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nintendousimp · 3 years

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Train of Thought...

Part: 4 The Five Stages

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Word count: 2,3k

Released date: February 14, 2021

Warnings: NSFW 18+, Language, mentions of.

TW ⚠️ : Mentions, depression and suicide attempt.

Disclaimer: All Characters in this story are aged up!

Please note that this was so hard for me write. As someone who use to have thoughts of self harm it made this story more personal. So if you or anyone are having thoughts of self harm please don’t be scared to DM me or please contact National Suicide Prevention hotline 800-273-8255.

With all this being said. Please enjoy part 4!

Life for Miya Atsumu was sure different after you left. Not having you around was taking a toll on him. He never realized how much you meant to him until you were gone. You kept communication between the two of you to a minimum.

You had told Atsumu that although you forgave him, you didn’t feel comfortable being around him just yet. He thought that if he gave you time, you’d be able to forgive him, and you guys can work on your marriage. That’s what he’d tell his twin brother, at least.

“y/n is in love with me, Osamu. They need some time.” Atsumu said.

“How can you be so sure? y/n said they forgave you; they never said anything about taking yer dumbass back.” Osamu said.

“Shut yer mouth, Samu, I know they’ll forgive me! y/n loves me; they wouldn’t throw away this marriage.” Atsumu had said.

Osamu knew that you’d never forgive Atsumus infidelity. He hated his brother for doing what he did; he couldn’t help feel bad for him. He knew his brother was in denial, but there was nothing that he could do. This type of pain had stages that Atsumu has to go through alone.

….

As days turned into weeks, Atsumu began to become impatient at the fact that you haven’t taken him back. As of now, people started to take notice of Atsumu’s mood swings. He would become distracted during his matches and would take his anger out on his teammates. They knew what was going on with him. Bokuto (with your permission) had told them what happened. The team knew that Atsumu had cheated on you; although they were upset with him, he was still their teammate and their starting setter.

“ Guys, should we say something to him? Atsumu’s been in a terrible mood these few weeks.” Hinata said.

“ No, He deserves this. Who knows what we will catch if we go over and talk to him,” Sakusa said.

“Omi san, that’s not very nice,” Hinata said.

“ I wasn’t trying to be friendly, Shoyo; look, if you want to go over there and try to talk to him, be my guest. I don’t feel bad for what’s happening to him; Atsumu’s not the victim here y/n is,” Sakusa said as he walked away from Bokuto and Hinata.

Sakusa knew he was the closest to Atsumu, and he should be a good friend and be there for him. But Kyoomi knew that he could not get involved with helping Atsumu. He knew his best friend needed to learn from this. It’s the only way Atsumu will learn not to make the same mistake twice.

….

As time flew by, Atsumu began to look for ways to try to win you back. Although he lives with Osamu now, Atsumu spent most of his free time in his room. The younger twin began to worry for his older brother. He noticed that Atsumu spend most of his free time alone. The younger twin also noticed his older brother’s lack of enthusiasm for the sport he’s so very fond of. He knew his brother still held hope to the idea that one day you’d take him back.

Osamu knows his brother is hurting; he knows Atsumu is holding to this fascination, that one day you’ll take him back. One night he heard Atsumu crying through the door, bargaining, pleading with anyone who was out there listening, that if you return to him, he will make sure to dedicate all his life to you and to focus only on you. That made the younger twin very sad. His older brother has slowly changed.

“Yer needs to get out of the bedroom Atsumu: it stinks in here. You should go visit ma too; she’s worried about you, Tsumu,” Osamu said.

Atsumu ignores his younger brother as he’s scrolling through his phone, looking at pictures of when the two of you were together.

“Yer is starting to worry me too, Tsumu. What would y/n say if they saw ya like this? Yer barely gets up to leave your room, and since you moved here, ya barely left the house,” Osamu said.

Atsumu’s hearing his brothers cry to help him, but he can’t even manage to look at his brother out of fear that he’d disappointed him even more. All he can do right now is look at the past he now wished he had once again.

….

Depression came when Atsumu had to meet you with the lawyers to finalize the divorce. It had been four months since he last saw you. He can tell you’ve been busy with work; he can see the dark circles in your eyes but still manages to compliment how beautiful you are.

“It’s good to see you again, y/n. You look beautiful,” Atsumu said.

“I would say the same Tsumu if it were different circumstances. Not the beautiful part! I mean, yeah, you’re beautiful yourself,” as you kept on rambling on about who knows what. Atsumu just only stood there quietly listening to what you had to say. You noticed that he was there just listening to you, not saying a word.

Atsumu gave you a sad smile.

“Yeah, different circumstances,” Atsumu says to himself as you both enter the lawyers’ office.

You took notice that Atsumu looked much thinner than the last time you saw him. He looks likes he’s barely getting any sleep from the dark circles in his eyes. You didn’t believe when Osamu had told you that your husband was now a completely different person. Now that you have Atsumu right in front of you, you can tell that his physical features have changed, and his emotions have changed as well.

...

As the lawyers explain how the process for separation works, Atsumu can’t help ignore everything they’re saying and only focus on you. He’s trying to memorize your features as if this is the last time he’ll ever see you again. He can’t help but look at how long your hair has gotten. You hated keeping it long; you had said that long hair gets in the way, so you always made sure to go to the salon every couple of months to get it trimmed.

He couldn’t stop looking at your eyes, those e/c irises that once use to smile for him. The way you used to look at him with those beautiful eyes would only make him cave in into doing whatever you wanted. Your smile, oh my god, that beautiful smile. You make everyone’s day when you smile. It’s one of Atsumu’s favorite things about you. It made him happy how big it got when he used to take you to his brother’s place for freshly made onigiris.

You always complained about how ugly your smile was but to him; it was his favorite feature of yours. Your smile holds warmth and kindness, something Atsumu took for granted.

Flashback…

He remembers when you guys were back in high school. You guys haven’t been a couple for too long. He’d taken you to meet his mom. He’ll never forget how his mother got when she first met you. She was so happy to have another woman around. He used to remember how excited you’d get when you came to visit his house. You got to spend time with the woman who birthed him. The fact you and his mother got along so well was his deciding factor. That he was going to marry you one day.

End Flashback...

His thoughts kept going on and on, remembering the times where you once were both so young and happy. He would rather be daydreaming of what once was than hear them talk about their assets. Atsumu’s thoughts about you were interrupted when the lawyers spoke to him.

“ Mr. and Mrs. Miya, we’re getting ready to sign the documents. I’ll ask one last time. Are you both in agreement with going through with your divorce? If you both answer yes know, that there’s no going back once you’ve signed the papers,” The lawyer said.

Four months ago, you would’ve hesitated your answer. But within those months, you’ve learned to cope with this pain and focused all your attention on work. You know deep in your heart you’ll always ache for the love you once had for Atsumu. You know what you both had was something special, and you’d never take him for granted. He was your first love and your first heartbreak. As you keep looking back to the memories that once were, you’ve come to realize that you finally have come to terms with your marriage.

“ I want to go through this,” you said as your lawyer pointed you on where to sign.

He had so much hope until the very last minute; he thought you’d change your mind. His brother was right all along. You’d never forgive his infidelity; his last bit of hope faded as he saw you sign those papers.

You sign the paper and look towards Atsumu, who seems to be in complete disbelief. He’s staring at the document as if this piece of writing is going to destroy his whole world. You know what he’s currently going through. You know I’ll hurt him for a while, but you also know that he’ll heal from this. The only way he’ll move forward with his life is if you give him closure.

“Would you gentleman give us a moment?” you said.

They both nod and walk out of the office. With both lawyers gone, you and Atsumu sat in silence. It always comes down to this, neither one of you dares to speak up. As you sat there a little longer, you decide to break the silence.

“Tsumu?” you said.

“What is it?” He says.

“ I want you to know that no matter what happens from now on, I’ll always be here for you,” you said as you continued.

“The last few months were a wreck for me. I wouldn’t eat and barely slept. I was working myself to death just because I couldn’t handle the pain of you not be around anymore. It got so bad I almost thought about ending it all. On our wedding anniversary day, the bridge where you proposed,” you stop for a second to wipe the tears that have now gathered in your eyes.

It’s painful to talk about this, but you’re relieved to get this out of your chest.

Atsumu sits there with tears in his eyes. You had it so much worse than him. You thought you couldn’t move forward. The pain you must’ve felt all those months alone. The pain he put you through all because he had “needs.”

You wiped your tears and began to tell him the rest of the story.

“ I almost succeeded Into jumping off the bridge, but Akaashi had caught hold of my arm; then pulled me back up,” you say that with a smile as you continue the rest of the story.

“I remember how scared he was. He had pulled me in for a hug; his body was shaking, but he was holding me tight. The way he looked at me, though I don’t think I can ever do that to him again,” there’s pain in your eyes. Something in them say regret, Atsumu knows due to the tears in them.

“How did he look at you, y/n?”Atsumu asked.

You looked away from Atsumu; there was a slight smile on your face. The way Akaashi held you there in his arms, telling you how much he needs you here. He looked at you the way someone in love does.

Wiping the tears of your face, manage to look up at Atsumu and confess.

“Like a lover who almost lost the love of his life”It don’t take long for him to notice the blush on your face. It hit him that your love no longer belong to him. Atsumu lost you for good. This was what he needed, to move forward fully, knowing that there’s a man out there who can make you truly happy.

He finally had the closure he needed to let go slowly. He looks at the paper one more time, only this time he doesn’t hesitate to sign. He gets up from the chair he was sitting in and smiles at you.

“ Keep in touch with my ma, will ya? She’s been asking about you. I think she misses you,” Tsumu says as he leaves the room. You were no longer married to him as he was no longer married to you.

“ I hope you find your happiness y/n,” he said to himself as he made his way home.

When he got home, Tsumu noticed his younger twin was in the kitchen making dinner. Samu by now felt the presence of his older brother.

“ It’s finally done,” is what his brother says before he drops to the ground in tears. Samu walked towards his brother and pulled him in for a hug. He didn’t know how to comfort his brother verbally; he’s never been through a divorce. All he can do is offer his brother a shoulder to cry on.

….

It’s been six months since Atsumu last saw you. Life’s gotten a little easier for him. He apologized to his team for putting them through his mood swings and started playing better. He began going out and spend more time with his friends. There were times where his mind wandered to the thought of you, and he’d break crying. Now he looks back at those memories and smiles.

Life without you was sure different. He finally found the acceptance he needed to let you go. The memories you both made together will always live in his heart, and he’ll cherish every one of them, even if he’s no longer the person you are in love with...

....

Sorry I went on hiatus! My life has been super busy and I wanted to take some time to explore the endings I had in mind. We’re so close to the end!! It’s making me really excited for what’s to come for y/n.

Summary:

L/N F/N a young adult working on their first ever book with the help of editor and friend (Akaashi). Discovers that their husband has been cheating on them for the past few months that they’ve been working nonstop. Heartbroken y/n decides to drown herself in their work. Will they be able to Forgive their cheating husband from his infidelity or will they approach the man who fell in love with them while working on their book?

Characters belong to the Haruichi Furudate.

taglist: @h0wab0utw3d0ntd0that, @brnda7rdrgz , @tsukkiswifeey

#haikyuu #anime #akaashi fanfiction #akaashixreader #atsumu angst #atsumu x female reader #atsumu x reader #haikyuu fic #haikyuu!!

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paintoverthepain · 4 years

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It wasn’t long after Alex and Forrest shared their first kiss at The Pony, in front of everyone, they started to share other firsts with each other. Alex had been struggling with himself. He needed time to adjust to his well-deserved freedom as a gay man, out and proud. Alex was still taking things slow, but Forrest was a patient soul. He never forced himself on Alex, and gave him space when needed.

“You don’t have to go through this alone. If you want me to, I will be there every step of the way.” He once said, while he stirred his milkshake around absentmindedly, not taking his eyes off of Alex. Alex had appreciated it. Dealing with the death of his father, his abuser, at the same time as he was trying to get through to Flint, was a challenge. But Forrest had been there for him, and they had shared stories back and forth about family drama, military stories, early childhood memories, musical similarities, high school angst and of course, past lovers.

“So, you and Michael Guerin are like high school sweethearts then? Kinda figured there was something there.” Forrest had said once.

Forrest had a soft look on his face as he looked at one of the photographs Alex had handed to him from a book in his shelf. There were several photos. Some of Alex and his brothers, others with him and his friends. One of them was of him and Michael.

“You guys looked so happy…” Alex raised his brows and laughed slightly before shaking his head. He stared at the photo for another minute before placing it back into the book, and down into the box he was packing up.

“Yeah, I suppose. At the time anyway… Those teenagers in that photo, were naïve and reckless, living in a fantasy bubble, shielded away from reality. Now, I don’t ever want to hide in that bubble ever again. ” He replied and taped the box shut before facing Forrest, giving him a warm smile.

Alex and Forrest shared their first milkshake at the Crashdown only a week after their first kiss. It wasn’t planned, but Forrest had accidentally ordered a large vanilla and chocolate-swirl with two straws and a cherry on top. He could have sworn he ordered just a simple chocolate-swirl, but Liz had glanced at their table once and already taken their order. Michael had been sitting at the counter, sipping to a coffee that was slowly turning cold. He had forgotten all about it because he had been too busy staring at the two men sharing a milkshake and giggling about it.

A month later, Alex had been upset and struggling with nightmares. The weather had been gloomy, and soon after, it was pouring down. Forrest had arrived at Alex’s place at around 9 pm, soaking wet from the rain, and a box of Chinese in his hands.

“You’re soaked. You can borrow some of my clothes.” Alex had offered and headed to his bedroom to retrieve said clothes. When he walked back out into his living room, he stopped abruptly in his tracks, mouth slightly open. Forrest was standing by the couch, shirtless and hair still dripping wet. The droplets fell from his hair and traveled down his neck, down his chest and down towards his sculpted abs. Their eyes met and it was a losing game for both of them. They lost track of time from the moment their lips collided and their clothes found their way to the floor. Both nervous, but burning with desire for one another.

“Are you sure?” Forrest had asked, staring deeply into Alex’s warm eyes. They were both breathing heavily already and hearts beating faster. Alex wrapped himself around Forrest, feeling his warm skin on his, feeling his heart beating atop of his.

“Yes, Forrest. I want you… I need you.” Alex said, almost pleaded. He was ready, and he wanted this. He wanted to take it a step further with Forrest, and he wanted him. Needless to say, as the two men explored new and vulnerable parts of themselves, the Chinese takeout was long forgotten.

As time passed by, they only seemed to get closer and closer. One evening, Forrest had invited Alex to a fancy restaurant to celebrate their three-month anniversary. Alex felt spoiled, and had insisted on paying for his part.

“It’s a gift, so please, accept it and let me treat you, for once.” It wasn’t up for debate, and so Forrest winked at him, and took the check. Alex still felt guilty. He wasn’t used to getting spoiled, or getting sweet goodnight-texts. He also wasn’t used to having someone to write songs with, or getting songs or poetry written about him. He wasn’t used to shoulder massages after a stressful day or falling asleep in someone’s arms while watching movies. There was a lot of new things to get used to, but it was definitely something he could get used to.

A solid half a year had passed, and their relationship was only growing stronger. They were practically inseparable at this point, but not entirely. There were days when they would go to the farmers market together, with Buffy happily shuffling along in tow, and they would bicker about which vegetables were the cheapest or what would be more practical, writing your shopping list on a note or on your phone.

“Obviously it’s more practical to write it down on your phone. It’s much faster.” Alex argued while checking if the salad was fresh before putting it in the cart.

“How is it so much faster? You write down your stuff, and you can add things later on as you remember more things to buy. It’s way more personal and you have easy access to the note as you’re walking through the store.” Forrest tried reasoning with him, while holding up his crumpled piece of paper as proof. Alex just rolled his eyes while trying to hide his amusement.

“It’s the exact same with a phone. Also, it doesn’t blow away with the wind.” Alex quickly gripped the piece of paper out of Forrest’s hand, held it up to his mouth and blew the paper at his face.

“That’s cheating, you-“ Forrest was about to reach for Alex’s phone, where he proudly displayed his shopping list, when someone cleared their throat and spoke.

“Is the honeymoon phase over already boys?” Isobel had her arms crossed and smirked at them. Beside her, Michael rolled his eyes and tipped his hat further down his face. Alex pretended he didn’t notice and just laughed along with Isobel. Michael now regretted letting Isobel talk him into leaving the junkyard for once.

It was little things like this that made it into their routine. Grocery shopping, taking Buffy on walks, milkshake at the Crashdown, movie nights with too much popcorn, watching the sun set over the desert landscape, wild nights at Planet 7 and open-mic evenings at The Wild Pony. A year had passed and Alex still found himself amazed and in awe each time he woke up next to Forrest. He almost couldn’t believe that he was allowed to be this lucky.

To celebrate their one-year anniversary, they decided to have a few drinks at The Pony. Throughout the night, they laughed and reminisced back to when they first met in the barn at the Long farm, and when Forrest totally kicked his ass in paintball.

“You totally watched 10 reasons why I hate you before that date, am I right?” Alex smirked at him. Forrest playfully nudged him while trying to hide his flushed cheeks.

“What can I say, I’m a sucker for the classics.” He replied.

The hours seemed to pass by too fast, and soon they were dancing in the middle of the crowd, singing and laughing along to the music.

Not long after Forrest had excused himself to go to the restroom, Michael found himself seated next to Alex by the bar. He had placed his hat down between them and ordered another drink. Michael had watched Alex and Forrest have a good time all evening, and maybe it was the alcohol talking, but he needed to try one last time with Alex.

“You know you’re lying to him, right?” Michael said quietly while staring into his drink. Alex furrowed his brows and turned to face him.

“What?”

“He still doesn’t know about me, does he?” Alex just stared at him with confusion written all over his face.

“Of course he does. I’ve told him everything about us, and what we used to have.” Alex replied, but Michael shook his head and took a deep breath.

“I mean, he doesn’t know what I am?” Michael asked and tilted his head slightly. Alex glared at him, not knowing what to answer.

“I made you a promise once, to keep you and your family safe.” Alex began, but was interrupted by Michael’s scoff.

“Oh, so you don’t trust your partner to keep that secret safe. I bet it would be a whole lot easier to go on with your life not having to sneak around and lie about your confidential alien research.”

“Michael!” Isobel’s voice was harsh and disappointment was painted all over her face. Alex was pale and his fists clenched. He had to find and grip onto every shred of willpower in order not to punch Michael in the face.

After that encounter, Alex had slowly but, surely let Forrest in on some of the stuff going on in Roswell. To his surprise, Forrest had his own suspicions about aliens. He was a historian and a Long after all.

“Do you think you’ll miss this place?” Forrest asked. He had his arm around Alex’s shoulder as they stared around his empty apartment. Alex shrugged slightly and rested his head against Forrest.

“Not really. I don’t have anything attaching me to this place. It just became a hideaway. I’m ready to start over, but this time, I got you by my side.” Alex said and looked up at Forrest, who smiled at stared back at him with so much passion and love written in his eyes.

They finished packing up, picked up Buffy and got into the car. With one last glance at his house, Alex smiled back at Forrest and they drove off, on their way to their new home far away from Roswell.

#roswell new mexico #forlex #alex manes #forrest long #alex x forrest #jealous michael #michael guerin #malex angst #forlex fic

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go-go-devil · 4 years

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If You Have Ghosts: The Story of a Song

This is an informative/personal essay I wrote about the history of Roky Erickson’s well-beloved song, “If You Have Ghosts.” Honestly I should have written & posted this on the 1-year anniversary of his death back in May, but I completely forgot. This piece is mostly a study of Erickson’s original and the band Ghost’s famous cover of it, alongside some other things. I would also appreciate some feedback on this if you all don’t mind.

The information I used as a reference when describing the making of the original song comes entirely from Joe Nick Patoski’s writing on Roky Erickson’s career and the making of The Evil One (included as a booklet in recent vinyl additions of said album).

Throughout our lives there will be songs that capture us in ways that we cannot escape from. Oftentimes it’s as simple as an infectious melody that we refuse to discard from our memories, either due to it becoming attached to a pivotal part of our lives or because we cannot dislodge it no matter how hard we try. Other times it can be something that attracts us so much that we begin to covet it to the point of obsession, and it is through this attitude that the song transforms from merely a piece of music into a piece of ourselves.

“If You Have Ghosts” is one of these songs for me.

What can I say about this wonderful track that hasn’t already been said? It is fierce, yet subdued. It is both hard rocking joy incarnate and a solemn reflection of one’s self, and it says so much by saying so little. The reason for all of these seemingly contradictory phrases I’m using is because this song, unlike many others, is a shared entity that exists in multiple forms. Quite an odd way of stating that the song has been played by more than one band, but hopefully this essay will demonstrate how the meaning of the original piece can mutate into different forms while still keeping its essence intact.

There’s no better place to start than with the original, recorded in 1977 and released in 1981 by rock n’ roll legend Roky Erickson.

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Originally recorded as part of a four-song demo of what would later become his first solo record, The Evil One, “If You Have Ghosts” contains many of the themes Erickson presents in his music as a whole. Those of which being: horror-themed esoteric lyrics, high-energy playing, soaring guitar riffs, and a general sense of raw, psychedelic power.

In less than 15 seconds the song has already built itself up and blasted into your eardrums, but never does the melody ever resort to sounding like a wall of noise. Each instrument weaves its sound around each other like some tripped-out embroidery design in order to create a rich tapestry in the listener’s mind. The lyrics are as catchy and repetitive as any of Roky’s songs, yet for this one he sounds less like he’s singing but instead simply proclaiming each line like it’s a definitive statement.

“If you have ghosts, you have everything”

“One never does that”

“The moon to the left of me is a part of my thoughts and a part of me is me”

“In the night, I am real”

“I don’t want my fangs too long”

Barring a few other scattershot words present in the chorus, what you’ve read above is all that you get for what this piece is trying to say. Unlike most of the other songs from the album, whose lyrics clearly convey the story/theme presented, this one does not have a lucid form to it and thus its meaning can only truly be grasped through interpretation. Personally, I always saw it as a proud declaration of one’s deviance from society, with the rip-roaring instruments serving to show how this person’s mind finally feels free enough to run wild in the night, with only the moonlight and their own invisible spirits to guild them.

But of course, all forms of speculation can never undermine Roky’s own intent when crafting this song, which, unfortunately, is not nearly as liberating as my previous presumption…

“If You Have Ghosts” as we know it is a direct product of Erickson’s mental illness. There really is no way of sugarcoating it. After being diagnosed with schizophrenia in 68’, Roky was sent to various state hospitals in 69’, where he was subjected to multiple electroshock treatments by doctors alongside being heavily sedating with Thorazine. Even after he was discharged in ’72 he never fully recovered from the abusive “therapies” he was given, resulting in decades of battling intense mood swings and heavy drug reliance as well as making it difficult for him to record many of his songs in studio.

Roky was under one of these spells whist recording the vocals for this song. He was only able to sing the chorus once, and after recording was no longer able to remember any of the lyrics. Out of all the tracks, Producer Stu Cook had to put the most effort into inserting the vocals into this song using a complex progress called wild-syncing to place multiple takes of audio alongside the instruments without using synchronization. It’s honestly a miracle that we even have this song fully formed in the first place given the circumstances of its creation.

Despite all of the hardship and effort put into creating this piece, for a long while there didn’t seem to be as much appreciation for it compared to Erickson’s other work. Partially because it was not present on certain releases of the album back in the day as well as the fact that Roky seemed to rarely play it live in concert (even on YouTube, recordings of these performances are scarce). As much as I love this version of the song, even I’m willing to admit that if I were ever forced to rank each song on The Evil One, I would probably place it somewhere in the middle. What can I say? When you make an album that great, the competition can be fierce!

For many obscure classics, the story would end there. Yet another buried treasure forever existing in the mind of one musician. But that’s not what happened, for several decades later a new band from Sweden will emerge, different in form but identical in spirit to Roky’s sound, whose frontman will breathe new life into a once forgotten masterpiece…

…Or at least that’s what I would lead into were it not for the existence of this version.

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Interestingly, the first notable cover of “If You Have Ghosts” was not done by Ghost but instead by an English folk-rock group called John Wesley Harding & The Good Liars on the 1990 album Where the Pyramid Meets the Eye: A Tribute to Roky Erickson. This now-obscure album consisted of a compilation of various bands and artists covering the songs of, you guessed it, Roky Erickson. There was actually a great deal of artists present on this record, including several well-known musicians such as ZZ Top, R.E.M., and The Jesus and Mary Chain (and even Butthole Surfers too!).

I’ll be the first to admit that I am not at all familiar with John Wesley Harding or his backing band; however, I will say that this piece is a worthy follow-up to the original in it’s own right. It slows down the song to a level not unlike the many psychedelic songs that followed in 13th Floor Elevator’s wake, keeping the main melody in tack while filling in the gaps with many little flourishes as a means of expanding it into something new. I’m especially fond of the echoing effect given to the vocals, which gives the already obscure nature of the lyrics a more outwardly ethereal quality.

Anyway, on to what you’ve been waiting for!

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After enduring another two decades of invisibility from the public eye, the song was once again exhumed and resurrected by an emerging metal band named Ghost for their 2013 EP If You Have Ghost. Considering Roky Erickson’s wide array of demon-inspired songs, it’s interesting how Linköping’s residential Satanic metal group chose this piece as opposed to more well-beloved hits like “Night Of The Vampire” or “Stand For The Fire Demon,” many of which work perfectly with the band’s themes of evoking retro horror films and devil worship. It almost seems like they just chose “If You Have Ghosts” solely on the basis of it having the word “Ghost” in it. However, just one listen to this cover will quickly prove otherwise.

Right off the bat, the instruments and vocals are a far cry from the original. Unlike the previous J.W.H. cover that made sure to keep the main melody in tack while adding onto it, Ghost instead chose the more daring option of altering the melody and tempo of the piece significantly. From the ominous drawing of violin and cello strings in the opening seconds to the melancholic metal sound of the guitars throughout (with the rhythm guitar being played by none other than Dave Grohl, who also produced the EP), this version slows the once fast-pace beat of the song down until it becomes almost unrecognizable save for the lyrics. Even Tobias Forge’s singing creates significant contrast with the original; his silky smooth, haunting baritone guiding a melody once held by Roky’s hard-edged yells.

And yet… the spirit still remains.

Although the sound itself has been thoroughly converted to the stylings of Ghost, they still managed to keep the fierce energy that ran through the veins of Erickson’s version, albeit with a twist.

Both songs convey a contemplative examination of one’s mind, with instrumentals and singing that amplify the power one feels from this reflection. However, Ghost’s version differs in that it amplifies the sense of isolation and longing present in the lyrics. The music notably softens at the beginning of many of the verses, particularly lines like “One never does that” or “I don’t want my fangs too long,” only to grow in power through the repetition of each line. It conveys the feeling of the singer having to grapple with these feelings before they can fully accept them.

Nowhere is this more apparent than the band’s acoustic cover of the song.

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At this point, the piece has been stripped down to an entirely naked form, its themes conveyed only through the guitars of two nameless ghouls alongside Forge’s vocals (presented here in his previous stage persona, Papa Emeritus III). There is no triumphant shouting or swelling electric guitar solos here anymore, just a somber reflection gently carried by melodic strumming and mournful singing. Despite now being as far from a rockin’ tune as humanly possible, it actually manages to come closest in recapturing the sense of rawness in the original, albeit on the exact opposite scale.

I remember watching a recorded acoustic performance in Paris back in 2015 where Papa introduced “If You Have Ghosts” as being a song about “loneliness,” which is an interpretation I can definitely agree with. In fact, I would even say that with this acoustic cover brings the entire meaning of the song full-circle. Through its peeled-back, unflinching depiction of being enclosed in darkness and isolation, it serves as a perfect end-note for a song that began from such troubled origins by telling the listener that, despite all the hardships, this beautiful piece of music will never lose its everlasting spirit.

Thanks for giving us everything, Roky.

#rip roky erickson #we're gonna miss you baby #I hope you all enjoyed this analysis #this took me a week to write!#if you have ghosts #roky erickson #john wesley harding & the good liars #the band ghost #the evil one #if you have ghost #where the pyramid meets the eye #my writing #music analysis

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coffeeandspn · 4 years

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I’m really, really sorry...

GIF is not mine.

Summary: Castiel hates to celebrate his birthday, and Dean knows that, but he thinks that Cas needs to let go his past, so he surprises him anyways. Things don’t go as planned, and they have a big fight.

Pairing: Eileen x Sam Winchester, maybe Human!Castiel x Dean Winchester

A/N: I’ll write some ACTUAL Destiel scenes only if u guys like this first part and want me to write a second chapter, because there are no mentions of Dean and Castiel having another relationship than just best friends, nor there are mentions on they having feelings for each other, simply because it didn’t fit with the situation..

Rating: Teen and Up.

Warnings: angst, unhappy ending, Dean is an asshole, Castiel is depressed, physical abuse, blood, fights, Castiel’s father is an abusive and drunken asshole, homophobia, language

Words: 1972

It was done. There was no way of coming back in time to change it. Dean was sitting on the kitchen floor, alone. All the lights were out except for a faint one, everybody was sleeping, and there he was… By himself. His sobs were the only thing that filled the silence of the night, and he swore, he could hear Castiel sobbing as well. That made him feel even more miserable. He blamed himself over and over again for his stupid mouth. Couldn’t he just, shut up for one time? No, he had to ruin everything. All the damn time. Sam gave him a disappointed look before going to bed, and Eileen gave him a pity one. Castiel had left like 30 minutes before that, and the look on his face… Dean didn´t even want to remember the way Cas looked at him before storming out of the kitchen, with tears on his face. He went directly to his room, slamming the door. Everyone was silent for a minute or two. Dean didn´t know what to say.

He felt and still feels like an idiot. How could he be so heartless? Why on Earth did Dean think that saying that Castiel was acting just like his father was a good idea? On his goddamn birthday!? Dean was definitely an asshole.

Castiel was doing the best he could, but by the time Dean realized that, it was already too late.

He knew Cas felt tired and sad, that the memories will haunt him forever, he knew basically everything about him, they´ve been friends for over 10 years, but Dean thought that maybe, it was time to let that horrible memory go. He thought that it was time for Cas to actually start living the life he always deserved; a great one.

But Dean doesn’t know shit about how Cas really feels. Because his mother had a great life, and his father wasn´t an abusive asshole, unlike Castiel´s parents. Dean´s family was the typical perfect one, the kind of family everyone wanted.

On his 13th birthday, Castiel´s dad, Chuck, beat his wife to exhaustion because he discovered that his younger son Castiel, was gay, and no one said a word to him. Plus, he was a drunken, a horrible husband and an even more horrible father. He blamed Castiel´s mother because he claimed that ‘’That little faggot bastard came out of YOUR vagina and you raised him to be like that, not me, you fucking whore! Look what you did with my son! He can´t even be my son anymore, not if he likes to suck fucking dicks!’’ His brothers, Gabriel and Michael, that were 16 and 18 by that time, tried to stop him, but Chuck was way stronger than them. Castiel was terrified, he couldn´t even move. When he was done, and had left his mother unconscious on the bloody floor, he tried to catch Castiel, but he luckily reacted quickly and started running as fast as he could. He escaped his house and started screaming for help, which worked, because a few neighbors came out of their houses, and called the police when they realized what was happening. After all, that wasn´t the first fight of the family and Castiel was sure the cops had their address memorized at that point.

The police arrived minutes after, one of the neighbors let Castiel in to their house while Chuck was busy trying to get his drunk ass up from the floor because he fell while he was running behind his son, trying to catch him.

That´s when Castiel met the Winchesters, and that´s when Dean and Castiel´s great friendship started.

The ambulance arrived as well and they took his mother to the hospital as fast as they could. She fell on a coma after that. His father went to prison and killed himself after spending barely six months in there.

Castiel, Michael and Gabriel were sent to an orphanage after that, and visited their mother (and the Winchester family) every day. As they grew older, and their responsibilities bigger, they stopped seeing their mother that often. She never gave any signal of improvement, or waking up, and their hopes started fading. After ten years of being in coma, not even breathing for herself anymore, they painfully decided it was time to let her go.

Today was Castiel´s 25th birthday, the 12th anniversary of his family officially breaking apart, and in two months, the 2nd anniversary of the official death of his mother.

That´s why Castiel hated to celebrate his birthday so much, but Dean insisted on making a surprise dinner for his best friend, alongside with some decorations around the house.

Castiel was drunk when he came home. His clothes and hair were messy, and he smelled like alcohol and cigarettes.

When he saw the decorations, he started swearing and yelling that he didn´t want any of that shit. Sam and Eileen managed to calm him down, and Sam helped him to take a shower, because he could barely walk.

When he sat down at the table to eat, he was incredibly quiet.

Dean, as always, was trying to make things better, so he started talking about his day, and then asked Castiel about his.

‘’How do you think my day went, Dean?’’

‘’I mean… I don´t know, that´s exactly why I´m asking.’’

‘’Well, it was trash. I saw the bloody body of my mother in every corner of my mind the entire fucking day, but thank you for asking though, dumbass.’’

Dean frowned at the insult.

‘’Wow, ok, I´m sorry if your life isn´t perfect, but that´s not my fault and you know it, buddy, so don´t come at me like that, I was just trying to be nice and break the tension in here.’’

Castiel let go the cutlery abruptly and look at him furiously.

‘’If you were trying so hard to be nice, you would´ve started by not doing any of this shit in the first place, because this is no special, nor happy day to me, and you fucking know that!’’

‘’Man, it´s been twelve years! You´ve got to stop tormenting yourself with what happened that day all the time! Do you really want to live your whole life like this? Depressed?’’

‘’Dean…’’ Sam tried to interrupt, but clearly failed when Castiel interrupted him instead.

‘’Are you fucking kidding me, Dean? Do you think I like living like this every damn day? I try so hard to get over it, you have no idea, but it´s impossible when the image of my fucking father physically abusing me, my brothers and my mother, comes to my mind and even haunts me in my fucking dreams all the time!’’

‘’Cas, I know what you´ve been through, but…’’ Dean tried talking softer this time, but that only made Castiel angrier.

‘’NO YOU FUCKING DON´T!’’ He screamed, punching the table and breaking his plate and his glass.

Everyone in the table jumped in surprise and concern. Again, Sam tried to calm things down, but he couldn´t.

‘’Your family was always perfect, your father wasn´t an asshole and your mother lived ‘til you were 20, she was with you through childhood, took care of you, you were able to go to the games with your dad and enjoy a family picnic, so don´t you dare say that you know what I´ve been through, because you absolutely don´t! I´ve been through hell and back and tried to recover millions of times from this, but I just can´t, and you don´t know what real pain is like.’’

Dean got angry as well. Castiel was treating him like he was some sort of perfect commercial guy, and he wasn´t.

‘’You think my life was always perfect? You don´t think my parents had some fights from time to time? You think I don´t know what it feels like losing someone you love, and that should be with you until you´re at least 40 years old? I´ve lost my mom at a pretty young age compared to other people, Castiel!’’

‘’I´ve lost her when I was 13 years old, Dean! And the stupid fights your parents had from ‘time to time’ are NOTHING compared to what I had to witness! Stop trying to minimize my problems with yours, you have no right!’’ At this point, both Dean and Castiel were yelling. Castiel took the already broken glass while he was speaking and threw it, making it break in thousands of little pieces all over the kitchen floor.

‘’You´re acting like an insane, just like your father!’’ Dean yelled. The room went silent.

Castiel´s expression changed from angry to hurt in a matter of seconds.

Sam was hugging Eileen tight, trying to protect her in case things got even more out of control.

Castiel´s blue eyes seemed to be even bluer when the tears started accumulating.

His fist loosened, dropping more small pieces of broken glass to the floor, along with a few drops of blood.

A tear came out of his left eye and rolled down his cheeks. He turned away and disappeared.

Sam and Eileen started cleaning up the mess without saying anything, while Dean was still there, trying to process what just happened.

After it was all clean again, the decorations in the garbage can, and the food in the fridge, Sam said ‘’Dude, you´re an actual asshole, you know that, right? I told you this whole thing was a bad idea. You should’ve known, Dean, you guys are best friends since you´re thirteen… I really hope you go and apologize to him soon. Good night.’’

Sam gave him a disappointed look, and Eileen a pity one. They turned off the lights in their way to their bedroom, leaving just one on.

Dean dropped to the floor devastated, already crying. He couldn´t believe what just happened. After ten minutes of panicking, having no idea how to apologize for the monstrous thing he said, crying and sobbing, he decided to look out for Castiel. He needed to fix this right now. He had no idea if Cas was ever going to forgive him. He hoped he will at some point…

He knocked on Cas’s door, obviously not receiving an answer. After two minutes, he knocked again. Nothing. He sighed, and started talking.

‘’Look, Cas… There’s absolutely nothing I can do right now for you to forgive me, but… I just want you to hear me, please?’’ Dean waited for a response, or for Cas to open the door, but none of those things happened. ‘’Alright, I´ll just start talking from here… I hope you can hear me… I- I wasn’t thinking, man. I´m really, really sorry for what I´ve said, I´m an asshole… I honestly have no excuses, and even if I had, it´s not going to work anyways. I just want you to know that I´m so sorry, I mean it… I hope you can forgive me someday, I… I really don´t want to lose you. Not after all we´ve been through…’’ Dean sobbed, and waited for… Well, anything. A sob, a move, a word. But he couldn´t hear anything at all.

‘’Cas? Man, are you okay?’’

After waiting outside his door for five minutes, he decided to come in.

‘’Hey, dude, I´m coming in, okay? I´m… You´re worrying me…’’

Dean got into the room, only to find Castiel’s window wide open, and the curtain moving softly because of the breeze of the night.

‘’Cas!? Where are you?’’ He started looking everywhere, screaming his name desperately, but couldn´t find him.

Sam and Eileen got up, and asked Dean what was going on.

Dean, with tears in his eyes, and a heavy breath, turned around and looked at the couple.

‘’He´s- He´s gone. I found his window wide open, and I don´t know where he is.’’

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butyouknowiwont · 4 years

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TW: SUICIDE

"I've been having a hard time adjusting, I had the shiniest wheels, now they're rusting. I didn't know if you'd care if I came back, I have a lot of regrets about that. Pulled the car off the road to the lookout, could have followed my fears all the way down. And maybe I don't quite know what to say, but I'm here in your doorway. I just wanted you to know that this is me trying." (This Is Me Trying)

It was pitch black, 9pm on a Friday night. I pulled put my phone, turned on the flashlight, and illuminated a slab of marble engraved with the dates that held within them the lifetime of someone I loved. My sister took a photo of it, adorned with flowers, undoubtedly laid there by estranged family members of ours earlier in the day. Sure, he'd been buried in that cemetary for 15 years, but for me, he died last Friday.

I have a hard time making my lips form his name anymore. The part of me that loved him is quieter now, perhaps a casualty of growing up, perhaps dispersed by a wave of new knowledge. I haven't talked about him in years, often because I just don't know what I'd even say about him anymore. But you also aren't exactly encouraged to rehash the details of a death 15 years past, even if they were someone you loved more than almost anyone. Then again, this is the place where I go to string together words that you're not usually allowed to place next to each other publicly.

It feels as though I was just 7 yesterday. I would have insisted that you knew I was just a month shy of being 8. I can still feel the weight of my mother's hand on my shoulder as she woke me up and told me how my uncle committed suicide overnight. I hate using that word: committed. Like he was some sort of criminal and not a deeply loved man who just couldn't see it then. I had to ask her what that meant, I had never heard the word suicide before. My body still gets chills when I think of how I spent that day realizing that the man that had made me feel most wanted and loved, who spent his time playing with my cousins and I, would never be those things to me again. I can still conjure up the memory of how I froze in place when we entered the funeral home and I saw him laying in his casket. I remember how I tried to stay as far away as possible, my childish mind trying to believe if I didn't acknowledge things they would cease to be true. They didn't.

For those of you who haven't been around my writing long, I have since discovered that the very fabric that side of my family is woven from could only appropriately be sewn into a red flag. The layers of toxicity and abusive behavior go so much deeper than I can express. We used to visit his gravesite for every single holiday. Eventually it slid down to only his birthday, the anniversary of his death, and Christmases. I had not physically been there since I cut off that side of my family over 6 1/2 years ago. In all honesty, I have pretty much avoided the town we all lived in like the plague. But, Friday, I woke up with this unshakable feeling that I was supposed to go there.

Now, don't take that to mean that I didn't think about him or commemorate his death each year. I did. But I've never been one to believe in the illusion that he knows I've visited or found comfort in being physically close to his body on the important days. It was just never worth the risk of running into our mutual family members while I was there. October 23rd has always made me forget how to breathe for a moment. I imagine it always will.

Perhaps one of the reasons I stopped going would be that I uncovered some less than desirable facts about him while I was grappling with the family as a whole. I learned that his first wife left him because he beat her. I learned that he enabled abusive behavior in his brothers, including gaslighting their victims to protect them. I've learned that he didn't choose to spend all his days with us kids, but that he was just too mentally unstable to hold a job. (Please don't take that wrong. I am not blaming him for his mental health state, but knowing it was more situational than a priority for him does take away some of the fondness I held for my memories of him.) I spent years not knowing if I even cared enough to go visit again. Part of me regrets not going sooner. But the warmth I felt towards him at 7 has faded throughout the years.

I've wrestled with how I should feel about him in the past few years. Part of me is still 7 and is wholly heartbroken that the closest thing she has to a daddy is gone now. Part of me is 14, near suicide myself, and feels nothing but compassion for where he eventually found himself. Part of me stand today at 22 and hates him for the facts of who he was. I think all of me is angry that I couldn't just have uncomplicated feelings towards him.

I have had an especially difficult time adjusting to the facts of who he was. I once believed he was a good man who loved and cherished me. In a past that has been very cloudy, for a long time he had been my one bright and shiny spot. He had been the one good thing I had ever had, and the only tragedy in our relationship is that he left it too soon.

Earlier this year, I wrote a letter inspired by Mad Woman, and sent it to my abusive father. It held all of my anger, all of my fury, all of my passion, and it unleashed everything on him at once. It was the first time I had ever let myself feel unbridled anger towards him for the things he's done to me. My Mad Woman letter was a physically safe way for me to have my moment of standing in front of him and finally saying all the things on my mind, all the things I wanted him to know. Doing that brought me a lot of closure.

I think I can say with some certainty that I now realize my urge to go visit his gravesite on Friday was our relationship's version of a Mad Woman letter. Similarly to how writing a letter to my father provided me a way to have my cathartic moment without the threat of physical danger, my visit on Friday provided me an opportunity to physically "stand in front of him" but to not verbally express myself.

On Friday, I chose to drive over 3 hours round trip for the chance to stand near his gravesite for 20 minutes and just have a conversation with my sister. I was able to physically be there, spend some real time recognizing the day, and figuratively hold out the dichotomy of how I feel towards him now so he could see them. I stood there vividly aware of how I missed him still, but how I was also unable to unsee all the reasons he wasn't someone I should miss. How losing him hurt me and how needing to choose to leave him behind would have hurt me if he lived. We took a photo. And then we left. I didn't say some eloquent speech, nor did I feel I had to. I didn't know why I needed to be there while I was there. I have done enough therapy to know if something in me is urging me to act a certain way, it's usually something I need to do. I don't always know if it did end up being important, but taking the action to do something that might be healing has always proven to be important. So, as Taylor says, this is me trying.

I think I subconsciously knew when I walked away that it would be final. A series wrap on the town, if you will. I know that the child in me will never stop loving the man I remembered him to be. But I know that the adult me cannot reconcile both continuing to heal from the abuse I experienced and continuing to hold warm feelings towards someone who perpetrated that abuse.

I know that he's been buried in that grave for 15 years now. But I left the part of me that loved him in that cemetary on Friday. When I say he is dead to me now, I mean that in all the ways one can mean that. He is both physically dead and I have chosen that from this point on he will be emotionally dead to me. The rest of his family has been emotionally dead to me for years. I left them behind in a radical decision to choose my own well-being first. Since I am no longer able to hold both pursuing healing and loving him, I am choosing myself again this year.

I am still grieving his physical death (since 7 year olds don't really have any coping skills and tend to avoid dealing with things) and I am also grieving the loss of that piece of myself as well. I am still in a bit of a tailspin from Friday night. But I know I'm right in choosing myself. I know I will eventually look back on this October 23rd as just as healing as my Mad Woman letter has been.

@taylorswift

#taylor swift #therapy #recovery #mental illness #mental health #ptsd #trauma #spilled words #tw suicide #tw abuse #this is me trying #folklore #mad woman #delayed grief #delayed grieving #choosing myself #LYSpeaks

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philosophiums · 5 years

Note

about the tentative andreil prompt suggestions i took some from the hozier prompt generator that can hopefully be ambiguous enough to inspire something because your writing takes my heart and pushes it through a meat grinder

thank you so much i scrambled to write something for “i’ll crawl home” and incorporated a bit of “innocence died screaming” as well

There’s something about the steady drip and pull of an open wound that makes Neil feel twelve years old again. He’s not sure if that’s a bad thing; he seemed to have better survival instincts as a twelve year old, but he was also still so afraid of every little rush of noise in the dark, waiting for the ax-wielding boogeyman to gut him, until sometimes he was too afraid to even breathe. He’s not afraid anymore, but he’s also bleeding, so....

Maybe personal growth lends itself to stupidity. Or maybe he’s always been stupid. That’s what Andrew would say, at least.

Neil wobbles his feet under himself, as unsure of his legs as a newborn fawn and as eager to get up as one, too. On the ground he’s an easy target, but if he’s on his feet he can run - should run - away, but he’s without his mother’s encouragement hissing in his ear, using fear and pain to make him move faster, always walking that tightrope of pushing him too far and keeping him alive. He sways when he’s upright but manages to keep his balance, one hand covering the wound and the other braced out to catch himself if he does fall.

He’s been here before, as a boy named Blake. He was too young to really understand how to fit into a disguise, so he looked more like an impressionist painting of a pre-teen boy with blonde hair and grey eyes and too much leg to know what to do with - all the pieces were there, but they didn’t seem to know what to do with each other. He wasn’t a cohesive person, bits of Nathaniel and his other disguises always leaking around the seems. He was constantly drawing more attention to himself than he was diverting gazes, and it drove his mother mad. But he was so easily spooked back then that it was harder to get the drop on him. Somehow, people still managed.

Neil takes a step forward, remembering how to steady himself through a pooling stab wound, his body picking up muscle memory that Neil has let himself forget in his new life. He winces, wondering for the first time if there really is a heaven or something similar and if his mother has gained a favor from whoever’s in charge, because this seems like just the type of thing she could be behind to knock sense into him, even if she’s years late to make a difference or change his mind.

When he was Blake, fearful and bleeding and screaming in a damp narrow alley in Lyon, made into a horror hall by the faded lamplight of the world after midnight, he had thought something similar. He never found out if the stabbing then was arranged by his mother - a cruel way to make her son realize just how serious this was - but neither of his attackers died, and he was left shaking and crying in that alley for over an hour before his mother collected him and stitched him up in their hotel room.

It’s not as bad now, as Neil. He can move. He’s older. He’s been hurt enough times that he knows what the tipping point between bad and needs the hospital feels like, and he’s not there yet. It’s just a lot of blood, he thinks, and more pain than he’s felt since his father died. He balls up the loose material of his oversized running shirt and presses the bunch into his wound - a move that exposes some of his scars, but those are a little more acceptable in polite society than a lot of blood.

He retraces his running route - walking, this time - until he finds himself at home. He has to let go of the wound to fish his keys from his pocket, and blood trickles past his waistband to the floor. “Andrew,” he calls, plugging up the wound again and bottling up his ghosts as he closes the door behind him.

Andrew appears when Neil’s in the middle of taking off his shoes, and either Andrew’s getting worse about hiding his feelings, or Neil’s getting a bit smarter about reading him, because worry and panic spill out of Andrew like too much fizz from a shaken can of Coke - it makes the floor sticky with feeling, and Neil can’t move as Andrew comes closer, ripping the bunched-up shirt from his hands to get a good look at the wound.

“Why didn’t you call?” Andrew asks, tense, which is miles better than hollow or angry. Neil blinks, and the weight of his cellphone in his pocket suddenly unavoidable. A lifeline that used to be a death sentence. He’d entirely forgotten it was there, because when he was Blake, when he was bleeding out in a forgotten alley in France, he had had nothing. There was no phone, no Andrew, just a mother who had told him to stay and then disappeared. Andrew’s face tightens as if Neil had spoken that memory out loud, but Neil knows he doesn’t need to - his life before Andrew was just surviving one tragedy after another, knowing that one day it would be a similar tragedy that would kill him. “You’re an idiot,” Andrew says, and that’s becoming more clearly true the longer Neil stays alive.

They improvise their way to the bathroom, both of them holding onto the wound, tight like they don’t want it to escape. Andrew sits Neil down on the closed lid of the toilet and discards Neil’s shirt in the bathtub. He’s a force of nature - a firm gust of wind and the inescapable weight of a landslide - but he’s not sharp or sudden like Mary used to be.

Years ago, Andrew asked Aaron to teach him how to stitch up a wound. Years ago, Neil taught Andrew how to determine which wounds need a professional and which ones aren’t worth the medical debt. It’s about depth, and whether the edge of the wound is jagged, and whether the bleeding looks like a popped water balloon or a leaking garden hose. Andrew digs out the first aide kit, and Neil settles in.

“I was just running,” he says, because Andrew looks like he wants answers but isn’t sure how to get them without choking them into the open.

“Be more honest,” Andrew says, because he knows that Neil doesn’t lie to him anymore, but sometimes the whole truth hides in the back of his throat until it’s too late to be relevant.

“Okay.” Neil braces for the first push of the needle and grunts through it, eyes up at the ceiling, knuckles white on the counter and the crease of his shorts. Years ago, Andrew asked about a numbing agent, and Neil told him the pain of the shot wasn’t worth the relief that came later, that vodka is a good enough substitute. Too bad Kevin drank their last bottle Tuesday night. “I interrupted a fight. Thought I had a better chance than the kid they were beating up.” He’s always been a martyr for the people important to him, but Andrew’s influence has deepened his pool - especially for kids.

Andrew doesn’t stop stitching. The wound should only need four knots. “You’ve gotten slow.”

“Didn’t see it.”

“That’s what I mean.”

Neil hums, even though his wound really doesn’t want him to. Andrew’s right, of course; Neil doesn’t notice things about people as quickly anymore, because his life is no longer a broken bird cradled in his hands. He can live and be as normal as his past and his nightmares and his mild fame allow him, without having to look over his shoulders and be ready to drop his persona at any moment. He’s let his survival instincts slough off like a shedded skin, and replaced them with birthdays and anniversaries, with his family’s favorite foods, with directions to the five nearest exy courts.

“Is that really such a bad thing?” he asks, looking down at Andrew’s fingers, at the blood and the thread and the bold lack of armbands.

Andrew cuts the thread and meets his gaze, as solid and fierce as the first time Andrew put his fist through a window and promised to keep Neil safe. “It is if you’re going to keep running into every knife held out at you.” Which means no, but be more careful.

Neil smiles, slow and lazy from the pain, still wishing he was even a little drunk right now. “Will you go buy me some vodka when you’re done?” he asks as Andrew gets to his feet and pulls Neil with him.

“Go buy it yourself.” Which means yes.

Which means he’s home.

#the foxhole court #tfc #my fics #mine #in which neil is as always an open wound that andrew keeps stitching back together #it's a metaphor see #Anonymous

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willel · 5 years

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Will and El storylines

This is a straightforward picture of how I view their development.

El’s main antagonist is Brenner. Brenner is the one that has caused the series we call Stranger Things to happen. Due to his cold and endless scientific curiosity, he has forever tainted their world with the Upside Down. There may never be a day where they achieve peace because of him.

Not only did Brenner take El as a newborn, not even allowing Terry to hold or touch her own baby, he stripped her of her name and raised her mostly alone in a cold laboratory.

Although we don’t know the age at which the experiments and testing started, it is all El knew. The most warmth she’s ever had was 1 stuffed animal toy, occasionally getting a story read to her, and getting to draw 1 picture.

After Brenner caused El to open the gate into the Upside Down, El took her fate into her own hands and escaped. She ran as hard as she could and found two safe havens. First Benny, who was killed for trying to help her, and then The Party.

There, she continued to decide her own destiny. She put her foot down when she needed to, refusing to let Lucas and Mike inform their parents. But, she was also on her own mission. She was searching for someone, someone she didn’t even realize was associated with the boys who helped her.

The show doesn’t delve into how she knew Will before she met the boys, but the comic illustrates she caught a glimpse of him on the other side and vice versa.

Now with the pieces all in place, El, in her own way, tries to undo her “wrongs”. She wants to help the boys to find Will. Safely. In the end, she does. At a price. For a while, she can’t be with her friends and Mike anymore. She’s lost her safe haven, but soon finds another in Hopper.

As we know, things with Hopper aren’t all sparkles and rainbows. As time marches on, El grows more and more frustrated and she starts seeing things in Hopper she doesn’t want to see. She sees traits of Brenner and what he did to her. While Hopper is nowhere near as bad as Brenner, it’s easy to see someone who experienced as much trauma as El can see the similarities. So she ditches Hopper to find a new safe haven.

She finds her mother. Alive. But broken. Another piece of her life broken by Brenner that may never be fixed. She can’t fix this one, at least, not right away. Instead, she tries to follow her mother’s wishes, which leads her to her third safe haven. Kali.

Kali is just like her. They were tortured by the same man, both stolen away from their parents. They found a new family to feel safe with. But, there’s a key difference between Kali and El. Kali heart is hard as stone. She’s been hurt one too many times. Her fear and rage fuel her to be on the offence against the people who hurt her instead of the defense. El tries to follow in her footsteps, but she can’t. She doesn’t want to split up families like they did to her and Kali.

It happens again. Brenner returns, but it’s a manifestation of Kali’s powers. El and Kali are so alike, Kali knows El’s pain and can use it against her. It’s always Brenner who is her greatest fear. Her and Kali too.

When she closed the gate, who is it that pushed her over the edge to make one last huge push? Brenner.

It always comes back to one person. Brenner. Even when he’s supposedly dead, he has affected El’s life forever. If he is still alive, I think even the big bad Mind Flayer won’t personally affect El as much as Brenner has. Even when El inevitably has to fight the Mind Flayer, I just can’t see it cutting as deep as Brenner. She can fight the Mind Flayer. It’s just a monster out to destroy her world. Brenner? His pain cuts much deeper, fighting him isn’t as easy.

El’s foe is Brenner.

Will

Will’s antagonist is the Upside Down, and the embodiment of the Upside Down, the Mind Flayer. Of course, he shares this antagonist with literally everyone. The difference between the others and himself is they’re on the outside looking in, and he’s on the inside looking out. If that makes sense.

Will’s story will be a little faster to write. Probably.

Will was once a normal kid with a jacked up family. Despite this, he’s made the best of it. He has good friends. A good brother. And a very supportive caring mom. Good grades. Interesting hobbies. Although things aren’t great with his dad, I think Will was content with the life he once had.

But, everything changed when he ran into the Demogorgon that night. He was kidnapped to an alternate dimension for a week and somehow managed to escape death right up till near the end. He was saved thanks to El’s help.

Will comes back home, but things still aren’t the same no matter how hard he tries. He’s having visions. Nausea. Nightmares. Panic attacks. How many sleepless nights did he have? How many times did he crawl into bed with Jonathan and Joyce or vice versa? He’s 12 going on 13 year old and probably feels like a small child again. Despite all this, for a while, Will is able to gain at least a little normalcy.

As the anniversary of the events comes closer, all that normalcy is washed down the drain. The Upside Down came back for him and overtook him. “I felt it... everywhere. Everywhere...” Imagine how traumatizing that is, being unable to move as you’re overwhelmed with what looks like smoke. Possibly unable to breathe or scream. The torture didn’t end there. Every waking moment he didn’t feel right. Stuff that probably would’ve been enjoyable, like a hot bath, instills fear in him. But it’s not HIS fear, it’s someone elses.

Then he gets thoughts. But not his thoughts, someone elses. Memories. Visions. Feelings. Everything. All belonging to someone else. Feeling it all the time, unable to stop it. It’s worse than invasion of personal space, his person is no longer his own. Something or something else is in his body. The Mind Flayer knows everything about him and uses it against the people he loves. He no longer has control over anything, not even his own voice.

In season 2, slowly but surely, Will loses his fight against the Mind Flayer/The Upside Down. Once again, he is rescued by his mother and his brother through a painful and intense exorcism.

El seals the deal and saves everyone by closing the gate, locking the Mind Flayer out.

The Intersection

The part that interests me on a deeper level is not necessarily how similar El and Will are as people, which they are, but how similar their personal antagonist are.

Brenner and The Upside Down/Mind Flayer have both changed Will and El’s lives in personal irreversible ways. Yes, Brenner is technically everyone’s enemy. So is the Mind Flayer. But who have they done the most damage to? The answer is obvious.

Controlling. Manipulative. Forcing them to do things they don’t want to do. Knowing everything about them and using it as a weapon to cut deeper. Brenner and the Mind Flayer are big contributing factors as to why Will and El are so alike excluding their natural calm and quiet demeanor.

The Future

So what does this mean? Why does it matter? All of this boils down to how the cast are going to take out the two big bads. Brenner, and the Mind Flayer. I don’t think El can do both all alone and she shouldn’t have to. She has friends and family now to support her.

El is weak to Brenner, but with her powers can fight the Mind Flayer.

Will is weak to the Mind Flayer, but Brenner has no hold over Will’s psyche.

I think both these big baddies will need the whole group to help take them down just like the previous seasons, but I also think there’s some importance for the main people affected get the final blow.

El getting to slap or punch Brenner? El getting to throw him against a wall? El getting to tell him off to his face??? I want this to happen for her. I want her to get her chance to take down her big bad, the one person who ruined her life. She deserves her moment. Kali too, I’m not sure how Kali fits into this, but a team up of her and Kali getting a few licks in? That’d be good too.

As for Will, this place has been haunting him for years. It’s stolen years of his life and continues to bother him, his friends, and his family even still. I think Will deserves to have his winning moment as well. He’s not El. I don’t think any power he has will be able to do anything to the Mind Flayer. Not like El can. No, I want Will to be the one that crafts the ultimate plan that takes out the Mind Flayer for good. I want Will to be the brains, and for the others to use his blueprint to win.

I always visualize it as the Mind Flayer and Will on opposite sides of a chessboard. And on Will’s chessboard, El would he his queen piece, the strongest piece on the board. Oof, that’s so cool to me. It really ties into that scene with Joyce and Will at the table for lunch and in response to Joyce’s question, he says, “Sometimes, the bad guys are smart too.”

(note: I do think Will could help El with Brenner, but Brenner feels like more a Mike and Hopper problem for now)

The Powers

Onto the powers thing, my favorite thing to talk about. Over the last year or so, I’ve thrown out all kinds of theories about what powers Will could have and why. I probably have hundreds of posts, some serious, some not. As season 3 grows closer, I think I’ve settled on what they are.

Clairvoyance or the power to feel ones intentions. A general sensitivity to things. A heightened sense of empathy.

Something Upside Down related is headed towards Hawkins again? Will would be the first to feel it.

Something supernaturally bad is happening in Hawkins? Will could point out where on a map or draw it out.

Meets someone who seems sketchy? His gut would be able to accurately confirm or deny any suspicions.

Need to peek into the Upside Down (or possibly other dimensions?), Will can use True Sight.

True sight includes being immune to illusions, so Kali’s power might not work on him.

As you can see, none of these powers are out of this out of this world crazy or bonkers. None of them conflict with El’s powers either. These are all things Will has done before and while being possessed by the Mind Flayer. Season 3 will show us exactly how much is him and how much belongs to the Mind Flayer.

It’s also interesting to note that Joyce displayed a few of these traits too and she has nothing to do with the Mind Flayer. As season 2 has showed us with Terry, the writers are following the Montauk Project blueprint in how powers are acquired. Genetics. Trauma. And drugs.

Whenever I speculate Will’s powers, I never think about it as, “What power can make Will just as powerful as El or stronger?” It can’t work like that. You see, El was an experiment. Day in and day out, the laboratory focused solely on making her power stronger. It’s unnatural. There is probably no other psychic more powerful than El and Kali. They are the equals in that regard, not Will and El.

When I speculate about Will’s powers, I think, “What power could Will have that would fill in gaps El doesn’t so they can be a team?”

In season 2, El’s power revealed a huge gaping hole. She can only see the people she’s searching for or have met/seen before. So when they went to kill Ray, El did not know he had daughters and could not see them. This blindsided the gang and inevitably put a bigger target on their back.

So what power do I think could have helped El cover he bases better? Someone who can help her not just see one person, but maybe everyone in the area she’s looking at.

Think about what Will was doing while the Mind Flayer possessed him. It was kinda similar to El where he could remote view what was going on. But he didn’t need to know all those soldiers to see them dying. He saw the whole area, their whole trip down into the tunnels. The catch is, his vision was tied to what the Mind Flayer was seeing. The only time Will used their connection to see what he wanted to see absent of the Mind Flayer is during the search for Hopper.

So imagine this same concept applied to an El and Will team up. Will can see what El can see. She can go anywhere she wants if she knows the person she’s looking for, but Will, through her, can help see not just the one person, but everyone they’re with and their surroundings instead of a black void. A booster for El’s existing powers.

I imagine Will is a booster. Not particularly strong on his own like any other natural psychic, but with a skill set that boosts the effectiveness of other psychics. The team buffer.

I love the concept. I don’t think I’ve ever written about it here because I’ve been saving it for my fic you see. A fic that will take forever to write, so why not. The one time I’ve alluded to it is my Bathtub Theory.

The Ships

I just want to get this out of the way. Byler shippers? Mileven shippers? I’m not on either of your teams. My blog doesn’t exist to boost your ships. Whatever ship happens doesn’t really matter to me. At all. I’m agnostic. I’m not out to get you, but the posts I make also aren’t meant to be evidence for shipping.

I’m not crafting theories and posting about parallels because I’m trying to make Will and El compete for Mike. Or to make Will the one and only main character. Or to reduce the importance of other characters and story lines. I’m making these posts because I feel like these parallels and similarities are going to mean something for the plot against the bad guys and them as characters.

I make Will and El comparisons to Mike sometimes not even to stress how important Mike is to them, but to show how the characters end up treating them similarly because of their circumstances. I use it as proof both of them have an extraordinary role in the group on purpose. The two oracles. The ones the group will turn to when stuff starts going down.

This willel blog? It’s a sideblog. This is where I put most of my Will and El love. My love for other characters that aren’t the Byers/Hoppers are on my main blog which I don’t really advertise because that’s what what you’re here for. This blog is compartmentalized love for two main characters out of ... however many we have now. 20. I bet many of you didn’t even know my second favorite character under Will is actually my dearest action hero son Lucas Sinclair whose story line I can’t wait to see this season.

The only kid ship I KINDA care about is Luxmax. And that’s ok people. We don’t all need to care or love the same things, you know? That would make a boring uncreative fandom. It’s not about the ships for me. It’s not. It never has been. I made this blog because there were no Will and El blogs at the time, only ships.

Conclusion

I love my potential siblings. I think they have a lot in common and can relate with one another in ways the others can’t. They aren’t the same people. They don’t even have the same beef with the main antagonist of the series. They don’t have the same powers. They don’t have the same life experiences. They don’t have the exact same personality. Although similar, they don’t have the same trauma.

They’re parallels. The definition of parallel is “side by side and having the same distance continuously between them” or “a person or thing that is similar or analogous to another.” Or, analogous, “performing a similar function but having a different evolutionary origin, such as the wings of insects and birds.”

You see that? Side by side. Similar. Analogous. Not same. Carbon copy. Identical.

They’re twins. My mom and aunt are twins. They have so many similarities including their face, but are also have a huge gaping canyon between their personalities. They aren’t the same person and that’s never what I’ve pushed here.

Please understand, I love Will and El because well, I always gravitate towards stories like theirs. Two people completely unrelated and barely even know each other brought together by supernatural forces and managed to work together to take down the big bads with their friends/family. For me, it’s like found family to the extreme. I love it. I always fall for it.

I have so much fun crafting theories about their powers. I have fun coming up with fluffy or angsty headcanons about them. I have fun thinking of big family Hopper-Byers scenarios and making gifsets. This is what I enjoy personally.

I know you guys are having your ship war, but please leave me out of it. I’m not involved. Leave my posts out of it. Ok? I’m tired of it, you know? The other day it really depressed me. I felt like all my love for Will and El was being misinterpreted as existing only to stir up ship wars. I contemplated hiding my blog for a while until my rage passed over, but at the end of the day, I don’t have the energy to be mad. I’m just sad.

My one wish is for Will and El not to receive hate because of ships because you know what? That’s the worst possible outcome possible for season 3. They don’t deserve it.

#stranger things #will byers #el hopper #jane hopper

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gisapot · 4 years

Text

In defense of Dionysus (written 12-03-2017, posted 12-03-2019.)

It is officially the anniversary of the last creative nonfiction piece I wrote.

I did not realize it has been two years since I wrote this piece, the piece that I consider my magnum opus; two years since my grandfather had passed.

Posting this today of all days was not intentional. I did not intend to post this here because I had bigger plans for this piece; a greater exposure than this tiny blog only my friends and students know and avidly read (not that I am ungrateful for your support). I wanted to see this in print.

I wanted to submit this to Katitikan for its ‘places and spaces’ issue, but to submit this means to remove a thousand words from this five-thousand-word monster, and removing a thousand words is an insult to the integrity of the story I want to tell. To remove a thousand words is to break the legacy of my grandfather.

Another reason why I wanted to post this is to address a comment my mother had received on a photo she posted on her Facebook of her and my grandfather. I do not know if that was their last photo together. She shared the post to share to her world that it is the second anniversary of her father’s death, and someone said, “maayo gyod an badlungon kay ma mis gyod sa tanan!”

Instead of posting a position paper in defense of my grandfather and his merits, looking only one-sided and biased towards the man who raised me, I want to show you this piece, in its entirety, in my grandfather’s entirety.

Who really was Antonio Gulane?

Dear Grandpa: A Story of The Kulafu Warrior.

Dear Grandpa, today is the third of December, twenty-seventeen. I am in the new house, the one you begged my mother to buy for you before you passed: the one-story house made of cement and stone. It has barely been a month since we got the house when you decided to christen it with your quiet passing, bringing in faces old that I’ve never seen in years, and new ones my mother insists I’ve met longer than my brain can recall.

Dear Grandpa, this asphalt house is the first permanent one we have had in a long time. How many houses have we lived in? I don’t know the number, but I know each and every one of them, complete with tiny slivers of memories that are distinctly of you, Grandma, your white chino shirts with her tie dye skirts and half-slips. I remember your loud insistent shouts and your ribs protruding through your thin brown skin as you sit at midnight half-naked, inhaling the smell of Mighty Red, Marlboro, or some lumboy leaves you roll on your own. The smell of it mixed with Kulafu has permeated every household we occupy, radiating out of your rotting yellow teeth as soon as the clock strikes one in the afternoon. Textbooks always told me these were signs of a broken home life, a dysfunctional family. To me, it became a sign that told me that I was home, no matter where I was.

I. Basement

I remember very little about the basement, but I do have pictures of it developed like pictures used to in those times Kodak and Konika were the epitome of photography technology, Richard Gomez’ face on the packs of the finished images. There were blue green walls, and it was constantly dark down there because there no natural light came in. The wooden jalousies were sealed shut and dusty, not really helping our cause. Our TV was a small black box always tuned in to ABS-CBN, and one picture showed it frozen on an old Colgate commercial along with my memory of my first Christmas. You were there with Grandma, candid shots of you making me laugh so that I would smile for the camera. I was a chubby child with skin as pink as the girls endorsing Pond’s for a healthy pink glow, a vast contrast to your dark lumad skin, even more elaborated by the harsh automatic flash of the film camera. Grandma always shied away from the light of it with a bashful grin that took on not only her face but in the lift of her shoulders, carrying me up to cover her face. You, however, were not afraid to show your grimace to a device that immortalized your state: displeased that your photo was taken, but not mad enough to be violent.

I am thankful these photos exist to give me a sight of my childhood that I remembered better through scents. I remember nothing, no experiences and no objects, but I do remember the smell of a very big pink bottle of Johnson’s baby powder, your alcohol, Tatay’s aircon-scented laundry, pungent socks, and your cigarettes.

II. Village

There is always this notion that when the word ‘village’ is present in the address you write on forms, you were someone with money and stability enough to live in a place that had security guards stationed at every entrance. We were renting this house, and I do not remember what it looks like nor do I have the pictures to actually believe that we lived here. There must be a gap in my memory, but I forgave myself long ago for not remembering anything. But I do hear stories from you and Grandma about my childhood: I liked Uncle Dennis’ Lucky Me mami noodles – the one in the blue packet (is it still in production anymore?) – because it smelled like gas. I didn’t eat it, I just smelled the smoke coming out of it. Every afternoon at five, Uncle Dennis and Grandma would take me for a walk to ‘get some Fita’, which was a codeword for fetching Nanay from the corner. You recalled that I never went with them if there was no Fita involved, so my mother resolved to buy Fita before she got to the corner leading to our house so I would greet her by sunset.

It was a quaint village but we had to move away for reasons I still cannot understand to this day, but know well enough that what happened made my mother lose the face to show to her in-laws. Just because she was a tiger does not mean she held the power; her in-laws were kings of the jungle. Grandma maintains we were nothing at the time. We had no one to our defence. We were ants next to them in the grand scheme of things, we could not talk back when the perpetrators had money and we did not, ruling the gated compound as they did. I never believed you to be one to run away from a fight. It did not seem like you or Nanay to be quiet or behaved when mouths start running the way they did towards us, but you just let it happen like it did. We moved houses before I could remember anything constructive of it, or take any pictures to remember it by.

III. Pardo

There is something in Pardo that always drew me in. It seemed like a place that was alive, crowds of people coming in with the setting and rising of the sun every day, judging by the plethora of jeepneys that headed that way. I know that because of my constant commute to school, a small Montessori school, girls in bright red uniforms and at least one boy per batch in grey t-shirts. Other than that, I remember nothing that had to do with what was outside the house except the potted plants lined up by the patio that you sat next to, where you were supposed to be smoking your afternoon away. But you were not there, not at the house, not in any of the pictures. I never saw you in that year. I think you hated the place, or the stampede that came with it, or something else. All I know is that you were never there. Your sister stayed with us instead, a skinny woman with short hair who took orders for empanada from Nanay’s friends. I don’t remember you, but that does not mean I have no recollection of whether or not you were there. It means that I know for sure that you were not there, so I had nothing substantial to remember you of, unless it was Christmas.

I remember you distinctly during our only Christmas in that house, hiding in the darkness of the alley behind the back door where a big blue tank stood. You crouched there, smoking while Nanay and Tatay took pictures of me posing in front of the Noche Buena. I have a picture of that moment, smiling cutely while Grandma stood with her back turned away from the camera facing the door that led to the blackness. I remember she was scolding you in harsh whispers to turn the flame of your cigarette off and come inside to join the festivities, to not be a Grinch on Christmas. Once the photo was taken I got down from the chair I used as a stool, towering adults walking past me – both uncles, Nanay’s younger brothers – who tried talking you out of sitting outside. If you did not feel like socializing, there was always a TV. Your indifference towards Christmas was evident.

The concept of time is longer the younger you are. I look up at the clock as they plead you to come inside and eat some bread or ham, or an apple, whatever; it was eleven in the evening. You finally got up at three minutes later, but it felt like three hours. I wonder how that is so. When you walked past me, I wanted to ask – something, nothing, I don’t remember what I wanted to ask from you. But you just moved me aside and did not give me attention, and you sat on the sofa and I just stared, and I brushed it off. You were offered alcohol, and you asked for a bottle of Kulafu. I did not move. The moment I write this is when I remember that was the first out of two times where you did not make time for me. You always did.

IV. Sugar Apple

Since I was a child I always amused myself with the thought that Tisa backwards was ‘atis’. Of course, now that I am older I have come to realize that this is not true. But it also entertained me that this presupposition of mine was proved true with the sugar apples growing by the barbed wire fence right outside our house that closed the compound in. We were renting a bigger house this time, in a compound of three houses owned by a nice drummer amputee named Tony. I remember the whole town calling him Tony Kimpay like it was his full name. The house had light blue walls and a smooth ground floor that required a whole box and three-quarters of red Starwax and two coconut husks to shine. There was a second floor (a second floor! Only rich people had second floors, thought three-year-old me) where the floors were made of wood, and it was in this house where I learned that you never slept at night.

You sat outside from ten at night until six in the morning with a box of cigarettes, a mug of Nescafe coffee and three bottles of Kulafu, guarding the house in lieu of a dog or a security guard. You would entertain yourself with the ducks Tony owned, chasing them away once they started quacking at four in the morning along with the crowing of the chickens. It was from you where I learned to not fear ducks. And when Nanay’s cousin Dinah came to live with us while she went to college and told me to stay away from ducks because they bite, I did not believe her. They always run away from me because you taught me that I was bigger and more terrifying than any bird.

Sometimes you plucked the sugar apples and cut them in half to share with the family, but I never ate them. Instead, I was interested in the eba that grew next to it, eating it raw and with no salt to neutralize the taste. I loved how sour it was. I have pictures of me giving eba to my cousins who visited the house. Behind the camera, you turn your nose up away from the eba, because you did not like that I like them and preferred that I ate sugar apples instead because at least that is a fruit that made sense.

My first brother was born by then, and I did not remember an instance where you touched him. By then, people from the neighbourhood or Nanay’s friends from work came by to visit and coo at him. I would get jealous and insecure, because there is a baby stealing my mother’s attention, like all three-year-olds would feel when they have a new sibling. Because of the afternoon crowd on the second floor of the house, you woke up from your afternoon nap and went outside for a smoke to calm down to avoid snapping at someone. I followed you outside because I hated how Nanay did not give me any attention, all given to that stupid baby. An adult grabbed me, I don’t remember who it was but I know I insisted on going with you. You took a seat on a plastic stool Grandma uses for the laundry, and told me to go back inside once you lit the cigarette stick. I obey. I walked towards the door when I accidentally kick over last night’s Kulafu bottles. I turned around to pick them up, but you told me to leave it and go inside in that annoyed tone you spoke in when everything is not in order. Despite that, you crouched down and picked the bottles up without further complaint. Irritation was a trademark on you, a trademark I have come to not just learn, but to inherit.

V. Parrots

From the house with the ducks and the star apples and eba, we moved to a white house with a gate. It was not that far from the previous house, it was on a hill right behind it. The house was white, the inside also white except for the master bedroom which was decorated with faded yellow wallpaper. A few months after we moved there, Tatay bought me a pair of birds – a boy and a girl – for no reason at all. He just thought it would be nice to have a pet. They were yellow-green birds and I thought they were parrots and insisted that they speak after me. Under the cage of the birds was a wooden stand for your own rooster. It was then I learned that you liked cock fights, you bet on it and joined it even with the constant reports on the radio that these betting games were illegal because it went against animal rights or some random reason I thought of as a child that would rationalize the world.

I still do not know if the birds Tatay got me were parrots or not, but it is an appropriate analogy for you and K: at the age of three with a head as big as a basketball, he admired you for everything you did to the point that he copied your every move, especially your skill in many types of martial arts. Now as I am older and I look back, I think of the credibility of your claim, if you were really an expert as you said you were. But at the impressionable ages of seven and three, we believed you to be the Filipino Bruce Lee as you introduced yourself to be. You taught K how to use nunchucks and a bit of arnis with a stick you conjured out of nowhere, and I wish I had pictures to prove that you really did teach him and he learned well from you, but all I have are pictures of K alone carrying his nunchucks obsessively everywhere he went. He threw a fit every time he was told that he could not bring them to social events or inside malls because it was ‘unfair’ and he really wanted to show off what he knew.

He was so much like you. He copied almost everything you were. You two were so alike in the shortness of fuse and how you both wanted everything to go your way or you would have to resort to violence. K would wrestle anyone who said no.

Despite the contrast – K a pale milky white while you were a reddish brown like Kulafu – you taught him to be like you and he had grown so attached to his childhood hero that it no longer looked adorable to me as the older sister, but scary. This turned terrified the moment you took an afternoon nap and started kicking in the air like you were fighting someone, asking if your enemy in your dream was going to fight back. K thought you were so cool.

Nanay always tells me that she understands because she is always at work that K was imprinted by you and grandma instead of her and Tatay as the actual parents, but I could not understand what she meant. It just did not reflect the families on textbooks, where the children were close to their parents and their grandparents lived in a separate house. How close he became with you and Grandma was beyond me. He insisted to sleep on your bed, eat out of Grandma’s hands, and sang the lyrics you whispered in his ear before he ever learned how to read. There was no doubt in his mind that you were invincible, and you were the best example.

VI. Dog

We lived a year in that white house. Half of that year I dazedly spent in hospitals because of a severe case of dengue. That year was a bad year for us, it was some sort of bad omen. Nanay decided to move us to Mandaue, a whole city over, because it was safer there from mosquitoes and it was closer to her workplace. Other than that, Tatay was an architect for a new private elementary school that was just erected there, and he decided to send Yelcin and I there. It was in a big compound owned by a chubby old man with droopy skin that made him look like a wrinkly dog. He looked even worse with his constant frown. You did not like him. You liked his sons instead because they drank with you Kulafu with you at two in the afternoon to stay awake instead of being so uppity like their father.

We got a dog too, a female golden retriever we aptly named Goldie. You did not like her at first because she was a non-human creature that came into the house and chased after me because she liked me. You got very angry with her because she wormed her way to the bedroom I shared with Nanay and Tatay, but then insisted she sleep at the foot of my bed to watch over me, and suddenly I see you sneak out chicken leftovers from my breakfast to her dog bowl in the morning. That is when I knew you started to like her.

You sat outside with her in the afternoons. With that you brought some noise, you talked to her and told her to behave and you would give her a dog biscuit shaped like a bone whenever you got bored. You were not quiet anymore. You would bathe her religiously on Saturday mornings before I woke up, and fed her strange things for her meals like fish and some malunggay leaves. She ate them gratefully, like it was not dangerous for her poor dog stomach to eat such things.

You did everything for Goldie. You treated her like your own child, spoiled her with all the dog treats in the world and reprimanded my mother if she did not bring home any more treats for the dog when you ran out. You built her a cage made of metal grills and spare raw coco lumber that you demanded Tatay to bring from his site visits in Catmon, the plastic flooring for the only thing authentically pet-shop about that cage. You made Dennis buy some metal roofing from the construction supply shop around right outside the corner of the street, and you built her a home with your bare hands. When it was done, you put Goldie inside, locked it, and hid in your bedroom with Grandma without a word and took a happy nap.

VII. Protection

We had a house. It was in Opon, it was bound to PAG-IBIG housing loans, but we had a house. It was in a middle-class subdivision whose houses all looked the same, so our minimalist white and brown and green house with a terrace and an outdoor garden with Bermuda grass stood out. We had our own rooms, mine was pink and V’s was blue with a bunk bed since Nanay was pregnant with her third child and we were preparing for him. Nanay and Tatay’s room was a bright yellow with brown furniture. And yet you refused to see us sleep in our own rooms, us kids having to sleep in our parents’ room, on the floor with some mattresses, so that we do not get too hot in our own rooms. It was apparently better in the air-conditioned room, and it was so you could keep an eye on us all together.

We had a car too. It was a secondhand blue Nissan Terrano with a spare wheel on the back that we bought from your cousin who married into a rich family. We did not use the car much, but you took it out for spins around the subdivision so that it would not ‘gather dust’. I still do not know if that really is a valid concern for cars.

Your habits did not change: you still sat outside the house at midnight with your coffee and Kulafu and cigarettes, except now people stop in front of the house to take pictures, and you ‘shoo’ them away to keep them from plagiarizing my father’s work. (I will find in later years that they still succeeded in copying my father, what with subdivisions being erected that now use the same color scheme and the same layout and plan. It irritates the both of us. Whatever happened to intellectual property rights?)

You hated the location, however. You hated that it was an entire city away from where we went to school and we did not get enough sleep. We passed out in the car the moment we get inside, to catch up on some sleep, wake up dazed and lost in school, then come home tired and lethargic to do any of our homework anymore because of how tired we were. We were practically in hell.

Location was always the problem, wasn’t it? We just moved to the new home that was finally ours when it struck: Nanay was laid off of her job and had nowhere to go. With piling debts and deteriorating health and a baby who had more needs than her grown children, Nanay decided to work overseas.

You were so violently against it. You were so mad. You did not want the family to be separated. Everyone should stay in one home, together, no matter the circumstance. It was all or nothing for you. But Nanay had already made up her mind, bought a ticket out, found a job that was waiting for her, all that was left was to leave for it. You did not look her in the eye that day she left, staying outside right in front of the car, like you were a boulder that could stop it from moving.

VIII. Following

I remember very distinctly the moment K cried at the airport as we left Singapore after our first Christmas there. He was crying terribly hard, hating the fact that the family he grew up in, his own universe of discourse, was pulled apart into two different fabrics of time and space. It was difficult to be together now. He rolled on the floor of the then-existing budget terminal of Changi Airport, causing a scene, asking why we could not stay with her and be a happy family like those families in textbooks. He wanted to be with Nanay, with Tatay, but also with you and with Grandma and Uncle Dennis and Uncle Julius and their wives Elsa and Janice respectively, both parents and parental figures. K used to be the type that got so attached. I cannot say the same for now, however.

When Nanay said she was working on our immigration to follow her to Singapore, K was excited. You, however, did not say anything. I think you have learned from when Nanay left the country, but you made us promise to call you by Skype every day while we waited to start schooling there. You could not bear to part from us, you and Grandma, but when was the best time to leave the nest, to be honest? And we belonged with our actual parents.

And every day like clockwork since we left, we called you through video call, your brown skin a bright white like the shirts on Tide commercials, asking how we are and what we are doing, same as yesterday. The call sits for two hours as we watch you nap on the wooden floor of the rest house, and when the computer overheats, you tell Dennis to shut it off and you slither away on the floor to your room, not showing that you are crying because of how you miss us. But it is okay, I know you console yourself, because Janice is pregnant, and you are sure this kid is not a kid you will let go.

When we left the country, you had no reason to stay in Cebu anymore, so you loudly declared to the entire family that you were all going back to Medellin where they grew up and where you raised them. There was a rest house there that Tatay constructed for us; somewhere we can sleep in whenever we visited Medellin for the weekend. It was a hut, brown with nipa leaves weaved together for the roof. Everything was made of wood except for the foundations and the bathroom, the cement wall painted green on the outside. Inside was tiled and decorated with seashells Tatay paid your nephew to collect from the beach behind the house. You spent your days there lying on the ground like a dog, never breaking your afternoon-nap-and-Kulafu-at-Midnight ritual like always. Sometimes you got bored and killed flies, made your own barbecue, and even built an extended hut for Grandma that you used as a convenience store. You would participate in secret games of masiao that another one of your nephews is a runner for, you and Grandma arguing about the how she calculated her own numbers and why yours is different, until the tumor in your stomach you kept joking about started hurting too much for you to laugh about it anymore.

Dear Grandpa, throughout these homes we have come into, you repeatedly made me promise throughout my childhood to build you a concrete house that you can call your own. You called our constant moving a hassle and the hut that my father made for you not sturdy to withstand storms. You told me you were tired of the city, and asked me to build you a house in your hometown of Medellin, as big as I want, as long as it was strong and brave and could shelter you from the heavy storms.

Dear Grandpa, we have a home now. It is a bright yellow house in a subdivision a little ways away from the park that displayed an old train from Central that used to carry the sugar cane. The time is one-forty in the afternoon; I am sitting in front of your white coffin with a towel in my hair, and if I move to tilt my head rightwards I can see the bottle of Kulafu I bought for you as an offering. I am alone, save for the people passing by to get food, more ice cream, beer, or arguing about the wi-fi connection. Your Photoshopped portrait sits on top of your viewing glass, staring at the flurry of movement with your intense judging glare and thick eyebrows. You look angry in the photo, but Uncle Dennis says you were about to laugh as the photo was taken, and if I stared hard enough, I can almost see the moment that you do.

Dear Grandpa, you were powerful and strong-willed and loud for all the right reasons. You were never weak, and you never allowed people to spread nonsense about our family. I pretend not to know that the reason for your loss is not deterioration, but a dangerous formation. I pretend not to know that your every day habits are the cause of your passing. I pretend that you’ve never participated in vices in your life; it is in the Filipino culture, Nanay says, that once someone passes, he is an angel.

Dear Grandpa, I miss you very dearly. As I write this I keep erasing words and adding some more, getting distracted by the noise from the children and doors opening and San Miguel bottles tinkling against each other. This is the sound of our family, even as the shape of our living arrangement changes like the sky when it nears a storm. Dear Grandpa, in the years I have grown under your care we did not have a house whose deed was truly ours, but you have shown me the meaning of home and helped me remember it as my own now, as part of who we are: we are fighters, the heat of your Kulafu blood flowing through our veins – we are warriors.

Dear Grandpa, we might be so far away from each other, even further now that you have passed, but as I grow older and help Nanay and Tatay finish this house in your name, I will remember the way we have come, and how much further I have to go. In front of your coffin, I bow my head to mourn, but my blood boils hot under my skin – I will stand like you on this ground and do what I can, defending your name.

And if I can help it, Dear Grandpa, we will not move again any time soon.

#cnf

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secret-time-is-here · 5 years

Text

The bad guys rewrite

Notes: For original accounts anniversary (June 14) I decided to rewrite The bad guys series into one -yes one- long story. Also, thank you to @toynako (Not sure if you want me to tag you here) for the first ever person to like my crappy writing :3

warnings: too many to put, but it’s really long (7,150 to be exact)

Boredom. How long had he felt it? Had it been Decades or Centries? What could he do?

He only had so many AUs to play with to soothe his indifference, it’s not like he’d ever owned any friends, and even then, if he did, would he be in the place he is in now?

The self-proclaimed King sat in his throne, feeling small compared to the size of the room. He sat laying across the seat and its two arms, looking like a child forced to this role due to his height and him swinging his legs. However, this man was far from a child, he was in his hundreds and was about to reach his 217th birthday- marking 200 years reigning as King.

He glanced over at one of his tendrils, a mass of solidified goop that ran like a waterfall but forever stayed in its own shape, defying all laws of Matter it could. The color was a dark green, almost black-but still held elements of blue- creating a new color of its own, it even matched the color scheme of him himself and by extension the palette for most of his decor.

The goop that covered that tendril wasn’t just there either, it covered his whole body- from his skull to his skeletal toes, that was the only color you could see. Although, the color fit his self-proclaimed title as the “King of Darkness” perfectly.

The goop itself could become a burden, however, the only reason he even had the goop was because of the Dark apples. It could even fall off sometimes- he had to learn that the hard way- but it only stuck to him and to nothing or anyone else, at least he didn’t have to clean it off.

He laid there a while longer, searching his mind for anything to do. After searching through the mental files of memories, he remembered something he specifically put away in his private library, an area where he stored spirals of Notes on Aus, Journals, and much much more. He teleported to the spot, not caring to walk the distance to the room.

The object in question was a medium sized and handcrafted spiral that a close childhood… companion had given to him as a Birthday gift when he was 14, the memories came surging back to him as he picked it up. He remembered how the other insisted that they stayed away from the village nearby that day because it was their day, and no one was to interrupt it. They spent that whole day together reading his favorite books, then later had a well-made meal followed by a delicious dark chocolate cake that was just the right amount of bitter and sweet.

This meaning there was almost no sweetness to it, strong dark chocolate as the King called it (70-80% cocoa for you readers). He could tell his companion didn’t care for the cake all that much, and remembering the face he made when he had the first bite- probably didn’t like it at all, but his companion still ate on. He hid his distaste for the food and just wanted the other to be happy, which, surprisingly, worked at the time.

The King often missed the past, he smiled at the memories- but then his smile turned flat as he turned through the pages, looking for any notes that stood out. The past was the past and he now had to look forward and forget what made him the victim, and instead remember what made him the feared guardian and dark King of today.

The spiral held notes he had taken from hearing the villages conversations about other AUs and outcodes, at the time he didn’t understand most of it, but after the years he slowly pieced everything together and could talk about almost any AU you asked about. He set up timelines of events, specific details on AUs, and even what made the AU special or terrible- helping him to avoid them then and take Negativity from them now.

He finally found what he was looking for, it was towards the middle of the spiral and written bigger than everything else- meant for him to remember it. A learning strategy if he remembered correctly, he purposefully did this so he could remember that peculiarity of these two specific individuals.

The first one was Error, a destroyer of worlds, he wrote for him possible motivation and wrote as much on his backstory as he heard. He put a few possible timelines together, he became an Error and already hated the world, he already was an Error and something drove him to destroy, or he was simply insane or psychotic. Fitting enough for how he acted.

The second was the helper of creators, Ink, he -as his title suggested- helps creators and gives them motivation. He had written similar things for him with a few side details that included his bad memory -aside from traumatizing events- as well as his lack of emotion and a soul, Ink was an empty husk that lived because of the AUs creation.

He remembered Ink well enough, he was a colorful skeleton with an expressive pair of eyes, they had a run in once after the King started his rule- ever since Ink had avoided him. Ink may be emotionless, but even those who can’t feel emotions fear death. What he wrote as possible motivation was almost exactly the same as Error’s except he kept the concept of Ink being part of the void from the start.

Another thing came to mind as he thought about the peculiar pair, a handful of pacifistic AUs that had gone off from the path as of late. Gaining strong amounts of negativity, made he could help them so they didn’t end up like hi- ...so they didn’t end up insane.

Not a second later and he was outside the ruin doors of a pacifist -or soon to be pacifist- Undertale Snowdin, trees were all around aside from in front and behind him.

Dust circled around him and in the air. The King brought his turtle neck up to his mouth and nose, covering them so he wouldn’t have to breathe it in. He was far too late. It didn’t seem to help that the more he walked around the underground world, the more evidence he had to support his theory, there wasn’t anyone left alive or spared. Even temmie village was quiet.

The uneasiness of the surrounding area sent small chills and shivers up the King’s spine, the quiet deafening, the only sound other than his breathing being his subtle footsteps as he walked along. The ruins, snowdin, waterfall, Hotland, core, and the surrounding area of New home were all empty, that is if you didn’t account for the dust. Even the true lab was empty.

Sighing, the King went to the only place left to look, the judgment hall. The one place he had left alone.

The gold hall shimmered before turning dark from his presence, startling the skeleton idly sitting at its exit. The skeleton turned, shocked. Clearly not expecting it as it was obvious everyone was dead in this timeline.

The sans’ eyes were blank, streams of tears drying underneath his eyes and turning black along his skull, his soul misshapen and red by the sheer amount of determination and LOVE running through him. Other than those few unique details, he was -or at least looked- as normal as any other sans.

“I thought I killed everyone...” The sans deadpanned, looking annoyed and astounded someone got out of his merciless grasp. His eye’s slanted in grimace, slowly pulling out a knife as he stood up and mentally prepared himself for battle.

“Friend, you don’t want to do that.” The king announced, chuckling. The sans’ stance tensed but relaxed too, unsure whether he should listen to this dark being’s advice. “I’m certain we can come to a compromise rather than fight- besides, I sincerely doubt you’d make it far.”

The murderous sans moved forward anyway, only to be picked up and stopped by one of the King’s black tendrils, his arms restrained and held down against his body by the same tendrill.

The knife clinked as it fell to the floor from the sans’ surprise. His look turned from annoyance and surprise to hatred and distaste.

“Fine,” He growled out, “...What compromise do you have in mind? And- can I question who and what the hell are you?” His eye’s changed from slanted and angry to raised, suspicious and confused; Seemingly willing to listen.

“I, young one, am Nightmare, a skeleton much like you. I am also a guardian and King of sorts, of negativity- and you, friend, just happen to radiate such; Allowing me to find you.” Nightmare summed up, “Now, the compromise I had in mind, it’s up on the table whether you decide to take the offer now or even down the timeline- heh.

“The compromise itself is simply you join me and what will eventually become a team of people to help spread negativity- killing, destroying, ruining lives, etc.- and leave this empty world for the large multiverse beyond it. All I ask in return is for you to trust and join me, let me take care of you as you work for me. Are you willing to take it?” Nightmare concluded his speech, dropping the sans and holding out his hand as he did so.

The sans hesitated, seemingly fighting between sticking solo and possibly joining this Nightmare down the line or joining this skeleton and allowing Nightmare to take care of him as he worked under him.

Eventually, he nodded; grabbing onto Nightmare’s extended hand to pull himself up and shake it, sealing their deal.

“Good choice,” Nightmare concluded, as he made a portal back to his mansion, “Now before we head back, what can I call you? You will come to find that there are many sans’ in the multiverse, even I am a variation of one.” Nightmare asked

“Um… would Killer work?” Killer answered, unsure of himself.

“Of course, now, head through this portal. It’ll take you to the hideout, feel free to explore while I look for the other team members I have in mind.” Killer followed these orders and jumped through the portal, supposedly ending up at Nightmare’s mansion.

One down, five to go.

His two next targets were easy to find, this was because if you found one, you found the other. There was little time spent apart for these two, a constant battle that was set to never end. Each time they were hurt more and more, each time to go to their homes to only heal, sleep, and possibly eat and then return to the battlefield.

Error didn’t stop destroying nor stop fighting Ink, Ink wouldn’t stop helping Creators nor fighting Error. The two created a balance of peace, without destruction you have a scrambled mess, without creation, you wouldn’t have anything in the first place. The circle of life, the circle of balance, Yin has their Yang, Yang has their Yin. The good side will only be balanced with elements of bad, and bad will only be balanced with elements of good.

However, in this situation Error was the pillar to finding Ink, and it was difficult to do it the other way around.

The protector of worlds was a soulless being, his intentions as soulless as his body. He didn’t care if the AUs were starving or celebrating, as long as they were alive. Being soulless did benefit him in one way, however, he didn’t mourn over the lost and destroyed AUs, allowing him to continue fighting against Error for their survival.

His targets were in a mind-wrecking place, the AntiVoid, fighting as if everything was on the line. To Nightmare’s somewhat joy and displeasure, Error’s back was facing him, letting Ink see him first.

Ink’s white eyes diverted from Error seeing a black blob in his peripheral. The pearly ovals glanced at Nightmare and then quickly changed to small lines, like daggers, in his eyes. Wanting to kill but prevented by his morals, it was only a little emotion, but it was the most he could convey without his paints.

This action also showed a glimpse of something else, fear.

Ink, deciding it better to save his skeletal hide than stick around, then left without a word, angering his opponent whom he was battling a few seconds ago.

“Hey, you asshole! I was fighting you! Where are you going?!!” The air was thick with the monster's anger, clearly pissed with his foe leaving mid-battle.

Nightmare smirked, if he did this right, he could make the great destroyer of worlds one of his friend- ...team members. If he gives Error a compelling argument, he could have him as at least an Allie.

“Ugh… that asshole is such a scatterbrain, probably forgot we were fighting in the first place...” Error mumbled to himself, almost like he was answering someone. Nightmare laughed behind him, that’d be something to deal with.

Although It’d be something for Nightmare himself to deal with if he managed to gain Ink as a teammate, and if he got both of them… he wondered how long the Mansion would stay standing with the two of them in it.

Error turned towards Nightmare, not even aware of his cold presence despite being a few feet away from the King. His expression showing his eyes wide in a shocked surprise, before slanting down, as if needing glasses to make out the details of who was standing in front of him; but not carrying them on him.

“I’d say it’s because he doesn’t want to be hurt by my hands,” Nightmare humored, “... again.” Error cringed at Nightmare’s sadistic aura. It reeked of darkness.

The more Nightmare stood there, and the longer he stayed, the more the darkness spread around his feet. Slowly, the blank white canvas of the AntiVoid was painted by the darkness that Nightmare was covered in. If he walked slow enough- he could probably leave dark footprints.

“What- and who- the hell are you?!” Error half questioned-half stated, unsure if he really wanted an answer to his question.

“I’m Nightmare, a guardian and King of negativity,” He answered, calmly speaking despite Error being in a battle stance and killing with his eyes. “-and you just so happen to give off so much anger that I can feel you emotional presence from across the multiverse.” He concluded, smiling at the shocked and further confused expression on the glitch’s face.

“...Okay, your weird-ass ability aside- you said you hurt Ink?” Error’s look turned from its previous confusion to question, and then murderous hope “Did you beat him!?”

Nightmare eyeballed Error for a second, as if looking at a child that didn’t know its place. Error’s look of hope and smile dropped, realizing he was hoping that someone he didn’t know had severely hurt his life long enemy in the past. His expression dropped and let go of his victorious look, exchanging it for an embarrassed and flustered.

Nightmare stood in silence, letting the embarrassment Error had truly take him over, it was funny to watch the mighty Destroyer as his face turned to an overripe blueberry. Minutes passed and eventually, Nightmare nodded his head, smirking.

“I thought that was clear,” Nightmare started, pausing to let the information sink in. Error had gone the extra mile to think aloud his quite murderous thought when it was implied that a painful interaction had happened, it was just a silly waste of time. Before the destroyer could speak anymore, Night continued “I do hope you enjoyed embarrassing yourself by the way.”

Error grumbled and pulled his hood up and covered his face with it, saying something along the lines of shut up but with a lot of swearing and insults, some of which were hypocritical but the King figured Error already knew that.

“So, now that’s over with, would you like to hear a proposal-? It may do you some good.” The lord of darkness coaxed, letting his new acquaintance take his time to answer the question. Error pushed his hood back, letting his face be shown, but skull still covered.

“Depends; what does the all mighty King of negativity and darkness want from a destroyer of worlds? Wouldn’t I cause less AUs and less negativity to feed off of?” Nightmare stilled, damn his old companion’s rumors.

He slowly sighed, this might not be worth it after all.

“Believe it or not, you are of much use to me, as I am may be of much benefit to you- and no, I don’t feed of negativity, I live off its existence. Without it, I wouldn’t be here and alive, I eat normal food like anyone else. Rumor may say otherwise, but truth prevails.” Nightmare explained, letting Error’s expression turn from reserved and doubtful to understanding and willing.

“Fine, you’ve convinced me to listen. What’s your proposal?”

“You join me, I own a mansion and have plenty of room for a companion, I’m sure it’d be a better living situation than sleeping on the floor of the AntiVoid. All I ask of you in return- if you join me- is that you be there when I ask of you. You work for me, I take care of you. If not, we could at least stay allies and you can have a residence with me.” The King offered, holding out his hand

Error shook in reply, pulling his body and hand away from the potential physical contact, cringing at it, clearly not wanting either to touch Nightmare’s goopy hand or not wanting to touch in anyway way. Nightmare raised an eyebrow, not fully getting what was wrong.

“Would a yes work…? I’m… not a big fan of touching.” Error explained, voice dropping at having to explain his ‘weakness’. Nightmare nodded, finally understanding.

“Before I let you go to my manor, there is one thing I wish to do. Come along,” Nightmare stated, opening a portal. Error quickly ran through it after him, following his new ally into AU after AU, not seeing what Nightmare was trying to do.

It was quiet as they did this, seemingly going through every AU in the multiverse, but only going through about 10. However, soon enough they reached a stop. They were on the surface of an underswap AU, stopped at a clearing in a forest. A forest where up high in one of the tall redwoods sat Ink, looking out at the sunset of the protected and safe AU.

Error bumped into Nightmare when they stopped, and started rebooting straight after, not expecting the contact. Nightmare whipped around after hearing the loud beeping noise, and so did another figure.

Ink jumped down from the tree he was sitting on, seemingly not as scared of Nightmare as he was minutes ago. His eyes shifted between bright yellow joy, orange confusion, and an occasional uncertain red-orange. Nightmare quickly picked up the artist with a tendril while he was distracted, making Ink make an alerted sound in reply.

Ink pouted at Nightmare, crossing his arms. His body language asking if this precaution was necessary. Nightmare grinned, finding Ink’s childish attitude amusing. Another loud beep took their attention once again.

Error sat blinking, seemingly trying to get his vision to clear of the error signs that covered it. He looked up to Nightmare and Ink, seeing them staring at him.

“...Um, what happened? Did I reboot again?” Error asked, scratching his skull as he shakily stood up, seemingly not remembering what happened between him falling and now.

“It would seem so, however, your reboot caught Ink’s attention and took him off guard. So I thank your predicament. Now, however, is the time to talk about you, Ink.” Nightmare turned his attention to Ink, and so did Error.

“What about me, octopus?” Ink challenged, now starting to glare at the skeleton holding him. Clearly not wanting to hear what this ‘bad guy’ had to say. While error kneeled over laughing at the nickname, Nightmare gave the artist an annoyed look.

“I wish to talk, that is all. I wish of no harm done to you, and I won’t let you harm anyone else- meaning, I don’t want you attacking Error nor him attacking you while I’m talking with you both, I also wish for you both to wait until I’m finished before arguing.” Ink nodded, looking like he was willing to cooperate for the time being, “Thank you, It’s nice to know even with the spread of rumors people are willing to listen.” Nightmare started before taking a seat on the forest floor, Error following soon after with Ink still suspended slightly in the air by a tendril.

Nightmare sighed, he was going to have to explain a lot to get both of them to cooperate and join.

“I wish for both of you to be part of my team of sorts, it’s more or less me giving you a residence, care food and more in return for you working with or for me. However, there are a few complications. Ink, I’m aware you somewhat in alliance with Dream, an old, old ex-friend of mine. He’s spread lies about me for years and I just wish to stop that and continue to keep the balance of the multiverse in peace.

“Another issue is your relationship with Error and vise versa. To begin with, there’s nothing there whatsoever, you both are enemies and that’s how you’ve always lived. If you were to come to compromise this could work, I don’t want to keep you across the manor from each other just because you don’t get along. It might help with your decision to know that I know close to all of your information, aside for your pasts which not even you yourselves know so… that’s something to keep in mind.” The king finished, happy with how his speech came out, for something off the top of his head it was good.

The enemies blinked, looking like they were struggling to take in all the information. A safe place to call home with food and care, false rumors spread by the ‘good guy’, keeping balance, compromising with their life long enemy to get care and a safe home, Nightmare knowing almost everything about them. It was a lot when you break it down.

“Hold up, how much exactly do you know about us?” Ink asked, confusion clear in his multicolor and forever changing eyes. The King sighed in response, of course, there was going to be some questions.

He went to his hoodie pocket and took out a small spiral, quickly flipping and scanning the pages until he reached about halfway through.

“Here it is, ‘Ink the protector of worlds is secretive, but I have close to all his information pieced out, the same applies to the destroyer of worlds Error. Both have phobias, both different, and Ink seems to own PTSD for the AntiVoid and gained chromophobia- fear of white- from it, he may also be somewhat psychotic. Speaking to voices in his head and owning no emotions of his own; all his emotions being prompted by the vials he drinks.’ Does that sound about right, Ink?” Nightmare questioned, before picking up where he left off, “‘he could also possibly be touch starved because of his time alone, even if he may not show it, he could own haphephobia- fear of touch- as well but it’s hard to tell with his secrecy.

“‘Error seems to show similar symptoms to Ink, except he still owns emotion. He talks to voices in his head much like Ink but he does also possess a large kill count and seemingly relentless murder streak. Error may own haphephobia but that information could be false, he doesn’t seem to own chromophobia since he most likely lives in the AntiVoid, not having anywhere else to go considering the AUs hate him for his murdering tendencies.’” Nightmare concluded, closing the journal and putting it back in his pocket, now waiting for his potential allies answers.

The silence bore into the King as he waited, his eye socket dark and emotionless, showing his exhaustion catching up to him.

“I’m in, and willing.” Error finally spoke, looking to Ink to silently signal the other to answer.

“I’m not- I don’t care if Dream is right or wrong, I don’t need help from the likes of you- either of you. Now, let me go. I need to get back to work. This was only supposed to be a short break.” Nightmare gave a slow nod, releasing him from the tendril’s grasp and letting him fall the few inches left to the ground.

After that, the artist ran off, probably to make a portal and get out of reach of them so he couldn’t be tracked as easily. However, Error ran after him. By the time he realized Error had ran after Ink, his new companion was long gone.

Damn him.

Nightmare got up, swaying as he was exhausted from using so much of his magic and general energy that day. Teleporting multiple times in a day, going to at least 12 AUs, and holding skeletons in the air with his tendrils -which were sustained by his magic- had taken a lot out of him.

Slowly he followed the destroyer, going along the broken path of branches and moved branches. It didn’t take long to catch up, however, so he was able to hear Error started what seemed to be a rant at Ink.

“What the hell was that?!” Error called after Ink when he got to where the artist stopped. The protector raised a skeletal eyebrow at him, not knowing what the destroyer was so angry at. “You don’t want help from ‘the likes of us’ the fuck is that about?! I knew you were an asshole but really? That was so uncalled for! You don’t even know what it’s like being on this side, you ass, you have no right to call us that!”

“Hypocrite.” Ink responded, monotone and seemingly just wanting this to be over with.

“What am I being hypocritical about?! Sure I’m an asshole too, but only because the entire multiverse hates me for removing the copies and clutter- for every copy I destroy there are two more made! But no- you don’t do anything even bother! Without me, you wouldn’t even be able to get around the multiverse like you can! You wouldn’t be able to find one timeline or even AU out of the trillions that would be around without me- what do you have to say about that huh?!” Error growled out, clearly pissed off and angry

“Error. Quit it. He’s not worth it. He’s soulless and doesn’t feel remorse for anything, and from what I can tell, he doesn’t keep a guilt vial on him. Let’s just get you back so I can move on to the others that need my help.” Nightmare spoke, coming out from the shadows of the trees.

Error started a ramble on why he shouldn’t stop but was shortly cut off by him being poked, which took him off guard and made him jump back, eyes covered in error signs but not rebooting. Nightmare looked back over to Ink, giving a silent ‘go on’ with his eyes.

-----

After securing Error back at the mansion with Killer watching over him and keeping him company-to ensure he didn’t try and go after Ink again- Nightmare moved on, heading off to another AU that had gone astray from positivity.

He landed in a quiet snowdin, bloody snow and occasional Dust around, no wonder it started to grow in negativity. Just as quickly as he got there, he moved into the shadows of the trees, not wanting to be spotted by anyone just in case this AU wasn’t deserted like Killer’s- which it seemed like it wasn’t.

True, walking through the trees was harder, but he couldn’t be spotted in the tall shadows that the forest was consumed by, so it was a win in his book.

However, not long after he started walking, he came upon the person he was looking for, the resident sans of this seemingly murderous AU. Like any other, this one wore a blue hoodie and black shorts, however, he also wore a shabby and pail shirt with it all, giving him an almost hobo-like look.

The sans sat asleep in his shack of a watch post hoodie over his skull and face. A foul and dead smell came from the hut the closer Nightmare grew closer to the sans, as well as the strong smell of dust and blood which the skeleton and shack were also covered in. Nightmare wrinkled his nose in distaste, he should’ve gone here first.

Hesitantly, he nudged the sleeping skeleton awake, to which the sans raised an axe above his head and jumped back in reply, clearly not expecting to be woken up. This action made his hood fall off as well, showing off the large hole in the side of his skull and his singular red pupil. Neither being healthy or normal for skeletons.

“Calm down,” Nightmare tried, to which the skeleton did none of the sort, only glaring at him in response. The king sighed, “I’m here to help you if you’ll believe that.” He tried again, hoping that he wouldn’t be losing his head today.

The sans nodded hesitantly but didn’t let go of his axe, instead deciding to keep it in his grip but lower it to in front of his body. Nightmare nodded back, accepting the silent language this sans used. The sans simple nod meaning ok, I’m willing to listen, while Nightmare’s said thank you.

“I can give you a home, care, and help if you join me, I wish to help you from the situation your in so you can help me. I’m Nightmare, a guardian of negativity, and you can help me spread and keep its balance with positivity. If I help you, I can help other AUs and sans’ that are having tough times, so they can be happy too.

“I’m just here to keep balance, I promise not to hurt you. I have already helped two others, and they are waiting back at my mansion, where I have plenty of space. Will you join me?” Nightmare asked, almost repeating the speil that he had given Killer, Error, and Ink earlier that day.

“Only if I can bring my brother. If you’re going to help me, you have to help him too. He deserves it more than me anyway.” The skeleton’s gruff voice responded, almost like he was dehydrated. That totally wasn't worrying.

“Alright, can you grab him or bring him here? Also, you will come to find that you’re not the only sans in this world, do you have a name I could call you?”

“I’ll call him, and I guess… Horror? I’m not good with comin’ up with names.” Horror responded as he called up his brother, to which a papyrus rushed towards them.

This Papyrus didn’t look too healthy either, his teeth were chipped and a few were even missing, his eyes were small and seemed like they struggled to see- squinting at any point of light. He stood hunched over, struggled to even walk and limping. His clothes were like any other Papyrus, but they were heavily worn and slightly stained with blood, his scarf tattered like it had taken a literal beating.

Nightmare should’ve definitely come here first.

“Brother!” The Papyrus’ screechy and also seemingly parched throat called out as he stumbled over, stopping next to Horror, his back hunched over so much that he was barely a foot taller than his brother- when he should’ve been several feet taller. “Nyeh? Who’s this sans?”

“He’s here to help us,” Horror started, then turned back towards Nightmare, “You can call my bro here Scream if you want, or just Paps, but- we’re ready to go when you are. We don’t have much down here.”

Nightmare nodded, opening a portal for his new companions' Scream and Horror, he hoped deep inside that he could give them all the help they need- they probably had a lot of issues. It seemed like Scream needs glasses as well as some help with his back, and both of them were malnourished.

Three down, One extra, One lost, Two to go.

Another portal, a deserted land, checking everywhere, the judgment hall left, everything seemed to be repeating. The shimmering hall went dark again as he walked into it, a Sans at the end of the hall, this one different.

He was exactly like any other sans, in every way, expect in both eye lights gleamed red, with one having an extra ring of purple. His hood was pulled up, and he sat talking to himself, not even noticing Nightmare.

“You see someone? That’s a funny joke, bro.” The sans continued to talk- seemingly to himself, “There’s actually someone behind me?” The skeleton turned around, finally noticing Nightmare.

“Hello, young one.” Nightmare started but was cut off as he felt a knife go through his arm.

Dust had thrown a knife at him and it went right through the goop that covered his arm. It stung a bit, but he only looked at it and his now torn sleeve, before letting the goop cover his arm again, repairing the wound in seconds.

“Well, that’s one way to say hello. Now, do you want to hear what I have to say or not? You can’t effectively hurt me enough to kill me, and if I get bored of you constantly throwing knives at me- I can always go to the others that need my help.” Nightmare explained, not fazed at all by the wound he had seconds ago.

“What help?” The sans snapped, seemingly not able to control himself or being controlled by something else.

“You are on the brink of insanity my friend, and if you kill another monster, you will most likely become an amalgamate because of you unbalanced DT. There is a lot of help I can offer you. I can help you get rid of your insanity, I can help your excessive amounts of DT, and I can help you escape this place and underground. But, only if you help me.

“I’m Nightmare, a guardian of Negative emotions, and you just so happen to be part of that negativity I have been sworn to protect. I can give you a home, help, and care if you join me. I have helped four others and have plenty of room for another at my mansion.” The king offered, holding out his hand for the sans, to which the sans took it.

“What now-” The sans stopped himself, and then scowled, “No I won’t-... sorry nightmare. Paps is just being overprotective.” The sans explained; like he knew no one else could see his Papyrus- who was probably haunting him.

“It’s quite alright. Now, I’ll bring you back home- after I get a name, of course. Just keep in mind, sans won’t really work, you are one of the many out there. Even I am I version of sans.” Nightmare told the sans as he opened a portal to his mansion.

“... how about Dust?” Dust hesitantly asked after a long pause, seemingly saying a suggestion his papyrus had.

“That’ll work, now, go through the portal. You will meet four other’s that will be taking residence with you. Three of them are Sans’ as well, and another is a version of Papyrus. Tell them I’ll be joining you all soon.” Nightmare asked as he let Dust go to the portal.

Dust nodded in return, walking through the portal, content to be getting out of the underground and going somewhere new.

Nightmare sighed; Four down, One extra, One lost, One to go.

Going through one of his last portals of the day, he appeared in his second to last destination. He landed in a land of white, almost like the AntiVoid, but in reality, just a destroyer and barren Au- expect for one person.

An occasionally sniffling and hiccuping skeleton sat a block or so away from him, turned away from his direction, easily seen because of how empty the area was.

The skeleton looked overdressed, even from the back. From the back, you could see an overly fluffy hood, a long black and white scarf, and what looked to be X’s across his clothes and design. His body didn’t look mangled or hurt and was a healthy pearly white, that meant he was crying for a different reason than pain.

Or maybe… it wasn’t physical pain.

“Hey kid,” Nightmare called out, making the quiet hiccup the sans had sound loud and surprised rather than lonely and depressed. The skeleton turned around, showing his full design, X’s covering his black and white clothes like Nightmare predicted, but his eyes were a different story.

The sans’ eyesockets held one red pupil and another had a white one, a red almost lightning bolt scar underneath the red one. He was glitching as well, occasionally showing a young monochrome chara instead of the sans.

The skeleton quickly wiped away the tears he had and stood up, summoning a large knife like sword supposedly with magic, battle stance ready but tense; something that could easily be knocked down with a swipe at his leg.

“There’s no need for that, I’m not here to hurt you.” Nightmare said, stepping forward hesitantly, but after noticing the sans wasn’t advancing for an attack, started to walk instead. “Let’s sit down and talk, okay? You look like you need a friend; or a family.”

“Fine.” The sans spat, clearly trying to cover his previous crying with a cold indifferent facade.

“You don’t need to cover up emotions, feel free to let out whatever is building up, I should know better than anyone it helps to talk about it rather than let it build up.” Nightmare coaxed, but sighed when the sans let go of his facade, but then went for an emotionless attitude instead.

“Why should I care what you have to say you-”

“-Becuase it may help you in the long run.” The King cut off, not speaking anymore after that, waiting to see if the skeleton would try and speak again. Although, when the sans didn’t try to speak, he continued, “If you’re willing to join me, I can give you a home, care, help, and a family. I’m Nightmare and I’m the guardian of Negative emotions, although, as of late, I’ve been helping sans’ instead.

“I have helped five other’s today. The first went insane from resets, the second went insane from being left alone and hated, the third and fourth were stuck in an AU were everyone was starving, and the fifth was driven mad by their frisk’s constant path of genocide. They are all waiting back at my mansion, and I’m sure -If you let them- they would be happy to call you friend or family. Will you join-”

“-C! get away from him!” Ink interrupted, bolting over to where the two were sitting, ready to start attacking Nightmare, but was picked up by a tendril once again.

C stayed sitting and Nightmare got up and walked over to where he was holding Ink in place, glaring at the artist for interrupting his conversation.

Ink could’ve helped Killer with his insanity, could’ve talked through things with Error long ago, could’ve helped Horror or Scream with food, could’ve helped Dust so he wasn’t on the brink of melting with DT, could’ve made it so this C person next to him wasn’t alone and clearly broken. Ink could’ve literally done anything, but he didn’t help with any of the AUs and wouldn’t even accept help for himself, now it’s Nightmare’s turn to do something.

“I beg your pardon, Ink.” Nightmare menaced, voice gurgly and threatening, “I”m here to help this person you call ‘C’ and take him out of this insanity of a place so he can be happy- something that you’re clearly not helping with. You didn’t help the others- you won’t help yourself, so let me help them.” Nightmare finished, flicking Ink across the void when he finished. C wasn’t even concerned.

Nightmare took a deep breath to calm himself from the anger and then turned back to the still sitting skeleton he had been talking to. C didn’t seem fazed by the violent act that just happened in front of his eyes. Nightmare sat down with him again and took one of his hands.

“I’m terribly sorry I had to harm Ink in front of you, I’m not sure of it, but it seems he sees you as a friend.” Nightmare started, looking into C’s eyes, “Even though it may be pointless now, will you still join me and my… family?” Nightmare asked, expecting a no, but smiled when he got a nod instead; “Alright, follow me, C. We can head through this portal home.”

“It’s Cross,” Cross spoke softly as he got up with the now happy Nightmare, although, he didn’t know why he was happy. Ink had told him Nightmare was an emotionless and harmful being, that killed anything in his path. Ink must’ve lied about a lot of things.

Nightmare nodded to this new information, pulling Cross with him into the portal.

The truth was, he was happy because he saw himself in Cross. A young broken monster, let alone, most likely used and abandoned. Nightmare helped Cross because no one had ever helped him. He wouldn’t let the cycle repeat on another innocent monster.

“Nightmare, you’re back!” Killer smiled, along with everyone else in the room.

Everyone sat around in the large living he owned. Error was laying in a hammock he made attached to the ceiling, Killer sat in an armchair, Scream had fallen fast asleep on the couch with his head in Horror’s lap- who was petting scream’s head as he slept, Dust was in the armchair opposite of Killer- seemingly talking with him before Nightmare had arrived.

“Yes, I’m back, and I brought a friend along.” Cross shyly stepped to the side, clearly not ready to be meeting so many people at once, but he wasn’t alone.

Soon enough they were all getting along and learning about each other, Nightmare beamed, he had made this happen. He had helped them and now they wouldn’t be alone. Even the bad guys have to stick together.

-TOLD YOU IT WAS LONG-

Dream and Nightmare belong to @jokublog

Killer belongs to @rahafwabas

Error belongs to @loverofpiggies

Ink belongs to @comyet

Horrortale belongs to @sour-apple-studios

Dusttale belongs to @ask-dusttale

Xtale and Cross belong to @jakei95

21 notes · View notes

squishyocalum · 5 years

Text

Never {Four}

The darkness of my room was kept at bay by the golden christmas lights strung around my window seal. I was sitting at my desk attempting to work on this essay that honestly wasn’t that appealing to me. We were supposed to write about how our summer went and honestly what was I supposed to say? ‘My mom died not even a week after school started so my school year was shit and then my best friend kissed me and now we’re dating but not really because he won’t show any affection around other people’? Yeah that sounds like a fantastic paper. A knock sounded at my door snapping from my thoughts.

“Come in.”

My dad popped his head into my room with a worried look on his face.

“Pumpkin I’ve been texting you for the past twenty minutes to come down for dinner, are you okay?”

“Yeah, my phones off so i can focus on this stupid english paper.” I pushed my hand through my hair letting the side of my head rest in the palm of my hand. “I don’t think I want to eat, I’ll probably take a shower and just go to bed.”

“Okay well I ordered pizza, I’ll leave you some in the fridge in case you get hungry later tonight. I love you.”

“Thank you, I love you too.” He nodded his head and shut my door firmly. I could hear his footsteps as he descended down the stairs, then promptly decided to shut my laptop and go take a shower.

I grabbed my phone and turned it on before I grabbed a towel from my closet and then underwear, shorts, and a band T - shirt from my dresser. My phone was still on DND so even if anyone had tried to contact me I wasn’t getting a notification for it. I pressed shuffle and ‘Millennia’ by Crown The Empire started to play through the speakers. I caught sight of multiple messages lining my screen, but being my stubborn self I chose to actively ignore them.

I finally stepped into the hot water and allowed it to cascade down my body. I stood there for at least ten minutes letting the annoyance and worry of the day fade away before I grabbed my shampoo and lathered it through my hair.

After rinsing my hair and conditioning it I put my ‘Apple Blossom’ body wash on my loofa and scrubbed my body. I felt tears begin to brim in my eyes as I rinsed myself off before turning the heat of the water up and sitting in the bottom of the tub; I pulled my knees to my chest and let tears fall down my face.

All I want right now is to talk to my mom, she would know what to do. She’s the reason I didn’t stop going to public school my sophomore year but she’s gone now, and I’m alone to figure this stuff out on my own.

After forty minutes I finally pulled myself from the shower and got dressed before brushing my teeth. I rubbed lotion on my body to keep my skin from drying and then turned off the light and made my way down to my bedroom. ‘Someone To Stay’ by Vancouver Sleep Clinic played quietly through my speakers as I approached my door. When I entered my bedroom I noticed someone sitting in my desk chair and I jumped slightly, ready to scream until I saw his face.

“Calum Thomas you scared the shit out of me!” I yelled in a hushed voice. He stood to his feet and made his way to me pulling me into a hug.

“What’s wrong baby?” He mumbled into the side of my neck as he rubbed circles in the small of my back. I hugged him back letting my head rest in his chest.

“I miss my mom.” That was only a half lie.

“So you’re not upset about what Arzaylea said in class?”

I pulled away from him and sighed.

“I mean yeah, it kind of upset me. It made me start thinking.”

“Thinking about what?”

“I mean, we do spend a lot of time together, and now that we’re together does that not make me look like a slut-”

He cut me off by reaching behind me and locking my door, he pulled me to sit with him on my bed.

“You are not a slut, Thalia. You are nowhere near being a slut.”

“Calum-”

“No, listen to me. You are the most amazing girl I have ever known. Let them talk, let them make up as many rumors as they want because I will be next to you the entire time; holding your hand and walking through it with you.”

He grabbed onto my hand and lifted it to his chest, I leaned down so my forehead was resting between his collar bones once again. We sat there for a moment in complete silence before I felt tears start to brim in my eyes.

“You know my mom liked you.” I whispered turning my face so my cheek was resting on his shoulder “She knew I liked you, and she used to cover for me when I would show up late after being with you guys.” He laughed at the information and looked down at me.

“Even that time that I wrecked my moms car and you had that cut on your forehead?”

“Yeah,” I pushed my way up my bed motioning for him to lay with me “She told my dad that she hit me with the door by accident.”

“He’s never going to like me is he?”

“He’s scared Calum, after what happened with Mali he just thinks-”

“That I’m a monster.”

I shot my head up to look at him, I sat up quickly and cupped his face with my hands.

“Baby no. You are not a monster, It was an accident. Everyone knows that.”

Tears were invading his soft brown eyes, he moved his hand up to mine and rubbed his thumb over it in a soothing motion.

“Thank you for always being such a good friend to me, such a good girlfriend.”

His words sent chills over my body. We have pet names for each other but I think I’ve only ever heard him refer to me as his girlfriend once or twice. It gave me a feeling like no other.

“Calum, I care about you so much,” I bowed my head feeling tears start to resurface “But I can’t go through that again.”

“What are you talking about? We just had this whole conversation about walking through this together-”

“You barely looked at me when we were around other people today, I mean you acted like it was a bad idea to touch me. So maybe it just isn’t the right time for us.”

“I thought you would want to keep the physical stuff to a minimum because of all the slut stuff. Didn’t you just say you thought it made you look like a slut?”

“A Minimum, Calum. Not cut off completely; this is going to be a hard week for me and I could have used your comfort. It made me start thinking that maybe this isn’t the best time for us to start a relationship.”

“What so you’re breaking up with me?”

“No, not necessarily. I just think that if you want to keep physical interaction low then we should keep the relationship low. That way we avoid any rumors.”

“Does this have anything to do with you being worried about your dad finding out about me?”

I hesitated for a split second but that gave him just enough time to jump right into his own conclusion. He stood up and ran a shaky hand through his hair. “Yeah, go get your scholarship and go to that college in washington. Go find someone who fits your mold-”

“Calum - no! No, please don’t take it like that!”

“Well that’s what you mean right? I mean come on, you’re dads never going to accept me, and you’re so caught up in the bullshit that people say about you that you’re too scared to let yourself be happy. So yeah, let’s distance ourselves.”

He backed away from me despite my efforts to pull him closer and it felt like my heart was breaking under the pressure of his cold stare. Hurt littered his eyes and I could see tears brimming on the edges of the dark orbs.

“Calum, no I just meant that for the time being, maybe it would be better if we didn’t spend so much time together.”

“There’s no one I would rather spend my time with, Thalia.” His voice broke off in his throat and it was my turn to let tears build behind my green eyes.

“I’m not saying we have to break up, Cal. We just shouldn’t always be on top of each other at school.”

Before I knew it he was standing by my window ready to disappear into the night, he looked back at me sadness overtaking his features before he shook his head and vanished.

“Please don’t go..” I whispered to myself, a piece of me hoping he heard me; but I stood in my room for several moments hoping he would come back but he never did. I know that I was being dramatic, in a sense, and I know that it could have been handled in a better way but words were never easy to come by when I was around him. Maybe it was my heart’s way of pushing him out before I could get hurt, but either way it was a mistake.

The next few days dragged by like sandpaper on an open wound. Tuesday was awkward to say the least, everytime I would try to talk to Calum he would shrug me off with one word answers or short nods. The other boys picked up on the tension and that rubbed off and when Wednesday rolled around the boys didn’t even bother trying to talk to me, but the day that hit the hardest was Thursday. I walked into the school and upon noticing the group I approached them. I wasn’t met with the normal smiles and group hugs; instead I was hit in the face with sympathetic smiles and disinterested faces.

When Luke snapped at me for trying to integrate my way into the conversation I almost couldn’t believe what he had said to me.

‘Aren’t you supposed to be distancing yourself?’ The words stung but knowing that it was likely that Calum had went and told them what I said stung more. I looked to Calum who had an angry expression plastered on his face, I silently begged him to talk to moe but he just turned away leaning onto his locker. I felt out of place in the small circle for the first time in three and a half years, so I walked away and promptly re-lived the first day of my freshman year.

Today is Friday, the last day of this horrible week before I can lay in my bed for two full days and listen to ‘The Fray’ at high volume. Today also marks the one year anniversary of my mother’s death..

I was dressed in sweatpants and a ‘Bring Me The Horizon’ hoodie, my hair was tied into a sloppy bun and instead of my regular contacts my black rimmed glasses were set carelessly on my nose.

‘How to save a life’ was playing through my earbuds and there was an unbelievable sense of sadness looming around me. The halls of the school looked bleeker today and my mind kept running back to the memory of my mom pulling me into the school with a bright smile covering her face. She was so excited about me getting to start new, when she walked me into the gym she turned to me and laughed.

“I can’t wait to see you get that diploma.” She had said. Little did I know she was never going to see me walk across that stage. She would never see me off to college, she would never see me get married.

Sadly, however, I had the dissatisfaction of seeing her casket lowered into the ground before I got to enter the second week of my junior year.

It felt as if everyone was staring at me as I made my way to my locker, some would turn and whisper while others had sympathetic looks on their faces. It’s obvious people have noticed the tension between the guys and I, we’ve never gone more than a day without talking; and it’s been three days. I bowed my head and clutched the strap of my bag trying my hardest to avoid the stares, but when a hand grabbed mine pulling me from my thoughts I had no choice but to look up.

I met Ashton’s eyes and me heart fell slightly, I had hoped to see Calum; but I should’ve known my destructive spontaneous words weren’t being forgotten that easily.

“I wanted to give you this.” He smiled to me holding out a perfectly packaged red velvet cupcake. I smiled weakly at him and took it out of his hands.

“Thanks.” I turned to walk away but was once again stopped by his hand.

“Luke didn’t mean what he said the other day, you know him and Cal are just close so when he came over that night and told us what you said it got him all riled up.”

“I deserved it, it’s fine.” I found myself unable to meet his eyes in fear that I might start crying in the middle of the hallway.

“I know today’s a rough day for you Tallie,” He reached up to push his light brown curls from his forehead “I was thinking maybe you could come with us for lunch-”

“Not today Ash.” My words caught in my throat when I looked up at him and saw the hope in his eyes turn to hurt “Just not today.”

I turned away and this time he let me walk away, I saw the other boys gathered around Michaels locker, and despite the fact that Calum met my eyes we didn’t speak to each other.

The classes of the day dragged by boringly, per usual. Without Calum to talk to there was nothing that seemed interesting. Throughout the day, my mind wandered to inside jokes that I would usually share with the guys, but with no one of interest to me I kept them to myself.

When Phycology rolled around I perked up a little bit, the teacher had turned out to be a rather hilarious comedian; and it was my last class of the day.

“Good afternoon class, I hope you’re all having a wonderful day.” Mr. Rogers beamed as he walked through the door. I could hear Arzaylea behind me making her normal snide comments, some of them were more out of pocket than usual. “Thalia, you’re looking awfully glum today, care to share your thoughts?”

Before I could even open my mouth Arzaylea’s voice spoke up.

“Calum and the guys dumped her.” She snickered, when I looked back at her she had a mock pout plastered on her face, my eyes flickered to Michael who only fidgeted in his seat. I didn’t even have the energy to clap back at her so I turned back around and shook my head before resting my forehead on my arms. Class carried on and my ears picked up on several things that Arzaylea was saying, if I thought Audrey did damage to my image I can’t even imagine what this walking bundle of gossip is going to be able to do.

“Is it true she has the clap, Mikey?” I heard her giggle

“Would you get a fucking life.” He groaned, making it a point to avoid the conversation.

After that I reached into my bag and pulled out my earbuds, I saw Mr. Rogers look to me but he didn’t say anything. I let the music flow through my ears for the remaining twenty minutes of class, and when the bell finally rang, I grabbed my bag quickly making my way out of the door. I didn’t get far though seeing as how Arzaylea jumped in front of me with a mischievous glint in her eyes. I pulled my earbuds out and stood my ground, annoyance finally bubbling over in my mind.

“This is pathetic really, sweetheart. I mean come on; you had to know they would drop you eventually-”

“They didn’t drop me.” I blurted suddenly pulling a laugh from her. I thought back to the day I confronted Audrey and for a split second I had to remind myself that hitting this girl wasn’t an option.

“Yeah, they did. And you’re all twisted up because your mom isn’t here. I mean come on what are you seven?”

“I would watch your fucking mouth-”

“What are you gonna do, Thalia? You gonna sick Calum on me? Maybe Ashton?” She lowered her eyes at me and for the first time since the conversation started I noticed how many people were watching, maybe it was an option to hit her. “Awe, are you gonna go call your mom?”

It was like something snapped in me and I shifted my books to my left arm and slapped the shit out of her. She pressed her hand to her cheek, rubbing it softly before she spit her next set of words at me. The ones that cut the deepest.

“Your moms lucky she killed herself before she had to see what a slut you were-”

I was on top of her then throwing punch after punch, tears were streaming down my face and I’m almost positive I was screaming at her.

However, all of that is a blur.

I felt two arms wrap around my waist, and when they spun me around to try to wrap me in a hug I saw Calulm staring down at me which only made me angrier. I pushed and pulled to get out of his grip but he held on.

“Thalia, you could lose your scholarship, calm down. Breathe.” He spoke in the most soothing voice he could muster. “You’re better than this.”

I stilled in his arms and looked up at him, anger overcoming all of my senses. I shoved him one last time breaking out of his arms.

“Don’t talk to me like you give a shit.” I spat grabbing my things from the floor and all but running to the front of the school. I finally got to my car, but my keys weren’t secured to the strap of my bag as usual so I had to scramble through my bag to find them.

“Thalia, damnit will you just talk to me!” He yelled, catching up to me in the parking lot.

“About what! I said we need to distance ourselves not stop talking completely! This is the hardest week I’ve had since she died and I needed you guys, but you took everything so wrong-” I furiously wiped tears from under my eyes and moved to unlock my car “Just leave me alone, Calum.”

“Princess I didn’t mean to hurt-”

“Would you just fuck off? You left so easy the other night, when I wanted you to stay so why the hell is it so hard now?” I turned abruptly to look at him and noticed him step back slightly.

“Because I love you.” He mumbled staring down at his hands. I looked up at him in awe turning my back on my car and swimming around my mind to find the words to respond. He shook his head and grabbed my hands trying his best to keep his distance. “Yeah, I took it the wrong way and I should have stayed to listen to you but my ego got in the way and-”

“And you turned the only other friends I had against me.”

“If it makes you feel any better Ashton right hooked the shit out of me last night.” He gestured to a bruise on the side of his face and out of instinct I reached for it and rubbed it softly with the pad of my thumb. “He told me I was acting like a ten year old, and he’s right. I shouldn’t have let you go through this alone.”

He was closer to me now, most likely taking my gesture as a go ahead to advance. His hand was resting gently on my jaw and his fingers were dancing around the baby hairs falling around the nape of my neck.

“We have to talk to each other Calum, we have to listen to each other or this won’t ever work. I got ahead of myself and I’m sorry I hurt your feelings.”

“Do you have anything planned with your dad tonight?”

“He told me he was working overtime tonight, I guess it’s his way of coping with the situation.”

“Do you want to come with the guys and I tonight? We can try to keep your mind off of everything.”

I didn’t say yes on instinct like I would have usually because I was genuinely conflicted, I wanted to go hang out with them and it would probably be better for me to not be alone tonight; but if I was going to be met with the same attitude from the guys as the past few days then it just wasn’t something I could handle.

“I don’t know Calum, I don’t want to intrude-”

“You’re not intruding if you’re invited princess. Plus you’re never intruding with us.”

I looked down at my hands and twirled my keys around my fingers before I shook my head, and connected my watery eyes with his.

“If all it took was you being sad to turn Luke and Micheal against me then they were never really my friends to begin with. I cannot deal with any more of that stuff, not today of all days.”

“Luke didn’t mean what he said-”

“Okay for one, it doesn’t matter because Ashtons the only one who said anything friendly to me for the past few days, and for two, I really need to go because I’m in a hoodie and it’s hot as shit out here.” I opened my door and reached over my steering wheel to start the car “I’ll talk to you later, okay? I promise.”

He stood outside my car window as I buckled myself in, but before I could drive off I rolled my window down at gestured for him to lean in. I rested my palm on the side of his face and pulled him into a short kiss. When we pulled away from each other I smiled up at him.

“I love you too, Cal.” I rolled up my window and couldn’t help but laugh at the bewildered but happy look plastered on his face as I drove away.

For a second I wasn’t thinking about my mom, or about the other guys, or even about the fact that I just beat the shit out of the all mighty Arzaylea. My mind was stuck on Calum and the way he made me feel, it was here in my car en route to my house that I decided it was time to start living for me.

#calum hood au #calumhood #calum5sos #calum 5sos #5sos #5sosau #5 seconds of summer #luke hemmings #luke5sos #michael clifford #michael 5sos #ashton irwin #ashton 5sos #newbook #newstory #5sosimagines

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mara-twins · 5 years

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Leave it for Another Day

Genre: Angst with Fluff at the end

Word Count: 2,550

Warning: Death and Mental episode

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It had been four days since you last saw Mark and in those last moments you worry you ruined everything.

Flashback

“What’s the matter?” Mark huffed. Mark was venting about his day and you usually took pride in listening to him since he tended to just bottle things up. However, Mark knew you well enough to know he was right when he asked his question. You don’t normally lie to Mark because he can always tell when something is wrong; however, you weren’t thinking like you have been all week.

“Nothing,” you said, you lacked emotion in your voice and on your face making him arch an eyebrow. Mark decided to stop talking and ask you again. You were both seating on the couch in his living room and as Mark really looked at you. He noticed that you were on the other side of the couch too. His eyebrows furrowed just then because you both tend to be attached at the hip, yet here you both were sitting on opposing ends. In Mark’s head the short distance was much larger than it appeared, like you were on the other side of the world. He looked over you again, you were sitting on one foot with a throw pillow in your arms, facing Mark. However, just because you were facing him doesn’t mean you were looking at him.

“Love,” Mark started and watched your hold on the pillow tighten as you bite your lip. He would have thought naughtily of it if it wasn’t for the calmness settling itself within the room. Mark knew this kind of calmness and it made him gulp down the worry that inched its way up his throat. He takes a second to look around the living room. The tv that was once on wasn’t anymore and neither were the fairy lights you normally put on when you come over.

“Love,” Mark starts again reaching over to touch your cheek to which he was thinking you would lean into it like always. Although, that wasn’t the case this time. You swatted his hand away and screamed. Your movements were faster than Mark eyes were able to piece together, apparently, since you somehow were on the floor at that point.

“Baby, hey, what’s wrong?” Again, Mark, reaches for you to make sure you were okay. As he rose from his spot on the couch you started to shake your head, with every step he took you moved back, your hands and feet helping to pull you away. When Mark closed in half way you bumped the wall, your eyes darting around frantically. The two seconds it took for Mark to take a step you bolt away from him.

Mark’s eyes followed you and it took another two seconds for him to register your running away from him. Just like how you bolted so did he, but you did have those two seconds and that made a difference. You ran around his house, throwing things to block his way furthering adding to the seconds you had ahead of him. In the end, you got to his bedroom and locked yourself in. Mark shakes the knob after he collided with the door, causing a loud BANG!

“Baby, open up!” Mark can hear you crying on the other side and with every pound of his heart a piece would break off. But you didn’t and with how you were being Mark didn’t know how to approach you.

“Baby, I love you, please open the door. I want to help if I can, but I can’t do that if I don’t know what’s wrong.” Your began sobbing then. Mark’s heart, at the sound, cracked all over. How it was still together he didn’t know.

Again you didn’t open the door, instead you laid on the floor sobbing until to fell asleep. Mark didn’t move from by the door either.

You ended up waking up with a splitting headache like you always did after crying really hard. Just then you remembered what happened and the embarrassment made you want to cry some more. You reinforce the dam you have built, which held back most of your emotions. However, a tear slipped passed and slid down your cheek. You wiped it away immediately before getting up.

You open the door slowly, checking to see if Mark was leaning on it. The door didn’t try to push back so you knew he wasn’t, instead you found him sleeping on the floor in front of it. You momentarily admire how peaceful he looks, but the memories from last night again flooded your mind. It made you walked over Mark’s body to clean up the mess you created. It took about half an hour, but you were able to clean it up before Mark woke up. You decided to write Mark something.

Markie,

I’m sorry about last night and for how I’ve been recently. As you saw last night I had an “episode.” I have been getting them since I was 13, after I saw my mother die in front of me. I still get them at least once a year and always around this time because her death anniversary is coming up. I have come a long way since then and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about this before. I know you love me, but you love the parts of me I’ve shown you so far. I knew you have been stressing this week, so I wanted to try to help you by letting you vent it out. I know now that with how close it is to the anniversary I probably shouldn’t have come over. They say we can’t care of others if we aren’t able to care for ourselves. I’m still not ready to really talk about this part of myself. I’m sorry if I scared you too last night and thank you for trying to be there for me. I love you more than I can willing admit aloud right now. I also know that I need time to myself right now. I know you know I’m a runner from my problems and when it comes to facing harder stuff in my life at the time. But I’m not going to run from you, from us, for very long. Just long enough so I can bring myself to talk about all of this. I’ll be back, but for now please don’t come looking for me, okay? I promise I’ll be okay. I love you, babe.

Y/n

You finished with your letter and kissed it. There were tears that fell as you were writing this so you knew it will leave stains on the paper. You leave the paper on the kitchen counter by the coffee machine, where you knew Mark will find it. You also left you phone so he couldn’t find you. Then you left.

*Present day*

You’re squatting in front of your mother’s grave, the last of your family to leave. You wanted to tell her about what happened with Mark, but you didn’t want anyone else to know. So you told them that you’ll catch up with them later. You touch her plat with her picture and name telling her everything that happened. You lips curve down into the frown you try to hide, your eyes sting with blurriness, and that pain in your nose appears as you prepare for the flood of mucus to release. It wasn’t a pretty sight, you know this. It’s why you made sure to bring some tissues. When you were done you say, “Mama, it’s been days and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know if I’m ever going to be ready to tell Mark about what happened, but I’m scared that if I don’t I will lose him altogether. Mama, I know you’re always around or looking out for me so please, if you can, send help because I don’t know what to do.”

Just then a hand touch your shoulder scaring you to the point you fell onto your bottom.

“I’m sorry Y/n, I didn’t mean to scare you,” They said. You honestly thought it was Mark, but it couldn’t be since the person next to you is a woman. You look at her closely because she looks vaguely familiar. Just then you remembered why, she came to your mother’s funeral.

“It’s okay, I think I remember you from her funeral.”

“Yes, that was a hard day for a lot of us. I don’t know if you know this, but I was a friend of your mother’s from childhood. However, the last time I saw her, you were just born.” Your surprise on full display.

“Yes, my family and I had to relocate for work; however, when we moved back here I make it a point to visit her when I can.”

“Thank you, I’m sure she enjoys your visits. Do you, um, I mean..could you tell me some stories about her from back then? I never cared to ask too much about it when she was around.”

“Sure, are you free now? If you are, we could go to her childhood home, it’s two blocks from here. Have you been there before? ” You shake your head in reply, surprise by her questions, but intrigue washes over you. You know the whole stranger danger thing, but this person’s energy reminded you of your mother’s so you went along with it. From intrigue to the familiarity of her energy all of this is a different feeling then what you have been feeling recently. You wanted to fix things with Mark and you know that a change of scenery will further help you.

You walk with her and she tells story after story. Some made you cry because of how much you missed her and others made you laughter out of pure childhood recklessness. After the fifth story you made it to the house the kind lady spoke of, she then says that her house is right next door. It’s why her and your mother were such close friends growing up. Just then you heard a voice you missed more with every passing second, you heard Mark.

He calls out for his mom only for your mother’s friend to look in his direction. Suddenly, Mark comes into view and stops in his tracks. His eyes swept over his mom landing on yours. How his eyes didn’t pop out of his head you didn’t know. You silently wondered if meeting his mom at the cemetery was your mother’s way of helping you.

‘Okay mom, if this is my sign I’ll trust it.’

“I’ll leave you two alone, I’m sure there’s a bit you need to talk about.” Mark’s mom says before leaving. Mark makes his way towards you until he was able to pull you into his arms, to which is exactly what he did. You hug him back and whatever worry you tried to hide since that day flooded out; darkening his black shirt.

“H-hi baby, you okay?” You asked Mark making him laugh in disbelief.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” He replies pulling back enough to see your face. You knew you looked horrendous as tears burned streams on your face and mucus cascaded down to your chin. You pull out some tissues to blow your nose and Mark wipes away your tears. He kisses your forehead and looks you over again.

“I’ve missed you, but I’m still angry that you just left.” He spoke gently, hugging you again. This time tighter than he ever has before. Whatever parts of you felt broken now felt as if they were being reattached and stronger than ever.

“You should be yelling at me right now.”

“From the look of you I can see that you’ve been through a lot already. Right now isn’t the time to yell at you.” Mark’s voice is soft, yet you can tell your not out of the woods just yet. You made a mental note to prepare yourself for that talk for another day.

“So that’s your mom huh?”

“Yeah, how did you guys?”

“She found me at my mom’s grave. Today’s her death anniversary.” Mark didn’t say anything, he just pulls you back into that tight embrace. “Our moms were friends since they were kids, can you believe that?”

“I wondered why she made a big fuss about going out when she did.” Mark loosens his grip a bit and you pull away. His face falls, but then changes to that side smirk, you love so much, when you intertwine your fingers together.

“I have been staying here since you left because my place didn’t feel right anymore.” He explains as he leads you to his parents’ house, moving to the back side. His mom was sitting in the shade of the patio with cups, a kettle of tea, and some cookies ready for whoever wants any.

“Thank you, Ma, for finding her.” Mark says before he kisses her cheek. You heart ached at the affection and some tears started to flow before your mind could say no. The two looked at you with concern before Mark’s mom got up to give you the warmest mama bear hug you’ve ever felt.

“I miss her too,” she says making you cry harder. Years have passed since that day, but you still cry like a baby when you think about her during rough patches in your life. They both gave you a minute and thankfully you were able to recompose yourself before turning to Mark.

“Do not EVER miss a family get-together, do I make myself clear?” You pour out as much authority as you could muster, which makes Mark stiff as a board. However, he nods in reply not wanting to know what your response will be if he said the other option.

“Thank you,” Mark’s mom chuckles as she rubs your arm, still in a hug.

“Did he tell you about me?” You asked her.

“He did, but ages ago. I’m surprised he didn’t being you around before.”

“After mom passed, dad would plan get-together as often as he could. With only one parent left, I didn’t want to miss any unless absolutely necessary.”

“Well, now that you know about me, come by whenever you want. Even if your not with Sonny, I can tell you more stories about your mom.”

“I will and I would love to hear some of baby Sonny,” you say as you look to Mark. His mom laughs and that started the rest of your day. You definitely got your stories, of both your mom and Mark, that by the time you had to go check in with your family your cheeks were starting to cramp. You were afraid it might stick that way. Mark drops you off because he was too scared to meet your dad just yet. Although, before you get out, Mark says, “You know we still need to talk about what happened right?”

“I know,” you reply with a sigh, “but let’s leave that for another day shall we?” You kiss him so you can get the answer you wanted, which was a nod. “You should you don’t want to come inside? You can meet my dad.”

“Let’s leave that for another day, shall we?”

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Hey guys, so this was a harder piece for me to write. I lost my mom just last year, to cancer, don't worry I wasn't graced by the universe with her death being like in this piece. To whoever has dealt with that, you will forever be in my prayers. Anyways, so I hope you enjoyed this, I cried literally at all the parts that dealt with remembering my mom. This piece also started writing itself at around 4:30am one morning. Well I guess that's all for now and until next time. Lani OUT!

#my writing #boyfriend!Mark #got7 mark #mark tuan #got7 imagines #got7 scenario #got7 fiction #got7 imagine #got7 angst #got7 fluff #mark tuan fluff #mark tuan angst #got7 scenarios #leave it for another day

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thebigreylotheory · 5 years

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Belated TROS trailer reaction and thoughts

Painting.

Been doing lots of painting. Rewatching TFA, TLJ, and Solo and painting.

Ok, wow, originally intended to have this up by May the 4th….but like I mentioned some posts ago, bantha poodoo happens. (Caps is the same :( )

It’s finally, finally time for my TROS trailer reaction, thoughts, and a few theories! (I don’t know about you, but I’m still not over how good it is. Say what you will, Star Wars has the best trailers.)

youtube

Breathing is very important to the sequel trilogy. (I would say that Rey that is totally going to be ahead of the game for Lamaze class if we get a sequel-sequel trilogy/book/comic baby some galaxy far far away day.)

I’ve wondered if the movie will take the time to explain how the Skywalker lightsaber has been repaired? My feeling is, sorta like ROTJ, it’ll just be there like Luke’s green lightsaber. So, you’ll either have to make up your own head canon OR we’ll eventually get books and comics for the time gap between TLJ and TROS that will explain exactly what Rey did. Since she’s a scavenger, and mechanically inclined around junk, my feeling right now is, it’s possible she might have gone on a journey for a new kyber crystal and she’s repurposed the hilt. Which I think could be symbolically interesting….almost saying she’s “her own person (crystal)” on the inside now, but externally carrying on the outward mantle of her teacher/master Luke.

Which leads me to: by now, you’ve probably heard the theory that the last name “Skywalker” might transform to a term for the henceforth new Jedi. Personally, I am a fan of this theory. I think it would be useful for keeping the Star Wars eras straight when referencing any potential future Star Wars films/books/comics. For example, instead of saying “post-Skywalker trilogies,” one could say this-or-that takes place during the Jedi era or the new Skywalker era, etc (as well as, hopefully, the Knights of the Old Republic era someday soon).

AND, if Rey dubs herself (and perhaps any future students she has) a Skywalker….then, well, oddly enough, it would fulfill the whole Rey is a Skywalker discussion in the most interesting way possible. (While also keeping the plot open for her to choose whomever *coughcough* Ben Solo *coughcough* she would like to romantically be with someday.) It could potentially mean anyone could be a Skywalker. I’m a Skywalker. You’re a Skywalker. We’re Skywalker. Sign me up.

Luke is everybody’s spiritual father. (And I guess Vader is everybody’s grandfather??)

And, on a kinda odd note, being a Caravan-of-Courage-baby and a long-time SW fan, thinking of the name Skywalker, does anyone else think it sounds like a talent? Or is my brain just connecting Moonwalking with Skywalking? I guess, technically, Rey isn’t Skywalking here, right? It’s more like Skyjumping? Skyflipping? Maybe she’s really a Skyflipper. Part dolphin.

But I slightly digress, back to the trailer.

When this scene hit, I initially thought, from a distance, the TIE was a TIE bomber. Haha, silly me.

I have fond memories of the TIE bomber toys Revan/Devan had as a kid.

Yay, Lawrence of Arabia will be returning to theaters Sept. 1st and 4th, presented by TCM! I did a middle school history report over Lawrence. Mostly because I wanted to learn about desert warfare so I could write better Star Wars fan fiction. It’s all about Star Wars, people. It always has been.

Now, that’s what I call TIE racing!

Sweet butter tacos, by now I have paused these scenes over and over trying to decide if this is Kylo Ren and/or if the scenes match or they’ve been sliced much like the TLJ trailer.

HAHA. You trailer editor people are so good. You did it just enough to make me crazy until December. THANKS.

But, I guess it’s safe to say, in this sequel trilogy, when the camera zooms to black gloves, it’s probably Kylo.

Gee, these two just can’t flirt normally. It’s like they thought, “Oh what can we do on our date that hasn’t been done before?” “Oh, I know, let’s play chicken with the TIE Fighter!”

No, in all seriousness, as it’s been said before many times now, this would be a really strange way to try to take Rey out…

Wouldn’t Kylo be a man and just face her? He hasn’t been afraid to face people before.

And, I don’t know…some people I know are hoping that they are working together somehow, which I hope they are, don’t get me wrong,…but at the moment, I just can’t think of why Rey would need to jump on a TIE Fighter/Kylo’s TIE. (Mind out of the gutter!) I mean, if they are working together, practicing even, for some Force trick/feat that needs doing to destroy or infiltrate something, it looks like she could have climbed on the TIE before it took off?

I mean the Interwebs might tell you that she needs to practice her jumping so she can have the high ground later, but I still don’t know.

It could be a dream/vision. Simple enough.

It could be that ForceTime is acting really weird?

Did we really understand or have all the rules of ForceTime in TLJ? Could it be if ForceTime connects and Rey and Kylo hold-on to another they can pull each other to a different location? So for instance, if Rey jumps on the TIE she could be transported to where Kylo is?

That would mean there was a reason Luke told them to stop. Did he know either Kylo would be pulled to Ahch-To in the flesh or Rey would end up at the First Order (before she totally left in the Falcon for the First Order)?

Dunno. That could be getting too “beam-me-up-Scotty” or too “magical” for SW. We’ll see. I’m open to most things so long as they’re done well.

Alternatively, because Caps and I have also been reading SW comics for a few years now, I think it’s also possible that Kylo could be possessed here.

As in, someone:

Like monkey-hands here, or whomever monkey-hands works for (Palps, Hux, The Resistance, KOR), took Kylo’s helmet and added Sith-y stuff to it.

I want to lean towards the idea of an enemy/frenemy of Kylo’s changing his helmet. I thought it was a little unusual that Kylo would go back to wearing the helmet after smashing it. I mean, character-wise, I figured it would remind him of Snoke’s taunts. It seemed like a step backward. Like going back to a security blanket after you’ve gotten over needing it. Dunno, are they going to capture him and force him to wear it? Making him Cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs to get him out of the way?

BUT, there again, I guess, I could stretch my imagination and believe that Kylo, might, might, go back to wearing his helmet on his own, if he thought there was some power or knowledge to be gained. And, either, earnestly, he did it to himself or it was a TRAP!

And possibly, in this scene, possessed Kylo is about to crash wherever Rey is, but she saves him by cutting open the hatch, etc?

(She’s learned to lift rocks, but could she stop a TIE via the Force and climb in and save someone? Maybe, but it, arguably, wouldn’t look as cool or dramatic). And if that were the case, Kylo would be in some serious debt to Rey for saving his life. Girl already spared him once. Twice, if you count she didn’t run him through on Starkiller Base.

Anyways, back to reviewing the trailer chronologically.

Somehow this reminds me of the Lost City of Atlantis. Was there a city on Bespin below Cloud City? According to Wookiepedia Bespin is a cloudy place. Sooo, could be Lando’s entrance in the movie, possibly.

Did I read somewhere that Kylo is tackling a Knight of Ren here? (Double checked and yes.) That’s interesting. I could come up lots of out-of-the-hat-theories as to why. KOR turns against him. Kylo turns against KOR. KOR Civil War? KOR Battle Royale where the survivor of the Hunger Games gets to be Master?

But what’s really interesting, is the fact that Kylo doesn’t slice the guy in two pieces with the lightsaber.

And that, to me, also spawns some theories. Is the tackle just a cinematic scene to show Kylo’s strength? Maybe Disney doesn’t want to go “Darth Maul-ing” people in two pieces? Kylo, for some reason, isn’t killing people on this particular day or any more at all? Or Kylo’s in a super rush and is more focused on getting a certain location in a hurry and whatever, guy was in the way? It made me concerned, mmm, can’t Kylo use the Force in this scene? He isn’t Force Pushing or Freezing the guy?

This week on “This Old Helmet,” Norm and guys add detailing to a once dilapidated helmet. Yup, it was a real fixer-upper. If Mr. Monkey doesn’t work for some VIP, he’s a really strange janitor.

Ok, Finn and Poe are going to, canon, start a boy band in TROS, right? This is a scene from their KPOP-ish music video, right? “‘Cause I want it that way…” If they don’t dance, so help me Star Wars...I’ll make them in a fanvid.

To be honest, I’m not sure if I like D/O yet. The jury is still out for me. Mostly because I thought some of the other concept designs were much cuter. Although, I can’t wait to see the Droid Builders tackle this one. I’m still stuck on a mouse droid.

Aww, yeah, welcome back Lando! Mr. Smoothie! (I wish he’d been apart of TFA and TLJ, but better late than never.) I know, I know the ship should be Chewie’s now, but I secretly hope that Lando is able to donate money to restore the Falcon, like an old classic car. *coughcough* Reylo Wedding Gift *coughcough*

Hmm, moisture farm or temple? Guess we’ll see. I’m loving that the troops possibly have jetpacks and/or sand-speeders?

Dunno, after the whole Rambo C3P0 poster, I’m wondering if someone’s after C3P0 here? BB and R2 have had their “find-that-droid” day, maybe it’s C3P0’s turn?

Aww, the medal. Sweet medal.

I can give you some out-of-the-hat ideas about this, too. Maybe this is Han’s. Maybe it’s in Leia’s collection of memories and she takes it out for nostalgia, to feel close to Han in spirit, or for the anniversary of his death. Maybe she’s decided to give it to someone else? Or, worst-case scenario, the Resistance needs gold and this is all they got left?

Or, this is Luke’s? And ditto on everything. Maybe Luke left it behind before he left for Ahch-To? Maybe he gave it back to Leia? Or maybe Leia and company find more of Luke’s belongings elsewhere? Maybe Luke was using it as a bookmark in one of the Jedi Texts?

Goodness. When the trailer hit Celebration, this scene filled my heart with the greatest bittersweet joy.

I’m really glad that the extra/reworked footage of Carrie as Leia looks good. That it will uphold her legacy. It’s been on my mind ever since her passing.

In fact, I was so caught up in being happy that the footage looks great, at first, I didn’t stop to think why Leia and Rey are hugging?

And, at first, I was so vicariously being Rey while watching the trailer, hugging Leia with my own emotional fan tear, that I didn’t consider why is Rey crying?

Well, theory-wise it could be a number of things. Rey and Leia have really bonded, and maybe Rey’s about to go on a dangerous mission? Or the Resistance has had a major setback?

But, I think one of the biggest, most emotional, thing both Rey and Leia have in common is:

Yup. Benny Boy.

And, this thought/feeling opens up a whole new can.

Um, have they heard something about Kylo/Ben that’s upsetting? And, if so, would this scene take place early or late in the film? I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors that Kylo/Ben might not be making it out of this one entirely. Dunno, to me, it almost feels like Rey’s upset that she’s failed at something. I guess, especially, because it’s extra/reworked footage of the reaction to Han’s death.

Again, with the band! It’s like a 90s Alternation Rock cover!

My question is: What is in Rey’s hand? Is it a bag? What’s in the bag? Is she carrying the Jedi text or some other special item? Is it a device? What sort of device?

Have they all been camping? ‘Cause Finn and Poe have bags, too. Do they got thermal detonators in there?

I’m assuming, since they look more angry/focused than shocked, that their on some sort of mission to find this broken piece of Death Star II? That their purpose is to go inside? Or destroy the rest of it? Either way, if I learned anything from Wind Waker, it doesn’t look like a good day for sailing towards it.

Now, in the split second when Luke says “no one’s ever really gone” again…I wanted to believe we were going to get a Force Ghost reveal. Or that possibly, the-Force-killed-Luke was just social media red herring.

I never dreamed that laugh….

Chilled me to the bone.

The biggest “oh Sh*$” moment of my movie trailer watching life.

Ooo the possibilities. More thoughts on Emperor Palps’ return later.

Until then my Reylos and Star Wars friends, May The Force Be With You!

#tros trailer reaction #tros speculation #tros theories #star wars speculation #reylo #reylo theory #reylo thoughts #tros thoughts #save ben solo #my star wars diary

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daggerzine · 5 years

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Tony Potts of The Monochrome Set gives us the details! (interview by Steve Michener)

I started writing a weekly post on Facebook about two years ago, wherein I would pick a song from the extensive catalog of The Monochrome Set and write a few words, trying to hep people to their fantastic music. It became a fun, online conversation with friends and fans and the band would sometimes join in, adding to the story or correcting my (frequent) historical errors. I was presenting myself as a TMS scholar when I was really just a doofus with a love for the music. The FB feature eventually led to my volunteering to drive the band on the West Coast swing of their recent US tour, which was a total blast.

Recently, I came up with the idea of interviewing various members of the band and when I initially hit upon this plan, the first person I thought of was Tony Potts, their early ‘5th member.' Tony added another dimension to the band’s early shows by projecting films onto screens (and sometimes the band), helping to differentiate the band in the crowded post-punk music scene of the late 70s/early 80s England. I never personally saw any early TMS shows so I missed out on his contributions until last year when I attended the TMS 40th anniversary shows in London and got to experience his visuals along with the music (albeit from a laptop now instead of a Super 8 film). I’ve always been intrigued by his role with the group and he was nice enough to answer some of my email questions about the early days of the band, his art, and, of course, his favorite TMS song. Tony’s Facebook page is one of the most entertaining around; he doesn’t hold back much, whether it’s about his cancer diagnosis, politics, or the state of the Great Western Railroad. TMSF and now Dagger Zine present the Weird, Wild and Wonderful World of Tony Potts!

That’s Tony far right

Q: How did you come to be involved with the Monochrome Set? What drew you to them and them to you?

Ah, now there are two answers to this question. The first is terse and accurate, although less interesting than the second. Well, I knew John, J.D. Haney. That's the terse answer. However, in the interests of interest, and name-dropping, we have to travel back to about 1974. The story illustrates I think, how our lives are built upon great swaths of happenstance.

While studying on my pre-degree arts foundation I became close friends with Edwin, later Savage Pencil, who later still formed The Art Attacks. After some itinerant drummers, including Ricky Slaughter of The Motors, and Robert Gotobed of Wire, JD became the Art Attacks drummer. Now, Edwin didn't know him, so I can only guess, at this great distance, that I put his name forward. But again, we must spool back in time. How did I know John? After Edwin left for London, and still at my provincial art school, I became good friends with two fellow student artists like myself, Andy Palmer and Joy Haney. They both became founder members of Crass, under the names N A Palmer and Joy De Vivre, and are now exceptionally good fine artists.

It was through my friendship with Joy that I meet her brother, the aforementioned JD, when he came down from university in the summer of '76. We hung out with his college chum, Jean-Marie Carroll, later to join The Members, and discussed narrow neckties and casual trousers. Then Joy, Andy, and I went off to the Greek islands for the summer, before returning to London to take up our degree course at Chelsea School of Art.

Thus it was, with us all now in London, that I believe I introduced JD to The Art Attacks, with whom I worked until their demise, at which point JD took up with TMS. Due to mutual creative interests in art, I was invited to display my films at their gigs. That was late '78, with my first gig with the band being at Acklam Hall, Notting Hill, on 22nd February 1979. Thereafter we fell together and I started to make films specifically for the live shows. It’s worth pointing out that the TMS was not formed in an art school, or by art students. It is lazy journalism that perpetuates the Art School band epithet. Both Bid, the main song writing power behind the longevity of the band, and the other key lyricist, JD Haney, have never been anywhere near an art school.

Q: What were your films like? Who were your art-school influences at the time? What were you doing with the Art Attacks?

I was studying fine art painting, and painting was my main interest. Although I loved films, I never expected to move in that direction. As a painter, I was a devotee of the Russian Constructivists like Tatlin, but mostly the geometric forms of El Lissitzky, and the Suprematist Kazimir Malevich - best known for Black Square and White On White. My paintings were an amalgam of geometric forms in the vein of Lissitzky on grounds inspired by Malevich's painterly surfaces. With the rise of the Punk movement in London, I somewhat changed direction, moving into filmmaking that had a quasi-narrative style, intended to be more emotional and poetic. Although driven by what was happening in music during ‘76/'77/'78, ironically, my films couldn't be any less punk if I tried. Well, not to punks anyway. These days I regret that I never resuscitated my painting practice.

At the time of the Acklam Hall gig, I had made one large scale Super8, and two 16mm works. I think it must have been 'Strange Meeting', which in part was about aliens and The Red Army Faction murders, which we showed at that gig, but as a support. I had previously made some other 8mm films, and I might have used them during the band, but I can't recall. However, I now have vague memories of projecting B & W film over the whole stage and band. With The Art Attacks, I didn't have a creative role, I just supported the band in rehearsal and at gigs with Paul Humphries their manager, and the initial manager of TMS. Paul, JD and I all shared the same squat in Brailsford Road, Brixton. So, with TMS I had something more creative to do.

Q: For those of us who weren't able to see those shows, describe for us what you were doing with the films during the shows. How were the films received by the audience?

As I said, initially I used the films that I had made in another context, and they were added to the performance to create an overall ambiance, a statement of presentation that was not about a band energetically leaping about on stage, as was the order of the day. Soon I started to make Super8 material specifically for TMS performances. This included the scratched and bleached footage for 'Lester Leaps In', or images filmed on the road, like the Berlin footage used for ‘Viva Death Row’, or staged material of the band getting up to also sorts of antics, like the beach ball larks and bits of animations I would make with no specific aim. In the early days, I made two roller blind screens in long boxes, [we took them on the first two US tours] with one on either side of the stage as space allowed, with film projected onto them so the band members were often in silhouette, although it bled onto them also. The stage was very dark, lit by blue footlights, which I made. I think Mark Perry of Sniffing Glue/Alternative TV said something like it was the most brilliantly depressing thing he had seen. That was always the irony at that time, the music was pert and poppy and uplifting, but the show wasn't. What a laugh, we all thought.

The shows became increasingly more elaborate with more screens, more projectors and a theatrical lighting rig. At this time we were using Ground Control, Bowie's original PA, run by a lovely guy called Robin Mayhew. Using the theatre lights allowed me to focus and shape controlled beams of light exactly where I wanted them. For example, I could just illuminate Bid's face or other small areas with geometric shapes, while leaving the stage largely unlit. Then the film screens could glow and flicker in the dark. The lads tended not to move a great deal. A tradition assiduously upheld by Mr. Warren.

As to reception, well some people liked it, and others couldn't see the point. I think it mostly worked as a spectacle, an integrated whole, a total experience, but for those just into the music, it was probably irrelevant. I mean, they are a great band, so nobody missed me when I didn't set up, like at the M80. That stage was toooo big, man.

Bid and Tony

Q; As the 'Fifth Member' whose focus seemed to have been on the live performances, how did you fit in with the band in the recording studio?

Yes, my key role was the live performance; anything else was a bonus for me. I was at all recordings from the second Rough Trade single to the end of the second album, as an enthusiastic supporter and admirer. Of course, I chipped in with the odd suggestion or noise and was probably ignored where and when necessary. Being musically incompetent, my timing is off by a good margin so I'm not sure my handclaps ever made a final mix. You can hear me on TWWWWofTP. I've got quite a pleasant singing voice, also, just not in public. Bid once marked out the chord changes for Ici Les Enfants on a plastic organ I had, to fill out the live sound, but after the first chord change, I was lost and bewildered.

Q: You've done promotional videos for the band. Can you talk about a few of those projects? Do you have a favorite video?

The first promotional film I made was the one for Dindisc, and called Strange Boutique, not after the title of the first album as many think, but coincidentally, after the name of a pair of corduroy trousers! Actually, that may not be true. So, this was conceived as a short film, with two songs and a Rod Serling type piece to camera as a linking devise. Done on the very cheap. Unfortunately, there were syncing issues with some of the dialogue and the master got damaged, scratched, and I'm not sure if I still have the original film, or not. It's on our DVD as a complete piece as far as I remember, but it turns up on YouTube, usually cut down to either of the two songs LSD and Strange Boutique, without all the linking material.

We then waited a long time until I was commissioned by WEA to make the promo for 'Jacob's Ladder' with the release of 'The Lost Weekend' album. The deal was negotiated from a public phone box on Clapham Common tube station. It was somewhat compromised by cock-ups at WEA which meant I was forced to hand it over before it was fully edited to my satisfaction. I seem to have made a style out of technical imperfections; at least that's what I'm saying. At the time Top of the Pops had a video preview section, and a short clip of Jacob's Ladder was shown. That’s primetime TV, folks!

And then, of course, I was delighted when Bid asked me to make the official MaisieWorld video for ‘I Feel Fine’, which I was very pleased with. All these projects were very personal to me, not just the execution of a job, and the first two were part of my life at the time of making.

Q. The only footage I've seen of you actually playing with the band is the Old Grey Whistle Test TV spot. Was it common for you to join the band onstage?

Well, I was usually visible on stage, controlling the projectors, which needed constant manipulation, like a DJ scratching, changing speed and switching images, fading and mixing. Also, there might be some little set piece we had devised, which required me to do something. At one point, during the Ground Control days, I remember I had my own mic so I could interact with the stage, which didn't last that long. So, to some extent, I always had a relationship with the stage as both performer and technician. Once, when Lester Square had had enough, I did perform the encore, He's Frank, by incessantly plucking one string of his guitar. Pretty good, actually! Music and Maths very similar to my mind, no sooner do I believe that I have mastered the execution of some small calculation, but I soon discover that I haven't.

Don’t shake the ladder, Tony gettin’ down to work.

Q: Tell us about your film education and your career in film and video outside the band.

I made a living of sorts working commercially in film and video production, and teaching, but as I mentioned before, I actually trained in fine art. My art foundation took a very academic approach and involved copious hours of life drawing and other drawing classes, while being given time to develop one's own particular discipline and style.

I made one Super8 film based on geometric elements in my painting. I had made three other 8mm film before this. It wasn't until I was on my degree course that I started making more moving image work, but this stemmed from a fine art perspective, so I didn't ever have any film school type training. My own work I would categorise as poetic experimentalism, that is under the general umbrella of artist film and video. Just a reminder that you can catch up with lots more detail of everything I've said at my website, http://tonypottsloopform.altervista.org. Although it has all the history of the films and staging, as well as the making of Jacob's Ladder, it's rather old and not up-to-date. That site includes all the art projects I've worked on, the history of TMS film, and my own films. My creative life can be divided into three separate but overlapping strands. The first being, my personal practice as an artist/film maker, the second, my skills and knowledge deployed in the service of collective artworks and community arts projects, and those same skills employed commercially in film and video production and teaching.

Q: It's obvious from FB that you are a big film fan. Who are some of your favorite directors/favorite movies?

With a few exceptions, I'm not much interested in modern Hollywood, old Hollywood is better, and pre-Hays better still. My film tastes are somewhat esoteric for most folks. I prefer silent film, particularly that of the classic German period of the twenties, Lang, Murnau, Pabst, Dreyer. Then in the sixties, PP Pasolini, Robert Bresson, Akira Kurosawa, soviet era Tarkosky and Parajhanov, plus a host of even less well know eastern European directors like Miklos Jancso, Jan Nemec, or Frantisek Vlacil. Don't you wish you'd never asked?

Q. You live in Wales, pretty far away from the London of your youth. How did you end up there and what appeals to you living there?

Well, we split our time between London and Pembrokeshire at present, while my wife Rachael is still working. In a few years, we'll move out completely, I think. I can't relax in the city anymore. I need some more space to feel comfortable. I've had as much London as I can handle. Rachael is Welsh, although Pembrokeshire is known as little England beyond Wales, and we are fortunate to own her childhood home there.

Q. You were recently diagnosed with cancer and posted your experience on Facebook. How did you discover that you had cancer and how are you doing now?

Yes, that was unfortunate. The prostate gets larger as us men grow older and so puts a bit of pressure on the bladder, changing the way you take a pee, like urgency and frequency. So any chap of a certain age should cut along to a doctor if they have persistent symptoms of this type. Our neighbour in Wales insists on calling it prostrate cancer, but I refuse to take that lying down, and firmly pronounce it prostate, but to no avail. But seriously, although it's a slow-growing cancer, the sooner you act, the sooner you can get the appropriate treatment. I had to have surgery, but it's not necessary for everyone. As my cousin, who luck would have it is a cancer specialist said, do you want to be erect or dead? Haha, what a great choice!

Q: Since this is a TMSF, after all, can you pick a favorite song and say a few words about it?

My choice of song to end this pleasant excursion is 'The Devil Rides Out', from the 'Eligible Bachelors' album. By the time of recording this record JD had left the band and was living in NY, and I was also spending a great deal of time in that city also. I was still contributing to the occasional gig or short tour, but I certainly wasn't around when this album was recorded. Christ, what do you expect for a record made in Luton?

So it is the live performances of this song that I recall, since it was in the repertoire well ahead of it being recorded. Although I could say it of many other songs, the open chords of 'The Devil Rides Out' always gave me a buzz as I waited to play in whatever the film images were [I can't remember]. Even if the audience or critics found the films superfluous or unimportant, I usually enjoyed watching the way that a set of otherwise unrelated images somehow meshed and synchronised with the music and gave the illusion of a premeditated vision. Of course, it was premeditated in as much as I knew what pieces of film would be used for a particular song, but beyond that, there was a lot of slack in the system. With the various parameters of the live installation, having to follow the cue of the band and the hand manipulating the projectors [no computers], there were great possibilities that the extemporisation would result in entirely unique sets of images and sound on each occasion.

Well, I should say something about why I like the song. It's one of a number of Bid's more esoteric lyrical compositions. He had previously pushed the Latin boat out with Adeste Fideles [not everyone's favourite song title to pronounce], and my spell checker isn't too keen on the words, either. In this case, the bridging line is rendered in Latin, but with the exception of the 'Hails', this is written in the ancient language of Sanskrit. Or at least that is my understanding and belief. Whatever the lyrical origins are, this is a classic TMS arrangement, altogether thrilling, incomprehensible and mysterious, yet totally pop, totally accessible and it dumps from a very great height those chart-topping household names who have followed in their wake.

And of course, I can never resist a song that features a sleigh bell, The Devil Rides Out and The Stooges 'I Wanna Be Your Dog' being the two finest examples.

http://tonypottsloopform.altervista.org

www.themonochromeset.co.uk

www.tapeterecords.de

www.facebook.com/themonochromeset

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ehkw1989 · 5 years

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Letting Go - The Royal Romance Imagine featuring Drake x MC (Evelyn Carter)

Letting Go – The Royal Romance Imagine featuring Drake x MC (Evelyn Carter)

Pairings: Drake x MC (Evelyn Carter); Liam x Olivia

Warnings: Character Death, Angst

Ratings: PG-13

Masterlist: Can be found here

Author’s Note: So late for Halloween. Sorry about that. I just got back from vacation and I’m still recovering from a stomach flu. If you like this imagine, please feel free to go and check out my masterlist and please review, reblog and like. Hugs and kisses - Edith

October 31, 2018 6:30PM

“Daddy, are you sure you will be fine?” Astoria asks as she puts on her Christian Louboutin high heels. “I can stay if you want; I don’t really enjoy the balls anymore. They got boring when I turned 18 and I had to start adulting.”

“And you’re 23, so please continue to adult. I’ll be fine, go enjoy the spooky festivities.” Drake smiles at his daughter. “You can adult for the whole Walker family and distract everyone from my absence.”

“They just want you to be happy. And maybe show up to a public event once in a while to show that Duke Walker is still alive.” She retorts as she glances at Drake in the mirror while admiring her reflection. “What do you think?”

“Definitely look like a witch. A witch with expensive taste.” Drake teases.

“They were a gift from Aunt Hana. She’s the one with expensive tastes.” Astoria grins. “I’m going to head off. I’ll drink all the whiskey for you!” She blows him a kiss as she begins to walk out the door. “Love you!”

“Love you too, munchkin. Be back by midnight.” Drake calls to his daughter. With a sigh, he pulls on his hiking shoes and begins to walk towards the door.

“Your Grace?” Came a voice from an adjourning room. Drake turns around to see Gladys holding a basket.

“Just heading out to the cottage for some peace and quiet. Will everyone be able to handle the Halloween party for the children?”

“Yes, we’re just finishing the decorations for the children’s events. I just thought you might want some food and drink for tonight?” Gladys gestured to the basket on her arm.

“Thanks,” Drake takes the basket from her and lifts the cover. “You’ve got my favourite!” He exclaims as he lifts a bottle of Dalmore Single Highland Malt Scotch. He digs around and pulls out a container of cronuts. “And Evie’s as well; she’ll be happy about that.” He waves goodbye as he walk through the doors. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning. I hope everything goes well tonight with the celebration; please call me on my cell if you require anything.”

As Drake walks through the door, Gladys turns towards a maid and whispers to her, her forehead wrinkled in confusion. “Did you hear his Grace say that Duchess Evelyn will be happy?”

Sinking down into his comfortable armchair at the cottage in the woods, Drake takes a sip of his single malt scotch and sighs in contentment. The fire was roaring nicely in the fireplace, casting shadows throughout the room.

“Finally, some peace and quiet, eh Padfoot?” He scratches the dog’s ears as Padfoot barks in response. “Someone coming, boy? I wonder who that can be. Is it your mistress? It can’t be a trick or treater so far in the woods.” His eyes lit up at the thought of Evelyn coming. He hears the keys jingling at the door as the door unlocks. “Evie?”

“Hi love!” Evie greets him as he runs towards her as Padfoot follows him. “Hi Padfoot! Who’s a good boy?” She rubs his head only for the dog to whine and run away. “What’s wrong with Padfoot? Did you give him beef jerky again?”

“Hey! Never mind, Padfoot’s having a rough night.” He grins as he wraps her in an embrace and kisses her. “I’ve missed you so much; I can’t believe you made it. You’re so cold; come and have a seat by the fire. I can’t believe you are here with me.”

“I’m not some delicate duchess that can’t handle a short hike.” She shots back as she shivers. “Although I don’t think I’m dressed appropriately.” She gestures to her costume.

“Are you supposed to be a barmaid?” He looks up and down, noting her puffed sleeves, apron and short skirt.

“Yes, and I bought you whiskey from Scotland. Just like a real barmaid. Let me just go back to the manor to get it.”

“It’s fine, Evie; there’s no need to go anywhere tonight. Just stay with me, I have some single malt here.” He gestures to the whiskey bottle. “Gladys packed a picnic basket for us with some goodies. I believe there’s some cronuts in there for you.” He pulls her towards the fire. “Have a seat, you’re still so cold. I’m so glad you’re here.”

“I promised you that I will be here every Halloween with you.” She smiles, “There, I think I’m getting warmer already.” She reaches for his cheek only to see Drake shiver at the contact. “Or maybe not.”

“No it’s fine,” Drake draws Evie into his embrace, “Here, let me hold you; I can warm you up real quick.” He smirks at her.

“It’s been a while since we’ve had some time alone.” Evie mumbles, “It’s nice; I miss it when it’s just the both of us. I’m so glad Liam and Olivia agreed to take Astoria for tonight. I think I might just doze off.”

“Try to stay awake a little while longer.” He kisses her on the forehead. “I’ve missed you so much. I have so much to tell you.”

“I’ll try,” She smiles sleepily, “But with Astoria just learning to sleep by herself, I haven’t had much sleep. I keep waking up to sooth her when she cries.”

“You mean, we both keep waking up,” Drake smiles at her, “I have bags under my-“ A notification from his phone interrupted him.

“Who’s that?” Evie looks annoyed as she grabs the phone to see who it is. “I thought we agreed that there would be no interruptions tonight. It’s Liam. He’s asking if you want company tonight. Why would he ask that? Liam and Olivia offered to take Astoria tonight. They wanted us to have some alone time.”

Drake swallows as he answers, “He-he probably made a mistake. You know Liam, their son is probably keeping them up as well. He’s probably very tired and extremely overworked.”

“No, Eddie’s a darling. Olivia tells me that he sleeps through the night now. You should text him back; ask him if they need us to take Astoria back?” Evie replies as she gets up. “I’m going to get some plates for these cronuts.”

“I can get them.” Drake kisses her as he gets up from the couch and takes his phone with him. “Be right back; don’t go anywhere.”

“Where am I going to go?” She shots back. “Please call Liam. I can’t find my phone anywhere.” She looks annoyed and she looks around for her phone. She looks down to see Padfoot looking at her. “Hey boy, come to Mommy! What’s wrong darling?” She asks as Padfoot run away from her towards the bedroom, whining the whole way as if he didn’t recognize her. “Come here, Padfoot!” She runs after the dog and into their bedroom.

She looks around the dark room to see where Padfoot is. “Silly boy, it’s me, your mommy.” She looks under the bed only to see a box filled with magazines and newspapers. “What’s this? Drake doesn’t usually collect stuff like this.” She looks through the box and flips through a magazine, a paragraph catching her eye. “The 20th anniversary of Duchess Evelyn’s death. Go to page 3 for an exclusive memorial piece written by Duchess Astoria” She drops the magazine in confusion. “I can’t be dead. I’m alive, I just talked to Drake and hugged him and why am I so cold?” She murmurs and hugs herself in an effort to warm up.

“Evie! Where are you?” Drake calls out and stops as he sees her. “I thought I lost-never mind, I thought I told you to stay by the fire to try to get warm.” He hugs her tightly.

“Drake, why does the magazine say I’m dead?” She reaches down to pick up the magazine and gestures to towards the paragraph. “And Astoria can’t write yet, she’s only 3 years old!” Evie exclaims. “What’s going on? Oh, I’m so cold, darling.” She shivers.

“Evie, it’s alright. Take a deep breath. You’re going to be alright; you just need to calm down and stay here with me. You’ll be fine.” Drake hugs her tightly as if afraid to let go.

“I can’t stay here with you forever; I have a meeting with Liam tomorrow to review some policies and then there’s a charity funct-“ Evie gasps. “Oh Drake, I’m dead, aren’t I?”

“No, love, you’re not. You’re not dead.” Drake chokes back a sob. “You’re here with me and that’s all that matters. We’re together and we will be fine.”

“So how come Padfoot can’t recognize me? And the magazine? What’s going on?” Evie fires her questions rapidly at him. “You never said I was alive. I am dead.” She came to the conclusion and flops down on the bed, looking rather defeated.

Sighing, Drake admits defeat as well and stated in a flat voice. “You died 20 years ago. You were driving to get something for the children’s party because I had forgotten it. It was raining and I shouldn’t have let you go by yourself. You were so tired because of Astoria but you insisted and I didn’t stop you. I failed you.”

“Oh darling, you didn’t fail me.” Evie grabs his hands. “I remember everything now. I’ve been coming back every year, haven’t I?” She recalls the past times that she was here. “Every year.” She murmurs in wonder.

“Yes, every year. This is the 20th time that you’ve come back.” He whispered. “And every November 1st, I wake up and you’re gone.”

“Oh Drake,” She whispered and hugs him. “Darling, I come back every Halloween?”

“Every Halloween.” Drake confirms. “And every year, I come and wait for you at the cottage. I didn’t know how anyone else would react to seeing you. The first time you showed up was in our bedroom and Astoria was asleep. I started going to the cottage afterwards; I didn’t know how everyone else would react if Astoria said she saw you. Liam and Olivia booked me an appointment with a therapist after I told them I saw you in the bedroom.”

Evie slaps him on the arm playfully. “They’re just watching out for you! We’re so lucky to have friends like that.” She smiles with tears in her eyes. “How’s everyone else?”

“Good, Astoria’s actually engaged to Eddie.” He smiles. “We’re actually going to be a family of in-laws.”

“That’s wonderful, I love Eddie so much. They’re prefect for each other.” Evelyn continues to ask about their friends and family until she runs out of questions. “Drake?”

“Uh-huh?”

“Why do you think I come back every Halloween?”

“It’s said that on All Hallow’s Eve that the veil between the world of the living and dead are at its thinnest and the dead can walk among the living.” Drake murmurs into her sleepily while holding her close to his chest.

“That’s a very scholarly explanation.” She teases. “But really, why do I come back?”

“I don’t know.” He kisses her forehead. “But I’m glad you do.”

“Do you think-“ She pauses before she continues, “Do you think it’s because you can’t let go?”

He stares at her as he mulls over his thoughts before deciding on a statement, “I won’t let go.” He states firmly.

“But I want you to let go,” She smiles sadly at him. “I don’t think it’s healthy, love.”

“I won’t and that’s the end of that.” He holds her tightly. “Don’t let go of me.”

“I can’t; you’re squeezing me so tightly.” She jokes as she squirms in his embrace. “Think about what I said.” She kisses him on the cheek.

“I won’t let go.” He murmurs into her ear as he dozed off into sleep. “Ever.”

October 31, 2029 8PM

Drake stretches his legs out in his armchair, his gray hair glistening in the fire’s light. “Rufus, I’m getting old eh, boy?” He reaches down to pat the dog on its head; stopping when he hears the keys jingly in the knob. “I think your mistress is here.”

#choices trr #drake walker #drake x mc #choices fanfiction

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nurseturner · 6 years

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The Younger Years Chapter 5

Surprise! It’s another chapter! I couldn’t sleep last night and then this idea popped into my head, so instead of sleeping I decided I should start writing the new chapter. I finished it today, since I’m going to be away all day tomorrow and I’ve got a busy week coming up, so I probably won’t have time to continue writing.

This chapter will be quite angsty (I’m sorry guys), but I think there will be only one more chapter of angst before things get happy and fluffy again. Please don’t hate me :) TW: death, burns and blood.

Shelagh and Patrick get married on the 4th of September, 1939. It’s a very simple and short ceremony, with only Trixie and one of Patrick’s friends there. All other wedding plans are cancelled or postponed until further notice. They do go on a short honeymoon, but they can only go to a chic hotel in the West End, since Patrick isn’t allowed to leave London in case he needs to go to the front. That’s also why they are still living at Nonnatus House, so Shelagh won’t be on her own when he leaves. It took him some time to get used to live with so many woman, but he got used to it. If he just lets Sister Evangelina have her bath in peace, he might survive.

But it seems that the people in London aren’t in immediate danger. Most of the fighting and bombing seems to be happening overseas. In September 1940, just three days after their first wedding anniversary, Shelagh and Patrick are walking around in Poplar. They sit down on a bench when they reach the docks and stare at the river.

Shelagh takes Patrick’s hand and touches his wedding ring. “You know. If we had known what we know now, we could have had our big wedding on Christmas Eve.”

“I was just thinking the same thing. I didn’t expect that it would be this… calm, if that’s the right word to describe it.” Patrick sighs. “Those poor people. I can’t imagine what life’s like for them. Having to be careful every minute of the day, to be afraid because those Germans can attack their city any minute. Not to mention the pain when their loved ones die in one of those attacks.” He imagines how he would feel if Shelagh would die in an attack. He shudders and pulls her closer to him. Being close to Shelagh brings him a lot of comfort, especially in times like these, when it seems the whole world has gone crazy. He lifts her chin and kisses her softly. Shelagh returns the kiss and they kiss for a few minutes, before Shelagh breaks away.

“Patrick, what’s that noise? Do you hear it too?” Patrick looks at the river again. He hears the noise Shelagh is talking about too. It’s the low rumble of an engine, which gets louder and louder as the seconds pass. He gets up when he sees an object in the sky that’s getting closer on the other side of the river. He thinks it’s a plane. When it gets closer, Patrick can tell it’s not just one plane. There are hundreds of them.

“Shelagh, we need to run. Right now.”

“Why, what’s wrong?”

“Don’t ask any questions, just go!” Patrick grabs her hand and starts running at the moment the first bomb hits the water. A second one hits a house just a few blocks away. Shelagh screams, but Patrick doesn’t know if that’s because she’s afraid or because she got hurt. He doesn’t care at the moment, his first priority is to get them to a safe place. Luckily, they’re close to a bomb shelter. Patrick picks Shelagh up and starts running faster. They’re not the first to arrive in the safety of the shelter, but there aren’t many people there yet. Patrick makes his way over to the corner which is the furthest away from the entrance. He puts Shelagh down and starts checking her for any injuries. She has a scraped knee and a twisted ankle, but other than that she’s physically fine.

The sound of the bombs falling down is deafening. There are still people coming in, but Patrick fears that most people on the streets won’t make it, judging by the sound of explosions. He makes himself as comfortable as possible and pulls Shelagh close to him. She’s shaking and crying.

“Patrick, what about everyone at Nonnatus? What if they don’t get to safety in time?” She tries to push herself away from Patrick, but screams again as a bomb hits the ground right above them. She buries her face in the crook of his neck and covers her ears with her hands, to draw out the sounds. Patrick wraps his arms around her and rocks her. He’s close to crying and screaming himself, but he needs to be strong for Shelagh.

“Think about the better times, love. Think of our little babies running around. Everything will be fine, I promise you. I’ll protect you.” He hears Shelagh mumbling, but can’t hear a word of what she says. It takes him a few minutes to realise she’s praying. Patrick doesn’t believe in God, but at that moment, he prays together with Shelagh, hoping it will be over soon.

About two hours later, Patrick opens his eyes, confused about his surroundings. He must have fallen asleep. It takes him a few moments to realise where he is, but then the memories of the planes and the sound of bombs hitting the ground are coming back. Shelagh is asleep is his arms, her cheeks still wet from the tears she has cried. Patrick gently caresses her cheek, hoping the gesture won’t wake her up, but Shelagh immediately stirs and opens her eyes.

“Patrick?” She yaws and blinks the sleep from her eyes.

“I think it’s over, love. Do you want to go and check if everyone is alright at Nonnatus?” Shelagh nods and they both get up, ready to face whatever sight there are going to see once they get outside. Most buildings were knocked down by the bombs. There are a few people walking around, looking for their loved ones, but most of the people on the streets aren’t moving. Patrick pulls Shelagh close, staring at the ground so he doesn’t have to see the destruction and dead bodies around him.

They’ve almost reached Nonnatus when they both hear a baby crying. The sound is coming from under a collapsed building. Patrick doesn’t hesitate for a moment and runs towards the building.

“Is somebody there? I’m a doctor, I can help!” He starts pulling away pieces of wood and stone. After a while, he can see a young woman lying under a collapsed wall, holding a small, crying toddler. She’s bleeding heavily and her arms and face are covered in burns. Most of the burns are third degree burns. For a minute, Patrick is afraid she’s dead, but the woman starts coughing and looks at Patrick.

“Sir… Please, take care of Timothy first. He’s not hurt.” Patrick nods and reaches for the crying boy. He runs back to Shelagh, handing Timothy to her.

“His mother is still in there, but I think I can get her out. I have to be quick, before the rest of the building collapses on her. Hold him for me, would you?” Just as he turns around to get the boy’s mother out, the part of the building that was still standing collapses, right where Patrick was sitting a minute ago. Shelagh has to hold him back, because he wants to go back and get her out.

“Patrick, don’t! It’s not safe. And there’s nothing we can do for her anymore.” Patrick sighs and stares at the pile of rubble. He feels sorry for the little boy, who has to grow up without his mother. He knows how hard that is. But he also feels guilty, for not being able to save her. From what he saw, she was still young, about Shelagh’s age. He turns around and looks at Shelagh, who’s trying to shush the toddler and gently rubs his back. “We should go back to Nonnatus, Patrick. It’s not safe here. Perhaps one of the Sisters knows who this little guy is, and where his father lives, so we can bring him back.”

As soon as Shelagh and Patrick turn around the corner, they see Nonnatus House is still standing. They can’t say the same for the building next to it, however, and Shelagh says a quick prayer, thanking God for protecting the Nonnatuns. They quickly make their way inside, where they are greeted by Trixie launching herself at them.

“Thank God, you’re alive! We were so worried!”

“We were lucky enough to be near a bomb shelter. And we saw the planes coming. Is everyone okay here? Where did you hide?” Patrick helps Shelagh to sit down on a chair. “Could you bring me my medical bag? Shelagh scraped her knee and I really need to clean it.”

Trixie nods. “Sure. Who’s this little guy? Where did you find him?”

“We found him and his mother in a collapsed building. Patrick took him out, but the rest of the building collapsed before we could save her. We were wondering if the Sisters know who his father is.” Shelagh wipes a bit of dust off the boy’s jumper.

“Well, if that isn’t little Timothy! Where’s your Mummy, little one? Did you run away from her?” Sister Evangelina rounds the corner, carrying Patrick’s medical bag. When she sees the look in Shelagh’s eyes, she knows what happened. “Poor kid. First his father, now his mother. I still don’t understand why this bloody war hasn’t been ended yet. The orphanages are bursting at their seams! It will be difficult to find a place for this little one.”

“Do you mean his father died too?” Shelagh winces when Patrick cleans the scrape on her knee, but she tries to ignore the pain.

“Yes, he was working on the docks in Southampton last month when the Germans came. He was killed instantly.” Shelagh looks down at the little boy in her arms, who had cried himself to sleep. She felt terribly sorry for the boy. She remembered what it felt like when her parents died, how alone she felt.

“We don’t have to bring him to an orphanage, do we?” Patrick looks up from Shelagh’s knee and frowns.

“Do you want to adopt him? I thought you wanted to have children of our own.”

“I do, but we’ve been trying for some time now and I’m still not pregnant. Besides, I didn’t say anything about adopting. And the reason why I don’t want to bring him to an orphanage is because I know how horrible it is to be there. To see all your friends getting adopted and moving in with their new family, but nobody seems to be interested in adopting you. To not have a mother and father who play with you, or cuddle you, or read you a bedtime story. The nurses in those places do everything they can, but they can’t take care of you like a parent could. You were adopted, Patrick, you had your adoptive parents. Everyone here at Nonnatus did everything they could to give me a normal childhood and I’m so grateful that they took care of me. But it’s not the same. There were days where I felt so miserable and nobody could comfort me. I don’t want to put Timothy through that. No child should have to go through that.” Patrick sighs and puts his medical supplies back in his bag.

“I know how you feel about it, Shelagh. But we don’t know this boy, nor did we know his mother. We shouldn’t rush into things, we should discuss this first.”

“Patrick. Any other day, I would’ve agreed with you. But this is not like any other day. It’s war. God knows how many people just died during that bombing. It’s not a stray dog we’re talking about, it’s a child. His parents were both killed by Germans, his house just collapsed, he has nothing! He’s already confused about where his parents are, dumping him in an orphanage will only make matters worse!” Patrick is about to protest, but Sister Evangelina shushes him and gently squeezes Shelagh’s shoulder.

“Alright, calm down, the both of you. Shelagh is right, it’s probably not the best thing to bring him to an orphanage right now. Like I said earlier, they’re bursting at the seams and won’t be able to take good care of him. We will do that for now and we’ll discuss what to do when things have calmed down. Now, we should all go to bed. I’ll bring up some supplies and clothes for this little man here, there’s plenty in the charity box.” Shelagh nods and takes Timothy upstairs. Patrick waits for Sister Evangelina to return with the supplies, so he can take them to their room. She returns about five minutes later with a pile of nappies and some clean clothes.

“Here you go. Clean nappies and some warm clothes for young sir. I’m sure he feels better when he’s wearing clean clothes. But there’s something else as well.” Sister Evangelina reaches into her pocket and hands him an envelope.

“This letter came for you, today. It’s from the army.”

#call the midwife #turnadette #fanfic

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