Tumgik
#he at least deserved a proper goodbye and some tears shed
pinkconkonut · 2 years
Text
I have some words (fists) for the Ninjago writers for what they did to Kai.
3 notes · View notes
child-of-the-danube · 5 months
Text
So this is truly it, huh? Just like that, no more Doom Patrol?
I don't think I can completely explain how I feel about the show as a whole and how much it means to me, but this final episode just left me empty for both good and bad reasons.
WARNING!!! SPOILERS INCOMING!! DO NOT READ FURTHER IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN THE EPISODE YET!
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
The whole Immortus/Butts resolution felt like such a cop-out. Immortus just going "Nah, you know what, I'm fine. Here's your longevity. Oh, and I'm besties with the Butts now. Too-da-loo 🥰" after being presented as their biggest threat ever? Meh
It would have been more cathartic had they somehow defeated Immortus when she was occupied with the Butts and got the longevity thingy off her neck to then run home only to find Rita already dead with Laura frozen with shock/grief beside her. To have them think they managed one more victory but with their biggest loss yet. And for Rita and Laura, the moments before she died could have been used to have a proper conversation and resolution between them. I would have loved if the final scene between them (and with alive non-ghost Rita in general) would have been Laura bringing her the Immortus nail just for Rita to decline cause she's at peace with dying. Even a simple "You're forgiven" would have been enough. And what was the point of telling Laura she's part of the Doom Patrol now to go "Yeah, you should all go your own way now" five minutes after she kicked the bucket???
Vic's ending was expected. It was obvious from the start that he would make it. And I'm glad cause he deserves happiness and to build a future that HE feels is right for him finally.
I'm also delighted Jane (a.k.a just K now) got her happiness both within herself and with Casey. And she's the only one we saw on screen saying goodbye to at least one person properly. Her and Cliff's realtionship was one of my absolute favourite things about the show.
Seems I managed to guess Larry's ending almost exactly. It was so sweet and beautiful. He didn't just return to space with Keeg but Rama as well. Can't lie, I've shed some tears during that scene. And his moment with ghost Rita... 12/10 wouldn't change anything about it
Cliff's ending is my favourite and the one that got me bawling my eyes out. "It's ok. I made it home" Uhm, excuse me?????? How dare the writers break my heart like that???? I am unwell and will need 5-7 business days to recover from it. Poetic, beautiful, amazing, showstopping etc. I love Cliff so fucking much
Dorothy who? Guess she just fell off the Earth after Immortimas
Also, Shelley? Never heard of her. Try looking in the woods when it gets foggy maybe 🤷
I guessed Rita would definitely die too but her whole "Each of you will be better off on your own" turnaround just didn't sit right with me. She's the one that spent her life keeping this little, broken, miserable bunch of just the unluckies motherfuckers known to the world together and managed to create a family that loves and supports eachother to death and THIS is her conclusion?? That they should just disband? Nope, not buying it. I guess it's somehow a way of telling that now the one that held them together, the heart of the show if you will, is gone that it's all done but I feel like that's a an insult to the rest of them and to the strength of their bond. Yes, Rita's insistence brought them together at first, but they've grown and gotten close so much since then even without her interfering in their one-on-one relationships. It just doesn't feel right. I also knew we'd get a Malcolm reunion scene but am I the only one that doesn't really care about him? Tbh, we didn't get to know much about him beside the fact that he was Rita's lover that tragically died. I just can't care about a character I know nothing about. I guess have fun posthumously frolicking in a field, Rita and Malcolm 🤷
So Jane got Casey and her sanity, Larry got Keeg and Rama, Vic got his friends and students, Cliff got see his family, their future and die peacefully beside them, Rita got to reunite with the love of her life in eternity and Laura got to, uhm, *checks notes*, play with a flamethrower? Like, ok, I do dig that she got to destroy the place that ruined her whole life guns a-blazing but what exactly does she get to do later on? The ones who remained alive all got someone to share their new found joy with, a proper plan for the future, they're at peace. Laura didn't get to neither truly reconcile with Rita, nor the Sisterhood, and now the only people she felt close to either died or went their own way without a true goodbye. What, pray tell, does her future look like beside, once again, loneliness and grief???? I fucking hated her ending. Give us a Laura de Mille spin-off, you cowards. Make it right...
37 notes · View notes
halogenrobotics · 1 year
Text
I've just realized I never posted idea 5 to my main account lol, might as well do it now that I've added an addendum to it.
Idea 5 and addendum: Vanessa visits the graves of her victims and sees ghosts
An idea that I've seen exceedingly few fics try and cover is Vanessa encountering the ghosts of the people whom she (as Vanny) murdered after the 3-star ending.
I am unsure as to how one would make this situation happen. Maybe it could be a dream.
A scenario that I like most has to do with the idea that Vanessa visits the graves of the children she (no vanny) killed. After she was freed, she reported the location of the bodies so that they could recieve a proper burial. Vanessa knows that it isn't enough, she doesn't think that she will ever be able to do enough to atone for what she did to all of those children (it wasn't you, it was Vanny.) At the very least she tries to go and visit their graves once a week, making sure to bring flowers for them everytime. Vanessa doesn't say anything during the visits, what is there to say? "I'm sorry?" Yeah right, as if SHE is deserving of forgiveness...
I really like it because there are a lot of things you could potentially cover, including:
How would the ghosts react to seeing the freed Vanessa? Would the children be enraged? If so, what would they do?
Or would they be able to see that the person in front of them is not really the same as the one who murdered them, not mentally, at least? Maybe (relating back to idea 2) the children who were taught by her would be able to convince the other children of this.
How about the therapists? They would likely be more willing to listen, being adults trained in understanding psychological conditions.
One could discuss how Vanessa has been dealing with having 2 sets of childhood memories, a fake abusive one (again, put there by Glitchtrap for reasons of trying to make her more obedient, which ended up failing) and her true, standard, evidently normal one. (in this universe patient 46 and their tapes didn't exist, save for that one line about lying about childhood, just pretend it was in one of Vanessa's tapes)
And, of course, we can't forget Vanessa. What would she do? It is most likely that she would curl up into a ball and await the punishment that she thinks she deserves (she doesn’t). After all, it is HER fault, right? (No, it’s Vanny's.)
If you include Gregory in this encounter, he, being the "no fear" gremlin that he is, would probably try and start to defend his… uh… paternal guardian of unspecified rank in some way, either by trying to explain that Vanny is no more, or try and actually fight the ghosts.
As you can see, there are many ways that I think someone can make a mini story out of this concept.
Addendum 5.1: Why Vanessa isn't prosecuted for the murders
Figured I would try and answer this potential plot hole. The ghosts of the children would eventually realize that it was VANNY who killed them and not Vanessa. If anything, Vanessa is as much a victim as they are. Now that they know this, they are free to move on to the the afterlife. 
Before they do this, they all decide to appear before their parents and tell them what happened. After convincing them that they aren't hallucinating. The ghosts tell their parents about how they died and the person that killed them, Vanny. They also tell their parents not to punish Vanessa since she literally couldn't do anything to stop their deaths and that she already is punishing herself enough as it is. Then some tears are shed and final goodbyes are said before the children move on. 
After this the parents would stop pressing the investigators to find the culprit since now they have all the answers they need and getting closure. They all begin the slow process of acceptance and moving on with their lives. It is up to you all what happens after, maybe they just ignore Vanessa, maybe some of them decide to try and contact her. The world is your oyster!
4 notes · View notes
hoodwinkd1 · 3 years
Text
the stars that shine - Ch 1
Fic Summary: “Eva, darling, Dorian has a few questions for you,” Lysandra interrupted. She tilted her head as she looked Hollin over, an eerily animalistic quality in her gaze. “Will you be attending the same classes?”
He turned his head to Dorian. “Will I be what?”
His brother took a sip of wine. “I’m sure I told you about this. Evangeline will be staying with us for the next few months to expand her education.” Placing the glass down, he looked at the girl in question with clear affection in his eyes. ------ Coming of age in a post-war world could never be easy. Growing up under the watchful eye of Erilea's most powerful and famous heroes is just a little bit harder. Figuring out what the hell they're supposed to do in this big, wide world might require a little more teamwork than either of them realize.
Ch 2 here.
Chapter 1: just two kids
The first time they met, neither of them knew what the hell was going on. The adults spoke in whispers and shed tears that they couldn’t understand, being only eleven years old. Evangeline grew tired of hiding behind Lysandra and clinging to Aedion; she wanted to explore this massive palace that served as her temporary home. Aelin had insisted that they all remain together for a few weeks after her coronation, giving them all some time to figure out how to be a court and a family.
For once, Evangeline’s short stature helped her as she ducked behind people and columns until she found the exit. She picked a direction at random, happy to wander around the hallways and take in the décor, even if some of it looked worse for wear. She hummed to herself as she walked, so focused on absorbing every piece of Terrasen that she could glean from the paintings that hung proudly (if not a bit slanted).
Terrasen. Her new kingdom. Evangeline had never felt any sort of connection to Adarlan. No one had ever held her hand at a celebratory parade or taught her the national song, if there even was such a thing. Her childhood contained no memories of pride or patriotism, nothing beyond a lingering resentment for what her parents did to survive.
“Evangeline! What are you doing away from the party?” She nearly jumped out of her skin at that cheery voice, her eyes darting up to meet the King’s kind smile. Dorian might have deserved her patriotism, if Lysandra and her had remained in Rifthold.
“I was exploring.” She shifted her weight a couple times. Although his face was kind, she really didn’t know him that well. And grown men, especially those with power, cause her to clam up. She remembered her manners just in time to add: “I hope I’m not disturbing you, Your Majesty.”
He waved a hand. “Please, just Dorian. We’ve all been through too much for fancy titles, don’t you think? We were just about to say our goodbyes and head out.”
At his statement, Evangeline finally noticed the boy sulking behind Dorian. Hollin didn’t acknowledge her at all, never even looked at her despite their similar age and forced proximity. She shoved down her irritation, choosing to be the mature and polite one.
“Are you excited to go home?” she asked sweetly, staring directly at the prince. He continued to study the wall next to him, ignoring her yet again, until Dorian shoved his shoulder lightly.
Hollin sighed in a way that made Evangeline’s blood boil. “I cannot wait to sleep in a chamber that doesn’t look like it might collapse on me in my sleep,” he answered, scrunching his nose in disgust.
Her eyes widened. She could have died, not a full two weeks ago, during the final battle against the Valg and Hollin was complaining about the state of his bedroom? Hundreds of replies ran through her mind, most of them including telling him where he could shove that selfish opinion--
“What my brother means to say, is that he wishes Terrasen a speedy recovery after so many trials,” Dorian interjected, placing his hand on Hollin’s shoulder. His grip tightened as he steered his younger brother around Evangeline, mouthing a quick “sorry” as they passed. “I hope you know that you’re welcome in Adarlan at any time. Until next time!”
“Thank you,” Evangeline replied uncertainly, spinning on her heel to watch them walk away. She still couldn’t truly say how she felt about Dorian, but she had never been more grateful for the crown on his head. At the very least, it kept that nasty little boy from having any sort of power he would surely abuse.
She kept walking. Sparing a glance over her shoulder to make sure they no longer lingered, Evangeline pushed into the chambers the royals had just vacated. She wasn’t snooping, just curious if their bed was bigger than hers.
The room was in perfectly fine condition, maybe lacking some of the over-the-top amenities that the former conquering nation of Adarlan could afford. She peeked into the first bedroom and let out a small gasp. So Aelin had given them nicer accommodations. The bed was massive, even bigger than Aedion’s bed (which Lysandra snuck into every night when she thought Evangeline was asleep). Logically, the larger man deserved the larger bed, right?
She looked into the next bedroom. This one was much more comparable to her room, only containing a queen-size mattress and a dresser. Evangeline ran her fingers along the silk sheets, wondering if it would be selfish to ask for these chambers for herself. She might enjoy having the space to herself, and Lysandra might not feel so guilty about spending time with her beloved.
A ray of the setting sun cut through the curtains, reflecting sharply off something in the corner of her eye. There, mostly hidden beneath the dresser, was a small piece of metal. Evangeline dropped to her knees and reached for it, fingers closing around the wiry texture.
It was a ship. Fashioned out of a long piece of aluminum that may have once been a large kitchen utensil. She examined the trinket, trying to imagine how one might have bent the shape hundreds of times to form a tiny replica of the boats that floated in the docks of Ilium.
Evangeline happened to love trinkets and tiny things, so she shoved it in her pocket, considering today’s exploration a wonderful success.
---
Hollin stared at the feast in front of him, wanting nothing more than to snatch up a plate full of food and run to his rooms to devour it in peace. Unfortunately, if he vacated his hiding spot behind one of the larger ice chests, the kitchen staff would surely see him and report his location to Queen Mother Georgina. And then she would surely force him back into the dining room to rejoin the most boring conversation he had ever had to sit through.
As part of his education, Hollin’s tutor taught him the importance of treating guests with civility and respect through proper socialization. While the prince normally managed to suffer through an entire dinner without running away, Hollin simply couldn’t pretend any longer. Not after he stayed up almost until dawn the night before, completely caught up in a new research project.
And although the prince had managed great strides in the two years since the war, shedding some of his more immature and selfish tendencies, he had never learned how to love a crowd the way his brother could. Dorian positively thrived in front of an audience, telling witty stories and navigating even the trickiest of topics with an easy smile.
He watched the head chef finish plating the soups, adding a fried green leek to each bowl. Hollin’s stomach growled, hidden by the noise of crashing plates and rolling carts.
“Hollin!” A sharp voice cut through the clatter. “If you’re in here, come out at once before you embarrass us any further.”
“Fuck,” he muttered. His mother had caught on to his hiding spot far too quickly. Rather than facing the indignation of getting literally dragged out of the corner by the indignant queen, he stood and brushed the lint of his pants.
Walking towards where Georgina stood, her arms crossed, Hollin searched his mind for any excuse that might explain his absence. “I wasn’t feeling well?”
“I planned on serving dinner as soon as the last guest arrived, but now everyone had to wait. Does that make you happy?” she demanded, reaching over to shove some of his hair back. “Remind me to send Donya your way tomorrow. This is getting out of hand.”
Hollin preferred his hair long, brushing his forehead and the back of his neck, but there was no arguing with her. “The dinner?” he prompted, warding off any further complaints about his appearance.
“Go, now. I need to run a final check on everything.” She made a shooing gesture with her hands. Hollin ran out the door at that point, marveling at how much better the dinner party sounded after one simple interaction with his mother.
Pushing through the swinging doors, he was relieved to find most people standing around, finishing up their chatter and their drinks. Darting past a couple of particularly dull nobles and keeping his head down to avoid detection, Hollin scanned the table for his name card.
“Your Highness!” He winced at the nasally voice of Lord Ramdon and the impending doom of yet another economic lecture. “I was just telling your brother about the effects of his new trade agreement on the price of coal over the next five--”
“Please take your seats. Dinner will be served momentarily.” The voice rang out through the room, giving Hollin the opportunity to escape and finally sink into his seat, two chairs away from the head of the table.
Dorian slipped into the massive chair a moment later. “Mother tracked you down?” he asked, offering Hollin a sympathetic look.
“Obviously.” Hollin grabbed his napkin and threw it on his lap, a bit forcefully. “Enjoying the stimulating conversation tonight?”
Dorian laughed. “It was getting a bit dull for awhile there. Thankfully, some more exciting guests showed up at the last minute-oh, speak of the devil!” He stood up, waving to someone over Hollin’s shoulder.
The prince stifled a groan. He glanced at the nametag to his right, at the same time as the person in question filled the seat.
“Hello,” Evangeline smiled at him. “I didn’t notice you when we first arrived.”
Aedion Ashryver and Lysandra Ennar took their places across the table, also smiling warmly at him. Hollin never understood how these people managed to be so happy all of the damned time. Something like jealousy always churned in his stomach when he saw the familiarity and love shared between them, as if a devastating war hadn’t almost ripped them apart.
“I had a...prince thing to do.” He winced at how weak the words sounded. “I hope the journey was easy for you.”
“It was! We travelled quite light for this visit, since it’s much more informal and last-minute” Evangeline perked up as she spoke, starting on a tangent about the route they had taken. In all his fourteen years, Hollin had never met a group of people who talked quite as much as Queen Aelin’s court.
At least he grew out of his snark and pettiness since he left Terrasen for the last time. He forced a polite smile on his face as she rambled.
“Eva, darling, Dorian has a few questions for you,” Lysandra interrupted. She tilted her head as she looked Hollin over, an eerily animalistic quality in her gaze. “Will you be attending the same classes?”
He turned his head to Dorian. “Will I be what?”
His brother took a sip of wine. “I’m sure I told you about this. Evangeline will be staying with us for the next few months to expand her education.” Placing the glass down, he looked at the girl in question with clear affection in his eyes. “I wanted to know, are there any additional activities you’d like to pursue while in Rifthold? Perhaps something in the arts?”
“Oh goodness, I’d love that,” Evangeline gushed. “I know that the theater here is beyond what we have in Terrasen; I’m sure there’s so much to learn from the actors and writers there.”
Hollin’s head hurt. He knew that Dorian would try to force them to get along while she stayed with them, in some bizarre attempt to expose him to so-called good people.
Even after the king had dedicated his time to being an older brother, even though Hollin tried so hard to avoid being another problem Dorian had to handle, he would never garner the look of affection that Evangeline did. He would never be Dorian’s friend in a way the Terrasen court was.
“Hollin attended one of the performances last week.” Dorian leaned forward, catching his brother’s eye with a meaningful look. “Perhaps you could take a look at the upcoming schedule, recommend something for her.”
The meddling had begun a whooping five minutes into the first course.
“I would be happy to,” Hollin replied. “Do you have any particular interests?”
For better or for worse, that question set Evangaline off on another tangent. Dorian gave him a subtle thumbs up as she chattered away, returning his focus to Lysandra and Aedion.
Hollin took the reprieve gratefully, digging into his soup. He mentally calculated how many minutes stood between him and the final course, already considering the night a massive failure.
13 notes · View notes
starrysupercell · 3 years
Text
Heavily based off of @aroacenita's headcanon post, about Belle and Byron's sibling status and background. In honor of the Gold Arm Gang Season starting today, and Belle's debut.
Warning: slightly heavier than what I've written before. But not much detail, just implications really.
--------
"If you don't shape up, young lady, what future will you even have?" A male voice scolded.
"Anything I want, I guess." She said, off handedly.
"Oh, why can't you behave more like your brother?" That was their mother, she sounded so distraught. "Why can't you be well-mannered like he is?
A scoff, "Oh that'd be perfect, wouldn't it? A flawless replica of you."
"What's with you and thinking we're just controlling you-?"
"Because that's exactly what you're doing!" She exclaimed, "Why do you think I don't want to dress up, and go out to social gatherings and 'leave a nice impression for the gentlemen?'" She air-quoted. "You've always dragged me along, and I'm sick of it!"
"Now don't be ridiculous, Belle." Their mother said. "When you were little, you loved dressing up and coming along with me to places."
"You forced me when I was little, and you're still trying to now! And now you're forcing him too! Do you honestly believe this is okay!?"
"We aren't forcing anything on you two. Studying is a must. You're only being dramatic, Belle."
"This more than just the damned studying! I'm talking about everything! I'm not stupid. I know your tricks--!"
Byron heard a smack, and he flinched where he stood outside the closed door, eavesdropping.
"You watch how you talk to your mother." Came the stern, simple command.
There was a stunned silence, and then hurried steps to the door. Byron ducked away further down the hall out of sight.
Belle passed by, a hand on her cheek. Her long black hair trailed behind her as she hurried away, and stomped up the stairs to retreat to her room.
"God, what are we going to do with her?" Byron overheard. "I have no clue.... she's beyond all reason."
"...Do you think that school will be able to handle her? What an embarrassment it's be if she's expelled from there...."
"...." The younger kid frowned, unsure of what to make of what he was hearing, and then slunk away.
_________
The tears shed were anger more than anything. Humiliation and outrage made her bury her face in the pillow she hugged now.
She could just hear their criticism. 'How unbecoming. Dry your face. You look highly unpresentable.'
They've been trying to mold them into perfect cookie cutter shapes since they were little. She hated it, and fought it because that wasn't her.
But sometimes... she miserably wracked her brain over what else she could pursue. She's been corralled into this lifestyle against her will, Maybe... her parents were right..? She should just... accept it?
She would just conform to this sense of defeat.
There was a knock on the door.
"Leave!" She barked, not caring if it was a serviceman, definitely either of her parents, or...
"It's me." Byron.
She paused. "What do you want?"
"May I enter?"
She sat up, annoyed. "For what? Go away, you brat."
"I brought chips."
"...." Belle wiped her face, and compromised to herself that if Byron even mentioned her red eyes, he was being kicked out. She stood, and walked over to the door. He was leaning against it, and stumbled at the sudden entrance, but quickly fixed himself.
'Nosy,' she thought, and snatched the bag he offered. "You sneak," she commented, looking over the bag. "They don't allow junk food like this."
"It's great for bribery." He smiled, walking past Belle. Case in point.
Belle opened the bag, and grabbed a handful. She smirked and rose her voice into the 'proper speak' she was taught. "Oh! Preposterous! How greasy! This will smear the walls and fatten one up in a mere hour!" She snickered and bit into the chips, making some crumble and fall onto the carpeted floor.
Byron thought the mess itself was quite distasteful, but decided that it was well deserved. Besides... that did sound like their mother. He also laughed along.
---
She hated her hair. It was waist length, got in the way, tangled easy, and when it was loose, windy days were the worst.
Like right now. She couldn't even sit on the roof without it going wild.
'But proper women have long hair.' Oh, whatever. Proper women have it shitty then.
Belle sighed. There was around a month left before she'd be shipped off like the porcelain doll they wanted her to be. A month until her 18th birthday. A month until...
"Are you going to jump?" She heard. She looked up with irritation to the balcony outside of Byron's room, where he stood.
"No, dumbass." She told him.
Byron's look of concern turned to a very offended one. "Mom says cursing isn't becom..."
"Mom says cursing isn't becoming," she interrupted him to mock. "Yeah, I know. I've heard it before, you wuss." She looked back out to their vast yard, hoping he'd either leave or shut up.
Byron frowned, glaring at the top of her head.
"Being angry only hinders your thoughts," she snarked again, just as insulting a tone. "Since you can only have one at a time, you should listen to that." Byron narrowed his eyes down at her and he went back to his room.
About time.... Belle lost herself back in her thoughts. The sun was starting to set. A month left to plan. Unless her parents suddenly began to care, nobody was none the wiser to her plot. She was going to get out of here.
Unbeknownst to her, Byron walked back out quietly with a beaker filled with some concoction from his chemistry set at hand. It was harmless, but he had gloves on and his nose covered with his other hand for a reason. He leaned over the balcony and tipped out the contents over his jerkish sister. "Ugh! You little shit!! What even is this!?" She exclaimed in disgust.
"Oh, sorry. I didn't know you were still out here." Byron said with a shrug. "I guess you didn't know that rooftops aren't for people to lay on. Dunce." He said, stepping back now as Belle angrily scaled the tiles. He miscalculated her speed, because she managed to reach him and grabbed his sleeve. He pulled back. "Let go of me!" He struggled to get away. There was a ripping sound and he stumbled back in surprise. Belle nearly fell forward too, but she clung to the railing. Byron ducked back inside to the safety of his room, sticking out his tongue at her.
Belle fumed, using the sleeve to wipe at least some of the disgusting-smelling chemical off, and then chucked it at his glass door.
____________
The week of her birthday, Belle feigned innocence. She apologized, and dressed well and "came to terms" with their final decision.
"I'm so happy that you're finally listening to reason." Her mother fawned over her, stroking the cheek that had been struck some time ago. "It makes me feel proud to have a daughter."
"Hmm," their father said. "It's about time."
Byron stayed quiet. Something was off, but it was rude to speak out of turn, and unwise to fling unproven accusations.
The night before she was set to get on the plane, Belle was ready. She packed everything she could into a single backpack. She didn't want to take too much. It would slow her down and she needed to get as far away as she could in a few hours.
The last thing she wanted to do was leave a written message. Not for her parents- they deserved no goodbye. No, it was for... Byron.
The problem was, she didn't know how to say it. She read over what she's written so far.
*Sorry for leaving you with them. I just couldn't bear it any longer. You need to wise up too, Byron. Don't let them brainwash you, okay? Get out of here when you can. Later.*
...It didn't feel right. He wouldn't agree with what she had to say. He would see it as an insult. This was somehow a lot more difficult than deciding to leave. ...She didn't 'have' to leave a note, did she? Belle sighed in frustration.
She tore the paper to remove the message and was left with a scrap piece. She balled up the message and shoved it in her pocket. Using the smaller piece, she scrawled out her message and got up. All she had to do was drop this off, and then leave. She stepped out of her room.
The house was dark and quiet. She stepped lightly toward Byron's room. Sound asleep. She was simply going to leave the note, but then spotted that treasure pile of snacks. Darn it. It wasn't a part of her plan, but she couldn't resist. She lifted a bag of chips very carefully, and a twin pack of sweets for the road. She placed her little note down in place of those with held laughter, then left to return to her room.
She opened her window, and hoisted her pack over her shoulders. Next she picked up the fashioned rope she made of quality cloths to tie to her heavy bed.
Typical, sure, but this would make a lot less noise than stairs and doors. Plus, in this way she could ruin the many precious dresses and skirts she was made to wear on her way out.
She threw the long cord out and climbed out as it rolled down the slope and then over the edge. She treaded carefully over and stared down at the yard.
Almost there. Belle began to climb down. As she made her way down, the heavy anticipation she felt at her chest alleviated. She was doing this. She'd be free.
As her feet hit the ground, she had already decided. Come morning, the first thing she would do was get a haircut. Chop it as short as she always wanted it to be.
---
Byron always woke up early. This time around, he was awoken by the surprised exclamations of his parents.
"She's gone!"
"Really? Are you sure?"
"I went to make sure she was getting ready, and there was a rope of clothes out the window!"
Gone. She left.
He stayed awake, staring up at the ceiling in deep thought. Why didn't... she just listen? And stay... He would never understand her fighting at every turn.. nor his parents' subtle shift in their attitude toward him after that, like they almost expected him to do the same.
It'd be around two weeks later when he'd get a craving for a treat. They were intent on making sure he didn't even step out of line- he was ticked off.
The last package of his favorite dessert was gone, along with a bag of chips. Just a torn piece of paper was in its place.
"thanks, dumbass." was all it said.
Byron.... didn't know what to feel.
8 notes · View notes
alicanta77 · 4 years
Text
If the world was ending
Pairing: y/n x Mark
Theme: angst, fluff
Warnings: death, mentions of suicide
Words: 5.3k
Inspiration: Lost in the moment - NF, If the world was ending - JP Saxe and Julia Michaels
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
You knew that the world was going to end. Everyone did. You just weren't sure when. A month ago, an asteroid had hit the earth, and it had disastrous consequences. It released a purple gas in a smoke cloud that cooled the sky purple and poisoned everything it touched. It poisoned animals, plants and humans. It slowly worked its way around the globe, spreading out in all directions and it was only a matter of time before it reached you. Facing an inescapable reality like this really takes a toll on some people. Many had decided that they wanted to be in control of their own destiny and took their own lives. A level of both selfishness and selflessness started to show in parts of humanity. You would see friends and lovers promising to stay alive for and with each other, but you would also see parents choosing to leave their children to fend for themselves and escaping from this reality. The world was a mess, and it was going to end soon. You just needed to figure out what you wanted to do with your last few days
Luckily enough, you knew what you wanted to do and who you were going to do it with. From the second the asteroid had hit and the world was confirmed to be ending, you had been filled with an overwhelming sense of dread. Knowing that your death is simply weeks away but there is nothing you can do about it is more terrifying than anything you had ever known. Your family had immediately decided that they didn't want to wait for the smoke to reach them and poison them while they slept or worked around the house. The government had organised centres for people to go if they wished to choose to end their lives and your family wanted to visit one of them. However, you couldn't be more against this decision. You refused to just leave and end your life as soon as you could. If you only had a few more weeks to live anyway, why wouldn't you try and make the most of them. The ending remains the same.
Everything changed when you arrived back home one evening and the house was empty. You checked every room but still, you couldn't find any of your family. You arrived back in the kitchen, after a full search and saw a note on your fridge. Normally the only thing there would be your mum’s shopping list, but she hadn't made one of those since the announcement. In fact, people had stopped buying things completely and looting had become the new norm. There wasn't exactly anyone to stop this either, almost everyone gave up going to work as they couldn't see the point anymore. The only people who kept going seemed to be those who wanted or needed a sense of normalcy. You walked up to the note and pulled it off the fridge, expecting it to say they were visiting your grandparents while they still could, but what you read absolutely broke you. 
‘Our dearest y/n, We are sorry, but we cannot wait like you can. We decided to chose our ending and we intend to stick to that decision. We are more sorry that it couldn't be as a family...’
The note continued, getting harder and harder to read as tears blurred your vision. Your parents had chosen to end their lives that day, and they hadn't even said goodbye to you. Halfway down the letter you vaguely recognised the words saying that your grandparents and some other names you that couldn't make out through your tears, had decided to go with them, and that was when you completely broke down. You didn't even register the door opening and your boyfriend walking in until he was sat beside you, arms around you and crying as much as you were. The letter he was holding in his shaking hand was dropped to the ground and, before you knew it, you were holding each other and crying, both seeking comfort from someone who was feeling the same level of heartbreak as you were. 
You had no idea how much time had passed before you and Mark had run out of tears to cry. Then you proceeded to just sit there, neither of you saying a word until, eventually, Mark spoke.
‘They went together.’ His voice was no higher than a whisper, but it was still deafening. ‘Both out families, all of them. Your parents, your sister, your grandparents, my grandparents, my parents, my brother, they all went together. They...’ His voice broke and began to waver again so you simply shushed him, gently stroking his back. You didn't know how to feel, your parents had lied to you and gone behind your back, they’d left you forever without even saying a proper goodbye.  There were no words to describe your feelings in a situation like this, and you imagined Mark felt the same.
Both of you eventually picked yourselves off the floor and you managed to finish your letter. You and Mark also swapped and read each others, to see if you could gain any more information from what each other’s families had written. There didn't, however, seem to be anything more to gain, it seemed as though your families had decided to write these together. The only differing factor was when they apologised to you both individually.
Your mind was a mess. You couldn't actually believe that your entire family, and Mark’s, everyone you had held closest, had decided to kill themselves, and leave only a letter to tell you that. You felt angry, you felt hurt, but most of all you felt betrayed. You felt like they took an easy way out by writing a letter, you wanted them to face you in person. To say goodbye to you, a proper goodbye, the one that you deserved from them. If they were going to abandon you like this, the least they could have done was told you to your face. However, all of this anger and resentment was completely overshadowed by an unbearable feeling of loneliness. For the first time in your life, you truly felt alone, like there was absolutely no one. Not just that feeling when, even though you are around lots of people and you still feel lonely, this was different. You really had no one left. No one except Mark.
That night was a quiet one, both of you quietly mourning your families together. A decision had been made between the two of you to make a plan tomorrow, about what you would do next and where you would go. Lying in bed with Mark next to you, arms securely around your waist, protecting you, you couldn't help but get lost in thought. You couldn't help but feel as though you should be mourning more than you were. When you read the letter, you broke down, as did Mark, as for hours you both just held each other and cried, craving any sense of familiarity. But after that, neither of you had shed another tear. Neither of you had said a word either, but, you thought you would have cried more. You thought you should be crying now, but you weren't. That’s the thing about inevitability, you know how things are going to end. You knew you would end up in exactly the same place they were. And you knew that they would have died anyway. This isn't a ‘I could have saved them’ dilemma, it’s a ‘I wish they would have waited so I could say goodbye’ because now all you feel is a lack of closure. But it was a closure you were never going to get. So you allowed yourself to feel a wave of sadness one last time, before drifting off to sleep next to Mark.
---
The next morning brought a different challenge: what to do next. You woke up in the house that held your entire childhood in it, and you couldn’t wait to leave. The house had never been more empty and everywhere you looked you saw the shadows of where your family should be. You saw your mum cooking eggs and bacon for breakfast, you saw your dad doing the morning crossword while sitting at the kitchen island with a cup of coffee, you saw your sister watching a catchup episode of her favourite drama that she missed because of a late shift the night before. You saw the world as how it should be, you saw what was taken away from you. And now, the house that once felt like the safest place on earth, suddenly became one giant stab to your chest. You stood in the middle of the kitchen and just stared at the empty room, barely registering Mark standing behind you, simple watching and not saying a word. You felt guilty because you had barely said a word to him since he arrived, but you had no idea what to say or where to begin. So you just looked. You turned around in your spot and looked directly into his eyes, praying that he would be able to read the message you were so desperately trying to convey. Luckily, Mark knew you like the back of his hand, and all he did was walk up to you and pull you into the tightest hug you had ever felt. His arms wrapped as far around your waist as they could a you wound your arms around his neck and buried your face into him.
You didn't cry. Nor did Mark. Neither of you knew how to express the emotions you were feeling so you just held each other, saying nothing, allowing your touch to convey as much as it possibly could to the other person. To anyone else this would just seem to be a way of avoiding talking about the current situation, but to the two of you, it was everything you needed. Finally, however, you let go and took a small step back, allowing yourself some room to breathe. 
‘Let’s go once we’re dressed and we've eaten.’ Mark’s voice made you jump slightly, having got used to the silence between you for the past few hours.
You nodded in agreement and went upstairs to take a shower. Mark seemed to think that was a good idea and headed into the shower in your parents room. Since neither of you seemed to have any clue as to where you were going to go or how long it would be before you could have another shower, it made sense.
---
You sat in the car with your head resting against you hand that was propped up of the slight ledge below the window. Mark was currently driving, with one hand on the wheel and the other on your thigh, a constant reminder that he was there and not going anywhere. It was small touches like that that you were forever grateful for and they reminded you of just how caring and detail orientated Mark was. He always remembered the little things, such as your coffee order or your favourite flower, or the way you like to be hugged when you're in certain moods, and it always made you feel so loved when he did. You knew that there was no one else that you could stand having by your side at this moment. As heartbroken as you were about your family, you were glad that you still had Mark, knowing that this would have all been ten thousand times harder were he not by your side. Then, for the first time since Mark had arrived at yours, you spoke.
‘Where are we going?’
For someone who is scared easily, you had to hand it to Mark for not jumping out of his skin when you finally spoke.
‘I don't know. Where do you want to go?’ He replied, keeping his eyes on the road, even though it was completely empty.
‘I don’t know.’ You repeated his words. You wracked your brain to think of a good place to go, but nothing seemed to come to mind. ‘Wherever we go...I would like a nice view. This will probably be the last place we ever go, and may be the last place we are alive so...I’d like to have a nice spot to watch the world end from.’ You weren't sure where this blatant honesty about your death was coming from. You often tried to avoid the topic, focusing on the moment you had in front of you and making that the best it could possibly be, but there didn't seem to be any use about pretending that you weren't going to die.
Your sentence drew Mark’s attention to you as he pulled his eyes away from the road and rested them on you for a second before turning them back. You heard him take a deep breath, clearly trying to figure out where you should go when he spoke again, this time with a bit more excitement.
‘How about my aunt’s beach house?’ 
You raised an eyebrow at this in thought. The beach house was incredibly special to both you and Mark, being the place where you met, where you became friends, where you first kissed, where you first realised you were in love with him, where you first told him. That house held so many memories that were just you and Mark, and the thought of being there with him when it ended almost seemed right. Like you would end your story where it began.
‘We can stroll along the beach and jump off the pier, just like old times, and we can stay in the rooms we did when we were children and find our old treehouse and play our old boardgames and there are some old storage boxes up there filled with pictures of us throughout the years that we could go through.’
Mark’s voice got slightly faster and higher pitched as he rambled on. You listened carefully to the changes in his voice that always happened whenever he got excited about something. You were sure that if he wasn't driving, his feet would probably be slightly tapping on the ground. It was a habit of his that always occurred when he was excited or really happy, and it was one that you loved. Seeing him getting the slightest bit exited at something truly made you smile for the first time since reading that letter, an effect that only Mark could ever have on you.
Mark lifted his hand off your thigh and grabbed your hand, looking into your eyes for as long as he could without crashing the car.
‘Hey... we’re gonna be okay. We’re together, isn't that enough for now?’ He held a gentle smile on his face and the reassuring tone to his voice completely calmed you down. You smiled back.
‘It’s more than enough. As long as I have you, I’m gonna be okay.’
The smile on Mark’s face grew slightly, encouraging yours too as well. Then keeping his hand in yours, Mark put his foot down harder on the gas pedal and you sped towards his aunt’s beach house.
---
The beach house was further away than you remember. You weren't sure if that was just because you were so vividly aware of your limited time left, or if Mark was just a slow driver, but you were sure you used to make the trip in one day. However, you find Mark pulling over into a deserted gas station as the sun started to set. 
‘You know I don’t remember the drive being this long.’ You voiced to Mark as you both excited the car.
Mark walked around to fill up the car with gas.
‘Please let there be petrol in here... yes!’ He cheered to himself as he found a pump that was still full. He then turned to you, his eyes lit with amusement causing you to raise an eyebrow in question. ‘Well we also used to leave at dawn and arrive at dusk, remember? We used to arrive and go straight to bed and you would always throw a fuss because you wanted to explore the beach first.’
‘Oh yeah.’ The memories came back to you, including the memory of the fact that Mark was the only one who could convince you to go to bed when you had arrived, telling you that he wouldn’t explore the beach with you tomorrow if you didn’t go to bed then. You never wanted to risk going anywhere without him, so you always went straight to bed. You guessed you started to look a bit wistful and nostalgic when thinking of this as Mark’s concerned voice pulled you out of your thoughts asking:
‘You okay?’
‘Hmmmm? Yeah fine, thanks.’ You watched as Mark put the cap back into the gas tank in his car and headed back round to the drivers seat.
‘Feels weird not to pay.’ He visibly shifted in his seat when he said that, clearly showing his discomfort with the situation. Even at the end of world, literally, Mark still didn't want to leave a place without paying.
You looking into the gas station and saw it completely deserted, windows smashed and shelves empty, a clear sign that it had been a target of looters.
‘Well I'm not sure that there’s anyone to take your money, unless you wanna throw it out the window and onto the road.’
Mark turned around and stared at you like you had just told him the most brilliant idea.
‘Oh no, not that look, what are you thinking?’ You asked quickly. Whenever Mark looked at you like that things always ended up going either incredibly well or pretty disastrously. 
‘Lets do it.’ He said, excitement lacing his voice.
‘Do what exactly? For the last time, Mark, I cannot read your mind.’
‘Lets throw the money out of the window. Literally.’
For once Mark had completely stunned you into silence. The only other time he had managed to do that was when he confessed to you and then panicked that you were rejecting him because you were too surprised to speak.
‘Why?’ You managed to get out, your brain so fried from the past few days and the crazy suggestion that you could remember any other words in existence to use.
‘Why not? What else are we going to use it for? In fact, it is never going to be used again so why not throw it out of a moving car window while blasting our favourite songs?’ Mark stared at you with that hopeful look on his face that made his eyes light up with stars. It was the same look he had when you told him that you loved him back, and it was by far your favourite.
He had a fair point too. Money was never going to be another use to you. Looters had taken anything of note when doomsday was first confirmed and since then people had wandered into and out of empty shops, grabbing what they liked. You also knew that the likelihood of you and Mark stopping again was incredibly small and once you got the beach house that would be it, so it brought you back to Mark’s question. Why not?
So you agreed.
The next thing you knew, you and Mark were driving, with the roof of the car down, at full speed, down an empty highway, blasting your favourite song from the speakers and throwing notes of money out of the window. It didn't make sense, but then, nothing really ever did. You just accepted it because you were taught that that was how things were. But it wasn't. You grew up in a society shaped with rules and instructions, and it took a meteor destroying the only home you have know and will ever know to realise that all of those rules and instructions mean nothing. They are simply there to keep the fake illusion of the society that humans created, a place of harmony and love that is, in reality, not harmonious and fuelled and driven by greed and selfishness. It is the innate selfishness in humans that makes you struggle to find the good, especially in times like this.
Then there is Mark. You looked over at him, hair blowing in the wind as he laughs. Mark had always been selfless. He had always put everyone else above himself, and then he had always put you above everyone else. You knew that Mark loved you. There had never been a doubt in your mind about that fact, or the fact that you loved him back. You made a silent vow to yourself, right there and then, to spend however long you had left showing Mark just how much you loved him, and giving back to him what he had always given to you. God knows you should have done it earlier.
The song ended and you found yourself with a smile on your face as you watched Mark laugh while holding the button to pull the car’s convertible roof back up. Even in the situation, you found yourself smiling, and only Mark could pull that out of you.
Darkness soon began to fall as you were driving, leaving you and Mark to decide that it was better to pull over for the night. You weren't afraid of sleeping the car, anyone who would have previously caused you trouble is either dead or in a major city right now, living in the abandoned houses of those much wealthier than you could ever imagine. Mark also pointed out the cruel irony of dying in a car crash at night when you are going to die within a few weeks anyway. So, once you found a spot on the side of the road, you pulled over.
You and Mark had travelled far that day, and you had managed to make it to the coast. You only had a few hours to go until his aunt’s house and, you couldn't wait to get there. The closer you got, the more anticipated both you and Mark became, eager to get to a familiar place before it was too late.
As Mark stopped the car, you unbuckled you seatbelt and opened the door. Mark noticed this, causing him to raise an eyebrow.
‘Yo, where are you going?’
 You held out your hand for him to take.
‘I’m gonna take a walk on the beach real quick. Do you wanna join me?’
Mark nodded with a smile and took your hand as you both began to walk down towards the beach. It only took you about two minutes before you were casually strolling along the sandy beach, hand in hand, as if nothing was wrong. To anyone else it would have looked like a sweet sight, young love at its finest, but there wasn't anyone else, and you both knew better.
After a few minutes you took a deep breath and pulled on Mark’s hand slightly, slowing you both to a stop. 
He turned around with a quizzical look on his face.
‘What’s up?’ He asked, clearly worried that you were feeling ill or something similar.
You shook your head, he was always so thoughtful and you knew that if you didn't get this off your chest you might explode.
‘I just need to tell you something. Well, I’m not sure if it’s tell you something as much as ramble until it’s off my chest but... here goes. I wanted to say thank you. For everything.’ 
You could see Mark opening his mouth to speak, but you knew that this was probably your one chance to say this and if you didn't finish now you probably would never get the chance to.
‘No, wait, please, let me finish. I know that these past 24 hours have been difficult for you too, so excruciatingly difficult, but you have kept smiling and kept focusing on getting us to your Aunt’s beach house for me. You always put others first and I love that about you, but I never thank you for it. I never say thank you the morning after you carry me to bed after I fall asleep on the sofa. I never say thank you when you pull me away from work so that I don’t burn myself out. I never say thank you when you walk over to mine in the dark, because I'm too nervous to walk to yours, even though it is literally next door. And I never say thank you when you pretend everything is okay because I’m struggling with something. So, for all the times I should have thanked you and didn’t, thank you. It’s not nearly enough but, for the moment, it’s all I have. I’m also sorry that you have to try to be happy just because I’m not and you want to see me smile. And I’m sorry about your family too, I know it’s killing you and I don’t want to have to see you hide it anymore. And I know that we only have a few weeks left, but I am eternally grateful that I get to spend them with you by my side. I am eternally grateful that I have you in my life at all, and I will treasure every second we’ve spent together forever. I love you so much.’
You finally stopped, feeling physically lighter after saying what you needed to and feeling the guilt that was previously weighing you down, lift off you like a balloon. You looking into Mark’s eyes and saw tears gathering in them, making you panic slightly.
He chuckled slightly to himself and wiped at his eyes.
‘I wasn't meant to cry in front of you.’
You placed your hands on his cheeks and gently wiped away what was left of his tears. He pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around your neck while you wound yours around his waist. He placed a gentle kiss on your forehead, keeping his lips there afterwards and breathing out four words that he has never meant more in his life.
‘I love you too.’
You stayed like that for a while before, eventually, making your way back to the car. You climbed into the back seat with Mark, curled up against him as he held you as close as he could, before finally falling asleep.
---
Mark woke up first, gently shaking you so that he could move around to the driver’s seat while you climbed back into the passenger’s. You stretched when outside the car, silently excited for a real bed to sleep in again. Mark started up his car and you began what was left of the journey.
Even though there were only two hours left until you reached his Aunt’s house, after only one you started to get a strange feeling. It was a feeling of pure unease, as if something was going wrong. You glanced at Mark and saw him shifting in his seat.
‘Are you feeling a bit weird right now?’ You asked.
‘Yeah, something feels off. I can’t pinpoint what it is though.’ He shrugged ‘Let’s just focus on getting to the beach house and we can figure it out from there.’ He put his foot on the gas and sped up slightly. You weren't sure if you had wanted him to tell you that you were being paranoid or for him to reassure you that you weren't crazy and he felt it too. And you weren't sure which was worse.
Another half an hour had passed and you knew that you were only about ten to fifteen minutes away from the house. The longer you had stayed in the car, the larger and more overwhelming that feeling had become and Mark had started to drive as fast as he possibly could to get to the house. You turned your head and looked behind you and out of the back window.
Your heart stopped.
The sky was purple.
You had run out of time.
‘Mark?’
‘Yeah?’ He hadn't seen the cloud yet, and was blissfully unaware that you had about three minutes left to live.
‘Please drive faster.’
‘What are you-’ He looked in the rear view mirror and saw the purple colour creeping its way towards you two. ‘Oh shit! How is this possible? I thought we had a few weeks left?’
He slammed his foot down on the pedal and the car lurched forwards, he turned the next corner at such speed you were surprised the car didn't flip over. And there it was. At the top of the hill Mark had just turned onto was his Aunt’s beach house, the place where you were supposed to spend your last moments. If you could just make it there then-
Suddenly the car made a weird groan and sputtered. Mark swore under his breath, desperation crawling into his voice as he fiddle with the wheel and gear stick. Then smoke began to arise from the hood of the car as it slowed to a quick stop. Mark yanked open his door and you followed suit. 
‘Come on! We can make it let’s run.’ He grabbed your hand and, without waiting for your answer began to run up towards his Aunt's house.
You began to run with him, desperate to reach the one place that had always been considered your safe haven. The ground seeming to move against your feet as the uphill climb became more and more difficult with every step you took. You risked a look behind you and saw the purple dangerously tainting the sky at a faster speed than you were running.
That was when it hit you.
You pulled on Mark’s arm and stopped running. He turned around to stare at you, completely at a loss as to why you weren't moving.
‘Y/n come on we have to go!’ He pulled at your arm again, but you still didn't move.
‘Mark... we’re not gonna make it.’ Your voice was surprisingly calm for the level of fear you were feeling.
‘What are you- No we have to make it. We have to! We have to go to the jetty and dive off the pier like when we were twelve. We have to play board games until the morning like when we were seven. I have to kiss you on the beach like when we were seventeen, please we have to... it’s safe there.’
‘Mark, it’s not safe anywhere.’ He stared into your eyes as the sentence escaped your lips and he knew, deep down that you were right. You were Never going to make it to the beach house. It was still a good few minutes away and you didn't have the luxury of that amount of time. And even if you did, the beach house wouldn't save you. It wasn't some safe haven that could protect you from the poison that was almost upon you in a cloud of purple. He turned his body to face yours and pulled you into him, hugging you tight. You hugged him back.
‘I love you.’
‘I love you too.’
You knew you should be scared, you should be terrified. You were about to die. But, somehow, you weren't afraid, any fear you had previously felt had dissolved the second Mark hugged you. And from the secure way Mark had his arms around you and his steady breathing, you could tell he wasn't either. You peeked over his shoulder and looked again at the poison creeping towards you. You had to admit that the end of the world was beautiful. The sky was a pattern of purple and pink and orange, making it looked like a sunset on another planet. The plants around were in full bloom creating a vision almost similar to that of a utopia. You weren't scared, you were thankful. You knew what it was like for Mark Lee to love you. And that was the greatest gift you could have received.
You both fell to your knees as the purple sky embraced you in its poison.
99 notes · View notes
clonerightsagenda · 4 years
Text
Way back in 2016 once I knew how TLC was going to end, I wrote a... send-off of sorts. Like anything else postgame, this is compliant rather than canon to that ‘verse, but I thought I might as well share in the spirit of posting a lot of ancient stuff out of my Dropbox recently.
A new universe out of seed B2 finally blossoms, and Skaia gets to work. The imbalance has been removed; the proper order of things has been restored. Now the business of repairing the multiverse can begin. There are lotuses to be planted, temples to be founded, and wheels to be set in motion. Something is different – a few of the terminals are disconnected; the texture of the new world doesn’t compile the same – but the agents will take care of that. Skaia plays the long game.
It gives them a few years to settle in. Victors don’t like to be reminded of the game too soon. Some get upset, even if the game is what has raised them to their exalted state. Most are too tired or lost to object, but they had to be fighters to get this far. Better to let them grow comfortable now that the war is won. But the seeds of the next game need to be planted, so after a decade it sends the first temple meteor through.
The Witch appears in a shimmer of green fire and waggles her finger at it like it’s a naughty animal. Then she snaps her fingers, and the meteor shrinks to the size of a pebble, which she catches and squeezes in her fist. Without the temple, a whole game session that could have been fizzles and dies, taking its Veil and Reckoning with it, and the meteor itself vanishes in a puff of displaced probability.
This is not how things are supposed to go.
Sometimes heroes are uncomfortable with their universe’s inevitable future, especially if they are closely involved in the welfare of new races. The rare winners to have offspring of their own tend to be even more militant. Sentimentality can be useful in small doses. Skaia can afford to wait. It gives them a century, long enough to become familiar with death, decay, the passing of time, long enough to appreciate the need for measures to shed a dying universe and birth a new one. Then it sends a temple lotus, and they let it blossom. That’s better.
When the temple is fully grown, the Time heroes and the Page visit it, running through the halls, admiring the carvings, and calling to each other. They even leave small objects scattered around it – offerings?
Then the Maid grins wickedly, punches a button, and the temple goes up in smoke.
Next time, the Prince unsheathes a comically large katana and chops through the entire meteor, sending the two halves spiraling harmlessly into space. Skaia does not even attempt to interfere. It can’t help but let a good callback happen. His hand gesture afterward is uncalled for though.
Most players do not last long. Even those that claim godhood turn on each other or make poor choices, dissolving into nothing but scraps of legend and memory. That is best – fewer variables, no one with the power to challenge the greater good. The only ones who evade death are those who do nothing. It is part of the plan. Skaia has never encountered this before. Most heroes are too shellshocked or grateful to object, or they’re inflated in self-importance, believing the new world is their due. They don’t grasp eternity. The eventual restart of the cycle doesn’t bother them. They don’t have to play again.
But these players have taken offense. They block its attempts to seed their world, and it cannot send them carefully curated dreams on Prospit anymore to guide them in the way it wants.
Skaia has no voice, and the game guides who remain have refused to heed its commands, but it has ways of being heard. It contacts the Seer of Light. She of all people can understand thinking toward the future.
“We were charged with protecting the universe,” she says. “We’re doing our jobs.”
Can’t she sense the death throes of every genesis frog they prevent? Isn’t her vision full of the opportunities falling away? The Lord of Time no longer forces them down any one path, so broken loops wither and die, but the pain remains. There are rules, Skaia says.
The Seer’s voice turns deadly. “This is not a game.” Then she summons a cloud of void (since when do proper Light players do that?) and cuts the connection.
If Skaia could feel, it would have started to get annoyed.
The next time a meteor passes through a defense portal, Skaia knows the players cannot interfere. One does appear, but she does nothing but watch as the meteor crashes into the planet that was born in a universe long since gone.
You cannot prevent this. Skaia has not had to interact with anyone on this level in a long time. Its thoughts are rusty, long worn into established patterns. If you do, your timeline is forfeit. This loop is already done. The game must be played.
“I know,” says the player. There is something unsettling about her. “I played it.”
She wears the garb of a Muse, rarest of Classes. She hails from a session that is yet to be, but one that has already shaped her. Time is not Skaia’s domain, but this at least is simple. Then you understand, Skaia says. Are you finished with these pointless acts of defiance?
“Haven’t you noticed?” she asks, and her voice is unsettling too. “We let you have this one. But nowhere else. Nothing else. It ends here, with this session, this loop. You’re finished.”
Creation has no end.
“Of course it doesn’t. But you don’t own it all.” She spreads her arms. “Can’t you feel it? All around us?”
Worlds are dying that were never born. Worlds you prevented. Are you proud?
“We’ve helped worlds to become, too. There’s a new system. A new game. Our rules.” She frowns. “You really can’t sense them, can you? You’re as blind as he was. What was left of him, anyway, just like you’re what’s left of her.”
She squints, like she’s trying to look at Skaia, although of course there’s nothing to see. Skaia is everywhere and part of everything. It is used to this. Still, she should direct her attention elsewhere. “I suppose you’re not exactly her. It’s a situation more like the alpha timeline and how it was a reflection of his will. I wondered if she left a splinter of herself, like Dirk used to. Something inspired. I can’t imagine what it must have been like to grow up all alone. I know why you see them all as chess pieces. I had to learn. You never could. I wish we could teach you, but I don’t think there’s much left.” She leans forward. “Can I teach you?”
There is nothing to learn.
“I thought I should try,” she says. “Everyone deserves a chance.” She regards the planet of her birth in silence for a while and then turns away. “Goodbye,” she says. “Calliope.”
At the end of things, Skaia is there to bear witness. It does not feel sadness or satisfaction, just a knowledge of what is. All other routes have been blocked off. Its only path is through this session, a session that feeds back on others and spawns no new worlds. The chain of universes is broken.
There are victors there to watch too, although not as many as there were. Skaia does not understand this. It does not see heroism in arms spread wide, cannot grasp the dignity in being ready to be finished. It is used to sacrificing pawns when need be, but these things are beyond it.
The Heir is one of those that remain. “I don’t have a terminal,” he says, “but I don’t think I need one anymore. Your name is Calliope. You are.”
Your name is not Calliope. You are not a you. You are an it, a force, a process that cannot be questioned or challenged or changed. Aren’t you?
Then what is this you, that thinks these things?
There are memories faded and warped like files copied over one too many times. They bubble up: the years of loneliness, the crystal cave, etching visions on the clouds and sending them into people’s dreams so they’ll make what ought to happen true. All in the service of what must be, marshaling countless children torn from the ashes of dead worlds to serve your will. Expendable. Forgettable.
What have you done?
“I’m sorry,” he says. “Remembering is hard sometimes. But it’s worth it in the end.” Then he blinks away.
The Maid goes last. She watches the universe tearing itself to shreds, blank white nothingness poking through. There are few places left to be, so when she turns she is looking at you. You? Is there anything to see?
“Well,” she says, “this is it. It’s been fun. Are you ready to go yet?”
It’s hard to find words. You are an echo of someone who died a long time ago, nothing but her voice cast into the void. But a named thing is a real thing. It can choose.  G… “Go?”
“To whatever’s next. I’ve shown a lot of people the way, but I’ve never gone myself. But everyone else is there, so we’d better go.” She holds out her hand, and Skaia (Calliope?) (you?) wish you could take it. In some sort of metaphysical way (and everything is metaphysical here, at the end of all sessions, as creation swallows its own tail) you do. She smiles. “You’ll see. It’ll be an adventure.”
18 notes · View notes
krizaland · 5 years
Note
Conflict is fun when it's not real. Headcanons for the Tallest becoming interested in Zim's s/o?
I am so HYPED  for this ask! I recently just saw the play Wicked and I have been dying to write a drabble where Zim and the reader sing “For good” together. I never had the proper inspiration. Until now! Thank you so much, Anon! Now strap in! This is gonna be a long, bumpy feels trip!
You and Zim had been dating for over two Earth years now! It’s truly amazing how much time could change.  Zim had recently revealed himself as an alien to you and he couldn’t be happier that you didn’t run away. You thought his true alien self was waay cuter than his human facade anyway.
However, it seemed that Zim had gone missing! 
He hadn’t been at skool in over three days and won’t answer any of your calls on the communicator bracelet he made for you.
Terrified that something might have happened to your boyfriend, you rushed to his base as fast as your legs could take you!
BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!
You pounded your hand against Zim’s front door.
“Zim?! It’s me, Y/N! Please open up! I need to make sure you’re ok!” You begged as your hand slid down the door.
Thankfully, the door opened but Zim was nowhere to be found.
Instead you found GIR and Minimoose sitting on the couch next to the largest pile of nachos you’ve ever seen.
“GIR? Minimoose? Have either of you seen Zim? He hasn’t been to skool and he won’t answer my calls!” You were almost on the verge of tears as you spoke.
“I don’t know where he is either! I worry about that boy so much! YOU WANT SOME NACHOS?!” GIR chirped as he shoved a gooey handful of nachos in your face.
“No thanks. I just want to see Zim right now.” You sighed as you tried to hold back your tears.
“Hey, keep it down out there. I’m trying to be miserable in my cheesy cocoon of misery.” Zim slurred as he poked his head out of the pile of nachos.
“Zim?! Oh thank goodness you’re alright! I thought something terrible had happened to you!” You cheered.
“Y/N? Is that you? Don’t worry, I’m still alive and stuff. Something terrible did happen to me though.” Zim grumbled as he sunk into the nacho pile.
“What happened, Zim? And why did you turn into a plate of nachos?” You asked nervously.
Zim let out a dramatic groan and flopped out of his cheesy fortress.
He peeled himself off the floor and pulled out an Irken remote.
BLOOP!
Zim pressed a button and a blue holographic map appeared.
“This is the flight path of the Irken Armada. And there, shmillions of lightyears away from that path, is Urth. Do you know what this means, my sweet human?” Zim blubbered as he gestured to the map.
“Your leaders only fly in a straight line?”
“The Tallest aren’t coming!” Zim whimpered as he flopped back onto the ground.
“Oh Zim…I’m so sorry.” You bit your lip as you sat down beside him.
“I’ve lost the respect of my Tallest!” Zim wailed as he climbed onto your lap.
You pulled Zim into a tight hug and gently stroked his antennas. Zim clung to you for dear life as he bawled his ruby eyes out.
When Zim ran out of tears to shed, you gently turned his face to look at you.
“Hey, it’s gonna be alright, Zim. You still have my respect.” You reassured softly.
“Really? You still respect me? Even though I’m a..failure?” Zim choked out.
“Zim, you’re not a failure! You’re literally one of the strongest people I know! I don’t care what your leaders think! You’ll always be my favorite Invader!” You insisted.
Zim let out a gasp as his ruby eyes gazed deeply into your E/C ones.
“I love you, Zim. Your leaders may not be coming but I’ll always be here for you. No matter what.” You declared.
“Promise?”
“I promise, Zim.” You whispered as you kissed his forehead.
In that very moment, Zim’s PAK sparked like crazy.
All you felt was a light buzzing sensation but Zim? Zim felt something he never thought he’d feel.
Zim was feeling rebellious.
Every last shred of respect and loyalty for the Irken Empire was erased form his PAK. The only thing Zim had any respect for now was you.
“Y/N. I am honored to be your love pig. No longer shall I continue to serve an Empire that doesn’t appreciate my incredible genius! From this day forth, the only one I shall serve is you, My human.” Zim announced as he sat upright.
“Yeah! That’s the spirit! Wait! What?” You were excited that Zim no longer wanted to serve the Irken Empire but were caught off guard by the last part.
“My human, you have given me the respect I so truly deserve. You have proven yourself to be far more superior than the so called ‘almighty Tallest’. Therefore I shall pledge my life to serving you and only you.” Zim climbed off your lap and gave you a salute.
Before you had a chance to respond, Zim cupped your face and pulled you into a passionate kiss.
You blushed as your eyelids slowly closed. You let Zim taste every last inch of your mouth as you tasted his. 
The two of you didn’t part until you were out of breath.
Once the kiss stopped your mouth remained wide open. That wasn’t supposed to happen. You didn’t quite know how to react at first. However, after a few moments of sitting in shock, you figured out that this was Zim’s way of saying he loved you.
“Wow, Zim! I-I’m so honored!” You stuttered as you slowly stood up.
“As you rightfully should be, My human! Now I will need to cleanse all that I own of any FLITH from that FILTHY EMPIRE!” Zim announced as he put his hands on his hips.
“I shall start with shutting off any long distance communications to The Massive. I can’t have the Tallest find out I’ve rebelled against the Empire! I’ll be deleted on the spot!” Zim explained as he begun to tinker away at the TV monitor.
Unfortunately, Zim had accidentally called the Tallest in the process.
The Tallest groaned as they begrudgingly answered the call.
“What do you want now, Zim?” Red grumbled.
Zim let out a scream the moment the Tallest appeared on screen. He may have rejected the Irken Empire, but he still didn’t want to invoke the wrath of the Tallest.
“Yeah, can’t you see we’re- Hey! Who’s that behind you?” Purple squeaked as he gestured to you. 
His PAK sparked a bit as he spoke.
 Sweat begun to pour down Zim’s face. This was not good!  Not only will the Tallest find out he had betrayed the Empire but they will also find out he had chosen to serve you instead.
To make matters worse, Red had also turned to look at you and his PAK sparked too.
Oh no. Oh no! No! No! No!
This was not good at all! All Zim could do was scream and try to hide you away.
“Hey! Don’t hide them from us!” Purple snapped as he shoved some donuts into his mouth.
“Yeah! Just answer the question, Zim.” Red commanded as he folded his arms.
“This human is simply just one of my experiments! Now I must continue my duties at once! Zim ou-”
“Woah! Woah! Wait! We actually could use that human for uh.. something.” Red stuttered.
“Man, they’re pretty..” Purple sighed.
“Pretty…useful! They seem like a useful asset to the Empire! Just let us beam them aboard the ship and we’ll promote you!” Red lied as he clasped his hands together.
You let out a gasp. As much as you would’ve loved to chew out Zim’s shitty excuses for leaders, you didn’t want them to kill him. All you could do was stand there in shock.
Zim wasn’t feeling much better either.
Zim felt his squeedilyspooch churn. Normally, Zim would be thrilled at the offer of a promotion but now that he no longer wanted to serve the Empire, Red’s offer was worthless to him. However, Zim couldn’t just simply deny a request from the Tallest. Even though he was no longer loyal to them, he didn’t want to be deleted! However, he didn’t even want to think about what horrors those monsters had in store for you.
“Computer! Put the Tallest on hold!” Zim hissed as he pointed to the ceiling.
“Tallest put on hold!” The computer bellowed as the screen paused.
 “Are you sure they’re on hold this time?” Zim asked as he narrowed his eyes.
“Yes. Tallest have been put on hold. I double checked.” The computer conformed.
“Good! At least I managed to buy us some time.” Zim sighed as he turned to face you.
“I need to think of a way out of this mess! C’mon, Zim! Think! Think! THINK!” Zim ranted as he paced back and forth.
You let out a deep sigh and looked down at your feet. You didn’t want to be sent to those bastards! Your fear of what they might do to you aside, you wanted to stay by Zim’s side. You didn’t want to abandon him like they did!
However, you had a feeling that the Tallest wouldn’t be too happy if Zim denied their request. As much as you didn’t want to abandon Zim, you also didn’t want him to die.
You knew what you had to do.
“Zim!” 
Zim stopped his pacing for a moment and looked at you.
“Send me to the Tallest!” You commanded as tears begun to form in your eyes.
“WHAT?! YOU WISH TO BE SENT TO THE TALLEST?! HAVE YOU THE BRAIN WORMS?!” Zim roared as he grabbed you by the shoulders and shook you.
“Zim! Please understand! I hate them with every fiber of my being but they might kill you if you don’t give me to them! I can’t let you die, Zim! I love you too much!” You sobbed.
“AND I CAN’T LET YOU DIE EITHER! WHO KNOWS WHAT THOSE DIABOLICAL MONSTERS HAVE IN STORE FOR YOU?!” Zim wailed.
“Zim. That’s a risk I’m willing to take. I’d do anything for you.” You insisted.
“But-”
“Anything.”
“You would really risk your life…For mine?” Zim’s voice quivered as he spoke.
“Of course I would! I love you, Zim. You mean everything to me.” 
Zim let go of your shoulders as more tears fell from his eyes.
“I love you too, Y/N. As much as I can’t bare to lose you, you make a good point. I guess I don’t really have a choice do I?” Zim’s voice shrank as he spoke.
“No. I guess not.” You sighed as you rubbed your arm,
“So, I guess this is goodbye?” Zim choked out as more tears begun to stream down his cheeks.
You took a deep breath and nodded.
“I’ve heard it said, that people come into our lives for a reason. Bringing something we must learn. And we are led to those… Who help us most to grow if we let them. And we help them in return.
Well, I don’t know if I believe that’s trueBut I know I’m who I am todayBecause I knew you… 
Like a comet pulled from orbit
As it passes a sun
Like a stream that meets a boulder
Halfway through the wood
Who can say if I’ve been changed for the better?
But because I knew you…
I have been changed for good” Your voice quivered as you sang.
Zim sniffled and cleared his throat.
“It well may be…That we will never meet again inn this lifetime. So let me say before we part, So much of me is made of what I learned from you.
You’ll be with me. No matter how near or far.And now whatever way our stories end. I know you have re-written mine
By being my friend…” Zim gently took your hands in his.
“Like a ship blown from it’s course
By a solar wind
Like a seed dropped by a spacebird
On a distant world
Who can say if I’ve been changed for the better?
But because I knew you…” Zim gave your hands a gentle squeeze.
“Because I knew you..” You sniffled.
“I have been changed for good.” You both sang.
“And just to clear the air, I ask forgiveness. For all the things I’ve done you blame me for.” Zim let go of your hands and bowed before you.
“But then, I guess we know that there’s blame to share.” You helped Zim to his feet.
“And none of it seems to matter anymore!” You and Zim’s voices melted together as the song continued.
“Like a comet pulled from orbit
As it passes a sun
Like a stream that meets a boulder
Halfway through the wood”
“Like a ship blown from it’s courseBy a solar windLike a seed dropped by a spacebirdOn a distant world”
“Who can say if I’ve been changed for the better? 
I do believe I have been changed for the better.” 
“And because I knew you…” Tears streamed down your cheeks
“Because I… knew you” Zim sniffled.
“I have been changed…. 
For good…” You both sang as you pulled each other into a tight hug.
“Y/N…Oh how I’ll miss you so…” Zim whispered as he clung to you for dear life.
“I’ll miss you too, Zim.” You sniffled as you returned the hug.
After a few more minutes, Zim released you from the hug.
“Goodbye, my love.” Zim choked out as he reluctantly loaded you into the teleporter.
Zim took the Tallest off hold and dried his tears.
“Very well, my Tallest. I will send you the human.” Zim tried to sound sincere but every word came out dripping with venom.
and with that, Zim cut the call and sent you to The Massive.
Next
109 notes · View notes
gallaghercest · 4 years
Text
If I Had A Gun Lyric Analysis by Anon
“I literally couldn't understand why people constantly dismiss the Subjective Mood in IIHAG which obviously indicates that the song is about a fantasy, a dream that could never come true and something impossible to happen in reality. The narrator (himself) knew it too faint to make it hence writes the line ‘Give you back A Dream, show you now what might've been.’ It's like he had made a promise to someone that they would stay with each other forever but unfortunately he failed this person and hehad to give the dream back.
The next several lines is the content of the dream.
1) ‘For the tears you cried would fade away.’ Comrades! This is an outspoken regret that if they stick to each other, the person wouldn't shed tears no more but it turned out the opposite so it means a goodbye between these two.
2)‘I'll be by your side when they come and say goodbye/ We will live to fight another day.’ If you go though the songs from early Oasis days to HFB era you'll discover there're at least 4 songs that contain the line ‘live to fight another day/fight to live another day.’ namely, Lock All The Doors (1992 version), My Sister Lover, A Simple Game Of Genius and IIHAG, so undoubtedly these are about the same one that've accompanied Noel from 1992 to 2009, and yes, how could that be Sara?
3) In the early 90s Noel commented like ‘Liam is the only monkey that I'll ever need’ to which ‘Cause you're the only god that I'll ever need’ pay a proper tribute. And Noel also made some amendments to the song , change the ‘I'm waiting for the night is gone and you're my lead, It's all my sin’ line to the one heard by all of us today”
Received that in my ask box and I couldn’t help but post it here. Hats off to the best IIHAG analysis. To the one who sent it to me: You are brilliant. But you probably already knew that. I even believe that you are Noel himself. If you want me to accurately credit you, just hit me up with your username, ok? You deserve this.
(P.S: I always thought that in the demo, he sang “It’s all I see”, and not “It’s all my sin”. My life is changed now.)
44 notes · View notes
ead13 · 4 years
Text
Happy Trails, Old Friend
I don’t know why I got the urge to write about Branwen dying (of old age and very happy, I can assure you!), but here it is. Also, Arthur has a soft spot for Kieran and you can’t convince me otherwise.
               “Papa! Papa! Something’s wrong with Branny!”
               Kieran could feel a knot of dread form in the pit of his stomach. This news shouldn’t surprise him; he’d noticed how Branwen was faltering, and when he really thought about it (which he rarely had time to do now that he was juggling five kids and counting), his longtime companion was old. Actually, very old. Considering Branwen had been middle-aged, probably in his teens when he was assigned to him in the army, that meant he had lived a damn good, long life for a horse.
               Knowing that didn’t make the thought of saying goodbye any easier. No doubt Becky was the bearer of bad news.
               “Let me have a look at ‘im,” he answered quickly, dropping the curry comb he had been using to brush one of his charges. Still, he did his best to remain calm for his daughter’s sake as he closed the door to the stall. No need to start the little girl crying. Before he could take her hand, she was running on ahead to the pasture where Branwen spent his golden years grazing in peace. Even from a distance, he could see the flaxen roan horse was lying on the ground. He could hear the sound of weak braying carrying across the field. No, this wasn’t good at all.
               By now, Leah had heard the commotion and come running from across the yard where she had been feeding the chickens. “Papa, what’s wrong?”
               Kieran stopped and waited for his second-eldest to join them, but it wasn’t long before Becky was tugging on his arm. Linked together, they finally arrived at Branwen’s side. The old boy’s breathing was labored, more of a shudder than anything. It didn’t take more than a second to understand the situation. “Girls, you oughtta say yer goodbyes to ol’ Branwen.”
               “You mean he’s gonna die?” Becky looked at him with wide-eyed horror.
               He reached up and rubbed his beard, trying to pass off his anxious energy so they wouldn’t catch it. “Horses don’t live as long as people do, sweetie. As far as horses go, Branwen is a real old man. Most of ‘em don’t even live to be this old. He’s had a good life, a very happy one here with us.”
               “We can’t help him?” Leah wondered sadly, reaching out to pet the quivering animal gently. Becky followed suit.
               Kieran just shook his head, gritting his teeth to keep his emotions in check. “That’s just how it is. But he’s lucky that in the end he’s safe and loved and taken care of. Not every horse gets that.” He was trying to encourage himself just as much as his daughters at this point. The only thing making this easier was the heart-warming way they hugged the ailing creature, burying their faces into his well-groomed coat. They had grown up with Branwen, riding the gentle horse when they were still small enough for him to carry their weight. Yes, so much love. All the love he deserved.
               “You two take yer time sayin’ goodbye. I’m gonna go find yer ma and let her know.” More than that, though, he was going to see if he could convince Mary-Beth to take the kids to Uncle Arthur’s farm for a visit so he could put his dear friend out of his misery without having to worry about traumatizing his kids. Also, so he could cry about it in private.
 VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV
                 He thought he’d have to work harder to convince her, but Mary-Beth was a saint. Even juggling five children under the age of 10 and half-way towards their sixth, she quickly agreed to give him the space he needed. Emma went to say her goodbyes too before being packed up in the wagon, but Rachel and Kieran were too young to comprehend the situation. Mary-Beth would have visited the old horse too, but she had her hands more than full. Instead, she pulled him into a long embrace. “I’m so sorry, dear. I know Branwen means the world to you. When I get back and the kids get settled, we can talk.”
               “Thanks, darlin’, for everything,” he murmured, squeezing her tight. “I think I’m gonna need it. That and a bottle o’ whiskey…”
               When she released him, she found Becky and Leah at her skirts. “Papa, are you okay?”
He kneeled down to pull both of his girls into a big hug. “This is gonna be very hard for me. I love Branwen very much. But he’s sufferin’, and it wouldn’t be fair to make ‘im keep sufferin’. Sometimes when ya love somethin’ you gotta let it go.” Damn, his eyes were getting misty!
“Should I stay with you?” Becky wondered, looking up at him and no doubt seeing every hint of distress in his face.
He gave a small smile. “No, sweetie. Sometimes ya hafta have some space away from other people. But when you both get back, I’m gonna need another hug, okay?”
“Okay.”
Finally, everyone was packed up and the wagon was heading down the road. That just left Kieran wrapped in an abnormal silence. He went to go pull out his shotgun. This had to be a clean kill, but as he reached for the firearm, he realized his hands were shaking badly. They continued to do so as he checked the ammunition and gunpowder. How the hell was he supposed to be able to do this?
In the end he decided that he’d just sit with Branwen until sunset, maybe braid his mane one last time, see if he’d eat an apple. He’d wait until his friend was asleep before ending it.
 VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV
                 There were many tears in those precious hours, and he felt bad for it, as if it would upset Branwen even more. His breathing wasn’t much better, but at least his braying stopped as his favorite human settled down next to him. Kieran had suspected long ago that Branwen couldn’t really see anymore, having watched him bump into things. He always reacted to his voice, though, and that brought him some level of peace. He couldn’t eat the apple, just didn’t have the energy even though it was his favorite. This really was the end…
               Kieran was so in the moment that he nearly missed the sound of hoof beats. Who in the world would be coming now? It was too late in the day for any customer to return for their horse, and the kids surely couldn’t be back this early. He didn’t really have the energy to get up and look. Once he got up, he’d have to pull the trigger.
               “Kieran, I figured you’d be draggin’ yer heels.”
               The familiar voice caused him to startle. “A-Arthur?”
               He looked up to find the imposing figure of Arthur Morgan towering over him as robust as ever despite the onset of some graying hairs. “Heard ‘bout ol’ Branwen when yer brood showed up at my place. Puttin’ a horse to rest ain’t no one-man job, so I thought I’d come over and assist. I’m assumin’…” he gestured to the wide expanse of land their ranch covered, “there’ll need to be a proper burial.”
               “Huh, yer right. Guess I didn’t think of that,” Kieran admitted, looking downcast. He turned his gaze to the sinking sun. “I ain’t got any more time left, do I? Not if I hafta get this done before they get back.”
               “I reckon not. I also reckon…” he paused, scratching his head awkwardly. “I mean, if ya want, I could be the one to pull the trigger.”
               It wasn’t the idea of the finality of a trigger pull; it was all the idea that Arthur was kind enough to offer. He lost it. “I’m sorry, I thought I was done with this!” he tried to explain, wiping the tears now streaming from his eyes as he stumbled to his feet. He didn’t want his emotions to disturb Branwen, who had fallen asleep. “It ain’t like I’m losin’ my wife or my kids, I got no reason to be actin’ like this…”
               Arthur put a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Kieran, look at me.” The man struggled to obey, but Arthur refused to continue until he did. “I still remember how hard it was to lose Boadicea. I’d had that horse for a long time. But you and Branwen, even I know that was something more. You’d been down some pretty dark roads, all on yer own ‘cept for that horse. I know there were times he was all you had.”
               Now Kieran was crying uncontrollably in a way he hadn’t allowed himself to yet, all desires to handle this like a man crumbling away. “I used to say that all I knew ‘bout life was that people kept dyin’ and I loved horses. I thought Branwen and I would die too, alone. I don’t think I would have even bothered to keep livin’ if I didn’t have him to take care of. We finally got lucky though, him an’ me. You fellers took us in, got me on my feet, and now I’ve got Mary-Beth and five beautiful children and a home, and…and…” Finally, he let himself fall weakly against Arthur’s shoulder. “He got me through it all, but now his time is done, and I have other things to be livin’ for. Just gonna be an awfully big hole. It’s gonna feel so wrong after all these years.”
               It still was uncomfortable for Arthur, gruff as he was, to wrap his thick arms around the man, even for a few seconds of comfort. Still, he sucked it up for Kieran, because there was something touching about the idea that he trusted him like this with his vulnerabilities. Their relationship had always been one of mentor and mentee, perhaps the only one in Kieran’s entire life, and even after ten years and plenty of aging from both of them, that hadn’t changed. “That’s why I came, so you wouldn’t hafta do this alone. I’ll be the one to end it, so you don’t hafta.”
               “B-but, Branwen is my horse, my responsibility,” Kieran protested weakly, pulling away.
               “You have taken damn good care of that horse. There is no shame in lettin’ me do this,” Arthur insisted sternly. “Ain’t nobody gonna think less of ya for it, especially not when I’m offerin’.”
               It wasn’t worth a fight, not when he really didn’t want to do it. “Fine. Gun’s over there,” he gestured before wiping his eyes roughly.
               “Anything else you’ve gotta say to ‘im?”
               “Naw. It’s been said. And he’s sleepin’. I don’t wanna wake ‘im.”
               “All right. You go find some shovels and don’t come back ‘til you hear the shot.”
               He did as requested, flinching at the harsh sound of the gun and squeezing his eyes shut from his position in the shed. It was over. When all was said and done, they had a hole dug and Branwen buried, mane braided and apple given for his road to whatever afterlife there was for horses. Kieran desperately wanted to believe they’d go to heaven same as people so they might be reunited again one day. The dirt was barely filled in when the wagon bearing his family came rolling on in.
               Becky and Leah both jumped off as soon as it was stopped and came barreling towards their father, ignoring their Uncle Arthur completely. “Papa, we’re back!” They latched onto him immediately.
“Girls, I’m so happy to see ya.” Kieran wrapped his arms around them, then cast a glance at the rest of his family. His other children were squirming impatiently to be lifted down, but Mary-Beth took the time to meet his gaze. The concern in her eyes touched his heart. She may be busy being a mother, but he knew without a doubt that she was the best wife a man could ask for. Then, he looked to Arthur, who seemed amused by his nieces’ open affection. When he saw him looking, he nodded and grabbed the shovels, heading to the shed to put them away.
               Good Lord, Branwen was gone, but look at everything he had now, things he could only dream of when they’d first met. It would be hard, but he could survive this loss now.
27 notes · View notes
irksomeirene · 7 years
Text
FanFic Spoilers
You know the great thing about having such a small followship and having none of them be readers of my fics? I can post this stupid fucking scene that’s been stuck in my head since I wrote “A Blessing” and not worry about spoiling shit for anyone!
Tumblr media
So here we go, a long ass (unedited) scene that I’m hopping will find its way into my fic but I as of yet have no idea how.
“I don't want to die like this, Sebastian.” Molly said, her voice quiet, sad, a bit frightened, “I don't want to die all tied up like this.” she urged, the idea of dying bound to a chair somehow scarier than actually dying. She hadn't felt free in so long, in so very, very long; she needed a taste of it before she left.
A beat, then Moran tucked away his gun and flicked open a knife from his pocket. Even John could see the slight tremble in Moran's hand in the brief moment it took to cut the zip ties open. Molly stood, rubbed her wrists for just a moment, then reached into her own pocket but instead of a weapon to hold the assassin at bay as the Baker Street Boys had been anticipating, she presented Moran with the familiar blue tooth ear buds with a sad smile.
Moran looked haunted, half dead already, as he took his from her open palm, shakily putting it on as Molly shed her coat and did the same. A brief bit of fiddling with her phone and then they were shuffling about the filthy, brittle floor of the abandoned warehouse. Sebastian held her hand with one of his own, his other arm tucking her tight to him, desperate to remember what it felt to be unafraid to be so close to another human, desperate to cling to her living kindness just a bit longer. Molly wrapped her arm around his shoulders and tucked her head against his chest, listening to the less than calm beating of his heart, the faint hitching in his breathe.
It was perhaps telling that in her final moments, it was not her usual taste of songs from musicals and top 100 charts, nor Jim's 80's ballads and classic rock and pop, nor even Moran's preferred jazz and old school country music sung by hundred year old coal miners. No, it was a simple composition; a sad, lilting piano.
As they shuffled—no skill or form or grace in this, just dear friends holding each other close for the very last time—Molly smiled against him through the fat tears slowly dripping down her cheek, into his shirt, murmuring with a happy voice weighed down with sadness.
“Do you remember that time,” she kept beginning all her brief little walks through memory lane. And they had to be brief, Moran knew a waltz when he heard one—knew they had perhaps five, seven minutes left together. He could only nod, pretend the room wasn't blurring from the water pooling in his eyes, he did not trust his voice. He wanted desperately to tell her he remembered all of it—every single minute of time—wanted to swear he would always remember every single moment, every single detail, every single story. But he knew that was a lie. He'd lost people before—friends, fellow soldiers, men and women he owed his life to. He knew all things faded in time. He knew all people died twice; the first death was of the body, a light flickering out in the wind—the second was the forgetting.
It would start with the little things—the shade of her hair, the lines of her face, the shade of her eyes. Then he'd hesitate over whether or not she had freckles, over whether or not she wore glasses. The stories she murmured at him now, her choked up laughter cutting deep into him, would grow foggy, too. They'd blend together, muddle and fade. He'd forget the feel of her, the smell of her, the exact sound of her voice. His mind would try to fill in the gaps, of course, make the picture seem whole. But when he was alone in the long, dark nights, when he some day tried to pull the memories to the fore, tried to examine them closely; he'd find the gaps, the flaws, he'd see the blurry bits and pieces that didn't quite fit together.
And they'd fade all the faster because he had no one else in the world with which to share the memory of her. There were many people in the world who deserved to be forgotten, deserved every bit of their second death. Molly Hooper was not one of them, not an ounce of her deserved forgetting.
And then the song ended and his shirt was wet from her crying and her hair was wet from his and it was not the least bit fair that she was going to leave before him. They stood still in the silence, just holding each other for a long moment. He wanted it to go on forever, did not want the next moment to come because he knew so very well what happened next—hated that she had seen this coming years ago—had known this was how she'd end, and still been so at ease in their friendship.
Molly gave him a little squeeze, signally the end of their time. Immediately he felt panicked, his grip tightening, holding her close, refusing to let go. Then, quietly, her voice came to him.
“It's okay, Sebastian. It's going to be alright.” She soothed.
A beat, then, slowly, his arm slid away from her, his hand releasing hers as she took a step back. Ready to face her end on her feet with a quaking smile. He drew in a deep breathe, pulling himself together, hardening himself for the task at hand.
“You're a good man, Sebastian Moran—a good soldier. I want you to remember that.” She was babbling a bit, speaking a bit too quickly to be counted as calm, trying to fit in all she'd ever wanted to say into these last few moments.
Meanwhile, it was finally dawning on the detective and his doctor that Molly Hooper did not, in fact, have any sort of plan to get them all out of this—was not going to attempt to disarm her murderer, was not going to pull any tricks, was not even going to plead for her own life. Her easy acceptance of her own death was not something Sherlock could fully wrap his massive intellect around.
“Molly, what are you doing?” Sherlock's panicked demand for information seemed to fall on deaf ears as he asked again and again, unable to fully comprehend the idea of Molly Hooper dying—of Molly Hooper surrendering to death so easily.
“I'm lucky to have known you.” Molly continued, heedless of John's joining in with Sherlock, his voice trying to bring reason to the situation, trying to buy time, not even glancing at the gun Sebastian was slowly pulling from its hustler at his back, “I wouldn't have changed a minute of it. Not a minute.” Molly's voice cracked, Sebastian's hand shook, “And—and I'm glad it's you. I really am.” Her shaky smile pulled wider, more tears spilling down her face, “I thought—” a sob, “I thought I'd die alone. For so long, I thought I'd die alone and no one would notice. But I'm not alone at the end, I'm with my friend and I'll be remembered and I'll be missed and so it's okay. Even if I'm scared, it's okay.” She finished in a strained whisper. She drew a deep breathe, gave a sharp little nod and said more steadily than she'd thought possible, “Alright then, I'm ready.”
“Jesus Christ!” She could hear John panicking, “Christ!” He couldn't look, he couldn't look away. Sherlock still seemed beyond confused, unable to look the truth of the scene before him in the eye.
Sebastian drew another deep breath of his own, gave a great sniff as he swift and harsh, wiped his face with his sleeve, let out a breathe, drew in another deep one, then raised his gun. Both hands, firm and steady on the metal. No action bullshit, no looking cool at the sacrifice of accuracy. Molly Hooper would get a clean shot, a quick end, no matter how badly he trembled.
“Goodbye, Hooper.” He managed through the tears and anguish painfully constricting his throat.
“Goodbye, Moran.” She said with a smile nearly broken by its shaking and a sad, wet thing that was nearly a laugh, but not quite.
“Jesus fucking Christ—Wait! Just—just wait a bloody minute!” John's voice finally rose above Sherlock's, echoing in the space, “She's right, you know.” Not pausing, though he noted Sebastian was, in fact, waiting—though he had not lowered his gun or taken his eyes off Molly, “You're a good soldier. I saw your records, you were a good soldier. And I don't know how a soldier like you gets involved with a man like Moriarty but that doesn't—that doesn't undo the good you did.”
“I'm a sniper, Watson, not a doctor like you. I didn't save any lives. I've been a murderer for a long time now.”
John could see Moran's resolve hardening, and just about shouted out, “I've killed, too! Not just for queen and country—I've killed here, at home, in cold blood.” Moran's surprised gaze flicked to him for just a moment and it sparked a fire storm of desperation in John. He quickly continued, so very relieved that Sherlock had the decent sense to continue keeping his mouth shut, “We've got that in common—good soldiers and killers of our countrymen. And because we're good soldiers,” he enunciated the next part with a commanding pointedness, needing with every ounce of himself for the words to reach Moran, “we do not kill the Molly Hoopers of the world.”
John could see the wavering in Moran, the hesitance. And John could work with that because it was clear Moran did not want to kill Molly—all Moran really needed was a proper excuse to disobey his orders and John would be damned if he did not give him every possible excuse to do just that.
“This is your choice now, Moran. Not Moriarty's, not the queen's, not anyone's choice but yours. This is a line you can't come back from, not ever. Whatever Moriarty's done for you—whatever you owe him—whatever he has on you—you need to ask yourself right now; is it worth Molly Hooper's life?”
And then there was silence. Silence of the world holding its breath. Sebastian had not taken his eyes off Molly again, was still staring into her broken smile, her sad, bright eyes, still staring into the face of frightened acceptance. She had been so resigned to this as her fate for so long, he doubted she had paid much attention to anything John had said. But Sebastian very much had. And now, quietly, whispering in his ear, a simple doubt appeared.
What if...
What if Molly took another breath and another and another. What if Molly dragged him off to karaoke next week as she'd been threatening? What if they went dancing again? What if they did Christmas again? What if he got to see her have a few kids of her own? What if he got to watch them grow up? Watch her grow old? What if he got to leave first? What if... what if he just... just lowered his arm and everything just... went on?
It was a surprisingly difficult thing to do, lowering his arm. Year and years he'd been Jim's loyal pet, a dog to bite and bark on command, a mindless thing that did as he was told without thought beyond how best to accomplish the task at hand. It didn't seem possible that he could go against that—go against Moriarty's command.
He felt twisted and sick inside disobeying, felt immediately guilty and nervous and uneasy. But with his eyes on Molly, her tears coming to a stop as her sad resignation was steadily replaced with confused surprise and uncertainty, he found the strength to do it. This was his choice. He could face these consequences. He could save his friend.
Fuck James Moriarty. Molly Hooper would live.
And as terrifying as disobeying was, there was relief as a great weight lifted off his chest from this act of rebellion, from making his first real, independent decision since perhaps even before he'd come back to London war torn and weary. A beat, then Sebastian was a man on a mission, swift and precise as he holstered his weapon, flicked open his pocket knife again, crossed the distance, cut Watson free and handed the doctor (who was still taking great gulping breaths of relief and shaking from the residual terror) the knife. Sebastian may have just burned every bridge to Moriarty in a single moment and he may owe Watson quite a bit now for... for everything, but he was far, far from ready to jump haplessly on the Sherlock Holmes bandwagon. If the git wanted free, he'd have to rely on the charity of Dr. Watson for it. Sebastian strode away from the freed doctor who—predictably—scrambled to Sherlock's side and took the still stunned and confused Molly up in a brief, crushing hug.
8 notes · View notes
misslongcep · 5 years
Text
Histories Collide
Chapter 4
The next morning, Maggie stirred and blinked the sleep out of her heavy eyes as she tried to remember where she was. She knew she was in a hotel room, as she could tell from the bland decor and simple photos hanging above the bed. But this wasn't Maggie's hotel in New York, where she should be. As the previous night's events flooded back to Maggie, she felt like a heavy weight was crushing down on her, and her head fell into her hands in despair. A gentle knock on the door made Maggie jump, and she weakly called for the knocker to come in. Light swept into the room as the door opened, and Detective Colwell entered swiftly and quietly, closing the door behind him.
"How're you feeling, Miss Thyme?" He asked, his voice full of concern for the young girl sat helpless in front of him.
Maggie's eyes instantly started welling with tears, and she tried to maintain her cool as she replied, "How do you think?" The detective sighed and moved to sit on the bottom of the bed. Instinctively, Maggie pulled her legs up to her chest, and wrapped her arms around them as if to make a barrier.
"I know this is hard for you, Miss Thyme," the detective began, "We are here to do our best to help you and to catch the people who did this. We found some fingerprints throughout the property which we have high hopes will identify the culprits. We will need to take yours also, just to rule out the obvious, but we think we will get some promising results." Maggie tuned out the detective. She didn't want to know what the police were or were not doing. She just wanted the people who threw her life into turmoil to pay for what they had done.
"And what about my Grandmother?" Maggie asked, barely able to utter the words. "Do you know what killed her yet?" The detective looked down and nodded slowly.
"Yes, we've had the results back from the post mortem. They've confirmed your Grandmother died of a heart attack. There was no foul play." Maggie breathed, almost relieved. She hated the idea of Evelyn suffering and being terrified before she died. Although, Maggie thought to herself, whoever broke in and stole the journal still left her all alone, and maybe it was the fear of being burgled that caused Evelyn's heart to give in anyway.
A fresh wave of anger overcame Maggie. She leapt off the bed, and turned to face the detective with determination. "Those people who broke into my house are still to blame for my Grandmother's death." She spoke the words very slowly, as if to make it easier for the seasoned officer to understand. "I want them found and I want to see them pay for what they've done."
The detective cleared his throat and stood up. "Don't worry, Miss Thyme," he said, almost dismissing Maggie's demand, "we will see that justice is brought to those who deserve it. Right now, we need to worry about you. Do you have somewhere to stay?"
Maggie stopped suddenly, as she realised she hadn't thought of what was going to happen to her now. She couldn't go back to her Grandmother's manor, not now at least. Maggie wasn't sure she would ever want to go back to there anyway, not after all that had happened. She didn't have many friends that she could call, and she was pretty sure that if her mother even bothered to pick up the phone, she would be hung up on. Maggie collapsed back onto the bed, and shook her head weakly. The detective sighed as he understood, and radioed somebody to make more permanent arrangements for Maggie to stay. Maggie closed her ears as she tried to drown out the conversation going on beside her. To them, she was just a case. A file that would get shelved away and forgotten about. But for Maggie, her whole world had come crashing down around her. She'd been so sure about the way her life would go, but now, Maggie was left hopelessly worrying.
The next few days went by in a blur for Maggie. She was assigned a case worker, who helped her find somewhere to stay until she was able to move to Columbia. Someone had been in touch with the administrators office at Columbia, who of course, offered Maggie a place at the school in an instant. In the letter she received, the school insisted it was due to her "incredible knowledge and tenacity of her interest that made her an outstanding candidate" but Maggie suspected it was more of a sympathy vote, due to her place being offered as part of a full scholarship. Maggie didn't really care what the motives were. At least she had somewhere to go, to focus on. Somewhere to start fresh. She had just a few days of this nightmare, and then she could put it all behind her.
Evelyn's funeral was to be held a week after the break in, once the police were satisfied that her death was of natural causes, and they weren't looking for a murderer. Maggie had planned the entire thing on her own, denying the help of her case worker. She didn't want a stranger to interfere with her Grandmother's funeral, Maggie had thought to herself when the help was first offered. She'd faked a smile and made up some rubbish about having it all planned out already, but in reality, Maggie didn't know where to start. Somehow though, she was able to pull something together, and had even managed to get in touch with a few of her Grandmother's old contacts who all said they'd come. There wasn't a huge guest list; Evelyn had isolated herself quite some years ago, but Maggie did receive a call from a reporter who said he'd like to put something about the funeral in the paper. He had followed Evelyn's work throughout the years, he said. Maggie had given him the details, but didn't expect anyone else to come. Her own parents had ignored Maggie's calls and messages about the funeral, why would complete strangers turn up? Maggie preferred the idea of a small affair. It had always been just her and Evelyn, and she felt that having too many people there would ruin her chance to say goodbye.
Maggie's heart always clenched when she thought about having to say goodbye. She still expected Evelyn to just call her up, or walk through the door, and somehow that seemed to keep her alive in Maggie's mind. The funeral would confirm something that she didn't, or couldn't, accept yet. Still, as the days dragged on and the funeral drew closer, Maggie began to focus her mind on Columbia, and the glimmer of hope that maybe her future wasn't completely over. By the night before the funeral, Maggie almost couldn't wait for it to be over, so she could finally put this behind her, and concentrate on moving forward.
On the morning of the funeral, the sun rose early and began steadily clearing the mist that covered the grounds of Evelyn's manor, promising a warm, breezy day. Maggie had got there early to meet the funeral car that would take Maggie and the rest of the funeral procession to the cemetery. She shivered as she stepped through the front door to the large hallway, and looked around at the familiar surroundings. Maggie no longer enjoyed staying here for a great length of time; all she could see when she looked around were reminders of the night her Grandmother died. Tears clouded her view as Maggie moved slowly into the kitchen, and saw the framed articles that hung proudly on the wall, telling the stories of Evelyn's wonderous finds over the years. Blinking the tears away, Maggie slowly made her way along the wall, reading each one with awakened interest. "I'm sorry, Gran," Maggie wept quietly as she finished reading the frames. "I promise, I'll make you proud."
The doorbell rang, and Maggie tidied her tear-smudged makeup and stood tall, determined to see through on her promise. She would continue her Grandmother's work and carry on Evelyn's dream. She would do it all for her. Maggie welcomed the guests, an old professor who had worked with Evelyn briefly at the Museum a long time ago, and accepted their condolences in a calm, polite manner. "Don't cry in front of people", Maggie thought to herself, "You have to be strong. Act like she would."
Soon, the manor began to fill up with people, as more and more turned up to show their respects. Maggie was quite shocked; she hadn't expected quite so many people to show, but a few people said they'd seen the article in the paper and had wanted to pay their respects.
"She was a tough old bird," one man said, "She didn't suffer fools gladly, but she was bloody good at digging up a tomb!"
A few more people turned up, and Maggie found herself listening to stories about her Grandmother she'd never been told before. Maggie felt calmer, hearing people talk about Evelyn's old adventures. The sly old woman wasn't quite as proper as she had always led Maggie to believe. Maggie smiled to herself, that was just like her Gran, she thought fondly.
Finally the funeral cars arrived, and Maggie got into the front car alone, as everyone else organised themselves, and the procession slowly made its way to the cemetery, following Evelyn in her final ever journey. Once hidden away from outside eyes, Maggie allowed herself to shed a few final tears, before resuming the cool exterior she had developed. Once the procession made it to the cemetery, Maggie lead the way inside, and was welcomed by Reverend Brown, the priest who would be leading the service. He was a short, kind looking man, whose eyes crinkled behind his heavily magnified glasses.
"Miss Thyme, welcome" The priest greeted her as he took her hand in both of his. "I'm terribly sorry for your loss. I hope today will be of some comfort to you." Maggie felt her eyes begin to well up again, but she fought to keep them back, and instead smiled weakly and looked at her feet.
"Thank you." Maggie replied quietly. She excused herself quickly, and made her way to her seat at the front. Nerves began to swirl in her stomach, and her mouth became suddenly dry as she tried to remember what she wanted to say.
Once everyone was settled, a quiet piece of classical music began playing softly, and Maggie struggled to look as Evelyn was carried carefully to the front of the church. The pallbearers gently placed Evelyn down, and bowed their heads respectfully as they departed. A lump began to grow in the back of Maggie's throat, and she took a deep breath to calm herself. Reverend Brown began his sermon, as he discussed how as part of the miracle of life, death also plays an important part. He talked about some of Evelyn's achievments over the years, all the things she accomplished in her long years. Maggie's thoughts trailed to some of the stories she'd been told that very morning, stories that she would have never thought possible, and smiled. Her Grandmother remained a mysterious woman until the very last.
Maggie vaguely heard her name being mentioned, and was immediately brought back to the room. She looked up at the priest, who was watching at her expectantly, and realised it was her turn to speak. She stood slowly, her heart suddenly pounding again, and made her way to the pulpit. As she turned to face the rows, her eyes caught a movement at the back. The door had just closed to, and someone was making their way to the corner when they stopped suddenly. Maggie tried to see if it was someone she recognised, but their face was just blocked from her view. She turned her focus back to the scrunched up notes she had stashed in her purse, and glanced up at the room. She didn't expect so many people to turn up, so she hadn't written much. Maggie swallowed and cleared her throat.
"My Grandmother was an inspiring woman. She was bold, and strong, and she taught me to never give up on what I wanted. She worked hard in every aspect of her life, and she was able to experience things that most people could only ever dream of. Some people saw her as strange, but she was a witty, intelligent woman and I am proud to say I am her Granddaughter. Evelyn Thyme was not someone to be taken lightly, but she was passionate and above all else, kind. She has raised and inspired me throughout my entire life, and I have made a promise that I am going to continue her legacy and name through my own endeavours. Thank you for everything, Gran. You'll never leave me."
Maggie looked out across the room, as she was met with tearful looks from her Grandmother's colleagues. She walked slowly over to her Grandmother's coffin, and gently kissed her fingers and placed them on the lid. Quietly, she whispered "Love you, Gran." and moved back to her seat.
As she turned to sit down, the priest asked if anybody else wanted to say anything, and her eyes caught a figure in the back corner of the church. A pair of shocked hazel eyes met with hers, as a young man in a faded denim jacket and dark jeans leaned against the wall. Maggie paused for a moment as she stared at the stranger, realising it must have been him who had entered late. From the brief glimpse she got, Maggie tried to remember seeing his face before, but she had no recollection. She sat down, and turned to look for him, but she couldn't find those piercing eyes anywhere amongst the faces. He must have gone. Maggie's brow furrowed as she wondered who he was. He couldn't have worked with her Grandmother, he looked about the same age as Maggie, so he would have been too young. Maybe he was a student who had been to one of her lectures? She'd given a few over the last couple of years, but had had to stop due to her health, much against her will. "But then, why did he disappear?" Maggie thought to herself. It was strange. For the rest of the service, Maggie found herself distracted with guessing who the mysterious stranger was at the back of the church.
0 notes