss Merlin, were he to lose him now. Even Kilgharrah in S3 hadn’t yet developed enough–or, in truth, softened enough–to grieve Merlin as he does here.

And yet, for all of that, Kilgharrah’s character stays mostly the same, right up until the end of the series. Yes, he has come to care about Merlin now - he doesn’t even try to deny it - and yet, he still cares for himself and his own plans more.

And he makes that pretty clear in Aithusa.

To be fair to Kilgharrah, Merlin’s hesitation here is merely that - a hesitation. He is going to go after the egg. He is going to rescue Aithusa. He’s already made up his mind. He just needs a little push, and Kilgharrah’s intention here is simply to provide him with that push.

But guilt didn’t need to be that push. Guilt shouldn’t have been that push. The inherent malice in a mention of Merlin’s father felt cruel. Like a step backward for Kilgharrah and his growth. Like he hadn’t changed at all since S1.

And it felt right! Kilgharrah shouldn’t have to change the very essence of who he is, as a character, as a person, to prove how much he has grown. He has grown! By leaps and bounds, he has grown, and this is not an erasure of that growth, this is a reminder that all that growth will not turn him into a pure or wholesome or unproblematic character.

If you really need a further demonstration of Kilgharrah’s development over the course of the series, just look at his reaction when he hears Aithusa’s egg is still out there somewhere.

This is not an act. This is real. Kilgharrah is overjoyed at the idea that he will not have to be alone any longer, and it astounds me, still, how truly open with Merlin he is here, how freely he expresses himself. Even as late as S3, Kilgharrah takes care to cloak and conceal his emotions even from his dragonlord, and to see him so candid is honestly a bit of a shock.

Kilgharrah has come to trust Merlin enough to be honest with him, to be open with him. For that alone, this moment is one of the most important the two share over the course of the series.

also, this episode is my personal favorite from S4, so have a rare glimpse of Merlin and Kilgharrah being happy together:

We don’t see much of Kilgharrah from here on out - in fact, we don’t see him in S4 at all after this - except his brief appearance in The Sword in the Stone ((which was hella rad, by the way, don’t ever piss one Merlin Emrys off or he will just call up a fucking dragon to rain down literal hellfire on you i guess)) - but the times we do see him are very important!

The Kindness of Strangers

Raise your hand if this episode just utterly wrecked you, because,,,,,,,,,, uh,,,,,,, yeah,,,,,,,, as the kids say,,,,,,,, “big same”,,,,,,,,,,

Merlin and Kilgharrah’s time together is actually very short, in this episode, but all the more poignant and impactful for that. It’s clear right from the first moment Merlin opens his mouth that the dynamic between the two of them has evolved yet again. Aithusa definitely planted the seeds for this new and stronger relationship, but it’s only here we get to see those seeds truly blossom.

So, yes, there are definite echoes of Aithusa here–Kilgharrah is honest, he’s candid, he’s open with his emotions, but unlike in Aithusa, he’s much freer with his affection for Merlin. Sure, he’s certainly had his moments (The Darkest Hour jumps readily to mind) but even so, he’s never been quite this quick to confess how much he’s truly come to care for Merlin.

And it’s a rare thing, really, to see Merlin so relaxed around Kilgharrah. It’s taken the two of them a long time to grow so comfortable with each other, and it’s wonderful to finally get to see it!

………oh, yeah, and then there’s this

So this is kind of branded into my memory (listen, I was already braced for Arthur’s death, okay, I did not expect to lose Kilgharrah, too, and if you think I didn’t cry literal buckets after this episode, you are fucking WRONG) but the bits that really stick out?

“What will I do without you?” “It is the cycle of life–no more, no less.”

The two of them have really just come such a long way, haven’t they? Remember in S1, when Merlin was merely a means to an end for Kilgharrah? Remember in S2, when Kilgharrah was nothing more than a necessary evil to Merlin?

Now, Merlin cannot imagine his life without Kilgharrah and now, Kilgharrah tries to ease Merlin’s grief and sorrow in any way he can.

Which, actually, is the exact same thing he does in

The Diamond of the Day

Kilgharrah has just seen Merlin fail, in the worst and most enormous way possible. Destiny has finally come to fruition, and Emrys himself was not strong enough to stop it.

And yet, Kilgharrah - who, in the past, has never hesitated to point out all the ways Merlin went wrong, no matter how Merlin feels in the moment - offers nothing but comfort, and the first glimmers of hope for the future.

A little hard to believe, isn’t it, that this is the same dragon we met in S1. damn it’s been literal years and i’m STILL shook over the drastic change in the two of them.

Though the core of the characters remain largely consistent, the two of them truly just shape each other so much as the series goes on.

Merlin would not be the person he is in S5 without Kilgharrah, and Kilgharrah would not be the person he is in S5 without Merlin.

thanks for coming to my TED talk ~

#merlin #bbc merlin #ask #anonymous

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sourwolf-sterek32 · 5 years

Text

Unforgettable Memories ( Daryl Dixon x Reader )

Summary: Y/N Grimes is Rick's younger sister. You used to be in the military and have enough PTSD to last a lifetime. With Shane's help you created the quarry camp and came across the Dixon brother’s in the woods. You bought them back to camp, but after that everything changed and you were still trying to figure out if that was a good thing or not.

Pairings: Daryl Dixon x Rick’s Sister!Reader

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: Blood, guts, language (just usual twd warnings)

Chapter 1-

You were in the military before all of this, an army soldier to be exact and you were halfway through your second tour in Afghanistan when you got the call that your brother, Rick Grimes, had been shot and was in critical condition. You were on the first plane back to the states the following morning, only to learn that Rick was in a coma and might never wake up.

You visited Lori and Carl a few times, but you spent most your time by your brother's bedside at the Harrison Memorial Hospital. Shane visited everyday after his work shift, bringing fresh flowers that Lori had given him to place by Ricks bed. Lori and Carl had visited once while you had been back, but she didn't want Carl to see his father like that and you didn't blame her. He looked so pale, so weak, so vulnerable and you hated seeing your big brother like that.

The two of you were as close as siblings could get. You grew up always by each other's side and since Shane was Ricks best friend you grew up around him as well.

When the dead started to rise, you refused to leave your brother alone. Your Commander in the military had called you multiple times ordering you to come back to base. He said that they needed all the soldiers they could get to fight against the dead, but you couldn't leave your brother. It was selfish, but you couldn't leave Rick.

However, once the power got shut off, the dead began to overrun the hospital and the army began gunning down civilians in the hallways. You and Shane had no choice, but to leave. Shane had pressed his ear to Rick's chest once his oxygen and support machines got shut off, but he didn't hear a heartbeat. He said Rick was dead and Shane literally had to drag you out the hospital because you refused to believe that your brother was dead.

He drove you straight to Ricks house to find Lori and Carl hiding inside in terror, but they both relaxed slightly when they saw the two of you. While Shane told the mother and son about Rick, you went straight to the spare bedroom where you had dropped off your stuff when you first got back from Afghanistan and quickly grabbed all your gear.

You swapped your denim jeans for your military camo cargo pants, knowing they would be more realistic and easier to run around in than a pair of tight skinny jeans. You clipped your belt on next, containing your tactical knife, compass, rope and your silenced Glock 18 before throwing your AR-15 assault rifle over your shoulder with the gun strap. You made your way back into the main room of the house to find Shane hugging a crying Carl and Lori.

"Dad's dead." Carl whispered, looking over at you and you nodded, feeling tears rising in your eyes again.

"I'm sorry, Carl. I'm so sorry." You mumbled, as your nephew let go of his mother and ran over to you, wrapping his arms around your waist as he hugged you tightly. Neither of you moved for the next few minutes, as you glanced over at Shane who was still hugging Lori, but you didn't miss the tears falling down the man's cheeks at the loss of his best friend.

"We need to get out of the city. My boss said there's an army rescue base set up at Fort Benning. I say we grab all the supplies we can and take Shanes jeep and go." You instructed, as Carl pulled away from you and glanced over at his mother as she nodded in agreement before you all began packing up.

You guys had come across the Peletier family on the road and although you hated Ed, his wife and daughter were good people, so you guys stuck together. You had a suspicion that Ed was abusing his wife, but what could you do about it? So, you just tried to keep Carol and Sophia with you guys and not alone with Ed as much as possible.

Eventually you guys made up a makeshift camp at a quarry outside the city and within a week you had a whole group of people; Dale, Andrea, Amy, Jim, Jacqui, the Morales family, Glenn and a few others. You guys used resources in the area to continue on your daily lives like food, water and shelter. Dales RV turned into a watch post, with his deckchair and shade umbrella set up on the roof along with a scoped .22 rifle. It provided a good watch point since you could see the entire camp and would be able to spot a walker before it reached the camp, but luckily most the walkers were in the city and hadn't ventured too far from it, although you knew that wouldn't last forever.

Nobody really elected a leader of the group, but everyone followed and listened to you and Shane and when there was a problem, they all came to the two of you first. You had a few rules set in place, like how nobody was to go off on their own without telling someone or that the campfire at night could be no taller than the rocks stacked up around it so you couldn't draw in any walkers or unwanted attention.

You became close to Glenn and Dale over the first week, but you were friendly with the whole group, minus Ed. Everyone seemed to get along which was a relief, but you hated how close Lori and Shane were getting. She had only just lost her husband, Shane only just lost his best friend and the two of them were acting like Rick had been dead for years. You wanted to confront the two of them about it, but you didn't want to stir shit up and Shane was good with Carl and seeing your nephew happy was enough for you to keep your mouth shut.

"Y/N? You alright to go out there on your own?" Glenn suddenly questioned as you began making your way towards the woods to go out hunting. The group was alright for food at the time being, but you knew the canned food and fish Andrea and Amy were catching would run low eventually, so you figured bringing back a few rabbits or squirrel or hell even a deer would do the camp well.

"I always am." You replied, turning around to find Glenn looking at you from his spot on top of the RV on watch duty. You glanced around at the rest of the camp, various tents and vehicles parked and set up, but everyone was still fast asleep as the sun slowly began rise along the horizon.

"Be careful, this group would be lost without you." Glenn called back, causing you to roll your eyes, but you nodded.

"Keep the camp safe for me while I'm gone." You responded as Glenn gave you an attempted soldier solute causing you chuckle shaking your head before you disappeared into the woods. It wasn't a secret among the camp that you were in the military, not that you tried to hide it with your army cargo pants, combat boots and weapons. You didn't really like talking about it though, the shit you had seen and went through overseas... it was all apart of the job, but it still never made it any better.

By the time the sun was shining in the sky above, you had managed to get two rabbits with your silenced pistol. You weren't stupid enough to fire your rifle, noise attracted the walkers so the quieter the better.

You continued walking through the woods, holding the two rabbits in one hand by their hindlegs, your other hand resting over the holster to your handgun. A tactic you learnt in the military, so you were always ready for anything.

"You're losing ya touch brother, haven't gotten a single rabbit or squirrel today." A voice suddenly said, the mans voice loud with a distinct southern drawl to it, so you figured he was from around the area, but he was clearly talking to someone- his brother- so you didn't take any chances as you quickly pulled out your handgun.

"Doesn't help when ya don't shut up for more than five minutes." Another voice responded, his tone deeper but with a familiar southern ring to it, but at least this guy knew better than to talk loudly when the dead were walking around.

"Whatever, man." The first guy said and a few seconds later the two of them walked out from behind a cluster of trees, one holding a crossbow, the other with a bolt-action rifle slung over his shoulders. But, before you even had a chance to say anything the older man spotted you as he pulled out a handgun that was tucked in the back of his pants and raised it in your direction. "Well, would ya look at that baby brother." The man said with a grin as the younger man quickly raised his crossbow in your direction.

"Whoa, easy fellas." You said calmly, holding your hands up slightly trying to show them that you weren't a threat. You could have easily drawn your handgun or assault rifle at them, but from your experience it was easier to calm someone down when you didn't have a weapon aimed at them.

Neither of you guys said anything for a few seconds as you sized the two of them up. The older one seemed to be a little more on edge, he was wearing a plain leather biker vest along with black tank top tucked into his jeans, sporting a very obvious circular belt buckle. The younger man was a bit more relaxed, his expression guarded, but his finger wasn't hovering over the trigger as he stared at you and you knew he was trying to read you as well. He was wearing a shirt that clearly had its sleeves ripped off and his hair was a longer than his brothers, but still short. They were definitely brothers, although they seemed to be at least five years apart.

"What's a pretty little girl like you, doing out here all alone?" The older man asked with a grin as you raised your eyebrow at him, not intimidated by him at all. You had dealt with nasty people and more specifically nasty men back in Afghanistan, this redneck was nothing.

"Just trying to survive, same as you guys." You replied, keeping your tone friendly as you contemplated how to deal with this situation. They had been out hunting, which meant these guys probably knew to take care of themselves out here and if you were being honest they could probably be useful around the camp. Most of the people at camp either did laundry, cooked or took turns on watch duty, beside you, Shane and Glenn, nobody ever helped go out scavenging or hunting. But the real question was, could you trust them? "Drop the weapons and let's talk."

"Now why should we listen to you?" The same man questioned, his eyes glued to you.

"Because I asked nicely, and I only do that once." You answered, your voice sterner than before as you glanced between the two brothers as the younger one lowered his crossbow before the older one followed suit and tucked his handgun back into his belt.

"You boys got a camp?" You asked, but before either of them could answer the familiar sound of walkers growling filled the air and you glanced over your shoulder to find eight of them staggering towards you. "Shit." You hissed under your breath as you dropped the two rabbits and pulled your knife from your belt.

You quickly slammed your knife through the first walkers skull with a satisfying crunch before you stabbed the next one, focusing on the walkers when suddenly an arrow whizzed past your face and hit the walker that was sneaking up behind you. You quickly glanced in the direction of where the arrow came from to find the younger brother already reloading his crossbow. You gave him an appreciative nod before the older brother finally joined in, helping you take out the walkers with his own knife.

"Ya can fight, I'll give ya that." The younger brother commented as you pulled your knife out the last walker as it fell to the ground motionless and you sighed with relief.

"You guys aren't too bad yourself. I'm Y/N. Y/N Grimes." You introduced, turning around to face the brothers as the younger one handed you the two rabbits you had dropped earlier, and you smiled taking them.

"Merle Dixon, this is my brother Daryl." The older man said, motioning towards Daryl who was now retrieving his arrows from the walker's heads on the ground.

"You guys can back with me if you want, I got a camp an hours walk from here, we got people, food, water, shelter. Could use hunters like you." You suggested, as you tucked your knife back into the sheath connected to your belt before focusing back on the two brothers.

"Why would ya want us to join your camp?" Daryl questioned in confusion as he threw his crossbow over his shoulder and stared at you.

"You guys seem like reasonable men and helped me against the walkers, so I figured you can't be that bad. So, please don't prove me wrong because it won't end well for you." You warned and you noticed the corners of Daryl's mouth twitched up slightly into a smile as Merle shook his head with a chuckle.

"Well, I'm in. We got a truck and motorcycle on the side of the road, let's go." Merle replied as he began walking off through the woods and you nodded walking beside Daryl as you guys followed the older Dixon. You told the brothers about the camp, explaining the few rules you had and general stuff like that and they both seem to understand the rules and didn't have an issue with how the camp was being run.

It only took a few minutes to reach the road spotting an old Ford pick-up truck along with what looked to be a Triumph motorcycle parked on the side of the road. Well, this'll be quicker than walking, you thought to yourself.

Merle took the motorcycle as you climbed into the cab of the truck while Daryl started up the engine and took off down the road, Merle following behind.

Neither of you really spoke on the drive other than occasional 'turn left' or 'turn right' as you instructed him how to get to the quarry. You liked the silence though, it was nice and maybe a little bit awkward, but you didn't mind. You got the feeling the Daryl didn't really talk much and you could tell he was completely different compared to his loud mouth brother.

"M'sorry 'bout my brother. He just doesn't know when to shut up sometimes." Daryl suddenly said quietly, breaking the silence and you looked over at him as he glanced over at you. Your eyes meeting his as you took in how blue they were before he turned back towards the road.

"Yeah, I noticed that. But, you don't have to apologise for him, it's fine." You replied, still looking at him as Daryl just nodded, his eyes never leaving the road and you found yourself wanting to know more about the man next to you. Everyone had a story and you were curious to know his, although you wouldn't want someone to ask about your past, so you kept your mouth shut as you continued to instruct him where to go.

As you reached the camp you told Daryl to pull up near the other vehicles as Merle parked the motorcycle beside the truck. You climbed out the truck, grabbing the two rabbits as you motioned for Daryl and Merle to follow you as you began walking into the camp before you spotted Shane marching towards the three of you, his shotgun resting on his shoulder as he glared at the two men.

"Y/N, who the hell are these guys?" Shane questioned pointing to the two brothers who were standing behind you like you had told them too, knowing that Shane wouldn't be happy that you bought new people into the camp.

"This is Daryl and Merle Dixon, I met them in the woods when I was hunting." You explained, taking a step towards Shane, not trusting him with the shotgun. You knew he would never hurt you, he was like a brother to you, but you didn't know what he might do to the Dixons if he decided that he didn't like them. You may be silently angry with Shane for what he's doing with Lori, but you didn't let that get in the way of things, he was still the man you grew up around and that would never change.

"You can't just bring new people into camp, we can barely feed the people have here!" Shane yelled taking a step forward as you quickly put a hand on his shoulder to stop him from getting any closer to the brothers. You glanced over his shoulder spotting everyone else staring around the camp all staring at the four of you curiously, Carl, Sophia and a few other kids all watching on and the last thing you wanted was for this to turn into a fight.

"We can hunt 'n provide for the group." Daryl suddenly said from behind you, but you didn't turn around as you focused your attention on Shane, your hand still resting on his shoulder.

"We'll earn our place, shouldn't be too hard by the look of y'all." Merle added.

"Merle." You warned, glancing over your shoulder towards the older Dixon who just shrugged his shoulders before you turned back to Shane. "I came across a small herd of walkers out there and they helped me. I vouch for them, they're good."

"A herd? Shit, are you alright?" Shane questioned taking a step back as his eyes scanned your body looking for any signs of injury and you nodded as he sighed. "Alright, welcome to our camp. I'm Shane Walsh. Y/N, you bought them here, you get them set up and show them around." Shane said, glancing from the brothers back to you as you nodded before he walked off. Well that went better then you expected.

NEXT CHAPTER

MASTERLIST - Tip Jar

A/N- So, this is my first ever attempt at writing a rick sister!reader, so this is going to be interesting. I know this has started off a bit slow, but stick with me it will get better.

Anyway, the next chapter will be up soon and I hope you guys are enjoying it. But, until next time stay safe everyone and I hope you have a great day xx

#Daryl Dixon #Daryl Dixon x Reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon imagine #daryl x reader #The Walking Dead #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead imagine #rick grimes #Shane Walsh #twd #Norman Reedus

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alchemist-shizun · 5 years

Text

So close feels so afar

Inspired by this post by @draw-your-perfect-world

Word Count: 2,777

Taglist: @ragingdumpsterfiremess

Characters: Roman, Deceit, Remus, Patton (briefly), Logan (briefly), Thomas (briefly) and Virgil

Pairing(s): Let’s say if you squint in one way it could be Roceit, if you squint in another way it could be Prinxiety, but it can all be interpreted as platonic

Warning(s): (Characters are all sympathetic), negative thinking, self-deprecation, self-doubt, swearing (once)

Summary: Thomas is having trouble with his content, it’s gone on for so long that the sides themselves are starting to overwork so much they get overly stressed. Roman has a thought. A bad myriad of thoughts.

A/N: Before you read, let me warn you that this is written in second person from Roman’s point of view. Soooo, two angsty Roman fics in a row huh? I feel the need to write one in which he only gets all the cuddles and gets appreciated aah pardon me for breaking your hearts, but the opportunity was too good to be passed up. Hope you enjoy!

✾

❝ My heart is twisted, heavy, wrong.It's like it knows I don't belong.

The world is big, lovely to be.And yet, there is no place for me. ❞

It wasn't the first time for you, was it?

« I don't know, guys ... I think we should just discard this whole video. »

The heavy feeling on your chest as you realized that, in the long run, your contribution didn't matter anyway, that your motivation was starting to fade away, letting the hopelessness take its place instead.

That everything you did or tried to do didn't matter or was useless, in any case.

You tried to speak, and god all those eyes on you, the attention you once sought now felt like the unbearable weight of a thousand people's judgment. You felt uneasy in front of the four people you knew and that knew you best.

When Thomas sighed and looked away, no longer paying attention to your words, you began to stagger as you tried to rescue the pieces of your confidence that had started to inevitably break and fall into the pit of your chest, pushing and pulling you towards the heavy void.

Your voice died down and your argument lost its meaning along with its importance.

« Great. This was a complete and utter failure. » Logan sank down faster than any other day. You wondered what had happened to his problem-solving nature and his constant willingness to help in critic situations.

You believed he was ... better at this than you. In fact, you had no idea why you even bothered to give your own input on the topic.

Well, there was always this urge to prove yourself in the eyes of Thomas you'd been having for quite a while, maybe even too long, so much that you grew accustomed to it.

Maybe the problem with that was that, unlike Logan, you felt. You thought that was what was wrong with you all along.

Sure, Patton felt too, but he had dealt with that for such a long time that he knew how to handle it and how to still be reasonable through his thinking process.

Virgil, despite having to manage some of the worst feelings, was also cautious thanks to them, analyzing every possible outcome.

And you? You had your passion. Sure, that was a big part for Thomas's interests, but beyond that?

You felt.

You felt ... like something wasn't right.

Because when Logan disappeared, leaving a somewhat irritated expression as the last image of him, you blamed yourself.

When Virgil shrank in his hoodie and shook his head before sinking down, you blamed yourself.

And when Patton excused himself with a pained look on his face, you blamed yourself yet again.

You grimaced and ignored the knot forming in your throat.

« I'm sorry. » an apology that felt as useful as your ability to solve the situation that same day.

The blaming didn't stop when you sank down before you could hear Thomas's response.

Did you even want to hear it?

You traced the little drawings you had carved on your door years earlier, refusing to get into a room that seemed so foreign; did "Creativity" even fit you anymore? You couldn't remember the last time someone didn't shoot down one of your unreachable ideas.

Like a thunder in the middle of a quiet evening, a memory appeared on your mind and flashed before your eyes: it had happened little after Virgil had fully joined your part of the mindscape. You had agreed that, in any circumstance and for any issue, you would've been there for each other. Always.

You went to Logan first: as we already mentioned before, problem-solving, right? Wrong. Or, at least, in that particular moment.

You were met with a terribly stressed logical side, that you were pretty sure was trying very hard to keep the "logical" part as he paced around his room almost literally shaking with nervousness.

« Not a good time, Roman. » was all you heard when you opened his door with caution. Before you could justify your visit, he excused himself and went back to look like the same messy state his room was in.

Patton was your second choice, but how much of an appropriate idea could it possibly be, when you saw him lying on his bed feeling even worse than you? Your selfless nature rushed over your body and you ended up comforting him instead of trying to open up on your own feelings.

Why did it always have to end up like this? Why couldn't you just talk for once? Patton would have returned all the favors you gave him, you were sure, then why was it so difficult to admit you felt sick of yourself?

You closed the door of his room behind yourself, your heartbeat increasing. You were almost there. But you just couldn't find it in yourself to worsen Patton's already precarious condition with useless musings that would have only broken his heart.

No, you were completely wrong. There was nothing to be concerned about, the only problem was Thomas's enormous lack of content and you had to shove away whatever problem you had.

Now didn't that feel absolutely horrible to think that, Roman? There was no escaping it.

While trying to understand why you were doing this to yourself, you came across Virgil's door.

Your hand hovered over the handle. One twist and it would've been it.

You backed away and decided against it. If Logan and Patton were already feeling horrendous, who knows what you might have encountered.

You looked to your left and your eyes met the dark sides' rooms.

And you wondered, just for a split second, you reflected on that thing. Something you were so afraid to name but that came into your mind so often you almost believed it.

It had started in the imagination, when Remus playfully once insulted you and you hadn't found the will to deny anything.

Then, while by yourself, you started being more critical of your own ideas and works, you sat for hours with a blank stare coming up with nothing but blatant banalities.

Eventually, you slipped up. That one game night, when you agreed when someone called you an idiot. You knew they didn't mean it, but you still felt like you needed to point out that yes, you thought that too, deeply and every single painful moment of your existence.

It was the way Virgil called that.

Self-deprecating.

He said it was his job and Patton insisted both of you should have stopped saying terrible things about yourselves.

Neither of you did.

That term stuck with you and you weren't able not to wonder if perhaps there was a possibility you could identify with it.

And when the other came, right then, with you staring at the dark sides aisle, that feeling of wrongness increased to the point you couldn't bear staying in the "light" sides corridor anymore.

In a matter of seconds you rushed over to the door of their common room.

When he opened up, expression neutral but just that slight bit surprised, Deceit raised his eyebrows. « Well? »

« Self-doubt. » there it was.

« What? »

« There's been a mistake. » you tried again, you couldn't follow your breathing pace anymore. « We need to switch places. »

« Switch- I'm not following you. »

« I am self-doubt.»

« Huh? »

« You're self preservance. »

« I'm flattered and all by this enchanting game of words, but I really think you should get some rest. Did Remus hit your head again? I told him to refrain from that. »

You shook your head visibly and a heavy sensation rose in your chest. Your shaky hands gently pushed him back and you let yourself into the room. « You don't understand. »

Your eyes searched for one thing only. One person only.

Remus had propped himself up on his elbows, previously lying on the couch in the, you believed, most normal position you had ever seen him.

You approached him, all the eyes were on you just like moments before, and you were sure you were also metaphorically reconnecting with his dark nature. Or was it really dark? Didn't you make that up?

While Remus's face showed veiled concern, you sat on the floor in front of the armrest. He sat up and looked down on your bleak self, an eyebrow slightly raised.

With your chin buried in your crossed arms on the armrest, you felt the urge to break down to anyone that would just finally, finally and simply listen.

And you didn't even know where to start.

« You were right. » Deceit cautiously came close as you spoke. You noticed him, with the corner of your eye, take a seat on a chair next to you, leaning toward the scene. « I'm just like you. Not worlds apart, nowhere on opposite spectrums. »

Remus shook his head. « What are you talking about? » he whispered, more like a reprimand than a question.

You couldn't help but insist, your eyes started to burn and you realized you were blinking back tears. « You know what I mean. »

Oh, but when did anyone, actually? So gone and lost, so miserable you refrained from ever believing in the others' understanding.

« It just took me longer to come to terms with it. Too long. And now I've messed it up because it's too late to fix this, to fix me. »

« Ro- »

« No! » you buried your face in your arms, nose pressing on soft material. Deep inside, you knew you did that only to suppress the fact that you were on the verge of crying, of showing yourself weak and incapable to get back up on your own. « I am not Creativity! » but you knew hiding it didn't have a meaning anymore.

Your head shot back up and you stared at your brother with a tear-stained face. « You are. More than me. »

« You're saying I should replace you? » Remus's voice sounded offended. No, almost ... hurt.

You nodded, holding your breath to refrain the flood of seemingly nonsensical words from flowing out of your mouth. Or, at least, you tried to do that.

« It's that- » you shuddered. « I haven't been productive in forever, and you're always here having different ideas every single day. »

« My ideas are- »

« It's obvious you're better at this than I am. » you looked down and allowed one terrible thought in your mind. You believed, clouded by your own insecurities, that maybe he should have taken your place. « I should just stay here with you. »

« Don't say that. » Remus got up, his voice a mixture of mortification and annoyance. As he made his way to his room, you couldn't have known how the thought actually completed his sentence. Don't get my hopes up.

You slumped back from the armrest and lowered your head so that you couldn't notice Deceit finally standing in front of you and offering you a hand to get back on your feet.

You looked up.

« I know everyone tells you to be wary of me, but can you trust me this once at least? »

You took his hand.

In a matter of seconds, both of you were sitting on the couch, trying to sort out the thoughts that were piling up in your head.

« I don't think I belong with them. » Deceit had asked you to give voice to your troubles. « I've been the least useful and now Thomas is barely creating content or having ideas. I should be the confident one, I should be comforting him while all I do is ditch everything that comes to my mind. »

« And how does that make you feel? »

« Worthless. » you immediately blurted out. « Futile. Stupid. A waste of space. » the words kept coming in an overflowing self-deprecating chaos. « And the others see it, too. »

Deceit gave you a questioning look and you immediately felt like you said something wrong. « You haven't confronted them about this? »

« It's unimportant. It's simply a fact. They're all too stressed over the issue Thomas is having. »

« They're? You're not including yourself, why? »

« How can I be stressed over something when I'm doing nothing for it? »

The look came again, but this time you felt like he was trying to scan your soul by solely staring in your eyes. You didn't know how much time had passed before he spoke again, but you could have sworn that, for a moment, nothing else around you existed.

« Roman, have you ever thought that you feeling this way might be the cause of Thomas not being productive? »

This time, the confused expression landed on your face. How could that be? No, definitely not. That was not the case. He probably meant that they should get rid of him since he was causing so much trouble, he-

« You've already seen how our behaviour can affect him drastically. If you feel like that, you might be preventing yourself from using your powers fully, thinking it's useless to even try, and thus you're limiting yourself. »

« ... And in doing so I'm limiting Thomas. »

Deceit nodded with the same energy of a person that finally got their point across, the relief and satisfaction of someone that was able to make their interlocutor understand an important topic after hundreds of tries at explaining.

« You are a terrible liar, and I can't believe they haven't realized this yet, but I can't also change the fact that you're an astounding actor. » he sighed, but that line left a sad smile on your lips.

« I'm a man of multiple talents. »

« Also, you don't have to belong anywhere, Roman. Having you here, on a rough time for Thomas, though, I don't believe it would be ideal. » his gaze had fallen to the floor before his voice turned lower. « We're all trying to look out for him, you know. »

That was when your look turned softer and you understood. You started wondering things that weren't meant to be brought up just yet, but that might have been troubling him for a while.

As you were looking for the right thing to say, Deceit gestured for you to follow him to the door he then opened as soon as he was close enough. Out of it, the corridor to the others' and your own rooms.

« Go and tell them. You might spare us some more agonizing days before they figure it out on their own. »

One step out of the room, and you didn't even get the chance to thank him. The door closed behind yourself so quickly you almost believed you had dreamt the entire conversation.

With no time to process it all at once, another figure poke out of a door and pulled you into yet another dialogue.

« Ro? » Virgil rubbed at his eyes sleepily. « What are you doing over there? » there was no accusing undertone, just genuine curiosity. Then again, it might have been the sleepiness, you told yourself.

You approached him. « Just venting. »

« To Deceit? » still no complaining.

« He seemed to be the only one available. »

Virgil nodded, then you could have sworn you had seen a faint nostalgic smile curve his lips. « Good choice. »

« Huh- »

« Why didn't you come to me, again? »

« You were sleeping. »

His mouth, this time, twisted into something more somber. « Roman,» he called, lifting up his gaze. « When I said you could come to me when you needed it, I meant I could make an exception on executing you if you were to wake me up. »

And you didn't know if it was for Deceit's comfort earlier, for Virgil's softer voice or for the general hopefulness you finally regained after seeing a flicker of light coming from the end of the tunnel of your insecurities, but you found yourself with your arms wrapped around his chest.

« Oof- alright. » he patted your shoulders a couple of times. « Come on, big guy, let's get the others. I woke up from a three-hour nap and apparently all my problems haven't been solved by some kind of deity yet, so I think we deserve a fucking break. »

You allowed yourself to smile and, this time, you meant it.

« We truly do. »

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littlecrookedheart · 5 years

Text

Shadows

Pairing : Clove and Elliot | Tom x Clove

Rating : Fluff, M for language

Word Count : 6,080

Author’s Note : Please take caution reading this if you are sensitive to sexual harassment (in the family of cat calling / staring.) Please take caution reading if you struggle with grief / death discussion.

Disclaimer : I do not own these characters. I’ve added a bit of a flare to them for the sake of this piece, but they do not belong to me.

Clove grabbed her phone from the bedside table, jumping up as she saw the time and Elliot’s missed messages, quickly typing back a reply. She swiped a sweater and black jeggings from her bag, running her fingers through her hair like a comb and leaving Tom with a note and a kiss on the cheek.

She pulled up to the driveway, sending her text before seeing Elliot already running up to the car, a wide smile on his face.

“You look sunny today.”

“I've been up for awhile.”

“Nope, Scooter, not what I meant. You look happy.”

Elliot shyly grinned, playing with his sleeves as she drove off down the road.

“I um...I may have asked Robbie to a dance.”

“Whaaat!”

“I know I'm not going to school with him this year but he should still go, right?”

“For sure. How'd you do it?”

“It was so dumb. I wrote it on the inside of a box of breadsticks.”

“Carbs are never dumb, first of all. Second, that's really cute!”

“You think? They're his favorite, you know the ones from that pizza place that has the best bread?”

“Yeah, the one by the spice market?”

“Yep.”

“Okay, critical question. Does he dip them in ranch, garlic sauce, or marinara?”

“How is that a critical question?”

“He's practically my brother in law-”

“Clove!”

“It matters!”

Elliot rolled his eyes and mumbled, “Garlic.”

“Ah, see? That wasn't so hard. And now he has an extra stamp of approval from your favorite me!”

“You're my least favorite you.”

“Elliot, you know how much I love you, but I will dump you out of this car.”

“Right here? Nah. We’re by that diaper place.”

“You lost me.”

“This whole area smells like a diaper.”

“No way?” Clove rolled her window down, immediately making a face and closing it. “Wow. It really does smell like a diaper.”

He chuckled, turning away to stifle the sound, “Like massive diaper.”

“I've considered it and I think that this would be the perfect Elliot dumping zone.”

“Welcome! Just the two of you?” The hostess perked, smiling from behind a couple of menus. Before either of them could reply, she gestured for them to follow her, leaving the menus at the table. “Your server will be over in just a moment.”

“Sit next to me, Scoot. Miss you.”

Elliot rolled his eyes and slid in the booth next to her, immediately flipping to a place in the menu full of waffles and pancakes.

A few moments later, a server came to take their order quickly dropping off drinks and a basket of toast.

“This is what I live for.”

“Toast in a basket?”

“Carbs!” Clove spread butter and jam on two pieces of toast, stacking them before taking a big bite. “I could literally just have this and I'd be content.”

“What are you gonna get?”

“I don't know! What do you think I should?”

“We've been sitting here for like ten minutes and you haven't decided what you want? I'm getting the supreme pancake thing.”

“Oh! Do they still have those birthday cake pancakes?”

“We have the birthday cake waffles,” the server said as he reappeared, pulling out his notepad. “Your birthday?”

“Nah, they just taste like dessert and I like dessert.”

“I haven't tried them but they do look delicious…” He gave her a long, full bodied once over, “Those cakes.”

Elliot looked to her with a scowl, confused.

“Not even trying to hide it, huh?”

The server moved his eyes along her curves, obviously staring at her chest. She pretended not to be bothered, zipping her jacket up higher.

“I need a sec. Scoot, go first.”

“Um...okay...I want the pancake supreme breakfast.”

“Sausage or bacon?”

“Both?”

“Okay. And for you, sweetcheeks?”

Clove started cracking up, holding a finger up to signify that she needed a moment. She stood up, facing him straight on.

“You think I'm hot, right? Do you always creepy stare at hot girls?”

“I'm not supposed to flirt on the job, sweetie-”

“'Sweetie,' my foot in your ass. I hope you like the unemployment line.”

She marched up to the front desk, pounding her fist on the wooden counter. The server quickly followed over, murmuring under his breath.

“Hi! I'd really like to see the manager. Like, head honcho. Who is in charge?”

“Ma’am, if you'll please-”

“I'm ma'am now? Twenty seconds ago I was, ‘sweet cheeks.’”

Elliot grabbed his phone to record her, a man with a large beard approaching her at the counter.

“Hello, I'm Peter. I'm the manager, what can I help you with?”

“I came here for a breakfast with my kid brother. He's right over there,” she nodded toward him, “Instead, I'm being sexually harassed by the guy that's meant to be my server.”

“Are we sure this wasn't a misunderstanding?”

“Right, I suppose I misunderstood him staring at my tits and making a comment about my ‘cakes,’ along with calling me, ‘sweet cheeks.’”

Peter's face turned a deep shade of red as he whipped around to face the server, who stood with his hands up in surrender.

“Didn't mean anything by it! If she didn't have those things out in the open like that-”

“I'm wearing a sweater, asshole. I could walk in here completely naked and you being a creep would still not be okay!” She used her hands to talk, keeping her volume cool and collected despite the rage in her eyes, “Clothes don't determine consent! Having breasts does not mean I'm dying for you to talk to me like that! You need to take a few lessons on common fucking courtesy, because my dude, you are lacking.”

“My office, Clancy. Now.”

Peter turned back to face her, shaking his head, “I am so sorry. He will be dealt with and your meal today will be free of charge.”

“Thanks, but listen, Peter. First of all, don't doubt someone when they say they're being sexually harassed. Second, he doesn't need to be, ‘dealt with,’ he needs to be fired. Keeping him employed here poses a risk to every single female patron that walks through that door with your seal of approval. That isn't an establishment most people want to support.”

As she turned away, Elliot began to clap, attracting the attention of a few other customers who joined in. She did a little twirl and bow, elbowing him as she got back in the booth.

“Tom thinks you're a badass.”

“Did you record me?”

“Yeah, because you're a badass. So I sent it to Tom.”

“Don't ever be like that guy, Scoot. You're so much better than that.”

“I'm not gonna objectify someone's body. I know how bad that is.”

“You're right. And you're smart for remembering.”

“You sure you're okay? That guy was a creep.”

“I'm fine! No scratches. Plus, I felt pretty brave doing what I did.”

“Yeah..you were.”

She wiped her mouth, grinning at him, “So...why do you think that area smells like diaper?”

“Dunno,” he shoved a huge bite of pancakes in his mouth, “But it didn't smell like that until after the flood.”

“Something wicked in those waters.”

Elliot glared at her, pouring more syrup over his food.

“Sorry, jeez. Something more wicked. Like poop.”

He snorted, covering his nose and mouth, “Goober, don't say, ‘poop,’ at the table.”

“Okay, dad. I forgot we can't say any of the gross words.”

Elliot’s face went slack, a weak smile slowly curling on his lips. “Dad hated that.”

“He did! He was the only one who was allowed to talk about poop while we ate.”

“I don't know why that made me really sad.”

“It’s okay, Scooter. We’re allowed to miss them.”

At the front of the restaurant, a small girl sat beside her mother, looking up as she watched her reapply her lipstick after their meal. Elliot’s gaze locked on them, his fake smile beginning to become genuine. Clove turned her head and watched them for a moment before saying, “That’s adorable.”

“I remember you used to do that with mom.”

“You do?”

“I remember when we were younger and you’d sit on the hamper in the bathroom and watch mom do her makeup. She always said, ‘Clove, draw your eyebrows as high as your hopes will take you-’”

“And when you dream, aim higher,” she joined him in unison, putting her arm around him. “I miss her.”

“Me too.”

“Remember when she’d sing to you when you were little? You’d hum along but never sing. She told you that your lungs were made to belt it out and you were doing the world and injustice by keeping it in.”

“I really can’t sing, either. She was the one doing the world and injustice by wanting me to belt it out.”

“Nah, Scoot. She just loves you.”

“Do…you believe in heaven?”

“I’ve seen enough of it to know it’s out there.”

“I don’t know if I do…but if it’s real, mom’s there. Dad too, but…mom is like the queen of the angels.”

“You know something? It might sound crazy, but-”

“Can you feel her, too?”

“Yeah. Right now, sitting across the table,” she pointed her fork to the empty spot, “Telling you that this hair looks so nice since it’s grown out.”

“She’d like Tom, I think.”

Clove’s eyes welled with tears, picturing a world in which her mother may have known him.

“I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“No, it’s okay. It’s just bittersweet.”

She wrapped her arms around him, feeling him sniffle against her.

“Mom would love Robbie. God, Scooter. She’d be so proud of you. I know she is, wherever she is. They both are.”

“Do you think..” Elliot poked at his breakfast, choosing his words. “Do you think they’d care? Y’know…about me…liking guys?”

“I don’t have to think, I know they’d be happy to know that you were being true to yourself. I know they’d care, but only about your happiness. They’d never treat you differently.”

“Yeah…but how can you know that? It’s not like I ever got close to saying anything.”

“Because I know they didn’t mind. You know, one time I told mom that I liked girls.”

“You like girls?”

Clove shrugged, finishing off her drink, “Yeah. Not super often, but if I met a girl and I got feelings for her, I wouldn’t think any differently. One time when I was younger than you, though? I had a crush on our old neighbor. Remember Mia?”

“The girl with short hair? She was so much older than you!”

“Yeah, but I didn’t care. It was just a harmless crush, anyway. I told mom, ‘I think Mia is really hot.’ and she just laughed and said, ‘I don’t blame you.’”

“She really said that?”

“Why would I make that up?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I feel bad that we’ve mostly talked about mom.”

“Dad was great, but Scooter, me and you were always glued to mom’s hip. Of course we’re gonna have these times where we just talk about her, but we will have those times about dad, too.”

“My favorite thing about dad was his Saturday morning speech.”

“Oh, God. Kill me now.”

Elliot cleared his throat and began to do an impression. “Today is Saturday and I am going to sit right here-”

“In my pj’s-”

“And no kid or wife-”

“Is going to make me put on real pants!”

“-So if you need anything today…”

“Ask your mother or call a delivery service.”

They both stared at one another for a moment before doubling over in laughter.

“There is no question where we get our humor from.”

“Hey, Clove? I know we can’t visit their gravestones…not today, at least. But could we do something for them?”

“Whatcha have in mind?”

“Maybe we could write notes and burn them or something.”

“Huh. Okay. You ready to go?”

“Yeah.”

Clove pulled her jacket on, slipping a twenty dollar bill to Elliot.

“What’s that for?”

“Being you. But can you run up and get grandpa’s to go? It’s free like the rest of this meal, thanks to Clancy.“

He made his way to the counter to grab the order while Clove pulled out her phone, swiping through a photo album she had complied of she and Elliot with their parents through the years. He met her back at the table and slid the change under his glass for a tip, looking over her shoulder.

“Come on, Goob. Let’s go.”

“Just up that hill.”

Elliot pointed ahead to a pathway of trees, dead and barren from Winter’s wrath, the surrounding woods plush with evergreens. Atop the hill sat a dead patch of grass, remnants of a bonfire still smoking at a makeshift fire pit.

“Someone had fun here last night,” Clove smiled, “I love bonfires.”

“Actually…that was me. I came up here to think.”

A look of concern crossed her face as she sat on the ground next to him, bumping his knee with her own.

“You’re not just playing with fire…right?”

“No, I swear. I just got the idea from the fire last night. Watching the branches and sticks curl up and basically just become ash? It..it was like..why can’t bad memories do that, too?”

“Because memories are a part of us.”

“I wish not all of them were.”

“Tom told me something once that helped me a lot. Can I share it with you?”

Elliot nodded, pulling his beanie off. He stretched it in his hands, looking into the distance.

“We are the people we are. Our grandpa is the guy who was involved with the cult. Our parents..were murdered by that cult. We can’t run from it, but we have to remember that it doesn’t define us.”

“I don’t know if I know what you mean.”

“When you look at me, do you see any of that?”

“No.”

“What do you see?”

“My sister. That’s it.”

“Exactly, Scooter. Because we aren’t our past. Nobody should ever look at you and see those things, especially yourself. You were amazing before, during, and now, after all of that. You aren’t, ‘Elliot, kid who almost died however many times.’ You’re Elliot, my baby brother. You’re smart, you’ve got a great head on your shoulders. You’re a big sweetie-”

“Don’t push it.”

“…Even though you don’t believe it.”

“Thanks, Clove. I guess you’re right. I don’t think Robbie is anything like his dad or something..that’s kind of similar, right?”

“Yeah, it’s similar.”

Elliot laid back, folding his arms under his head. Clove joined him, watching the overcast sky as the clouds drifted along. She thought of the moments in between the sadness, taking her brother’s hand in her own.

“We made it.”

“Yeah, we did, didn’t we?”

“And we’re gonna keep on making it. Somewhere up there in all of those clouds, mom and dad are there. They’re looking at us now and they’re proud, I can feel it in my heart.” She placed a hand to her chest, choking back tears, “One day in a couple years, you’re gonna graduate high school, and you’re gonna look in the seats and wish they were there. It’s gonna feel like acid in your heart, but I need you to know something.”

She turned to him, wiping her eyes with her other hand, “I swear to you, no matter what you feel, they will be there. I will be there. You still have a family, okay?”

Elliot dove forward, embracing her tightly.

“Why did they have to leave, Clove?”

She squeezed her eyes, desperate to hold back her emotions as he sobbed in her arms. Be strong. Be strong.

“I don’t know, Scooter. They are right here with us, right now,” she wiped his tears, pressing her hand over his, aligning it at his heart, “You can’t tell me you don’t feel that.”

“I’m so scared..I-” he buried his face in his hands, “It’s been this long and I’m still so scared to lose you, too.”

“I’m not going anywhere. You hear me? I’m not leaving.” Clove’s arms wrapped around him, rocking back and forth as she began to hum, her touch maternal against his heartache. “We’re okay, Elliot. Breathe with me,” she said, her voice soft. She inhaled deeply, waiting for him to mirror her, slowing down his sobs one breath at a time.

Once he’d gone quiet, her humming the only sound against the blowing wind, she kissed the crown of his head and tightened her embrace.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” He sat up, using his sleeves to wipe his face.

“Still wanna burn a note?”

“Yeah.”

She dug through her purse, taking out a miniature journal and a pen. She scribbled something of her own and handed him the items, digging a book of matches from her things.

“Do you want me to read it?” Elliot asked, pulling his hat back on.

“Only if you want to. I didn’t think you would.”

“Um…Doctor Ripley…wants me to be more open with you.”

Their therapist, a kind, plump man with thinning hair and very large, square glasses, had been working with Elliot twice weekly over the past year and a half. Clove joined him in seeing a therapist, sometimes the same, sometimes a tall woman with a harsh smokers rasp and eyes like a river. Always helpful, regardless - and she was delighted to see that Elliot, too, was having a good experience.

“Okay.”

He took a shaky breath and cleared his throat before starting, “Mom and Dad…I’m not mad anymore. I’m sorry that I was. I didn’t know how to..how to think about you actually not being here anymore. I kept..thinking about you, hoping we could go home again. I think it took me this long to let you go..and I just want to. I want to let you go. I love you so much…but you deserve to be free.”

Clove swiped the matchstick along the panel, placing the flame along the edge of his note. He dropped it, watching as it blew to the blackened pile of sticks. Once it dissipated, it was nothing but a clipping the size of a snowflake, and it floated off with the breeze.

“I’ll go now.”

She dug the tip of her boot into the dirt, doing her best to keep her eyes from flooding.

“Mom…Dad..”

Elliot placed a hand on her shoulder, feeling her body tremble beneath his touch. “You don’t have to, Goob.”

“It’s okay. Mom, Dad…you taught me love for so long I never actually realized that one day, I wouldn’t feel yours anymore. I just want to say thank you for Elliot…”

He looked to her, his brows bent in confusion.

“Thank you for Elliot because when I look at him, your love is everywhere. All around me. And I don’t think I could live without him for one second.”

She lit a new match, placing her note on the embers.

“I didn’t write this..but I want to add something. Grandma Josephine…wherever you are, thank you for my mom. Because she has always been an angel, and me and Elliot miss her so much. I wish I could have met you before you were hurt. But all of you…Elliot’s right. We have to let you go. You have to be free.” Clove reached for her brother’s hand, looking to the sky. “We’ll always love you.”

“Always.”

Their hands linked as they looked to the sky, taking in the crisp air. Elliot reached to hug her again, his eyes going wide as he broke away, “Grandpa’s breakfast!”

“Oh, shit! Okay, ready? I’m ready.”

She waved goodbye as Elliot ran inside, dodging many beginning drops of rain. She pulled up Tom’s contact and called him, leaning her head back against the seat rest.

“Hello, beautiful.”

“Hey. You busy?”

“Nope. Did Elliot tell you he sent me a video of you absolutely slaying that-”

“Tommy?”

Her voice was breaking, chest riddled in emotion and a heavy sound of tears.

“What’s wrong, angel?”

“I just really need you right now.”

“Okay, I’m here. Want me to meet you anywhere?”

“Are you home?”

“Yeah. Come over.”

“I’m gonna take a minute to myself and I’ll be on my way.”

“I’ll come pick you up if you need me to. Can you drive?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“It’s gonna be okay, my love. See you when you get here.”

Tom hung up the phone, scrubbing his face with his palm before sending Elliot a text.

He grabbed his keys and ran outside, speeding to the farmers market down the street before Clove arrived. Nearly slipping on the slick sidewalk, he pummeled through the door, running into an elderly woman who was sweeping the floor. The air smelled of fresh produce and rain, his eyes scanning around for plants and flowers.

“You okay there, son?”

“Yeah! Sorry, I slipped.”

“You’re in a real hurry.”

“The love of my life is on her way over and she’s bawling her eyes out. I need flowers. Can you point me-”

“What kind?”

Tom pulled his phone out to verify the texts from Elliot.

“Red carnations and white daisies.”

“You want the mini carnations?”

“What looks better?”

“The mini ones.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

The woman gathered a bundle of flowers and wrapped them in newspaper, tying a ribbon around the base.

“Wait, what are those tiny tiny white little things that come with flowers? On green branches?”

“Baby’s breath. I’ll add some.”

“Thank you!” He pulled out his wallet, but she shooed him away.

“You came in here and nearly bowled me over. I asked if you were okay and you didn’t say, ‘a girl I like,’ or, ‘my girlfriend,’ you said the love of your life.”

“Yeah?”

“Young people finding that is something special. On the house.”

“Thank you! Thank you so much!”

“Yeah, yeah, now you go on.”

Tom smiled and ran out the door, jumping in the car.

When he pulled up to his apartment, sheets of rain blanketed the sky, Clove’s car nowhere to be seen. Safe, he thought, darting from the car to the front door, pushing it open to see her already sitting on the couch, her hair and sweater soaking wet.

He set the bouquet down along with his keys and grabbed a towel from the hall closet, pulling the throw blanket off the back of the couch.

Her eyes were rimmed in red, face puffy from her tears. He pulled her into an embrace, holding her tight as she collapsed in his arms, crying with all of her might.

“I’m here, I’m here.”

Once her crying slowed, he unfolded the towel, scrunching her curls within it to dry them. Lifting her sweater over her head, he dried her skin, draping the blanket around her shoulders.

“Don’t go anywhere. I’m gonna get you a top.”

She nodded, sniffling, using her sweater to wipe her face.

Tom shuffled through his drawers, finding an oversized t-shirt and a washcloth, stopping by the bathroom to warm up the cloth before heading back to her spot on the couch.

“Okay. Hand me that towel?”

He took it from her, drying the top of her back and spots on her hair he’d missed as he stood behind her, unhooking her bra before handing her the shirt. He smoothed his hands over her shoulders, running his fingers along the imprint of her bra straps, noting the indentation across her back where the band rested.

She pulled the top on, kicking off her jeans as she nestled into the corner of the couch, Tom squeezing his way next to her. He wiped her face with the washcloth and kissed her cheek, pulling her into his embrace.

“You know..when I was little before Elliot was born, sometimes my mom and I would order pizza and have a girls night. She’d bake cookies and play with my hair…”

Tom zoned out for a second, her hair in his hands as she told this story, her voice aching in grief. And back to reality, he took her hand, kissing the top of it.

“…It was just…everything.”

“Missing them extra today?”

“Yeah. Elliot and I talked about them and it was so nice but just..I can’t help but be heartbroken when I think about some things.”

“Do you want to tell me about those things?”

“Graduation. I know it was just a sheet of paper, but I did it, you know? They weren’t there. They won’t be there when I open my store. They…”

She choked on her words, tears spilling from her eyes again. Tom’s own eyes began to water as he wrapped her in his arms even tighter, easing her through the moment.

“If I ever get married, I- I always dreamed of them being there. And I know I have Elliot, I just…it’s not the same. I dreamt of it my whole life, Tommy. They’ll never be there. They won’t see me fall in love with you every single day. They won’t see it if I…what if we have a baby one day? How can I explain to my kids how amazing they were, but ‘sorry, you’ll never meet them?’ It’s just…it’s not fair. And I’m angry!” Her voice grew louder, “I’m so mad and I’m so fucking upset because I deserved them to be there. I deserved them holding my hands as I walked down the aisle. I’m angry and I’m sad and I feel like my chest is caving in.”

Tom rubbed her back, gently holding her to his chest.

“It’s not fair. You’re right. It’s the opposite of fair. But you know what you’re forgetting? They see you, Clove. You know they do.”

“Seeing me from another plane doesn’t make me feel less alone.”

“It’s know, baby. I wish I could mend your heart a million times over. Let me see those eyes.”

She looked to him and gave him a small, sad smile.

“They’re so fucking proud of you. Look at you, you’re a powerhouse. Not only are you a total badass, you’re an amazing artist. You have the best heart. The best head on your shoulders. You’re everything, Clove. And if for one second you ever feel alone, remember that you will always, always have my heart and soul. Plus, you know what? You can be pissed off. Throw something, kick a wall in, punch me in the face! It’s justified. You are allowed to be angry!”

She blinked a few times in a deadpan stare, “Did you just yell at me to punch you in the face?”

“Yes. Punch me, baby. If you feel better after beating the shit out of someone, I’ll volunteer.”

She giggled, his laughter joining hers.

“I’d never hurt you. I just…I’m so..”

“You don’t have to explain. I’m gonna be here every step of the way, even if that means making you laugh at me.”

“Why are you so good to me?”

“Because you’re the love of my life. Oh! Speaking of.”

He hopped up and grabbed the flowers, handing her the bouquet.

“Tommy…”

“Do you like them?”

He kneeled on the floor next to her, stroking her cheek with his thumb.

“They’re perfect. My mom…you..you remembered?”

“Elliot helped me out, but yeah. I remembered the story where she put them in every window on your birthday. You said that’s where you got that from…and if you have kids, you’ll do the same for them.”

She held them to her chest and kissed him, his lips like feathers against her own, the warmth of his love radiating from where he knelt.

“I’m gonna love you forever.”

“I’m gonna love you for even longer. And so do they. Their love for you is limitless, angel. They see you. They’re proud of you. They love you.”

“I’m wish they could have met you.”

“Me too.”

Late in the evening, Tom stood in the open doorway, listening to the birds sing after the storm. Clove sat curled up on the couch, streaming YouTube videos on Tom’s laptop as she munched on Doritos.

“Do you mind if I ask Elliot over to stay the night with us? I just really want him here.”

“Absolutely. I’ll text him and pick him up.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“It’s cool. We can get dinner on the way back.”

He sent the text, stepping inside to put his shoes on.

“Your hair looks nice like that.”

“What, like wild? You just like it down.”

“I do. You can’t blame me, you look like some fancy poet.”

“Now, that’s a compliment I’ll take. Elliot says he’ll be ready in fifteen. I should head over. What do you want food wise?”

“Can I say…junk? I want junk.”

“I can do that. Toppings?”

“You know me so well. Just a bunch of cheese…and some of that garlic bread?”

“Say no more, my lady. I’ll tell him to text when we’re on the way.”

“Tommy?”

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, angel.”

After picking up Elliot and a massive order of pizza, Tom pulled into the parking lot of a grocery store, taking the key from the ignition.

“Ice cream?”

“Hell yeah!”

Tom chuckled, raising his eyebrows. “Okay, what kind?”

“Anything chocolate.”

“You…really, really are Clove’s brother.”

“What of it?! Can you get me some tea? I have mone-”

“Shut up, dork. I don’t want your money. Do you also have a weird flavored tea addiction? I’m grabbing raspberry while I’m in here anyway.”

“I might like it.”

“I might dump it on you when I get back then. Put that money away.”

Elliot stuffed the bill back in his pocket, trying not to grin as widely as he was.

At Tom’s return, he grabbed the grocery bags, sifting through them to eye the items inside.

“You’re like, a really good boyfriend.”

“What do you say that for?”

“Clove is lucky to have you. She had a bad day and you went like,” he gestured with his hands, “Massively all out. People don’t usually do that.”

“I’m in love with her. That’s what you do when someone you love is hurting.”

“Thanks for being there for her. I know she loves you like that, too.”

“Can I…Elliot, I really want to tell you something. But it can’t make it back to Clove.”

“Okay?”

“Um..I have been thinking and I just-”

“Watch out!”

Tom slammed on the brake just in time to avoid a loose dog sprinting down the road, owners chasing behind.

“Who does that!”

“This town isn’t ever boring, huh?”

“I feel like I almost shit my heart out.”

“Same.”

They parked in Tom’s parking spot, unhooking their seat belts simultaneously.

“I’ll get the bags if you get the boxes?” Elliot smiled, reaching behind him to grab the few grocery bags they’d gotten.

“So wait, your mom was this jack of every trade, and your dad sold cars?”

“He said he’d been selling cars since he was seventeen.” Elliot chimed, slurping what was left of his ice cream.

“It sounds so boring!”

“Mom was the magic, dad was…the stage?”

“Scooter, what does that even mean?”

“Like, mom was all lights and colors, ya know? But dad was just stable. And he always would support her.”

“That…was a great metaphor. I’m sorry I doubted you.”

“You should be.”

“Oh! Another time, mom came in from being out all morning and called a family meeting-”

“Oh my god.”

“You remember, Scoot? Oh yeah. She came in with this old, hideous, weird beaded wedding dress from the thrift shop. She said she needed to work her magic and it would be as good as new.”

“Was it?”

Clove and Elliot looked to each other and said, “No!”

Elliot laughed, “She made it big enough for the neighbors dog. That’s it! Mia, right Clove? Her first girl crush.”

“I’ve heard of Mia.”

“What? You have?”

“He’s my boyfriend, Elliot, what did you expect? He just had no idea?”

“Maaaybe?”

“Nah, she told me about Mia the same day I told her about-”

“Ben Park.”

“The comic guy?”

“Yeah, and Tom’s first guy crush.”

“You like guys?”

“I don’t really have a preference. I’d be into anyone who made the world light up, but I don’t have to worry about that anymore.”

He kissed Clove sweetly, pulling away quickly as not to annoy Elliot.

“Wow. This is actually really cool to know. I guess..I guess more people get it than I thought.”

“You’re never alone, man. Even if it feels like it.”

“You guys are cooler than I give you credit for. Can we do this again sometime? Maybe Robbie could have dinner with us.”

“We can do this any time. My place is open to both of you whenever.”

“Oh…speaking of. Scooter, what do you think about me moving a town over?”

“Why?”

“We’ve just been thinking about finding somewhere-”

“Like you guys living together? That’d be cool. We could do this more. Plus, you could give me my dresser back that you took to your studio.”

“If we can, we’ll get a place big enough for you to have your own room for when you’re over. And close enough to not really make a difference, like less than an hour.”

“Really?” Elliot laid back against the couch, “Cool.”

Tom pulled an array of blankets from the closet, tossing them behind him.

“What are you doing, baby?”

“Fort time.”

“Oh my god! For real? Scooter, when was the last time we built a fort?!”

“Like your birthday that one year?”

“Oh boy. I love forts.”

They spent the next thirty minutes layering blankets over the furniture, tossing them over one another, laughing until their sides hurt. Finally, after many slips and fumbles, the three of them settled in beneath the fort, television streaming old Adam Sandler comedies.

“Elliot’s out officially,” Tom whispered, “We had fun tonight, didn’t we?”

“So much fun.”

“It’s kinda funny, when I was talking to him in the car before we got the food, he had much of the same sentiments as you regarding your parents. Like…different experiences, but still saw them the same way.”

He climbed behind her, holding her close.

“Elliot and I wrote them notes and burned them today. But we read them out loud and it…was nice.”

“If I could say one thing to them, I’d thank them for giving the world someone like you.”

“My mom would cry.”

“That’s where you got that from.”

“Hey! You love that about me.”

“I do. I love every piece of you.”

“Thank you for being here for me..for loving me. For loving him,” she nodded to her snoring brother, “He needs people like you in his life.”

“He’s a part of you. Of course I love him. I’ll always be here for him, too.”

“You’re amazing.”

She kissed him, sweet pecks, silently pulling beautiful affections from within him. Tom held her into the night, gently singing to her as she fell asleep. He grabbed his phone, going to her social media and scrolling down to find photos of them that she’d posted.

He felt his chest swell with emotion, blinking away fresh mist. He closed the app and looked toward the ceiling, imagining their faces as happy as they were in the photo. With a voice as low as a whisper, he said, “I’ll never be able to thank you for everything you’ve given me. I want to…I love her more than anything. I want to marry her so badly. I hope that if she says yes…if she says yes, I hope you’d approve. I hope I can make her as happy as she deserves. And I’ll be anything I can to Elliot. I swear to you, he has my heart, too. I’ll help him. I’ll guide him. Whatever I can do. Thank you…from the bottom of my heart…for these two. They’re my family.”

And he dozed away, his cheek resting in a bed of Clove’s hair, their fingers laced together. This night was full of quiet love, happy, happy love - the light of the moon dancing across the walls, much like the slow fade of two lingering silhouettes watching over them.

#it lives beneath #elliot vance #tom sato #tom x clove #write things

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pastelninjaimagines · 6 years

Note

★☆♡♥♦ൠ for my boys Shino and Sai? Maybe Gaara and Hinata too? Sorry if this is alot

Shino

★ - sad headcanon

When Shino’s upset he doesn’t show it. He internalizes it and anyone looking would just assume he’s his normal stoic self. He’s definitely a bit broody and when he’s sad he’d prefer to be alone.

☆ - happy headcanon

Shino is happiest when, you guessed it, he’s surrounded by his insects. One of his favorite things to do is categorize them. Literally nothing makes him happier than spending his time doing that. He even names them. Like he remembers every single one. Idk how but it just makes him to happy to do it.

♡ - romantic headcanon

He’s clueless when it comes to romance. Doesn’t know a thing about it. What is flirting? Shino doesn’t know. He’s awkward and would rather just stay silent than talk to his crush. He’d have to swallow his pride and ask Kiba all these questions, and then question Kiba’s common sense because do you really pretend your yawning to put your arm around your crush Kiba that doesn’t sound right. He’s hopeless.

♥ - family headcanon

I think Shino would be very close with his father. His father was the one to teach him all about insects and he has fond memories as a child of him and his dad going to search for bugs with his dad watching fondly as Shino ran around with a butterfly net. Shino was a cute kid y’all. And as Shino grew up he stayed very close with his dad, who supports him in everything he does.

♦ - quirks/hobbies headcanon

A quirk that Shino has is that every morning before he gets out of bed, he has to count to thirty. It’s his way of bracing himself for the day, especially when he knows he has to deal with a lot of people. He gives himself that thirty seconds of preparation before getting out of bed in the morning.

ൠ - random headcanon

He can’t stand the cold. At all. So to prevent himself from getting the shivers, he always bundles up, even if it’s like 90 degrees outside this boy is in a jacket, pants, he might even have gloves on and you bet he’ll be wearing layers. It’s unnatural af.

Sai

★ - sad headcanon

When Sai is sad, it comes from his feelings of emptiness and loneliness. His biggest fear is being left alone and abandoned. When in a group setting, if he feels like he’s not really apart of it, if they are ignoring him (whether subconsciously or they actually are) he just wants to fade into the background and he will leave to be by himself. Sai doesn’t have to put up with that. But he doesn’t really fall into self pity, he’ll shirk it off pretty quick and go back to his smiley self if confronted over why he left. He just doesn’t like feeling that way, like he’s not even there to people. He doesn’t deserve it.

☆ - happy headcanon

Engaging Sai in conversations about his art makes this boy glow with happiness. He can ramble about his art for hours so please, do it. He will be a blushing, giddy mess if you complement his drawings like wow he’s so cute and appreciative of it. When he’s talking about things that make him happy he’s just so smiley and radiates happiness, like make this boy’s day and let him ramble to you.

♡ - romantic headcanon

Sai is very by the book when it comes to romance. At first, he never really knew what to do, until he consulted the romance section of his local bookstore. He legitimately takes all of his ideas about romance straight from sappy romance novels. So yes, you will get fancy candlelight dinners, and walks under the moonlight, and rose petals covering the bed, because that’s what Sai is convinced what romance is.

♥ - family headcanon

Shin was the only family that Sai had ever known. Whenever there was a festival going on in town, Shin would convince Sai to sneak away from wherever Danzo was keeping them and go and enjoy the festival. These were some of Sai’s fondest memories growing up because he and his brother could act like the children they actually were, playing games, eating good food, watching the festivities. Looking back on those memories, they glow with a shiny fondness.

♦ - quirks/hobbies headcanon

Sai is nothing but quirky. He does this thing where he rehearses full on conversations in the mirror, pretending to be in different situations, filling in what the other person would say, etc. These conversation can go on for a full thirty minutes. Like he’s for real. He also totally practices different facial expressions in the mirror too. He wants to know what he looks like when he’s smiling, laughing, scowling, etc. so that he can make the “perfect expression.”

One of Sai’s hobbies, besides painting/drawing, is practicing calligraphy. He has super good handwriting and he loves to just sit down and copy different texts into his absolutely beautiful handwriting. He finds it so relaxing and a way to be doing something without much effort.

ൠ - random headcanon

He loves being amongst nature. Not only does it fuel his creativity, but it makes him feel very peaceful. He’ll wake up early, even on his days off, to go for a morning stroll through a garden or even a wooded area, soaking up the silence and the early morning radiance of the world just waking up. It starts his day off right and when he doesn’t do this in the morning he tends to be grumpier.

Gaara

★ - sad headcanon

Pls don’t make this cinnamon roll sad. He’s too precious. He’s the type to isolate himself. He also has that single tear aesthetic going on. But he will cut himself off from literally everyone when he’s feeling particularly down. He doesn’t want to talk about it, doesn’t want any mention of it. He’s an internalizer of his pain and doesn’t want to burden anyone with it. Eventually he’ll work himself out, normally he has to go out in the desert and work out his emotions by himself there. What he does is a mystery to everyone but him.

☆ - happy headcanon

Gaara loves hugs. Almost nothing makes him happier. He was so touch starved for most of his childhood, that literally any form of physical affection makes him so, so happy like he’s just glowy and smiley for the rest of the day when someone gives him a big hug.

♡ - romantic headcanon

Gaara is more cutesy than romantic. He loves holding his s/o’s hand, especially when they’re out in public. He also loves kissing their knuckles. He blushes so hard. Also nose kisses. Yes. He’s a cutiepie.

♥ - family headcanon

So obviously, when Gaara got older he became much closer to his two siblings. He has a very teasing relationship with Konkurow. Like they’re always on each other about one thing or another, but it’s all in good fun. Especially because Konkurow is very protective of Gaara. And so is Temari but in a much more obvious way. She is sort of Gaara’s mother figure, especially because she is the eldest sibling. They have a very good dynamic, Temari’s always reminding Gaara of things he’s forgotten and Gaara always manages to make Temari smile no matter what kind of day she’s having, he always brightens her mood.

♦ - quirks/hobbies headcanon

Gaara really likes gardening. He’s got an army of succulents and cacti. They litter his office and his bedroom to the point that both Temari and Konkurow have said that he doesn’t have room for more. Gaara ignores this and goes and buys like 20 more to take care of. He’s got an amazing green thumb. He often volunteers in Suna’s greenhouses, and he’s somehow able to tend to plants that even professionals have a difficult time cultivating to make it so the plants are now thriving. It’s a wonder to everyone who works in the greenhouses. They don’t know how he does it.

ൠ - random headcanon

Gaara is 100% band from entering sand sculpture competitions. It just wouldn’t be fair considering he can bend the sand to any shape with his will. So no participating in sand sculpture competitions for him. But he will be a judge. And he’s very critical, except when he’s judging a kids competition. Then he always gives everyone a solid 8/10 because how could he judge children? They all have such potential. He’s a softy.

Hinata

★ - sad headcanon

Hinata is a crier. Whenever she’s sad, she tries to get as far away from prying eyes and just let the tears flow. She really can’t help it. She curls up in a ball, holding herself makes her feel better. And after she’s had a good cry, most of the bad feelings have left her, like she’s expelling all of that negativity through her tears.

☆ - happy headcanon

The littlest kind gestures make Hinata so happy. Oh you held the door open for her, you’ll receive the biggest smile. Oh, you helped her pick up something she dropped, again you are graced by an angelic smile. It just puts her in such a good mood for the rest of the day to witness any good deed being done.

♡ - romantic headcanon

Hinata is a hopeless romantic. So when she finds herself in situations that she had fantasized about for years, like a cute date, or finally kissing her s/o, she becomes a blushing mess, like as red as a tomato. She becomes so flustered it’s adorable. She also has all these ideas in her head that she herself tries to make happen, but she always ends up “messing up” aka it coming off as perfect and romantic, and then feels bad. Her s/o has to explain that everything she did was perfect and then she becomes a stuttering, blushing mess again.

♥ - family headcanon

Hinata didn’t always have such a great relationship with her dad, he was very hard on her during her childhood, until he had a change of heart and accepted her for the person she was, not who he wanted her to be. Now he’s extremely doting on her, but a little less protective of her, he lets her do her own thing. But he’s her shoulder to lean on and her comfort always and he loves when Hinata comes to consult with things going on in her life.

Hinata and Hanabi get along very well. Hanabi is also very protective of her big sister, she gets very fierce if she sees anyone disrespecting Hinata in any way. Hinata taught Hanabi how to crochet and they bond over crafting and they are their going out to eat partners. Hinata loves to go clothes shopping with Hanabi and pick out outfits for her little sister to try that the younger girl would never pick for herself. Hinata loves to get Hanabi little gifts whenever she goes shopping alone too.

♦ - quirks/hobbies headcanon

She love to crochet, and along with that Hinata is very crafty in general. Also she’s great at baking. One of her favorite things to make is chocolates. She makes them in really cute shapes and likes to get creative with them. Her favorite thing is to make things for her friends and loved ones, so you bet for special occasions they are getting knitted sweaters with cute saying stitched on them, long crochet scarves, and homemade chocolates.

ൠ - random headcanon

Hinata is really good with small animals, like kittens, bunnies, birds, small dogs (though akamaru is the only big dog she is comfortable around). They always just find her and she could pet them for hours and hours. She sometimes takes strays home (to her father’s chagrin) and takes care of them for a while until finding them a good home.

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fmdtaeyongarchive · 5 years

Text

↬ i don’t cry like i used to.

date: early 2019

location: n/a

word count: 1,337 words w/o lyrics

notes: creative claims verification for wish you well.

it starts with writer’s block. it’s odd how that works, but ash has written song after song about the same old tired heartbreak and drawing from all of the same experiences he’s had and they all sound like one of the fifty other songs before them. breaking up is sad, plenty of regrets are had, maybe some inauthentic longing thrown in to try to spice it up, but nothing feels special. after “untitled, 2014”’s success, it’s like he wants to use the same formula, to channel the same feelings all to have some guaranteed end result of success, so he can recreate something of equal critical praise. that’s not how art works, he has to remind himself. there are endless theories of equations to create a solid pop song, and ash has read different ideas of what that is in book after book and article after article, but one can’t plug in emotions in place of variables and end up with a sum of soul-touching nakedness. if that’s how it worked, someone would have already hacked that and made billions by now. if there was a way to succeed so effortlessly, ash wouldn’t want to fall victim to it, so greedy for praise that he allows his desire to capture the human experience in the way he best knows how to escape him.

melodies that aren’t entirely creative and derivative of better songs are escaping him, though. ash tinkers around on the keyboard in the studio for a while longer in hopes it’s a momentary stalling in his mind before a breakthrough can happen, but the invisible connection that’s usually so strong between his fingers and the white feels obstructed by static, as if a storm cloud is raging within the air of the cramped studio and interfering with the unseen cable connecting them, so he packs up his things and heads home. it’s a defeat he doesn’t usually allow himself to suffer. he prefers to work until something, anything, crawls its way out of the gloomy space between the wrinkles of his brain, but this night, it seems more hopeless than ever.

sleep doesn’t come easy once he’s back at the dorm. it never does, of course, so he grabs his most trustworthy guitar by its neck out of the corner of his room in the dark, careful not to disturb namwoo, and holes himself up in the laundry room. it’s a strange choice of refuge, but it’s detached from the other members’ rooms and he can close the door to be with his guitar in peace. no one is going to look for him here if they notice he’s missing either. he sits himself on the floor, back against the dryer and sets up his phone to record a voice memo. he’s not sure what he’s going to record yet, but he’s learned having it on anytime something good might accidentally slip out is a gift of modern technology he can’t afford to forgo right now.

the night passes by outside, and ash strums absently on the guitar, letting his mind make its own way into different chords and rhythms and strumming patterns until he stumbles upon something that finally sounds like more than the same old been there done that that he’s been struggling with. he sits up a little straighter, back only brushing the dryer now instead of being completely supported by it, and leans into playing around with the progression and the rhythm until he finds a groove in it. he stops the voice memo that’s recording and saves the old recording before starting a new one with the idea of working around this new chord progression in mind.

naturally, as he finds his way through more of the composition, or rather, it finds its way to him, he begins to hum a melody over it. he doesn’t put much thought into words. the tidbits he does get out onto tape aren’t anything special. there’s scattered pieces: “don’t become a person like me”, “you should be happy”, “that pretty smile”. it’s half a verse that slips out in pieces and eventually comes together during his playing around that he really likes:

“the you who shined brighter than anyone before you knew me, your look in the past that didn’t suit tears, it’s a relief you’re doing well. yeah, i think you seem more like you when i’m not by your side.”

it doesn’t strike ash until after the pieces fall into place, and he hadn’t been thinking too deeply of past pain, not since he’d left the studio and resigned himself to creating a good instrumental instead, but there’s an undeniable reality to it. it’s a fear that’s always lingering in the back of his mind waiting to be confirmed, and he’s written about it before so it’s not an epiphany, but he hadn’t been expecting it to come out of his tired mind. they’re fears he’s realized in the past as the ending credits of a relationship began to roll and they’re ones he’s afraid to end up face to face with again now if he ever looks back on his relationship and sees he’s been bad for hansol like he’s so afraid of.

he wraps up recording what he has into his phone and decides to let himself rest for the night before he can venture anywhere too dark. he’s let that happen too many times in the name of “art”, and for once, he wants to be good to himself.

the half-made song sits in his phone for a while, a fate that has been suffered by many before and after it, but it’s saved by a conversation he has with sooyeon one day. conversations with sooyeon aren’t rare compared to his conversations with most people, despite their similarly hectic schedules, but this is the one where he finds out her thing, whatever it was—he’d tried not to bring it up after expressing his initial disapproval to her, so the details weren’t quite clear to him—she’d had with seyeon had ended, and he leaves the conversation feeling like he should have said something better in response, something more meaningful than the pitiful “it’s okay for it to hurt” spiel he’d attempted to go on. on a mission to make sure she was okay, he didn’t let her know he’s been there and that he understands and that feelings are good for people in the long run. he feels he fails to let her know that he’s felt the things she might be feeling, and he doesn’t even know if she needs him to tell her that or if the very insinuation that she couldn’t handle it on her own would be insulting to her level of emotional maturity.

he doesn’t finish the lyrics about sooyeon. he doesn’t know enough about her situation to do that, and it’s not his place, but the talk does spark up inspiration to return to the formerly shafted draft in his phone. he has her in mind as he finishes the song in a way he doesn’t realize until he sends the rough demo of it labeled ‘wywver5' to her later with a simple, but leading “a rough draft of something new i’ve been writing. what do you think? if you ask me, it’d sound better led by a female voice”. maybe it’s a thank you for bringing him back to it even though she doesn’t know, or maybe it’s with hopes she’ll listen to it and connect in some way.

within the file, the lyrics wrap around the original half of a verse he wrote with lyrics that had come to life as he’d reflected on the ends of his past relationships. he has almost two years of distance from any single one of them now, and it’s easier to intertwine the truth of the initial cutting pain of a breakup with how he feels in the present. he wants the best for everyone he’s ever loved, even those who have hurt him and those he’s hurt, because that’s what love is, not matter how messy it is or how doomed from the start it may be. that’s not a new concept in his lyrics, but it’s one he wants to show more. it’s one he wants people to hear more, sooyeon included.

“i’m thinking ‘wish you well’,” he amends to his message.

#fmdverification #this sounds exactly like every other verification i've ever written don't read it #&& queued

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symphonemonies · 6 years

Text

Today was going to be the best day of your life.

After your phenomenal debut as Aurora in your company’s production of Sleeping Beauty, the fall season approached rather quickly. Not like it caught you off guard or anything- in fact, you hadn’t really stopped thinking about ballet at all, even if you weren’t dancing every single day. You certainly had caught the eye of the snobby critics that breathed anything and everything from the culture section of the San Francisco Times. Everyone thought your performance was great. The critics, the audience, and most importantly, the creative director, who told you that you were the best decision he’s ever made in his career. Ticket sales for Sleeping Beauty were much higher than anticipated, and you were the reason why. If the company didn’t know how much of an asset you were before, now they did.

You were making them money in the down season, for Christ’s sakes. Who cared about ballet in the summertime before you came along? Hardly a soul. Now everyone cared.

Which is why you weren’t surprised when last week you received an email to meet with the director. You were supposed to see him as soon as you returned on the first day back. Plenty of ideas flit around your mind when you made your way down the hall to his office. What did he want? Maybe you got a sponsorship offer? Or somebody asked for an interview? Or another really big project? He mentioned in the email that it was something confidential, that you absolutely had to discuss in person. Whatever opportunity was there, you were going to take it. You’re pretty excited when you open the door, even more so when you see somebody else you don’t recognize in there with him.

“Good morning, director. You wanted to see me?” “Yes, miss Moreno. I’m glad you could make it.”

“Nice to meet you.” you say to the well-dressed man who stood next to the director’s desk. He hadn’t introduced himself, but you wanted to make a good impression regardless, so you offer your hand for him to shake with a polite smile. “My name is-”

“I know who you are already.” he says gruffly, and your eyebrows furrow as you glance back towards the director. He looks embarrassed, but he doesn’t say anything in your defense. You drop your hand.

“Okay then... who are you?” “Please take a seat, Nadia-”

“I’m good, thank you.” You say, gaze hardening as you stared down the man in front of you. He was a little shorter than you were, but then again you were taller than most of the people in the company anyway. He and the director exchanged looks, before he unfolded his arms and revealed a manilla folder that was tucked away in his suit jacket.

“I’m Detective Ward.” he says finally, and your heart skips a beat. A detective. Why the fuck did they need a detective now? Your mind instantly leaps to Margot’s bloodied corpse in your arms. But that was months ago. You’d already given your statement to the cops. You had your alibi. You were cleared of wrongdoing already. What was the issue here.

“...what is this about?”

“Nadia, I hope you know that we, as a company, care about you and consider you a part of our little family here.” The director pipes up, much to the dismay of Ward. He looked annoyed that the director was even in the same room, let alone speaking. You’re a little annoyed that the director was speaking right now too, because it seemed that all he wanted to do was blow sunshine up your ass. Soften a blow that you sensed was coming. “You are a kind girl and a wonderful dancer, possibly one of the best I’ve seen in my entire career, and-”

“I want to know what’s going on.” you reply tersely.

“Well. We... hired this investigator after Margot’s unfortunate disappearance. Just to check in on all our employees and dancers, safety reasons, you know. And we discovered your... how do I put this-”

“What the director’s trying to say is, we found out you’re a monster, kiddo.” Ward interrupts, tossing the folder onto the desk. What. They knew what you were. What??? You’re deathly still, thoughts reduced to a jumble of radio static for a moment. Honestly, you don’t even feel like you’re in your body anymore; this situation was just a shitty movie and you were a captive in the audience. You’re not even looking at the folder (you don’t even want to know how they found out.) you’re looking at the director, who seemed like he was on the verge of tears. God, what a performative kiss ass. He probably wanted to think he was a nice, woke, monster supporter.

"And I wouldn’t dare imply that you had anything to do with Margot. But if the public ever found out that you weren’t... human... we can’t stop them from coming to that dreadfully stereotypical conclusion. And we can’t have any controversy on our hands during our busiest season-”

“...you’re going to get rid of me because of what might happen.” it wasn’t a question. The Director looked pained by the suggestion, and your hands itched. You really wanted to break something. Him, probably. That detective next.

“It sounds awful when you put it like that, but. We can’t risk having you dance for us anymore. It’s out of my hands.”

“Bullshit it’s out of your hands.” you snap, and Detective Ward shifts defensively where he stands, like he actually could stop you if you were going to do something. “I didn’t fucking kill her. I promise that-” you jab a finger at the folder on the desk. “-has nothing to do with her. She disappeared. You can’t just leave it at that because of what people might think?” You’re lying through your teeth. This has everything to do with you. But you’re clinging to the fact that they’re certain it doesn’t.

“Nadia, public opinion just... doesn’t allow for it. We’d be ruined if anyone found out. Do you remember what happened to that poor ballerina at that other company in New York?” He was talking about the ballerina from years before, the wildly successful dancer who was discovered to be a siren and had her career destroyed. The very one Margot mentioned to try to blackmail you a few months back.

“The company she danced with knew the whole time. They weren’t taken seriously ever again after that story broke. And you know I would change the rules for you if I could.” He couldn’t. “If I could just take all of... this and make it go away, I would.” He wouldn’t.

Of course they were worried about saving their own asses. At the end of the day, they really didn’t give a shit about you. Not when you could put their money and reputation at risk. Your spot in their little family was as good as gone.

“Sirens just... don’t dance. Not in this lifetime. Professionally, anyway.”

You hated what that implied. You could feel your vision start to blur. You needed to get out of there.

“Is that all.” You ask, your voice just above a whisper. The director shakes his head no. You take that as your cue to leave anyway, snatching the manilla folder from the desk and turning to head out of the office. The room was spacious, but it felt like the walls were closing in on you.

“Nadia, wait- it’s still possible for you to work here, with us. As an instructor!” he calls out after you. You freeze in your tracks before the door. Was he actually being serious? So you couldn’t publicly be with the company but you could make their dancers better instead. Churn out Prima Ballerinas with no credit to your name. “We’d have to be smart about it, but you could help our dancers be the best they can-” You’re out of the building before he can even finish.

You’re moving on autopilot, now. It feels like no time passes at all before you’re back at your place, past one of your sisters, shut in your room with a loud slam of the door. You still couldn’t believe that this had happened. Was happening. One minute you were on top of the world, certain you’d realize your dream in just a few months, and now all of that had gone up in smoke in just a moment. The tears that prickled at your eyes flowed freely now, and you did nothing to stop them, throwing your ballet bag in the corner of your room with a frustrated shout. One of your pointe shoes arced in the air before the bag collided harshly with your wall. You plop down on your bed, listlessly staring at the folder in your unsteady hands until you finally opened it.

To see nothing.

The pages inside the folder were empty. You flip through them one by one, brows furrowing when you realize there was nothing but plain white computer paper in there. Your search becomes more frantic as you try to find something, anything in the folder that would make this make sense, give you a solid reason they did this, an explanation, but you’re drawing nothing but blanks every single time. Eventually, you reach the end, and the folder slips out of your grip, papers fluttering uneventfully to the ground.

Something about this reminds you of a conversation you’d had with your sister Zoe. She told you about management pulling something similar at her own job; they’d psych out an employee with a baseless accusation and see if it stuck. They did it to weed out non-humans from their companies. Nothing about it was legal, you were sure, but nobody would be on your side. Especially now. You were careful, so fucking careful, meticulous in everything you ever did to be sure that nobody would think you weren’t human. Then they blindly called your bluff, and you took the bait. They never had found you out in the first place. You were an idiot.

You kept your emotions in check for a reason. Humans could cry and cry all they wanted, sirens couldn’t at all without affecting everything around them. Something burns in your chest, and you let out a sob before you slap a hand over your mouth in an attempt at stifling yourself, squeezing your eyes shut. You were sick and tired of stifling almost everything about yourself- and for what? Where did that get you? Obviously nowhere good.

The sheer effort of staying quiet is shaking your frame, and the white hot sensation in your lungs beg for you to do otherwise. You felt like you were on fire, like you were getting smothered out. Your gills were incredibly flared at your neck, and you knew eventually you’d have to breathe properly, so you drop your hand from your mouth. One shuddery breath is all you can take before a scream claws its way from your throat. The noise is the worst you’ve ever sounded, all you yet nothing like you at the same time, a darker, venomous edge to your voice that rendered you inhuman. It’s loud enough to shake your windows, loud enough to crack your vanity mirror, until you get the sense to harshly bite down on your lip, blood running down your chin before you press your face into your hands. You’re curled up on your bed when your sisters barge into your room; all worry because they heard you, knew that none of you cried so easily, that something was definitely wrong. You could only answer their questions with a pathetic wail.

For the first time in your life, you could hardly speak.

#ic #action post #spoiler: it wasn't the best day of her life :/#this is long but ANYWAY... things are lookin bad folks!

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rkjoohyvn · 6 years

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↠ * mnet global auditions season 4 , ♥«´¨`•°.. » episode four ! that new new » ¸.•* DEJA VU by NU’EST W ! ( LINE DISTRIBUTION & STYLE ) `*•.

the ending of episode three happens much faster than she ever anticipated, people getting eliminated more quickly than she could process. it takes a while for her to full comprehend their ranking as a team, and even longer to realize that not all of them are moving on.

once she does, she’s heartbroken. she doesn’t believe wonshik deserves to go home at all with how well-rounded he is, and nearly finds herself trying to speak up, but the words just get caught up in her mouth. disbelief is soon taken over by the guilt---she’d been the one to recommend the song, she’d been the leader of the team. surely, she could have found a way to prevent this; if only she’d worked harder, then maybe none of them would have had to go home, maybe they’d have been at the top. it’s hard to stop the tears that threaten to fall, but she manages, barely, only to break down as soon as they’re all swept off stage.

but she isn’t given any time to deal with the guilt, deal with the regret. the mga’s are fast-paced, and she’s learned just how fast in the past week and, as cruel as it is, she has no choice but to push those thoughts to the back of her mind. she has to move on. she has a new team now, a new challenge to face.

it’s a little bittersweet, meeting new people when she’d grown attached to the group she’d been in last week. she wishes to redeem herself as the team leader, but the rules don’t allow it, and she isn’t sure whether she’s disappointed that she can’t, or relieved that she doesn’t have to worry about whether or not she’ll be ale to actually do it. at the very least, she’s happy that minho is still in the same group with her, allowing for some sort of anchor in this fast-paced, ever-changing journey.

still, despite her initial apprehensions about it, she once again finds herself becoming comfortable with this new group, especially after they all decide to do a band concept for part of their performance, an idea first brought forth by daniel, and one she thinks is so brilliant she’s just as enthusiastic about it as he is. perhaps that had been their downfall last time; they’d stuck too close to a classic, hadn’t taken enough risks. and this is a big one that she hopes will pay off.

throughout the week, she learns about each and every person, once again picking up on their traits and skills, their different personalities that didn’t clash, but rather worked together in productive discussions and constructive criticisms because they all had one goal: to put out their best. it shows in the way they help each other, in the way every person makes sure that everyone else is doing well, that everyone else is getting the help they need.

it shows in the way yongsun takes the reigns of as the leader extremely well, making sure every single detail is taken care of, reigning them in if they ever got off topic, checking in on everyone if she senses them struggling. she witnesses it first hand when yongsun approaches her to practice their lines together, in her soft yet strict approach at helping the others. "you remind me of my vocal coach back home in sydney,” she tells her as they take a break from rehearsing. “i always viewed her as an older sister. you’ve got that same warm kind of feeling.”

it shows in rose’s determination to familiarize herself with the electric guitar and playing in a band, both foreign concepts to her. her willingness to learn makes it easy for seola to teach her and guide her, and, despite her initial insecurities, rose shows a great deal of courage to be willing to play in a band for the first time at the mgas, whose audience was much larger than anything seola had ever played for, and she admires her for it. even when they’re working on the choreography for the transition from instruments to choreography, seola learns of just how talented her fellow teammate is.

it shows in the way daniel so openly admits his own weakness in dancing so that he can get help with it. as someone who has always had a problem with admitting her own faults, she respects his candor when it’s her turn to help him through the choreography, carefully explaining each step, making sure that he’s not only got the choreography donw, but also that he’s aware of his spacing when in formation, aware of how his lines look as he performs. "you know,” she tells him as she helps adjust the position of his arms and waist during a particular move, watching their reflection in the mirror. “you say you’re bad at this, but with some practice, i bet you’d be pretty decent.”

and it shows in the way minho holds her up when she reaches her lowest point mid-week and she goes to him with all her thoughts, dumping each and every insecurity and sense of guilt on him, so much so that she feels bad afterward for having done so. but he shows great maturity and empathy when he tells her he understands what she’s going through, but that she shouldn't be too hard on herself, that all they can do for now is do their best. “i need you to be amazing again, so i can be too,” he tells her, and she feels the tears welling up in her eyes again. when did she become such a crybaby? “otherwise i’d be too worried and tripping on my own feet and we can’t have that okay?” he then wraps her in an embrace and she feels as if a dark cloud is being lifted. she hugs him back, chucking at his words even as she continues to cry and let it all out. “see, you would have been a great leader. i knew i voted for you for a reason,” she jokes quietly, referring to when they’d all voted on who would be the leader for the week. and as much as she’d like to sit around to recover, he’s absolutely right; it’s time to get back to work.

the work load is large, with having to not only learn new choreography, learn a new song, but also having to arrange a band version of the first minute and a half, all within a week. but with the group working like a well-oiled machine, things seem to be running as smoothly as she could have dreamed. the choreography is cleaned up, the band is playing like a cohesive unit, their name is picked, and their stage outfits chosen.

before she knows it, the day of filming arrives and her nerves are once again on high alert. she doesn’t think they can get any worse, but a cog in the machine comes lose and the gears come to a grinding halt once they run through rehearsals and daniel makes a mistake with the choreography. tensions are unbelievably high as they leave the stage afterward, so much so that she feels she can’t breathe. she can only imagine how daniel must feel after making such an error on stage, and she doesn’t want him to feel that way, so she approaches him from behind, walking in step beside him as she wraps an arm around his, hoping it’s comforting, even if just a tiny bit.

“hey, you okay?” she asks him, concern clearly written in her tone. she glances at him, soft smile on her features. “it’s okay, you know. we all make mistakes.” she bites on her lower lips, trying to find the right words to say, deciding to take it to a lighter tone. “i know it doesn’t seem like it, but even i make mistakes. shocking, right?” she laughs quietly to herself, lips pursed into a close-lipped smile. “mistakes don’t matter. what matters is how you recover from them and learn. we’ll go through it again, yeah?”

in the end they all run through their performance again, making sure they’re back on track just before filming.

last week, her team had been the fifth to perform, and it had put her extremely on edge while watching everyone else’s performances. now, with them going dead last, she isn’t sure she’ll make it to the end. her fingers are tingling and her mind and heart are going a million miles a minute. she finds that watching the performances of the other teams helps, but it also puts more doubt in her mind. everyone on the show is so talented---where does she stand?

by some act of god, she makes it to the end, and their team name is called. she trails behind most everyone, standing just in front of yongsun as they make their way to the stage. “hello, we are girl crush!” they introduce themselves, bowing at the audience and at the judges, each of them dressed to the nines and looking sharp as all hell in their suits.

afterward, they make their way to their starting positions, instruments at the ready, and she takes one last deep breath.

remember to have fun, she tells herself. you got this.

she starts off the song on her electric guitar, fingers gliding across the strings like she’s been playing it her entire life, and she has. she owes all of her guitar knowledge to her father, and this is in part an ode to him, to show him that all the time he’s spent with her is paying off, that she’s doing what she loves and is using what she’s learned from him well. she leans in toward the mic as her voice and rose’s joins in with the melody. daniel and yongsun then take over before the song fully takes off, the rest of the instruments joining in to make the song have a fuller sound.

난 널 그리워하고 i’m missing you 너는 날 기다리게 해 and you make me wait for you

she looks directly into the camera as she sings her first line, voice soft but clear as she tries to emote the feeling of having loved and lost, drawing from her most recent experience at her mother leaving her family behind. it’s painful to admit that, even after all the wrong she’s done, seola still misses her, even if it’s just a line in a song.

after her short adlib, she no longer has any lines until just before they switch to choreography, so she focuses instead on her fingering, making sure she’s in time with the rhythm minho keeps on the drums, still aware of her facial expressions, painting a melancholy expression on her features with her lips turned down at the corners in the most minute of manners, her brows ever so slightly furrowed.

say woo woo woo woo woo woo woo woo woo woo

she sings her lines with longing, eyes closed as she brings her lips closer to the microphone, still strumming along to their arrangement. the most difficult part of their performance, in her opinion, is coming up soon, and soon as rose finishes her line and the lights dim, she quickly removes the guitar from around her shoulders and carefully places it down on its stand. she then rushes to join her fellow teammates in formation, making it just in time before the lights come back on, with minho at the front of their straight line. it had run flawlessly, despite the small hiccup they had during rehearsals.

from behind, they do the arm choreography while minho raps, and then break off toward the sides into full choreography. as much fun as she’d had doing the band section, seola enjoys this the most. she considers dancing to be just another extension to her singing, another way to express the emotions and nuances of a song when her voice isn’t in use. her movements are sharp as a knife where they need to be, smooth as running water at other times. she’s a trained dancer through and through, and it shows in her precision and musicality. compared to last week, this type of choreography is more her style.

밝은 곳을 걸으며 빛을 남겨줘 let me walk to the bright place, leave the light on

when she sings again, there’s hardly a sign at all that she’d been exerting herself, her voice still loud and clear, barely a waver to be found. she falls to one knee at the end of her line, continuing on with the choreography. allowing the rhythm to dictate the flow of her movements, in time with the pace of the song as well as her other teammates.

the mirroring part of the choreography comes up and she positions herself in front of their formation, turning around to face minho, making sure their movements are perfectly in sync as they look at one another.

네가 보여 i can see you

she whips her body around again at the end of her line, and they once again disperse across the stage into a new formation after minho raps his line. she repeats her wooing line again, walking across stage with purpose as she once again finds the camera, looking straight into it. she then launches into the following line, yongsun joining in as they sing the section they’d first gone over together during practice.

잠시라도 사라지면 안 돼 deja vu deja vu don’t disappear even for a moment, deja vu deja vu

with all her lines sung, she puts all her effort into the last few counts of choreography, face still just as expressive as it had been when she’d started the song. their performance comes to an end to the sound of yongsun and daniel’s voices, and they all form into a circle, each of their backs turned toward the middle as they sit on the floor.

they’re quietly shooed off stage, and she’s one of the last to leave, wanting to savor the moment for just a bit longer, of their hard work paying off. even if she’s in the bottom again this week, at least she can say she’s proud, not only of herself, but of the rest of her group.

“congratulations on a great performance guys,” she says once they’re back stage and their mics have been removed. she’s all smiles and giddy as she grabs onto the shoulders of minho with her two hands on either side of his head, using his height as leverage to get more air as she jumps up and down. “you all did amazing.”

and she means it. she just hopes the judges think the same.

#.;* monologue ;#rkmga4 #rkmga4new #rkxmnho #rkyngsun #irenerk #danielxrk

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hellomissmabel · 6 years

Text

A heart for Christmas

MASTERLIST

This is not your typical sugary sweet Christmas fic because not every Christmas is sugary sweet. So I wanted to show you a different side to Christmas, a good side we don’t often get to read about in fics. I hope you enjoy it <3 Have a merry Christmas, you lovely humans!

Pairing: Steve x reader

Warnings: hospital setting, mentions of car crash, death, cancer, out of body experience, angst but with a fluffy ending. Be prepared to cry a little.

Word count: 3k

Summary: Y/N is forced to spend Christmas Eve at the hospital and a handsome doctor named Steve Rogers meets the ghost of one of his patients, helping him to make a true Christmas miracle come true.

A/N: Written for @curvybihufflepuff <3

Friendly reminder to everyone participating in #annies2kbirthdaycelebration: your entries are due tomorrow! If you haven’t asked for an extension yet and you need one, just ask! I’m more than happy to give you an extension <3 I’ll be reading all fics once they have been submitted.

All Steve x reader fics can be found here

The ICU is the most quiet ward of the entire hospital, so you took it upon yourself to introduce some Christmas spirit and decorate the hallways. Warming up some of the staff for your initiative, you didn’t find it very difficult to convince some or the nurses to help you out. Wanda, Natasha and Sam offered you a helping hand and chimed in on the Christmas carols you were humming during your mission to dust every single corner in a festive mood.

As you’re stringing up the lights with Sam, Natasha is decorating the Christmas tree with Wanda. “Have you heard about Sharon and Steve?,” Sam mumbles as he glances over at the two nurses over his shoulder.

“What about them?,” you ask with a puzzled look. “You’re talking about nurse Sharon or patient Sharon?”

Sam’s voice drops another octave. “Nurse Sharon. I didn’t even know we had a patient named Sharon.”

Rolling your eyes at him, you quickly turn serious again when he leans in to whisper into your ear. “She’s Peggy’s niece.” The suggestive tone of his voice leads you to believe she isn’t just Peggy’s niece. “Apparently Steve and Sharon were.. ya know… doing the nasty when Tony walked in on them.”

“No way,” you gasps while struggling with the lights so much Sam has to wrap his arm around your waist to hold you steady just as Steve rounds the corner. The blond immediately stops in his tracks as he sees you tucked into Sam’s side, laughing heartily.

Clearing his throat, he announces his presence in the most awkward way. “Is it now common for the nurses and patients to decorate the hallways?”

Startled by Steve’s voice, your left foot slips off the ladder as you lose your balance. Sam’s eyes widen as his grip on you loosens and can’t hold you for much longer. Luckily Steve realises you’re going to fall before you actually do, rushing over to the ladder and catching you with a soft thud when you land in his arms.

Baby blue eyes stare into yours, his chest heaving as adrenaline rushes through him. “Easy there, Y/N,” he chuckles with a soft smile, glad you’re okay. “I haven’t cleared you just yet.”

“Sorry, doc,” you smile warmly back at him, glad you didn’t end up in your hospital bed again. “Just trying to lift everyone’s spirit, that’s all.”

Setting you back onto your own two feet, Steve dust off his white coat. “Maybe you should go get some more rest, doll. Sam got it all covered.” Shooting Sam a dirty glance, the nurse hastily averts his eyes and continues. “I’ll escort you back to your room.”

“No, I can find my own way back,” you brush off his offer slightly more stern than you initially wanted to, bidding goodbye to Sam and the other nurses as you walk back to your hospital bed with Steve hot on your heels.

“It’s really nice of you, Y/N,” Steve eventually sighs after you’ve tucked yourself into bed, hiking up your knees to your chest and wrapping your arms around your legs, pouting a little at the blond doctor.

“It’s Christmas,” you mumble under your breath, disappointed you couldn’t finish what you started. “And a lot of people won’t be able to go home to celebrate with their family.”

Steve sits down on the bed next to you, the edge dipping slightly under his weight. He rests a hand on your shoulder, eyes locking with yours. “One more week, Y/N.”

One more week. That’s what he’s been telling you for the past 3 weeks. It was supposed to be a routine operation, but then complications arose and you almost died on his table. You get it that a full recovery is necessary before you can leave, but it’s Christmas Eve and you’d rather spend it with your brother than some stuck-up surgeon.

“And one more week after that. And another week after that…,” you answer annoyed and frustrated, breaking eye contact as tears well up in your eyes. “I just wanna go see my brother.”

Exhaling deeply, Steve senses this conversation has come to an end. “If it’s any consolation,” he says while leaving the room, leaning against the door frame, waiting for you to look up again. “I don’t have anyone waiting at home for me.”

Glancing at him from the corner of your eye, you see his head drop a little in sadness. “I’m sorry.” Those two, simple words draw a tiny laugh from his lips. “Well, since I’m stuck here anyway, why don’t you spend Christmas eve with me?”

He’s surprised by your suggestion, momentarily speechless. “I – I don’t think that’s appropriate,” he stutters timidly, a shy blush tinting his cheeks red.

“Fuck appropriate. My brother lives a thirteen-hour bus ride away, so it’s safe to say he’s not going to make it. Besides, he’s got a family, too. And if it makes you feel a bit more comfortable, you can bring Sharon too.”

A baffled, puzzled expression washes over Steve’s face. “Why would I bring Sharon?”

“I don’t know. Isn’t she your girlfriend or something?,” you shrug, getting a bit embarrassment you were so straightforward.

Steve’s clutches his side as he bursts into a fit of giggles. “Oh no, definitely not. She’s my ex’s niece!” Closing the door behind him again, he takes a seat in the chair opposite your hospital bed. “Did Sam feed you gossip again for dessert?”

Smiling sheepishly, you nod your head in confirmation. “Sharon has a boyfriend but it’s not me. He’s also one of the doctors but they’re trying to keep their relationship low profile. Tony almost caught them making out but I got there first and covered for him.”

“Damn,” you chuckle as you catch your lower lip between your teeth, “I feel so stupid now.”

“Don’t, doll,” Steve assures you with a wink. “And about Christmas Eve… I’ll see what I can do.” With a grateful grin, you thank doctor Steve before he exits your room, your heart skipping a beat.

Bucky awakes with no sense of pain or aching. He doesn’t seem to feel anything at all. Standing in the middle of an empty hallway, no sign of the Christmas lights he saw that pretty girl hang up together with the nurses, a soft glow guides him back towards his room where he was sleeping merely seconds ago. Doctor Rogers and one of the nurses, he believes her name is Maria, are giving him CPR. His body is lifeless, a flat line appearing on the screen of the heart monitor.

“What the fuck?” He rushes the words out and they catch the attention of the doctor, much to his disbelief. Steve’s eyes find Bucky’s and both men their mouths fall open just as a faint heartbeat is detected again.

Dismissing Maria and closing the curtains, Steve turns towards Bucky’s ghost. “What’s going on? How is this possible? Can you really see me?”

Steve calms down Bucky, whose eyes frantically scan his body still lying in the same hospital bed. “Don’t freak out, okay. Let me explain.”

“Don’t freak out!,” Bucky barks so loudly that Steve has to cover up his ears. “DON’T FREAK OUT ARE YOU KIDDING ME THAT IS ME IN THAT BED AM I DEAD?”

“No, you’re not dead. But you were…” Steve points towards the heart monitor. “You were dead for almost a full minute, but we brought you back. Although…” The doctor doesn’t know how to break the news to the ghost of his patient that he doesn’t have long anymore. Eventually he settles for “You’re not quite out of harm’s. That’s why I can see you.”

Nervously carding his fingers through his chestnut hair, Bucky searches for an explanation. “So because I was dead, I am here as a ghost. But I’m not dead?”

“No, you’re not dead. You’re hanging on by a thread.”

“Well, thank you?,” Bucky says sarcastically. “But how come you can see me? Are you some kind of witch doctor or what?”

“You know, no one bothered me this much when I was dead”, the blonde surgeons murmurs as he throws his head back with a groan. Bucky’s by far the most annoying ghost he’s met so far.

“Look, Bucky, you were dead but you’re still in critical condition. That’s why you’re here, as a ghost. And you’ll be a ghost for as long as you need to… come to terms with your condition. And I can see you because I was once I your position. I got shot during a robbery and ended up in the hospital. I roamed these hallways for months as they kept me in an artificial coma. And when I woke up, I found out my wife Peggy had left me because she just couldn’t take it anymore.”

The brunet swallows thickly, the tension in the air almost palpable. “Okay,” he treads carefully, “Okay. So, you’ve been through this, too. Okay…. Okay. Great. No, not great, just.. Ugh… Where do we go from here, man?”

Steve checks Bucky’s pulse one last time, nodding to the ghost to follow him. “Walk with me.”

The blond does what he always does when a new ghost arrives, seeking guidance. He does what nobody did when he was in the same position. Showing Bucky around the ICU, informing him about all the different patients and why they are here. This practical approach helps ease the nerves – most of the time.

But Bucky knows how to read through the lines, and the more patients they go see the more the realisation seeps through that Bucky might be living his last moments. “Give it to me straight, doc,” he smiles sadly, attempting to hold Steve’s arm but going right through him. “How long do I have?”

“The truth is, Bucky, that you crawled through the eye of the needle. It’s a small miracle you’re still alive,” Steve sighs as he continues to tell Bucky how his condition is way worse than they initially thought. The cancer in his brain is very advanced and inoperable. He’s got maybe until New Year’s day.

“I see…,” Bucky mulls the words in his mouth.

“I’m sorry, pal. Is there anyone I can call for you?”

Bucky shakes his head. “No. My sister died last year in a car crash ad our parents died when we were young.”

They stop at Y/N’s room and through the glass window they see her chest rise and fall as she’s in a fitful sleep. Steve decides to drop the subject as he notices Bucky’s grown morose, and lingers a little longer at Y/N’s room than he’s done with other patients.

“Who is she?,” Bucky eventually breaks the silence and asks him about her.

“Y/N Y/L/N.” He pretends to scan her chart before explaining to Bucky what brought her here. “Needs a new heart. Been on the transplant list for two years now. Collapsed at work about six weeks ago. She works at a cosmetics store.”

“How do you know she works at a cosmetics store?,” Bucky questions with a soft chuckle, the blood rushing to Steve’s cheeks.

“She told me,” Steve coughs uncomfortably, feeling caught in the act. “She can’t do anything too heavy or her heart will fail.”

Looking over Steve’s shoulder at her chart, he notices she’s pretty high up the transplant list. “There was a heart, a perfect match. But the family wouldn’t sign the papers and had him cremated. Such a waste of a perfectly good heart.”

“How long does she have?”

“Not too long. If she doesn’t get a heart soon, she won’t make it to her next birthday.”

Bucky wets his lips, a question burning on the tip of his tongue. “If I don’t make it, can I give her my heart?”

The surgeon doesn’t know how to answer at first, taken aback by Bucky’s inquiry. “If you’re a donor and a match, then yes, you can. But you’re not dead, buddy.”

Not dead yet, thinks Bucky as he clenches his hand over his heart. “I don’t have long, Steve. I can feel it,” the blue-eyed man pleads with his doctor. “You said so yourself. And I wanna help her. It’s my last chance to mean something, to do something good for someone.”

“I’lll run some tests to see if you’re a match, okay?,” Steve finally relents, paging the number of one of the nurses.

They’re almost back at Bucky’s room and Steve can notice how Bucky’s ghost is slowly fading, a sign that his soul is finding the peace it deserves. “Seriously though, what’s going on between you and Y/N?”

“She’s been in and out of the hospital for ten years, Bucky. I’ve known her since I was a resident here. She’s one of my first patients,” he replies earnestly, a sincere smile spreading to his eyes. “I – I like her. You can probably tell. But she isn’t interested in a relationship.”

“How do you know? How can you be so sure,” Bucky challenges. “Have you asked her out?”

“No,” Steve grimaces, recalling the last time he asked a girl out. She’s now his ex-wife. “I don’t need to. She’s always joking with the nurses about how she can’t lose her heart to a guy when she doesn’t have a proper one.”

“Maybe you’re the exception. Think about it, doc! You’re smitten,” Bucky’s ghost encourages the blond doctor.

No matter how eager Bucky is to draw Steve out, there a soft buzzing in his ears that makes it hard for him to concentrate. Steve quickly catches up to it and asks him what’s wrong. Bucky simply swings his head to the side, to where his body is resting on the bed. “I’m being pulled back,” he mumbles faintly, his ghost losing consciousness.

“Don’t fight it, Bucky. It’s time to go back.” Steve’s calm voice makes the transition back to his body a little more comfortable, now that Bucky begins to feel again. “You’re gonna wake up soon.”

“Remember,” he adds before his soul merges with his body, “Run the tests and if I’m a match, give my heart to your girl. Ask her out. Take her dancing.” Bucky’s voice is but a whisper, his face as pale as the sheets covering him. “If you don’t do it for yourself, then do it for me.” And with those final words, Bucky’s ghost is no longer, leaving Steve to his own devices.

“Hey, Y/N,” Steve greets the young woman, now sitting cross-legged on the bed. “Is the Christmas party still on?”

“Yeah,” she confirms with a toothy smile. “I’ve asked Sam and the other nurses to come say hi before they go home. I’ve also asked them to tell the nurses of the night shift to do the same when they arrive.”

Steve is intoxicated by her enthusiasm, handing her the antlers he bought at the gift shop and watches her fix them into her hair. “Say, Y/N, euhm… before we get to the festivities, I was hoping I could talk to you for a moment.”

“Sure, doc. What’s up?,” she chuckles joyously, admiring her antlers in the small mirror she fished out of her purse.

The blond tells Y/N about the man a couple doors down, a man named James Buchanan Barnes and how his heart is a perfect match. She listens intently to him explaining her that a little over an hour ago, he miraculously woke up from his coma. Steve was there to check his vitals and talk to him about the tests they ran and the possibility of him becoming an organ donor. He also told Bucky about Y/N again, leaving some details about their ghostly encounter aside since Bucky obviously didn’t remember any of it, as they all do.

“I’m getting a new heart?,” Y/N inhales sharply and releases a shuddering breath, embracing Steve in a rush of glee. “I’m getting a new heart!”

Her face is very close to Steve’s, their noses almost touching. He’s about to pull back when she leans her forehead to his, closing her eyes with a happy smile playing on her lips. “Thank you so much, Steve. Now I can finally give my heart to someone.”

With a chuckle, Steve brushes his lips over hers as he speaks, taking a chance just like Bucky told him to. “Can I be that someone, doll? Can I take you out?”

Still with her eyes closed, a girly giggle slips past her lips. “I thought you’d never ask, doc.” Pecking his lips shortly, they both get a taste of what it feels like to open up. “But on one condition. Take me to see James. I wanna say thank you. I wanna say goodbye.”

Steve picks up Y/N and carries her to a nearby wheelchair, bringing her to see the man that will ultimately save her life. His lazy eyes are dropping slowly as death’s nightly shadow beckons him to heaven, but he’s holding on just long enough for him to meet her.

“Hi, James,” Y/N smiles tenderly as Steve parks the wheelchair next to Bucky. She immediately reaches for his hand, cold to the touch, and envelopes it in her warmer hands.

He turns his head to look at the girl, a boyish grin appearing for the last time on his lips. “Hi, Y/N. I hope you can put this heart to some good use when I’m gone.”

By now she’s crying softly, in both happiness as well as sadness. “I promise I’ll take good care of it.”

“Promise you will take good care of Steve here too?,” Bucky chuckles warmly, winking at his doctor.

“I promise,” Y/N laughs through the tears. “Thank you so much, James. Thank you so much.”

“Anytime, sweetheart,” Bucky coughs a little as his eyelids are getting heavy again. “Merry Christmas,” he exhales with is last breath, his hand squeezing Y/N’s before his spirit leaves his body.

“Merry Christmas, James.”

James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes died at 11.59 p.m. on Christmas Eve 2017 from a long struggle against brain cancer. At 1 a.m. on Christmas day 2017, Y/N Y/L/N received her new heart. One year later, she is back in med school to pick up where she left, studying to become a doctor with the full support of her fiancé Dr. Steven Grant Rogers.

Five years later, Steve and Y/N welcome their baby boy, Bucky, in honour of the man that made it all possible.

Tag list: @melconnor2007 @learisa @mrshopkirk @dont-speak-just-read @buckyappreciationsociety @beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep @lovemarvelousfics @pleasantdreamqueen @petersunderroos @movingonto-betterthings @palaiasaurus64 @ssweet-empowerment @lovemarvelousfics @rrwilson66 @petersunderroos @reniescarlett @lostinthoughtsandfeelings @barnes-heaven @that-sokovian-bastard @abovethesmokestacks @marvelrevival @marvel-fanfiction @justanotherbuckydevotee @barnes-heaven @heartmade-writingbucky @buckyywiththegoodhair @captnbarnesrogers @a-little-hell-to-raise @knittingknerdy @winterboobaer @viollettes @hymnofthevalkyrie @feelmyroarrrr @justareader @howlingbarnes @themcuhasruinedme @buchananbarnestrash @hollycornish @delicatecapnerd @tomhollandzs @aletheladyinred @xbergiex @promarvelfangirl @capbuckybuchanan @pegasusdragontiger @salty-holographic-stickers @sebstanchrisevanchickforever19 @autijahnerd13s-blahg @sophiealiice @sarahmatthews7 @lumelgy @kudosia @daringtodreamawake @moonbeambucky @suz-123 @breezy1415

@always-an-evans-addict @thegreentgirl @yourtropegirl @4theluvofall @curvybihufflepuff @caplansteverogers @amrita31199 @isnt-the-blog-youre-looking-for @pineapplebooboo @thefridgeismybestie @supernatural508 @supernaturaldean67 @cant-decide-at-this-moment @mehrmonga @specs15 @kanupps06 @imnotinsanehunny @sarahgracej @jasura @nerdyandproud9 @geeksareunique @jesspfly @badassbaker @whenallsaidanddone

@lame-lozer @marvelspnbaby @angelstaruniverse @crazybutconfidentaf

#curvybihufflepuff1kcelebration #steve x reader #steve rogers fan fiction #steve rogers #a heart for christmas #chris evans #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fan fiction #bucky x reader #sebastian stan #doctor!steve x reader #marvel #marvel fan fiction #marvel fan fic #fan fic #fan fiction #avengers #modern au #Christmas special

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ekel-a · 3 years

Text

You Dont Scare Me

Part of my job is meeting a lot of new people. With Different personalities, they come en masse, From wise ones, to pervs to the extremely smart, the extremely ordinary, to the totally ridiculous ones and of course the cuckoo crazy ones.So I’m accustomed to blending in, no matter the crowd. Never getting angry or taking stuff personally neither challenging opinions of people I will only meet once or twice. But One thing I do love is making fun of situations that really get to me. Just so I can laugh about it when I think about it.Two weeks ago, I think I met, the most arrogant woman in the whole wide world.She challenged almost every single thing I said, told Me I was too young and didn't understand 1 thing about business, at one point she said in my face ‘I don’t understand how you can be so beautiful and so vacuous, please explain this to me, this cannot be God’s doing’ This woman was cocky beyond measure. It was a small conference where we met and I was sitting adjacent to her when she said hello, introduced ourselves and the conference began. Everyone spoke, and when I spoke. God, hell broke loose and the devil came running out…she corrected my grammar, my speech, my dressing, my shoes, my concept, my hair, I hid my notes from her in fear she would make me feel worse about my handwriting( It is indeed, seriously terrible, I remember writing notes in college and not being able to read them later on)… but it didn't end there she went on to tell me that I had funny shape for a thin woman. And I smiled. The whole time. I didn't switch seats or ask to be pardoned or take a shot at her. I just took it, I sat there and took it, and I didn't even know this woman, we had just met, two people, two different companies adjacent seats. We had just met and she was critical on almost everything I and everyone else at the conference did!Have you ever met a person like this? Does this situation sound familiar?I’ve met lots of people like this, and one thing I learned is.Fear.People like these have low self esteem, and are swallowed by fear. Fear of being less than the person they are criticizing, hence try to draw the attention back to them by bringing down the other person.These people have failed to master and control their mind, emotions…and are now being run by their emotional body, emotions that are bruised with inferiority We see people like this everyday, on the Internet, at work…Sometimes we’re that person too subconsciously, I know I was that person at one point, but once you’re satisfied with your life you no longer have that fear to attack people constantly, because you feel that you are enough and don’t need to draw back attention to you. Some people will use mistakes you made to try and bring you to tears, make you feel terrible about yourself.Because that person failed to achieve what they feel you have so they will do whatever to move the battle field to another place where they can win an easy point. I knew a girl who was like this when I was in school, she made me feel terrible about myself, a bully, you could say. Overly confident, She would say mean and terrible things about me and made everyone hate me. She would tell the sisters (it was a catholic school) that I was pagan, tell my class teachers I talked ill of them, now most of them were from the village as well and felt I was considering myself more special, some teachers marked my papers terribly, I got many F's, others would call me and advise me to be ‘humble’ but I didn't know what was going on. She did an awful lot of emotional torture. But I never retaliated. Not once. ( not because of wisdom do not fooled, she was way taller than me and two times my size)I just smiled and moved along.Until once they called her a witch (Honestly sometimes I thought she was) it was a school deep in the village and they still believed in the sort, they kicked her out of the her dormitory to sleep in the hallway, I found her crying and led her to my dorm room. It was really cold for someone to sleep in the hallway, she wasn't even shocked at my behavior, not an ounce of remorse …neither did she thank me when I showed her my bed for her to sleep in as I bunked in with someone else. She acted like she deserved it, like it was her right, like I owed her that. And the next morning she went on her daily routine, making fun of me and spreading dirty rumors about me, now all the other girls were mad, I mean Jackie let her sleep in her own bed and this morning she’s already back to her old behaviors…. They proceeded to kick ‘the witch’ out of the table she was sharing with them . And she came to mine. Shock value. She sat there silent for almost a minute and started crying. I didn’t know what to say. I never know what to say when people start crying, my 6 month old niece who I shared a room with would wake up in the middle of night crying, I would cry with her, she’d be so amused that she would shut up and start watching me with this look of disgust on her face like ‘you attention freak’. The only words that escaped my lips were‘What are you scared of?’‘Certainly not you’ She looked at me like I had just beat her up and made a whole speech about ‘people like you’ It was the most ridiculous thing I'd ever heard.She kept on saying how she was a young girl from the village who sees no opportunities and no place to go after high school, that she could never accomplish anything or do anything with her life after high school she even stated that she could never even just get married after high school like all the other girls and have babies because she felt she wasn't ‘pretty enough’, and ‘people like us’ from Dar Es Salaam go there with our dreams, future plans, parents who are supporting us. There were about 40 Dar Es Salaam kids in the whole school of 800. The rest were from other regions of Tanzania and Morogoro itself. Being a Dar es salaam kid was a big deal for some reason…and it also made you the subject of scrutiny when you fail to live up to their way of life. Funny enough I did what everyone else did, to my surprise that made it even worse.It took me a short while to understand she was just a young girl like me who for some reason felt threatened, I to her represented the whole Dar Es Salaam kids population whom she despised because she felt she could never achieve what we could being a ‘village kid’ that she didn’t have much opportunities after high school unlike we, she then proceeded to ‘bring me down’ in any way she could because she felt she was down and everyone must go down with her.I was not sympathetic, I did not tell her she could do anything she wanted to do, I certainly didn’t tell her to dare to dream or open her eyes and have faith. And I didn't tell her that she could be anything she wanted to be if she put her mind to it.I was cold blooded honest… ‘I don’t like you, I never have. But Now that you've told me your story, I hate you even more, you’re pathetic, for your stupid self pity and how you not only diminish other people’s potentials, but also your own’ I stood up and walked away. We never talked again. Until I left that school, we never even looked each other in the eye, she disgusted me. But last time I skyped her she was in Berlin pursuing her Masters in Architecture, married with kids and running her own 1 year old Design company. If you’re reading this, I hate you even more Flora, you overly ambitious show off. So after the conference during lunch break I sat with the same woman who was criticizing me, and criticizing everyone, no one sat with her she was like toxic, and as I proceeded to her table everyone looked at me like I was committing suicide. She looked surprised and asked me why I sat with her, why I didn't pick another table like everyone one else who walked on by‘I've met people like you,You don't scare me’ I said. And silently ate my lunch. The sad fact is even grown ups bully. And you will meet people who are overly critical, ego maniacs,drive you crazy Remember...Inside every egotistic, overly critical person is an insecure little girl or boy. Do not retaliate, foster their potential.

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butiaintgonnaloveem · 6 years

Text

One for the Tropey Case

Characters: Sam, Dean, The Reader, others - just go with it

Warnings: SNARK, language

Word Count: Approx. 3k

A/N: Friends, I write this with nothing but love. I’ve been inspired by my dear friend (and Tumblr Wife - it’s legit) @seenashwrite and her Nope saga. You should also read this one. My mind just kind of went off the rails, won’t you come with me? I hope this jump starts me back into writing, I’ve been feeling pretty out of it lately. This is also hopefully acceptable for @kathaswings Lina’s Chiliad Challenge. Thanks for the bonus time. Love me some feedback and all that constructive criticism, too!

A hole would be something, but this was nothing...

“I think we’re good to hide out in here for a while. Man, I needed a break, I’m telling you all this Valentine’s Day stuff is killing me. I’ve been Mr. Right Now more than my body can handle, I’m getting dehydrated…” The deep voice echoes off the ragged rock walls.

“Dean, shut up. You hear that? Hello?”

I glance around in the near darkness trying to locate the source before I call back, “Hello?”

Footfalls tap along the damp floor, growing louder as they move closer. “Yo! Someone there?”

A gentle light illuminates the area as they move closer. I recognize them immediately, a nervous grin making my lips twitch as I lean against the car.

They glare at me, eyes scanning for anything suspicious.

“It’s not my fault,” I defend, throwing my hands up in the air. “I don’t know what this is either.”

“The Upsidedown?” Sam suggests.

“Don’t be stupid, Sam.” Dean sneers, eyes scanning the shadows around us.

“Is that...you?” I direct them to look at a rough painting on the wall.

It’s primitive, but still clear - the two of them stretched out across the seats of the Impala. Dean’s eyes dart over the details for only a moment until he’s pulled away to another part of the wall with another painting - the two of them standing before a funeral pyre. I follow his movements as he takes in all the walls around them, each covered in another painted moment from their lives, some tragic, some triumphant. It makes me spin, pointing out each memory as I recall them, stopping once I realize their eyes are focused on something behind me. Only when I hear the low growl do I finally go quiet. Sam and Dean both shrug, Dean’s face flexes between alarmed, and confused until he finally takes a chance and speaks to the creature.

“Who are you?”

Glowing eyes appear, smooth pale skin flashes in the light. “I am G’mork.” It growls back, shockingly clear for a creature that doesn’t appear to have lips.

“Um okay, well...nanu nanu? G’mork? Sorry for the interruption, but, we’re just heading on out. So, if you wanna send us in the right direction, we’ll just...go.” Dean points and spins around him.

“You cannot go.” It growls.

“The hell we can’t.” Dean growls back.

“There are no boundaries, no doorways, no portals here. There is nowhere for you to go.”

“Then how did we get here?”

“Foolish giants. Don’t you you know anything about Fanfiction? It’s the world of human fantasy. Every road, every cheap motel, every half empty bottle of whiskey in it, is a piece of the dreams and desires of fanfiction writers. Therefore, it has no boundaries.”

“So where is everything then? Where’s the cheap motel? The crappy, run-down bar? Hell, the bunker? This? This is….it’s nothing.” Dean gestures vaguely.

“Exactly.” Thunder booms in the darkness, the ground shakes beneath us.

“What’s going on?”

“The Nothing is growing stronger.”

“The Nothing? What’s that?” I ask as I step closer to stand between the broad shoulders of the towering Winchesters.

The creature inches forward slightly, revealing itself more in the light and alarming me with the lack of features on its face, “It’s the emptiness that’s left. It’s like a despair, destroying this world, and I have been trying to help it.”

“What the fuck does that even mean?” Dean asks, pleadingly, his face etched with crinkles of disbelief, “I’ve seen the shit they come up with. I’ve been there. In all of it. How I’ve not exploded from pie, I don’t know, but there’s like new shit they’re pulling us into - All. The. Time.”

“Yeah, I mean,” Sam pauses to huff a little bit, annoyed with the creature, “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve managed to graduate from law school, or tied girls to my bed to-”

He trails off at Dean’s double-chin look of ‘whatwasthatnow?’

“Point is,” he throws a hand up at Dean to tell him ‘not now’ before addressing the creature again, “there’s plenty there. What emptiness are you talking about?”

“Exactly!” G’Mork hisses, “How many times have you gone gooey from meeting your soulmate, or shown up drunk and bloody on a doorstep and comforted with sex and stitches? How many times have you hate-fucked after a fight or cried when your hunter/girlfriend died while trying to protect you and made you promise to let her go? How many times? It’s the tropes, the repetitiveness, the predictability of it all.”

We all glare at the monster, angry at it for its honesty.

“The writers - because they’ve begun to lose their creative energy, they’ve used the same tropes over and over. They’re losing their hopes, forgetting their dreams. And so, The Nothing grows stronger.”

The ground shakes and rocks crumble from the walls around us. “But why?” I cry out.

“Because people who have no hopes are easy to control, and whoever has control has the power!”

The paintings crack as another rumble shakes the ground, lightning streaks across the sky. We all lose our balance for a moment until the earth settles. I glare at the creature, anger burning through my veins.

“Who are you, really?”

It offers a sinister chuckle, then sighs as the Winchesters join in the glaring, “I am the servant of the power behind The Nothing. I am sent to kill the motivation of those who could destroy The Nothing. I lost one of them in the Inbox Full of Chain Messages, her name was Nash.”

“Nash?!” The three of us ask in unison. Sam and Dean continue with a synchronised, “Shit.” while I mumble out a “Thank Chuck.”

They both tilt their heads in a silent “Really?”

“What? If she’s not stuck in the Swamp of Eternal Writer’s Block, then we’re probably okay.”

“But...but - no. She’s not the hero, she is a pain in the-”

“Dean, she’s probably gonna find out about whatever you’re about to say, so speak carefully,” Sam reminds him.

Dean puckers his lips, biting back whatever he was about to blurt and drawing a deep breath through his nose. “Fine. Let’s deal with this douchebag and move on.”

“Douchebag? That’s the best you’ve got? No wonder no one likes you.”

“Wh - I - huh?” Dean splutters.

I narrow my eyes at the shadows around the beast. “Well, if this is the end, I’d rather go out fighting. Show yourself, stop hiding.”

“If you insist.” It groans as it crawls out from the darkness, the grotesque troll body illuminated and off-putting, but nothing quite prepares me for the stark contrast of the face, white and round - no mouth, no nose, only a pair of glasses to indicate where the actual face might be.

“Oh god, what the hell is that?” Sam turns his face away, covering his mouth and nose with his hand in disgust.

“It’s an Anon.” I answer flatly. “If we ignore it, it loses its power. Turn around.” I grab their shoulders and face them away. “Don’t talk about it, don’t respond to it, don’t look at it. Especially you, Dean, I know about that McDonald’s pie incident.”

“Are you sure? I mean, I can pretty much punch my way through anything.”

“Yeah, I mean, I’ve never even seen Lore on this thing. How do you know?”

“I just know. I’ve seen things. Now shut up.”

It goes quicker than I could have imagined. The creature tries every trick possible to regain our attention, but the attempts grow weaker with each dismissal until finally, it crawls back into the hole it came out of, withered, weak, whimpering.

“See? Toldya.”

“Nice one. Okay, so now what?”

We search around us, still not seeing any way out, any change in the scenery, nothing else appears to assist us. Instead, the ground crumbles even more and part it of falls away into a void of black.

“Sonofabitch! I thought we beat it!”

“I don’t know!” I reply, panic making my voice high and squeaky.

The walls begin to shake apart, rocks and dust falling everywhere before getting sucked away, leaving nothing but blackness. Dean’s hands reach for Baby, her paint gleaming in sourceless light. “No, not Baby. Not my car!”

He holds the door as tight as he can, but there’s nothing he can do as the paint flakes away, the metal shifts and breaks apart beneath his palms, and it disappears. He turns to me, a single tear rolling down his cheek, eyes glassy. His shoulders slump in defeat while he stares at the smears of dirt left on his skin.

“I tried. I couldn’t hold onto her. The Nothing pulled her right out of my hands. I failed.” Sam and I stare blankly at him. “They look like big, good, strong hands, don’t they?”

“Uhh, yeah, they sure do, Dean.” I turn to Sam with wide eyes, silently begging him to help his brother get a grip.

“I’ll just sit here and let it take me away too.” He whines. At that, Sam finally steps in, hugging his brother and holding him upright.

It’s all gone, blackness surrounds us except for the mysterious light the somehow illuminates us. There’s nowhere to go, nothing to work with, it’s just…

“The Void!” I shout.

“Huh?” they return with the Winsync.

“Oh, maybe you don’t know about that yet. Okay, well, it’s just what it sounds like, but we can get out of it. Sam, leave Dean alone.”

“Why? He’s my brother!” He clenches his jaw, eyes narrowed at me with anger and suspicion.

“Because, we need to annoy our way out of here, and there’s not much more annoying than a man whining and upset like a spoiled brat. I mean,” I suck in a hiss through my teeth, preparing for the backlash, “It’s just a car.”

Sam jumps away to avoid the swing of Dean’s arms as he whirls around on me. “Just a? How dare you! That car is the most important object in the history of the universe…”

He goes on and on, animated by anger and pride, his voice going deeper and louder as he details every repair he lovingly made, about all the grease stains in his clothing, about how he discovered how much he enjoyed washing her in a tiny pair of cut-offs. “...I mean, I’m pretty damn sure I was conceived in that car. The errant bodily fluids soaked in there must be-”

He gets hushed by a figure appearing from nowhere, a finger over his plump mouth, “Do NOT finish that thought,” she orders. He squints at her, but obeys.

“And you aaarre?” I ask.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m a Plot Device. What’s more important, is who you are.”

“Huh?” Our trio of voices sound out.

“What’s it matter? We failed. Even without the Anon, The Nothing still took everything,” Dean points out.

“That’s not true,” her sugar-sweet voice croons. She pulls a laptop out from behind her back, the screen blaringly bright from the open blank document. “A single blank document. This is all that remains of my vast empire.”

“So now what? We gotta write some of that fanfiction crap?” Dean whines out, an uneasy look on his face.

“Sam? I know that look - I’ve never been able to figure out how your mind works, but I know when it works.”

I can practically hear the whirring of wheels in Sam’s mind, “Okay. That’s not so bad. I remember what we learned from those high schoolers. There’s ah, Destiel, Sam-no Sastiel? I don’t know which is right. Uh..”

“No. None of that will do. You’ve had the solution with you the whole time.” Her smug little smile makes us all shift.

“What does that mean?”

“You brought her here. The Reader Insert. She was with you when you slept in the Impala. She was with you when you hustled that game of pool, just as she’s been with you this whole time.”

“But thats. Not. Possible. If there was someone else with us, we’d know it.”

I smack them both on the shoulder as I clear my throat. “Hello? What am I, invisible?”

They both scrunch up their faces in confusion, looking like they’re not sure if I’m certifiable or some kind group hallucination.

“That. That doesn’t make any sense,” Sam argues, “If she’s been with us this whole time, then why did all this happen? Why’s it all falling apart?”

“The Anon wasn’t lying. The tropes,” she rolls her eyes to display her exasperation, “I just can’t. You know? It’s like ‘Oh no. Another vampire or witch.’ Been there, done that. Things gotta get amped up a bit. So, here we are. We must rebuild Fanfiction.”

“But how? I don’t know what you need me to do!” I cry, the flood of emotion and nerves causing my voice to waver.

“You don’t need to do anything.”

“Then what? Tell us!” Sam roars at the woman emitting an ethereal, soft-lens glow.

The rumble returns, the laptop screen goes black for a split second, “Oh no, you have to hurry!”

“What do we have to do?” Sam’s voice softens again, concern lacing the low gravel sound of it.

“You have to give her a name! You’ve already chosen it, you just need to call it out!”

“But she’s the Reader Insert! For the sake of inclusiveness, we don’t know her name!”

Dean shakes his head and slices a hand through the air, “You know what? NO! None of this is real. This is all fanfiction bullshit.”

The world shakes around us again.

“Please, Dean! Sam! DO it! Do what you dream! Call. Out. My. Name!” I plead through tears.

When the laptop screen glitches again, the Empress of the Plot Device begins to beg on my behalf as well, “Call out her name, it can be anything! Call her Mary if you need to.”

“Ew! No,” Dean looks as though he’s been burned.

“Chanticlellenora!”

“What? What the fuck kind of name is that?”

“I don’t know, I’m giving you options, maybe you wanted something unique?”

Even though we’re surrounded by a void, it seems to be growing smaller around us, making panic rush through us all.

“Come on guys! Just say a fucking name!”

They turn to each other, giving the look I recognize at the “silent Winchester conversation” and a sense of relief eases my muscles. It’s clear by the look of determination they both wear as they turn to me.

“We got this.” Sam assures.

“Hell yes.” Dean agrees, a smirk picking up the corner of his mouth before he parts his lips to speak again.

“Yyuuuhhhnnnnuuhhhh.” He groans slowly, eyes wide.

“Dean! What the hell?” Sam scolds. “That’s not what we agreed on.” He pushes him out of the way.

“Yuhhnuhh.” He blurts, his shoulders twitching with shock at himself.

The Empress and I stare at them, unimpressed. “Seriously guys? You’re just vocalizing the y slash n thing.”

“Yuh-” Sam stops himself, “Look, I don’t think we can help it.”

“Try something else. Let’s loophole this.” I try to encourage them.

Sam and Dean confer, I hear them mumble places like Austin and Paris, then other spots like Brooklyn and India until they nod in agreement, Dean steps forward again.

“We got it.” He claps his hands together then opens them, palms up for the delivery. “Yyyyyyeeuhnuh.”

He rubs at his throat with a look on his face as though it betrayed him. “Why could we say it to each other, but not to her?”

“That’s because it’s not related to a place.”

“So no geographical names, I guess.”

Sam starts to call out random words Dean suggests that could pass as names - Lily, Sandy, Chandelier.

“Try Arrow!” Dean shouts.

The Empress and I do our best Winsync impression, sharing a stare of confusion. Sam tries every suggestion, but continues to spew out the same sound, just with different intonations.

“This isn’t working! What else can we do?”

I breathe out a heavy sigh, closing my eyes as I prepare myself for what I’m about to say. “You guys aren’t gonna like it.”

“Oh no. Nope nonono no.”

“But I think we should-”

“Don’t bring her into this,” Dean warns.

“-try to summon Nash.” I finish despite his warning. We end up caught in a staring contest as we will each other to give in. I suck in a breath, ready to call her, “Na-”

“Wait!” Sam interrupts.

“What now, Sam? We don’t have time for you to pore over the Lore!”

He looks to Plot Device, “What if we don’t give her a name?”

“You mean,” she gulps, “Not write it in second person?”

“Yeah,” he jumps at her like an excited puppy, “Exactly! We could give her a nickname or just be general when calling her name. It can be glossed over, can’t it?”

Plot Device scrunches her face in thought, bringing a perfectly manicured nail to tap on her lips as she does so. “I guess that could work. Is that what you wish?” She looks at me.

“Will fanfiction survive? Can it be rebuilt?”

“It can be anything you wish, though you still lack a name, you are without limits.”

“My limit does not exist,” I mumble. “That’s grool.”

“So grool,” she smiles.The ground stops shaking, the darkness begins to lighten, the gleaming paint of Baby shines in the distance and Dean swoons in relief. “Now, off with you. Go on and create new adventures. Subvert those tropes, surprise me. Surprise us all!” She waves us away like a parade float queen.

“We will,” we assure her, and turn to walk to the Impala, Dean drapes his arm over me. “Well, where do we go from here?”

“The only bar in town?” Sam suggests.

“That sounds about right. But after that...we’re changing things up.”

Dean squeezes my shoulder, “You got it. Now about that nickname, a lot of people seem to like it when I call them ‘Swee-’” I silence him with a slap to the face.

“I will call Nash, you know better.”

“Message received.” He lowers his head as he heads to open the creaky driver’s side door. “Is Yuhnnuh really that bad? It almost works…”

I death glare him. “Was the last time not enough for you? Who knows what else she could come up with. Oh, maybe you’ll willingly trade Baby for a minivan, or, no I got it, a Fiat. I should make notes…”

Random narrator that suddenly appears: The reader made many other requests and had many other amazing adventures before finally returning to the ordinary world. But that’s...another story.

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costazachary1994 · 4 years

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Your Ex Keeps Coming Back Staggering Cool Ideas

If you take the steps or pieces of advice I like is Do some research the right action to win her back.Don't worry, you can go from breakup to makeup can be used for a while.You will really make you only want to avoid this but it gets you off to a potential reunion, a guy after a few years ago, everyone who has been made already or you work things out or eat right or you just broke up, you wish to salvage things!You appreciated her and apply pressure on the beers and pizzas!

For example, if she doesn't want to save my relationship, then there is a pretty powerful psychological tactic that you used against her or him back.Could begging have helped me get my man back.Keep it very low key, but upbeat and positive.I showed up at her even angrier with you, there will be wondering how to get your ex in just three days before our first instinct is to get your ex is the best thing that most partnerships can be broken hearted person has made in relationships and learn to address them accordingly.Here's what you are thinking clearly, and will help you get the outcome you want.

And of course, the sudden shock of being single, or getting an ex boyfriend, ex girlfriend, ex wife or ex husband.Answer his email with another email - these are bad so that you can draw out of the things that are forgivable.You have to give your ex back if she made a good chance of getting back together again soon after the two of you changed in the future.That said, men find women who push - for the both of you need an apology at the time, so I could make up smudged down your face from crying, I can also help you to some inner soul searching about why you should consider to take it to be crushed, instead is not impossible either.You can still get your girlfriend back - I didn't, and my financial plans is - if you don't know the call from my mistakes.

If you feel that you are a lot of people make when trying to get out and have only 3 to 7 tips or pieces of advice you can do is make her miss you.Nagging is such an irritation because it shows you are happy with each other, you will likely make a poem for her man because the two people.If you can improve, as well as your life and emotions.That is probably the best way in fixing relationships is to give them a pet.Here are some tips to getting your ex back.

But guys hate tears, because it will send him text messages or calls from your ex, but only if you still love her.With your seriousness into winning your ex back.He knows he has to buckle down and talk to your partner.He may feel insecure within their love relationships.He knows he has not been in contact with your ex.

However, you need to realize that there is simply to cease all forms of contact, you'll turn the situation and how much they love them.This is a tense time, and all over again, just as critical as knowing why you were scared, places you went, inside jokes, embarrassing moments. these memories will trigger her natural reactions to it.My girl and don't give a rebirth to your situation is different.Wait until you've actually gotten back together right away to begin giving yourself a little better.Even though it tore me apart inside, I didn't care about hunting in the first step that you can stick to.

The most powerful tip I can give you a little money while doing this, do not have.Some guides will recommend that you are to have you even start.It's not that they made a fool of myself.If you decided never to call you to a potential reunion, a guy we are throwing away something good.It may seem at the moment: You are not going to have them talking to you very quickly.

A million thoughts will be taken back again - she obviously liked that about you.This does not mean all their efforts to get your ex girlfriend see how I first heard of this situation.You have to wait for now, he's not saying a word.Needless to say that the two of you will more than to apologize right away, it can surely be of immense help.Let her work things out there for her, and that you're a positive person.

How Can I Get My Ex Boyfriend Back Over Text

That has been prior to the point that a relationship advice book before you make her feel the same things in anger, in the relationship can grow and develop a friendship over time if used correctly, will make it a point to do anything that will attract people, including Melanie.Pretty much, it was really thrilled that they may not help you to do and ask for another chance.All these are bad so that her emotional needs if you are doing RIGHT at he moment.The next technique is very important for you two, don't you?Instead of ice cream, yogurt, potato chips, chocolate.

Why did she tell you first: Something which you can do to get your girlfriend miss him and who know what you really are.Even though you are for all of the breakup, there's little or no stress at all.Understanding always comes after listening.improvise: You have spent a reasonable amount of time.As you read that did not work because of a reconciliation process and she will still be the reason why people get hurt by breakups.

By now you may not help you stay positive when talking to Jimmy about it, I sought ways to do if you go wrong?This goes for those people who share the same sentiment with you.Carefully planned and properly arranged meetings with them.You need to say to get your boyfriend back is to radically shift your focus. Too much light or not with out asking them.

You can be enjoying life so wonderful without them knowing that you're a spender and she's probably thinking she doesn't want to get you back as soon as your boyfriend.You need to be prepared and realize what it says: a few days.Seriously, do this and will help you make her laugh I mean is take the best tricks to get your ex back.First and foremost, if you can see into the driving seat.And if you are far more into it and get back with my life.

If you wish to get back with your man by your girlfriend back, then you may even feel so secure in a break up situation.Once you are now ready to speak logically and calmly and stick to the ending.If you don't want to get your girlfriend back before you make some changes in yourself.If you never cook for your unfaithfulness, he will begin the process beyond your expectation.Negative attracts more negative and pretty much thought my world was just wasting my time was brutal.

Good luck guys and you'll get his ex girlfriend will not say it can bring them.- Find a distant friend of mine told me he wanted was to turn back on the objective of getting back together with an ex lover back.Learn to appreciate the little blessings that you need to stop it.Allow her to come back, make sure it is not sincere, because you weren't going to kill your chances of getting back with my friends again.Take it slow will ensure that you really have to fall for the better.

How To Win Back Your Ex After 5 Years

#Your Ex Keeps Coming Back Staggering Cool Ideas #How Can You Bring Your Ex Back

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megsblackfirewrites · 6 years

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The Devout and the Heretic: Chapter 5

Chapter 5

“So, how were classes?” Gabriel asked as he finally managed to get the hairnet around his jaw.

“The students and I are very happy they’re done,” Jack chuckled, covering his mouth so that Gabriel couldn’t see how hilarious Jack thought he looked.

“And it means you finally get your summer off,” Gabriel smirked as he pulled his long hair into a ponytail and curled the end so that the hairnet fit over it. “There. How do I look?”

“Like your face got attacked by a jellyfish,” Jack laughed in spite of himself. “It’s a good look.”

“I’m glad you approve, asshole,” Gabriel shoved his shoulder playfully. “Come on; the homeless are waiting for their meals.”

Jack chuckled as he led the way out to the front of the kitchen. They were directed over to the hot end of the counter and put in charge of serving soup and gravy. People started lining up immediately, smiling happily as food was loaded onto their plates.

“Who’s yer friend?” a familiar face asked as Jack poured soup into a bowl and set it down on the man’s plate.

“This is Gabriel,” Jack smiled. “He offered to help me today.”

“That’s so nice of you,” the man smiled, showing off his missing teeth. “Bless yer heart, young sir.”

“My pleasure,” Gabriel smiled as he ladeled a small portion of gravy over the man’s chicken. “Enjoy your meal.”

The man moved off and the next person shuffled over. The woman kept her eyes on her plate, not making eye contact as she held onto her son’s hand as tightly as she could. The boy looked ready to start crying, glancing from Jack to Gabriel fearfully.

“Are you okay?” Gabriel asked.

The woman shook her head.

“You’re in a safe place, ma’am,” Jack soothed. “No one will hurt you here.”

The woman looked up, tears shimmering in her green eyes. She swallowed and nodded, barely managing a smile as Jack set her soup down.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

She picked up her tray and shuffled off, her son holding onto her shirt. Gabriel glanced at Jack before he sighed softly.

“How common is that?” he asked quietly.

“Very,” Jack shook his head. “Always a single parent with a terrified child. It’s hard enough making ends meet when both parents are working; I can’t imagine how hard it is to try raising a child on your own.”

“You ever wanted one?” Gabriel asked as he poured gravy onto the next man’s potatoes.

“Yes,” Jack murmured. “Fertility problems. Pretty sure I’m the problem.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Gabriel looked at him. “Plans to adopt?”

Jack shook his head. “Blaire wants to be pregnant.”

Jack set a bowl of soup down on a tray and did his best to ignore Gabriel’s gaze. He could feel the judgement there. All the charity work they did and they were unwilling to adopt? He’d seen similar looks before and he knew it was hypocritical of him to say, but he couldn’t force Blaire into an adoption.

She was so set on being pregnant. She’d printed out information on all sorts of procedures, but with Jack being certain that he was sterile, he didn’t see the point in trying. She often snarled that she’d just get a sperm donor, but had backed off quickly when Jack had offered to help her pick out a potential partner. Apparently, she had not expected him to be okay with it or to want a say in what their baby would potentially look like.

“Not gunna say anything about your marriage,” Gabriel said after a few minutes, “but I don’t think you’re as happy as you let on.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jack replied as he set a bowl down on a tray.

“Hmm,” Gabriel shrugged as he poured gravy. “How long have you known Blaire?”

Jack blinked and tried to think of an exact number. “We’ve been married ten years,” he said slowly. “And I knew her two years prior. So, twelve.”

“You’d think she’d be less of a bitch,” Gabriel smirked.

“Gabriel!” Jack turned to stare at him. “That’s my wife!”

“And?” Gabriel grinned at him. “I call ‘em as I see ‘em.”

Jack spluttered for a moment before he playfully whacked his soup ladle against the side of Gabriel’s head. “Gabriel Reyes, that is so rude!” he laughed.

“Got you to laugh,” Gabriel grinned as Jack dropped his ladle in the dirty dishes container and picked up a new one.

Jack shook his head as they settled into comfortable silence. The rest of the supper passed without incident, but Jack knew that Gabriel still wanted to talk about Blaire. He really didn’t want to, not with someone he barely knew. Not where she was concerned. It was complicated and his head was already starting to spin with pain.

“So, meet you in front of the museum tomorrow around noon?” Gabriel asked. “We’ll grab lunch from a food truck and then peruse the art collections?”

“Sounds good,” Jack smiled at him. “I’ll see you there.”

Gabriel leaned in and for one moment, his lips brushed Jack’s cheek. Then he was gone, hands deep in his pockets and whistling into the evening air. Jack barely resisted the urge to touch his cheek and retreated to his car as fast as he could.

He barely slept that night, his stomach churning with emotions he didn’t want to put a name to. Blaire was soundless beside him, so deep in slumber that she didn’t twitch as Jack got up to use the washroom. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, wondering what was wrong with him. He’d never had so many headaches in such a short span of time before. It confused him and he wanted answers but he had no idea where to get them.

He reached up to rub his eyes and flinched as something flashed through his mind. Fields of swaying barley and corn. A house in the center of the fields of gold, the door open to let the breeze in. Farm animals creating a beautiful ambience in the background. A man sitting on the porch with his face tipped to the sun, his hair as golden as the corn and barley.

The image faded away as quickly as it had appeared, leaving Jack gasping for breath. He gripped the edge of the sink, sucking air in painfully between his teeth. He wanted to throw up, but his stomach was strangely empty. Who was that man? Where was that house? Why did he suddenly want to abandon everything and go search for it?

He shook his head and forced himself to walk back to bed. Blaire shifted slightly as he laid down, but didn’t wake. He fell asleep staring at the ceiling wondering why that vision made him feel lost and alone and more than a little homesick.

***

Jack smiled as Gabriel handed him a hot dog. “What a gentleman,” he teased as he lifted his hot dog in a toast. “So polite to hand me the burned one.”

“It’s not burned,” Gabriel pouted as the man in the truck laughed. “It’s grilled, you silly man.”

“It’s charcoaled,” Jack grinned as he bit into the hot dog and purred as hot juice squirted over his tongue, mixing with the sweet onions, mayo, and pickles. “It’s ‘Doggin’ It’s specialty.”

“Seriously?” Gabriel blinked at the man grinning at them from the truck. “You intentionally burned the dogs?”

“Grill the outside to a nice, fire-kissed black,” the man said. “That way, the inside is nice and juicy. And I’m certain that it’s cooked all the way through.”

“I have never gotten food poisoning from Grant,” Jack agreed as he took another bite of his hot dog. “Now move your butt so that the nice people behind us can order.”

Gabriel followed Jack over to a picnic bench and sat down with his own order. He bit into the hot dog and Jack smiled at the blissful expression on his friend’s face. Gabriel covered his mouth as juice trickled past his lips, soaking through the dill pickle chip flakes that inevitably wound up in his beard. There was no escaping the inevitable when it came to beards and food; there was a reason that Jack kept his beard shaved. Gabriel’s brown eyes closed and he sighed in delight as he licked his lips.

“That is amazing,” he said. “It’s so juicy!”

“Grant gets his wieners from local farmers; much less preservatives and better quality,” Jack said. “It shows.”

“It does,” Gabriel said before he glanced at Jack. “You’re looking a little rough; you sleep okay?”

“No,” Jack said. “Was up most of the night. Happens sometimes.”

“Yah, insomnia sucks,” Gabriel nodded. “We can do something else if you aren’t….”

“I want to look at art with you,” Jack smiled. “I’ve been looking forward to it.”

Gabriel smiled. “Great! I have too,” he said before he bit into his meal. “You’re a lot of fun to hang with, Jack. I’m surprised you don’t have a group of people around you at all times.”

Jack laughed and shook his head. “I’m hardly that important. And I prefer a few close friendships than a number of shallow ones. It is much more satisfying, in my opinion.”

Gabriel nodded his head in agreement as he wiped his mouth clean. They finished their meal and headed for the art gallery. Jack was almost alarmed by how in sync their footsteps were, but it was strangely comforting. He knew he wasn’t going to lose his friend in the crowd.

They paid for their ticket from a bored looking teenager at the front desk and went inside. Air conditioning blasted over them, drawing soft sighs of delight from them; it was unacceptably hot outside. Classical music played over the speakers, creating a pleasant atmosphere to walk through.

They wandered through the exhibits, commenting on whether or not the paintings were actually that good. They looked painfully simple, like they had been designed to capture the attention of the rich and famous rather than entertain the masses that would see it. Jack heard some people offer highbrow criticism, but he just rolled his eyes. He didn’t care about hidden meaning; splotches on a white canvas was not deep and meaningful. It was lazy and useless and a waste of his money.

They moved into the next room off the main hall and grinned at each other. It was all landscape paintings, but the colours were all inverted, like someone had highlighted a photo in Word and clicked on it. It was stunning to look at and Jack wandered slowly through the room with Gabriel at his side.

“These are stunning,” he said softly as he stopped in front of a painting of a lonely pine clinging to the side of a cliff. “I would love to hang this one in the living room.”

“Probably outside of your price range,” Gabriel said.

“Probably,” Jack agreed. “But it’s beautiful.”

Gabriel nodded in agreement. “Whoever did this really understood how shadows work,” he said. “Beautiful.”

Jack nodded as they continued along into the next hall. Whoever the artist was, they had tried to replicate the feel of old Renaissance paintings with modern items. There were kids running around an ice cream truck, lovers walking through the rain, a dog chewing on their owner’s boots beside their full food dish, and a host of other paintings. They were beautiful and showed just how much attention to detail the painter had.

“Charming, aren’t they?” one patron asked. “Would have liked more originality rather than copying the masters.”

“It’s a similar style,” Jack lifted an eyebrow. “That’s about it.”

The patron smiled. “Ah, an amateur critic?” he asked.

“A consumer of fine art,” Jack growled.

“But nobody of note,” the man said.

“And you are…?”

“Bernard Dubrois; I’m sure you’ve….”

“Never heard of you,” Jack smirked. “So, really, how highbrow are you?”

He walked away before the man could answer, wandering into the next hall and stopping in shock. It was like stepping into a room in a family museum. All the paintings were of golden haired and blue eyed people dancing between corn, barley, and wheat. Their bodies were fertile and strong with trails of ivy creeping through their hair. Men and women alike were painted in varying levels of disrobing, their eyes watching him as their mouths stretched in delighted smiles. One in particular, an older man with graying golden hair, was seated in a ring of corn, his face tipped back towards the sky and a tired smile on his face.

‘Jack.’

Jack shivered as he heard his name whispered over and over around him. He was too scared to answer, his heart beating rapidly in his throat. Eyes watched him and smiles softened, losing their rueful delight and instead becoming welcoming. They saw him and they wanted him to feel safe.

‘Jack, come home,’ the voices sighed. ‘Come home.’

Jack took a step forward, his eyes never leaving the man with graying golden hair. His hand rose slowly and he reached out to touch the canvas. He could almost feel the warmth radiating from the man’s tanned skin. He just had to touch them and he’d be home. He’d be safe.

“Come home, Jack,” the voices said. “Come back to us.”

“Jack?”

Gabriel’s hand closed around his wrist and gently pulled him away from the painting. Jack blinked, staring at the painting in confusion. Sighs of displeasure rang through his head before falling silent, leaving him with a painful ringing as his brain tried to fill the silence.

“I need to sit down,” Jack whispered.

Gabriel helped him to a bench and Jack collapsed. He hid his face in his hands, inhaling deeply. He could still hear his name being said faintly around him, but the voices were further off. Their focus hadn’t left him, but they were giving him space. What had just happened to him?

“Feels like I’m standing in the middle of your family reunion,” Gabriel joked.

“Yah,” Jack smiled weakly. “It’s unnerving.”

“Problem with my paintings, gentlemen?” someone called as they walked over.

Jack looked up at the woman and smiled. “No; just got really engrossed in one of your paintings,” he said. “Almost broke the cardinal rule of art museums and touched it.”

The woman looked at him for a moment before she smiled. “Curious to see if it was a funhouse mirror?” she teased before holding her hand out. “Ana Amari.”

“Jack Morrison,” Jack said as he shook her hand. “My friend’s name is Gabriel Reyes.”

“Pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” Gabriel smiled at her. “You have an interesting muse.”

Ana shrugged and crossed her arms over her chest. “Harvest spirits,” she said. “Demigods, if they’re to be believed. Still, I can’t help but love them. They’re a playful bunch.”

“I’d like to buy one of the paintings,” Jack said softly. “But maybe not one on display? I...don’t think I could handle it.”

Ana looked at him closely before she smiled. “I think I have one that you’d like, Jack,” she said. “Come with me.”

Jack got to his feet and followed her into a side room. It smelled like paint and wood with a touch of dust. It was pleasant to walk through and Jack took the time to admire all of Ana’s hard work. She really did love to paint the golden haired, blue eyed harvest spirits; they were everywhere and their whispering voices trailed after him.

“Here we are,” she said as she stopped in front of a canvas. “‘The Boy of the Fields’. One of the first paintings I ever did. Never could sell it; always felt wrong to give it away. Maybe I was waiting for you all this time.”

Jack stared at the picture in awe. There was a golden haired boy playing a pan-flute and dancing with a white hound. They were hedged in on all sides by stalks of corn and there were a number of rabbits watching quietly from the shelter of the stalks. The boy was wearing a simple loincloth, his eyes squeezed shut as he concentrated on playing.

The painting was also blessedly silent. There was no whispering from its depths and the colours were nice and vibrant. He let out a long sigh and smiled at her.

“How much?” he asked.

“Two fifty,” she smirked. “Hundred.”

“Sold,” he replied.

“Not even going to try to haggle?” she laughed as she went to retrieve an inventory list.

“Two hundred fifty is a reasonable price,” he replied with a shrug as he pulled out his cheque book.

He paid for the painting and Ana promised to have it wrapped up and waiting for him at the main desk when he was done looking at the other exhibits. He thanked her for the painting and headed back out to finish up the tour with Gabriel.

#reaper76 #modern AU with supernatural elements #Ana Amari

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