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sisterspooky1013 · 3 years

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Only One Choice, Part 2, Chapter 24

Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

June 1999

The air smells wet and woody, birdsongs trilling in the early morning sun that trickles through a sky light. She stretches, then disentangles her legs from the sheets and stands, walking to the window.

There is a giant soaking tub in the corner of the room, flanked by two windowed walls that afford a sweeping view of the Cascade mountains, green carpeted hillsides meeting with a baby-blue sky.

She can still recall her mother’s face when they told her the wedding would be in Washington State. “But...we don’t even know anyone in Washington, Dana,” she’d said with a bemused expression, lamenting the length of their flights with a nine-month-old in tow.

Her mother’s reaction paled in comparison to Mulder’s excitement when she’d suggested the idea; she would spend their honeymoon relaxing with a book in the tub, and he could spend it traipsing through the woods looking for Sasquatch, or ‘squatchin’ as he called it. They would reunite in the afternoon, hiking, making love, catching up on all the conversations they’d missed while in the trenches of parenting a new baby. Mom would stay at the same resort with Molly so they could see her every day, while having precious nights to themselves; something they haven’t done since she was born.

She turns the tap on the bath, a blast of water thundering into the empty basin. When it’s full nearly to the brim, she disrobes and eases in, breathing deeply to inhale the juniper-scented steam, courtesy of the resort-provided bath salts. Closing her eyes, she thinks back over it all; their chance meeting, how she was drawn to him by a force that seemed to be bigger than them both, the anguish of wanting him but feeling like she owed it to Ethan to stay together. Her eyes snap open, a memory long-buried in the recesses of her mind springing forth like a trebuchet.

The day she met Mulder, she’d been planning to take the day off to go to a book signing for an author she admires. The signing was cancelled due to a scheduling conflict and she almost took the day off anyway, but had a last minute pang of guilt knowing that the workload that week was already heavy and Trudy would struggle to manage it all on her own. So she’d gone in, she’d performed that autopsy that should have been on Trudy’s docket, and she’d filled out the paperwork, and she’d met Mulder. How delicate the balance of the universe that such an insignificant choice completely changed the course of her life.

She suddenly misses him acutely, and a bundle of nerves and excitement flutters in her belly thinking about when she’ll see him next. She’d scoffed at the idea of them spending last night apart; they live together and have a child so the performative chastity seemed to be a bit much. He said it was like a fast, that a little time apart would make it even more special when they saw each other at the ceremony, and she ultimately acquiesced.

“Meet me on a mountain top at 4 o’clock tomorrow?” he’d asked as he backed out of her room, pulling away from the desperate kisses she was planting all over his face.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” she replied with a smile, and they said goodnight.

She smiles again, sinking down until the water slips into her ears. She can’t wait to marry him.

———

He sits up and arches his back, his spine protesting the cramped accommodations. Looking over at Byers and Missy curled up in the king size bed, he regrets his decision to crash on the couch here instead of staying with Scully in their room. Not only because he slept like shit with his legs hanging over the end, but also because work takes him away from his girls so often, he’s an idiot to add another day to it if he doesn’t have to.

He stands, hands on his hips as he twists to stretch his angry muscles, and walks to the window, taking in the dense green hills and valleys that surround them. He smiles, because she could have asked to go to Mexico, or France, or anywhere on the entire Earth and he would have given her what she wanted, but she chose the place she knew he wanted to go. Selfless and giving to a fault, his Scully. Soon to be his wife.

He quietly slips on his running shoes and sneaks out of the room, hitting the hard-packed dirt trail the concierge had told him about. The quiet forest is the perfect place to be alone with his thoughts, nothing but the thud of his feet striking the ground and the twitter of waking birds to distract him. He thinks about his life, about being a child who was lonely and alone, with parents who provided food and shelter but not much more. He thinks about Molly, and how she will never know that kind of pain, that there will never be a day of her life that she is not told how much she is loved. He wonders if his dad ever felt about his mom the way he feels about Scully, and he knows it’s not possible that he did, because if so they would still be together.

He comes to a break in the trees and pauses, breath heaving and lungs burning as he watches a hawk gliding through the valley below, hunting for breakfast. How easily he could have missed this moment, he thinks. Even one small change to the trajectory of his life, and he never would have walked into the autopsy bay that day. If the courier hadn’t been sick, if he hadn’t stopped by Kirkbride’s office when he did. Even further back, if he hadn’t stayed with the bureau with the X files were closed, if Valerie hadn’t been there to encourage him, or if he hadn’t met Valerie one random Tuesday at a record store. The path was long and winding, and it led to her. It led to him on this mountaintop in a sweat-soaked T-shirt, smiling at the thought of his baby daughter, his almost-wife.

He picks up running again, the smile staying on his lips. He’s always felt like he was running away; from his painful past, his regrets, his bad decisions. Now he realizes he’s running towards; his future, a thousand opportunities yet unseen, a kind of happiness he never thought he’d know. He can’t wait for the rest of his life to start.

———

He stands in a clearing near the edge of a cliff, the lush green landscape toeing up against the horizon looking like crooked teeth. Frohike stands beside him in khaki pants and a white linen shirt, a leather folio clasped in his hands. Mulder is also dressed fairly casually, in slacks and a blue Oxford shirt, the sleeves cuffed and the top button undone.

Scully wanted this to be as non-traditional as possible, to make it their own. There is no wedding party, no tuxedo, no flower girl or garter toss. No one will walk her down the aisle, as no one but herself has the ownership to give her away. The guests are small in number; immediate family only, plus the gunmen. Monica and Dahlia are house-sitting back in DC, minding Priscilla as well as the dog, King, that joined the family after the purchase of their house in March. Bucking the idea of arranging guests by whose “side” they are on, they all sit in a small cluster, and Scully will enter from the side.

He looks out and waves at Molly, who is standing on Missy’s lap, holding her hands and bouncing up and down forcefully. She squeals and shouts “dah, dah, dah!” which he chooses to interpret as “Daddy” even though Scully told him it’s just a nonsense syllable and doesn’t mean anything.

Langly gets the signal from Frohike and hits play on a small boom box, piping an instrumental version of “Can’t Help Falling in Love” up into the branches of the towering evergreen trees. He expected to feel nervous at this moment, but all he feels is excitement as Maggie scurries out from behind a line of trees and takes her place beside Bill, giving him a smile and a wink.

Scully appears from around the same group of trees and he grins broadly. He’s seen the dress, they picked it out together, but the full effect is stunning. Her hair, now grown well past her shoulder blades, is curled softly and pinned half up, brilliant red tendrils shimmering in the midday sun against her porcelain shoulders. Her dress is full length pearl satin, a slim sheath cut with off the shoulder straps. She is holding a small bouquet of pink peonies in her hands, and holding his eye with a playful smirk.

She arrives beside him and before the music stops, before Frohike has a chance to begin, he steps forward and takes her by the waist, kissing her fully. The guests laugh and he pulls away to see a confused smile on her face.

“I couldn’t wait,” he says simply.

They move through the ceremony, exchanging rings and vowing to love each other forever; promises they’ve already made to each other a hundred times. As they near the part that Scully understands to be the end, Frohike goes off script.

“Mulder has prepared some words of his own, he’ll read them now,” he says, nodding toward his friend.

Scully’s eyebrows lift in a surprised and confused expression.

“Mulder, we didn’t talk about writing our own vows,” she whispers, afraid she’s failed to complete the assignment.

“It’s okay, these are for both of us,” he whispers, and then, taking her hands in his, he reads a passage from her favorite book from memory.

“I have for the first time found what I can truly love; I have found you. You are my sympathy, my better self, my good angel; I am bound to you with a strong attachment. I think you good, gifted, lovely. A fervent, a solemn passion is conceived in my heart; it leans to you, draws you to my center and spring of life, wraps my existence about you, and kindling in pure, powerful flame, fuses you and me in one.”

The tear that slips down her cheek is borne only of happiness. She looks into his green eyes and sees contentment and love, and desire. It’s not a spark, what they have, nor an ember. It’s a wildfire, a white-hot torch, an eternal flame that binds them together inseparably. They were forged in fire the moment he laid eyes on her in that autopsy bay, maybe even before.

Frohike concludes, “by the power invested in me by the State of Washington, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride…again.”

He wraps his arms around her waist, lifting her up as he kisses her deeply, a gust of warm summer wind picking up pine needles and tossing them in a mini-tornado that surrounds them both. Molly squeals “dah dah dah!” and claps for her parents.

———

She stands at the mirror, brushing her teeth. Her hair is combed out, her makeup removed, the white dress hanging in the corner of the room with the hem now tinged brown from the dirt that served as their dance floor.

Mulder appears behind her, an arm snaking around the waist of her satin nightgown. She smiles at the sight of his newly ring-adorned hand pressed flat against her belly, then leans forward to rinse.

“Ready for bed?” he asks softly, and she nods.

They slip beneath the cool sheets, curling around one another face-to-face; her leg threaded between his, his arms around her back, foreheads touching. She draws in a big breath and lets it out slowly, contentment settling deep in her bones.

“Do you ever think about all the things that had to happen in exactly the way they did to lead us here?” he asks, and she pulls back a little to look at his face.

“Yes, I was actually just thinking about that earlier,” she says with a curious lilt.

“Makes you wonder, huh, what lives we’d be leading if even just one detail were changed,” he says, tracing his finger along her shoulder blade.

“I don’t think it would have mattered, actually,” she says, and he gives her a quizzical look, silently asking her to elaborate. “I know this will sound a little far-fetched coming from me,” she begins with a self-conscious smile, “but I think it was always going to end up this way. Even if we hadn’t met when we did, we would have crossed paths some other way. Looking back over everything, it just seems like this was meant to be the outcome, even if the path to get here could have gone in a lot of different directions.”

He ponders this, remembering a conversation they had over coffee when, against all odds, she reappeared in his life.

“Like there was only one choice, and signs along the way to pay attention to,” he says contemplatively, lifting his hand to brush a lock of hair behind her ear.

“Exactly,” she replies, pressing her lips to his briefly, “it was always going to be you.”

END

#the x files #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #gillovny #msr #sculder #x files fanfic #alternate universe

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livia-dovehallow · 4 years

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home - Gabrily

i wrote this a while ago when my grandpa passed away and hesitated to post it because it was personal. then when i was finally ready the whole tsc fandom blew up. but now i’m going through a lot of things and i think sharing my writing is cathartic so here we go! || @tsccreatorsnet

tw: death, depression, grief

The soft, damp grass tickled the bottom of the young girl’s little feet as she darted across the hill. Her laughter chimed in the wind, drowning out the sound of her brother’s concerned shouts. The sun shined brightly upon the hill, illuminating the Welsh countryside for miles.

“Be careful, cariad!” the boy said breathlessly, catching the little girl’s hand before she tumbled down. “It is a long ways down.”

“Oh, let her explore!” said an older girl, approaching calmly behind the boy. “She is curious.”

The young girl giggled and hugged her brother’s arm. “Run with me!”

The other girl joined, walking backward down the hill. “Yes, run with us!”

“You children be careful up there!” shouted a stern voice from the bottom of the valley. “Your mother will not be happy if you return with another broken bone!”

“She mustn’t know, papa!” the older girl teased. “We are only having a bit of fun!”

A figure approached behind the man, her skirts swirling in the breeze. Her smile was bright. “You know,” she called, “you are enjoying it all wrong! Rolling down the hill is much more fun.” She climbed the hill toward the children, who waited in great anticipation. “You do it like this,” the woman said, gathering her skirts and laying on the grass. She winked at the children, then rolled down the hill with great laughter.

Her hair fell from its pins, revealing the ink black color in a waterfall identical to the color of the hair of the giggling children atop the hill. The youngest of the bunch, her blue eyes wide and bright, immediately dropped to the floor and rolled down the hill. The other girl followed suit.

The boy grinned, devilishly, and followed the girls down the hill in a great burst of energy. He arrived in a heap of dark hair and laughter. The man stood above the four rollers, an amused grin on his face. His blond hair stood out among them. “You lot are much too extravagant today. Whatever will I do with you?”

The youngest of them rolled over to him and threw her arms around his leg. She smiled brightly. “Papa!”

The man kneeled down and swooped the little girl into his arms, tickling her until she was breathless from her giggles. ”Especially you, my little Cecily,” he said with love. “You are quite the fearless troublemaker.”

“She gets it from you,” the woman said, unmoving from her position laying on the grass. “I hardly think their sense of adventure is all my doing, Edmund.”

“I tried to stop her!” the boy cried indignantly. “I told her to be careful.”

“Will is too worried,” the older girl laughed. “I think he believes Cecy to be a porcelain doll.”

“I do not!” Will demanded. “But she is little! Mam, tell Ella to stop making fun of me.”

“You are all dolls,” Edmund said with a smile. “Just like your mother.”

“Oh, hush,” the woman said, though she did not sound angry. She sat up and gathered the other two children into her arms. “Our greatest creations,” she said and squeezed them. “You are all my greatest loves.”

Edmund smiled and sat beside his wife, a young Cecily still giggling in his arms. “The story of Edmund and Linette Herondale and their band of mischievous children.”

...

She stumbled in disbelief. The pain in Cecily’s knees was no match for the pain her heart as she fell to the floor in grief. She ought to have also felt the pain in her throat as a tortured scream ripped from her body, but still, it was no match.

Only the warmth of two strong arms around her kept her aware of her physical presence. She gripped Gabriel’s shirt in her fists as she turned and buried her face into his shoulder, immediately dampening it with her tears. “No!” she cried repeatedly. “No, no, no!”

Gabriel said nothing, but he held her close to him, running his fingers through her hair. He knew better than most what she felt in that moment, and Cecily could not imagine learning such devastating information without him by her side.

Cecily knew that one day she’d have to face the inevitability of her parents’ deaths, but she was certain she still had time. She was certain they were far too young for her to have needed to worry about such a thing. And she certainly had not considered that it would be influenza that would take them from her, both of them, at the same time.

The sobs wracked her body in painful jerks. She recalled the last time she had the chance to see them. Cecily engraved the image into her mind, of her mother laughing with Cecily’s son in her arms, and of her father tickling Will’s daughter in his. If only she had known, then, that it would be the last time.

Additional arms wrapped around Cecily. She did not have to look to know who they belonged to. Christopher’s curls tickled her cheek and Anna’s eyelashes brushed along her arm. She sat there, on the hard ground, surrounded in the embrace of her husband and children.

...

Some time passed before Cecily could gather enough energy to stand from the ground. Her children had long since gone to bed at Gabriel’s request, though they left with great hesitation. Their arms lingered before releasing.

“Cecy,” Gabriel whispered, holding her still, even as they stood. She looked up at him, into his eyes, and felt a fresh wave of warm tears flow down her cheeks.

“I did not get to say goodbye,” she said, her voice hoarse.

His calloused fingers lifted to wipe her tears from her face, though they were quickly replaced. “I know,” he said gently. She could see understanding in his face as he looked at her. He said nothing else; only pulled her closer to him and cradled her head against his chest, the sound of his heart beating against her ear.

...

Cecily sat along the edge of her unmade bed, staring blankly into the bedroom she shared with Gabriel. A red mourning rune stood out against the pale skin of her throat, just over her collarbone. She was dressed in white, the color of Shadowhunter mourning, but she felt guilty bearing the colors of the Shadow World at the funeral of her parents, who had left the Shadow World behind.

Waves of memory crashed over her; of seeing Will arrive through the Portal atop of the hill beside the cemetery where their parents were to be buried that day, back at home in Wales, and running into his arms. Though Gabriel had understood her pain, it was Will, and Will alone, who could feel the pain of her loss just as intricately as she had. They had stood in silence, hands clasped together, as they said their final goodbyes to their beloved parents. Cecily only distantly recalled Gabriel explaining to the other attendants the role of the color white in their “religion” as the color of mourning rather than black. It made no difference to Cecily. She did not care what these people, whom she’d never met, thought about her attire.

“Cecily,” Gabriel said, sitting beside her. “Sit with me a while, will you?”

She nodded and swiftly nestled herself into his side as they laid back against the soft pillows. He was warm, unlike the air had been in Wales earlier that day. “When does it cease hurting so much?” she asked quietly.

Gabriel sighed. Cecily ran her fingers across his arm, where he had rolled up his sleeve to reveal his own mourning rune. “I wish I could tell you that it will go away,” he answered. “But it will not. You will carry it, and it will get lighter, but a bit of it will always be with you.” He pressed a kiss to her head. “You will not have to carry it alone, my love.”

Cecily looked up into his eyes. They were a green she’d always associated with the rolling hills of Wales; bright and welcoming against a bright blue sky. A color that meant home. “I do not know how to bear it.”

“You will bear it just as we bear everything,” he said with the softness and affection he reserved only for her, and their children. “Together, as husband and wife should.”

A soft knock sounded from the door, followed by Anna’s head peaking in through the crack. A red mourning rune stood against Anna’s skin, too. She was dressed in white but had remained in the Institute while Cecily and Gabriel left for Wales. Charlotte could only explain so much absence to the Clave. “Mam, may we sit with you?”

Cecily’s heart squeezed, but she nodded and gestured for Anna to come in. She did, with Christopher trailing closely behind her, dressed in dirtied white. They hurried to the bed and laid beside Cecily and Gabriel, curling into the empty spaces where their bodies could fit. Gabriel reached down and ruffled Christopher’s hair affectionately. “As family should,” Gabriel added quietly, looking back into Cecily’s eyes. There they were again: the eyes the color of home.

“I love you,” Cecily whispered to him. He smiled ever so affectionately.

“Rwy'n dy garu di.” His pronunciation had always been a work in progress, but Cecily felt the pure expression of adoration behind Gabriel’s Welsh anyway. Anna and Kit giggled quietly.

Against all the pain in her heart, Cecily smiled. She was not okay, and she would not be for a long time, but as long as she still had Gabriel by her side, and her precious children, Cecily would always be home.

#gabrily #tw: death #tw: grief #cecily herondale #gabriel lightwood #anna lightwood #christopher lightwood #will herondale #tw: depression

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eamesandbellamyaremyheaven · 5 years

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Promise Me - Theon/Sansa One-Shot

Theon was giving his life for his home, for his family. He knew it and he had accepted it, as he laid on the cold ground, bleeding to death. He felt shivers ran through his body, although he wasn’t sure if it was the coldness of the snow against his still warm body, or his flesh trying to fight the inevitable. He knew that it was only a matter of time for him to give in to the numbness and close his eyes shut. Forever.

And Theon had accepted it. Because although he hadn’t grown old, married or fathered children, nor even become the King of the Iron Islands, as he once dare to take for granted, he knew he had died for a higher purpose.

He would die for his family, the Starks, and as he awaited Death, under the Weirwood, he waited with a smile upon his lips and the image of his Lady on his mind.

***

Theon felt a set of cold fingers entwining with his. He had never thought before of what to expect from the afterlife, but he doubted he was supposed to feel like he did.

Theon felt alive.

His upper body was sending him ripples of pain everywhere, reminding him of the exact spot of his flesh where the Night King’s spear had pierced through. The pain was starting to intensify, which probably meant he had been on the milk of the poppy and its action was seizing.

He could hear the crackling sounds of the wood burning in the fire place, and the distant voices of busy people roaming around the yard. He could feel the warmth the fire irradiated on his cheeks, and he comforting furs that shielded his naked torso from the cold air.

Theon stood quiet with his eyes closed, warming up the hand that had taken hold of his.

He was afraid of opening his eyes and it all be gone. Maybe it was all on his mind. Maybe he was still laying on snow in the Godswoods, or worse, maybe he was already rotting somewhere.

A sharp pain laced through his side, making his muscles jerk in response.

“Theon?”

Her voice called him, sweeter than any wine he had ever tasted, a lullaby to envy all gods.

He opened his eyes slowly, giving them time to adjust to the bright light coming from the window. His chest was rising and falling at an uncontrollable pace, as her figure was becoming clearer. The autumn auburn hair was tied in a loose braid, with a few strings of hair roaming freely. Her porcelain skin glowed at the morning light, and her blue eyes remind him of the deep sea, and he swore at that moment he could drown in them.

“My lady...” Theon said, as he tried to sit up, but Sansa sat the palm of her free hand openly on his chest, pushing him down.

“Save your strengths Theon, you need to lie still” she said with a smile, and as he did she sat back into her chair at his bedside “How are you feeling?”

“I’m alright” he simply replied, trying to advert his gaze from hers. She was still holding his hand.

“I’ll ask Maester Wolkan to give you something for the pain” she squeezed it gently “I just wanted to be here for when you wake up”

“Is Bran...?”

“Bran’s alright, and the Night King was defeated. Arya killed him.” she added, proudly “Thanks to you”

“I vowed to defend Winterfell and the Starks until my last day” his voice was low and raspy, uncertain “I would’ve given my life for you”

Sansa opened slightly her mouth, but said nothing. She pursed her lips and smiled lovingly, a sheepish smile that burned through her cheeks and reached her eyes

“I’m glad you didn’t”

Sansa needed to attend to her obligations, Theon noticed, and yet she hesitated before relenting the hold of his hand, and the second she did so he immediately realized how much he had coveted her touch. She walked towards the door, stopping at its entrance and glancing once more at him, sending him one last gracious smile before she headed out.

***

Theon walked slowly through the snow, leaning on the embellished cane Maester Wolkan had provided for him. Steady and slow steps, the man had said, you don’t want to open the wound again.

He entered the Godswood not looking to pray.

He rose his eyes towards the bright white sky, taking pleasure in the cold breeze that grazed his skin, and loosen his curls from his face.

The Weirwood tree stood exalted at the heart of the garden, its deep red foliage in contrast with the pure white snow, and leaning against its trunk stood Sansa, an envy to all the thrones in the Seven Kingdoms and beyond.

"What are you doing up, Theon?” Sansa questioned astonished, rushing to his side.

“Maester Wolkan said I could come to pray if I was careful” Theon replied, as they met halfway through.

Sansa wrapped up both her arms around his waist as he sat his free arm around her shoulders, leaning on her for support. Although he had taken his time with the walk, it still had taken its toll.

“You don’t pray” Sansa added as a matter of fact, smirking and staring into his eyes

“Maybe I should” he replied, looking deeply into hers “They seem to be wager on me lately”

Sansa smiled at his remark, and both stood still afterwards, simply exchanging smiles and stares. His heart throbbed on his chest, nearly bursting out through his ribcage. Theon wondered if Sansa could feel his heartbeat on the palm of her hand, or if she was oblivious to the meaning behind his shy smile and soft stare.

Sansa exhaled sharply, and Theon couldn’t help but to shift his focus to her lips. They looked plumped and flushed from the cold air, and he wanted nothing more in his life than to taste them.

Suddenly, Sansa rose her hand, cupping Theons back of his neck and pulling his face down to meet hers, as she closed her eyes and buried her lips on his. She tasted like sweet and honey and better than anything he had ever tasted before.

Theon closed his eyes and savored her lips, deepening the kiss. It was now fire and flames, as he lowered his hand from her shoulder to her back, pulling her close to him. Her hand was entangled in his curls and their chests were against each other, beating uncontrollably and uncoordinated, and both can barely breathe.

Sansa pulls back, bringing her hand away from his hair down to his chest, putting space between them.

“Promise me you’ll stay, Theon. I need you to promise me here, on this sacred ground, you’ll stay by my side not to fight or die for me, but to accept my heart, and give me yours in return” Sansa leaned her forehead against his and closed her eyes “I have never truly felt loved before, so I want you to promise you’ll stay and loved me until your last day, as will I to you”

Theon closed his eyes and smiled. Not even the gods themselves would dare to drive him away from her now “I promise”

A.N.- I gave them the happy ending they deserve. We’ll always have fanfiction. Also, first time writing Got, what do you think?

#sansa x theon #theonsa #theonsa fanfiction #theon greyjoy #sansa stark #got #got fanfiction #game of thrones #game of thrones fanfiction #theon greyjoy imagine #theon greyjoy fanfiction #sansa stark imagine #sansa stark fanfiction #eabamh masterlist

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rox-the-proxy · 5 years

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Of New Beginnings & Forgiving

Considering i love both Vanitas and anything Final Fantasy XV, @geek-kie drawing of Vanitas in a Kingsglaive uniform inspired me to type this small fic. please do enjoy!

When Vanitas woke up, he knew he had been moved and his physical wounds had been treated. If the white bandages that were littered across his body were anything to go by. When he woke up, he found himself feeling....empty, scarily empty, and weak, both physically, mentally and even dare he say emotionally as well. It was a off sensation for him to feel, considering what had happened to cause his injuries. As he was taking in his surroundings, he noticed he wasn't alone in the room, to his right sat a blonde haired woman, a book in her lap as she silently read, to his left stood a man by the window with dark black hair. Vanitas instantly could tell both of these people were not just normal people. Keyblade Masters even, though he didn't know who they were. Master- well, Xehanort never spoke of Keyblade Masters who looked like these two did.

"Oh, your awake." He startled slightly at the gentle voice from his right. He turned his head slowly and blinked at the woman who's eyes were a beautiful blue like he had never seen. Her smile was soft, warm, comforting. Her tone matched it, she gave off nothing malicious, just pure, honest warmth and kindness. This woman was a Princess of Heart, that much was obvious, but there was more to it then just that. "We were starting to become worried. How are you feeling?"

Vanitas, despite he overwhelming urge to respond to his question, found himself unable to. The woman seemed to notice this, so she merely gave him a sympathetic smile. "Your heart is very damaged, Noctis and I did what we could to repair it but the rest is up to you now. My name is Lunafreya, and that man off to your left is my husband, Noctis." Turning his head once again he now could see the man's face. Though he looked far from friendly thanks to the dark colored clothing, the small smile on his face gave away he was anything but. He gave off that same feeling of comfort and warmth as Lunafreya did, however it wasn't as intense. "I'm sure you've caught on by now, haven't you?"

Vanitas nodded, suddenly he felt....nervous. in the state he was currently in, there was no way he could defend himself should these Keyblade Masters decide to strike him down. But another part of him found itself arguing against his worry. Why would they strike him down, after having gone through the trouble of healing him best they could? It didn't make any sort of sense. Still, it didn't change the less then sense able fear he currently has of these two finishing the job of the Guardians of Light. "Yes," he found himself answering, though he winced at how horrible he sounded. He cleared his throat before finding himself being sat up slowly by the dark haired man. A cup of cold water was pressed into his hand gently, and guided to his lips as he took a few small sips. "You're both Keyblade Masters. But I've never heard of you, and you...your a Princess of Heart."

"Well, technically yes. But she's more of a Queen then a princess." Noctis said with a chuckle as he took a seat in the second vacant chair in the room. He cross one leg over the other as he kept his hands folded together over his knee. It almost felt like he was going to be scolded by a parent it teacher. "Vanitas, we know who you are and we know what happened. There isn't a need for you to feel like this is a trap or that we are going to hurt and or punish you for what happened."

At that, the raven haired male found himself feeling confused. How did they know who he was and what he did? They weren't involved in any of the events that took place. In fact, this world had been completely cut off and no entry was possible. Xehanort had tried, at that time, it didn't make sense as to how it was possible. But now, knowing that these two are Keyblade Masters, it made sense as to why entry to this world wasn't possible. They had locked it away, kept it cut off from any and all outside forces. That alone wasn't an easy thing to do, not for one Keyblade Master. Which is why he guessed it was doable by this world, they had two Masters here to complete the task. It was impressive, that Vanitas could admit and even openly.

"Then...why are you two helping me?" He found himself asking, looking between the two with slight suspicion. After all, if they knew, why would they help him? There was no reason to do so, he was sure not even the Guardians of Light would help him after everything he's done. But then again, people who fell into the light always seemed to be inclined to forgive as well as forget. It was almost foolish in his opinion as he wasn't entirely forgiving himself. He watched as the two looked at each other before looking back at him.

"Because, just like many others involved in that plan, you were merely being used. And even you, someone who is or was born of darkness has a heart of his own, and even the smallest amount of light in them. And you deserve a second chance. Just like anyone else." Noctis explained, as he uncrossed his leg and leaned forward. "No matter your actions, all can be forgiven. I know this better then anyone. My own father, the previous king had been betrayed, killed by those who swore to protect him. A small handful who survived, they knew they did wrong and showed they regretted their actions. I believe you do as well, don't you? Otherwise you would have tried to attack us by now."

Vanitas flinched at the accuracy of his words, but startled when Lunafreya placed a gentle hand over his own. He looked to her and was met with a gentle smile and eyes that held nothing but the feeling for forgiveness in them. They had nothing to forgive him for, after all, he didn't release unversed in their world, he hadn't attacked them. But it didn't seem to matter to him, his eyes stung and vision blurred, as he reached up with his other hand to touch his face. When he pulled his hand back he stared at his went finger tips. A soft laugh escaped the blonde haired woman when he looked at her in confusion. "I dont- what's-" even his voice sounded strained and odd to his ears. "What is- I don't understand."

"It may not be from us who you desire forgiveness from. But we forgive you, and you are more then welcome to stay here and start a new life. We would be more then happy to accept you here with open arms. It won't be easy, starting over and all of that. But we will help you." Luna stated, squeezing his hand.

Vanitas stared, the tears continuing to stream down his face. He looked between the two Keyblade Masters. Shocked by how calm and kind they were being to someone who was a total stranger to them and someone born from the very thing they were supposed to fight against. Not like the Guardians of Light were unkind, but they were more careful and less inclined to believe someone like himself could change or start over after what he's done. Hell, he didn't even believe it was possible. However, Lunafreya and Noctis seemed to truly have this faith in him that he could change that he deserved a second chance. And oddly enough, he found himself wanting to stay here, after all he didn't really have a place to call home.

Breath hitching and a laugh soon turned sob escaping him, he turned his hand upward to hold Luna's in return as he hung his head low. It was embarrassing for him to get emotional like this, to even cry. After all, he hadn't gotten like this in a very, very, very long time. It wasn't in his personality to get like this. But he supposed everyone had their breaking point, and Vanitas had just reached his. After years, and years of putting up a front that he was untouchable when it came to emotions of sadness, hope and anything else positive, it finally gave way to show he, just like anyone else was susceptible to these emotions. He soon found himself enveloped by the thin arms that belonged to Luna, one hand holding his head to her chest, the other around his chest. She didn't speak, didn't utter a sound, she didn't need to. The light she gave off, the way she was gentle with him as if he was porcelain doll was enough for him to know she was comforting him. That she was accepting him into her and Noctis' world.

The golden eyed male startled when he felt a hand on his head. He glanced up and found that even Noctis had that same look that Luna currently had. "Welcome Home, Vanitas." He whispered, running his fingers through his dark colored hair.

Vanitas could only nod at the words, hanging his head again, unable to stop the sobs that escaped him. He was finally home, a place to call his own.

It wouldn't be until a month or so after where Vanitas found himself not only cutting his hair in faux-hawk style, a suggestion given to him by Luna, and joining a group of soldiers called the 'Kingsglaive', also a suggestion given to him by the Queen herself. He stood in front of that said Queen who was helping his adjust the collar of the black coat he wore. She ran her hand through his hair, seeming to fix it, as she took a step back, the woman smiled, clapping her hands together. "Vanitas, you look fantastic." She stated happily, earning a blush from the golden eyed male and a sheepish smile.

"Thank you, your Grace- I mean-"

Luna merely laughed, shaking her head at him. He couldn't help but huff, smiling at her as she laughed then looked to another member of the Kingsglaive who had approached her to speak with her. Despite it all, Vanitas felt like this was the beginning of a much better life. And he felt ready for it.

#Kingsglaive Vanitas #vanitas #kingdom hearts #final fantasy xv #kingsglaive #noctis lucis caelum #lunafreya nox fleuret

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it-was-so-human · 6 years

Text

From now on our troubles will be out of sight

A jonsaexchange for @alittlestardustcaught. I hope you have the happiest of holidays!

Her lips pink and soft. (And he wonders not for the first time, though it a terrible thing to wonder, how they must feel.) OR The Westeros version of your family bombarding you with relationship questions during the holidays.

He finds her standing on the battlement, looking over the walls of the castle. As if she was keeping guard over all of Winterfell by herself.

Without turning around, she addresses him, “The Harvest Feast traditionally takes place during the harvest season. There are lords who take the delay as a slight by the Throne.”

Jon knows this, he should have arrived well before the first snow had fallen. Had been kept busy by the Queen. His visit meant as a sign of goodwill to the North coming off more as an insult.

He knows this. But he does feel the desire to reprimanded by Sansa Stark.

But when she turns around, he sees there’s a small smile playing on her lips.

“I suppose the Dragon Queen is unwilling to be parted from you for long.”

He holds in an audible groan. His relationship with his Aunt had strained heavily during the Great War and the first blush of romance had given way to a tense dynamic. Now he is only her nephew and reluctant temporary heir.

“She rather I be out of her way as much as possible these days.”

Sansa shakes her head, “I hardly blame her.”

A broad grin spreads across his face.

She’s older since he’s seen her last. Her features more refined. The last traces of girlhood gone. A sophistication in their stead, transforming a pretty young lady into a beautiful woman.

And he realizes that she looks even more like her Lady Mother, an image of Catelyn Stark. He wonders if he should feel some pain or anger at her resemblance to a lady who shunned him. Or perhaps feel a resentment over her rightful claim to a title he desired his whole life.

But no, seeing her there with her strength and grace? The last of her family name?

Jon only felt a wave of pride. And affection.

She may look like her mother, or carry herself with the honor of her father. But Sansa is truly only herself.

Her auburn hair was covered in part by her cloak, and perfect snowflakes caught on her lashes and melted on her lips.

He feels his throat tighten from some other emotion he cared not to name.

She looked ethereal standing there. No. No, that was not it.

She looked so very real. Real enough to touch.

Her lips pink and soft. (And he wonders not for the first time, though it a terrible thing to wonder, how they must feel.)

“Winterfell looks almost fully restored. The improvements in winter town are impressive. Your ravens don’t do you justice.”

The ravens he receives with missives in her neat elegant handwriting. (Letter he covets, reads and rereads.)

((He’s missed her.))

Sansa seems pleased with his praise—a slight blushing on her cheeks—and nods in acknowledgement.

She seems to hesitate for a moment, before finally asking, “Did the Queen send a husband for me?”

He’s taken aback, that was a question he did not expect.

“A… a husband?”

“The lords and vessels are whispering. They fear they must act quickly.”

“To do what exactly?”

She gives him a soft smile, “To find a husband for Lady Stark, of course.”

“A what?” He’s repeating himself. He feels foolish, but he must have misheard her.

(She’s suffered through two marriages and many betrothals. How could any loyal Northerner ask this of her? Just as she’s regained herself.)

“A husband. A reliable Northern husband. Before the Queen picks a Southron lord to stake a claim.”

“No. You are my sister, under my protection. How dare anyone—“

“I am your cousin. And it is only practical. How long can a woman without an heir be able to wield control of the North?”

He hears himself let out a small growl in protest.

“Just because they are tired of fighting, doesn’t mean peace comes easily. They want security, Jon.”

“And you can marry—when you are ready. Someone of your choosing. A man you may love,” he manages.

“I am not upset by this; their concerns are legitimate. I have stopped dreaming of princes and love long ago.”

“Sansa…”

“After everything we’ve been through, everything we’ve lost? It’s an easy enough sacrifice to protect those we love.”

And he has no words so he opens his arms and she falls into them easily. Nestles closer him, and he holds her close.

“Welcome home, Jon.”

Home. The word was sweet.

He lets out a thin laugh. (He did not realize how tired he truly was until just then.)

- - -

The Harvest Feast felt so very much like… a Winterfell Harvest Feast. Despite the long winter and slow returns, it was a hearty and welcoming fare.

Sansa Stark was able to do the work of both the Warden of the North and lady of a great house.

The hall decked and alight with candles and the feast gave way to dancing. Not the level of opulence as King’s Landing with the elaborate musicians and foreign performers Sansa had dreamed of as a child.

But still Winterfell’s held a warmth all its own. (And the walls of Winterfell felt more alive than the keep in King’s Landing ever did to him.)

And to Jon’s surprise, he was welcomed back into the fold, not as a Targaryen but a Northern son.

But the whispers Sansa warned of rang through the room. It seemed to be the task the lords aimed to resolve this Harvest Festival.

And when he brought his concerns up to Davos, there was little help on his part.

“Aye, she does have to marry.”

At Jon’s protest the older man only shrugs, “Is it not the way of things for lords and ladies? You too will have to marry.”

He tries, and fails, not to choke on his ale.

The young Lady Mormont is sitting next to him and nods wisely, as if it obvious. “We were surprised you haven’t married your Queen, but I can’t imagine you won’t marry someone soon enough.”

And throughout the night his hands are fisted, knuckles white to keep from attacking the crude babbling he overhears. The disrespect falling from the lips of drunken noblemen.

“I pity the man who would marry her, she’s like steel.”

“Ahhh, but imagine being the one to bed her. Warm her up a bit?”

Sansa didn’t deserve a man who would be weary of her or one who would see her as a conquest merely or duty.

She should be… respected and cherished. Adored.

Just look at her.

She was standing cross the room from him and practically glowing. Her auburn hair sparkling in the candlelight. Thick eyelashes framing bright Tully-blue eyes. Long elegant fingers that during the war delicately stitched skin and knitted socks and tallied grain supplies and comforted the dying. She catches his eyes, and gives him a small nod. A barely notable wink directed at him, breaking her ladylike countenance.

(How could any man not love her?)

He wonders if he should ask her to dance. Wonders if he should save her from silly youths and scheming lords.

(Because perhaps he still wants to be the knight, wants to try his hand at saving a lady in distress.)

But as she smiles and accepts the hand of an elderly lord, he realizes doesn’t need him. Politicking and diplomacy is where she excels, not him.

So instead he resorts to glowering at the unworthy men in the hall.

(And he feels as sullen and broody now as he did as a child at his last feast in Winterfell, but there’s no helping it really.)

- - -

At Davos’ advice, he trudges through the snow towards the godswood to find Sansa. To ask her what decision she has made before the lords meet that evening.

The snow was swirling, flurries creating a blanket of all that was pure and possible.

He should be tired of the snow. Should relish the sweet long Southron summer. Be dreading the chill the goes straight to the bones. Should be sickened of cold winds and curse at drifting flakes.

But instead he finds them haunting his dreams.

He dreams of memories of laughter ringing through the halls of Winterfell. Of untainted crisp winter snow, full of possibilities and untarnished hope.

Of Robb and Theon and snowball fights before the advent of destiny and war and blood in their lives. Of Arya, Bran, Rickon, and Sansa with frost covered hair.

(Despite the cold, his childhood always felt warm.)

She’s standing there, but he doesn’t want to disturb her. Not until he finds the right words.

He reaches down and touches the snow, soft and powdery. The perfect consistency for a snowball.

He sees her straighten, she’s sensed him and is waiting.

His fingers itch to break the silence. To do… something.

No one would dare throw a snow at Lady Stark… and yet he feels his hands packing together the perfect snowball and sending it flying towards.

It splatters against her beautiful locks, and her recoil in response makes his stomach tighten. He should have known better. Should not have ever surprised her—

But she only shoots him a glare, a glint of excitement in her eyes.

And quickly collects snow before running away to a more strategic location.

The laughter that escapes him as he follows after her is… joyous. (When are the Lady of Winterfell and the Crown Prince allowed to just… be.)

And they bombard one another with snowballs and when he finally catches her she surprises him by rubbing a handful of snow in his hair

And she is laughing and her otherwise perfect porcelain skin is the brightest of reds and her hair mussed with wild strands escaping her braid and snow is everywhere and she looks absolutely beautiful.

He feels his hand move on its own accord yet again, and now he’s tracing the hollow of her cheek with his knuckles.

It hurt to remember the excitement in her eyes upon her betrothal to the bastard Baratheon boy now replaced with yesterday’s simple resignation and duty.

He will do whatever he can to protect her from even more heartbreak.

“Is there a man who will make you happy? One who may be worthy of you?”

And in response she only comes closer. And he can smell her soft floral scent and the crisp winter snow in her hair.

And she leans even closer, placing a kiss against the corner of his mouth. Her lips soft and warm and he feels the world go still.

And after a pause, as his lips meet hers (soft and warm and as perfect as he ever imagined) he understands.

The gentle unsure movement of her lips against his giving way to a slow exploration and the sweetest feeling he has ever known.

He feels her lips smiling against his, and it is simply… it is simply right.

She is his family and she is his home.

(And nothing could take him away again.)

- - -

Also on AO3.

#AHHHHHHHHH #guys you know #this is a thing that exists #jonsaexchange #jon and sansa #jonsa #actually jonsa #gahh I'll edit you again super soon!

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grownups-are-the-real-monsters · 7 years

Text

Dive Bar

summary: The summer of 1989 was something Bill had not thought about in years. The people. The places. The Loser’s. But when he runs into an old friend at the bar, it’s like he’s there all over again.

Ships: Reddie

Song: ‘Piano Man’ by Billy Joel

(IT happened but Bill runs into someone before the 2nd showdown)

Bill Denbrough had been many things when he was the bright age of ten. A friend, a brother, a son but it seemed by the time of his most recent age of twenty-nine, he was none of those things anymore. The worst part of it was that he could barely remember the time when he was those things but his stomach still ached with guilt and had him waking up in a heated sweat at least once a month. He was driving himself crazy and had been attempting to fix it, but sometimes he entertained the thought of just allowing himself to sink. Because was it really worth the effort if he had no one else?

He swiped his hand over his 5 o'clock shadow, feeling the stubble that he’d just been neglecting for the past few days. He thought about the deserted baby blue razor that was resting on the pure white porcelain counter in his hotel room. He made a note to himself to pick the damn thing up when he got back and get the peppering of hair off his face. He dragged his feet into a kind looking dive bar for a hardy dose of alcohol related amnesia. If he was honest, he was looking forward to it all day.

The place was crowded with the kind of people Bill assumed were regulars. He felt out of place from the minute he stepped inside. He strolled over to the bar and took the stool next to an old man who’s clothes shadowed his former young self. He was nursing his drink, swirling it and taking few sips as if wanting to make it last. Bill wanted to stare curiously but he held the urge back. The cheap light bulbs that were screwed into cones of emerald green, heated the back of his neck and he took off his jacket. Settling himself in.

Bill was not an impatient person so he took the time in which he waited to drag his eyes over every inch of the cozy bar. He was narrowing his eyes to focus on an old black and white photo when somebody tapped on the bar. He whipped his head around and saw the face of a man, leaning down only slightly. His hair was a curled pitch black.

“Something I can get you?” He asked, a smile spreading easily over his face. Bill felt a flicker of recognition that was gone in a flash.

“An Old Fashioned?” Bill decided before he could really think about it. The man nodded and went to work. Bill watched him, trying to figure out why he was so interesting.

“Y’know my dad used to drink this.” The man said in passing as he slid the drink over and leaned on the bar in front of him once again. Bill hummed and took a sip.

“I’m more of a colorful drinker myself.” He chuckled, and God that laugh was something, Bill swore on it. The man sipped at some nauseated pink drink. “But you seem like the boring type.”

“Beep Beep.” Bill rolled his eyes but froze completely. ‘Where the fuck did that come from?’. It seemed whatever it was that he said, cause the man to freeze too. He didn’t look fearful, as Bill must’ve but rather interested. He was tapping his fingertips in a pattern over his chin with a crooked smile.

“Does that mean something to you?” Bill asked, knowing it must have meant something to him or else he wouldn’t have let it slip.

“I would say so, sir.” He responded with a spot on British accent. “Takes me right back-”

“To when?” Bill interrupted as he was starting to retrace his whole life to place this guy.

“Well, I don’t know but it does.” He shrugged with amusement.

It was his attitude that helped Bill start to connect the dots…to a kid he swore he didn’t remember until this very moment. ‘But it couldn’t be. all his voices sounded the same-’ “Richie Tozier?”

“The one and only.” He smirked but quickly stopped to look Bill over. “Well, by golly! You must be…Bill Denbrough?” He snapped his fingers in Bills face. Bill chuckled and slapped his hand down.

“How did you know?”

“Came to me in the moment.” Richie shrugged and Bill felt a tug in his chest. “God, How are you?”

Bill could have lied but his mind flashed, ‘C’mon this is Richie. Don’t lie to him’ and though he was only barely recalling him, he agreed. “Can’t say too well, Rich. You?”

Richie looked around the bar and shrugged, throwing a towel over his shoulder. “Ah, you know me Big Bill. I make every place better just by being there.” He chuckled again. Bill couldn’t help but laugh with him, their laughter mixing was so familiar it hurt.

He took out a lighter and waved it at Bill who nodded though he hadn’t smoked in ages. He took an offered smoke and Richie lit it for him, the red reflected warmly in his eyes. He pulled back and let Bill have room to blow his smoke.

Richie slid someone else their drink and seemed to make some sort of joke, waving his hands about and laughing like it was hysterical. Though he slid right back over to Bill and the smile just ran away from his face.

“You know, I think this is killing me, Bill.” Richie laughed but it wasn’t funny. Bill frowned.

“What are you saying Rich?”

“I’m sure that I could be making it big, knocking em’ dead y’know? You remember how my voices used to sound, right?” Richie asked and he nodded even though he didn’t really need an answer. “Trust me, they’ve improved…but I just can’t get out of this fucking place.” He shook his head and bit into his lip.

Bill’s heart plummeted. Richie was a people person as long as he’d known him, of course he’d get attached to some ol’ dive bar like it meant the world to him. “You spoken for, Bill?” Richie spoke again before Bill could say something.

He smiled, shaking his head. “No, not yet…you?” He returned the question. Richie shook his head just the same. Bill felt a little surprised, like he expected him to say he was. And Bill wasn’t sure why. He could’ve sworn Richie had something special going on the last he’d seen him…

“I thought…well I’m not sure what I thought actually.” Bill chuckled and Richie looked at him curiously. But Bill felt as if he was suddenly just attacked with memories. Of his six friends, he saw all of their faces for a quick second. He heard each of their laughter. And he saw the fiery red head, Bev…gripping onto Ben’s hand, He saw Mike riding no-hands on his bike proudly, he saw something he could only describe as beautiful, Stanley Uris laughing his ass off. And he saw the smile of his first best friend, Eddie..kasp-? Kaspbrak!

“Do you remember Eddie?” Bill asked, excited. Richie pulled back for a second. He looked as if he was being hit with everything like a wall of water, Bill assumed he’d looked just the same not a moment ago.

“Yeah, Yeah I remember him…” Richie was gripping onto what was only a ghost of a memory. “What happened-?”

“I don’t know, I haven’t thought about him in ages.” Bill shrugged, wondering just why Richie looked so guilty.

Richie twisted the towel on his shoulder as he was trying to focus on the faint echoes of someones giggling playing on sudden repeat in his head. ‘There’s so many things you should’ve told him…’ he said like a reminder to himself. “Shit, Eddie…he-We were something weren’t we?”

Bill didn’t know the answer but he nodded anyway because it felt right. Suddenly Richie looked sick to his stomach. His eyes looked wildly back and forth, mouth a little agape. Bill looked back at the man playing piano in the corner of the place and felt a chill run up his spine like he should be remembering something traumatic but just couldn’t pick up on it.

Richie took a long sip of his nausea in a cup and tried to focus. He remembered the way the small boy’s hand fit into his first. And then his laugh, his eyes and the way they’d roll whenever Richie opened his mouth, the way his nose scrunched up whenever he was disgusted and if Richie was correct, he did that a lot. He stood up straight, putting his hands on his hips. “How do you forget being in love like that?” He shook his head, mocking an amused smile this time.

Bill couldn’t answer because he didn’t know.

Richie laughed again and it would’ve haunted Bill if he could remember it after he left. “Maybe getting out of Derry isn’t all it cracked up to be?”

“Don’t say that Rich, that place was awful and-”

“But it had you guys, and I remembered shit there.”

Bill got a chilling feeling in the pit of his stomach “Maybe it’s better off if we don’t remember whatever happened that summer-”

“I want to fucking know who Eddie is, but for some reason, when you walk out of that door, I know it’s all going to go away. I can barely remember it now. I haven’t thought about him in forever, but just now…when I remembered him, shit I felt something that made me feel worth it, Bill.”

“It’s like I finally know what ‘Baby, I love Your Way’s about.” Richie added with a genuine laugh. Bill smiled and chuckled.

“They all look at me like ‘God, what are you still doing here?’ “ Richie looked over his Saturday crowd with a fond look in his glossy eyes and started wiping down the counter.

“You deserve better, Rich. You’re the funniest guy I know-”

“Yeah, until you walk out the door.” Richie added with a smug look and Bill had to laugh because it was true. He finished his Old Fashion and knew it was time to go.

“Maybe I’ll see you again?” Bill asked, hoping for a ‘yes’.

Richie smiled. “Yeah, I’d like to think so.” He shrugged again. Bill reached over and hugged him. Richie sniffled and Bill gripped harder, not wanting to let go. He treasured the faces of his friends once more. Strong Beverly, Genuine Ben, Proud Mike, Beautiful Stan, and Richie&Eddie’s blushing faces.

They were right, When Bill walked out that night…everything faded again. It got even worse when Bill flew home.

But it was after there little run in, that Richie got himself out of that bar, making sure it was in good hands and into the DJ scene with major success.

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angelhasfallen94 · 3 years

Text

the devil was once an angel too

warning: shity writing, English isn't my first language I'm sorry if there's any mistakes feel free to correct me.

summary: A story set in the 1940 about love, murder and injustices. The story follows Nicholas Evans Richardson a 30 years old art teacher who fall in love with the most beautiful young lady in town the 21 years old Kathrine Lilly Thomas. Will their love last through the mysterious killings all over town?

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

"You're beautiful, did you know that angel?" I asked the young goddess lying next to me as she stared at the clouds above us.

"Only because you keep telling me nick" I laughed at her words, how could she not see the divine heaven that she is?

"And I'm not an angel" "you are in my eyes" I could see the blush that was starting to settle on her soft porcelain doll skin.

I decided to push her buttons a little farther wanting to see her glowing smile and radiating happiness laced with slight embarrassment from my toxic words.

"Because when I look at you, my Katherine I see god's creation at its best, I see the light that brings the morning and shine giving us the day and the light that glows at night from the moon and stars. when I look at you I see beauty far greater than any field of flowers and far more superior then any piece of music written by that batoven fella you like, so yes you are an angel even if you can't see it."

She covered her face with her delicate little hands and mumbled "he's name is Ludwig van Beethoven"

I laughed loud and clear and grabbed her body and brought her closer to me wanting to make her feel better make her feel my love without hurting her purity.

"Is that all that you took from all I've told you now?"

she smiled that smile that could cure all that is evil in the world and vanish all darkness existing in the great big universe that we live in, and just looked at me with her big majestic deep emerald green eyes.

I felt time stop at this moment as if nothing else mattered nothing except for her because all that I could care about was Katherine Lilly Thomas.

I know my feelings for her were wrong but I the first time her she looked at me with those eyes and her lips immediately stretched into that her gorgeous smile of hers I was already completely and utterly in love with her.

Katherine's feathery voice brought me back from my thoughts.

"I should get going before father gets mad" my smile disappeared at her words.

"Now now angel we wouldn’t want to anger your father now do we?" I say in a teasing manner.

"No we don’t" she replies with a sweet smile plastered on her pretty pink lips.

And with that she gets up to leave I grab the hem of her off white dress "need me to walk you?" I ask her worried for her safety.

"No I’ll be fine" and with that she was gone her figure disappearing into the woods. Leaving me staring at the clear blue sky up above.

Now back at home I've prepared myself dinner fantasizing about having a night routine that starts with a dinner with my lovely angel picking up the newspaper of today and ends with something a little less pure

'Male 23 was found dead in the woods adding to the long list of killing that have been happening in town investigation is still going however the police are yet to find the killer, citizens are adviced to stay at home after dark to avoid any more deaths'

The paper said making my heart go cold with the fear this killer will get my sweet Katherine.

I finish eating my dinner and end my night with a shower and go to sleep my dreams filled with my sweet angel Katherine as the only thing on my mind.

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

I hope you enjoyed this story :) let me know if you’d like another part/chapter for this story or any other own I write :) 💖

please don’t repost my writings without permission.

follow me for more stories╰(*°▽°*)╯

#short story #angel #writing #a beginner writer #love story #mystery story #new story #follow for more

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jeremiahdowney · 5 years

Text

Michael

My son Michael is all I have left.

But in a lot of ways I’m lucky, because he’s all I need.

He’s such a good boy.

He takes care of me, looks after the house and manages to keep his grades up at college. I’m so lucky and so, so proud of him.

It would have been very easy for things to go wrong for him, after all he’s been through.

It started when he was just two years old. Michael fell down the stairs and banged his head hard on the stone floor in the hallway. Claire should have been watching him. She should have been there, but she was never attentive enough, she never cared for him like she should. Not like I do.

He suffered with seizures for days after. We nearly lost him. I don’t know what I would have done then. I couldn’t live without my boy.

But he made it. He was strong and he showed me that, when you’re faced with adversity and things aren’t working, you need to be tough. You need to fight.

His recovery made me feel brave enough to try for another child — made me prepared to give Claire another chance to be the mother she should have been.

So, three years after Michael was born, she fell pregnant with Amy. Our little girl was beautiful, with my dark hair and Claire’s piercing blue eyes, just like Michael. Michael felt a little threatened at first — I’m sure all children do when a new sibling upturns their life — but over the months, he warmed to her. He was so protective.

There were times when I saw him standing by her crib, just watching her sleep. He had the most intense look on his face — it was the sweetest thing.

Amy adored Michael too, she looked up to him and would follow him around like a little puppy, desperate to play with her big brother.

When I close my eyes and picture my daughter, that’s how I always remember her. Her sparkling blue eyes twinkling with joy as she dashed after my Michael. It’s a good memory.

Michael loved her, just as much as me and Claire did. Now I think about, I realize Claire might have resented Michael even back then. I think she was jealous of how much Amy loved him. Of how much I do.

That’s why she blamed him, after it happened. He was only seven though, for crying out loud. What kind of a mom leaves a seven-year-old and a four-year-old unsupervised in a garden with a pond? What kind of woman doesn’t panic when her son comes in alone to get a sandwich, his clothes wet.

He told me that after they played in her Wendy house, he was playing with his sister by the pond, that he splashed the water to make her laugh. Amy was only four. She couldn’t swim.

Claire should have been watching them.

Afterwards she was never the same. A fortnight after we buried our daughter, Claire packed a bag and left.

Good riddance.

You should have heard the filthy lies she told before she went, the vile accusations at that poor, sweet, innocent little boy. She asked me to choose — Ha! Like there was ever a choice to make! — then, when she saw my mind was made up, she told me to wake up. She told me to open my eyes and look at the world, to not let love blind me.

I looked her straight in the eye and told her I never would, then I slammed the door behind her.

Poor Michael was so traumatized. He was obviously in shock, because he acted so detached and emotionless about the loss of his sister and mother. I think he must have been left numb by the emotional rawness of the situation. But there were signs, subtle hints that he wasn’t coping anywhere near as well as it might first appear.

I feel a little ashamed for sharing this, because I’d never want to embarrass him, but for a long time afterwards he would wet the bed at night. It broke my heart as I stuffed his soiled sheets into the washing machine, knowing how much he must be hurting. My poor, poor boy.

So, to help Michael cope with his grief, I bought him a kitten. She was a little black and white thing, her eyes still blue, her mewing little voice so delicate and so fragile sounding that she couldn’t help but melt my heart. I thought that she could be a new friend for Michael to talk to when he felt he couldn’t talk to anybody else.

When he first saw her I knew that I had done the right thing — his eyes lit up, a beaming smile spread across his face and he turned to me and asked: ‘Is it for me? Can I keep it?’

I smiled back and told him yes, of course he could, but first she needed a name.

I had to dab at the tears that welled in my eyes when he picked the kitten up, held her close to his chest, and smiled at me as he said: ‘Amy. This is Amy.’

Michael was so attentive to that little cat, and she was exactly what he needed when my poor, unlucky little boy suffered yet another tragedy when he was only 10 years old. Michael knows he shouldn’t have played with the matches, but all children are curious, aren’t they? I mean, I’m sure if you tell most little boys or girls not to play with fire they are going to want to find out why. It makes sense.

There had been a few fires in our neighborhood that Summer, so I had mentioned how important it was that he be careful, that he not play with anything that could cause a blaze. In a lot of ways it’s probably my fault for putting the thought in his impressionable little mind.

I think he still associated the Wendy house with the day he lost his sister. I think he still remembered the pain of that bereavement and that was why he wanted it gone.

I don’t know where he got the lighter from, but I know I should have taken better care of him. He could never have known the burning plastic would run and drip like that. How would a 10-year-old know that it would stick to the skin on his hands, that it would burn so hot and cling to the flesh, even as it charred his little pink fingers?

He was so brave as we sped to the hospital. The cold water from the faucet saved him from any permanent nerve damage, but the skin bubbled and blistered before my eyes, the sickening smell of the singed downy hairs on his arms filling the air.

But even as I panicked, racing to the ER, he never cried. He was so still, so quiet. He’s so brave.

It was only a few weeks after the event, while his poor little hands were still bandaged, that I heard him react to it. It was late at night, and as I walked by his bedroom door I heard him. He was whispering to himself in the darkness.

But they weren’t words of misery that I heard, instead he was furiously hissing exclamations of pure rage and fury at the situation. He was so angry, it sounded like he really hated himself for it. I moved closer to his door, planning to knock and ask if he wanted to talk, but a creaking floorboard gave me away and at once Michael fell silent.

I took the hint and backed away, giving him the space he clearly wanted.

Time passed and finally the bandages were removed. It was upsetting to see his little hands afterwards. They were weak (it took weeks of physio before he could use them properly again), and the skin was waxy looking, pale and covered in ripples, yet smooth as porcelain in other places. They still look like that to this day.

I thought their appearance would frighten him, but instead he studied them carefully, peering at them intensely through the black rimmed spectacles he had just started to wear (sadly my little boy inherited my shortsightedness), his stony face impregnable. Finally he nodded and lowered them again, listening as the doctor explained how they would recover. He never betrayed the slightest hint of emotion then. I couldn’t believe how brave he was.

Yet no sooner had we overcome that last obstacle, then tragedy struck again.

I think it must have been a fox, maybe a stray dog.

But when I walked out into our yard that morning, I knew what that bloody, tattered thing down in the corner was before I even got there. Yet if it weren’t for her little purple collar, I might not have been able to confirm what I feared. Amy, Michael’s pet and best friend, had been ripped to shreds.

I scooped her up and placed her broken little body in a box, then, with a heavy heart, I took the long walk upstairs to Michael’s bedroom.

I rapped on the door, then entered. Michael was sitting in his bed, still in his pyjamas, and placed his spectacles on his nose as I sat down beside his feet.

‘Hey, buddy,’ I said gently.

‘Hello Dad,’ he replied, his kind face watching me fixedly.

‘Uh, I need to talk to you about Amy…’ I continued.

‘Oh Amy’s not here,’ Michael replied. ‘She’s dead.’

I felt so sad to have to correct him. ‘No, not your sister, buddy,’ I said. ‘I’m talking about your cat.’

Michael peered at me, a slight look of confusion flickering across his face.

‘Uh, I think an animal got into our yard last night,’ I continued. ‘And, uh, I’m so sorry to tell you this, but I think it killed Amy. I’m sorry.’

I leant in close and wrapped my arms around my son, hoping I could somehow shield him from the pain.

When you get right down to the core of it, I think that’s what a parent is — a child’s shield against the horrors of this world. It’s all we should ever hope to be. It’s the only role I have ever wanted.

When I finally let go and looked at Michael he was so serene, and I felt glad to have at least helped him a little in that moment.

‘You ok?’ I asked him.

He nodded, swallowed hard, then licked his dry lips.

‘Dad?’ he said quietly. ‘Can I see her?’

I wasn’t sure that was such a good idea, but he was adamant it was what he wanted and I didn’t feel I could deny him that last chance to say goodbye.

So I held his hand and walked him downstairs to the box that held Amy’s remains.

‘Are you sure about this?’ I asked one last time, but Michael nodded at me — a short, anxious gesture.

So I lifted the lid.

Michael peered into the box at what remained of his cat for the best part of a minute. He didn’t say a thing, instead staring with glistening eyes behind his glasses. He held it together so well, but one thing betrayed how he was feeling.

His breathing changed. It became faster and faster, right up until I replaced the lid.

He must have been so upset.

After we buried Michael’s best friend at the end of the yard, I worried about him a lot.

Michael didn’t have many friends, and I couldn’t work out why. He never really fitted in at school, which is why I think his grades never quite matched his intelligence. He is such a clever boy, but for the vast majority of his years in education his grades have been average at best.

I noticed that he never really mixed well with other children, and became concerned that he would struggle to find companionship. It was with this concern in mind that I made him an appointment with Dr Sparrow, a highly regarded child therapist.

But when the day of the appointment came, poor little Michael had a terrible stomach ache. I nearly ended up having to take him to the ER, but luckily it passed on its own. We tried to reschedule, but each time something seemed to crop up. In the end he never did meet with Dr Sparrow, but that’s no big deal, because shortly after I voiced my concerns about Michael’s lack of interaction with other kids he quickly made some friends. Not many, and I don’t think any of them were ever that close to him, but it was a start.

He’s always been a very private person, so I didn’t pry about his relationships and he kept them very much to himself. I was just glad to know that he was forming some bonds after all.

I think he just needed time to become the boy I knew he could be.

Over the high school years he studied hard and discovered a real joy in exercise and personal fitness. I let him work out with my old barbell in the garage and he would take long runs through the nearby woods. It made me happy to see him taking care of himself.

Michael never got in any trouble, you know. Well, except that one time when a bully poked fun at his pressed white shirt, his khakis and his neat side parting. You know how that sort of person can be, they see somebody taking more pride in his appearance than they do and they go on the offensive. The boy called him horrible names, then he even punched Michael, bloodying his nose and ruining his shirt.

The boy had a reputation as a troublemaker, so it was always going to backfire one day.

The Principal tried to tell me that Michael had gone too far, that after that boy was taken to hospital she would need to be seen to take action. I wouldn’t stand for it, I wouldn’t let her punish my Michael for defending himself against that little scumbag. It was a real battle and I even needed to get a lawyer involved (which I couldn’t really afford) but eventually Michael was able to return to school without any blemish on his record. We paid the other boy’s family to make this go away — not because Michael did anything wrong, but because I wanted it all over and done with before he applied for college. I had to remortgage the house, just so that little bastard who tried to victimize my boy could get the physio he needed to walk again and some expensive dentures so he could chew steak.

As if a piece of work like that deserves steak! He should be on bread on water, in a prison with all the other degenerates.

Still, after that whole unfortunate situation was over, Michael had done well enough to get accepted into the local college. I thought this was perfect — I could keep an eye on him and he could continue to get the education he needed to make his mark on the world. I didn’t want him to feel that he was missing out though, so I bought him an old pick-up truck. I felt it could give him some independence and I know he appreciated the thought. He passed his test first time.

He’s such a clever boy.

He’d barely been at college for a full semester when something happened that made me all the more grateful that I was able to keep an eye on him.

A college girl was killed.

They found her in the woods, and the news reports suggests that the monster who killed her had performed some unspeakable acts on the poor girl before murdering her.

I told Michael that he needed to be careful out in those woods, that no matter how well he knew them, he wasn’t safe out there.

He just smiled and told me not to worry, that I shouldn’t have any concerns about anybody trying anything with him.

Yet just when I was starting to calm down, it happened again. And again. And again.

There have now been six killings. All girls from local towns, all of whom have been taken from their homes, then discovered days later, deep in the woods. All of whom have shown the same upsetting pattern of injuries. It made me worry for poor Michael’s safety at first, but then, a month ago, I realized just how bad it was.

I was looking for my work gloves and remembered that Michael had asked about them just a few days earlier.

Michael was at college so I went into his room to see if I could find them there. At first I had no luck, but then I looked under his bed. Sure enough, there they were, but then I spotted the box.

It was a small, unassuming, wooden thing, with a latch.

I feel ashamed to admit it, but I was curious, so I took it out and had a look inside.

Inside I found several newspaper cuttings, all about the murdered girls. The most recent one was a pretty girl called Kerri, the paper including a recent photo of her with dyed bright red hair and a cute smile. Then I saw them. Down in the bottom of the box, tucked into the corner.

A girl’s ring.

A pendant.

A vanity mirror.

A piece of pink ribbon.

A button.

A single lock of bright red hair.

Suddenly it dawned on me. Michael had known these girls, probably even been close to them. If he kept a lock of Kerri’s hair, he might even have been in love with her.

My heart broke — how much more tragedy could befall my poor boy? How many more people that he cared about would he lose?

Wiping at my damp eyes, I placed everything back in the little wooden box and tucked it back under his bed before backing out through the door with my gloves.

Later that evening, after he came home from college, Michael came to speak with me while I was working in the yard.

‘Dad, did you go in my room today?’ he asked, pale and thoughtful.

‘Yeah, buddy, just to get these gloves,’ I smiled, respecting his privacy and not raising the subject of the box of keepsakes, the memories of his departed friends. I knew he’d talk to me about it when he was ready.

He stood watching me from behind his thick glasses for some time, that same thoughtful look on his face, before finally nodding, a determined little gesture (or was it one of gratitude?), then smiling and saying: ‘Hey Dad, why don’t I cook dinner tonight? You don’t look like you’re feeling so good.’

I told him I was fine, but said he could cook if he wanted. I knew he probably wanted to do it to thank me for being so discreet about his box.

As it goes, I’m glad Michael did cook, because later that night, after we ate, I did start to feel unwell. Maybe Michael will be a doctor with an eye like that? He’s certainly clever enough.

My illness has gotten worse over the last few weeks, and I’ve ended up bedridden. Our home is pretty isolated out here, so I’ve had nothing but this laptop and my son for company.

Luckily Michael has taken over the running of the house, including making all of our meals. I’m doing my best to eat them, but the pains in my stomach are getting so bad now. I’ve felt so sick and I’m definitely weaker than I was. I’ll be honest with you, I’m starting to worry that this could be something serious — and I told Michael as much yesterday.

He told me that Dr Harper has been real busy lately, but he’ll be along soon to get me back on the road to recovery. In the meantime I just need to take it easy, while Michael takes care of our home.

Even now, as the sky darkens and the stars are starting to appear, I can hear him hard at work in our backyard, digging away.

My son Michael is all I have left.

But in a lot of ways I’m lucky, because he’s all I need.

He’s such a good boy.

#horror #long story #original story #story #no sleep

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jeninthegarden · 5 years

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The Garden reflections 2019

Back to Eden (are we there yet??)

This is my 11th year of garden logging. So it is time to do a little retrospective on a decade of negligent vegetable gardening. The big issues remain WATER and DEER. I refuse to create any kind of irrigation system. While I may mound up to help drainage, hugle to use up logs and preserve moisture, plant closely to prevent things getting too dry, I have not invested in any drip irrigation or rain barrels, or even ollas (buried terra cotta pots). So, after a decade, I remain largely at the mercy of the weather. I am still on the fence about any larger investment. If anything, it has been too much rain and too many snap heat waves that have been the most disruptive events. I haven’t ever had a real drought. Row covers have been useful for direct seeding germination. Still considering rain barrels, but still haven’t done it. The greenhouse we had for a couple of seasons was more useful as a screen house to keep chipmunks away from the tomatoes than for weather protection. I prefer row covers and bird-netting.

The other ongoing issue is still the deer – from the very first years when I covered my tomatoes with sheets at night and still found half eaten tomatoes floating in the bird bath the next morning, to the Mexican deer that happily ate all my hot peppers (because I wrongly assumed they were too spicy and it was therefore safe to plant them outside the fence), the depressed deer that tried to off themselves by eating my rhubarb leaves. The list of things I have assumed deer would not eat and been proved wrong is apparently endless. I had a brief respite when a local coyote put us on his day and night patrol route, but he has moved on and the pesky deer leaned over the garden fence to eat the tops of my tomatoes this fall. My investment in infrastructure to keep deer out of my garden has also been limited. I still do not have any permanent enclosure other than my original 20x30 fenced garden. And that is in serious need of a facelift since it is now 13 years old. The decadal lesson on deer is that there are more of them than you think and they are really just large rodents that eat everything.

The secondary issue that stands out from the decade is WEEDS. I am a negligent gardener so the weeds sneak up on me every year. I have a complicated relationship with weeds: I know most of their names. I eat the ones which are edible: purslane, lambs quarter, burdock, wild garlic, dandelions. I find some of them interesting too look at: bittersweet and porcelain berry vines are invasive but pretty. I should exterminate them but they are growing rampant in the back of my yard. Some I even cultivate because they are so hardy and ornamental: I am constantly moving violets out of the yards and into the herb garden and I never weed them out of the vegetable garden. Fuzzy mullein is everywhere and I am always moving it around. And then there are the cultivated plants which have gone native: lemon balm I planted one plant of has spread all over the property and I just move it around now. Giant red India mustard self-seeds and is also to be found everywhere on the property.

WEEDS I have learned must be controlled from earliest spring. The only patches of garden that remain weed free by July are the ones that were mulched with newspaper and straw by the end of April. This is true every year. My success in controlling the weeds depends on how much time and effort I put into weed control in the month of April. Propagation can always be supplemented with bought seedlings and I have no issues with soil quality because I compost and rotate crops routinely. But I just do not weed, routinely or even at all some years, so weeds that sprout quickly overtake me.

Being at the mercy of the weather means that some years are better for certain crops than others. And, whichever vegetable patch is fully mulched by April, those vegetables don’t get subsumed by the weeds. I enjoy abundance, of whatever happens to grow vigorously. I always appreciate volunteers that go to seed and grow again unassisted and leftover plants that make it through the winter. I subscribe to the philosophy of Eat the Invaders, so I eat whichever weeds are edible. Some of the most satisfying plants I have grown are:

Peas. There are never enough peas and everyone loves peas. I dry and save seeds for the next year. They are so easy to grow. I never forget to plant peas and since they are planted very early, they are always mulched and never lost to the sea of weeds.

Cabbage. From the days of Helen having to be taught to only eat one leaf off each red cabbage seedling, to watching the chickadees bathe in the rainwater caught in giant cabbage leaves, to my favorite quote of the decade: “But always to her the red and green cabbages would be jade and burgundy, chrysoprase and porphyry; life has no weapon against a woman like that!” I love cabbages. I love to interplant them with sky-blue petunias and dill. I like to pickle cabbage. I have even made sauerkraut. I always plant cabbage. My chickens love cabbages too. I will never be able to free range the chickens in my garden.

Tomatoes. Heirloom tomatoes are my favorites. Nothing will ever compare to the taste of an heirloom tomato you have just picked from your own garden. I am partial to the yellow with red stripe varieties like Big Rainbow and Mr. Stripey. Dan likes the black varieties like Black Krim and Purple Cherokee. I like the Hungarian Heart paste tomatoes. Unfortunately everything likes tomatoes and it is difficult to protect them from deer, squirrels and chipmunks, and field mice. Weather is always an issue, especially when you think you are getting a head start by planting early but the weather never warms sufficiently for the fruit to set. Nevertheless there is no question that there will always be tomato plants in my garden.

Leeks. From the earliest days of the leaky dance, we always plant leeks. Mostly because they are the first thing that needs to be planted, right after Christmas, right now in fact. And then they just need to be transplanted and allowed to grow, for 10 months. And they need to be planted inside the garden because trial and error has proved that there are Welsh deer hereabouts that will eat leeks. Oddly, although I plant them compulsively, and dance the obligatory leaky dance (it is like ribbon dancing with leek tops) when they are harvested. I eat them right away, if at all, and never store them. And I have never yet let them go to seed and saved the seeds.

Nasturtiums. Yes, I really do always plant nasturtiums. I love the shape of the leaves. I love the taste of the leaves and the flowers, tastes like bell pepper/cucumber/arugula with salt and pepper. I usually plant them around the leeks. Sometimes I save the seeds for planting the next year. I have even pickled the buds and seed pods like capers. The leaves with long stems still attached are beautiful in vinegar, in old, odd shaped scotch bottles.

That is the top five constants for the past decade. I have grown these 5 every year and have every intention of continuing to grow them in every vegetable garden I ever plant.

The top five favorites of the decade are:

Arugula. Love arugula. It is tasty; it is cold hardy; it is actually biannual; it self- seeds. It is a reliable germinator very early in the spring and will keep growing through the fall. It produces many seed pods so it is easy to save seeds for the next spring planting, and if you aren’t interested in moving the arugula bed, it will self-seed. I like it in salad and in sandwiches, and even in soup.

Parsley. It is cold hardy; it is biannual; it can be brought inside for the winter; it is very shade tolerant. My favorite thing to do with parsley is make chimichurri sauce, which is a parsley pesto made with parsley, garlic, olive oil and salt. It is great on steaks. And it is very easy to freeze the ground parsley and garlic for later use, just don’t add the olive oil until you want to serve the chimichurri. And no parmesan in this pesto.

Runner Beans: They are one of the most satisfying pole beans. An early starter with good germination rate. The blossoms are beautiful and really sweet to eat. The young beans can be harvested and eaten like string beans, the mature beans can be shelled and used in salads or soups. All very tasty and not commercially available. Because they are a neglected varietal, there are generally only two or three types available and they are heirloom. I prefer the Painted Lady – larger blossoms that are pink and white, instead of red.

Zucchini: I love the blossoms, cooked with sage and eggs. I love the zucchini made into zoodles, cooked with tomatoes, stuffed with sausage, grilled with Greek dressing marinade, breaded into sticks with marinara sauce. Zucchini is a weed – really easy to grow and you only need one bush. I like Burpee’s variety called “Sure Thing” because it is resistant to powdery mildew and does not require full sun.

Asparagus: Fresh picked asparagus is up there with heirloom tomatoes, sweet corn and sweet peas. There is nothing store-bought or even farmstand fresh that compares. It is almost too good to cook. If I do cook it, I only blanch it. But it is perfect cut up raw with raw garden peas in a salad (with a little fresh ricotta). Or you can puree it raw for a chilled summer soup with a drizzle of olive oil and salt.

The top five failures:

Radishes. I have never yet succeeded in growing a radish root. They get a yard high with lush green, downright bushy tops, and below ground nothing but a thin pink hair of a root. Not standard radishes or daikon, not in sandy soil, full sun, dry soil, partial shade. Not mixed with carrots and lettuce. Every year, every way, I try, try and try again, and never succeed. The easiest crop to grown, planted as soon as the soil can be worked. And I have never yet produced a radish.

Celeriac. I can’t even get these to germinate, indoors, outdoors, nothing. And I love celeriac, so like radishes, I try every year and fail. Celeriac makes a wonderful soup (with green apples) and amazing schnitzel steaks. It is a late fall root so it is readily available in the green markets. I should just give up trying to grow it, but I don’t like sacrificing garden space to stalk celery when I could grow celeriac and have both the root and celery leaves for soup. But I also grow lovage in the herb garden which is a “cutting celery” that can be used for soups.

Corn. Fixation on the Three Sisters native American planting of corn, beans and squash has led me to try over and over again to cultivate corn. Makes a nice bean pole. But the sweet corn and even the popcorn attracts squirrels. So even if the ears form, and don’t have corn ear fungus, 2 days before I decide to harvest, the squirrels strip the cobs and break the stalks.

Hot Peppers. Have never produced a hot pepper. They have cross-pollinated with sweet peppers resulting in bitter peppers. Or they have not produced any fruit, or the Mexican deer ate them.

Pumpkins. Never enough space for pumpkins. They need too much room and whenever I try to cultivate them outside the fenced in garden, the deer and the groundhogs eat the vines.

The top five freaks:

Noodle Beans: They score high on the fun factor. They are neat looking and they are tasty. They need a lot of support which I have so far failed to provide. Different varieties vary widely in taste from the more asparagus tasting green variety to a hazelnutty tasting red variety.

Portuguese Kale: I just love how this looks. It is a sweeter variety of kale that ends up looking like a giant open rose. It is green but somebody developed a lavender variety that is stunning. It is very tasty and easy to grow but gets large and needs a lot of space per plant.

Purple Orach: tastes just like spinach but is a deep, purple-magenta color (with a slightly velvet texture) and grows on an upright stalk which is a real space saver. It is cold hardy and so beautiful in salads, especially with nasturtium flowers.

Typhon Holland Greens: This is one of the fastest growing brassica ever. It looks a lot like romaine lettuce but tastes like a mild mustard or turnip green. It is crazy tolerant of heat and drought.

Claytonia: another strange shaped veritable – looks like a clump of lily pads. It has only one, tiny tap root. It is very cold hardy and it self seeds and comes up everywhere. It tastes like a cross between cucumber and butter-leaf lettuce.

The top five flight risk:

Horseradish - it is a weed. I don’t even see seeds so I can’t figure out how it is moving so quickly and spreading so far. The roots may look dead, but resuscitate miraculously. That can lie bare on the compost pile all winter and still sprout new leaves in the spring. I should never have bothered planting them in the enclosed garden. They grow 4 feet tall with wide, collard-like leaves. I think they need to move to the west wall of the house and be cultivated in semi ornamental clumps. Yes I was digging it up at Christmas because fresh grated horseradish is so sweet and spicy and goes perfectly on fresh shucked oysters! Giant red India mustard - I decided to save the seeds of my first harvest. I was shelling the seed pods on the patio and the seeds are so small that I dropped a couple hundred, which washed off the patio in a rainstorm, into the herb bed. The next spring they were a lovely bronze carpet of seedlings very early and I weeded them out as necessary to make room for the other plants, but allowed several clumps up remain because they are such a nice color contrast. Those clumps went to seed (300-500 seeds per plant) and it was game over. In the heat of summer, the mustard taste gets really spicy. A leaf or two on your sandwich or burger or taco instead of lettuce is great. Lemon balm: one plant. I thought it was going to be a culinary herb for tea and sautés. It is pretty much inedible because it naturally contains citronella. It thrives in anything from full sun to full shade, any soil type. It can propitiate by underground runners that pop up a foot or more away, or by wind blown seeds - it flowers at least twice a season. I am constantly pulling it out. However, i have planted it all around the patio in a defensive ring because it does keep the mosquitos away. Mutant pak choi. I bought some kind of a hybrid Asian green maybe 5 years ago. Some of it went to seed and ever since it has been randomly volunteering in the garden, except that its subsequent generations have reverted back to one of the plants it was hybridized from which is more like a biannual headless broccoli. And another strain is coming up fresh each spring looking like a rootless turnip green. Again, nothing like what I once planted. It is very cold hardy and not particularly tasty. Burdock. It is a weed. And at one point a couple volunteered in my garden, and that year the weeds won, and one of the burdock flowered dropped several hundred seeds in my garden. And then I started harvesting it and cultivating it and letting just one go to seed each year so I always have plenty of seeds. I don’t mind burdock. It’s first year it makes a nice ground cover and only gets about 12 inches high. It comes up very early, very beginning of March and the young leaves are edible. They are also very easy to see in March - the only green thing in the garden, so I harvest what I want and later, I just cut the tops off if they are in my way or over-shadowing things.

The garden report from the past year:

The cloche experiment: fail. It did not work. Nothing under a milk jug survived. Good-bye milk jugs. Like the greenhouse, without electric controls over heat and ventilation, it is not effective. I either need a cold-frame or row covers. The rosemary died as usual. The parsley not under milk jugs survived better than the parsley that was covered.

The herb bed: about eight years ago I improved the soil with woodchips, and the herb garden has flourished. I need to re-mulch with woodchips this year. The oregano has begun to wander. The Egyptian walking onions have begun to peter out. I am weeding out violets, or rather, moving them to other spots on the property. I never get rid of them; they are excellent groundcover. The thyme has really established itself and comes back with gusto. The sage has thinned and needs to be replaced. The rosemary is all dead. The lavender is surviving inside. I may put it out but keep it in pots on the patio. Mint, a weed, was all wiped out by black spot fungus in the shade bed. I treated the bed with neem oil and will try adding woodchips. The Lemon balm, of course, in the same bed, contracted the same fungus and survived anyway. The rhubarb is okay. I thought it was thriving until I saw somebody’s rhubarb patch on Cape Cod which was a four foot tall hedge. The bed needs more compost, and some wood chips.

The west wall project: The west wall of the house gets total afternoon sun and plenty of water coming down the hill. It is also entirely devoid of plantings – the grass comes right up to the foundation of the house. I have decided to build a 3 foot wide garden bed all along that side. I hate grass, so I am smothering it. I am going to plant the new west wall bed with clumps of horse-radish which grow very tall and sturdy green leaves. I will relocate the asparagus to clumps there because the current asparagus bed in the fenced garden is a waste of space since only humans eat asparagus. Asparagus get nice tall, feathery fronds with red berries. Fall blooming saffron crocus, with wire covers because the deer like to eat crocus. Strawberries, also under wire cloche because everything eats strawberries. Oddly strawberries, asparagus and horse-radish are companion plants. And they all like borage, so I’ll throw in some of that. And I’ll relocate some of the violets to there. And maybe some of the rhubarb.

So the back Back to Eden weed barrier method of gardening worked really well in the children’s garden, which took up all the cardboard I had saved. I am busy hording up more cardboard boxes for spring but now have a much clearer idea of just how much more cardboard I need. I will have to solicit people’s old moving boxes in the spring. And I will order wood chips to spread on top of it. This year we just used old leaves – didn’t have enough of those either. I have been sheet composting with chicken manure and used coop straw. Plenty of that to go around. And I am now faithfully saving my used coffee grounds and citrus peels for the same (the only kitchen scraps the chickens won’t eat). Once I move the asparagus bed out of the fenced garden I can cover the whole thing with compost, cardboard and woodchips and begin the grand experiment in my garden, and hopefully defeat the weeds this coming year. The children’s garden was pretty weed free, but we didn’t get the fencing up so critters ate everything.

An update on the house plants. I repotted all the house plants and even divided some. The largest corn plant, that I divided, has thrived in one pot and is wilting away in the other. I have the Areogrow planter out and ready to plant my winter culinary herbs. It is an excellent little hydroponic system. Last year’s Christmas poinsettias died. But I have 3 new ones I will attempt to nurse through the year. Will try forcing bulbs in the next month. I did plant another 200 daffodils, and 200 crocus. I clumped the daffodils and spread the crocus throughout the lawn because the deer eat all the crocus clumps by the porch in a night. So I’m making things more difficult for them. The large art glass globe still needs to be replanted. And I am still contemplating getting a bee hive.

The seed list this year is a fresh start. I have no seeds saved or stock-piled so I get to order all new this year. Looking back at my lists of constants, favorites, fails and freaks, it is not hard to guess at least 10 plants that will be in my garden. The choices this year will be what varieties and the fun factor. And yes, still following the crop rotation schedule.

Legumes (follow the Root crops):

Grew no beans in 2018, I planted them and most of the seeds were just too old and did not germinate. The few that sprouted were eaten by I do not know what kind of caterpillar. I give up on fava beans. No reason they shouldn’t grow here, but they just don’t. 500 peas planted in 3 successions, 2 weeks apart, in the spring and one fall planting will suffice. Runner beans, if I decide to try 3 sisters again.

Brassica – Cole - Green Crops (follow the legumes):

I love all members of the cabbage family. But they also like space. I can grow, and the chickens love, cabbage too. I likely will not start from seed because it is too easy and inexpensive to buy the seedlings. Same for cauliflower. I have saved lettuce seeds for so many years, and only bought mixes, that this is an exciting year when I get to buy seed and actually select certain varieties like “spotted trout” and “deer tongue”. Romaine lettuce now comes in a pale pink variety, as well as bronze. Escarole is my new favorite vegetable – I’ve stopped just throwing it in soup. Now I like it sautéed, and escarole chips are far superior to kale chips. Claytonia and purple orach are still lots of fun

Fruits (follow the Brassica and Greens):

The weather and the squirrels, chipmunks and mice all devastated my tomatoes, and then the deer leaned over the fence and ate the tops. So tomato plants will be purchased this year. As will screen covers for the plants. Likewise, the zucchini will have to be covered with netting row covers. I’m not crazy about my eggplant and pepper crops. Maybe my problem is I don’t like bell peppers – all of them got sunburn this summer and had horrible brown scales. Maybe I should grow a different variety. Eggplant, I always try to grow Japanese variety, with moderate success except for years when this really odd insect eats the whole plant. Melons, cucumbers, pumpkins and winter squash all need much more space and protection from every kind of predator. Okra – some one in the garden club successfully grew okra this past year so I am going to try to grow it. I like okra blistered and dipped in chili salt and hummus.

Roots (follow the fruits):

I certainly will be harvesting burdock. I didn’t plant it, but it self-seeded and there will be plenty in the spring. I am crazed for watermelon daikon radishes – they get grapefruit sized and thin slices make wonderful tacos for shredded duck and scallions. I also love the chopped radish and ricotta salad. Black Spanish radish doubles as horseradish – very sad tale from a local farmer who used to grow black radish for Heintz because it made up almost 80% of their prepared bottled horseradish, but new labeling rules forced them to switch to mostly pure horseradish so the black radish industry collapsed. However, black radishes are large enough to stuff with clams casino and roast, so, here we go again trying to grow radishes. There are so many available at the green market I should just give up, but I can’t. Still have not perfected the potato in the bucket method. Despite being in raised towers, they got too much water. I think I need to try sandier soil this year.

Flowers:

We are still working on smothering the lawn in several large swaths and planting wildflowers. I have more seeds ready to spread in spring. Going to keep adding perennials like Echinacea, milk thistle, comos, sunflowers. I also bought cardinal flowers (lobelia) and zinnias to add around the edges. I have some salvia and primrose that a neighbor sneaked into my herb garden. Might add some more primrose to the shade bed. Nasturtiums and petunias and marigolds are all important companion plants in the vegetable garden. And I am going to experiment with some saffron crocus for the west wall.

Herbs:

The new mint garden has still to be planted. I ended up inter-planting some with the lemon balm border around the patio, but the lemon balm really crowds it out. Not sure where the mint will go this year. The front of the house may be dug up for the new front walk this year so I am not going to do any planting out there. As always I have grand designs for growing cumin. But not really hot enough here, so maybe I will try it in a pot on the patio where it can get some extra heat from the stones. Same for the Indian Hibiscus. And sorrel, I like to grow it but don’t really like to eat it, so don’t know if that will get into the herb garden this year. It is a bit too tempting for the deer, so it doesn’t survive outside the fenced garden. And I have not come across any good companion planting for sorrel, so unless I eat some sorrel dish that is really tasty, I might skip it. Sage needs to be replanted, several varieties – I had the most delicious dish of walnut and gorgonzola raviolis served with whole sautéed sage leaves in olive oil. I also like batter fried sage leaves with warm olives.

Seed List

The seed list will be shared separately this year. As I mentioned above, I am out of seeds. Nothing saved or in stock, so I get to start fresh! The poor germination rates this past year really motivated me to just dispose of everything. So now I have the very pleasurable chance to peruse all the incoming seed catalogues and consider all the newest hybrids. I will circulate the seed list after I have spent the next few weeks researching.

#gardening backyardgardens

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kiibx · 7 years

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Why exactly am I allowed to write again? XD WHy did we think Joi was a good idea? WHY DO WE SHIP THIS?! XD

Right, because the precious perfection <3

HAVE SOME MAMA!AOI <3 ~~~~~~~~~~~~

Blue-green focused on the pile of mud in her doorway, trying her hardest to contain not only her laughter, but a sigh and a reminder this… This was actually fairly normal. So were the globs that trailed behind it, and the two bits that reached up to her, expecting her to pick it up and hug it. Oh good god, the memories that brought back of her academy days…. “Didn’t you just have a bath?”

“Uh-huh.” The mud pile fidgeted, peeling part of itself off to reveal a torso of dirty tanned skin. “But I found a froggy! It hopped around, Mama- Like this! Ribbit, ribbit-” And before she could remind him they were indoors, she was watching her oldest child hop around the once clean bathroom, splattering globs of mud across the tile and pulling a laugh from her lips. At least with every glob of mud she could see more of him, a matching pair of eyes turning to look up with her a moment later in pure glee.

“Frogs usually do come out as night around here,” Aoi commented, peeling Amai’s mud-caked clothing off and scooping him up into her arms. At least she’d gotten Hoshino through her bath and out to watch tv in the living room before he’d come back in, though she didn’t relish the idea of sending muddy pajamas through a wash while she slept and hoping they came clean. Then again, had she not grown up alongside her husband during their time at the academy, she knew she’d have been out there with him, hopping around in the mud without a care in the world.

Carefully balancing – when had he gotten so big?! - she nudged the faucet for the tub with her knee, re-filling the moderately sized porcelain container with warm water. “Did I ever tell you about the froggies your Daddy and I once found?”

A gasp rose from her hip, where Amai had taken to drawing on her shirt in mud. Even for a six year old, he had some talent, accurately managing to recreate a kuriboh on her shoulder before her question caught his attention. “I like froggies- Were they BIG froggies?!”

“Mhm! The biggest! We caught two and hid them under Uncle Chazz’s bed,” she paused, lowering Amai into the tub and leaning over to turn the water off, kneeling beside the white porcelain, “and then we kept bringing bits of our lunch to the others for a few months! One of them was big and brown and covered in little bumps- We named him Crowler.”

“What’s a Crowlie?”

“Crowler, my little snowflake. He was one of the meanest teachers we ever had when we were kids. Daddy once got him hit with a baseball- Uncle Bastion hit it, but your Daddy threw it. And one time, he even made me run laps around the school because I told him his lipstick was done wrong.”

Amai laughed, letting his mother gently rinse the mud from his small form with a cup and multiple scoops of water.”Like Mrs. Mazaki! She said I can’t bring Pip to class anymore an’ made me leave him outside in the cold!”

For a moment, Aoi thought of the lizard in question; no more than a tiny green anole, it’d taken to following Amai to and from school after he’d fed it a few insects he’d found. She’d been initially against it – they didn’t have money for a pet, and he loved his lizard friend far too much for it to be anything else – but the more they’d established a set routine and the reptile even became a class favorite, she’d relented. It wasn’t like Pip himself could cause much trouble.

Or so she’d thought; it’d only been a few months before she’d gotten messages from the school of Pip being left on the teacher’s desk, climbing all over Amai and distracting him from his lessons- effectively being the partner in crime she and Jaden had been to each other, and still were. Then again, how could she not laugh? They were in their late twenties and the parents of a six and four and a half year olds, yet they still often reverted to their ‘let’s do things we shouldn’t’ modes and left frogs in Chazz’s house and bags, played pranks on Bastion and Atticus and even Zane, often even teased their own kids, who would counter with teasing of their own and new games for them all to play. Hard not to expect their son wouldn’t be the same, really.

Carefully, Aoi rinsed the mud from his hair, grabbing for a bottle of shampoo with her other hand. “Maybe it’s best if Pip doesn’t follow you inside anymore. Figure out which window is your classroom’s, then set him on it to wait while you’re in there.”

“But what if he gets lost?!”

She laughed, letting her ‘troublemaker’ mentality rise. With the shampoo bottle in one hand and the other gently lathering up his honey brown hair, the elder jabbed at the air, using the bottle as a makeshift sword with a wide grin. “Then he’ll have to become Sir Pip, Knight of the Yuki family! He’ll fight his way back an’ find you again- He can’t leave his charge unattended! You’re Prince Amai- He needs to be with you!”

But her excitement deflated rather quickly while Amai cheered and bounced, rinsing his own hair after a minute. Prince Amai… Any mention of royalty reminded her of their third year at the academy, when Jaden had found out who he was, and Yubel’s reign of terror. By all technicalities, Amai could be a prince – His father had been the supreme king, even if they fought to forget that and move on with their lives. It was difficult to, though, especially when the nightmares still persisted over ten years later, and Yubel was constantly with them as part of his soul.

As it was, she had that familiar tingle down her spine that usually came with the monster watching them, prompting her smile to return rather quickly. Though Yubel’s presence still occasionally made her nervous, she’d come to terms long ago with her being a part of her husband. She’d always be there, watching over, protecting, and helping him, and honestly, Aoi was thankful for that – Yubel was a terrifying being, powerful and protective, but she also only had his best interests at heart. Even she couldn’t fault her for that.

Aoi tilted her head, checking her son over for any remaining traces of dirt and mud. Aside from a few traces under his nails, he was dirt free, the water he sat in nearly completely brown from it all. “And now we just have to get you dried off and into bed. It’s getting late, snowflake.”

“But I want a story! Daddy tells good ones!” Amai argued, climbing out of the tub and forcing her to quickly grab a nearby towel to wrap him up in, lest he track dirty water into dried mud and need a third bath. She already wasn’t looking forward to the cleanup when she’d had a long day herself, trying to fill orders and take measurements between household chores and taking care of Jaden while he lay in bed with a cold.

But per the usual, she refused to complain, gently running the towel over his hair and skin to dry him off. “Daddy’s in bed already, honey. He’s still sick- no stories tonight. Maybe tomorrow.”

“Not even 'bout puppies?”

“Mm-mm. I’ll tell you what. When Daddy’s all better, then we’ll surprise him with breakfast and he’ll read you all the stories in the world, okay?”

“….Okay! Ones 'bout lizards, too!”

“Any story you want. Promise.”

She could’ve sworn Yubel laughed at that, though chalked it up to her imagination. And with Amai dry and wrapped up once again, Aoi scooped him back into her arms and shuffled into the hall, fully expecting to find a mess of mud…

And found nothing but a spotless hall instead, the tv even off and living room dark.

For a moment, it set the woman’s nerves on edge; she’d fancied herself her pup’s protector ever since he’d fused with Yubel, and unless he’d used those powers he’d gained then, there was no way things should be this quiet. She would’ve heard Neos, too, or Yubel, even Kuriboh – something had gone horribly off.

“Mommy?”

“It’s all right, love,” she managed to get out, somehow keeping her tone light and sweet despite her nerves being on high alert. “But Mommy does need to go check on Daddy and Hoshino, so let’s get you into bed, kay?”

Amai nodded, freeing a hand from his towel to rub at his eye. “B’ I’m not tired,” he countered, his argument punctuated with a yawn that made even his mother giggle. Knowing he couldn’t win, he laid his head against her shoulder, allowing her to carry him into his bedroom and set him on the bed so she could get a change of pajamas.

Within minutes, she had the six year old changed, towel dropped into the laundry, and tucked in, a kiss to his forehead matched with a tight hug and one to her cheek in return. And though it made her heart melt, even to see him snuggle up under his blankets and drift off to sleep, her on-edge nerves had her quickly flicking the lights off and slipping out, for once welcoming the tingle along her spine that signaled Yubel’s presence. If something really was going wrong, she had backup – though how much the monster could do as a spirit was beyond her.

A peek into her daughter’s room eased a bit of her worries; Hoshino lay in her bed fast asleep, tucked in and clutching the plush kuriboh Aoi knew all too well. She’d given Jaden that when they were only 16… He’d turned around and given it to their daughter in turn, declaring it a fairly heirloom. Honestly, she wasn’t sure if wonderful described her family anymore…

Shuffling down the hall, Aoi undid the wide clip holding her hair back, blue-green gaze darting every which way for any sign of intruders. The door was locked, everything cleaned up, a muddy cloth in the sink, upside down plush on the couch-

Wait.

The tension eased from her body at that, a smile replacing it and sending her not only into her own bedroom, but crawling into bed to place a gentle kiss to her husband’s cheek. “Didn’t I tell you to stay in bed, Mr. Yuki? You’re not going to get healthy again cleaning up after our son.”

Jaden chuckled, rolling onto his back and gently tugging her down to lay beside him. “Can’t let you deal with everything alone. Mud would’ve kept you up for hours.”

“And yet in half an hour you not only cleaned it all up, but locked up shop and put Hoshino to bed.”

“Hey. After years of cleaning up mud from Chazz throwing frogs at us-”

She laughed, draping an arm over his middle and nuzzling her face into his shoulder. That was a memory that often crept into her mind whenever their friend or frogs came up in conversation, retaliation for trying to 'ribbit’ him out of his room as a harmless prank. “And we wonder why he doesn’t visit often.”

“Probably thinks we have more.” Still chuckling, he tilted his head, nuzzling his nose into her hair and peppering the raven locks with little kisses. His hold on her tightened just slightly, and for a moment, she could forget she was fully dressed and he was sick – they were back in the early days of their relationship, curled up in his bunk in the Slifer Red dorm and just basking in the fact they were alive and together. A pair of teens thankful for everything they had, and then some.

Lifting her head, she caught his lips in a soft kiss, body snuggling closer to his. It’d been at least ten years since their relationship had started, closer to thirteen since they’d met… And still, she couldn’t think of any other path she’d want her life to take. Even with all the pain and heartache, they’d done it together, survived together – And they were stronger for it. Stronger and by far happier, settled into a life they both loved.

“What was that for?” he whispered upon parting, lips quirked into a smile. “I’m still sick, y'know. Trying to get yourself sick and bed-bound, too?”

“Mm-mm. Just wanted to make sure you knew I love you. More than anything.”

She couldn’t change a thing in a life that led her to him.

#【𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑨𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑫𝒂𝒓𝒌】{Elementshipping}#getyouraoion #{{still dying over the cute #submission

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