#& in her grief and under the weight of increased expectations she pushes me away until years later I'm the head cook

[h-i-raeth]

Born to be the head cook in a minor noble's household in a medieval-lite fantasy setting, forced to live in a world with phone calls and paperwork instead.

#I have concocted an elaborate fantasy where I had an ill-fated teenage romance with the current lady of the house #when I was an apprentice/ward under the previous head cook & she was the free-spirited & doted upon daughter of the previous lord #who would sneak into the kitchens to steal fruit tarts and cheeses in a manner that was quietly indulged #& who I'd be tasked with bringing meals to when she couldn't be found for dinner and we gradually enchanged conversation #and developed feelings for each other & she always talked about different fantasies for a future together #and I knew that could never happen but she didn't seem to #and then her only brother died in a tragic hunting 'accident' & she is expected to inherit her fathers lands and can no longer be #the doted upon young mistress who will eventually be expected to marry in a distant theoretical way #and instead is betrothed to marry the son of a rich merchant who was one of her brother's companions #& in her grief and under the weight of increased expectations she pushes me away until years later I'm the head cook #and I get a nostalgic pang in my chest when I catch her children sneaking into the kitchens for fruit tarts #and sometimes I bring her missed meals personally rather than sending a scullery maid to deliver them #and we have prolonged eye contact but she's far too busy managing the estate and her absent husband's business affairs #for anything more to come of it until one day she uncovers letters that prove that her husband conspired to kill her brother and marry her #in order to gain access to her lands and station & I'm the only member of the household that has kept on since her father was lord #who she can trust/go to in order to troubleshoot what she should do about this

[succulentsunrise]

Where the Fire Lilies Grow

Content: SFW!

🌧️ + 🌼 = 💖

After this chapter, we are diving into a bit more suspenseful arc of the fic!! 😁

Tag list: @thoughtfullyrainynightmare, @lyranova ❤️

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Chapter 8: Meetings & Missions

"The lesson I have thoroughly learnt, and wish to pass on to others, is to know the enduring happiness that the love of a garden gives."

Gertrude Jekyll

Clouds were slowly creeping up on the bright blue sky, hiding the sun behind their grey veil. Tani narrowed her eyes at them. It looked a little like it might rain eventually, even if the day had seemed sunny until then.

“In any case,” she started, continuing the on-going conversation. “This whole trial-thing has gone crazy.”

Mereoleona kept looking ahead while walking. The wind kept throwing the shorter hairs onto her face.

“I think your friend will be alright,” she commented with a stern look, brushing the hairs aside.

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t tell you to have faith in the system, but the King won’t let innocent people suffer for a devil’s plot.”

Tani sighed resignedly. The week had been a long one. There was news of trials and rumours of punishments, but very little actual information had trickled out. For now, none of the possessed Knights had been trialled. Icree had kept her ears open for anything, but all she could say was that there had been a trial that had been interrupted. As far as she knew, the end result was that one of the squads, Black Bulls, was sent to find more information about the devils. What would happen to everyone else was either up in the air, or not on the table anymore.

“Your friend will be alright,” Mereoleona repeated with a small nod. “The elves are gone and the devil’s dead. The King and the Squad Captains will work it out so that the knights won’t be harmed.”

“Right,” Tani said with slight suspicion in her voice. “Well, let’s leave it at that.”

The two of them had gone out for a walk instead of sitting in the Red Raven this week. The weather had been nice and neither of them had wanted to squander it by sitting in a crowded, sweaty tavern. They had instead flown to a forest Tani had suggested. It resided close to the Azure Deer headquarters, and was filled with beautiful oak trees. The branches of the trees formed a rather closed canopy, filtering only parts of sunlight through. Walking through it had been delightful as long as the sun had brought the occasional warmth. Now that it was disappearing beneath the dark grey clouds, the wind and the shade seemed a little bit too cold for comfort.

“Have you been outside of Clover Kingdom a lot?” Tani asked thoughtfully, trying to steer the topic to something more pleasant.

“I’ve travelled all across the neutral zone,” Mereoleona answered, the sternness staying in her gaze. “Not much to the other nations, though.”

“I assume you’ve been all over Clover too?”

“Not as much as you, most likely. Don’t you go all around on your missions?”

“Well, yes,” Tani said hesitantly, furrowing her eyebrows in confusion. “Haven’t you?”

Mereoleona turned the stern gaze to Tani, the sharp blue eyes considering her for a moment. Then, the gaze softened and Mereoleona grinned.

“You think I joined the squad when I got my grimoire, don’t you?”

Tani looked bewildered, her gaze travelling to the ground and back to Mereoleona in search of answers.

“Did you not?”

“No. The moment I had my grimoire, I headed to the neutral zone.”

“You headed to the neutral zone--?” Tani repeated, half-believing it and half not.

“I’ve never been one to stand in guard and catch petty criminals,” Mereoleona answered. “Most of the day-to-day life of a knight isn’t so glamorous. It’s to walk around streets, make sure nothing gets stolen or no one gets hurt, or if you are lucky, catch some bigger criminals.

“It was never my scene. I want to fight, and I want to fight strong opponents. I want to grow this power that I have. I would have made a terrible knight, and still would.”

Tani’s frown eased up a little, but not completely.

“How come they made you a Captain when you returned, then?” she inquired.

“The Crimson Lion Kings have always been led by a Vermillion. Before I left, everyone expected me to join and eventually become the Captain. I didn’t, so Fuegoleon took the role instead. He cares more about values and honour and things like that in any case - it makes him a better Captain.

“When I came back to check on him, my family saw it natural that I take his place. Leopold is too young to take the reins just yet. It wasn’t hard for me to assume the Captain’s role. The kingdom was in danger and his proud knights were crying over him. They needed a strong leader. Clover Kingdom needed someone to push it to more than just defend itself.”

“What about the vice-captain?”

“Randall?” Mereoleona considered for a moment. “Randall is a good, strong man. He is like my brother - calm, logical. The knights needed more than that. They needed someone who could rouse them from their stupor. They needed someone inspiring. Not to say that he didn’t do his part. He gave me valuable insight into the squad, and well - others helped me with paperwork.”

“What’s the point of even having a vice-captain then?”

“I am certain that Randall is invaluable for my brother. When he is away for shorter tasks, the vice-captain does his duty. This was a different situation - you can see that, can’t you?”

“...”

“I was coming to the Capital anyway, to see with my own eyes that--that it was true. I thought - might as well take these runts that the idiot has collected and take care of them.”

Tani couldn’t help the small, gentle smile that rose to her lips. While the absurd notion of a non-Magic Knight being able to become a Captain due to their family and station irked her greatly, hearing the slight hesitation and hidden grief - or perhaps regret? - made her more soft in her approach.

“What’s with that look?” Mereoleona challenged, seemingly having noticed it.

“Nothing,” Tani said with an innocent look, smiling a little wider.

Mereoleona scoffed, but said no more. The look in her eyes was almost exhausted, in a secret way, hidden under the blaze and boisterousness. Was that a tear on her cheek? Tani frowned in surprise. Then, she felt a drop on her own head. Her gaze travelled from Mereoleona to the canopy above, where between the branches the drooping clouds had blocked out the blue entirely. Not a tear. A dark grey mass had conquered the sunny day, now releasing small droplets of rain with increasing speed.

“It’s starting to rain,” Tani stated the obvious, rising her hand to catch the droplets.

Mereoleona gave the skies a look that spoke of her displeasure with it.

“The branches won’t be enough to protect us from it,” she commented as the rain started falling as rapidly as it had appeared.

“Then run!” Tani shouted with a wide grin, energized by the sudden rain.

She was very glad her plants were inside the glass garden and not outside. She grabbed Mereoleona’s hand, pulling her with, and began running towards the headquarters. It was their only chance of staying somewhat dry, not that the rain cared. No matter how much they tried to outrun it, at some point letting go of each other’s hands and competing with each other, they couldn’t win against water. Tani had some difficulty keeping up with Mereoleona. She was amazing even at sports, though Tani shouldn’t have expected anything else. She was barely keeping up at the point Mereoleona reached the gates of the headquarters, pushing them open and turning to wait for Tani. There was a slightly wild gaze in her eyes - a wild joy, perhaps. Tani laughed breathlessly, her lungs burning and her last steps faltering. It was exhilarating to run so fast.

“No time for stopping yet,” Mereoleona screamed over the aggressive downpour, a wide grin playing on her lips as well.

Tani uttered an incoherent, breathy answer, drowned by the rain and her own laughter. She began to jog towards the doors. She was already soaked, afterall - it couldn’t get much worse. The knights at the gates had paid them little heed, perhaps because they recognized her cloak with the Azure Deer insignia or because they were surprised by a royal paying a visit. The knights at the door, however, stood to full attention as soon as they noticed the very soaked Mereoleona Vermillion. Her normally so curly and puffy hair had been flattened down by the weight of the water gathered in it. Her open, dark red cloak had not protected much of her clothes - just like Tani’s small, light blue cloak had only protected her upper body. Wringing the extra water quickly out of their clothes at the door, the two escaped inside the headquarters.

“Towels, here,” Tani managed to say, pulling Mereoleona to a different direction. “We need to dry up.”

Mereoleona followed her without another word. Tani led her to her own simple room. It had a comfortable bed hugged by three walls, complete with fluffy pillows, hanging plants and a windowsill filled with smaller plants. Above the bed were simple rows of a bookshelf, filled with books, knick knacks and some more plants. Her desk was perhaps the least cluttered, serving as an open area with some papers, her inks, quills and candles. Tani waved Mereoleona towards the chair by the desk, as she herself opened the big closet on the opposite wall. In an instant, she found two large towels - green and grey ones - for them to dry themselves with. Additionally, she placed a set of warm clothes next to Mereoleona. Luckily the two of them didn’t have a large size difference.

“Change into something dry,” Tani requested, pointing at the clothes.

Mereoleona nodded, and Tani turned away to find something for herself. She could hear the sounds of the other changing behind her, and so stayed respectfully turned even after she had found what she was looking for. It was only after the shuffling had ended that she turned to look. The dark, high-waisted trousers and oversized shirt looked rather good on Mereoleona, though not very royal. Tani had chosen herself a sleeveless, dark shirt and harem pants. She changed to them quickly while Mereoleona went to put her clothes to dry elsewhere. By the time that she returned, Tani had sat back down on the bed in her dry clothes, and had started brushing her barely dried, extremely curly hair.

“I’ll get us something warm to drink in a bit,” Tani promised before the other could say anything.

Content, Mereoleona nodded silently once more and sat down.

“Rum, I hope,” she remarked with a wide smile.

“I’ll see if there is any.”

“Anything strong goes.”

Tani laughed off her comment and got up.

“Sit tight, your highness,” she commanded with a mock bow, and left the room.

Tani’s walk to the kitchen area was a mix of joy and exhaustion. Her mind kept wandering to the fluffy, orange hair and the clothes she had lent. Tani’s absentminded smile was glued to her face, regardless of her other squadmates. There was something delightful in this kind of a meet-up. She had to search rather extensively before she could find rum, but luck was on her side. Soon enough the sweet and slightly spicy scent of rum was following her into her room, trailing behind two glasses.

“Here we go,” Tani announced, giving a glass to Mereoleona without further ceremony.

Mereoleona made a pleased smack of her lips.

“You sure know how to treat a girl,” she commented with a twinkle in her eye.

Tani laughed happily. She navigated to sit back on the bed.

“You’ve got a lot of plants,” Mereoleona remarked, her gaze moving around the room.

“There’s more.”

“I know you said you were into botany, but I didn’t expect you to live in a jungle.”

“It’s not a jungle - yet. Look at them, aren’t they beautiful? I can show you the ones in the outer garden after we’ve finished our drinks.”

“I’d rather not go outside again--”

“No, no, it’s not outside. It’s made of glass. Plants get sunlight, you can provide them some shade if you want, it’s great.”

“I see.”

“Here, I’ll introduce you to some of them. The giant plant over there is a big boy monster. That’s almost its name. It’s a Monstera,” Tani began to explain eagerly, while pointing to a corner of her room.

Mereoleona’s gaze followed it to a rather tall plant, probably well over her height, with enormous leaves. They were slightly unusual due to their shape: the leaves were fenestrated, making them look like someone had played with scissors around them.

“Aha,” she said politely, looking at the verdant monstrosity.

“It can’t quite take direct sunlight, so it’s a bit away from the window.”

“I--I see.”

“These are my small trees - bonsais,” Tani continued enthusiastically, moving closer to the windowsill. There were three almost miniature-like trees in square-shaped, low pots.

“This is a juniper, it likes to escape its pot a little. And here - ah - this one’s a ginseng - a little more bulbous, isn’t it? It’s adorable. The last one is a willow, my latest experiment. Quite successful, though a bit more stubborn than the others have been.”

The small bonsai trees looked quite like their larger variants, elegant and beautiful. Mereoleona nodded once more politely, though her gaze didn’t seem to be quite fixed on the plants. Tani smiled widely.

“Here then,” she continued, turning to the shelves. “Say hello to my beautiful begonia - it’s called ‘angelwing’.”

Tani tenderly touched the long, slim leaves of the plant. They were dotted with silvery spots with a red back. The leaves were almost the size of her hands.

“You seem to like plants with big leaves,” Mereoleona commented with raised eyebrows.

“Oh, I like all kinds of plants. Big leaves, small leaves, trees - they all have their own challenges and beauty,” Tani answered happily, her gaze returning to Mereoleona.

She was perhaps at the very back of her mind aware that plants weren’t in Mereoleona’s sphere of interest. It was, however, a rather subconscious thought that didn’t reach her consciousness yet. So, she kept talking about her plants and her worries with growing them, as well as new plants that she was interested in getting. Mereoleona took little part in the conversation, humming and hawing at certain places, and occasionally asking some supplementing questions. Tani wasn’t quite sure if she was really interested or if she was being polite, but to be perfectly honest - she didn’t care. She was too excited to talk about plants to someone who listened. Eventually their glasses were emptied, the tour of the greenhouse was had, and it was time for Mereoleona to leave. She changed back to her own clothes, waved her goodbyes and left a slightly giddy, slightly embarrassed Tani to the headquarters. As soon as she had gone, Tani let out a small satisfied sigh, jumping just a little on her feet out of excitement.

“Hey,” a devilish voice called, and Tani turned to see Icree leaning against the doorframe.

The red-haired knight was wearing the most shit-eating grin she could possibly have, eyebrows wiggling suggestively.

“Did you really make the lioness of the Crimson Lion Kings listen to you ramble about plants for hours?”

“Agh--come on, Icree,” Tani sighed, flustered.

It was going to be a long night if she had to explain this all to Icree. Yet Icree was always good at making people talk…

“Here I just came to tell you that we have a new mission, but there’s something much more important to talk about now,” Icree teased happily, entering Tani’s room without invitation. “I see you and Lady Vermillion are getting closer.”

“We simply met in the forest!”

“You want me to believe it was a coincidence?”

“Perhaps it was arranged.”

“And perhaps it ended with her in your room, talking about plants in your clothes?”

“I don’t control the weather, Icree!” Tani laughed.

“Yes, well, I’m not so sure I believe you now,” Icree commented, faking a suspicious look cheerfully.

“Sure, sure. What’s the mission?”

“There’s a new dungeon that’s appeared inside the Kingdom. The report said it had a little unusual entrance. Apparently looks more like the mouth of a cave than a built structure, but all the signs indicate that it is a dungeon.”

“Sounds interesting. Me, you and Luka?” Tani asked for confirmation.

Icree nodded.

“Yeap, it’ll be us three. Kliodna is paired with Fragil and Eric to patrol some farmlands in the south.”

“Sounds much more boring than what we’re going to be up to.”

“Dungeons are no joke. I don’t think it would be a good idea to have Kliodna enter something so dangerous right now.”

“How dangerous can a trapped, ancient, possibly tomb of some kind be?” Tani joked, crossing her legs and leaning backwards.

“Exactly. Let’s hope we find something important or interesting from there, so it won’t be for nothing,” Icree answered, taking a bit more serious tone. “I wish they didn’t just appear out of nowhere like that. There has to be a pattern to it.”

“Nature is wild like that, you know.”

“Yes, but it makes no sense. These are ancient dungeons built by mages to safeguard their treasures instead of sharing them. Yet they pop up randomly, so that people can access them, but only if they can go past all the traps and such. Are they hidden by magic that wanes with time? Were the previous generations of mages sadistic? Did they think those items were dangerous, and if they did, why are we going after them?”

“So that other nations--”

“No, Tani,” Icree sighed, throwing her hands in the air in a frustrated manner. “We’re not any better than other nations, not necessarily.”

“You used to be more at peace with this before.”

“Your rebelliousness has rubbed off on me, probably.”

Tani laughed shortly, shaking her head. Icree seemed troubled, but surely she trusted the Magic Knights.

“Perhaps we put them into better use than other nations, but we have no guarantee of that,” Icree commented after a brief pause. “It’s not like we maintain relations with them a lot. The only one we’ve had contact with has been the Heart Kingdom.”

“It’s not really a good option to let others take them either, Icree.”

“Some tombs shouldn’t be opened.”

“Did something happen?”

“No,” Icree sighed defeatedly, glancing away. “I’m just worried about the mission, with your shoulder not being fully healed and it being an unusual one.”

“It’s going to be fine,” Tani promised, giving her a soothing smile.

Icree replied to it with her own, though much more worried one. They talked a little more still together, finding the other members of their small group and having some dinner. It would be an early wake-up for them, since the dungeon was quite a while away from their base. Even if they could get through the dungeon quickly, it was likely they’d not make it back during the same day. It was better to pack food for one camping night.

The next day, the three of them - Tani, Luka and Icree - flew to the position of the dungeon, as it had been described to them. It was meant to lie a little further away from a village, in normal, peaceful forest. As Icree had said before, its entrance was supposed to look more like a cavern. The villagers had only noticed it due to the escaping wildlife, and some patrolling knights had recognized it as a dungeon due to the mana it emitted. The first problem presented itself immediately as they were guided into a thick, overgrown forest. That was not how the forest was supposed to be.

“Do you think it was caused by the dungeon?” Icree asked incredulously.

“It could be the magical item,” Luka suggested quietly, looking at the wild bushes and flowers growing in heaps.

“Whatever it is, it is not natural,” Tani concluded.

She was hunched near the plants, inspecting them. Next to her were orange blooms of a flower not native to these parts.

“Wherever the entrance is, we might want to deal with it before this spreads further,” she said quietly. “These plants growing here are all poisonous to the wildlife and possibly to us.”

“Let’s find that entrance then,” Icree sighed.

The three of them looked at the overgrown forest around them. It would be hard to decide where to start the search.

#black clover oc #black clover fanfiction #black clover #Where the Fire Lilies Grow

[fireblaze5555]

A small fic prompted by a post here on Tumblr, full post is on my page with link to Ao3.

Frank taking care of Karen when she falls apart.

Break

It was late when Karen finally closed her laptop and stepped in the shower. She had been buried in her work all day, barely stopping to eat or drink anything besides coffee and that was only because Frank was just as stubborn as she was, not allowing her to proceed without food. He had laid down hours ago, the past few days had been especially rough on him, the men he had been tracking not going down without a fight.

Karen had fussed over the, overall, minimal injuries he received and gave him general hell for not taking better precautions. She had meticulously cleaned his wounds, made sure he ate and refused to let him start anything else for at least another day or so. That had been the day before, this morning he was in good shape and it only took her about fifteen minutes to check his wounds and re-bandage those that needed it. All things he could have done but she smacked his hands away and efficiently took over. 

Once Karen had finished taking care of Frank though, her hands were idle again and that was not acceptable, especially not today. So, she launched into any and every case she could to keep her mind busy, only coming up for air when Frank relentlessly pulled her back to the surface.

However, now the work was done and her eyes kept crossing every time she tried to read another word. Karen hoped her exhaustion would allow her to fall asleep quickly and dreamlessly, at least for a few hours. Then she could tell Frank she slept and she may be spared the sidelong glances he had been giving her all day today. 

The warm water was doing nothing for her knotted muscles so Karen reached for the faucet to increase the temperature, turning the old metal handle quickly. The old handle protested the quick movement, letting out a high squeak and tortured grinding sound that filled her hearing until there was no other sound.

Karen was suddenly back, 12 years ago to the day, strapped upside down to the twisted hunk of metal that had once been the family car, Kevin motionless and bleeding beside her. The acrid smell of smoke and the stale taste of alcohol filled her remaining senses and Karen only just barely got a hand over her mouth before the choked sob escaped her. She wanted to scream, to punch at the tiles of her shower until the oppressive weight in her chest eased up a bit, to have one _fucking _year that she could get through this day without falling apart at the seams. Then again, she was alive to feel this, Kevin wasn’t, so maybe it was fitting that she got to relive this hell year after year. 

She was choking and only vaguely aware that she was now curled over her knees on the shower floor, the water scalding hot against the back of her neck and shoulders. She thought she should turn the temperature down but couldn’t bring herself to move so she absorbed the pain, it was what she deserved anyway.

Frank came awake with a small start, his hand reaching out instinctively to the spot next to him that was cold and empty. He wasn’t surprised that Karen hadn’t come to bed yet, it wasn’t unusual for her to work until ungodly hours so he isn’t sure what it was that woke him up. The sound of the shower trickled into his awareness and he wondered if that was the culprit but then, so quiet he nearly missed it, a whimpering sob filtered through the air.

He was on his feet and to the bathroom door in record time, hesitating for only a second before he pushed it open. The steam that filled the small bathroom was so thick Frank felt like he had walked into a solid wall of humidity, it nearly stole his breath.

“Karen?” His voice was rough from sleep and concern creeped into his tone. Had he misheard something? She hadn’t seemed like herself the past couple of days but he had also been distracted so maybe he was just being paranoid.

However, a choked noise came from behind the curtain and before Frank had a chance to think about it he had ripped it back and his heart fell at what he saw. Karen was curled over herself, forehead pressed to her knees, shaking with the effort to hold in her sobs. Even more alarming was the deep red of her skin everywhere the water touched. Frank dropped down to a knee and reached out on instinct to put a soothing hand on Karen’s back.

“Fuckin’ Christ. ” The water was scorching and he jerked his hand out of the spray. A second later he was turning the handles to cut off the water and the hot water tap let out a scraping protest. Karen gave a pained whimper and covered her ears, a full sob finally escaping her as she curled impossibly more into herself.

“Hey, hey ‘s alright.” Frank climbed into the tub in just his boxer briefs, his legs bracketing Karen as he carefully leaned into her. She was curled so tightly into herself he couldn’t get his hands around her torso so rubbed his hands soothingly up and down her legs, from ankle to knee. “I’ve got you, Karen. C’mon sweetheart, breathe.”

She shuddered in a breath but it came out as another sob. Karen really wanted to pull herself together, she really hated falling apart in front of people but hated doing it in front of Frank more than any other. The man had been through so much, suffered more than any one person should and he shouldn’t have to shoulder her baggage as well. However, every time she tried to control her breathing and reassure him that she was fine, her chest constricted again and her demons ripped her thoughts to shreds.

Frank knew what devastation and grief looked like, he had experienced it enough in his life, so he knew that Karen, his beautiful, strong and resilient Karen, was in the throes of a panic attack. He just didn’t know what had set it off. Gently, he pulled her fingers from her hair where she had knotted them, speaking quiet encouragements and soothing words as he did. Next he wrapped a careful arm around her shoulders and sat back with her until they were both leaned against the back of the tub, Karen between his legs with her face pressed into the side of his neck, Frank with one arm wrapped around her torso while the other pushed the wet hair out of her face.

“Shh, I got you, I got you.” He kept repeating softly as she hiccoughed and shook with the full force of her grief. Frank was beside himself with worry, it was tearing him apart to see her so upset but all he could do was hold her while she rode it out. The hand that had been combing through her hair now rubbed soothingly at her arm while he waited, the contact soothing him as much as it was her.

Eventually Karen’s breathing started to even out and her shaking subsided to small tremors. Frank craned his neck up to locate the oversized towel he knew would be on the rack and stretched his arm out to pull it down and drape it over her, the shivers weren’t from the cold but it would help her feel less exposed and would hopefully prevent her from getting chilled.

Karen felt like someone had used her as a piñata, strung up and beaten until there was nothing left. She felt Frank settle the towel over her and wanted to smile but she couldn’t muster up the energy. His heartbeat was strong in her ear where her head rested against his neck and relaxed her like the hot water couldn’t. They lay like that for a while, neither breaking the silence, and she didn’t think she could love the man more when his hand settled to massage gently at the back of her neck. 

After several minutes, Frank turned his head to where his lips pressed gently to her forehead and carefully asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Karen leaned into the caress but dreaded answering. It was a complicated answer, part of her wanted to get it all out there to see if it would ease the ever present tightness in her chest but the other part wasn’t ready for him to see the ugliness of her soul.

“I’m fine.” She managed to croak out after a moment, closing her eyes on her own cowardice.

She felt more than heard him hum disbelievingly, it rumbled deeply through his chest in a way that was so Frank it made her ache. He wouldn’t press her anymore but she felt like he deserved some sort of answer since she was pretty sure he was at least partially clothed and wet in the tub with her.

Karen opened her mouth to give an explanation but her throat seemed to close up, stealing her words. It took a few more minutes before she cleared her throat and tried again, “It’s the anniversary of Kevin’s death today. It’s been twelve years since I killed my brother.” She hadn’t meant to say that much, her exhaustion allowing the words to tumble out unbidden. Oh well, at least now Frank knew what kind of person she actually was and could decide for himself if she was worth being with, if he could be around someone who killed their own family.

Frank felt Karen tense after she finished speaking. It had been hard for her to say and it was almost as if she expected a physical blow from him. Tightening his hold imperceptibly he placed another small kiss to her forehead.

“Tell me about him?”

Karen’s eyes popped open and she felt tears starting to form in her eyes again. She had expected a demand for explanation, disbelief and disgust, not a gentle request in that calm baritone he reserved only for her.

She fought to get her emotions back under control, only a few tears escaping to slide down her cheek before they cascaded over Frank’s bare chest. When she felt like she could talk without sobbing, she answered with only the slightest tremor in her voice, “He was kind, gentle and terrible at sports. He constantly pestered me about every little annoying thing he could. He still cut the crust off of his sandwich even though he was nearly a senior in high school.” She chuckled a little when Frank huffed a little laugh across her face. Her small laugh turned into a sniffle before she continued, “He always pushed me to be better. Wouldn’t accept my excuses. Kevin never judged me, even when I hit rock bottom, doing and dealing drugs with the lowlife I called a boyfriend.”

Frank stilled for only a second before he continued to rub her arm, nodding slightly in encouragement for her to continue. He felt so solid behind her it kept Karen from feeling like she was in a total freefall like every other time she thought about that night.

“He found the camper we had been staying in and set it on fire, drugs and all. When we got back my boyfriend,” she spit the word out like it was venom on her tongue, “proceeded to beat him with a tire iron. I couldn’t get him to stop so I pulled the gun out of the glove compartment and shot him in the shoulder.” Her breath hitched before she took in another shaky one, “I threw Kevin in the car and drove away but I was still drunk and high. We didn’t get very far before I rolled the car. He didn’t make it.”

She was starting to shake in his arms again and Frank ached with the weight of her grief. He knew Karen had a rocky past but never pushed her on it. He never realized just how much she had been through. He brought his attention back when she started talking again, her voice small and quivering.

“He had come to tell me that he signed me back up for the college I dropped out of to help at the diner. He was there to help me get my life back on track and I killed him. I murdered the only person left in my family that had any faith left in me” The quivering turned into a full, racking sob that had Frank pulling her tighter to his chest. 

“You were a kid Karen. You were put in a hard situation and you did the best you could.” She started shaking her head in between small whimpers but Frank put his hand on her cheek and made her look up at him. Her eyes were the palest blue he had ever seen them, almost as though her tears had washed away all the color and she looked so desolate and lost that it made his own eyes burn. He held her gaze, wiping absently at the tears that streamed over her temple with his thumb, “You made a mistake. That doesn’t make you a murderer, Karen. What happened to your brother is terrible and I’m so sorry that it happened but _you are not a murderer. _You are the best person I know and God knows where I would be without you at this point.”

Karen had quieted as he talked, her tears were silently leaving tracks on her face but those were slowing as well. He still saw doubt in her face, he knew better than anyone, that kind of guilt doesn’t go away so easily but it seemed that he had at least said the right thing this time around. He hoped he could be as much the rock for her as she was for him. 

Leaning in, Frank gave her a sweet lingering kiss before resting his forehead against hers, a gesture that has given them both comfort over their time together. When he drew back, her eyes were clearer and she even managed to give him a watery smile.

She sniffled loudly and pushed off of him slightly, just enough to regard his position. Her voice was still thick with emotion but he could hear the hint of amusement lacing her tone, “How’s your back liking that position?”

He gave her a lopsided grin, “I’ll tell you later once it has caught up with me.” Frank watched her carefully for a moment, “Ready to get some rest?”

She nodded slowly and moved to sit up, Frank assisting her and then pushing off the back of the tub himself. He stood first, ignoring the ache in his knees and took Karen’s hands to help pull her to her feet, wrapping the towel tightly around her shoulders once they were both steady on their feet.

Karen watched Frank as he fussed over her, pulling her hair out from under the towel, smoothing it out of her face, rubbing her arms over the towel to keep her warm, all the while his deep brown eyes furrowed in concern, taking in every detail to ensure he was making her as comfortable as he could. Slowly, she felt part of her tattered soul repairing itself. It was amazing how someone as broken as Frank Castle could make her feel so whole. Someone who had lost so much, giving her everything he had left. Karen stepped further into his space, banding her arms around his waist and gave him a slow kiss that she hoped conveyed everything she didn’t have the strength to say at the moment.

He seemed to understand though, he usually did, and brought his own hands up to card through her hair, holding her so tenderly she could have cried if she had any tears left. Finally, he stepped out of the tub and held her hand while she did the same. Before she could protest, Frank scooped her up and carried her the short distance to the bedroom. Normally she would have fussed at him and told him she could walk on her own but she was so drained all she could do was be grateful and press her forehead into his neck.

Frank tucked her in on his side where the blankets were already pulled back before quickly shucking out of his wet underwear and throwing on a dry pair. He left the room, returning a minute later with a glass of water that he put on the nightstand closest to her and then climbed in behind her, tucking her against him with incredible care, laying little kisses on what skin presented itself to him in the process. 

Karen had been there for Frank in some of the hardest moments of his life, she had been an ear when he needed someone to listen, a childhood anecdote or sarcastic comment when he needed a laugh, and harsh words of truth when he needed a push in the right direction. He hoped he could be all of those things for her. Be the rock that she needed when her foundations were crumbling, just as she had been for him. When he heard a quiet ‘I love you, Frank’ before her exhaustion took her over, he felt his heart swell and thought maybe he had done something right for once.

“I love you too, Karen.”

By the next evening Frank had replaced the old squeaky faucet with a brand new one that didn’t make a sound when turned, the old one in the dumpster outside of her apartment, never to be seen again. 

#frank castle #frank castle x karen page #i love them #karen page #kastle #post tps2 #hurt/comfort

[rakuraiwielder]

the you under that porcelain skin

Under the moonlit sky, it is her sister’s smile that reflects back. Giyushino

For GiyuShino Week. Day 5: Moon

A Kimetsu no Yaiba Fic / No manga spoilers.

Also on A03

Foreword:

this ended up being more of a character study of shinobu halfway through lmao

Shinobu does not remember much of her sister besides the joy and warmth of her smile and laughter the days before her death. It was easier to think of it that way; Kanae was always cheerful, always hiding her despair and sadness away, unwilling to share her burdens to even the most willing of her family.  Too kind, too kind -something she can never be, something she must be now- until it had caused her final moments to be nothing but sorrowful. Yet even then, she had still smiled.

(She thinks she might have envied her about it a long time ago. Forgiveness and kindness had never come easy to her no matter how much she tried. But that too is now a distant memory, fogged and forgotten by tragedy.)

Shinobu imprints that visage of her in her heart now, pushes away the thoughts that Kanae could ever be angry or sad, and soon she forgets about it all; that her sister was anything more than the kindness she was, serene and gentle and fair. Kanae was only human, but just once in the throes of her anguish Shinobu wants to be more than selfish, wants to carry the torch of her sister’s legacy and have her be remembered as nothing less but a gentle soul, sweet and sharp like a rose’s thorns.

If the spirit of Kochou Kanae could continue to bloom, strong and undying like crocuses after snow, then the old Kochou Shinobu need not exist, simmering anger laid smooth under ever-budding weeds and green shoots. The corps would always need a Flower Pillar, and if all she could do is sow the seeds for the garden to grow again, then-

(After her life ends, Shinobu cannot look at Kanao those first few months without feeling guilt and bile rise in her throat. I’m sorry, she thinks, I’m sorry I have failed you-)

Perhaps this was a vice; the way she projects and tries to bury herself under the legacy she thinks she must be. But grief is a fickle thing, and the way it froths and twists at her heart leaves her stubborn enough to think otherwise. It is a naive thought. But still she thinks this, and begins to piece together the semblance of a smile into the image of a bygone time she holds dear.

Time passes; days and months and years. Shinobu takes her place as Pillar and imposes more duties than one can manage on herself. She amasses her poisons and her clinic and her girls, pushes herself further beyond even as the layers of her mask grows. She cannot afford to drop the demure curve of lips she paints for herself, even on the days her bones ache and she has killed so many demons she can’t tell if the emotions bubbling within her are the product of exhaustion or mindless vengeance. 

The day she realises it is Kanao who flourishes under the flowers’ touch the part of her that flares with pride also aches with bittersweet warmth. She had to excuse herself, disappear into the far ends of the gardens to go searching for blissful silence.

(She does not cry, but it is a long time before she can will the hot white throbbing of her chest down and allow herself to face the estate again.)

She must remember, because she is the only one who can. To take that smile and kindness onto her own so that she may preserve the last piece of her sister in this world. She must remember, and that’s why she forgets at all; the painted mask now stuck on her face, haunting whispers going unheard as she continues her days.

(Kanae’s final wish. What was it? She swore she wouldn’t forget. -She hasn’t.-  And yet the edges of her memory and personal impressions had blurred a long time ago.)

Shinobu takes another look down at the water’s surface. Under the moonlit sky, it is her sister’s smile that reflects back.

x

It starts like this; Oyakata-sama pairs her up with the Water Pillar for a mission.

Shinobu has seen him before, a quiet taciturn man who always skirts the edges of their mismatched group when they were required to attend their regular Pillar meetings, much to the ire of most of their company. She has yet to have the chance to chat with him personally, but even she understands that Tomioka Giyuu was a difficult one; distant and silent, refusing to participate in their get-togethers unless forced by their Master.

Just by the way he holds himself, it was no surprise he was not well liked by most of their peers. But she wants to believe in more than first impressions, so as they exit out of the mansion’s enclave carrying the weight of their next objective she twists to look at him, feet planting themselves on either sides of his path. 

He pauses, looking down at her, and she curves her mouth up as she meets his gaze, feels slightly vexed that she had to stretch her head higher to find his eyes.

"Hello." She smiles, smooths her features into politeness. “It seems that we hadn’t had the chance to properly introduce ourselves yet, have we? My name is Kochou Shinobu, the Insect Pillar. I hope we can work well together, Tomioka-san.” 

As expected, he does not answer immediately, lips pressed taut together as his eyes dimmed and shift away. Shinobu waits, waits some more, feels a tic rise to her temple after five minutes when she realises he was probably not going to say anything back.

“Hey..” Her smile hardens, turns chilly. “Did you hear me?”

The Water Pillar, ever reclusive, continues to resist, and Shinobu feels irritation flare through the nerves of every one of her clenching fingers. How rude of him, it was only polite to answer back when someone introduces themselves, holier than thou attitude or not. This was troublesome, she thinks, wonders not for the first time if his deadbeat mannerisms would compromise the mission, wonders again what their Master had been thinking.

She is so caught up by her misgivings she barely hears him, his throaty mumbling a ghost of an echo as the breeze blows his words away. She hums as it dies down, holds her own contradicting expression with unnatural poise.

“Excuse me?”

“--ate. We are going to be late.”

“Ah, so you do speak.” And still not a proper response. In fact, Shinobu was growing more incensed by the minute. 

His brow furrows, but he does not look chagrined or insulted. He didn't look like he emoted much of anything at all. Maybe he was just an airhead; that would certainly explain why. Her finger rises, pokes the side of his haori before she can really take notice of it. Tomioka Giyuu’s eyes widen at that, but before he could open his mouth-

“You are kinda daft, aren’t you? No wonder nobody likes you.” She says, laughs with mock amusement as she finally relents and leaves his space, oblivious to the small twitch of his shoulders. The next time she turns back her smile was gone, the light in her eyes dark. Her partner, for the most part, held the same blank stare as before.

They do not speak for the rest of the mission, all swift and fleet-footed as they travel to their destination under the last visages of a setting sun. It was brisk and methodical; and under the light of the full moon hanging above them the demons fall even easier to their blades.

Later, after they have cleaned up and the sun rises again to burn the last of the demons’ remnants away, Shinobu notes the efficiency they have, thinks back to how each swift cut of his technique never obstructed the way she used hers.

It irks her more when she realises they work well together. 

x

They have good synergy. It is the only reason Shinobu could justify why Oyakata-sama would persist in sending them on longer and longer missions. The more often they return with remarkable success, the more often Oyakata-sama continues to send them for more missions together. And even these have been increasing in frequency lately, what with the recent outbursts of demonic activity on the rise.

She doesn’t quite know how to feel about that. Tomioka Giyuu pushes all her buttons, irks her in ways she doesn’t quite understand. Yet she cannot help but reach out to him every time. It helps that the man was easy to tease; a fault of his own really, with how infuriatingly unresponsive he could be. She cannot know when to stop when he won’t say so.

(But in time this too, she finds she does not come to dislike.)

Perhaps it is because they are similar in ways, wearing masks, burying emotions. She doesn't know what kind of past he must have, doesn’t care to ask -they all have their own secrets and burdens to keep-, but she is sure he has the luxury to choose, be who he wants to see reflected out to the world. It would be enviable, if Shinobu doesn’t find it its own sort of burden.

(And yet she looks at him anyway and thinks You remind me of who I want to be. A truly naive thought.)

Shinobu has been wearing her sister’s face for so long that she has even forgotten parts of herself, yet it is around him that she finds herself thinking it would be alright to drop her composure a little, if only by accident. It is embarrassing, but Giyuu has a knack for making her revert back to her old habits. If not anger, then little spurts of irritation and pettiness from times long past. If not serene calmness, then the small, childish pokes and jabs she would give him, guileless of intention other than it being in the spur of the moment. 

It is odd and just a little pathetic, she thinks when alone, that she would feel more like herself in ages during these moments spent together than anywhere else. Regardless, none of it was ever unkind; she makes sure she never goes too far, whether it seems like he minded or not. It was hard to get a good read on him at times, no matter how disorientingly alike they seemed to be.

It happens slowly, gradually. She doesn’t notice at first. But Giyuu too, loosens after a time, lets fall some of the layers that made the front he keeps himself behind. She feels it in the way he would start to supply answers to her mindless prattling, the way his shoulders would slack minutely when she joins his side during Pillar meetings while everyone else eyed him from far away. The realisation that he feels comfortable around her pleases her more than it should after the initial revelation fades away.

Shinobu wonders when exactly she had started to unironically enjoy his company.

x

They get caught in a rainstorm during the tail end of a mission. It had been a freak accident; the weather clouding over as quickly as it had been clear. Droplets pelt on them, sharp and ice cold as they run down the direction towards the nearest Wisteria house. Shinobu feels the ends of her haori snag with rain, the cloth turning heavy as it plasters uncomfortably over the exposed skin of her neck and wrists. She could barely breathe as it is, water getting into her nose with every breath she takes.

The downpour grows heavier the longer they run, sends mist swirling into the air and turns their surroundings a blurry white. If not for the way Giyuu’s equally soaked haori would periodically slap against hers as they shift closer in formation, she fears she would have lost sight of him under the white torrents long ago. A rather anticlimactic end to an otherwise perfectly smooth mission, but she can find no humour in that thought now.

Just as she thinks the poor visibility has ensured them all but lost, the rain lightens, lets up. Then, fleeting like the touch of a butterfly’s wing, it ends, leaving them soaked to the bone. Beside her, Giyuu comes to a slippery stop to give a cursory glance at their surroundings. Begrudgingly she does the same, feels the soaked layers of her clothes hang heavily over her shoulders as she resists a shiver.

A glance at him shows he was barely faring better, shoes squelching as water drips in erratic rhythm from the ends of his two-piece haori. The ends of his ponytail droop sadly, messy strands of hair wet and tangled as he does a poor man’s attempt at squeezing the water out of it. It brings her no comfort to know the state of her hair was in all likelihood the same.

Shinobu bites back a sigh, turns inward to stare at the ruined state of her clothes as she tries to blink the water from her eyes. They were both waterlogged, looking more or less like a pair of drowned rats. Truly a miserable state of affairs. The butterfly pin on her head was sagging; she almost considers plucking the pin off entirely to pick at her mangled strands when she hears Giyuu sneeze.

The noise breaks the torpid silence, and when she glances back at him there was an almost petulant cross-eyed expression on his face. Was he.. pouting?

It was so unlike him that the sight makes her chuckle. His gaze snaps to her instantly, blurred and squinting as the rain on his lashes falls into his eyes. She almost takes pity when he flinches and a shiver wracks his spine, but the damp, irritated part of her that ached from the chill had all but swallowed the meagre restraints of her self control that longed to poke fun at him.

“My, Tomioka-san,” she drawls, feeling both a little malicious and guilty. “Was that a pout I just saw? Could you be sulking?”

The tired doneness in his eyes find hers when he looks up from his fingers, as though in disbelief. Nevertheless his face remained disappointingly neutral, and Shinobu feels glee as she pushes on with her challenge. It was a bit between them at this point after all; her constant one-sided teasing to prompt a reaction out of him.

“And here I thought you’d be in your element, being the Water Pillar and all.”

He rolls his eyes at that and she resists the urge to snort back, smile growing wider as he continues to remain silent. It was getting harder to keep a straight face when she was halfway through her scheme. He does straighten up though, holds his previously slumped shoulders up properly as he adjusts the damp haori over his arms. The sight was strangely endearing.

“Such a child. Must I praise you for a job well done?” 

His expression finally quirks. Please don’t, his face seems to say, but she merely laughs at his discomfort and feels the culmination of her attacks land with gentle grace, soft like the gentlest breeze.

“You did well, Tomioka-san.”

Shinobu holds his gaze for no longer than she needs to deliver her sincerity, does not allow herself the luxury of seeing his expression before she turns away, dismissive, and makes to trudge down the dirt road. She might have gone a little too strongly on him; best to have him keep his pride, lest he really starts to ignore her on their last leg of the journey home. The clearing skies were making way for sunlight, and a sliver of warmth tinges her fingertips as she raises her hand to grasp the tiny beams--

“Kochou.” Giyuu’s voice, quiet and almost swallowed by the squish of mud under her feet, echoes back. She stops, eyes widening in surprise. Yet she does not turn around, instead angling her head back as she stares at the path before her.

“You.. did well too.” He wavers at the end, unwilling to join her just yet. 

It is enough. For a moment her mouth trembles, and her painted smile splinters apart.

x

Things become much easier after. Shinobu cannot pinpoint when exactly it begins, but Giyuu starts to reciprocate her advances a lot more, responds to her jabs with tolerant gestures of his own. It delights her to no end; she didn’t think she would have so much fun since he became more receptive to her, even if most of the time he’s refuting the mock insults she throws his way. 

He is awkward enough as it is, and when she tells him so, the flicker of offense and subsequent defiance he shows almost sends her into a laughing fit. All the more so when he had attempted to deny yet prove her exact point with every action thereafter during a pit stop at a town’s diner.  

It becomes a constant cycle as they grow closer, more comfortable, even as the battles they wage grow ever perilous. The walls don’t come down completely, but what Giyuu lets her see and conclude within the cracks is enough. She understands, because it's not something she can readily share herself.

Still, that gesture meant more to her than he would ever know.

x

He is waiting for her in the gardens when she returns, arms crossed and gaze distant as he stares over flitting butterflies by edges of the koi pond. Shinobu does not notice him at first, gaze fixed on the full moon in the sky as she wanders the paths leading to the back gates of the mansion, thoughts mulling over the private conversation Oyakata-sama had seen fit to bestow upon her after their initial debrief. The Water Pillar had excused himself without preamble before their leader could even look at him, and she had thought that would be the end of it; they had been given new orders, but it would be days before the messages via crow would come and they would require to meet again. 

He would be long gone before she even took a step out of the wooden terrace; it wouldn’t be the first time his speed at disappearing after their mandatory reports amused her to no end. He has no reason to linger, even more so this late at night. There are things he must want to do, places to head for for whatever business he was inclined to have. 

So it bemuses her more than anything when she ambles forward and absentmindedly tilts her head up to glance at swaying wisteria, only to catch the mellow yellows of his mismatched haori glowing under the reflected moonlight off wisteria and pond. 

“You are still here.” Her words were laced with surprise, murmured out before she could stop herself. He has never stayed back before. The wings of a butterfly blink past her vision, distracts her gaze from taking the sight of him in. 

Giyuu turns to look at her fully, dusky eyes blinking puzzlement as he purses his mouth. Now that she thinks about it, she wonders if he had a home to go back to. But ah, that sort of thinking fast approached touchy territory; Shinobu shakes her head, banishes it away before the train of thought could become part of her business.

“Should I not be?” He says back, tilts his head in a matter she swears has intent but for the life of her she cannot understand. 

It would have ticked her off if she wasn’t actually expecting a verbal response. Instead a snort escapes her mouth, followed by laughter, peals of disbelief hidden behind her hands. Giyuu furrows his brows, nonplussed, but that only serves to make her laugh harder. How strange, that his actions tonight did not line up with the man she thought she had a pretty good grasp on. It must be the long night, for even she finds senseless amusement in struggling to make sense of their circumstances, tiredness creeping onto the edges of her consciousness as the aftermath effects of both battle and travelling begin to kick in.

She does not deign him an answer, instead turning to stare at the moon’s reflection across the water. Its image wavers ever so slightly, rippling harder when a light breeze stirs. There were a lot more butterflies than she realised, purple wingbeats fluttering as they pressed against the closed petals of lotuses and draping wisteria. Like this, shielded beneath the blooming trees and surrounded by only the night’s quiet, it feels very much like a gentle tranquility.

Shinobu closes her eyes and steadies her breathing, thinks she understands why he would look in the distance in such a way. She can hear movement beside her, the soft shuffling of footsteps and fabric as the Water Pillar nears.

“Kochou?”

In the quiet lull she hears him prod, and for a moment her heart stops.

Her eyes snap open as an inexplicable feeling runs down her spine; a sharp jolt of realisation spreading twofold even as she remembers one thing and fails to grasp another. She almost doesn’t want to face him, to feel the fragile bubble formed from words break.

(Ah, she remembers now; it was her genuine smile that Kanae loved.)

“You should have just told me, Tomioka-san. No one can read thoughts you know.”

How odd an expression he has on his face. Shinobu wants to laugh. If she had known him any better she would say he felt embarrassed. He really was a funny sort of person, not that she dislikes it.

“Shall we?” She says, feels the curve of her lips curl into something less bygone and more her. She welcomes it, lets it droop with mirth and exhaustion and something more real.

“Let’s go.”

They leave together, twin pairs of footsteps silent through the bamboo forest.  (Towards the estate. Towards her home.)

Shinobu hesitates only once, glancing back at the water’s edge to catch the moon again. This time, the smile that ripples off the pond is no one else’s but her own. 

x

A/N

i love kochou shinobu and wish her all the happiness in fics and art that canon won’t ever give thanks gotouge-sensei

#giyushino #kochou shinobu #tomioka giyuu #giyushinoweek #kimetsu no yaiba #Property of the Rakurai #writing #yall i love shinobu so much

[theonewiththefanfics]

The One That Got Away (part 11)

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Part 12- END

Pairing: Cassian x Reader; Platonic!Poe x Reader

Warnings: idk any more, read at your own risk

Genre: still angst but fluff is appearing

Word count: 5097

Y/N couldn’t breathe. She was suffocating. The girl tried to claw at her throat, to get the foreign object out, but strong hands gripped at her wrists, pushing them down. Everything was too bright and too loud and too much.    She gasped for air but pain shot through her lungs. What was happening? Where was she? Who were those people? All rang through her head but then one question made her still, only tears and ragged attempts at breathing made her body move. Who was she?    The doctor started to explain something. The tube, the thing that wasn’t allowing her to breathe, was meant to help her do so while she had been in a coma.    “Coma?” she tried to ask, but gurgling sounds escaped once again robbing her of air.    “Don’t talk, not yet. I’ll remove the tube. First, you’ll just have to try and take a breath on your own. Then you’ll try and talk. Okay?”    She could only nod. He had called her that name, the name the girl had heard in that weird place in between life and death. Y/N. Was that her name?    The doctor gripped one end of the tube and started to pull it out of her throat. Instantly her gag reflex tried to switch on, but she pushed all of those down so he could take the plastic out. Y/N had thought she’d be relieved to be able to take a breath of fresh air but found herself unable to do so.    He had brought her up into a sitting position making her cough out mucus and other disgusting things, yet none of that seemed to be helping. It felt like her throat all of her airways and lungs had been tied off with a string, not letting the much-needed oxygen in.

   “Breathe, try and remember how to do so. Inhale through the nose and exhale through the mouth.”    And she tried, but every time she pulled a tiny bit of air in, it got stuck on its way to her lungs. The tightening in her chest kept growing and growing, painful tears sliding down her cheeks until she pulled the air in a bit stronger and it broke the dam.    Air rushed in her body and with a gasp she shuddered as the oxygen found its way through her veins.    “There we go, good girl,” the doctor pulled from the side another tube. This time it had two smaller openings in the middle of it. “It’ll make it easier to breathe,” he reassured the girl as he hooked it behind her ears and placed the two nozzles in her nose.    Pure oxygen entered her body and she closed her eyes, relishing in the feeling of being able to breathe again.    A nurse made her bed into a sitting position and helped Y/N lie down, fluffing up the pillows behind her back to make it a bit more comfortable.    “We’re just going to check on your vitals. We’ll try and keep it as short as possible, you must have a lot of questions.”    A raspy “okay” was her response. “At least I have a voice,” she thought to herself because the number of things she needed clarifying on was insane. She allowed them to take her blood, its pressure and listen to her heartbeat. He checked out her joints and her muscle deterioration, but everything seemed to be normal. The doctors next instruction was just to take it slow for the next couple of days, to do minimal exercise slowly increasing the intensity and she’d be released within a week.    “I can see you have many questions,” he said while removing his gloves, “so hit me.”    “Who am I,” was the first thing that escaped the girl's mouth, “and why can’t I remember anything?”    He sighed sitting down on the edge of her bed. His hand reached for something strapped to the footing of it and pulled back a board with pieces of paper strapped to it, handing it to the girl sitting on the bed.    “Your name is Y/N L/N and you are one of the best commanders the rebellion has ever seen.”    Her eyes widened in shock as she looked up at the doctor.    “I’m a what now?”    “You’re a commander of the Gold squadron, serving under General Leia. That is right now. Before that, you were stationed on Yavin4. There too you had made quite the name for yourself.”    “How-umm- how do you,” she emphasised the last word, “know me?”    “You were a regular back on Yavin and we became good friends,” a sad smile appeared on the man’s lips. “I got you out of trouble more times than I’d like to say. If I hadn’t stitched you up or bandaged you, Mon Mothma would’ve never allowed you to set foot on a ship ever again, let alone with your friends.” He chuckled to that while Y/N scrunched her eyebrows in confusion. Her Y/E/C eyes scanned the first page in front of her. It provided the most basic information- name, age, height, weight, any lasting medical traumas, where she was stationed.    “Where is D’Qar?”    “Umm, it’s- uh- it’s gone.”    “How is it gone?”    “It got blown up. There was a mole in the Resistance, which because of you, there is none,” he cleared his throat. “I don’t have much detail, I’m a doctor, I don’t sit in on the big meetings, but Kylo Ren,” that name sent shivers down her spine. She didn’t know why but hearing it made her angry and fear flood through her veins. “He sent a Dreadnought and blew up the base while you were on a mission. So everyone from that base evacuated and headed for Yavin4, but things happened and now- umm- now we’re on Akiva, another base, which should be safe for the time being.”    It was a lot of information to process, let alone what was written on the next page as she flipped it over. Most of the words didn’t mean anything. Some stuck out like the Force or Force-sensitive. Something in her blood answered as she muttered the words under her breath.    Her eyes landed on two names that sent a weird warm feeling through her, like a friend assuring everything would be fine.    “What is Rogue One? And umm, who is this Cassian Andor? He is listed as the first person to be contacted if I ever got hurt.”    The doctor looked towards the blinds which had been closed by one of the nurses at some point because Y/N was pretty sure they had been pulled up when her eyes shot wide open. And she was almost a hundred percent sure that is where the majority of the light had come in, why her eyes had had such a hard time adapting to the sudden brightness of hospital bulbs.    “Rogue One,” he kept looking at slits as if he could see through, “is a group of people, it’s a team, with probably the most remarkable, brave and smart people in the Resistance. And you were- are- a part of them.”    Again her eyes felt like they would pop out from shock. “I am?”    “Yeah. And Cassian Andor is the captain and he also was your fiancé.”    “I am- was- engaged?”    He could only nod in response. There was pity in his eyes, which sent a sour taste up to her mouth and sort of grief on his face. “I’m probably not the best person to tell you all of this. Listen,” he turned to look the confused girl in the eyes as her mind still tried to wrap around the bombshell of the decade, “there are some people out there that want to see you. Your friends. I’m gonna go and brief them that you are fine and should be okay. Then, if that is all right with you, I’ll allow them to come inside. Not all of them together,” he saw the girl tense up, “but two, three maximum at a time, okay?”    She gulped. Y/n didn’t know what to expect when she saw and met these strangers that supposedly she had known for years or had become incredibly close to they considered her family.    “We’ll start off with the people you’ve most recently met. Maybe that will jog your memory, okay?”    He had a kind face, Y/N noted. The face of a man that can only be seen as selfless and caring. The job of a doctor suited him. She also noted that he was married, a golden band wrapped around his left ring finger. Tiny details like that seemed to be working. She could feel memories pressing against her mind, trying to break out from this invisible jail, so Y/N released a shuddering breath before she nodded once again.    “Okay,” she said in hopes that seeing or hearing voices that were supposed to be familiar would allow her to find out who she was instead of spending the rest of her life as a blank piece of paper.

   The first two, no three, no four people that entered the room through all of the doctor's protests sent a safe feeling through her body. There was a ginormous smile stretched out on the more rugged man’s face, his chocolate brown eyes crinkling at the corners, the deep-set smile lines becoming prominent as he ran a hand through the brown mop of hair, trying to smooth back some curls that didn’t want to stay in their place. A girl with hair that fanned out and framed her face looked incredibly excited as she couldn’t stop bouncing on her feet and her slanted eyes kept looking at her.    There were two other people right next to the pair- a dark-skinned man, who had worry lines etched across his face. He looked very young, still the boyish chubbiness evident in his cheeks, but his stance, the way he carried himself, despite a small smile playing upon his lips, made Y/N see a man, rather than a teenager. And then to the back there kept a girl. Her hair was tied half up and her features were pulled in a reassuring grimace. Somehow looking at the quartet or such a diverse group of people made her want to smile, so she did.    “Hello,” Y/N voice was quiet. The girl expected them to reply, but instead intense cheery beeping from somewhere down by the side of the bed rang through the silence. To her own surprise, she understood what the little orange and white droid was saying.    “Yeah, I feel good BB,” a hand immediately shot to her mouth, the rest of the people’s faces matching her own shock.    “You remember BB-8?” it was the man with the stubble, who asked that, hope evident in his voice as he made himself comfortable on the edge of the bed.    “I- I don’t, it just… came out… is that his name?”    “Yeah,” the grin stretched bigger across his face, “that’s BB-8.”    Y/N looked up at him, questions shining through her eyes. “Are you Cassian?”    “What? No, no, I’m not Cassian, I’m Poe. Poe Dameron.” A warm smile spread across his face, yet Y/N could spot mischief glinting in his eyes. “Your best friend and the best pilot in the whole galaxy.”    She couldn’t help herself as a snort escaped. “The best pilot in the galaxy? Really?”    “Yeah, well since we’ve known each other and when you got appointed as a commander you have been trying to prove me wrong. Without succeeding, might I add.”    “I guess someone has to keep you on your toes, right Flyboy?”    Poe once again grinned, pure happiness on his face. “You called me Flyboy.”    “Yeah, I-umm- I’m sorry, it ju-“    “No, that’s great!” enthusiasm seeped out of the man and Y/N for whatever reason couldn't help herself and smiled at him with the same amount of joy. “You always called me that, a nickname of sorts. Especially when we were racing while on a mission.”    Hope ebbed in her bones. Maybe it wouldn’t be that hard to remember things…

   But boy, was she wrong. Not only did it prove to be hard, it was also incredibly frustrating. While talking with whom she learned to be Poe, BB-8, Finn, Rose and Rey Y/N caught glimpses of her past, but only in brief flashes. She couldn’t place the time or where it happened or what the scene meant. It was like a movie you’ve watched years ago and can only recall bits and pieces, yet it was more than nothing, so Y/N clung to them like a lifeline.    They talked a lot. All of them. Even though she didn’t remember pretty much anything the feeling Y/N got was like she was an old friend or even a family member. But even the good things have to come to an end as she realised how tired she’d become. The Sun had set and starts started to shine through the now open window, even though her eyes could see just a particularly shiny one, the rest were drowned out by the lights of the base and ships coming and going.    The doctor had come in twice to check up on her, also telling her friends that they needed to get going, as he changed a bandage on her injured shoulder, to which the rest had replied with a “yeah, we’ll leave soon”. That had been four hours ago and when the doctor popped his head in once more Y/N started to fear he wouldn’t allow the colourful bunch come back if they didn’t listen to them.    “Go. I ain’t leaving here,” she chuckled as her eyes caught BB-8 rolling out of the room before quickly coming back to say goodbye. Rey, Finn and Rose also gave their farewells and quietly exited.    “Will you be okay?” Poe’s brows were furrowed in concern, but content was spread across his facial features.    “I don’t know,” she replied honestly, “but what I’m sure of is that you will be there to help me through it. All of you.”    He grabbed the girls hand, lightly squeezing it, aware of the tubes and needles stuck into her soft flesh. “That I will. We all will. And trust me when I say this, I will not let you do anything so stupid anytime soon.”    “How can I do anything stupid if you’re taking all of it with you?”    Poe squinted as he overlooked the girl. “Are you sure you have amnesia? Because that is almost the exact same thing you said to me a little bit more than a week and a half ago.”    Y/N only chuckled. “What can I say, I guess my brain even though it doesn’t exactly know anything, can still decipher who is the smart one in the relationship.”    He hung his head, but his shoulders shook with laughter. “Night, Bubbles.”    “Night, Flyboy.”    Poe pressed a soft kiss to the girl's forehead and put a strand of hair behind her ear.    “I’ll be fine,” she whispered and to reassure the man, squeezed his palm, “go, get some sleep.”    “You sure?”    “Yes! Now go before they forbid you from coming at all.”    “Okay, but if you need anything, all you have to do is just call. I’ll drop anything that I’m doing.”    Y/N wanted to say a sarcastic remark, but opted for a small “thank you”.    With a last glance, he smiled at the girl and closed the hospital room’s door. Y/N leaned her head back on the pillow. It had been an eventful day, so she took a deep breath. There was so much information to process, so much detail, but even then, they had been only able to talk about the small stuff, few missions and mostly Y/N just listened to them conversing. She still didn’t know pretty much anything. Only those first small flashes and then couple more had appeared, but the girl couldn’t really decipher anything.    “It can take years to fully regain back memories,” the doc had said in one of the checkups, “but the fact that you are showing signs already and it hasn’t even been full 24h of you being awake is amazing. If the progress continues and hopefully speeds up, by the end of the year you should be back to your old self.”    “A whole year without knowing who I am, let alone other people,” Y/N thought to herself as she closed her eyes preparing to drift off to sleep. She was baffled that she felt this exhausted even though she’d spent almost a two weeks in a coma.    As her senses started to fade and her mind was about to drift off to sleep, Y/N was startled back awake by a person entering the room. She didn’t know him, not that she could remember at least.    “Sorry,” his accented voice rang through the room sending pleasant shivers down her spine. He felt so familiar, like a song she used to love or the content smell of home. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”    “It’s all right. I wasn’t asleep. Not yet.”    She observed the man in the doorway. He was even more rugged than Poe. His beard looked unruly and his hair was messy like he'd been running his hands through it a lot. A white long-sleeved V-neck clung to his chest, showing off his toned abdomen and simple black pants adorned his legs.    His eyes went to a brown leather jacket that had been thrown over one of the chairs. Y/N hadn’t even noticed it before.    “I just came in to take this,” he pointed to the jacket and shuffled towards it, his brown eyes not leaving her. It was like he was looking for something in Y/N’s eyes.    “Are you Cassian?”    “What?”    “Are you Cassian? Cassian Andor?” she repeated the question again.    He cautiously stepped forward and sat down at the very edge of the bed. He was acting like Y/N was a frightened animal. “I am. Do you remember me?” Hope laced his voice.    “No, sorry,” she shook her head and it was as if Y/N could feel her own heart drop watching his face fall. “I just saw your name on my charts. You were put as the first person to contact if something happens to me. And apparently,” she huffed out a breath, “we were engaged…?” it came out more like a question rather than a statement.    “Yeah, we were…”    “Why were?”    “You-umm- you left.”    Her own heart plummeted. Cassian seemed like such an incredible and kind man, Y/N couldn’t help but feel only anger towards the person she used to be. Now the girl didn’t even want to find out about her past.    “But it wasn’t your fault.”    “How can it not be my fault, when I left? Did... did you do something?”    “No, well yes… There were a lot of people and things involved in the circumstances, but the only thing that matters is that you must know, I don’t blame you, I never did, and now that you are safe and awake, that is all I need.”    He moved to take the jacket and pulled it on. She saw Cassian walk towards the door, but her voice stopped him in his tracks.    “Tell me about… me. About us.” Y/N looked at Cassian’s brown eyes, not really able to distinguish the emotions swirling beneath the man’s skin. “Please.”    He looked through the glass door. “You should get some sleep. I’ll come back tom-“    “Please,” she interrupted him. “I don’t think I’d be able to fall asleep anyways.”    His brown eyes looked straight into Y/N’s Y/E/C ones. She didn’t want to say it out loud, afraid of the implications her words could carry, but Cassian made her feel safe and she wasn’t ready to let that go.    “Okay,” he gently shrugged off the jacket and draped it over the chair once again, making himself comfortable in it. He leaned forward resting his elbows on the bed right next to Y/N.    “Where would you like me to start?”    She smiled a bit, trying to encourage the man. A sort of inexplicable thread wove between them and Y/N hoped that by having him tell her about what they had meant to one another, she could understand why her heart started to race and a blush crept on her cheeks just by looking at Cassian.    “From the beginning I guess.”    He chuckled and Y/N could swear it was the most adorable sound in the universe.

   Cassian talked for hours with little interruption from Y/N. His heart pounded in his chest throughout the whole story. Maker, did he hope some of it would jog the girl’s memories and slowly help her build their life back, but if they did, Y/N didn’t show any signs of it.    He had heard from Poe and Rey, that while they had talked Y/N had remembered bits and pieces, but nothing much. They did warn him about that.    When the doctor told him he recommended starting with the people she’d most recently met and didn’t have that much history with, as her mind might be blocking the memories with the most baggage on purpose, Cassian wanted to scratch the man’s eyes out because it would mean the captain would have to go last.    He’d sat behind the door the whole time the rebels under Leia’s command talked with Y/N. At some point, the General after receiving an update on Y/N’s condition had left with her husband and Chewie. She might see Y/N as a daughter, but she still had a Resistance to run, missions to hand out and keep the base safe. With a promise to come back the next morning and words for Cassian to get some rest, though accompanied by a knowing glance, the ex-princess left the hospital.    Bodhi, Baze and Chirrut had all fallen asleep in the chairs at some point and as the sky grew darker Cassian made them get to their quarters and have a good night’s sleep. They had protested, as per usual, but he reassured them that if anything was to happen they’ll be the first people he’d notify.    Bodhi had been the last to leave. He still feared, that if he himself didn’t see Y/N up and awake this would all turn out to be a wicked dream. When he closed his eyes he could still see Y/N’s bloodied up and almost lifeless form, Cassian’s arms tightly clutched around her.    “She’ll be fine. You know how strong she is.”    “And what if she isn’t?” he argued against his captain. “What if she never remembers me or you or any of us again?”    “Then,” Cassian tried to search for words. He couldn’t allow himself to think that way, he couldn’t think that way. Not when happiness was so close he could stretch his hand out and grab it. “Then, if she wants to, we’ll make new memories. We’ll get to know each other once again. Or she’ll start a new life, one without us…” he didn’t want to think that way, but Cassian had to take into account that such possibility existed.    Bodhi had hung his head in defeat. The rebel didn’t want his life to be without Y/N. Not again. Those two years where she had fled, had been horrible. His nightmares, though they had never fully gone away, Y/N had helped to ease him out of the hallucinations. The man was able to distinguish what was real and what was a dream, yet when she left, they came back ten times as hard, so to think that he’d have to go through that again, this time for the rest of his life, completely alone, shook him with fear.    He hung his head in defeat before standing up and exiting the place. That left Cassian alone. Or so he had thought. Jyn rounded the corner, two steaming cups of caf in hand.    “You look horrible,” she commented on Cassian’s disheveled look.    “Thanks. You really do know how to cheer a person up.”    The woman only shrugged her shoulders. “Just stating the facts.”    She glanced around the place, noting they were the only two left. “Has everyone gone home?”    “No,” Cassian shook his head and pointed his chin to Y/N’s room while taking a sip of the bitter beverage, “Poe and his friends are still in there.”    “Didn’t the doctor make them leave like three hours ago?”    “Yeah, but to be fair, if I was in their place, I wouldn’t really care about that either, as long as she herself didn't throw me out. And you know, when Y/N gets tired, Stars, have mercy on the poor soul that tries to disturb her sleep.”    Jyn snorted in agreement, having experienced the wrath of the girl when woken up from a nap.    “Or at least the Y/N we knew had that kind of a reaction,” he grimly added.    The fellow rebel looked over her captain. He really looks bad, but more so than that he looked simply exhausted. She wasn’t sure that combined together he’d had 24h hours of sleep during the week and a half Y/N had spent lying there unconscious.    “She’s strong, she’ll get through it,” Jyn squeezed his shoulder, “but most importantly she’s stubborn and Maker forbid if she lets Kylo Ren win. That day will only come when the universe runs out of stars for her to explore.”    Cassian didn’t quite know what to answer but as he was about to conjure up a reply the doctor once again came to Y/N's room, this time annoyance clearly written across his features as he gave the final warning for the group to get out.    Almost all of them had exited immediately, yet Poe had stayed behind for a couple more minutes. When he emerged he didn’t have that much of good news, but the fact that Y/N had gotten some flashes and the fact that the doctor did believe if she improved her memories would come back and in a year she would be back to her old self made a tiny bit of hope rise in his chest.      Jyn had squeezed his hand and left with Poe. A year of waiting and hoping for someone he loves to regain her memories and hopefully her feelings towards the man. It would be torture, a slow one at that, and even then only if Y/N decided to stay.    The General had granted all of them, including Rogue One six months off of missions. But the thought of having to look at the woman he loved, yet her not actually being there, and having nothing to do for half a year made Cassian want to rip his own hair out.    And even though his heart told him not to leave, he wouldn’t be able to stay still. People had filtered out of the hospital, night shift workers replacing them. When he was sure no one was around, he slowly opened up Y/N’s room to take his jacket and have one last glance before he went to his quarters to try and decide how to get appointed to a mission. Only to his surprise Y/N had shot up in the bed, startled by his entrance.

   So here they were. As he looked to the window, through the slits of the shades he could see rosy pink and orange rays of Sun come through. Cassian didn’t know what to expect. Had she remembered something? Anything?    The girl looked deep in thought. The only thing he could hear was his own blood rushing through his veins in anticipation.    “So yeah,” he tried to clear the growing tension, “that is our story I guess…”    “Do you still love me?”    Cassian was not prepared for that kind of a question, but the answer was immediate. “I never stopped, nor I ever will.”    “Even after everything sh- I- did to you?”    He couldn’t quite understand the emotions swirling inside of the girl. “I don’t blame you. I never did. I just needed an answer and now that I have it… the rest is in your hands.”    “What do you mean?”    He took a deep sight. “I mean that if you want… us… I’ll, of course, wait for you, no matter how long it takes, but if you don’t…” it pained Cassian to say this, but Y/N’s happiness was more important to him than his own, “I won’t stand in your way of creating a new life.”    She looked into his brown eyes. Y/N felt safe with the man here. She didn’t know exactly how to feel, some flashes had come back, but they once again were only a second long and she didn’t really know what to do with them, but as Cassian dropped her gaze, she covered his palm with her own.    “I don’t want you to leave. I don’t know what is going to happen to me, you… to us. I have no clue how much memories I’ll regain if I'll remember anything fully at all, but what I do know, is that you make me feel safe. And I don’t want to lose that, so… if you’re willing to wait, I’d just like to have you around. To help me.”    He smiled at the girl, a breath of relief filling his lungs. “Always.”

Tags (crossed out couldn’t be tagged): @thechandlerbingdance @chunkymonky11 @irreplaceable-spacexual @sweetimagines @redhairedoddity @paulinka97 @nerdy98 @bookishaficionado @gigglesforme @yana-yana-meow @captainpxe @aseasyasdeanspie @thebi-valkyrieofvalhalla

A/N: sorry for the delay, guys. I’ve been really stressed about my grades as I’m not doing as well as I’d like to be and I’ve been a bit bummed about that. But anyways, I hope you enjoy this. There is a bigger possibility that there will not be two more parts, rather one really long one, like longer than this one :D but don’t fret, I’m thinking already about a second installment in the series :)

P.S. any feedback is always appreciated :)

P.S.S. if you wanna be tagged in future works or have any requests drop a message

P.S.S.S. please don’t repost without credit 

#cassian andor imagine #cassian x reader #cassian imagine #cassian andor smut #diego luna #diego luna imagine #poe dameron imagine #poe x reader #poe imagine #oscar isaac #oscar issac imagine #rose #fanfic #first order #finn #start wars fanfiction #jyn erso #jyn #kylo ren #rey #reader insert #kylo ren imagine #adam driver imagine #adam driver #star wars imagines #star wars the force awakens #star wars #the last jedi #star wars the last jedi #star wars rogue one

[powerdragonmoon]

BUZZKILL (Update)

Chapter 2: Sink or Swim

(ao3 link)

He awoke gasping for air, the feeling of drowning sunk into his being and his body gagged in response. His throat constricted as he coughed to clear his airways. Bent over on the ground on all fours, Nathanael blinked, a sickeningly familiar and sweet scent coming off the sticky substance he was currently doused in.

Reaching up, he smeared the honey from his eyes, quickly becoming aware that his hands were gloveless. He was not transformed.

Without even having to look up, he immediately knew where he was. Nearby he could hear the faint sounds of fluttering wings and a great, looming shadow was cast over his sprawled form. Still taking in fast, desperate breaths, he ignored the ominous figure in front of him.

Instead he simply unclipped the brooch on his chest. Pocketing the blue-green pin with care, he stared at the ground, chest heaving. His mind and body ached, and even worse he felt the crawling itch of something creeping within him. He could feel it, lurking in his system, a virus travelling in his bloodstream. Its thrashing wings beat in time with his throbbing heart.

Exhausted and frustrated, there was nothing for him to do but lean forward, resting his head against his forearm on the ground, his hair flopping in wet, matted pieces to his skin. He could feel his stomach churn, but he ignored it, refusing to acknowledge it. To distract himself, he glanced around, the flickering lights in the room making it hard to find what – or who – he was looking for.

A small blue bundle lay beneath him.

Duusu.

The creature blinked her big pink eyes as she looked up at him with a confused frown.

The dot on her forehead bloomed, blushing across the space between her eyes, and Nathanael felt a flash of discomfort and irritation. Her tail slowly unwrapped around her tiny form, fanning out in odd twitchy moments, attempting to rid herself of the honey that had stained her feathers.

The creature blinked her big pink eyes as she looked up at him. As she took in his expression, the dot on her forehead shrank, until it was just her eyes that glowed eerily in the darkness. Still trembling slightly, he could feel her aggravation melting into a forced warmth that she directed outwards, trying to fill the void of the cold, empty room.

He coughed up more honey.

He closed his eyes, trying to ignore the gesture. In the back of his head the shadows flared. He could feel her trying to stop them, a bright light of artificial happiness trying to illumine the corners of his mind. It was blinding.

“Duusu, stop it,” he grunted, clearing his throat.

In response he heard her give a quiet whimper, followed by a small screech. With it, burst a multitude of emotions, emotions that Nathanael did not need. He growled and just like that they tempered slightly.

A harsh knock on the floor echoed off the domed walls and a deep voice filled the room, “You feel too much, boy.” The voice said, “It is clouding your judgement. She almost had you.”

Spitting onto the ground Nathanael didn’t even bother looking up, he free hand fisted against the cold floor. He resisted the urge to punch it.

He thought back to earlier that night.

He was so close. He had her.

He remembers his hand around her throat, watching her gasping for breath.

Through gritted teeth, Nathanael replied, “No, I almost had her.”

He thought back. Blinking out the clouds fogging of his memory, Nathanael saw Le Paon’s gloved hand flexed around her neck.

And for a few drawn out, silent beats, Le Paon and Queen Bee had simply looked into each other’s eyes. Her blue eyes open wide and watering under the strain, while he simply watched, his pink eyes gleaming in delight. Nathanael remembers himself as Le Paon, smirking, feeling a surge of confidence from her despair. From it, he was able to stand taller, slowly lifting her from the ground until her feet dangled in the air.

But he also remembers her panic, her desperation, her fear… reaching forward with his free hand to grab at her ponytail, to relieve her of her miraculous. With the movement, every feeling in the air amplified tenfold. What once had fuelled him, had once again overloaded his mind. It pounded in his head, affecting his whole body. He felt her buzzing in his brain, an irritating sorrow that caused his limbs to shake. Beyond her obvious grief and disappointment lurked her own acceptance, her own self-consciousness, and … guilt? Her body became suddenly heavy, weighing him down.

He had faltered, for the briefest of moments, and it was more than enough for her to turn the tables to her favour.

He had almost had her…

A sharp weight jabbed him in the back, pushing him against the ground.

“Is that so?” The deep voice questioned.

The weight lifted for a moment, before promptly coming back down, striking Nathanael down once more, this time much more harshly. He groaned against the hit, sending him back into a coughing fit.

Without any sense of a reaction, Hawk Moth stared down at him. “Next time I’ll leave you to drown then,” he said.

He couldn’t remember the butterfly but he could feel it still within him. It was a ghost in his veins. The memory of how he got from the rooftops of Paris into this secret hideout eluded him. All he could remember was suddenly being overpowered in the fight with Queen Bee and the splash of honey nectar choking him.

And then there was nothing.

He awoke to the cold darkness of this all too familiar room, with the muscles in his body ached and his head pounding.

He felt awful.

And this was not the first time… nor did he expect it to be the last, no matter how much he prayed and begged for it.

And so Nathanael grunted in response, his anger drummed, beating along with the ache in his head. It sent him into his automatic response to be defiant, to show Hawk Moth that he didn’t have his respect, and therefore to not think of the consequences. He chuckled under his breath. And before he could even think through his reply or stop the words from leaving his mouth, he spoke up, “I’d prefer it over those stupid cockroaches of – “

Another thwack to his back took the air from his lungs. He took the hit, trying his best not to collapse to the floor and crush Duusu beneath him.

The voice bellowed, “Enough!” And Nathanael looked up into the cold eyes of Hawk Moth staring down at him.

The villain stood tall in front of him, his face mostly obscured by his silver mask. Dressed in a deep purple suit, Hawk Moth held his cane in both hands. His voice was loud and commanding, his face set into a stern grimace. While the combination of the two gave off the clear air of rage, Nathanael could feel nothing from the man. He was a void.

Hawk Moth continued with his harsh tone, “As much as I appreciate you bowing down before me, I brought you here for a reason, boy,” he nudged Nathanael again with his cane, “Get up!”

Nathanael glared up at him in response. Slowly, he rose to kneel on his knees. He brought Duusu up to his shoulder. Without a word, the bird-themed creature crawled up, settling into the collar of his jacket. Sparkles of her tears flashed in the space she had just filled, before dissolving into the air.

As commanded, Nathanael stood up, his face contorting into a pained scowl. He could already feel the unpleasant stiffness in his muscles and the tenderness on his skin that would surely flourish into purple bruises in no time.

He could feel Duusu’s tears wetting his shirt, her shaky, little hands moving in what he assumed were meant to be soothing motions at his collarbone, as if it would temper his displeasure.

It didn’t.

Somewhat hunched over, he stood in front of Hawk Moth. In the short silence, the two shared a narrowed glare. Cold, unfeeling, blue against angry turquoise.

Hawk Moth brought his cane back to rest in front of him; it knocked against the floor once more. Nathanael kept himself from flinching at the sound, but internally he was seething. With a shake of his head, the villain frowned.

“You feel too much,” Hawk Moth said, “It is clouding your judgement.”

Nathanael rolled his eyes. He had already heard this more than once before. And he did not appreciate being summoned into some lame super villain lair, like a dog on some sort of short leash. His blood boiled.

Hawk Moth’s eyes bore into him, scrutinizing each and every detail. He paused for a mere moment before continuing, “You must be in control. You cannot let yourself get distracted by the your own emotions … or those of someone else.”

In the short pause, Nathanael chewed on the inside of his cheek. If he was transformed, he was sure his eyes would be red in this moment. He huffed out a breathe of exhaustion, it reminded him that he was at a disadvantage, untransformed, and weak. Nevertheless, his anger spurred him on to another act of rebelliousness.

“Oh,” he scoffed, shaking his head, his voice dripping in spite and sarcasm, “Is that how you justify making children into monsters?”

He didn’t even have time to register the strike across his face.

His face turned with the momentum, sending his weak body falling backwards towards the ground. Landing indelicately onto his side, he propped himself on an elbow, bringing a hand to his face.

It stung.

His anger reverberated within him. His whole body was on fire.

He could feel Duusu gripping his collar. If possible, her anger seemed to outmatch his own.

An empty sigh called out from above him, Hawk Moth stared down at him, his cane nonchalantly tucked under an arm, his hands readjusting his gloves and sleeves.

“I have had enough…” he began, “If you cannot control your powers, then I’ll simply take them away.”

He reached out expectantly with a gloved hand.

Nathanael recoiled; his hand instinctively went to the pocket of his jacket. Eyes blown wide, he cradled the Miraculous protectively, ensuring it was still where he had placed it.

“No! No, I – I,” he sputtered, his legs kicked at the ground, desperate to increase the distance between himself and Hawk Moth. He coughed, “No, I can do it. I will beat her. I’ll get them. I can do it.“

Hawk Moth, smiled, a tight closed mouth sneer that stretched unnaturally across his face. “Hmmm,” he hummed, “To do that, you need to listen to me. Emotions are a weakness, do not let it become yours.”

Nathanael nodded; trying his best to rein his anger, so hide behind a cold, unfeeling mask, much like Hawk Moth.

“Very well,” Hawk Moth continued, bringing his hand out in front of him, palm up, “I’ve had enough of this…”

From the corner of the room, the sounds of fluttering wings increased.

Instantly, panic arose within Nathanael, crashing through any attempt to uphold a sense of apathy. Instead the flames of his anger were frosted over, a frosty stampede of unease set him on edge.

A single, bright butterfly lit up the room, advancing towards Hawk Moth’s open hand.

“NO!” Nathanael shouted, his voice echoing off the lair’s walls. From around the room the fluttering noise intensified. Dormant butterflies awoke from all around rising into the air. The winged creatures took flight, lighting up the entire room and casting an eerie blue light across Nathanael’s paled face.

“No, please, not again,” he pleaded, watching in horror as the advancing butterfly landed on Hawk Moth’s hand. He could hear Duusu’s small whimper as she floated down into his pocket, shielding the Miraculous.

“Perhaps this will teach you,” Hawk Moth smiled, bringing his hands together around the alighted butterfly. Spurts of dark energy accumulated into the air, quickly absorbed into the insect until it was painted black, flashing stripes of luminous purple.

Shaking his head, Nathanael could feel his skin crawling. He stared at the akuma in front of him, eyes wide in horror. “No,” he pleaded, “P-please… I can do it, I swear.”

“Good,” replied Hawkmoth, “It would do you good to remember our arrangement.”

He opened his palm; the trapped akuma flapped its wings. Such a small, beautiful creature, that struck Nathanael with fear and frenzy. One small, shining light of optimism within him, told Nathanael that he could overcome it, that he could keep himself in control this time. But the thought was quickly suppressed by the building anxiety within him.

“Until then,” Hawk Moth continued, “if you cannot control your emotions…”

The akuma fluttered towards him. And Hawk Moth smiled, baring his teeth in a menacing grimace.

“Then I will control them for you.”

Everything went black.

And then there was nothing.

#update! #buzzkill #chlonath au #my writing #miraculous ladybug #le paon!nathanael #bee!chloe #chloe bourgeois #enter hawk moth #au #powerdragonmoon #duusu #birb baby #fic #fanfic #nathanael kurtzberg

[hunnybadgerv]

Holiday Harbinger 2016: Discreet Static

Summary: During the attack on the SSV Normandy, Shepard sacrifices herself to save her crew, to save Joker. After the hatch closes, between the commander and her pilot, things go sideways.

a/n: This was written as a Holiday Harbinger 2016 gift for @spacemomnephmoreau.

Links: AO3 | FFnet

Discreet Static

Small electrical fires crackled around the cockpit, hissing and spluttering, while new ones tried to spark to life. The Normandy usually handled smooth as silk, but the initial attack had left her hobbling along. And her pilot struggled right along with her, fighting to maintain a stable heading so that the escape pods launching wouldn’t be aimed at one another. Though part of him was certain he could guide the Normandy through an emergency landing despite the hull damage and constant shuddering.

Throughout his battle with the controls and sensors, quieting alarms as he went, Joker kept up the emergency hails. Someone would hear them, someone had to hear them, or so he reasoned. The questions sometimes whispered through the hazy process of his reactionary flying—how did they see us? Who are they? What were they after?

There hadn’t even been a warning. No hail. No chance to retreat or discuss whatever infraction prompted this. Nothing.

When his seat rocked again, his attention shifted from the panel, but only for a moment. The hand on his shoulder was gentle, the weight of it far too familiar. She shouldn’t be here. She should be gone.

“Come on Joker! We have to get out of here!”

Stubbornly, he rolled his shoulder out from under her touch. “No!” he insisted. “I won’t abandon the Normandy. I can still save her.”

Her hand returned almost instantly, with a gentle, comforting squeeze. “The Normandy’s lost. Going down with the ship won’t change that.”

It wasn’t the words, it was the tone in her voice, the hint of pleading. He turned and looked at her. The helmet hid her face, even her eyes. Shepard gave him a small nod, and he returned it.

“Yeah … okay. Help me up,” he relented.

Her hand shifted, gripping his upper arm under the armpit and giving a gentle lift. Even as Joker climbed out of the chair with the assistance, he noticed the enemy vessel repositioning on the monitor feeds.

“They’re coming around for another attack.” That revelation seemed to more fully commit him to his decision to get the hell out of there, and hers, if Shepard’s crushing grip on his forearm was any indicator. “Ah! Watch the arm.”

Once upright, she pulled his arm over her shoulder and all but lifted him by his belt. He was sure this wrestling match would leave him with a few extra broken bones that couldn’t be blamed on the attack alone.

The arm around him loosened only enough to punch the panel on the bulkhead, which controlled the door to the emergency pod. Given the movement of the ship, a soft landing was too much to hope for. But it was gentler than it could have been. He pushed himself into the seat as Shepard stumbled. Joker gave her a wave. “C’mon Shepard!”

Another blast rocked the Normandy, an electronics panel near the hatch exploded in sparks and a burst of flame. It left him curling away from the door for cover, when he turned back, he saw her foot lose contact with the deck. Then the other. He lurched forward as her hands scrambled for a hold. “Commander!”

Joker sought his own grip as he moved toward the door. “Shepard!”

Before he could reach for her to help, the enemy ship’s weapon sheared through the bridge, not far from the entrance of the pod. Somehow, she managed to grab the bulkhead, but light of the beam seared his vision, burning into his memory. He felt like it should be hotter, but it didn’t seem to do more than inch between them with a cold, yellow-white light. It lit up everything in the usually dark cockpit, even Shepard’s face. Well, not her face per se.  That detail he couldn’t see at all, but the light gleamed off her visor.

Joker knew what was coming even before it happened. He watched it though the slim window between the edge of the beam and the open hatch. With a shift of her shoulders, one hand let go of the bulkhead anchoring her within yards of the pod, then the pod’s door snapped closed and he knew Shepard had hit the pod release; sacrificing herself to save him.

Joker launched himself toward the hatch, but just as he pushed himself out of the chair the gravity faded. Desperately, he clawed at the door for a hand hold. His arm ached, pain searing through the limb with every clench of his hands, but he ignored it. “Shepard! No! Goddamnit Commander!” he yelled frantically. “You can’t do this! Shepard! Shepard!”

Joker screamed himself hoarse; scratched and grabbed at the door until his grip faltered. His hands scrambled for purchase against the slick metal. It didn’t make sense for it to be so slippery. Glancing down, the blood on his hands, which oozed from beneath his fingernails, shocked him into releasing the hatch completely. He expected to fall backward against the deck, but when it didn’t happen his eyes darted around. The incessant beeping of the alarms poked through the silence, as the flashes strobed within the small escape vehicle.

The pod lost gravity almost as soon as it left contact with the Normandy. The explosion of his ship set off a myriad of sensors. The sound flipped a switch in his brain.

Like a child on a jungle gym, Joker pulled himself, hand over hand, the length of the pod to the panels. Strapping himself into one of the forward chairs, his shrewd eyes scanned read-outs and checked the alarms. Thankfully, or not, they were all superficial and due to the proximity to the Normandy when she finally came apart. At least, the hull of the emergency pod hadn’t been breached in the explosion, though that wasn’t much of a consolation.

With that handled Joker pulled the communications panel up and started checking channels. “Shepard,” he called out with each change, then waited, listening for anything. His voice sounded loud in the silence, soaked in grief and weakness. He dropped his head into his hands. A rhythmic beep chimed.

That shouldn’t be the only sound, he thought. I should hear that devilish chuckle of hers. Most of the time that laugh set his nerves on edge, or made his spine tingle. But now he’d trade anything to hear it again.

Joker pulled the rolled-up cap out of his pocket. His fingers played over the gold stitching, as he repeated her name into the silence with every new channel. Normandy was gone, and so was Shepard. “I failed them both,” he mumbled.

“Why didn’t you see it?” His eyes scanned the panels. “Why didn’t you respond faster? His head landed in his hands, fingers clutching at the helmet he still wore. “Why didn’t I see it sooner?”

His voice weakened, as the grief swelled his ire ebbed. “They’re gone. It’s all gone.” He launched the cap in his hand toward the bulkhead of the pod.

His girl and the woman he … A memory of the first time he met her flashed through his mind. Shepard had dazzled him from the start with her sense of humor and those emerald green eyes; eyes that sparkled when she laughed. Closing his eyes, he could see her face with its wide smile and almost hear that confident cackle—even laced with the kind of menace Wrex’s chortle carried, it was a sound Joker came to crave hearing.

He shook his head, anger flaring with denial. “No! Not Shepard! She didn’t give up on me. I’m not giving up on her.” His hands raced over the panels with renewed determination. “If I just boost the signal, and redirect …” he mumbled as he started looking for a way to increase the reception and transfer of the pod’s primitive but functional communications. Maybe if she knew he was looking.

“Shepard. I’m still here,” he said over the usual channel she used on missions. “Don’t give up. Hang on. I’ll make them come back, or I’ll steal a ship and come back myself. I won’t leave you out here alone.”

He refused to believe she was gone. Not her. Not yet. I never told her.

“I’ll find you,” he swore. Only the low crackle of static crossed the headset. Even so, he listened for ... he didn’t know how long—waiting to hear any minute sign he could attribute to her.

“Why didn’t I just suck it up and tell you? At least then you would know. Fuck the regs, seriously!”

He must have wasted hours in his frantic attempt to prove the looming reality wrong. Joker continued to connect and reprogram systems in an attempt to prove his theory right when the hatch warning lit up prior to sliding open. It didn’t register past his dogged obsession.

The first voice to break through his concentration belonged to Chief WIlliams. “Where’s Shepard?”

Joker didn’t answer, couldn’t admit it to her--of all people.

The echo of her boots on the deck carried her closer, and her voice became more frantic. “Joker! Where the hell is the commander?”

“I’m looking,” he growled back, staring into her wide eyes. “I’ve almost got it. I’ll find her.”  He turned back to the panel, mumbling. “I always find her.”

The readings went hazy, and he blinked frantically to try and clear his vision.

“Joker,” Liara said. Her voice always held that strange mix of kindness and condescension when she talked to him in the past, but it wasn’t there now. It was genteel, sympathetic. “What happened?”

He didn’t think about what he told them, just relayed information. He needed to locate Shepard, needed a bearing for the rescue. Surely, her suit should be pinging a beacon. “Then they came around for a second pass. We were at the pod. Both of us. We were right there!”

For a moment, he turned and looked at Ashley. “I thought something like that would be hotter, but it wasn’t. It was so bright though. Almost like looking into the sun.” His eyes locked on hers and he barely processed the way they shimmered. “Lit up everything, but even though I couldn’t see her face, the look in her eyes, I knew what she was going to do before she hit the button.”

“Oh, God,” Williams gasped. She stumbled back as if the pod had been rocked.

“Goddess,” Liara whispered from behind her hand.

“But I’ll find her,” Joker insisted. “Why won’t this panel clear up?” His raised voice was punctuated by a kick at the underside of the panel. A mistake, he realized only when the pain shot through his leg.

The hand on his shoulder was as gentle as the voice of the quarian. “There’s nothing wrong with the controls, Joker,” Tali insisted. “We should get you to the med bay. Come on, that arm looks bad.”

His gaze dropped to the limb in question. The dark bruises blazed in contrast to the pale skin around them. Smallish handprints where Shepard had grabbed him just a little too hard. “Shit! She broke my arm,” he said, huffing out a quiet laugh. Even to his own ears it sounded maniacal. His other hand covered the marks made by hers as if somehow that would help anything.

Suddenly it all crashed around him. “It’s my fault,” he sobbed, finally. “I thought I could save her.”

#Holiday Harbinger 2016 #spacemomnephmoreau #Jeff Moreau #Joker #Shoker #Mass Effect #Mass Effect Fanfiction #Was going to submit this to you #But your submissions are closed #I'll send you a nice little note as well #I know your internet access is out of sorts lately #masseffectholidaycheer #Badger Scribbles

[el-im]

Intentions are oftener vague than not, and mostly cannot be extracted from a body of work without error. Within analyzation of anything comes extrapolation, which is an inaccurate form of projection. Personal error arises from clouded judgement that is onset by experience and application of memory, and thus I provide this document in a strive for clarity. Notes accompany 25-30% of suicides, which, to one so enamored with words, seems an awfully low percent. I cannot imagine departing without an “Adieu, adieu, parting is such a sweet sorrow--” (though perhaps, more fittingly for myself, an “Adieu! Auf wiedersehen. Gesundheit. Farewell.” would be appropriate). Nevertheless. I was raised alongside a stretching literature: a growing stack of books read without discrimination to something so limiting as topic or author or, later, language (mi copia de obras completas de oscar wilde es mi posesión más preciada) that never towered above me. I believe in language more than I have any person, and stories as more necessary sustenance than light or sound or vision. I am inexplicably bound to books, and perhaps such, alongside possible dissipation of guilt felt by those I leave in departing, is the reason for my drafting this. To whom it may concern: might you forgive the disorganization, there are no templates on earth to follow.

I am young at my time of writing this, as youth is variable, it is impossible, when within it, to see beyond. The extent of my person is bounded by linoleum flooring in hallways and eventual promises of becoming new by incorporeal entities. I often think of the person I could become. I imagine someone so vastly removed from that which I currently am that there exists little room for transition. I am as concrete as my conception of an eventual self, and one cannot be melded into the shadow of another. I see adulthood now as I do most art, as out of touch and improbable. But still there are glimpses through the holes created in time by our minds. People so often forget that heads are tools for boring, and all of time is malleable. I imagine now not glory as I once did. Not fame or riches. I see simplicity in the domestic, which above all speaks of a separate peace. But still I know that time, too, is fogged by projection, and am not swayed by my hopes.

If ever I should find within myself the courage and ability (as the action that so stirs such a document is truly a complete mixture of both) to print this:

Know at times that I was sorry.

I know that my actions may not be mended by time nor words nor consolations in the form of flowers or casseroles or anything else of the sort. That said, many, (a number so large I cannot possibly be expected to type out) will be completely unaffected by this action. People that I will never know will continue aimlessly on with their day, thinking, for a brief moment perhaps, in that time or in the time to come, that someone was missing from their lives that should have been there. A door not opened. A gift not received. These will be the objects of their missing perceptions, and to them I must apologize as well. I find myself often thinking about a future I could have. Being alone someplace new. Not being alone someplace new. It seems so distant: much so the details can’t be properly worked out, and I never really thought much of glimpses into later days anyway. Maybe something could have worked out. Maybe not. Probably not. This version of me is too broken to carry on into anything worthwhile.

That’s kind of the whole basis of this thing. I took the mirror out of my room the other day upon becoming so suddenly sick of the person I am. Of seeing her body angled and contorted like a specimen at a horror show encased in glass. It’s easier being in there now, but the absence of glass doesn’t really do much for still having to wake up in this body every day. I wish I was different. I wish all the notions people have of who I am were different.

To many others such departing is a cracked bottle upon the wood of a ship: received with unparalleled joy and relief. To those that so feel this way: me too. (I remember mom telling me about an article she had read about a man who woke up from a years-long coma, having been conscious the entire time, and who had consequently heard his mother say that she wished he would just die. It's like that. Everyone was expecting it, and holding on just makes for a shitshow.)

Despite the effort put into consolation, I hope it is also known that this decision was not one hastily made. It has been a dwelling consideration since fourth grade, and reached its suggestive fruition in Sophomore year of high school. Afore that however, it existed always as an abstract possibility. My mind would wander aimlessly, when unoccupied, to all the ways I could kill myself (if necessary) given the items with me in the room I was sitting in. This game was especially exciting in Leslie Ringler’s first period geometry class in 8th grade at Tempe Academy. I play this game still, and wonder when I may put my creative processes of the previous years into practice. (It’s always been like this. The earliest memories I have are transcribed in a journal I lost somewhere. I remember sitting on a parking block outside of a dirty convenience store waiting for someone to fill a gas tank or return from the bathroom or come out with a bag of plastic-wrapped sweets for the rest of the drive. It was hot. It was always hot, and my hair, still light then, was pushing into my eyes. I remember not quite feeling anything, and being confused about the lack of anything in me. I wasn’t excited for the trip. It was as though the entire world had turned sour and it made my head pound and ache. We carried on driving, and as I looked out the windows, I was shocked about the absence of any wonder in me. It was cold that night.)

I read somewhere that depression is like watching paint dry, and never before has a statement made more sense. I’m full of nothingness. I have no motivation or concern. No governing principles and no subscription to reason.

I hope it is also known that there are (there are there are there are) times now where sorrow for what is to come is nonexistent, those times increasing in frequency and magnitude, being consuming in their presence. I want it to be known that I am angry. (I was angry? Huh.) I shake with an unnameable rage I have no outlet for; that no amount of any substance known to man may satiate or saturate. That no amount of slitting my wrists open (and following with a swab covered in neosporin to clean, as infections raise questions as to why open wounds were ever really present in the first place, and I’d rather simply Not have that conversation.) Anyway. The matter is that nothing can really do much for me at this point, so I’ve given up looking for solutions. Nothing alleviates the grief that’s taken up residence in my body, and seems to drag me along as though I’m already dead weight.

Frank Iero wrote “You can’t cure me/Drugs can’t kill me/Love won’t save me from myself.” the last part is a bit reminiscent of some Anakin Skywalker quote, but who cares. Its seeming more true than ever now. The solution to all my problems is either death–as brought on by myself, a very convenient accident, or medication. Medication. Medication that does nothing more than dull out what’s already gray. I’ve seen it in action and there’s not a way on earth I’d ever subscribe myself to become the drugged out shell of a person that I’ve seen meandering in family gatherings, holding close to the wall as though to define the boundary of space, because the walls would cave in and the world would be swallowed into darkness if they didn't. Medication. A fancy word for pumping people so full of pills they burst at the seams and deflate in areas barely protruding before. Medication. That is in no way better than whatever I’m in now. Therapy maybe, but if people ever listened to me, perhaps this wouldn’t be a problem in the first place.

I often forget that all my daydreaming about growing up and getting better exists as a result. A product of a prerequisite of my being treated. I forget that leaving the house I am gradually becoming entombed in will not solve the crises I experience (and refuse to contemplate the possibility of such a transition somehow making me worse.) I forget that, under all my moods, lying still as a flowing artery, the distractions from numbness is an omnipresent layer of distress and disarray. I forget that I am followed by a black eel with sharp teeth and a taste for sickness that is becoming more difficult to resist feeding until it becomes more difficult to satisfy. I forget that the bottom of my heart is a chasm, which has been filled with a thick and harrowing sense of discomfort. An unsettling black water that lurches and churns with every step forward and three steps back. I forget, at the end of each sunset and managed calamity, I will still turn to a noose rather than a pillow to cradle my neck. I so often forget that killing myself is never an option off the table, but gleams in the corner of my mind like an EXIT sign, and hate the knowledge that the prospect of getting better only pushed me toward it.

Know that I wish this was easier. Know that this isn’t about any of you, and if I had the chance, I’d kill myself without anyone having known I was ever here. I aim not to hurt anyone else, and know that anything I do will be detrimental anyway. What's worse, dying young, as the good, or watching the good meld into pathetic repose? Wasting away as does any once great mind, into average mediocrity and fading without a bang, but a whimper. (The Hollow Men - T.S. Eliot.) My apologies, though genuine, are not strong enough to be deterrents, I know this document will be printed eventually, that I’ll kill myself and remain young in the memory of those who didn’t particularly like me that much, anyway. The how is the tricky part. I am sorry more than much else that people will have to remember me when I’m gone, though know not to whom I am necessarily apologizing to. I wish for ease. For everything to end neatly. To hell with contemplation.

It is haunting to feel nothing so vehemently that the negative space within you creates a heartbeat of its own. This blackness has overturned every stone I have ever corrected, steady hands pulling at each thread I have woven together and crossed. I have watched, tired eyes in hollow sockets tracing its undoings, with every instinct within me pushing to rebel and correct. But my limbs are too weary to carry my form forward, and my bidding becomes nothing more than an instruction shouted to an empty hall. Slumped, a corpse watches itself burn.

I have grown too tired for this life.

Tiana: You know more of me than anyone, especially myself. You are the bravest person I have had the chance to meet, and I know you will continue to be such in the absence of myself or any other. I give you no advice, for I know you do not need it. I have seen you persist through the worst of times, and flourish in the best. I know that you bring with you a sagacity that no other possesses, much less employs.

Know, if not anything else, that there is a reason you collect rocks. I love you, but such goes without saying.

Nick: You once told me that you thought about death a lot as a kid. I did too. I used to imagine a sort of blackness. I imagined not being able to move or breathe or see or think and the longer I contemplated that the harder it would become to breathe and think and see until my vision turned as black as my thoughts and a wall would collapse somewhere within me and I would cry. I don’t think of it anymore. I can feel it now, the thought of such blackness, creeping upward toward the light to swallow it whole. I blink it back now. Force it down and shake it off. I can block it now, but it persists, as all evils, nonetheless; without much thought to resilience. Evils, Nick, I think are really just built that way, and perhaps we cannot hold it against them. I suppose it can’t be that bad if you’re not really conscious.

But who’s to say you won’t be, right?

These thoughts came to me at night. It always took long for me to fall asleep, and night seemed the only time where my mind could wander without a particular end in sight. Because I wasn’t contemplating a PACE problem or working through an English assignment, my mind would turn to depths I hadn’t previously the ability to see out of mere boredom, and I was powerless to its advances. All the menial. The dull and tedious kept me at bay. I am grateful for them now, in a sense I hadn't the capacity for then.

In hindsight, which I find is seldom far from 20/20, I believe that such wandering of the mind was due to sensory deprivation. I had nothing to look at aside from a barely lit popcorn ceiling, which seemed to twist and shift in the dark, contorting into the moving hooves of war horses or faces of generals who have long since been faded by sand and the constance of time. I had nothing to hear or listen to and nothing to touch aside from old sheets that felt like nothing in my hands, which were, then, still very young. So I filled in the gaps, and was far too smart to do so with any light.

I wandered too far one night, when I was still living with my dad, before his last two manic episodes in close enough memory to grasp. I laid in the twin size bed that Tiana and I used to share, the safety railing ironically erect in the dark, white wood bright as a beacon in the night. It had not yet broken off due to my age and tendency to roll onto the concrete floor. I was restless then, and am restless still, even in sleep. My head was near the window, which was so thin paned it fogged in the winters. One of my hands pressed next to the railing as though such contact might ground me. The dust filtered through blinds where the streetlight next to my room shone through the cracks, which never closed. I slept with my door open back then.

It wandered, my mind, and landed ultimately where it always did.

I peeked into that darkness, knowing not, standing within it, that I was so near an edge, which stared back at my eyes, then so lighted with curiosity they may have shone. I wandered though it, imagining what it would be like: not to feel.

These were the days of my youth that death seemed a plague: omnipresent and no better for it. These were the days that my nightmares were comprised of my parents: me standing at the edge of their open graves, white, polished shoes gleaming under the caking mud about their soles. These were the days that I woke in a start: sitting up as to distance my head from its previous position on its embroidered pillow, the pale roses I slept on seeming mocking. I dreamed of them each dying, leaving me all alone, and woke each morning thinking of what I would do then. How connected I was. How considerate. I wandered further and further into the extending blackness and Not the Blackness and the Absence of all things and its neverending until I began to cry.

My dad spent his Sunday nights watching TV, the blue light and hum of old comedy shows spilling careless light and sound into my room. He had spent the day washing dishes, as he always did, with a worn towel thrown over his shoulder as he let the water run circles down the drain. He came into my room with a quiet haste, knowing something was wrong but understanding children well enough to know that bursting in is often less appropriate than not. He told me that we would always exist, even after death, in people’s dreams. (I later learned the term oneirology to describe his poetic, vaguely Mystery Achievement-sounding waxings.) He told me he dreamed of his father all the time, so he could never truly be dead. I suppose that must have given me some comfort then, for I eventually stopped my shaking and crying and went to sleep.

I later learned that his father was, scientifically speaking, a shit-bag who hit his mother and abandoned his family to live in Iran, so I suppose that that comfort was kind of bullshit.

I slept with the door closed after that, and my room became darker. The sound of the DirectTV commercials didn’t float into my room with previous ease and the light from the kitchen could no longer be seen. Since then I have felt the encroaching darkness of those thoughts and forced them out of my mind with nothing more than my will. I only wish not to think of them, but they creep in the shadows, existing whether or not they are thought of.

I hope that those were not what your thoughts on death were like. I hope that’s what no ones are like.

Being that I also, occasionally, grew up around Buddhism, reincarnation became a subject of my thoughts as I grew old enough to understand it.

I hope you might know that the only aspect of my person that I regard with even the faintest tolerance is the consequence of my time of birth. I regard so many components of myself with a sullen distaste--quite the same as someone recently having bitten into a too-soft blueberry after having burst so many perfectly lovely ones between their teeth. I imagine, if perhaps distanced, in the low light of social interaction, I could be thought of as intriguing for my sadness (instead of desperate); interest in place of suggestion. Spring is a time of rot and death and rebirth. “I died, and was born in the spring. I found you, and loved you, again”.

When I was younger and had no history to my being aside from that which was thrust upon me by chance, I found myself often enamored with the thought of time that preceded my being on this earth as this person. Our mother often told me of my name and how it came to be. When she was pregnant with me, she lived in a small house in the middle of a dead end street with a man she hadn’t any intention of marrying. One day when it appeared as though she had swallowed a planet, and very well may have, she caught the faintest cream colored roses in bloom. Rose came to mind. Dirt colored eyes and rose tinted cheeks. The faintest white fading into brown rot in the sun. Adya Rose. Sunday Rose. Rose Rose Rose.

I thought of life after death as another possibility of events, but in no way necessarily believed it. I remember writing, as a kid, in one of the countless diaries I kept, that I imagined you being the only one at my funeral to cry. I imagined mom and Mia being off somewhere else busying themselves with something to keep their hands occupied or talking lightly about what a good student I was. I now see the falsity in this, but I’ll be damned if I don’t sometimes look at you and have that be the only thing I see.

I am sorry to you perhaps most of all. I’m sorry for all you’ve endured and all I could not have helped you with. I am sorry about your broken heart that you carry concealed under your great big coats (that I used to find such great joy in hiding in) as to not reveal its cracked state. I am sorry that you have lived through so much and will be aged so greatly by everything to come. I am sorry a million and one times.

I am eternally indebted to you for all you have done for me and I am impossibly thankful for your constant care. (I am reminded of when we were alone at El Parque. I didn’t have a room of my own to sleep in and mom would so often wake me when the morning sky was still dark as she shuffled out the door on her way to work. You would come check on me then, sleeping alone in a great big bed I would never fill to make sure that I was doing alright. You would so often come sit with me while I was reading at night--Magic Tree House books then--departing quickly from your friends to ask if I needed anything, never leaving me alone, even when I perhaps deserved it.) I am thankful that you made me feel cool when I hadn’t a friend to speak of. I am thankful that you were so selfless when you had every reason in the world to be distant; and thankful that you have continually made an effort to bring me peace. I am thankful for every movie you ever rented at Blockbuster, that you had to pause to hear all my questions about. I am thankful for your patience and have thus far not forgotten a single instance where it was present. You shaped my interests for such a great portion of my life by introducing me to solace, and for that, there are not words in any language to show gratitude.

You introduced me to stand up comedy. Despite your influence, our tastes remain varied, with the exception of Robin Williams–whom we both love. I believe my appreciation for him was borne of Mrs. Doubtfire, which you introduced to me and proceeded to have to watch every day since, rewinding a VHS tape for me when I was done. But regardless of taste, I found within its bounds the ability to laugh like I hadn’t in years, the practice seeming vaguely alien--a foreign body in a dark state. You made me happy. With artificial flavoring and your renditions of Chamillionare songs. With movies and books and stories. For that I am thankful, and for that I can hardly articulate my regret for this. You are distant and cold when you are sad, and I hope this is not an excuse for you to fold back into yourself. I love you. You have a rich and full life ahead of you that brims with whatever joys you choose to fill it with.

There are days that I look at you and only see the sun. It sets on a tall grass field in the summer, with lazing mosquitoes buzzing thick and heavy in the still air, filled so much with blood they might burst. They are engorged, much as you are, but in leathery richness of red rather than memory. You exist alongside the greatest pieces of time to come, and you create a happiness that cannot be compared to anything else. Nothing like it, not now, exists. You must create it. You smell of sweat and dirt and your hair is long enough to press under your collar. A little overgrown, like the grass. A small, plump hand, like yours when you were that age, but perhaps a little different, too, will pull you further toward the setting sun.

A secret? My dear Nicolas? You will be a better dad than either of us can dream of. (I am taking my time / Watching the / Afterbirth of a nation / Watching the tension grow). You were built for making something new and wonderful and revolutionary, and your hands are those which pitch stones that build the foundation of home. I am already sorry I can’t meet them, and I hope they’ll keep your eyes.

Mia: Hello. I believe it is not without reason to say that we have grown closer in the last few years. Afore that, you were often so busy with working or law school or waitressing or traveling that you spent little time at home. Seeing you was a reward long awaited, and not often received. You have been here more recently now, and even with a job that keeps you far for long, I see you with far more frequency than I previously did, and for that I am grateful. I hope you know that I appreciate you teaching me how to drive. My hands still shake and I’m still too nervous a wreck to do much, but the first day I ever sat in your car and made slow loops around a church parking lot, I was happy for the first time in a very long time. It felt as though I finally had control over some aspect of my life. It was freeing and powerful and made me want to Get The Hell Out Of Here all the more. You have taught me much more than that which may be measured in miles. You know that, I’m sure.

I don’t believe I understood your looking out for me until this year. Max visited, for the first time in six months. He was taller and his hair was darker from the lack of sun. His freckles had, for the most part, retracted into his skin, leaving only faint marks that they had ever been littered across the bridge of his nose. He stood in front of me much like a stranger does, and I found myself speaking to him with a removed sort of nonchalance that I can only explain through means of distance. And yet. (“Frail? Sure. Vulnerable? And yet… My favorite words, ‘and yet’.”) I know now, being separated as I am, that there isn’t a single thing in the world I wouldn’t do for him. He is to me as I am to you. In need of protection. I will sacrifice all for him without thought. When I was young, I used to imagine two people I loved standing atop thin pillars of stone, hundreds of feet above glowing magma, their faces distorted in the reflecting brightness. Sometimes they were you and Nick. Sometimes my mom and dad. I imagined being tasked to pick between them. To send the other to their death. Some years later I found the way out would be my own sacrifice, but for Max there is no question.

I think perhaps this is the dedication you might view me in. I am entirely undeserving of it, but understand it nonetheless. I believe that you are the most headstrong person I know. I believe that you love without much condition so intensely that it nearly burns. I know you have a blossoming life in front of you. That the sun will rise each day despite your troubles and you will set the world back into its axis. You will be the greatest mother the world has ever known, and of the freaky-strong, lift-a-car-type women that make Florida headlines. You are an unstoppable and will move each inch of the world if it stands in your way. I hope more than anything that you continue with your art. In the past few years, you have made more time for it than you have before, and you have grown into a newly invigorated person because of it. I am elated to see you so happy. Know that you are loved, entirely and without reserve, by so many and so much. You have moved mountains in your past hundred lives and this case is no different. I give you your rope, so go.

Max: Hello starshine. How I hope you know the sun rises to greet you. I know you are far wiser than me and thus require very little on my part. Knowing you has been the greatest kindness that chance has allowed me in this lifetime. My copies of The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings are set out in the bottom drawer of my dresser for you, alongside an old film camera once belonging to my grandpa that I hope you might like.

When you and I were both younger than we are now, I read The Hobbit to you when no one else was awake to put you to sleep. You, perhaps, were the push that lead to my staying up at night. I am grateful for it, as no stars but yourself are visible in the day. I don’t believe we ever made it past fifteen pages, and after the time it took to come so far I’d carry you back to your room. I don’t think I could anymore, but you’ve grown far too old for falling asleep in odd places anyhow. I mentioned the story to you the last time I saw you in person. You told me that you’d hear me reading it from across the country, and I hope you did.

The camera was a gift from my grandmother. Her husband took it when they went together on trips on his motorcycle. I never knew him, but he wrote a story about his life that I’m sure my mom will let you read if you tell her you’re interested. He was a wonderful man, as you too will one day be, with the same good natured face that you have. He took hundreds of pictures on that camera, and was happy every time he clicked the shutter. I hope that happiness extends to you, and that it might allow you to capture your view of the world; which is unlike any other I have yet to know. Little prince from who knows where: I hope you save the bees you find in pools like I taught you, and no matter where you go, take a pair or two of wool socks, which will keep you warm no matter how weathered they might become.

Fin I conclude knowing I am destined to fade as all else. As all does and will for all of earth and its surroundings. For explanation, if searching for it is necessary: I feel as though I am beyond help--like I've become so horridly dissolved into my fantasies about the future that I have completely lost the ability to hold onto anything real. I have no hope for growing older--no sense that I really ever will. It is a little like drowning, like having sat for too long at the bottom of a swimming pool that coming up for air seems foolish to pursue if one wishes to retain the faintest heir of dignity about them. Like the surface is too far a climb anyway; an unbreakable glass ceiling. Finally, This was never the person I imagined I’d grow into, and every bit of resentment I feel toward myself is reflected in the aluminum of each passed mirror. I’d give everything to be someone else, but know I possess nothing of sufficient value to make the exchange.

It feels as though my heart is still sinking, despite eventual ascension. There is something inside me that says, “Not yet”. Still, it becomes harder to gasp for air, as I have none the reason to.

I hear, sometimes, the light. “So shines a good deed...” but I am the weary world it speaks of. The air settles around it as it lays its head on its arm.

So as far as wishes may go, for one as dead as I: 1. Tell my cat I love him, and give him an extra treat for me, especially when he does not deserve it. Cats are far more clever than anyone else, and I understand him to be knowledgeable of my parting before any other. This, I think, is why he sits so close to me as I work. He is to soon fill space. 2. Do what you will with my words. They are the only gift I can truly bestow, and they litter about me like debris. They are no more mine now than anyone else's. 3. Don’t forget what happened to the man who suddenly got everything he always wanted

             Cheerily,          

          ��                   Adya 

#my writing