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amysteryspot · 1 year

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Borrowed Time | Five

Summary: With the mission knocking at everybody's door, Crystal gives Rooster the reassurance he didn't know he needed.

Warning: mentiongs of major characther death (canon), grief, angst if you squint.

Word Count: 1.2k

◄ PREVIOUS CHAPTER | SERIES MASTERLIST | NEXT CHAPTER ►

Crystal’s blood turns cold as she looks at Maverick. He is standing at the end of the stairs in his dress whites, cap in his hand. She knows what he is going to say even before he speaks.

“Cyclone appointed me team leader.” He tells her as Crystal reaches the end of the stairs.

She shakes her head to try and focus. “What did you do?”

“I did what you told me to do.” He answers. “Show them that the mission can be flown.”

“By stealing a multimillion-dollar aircraft, I assume.” Crystal rolled her eyes.

Maverick chuckles. “Won’t confirm nor deny that.”

She smiles but it turns sour quickly. “When?” Crystal asks.

“The day after tomorrow.” Maverick answers solemnly. “I’ll choose the team tomorrow. That’s why I’m here.”

Crystal looks at him, feeling her heart tighten.

“No, no.” She shakes her head in denial. “I can’t fly this mission.” Crystal says vehemently. “Not after losing my father, not with the possibility of losing you too. I can’t fly like this, I’ll be a liability, you know that.”

“Crystal…”

“No.” She stresses. “I’ll help you any way I can, just don’t make me go up there.”

Her vision is blurring as tears brim her eyes. Maverick takes a step forward, taking her into his arms. Crystal hugs him tightly.

“I promise I’ll..”

She cuts him off “You can’t do that.” Crystal pulls away from him. “Just promise me you’ll be careful.”

Maverick nods. “I will.”

Laying down on her bed, Crystal hears someone knocking at the door, and then her mother opens it, leaning into the threshold to look at her.

“Are you going?” She asks.

“No.” Crystal answers, turning her head to look at her mother.

Sarah nods, entering the room and closing the door behind her. She walks to the bed, leaning down beside Crystal.

“Why?”

Crystal sighs. “Because I won’t be me. Not after dad died, not knowing that there’s a good chance that this mission can be the last one.”

“It’s what you do, sweetheart.”

Taking a deep breath, Crystal says “I know, I know.”

“You’re worried about Mav.”

Crystal looks at her mother again.

“That’s why I can’t go.”

“I understand.” Sarah takes one of Crystal’s hands on her own. “You should take a walk. Clear your head.” Crystal opens her mouth to protest but her mother cuts her off. “We’ll still be here when you get back.”

The night air is chilling but Crystal welcomes the cold, it makes her feel alive. The sounds of the ocean make a good job of grounding her, for some reason they always did. Crystal felt at home in the skies, it was her love, her passion, but it was the ocean that reminded her to keep her feet on the ground, feeling the sand in between her toes, the ocean breeze making her shiver.

Crystal wanted to cry but it seemed like there were no more tears left in her, just the overwhelming sadness that washed over her. Her mind was in a whirlwind, she couldn’t think straight.

“Aren’t you cold?”

She turned her head at the sound of the voice. Rooster.

“Just a little bit.” Crystal answers and watches him shed his jacket and walk towards her. “You don’t have to.”

“But I want to.” He looked at her, scratching the back of his neck. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m getting by,” she answers, truthfully. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” Rooster gives her a half smile. “Just wanted to clear my head.”

“It makes sense, you have to be focused tomorrow.”

He frowned. “You know?”

“Yeah, Mav told me.”

“Are you coming?”

“No,” she answers. “I don’t think I’m able to fly right now without putting other people in jeopardy.”

He nods in understanding and Crystal takes a moment to look at him. Bradley is tall and slim, with broad shoulders, slightly disheveled sandy brown hair and beautiful brown eyes. He was handsome and charming, so she could understand why the women in the base whispered about him all around.

“Walk with me?” He asked and she nodded.

The silence was welcomed and surprisingly not awkward. The two of you end up near the Hard Deck deciding to sit side by side on the sand.

“Do you think about him much?” Crystal asks and Bradley frowns. “Your dad.”

“Every time I’m up in the air.” He answers looking forward to the ocean.

Crystal nods. “Do you remember him?”

“Not much,” he says. “I know more about him than I remember him.” His tone is solemn and sad. “My mom talked about him a lot and Mav told me a lot of stories about both of them. Some about your father too.”

“About their legendary rivalry?” Crystal chuckled.

“A little bit.” Bradley smiles.

“It sounds stupid when I know that you barely knew your father but… I wish I had more time.” She confesses.

“It’s not stupid.” He reassures her. “It’s just human.”

“You remind me of him, sometimes.”

“Of who?” Bradley asks.

“Dad,” she says. “He was a damn good pilot but also cautious. Different from Maverick, that’s why they clashed so much at the beginning.”

“Please, don’t say that it’s like me and Hangman.” He laughs.

“Okay, I won’t.” Crystal chuckles.

There’s another pause where neither of them says anything.

“I better go.” Bradley says, getting up. “You’ll stay?”

“Yeah, I’ll stay a little bit longer.” Crystal makes a move to give him his jacket back, but Bradley places a hand on her shoulder stopping her.

“Keep it,” he says. “You’ll be alright?”

“Yeah, thank you.”

Bradley nods, turning to leave but Crystal calls out to him, making him turn around to look at her.

“Good luck on the mission.”

“We don’t know if I’ll go,” he says.

“Let’s make a deal.” She offers. “If you get chosen you owe me a beer when you come back.”

Bradley smiles. “I’ll look forward to it.” He turns around to leave and Crystal smiles to herself, wishing things were as easier as they were when he was around.

It feels strange being in the carrier out of duty. Crystal felt out of place, trying to avoid the pity looks people gave her all around. She meets with Warlock after the briefing; he had offered to accompany her to see Maverick.

“Thank you for that, Sir.” Crystal says as the both of them walk side by side.

“I know how important this is for you. So does Admiral Simpson.” The both of them keep silent until Warlock calls for Maverick.

“There’s someone here that would like to talk to you for a moment, Captain.”

Maverick walks up to her, engulfing her in a tight hug.

“What are you doing here?” He asks, surprised by her presence.

“Came to send you off. Remind you to take care one more time.” Crystal gives him a side smile.

“I will.” He nods, placing a kiss on her hairline.

Crystal closes her eyes with a sigh. She hears a voice calling for Maverick, the both of them turning around to see Rooster.

“I’ll give you two a moment.” She says, preparing to leave. “Good luck and fly safely, both of you.” Crystal looks at Mav and then at Bradley. He nods at her and she walks away, headed to the control room. There’s nothing she can do now but pray that they’ll come back alive.

◄ PREVIOUS CHAPTER | SERIES MASTERLIST | NEXT CHAPTER ►

#bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x oc #bradley rooster bradshaw x oc #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley rooster bradshaw imagine #top gun: maverick fanfic #amysteryspot #mystery writings

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multiples-fandomswontkillme · 3 years

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~Metal Family headcanons~

These are like my... general hcs)? which means I didn't include my main hc that Glam, Ches and Vicky are polyamorous, married and started dating after Glam met Vicky, and absolutely everything that implies for the kids and the relationships between each member of the fam. Maybe I'll make a separate post for that or maybe not! Who knows lkfwnlfqnf

Glam

Bisexual

Glam has constant nightmares and ocasional night terrors ever since he ran away home and is an active sleep walker. Ches helped him through the worse ones when they were younger, and learned how to deal with them, always preferring not to wake him up but being with him until the episode passed. Vicky has learned how to deal with them, though she normally asks Ches for advice with it cuz she comes out short sometimes.

He has PTSD. I bet it's diagnosed too, he takes medication and goes to therapy, it doesn't mean he still doesn't have his bad days anyway. He's trying to get better.

Glam has talked to Vicky about his past, his father and his family. This is a direct contradiction of Alina's confirmation that Glam doesn't talk about it with anyone but man FUCK THAT. We love good communication in this house, Vicky tries her best to help him, but there's only so much she can do to help.

Glam enjoys gardening, cooking and making models, he also likes doing his make up, painting his nails and dressing up in fancy, extravagant clothes even if he has nowhere important to go.

He likes taking care of everyone's hair, and constantly helps Vicky brush her hair cuz there's so much of it, Dee when he gets stressed over how tangled it can get, buys Ches hair products so he actually takes care of it, and chases Heavy so the kid actually washes, untangles and brushes his hair.

This one is kind of weird, but I refuse to think any adult in the family is unarmed at any time. Glam owns a taser and pepper spray. They're bright pink and sparkly.

This man cried his eyes out while watching Coco. He's hell to watch movies with cuz he talks and predicts what's gonna happen during the movie, judges them with scores at the end and all.

Vicky

Also bisexual!

Vicky's the one who does everyone's laundry most of the time. She prefers it that way since she's the only one that knows how to wash their black clothes so the colors stay vibrant. (This is based on my gf shaming everyone but Vicky cuz their black clothes always look so muted and almost gray, but Vicky's whole outfit is always the same vibrant black colors, so we decided that neither Glam or the kids know how to wash dark clothes)

She has anger issues, if it isn't obvious. I think she also has PTSD, mainly survivor's guilt due to her surviving the accident her brother died in. She blames herself and cannot bear to talk about it, in some sort of deep denial. If she can't remember, it can't hurt as much, right?

She has scars on the right side of her back and her hip, from the road rash she got on her brother's accident, she never treated it due to grief and it scarred badly. Apart from that, the scar of the caesarean section from Heavy's birth. She doesn't really mind both of them, they happened, nothing to do about them.

She likes watching boxing competitions, brawling matches and motorcycle repairing on TV. Loves doing BBQ's and going to the pool. Also an enjoyer of teasing her kids, kissing and loving her husband at random times, spending time drinking and bonding with Ches and bragging about her family and punching anyone who thinks they're not that cool.

Not particularly a fan of make up, skirts and dresses or any traditionally femenine-perceived stuff. But has been making exceptions due to Glam and Ches being unashamed of being seen as femenine, and actually rocking the looks. The internalized misogyny is kind of slowly dissapearing.

Apart from the guns she carries in each arm (I mean her biceps, have you looked at the size of those?? She strong) she has brass knuckles on her at all times. Glam gifts her new ones sometimes, she loves having multiple choices to punch people teeth in.

Loves horror, thrillers and action movies. Falls asleep during rom-coms and dramas. Ironically, loves gossip and talking shit about people. Enjoys hearing Ches talks about the gossip going on in the nursery home even if she doesn't know who the hell he's talking about.

Rest of the family under the cut!

Heavy

Heavy is a trans boy! He doesn't know his sexuality yet though, he's still figuring himself out. When he's older, i think he definitely dated some men but had better luck with girls.

Heavy has had innocent crushes on some girls on his class before, but they never turn into anything more cuz he's not the best at expressing himself. He follows the bother-the-girl-to-death-until-she-hates-you gimmick, and unsurprisingly, it doesn't work.

I'm sorry to break this to u but Heavy totally had an among us phase, and uses so much reddit and twitch slang... You know he does.

Likes bullying and teasing his brother to death. You know that when Dee had his first romance, Heavy was ALL up in his business being a tease and a bad attempt at a wingman. He means well tho.

He's not squeamish at all. Also has great pain resistance. This kid has picked cockroaches with his bare hands and loves cats, of course the cats have scratched him. He's tough!

Grows up to be the charming himbo he was always destined to be.

Dee

I hc him as demisexual. Kind of inherited his dad's tastes for the takes no crap, intimidating but pretty kind of people.

Can't cook. He tries but he can only do basics like rice, cereal, chicken nuggets or eggs. Complicated meals always burn or don't taste like anything at all. It drives him crazy.

Dee was a quiet and very well behaved toddler before Heavy was born. He never threw tantrums or got whims. After Heavy was born though, and despite the fact he understood his brother was small and needed special care, he started craving attention often and cried and got mad at little things. Typical jealousy of the oldest sibling.

The first time Dee fell in love with someone, he didn't recognize it was love at first. He just thought his interest on the person was born out of curiosity and aesthetic attraction, but as soon as he realized he seeked validation and companionship, that he liked seeing them smile, that he wanted to protect them, that he yearned for more time alone with them and that he wanted more than what just a simple friendship implied, it was an instant 'oh hell no'. He wanted those feelings to get the hell away, but unfortunately, they were there to stay.

Canonically likes MLP, psychological and horror anime like Death note and Hellsing, so I'm deciding he also watched Death Parade, had a FNAF phase, is very into The Walten Files. This guy enjoys any kind of specially dark ARG's and knows a ton of lore of real crime, unsolved cases, ghost appearances and other stuff. Doesn't believe in the supernatural, but sure is entertained by it.

He's a mess at romance. Flirting? His attempts at compliments are hardly flattering. Giving gifts? The best he can manage is jewelry and you can kind of tell he asked his dad for help. Dates? He's so nervous he's silent for most of it, but begins getting comfortable and having fun if his partner really knows how to get him down from his negativity cloud.

Ches

Pansexual.

He's very good with kids. He has the patience of a saint and he's laid-back, chill and fun but still is an authority figure who knows how to put limits. Sure, he's gonna let the kids light up a house on fire BUT hey, now they know everything about fire precautions, burns and how to treat them AND how to get away with arson. What an educational evening, am I right?

Due to certain info from the "Goodbye" official comic, I headcanon Ches as depressed. I don't want to elaborate a lot 'cuz of spoilers, but... God, everything related to his mom fucking hurts, man. How did he deal with all that?

Ches has been Dee and Heavy's babysitter so many times he cannot count them with all his fingers. He learned how to put those kids to sleep almost immediately (Sing Bon Jovi's "This ain't a love song" and any cheesy love song in a slow lullaby style and they're out), which movie were their favorite as kids (Heavy loved 'Monsters Inc.' and Dee never looked away during 'Meet the Robinsons'), how to console them after nightmares (Heavy needed reassurance, sweet words, and to be with someone until he fell asleep again. Dee just had to be tucked in, get his nightlight turned on and kissed in the forehead). He practically raised those kids along with Vicky and Glam.

More than once, Dee and Heavy have slipped and called Ches "Dad". Ches immediately gets his shit eating grin on and answers "Yes, son?" and does a couple of dad jokes just to mess and embarrass them. He's actually very flattered and surprised at how proud of himself he is for being a father figure to both kids.

Has a scar on the left side of his forehead due to a bottle his mom threw at him when he was younger, around the time he met Glam. He hates the scar with passion, it's a permanent reminder of the fact she never cared, that's why he always keeps it covered with his headband. Gets sad about it sometimes.

Ches likes to spend his time with a group of grannies of the nearby nursing home. He genuinely considers them his friends and gossips and hangs out with all of them on weekends. Bingo, billiards, walks in the park, soap opera marathons, you name it. I even designed them, gave them names and backstories... God, i just love the concept too much. I'll make some art about Ches and his granny gang FOR SURE, you're NOT ready for them.

Carries a pocket knife on him at all times. This man grew up on a bad neighborhood and absolutely knows how to defend himself, he can be intimidating when he wants to be and will pose a threat if needed. He's fucking terrifying when genuinely mad. Just cause he looks harmless doesn't mean he is, darling.

That would be all!

#metal family #glam metal family #ches metal family #victoria metal family #chess metal family #dee metal family #heavy metal family #metal family glam #metal family victoria #metal family dee #metalfamily #metal family heavy

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comfortwriting · 3 years

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When You’re Gone - F.W

Fred Weasley (and George) x fem reader, inspired by the song ‘When You’re Gone’ by Avril Lavigne.

A/N: If any of you are struggling with loss, grief or need someone to talk to, my inbox is open and I’ve re-blogged support hotline numbers.

About: The reader is mourning the death of her boyfriend, Fred Weasley. She’s struggling to move on, finding herself lost in both the past and present. Unfortunately, she loses her grips on reality and George has to put on the mask and pretend to be Fred.

Warnings: Grief, sadness, death, depression, flashbacks, some fluff here and there, deterioration of mental and physical health, mention of hospice care towards the end.

Three months ago your long term boyfriend, the man you planned to marry, was killed in an explosion during the battle of Hogwarts. His death changed your life forever.

You found it hard leaving the bed, eating and showering. At first you tried to accept that he was gone but no matter what it got harder to do so, you just wanted to hide away, fall asleep forever to wake up again one day with him next to you.

I always needed time on my own I never thought I'd Need you there when I cry And the days feel like years when I'm alone And the bed where you lie Is made up on your side

“Come on Y/N, you should write back to them, they want to know how you are.” Your mother said softly, trying to encourage you.

Ever since Fred’s death, the Weasley's wrote to you every week when they had time, you couldn’t bring yourself to reading whatever they wrote, let alone reply. You didn’t want to hear from them or see them, the guilt you felt for their sons death was eating you up inside - you didn’t want to lie to them about your state either.

“Maybe another time mum” you replied, staring at Fred’s side of the bed.

Your mother sat next to you and placed a hand against your tear stained cheek “He isn’t coming back, you can’t just leave everything how it is.”

You sighed and stood up walking over to the window “I’ll send them a Christmas card and apologise for not being able to protect their son.”

“It’s August, Y/N”

“Right.”

“And it wasn’t your fault!” Your mother cried.

Slowly but surely, you were losing track of time, of what was and wasn’t real, you found yourself over the next year getting more confused and plummeting even more into denial - your parents believed you didn’t want to move on - but you couldn’t to no fault of your own, you didn’t have a choice.

Your stress and grief shaped your brain and changed it, changing your reality and everything around you to create a world in which Fred would be coming home.

When you walk away I count the steps that you take Do you see how much I need you right now?

“Fred you can’t be serious” You sighed, rubbing your temple.

“Harry is like family to me, to us. He needs me there and I’m not going to allow.. WE need him gone to be able to have the life we want together, Y/N.” Fred argued back, pacing around the much brighter and cleaner bedroom.

“How am I going to protect you? I am in no state to be entering a war when I’m already so badly injured. If something goes wrong out there when I’m not with you...”

Fred walked over to you and placed a finger on your lips, shushing you. “Nothing is going to happen to me, my love.” he reassured you.

You shook your head “We don’t know that, please Fred, stay.”

Fred frowned and walked away from you “you know I can’t.”

When you're gone The pieces of my heart are missin' you When you're gone The face I came to know is missin', too When you're gone The words I need to hear To always get me through the day And make it okay I miss you

“Fred” you whispered, sitting in the shower, the water storming down upon you. “Please come back soon, I know you can and I hope you will.”

Your mother rubbed the bar of soap on your back before rinsing it with the water “I know we argued last night but I trust you, I know you’ll make it out alive.” you whispered again.

Your mother stopped washing you for a moment, taking in everything you had been saying, finally understand that something had gone wrong and your frame of mind wasn’t the same as it used to be. She knew deep in her heart you weren’t calling out for his spirit, she knew that you truly believed that he had just gone to Hogwarts - you were reliving the same period of time over and over, from the moment Fred left up until you would panic, running to the windows and asking members of the public if they had seen him.

Fifteen months on you were sitting at the table in the kitchen with your parents, you felt nervous at Fred’s silence.

“It’s a shame he can’t use a muggle phone” you muttered to your dad, taking a sip of your tea “I’d be able to hear his voice if he did.”

You started to bite at your nails whilst your legs couldn’t stop shaking “I bet his owls bloody snuffed it” you muttered again “he’s not replied to any of my letters, he must not be receiving them.”

Your parents exchanged a worried glance and sighed, your mental state crumpling even further. Recently, you were caught writing to Fred over and over again, asking how Harry was, how the war was going and if he’s okay, telling him you loved him. Your parents would tell you they would send the letters, but didn’t - Fred was dead and wouldn’t be coming back.

Even when they told you over and over again, within hours you would be back to writing those letters and talking about him in present tense.

Luckily George (and Arthur) finally learned how to use a muggle phone. Your parents decided to tell the Weasley family the truth, Molly, Arthur and George were heartbroken. George would ring up weekly to see how he could help and for updates on your condition.

“George she’s getting worse, we think she’ll stay where she is but she doesn’t she just goes further and further into madness.” Your mother said down the phone.

George sighed on the other end “I’m sorry-”

In the background George could hear you calling out in a panic “Dad! Dad! Where is Fred? he should be back by now and he isn’t here!” you began to cry.

“She’s like this as soon as the sun sets, every single day.” Your mother told George.

“I’ll be round in the morning” George replied.

I've never felt this way before Everything that I do Reminds me of you And the clothes you left, they lie on the floor And they smell just like you I love the things that you do

Rocking in your chair you looked around the room, feeling the same nausea as usual, waiting for Fred to return home. In your lap was one of his jumpers Molly made him one Christmas, you would wear it all the time, and if you got too hot you’d clutch to it like a toddler with a blanket.

Hearing the door open, which was incredibly unusual in your house you got up to your feet, your mouth dropping wide open when Fred, now with much longer hair came walking inside.

Your parents were hoping George’s visit would help break away at the cloudiness in your brain, but all they did was make it worse.

“Freddie!” You squealed out, running over and wrapping your arms around him “You’re finally home!”

You noticed behind his hair, he was missing an ear, but your overwhelming happiness of finally being reunited with him distracted you from asking questions.

George could feel his heart ache and his stomach drop, realising how much worse his visit would impact you. You got on your tip toes as you always did and placed a long and loving kiss onto his lips.

You furrowed your eyebrows at who you thought was Fred, George couldn’t bring himself to kiss you back, he felt cruel for doing this, but your parents had never seen you so calm and so happy in almost two years.

George looked at your parents for a moment and decided to try, he sighed and shook his head, not wanting to lie to you.

“I’m not Fred, I’m George.”

When you walk away I count the steps that you take Do you see how much I need you right now?

You let out a laugh “You need to come back from war with more than longer hair and a missing ear to try and trick me.”

“Fred died, Y/N. He was killed in an explosion.” George told the truth.

You shook your head in disbelief “No? You’re right in front of me.” you replied “I know you like your laughs and jokes Fred, but that’s not something to joke about, George should know better too for putting you up to this.”

You walked into the kitchen forgetting what you went in there for and walked back into the living room, taking a seat.

Your mother burst into tears and walked out of the room, your father following her to give comfort. You stared at them, not understanding why they hadn’t welcomed your boyfriend back into warm open arms.

George knew that no matter how hard he tried he wouldn’t be able to get you to see the truth - you couldn’t no matter what, they were living in your world now. George sighed, almost kicking himself for what he was about to do.

“I’m only joking, I am Fred.”

Waking up from your nap you jolted up and noticed the darkness through the window outside, feeling the panic brew inside your tummy you started to worry.

“It’s okay I’m here.” George, playing Fred, patted your shoulders, walking around your chair.

He was carrying a bowl of soup in his hands nice and warm, just for you.

Your parents and George were taking you care of you full time now, George had been living as your pretend boyfriend for just over seven years now and his heart broke even more as your state worsened.

You couldn’t feed yourself, wash yourself, get your self dressed or brush your hair. You couldn’t communicate through speech properly either, you would instead pull faces, point or stare into the same four walls, and every day was exactly the same; waiting for Fred to come home, being nervous, overjoyed when you’d see him, in distress when George would leave the room or when your parents would take over his shift.

You smiled at Fred, as he blew on the soup filled spoon, making you drink it. It took you ages just to finish eating and drinking, it was hard to simply exist, but staring into those beautiful eyes you never thought you’d see again calmed the storms that distressed your seas and damaged your boats.

George finished buttoning up your pyjama shirt and got you to lay down in your bed, he sat beside you and stroked your hair until your eyes fluttered shut. Once he knew you were dreaming far away from home, he stood up and met your parents downstairs.

“George, our daughter... well you know all of this is no good, not getting better.” Your father tried his best to explain, swallowing the great big lump in his throat.

Your mother took over “What we’re trying to say George, is that, we’re looking to place Y/N in a twenty four hour care facility. She cannot speak, she cannot look after herself, she’s incredible vulnerable and she’ll be getting the care she needs - you’ll be able to get your life back.”

We were made for each other Out here forever I know we were Yeah, yeah And all I ever wanted was for you to know Everything I do, I give my heart and soul I can hardly breathe; I need to feel you here with me Yeah

Today was your 40th birthday, twenty whole years since Fred died along with a part of yourself no one would ever see again.

Now due to your bedbound state, you were laid in bed and the care assistant next to you got out your photo albums from all of your years at Hogwarts. She adjusted the height and position of the bed with her wand, making you more comfortable.

Placing the photo albums on your lap she took you through them one by one, the memories flashing before you like a movie reel as you watched the photos move.

The twins on the train going home after their first year at Hogwarts, Fred flying on his broom during Quidditch. Fred and you on your first date in Hogsmeade, him dancing around the tent with a giant shamrock painted on his face, the two of you pulling faces and giggling in the kitchen at the burrow, Fred proudly standing in front of his shop, the two of you in your house just before he left for the war.

The care assistant pulled out the letters he had written to you over the years on your birthday, placing them in front of you to read. Despite his death - absence - from your life, you could still hear his voice as clear as day, making re-reading these letters all the more special.

When you're gone The pieces of my heart are missin' you When you're gone The face I came to know is missin', too When you're gone The words I need to hear Will always get me through the day And make it okay I miss you

Overtime, your muscles weakened and so did your organs, and unfortunately this years cold, flu, and sickness season didn’t go easy on you. The whole facility lost many residents this time of the year but none as young as you.

Your parents who would much rather be grandparents sporting perfect silver hair and wrinkles were notified of your deterioration, being told that now would be the time to come and say goodbye. Your parents notified George and he left his wife and children at home, coming to visit you.

In a deep sleep you could hear your parents talking but couldn’t quite make out what they were staying, you didn’t have the strength to open your eyes either. After struggling to leave the room, George finally switched over from them and sat in the chair next to you, taking a hold on your hand.

When going through the room he and his brother shared, he stumbled across a letter Fred had written but never sent in one of the pockets of the last coat he had ever worn. George brought it with him after reading it, knowing it would help you reach the reality with Fred you yearned for.

My Dearest Y/N,

I’m sorry that I had to go and leave you behind, but don’t be scared, don’t worry about me, my love. You are strong and you are brave, no matter what happens - I promise we’ll meet again. Just keep those beautiful eyes of yours set on the horizon, and when the time is right, we’ll know where to meet again.

George felt your grip on his hand tighten, tears rolled down his face.

I know it’s not been easy and I know that it’s been calm, but we’ll have forever together and we’ll be away from harm. So keep on smiling and searching beautiful, the adventure is not so far away.

Love Always, Fred.

Letting go of the weight on your shoulders, you stumbled through the forest, feeling the sun beam on your skin. Following the chatty Magpie you stopped in your tracks, your whole world standing right in front of you.

“You got my letter?” Fred asked, who had aged like fine wine.

You grinned widely and nodded, tears forming in your eyes and ran into his open arms.

“I missed you.”

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sodone-withlife · 3 years

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i know who i am

summary: really, he never saw himself ever willingly letting anyone in on his broken past, but here he was, sitting in across from Waipo in the tiny cramped office at the back of the shop and nervously sweating about what he was about to tell her

read it on ao3: chapter 1 is the original version with Mandarin, chapter 2 has everything translated into English

the movie really hit me hard as an ABC, and I really wanted to write something for it. even though she barely had any screentime, I loved Waipo—she reminds me of so many of my relatives—so I decided to make her be one of the most important people in Shangqi’s life, and it turned into this wonderful mess (i had to stop writing this for a bit because I literally made myself cry). there is mandarin in this, it's kind of intended to be a physical manifestation of how my bilingual brain works (i did put the English-only version first, the original version with Mandarin is under that one but the formatting for it one is better on ao3, so i suggest reading it from there). apologies for my shitty mandarin; I have mediocre language skills, but I'm still so excited to be able to incorporate it in my writing. in regards to the character's names: I only know for certain the Chinese characters used for Shangqi and Wenwu, but for Xialing, I'm going to go with what it apparently was in the hong kong release (夏灵, with 灵灵 as the nickname)

English Translation:

“Waipo, do you have a bit of time?” Shangqi stood in front of Katy’s grandma, fidgeting nervously as fluent Mandarin rolled off of his tongue with an ease he's never felt in any other part of his life. “I want to talk to you about something."

She pinned him with a knowing stare. “Does it have anything to do with the trip you and Katy went on this past week?" she asked, Not waiting for his answer, she got up from the shop register and beckoned him into the back office. Feeling oddly like the first time he came into the store years ago as a teen—when he first met Katy’s family who had since taken him under their wing—he followed her into the familiar, cramped space.

He wasn’t exactly sure what within him prompted this interaction. He had come to San Francisco for a normal life, to get as far away from his father’s reaches as he could and to outrun the blood that stained his footsteps.

Never did Shangqi imagine that he would end up claiming the ancient rings that now sat in a heavy-duty (thanks to Xialing, with whom he now keeps in regular contact because of the promise they made to each other before he left the compound because he already left her behind once, and he’s never doing it again damn, my baby sister is running the Ten Rings now, and she’s trying to turn it into something better) and a very well-disguised (thanks to the sorcerers in the New York Sanctum and holy shit he’s in contact with famous superheroes now) back in his mess of a studio apartment.

Never did he imagine letting anyone in on his broken past, and even though his hand had been forced when it came to telling Katy, here he was going to the second person who truly saw something in him when he first started his new life and planning to tell them everything.

(Okay, fine, Shangqi wasn’t actually planning on letting anyone else in on it after telling Waipo, not even the rest of Katy’s family, but he really didn’t want them to be so involved yet—he still had no idea what he himself was doing and he wants to preserve what normalcy he can.)

(Also, he’s been reliably informed that anyone close to a public figure is bound to be targeted for attacks—which he figured out when the mercenaries attacked on the bus because yes, Lingling, he does have brain cells thank you very much.)

“Little Dragon, what’s on your mind?”

Little Dragon.

He started at the nickname, the one originally given to him by his mother. Somehow, it had completely slipped his mind that Waipo also called him that, starting a few weeks after he first met the Chen family. He barely kept it together, the long-unused nickname dredging up memories he had thought left him forever.

You have the heart of a dragon, she had declared firmly when he asked her why she decided on that particular nickname.

(That was exactly what his mother had told him right before she died, and yet he stood by, hidden behind a door, and did nothing while the men beat and killed her, the heart of the family.)

(He would carry the guilt with him for a lifetime.)

It was a while before he could bring himself to visit the family again—there were a lot of awkward excuses before Katy reluctantly backed off—and it took even longer for him to get somewhat used to the name again, but he eventually started seeing it as a gift with each faint impression of happier days that he got every time Waipo called him that.

Old, weathered hands gently covered his own, which were shaking and clammy with nervousness. Shangqi wondered how Waipo would react to the darker side of the lost boy she had basically adopted all those years ago, wondered if the legends of Ta-Lo and the Great Protector were known outside of the rather insular communities that continued to tell the stories, wondered if she had heard about his father through the stories that were passed down for thousands of years, from generation to generation…

(It can’t be wrong to miss him, can it? Even with the years of hell Wenwu had put him through, he was still his father. Shangqi still faintly remembered the man his father had been when his mother was still alive, the happy times they shared as a normal family…)

(But those times were long gone, ripped from their grasp by the past Wenwu wanted so badly to leave behind. Grief had shattered the whole family, and it ultimately led to the children fighting the father who had been driven to near madness in his denial, in his quest to put his broken family back together again.)

Mom, I miss you so much.

(And now Wenwu is dead, just like his beloved wife.)

(But just as she died to protect her children, he did the same. Now, his children are reunited and in contact again, getting ever closer despite living as far apart as they did, and he was reunited with his love in the afterlife.)

Finally, he straightened his posture and took a deep breath, looking directly at Waipo, who he’d come to view as the grandmother he never had.

“Waipo, have you heard of the legend of the Ten Rings?”

And Shangqi told her everything.

He told her everything and more,

She listened.

She listened as he described the legends behind the Ten Rings, Ta-Lo, and the Great Protector; his father’s history; his own history, from witnessing his mother’s death to ripping open the throat of the man who killed her when he was barely a teen, from leaving Lingling behind to seeing her again in the fight club she built from the ground up, from returning to the compound after a decade away in San Francisco to the battle in Ta-Lo…

Finally, he fell silent and stared at his hands but it wasn’t long before Waipo moved, slowly standing up with one hand on her cane. He made to help stabilize her but was quickly waved off with a stern look. He sank back into the chair and felt her move behind him. The shaky weight of her hands on his shoulders as she gently pressed down and straightened his posture was familiar, even after years of not having his posture deliberately—so gently—fixed like that every time he saw Waipo.

“You are the legacy of all who came before you, but you are your own person.” she finally said gently, and the tension in his shoulders slowly loosened under her familiar touch. “You decide your own fate.”

~~~

That night, Shangqi knelt before the altar he had in his apartment, the only part that was carefully maintained in all the years he had lived there. But now, two smiling faces stared back at him, a joy reflected in their eyes that he knew would disappear in less than ten years after the photo was taken.

Am I still your pride and joy? Lingling grew up, but I didn’t even take care of her like I should have.

I swear to you, I will never abandon her again

Even as his life got even more unbelievable as the years went by, the altar and his copy of his parent’s wedding photo would remain a constant. He and Lingling dove deeper into their family history—of the Ten Rings, of Ta-Lo, of both the good and bad—and both worked to carry on their parents’ legacy.

(With all of the proper discretion agreements and threats when needed, of course.)

Lingling is dating my best friend now, and they’re so happy together. Mom, I know you would have loved Katy. Dad, I know you didn’t like her much, but she really is a wonderful person.

Life went on.

There were the good days, when he went out with others and could almost feel normal, and there were the bad days, when phantoms pains plagued him and he woke up from a restless sleep expecting to see bruises mottling his body like they did so often when he was younger.

(Also, he was considered a superhero now and holy shit that’s still insane, even years after he first got in contact with the Avengers and the sorcerers in New York. Now he was going all over the West Coast, to help the locals take care of whichever crazy supervillain decided to wreak havoc that day.)

Dad, I hope you find this story as funny as I did: I helped a group of American superheroes yesterday. They’ve never been to San Francisco before and were extremely unfamiliar with the roads, especially Lombard Street. They spent half an hour trying to drive down the street, but I ended up driving them down myself.

(San Francisco was still home, and he had found a life there with all his friends and Xialing whenever she visited. He had a job now, too, at the local youth center teaching martial arts and self-defense, teaching and guiding the youth in a way he wishes his father had with him.)

People came into his life; some stayed, some left, and some even got together.

Mom, Dad, Lingling and Katy are getting married today and everyone is so excited for them. I’m taking over the Ten Ring within a month so Lingling can take a break. She’s led the organization for so long, it’s my responsibility now. I hope I can live up to her standards, she’s done really well. She’ll be back in a few years, but even after, I’m going to be much more involved to lessen Lingling’s workload.

Shangqi walked the path knowing who came before him and who was still with him.

Most importantly, he walked the path knowing who he was—demons, flaws, strengths, and all.

Mom, Dad, don’t worry. I’ll take care of them.

I hope you’re happy together in the afterlife.

~~~

Don’t be afraid, Shang-Chi, for you have heart of a dragon and the power of the Ten Rings.

We will always be with you and Xialing.

Original Version w/Mandarin

“外婆，您有没有一点儿时间？” 尚气 stood in front of Katy’s grandma, fidgeting nervously. “我想告诉您一些事情。”

She pinned him with a knowing stare. “是不是跟你和瑞雯这前个星期去的旅行有关？” Not waiting for his answer, she got up from the shop register and beckoned him into the back office. Feeling oddly like the first time he came into the store years ago as a teen—when he first met Katy’s family who had since taken him under their wing—he followed her into the familiar, cramped space.

Never did 尚气 imagine that he would end up claiming the ancient rings that now sat in a heavy-duty (thanks to 夏灵, with whom he now keeps in regular contact because of the promise they made to each other before he left the compound because he already left her behind once, and he’s never doing it again and damn, my baby sister is running the Ten Rings now, and she’s trying to turn it into something better) and a very well-disguised (thanks to the sorcerers in the New York Sanctum and holy shit he’s in contact with famous superheroes now) back in his mess of a studio apartment.

(Okay, fine, 尚气 wasn’t actually planning on letting anyone else in on it after telling 外婆, not even the rest of Katy’s family, but he really didn’t want them to be so involved yet—he still had no idea what he himself was doing and he wants to preserve what normalcy he can.)

(Also, he’s been reliably informed that anyone close to a public figure is bound to be targeted for attacks—which he figured out when the mercenaries attacked on the bus because yes, 灵灵, he does have brain cells thank you very much.)

“小龙，你有什么心事儿？”

Little Dragon.

He started at the nickname, the one originally given to him by his mother. Somehow, it had completely slipped his mind that 外婆 also called him that, starting a few weeks after he first met the Chen family. He barely kept it together, the long-unused nickname dredging up memories he had thought left him forever.

你有神龙之心，she had declared firmly when he asked her why she decided on that particular nickname. You have the heart of a dragon.

(That was exactly what his mother had told him right before she died, and yet he stood by, hidden behind a door, and did nothing while the men beat and killed her, the heart of the family.)

(He would carry the guilt with him for a lifetime.)

Old, weathered hands gently covered his own, which were shaking and clammy with nervousness. 尚气 wondered how 外婆 would react to the darker side of the lost boy she had basically adopted all those years ago, wondered if the legends of Ta-Lo and the Great Protector were known outside of the rather insular communities that continued to tell the stories, wondered if she had heard about his father through the stories that were passed down for thousands of years, from generation to generation…

(It can’t be wrong to miss him, can it? Even with the years of hell 文武 had put him through, he was still his father. 尚气 still faintly remembered the man his father had been when his mother was still alive, the happy times they shared as a normal family…)

(But those times were long gone, ripped from their grasp by the past 文武 wanted so badly to leave behind. Grief had shattered whole family, and it ultimately led to the children fighting the father who had been driven to near madness in his denial, in his quest to put his broken family back together again.)

妈妈，我太想你了。

(And now 文武 is dead, just like his beloved wife.)

Finally, he straightened his posture and took a deep breath, looking directly at 外婆, who he’d come to view as the grandmother he never had.

“外婆，您听说过 ‘十环’ 的传说吗？”

And 尚气 told her everything.

He told her everything and more,

She listened.

She listened as he described the legends behind the Ten Rings, Ta-Lo, and the Great Protector; his father’s history; his own history, from witnessing his mother’s death to ripping open the throat of the man who killed her when he was barely a teen, from leaving 灵灵 behind to seeing her again in the fight club she built from the ground up, from returning to the compound after a decade away in San Francisco to the battle in Ta-Lo…

Finally, he fell silent and stared at his hands but it wasn’t long before 外婆 moved, slowly standing up with one hand on her cane. He made to help stabilize her but was quickly waved off with a stern look. He sank back into the chair and felt her move behind him. The shaky weight of her hands on his shoulders as she gently pressed down and straightened his posture was familiar, even after years of not having his posture deliberately—so gently—fixed like that every time he saw 外婆.

“你是所有在你之前的人的遗产，但你是你自己的人，” she finally said，“你决定你自己的命运。”

You are the legacy of all who came before you, but you are your own person. You decide your own fate.

~~~

That night, 尚气 knelt before the altar he had in his apartment, the only part that was carefully maintained in all the years he had lived there. But now, two smiling faces stared back at him, a joy reflected in their eyes that he knew would disappear in less than ten years after the photo was taken.

我还是你的骄傲吗？灵灵长大了，但我也没好好照顾她。

我向你发誓，我再也不会抛弃她。

Even as his life got even more unbelievable as the years went by, the altar and his copy of his parent’s wedding photo would remain a constant. He and 灵灵 dove deeper into their family history—of the Ten Rings, of Ta-Lo, of both the good and bad—and both worked to carry on their family’s legacy.

(With all of the proper discretion agreements and threats when needed, of course.)

灵灵跟我朋友最近开始谈恋爱，他们俩可开心了。妈，如果你还在我们身边，我保证你会喜欢她。爸，我知道你一开始不太喜欢她，但她确实是一位精彩的人。

Life went on.

爸爸，我希望你跟我一样觉得这个故事很好笑：我昨天帮了一组美国超级英雄开车。那是他们第一次来旧京山，对道路非常陌生—尤其是 Lombard Street。他们开也开不好，花了半个小时慢慢的开下去。最终，我把他们的车开下去的。

(San Francisco was still home, and he had found a life there with all his friends and 夏灵 whenever she visited. He had a job now, too, at the local youth center teaching martial arts and self-defense, teaching and guiding the youth in a way he wishes his father had with him.)

People came into his life; some stayed, some left, and some even got together.

妈，爸，灵灵她今天会跟我最好的朋友结婚，我们都很兴奋。我一个月之内开始接管十环的业务，让灵灵休息休息。她干了多少年了，现在是我的责任。我希望我能辜负她，她管的非常棒，帮了许多人。她几年后会回来继续当领导，但我好像在领导方面发挥更大的作用。

He walked the path knowing who came before him and who was still with him.

Most importantly, he walked the path knowing who he was—demons, flaws, strengths, and all.

妈，爸，你们放心吧，我会照顾他们。

我希望你们俩来世都幸福。

~~~

尚气，你别怕，你有神龙之心，十环的力量。

我们永远会在你和灵灵的身边。

#i’m so sorry if the mandarin is shitty #the format is better on ao3 #but i’m so excited to be able to at least try it #shang chi spoilers #shang chi and the legend of the ten rings spoilers #shang chi fanfiction #shang chi #shang chi and the legend of the ten rings #marvel fanfiction #mcu #shang chi imagines

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northcarolinanative · 4 years

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𝐈𝐟 𝐈𝐭 𝐖𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧'𝐭 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐘𝐨𝐮 - Boxer!JJ

Requested by anon: Can you write about boxer!JJ, with or without the outer banks’ plot. JJ enjoys boxing and you can’t go to matches because they scare you. But you always prepare with him before and he always comes to see you after. One night something happens and they confess their feelings whatever you want haha I just thought it would be a cool idea (:

Description: After the disappearance of their best friends the pogues all search for different ways to cope. Some working too hard, some fighting, some just blocking it all out. JJ puts himself in danger too often for Y/N’s liking. She finds him an alternative, but in typical JJ fashion he moves too much too fast and gets out in a tricky situation.

A/N: This is so different from what I normally write. I got a bit carried away per usual:) I chose to put it in the OBX plot, this is all after 1x10 because we all know that I am a sucker for that at this point let's be honest. I tried to do my research but the more I read the more confused I got so I am sorry if it is inaccurate. I have ZERO experience with boxing and stuff. As I said this is so different for me so ANY feedback would be FANTASTIC!! MY asks/requests/messages are always open! ALSO, italics are flashbacks. // TW: This talks about character death, panic/anxiety, abuse, and violence.//

*pic courtesy of pinterest*

After the disappearance of John B and Sarah, each of the pogues had their own unique way of dealing with the major loss. The unknown ate them from the inside out until it was turned to grief, washing over them the moment the pair was presumed dead. Over the next few days, they went into denial, finally understanding why John B had been so desperate to hold onto clues about his father when the group had thought that he was grasping at straws. They understood why John B led them on the hunt for the gold because he thought it would lead to his dad. They understood because now they too would follow any lead, risk anything, or go anywhere to find John B and Sarah.

Each of the Pogues were dealing with their feelings in its respective way. Pope was trying his hardest to prove to his parents that he had not messed up his chance to get off the Island. He applied for every academic scholarship on the east coast. Pope was scared. Kie, while the two of us helped Pope when we could, worked countless hours at the Wreck. After running from her parents and being brought into question with the police she was in hot water with her parents. She allowed herself to stay focused on her work and earn back the trust and respect of her parents so that when the time came that John B and Sarah needed them, we could help. Kie was hopeful. JJ was starting fights with everyone that looked at him wrong. He threw punch after punch at the one boneyard party that we tried to attend in an attempt to make things feel normal. He kept going home and picking fights with his dad, he said that he deserved the torment for letting John B get on that boat. JJ blamed himself for pushing John B to his death. JJ was Angry. I let myself get swept up in my art, going to the docks, or sitting in the dunes, drawing. This where the other Pogues found me when I was not working my shift at the Wreck. When I sat down to create I let my thoughts go and wander to whatever I needed to try and process. This was the only time I let myself think about the things that happened between the pogues, or what was ahead for us. I let myself think about both the options, whether they were dead or they were alive somewhere. Outside of that, I shut it off and tried to help the other pogues, as much as I could, to get back to something normal. I was numb.

Kie and Pope had a lot to figure out between the two of them. It took them a while to actually begin to talk about what was going on between the two of them since they kept defecting. That left JJ and I alone rather often. Not that I was complaining. The two of us had never been super close when it came to the group. I was always Kie’s best friend first, pogue second, until now. The disappearance had brought all of us closer. Though I appreciated the closeness with JJ, I was worried about him. He showed up on my doorstep night after night bruised and broken. More often than not it was a fight with some rando that has looked at him on the side of the road. JJ didn’t care who felt his wrath anymore, he would fight anyone, kooks, and pogues alike. The worst nights were those that he came back from his house. Those nights were always the worst because the injuries on his body and the way that his soul sat shattered in front of me told me that he didn’t fight back.

JJ was sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes not daring to look up at me. His face covered in red splotches and bruised from the other fights he had gotten in over the week. Tonight was different though. Normally JJ talked about the way that he handed the Kook a can of whoop-ass or the guy had it coming and that he had ‘totally won’ the fight. Every other night he would boast saying “Y/N, don’t worry about me! You should see the other guy.” He would try to soothe my nerves, but tonight there didn’t seem to be another guy. Just JJ fighting himself, the thoughts raging war in his head, making him beat himself up.

I moved to sit beside him. Finally deciding to break the rooms heavy silence. “JJ, did you go home again?”

His breath caught in his throat as he slowly nodded his head. I saw his jaw clenched as he fought back the urge to let tears fall down his face. He rested his head in his open palms. I wrapped one of my arms loosely around the boy before laying my head on his shoulder. “Why do you go home JJ? Every time you come back you end up so broken?”

“It’s just a few bruises and split lips Y/N, nothing I’m not used to.” He said shaking his head.

“That’s not what I mean and you know it,” I spoke. I moved my hand so that I could rub his back. I moved softly up and down his spine, trying to comfort the broken boy in front of me.

“I deserve everything he says to me.” He started, swallowing a lump in his throat. “Every time

I go I know he’s ready for a fight.”

I took a moment to collect my thoughts. I took a deep breath before speaking. “JJ, getting into fights with your dad like that, the things he says to you.” I paused, looking over his face, trying to figure out what was going through his mind. “You know that they aren’t true right? He’s saying those things to hurt you?”

“I know that, but deep down I’m so scared that everyone else sees what he sees.” He signed leaning back and falling onto the bed. “I’m just so angry. I am angry at the system for screwing up so bad that they ran JB away.” My breath caught in my throat as he began his rant. “I am mad that we couldn’t do anything to help him after his dad left. I’m mad that we lost him and have no way to contact him or even know if he’s alive!’ He stood up beginning to pace, and raising his voice. “I’m mad that I pushed him on that boat to sail straight to his death Y/N!”

I stood up on my feet, moving so that I can be in his direct line of vision. “Hey!” I called to him, even though he was right in front of me, he felt a thousand miles away. “You did not push John B to do anything that he would not have done on his own! You have got to stop blaming yourself for all the unfortunate events that lead to John B’s disappearance. This on Ward Cameron and you know it!” I said pointing at him. He locked his eyes with mine for a moment.

He ripped his glance from mine, his jaw still clenched and nostrils flaring as he tried to even out his breathing. It took a few moments and several paces across the length of my room, but he seemed to calm down. “I’m-” He started, looking around the room and taking a deep breath before continuing. “I’m just so angry. All the time.” He confessed. “I’m honestly scared, it’s like all I can think about is how pissed off I am and the smallest things just add on top of it until I explode for what seems like no reason.” He stopped rubbing his hands over his face. “I just don’t know how to channel it, make it die down.” He confessed, moving to join me back at the end of my bed.

“You know, whenever my brother is upset he goes to the gym-” I started

“You are not seriously telling me to work out right now, are you?” He huffed rolling his eyes.

“Let me finish.” I scolded him before continuing. “He’s a boxer, the have matches and fight, but it is in a safe environment. One where you can let your anger out with out going home or exploding on some rando on the side of the street.” I said. I laughed awkwardly, trying to fill the silence as I gauged his reaction.

“You really think that would help?” He said, the softness in his eyes returning.

“It helped my brother”

It had become routine over the past few weeks that JJ came to my house so that I could help him prepare for whatever match he had lined up for that night. When he first started all the Pogues were supportive of JJ’s new interest, but after the first match, Kie and I decided that we would support him from afar. Neither of us could stomach the blows that JJ took in his first fight. I was happy that he was able to find a more acceptable outlet for his anger, it was still just as painful to clean JJ up after, or to hear from Pope about the hits that JJ landed or had taken. Pope always attended, Kie and I chalked it up to him being a boy and into that stuff, but we both know that he watched because he wanted to be there in case something went wrong.

Tonight was one of JJ’s biggest matches. He had been talking about it for weeks. The guy was from the mainland and was supposed to drag in a huge audience with him. He was being scouted as a professional, bordering on going pro. That bothered me because it had only been a short time since JJ had started boxing. While he had grown up his entire life fighting, boxing against people like this was much different than landing a few punches on Topper.

JJ was sitting on my kitchen table, I was right in front of him with his left hand in my own. I wrapped the sticky red tape around his hands, knuckles, and wrists. I pulled it tighter after each pass around his hand. “Please be careful tonight. These guys got a really good record.” I spoke softly, but the concern coating my voice was evident.

“I think I’ve got it though Y/N!” He said, happiness coating his voice. I just shook my head and switched his hands, beginning to wrap the right one. I was weary when JJ first mentioned the idea of the match, and still am, because the guy was well known and it just did not make sense that he wanted to come down to the OBX to fight a Newby. Things didn’t add up. Of course, none of us dared to tell JJ, because he was so happy, and he finally seemed to be getting back normal, no one wanted to set him off.

I finished wrapping his hands and handed him his gym shorts. I had got him some with his name on the waistband for his birthday the week before. While I couldn’t stomach to sit through the fights and watch them, I wanted him to know that I was supportive of him finding a healthy outlet for his feelings and grief. I had washed the shorts for him so that they would be fresh for him.

“All done.” I smiled, handing them to him. He took them into his newly wrapped hands. “So you look all spiffy when you win the fight tonight.”

“Spiffy?” He questioned causing us both to laugh. He reached forward pulling me into a hug. Whenever I touched JJ I melted into the warmth that his body gave off. He smelled like pine, I assumed it was from his deodorant, but it captivated me every time. He let me go after squeezing me tighter. “Thanks for, you know.” He said scratching the back of his neck. “Helping me with all of this. I wouldn’t even be doing this if it weren’t for you.” He said with a smile.

“Stop being so sappy Maybank!” I said and I turned him to the door. I put my hands on his broad shoulder pushing him softly towards the door. “Now go! You don’t want to be late.” He made his way to the door opening it and standing for a second to look back and smile.

“I’ll see you after right?” He questioned, the hope in his eyes was hard to miss.

“Wouldn’t want anyone else cleaning you up would we?” I joked, before answering him. “Yes I will, just make sure Pope tells me when you're finishing up and I’ll head that way to pick you up okay?” As I finished the car horn outside honked. It seemed to reverberate off the walls. “Now go! You know how Kie gets when you're running late!” I shooed him out the door. I stood watching them back out of the driveway as I waved to Kie and Pope in the car.

I walked to the TV, flipping it onto a random TV show before grabbing my sketchbook and settling into the couch. I had been working on a piece of a deer skull and a floral pattern. I was using ink to draw it. I got lost in stippling the dots on the paged, shading in the sides of the skull, and forming the cracked texture of the bone. I barely noticed the buzzing that came from my phone beside me. When I looked up the sun was setting, almost disappearing behind the horizon. The name flashed across my phone and sent me into an immediate panic. “Popey” was read across the screen, my stomach dropping when I set my eyes on the time. It was way too soon for the fight to be over. I quickly slide my finger across the bottom of the screen, seeing it click open.

I held the phone to my ear, “Hello, Pope? What’s wrong?” I could hear the panic in my voice. My body was moving so fast as I swiped my keys across the counter with a screech, and started through the garage to my car.

“Y/N.” I hear him say on my way out the door. There was pause filled with chants and yelling in the background, signaling that the fight was still happening. “Things don’t look good, Kie’s on her way, but JJ needs you to be here when he gets out.” I was nodding my head, but Pope couldn’t see me. “If he gets out.” My breath stopped in my throat, making me choke slightly on my own air. “ Y/N it’s bad, I don’t know why they won’t call the fight.”

I let out a shaky breath as I pulled myself into the driver seat of my car, slamming the door behind me with a thud. “I’ll be there as fast as I can Pope, Promise.”

“Hurry!” was all he said before the line went static. I pulled the phone down slowly, looking at it. JJ was really hurt. It was my fault, I wanted him to do this professionally. I snapped myself out of my guilty haze, picking my keys up from my lap with my shaking hands. I struggled to get the key into the ignition, before turning it to start it up. I turned out of the driveway as quickly as my mind would let me, leaving a cloud of dust behind me as pulled from the driveway.

I tapped the steering wheel with my thumb, my eyes flicking between the road and the number growing on the speedometer. The words of JJ and I’s conversation from just hours before replaying over and over in my head. “I wouldn’t be doing this if it weren’t for you.” Over and over again. I felt a warmth fall down my cheek. I touched my hand to my cheek only to find the warm wetness of tears falling from my eyes. I was shocked at the reaction that this event had on me. I felt like I was back to the night that we watched John B drive off on that boat. I felt that same sense of panic wash over me. What if this was it? “I wouldn’t be doing this if it weren’t for you.” JJ was a fighter, literally, no matter what punches were thrown at him, he was always able to fight back. Part of me wanted to think rationally that Pope was overreacting and when I got there JJ might have a concussion and a bruised ego. “I wouldn’t be doing this if it weren’t for you.” If it was that bad why had they not stopped the fight, right? Pope had to be overreacting, it was Pope. He likes to be careful.

My fingers kept tapping a quick pace on the back of the I kept telling myself that over and over in my head. I was driving but everything around me was a blur. I was glad that I had the roads of the cut memorized so that I could get there in my haze of worry. “I wouldn’t be doing this if it weren’t for you.” I know what he meant by this, he meant that I had helped him, but I just didn’t feel helpful at that moment. I was the reason that he was fighting and trained a skillful fighter. This guy hardly ever lost a fight, but none of us wanted JJ’s improvement with his anger to stop, so we let him continue.

I hit the pothole in the gyms driveway, jolting me out of my thoughts. I fell back into the seat from the rough jump and dirt that was kicked up around me once again. I pulled into a spot at a dangerous speed. I practically threw the car in park and yanked my keys from the ignition. The sun seemed to paint the air around us a beautiful shade of orange, but my worry made me look past the beautiful sunset that was illustrated in the sky. Instead I approached the gym. I hadn’t stepped foot in for months now. The one that was seemingly making my worst fears come to life.

I scanned the parking lot looking for Kie. When our eyes met, I started making my way toward her. I broke into a jog, but quickly came to a halt, when I looked behind her. The red and white lights behind her become blinding. I stuttered stepped, coming face to face with her, but I could not look at her face. I was focused on the broken boy that was laid in front of me on a gurney. The blood on his face made him almost unrecognizable. I clenched my teeth so hard that I hurt. Pope was by his side, struggling to keep up with the boy on the gurney. Pope’s worried eyes met with mine that barely held back the tears. He said something that I couldn’t make out before pointing to us. I followed my eyes down to JJ, who’s eyes I met. Even from this distance, I could see the spark still in them. I felt my stomach drop and a wave of nausea hit me. I felt myself physically fall back and feel weak. He weekly raised his hand to wave at me weakly before they began wheeling him into the emergency vehicle. “I wouldn’t be doing this if it weren’t for you.” My arm felt like my shaking hand to wave at him, The barrier broke and the warm tears fell down my face. I felt the sob make it way up my throat, catching Kie’s attention once again. Her expression was a little shocked at my reaction but wrapped an arm around me pulling me into her. I glanced over to see her worried expression as she watched Pope.

Pope quickly made his way over to us after talking briefly with the medics. As soon as he was turned away from JJ, his expression turned to anger. Kie and I looked at each other, both silently questioning the boy’s actions. He got to us, visibly angry, his breath was heavy as he started walking back and forth. He threw his hat on the ground and ran a hand across his head in distress.

“What happened there?” Kie said being the first to break the tension.

“We shouldn’t have let him fight that guy!” He said, raising his voice making me visibly flinch. “There’s a reason that he always wins! He knocked JJ out in the 7th round!” He spoke looking me straight in the eye. I felt two inches tall and wanted nothing more than to disappear in that moment.

“I wouldn’t be doing this if it weren’t for you.”

I stepped back, it felt the air had been knocked out of my lungs. I heard the conversation that Pope and Kie continued to have, but they still felt miles away. I tried to listen and regain the ability to breathe.

“He had plaster in his gloves” Pope spoke loudly, as people walking outta the gym snickered, only making Pope’s anger grow. I snapped my head up at the tall boy, before looking at Kie, whose face held a confused expression. I knitted my eyebrows looking at Pope who just nodded, silently reinforcing his last statement.

“They caught on, but I’m gonna go back to talk to the fight manager, but y’all should go and meet him at the hospital.” He said, looking between me and Kiara.

Kie was quick to act, while I felt like I was still frozen in place. “Here,” she said, holding her keys out to Pope. “I’ll ride with Y/N and you can meet us there after you talk to whoever you need to?” She questioned, but she had alright dropped the keys in his hand. Pope nodded at the two of us before turning back to the gym.

I looked at Kie just as she placed her shaking hand on my wrist pulling me to the car. “Are you okay to drive? I mean do you think-” He started to mumble on.

“Yea, yea. I can. I think I got it.” I said send her a tight lipped smile. I could tell in her eyes that she knew neither of us believed me. Nonetheless, we both got into the car and made our way to a small emergency hospital on the Island, both of us praying that they had enough space for JJ. The entire car ride was filled with silent, sad, tension. The two of us stuck in our own thoughts, filled with worries about JJ’s health. Kie was the first to break the car’s heart-wrenching tension.

“What did Pope mean, when he said that he had plaster in his gloves?” Kie asked. She hadn’t been privy to the boxing world, much like me. My brother had told me that it was illegal. He knew a kid that got kicked out of his gym for doing it and had told me about it.

“It’s when boxer’s wrap plaster in their wraps and gloves and stuff.” I started, I stuttered over my words a bit, because I was unsure of what I was talking about. “As they sweat it makes the plaster harden or something,” I said shaking my head. The image of JJ getting hit over and over without a chance to fight back made me push the accelerator down and speed up on the long stretch to the hospital. “It essentially makes their hands like stone,” I said recalling the words my brother had used to tell me.

Kiara looked over at me with wide eyes. “That’s seriously fucked up!” She exclaimed. She let out a deep sign before falling back into the passenger seat. The rest of the ride remained silent, except for the news that was faintly being spoken from the radio.

When we pulled up to the hospital, it was all a blur from there. Kie could tell that I was worried and in a state of panic. She seemed to be rather calm about the situation, because of this she took the lead on speaking to the front desk. They pointed us to a waiting room saying that the doctor would come out after they examined him.

We sat in the cold metal chair in the waiting room. I tried to blame my shaking on the chill air that seemed to always be contained in hospitals, but I knew it was nerves. Kie placed her hand on my bouncing leg to stop it before looking up at me.

“Hey, It’s JJ.” She said moving to hold my hand in hers, giving me a soft smile. “He’s got the survival instincts of a cockroach, alright?”

I laughed slightly at her joke, looking up to her with a hopeful smile on her face. “You’re oddly calm.” I stated, looking over her relaxed figure, slightly laid back in the chair, her hand resting still on the chair handle, the other firmly grasped in mine.

“Eh, like it said, JJ’s gonna be fine.” She smiled. She leaned forward a bit, resting her weight on the armrest that sat between us. “I am more interested in what is going on inside your head?” She said nudging me with her shoulders.

I took a deep breath, my eyes lining with tears once again. “Over the last few months JJ and I have gotten so close, and after everything with John B and Sarah I just-” I was cut off by a sob, which came out more like a cough. Kie was quick to move her hand to my back, rubbing small, comforting circles on my back. “I am scared to lose him too.” I said quietly, tears falling still, but at a much less rapid pace. Kiara pulled me into a tight hug. I took a deep breath, letting the scent of her coconut shampoo ground me. I closed my arms around her tightly before we split. Kie pushed a piece of hair out of my face softly.

“You’ve got it bad.” She said with a soft chuckle. I looked at her knitting my eyebrows together in confusion causing her to laugh. “You and JJ are so blindly in love with each other that neither of you can see it.” She spoke. Suddenly, things started to make a lot of sense. The way that my stomach dropped whenever JJ was getting into a fight or how I wanted to end Luke Maybank for the things that he did to his son. The most important thing that I had become accustomed to was the way that my stomach erupted in butterflies every time we were close to each other, the way my skin broke into goosebumps when we bumped into each other, or the way that I smiled every time he cracked a joke or showed up at work. I played with my fingers letting a smile spread across my face.I looked up at Kie sheepishly.

“I told you.” She smiled at me, causing me to roll my eyes at her.

We were taken from the serenity of our moment by the doctor calling for those that were here with ‘Maybank.” She informed us that JJ took a lot of hard hits but managed to leave fairly unscathed from such a brutal fight. She let us know that JJ had had a lot of minor injuries, a broken lower rib, and that he passed out due to a pretty serious concussion. It took Kie and I a moment to soak in the abundance of information. “With his current state, we think it would be best if you all went in one at a time.” The doctor spoke, looking between you and Kie.

Kie pushed my shoulder lightly. “I’ll wait here for Pope and fill him in. “She said, a cheesy smile plastering her face. “Go get your man,” She joked causing me to roll my eyes before following the doctor back through the long hallway. The fluorescent lighting made the hallway look and feel more daunting than it should have. The doctor stopped in front of the room letting me know that he was inside.

I smiled and nodded at her. I took a deep breath before preparing myself to enter. I walked through the doorway to see JJ playing with the IV cable that was hooked up to his arm. I was wrapped and tangled around the opposite hand. I laughed involuntarily at the blonde boys antics. He looked up at me, smiling when he realized that it was me. I felt a tsunami of relief wash over me, just seeing that, while he wasn’t completely unharmed, that he was going to be okay.

“There you are, come here!” He said patting the bed beside his legs. I walked into the room slowly, making my way to his bedside. I sat down and turned to look at his bright, smiling face. He scanned over my face, his smile quickly fading. “Wait, are you crying? “ He asked, reaching up to wipe the stale tears from my face.

“Yes JJ,” I said laughing at the boy's oblivious nature. “You looked terrible when they took you out on that gurney at the gym,” I said looking down at the crinkled white bed sheet in front of the two of us. “You scared me. I can’t lose you too.” I said quietly.

JJ hand came up once again cupping the side of my face, pushing me to look at me. “Hey now. You know better than anyone that it's gonna take more than some cheating ring rat to take me out.” Both of us laughed at the statement. I met his bright blue eyes, and instantly felt drawn in.

I didn’t think much about it before I did it. I leaned forward and pressed my lips into JJ's. The kiss started off still and innocent. JJ’s hand moved from my face to the back of my head pulling me in closer. I moved my hands to his shoulders, placing them softly trying not to hurt him. The kiss was passionate and heated, our lips molding together, allowing us to melt into one another. I felt light headed just from the kiss itself. I could feel JJ’s emotion poured into the way that he kissed me back and the way that his hands caressed my sides and the way that he held me close to him.

We were interrupted by the loud beeping of the monitor beside him. I pulled away looking at the machine that ruined the moment. The warning flashing “High Heart Rate”. I looked at JJ and saw the same warning causing us to laugh slightly.

“What was that about?” JJ asked, a blush creeping up his cheeks.

“After John B and Sarah I thought I would have learned that time is finite, but I guess it took you, at least in my mind, almost dying for me to realize that I should just say something,” I said, laughing nervously. “Oh and Kie made me realize just how in love with you I am” I spoke rolling my eyes before realizing what I said. I felt my face heat up, as I looked over at JJ with wide eyes trying to gauge his reaction.

JJ grabbed my hand. Struggling slightly because of the awkward tangled IV that was stuck in the back of his hand. He huffed as he tugged at it trying to pull it out of the way. His hand was wrapped around mine when he started speaking. “You know, I’m glad she did because I’ve been in love with you all summer.”

Masterlist

Tagging b/c I asked:) @tomfreakinghollandneedsaoscar @write-from-the-heart @jjmaybanksbaby @kikifromtheblock

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dreamofmysoul-tsc · 3 years

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I'll Stay Here With You Until This Dream Is Gone

A story about Matthew Fairchild and James Herondale

Title from “Burning House” by Cam

I’ve never written fanfiction before, nor am I really a writer, but this idea has been poking at my mind for awhile now so I figured I’d write it down. I probably won't write more fanfic btw, my brain just wouldn't let me rest until I wrote this 😅

Little nods to The Haunting of Hill House and Bly Manor if you squint

This story follows the theory that Matthew becomes a Downworlder; in this story he is a vampire, although it isn't that important. Also, lots of angst. Suffer with me y'all. Enjoy!

CW for talks of death and the afterlife

January, 1963

Watery, gray light filters through the thick, velvet curtains despite their best efforts to keep the sun at bay. The house sits quiet, empty save for its owner and a single butler. A man sits at an antique writing desk, blonde head bent over thick sheets of paper, each embossed with a golden MF. He writes slowly, thoughtful of each word he inks onto the pages. A glass of water sits precariously on the edge of the writing desk, half empty.

A series of swift knocks resounds throughout the home. The man doesn't raise his head, expecting his butler, Mr. Wingrave, to answer it. As expected, he hears the door creak open, followed by a quick, muffled exchange. Whoever decided to darken his doorstep leaves as fast as they came, the door closing shut with a resounding thunk. His butler begins to ascend the stairs, but the man continues to write his letter, a half smile beginning to turn up the corner of his mouth.

His bedroom door swings open. "Mr. Fairchild?" Wingrave stands on the threshold, a folded note held in his hand. It is without an envelope, as though whoever wrote it sent it off in a hurry.

"Yes?" Fairchild says distractedly, mind still occupied by his letter.

"A note for you, sent by a Mr. Owen Herondale, sir."

This causes Fairchild to pause. Why did his godson, whom he had visited just last week, send him a letter so early in the morning? Despite his best efforts, he feels a mix of curiosity and mild concern begin to build.

"From Owen? Whatever for?" Not expecting a response, he accepts the note from Wingrave. He unfolds the thin paper and feels his stomach drop.

Father is dying. Please get to the townhouse as soon as you can. He needs you.

-OH

James. His Jamie. He reads the succinct words over and over, unable to fully understand, or perhaps fully accept, their meaning. Of course he knew James was getting on in years, he isn't that in denial, but he had never fully sat back to think about how he would go on or what he would even do when James was gone. Now reality is crashing down on him, harsh and cold, as he lurches out of his seat and grabs for his coat. He barely gives himself time to put his shoes on before he's running out the door, only to be reminded harshly of his vampirism when the winter sun scalds his face. He can't find it in himself to care, ducking his head and sticking to the shaded walls of buildings as he sprints flat out toward Curzon Street.

Thanks to his vampire speed, he manages to limit his sun exposure and make it to Curzon Street in record time. He bangs on the townhouse door, red tears already welling up in his eyes, unnoticed until they begin to fall, cold, down his cheeks.

Owen opens the door immediately, black eyes wretched and lips pressed into a thin line, clearly trying to prevent himself from falling apart. He looks so like James, who always hated to cry too, that Matthew almost lets out the sob building up in his chest, yet he holds it in for Owen's sake. Matthew wraps him in a fierce hug, tucking his godson's face against his neck like Owen used to do when he was a boy. Owen holds onto his godfather's coat, trembling but still trying his best to keep it together.

Owen pulls back, sniffling and red eyed, voice hoarse as he says "Dad is upstairs in the bedroom. He's been asking for you all morning. I'm sorry I summoned you so early, but I just don't know how much time he has left." His voice cracks as he says it, tears finally falling. Matthew holds his face in his hands and wipes them away, pushing his hair from his forehead. Despite being in his 40s, Matthew will always see him as the chubby faced little boy Owen was so many years ago.

Taking a deep breath, Matthew ascends the stairs up to Jamie's bedroom. Cordelia, having passed a year prior, would've reprimanded him for getting dirt and slush on her lovely rugs. He almost chuckles at the memory.

James' door is already ajar as Matthew gently pushes it open. It takes Matthew yet another valiant effort to hold in a sob. James lays back on the bed, hands folded over each other, white hair fanned out behind his head like a halo. He holds a gold necklace in one hand, a miniature globe attached to the end of it, and a photograph in the other.

Matthew takes a seat in the cushioned chair by the bed and rests his hands on the duvet in an attempt to stop their shaking. "Jamie," he whispers, voice hoarse.

James' eyes crack open, still the same champagne gold as when he was a young man, and miraculously, he smiles. Matthew finally lets out the cries he's been holding in upon seeing that smile, warm and earnest, a smile that can only be described as so perfectly James.

James sets the objects in his hands aside and reaches out a surprisingly steady hand as Matthew meets him in the middle. He holds onto James' hand like it's a life raft, pressing his knuckles to his forehead and doing nothing to quiet his crying.

"If I had known it'd be this soon-" he chokes out, red tears staining James' calloused hands.

James cuts him off gently. "None of that, Matthew. What was I supposed to do, wait around until death came for me? My body is giving up on me, Math. I knew that my time was coming and that's exactly why I need you here. Because despite everything, I'm afraid. And although you no longer have the rune, we are still parabatai. I'm afraid of what comes after, Math, and I...please, just sit with me."

Matthew looks up, bloody tears dripping steadily onto James' poor bedsheets. He squeezes his parabatai's hand and he nods. "Of course I'll stay with you, Jamie bach. Whither thou goest, I shall go, remember? Even if I can't feel you, I won't let you go into the dark alone."

James lets out a soft chuckle as tears form in his eyes and squeezes Matthew's hand in return. "Thank you, Math."

As the day progresses into night, Matthew finds himself laying next to his parabatai, pushing his white hair back from his forehead and listening to his slow, wheezing breath. James sleeps and Matthew watches, afraid that if he so much as looks away from him, his friend won't have a hand to guide him into his afterlife.

Owen visits periodically to check on his father, occasionally clutching onto his hand and looking on with heartbroken eyes. He's even so kind as to offer his godfather blood, blood that they kept refrigerated for his visits, but the thought of stomaching anything causes bile to rise in the back of Matthew's throat.

Earlier, while arranging himself on James's bed, he finally caught a glimpse of the photograph James had held in his hand. It was a photo of them in their teenage years, Matthew's arm draped over James' shoulders, dressed in fashions well out of style, bright smiles on their faces. Matthew remembered that day well. It was a hot day in June and they'd gone to Regent's Park to enjoy the summer weather and catch up on reading. What had started as a peaceful summer day had ended with Matthew dramatically-and loudly- reciting passages from Oscar Wilde's The Importance of Being Earnest while passersby looked on in faint amusement or unmasked annoyance. James had been mortified, repeatedly begging Matthew to stop through fits of laughter, ending with the boys play wrestling in the grass as James attempted to grab the play's script from Matthew's hands. They had ended up with grass stains all over their shirts, leaves sticking up in their hair, and Matthew was fairly certain he'd almost upended their picnic basket into the pond. It had been one of the best days of Matthew's life.

Matthew laughed through his tears as he gazed down at the photo, holding onto James' hand even tighter and continuing to watch him. He had once called James his heart and now he realizes how true he had been. James was always steady and strong, a presence he could rely on when he oftentimes couldn't even rely on himself. He kept Matthew tethered to the earth while Matthew in turn kept James from getting lost in his head. Matthew the kite, James the line. And without the line, Matthew wasn't sure what he was going to do.

Logically, he knew this would happen. James would die and Matthew would live on, unchanging. And one day he would realize he had lived more days without James than with him. The sense of panic he felt at the thought of forgetting his laugh, his dry wit, the specific way he annotated his books, even the way he made his tea, was so strong it almost knocked the breath out of him.

But as he takes in the face of his parabatai, his best friend, that panic winks out as quick as it came. Matthew's death was uncertain, but it wouldn't evade him forever. And although Matthew never considered himself a spiritual man, he believed that he would see James again. He had to believe that, otherwise he knew that his grief would threaten to eat him alive. Matthew knew that James' grief had threatened to eat him alive, too, after Cordelia's passing. If Matthew can gift his friend a peaceful end, he hopes with everything he has that Cordelia will be there to guide James home.

James dies not in the thick of battle or at the vicious claws of a demon, but in his bed, left hand held in the iron grip of his parabatai. He dies gently, quietly, breath suddenly stopping, hands going limp at his sides. Matthew hears his heart stop beating before James even exhales for that final time, pressing his forehead to his friend's and letting himself cry, guttural and grief stricken, unashamedly weeping into his parabatai's neck. Distantly, he hears his godson enter the room despite the late hour. Distantly, he sees Owen fall to his knees next to his father's bedside and clutch at his arm, joining Matthew in his lamentation.

And so, he holds onto James' hand and he cries. And he hopes with everything he has that he will see him again. He keeps that hope in his chest, a lighthouse on a distant, stormy shore, as he closes his parabatai's eyes and whispers, "Ave atque vale, Jamie bach. Hail and farewell."

#my first fanfic #i made myself sad #tsc #tlh #matthew fairchild #james herondale #i love them so much but they hurt me #tw talk of death and the afterlife #full of angst #sorry y'all #owen herondale #the dates of james and cordelia's deaths are from the v inaccurate family tree btw so take em with a grain of salt besties

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chronicas · 3 years

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Wanted to infodump about the symbolism of Array of Cicadas more so I’m making a separate post.

Symbolism plays a big part of my art, even if a lot of my designs are more simplistic. However, Nora is a very symbolic character, her role in the story is one that represents great change, transmutation. The main theme of Array of Cicadas is change and transformation. My main influence stems from being trans and having to deal with the consequences of change.

Nothing stays the same forever, sometimes you become someone new, sometimes the people you love exit your life. Ultimately, that’s what AoC is about The cicada itself, is a symbol of transformation and change.

Akira is a character who is going through a lot of hardships at the start of the story. She’s dealing with grief and she’s struggling with connecting to her family and people around her. In this sense, Akira is me, she’s my struggles and my pain, but she’s also my hope.

Devan is the change in Akira’s life, he’s the positive change. He represents all my friends and also a piece of myself I lost a long time ago. He’s also one of the younger characters in AoC, which is to say, he’s the future. Akira might be the protagonist, but really the thing that helps her the most, is helping Devan grow into the real hero.

Colors play a big part in AoC also, there’s two colors in particular that I use in almost all the designs. Red is the most common color in all of my art, red and black are the colors of the Izebellian Emperor, they’re also the colors of the Machine God. Red is the primary color in Akira’s design. It represents a lot of things for me, but the primary meaning in AoC is pain. Pain that someone is feeling, pain that is inflicted on others. Of course, it also sticks with it’s usual theme of anger.

Akira’s anger is more subtle, it’s in her fighting and in her mannerisms. It’s an anger that’s hard to direct at anyone because it stems from her struggles and grief. Her pain is similar, it’s mostly pain that can’t go away, it’s prominent in her design because it’s something she has to live with. Grief especially isn’t something that goes away. Her story is more focused on how to live with that pain more than it is to get rid of it.

Leo’s red is more subtle in his design. He has lots of other colors and is less monochromatic than most of the main cast. Leo’s had it pretty good, his family always lived comfortably and he didn’t have too many hardships. His anger and his pain are both for his friends. Leo is very empathetic, he takes on a lot of the pain that Caz and Devan aren’t able to deal with. Leo is an adult, while Caz and Devan are both kids, he feels the responsibility to take care of them.

Izebel’s red is simple, she was created from anger, like, almost literally. She’s been forced to shoulder the burden of Circe’s rage since she was born. Her own pain is buried deep under mounds of denial, she doesn’t want to face things that are hurting her so she lashes out at others instead. Izebel doesn’t get a confrontation until much later on, so her story is focused more on her antagonist role than anything.

Vonstantine only has a little bit of red in her design, most of the colors in her palette are cool colors, contrasted only by one article of clothing. Which is, literally, not a part of her. She doesn’t have any reason to be as angry as she is, her actions aren’t justified. Vonstantine isn’t quote unquote “irredeemable”, she’s just spoiled. She’s used to getting things her way and she’s mad that things aren’t working out for her. She represents pretty much everything all the other antagonists aren’t. She wants power and pretty much doesn’t care about anything else. She was raised with legends about her ancestors and created a false image of Karma in her mind that she aspired to be like. She’s honestly one of the most two dimensional characters I’ve ever made. Which is on purpose of course, although a big theme of AoC is change and redemption, I also wanted to acknowledge that some people don’t change and stick to one mindset their whole lives.

Karma’s red is [REDACTED]... a uh, major plot point. I can’t really go into detail about it.

Teal is the other most prominent color. The main color palette of AoC is plum, teal, yellow, and lavender. (Like just look at my theme over on @noxsylvania if you wanna see the EXACT colors I always use) Each of them have their own meaning. They’re associated with four things that will come up a lot in the lore of AoC. Teal is The Cicada, Lavender is The Sky, Plum is The Chasm, and Yellow is The Eyes.

Teal, the color of The Cicada, has the same meaning as the cicada itself, change and transformation. It also represents growth.

Devan is like Akira design wise, pretty monochromatic. His teal is of course representative of his role as a force of change in Akira’s life, but also represents his growth and the change he goes through throughout the story.

Vonstantine’s teal actually represents... negative change. She’s going to get worse ON PURPOSE. For her, it’s more of a desire for change, but because of the kind of person she is, it’s unlikely she’d actually accept the change that she needs to make.

Caz is like Leo in that she’s much more colorful. The teal in her design is more of an accent than a prominent color in her design. For Caz, this color represents her growth and recovery from her grief.

Yellow represents power. It mostly comes in the form of gold. It accents a good amount of characters designs. Like Akira and Vonstantine. Only a few characters have it as a prominent part of their design.

Leo has a lot of yellow in his design that’s more representative of his... i don’t know a better way to phrase it other than “political” or social power. Leo as a member of the Lenoir family, holds a lot of high status. However, it’s not resemble as gold on his design because Leo is VERY humble, it’s more of just something that is a part of his life and he’s more casual about it.

Azar’s design is completely yellow and other warm colors. He’s basically a physical manifestation of power and cool magic shit. He’s the spirit of a warrior that lived like 300 years ago and lives inside a super magical ass sword. Him representing power should be self explanatory.

Lavender represents peace and Plum represents death. There’s not any characters with lavender in their design that show up before Cryptadia, so I’ll skip over it. Plum is an undertone in Akira’s design as well as Karma’s (temporarily).

For Akira, it directly and 100% represents Takara’s death. For Karma, it’s representative of fucking... all the regicide she’s committed. I mean, she’s called the Regicidal Regent. It’s kinda her thing. However, as I mentioned, for Karma it’s temporary, the cloak she wears throughout the story is ditched the second you face off against her during her boss fight. This represents a few things.

Every single Gjalleon wears a hood or something else that obscures their face. This doesn’t always have a deep meaning and is just a fun thing about their character design. Devan’s hood has the most symbolic significance. Devan doesn’t like being a Gjalleon and tends to hide this fact from everyone, the Gjalleon’s descend from the Dragon God, Gjalleon as well as Karma, who was SUPER infamous because she [REDACTED]. As a result of [REDACTED], the Gjalleon’s became pretty hated by most people. Vonstantine used this to make people respect her through fear. Devan could care less about the Gjalleon family and hasn’t even MET anyone else in the Gjalleon family besides his dad. So he wears a hood to hide his obviously Gjalleon features and only goes by his mother’s surname. His hoodie is ALSO his comfort jacket!!! VERY IMPORTANT DETAIL!! The hood doesn’t symbolize much for Vonstantine other than it being the soul source of red in her design, when she takes it off to fight Devan, it’s her removing her visage, that her anger everything else was just a lie to get what she wanted. For Karma, it’s the soul source of plum in her design, it basically represents malice. Removing it symbolizes that she has no malicious intent towards the gang, mainly because she sees them all as children.

Most other colors I use follow pretty normal symbolism and not every character with these colors has it in their design for a specific reason. For Morah, red just looks good on her.

Anyways if anyone wants, I will go into the symbolism of the Cryptadia cast also.

#IM SORRY THIS GOT SO LONG IT WASNT SUPPOSED TO BE LIKE THIS!!!#long post #infodump #shut up kellington #array of cicadas

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ofthepuzzle · 3 years

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@kaibacorpbros said: [ 👪 ] what is your muse’s relationship with their parents like? was it always this way? [ ❌ ] is there something your muse struggles with that they might never overcome? what is it? why do they have so much trouble with it? [ 😇 ] what would your muse do if they became a god?

PROMPTS I’D LIKE TO RECEIVE

[ 👪 ] what is your muse’s relationship with their parents like? was it always this way?

Oh, boY. Lately I’d been thinking about Atem and his parents, specifically his dad. Atem doesn’t know much about his mum as he had been permanently glued to his father after birth.

Atem being the only child and heir meant that Akhenamkhanen was extra strict and watchful over his son. Akhenamkhanen was the epitome of protection/guardianship for Atem. The sense of warmth, home, safety. Atem was delicate as a kid, so he was treated with softness and affection. Akhenamkhanen wasn’t precisely strict on him but more so about what his son engages in, who looks after him, what is given to him, etc. Rather, he had never put his worries on Atem’s back, even in his teen years. Akhenamkhanen ensured that his son grew up well, fixating on letting only the good news reach to him and rather handle the bad without Atem knowing. This likely softened Atem as he had never really seen the cruel side of world and what it may offer on the negative spectrum. (In this case he might be seen sobbing at times when something frightening happens). However, his father tended to leave Atem handle his own hardships. He never intervened. He remained on the sidelines, watching. He would occasionally give him a hand. Though, once Atem reached his teen years, he was introduced to studies as he is a king in training. The Prince took inspiration of the Pharaoh’s concern for justice, guardship, strictness and wished to follow in his steps.

I could go on for looong about Akhenamkhanen and Atem but… I will squeeze it from now on. Ahem. Atem only got love and care from his father. He’d seen his mother a couple of times as a toddler but he was put in his father’s care and discipline. Akhenamkhanen was a good Pharaoh and a dad. He ensured his son’s needs are fulfilled and that he is showered with love, all while shaping him into the role of a prince and future king. Atem’s relationship with his father was the strongest, meaning that he took it horribly when he’d found his parent in his death bed. Emotions mixed with denial, anger, depression, stress. The acceptance came in late. As the court was the one organizing everything since the Pharaoh was dead, the Prince needed time to get back on his senses from the shock. (I have a hc that whenever Atem cries/has a breakdown the spirit of his Father would appear to embrace him). Akhenamkhanen’s death to Atem was very traumatic but it was also the big push for the now new king to break out of that soft shell and develop a hard one with more determination, spite, virtue as the sharp metaphorical spikes enhancing that solidified grief.

[ ❌ ] is there something your muse struggles with that they might never overcome? what is it? why do they have so much trouble with it?

Pretty much the last bit of what I wrote. B’) He couldn’t overcome his father’s death. Nor all the other deaths that occurred at the war outbreak. That is, while he is still living, he would carry that guilt. He always carries guilt with himself if a loved one passes or gets badly injured and he couldn’t help prevent it. (Like Mahad/Dark Magician) He fits within the guardian archetype and his most meaningful duty is to keep everything and everyone safe. And it’s difficult to get out of this mindset. He’s gone through phases where he feels himself as useless when he can’t offer assistance which often ends up with deep frustration overtaking. But this is only during extreme situations.

[ 😇 ] what would your muse do if they became a god?

gOSH. Idk. Bring his papa back and hug him. B’) To be fair… he would do… a lot. He strives for perfection, so he would probably do anything to his ability to maintain and restore his kingdom. And he would be able to cross the barrier between the dead and the living more often so he could watch over Yuugi and friends. To be fair, he already low-key does some of these things, despite some restrictions. Oh. He has a divine form as I’ve mentioned before and I’ve been daydreaming about what power it possesses. Definitely more than usual. But to get there, there must be a chain of triggers reasonable enough to bring about a godly form. Technically, the world being put at risk of destruction is one reasonable option.

#ABOUT.//#— ask replies.//#kaibacorpbros #thank you for the ask !#cw long post

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inkjackets · 4 years

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To Save a Loved One Ch7

Warnings: Major Character Death, Blood, Violence, and just a whole load of trauma tbh

AO3

Ch1 Ch2 Ch3 Ch4 Ch5 Ch6 Ch7 Ch8

Excruciating pain bled up Adrien’s broken arm, but it was nothing compared to the cold congealed in his stomach.

Dad? Adrien tried to say, not fully comprehending what his father’s words meant.

His father broke his gaze with the terror-stricken Marinette, and slowly turned his steel-grey eyes to him. A terrifying finality glinted deep within them. A dangerous determination was etched into the very fabric of his being.

The colour drained from Adrien’s face as realisation sank in.

His lips parted with horror; denial turned his muscles weak; his legs gave way beneath him before he was caught by the Gorilla.

‘No,’ he whispered, the word barely able to make its way out.

Gabriel looked away and turned back to his wife.

‘NO!’ Adrien screamed. He strained to break free, but fire seared down his arm and his cry cracked into pain and he bit down on his tongue. He tasted metal.

‘Take him away.’ Gabriel handed the Gorilla a remote. His voice softened as he gazed at his son. ‘Keep him safe.’

‘No!’ Adrien shook his head as the Gorilla forced him round. ‘No, NO!’ He kicked; he struggled; he strained against his captor, the shooting pains in his wrist only adding to his cries.

‘FATHER!’ The cry ripped itself from him. ‘FATHER!’ His lungs raw and burning. ‘NO!’

But the Gorilla pulled him away, down, down the walkway. Adrien’s cries and shrieks echoed uselessly around the chamber.

A terrified ‘ADRIEN!’ rang out from a Marinette who had somehow freed her mouth.

‘MARINETTE!’ Adrien screamed back as the Gorilla pulled him through the archway. ‘MARIN-’ The metal doorway slammed shut. Darkness fell upon them. ‘NO! NO!’ Desperation flooded Adrien and hysteria slammed into his gut as the Gorilla dragged him up the staircase. ‘NO, MARINETTE!’ Adrien pulled his arms free and clawed at the walls, wailing at the excruciating pain in his wrist. The stone soaked up his yells; his blood from ripped nails marked the brick; hot tears sank into the ground to be swallowed by the earth. And Adrien fought with all his might to save his Lady from death.

~~~

Adrien’s screams echoed in Marinette’s mind as she stared at the door waiting for him to burst through again. Because he had to. He had to. Her vision blurred from the intensity of her stare. She started slipping from her mind. Waves of disassociation washed over her.

Movement in her peripheral vision snapped her out of it.

She narrowed her eyes as Gabriel drew himself upright and stared at the jewels in his hands with a feverish shine in his eyes. The ring had turned into a simple silver band and the earrings into circular cufflinks to match.

‘PLEASE!’ Marinette begged as she strained against Mayura, her mind refusing to accept the implications of what Gabriel intended. ‘THINK ABOUT ADRIEN!’

Gabriel didn’t move. ‘You should really think about yourself, Miss Dupain-Cheng,’ he said and Marinette shivered. ‘But then, you are Ladybug.’ Marinette’s gut twisted and froze solid.

‘Please.’ The strength fled her voice and came out as a hoarse whisper.

Gabriel turned his head towards her but instead looked at Mayura.

‘I told you to keep her quiet.’

Mayura made no move to silence Marinette. ‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ she asked, her voice soft and careful and quiet with pleading.

Gabriel’s eyes flashed in anger. He slid the ring on in reply.

Marinette gasped when Plagg materialised. He hung heavy in the air, exhaustion wearing him down. His eyes, mere slits of electricity that cut through the darkness.

‘What are you doing?’ The kwami’s voice had lost all its usual humour and was dangerously quiet.

Gabriel ignored him and put the cufflinks on, his old ones fell to the floor with a soft thud to be lost amongst the greenery.

‘You can’t do this!’ Tikki yelled as soon as she appeared. But, like Plagg, her energy was depleted.

Gabriel ignored her outburst. He took his time straightening the cuffs of his sleeves before raising his eyes to finally acknowledge the two gods.

‘What are your names?’

The kwami stared back, defiant; their mouths firmly closed. But Marinette bit her lip with fear at the fatigue and panic in their eyes.

‘Your names,’ Gabriel repeated with an intensity that the kwami were bound to. Marinette watched them struggle against his demand, but ultimately, they bowed their heads and let their names slide off their tongues.

Gabriel smiled. ‘There, that wasn’t too hard, was it?’

‘M-Master, p-please—’ a small voice began.

‘Silence, Nooroo!’ Gabriel cut over him. ‘I won’t have you blubbering in my ear.’

A soft pat-pat disrupted the silence as Nooroo’s tears dripped onto the floor. Gabriel turned away from his kwami with disgusted annoyance and moved towards his wife.

‘Nothing comes without a price,’ Plagg said, his electric eyes deadly serious.

Gabriel paused in his movement. He held Plagg’s gaze. ‘I know the price,’ he said quietly.

Tension stretched between them.

‘Do you?’ Tikki asked, her soft voice piercing the silence.

The hair’s stood up on the back of Marinette’s neck as Gabriel’s soft voice rolled around the room. ‘She wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.’

Tikki shivered with fury. Plagg glared at him with such a vicious hatred Marinette could feel it emanating from him.

‘You fucking bastard,’ he said, his quiet voice worse than any yell.

Gabriel smiled.

Marinette choked; realisation finally broke through her denial.

‘No,’ she begged, straining against Mayura, ‘No!’ she cried as desperation clawed through her.

Gabriel raised his hands, his eyes glittering. ‘Tikki, Plagg—’

‘ NO! ’

—‘Combine and transform me.’

Marinette screamed, the air tearing from her lungs as red and green magic swirled and merged around Gabriel, turning him into something horrific and powerful.

She ripped herself from Mayura’s grasp and tried to dash forward, but Mayura pulled her back and threw her to the floor, slamming her heel into her chest and knocking the air from her lungs, pinning her down to the ground.

‘Don’t!’ Mayura hissed.

Despite gasping for breath and being crippled with pain, Marinette grit her teeth and clawed at Mayura’s leg, but cried out when Mayura pushed down harder and cracked something in her chest.

‘I said don’t,’ Mayura whispered, her voice oddly desperate and pleading. Marinette sobbed, her eyes watered with fear and pain. But then a low laugh distracted them both. They looked at Gabriel.

Except, with a new purple suit crackling with electricity and blinding white eyes giving off a terrifying energy, this man was no longer Gabriel. Nor Hawkmoth.

He was much worse.

He flexed his hands and grinned at the strength flowing through his veins before stepping towards his wife.

Marinette struggled. Mayura jerked her head back to her and gave a sharp shake of her head. Marinette stilled.

‘Please,’ Mayura whispered, so quiet Marinette could barely hear it, her voice filled with pleading and pain. ‘Don’t.’ And this time Marinette understood the depth to the word.

‘Creation and Destruction,’ the-man-who-was-no-longer-Gabriel began, his voice both god-like and demonic. ‘A life given, a life taken.’ Mayura lifted her foot from Marinette’s chest. Marinette stared at her wide-eyed with fear, her breaths shallow from pain and apprehension. ‘I wish to bring back that which should not have gone.’

Marinette forced herself upright as Mayura stepped towards the man. A desperate ‘No, don’t!’ near burst out from her, but her words never lived. Mayura looked back over her shoulder and killed the words on her lips with a small nod and a look that said, ‘I know what I’m doing.’

Mayura gave a sad smile. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

And then, the world burst into light.

~~~

‘MARINETTE!’ Adrien raged on the other side of the portrait, slamming his shoulders into the picture blocking the doorway. Over and over. Again and again.

‘MARINETTE!’ He picked up a shard of glass and slashed at the picture and tried to pry it open. The glass cut into his palm. Blood trickled down his wrist.

‘MARINETTE!’ he screamed and slammed into it again. The Gorilla pulled him away. ‘NO, NO! LET GO OF ME!’ Adrien wrenched himself out of his grasp and fell onto all fours, hissing as pain shot up his arm, before running back to the portrait and tearing at it once more, filling with desperation and nauseating fear. But it wasn’t budging.

He rounded on the Gorilla. ‘OPEN THE DOOR!’ he screamed, voice cracking with emotion. ‘OPEN IT!’ But the large man made no move to help him.

Adrien looked around and spied the hole in the ground caused by their previous battle. He ran at it, but before he could jump through the Gorilla caught him and threw him back.

Adrien screamed with frustration and tried again. But this time the man held him tight.

‘Let me go!’ Adrien pummelled the chest of the man. ‘Let me go to her!’ His voice broke. ‘Please!’ It weakened. ‘I have to save her or m-my f-father will—!’ he slammed his hands to his mouth smearing blood on his cheeks. His breathing quickened. His chest closed up. ‘No, no, no,’ he muttered, grasping his hair and shaking his head. He wanted to throw up. ‘He can’t. He can’t!’

Adrien had known his father had sunk into grief, but never had he imagined he’d fall this far.

‘Please,’ Adrien begged, his voice dropping to a terrible whisper, ‘tell me he won’t do it.’

The giant man held him gently and remained silent.

Adrien burst into tears. He fell limp in the Gorilla’s arms and succumbed to his grief. And they stayed like that a moment as Adrien’s wails rang out, trembling in the Gorilla’s arms, overcome with panic.

The man gingerly lifted him up and carried him from the room, carefully stepping around the debris, into the lobby, and out the front door. He placed Adrien in the backseat of the car and did up his seatbelt. Adrien was too distraught to question him or fight back.

The Gorilla pulled the car out and drove through the streets of Paris. And ever so slowly, Adrien’s sobs slowed and apathy took over.

Time lost all meaning as Adrien stared out the window, the world passing him by with unknowing indifference; the streetlights blurred in his vision; numbness pricked at his skin; his emotions faded to a dull pounding headache.

They paused at a red light and Adrien watched three drunken tourists laugh and sing into the night. Their happiness felt alien and foreign, wrong and twisted. Like it had no right to exist.

They kept driving.

Eventually, Adrien wet his tongue and opened his mouth to speak.

‘Where…?’ he started, his hoarse voice scraping his throat.

The Gorilla looked at him through the rearview mirror and Adrien shivered at his dark piercing eyes; he realised where he was being taken. Adrien swallowed and clenched his fist, and he braced himself.

As soon as the Gorilla brought the car to a stop, Adrien got out with his heart in his mouth. He ran up the stairs and burst through the doors and strode over to the startled receptionist who barely had time to take in his haggard appearance before he slammed his left hand onto the counter right next to a pile of forms with the word POLICE emblazoned at the top.

‘I need to speak to Sergeant Raincomprix,’ he said, his voice unexpectedly steady. ‘Tell him it’s Adrien Agreste and—’ A lump in his throat made him falter. He clenched his jaw tight. He hardened his heart. He swallowed the lump down and thought only of Marinette.

‘And tell him, my father is Hawkmoth.’

~~~

Gabriel fell to his knees, retching and coughing, sucking in air which ripped through his lungs and tore at his throat; magic pouring from his body as his transformation dropped. Limbs shaking, muscles straining, he gave one more deep-chested hack before digging his fingers into the dirt and scrambling over to Emilie, murmuring her name over and over as he fumbled at the buttons of her case until the glass slid open and he hauled himself up. ‘Emilie,’ he breathed. He pulled at her shoulders but she was limp in his arms. ‘Emilie, Emilie!’ He forced her upright again, distress building within him.

She slid through his fingers and fell back with a sickening thump.

Gabriel flushed cold with horror. His mind in denial.

‘Emilie,’ he whispered once more, his hand shaking as he brushed her unmoving cheek with his fingertips. His vision blurred; chest tightened; heart clenched painfully tight. Something had gone wrong. The wish hadn’t worked.

‘Gabriel?’ a voice called from behind him, but he ignored it. It wasn’t the voice he longed to hear.

A flash of blue. A gasping of air. A staggering of footsteps that shattered the still air.

‘Gabriel!’ The voice called again, desperate and broken. And something in the tone made him turn around.

Nathalie. Their gazes locked. She stood de-transformed and pale with a look in her eyes that made his insides turn cold.

Then movement behind her caught his eye. The girl. Ladybug. Marinette Dupain-Cheng. She had a hand clutched to her chest and was staring distraught at Nathalie. Gabriel narrowed his eyes. She was very much alive.

‘Gabriel,’ Nathalie called again, and Gabriel turned his gaze back to her before leaping up to catch her, falling painfully to his knees as she collapsed in his arms.

She clung tight and stared up at him, her chest spasming, breaths shallow, with eyes filled with fear.

Gabriel slowly raised his eyes to meet Marinette’s.

‘What did you do?’ he asked, his voice cold and sharp as ice.

Fresh terror filled the girl’s eyes as he started to rise. But a grip on Gabriel’s hand pulled him back down. He looked at Nathalie, and horror mounted within him as she slowly shook her head, realisation washing over him like he’d been tied to a stone and thrown into deep water, drowning him in deep murky darkness.

‘No, no, no,’ he breathed, denial stabbing him in the chest, ‘it wasn’t supposed to be you.’

A tear ran down the side of Nathalie’s cheek. She took his hand in hers and he gripped her back tight.

‘Take care of Adrien,’ she said, her voice terrifyingly weak, ‘he deserves to be happy.’ Gabriel nodded, unwanted tears building within him. ‘I hope…’ She smiled sadly, her breathing quickened. ‘I hope I made you happy.’

Gabriel gritted his teeth as emotion slammed into him. Nathalie shook and sobbed in his arms, and he pressed his forehead to hers, holding her close and breathing her in.

‘Don’t forget me,’ she cried softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

A sob escaped Gabriel. ‘Never,’ he said just as quietly, his voice cracking ever so slightly.

He pulled back and wiped her tears with his thumb, gazing into those clear blue eyes shining with terror, before leaning back down and planting a soft kiss on her forehead.

And pain shot through his heart and ripped open his chest as her hand went limp and the life fled from her body.

She was gone.

This woman who’d served him, who’d loved him, who’d been his ally all these years. Who’d made the ultimate sacrifice just for him, of all people.

‘Why?’ The question fell from his lips before he could stop it as pain twisted itself through his heart and stomach.

‘WHY?’ Gabriel roared and slammed his fist into the ground. But Nathalie remained lifeless and gave him no answer.

He stared at her, limp and warm in his lap, and shock worked its way through every nerve and fibre in his body.

The world froze in time and the air grew bitingly cold and a hollow emptiness started spreading from his heart through his veins.

He lay Nathalie on the ground, nestled amongst the greenery, before gently brushing the hair from her face and staring, vision blurring, at her still and lifeless body.

Her still and lifeless body.

Her lifeless body.

Gabriel sat up.

A life given. A life taken. Surely that meant—

Gabriel spun around and then choked on the sudden rush of hope. Disbelief flushed the despair from his mind and light burst through his veins and threatened to rip them wide. And love slammed into him so hard that tears rose in his eyes.

Because there she was.

Golden and glowing; standing next to the case, fingers brushing the flowers and eyes glistening with life.

‘Emilie,’ he whispered. He scrambled to his feet and rushed towards her, wanting desperately to sweep her up and hold her tight and never let her go.

But she stopped him with a single hand to his chest.

Gabriel’s breath caught in his throat. He could feel her soft touch through the fabric of his shirt and the gentle pressure of each finger sent sparks of life shooting through him. And he gazed into her eyes, having for so long missed that deep green ringed with gold.

But then the look she was giving him pierced his euphoria. Her lips were parted with slight hesitation and her eyes were narrowed with just a hint of wariness.

Emilie turned her eyes from him, and he followed her gaze to Nathalie.

‘What did you do?’ Emilie then asked him quietly.

Gabriel’s smile faltered. He pulled himself upright. Regret threatened to overwhelm him, but he shoved it deep down as Emilie met his gaze once more and he looked deep into the eyes of the women he loved.

‘What I had to,’ he replied, his voice quiet with emotion.

Emilie didn’t move. Her eyes flicked between his. Then slowly she leant in and kissed him full on the lips.

Gabriel melted into her embrace. Her scent of sunshine and life penetrated his senses. He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight. Never to let go. Tighter. Tighter. And even tighter still.

Then he lifted and spun her around. Her laughter echoed off the cavern walls and glistened in the dark air, and it was the most beautiful sound in the world.

He lowered her back to her feet, still entwined in her arms, head nestled in her shoulder, breathing in the scent of her life and wonder. He ran his fingers through her hair, and when she raised her head, he traced her face, still not believing she was here with her beautiful eyes smiling up at him. Her smile widened. His heart pounded. The moment hung between them. Then she kissed him again. A kiss filled with desperation and disbelief, and a love made whole again.

And Gabriel knew, had their roles been reversed, she’d have done the same for him.

He didn’t even realise he was crying until she placed a hand on his cheek and wiped away his tears. ‘Shhh,’ she murmured, her voice so soft and soothing. ‘I’m here now.’ Gabriel laughed with happiness. This was his reward. Everything he’d done, the time he’d spent fighting, it had finally paid off. She was here with him once more. Everything was right in the world.

Eventually, Emilie pulled back slightly and glanced around the room. ‘Where’s Adrien?’ she asked. Panic then flashed behind her eyes but she instantly smothered it. ‘How much time has passed?’

‘He’s somewhere safe,’ Gabriel said, rubbing her hand reassuringly, ‘and it’s been just over a year.’

Tears welled in her eyes. ‘He’s now fifteen?’ she whispered. ‘Oh, my darling boy, I—’

A scuff from behind made her break off.

They both turned to see Marinette, who was kneeling suspiciously close to Nathalie. She looked up. Squeaked. And scrabbled back until she hit the railing.

‘Who is this?’ Emilie asked, her voice taking on a dangerous tone.

‘Ladybug,’ Gabriel replied. ‘The wielder of the Ladybug miraculous.’

‘Ah.’ Emilie’s features softened. ‘She’s so young.’

Ladybug glared at the pair of them. ‘My name,’ she hissed, pulling herself to her feet, ‘is Marinette Dupain-Cheng!’

Gabriel and Emilie both stared back, unmoving.

‘We’ll have to do something about her,’ Emilie said, turning away from the girl and ignoring her completely. ‘Where’s the wielder of the Black Cat?’

Gabriel grimaced. ‘Somewhere safe.’

Emilie’s eyebrows drew together with confusion, then realisation dawned on her face. She raised her shaking hands to her mouth. ‘No, you can’t mean…’

Gabriel reluctantly nodded.

‘My poor boy!’ she cried. ‘How? Who in their right mind would give a miraculous to a child?’

‘Adrien’s more worthy of a miraculous than either of you!’

Gabriel and his wife both looked at Marinette. She glared at them with loathing, determination clearly simmering within her. Gabriel had to give the girl that, she was a tenacious one.

Emilie’s smile slipped. Her gaze turned to daggers.

But Marinette refused to back down. Instead she held her hand out.

‘Give me back my miraculous,’ she said, her voice low and demanding. ‘Adrien’s too.’ Her boldness contrasted the glistening tears on her cheeks.

Emilie caught Gabriel’s eye. There was a fire within that deep forest green, but he found himself turning and looking at Nathalie.

‘Give them back!’ Marinette cried, a sob catching her last word.

But Gabriel just stared at Nathalie turning cold on the ground as Marinette’s hitched breathing grated on his mind. And then exhaustion slammed into him so hard that it near swept his legs from beneath him. Relief and grief caused him to stumble and tremble – relief from his achieved goal, and grief from what it had cost him – pain and guilt ate up his will, twisting inside him. And that was on top of the energy the miraculous had drained from him.

With shaking fingers, Gabriel removed the cufflinks from his sleeves and held them up in the palm of his hand. They transformed back into spotted earrings.

Then, before Emilie could stop him, he threw them at Marinette’s feet.

Emilie grabbed his wrist. ‘What are you doing, Gabriel?’ she asked softly; dangerously.

In his peripheral vision he saw Marinette scrabble for the miraculous, but Gabriel had only eyes for his wife’s piercing gaze. He still couldn’t believe how green her eyes were.

Emilie tightened her grip until her nails dug into his skin. But he was stronger than her and it wasn’t hard, despite her grip, to slide the ring off his finger.

‘Letting her go,’ he finally said, and tossed the ring at the girl.

Marinette dove for the miraculous. Betrayal flashed in his wife’s eyes, but in true Agreste fashion, she smothered it.

‘Why?’

Fatigue pressed its heavy weight on Gabriel. He stared down at Nathalie – looking so peaceful she could be sleeping – and all he felt was emptiness. He didn’t reply.

Emilie swallowed. ‘If you let her go, you’ll—’

‘I know,’ he said quietly.

A range of emotions flared in Emilie’s eyes, but she didn’t have time to respond before Marinette cut in.

‘Give me Nooroo too,’ she said, her voice quiet yet filled with undeniable grit.

Gabriel raised his gaze to meet hers. ‘The moth miraculous is mine,’ he said, his tone weary but careful.

‘You lost any right you had over that miraculous when you forced him to do evil!’

Gabriel scowled, but before he could reply, footsteps thundered overhead making them all jump. Bright beams from flashlights entered from the hole far above and commands and yells drifted through.

Gabriel paled. He thought he’d have more time.

He’d thoroughly underestimated Adrien.

‘DOWN HERE!’ Marinette screamed, ‘WE’RE DOWN HE—’

In a flash, Emilie grabbed Marinette to quell her cries, but in an unnerving display of skill and speed, Marinette wrenched Emilie around, locked her arm behind her back, and shoved her to the ground.

Gabriel made to rush forward.

‘Don’t!’ Marinette yelled and twisted Emilie’s arm tighter making her grimace with pain. ‘Don’t come any closer!’

‘Don’t hurt her!’

‘THEN GIVE NOOROO TO ME!’ Marinette screamed, tears pouring down her cheeks. ‘YOU HAVE NO USE FOR HIM ANYMORE!’ Marinette gritted her teeth and twisted Emilie’s arm tighter. ‘PLEASE!’ And Gabriel relaxed. He knew her threat was empty. She was weak. She was a hero. She was a child who was too good for this.

And yet…

Gabriel took a shaky breath and pulled the brooch from his shirt and held it in the palm of his hand.

‘Gabriel, don’t!’ Emilie said before hissing with pain as Marinette pushed her down harder.

Nooroo quivered over Gabriel’s shoulder, his silent tears dripped onto the floor beneath him.

The door at the other end of the walkway slammed open.

Gabriel threw the brooch into the grass and Marinette hesitated a split before pushing Emilie forward and falling to the floor to grab the miraculous.

Gabriel caught his wife and they held each other tight as Marinette ran back to her railing and footsteps thundered down the walkway.

Emilie looked up at Gabriel with her stunning green eyes.

‘Why?’ she whispered as the officers strode ever closer.

He held her face in his hands and gave her a deep lasting kiss.

‘I’ve accepted it,’ he said softly as he pulled back. He’d always known, deep down, that there’d be consequences for his actions.

‘Accepted what?’ she asked. But he didn’t reply. He simply gazed into his wife’s eyes, memorising their colour, as the stream of officers surrounded them.

‘Put your hands where we can see them!’ One of them cried.

The colour drained from Emilie’s face. ‘No, no, no,’ she said quickly, eyes widening with panic and realisation. She clasped him tight. ‘No, I won’t allow it! We’re supposed to be a family! That’s the whole point!’ she cried, verging on hysterical. ‘We’re supposed to be together again!’

‘I love you,’ Gabriel said softly. He kissed her on her forehead. ‘And I’ve accepted it.’ He stepped back and raised his hands in surrender.

‘But I haven’t!’ Emilie cried. ‘What about me?’ She threw off the policeman who tried to grab her. ‘Gabriel!’ she screamed, her cry desperate and piercing. ‘GABRIEL! WHAT ABOUT ME? GABRIEL!’

With her cries ringing out and tears spilling down her cheeks, it hurt Gabriel to watch as his wife was taken away. Yet he couldn’t help but smile as cold metal was clasped around his wrists. For it meant he had succeeded. Emilie was alive. Her light was back in the world.

And the world was better off because of it.

Next Chapter

#miraculous ladybug #ml #mlb #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #gabriel agreste #nathalie sancoeur #emilie agreste #gabriel agreste's a+ parenting #ml angst #tw death #tw blood #tw violence #who can believe i actually managed to get this chapter done #not me that's for sure #if there's any mistakes i'm sorry #it's gone 2am and i'm shattered #my writing #to save a loved one

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aprils-arcadia · 3 years

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Masterlist

Welcome to my Masterlist. It’s divided into Stories, Journaling and Fanfiction. I will update this list continuously and add the links to the still missing stories.

Happy Reading!

Goodbye Winter

Genre: Angst

Word Count: < 400

Summary: Taking a stroll through the park you remember and move on

A/N: Inspired by the song “Goodbye Winter” by Day6

The Witch’s Flower Shop

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: ~ 800

Summary: In your local flower shop you receive a very special flower.

A/N: Written in memory of my local florist, who’s shop always felt magic to me.

Home

“Sometimes all you need to do is come home...“

Autumn

“Autumn is like spring but without the allergies...”

Quest for Magic

“I am on a quest to find magic...”

Kindred Spirit

“Sometimes we meet people that just immediately become part of our lives...”

Old vs. New

“I live with this dichotomy of interests that has always baffled me...”

Simplicity

“I feel like nowadays my generation longs for simplicity more than anything else...”

Roots

“Over the years her roots had grown deep and thick into the earth...”

Storytellers

“I come from a family of storytellers...”

My Childhood

“My childhood tasted like the condensed milk with sugar from my father's cup of coffee or the freshly picked cherries from the tree that stood tall and proud in our own garden...“

Rearview Mirror

Member: Sungjin

Genre: Fluff and a tiiiny bit of angst

Word Count: 1,3k

Summary: On a drive with his daughter Sungjin reminisces about the days he met his wife.

A Cure for Insomnia

Pairing: Sungjin x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: < 1k

Summary: Lately you haven’t been able to sleep well cause the other side of the bed has been empty for too long.

Your Warmth

Pairing: Sunjin x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 1,7k

Summary: Sungjin goes to a concert he doesn't even enjoy only to have his evening go for the better by meeting you

Curiosity

Member: Dowoon

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 1.9k

Summary: You had always been incredibly curious and now is finally the time to find out your dad’s biggest secret

Opportunity

Member: Wonpil

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 1,8k

Summary: On a rainy night Wonpil meets someone that helps him see the world a little differently

Wanderlust

Member: Young K

Genre: Angst

Word Count: < 1k

Summary: As she boards her plane, Younghyun has to face the reality of their relationship having ended.

Adventure

Member: Jae

Genre: Angst

Word Count: ~ 1k

Summary: Sitting on the beach at night, Jae thinks about the life-changing decision he made.

Trust

Pairing: Sungin x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 3,7k

Summary: You have been dating Sungjin for years now and he is still deadset on helping you overcome your fears.

A Weekend in Rome

Pairing: Kihyun x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 2,2k

Summary: Your business trip to Rome turned out completely different from what you’d imagined, as your attractive co-worker decided to accopany you.

Killjoy

Members: Kihyun, Changkyun, Shownu

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 1,5k

Summary: Once again Kihyun finds himself at the mercy of one of Changkyun’s drunk plans.

Denial

Members: Kihyun, Changkyun, Wonho

Genre: Fluff with a good deal of angst

Word Count: 4,9k

Summary: After your last relationship with Changkyun ended badly you are reluctant to give in to your feelings for your fellow freshman at college Kihyun.

Sway

Member: Shownu

Genre: Angst

Word Count: < 1k

Summary: Nostalgia takes a hold of you, as you are spending the last hours with your childhood firend Shownu.

Home

Member: Kihyun

Genre: Angst

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Mentions of death, grief; loss of father

Summary: On the way to his father’s funeral, Kihyun’s son remebers the times they shared together.

By the River

Member: Shownu

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 1,9k

Summary: You watch the sunrise from your favorite place in your hometown, when you are suddenly interrupted by a handsome stranger.

~ Coming Soon ~

#masterlist #aprils fanfiction #aprils journal #aprils stories #day6 #mx #monstax #spilled thoughts #spilled words #angst #fluff

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leiazher · 3 years

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I was reminded yesterday of a man I saw, twice, when I was fourteen.

He looked just like dad.

And I was still in denial, six years after dad’s suicide, I still sometimes came up with other theories, murdered, abducted, accident, faked his own death, it wasn’t his body they found, and so on.

And here was this man, looking just like dad, from the tips of his hair to the soles of his shoes. The only difference was that he was slightly shorter.

Once more, I saw my dad’s smile, on a strangers face. I saw dad’s frown, I saw his relaxed features, and my first thought was: “I was right”

I was right, dad isn’t dead, he faked it, and now he’s come back.

I spun fifty new stories in my head to justify his absence, I was elated, I was on my way over to him, grab him, hug him, cry for joy at having gotten dad back.

It only took a split second, half a step, for logic to kick in.

Dad loved us. He lived for us. He wouldn’t have done what he did if he’d known we were alive, if he’d known he was deep in a horrifying psychosis. He would still be alive, I’m sure of it.

And as sure as I am of that, I’m also sure that if he had faked his own death, he wouldn’t wait six years to return. He’d either return within a month, or not at all.

Watching that stranger walk away was devastating, and it was the final drop to rip all of my theories away, and hammer home the fact that dad was gone, is gone, he won’t come back. Six years and a stranger is what it took to end my denial, to let me break down and scream in the grief I had held back for so long.

I remembered this yesterday.

And today, I realize that on May 22nd, dad will have been dead for twenty years.

Twenty whole years without him, and it isn’t any easier to think about what he’s missed, and what I’ve missed.

Sometimes I’m still furious, he won’t get to see my kids, my kids won’t have him as a grandpa, he won’t see weddings or celebrations, parties, graduation, birth, death, joy, sorrow. And I won’t get to share it with him.

I don’t blame him. Not anymore.

It’s far easier to blame someone, than it is to feel the sorrow the absence of blame leaves behind. But here I am, missing him fiercely, wishing I could speak to him just one last time.

#suicide tw #Suicide #murder mention #but only as a theory #no murder present in this text #grief #mourning #anniversary #20 years #I miss him so much #I miss him so so so much #the grief doesn't get any easier #but it isn't present as often as it used to be #I can go days without thinking of dad #and then all of a sudden it's as if I remember again #and I just want to scream

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lgbtyrus · 3 years

Text

Bluebirds Without Wings Ch. 1

Summary: After an alarming incident, Julie's dad (the King), assigned her and Carlos each a knight to keep them safe for the first time in their lives. Carlos is fine with it, but Julie is not exactly thrilled with having a strange brooding boy follow her everywhere- especially when she's still trying to find her place in the kingdom after the death of her mom. It's not easy to figure out who you are and pick up pieces of who you were when someone is breathing down your neck, and she makes sure Luke and her dad (the King) know how how she feels. Her dad (the King), won't budge and lets Luke keep his post despite all of Julie's efforts to get him sent away.

Although this creates a definitive tension between them, there is no denying that some people are just signs sent from those who have left us.

Ao3 Link | Words: 1,439

It was another pink day in the castle. The banquet was happening all below, but Julie didn’t plan to go anywhere near it. She was standing out on her balcony, staring out at the kingdom and at the birds. She wished she could trade spots with a blue jay- even if it was just for one day. The weight of a blue jay’s wings is but a decimal of the weight of grief. A blue jay probably wouldn’t know that their mom is dead. A blue jay would assume she’s somewhere- out there- and they’ll meet up for migration that Winter like they always have. Denial must be bliss she always thought.

But Winter and Spring had all left as well as the snow and the constellations Julie used to see in the sky. She only sees an entire universe that could swallow her whole, and she only knows peace when she shuts her eyes and dreams of singing with her mom for the people in the town square. She hoped they didn’t think that she was gone, too.

She heard the door from inside her room open, but she didn’t bother looking to see who it was. She was more interested in seeing which direction a trio of crows would take.

“To the square or to the graveyard?” Flynn asked, looking out with her. Julie pointed at the crows she had been watching as they flew in circles around each other.

“I think they’re playing right now.”

“Crows.” Flynn scrunched up her face. One had dropped a little present for her on her head a few years ago at a public event, and she didn’t seem to be too fond of the idea that it was a symbol good luck. “Probably the graveyard. They’re going to take their little shovels and little graverobber pin buttons and start grave robbing.” Julie watched Flynn pretend to be interested in her bird watching activities, peering closely at the birds who made her run out of the square in shame when she was eleven. Julie had chased after her to comfort her. Flynn was doing a lot of that in these past few months.

Although Flynn would never turn her in, Julie still had to ask, “Are they looking for me?”

“Not yet,” she said. “Someone asked about you and your brother started talking about bugs or something to distract them.” Carlos seemed to take attention better after their mother’s death. Julie on the other hand, wasn’t a fan. It worked out for the two of them. It’s how they looked out for one another.

Julie saw the crows head off in the direction of the graveyard just like Flynn had predicted. She hoped they’d be able to find nourishment in something on her mom’s altar. “The king’s son wants to be an entomologist and his daughter is starting to resemble Icarus. I can’t imagine what the people are saying.”

Flynn put her hand over Julie’s. “Your people don’t care. They also miss her.” Julie knew exactly who Flynn was talking about. The people in the smaller villages of the kingdom that seldom used electricity and provided most of the crops for the kingdom. Too many times had building a school in those areas been denied and her and her mom could never figure out why. They would go there almost every weekend to build relationships until her mom became bedridden for two years and later died. Julie was almost sure those people got the news last.

Julie looked up at the white clouds adorning the velvet pink skies. Their contrast made the world seem perfect for a moment. She was pulled back from impossibility when a tear fell down to her collarbone. “I hope they remember her.”

“They always will.”

After a few moments of spacing out and thinking about her mom showing newborn baby Carlos the clouds, Julie realized the crows were completely out of view. She imagined them perched on a headstone, cawing in joy. “Let’s go in?” Julie asked Flynn.

Flynn gave a mock bow and a genuine smile, “You are the princess.” Julie couldn’t help but smile, appreciating the unmatched warmth Flynn brought into her life.

They sat in the middle of Julie’s king sized bed, Flynn looking for something interesting to watch on Netflix as Julie blanked out again. She always found it hard to stay present and although it had gotten better, she couldn’t help but vanish even when she still existed on the Earth.

A loud noise brought her back. Her and Flynn looked at each other with wide eyes, Flynn not screaming as she usually would. It confirmed to Julie what the noise was- a gunshot.

Julie quickly moved off the bed, pulling Flynn with her and walking her into her closet. It was like another small bedroom dedicated to her wardrobe that now held many of her mom’s pieces weaved between hers. Sometimes it was nice, sometimes it drove her insane. Flynn was starting to breathe heavily, stumbling on her walk, and Julie knew she couldn’t stop or she would also start to unravel. Once she did, nothing and nobody could get her to move.

She went into the edge of her closet where her ballroom dresses were hung up and pulled them apart. There was a tiny ribbon in the corner, and she pulled it, the wall easily coming open like a door. She pushed Flynn into the five by five room, not registering that she was in there shutting the door until it was complete darkness.

Julie began to process the noises all happening at once when they were completely locked in. The panic below. The yelling of knights. The alarm system was blaring loudly now, and it was lasering away any progress she had made towards recovery since her mom’s burial. She sunk to the floor, starting to cry. Flynn fell in place next to her, humming a soft song. Flynn wouldn’t cry if Julie was crying. It was an unspoken thing that only one of them could cry at the same time. It’s how they took care of each other. Even if for a moment Julie had finally been the one to run to save them from whatever was happening outside, Flynn was back to being her guardian.

Julie felt like they were in there for an hour, but it had only been twenty minutes when Flynn’s phone went off. Flynn checked her phone and whispered to Julie, “They’re looking for us. My mom said to tell you to text your dad where you are. Or Bobby. Everyone else is in the bomb shelter.”

“I don’t have my phone,” Julie whispered, wiping her face with the palms of her hand. The idea of calling Bobby first for support amused her for a quick second. “Do you have my dad’s number?”

Flynn nodded her head no. “Kind of weird to ask the King for his phone number, don’t you think?” Julie smiled and rolled her eyes, grabbing Flynn’s phone from her.

“Did she not ask how you were?” Julie looked at the texts quickly before going to the dial pad. She didn’t mean to, but it flew by.

“She knows I can fight.”

“That is true.” Julie dialed one of her dad’s phone numbers, already trying to recall the other one if he didn’t pick up. It didn’t even fully ring before he picked up.

“Julie?” her dad whispered. There were people talking around him, most likely half a dozen knights sworn in to protect him. She hoped he trusted all of them because he really had to for once in his life. The Inmarcesible Kingdom was a quiet and peaceful place, usually staying out of neighboring conflicts and staying neutral when possible. Someone seemed to be after them.

“I’m safe with Flynn,” Julie said. She was always trained not to say her whereabouts in an emergency unless told to, just in case the enemy was listening. Flynn’s mom, for example, could’ve easily gotten them all killed if there was a part two to whatever was going on. “Are you and Carlos safe?”

“Yes,” he assured her. “I love you very much. Don’t move until you hear it from me myself okay?” Julie could hear how hard he was straining to not cry. Julie bit her lip, fighting back her own crying to be able to talk.

“I love you, too.” He hung up without another word, probably because he wouldn’t be able to say anything more. Julie handed Flynn’s phone to her and took a few deep breaths like she was taught in therapy.

In the echoing distance, she could’ve sworn she heard another gunshot.

A/N: I had this very vivid dream of a Princess Julie running off to go somewhere to talk to village people and Knight Luke running behind her like "you are not supposed to leave without me" and they fight, and I couldn't shake it off so here I am. I blame Breath of the Wild and Age of Calamity so yes, look for parallels later on. As of now, all of my chapters will be short (700-1.5k range), so I can update more often. I'm honestly excited for this AU.

This fic will have a lot of mentions of Ray and Carlos because I still want the grieving with family parts in this fic because I think they're a huge part of JatP, and I don't want to take that away. Flynn will also be here often because I really think she's Julie's rock. The boys will come in the following chapters very soon, and I will most likely use songs from the show because I'm a song fic person, and I will not let anyone take that away from me.

#stars writing #julie and the phantoms #julie and the himbos #hehe thats funny #jatp #bluebirds without wings

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thedeeperlayer · 3 years

Text

I was fourteen when I first tasted the sweet, aromatic blend of tobacco, sugars, and ammonia compounds. It was 1998. The year of Clinton and Lewinsky. The year the guy from Die Hard was saving the Aerosmith-adjacent Earth from a Michael Bay Meteorite.

I was fourteen. Instead of navigating the intolerable 3D world of Hyrule in Ocarina of Time, I was out making an imprudent moron out of myself with an RCA Solid State Image Sensor VHS Camcorder. My idiotic entourage and myself thought we were the uproarious epitome of cool. In actuality, we were ridiculous, annoying fuckwits. I was an absolute pain in the ass.

I'm not going to cock and bull with excuses. I started smoking because I thought I was fucking cool. I had older friends that did it and I dated girls that did it. When my mum found out I was flicking the Bic on the cancer stick, she was both disappointed and somewhat content. Her contentment for my lung corruption behavior was only because it meant she now had a smoking mate.

Mum and Pops didn't always have a harmonious relationship. They would cross swords and oppose each other's views a lot. Mum would complain about Pops never being home. Pops would bewail mum's smoking habit. It was always constant repetition down the same path. Dad never knew I smoked. He would of berated mum and blamed her if he ever found out.

Because of our shared toxic pastime, my mum and I became very close. We discussed all things life. Everything from grace and elegance to the septic shithole bottom. We talked about atrocious dislikes and stupefying satisfactions. We told mindless jokes and gave deep-thought opinions.

For the sake of storytelling length, let's just say we always had each other's back.

Unfortunately, the clock ticks, and the hours pass. In a blink of an eye, things are different. I grew up. I got married. I moved. Mum was downhearted and sad. I was the first of her children to leave from beneath her roof.

I've worked lousey, shit jobs just to make ends. It is indeed accordance with fact, smoking does alleviate stress. I didn't think it was cool to smoke anymore, instead I smoked because my shitty job was an emotional mindfuck. Pounding the coffin nails down my throat made me feel better.

I didn't want to poison my saclike respiratory organs anymore. I tried quitting. I tried the gum that supposedly calms cravings. I tried the rubber band wrist snap when I had the desire. I tried the ridiculous electronic substitutes. Nothing worked. I thought, fuck it. I didn't want to grow old and become one of the dust bags that retire in Florida anyway.

It was October, 2015. I was just finishing a much needed break from my mediocre job. My phone vibrated in my pocket. It was mum calling. I contentedly answered it.

She said she had a mass on her lungs. She told me not to be worried, it could be pneumonia. She said she would let me know more tomorrow.

I instantly broke down and wailed. I could feel that something was extraordinarily wrong. My heart was in excruciating pain. It was exceedingly difficult to finish my shift that night. Every time I was alone, my eyes would swell. It was a long, tedious night.

The following day, I anxiously waited for mum to call.

Haplessly, she called right before I had to go to work. She said it was stage 4 lung cancer. She told me not to worry. She said she was going to get help. I knew stage 4 was the inevitable. It's treatable, but not curable.

I was so heartsick.

I lit cigarette after cigarette.

My family was devastated. Mum is the support beam that holds my lunatic family's structure together. My brother and sister were in severe shock. Pops was completely shattered.

The following week, my wife and I picked mum up from the hospital. She was being fitted for a radiotherapy mask. Mum was spiritless. She lacked vigor and enthusiasm. She looked defeated. This was the one time I convulsively, and uncontrollably sobbed in front of her. If you knew mum, she was always resilient and enduring. She was wholehearted, and a matriarch to many. It was challenging to see her in that frail condition.

I lit cigarette after cigarette.

Mum had sort of a short fringe hairstyle with spiky bangs. She would ornament it with a decorative headband. Often she would dye it golden or honey blonde to hide the off-putting grays.

The days passed. Weeks. My wife and I made frequent visits. Mum was sitting in her recently purchased stationary style comfy chair. She was wearing a sun-style flat brim cap. Mum never wore hats. “I'm losing my hair,” she said. She lifted a grocery sac where she was accumulating a large cache of her hair.

Eventually Pops shaved her head.

My wife and I purchased her a collection of hats.

The holidays came. Thanksgiving. Christmas. Mum always took pride in cooking the meals. She couldn't anymore. She was too weak. She could hardly walk. It was now Pop's responsibility to prepare the brown sugar glazed ham. She shouted out the recipe to him in the kitchen. “Heat the honey and sugar until it dissolves!” Pops would earnestly urge her not to yell. She was always short-winded and depended on oxygen gas to breathe.

Christmas morning was grim. Mum kept saying she wanted to have a nice Christmas. “This might be my last Christmas. I want it to be nice,” she despairingly would say.

We wore smiles but they were fraudulent. Inside we were somber. Cheerless. Gift exchange was dispiriting. We were appreciative, but it was hard to express it. The only audio in the room was the pulling and shredding of novelty wrapping paper. We played unintellectual board games while Mum sat in the living room and stared at the TV. The Hallmark holiday collection was on but Mum wasn't interested. She was disconnected, absent of response.

My wife and I went home. I lit cigarette after cigarette.

January came and went. February came. Mum had gotten worse. We went to visit her on my birthday. She was without emotion. Unresponsive. Pops struggled to make her recognize my company. She was comatose-like. Pops was in a panic. We rushed her to the ICU. She now had malignant brain tumors. Her recent actions were symptoms. The drowsiness. The constant agitation.

She was given enough treatment to restore her moral senses. She asked to see me and my wife. Mum was stretched out on a hospital cot. She was buried beneath intravenous lines and hoses. She saw us and smiled. “Watch this,” she gently said. She proceeded with plucking the pulse oximeter from her finger to mortify the doctors. She still had her sense of humor.

Later, Nurse Ratched impertinently pulled my family away from Mum. She disrespectfully spoke of Mum's unavoidable fate. Ratched told us that Mum will die. She told us to make sure we make the correct decision when the time comes.

No one in my family wanted to hear that.

The hospital discharged Mum.

My wife and I went home. I lit a cigarette. I took a drag, hardly inhaling. I breathed in a few more.

I delve into searches about the great demise on Google. I’m not one who appreciates surprises, so I wanted to be hauntingly prepared.

As the end approaches, your role is to be present, provide passionate comfort, and remove doubts from your loved one with soothing words and loving actions that help maintain their mental ease and dignity.

The entire evening I fixedly scrutinized my phone screen. It made me overwhelmed with grief. It put me in an unsettling place. It was that night that I accepted that my Mum was actually going to be gone.

Her condition continued to worsen.

It was difficult for her to digest food. She no longer could intake any solids. Pops couldn’t accept the harshness of the situation. He was in rack and ruin. Blatantly, he would hurry to the nearest fast-food establishment and order her a strawberry milkshake. In double time he would speed home to give her the malted treat. She would fiercely vacuum in the strawberry drink through a straw. Clearly she was hungry, but her gasping, pain and abnormal breathing patterns made it difficult for her to swallow.

Pops told me, the prior evening, he strenuously got Mum into the loo. He proceeded to aid her, however she immediately denied his assistance. “Let me help you,” he despairingly said. “But you're a boy and I'm a girl,” she woefully baffled.

Delirium. One of the common symptoms observed near death.

Pops was hysterical. This unforeseen responsibility was so unfamiliar to him. He was terrified. He was frightened to lose the one person he spent his entire life with.

Again he rushed her to intensive care.

My wife and I were at home. I lit a cigarette. I took a drag and quickly put it out.

Mum was denied anymore treatment. She was recommended hospice care and medically necessary equipment for at-home use.

Pops thought hospice may not only be valuable to Mum, but also beneficial to him because the workers could assist him through the inexperience and unexpected. We all knew what misery and despair would come next, but Pops was in a idiosyncratic denial.

Hospice was fucking useless, but more on that a little later.

My wife and I visited her everyday.

Each day she worsened and disintegrating.

She was often confused. She would appear asleep, but her breathing would be noisy, congested. She would appear peaceful and at rest, and within seconds she would begin screaming. She would holler agonizing cries. Dad would have to pump her with morphine to tranquilise her treacherous pain.

Day after day, her conditioned intensified. Her skin's pigment distorted to a grayish tone. Her face had depressed and sunken below her eyes. Her lips dried up and shriveled.

The drainage bag connected to the catheter began to fill with a rust color.

She had abnormal growths swell in unusual parts of her body.

Day after day we visited. She no longer would move. The congested breathing was the remaining sign of life. We attentively watched over her like this for days. She didn't want to go. She dearly loved her family. The Oncologist asked her, “what do you live for?” Her response was so straightforward and emotionally rewarding. She said, “my family”. Mum was uncomplicated. She lived to be a loving mum and caring wife. She always put her family first. That's who she was.

She died on August 22, 2016. She battled cancer for seven months. She spent nearly four weeks in hospice care. Only four short instances was Hospice workers available for aid, one of the times being immediately after death. The available nurse plucked an orange Marigold from the neighbors’ garden and lied it in my Mum's cold hands. She called the Funeral Home to coordinate arrangements for pickup and hastily left.

It was a horrifying experience for my family. Not only for us observing every nightmarish minute, but for Mum too. I can't imagine how afraid she was and how she felt. I just hope it wasn't guilt that resonated with her in her final days. She was the reason my family was so profound and passionate about things. The reason we were all there, again and again, expressing our sorrow and love together.

I haven't smoked a cigarette since her later days in hospice care.

She was a beautiful, loving person, and we watched her severely weaken and diminish largely because of a lifelong bad habit. I never want to put anyone I love through that, ever again.

#smoking #quit smoking #real life #cigarettes #death #life and death #quit #bad habits #writting #write #truth #its the truth

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lesbiansforboromir · 5 years

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Suppose boromir did make it to the end of the saga of lord of the rings, how would he navigate his relationship with Aragorn? And what if Denethor also survived? Would he come to accept Aragorns kingship over the course of their journey? Part of me is inclined to say yes, but I don’t have as good of a grasp on his character as you do

So listen… this came 18 21 40 days 3 months ago but I’m a sleepy bastard so I couldn’t muster the passion it deserved but nOW I’m here so!

I have to reinforce that Boromir doesn’t care whatsoever about Aragorn’s kingship one way or the other during the Quest. He’s only ever going to manufacture an opinion on it as an when he needs too. Gondor’s safety is his primary priority. So discussions upon Boromir’s denial or acceptance of Aragorn’s kingship are really only going to occur after Sauron’s defeat.

Lets take this in parts because Boromir managing his relationship with Aragorn alone vs Boromir doing it whilst his dad still around would be wildly different. Denethor takes up a great deal of emotional space.

So, for ease of understanding, lets say that in the Denethor dies verse Boromir stayed with Aragorn after the siege at Pelargir and sailed with him up the Anduin so he doesn’t arrive in time to stop his father from burning alive. Then, in the Denethor lives verse, Boromir actually rides directly to Minas Tirith, either from the paths of the dead, or the moment Pelargir is secured. Either way he’s speedier and arrives in time to sneak past the armies and enter Minas Tirith, saving his father from his despair and breaking him from Sauron’s grasp.

Lets also say that Boromir and Aragorn maintain their kinda easy back-and-forth trusting friendship all the way through till here so we’re jumping off a knowable baseline. After Boromir returns to Helms Deep from his recuperation in some small Rohir hamlet, he arrives as a positive and trusted voice and a bolster to Aragorn’s confidence. Aragorn didn’t tell anyone what happened with Boromir and Frodo, which is a point in his favour and a very good reason for them to just put it behind them for now. Boromir’s back and Aragorn had been holding onto that guilt until now. It’s good for everyone. They’re all glad to see him.

So with that decided! Beginning with Denethor dying and Boromir becoming Steward, the first thing we have to deal with is who the hell tells Boromir that #1 his dad is dead and #2 that Faramir is dying. I’m inclined to believe it’s pretty rough, I think Boromir’s return is something that’s almost feverishly grasped upon by the Soldiers of Gondor and they demand a lot from him, guidance, reassurance, a sense of purpose. It takes a while for him to manage to pass up through to the higher levels of the battered city.

Now the only people who know about Denethor’s death are Pippin, Gandalf and a few Citadel Guard and I think Gandalf certainly passes Boromir by a few times without telling him squat. Perhaps there’s a brief ‘I am surprised you live!’ but little else. I’d say he finds out about Faramir first, through following Aragorn up to the houses of healing, already a shock to his system. He looks for his father but is still battered by demands and it’s quite a bit later that he’s told by a Citadel guard about his dad’s death. Which ALL is like… rough. Gandalf definitely told Aragorn what’d happened. He just didn’t think it was his job to tell Boromir. Because Gandalf’s like that! Sorry! He is! So it isn’t until like close to the songs of mourning that anyone lets Boromir know Denethor’s dead. Also that Denethor’s body is still under rubble too.

Which is… woof, a rough image huh? Boromir probably hears of his death first, not any specifics, there’s so much to be done. But then his body isn’t present at the funeral and he turns to Aragorn and heartbreakingly asks ‘where is my father’ and Aragorn has to look him in the eye and tell him he forgot. He forgot to send anyone to dig through the rubble to find the body of Boromir’s father. And man that certainly crumbles a good few months of bonding between them huh? Boromir probably goes to do it himself, declining Aragorn’s help. There’s a seed of distrust planted for how much Aragorn truly cares for Gondor, her heritage and the people who’d been sacrificing themselves to defend her.

Anyway essentially this starts Boromir off on a rocky footing. And it only goes downhill from there. There’s a GOOD bit admittedly. There’s a bit where Aragorn comes to heal Faramir, as Imrahil and Boromir fearfully stand over him. And even Boromir’s staunch manner cannot help but find some amazement and a hint of the instant fealty in Faramir’s eyes as he awakens like magic.

And then Boromir sets aside all his feelings to focus on a battle and be the leader of men everyone needs him to be. And it’s good, it feels good to make plans with Aragorn, especially now that they are in HIS element where men know and believe in him, the seat of HIS power. It levels their interactions somewhat, they are equals here. So it feels good to do that, and it feels even better when they WIN. They probably find each other in the scrum, they probably embrace, they’re probably just so elated that it’s over, together. Even if this victory cannot mean the same thing for Aragorn as it does for Boromir, who’s picking at such things? It doesn’t matter, they WON.

But then… He finds out what was said between Gandalf and Denethor from Pippin, the lack of care or respect, how lost Denethor’d been at Faramir’s side. Gandalf had rid Theoden of Saruman’s dreadful curse, why hadn’t he even tried with his father? The obvious answer to Boromir is Denethor did not want Aragorn on the throne but Gandalf did and that made Denethor’s survival less than important to the wizard. And with this realisation he’s put in a difficult position.

He’s crowned Steward pretty quickly and sets at his task with the vigour of a man very much trying to avoid grief. It’s not the time. Now is the time to talk about reparations, peace treaties, rebuilding, medical funds, housing, refugee care, and OH MY GOD FINE I GUESS ALSO THE KINGSHIP. It’s uncomfortable, Boromir knows he likely shouldn’t be equating Gandalf’s actions with Aragorn’s. But… it’s right there! The even MORE EXTRA awkward part is Faramir’s now awake and he’s walking and talking and even more Royalist than ever. The fact that Boromir is dawdling over a coronation is, in his mind, clear evidence that Boromir wants that seat for himself. Is he not grateful that his King has returned and saved his brother?

So Boromir gets a brief latency period where Faramir’s just happy he’s alive and then a more complex one where they’re not-grieving-really-but-sort-of grieving their father, but that’s all way harder and more emotionally problematic than arguing over the kingship and getting way too angry about it so they shift into that mode asap.

Now I should say here, even Boromir isn’t stalwartly going to deny Aragorn the Kingship. The line of Kings has a nearly religious right to it, and Aragorn does have a claim sort of we all guess kinda, along with a lot of prophesised evidence on his side. He FEELS like the King Returned, and after all his heroics you’d be hard pressed to find anyone in Gondor who STRICTLY disagreed with him taking the Throne in general. Gondorian culture puts a lot of stock in doom and their past and prophesies and the like. But the devil, as always, is in the detail.

Three distinct camps are created in Gondor’s political sphere. The Cautious, a band who agree with Boromir’s careful approach of taking each step properly and making sure all parts of their new constitution under a King are thoroughly agreed upon. They want a new constitution.

The Royalists, headed by Faramir, who believe the Cautious are trying to drag this out for as long as possible in order to weedle more power for themselves and their families out of these discussions and undermine the power of their rightful king. They want to dig the constitution that had been in place during Anarion’s reign out of the Archives and reinstate it wholesale without even an amendment.

And the Annoyed, headed by the Master of Waters and other union leaders, who could not give a flying fuck about all this and really wish the council would get back to actually running the damn country, good GOD give us money before the whole plumbing system collapses in on itself and takes the city with it. They want whatever piece of parchment will let them get back to work, although their members are also divided on how much they revere a king returned.

It doesn’t help that Boromir is NOT good at this. He’s not a bad Steward, perhaps he could be called a good one. But after Denethor’s example? It’s not even a comparison, there is no way for Boromir to measure up to Denethor’s skill in this arena, nor Faramir’s for that matter. And in all honesty there probably ARE some players within the ‘cautious’ sphere of Boromir’s supporters that DO want to ensure their power isn’t diminished with the coronation of a new king, Boromir wouldn’t be so adept at knowing what to do with them, he needs supporters! He’s very much caught between a rock and a hard place.

This period is rough, it’s exhausting, it involves a lot of talking, just days and days and days of it. It involves motions being passed in one assembly only to be thrown down at the next. Boromir and Faramir’s relationship is the rockiest it has ever been and Imrahil’s just so upset with all his family’s internal fighting after losing their patriarch, he doesn’t know what to do! Denethor’s sisters both put their support behind Boromir after hearing of the treatment of their brother, which causes even more strife within the Stewards. Some of their children don’t agree with them. Utter madness. And Imrahil can’t take sides between his nephews! Even though his reputation and influence would definitely sway the discussion one way or another, he refuses to do it, it’s CHAOS. And all the while the Dunadain are in their seperate sphere, getting more and more angry because really they don’t know why there needs to be any discussion about this at all. In their mind, Aragorn’s the rightful King and should have been accepted with only unending gratitude, along with those who’ve been faithful to his line.

Aragorn has a better grasp of this, he knows what’s expected of him and some of what the issues are, a lot of the talking surrounds Aragorn inviting Boromir into his tent (that he still keeps, flying his banner and everything, reminding everyone of how this still isn’t settled) and them talking and arguing and agreeing and then disagreeing. Aragorn will bend somewhat to Boromir’s demands, for the Steward’s position to be protected and maintained, defined as a close and powerful advisor with strict protections against being susceptible to bribery so that there’s some reliable oversight on a King’s dealings. But he refuses to give the Stewards any definable powers, he refuses to give up any of his executive power to debate or voting, he refuses to be bound by other’s decisions or take on any of the obstructions that the Stewards had during their rule.

And the discussions around this range from generally good talks, perhaps even followed by a little of their old natural banter, a kind of humorous agree to disagree, to just… god just the most bitter and furious of fights. Aragorn is used to men bending under the weight of his displeasure, as is Boromir, and when that works on neither party they resort to louder and louder and more genuinely angry words.

Aragorn calls Boromir a faithless friend and says Faramir must be right, he IS power grabbing. Boromir demands to know how Aragorn can be such a hypocrite to say such a thing, when he arrives here after a thousand years and demands a crown that was never Isildur’s to hold. Aragorn throws up his hands in frustration, declaring that Boromir and Gondor refuse to learn the lessons of their past and refuse the infinite wisdom of the Eldar whom have known what is right for a millenia now. Boromir’s near disgusted, barking a cruel laugh and saying he is not surprised Aragorn’s speaks so, he should have known that Aragorn is still nothing more than an elf in man’s clothing, who cares and knows nothing of the people he wishes to rule. Aragorn asks what more Boromir wants from him, has he not proven himself? Has he not succeeded in his tests, where Boromir had failed? What right does Boromir have to judge him?

This draws them both up short, the cruelty of everything said saturating the air. For Aragorn, there’s a taste of guilt to it that he refuses to admit now. For at the time, he had known Boromir’s loss to be his fault and the breaking of the fellowship had been one of his few great failures. Boromir’s voice isn’t loud but malice is apparent as he slowly replies that it is not him that Aragorn must measure himself against, but his Father, a man Aragorn had done nothing but abandon, malign and ignore, and yet if not for Denethor there would be no country left for Aragorn to rule over. Not to mention every Steward before him. Denethor lost his wife, his youth, his sons, his sanity and his life to the defence of Gondor, what does Aragorn know of that kind of sacrifice? Nothing. Nothing at all.

It’s a while until they speak again, but Boromir makes a decision in the mean time. He cannot be acceptably neutral in this decision and, at this point, the stalling of government has become far too dangerous. Using his executive powers, he insists that there will only be one vote to pass any and all motions from now on, no more repeals, and the Council must be decided within a fortnight. This declaration both wins him the support of The Annoyed, and loses him support from many Lords within his own faction. He decides he doesn’t care, which as a strategy works surprisingly well in his political sphere. He’s happy to weather the consequences of bad decisions and he is not his father.

With the shock of this sudden rush to completion, no one has any time to continue their lobbying or machinations. Even Aragorn is barely able to keep up with the proceedings, especially since he still cannot enter the city. Councillors and Lords hurry from one chamber to the next, civil servants are run off their feet trying to assign and inform everyone upon the dates and times of particular votes, it’s messy. However, mess levels the playing field.

In the end, with the new support of The Annoyed, an amended version of the old constitution is drawn up. In particular, treason is redefined. Lords have more allowance to speak against a King’s word. The Stewardship’s two capacities are redefined to more befit the times and the position of Warden of the White Tower is also put into more solid writing. The majority of it is more an edit of language. More moral and honourable emphasis is put upon unity and agreement and less upon a King’s divine word. To go against his vassals wouldn’t be illegal for Aragorn to do, but it would be legally frowned upon, which is at least enough of a basis for further legal challenges and can give requests for freedom of information more power in the long run. Gondor is a nation built upon it’s honour and morality after all.

Everyone’s left in kind of a state of shock afterwards, surprised they managed it, exhausting, confused. Except apparently for Boromir, who’s remained remarkably calm throughout. Even with this very watered down version of what he apparently had wanted, he’s obviously content with it. Faramir’s surprised by this too, he and Boromir are too different in this regard. Where Boromir’s passion is for the agreement and process, Faramir is focused on perfect results.

So! With less pomp and ceremony than it should have, Boromir goes to present Aragorn with this proposed constitution. Aragorn reads it and has it read by a few of his people. Faramir is present and ensures Aragorn know he has the right to refuse it and propose his own. It’s a whole thing. But, in the end, Aragorn agrees to the terms and, in a far more lavish ceremony, both he and Boromir sign the new document and make a public agreement. Boromir offers Aragorn the Steward’s sceptre in service, Aragorn makes his speech, Boromir makes HIS speech and asks all the gathered people of Minas Tirith if they’ll accept Aragorn as their king and they give a resounding affirmative cheer and Aragorn FINALLY stops sleeping outside and comes into the city to make ready for the coronation.

But then, what of Aragorn and Boromir’s relationship? I think there’s some mollification for them both with this move. Aragorn’s mollified that Boromir got this done. Boromir’s mollified that Aragorn accepted it. And then just time lets things simmer down. Bad blood is still there, most particularly on Boromir’s side, but they find a working relationship. I honestly don’t think it’s ever what it was when they were on the Quest. They just aren’t the same men anymore, they don’t quite have the same goal, nothing is simple any longer. I think they find a new kind of friendship which allows for more up and down relations, gives more allowance for them to just be annoyed with each other. I don’t think apologies are ever forthcoming from either of them but it needs to work so they make it work.

Aragorn needs Boromir to help him through this knotted thicket of a country, to be guided in this culture he’s not been a part of for forty years. And Boromir gradually is aware and accepts that Aragorn’s heart is in the right place, he does want to be good for Gondor, and his greater and more decisive powers certainly help push through change that they’d never been able too before.

But does Boromir ever truly accept Aragorn’s kingship as the best and right thing to do? I think he still has his doubts. Aragorn might be a good King, but what of his son? And his son’s son? They did not just give all this power to Aragorn, they gave it up to a thousand unknown royals of the future and Boromir often asks himself if he made the right choice. He doesn’t have the same sense of faith as most Gondorians, the same reverence for the past. I think he’ll always wonder if Denethor would have approved, if Denethor might have done better than he did.

… Lets answer that question!!!

Yes he would.

I- god I’m not going to go into the detail of before because this is already at 3000+ words, but Denethor’s mere presence chills everything out a great deal. This man has a near legendary track record in both wisdom, cunning and dedication to his responsibilities. As much as the Lords of Gondor remember Thorongil the great Captain, Denethor was their Captain-General long before he arrived. Denethor went to war for decades, Denethor held the country together through thick and thin and Denethor is universally trusted in at least his motives and purposes. No one who has dealt with Denethor truly believes he’s coveting power.

With Denethor there’s no mess, there’s no distress or confusion. Denethor lets everyone know what’s happening. He knows which Lords are playing for their own power, he knows which of them to trust, he and the Master of Waters have been good friends for years, and he’s well trusted amongst the unions. With that all in play, the number of the Faithful is smaller than it might have been, and Faramir, whilst being definitely a thorn, is not so powerful when pitted against Denethor’s weight of experience. He also has Boromir on his side still.

I do think Denethor would conceed to Aragorn’s coronation, after all there’s just so much prophecy and timing and divinity to it all, and Gondor is a nation that puts a great deal of stock in gestures and how right something feels. Denethor knows that intimately, and a new age with a King might be actually very profitable. But Denethor has a new constitution draw up, voted on, and agreed to by nearly the entire council, before it’s presented to Aragorn. And this is his arena, they might be mental and physical equals, but Aragorn can’t win against Denethor’s time spent.

This constitution has checks, it’s got balances, it’s got a defined and clear path to dethroning an unliked King and the kinds of abuses of power that could be it’s catalyst. Aragorn’s power is significantly reduced and tied to a more Steward-like system of government. And Aragorn has to bloody well accept it, because that’s what he’s going to get. He isn’t all that put out, in the end, it’s just another challenge to overcome. And you know what? He and Denethor do reconcile. Just simply by virtue of being so damned clever, and knowing that their hearts are both in the right place. That age old respect comes back to the fore and they remember how enjoyable it was to just talk to each other. Honestly I’d say Aragorn and Denethor’s relationship ends up being better than his and Boromir’s in the end. They’re just so damn alike and with the both of them at Gondor’s helm the country is really speed boosted into a bright and blinding golden age.

… holy FUCK we did it lads, I’m gonna pass tf out now adIEU

#tolkien #boromir #aragorn #denethor #lotr #lord of the rings #soap operas in mannish sindarin #erran vs tolkien #chats #when does meta become fanfic how detailed does the writing have to be

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