#if you want to call it denial or coping or whatever then go ahead | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

northcarolinanative · 4 years

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𝐈𝐟 𝐈𝐭 𝐖𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧'𝐭 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐘𝐨𝐮 - Boxer!JJ

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

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

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

*pic courtesy of pinterest*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I go I know he’s ready for a fight.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It helped my brother”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Masterlist

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

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bubonickitten · 4 years

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Summary: Jon goes back to before the world ended and tries to forge a different path.

Previous chapter: tumblr // AO3

Chapter 10 full text & content warnings below the cut.

CWs for Chapter 10: brief panic attack; some vague JonMartin apocalypse angst. SPOILERS through S5.

Chapter 10: Pending Arrival

It’s okay, Jon tells himself, forcing himself to breathe the way Martin taught him: Four seconds in; hold seven seconds; eight seconds out.

Well… okay, it’s not okay. It’s very, very not okay.

…but – four – it – five – will – six – be – seven… okay, exhale.

Some time later – eight minutes, thirty-six-point-eight seconds, he Knows, though he didn’t ask – his breathing evens out and his thoughts clear with it.

That interaction with Martin wasn’t unexpected. There’s little reason to expect things to be different this time around, especially this soon after Jon woke up. He knows this.

There is a wall between him and Martin right now, constructed from a lifetime of rejection and loneliness that Jon himself contributed to for far too long. It’s been recently expanded by a mountain of grief, loss, and mourning – what should have been years’ worth condensed into the last six months – and it’s been further reinforced by Peter Lukas’ manipulations.

It will take some time to coax Martin away from the Lonely. Hopefully it won’t take as long as it did the last time, especially now that Jon knows that the hypothetical threat of the Extinction is not as imminent as Peter claims, but still: Martin needs time and space. Besides, Jon simply can’t force the Lonely out of him with a few words and a prayer. Martin has to choose to reject it of his own volition, or it will always cling to him.

And most importantly: Martin deserves to make his own choice. Jon has no right to take that from him, any more than he did when they passed through the Lonely’s domain.

It would have been nice to be able to physically see Martin, though. Or even just hear his voice outside of his own head. Memories can only provide so much reassurance, and for so long.

Jon had every intention of continuing yesterday’s strategy meeting this afternoon, but already his brief conversation with Georgie and painfully brief interaction with Martin have left him fatigued. The migraine he had expected yesterday failed to reach fruition, but the threat of it still lingers, accompanied by a painless but still unpleasant sensation of pressure in his head, making him feel off-kilter. As of right now, he can still pull on the Archive to speak. Sitting down and strategizing, though, is another matter entirely. Planning ahead has never been part of his skill set. Anxiety, sleep deprivation, and a supernaturally-imparted speech impediment aren’t doing him any favors.

“Let me guess: you’re out of commission.”

Basira looks him up and down, taking in his hunched gargoyle posture in his desk chair, his half-lidded eyes, his restless hands: one resting uneasily on top of his desk, fingers twitching and tapping with no discernible rhythm; the other wound up in the scarf Georgie gave him, still draped over his shoulders.

Jon can’t tell what characterizes her more in this moment: frustration with him, or simple exhaustion. Despite his own hypersensitivity to how others perceive him, he has a feeling that in this moment, it’s the latter.

“I think it can wait until tomorrow,” says Georgie, perched on the edge of Jon’s desk.

“Fine,” Basira concedes. “Tomorrow, then.” She knocks twice on the doorframe. When Jon looks up on reflex, she catches his eye. “Get some actual sleep tonight, Jon. It’s not just your personal mental health on the line here.”

“She is right about you needing to sleep,” Georgie says as Basira leaves. He avoids eye contact. “I’m serious. You look exhausted. I can get you a sleep aid –” Jon shakes his head slowly. “Why?”

With a sudden burst of energy, Jon stands, grabs her hand, and leads her to the entrance to the tunnels. He waits until they’ve both descended the ladder and the trapdoor is closed behind them before he turns to her and blurts out:

“…too afraid to go to sleep.”

“I can sit next to you while you fall asleep if you –”

“…would serve no purpose except to start me having the nightmares again,” he mumbles, sinking into the nearest chair.

“You’ve been having those for a long time now,” Georgie says, following his lead and sitting across from him. “And you’ve figured out how to cope with them. What’s actually scaring you?”

Jon bites his lower lip and bows his head.

“Then I would watch – once again –”

“– paralyzed with fear –”

“– tried to scream but I couldn’t find my breath, I couldn’t move –”

“– I couldn’t talk to anyone –”

“– unable to move its body, though – its eyes darting around wildly –”

“– unable to move – to cry for help –”

“– unable to look away –”

“– could only stare at him as he slowly, achingly crawled towards his doom –”

“– being unable to reach him –”

“– stare at it, knowing how your – friend suffers, knowing how powerless you are to help –”

“Slow down. You’re worried you’ll go back to how you were before?”

“…could only watch from the sidelines, getting a… a –”

He stops, leaning forward with his head in his hands.

“What is it, Jon?”

“And the worst part was that, somewhere in me, I – I liked it –”

“– it drew me in almost as much as it disgusted me –”

“– getting a… a sad vicarious thrill from –”

“– when people look at me… that fear“ – Jon’s breath hitches – “it feels amazing.”

He looks up at Georgie.

“Underneath all that awful fear, it felt like… home,” he whispers in a haunted tone. The shame crashes over him and he breaks eye contact, ducking his head again.

Georgie is quiet for a long moment. Then, she leans forward, reaches out, and takes his hand. He flinches and freezes.

“It sounds to me like you don’t want to like it,” she says. “People sometimes have feelings and urges that they aren’t proud of. Things that would hurt other people, if acted on.” She takes a breath. “But… I think it says more about a person’s character when they fight back against it.”

“…a presence within myself, inside my being –”

“– will strip us of what it means to be human, and leave us something alien and cold.”

“I know your circumstances are… different –”

“…it was the product of an otherworldly evil and called to me,” he says miserably.

“I know,” she says again. “There’s something in you, something that came from outside of yourself, and it’s trying to change you. Consume you.”

“…should have fought harder against the temptation –”

“But you’re fighting it now, aren’t you? You want things to be different.”

“I suppose I had to believe that the darkened natures of our terror could be kept in check – a rather feeble hope, for my own salvation –”

“– as if it might ward whatever awful thing waited inside that door.”

“For what it’s worth, I don’t think it’s a feeble hope. This is the most sure I’ve ever seen you be about anything.” She jostles his hand until he looks up at her. “You’re not a bad person, Jon. You’re taking extreme steps to make sure you don’t hurt anyone. It might not change the things you’ve done in the past, but neither will beating yourself up over it.”

Jon laughs, wincing when it comes out sounding a bit tear-choked.

“I try to think that I’ve left my past behind, but that sort of denial doesn’t help me sleep.”

“Maybe not. But you don’t have to deny the past in order to move beyond it. You can remember your mistakes and learn from them without letting them define you. And I think… I think you’re going to have to do that, if you want to move forward.” After a moment, Jon nods. Apparently unconvinced, Georgie adds: “Also, I don’t know if you need to be told this, but getting better means actually taking care of yourself.”

Jon chuckles at that, some of his tension bleeding away. “Thank you for indulging me, you’ve been very patient.”

“Stop that. You’d do the same for me. You have done the same for me.” He opens his mouth to argue. “Yeah, you’re not great at comforting people, I know. But I’ve seen you try.”

He must still look dubious, because Georgie sighs heavily.

“Do you remember when I was going through that medication change in uni?”

Jon nods warily.

It had been before they started dating. Jon has never made friends easily, but somehow Georgie had managed to tolerate his company long enough for him to start letting his guard down. At that point in his life, she really was the only one who he could confidently call a friend.

So when the antidepressant she had been on for over a year lost effectiveness and she had to start the arduous process of finding a new one, Jon had a front row seat to a depressive episode – and he felt irretrievably lost. He had no script to follow; he worried incessantly that he was making things worse, that he wasn’t making himself useful enough, that he was intruding on her personal space and she just didn’t have the energy to tell him the truth. He would pace restlessly and trip over his words and lapse into uncomfortable silences, wringing his hands and brooding – being more of a nuisance than a help, he was certain.

“You didn’t know how to help,” Georgie says, as if reading his mind. “You couldn’t make me better. I could tell it was driving you mad, not having an answer, because there was no simple answer. It was just… something that had to be lived through, coped with – and you’ve never been able to tolerate that concept, I know. You’re not good at waiting.” Jon huffs – only because she’s right. “But,” Georgie says emphatically, “you spent time with me, even though I was no fun. Brought me takeaway, set alarms to remind yourself to ask me if I’d taken my meds, did all this – this reading and research on how to support a loved one in crisis, which was” – she chuckles – “very you.”

Jon focuses intently on the weave of his scarf, petting it absently with his free hand, tracing the knit with his fingertips.

“You stayed anyway, even though you were uncomfortable. You didn’t say as much, but you’re fairly obvious when you’re anxious. At one point I told you I didn’t want you to fix it, I just didn’t want to be alone, and… you respected that. Which surprised me, to be honest. I was certain you’d be stubborn about it, act like you knew better than me.” Jon smiles at that. It was a fair assumption for her to make, especially back then. “Probably never would’ve considered dating you if you hadn’t proven me wrong then.”

“Until he became me –“

“– moody, short-tempered, constantly on edge.”

He gives Georgie a wry look as he says it, though, and she laughs.

“You’ve always been moody and on edge, including then. That wasn’t a new development that grew up overnight. What I’m saying is you’ve never been just that – which is why I have expectations of you, because I know what you’re capable of.” She gives him a serious look. “Like I told you years ago, you need to stop seeing things in black-and-white – including when it’s about you. Not everything has a clear-cut answer. You’d be happier if you could make peace with that.”

“And he was aware of it always – could not disagree,” Jon says with an exaggerated eye roll.

“Of course I’m right,” she quips back. “But you’re trying, and that’s all I ask.”

The ensuing silence is a comfortable one. Jon uses the lapse as an opportunity to search for a way to ask after Melanie.

“Statement of Georgina Barker regarding –”

Jon pauses. There’s really no way of saying the next part without accidentally drawing on more than one statement, but… Georgie is safe, and the phrase only appears a couple of times in the Archive, so it shouldn’t be too powerful.

“Statement of Melanie King.”

There is a reverb to the words, but the lightheadedness that comes with it is mild and passes quickly. Georgie appears to notice the odd tenor of his voice, tilting her head slightly to track the sound, but she doesn’t pursue it.

“You’re asking how Melanie is?”

“I wanted to check in with them, find out what happened.”

“She’s… having a rough day. I don’t think it’s my place to say more than that.”

Jon nods again: I understand. Then, he repeats again: “Statement of Georgina Barker.”

Georgie leans forward, elbow on knee, chin propped up by her fist. Her other hand continues to hold Jon’s, but she loosens her grip somewhat. The crease between her eyebrows is familiar to him – Georgie is taking her time to inventory her thoughts before speaking. He waits.

“I’m… hm. It’s been a lot to process,” she says carefully. “I think I’m doing okay for the moment? I’m mostly worried about Melanie. I’ve been worried about Melanie, but… after what you said about quitting – it’s complicated things a bit. It’s – it’s something we needed to know,” she adds, seeing Jon’s guilty expression. “I’m glad you were honest with us. Actually, I think Melanie was surprised that you told us about the, ah, second way to quit. It… hmm. It doesn't fit with the image she has of you.” Jon snorts at the delicate phrasing, and Georgie gives him a sheepish smile. “Sorry, but she still thinks you’re a self-serving prick.”

Jon shrugs, unperturbed. He already knew that, and it’s not like he’s done much to dissuade Melanie of that assessment. Not yet, anyway.

“Oh, but she told me to reassure you that she isn’t going to kill you in your sleep, so that’s something? I told her that’s not why you pulled an all-nighter, but she said to let you know anyway.”

Jon laughs, and Georgie’s eyes crinkle when she returns a smile. After a moment, though, it fades.

“I did want to ask, though… did Melanie find out how to quit in your future as well?” Jon nods. “In that case – I’m not sure if you were planning on it, but in case you were… don’t tell me just yet what her decision was where you came from. I’ve been tempted to ask, but I haven’t talked it over with Melanie yet, and I think that’s her call to make. Okay?” Jon nods again. “And… she’s still angry with you – with a lot of things, really, but especially this place, and she sees you as inseparable from it.”

“They’re not entirely wrong,” Jon accedes.

“I did talk to her about it. She asked me to let you know that she does want to talk to you – I know she has some questions to ask – but that she doesn’t want you near her right now. She’s trying to sort through her feelings towards you – figure out how much of it is a you problem versus a her problem versus a both-of-you problem. She needs some space to do that. And it’s not the only thing she’s working through right now.”

Jon can appreciate that. Honestly, it’s better than he could have hoped for. Last time around, Melanie had eventually softened on him, had even tentatively called him a friend – but at that point, everything in his life felt like too little too late, and she deserved better than to have him poison her life again. He really had only been looking for someone to help him parse Martin’s intentions – Jon has always struggled with anything less than direct, explicit communication – but Georgie was right to be angry with him. Regardless of his intentions, he was inseparable from the Institute; there was no way for him to ask for advice that didn’t involve dragging Melanie back into exactly the kind of toxicity she was trying to escape.

When he left that day, it was with the intention of staying out of both of their lives from then on. They both set a firm boundary, and they deserved to have it respected. But he had plenty of time to brood during the apocalypse, and there were so many things left unsaid between him and Melanie and Georgie. Even if the world hadn’t ended, he probably wouldn’t have approached them again – they seemed happy, and showing up on their doorstep to talk, even if it was just to apologize, would have only been for his own benefit. It wouldn’t have felt right to intrude on them again and open up old wounds just for the sake of securing closure for himself.

Now, though? Truth be told, he could use some space, himself. He’s rehearsed it many times before – all the things he might say to the people in his life, both living and dead, if he had a chance to see them again – but now that he actually has that chance, everything he’s drafted in his head feels inadequate. It may take some time to get his thoughts in order before sitting down and openly discussing his and Melanie’s fraught relationship.

“So… Martin?” Georgie says, snapping Jon out of his thoughts. “Have you seen him yet?”

Jon makes an uncertain tilting motion with his hand, finding no succinct way to explain that yes, he did have a brief encounter with Martin, but it was a one-sided conversation, and Jon expected as much, but it still hurt; and moreover, Martin was invisible when he visited, no doubt intending to just see for himself that Jon was awake, check in on how he was doing without being noticed; and Jon wishes he had been able to do the same, to have some irrefutable physical reassurance that Martin is alive and real and here and now, because it’s been so long, and…

“…he seemed determined to avoid – me,” Jon settles on instead.

“You care about him a lot, don’t you?”

“I need him to be okay –”

“– the easy, charming man I’d fall in love with.”

“Oh,” Georgie says, sounding stunned. Jon meets her eyes and gives her a quizzical look. “I just – knowing you, I figured you’d still be in denial about how infatuated you are? Or, at best, you’d grudgingly admit you maybe, possibly had a little crush? I was not expecting a declaration of love.”

“Everything about being with him felt so natural that when he told me he loved me, it only came as a surprise to realize that we hadn’t said it already –”

“– and together it seemed like we would get past our pain.”

“Holy shit,” Georgie murmurs. “You’re absolutely besotted. I mean, I knew you were, you talked about him all the time and you’re not as subtle as you think you are – but actually acknowledging it?”

“…honestly it’s one of the few decisions I’ve ever made that I completely understand,” Jon replies, not bothering to hide his small smile.

“Wow. You’ve… changed more than I thought.” Georgie mirrors his expression, but then she falters, chewing the inside of her cheek for a moment. “Can I ask how it – if it…” Jon’s smile fades too, but he makes a beckoning gesture: It’s okay; go on. “Regardless of whether things worked out between you, I… well, I have a hard time thinking you’d come back to this time if it meant leaving him behind in your future?”

Jon looks down at their linked hands, expressionless as he begins to construct a response.

“I’ll skip over the bit where –”

“– taking me in his arms and giving me the last and longest hug I would ever get from him –”

“– he was gone. Just gone. And I was alone again. There was no one I could talk to about it –”

“– I had plenty of time to mourn him –”

“– it took all my self-control to keep a grip on that anchor, as I slowly dragged myself away from the edge of my lonely grave.”

Georgie gives his hand a reassuring squeeze, which he returns gratefully.

“I’m so sorry,” she says. “For what it’s worth, I… I’m glad you have this second chance. You… are going to tell him how you feel this time as well, right?”

Obviously, he wants to say, but it’s not as simple as he wishes it was. He frowns thoughtfully as he searches for a way to explain the situation.

“…he’s been so lonely –”

“– embraced the loneliness like an old friend –”

“– for a creature of the Lonely, the urge is to isolate, never to communicate or connect –”

“– I wanted to say something reassuring, to reach out and let him know I was still there –”

“But it was like this last time you woke up, too.” She waits for his affirmative before continuing: “So you can do it again.”

“…I managed it eventually, but my inability to speak –”

“– I found him difficult to talk to at length.”

“But,” she persists, “you aren’t going to give up, right?”

“…I knew he would return eventually,” Jon says.

“Good,” Georgie says with a relieved, somewhat exasperated sigh. “I swear to god, if you’d gotten fatalistic right there, I’d have had some words for you.” Jon chuckles. “Seriously, though – you’ll figure this out. You’ve always been stubborn. Every now and then, it’s even an asset.”

“I’m grateful to her, of course.”

“Again, don’t mention it. As long as you keep trying, I’ll support you. I might set limits on how much I’m willing to get involved with the actual supernatural bits – I haven’t decided just yet – but when I need to step back, I’ll tell you. I’m not going to ghost you just because you don’t grovel.”

Jon groans at the pun, which gets a self-satisfied grin out of Georgie.

“Oh, shut up. It was a good one.”

Right, I forgot: comatose people don’t need pens, Jon thinks irritably to himself the next day, turning his office upside down looking for a writing utensil.

He’s so thoroughly preoccupied with rummaging through his desk that he doesn’t notice Basira standing in the doorway until she clears her throat, startling him so badly that he jumps and slams one of his fingers in the drawer. He yelps in pain and pulls his hand back, shaking it out to distract from the throbbing. A moment later, the realization crosses his mind that it’s the same finger he’d tried to cut off the last time he was here.

It’s a coincidence, he tells himself before his mind can wander too far down the rabbit hole. He has enough to worry about without getting caught up in the hypotheticals of time travel and sci-fi tropes about the changeability of the past. Besides, the Coffin hasn't even arrived yet; there are still a few weeks before the original date of his failed self-amputation attempts.

“Sorry,” Basira says, eyebrows raised. “Didn’t mean to scare you. Honestly, I figured you’d just know I was here.” Jon has nothing to say to that. Trying to explain the fine details of Knowing has never been a pleasant experience, and he couldn’t tackle that subject now even if he’d wanted to. “What are you looking for, anyway?”

“…think of me as an idiot who turned up to give a statement without a pen,” Jon says distractedly, opening another drawer and sifting through it. “I can’t find it anywhere.”

“Pens?” Jon nods without looking up. “Yeah, I threw them all out – don’t give me that look, Jon. Half of them didn’t even work, and the others looked like a puppy’s chew toy. Anyway, most of what I threw out in here got touched by the Flesh. You didn’t want any of it back, trust me.” Jon grimaces. “Yeah. Anyway, there are boxes in the supply closet – but I think I can do you one better.”

She tosses something at him. He notices the movement belatedly and just barely manages to catch the thing, nearly dropping it.

“Guess knowing things also doesn’t extend to being able to catch without fumbling,” Basira deadpans.

Jon looks down at the phone in his hands, then back up at Basira.

“Got the Institute to cover it as a work expense. I have no idea where the one you had before the Unknowing ended up; I’m assuming it blew up along with everything else.” Basira leans back against the doorframe. “I’m sure texting will go about as well for you as typing has, but Georgie downloaded a few AAC apps for you to try.”

He gives Basira a tentative smile.

“You’re welcome,” she says with a curt nod. The look she gives him then is curious – almost like she’s still trying to get a read on him, debating how much closeness she can risk. Then her guard goes back up and her tone turns authoritative again. “You can practice with them later. Meeting’s in a half-hour.”

Before Jon can respond, Basira turns and leaves.

It’s uncertain how the Archive will take to this newest workaround, but there’s only one way to find out.

“Here, let me take –”

Jon unceremoniously drops the box of statements down through the trapdoor, where it hits the ground below with a dull thud and a puff of dust.

“…or not,” Georgie finishes.

“Was that really necessary?” Basira calls from the bottom of the ladder.

Completely pointless, Jon thinks to himself a bit giddily, ignoring the stabbing pain in his temples with relish. The Beholding can complain all it wants about him mishandling statements; right now, he’s too tired and too delirious to care.

He’d had plenty of time during the apocalypse to develop methods of coping with the Eye’s intrusiveness. The most emotionally satisfying one he’d happened upon basically amounted to random acts of spite. It had no material effect on anything – aside from triggering varying degrees of headaches, but he already got those anyway. It was no different than a petulant child slamming a bedroom door, but it gave him that fleeting feeling of being in control of something, and it felt good.

“Let me go first,” Georgie says. He gives her a questioning look. “You’re using a cane, Jon. There’s a fifty percent chance you’re going to fall on your ass going down that ladder, and I’d rather keep you out of the hospital for the rest of the year.” Jon averts his eyes and frowns. She must interpret it as reluctance, because she clarifies: “You need a spotter.”

Jon signals agreement and she starts down the ladder ahead of him.

The thing is, he wasn’t trying to contradict her. It’s just… well, he’s still getting used to the idea of being cared for again, especially when it comes to insignificant things. Yes, his leg is acting up today, but it’s not that bad – the cane is just to keep it from getting any worse. And if he did fall, it’s not like it would kill him. It would be inconvenient, unpleasant, and probably embarrassing, but too temporary to really register on his distress scale.

Anyway, he’s grown desensitized to physical pain. Or… no, that’s not quite right. What he’s desensitized to isn’t the pain itself, but the experience of being harmed. He’s come to expect it, and these days only the only permanent injuries he receives are those inflicted by one of the Powers. Everything else heals too quickly and completely to feel consequential. Most things don’t even scar anymore, and those that do – well, what’s one more scar?

He knows it’s not a healthy mindset. Even before the world ended, he’d come to regard his body with a sense of detachment. In retrospect, he should’ve known that his rib wouldn’t work as an anchor. Most days, his body didn’t even feel like it belonged to him. Then, as if to confirm that inkling, Jonah possessed him; the Watcher’s eyes started manifesting on and around him; his presence became synonymous with the Eye to anyone who beheld him. He confirmed on several occasions that he wasn’t able to die. Even the Hunt couldn’t kill him. Jon would end one day, like everything else, but a mundane physical death was beyond him.

He doesn’t Know if that’s still the case now, and he’s too afraid to ask.

So, yes: he’s developed a cavalier attitude towards personal safety. Avoiding minor injuries feels almost on the same level as what temperature the water is before he steps into the shower: relevant in terms of his own comfort, but otherwise unimportant. He’s always spared little thought as to his own comfort, and it’s only gotten worse since becoming the Archivist. And the apocalypse didn’t exactly have much to offer in the way of comfort anyway, especially after…

Jon cringes as he stops to reflect on that train of thought. It took him fewer than thirty seconds to rationalize… well, Martin would have called it self-harm. Or self-sabotage, at the least. Georgie probably would, too, if she could see inside his mind right now. His judgment of what counts as worthy of concern is decidedly skewed, especially to an outside observer. It was easy to justify it to himself when it was just him alone at the end of the world, but employing a mindset forged in hopelessness and tailored to a doomed future is only going to be maladaptive here and now.

He should probably take some time later to unpack all of that. It would be easier if he could write it all out; it’s always difficult to keep track of his own thoughts without a visual aid, but –

“Jon?” Georgie calls up to him. “You can come down now.”

Deal with it later, he tells himself, tossing his cane down for Georgie to catch. As he makes his way down the ladder, his leg does twinge a bit, but it holds his weight well enough, and he reaches the bottom without incident.

“Where’s Melanie?” Basira asks.

“Resting,” Georgie says, handing Jon his cane. “She had a bad morning. I’ll fill her in on everything later.”

“Fine.” Basira nudges the box with her foot. “What’s this then?”

“Statements,” Georgie says. She’d watched Jon throw them haphazardly into the box before coming down here. “Not sure why, though.”

Jon moves the box to one of the chairs that they left in the tunnel last night. It isn’t too heavy – just some pertinent statements and tapes that he thought might make this discussion flow more smoothly. Taking a seat in the next chair over, he removes the lid from the box and begins rummaging.

“Statement of Joshua Gillespie, regarding his time in possession of an apparently empty wooden casket,” Jon says after a moment, holding up a folder labeled CASE #9982211 and containing the respective written statement. One page sticks out crookedly, and Jon’s heart skips a beat when he recognizes Tim’s handwriting. This had been one of his cases to follow up on.

He shakes his head and sets the folder aside, reaching into the box for the corresponding tape. Instead, his fingertips brush against a different loose cassette, and his breath catches in his throat.

“Statement of Detective Alice ‘Daisy’ Tonner,” he says quietly, removing the cassette. “Traffic stop of a delivery van.”

“This is the statement Daisy gave you?” Basira says. “She said you compelled her.”

“I didn’t realize that was what had happened until afterwards,” Jon says softly. He pulls a tape recorder from his pocket and gives Basira a questioning look.

“Yeah,” she says. “Yeah, go ahead.”

Jon inserts the cassette and fast-forwards, stopping when he Knows he’s reached the right timestamp. His own recorded voice begins to play.

“If you don’t mind me asking, h-h-how long have you been sectioned now –”

“I do mind,” comes Daisy’s clipped voice. Then, immediately: “Fourteen years.”

“I don’t suppose you’d like to make a statement?”

“About what?”

“Whatever you like. Fourteen years – you must have seen a number of paranormal things.”

“And you want me to tell you about them.”

“Uh – I-I-I-I-I –”

“Okay,” says Daisy.

“What?”

“Okay. I’ll give you a statement about – how I got my first Section 31.” A beat. “You look surprised.”

“I mean, I was largely asking as a formality. Basira didn’t give me the impression you were the sharing sort.”

“Maybe you caught me in a good mood.”

“Right, well… good. Do you need me to go over our non-disclosure policy –”

“Not as long as you understand my policy: if it gets out, I’ll break every bone in your body.”

“There are worse things that could happen to them,” the Jon on the tape mutters.

Jon hits stop and looks up at Basira. There’s a sheen to her eyes; he does her the courtesy of looking away and not drawing attention to it. After a long few seconds, she clears her throat. When she speaks, her voice is even and impassive.

“So you really didn’t know you were compelling people back then.”

“…he had no idea what was about to happen to him.”

He probably should have noticed sooner, but he was always so fixated on listening to the answer to a question that he paid comparatively little attention to the asking of it. Insensitive of him, really – far too like the detached fascination of the Ceaseless Watcher, in retrospect. The reality that he had the power to compel others didn’t really sink in until after his conversation with Jude.

Jon notices belatedly that the other two are watching him expectantly. He hadn’t planned on playing Daisy’s tape first, but since he already has it prepared to go, he fast-forwards to the beginning of her statement and lets it play through to the end. No one makes any comment in the few seconds it takes for him to swap the cassette out for Joshua Gillespie’s statement.

“So the Coffin makes people want to enter it,” Basira says as the second statement ends. “Is that why you went in, the first time? You were compelled?”

Jon shakes his head no. Daisy had asked him the same question last time. It’s true that the Coffin called to him, but its compulsion never got beneath his skin – not like that of the Beholding or the Web. In the end, going into the Buried was his decision.

“Why, then?”

“…survivor’s guilt,” Jon says. “I should be dead, really – it’s hard to reconcile yourself with avoiding a death that you feel should have been yours.”

There was more to it, though. He takes a minute to rifle through statements, to piece together his state of mind the first time he entered the Buried.

“I felt a great deal of guilt over my involvement with –”

“– the path of the Eye –”

“– when they looked at me, their eyes were full of – anger – blame –”

“– looked at me with a mixture of hate and helpless terror, as though I could do something to fix it –”

“– cut off effectively all human contact –”

“– I decided I had to do something – anything to get out of the fog –”

“– to lose myself in something that is not the absence of humanity –”

“– desperate to remind myself that I could still feel something –”

“– desperate for any human connection.”

He pauses for a breath. Looking back, if Jon hadn’t been so thoroughly claimed by the Beholding already, he may have been a candidate for the Lonely himself back then. Peter Lukas didn’t have to lift a finger.

“I was starting to fear that if I didn’t manage to do something –”

“– I would lose myself – forever –”

“– I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t at least try –”

“– it was – the most human part of it remaining –”

“– to act, to help, to do something –”

“– I need to not lose any more bits of me –”

“– and worst comes to worst –”

“– at least I felt useful.”

Georgie’s eyes are on him now, reading between the lines.

“Did you even have a plan? Or did you just… rush in by yourself, not even tell anyone?” He nods. “Which?” He gives Georgie a pointed look, nodding a second time. “Both? Figures. Don’t know why I bothered asking, really.”

“…but this time was different,” he assures her.

“How did you get out?” Basira asks.

“It took all my self-control to keep a grip on that anchor.”

“Meaning?”

“…her anchor. The thing weighing her down, tying her to this world,” he tries again.

“Something to ground you,” Georgie says questioningly.

“…to make finding my way back – that much easier.”

“And you can do the same thing this time?” Basira waits for his confirmation before moving on. “What about the delivery itself?”

Jon pulls out another folder and cassette, both labeled CASE #9961505.

“Statement of Alfred Breekon, regarding a new pair of workers at his delivery company.”

“Breekon and Hope?” Basira asks.

Jon nods, inserts the tape, and depresses the play button.

“They’ve been in a few statements, haven’t they?” Basira says afterwards, forehead creased in thought.

As an answer, Jon removes one last cassette from the box before tilting it forward to reveal a handful of case files sliding around at the bottom. All of them contain minor references either to Breekon and Hope or the Coffin, but none of them struck him as significant enough to bother bringing the accompanying tapes.

The remaining cassette in his hand, label reading CASE #0020406, is only relevant for the last minute or so of the recording: Martin’s encounter with Breekon and Hope on the day they delivered the NotThem’s table and the Web’s lighter. Jon pops it into the recorder, fast-forwards to the relevant timestamp, and hits play. Breekon and Hope’s voices echo in the tunnel, finishing each other’s sentences in an uncanny back-and-forth volley.

“Hm.” Basira frowns. “And they just… got into the Archives without anyone seeing them?” Jon nods. “I’m assuming we can expect the same this time?" Another nod, but Jon holds up two fingers, gives Basira a meaningful look, and then puts one down. “Only one of them.”

“Statement of the surviving half of the being calling itself ‘Breekon and Hope,’” Jon says. Then: “When that Hunter killed him – took him from me, made us a me – the casket – was waiting – I fed her to it.”

“Do we have to worry about a fight?”

Jon shakes his head no. “We did not kill them, did not lift a finger. We were bringers of their awful fate, not its executors – and we both tasted it together.” He fast-forwards the statement in his head. “I am without him now – can feel myself fading, weak, no reason to move, nothing to deliver. But I am no longer tied to the casket, so you can have it – climb in, and join her.”

“So we just, what, let it deliver the thing and leave?”

“I told her that any real danger had passed –”

“– fading, weak, no reason to move, nothing to deliver.”

“And then you go in.”

Jon nods. There are more details, of course, but the basics of his plan are the same as they were last time: equip himself with Daisy’s tape, follow the pull of her voice, rely on his anchor to find the way back – albeit hopefully with fewer hiccups this time.

Or fewer lost ribs, at least, now that he has a better grasp on anchors.

Several days later, a visitor arrives in the Archives, albeit not the one they’ve been expecting.

Head pillowed in his arms on his desk, dozing and half-conscious, Jon is roused from a shallow sleep by voices in the hallway, filtering through the open crack in the door.

“This area is off-limits,” Basira is saying.

“I’m just looking for the Head Archivist. Jonathan Sims? He still works here, doesn’t he?”

Is that…

“What do you want with Jon?” Georgie’s voice, sounding genuinely curious, but anyone familiar with her would recognize the protective edge to it.

“Look, is he here or isn’t he?”

It is.

Rubbing bleary eyes and shaking off the remaining wisps of brain fog, Jon stands, his joints cracking in protest. He grabs his cane, heads for the door, and peeks out into the hallway.

Naomi Herne is here, standing in the doorway at the bottom of the stairs between the Archives and the rest of the Institute. She looked his way when she heard the creak of the door opening, and their eyes meet for a brief moment before he reflexively averts his gaze.

“Jon?” She sidesteps Basira and Georgie and starts walking towards him.

He digs in his pockets and brings out his phone. So far, the AAC app has turned out to be a decent workaround. Prolonged use will still give him a headache in much the same way that communicating through illustration does, but it’s helpful for making specific requests, asking direct questions, and conveying simple or general concepts. He’ll accept a headache if it means not being forced to use some convoluted metaphor just to say I don’t know or I’m short-circuiting, please give me some space or I’m going to make tea; would you like some?

“YOU ARE – HERE,” comes the computerized voice as he prods at the screen. “WHY.”

For a long moment, Naomi says nothing, staring at the phone in his hand.

“It’s been over a week since I last saw you,” she says slowly. “At first I thought it must be because you woke up – which was a good guess, it seems – but then days went by and no dreams, and… I was worried.” Jon tilts his head, confused. “What’s with that look?”

Jon opens and closes his mouth a few times, debating on whether to reach for a statement. It feels wrong to be dishonest with her, and a hopeful part of him suggests that Naomi wouldn’t react too badly. She’s seen worse from him, and none of that seems to have scared her away, so…

“…I wasn’t worth worrying about.”

Naomi rolls her eyes. “Why are you so stubborn?”

Georgie laughs at that. When Naomi glances in her direction, she starts approaching the two of them, apparently satisfied that Naomi isn’t a threat. Likewise, Basira drifts off down the hall and into the break room. She leaves the door open, though – Jon Knows she still wants to listen in, just in case.

“He’s always been like this,” Georgie says.

“Figures,” Naomi says, then looks back at Jon. “So, why haven’t you been around? Did you find a way to sever the dreams, or…?” Jon shakes his head no. “Then what?”

“It’s not like I sleep enough to worry about dreams,” he says evasively.

Naomi opens her mouth to reply and at that moment Jon’s phone goes off. He nearly drops the thing as he fumbles to dismiss the alarm. Once the noise is silenced, Jon sighs and looks at Georgie.

“You want me to…?” Jon nods, giving her permission to speak on his behalf. “Okay then.”

Georgie looks at Naomi.

“Jonathan” – Jon huffs at the use of his full name – “has been depriving himself of sleep. But no matter how stubborn he is, he’s still human.” Georgie gives him a stern look, daring him to contradict her. He doesn’t; it isn’t worth getting into this discussion, especially in front of Naomi. “Now he’s started nodding off in spite of himself, he’s been forced to admit that he can’t go without sleep forever – but instead of actually sleeping, he’s decided that the best course of action is to just set alarms at forty-five minute intervals, to wake him up before he enters REM sleep. Which means he’s not getting any restful sleep.” She looks at Jon and smiles disarmingly. “Does that about cover it?”

Jon rolls his eyes – she really didn’t need to offer the detail about his new alarm routine – but he nods all the same.

“And why don’t you want to sleep?” Naomi asks.

“The only thing that worried me was sleeping. I think it gave me bad dreams,” he says.

“Not to be rude, but…” Naomi hesitates before blurting out: “Why are you talking like that?”

“He’s been having… some speech difficulties,” Georgie says, glancing at Jon. He makes a circular motion with one hand: It’s fine; go ahead. “Ever since he woke up, he’s only able to speak in quotes from the statements? It’s… challenging, to say the least.”

“Ah,” Naomi says, chipper, “just some new spooky developments, then.”

Out of habit, Jon glares at her for her word choice, but there’s no real ire in it. If anything, it’s a relief to find that Naomi’s attitude toward him seems unchanged despite said new spooky developments.

“But…” Naomi frowns. “You’ve been having these dreams for two years now, and you said you’ve mostly gotten them sorted. So how is sleeping now any different from the last few months?”

“He’s afraid that things will go back to the way they were before.”

“O…kay,” Naomi says slowly, “but you told me that most of the others have already learned to stop the nightmare sequence without you. And everyone knows now that you aren’t as scary as you look – which, by the way, is it weird that by now it's almost more unsettling to see you with only two eyes? Sorry, not the point. The point is, it won’t be the same as it was before.”

Jon stares fixedly at a scratch on the floor. Left over from the Flesh attack, maybe? He could Know, but –

Focus, he tells himself before his thoughts can wander too far afield.

He isn’t sure how to explain that the other dreamers may not be as forgiving or fearless as Naomi is. Even if they were to find it in themselves to overlook a relapse, even if they don’t start viewing him the way they did before… the prospect of having his bodily autonomy stripped from him again is more than enough to fill him with dread.

It feels too much like the way the hunger pulls him inexorably toward a victim. It will probably feel like how it does when the Archive takes control. And it will definitely feel like it did when he was made a conduit for the Watcher’s Crown. Jonah wearing him like a glove. Locking him in place, forcing his eyes open, hijacking his voice. Making him into a possession, only to cast him aside like a broken toy once he had served his purpose.

“– Jon?”

With some effort, he drags himself back to the present.

“Something not moving but that wants to move. Wants to be free –”

“– stopped being able to move under his own power – walk him like a puppet – directed and controlled –”

“– unable to move – to cry for help.”

Hands shaking, he inputs a response on his phone.

“I AM – SCARED.”

“That’s… okay, that sounds properly horrifying,” Naomi admits. “But you don’t know for sure that’s what’ll happen, right?” Grudgingly, Jon shakes his head no. “So you could be fretting over nothing.”

“So far, so normal, right?”

“Smartass,” Naomi says, but with good humor. “Still, you can’t go without sleep forever – you’re going to have to face it eventually. You may as well get it over with sooner rather than later, and then you’ll know for sure. If nothing else, you’ll get some sleep out of it. But,” she says with a longsuffering sigh, “I have a feeling you’re going to keep pushing it, so…” She holds out her hand and crooks her fingers. “Phone. I’m adding my number to your contacts.”

It isn’t until Jon hands it over that he even consciously processes her words.

“Just so you know,” Georgie says, “he can’t really text, either. Unless it’s in statements.”

“That’s fine,” Naomi says, typing rapidly with her thumbs. “You can just reply with emojis or whatever, Jon. Just something to let me know you’re still alive.” She hands the phone back to him. “And this way I can send you pictures of the Duchess.”

Jon perks up at that.

“The Duchess?” Georgie asks.

“Yep. Adopted a cat last week.” Naomi’s smile is wider than Jon has ever seen it. “She’s settling in nicely,” she says to him before looking back to Georgie. “I almost changed her name, but Jon insisted I leave it as is. Said I shouldn’t deprive her of a title she’d rightfully earned.”

Georgie snorts. “He said the same about the Admiral.”

“Oh, you must be Georgie, then? I’ve heard a lot about… uh –”

“Don’t worry; I’m well aware you’ve heard more about the Admiral than me. Pretty sure Jon prefers his company to mine half the time.” She ignores the indignant look Jon shoots her and holds out her phone to Naomi. “Jon was notoriously terrible at answering texts even before all of… this. Feel free to direct any, ‘Is Jonathan Sims still alive?’ queries to me.”

Jon watches in bewilderment as the two of them exchange numbers. Not for the first time, he wonders how this kind of socializing seems to come so naturally to other people.

“I also wouldn’t mind seeing a photo of the Duchess.”

“What about a group text?” Naomi says. “Spooky-free zone, cat-related updates only. Everyone gets their daily dose of cat antics, I get to honestly tell my therapist that I’m not self-isolating, and Jon can just like things to let me know he’s still breathing. Three birds, one stone.”

“Good idea.” Georgie gives Jon an exacting look. “It’ll give you something nice to obsess over. I’ll have to ask Melanie if she wants to be added, too. She could use the distraction.”

Jon can feel a smile tug at his lips as he hurriedly taps out a response.

“YES – PLEASE – THANK YOU.”

Jon and the others try to retreat to the tunnels as often as possible – every other day, if they can manage it – even if there isn’t a pressing matter to discuss. More than anything, it’s a ploy to throw off Jonah. There’s every possibility that he would grow suspicious if the group only held their secretive meetings just prior to major events. Meeting frequently likely won’t alarm him too much, though. Jonah is likely to write off Jon’s furtiveness as paranoia, or simply his near-compulsive tendency to retread the same ground in aimless circles, obsessing over a single question ad infinitum.

Jon isn’t sure whether he Knows this, or if he’s just become uncomfortably familiar with Jonah’s thought processes. Either way, Jon is well aware of what Jonah thinks of him, of how the man can effortlessly dissect and predict Jon’s every outward action and inner experience. If he's honest with himself, Jonah’s scrutiny may terrify him even more than the Ceaseless Watcher’s.

At least the Eye is alien, operating entirely outside the bounds of human morality and emotion. It and all of the other Fears just… are what they are. Predictable, instinctual, amoral – or operating on a sort of blue and orange morality, at least. It brings to mind something Michael said to him, all those years ago: “Am I evil, Archivist? Is a thing evil when it simply obeys its own nature? When it embodies its nature? When that nature is created by those which revile it?”

Someone like Jonah Magnus, though – born human, raised human, spending several lifetimes embedded in human society – can understand his fellow humans much more intimately than any nonhuman Entity ever could, and he uses that understanding to torture his victims, knowing full well how it feels. On the one hand, Jon and all his other pawns throughout the centuries are nothing but means to an end; he cares little for them outside of their usefulness to him. On the other hand, he isn’t fully detached: there’s no denying the sadistic glee he took in gloating as he forced Jon to open the door.

Even in a world devoid of the Dread Powers, monsters would still exist, and a mundane human monstrosity is almost as dreadful as a supernatural one. Daisy derived joy from the Hunt with more complexity than a wolf would. Jon’s own hunts may have felt instinctual, but they also felt morally wrong in a way that tearing the legs off a spider would never feel to a cat – and he did it anyway. Even Gertrude embodied a certain flavor of monstrosity, despite never fully giving in to the temptation of the Beholding. She did not need to embrace any supernatural power; her ruthlessness damned innocent people all the same, as thoroughly as the Desolation and with as much precision as the Web.

Georgie and Martin – and Helen, even – may have a point about humanity and monstrosity not following a strict either/or dichotomy. Whether the Fears were birthed by humanity or preceded it, in the world as-is they would be toothless without human imagination to fuel and interpret and inspire them. The apocalypse demonstrated that fact rather starkly the more and more the human population dwindled.

Jon shakes his head, interrupting that line of thought. There are more important things to worry about right now. Namely: it’s the third of March, and the Institute is expecting a visitor.

Basira is with him in his office; Georgie is off keeping Melanie company, away from Breekon and any possibility of a confrontation. They’d all agreed to this arrangement last night in the tunnels, and since they’ve been having those clandestine meetings so regularly, it should look like a coincidence to Jonah, rather than a prearranged setup.

And Breekon arrives right on schedule, though this time he cannot catch Basira alone. He comes directly to Jon’s office, dragging the Coffin behind him.

“Jon,” Basira says urgently, not taking her eyes off the hulking figure darkening the doorway.

They must tread carefully – not seeming so unconcerned as to let on that they were expecting the delivery, but not overselling the act so much that Jonah would sense something was amiss.

“I wish I could say that was the last I saw of them – but they did return – started to make deliveries – Breekon and Hope.”

“Where’s the other one?” Basira asks.

“That copper took him from me,” Breekon says balefully. He drags the Coffin over the threshold, lets it fall to the ground with a thump, and jerks his head at it. “So I fed her to the pit.”

“Daisy’s in there,” Basira says, bristling.

“That’s its name? Then sure, ‘t’s in there, whatever’s left. Find out if you like.”

“…get out of my office –”

Jon’s voice crackles with static, and Breekon takes one step backward.

“What are you doing? Stop that.”

“Jon,” Basira says warningly.

“– as soon as they’d placed the box on the floor, they turned around and walked out –”

The static continues to rise in volume.

“I said stop it!” Breekon grunts through gritted teeth, even as he turns and steps back over the threshold.

“– the door slammed behind them” – Breekon does indeed reach for the handle and pulls the door shut after him – “and I was left – with this package.”

The static cuts out abruptly, and Jon exhales heavily, winded.

“What the hell was that?” Basira demands, rounding on Jon. “Did you just – compel him to leave?”

“…apparently this was how it was done now,” Jon says quietly. That at least answers the question of whether he can still effectively use that power. He isn’t sure how to feel about that.

“Knew you could compel people to answer questions. Didn’t know you could compel actions, too.”

Jon shuts his eyes, still catching his breath. There were limits on his compulsion abilities even during the apocalypse; there are bound to be just as many now, if not more. He doesn’t have the mindset for muddling through a complicated explanation right now, though, so he opts for the AAC app instead.

“LITTLE,” he selects from the screen. It should be enough to get the general point across, at least for now.

“Great. I’ll just put that in the ominous column, shall I?” Basira sighs. “Is it really okay to just… let him leave?”

“I told her that any real danger had passed,” he says simply.

“If you say so.” She stares intently at the Coffin, arms crossed. “So, what now?”

Without another word, Jon stands and beckons for Basira to follow. As he locks the office door behind them, Basira tells him to go wait for her at the tunnel entrance while she fetches Melanie and Georgie. He nods absentmindedly, but she’s already left without waiting for a response.

The last time, two weeks spanned between the delivery of the Coffin and the day Jon actually opened it. This time, there’s no need to wait. He still has some preparations to make – there’s no need to visit the Boneturner, but Jon does still want to leave some tapes running to serve as physical anchors. He also has to plan for the possibility of something going wrong, even if he is fairly confident in his ability to find his way back again. Mainly, he’d like to leave a letter behind for Martin, though the Archive might make that difficult.

Other than that, it’s just a matter of mentally preparing himself for another trip into the Buried.

Knowing what to expect doesn’t make it any less terrifying, though. If anything, it might make it worse.

End Notes:

Soooo I thought I'd be able to cover more plot in this chapter, but I was too attached to the scene with Naomi to scrap it, and I wanted that conversation between Jon and Georgie to happen pre-Buried. The result is that this chapter feels a bit scattershot. But that means next chapter I can just focus on the Coffin. Thanks for bearing with me! (Hoping to have next chapter ready by this weekend or early next week. Depends on how busy work is.)

For anyone unfamiliar with AAC (augmentative and alternative communication) devices/apps and wondering why it's different from typing/texting for Jon - the app he's using has preloaded phrases and images he can select from, so he doesn't have to type/text character-by-character. It still has drawbacks for him - difficult to use for long periods of time, less likely to work the more specific he tries to be, like with drawing - but at least there's another communication option for him to reach for now.

Citations for Jon's verbal dialogue are as follows, broken down by section. Section 1: None. Section 2: 009; 036; 050/027/008/153/010/015/009/124/056/128; 112; 045/005/112/131; 045; 020/134; 157; 017; 138/130; 059; 029; 101/024; 135; 094; both 028 & 076; 148; 094; 042; 054; 117/013; 013/009; 150; 013/009/013/007/013; 146/092/151/063; 002/050; 009; 062. Section 3: 038. Section 4: 002; 061; 050; 056; 051; 019/138/013/105/113/013/092/122/102; 019/048/011/123/124/014/145/139; 051; 013, 145; 023; 096; 128; 128 (again); 008/128. Section 5: 014; 113; 002; 032/136/015; 025. Section 6: 096; 006; 002; 002 (again); 005; 008.

The taped banter between Daisy and Jon is from MAG 061. The Michael quote is from MAG 101. A few bits of Breekon's dialogue were borrowed from MAG 128.

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #tma spoilers #long post

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marinarasbench · 4 years

Text

Astoria: A Journey in Threes

“Everything happens, it happens in threes” a statement in trimeter, sung in 3/4 time, in an overture of 3 movements. Astoria is the title track off of the album, Astoria, the band Marianas Trench’s 3rd concept album, meant to emulate the coming-of-age 80’s movie soundtrack and heavily influenced by its namesake, The Goonies. This in mind, the metaphor of 3’s extends further to tell this story, referencing the superstition that bad things come in 3’s. The three movements of this piece reflect that, telling the story of the hardships of songwriter Josh Ramsay’s life post the highs of winning a Grammy for writing Call Me Maybe and landing a US record deal with his own band’s double-platinum album, Ever After. The movements follow the pain of learning his mother has Lewy Body Dementia and the rapid deterioration that followed, his struggle and consequential frustration in trying to write music that lived up to his recent success that led to his fiancé calling off their wedding, and finally, his resulting drinking problem that landed him in the hospital for pancreatitis.

The first lines of the song open over a synth motif, “Astoria, I’m warning you, / Not ready yet, not for you,” a shout into a void of reverb. These lines set the tone of the coming-of-age tale, never being prepared to grow up but being faced with the journey ahead. The next line, “Don’t want to know my darkest lows / my blackest pitch, murder of crows” enhances this denial as the notes descend. Each phrase starts with a step up one pitch followed by a fall of three steps, continuing this descent into adversity when forced to say, “goodbye mother’s fairy tale”. The entire first movement then references being forced to grow into adulthood by losing his mother. This is wrapped in a beautiful metaphor in the second verse of the first movement by the phrase, “slow rebirth,” that could mean two things, one is that Lewy Body Dementia attacks the brain so aggressively that it forces people “to the cradle again”, a common theme throughout the album of helping his mother as her adulthood disappears. The other option is that this is meant to talk about how these experiences reshaped who he was as a person and forced him to grow up, something he feels he struggled to do his whole life. This is followed by the desperation found in the lines, “Don’t remind me what the price is / When left to my own devices’ / Cause I'll find out in all due time / What happens to never say die”, saying that he feels he can’t be responsible for himself and can’t survive on his own. This is possibly a reference to the drinking problem that sent him to the hospital a year later. The use of “Never say die” from The Goonies is another example of this childhood mantra fading from his head, having to come to terms with the fact that someone he loves is dying and he is helpless. The movement ends referencing the role this played in his downward spiral to his hospitalization, mentioning, “I’ll say whatever doesn't make me stronger kills me / But it's going to be a long year / Till the hospital can find hope in me” Two new voices enter in a call and response. “Tell me I survive,” sings Miles Ramsay, the songwriter's father, shadowed by Josh Ramsay’s sister, Sarah, asking, “Do I survive you Astoria?” The repetition of the lines implies a growing urgency. This makes this moment a family struggle in which everyone is unsure if they can grow past this and learn to live without their mother or wife. This is finalized with a trio of Josh Ramsay joining his father and sister to sing, “Do you know everything happens / It happens in threes”, another layer of the metaphor of threes that leads into the second movement.

The second movement completely changes the musical motifs, taking away the rock drums and bright guitars and replacing it with fuzzy synthesizer over a heavy 4-on-the-floor pulsing bass drum beat. This introduces the first line, “A fever blur through names obscured”. You can immediately feel the drunkenness in the distant, quiet, haunting music, “And speech is slurred” confuses your brain with the layers of chorus and vocals that don’t quite line up and emphasize the onomatopoeia of “slur” by packing in alliteration with “speech” and elongating both S’s with a lingering, whispering, creepy voice that is distorted out of existence as the story of how he ended up here unfolds. “I'm on my own you came alone / All dressed up in bad news / I know you can hurt too / This would be the wrong move / Maybe we should leave soon”. To have come alone, dressed up in bad news meaning he is there alone as a direct response to something, presumably relationship issues. By the time we reach “This would be the wrong move” we get the impression of the rebound hookup contrasted with this hazed judgement. He knows its wrong and he’s going to do it anyway, made clear when he throws caution to the wall and sings, “Hey ever just say fuck it? / Maybe I'll drink this all away in buckets / Oh, hey, might as well say fuck it / I want to hurt myself until I love it”. This gets into the vice of drinking as a response to his mother’s health and his fiancé leaving him, the lack of parental guidance and being left to his own devices, his coping mechanisms having never formed past substance use and self-destructive behavior. “And the little deaths / Are a little less even if its just for a moment / Hey lets all say fuck it / I’m gonna make my mother so proud of it,” tells the listeners of the song that this is both a sardonic dig at his own behavior and feeling like he’s letting his mother down as well as letting the listener know that this is something he’s hurt over, that he so desperately wants to make his mother proud and he feels both that he as a person is incapable of being someone she could be proud of.

The final movement is ushered in by Josh Ramsay’s lead vocals screaming the main musical motif that has been present through the entire song while the set player goes crazy with drum fills and the bass and guitar hit their power chords to radiate and take up space underneath him in an epic climax of emotion. After the moment of silent reflection, the lines from the first movement return, “I'll say whatever doesn't make me stronger kills me / Buts its going to be a long year / Till the hospital might find hope in me”. Ramsay makes it a point to draw out the word “long” in a screaming belt that emphasizes just how much pain he’s going to go through that feels never-ending. The continued motif of tipping the common “Whatever doesn’t kill me makes me stronger” on its head helps describe the catastrophic impact of all of these issues in his life, feeling like everything is so hard, taking such a large toll, that he’s slowly dying, that all this hardship is killing him. This leads to a desperate call and response of the title, “Astoria” between Josh Ramsay and his family on the album, one again in a set of three. The desperation of his scream contrasted with the angelic harmonies of his family’s support create such a dire dichotomy that completely changes the effect of the word. The calls for “Astoria” fade out and the only thing left is a desolate quiet filled only with the slow pings of a piano, so high it sounds like a music box slowing down to a stop, and single broken voice singing over it. These final lines feel like a lullaby, repeating the last wish in the night, “Let the melody save me Astoria / Let the melody save me Astoria”, feeling almost child-like, begging for help from some kind of savior. “The quid pro quo's that will compose / From esoteric to common prose” is the line wrapped in the most layers of metaphor. Quid pro quo’s being an exchange, a bargain, and esoteric to common meaning it is something that started obscure but became something common, constant and expected. The important words in this phrase then are “compose” and “prose”, which relate it to language, this is something that is being sung or said. Likely, this is then about denial and coming to terms with his mom’s health, his fiancé leaving him, and his drinking as a result that led to his hospitalization. It’s all a form of grieving, and the exchange happens in composing lies and attempts to deny and justify behavior. The more you try to convince yourself that things are okay, the more you say the same things, the same lies, until they are “common prose”. Finally, the song closes with a chorus of voices from the band, their families, and friends singing, “Astoria”, leading into an upward key change that provides a hint of hope at the end of the journey.

#Marianas Trench #song analysis #MTSA #marinaras bench #astoria #josh ramsay #matt webb #mike ayley #ian casselman #MTrench

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fc5holidayexchange · 4 years

Text

Denial

Rose Dravić/Jacob Seed

@fantasmagoriam

“Here is my gift to you, I hope you enjoy it. X”

Deputy/Jacob Seed, Rose Dravić, Jacob Seed, fluff, domestic, secret rendezvous

************

Rose sat up and flicked her hair away from her face as she leant against the bed head, quickly pulling the sheet up to cover her naked body.

“We can’t keep doing this,” She murmured in a monotone voice, reaching out and grabbing the crumpled packet of cigarettes sitting on the nightstand next to her.

Feeling his eyes on her, Rose did her damn best to avoid the herald’s gaze by looking around the small dark green painted room. With one arm crossed over her stomach, she balanced the lit cigarette between her two fingers as she gently bit at the thumb nail of her other hand. As a Junior Deputy and leader of the Resistance, it was never in her plan to bed one of the Seed brothers.

Staring straight ahead at the wall with a slight frown, Rose struggled with these moments the most. She couldn’t decide which was worse, the silence or the shitty attempt at small talk. Either way, it seemed to last longer and longer after each time they ended up in bed together. Why?

Eventually curiosity got the better of her and she glanced over at the man laying next to her. Jacob appeared to be perfectly comfortable laying next to her the way he was. His hand was tucked between his head and the pillow. His chest was rising and falling, making his dog tags catch the natural light from outside the room.

“You say that every time,” Jacob mused. His deep blue eyes met her stare as he reached up and took the cigarette from between her lips. “Just like when you also said you were tryin to quit.”

His eyes slightly squinted with amusement, as he brought it to his own lips. She remembered how she used to hate the little crinkle in his eye when he smiled. It was when he was being cocky or self righteous, which annoyed the shit out of her. Since when did she start to find it attractive, and start to actually like it?

Rose sighed quietly and shook her head. He listened to her and took obvious notice, hence he knew about her wanting to quit. It was a passing comment she had made what felt like forever ago, when it reality it had only been weeks.

Silence filled the room, for what felt like a long time. Their ‘interactions’ weren’t ideal, considering they were leading opposing sides of Hope County’s cult war. But every time they crossed paths somehow, he felt some kind of a pull towards her. There was a connection, which he picked up on both in the bedroom and while battling it out over Eden’s Gate. Whenever he looked into her dark brown eyes he could tell that despite her defiant nature, she felt it too.

Regardless of how many reminders they gave themselves that they were enemies and only ever that – that pull wouldn’t go away.

Their first time together was driven by a combination of pure hatred, physical attraction and primal instinct. The dominance which neither of them wanted to give up, resulted in rough hate sex on the hard ground in the woods of the Whitetail Mountains. And although both would never admit it, it was the best and most hypnotic orgasm they had both ever experienced. So naturally, there was a follow up. And another. Then another, which led them to now; in bed sharing a cigarette.

Vulnerability and dependency were what she never wanted to feel again. She vowed to herself that she would never allow for it, but Jacob made that hard. He was nothing like her monster of an ex. Actually he wasn’t like anyone else she had ever met in her life. But she wasn’t ready to give anyone a piece of her heart - her daughter being the only exception.

Still with her arms folded, crossing her body protectively, Rose swung her legs to the side of the bed and stood up. As she walked out of the bedroom, she looked over her shoulder to see Jacob still laying there. His muscular body was now stretched out completely and taking up most of the bed. Naked as the day he was born, the Veteran looked like some kind of Greek god.

Leaning against the kitchen bench, Rose stared out the window as she waited for the kettle to slowly boil. The hints of Autumn were beginning to appear, with the golden pink hues highlighting the leaves of the trees. She pursed her lips, feeling somewhat heavy-hearted as the bubbling noise of the water became louder.

It was always during this particular time that Jacob would make it his cue to leave. It seemed to have become the unspoken agreement that by the time she poured the hot water into her coffee mug, Rose would hear a gentle click of the front door closing behind him. That’s just how things were. There wasn’t any need for sappy or civil goodbyes - or whatever else ‘normal’ people do after they’ve just hooked up.

Pouring the hot water in her favourite mug, Rose felt a pair of strong arms slowly and carefully wrap around her waist.

“So… you really don’t want this anymore?” Jacob asked quietly as he nestled his head into the crook of her neck, leaving butterfly kisses on her bare skin.

His unexpected touch made Rose’s eyes momentarily closed as she indulged in his touch. Bowing her head, she attempted to try and hide the little smile that was tugging at her lips.

“I never said I didn’t want it… just that we shouldn’t.”

Sure, she was surprised that he had stayed… but more so, surprised at how happy she felt about it.

Jacob hummed playfully, “We shouldn’t? Not even a little bit of this?”

His whiskers brushed along her skin as he kissed a little closer towards her jawline. He listened to her slowly exhale before tilting her head back to encourage him to keep going.

“Because I gotta say Deputy, I kinda like it,” Jacob’s gravelly voice purred in her ear, causing her heart to flutter. “And you know what?”

He reached for another coffee mug and placed it next to hers, keeping his other hand rested on her hip. “I reckon you do too.”

Rose raised an eyebrow, noticing the gesture as him wanting to stay longer and made a coffee for him too. Turning around, she held the coffee mug out towards her naked lover.

“So what if I do?” She asked before Jacob stepped closer towards her, to gently kiss her forehead.

To him, the Deputy was a stunning sight to see. Her smooth pale skin, dark hair and eyes.. the freckles which sprinkled across her face. Every feature of hers was strikingly beautiful to him. And the more she angered him - by destroying beacons and liberating outposts, he somehow became even more physically attracted to her. It was that pull.

Rose looked into his eyes and saw that softness she had seen a couple of times before. It was a look which made her feel, what people must mean when they say ‘warm and fuzzy.’ She hadn’t really felt that before and it scared her a little.

He tilted his head, his eyes never leaving hers. “Then I reckon we should let ourselves enjoy whatever this is, for however long it lasts.”

Rose’s eyes cast downwards, considering his words as she sipped her coffee. Sure it wasn’t the most romantic proposition, but it was real - and she respected that. However long it would last, would depend on countless variables. But despite any of that, she couldn’t help but resonate with the fact that he just wanted to have something in life to enjoy. Something private and sacred.

For him, that was her.

Just when things felt a little too serious - in classic Rose behaviour - she quickly felt the need to make light of the situation and turn things into a bit of a joke. Call it a coping strategy, who cares – it usually worked.

A mischievous smirk appeared on her lips. “So are you asking me to secretly be your girl as you stand in my kitchen naked?”

Jacob let out a quiet chuckle, “I never said anything about labels sugar… but if-“

He was interrupted abruptly by Rose’s lips suddenly pressing up against his and the feeling of the bedsheet falling down at their feet. Smiling through their kiss, she made the conscious decision to allow herself some enjoyment too. She let Jacob lead her back to the bedroom, laughing as he playfully smacked her on the backside as she rushed past him.

Nobody knew what tomorrow or next week would bring. If Joseph’s theory about the imminent Collapse was correct, then sleeping with Jacob wouldn’t make any difference to anything. And whatever else that was thrown her way, she would just handle it like she had to with everything else in life.

But right here and right now, she liked being in Jacob’s arms. And it was time she stopped trying to deny it.

#jacob seed/deputy #jacob seed #deputy oc #Rose Dravić #fluff #domestic #secret rendezvous #gift: fic #fantasmagoriam #submission

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itsjustashipperlife · 5 years

Text

ENDGAME THOUGHTS

So here it is. The longest post I’ll ever write, so bear with me. (I’m not kidding, this is HUGE).

I watched Endgame at 7 pm yesterday… Came back home at 11. And I posted that I would try to sleep and make this post today. You know how many hours I slept? Four. And I finally fell asleep at 3.30 am.

I will try to say all my thoughts on this post, so if I miss something, I’m sorry. (Note: although I like more characters, the IronFam, pepperony, irondad… Will be the main concerns here, so anti Tonys, get the fuck out)

SPOILERS AHEAD

I will try to say things that I liked first, then the ones that I didn’t like, and then we’ll get to the OG6 ends, okay? Okay.

THINGS I LIKED:

The whole movie has that atmosphere that this was it. The Endgame. And it really makes you anxious for the characters.

Clint’s first scene with his family is heartbreaking

Tony being so soft (a dad) with Nebula was fucking everything

Although it was expected, Carol rescuing Tony and Nebula was great. (I guess it’s because the message for Pepper was received… because then why was she waiting there?)

Tony saying “I lost the kid” killed me, and then he finally calms down when Pepper hugs him

Tony’s kiss on Pepper’s cheek

Tony cutting out Steve’s bullshit had me going “Yeah, honey! That’s it”

Seriously, he looks (and feels) like shit. And he gets the strength to get up, rip off his IV, and call him out before his body can’t stand anymore

What’s left of the team trying to fix it all, going to Thanos without second thoughts and killing him once and for all (okay, maybe not “forever”, but you know… Thor finally went for the head)

That “5 years later” gasp, seeing how the world is “moving on” after the decimation

Everyone’s fucking done, and tired, and hopeless (e.g. Nat, Steve, Rocket and Nebula, Rhodey, Clint…)

Nat’s break down, trying to stay positive about Clint, and about everything (also, Rhodey helping her, looking for Clint… Because in this blog, we love and respect Colonel James ‘Rhodey’ Rhodes)

Scott getting back from the quantum realm after (for him) 5 hours, to finally reunite with his now grown up daughter

Tony “moving on” (kinda). He has the life he said he wanted since AoU, with Pepper as his wife and his daughter, and living on a beautiful farm, away from everyone

Tony being the BEST DAD the MCU will ever see (no hate on Clint or Scott tho, it’s just my opinion). He loves her so much, and she loves her daddy too (3000

Morgan with the Rescue helmet

Tony kissing it

He carrying her inside to have dinner

The team getting to his house for help, cause he’s the only one that can do it

That shot of Tony pouring drinks for everyone in which we see his wedding band (because, of course, and like RDJ, Tony is that kind of man)

He being selfish about trying what Scott said. He has every right to be. Although Peter’s not there, he has Morgan. And he wants to be there for her. He’s allowing himself to be selfish for the first time in 15 years (being 2023 in the MCU right now… I think… technically…)

But… he’s Tony Stark. The selfless man the world will ever know. He can fix it, and he will

Nat, Scott and Steve talking with Bruce… or Hulk… or Proffesor Hulk (let’s call him Bruce)

Tony being domestic: doing the dishes, tucking his daughter in, the “I love you 3000″, and him being so cute with Morgan like… “whoa, honey, that’s a lot… that’s more than ‘tons’"

Him resolving the problems of the “time-travels” in a couple of hours… I stan one man… Also, Morgan seeing her daddy work and getting ice-cream before going to sleep. Again, the best dad

Once again, Tony being domestic talking with Pep (aka his wife, aka the love of his life, aka the mother of his daughter, aka his goddess, boss and queen), asking her what should he do, and Pepper, like always, being his voice of reason

Scott and Bruce trying to work with the quantum realm

Tony driving to the compound like the badass he is (also, while being a badass, still being a dad and putting toys and a teddy bear out the way of Cap’s shield)

Bruce and Rocket looking for Thor, the appereance of Valkyrie, Korg and Miek, and Thor playing Fortnite. (I found all of Thor’s scenes very funny, but at the same time I didn’t feel like it was okay to laugh about it. He’s clearly depressed during the whole film, and every character-like every person- deal with depression and ways to cope in different ways… so I don’t think that laughing at Fat Thor was nearly okay)

Clint being a badass

His scene with Nat, holding hands

Rhodey with the best fucking idea of the movie (go back in time to baby Thanos, and… you know the rest). Again, I love this man

Bruce freaking out about it. And explaining the way the MOVIE works

Clint being succesful on the first try

The WHOLE scenes of the “domestic” team, getting up ideas of how they’re going to recollect the stones (Loved every single one of them, and I would gladly watch a film that was all about Nat, Tony and Bruce lying on a table and talking)

Jane Foster making a come-back (kinda)… Also, Thor is me when I’m doing a presentation

Rocket calling Scott “puppy”

The team prepared. The whole “you know your teams, you know your missions” speech

The “unseen” parts of Avengers 1, after they got Loki

Scott giving 2012-Tony a heart attack and 2012-Thor helping with Mjolnir. All while actual-Tony gets the tesseract (for a while)

All of Rocket-Thor scenes in Asgard

Rhodey and Nebula laughing at Quill

2012-Cap vs actual-Cap (+America’s Ass), and the elevator scene

The ancient one and Bruce conversation

The whole thing with past and present Nebula

Stan Lee’s cameo

Tony and Steve going to 1970. Tony (aka Howard Potts… I died when his wife’s name is the first one that comes to his mind) talking to Howard Stark, having a dad to dad conversation, and Edwin Jarvis cameo. Meanwhile, Steve seeing Peggy.

Nat sacrifice for Clint. Clint crying afterwards…

The team decided to not let her sacrifice be in vain (+Bruce’s reaction)

Bruce undoing the snap

Past-Gamora helping actual-Nebula (+killing old-Nebula)

Thor, Steve and Tony fight with Thanos (while the rest of the team is trying to get the gauntlet)… (+THAT scene of Steve and Mjolnir)

THAT FUCKING SCENE WHERE ALL OF THE FALLEN AVENGERS COME BACK (+RESCUE!!) AND STEVE FINALLY SAYS “AVENGERS ASSEMBLE”

SERIOUSLY, THAT WHOLE SCENE

Rescue and Iron Man fighting back to back like the power couple they are

Rescue-Mom giving Spiderman and the gauntlet a ride

Tony and Peter reunion *sobbing* (+Groot and Rocket, +Hope and Scott, +Quill and Gamora)

THAT SCENE WITH ALL THE WOMEN FIGHTING TOGETHER (Pepper being the badass she fucking is!!)… The only woman I missed was Nat… *sobbing again*

TONY’S “I AM IRON MAN”

PEPPER’S “ITS OKAY… YOU CAN REST NOW”

PETER SOBBING. PEPPER SOBBING. RHODEY HOLDING PETER

PETER GOING BACK TO NED AND MAY

THE VIDEO. “I LOVE YOU 3000″

THE FUNERAL WITH ALL THE TEAM (+HARLEY)

RHODEY AND HAPPY COMFORTING EACH OTHER BEHIND MORGAN AND PEP

“PROOF THAT TONY STARK HAS A HEART”

UNCLE HAPPY AND THE FUCKING CHEESEBURGUERS

Thor going with the Guardians (+Quill looking for Gamora)

Clint with his fam

Scott with his fam

Steve giving the shield to Sam

(this is kinda)-> Steve going to Peggy

In conclusion: MY HEART IS FUCKING BROKEN FOR THIS MOVIE, but nontheless I “loved” it

Okay… so now that we are done… Let’s talk about what I didn’t like:

I needed more Pepper/Tony moments, and more Pepper “mommy” moments

Uncle Happy was great… BUT WHAT ABOUT UNCLE RHODEY!

Steve, get out of the fucking way! Tony doesn’t need you now (at the begining of the movie). He needs Pepper, and Rhodey, and food, water and sleep

Rhodey not getting a hug with Tony at the begining of the movie

Not May/Tony conflict/crying over their ‘son’

I don’t know if I like Howard’s and Tony’s talk… I do like it, but idk. I guess that in the movies he wasn’t physically abusing to him… But at least he gets to talk with his dad and he realizes he’s a very good dad with Morgan (aka, his “little girl” *sobs*)

TONY DESERVES BETTER. THE WHOLE IRONFAM DESERVES BETTER. MORGAN, PEPPER, RHODEY, HAPPY, PETER… MY GOSH, EVEN THE BOTS AND FRIDAY (I can’t talk about him in past tense, I’m sorry. I’m just in denial)

THAT FUCKING CHEESEBURGUER LINE (I swear, I will never get over that fucking line)

Steve getting to live his “endgame” with Peggy, leaving everyone behind (aka Bucky and Sam, but mostly Bucky) and being FUCKING SELFISH (in my eyes… and for what I’ve read, in a lot of actual Cap’s fans too)

How come that “the man who lays in the wire” is the one that leaves, and “the man who would cut the wire” is the one that fucking LAYS ON IT (again)

Alright. Now I’m going to talk about the OG6 ends. Although I have leave my points of view up… But I still want to talk about it more thoroughly:

Clint: Finally, Clint got his protagonism in the team. He’s going to do “whatever it takes” (and he means WHATEVER) to bring his family back. I liked his end, there’s nothing more to discuss about it.

Bruce: Yeah, Bruce finally got the best of both worlds, the mind and the strength… But what’s he going to do now?

Thor: Thor’s end was okay (IMO)… He doesn’t have the strength to be the king anymore… But Valkyrie does. And he has great chemistry with the Guardians, so I didn’t mind him going with them.

Nat: Nat’s ending was great. Let me explain. I didnt like that she died. But I felt it very on character… She has no family, her family are the avengers. And she wants to bring them back. Clint is like her brother (I’m a little into Clintasha tbh, but I accept that they give them that brother/sister relationship long ago. It proofs that not all the male/female friendships have to end in a romantic relationship), and she did anything she could to undo the snap during 5 fucking years.

Steve: Hated it (him). Yeah, you “loved” Peggy… Whatever. (The Russos trying to put Steggy as the Royal ship when everyone KNOWS that that title belongs, AND WILL ALWAYS BELONG, to Pepper and Tony). He’s just looking at the past, he has never moved on, and he never will. He let Tony gave up his family (at the age of 53… god, he had a lot to live for) and then he left Bucky behind (and the whole Hydra mess too), when he always was so nuisance about him all these years…

Tony: Hate/Love it. I love it because it’s the way of fully close the circle of this whole journey, and he’s the SAVIOR of the fucking MCU, now and always. Haters can shut their mouths now after what he did…

I hate it because… He’s my baby. He finally had the life he craved for all these years. Married to Pep, with his baby girl; trophy husband, doting father… and now he’s… gone. He’ll never see Morgan grow up (her first day at college, her first bf/gf, her graduation, her wedding, his grand-kids… any of it), he’ll never see Peter go to college either. Pepper will see all of that alone (not completely, because Happy and Rhodey will always be there, but someone will be always missing). Morgan won’t ever doubt that her daddy loves her, but still he won’t be there to kiss her goodnight, nor to tell her shitty bed time stories. (God, I’m crying again… and I really want to say I am joking, but I’m not).

Tony fucking DESERVED BETTER.

The whole IRONFAM DESERVED BETTER.

Rhodey hold his head and pet his hair, with tears in his eyes that he refuses to let out. Peter calling him Tony for the first time ever… “We won”

Also, Pepper is the STRONGEST WOMAN IN THE MCU. No one will EVER change my mind. She went into battlefield to help her husband, to protect their kid, and she hates violence. She fought beside him, helped defeat Thanos… And, when Tony (her Tony) was dying… She kneeled next to him, to reassure him that they would be okay, that he “can rest now”. And she didn’t break until he was gone. So the last thing he would see was her being the calm, competent person he knows she is. SHE FUCKING WAITS TILL HE’S GONE. SHE HOLDS HER TEARS AND HER SOBS SO HE WOULD FEEL OKAY. SO THAT HE COULD REST. And then, when the light of his arc reactor is out, and his hand is no longer in hers, she let it all out. She kissed his cheek one last time and sobs with her face buried in his neck… And I can’t deal with it.

Tony’s last message… “I love you 3000″ is another heartbreak. And the “Proof that Tony Stark has a heart” is the best… But the fucking cheeseburguers… If I weren’t sobbing and trembling during all that, the cheeseburguer was the charm that made me explode. It was over. It was really over. And that line made it true.

And the point is… I can’t read fanfics now. Nor see fanarts, fanvids, edits, you name it. Hell, I don’t think I’ll be able to watch any movie with Tony in it with the same eyes anymore… Any of the Iron Man movies, Homecoming, Civil War… It’s just too much. I won’t be able to watch Iron Man 1 again the same as I did before… with the cheeseburguer, and Pepper tears because she “hates job hunting”, Yinsen and his question about family, or the first time Tony flies out of his garage, with that huge, happy smile on his face.

Every time that I see 3000, I get fucking sad. And I was crying when I got home yesterday. When I calmed down a bit, I entered Instagram and Robert posted that photo of him and Jimmy Rich “holding” the A of Avengers and the tag #iloveyou #3000 and I fucking cried again… Fuck, I’ve been crying while writing all of this post.

I’m not even able to read some fluff fanfic from a couple of years ago… Pre-Infiniry war era to cheer me up. It just makes me sadden.

And… I think that’s it… I hope someone will read aaaaall my rant, but I can’t sum anything up.

TONY STARK, I LOVE YOU 3000 (ALWAYS WILL)

67 notes · View notes

intheheartofthematter · 5 years

Photo

TFBM "Lioness" (Source: Flickr/ exodus-travels)

Photo by Gramps, Nov ‘68, 4th birthday, Knott’s Berry Farm... Knott’s first every visit for little cars, farm animals, horse rides.

TFBM 2016 “Happy Birthday, Dad! I love and miss you! (I sang Happy Birthday, too) First birthday since...” ❤️

TFBM 2013 (Three months after my grandpa died, his dad) “Today is my Dad's birthday. I called him and he's really sick again, and sounds so depressed. He says he's getting old and he's so tired of being in pain and stuck in a wheelchair and in a nursing home. He doesn't want me to visit him today, but said maybe tomorrow. As usual, he let me go quickly, said he needed his pain shot and then said, I love you, through tears, almost sobs and hung up. It's so hard and I don't know what else I can do for him. I just needed to say something, think out loud.”

TFBM 2014 (Bill Eppridge—LIFE Picture Collection) “In late 1968, not long after famously capturing Robert Kennedy's assassination, Bill Eppridge spent two healing months among wild horses in the fabled landscape of the American West.”

youtube

This share is not about the main lyrics...

Sent to me shortly before he died, ‘So you won’t forget me’ I never could. I will remember you throughout eternity! ❤️

A couple of my Grandpa’s late years ‘wild horses’ paintings *card size prints in an album

Tonight! Tuesday Tuck In

One tradition passed down from my grandparents & dad💕 My baby at Knott’s riding horses there like me when little. And, just like me, didn’t want to get off when time was up.

Currently watching...

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I’m hoping to find photos showing how different Knott’s was when I was little. I’d like to point out my favorite memories. The farm animals area had a mascot dog, Queenie, who was always a tail-wagging greeter. She was the first one I wanted to go see and hug and get face-licks from. Just like Lassie, they were brilliant in naming each same breed dog Queenie over the years, when one would pass. Later, Knott’s Scary Farm and Knott’s Merry Farm came into existence. T likes to go to the Halloween Haunt every year. I used to go all the time, too. Since my birthday is just two days after Halloween it’s usually celebrated in some Halloween combination. I remember when I went to Knott’s Scary Farm with my friends for my 16th birthday and I couldn’t wait to visit the farm. “Farm?” Yeah, it’s still here although not a main attraction now. I went home with a Red Satin bunny. I named her Pumpkin.

An oil painting by my grandpa. A couple of detail shots...

I couldn’t avoid the lighting on it in my room...

I have a small oil painting of cats, given to me when I was a little girl, and three of his pen etchings; a fox, a rabbit, and my favorite of a tree. I also have two paintings of flowers I asked for. All used to be up on the walls in my homes. T has a few of them in my stored belongings at their place, as well as my piano. I hope they don’t get damaged at any point. There’s a sad story about a lot of my grandfather’s work, and who has them, who avoided me after the funeral. My family out there say they will try to figure out a way to get them back, but I know they won’t, or can’t. This woman is wealthy and thinks she’s entitled. Anyway, it’s not important. My family who have paintings of his offered them to me, to take them down off of their walls (of course I couldn’t take them)... this woman avoided me at all costs, with several excuses, until I had to leave. I don’t know why they’re so important to her! Anyway, this painting was one that my dad loved. He had it hanging in his homes for years. When he became paralyzed, he pleaded with the doctors to let him go home again. Once he pushed through physical therapy and proved he was strong enough to do it, they released him. But, sadly, his roommate came home one day to a tipped over wheelchair, blood (and more) all over the walls and floor, and my dad missing. Thankfully, a neighbor heard him cry out and called an ambulance. We had no idea which hospital he was taken to. By the time I found him, walking into the ER room sectionals, the nurse across the way told the others, his DR says he’s DNR. I looked over and saw that it was my dad... too many details to tell it all, but I said, “No he’s not! Resuscitate him right now!” Who are you? - His daughter. What doctor said that? He’s fired. And I had her call my dad’s Internal Medicine doctor, who agreed to become his primary doctor. Too many details, but even after all that happened, they didn’t insert the tube correctly, and I pointed that out, because they were saying it was useless that he was going to die. So, they rushed him to x-ray and found out I was right, and corrected it. Everything was a nightmare. There’s so much more. He had a raging staph infection. His skin was discolored throughout his entire body, looking leopard-like. They said he wouldn’t recover from it... just like when they wanted me to pull the plug and he fully recovered. It goes on and on... too much to think about, really. But, that’s when the doctor did the dirty work for me and told him that he had to go back to a nursing home. Anyway, this painting, and some of my dad’s other belongings (when I moved him out of that house with his roommate), was kept in the warehouse where I worked. When I finally got my piano and the other stuff out of there only a few years ago, I planned to bring this painting to my dad and hang it in his room at the home. He was looking forward to it, but then his health took a turn, and he died before I could bring it to him. So, it’s been sitting in my room since... painting side against the wall, to protect it, braced by other things. If I could get my own place, I would hang them all again. I think at this point, we’re stuck here until spring, losing more money to rent, medical, meds and all in the meantime. I just hope that nothing changes by spring and we can still make this happen before I won’t be able to contribute anything or do for myself in that way. We’ll see 🙏🏻

Oh! I almost forgot! Look what I came across yesterday: baby...

I noticed my photos program created this video this August. It’s mostly of Aiden (T’s Make-A-Wish kitty) one of the last times when he was real sick, and I’m also trying to connect on Skype with T for him in the video, lol... It helped him a lot. We finally managed to get through to each other. They Skyped daily a few times... he was anticipating it in the one shot. It was awful how he died. Just like my dad. Neither should have gone through what they did. I can’t let that happen to Marozi. Everyone needs to brace themselves soon. Neither my aunt or T are ready to have him put down, and I talk about it all the time, but both keep saying he’s better in between... For what? Half a day? Anyway, dreading it, too. But I can’t experience more like that. I just can’t. It’s too much for me. I’ve seen and been through too much already. The flashbacks of both of them are hard. And, not just of them... of the children I watched die in the hospital, of all of the medical stuff I saw with my kid, my dad, Alex, others and my beloved animals, too. I just can’t. But, here’s the video... strange... the music doesn’t fit either. And, although Aiden looks awful in these photos, it’s not so bad that I wince and cringe and feel that deep emotional pain. Just sharing to get it out, I guess:

vimeo

Currently watching, The Last Airbender, on our new 55″ TV. Not bad. Theater sound. Our old TV went out two days ago. Waiting to hear if T & Alexandria are coming over for AHS. I have the house to myself for a few hours. Relaxing now... Trying to get my symptoms to calm down. Hours late on meds. Still can’t go without them. I guess I need Prednisone this time. I don’t think life will ever be easy for me. Ever. Nothing new. I have to accept that, and have, and will. (Wed. 1:45pm)

(Art by willow-s-linda) - 9/26/19 2:18-2:42pm

Oh! You want to know what’s happening...

Well, T & Alexandria came over last night, but didn’t stay as late as usual. In part because my brother had to drive them home and needed to get up early today because he went to Universal Studios Halloween Horror Nights. It must be nice to receive disability and health insurance and spend most of your time watching TV or playing video games or constantly going to amusement parks... Bitter, who me? And, I wasn’t feeling well, with my head foggy, so I didn’t feel like talking about any plans or progress on their part and they didn’t bring it up either. But, today, feeling worse I wrote to T. No response yet, but classes and work, etc. I’ll just paste screenshots. I left one little part out that is a little too personal to disclose publicly. Even if no response really, just knowing someone cares and listens is comforting (and I might delete a few later, but leave one that gives the gist for reference remembrance). I have to fwd them to be able to add here. I need a few. OK, here we go:

Maybe I said too much and it will just be skimmed again. But, I text, sent a detailed email before, and talk in person when I see them when I can and it doesn’t seem like I’m getting through to them. T tends to go into denial about the seriousness of a lot of things. I think it’s a coping mechanism. Like with Aiden and Marozi. Anyway, I noticed a few typos, too. Whatever. And, I typed loops instead of hoops (make you go through), but it feels more like loops, so it’s fitting, lol. I’m propped up in the living room chair with my support cushions and pillows, since my brother’s not here to take over the chair, and just made myself Double Spice Chai in my Stitch mug, and hope to find a movie to distract myself with for the time being. Hope your day is going smoothly! :)

Currently watching. Nothing else on... Previously known in person, but I’ll take it as a refresher on these types.

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TFBM (Source: thinned-skin via -thefixisin)

New listing townhouse. I went ahead and sent the link, saying that if we could get a different lender and a little more offered (not much more) this would be ideal. Coupled with my subtle joke, the funny part was in the real estate wording, trying to make it sound like an automatic chair was a big selling point: “What a deal!’’ (I don’t think they thought it was funny.)

Hard to see, but the stair chair is to the right, top of stairs.

TFBM

Peppermint tea and lights off, darkening blinds closed, diffusing a mix of Frankincense, Eucalyptus and Rosemary for the first hour. Next, I’ll add Peppermint and Lavender. The baby wants in with me so bad. He keeps rattling the doorknob and meowing in such a sorrowful way. He leaves and then comes back. It’s mid-afternoon. He can cat nap on the cat tree.

Putin will try a few scare tactics, through his cronies, but will let it go, not really caring. He has other tactics to gain his end, but I don’t think he realizes just how outdated most are, lol. It’s kind of funny to watch. But, on the serious side, it’s scary.

Frankincense, Eucalyptus, Rosemary, Peppermint and Lavender is an odd combination. I’m mostly smelling the Frankincense and Eucalyptus now. The others must have brought out those two to the forefront. Frankincense helps boost the immune system and reduces inflammation. Eucalyptus stimulates the immune system, relaxes sore muscles, helps with depression and fatigue, sinus and allergies, and mental exhaustion; per science.

Chewbacca (Source: aleriydraws)

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

And Saved

Just a gist :)

#FBF This goes with the Knott’s stuff (Camp Snoopy)

WAIT! Something’s happening behind the scenes, like... I hear whispers and see many faces and finger pointing... what is it? WHAT IS IT? This pinned tweet is a distraction, a place holder, something people will stay with mentally, his signal to the alt right? I can’t tell. It’s a signal but for what? To who? Something’s going on. I hope it’s not something devastating. Stay vigilant whoever you are. I need to tune in, focus to see. WTH Trump? (Fri 9/27 8:45 pm)

ahem

I’m using this song to help focus...

Yes, I can. You underestimate me. Give it to me. IT, explosion, something missing. OK, blocking with energy.

youtube

I Am Lion

+ Still no response from T even after I wrote again today... I gave them a percentage of the original lender offer to deposit into their savings account to show we had at least that much for a down payment. Since it’s taking so long and doesn’t seem like it’s going to happen I’ve repeatedly told them both I need that money back to either use to afford moving/living expenses on my own, or medical if I’m without insurance much longer (part of the reason to move out of state), or to redeposit into the account it came from before the end of the year, if we move but not until spring, so I don’t get penalized for taking out too much this year without investment or proof of other mentioned.

Lemongrass tx alone right now, might add a few others.

Cliff Burton has a few things to say in my last personal post. I’ll be adding them soon… lending his energy. Thanks for reminding me Faith No More. And, get well, James… I’ll be with you soon in energy. too. You’ve been through enough. And you’ve remained one of the nicest guys I know. Remember. (Yeah, I sound crazy. Who cares. I know what I’m doing.) Here’s this for now, live footage, from “Ride The Lightning” =

For Whom the Bell Tolls (9/28 4:24)

(5:23) Are you listening to the bass too?

Orion

The Call of Ktulu

The Four Horsemen

And, what do you know... I got a response, finally. It looks like I possibly can get insurance through them. Will be checking out the link sent to me soon. Fingers crossed.

Lemongrass tx, now with Teatree, Lavender & Cedarwood too.

OK, I’ll admit it, I’m slow because I haven’t been feeling well. We got part of it figured out... I used a “green” light, “green” in the Metallica song... money is “green”... Trump is suddenly receiving a lot of money, so they say... a golf course is “green”. IT, Intelligence Test, [What is an IT raid? IDK] (IT, Institute of Technology; IT, In Training...) Thank God for energy in the meantime... still need more.

Ohhh!!! IT, Income Tax [raid]. “Green” is money, and sudden donations, tax evasion… Trump! OK, we’ve gotten a little farther… oh, this is good. OK, golf resorts are “green”, too. Whispering on the “green”. Those who can do are you listening? Do the math… you’ve got this! There’s more. I’ll keep on, too.

I keep getting Moscow. Not Russia. Not Putin. Moscow. I don’t understand.

Even though T gave me info, and said they could give me the money back, nothing more was said. I told T to hang onto it for now and explained no rush, but by mid December at latest to redeposit if we don’t move before spring or if I need it sooner for medical expenses. Asked what they’re thinking at this point and an important question to be able to get the insurance too. I think they’re upset with me. But, come on... I’ve been more than fair and patient until now, when I have pressing matters. It’s sad and sucks. Everything.

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vaixation · 5 years

Text

Why I've been gone for two weeks – Please note that this post is going to contain some serious content. However, this is a really important personal update from me.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: - Animal death - Suicide ideation - Depression/anxiety/dissociation - (Brief mention of abuse/trauma/C-PTSD)

Post under the Read More. - - -

I'm sure there's a lot of people who didn't even notice I haven't been online anywhere for the past two weeks considering I'm a pretty quiet individual and often keep to myself / disappear off the social radar for months at a time. However, there's a pretty specific reason this time why I haven't been around, and it's important to discuss.

At the time I am writing this, it is currently Friday, May 3, 2019. I'm writing this ahead of time because... I cannot sleep and I need to get some of these thoughts off my mind. This week has been the worst week of my entire life, without exaggeration. I'll start from the beginning.

For those that don't know, a tornado came through my area on April 19th. I would like to state right off the bat that I am fine - it missed my house, but only just barely. We can literally see the path / damage of the tornado from our house. Apparently it actually formed RIGHT THERE - the people who live just like three houses up the road from ours said they actually saw the tornado's funnel come down out of the sky. It's wild to think a tornado could come to life that close to our house. We were very fortunate to be okay.

I can't necessarily say the same for others, however. I don't know if anyone got hurt, but I did hear that one person's house was completely flattened. (Apparently there was actually someone inside, but she went down into the basement and was okay. Also concerning her welfare and loss of property - I heard there was a fundraiser that was helping their family out, and they apparently were on the TV at some point too about it all? That's just what I've heard through the grapevine - it's all second hand information so I don't know how much is accurate and I've no way to double-check right now.) (EDIT: I have double-checked for our area now that I have internet again and I can confirm no-one in our area was actually hurt. All the damage is to buildings and property, thankfully.) There's entire areas of trees that have just been wiped out. And I know there was a bus that literally got thrown up by the wind and is now just sticking out of the ground. Last time I saw it, they still haven't fixed that.

Point being, we lost power for a whole day. They managed to fix the power pretty quickly considering the damage, but the internet? At the time of writing this... I still don't have internet. And that's the primary reason I haven't been around. But it gets so much worse from here on out. For me at least.

So, my week was already really stressful for this reason (not to mention MY JOB requires the internet and I have NOT been able to do any of my work; my bosses know my situation but it's still very stressful.) We called our ISP multiple times trying to get it to work - they've sent out two technicians so far and narrowed it down to the modem router. It wasn't hooked up to a surge protector, and the power going out the way it did seems to have zapped the modem router and it no longer works. So we decided to buy a new one, and I swear we went to at least ten to fifteen different stores looking for a new modem router.

The problem is, all the new modem routers in stock are coaxial cable modem routers. Our ISP is only a VDSL / ADSL modem router (requiring a phone line), and we went through several stores looking for a DSL to coax adapter with no such luck. Apparently, an adapter / converter like that doesn't even exist. The closest thing we could find was an ethernet to coax cable, but that's not what we need obviously. Through some other connections we managed to finally just order a DSL modem router via Ebay; it's supposed to get here on Monday of this week, so... we'll see if it does by then, I guess.

(EDIT: It arrived sooner than expected. We’ve been able to get it up and running, otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to post this, obviously.)

But, well. That's not really why this has been the worst week of my life. I mean, it doesn't help, but... I can live without the internet for a week or two, you know? I've gone years without it. Whatever.

The thing is...

My cat died.

And this wasn't just some random cat, okay. His name was Chip - or rather, Slavashado. (It's pronounced "sluh-VAAH-shuh-doe") You see, I modeled his name after T. S. Eliot's poem "The Naming of Cats." Within this poem, it states that a cat must have three names. One is a common, everyday, ordinary name. Chip. One is unique to him. Slavashado. And one, only he himself knows. And he took it to his grave.

Chip's been with me basically almost my entire life. He was 21 years old. I'm 26 right now; I'll be 27 in June. So he's literally been in my life since I was 6 years old. He's always been there for me. Always.

So I cannot possibly put into words how heartbroken I am that he's gone.

I love him with all my heart. And I always will. But he's gone now.

I can't even remotely describe how empty I feel. How utterly alone I am. There's a void in my soul that's so deep it feels like it's going to erode me from the inside out.

You know, I've never lost anyone close to me before. It's not that I'm a stranger to death... far from it. I'll get into that later. But... this is the first time I've ever truly lost someone I really, really, truly cared about. I've always thought grief would be a linear thing. I've seen the Kübler-Ross model of grief more times than I can count. "DABDA" for short - Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance.

It's not linear. Not for me. I feel all of these things at the same time somehow. It's not like I felt denial first, then moved onto the angry stage. No. I just feel all of them at the same time. And I'm so overwhelmed. And I'll go from one end of this spectrum to the other end and back again. It's far from linear.

The sad thing is, I feel my grip on this world unraveling each day. My world already ended with Chip... He meant everything to me. I love him more than anything else in this whole world. So... I've admittedly been having some very bad, depressive, suicidal thoughts. I'm not actively going to do something to myself, don't worry. But... I've been thinking lately, you know what? If a car runs over me, I don't care. What if the storms knock a tree over on my house and it flattens me? So what. What if I'm in a car wreck and die? I just... feel so apathetic.

It's like that song. "If the silence takes you, then I hope it takes me too."

But... I can't join him. Not yet. I still have to live a full life, you know? I can't come to you yet, sweetheart. I'm so sorry. I want to, but I can't. Not yet. I have to live a life that would make you proud of me, love.

Maybe we'll meet again in another life. Cats have nine lives after all...

But I've also just felt like I've started to really disconnect from reality, too. The other day someone said something - innocent, really - but the angry part of myself wanted to lash out and destroy and hurt. And the scariest thing was, I almost didn't care. Grief's not an excuse to lose your compassion, but I fear that I'm really losing it. It's hard to feel like anything's real, and somehow everything's all too real at the same time.

His health just... declined so rapidly in the last month. He went from being okay and active and about, to suddenly he can't jump anymore. Suddenly he's very lethargic and having a multitude of issues; he wouldn't be able to stand up without falling over. It got to the point where he wouldn't move around much anymore. I had to take care of him on a daily basis; almost 24/7 I'd watch him to make sure he was okay and wasn't having a hard time pooping/peeing and would wash him because he no longer had the strength to take care of himself or move anywhere or do much of anything.

I had to make a certain mixture of foods the vet prescribed to keep his nutrition levels up and to make it so he wouldn't be constipated, and had to monitor that he was eating / drinking enough. Eventually he stopped eating his food, so I ended up mixing it all in water and making it a liquid paste that he could drink instead, which he would gladly do. There were some glands on his throat that were swollen, so I think it was making it hard for him to eat even with the special food we had.

So... it both was and wasn't sudden. On one hand, it happened so fast? His health just plummeted and spiraled downhill within a few weeks. But on the other hand... he was just doing so badly. We took him to the vets multiple times and, there's really only so much that can be done. He was really old, you know? 21 is a long time for a cat to live. It's longer than most cats. I know he lived a long, good life, knowing he was well loved and cared for. And I truly did everything I could for him. I know I can't blame myself for anything, even though I tried to. I did my best, you know? But nothing lasts forever. All things one day die. It's the law of nature. And I'm no stranger to death. I know all too well this reality.

This isn't something I talk about a lot, but one of my parents was really abusive. She was really abusive to animals too. I've seen death. And horrible, traumatizing things too appalling to get into here. I've known from an early age that all things die. It's one reason I'm not... surprised. In a way, I accept that. I understand. I know.

It's why I'm a little obsessed with "morbid" themes, as others have put it. Death. Bones. Rot. Decay. (Plague flight on Flight Rising, anyone?) None of that is new to me. Finding an intrigue in it is a way of coping with it. Did you know that kids who deal with C-PTSD often recreate their trauma through play? Or fixate / obsess on the trauma somehow? That's why I literally relate so heavily to Henry from Fire Emblem: Awakening. He's the same way. He's seen animal death and cruelty. But he's also un-phased by blood and guts and everything. (He denies his trauma, but denial and even amnesia can be a big, big part of trauma. And the way he talks about his past almost sounds like he's dissociated from those feelings. I relate a lot to that too... I honestly find Henry to be very therapeutic to exploring my own feelings at times.) This is the reason I find horror and creepy content fascinating. And more often than not, it's hard to scare me. Fiction is so much less scary than the real thing.

My point is, I'm very aware of death. I'm aware of that finality. I'm aware of its permanence. Nothing I can do will ever bring my cat back. He's gone. So in a way, I accept that. And in a way, I also can't accept that answer. I miss him. I want him here with me.

In a way I'm kind of thankful that our internet wasn't working. It allowed me to attend to him in his last days without any other distractions. I spent so much time with him. And that gives me so small amount of peace, knowing that.

And I think he knew, the day he died. It was April 28th, somewhere in between 9-10 PM. I can't believe it's only been five days. It feels like an eternity without him here. But, that day, he was suddenly a lot more active than he'd been in months. He was up and walking around and came over to me and crawled up behind where I was sitting and snuggled and cuddled with me. I take comfort in the fact we shared a beautiful moment that day. Just sitting there, petting him, breathing in his wonderful scent and burying my face into his soft, warm fur. The deep purring, the soothing vibrations of his noise. I wish that moment could last a lifetime. I'm so thankful for the time I had with him though. It both feels like it was the right time - that it was meant to be - and at the same time I feel like he's left me far too soon. I miss him. I miss him so, so very much.

At least I got to hold him when he passed. I stroked his fur and cried as the last of his spasms died down. I've always feared I would find him one day and he just wouldn't wake up, so seeing him actually pass... it was scary. But it was good for me too. It brings me some small amount of closure that I could be with him in his final moments. He didn't have to die alone. For that I'm so thankful.

You deserve the best of everything, love. You were my faithful friend and companion for basically my whole life. I'll never, ever forget you.

Where are you now? Are you with the stars? Are you in my dreams? Where-ever you are, I hope you're safe. And happy. And at peace. Because I love you so, so much. And I always will. Now until the end of time, when death claims me too one day.

You know, at the start of the year, on New Year's, somehow... I knew. Somehow I knew this was going to be the year. I don't know why I did, but I just... felt it. And I promised myself, no matter what happens, I am going to make this a good year. And I will. But right now, I'm hurting. I'm hurting really bad.

Nothing lasts forever.

Not even pain. I'll be okay. But right now, I'm not.

"Whenever there is a meeting, a parting is sure to follow. However, that parting need not last forever... Whether a parting be forever or merely for a short time... That is up to you." - The Happy Mask Salesman, The Legend of Zelda: Majora's Mask

We buried him amongst some of the trees growing back behind our house. I buried him with some things - that heart pendant I used to slip into my photographs to mark them as "mine," for instance. It was a really important necklace to me. So I thought it was only appropriate that he have it. My heart belongs to him, after all. I buried him with a book that was also really sentimental to me. It's called Consider Love. The last line in the book was "Consider my love for incredible you." I signed it to Chip (Slavashado), from me (my name). I love you, sweetheart. I love you so, so much. Do you know that? I'm sure you did.

And I sang him a song, one last time. I don't know how many of you know this, but... when I was a child, my parents used to sing me a song. It became really sentimental to me because of this - memories of childhood days long past, so I sang it to him too. I modified some of the lyrics though.

"You are my sunshine, My only sunshine, You make me happy When skies are gray... You never know, dear, How much I love you... Please don't take My sunshine away.

The other night, dear, As I lay sleeping, I dreamt I held you In my arms. When I awoke, dear, I was mistaken, So I hung My head and cried.

You told me once, dear, You truly loved me. And nothing else could Come between. But now you've left me, To fly to heaven, You're amongst The stars and dreams."

I wrote him a letter, drew him a little picture, and wrote down those lyrics for him too. He'll always have it with him. We put him on his bed and put all of that in a box and put that into the ground. We're planning on planting some flowers out there.

Digging a hole is so much harder than I thought it'd be. There's so many rocks and roots and the chunks of dirt can be hard to lift out of the ground. To be honest I wasn't much help though. I basically just cried the entire time. I didn't even know my face could make that shape. I've never seen my own face in such agony before, but looking in the mirror I wouldn't even recognize myself for the sorrow in my features. It's just so foreign. Alien. It's weird to me.

In a way, actually physically burying him gave me closure. In a way it just made it so much worse. I feel all sides of this grief spectrum at the same time. Acceptance. Denial. Those two things are one and the same now.

It's okay to grieve. It's normal. It's natural. But it just hurts so much.

No amount of reading about grief can really... prepare you for it.

I've cried and cried until my head hurts and my face does too. Every time I open the door to my room, it hits me all over again. There's no one here. There's no one waiting for me at home, no small face peeking at me from the top of the stairs. It's so empty here. It's so lonely. It's so unfathomably quiet. And it's just too much.

I've even gone out to visit his grave, came back inside the house, opened the room to my door, and realized - he's not here. And I was literally just at his grave. It's all the small things, you know? I miss him in so many ways, little things I've gotten used to that tell me of his existence, but that presence - it's gone. And when I'm here in this room, it's so crushingly obvious. His aura no longer flows from his position. Where he should be, there's just nothing. He's not here anymore. He never will be here again. I know that. I do. I know he's gone. But it's just... it's so weird.

He's here one day, and gone the next.

"The years now before us, Fearful and unknown. I never imagined I'd face them on my own. May these thousand winters, Swiftly pass I pray. I love you - I miss you - All these miles away..." - Lullaby for a Princess

I thought I'd have more time. I looked at the can of food I had planned to feed him the next day (and I was really excited for him to try this flavor, too) and just lost it. There's not a tomorrow. He's gone.

I found a trace of his fur on a piece of furniture, and I just started crying all over again.

I leafed through some of the few pictures I've taken of him over the years - far, far too few. And I wanted so badly to reach through the screen onto the other side, where he is. Because he's not here anymore. It's just so hard.

I want him to come back to me.

And at the same time, I don't.

It was meant to be. There's no undoing what's done. He's gone. I know that. But it doesn't change my feelings. I miss him. I love him. And I hurt. I need him. What am I going to do without you, love? You were my constant. You were always there for me, every time I've wanted to end my life. Every time I've wanted to give up. You were there. I need you. I need you so much. You've left me too soon. But I wouldn't undo a single moment. I'll cherish each one of them.

"But time is not eternal. Please make the most of your time." - The Happy Mask Salesman, The Legend of Zelda: Majora's Mask

The fact that it's not eternal is what makes life so precious. Time is what gives each and every moment and second of our lives meaning, because that's time you'll never get back.

It's time like this that I'm also thankful for all the storylines I've grown attached to. Somehow, they're really cathartic to me. And they've all taught me things that have made this easier to deal with than if I didn't have them.

Super Danganronpa 2 with its message that, to give up on life is a blasphemy unto life itself. Don't give up, or you're spitting on the beauty that life is. Even if it's hard. That's all part of what makes life beautiful and worth living.

Or Undertale. That if you could control time, rewind, redo, it'd lose all meaning. Life would be static. Unmoving. And you'd get bored. Very, very bored. You'd lose what makes you... well... you. You lose yourself.

Pandora Hearts, that undoing what's happened - even tragic - would lose the meaning of what's happening. Turning back time doesn't fix things. It destroys what you had. Be thankful for the time you have, however short. Because that's what gives each moment so much meaning.

Majora's Mask, because it teaches me that loss and grief are all a part of life. And you have to learn to move on, and let go. All things come to an end. And that's okay. When one door closes, another opens. Life moves on.

There's... well. A reason why those four storylines are my top favorite storylines. They're therapeutic to me. They help me cope with life in general, and everything I've gone through.

The day before he died, we went out to eat at a Chinese restaurant. The fortune cookie literally told me, "Opportunity is knocking on your door - answer it tomorrow."

"May be a reason why all the doors are closed So you could open one that leads you to the perfect road" - Katy Perry, "Firework"

You know that song, "Wake Me Up When September Ends" by Green Day? If I'm not mistaken, it was written after the passing of the singer's dad. And the sentiment is something I relate to. Wake me up a few months from now. I just don't want to be here right now. I'm so tired, and so very sad. There's a sorrow deep inside my soul too heavy to bear right now. I just want to sleep. I want it to be over. I don't want to deal with all of this right now. It's so much, and I'm overwhelmed.

I don't know if this factors into denial, but I've been trying to get out of the house more. Staying here just reminds me of what I've lost. I've been taking walks outside. Just anything to get my mind off of Chip. All the scents and sounds. The life that's buzzing around right now - the seasons are beginning to change into summer, and there's so many insects and birds about. Life continues on.

Somehow it's comforting to me. And somehow it's not. The more time I spend out of the house, the more I can't tell what's real anymore. The real world feels like a dream. Fake somehow. And my house just feels like a nightmare. I dread going to sleep every night. What nights haven't been restless have been filled with fear. What if I have a nightmare? What if I have a dream where he's alive? It will just break my heart all over again to wake up in the morning and realize he's not. It hits me every morning even without that, when I wake up. The sadness returns tenfold each day. I don't know how much longer I can go on like this. Hope seems like a concept far away.

"I'll see you laugh, I'll see you smile, I'll be with you... Just for a while.

But when the morning comes, And the sun begins to rise...

I will lose you.

Because it's just a dream, When I open up my eyes, I will...

Lose you...

I used to believe in forever. But forever's too good to be true. I've hung a wish On every star It hasn't done much good so far.

I can only dream of you, Wherever you are..." - "Wherever You Are", Winnie the Pooh

I know things are going to be okay. But today is not the day.

What's kept me going is busying myself with as much as I can. Thoughts of what I'm going to do each day. I'm taking it one hour at a time at this point. It's all I can do. Just keep going. Just a little farther. The moment I stop to unwind and take a break is when I start to unravel and remember. My thoughts always drift back to the same place somehow. He's gone. What am I supposed to do now?

Perhaps this won't make any sense. And quite honestly I don't care if it doesn't make sense to anyone else, but. Somehow... I felt like Chip has given me one last hope. He left me with something, a feeling. The day after he died, I just... I felt something. Like he was telling me that things were going to be okay, and directed my thoughts to what I should do, now that he's gone.

I want a new kitten.

I'm not replacing Chip. I can never replace him. He's one of a kind, and always will be. But when one door closes, another one opens. I need something to hold. I need something tangible, that's real, to touch, and hug, and cradle, and care for. I need something that needs ME to anchor me to this world, and give me a reason to stay. I need something that can break me out of this cycle of dissociation and ground me. And caring for another life is therapeutic. It makes me feel needed. Like I have a purpose.

Everyone needs to be loved, and to give love.

You know what's wild? The other members of my household unanimously came to the same decision without me even discussing it with them. Somehow, it feels right. I get this weird feeling Chip actually... sort of pushed our thoughts towards this. I don't know why I think that? By all logic that wouldn't be possible but then again, I truly don't think Chip was an ordinary cat at this point. He was so much more.

Do you ever have a dream, and in that dream you just know something? Without knowing why? But you know it for a fact, in that weird dream-sense? For me, that's what it's like. I just know. Even if no-one else believes me on this, I just know.

I'm not great with people. But I love cats. I've always been really good at reading their body language. And I admittedly do like kids. Whenever I go to my family reunions, I always hang out with the kids, not the adults. Their energy is so fun and invigorating. There's so much life in kids, and it makes me just a little happier to spend time with them, even if I hardcore lack social skills. I might not be great around kids, but I really try. I think my cousin’s children like to spend time with me. Their mother keeps telling me so, at least.

Point is, I love that energy. I know a kitten is going to just be energy incarnate. But I think that's what I need in my life. Something to protect and love and spoil. Something to pour all of my affection and effort into. I often feel really restless. Like the life I'm living right now isn't enough. And I'm sure a kitten would more than keep me on my toes and keep me busy. I expect many sleepless nights. I expect to be woken up like 6-7 times per night, even. But you know what? That's okay. I don't mind at all.

I got to play with some of the cats that my relatives have last time I was there and it just reminded me... how long it's been since I've played with a cat like that. My cat was too old to want to play (and I didn't want to cause him issues, he had a heart murmur and so I also didn't want to get him too excited in his old age because oh dear), so I've missed being able to manipulate toys into being a cat's "prey" and lazer pointers and have cats go nuts after it. I've really missed that. So having a kitten that loves to play? Sign me the heck up.

There's a lot of things I wanted to do with my cat, but he was just too old.

You see, I was only 6 when I got my cat. So I was a kid. And I didn't really get to like... spend money on spoiling my cat because at that age it's not like I had money? Once I turned around 20 or so I started really wanting to buy things for my cat, and show him how much I loved him by getting him nice things and toys and a cat tree and all sorts of other things. But he didn't really... like most of what I got him. And it really made me feel frustrated and sad and disappointed because I really wanted to show him how much he meant to me. But at the same time I was afraid of getting him anything because he wouldn't use most of what I'd spent my precious money on. Money doesn't grow on trees.

I understand, he was old by the time I actually had money to do things for him with. But that's all the more reason why a kitten really excites me. That dang lazer pointer I bought? I bet a kitten would love that! (I mean dang I even... bought one that has a USB stick on the end so you can recharge it because I really wanted it to last. Chip was super apathetic to the lazer pointer for the most part.) I wonder if a kitten would like that catnip treat I bought from Jackson Galaxy's shop? (In case you don't know who Jackson Galaxy is, he's a cat behaviorist and honestly knows so much about cats and their behaviors and he very clearly has a passion and great love for feline friends.)

Also that fun little cat tunnel I got my cat. He hated it. I thought he'd really like it because he liked small spaces (I used to have little boxes set up for him because of this) and also he really liked sitting on crinkly / noise-making things like plastic bags and the inside of this tunnel was super crinkly sounding. So I thought it'd be perfect. But he hecking hated that cat tunnel to the point where I almost threw it away because he would avoid it with a passion.

But I bet a kitten would love it. And that cat tree I bought! And I'm gonna get a nice squishy soft bed for him too when I get him since we buried Chip with his bed. And just. Something colorful! And lots of little toys and things! My head fills with so many ideas and plans and things I've got to prepare for for the arrival of a new kitten. I don't have one yet, but I'll get one soon.

It's the only thing right now that fills my heart with hope, and love. I want to take a new life in with me, and care for this new life to the best of my ability, and love him with all my heart. I'm gonna spoil him in toys and fun things and shower him with as much time and affection as I can. I need this. I need something to love and hold and care for. I have some really strong protective instincts, so nurturing something else - it's really therapeutic to me on so many levels.

We're going to get another black cat, just like Chip. I'm not superstitious really, but. You know what I personally think? That black cats bring you GOOD luck instead of bad luck. You're blessed by their presence when they're in your life. It's when they LEAVE you that the bad luck comes rolling in. That's why crossing a black cat's path supposedly causes you bad luck. Because now they're gone.

Plus, cats actually purr at a frequency that's been proven to heal bones and soothe. That's why cats make a really good companion for people dealing with depression, to be honest. And heck knows I have a broken heart that needs mending.

"Everything's gonna be alright, Everything's gonna be okay. It's gonna be a good, good life." - Bebe Rexha, "I'm A Mess"

#crepuscular #personal #this is a long post #but it's important

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timeoutforthee · 6 years

Text

Like It or Not-Chapter 12

Summary: Logan, Patton, Roman, and Virgil are all struggling in their recovery. Their doctors, Thomas Sanders and Emile Picani think they can help each other out.

Aka Group Therapy AU

Trigger Warnings: Denial. Like one big old chapter of denial. Shaming self for eating habits, skipping therapy appointments

Read on AO3!

Taglist: @itsausernamenotafobsong, @sea-blue-child, @iaminmultiplefandoms, @princeanxious, @uwillbeefoundtonight, @zaidiashipper, @arandompasserby, @levyredfox3, @falsett0, @error-i-dunno-what-went-wrong, @scrapbookofsketches, @podcastsandcoffee, @helloisthisusernametaken, @amuthefunperson, @michealawithana, @yamihatarou, @heck-im-lost, @unlikelynightmareconnoisseur, @idkaurl

“Logan?”

“Hm?” Logan says, not looking up from the psychology book.

“The bell rang,” his teacher says, “You need to go to lunch.”

Something in him wants to laugh at that, but he catches himself and tries to correct his response. We do need to go to lunch. Food is fuel. You do need it.

“Just let me finish this sentence,” Logan mumbles. His teacher was trying his best, he assumed, and she had a passion for teaching the material. But the class was simply an elective at a high school, he couldn’t expect to learn everything. Right now, he’s skipping ahead to try and learn more about eating disorders.

There’s a whole paragraph on anorexia nervosa, and it ends with the mortality rate. Logan stares at it, trying to burn it into his brain, trying to flip a switch somewhere in there. This is stupid, he needs to function, he needs to eat, he needs to fuel himself, he needs to eat, he’s ruining his brain, he needs to eat-

Logan slams the book shut. His teacher jumps slightly. “Logan?”

He ignores her, just like he ignores the tears in his eyes. He walks out of the classroom without a word. His dad was right, he never should have taken this class. Maybe he could still switch to Computer Science.

Patton, Roman, and Virgil are trying to speak through facial expressions only. They think they are being subtle, or that Logan is too absorbed in whatever he’s thinking to notice. They are incorrect on both fronts.

Though to be fair, he has let his eyes glaze over and gone silent about four times already during this lunch, and it wasn’t even halfway over yet.

It’s Virgil who finally breaks. “Logan, are you like, good?”

“Yes,” Logan says, snapping out of his trance and sitting up a bit straighter.

“You sure?” Patton says, gently, “You seem a bit off today.”

“Yes. I’m eating, I’m fine.”

“Yeah, but you’ve only eaten, like 3/4ths of a celery stick.”

Logan puts the last piece in his mouth. He means to chew it, but suddenly it feels like solid rock sitting on his tongue and he can’t.

“Logan?” Patton says, and he manages to snap Logan back to reality enough for him to chew it.

And that’s how lunch goes. Logan breaks his lunch into pieces, and lets them sit there until someone coaxes him into eating.

By the time the bell rings, Logan has eaten two celery sticks and one fourth of a peanut butter sandwich. It’s when they all start packing up that he finally whispers, “It’s not real.”

“What?” Roman asks, starting to get worried.

“I mean it’s not me,” Logan shakes his head, “I just...look at pamphlets and warnings and definitions, and it doesn’t matter how much it fits. It’s just...not true. It’s not me. I can’t be doing this to myself.”

“Logan…,” Patton says, but now students are standing outside the door, and Logan is brushing everything into the trash and walking away before anyone can say anything.

Virgil pokes Roman in the side, and he yelps.

“Fix it.”

“Me? Why?” Roman asks.

“Because you’re the only one who has a class with him,” Virgil points out.

“I don’t know how to fix it, I don’t even have my own shit together!”

“Well, duh.”

Roman gasps, offended.

Patton debates going after him, but he has a feeling he’d never be able to convince Logan to skip a class to have a talk about feelings, so he just sighs and says, “Uh, guys? We should go.”

“You need to get to the bleachers, Crofter,” Coach says. His student has just walked into the gym. Logan’s eyes are glazed over, and he’s focusing on the students, counting each one as they pass him in their warm-up lap.

“Crofter. Bleachers,” his teacher repeats firmly.

Logan visibly shakes himself out of his trance and starts trudging up the bleachers. He actually considered skipping class, as Roman had done the previous week, but everything in him screamed that was wrong.

He has a feeling it won’t work, but it’s worth a shot. Instead of sitting next to Roman, he keeps walking, straight past him. A noble effort, but useless, because Roman just stands up and follows him.

“Do we have to make this difficult? I was really hoping we could just get to the opening up and talking thing that Picani and Sanders are trying to get us to do,” Logan keeps walking, “You know, Coach is going to yell at us for being up here.”

That makes Logan stop. Roman runs into him.

“Seriously? That worked? I mean, okay,” Roman says as they both sit down, “So what is this spacey thing you’re doing?”

“I am not spacing out,” Logan says, “I am counting.”

“Counting? Counting what?”

Calories. Steps. “Nothing,” Logan says, immediately, then he alters it to, “Everything. It’s not important.”

“I feel like if it was unimportant, you would be able to stop doing it.”

“I can stop doing it,” Logan says. Roman looks skeptical, “Stop looking at me like that! I’m fine. It’s fine. You are making a big deal out of nothing.”

“Me?” Roman huffs, “First off, not just me. Me and Virgil and Patton and definitely Picani and Sanders when I tell them.”

“Tell them whatever you want,” Logan snaps, “It doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t matter?” Roman suddenly goes quiet, “Logan, what do you mean?”

“I’m not going back to group,” Logan tells him, “I told you during lunch. I don’t have an eating disorder-”

“You don’t feel like you have an eating disorder,” Roman corrects.

“If I don’t feel like I have one, then what makes everyone so sure I do?”

“Probably because you can’t eat anything other than celery, bread, peanut butter, and jam,” Logan flinches at that, “Shit, no, wait-it’s fine. We’re not, like, judging you for your food or anything, it’s just-”

“It’s too much.”

Roman blinks. “Excuse me?”

“Do you know how many calories are in those? Do you know how much is in the jam alone? Because I do, and it’s in my brain and it won’t get out, it won’t stop, it won’t-” Logan’s hands tear at his hair for a second before he pulls them out and takes a deep breath. “I just started eating everything again, without any troubles. I don’t have a problem at all.”

“...I have several concerns,” Roman says, “Okay, one, I do know, thanks, and even for me, four things you feel comfortable eating is, like, a super low number. Two, you are definitely currently having troubles. So there’s a no for that. And also no to you not having a problem. Again, currently, having a very big problem.”

Logan leans forward, puts his head in his hands. Roman sighs.

“Logan? Do you realize why you’re here?”

“To...learn? That’s typically what you go to school for-”

“No. I mean like, right here. On these bleachers. I know it’s really easy to forget, but you are hurting your body and that’s why you have to be up here.”

Logan lifts his head up from his hands, keeping his eyes on their peers below.

“Or maybe he’s just wrong. Maybe all these complications are just in my head-”

“Okay, we’re going to play a game,” Roman says, holding up a finger with one hand and digging for his phone with the other.

“A...game?”

“These complications, what are they?”

“Oh, they’re just little things that show I’m not quite as healthy as someone my age should be-”

“So, little things? Like being cold and shivering?”

“Um. Yes?” Logan says, surprised.

“Dehydration?”

“No, I drink eight glasses a day-” Logan cuts himself off. Wait. “Wait. Dry skin, dizziness, headache...maybe?”

“So, you have headaches, dry skin, and you get dizzy?”

“Yes...I don’t see how this is game.”

“The game is called, ‘Google Anorexia Side Effects and See How Many Logan Has’.”

“Ah. I don’t like this game.”

“Too bad! Ever fainted?”

“No.” His legs have crumpled under him and he’s been left scrambling for the counter to grasp on to. Sometimes his head swims, and he doesn’t remember how he got on the floor or why he’s holding on to the staircase like that. But Roman doesn’t need to know that.

“Fatigue?”

Logan glares at him and doesn’t say anything.

“Got it,” Roman says, putting his phone away. “Now how likely is it that you’re going to explain this counting thing to me?”

“The counting is not a thing, it’s just...sometimes I need to keep my brain occupied.” Because he’s afraid of what will happen if he lets go. He needs something to ground him in reality, to keep him steady. It was a healthy coping mechanism, really. Honestly.

Logan was not freaking out. He was trying to prove-no, he was trying to show everyone that he didn’t have anything wrong with him. So, crying over jam is definitely not a possibility.

But he can’t find it. He has searched and moved everything in his cabinet and shuffled things around but he can’t find it.

His mom walks in and he peeks around the door.

“Mom? Did you pick up the jam like I asked you to?”

“Oh, that,” she says, “I actually have been cutting some things out of my diet, to be healthier, so I didn’t pick that up. It’s too tempting to have around the house.”

“Tempting. Of course.”

“It’s not a big deal, Logan,” she says, “In fact, a healthier diet may help you out.”

His mind, the traitor, thinks back to gym class and Roman’s “game.”

“Actually, my doctor wanted me to avoid that.”

“Funny, that’s usually the first thing they want to change,” she laughs, then immediately cuts herself off, “Oh darn!” she rushes over to the fridge, where the calendar is hung up. “You were supposed to have an appointment today. If we hurry, we’ll still be late, but maybe-”

Logan knows about the appointment, and he knows he should have reminded her like he does every day. But instead he says, “You know what? Don’t worry about it.”

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #sanders sides fanfic #logan sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders

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jokin-around · 6 years

Text

the Broken Stitch

Words: 2972

pairing: Batman/joker (selina/bruce mentioned)

summary: a certain someone has caught wind of Bruce’s upcoming marriage… and he isn’t smiling about it

warnings: attempted suicide

themes: AAANNGST, hurt and comfort

notes: i started writing this a while ago, not related to telltale in anyway despite the title but has a similar tone, I wanted to make something that handled jokers feelings toward Bruce settling down because i love to suffer, enjoy!

Rain fell in Gotham as the batmobile sped down a dark alleyway, its angry rumble disrupting the oddly quiet night. The man at its wheel was silent as he stared down the dark road ahead, gripping the wheel at sharp turns and leaving nothing but a trail of skid marks behind as he rode deeper into the city…

The bat signals light had been casted onto the heavy clouds that loomed over the city earlier that night, and like always batman had been there on the GCPD’s roof in one fell swoop, quiet as a barn owl, speaking to an old man with tired eyes and a cigarette hanging from his mouth. Though the scene had been no different than usual, the atmosphere definitely was. an uneasy funk hung in the air, evident by Gordon’s posture and demeanor. As the worn out cop had relayed the situation to the city’s dark clad knight, back turned as he exhaled poisonous puffs of smoke. World weariness replaced the usual anger and sternness batman was so used to hearing from the man he viewed as a constant pillar in his life.

It wasn’t just one soul at risk tonight or two or even a room of hostages… it was hundreds, possibly thousands.

There was no need for the commissioner to utter the name of the man he was going to be in pursuit of tonight. There was only one criminal in the city who would dare cause so much destruction to the place gothamites called home, so much blatant disrespect towards humanity. And unfortunately Bruce knew him all too well.

After running red lights and crashing through piles of discarded debri, Bruce was parked at the base of the tallest skyscraper in Gotham in minutes, wasting no time scaling up the buildings exterior. When he reached the top, shooting up into the air with the momentum of his grappling hook and swooping back down with his cape billowing in the cold wind like royal robes, he was greeted by the silhouette of a familiar jester. The clowns slender figure stood precariously off the edge of a very long drop. Tangles of green hair dangling down in front of his face. Something, a bottle of some kind, was in his hand. A tiny black box with a mess of wires poking out of it being gripped, shakily, in the other.

The slightest turn of the man’s head told batman his presence had not gone unnoticed.

“You came.“ He said softly in way that was almost shockingly uncharacteristic “i was beginning to think you’d forgotten about me” He sighed, turning his attention back to asphalt that lied hundreds of feet below him

The bat was silent for a moment, then spoke…

“Gordon told me you wouldn’t negotiate until I did" He paused, waiting for a reaction, the clown chuckled humorlessly yet in a way that was devoid of any malice.

“Right… thats how it always is isn’t it? Always having to get your attention somehow just for a moment within the velvet of your shadow…”

Jokers words always walked the line between riddles and poetry but he was being unusually cryptic tonight

“Pardon?” Bruce asked

“Our game?“ He clarified “i threaten to bomb a hospital or gas a football stadium and you come running, arms outstretched, to catch me every time don’t you?”

Bruce didn’t reply, whatever point the clown was trying at, he wasn’t grasping it yet

“It’s our lot in life, how we were meant to operate, DOOMED to operate… it’d be foolish to… to think….” He trailed off, still staring down

“To think what?”

Instead of answering Joker laughed again, shoulders shaking, grip on the device on his hand tightening

“To think it could be any other way!!“ He turned, frail body swaying to face the bat, footing unstable, expression wild as always but… disgraced with dark streaks of caked on mascara that streamed down his pale face like rivers. bruce thought it could possibly be from the rain but the look in jokers eyes signaled otherwise. It was a sight batman never correlated with the Joker. Those streaks were caused by tears, the tears of a man, of a HUMAN with emotions, the kind Bruce had tricked himself into thinking Joker lacked. At this point it was glaringly obvious why the man before him was practically speaking in tongues, the bottle he held in his other hand already half empty

“ Joker… are.. .are you???”

He laughed, genuinely this time

“If you’re asking if i’ve partook in the devil’s nectar, the unfortunate answer is yes… heh, that why they call you world’s greatest detective, batssss?” He jested taking another swig of cherry red merlot

“wasn’t planning on facing you this way y’know?…" He said looking at the tinted glass container and promptly discarding it, what was left inside spilling out as it fell several stories “But the mind is a creature of its own… wouldn't’ve been able to keep myself from pressing this button as soon as I laid my thumb upon it if I hadn’t calmed my nerves… heh… but now look, i’ve gone off script and soiled my makeup like a teenage prom queen what a mess…" He rakes his fingers through his stringy wet hair and laughs but it’s closer to a sob “this is all wrong…”

Bruce isn’t sure what to make of all this, but the clown is definitely upset, more so than usual. Unfortunately the with the city’s fate within his bony hands, he didn’t have time to humor him.

“joker… whatever this is, there’s no time for it…” Joker looks at him, unamused.

“gordon told me that you’re putting hundreds, thousands of peoples lives at risk right now… I came here to negotiate and if you’re going to make things hard as always then- !“

“Why didn’t you tell me you were getting married?“ He interrupts. The way he asks the question so nonchalant in comparison to the massive shroud of tension it gave off, shutting batman up almost immediately

“I…” He stammered “h-how did you???“

“Oh please… don’t act like you didn’t know I knew!… as if that playboy facade could keep anyone in the dark for long, Bruce wayne’s fancy marriage announcement plastered all over the city ….it’s hardly a secret.”

Bruce didn’t know how to react to that… deep down he’d always considered the possibility that Joker secretly knew his true identity. You don’t spend years sparring with someone, only to know nothing about them.

“ Joker…”

“Married… heh… And not just to some, nobody oh noo ho ho, the forever tempting Selina Kyle! gymnast, philanthropist, cat enthusiast… THIEF!…“ He turned to glare directly at Bruce, eyes flaring with hate before shifting into subtle disdain “i’ve watched you two from the shadows before. the way you look at her. the way you breath eachother like scents wafting off forbidden decadence.”

Bruce turned away

“Disgusting is the only word I could use to describe it without leaving a sour taste in my mouth.” He glared at Bruce before looking down as if he suddenly regretted discarding his drink, the action leaving him with nothing to wash the image from his mind

Bruce shook his head, denial still clouding his reasoning “why…w-why would YOU of all people care about me and Selina? For years you’ve wanted nothing but my corpse and this city in ashes and now you’re acting like… like what?? Like that’s not enough?? You need me to stay miserable too?? You want me to be like YOU??”

Joker almost looked offended for a split second before his expression twisted into something so raw and angry Bruce nearly took a step back

“You think that’s all I wanted? You REALLY think that’s what I truly wanted?? what, i’ve ALWAYS wanted! Did you never stop to THINK that possibly MAYBE, the reason I do what I do is because of the one thing you think i’m incapable of!!! The one thing you’ve convinced yourself I lack understanding of thanks to some misplaced sense of delusional superiority!!”

Bruce froze as he looked at the man before him, real tears trailed from his black ringed eyes as he held the device in his hand above his head, entire body shaking as he breathed heavily with rage.

“A thief… a criminal… and you still believe you’re too good, too righteous for me!“ He growled through gritted teeth

“Selina doesn’t kill people Joker.” Bruce said, his patience thinning and his anxiety racking as his eyes stayed fixed on the red button under Jokers itchy trigger finger

“AND!? it was like that with us in the beginning!! W-wasnt?…” He argued in desperation, tone wavering “before you got distracted by that flock of pests you call a family… before it took more than a few bank robberies to get you off that kevlar clad ass of yours”

Bruce shook his head “My family isn’t a distraction! They’re all I have… and they deserve a family, a real family, the kind I never had. after raising 6 sons, and 4 daughters… after 15 years, my own death, THEIR deaths… I… I-I-I had to… I have to… for them” every horrible event and tear shared with his children flashed in his mind as he tried to rationalize his reasoning… he didn’t truly know why he had popped the question onto Selina so suddenly, after years of making it clear that he was disinterested in marriage, with anyone, but he knew that had to be part of it.

The clown only scoffed

“Heh… funny…”

“what?” Bruce asked, bemused

“two months ago cowardly and desperate weren’t two words I would’ve used to describe you" His words oozed poison as he looked at Bruce directly with derision . Bruce scowling at him. “don’t act like you’re marrying that mangled stray for anything other than selfish reasons. all of them tying back to the cesspool of mummy and daddy issues that spawned the mess of a man you are now.”

Bruce swallowed, Joker had a strange way of reading him like an open book at times. always peering between the lines, seeing things no one else did. Bruce coped, at times by convincing himself Joker was only gaslighting and manipulating him, as he attempted to do so often. but sometimes the hidden truths he spoke stung like daggers.

“Forget it clown… you're…" He sighs “…you just wouldn’t understand…”

Joker laughed once more, running his fingers through the mop of green hair in his head “heh… no!….. I wouldn't… of course I wouldn’t. but you know why, don’t you?”

“ Joker…”

“because the only thing I understand in this chaos wrought plight of an existence is us! You! … and lately you… well…” his demeanor shifted into something softer almost melancholy “you did the thing you’re oh so skilled at doing when push comes to shove….”

Bruce waited, whispering “what?” Joker looked up at him with misty green eyes

“You surprised me…

…isn’t that supposed to be my job.. Ha…”

Bruce was silent, unsure of how to react, Jokers demeanor began to ramp up again.

“I don’t know why I expected anything more from you… you were always too damned narrow minded and stubborn to see the big picture”

There was a moment of cold silence between them before Joker was properly wound again, springing back into action.

“but I digress!“ He continued, switching gears at the drop of a dime and attempting to wipe the wetness from his face to no avail “None of that matters now! Not me! Not you! Not HER! None of it!” He shook furiously as he raised the trigger box high over his head, eyes wild with desperation. “and so, I’m going to try one last time to blow this city to smoldering smithereens and pray to hell we both go down with it!”

“ Joker NO!” batman calls out as he lunges forward. Joker begins to laugh hysterically and presses the button as he steps over the buildings edge. As the mans other foot slips from the steep drop, batman reaches him just in time to grasp the cuff his dingey purple suit. Joker laughs as he dangles several stories off the ground, flailing like a flag hung up on a pole. He looks up at Bruce. The bat stares back, fear on his face as he uses all his strength to keep the man from falling, even as buildings are engulfed in flames on the horizon. Joker shook his head

“you should know by now bats… “ He yelled for him to hear “You can’t save me!… you shouldn’t bother yourself with it!… ”

“like hell I can’t!” Bruce growled, wearing a face of stubborn determination as he gathered all his strength to pull the other man back up onto the roof, the cuff of his tailored sleeve nearly tearing off in the process. He heaves his body, with a hard slam, back onto stable ground and leans over him, wrinkled shirt in his fists. Joker reaches for something in his coat pocket and pulls out a switchblade, Bruce braces himself for a slash to the face… but it never comes.

Joker only continues to laugh… holding the knife in the air… before dropping it and falling into a breathless fit of hysterics that slowly fades to soft wheezing and soon, to nothing. His his expression softens and his whole body, slumps lifelessly, not dead, but something inside him certainly is, all his fight, lost.

“ Joker?…”

“It wasn’t supposed to, y'know” He said in a small voice.

“supposed to what?” Bruce asked

“Bother me… “ He explained. “You were so sure that what we had between us wasn’t what we thought… that I… that I had almost convinced myself the same thing after a while…”

The subdued sadness in his voice was something Bruce hadn’t been prepared for. this was a side of Joker that existed underneath layers and layers of lies and deceit, fake smiles and giggles. and here it was. bore before him, open and vulnerable.

“When I read that headline, I forced myself to believe the lie you kept pushing between us, because it would be easier…But… after sulking in doubt for five days since?… I just… I-I couldn’t anymore”

Bruce is silent as Joker starts laughing again. His makeup ruined with tears, the playfulness all but drained from his face

“pretty pathetic huh?” He looked up at Bruce with wide and watery green eyes, Bruce searched them for moment, emotion brimming inside him, before casting his gaze out to the destruction surrounding them. orange hues devoured the night sky as his city fell apart, lives ending, memories and legacies being destroyed all by the hands of a man Bruce could never force himself to kill, or let die or even come to harm… as much as he knew Joker had to atone for his actions, no matter the circumstances, he also knew the man in his arms was sick…

…just like he was.

Perhaps the only person he knew who refused to heal and reveled in their own pain as much as he did. When Bruce looked back to the thin, pale, man in his grasp. His eyes were downcast and vacant.

“ Joker…??”

No response, but his chest moved, he still breathed.

“ Joker!“ He shook him , but there was nothing… a small twitch of his brow, shift of his legs that lay, sprawled, on the ground but… nothing. Bruce sighed. Contemplating. Then… Without waiting another moment…

…Bruce snaked an arm beneath his, wrapping the other around the purple clowns frail legs, and lifted him from the ground. The action woke Joker from his daze with a start, his eyes blinking wide in confusion as his hands flexed, digging his fingers into his bats thick bicep in fear that he may be planning to throw him from the roof himself.

Instead Bruce held onto the other man tightly, and jumped from the roof with him in his arms. His gliders automatically activating allowing him to gracefully fall several stories, riding on the hot winds swept up by the raging fires below. As he scanned the skyline he noticed the damage wasn’t nearly as severe as previously thought. Places like the hospital, the orphanage and most if the highly populated narrows, spared.

“they aren’t safe y’know…” Joker whispered into his ear… “but you can save them… I left clues”

“I figured”

“of course you did”

Something close to a smile crossed Bruce’s lips. Born more from relief than anything but also… amusement. He should have felt guilty about enjoying such a dangerous game but… it was what they had.

as he swooped down to the Batmobile waiting at the bottom. Bruce popped the hatched and placed joker into the passenger’s seat, fastening restraints onto his wrists. He did not fight. it unsettled bruce beyond belief but he kept it to himself. With a sigh, Bruce squeezed into his own seat and sped away towards the GCPD. The cabinet of the car was silent aside from the low rumbling of the engine for at least 8 minutes. Eventually Bruce took a chance and spoke.

“things won’t change as much as you think they will….” He assured, not sure why he felt the need to do so.

“you don’t know that… “ The other man whispered, staring out the passenger side window as droplets of water raced on the tinted glass. he was curled in on himself. the lack of legroom making him look cramped despite his unreadable expression.

Bruce opened his mouth to counter… then closed it and turned back to the wheel. As they rode off, flames on either side of them turning up ash despite the rain, a certain word or perhaps a certain phrase was left unspoken. but deep down, despite the confusion and hatred and denial … they knew…. After so many years they finally knew and nothing either of could say would ever suffice… the sun was setting and it was too late for that… much too late.

#batjokes #batman #joker #dc #fanfic

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