#&&; EVERY SINGLE NIGHT I ENDURE THE FLIGHT ( thread )

[marvels-writings]

Angel

Soulmate AU with Wanda Maximoff

Wanda Maximoff (Scarlet Witch Masterlist)

Prompt by: @omgopalsapphire​ 

Requested by: @ophelias-heart, @sananabdliw, @jadewestwriter, @xxxtwilightaxelxxx

Word Count: 3,943

You never believed in the idea of true love.

 Even though you lived in a world where everyone had a different way of finding their so-called ‘soulmate’. You never understood the idea.

Everyone told you about how special it was to be able to spend eternity with someone. You were never able to grasp the idea. Most people you knew had an easy way of finding their soulmate. Either their name is written across their skin. Or a thread connected them. Or their first words to each other is on their arms.

Your way is complicated. You felt the pain of your soulmate, you never understood why.

Throughout your childhood, you never felt pain. Until one day, you got surges of pain, it felt like you were being starved for days. Ever since you would feel a random needle in your side. The pain of knocking out, electric shocks, bruises. You pitied your soulmate, you tried to be more careful so they wouldn’t have to endure more pain.

It became harder once you’d joined the Avengers. Tony saw you fly out of a burning building. You had gorgeous white wings springing out from in the middle of your shoulder blades. You often tended to keep them under wraps. Folding them and wearing larger clothes. SHIELD helped you develop the ability to shrink their size so they were barely visible.

Every time you got injured, you murmured a silent apology to your soulmate for adding to their pain. Little did you know, Wanda apologized every night for the pain she put you through every single day.

After Ultron had manipulated the minds of the entire team, you’d gone with them to Clint’s safe house. A plan had developed. You went with Fury and Maria to get the helicarrier after everyone had been saved. You heard someone had been  left behind, a girl in a red leather jacket.

You instantly flew out of the helicarrier and towards the city. Vision gave you her location, unable to get to her since he was dealing with Ultron. You eventually found her, you quickly down to get her. Wordlessly, you picked her up and flew out of there. The girl wrapped her arms around your neck to keep herself from falling, but she couldn’t help staring.

You looked stunning. You wore a black body con suit, your face smeared with dirt but she could still see your eyes sparkling. What caught her eye was your wings, they were huge and beautiful, almost angelic.

After you set her down and verified she was okay, you introduced yourself. Wanda was a little hesitant to introduce herself since she saw the Avengers symbol stitched onto your suit. But you didn’t seem to notice her hesitation, instead offering to walk her inside.

You talked about the helicarrier while you walked. Gesturing to the planes and everyone else at the flight deck. You noticed Wanda staring at your wings and you flapped them a bit, startling her. You laughed at her stunned reaction.

“How did you get them?” Wanda asked, completely awestruck by them.

“Well, they were a sort of a mutation. I accidentally got caught up in a science room where they had a serum for growing wings. They decided to make me their new test subject, and the serum worked,” You pursed your lips at the memory. “But they injected me with the serum on accident,”

“I’m sorry,” Wanda apologized, wincing when she saw the hard expression on your face.

“It’s fine now,” You waved it off casually, “It turned out well for me anyway,”

Wanda opened her mouth to say something when something silver rushed over and pulled her in for a hug. You instantly went into a defensive posture. Flaring your wings and raising your fists. Your eyes widened when you realized it was just a person.

“Woah,” The blonde man gasped, Wanda laughed and pulled away from him.

You frowned at the interaction, still in a defensive pose.

“Calm down angel,” Pietro flirted. You rolled your eyes and pulled your wings back in after noticing his staring.

“This is Pietro, my twin,” Wanda introduced, she gestured to you. “This is y/n,”

“Great to meet you,” Pietro smirked, offering you his hand.

You raised an eyebrow at him and swatted his hand away with your wing. They laughed and waved you a quick goodbye before heading off to where Steve was calling them.

The next few weeks were interesting, to say the least. You felt drawn to Wanda, you weren’t sure why you constantly found yourself trying to spend more time with her. Eventually, both of you became close friends, which surprised the entire team.

Somehow, neither of you noticed that you were each other’s soulmate. Since both of you were off of missions for almost a month, you were only attending training. You didn’t notice that the bruises on your arms from training were also on Wanda’s arms. The redhead seemed not to notice your matching injuries either.

You weren’t the most open person, but you seemed to open up to Wanda about almost everything rather quickly. The witch found herself trusting you more and more as days went by. Both of you confused about why you felt drawn to each other.

“What are you thinking about?” Wanda asked, flopping down on the couch next to you, you shrugged and turned to face her.

The redhead wore grey leggings, a scarlet t-shirt, and a dark grey cardigan. Her arms wrapped loosely around her midsection as she sat down next to you, looking at you curiously.

“Just how we first met,” You answered casually, fidgeting with your sweatshirt.

“And Pietro called you ‘angel’?” Wanda jokes, you giggled and looked up to face her.

“He’s not the first person to come up with that,” You stated, the redhead raised an eyebrow.

“When you have white wings, everyone tends to think that. Especially the people who are almost unconscious.” You shrugged.

Wanda laughed at the idea of someone dying then thinking you were an angel coming to redeem them. You found yourself entranced by her laughter, you blinked to try to stop staring.

“When we first met, I-” FRIDAY cut her off and told them they were required for a mission briefing.

Wanda sighed and got up, holding out a hand for you to take. She was going to tell you that she thought you were an angel when you first met. You took it and let her pull you up, realizing she didn’t finish her sentence.

“You didn’t finish,” You commented, Wanda, shrugged.

You noticed that Wanda still held onto your hand. You chose not to tell her, instead slowly moving to intertwine your fingers with hers. The redhead blushed at the action but squeezed your hand gently on the way to the briefing room.

It confused both of you when the squeeze seemed to resonate more than it should have.

-----------

The mission was fairly simple, it was to take down an arm’s dealer’s base a few miles north of rural New York. The team consisted of you, Wanda and Rhodey. You were to fly over and make sure nothing was wrong .Rhodey was to fly the jet and stand by as backup. You were to fly over the base and act as a bomber since you were undetectable by most radars. Wanda could use her magic to manipulate them into surrendering or blowing the entire place to bits.

Nothing you hadn’t done a thousand times before. But this time, your crush was on the mission.

-----------

“Nice suit,” You glanced at Wanda, she blushed. The redhead wore a black leather jacket, a simple, body con top underneath it, a simple black skirt, and knee-high boots.

“Not so bad yourself,” Wanda commented, stealing a glance at you.

You wore your usual body-con armor, it was simple and sleek, completely black, except for the thin lines of gold adorning it to give it a nice touch. You could’ve picked a white suit, but after you got called angel too many times, you settled for the black one.

“There was a white one too, I liked this one better,” You answered, tucking a few knives into the thigh holsters and putting a gun into your belt.

“Too angelic?” Wanda jokes, moving closer to you and leaning her back against the wall in front of you.

Your breath hitched at how close she was, you nodded and retrieved one last knife. Trying not to focus on the way Wanda was looking at you.

“If you’re done,” Rhodey gestured to both of you. “I’d like to get this mission over with”

Your eyes widened, you clenched your jaw and nodded, walking away from Wanda towards the bay doors. The redhead walked up next to you. She reached for your hand and gently intertwined your fingers together. You released a breath you didn’t know you had been holding, you smiled reassuringly at her.

Rhodey told you that you needed to take off, you winked at the witch and let go of her hand, free-falling while facing her. You extended your wings, grinning as you stretched them. Wanda had a passing thought that you were beautiful, she shut it down before it could interfere with her capabilities.

You flew through the sky with ease, closing your eyes as the wind running through your hair and every part of you. You extended your wings as far as they would reach, finally feeling free. You took in a deep breath and started throwing the bombs for the mission, a small smile on your face from the euphoria of flying.

But she couldn’t help but stare as you flew over the building, throwing bombs through the roof. Wanda went inside, easily knocking out whoever came at her. Rhodey shouted a warning to you on the comms about their advanced radar. Wanda headed outside once she got all their info on a flash drive.

You were still flying over the base, but you were trying to evade their bullets. You had been succeeding so far, Wanda looked on intently. You easily dodged them and took out the gun, but you didn’t notice one of their men on the roof with a gun.

The gunshots resonated through the air, Wanda covered her face with a mouth at the sight. The bullet hit one of your wings. You fell, blood staining your white wings as you tried to regain balance. The wind flapped past your face, you could barely see as you tumbled through the air.

Wanda felt pain pulse in the middle of her shoulder blades, she gasped and touched where it hurt.

It was the same spot where you had wings. She could feel your pain.

Wanda sprinted to where she assumed you were going to crash.

You gritted your teeth against the pain in your wings, trying to regain your balance using one wing. You narrowed your eyes as you extended your left-wing all the way to try to regain your balance. You thought it was working when you started to stabilize.

But it was Wanda using her powers to save you. Once you were safely on the ground, she ignored the pain pulsing through her back and knocked out the man who shot you. She ran over to you, turning you over so she could see your back properly.

You groaned as she did so, the pain worsening. Wanda felt it get worse, she felt the headache, your spiking heart rate, the pain in your wings. She tried to use her powers to ease the pain, she felt it lessen and she knew it was helping.

“You’re going to be okay,” She assured, you tried to nod in response. You turned your head to face her, frowning when you saw her clenched jaw and gritted teeth.

“, what’s wrong?” You murmured, reaching out your good hand to brush your fingers against her cheek.

“I feel your pain,” Wanda whispered, holding your hand against her cheek tightly. “Don’t leave me.”

Your eyes widened at her words, she was your soulmate. She was the person you’d been searching for your entire life. You needed to stay for her.

You gritted your teeth against the pain and forced yourself to get up. Wanda understood what you were trying to do and supported your weight with one hand. Your injured wing dropped behind you as you made your way inside.

“What the hell happened?” Rhodey demanded, helping you inside.

Wanda answered for you as you laid face down on the gurney, blood still seeping from your wound. The pain started to fade once Rhodey gave you an anesthetic. Wanda breathed a sigh of relief and held your hand. You turned your face to look at her, watching her.

The redhead’s heart broke at the sight of you. Your white wings stained with your blood, both of them dropped at your side. Your entire suite was dirt and blood stained.

You looked like a fallen angel.

Wanda pulled your hand closer to her lips, she kissed your knuckles softly. She used some of her magic to try to ease the pain. Thankfully, it helped ease the pain. Rhodey eventually stopped the bleeding and started flying you back to the compound.

You never tore your eyes off of Wanda the entire time, you were still shocked that you found your soulmate. You hadn’t taken the opportunity to admire her before, she was gorgeous. Her soft emerald eyes flicked to yours as you stared, her auburn hair rested on her shoulders, she was gorgeous.

“Why are you staring at me, angel?” Wanda asked softly, surprised at how easily the nickname slipped in.

You smiled at her.

“You,” You answered, taking in a deep breath. “You’re the person I’m going to spend the rest of my life with.”

“You’re not disappointed?” Wanda asked, insecurity seeping into her tone. Her other arm went to hug her midsection as she hunched over.

“Why would I be?” You asked, brow furrowing. Wanda’s green eyes avoided your gaze.

“I'm a monster, you deserve better.” Wanda murmured. You frowned and used your good wing to gently tilt her face upwards to look at you.

“You’re all I ever want in someone,” You whispered. You took your wing away from her face, scared it was making her uncomfortable.

Wanda almost cried at your words, she moved to sit closer to you. You smiled softly at her, stroking her knuckles with your thumb. You noticed her staring at your wing, you gently moved it closer to her.

“Can I?” She asked, hand hovering over your wing. You nodded and moved it closer to her hand.

Wanda’s fingers glide delicately over your wing, stroking the feathers gently. She was in awe of how beautiful they were. She couldn’t stop running her warm fingers through the soft feathers.

You giggled at the sensation, no one had bothered to touch your wings in fear of making you uncomfortable. Wanda noticed and gently ran her fingers along them, soothing you with her touch and her magic until you arrived at the compound.

After transferring you to the medical wing, she couldn’t see you. She sat in the waiting room outside after washing your blood off of her hands. The rest of the team waited to hear how the operation went. Scared that you might lose your flight, they knew it was something that meant the most to you.

The doctor came outside after the operation was over. After whispering some things to Tony, he told the rest of them your condition.

“We’ve never operated on wings before, but the bullet hit a lot of the tissue around her wings. It also grazed the bone. Thanks to the cradle, we were able to regenerate the bone tissue” The entire team breathed a sigh of relief. “But we didn’t know how to regenerate the muscle, so she won’t be able to fly for a few weeks, but she would be fine eventually.”

“Can we see her?” Steve asked the doctor nodded.

“She is unconscious right now, but we think she should be awake in a few hours.”

They nodded and asked FRIDAY to notify them when you were awake. Tony and Natasha sat in your room alongside Wanda, waiting for you to wake up.

You were laying on the bed, face down, your wings by your sides. Your left-wing bandaged with a few blood stains on it.

Tony was eventually forced to leave by Pepper on account of the press. But Natasha stayed and talked to Wanda about you. Eventually, Wanda told you that she was your soulmate.

Natasha’s eyes widened in shock, Wanda felt her heart constrict in fear. She knew that Natasha was like family to you, and her disapproval could mean the end of everything.

“I’m happy she finally found the person she had been searching for all these years,” Natasha smiled softly at her.

“You, you aren’t angry?” Wanda asked, confused.

“Why would I be? The entire team was making bets on when you’d finally start dating.” She gestured to both of you. “Anyone could see from a mile away you are made for each other.”

Natasha took Wanda’s hand and squeezed softly, smiling at her. She told Wanda about how you’d apologize for getting injured every single time because you were terrified of adding to her pain. Wanda laughed, her heart swooned at how caring you were. Before she could say anything, you stirred.

“Look who is finally awake,” Natasha commented. You turned around groggily to face them, cautious of your injury.

“I’m okay thanks for asking,” You retorted sleepily. They laughed at your comment. Natasha got up and leaned over your ear.

“You’ve got a good one angel, don’t you dare let her go,” She whispered, pulling away and winking at you.

“I won’t,” You laughed, Natasha nodded and left the both of you alone. Wanda looked in confusion from you to Natasha but decided not to push it when you turned to look at her.

“So, what’s the result?” You asked Wanda, she chuckled at your joke and leaned forwards on her elbows.

“You would be able to fly again,” Wanda stated, reaching for your hand and squeezing it as you smiled. “But it might take a few weeks for it to heal completely.”

You breathed a sigh of relief which surprised Wanda. Confusion written across her face, you weren’t going to be able to fly for a few weeks, why were you happy?

“Don’t look confused, I’ll be able to fly again eventually, it’s not all bad.” You laughed at her expression, fingers stroking her knuckles.

“Can I ask you something?” Wanda asked you nodded.

“Why do you like flying? I tried it a few times with my powers but it scares me.”

You considered the question, giving it some thought before answering.

“At first, it was scary, like most things in life. But after you start it, it’s amazing. It feels like freedom, it feels like no one can control you and you can do whatever you want. It’s almost euphoric,” You answered, eyes momentarily closing as you imagined it.

Wanda let your words soak in, she never got past the fear of flying or using her powers.

“I know you’re scared of your powers,” You stroked her knuckles to pull her out of her thoughts. “, but if you trust yourself, you might find something you like

“How do you know exactly what to say,” Wanda laughed, leaning back against the chair. You giggled.

“It’s a gift,” You winked.

A comfortable silence settled into the room. You continued to mindlessly stroke over her knuckles, deep in thought. Wanda stared at your joined hands before her gaze settled on your face and your wings. You were beautiful.

“Can I kiss you?” She blurted, eyes widening at what she said. Wanda tried to get up and apologize, but you chuckled and pulled her back down with your hand.

“I’m sorry, that was-”

“Yes, you can kiss me,” You cut her off with a soft smile on your face.

Wanda smiled softly at you, she leaned forwards in her chair slowly. She watched your features for any hints of hesitation. Instead, your eyes fluttered shut when you felt her breath fan across your face. She gently touched her lips to yours, melting into you instantly.

You subtly tugged her closer using your joined hands. Wanda sighed into your mouth as butterflies erupted in her stomach. Her free hand gently settled on your wing, slowly sliding up your wing and to the back of your neck. She drew gentle patterns on the back of your neck, making you break the kiss with a soft gasp.

“Wow,” You breathed, eyes fluttering open to look at Wanda, whose eyes were still closed. You smiled and kissed the tip of her nose, her eyes fluttered open at the contact.

“I think I found that feeling you were talking about,” Wanda whispered, smiling softly at you as she searched for the word.

“Euphoria?” You offered, she nodded and leaned in again.

You smiled into the kiss, wishing you could stay there forever.

---------------------------------

10 years later

“Alright kiddo, time to head off to bed,” You easily lifted your daughter in your arms.

The brunette protested, you laughed and started tickling her. Thanks to Tony, you were able to give birth to your and Wanda’s child. She looked like you but had Wanda’s eyes and hair.

Wanda laughed from the couch as she saw you tickle your daughter. She tried to squirm away from your grasp, eventually succeeding. Your eyes widened when you saw she was about to fall, but Wanda used her magic to keep her upright.

“Thank you, mama!” Your daughter thanked Wanda.

“Of course moya Lyubov,” Wanda grinned, scooping daughter/name up in her arms.

“Can we fly?” She asked you and Wanda glanced at each other with a grin.

“Last time before bed, okay?” You said she nodded eagerly. You bent over so you faced the ground, you extended your wings a little.

Wanda gently set her down on your back in the middle of your wings. Your daughter held on tightly to each wing as you sprinted into her room, making whooshing noises as you did so. Your wife laughed at your antics to try to put your daughter to bed.

“Careful angel,” She shouted as both of you went into her bedroom. The redhead smiled to herself and followed you in.

Eventually, you tucked her into bed and placed a kiss on her forehead as Wanda sat down on the opposite side of the bed. It was usually her job to tell her a story to fall asleep to.

“So, what’s the story for tonight?” She asked, gesturing to the large bookshelf in the corner of the room filled with storybooks.

“Tell me a different story,” Your daughter answered. You brushed the hair out of her face gently and glanced at Wanda who was as confused as you.

“About who?” Wanda asked, sitting down so she could see you and your daughter.

“About you and mommy!” She grinned, looking hopefully towards you and your wife.

“Should we tell her the story of how we met?” You asked, turning to face Wanda.

“Why not angel?” Wanda joked you laughed.

Your daughter squealed in excitement. You laughed and moved so you were lying down next to her. Your daughter’s weight supported on one wing as your other wing covered Wanda. You smiled as you watched Wanda weave together your story, the story of your family. You felt like you were flying, like euphoria.

A/N: I need to stop creating my own soulmate AUs, what do you think tho?

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[hazelenergy]

What happened that final night.

One year ago today was my last Elysium in Atlanta. And in a mere 48 hours, I will have betrayed and killed my adoptive sire, blood bonded myself to the wild sister of two famous Malkavians, and lost two people I loved. 

A few days prior to this night was the beginning of the end. A bloodhunt was called in Atlanta. Not for me. Not for the other thinbloods. A salubri had entered the city. Our adoptive sire, Mary Andrews and primogen of the Tremere (and the only Tremere in the city..I dont know actually why she was alone but I have theories) ordered her children, myself and my two shovelheaded broodmates to bring this man to her alive. We complied. At first. 

Solomon had been working closely with Reverend Clancy, the primogen of Clan Brujah. We never knew Solomon’s bloodline, but he vibed with the righteous and nonviolent nature of Clancy’s leadership. Clancy told us the other half of the history of clan Tremere and the Salubri. We were devastated. And now our adoptive sire wanted this man and would probably experiment on him like she did to us. And it would be worse. He can heal. He’d be able to endure what she did to us. So Clancy asked us, two lowly thinbloods, to help him and his clan free this man and get him out of the city. We said yes without questioning the consequences. 

Long story short we put our ability to blend with humans to the test at Airport security. We managed to slide through the TSA check with ease- without tipping off the inquisition either. Solomon and I had intercepted the international flight by getting the plane to dock in the incorrect port, allowing the Salubri to slip past the sheriff and his hired guards. Things didn’t go as well as we hoped- as the Sheriff caught on to someone was messing with the radio tower and hopped over to where we were hiding. We had already called the brujah boys to the airfield to intercede the sheriff’s men. A huge fire fight broke out. The brujah were losing so Solomon and I made a rash decision. We used far reach together and launched a fuel tank at the gun fight- fire engulfed the scene. Solomon and I fled into the night- starving, but unscathed. Cue camarilla media blackout and clean up. 

The next night we were ordered to return to the chantry. We refused and gave pitiful excuses saying things like keeping face by going to a night job or Solomon had a legit excuse of needing to write his Yom Kippur service. Instead we tracked down Clancy and the brujah and high tailed the Salubri out of Atlanta. Clancy handled the money for the dark flight and I wore less clothing to convince the guy to bypass security. Our Salubri was in the air and out of Atlanta. But the sheriff was on our trail. Someone had to take the blame. Clancy knew how hard we had worked. He was the only kindred who knew about the safehouse project. He took the fall for freeing the Salubri and let himself be staked by the sheriff as we fled unseen into the night. 

The following night, we did go to Mary’s Haven. She immediately shoveled us into the car and took us to Elysium. She knew we had something to do with this. Or just wanted to see us squirm. Regardless. Clancy had been placed on trial for his crimes against the Prince and the brujah were ready to Throw. Down. The air was tense and violent choleric resonances dominated the room. There is one brujah in particular, Jamal. He was basically an anarch. The only reason he wasn’t a Baron and fighting the Prince was because of his faith and trust in Clancy. He was nearly going to free Clancy then and there- if it wasn’t for Solomon. Sol begged him to let him play the political game first. Solomon  offered himself to the prince as the duskborn primogen. He advised the prince that Clancy’s life was the spindly thread that kept the brujah from rioting. Solomon ruled that Clancy should be exiled but allowed to live. The Prince agreed. The brujah and Jamal backed down- begrudgingly. Clancy was still staked and was to be driven out of the city once Solomon achieved a few goals as his new primogen. Mary was furious. Was it because her ex had arrived in the city and had gotten close to her other child? Oh that was a part of it- for sure. Somehow this night really did not go according to plan and the car ride home was AWKWARD. 

That night Mary tried to get me to drink from her again- which uhhh no. Idk what you all know about Tremere who follow Carna- but they can still blood bond. And that made her even angrier. She was willing to try anything to get either myself or Solomon to comply. We resisted. That’s when I figured out Mary had slipped on some control over us and wanted to reclaim it. So, I left the haven that night and went to get some sweet distractions at Atlanta’s Asylum chain. That’s when I decided to stop being careful and took that final drink- as a huge fuck you to Mary and to give myself the edge I wanted. I’d have the swirling madness and premonitions in my system for a while and could be thinking ahead of her. I didn’t realize how loopy I’d get. I felt higher than ever before and couldn’t keep my thoughts from spilling out of my mouth.  I stumbled back into the chantry and told my adoptive sire this:

“I reject your blood.”

and

“Any kindred that bothers with me is up to something. You. You chose me. YOURE Up to Something And I wont let it happen.”

She looked me in the eye and said, "tell the truth."

I babbled about everything. The page from the book of Nod and how I copied it. The alchemy I kept from her. The thaumaturgy I tried and made a mess. How she blood bonded Tommy. Letting the Salubri go. How I knew about her plan to usurp the Prince- the madness told me what she’d do. We argued until the sun came up. I went to bed, thinking that I’d have to continue the talk in the evening. I didn’t expect to find myself warded into my own room, windows loaded with explosives, security cameras installed, and my girlfriend Lisa trapped with me. Mary had called an emergency Elysium- excluding Solomon. They were planning our executions. I made it out, barely. Mary’s ghoul and Lisa were killed when one of the explosives went off. There was nothing left but her necklace. In a fit of grief, rage, sorrow I don’t know what emotions I was feeling but it was a lot of them. I obliterated the wards around Mary’s private lab and took whatever I could carry. 

We drove off, thinking we’d lay low for a few hours before Mary could use trail of prey on me. We could beg borrow and steal to get our things and get out. I had just parked the car when I vomited the first time. My blood began bubbling and boiling and oozing out of every open surface it could. I had three bullet holes in my stomach- the bullets were pushed out as my blood gushed. I spent the next fifteen minutes in agonizing pain as Mary called my phone. She heard every gag and wretch- and laughed. The ultimatum was to bring me before the Prince to be put out of my misery, and return what I stole. I told her to go fuck herself. Within seconds, my blood was boiling again and I was a mess on the sidewalk. 

The next few hours were agony waiting. I didn’t know if she’d do it again. But the clock was ticking. The Prince had ordered a hunt for us. And Mary’s ritual to dominate the Prince and the entire court was already ignited. We could have just fled right then. Fuck the Camarilla of Atlanta. Fuck everything about this place. Lets leave and never look back.... But Solomon still had too much to lose in Atlanta- and was willing to fight for it. And Cass had old wounds from Mary (they were an item at one point omg). And I wanted to go so badly- but what I wanted more was to see her vitae spilling out onto the floor as I drove my knife through her. So after cleaning myself from the third wave of dagons call and alleycat hunting for the first time- we took what little time we had left in the city to put an end to this. 

We used the first hour before sunset to gear up. I immediately drove out to the few spots to where thinbloods were hiding and told them to RUN. Find a new city or something- just get out. A few times they looked at me with power hungry eyes. It was a perfect opportunity to take a wanted kindred to the Prince and move up the ranks. I reminded them that they are not known by the prince. And to take me in was to also announce themselves- amidst a time when they are using thinbloods as scapegoats for anything gone wrong. And BOY. Is it going wrong. The last stop I made was to my alchemical dealer. I drained my bank account and bought some of the most powerful brews I’ve ever drank. As a parting gift, or grift if you ask me, he let me have his best brew: Potence.

Solomon went to free Clancy with a group of the brujah boys. A minor fire fight broke out. Solomon was a bit roughed up- both physically and spiritually. I think he had broken one of his own oaths and it was weighing heavily on him. 

When we met up at the edges of Mary’s Haven- we didn’t realize how quickly she had redone the wards. As one of the Brujah boys drove up the path it kept twisting and winding to steer us back to the front gate. Eventually I crawled into the drivers seat. Even though I wasn’t welcome anymore- I was the last one to drive this path and now armed with malkavian whispers. It wasn’t my best driving. Certainly creative. But I got us to the bottom of the hill and we could see the lights to the haven. Mary had laid tons of traps as we made our crawl up to the porch. Landmines specifically. Seriously, where the fuck did she get these? Were they always here? 

When we made it to the porch, the sheriff sat illuminated by the single flickering light. That certainly explains why it was so easy to bust Clancy out. Solomon took the diplomatic approach and tried to reason with the sheriff. I knew it wasn’t going to work and hovered one of the explosives over him. If anything happened to Solomon I’d-- two gunshots. Solomon clutched his chest and fell to the ground. There goes the second person I believed was actually good in this world. Thats when fresh vitae rained from above. Yeah, this is where I get frenzy bombs. The brujah boys immediately attack each other. Clancy and I keep our cool. 

I dropped the explosive and the sheriff flies back into the haven. I go to enter the door, and am met with Mary’s hell cat. Far reached the cat aside. I didn’t care. Nothing was going to stand between me and ending this. The sheriff, his skin singed and peeling, turned to me with frenzied eyes. Far reach again. He’ll never lay a hand on me again. I held him still as Cass drove the stake through his chest. We tossed him aside. 

Thats when we realized the basement was warded. It sent Cass flying back everytime she got close. Even Clancy couldn’t get closer than five feet to the doorway. So I pulled out that potence brew and drank it. I slammed my fist into the mahogany floorboards and crashed through two levels of the haven. I fell to my knees surrounded by rubble and looked up to see my adoptive sire performing her ritual- the circle nearly illuminated. “Mom, I’m home.”

When it came down to it, my hand shook and I couldn’t pull the trigger. At first I tried to far reach her out of her circle, but my hunger had gotten the best of me. So instead, Cass took my hand. She fired at my adoptive sire. The Tremere collapsed and fell to ash. I hadn’t seen someone suffer final death before. I stared at the wispy grey ashes fluttering around the room. Suddenly, the house began to crack and crumble. Clancy grabbed both me and Cass and leaped out of the rubble. When we got back to the ground level- the sheriff was gone. Jamal had taken all of him-the last drop. He told Clancy that Atlanta won’t be the same without him- but its going to change in a way he didn’t like. Clancy looked so disappointed. Without a word, He turned and picked up Solomon’s corpse. Sol was now warm. He was dying. He breathed his last breath in Clancy’s arms. The old brujah carried him to his family that night and they got to give him the proper funeral for his faith.

I told Jamal my dark secret and it’s why I couldn’t stay in Atlanta. He told me to get moving and come back when I’m zeroed. “I need a chameleon that can put on charm and take a punch like you.” I was still chased out of Atlanta by a few kindred who wanted that sweet sweet blood hunt boon- but Jamal used it to his advantage. He took them out as I sped away with Cass to Miami. I don’t know what the affairs of Atlanta are like- a mere year later. I know Jamal was going for the Prince since was now without a sheriff missing his two heavy hitting primogen. But regardless of who is in charge- the duskborn trio perished in that haven that night. And we keep it that way.

~HB

_____

Here Jackie, this is the sob story. @ventrue-in-control​

#vtm #thats what happened #most of this is canon...in the chronicle the third drink didnt happen but hazel was still loopy af #vtm chronicle #vampire the masquerade v5 #vtm rp

[rufousnmacska]

Ahhh i love the Dorian fic! Your writing is amazing! Another prompt idea could be what would Manon's first visit to Dorian after the end be like, with her meeting his mother & brother

Thanks so much anon!

This scene could go so many different ways. I hope you like it!

“Are you nervous?”

Yrene’s question, along with her gleaming eyes and quirked smile, should have been a warning.

“No,” Manon replied, a little confused.

Why should she be nervous to meet Dorian’s mother and brother? She had no intentions of being rude, but their opinions made little difference to her. Especially considering what she knew - or didn’t know - of them.

Chaol had shared a few horrific stories of the brother. But the Queen Mother was more of a mystery. Beyond knowing the woman favored titles, Manon was clueless. She’d overheard no gossip, but the tense buzz filling the castle at her impending arrival was impossible to ignore.

Dorian had spoken little to her about either of them. She supposed that was all she needed to know. Another stark reminder that for both of them, true families weren’t always determined by blood.

It wasn’t until the day of, when she caught Dorian anxiously fidgeting with his jacket then tying and retying his cravat, that she felt the first wave of nerves.

His attention to his clothes made her examine her own.

She stared into the full length mirror standing beside Dorian’s closet. Her black boots and flying leathers were clean of blood or dirt, sported no tears or patches. Twelve golden silk threads were wound into her braid, subtle until they caught the light just so. Glennis had insisted on the crown, and won the argument, even though Manon didn’t feel it was necessary.

Now, she was glad to have the softly glowing stars adorn her head. Symbols held power. While it was an old saying meant more for others, she was quickly beginning to see how empowering they could be to the one wielding them.

Watching Dorian prepare, she couldn’t help but feel like she was walking into a trap. A trap made of human courtly gestures and human courting customs of which she was ignorant.

A knock sounded from the outer door of their suite and she heard Yrene call out a greeting.

Manon exhaled a sigh of relief. If anyone could give her advice, it was the healer. Yrene would be able to help her navigate through this wretched morning.

That was all she had to do. Get through the official court presentation Georgina had insisted on, followed by a short luncheon with a few select guests. Then she could disappear for a flight on Abraxos.

When Manon entered the sitting room, Yrene cringed. It lasted barely half a second, but Manon had seen it.

“I am not wearing a dress,” she said, not bothering to wait for the suggestion before shooting it down.

Yrene’s golden brown eyes searched her up and down and back up again. “What about a cloak? Your Crochan cloak? It might just add a little more…” She fluttered her hands in the air. “Pomp.”

“Pomp?”

“Formality,” Yrene said.

Manon scowled. “I know what it means.“

The woman smiled her sickly sweet smile that Manon had never been able to defend against.

“Please help me,” Manon said, desperate and at the same time reluctant. “I have no idea what I’m doing. All I know is that I’m not wearing a godsdamned dress.”

Yrene laughed. She walked past Manon to take the red cloak off its hook on the wall. “Here. This will help. There’s no need for a dress. Although I think you would look stunning in one.” She secured the silver clasp around Manon’s neck and stepped back, taking another long look. “I mean, you look stunning in flying leathers. But… You know that already.”

Manon couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s meaningless. Just one of the ways witches lure in their victims.” Her iron nails slid out, slowly so as not to scare the woman. “Distract them with your beauty and then go for the weak spot.”

Yrene grinned, her eyes narrowing on the lethal points. Not in fear. As if Manon could hear it whirring, she knew Yrene’s mind was racing with questions. The healer opened her mouth to say something, but before she could, Dorian came through the door. Judging by the blush that crept over Yrene’s face, Manon could imagine what she was about to ask.

“Ready?” The quavering of his voice was almost inaudible. He dropped his head and scrubbed his hand through his hair, destroying all that he’d done to make it look perfect. “I hate this. All this ridiculous pomp and circumstance.”

Yrene’s eyes flashed to Manon and they shared a smirk.

Dorian took several deep breaths, willing himself to get through the next couple of hours. This time, his distress improved her mood. Proof this feeling of unavoidable ambush wasn’t all in her head.

Her earlier sense of not caring what this human woman and boy thought of her returned. Dorian wouldn’t change his opinions of her. Neither would Yrene. Or anyone else who mattered.

The light from her crown flared gently and she felt suffused with calm confidence. Taking Dorian’s hand and nodding to Yrene, she said, “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

**

The complete lack of conversation at lunch made every bite of food, every slice of a knife, every sip of wine sound louder than the temple bells at Yulemas. The silence was…

Dorian sat his fork down, trying to think of a proper word to use.

Palpable.

No, that described the tension in the room, not the silence.

Deafening?

That worked, but it was overused.

A sharp kick to his shin made him almost jump out of his seat. He turned to his left to see Chaol glaring at him. He jerked his head towards the opposite side of the table to where Hollin was watching Manon.

Dorian turned to his right to find Manon glaring daggers at his younger brother. Her nails were out, and he had no doubt her teeth would be visible if she smiled. But there was no reason to smile.

Their introduction had, unsurprisingly, not gone well. Manon bore no blame, of course.

His mother had been courteous, yet cold. At her first glimpse of Manon, her eyes shot straight to the crown. Then to Wind Cleaver’s hilt peeking out over Manon’s shoulder. And back to the crown.

A queen in her own right, Manon stood straight and tall next to him, waiting for his mother to bow, or offer some sort of acknowledgement. The Queen Mother dipped her head, lower than Dorian had expected.

“Thank you for welcoming us home,” she said, an airy quality to her voice he remembered from before.

It was strained now though. An effort. He wished they could have done this in private. But his mother so loved following proper etiquette, especially with an audience.

He had to give her credit. She hadn’t balked at Manon’s fierceness, and she wasn’t groveling either, desperate to ingratiate herself to royalty. True, his mother looked down her nose at them, but there was no single target of her disapproval. It was spread among the crowd. She was always generous like that.

Dorian didn’t yet know what had happened to his mother and brother after Erawan had declared Hollin his heir. In the first letter he’d received from his mother after the war, he learned they’d been held prisoner in the mountain home he’d sent them to.

She made no mention of the ways in which they’d been imprisoned, what they’d endured. Perhaps it had been equal to a mildly unpleasant holiday - fewer servants, poor food. Or maybe Erawan had set his horrors upon them.

Seeing her now, she showed no signs of trauma, physical or mental. But… She’d never shown any hint of suffering while married to his father. Not for the first time, Dorian wondered how much she even knew. Suspecting her husband contained a valg prince might never have crossed her mind, but his father’s cruelties were well known.

And it appeared those cruelties had passed successfully to the man’s youngest son.

Upon seeing Manon, Hollin had drawled, “You couldn’t save that human girl so you got a witch? Well done, brother.”

It took every ounce of restraint to keep his magic from tearing the little shit apart.

Manon, who had no magic to contain, was instead forcing her nails and teeth to remain sheathed so she didn’t gut him. The sight made him love her even more.

Ultimately, they’d ignored Hollin. He was still technically a child, even if he had the personality of a viper. On top of his normal atrociousness, he was clearly angry that he was not on the throne. A public confrontation was what he wanted. They were determined not to give it to him. But gods, it was hard.

Now, watching his brother sink away from Manon’s glowering stare, Dorian thought calling Hollin a viper might be unduly offensive towards snakes. The thought made him laugh quietly, drawing the attention of everyone at the table.

Dorian no longer cared. He’d had enough of this onerous meal and stifling silence.

Stifling. Onerous. Those were good words, he thought.

The others had either finished their meals or abandoned them, so he stuffed the remainder of his food in his mouth. When he was done, he stood, tossing his napkin on his empty plate.

To the servants behind him, he said, “Excellent as always. Please thank the cook.”

To his mother, he bowed his head. “Mother, you will be shown to your rooms now. I’m sure you’ll find them beneath your usual standards, but as we’re still recovering from a war, you will have to make do.”

His words weren’t unkind, just matter of fact. She nodded in understanding, eyes filled with something he’d never seen there. Remorse.

He’d give her the night before asking questions about how they’d spent the war. He couldn’t remember the last honest conversation he’d had with her. Maybe he never had.

With this new and better world of theirs only beginning, he thought it was a good time to try.

She thanked him again, offered a hasty smile to Manon, then followed a servant out the door. The others took it as their cue and left as well, leaving only Chaol and Yrene still seated at the table.

And Manon and Hollin.

His brother seemed afraid to move under her merciless stare. Dorian bit back a grin.

“Apologize,” Manon growled.

Yrene’s eyes went wide. Chaol watched Hollin, his hand on the pommel of his sword. Dorian was almost tempted to say he was sorry. For what, he didn’t know. Such was the power of that one word from Manon’s mouth.

Hollin wouldn’t look at her, clearly regretting his earlier statement. No, he didn’t regret what he said. Just that in hitting his mark, he’d pissed off an Ironteeth witch.

To Dorian’s - and Chaol’s - shock, Hollin stood and offered them a half-hearted bow. “My apologies.” His eyes remained on the floor as he turned and left.

There was a popping sound as Manon removed the tips of her nails from where they’d been dug into the wooden table.

Yrene stood and released a loud exhale. “Perhaps we should send him to Anielle to live with your father,” she said to Chaol. “Or would they make each other worse?”

Manon barked a laugh. Luckily, she’d never met Chaol’s father. Stories of him were more than enough. And, Dorian thought, hit a little too close to what she’d gone through with the matron.

“Worse. Definitely worse,” Chaol said. “But it’s a good last resort.” He rose and kissed his wife’s cheek as they went to check on baby Josefin.

“I’ve never heard him apologize before,” Dorian said, in disbelief.

“That barely qualified. I couldn’t let him get away with it.” Her voice trembled with renewed anger. “He’s lucky I waited until I calmed down.”

Dorian glanced at the ten rather large gouge marks in the table and smirked. “That’s calm, witchling?”

Manon walked over to him, stopping a hair’s breadth away. “That’s me defending someone I love.”

They’d said the words before to each other. I love you. Still, he never got over the lightening-strike feeling of hearing her say it to him.

After a long kiss that he wished would never end, he said, “Then allow me to thank someone I love with a flight on her wyvern. And to celebrate surviving my family.”

“I accept. As soon as I change into suitable clothes.”

“You’re already wearing them aren’t you? Or is that your way of asking me to help you out of them?”

Manon looked down at herself. “These are too clean to fly in. I’ll keep them for special occasions.” Walking away, she glanced over her shoulder, her eyes a fiery gold. “But yes. You may help, princeling.”

#manorian #manon blackbeak #dorian havilliard #throne of glass #yrene westfall #chaol westfall #anon ask #my writing #I think Dorian would try to reconnect with his mother and brother after the war #idk if he'd succeed #and I think Manon would try to be cordial with his mom #but she would take zero shit from Hollin #reasons 999 and 1000 why we need a manorian spin off

[the-pisciest]

PISCES SUN “Pisces are very friendly, so they often find themselves in a company of very different people. Pisces are selfless, they are always willing to help others, without hoping to get anything back.Pisces is a Water sign and as such this zodiac sign is characterized by empathy and expressed emotional capacity.“ Bleeding Heart by Regina Spektor “Someday you'll grow up and then you'll forget All of the pain you endured Until you walk by, a sad pair of eyes And up will come back all the hurt.” When will I Learn by Kina Grannis “Oh, the ocean is breaking me apart In darkness fighting just to swim How can I hold my heart?” South London Forever “And we're just children wanting children of our own I want a space to watch things grow But did I dream too big? Do I have to let it go? What if one day there is no such thing as snow?“ Neptune by Sleeping At Last “Stage by stage, I tear apart If brokenness is a form of art I must be a poster child prodigy Thread by thread I come apart If brokenness is a work of art.” Smother by Daughter “I'm wasted, losing time I'm a foolish, fragile spine I want all that is not mine I want him but we're not right.” Buzzcut Season by Lorde “Where all the things that we do for fun (and I'll breathe, and it goes) Play along (make-believe it's hyper real) But I live in a hologram with you.” In the Sea by Ingrid Michaelson “No no don't rescue me I like the salt water sting It feels so good to feel It feels so good just to feel something.” The State of Dreaming by MARINA “All I really want is to be wonderful People in this town they, they can be so cruel I live my life inside a dream, Only waking when I sleep If I could sell my sorry soul, I would have it all.” Every Single Night by Fiona Apple  “Every single night I endure the flight Of little wings of white-flamed Butterflies in my brain These ideas of mine Percolate the mind Trickle down the spine Swarm the belly, swelling to a blaze.” i See You by Pricilla Ahn (I apologize that this one is not on spotify, but I still wanted to use it!)  “When you are free you run wild to the sea Only you hear the birds cry Nobody knows why your heart ebbs and flows You're just trying to get by.”

#Pisces sun #pisces playlist #astrology playlists #astrology aesthetic #IT'S PISCES SEASON BITCHES I'M AT FULL POWER!

[transient-orca]

post-Alaska thoughts

10:11 a.m.

i am finally home. 

i returned back to Hawai‘i last Friday but i left Alaska more than a week ago. i’m still taking some time to adjust, rest, and reflect on the entire trip. whenever i look back, gratitude overcomes me. i really had no idea what God would reveal to me during the trip. saying “yes” was the best thing that happened to me.

i went to Alaska wanting to give, but i think i received so much more from her than i could conjure or imagine.

to be completely transparent, being back home hasn’t been easy. yesterday, i spent most of the day unpacking all the boxes i had in storage. post-trip blues were slowly settling in, and i needed to ground myself. books, guitars, clothes, and random belongings remained untouched for over two months. dusting them off and placing them where they belonged in the room felt satisfying. these things aren’t meant to take up space in storage — not when i am here and present. 

then i realized, so it should be with all the stories i now hold. 

serving in Alaska with my team was the most fun i’ve ever had. i could spend an entire afternoon talking about the creepy tunnels in Whittier, our weekly hikes in the most breathtaking places, our delirious late-night laughs and growing catalog of inside jokes, the funniest kids we encountered at each VBS, and all of our random encounters with strangers and friends in the wild. 

at certain points, it was also the toughest. having rubbed shoulders and butted heads with so many people since i started working in ministry, the hard stuff isn’t foreign to me. yet a slow avalanche unfurled over the summer. for a moment, i was completely unnerved: foiled plans, abrupt adjustments to our schedule, unmet expectations, inter-team conflict, minor freak accidents, physical/mental/emotional exhaustion. some nights, i went to bed angry and hot with tears. some days, i felt nothing but a dead weight in my stomach. 

still, most of us struggled to haul our luggage into the airport because no one wanted to say good-bye. even “see you later” didn’t suffice. i found it difficult to embrace my emotions, but eventually it did hit me. in the middle of my flight back to Honolulu, i opened the Notes app on my phone and noticed a rogue entry. it was from my supervisor’s thirteen-year-old daughter, Ruthie. joy and sadness circulated under my skin while i read it. she and i became really close during the trip, and parting ways with her was particularly painful for me. so i cried quietly in my seat and re-read the note a few more times. in those moments, i let myself feel the full weight of leaving Alaska. her note was an echo, a gentle reassurance of what God has been teaching me all year: we flourish in connection. 

none of my teammates and i knew when we would cross paths again. we all promised to keep in touch. some of us are hoping that plans to see each other soon would work out. for all the chaos we endured as a team, a single thread still held us together — God’s steady love for us.

before i left for the trip, someone from church told me to buckle up “because your life will never be the same after Alaska.” i had no clue what she meant then, that i would grow a profound love for every place and person i met, that i would use my cautious voice to encourage and challenge my teammates, that i would connect deeply and honestly without recoiling or running away, that i would see God’s face in the good, the bad, and the ugly. 

i cannot wait to see how life will unfold from this moment. 

-

friends, thank you so much for your love and support while i was gone; for all the text messages and phone calls and postcards and memes. to all who partnered with me, i am immensely grateful for your generosity. please know that your giving has impacted me and every single person i encountered, served, and connected with on that trip.

#journal #2019

[theforeverhiatus]

Moment by Moment || oneshot

Read on AO3

Words: 1460

Summary: Today is one of Those Days where Phil can't breathe for the intensity of his depression. Dan will always be there for him. 

Warnings: depression, brief mentions of suicidal ideation

From the moment Phil’s eyes opened and came into focus, he knew it was destined to be one of Those Days. Nothing felt right; everything felt wrong, and he couldn’t help but question the purpose of his very existence. Once he fell down this particular rabbit hole of depressive thoughts, Phil knew the day was over before it’d even had the chance to begin.

As he lay there, he felt paralysed by the heavy feeling settling through his body, pulling him down into the mattress as though he would never be able to climb out of bed again. Perhaps he wouldn’t. Perhaps he would forever lay there, unable to coax a single muscle into moving.

In that moment, nothing felt worthy of the pain he was feeling - not YouTube, not dogs or kittens or the upcoming tour...not his Mum’s cooking, or tumblr or pancakes...not even his ever-supportive boyfriend, Dan. His Dan.

Phil absolutely despised himself for these thoughts. Hatred boiled his blood as he considered just how terrible a person he must be that not even Dan was enough. Dan had done nothing but stand beside him for the past 10 years, holding his hand, wiping away each tear and whispering soothing words of comfort every time his depression was too much to bear. He’d listened as Phil had wept, screamed, punched and thrashed about in agony that no antidepressant had so far managed to sate. Dan had cried as Phil had numbly told him that he didn’t want to live anymore; he’d hugged him, soothed him, and silently held him that whole night, never once letting go.

He’d been there through his lowest moments, and Phil’s stomach twisted at the thought of how even his beautiful, loving boyfriend wasn’t enough to convince him that life was worth living. He loved Dan; he adored him, and nothing and nobody in the world compared to him, but that’s just what his depression did to him. It made him into a paradoxically numb, yet fiercely pained individual with no enthusiasm to face the world. The very thought of moving even just his little finger sent his brain into a spiral of ‘I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t.’

Phil had become so caught up in the intensity of his pain that he’d entirely forgotten that Dan lay asleep next to him.

“Phil?” Dan whispered groggily as he woke up to see his boyfriend lying a foot away from him, staring up at the ceiling. Phil made no attempt to move, and remained unblinking as Dan shuffled across the bed toward him.

“Philly?” Dan sighed worriedly. He knew what this was. It bore the hallmark of Phil’s mental illness, and today was just going to be one of those days in which his boyfriend was unreachable. Dan would love him, comfort him and support him as he always did, but he knew that until this episode passed, Phil wasn’t there. His Phil had burrowed deep within himself, and was hiding away until the agonising pain subsided. Dan had come to learn that the medical term for this was disassociation. Phil was keeping himself safe until his head wasn’t so loud.

Dan wrapped his arms around Phil, pained that his boyfriend made no attempt to reciprocate his love. Instead, Phil was stiff, unmoving. “I’ve got you, Dibs. I’m here.”

Phil could vaguely hear Dan’s soft tone murmuring reassurance; he could feel his arms firmly holding him, but for all he was worth, he couldn’t bring himself to turn over and gaze into those eyes he loved so much. His head was screaming. On these days, one phrase circled round and round and round Phil’s head: ‘where am I?’ Of course, he knew he was in his flat, he knew he was in the moon room, and he knew he was lying under his duvet next to the love of his life, but that only accounted for his physical form. The Phil inside, who was usually a fountain of creativity; the smile that could illuminate any room - the Phil he knew he truly was, was gone. Missing.

Dan kissed Phil’s cheek and shuffled to the edge of the bed, planting his feet on the floor and turning back to glance at Phil once more. His heart skipped as he watched Phil’s head turn every so slowly on the pillow to face him. Dan remembered what Phil’s therapist had told him; when his depression was too much to bear, Phil entered a state of permanent fight or flight. His body was fighting for survival, and all of its major functions were impaired. He would feel paralysed, slow, nauseated, and an overwhelming and agonising pain that despite being in his head, felt very much real. Dan didn’t blame him for it at all, but it was hard to watch.

Phil closed his eyes as Dan moved away from him, longing for the comforting touch his boyfriend provided him, but he couldn’t find it within himself to beg him to come back. Tears burned in his eyes as he fought to remain calm. The world was too much. Phil didn’t know how much of this pain he could take. Surely there was something someone could do, he thought to himself, despair bubbling through him. With all of his might, he took a deep breath and told Dan what he desperately needed him to hear.

“I love you,” he croaked. He watched as Dan smiled sadly. It broke Phil’s heart to know that he was hurting Dan, and his self hatred only grew stronger as he reminded himself that Dan would be so much better off without him; so much happier, stronger and carefree.

“I know, and I love you too,” Dan replied softly. “I love you more than you believe, and more than you’ll ever know.” He rose from the bed and walked around to Phil’s side, kissing his nose and wiping away the fresh tears rolling down his boyfriend’s face. “I’m going to go and get your tablets ready. I’ll get one of the anxiety ones too because I think you could do with one of those today, right? And I want you to have some breakfast. Even just some dry cereal. Or I could make you bacon and eggs?”

Phil felt nauseated, and food was the last thing he wanted. Even the thought of water was sickening. “No food,” he muttered, but judging by how Dan’s expression became serious, he had a feeling that no food wasn’t an option.

“Dry cereal it is then,” Dan said, kissing Phil once more before disappearing upstairs to the kitchen.

—-

An hour later, Phil had managed a handful of cereal, a few sips of water, and was curled up across Dan’s lap on their sofa. Dan’s lips were gently placed upon Phil’s hair, kissing him every now and again as he traced his fingers along Phil’s arm.

“Dan?” Phil whispered, so quietly that Dan almost missed it. The house was silent; it was the only way Phil could endure the noise in his head, and Dan was more than okay with sitting in silence, holding Phil close and loving him if that’s what Phil needed.

“Today’s bad.”

“I know, but tomorrow might not be,” Dan replied, his voice cracking as he tried to keep himself composed for Phil’s sake. Thankfully, Phil’s back was to Dan’s chest, and so he didn’t see the single tear falling down Dan’s cheek.

“What if it is?” Phil asked. The thought of another day spent feeling the way he did right then was soul-destroying. It made him feel like he was about to throw up, and God knows that’d only make everything ten times worse.

“Then we take it moment by moment, and we wait until tomorrow isn't bad,” Dan reminded him gently. ‘Moment by moment’ was a mantra they lived by. In Phil’s darkest times, it was all they could do - take each moment as it came. That morning, Phil hadn’t been able to move a single muscle, but now he was cuddled into Dan, holding (an albeit minimal) conversation. A moment could bring a world of change, and Dan could see that even when Phil was blinded by his pain.

“What if tomorrow doesn’t come?” Phil worried anxiously, twisting a thread on his sweatshirt.

“It will, I promise.”

And so they lay there together, silently appreciating one another’s company, and hoping for a day that didn’t hurt so much as this one. Dan knew nothing he could do would fix Phil completely; nothing within his power would mend Phil’s broken spirit, but he could be there, and he always would be. It was one of Those Days, and that was okay. They would endure it together, moment by moment.

#i wrote it because i was sad okay #don't judge me #phanfiction #phanfic #oneshot #daniel howell #danisnotonfire #phil lester #amazingphil #phan #phandom #depression #tw depression #tw suicide #depressed phil #angst #fluff #if you squint

[meetmeatthestart]

Skye Rocket lyric collection

A selection of lyrics from Skye Rocket songs, including ones from their time as Rocket Ship Resort. Perfect to use for thread titles, ship tags, verse names, blog quotes, etc. Feel free to get creative.

A better place I'd never find

A cool breeze sweeps through the silver dust

A dance of misfits

A date with a time trial showdown

A different air waits for us

A ferris wheel tune

A fighter with a nature of gold

A glimmer on a winding trail

A glimpse of the night

A handful of fire

A lighthouse of love

A lonely flare in the dark 

A lullaby along the moon

A map to get back home

A smile among the storm

A snowball deep in hell

A window straight to the deep

Across all that reaches land

Adrift in the sighs

Ain't a chance we go outta style

Air that presses my lungs to paper

All the salty wit of an old drunk

All the ships eclipsing the ocean

Alone through the dark part of life

Among every storm and spark

An old wish, a dusty sign

And it cuts like a knife 

And the wound's getting bigger 

And when the sun goes down

And when you see its colors

Astray in the sky

At least we're adventure

Autumn blaze

Ballrooms and bridges

Bandanas and black boots

Be the might to my light shows

Bet I'll make ya light up like July

Boiled with blood pent

Born of the sunlight's dust

Bound down to a life on the free way

Break apart old cautions retold

Break the glass of every old impasse

Break us into the sky

Breathe deep into me

Breathing electric starlight

Burdened with gorgeous nature

Buried, wounded to the core

Burn as bright as you can

But you won't turn me

C'mon out to the edge of the world

Can we have a home everlasting

Cause there's vodka in the water

Chasin' disaster

Chasin' disaster; goin' faster

Chemicals of catastrophe

Come and stay with me

Come with me to race all the crumbling walls

Comfort within her chaos

Could you go if you had to?

Cry out to silence

Deep through beauty, treachery, and howling hail

Determined to be deflaters

Devoid of the morning daybreaks

Did a glow catch your heart?

Distant days of crescent moons

Do you find your way worthwhile?

Do you wanna run far away?

Do you want to run away?

Dogma's yearly tradition

Dream something new

Dressing up with dyed roots

Drifting on a cloud blanket

Escaping my tired mind

Every chip is a chilling climb

Eyes of ice in the sunshine

Fall white for another night

Falling through the snow

Far beyond the tallest trees

Fighting what the kings say 

Follow the trails in the air 

For life, for naught

Free your aurora

From atop the trees, reaching out so free

From high off the flowers

From the venom here

Fuck your war, I'm here for the starlight 

Ghost pepper voodoo

Give me a taste of oxygen

Give me all your pieces

Greetings, my glider

Growing up so fast

Hanging on the dawn

Hard times have you now, but you'll be alright

Harness it, make your mark

Heaven knows where we will go

Her gust is givin' you your flight

Hidden beneath the worries

Hits like a rocket

Home is where fires unite

Homesick for vistas new

I bet I'll make it light up like your eyes

I can taste the race in your heartbeat

I don't know how long this road goes out

I feel each step so slow

I held those words as law

I know the way, let's head there

I lack the blood to suck tonight

I lost you at the bay

I will save you every night

I wish I could take you sailing

I wouldn't hold your breath

I'd never believed in slowing down

I'd rather sweep a breeze under those old ashes

I'll be chasing the moon

I'll be rage on all fours

I'll be unleashed

I'll hold onto you as long as you hold onto me

I'll see you over the moon

I'll take a shot of what she's havin'

I'll take the heart break

I'll take the heart break before I slow

I'll wake up real soon

I'm fading fast

I'm seein' stars, the way you're flashin'

I've been here before

I've got a lot in my view but no one else that I can see

Ice upon the river

If summer had a daughter

If you chase the same chill in your weathered bones

If you're still awake by chance

In a dash we'll crash down the party

In a love story, where beauty is might

In the air we'll dance like we used to

In the grass like a landmine

In the july heat

In time the smoke will leave here

Invisible to the stars

It matters not what's outside

It's time to bring it all out now

Just lift your head aloft and wave

Just to cut me down to you

Just what this world needs

Kicked to the frost

Kicking rocks on a turnpike

Kiss the earth, let's disappear

Left here with life

Lend me the sight giants behold

Let me lead your breath home

Let me see your eyes 

Let your heartache down with your hair

Let's be lost, let's be heroes

Let's carve out our open view

Light a thousand streets

Like a backdrop for the moon

Like a lantern in the dark

Like a lightning strike in your heart

Like a phone hardwired

Like a secret in the dark

Like a whisper in a glance 

Like an earthy rust

Like the heaven's snow

Like you woke in the ocean

Listen close, my rogue

Lunar endeavors

Made of fireflies

May the guiding wind adorn us

Mistress magic

Movin' with mischief

My words are with you

Numbness is living on a loss

Of the demons in my thoughts

Oh will our hearts endure

On blankets of rockets and trees

One last ride up above the night 

Our wind in the sails

Out in search of truth

Out on the great wide blue

Please come down from your window

Please just give me one last dance

Poets long for words like your dreams

Princess Red Rum

Problem number one

Racing meteors

Rain on the river

Rainfall resistance

Reachin' up to the moonlight

Relentless, your scars open up wide

Remember how it sounds

Reminiscent of wings, you went

Ride on, shooting star

Ring your light through the dark

Rogues among the stars

Run like the rain

Running circles

Rushing like Niagara Falls

Scars that are far and gone

Scrapbooks and reflections

Seas and passions

Seashore at the door

See the sun surround you

Shadows shaped by gryphon stars

Shining soul, in the shade

Shooting for the stars

Show the way through the wild miles

Silver relics on the shore

Singing like a lonely ghost

Sky blue: it suits you!

Smile, you're wild inside

Snow dives by so quietly

Souls fade white

Specter on the bay

Standing in the night

Stars that look like you

Starstruck, a deep blue

Stay aloft for me

Stay awake, I plea

Still standing here years later 

Storm like the sea

Submerged neck deep

Sunrays and lattes

Swept along with a grip so sure

Tempest route

The air here is of your soul

The blood runs like a river 

The buildings glow

The clouds made their own way

The dance of the wind and waves

The ghost had a bouquet

The hope that you'd been saving

The horizon, it runs forever

The howling crowd's alive

The last time I felt alive

The meltdown ain't gonna thaw

The midnight streets

The midnight streets are empty without you

The night covers the earth

The night in front of you

The prettiest cold air

The rustic gears of establishment

The silent sky

The unruly, truly quite bizzare

The walls are your protection

The yell of a young punk

Theme park in the dark

There's magic in disguise

There's no need for frights, it's a show of lights

These gloves play love like guitar

Throttle it out

Through all the heartaches

Through nights into dreams

Through that disguise

Through the ballroom hall 

Through the land and night

Through the lights and heights of the compass caches

Through the time each night recalls

Through thunder's embrace

Till I stop the show

To the lands out somewhere far

Tonight we are aloft

Too heavy for words

Trace my touch all through here

Treasure maps and shaky floorboards

Triumph, scandal, all her name lends

Try to stay a little while

Trying to escape a whirlwind 

Tumbling sunbeams

Turn all the lights down

Under the moon and snow

Under the show of chaos

Up late, darin' fate, just to know

Waiting on a faint light

Wanted for love crimes

Watch the rockets reply

Watch the sands blow to wherever you are

Watch the sinking silver

Watch the stars swim through this ocean of air

Wave to the stars

We are like fire

We are momentum

We are the doomed ones

We are the stars hangin' up free

We can ride a road everwinding

We still share the same moon

We'll be the backbone

We're blowing the hurricanes down

We're pioneers

We're tearin' down mountain sides

We're the heat, we're the guns

We've been marked

When are ya waving my way, baby?

When the gates make way

When the leaves leave us

When the riots meet

When the sea grabbed me ahold

When the wind came a-knockin' 

When time just won't wait 

When your heart has been so bold

While the sparks danced up

While the sun follows you

Wield your wings for your own rhythm

Wisdom and a smile with a saber

With a touch of grace 

With the tidal burst

With the wrath of the red

Wolves among the shadow

Years and years of fighting here

You and me and the seven seas

You are a renegade

You can find me where the clouds part

You can plunge in anxiety so grim

You can survive on caution and foresight

You don't have a single flaw

You lived on with them, now they live on with you

You sing with the sounds of the seas sincere

You swore to win the war? I withdraw

You think you're a king

You think you're justice

You think you're the light

You're a bottle of lightning

You're dissolvin' the last straw

You're givin' me a little mania

You're not your demons

You've got a story 

You've got a window

You've got a window of time and air

Your heart beats so rhythmic and pure

Your leap won't lend you much leeway

Your lonely cell is waiting

Your silhouette sings profanity

Your soul is a bird

#lyric collection #song lyrics #indie resources #RP resources #verse names #Source: Skye Rocket #My favorite musical artist #Such creative lyrics so I hope you use them well :)

[fusonzai]

Reconciliation through writing 1: Chuck Norris, my dad, me.

I was ten and it was a Saturday night at my Grandma’s house. My dad, my grandma and I were gathered around the TV killing time. We’d been living at my grandma’s for a while now as our new house was being built. Mum had gone to bed and I was waiting for my Dad to remember my bedtime. An ad came on for this average looking cop show, however the lead; a bearded All American looking man, sure knew how to fight. Being a kid and not wanting to go bed, any tv show seemed appealing, round house kicks or not.

My Dad also seemed to know a lot about this actor. We waited for the show to start as my dad told me all about how this was the toughest guy in Hollywood. He’d always beat up the bad guy and save the day, your 80’s ‘women wanted him, men wanted to be him’ archetype. This man would many years later spawn one of the earlier internet memes, but for now the internet was relatively dormant. The man was Chuck Norris, the show was ‘Walker, Texas Ranger’, and it was the catalyst of one of my fondest memories of time with my Dad.

(I reckon this movie still holds up)

I don’t know how to state this in any other way but, looking back on it all, my dad probably didn’t want to have a child. He had a not so conventional childhood and had never met his biological parents. I have these childhood memories of simply just not seeing him much. I remember missed birthdays and business trips. It would feel weird to see him home on a weeknight or before I went to school in the morning. He wasn’t absent per se but he was never quite there. Even when he was, it often felt forced, not straight out rejection but just relative reluctance.

What do you do when someone pulls away? You try even harder to bring them back. I wanted desperately to find a common thread with my Dad. My friends all seemed to get on much better with theirs. Why? Why not me? A child searching for shared interests with their parent seems crazy because it is. I’m entirely sure my Dad was also trying, in his own way to find those interests with me. I was my Mum’s child, I didn’t like sports and I had few friends. I could see how forming a relationship with a boy so attached to the other parent could be hard. So, what did we do? We played Mario Kart on the Nintendo 64. He was DK and I was Bowser. This game gave me a really nice couple of years with Dad, we’d play together a couple of nights a week when he was home. Then when he wasn’t, I’d try and get the fastest laps on all of the courses, and he’d wait till I was asleep to then in turn beat all my records. I remember one day when Mum and I went out on the weekend and I came home to see that Dad held the record on every single lap of every single course in the game.

It went on like this until the N64 reached its life cycle and my dad didn’t quite have the time or ability to master the new Gamecube version of MarioKart. I think this is why a few years later, watching Walker on the couch that night was so important.

One episode was all it took, I was hooked on this show. So was Dad. He tracked down the first season on DVD and we immediately went through all of it. Then began the Chuck Norris pilgrimage. Chuck Norris starred in a long string of films from the 70’s to the 90’s. Attempting to capitalise on the Bruce Lee pioneered martial arts film genre, American moviemakers had set their eyes on Norris. He was the villain in Bruce Lee’s ‘Way Of The Dragon’ and he was going to be their new star, bringing martial arts films to the West. These movies were comfort viewing, you knew what was going to happen, they all involved him beating up bad guys. There was never a plot twist or a disappointing ending. Chuck always got his guy, and got the girl. It felt as though my Dad was showing me this action star from when he was my age and sharing some of his experiences growing up. While at the same time, we were often watching movies neither of us had ever seen, having new experiences together.

Finding old Chuck Norris movies wasn’t as simple as it is now. Blockbuster still existed and DVD’s were in mass production. We’d search for rentals, then at JB Hifi and then online for international sellers. It felt like I had a purpose (however small it was) accompanying my dad to to JB Hifi, searching through every section for films we hadn’t seen, and then politely asking the staff to see if other stores nearby had any. Then whenever we got our hands on a new one, be that a lucky find or an online parcel being delivered months later, we’d watch it on a Saturday night. I got to spend time with my Dad, I felt like he wanted to spend time with me and I was frankly over the moon when he’d make that time.

(The adrenaline rush from just watching the roundhouse is amazing)

Eventually though, we ran out of movies.

I began high school, started distancing myself from my parents and by the time they divorced when I was 15, I had fooled myself into thinking I didn’t care. The first time I saw my Dad after he moved out, we went and saw an action film. It felt fine, he made me feel like divorce was this normal adult thing that happens and that everything would go back to normal. Of course, that wasn’t really the case. Two adults who had spent the better part of 20 years together ending a relationship isn’t something trivial. Having a child who is right in the middle of high school doesn’t make it any less trivial. It turned out that saying everything was fine, when it wasn’t, would only lead to problems later down the line.

Post-divorce, I was unconsciously looking for father figures. I’d want approval and praise from male teachers, I’d try extra hard in those classes to get good marks, to try and impress. Being at an all boys school, it seemed I wasn’t the only one searching for a substitute. The male sports teachers always had this flock of boys around them during yard duty, talking about fantasy football or whatever the running joke was at the time. I don’t want to say we were lacking father figures, maybe we were just lacking more examples of how to act as men. Having your father as a guide helps, but ultimately, you’re an amalgamation of everything around you, watching how others act and mimicking their behaviour.

In my early twenties I thought I finally understood the divorce and had decided at that time that I despised my dad for what had happened. Maybe I thought it was cool? In reality it was easier than accepting the fact that he was a flawed human, just like everyone else. That adoration I’d had as a child morphed into bottled resentment. I couldn’t condone his actions and I also couldn’t relate or understand them. During this time, I was afraid of two things, one: becoming just like him, and two: how I could not relate to this man even though I shared half my DNA with him. I just couldn’t comprehend what had happened with the divorce and how I was related to the man I saw as the aggravator of it.

I went from seeing him once a week, to once a month, to about once a year. He’d try. He’d try as best he could. I’d ignore emails for months because I could. Sometimes he’d call and I’d make up some sorry excuse.

It went on like this for a few years. Fortunately, I grew up a bit more and we’d get lunch. My girlfriend encouraged me to make the most of my time with him. She came with me to dinners and gave me the strength I needed to get over my own insecurities when it came to visiting. I’d have dinner with him, my uncles and his new partner. It could feel a bit forced but the good intentions were there and I’m grateful for it. However, they never felt like the kinds of interactions you should have with one of your parents. There was a familiarity in our conversations but they were always very surface level. We’d reminiscence and circle around familiar topics as opposed to having meaningful conversations. I still couldn’t reconcile what had happened and I still couldn’t relate. It turns out the first two years living abroad would really help me with this.

I’d always held the ideology that if two people loved each other they could always make it work. If one party didn’t want to make it work, then they clearly didn’t love the other. A naive ideology, but I was 25 and in the first serious relationship of my life. A relationship that had spent almost 2 years with an ocean between it. Flights back and forth started making the pain of the distance between visits only more evident. I loved this person but I didn’t want to keep dating like this. It’s hard to say what you want when you know how bad it will hurt the other person. Months of hesitation, failed attempts, and pondering if I should just endure through it helped me understand my Dad a bit better. I understood on a minor level how two people who love each other could end something. I also understood how easy (albeit cowardly) it was to do nothing about such a thing. Just hoping it would work itself out.

(Some translations: 浮気 is infidelity and 遠距離 is long distance, also Im in the green)

The break-up, the gaping space where the other person was and the struggle to find your individuality after being together so long. Experiences felt by all, experiences felt by me, experiences felt by my Dad. The shared experience of building yourself back up gave me an unexpected link to my Dad. I understood his actions post-divorce more clearly and began to realise that we were more similar than we were different. Just because I didn’t initially realise them when I was younger, didn’t mean that the similarities weren’t there. Throughout these six months or so of hardship, solitude and self-improvement, I reconciled long held grudges and found empathy where I once thought there was none. Even though I did this all alone, thousands of kilometres away, I was finally in a good place with my dad.

Then, in 2019 I saw my Dad get married for the second time in his life.

He booked me a flight home for the event. My life is going incredibly well. My job feels more grown up and, for the first time, I can see my career laid out in front of me. I had also found a partner who I was completely enamoured with. I’m excited to tell my dad how well it’s all going and he’s happy to hear it. We have lunch before the wedding, and everything feels like it’s come together. We’re both on cloud nine in our own way, him with his new wife to be and upcoming honeymoon, me with my dream job and finally a partner I could see my future with.

(My girlfriend said she preferred the vest)

The wedding day arrives and even now it still feels surreal. I can count my Dad’s family on one hand, including me. His wife on the other hand had more family than I’ve ever known, and I’d met approximately none of them up until this day. At the reception guests would ask “and what’s your relationship to the couple?”

“I’m his son.”

“Are you the groom’s nephew?”

“I’m his son.”

Unfamiliar faces cement the realisation that my Dad had found a new family, one that I’m understandably not a part of. There was a brief moment of shock but I came to accept it. Just as I had created a new life for myself as I got older and the people around me came and went, my dad had done exactly the same. Life isn’t meant to be stagnant and I can’t be angry at my Dad for trying to find a place to belong when I was doing the exact same thing he was. We were both still figuring it out as we went. I was truly happy for him; he had found someone that made him happy, and for the first time in years he actually looked happy too. While it took time to process the whole day, I’m glad I was able to go and be in the right frame of mind to cherish the occasion. It felt like a loop closing. I felt like we had finally reached some mutual understanding where I was able to go to his wedding and be okay. I couldn’t write this piece from anywhere other than a place of love and contentment.

Being there not only for the peaks but also for the troughs; that’s what family is for, right?

After the wedding we began keeping better contact, I spoke to him more about life events and we stayed better connected than we ever had before.

I emailed him just the other day. I’m currently quitting my job and the pandemic means I don’t know if I can get home with the price of flights. I sent him a chaotic jumble of words disguised as a sentence. He just replied:

“You are only an email and an online transaction away,“ with a smiley face emoticon of all things.

Suddenly it feels like it’s all going to be okay.

I am safe, I am supported, I am loved. He’s never stopped me from falling but he’s always helped me get back up afterwards.

I spent so many years expecting him to live up to an ideal I had created from what I saw around me. While it was understandable as a child, even as an adult I still saw him as that ideal as opposed to a person. It was only when I was able to accept him as that and not some impossible standard that I think our relationship improved. He only ever needed to be what he could be, he wasn’t anybody else’s father and I wasn’t anybody else’s son. He knows that I feel safe calling on him when I need advice and I know that he’ll listen and support me no matter what.

And that’s just it. Having that makes up for everything else. Knowing that someone is there in that capacity, knowing that that someone is my father, is more than enough. I’m looking forward to a time where we can watch Chuck Norris movies together again.

(The Big Day, 2019)

[idreamofasriel-blog]

Metal Slug-Demon Song Ch 5

“So how was your day, Beaty?” “Oh, fine. That fathead, Allen O'Neil Junior got into that fight with his Ex-Girlfriend's husband again as usual. But the mission did go all right.” Abigail and Beatrice have the kitchen all to themselves and they enjoy cooking food together. It was Abigail who requested the kitchen to be cleared out of any chefs after all of the soldiers and General Morden were fed for the night. The kitchen smelled of freshly cooked chicken and bread and Beatrice helped her sister sliced up the celery for the Chicken Dumpling they talked about having for supper for tonight. “So, how was your day Abigail? Did you see your boyfriend of yours?” Abigail was blushing, thinking about Trevor Spacey makes the woman's face go red whenever that member of the PF Squad's name is mentioned to her. Even getting a glimpse of his face would turn this disciplines military commander into a shy giggling school girl. “I umm, didn't see him this time around. I was busy dealing with that Loser Abbas who needed his hide saved again by us.” She put the diced onions into the pot with the bread and chicken and stirred it. Beatrice soon put the chopped celery in too. “No carrots?” she asked and her sister smiled, “No carrots, Beaty. Not a singled trace of it. Just the way you like it.” “I will NOT tolerate any more of your failure, Abul Abbas!” General Morden slammed his fist against his desk so impetuous that it made the sergeant jump out of fright, “Please forgive me, General! I almost have them if it wasn't for those women coming into-” Morden was glaring down at him while drinking his glass of scotch and slams it down on his desk, “ENOUGH! I don't care if it was a horde of monkeys with machine guns that came after you, Abul Abbas. You have been messing up too many times and we have to save you disgrace ass every time Marco and his Squad defeat you!” Allen O'Neil smirked, General Morden was right about what a disgrace Abul Abbas was to The Rebel Military and they always wonder why do they always bother saving his him countless times. He caught movement from the corner of his eye and turned his head toward the large windows that look over the entire Head Quarters, he could have sworn that he saw a dark silhouette glided past the windows. Gripping his gun, Allen O'Neil stepped forward to get a better look and stretched his neck out to get a better look outside, “O'Neil, what is the problem?” General Morden asked him. Allen O'Neil grunted and stepped away, “I thought I saw something flew by your window. Must have been a bat.” he replied. A lone Rebel soldier patrolled the Warehouses. Checking every lock on the doors and rolling shutters and moves on to the next warehouse to do the same and it's nothing but a repetitive job. The Rebel sighed and checked on the doors again and then moved to the next one to find the lock on the ground melted into a puddle of metal and the door opened ajar. He grabbed his gun and pushed the door open to get a look around and groped for a switch and no lights came on and he grabbed his flashlight and turned it on. The switch was taken apart with wires slashed and pulled out of the box and the security camera and alarm laid on the ground in pieces as if someone took it apart with tools. The Rebel quietly steps into the Warehouse to catch the intruder off guard, peaking around cargo and crates and tanks too. Nothing so far and the Rebel took more steps toward the back of the warehouse. A pair of glowing amber eyes glowed in the dark and it slowly and silently crept across the ceiling rafters and down the wall like a spider. It put one hand down and then a foot and softly landed on the floor. “Alright, thief! You better show yourself or I'm getting all of my friends here to shoot you out!” he shouted, he heard a low rumbling growl and he slowly turned around and saw a flash of fire. Abigail and Beatrice weren't even halfway through with their dinner while having their conversation about their childhood and plans for the future when a siren started blaring and soldiers scrambling toward the flaming warehouse. Abigail got up quickly and grabbed her hat and coat and Beatrice grabbed her cap and they both dashed out the door. The whole warehouse is on fire and the Rebels are scrambling to put the flames out and shouts of commands echoed through the air. “How did this fire started?” Abigail came running toward a commanding Rebel leader, “Ma'am, we heard a scream follow by a loud explosion from this warehouse and we're working as fast as possible to put out the fire!” Abigail turned to her sister who got her ice cannon in hand and ready to fire to put the fire out. She aimed carefully and before she has it fired, a spine-chilling roar came from the fire and bursting through the flame is a flying figure engulfed in flames and taking flight. It dive bombs at the now scattering Rebels and breathing fire on their water pumps and at them. Abigail grabbed her sister and pulled her to the ground to dodge the fire and looked up to try to get a good look at their attacker. She got up to her feet again and summoned her cubes to shoot lasers at it but it kept dodging and swooping down to swipe at them with it flaming claws and setting them on fire and Abigail yelled when one of them exploded and she hit the ground, “Abigail!” Beatrice shouted and she turned her anger that the flying monster and fired her ice cannon at it. It hit the target, freezing one of its wings to throw it off balance and crashing to the ground. “Serves you right to try to hurt my sister!” She shouted and she gasped when it got right back up and smashed the ice off with its fist. Abigail got back on her feet and ordered more lasers to be shot at it, punching holes in its wings and it breathed more fire at the girls. “Beaty! Look out!” Beatrice screamed and she felt a strong grip on her arm and being yanked off her feet. “No one is going to fry this shrimp!” Allen O'Neil Junior growled and punched the demon with a right hook. It stumbled and shook it off and roared at Allen O'Neil Junior who came running at the demon and tackled it to the ground. They tossed and turned across the ground as Rebel soldiers cheered their commander's son on. Allen O'Neil Junior endure the pain of his back getting shredded up by its claws and then put it in a headlock to keep punching it in the face. But he yelled after it sank its sharp teeth into his fist and he let it go to free himself. Allen O'Neil Junior took a glance at his arm to give the demon a chance to land a painful landing blow to the gut with its fist to not only to knock the wind out of him but to give him sharp stabbing pain. “Allen, look out!” Beatrice shouted but it was too late, Allen O'Neil Junior was violently hit hard by the demon's tail and knocked to the ground. It didn't give him a chance to fight back and he left every landing blow of its fist, over and over again. His endurance was beyond its limit and his body couldn't take the beatings and clawings anymore. Abigail and Beatrice looked on in horror while Rebel is at a lost as they see him getting ripped to shreds. Allen O'Neil Junior was a bloody mess and the demon grabbed him by his blood-soaked shirt to get ready to finish him off. The demon took a deep breath to build up a powerful enough fire to burn him alive. Gunshots rapidly rang throughout the air followed by bullets, lasers, and ice. Allen O'Neil comes charging with his M60 in hand, firing more bullets at the demon, “Don't touch my son!” he shouted and slammed the butt of his gun right in its jaws. It stumbled backward and shook it off and glared around the fighting field. It was outnumbered now even if the demon can kill them all. As its last hurrah before fleeing, for now, it breathed fire all over itself and engulfed its body in flames again and took flight. Everyone kept firing at it and it flew at a fast-paced speed that it dive bombed into another warehouse and another, setting everyone one of them ablaze in its wake. There wasn't enough water to go around to put them all out and everyone fled before explosions were going off in some of them. Allen O'Neil, after grabbing his son and escaping with their lives, laid his son and listened for any sign of life. It's not good, Allen O'Neil Junior's life is hanging by a thread. “Get the medics! I'll shoot anyone who doesn't hurry up and get him help!” Allen O'Neil shouted and held his son's hand while pleading for him to hold on and begged him not to die. Beatrice hugged her sister as they looked on and her older sister moved in to see what she can do to help Allen O'Neil Junior out. He did save her sister's life and he can't die like this. As the discord of the night continued on, the Demon Song played till the first ray of sunlight shined.

#Metal Slug #Demon Song #Fanfic

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Our Story

Thank ya kindly, @mibasiamille, for helping me figure out where the heck I was going with this one <3 Read chapters 1-10 here.

December 24th, 2010

The first time Jamie and Claire held their daughter, they knew she would be their last. Not because the delivery was difficult, which it was, or because they opposed larger families, which they didn’t, but because they couldn’t imagine needing anything more than this seven-pound bundle of themselves. Who could contend with the spot on the top of her skull, the feeling of its putty-like softness beneath their fingertips? Or the sprout of lash, red-gold wings taking flight from the left side of her left eye? No. There was no room for a second child, or a third—barely enough to contain Brianna herself. (It was true, they soon realized, that it was possible to feel too much. That the physical ache of loving was not a lie fabricated by romance novelists.)

What shocked them more than their immediate certainty were these minute details, these things that were singularly, extraordinarily her. Despite their initial impressions, Brianna was not just a combination of Jamie and Claire’s genes (an uneven distribution; she favored her father), but was a tiny self with her own hungers and thirsts, which she expressed through Neanderthal grunts or spectacularly vibrant shits. It was a foreign language Jamie and Claire were forced to learn quickly, interpreting their successes and failures in the perceived tone of her gurgles, the way she would yank Claire’s curls in glee or in irritation. The correct translations were scribbled down for future reference, for posterity. (For the simple pleasure of recording something they knew to be finite.)

But Jamie and Claire’s awe has taken other forms in the 15 months since Bree was born. They’ve become the sort of people whose voices rise in the presence of the small, as if their love—so much grander than everything else—has filled them like two helium balloons. Toys of all shapes, sizes, and noises colonize the spaces left untouched by their adulthood chaos. A plush rabbit maintains a stony vigil over Jamie’s desk, where, after a year of writing more blurbs than books, he is finally working on his third novel. Fatherhood has come like a strike of lightning, an electricity that has set fire to his mind. Nowadays, he cannot put thought to paper fast enough. (Unlike its predecessors, A Rare Woman will receive middling praise, though a flaying review from Jack Randall, a Times critic, will cripple Jamie for weeks.)

Right now it is December, and Jamie’s family—Jenny, her husband, and their two children—is visiting for the holidays. They have offered to watch Bree for the evening, and so a Presidential Suite has been rented, Cinemax has been briefly considered, and Scotch has been spilt on Claire’s negligee. It is the first time they’ve been away from their daughter, and what had once seemed an occasion for exotic luxury—No baby! Hours of sleep!—has become a pity-party fueled by separation anxiety and booze. They have spoken of nothing, except Bree.

“Girl Guides,” Claire blurts suddenly, voice slurred and a passionate fist raised.

“I think it’s Girl Scouts here, Sassenach.”

“Girl Scouts, then. She should know how to build a fire! Make things with her hands, like—like building a stove from a Folgers tin!”

“Is that what they teach them?” Jamie asks. “To make household appliances from cheap coffee?”

“I think so. I mean, they should. What else is Folgers coffee good for?”

“What d’ye think about track and field? For endurance. Both mental and physical.”

“You can’t be serious,” Claire laughs. “Track and field? Have you considered the tiny shorts? The spandex shirt? Boys overcompensating for the fact they couldn’t make the soccer team?”

Jamie’s brow furrows at the thought: testosterone-pumped intentions; young bucks chasing a different sort of finish line. 

“Well, when ye put it that way…Perhaps she’s better suited for the chess team.”

They go on like this, sketching the blueprint for a life that will rarely follow the lines they’ve drawn. They do not plan for the extra doors or windows, the secret rooms in which a girl can lock herself away. (Bree will hate running. Hate chess even more. And due to a squabble with one of the Cubs, she will not make it past Brownie graduation.) 

Eventual talk of university brings Jamie and Claire nearly to tears—and then to closer to each other, their bodies a temporary security against the future’s unstoppable approach. They fool around for a bit, though their hearts aren’t in it, already too exhausted by visions of Bree in a cap and gown. They order room service and sniffle over a bucket of oysters.

Motherhood has also given Claire a case of maternal hypochondria, an affliction made worse by the nature of her profession. For example: she is suddenly terrified of germs. She has always known they were there, of course—little microbes squirming over every surface—but it’s the sheer amount of them that hasn’t dawned on her until now. Does Jamie realize there are more germs than humans? That they’re outnumbered? That there could be five diseases, right there, on the spoon he is choo-chooing into their daughter’s mouth?

And there are other dangers as well: the sharpness of the kitchen table’s edge, like a shark’s tooth. How a shoe left lying in the middle of the floor is not only an affront to tidiness but could, to Bree’s imbalanced feet, mean something fatal. Claire has bought so many baby gates that their home resembles an animal pen, the three of them treading around their safe, contained quarters, protected against the risk of possible slaughter.

An essay titled “How My Mother Destroyed My Life” keeps Claire tossing and turning for weeks. Could she be the biggest threat of all? She, who is so flawed, so capable of inflicting pain on this precious, impressionable human? (This human who deserves so much more than Claire’s best?)

“Do you think I’m doing this right?” she often asks, whether it’s changing a diaper or preparing a bath. Like the germs, this is familiar territory—as a teenager, she’d had a steady stream of babysitting gigs—but the stakes have risen now that she isn’t changing or bathing a stranger’s child. Now, an error could cost her something. Now, she has everything to lose. (Claire’s fear will only grow as the years go on, and new dangers present themselves: boys, television after 9PM, a left hand holding a phone while a right hand holds a steering wheel. Fear is, after all, the product of our greatest loves.)

Jamie is patient throughout it all, understanding that this is who she is—Claire, the little killing girl—and that the severity of it will pass. And so when Claire zips Bree’s skin into a Gymboree coat, he lets Claire wail, “Who puts zippers on baby’s clothing, for fuck’s sake?” And when he wakes to find her watching the baby monitor, he says, “Nothing bad will happen, so long as I’m here”—though if fatherhood has taught him anything, it’s that he’s as powerless as the rest of them.

To his credit, Jamie shows none of the apprehension Claire feels. If Claire were a more selfish person—the person she often thinks she is, but is not—she might find this grating, or worse, infuriating. Instead, she only marvels at the way he puts Bree down for a nap, or how he anticipates sudden outbursts of dirty-diapered, snotty-nosed anguish. It’s only in Claire’s darkest moments that she allows herself to wonder if she’s the lesser parent, the weaker link dragged by obligation until someone notices she has always been dispensable.

Late on Christmas Eve, they are sitting by the fire, with the extended Fraser clan already in their rooms. Bree is asleep in the teacup of Claire’s clavicle, whistling a snore through the nose Jamie gave her. It’s a noise that reminds him of the world’s fragility, how they’re all standing on a piece of thread, balanced between the Fates’ open scissors.

“What is it?” Claire frets, noticing his expression. The fact that she whispers it, so as not to wake their daughter, makes Jamie’s heart crack. “Oh God, have I forgotten something?”

“Nothing,” he says, leaning back into his chair. “Just thinking is all.”

It is in moments like these that he cannot understand why Claire doubts herself, how she can be so blind to the way their daughter melts into her skin, grateful by the purest instinct. And it is in moments like these that he has never loved Claire so much. The spit-up crusting her shirt, her brown curls harried. Still the girl he met 21 years before, but something fuller, something more clearly defined.

“Thinking what?”

“That you’re beautiful. That I love you.”

“Oh,” she says, and the fact that she blushes, when she’d done such unmentionable things to him during Bree’s afternoon nap, deepens the fracture in his heart.

“Stay there, Sassenach. Dinna move.”

Claire does not know that Jamie second guesses himself as a father. That when he volunteers to soothe Bree’s late-night tantrums, he does it for the sake of his own confession, which he offers to the cradled child. Jamie confesses to himself, and to the world, apologizing for the ugliness that will inevitably find its way to her—despite the plastic gates and the reassuring shapes of her mother’s body. (She sees his shame but does not judge it. Accepts it blindly for the fact of its existence, as she accepts everything she is given.)

He tells Bree all the things he feels she needs to know: that there is good, and there is bad, that it is sometimes hard to distinguish between the two. That presidents have been shot, planes have flown into buildings, and that there are people with only a single grain of rice for dinner. Unimaginable unfairness in this place he has brought her into—and he is sorry; he is so sorry.

“Granted, I dinna mean to frighten ye, a nighean,” he says, tracing the curve of her cheek. “Only to tell you as it is. But it’s no’ all bad.”

And so he tells her other things: about laughter, about the sea. About mountains, a horse named Sorcha, fresh snow. About presents opened on Christmas morning, forbidden fistfuls of Cap’n Crunch. He tells her about light-up sneakers, pizza, peanut butter (improved by chocolate), fuzzy socks, books, thunderstorms, bouncy castles, sparklers, a dog’s tail-wagging hello, buying your first car, having your first beer, having your first kiss, meeting the love of your life.

Meeting her mother. Loving her mother. Her mother.

Her.

And this brings him to the girl who came before, the one who did not breathe, but whom he swears he can feel—sometimes, when looks at Bree, as he is looking at her now (“Like she’s still here, somehow.”) He describes Claire’s holiday sweater: the fit of it in 1989; the stretch of it over her pregnant belly in ‘91. How they had painted the studio with roller brushes, making great swathes of color on the tepid-white walls. Names there, written in shades of—

“Marigold,” he whispers, because he still cannot say “Faith” without stumbling. “Everything—even the wee bedspread—was marigold.” 

He keeps saying it, marigold, because it is all he knows of this other girl: a name shining brightly in the color of the dead. He wonders if it’s foolish to feel this way after two decades; all this grief for someone he never truly met. (Now, it’s the possibilities he mourns; the conversations, like these, that never were.) 

Bree quiets after a time, and so Jamie sets her in the crib. He listens to that snore—the gentleness of it, the innocence—and adjusts the baby monitor for Claire’s 4AM anxiety.

“Tha gaol agam ort,” he says to the daughter before him. 

“Tha gaol agam ort,” he says again, to the daughter above him.

(When Jamie returns to his room, he will sit on the edge of the bed and ask, “D’ye think she understands? Or that she’ll remember?”

And Claire, behind him, will know that he is not referring to the moments preserved in his books, but to the finer, more intimate details of their years together. She will recognize this fear, bringing his shoulders to his ears—how new life can cast mortality into a starker, more terrifying light.

“I’m not sure,” she will whisper. “Maybe.”

“I just want someone to remember, aye? After we’re gone. But what if no one does?” 

“She will,” Claire will reply, reaching out. “We’ll make sure of it.” And having found him in the darkness, she will slowly bring him towards her. “It’s late, Jamie. Lay your head?”

And Jamie, surrendering to the pull of Claire’s hand, will allow her to draw him into the bowl of her lap. He will rest there, unaware that he need not worry, that his daughter’s first word—spoken just a few days later—will be a garbled “mary-goold.” A shred of remembrance, granted.

But for now he is simply calmed by the pulse of his wife, which burns beneath him, and within him, throughout the cold December night. A warm-blooded memory he prays will never fade.)

#our story au #;mod liv #IT'S BEEN 84 YEARS