#and sheldon because HIS DAD DIES WHEN HE IS FOURTEEN | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lemonz-and-limez · 3 years

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The Amends Consideration

A/N: @ailurophilia72 if you ask, you shall receive.

This one is a heavy one, I'm not going to lie. Saw this prompt on tumblr and it got my brain going I just couldn't get it out of my head. Death has reared its ugly head in my life again and that kind of fueled a lot of this story. I am in a lot of pain right now and I needed it out. This story was the product.

I know in Young Sheldon, George is portrayed a lot differently than what is let on in Big Bang. I tried to go for the way he was described in BBT, a darker version definitely compared to what we see in YS. Just for full disclosure.

Prompt: Sheldon gets sad when he realizes his dad will never get to meet his child

Sheldon didn't know what to think as he pulled his mother's unexpected package out of the mailbox. Mary hadn't mentioned anything about sending him something, so the contents of the small box in his hand was a mystery.

He sorted through the rest of the mail on the elevator ride back up to his and Amy's shared apartment. Bills, adds, a couple of congratulations cards for the upcoming birth of their son. But nothing interested him more than the nondescript box he cradled under his arm.

As the elevator doors dinged open, Sheldon paid no mind to the obvious chatter coming from 4A. Penny and Bernadette had teamed up to throw Amy a baby shower, which his wife wanted but never had time to plan. With her two friends already being mothers themselves, they decided it would be easier to take the responsibility into their own hands. Of course, that meant Amy would probably be gone most of the day, knowing how those ladies like to chat. Sheldon didn't mind though, he never cared if he was on his own.

He had planned on getting some work done that he had neglected during the week. No day like Saturday to get things done, after all. However, the second he stepped back into his apartment, he threw everything from the mailbox except his mother's package onto the kitchen counter.

Sitting down on the teal couch, Sheldon inspected the parcel on the coffee table in front of him. "Alright, let's find out what you are," Sheldon whispered to no one, taking out his tiny pocket knife and carefully cutting the tape. The box opened from the side, so he spilled the contents out before him. There was a loud clunk as something heavy, and plastic hit the table. A couple other things fell out with it, one of which was a note from his mother.

Shelly,

Found this while cleaning out the garage. Figured it was something you should have. Forgive me for watching it without you, but I needed to know what was on the tape.

Please watch it, baby. He would have wanted you to see it.

Love, Mom

Sheldon set the note back down on the table and picked up the item that had caused the most ruckus on its way out of the box. A VHS tape. Probably the last thing Sheldon expected his mother to send. Upon further inspection, Sheldon found his father's handwriting scrawled across the label.

Make Amends – For Sheldon

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Sheldon sighed heavily. A part of him didn't even want to give this tape the time of day. His father had been dead a long time; there was no need to dig up dirt from twenty-six years ago. But his curiosity couldn't help but wonder what his father could possibly have said to him on this tape.

According to her note, Mary had watched it already. Should he just call her and just have her tell him what was on it?

No. Sheldon was mature enough to watch this recording without calling his Mommy for assistance.

He moved quickly around the small living space and in front of the television. After the "football game tape over" incident last year, Sheldon invested in a used VHS player. Amy had teased him about it for weeks, but he couldn't possibly tell her the real reason he got it. Not to watch old movies from his childhood, which he did so Amy couldn't call his bluff, but to listen to his father's voice again when he started to forget what it sounded like.

With a few expert moves, Sheldon had the video playing in no time. Cradling the remote in his hands, back on the couch now, he leaned forward with rapt attention.

George Cooper was already in view, adjusting the camera on whatever he had it perched on. Which, according to the date, also on the label, was in 1994.

It was only a couple of seconds before his father had settled into the chair of his old office at Sheldon's old high school. From the looks of things, it seemed dark, like it was late in the evening. Unfortunately, he didn't have time to think about it too much because the dead man started talking. Literally.

"Hello, Sheldon," George sighed. "I don't know when this video is going to find you or how you're going to take it, but this needs to be said, Son. I have to say this to you. Especially to you."

His father paused for a moment as if to compose himself. The moisture in his eyes told Sheldon enough.

"I'm in a twelve-step program, Sheldon. For my drinkin'. And before you think of it, no, your mother is not forcing me into it. I am going on my own free will, but I am doing it for her. I love your mom, Sheldon, I know you probably don't believe that, but I do."

Another pause.

"Step nine of this program is to make amends with people I have harmed. And a part of me knows you will never fully forgive me, but of all the people I need to apologize to, you're at the top of the list, Sheldon. Not just because of what you have seen, or the things I have said to you drunk, but because of my shortcomings as a father."

"I always had this idea of what a man should be. The typical, all things masculine, into sports, rootin' for the Dallas Cowboy's kinda stuff. But you never did fit that role, did ya, son?"

Sheldon watched his father smile at his question. There wasn't malice in his eyes like he was angry, but instead, he seemed almost proud of him.

"Georgie was always the one who liked to go outside and play catch with me, and go fishin', and do all of the things 'typical boys like to do'. You never had an interest in any of that, and because of it, I never treated you as I should. As a father should. Unconditional love no matter what your child does or likes. I tried to change you at any chance I could get, and that wasn't fair to you. I should have embraced your intelligence. I should have bought you that science kit you wanted instead of that dirt bike. I should have been the father you deserved, Sheldon, because you did. You are amazing, son, and I am so insanely proud to be your father."

Sheldon wasn't expecting this. He didn't think his father was capable of saying such heartfelt words about him. His father could sing praises about Georgie's accomplishments all day long, few as they may have been. But even though Sheldon never heard George say he was proud while he was alive, hearing the words said over tape struck a chord within him.

Before the man on the screen could start talking again, Sheldon pressed pause. At the beginning of the video, he had expected George to discuss the unfortunate affair that Sheldon had unfortunately born witness to. After all, that was his most blatant faux pas. But his dad had dug deeper, past the surface, past the infidelity. He looked for the root problem of his relationship with his son. Sheldon's father was a man much like himself, never liked to outwardly display emotions often, but when he did, they were sincere. So, for the great George Cooper to open up like this, to a camera albeit, meant a great deal to him.

It had been a long time since Sheldon had thought of his dad the way he was at the moment. Like the man who raised him, who helped shape who he was today, and not the man who simply cheated on his mother. That was the title he had held in Sheldon's eyes for a long time. There had been a few cracks here and there. Like he and Amy's wedding or the night they watched the pep talk George gave the football team in the locker room. But those moments were fleeting. Gone as quickly as they came.

Perhaps it was because Sheldon had yet to hear the contents of this tape. The fact that he never made amends with his father before he died had forever tainted his perspective of him. Sheldon couldn't be sure.

All he knew was that he suddenly felt much more at peace in regards to his dad. But in place of Sheldon's bitterness and anger towards him was a tug of grief in his gut that he hadn't felt for years. The twisting knot of pain that permeated throughout his entire body.

His dad in the video, had said he was proud of him. Insanely proud of him. And yet, he didn't even live long enough to see half of his greatest accomplishments. He never got to see him with a Ph.D., win a Nobel, and countless other awards. He didn't get to meet Sheldon's friends, never got to meet Amy. His father's absence was felt heavily at their wedding.

And now, as Sheldon was on the cusp of becoming a father himself, he wouldn't get to meet his grandson.

Even from his seated position on the couch, Sheldon doubled over from the crippling feeling that came with that thought. Missy had expressed similar views when she gave birth to her first child, but Sheldon hadn't expected that feeling to be so intense. So utterly heartbreaking.

Sheldon wouldn't get to see both of his parents cradling his newborn. His son wouldn't be able to enjoy two grandfathers. Or learn football from his Texan Pop-Pop and be forced to root for the Cowboys no matter how bad their record was.

His son would never meet the formidable George Cooper.

The dry sob that escaped his mouth surprised him. But then came another one, and again, and again, until his face was no longer dry. Sheldon could hardly remember the last time he had cried like this over his father. He had done it once in the twenty-six almost twenty-seven years his father had been dead. The day he found out his father passed away when he was alone in his dorm room miles away from home. But he was fourteen then, barely able to understand the true concept of death. Sure, he knew the science behind it, but not the emotions. Not the grief.

Still, the tears he shed in his living room were not unlike those he had shed in his dorm room. Alone, vulnerable, miles away from Texas. But one key element was different; he now could fully understand the scope of what his father being gone meant. How it impacted the lives of his family. How it changed what his son's childhood would look like.

Sheldon was now beginning to dread the day he would have to explain to his son why he only had one grandfather while everyone else at school had two. Hopefully, Amy's dad lived long enough so he wouldn't have to explain to his kid why he had none.

With his elbows rested on his knees and his fingers interlaced behind his head, he let his body feel the emotion running through it. He didn't try to surpass it as he had for years. But that just made it all the more intense.

"Sheldon?"

His head snapped up at the sound of Amy's voice. His heavily pregnant wife stood in the open doorway to their apartment, staring at him with concern.

Amy glanced at the TV for a moment. "What's wrong?" She asked, slowly walking the short distance to the couch.

Sheldon frantically wiped at his face, trying to make himself look more presentable. As if that mattered to Amy. "This came in the mail today." He held up the empty box his mother sent. "Mom was cleaning out the garage when she found this tape of my dad. She wanted me to have it," his voice cracked with the last few words as he threw the cardboard back onto the table.

Amy, now sitting next to him, rubbed his back soothingly. "Well, what was on it?"

"It's nothing, just my Dad explaining he was in a twelve-step program, and he wanted to make amends with me."

"So, why the tears?"

His face scrunched up again. "I don't… it just… it just hit me that our son will never be able to meet him," he sobbed. Sheldon gestured with his hands and tried to speak, but the words caught in his throat. "I-I-I don't know that j-just hurt more than I-I expected it t-to," he eventually stuttered.

Amy sniffled beside him, which made Sheldon finally look back up at her. She gave him a sad smile as she continued to rub his hunched back. "What was on the video that made you realize that?"

"I thought he was going to apologize for the affair, the one I walked in on. Instead, it was for his mistakes as a father. How he never seemed as proud of me as he did with Georgie. I didn't think my dad was capable of digging below the surface, but he did. He found the true problem with our relationship, and he wanted to make up for it." Sheldon picked up the remote and rewound the tape a little. "I mean, I have never seen my father talk about me this way. Look."

He pressed play.

"I should have been the father you deserved, Sheldon, because you did. You are amazing, son, and I am so insanely proud to be your father."

The video stopped again.

"If he was proud of me then, how would he feel about me now? Just the fact that I found you… he would have been over the moon. I'm sure of it. But now we're about to have a son, and he won't be here for it? I just…" Sheldon trailed off, not knowing quite how to word what he was feeling.

But Amy nodded in understanding. "Above all else, you wish he were here for our son," she stated, not asked.

"Yes. Despite all of my father's faults, he did care about his family. He would've gone down protecting us, probably, if a heart attack hadn't claimed him first. In light of all of my professional accomplishments, this is what would have meant the most to him."

Sheldon glanced down at his wife's stomach, where their son was visibly wiggling around. He smiled fondly at the sight but swallowed thickly at the emotion that rose with it. In a few short weeks, he would be holding that baby, their families would be surrounding them. Rejoicing with them.

But George Cooper wouldn't be there.

Suddenly, Amy's hand was no longer on his back but on his knee. "Sheldon," she beckoned him to look at her. "There's nothing I could say that would make this any easier for you, but might I suggest something?"

He nodded.

She laid her free hand on her stomach. "What do you think about making the baby's middle name George?"

"What?" He gawked. "I thought you wanted it to be William. You know, for Darcy."

She stared at him long and hard for a moment and then patted his leg. "I did, but I already got Elliot; let me give you this one."

Sheldon shook his head. "No," he said firmly. "You're doing all the hard work; you should get to decide two of the names. Seeing as how you don't want to hyphenate his last name."

Amy grimaced suddenly and held a hand to her side, her face scrunched up in pain. And suddenly, Sheldon was on high alert. "What's wrong? Are you having contractions?"

"No." She waved her hand at him. "Just got kicked pretty hard, that's all." He opened his mouth to point out her hard work again but she stopped him. "Look, Sheldon, I am really not upset about our kids only being Coopers. Seriously. I want to do this for you. I want his middle name to be George."

"Are you one hundred percent sure? You don't just feel sorry for me because my dad is dead and you think this will cheer me up?"

It sounded stupid coming out of his own mouth. Sheldon could only imagine what it sounded like to Amy.

"Sweetheart," she endeared. "Our son's middle name should be special, not the name of a fictional character. We only decided on William because we couldn't think of anything else. Neither one of us suggested George for some reason. I have no emotional attachments to the name William, but I do to the name George. We both do."

Sheldon took her hand in his own. "You're sure about this?"

"Absolutely. Besides, don't you think Elliot George Cooper sounds better than Elliot William Cooper?"

"William did lack a certain panache, didn't it?" Sheldon smirked, finally coming around after more convincing than it should have.

Amy laughed at that, but her face went serious again rather quickly. "I'm sorry you miss your dad, Sheldon. I would have loved to meet him."

"And he would have loved to meet you."

Sheldon looked back at the TV, his father's paused face, still staring back at him. He really did look like his father. His mother had always said so, but he never believed her. Now an adult, it was like looking into a mirror. He really was his mini-me.

If Elliot got Sheldon's eyes, then he would really have George's eyes. Sheldon only had them because of his father. Suddenly, he selfishly understood Amy's hope for their children to have his eyes.

"What are you thinking about?" Amy asked, pulling him from his reverie.

"It's just uncanny how similar my father and I look. I guess now I'm just being selfish in hoping our son looks like me." Sheldon looked over and was met with Amy's blank expression. "Not that I don't want him to look like you," he quickly tried to cover himself.

Amy giggled and motioned for him to stop. "I wasn't thinking that. I know what you meant. Your dad may no longer be alive, but he lives on through his children and their children. Not to sound overly sappy."

"Too late," he joked. "I know I am being overly sentimental right now because I'm thinking about my dad. But seeing his face again, hearing his voice, I guess I'm just trying to hold onto whatever I can of him."

"That's grief, honey," Amy said softly.

Sheldon nodded, acknowledging the truth and the harsh reality behind those words. "I know, and I haven't allowed myself to feel that for a long time."

They sat in relative silence for a moment, the gentle whirring of the VHS player the only sound filling the air. There was still more on the tape; George certainly had more to say. Sheldon was sure of it. He thought for a moment, then turned to his wife and asked, "do you want to watch the rest of the tape with me?"

"Really?"

He nodded slightly.

"I do."

George Cooper's voice sounded once more in a matter of seconds.

"Sheldon, I know you are going to do great things one day. I have known that since… well… forever. I know you're going to find amazing people to surround yourself with who will love you and treat you the way you deserve to be treated."

Check.

"I know you will make countless accomplishments academically, more than you have already."

Check.

"I know you will fall in love with someone someday who will make your heart soar."

Sheldon and Amy smiled at each other, squeezing each other's hand slightly. Check.

"I know you will have exceptional, amazing children one day because you and I both know you are too exceptional to not do so."

Almost check.

"I know you're going to live a full life, Sheldon. Because you have such a drive for greatness, and I know you have my stubbornness, so, you will settle for nothing less."

George leaned forward, on his desk Sheldon was assuming.

"I know I have a lot of making up to do, and I hope someday you will accept this apology. I know you have a kind heart, Sheldon; I have seen it with my own eyes. I will understand if you can't, I have failed you as a father thus far, but I hope that someday you will extend that kindness towards me. I cannot wait to see you grow up, do all the things I know you want to do. Hopefully, I'll be around to see you accomplish most of them."

Sheldon should have finished the video before he started crying earlier. The fact that this was taped less than a year before his father passed away did not escape him. Nor did that make his pain any easier.

He figured, at least now he had Amy by his side.

"I hope that when this video finds you, you will listen and not throw it away. Even if that's what I probably deserve. I'm going to try sending these tapes out soon, so call me if you see this. Just let me know you've watched it. If that's all you can do for now, I'll understand; I've got a lot of things to work on."

His father smiled fondly at the camera. Not the forced one that Sheldon could always remember from his childhood but a genuine, real smile. It was also his smile.

"I love you, Sheldon. Talk to you soon."

The video stopped and began to rewind to the beginning. Amy was rubbing at his back again, soothing him as tears once again fell from his eyes. But Sheldon was still too transfixed on the screen. He whispered it so quietly, he doubted Amy would be able to hear it. Which would be fine. It was one of the few things not meant for her ears anyway.

"I love you too, dad."

A/N: Well that ended darker than I usually end this. This story ended up being surprisingly personal to me for a lot of reasons, and since I am dab smack in the middle of grief it just didn't feel right to have some uber sappy happy ending, because that's not genuine. That's not real. It's bittersweet at the least I hope.

Thank you so much for reading, especially right now, it means the world to me.

#shamy #shamy fanfic

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nerdforestgirl · 6 years

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Ally knew it was time to sit down with her parents and negotiate the rules she had to live by. Every year, just before she had to go back to school at the end of the summer, she sat down with them, and the three of them—her little brother Lee had to do his own negotiations—went over what was expected of Ally and what she was allowed to do. Other meetings could be held over the year, but this was when they really broke things down.

As much as this seemed silly to her friends, Ally loved it. Her parents gave her a say in what her chores were and what time her curfew dictated she be home by. Ally even had a time and place to make the case that her allowance be raised instead of hoping that her parents might have time to listen while they drove Lee to Space Camp.

“Did you have time to read my first draft of your new agreement?” Ally’s dad asked as he walked into the kitchen followed by Ally’s mom.

“Yes, and I can’t abide by an 8:30 curfew,” Ally told them. It was number one on her list of changes she would like to discuss. In two weeks, she would be entering high school. She needed her curfew to be extended.

“What’s wrong with an 8:30 curfew?” Ally’s dad asked.

“I told you she wasn’t going to agree to that, Sheldon,” Ally’s mom told him.

“It’s perfectly fine. That’s the curfew I had when I was a freshman in high school,” Ally’s dad explained.

“Dad, you were nine when you were a freshman in high school. What was your curfew when you were fourteen?” Ally asked.

“I don’t believe I had a curfew when I was fourteen. That was the year my father died. My mother didn’t spend a lot of time worrying about where I was. She even let me leave for Germany not long after. My brother, George was the one who drove me around most of the time anyway, and he didn’t really care what time we got home,” Ally’s dad explained.

Ally knew that her Pop Pop had died a long time before she was born, but she hadn’t thought about that her dad was just her age when it happened. She couldn’t imagine a life without her dad or her mom. She wasn’t a kid, but she was still figuring things out. Even if she would never tell them, she needed them.

“You didn’t even have a curfew, and you are giving me 8:30?”

“9:30?” Ally’s dad offered.

“Dad,” Ally said as way of a refusal.

“On weeknights. 10:30 on weekends. Final offer.”

Ally nodded. It was much better. She suspected that her dad often left room for negotiating when he made his rules. Like the next note that Ally had. Her allowance was exactly the same as it was the year before.

“I suggest a raise in my allowance,” Ally told her parents.

“And why should we do that?” Ally’s mom asked. Ally remembered when she was a little girl, her mother didn’t like that her dad wrote up contracts with her and her brother. These days, Ally’s mom was just as likely, if not more likely to cite the agreement if Ally broke a rule.

“I always get a raise,” Ally said.

“But your chores haven’t changed,” Ally’s mom reminded her. Ally did note that. She still had to do the dishes on alternating nights with her brother and vacuum and keep her room clean as well as a few other various and sundry chores.

“Cost of living increase?” Ally tried.

“Cost of living? Did we raise her rent, Amy?” Ally’s dad asked her mom.

“I don’t think so,” Ally’s mom said. Then she looked at Ally to try again. She and Sheldon had already discussed a up to four dollar a week raise in her allowance, but they wanted to make her justify it.

“I’m older now. I have more responsibilities in general and I need more money for stuff like nicer clothes.”

“Nicer clothes?” Ally’s dad asked.

“Yeah, but I also have to do stuff like watch Lee. Just last week I bought him a snack on our way home from school with my own money.”

“That sounds like we need to give your brother more money so he can buy his own snacks,” Ally’s mom tried.

“If you give him more money, he’ll just spend it all right away. I am careful with the money you give me.” Ally then grabbed her phone and showed her parents breakdown of her expenses with the app she used to track them. They were both pleasantly surprised to see that she had over $300 in savings.

“Okay. How about a dollar more a week?” Ally’s dad offered.

“Two?” Ally tried.

“I suppose that’s acceptable,” Ally’s mom said as she wrote it down.

The trio went over the rest of the agreement and found common ground on all of it. Ally went another year without having to do any chores that involved cooking because she hated it more than just about anything. Her parents had another year that Ally couldn’t pretend that she didn’t know what she was supposed to do. It may not have been what any of them really wanted to do on one of the last Sundays of summer vacation, but it was important.

“She’s growing up to be an exceptional young woman,” Sheldon said after Ally ran off to go hang out with her friends and tell them about her increased allowance and later curfew.

“She is. They’re both good kids,” Amy agreed. “I know I hated the idea of making our kids sign contracts with us, but it’s a good idea.”

“All of my ideas are good,” Sheldon reminded her. Amy couldn’t tell if he was joking or not.

“I’m serious. I like that we give them that opportunity to feel heard. I was talking to another mom at the park the other day, and she almost had a thrill at how little say her son has in his own life. It seems like the parents that make their kids sign a contract would be the controlling ones, but I think we’re actually pretty good at this parenting thing.”

“We’re great at it,” Sheldon told her.

#NFG fan fiction

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chiefdefendofcherryblossom · 3 years

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NABC Writer’s Challenge

Good evening my fellow writers! I’m sorry I wasn’t able to post earlier, it’s been stressful and hectic. How’d your 1000 word ramble go? Here’s mine:

My demon probably wasn’t going to agree.

“I’m going, Barney.”

The spirit hovering by me glowered. “Don’t call me that! How many times do I have to tell you, it’s Barnabus! And I will not let you!”

“Barnabus,” I grumbled under my breath as I shoved things into my suitcase. “A lovely name for a lovely young demon.”

Barnabus’s aura didn’t darken like it did when he was really ticked at me. Instead, he sighed. “I’m your guardian angel, Dern. No demon.”

“Really? Well, you might want to take a refresher course in angelic qualities. You don’t even remotely bring angel to mind, let alone angelic guardian.”

I probably shouldn’t taunt the powerful being like I did. But he was being annoying, so I was going to be annoying back.

“This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. Think about it! I can test the first real-life time machine. The pay will set us up for years. And I already bought the ticket.”

I glanced around. I’d packed everything, hadn’t I?

“You want to know why they pay so well? To attract idiots like you to be lost forever in time! How’d you like to live out your life stuck in the 1100s? And think about me, Dern! This really makes it very hard to keep you safe. It’s better to not go.” he nodded, as if he’d settled the matter.

I grabbed my suitcase and walked to the door, putting on my coat. I ran through my mental list. Keys, ticket, wallet, check.

“Well, Barney, you can stay if it makes you all that happy.” I opened the door and let myself out, smiling tauntingly.

Grumbling, he floated to my side. “I knew you’d change your mind,” I said, locking the door to my one-bedroom apartment shut. “Boy, am I glad to leave this place.”

“And you expect certain death to be better?” Barnabus demanded.

I grinned. “There’s no death in the contract, let alone certain. And even that’s got to be better than what we’ve got. If life were food,” I explained nonchalantly as we walked to the car, “Mine would be that bland, awful oatmeal mush that Dad used to make, and yours something that’s making the fridge smell like mold. Compared to that, even McDonalds would be good.”

I slid into the driver’s seat of my blue truck. “Which means that death, even if it isn’t certain, is an upgrade! If we don’t die, it’s still a win-win.”

Barnabus rolled his eyes. His spheres of angelic sight must be loose, they’d fall out of his head soon. Maybe then he wouldn’t be so cranky - he wouldn’t be able to jump at shadows at every corner. Or maybe, he’d be even worse, because with no sight, all you’d see was shadows, right? So maybe I didn’t want to go there after all. “Need me to fix that?” I said.

Barnabus frowned. “What?”

“Looks like a few of your screws are loose,” I told him, spinning the wheel for a right turn. “Wouldn’t want those eyes to fall out and make you even more cynical.”

Barnabus’ only response was, “I can’t believe I still like you, Dern.”

I laughed. “Yeah, I’m a charmer, huh? A bad influence, too. Double points for me.”

I adjusted my rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of my reflection.

Tall, lanky boy with thick, unruly blond hair, smirking at the empty space where Barnabus’ reflection should be.

“What makes me so special that I get my own demon?” I asked. “Or does everyone get a demon and nobody knows? That doesn’t seem like it’d work so well.”

Barnabus paused.

“Well, when your mother died…”

I swallowed. “Yeah?”

“She, well, wanted me to look after you.”

“Why didn’t she come do that herself?” My tone had more bite than I meant it to.

“That’s not how it works, Dern. She...she’s busy.”

“Busy? She’s dead. She should have plenty of time for me now.” I scoffed. “Even dead, I’m second priority.”

I readjusted my mirror, so I couldn’t see Barnabus’s expression and flustered hand movements. Why did it irritate me so much?

“Anyways...most people don’t have one specific guardian assigned to them. You’re a special case, Dern.”

“Yeah,” I grumbled, turning left. “So I’ve always been told.”

It’s not bad, Dern. You’re just...special.

Us? We’re the disabled kids. Otherwise known as ‘special.’

Would you cut it out, Dern? You always act as though you’re so special!

I’m here to help your...special case.

When will you start acting like a normal child?!

“So special.” I murmured, flicking off my blinker.

Barnabus sighed. “I’m sorry, Dern.”

I stared at the picture that I’d taped next to my speedometer. Clara had her dark red hair tied in a messy bun, tongue wagging, left arm draped over my shoulders. I was laughing. Everything’s easier if you laugh, she’d told me.

I chuckled. “Don’t worry about it. Few people can be like I can.”

Reporting to the lab was exciting. Even Barnabus didn’t complain, taking in the movie-like surroundings. Pristine office, official workers buzzing around. I walked up to the counter and flashed my ticket. “Dern Reddcunt. I’m here to test the time machine?”

The short lady at the desk looked me over disapprovingly. “Uh-huh...one moment.” She clicked away on her computer for a few minutes, long enough for me to get bored, which, granted, wasn’t very long. I blew into Barnabus’s face, and he crackled lightning into mine.

I looked up as a little kid pushed through the doorway and looked over the lady’s shoulder.

“A kid?” Barnabus whispered. He was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt with Metallica on it. His black hair looked like it hadn’t been washed in a month, there were dark circles under his green eyes, and he held a huge cup of what I assumed was coffee. Despite all this, there was that wiry grin that most tweenagers have, and he seemed rather energetic.

“So this is my guy, huh, Ariel?”

The lady nodded. “Dern Reddcunt.”

I frowned. “Your guy? But you’re -”

The boy grinned, raising his mug. “A dweeby kid?”

I nodded. “Exactly. And you don’t look like you belong...here.” I glanced over my surroundings of white lights, whiter walls, crisp business suits - and back at him. Nope, he definitely didn’t match.

His eyes looked like static electricity trapped in a bottle. He smirked. “I’m Alistair Sheldon, and I invented the time machine. And I’ve just employed you to test it.”

He glanced back at the desk lady. “See ya, Ariel.” he winked at her, and she rolled her eyes, smiling.

“Come on, kid.” he pulled open the door to what looked like a broom closet.

“Kid?” I grinned at his snark, jumping after him.

He shrugged. “People always called me that. Now I can do it to you.”

“And is this your...cleaning closet?”

Alistair laughed. “It used to be! Now it’s updated and renovated and made holy,”

I raised an eyebrow. “By what?”

His grin was so cocky. Oh, this kid was begging to be taken down a notch. “By my presence,” he said simply, and marched into the room.

I walked after him. Barnabus huffed. “Rude child.” he floated down the stairs.

“Whoa,” I breathed. “Some broom closet.”

It had been taken down into the whole basement level. Inset lights made up nearly the whole ceiling, and the place was divided into what looked like at least 50 different cubbyholes, a large room in the center. Heavy rock and deep classical blared at each other, fighting for eardrum breaking dominance. The walls had family pictures taped to them, and random colorful stains. Tools, trash, paper, oil, and various things lay strewn all over the place. Alistair smiled genuinely. “My favorite place in the world,” he spread his arm, indicating the whole place. “My lab.”

I nodded. “Not bad for a twelve year old.”

Alistair raised a finger. “Uh, I’ll have you know that I’m fourteen.”

“Sure.”

“Now if you’ll excuse me while I get your paperwork. In case you die or something. For legal status.” He turned away from me. “DAD! THE GUY IS HERE!”

I thought it was funny, if nothing else. Send me yours, I’d love to read them!

There are several key components in writing that I have found. Prose/narrative, dialogue, description/setting, and characters, which is a HUUUGE element. Anyway, today I want you to write three paragraphs - a minimum of 10 sentences, in deeply descriptive writing. Make me be able to feel, smell, see, touch, and hear everything. Let me know what characters look like and what vibe they’re putting off. Just make sure that as you write it, you get completely submerged into your setting, so the same thing can happen for your reader.

Here’s mine. I tried two different examples. The first is with my character Vienna, the second with my friend Kasv.

"Please...don't."

The tears roll down my face like wet beads, even as I try to suppress them. I rub at them with my sleeve, but the cloth is rough, and it irritates my raw skin.

"Get over it, you do this every day," I hiss to myself, scratching the scabs on my eyelids.

I curl in tighter to myself, huddling against my own body. "But it doesn't usually hurt like this, it doesn't!"

I feel a twinge of empathy for myself. "I know, I know. But you don't want to die, do you?"

My eyes are shut so tight that they start to hurt, bright spots flashing in odd ways. "No," I admit in a whimper. "But I - I - " I choke on my tears and convulse softly, the fear physically seeming to squeeze my lungs. "I don't want to."

I rub my shoulder. "I know, honey. I know. Let's do it quickly, alright?"

"I - " a hiccup stops my voice, and a large tear drips off my nose. "I don't want to!"

"Enough," I tell myself authoritatively. "You're going to live, I won't let you die. It'll only hurt for a few minutes."

Even as I sob and slide away, pushing against the hard wall, suddenly feeling my bruised tailbone, I nod. I don't want to die, not yet.

I stared at the figure retreating.

A feeling of blankness. Things this dramatic, they don't happen in real life. They are for stories. For heroes.

But it has just happened. To me. I am no hero. I am a wretch of a human that has lost the best thing to ever happen to them.

My eyes burn. I know I shouldn’t cry; boys don't cry.

I cry.

The tears hurt, each one feeling like a new weight that I’ve procured for myself.

Hate. Hate hate hate.

A part of me wishes to cry out in anger, hurt, and confusion. It comes out in a sad warble.

My soul is splitting inside me. It hurts. Living hurts. I hurt. I am hurt and I hurt others. I hurt.

Again, the wretched warble tries to push its way through my lips.

A shoulder shoves past, knocking into me.

Reality comes flooding back. I am in the train station. I need to do something. I cannot stay here and become a spectacle.

A heavy breath. I want to go after them.

No. I am not that weak.

...but I am.

I push through the others in the station, forcing my muscles, suddenly weak, to assist me.

The fluorescent lights are both harsh and not bright enough. I can’t tell where they have gone.

No! I can’t lose them!

Good luck, work hard, and have fun!

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lemonz-and-limez · 5 years

Text

Grief

NOTE: This is sad, dealing with topics such as death and grief. See me down below for a longer than usual Author’s Note

Sheldon ran his hands across his face as if trying to wipe the exhaustion away. He’d stopped crying ten minutes ago; however, now all he could feel was nothing. It felt like a bottomless dark pit in which he was alone. Where his voice echoed off of the obscurity and right back into his face. Where the all-consuming darkness was really the magnitude of the situation weighing down so heavily on his mind that he just decided to stop feeling.

He’d been there for his mother. He hugged her, cried with her. Grieved with her. He’d done the same with his sister. And his brother, and his aunts and his uncles. He drained his emotions in their grief. He allowed himself that. But in the end, there was nothing left for him.

No hugs.

No shared tears.

No mutual grief.

He was left to his own devices, and his own deep, dark, humiliatingly depressing grief.

No one batted an eye when he quietly left the room to escape to the hospital garden. He’d cried for almost an hour, and no one came looking for him. He’d found his solitude amongst flora and fauna of the small Medford medical center.

Normally, Sheldon would relish in his isolation. But MeeMaw was dead, and he was alone.

Alone with seemingly no one to turn to for comfort.

Tears came rushing back to his eyes in a torrent. He hated this. Losing his dad felt similar, but at fourteen, Sheldon could look to his mother for support. She was there every step of the way to guide him through his heartache.

But this was MeeMaw, she was different. Her love was overwhelming; not just for Sheldon, but for his mother alike. This death felt like physical pain, he couldn’t imagine what it was doing to his mother.

When Sheldon held his mother right outside of his grandmother’s hospital room, it was almost as if he could feel her coming apart in his hands. He told her the news that MeeMaw had passed and Mary had nearly collapsed as if her legs had become putty. She let out a wail so loud it almost sounded inhumane. Her hand gripped the chain of her cross necklace so hard that it snapped in two. And through it all, Sheldon held his mother; letting her transfer her grief to him.

Mary had let her grief manifest because that was all she could do. Thankfully she had someone right there with her to guide her through it. Yet, Sheldon let his rip him up inside. Every tear he shared with his family was a crack in the dam he had built up in the week MeeMaw was in the hospital. Every hug felt like little pickaxes tearing away at its walls.

And yet, through it all, Sheldon felt like he couldn’t unleash his misery on anyone as he had let everyone else. He’d had family when his dad died, but his current family was all the way in California. Sleeping, utterly unaware of what was happening. And his wife, bone of his bone, flesh of his flesh, was less than a mile away in a hotel room. Right where he left her when he got the call at 1:30 in the morning.

Yes, he was alone, but in most ways, he brought it upon himself. And those tears that had resurfaced just moments earlier spilled over his cheeks. Sucking what little moisture Sheldon had left in his body, out.

He rested his elbows on his knees and buried his head in his hands. Once again letting the black abyss consume him once more.

Suddenly, through the darkness, a light shimmered in the dark. The illumination nearly blinded his pain, and he felt a momentary calm come over him. Snapping his head up, he came face to face with his Amy. The one constant he could count on.

Her eyes, like so many of his family, were glossed over with pain. But this pain was clearly meant for him. He was hurting, she was his wife, in turn, she too was feeling pain. For him.

She had placed a hand gently on his shoulder. It was the lightest of touches, but it snapped whatever resolve he hand left in him. He buried his face in her midsection and held on tightly to her waist.

And just like that, he allowed himself the right to grieve. Melting in Amy’s arms and she reached down and pulled him up into a hug. He let his chin come to rest on her shoulder, and his tears slid down onto the soft cotton of her shirt. His hands stayed stationary on her waist, holding her a little too tight. His body shook as he let the death of his dearly departed grandmother wash over him.

His lips quivered with every exhale and every time, Amy’s grip on him tightened. “Shhh, it’s ok, sweetheart,” she whispered in his ear as she rocked him back and forth. Just like his mama had when daddy died.

Eventually, he sobs dwindled into nothingness, and all that was left was the vibration of his body as shivers coursed through him. Amy ran her hands gently down his neck and pulled him back. She wiped away two tears that had stuck to his face with her thumbs.

“I’m sorry,” she consoled, continuing to stroke his jawbone with her fingers. Yet, with no energy left in him to cry, all he could do was nod. “Your mother called me,” Amy announced after a brief moment of silence. “Told me what happened and that she hadn’t seen you in a while.”

“Yeah,” Sheldon mumbled in reply, wincing slightly at how hoarse his voice was.

“She also said that you weren’t allowing yourself to grieve.”

Sheldon’s head sunk. Even though he wasn’t intentionally trying to, he caused his mother even more distress. He thought that because he wept with those wept that he’d done his part. Even though he had two Ph.Ds. and a Nobel he still failed at social cues and responses. In his head, he’d done everything right, but all he wanted was for it to be his turn.

Amy continued. “She told me that your aunts and uncles tried to comfort you, but you would just cry silently as they held you.”

That glint of deep concern returned to Amy’s face. “Why aren’t you letting them help you?” She asked, running her hands up and down his arms in question.

Sheldon sunk back against the bench behind him, exhausted. Honestly, now that he was being questioned about it, he didn’t know. Everyone in the family knew of Sheldon and Constance’s bond, so, why would Sheldon think they expected something from him first. If there was something his mother’s side was not, it was selfish. It was insulting to them for him to think that they expected something from him first.

“I talked to them before I came down here, they want to help you, Sheldon,” Amy said, sitting next to him on the bench and wrapping an arm around him. “Let them help you because the next few months are going to hurt like hell.”

“It already hurts like hell,” he mumbled.

Amy squeezed him tighter. “I know it does, so, let your family help because they’re the only people that are feeling this just the same as you are.”

Sheldon lifted his head to look at her, his eyes starting to feel the weight of exhaustion. “Will you help me?”

“You don’t even have to ask that, because you know I will!” Amy choked out, leaning over to kiss him on his tear-stained cheek. As soon as her lips left his skin, she immediately wiped any residue away with her knuckles.

She stood up before him and extended her hand. “Come on,” she beckoned. “Your mother is worried.”

Sheldon let his wife guide him through the corridors and hallways of the hospital to the waiting room where his family was congregated. His mother was the first to jump up, and even as she enveloped him in a hug, Sheldon refused to let go of Amy’s hand. He needed her to anchor him, to not allow him to collapse under the chaos.

Grief was messy and complicated, but Amy had helped him get over his fear of things that were messy and complicated. With her at his side, he knew he could get to the other side of this long dark tunnel. He wouldn’t exit the same man as he had entered, but rather a stronger one. But he needed his mother, sister, brother, friends, and family.

But he needed what outshined all of them. He needed his constant.

He needed Amy.

A/N: I feel like I own an explanation. This last month has been absolutely insane for me. both physically and emotionally. This Wednesday will mark the one year anniversary of a death in my family and that’s what I am going to blame for this messy one-shot.

I have been keeping up with all the amazing work you guys have been doing. Those of you who have stuck with this fandom and put out some amazing content, I truly do appreciate it, and will be trying harder to show it.

Now that I am starting to find equilibrium again, I am truly happy to be back. Thank you for reading this ridiculously long (and most likely annoying) authors note.

#shamy #shamy fanfic

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