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creek-cryptid-deluxe · 3 years

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per request (from a single person, that’s all it takes), my thoughts and feelings about...

the movie adaptation of Queen of the Damned! (buckle up motherfuckers because this is going to be a long thing)

Ok, so it’s pretty much universally known that the movie is... trash, despite the soundtrack being absolutely baller. Let’s examine why this movie is trash, shall we?

So, my first point of contention is that it was meant to combine 2 books. As I’m sure everyone knows, this movie and Interview with the Vampire are based on books from The Vampire Chronicles series by Anne Rice (which she’s still milking by putting out books nobody is asking for. Anne, girl. Stop. Please. You’ve killed it. It’s dead. Move on.) The book series goes Interview with the Vampire (Louis talking to a journalist or author, about his life and afterlife as lived by him), The Vampire Lestat (which is penned by the monster himself about his life and journey into immortality up into his rise to fame with his band, and the awakening of Akasha), Queen of the Damned (which is basically the concert and the aftermath), then is Tale of the Body Thief but after reading it once, I never went beyond Queen of the Damned ever again and that was when I was like 17.

Now the movie Queen of the Damned was meant to combine the second and third books, thereby skipping out on a TON of important information and background regarding Lestat’s motivations and behaviors. (Plus The Vampire Lestat is my favorite of the series. It’s a good fucking book, ok?) So in the movie, we see Akasha being awakened and ripping out her king’s throat with ZERO CONTEXT! Ok, not zero context, but absolutely not enough context to paint a full picture of wtf is going on. Same with his motivation behind joining the band or explaination of his attitude in Interview. (BTW at the end of Interview, he ISNT the one who turns Daniel, the author, into a vampire. It’s Armand.)

So yeah, lots of missing info that I feel is pretty necessary for the narrative to make sense. And I don’t mean that in the usual “omg they left this bit from the book out of the movie!!!” way. I mean it in a significant information for the storyline was just GONE causing the story to make significantly less sense.

Now let’s chat about that casting, boi!

I think we can all agree that the entire thing was acted pretty terribly, yeah?

great. so looking beyond that...

Let’s start with my main issue and that’s Lestat. So his casting in Interview wasn’t physically ideal, however Cruise did manage to capture the personality Lestat had for that novel. While Louis is ‘a whiner’ as a friend put it, because he can’t shed that humanity and the morals and softness of heart that comes with that, Lestat is much the opposite. In Interview, he has completely embraced the decadent, indulgent, ruthlessness of an immortal who has been around and seen some shit. You learn more about why in the second novel. Really, he sort of knew how to play the game from the start. Yes he still had a handful of human attachments, like Gabrielle and Nicholas, but he cut ties with pretty much everyone else outside of a proxy lawyer of sorts to manage his shit and be a point of contact almost immediately. Yeah, occasionally he displays a softness, some humanity, but it always fucks him over, so by the time he meets Louis he has learned that it isn’t the way to go.

Stuart Townsend had potential. Physically, absolutely nails it. Could have easily pulled of the ‘present day’ Lestat of the end of the second/third novel who is basically sick of all the vampire rules about keeping to the shadows and fronts a rock band to give all the other immortals the finger. HOWEVER, he acted it so fucking poorly that it physically hurt. It was like he latched onto the fact that Lestat is indisputably attractive and vampires are generally seen as sensual creatures, then turned that shit up to 1000 and turned it into a caricature. Look at his movement. God the faces he pulls. Christ on a cracker.

Then there’s the ‘singing’. So when an actor lip syncs in a movie, unless the voice of the actual vocalist is super distinctive and recognizable (looking at you Jon Davis. Also on that subject, Jon get your shit together. fucksake. clean it up bro. you didn’t invent dubstep, come off it already. nobody buys it and you’ve become a joke.), you shouldn’t be able to tell that the actor isn’t the one singing. In this movie, there is an OBVIOUS disconnect between the song/voice and the actor. His body language and facial expression NEVER ONCE align with the fucking vocals that we are meant to believe are coming from him. Genuinely, and I say this in all seriousness, the worst lip sync I’ve seen on RuPaul’s Drag Race was a fucking tour de force compared to what Townsend gave us in this abomination. How was there not a point during the shoot where someone stepped in and said, “You know, maybe we should get him some lessons and practice doing a proper lip sync...” HOW DID THAT SLIP THROUGH THE CRACKS Y’ALL??? Him singing is a (if not THE) main plot point!!!! Fuck!

Casting for everyone else? Ok. Not well acted but nothing was so... whatevs? But on the subject of casting, in Interview, as much as he looked like walking sex as vampire Antonio Banderas was, he didn’t fit the description of Armand in any of those first 3 books. When Lastat first meets him (long before Louis was a thing), he’s described in such a way that it seems he was turned as a young man, not an adult. He was described as looking beautiful and innocent (I think the phrase ‘cherub like face’ was used?) which are not words I would attribute to Mr. Banderas. (No offence to the man, because again... absolute walking sex with pointy teeth in that movie.)

Another thing that really bugs me is the secondary plot with Jessie and the talamasca was, again, missing almost all relevant information! like... honestly if they were going to do it the way they did, they should have just left it the fuck out. you don’t get any sort of information about who the vampires in the house are and how they relate to Jessie, aside from some vague b.s. Jessie was already a vampire at the damned concert, having been turned by one of the vampires associated with the vampire lady she was descended from who turned to marble at the end, becoming the new Akasha basically. They didn’t explain anything about elders or ancients and the entire power structure/hierarcy within the vampires.

they just took those 2 books, smashed them together haphazardly, left out FUCK TONS of pretty relevant information, then went “oh here’s a dope soundtrack. hope that is enough to carry this dumpster fire of an abomination that has stuff happen but doesn’t explain shit!!! Enjoy kids!”

UGH.

ok i’m done. but angry. so i’m going to go paint or hassle J into bringing me a dremel to sand his fucking dragon sculpture. thank you for coming to this episode of Dr. M Rants.

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momofaddict · 3 years

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Thanksgiving day this year will be one year since my daughter lost her life to heroin OD. I've lost what little faith I had. I do believe in an afterlife, because the idea of NEVER seeing her again is unfathomable. But God, Heaven, Hell - they just seem like a fairy tale.

It still doesn't feel real, except that it feels very real as I raise her now 18 mo child. I love him with every fiber of my being, but as anyone who reads this knows, my plans for being a relaxed, traveling empty nester are gone. Maybe that's selfish, but I can accept that.

I'm so mad at her for leaving me and especially for leaving her child. I'm mad that my life, as I planned it, is gone. I'm mad that Phoenix's father killed himself 4 days after my daughter's death and I have to explain both deaths to him someday. I'm mad that I will have to face his full-blooded sister one day & explain why she was given up for adoption and Phoenix wasn't. I'm so sad and mad about this whole scenario and I'm so alone as a single woman. I was always happy being divorced since age 23. But now - I could really use the help. That's a hard thing to admit.

What's more is I miss my baby girl. She was my very very VERY best friend. I could be my true self with her, even in her addiction. How can life go on without her contagious laugh, her child-like trust in people, and her unique love for humanity? I can't believe it's been a year. If it weren't for her son, who is in my care until my end of days, I'd be so lost. I mean I'm still lost, but he gives me purpose and a means to press onward.

But while I'm unloading, I may as well admit that it's also difficult when I'm having a hard day. I have to put my happy face on when Phoenix gets home from daycare no matter what kind of wretched day I've had at work, or no matter if I just need to crawl into bed and cry for my daughter. I feel like if I project any kind of negativity around him, we will both be miserable. It's just me. My ex helps a couple days a week, but that means dealing with my ex... whom I left 30 years ago! Not fun, but I'd be an even hotter mess without any help at all.

Oh sure, everyone wanted to help at first when Melody died. But those offers are now silent and it's just me - and my ex. Ugh. I'm just exhausted, and sad, and scared, and alone. I miss her, I miss her, I miss her soooo effen much!

WHY HER!?

I finally started therapy. And I got really lucky and I love my new therapist, and found her on the first try. However... I've only had one session with her in four weeks. Week two, she was sick. Week three, I went to Colorado. Week four, yesterday, she canceled again because she has a friend in the hospital. I fucking need this woman to help me!

I leave you with this tribute that my son posted online on her birthday, Sept 8. She would have been 32. I couldn't have given a better description of her spirit and her adorable childlike naivete:

My sister, Melody, absolutely loved infomercials. It bordered on irrational. One year I received one of those copper pans for Christmas, and while I was happy to get it, she didn't think I understood the gravity of the gift I had just been given. "Do you know what that is?" she asked me at the time with complete sincerity and genuine concern that I didn't quite comprehend what an incredible technological wonder I had been given. "You can melt candy on that."

She absolutely had the HD glasses. They made your vision amazing. OxyClean, sure. Slap Chop, absolutely. It did not matter what was being sold; every product was solid gold, including when it was literally solid gold.

I know it seems silly to bring this up on what would have been her 32nd birthday today, but I think it says something important about her and who she was. She believed in people. It's not that she necessarily believed the products worked as advertised. It's that she believed in the ideas of making things better that they represented, and she believed that the people making the pitch believed in what they were pitching.

She could fully and wholeheartedly empathize with those complete strangers. So much more then, could she love, empathize with and believe in the people lucky enough to know her personally. She was somehow everyone's friend that they talked to on the side of a party or gathering they were starting to feel uncomfortable or out of place at. She made it seem so easy, which is what makes the next part so cruel.

She also suffered from heroin addiction for over a decade. It is the reason I keep using the god forsaken past tense instead of the present.

I have a lot of very bad memories from all of that time. I cried a lot then. I cry a lot still.

Please, if you know someone that suffers from addiction, don't write them off. This is not to say you should enable their addiction. Just encourage rehab and support groups. There are also support groups for friends and family members of people suffering from addiction. Addiction, whether it is to drugs, money, gambling, work, or any other flavor is a disease, and it desperately needs treatment. You don't have to go it alone, and, take it from someone who tried to, you shouldn't. It'll eat you alive.

In the end, though, don't feel sad for me. If you were fortunate enough to know my sister, you probably got, what, a few years? A decade? I got thirty one whole damn years.

I love you, Melody, and I miss you every god damn day.

#addict #addiction #drug addict #narcotics addiction #overdose #na #heroin #narcotics anonymous #grandmother #grandson #custody #adoption #sorrow #grief #all alone

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w-k-smith · 4 years

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THE FINAL CHAPTER

Beetlejuice races to catch up to Lydia before Juno does. But Lydia has entered the Abyss in search of her mother, and will soon learn Beetlejuice lied to her. Will Beetlejuice be able to keep his friend from getting attacked by a demon, AND keep her from hating him forever when she realizes what he has done?

Chapter One: “It’s a Wonderful Afterlife” (6/19/20) Chapter Two: “Worm Welcome” (07/03/20) Chapter Three: “Ghost to Ghost” (07/26/20) Chapter Four: “To Beetle or not to Beetle?” (08/30/20)

Warning: This story contains depictions of, references to, and discussion of topics like suicide, untimely death, abuse, and body horror - you know, like the musical does (though this probably has more). Know your boundaries, and stay safe.

(This story is also available on AO3, under the username w_k_smith.)

New chapter under keep reading! B33tl3b4b3s DNI!

The darkness…swirled. That was the only way to describe it. There was nothing but blackness all around, but the blackness wasn’t still. It undulated, with a few jagged beams of light jumping through the dark. The ground – if you could call it ground – was steep and uneven, like the floor of a funhouse.

“Hey, kid!” he called. “Where are you? Don’t go too far!”

No answer.

He ran, and almost tripped. He scrambled to get his footing, but he had to keep moving forward.

“LYDIA!” he yelled as loudly as he could.

And then he heard her.

“Mom?” She was calling into the void around them. “Mama? Emily Deetz? It’s me, Lydia.”

A few more steps, and he saw her. Her dark clothes and hair made her next to invisible. But when he saw her, her energy and frantic movements made it clear she didn’t belong in this environment, among the deader than dead. She was running back and forth, peering into the shadows as if that would make a difference.

“Mom!” she yelled. “Mom, it’s Lydia!” Her voice cracked on: “Mommy? Can you hear me?”

He went up a short incline, and hopped to another. “Hey!” he yelled, hoping to get her attention.

Not only did she not look over, he also slipped and fell onto the ground. By the time he got up, she was out of sight again.

He groaned in frustration, and kept moving. Going deeper into the Abyss would keep Juno from catching up too quickly, but they couldn’t avoid her forever. Not even here.

Lydia appeared up ahead. She’d moved on to shouting her mother’s name. Like he’d told her to do.

“Emily Deetz!” she yelled. “Emily Deetz! Emily Evelyn Deetz! Mom?!”

“Hey,” he said. “You don’t –”

“Where is she?” she demanded, her voice ragged. “Where’s my mom? You told me she would be here.”

He raised his arms to either side. “She’s out here. At least, part of her is. And it’s all around you. So is just about everyone who has ever died.”

“Why isn’t she answering me?”

It was a hard, hard question to respond to, in more ways than one.

“That’s…complicated.”

“Where is she?”

He took a deep breath he didn’t need. “She’s not…herself, anymore,” he ended up saying. “Ghosts can hold it together for a long time. Act like we’re people. And maybe we are. But once you give yourself over to the next step, then…” He struggled for the right words, and shrugged. “Then dead is dead is dead.”

“She isn’t responding to me.”

“She can’t. Or, she won’t. It’s not because of anything you’re doing wrong. What you want to do can’t be done.”

“But you told me –”

“Yeah, kid. I told you.”

“You lied to me,” she said.

“Yeah.”

“How could you do that?”

He’d had all the right justifications in mind when he’d first lied. You wouldn’t have listened. You would have left me. I wanted to be free. I was just so miserable I couldn’t risk it.

The words didn’t come.

“I hate you!” Lydia spat. “I thought I knew what you were, but you’re even worse. You’re just a terrible, lonely bastard, and you’re don’t even realize how pathetic you are. Your mother is the only one who wants you around, and she’s disgusting. You’re disgusting. I can’t believe you let me think you were my friend.”

“I’m…I’m…”

“Stop talking to me!” She turned on her heel, and started walking deeper into the Abyss.

“I’m sorry, OK? I really mean it. I’m sorry, Lydia.”

She stopped walking.

“What you have to understand is that the Netherworld is a truck stop. Nobody, except demons, is meant to set up shop out there. Everyone leaves, to come in here, and become whatever it is dead people are really meant to become. Everyone. Sometimes, you hang around the Netherworld for decades. Sometimes, it’s a few minutes. It sounds like your mom’s stay would have been on the shorter side.”

She pressed her hands to her face.

“I know it doesn’t feel like it,” he said. “But that’s a good thing. Trust me, kid, you don’t want to stick around the Netherworld too long. ”

It took him a second to realize she was crying.

“I’m not going to see her again?” Her words were thick.

He drew closer to her, feeling very much like he was approaching a land mine.

“Not here,” he said.

“I – I – I –!” She lowered her hands. Her shoulders were heaving. He could tell she wasn’t trying to decide what to say, but crying so hard she has having trouble forming words. Tears gushed down her face. “I don’t – what am I going to do now?”

The guilt was overwhelming. It pulled at him, dug its fingers in. He’d said all he knew, and tried to offer the closest thing he had to comfort. But fresh tears still welled up in her eyes.

“I just – I came all this way and she’s not – coming – back!”

She buried her face in his shoulder and sobbed.

He froze. He didn’t know what to do. He wanted to help her, more than he had ever wanted to help anyone. But he didn’t know how.

Shake her! insisted the part of him that was chaotic and colorful, the part most like himself. Tell her to snap out of it. Remind her that Juno is coming. Pull out your alarm clock that constantly screams, and say neither of you have any tiiiiiime for this.

He ignored that part, and ignored the instincts that had kept him lonely and apathetic. His friend deserved more than that.

He didn’t know what else to do, though. So he let her cry. And he hoped that would be enough.

Eventually, she let go of him. Her makeup was smeared, her face was flushed and puffy, and she looked about three years younger.

“I think I got some snot on your jacket,” she mumbled.

“It’s seen worse.”

“I don’t actually hate you.”

“Oh. Huh.” How about that?

“I want to go home.”

“Me, too.” The old feeling came back, the one that had been buried even deeper than he was. The lonely and aching urge to go home, even if you were already there. Even if you had never had one.

And one day it was all too damn much. And he’d done something dumb. And now he was…here.

“Why is your hair purple?” she asked.

He cleared his throat. “Egad. You’ve got me emotional.”

She lowered her head. Her shoulders sagged.

“What do we do now?” she asked.

He squinted into the darkness moving around them. “You leave.”

“What?”

“Juno’s on her way,” he said. “It’s bad. I really pissed her off this time, and if she catches up –”

A rumble in the distance. A waft of smoke.

“Lucky for you,” he continued, “she might be more mad at me than she is at you. You have to go.”

“Lawrence!” came his mother’s roar.

Lydia frowned. “She sounds different.”

“I’ll bet she is different. A rampaging demon is not a pretty sight. You can’t be around for this. You gotta get out of here.”

“I don’t have any chalk with me,” she said.

“She’d be able to follow you into the living world, anyway.”

“Then let’s make a run for it!”

“No,” he said. “Stay. And be quiet. She knows I’m in here, but she still doesn’t know exactly where you are. I’ll go and distract her; you run once we’re gone. Find the Maitlands, or Miss Argentina, and they’ll help you get back to living world.”

“Will we be safe from Juno then?” Lydia asked. Her eyes were filled with fear.

It was time to stop lying to her. “You won’t be, if she has her mind set on punishing you. But! I’m going to take the blame. Toss myself on her sword.” He pantomimed stabbing himself, and added a realistic splat sound.

“Don’t do that. She hurts you, right? All the time? Hurts you a lot? Even though she’s your mom?”

Her words were simple, but were wrapped around something very big he could tell she was struggling with.

He gave an exaggerated shrug. “Yeah, Little Miss Sunshine, I’m used to it.”

“But if she’s so mad, it’ll be worse this time.”

“Let me worry about that.”

She narrowed her eyes, and he worried he was going to have to drop kick her to safety, or something. “Can I have some Zagnuts for the road?”

He couldn’t figure that one out. But he was happy to hand over an armload of candy bars from the depths of his jacket.

“I’ll see you later,” she said.

“Lydia…”

“I’ll see you later.”

She turned, and ran into the dark of the Abyss. It only took a few steps for her to disappear.

“BEETLEJUICE.”

He turned, his stomach filling with dread. Juno was still on fire. Her beehive was blackened and losing structure. Her walker had sunk into her forearms. It was either melting, or she was so angry she was forgetting to keep it a separate part of her body.

“Hi, Mom,” he said. The words came out more quietly than he intended.

She huffed, and it sounded like a growl.

“I’ve been patient. For hundreds of years, I’ve been patient. But you’ve disappointed me at every turn. You’ve never even tried to live up to your potential. Don’t you know the kind of purpose you could have had? What you could have achieved if you weren’t such a lazy, boneheaded, waste of space? You said the breather was your friend.” She drew closer to him. The walker scraped across the ground. “What kind of demon is friends with a little girl? More than that, what do you think you’ve ever done to make anyone be friends with you?”

She took another step.

“Stay away!” he said. “I don’t care what you say! I’m through with you, Mom! I’m getting out of hell, and I’m not letting you hurt anybody I care about!”

How he was going to keep that promise, he didn’t know. He told himself it was the thought that counted.

“Oh, sonny boy. We’ll just see about that…!”

His mother started to change. She must have liked looking old, and gross. It wasn’t what he would have chosen if he had total control over his appearance, but hey. Demons’ true forms were strange and primordial, and rare sights. Juno wasn’t reverting to her true form, but she was becoming something else.

Juno stretched and warped, until her walker became the front four legs of the giant insect demon she was at heart. Loose red clothing hardened into a carapace. Her face was broken by mandibles that slid from her mouth. The smell of fire remained.

Exit stage left.

He turned and ran through the Abyss, fueled by desperation to get out, get out, get out. He scrambled over the uneven ground, hoping he was doing more than just going deeper into the black. Juno followed him. He heard her mandibles clicking, over the sound of her limbs shredding the rocks beneath her.

And over that, he heard her laughing.

“Come on…come on, universe!” he groaned. “Help a guy out!”

He ran up a short rise in the ground, jumped off the edge –

– and tumbled onto the sands of Jupiter.

“Yes!” he whooped.

The sand three feet to his right exploded as it was raked by a spiked, armored leg. Someone – definitely not him – let out a high-pitched shriek.

He started running again, flying over the dunes and kicking up sand like the Roadrunner. He didn’t look back, but he didn’t know where exactly would be a good place to go, either. Juno could follow him through Saturn. She could follow him into the living world. He pressed forward toward the admin area, knowing Juno would be right behind him. His only hope was that she wouldn’t want to disembowel him in front of her employees.

Who was he kidding? That would be gravy for her.

Sand gave way to black rock. He skidded to a stop in the craggy field, because where else was there to go?

He glanced behind him. He’d put a little distance between himself and Juno, but her jagged silhouette advanced on the horizon.

The swift clack of heels. “What have you done?!” Miss Argentina asked. She had a tight grip on her clipboard, and her face was so livid it almost wasn’t green.

“I set her on fire, a little bit,” he said.

Her hands shook, and her clipboard snapped in half.

“Where is the living girl?” Miss Argentina said.

“Hiding. She’s fine for now; Juno’s focused on me.”

“Well that’s something! What exactly is your mother going to do?”

“I think this is it, Miss A.”

“Beetlejuice…”

He cleared his throat and yanked on his tie. “Ah, you know, at least I get the honor dying horribly twice…”

Miss Argentina squeezed her eyes shut for a second. “There must be something you can do.”

He shrugged. He was powerful, and had more tricks up his striped sleeves than any other ghosts. He was nothing compared to his mother.

A door formed in the air, and swung open. Charles, Delia, and the Maitlands tripped over each other rushing out.

“Finally!” Adam exclaimed. “We opened so many doors!”

“There you are!” Charles said. “Where is Lydia?!”

“She’s as safe as she can be,” he said. “Right now, you need to get the hell out of here if you know what’s good for you.”

“Not without Lydia!” Delia said.

“It might literally be your funeral.”

“More breathers?” came Juno’s roar. He looked up. She’d grown taller, her skin stretched tight in some places, bunched up in others. Her eyes were bulging and multifaceted, like a housefly’s. Her fried beehive still bobbed on top of her head.

“Help me or scram!” he said to the ghosts and the living.

The Maitlands looked at each other. Charles and Delia just looked terrified. Miss Argentina’s eyes darted from left to right, but she didn’t move.

“C’mon, Ma!” he yelled at the creature towering over them. “Let’s have it out, you and me! For better – or worse.”

Definitely worse! What was he thinking? What was he doing?

He had no other options. No more cowering. No more tricks. No more running away.

He strained, and spikes erupted from his body. Juno’s pincer tried to clench around him, but she couldn’t grab hold. He puffed himself up even bigger, and her limb jerked back.

He kept moving. He retracted the spikes, stretched his body like a snake, coiled, sprang, and wrapped himself around his mother’s neck. She choked, and her head jerked back. It was just a holdup, though. She grabbed him, yanked him off her. He found himself being dangled in front of her face.

“I never should have borne you!” she hissed, as he wilted into his human shape. “I should have scrubbed you from the afterlife the second you crossed over!”

He opened his mouth to answer, but a chunk of rock flew over his head and hit Juno on the chin.

“That is no way to talk to your child!” said Barbara Maitland.

She and Adam were on the sidelines, but holding rocks. Barbara was still a little off balance after throwing hers. They thought they could help. Oh God, they were so adorable that he wanted to die again…

He twisted so he dropped out of Juno’s grasp. As soon as he hit the ground, he rolled to the side, and popped up covered in arms that ended with claws. He could only raise all those limbs for a few seconds, however, before they disappeared, leaving him with his usual two arms and two legs. Boring. And weak.

His default form kept threatening to return, like a resistance band threatening to snap back and hit someone in the eye. Unlike full demons, who could look like any horrifying thing they set their minds to, he had a semi-human form he had to settle back into after a while. Sure, he’d warped over the years; he hadn’t been born with green hair, but this was pushing him to the jagged edge of his limits.

One of Juno’s six legs smashed into him. He let his body get rubbery, so instead of being crushed, he just kind of…squished.

She hit him again. And again.

“Beetlejuice!” Miss Argentina yelled.

He tried to make a joke, because the idea of Miss A being worried about him was just plain disconcerting. But it was hard to say This is karma for every time I drunkenly broke a Whack-a-Mole machine when your lungs wouldn’t inflate.

He was trying. He really was. But he just couldn’t resist anymore.

Juno pinned him to the ground. A little more pressure and he’d be squashed like a bug. Fitting, he supposed.

“Leave them alone!” came a familiar girl’s voice.

He looked up, and saw a sandworm bearing down on them. For a second, he braced himself to be devoured. Until he recognized the dark shape clinging to the sandworm’s back. And he realized Juno was about to be distracted.

“Hi, Lydia!” he shouted, and slithered away as the sandworm reared back over his mother.

“No!” Juno roared. “Get away, you filthy –”

A Zagnut hit her between the compound eyes.

“Go, Sandy!” Lydia called. “Get the snack!”

The sandworm lunged forward, all jaws snapping. The vision of black and white stripes turned into a shadow that threw up a wall of dirt. He heard Lydia shriek, and Juno yell in anger.

And then Juno went silent.

The dust settled.

The sandworm was curling itself up into a satisfied ball. Lydia was safe on its back, but was quietly whispering “oh my God oh my God oh my God” to herself. Juno was nowhere in sight.

Miss Argentina took a hesitant step toward the torn patch of earth where the Director of Netherworld Customs and Processing had been devoured. The sandworm nipped at her experimentally, and she scampered back.

“Yeah,” he wheezed. “The ghosts need to stay away from the worm.”

Charles and Delia went to help Lydia down. They didn’t seem thrilled about getting close to the sandworm, but it ignored them completely. He didn’t blame it for not getting overexcited. It was going to have quite a time digesting a meal like Juno, given that demons weren’t sandworms’ usual diet. In fact, it probably wasn’t even really all that interested in the nearby ghosts.

Not that he wanted to stand up and check. Or stand up. Or move at all. His body – his whole existence – felt beaten to a pulp.

“Are you alright?” Barbara Maitland asked, leaning over him.

“I will be if you kiss it better,” he said.

She sighed. “You’d have to shower about a hundred times for me to even picture that happening.”

“Anything for you and sexy over there. Let’s run some hot water and get the ball rolling.”

She pursed her lips.

“Sorry,” he groaned. That word again. Bleeeeech. “Would you please help me up, Barbara?”

“That’s better.” She took his hand, and pulled him to his feet.

“Beetlejuice!” Lydia ran over to him. “Are you OK?”

“Never better!” He grabbed her, tossed her into the air, and caught her while she giggled. “Look at you! You saved the day!

“I can’t believe it worked,” she said.

“Me neither!” He set her down. “Chekov’s Zagnuts. Whodathunkit?”

“Hey, um…” Lydia’s expression grew concerned. “Who are they?”

He looked over his shoulder. A motley assortment of nightmares had wandered out of the admin area. Little gremlin creatures with skeletal faces and bulging eyes. A chalk-pale man wearing a suit, and smiling with a mouth like a stretched rubber band. A woman in Victorian garb who had the strong smell of potpie.

“Oh, them? They’re demons,” he said.

“Cool,” Lydia said.

“Lydia.” Charles had snuck up on them. “I need to talk to you.”

Her smile was gone. “Things didn’t go as planned, with…with Mom,” she said.

“I didn’t think so,” he said quietly. “Come on, sweetie. Let’s talk over there. Away from…” His gaze slid over the demon audience. “…All that.”

Charles led Lydia away.

He checked a strand of his hair, and saw that the green was fading to a vague and colorless shade with his exhaustion. Still, he revved up to stomp over and interrupt Charles, because he was in the mood to confront another terrible parent today.

Delia grabbed his sleeve. “Don’t,” she said quietly. “I think they need to figure this out by themselves.”

“He’s been an asshole.”

Delia patted his arm. “Maybe a little bit. But he loves Lydia very much. He’s going to make things as right as he can.” She was looking at Charles with misty, lovestruck eyes. Ew. “Thank you for looking after Lydia…in your own way. She’s a unique girl.”

“Ah, she saved my sorry ass.”

“By the way…that giant insect creature was your mother?” Delia asked.

He nodded, and waited for the usual disgusted look, the double take, the silent curiosity about whether he was as twisted as Juno was.

“I’m very sorry. Growing up must have been awful,” was what Delia said instead.

“Um…yes,” he said.

“And you’ve been working for her for how long?”

“Ever since I died. It’s been a wonderful afterlife. Every time a bell rings, a demon bites the wings off a bat.”

Delia blinked a few times. “Have you ever considered therapy?”

He put a hand on each temple. “I don’t like having my head shrunk.” He squeezed until his skull was the size of an apple. Delia looked a little grossed out, and mildly impressed. He let his head reflate, and decided she was OK.

“Beetlejuice.” Lydia was done talking with her father. She wiped the corner of her eye, but she seemed fine. “So is Juno…dead?” she asked, pointing at the sandworm. The striped animal’s eyes were lowered drowsily. “Like, dead dead?”

“Let me see,” he said. He cleared his throat. “Benchchartreuse. No, Bechdelgoose. Beachcaboose, dammit!” He shook his head. “She isn’t dead enough, apparently. I’d give her about a hundred years stewing in the sandworm before she pops out.”

Miss Argentina, drawing closer now that the sandworm had settled down, clicked her pen. “The Netherworld will be in very capable hands when or if she returns. Hands so capable, they may push her right back into the sandworm’s maw.”

“You’re the best, Miss A.”

“I know.” Miss A turned to the assembled demons. “Anyone want to argue about that? I think we can make do without a director for a while.”

“Hey, man, we aren’t gonna cry with Juno gone,” said a one-eyed skeleton in a bowler hat, his jaw rocking back and forth as he spoke. “She was the worst boss we ever had. And what she did to her own flesh and blood? Not cool.”

“We’ll get more done without her around. Don’t act like we haven’t all been thinking it,” said a mournful elephant in clown makeup.

“The capitalist paradigm of a manager overseeing a 40-hour work week is obsolete anyway,” said a moldering bride, and the maggot in her eye socket agreed.

“I would very much like to leave now,” Charles said.

“I have the chalk!” Barbara said.

“Wait!” Lydia ran in front of her father. “BJ comes with us,” she said, crossing her arms. “I already signed the adoption paperwork. And if you say he can’t, I’ll drop out of school and get a neck tattoo. So.”

Charles blinked hard, and looked to the Maitlands.

“It’s fair that you two get a say about this,” he said.

The Maitlands looked at each other for several seconds, and he started to get worried.

“No sexual harassment, or you can’t live with us anymore,” Adam said.

“And you take a bath the second you walk in the door!” Barbara added.

“And you can’t have your ghost or demon friends over.”

“At least, not without getting permission first.”

“And we’ll evict you the second you stop being a good influence on Lydia.”

“And if you ever, ever hurt her at all, we will defy all afterlife laws, find a way to resurrect you, and murder you slowly and painfully.” The steel in Adam’s and Barbara’s eyes when Barbara said that made him certain that they meant it, and he was both terrified and, somehow, more deeply in love. Oh, he’d find a way to bring them around. Even if it meant having to do some really twisted, degrading stuff like being nice, and giving compliments, and remembering birth days. Time to learn some romantic ukulele songs.

“Agreed, agreed, I have no friends, agreed, and that’s fine by me,” he said, ticking off the points on his fingers.

“Then I guess we’re OK with it,” Adam said.

“On a trial basis,” Barbara said.

With a flourish, Barbara pulled the chalk out of her pocket. “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m ready to go home. It’s been a long, long day.”

“See ya later, guys!” he shouted at the spectators. Miss Argentina smiled at him, actually smiled in a full, genuine way that didn’t come off in the least bit sarcastic.

“Bye-bye, Sandy!” Lydia called, waving at the sandworm. It thwacked the ground with its tail.

He gathered with Charles, Delia, Adam, and Lydia while Barbara drew three straight lines on a rock.

“I’m still mad at you for lying about my mom,” Lydia said.

“Eh, that’s fair.”

“But…” she said. Her tone was deliberate, as if she was about to say something important. “I guess you’re supposed to always be mad at your dumb big brother.”

He scrabbled for something to say, though that word had knocked the wind out of him.

“Dumb?” He straightened, and pressed a hand to his chest, affronted. “I’ll remind you, I’m the brains of this outfit.” He reached into his right ear, and pulled out said brain. Lydia laughed.

“Brother?” he mouthed to himself when her back was turned. Barbara saw him, and gave him a small smile before she walked through the door herself.

Lydia cleared her throat. “And once we’re all through, I’ll say your name two times. It was two times, right? Two times exactly, and then if nothing happens, I should just give up and assume you don’t want to come?”

His unbeating heart burst with pride. “You little shit.”

“Come on,” she insisted, holding out her hand. “Let’s go home.”

He took it, and she yanked him through. And through the shadows and green mist, he was pretty sure he could see daylight.

#Beetlejuice #beetlejuice fanfiction #Beetlejuice the musical #lawrence beetlejuice shoggoth #lydia deetz #chaos siblings

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tvdversefanfiction · 3 years

Text

Origins of Magic

“The Originals” Fanfiction Series

Warnings: I do not own the rights to the television series “The Originals”, “Vampire Diaries”, or “Legacies” and do not own any of the characters within the TVD universe, I am making no profit from this and have no intention for this fanfiction series except for readers to enjoy.

15+ Mild to Strong Violence, Strong Language, Witchcraft, sexual scenes, and sexual references.

F/F, F/M, M/M, Other.

CHAPTER THREE HERE

Chapter Four - Between Heaven, Hell, and New Orleans

After a decade living in the afterlife Klaus Mikaelson and his brother Elijah had found a version of peace living together in a dream like version of the Abattoir in New Orleans with their loved ones which included; Camille O’Connell, Hayley Marshall and most surprisingly a grown up version of their youngest sibling Henrik Mikaelson. The option of seeing Henrik as anything but a child was new to both Klaus and Elijah and not only did it please them but it helped lift some of the weight of the guilt Klaus had carried for a thousand years for feeling responsible for his youngest sibling’s death. Noticeably missing through their family reunion after life, with the addition of honoree Mikaelson Hayley and the former psychologist bartender Cami, was the Mikaelson’s treacherous parents Esther and Mikael and their deadly aunt Dahlia, after all this was the brother’s version of heaven not hell. Although Klaus managed to find ways to check up on his daughter he never worried too much about her, knowing she would and eventually did find her way in the world making her prouder than he could ever have imagined being, allowing for him and his brother Elijah to be at peace with their deaths. The only problem is the living were not at peace while the two Mikaelson brothers remained dead leading to a trio of powerful witches casting a wicked spell snatching Klaus and Elijah from their heaven, bypassing hell and returning them to the land of the living, right to the city of New Orleans. “I knew hell was on hold!” Klaus stated as he woke up on the ground within the Lafayette Cemetery, sitting up to see Elijah stood above him, looking equally confused as to how they wound up there. “I am not too sure this is hell Niklaus, in fact if I were to take guess I’d go for, well I would say somebody with a heck of a lot of power just brought us back from the dead.” Elijah replied to his hybrid brother, as Klaus quickly rose to his feet. “Hope,” Klaus uttered, automatically fearing the worst about his daughter. “Hope does not know anything about me and yet I am here!” The now adult Henrik stated, as he appeared from behind a large gravestone. “I do not know what has brought us all back brothers, but I can tell you with certainty it is not Mikaelson magic.” “Actually brothers…” Rebekah announced as she vamp sped her way into the cemetery, confronting all three of her brothers, ready to admit her truth. “It was definitely Mikaelson meddling I just so happened to use a different source of magic to get the deed done.” Klaus, Elijah, and Henrik stood there in shock, surprised by Rebekah’s actions, unsure of why she had brought them back to life, fearing the answer would be far worse than it was. Meanwhile Rebekah turned to face Henrik, instantly feeling a connection with him but having only seen him as a child, not being able to work out his identity. “Who the bloody hell are you?” She asked, not knowing it was her youngest brother all grown up.

As the hours went by and the world around him continued to live Klaus Mikaelson began to slowly realize that there was no going back to the place, he had been for a decade of what he considered bliss. He had grown used to the place he and his brothers Elijah and Henrik had come to think of as a form of heaven and was at peace with himself for the first time ever but now he was back in New Orleans, a place that was once his home had now felt like nothing more than the thing blocking him from a much better fate all because his sister Rebekah Mikaelson missed them too much, something that would have touched Klaus if he was not so furious about it all. “You mean to say that there is literally nothing bloody wrong and yet you pull us back from death to what check in?” Klaus shouted at his sister within the compound, as he, Rebekah, Elijah, and Henrik stood by the empty fountain. “You died with the hollow inside of you how was I supposed to know you were not suffering an eternity in some kind of hell?” Rebekah snapped back at her brother, while Elijah and Henrik decided to just stand there and watch how the fight played out. “You were supposed to move on with your life like everybody else, you spent so long trying to get rid of me and then when you do you stop at nothing to bring me back!” Klaus continued to argue with his sister. “Yes, I for one would like to know how exactly you managed to bring us back and who exactly helped you.” Elijah told Rebekah, somewhat alarmed at the possible measures his sister went to bring them all back. “It was nothing bad Elijah I just called in some favors from old friends and they were more or less happy to oblige.” Rebekah replied, telling a half-truth to Elijah. “Well I for one am glad to have a chance at living once again just keep the werewolves from me this time around.” Henrik chimed in, only to be met by frustrated glances from his siblings, forgetting for a moment his brother Niklaus was a werewolf/vampire hybrid. “So, I admit I was rash and I will more than likely regret this decision sooner rather than later but I just hated the idea of everything moving on….Freya’s got a kid, Davina and Kol too and Klaus…your daughter…she’s getting married…how can you not be here for that?” Rebekah informed Klaus, shocking her brother by the admission his daughter was now engaged. “She’s engaged?” Klaus responded with a soft smile, genuinely happy for his daughter Hope. “Yeah to Caroline’s daughter…I guess Hope is better at getting the girl than you brother.” Rebekah teased him. “So, we are back here for a wedding? Seriously Rebekah I have come to expect this carelessness from Kol and Niklaus, but I thought better of you!” Elijah complained to his sister. “Also, if this is your logic why not bring back Hayley as well as us?” “Trust me I was all up for resurrecting every single person I ever lost but it was hard enough sale for the two of you.” Rebekah answered Elijah, before turning to Henrik. “Not sure how you wound up alive again and all grown up…that is giving me a headache trying to work out.” “If you did not rope my daughter into this ressurection party of yours just which old friends did you persuade or threaten?” Klaus wondered. “Please tell me it was not Bonnie Bennet she has already stopped my death once before and was quite honestly very righteous about it.” “The kind of magic which would resurrect two original vampires and possibly the hollow would have to be that of a great darkness, a Black magic darker than even our aunt Dahlia’s.” Elijah suggested, as he began realizing the truth. “Oh, Rebekah please tell me our lives are not owed to any of them….”

Although Rebekah was under the illusion the ressurection spell had worked perfectly with the delightful addition of her youngest brother Henrik, Annabella knew better in fact Henrik coming back was not the only thing that went awry with the spell that Bella, Kayne and Rose had cast, in fact as the Black siblings were about to realize very quickly the spell they had done together had caused all kinds of chaos with more awaiting not only them but the Mikaelson’s too. “I cannot believe we did not get the hollow one of you witches must have done something wrong!” Rose accused her siblings, as Rose, Kayne and Bella walked into a luxurious hotel room within New Orleans. “Who is to say you did not mess up? I mean you are hardly the wonder witch of the family!” Kayne snapped back at his sister. “Not gaining the power of the hollow are the last of our worries, I fear something is wrong, I can feel it in my bones I just cannot get my head around what.” Bella warned her siblings, eager to determine the extent of the damage from the spell the three of them cast. “You worry too much Annabella,” Kayne responded, dismissing his older sister’s worries. “The only thing we messed up on was bringing back the Mikaelson’s and getting nothing out of it!” “Speak for yourself Kayne, I for one struck a deal with Rebekah from the very beginning I may not have the hollow, but I am sticking around here until I get something else, I want.” Rose revealed to them both. “Of course, I first have to work out something that is really going to make Rebekah’s life a living hell.” “So, you had a back up plan all this time?” Kayne furiously shouted at Rose. “Guess I am fool for thinking you actually cared for either of us…you have not changed one bit!” “Oh, please you already said yes the minute Rebekah asked anything for the man who would rather be dead then be anywhere near you!” Rose cruelly taunted her brother, before turning to Bella. “And you…what do you get now that Rebekah’s got her use out of you? Yeah, that is right you will go back to hiding from the rest of the world.” “Can we please just stop attacking each other for one second so we can work out the amount of damage we have caused with that god damn spell?” Bella shouted, eager to get her siblings to stop fighting with each other and her. Suddenly, the sound of a loud knocking noise coming from their hotel door had stopped the three siblings in mid fight as they looked among themselves trying to figure out who would be knocking on the door; Bella fearing it would be a newly revived Elijah issuing an polite warning about leaving New Orleans, Kayne fearing he would be reunited with Klaus and Rose hoping it was anyone or anything that would get her away from her family. “I guess I will get it then,” Rose said as she walked over to the hotel room door. “Honestly, you would think neither of you were all powerful witches…” As Rose swung the door open neither her, Kayne or Bella could prepare themselves for who stood in their doorway ready to greet the bewitching siblings. “So, you are the witches who have went and screwed up death!” Katherine Pierce greeted the three siblings as she stood within their doorway, Bella instantly realizing in that moment they had brought back more than just Klaus and Elijah. “I just wanted to say thanks for old time’s sake before I get the hell out of this city…which if I were you guys I would do the exact same before Klaus gets pissed and decides to kill the lot of you!” “Katerina Petrova?” Bella managed to say, while still in shock from Katherine’s arrival. “How exactly did we screw up death?” A clueless Kayne asked the female vampire. “Wow, you did not even mean to do it did use?” Katherine laughed at them. “In that case I’d highly advise getting the hell out of here before Mikael arrives…. oh well I’ve done my good deed for the century…it was good seeing you again Annabella.” Before Bella could muster up anymore words and before Kayne had any chance to ask Katherine any questions about her claim about him and his sisters screwing up death, Katherine Pierce had already vamp sped out of sight all too eager to get as far away from the chaos that was most definitely about to follow. “I guess you were right Annabella,” Rose said as she turned to face her sister. “Just one question in what way did we just screw up death?” “In a really bad way…” Kayne said with a look on horror on his face, which caught his sisters’ attention as they turned to look at what he was staring blankly at, only to see their brother Magnus Black was now stood in the doorway.

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tonyndum-e · 5 years

Text

Earth's future

There's a little dramatic pause Friday created before rolling the footage but with every second of silence, Peter's will to flee the room is rising. Just when he was about to jump off the chair and out of the basement, he hears a noise. A voice. A familiar one. He looks in front and sees Tony's figure in hologram.

"Hey, kid." Peter tries not to cover his eyes. "This is the last night before I leave on the time heist. It's probably the last chance I'll get to make these. I've already made three, this is my fourth one and I should really go to sleep then. If you're watching this then it means something both, very good and bad have happened. If you are watching it, that means we did it, we undid the snap and brought you back but also that I'm not there anymore to deliver this message in person.

First, I'm asking you to take care of my girls. Pepper will try to act tough because I told her whenever I was about to die not to feel guilty. But she will. So, please try to reason with her.

Morgan is a feisty little thing. You'll love her, you two are so much alike. And keep her away from the stuff in lab. She loves to wear those helmets a lot.

Anyway. Why you're here... Press the button on the left wall of the door first, then continue playing the message." Friday pauses it while he finds the button.

It reveals a whole new wall of suits. His jaw drops.

There was already a wall full of suits and then a hidden one revealed before his very eyes with at least double the amount. He counts 23 all in total. It's weird how that room used to be so much smaller, or at least seem tiny. It's not tiny anymore.

"There's much more of where these came from but I also doubt there's much need for them anymore. I've been using the nano-suit for the past six years and it uses almost to none space. Use that one.

I guess it would mean that we defeated Thanos for real this time. If you don't know what that means, ask the others about their little visit to Thanos five years ago. It's a fun story. But don't tell Morgan. It's not for her.

I'm really trying to speed things up here as I'm noticing my concetration is shutting down.

Thanos is gone, but threat isn't. You're still your friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man, but you're also an Avenger now. One of Earth's mightiest heroes. Your job is not nearly over.

For the record, I advise a huge armour around the world. So, if you figure it out, please do let people know how much you guys need that armour. People can get real stubborn sometimes.

When it comes to this lab, all I ask from you is to protect the things here. You can even get rid of the suits and leave just the nano-suits. Don't worry, I won't haunt you in the afterlife if you do." He winks. Peter condemns his laugh.

"Oh, and I just realized. This is your first time on Earth as an Avenger. How are you liking it?" he takes- him on hologram takes a breath and continues.

"I know you feel bad, that's in your nature. Don't. You're Earth's future, kid. This damned planet is lucky to have you. I know I was.

I'm glad you're back. I hope you're back," he mumbles the last sentence but Peter hears it clearly. The hologram figure fades away.

Meanwhile, upstairs, Pepper is left to deal with guests. She had to stop them from leaving just to give a speech. They haven't heard from her at all since the battle. No one except for Morgan, Peter, Happy and Rhodey. Even in front of them, she kept quiet with a cracking voice. Morgan wanted to run downstairs to see what Peter's doing, but her mother didn't want her to miss the speech. She's still too young, but she should hear it.

"So, there's everyone," she scoffs. "Almost everyone. Nat's not here either." she locks her eyes on the ground.

"This will be very short. I don't have much to say either way as I already told my husband everything I needed to already. This is a message to all of you, to his friends and all of his family. It goes for the rest of the world as well.

If you ever see me cry, it's not of grief - it's of relief. I don't think anyone in the world, not even me, knows how many sleepless nights Tony spent. Thanos has been in his head for over a decade, even after killing him five years ago. I always knew he wouldn't rest before making things right. Long story short - I was right.

Last night he spent in this house he was confused. I don't think I've ever seen Tony confused. I assured him if he does leave to at least try that it could finally bring him peace. He could bring his own peace. And he did. He's in peace now. He rests.

If anything, this should be a celebration. He isn't a sacrifice, he is just a fulfilled destiny. Remember that.

Don't mourn him. I won't.

Celebrate him. Cause I will."

Morgan looks up into her eyes and she brings her closer to her grip.

After raising her chin, Pepper doesn't receive many different reactions. Most faces are blank, or just confused. She walks away to let them figure out themselves. Morgan stays with others while Pepper goes downstairs. Peter has just walked out of the lab door when she was about to open them. She invites him upstairs.

to be continued

#iron fam short story #tonyndum-e story 1 #chapter 2 #irondad #irondad & spiderson #spiderson #pepper potts #rescue #morgan stark #tony stark #peter parker #iron man #spiderman #mcu #marvel #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction

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misssophiachase · 5 years

Note

Not sure if your taking prompts right now but if you are I would really like to see Klaus and Caroline joining together to fight a common enemy set around the time of TO S5 or after (I keep telling myself Klaus never died). I think we never really got the chance to see them do that.

I like to take prompts when I can anon and this one jumped out at me because I agree this so needed to be a storyline (damn you Julie). And by that I mean not just running around after Hope or magical children in general. It’s a little different but pretend none of that happened and Caroline and Klaus have been separated for years. I feel like this idea has so much promise that a mini drabble isn’t enough. But if you’d like to see more, let me know : )

Love is a Battlefield

Both of us knowing…

M.S Rau Antiques, Royal Street French Quarter, LA - Thursday

“You have got to be kidding me,” she whistled, taking in the private but impressive room shrouded in candle light which housed an array of art works and historic artifacts.

Caroline knew he loved art and was trying to work out whether this was just another trick to get her to his city or if there was a real emergency he’d alluded to over the phone. Caroline hoped it was the latter otherwise she’d kick his English ass for wasting her time.

Their history was something Caroline carried with her every day, not that she’d admit it of course. They’d had their moments but it was best left unsaid given the distance that had lingered between them the past decade.

Caroline wasn’t one to come running, especially when a male called with the name of Klaus Mikaelson. The connection they shared remained and as much as Caroline had tried to forget it had never really diminished.

“You came,” he observed. Her back was to the door but she couldn’t miss the sheer, and unexpected, relief in his voice. Caroline was fairly certain his crimson lips were pursed and a stray dimple was threatening to show itself at the same time. But she hadn’t seen him for ten years so she was probably wrong.

Turning around to face him, Caroline realised nothing had changed and she was right. The fact he looked just as good in a henley as the first time they met was slightly messing with her resolve. The shirt was pulled up past his elbows showing off his toned arms, a telling tattoo creeping out from underneath.

Caroline knew that tattoo off by heart, she wouldn’t admit it aloud but she knew every inch of his body including each tattoo. Her tongue had explored every single inch of skin in the woods and it felt like he was tempting her on purpose.

Bastard.

“I was tempted not to but you sounded almost desperate over the phone, Mikaelson.”

“I suppose I should argue back but it’s not my style…”

“Liar, you can’t help yourself. But in a private room bathed in candle light it’s another story. You realise I didn’t sign up for some weird, romantic date?”

“The candle light is to preserve the artwork, in case you’re wondering, Forbes,” he shot back. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“So, why exactly did you summon me then? Talk.” She shot back, licking her lips on purpose. He paused momentarily, obviously caught off guard, before gesturing to the table and chairs. If anything it was a welcome move given her legs were threatening to give way beneath her at any time.

Caroline liked to pretend he had no hold over her, especially after all this time, but she’d be lying. The Original hybrid haunted her thoughts both day and night and not in a G rated way.

Bastard.

“Straight to the point.”

“Of course, did you expect anything less?” She purred, leaning forward so that he could capture her cleavage. His unexpected inhaling of breath and subsequent comment wasn’t lost on Caroline.

“Not at all, love,” he smirked, his dark, blue eyes finally meeting her face. “Turns out those witches you killed have some deep seeded issues in the form of a local ancestor.”

“Wow, after all these years, certainly takes commitment.”

“You obviously have that annoying effect on everyone,” he smiled knowingly. Caroline was doing everything to ignore the unexpected fluttering he’d caused down below.

Bastard.

“They obviously like to hold onto a grudge. Surely in the afterlife there’s pool parties and unicorns to keep them distracted?”

“You might need to re-evaluate that observation if you want a pleasant after life.”

“Could you just disappear or offer an actual solution?”

“Well, that would be me love,” he offered. “I’m happy to assist but you have to say please.”

“Over my dead body,” Caroline bit out.

“In that case it means we’re going to be here for a while.”

“I hate you,” she snarled, wishing it was true.

“Funny that, I hate you too, love,” he grinned. “Now, how about we pretend to kiss and make-up for the greater good?”

TBC….

#ask #answered #klaroline drabbles #love is a battlefield #misssophiachase #anon

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toaquiprashippar · 6 years

Text

always there

I hope you guys like it, I decided to post it here since, I posted all my fanfics here, this is the first part, part II is coming and there’ll be a part III. Sorry for the angst, came from the heart. After long nights of me and @porrabett talking of how lyanna would watch over jon, it had to be written! Plus, I could never have written this without her! <3

She was always there

Jon could not remember a time where she was not in his dream, or even his nightmares.

He could never fully see her face, but he remember her smile, it was large and full of teeth. Like a she-wolf showing her grace, or a wild animal protecting her babes, watching them from afar.

When Jon was nothing but a child, he and Robb would prank the other children, pretending to be the dead Kings of Winter, rising to scare the others, down the crypts. He could never see anyone, but it was as if someone inhabited the shadows. But he was a brave little boy, and he would never tell such nonsense to his brother, it was enough being a bastard, let alone a mad one.

The night before he left for The Wall, he dreamt of her. He was lost in the crypts, when he heard her cries. It was sad and heartbreaking, a sound to make the Old Gods weep.

What is it, My Lady? What can I do help? He would ask her.

But she would not give him an answer.

She wept, still.

Surely, she could not be crying for him, the ghosts of Winterfell would not care for a bastard.

He could never see the face, but he could see her hair, wild and curly, hiding her tears, in the darkness she lived in.

His friendly ghost, his ghostly friend. At first, she scared him, but after years of her presence, her smell of winter roses had become comforting, a bit like home.

He would miss her at the Wall, so when he prayed at the Godswood, one last time; prayed for his family's safety, for his new life and for his friend to be there somehow.

For a long time, she was not.

He never saw her when he lost hope of finding his uncle, but he felt her presence, when he mourned him, all those cold nights at Castle Black.

He never saw her the night he swore his vows, but he dreamt of a Godswood with blue leaves, and it smelled of his distant friend: winter roses.

He never saw her in the crypts, the night he dreamt of his father, right after his demise; but he knew she was there, in the shadows.

He never saw her when he got the dreadful news of Robb and Lady Catelyn, and he wanted to kill and die. But he knew she was there, somehow, somewhere.

Winterfell, Bran, Rickon. Robb. He was so angry, his pack was dying, he did not know of his she-wolf of a sister, and Sansa was beyond his reach.

When the snows fall and white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives.

His pack was either slaughtered or scattered, so die the lone wolf did.

He did see her that night, though, the night he would finally see her face. The night his brothers ended his watch and his ears would hear her voice.

It was cold, but her embrace was nothing but warm.

He remembered everything.

“TRAITOR”, they called him. Yet, they were the ones who stabbed him.

“Oh, my poor boy, what did they do to you?” Her face was beautiful, defiant, yet soft. She reminded him of Arya, with her deep grey eyes. Eyes that mirrored his own.

“They killed me…I am dead, am I not?” He could not believe it. Dead. By the hands of his own brothers. His watch has ended.

“Aye. You are, but not for long.” Her voice was fierce, but sad. She was beautiful, and so familiar.

“Who are you? Are you my shadow friend?” He was asking, but somehow he knew the answer.

“I am.” She smiled. He knew that smile. Cause he had it himself.

“What do you mean ‘not for long’?” Death was permanent; he was supposed to meet his father, his brothers. Probably his little sister, Arya, too. Where were them? Did bastards have no right in the afterlife too? Was he all damned?

“You will soon find out, I promise you.” She smiled.

“Why am I at the crypts? I am not a Stark.” He could not understand how death brought him to the resting place of his Lord Father’s House. “The Kings of Winter do not wish me here, they told me so themselves, in dreams.” He could never forget those dreams, they haunted his memories and it felt like a joke from the Gods, as if Lord Stark’s ancestors hated his bastard as much as his wife did.

“Stark blood run through your veins, if you are here, mayhaps the Gods want you here.” Her soft voice assured him, her face was still sad.

“Are you a Stark?” Only the Starks were welcomed here.

“I am a memory, Jon. A friend. A protector. A guide.” She looked straight into his eyes; her eyes seemed to see right through him. It was unsettling.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me, Sweet Boy.” She turned to his Father statue, staring.

“I know your heart. You are not one easily scared; don’t fear a shadow that only wants to talk.” She looked aside, to smile at him. It was not a sad smile, for once.

“You were always good in scaring people around you, though. You and your brother, Robb. Scaring Sansa with your flour ghosts, playing with the boys and Arya, training with your sword around the castle. Did you ever imagine how often you would need to yield it, years later? How you would see real ghosts and even talk to ‘em at the same crypts you once hide yourself at? Oh, these Gods and their jokes…” The Lady turned to the other side, walking to another statue, his Uncle Brandon.

“You have always been near me, haven’t you, My Lady?” Jon wondered what it probably meant, but he would never say it aloud.

“I saw your oath, in front of that Godswood. I wept with the Gods.” She was crying now, he did not know what to do. But she just continued.

“I saw you giving up everything, getting on a horse, to follow Robb, the winds helped your friends to find you in time to stop you from being a deserter…I would like to think I was always very good in helping the winds.” He remembers that day, maybe if he had gone, Robb would still be alive…Or maybe he would have just died alongside his brother, at the Red Wedding.

“I saw you falling in love with a woman kissed by fire, not because you wanted to, but because you had to, but you did so anyway, but I also saw you losing her, and it breaking your heart, and I am sorry for it. I know all about a broken heart. Although mine have not beaten in decades, I did lose someone I held dear, and nothing made me sadder.” She touched his face, as Catelyn did when Robb was upset.

“I failed my brother. I failed Ygritte. I could have helped both, now they are both gone.” Jon whispered. They were alone, but saying it aloud made it hurt even harder. It just made his guilt even more real.

“No, my Sweetling. You did not. Their lives and journeys were theirs to live. Yours was elsewhere. You love so deep and so fiercely, Jon. That is why men follow you to the ends of the earth, you inspire their loyalty. No legitimacy gives someone that, it comes with their personality, and you have it more than anyone in Westeros.” Hearing this from the outside was like healing a wound that has been hurt in the open for a long time. She was always there, but she was not. She seemed to know everything, and still saw him as a good person, as worthy. Had he ever had that from anyone other than his few friends at the Night’s Watch? From his sister Arya?

Someone was calling to him, it was not the common tongue, but somehow, they both knew it was a summon, meant for Jon.

"You must go now; they are reaching out to you. You inspire admiration and respect, love from people, Jon. No one would ever give up on a person like yourself. The mysterious woman was holding to him tight, like a she-wolf protecting her pup.

“Nor will I, I will stay in the shadows, but you can always find me.” Her words were comforting and sad, he could not imagine her not being there, but now, having talked to her, he could not imagine not talking to her or having her answer back. He feared what that meant.

“Why? Why won’t you leave, why won’t you give up on me?” He looked into her eyes.

“I don’t think you are ready to listen to this answer yet, Jon. Stop doubting yourself, go south, and get warm. Fight the wars they send your way, you are meant for greatness, you were never ordinary, you were promised.” She touched his face once more.

“I am a man of The Night’s Watch. I can’t fight any King’s War.” He was confused.

“They killed you. Your watch has ended. You can do as you please, and a Long Night approaches, men will need someone to guide them into it.” She still would not let go of him.

“Jon…Just don’t let her fly away.” Before he could answer, she was gone.

“Let who fly away, My Lady?” He asked, but she was no more.

Before he could react, there was light.

Pain was no longer, air filling his lungs, he could not gasp enough.

He was alive.

His watch has ended, but his life was not.

He was back in his old room, back home. After years away from Winterfell, he and Sansa were finally home.

He could not save Rickon, for as fast as he rode, Ramsay’s aim was better. He would always carry that with him. Had he listen to his sister, or mayhaps the Gods just wanted to claim Rickon for themselves, he could not save his baby brother. He now layed with Father and their ancestors.

Their home was once again under Stark protection. The North remembered but House Bolton would become nothing but a faded memory, they were calling that day The Battle of the Bastards. All Jon could remember was Rickon falling, him and his men killing their way into the Bolton army, almost drowning until he heard the song that would save them that day, Sansa and The Knights of The Vale...Running with all his rage and grief after that beast that almost broke his sister and killed his brother; his house that murdered Robb and Lady Catelyn. Wun Wun, the giant, giving his life to give them passage, Ramsay’s face against his bloody knuckles, it came in flashes, with all the pain that filled his lungs.

King in the North, they call me.

Jon remembered the days Robb was in his position, was he ever this overwhelmed? This burdened. Cersei Lannister had sent a letter, not a day prior, demanding them to bend the knee and accept her as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. He would do no such thing, The North was independent now, and he would continue to be so for no southerner cared for their cold and damp lands enough to deserve his knee bent. Tohrren Stark bent his knee to protect his people from Aegon Targaryen, his sisters and his Dragons. Cersei Lannister was no Targaryen and she would know no recognition or love from his people, nor would he show it.

They had been searching for answers; any clues that could help them fight the Walkers, anything that could give them an advantage. How can you fight the Dead? How can you beat the last enemy, the one we shall all meet one day? But they were no ordinary dead, they had been risen by The Night King and stripped off their memories, wishes and any humanity they ever had. They were nothing but vessels of dead and destruction.

Sam had been at the Citadel for months now, studying and looking for anything that could help them, and he had discovered a keep of Dragonglass, hiding under Dragonstone. How would they reach it?

He could not forget the dream he had the night before the raven deliver his friend’s letter. Jon woke up in sweat, looking for his direwolf, only to find him exactly where his dream had shown him.

It was not the first time Ghost’s eyes had been his own, wolf dreams, as Old Nan would say. He didn’t think of himself as a warg, for he could not warg himself into his direwolf whenever he wanted, it was more like a connection they had, called upon whenever needed. That night…It seemed needed.

She was in his chambers, looking upon him. A beautiful, but sad Lady. He knew her, he had seen her before. Her eyes were anything but strange, yet he could not remember where he knew it from. But her face? It felt like a distant memory, one he barely had.

Her presence, though, had been constant all his life. His shadow friend.

When was the last time he had seen her?

He felt her the night before the Battle, her smell was there, at his tend. He felt that same scent when they buried Rickon and Sansa was holding his hand so tightly, she could have broken it.

She turned her back and ran outside. He ran to her, she was fast, he felt his paws heavy and fast, but never fast enough. It was dark outside, and instead of the cold of the snow they fell, it felt warm. Instead of the horses outside or the sounds of the night, his wolf ears heard waves, and saw light.

Winterfell was far from White Harbor, far from Eastwatch by the Sea, no ocean for miles and miles at all directions, yet, the sounds danced in his ears.

The Lady ran as no human should, let alone a frail looking woman, but Ghost could not reach her. When they reached the Godswood, he was not Ghost anymore, and it was not the North, but the entrance to a cave. His friend was no more, but a shorter woman: long, braided blonde, almost white haired woman. She was dressed in a black dress, with black trousers beneath. He could see she wore a silver chain crossing her chest, and a long fabric in her shoulder. Her chain sparkled in the light of the sun that burned bright in that strange place, just like the stones he could see everywhere in the cave. Chunks of sparkle, if he did not know they were on the floor, he would say she was standing in the sky. She entered the cave, he looked behind him, and he could only see the beach and the stones surrounding him. He followed the woman, but before he could reach her, his friend was behind him, holding him back.

Welcome home, Jon.

The very next day, Sam’s letter arrive, and the news of Dragonstone mountain of Dragonglass. He would not tell anyone about his dream, but it scared him. He did not know who the silver haired Lady was, nor why his ghost friend called it home, but sounded like his shadow friend was more than a shadow and more like a friend.

Jon just prayed for the Old Gods that Sam would find something else, a stronger weapon, a game changer. The winds were getting colder and winter was here, their time was running out.

If dreaming about Dragonglass and receiving Sam’s letter about it the very next day was not strange enough; Jon received another raven, this time from Dragonstone, by Tyrion Lannister, asking him to come to the ancient castle; the same place said Dragonglass was located at; to bend the knee to none other than Daenerys Targaryen, the Mother of three full-grown dragons, with enough fire to change the course of the War and help them beat the Night King and his army. The Lords of The North were not pleased, but they had not chosen him to please them, but to save them.

Sansa was livid, but he was doing it for her too. She would be happier to stay alive. He truly understood where her feelings came from, his sister walked through all seven kinds of hell, and she feared having to suffer it all again, but he would protect her. While she feared the living, he knew the real who was the real enemy now: the dead. If going to Dragonstone would help them defeat them, he would gladly go. That he did, and leaving her as Lady of Winterfell, no one would be a better judge of character of what their home needed.

There must always be a Stark in Winterfell.

King or not, he was a bastard. She was always the only Stark there anyway. She would do well, while he got them as much Dragonglass and support as he possibly could.

For all the days they travelled from White Harbor to Dragonstone, he did not have remember having a single dream, but he always slept to the smell of the sea and winter roses, and the words “don’t let her fly away” were the first thing on his mind every morning, like the wind whispered to him with the break of dawn.

A curious thought and scenery, indeed.

The moment he set foot in Dragonstone; Tyrion Lannister, an old friend, greeted him. He hoped no one would see the astonishment in his face. He had been here before. He knew this place; his shadow friend brought him here that night. He knew that cave must be somewhere near this very shore, the stones were same and the beach had the same dark blue. It was all too similar.

How could Jon Snow dream of Dragonstone, when he had never left The North?

Welcome home, Jon.

He remembered those words, they were distant but he could still hear her voice. Her northern voice in such a southerner land.

He was taken to meet the Queen. Their Dragon Queen. They said she had three dragons. He prayed she really did, for they were ones that could save them all.

She was infuriating, that woman.

She expected him to bend the knee for some blood right when his own father had fought to over throne him. He would not.

He had heard of her beauty, of her strength, of her youth; never of her ignorance. She claimed herself Queen of The Seven Kingdoms, how could she let her people die, just because she believed her claim to the Iron Throne was more important than protect this very kingdom against the Army of the Dead?

Would it really be fair to expect anyone to believe him this fast, though? White Walkers were nothing but horror stories to scare little children and if he had not seen it for himself, would he ever believe anyone who told him about it?

Maybe his sister was right, he was wrong to come. It was as Tyrion had said earlier that day, “Stark men don’t fare well when they travel south”. He should be at home, helping the men and women prepare for the Great War; but the same man also asked him to be reasonable and give him time to speak to Daenerys about him mining Dragonglass and taking it North with him, so mayhaps it was not all for nothing.

Would he dream of that place for no reason? Daenerys was a Targaryen, she had valyrian traits, such as silver blond hair and lilac eyes; he could not see the woman’s eyes, but he was trying hard to ignore the similarities to the Queen’s hair to the woman’s standing in his dream.

However, he was not doing a good job.

You better get to work, Jon Snow

Somehow, Tyrion Lannister proved himself a real good politician and did well on his word. Daenerys gave him permission to mine the Dragonglass.

Her dragons were something out of his childhood dreams or the bedtime histories Old Nan would tell him and Robb. Arya would certainly love the sight of them. They were beasts, gigantic and gorgeous beasts. She watched them, as a mother watched their children, and he could see her as The Mother of Dragons, would she ever want to mother a child? Had she? Maester Aemon should be here, to see his niece and her dragons; somehow, Jon thought he probably was.

She was not the hard, incorrigible, hostile Queen she had been when they first met. Could he blame her for being so? After being through all she told him, would he not act the same towards anyone who could be a possible threat? The world was not a kind, forgiving place to anyone, especially women; his sister Sansa was a living proof of that. But did she have to be so stubborn? Yet, here, with no one around, but her flying sons, she seemed guarded but curious, but especially frustrated. It seemed to be the mood of the island that day. Frustrated or not, he would have the Dragonglass, and he still had time to convince Daenerys to help his cause, their lives depended on it.

Maybe travelling South would be of help, they say dreams are a warning.

I had been warned.

- end of part I -

so? I hope you guys liked it! I hope to post parts II and III soon, I know part II is ready and III almost done.

You can also find it on AO3. <3

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spartanguard · 7 years

Text

until the end of the line

there’s still a bit of Friday left for a Captain Charming fic (with some Snowing and CS). waaaaay future fic; warning: major character deaths...ish. (you’ll see). thank you to the Abed to my Troy @shipsxahoy for beta’ing!

AO3 | FF.net | ~5.5k words.

There was still something satisfying about relaxing on the porch after a full day of work, even after all these years. Killian basked in the glow of the setting sun, a pleasant ache in his aged muscles as he settled into the weatherworn wooden chair he’d claimed as his own some fifty years back.

(How odd that such a timespan would be considered the majority of most people’s lives and was only a fraction of his—yet was, by far, the best and richest, putting all his previous decades to shame.)

He never thought he’d have such a full life to reflect on. As he sat overlooking the backyard of their home, where a sheepdog was currently chasing after butterflies, he got so lost in the memories of children (and later, grandchildren) playing there that he didn't notice when someone took a seat next to him; not until the thunk of a beer bottle on the arm of the chair pulled him out of the past.

“What were you thinking about, Hook?” David asked, sinking his old bones onto an equally weathered chair and taking a sip from his own bottle.

“All the things this yard has seen. Remember when my cunning daugthers tried to throw a kegger back here?”

“And instead of busting them, you joined right in, and called everyone over,” Dave finished with a chuckle, deepening the already thick lines around his eyes. “I think we embarrassed them into never trying that again.”

“Whatever works, right?”

“I'll drink to that.” He held his bottle to Killian, who clinked his own against it, and they both settled back to reminisce, as they did most evenings while watching the sun’s descent.

He hadn't noticed it the first time around, but the red sky made for an exceptionally beautiful sunset in the Underworld.

They sat in companionable silence, watching Wilby play in the yard, as they had for countless nights over the past few years. Time was a bit fuzzy—they liked to blame it on old age, but both knew it was just part of “life” down here. By his estimate, Killian had been in the Underworld for about three years; David, five. Actually, his father-in-law was the first to greet him upon arrival, waiting in the marina once he’d docked the Jolly Roger. He was surprised to see David at all, but when he realized that they were both in the Underworld rather than moving on, he figured they were there for the same reason.

For Killian, at least, he knew he had once promised to not let Emma be his unfinished business; but he later promised to always, always be at her side, for all eternity. He'd obviously broken the first part and he'd be damned—literally—if he wasn't there to escort her into the second.

He could still feel her, too, just like the first time here. Some days, it was stronger than others—maybe because one was missing the other more than the usual constant amount—but he always seemed to be aware of her, despite the distance, and he knew it was the same for Dave.

And so, the two silver-haired mates filled the ensuing years waiting for their True Loves in a variety of ways. Despite being the land of the dead, the Nolan farm was still flourishing and there was always something to do. Today had been repairing the barn door; last week, it had been mending fences; and there was always the day-to-day work of milking the cows, collecting eggs, herding the sheep with Wilby’s help, and shearing the wool periodically—the products of all going to Granny, who appreciated and used them in various ways.

“So, what’s on the agenda for tomorrow?” Killian asked as the stars began to show overhead. (At least those were no different from the land of the living; there was some comfort in knowing that his loved ones were looking at the same lights in the sky.)

“There’s probably some painting to do, and Arthur had asked if we could take a look at the garden outside his office, but neither are urgent. I say we take a day off to sail; you?”

“Sounds perfect to me.”

It was so unlike the Underworld he’d found himself in all those years ago. No longer was it a land of hopelessness and depression, but a peaceful place to resolve any unfinished business before moving on. Arthur wasn’t the power-mad king this world had known previously, or even the one he’d been when they met him in Camelot—he’d truly fixed this broken kingdom, and did all he could to see souls on their way.

Consequently, the Underworld was rather quiet. In the time they’d been down there, they’d seen many friends arrive, reunited with the ones who were already there, and seen nearly all to the afterlife. It left them free to do whatever they wished, and it wasn’t an entirely lonely existence, but it was almost too relaxing sometimes.

He wasn’t unhappy, but he was anxious for the next thing; he’d never been good at staying in one place long without some form of adventure. But he was ultimately a patient man, and willing to wait as long as it took for Emma to join him.

Beers finished and the moon out, David slowly rose from his chair and called for Wilby to come. He offered a hand to Killian and pulled him up, too; Killian hadn’t realized how sore he was until just now.

“Breakfast at Granny’s?” David didn’t really need to ask; it was how they started nearly every day.

“Of course, mate.”

They hugged each other tight, and then David headed off into the night towards home, Wilby at his side, while Killian went about his nightly routine. He went in the house, took off his shoes by the front door, hung his leather jacket on the same hook he always had, and made sure the front porch light was turned on (just in case). Then he headed upstairs to the master suite, carefully placed his brace on the bedside table, and washed the day’s dust away in the shower.

Like every night, he took stock of his reflection as he toweled dry. He was leaner than he had been as a young man, his ribs and cheekbones standing out more than he would like; the illness that finally claimed him did a number on his body, but he at least wasn’t in any pain down here. He imagined the arrogant pirate he had once been would have some nasty, vain words for the old man in the mirror, but Killian wouldn’t trade a single one of the many lines on his face or gray hairs on his head for the beautiful life he’d lived with Emma and their children.

All the old scars were still there, but faded with time: the lash marks on his back from a life in servitude; the jagged line from Excalibur that sent him here the first time; even the gnarled mess of his blunted wrist had smoothed over the years. He knew that was how it was supposed to be—time heals all wounds and all that—but he always liked to say that Emma's love had mended him, and in countless ways, it had.

A yawn overcame him, and suddenly he felt far more tired than he had a moment ago. (It truly was odd how his immortal soul fell victim to such mortal complaints.) Without further dawdling, he donned a shirt and sleep pants and collapsed into the too-large bed. Out of habit, he stuck to one side; he could never bring himself to sprawl across it and fill the empty half, knowing it belonged to someone else. But again, he was happy to wait as long as possible for her.

Across town, in an equally oversized bed, he knew David was doing the same. He was eternally grateful to have a friend down here who was in a similar position, and part of his unbeating heart went out to his father-in-law, knowing how he was alone the first couple years. Some nights, when the loneliness crept in, one of them would spend the night at the other’s house, just to make the echoing halls not so hollow. Dave’s pancakes the following morning would usually help chase away any lingering melancholy.

It wasn’t an altogether terrible existence; just an incomplete one. So, like every night, when Killian drifted off, he dreamed that Emma was in his arms.

“Morning, Captain; looking as old as ever.”

“Why, Lady Lucas, I've no clue what you're talking about. I'm hardly a day over 250.”

Killian and Granny’s banter had picked up right where it left off when she passed some 35 years ago and was still a part of their daily routine, almost as if the price of coffee and eggs was a witty retort.

He slid into his usual booth across from David, who was already working on a mug, and Granny followed shortly with one for Killian and their usual breakfast orders. Like every day, his was piled just a little too high.

“Love, you know I can't eat that much,” he teased.

“You're too skinny, Jones. Eat up.” Ever since he arrived, she’d tried to make up for what the cancer had done and put some more meat back on his bones; it hadn't worked and likely never would, but he appreciated her efforts nonetheless.

He and Dave just chuckled and dug in as she walked away, muttering under her breath. They did manage to catch her saying something about Ruby; it was common, though unspoken, knowledge that her granddaughter was her unfinished business. Not for a necessarily bad reason—she just worried too much, and wouldn't be at rest until Ruby was, at rest too. So she took out that excess concern on the restless souls who found their way to this realm in the meantime.

Restless was the word of the day, it seemed. Ever since he woke that morning, Killian had felt on edge, filled with the same kind of nervous energy that preceded a battle. And judging by the furrow in Dave’s brow, he was in a similar state.

“You feel that, too, mate?” he inquired between bites of bacon.

“Like something's about to happen, but you're not sure if it's good or bad?” David questioned in reply; Killian nodded. “Yeah, all day, and it just keeps getting worse.”

“What do you think it means?” There hadn't been any major problems down here in years—not since Hades left. “Perhaps we should check in with Arthur?”

“Yeah, let's do that before…” The tinkle of the bell on the door interrupted David, and he trailed off as he stared at whoever had just entered the diner. Despite all the years of knowing him and being able to read him nearly as well as Killian could his daughter, his expression was unreadable: somewhere between shock, horror, and elation. Killian could only think of one person who could elicit such a reaction, and turned in his seat to see if the newcomer was who he suspected.

It was: with a watery grin on her face, there stood Snow, a bit older than he last saw her, with hair the color of her name, but just as regal as ever.

No words needed to be spoken between the reunited True Loves. David simply stood, walked over to her in as few steps as possible, took her in his arms, and kissed her.

Other diners applauded, and he was pretty sure Granny wiped a tear from her eye. Killian too was elated to see the reunion, both for David and to have part of his family back, but deep down, he knew it would be bittersweet: they were likely to move on soon, and he would still be here. He knew that line of thinking was selfish, but it came unbidden, likely due to the unease that hadn’t abated at Snow’s arrival.

He stood from the booth as she reunited with Granny, joking that she was finally older than the old wolf, before letting David lead her back to the table.

“Snow,” he greeted warmly.

“Oh, Killian,” she answered in a motherly tone, pulling him into her always-warm embrace. “Has David been taking care of you?”

“Of course he has, milady,” he confirmed. “Though I think we both know he needs to be looked after much more than I do,” he added, winking at Dave, who chuckled.

“Yeah, yeah, enough of that,” Dave attempted to rebuff, but the crinkled laugh lines around his eyes said otherwise.

They all settled back into the booth to catch up, and Snow promptly stole a piece of bacon off David’s plate. Killian smiled sadly at the memory of Emma always doing the same to him; suddenly, he didn't quite have the appetite for his meal anymore.

But he was hungry for information about his family, as was David. “So how is everyone?” Dave asked right away, barely letting her finish chewing.

“Well, I was kind of...out of it the last few months,” she started, a bit sadly. Both men just nodded—they’d both been through the same, so Killian blessedly less so. “But in the last couple years, everyone was great. Lucy had a baby!” she exclaimed, turning to Killian. “His name is Killian Henry.”

Killian glanced down, blushing; he and Lucy had always been particularly close, but he was still honored to hear the name. Snow continued on about the rest of their kids and grandkids, and it truly warmed his heart to hear that everyone was doing so well. But one name was noticeably absent.

“And Emma?” he finally asked, a bit more impatiently than intended.

Snow’s face fell a bit. “Well, like I said, I’ve been a bit out of it. She was fine before I got sick, and we were living next to each other in the retirement home, but I don’t know if anything has happened since then.”

That wasn’t what he wanted to hear. He’d wanted to hear that she was still thriving, giving their grandkids a run for their money and sneaking Pop Tarts whenever she could. Age would catch up with her, too, he knew, but he didn’t want that for her.

She needed fresh air, not to be cooped up in some home. And he needed some, too—right now, if he could. Quickly, he thought of a reason to leave; he knew they wouldn’t buy it, but he’d never want to seem rude. “Ah, I suppose I shouldn’t infringe on your reunion any longer. I’ll be seeing myself off. Until later,” he farewelled, starting to slide out of the booth.

“You sure? You’ve hardly touched your food; Granny will be mad.”

“I'll have to extend to her my apologies, then.” (In the background, he heard the woman in question shout, “Damn right you will! Remember who controls the rum around here!”)

“Still want to go sailing?” David asked once Killian stood. He was a bit surprised; he assumed they'd want to spend the day alone.

But he was hardly one to say no. “Absolutely. If you both want to.”

Snow answered, “I'd like that,” with a nostalgic smile; it had been some years since they'd been able to go out as a family.

“Then I'll ready the ship. ‘Til then.”

Without looking back, he left the diner, pausing only to give Granny a thankful nod, and headed down to the docks, where the Jolly Roger was bobbing happily. Even after all this time, setting foot on deck was still like greeting an old friend.

Before he went about readying the sails, he stood at the railing and gazed out at the ocean and horizon beyond. While the sky still tinted everything red, the sea at least no longer carried that garish green hue from the River of Lost Souls. Not long after he arrived, he helped Arthur free all those trapped in the River with the help of some casual research he and Belle had done over the years. It was Killian’s special privilege to see Milah off to her happy ending (finally), and he gladly bore her teasing about how old he was (also finally). David and James also reconciled at last, and while there was some ribbing there about David’s age, it was apparent that James was a bit jealous that he never got to do the same.

Now Killian was the jealous one, envious of those resting souls while his continued on waiting. His other reason for coming out alone was to see if the water would calm him like it always had, but whatever tenseness was agitating him ceased to go away. Maybe he'd talk to someone about it later...maybe. Or maybe he'd just find ways of distracting himself until David and Snow inevitably moved on.

He went with the latter, setting about pulling lines, checking sails—anything he could do by hand or that required focus, even though most of it was beyond muscle memory at this point. He was feeling a bit better by the time Snow and David arrived, but still unsettled. Even once they’d cast off and were in open waters—the place he’d most found solace for most of his life—unease still scratched at him. Snow asked if he was alright while they ate the picnic lunch she packed; he brushed it off as having slept at a weird angle. She and David exchanged a knowing glance he’d seen far too many times, but they knew not to prod so they didn’t.

He chided himself—he should be happy to be reunited with such a dear friend! The happy smiles on David’s face all day alone were definitely enough to warm his heart. But he couldn’t shake the bittersweetness of it all, especially when they all sat down to dinner at Granny’s like they had so many times in the past. As someone who’d once had no family at all, he had made sure to never take the one he’d found in Storybrooke for granted, and he certainly wouldn’t start now; he just selfishly wanted to hold onto it until it could be completed again.

They retired to the Nolan farmstead for a nightcap, like he and Dave did regualrly, and chatted about the old days as they watched the sunset paint shadows on the fields, until all that was left was the reddish glow of the moon.

“You wanna stay tonight?” David offered once they moved inside, but Killian couldn't bring himself to accept.

“No; I've intruded on your time with your wife enough. I'll just head back home.”

David nodded sadly; he too must have realized that his time in the Underworld was now limited. So he brought Killian in for a bruising hug, pouring all his unsaid words into it, and Killian held on tight.

“I love you, man,” David said softly.

“Love you too, mate,” Killian answered, hoping his voice didn't betray his hurt at the impending loss of his best friend. It was like facing David’s death all over again, even though he knew he'd probably see him again. He just wasn't sure how long it would be.

They eventually (reluctantly) broke apart, and Snow was quick to pull him into an equally tight hug. “Thank you for taking care of him for me,” she whispered, also aware of the impending separation.

“It was my pleasure, milady.” It truly was—though he couldn't be with his wife and children, his best mate had been excellent company.

He could feel tears pricking at his eyes and stepped back, glancing down to try to hide it. “Right then,” he said, swallowing. “I'll be off.”

His hand was barely on the door knob when David said, “Granny’s tomorrow?” ‘One last time’ was unsaid, but hung in the air.

“Aye, of course.” He wouldn't miss it for anything. “I'll see you then.” They said their farewells and he left, slowly walking back across Underbrooke toward home.

There, he went inside, took off his shoes by the front door, hung his leather jacket on the same hook he always did, and made sure the front porch light was turned on (just in case). Then he continued his nightly routine as always, washing off the salt this time, and again slipping into one side of that too-large bed by himself. A lone tear tracked down his face and he murmured “I miss you, Emma,” before drifting off.

Usually, he was awoken by the first morning light shining through the gauzy bedroom curtains. The red cast softened it a bit, but it was still enough to rouse him. Emma had always complained about his ability to rise with the sun, until near the end when he was too tired to do so—then she missed it.

He sighed at the memory as he slowly woke, still hazy as he regained consciousness. Last night’s dream of Emma had been especially vivid; he swore he could feel her soft skin under his fingers, still perfect to him despite the effects of time. He swore he could even smell her hair and feel her warmth pressed against him. So he forced himself to blink his eyes and shook his head as if to shake the dream away.

A sleepy groan accompanied his movement—but it hadn’t come from him. Something, or rather someone, was shifting next to him, tucked into his side.

A voice broke the silence. “‘Nother hour...go back to sleep.” And Killian’s breath hitched in his throat; it had been far too long since he heard that tired tone.

He glanced down at his chest, where their hands were intertwined and where her head was resting; he was always her favorite pillow. She was a bit older than he remembered, but still absolutely beautiful, especially in slumber. Her hair may be silver now, but it was still a riotous mess that he absolutely adored. Surely he was still dreaming, then—it couldn’t actually be her, could it?

Gingerly, he squeezed her hand and whispered hopefully, “Swan?”

Blearily, she blinked a few times and looked up at him, staring back with the same green eyes that had entranced him for so many decades, but now edged with deep lines as she softly smiled at him.

“Hey, beautiful,” she answered, with a slight smirk.

He reached up to cup her face, running his thumb over her cheek. She was real; she was here—warm and soft under his palm and at his side. Part of him couldn't believe it, but the rest of him was beginning to thrum in a way he hadn't since his death.

“Killian?” Her concerned voice cut into his thoughts, and her brow was furrowed to match. “Are you okay?”

He didn't even try to come up with a response; he just surged forward and claimed her lips in a long-overdue kiss. No other reply was needed, judging by the way she instantly responded in kind—she knew exactly what he was saying with it. All the I love yous and I miss yous that had been said from afar were poured into one single embrace. The desperation and joy in it reminded him of when he’d been resurrected, though this was quite the opposite. Wait, that meant—

He pulled back abruptly, nearly panicked now. “Emma! Are you—were you—”

“Shh,” she told him, placing a finger on his lips and knowing full well where his racing mind was going. “I wasn’t hurt, or sick, or in pain. I just...missed you all too much. It was just like Titanic,” she added with a smile.

“You died an old woman, warm in your bed?” he finished, smirking slightly. (They’d watched that movie many times over the years, and it had only reinforced his preference to wooden ships.)

She nodded. “After Mom passed, I was just...ready. I went to bed, and then I found myself here, right outside the house. Thanks for keeping the light on for me.”

“I never turned it off,” he murmured.

“I figured. You know, I could feel you the whole time, just like before. Didn’t I tell you once not to wait for me?”

“I never listen.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And you love me for it,” he teased, echoing a conversation that was now a distant memory. “I could feel you too, love, every day. And I think I realize now why I was an inexplicable nervous wreck yesterday.”

“Sorry,” she apologized, looking sheepish. “And sorry I kept you waiting so long.”

“Nonsense,” he quickly answered, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. “You were where you needed to be, with our family. How is everyone—Henry, the girls?”

For the next hour, Emma caught him up on the goings-on of their family and Storybrooke while they held each other tight—him taking every opportunity to pepper her with kisses—and he was overjoyed to hear that everyone was well (though he did go red again at hearing the name of their great-grandbaby). “What about yo—” she started, but was interrupted by the grumble of her stomach. “Sorry,” she winced. “Wow, I didn't know I could still get hungry.”

He just chuckled and glanced at the clock, noting that it was almost time for his regular breakfast date. “How about we head into town for some food? There are some people there that will probably be overjoyed to see you.”

“Hmm, I could probably go for some pancakes,” she mused with a saucy wink.

After another thorough kiss, they went about their morning routine just like always, as if they’d never been apart. They danced around each other—and with; Killian was hesitant to have her out of his embrace for very long—until they headed out the door in their matching leather jackets and made their way to breakfast wrapped in each other's arms.

Whatever quip Granny had prepped for that morning died on her lips when she saw Emma trail in behind him; she was just as surprised to see Emma as Emma was Granny. Despite being the same age, Granny fussed over Emma like she was still a girl, just as she had Snow, and quickly ushered her over to the booth where David and Snow waited.

Again, Killian stood by at the tearful reunion, but with none of the awkwardness or inner turmoil of the previous day’s; in fact, he too got misty-eyed watching his wife and her parents embrace and shout over each other, until David brought him into the group hug and the four of them huddled tight. While it was by no means his whole family, it was a core group of it and having them finally back together made his soul feel more peaceful than it had in ages.

Peaceful. He was at peace. His unfinished business was complete. Did that mean…? He glanced at David across the huddle; he too was wearing a calm but curious expression, and they exchanged a nod. They knew.

Granny ended up breaking apart the reunion to serve breakfast, so they took their seats as she slid mountains of food across the table; she knew what was coming, too, Killian guessed. His plate of eggs and bacon was comically large today.

“Haven't we been over this, Lady Lucas? You know I can't finish that.”

“Well, you better try. There's no sense in wasting food and you need it more than I do.”

“Does she always do this?” Emma whispered, scooting in closer to his side and wrapping an arm around him.

“Every morning.”

She squeezed her arm against his waist and her face fell. Somberly, she observed, “I forgot how much the cancer took out of you.” Without warning, she jumped out of the booth—incredibly spry for a woman her age—and engulfed Granny in a hug once the plates were set down. He could imagine the content of their brief, hushed conversation, based on the warm glance Granny threw his way and her response of “Someone had to.”

Emma gave her a peck on the cheek before sitting back down and digging into her pancakes (which were briefly interrupted by him placing a gentle kiss on her temple). Over the meal, she answered all the questions Snow hadn't been able to answer about the family.

“Oh, poor Henry,” Snow lamented. “Losing both of us so close?”

“I know, but he's strong. He’ll be okay, and Regina is there to help him, and vice versa.” There was no denying how tight knit their weird little family had become—the loss of both Emma and Snow would be deeply felt, he knew, but probably most of all by those two.

Before the conversation could restart, a voice cleared its throat at the end of the table. “Your Highnesses, it's so nice to see you again after so long.”

“Your Majesty,” Snow greeted Arthur with a nod. (Emma was understandably quiet, given their history.) “Looks like you've done quite well for yourself down here.”

The king blushed. “Well, I owe much of it to these two, especially recently. Their assistance here has been most valuable.”

“It was our pleasure, Arthur,” Killian quickly responded, and it truly had been.

“May as well do some good with our time down here, right?” David added, smiling.

“It's truly been an honor, men. And, if I may say so, I believe the winds are right today for a good sail.” He stared pointedly at David and Killian as he said it, imploring them to catch his deeper meaning.

They did. Since assuming the throne of the Underworld, Arthur had developed a kind of sixth sense regarding the direction of souls. Whether it was part of the position or developed from Arthur's own studious nature was up for debate, but he could always tell when a change was coming.

“You know, that does sound pretty good,” David agreed, sending a knowing glance to Killian.

“Even though we went yesterday?” Snow questioned, not quite catching what was going on.

“You can never spend too much time sailing, love,” Killian countered.

Emma leaned her head on his shoulder. “Sounds perfect to me.”

“Seems settled then,” Arthur observed. “I hope you have a pleasant day, friends. Take care.”

“You, too,” Killian and Dave answered, knowing it was more a farewell than anything, and Arthur excused himself.

“So what have you two been up to down here?” Emma wondered aloud, before taking a sip of her cocoa with cinnamon.

“Don’t tell me you’ve spent the last few years attached to each others hips,” Snow teased. Their so-called ‘bromance’ had long been a point of humor between the ladies—“adorable” seemed to be the prefered description—which was equally amusing to the guys. Why shouldn’t they be best friends? They’d certainly been through enough together.

Their silence seemed to answer the question. “Did you really?” Emma asked in a tone that was less mocking and more of genuine awe.

He started, “Well, there was lots to do on the farm—”

“—And he can’t quite sail by himself—” David jumped in.

“—And Arthur needed help—”

He was cut off by Emma and Snow’s laughter. “Some things just never change, do they?” Snow mused.

“I’m glad you had each other,” Emma added with a pat on his arm.

They continued to chat about what they’d been up to in the Underworld as they finished breakfast (Emma squeezed his hand tight when they told about freeing the souls from the river) and spent a fair amount of time saying goodbye to Granny when they left, with more than a few tears shed.

Arm in arm, they then made their way to the docks, Wilby at some point appearing and falling in step with them. At the harbor, the Jolly Roger bobbed in greeting, like it always did, as they boarded the ancient vessel.

Together, they equipped the ship for launch—a well-oiled crew at this point—and prepared to set sail.

“You ready?” David shouted at Killian from his place on the deck, holding tight to a line—and asking about far more than sailing.

“Aye,” he confidently answered from the helm, and they were off.

The sun was nearing its peak in the reddish sky, but the farther they cruised toward the horizon, the brighter the world around them got. It was not unlike another time in Killian’s memory, when a god had seen fit to send him back where he belonged.

Now, all these years later, he was again where he was supposed to be: at Emma’s side, and with his family and best friends.

And together, they sailed into the white light of eternity, at peace at last.

tagging some awesome peeps: @kat2609 @nfbagelperson @gusenitsaa @thesschesthair @optomisticgirl @fergus80 @xpumpkindumplingx @its-like-a-story-of-love @mryddinwilt @cocohook38 @annytecture@wingedlioness @fairytalesandtimetravel @disastergirl @laschatzi @ive-always-been-a-pirate @stubble-sandwich @athenascarlet @kmomof4 @ilovemesomekillianjones@whimsicallyenchantedrose @phiralovesloki

#captain charming ff #captain charming friday #cs ff #cs future fic #my ff

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smuttyfairy · 7 years

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Undo (EP)

Description: “Whether it’s in the afterlife, a few days from now, a few months, years, decades, or even millenia, I will find you.”

Warnings: age gap, mentions of death

Word Count: 1,906

Pairing: Park Chanyeol x Reader

Author: Admin Xiufairy ㅅㅇㅅ (one more part!)

After the first few months of raising Chanmi, you were sure you would be fine. Once she began to teeth, she was crying all the time. She wasn’t even crying, more like screaming. Even with Junmyeon and Baekhyun’s help, it was easily becoming too much for you.

Thinking back, you wondered what would’ve happened had Baekhyun not found you attempting to down a bottle of vodka. You’d barely gotten any of the liquid down your throat before Baekhyun was quickly pulling it away from you.

You immediately broke down, his arms wrapped securely around you as you sobbed over the loss of the best man you’d ever had the pleasure to meet; over the loss of your husband, your best friend, the father of your child.

He held you while you screamed how unfair it was, while you cried for the man who was no longer around. He held you while you yelled at Chanyeol for leaving you alone. You screamed at the top of your lungs, hoping he’d hear how mad you were at him.

Because of him, you were broken; defective. You cried yourself to sleep that night, after screaming until your throat was raw. That was the night that you stopped pretending you were okay enough to take care of your daughter.

For a while, much to your protest, Chanyeol’s parents took Chanmi in until you were sure you were stable enough to take care and to love Chanmi. So that’s exactly what you did. You pulled through for your barely born daughter.

His parents also brought you aside, giving you an envelope with your name on it in Chanyeol’s painfully familiar handwriting. You waited until they were gone before you sat at the kitchen table, opening the envelope carefully. The first thing you pulled out was a small picture. You almost burst into tears at the sight of it; it was a picture of the two of you from your sixteenth birthday, you were smiling as widely as possible, nearly burying your head into his chest in the embarrassment of him making you take a selfie with him. Of course, you were wearing the familiar red sweatshirt the two of you always battled for.

To my dear wife,

I know it will be a while after my funeral that you’ll be reading this. I’ve also enclosed a photo. I remember that day so well. It was half a year after I discovered my feelings for you and it was also the first day you stole my sweatshirt. The thought of that still makes my heart flutter, you know? I like to believe that you fell for me around that point in time.

I look at that photo and I realize just what I’m leaving behind. My love, I don’t want to leave you, or our baby. Our beautiful baby that I know you’ll raise so well. Honestly, I’m terrified. I’m terrified to leave this Earth when I’m sure I have nowhere to go. I’m scared of where I’ll end up, or that we will end up in different places. When your time comes, you’ll meet me again, right? We’ll get a second chance? As hopeful as that sounds, that’s the only thing allowing me to be ready for death.

That sounds ridiculous. How could anyone be ready to die? To leave those they love? The fact that I have to leave you hurts me so much that I feel I’ll be brought upon an even earlier death. I know it’s almost time, and that’s why I’m writing this to you. I gave it to my parents for safe keeping, until after the funeral.

This is what I want from you: for you to be happy. I know it was so selfish of me to keep this from you, to let you love me when I knew my life was coming to an end, and quickly at that. It was incredibly selfish, but (Y/N), I needed you. I still do, and I always will. Now, our daughter will as well.

Fucking cancer. I hate cancer. I wish I could just get rid of it. I don’t want to fade into the memories of those who cared about me. I don’t want to be forgotten, I’m terrified that my daughter won’t know my name, or that she won’t know how badly I wanted to stay for her. She won’t know how much I truly loved her, and her mother as well. Her beautiful, extraordinary mother that made me so happy. This serves as a reminder to you. You are the woman I fell for, the woman I fell in love with all that time ago.

Please, you can blame me if you want to. You can hate me, vandalize my gravestone, I don’t care. I want you to be happy. Whatever it takes for you to be happy. I need you to live the life you deserve, not an empty one because you think I’ll be upset if you move on. I just...I wish I could hold you one last time. I wish I could kiss you like I could the first day I told you I loved you. I wish I could laugh with you like we used to.

I will make a promise to you right now, my love, as I finish this letter. I promise that even if my life is taken from me, it is yours. Every single thing of mine is yours. Since day one, that has been the truth. But the real promise? The real promise is that I’ll meet you again. Whether it’s in the afterlife, a few days from now, a few months, years, decades, or even millennia, I will find you and I will remember you, and most of all, I’ll still love you. Please never forget about me, (Y/N). I love you.

- Your husband, Park Chanyeol

You began therapy, which oddly helped you despite the aura surrounding any shrink. You talked about Chanyeol, how some days you would cry just because you couldn’t function anymore. Even your therapist made comments on just how pure yours and Chanyeol’s love sounded. It was ‘a match made in heaven that was separated too early’. You almost laughed at that one. Almost.

It was a few months after Chanmi’s first birthday that you were able to take her back in. You had a hard time still because Chanyeol had been right. She was a constant reminder of him and every day she grew to be more like him. From her laugh to the way her eyes gleamed, she was Chanyeol.

The day she came back into your life, you decided that it was a time of forgiveness. It wasn’t Chanyeol’s fault that he died, that he left, but that didn’t mean you could help being mad at him. You wanted to hate him for leaving you but even the thought of hating him made you cry.

The next week, Baekhyun watched her as you visited Chanyeol’s gravestone. You sat on the dirt in front of it, running your fingers over the stone. Over the past year and a half, it had become...dirty. It hurt you just to be there. You weren’t doing the one thing he had wanted you to do - move on.

“This is so hard, Chan.” You already felt the tears welling in your eyes. “I don’t know if you’re still here, waiting to hear from me but I can’t take it anymore. Every day it’s worse and worse, all I think about is you.” You sniffled, wiping away a tear quickly. “Did you really have to leave? God damn it, Park Chanyeol, how could you leave us like this?” Your voice shook as you got louder.

“I just...I loved you so fucking much, Chan, how did you leave me so easily?” You bit down on your lip as you took out your frustration on this gravestone that was supposed to represent your husband.

Park Chanyeol

It is not length of life, but depth of life.

He jumped into life and never touched bottom.

1992.11.27 - 2017.12.04

“I just -” You scoffed, wiping away your tears, shaking your head as you looked at the gravestone. “I guess I hit the bottom for you.”

The next fifteen years were hard. Small questions from Chanmi asking who her father was, where he was, what he was doing. You played it off for as long as you possibly could, but sixteen year old Chanmi was done with waiting for the news. She even dared to ask you if Baekhyun was her father. You quickly, quickly assured her otherwise.

“He was a great man, Chanmi. I grew up with him, he was my brother’s best friend. It’s a cliché story, really, the girl falling in love with her older brother’s best friend. Maybe I was foolish back then, falling in love with a man so out of my reach. It really didn’t help that he was attractive, Chanmi, I’m serious. He was dangerous since day one.

I never imagined someone like him would ever fall for me, honestly. About three months after I married him, I found out that...that he was dying. It was hard. It was so damn hard to come to terms with the fact that the man I’d been in love with for years was simply going to die and I couldn’t do anything about it.

He was strong, despite the situation he was strong for me. He put aside his illness for me even though he physically deteriorated every day. Chanmi, your father was such a strong man. He didn’t get to meet you but he loved you so much. I miss him...so much every day even sixteen years later.

I remember the night he died like it was yesterday. I’ll never forget what he looked like when he was trying to hold on to his life just for us…

The point is...is your father, Park Chanyeol, was the best man I’d ever met. I-I hope that one day you can find someone who genuinely cares for you as your father did for me. Just...don’t ever question if your dad loved you. He held on for so long...so damn long because he wanted to meet you.

I guess...I guess I was mad at him for a while, you know? Blamed him, maybe. I mean - he could’ve told me earlier. We could’ve gotten him treatments but...ultimately I understand why he did that. Brain cancer...is unpredictable. There was no way he could’ve lived much longer with treatments or not.

He loved me. It took me so long to realize that he had to go early because the longer he stayed, the more he didn’t want to leave. The longer he stayed...the more of a hole he would leave in the hearts that he loved. He loved us - you, Uncle Junmyeon, Uncle Baekhyun, and I - he loved us so much.

So maybe this was fate or a destiny of some sort, I don’t know, but all of this led me to you. And you? You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. And I don’t want you to think for one second that that isn’t the truth.”

And for the first time in years, you broke down into tears over Park Chanyeol, except this time, Park Chanmi was there to comfort you.

#chanyeol fic #chanyeol smut #chanyeol fluff #chanyeol angst #chanyeol #exo fic #exo #exo smut #exo fluff #exo angst

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pcyxiukai · 7 years

Text

Undo {Epilogue}

Description: “Whether it’s in the afterlife, a few days from now, a few months, years, decades, or even millenia, I will find you.”

Warnings: age gap, mentions of death

Pairing: Park Chanyeol x Reader (Lowkey also thinking of writing a prequel. Anyone game?)

Songs for this part: Time Lapse - Taeyeon Miss You - Monsta X I Blame On You - Taeyeon

Mobile Masterlist | Twitter

To my dear wife,

I will make a promise to you right now, my love, as I finish this letter. I promise that even if my life is taken from me, it is yours. Every single thing of mine is yours. Since day one, that has been the truth. But the real promise? The real promise is that I’ll meet you again. Whether it’s in the afterlife, a few days from now, a few months, years, decades, or even millenia, I will find you and I will remember you, and most of all, I’ll still love you. Please never forget about me, (Y/N). I love you.

- Your husband, Park Chanyeol

It was a few months after Chanmi’s first birthday that you were able to take her back in. You had a hard time still, because Chanyeol had been right. She was a constant reminder of him and every day she grew to be more like him. From her laugh to the way her eyes gleamed, she was Chanyeol.

“This is so hard, Chan.” You already felt the tears welling in your eyes. “I don’t know if you’re still here, waiting to hear from me but I can’t take it anymore. Every day it’s worse and worse, all I think about it you.” You sniffled, wiping away a tear quickly. “Did you really have to leave? God damn it, Park Chanyeol, how could you leave us like this?” Your voice shook as you got louder.

Park Chanyeol

It is not length of life, but depth of life.

He jumped into life and never touched bottom.

1992.11.27 - 2017.12.04

“I just -” You scoffed, wiping away your tears, shaking your head as you looked at the gravestone. “I guess I hit the bottom for you.”

“He was a great man, Chanmi. I grew up with him, he was my brother’s best friend. It’s a cliche story, really, the girl falling in love with her older brother’s best friend. Maybe I was foolish back then, falling in love with a man so out of my reach. It really didn’t help that he was attractive, Chanmi, I’m serious. He was dangerous since day one.

I remember the night he died like it was yesterday. I’ll never forget what he looked like when he was trying to hold on to his life just for us…

So maybe this was fate, or a destiny of some sort, I don’t know, but all of this led me to you. And you? You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. And I don’t want you to think for one second that that isn’t the truth.”

And for the first time in years, you broke down into tears over Park Chanyeol, except this time, Park Chanmi was there to comfort you.

#chanyeol #exo chanyeol #chanyeol imagine #chanyeol series #chanyeol scenario #chanyeol fic #chanyeol drabble #chanyeol fluff #chanyeol angst #chanyeol smut #exo #exo imagine #exo series #exo scenario #exo fic #exo drabble #exo fluff #exo angst #exo smut

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bakaiju · 7 years

Text

Survival at Mount Massive Asylum chapter 19

Underground Lab (part 1)

Kirigiri couldn’t help but to feel sad for her lover trembling and repeating the same curse in front of her.

“Fuck…” he started, then he looked at his right hand, “fuck…” then at his left hand, “Fuck…” his tremors getting more violent with each repetition, then he looked around on the new area, “Fuck! Is Martin behind this?”

“I don’t know…” she answered, still holding him, “But listen to me. I know that you must be thinking the same thing as me right now. So let me remind you: We are not crazy. I know, I know only crazy people say that. But believe me when I say that we are as sane as this world allows, and we have this camera full of evidence. This isn’t a ‘gospel’; this is a mockery of reason. We will let the world know about this, is Murkoff’s fault! We’ll bury them with this video.” she said with a determination that would match his if he was in a better state.

“Y-Yes… You’re right! L-Let’s do this! So we must keep going…”

“There’s no other choice…”

“Kyoko… Thank you. If you weren’t here, I would have given up by now…”

She smiled at him, but kept it to herself that she was feeling the same thing.

They both looked around and decided to go deeper inside this new area.

“When will we leave this place…?” they wondered out loud.

The corridor was circular, as if they were in a tunnel, and by looking at the white composition of the walls, they thought that it looked like ice, but from the composition, it was obvious that they were inside the mountain right now.

They opened a door and entered what looked like another entrance lobby, there was a desk and two big screen behind it. On the left screen: Murkoff Corp. Logo and on the right: WALRIDER Project and its logo.

They looked around, there was blood and body parts everywhere. Also some destroyed guns.

“I know this place” Kirigiri said.

“Y-You know…?” Naegi asked with wide eyes.

“I mean, I know this lobby. Father Martin showed it to me before sedating us and bringing us to the Prison Block, right when we unlocked the front door. These soldier were killed by the Walrider.” she explained.

“Wait. Soldiers? I… I can’t even recognize them.” Naegi looked at one of the mutilated bodies.

They had to continue, there was something strange about the bodies and blood splashes. Some splashes were logical, but the ones near the ‘bodies’ looked like the bodies exploded, like when they were in the sewers.

From that room on, every single room of the underground lab had at least one corpse. The corridors were bloody with headless guard corpses. In one small lab room they found just a pile of organs spread over a table wallowing in a pool of blood.

On another room they found a file of report of a scientist working in the lab, they were talking about how the Walrider project was using patients from the asylum for their tests and some of them just died or became even crazier.

As they went deeper inside the laboratory, they eventually found a panel with the words they have been searching for all night.

“Delivery EXIT”

They almost let out a shout of joy as they followed the arrow indicating where was the exit they were oh so looking for. As they walked down a new corridor still full of blood and bodies half, they found a lot of barrels blocking the way, but they could easily climb over it, it was just a hassle. They reached a bulletproof window showing a hangar with some military trucks inside, but most importantly, the giant doors were open. They saw that there was door leading to it, it was also open, they just need to get to it and leave this damn place.

They walked down the corridor they were in and it opened up to two ways, but the left one was way more appealing to them with another panel indicating that the delivery exit was this way.

They went down the left way and found a decontamination room that might lead to where they wanted to go. But when they were a few feet away from the door, it locked itself, an alarm went off and red lights started to flash in the corridor and what they didn’t want to see appeared before them.

The Walrider.

The couple immediately turned back and ran in the opposite direction as the ghost started to chase them. They jumped over the barrels but it was slowing them down.

“Makoto! Grab my hand!” the lavender haired detective shouted as she reached for her partner’s hand.

He grabbed it and didn’t let go as she pulled him.

They reached the doors leading to the previous corridor, maybe they could find somewhere to hide over there. They opened the doors and another monster they didn’t want to see appeared behind the doors.

Chris Walker.

“Little pigs.” he growled as he reached for both of their necks and grabbed them, “Little pigs…” he repeated as he threw them behind him violently against the wall, “No more escape…” he ‘smiled’ as he approached again, ready to kill them once and for all.

Then something unexpected happened.

A dark mist appeared out of nowhere and threw the giant Variant against the wall. As Chris started to scream and moan in agony, the dark cloud didn't stop, always lifting him up and smashing him against the wall as if he was a ragdoll.

Naegi was looking at the scene with wide terrified eyes, Kirigiri on the other hand quickly lifted the camcorder to record what was happening.

The slender but tall form of the Walrider was looking down at Chris as he tried to stand up, his face bloodier than before. The dark ghost grabbed the Variant once more and threw him again against the wall, leaving a splash of blood to mark where Chris’ face landed. The sadistic monster kept throwing the large man against the walls for some seconds before finally lifting him up and throwing him inside a gridded vent that was nearby, leaving a giant wave of blood spurting out of the vent. Killing Chris Walker.

The couple of detectives stood still for a few seconds before standing up and slowly walk towards the last splash of blood, there was some organs in the middle. Then they looked up to the gridded vent only to see that Chris was thrown in there… without breaking the grid. Meaning that his body was certainly pressed and cut with a lot of strength. They didn't want to see inside that grid and hoped no one will.

This was the way he dies. Ripped to pieces from the inside, watching his marrow scatter on a concrete wall.

“You’ve escaped one Hell, Chris Walker…” said Kirigiri.

“God help us but I somehow hope you didn't find another.” Naegi concluded.

The old Soldier turned Variant died...

It was weird but they somewhat felt more sympathy for his death, than Father Martin’s.

They could still hear the alarm echoing in the halls so they guessed that the door leading to the exit must be closed. They needed to find a way to stop the alarm and open the doors. Maybe there was a room they’ve missed, so they turned back towards the corridors they walked before.

Until they heard a voice calling out for them.

“Is somebody there? Has somebody survived? Come closer. Please talk to me before he kills you too. Over here! Please, I must try to explain…”

It was coming from a door that they swear was locked before. They got inside the room that immediately locked itself after they got in. It was an office with dead guards, but they were separated from the office and its occupant by a glass wall. On the wall behind the office was a giant painting of a man getting killed by a dark mist, the Walrider. The said occupant was an old man on a wheelchair, he was weak, his mouth not moving when talking, he talked via a machine, like Stephen Hawking.

“I know, I know… I am supposed to be dead. No… no such luck.” The old man started.

Kirigiri crossed her arms as she glared at the man.

“Rudolf Wernicke…” she called.

The old scientist turned his chair around.

“... I am older than sin, but, somehow, the only one left… because of Billy.”

Here he was, the one behind the Walrider project, Dr. Wernicke. Both detective stared angrily at the man.

“Explain. Now.” Kirigiri demanded.

“Aren't you going to present yourselves first?”

Naegi was about to do it but Kirigiri quickly stopped him from doing so, they didn't know that man, and he could be dangerous.

“I see… Billy took care of me. He may think I’m his father. He certainly loves me, the poor idiot.” Wernicke started before wheeling toward the logo of the Walrider Project that was on the wall.

“Do you know what this symbol represents?” he asked, “It warns of a Nano hazard. Microscopic machines, technology we have had for decades, but never mastered. Murkoff discovered it, in my research, a work-a-round. Turning the cells of human bodies into Nano factories. It's the natural function of cells to produce molecules, but through psychosomatic direction, we engineered the precise molecules necessary. Mind over body.” he paused after his revelation, “It was foolish and wrong to think we could control it. To use mad men to control something so strong.”

He turned to them.

“You have to stop him, to murder Billy. Turn off his life support, his anesthesia. You have to undo what I've done. No one can get out of this place while he lives. You must kill him.”

The duo looked at each other, they didn’t know what to say. They weren’t murderers… but they must to get out of here. And there was no way with Billy still alive and controlling the Walrider.

“What else?” asked Kirigiri.

Wernicke stared at her before turning around and answered, “We achieved something like this in 1944. Those fascists thought it was spirits, and I let them believe it. Let them kill themselves thinking there was some kind of afterlife now empirically promised to them. Fools… Poor Alan. He would weep to see what I've built from his dreams.”

Wernicke moved his head a bit to try to look over his shoulder.

“Billy doesn't mean harm. He's a child with a damaged mind, granted the powers of a God. It would make any of us into a monster. You must end this. ” He paused then continued

“Murkoff knew the dangers, but they didn't care. In the corporation's mind, we are all just dollar amounts in a ledger. And the profits Project Walrider promised, overshadowed whatever pitiful balance a few doctors and patients amounted to.” The doctor turned to the couple.

“He will spread if you don't stop him. The Morphogenic Engine is self-perpetuating. I pray to god you have the strength to end it here with you death.”

“We are not planning to die here. We will get out.”

“...Whatever you say… I wish you luck. I… More than anything else want to rest. Billy will not let me die. He could never imagine how cruel this is. I only want to die.” and with that Wernicke turned around, pressed a button to stop the alarm.

The couple walked out of the office that locked itself once again they were out.

It Seem that they must find Billy. And… murder him. But will they be able to do so?

To be concluded...

#danganronpa #crossover #outlast #naegi x kirigiri #naegiri #makoto naegi #kyoko kirigiri #Chris Walker #rudolf wernicke #the walrider #fanfiction #horror

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ecotone99 · 5 years

Text

[FN] [RF] [SP] The Long Goodbye

I died on a Thursday, if I recall correctly. I could easily blame it on the weather, but it was a nice sunny day, not too bright, not too cold, and I just wasn’t paying attention. I just HAD to see who texted me… a telemarketing text. When I looked up, I was already into oncoming traffic. The last thing I remember seeing with my physical eyes was the word “Freightliner”, I heard a squeal of rubber on asphalt and then the flash.

I opened my eyes to see nothing but pavement. I stood up, dusted myself off and turned back to witness a grizzly scene. The entire front of my car was compacted, crushed by the massive frame of the semi that I collided with. I surveyed the damage and, I still shudder to this day when I saw myself. I was barely recognizable. Blood everywhere, bones protruding through skin, limbs mangled, I felt like I was going to throw up. But then I heard a voice behind me and I knew exactly who it was.

“Michael Aaron Kozlowski?” The voice was deep but not intimidating, not as fearful as I had imagined all these years and from all the movies I had seen. I turned around to see him. There was no robe, no scythe, just a skeleton in a plain black suit and overcoat studying a clipboard and checking his pocket watch. He looked up at me.

“Mr. Kozlowski, am I correct?” the vacuous sockets of his skull had the expression of weariness and employee burnout.

“Yeah, that’s me.” I responded.

“Good. For a moment, I thought I got lost on the way. You’d be surprised how many Michael Kozlowski’s there are in the world.” He was very matter of fact, not this hulking foreboding figure that I was expecting. My curiosity got the better of me. I walked from the wreckage and approached him.

“Wait a minute. If you’re death then where’s all the… the…” I lost my words for a moment, but he was happy to assist.

“The robe and sickle.” As he chuckled, his bones rattled under the suit. “Can I call you Mike?”

“Sure, that’s what everyone else called me.”

“Mike, name one person you know, aside from religious folk that wear robes nowadays?”

“You got a point. So… ” I lost my words again, but was quick to find them “..so how does this work?”

“How does what work?”

“Y’know.. the whole death thing?”

“Oh.. OH.” he chuckled again “…almost forgot to do my job again.” He quickly switched his focus back to his clipboard and flipped through several papers.

“Ah, here we are. Michael Aaron Kozlowski..” he trailed off in an indiscernible mumble for a moment and then rose back to audible clarity “…age 41…” I watched as his boney finger traced the information on the page, from line to line and section to section.

“…died July 27, Two Thousand….” I knew what day it was, but I guess he had to go through all of the particulars as part of his duty.

“…sudden fracture of the skull, succumbed to multiple internal injuries, hemorrhaging, blunt trauma, collapsed lung, DAMN… that was a nasty one, wasn’t it?” I grimly nodded, trying to be as patient as possible.

“…survived by Kathryn Avery, wife, and Jacob Thomas, son…”

“OH SHIT!” He stopped his read-through of his documentation and looked up at me.

“Excuse me?”

“I completely forgot about Katie and Jake”

“Well, you’ve been through quite a lot in the past 3 weeks.”

“Well I know but… wait a minute. Three weeks?”

“Yeah, the general processing and admittance takes about 4-6 weeks. We’ve been standing here for three.”

“But…”

“Yeah, I know. Only seemed like a few hours?”

“..I was going to say minutes, but… really? Three weeks?” He held up his pocket watch, pressed a tiny button on the side which allowed the cover to swing open and reveal the beautiful antique face. The face seemed to be normal, except there were many more numbers than the standard twelve.

“Time moves much slower in the afterlife, Mike.”

“How many numb…”

“42”

“Are you serious?” I smirked as if he were playing a joke on me.

“Douglas Adams had it right.” He said as he closed the watch pack up and placed it back in his left breast pocket. “Now where were we?”

“I was remembering my wife and son.”

“Oh yeah. What about them?”

“Well, if I figure it correctly, I’m a ghost right now, right?”

“Technically, but..” He turned up his clipboard to show me the lavender sheet of paper with his orders on it, “…I’ve got orders. Says here that..” He trailed off again, running through the items in another section of the paperwork, “…you’ve been pretty much of a good egg. Helped others when they needed it. Diligent worker, Loving Husband and father. You’re getting your wings, Mike.”

“Wait.. I’m going to be an angel?”

“What?! HA!” He snorted out a laugh. I didn’t even know a skeleton could snort “… no no no. That’s just a phrase we use to say that you’re going upstairs, and not… well, y’know.”

“Well that’s a relief, but…”

“But what?”

“Well, do I have to go now?”

“Mike, where else are you going to go?”

“Well, I’d like to say goodbye, if I can.”

“Sorry. That’s against the rules.”

“Eternity has rules?”

“Well, they’re more of guidelines than rules. You don’t want to get yourself tangled back up into the world of the living. It’ll only lead to anguish, Mike.”

“What do you mean?” He motioned for me to follow him. We began to walk down the road where the accident originally occurred. As I looked around, I noticed that the accident had been completely cleared away, and we were walking through streaks of red and white as we crossed the freeway. He put his hands behind his back and looked out towards the horizon.

“Mike,” he sighed “…when I died back in, oh… when was it… ugh.. I can’t even remember, I was confused and disoriented just like you were. The reaper that gave me his spiel was a lot less… personable. Y’know.. the whole black robe and all that jazz, like you thought. I was in my mid-twenties and I was killed in battle, riddled with arrows actually. And my first thoughts were of my bride back in our village. Since the reaper wasn’t as friendly, he just said NO.. IT IS FORBIDDEN. To which I said “Fuck that.” and I took off. I ran for eons to get back to my village. But, when I finally got there, I didn’t take into account the time change. Time moves differently here, and instead of a couple days for me to return, it was a couple decades. My wife had already remarried and had a new family of her own. I was devastated.”

I stood there enamored by his tale.

“Trust me, by the time you get back to your family, they’ll have moved on, and many years will have passed. If you truly love them, just wait a little longer, they’ll come around.”

“What ever happened to your bride? She had to have died. Did you two ever meet back up?”

“We’re not here to talk about me, Mike. This is your time.” With that, he took a small device out of his right hand coat pocket. It resembled a Game Boy with it’s green screen and a couple red buttons on the console. He slid his clipboard under his arm and typed in a few commands that were answered with a series of heavenly chimes and tones.

From above, above, a single ray of light bore down upon the two of us. He looked at me and smiled a skeletal grin.

“Going up?” The light got brighter and brighter until I was forced to close my eyes. I was curious to see what was waiting for me on the other side. I was excited to see all those who passed before me, but… but I just couldn’t get over the fact that I wouldn’t see my own funeral. I couldn’t get out of my mind that I would miss all of Jake’s milestone moments. He just started kindergarten, so I would miss teaching him how to ride a bike, helping him with his homework, teaching him how to drive, sending him off on his first date, watching him graduate high school and college, being there for his wedding, never meeting my grandkids.

At that moment, I dove out of the beam of light and back onto the freeway, the red and white streaks flew past me forwards and back, disorienting me and causing me to tumble over the guardrail and plummet the hundred feet below under the overpass.

I landed with a deadening thud. My vision was blurry and the ringing in my ears slowly ceased. I could see Him look over the edge and down at me. What was just incoherent sounds soon transformed to His voice bellowing down to me.

“HEY! Mike! Are you alright?”

Now was my chance. I was far enough away from Him that I could make a break for it. I calmly stood up, dusted myself off, and looked up to see Him looking down at me, leaning over the guardrail.

“How do I get back up?” I cupped my hands around my mouth and yelled back up.

“Don’t worry, I’ll come down to you,” He answered. In a flash of white smoke, he was gone. I took this opportunity to run like Hell. I scurried away from where I was and headed in the direction of where I used to live. I darted through the trees and bushes that were underneath the freeway, frantically trying to make me way back home. I ran for about a minute before POOF He appeared through that same puff of white smoke and towered over me. I ran full force into his body and bounced back about six feet, and landed on my ass.

“What the HELL do you think you are doing, man?” He scolded. “Didn’t you hear what I told you? By the time you get back to your house, everyone will have moved on! You’ll be heartbroken because they will have moved on without you.”

“I don’t believe that for a second!” I shouted back. “I loved my family with all my heart. And they loved me. I refuse to believe that I will ever leave their thoughts.”

“Mike, I’m telling you, just wait and they’ll…”

“NO! I can’t wait. I need to…” a lump, the size of Montana rose up into my throat, and I was left speechless for a moment. I swallowed it back down, and with it, my eyes began to well up and overflow. I looked down at my shoes. I just now noticed that even though I had been running through the dirt and mud, they were still spotless as the day I bought them.

“…Did you have kids?” I asked Him.

“What?” He was puzzled. I did my best to compose myself, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Jake. The tears were now running down my cheeks.

“When you were alive, did you ever have kids?”I think he finally knew where I was going with this line of questioning.

“No,” He sighed. “I died before we were able to try.”

“Then you have NO idea the kind of pain I am going through right now. There are certain things that a father needs to do with his son so that he grows up right. I needed to be there for him, and now, I won’t be able to. I was robbed of that chance to make sure that I could raise him to be the man he needed to be. I was robbed to experiencing his successes, his failures, his joy and his sorrow. I can’t be there for him. And you just want me to WAIT?”

He stood there, silent.

“Fuck YOU! Fuck your guidelines. Fuck this bullshit that they’ll just move on. My son meant SO MUCH to me, and I’m just supposed to say, oh well, shit happens, he’ll be fine. NO! I REFUSE TO ACCEPT THAT!”

He nodded his head for a moment, took a deep breath and looked back at me, sternly.

“I know I can’t reverse time. I know I can’t just can’t come back to life. THIS I can accept. I just want to say goodbye, and that I’m sorry I’m not going to be able to be there for him. Sorry for everything I’m going to miss.”

He brought his boney hand to the bridge of his nose, and rubbed. Looked down again, and sighed.

“You just don’t get it, Mike.” He looked back up at me.

“But, you’re not the first. Some people just accept death and go with the flow. Others, like you, rebel from square one.” He took the device out again. “Gimme one second.”

A series of chimes and beeps emanated from the device as he pressed some buttons and waited for a response.

“OK, Mike. I can respect the fact that you want to see your son. That you want to at least tell him goodbye, and I know I’m not going to be able to change your mind about this. So, I’ve requested from the boys upstairs that you are granted a temporary free pass just to see this thing out.” I wiped the tears away from my eyes at the news that I was going to be able to see my son.

“There’s just a few conditions. First, I have to go with you. I have been assigned to your case, so I have to make sure you don’t go all poltergeist on me. That goes on my permanent record, and I’m not having that. Second, as soon as you say what you need to say to… Jake, was it,”he double checked his clipboard, “I make the call and we head upstairs, immediately. Do you understand?”

I giddily nodded my head and reached out to shake his hand. He immediately pulled it away and held it up to stop me from getting any closer.

“Whoa, whoa whoa. Don’t shake my hand just yet, Mike. You’re the one that wanted this, and you may not be happy with what you see.”

He turned away from me and pressed a button on the device. As it began to whirr and beep, he checked his clipboard once more. The device gave a tiny DING and he studied the screen.

“OK, your old house is roughly, 5 miles South, Southwest of our current location. I suggest we get back up to the freeway and walk from there. It’ll be much easier on flat ground, OK?”

I nodded and looked around. I had been running so fast that I completely lost track of where the freeway was. He pointed a skeletal finger to our right, and I headed in that direction. I started to smile. I was going to see my Jake again.

We were walking for about 3 miles amongst the red and white streaks along our sides when I finally decided to look up at the sky. It was night, and the stars shone so vividly, that I could easily see the Milky Way band across the deep indigo sea. I stopped walking. He continued.

“Hey, wait a minute!” I beckoned. He finally stopped and turned around.

“What?” He mumbled.

“OK, explain this to me. The streak to our left and right are obviously the cars passing back and forth along the freeway, going at their normal speed, but to us, time is moving so fast, that they just appear as these streaks, right?”

“What are you getting at, Mike?”

“What’s the deal with the sky?”

“What deal?”

“Why isn’t the sky and the sun and moon moving at the same speed? Shouldn’t it be light-dark-light-dark really fast, just like everything else.”

“Hmm, if I remember correctly, it has to do with the speed of light. You see, since we are moving so fast through time, the sun isn’t up long enough for it to hit your eyes, so it’s always night. For the same reason, you’ll never see the moon in the sky either.”

He was right. It was just all stars and clusters and nebula.

“Wait a minute?”

“What is it now, Mike?”

“How fast ARE we going?”

“That conversation we just had…”

“Yeah?”

“ A week.”

A week!! We’d been walking a couple hours and that conversation just took a minute or two. I didn’t like where this was going, but I HAD to see this through. I think He started to sense that I was finally starting to see things his way.

After about 4-5 hours, we finally reached my old house. It was still there. The paint was different, and there was a few different cars in the driveway, but the house still stood. I ran for the front door, but He stopped me, held me by the arm.

“Hold on there, Mike. Did you forget about the time difference?”

“What about it?”

“Well, if they’re going at the speed I told you about, how are you going to be able to sit down and say goodbye to your son?” I contemplated the situation, and turned to Him with an expression of worry.

“Don’t worry. I can slow things down a bit, but I can’t do it for long. Just long enough for you to get your goodbyes in and then we’re off, ok?” I waited for Him to bring out his device once more, press a couple buttons and then I felt and heard time slow down. It is one of the most unusual events a human being can ever experience. Imagine you are in the center of a record player, spinning at 77 rpms and suddenly, someone puts their finger on the record and slows down it down. The world simply lurched to a slower pace, and the sound was equally disturbing. A soft, high pitched whirr suddenly increased in volume and choked back the pitch until it was a low hum, a familiar hum – the hum of life. I could hear the wind, the traffic, the normal sounds of my old neighborhood. I was back and it was a glorious sound to behold.

“Alright, now you can go in.” He let go of my arm and I ran to the house. I thought about knocking, but I almost forgot, I was dead. So I just walked on through the door.

The house was different. It was mostly the same furniture, but there were somethings that were askew. The family portraits used to be on the far wall, that connected the livingroom to the kitchen. The kitchen table used to be rotated ninety degrees… little things.

The other strange thing was that all the lights were on, but there were no people. Why would Katie leave all the lights on if no one was going to be home? I began to walk around the house. I walked slowly down the hall to where the bedrooms were. First, on the left was Jake’s. The door was open so I didn’t need to pass through to peer in. The room was empty. Even the carpeting was gone. It looked like no one had used that room in years. A knot was beginning to form in the pit of my stomach. Something wasn��t right. I continued down the hall, and to the right was our old bedroom. The decor was certainly more… modern than how I remember it. The walls were a different color. As I panned across the room, my eyes finally reached the bed. Under the covers lay an old man, tucked in tight and looking like he was on his last legs.

What the shit?

Who the hell was this guy? And then I thought, Katie may have remarried and time had passed, this may be her new husband. I looked around the room for more clues. I didn’t see any pictures of Katie and me, or Katie and her new husband, so the identity of this man was still a mystery. His breathing became more forced and he began to cough. Whoever this guy was, his time was almost up. Suddenly I heard a clatter coming from the hallway. I turned to look as a group of people slowly walked down the hall and into the room, surrounding the bed. I looked at all of the people, and surprisingly didn’t recognize a single one. “HEY!” I shouted out. I turned around and He was right behind me, holding his device up and reading its display.

“Yeah?” He said, still studying the screen of the device, the glow lighting up his skull.

“What is this? Who are all these people?”

“This is your family, Mike.”

“What?!” I turned back and looked. I looked very hard at all of them. “This is not my family. I don’t recognize any of these people.”

“Think of the time, Mike.”

“Think of the time? The hell does THAT mean?”Then, I heard one of the children speak. They had approached the old man in the bed and held his hand. Tears began to roll down their cheeks, as they could barely get the words out. As the words left the child’s mouth, that knot in my stomach forced its way up into my throat and I immediately began to sob giant tears of regret.

“Goodbye Grandpa Jake.”

The old man turned his head to the child and I could finally see his face clearly. The eyes, the mouth, the one crooked eyebrow. It was my Jake. All grown up and now, at the end of his life. He was able to do it all without me. I looked around the room again and studied all the photos. There were pictures of him with his wife, and his kids, I saw the progression of them grow up, and Jake grow older. I saw a photograph of him, much younger than he is now sitting with an older woman. I looked closer. Katie. He was sitting with his mother. Her hands were clasped together on her lap with her left hand on top, wedding band absent. After all these years, she never remarried. I continued to look at the photos, and saw all the experiences he had that I missed.

“I missed it all.” I mumbled to myself. He came up behind me and put a hand on my shoulder.

“I tried to tell you, but you were too stubborn. I figured you had to learn for yourself. As soon as you get whisked away, we have a constant connection back down here, you could have watched it all, been there every step of the way. All you had to do was wait.”

The tears were uncontrollable running down my face now.

“What do you mean WAIT? How long? How long would I have had to wait?”

“Five minutes, tops.”

“FIVE MINUTES?”

“I had to find out the hard way too, Mike.”

Suddenly, Jake gasped, his eyes rolled back into his head and the color faded from his face. A loud sound blared from the device and He took notice of it. He pressed a few buttons and then put it back in his pocket.

“Well, looks like I have to take both of you.”

“What?” I spun around. It started low, but a wind began to blow inside the house. I couldn’t feel it, but I could definitely hear it. It grew louder and louder until it was as boisterous and roaring as a tornado. I plugged my ears and waited for it to pass. I was facing Him at the time, and he pointed behind me and slowly spun me around as the winds blew. Jake began to glow and as the wind blew more fierce the light grew brighter. It grew so bright that I was forced to cover my eyes the light penetrated my eyelids so I was forced to turn back around. The wind died and the light diminished. I opened my eyes and uncovered my ears. The people surrounding the bed were all crying. But Jake, old Jake stood in front of the bed looking at all the people. After looking upon on all of his family members that he would be leaving behind, he turned towards me and Him.

He instantly recognized Him and knew what was to follow.

“Jacob Thomas Kozlowski?” He said in the same tone in which he uttered my name to me. Jake nodded.

“You know who I am, right?” He asked the old man. Jake slowly nodded. Jake’s attention soon turned from the tall skeleton in the suit and overcoat to me. He looked at me and concentrated, studying every feature of my face. I couldn’t look away. It was the first time I saw my son’s face since I died. I did my best to compose myself, but it’s not easy when you have waiting to see someone just one more time.

“Well, because of this guy,” He gave me a friendly shove, “I will be taking both of you upstairs. You’ve had a good life, Jake. Both of you have. Come on, now. Kathryn is waiting.”

Both of us turned our focus to Him.

“Katie?” I blurted out, and at the same time “Mom?” The old man stuttered. It was at that moment, when it clicked for Jake. I slowly looked back and him and he returned my gaze. Tears began to well up in his eyes, his lip began to tremble and magically, the years started to melt away. Soon I was looking at the man Jake grew to be. And that’s when he said it, the one thing I missed from the moment this journey began.

“Dad?”

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diary4 · 6 years

Text

04/06/2018 - night

Well I mean technically it’s the early morning of the fifth by now but anyway.

I just had to do another one of those horrible goodnight goodbyes. Every night it gets even harder to convince myself that it isn’t the last goodbye, that she’ll still be here in the morning. I don’t know how much longer I can go on with them because the truth is that one night very soon it really will be the last one. Maybe tonight really was the last one. I lay with my head on her chest and her hand on my face. I drew her face like she always used to draw mine - sparse eyebrows because you pluck them naughty, little nose, big brown eyes, red cheekies, thin little lips, foodie in your teeth and lovely chocolate brown hair. I can still feel her beneath my fingers, and I hope I always will.

No more morbidity, here’s something interesting. Something that gave me instant, instinctual reassurance that she would still be here tomorrow was Dad saying casually ‘I’ll ask her in the morning if she’s in pain’. It’s utterly remarkable how even the most throw away remark made by a parent is instantly comforting to a child. I know perfectly well that Dad has no more control over what happens to Mum that I do, and no more ability to predict the future. But it’s a hangover from childhood, from asking your parents ‘whats happening’ and them reassuring you ‘don’t worry, it will all be okay’ - and you just instinctively trusting them for no reason other than in the adult child bind there is always implicit that the adult knows something that the child does not. Back when she could still talk (over two weeks ago now) I used to make Mum say it out loud - “it will all be okay, I’ll be okay”. I remember towards the end when we were curled up in her bed together when I asked “how though? how will you be okay?”. By this point modern medicine had deserted us, gone scampering back to the hole whence it came like rats from a sinking ship. “I’ll pray to God” she said. I’ll never forget how she said that. She was really desperate. I don’t think she’s ever been more of a believer than me, that is, she believes helplessly and hopelessly on her knees grovelling to the lord. I think maybe why its so memorable is because it reminded me of a time months ago when she cried and hugged me and said “Don’t take me away from them, God, I won’t let you!”. There we go. Character arch, heavy defeat. When once defiant, she was left begging for mercy. And that’s the saddest fucking thing. My Mum, the original may I speak to the manager, who got into rows with orthodontists and fought tooth and nail, muma bear style, to get us everything and anything we might want. Who wouldn’t think twice about confronting any number of high level official to get her way, be it a cheap cinema ticket or a first class upgrade or the money back off a coupon that expired before we were born. She was fearless, she was ‘that bitch’, and she never took the answer ‘no’. And yet there they were, all the great bastions of modern medicine slamming their church doors in her face. And there she was, kicked out by all but the final incumbent of Harley Street, the door they only ever came knocking on when all the others had proved no good, and which out of bitterness for being left till last would fain never open except in ancient myth or rumor. There she was, begging to God to drop some miracle vial out an upstairs window into her outstretched fingers and with barely an effortless twitch of his omnipotent pinkie grant her another half decade chortling on the sofa to our old antics.

I wish it was anyone but her. I wish it was Dad or Uncle Tony or Auntie Angie. I wish it was anyone elses Mum. I’ve given it serious thought and come to the conclusion that in this, I would be totally selfish. I would, as Dad said that one night, ‘murder someone’ - ‘if I had to kill someone to make you better I’d go out and do it tomorrow’. Better still, I’d kill a baby. I would kick in the head of ten innocent babies playing in a sand pit, if it meant I could make you better, even for a year or two. That’s right. And Mr Wright and his ethics of ‘results don’t justify actions’ can literally, go fuck themselves, because do you know what he’s a forty year old married man with children and a full set of parents swaddled up in a bungalow somewhere, and I’m twenty watching my Mum died on the front room sofa and my Dad twist his face in an effort not to cry. So fuck you normality.

And yes, I have given it serious thought, and I think I would rather it was Dad. because Mum’s the missing link, because with Mum we would still be ‘the girls’, because Mum still has more of a life with her friends and her parents, and because Mum would find it easier to get over him and find someone new. I don’t want to get vehement about this because I’ll probably wind up hating my one remaining parent; but there you go.

I think the only person I really wouldn’t swap is Eliana. And perhaps myself - though I’m not entirely convince on that one yet.

I don’t even remember why I wanted to write this entry now. Oh yeah - Death: A Prequel.

Before I do forget though, here’s something else I also wanted to say - and that is that I wish I knew Mum better. I know her pretty damn well, but I wish I knew the ins and outs, the thought train. I think I’ll leave my diaries to my children so that, if they wish, they can take a ride on my thought train any time of day. Won’t matter when I’m gone if they lose some respect for me - and besides, I’m not a totally disrespectable person, and thanks to the big old ego I come off pretty well in the diaries anyway.

But: Death: A Prequel, and it’s sequel, Death: A Sequel. Potential title ideas for that novel about the circus act that gather around dying people, the death of Stalin esque thing, but for an everyman. It’s got a blockbustery feel which is nice. However, while Death: A Prequel nicely alludes to the act of Dying, Death: A Prequel implies the afterlife a little to much. Maybe ‘afterlife’ = a state of mourning - post life, even if it is someone elses life. Does mourning parallel the after life - well yes in that we just don’t know whats coming, we dread it, but we also perversely anticipate the release. What’s the further implication - that by making a prequel and a sequel of death we’re actually skipping the main event, the death itself, which is exactly what we are doing. It’s not about the dying person, it’s about those around them, and the gap where they are (glaringly) not - in the titular film that should connect the two. The sense of absence and missing. It’s a horribly morbid title though, and it could definitely be sexier, so maybe I’ll scrap it completely, or just have it as a subtitle or work it into the prose.

PS. Quick side thought from glancing through this - that stuff about kicking in babies skulls could make a great bit of speech. Samuel L. Jackson voice; “I, wearing steel toe capped motherfuckin leather boots, would kick a baby in the head as hard as if it were a football I wanted to back corner in the bloody goal of the world cup final (final minutes).” etc. ‘melon’? English accent, not SLJ - needs be for ‘bloody goal’ and ‘world cup’

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