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liliacamethyst · 11 months

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Web of Secrets - Miguel O'Hara

Miguel O'Hara x SpiderSun Reader

words: 3.7K

warnings: secret pregnancy trope, swearing, angst, heartbreak, grumpy/sunshine, smut

Part I Part II Part III Part IV

In your universe, you are known as the Sun Spider. It all started on a school field trip to a solar energy research center, where you were accidentally exposed to a spider that had been subjected to intense solar radiation. You woke up with a white-hot surge of power, and your life changed forever. You donned a suit of pure white, taking the name that reflected both your newfound abilities and the brightness you brought into the world: Spider-Sun.

Your ability to harness solar energy and transform it into powerful blasts or create protective shields made you a formidable superhero in your home city, Nea Yorkey. Your ability to bring light to even the darkest corners of your city earned you the love of its citizens.

However, everything changed when you were suddenly pulled into the Spider-Verse.

Upon arriving, you were greeted by the gruff leader of this interdimensional team of Spider-People, Miguel O'Hara. His reputation preceded him - the genius intellect, the imposing figure, the gruff demeanor. Everyone respected him, and some even feared him. You, on the other hand, were drawn to him. There was something about that guarded demeanor that called to your own sunny nature.

You became an integral part of the team, fighting off anomalies and working hard to maintain the balance in the Spider-Verse. And despite Miguel's stern exterior, you felt yourself falling for him.

One mission was particularly rough, and you found yourself alone with Miguel in a safe house, nursing your wounds. His usually stern face softened as he tended to your injuries. The distance that he usually maintained was nowhere to be seen.

"Thank you, Miguel," you whispered.

He looked at you, his usually hard eyes soft. "You fought well, mi sol."

There was a moment of silence, a strange tension hanging in the air. Then, Miguel leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was filled with unexpected passion.

In that moment, you were not the Sun Spider, and he was not the Spider-Man 2099. You were just two people, seeking solace in each other.

Afterwards, as you laid side by side, Miguel turned to you, a serious look on his face. "This...this can't be more than what it is. Just...you know, stress relief," he muttered, his voice just above a whisper.

His words wounded you. Naturally, they did. He had reduced your relationship to mere stress relief, as if you were some object devoid of feelings. Yet, in spite of it all, you fell for him. Perhaps you were naive, even foolish, but you didn't care. You yearned for him and were ready to accept any fraction of affection he was willing to offer, no matter how small.

During the day, as you fought alongside him against the anomalies threatening the Spider-Verse, his attention toward you was sparse. He mostly shared only necessary information, barely making eye contact. Sometimes he didn't speak at all, and you and the rest of the team would receive mission orders and briefings from Lyla, his AI assistant.

But at night, when the two of you were alone, he became a different person. He'd whisper praises into your ear, telling you how exceptionally you fought, how much he desired you. He showed you his hidden vulnerability under the cover of darkness, the sheets their only witness. He'd gently stroke your hair and peppered your jaw and temple with kisses until you fell asleep, only for you to wake up the next morning to an empty, cold spot where he once lay.

This cycle - his coldness by day, and the fervor by night - repeated itself relentlessly for months.

And so, this is how you find yourself: disoriented, frenzied, and on the verge of tears, seated on the couch of your best friend, Peter B. Parker, in Earth-616. Cradled in your arms is his sweet daughter, Mayday, who, with her innocent touch, tries to console you. Yet her wide eyes dart anxiously to her father, reflecting her own alarm at your distress.

Peter rubs his chin thoughtfully. "Maybe we should wait until MJ gets home?" he suggests, then, with a furrowed brow, he asks, “Have you tried talking to Jess about this?”

You shake your head vigorously. "No, I haven't told anyone. I have no idea what to do," you confess, your voice breaking.

Peter, ever the caring friend, gently takes Mayday from your arms and sets her down. He turns back to face you with a sympathetic gaze. “Do you..eh.. know who the father is?” he inquires softly.

You shake your head again, even though deep down, you know the truth. “The father is out of the picture. He doesn’t know, and he never will because he doesn’t want kids,” you whisper, fighting back tears.

As you and Peter sit down on the couch in his cozy living room, you find a sense of comfort being around him. His experience as both a superhero and a parent seems like it could be a beacon in this storm you're facing. The room is quiet, save for the soft ticking of a clock on the wall.

“You know, Peter,” you begin, your voice almost a whisper. “I’m terrified. What if the baby has powers? How am I going to protect them, especially if...if I can’t stop fighting anomalies?”

Peter looks thoughtful. “That’s a valid concern. First, you should know that you don’t have to do this alone. There’s a whole community of us, and we stick together. If the child does have powers, she or he will be badass like Mayday, right?”

You nod slowly but then anxieties pile on top of each other in your mind. “But... how can I hide this? Nobody and I mean nobody is supposed to know that I’m pregnant. Especially not...” You trail off, not finishing the sentence.

Peter rubs his chin, deep in thought. “We could look into modifying your suit, maybe talk to some tech geniuses in the Spider-Verse about creating something that can shield or conceal the pregnancy.”

You roll your eyes. “That kinda defies the ‘nobody is allowed to know ‘ordeal, Peter. You have to promise me that this stays between us.”

“I promise,” Peter says sincerely.

Silence fills the room again, and then you voice another fear. “Peter, what if...what if I’m not a good mother? What if I mess this up?”

Peter smiles warmly. “You know, I had those same fears when Mayday was born. I think it’s normal for any parent. But, take it from me, the fact that you’re worried about being a good parent means you’re already on the right track. You’ve got a good heart. Trust it.”

You look down at your hands, fingers interlaced. “Thank you, Peter. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“You’ll never have to find out,” he says with a reassuring smile. “We’re family, in this weird, Spider-Verse kind of way. But maybe… and I am sayig this as a father myself… reconsider telling the father. I can’t imagine any guy wanting to give up this.” He says, pointing to his precious daughter playing with a napkin she found on the floor.

"Maybe you should reconsider telling the father," Peter's words are echoing in your mind like a haunting melody. A part of you yearns for that possibility. Perhaps you're not alone in this. Maybe, just maybe, Miguel wants this as much as you do.With newfound resolve, you set off for the Spider-Verse headquarters, expecting to find Miguel tucked away in his office, immersed in maintaining the spider verse or as he calls it "arachno- something-multiverse-thingy” or something similar to that.

Upon reaching his office door, you pound on it sharply. No response. Frowning, you knock again, a little harder this time. When silence continues to greet you, you slowly turn the doorknob and peek inside. There he is, hunched over his desk, lost in a world of numbers and codes.

"Miguel, I-" you start, but his sharp voice cuts you off.

"No," he interrupts, his tone cold. "Did I say you can come in? Dios mio, why are you always so damn clingy?"

His words hit you like a punch to the gut. You stare at him, taken aback by his blatant disregard for your feelings. You can feel the beginnings of tears prick at the corner of your eyes, but you will them away.

He doesn't mean it, he doesn't mean it like that. This mantra plays over and over in your head, like a broken record. You take a deep breath, forcing down the hurt his words cause.

"Look, Miguel," you begin, struggling to keep your voice steady. "There’s something we need to talk about, and I think it's important for you to listen to me."

“Fucking hell, woman! What exactly don’t you understand. I’m busy. I don’t care about your little problems, right now.” he barks, not even looking up.

“Miguel,” you speak up, forcing the words out through clenched teeth, “ I’ve never asked anything from you. Not once have did I ask you to stay, to feel the same I feel, to fucking talk to me when people are around. Please all I am asking you is to just ... listen to me, fpr once.” Your voice grows stronger as you speak, a determined fire igniting within you.

Miguel finally looks up, his eyes meeting yours. For a moment, he seems taken aback by the resolve he saw there.

He rubs his temples. “Can we do this later?”

“No!” you shout. “It’s always later with you. You’re like...like a ghost. Just a figure in the hallway. I don’t need a figure, I need a person! I need someone who listens when...”

He glares at you, his eyes narrowing. “Okay, okay I will listen just not now. Whatever it is, it can wait.”

“No, it can’t,” you retort, your voice shaking a bit. “Why is it that every time I try to talk to you, you just brush me off? Am I that insignificant to you?”

He stands up abruptly, the chair skidding behind him. “This? This is what you want to talk about?” he says with a tone of annoyance. “Look, I have a million things to deal with and-”

“And what? And I’m not one of them? Just five minutes, Miguel! That’s all I ask!”

The room is tense. Your heart is racing. His eyes are fiery. It's a standoff.

“And what is so important that you have to disrupt everything right now?” he challenges.

Your breath catches in your throat. This is it. You're about to say it.

“I...” you stammer. “I need to tell you that...”

Suddenly, the door to the office swings open and Jess storms in.

“Miguel, we have a major issue in Sector 12! The anomalies...” she starts, then catches sight of your tear-streaked face. “Oh, am I interrupting something?”

Miguel seems to shake off the tension and slips back into commander mode. “No nothing important. What’s happening in Sector 12?”

You can't believe it. Just like that, he turns away. It feels like your heart is being squeezed.

Jess starts rattling off data and scenarios. The two of them are talking, but you don’t hear it anymore. All you can think of is how you almost told him. How you just wanted five minutes.

Your hands shake and you quietly step out of the room. The door closes behind you, and it feels like a chapter that you can’t read has been sealed away.

The next day you are on Earth-8311, an anthropomorphic animal-dominated universe. It's the home of Peter Porker, the Spectacular Spider-Ham, and you can't help but find it amusing.

The mission: to transport an anomaly, which resembles an enormous floating jellyfish, back to its home universe. It's been pure chaos here, and you are determined to set things right.

The team: Gwen, Hobie, and Peter B. Parker. You're all in your suits, eyes sharp, and webs at the ready.

"Alright, Spiders. Let's round this jelly up and send it home," Peter B. Parker takes charge, shooting a web towards a nearby building.

You swing alongside him, your thoughts a whirlwind. The world around you blurs - the animal citizens, the bustling cityscape, the strange yet familiar surroundings.

The anomaly appears before you, thrashing and pulsating as it floats through the sky. It releases blasts of energy that ripple through the air.

"Watch out, Sunny!" Gwen calls out as she dodges a blast.

You, however, are a split second too late. Your reflexes are off, your movements sluggish. The blast sends you spiraling towards the ground.

Hobie swings in and catches you mid-air, his guitar strapped on his back. “Get it together, Sun!” he shouts over the noise, his punk-styled hair waving wildly.

You shake off your daze and look up to see Peter B. Parker shooting webs to pull the anomaly back down, while Gwen is deploying a device to open a portal back to its home universe.

Your heart races as you focus on the task at hand. You need to get this right, not just for yourself, but for the life you’re now carrying. Your suit seems to glow even brighter in the chaos.

With a final combined effort, you manage to lasso the anomaly and push it through the portal. The anomaly disappears, and the portal closes behind it.

The team regroups on a rooftop. Gwen is catching her breath, Hobie is tuning his guitar, and Peter B. Parker gives you a concerned look.

“Are you okay?” Gwen asks, her voice laced with worry. “You weren’t yourself up there.”

The weight of the secret you’re carrying feels unbearable. But you're not ready to share it.

“Promise me you won’t tell Miguel about this,” you say, your voice barely audible.

Gwen raises an eyebrow, while Hobie crosses his arms. Peter B. Parker simply nods.

“Nah, Bossman doesn’t need to know about this,” Hobie says, and there’s a firmness in his voice that is strangely comforting.

Back in the HQ, your head spins, and your stomach feels like it's doing somersaults. You mumble a quick excuse about feeling nauseous and practically sprint to the nearest restroom.

Meanwhile, Gwen, Hobie, and Peter B. Parker head to the cafeteria to grab something to eat.

As they sit down at a table with their trays, Gwen breaks the silence. “Is it okay if I say that this mission was kind of easy? Like, I’ve seen Sunny take down Doc Ock from Earth-818, and she did that without any problem. So what was that today?” Gwen’s concern is apparent.

Hobie, munching on a sandwich, nods in agreement. "Yeah, it's like her spidey senses were jammed or somethin'. Never seen her like that before."

Peter B. Parker looks thoughtfully at his sandwich, then glances up at Gwen and Hobie. He’s torn, having promised you to keep your secret but also wanting your friends to understand why you were off your game.

"You guys remember when she fought Morlun on Earth-001? She was a totally smashin’ it, and today, she nearly got turned into spider-paste by a floating jellyfish. That ain’t right," Hobie adds.

Gwen’s eyes suddenly widen. "Oh my God! Do you think she’s in trouble? Like, something from her universe? Or maybe she's having an identity crisis! Should we stage an intervention?"

Peter B. Parker clears his throat. “Maybe she’s just having an off day.”

Gwen’s eyes narrow as she scrutinizes Peter. “You know something, don’t you?”

Peter scratches the back of his head, obviously uncomfortable. “Nope, no idea.”

Hobie puts down his sandwich and leans in. "Oi, mate. Spill your guts. There's something dodgy going on. She's always been our burst of sunshine, lifting the mood. But now she's... dimmed. What's going on with our Sunny, Parker?"

Before Peter B. Parker could answer Gwen’s barrage of questions, Jess - Spider-Woman - appears, her belly showing. She takes a seat at the table and, oblivious to the serious conversation that was taking place, asks them about their latest mission.

"So, how did your mission go?" Jessica asks, while munching on her Burger.

"Nothing to report, Jess," Gwen answers, a little too quickly, her face all sunshine and false smiles. Peter simply nod in agreement.

“Yah, all good!” Hobie chimes in, flashing a grin that seems a little too bright.

“How about you? How are you holding up?” Peter asks Jess, trying to steer the conversation away from the mission.

Jessica shrugs, not overly concerned, and bites into her burger. "'M good. You know, I'm so glad I can finally eat a burger again. At the beginning of my pregnancy, practically every food made me nauseous, especially after swinging around on missions.”

Suddenly, there's a moment of collective realization among Gwen, Hobie. It’s as if their spider senses are tingling in unison. They exchange knowing looks, all of them silently putting the pieces together.

Gwen’s eyes are wide, Hobie’s eyebrows are raised, and they both turn to look at Peter, who simply nods.

Jess, noticing the silent exchange, squints at them. “What is up with you guys? You’re acting weird. Well, weirder than usual.”

“Uh, nothin’!” Hobie says, a little too quickly.

“Yeah, just tired from the mission,” Gwen adds, trying to play it cool.

Jess rolls her eyes and stands up. “Alright, weirdos. I’m gonna go find some normal people to talk to,” she says jokingly and walks away.

After she leaves, the trio leans in.

“Sunny’s pregnant, isn’t she?” Gwen whispers.

Hobie's eyes are as wide as saucers. “That would explain everything!”

Peter B. Parker nods. “We need to be there for her, but remember, it’s her news to share when she’s ready.”

They make a pact to support you without pushing you to reveal anything before you're ready.

As you walk back into the cafeteria, you find your friends huddled together. They break apart when they see you and welcome you back with smiles and light conversation, but something in their demeanor is different but you can’t put your finger on it. They are being more attentive, considerate, and frankly, a little too curious about your well-being.

"Are you sure you're okay, Sunny?" Gwen asks for the third time since you sat down. Her concern is genuine, but her intensity is slightly off-putting.

"Yeah, do you need anything?" Hobie offers, his eyes gleaming with unspoken curiosity. "Food, drink, or maybe... pickles?" Pickles? Thats oddly specific.

There's a burst of laughter from Gwen, and even Peter is suppressing a chuckle.

"What's up with the pickles?" You ask, looking at them suspiciously.

"Oh, nothing!" Gwen says, a little too quickly, trying to hold back her laughter.

"Hmm, pickles and ice cream, a weird combo, innit?" Hobie wonders aloud, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

Again, there's suppressed laughter, and you look at each of them, a realization slowly dawning on you. You turn to Peter, your gaze steady and serious. "You told them, didn't you?" Peter looks shocked, but quickly composes himself. "I didn't exactly tell them, per se," he confesses, "I might've confirmed their suspicions when they asked, but they figured it out on their own. Spider senses and all that jazz.”

Before you could respond, Gwen and Hobie jump in, both talking over each other in an attempt to apologize.

"We're sorry, Sunny," Gwen says sincerely. "We didn't mean to invade your privacy, it's just that... we're worried about you. Please don’t be mad."

Hobie nods, adding, "And we're right behind ya, whatever comes our way. We've got your back, no doubt about it."

You are happy, while the situation isn't ideal, but at least you're not alone. You have friends who care about you and, despite their unconventional way of showing it, they are there for you. You smile, comforted by their concern, and grateful for their support.

"Yeah," you finally say, "I guess we’re gonna need a lot more pickles and ice cream around here, huh?"

“Sooo...who’s the dad? Is he hot?” Gwen, leaning on the table with her elbows, asks shyly after a while.

You let out a long sigh, “He’s very hot... but also a colossal jerk.”

Peter raises an eyebrow. “You took my advice and talked to him then?”

You shake your head, your eyes starting to well up. “No, I tried. But he wouldn’t listen to me. He was busy, and I guess I wasn’t important enough. So, the baby won’t be either,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Hobie's eyes narrow, and his face is flushed with anger. "Who's this bloke, eh? I swear on me nan's grave, I'll give him a right proper earful! No one treats our Sunny like a tosser and gets away with it!"

Gwen jumps in, her eyes wide with speculation, “Wait, is he a Spider? Is it Peter? Or the other Peter? Or—”

“Guys, guys!” you cut them off, your voice cracking. “Please, it doesn’t matter. He made it clear where I stand, and it’s not with him.”

There’s a silence that settles over the table as your friends look at each other and then back to you. Their faces are a mix of concern, sadness, and frustration.

Peter B. is the first to break the silence. “You don’t have to go through this alone. You’ve got us. If the dad doesn’t want to step up, then he’s missing out on something amazing.”

Gwen nods, her eyes firm with resolve. “Yeah, we’re family. We’ve got your back, no matter what.”

Hobie, still fuming, finally calms down enough to say, "All you gotta do is whistle, love, and we'll be there in a blink. Even if it means thumping some manners into this mystery idiot."

You can't help but crack a small smile, despite the tears. You’re overwhelmed by the love and support your friends are giving you.

“Thanks, guys. You don't know how much this means to me.”

They all reach out and there’s a group hug right in the middle of the cafeteria. You didn’t know how much you needed this until it happened.

Part 2 “Webs of Fate”

a/n: Thank you guys for all your love on this fic so far.I really appreciate each like, comment, reblog <3. I still can’t reply to your comments so please if you want to tagged (and are not already) comment on part 2 and I’ll do my best and add you.Also I am open to requests, critic and wishes. Have a wonderful day. xx

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e-devotion · 8 months

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Cuba on my mind

Ray Charles made a song popular that was written almost 40 years before he sang. I can almost hear Charles singing “Georgia On My Mind”. His rendition of the song was so powerful that it soon became the official song of the state.

Why do I share those facts? My wife is from Georgia. She thinks about the state a lot. I lived there for almost a decade. It has lots of facets I like. But that is not why I share it with you.

Cuba is on my mind. That is not a song, but it reminds me of a song. That is why I shared with you the song and ask you to let Cuba take the place, the thought place for a few minutes over the next 9 days and beyond.

Thursday I begin the journey back to Cuba to work with the sports ministry and introduce some new friends to the incredible work God is doing there.

Psalm 2:8 NLT

Only ask, and I will give you the nations as your inheritance, the whole earth as your possession.

1 Corinthians 9:22-23 NLT

… Yes, I try to find common ground with everyone, doing everything I can to save some. 23 I do everything to spread the Good News and share in its blessings.

Two powerful verses that share my heart about the word I get to do in Virginia, in Cuba and in so many other places. Why is that? It is so people hear about Jesus and have an opportunity to have even more hope. Hope comes in one person, and those person is Jesus.

Find a way to share. You can do that any where, but do it where God leads you.

In February of 2019 I sat across the tablet at a Havana restaurant named “The Lateral”, and I heard what God was doing across the country of Cuba. God had been working there for a long time using some incredible people. But there was a need for more. More resources. More workers. More support. Just more.

That is where I come in and have found my heart in fresh and exciting ways. I love what we are doing at The Community Fellowship and beyond. I also see what we are doing at church as an extension of the work in Cuba.

The specific reason for this trip is to connect more people to the work in Cuba. Currently there are about 8 or 9 people on the team traveling this week to learn about sports ministry in Cuba.

Would you pray? Pray for more workers. Pray for resources like sports equipment, sports fields, coaches and athletes. Pray for encouragement, strength and passion for the work. Pray for those who are called to support those who are doing the work.

Would you go? I leave tomorrow, but there will be more trips. Would you go with me? Let me know that you would like to be part of a trip and this mission work.

Would you give? You can give through me or the church. You can go to the national FCA website and look for the sports ministry in Cuba known as MADEM. Just give what God leads you to give.

Thank you for praying. I will not be sharing e-devotions every day over the next 9 days. There will be some e-devotion minute videos on facebook. There might be a few e-devotion emails or blog posts.

1 Peter 4:9-10 NLT

God has given each of you a gift from his great variety of spiritual gifts. Use them well to serve one another. 11 … Do it with all the strength and energy that God supplies. Then everything you do will bring glory to God through Jesus Christ. All glory and power to him forever and ever! Amen.

#e-devotion #devotion #devo #the community fellowship #michael harrison #god #jesus #church #Cuba #mission #serve #give #pray #go

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221bsunsettowers · 3 years

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🙋🏽‍♀️ Back again with another favorite for the fic association game: Found Forever on a Field Trip?

Thanks so much for another ask!

Found Forever on a Field Trip

So much of this is based off my experiences as a preschool teacher, and I loved getting to put all those details in there. Fire Safety Squad is based on a place our preschool goes to every year for a field trip-they teach fire safety and then the kids get to explore what is essentially an amazing fire station playhouse.

I have also had kids run away from their chaperone, a parent try to show videos on their phone to their group of kids even though I had repeatedly said they weren't allowed to, and a child did have to pee in a trash can on the school bus because they couldn't hold it anymore.

I also had never thought about making this into a series until after I posted this first story. When I started writing a second story, I realized that in the timeline I had set up in the first story, Carlos and TK had gotten married within a year of meeting, which I had totally done for the cuteness of the ending looping back to the beginning except now it's "Firefighter Strand-Reyes". I was debating changing the timeline but I'm going to stick with it :)

I'm working on another story for the series, off a prompt suggested by a reader, centered around 1x10.

Tell me the fic you associate with my username, in exchange I'll tell you a secret about that story :)

#found forever on a field trip series #found forever on a field trip verse #found forever on a field trip #ask #answer #fanfic #tarlos #tarlos au #preschool teacher carlos #firefighter tk #9-1-1 lone star #9-1-1 lone star au #fanfiction #writing #tk #carlos #otp: we make a pretty good team

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namjoonchronicles · 4 years

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finer arts | th

↳ genre fluff, slice of life, domestic, husband-Taehyung ↳ words 4.6k ↳ summary inspired by the Baumgartner Restoration channel on Youtube, Taehyung is written as a fine art restorer. This fic centres on the point where arts and science collide. Also, long haired Taehyung. Unedited. :’) ↳ song miley cyrus ‘when i look at you’ slowed ver.

Very soft. Taehyung’s hair, at this length, had always been soft. It’s been awhile since he told you he wanted them to grow longer, and it’s finally paying off. He looks terribly soft with bangs going just a little over his brows and poking his eyes. Gathering his hair into one apple sprout and tying it up has always been your favourite way to start the day. He was humming Frank Sinatra's in the living room as it played on the bluetooth speaker when you found him. Always so hardworking. You leaned on your side by the wall, folding your arms and watching your husband pouting at the document he was reading as his head hung low. Big round glasses sliding down the slope of his Godly carved nose he learned to hate, growing up. Parker Fountain Pen in his slender fingers, cross crossing, underlining, circling the paper in a professional manner makes you remember why you had fallen for him. Slowly, but surely.

He lifts his eyes, noticing another presence in the room, and briefly smiles before returning to his writing pad again, greeting in a deep voice, “You’re awake?”

“Yes, I am…” you nodded, indulging the view still. When he starts to repeatedly push his hair away from his face, you take off your own hairband and have him sit down on the floor, with his back leaning against the couch. And you gather his hair with your finger raking the locks gently, tying an apple sprout hair. His eyes were glued on the work he brought home.

“I take it that you’re leaving home for the studio today?” you tipped his head back, chin pointed upward, demanding his attention. He chuckles through his nose as you leaned in for a chaste kiss on the lips, where his beauty mark is and then the tip of his nose and the skin between his brows. With the chuckles alone, you knew you were right. Judging from the wrinkles on his forehead when he crosses out the plans he had, you knew that he was handling a semi large painting.

Taehyung is a fine-art conservator-restorer and because of it, his work consumes him. He treats his client’s painting like his own wife; each with their own time, loving and care. Instead of being envious towards the time he puts in them, you weigh more on the term ‘admiration’, towards his work and dedication. He truly is invested in his line of profession. It was only natural for an art lover like him to eventually become an artist himself, but after some unfortunate series of art blocks, he began to turn to conservation midway through college. You were always supportive of his aspirations. Although you don’t share the same passion for arts to actually go to a college as an art major like him, he always says you should have been an artist rather than scientist when he saw you sketch a lion behind your notes, after being frustrated about writing papers on your research.

Ever since then, you and Taehyung shared an art studio at your shared home after marriage.

“Polyurethane,” he let out a deep sigh. One word is enough.

A big part about restoration and conservation is perfection. When the previous conservator uses polyurethane as varnish, the next restorer, in this case is Taehyung, will have endless scrapings to do. Polyurethane becomes embedded in the paint, which makes most restorers emotionally frustrated. This poorly chosen varnish not only becomes a part of the paint, it makes it difficult to remove because it is scraped along with the original paint by the painter and artist. This then, leads to more restoration work because the objective of a restorer, is to… restore. Using polyurethane just adds into the time working on it. The last time he dealt with polyurethane paintings, he went home with colors drained out from his face. He spent a week on them because he needs to be extra careful to get most of the polyurethane out with minimal damage on the painting.

After the scrapings, he will have to remove the paintings from the old plywood it came with and it was glued with rabbit-skin glue which is the most tedious process, one after the other.

“When it came to the studio, I was holding my breath because the state of it... was just,” Taehyung puffed his cheek and deflated it. Where does he even start? Dented surface, skewed plywood frames, rabbit skin glue, and polyurethane varnish. The owner’s cat sat on the painting. And this painting was already fragile at this time. It was a very old painting auctioned for at least a million dollar. Taehyung almost fainted.

Right. That was how he is. When Taehyung works on a painting, any painting for that matter, of any values of any age, he is consumed by it. Giving it his all, but careful not to leave traces of him as to respect the original painter.Taehyung, as an artist, is mind blowingly authentic. He has unique perceptions towards everything he sees and he was the first few artist you knew that began with taking photographs. Actually, he was the only artist you knew all your life that was intimate enough to have this talk. Back in the days, art students don’t really mingle with science nerds due to unforeseen differences seniors claim to have. You personally were told that art students are too superficial to really want to understand the world and that they see you as a fuss in human form. You believed none of that bullshit.

You have always been the kind to look deeper than what is on the surface, always skin deep. Taehyung noticed this from the first time he laid eyes on you. There was something worth uncovering.

Just like today, when your eyes tunnels into the magnifier to see the photographed version of the painting he was supposed to restore, he gets giddy at the fact that his wife, his forever girlfriend takes so much interest in so many things and is well-versed in all kinds of art despite not being a member of the field. It was at moments like these that he relentlessly wonders why you never considered to seriously take art degrees just like your science stuff.

“Looks flaky, and the dent is so deep…” you commented, craning your neck on his desk as he watches fondly from the side, “You’ll have to patch it up and sew it together…”

The smile melts away and he averted his eyes, tapping his index finger on his knee at the same time. By his demeanor alone, you know that he dislikes this. The work just keeps piling on, and more and more of the original paint is lost. Like a wet on wet painting work, that keeps bleeding color, the painting will have more of Taehyung than it would of its owner. Taehyung let out a sigh you understood so well. You leave the painting’s print on the table with the magnifying glass set away on the corner with the rest of his tools. You bring yourself next to him and put your arm around his neck and the other palm rests on one side of his face, sliding down his chiseled jaws and thumb, tracing his lips. His cologne swims around your nostril, and the smell of his hair that you love, engulfs you. He gathers his arms around your waist, rests his head under your chin and stays like that as long as you both need.

He will be away for long and intimacy of such degree would be difficult to execute. Long tiring week ahead will make you drift you both apart, only to hopefully meet each other like the first time again.

You remember the first time you laid your eyes on Kim Taehyung. He was helping the waitress picking the pieces of fallen tissues after a minor accident. He looked like he walked out of someone’s innate dream. Clean-shaven, dark brown comma hair, boring a dark brown suit and pants to match. The selfless act was something intriguing to you. It’s so rare to find someone who would take the time to help others in such a fast-paced era where everything has to be quick and perfect. You remember turning away and smiling to yourself, grateful that there’s such men still in the world. You never planned to find any attachments that night, it was just a casual formal gathering that you had to attend in order to remain in the social circle. You actually wanted to leave after thirty minutes, and probably watch a late night movie at a nearby movie theatre to appease yourself.

A drink in your hand, a small talk about how good the eclairs were, and a little bit about your short-term plans; apart from that, there was nothing much. You were never the kind to approach people first, finding more interest in the food than you do the people attending. But not your best friend, not Jimin. He is the loudest, most animatic figure out there, talking about all kinds of things, doing a lot of gags and just, a walking entertainment channel, with his addictive laughter and outgoing personality. Jimin would make friends with a broomstick if it attended. It was because of him that you were dragged into this little dinner party. He said if you come, he will join your presentation that he called boring and asked relevant questions. After careful consideration, and losing a couple of friends because of your hectic college schedule, you had no choice but adhere to his demands.

“Hi,” a succulent honeyed deep voice greeted you from behind, “Where did you get those jelly desserts?”

You glanced at him and when you recognised that he was that dude who helped the waitress, you shot your eyes back to your plate instantly, then jerked your head back up, “From the dessert corner, next to the pillar… I think they haven’t refilled them,” you said to him through a smile. Wow, he was so much taller than you expected. And, smells so nice.

“Oh thank you,” he tutted his tongue and nodded once, before he walked away grinning, “Over there right?” He walks sideways to talk to you still. He almost trips over the folded carpet and you got instantly worried before replying in a haste, “Yes! Oh careful, please!”

He gave an okay sign and puffed his cheeks.

Finding the back of your calves began to strain from the long period of standings, you had to find yourself a bar stool and ate your food alone, while Jimin was throwing his head back at a joke one of his new friends were telling. Someone took the empty seat next to you and sat with a huff.

“We already met twice and I still don’t know your name,” he peels his eyes off of his plate and turns sideways to you, “I’m Taehyung, Kim Taehyung.” You said your name in a hurry with an awkward giggle at the end, before poking your fork into the grapes and shoving them into your mouth.

“Did you come here alone?” he asked. “No, but he looks like he is having fun,” you didn’t specify who it was and Taehyung hung his head low with a dry, “Oh.” “You?” you replied. “Alone,” Taehyung said, “Didn’t plan to stay very long…I was going to catch a movie.”

Your eyes light up, “What movie? Because I’m not staying too!” Taehyung pouts, “Haven’t decided… I was going to decide there and then.”

“It’s nice to watch movies alone ha…” “Helps me recharge…” “What major are you? We’re from the same uni, correct?” “I am. I am an art major, and now more to restoration and conservator.” “Oooo, interesting… Meticulous work. That’s amazing.”

Taehyung then learns that you’re a science major, pharmaceutical technology. It sounded foreign to him, he had never known anyone with a science major, let alone talk to one. They always seem so…

“Fussy? Introverted? Closed up?” you listed. He shakes his head, jutting his lower lip out trying to think of a better adjective to describe, shooting his eyes to the ceiling then to the right. “Guarded,” Taehyung tipped his head to the side, looking at you as he spoke. “I get why we seemed that way,” you swirled your fork around the plate of spaghetti you took and nodded in agreement, “But we’re probably thinking about our gazillion unfinished reports and stressed out about why the results aren’t tally, and forgetting our breakfast, lunch and dinner, being high on caffeine…” you shrugged your shoulder, explaining.

“Doesn’t seem like a healthy way to live,” Taehyung commented, “But I understand the struggle.”

Discussing about the stereotypes, the polar opposites of a science versus art majors lasted longer than you expected. Art majors and science majors actually share more in common than you’d think. For starters, both are extremely meticulous and precise. Taehyung spoke about the specification of colours and blending of several techniques into one art requires an extensive studies of observations and practice. As a conservator, he must recognise personalized styles of close to thousands of painters to differentiate a genuine piece from a copy--a skill that would take years and decades to perfect.

For science, specifics come in the definition of science. There has to be hypotheses to be proven, and theories that aligned with the results. Making medication has several strict rules; and the process, the testing are endless. From the drug is being formulated, to the way it is processed, and how it reacts when it enters the human body, to how long it takes to be expelled and whatever happened in between must be noted. Uniformity, size particles, bottling, storage, etc. are all taken into custody when it comes to making drugs. You told Taehyung about the exhausting 48 sets of 100mL volumetric flask being used in order to determine the complete dissolution of 100mG of paracetamol.

“I get cross-eyed having to stare at the mark, trying not to make mistakes,” you smiled and Taehyung giggled. “I understand about getting cross-eyed,” he added. He continues about having to re-color a varnished painting with a limited set of light in the studio, and not being able to determine what pigment it was until daylight reveals that he was wrong.

“I think art and science are two things humans can’t live without,” you started, looking down at your semi empty plate, “I mean, life depends on science, but art is what makes it worth living.” “Rebecca Atwood,” Taehyung cited. Then you both looked at each other for what seemed the longest time, as if you both had found home in each other.

Your heart clearly whispered, “Where have you been all my life?” And for a period of time, you actually believed it was one-sided. How could someone like Taehyung want to spend time with you. But you guys eventually went to the movies together.

Jimin called midway through the movie. You excused yourself and took the call outside the hall.

“Yo, where art thou? The party’s over, don’t tell me you went home without me,” Jimin nags.

“I’m at the movies, I’ll get the Uber, don’t worry,” you hissed, “No, Jimin, I’m going to be fine. It’s not that late, I’ll call you when I get home. Yes, I know there’s class tomorrow at 2pm, alright bye,” you hang up and rush back inside.

Taehyung looks at you with wondering eyes and you felt inclined to explain, “Jimin. Asked me where I was, and wanted to go home. I said I’ll take the Uber.”

“Uber? No, I can drive you home,” Taehyung offered. You don’t think you should be in a car with someone you barely know so you politely declined. Taehyung however, waited with you for the Uber, and waved you goodbye. He didn’t ask for your number, much to your disappointment. But maybe it was a one night thing for him. It’s not like you expected anything, so why do you carry yourself heavily to your dorm?

It was rare to find someone you could connect to in such a short time. Tonight was a miracle at work, and it was short lifted. Laying down in your bed with the light from your phone shone over your face, you scrolled down Instagram to see your married highschool friend cradling babies. Another friend just got married. Another is half a world away. A few are taking pictures of cute dates they went on. And then there’s you, who is now staring at each one filled with envy and discontent, wondering if anyone will ever find the time to notice you and hopefully fall for you. Deep inside, all you ever wanted was to be in love. Despite you plunge yourself into heavy work in the most strenuous field out there, you were inexplicably lonely. It gets increasingly difficult as you grow older, and your options for men decreases.

They say, everyone has a soulmate. But for some reason, you think God forgot to make yours. Real connection is possibly impossible to find. The love you seek probably doesn’t exist.

And as you turn your phone face down next to you, it vibrated a message in.

Jimin: Are you home yet? Hello? Jimin: So you found Kim Taehyung? From arts? Jimin: He texted me the Uber car’s plate number to make sure I know where you are…

You replied,

You: yes.. You: you know taehyung??

Jimin: uh yeah. Orientation week together. Campmates. Jimin: how was it? You: he was nice… Jimin: You cold-blooded women. You: XD

The next day was your presentation. After spotting Jimin in the crowd, you immediately felt better. Some familiar faces would be nice. Final year project presentations can be brutal. Some of the questions you expected would be the purpose, the motive, the need for this project to be funded and why it carries such significance. Sometimes what you expect doesn't happen, and because of that you get very disheartened and disappointed. No matter how brave you decide to be, your body protests and rebels against your wishes. The way the bottle tremble in your hands shows how much this is hammering your dignity. It is as if you expected to be humiliated. You glanced down to your heavily arrowed notes and scribbles, closing your eyes as you stood in the back stage, mentally preparing yourself. How to be bulletproof?

Had he not helped the girl to purchase a canned coffee from the vending machine, he would not have been late, Taehyung thought. Now he creeps in the back of the lecture hall, carrying his own opened canned drink. There was an extra unopened canned coffee drink he snuck in. You had already started your presentations. Does he have the mental capacity for this new information? Of course. There were a few terms he wasn’t familiar with, but it was not enough to bore him. Your simpler explanation the night you met actually helped a lot. The oozing charisma you carry and the calm way you carry yourself was something worth looking up to. It was the kind that he actually envied about you. He had a feeling that you weren’t showing all parts of you and because of that, he was intrigued. Even as he sat there as an audience, completely at awe of your presentation, you were magnetic.

Not a single one person in that auditorium was paying their attention elsewhere. Being able to draw such dedication and passion is a talent. And it was all Kim Taehyung wished he could do.

“With all the existing medication with the same purpose, what good would a research in the same area pose? A renewal?” “And what about the gene-specific cancer studies that are already initiated since 2004? Haven’t we spent enough on that?” “What about the ethical issues surrounding the existing CRISPR, the so-called genetic-specific medications?”

The questions from the PhD holders you presented were all valid. You agreed.

“As a scientist, we understand that our research will continue far after our death. Many researches are done without a clear view of where the finish line is. If we want to talk about ethical issues regarding gene modifications, we have done them on all the things we could consume, grow and breed. If we have the power to prevent abnormality before it becomes one, why do we second guess ourselves? Isn’t the purpose of science to better understand, and then to prevent? To create a better living?”

The room fell into a deathly silence, and you were inclined to go back to your statements but when you dragged your eyes to the corner of the room, you saw some juniors nodding in agreement to what you’ve just said, you regained a little ounce of confidence. “But we haven’t truly understood the after effects of gene modifications. And through all prolonged research thus far, it doesn’t suggest a good result. How do you guarantee a perceptible study in the development of the medication you’re proposing?”

. . . Sniffles greeted Taehyung at the door he pushed opened gently. You were standing by the handrails on the faculty’s rooftop, the papers you brought in scattered around the ground. Some are drained into the pool of water puddle from last night’s rain. Digging the heels of your palm into your eyes, you heard the door creaked open and jumped.

“I’m sorry…” Taehyung whispered. You glanced over your shoulder at him and then turned away. Not because of anger or fear, but from shame. You have never shown anyone this timid side of you. You’re always expected to be strong, and you took that mask on literally. Having someone witnessing your vulnerability is as foreign as the sight of a shooting star. How unlucky for Taehyung, you thought.

“I bought you…” he placed the canned drink on the ground, next to where you placed your backpack, “A canned coffee.”

“How did you,” you sniffed, “How did you know that the presentations’ today?” “You told me the night we met?” he answered, in a confused tone.

And you gave him a lopsided smile, “Oh right. I’m not used to people remembering my errands. Jimin never does. No one ever does.”

“I am not actually good at remembering. But for some reason, yours was unforgettable,” he added an awkward chuckle at the end, scratching the back of his head not sure why he finds conversation with you feel homey. Sincerity and honesty comes naturally like breathing the air in.

“I did a crap job at presenting, didn’t I?” it was a statement, pretentiously laid out as a question.

But Taehyung knew better than to cement the depressive thought. Then he scooted near to you, and coil to your side, to give you a puppy eyed bright smile.

That was when you first knew a Kim Taehyung. Everything else that happened after that seemed like a story written just for you. But loving Kim Taehyung didn’t come without challenges. When you love a man as attractive as that, there will be wandering eyes directed towards him. And you have your own fair share of evil eyes directed at you. How can a science nerd catch the attention of an art student? It was totally unheard off. Had Taehyung paid any attention to those thirsty hyenas, you would have given up the fight. However, this is Taehyung you’re talking about. Once he had his eyes set to a person, he developed tunnel vision only to that person.

For years, you struggled with perfection. And the thing about the struggle is that it was common to everyone, but so few would understand. Perfection quickly becomes a disease to over-achievers. Had it not been Taehyung, you would probably engage in an insufferable discontentment towards life and everything it has to offer. Everything changed when he handed you a paint brush and a 200-sized plain white canvas and a studio to yourself.

You felt liberated.

Not knowing where your illustrations will take you was the first taste of freedom you had ever allowed yourself to feel. Because in the arts, there are no wrongs or rights. And it's uniquely yours. And the look on Taehyung’s face when it's done? Priceless. To the point that you think you began drawing because of him and that he was just saying the things you wanted to hear. Then he hangs your drawings in the open hall, and brings home the comments written by the art lovers to prove that you are wrong.

When it comes to relationship turbulences, Taehyung and you personally respect each other’s space, friendship choices and principles. Such maturity is again rare so you’d like to think that you’re lucky in that sense. However, Taehyung’s family proved to be a massive hurdle. While you were raised in a humble home, and accustomed to having sleep as dinners, Taehyung’s family owns a collection of farms that produces vegetables and fruits, and Taehyung’s favourites happen to be strawberries. He surely is raised in an upper middle class well into his elementary years and then catapulted into first class around his high school time. Not to say that he doesn’t know what it’s like to starve, he has a fairshare of that in his rebellious years; but he was not used to the life you lead. The part-time jobs, the tutoring weekends, the errands. He never had to do those.

When he brought you home to his parents for the first time, you felt out of place. His penthouse, his army of maids, sports cars and spacious area. His parents, they were wonderful. They welcomed you with open arms. Even inviting you to a family-only event, introducing you to everyone, and then letting you see their family photo albums. Taehyung has a massive support system, a healthy relationship compared to yours. No matter how much he wants to convince you that his life isn’t perfect, it was a whole lot better than yours. You remember how he snuck you into his bedroom in the middle of the night when his parents were asleep, the snickering, the whispers and the night you shared, cuddling. You had tears in your eyes that night, because you never thought you’d be this fortunate.

Watching him fall asleep in your lap so soundly really made you think about the last time you ever made someone this comfortable. Is this how it feels to love and cherish? Finding a middle ground is not always easy, and most people take time to reach there. For Taehyung and you, sacrificing a lot comes without say. Your internal conflicts and his willingness to understand your perspective, and vice versa--it all takes time. You can owe it all to Taehyung’s ultimate patience. Just like the way he handles his work. Meticulously, and carefully. Like how chemicals are precise, the paints are too.

In every phase of life, we are being prepared for the phase that comes next. In accordance to what we are made of, we continue to evolve, continue to grow. And it is in this stage that we feel most vulnerable, most bare, most uncomfortable. Sometimes you dread the things that you weren’t allowed to have, much like the doctorate you sought after (that took much longer than others), the way it was withheld from you because life said you weren’t ready yet, even when you thought you were. Waiting patiently becomes the hardest part of it all. Although Taehyung might not understand half the things you went through, isn't he still here? Isn’t he still holding your hand? Isn’t he still singing to you?

Fine arts are creative art, especially visual art whose products are to be appreciated primarily or solely for their imaginative, aesthetic, or intellectual content. If that’s the case, then Taehyung must be finer arts.

:. I wrote a bit about the things I do in university, I’m sorry if you find that boring... it’s the only world I know... I am currently going through mid-semester exams, and I’m not doing well, spark up a fever with 3 more papers to go. Anyways. Have a great day!

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jenniferstolzer · 3 years

Photo

Babylon 5 Rewatch ep 2.20 The Long, Twilight Struggle

Sheridan and Delenn receive an invitation to Epsilon III where Draal pledges the Great Machine to the campaign against the Shadows. Meanwhile Londo commits his Shadow allies to one more attack against the Narn, allowing the Centauri to commit war crimes and end the Narn conflict.

Things I like about The Long Twilight Struggle

1, An energy fluctuation happens on the planet and Corwin turns to his coworkers like “There’s something happening. Contact Commander Ivanova” then the camera drifts to a private quarters. A shower is running. We see the steam as we coast slowly toward the bathroom for a tasteful near nude shot of Claudia Chris—NOPE Bruce Boxleitner. I CACKLED.

2, Draal is great and I love him. It worked out that Sheridan is new here to get a refresher on who Draal is and what’s going on with the Great Machine. Also the Great Machine making him younger is a good way to explain why he’s Herman Munster now. I’m guessing he’ll stay young and vibrant until he disintegrates like the last guy.

3, I appreciate seeing Londo’s true colors in his conversation with Refa. He’s tired, both from the trip to Centauri Prime and of all the war and darkness he’s involved himself in. He’s also still mourning Ursa Jaddo from Knives which was a nice callback considering he had a significant moment of doubt and regret in that episode, and it’s good to be reminded that he’s not totally sold on what’s going on right now. It’s also nice that he’s against the mass drivers at the outset but is convinced to go with Refa’s plan because he considers the glorification of his people more important than himself or anything else. He talks himself into doing something truly horrendous, but it’s wrong and his face knows its wrong. And then Refa makes him watch, when he fully intended to hide from what he’s done. Gguhh the pain is wonderful.

4, Watching this in a rewatch hurts so bad. Like Franklin gives G’Kar a warning about the Centauri’s interest in homeworld. There’s the possibility he can stop it.

5, Delenn and Sheridan go down to Epsilon III she is acting super cocky and in control because she wants to impress her crush, even using clever colorful English phrases. Everyone remembers Abasfrigginlutely Damnit. Oh Delenn….

6, Sheridan looks at the inside of the Great Machine and is like “Lord, I may not go home” and I laughed b/c it looks like Tron in there.

7. The jump-kicking Centauri.

8, The mass drivers really are the most disgusting move. To devastate a civilian population from space is the ultimate ranged weapon. What could they possibly do? Watching Londo watch it happen is peak drama because as disgusted as he is watching, you know he’s as disgusted with himself in facilitating it. The drama is there but also horror on a level few shows can communicate, that of self-horror. The moment earlier where it was established and Londo still had a concept of right and wrong even as he was dealing with the Shadows is pulling full weight here. At the beginning of this season he was a buffoon struggling to stay afloat, in the middle of the season he finds the power and respect he wanted but loses the trust and friendship of the station in the process, and here at the culmination of his choices he sees what he was really willing to sell his soul for. He could have remained powerless and kept his sense of self, but instead he chose advancement and learned to hate what he’s become. It’s just staggering.

9, G’Kar is also pulling full weight in this episode. He’s prepared to go back to Narn, be with his family, and die among his people but he is the only member of the Kha’Ri not on homeworld and being so, he is an in credibly valuable asset for the race now that surrender is unavoidable. The tears in his eyes when asking for sanctuary are soul crushing, and the horror and shame he’s feeling is an inversion of Londo’s… powerlessness and being suppressed despite knowing he could do more verses being powerful and regretting it.

10, The Centauri terms of surrender are so cruel. It’s the turn of a knife that’s already been plunged to the hilt and Sheridan coming in to yank the dagger back an inch like a badass is extremely galvanizing and give Delenn grounds to commit the Rangers to him later in the episode. Also something I want to note about this scene that I think is even more important than Sheridan being a hero, it’s G’Kar sitting in his normal spot in complete despair, enduring Londo’s terms. Londo is dressed in every decoration and medal he’s ever owned, screaming at the top of his lungs like being the loudest makes him the rightest, yet G’Kar is silent. Londo demands G’Kar be removed from the council chambers like an invader. Sheridan replies by recounting the request for sanctuary, resulting on the two fighting over G’Kar’s head, but no one calls the bailiff to come get him. No one except Londo tells him he needs to go. They give G’Kar the chance to move. Even Kosh waits to see what he’s going to do. Will he attack? Will he scream and cry? No. He stands and with every ounce of self control he contains, delivers one of the greatest axefalls in television history.

“No dictator, no invader can hold an imprisoned population by force of arms forever. There is no greater power in the universe than the need for freedom. Against that power, governments and tyrants and armies cannot stand. The Centauri learned this lesson once, we will teach it to them again. Though it take a thousand years, we will be free.”

11, AND THATS NOT EVEN THE END OF THE EPISODE! I can’t believe this wasn’t a two-parter with everything that’s happened in this one half an hour of screentime. Sheridan essentially tells G’Kar he’s on his side in this war. He offers G’Kar his hand as an ally, and G’Kar considers it saying; “The last time I offered someone my hand, we were at war 24 hrs later” He pauses to make you wonder if he’s lost the ability to trust, then shakes with Sheridan and the look on his face tells something completely different. He still believes he’ll be at war very shortly, but he’s hoping for it. He’s counting on it.

12, Finally we get the introduction of the Rangers and the only thing that can kind of fit on my “Liked less” list. I like this just fine, but there’s something about Delenn who is in charge of a secret sect of warrior monks pledged to side with the Vorlons against the Shadows, turning the control of those monks over to Sheridan without fully introducing him to their existence. To be fair, she gives him partial control and doesn’t hand it over to him, removing herself from the field and I know having watched the rest of the show that she still is the sole figure in charge of the Rangers and is more accurately pledging herself and those in her service to Sheridan’s cause… but the way they read in this episode it looks like she’s giving Sheridan the reins. The next episode is KIND OF dealing with this with the inquisitor, but in general I think we could have avoided a lot of nonsense if she just phrased her pledge more accurately.

13, And this leads me to a theory… that Babylon5 was labeled their best hope for piece, but really it was built specifically as a neutral ground for the staging of the Shadow war. It really is Babylon 5, as in a replacement for Babylon 4 which was used as a warbase. This is why the Minbari co-founded the station, this is why it ends in fire at the end of everything. It’s existence is specifically tied to the the return of the shadows and the drama and diplomacy of the Narns, Centauri, Telepaths, Earthdome, etc etc are events of the universe that happen to occur there. Wihtout the Shadow War, there’d be no Babylon 5, and without Babylon 5 the universe would not continue.

14.

Finally.

The ARMY OF LIGHT

I got teary-eyed

Things I liked Less about The Long Twilight Struggle

The Delenn thing. But we’ll get back to that next episode. And that’s it.

This episode is truly one of the greatest and most emotionally wrenching pieces of television ever created. It’s a silly scifi show with rubber masks that dares to delve deeper beneath the skin than anything else I’ve seen. We see the horror and depravity of war, but we also see the people turned inside out by it and what colors they are within. Ten out of ten. Thanks for breaking my heart. This is why I had to take pause on my rewatch to prepare.

oh by the way @gin-007 and I are resuming our rewatch from 2019.

and I’m putting all these eps up on @b5picanep as well if you want to go back to see previous episodes.

#babylon 5 #babylon 5 spoilers #babylon 5 rewatch #season 2 #episode 20 #the long twilight struggle #art #jenstoart #g'kar

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emachinescat · 3 years

Text

The Masks that Most Suit Us

A Merlin Fan-Fiction

by @emachinescat

@febuwhump day 13 - hiding injury

Summary: After Uther’s death and a mishap on the training field, Merlin chooses to suffer in silence in an effort to allow Arthur to grieve unburdened. But everyone has their breaking point – even the newly crowned king of Camelot.

Characters: Merlin, Arthur

Words: 6,208

Keep reading here, or on AO3!

If you enjoy, please consider liking, commenting, or re-blogging, and you can follow me for more content like this! :)

Seems the mask that most suits me is anger,

For it covers a whole host of things:

Trepidation, disgust, insecurity,

And embarrassment with all its stings...

- From “Impenetrable” by Anna J. Arredondo

The king was dead, and Merlin had never felt so conflicted.

A part of him – an ugly part, he thought, one he tried to keep hidden, even from himself – rejoiced, not at the loss of life, but at the new possibilities for the future. The years Merlin had been in Camelot had been bathed in secrecy and terror, the prophecies of the Great Dragon a soothing balm that mostly kept the hopelessness at bay, and with each day that passed the same, Merlin found himself believing less and less in that grand destiny he supposedly shared with Arthur.

But now – now, things were changing, and quickly. Uther was dead, Arthur was king, and though Merlin was still not free, for the first time in a long time, hope now peeped its timid head out into the sun. Magic might still be illegal, but Merlin knew Arthur to be a better, fairer man than his father. Someday, maybe someday soon, the world would turn itself right side up for the first time, and he and Arthur could begin to build the kingdom that Merlin so longed for, the one he cherished even though it only existed in his dreams and the prophecies of strangers.

Indeed – a part of Merlin found a comfort and joy at the king’s passing, and even though he knew that Uther had killed so many of his kind – and would have killed Merlin too, had he known – guilt stirred within him. Death was not something that should ever be celebrated; that was largely the reason he hated going on royal hunts.

On the other hand, it wasn’t just King Uther, slaughterer of innocents and scourge on magic, who had died. He had also been Arthur’s father, and the newly crowned king, stoic as he might pretend to be in court, was now experiencing the level of grief that only losing a parent could impart. Merlin had felt it, years ago; the pain of that particular loss had severed his soul in a way different than losing Will, or even Freya had. The death of a father broke in a way that could fully never be mended. Merlin had known his for a few days. Uther had been there for Arthur’s entire life, and now, suddenly and unfairly, he had been ripped away.

For the first few hours after Uther’s death, Merlin was at war with himself, hating himself for the feelings of relief that he could not entirely stave off. After seeing the pain in his friend’s eyes, however, all thoughts of vindication or justice fled his mind as quickly as they had stolen in. Arthur was in his own personal hell, and it didn’t matter anymore what Uther had done, only what he had been to his son, and so Merlin found himself grieving alongside the prince for a man he hated.

***

Four days had passed since Uther’s death. Arthur had been sullen but grieved privately, if he grieved at all. To the people, he put up a strong front. To his friends and those closest to him, he put up an even stronger one. So far, Merlin had been uncharacteristically silent on the matter, not wanting to push Arthur too far too quickly. But he knew from his own experiences with loss that there had to be a breaking point. Arthur wasn’t going to be able to stay strong forever, and the warlock worried about what would happen when the time for hiding behind the façade came to an end.

CLANG

Merlin flinched behind the shield as Arthur’s sword pounded into it. His arms ached from the strain, a numbness creeping in about his wrists. They’d been at this for nearly an hour now, and Arthur showed no signs of tiring or stopping. First it had been dueling – “You have to be able to block a blow from a sword with a sword, Merlin; you won’t always have a shield just lying about. Now stop complaining and assume the defensive position before I lob your head off!” Then, Arthur had moved on to flails, then Merlin had gotten a blessed break as Arthur threw daggers at a target (until Arthur insisted Merlin try as well and then yelled at him for having the weakest arms in the five kingdoms). The used weapons now lay discarded on the grass around them like the carnage of a small battle. Now, of course, Merlin was defending himself with a shield that Arthur was attacking like it had been the one who killed his father.

“Arthur,” Merlin gasped. His chest burned with exertion and sweat poured down his face and darkened the neck of his shirt – he’d discarded the stifling neckerchief ages ago, it was far too hot. Small tremors ran down his forearms. He was certainly more fit than he’d been when he’d first come to Camelot, but the shield was still heavy and he didn’t have the stamina – or emotional fuel – that Arthur did. He was tired, he hurt all over, and he felt much too hot. “Arthur, can we stop now?”

Arthur didn’t respond. His eyes, though fixated on the shield, were far away, and a peculiar shine tinted them. The sweat pouring down his face could have just as easily been tears. He kept hitting the shield, and Merlin felt every blow wear him down a little more.

“Arthur, please, you need to stop–”

CLANG. CLANG. CLANG.

“Arthur–”

With an almighty clash, Arthur swung the sword like it was an axe and the shield a tree, and the force was so great – and Merlin’s arms so tired – that the impact of the hit sent the shield crashing into Merlin’s face and knocked him off balance. Pain exploded as the metal hit his face, and he found himself falling back, flailing. It would have made more sense to just let himself fall without making an attempt to catch himself – after all, it wasn’t as if he were falling from a great height. But his instinct to catch himself took over. One hand landed on grass. The other had the distinct misfortune to find the flail left lying on the ground, off to the side of where they’d been training.

At first he didn’t even feel anything, the edge was so sharp, and perhaps that was why Merlin was able to school his reaction into something more inconvenienced than injured. His servant's tumble seemed to break Arthur from his trance, and he threw the sword down, scowling.

“What the hell did you trip over this time?” he demanded, and Merlin realized that Arthur had been so caught up in, well, whatever that had been, that he’d not even realized that he was the reason for Merlin’s fall.

At this point, the pain in Merlin’s hand registered, slicing as deeply into his palm as the spike on the flail had, and he looked down to see blood already surging from the deep cut in his palm. Arthur threw down his sword, his eyes flashing in irritation, but Merlin was well-versed at seeing what lay beneath. Sucking in a deep breath against the anguish in his hand, Merlin quickly made to hide it from the new king. Arthur was suffering enough, and Merlin knew that the knowledge he’d accidentally hurt Merlin would only make things worse.

Arthur cast a quick glance around at the weapons strewn about the grass with derision. “Clean up this mess, Merlin,” he ordered tersely. So caught up in his own misery, his normally keen eyes did not pick up on the tightness in Merlin’s face, nor the way he awkwardly shielded his right hand behind his body. If he had been paying attention, he would have known something was wrong. But he wasn’t – he couldn’t, there was too much going on inside of his head – and so he stalked off the training field, leaving his bleeding servant to clean up the tremendous mess he’d made, one-handed.

***

An hour later, Merlin finally staggered into Gaius’s chambers, his head and hand screaming for his attention. After Arthur had left, Merlin had hastily bound up his badly bleeding hand as best he could with his neckerchief. Thankfully the training grounds were vacant – everyone had been steering clear of spaces that contained both King Arthur and deadly weapons these days, if at all possible – so Merlin didn’t have to explain his injury to anyone. He was especially glad that Gwaine was nowhere to be seen – without doubt, he would have bullied who had done it out of Merlin and then tried to start a fight with Arthur, dead father or not.

By the time Merlin had gathered up all of the weapons, his hand, fingers and all, hurt too much to move, and the makeshift bandage had already bled through, but Merlin kept working, tucking his hand into his jacket pocket in order to keep from getting blood everywhere. He had to take three trips to the armory since he only had the use of one hand, and then he had to make sure he cleaned the blood off of the flail’s head on top of that. By the time he finally made it back to the physician’s chambers, he was feeling woozy and blood had pooled in and soaked through the pocket.

Extracting his hand from the jacket was a nightmare in itself. The sensation of anything brushing against any part of the appendage sent bolts of agony up his arm. He’d curled his fist instinctively around the cut, and a shudder crawled unbidden down Merlin’s spine at the pain. Some of the blood had dried, so peeling the soaked neckerchief from the wound pulled at the torn flesh. Merlin supposed it was lucky he’d decided to wear his red one; it wouldn’t stain as noticeably. He might even be able to salvage the fabric.

After unwrapping the wound, Merlin worked quickly. Gaius was nowhere to be seen, but he could be back at any moment. For reasons Merlin didn’t entirely know himself, he had no desire for Gaius to find out about what had happened – perhaps it was because Gaius would probably force him to take a foul potion, or maybe it was because he didn’t want his guardian to worry. More likely, he realized as he carefully bathed his hand in a basin of clean, cold water, it was because he didn’t want to talk about how it had happened. Gaius might let it slip to Arthur, and Merlin didn’t want the newly crowned king to have to deal with anything else on top of his father’s death. Gods knew that Arthur would blame himself, even if it was an accident, and more guilt was the opposite of what he needed.

By the time Merlin had washed the wound, the water in the basin was red. The bleeding had mostly stopped while his hand was submerged, but the moment he pulled it out, blood welled up immediately, the flow faster than Merlin liked to see. He did get a better look at the wound itself, which caused another bout of lightheadedness. The spike had cut cleanly, and no major tendons or nerves seemed to have been severed – thank the gods. Still, the two-inch gash went deep, and as Merlin examined it, gently and excruciatingly pulling apart the edges ever so slightly in search of any contaminants that could cause infection – he shed a few silent tears, here – he saw a small glint of white.

Distinctly ill, Merlin quickly slathered a generous amount of honey on the wound, hissing at the pain. The balm mixed unpleasantly with the blood but helped slow the flow until Merlin could bind his hand securely with bandages. He knew now that the wound was deep enough to need stitches, but he couldn’t stitch one-handed and Gaius wasn't here, and anyway, Merlin really didn’t want anyone to know. He’d keep an eye on it, and if the bleeding didn’t let up enough, he’d go to Gaius when he came back. As it was, though, he’d bound his hand so tightly that his fingers were going numb, and that should be enough to stem the bleeding for now – he hoped.

Weak with exhaustion, Merlin knew his work wasn’t over yet and made as quick work as possible of pouring out the bloody basin-water, scrubbing the bowl one-handed, and refilling it with fresh, clean water. Merlin then peeled off his jacket, the lower half of which was stained a dark red against the brown and which smelled of blood, and wearily climbed the three stairs to his room. He shoved the bloody jacket as well as the neckerchief into the very back of his wardrobe, intending to deal with them the next day.

And then he fairly collapsed on his bed, arms aching from the workout he’d received during training, hand throbbing in time with his heart, and head pounding in a discordant tattoo of pain. There was something he was forgetting, he knew it – most likely something important – but he was dizzy and sick, in pain and exhausted, and before he could force himself up and to his feet, he had fallen asleep.

***

Arthur stormed into Gaius’s chambers, fury written on every line of his face. It had been four hours since Arthur had left the inept servant to clean up after training, and he’d expected Merlin back ages ago. He was exhausted from barely sleeping at night, aching from training, and despite the fact that he’d left his food nearly untouched the past few nights, indignant that his servant had swanned off and not brought him dinner. Quite honestly, the king was flabbergasted that Merlin had disappeared at all. It was bad enough that he was barely reliable when life was normal, but didn’t he know what Arthur was going through? Couldn’t he see that Arthur needed –

Arthur cut off his own thoughts, unable or unwilling to unpack whatever unwelcome thought was trying to take shape. He glanced around at the empty chambers and knew that Gaius had probably gone on his evening rounds. Merlin was nowhere to be seen, either. Probably in the tavern, the useless lug.

“Merlin!” Arthur called out, stomping for the stairs that led to his servant’s bedroom. I swear to the gods, if you’re sleeping…

The door opened before Arthur reached it. Merlin stood on the other side, wearing the clothes he’d trained in – though the jacket and neckerchief were gone. He looked tired and disoriented, and more concerningly, an ugly, swollen bruise had appeared in the middle of his forehead, extending its tendrils under his eyes. The bridge of his nose was red and puffy. Arthur’s rage momentarily abated, or rather, redirected onto whoever had done that to his servant.

“Who hit you?” he demanded.

Merlin blinked blearily at his master, then muttered, “No one … A maid accidentally slammed a door in my face.” Then he gasped. “What time is it? Oh gods, I wasn’t supposed to fall asleep yet, was I?”

Knowing that Merlin’s sorry state had been an accident and being reminded of the servant’s ineptitude brought all of Arthur’s irritation back in an instant. “Oh, no, Merlin,” Arthur growled, sarcasm dripping from every syllable. “Now that I’m king, I’ve changed day to night and night to day, so you can sleep all you want in the middle of the afternoon.”

“Can you do that, switch night and day?” Arthur genuinely couldn’t tell if Merlin was trying to be funny or if he was really that stupid. Then he corrected himself – of course Merlin was that stupid. He didn’t dignify the query with an answer. “I should have you in the stocks for this,” he growled, and Merlin’s eyes went wide. It had been a long time since Merlin had been thrown in the stocks, especially by Arthur himself. After all, with the strange friendship that had formed between them, while rife with insults, one-sided rough-housing, and well-aimed barbs at one another’s character, this level of anger had become a rarity in recent days.

Arthur didn’t really intend to lock Merlin up anywhere, but it felt obscenely good to threaten. It felt good to do anything but be still and exist in his own mind. “Unfortunately,” he continued, “I am in need of your services, so I’ll let you off the hook – this time.” Merlin’s relief was palpable, and Arthur felt the tiniest stab of guilt knowing that his servant had thought him serious.

He shoved it away, back into the recesses of his mind with everything else he didn’t have time to dwell on. “Come on, make yourself useful – fetch my dinner. And prepare yourself for a late night – all of my ceremonial armor needs to be scrubbed, my boots cleaned, my room dusted, my…” He trailed off, noticing something quite odd – well, odder than usual – about his servant. Merlin, who had the audacity to yawn during Arthur’s list of chores, instinctively raised his left hand to cover his mouth. Arthur did a double-take, glanced at Merlin’s right hand, which hung limply by his side, and confirmed he wasn’t crazy. “Merlin,” Arthur interrupted himself. “Why the hell are you wearing gloves? It’s the middle of summer!”

Merlin arranged his face into something Arthur could only call a pout. “My hands are cold. Isn’t that usually why people wear gloves, Sire?”

“Again,” Arthur insisted, “it’s summer.” But he didn’t pursue it any further, because there was so much on his mind, and he really didn’t have the capacity to deal with Merlin behaving even more strangely than usual. “Just… fetch my dinner, will you?” The preoccupied king turned on his heel and trudged from the room, barely aware of the niggling little voice in the back of his mind that told him something wasn’t quite right with his servant.

***

As Merlin made his weary way to the kitchens, holding his injured hand protectively to his body, he kept his head down and hoped no one would see his face. He felt like an idiot – when he’d heard Arthur coming, he’d grabbed his only pair of winter gloves and pulled one painstakingly over his stiff, bandaged hand. Then he’d maneuvered the other one on, because even Arthur, oblivious as he was, would most likely be suspicious of his servant running around with a glove on one hand. But he hadn’t even thought about his face – even though he’d not seen his reflection since the disastrous training, he should have known his face would look bad too – Arthur had knocked the shield into it with great force. Thankfully, Arthur had bought the lie he’d scrabbled for on the fly, but he knew if any of his other friends saw him, Gwen or Gwaine especially, they wouldn’t be fooled as easily as the king who had too much on his mind to second-guess anything in the wake of his father’s passing.

It was difficult and slow-going once Merlin had actually picked up the large tray of meats, cheeses, fruits, and a hearty stew. Merlin’s right hand was completely useless, as even miniscule movements caused him great pain, and so he had to lift the tray in one hand and use his chest to balance it. Going up the stairs turned into a nightmare, and he only just avoided sending Arthur’s dinner clanking and splashing down two flights. He instinctively grabbed for the tottering tray with his bad hand and nearly cried out at the agony that assaulted him. Thankfully, he made it the rest of the way to Arthur’s chambers without any major incident and without running into anyone who might look closely enough to notice the bruises on his face.

He was confronted with his next problem when he arrived outside of Arthur’s door and came to the frustrating realization that he couldn’t open it. If he set the tray on the ground, he’d never be able to pick it up one-handed, either. So he did the only thing he could do – something he rarely ever did as far as Arthur was concerned – and knocked with his foot. “Dinner!” he called out in as cheery of a voice as he could muster.

“Just bring it in!” Arthur’s voice called back, slightly muffled through the door.

Not willing to admit that he couldn’t open the door himself, Merlin kicked out at it again, and after a short silence, Arthur’s irritated footsteps could be heard approaching. When the king swung the door open, his eyes burned like embers.

“You’ve really reached a new level of uselessness today, haven’t you, Merlin? By the gods, I’ve never seen someone so incompetent in my life. Put it on the table and get to work.” He stomped back to his desk, where he appeared to be drafting a speech of some kind.

Despite himself, and despite understanding what the king was going through, Merlin found that Arthur’s harsh words and harsher tone hurt. He quelled his automatic instinct to snap back at the royal, took a deep, calming breath, and all but tiptoed the rest of the way to the table. He fumbled in his attempt to set the tray down with only one hand – the bowl of stew tottered and then tipped. Merlin watched with horror as the thick, chunky mess oozed across the surface of the tray, flooding around and soaking into the fruit, bread, and cheese. Somehow, before Arthur even had the chance to react to the spill, Merlin knew what was coming. This was the moment the warlock had been anticipating, even dreading – the breaking point.

Arthur’s mask cracked, the turmoil festering behind it exploding in a flash of uncontrollable, disproportionate rage.

“You idiot!” The normally teasing insult morphed into something vile; it was like Merlin was a disgusting creature Arthur had found stuck to the sole of his shoe. Arthur surged to his feet, advancing on his servant like he was about to attack, and despite himself, Merlin flinched back the tiniest bit. “Why do I trust you to do anything?” the king continued, and Merlin knew where the rage came from, that it wasn’t rage at all, but bottled grief that he had no idea how to deal with. It didn’t make his next word hurt any less though:

“Worthless.”

Merlin took a step back, the venom in his master’s voice taking him off guard.

“I don’t know why I’ve put up with you for this long, I really don’t!” The words were snarled, and the voice who said them didn’t belong to Arthur. “My father is dead, Merlin, and you’ve done nothing but make life more difficult. You’ve been nothing but a burden.”

Arthur’s words stung worse than Merlin’s sliced palm, and cut so much deeper. The burn of impending tears pressed against the back of his eyes, and he held them at bay by pure strength of will. He took two steps closer to the devastated king, the angry husk of a man he, in that moment, no longer knew. “I was giving you the space you needed. I’m sorry if you needed me to talk to you about it, or take your mind off of it.”

“I just needed you to do your damn job!” Arthur all but howled, scooping up the nearest thing to him – a wine goblet. For a terrible moment, Merlin thought that Arthur had well and truly lost control of himself, that he was going to lob the vessel at Merlin’s face from a few strides away. Instead, Arthur spun erratically and threw the goblet with every ounce of strength he possessed in the opposite direction. A shattering of glass as the cup burst through the window and plummeted to the ground below. Merlin didn’t listen for it to land; he just hoped it hadn’t hit anyone unlucky enough to pass underneath at just the wrong time.

Merlin could not spare any time worrying about the fate of the goblet or anyone who might have been in its path. Arthur still faced the window, neck bent, head hanging, shoulders heaving as his breaths escaped in frenzied, barely controlled bursts. Cautiously, Merlin stepped closer and reached out his good hand, still gloved, and touched the king’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry.”

Those two words acted as a catalyst; Merlin didn’t know if it were the timing or the person who had said them, but it didn’t matter, in the end. The ragged breaths turned to sobs, and Arthur’s shoulders trembled with the force of them. And then, like a puppet master had cut his strings, Arthur collapsed, his knees hitting the ornate rug beneath him, and Merlin followed suit, comforting hand still resting, gentle, there if needed, on his king’s shoulder.

“My father is dead,” Arthur repeated, his voice as hollow as he must feel inside. He knelt on the floor and cried harder than Merlin had ever witnessed, mourned violently, smashed his fists against the carpeted stone. Merlin didn’t speak, and knew that he was seeing something that he would never impart to another living soul. It was a private, terrible, beautiful moment, and by the time Arthur’s breath began to even out, tears ran unhindered down Merlin’s face as well. Though he did not – could not – mourn for Uther, he mourned for Arthur, and the father he’d lost.

Eventually, after what seemed like ages, when Merlin’s knees had mostly gone numb, Arthur shifted and sat back, stretching his legs out before him. He moved like a man carrying a heavy weight as he scooted around to face his servant. Merlin saw that the king’s face was tear streaked but dry, his eyes puffy and the whites spider-webbed with red. Merlin followed Arthur’s lead, sitting back and stretching his own aching legs beside his king’s.

Neither spoke for a long time. Merlin couldn’t decide whether he should reach out and touch Arthur again, to continue to offer that little bit of comfort. In the end he didn’t, leaving his hands carefully arranged in his lap, the injured one resting delicately on top, both still gloved and hot and sweaty underneath the fabric. He waited for Arthur to speak.

When the king finally did open his mouth, what came out was not what the servant expected. He’d thought Arthur would demand that Merlin keep his mouth shut and never reveal to anyone what he’d witnessed, or that he would admonish Merlin for something else or even try to regain a bit of normalcy by teasing him about something stupid. Instead, after a brief hesitation, his voice cracked with exhaustion, he ventured, “I’m sorry.”

If Merlin had been standing, he would have stepped back in shock, maybe even fallen over. Arthur rarely apologized for anything, especially to Merlin. And when he did try to offer an apology, it was always shrouded in awkward phrasing and stupid insults and poorly veiled affection. He never just came out and said he was sorry. It just wasn’t the kind of person Arthur was.

The shock must have shown on Merlin’s face, because Arthur heaved a great sigh and looked down at his hands before continuing, “Don’t get used to this kind of thing – you’re nearly always in the wrong, after all. But…” He looked up, blue eyes meeting blue, and fumbled ahead, “You gave me space, and I needed that. And I can see I haven’t been the, well, easiest to deal with these past few days.”

“You’re grieving,” Merlin insisted.

“That doesn’t give me the right to treat you like you are worthless,” Arthur responded bluntly. “Yes, you are mostly useless as a servant, but you are not worthless. You... are a true friend, Merlin.” Merlin’s heart seemed to forget how to beat for a few moments at the admission – Merlin and Arthur were both very much aware that they were friends, as were the knights and nobles who could see it a mile away. But much like Arthur’s apologies, this friendship was mutually unspoken. Normally, there existed no need to acknowledge it directly. Merlin hadn’t realized just how much it would mean to him to hear Arthur admit it aloud.

“Oh, don’t be such a petticoat,” Arthur griped, no heat in his tone – he sounded more worn out than anything. “And if you ever tell anyone that I called you my, well, you know… I will actually throw you in the stocks. For a very long time. And I will personally bring a barrel of rotten produce to chuck at your idiotic face.”

Merlin felt his face split into a grin despite the heavy weight of all that had happened between them. “Tell anyone what?” he asked innocently, and Arthur nodded his approval.

“Make sure you keep it that way.” Pain still roiled in Arthur’s eyes, and it had settled in in the lines around his eyes and in the shape of his mouth, but the mask was gone and he’d released some of what he had been so desperately holding in. He looked like he could use a long, hard nap and a good meal. Merlin could relate.

The king heaved himself to his feet, then leaned down to help Merlin up too In light of all that had just transpired, Merlin didn’t immediately respond, and so Arthur impatiently grabbed his servant’s hand to help him stand whether he was ready or not.

Unfortunately, he grabbed the right hand and pulled – hard.

***

An animal scream erupted from Merlin’s lips, and he collapsed back onto the floor, gasping in lungfuls of air that just weren’t enough, cradling his gloved right hand tightly against his chest, curling over it protectively. For a moment, Arthur stood frozen in shock – but then his mind caught back up and he realized something was very wrong with his servant.

For the second time, Arthur dropped to his knees, this time to kneel beside the hunched over Merlin, hands hovering over the curled form, unsure of where to or even if he should touch. “Merlin, what the hell is going on?” he demanded, a bit frantic.

“Nothing,” Merlin rasped out, his voice garbled with pain. “Just… give me… a minute.”

But now that the king’s mind was clearer than it had been in days, it began putting together connections that he should have seen earlier – dammit! Grieving or not, it should have been obvious that there was something wrong with Merlin’s hands – the gloves, the shady story about the door to the face, the way he’d been approaching every task awkwardly with his left hand. Now Arthur did reach out and gently grip Merlin’s upper right arm. The servant shrank away on instinct.

“Merlin,” Arthur said plainly, and he didn’t have to elaborate. Carefully, shaking with pain, Merlin offered his master his right hand and hissed in agony as Arthur gently tugged the glove off. What he saw made his stomach twist.

Merlin’s hand was stiff, the palm puffy, wrapped in bandages that had soaked through with blood. The moment the glove had been removed, the metallic scent had hit Arthur’s nose and made his stomach curl.

“You didn’t run into a door.” It wasn’t a question.

Amazingly – though Arthur wasn’t surprised in the least – Merlin tried to hold his ground. “It had sharp edges.”

Arthur raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “The door had sharp edges?”

Merlin sucked in a sharp breath of pain but didn’t respond.

“Who did this to you?” Arthur asked, trying to keep his anger under control.

Merlin shook his head. “It was an accident.”

“If it were an accident, you wouldn’t have tried to hide it,” Arthur argued.

“You’ve had enough to deal with. I didn’t want you worrying about me.”

“Funny, you’ve never been concerned about that before. And when have I ever given you reason to believe that I worry about you?” Even Arthur could tell that the jab sounded weak and half-hearted in light of the confession he’d just made.

“It’s really no big deal, Arthur,” Merlin insisted, tugging his hand out of the king’s grip. “I should go back and let Gaius take a look at it since it’s started bleeding again. He’ll be furious.”

Arthur’s glare kept Merlin in place. “You didn’t have Gaius look at it? Nor at your face? Why the hell would you hide something like this? Who are you afraid of?” Realization dawned. Merlin wasn’t afraid of anyone. “Who are you protecting?” Merlin remained quiet, but the answer still slammed into Arthur like the bolt from a crossbow.

“Oh,” he said lamely. “It was me, wasn’t it?”

Merlin shook his head furiously. “It was an accident, this morning–”

“Oh gods,” Arthur muttered, playing back the training that morning with a clearer head. “When you fell over–”

“It was an accident,” Merlin repeated firmly. “My arms were growing tired and I let my guard down. I didn’t hold the shield firm, and it hit my head. And then I really did fall. I caught myself, though.”

“On something sharp, I’m guessing?” Though Arthur could hear the flatness in his own voice, guilt raged just beneath the surface. How could he have been so blind, so stupid? And then the way he’d treated the servant after the fact, when he’d been injured and in pain and struggling to do his job with one hand… Arthur’s gut twisted uncomfortably.

“Merlin–” he started.

Impertinent as always, the servant cut him off. “Please don’t apologize again, Arthur, especially for an accident. I don’t think my heart can take the shock two apologies in one day.”

The joke didn’t take away the film of guilt that had developed over Arthur’s heart, but it did make him smile, just a little. Even guilty and emotionally exhausted and mourning, he recognized the white flag for what it was. Merlin didn’t blame him, and had only hidden the injury because he knew that Arthur would blame himself. Even when Arthur had been treating him so poorly, he had been doing all he could to look out for his master, his king … his friend. And that realization made Arthur warmer inside than he cared to admit.

And so he pushed through the guilt, rose to his feet once more and cautiously levered Merlin up beside him, being careful of his hand. “I’m walking you back to Gaius’s,” the king proclaimed.

Merlin shook his head. It was almost cute that he seemed to think he had a choice in the matter. “I can make it on my own,” he said.

“I don’t doubt that you can, only that you will. What were you thinking, Merlin, letting that wound go untreated? You cut your hand open with – what – a flail? How did you stitch it with your good hand?”

Merlin’s silence was telling.

“Merlin! How in the five kingdoms are you supposed to be able to serve your king if you can’t even take care of yourself? By the gods…”

And so he walked a sulky Merlin home after gently wrapping the reopened wound with the sleeve of his own tunic – “Don’t worry, you get to mend it later, Merlin” – and though a heaviness still shrouded his heart, a mingling of pain and grief and guilt and fear for what the future might hold, King Arthur found himself more at peace walking at his servant’s side – his friend’s side – than he had in a while.

It was also quite cathartic to spend the trip lecturing his self-sacrificing idiot about the benefits of taking care of oneself. He stayed and observed Gaius as he clean and stitched the wound, and watched with joy as the the physician forced the horrible-smelling, muddy brown potion down Merlin's throat. Gaius picked up his own lecture seamlessly where Arthur left off, and the old man didn’t stop until Merlin had passed out, weary and annoyed, on the patient’s cot.

“Fool boy,” Gaius grumbled affectionately as he began cleaning up his mess. Then he turned and looked at Arthur. “And how are you holding up, Sire?”

Arthur’s first instinct was to brush off the question with his standard, “I’m fine.” But then he glanced at his sleeping servant, bruised face finally relaxed and devoid of pain, hand swaddled in a veritable cocoon of bandages. He remembered the lecture he’d just directed at the other man, and realized that wounds of any kind were dangerous left unchecked.

“Not great,” he admitted at last, noting the raised eyebrows at his truthful response with a tiny hint of pride. Gaze still on his servant, the king swiped the back of his hand across his cheek and added, “But I will be.”

Arthur wandered leisurely back to his chamber, ate most of his dinner, and slept soundly. It was the first time he had been able to do so since his father’s death.

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dailytomlinson · 4 years

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When One Direction announced their hiatus at the end of 2015, the world took out their magnifying glasses and awaited how each of the members would progress past the mammoth presence the supergroup had bathed them in. Over time, a particular light fell onto the tender tenor of the group, Louis Tomlinson, as his voice always provided the edge that elevated the group beyond the generic boyband model. Just as other wildly successful boybands like *NSYNC and The Backstreet Boys had Chris Kirkpatrick and Brian Littrell, One Direction had Tomlinson whose voice differentiated the band from others in their field. So, when Tomlinson announced his long-awaited debut record, Walls, back last Fall, there was an air of intrigue that soon accumulated for where this voice would journey, solo.

Tomlinson experimented with a handful of singles over the years with “Just Hold On” and “Back to You” tapping into the EDM market while his highly underrated track “Miss You” dabbled in the foundations of pop-punk to solidify his sound as an independent artist. Yet, it’s when the British-bred singer began digging into his roots that he found a familiar fire that shaped the overarching soundscape that is found in the bulk of Walls. It’s obvious that Tomlinson found comfort in Britpop, and if anything, it is a strong starting point for a debut as his voice sits naturally atop the genre.

Opening the record is electric track “Kill My Mind” which feels as though one has shaken up a fresh soda can and popped the lid. It’s a rowdy fizz full of a hodgepodge of 90’s alternative influences, and the longer one sips on Tomlinson’s biting vocals and rambunctious, guitar-led production, the better it tastes. Following the tune is “Don’t Let it Break Your Heart,” an instant crowd-pleaser detailing the strength of healing through adversity, relying on it’s endearing chant-like structure to push the track to new heights. It’s easy to imagine this song rumbling a venue as the fans scream out its words. Bleeding into the piano-entrancing “Two of Us,” we see Tomlinson at his most vulnerable, lyrically and vocally, as the song details the passing of his mother at the end of 2016. Almost as if he is cracking his ribcage open to allow others to find collective healing through the process of grief, the track is more uplifting than sorrowful—it being Tomlinson’s words and personable voice to thank for that. The title track, “Walls,” being a nod to Oasis, was well-received by critics and fans alike as Tomlinson breaks down the walls that his trials and tribulations have built up around him over the years. It’s rare to find a title track that can firmly stand on its own, yet this one does just that.

It’s when we fade into the meat of Walls, past the singles, do we start to see Tomlinson’s artistic identity flourish. “Too Young” acts like a melancholic lullaby that is sang too tenderly to cross. A simple acoustic that highlights the delicate vocals he was famous for in One Direction. “Habit” easily presses rewind on the era and takes a trip back to the alt 90’s, providing what could be the blossoming of a softer Everclear influence. Tomlinson showcases his impeccable ability to flow words overtop a sonic landscape here, which follows into a couple other tracks, providing a storytelling technique that has been challenging for his fellow bandmates to crack as he confesses to his love interest that they’re a habit he can’t break. It’s difficult not to hear this breezy, guitar-driven tune and not think of how seamlessly the chorus could blend into a 90’s, coming of age film that stars Joseph Gordon-Levitt.

“Always You” gives way to lighter moods in musicality as Tomlinson’s voice bounces over lively guitar plucking, providing the same word flow as “Habit” just more staccato. The building climax compliments his tone, being a hidden talent in his repertoire, landing with a big melodic chorus so gravitating that one will be humming it to themselves long after the record’s over. Then, there’s “Fearless,” a surprising power-ballad that is hard to forget. Structured around the age-old phrase, “let’s stay young forever” it would’ve been easy for this theme to fall corny rather quickly, but instead, the track is a haunting recount of forgotten youth and being lost in nostalgia. Tomlinson’s vocals are at their peak here, following the foundations of simple verses and light instrumentals, allowing his isolated vocals to take center stage to deliver an iron-clad performance.

The two most personal tracks on the record, though, are saved for last. Being the most reflective of his growth going forward as an artist, “Defenceless” and “Only the Brave” display his duality in the sonic landscape. The former is a powerhouse earworm that represents everything good about a pop song. Bringing one of the catchiest bridges to the mainstream in recent years, “Defenceless” soars with poppy chords and heavy drums that’ll have one itching to listen to it on the open road. Tomlinson teamed up with Andrew Jackson and Duck Blackwell for the latter, “Only the Brave.” An interlude track that came to Tomlinson as a demo, it resonated with him enough to mark it the star of the show as the album’s closer. It taps into an indie market that suits his voice well as the song’s corners feel burnt and tinged. The stunning religious subtext that could be metaphors for both his relationship with another and with fame is only a little over two minutes long, but it acts as one powerful ending.

Walls works because it’s a culmination of Louis Tomlinson’s best assets—the distinct edge of his vocals and his commanding lyrical prowess. Tomlinson’s voice has a knack of making a listener feel as though he’s sitting across the kitchen table, speaking directly to them. It’s personable, tender, comforting, and it’s endearing. His peaks as a vocalist breathe through his debut, nailing airy falsettos and parading his raspy edge. Lyrically, whether it be him tackling adversity in the title track with, “These high walls never broke my soul,” shedding the tightly constructed public image tied to his boyband past in “Habit” with, “I took some time ‘cause I’ve ran out of energy of playing someone I’ve heard I’m supposed to be,” directly asking a friend the heavy question, “[are you] strong enough to get it wrong in front of all these people” in nostalgia-chasing’s “Fearless,” or sticking true to his clever symbolism found in “Always You” that details, “We’re sleeping on our problems like we’ll solve them in our dreams / we wake up early morning, and it’s still under the sheets,” it’s obvious that Tomlinson is a true songwriter. All in all, it’s in the conjoined efforts of these two aspects of his artistry that lays a solid foundation for Tomlinson moving forward. Walls has proven that he has what it takes to stand on his own, and looking towards the future just like the record’s closing lines, Tomlinson has shown that “it’s [his] solo song, and it’s only for the brave.”

Thanks for the amazing review @aliensyndrome !

#louis tomlinson #wpress #060220 #the alternative

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hlupdate · 4 years

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#louis tomlinson #060220 #walls

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faeryqueenwitch · 5 years

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🌺💫What Do Fairies Do For Fun?💫🌺

🌺 Like humans, fairies enjoy eating, drinking, music, and dancing. When the day’s work of protecting the fields and forests, mining underground caves, or wreaking havoc in the human world is done, fairies just want to have fun.

🧚 Dancing And Singing Fairies 🧚

ART BY: BLACKFURYART ON INSTAGRAM

🌺 Fairies love to dance, according to folklore and literature. Countless tales speak of these spirits cavorting in the moonlight, skipping and spinning in dewy meadows and forest glades- sometimes in small groups, but sometimes by the hundreds. A Cornish story says 600 pixies once gathered to dance in a huge circle at Cornwall’s Trevose Head. In “A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Shakespeare writes that fairies congregate:

“On hill, in dale, forest or mead, By paved fountain, or by rushy brook, Or on the beached margent of the sea, To dance their ringlets to the whistling wind.”

🌺 Shakespeare’s contemporaries also found dancing fairies a delightful topic for drama. Either John Lyly or John Day (the author is unknown) penned the following verse in “The Maydes Metamorphosis:

“By the moon we sport and play, With the night begins our day, As we dance the dew doth fall- Trip it, little urchins all, Lightly as the little bee, Two by two, and three by three; And about go we, and about go we.”

🌺 Not all fairies however, dance purely for the fun of it- some have other agendas. The vila of Eastern Europe use dance as a form of enchantment to attract men and seduce them. The Russian rusalki go even further. These water spirits live in rivers by day, but at night they transform themselves into beautiful young women and come ashore. There these lusty ladies dance and sing to entice human males, then lure the men back to the rivers and drown them. Legend says that once Hungary’s tündér take human men as dance partners they won’t let them go until the men fall ill from exhaustion or die. Wale’s Tylwyth Teg love music so much they’ve been known to kidnap human musicians and keep them imprisoned in fairyland forever, so the fairies can have music all the time.

⋆ ✢ ✥ ✦ ✧ ❂ ❉ ✱ ✲ ✴ ✵ ✶ ✷ ✸ ❇ ✹ ✺ ✻ ✼ ❈ ✮ ✡ ⋆ ✢ ✥ ✦ ✧ ❂ ❉ ✱ ✲

Source: Fairies By Skye Alexander

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anneimaginesundertale · 4 years

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Ooooh this is so sweet! 🎤 Your muse to sing my muse a song with G please!

@isnt-that-something suggested several different songs, but I chose “Would You Go With Me” by Josh Turner. I hadn’t heard it before, but boy, his voice + the lyrics? I love it! Also, the video is really really cute. isnt-that-something said she doesn’t see G as much of a country guy and I agree, but this was just too perfect. Enjoy!

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

You’d invited G to karaoke night at Grillby’s. It wasn’t like it was a date or something. Just two pals hanging out. Besides, the food was amazing and since it was karaoke night, you got some dinner and a show.

It was pretty funny watching some of the other patrons singing their souls out. Dogamy and Dogaressa performed a duet. The drunk bunny girl sang an off-key version of...something. You thought it might have been “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” but you couldn’t really tell. When she finished, she came over and handed the microphone to G. “Your turn,” she said with a giggle.

“No, no,” G said. “Not tonight, Bunsy.”

“Oh come on!” She urged. “I bet your girlfriend doesn’t even know you can sing!” She looked at you. “He’s got the sweetest voice! Come on, don't you want to hear him sing?”

“Yeah,” you said, smirking. “I kinda do. I think you should sing, G!”

“Aw, come on,” he said. “You’re really gonna ask me to do that?”

“Please?” You gave him your best puppy eyes.

“Oh, all right,” he said. “Just don’t laugh at me, okay?”

“I won’t,” you promised.

Bunsy sat down next to you and G went up to the stage. He scrolled through the options on the machine and found something.

“This song goes out to my angel,” he said, looking at you. “If you’re gonna make me do this, then I’ve got a real important question for ya.”

A country song started up, surprising you a bit. G waited for the intro and then began to sing, still looking straight at you.

Would you go with me if we rolled down streets of fire

Would you hold on to me tighter as the summer sun got higher

If we roll from town to town and never shut it down

Would you go with me if we were lost in fields of clover

Would we walk even closer until the trip was over

And would it be okay if I didn't know the way

His voice was deeper and richer than you’d imagined. He never took his sockets off you As he started the chorus, he hopped off the stage and walked back over to you. He held out his free hand.

If I gave you my hand would you take it

And make me the happiest man in the world

If I told you my heart couldn't beat one more minute without you, girl

Would you accompany me to the edge of the sea

Let me know if you're really a dream

I love you so, so would you go with me

You stared at him. Bunsy burst into giggles. “You can’t be serious,” you said. “This is payback.”

“I’m dead serious, angel,” he said, launching into another verse.

Would you go with me if we rode the clouds together

Could you not look down forever

If you were lighter than a feather

Oh, and if I set you free, would you go with me

“You really--G, you never--” You couldn’t think straight. He was looking at you like you were the only person in the bar, in the whole world.

If I gave you my hand would you take it

And make me the happiest man in the world

If I told you my heart couldn't beat one more minute without you, girl

Would you accompany me to the edge of the sea

Help me tie up the ends of a dream

I gotta know, would you go with me

I love you so, so would you go with me

You slipped your hand into his as the last notes faded away. “Yes,” you said.

G dropped the mic. Bunsy caught it before it hit the floor. G was still looking at you, a wide, goofy smile nearly splitting his skull.

“I love you, angel,” he said.

“I love you too, G!” you said to your new boyfriend.

#valentines event 2020 #sweet gestures event #drabble #songfic #isnt that something

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bubble-tea-bunny · 5 years

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to feel the sun from both sides

[newt scamander x reader]

author’s note: shorter than the stuff i’ve been writing lately but still just as nice i hope(: might write for theseus next

word count: 2,330

The months are growing colder, and the drop in temperature becomes even more apparent at the day’s end, when the sun is on its way out. A gust of wind blows strong enough to ruffle Newt’s robes and a shiver runs down his spine. His cheeks and his nose are probably red from the chill, and he manages to free a hand in the midst of his task to bring his scarf up over the bottom half of his face. Ah. That feels better.

He doesn’t see you approach because his back is turned, and he would’ve heard you, would’ve heard the sound of your shoes sifting along the cool grass, if he weren’t preoccupied with the little animal cradled his palm. He’s alerted to your presence when you speak up, and he twists around, but carefully so as not to jostle the small bowtruckle.

“I was wondering where you were,” you state with a smile.

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry.” Newt’s tone is apologetic as he pulls down his scarf to be heard clearly, the cool air once more nipping at his skin. He talks quietly but he always does, and you don’t mind one bit. “I wasn’t able to find you after dinner and I wanted to come here before it got dark, so…”

“It’s fine.” You wave your hand dismissively. It’s easy to be lost in the sea of students flooding out of the Great Hall, so you don’t blame him. You sit down against the trunk of the tree, and Newt follows suit. “I’m sure they missed you.”

Newt looks over, wondering what you mean, and notices your attention is on the creature in his hand. He glances down at it as well. “Yeah… I guess they have.” It’s silent for a moment, then he continues: “Hold out your hand.”

Your eyes widen a fraction but you do as he says, and you go stock still as he sets the bowtruckle into your awaiting hand. Its little legs feel odd on the sensitive expanse of your palm, and it takes several steps, so you rotate your wrist to accommodate it. It walks across your knuckles, where it chooses to remain. Newt watches it fondly, and it looks right back at him, like it knows who he is. And then from beneath floppy brown hair his gaze slides up to you—you’re considerably more relaxed now, and your features are so soft in the radiance of dusk.

“I don’t know why you get so nervous,” he remarks. “You’re a natural.”

You chuckle and as the bowtruckle resumes walking, you hold up your other hand for it to transfer onto so it doesn’t fall off. “You’re the natural, Newt. Simply holding them is nothing compared to what you can do.”

Newt smiles. “But they like you, you know. I can tell.”

You hum, as if to ask Yeah? but you don’t say anything else. Newt assumes that to be the end of the conversation, and he leans his head back on the tree trunk. The bowtruckle appears to have found a comfortable position to rest in, and you allow yourself to return to watching the setting sun. It’s nearly gone, and your breath materializes in front of you with every exhale. Soon the moon and stars will emerge, and they’ll light your path to the castle.

“Would you write a book?” you ask out of the blue.

Newt purses his lips and contemplates the inquiry for a few seconds. He doesn’t ask about what because it’s obvious what he’d write about. The idea isn’t out of the realm of possibility. He keeps journals on his research, though it’s only been on creatures found here at Hogwarts. There are many out there still, throughout the world, to be sought after and studied and cared for. An expansive task but a wonderful one.

“I would,” he responds finally. “But it’d be hard to do that research alone.”

This prompts you to look at him, and he’s watching you with utmost sincerity. The implication of the statement pulls a grin from you, and he mirrors it subconsciously. You’d been attached at the hip from the moment you started talking to each other as first years, and though your adventures have begun at Hogwarts, they wouldn’t end there.

You sigh lightly and take in the night that has fallen around you, stare up at the sky like you’re in a crystal ball and you’re looking past the glass. “Will I never be rid of you, Scamander?” you tease.

Newt shakes his head. “Not at all,” he shoots back playfully.

You laugh, then sigh as you settle down. “I’ll gladly join you, Newt. Just don’t go falling in love with me while we’re at it.”

There’s a twinkle in your gaze to accompany your smile, and he knows you’re playing around, but he swallows as he mulls over what you’ve said. The smile drops from his own face once you turn away and attend to the bowtruckle in your hand. He hears you asking it if it’s doing okay, and if it’s sleepy, but your voice sounds distant, like you’re farther than you actually are, his own thoughts at the forefront and pushing everything else to the margins. He traces the line of your profile with his eyes, from your forehead to the slope of your nose to your lips, and farther still he follows the curve of your chin as it leads to your jaw, and the sleek column of your neck. And as he continues to sit here next to you, so close he can feel your body heat, and you grin at the animal you’re holding and he swears it’s enough to light up a whole room, he thinks it’s a little too late for that.

———

He tries though. By Merlin, does he try. Being out on the field helps distract him, because there, the work comes first, and in these instances you maintain a professional relationship, that of researcher and assistant. You take notes while his hands are busy looking over the current beast of interest, and he knows he rambles and his brain can move faster than his mouth at times and it does but you’ve always been able to turn it into something cohesive. He gives you his journals to write in, and it’s easy to figure out which sections are yours because they’re neater, and in addition to the skillfully done diagrams of hippogriff talons and erumpet horns, you leave silly doodles in the margins.

The bounds of professionalism aren’t concrete, and neither of you wished them to be anyway. When he’s working late into the night, nothing but a candle to illuminate the pages, you come to him as his friend once more, his best friend, and you tell him he needs to rest and you won’t take any excuses. You set your hand on his to stop his writing, and he glances up at you sheepishly because he knows you’re right but really, he’ll be done soon, just one more sentence—

“There will always be tomorrow,” you murmur.

And the corner of his lip twitches, a smile fighting its way to the surface. You’ve never had to do much to convince him. “Okay.”

For all your denials that you could never be as well-versed in magical creatures as he, over the years, that’s changed, whether or not you even noticed. He taught you as you both went along, traveled from country to country, and it hadn’t been long before you had his confidence in the subject. Or at least something very close. And in those times where you may falter he’s the one to reassure you, telling you it’s okay to approach the thunderbird you’re observing and who’s looking at you closely in kind, two curious souls observing each other.

Gently he takes your wrist and guides your hand to rest on the soft feathers, and your eyes glow and so does your smile and he’s left wondering if he’s seeing things that aren’t actually there because maybe just maybe he’s imagining you like you’re the face he’s given to the beautiful haze of color just before the sun disappears behind the horizon and oh how he hopes desperately this isn’t the case.

But your skin is warm and as his hand slips down to his side, some of that residual heat remains in his palm, and it feels too real to be any figment of the imagination. In the subsequent moments filled only by the low rasps from the thunderbird’s throat that mean it’s happy, Newt looks from it to you and back again and maybe it’s more like you’re the same soul and in an exercise of extraordinary self-awareness the splendid beast that towers over you has looked into a mirror and understood that those are its eyes gazing back. And the flood of love Newt has for you rushes in like it had on day one of an undetermined total (for he’d really like to be with you forever).

He’s honestly not sure if he’ll ever tell you how he feels, because stuff like that, it isn’t his thing. He trips over his words whenever he’s not talking about his research and he has trouble maintaining eye contact with people, and the issue is increased tenfold when it involves you because the way your eyes seem to burn into him, see through him, is altogether too intense and he loves it but he also hates it because you pull him apart so easily. And maybe he should mind it but he doesn’t because you’re also the one to put him back, not with a wave of your wand and a whispered spell but with your hands, lithe fingers taking each fragment and fitting them together, one by one, slowly and surely, until he’s whole before you, and he would stand prepared for the next time he falls for you, into a million tiny pieces.

A portion of your notes doesn’t sound complete to Newt as he reads it over, then re-reads it a few times in an attempt to make sense of them. A few thoughts jotted down at the bottom are scrambled and disconnected. Usually he wouldn’t linger on these points and would move on, but it just so happens that he needs these particular lines for what he’s working on. With a sigh rife with exhaustion from hours of work, he stands and, journal in hand, exits the study and walks to the lounge, where he knows you’ll be.

There’s shuffling and the sound of your footsteps as you exclaim Poppy! and Newt’s not thinking much of it, but he should have and he understands that now because he turns the corner and says your name to announce his presence, and he’s startled first by your kneazle who just barely avoids running into his legs as it scampers off, and second by you, who’s taken off after her and you barrel into him, knocking you both off your feet.

“Oof!” Newt hits the floor with a thud, you on top of him. His journal had slipped out of his hand and lays face down to his right, but he doesn’t take notice. You push yourself up to look at him properly, eyes wide and brows knitted together in worry.

“Are you okay?” you ask. “I’m so sorry, Newt. It’s just, Poppy stole my pen and wouldn’t give it back and—”

“It’s fine,” he assures you, smiling. The concern starts to slip away and you nod, and then it occurs to him that neither of you has made any moves to stand. Your hands are braced against his chest, and his arms are wrapped around your waist, having found their way there by instinct when you’d run into him and he went to cushion your fall. Laying on the hardwood floor is hardly comfortable but he’s comfortable holding you, and you seem to be comfortable being held by him.

You stare at each other, and again Newt is overwhelmed and he has to avert his gaze and it goes to your lips and they look so soft, like velvet, and he wonders if they feel like it too. He swallows hard, and his mouth opens to say something but what? He has no idea what to say, and should he speak up he doesn’t know what would leave his mouth.

His mouth merely hangs open slightly, words not quite reaching his tongue, and he figures he must look rather stupid, but you seem to pay no mind or even notice as you lean in those last few inches and he learns you taste of caramel creams and peach blossoms. His eyes slide closed as he kisses you and his senses are filled with you you you and he’s breathing you in like you’re keeping him alive. It is a little ridiculous to still be wondering if this is truly happening, that this isn’t some hallucination, but he can’t help it because years have been spent thinking about it, dwelling on it, on all the what-could-be’s and what-if’s, and suddenly it’s what-can-be’s and what is.

You pull away just enough to allow yourself to breathe, and your eyes remain closed. Newt focuses on your lashes that delicately kiss your cheeks, and he wants to do that too. To kiss your cheeks and your nose and each corner of your lips because he loves you so much it hurts. When your eyes open, revealing that charming gaze that holds so much power over him, to a degree he’s not certain you’d ever understand, his heart drops into his stomach and it rouses the butterflies there, and they take flight. He can’t think straight but that’s okay, and at the sight of your captivating, marvelous, lovely, brilliant and every other word which might represent magnificence smile, he smiles too, in disbelief and relief and everything in between.

#newt scamander x reader #newt scamander imagine #fantastic beasts imagine #fantastic beasts #newt scamander #crimes of grindelwald #fantastic beasts and where to find them #bubble-tea-bunny #queue

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lpdwillwrite4coffee · 4 years

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BLOODY SUNRISE CHAPTER SEVEN

Two days.

Two days of heading east. Of trudging through forest and abandoned crop fields. Of discovering suburbs or towns only to find them razed or overrun with Geeks. And more fences.

Each time they came across a chain link barrier, Booker got quieter, almost brooding. Whatever quip he’d been about to hurl at her died on his tongue and he’d slow his pace, fresh disappointment and sorrow washing over him.

He never said why though. But Caitlin could guess.

Their options were running out. Their path was being chosen for them, forced to go the even longer way around. And their supplies were dwindling.

They finished the last of their water on the morning of the third day. Booker immediately pulled out his map and crouched down to read.

“Any viable sources for drinking water are south west from here. And…” He squinted up, gauging the sun’s position. “If we keep going this direction, we’re gonna land smack dab in the middle of a hot zone.”

Caitlin sighed. “What?”

“Atlanta is a day’s walk that way,” he said, gesturing. “If we keep trying to go around, we’re gonna end up in some trouble.”

She wanted to yell and pull her hair. Instead she just exhaled roughly and planted her hands on her hips.

“I spent a week getting away from Atlanta only to wind up back there.”

Booker stood, refolding his map. “It’s my fault,” he said. “I thought there’d be a way to go up and around, but…”

“Okay, so now what?” She couldn’t focus on the time lost. Only on moving forward.

Locking eyes with her, Booker said, “We go south. Fill up our water supply, then we head west.”

Caitlin nodded. It was all she could do. “Alright.”

She felt him watching her as she swung her pack over her shoulder and started walking.

After a few moments, Booker was on her heels. “I know what you must be thinkin’.”

“Oh?”

“You’re thinkin’ I’m an idiot for gettin’ us lost. For leadin’ us towards a hot zone.”

She cocked her head to look at him. “You’re a mind reader now?”

“I really did think there was a way—”

“Booker.”

“—I just thought if we stuck to the forest, we’d have better luck at avoiding any—”

“Booker.”

“But we’ll figure it out, we’ll—”

“JACK.” She stopped, spinning on her heel to face him. “I’m not mad at you. I don’t think you got us lost. You made a judgement call and it didn’t work out. So stop projecting your insecurities. It’s extremely unattractive.”

She started walking again but could feel him watching her still.

After a moment of silence, he called, “Did you just call me attractive?”

“Should’ve left him for the Geeks,” she muttered, marching onward.

***

Late afternoon sun cast the surrounding land in a golden glow. Caitlin squinted in the light, shielding her eyes.

“Hold up,” Booker said, slowing his pace. “You see that?”

It took her a second, but then she spotted the wire wrapped around a few saplings. It was a perimeter marking, with pieces of metal dangling from it. A homemade alarm.

“People,” she whispered. There wasn’t a house in sight, but it must be closer than they knew if they were that close to their warning system.

“Maybe…” He swung his rifle off his shoulder and held it at his side. “Stay close, Meadows.”

They maneuvered under the wire, stepping lightly and keeping their eyes open wide. After another ten minutes they found a second row of wire and cans, this time with stakes in the ground, pointing up and out to impale any Geeks that managed to make it that far.

“Booker, I—”

“Jeremiah!!” A woman yelled, and Caitlin heard the distinct click of gunmetal. “Trespassers!!”

“Shit,” Booker hissed, making a move for his rifle.

“Hold it,” a man called. “Don’t you move, son!”

Caitlin’s heart was in her throat. Her legs shook with the need to run.

Lifting her hands, she scanned the thin tree line for faces. Several yards away, she spotted the woman aiming a hunting rifle at them.

“Booker, they’re armed,” she whispered.

“Yeah, kinda figured that one.”

Heavy foot falls alerted them moments before the man stomped through the brush. Tall, barrel chested with a round belly, he wore a white button down and suspenders. Not exactly what Caitlin had been expecting.

“You bit?” He yelled, adjusting his grip on his shotgun. “Scratched?”

“No sir,” Booker called back, holding out his hand and gun to show he didn’t mean trouble. “Neither of us. We were passin’ through.”

“Ain’t you seen the perimeter?”

So subtly she nearly missed it, Booker shifted his weight, putting himself just a few more inches between Caitlin and the man.

“Yes sir, we did. Made us a little optimistic there might be people ‘round.”

Booker’s accent thickened as he spoke, and Caitlin silently appreciated his knowledge of code switching. Sound like you’re a neighbor, get treated as a neighbor.

“There more of ya?”

Booker shook his head. “No sir, jus’ us. And we don’t mean y’all any harm.”

The woman stepped through the tree line then, her long greying hair in a braid over her shoulder, white dress and apron fluttering in the breeze. Her gaze shifted to the man—her husband, Caitlin guessed.

“Jeremiah…”

“Constance, be smart.”

Booker didn’t move. They were clearly having a conversation made purely of subtext neither of them understood.

The man took a step forward. “Y’all God-fearin’ people?”

Caitlin bristled at the question, but Booker didn’t even blink.

“Psalm 121, verses 7 and 8,” Booker called.

At that, the man started to lower his shotgun. “The Lord keeps you from all harm and watches over your life. The Lord keeps watch over you as you come and go, both now and forever.” He grinned. “Welcome Brother, you have been delivered.”

Staring at the back of Booker’s head, she made a dozen mental notes to ask about that particular exchange.

The woman lowered her weapon and out of the brush stepped several more people—all aged twenty to nine, and armed. Most of them were boys, but one girl about ten years old in a floral dress held a teddy bear in one hand and a pistol in the other.

“Did you see them before?” She whispered to Booker.

“Yep. You?”

“No.”

In total, the family was about ten strong.

The pit in Caitlin’s stomach grew.

“Sorry about the less than hospitable greeting,” Jeremiah called, striding over. “We’ve learned it’s better to be gruff first and apologize later.”

“No offense taken,” Booker said.

The men shook hands, but Caitlin took a step back, eyeing Jeremiah warily.

Maybe she just hadn’t been around people in so long, especially people different than herself, but… something felt off. The memories of the first family to take her in rolled over and over in her mind. The openness, the kindness, the general feeling of ‘we’re all in this shitty situation together’… It was a stark contrast to Jeremiah’s gatekeeper attitude.

“I’m Booker, this is Caitlin.”

Jeremiah reached for her hand and she took it on impulse.

“Nice to meet you, young lady,” he said, squeezing her hand just a little too hard.

“You too.” It was a lie. Her legs still trembled, begging her to bolt away and drag Booker with her. She stayed planted.

“The house is just up this way. Ya caught us while we was doin’ chores.”

Caitlin didn’t move until Booker did. She stuck close as they followed the family up to their cabin.

As they walked, Jeremiah talked with Booker like he was an old friend—the result of having the same creed, she guessed.

She listened in as Jeremiah explained the cabin was his daddy’s and kept just for vacation and hunting trips, but when the world went to hell, he’d brought his family there to stay safe and away from the roaming ‘biters’ as he called them. He quoted scripture so many times Caitlin lost count, all about how it was the end of days and that Christ was soon coming again.

It wasn’t the Bible talk that made her nervous. It was the unsettling glint in his eye. Like he’d just decided he was running for Mayor, too friendly, too chatty, too happy to have them stay with them. All while his wife was silent, his children keeping their distance from them.

From him.

The house was larger than Caitlin anticipated, and well protected it looked like.

Secluded. Far away from any main roads. No neighbors.

She tried to shake the disturbed feeling, but it clung to her.

As they made it up the front porch steps, Constance spoke for the first time since they’d accosted them.

“We’re making stew for dinner. Y’all are welcome to get cleaned up. Maybe wash your clothes.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Caitlin said. “But I’m not sure how long we’re staying.”

“Well you’ll stay the night of course,” Constance said, a desperate tremor in her voice. “Y’all look tired and in need of some good food. We’re happy to have you.”

It felt final. As if the decision had already been made. Caitlin fought not to grimace.

Booker had been led to the other side of the main room by Jeremiah, and while the distance was maybe only a few feet, it felt too far for her comfort. With a polite smile, she wandered over to Booker’s side. The men were in the middle of discussing how the cabin had managed to maintain hot water and electricity with the right amount of propane and generators.

“Excuse me, can I borrow him back for a moment?” She asked, already reaching for Booker’s arm.

“’Course, darlin’.”

She’d grown accustomed to Booker’s voice saying that word and hearing a stranger call her that made her spine go rigid.

The family all milled around—younger children running off to play and the older boys hovering, looking like they were trying to puff up like their father.

Booker followed her back onto the porch, careful not to let the storm door slam.

“I don’t—”

“Shh shh,” he cut her off, pulling her to the other end of the porch away from the open windows. “Whisper.”

She nodded and crossed her arms. “I don’t like this.”

“I know that wasn’t the friendliest of greetings.”

“It’s not… Booker, something’s… off.”

He furrowed his brow, dark eyes locking with hers. “Whaddya mean?”

Caitlin bit the inside of her bottom lip, unsure if she should open a wound she’d only just managed to close in hopes of getting him to understand.

“This guy… his family…” She shook her head. “Booker, I don’t want to stay here.”

He sighed, leaning against the porch rail. “I know that back there shook ya up—”

“It’s not—”

“But Cae, they’re offerin’ us food. Water. Shelter. A hot shower—something I definitely haven’t had in…” He sniffed himself. “A very long time.”

Caitlin ground her molars.

“It’s almost dark,” Booker continued. “We’re out of food, and we’re at least another half day’s trek to anywhere that might have supplies.”

Her legs began to shake again, muscles screaming to run, run, run.

“We’ve managed on our own this far,” she countered, staring up at him. “We don’t need them.”

Booker watched her a moment and then took her by the hand, pulling her further away from listening ears.

“Talk to me.” He turned to face her, watchful gaze on the door to the house. “Just this mornin’ you were sayin’ how we needed supplies, we needed a safe place to make camp and rest up for a bit—”

“I know, I know what I said,” she interrupted, annoyed that her own argument was being used against her.

“Okay, then what’s changed?” He waited but when she didn’t speak up immediately, he added, “Meadows, I wanna understand, okay. I’m here, I’m listenin’. You’re sayin’ you wanna leave, turn down their hospitality, I gotta know why.”

Caitlin swallowed, throat abnormally tight. “He reminds me of my stepdad.”

Booker blinked, waiting for her to continue.

“Overly nice to company, while his family is stock still and quiet, terrified of making a wrong move they know they’ll pay for later.” She folded her arms over her stomach. “And his wife? She’s too insistent on having us stay, probably because she knows he’ll be on his best behavior while we’re around.”

“I didn’t see any bruises…”

“Oh, Booker, come on,” she snapped, about to turn away from him.

“No, I just… I don’t wanna make assumptions about a man we don’t know.”

Pegging him with a glare, she said, “I know him. I know men like him. He’s good at fooling people into thinking ‘no, not him, he could never.’”

Booker inhaled, glancing at the darkening sky. “Cae, I know you’re scared… and bein’ around people again is nerve wrackin’ for me too. It’s hard to trust anyone anymore. But turnin’ our backs on shelter and food this close to nightfall… I dunno...”

A sharp pang of betrayal was quickly followed by a sour feeling in her stomach. Maybe he was right… she’d been distrustful of Booker when they first met, and he was a good man. Just because someone was like her stepfather didn’t mean history was repeating itself.

And the prospect of a hot shower and warm meal was alluring.

“Okay,” she relented. “You’re right, we need a safe place to rest. It’ll be fine.”

Booker wrapped his hand around her arm, gently squeezing in reassurance. “One night, two tops, and then we’re on our way again.”

She nodded, forcing down the lump in her throat.

The porch door swung open and Constance stepped out. “Supper’s ready. Y’all hungry?”

***

After nearly inhaling their venison stew and rolls, Constance showed them to the bathroom upstairs and laid out some toiletries for them. She told them to pile their dirty clothes outside the door and she’d throw them in the wash.

Caitlin watched the woman, searching for signs she’d been right before… or wrong. It all felt smudged and blurry, like wiping a hand over something written in chalk.

Booker insisted Caitlin shower first, keeping subtle watch by the door.

It was an action that had her eyes pricking with unshed tears. He might not agree with her about Jeremiah or his family, but he wasn’t about to leave her vulnerable and alone.

After three weeks of rinsing off in creeks, sponging off with stolen paper towels and rags, and keeping her hair in a tight ponytail, stepping under the warm spray was almost orgasmic.

She moaned like it was anyway.

“Do I wanna know what you’re doin’ in there?” Booker called through the door, smirk audible.

“You wish,” she responded, lathering up her hair.

She could hear his chuckle even over the water’s spray.

If she wasn’t afraid of using all the hot water, she’d have stayed in the shower for an hour. But once she was clean, rinsed, and cleaned again for good measure, she turned the water off and wrapped herself in a towel. It was a little thin, but the air was warm enough she wasn’t concerned with catching a chill.

Finger combing her hair, she opened the bathroom door to let Booker know she was done. He stared up at her from where he was sat on the floor, and immediately averted his gaze.

“Your turn,” she said, one hand keeping her towel closed at her chest.

He cleared his throat and nodded. “Alright.”

Caitlin grinned to herself. “Oh look, there are those red ears again.”

Booker stood up in a hurry. “Just tryna be polite, Meadows.”

“Where are our packs?” She asked before he could close the door.

“Tucked ‘em away in that room over there.”

“Thanks,” she said, padding down the hall in her bare feet.

Quickly digging out her only other set of clothes—bra, panties, grey tee shirt, and jeans—she got dressed facing the door, holding her breath so she could hear someone coming up the stairs.

No one did.

When she was dressed, she yanked her shoes back on and sat on the end of the hope chest at the foot of the twin bed, waiting for Booker.

After a few minutes, the door opened.

“Jesus, Cae.” Booker pulled up short, one hand keeping his towel around his hips. “Why ain’t you downstairs?”

“I was waiting for you,” she said, sitting upright.

She expected him to tease her, but instead he just nodded and shut the door behind him.

Her gaze tracked the movement, momentarily stunned by how much of Booker was on display. Rivulets of water followed the curve of his muscular back, disappearing beneath the edge of the towel. His Marine Corps tattoo wasn’t the only ink he’d collected—a family crest covered his right shoulder blade, and a black and white lion’s head was high up on his left bicep.

He had the tanned complexion of someone who worked outside shirtless more often than not. Had the physique to match too.

As he turned, Caitlin forced her stare to the floor, hands fidgeting in her lap.

Grabbing clothes from his pack, Booker stood at the foot of the bed to lay them out.

He grinned. “Now who’s blushin’?”

Rolling her eyes, Caitlin stood up. “I’ll wait for you outside.”

“’M hurt, Meadows. Don’t tell me I’ve let myself go.”

“Jackass,” she muttered, striding out into the hall and shutting the door.

“Beg your pardon?”

Jeremiah was stopped on the stairs, eyeing her.

“Oh, uh…” She glanced over her shoulder. “It was… nothing. Sorry.”

He didn’t comment, just continued up the stairs until he was only a couple feet from her on the landing.

“Y’all gettin’ settled alright?”

She tried to seem relaxed but knew it wasn’t working. “Yes, thank you.”

“Shower’s nice, ain’t it?” Jeremiah took a couple steps closer. “I praise the Lord every day we had the foresight to put in extra generators a few years back. And those propane tanks too. ‘Course, we never imagined what we’d be usin’ this place for…”

“I’m not sure anyone knew to expect this.” Her gaze darted behind him, wondering if she would be better off excusing herself or if waiting at the door with Booker in ear shot was safest.

“The day of reckoning is upon us,” Jeremiah continued. “The good book gave us all the signs. Least that’s what I told my congregation anyway.”

Caitlin squinted up at him. “You’re a pastor?”

“Yes’m. Holy Bible Church, about five miles down the main road.”

Something sickly curled in her gut. A pastor that took his family and ran, hiding out in the woods, armed to the teeth with weapons… It didn’t feel very godly to her.

Just then the door behind her opened and Booker walked out.

“Sir,” he greeted Jeremiah. “Thank you again for lettin’ us get cleaned up.”

“Oh, o’course,” Jeremiah said. “Now, y’all save room for dessert?”

Caitlin blinked. “Huh?”

“Constance made a pie. C’mon ‘n’ have some.”

He started back down the stairs and Booker brushed by her, touching her elbow gently.

“Y’alright?”

She nodded, decidedly ignoring the churning in her gut.

***

Dessert with the family was only mildly uncomfortable. Caitlin felt like they were being watched, but not just as outsiders. It was like they were being tested, observed for anything Jeremiah deemed unsavory.

When they finished, Caitlin started to take their plates to the kitchen, but Constance jumped up, taking them instead.

“Let me,” she murmured, quickly rushing into the other room.

As Caitlin settled back in her seat, Jeremiah leaned forward, pegging her and Booker with a stare.

“Now, I’m happy to have y’all here,” he started, and Caitlin’s heart rate double timed. “But there are some house rules we follow as the good Lord has bestowed them on us.”

The more he tried to sound devout, the worse he came across.

“We’re a Christian family, and as such we don’t believe in committing sins of the flesh. Things like premarital relations are against God’s teachings. So, I’m afraid y’all will have to sleep in separate rooms.”

Booker started to chuckle, opening his mouth to speak, but Caitlin jumped in.

“Oh, I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” she said, voice as sweet as she could muster. “We are married.”

Booker cocked his head, careful to keep his expression neutral.

Jeremiah’s stare narrowed. “Y’all ain’t wearing weddin’ bands.”

Wrapping her arm around Booker’s in an affectionate gesture, she leaned into him. “That’s actually my fault. See, it’s actually coming up on our one-year anniversary, and I’d taken our rings in to the jeweler to get them cleaned and… Well, I was gonna get something engraved on sweetie’s here—” She squeezed Booker’s arm, hoping he understood.

Go along with this.

Back me up.

Please.

“—But the day I was supposed to pick them up… The virus outbreak happened.” She held Jeremiah’s gaze, unwavering. “Didn’t even occur to me to try to get our rings. Especially since they’re just material possessions. And a marriage is more than that, right?”

Jeremiah hummed, but he didn’t look completely convinced. “Tell me about your weddin’, Booker.”

Shit.

Booker’s stare met Caitlin’s for a split second before turning to the man, grinning.

“Oh man, did she hate our weddin’,” Booker started, hand covering hers and giving a gentle pat and squeeze. “We both wanted somethin’ simple, real easy, ya know? I’d’ve been happy goin’ to the li’l chapel by the base, but her mom was not havin’ it.”

He squeezed her hand again, thumb rubbing a circle on her palm.

Follow my lead.

I’ve got your back.

We’ll be fine.

“Mom wanted all the family there,” Caitlin supplied with a smile.

Booker nodded. “Both our mamas wanted half of Texas there,” he said with a laugh. “And then nobody liked the food we picked.”

“I thought a taco bar would be a good idea.”

“But my mama wanted sit down style, real classy to impress her friends. And then her daddy—”

“Oh gosh.”

“Her daddy refused to walk her down the aisle if she wasn’t wearin’ pure white.”

Caitlin feigned a giggle. “I’m fair skinned, pure white looks awful on me.”

“I still think you looked gorgeous,” Booker said, looking to her.

“You have to say that, you married me.”

Booker squeezed her hand again, reassuring her.

“Anyway, when it was all said and done, the day itself was a disaster.” He tilted his head towards her once more. “But every day since then has been a blessin’. And it ain’t really ‘bout the day, it’s ‘bout the marriage, right?”

Jeremiah took the bait, believed them totally by the look in his eyes. “That’s right, son. A marriage bond is a blessed thing, ain’t that right Constance?”

Returning from the kitchen with a pitcher of iced tea, Constance nodded jerkily. “Sure is.”

Booker’s thumb pressed against Caitlin’s palm, and it instantly grounded her. The twisting in her gut, the dark edges of panic, all seemed to fade if only for a moment.

“Then the boys can bunk up and they can take the spare,” Constance offered, pouring tea for Jeremiah first. Looking over at them, she said, “It’s not much, but it’s comfy.”

“I’m sure it’ll be perfect,” Caitlin assured her. Her empathy for the woman was growing by the hour.

While convinced, Jeremiah still didn’t look exactly happy. “Guess that’s settled then.”

His tone was one she knew too well, and the dread returned, threatening to choke her.

She didn’t even realize she’d been clutching Booker’s arm with a vice grip until he caught her eye.

***

A mattress. A real mattress.

They were getting to sleep on a real bed, with sheets and pillows and a floral quilted bedspread.

Caitlin wanted to pinch herself.

“See?” Booker whispered, shutting the door. “Silver lining.”

“It’s a little small… We’re gonna get extra cozy.”

Booker faltered from where he was grabbing a pillow off the bed. “I was… just gonna…” He motioned to the floor.

Caitlin wanted to smack him. “I’m not gonna deprive you of sleeping in a real bed, Booker. You’re just as exhausted as I am. Besides, what if they walk in and see you on the floor?”

“We pretend we had a fight and you kicked me outta bed?”

“And you really think they’ll buy that?”

“Prob’ly not.”

“Exactly. So be an adult and pretend to be my husband already.”

She turned down the covers and started to climb in when Booker made a noise.

“You’re sleepin’ in a bed with your shoes on?”

Caitlin leveled her stare on him. “I have slept with my shoes on every night since this hell began. And I’ve never been woken up in the middle of the night and had to run. So…”

He nodded. “Ahh, so it’s a Murphy’s Law kinda situation.”

“Yup,” she said, settling in on her side of the twin bed.

“Want me to do the same?”

She grinned. “I should tell you no, so I’ll have a thirty second head start, just in case.”

Booker shook his head at her and climbed in, still in his boots. “One of these days, you’re gunna feel real bad ‘bout these jokes if somethin’ happens to me.”

“Maybe. Maybe I’ll pour one out for you and move on.”

Shifting to get comfortable against the pillows, he said, “I prefer Johnny Walker Blue, if the occasion ever comes.”

“Noted.”

The bed really was small for two people, but Caitlin was so bone-deep tired, she was already dozing off halfway through rolling onto her side. She vaguely remembered mumbling ‘goodnight’ to Booker before she was out.

***

Run! Run! Run!

Caitlin awoke with a violent jerk, gasping for air.

“Shh, shh, hey,” Booker’s voice was right in her ear. “It’s alright, you’re safe, Cae.”

Sucking air into her lungs, she tried to sit up, but something kept her pinned. “Jack?”

“Y’started kickin’ in your sleep,” he murmured. “I was worried you’d roll outta bed, so…”

She slowly understood, could feel in the dark what he meant. Her back was pressed firmly against Booker’s chest, his thick arm around her waist. His hand was balled into a fist against the mattress, she guessed as his way of assuring her he wasn’t coping a feel.

“Y’want some water, or--?”

She shook her head. “No, no, I’m…” She took a deep breath. “I’m alright. Thank you.”

He started to lift his arm off her when she grabbed his wrist and kept him where he was.

“Just in case,” she murmured, letting her head settle back on the pillows.

She felt him nod and adjust his position a little, attempting to give her space.

It wasn’t necessary. They might’ve lied about being married, but they’d gained a level of intimacy in their time together. To call each other friends felt weirdly hollow, but there wasn’t another, more accurate word for them.

Friends. They were friends.

Easing into the mattress, Caitlin closed her eyes and tried to remember the sounds from the trees. The birds. The crickets.

And then Booker started humming “Jolene” by Dolly Parton, and she almost cried.

They weren’t friends. They were something else, something more careful, something fiercer. Viscerally interdependent. A blood oath made by children in a backyard fort—Innocent and vicious with the same swipe of a blade.

“Thank you,” Caitlin croaked, pressing her face into her pillow.

Booker’s response was a soft pull of his arm, securing her, and a smooth transition to the next verse.

#Bloody Sunrise #free novels for pandemic times #free fiction #my writing #ZA romance #zombie apocalypse romance

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221bsunsettowers · 3 years

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TK/Carlos: Fire Drills, Flirting, and First Dates

Apparently TK can't wait a few hours for his and Carlos' first date, since it's the 126 pulling up to supervise the school fire drill.

This is the second part of the Found Forever on a Field Trip 9-1-1 Lone Star AU verse, where Carlo is a preschool teacher and TK is a firefighter, and they first met when Carlos brought his students on a fire safety field trip to where TK volunteers.

I would definitely recommend reading the first part of the series (which you can find here ) before this one for some background.

This story takes place just a few days after their first meeting, way before the time jump in the first story.

CW for mention of TK's canon storyline of addiction and his overdose towards the end of the story.

You can also read this on Ao3 here! And if you have any stories you would like to see in this verse, please let me know, I would love to keep writing for it!

Carlos had one child on his hip, crying into his shirt ever since the fire alarm had rung out its ear-piercing trill. Another child was clutching his free hand, sniffing back tears. "It's all okay, I promise," Carlos assured them gently as he led them and their classmates into a straight line against the fence. "Remember, we talked about how this is a drill? It's practice just in case we ever need to get out of the school quickly. But there's no real fire right now."

"Just real firefighters," a familar voice called out from Carlos' right, and he turned, unable to stop himself from grinning as TK strode towards them from the fire truck, a grin also dancing across his lips. When he saw the two crying children though, he quickly crouched in front of them, Carlos gently lowering the other child to stand in front of TK.

"Firefighter Strand!" Both children yelled excitedly, tears drying up as they cheered, drawing the attention of their classmates, who immediately started rushing over.

"Back in line please friends!" Carlos called out, quickly walking alone the line of students. "I know we're all very excited to see Firefighter Strand, but we have to stay in our safe spot."

"Hmm, does that mean you're excited to see me too?" TK's voice was low in Carlos' ear, the blush spreading across Carlos' cheeks as TK flashed him a playful smirk before making his way down the line of children, stopping to say hi to every single one.

"Couldn't wait until after work, huh?" Carlos teased back as he passed behind TK, highly pleased to see red spreading up the back of the firefighter's neck.

"We're doing community outreach here, I don't know what else you could possibly be referring to," TK grinned, leaning back against the fence, the nearest child finding a way to wrap around TK's leg without moving from their space in line.

"You aren't fooling anyone, Strand!" Marjan called out as she came around the back of the truck to the cheers of "Firefighter Marwani!". Squeezing Carlos' shoulder as she passed, she leaned in to whisper just loud enough for TK to hear her too, "It's all he's been talking about since shift started. He even made us help him choose his outfit-he seriously brought every option to the station."

"Traitor!" TK mouthed at Marjan, ducking his head and smiling shyly, cheeks now flushing pink. "I just don't want to be late for our first date, or show up looking like this." He gestured up and down his firefighter uniform.

"You can feel free to show up in that anytime," Carlos murmured in TK's ear, right before he reached a hand out to bat away a stick one child had just thrown at another. "Zoe, we don't throw sticks, okay friend?" The little girl nodded.

"Eyes in the back of your head," TK murmured appreciatively, as Marjan made her way to the last of the very excited children. Noticing the students were still occupied, TK leaned in, his voice so low only Carlos could hear. "Can't wait to see what else you can do with those hands."

Laughing, TK made his way back to the truck, leaving a sputtering bright red Carlos behind him. "Bye kids!" TK called out. "Bye Mr. Reyes!" WIth a wink, TK climbed inside the truck, Marjan shaking her head as she followed behind him.

Carlos was five minutes early to the cafe, but TK had somehow beat him there, and was sitting on the edge of a chair near the front door, fingers drumming against the table. When he saw Carlos, his face lit up, and he stood up from the chair, meeting him at the door for a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek.

"You picked a very nice outfit," Carlos confirmed, gaze sweeping appreciatively up and down TK's short sleeved patterned button down and dark wash jeans. "Remind me to thank your team."

"It was worth all the teasing from them, then," TK grinned, sliding his pinky under the edge of the sleeve of Carlos' dark green polo, giving the fabric a gentle tug. "There's no way your students helped you pick this out or it would be sequined and covered in superheroes."

"Very accurate," Carlos laughed, nodding his head. "No, my co worker Grace helped me out. She has a good fashion sense."

"She really does," TK agreed, eyes twinkling. "Definitely thank her for me." They turned towards the table, and Carlos reached for TK's chair, pulling it out enough for him to sit down before carefully pushing it back in.

"Wow, thank you," TK said softly, and Carlos could easily pick up on the awe tinging his voice. "No one's ever done that for me before."

"Well, I also hold open doors, so get ready for that," Carlos teased gently, settling into his chair. His gaze fell on the large mug in front of him, the smell of expresso and cinammon wafting into the air. "You remembered my coffee order?"

"Large coffee, extra shot of expresso, add cinammon," TK recited, a shy smile crossing his lips. "It's what you had when we first met."

"And you have the same?" Carlos grinned, pointing to TK's cup.

"I figured teachers must be experts with all the coffee you guys must consume," TK laughed, taking a sip. "And I was right, because this is delicious."

"How was the rest of your shift?" Carlos asked, cradling the warm mug in his hands and inhaling the steam before taking his own sip.

"Seeing you was definitely the highlight," TK answered with a smile, "and not just because the rest of the shift entailed a microwave fire where someone had been trying to reheat fish, and three separate cats needing to be rescued from three separate trees."

"Oof," Carlos pretended to shudder, drawing a laugh from TK. "I'll see you your reheated fish fire and cats, and raise you a child sticking play dough up their nose and an entire bottle of glitter spilling all over the rug."

"That explains this then," TK reached out with his hand, gently wiping away a piece of glitter on Carlos' chin. Carlos found himself leaning into the touch, and TK let his finger linger longer than was necessary. Taking a deep breath in, TK moved his hand away, showing Carlos the sparkle on his fingertip. "And here I thought you went to a disco without me."

"More like a rave," Carlos teased. "Do people still even go to raves anymore? Glow sticks and lots of party drugs?" But the smile quickly fell from his face as he saw the light dim from TK's eyes. "Did I say something wrong? I'm so sorry-"

"Carlos, it's okay," TK said softly, reaching out and laying his hand on Carlos' arm.

"First date and I've already managed to hurt you somehow," Carlos mumbled, his gaze on a small scratch in the corner of their table.

"You didn't, I promise," TK insisted, running his thumb along Carlos' wrist until he raised his eyes from the table to meet TK's warm gaze. "Do you want to go for a walk?"

"Sure," Carlos responded, voice still quiet as he walked to the front of the shop and retrieved two to-go cups with lids. Handing one to TK, he quickly transferred his coffee, then moved to hold the door for TK.

"Thanks," TK smiled at Carlos as he exited the cafe, but Carlos didn't smile back. Instead, Carlos stopped on the sidewalk outside the entrance, his fingers rubbing nervously on the side of his pants leg. "Carlos," TK said warmly, reaching over and taking Carlos' hand in his free one. "I meant what I said. We're okay."

This time it was TK who suddenly couldn't meet Carlos' eyes. "At least I hope we are," TK voiced softly, looking up hopefully when Carlos squeezed his hand. "I come with...baggage."

"You aren't the only one, I promise," Carlos affirmed gently, swinging their interlaced hands slightly as they began to walk. "Clearly I do too, considering I was so ready to believe you were already breaking up with me before we finished our first date."

"You definitely don't need to worry about that," TK assured him, squeezing Carlos' hand reassuringly, before dropping his eyes to the sidewalk and the volume of his voice to just above a whisper. "So no one here knows this yet, except for my dad, but I really like you, and you deserve to know all the facts before you decide if you want this to go any further."

"TK, I really like you too," Carlos vowed, placing his coffee cup on the ground, cupping TK's cheek with his now-free hand. "You're safe with me, I promise."

Leaning into Carlos' touch, TK sighed, shutting his eyes. "I'm an addict," he confessed, words whispered into the palm of Carlos' hand. "Oxycontin. I OD'd back in New York, if my dad hadn't found me, I wouldn't be here. I haven't taken since then, I go to meetings, I have coping strategies, but I'm always going to be an addict."

TK squeezed his eyes shut even tighter, as if bracing for a hard-hitting emotional blow, but instead he felt the soft brush of Carlos' lips against his cheek. "Thank you for being so open with me," Carlos murmured against TK's skin, wrapping him up in a tight hug. TK sunk into the embrace with a grateful sigh, nestling his head into the crook of Carlos' shoulder. "I'm not going anywhere, okay?"

"Good," TK breathed out, relief and hope tinging every word. "Because I want you to stay."

@pragmaticoptimist34 @bikingthroughhawkins @i-had-bucky @highqualitykhakis @meloingly @buddie-buddie @morganaspendragonss

If you would like to be added to my Tarlos tags, just let me know! And if you are on the tag list but changed your username, please let me know so I can make sure I’m tagging you again :)

#tarlos #tk/carlos #tk strand x carlos reyes #tk strand #carlos reyes #alternate universe #9-1-1 lone star #preschool teacher carlos #firefighter tk #carlos x tk #first date #flirting #fluff #a little angst #found forever on a field trip verse #fanfiction #fanfic #writing

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365daysofsasuhina · 5 years

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[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Two Hundred Seventy-Three: A Screeching Halt ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata ] [ SasuHina, blood, serious injury ] [ Verse: Best Years of Your Life ] [ AO3 Link ]

“All right, I’ll see you after class, then.”

“Okay! So, are we still going to have our take-out and movie Friday, or…?”

Sasuke chuckles, bringing his wife forward with an arm around her waist, planting a kiss against her temple. “Of course. I even delayed a quiz so I’d have less to grade this weekend.”

“Oh, scandalous, putting aside your work!” Hinata can’t help but tease, going a light shade of pink at the gesture.

“Hey, you teach first graders, you don’t have to deal with teenagers and their boatloads of homework like I do. If I want to give myself a break, I’ll do it. We’re not about to fall that far behind on the curriculum. We’ve had this planned for two weeks, now. A few days’ break from an algebra quiz won’t kill anyone.”

“All right, all right...well, I better get going. I’ve got a mini field trip to prepare for.”

“Heading to the park for the day?”

“Mhm. The high school band is hosting a concert and the elementary classes all get to go watch.”

“You’ll have to tell me how it goes.”

“I will. See you later, hun.”

“Bye.” Dropping Hinata off in front of their small town’s elementary school, Sasuke watches her reach the door before heading off further down the street to the high school. While his wife is a first grade teacher, he himself hosts algebra classes, typically for freshmen, but a few older students tend to get sprinkled in. True to his word, he’s skipping their quiz that was scheduled so he can, instead, have a guilt-free night without anything to grade to finally get a little peace and quiet with his wife. With the school year newly begun, they’ve both been up to their ears with work since the tail end of August. Any chance they get for a break is more than welcome.

Parking in the staff lot, Sasuke fetches his supplies from the back seat before making his way into the building...which means navigating a sea of teenagers. Easing his way through, he occasionally gives a greeting, nodding to students he knows. At one point he gently taps a teen’s head, giving him a scolding look at having found him lip-locked with his girlfriend.

“Try to keep PDA to a minimum, please,” Sasuke chides with a sigh.

The pair just pout, making no promises either way as they sulk. Sasuke just snorts. He knows well how it was being a teenager in love...at least, a bit. He and Hinata didn’t really get together until their senior year, carrying on into college when they both went into the same basic major of education, just with different focuses. While Hinata loves small children and early education, Sasuke prefers math and people a little more...grown up.

...not that all teenagers are mature, by any means.

Making his way into his classroom, he starts sorting through his things: reviewing today’s lesson plan, making sure he has graded homework to pass back, taking out today’s roll call sheet...and sending Hinata a quick text.

Did you pick a movie, by the way?

As he awaits her reply, he glances up as a few early bird students file in before the bell, eyes then lowering back to their textbook. His first period class has actually turned out to be one of his most productive, averaging a bit higher grades than the other slots he has through the day.

His mobile then buzzes.

Hm, not yet...we’ll have to browse Netflix and see what’s what. Should we watch an old favorite, or try something new?

He mulls that over.

Personally, if this is a relaxing kind of night, I’d prefer something we know so we don’t have to pay TOO close of attention...I might just doze off.

After a pause she responds, and he can almost hear her laugh.

All right, oldie but goodie it is! But next time I want to see that new drama...can’t remember the name but you can’t put it off forever :P

Sasuke can’t help a snort. Oh, yes he can.

But by then the warning bell rings, so he puts the phone on silent and gets ready to address his gaggle of teens. What with it being Friday, he doesn’t have the highest expectations for attention spans, but...hopefully they can get through his lesson, and then they’ll have all weekend to study. Or...in most cases, probably just cram a bit Sunday night.

He knows their ways.

“All right class,” he calls as the final bell rings, every desk occupied. “I’ll take roll call, and then we’ll jump right into things. I know you’re all eager to get through to the weekend, so...let’s just get today’s lesson over with, shall we?”

With everyone in attendance, he dives right into their current chapter section, explaining and giving examples on the white board. A few students have questions toward the end, but otherwise it seems to be smooth sailing.

So, when the bell rings, he announces the upcoming quiz as they take their leave. “Be ready on Monday! No homework for today, so go enjoy your weekend outside studying, all right?”

Second period he has free, finishing up a few stray assignments for an afternoon class he has yet to finish grading. When third period rolls around, he finds several students missing.

“They’re at the park for the concert,” one girl explains, and Sasuke nods in understanding.

“Right, the one for the little kids, gotcha. All right, well let’s get started, and -”

Before he can go on, the door slams open, and the entire class (including him) give a jolt. Beyond it is the gym teacher, looking harried and out of breath.

“Sasuke, I’m sorry but - your wife, she -”

Dread immediately weighs in his gut like a stone. “...what happened?”

“There was a-a car, and -” He swallows. “She was leading her class across the road to the park. They aren’t sure if the driver was drunk or not, but Hinata was struck, and -”

Sasuke’s face slackens, quickly draining of color. “...I...I have to -?”

“I’m free this period, I’ll watch your kids - get going!”

Nodding jerkily, Sasuke wastes no time in rushing past him through the door, sprinting down the hall to the door nearest the elementary school as frantic voices fill his classroom.

Please, please no...please no!

Shoving the door open, he doesn’t slow down, running flat out the entire way to the school and the park across the road. Already there’s sirens cutting through the air as the local ambulance makes its way to the scene. Elementary school students are gathered in the park, many crying as confusion and panic spread through the classes like a wildfire.

On the sidewalk, several teachers are gathered around, frantic and gesturing. One looks up, and he recognizes the elementary nurse. “Oh Sasuke, good you’re here - she’s pretty badly hurt, but she’s going to be okay. I think she’s got a few broken ribs and a broken arm, but her head and spine appear to be fine. We’re not moving her just in case, until the EMTs get here.”

Let through as the other adults part, Sasuke feels his heart stop in his chest. Hinata lays on the sidewalk, a bit of blood smeared across her chin. Her breath is short and gasping, an arm wrapped around her middle with a grimace of pain. The other lies weakly along her side.

“Oh shit...Hinata…” Carefully kneeling, he gently lays a hand on her shoulder. “Honey, I’m here…”

“Sasuke…? Oh, thank God...I-I’m all right, just...just a little banged up.”

“Shh, don’t talk - save your energy, and don’t make it any worse for those ribs.” He smooths at her bangs, expression gaunt with worry and apprehension. A glance up, and he asks, “What happened?”

“Hinata was leading her kids across the street when a car just...swerved around the corner,” a man replies, tone hushed. “It was all over the road, and going far above the speed limit. Hinata managed to corral the kids and get them out of the way just in time, but she was hit instead. The car tried to stop, the tires screeched something awful, but...it was still moving at a good clip when it hit her. She saved those kids...no telling the damage someone that small would have had. She kept them from panicking and scattering all over the road...”

“And the driver?”

The other teacher nods, and Sasuke looks up. Only then does he see the car smashed into a tree, a small swarm of police cars surrounding it.

“Seems they were in some kind of high speed chase. What possessed them to go through a school zone is beyond me…”

Siren blaring, the ambulance finally pulls up, EMTs rushing to evaluate the situation. Once they have her checked out, a stretcher is fetched, Hinata lifted onto it and loaded into the back.

“Sir, are you her husband?”

“Yes, I am. Can I go with you?”

“Of course.”

Turning back, a teacher lifts a hand in understanding before Sasuke can speak. “We’ll get word to the high school. I’m sure they’ll understand.”

“Thank you…” Climbing in beside his wife, Sasuke takes her hand, face still drawn.

“I’m all right, Sasuke...it could be w-worse.”

“I know, but that doesn’t make it any better. You got hit by a car…!”

“A few weeks, and I’ll be right as rain,” she assures him, smiling tiredly. “But...I guess this m-means we’ll miss our movie night...huh?”

“...I’m sure we can reschedule. For now...you’re my priority.”

Lacking any more words, Hinata just blinks slowly at him as the doors are closed and they pull away.

.oOo.

Oh man, I hate writing a hurt Hinata ;o; But this was the first thing that came to mind upon reading the prompt. She'll be okay, just needs some recup time...and she was a hero saving those kidlings! Poor Sasuke's very shook up, tho... Anyway, not...much else to say? I'm v tired and tomorrow's gonna be a long one, so I better get some sleep~ Thanks for reading!

#sasuhina #uchiha sasuke #hyūga hinata #blood //#serious injury //#best years of your life [ au ]#365daysofsasuhina

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theselfhelphipster · 5 years

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I still read every night before bed and when I love a story, I burn my way through it in a matter of days. Hours if I really put my mind to it.

It is scientifically proven that reading is one of the most relaxing things you can do (more than other things even) - it slows down your breathing and your heart rate, which is why it's perfect to incorporate in a bedtime ritual.

Here's the list of my favourite books of the past year or so.

*Affiliate links below!

Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J Maas

This series is not as steamy as the Court-series I wrote about in the previous blog post. However, technically speaking this is definitely a better saga, if you will.

Sarah J Maas has created this epic tale around Selena Galynthius in an epic world full of old-time fantasy characters like elves and fae and witches and wyverns. It's very cool.

The series wrapped up with a stunner of a finale last fall and it was some of the best fantasy I've read in a while. Book 1 is kind of weirdly written if you compare it to the rest, but in book two she really gets the show on the road.

If you like epic fantasy? This is IT.

I'm thinking about buying this box myself (I've read them on Kindle but these are so epic I want them on print) but if you want to start, start with Throne of Glass AND Crown of Midnight.

The Meredith Gentry Series - Laurel K Hamilton

I'm including this one more for lolz than for anything else.

I LOVED these when I was a teen, such smutty books in a fantasy world. Turns out it was either hormones kicking in or I just had terrible taste back then. (Probably both.)

These are TERRIBLE!

They make zero sense, the story is incredibly convoluted and I don't even think the sex scenes are that well-written or hot anymore. They're no Court of Mist and Fury, if ya know what I mean.

I reread them for old time sake, and if you're into Harlequin-esque elf books with a lot of descriptives and dialogues, in a story that only BARELY goes somewhere, go off I guess. If not, steer clear.

Bol.com is like 'fuck you we're not selling this drivel' but Amazon Kindle always comes through for us perverts.

Good Omens - Thierry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman

When I saw that wickedly cool trailer for Good OmensI immediately started reading Good Omens. I had had it on my Kindle forever, and it really is a classic.

It's fun, funny, great story and great writing. I'm going to do that online storytelling class by Neil Gaiman and read a lot more by them both the upcoming year.

I've read Neil Gaiman's American Gods, The Ocean By The End of the Lake and Graveyard Boy, but nothing by Thierry Pratchett yet.

I'm excited.

Where to buy? A paperback at Bol.com is just 8,99 right now.

(Also, WATCH THE AMAZON PRIME SERIES, it is SO FUN!)

Caraval & Legendary - Stephanie Gaber

A magical story about two sisters (there's quite a few books I read the past year with sisters) get invited to a once-a-year, exclusive magical live performance where the audience participates. The protagonist has been obsessed with this Caraval as long as she lives. To escape a betrothal of her sister, they go and during the Caraval a lot happens that changes everything.

Apparently there is a third book called Finale, which makes me think I maybe haven't finished Legendary and I need to, because I thought there would just be two.

You can buy the paperback here, and if you want to read it in Dutch you can too: My favorite online writer to follow on Instagram, Chinouk Thijssen translated the book!

Circe - Madeline miller

I've read both this one, Song of Achilles and Galatea. The only one I wouldn't really recommend was Galatea, I just didn't really think that one is interesting. The other two are, though.

I love Greek mythology and when people retell a classic in an interesting new way, and Madeline Miller has done so with this book. I really liked Circe.

The paperback is only 9,70!

Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller

One f the most beautiful and tragic lovestories I've ever read. I recommend it to everyone, especially anyone who likes Greek mythology. It's about Patrocles and Achilles, and their lovestory.

I cried like a baby during the last bit.

If you want to purchase this stunning story in paperback, click here.

A Little Life - Hanya Yanagihara

SPEAKING OF CRYING.

If you'd like to be emotionally destroyed and sob incontrollably through the entire last half of this book, go read 'A Little Life'

At first I resisted, and during the first chapters of this book I was mostly confused about who was who, but once you've got it, it is one of those stories that touches you, breaks you and then changes you.

English paperback here, Dutch paperback here.

Fireblood Trilogy - Elly Blake

I read this only a few weeks ago and I burned through these books, if you will. Finished all three in less than a week.

These are SO GOOD. The world is divided into three types of people: Regular, Firebloods and Frostbloods, the last two types having magic abilities that they train and can use, and with the Firebloods and Frostbloods being enemies of sorts.

A Fireblood girl is taken by Frostbloods to help them take down their evil king, but it turns out everything is a lot more complicated than it seems.

Lots of plot twists you can't easily see coming, a lot of friendships, a little romance, and a really good story. It's absolutely lovely.

Paperback here, Amazon Kindle below.

The Bear and the Nightingale Series - Katherine Arden

The prettiest trilogy I've read all year.

Set in Russia, a fairytale of sorts, and the protagonist is a strong girl who believes in freedom, her own decisions and heart, and who falls in love.

Three books to enjoy and swoon over. Try the first one hereor get the ebook below.

Small Spaces - Katherine Arden

By the same author as the previous trilogy, perhaps a children's book, but a good scary story that is easy to read.

A girl who has lost her mom goes on a field trip and turns out, farms and scarecrows are still as scary as they were during Children of the Corn.

I highly recommend; easy and fun scary story, fun to read with a child I think.

You can get it here, or here:

The Mermaid's Sister - Carrie Anne Noble

This is such a beautiful story.

You meet Clara, Maren and O'Neill. Claire was brought to her aunt by a stork, Maren came out of a shell, and O'Neill was found by the woman's husband under an apple tree. As Maren slowly turns into a mermaid, Clara and O'Neill try desperately to save Maren and return her to the ocean.

It's kinda like Frozen with the sisterly love, but has more to it.

Easy to read, with lovely and beautiful sentences, and I cried at the end.

Where to buy? For 12 euros you can buy the paperback here, or the Kindle version for 3.99$ below!

Numina Series - Charlie N Holmberg

This is such a good series, I can't wait for the third book - it's coming out in September.

In this world, magic is a scary underground thing where you need slaves to get possessed by numen, fiery beings from a different plane of existence.

A girl escapes her master who as it turns out, wants to bring the worst numen from that plane to destroy the world. With the help from a charming thief, she tries to save the fellow slaves and prevent world destruction.

Get the first one hereor below:

Magi Bitter, Magic Sweet - Charlie N Holmberg

By the same author, really interesting and pretty fairytale, kind of.

It's about a magical baker, and you should just read it. Buy it here, or below. It's cheaper on Kindle and it's such a breezy book, it's fine as an ebook.

My Absolute Darling - Gabriel Tallent

Horrible but gripping story about a girl called Turtle who grows up with her survivalist nut job of a dad in the woods, and then meets a few boys and a little girl that change the course of her life.

It's hard to read sometimes because the writer has made Turtle into what into my eyes is an eerily accurate portrait of the abused and traumatised. You're rooting for her but you don't always understand her, and you don't always understand her but you're always rooting for her, you know?

You can buy the paperback here for 12 euros or do as I do and buy the Kindle version via the link below!

The Dark Descent of Elizabeth Frankenstein - Kiersten White

I'm a sucker for reinventions of the classics, especially if suddenly we see everything from a woman's perspective. This story is about Elizabeth Frankenstein, the girl who grew up with the boy who will become Doctor Frankenstein and who loves him, and goes looking for him when he disappears from the place he was studying.

It's a very interesting and scary story, and it shows exactly how sometimes the things we do for love, are the very things that make the person we love into a monster.

I'm going to read a lot more by Kiersten White upcoming year, that's for sure.

You can buy the paperback herefor 12 euros, or click below for the Kindle version, for only 8.32$. Fun fact: The copy of the actual story about Frankenstein's monster by Mary Shelby is the second half of the book!

Strange the Dreamer & Muse of Nightmares - Laini Taylor

By the author of some of my favorite books EVER (Daughter of Smoke and Bone series), such a well-written and ethereal story. Full of legends, poetry and love.

It is well-written, heartbreaking and especially during Muse of Nightmares it is so great to see how everything pans out.

Buy the paperback herefor 12 euros , or below:

Grim Lovelies - Meghan Shepherd

I literally finished these last weekend, and really fun! Good story, set in France, in which 'Beasties' are animals turned people and used to help magical people like witches.

Can't wait for the sequel that is coming out in a couple of days!

Get the paperback here, or below.

A Blade So Black - L. L. Mckinny

This is such an interesting take on Alice in Wonderland, scarier and darker, but also more fun. The series is called the Nightmare Verse, I haven't gotten around to reading the second instalment: A Dream So Dark.

Incredible about this book is that the protagonist is a black girl and the book also touches upon the horrible terror that you can get attacked or killed just because of the color of your skin.

You can buy the paperback for 11,99, or on Kindle below.

The Luminous Dead - Caitlin Starling

This might be one of the most terrifying books I have ever read. It combines a few of my greatest fears (caving, being underground and diving) into a goosebump-filled adventure as you follow Gyre, an inexperienced caver who lied on her resume in order to get this job, go deeper and deeper into the cave -- as well as into the complicated backstory of her handler, Em.

Guys. It is so scary. And so good. Go read it. It's 14 euros here, or available on Amazon.

The Girl From Everwhere - Heidi Heilig

Timetravel always gives me a headache, but this piratey-spin on int is really fun.

You can buy the paperback for 9,99 on Bol.com and I was pleased to find out there is a second book now: The Ship Beyond Time. Definitely reading this as soon as I finish Frost!

Phew, a whale of a post

As always, I'd love it if you reciprocate with your own (non)-fiction recommendations: Let me know in the comments below what books you loved the past year.

Have a lovely Sunday!

#booklr #books #book #book rec #young adult books #reading community #favorite books

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lewyn-martell · 5 years

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rules: answer 21 questions and tag 21 people you want to know better

tagged by @laurels-things thanks! you seem like such a nice person!

i. nickname?

lui or simply lu

ii. zodiac sign?

scorpio

iii. height?

165 cm... I'm not sure if I'm below average height on my country, but I believe brazillian people are pretty short. I may be the shortest amongst the boys in my class but I'm the tallest amongst the girls (except one girl who is nearly 180cm i stg) and as a nonbinary person this is a good place to be, i think.

iv. hogwarts house?

hufflepuff :D

v. last thing I googled?

amongst or among — i was unsure if i was using the word correctly sjbshsbshsvs

vi. fav musicians?

THE BEATLES (all 4 of them, but john lennon speaks to my soul in ways i can't describe... the way he makes me feel is something out of this world)

david bowie

elton john

brendon urie from panic! at the disco

the boys from green day

aaand i have mad respect for some soundtrack musicians bc i eat these up constantly. i like ramin djwadi, michael giacchino, ennio morricone, danny elfman, jonny greenwood (yeah i know he's from radiohead but i haven't listened a lot of stuff from this band yet and his phantom thread compositions are SUCH A BOP), hans zimmer and i've been also listening to the score of the shape of water by alexandre desplat (i like him, but jonny greenwood was ROBBED) so maybe that'll be a future fave. also i love a lot of composers for disney animated musicals but if i start i won't ever shut up. but i love almost all of the disney soundtracks.

i would say some time ago whoever wrote the songs for the smiths which i believe includes morrisey, but i recently found out he is extremely right wing and i don't think i can still like someone with these kinds of inhumane views on people&society... i'm disappointed

vii. song stuck in your head?

currently bad boy (the beatles' cover of the song), john's vocals make my pulse speed up since the first verse

viii. following?

2234 nfbdjdbjdsbjshs but i think most of the people i followed years ago are no longer active, i must go through the list and try to do a spring cleaning or something

ix. followers?

408... and like half of these i gained only the last two months or something... and i don't know why shdbsjbshsbs maybe it's the beatles thing

x. do you get asks?

i don't, but that's ok because i don't know if i have a lot of interesting things to say... but if you wanna get something off your chest, go ahead, i love to listen to/read drama 👀

xi. amount of sleep?

tricky question because it constantly changes, sometimes i don't sleep at all bc i have to leave the house at 5h20 in the morning to go to uni and i stay awake until late and when i realize i have to go shower already dhsbshbshsvshs and then when i come back i sleep for like... 10 hours or smth or i don't bc i got stuff to do and i accumulate sleep and then there will be a day of the week i'll just shut down for 15 hours. mostly i try to go to bed around 23h and wake up around 4h45, so that makes it almost 6 hours .

xii. lucky number?

never noticed any particular number that favors me

xiii. what are you wearing?

t-shirt, shorts, it's hot as hell here

xiv. dream job?

don't have one, just want one that won't consume me so i have time to do stuff i'm actually interested in

xv. dream trip?

also don't have one

xvi. instruments?

flute, some percussion, some guitar, i wish i had actually studied music besides the basic stuff... i still wanna learn to properly play something and not just beat some bongos during carnival

xvii. languages?

portuguese, english, bit of spanish only cause of the similarities with portuguese and 4 years of classes in middle school...but still, can't speak or write, only read and listen

xviii. favorite songs?

oh my god... ok...

i was making this in list format but it got way too big... it's still big i'm sorry

the beatles: i want you (she's so heavy), strawberry fields forever, across the universe, oh! darling, and your bird can sing, tomorrow never knows, mother nature's son, yer blues, golden slumbers, i am the walrus, i me mine, long tall sally (little richard cover), you can't do that, what you're doing, ticket to ride, rain, eleanor rigby, happiness is a warm gun, i'm so tired, blue jay way, for you blue, in my life, anna go to him (cover).

david bowie: time, cygnet committee, unwashed and somewhat slightly dazed, tvc15, life on mars, young americans, queen bitch

panic! at the disco: that green gentleman, she had the world, build god then we'll talk, nearly witches, emperor's new clothes, bittersweet, nine in the afternoon, northern downpour, behind the sea, stall me, the piano knows something i don't know

green day: jesus of suburbia, brutal love, hitchin a ride, blood sex and booze, give me novacaine, whatsername, last night on earth

the smiths: this charming man, panic, how soon is now

elton john: goodbye yellow brick road, bennie and the jets, rocket man

queen: somebody to love, killer queen

strawberry swing - coldplay

welcome home - radical face

joão e maria - chico buarque

barbara rose - jonny greenwood

bachianas brasileiras no 5 - heitor villa-lobos

le festin - michael giacchino, camille

rains of castamere - ramin djwadi

unchained melody - a lot of versions from a lot of artists

another day - paul mccartney

meu erro - paralamas do sucesso

flor de lis - djavan

love the way you lie - rihanna&eminem

man! i feel like a woman - shania twain

xix. random fact?

well, it's not really a fact i think... i'm moving (again) but this time is to my father's house because my mum is moving to the south of the country... and i'm so fucking scared because we aren't close at all (i met him when i was 14) i mean, he seems nice enough, all of our interactions have been mostly pleasant but his wife (and probably he himself too) is a bit conservative in the brazillian traditional white family way (she's white cause she's a southern. i know yall think all latinos are poc,,,, but that's not true) but then again, that's something i had to live with all my life so i can handle casual homophobia and racism and sexism... but it will still be so weird cause i never been away from my mum too long (i'm... a momma's boy). i'm going next week i think, wish me luck.... (also he's got two dogs who won't leave me the fuck alone, i get out of the shower and they drool all over me, they know i'm a beta so they keep getting on top of me and since they're HUGE and i'm such a weakling i can't even get them off me and i can't scold them with a strong voice, i just can't do it... i mean, don't get me wrong i like them... but... they like me way too much and keep making me dirty.. i hate being dirty)

xx. aesthetic?

farm aesthetic..... idealistic farm aesthetic habshabaha like marie antoinette's pettit chateau. also the whole pretty odd aesthetic and strawberry swing by coldplay aesthetic

i'm tagging (probably less than 21 ppl) @zutaralesbian @ekscelsior @benstolemyhearty @lannistermartell @tyrionlannysters @avatars-legend @cerseiofhouselannister @falconsredwing @gendryayaya @glittering-snowfall @agirlandabeast @bugband @alittlebigpotato @vairemelde @charmeilon @jawn-lemon @antilennon @im-only-sweeping @ssimsass

i hope tumblr actually notifies you guys, i had problems with the last one...

#nfr #abt me #long post

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