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mirthful-sonnet · 3 years

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Rise Above the Ashes | Chapter 2

Summary: Jean and Mikasa grow closer while battling with their inner demons. Jean feels alienated in his own country and realizes in a brutal way that the Alliance’s endeavors for peace may be harder than he expected.

Notes: Thanks once again to @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie for beta reading this and putting up with my fandoms cause she must be so confused what this is about lmao

Warning: One short depiction of graphic violence

Ao3 link

“Stop moving.”

Mikasa froze, a startled look on her face as she tried to stay still.

Jean chuckled, turning back to his sketchbook. The afternoon was pleasant, with the bright sun profiled against a blue, cloudless sky. The only sounds were those of the light breeze and the strokes of graphite against paper.

The drawing was taking shape, the outlines of Mikasa’s likeness staring back at him from the page. He turned his eyes back onto Mikasa, and he thought that no matter how hard he tried he could never do justice to her actual beauty. She broke from her pose again and stared back at him.

“Mikasa,” he said, both in amusement and disapproval.

Mikasa ducked her head and muttered an apology, trying to go back to her former pose once again, with her body slightly turned away from him while staring to the side. They had found a secluded spot while everyone else was back at the farm. Jean had been trying to spend more time with her since their encounter at Eren’s grave.

He learned that she had a house near the farm while occasionally working as an informant for Historia and found himself as a constant guest along with Armin. The three of them had established a sort of routine in which whenever they had time they would meet up at her house and have dinner together. Jean would be lying if he said that being a part of this routine didn’t make him feel good.

Their current position in the grassy corner resulted from Mikasa catching him flicking through his old sketchbook. He did not plan on taking anything from his home in Trost when he reunited with his mother. But this sketchbook was a vestige from a time where there was much less violence and heartache in his life, and he took it with him.

There were portraits from most of the people he had met as a Scout. There was even a portrait of Eren, which Mikasa had stopped to stare at with an unfathomable look on her face before Jean broke the tension with a joke about what a lousy model Eren had been. It led to Mikasa asking him why he never drew a portrait of her, to which Jean could not offer any other explanation than that he had simply never worked up the courage to ask her.

Now they were in this quiet spot, enjoying the peaceful afternoon together. He added the finishing touches before sitting more comfortably on the spread blanket and admiring his work.

“It’s done,” Jean said, and Mikasa turned to him. He gave her the finished drawing, awaiting her reaction. She appeared taken aback when seeing her portrait, staring at it for a long while before turning to him.

“It’s amazing, Jean,” she said, and Jean felt a little embarrassed at the frankness in her face, not knowing how to react. “I would only say that she’s too beautiful to be me.”

There was a jesting tone in her voice, but Jean immediately replied. “Then that means I did an accurate job.”

Mikasa widened her eyes slightly before looking down, and Jean mentally berated himself.

He had been careful not to make things strange between them, especially now that his feelings were messier than ever. The last thing he wanted was to make her uncomfortable.

Jean had successfully locked away that part of himself when he realized the place Eren had in her heart. He resolved to be her friend and it had worked. Aside from that, he had certainly not wasted any time in seeking other companions. First during his years as a young Scout who was too curious and hormonal for his own good, and more recently as a glorified refugee in Marley with an uncertain status and plenty of need for pleasured distractions.

He was ashamed when thinking about his time in Marley, as he remembered the phase he had fallen into which he was too numb from the war and had excessively sought out those distractions. Moments of bliss were fleeting, and they would only lead to him relapsing into the same pattern and making him feel worse than before. The entrustment of the peace negotiations between Paradis and Marley into the Alliance’s hands had brought hope and a change that he desperately needed.

Still, why was he feeling so confused around Mikasa now? What he felt now was an echo of his former crush, similar yet so different. Whereas before it had felt like a small ache that he kept hidden, now it felt like a flame slowly spreading and threatening to overwhelm him.

“Earth to Officer Kirchstein,” Mikasa’s voice interrupted him, her hand waving in front of him.

“Oh, sorry, I got lost in my thoughts,” he told her, raising an eyebrow, “and I’m no longer a commanding officer, you know.”

Mikasa only smiled, laying back down on the spread blanket, her red scarf acting as her pillow. Jean was glad to see her smiling and acting with ease around him, since despite her calm demeanor he knew that she was still grieving no matter how much she tried to hide it. Sometimes he would catch her staring off into nowhere or holding her scarf a little tighter than usual. While he remained in this place, he was determined to be there for her as much as he could.

“Do you know how much longer you will stay here?” she asked suddenly.

Jean paused before replying, taken aback by her question. “Our stay has been extended indefinitely; it depends on how things go at our sessions. Though in any case, I imagine we’ll have to leave soon.”

Her face fell, “I see,” she murmured. “What do you plan to do after this?”

“I…” he trailed off, “I don’t know. Wherever the Alliance goes, I will end up going too. But my mom lives here, and I don’t want to leave her alone. Then again, we are not exactly welcomed here. I’ll just see what happens, I guess.”

“What about marriage and children?” She asked, quickly regretting her forwardness. She was about to apologize but he spoke first.

“Oh, that. Well, I’m not too sure about that either. I always dreamed of having my own family, but things are still too strange and uncertain,” he paused, looking away. “I don’t think I can truly settle down anywhere because I don’t belong anywhere.”

Mikasa stared at him, that dazed look that he seemed to constantly wear coming back, as if he were lost in a place where she could not reach. She grabbed his sleeve impulsively. These days she found herself doing that a lot when Jean would appear too lost in his own head.

“It…It’s probably not much, but I want you to know that if you’re in a pinch or need anything, you’re always welcome at my house,” Mikasa told him, not sure where these words were coming from, but knowing they were true. It was the least she could do.

Jean was visibly shocked, his face flushed. “Thank you, Mikasa.” he whispered, avoiding her gaze. After a moment, he turned to her suddenly.

“What about you? Do you have any plans?”

“I don’t think so, I like living here.” She explained, “Kiyomi and her delegation insist that I go to Hizuru but I’m not sure I’ll do that any time soon. I did want a family but…”

He understood. That was impossible now that Eren was gone. The meaning of her words hung over them, and Jean felt a weird kind of sadness overtake him. He knew Mikasa would have been an amazing mother. Despite whatever pain and jealousy remained in his heart, he realized that he would have liked to see his two friends together with their own family. A welcome respite after years of misery and destruction. But Eren had to run ahead of them and set himself ablaze.

“Well, you can consider us your family now,” Jean said, referring to their friends, and wanting to ease her mind.

Mikasa beamed at him, “I guess you are,” she replied, coaxing Jean to lay down beside her on the blanket and he complied. From the new angle, she could make out a scattering of tiny moles on his neck that was not covered by his shirt. She hadn’t noticed them before and found herself strangely transfixed before she heard him speak.

“I’ll tell you what, no matter what happens, we’ll always be there for each other.” he offered, turning his head to her. Mikasa paused, rendered a little speechless at the openness in his hazel gaze. In that moment, she had no choice but to agree with anything he said.

~0~

Jean pressed the timer and waited for Armin’s next move. The blond was scrutinizing the chessboard before moving a knight.

“So this is it, the final countdown until we decide if we can stay or if we should be running for our lives,” Connie commented from his seat near the fireplace in the living room. The residence was bigger than they had remembered.

“The queen has ensured our protection,” Armin said, his gaze still fixed onto the board, waiting for Jean’s move.

“With the same people who want us dead.” Connie spat.

All sectors of the government had finally agreed to a voting session in which they would vote on the proposals from the Alliance and other nations. Soon, they were to show up at council with other delegates from Marley who had also worked with them.

“It’s more complicated than that,” Reiner replied, his hands busying themselves tying knots with an old rope. It was a habit he had picked up during his treatment at the mental facility and he kept doing it long after he was discharged. He found the distractions helpful when his thoughts would become too much. “There are people who are strictly loyal to Historia, and she knows who they are and how to pick them.”

There was truth to what Reiner was saying. They had misjudged just how divided the island would be when they arrived. Currently, there were all kinds of factions and insurrectionists on the rise, from imperialists who wanted Paradis to establish itself as a global power and expand its territories, to reformers who were advocating an alliance with the other nations.

“Whatever supporters we have seems meaningless as long as the Yeagerist faction is still in power,” Annie added, watching the game between the two friends.

Armin clicked the timer, unfazed, “We have had to deal with worse things; the liberation of Paradis started with a revolution from the Survey Corps, a group that was a mere minority and ridiculed by most. What we want to achieve isn’t impossible,” he paused, hearing a click from Jean. “This time we have the support of other influential nations and the protection of the queen, who is in turn protected by staunch monarchists.”

Jean listened quietly, a strange unease surging up within him. It seemed surreal that they had finally reached this point in their enterprise for peace between Paradis and Marley. They had worked tirelessly to present their motions to the government and recount their testimonies of the war which were carefully modified to protect Mikasa. The Ackerman had insisted on coming clean and bearing the blame for Eren’s death, but that suggestion was quickly shut down by Armin.

The rumbling had not only practically wiped out other regions that now had no choice but start all over again, but it had also left a good portion of Paradis destroyed and still vulnerable, a point that the Alliance had used to their advantage in lobbying for a new coalition of trade between the nations.

Their main objective was to establish a peace treaty. It was the most talked-about subject all over the island, and it had brought feelings of hope but also plenty of hostility. While Jean had busied himself as much as he could in his new duties as ambassador, the reality was becoming clearer to him: that he truly belonged nowhere.

In Marley, things weren’t any easier for someone like him. While there were major changes happening in the Marleyan government and the internment zones were being eliminated, many areas were still heavily segregated and Eldians were still looked down upon.

Jean found it easy to interact with his peers in Marley sometimes. He had his share of friends, and there was the usual neighbor who would greet him, the lady who would bring him warm meals, or the lovers who didn’t seem to care he was Eldian. But other times the animosity was obvious. Now he was experiencing the same feeling of ostracization, but it was worse because this was his home.

“Armin is right. The circumstances are too different now and we have a considerable advantage. For now, we must be patient and wait for the next hearing,” Pieck remarked from her place laying down on the sofa. Naps were becoming more common to her.

“I don’t have a good feeling about this,” Connie said, then gave a tired sigh, “it seems like the violence never ends.”

“That is a reality we have to accept,” Armin replied, clicking the timer once again. “I heard Commander Erwin say that as long as humanity lives, they will always find a way to destroy each other. That is an indisputable fact, no matter how much it irks us to hear it. The cycle will always continue in one way or another.”

“And what do we do meanwhile?” Jean asked, breaking his silence.

Armin stared at him, before moving a pawn, and finally replied. “We keep moving forward.”

~o~

Mikasa stared at her friends bantering back and forth on her dinner table. Tomorrow would be the voting session and she had invited the group to have dinner in her house before the important day.

She felt an odd peace while watching everyone talking and enjoying the food. Back in her days as a soldier, such scenes were rare, and when they weren't, there would always be the knowledge that they may not live for long.

While things were certainly not perfect at the moment, this was a welcome change. It seemed so long ago since she got to have moments like this. It was why she had appreciated having Armin and Jean visit her whenever they could. Their visits took her mind off the troubling thoughts that plagued her at night. They slithered onto her consciousness when she was alone and only she would bear witness. The burden of guilt she still felt over Eren’s death had been like a shadow trailing on her feet, a bitter seed that she couldn’t cut out.

There were days where she felt a semblance of peace, where the prospect of a new dawn seemed like a possibility. She remembered the strange bird she saw on Eren’s death anniversary and the feeling of grief and hope that had overwhelmed her as it flew away. Free and glorious. A promise of new things to come that she didn’t dare believe in. But other days, the shadows of her dreams would morph and speak in a familiar voice.

Traitor.

The wounds were clear cut, its shapes still engraved in every crevice of her heart. The bloodstains of the boy who she had loved unconditionally still ran endlessly through her very being. She wondered if she was being too selfish in daring to have peaceful moments like this.

A movement by her side caught her attention. Armin was currently sitting beside her, his presence serving as an anchor even while he was engaged in lively conversation with Annie.

She was glad he had found someone, even if it took her a while to get used to the idea of them being together.

He had changed so much, from that timid boy who wanted to see the ocean to a determined leader with the same quiet strength. Now he was leading an enterprise that had the world’s eyes on him.

She didn’t know how he could stand it, or how he even looked at her with anything but repulsion. He was carrying an incredible burden for her sake after all, and she could do nothing but watch helplessly from the sidelines, knowing he would never forgive her if she spoke the truth.

Useless.

Her thoughts froze when she noticed that he had turned to her.

His bright blue eyes were narrowed for a moment before he gave her a small smile, as if he knew what she was thinking, and squeezed her hand under the table.

Mikasa could only smile back at him, a quiet understanding between them.

Currently, Reiner and Connie were engaged on a heated, drunken debate about whether cereal should be considered soup or not, having Pieck laughing uncontrollably while Annie looked like she would rather be somewhere else. For all that was troubling her, she liked seeing everyone happy.

One person was visibly quiet, and Mikasa turned her eyes to Jean. The former commanding officer was smiling and watching his friend’s antics. There was a distance in his gaze, one that she noticed too often when he was with her. She didn’t know what to make of it, but despite the time they constantly spent together she noticed that he had a certain guardedness, a wall he had carefully built up and she could not trespass.

She had appreciated him being here more than he could understand. In days when her mind was her own worst enemy, his presence had come as a haven of such comfort that she wondered if she even deserved it. Whether he was talking about how his day went, grumbling about having to argue with ‘constipated geezers’ as he had called them, or just remaining by her side quietly, his company had quickly become one of the highlights of her days. She only wished she could know what was going on in that mind of his.

Jean suddenly stood up from the table and excused himself. She thought he was probably going to the restroom. But after a while, he still did not come back. Mikasa eventually excused herself as well, with Armin reassuring her that they did not mind.

Her instinct told her to go to the backyard, which consisted of a small lawn with an apple tree and a wooden fence separating it from an extensive meadow. She stepped out into the yard, tightening her scarf in the cool breeze as she looked for Jean.

“So, you found me.” She heard him say, and finally spotted Jean leaning over the yard’s wooden fence, face half-hidden by shadows.

Mikasa quietly walked over to where he was. She noticed he had a cigarette in his hand and fought the urge to slap it away. At one point in their reunions, she had noticed him sneaking away to smoke but didn’t say anything, only earning shrugs from Armin when she turned her questioning eyes to him.

“Was Reiner and Connie’s debate that uninteresting?” He asked.

Mikasa grimaced, “remind me to never let them drink again.”

Jean snorted, “prepare yourself, because they’ll be at it for a while.” he said, taking a drag.

“I never took you for a smoker,” Mikasa prodded, narrowing her eyes at him. He looked a little embarrassed, looking away as he exhaled, whiffs of smoke swelling and disappearing in the darkness.

“Sorry, it’s a bad habit I picked up in Marley,” he explained, scratching the back of his neck, “I don’t do it a lot, but when I do it sort of helps.”

Mikasa nodded, figuring that he was nervous about the next day and deciding to not press him further about his new habit.

“Are you alright? I’m sorry if I’m bothering you too much, you probably wanted to be alone-”

“You could never bother me, Mikasa,” Jean interrupted her, then taking a deep breath, “I just- I guess I just realized that this is it. What we have been working for all this time has finally had a result. Isn’t that crazy?”

She nodded and beamed at him, “I know you will do great things.”

“I never thought it would come to this, it just hit me that I have no idea what will come next. I still don’t feel like I truly belong anywhere. Plus, I’m thinking that we probably won’t achieve anything tomorrow and this damn war will just keep on going. My mind’s been playing a lot of shitty tricks on me,” he explained, taking another drag before sighing and looking at her. “I’m sorry, you didn’t come here to listen to my problems.”

She immediately shook her head in protest, “I told you that I would be here for you, and I meant it.”

He looked at her fixedly, “what about you? You do know that you can tell me anything, yet I can’t help but sense that you’re not always honest with me. With any of us, really.”

As soon as he finished, he immediately regretted his words, suspecting that the alcohol had probably made him bolder than usual. He almost wanted to laugh at his hypocrisy, since he knew that he had also not been completely honest with Mikasa either.

“I’m sorry-”

“No, Jean,” Mikasa interrupted, looking elsewhere. “You’re right, I’ve been trying to pretend that things are fine now. And they are in a way, but other days it-it’s too much.”

Jean nodded in understanding, “I get it, you know; I’m not saying I’m entitled to hear everything that you’re thinking, but I also want you to know that you don’t have to hide things from me either. I know that you’re still mourning him, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

It happened suddenly, but his words caused her heart to constrict and unexpected tears to gather in her eyes. “I’m glad to hear you say that,” she whispered, her voice wavering.

Jean dropped the cigarette and crushed it with his shoe, sticking his hands in his pockets. “I really miss that idiot; I even dream of him sometimes,” he admitted. “I like to think it’s him talking to me, you know?”

Mikasa hummed in response, turning away so he wouldn’t see her tears. “I dream of him too, not a day goes by where I don’t think of him. I once believed I couldn’t possibly live without him, and yet I still killed him.”

“That was not your fault Mikasa,” Jean said firmly, his eyes like embers. She needed to understand that.

“But I keep asking myself what if I had done things differently? What if I had stopped him in another way? What if I tried harder? What if…” she trailed off, gathering her breath, “What if I had been honest about my feelings to him? Would it have changed anything? And I know the answer is no, but I keep asking myself the same questions anyway. I guess my mind plays tricks on me too.”

Jean looked down, “I can’t possibly tell you how to make it stop, but you must remember that you’re not alone. No matter what happens, you have us,” he said, pausing and then looking back at her. “You have me.”

Mikasa nodded jerkily, this time making no attempt at hiding her tears. “I do, don’t I?”

Jean stepped forward and pulled her into his arms.

Before he could regret it, she burrowed her head into his chest, his buttoned shirt quickly becoming damp with her tears.

He did not care, tightening his arms around her in his large frame, wanting to absorb every pain and every troubling thought she ever had.

Mikasa could only press herself even further into him as if she was seeking something but had to keep delving in for it. The night was quiet except for the whimpers that escaped her as they both hastened to get even closer, creating a cocoon of warmth, a little sun between their bodies. Whatever thoughts were troubling her before disappeared, and even if just for a moment, she could lose herself in Jean’s embrace and try to believe that things would get better.

~o~

They had done it. Despite the noises of protest that still echoed throughout the council they had done it.

Jean understood in that moment that they still had a long way to go, but this was an important step in the right direction. For now, a more peaceful world was possible.

They had achieved a quorum of votes in their favor, with Historia presiding over the hearing. The next moments passed in a blur of formalities and shaking hands with officials from all political factions.

He felt as if he were in a daze, every action, and every word he spoke coming almost as mechanical.

After the conclusion of the session, everyone made their way outside of the room, tension permeating the atmosphere. As expected, there were all sorts of manifestations for and against the peace treaty outside.

Jean could hear all kinds of insults outside as he followed Armin closely to the back of the building, where they were supposed to wait for a carriage to take them back to Historia’s residency.

Traitors. Murderers. Turncoats.

The past years had hardened him to any slander, and he could only hold his head up and continue walking to the main hallway, where he could see Mikasa waiting for them.

Her head perked up when she noticed them both, immediately walking towards them.

“Were you here this whole time?” Armin exclaimed over the background noise. They had seen her before the start of the session, but Armin did not think she would stay.

“There was no way that I would miss this moment. You were almost unrecognizable in there,” she said, recalling the scenes she witnessed from her front-row seat in the stands that were free to the public. “I’m proud of you two, of all of you. I had no doubt you would achieve it.”

“We’ll see if they don’t eat us alive first.” Jean retorted, looking grim as the noise of the crowds outside became more prominent.

They went to the back of the building, stepping out onto the cobblestones of an extensive alley. Mikasa had insisted that she could make her way back home walking, but Jean and Armin had none of it. Vehicles and carriages were coming and going in the dim light of the alleyway as the three friends waited for the rest of the group.

Jean could not help but think on how the island was just starting to use vehicles but still relied mostly on carriages. He had gotten used to the strange steel machines with time, which was more than he could say for Connie who had quite the record in car crashes back at Marley.

“Mikasa! You’re here!” Connie shouted as he emerged into the alley with the rest of the group trailing behind him. He gave her a crushing hug, and Mikasa smiled, heartily returning his embrace.

“Of course, I am,” Mikasa replied.

“This demands another round of drinks at your house. What do you say?” Connie said and Jean rolled his eyes. Leave it to Connie to invite himself to people’s houses.

“As long as you and someone else behave…” She commented while staring at Reiner, who was behind Connie and could only look sheepish and turn away.

“Is the carriage here yet? We better get away from these crowds of lunatics.” Annie added, looking shaken while Armin tightened her coat around her.

“There it is,” Pieck pointed to a coming carriage bearing the queen’s emblem. As they walked Jean stayed behind, letting everyone get into the carriage first.

Mikasa was the second last to get in, and Jean moved to help her up before he heard it.

“Death to the Alliance!”

He moved in a flash before they got to her and then he was falling backward, catching a glimpse of her horrified expression, with everything morphing into screams in the distance and the noise of steel tearing through flesh repeatedly.

“Jean!” He heard Mikasa scream.

Maybe it was sheer will, but he shoved the man who had brought him down, scrambling to get to him despite the blade that was lodged between his ribs. He managed to grab the bastard by the hair and hit his skull against the hard cobblestones.

The rush almost left him dizzy, but he kept slamming the man’s head against the ground until the hard noises of bones breaking were soon replaced by the slick sounds of blood and joints being torn. Not too far he heard the guards and his friends taking care of the man’s lackeys. Extremists, no doubt.

He should have seen this coming. Whatever strength he had left him suddenly, his grab on the man’s head loosening before he was shoved and felt two pairs of hands grabbing his neck to strangle him. It wasn’t long before Jean caught the flash of a red scarf and the man was pulled back abruptly and slammed harshly against the carriage, losing all consciousness. Jean clambered to his feet while coughing, feeling someone stabilizing him from behind.

“Jean, don’t move,” Connie said shakily, holding Jean by the shoulders. One look at Mikasa told Connie that they were both replaying another bloody scene from their past in their heads, where their best friend had been taken away from them with a single bullet.

“You’re hurt,” Mikasa murmured, her face looking pale.

The body of the man who had stabbed Jean lay carelessly beside her, as she had done a quick job in knocking him down.

Jean however appeared to not understand what his friends were saying, his eyes glazed over and his body beginning to wobble from side to side. “My suit got ruined,” he tried to joke but only groaned as he felt himself getting dizzier.

He heard the others come near him, but at that point, their voices were just cryptic noises and the lights from the lampposts stretched into long hazy lines. Someone gasped as the circle of blood on his shirt grew and dripped onto the cobblestones below. The violent encounter had given him such a rush that he barely registered any pain and did not notice that the bleeding was rapidly increasing.

“Jean, stay still! We need a medic!” He heard Armin shout as he ran from the place in search of help.

Jean still appeared lost, trying to shrug off Connie and Mikasa’s hold on him. He turned to Mikasa, who looked terrified as she saw Jean becoming as pale as a sheet of paper.

“What a drag, huh?” He said before his eyes rolled back and his body collapsed.

~0~

Everything looked black, with flashes of a fluorescent tree coming and going like waves, distant static noises, and a hand reaching out to him. He found himself surrounded by a dense white fog that engulfed him and then slowly dissipated, revealing an empty street. Jean suddenly recognized where he was, the street from his childhood home in Trost becoming apparent in all its simpleness.

The place was empty as Jean slowly made his way down the steps that interpolated with the old street. He kept walking down the steps, the silent streets appearing to be his only company.

Or so he thought.

“Jean.”

He froze and turned towards the voice, meeting a pair of unmistakable green eyes. It felt like all the oxygen left him as the reason for their current plight appeared before him.

“Eren?” He choked, watching as Eren stood in the middle of the street, tall and unmoving. He didn’t know whether he wanted to run and embrace him or beat him to a pulp. “What is this?”

“I wanted to find something meaningful; this is the first thing that appeared.”

Eren’s words were punctuated by a sudden noise, and he saw the flash of a boy running down the street and fading away. There was a youthful cry and Jean saw the same boy on another corner of the street with a woman. He soon realized that the boy was him as a young child and that the woman was his mother, who was kneeling before him and wiping away tears from his chubby cheeks.

“I don’t understand,” Jean muttered, turning to Eren.

Eren lowered his head, never looking at Jean directly. At least he had the decency to look remorseful, Jean thought.

“I…wanted to say goodbye.”

Jean let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, feeling all sorts of emotions surge up inside him.

“Why, Eren?” Jean said, his voice quivering.

Eren still wasn’t looking at him. “I don’t expect you to forgive me. But I needed to say goodbye.”

The word goodbye made his chest tighten, and he did not trust himself to even speak but he did anyway. “You-you left, you left and didn’t tell us anything! You acted on your own without trusting us. And now millions of innocents are dying because of you! Why?!”

Eren still avoided his gaze. “None of that matters anymore. I made my choice, and there is no going back for me now. I needed to see you before it happens.”

“Before what happens?” Jean pressed him, but Eren did not answer, he only stared at him with a look he couldn’t quite decipher.

The scene changed, with the streets morphing into indecipherable shapes before they found themselves in the dining room of the training camp. The place they had all met as young trainees. Before them, a pre-teen Jean was talking for the first time to Mikasa, his nervousness obvious through his red face and his awkward attempt at complimenting her hair.

Jean frowned, looking at Eren. “Why are we here?”

“This is your consciousness, I technically have some control, but these moments…they are all meaningful to you,” Eren explained, eyes fixed onto the scene before them. This was the first time he had met Eren and Mikasa.

Their surroundings changed into another scene in the same dining room, where he and Eren were brawling before Mikasa separated them. Jean felt embarrassed not only at their childish behavior but at the fact that Eren knew that Jean had secretly treasured these moments. He fixed his eyes on the scene.

“She always had to mother you around,” Jean murmured, referring to Mikasa.

“Mikasa was always protective of me, yet she never defended me from you. She would reproach me when we would get into fights. Even when you started them,” Eren said as Mikasa gave his younger self a disapproving look after separating them.

“It wasn’t always me. If you weren’t such a pain in the ass, it would have been easier,” Jean grumbled, his words contradicted by his behavior on the scene before them, where he had grabbed Eren in a fit of jealousy.

Eren only gave a sad smile as their surroundings kept changing, fading scenes playing one after the other like the strange projections of those films Jean had seen when they arrived in Marley. There were several moments with Marco, the part of his soul that had been violently ripped away from him. They landed in a different scene, where there were massive pyres of fire and a fifteen-year-old Jean was kneeling before the pyre that took the center, his body shaking in sobs.

“What-“

“You truly loved him, didn’t you? I think he would be proud of you.”

Jean winced, the shadows from the flames dancing all around them. The beautiful friend who had believed in him now turned into ashes. “I don’t think he’d be proud. I never amounted to anything, and now I will probably die trying to stop you.”

Suddenly they were in a different place, with throngs of people walking away hurriedly in their direction. Jean tried to move away but the people passed through him as if he were a mere ghost.

There was a stage set up at the front, where the statuesque figure of Commander Erwin could be seen standing still.

Of course.

This was the night he decided to join the Survey Corps.

They watched as almost everyone walked away to the promises of comfort and safety inside the walls, while only a few stayed. Even when watching as an onlooker, Jean could feel the weight of resolve and terror hanging over everyone that remained behind.

“That is not true. I know you do not want to hear this from me but he always spoke of you at every turn he could. Even the simplest thing would have him singing praises about you. He always said that you would be a leader. I didn’t believe him at the time, but I was proven wrong. Every decision you have made since you joined the Survey Corps has led you to this point… to saving humanity. If anything, you went further than anyone’s expectations.”

Jean felt a lump form in his throat, shaking his head. “I…don’t want to see this anymore.”

As if on cue, the scene changed yet again. The sudden brightness made him shield his eyes as the sun shone brightly and the smell of sea salt invaded his senses. The air was filled with the splashes of water and laughter. In the distance, he could make out the three figures of himself, Connie, and Sasha playing on the shore of a beach. Currently, his friends had succeeded in toppling him over the water, making him yell out curses as they cackled.

“Sasha…”

Jean felt something tighten painfully in his chest as he watched her. This was how he liked to remember his dear friend; happy and carefree, not cold and lifeless.

“I think this was one of the last times any of us was happy,” Eren said.

“Were you?”

Eren looked away, fixing his gaze on another trio by the shore who looked much quieter. Their figures standing still and seemingly staring into nowhere. “I can’t remember if I ever truly was happy.”

Jean scoffed at that. “That sounds like bullshit.”

The titan shifter paused as if in deep thought, then turning to Jean. “You’re right, there were happy moments. You guys…made it a lot easier.”

“And now look where we are. You still haven’t answered me why Eren. Why did you do this? Armin and Mikasa…they try to look strong, but you broke them both.”

“They will move forward just as I expect them to do. I don’t know the exact details of how everything will play out but Armin… Armin will lead humanity to peace with you close by his side. And Mikasa…she’s strong and will move forward with her life. She has always been so much stronger than me, while I didn’t even have the guts to tell her that I love her.” Eren said with a self-deprecating laugh.

Jean’s breath hitched as he heard him. “Then tell her that! You can’t let her go while she thinks you hate her!”

“It’s too late now, what I have done…there’s no way to come back from that. I didn’t always treat her like she deserved, you know. Now all I can do is encourage her to forget me and be happy no matter how much it hurts me.”

There were more shrieks of laughter, with Connie and Sasha now halfway sunk in the water as they swam around Jean, all three of them splashing each other. Not too far, Commander Hange was picking up seashells and staring at them in wonder while Captain Levi stood further from the shore, staring quietly into the horizon. Eren’s words sank in, and he felt a surge of anger and panic at the finality in what he said.

“You…you say that like it’s so easy. Do you ever think about the pain she’s going through? What you put all of us through? You did all this for what? Trying to play the hero for us? Fuck you!” Jean yelled as he lunged and punched Eren, making him fall backward and sending wafts of sand flying up. “You broke me too, asshole! Now I’ll have to live with that if I make it out alive!”

The background was changing yet again, blue skies turning into an azure shade and then into ink-black, with a few scatterings of stars. The beach was now dark and empty, and the air was dead silent.

Jean was breathing heavily, feeling hot tears running down his cheeks but not really caring. Eren was staring up at him, anguish clear in his bloody features. He scrambled to his feet, and Jean moved to help him up. He meant to let him go as soon as he was able to stand, but he only pulled Eren into his arms abruptly, hugging him tightly and letting his tears flow freely.

He didn’t know whether it was something in the atmosphere or the look in Eren’s eyes, but he could feel him fading away. The background changed in a flurry of colors and waves while they held each other firmly and finally landed in a different place.

Jean pulled back and soon realized they were in the barracks from their trainee days. The room was empty, the air only filled with the creaking noises of wood and the chirping of birds outside. He turned back to Eren, who had that same indecipherable look in his eyes.

“I won’t ask for your forgiveness, but I am truly sorry I brought so much pain to all of you. And…I know I have no right to request anything from you, but I am selfish, I have always been so selfish…so I need you to promise me, that no matter what happens, you will move forward and live your life to the fullest.”

Jean felt a thousand protests gather on the tip of his tongue, not ready to acknowledge the finality in his words. There was a certain heaviness in his chest that made him sit down in one of the bunk beds. “I’m not sure that I can.”

Eren knelt in front of him, “you can, you’re strong. More than you give yourself credit for. Promise me, Jean.”

The words echoed painfully, and Jean looked down, his voice coming out weak. “Why does this sound like a goodbye?”

He was met with silence and Eren getting closer, holding his hands.

Jean gasped as he noticed that Eren’s hands looked different.

Their surroundings were becoming dark again, and the fluorescent light that he had seen briefly now appeared to be spreading from Eren’s fingertips and extending towards him.

“It is time,” Eren finalized.

Jean froze. And as irrational as he knew it sounded, Jean could not help but deny what he was saying. “No! We-we can work things out, Eren. Please stop this and come back to us! Please!”

As he finished his desperate plea Eren pressed his forehead against Jean’s, a little frantically. “This is it, Jean. Please don’t ask me to come back. Just promise me that you will move forward.”

The light was spreading more rapidly now, their bodies illuminated in a searing light, two figures in a flame. Jean swallowed the lump in his throat, shutting his eyes tightly before nodding against Eren’s forehead. He felt him breathe a sigh of relief.

“Thank you,” Eren said, and it sounded like the saddest goodbye to Jean.

“I don’t know what to do. What will be left?” He choked, feeling completely helpless.

Eren lightly shook his head, his eyes sad but also alight with unspoken things. “I think you’ll be surprised by the things life has in store for you, Jean.”

Jean was confused by his words, but decided not to question him, knowing that he would disappear at any moment.

“Don’t look away,” Jean said, and Eren obliged, fixing his piercing gaze on him. They remained like that for a good while before the strands of fluorescent light completely engulfed them.

“Goodbye, Jean,” Eren said, a little broken but still strong.

“Goodbye, Eren,” Jean replied, his hands still holding onto Eren’s blazing form until there was nothing left.

~o~

The oil lamp was the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes. The flame appeared to be the only thing lighting up the room. Slowly but steady, everything was becoming clearer to him even if he still felt very strange. There was the sterile air, the smell of mercury and alcohol, the moonbeams filtering through the window, and the tears warming his cheeks, a last residue from his dream.

He didn’t know why he was remembering that vision now of all times. His last moments with Eren had happened in a landscape that wasn’t real, and that was something that he rarely if ever wanted to remember. All his memories with the green-eyed boy had contorted into a permanent bloodstain on his soul. And the fact that he did not follow his promise to Eren and instead became a pathetic shell of a man made everything worse.

But his self-deprecation did not last long as he noticed that he wasn’t alone, a shift by his side catching his attention. He could not see her very well, but Mikasa was now looking at him closely, shock and confusion on her face as she noticed his tears.

“Armin! He’s awake!” She exclaimed as she ran out of the room, and Jean heard muffled voices outside where he could only make out the words “doctor” and “Mrs. Kirschtein”.

Mom?

While the voices went on Jean remained dazed, moving the fingers of his right hand in front of his face. He felt so out of it that he barely noticed Mikasa coming back.

“Jean? How are you feeling?”

He only groaned in response, “wh-where am I?”

“The Hospital of Mitras. We were lucky it was close by. Armin went to find the doctor and your mother.” She explained, staring worriedly at the wetness in his face. Mikasa said something else, but he didn’t hear it, his body feeling like a thousand bricks.

“Mom?” he mumbled, scrunching up his face as he tried to move before Mikasa stopped him. “‘the hell did they give me?”

“You’re dosed on morphine. They told us you would be feeling drowsy when you woke up.” Mikasa took in how Jean seemed to stare at her but not at all at the same time.

His eyes were clouded and watery.

Since they arrived the day before, she had been hearing him make all sorts of noises in his unconscious state, muttering different names or things she couldn’t make out. One look at him could tell anyone that he was still heavily drugged. But she also wondered why he was crying.

She saw that he was sneaking a hand to touch the bandages on his ribs, and she immediately moved to pry his hands away. “No! You’re in a delicate state, you have to stay still.”

“Ah my hero,” Jean slurred, “so protective and gentle.”

Yes, definitely drugged.

She was gathering the blankets around him, remembering the way his body couldn’t stop shivering when they had first arrived and how nervous she had been with every single movement.

Reiner had helped carry Jean all the way to the hospital. While they had been lucky enough to be close to the hospital, Jean still caught an infection on the way according to the doctor. Mikasa had some hope now that he was awake, but she couldn’t help the fear that still plagued her. No. She wouldn’t lose anyone else. She would make sure of that.

Her thoughts were interrupted by him mumbling something she couldn’t hear clearly.

Jean’s eyes were blinking slowly, and he was turning his head from side to side. She leaned closer to hear what he was saying.

“It was him…Eren…he talked to me.” He muttered and gave an exhausted sigh, trying to fix his eyes on Mikasa even while she was blurry.

Mikasa was now frozen as Jean looked at her, his eyes still glazed over but there was something else in them now.

“I liked you, Mikasa, y’know? I think I even loved you. Since we were trainees…” he confessed, his voice still slightly slurred before he laughed. “Ah, what a stupid fool. It’s kind of funny,” Jean continued while laughing, a strange picture with the tears that were still drying on his face. He stopped with a groan when the strain was too much.

“Jean…” Mikasa muttered.

“Hmm…I wish he was here; I wish I could bring him back,” Jean mumbled, “I’m sorry I can’t do anything…I’m so sorry Mikasa…”

He turned his face into the pillow, looking like he was about to pass out. If Mikasa was planning to say something, it was interrupted by the doors opening abruptly. That didn’t seem enough to wake Jean from his stupor as the doctor walked in, followed by a trail of nurses. Mikasa could only stand aside as the doctor and the nurses covered Jean from her view, enveloping him in their prying hands and moving white garments.

She remained there as they worked on him, his dazed words replaying in her head like a broken record, his expression etched onto her mind. They had seen each other in the most brutal and vulnerable situations throughout their years as comrades, yet she felt at a complete loss with what she had just witnessed. She forced her intrusive thoughts into the back of her head and remained in her place, where she could do nothing but pray to whatever deity was listening that Jean would be safe and sound.

#jeankasa #snk #attack on titan #jean kirstein #mikasa ackerman #this chapter was long af #the erejean kind of jumped out in this chapter lol

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xxtraord1nary · 3 years

Text

𝐶𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝐶ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑆𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑒𝑑 𝐿𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑠

Fandom: Open Heart

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x f!mc (Charlotte West)

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: Pretty angsty I guess.

Summary: When a lonely soul decides to spend her morning on a beach she is unpleasantly surprised to find that she isn’t alone and a lot has changed except her feelings.

Warnings: None

Taglist: @katkart122 @missmiimiie @maurine07 @custaroonie @romewritingshop @lucas-rennells @omgfheishot @schnitzelbutterfingers @openheartfanfics

A dreamy sea has a rhythmic pulse to it unmatched by any other part of nature. It forges its own sounds and kindles its own symphony as the waves crawl gently to the shore. Maybe that’s why she admired the Aruban beach so much or maybe it was the isolation of it all. Something she’d come to be so accustomed to. Her loneliness is like standing in the middle of a bustling city, watching people rush by without feeling like you're even remotely connected to them.

No, it's not the same as being alone; being alone is more a state of physical being than it is a state of soul and emotion. You're surrounded by all these people who never seem to truly understand you and who seem like they will never understand the fears and deepest thoughts that tug at your heart. It's not that they don't care about you or truly try to help you -- it's simply that feeling that they will never understand you, no matter how much you explain. It's that craving for love and connection beyond the surface level. Loneliness leads you to feel like you're literally watching the world go by, not part of anything in particular.

Being physically alone though on the beach was nothing new she had to say, but much to her displeasure she wasn’t alone. She spotted a figure in the distance much closer to the shore bare feet in the sand because washed by the gentle waters inching closer. The figure was tall and held a domineering stance and rigid posture she couldn’t shake.

He stood with his face up toward the sun as if taking in the rays of shine and simply basking in its warmth like a bath. He donned white shorts and a plain light blue short sleeved shirt just regular beach attire she shrugged off. He ran his hand through his tussle of chocolate brown curls and visibly breathed deeply taking in the silence quiet and free from disturbance but loud enough to be calming all the same.

It wasn’t until he turned around and they locked eyes from her sitting position did her grow wide and her posture go rigid did she realize this was no mere man or stranger on the beach at all. It was him. Her one that got away. The man that used to make her heart skip a beat with just a simple touch or look, the love of her life. The one that got away. After all this time he was still a part of her. She could still feel the way she beats nearly out of her chest at his mere presence and there’s a certain ache that still makes her feel like she is still in love with him.

For years he’d been the last thing on her mind before she went to sleep the reason for the teardrops on her pillow. Why even after all this time she hadn’t been able to get over him even after deciding to let him go which was the hardest thing she’d ever had to do. She tried to get rid of them, the memories, yet she still cannot, because those memories are so ebullient and hard to forget. They're still in her heart's chamber.

She wanted him to know so much, that she loved him. Still she did, her feelings were never a joke and that everytime she told him “I love you” way back when it came from the bottom of her heart. The moment she told him that his embrace made her feel so much comfortable and forget all her problems in life, yes she was honest with that. She was so honest for all the feelings she harbored deep inside. She cherished the moments shared and wouldn’t ever forget how she felt every time she was with him and all she’d put them through.

She wanted to go to him. Her heart told her to run into his arms and rekindle what they had once had but body stayed situated and stuck in place as she continued to stare at the once love of her life and the man she couldn’t ever seem to get over. That she still held a flame larger than life for. He sent a gentle smile but his eyes told a different story of love, so much love. But her happiness died disgustingly hard when realized he hadn’t seen her at all. Instead his attention had been directed behind her where his eyes alighted unfathomably bright at the sight of a woman and a small girl with a little brown dog.

The woman was absolutely stunning. She truly was what women paid to look like, if perfection didn’t exist she was an exception truthfully. Her tanned brown skin could’ve been glowing in the bright sun and beautiful features were highlighted stunningly by the carefree smile alighted on her face. As she held the smallest girl who took after her seeming to be mother exponentially. The girl held their mother’s golden brown complexion and dark curly hair but those eyes; they were unmistakably blue. A bright blue that resembled those indigo blues she knew all too well.

They were Ethan’s and the woman’s children. Her thoughts were only confirmed when the little girl wrestled her way out of her mother’s arms, raising a laugh from the woman as she ran into her fathers arms with the puppy trailing behind her. She hadn’t ever seen him look so happy and at peace. But when the woman made her way to him and hugged him from behind the way his face lit up was foreign to him; even in their time together she’d never made him look like that with just a simple hug.

He wasted no time in bringing her into his embrace and kissing her deeply, whispering sweet nothings into her ear, and being borderline affectionate. There was no doubt in her mind that Ethan Ramsey, a man who had no time for marriage or family loved the woman that donned a heavy diamond ring on her finger as he held it up and kissed each knuckle tenderly earning a moan of discontent from the little girls. It was adorable really they looked like a picture perfect family. What you’d see in movies really. Hell they even had a small dog with them that she hadn’t noticed till now.

It had finally hit her, she had to move on. She needed to let go of all that held her back: her love for a man who’d absolutely moved on, after all he was her first love. The very first love that she had experienced in her whole life. It felt melancholic for she had lost him. Maybe they were meant to spend the good times together, it’s just fate took its turn, she was able to hurt him and he did too and well she guessed that was inevitable. Then they parted ways and new beginnings came their way, you chose her over what a naive girl thought was forever kind of love. But it’s okay because she’ll get used to it. She promised herself and hopefully soon it’ll be without bitterness or anger.

Her therapist had told her some time ago before she left for the medical conference in Aruba that when she needed to get something out and she wasn’t available to try and write it out, in a letter of sorts. So she did just that and she wrote a goodbye later her lost love would never receive and not for him but for her. So she swiftly left the beach as undetected as when she arrived and made her way back inside the resort and found a pen and paper in her hotel room and got to writing. She wrote till her hand cramped and her tears stained the paper.

Dearest Ethan,

I wish you happiness love, even if that happiness doesn't include me anymore. It's just that I have to accept the fact that I was no longer a part of you and you of me. Thank you for everything. If I would be given a chance to get back from where we started I will still have that small talk with you in the hallway about her physics class we had together. I will still choose to fall in love with you because you're the best thing ever happened to me, maybe our bittersweet love story has ended after I’d hurt you the way I did. I thought the grass was greener on the other side and I was wrong but I found out all too late. But the last thing that I want to say is in another life I would be your girl so I don't have to say you were the one that got away. And I’m sorry not only to you but to myself...and Tobias.

Love,

Someone you used to know

As she sealed the letter she closed a chapter to her life that wouldn’t ever be opened again. And somehow she moved on. Ethan belonged to the beautiful with the brown skin and curly hair and somehow someway Suparna had to be okay with that. She wasn’t thinking when she sent the letter via bell boy to his room she only asked that it be deliverers to Dr. Ethan Ramsey and lied saying it regarded information about the medical conference he’d been invited to. And with that she went to her bed and fell into a restful sleep dreaming of what could’ve been.

————————————————————————————————

After an eventful day at the beach which was great until Charisma decided to put sand in Jenner’s fur. The act prompted the family to make their way back to the suite and give the girl and the pup a good bath before dinner which was much harder than it looked. Jenner was absolutely refusing and kept shaking his wet little sandy body as often as he could making the largest mess he possibly could. He had given up on chasing the three year old who’d decided that baths weren’t her thing and decided she’d rather run naked throughout the hotel room. Finally he’d washed and dried Jenner and put him in the dog bed with some toys to keep him busy. His love thankfully relieved him of his daddy duties and got Charisma ready for bed. A knock on the door interrupted his short reprieve that involved what he needed most at the moment a glass of scotch.

He answered the door and was met with a bellhop delivering him a letter that he took suspiciously wishing the boy a good night. He wasted no time in opening the letter and reading its contents that quite confused him. His thought process was soon interrupted by a warm hug from the love of his life as she placed her chin on his chest.

“Who’s it from?” She gently inquired. He only shook his head and shrugged in response. “No one important.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah I’m alright.” And with that he took his wife’s hand and couldn’t help but to admire the diamond ring that was just made for her and kissed her ring finger tenderly as he and Charlotte made their way to their daughters room to read her at least three stories before she finally turned in only to have her come in their bed later. But they wouldn’t have it any other way.

#spotify #open heart #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey fic #f!mc #one shot #ethan x mc #poc #black woman #choices

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beholdme · 3 years

Text

All the Many Shades of Gerry - Chapter 6

Chapters: 6/19

Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Gertrude Robinson, Elias Bouchard

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Library AU, Librarian Jon, Artist Gerry, Trans Male Character, Trans Martin Blackwood, Canon Asexual Character, Asexual Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Ace Subtype - Sex Positive, Polyamory, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Romantic Fluff, Falling In Love, Boys in Skirts, Kissing, Demisexual Gerard Keay, Minor Character Death, Past Character Death, Canon-Typical Child Neglect, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Flirting, Minor Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Adventures in Hair Dying, Happy Ending, Banter, Gerry has a lot of sass, Gerard Keay is Morticia Adams, Jon is a very grumpy Librarian, Martin adores them anyway.

Summary: In which Gerry is a kaleidoscope and Jon and Martin can't help falling in love with him.

He happens to love them back.

Find it on Ao3

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5]

"Do you really hate Keats that much?" Martin asks Jon, sounding faintly betrayed. They're sitting on a pile of cushions in front of Gerry's big window, while the man himself stands painting nearby.

There has been no previous mention of Keats since they arrived several hours ago, nor in the entire course of Gerry knowing them together.

Granted, he had barely been awake when they had arrived, having rolled out of bed just seconds before the knock came, but Gerry thought he had been keeping fairly decent track of the overall conversation.

He had thought Sunday brunch was a great idea when Jon suggested it during the week. Only remembering half-way through his shift the previous night that he was normally dead asleep during that time on a Sunday. But needs must, and after coffee and food, he was feeling downright perky at having two cute boys in his apartment.

Jon and Martin had settled into the pillow pile to occupy themselves while Gerry wandered off to paint, and they had spent several hours each engaged in their own artistic endeavors, simply enjoying the energy of one another's company.

Jon had started out reading but kept getting distracted by the way the light in the studio catches in Gerry's dark red hair, tied up in a chaotic messy bun, and had idly been strumming Gerry's old acoustic guitar for a while instead. Martin had been writing in a notebook, tongue often caught between his teeth in contemplation, glasses pushed up onto the top of his hair.

Jon stops playing abruptly and Gerry winces at the discordant note the guitar lets out in protest.

"I think Keats is pretty cool," offers Gerry cheerfully.

"Thank you, Gerard, very helpful," grouses Jon in return, glaring at him. Gerry blows him a kiss and returns to his canvas.

"I don't hate Keats, Martin." Jon's voice is slow and soft in the way that indicates that he's actually trying to be sensitive, "I just think he's overrated. After spending so much time in uni pouring over his boring symbolism, I'm just sick of him."

Jon's English literature degree, which Gerry remembers with some humour does not qualify him for a job at a library, had been a pain to get, and he doesn't always remember that part of his life with any great fondness.

"I know, but-" Martin cuts off abruptly and there's unexpected silence for a moment.

"Gerry, do you have a cat?" Jon's voice is incredulous and somewhat delighted at the new development.

"Yes," Gerry replies, very casually. He looks around to find that the cat has indeed wandered in and is sitting in a shaft of sunlight, black fur shining. "Jon, Martin, meet Saturn. Saturn, this is Jon and Martin."

Saturn blinks at them, before abruptly standing, showing them his butt, and then walking over to twine between Gerry's legs. Gerry deposits his painting supplies nearby and reaches down to scoop Saturn up, before carrying him over to sit with the others.

"He's not always great with new people, but hopefully he'll warm up to you. He can be a great cuddler when he wants to be." Saturn eyes them all speculatively before sitting on his own cushion and curling up in a fluffy ball.

"So he's like the Jon cat?" Martin asks, sneaking out a finger to scratch Saturn's fluffy little ears. He purrs lightly and Gerry grins to see them getting along.

"Well-" Jon splutters indignantly, face warming beneath his tan.

They both laugh and Gerry leans towards Martin to whisper conspiratorially, "He's not even embarrassed about being bad with new people. He's shy that we know how good of a cuddler he is."

Jon presses his lips together with a long-suffering expression, also reaching out a hand to pet the purring feline. Saturn rolls over towards him and gets a belly rub for his efforts.

"There we go," Gerry mutters happily. "All my favorite boys, getting along so well."

There's more sputtering from both Jon and Martin at that, but Gerry only laughs and leans over to kiss the tops of their heads.

***

Jon sighs and rubs the back of his neck, trying to release the burning tension sitting in all the joints of his spine.

It's 1 A.M. and the library is long, long closed, doors locked and lights turned out. He doesn't know how he gets here sometimes. Elias has certainly never overtly demanded he work overtime, and yet Jon always feels the need to push a little harder, do more than anyone would consider even remotely reasonable.

He accepted a while ago, that his irrational drive for perfection in this job stems from his self-doubt and fear of inadequacy.

And yet, that understanding does nothing to get him home at a reasonable hour, even when he remembers the two men who always seem to be around when he needs them.

It's unfathomable to Jon how he managed to find himself in a relationship with not one but two incredibly understanding and supportive men who love him. He considers it a downright miracle that they also seemed to be finding their way towards loving one another. Although, who wouldn't love Martin and Gerry?

He checks his watch again. Martin is definitely asleep, and even just stumbling in to lie in bed with him would disturb him. He knows the sweet man would say he doesn't mind, but he feels like if he can't get back at a reasonable hour, he doesn't deserve to sleep next to him at all.

Gerry, on the other hand, is mostly nocturnal. A quick check of his phone shows that it's actually Friday, and he is working at the bar for another hour or so.

While Jon has his phone in his hand, he opens up their text chain.

Gerry: Don't work too late. Martin and I want you functional so that we can drag you out to that street market this weekend.

Jon: I won't.

Gerry: Yes, you will. But try to keep it pre-midnight ;)

'He's awake,' Jon tells himself firmly. 'He'll be happy to see you, even if you did work even later than he predicted.'

So Jon packs up his stuff and leaves the library. He considers a cab, but it's only a few blocks and he thinks the fresh air and exercise will unlock the tension in his poor abused spine.

He arrives at the bar just before closing. Gerry is busy charming a few drunk regulars out the door with promises of undying love and that the bar will be back tomorrow afternoon. After they stumble off, he turns to find Jon walking slowly towards him. Gerry is wearing combat boots, dark jeans, and a loose leather tank top, over a lace undershirt. He has his favorite hoop in his nose, and the light glints off the many piercings in his ears.

"Why, Gerry Delano, aren't you a sight for sore eyes." Gerry grins at Jon's teasing tone and echoed words, no sign of recrimination about him.

"I always am." Jon reaches Gerry at that, and they draw together, pressing tired lips against each other gently.

Gerry's hair has faded out a bit from the moody red, and Jon slips his hands into his hair to hold him close for a moment longer. They rock together on the street for a long, frozen moment.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Gerry asks, pulling away and sliding his hands down Jon's arms to connect their fingers.

"I missed you," Jon confesses shakily, emotion spilling out of his voice.

"Good, I missed you too." Gerry drags him into the bar and fills the air with stories from his shift while he and his colleagues clean for the evening, closing up the bar.

They walk home arm in arm, Gerry flirting with him mercilessly. Jon sheds the day's tension as they go, and by the time they arrive at Gerry's loft, he's warm and relaxed.

He supposes he should probably go back to his own flat, but it's not a place he spends the night very often anymore, and he fears the creeping insomnia that will take him without Martin and Gerry around to soothe him into sleep. Besides, Gerry is right here with him, and he seems so pleased to have him around.

"Are you going to paint now?" Jon asks as they shed their work clothes. Jon is sorry to see the lace shirt go, but Gerry makes up for it by simply throwing a kimono over his bare chest. He throws him a T-shirt, so Jon wears that and his boxers as they settle on the couch. Gerry is still wearing his jeans, but both their feet are bare as they tangle on the coffee table.

"I'm not sure, do you want to?" Gerry asks as he lights a cigarette and offers Jon one.

"What? Do I want to paint?" Jon's voice is taken aback. He takes the cigarette and lights it.

Gerry shrugs as if it's obvious. "Sure, you used to draw with me when we were younger."

"Yes, but…"

"But what, Jonathon? You're too old to paint now? Too proper and straight-laced to get charcoal under your nails? No more piercings, no more creativity?" Gerry sways into his shoulder, drawing smoke into his lungs and letting it out as he speaks.

"No, it's not that." Jon grouses back. Gerry hums derisively in return. "I just don't see the point of wasting your drawing paper when you can do that." Jon gestures wildly towards Gerry's most recently completed painting.

Gerry eyes it critically. It's the commission that he's been slogging over petulantly. It's large and impressively done, he can accept that, but he doesn't like it very much. He hates the subject and composition Peter Lukas has demanded and compensated by pouring all his best technique into it. It makes him sad and sullen to look at, and Gerry will be relieved when it's finally gone.

"For every painting like that I've ever done, Jon," Gerry spills all his affection into the name, and Jon can feel it, "I've done a thousand ridiculous sketches and colour studies. Art is time, and diligence and joy as much as it ever is masterpieces. You don't sit down one day and magically just know how to be a maestro."

Jon looks over and up at him with big green eyes. Gerry can't help but lean over and slide his hand into Jon's hair, pressing their lips together for a moment. "So Mr. Sims. Can I tempt you to make some art with me?"

***

What they create in those soft early morning hours can only generously be called art, even Gerry's efforts. But they laugh and kiss and somehow get covered in charcoal and acrylic paint. Gerry even allows Jon to choose the Spotify playlist. Slow piano music with nature sounds play softly in the background of their impromptu art party, reminding Gerry of nothing so much as Jon himself.

The dawn is just breaking through Gerry's massive bank of windows when he allows Jon to drag him off to bed, and they collapse together in the soft morning light.

***

Late the next morning, Martin lets himself into the flat and bounces down onto the bed between them, sending Saturn flying off in a huff.

"So, I heard there was a slumber party. I brought breakfast."

"Fuck off," Gerry slurs, but rather undermines his own point when he pulls Martin down and tucks himself around him. Jon does the same from the other side, and Martin finds himself in the middle of a very sleepy man sandwich.

Gerry seems to instantly fall back asleep, but Jon eventually drags himself to consciousness, even buried in Martin's neck. "What's time?"

"Almost ten," he responds, very cheerfully.

"WHAT-" Jon flies out of bed in a blind panic, desperately looking for his phone, which is dead when he finds it anyway. "I'm already so fucking late!"

Gerry groans.

"Relax Jon." Martin tries to soothe him but is hindered by the fact that Gerry is still clinging to him in a very enjoyable way. "Gerry, love, let me go. Jon is having a meltdown."

"How unusual," Gerry mutters very unsupportively, Jon manages to notice. He flops over onto his other side and attempts to bury himself in pillows instead of Martin.

"Jon, breathe." Swinging up to sit on the edge of the bed, Martin uses his best man-disaster steadying tone. Gerry has come to realize what that tone is, but he doesn't mention it to anyone. "It's Saturday."

Jon slumps and drops the pants he was desperately trying to wrangle himself into.

"It's Saturday?" He asks.

"It's Saturday," Gerry confirms from the pillow fort.

Jon glares at Martin in a very put upon way. Martin smiles at him brightly.

He turns and wanders off to the bathroom in an effort to collect himself. Martin resumes his spot in the middle of the bed, and drags Gerry towards him, tucking himself into his back.

"Hmmm. So much noise on a weekend." The goth mutters as he attempts to resettle himself in Martin's arms.

"I'll make it up to you later," Martin promises, pressing a kiss behind his ear.

"You let that happen on purpose, didn't you." It's not a question. "Just to see that look on his face."

"Yes," Martin says, chuckling into Gerry's pillow.

"Very good, sir."

#the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #gerry keay #jongerrymartin #gerard keay #also on ao3 #fic

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g-perla · 4 years

Text

The ACOTAR Series is a Romantic/Gothic Horror Stage and Only Nesta Got the Memo

Not even SJM knows what’s going on.

Ok, this is going to seem off the rails but bear with me.

So I'm a big fan of Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë (top 5 books and all that jazz) and I was thinking about it because it deals with themes of the Other and the supernatural, Nature as Character, the overlap of the animalistic and human, blurring of established binaries...fun, Romantic shit like that. Interestingly, this overlaps with how SJM illustrates her world and characters a lot of the time, hence why I was considering it while working on my Nesta project. I’ve mentioned before that Nesta really gives me Byronic heroine vibes and that’s a character construct of precisely this literary tradition.

I started thinking about Heathcliff and Cathy and how they're ridiculously extra and just feel the most intense emotions towards each other but also towards literally everything (nothing half-assed ever, this is a Romantic novel after all). I then remembered how so many people ship them, but like in earnest, in a totally aspirational way. It's not a #cursed ship to them at all. It's...romantic to them not Romantic. I even read often that people quote it at their weddings, specifically the infamous "two souls" quote.

Then I had an epiphany. I was like "wait, what if SJM is one of those people?? What if she has the energy of a Cathy/Heathcliff earnest shipper and that's why all her ships are messy??" Because if that is the case, my friends, oh boy oh boy would it explain so much. I will post some sections from Wuthering Heights:

Doesn’t the acotar series seem like a 1/50 dilution of that energy?? And that is barely a taste of all the spiciness this book has to offer. To illustrate further: SJM gave us the F/eysand suicide pact and the near-death battlefield Nessian scene. One is certainly more outlandish than the other, but both are the result of intense emotions. To that Emily Brontë raises the following: Heathcliff asking the sexton to dig up Cathy’s grave to see what’s up because her ghost has been haunting him since he personally dug up her grave 18 years prior and she has been haunting him ever since. He later demands to be buried in the same exact grave when he dies so they can decompose together. They both married other people though which only adds to the mess. (I am not lying to you the Romantic tradition really gave us these gems lmao. As an aside, Mary Shelley was also a writer of the Romantic tradition and she confessed her love to husband Percy Bysshe Shelley on her mother’s grave. Her mother was liberal feminist icon Mary Wollstonecraft by the way which only makes this even more amazing. Additionally, biographers believe that the Shelleys also had sex there. Talk about Romantic 😉.)

Then I had ANOTHER thought! (Dangerous)

If we read the series from the point of view of just another YA high fantasy things might get a bit boring because the world-building is honestly lazy and the magic system is pretty soft, which isn’t a pre-requisite in high fantasy (The Lord of the Rings has a soft magic system) but it's not the norm and it doesn't pay off in this series. Not to mention that the plot is pretty lackluster and derivative. To add to that the romantic and sexual relationships are questionable in their healthiness and consequently are the source of much argument in the fandom.

But, dear reader, if we think about the ACOTAR series as being a sort of thematic and ideological 21st century YA homage to the Romantic tradition of the 19th century (within which Gothic Horror also lives), things get REALLY, REALLY SPICY.

No longer do we just have a romance fantasy with messy, hyper-emotional, animalistic characters who constantly partake in morally grey situations rife with dubious dynamics. No longer does plot really matter. No longer do we require quasi-scientific descriptions of the world and the magical system. No! All that matters now are the characters and the mood. Now we have potential! Add a lot of Nature ambiance: expanses of dark woods, great mountains, the unknowable and sublime energy of the ocean, a violent rainstorm/hurricane/tsunami, an impending snowstorm whose intensity reflects the growing emotional intensity of the characters as the story goes along (I’m looking at you impending snowstorm in acofas that curiously matches the growing complexity of Nesta’s emotional state). Blur the lines between any imaginable category: life and death, human and animal, known and unknown, Self and Other, beautiful and monstrous, good and evil, masculine and feminine, the list goes on. Most importantly make your readers uncomfortable by frustrating their desires to sort things into easy binary categories and don’t apologise for making them question their assumptions about the world, morality, gender, and any other kind of previously constructed Order.

Basically write the story with Dionysus-in-a-Greek-tragedy energy and bring to us mere mortals artful Chaos.

Once that is done we can have a literal Romantic/Gothic Horror story. The Acotar series could have been this unapologetically, with the added element of being told through the eyes of the "Cathy" character instead of through the lens of a third person getting second-hand accounts about what went on. This whole series is honestly enough of a chaotic mess of Byronic-like heroes and heroines and cursed familial relationships that it could have been that. That alone is peak entertainment. The problem, however, and the main reason why I can’t really say that this series truly delivered this wackiness is that SJM committed the act of not fully committing to the bit (very un-Romantic of her, I know). Now, I am not saying that SJM actually intended this. I’m just saying it really could have accidentally been this genius with some tweaks. Unfortunately, she made the crucial mistake of trying to justify too much, trying to make things too neat, too tidy, too sensical (in other words: the reason we really can’t have nice things).

I could end this here, lamenting the potential of what SJM had set-up for us were it not for one element, one gift:

Nesta

OHOHOHO DO THINGS GET GOOD HERE SO BUCKLE UP

Most of the characters refuse to fully commit to the bit in their desire to satisfy modern sensibilities, by which I of course mean they want ridiculous things like political power, to conquer lands, to be a Girl Boss, to get married, have kids, celebrate holidays, converse about mundane things, be relatable, etc. You know, pretty pedestrian stuff that only requires a bit of genetic luck, a sprinkle of energy, and the right circumstances within the world of Acotar. I would like to reiterate the beginning of this paragraph: most of the characters.

Let’s say you’re stubborn and you decide to still read the series through the lens of the Romantic/Gothic tradition, what happens then?

The most hilarious thing (for the Nesta stans that is. The antis would probably hate this)

Nesta, based on what we know about her through Feyre and the limited amount of other scenes, is the only character who really takes the performance seriously. She's the only one that SJM hasn't managed to confine through justification. Nesta just shows up and simply refuses to make sense (her POWER what a queen 👑). She is endlessly fascinating because she just exists in her world on her terms, established categories be damned, and in this manner she frustrates not only the sensibilities of the characters in the stories but those of the reader as well. This double duty is, I suggest, the result of the other characters not fully inhabiting the nebulous world of Romantic characters and thus being a little too plausible and understandable even if they are not justifiable.

Ok, you may say, but I relate so much to Nesta. I do understand her. I don’t justify all of her actions, but I understand where she is coming from. (You’re not alone, friend. I like to think these things too. Alas, we are but plebs).

To that I reply; Nesta does things, certainly, and we can spend hours trying to explain through extrapolation, educated guesses, and personal experience why she did those things, but the fact is we really don't know why. We are never explicitly told. Our insight into who she is and her motivations comes predominantly from the understanding of her youngest sister and from our own interpretation of the actions she takes. I must make clear that our own interpretations are rooted in pre-established assumptions about what is sensical and orderly in our own world and in our own lives. We cannot interpret with the tools available to us that which may be, by definition, unfathomable. It is simply paradoxical. Nesta, as we currently know her, is a construct derived from a limited number of scenes and our interpretations and projections of these scenes. Even the scenes where we get third person narration don’t explicitly tell us her motivations and her logic. For all we know there really is no comprehensible reason for her actions and that is endlessly amusing to me in how utterly Romantic it is. Acosf may and likely will change this of course, but as it stands, Nesta is a whole Romantic character. Her divisiveness in fandom and in the narrative could be due in part to her refusal to fit the discrete categories available in her world and ours.

Isn’t that wonderful?

To illustrate this a bit more I will share some details SJM gives us about her/ elements she sets up that fit in with the characteristics of the Romantic tradition (these are not exhaustive by any means):

The absolute pettiness (and extra-ness) of being so angry at her father’s inaction that she is willing to starve to death to see if he does something.

How in Acowae she is described as shifting between emotions as if she were changing clothes and feeling everything too strongly (probably to the point of destruction)

She is constantly being compared to animals, even when she is still human. Granted, SJM compares everyone to animals, but that strengthens the blurring of lines between usually discrete categories. It is still most powerful when used as a comparison when she is human because it dehumanises Nesta.

Often, SJM describes her characters as forces. Forces of nature, for example. Acofas is full of details like this in relation to Nesta. There is a storm brewing leading up to the solstice party and it is in full swing when she arrives at the townhouse. The language used there suggests that Nesta herself may be the storm (against the onslaught of Nesta). It really adds to the Maleficent energy tbh.

She is often associated with death post her transformation

She is Other even to Others. She was Made like Elain, Feyre, and Amren in a sense, but the process of her specific transformation differentiates her greatly from the others. As it is, she doesn’t fit in anywhere

Her intense attachment to her femininity and its expression are at odds with the ideas and assumptions about the performance of womanhood and a woman’s role in her world and even in ours. She is unapologetically feminine in her physical presentation, but her character, her thoughts, and possibly even desires transgress the unwritten rules of acceptable femininity (unfortunately there still are abject expressions of femininity in our ‘”progressive” mileux

She displays in many of her actions a disrespect towards authority and to the status quo. This is particularly notable when her intensely polarised sense of right and wrong is aggravated.

Her self-destructiveness. This is referred to most strongly in Acofas, but I would say she was remarkably blasé about self-preservation in Acowar as well

She is described as intelligent, cunning, ruthless, attractive, and prone to debilitating extremes of emotionality. All of these are characteristics of Byronic heroes, a subtype of the Romantic hero

Here are a bunch of quotes that touch on many of the elements that I have discussed above:

“I looked at my sister, really looked at her, at this woman who couldn’t stomach the sycophants who now surrounded her, who had never spent a day in the forest but had gone into wolf territory...Who had shrouded the loss of our Mother, then our downfall, because the anger had been a lifeline, the cruelty a release. But she had cared--beneath it she had cared, and perhaps loved more fiercely than I could comprehend, more deeply and loyally.”

--Acotar, emphasis mine, note the strong emotions. This is a recurring element for Nesta.

“Cassian’s face went almost feral. A wolf who had been circling a doe...Only to find a mountain cat wearing its hide instead.”

--Acomaf, animal comparison

“Nesta is different from most people,” I explained. “She comes across as rigid and vicious, but I think it’s a wall. A shield--like the ones Rhys has in his mind.” “Against what?” “Feeling. I think Nesta feels everything--sees too much; sees and feels it all. And she burns with it. Keeping that wall up helps from being overwhelmed, from caring too greatly.”

--Acomaf, emphasis mine

“I knew that she was different [...] Nesta was different [...] as if the Cauldron in making her...had been forced to give more than it wanted. As if Nesta had fought after she went under, and had decided that if she was to be dragged into hell, she was taking the Cauldron with her.”

--Acomaf, Nesta had her own plans for the Cauldron what a queen

“Something great and terrible.”

--Acowar, referring to her eyes. Oooh, spooky Nesta 👻

“The day she was changed, she...I felt something different with her [...] like looking at a house cat and suddenly finding a panther standing there instead.”

--Acowar, a two in one here: difference + animal comparison. Boy does SJM really go heavy when establishing Nesta as Other.

“‘Not in flesh, not in the thing that prowls beneath our skin and bones...’ Amren’s remarkable eyes narrowed. ‘But...I see the kernel, girl.’ Amren nodded, more to herself than anyone. ‘You did not fit--the mold that they shoved you into. The path you were born upon and forced to walk. You tried, and yet you did not, could not fit. And then the path changed.’ A little nod. ‘I know--what it is to be that way. I remember it, long ago as it was.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’“

--Acowar, show don’t tell gets thrown out the window here, but it is useful for the present purposes

“What if I tell you that the rock and darkness and sea beyond whispered to me, Lord of Bloodshed? How they shuddered in fear, on that island across the sea. How they trembled when she emerged. She took something--something precious. She ripped it out with her teeth. What did you wake that day in Hybern, Prince of Bastards?

What came out was not what went in [...] How lovely she is, new as a fawn and yet ancient as the sea. How she calls to you. A queen as my sister once was. Terrible and proud; beautiful as a winter’s sunrise.”

--Acowar, who knew rocks, darkness, and the sea were such gossips, but look how many connections to nature! To be compared to the sea, a significant example of the sublime, is peak Romanticism. If any of you have read Moby Dick, think about what the ocean and the white whale might have represented there and how that might relate to Nesta.

“I think the power is death--death made flesh.”

--Acowar, Feyre referring to the possible nature of Nesta’s power. Alluding to her powers possibly being related to death is quite significant because that is something most of us cannot comprehend, nor can most of the characters. For Nesta, a “reborn” but very much living character to have death associated with her is a strong blurring of the lines. The case of her being labelled a witch is similarly significant as it solidifies the elements of the supernatural while simultaneously comparing her to pretty much the only exclusively female-coded monster in western pop culture. I will touch more on this when I do my study of Nesta through the framework of Barbara Creed’s Monstrous Feminine.

“I am not like the others.”

--Acowar, we love a self-aware queen.

“Nesta took in his broken body, the pain in Cassian’s eyes, and angled her head.

The movement was not human.

Not fae.

Purely animal.

Purely predator.”

--Acowar

There are a lot more details and quotes that support this interpretation, but I didn’t write them all down in my archived notes. This post is obscenely long, however, so even though there is more to be said, I’ll leave it for another day. If you made it this far you really are an MVP and probably love Nesta to a concerning degree like me. Please rest your eyes if you’re actually reading this 😂

I’d love to read about any other takes and thoughts that might have come to your minds after reading this monstrosity,

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lefaystrent · 5 years

Note

Can we get more of the Nursing Home AU please?

Part 1, Part 2

Virgil doesn’t always stay the newguy.

There’s a new new guy on theblock.

“You can call me Dee,” the man sayswhen Virgil meets the new physical therapist.

There are tattoos covering the lefthalf of his face, green scales running from his jaw to his hairline.

He’s also got heterochromia, theleft eye a glacial-blue and the right brown.

And he’s wearing a bowler hat andyellow gloves. Not as part of his uniform attire, but like as a life choice.

Virgil had never met an animebad-guy character in real life.

Virgil gives him a guarded waveinstead of shaking the hand he offers.

Dee retracts the hand after amoment, not showing the slightest bit of offense.

“Isn’t this great?” Patton saysfrom beside them, having brought them together to be introduced. “Meeting newpeople is fun!”

Virgil stares at him like he’sgrown another head.

How long had it taken Patton towarm up to Virgil?

Weeks? A couple months?

And now he was immediately chummywith this new guy who threw up more red flags than Virgil’s little prison stintever could?

Virgil gives the universe hismiddle finger.

The truth is Patton had beenalarmed when he first saw Dee.

But Dee is the smoothesttalker, able to charm anyone who gives him a fraction of a second.

“Society can be rather condemnatoryof those who dare to embrace individuality, don’t you think?” he had askedPatton upon first meeting.

“Oh yeah, absolutely,” Pattonnodded along, completely enamored.

After all, Patton had judged Virgilright off the bat without getting to know him, hadn’t he?

He didn’t want to make the samemistake twice.

“He seems nifty, yeah?” Patton asksVirgil for his opinion.

Virgil shrugs noncommittally. “Iguess.”

He inwardly grumbles to himselfthat the tattoos are actually really cool.

It’s so not fair. Who does this guythink he is? All that trying so hard to stand out will surely come to bite himin the end.

Virgil feels a little validatedwhen it does bite him.

Or rather Remus bites him.

“There’s a snake in our midst!”Remus hollers in faux-concern before cackling.

“You bit me! You actuallybit me!” Dee growls.

“That’ll be twenty bucks!” Remusholds his hand out expectantly.

Virgil has never been more proud ofthe crazy old coot than in this moment.

Logan tells Virgil his thoughts onthe new physical therapist later.

“He’s clearly well-read, cunning,and charming.”

“Sooo, you like him then?”

“I never said that. If nothingelse, I would not be opposed to challenging him to a game of chess. Which wouldsubsequently end in soul-crushing defeat for him, of course.”

“Logan buddy, have I ever told youhow much I appreciate you?”

Okay, so Logan might admittedly bea little salty that his ex-husband is enamored with the new physical therapist.

Roman is hit with Dee’s charm and‘cool’ aesthetic, and he can’t get over it.

“He looks like a Disney villain!”Roman raves.

Virgil silently agrees.

“And he’s just so smooth. Hepulls the look off so well, and he’s so smart! Why, if I was thirty yearsyounger . . .”

Virgil does not agree with this. Infact, Virgil very much disagrees with this and would like to stop talking aboutthis now.

Suffice it to say, there’s a lot ofhits and misses amongst the staff and old folk when it comes to the newphysical therapist. Lots of them fall for his charms. Others say he’s tryingtoo hard or the more religious elderly scoff in disdain at his looks and say,“He needs to go to church.”

As time goes by, Virgil finds outthat Dee is none of these things.

Okay, yeah, Dee is kinda trying toohard.

But more than anything, Dee’s justa huge dork.

Virgil catches him one day practicinglines in a mirror while he thinks no one else is around.

“Why yes, Patton. My hat really isname brand,” he says to his reflection in a silky tone. He frowns, adjustshis posture and tries again with a slightly different tone.

Virgil backs out of the room beforehe can be seen.

He walks away quickly, wonderingwhat he just witnessed.

Virgil never brings it up toanyone. He doesn’t know how to put what he saw into words anyway.

On a later day, Virgil is chillingin the break room getting his mac and cheese on.

Breaking news, the universe still hatesVirgil because Dee walks in to take his break as well.

Virgil pointedly ignores him.

Dee pointedly grabs his food fromthe fridge and sits down right in front of Virgil.

There are other seats in the room.

“Love the new eyeshadow, Virgil.Totally doesn’t make you look like you haven’t slept in a week.”

“This . . . is literally the sameeyeshadow I wear every day.”

“Really? Guess I’ve never noticed.”

Virgil grips his plastic forktighter and imagines Patton appearing beside him to say, “Stabbing people inthe eye is wrong, Virgil. Even if they are rude meanie butts.”

Instead, Virgil stabs viciouslyinto his bowl of cheesy noodles.

“Cool gloves, Dee,” he‘compliments’ back. “Where’d you get them? Your grandmother’s kitchen?”

Dee eyes his gloves. “. . . yesss.”

It’s not so much of a conversationas it is a series of thinly-veiled insults.

They end their break with no realwinner.

“I so enjoyed our lunch together,”Dee says afterwards. “We should definitely do this again sometime.”

Virgil still can’t tell whetherhe’s being serious or sarcastic.

So he points a finger at him.

“You’re on,” Virgil declares. Hewalks down the hall backwards, pointing between his eyes and Dee in theuniversal gesture to show he’s got his eye on him.

Whenever Virgil doesn’t spend hisbreaks with Patton, Dee appears.

They verbally spar each time.

It becomes a thing.

And Virgil’s . . . kinda havingfun, to be honest.

He still doesn’t trust that snakeface though!

They don’t always trade barbsthough. Sometimes they just sit in silence, too tired to do anything but eat andstare at their phones.

Virgil looks up one day and seeswhat Dee’s looking at.

“Is that Steven Universe?” Virgilasks.

Dee slams down his phone hardenough to shake the table. He’s sitting ramrod straight in his seat, wide-eyedgaze pointed at Virgil.

Virgil stares back with equallywide eyes. “Dude, I think you just cracked your phone.”

“Totally didn’t crack anything,”Dee says completely unconvincingly.

He gives in and sneaks a peak athis phone screen. Virgil can’t see it from where he sits, but he can see theway Dee winces.

“Just the screen protector, I’msure . . .”

“Uh . . . you should probablycheck?”

“Marvelous idea,” Dee agrees andproceeds to sit there staring down at his phone.

“Okaaay.” Virgil decides to duckout. He tosses his trash away and sweeps out the room.

For some unfathomable reason, helingers outside the door, just out of sight.

He peeks in after a minute.

Yes Dee is still sitting therelooking sadly at his phone.

“My phone . . .” Dee murmurs sadlyto himself.

Okay, that’s just low, universe.You can’t make the smarmy charmy dickbag look all sad and junk.

Alright, so Dee isn’t that muchof a dickbag as Virgil originally thought.

Still doesn’t help that Virgil haslike zero comforting skills. He hurries away to find Patton in hisoffice.

“Uh, you should like, dip into yourcookie stash and give Dee one or something,” Virgil suggests.

“What do you mean?” Patton asks, startledat Virgil’s abrupt appearance and even more random request.

“He’s in the breakroom and he’s sad.”

Patton rises up from his seat witha purpose and a bag of cookies suddenly in hand. “Say no more.”

_______________________________________________________________

General Tag List: @spectralheartt @a-pastel-pan @notalwaysthevillian @rose-gold-roman @ijustrealizedhowdumbmynamewas @katie-the-noble-fangirl @yourroyalydramaticanxiousness @aroundofapplesauce @merlybird500 @beach-fan @jemthebookworm @whats-going-on-kiddos @randomsandersides @gamerfreddie @unring-this-bell @analogicallythinking @lilygold23 @levy-the-b00kw0rm @tacochippy @accio-hufflepuff-power1 @just-another-rainbowblog @georganabanana @grey-says-heck @crookedlyoptimisticdestiny @thesynysterunknown @idont-know-what-im-doing @idioticsky @fadingglowcloud @whizzie72 @theinvisiblespoon @greyyy523 @opaque-puppet @just-fic-me-up @wowimsogoddamnoriginal @sos-fandoms @loganeatsbooks @trust-is-overrated @theitalianalchemist @im-crunchie @mourning--star @4amanxiety @hogwarts-my-love @enby-phoenix @justanotherpurplebutterfly @internet-or-sleep @absolutesandersidestrash @seaspider10 @nonasficcollection @satanblessi @an-absolute-failure @analogical-mess @noisyeggpizzapatrol @hamilsandersfam @cefinitely-rolo @thgjclw @knight-shives @no-no-no-no-6 @savingshae @rabbitsartcorner @buddypallady @midnight-tragedyy @007ardra @fandomloverangel @dorkoverse @moodytrash06 @mirrorz-n-starz @idunnosong @lcrnbw @ollyollyoxinfree @cuter-on-the-inside

Nursing Home List: @thirteenashmctrash @figurative-falsehood @oddball-wqri @comicsimpson @hit-or-mish

#sanders sides #virgil #virgil sanders #deceit #deceit sanders #remus #remus sanders #patton #patton sanders #logan #logan sanders #nursing home au #writing #fanfiction #Anonymous

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laveritaswoman · 4 years

Text

Years and years later, and the S/C gaslighting game goes on...

I wrote the post below in January 2018, more than 2 years ago, (I’ve been in the shipper community since 2015 during S1). I ended up rereading it after a new follower @westwind49 , left a comment on the post, saying this:

“ Thank you. I’ve been feeling like I’m crazy thinking they’re together! I’ve always thought there was more to their story but was feeling bad that maybe I was delusional! So much theatrics! Thanks for clearing the air!❤️”

Thank you, @westwind49 , for allowing me to revisit my not-so-distant self and realize that some of us are still living a “Groundhog Day” of sorts.The most shocking thing about the post below is that EVERYTHING in it could still be said today. We are still in the same position, with no absolute verification/affirmation of any truth to either S or C’s true reality. They are still playing games, hiding things, lying, and gaslighting. C has still never used “my husband T” or even “my fiance T” together in the same sentence, showed a pic on IG of her together with her “loved one,” or even shown a wedding photo, because don’t you know that wedding photos are just for the bride, her husband, and their family? (That’s C redefining her wedding as a “private” affair, even though her co-worker and family left public breadcrumbs all over the place, and her wedding was included in Vanity Fair as one of the year’s “biggest” weddings!). S would have you believe, even though he won’t post a pic with her, that he’s spending pandemic lockdown in Hawail with a former Playboy bunny. If S and C are in fact with these other people, then why won’t they post pics with them, name them as their SOs, and add some truth to their lives instead of innuendo and gaslighting? It’s just unfathomable to me that two people can spend this much time and energy STILL either living a lie, hiding the truth, or simply implying a certain truth but offering no concrete confirmation of it as an absolute reality.

Here is my January 2018 post:

On sancerre, sushi and Netflix chillin’...

As a PR professional, I am smh at this whole sc fiasco. If s and c feel that no one has a right to peer into their private lives, that’s their choice, even though it’s very hard to achieve if acting is your chosen vocation and you aspire to be a well-known one. However, in order to successfully navigate and reinforce this ‘’hands-off my private life” position, from the outset, and/or especially when things appeared to be getting out of control with perceptions, sc/their agents should have hired sm pr professionals to take over their public actor accounts (and they should have established private accounts to talk/post to each other and their inner circles). With sm pr professionals manning their accounts, a strategy/tactics would have been agreed upon and the public accounts could have been fun but strictly professional promotional banter and understood by fans to be as such. And they would have been much more successful in creating consistent, ongoing messaging and PR for the stars they represented and their shows/movies/appearances. At public appearances, from the beginning, sc should have been less touchy, more professional, and steered clear of all the sexual innuendo (like c does with tobias, with whom she also had an on-screen relationship/chemistry). Sc could have communicated in a fun way at appearances that they were indeed “goofy best friends” but “we’re not dating each other,” and reinforced it at each appearance thru restating the same words and following through with their actions. If c was in a relationship most of this time, she could have curtly mentioned, “I have an SO, Tony McGill, but we’re very private people together so please respect our privacy.” I guarantee you, this invasion of privacy would not have happened bc no one (except maybe stalker Purv) would have shipped s and t. It also would have explained t’s presence at public appearances and their standoffishness (”you know, we’re private people so no public PDA”).The shipper world would have then been focused on just the jc characters and OL, with just a tiny, inert contingent who wanted to ship sc regardless of the facts. The anti-contingent and it’s resultant trolling, hatred and invasion of privacy by both anti’s and sc shippers to prove the are they/aren’t they would have never arisen. Sc could have lived their private lives with dignity and privacy, and they wouldn’t have had to compromise their integrity (or been accused of doing so), and all the gaslighting and blaming an entire loyal segment of fans of being “delusional” and “crazy” wouldn’t have occurred. Even if, as some claim, s is in fact gay, as a professional actress, it wasn’t c’s job to beard for him, especially if she is a “stand in your own power” type of woman (as she appears to be) who wanted to maintain her integrity, privacy, and grow her acting career. Any agent worth their salt would have advised c that bearding and/or misleading fans that you were in a romantic relat with your co-star when you weren’t would be problematic for her. And again, if c really is a woman who stands in her power, she/her agent should have renegotiated any bearding or “overinflate your chemistry with your non-SO co-star” contractual terms with tptb once c was a strongly-established, multiple award-nominated star of OL, which happened around early 2016. C had that kind of power by then. If the IFH was in fact held to accomplish this, c and s failed miserably at following through by falling back into their sexual-innuendo-laden sm banter and pics of personal time spent together with no SOs in sight (other than at industry events).Many co-stars have shown they can be friendly friends and cutesy together at appearances but still avoid being perceived as having something off-screen. Now I’m sticking around the tumblr shipper fandom to see how this ends bc I still think sc are hiding something. Natural curiosity and anger at being called “delusional,” when I know I’m not, pushes me to find out why this secret is so big that they’ve had to gaslight and abuse so many of their #bestfansever. You can find me on shore with my sancerre and sushi, Netflix and chillin’ and watching the trainwreck that is the sc fandom.

Thank you to (past and present shippers.were named here in the original post). They don’t know what they have/had in you guys … all of us saw the same thing and no, we weren’t delusional. I hope you all stay or at least keep your blogs active for a historical record of the gaslighting and decimation of a loyal fandom.

#tags

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thewhumperinwhite · 4 years

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Guardian Angel

OKAY SO LISTEN. this is not the update anyone was hoping for but sometimes the only thing that’s gonna keep my contrary adhd brain from Abandoning a project is to Invest Energy Somewhere else for a while. case in point, I've been plugging grimly away at both café and wkw for weeks and written ~500 words total, and then I wrote this whole thing in About Twenty Minutes.

So uh. You know how FBI is an au of an Actual WIP I have about vampires? Well this is... technically also that but it’s a lot closer to the actual canon of that WIP. If you don’t know anything about FBI or those characters, that’s great, you’re in the same spot Karim is here lmao.

Also this is heavily inspired by this very good spn fic, which I keep coming back to despite not being active in that fandom at all anymore. This goes in a very different direction than that, but they open in similar ways.

Also please note, the main character of this is a young teenager, and there will be some mild underage whump, but this is my official promise that there is no underage sex in this story.

Anyway uh let’s get this..... car wreck underway I guess

TW for: car accident due to reckless driving resulting in serious injury (or by rights it should anyway); body horror; animated corpse (of a sort); religion/Christianity.

----

For about—let’s say—the first fifteen miles away from his house, the thrill of the stolen car and his notable lack of driver’s license was enough to keep Karim in his own skin, not spiralling into rushing panicky thoughts. After a while that thrill starts to fade into the background and every time it does he hits the gas a little harder, and the new speed is enough for him for another fifteen miles until he has to hit the gas again because his brain is catching up with him.

Which is to say that when the thin pale shape of a human being stumbles out of the bushes along the side of the highway, Karim is going easily a hundred miles an hour, and no amount of slamming on the brakes is going to get him to stop in the hundred feet between himself and this person’s human body.

He hits the white shape at, optimistically, sixty miles an hour. It shoots up the car’s hood, cracks the windshield with its skull, and disappears over the top of the car. Realistically there’s no way the quiet hard thump of the body hitting the pavement many feet behind the car is audible over the sound of the car’s squealing brakes but it feels like Karim can hear it, can hear the accompanying crack of bones breaking against the asphalt.

The car rolls to a stop, and Karim spends several unfathomable seconds staring at the windshield, not bloodied but almost completely starred with a huge spiraling crack just off the center, and all he can think is, no, no, no no no no no oh no oh no.

Then he hears a muffled groan from behind him and dives for the car door, tumbles out onto the pavement on his hands and knees, scrambles back toward the pale body squirming and twitching in the middle of the left lane behind his mother’s SUV.

Somehow there’s still no blood, even back here, but it is immediately clear that there is something seriously, deeply wrong with this body.

“Motherfucker,” it says, and Karim freezes a few feet away from it, still the most horrified he’s ever been and now also very confused and between those two feelings no longer able to move. The voice issuing from the ruined and twisted body sounds, at most, annoyed. It flops horribly onto its back, like a boned fish, and rolls its head awkwardly on its shoulders to face Karim. “Going a fucking million miles an hour on an—” The body stops speaking, and stares up with wide shocked eyes in its colorless face.

“Karim,” the dead thing says.

Karim stumbles back a step, the horror already overfilling his chest growing and mutating so fast he loses his footing and falls painfully backwards, scraping his palms as he catches himself to stop from sprawling completely. The initial all-consuming terror of having killed a person with his mother’s car is turning into a—different, harder to parse all-consuming terror.

Because every instinct he has is telling him that this thing that just called him by his name is a corpse.

Watching it sit up on the pavement, in a hopefully unconscious mirror of Karim’s own half-sprawled pose, is like watching a marionette puppet being controlled by a very unskilled puppeteer. It’s movements are jerky and uneven; it falls back when it puts its weight on one of its arms and the leg on that side is stuck out stiffly in front of it and bending in places that aren’t joints. And above its wide filmy eyes its forehead is starred with cracks like an egg dropped on a hardwood floor.

“You’re alive,” it says. Its voice is—completely normal, which is somehow the strangest thing about it. About—him.

“I—I’m so sorry,” Karim says, starting to run on autopilot now, fumbling in his pocket for his cellphone, “I’ll call, I’ll call an ambulance, I’ll—”

“I don’t need an ambulance,” the dead boy says absently. He leans forward, his mangled arm hanging useless at his side, though he doesn’t move like he’s in any pain at all. “You’re—holy shit, you’re a baby.”

Karim blinks, away from his phone screen, up at the dead boy. He looks—older than Karim, but not by that much, like a college student, maybe. And he’s looking up at Karim with alarm that’s almost horror, like Karim is the weird mangled abomination here.

“I am not,” he says automatically. There’s still no blood, anywhere. There’s—he can see that the skin of the boy’s head is broken, but it’s not bleeding, not a drop.

The boy searches his face with his weird foggy eyes, still leaning forward. His hair is short, maybe even buzzed in the back, and it’s a dull sandy-brown, above a face that might be handsome if it wasn’t gray-tinged and bloodless and cracked open.

“What year is this?” the dead boy says urgently.

Karim stares at him.

His arm is dangling limply at his side and his leg is definitely broken in more than one place and Karim did that, which will continue to be true regardless of whatever else is going on with this guy medically, and Karim has no idea what to do about that, is almost paralyzed by the desire to physically twist time back ten minutes and have this not be the moment he’s in right now.

But he can’t do that, so he answers, “Uh, 2009?” in a high squeaky voice like it’s a question, instead.

The dead boy’s eyes go even wider.

“It’s,” he whispers. “You’re,” and then he stops and looks at the ground. He raises his still-working arm to scrub across his cracked forehead, maybe tries to raise the other one, winces.

“I’m sorry,” Karim croaks. “I should— I gotta get you to a hospital.”

The dead boy shakes his head. “I don’t need a hospital,” he says, “I need a church.”

Karim feels himself gasp sharply. “Oh god,” he says, “Oh no, I’m— sure you’ll— make it, man, you’re—” He laughs, the sounds grating and hysterical in his own ears. “Look, you’re not even bleeding!”

The dead boy blinks up at him, and then he laughs, throwing his head back, and it’s a full, pretty laugh, sparking up toward the darkening sky— and when he lifts his chin Karim can suddenly see a bizarre pattern of marks all over his neck, a dozen little dots, in pairs, clustered around where you would look for a pulse on someone you weren’t sure was alive.

“That’s not what I mean,” the dead boy says, his eyes squinty and warm with laughter, and then he takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly, staring at Karim, the smile fading from his pretty dead face. “Christ,” he says softly, and then, again, “Karim.”

Karim takes half a step back. “How— how do you know my name?”

“Ha,” the boy says, “that’s—” He tries to push himself to his feet and hisses, falling back like his broken leg won’t take any weight. Karim takes a step closer, unable to keep from reacting to obvious pain that he definitely 100% caused. “Actually,” the boy says, “I—would love it. If you could give me a ride. To the nearest church before I try to answer that. Karim.”

Karim stares at him. “What?”

“Catholic would be best if you’ve got it,” the boy says, with the air of somebody who knows he’s saying an absurd thing and is trying very hard to play it off. “I’m sure another kind would work but I’d just as soon not—” He shifts, winces a little; Karim looks down at his leg and squeezes his eyes shut, he’d momentarily forgotten how awful it looks. The boy laughs, sounding slightly hysterical. “I’d just as soon not drive around between a bunch’a churches if it’s all the same to you. Save you some gas money, huh?”

“Why,” Karim says, and he forces himself to look at the boy’s leg for real. There’s a place beside the— crooked, displaced— kneecap where Karim can see a strip of skin missing, and the exposed flesh is pale and bloodless; he feels his stomach squeeze in panicked nausea. “Why would you need a church right now.”

The boy sucks his teeth audibly, bowing his head, and then spreads his still-working hand wide with a fine-you-got-me shrug.

“Because,” the dead boy says, “I need holy water to put my leg back together.”

Karim blinks. Blinks again, for good measure.

“What,” he says. He shakes his head. “What. Why would that. Why.”

The boy looks away, tilts his head like he’s doing math in his head, and says slowly, in the voice of someone trying a gambit they’re pretty sure won’t work. “Because I’m... your guardian... angel?”

Karim narrows his eyes. The boy could at least have the decency to say it like he means it.

“Okay,” the dead boy says, and nods like he’s trying to psyche himself up. “Okay, yeah, no, that’s fair, I— Hold on, I’ll— I’ll show you.”

The dead boy sighs and shakes his head. “This is gonna fucking suck,” he mutters, and he closes his eyes.

At first Karim doesn’t think anything weird is happening— that an evening breeze has just kicked up. But as the wind gets stronger and he can see pebbles and bits of loose asphalt skittering away from where the dead boy sits on the pavement, it becomes clear that the sudden rush of cool air is coming from him. His sandy hair is whipping around his head, too, like it’s in a stronger wind than the one Karim can feel, and Karim realizes a second late that there’s— light coming from him too, a cold white glow growing so slowly he didn’t see it at first.

The dead boy lets out a shaky breath, his face creasing in concentration, or maybe pain.

Karim stumbles backward, hitting the back of the car and pressing his back against it, staring at the dead boy. The wind picks up and the light suddenly flashes, so bright that Karim throws up his arm to shield his eyes— and through his fingers, he can just see that the light beaming from the empty air above the dead boy’s shoulder blades, where it almost forms the shape of two enormous wings out of thin air and dust.

The wind and light sputter and die roughly in unison. Karim lowers his hand enough to stare at the dead boy in— he’s not sure what feeling, actually. Possibly terror.

The boy’s hair settles back against his cracked forehead. “Oh, good,” he says, breathing hard, like he’s just run a mile on a hot day. “It worked.”

Then the dead boy sags sideways and flops limply onto the pavement, and lies still, like corpses generally do.

“What the fuck,” Karim Mun says, with feeling.

#guardian angel au #whump #car accident #undead whump #angel whump #original whump

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hungryflowers · 4 years

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What I See Is Everything

Title: What I See is Everything

Rating: General Audience

Fandom: Planes: Fire&Rescue

Character Relationship(s): Blade Ranger/Dusty Crophopper

Character(s): Blade Ranger, Dusty Crophopper, Dipper, The Smoke Jumpers, Cabbie

Author’s Note’s: So recently, my writing had taken a downhill turn, and if anyone cares enough, they are welcome to partake in a nice little short story featuring a fandom I haven’t been in for a while and two of my characters from said fandom. It’s been dead here, so I’m willing to try and change that!

During nights like these Blade would think it best to sleep with the hangar doors open. He peered out into the moment; steaming, cooling rain drenched everything it touched, the tempurature brought to one more bearable than the day hours before. Springtime... It had been a scintillating sensation for Blade. Nearly every spring was. He could go for winter-like peace for a couple of months before the eternal grey hues and ashen snows would depress and deflate his content nature. It felt most natural for him to enjoy spring with all of its odd quirks.

For Dusty’s sake at least. Dusty loved Spring and Summer months more than Blade did. In a sense, it matched his personality: Vibrant, stunning, warming, and welcoming. Constant joys during the seasons would be for the SEAT to play about in the lake, skip rocks with the Jumpers and sit and have quiet times with Dipper. When they were not around, Cabbie had always been good company. The old workhorse had tales of many glories in his time, the delight on Dusty’s face couldn’t be masked as insincere.

At the end of the day, Blade was Dusty’s most favorite thing he’d always come to after a long, hot day. Or on a day where the rains would take over the majority of it. It would fill the copter’s body with a rumbling delight whenever he’d nestle up against him and talk. That’s it. Nothing more. Never less. Dusty could go on and on about how Propwash Junction was going, how he’d tell him that Mayday would ask about him. And about Skipper and the rest of the lot on the runway. Blade listened intently, asking and answering whenever his opinion called for it.

The talks would tumble into the dusk, shadows of the natural sunlight dwindling swallowed the land unhurried. Dusty yawned shortly after, set ins of sleep cradling him comfortably as he sprawl out at the larger copter’s side. The endearment was reciprocated, Blade pressed himself against the smaller plane as best as his space would allow, kissing his cheek sweetly and then the humming crickets would set the lullaby required to sleep peacefully that night.

Tonight, there would be no crickets to hum their songs, no sounds of Dusty’s laugh and chatter. None of that for the heavy patting rains deafened the air soothingly. Dusty was back in Blade’s hangar before the rains had started, disappointed that he was not able to do all that he wanted before they had arrived. He looked through the window, props scraping lightly at the sturdy redwood as he sighed wistfully.

“Springs showers last longer here, don’t they?” His tone was mundane and quiet but enough to bring Blade out of his trance. The red and black copter blinked once, rolling up to the window to see what his mate was seeing.

“It’s seems like that. But it’s good thing too. I’d rather it rain for a two weeks straight than go without water for over three months.” His voice came comfortingly soft with a hint of mirth. There was a lot of truth there. Dusty just wasn’t used to the volume of rains California would get. That was fine.

Dusty chuckled a bit at that. He turned away from the window as he went over to the cushy down of the den bed that Blade had provided. Initially the bed was for winter months, but those would often vary. He kept it out for comfort ever since. Blade’s glacial eyes followed Dusty before his body began to. Another sweet laugh came from Dusty as he leant into Blade, his nose pushing up against his frame delicately. Blade pushed back, nose running along Dusty’s wingtip pliantly.

Silence, save the strong splattering of rain outside. The moments Blade enjoyed the most with Dusty. He enjoyed looking at the SEAT, marveling in this curious creature. How could he be in so much love? It was unfathomable, but addictive.

“You are so beautiful...” Blade whispered, doubting it was audible. He closed his eyes as he awaited Dusty’s reaction.

“What did you say?” There it was. Dusty spoke a bit louder as the copter opened one eye.

“I said, you’re so beautiful. But I bet you knew that already.” Blade quipped as he looked up at Dusty’s magnetic gaze. The SEAT rolled his eyes before adjusting to shake Blade off for a moment.

“Interesting... I didn’t know that Blade. What is so beautiful about me?” Dusty challenged softly. It was a thought provoking question. Blade never told Dusty how and why he found him so beautiful. To anyone else, he was just a dingy looking hybrid with an attractive smile.

Blade’s eyes went from Dusty to a random part of the room. He thought hard about what he was prepared to say. He could have said everything, but that came off as egregious and uninspired. Dusty inspired Blade in more ways than he could ever know.

“Well...you’re eye-catching, fetching, a delight to my senses. Everything you do and are makes me weak,” Blade’s eyes went back to Dusty, feeling the other’s plating warm slightly, “When I look at you; I see everything. I see a plane forged with valor, courage, intelligence and such craft. What I see is a young, vivacious, pernicious, exotic specimen of excitement and delight.” The AugustaWestland’s nose brushed daintily across Dusty every crease, seeming to measure where his wings outline began.

Dusty’s form heated up more as Blade whispered to him, velvety sweet voice making him look away for a moment.

“I-I I can’t be all that.” Dusty stammered, the heat under his plating making it hard to speak.

“Why not?”, Blade asked smoothly, “You are the one everyone wants, but only I get to have you,” A twinge of possession ripples through the copter as he nuzzles into Dusty, “Beautiful are your eyes, so rich and cool it is like staring into the sweet spring sky itself, a body complete with curves and grooves like a winding runway tarmac, and a voice like a chorus of songbirds chittering a melodious call... Yes, you are what true beauty manifests as.” He couldn’t control himself anymore. He went to the front of the bewildered being to grant him a long, seductive kiss to his near open mouth.

Dusty wanted to comment on what had gotten into Blade. He would never think that he would spend so much time admiring and idolizing the frame Dusty had. The younger male gasped softly as Blade pressed into him more, the subtle thundering of his engine making Dusty feel a certain way. A way he could not translate into words as Blade stole his lips in a sweet kiss. He had to close his eyes. The feel of his lips on him again was the sensation of a lifetime, even better than being called ‘beautiful’ a hundred times over.

When the kiss was over, Dusty pouted slightly. Sharing a kiss with Blade was a rarity in its own. Even though they were together, Blade didn’t just kiss Dusty casually. They had shared one passionate kiss while they made love, but no more than that. To have Blade like this was a treat.

“Wow... it would take a lifetime before I knew just how beautiful I really was to you. But... Blade, I don’t need those big words to know how beautiful I am to you. Do you want to know why?” Dusty’s voice softened as he pressed his nose to Blade’s. The AugustaWestland stayed silent but confirmed to Dusty that he was listening to him.

“I know I’m beautiful to you not because of your words, but in the way you look at me. In the ways your voice softens when you comfort me, or in that commanding strength that gives me confidence and security. I know how beautiful I am to you because of how you stop and stare at me. As if time just stopped for the both of us. In the little moments too Blade,” Dusty leaned in more, “You can use all the synonyms in the dictionary to describe to me what beautiful is, but to me, you loving me is beautiful.”

Blade smiled. It was not a rare thing he did when it came to Dusty, but this smile was different. It radiated with genial softness, eyes glistening with fervor but no lust. It was yearning and seeking, but he had all he wanted within the reflection of his gaze.

“I love you...” Softly spoken as it came from Blade. He has said so many times before but here it meant far more than it did before. Both he and Dusty knew.

Dusty returns the smile warmly, a light flush spewing from his exhaust as he licked Blade’s nose sweetly. He didn’t say it back. It was expressed in the softness of his blue eyes.

“Take me to bed...” Was all he said. To Blade it had one meaning but he wouldn’t act on that now. For now, he would lay with Dusty on this rainy, cold night and show to him all the ways he knew to make his Dusty feel beautiful.

There you go folks, just wanted a nice, self indulgent fic about Blade calling Dusty beautiful and the way Dusty showcases that beauty is something you feel, not what you are. Enjoy my Proppies!!

#planes fire and rescue #disney's planes #dusty crophopper #blade ranger

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twi-sight2020 · 4 years

Text

Chapter 10: My liver, Midnight Sun, and other things I don’t know about

So, first of all, HOLY HELL THERE ARE NOW 230 of you. Like damn, I’ve been a DC RPer for years and it took me eons to get that many people across a couple of blogs. Meanwhile, i come back to one of my old fandoms and BAM open arms. Cleary, i was wrong for ever leaving. So, once again, I’ve been sort of ...slow. and I mean, TBH, I am a slow moving creature with these updates anyway, but considering I had to have yet another test ran, and found out that my liver is still showing up enlarged so I have to have ANOTHER test this upcoming week...ehhh, i figure I’m allowed to be a bit useless.(Sidenote: Never get an autoimmune disease, they suck more than Victoria ever could) But then, fuck I saw that SMeyer may finally be granting everyones hopes and dreams with some new Twilight material, and I had the urge to jump back here and immediately cry about it and throw hand sup in the air because...new content is A+. That being said, if you’re one of the five people i’ve seen who are hoping for a sequel to The Host or The Chemist...I still love you, but I will judge you....and blame you if this isn’t a full version of Midnight Sun or something in the verse....but i will blame with loooove and affection. Alright, on with the Interrogation of Bella Swan! First off, Edwards picks Bella up for school, and it’s...oddly adorable that he seems uncertain when asking if she wants a ride. Granted, Bella points out he hopes she’ll say no but...I find it adorable that he has these normal ,human fears, or rejection. He then tells her that he brought a jacket for her because he doesn’t want her getting sick. and this...this is the kinda overprotection that makes Edward loveable. Not the creepy shit he pulls in alter books, but things like this...it’s nice. He makes Jokes about her not doing 20 questions today, and we see how tongue tied Bella is. We also see that Edward finds Bella’s reactions almost..unnatural and too cool, something that I remarked on a lot in the last couple of chapters, though it seems that Edward is more disturbed by them because he is off balance not being able to read her, while I’m off balance because her mind is....rather unfathomable to me. Then again-and correct me cause I could be wrong- but isn’t Edward supposed to have a psych degree? Just saying.... They arrive at school and discover the other Cullen’s have take Rosalie’s super expensive convertible to school since Edward is “breaking all the rules” I also love that Bella calls him out that...no, they don’t blend in, even when trying. Like , come on guys, you’ve lived for a long ass time, you should know how people act by now. Jessica sees Edward and Bella come in together, and Edward let’s Bella know that Jessica will ambush her after class, wanting to know if they are dating...and how she feels about him. Edward tells Bella she can say yes to the first one if that’s ok because it’s the easiest explanation. JESUS EDWARD THAT’S SO DAMN UNROMANTIC. Like come on, at least a proper “Wanna go steady” would have been cute but...nooooooo. Idiot just lost one of the good points I gave him earlier. And...Jessica does just that, wanting to know if their meet up last night was planned, if they were going out again, and if he’d kissed her yet. And then She keeps pestering for details and Bella-being the exact opposite of me and my gossipy friends in every way- does not wanna go into it. Maybe it’s because Edward said he’d be listening, or maybe it’s just because she’s a very private person. Honestly, for a book told from her POV, she’s still...pretty damn hard to read at times. Anyway, she tells Jessica she likes Edward”too much, more than he likes me” and then evades more questions by brining up Jessica’s date with Mike from the other day.Since Jessica DOES like to gossip and be nosey and much as me and my friends, this distraction works perfectly, right up until after class when Edward is waiting for Bella. he seems both amused, and irritated, no doubt from listening in on the conversation. he and Bella go through the lunch line, he buys a ton of food for her -and some for him for show. Bella ask if he an eat human food, and he compares it to eating dirt...which apparently Bella has done-on a dare. Bella, honey, I don’t know who dared you to do this but...babe you need better friends. Edward sees Jessica watching him and gets pissy again, and reveals the source of his agitation is Bella’s belief that she likes him more than he does her. He wants to know why, and she has two main reasons, one being how “ordinary” she looks, and two being how sometimes it seems like he’s “trying to say goodbye. Edward quickly brushes past the “ordinary” comment with how he knew what the other guys were thinking on her first day. Bella....doesn’t believe it, which is..pretty damn stupid considering literally everyone kept trying to ask her to the dance. Like...Jesus, you may not be a supermodel, and you may be a super klutz, but you are definitely far from plain. The next bit, Edward admits is true, sometimes he does want to say goodbye...because he wants to protect her. He thinks this means he cares more, because he’d hurt himself to keep her safe. This feels like it could dovetail into a very very important convo, but then Edward breaks it up with jokes about how keeping her safe is a “full time occupation” and she...literally has the thought of how she could put herself in danger to keep him around. and just, fuck that. Like, listen up, if you ever EVER feel like you have to put yourself in danger to keep someone around, that’s...unhealthy, ok? It means you need to break ties with them, and maybe get a bit of therapy while your at it. Of course, Bella doesn’t have a Sassy Bi Bitch like me to tell her off for this so, you know, this will not be the last time she has some worrying thoughts.... Like about ten seconds later when Edward ask if-instead of going to Seattle- she’d like to spend the day alone with him. He tells her she should tell Charlie to give him some”incentive” to bring her back. Yea Bella, remember, he really wanted to kill you before? That danger is not completely gone. But Is Bella gonna tell her dad? Of course not. Edward is annoyed by this, but instead of, I dunno, dropping by their house and asking Bella to go with him in front of her dad or something he just.... acts pissy for a few minutes. Oh Edward.... She brings up the supposed camping trips they go on, and Edward informs her they are hunting bears. Which...goes over her head for a minute and she...literally sternly tells him bears are not in season. Wow, just.... Bella....honey...not only did that go waaaay over your head but also, you’re gonna be that person? God, this is why you didn’t have friends back home Bella, not the fact that you’re ordinary or clumsy...nope it’s definitely the fact you went beyond being mom friend to being Cop friend. Edward, meanwhile, earns a bonus point again for talking about how they are careful to hunt in over populated areas because they don’t wanna impact the environment. Damn, that alone makes my teenage crush come back...whoops. What can i say? I’m a sucker for the environmentally conscious. He tells Bella a ....minuscule amount about how they hunt, comparing how Emmet hunts like a bear(which is his favorite prayer) and how his on hunting mimics a lion(which he loves to hunt mountain lion). I dunno why Edward prefers that-except to make the Lion and Lamb analogy later, but considering what I know about Emmets life, I love that he just...kills angry grizzly for fun...even if my heart breaks for the bears because I’m a loser. Bella REAAAAALLLLY wants to see Edward hunt and he is like “hell no” She thinks it’s just because it would be “too scary” for her and Edward...blatantly points out that she really could use some fear and if that were the case he’d take her out hunting tonight. And then he...says he’ll tell her way she can’t later, but right now they are running late and lunch is over. Annnnd, that it. Pretty much an more filler chapter, we don’t get much info and it passes pretty quick. Kinda short for a Twilight chapter to. I do love that Bella- who fucking dies at the sight of blood- wants to watch Edward hunt, bless child, I worry about you. Anyway, lovelies, that it for tonight. Stay safe, AJ

#twilight #stephanie meyer #Bella Swan #edward cullen #twilight reread #twilight reread 2020 #twilight chapter 10

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watchingcutscene · 5 years

Text

No Man’s Sky

Pairing: Levi x Reader

Fandom: Shingeki no Kyojin/Attack on Titan

Word Count: 2000+

Note: The nsfw ban has me pretty disappointed with tumblr tbh, but i guess that hasn’t really stopped me from posting my stuff (still, if you want more regular updates and most recent stuff, pls follow my DeviantArt or even AO3)....This was written before the game No Man’s Sky actually came out, and we were all excited for it (before it actually came out and proved to be much less exciting than anticipated)

---

She was an unpredictable summer thunderstorm. He was a constant light drizzle. She was an editor, a challenger, a ghost of wilderness that haunted the urban scene. He was an executive director, a nine-to-five worker, a man with a suit and tie constantly crisp and fresh and clean. She liked playing video games after half a bottle of Jack Daniels. He liked seeing his username ranked first on the score board.

They met through her forgetfulness. When Levi returned home nearly 10pm, he found a girl slouched against the apartment door next to his. Her hair was hastily put up in a messy knot. She had on a white button-up, tucked into a dark grey pencil skirt, all wrinkled between her back and her apartment door. She sat cross-legged with her worn out Chucks. The combination of Converse and business attire was what made his gaze linger. When she heard his footsteps, she looked up, her (e/c) eyes vibrant against his grey ones. She had a can of beer in her hand. “Hey,” she greeted him as she got up on her feet. Her voice was light and cheerful. “Hey…” Levi reluctantly replied, having not the slightest clue who this woman was. “I live next door,” she explained, flashing a flawless smile while dusting off her butt, “and I forgot my keys.” Levi’s suspicion eased, he shifted his bag of store-bought premade food to his left hand as he reached for his keys in his pocket. “Do you mind if I climb over your balcony?” He froze for a second, the sound of metal echoed through the hallway as the keys dangled in his hand. He met her gaze a second time. “You can,” his said, voice unintentionally impassive, though his usual deadpan of a face softened, “but isn’t that a little dangerous?” “I’ll be fine,” she replied, her voice trailing off on a high note. He nodded as he opened the door. She marched into his apartment after him, following him to his balcony. “Thanks,” she mumbled with one foot on the railing of the veranda. He watched her back intently, muscles tense, ready to launch himself at her should she falter the slightest. But she was more than graceful when she hurled herself over the railing, landing accurately onto her own property. When she stood up, the now empty can of beer still in hand, she turned and waved at him before heading through the sliding doors and disappearing out of sight. Levi stood there, staring after her, until many seconds had passed and the light in her apartment flickered on. She was pretty, quirky, and a little strange. Also, he noted after replaying the scene of her launching over the balcony, her underwear was black. The same evening a week later, he had begun to wonder when he’d run into his neighbour again, when he heard a knock on his door. He had changed out of his work clothes, and was sporting some grey sweatpants and a black V-neck. Off course, she was there when he answered, this time, she had her hair done up neatly, the bags under her eyes covered by the perfect shade of concealer, and her lips were graced with a wine coloured lipstick. Below her silky blouse and navy trousers, she still had on her old Converse. “Hello,” she smiled, lips curling perfectly, to which he replied with a small smile of his own, “have you had dinner yet?” It was past midnight. Levi leaned himself against his doorway. The distance between him and his visitor drawing a little closer than he had intended. She didn’t falter the slightest, her (e/c) orbs vibrant and unyielding. Seeing the plastic bag in her hand, he lied, “No, I haven’t.” “Good,” she replied, delighted, “I bought some sushi and liquor, and also the new game No Man’s Sky, care to join me?” Her toothy smile was dazzling. Levi felt compelled to smile back, it was contagious. “Um,” the man let out a low chuckle. Laughter was a thing his body was not accustomed to. “Sure”. She stepped back and toward her own apartment, keys already in hand. He followed suit. “Just think of this as a token of my gratitude,” she said as she fumbled with the lock, and when it clicked, added “I cleaned my room, don’t worry.” The apartment was smaller than his, and while it did look like she gave some last-ditched effort to organize the piles of magazines and video games scattered about the living room floor, it was not clean. At least not compared to his anyway. Levi wondered about the room gingerly, afraid to disturbed the organized mess. She was behind the kitchen counter, freeing the boxes of low quality sushi from the plastic bag. She also pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniels. While she was reaching for beer from the fridge, he remarked, “you have a lot of magazines”, notably a lot of issues of the same magazine. “I’m an editor,” she responded as she placed the various kinds of alcohol and plastic containers of sushi on the coffee table, along with two shot glasses. “Are you a gamer?” she asked half-heartedly, turning on the PS4 that was placed on the floor under her flat screen. “Yeah,” he admitted, picking up the DVD case labeled “No Man’s Sky”, the art was quite impressive. “But I haven’t played this one,” he added. “Hmmm..” she turned back to face him, opening a can of beer and bringing it to her lips before mumbling, “What do you play?” Levi got a can of his own, chugged half of it, and answered half-heartedly, “I don’t know.” She chuckled, “what do you mean you don’t know? Like what, FPS?” He nodded. She giggled to herself and shook her head, mumbling something under her breath he could not hear. They spent the night getting tipsy and exploring the universe. He named planets after people and places, and she named them after the underdogs of the material world. It was easy to distinguish, his were planets called “Zeus” or “Nagoya”, and hers were planets named “Fish Tacos” or “Toe Nail Clippings”. Alcohol really did stimulate creativity. Normally, games like No Man’s Sky would not be Levi’s cup of tea. There was no defined objective, no competition, and therefore no sense of accomplishment. Though he hated to admit it, he liked the gamer clichés: Counter Strike, Call of Duty, and the new Star Wars. He was pretty much a stereotype. She was all that he was not. She didn’t need to vent her stress through virtual reality violence. Game art and animation were the most important. She never paid attention to score boards or kill streaks. She played all her games tipsy. Despite that, Levi still went out and bought himself No Man’s Sky the next day on his way home from work. In fact, he had to visit three different shops to find one that wasn’t sold out. He almost pulled an all-nighter trying to fulfill his purpose as a hitchhiker in the galaxy that first night. He popped open a bottle of whisky that had been collecting dust in his cabinet since the dawn of time, and named his first planet after the girl next door. He told her about his purchase over dinner, which he had invited her to when they ran into each other again one morning before work. His coworkers (namely Hanji) would go nuts if they ever found out Levi asked a girl to dinner. She was wearing a black jump suit with heels and bright red lipstick, looking fierce and powerful and oh-so-beautiful. She was delighted. “I didn’t think you were the type to play those games,” she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, “What did you name your first planet?” Levi was not prepared for that. The tips of his ears flushed pink. “Um,” he must have looked surprised, “I named it…Chuck Taylor”. She frowned in bemusement, “What?” “Oh, you know,” he looked down at his plate, desperately trying to keep his cool, “it’s just…a thing,” he failed. She laughed it off, not pressing him any further. They bonded, for the first time, over things beyond video games. Her favourite flavour of ice cream. His collection of cufflinks. Existential despair. Childhood memories. Allergies. His feelings of tender curiosity found its shoring and morphed, without warning, into a heat wave, a revelation. He fell in love. That was a first too. One night she called him out of the blue just to ask what he was doing. “I’m playing No Man’s Sky,” he couldn’t stop the smile from creeping up his visage. It was a good feeling to have someone call just to ask what you were doing. “Hey what a coincidence!” her voice was very high pitched, “me too!” Levi hesitated before asking, “are you tipsy again?” “Uh-huh,” she didn’t even bother to hide it. “Why do you always play while intoxicated?” he finally thought to ask. “Well,” she began, he could hear the background music from the game playing through the phone, “reality is really demoralizing when you’re sober.” “What does that mean?” She paused to think, “It’s that kind of thing you know. Apparently, there are 18 quintillion planets you can explore in this game.” “Okay…” he ensured her he was still listening. “That’s already such an unfathomable number, but in reality, there’s probably more planets out there,” she continued. “We spend our entire lives being indoctrinated with the brilliance of humanity, but that brilliance is actually nothing but a speck of dust”. Levi paused, processing. “You are very well-articulated for a drunk person,” was his reply. She giggled, “well I’ll have you know that I have a master’s degree in English lit and culture”. He let out an exhale of laughter, “impressive.” The line fell silent. Neither of them knew what to say. “Sometimes I think people are like that too,” it was she who broke the silence, continuing with her drunken philosophical generalizations about human existence, “do you know the book Kafka on the Shore?” Her brain made pretty big leaps when she was drunk. “No,” he replied simply. The background music from the game was no longer echoing through the phone, replacing it were the low hum of traffic and voices of urban life. “Well, it’s by this Japanese author – Murakami,” she continued, “he wrote about this myth, where humans used to have two heads and two hearts, but because the gods feared our strength and power, they cut us in half, so now we have to spend our entire lives searching for our other half.” “That’s very poetic,” Levi stood up to stretch. “But according to No Man’s Sky,” her voice sounded a little distant, muffled by background noises and blurred by wires transmitting telephone signals, “you will never find your other half. Because it’s simply statistically impossible. They say it’ll take 5 billion years to explore every planet in the game, that’s simply too many life times. We can’t afford that.” “But it’s happened,” Levi interrupted, remembering the Google headline, “on the first day of its release, in fact. One player landed on another player’s planet. They contacted each other to meet up at the same location in the game,” he seemed so eager to prove something. She became interested, “did they?” “Yeah,” Levi switched the phone to his left hand, “but apparently they couldn’t see or interact with each other. The game didn’t support multiplayer I guess.” She took some time to think, "well, at least our world supports multiplayer." "What?" "Cause I can see and interact with you." "Well, if you put it that way, I guess..." There was a long pause. Levi became distracted by the background noise on her end. “Hello? Where are you?” he was a little concerned. She was drunk after all. She didn’t reply for a while. “On my balcony.” He was slightly taken aback. Without a word, Levi pulled open the glass doors beside his living room and stepped out into the chilly evening air. “Hey,” her voice synced with the copy of it echoing through his phone. She waved. Her hair was down and flowing through the breeze. It was a mirrored image of the night many days before, she had one foot over the railing. Without warning, she made a leap, the light from her phone screen illuminating Levi’s visage as she landed on his balcony and stumbled into his arms. A moment of silence passed before he sighed in relief, “we have to stop meeting like this,” he chuckled, “what were you doing out here?” “Looking for my other half,” she mumbled sleepily, wrapping her arms around him, head resting on his chest. “I found you.”

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smartgirlsaremean · 7 years

Text

Stiltskin Family Bonding - Chapter 11: Spinning

Fandom: OUAT

Relationships: Rumple & Henry, Charming & Henry, Sheep Boys

Rating: N/R

Summary: The Stiltskin boys bond in a variety of ways. Sometimes it goes well, other times...not so much.

AO3

Chapter 11: Spinning

Prompted by ghostwriter107: Would love to see David's reaction to walking into the shop and finding Rumpel teaching Henry how to spin. I got the feeling that the heroes thought only they had something useful to pass to their grandson.

David winced a little as the bell over the shop door gave a jaunty jingle. He didn’t have anything against Rumplestiltskin anymore, but his memories - cursed and otherwise - of this shop weren’t exactly pleasant. He avoided coming here when he could, but Henry was late getting home and Snow had been busy trying to convince Emma to at least consider a royal wedding in Storybrooke, and David was more than happy to leave that conversation behind.

Henry had been spending more and more time at the shop lately, and David supposed that was only natural. Before Neverland, the boy had rarely seen his father and other grandparents, and they were, after all family. That wasn’t as hard to swallow for David as it was for Snow, but it was still strange to think of the Dark One as a part of his family. Henry was always reminding them about the Golds, pointing out when they’d been left off guest lists (or inviting them himself if time was running short), and they all felt a little guilty about it, but Belle and Rumplestiltskin were...odd, to say the least, and David would be lying if he said he wasn’t occasionally concerned about what the old warlock could be teaching him - magic, dealmaking, duplicity, and any number of questionable skills. No one could deny that Rumplestiltskin was one of the cleverest people in town, but...

When no one responded to the sound of the bell, David walked slowly around the shop and marveled at how neat and organized everything seemed. Before, there’d been no rhyme or reason that he could see, but since Belle’s arrival (and especially since Henry and Neal had begun working in the shop) it seemed Rumplestiltskin was being forced into a semblance of order. For years the Dark One had answered to no man or woman, but his tiny librarian wife and his son and grandson held him in thrall as if they had magic never before seen.

Where was everyone, anyway? Rumplestiltskin wasn’t usually this lax about customers in his shop. A low sound caught his ear and he walked closer to the doorway of the back room, frowning when he realized that he could hear voices. If they were here, why weren’t they coming out to the front?

He peeked around the edge of the curtain and his eyes widened. Henry was seated on the bench of a spinning wheel, his expression fierce with concentration as he slowly fed wool into the orifice. Rumplestiltskin stood just behind him, and as David watched, he put one hand on Henry’s shoulder and pressed down lightly.

“Relax your shoulders, m’boy,” he said quietly. “You’ll be in an awful lot of pain if you stay so tense.”

Henry took a deep breath and let it out slowly, his shoulders slumping ever so slightly as he followed his grandfather's advice. A moment later, he swore under his breath when a large lump appeared in the yarn on the bobbin. “This is impossible,” he grumbled.

“You were doing well until you lost focus,” Rumplestiltskin said. “Everyone has a difficult time at first.”

“Did you?”

“Of course. This time, relax your right hand a bit and allow the wool to come out smoothly.”

Henry was silent for a little while, concentrating on the slide of wool and the whir of the wheel. Rumplestiltskin appeared to watch the wheel as well, his dark eyes serious and sad. “Can Dad spin?” Henry asked suddenly.

“Ah...no. Your father never learned.”

“Oh.”

Silence reigned in the back room once more, and David considering announcing his presence, but then Henry spoke up again. “Dad said you used to make his clothes.”

“Aye.”

“Could you make me something? Or maybe something for the new baby?”

David glanced up and saw that Rumplestiltskin was wrestling with some very strong emotions. “I - well, I do have something, but...”

“Wait, you made me something? Really?” Henry dropped the carding and jumped to his feet. “Can I see?”

Rumplestiltskin looked as if he didn’t quite know what to do. When Henry raised his eyebrows and asked again, the sorcerer shook his head and approached a trunk near the back of the shop. He pulled something out and approached his grandson, his face wary and uncertain. “You’re a bit old for such things, I’m afraid,” he said, holding out a small bundle of shimmering fabric.

Henry took it and shook it out, and David swallowed against a sudden lump in his throat. It was a blanket, white as snow and shining with golden threads, Henry’s name embroidered in black on one corner.

“ Wow ,” Henry said. “Is that - did you spin the gold?”

“I did.”

“This is amazing.” Henry folded the blanket. “Thanks, Grandpa.”

Rumplestiltskin’s mouth quirked up at the corners. “You’re welcome.”

David stepped back from the curtain, aware that his hands were shaking slightly and his eyes were a little damp. As quietly as he could he strode back across the store and stood by the door; he took a deep breath, swiped at his eyes with one hand, and then opened the door and closed it forcefully. “Gold?” he called. “You here?”

Rumplestiltskin walked out from the back room and raised his eyebrows. “Shepherd,” he said dryly. “Here to rescue the young prince from the lair of the beast?”

David fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Just checking in. It’s almost dinner time and we haven’t seen Henry all day.”

“Ah, yes. I’m afraid the time did rather slip away from us.”

Henry appeared, the blanket tucked under one arm, and grinned at him. “Hi, Grandpa. Wait ‘til you see what Grandpa Gold’s been teaching me!”

“You’ll have to show me later,” David said. “We need to get moving or your grandmother’s going to send out a search party.”

“Okay.” Henry turned to Rumplestiltskin. “Thanks again, Gramps.”

Rumplestiltskin nodded, and Henry darted around David and out the door. David turned to follow him, but his conscience pricked at him and he turned back to the sorcerer, who was still watching him with slightly wary eyes. “You, uh...do you and Belle have plans this evening?”

Rumplestiltskin raised his eyebrows.

“Well, it’s just...we haven’t had you guys over for a...a, uh, family dinner yet, and…”

The Dark One’s eyebrows were now approaching his hairline.

"I mean...if you would like to come over for dinner, that would be…we’d love to have you.”

Rumplestiltskin smirked. “Does her Majesty know you’ve extended this invitation?”

“No,” David admitted.

“Ah. Then I most certainly decline”

“Some other time?” David could feel his face reddening under Rumplestiltskin’s unfathomable stare.

“Perhaps.”

David could feel the tips of his ears burning as he ducked out the door, but he knew he’d done the right thing. He only had to glance at the blanket under Henry’s arm, the golden threads glinting in the sunlight, to remember that.

#rumplestiltskin #ouat fic #stiltskin family bonding

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setoangel01-fanfiction · 7 years

Text

Adrift

Set Me Free - Chapter 14 (Previous Chapters)

Fandom: Sing 2016

Pairing: Ash x Johnny

Rated: T

Chapter Summary: Johnny drives Ash home and they discuss what other options, if any, they both have left for their respective futures.

Fanfiction.net

A03

"So…do you know what you're gonna do? About your dad, I mean." it was meant to be a quiet car ride but Ash found her mouth and tongue moving anyway.

If she analyzed the situation closer, she had no idea what had her trying to get this guy to open up more to her. Yet with a 45 minutes of silence as they drove back to the heart of the city in front of them, she supposed it wouldn't hurt to start some kind of conversation rather than just dealing with awkward silence.

"I uh, have an appointment later this evening to see him actually," Johnny admitted with a helpless shrug, "He probably won't show up, but…that's okay."

As Johnny drove, Ash glanced over at his profile. It was still hard to believe how traumatic this guy's life was; how much he had on his plate and the emotional strife he had to deal with was hidden behind such a kind eyes and a positive demeanor. How everyday, this guy went home with an permanent ache in his chest as he had to live with the possibility of his dad dying behind bars.

It must have been absolutely crushing.

"...So, what are your plans?" Johnny suddenly spoke again and Ash yanked her eyes away from him.

"Eh, I dunno." she muttered, forcing her gaze out the small amount of scenery she could perceive from the window.

"Will you try out for more performances around town?"

"Probably… Well, until I get rejected again that is."

"Aw, c'mon." he chuckled when he halted the truck at a stop sign - the shift in gravity making her stomach lurch forward. "You need to be more positive than that! You're a great singer and musician - go in there knowing you'll get chosen. You've gotta to be more confident in your abilities, Ash."

The porcupine had to force her eyes not to roll when she glanced over a him. He was looking at her, a smirk pulling up one side of his mouth and her stomach lurched in a different sense when she saw the flash of his white canines peaking through his gray mouth and instantly wanted to slap herself for thinking he had a great smile.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah... Practice what you preach then." she grumbled under her breath and forced her eyes to drift from his face yet could still see his confused expression in her peripheral.

"Hmm?"

"You just said your dad wasn't going to show up - where's your confidence?"

Johnny's face fell for a moment before his normal calm smile was back. The truck accelerating back down another long winding road before he spoke again.

"You're right… I should be more positive. Thank you, Ash."

"I wouldn't thank me yet." she muttered mainly to herself whilst glancing back out of the window. Eyes glazing over as a sudden wave of exhaustion hit her hard. More mentally and emotionally draining than anything, but still there. Yet, she was focused and made sure to stay awake even if it meant continuing what she found to be her rather awkward attempt at conversing.

A few moments later and one question that had been lingering in the back of her mind kept pestering her; flitting about no matter how many times she tried pulling it down. After awhile, she stopped fighting it anymore and it just slipped out.

"If the singing thing doesn't work - what are you going to do?" She felt as if the question should have been directed toward herself but she couldn't deny she was curious about his options. Maybe it would give her more ideas to add to the list of her measly ones.

"...Truthfully? I never really took singing as a career seriously 'til I found that paper..." for a moment, her memory flashed to that moment she first saw it too - stuck to Lance's quills when they were getting on the train.

Upon reading it, a fire grew in her chest when she thought of possibly winning…that same fire now gone and now she just felt cold. Thinking of how useless all of this was; how if she didn't find it and they didn't go to that audition…she'd probably still be with Lance…Stuck with that jerk and working worthless gigs and dead end jobs for the rest of her damned life. At least now, she had other options and a chance to make her own future instead of being stuck in a rut with a boyfriend who never cared about her.

Who would have thought that single piece of paper could have changed her life (and Johnny's as well) the way it did? Her thoughts suddenly coming to a halt when said gorilla began speaking again.

"It just came out of nowhere when I was shutting the garage door," the way he said garage with his accent made her smirk a little, "I mean, before then, it was more of a hobby; somethin' I enjoyed but never took too seriously. An unfathomable dream almost but when I went to the audition and Buster chose me - or rather had to pick me over that giraffe…" he said with a mirthless chuckle, "It was the very first time I realized that I wanted to do this. I wanted to be a singer…" Johnny relayed the story slowly; his main focus on the road prevalent in this situation.

"So, you never sang much before then?"

"I wouldn't say that. I'd sing all the time - just only when I was alone. Typical places like in the shower, at the gym, when I'd go out for walks or skateboarding…even while I was waiting for my dad to finish his heists and I was the lookout."

"Wait...you sang when you were supposed to be a lookout for your dad?" Ash couldn't help but laugh a little at that; picturing sweet, innocent Johnny (lost in his head as usual) singing without a care in the world as his dad's somewhere robbing a bank. It was rather comical if you thought about it.

"Eh…" Johnny's face grew a tinge of red at her statement, "I wasn't the best lookout, I admit…"

"Heh. No kidding. But that was it? You never sang in front of people or played piano before now? I find that hard to believe." she said with a furrowed brow; she heard him playing the piano that day as she passed by Buster's office - he didn't sound like someone who first touched ivory keys a week ago.

"No...I never sang or played in front of people before recently…well, except my mum that is." A horrifying sadness flashed in his eyes; the briefest hints of a frown pulling at his lips when he spoke but before she could say a word, he continued, "…but that was a long time ago. I-I used to play piano when I was a kid so I guess some of it's coming back but also, Miss Crawly's a good teacher and I've always been a bit of a fast learner."

Ash was so tempted for him to elaborate more about his past but she wondered again why she was bothering getting to know Johnny even better now. Not to mention if he'd even open up to her anymore than he already had. She had to accept this was perhaps the last few moments she'd ever spend with him. Their dreams dashed by Buster's refusal, there was hardly any need to get to know him more but for some twisted reason, she kinda wanted to. Pushing down her doubts, she opened her mouth to speak but Johnny (thankfully in retrospect) beat her to it.

"To answer your question from earlier, I have other options. I worked at my dad's mechanic shop my whole life. In London, that was his job and owned his own business, but when we moved here and the business was slow…he had to give it up and that's when he started…well, you know; but I suppose that's one option I still have open." Johnny stopped at a light; glancing over to her to give her a slight shrug of his shoulders.

It seemed strange to think of Johnny under the hood or body of a car, covered in motor oil and grease; cutting up fingers that played the piano so beautifully; exhaust and the stench of gasoline perhaps ruining those vocal chords after hours of breathing it in. Fixing cars wasn't a profession she seen Johnny enjoying but she didn't picture herself working in a retail shop with a red shirt and khaki's either but beggars aren't choosers she supposed. In a perfect world, they'd both have record contracts and be living the high life but sadly…this was reality.

Ash thought if Johnny could make due with a regular job like most of the population, she supposed she could as well.

"What about you?" Johnny suddenly spoke again; the car lurching forward had her hand subconsciously grasping at the leather seats to steady herself even if the seatbelt was doing that for her. "You've been singing a long time?"

The question wasn't one she expected but since she asked him about his past - it was only fair she answered.

"My dad used to tell me as soon as I could talk, I was singing. Didn't pick up a guitar til after I met Lance though," she said with as much disdain as would fit in her voice; the one aspect she hated was that asshole was the one to teach her to play. Her beloved guitar containing such tainted memories she'd rather not ponder.

"In high school, I was in band and an after school music club was where I met him and the rest was history. He taught me guitar and even bought my the one I play - the only decent present he ever bought me. Over the years, we were a band I guess you'd call it; getting occasional gigs and I was hoping Moon's contest would be our big break…"

Ash let out a deep breath; accessing silently how life could change so fast without any warning. A rug ripped from under you leaving you no choice but to tumble and fall flat on the ground. Forcing you into the aftermath of staring up at the sky - gasping for air but none would come…

"Well, you know how that ended…" Ash shrugged it off; not bothering to acknowledge the glance of sympathy Johnny sent her. "But I'm not giving up - I'll figure this out. May take longer than I want it to, but truth be told, I'd rather be where I am now that still stuck with that cheating bastard. If that's all this did for me...I guess that's something I'll always have to thank Buster for."

Johnny smiled; the gesture more in her peripheral but still there. It was weird but it was true. At least where she was, she could do things on her own. Carve her own path in the sand and either follow the wind or fight against the tide. It was her life now and she planned to make the most of it.

"You'll be fine, Ash. You got that fighting spirit - you'll do just fine." Johnny's words were quiet and almost spoken under his breath.

"Yeah…and so will you."

At the next stop, Johnny glanced over at her.

Ash made sure her arms were crossed and eyes steadfast on the dashboard in front of her. Wanting to hide the fact she'd said something encouraging even if it slipped out almost unintentionally. Ash didn't catch the smile on his face or sparkle return to his eyes; only stared at the window as the truck and it's occupants began moving closer into the heart of the city.

Twenty minutes later, they arrived back at her apartment; the tires of his truck coming to a halt where he parallel parked in front of her apartment door. The ignition turned off and remained still for a long time; Ash hesitated and it was obvious Johnny was too. His eyes still steadfast on the road even when the car was long since parked. By the tilt of his brow and furrowed lips, you can easily tell he was tempted to say something but she wouldn't push it especially when her own mind was flooded with a million and one things that wanted to leech out.

If you asked why she was hesitating to leave, she couldn't exactly tell you.

Perhaps it was because she some part of her didn't want this to end… That once she passed the threshold of the truck door and back into her dark, empty apartment, all of this would truly be over for good. This past month, while crazy and wrought with unimaginable grief, torment, and pain…there was something about it she wasn't ready to let go of just yet. Would even fully agree that maybe, just maybe, she'd grown attached to those she met thus far - Moon, Miss Crawly, Rosita, Gunter, Meena…and of course, Johnny.

Hating it was only now that she finally realized it…

To think it took a new family of sorts to make her feel somewhat whole again after Lance's earth-shattering betrayal and her new encounter with loneliness that she never experienced before. These animals she just met were there for her when no one else was: listened to her, talked, comforted, and reached out when no one else bothered to ever care before (not even the guy she gave five years of her life to).

It was awhile before she even realized that Johnny's eyes were on her. Ash turned her head toward him and met his gaze steadily, an ache growing in her chest when he suddenly gave her the barest hints of a smile; one that clearly didn't reach his eyes for the first time she could ever recall.

"Well, we're here." he muttered the obvious and she couldn't help but smirk at that.

"Yeah. I noticed."

"Hmm. S'pose you did…Um, I guess, uh…I-I'll be seeing you around, Ash."

Ash knew he didn't intend to lie but who were they kidding? With no more hope of Buster turning around and making this competition a reality, there was really no reason they would see each other again. They were still teetering on this delicate edge of acquaintances and…maybe friends? Perhaps just two souls who needed to meet to realize other animals had struggles too and they had helped each other out in that sense.

"Yeah." she replied steadily; she guessed she was a liar too.

In those moments of hearing about his father, she'd felt as if she knew a side of him no one else did. He willingly told her a part of his life he had kept secret from everyone up until today…and it felt good. Felt good to connect beyond simple greetings and exchanged pleasantries.

"Sorry. Let me get your door." Johnny muttered and Ash watched as he unbuckled his seatbelt and got out of his side of the truck. Busying herself with doing the same when he opened her door for her.

Her task complete, icy blue eyes met chestnut brown before slipping down his body to where his hand was proffered once again. The stubborn side wanted to push it away and climb down herself but in all actuality, she was just tired and didn't care about acting prickly and flippant right now.

With slight hesitation, she took his hand and allowed him to help her descend.

"Hey! Who knows? Maybe I'll bump into you again." Johnny chuckled in an obvious intent to try and lighten the somber mod that filled the air. Ever so gently, he squeezed her hand a bit as he helped her down the truck bed.

"Yeah. Maybe..." Ash couldn't help but return the sentiment as she stepped safely onto the sidewalk. The two glanced at one another, a few words going much left unsaid and it was a full minute before either of them realized they were still holding hands.

"Ooh. Sorry." Johnny was the first to apologize as he gently withdrew his hand.

"Don't be." Ash said without thinking, flinching a bit at the words and pretended to kick at an invisible pebble. Didn't want to acknowledge how cold she felt without his hand grasping her own by sticking her hand into her skirt pockets and cursing those plaguing thoughts.

It felt so awkward and misplaced but the quietness felt comfortable. A silence between what she would now consider more than just co-workers, competitors, or acquaintances. It felt more than that now…but as things were, it's all it would be. The pain accompanying that realization was one Ash was nowhere near ready to confront…

"...I hope everything works out for you, Ash. I really do." Johnny stated and Ash met his eyes.

"...Yeah. Same to you too."

"Thanks." he replied with a soft grin.

Without even asking, Johnny began walking her to her apartment, a comfortable silence that was broken by their soft pattering of dragging footsteps as they approached her door.

It felt like the shortest walk of her life; one Ash would reluctantly agree she wished was a little longer. The very sight of her door made her fur prickle; the little knicks from quills, or all the times Lance kicked the ajar door open because he was too lazy to take his hands out of his pockets, or bumped it with his guitar case when he came home drunk.

Memories she wished would just go away…especially now…

"It was nice getting to know you a little more." Johnny spoke, breaking her out of her reverie. Her fragile heart skipping a bit at the context and the genuine tone in which he spoke. "...and thanks for opening up to me and listening. It really helped me Ash. Thank you…"

"Eh. Yeah." she shrugged casually even as her heart nearly pounded out her chest and her palms sweat something fierce, "No problem."

Johnny's smile grew but fell a second later when she finally took her keys out of pocket.

"Oh. Sorry for keepin' ya." his whole demeanor shifted; a look of guilt rose on his face that Ash immediately squashed down.

"No. It's fine. Really."

"Well, anyway…" Johnny glanced out toward the street and somewhere far off before continuing, "I still better be going - that appointment with my dad is pretty soon."

"Oh. Oh, yeah, you better not miss that." Ash continued to hide behind a nonchalant shrug.

"True. Heh… Well, um…I guess this is goodbye for now." it was Johnny's turn to shrug, his smile lopsided and not at all the smile she was used to.

"I guess so." she waved a bit; the words felt hallow in her throat but was able to choke out, "Bye, Johnny."

"Goodbye, Ash." Johnny smiled for real this time before all of a sudden, he'd turned his back to her and began walking away.

In this moment of sudden panic she desperately wanted to say something. What exactly, she had no freaking idea, just something…Yet the more stubborn side ignored it; told her she was being ridiculous and for the first time in awhile, she listened to it. Forced her to turn around and push her key in the door and open it.

She didn't care.

She didn't care…it was the only mantra that kept her from screaming out to him…but he beat her too it upon reaching his truck and turning back around.

"Oi, Ash wait!" Johnny suddenly spoke and a spark of happiness she didn't care to meditate over appeared in her like a spark when she turned back to him. Her eyes wide and curious as he approached.

"Yeah?" she said, voice much higher pitched than she intended; clearing her throat and hoped he didn't notice how her cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

"You almost forgot these." he said and in his large hand was the baggie of cookies she got from Rosita's place.

…Had that only been a few hours ago?

…it felt like a lifetime…

"Oh." was her first disappointed reaction until she quickly followed it with a chuckle and an "Oops. Heh. Glad you remembered."

Ash reached out to grab the baggie, her fur prickling when she accidentally brushed the side of her hand over his warm palm. Once they were in her possession, Johnny pulled back and gave her a small military type wave with a flit of his his index and middle fingers by his forehead.

"See ya, Ash." he said before he had walked away and was in his truck before she could even fully process what was happening.

Forcing those strange feelings down, Ash turned around and opened her door and quickly closed it behind her. Yet something had her going to her window, peeking from behind her curtains to see Johnny sitting in his truck for a moment. Chestnut eyes flicked toward her apartment and for a few brief seconds, she thought perhaps he could see her but those faded when he turned away again. Fiddled with his steering wheel for a brief moment before she heard the truck come to life.

The purr of an engine and quick glance in his rearview mirror - than he was gone.

Ash flinched when the abrupt gravity of his absence hit her; staring off toward the direction his truck disappeared to for a longer time than she cared to admit…Only one thing was for certain…she didn't know how to feel about anything anymore…

#sing 2016 #sing movie #sing fanfiction #johnny #ash #johnnyxash #ashxjohnny #fanfiction #sing illumination

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blaperile · 5 years

Text

Homestuck Epilogue(s) - Prologue (page 3)

#Homestuck #The Homestuck Epilogues #reaction #John #Roxy #Calliope

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watchingcutscene · 5 years

Text

If He Jumped Off a Cliff

Pairing: (Angst!) Iwaizumi Hajime x Reader

Fandom: Haikyuu!!

Word count: 1000+

Notes at the end

---

They met through the sheer inelegance of Hajime rushing into the wrong lecture hall for the wrong class on the first day of their third year. He scrambled to the nearest empty seat, and as he did, there was almost an audible sound as relief settled over his form. She stole a glance at him, slightly bewildered.

It wasn’t until half way through the lecture did she feel a renewed sense of unease in the chair next to her. This time, she tilted her head to look, only to find that he was looking right back at her.

Are you okay? She asked in a slightly defensive tone.

Um. He cleared his throat, then paused. She frowned deeper with impatience. Hajime scratched the back of his head, embarrassed. He cleared his throat again and whispered: what class is this supposed to be?

It was Early Modern Art.

He was in accounting.

The next week, he showed up again, and again the week after that. Despite having the seating of the whole classroom to his disposal, he inveterately chose the one next to her. Likely just out of habit.

His persistence in not dropping out of the class that he had mistakenly registered in did little in helping him pass. What was even the difference between modern and contemporary art? How the hell do you meet a 15 page requirement for a paper about a single artwork?

His struggle was met by her altruism. Not a single one of his papers went on without her proofreading. To express his gratitude, he devoted to her his heart and soul and all the years left of his youth.

Until they were 25 and he was a certified accountant working a 9 to 5 and she had a master’s degree in art history.

Hajime had spent nearly two years working at an accounting firm. To say that it was a 9 to 5 was really just a lie because overtime was so frequent it wasn’t really overtime anymore. It was just time, spent at the office. Today was one of the rare occasions when he looked up at the clock having finished with one clients’ accounts, and it was actually 5pm. He could actually catch the ride home on the inhumanely compact subways during rush hour, and actually have dinner at dinner time. Just before he reached up to loosen his tie though, he hesitated.

Yesterday, she told him she got a grant for research in Europe.

Hajime sat back in his office chair and haphazardly began organizing his desk. Pens put back into pencil holders, papers neatly stacked into one pile.

She was at first excited. Jumping up and down in fact. But as she was half way through explaining what this research opportunity meant, her features began to drop with her tone as she came to the realization herself.

Hajime never cleaned his desk. Europe was literally half way across the world.

He ended up wandering aimlessly in the downtown streets for an hour before boarding the train home. They didn’t talk about Europe that night. Or the one after. When the topic was finally brought up nearly a week later, it was she who said: maybe I shouldn’t go after all. It’s just so far. I’m sure I can find something domestic.

As much as this was the answer he wanted to hear, witnessing it come out of her mouth angered him for some unfathomable reason. He immediately became defensive: if you’re doing this for me, don’t. Go to Europe if you want to. It’s a good opportunity.

Her eyes grew wide. She opened her mouth to speak but closed it again, sort of like a fish. After a few seconds of silent contemplation, she decided to be angry too.

We’re supposed to talk through this and work it out, she said, you could at least pretend to care!

Hajime took a deep breath. He was consciously aware of how much of a dick he was being, but his consciousness also couldn’t bother to stop itself. He turned his face away from her, looking around the room searching for his phone for no reason at all. He didn’t even have the guts to be a dick to her face. He responded in a lower voice: it’s your life, I can’t stop you or make decisions for you.

She stomped towards him, forcing Hajime to meet her gaze’s intensity, and said: I thought this was about us!

He didn’t respond.

Say something Hajime! What’s wrong with you? If you think Europe is far, and you don’t want to do long distance or quit your job, I literally just offered to stay. Why can’t we work this out?

Europe isn’t the problem, he finally said, his tone flat but far from impassive.

Then what is?

The problemis what happens after Europe? You travel, explore, and conquer. You tell me you want to live in Berlin, or Shanghai, or New York, or all of the above. I sit at a desk and type up numbers all day, and despite how taxing that is, I’m content with spending the rest of my life this way.

She paused, words stuck in her windpipe. Then, in a smaller voice, murmured: what do you mean?

He also paused. Then shrugged. Then said that he didn’t know. Then went to bed. At 8pm.

After a week of being trapped in his mind and raging silence, Hajime decided to be a little less of a coward. He sat her down with some tea he made as an apology for being a dick and to bribe her into listening. The only thing was, when she was ready to listen, he realized he didn’t know what to say. He cleared his throat a couple times as she watched, then he said the only thing he could think of.

Hey, he said, voice a little rough and a little coarse, maybe you were meant to be the queen of the universe. Maybe I was never meant to contain you.

There was a long silence. His sudden declaration was perhaps too poetic for a mediocre Tuesday evening.

But I don’t want to be, she whispered, finally. I don’t need to be a queen. I can be whatever you need me to be. I’ll do whatever you need me to do.

He gave her a long, sincere look. One that made her heart fumble and quicken. Then, he frowned and his gaze become a tad bit more harsh as he tried to toughen up. One of them had to do this, and he loved her enough or too much to let that person be her.

When he spoke, his calloused tone tried but failed to conceal all the nights he stayed awake poring over her, wondering what in the world he could do to stop the traveling of light, to stop her from forging on ahead.

Oh how he tried to sound cold when he said: but if I jumped off a cliff, would you?

In order to impede the travelling of light, he needed to become a black hole.

Of course she knew he was deliberately trying to hurt her, so she could turn away crying rather than yearning, and despise him rather than miss him. But those words still pierced her with a reckoning. He was right. Of course he was. At this point, he was still kinder and wiser than her.

The truth was, they were both tired. But they were both afraid to think it and speak it.

Is this a break up? She said, expression aloof.

He looked up at her sitting in their kitchen highchair, and cleared his throat again.

Her stiff shoulders relaxed. Are you sad Hajime? Or are you just relieved?

This time, he smiled. A smile like a cloudy night of a full moon. Graceful, but with a clandestine sadness.

This question was what kept him awake at night. He had prepared a mental script for the answer.

You will be the person I think about when I’m 45 and I wake up in the middle of the night, beside my wife, whom I have probably not had sex with for at least 2 years. I will replay my life up until that point in my head. Engagement, marriage, the first child, the second, every birthday, every anniversary, and I will realize that I am so desperately regretting and hoping that the person lying beside me that night in this imaginary future, is you, and had been you all along. But the only way I will be able to fall back asleep is when I come to the conclusion and solace that it could never have been you.

You are a beautiful star. An asteroid. You come, you crash into me, make a mess of me, but I am not enough to disturb you in your course. You will keep going. I wish I had the balls to stop you, but I don’t want to live the rest of my life knowing that I foiled your brilliance. I guess I am relieved. You were made for greater things than I.

Don’t jump off the cliff with me.

She didn’t. She moved to Berlin. Then Shanghai. Then New York. After that, he stopped keeping track.

Yesterday was his 27th birthday. He woke up from a deep sleep in the middle of the night completely disoriented. He frantically looked around the room, for a second, mistaking the women that was his fiancée sleeping next to him as the girl who left to conquer the world.

---

You know that cliché/trope in almost every manga/anime romance where the guy leaves the girl either for a) a female childhood friend who suddenly appears and needs his help and companionship or b) some journey of self-discovery, and for some absurd reason the girl remains blindly loyal and rejects all advancements from other guys (who are actually there for her and care for her) and ultimately waits for the return of her SENPAI? Yeah. I hate that trope. So here’s a story in reverse, about a girl who learns to let nothing tie down her ambitions.

This isn’t even about girls actually. Just go out there and conquer the world and take shit from no one. That’s the mood.

Also tried out a little Cormac McCarthy with the lack of quotation marks. Hope the ambiguity contributed to the story rather than ruined it.

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu fandom #haikyuu fic #iwaizumi hajime #iwaizumi #iwa chan #fluff #angst #so much angst #fanfiction #fanfic #haikyuu fanfiction #shojo #reader #x reader #reader insert

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