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jupitercomet · 10 months

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I Swear Somewhere This Works: Prologue

summary - You've known your entire life that you were meant to be with Bradley Bradshaw. Born with the rare gift of being a "matchmaker", you've been able to see your soulmate connection since childhood, just like you see the romantic pairings of everyone around you. But while everyone saw that as a gift, you see it as a curse. Because what's the point of knowing Bradley's your soulmate if he's never fallen in love with you? You've tried, altering time and space with your gift to find the one iteration of your life that you and Bradley are fated to be together. And, in every iteration of your life, you have to watch Bradley fall in love with someone else. But everything changes when one of these iterations puts you right in the trajectory of Jake, a matchmaker who's determined to convince you that the universe isn't always right.

warnings - soulmate au, my first time writing a love triangle, language, talks of death/dying, mentions of hospitals, no use of y/n, both Bradley and Jake are 6'7" because I said so

word count - 2.3k

i swear somewhere this works masterlist

I swear somewhere…

The heart monitor beeps continuously, filling the room with a kind of white noise that’s almost relaxing, despite the circumstances. The IV bag drips, drips, drips right past a strip of medical tape and into worn, leathered skin. It’s all so hazy, like early rides to the airport or empty shopping malls where time feels frozen, and you want to fill the silence with something—anything—but all you do is listen to the heart monitor and watch the IV bag drip, drip, drip.

“What do you think happens when we die?”

“Don’t say things like that, Bradley.”

He chuckles, but it’s hoarse and weathered, sounding more like air being pushed out of his tired, weary lungs. “I don’t think not talking about it is going to stop me from dying, Fig.”

Looking at him now, tucked under a tightly woven hospital blanket, he still looks like your Bradley. Curious, kind eyes wrinkled with crows feet etched into his skin from every laugh and smile that took place in his lifetime. There’s still that crook in his nose from when he broke it when he was eight. It never did heal right, but Bradley never seemed to mind. He’d break it twice more over his life and every time you recalled the stories you’d joke that it’s a miracle the cartilage hasn’t just fallen off yet. But, much like who it belonged to, Bradley’s nose was stubborn.

He looks like your Bradley, with his kind eyes and crooked nose. But he’s not your Bradley.

His hair is almost gone now, wispy and thin like it’s just laying on his scalp. Sun spots cover his skin, his complexion pale and fragile. And normally that would scare you, such an obvious display of his mortality, but it looks good on Bradley. He looks like he lived.

With large hands that have held the weight of the world, and then children, and then grandchildren. Chapped lips that have spoken more words of love, and compassion, and happiness than you would ever have time to listen to. Once sturdy legs that have now turned frail, the bones eroded with how many places they have taken him to.

And so he’s not quite your Bradley anymore, not in the way he was. Not in the way he could have been.

“I think I’m ready,” Bradley wets his lips, hardly moving his neck from his propped up pillow to look at you. “To die, I mean.”

Your hand squeezes in his—worn, and old, and not yours—his words constricting your heart in a dulled sort of melancholy. You’ve already gone through the five stages of grief weirdly, usually you aren’t this ready for it. But denial turned to anger, turned to bargaining, turned to depression, and here you are at acceptance, holding the hand of the only person who has ever mattered as he looks entirely dead and entirely alive all at the same time.

“Well, I’m not,” you say finally. It comes out shaky, maybe because you don’t entirely mean it. You are ready. You just wish you weren’t.

Bradley meets your eye with an understanding that only comes with age. “Yes, you are.”

You hate how well he knows you. How he can read you with just a look and say the words you need to hear. He knows everything about you. And yet.

“Will you miss me?” You ask instead. It’s an empty question—irrelevant. But still you want to know. Just to be reassured that Bradley even cares about you a fraction of the amount you do for him. That maybe he’ll realize, just once, in this hazy capsule of time, that you matter more to him than anything ever should.

Bradley smiles at you sadly. “Of course I will. When have I ever not needed my Fig?”

Your lips quirk up just slightly and you look down at your interlocked hands. “I cannot believe I’m 77 and you’re still calling me that.” You look up again to meet his eye, pretending to shake your head in exasperation.

“And I cannot believe that you’re 77 and still think you can hide things from me.” The crows feet by Bradley’s eyes crinkle when you fail to register what he’s referencing. “I see you sneaking off to the vending machine to get Fig Newtons when you think I’m asleep.” When your lips part in unprepared surprise, Bradley croaks out a laugh. “I’m 84, not senile.”

Even now, he makes your cheeks heat and you huff in your fluster. “Well, can you blame me? I’ve been eating nothing but hospital food for the past week.”

Your words make you falter, a crack of lightning in the room that illuminates everything you wish to forget. When the world feels so hazy, you can trick yourself into thinking that time is entirely frozen. It’s just you and Bradley and the universe. You can talk about anything—your love of Fig Newtons and how the hospital vending machine has criminally overpriced them—because you have time. All you have is time.

But time is running out, like granules of sand in an hourglass. Seconds with Bradley tick away and you can run after them all you want, but all they do is slip through your fingers. Slip, slip, slip.

If Bradley is affected by your words, he doesn’t look it, a calm sense of serenity washing through his eyes. For a moment, you can pretend that you would be okay with this, that you can finally let Bradley go. But it’s a little too late for that, you suppose. Because, somewhere, this has to work. Somewhere, you know everything about Bradley and he knows everything about you and he never has to stop being your Bradley.

It’s just as much for Bradley as it is for you. You’re his soulmate. Wouldn’t he be so much happier than this, having lived with his soulmate? You’re meant to be together and that’s all that matters. One of these times, Bradley will see that. You know he will.

“Can I get you some wa—”

“I’m going to die tomorrow,” Bradley decides.

You freeze, your question dying in your throat. There’s nothing else to say, you’ve done this song and dance enough times to know that. You only nod, pursing your lips to hold back the tears pricking at your waterline. You’re out of time.

Bradley turns to you with that familiar, childlike hope he somehow clung to his entire life. “Will you share a Fig Newton with me before I do?”

You swallow, your fingers tensing so much that the muscles twitch and you hide the hand from his view. “Of course.” You lift his hand to press a soft kiss on the back.

Bradley smiles and you feel like you’re going to be sick. He closes his eyes, shifting under the hospital blankets to get comfortable and you let out a silent sigh. You only get minutes of conversation with him now, before he’s too tired to continue. You sit with him anyway and, as he sleeps, you say all the things you never did over the decades of your friendship. He never remembered it anyway.

Bradley’s hand relaxes in your grip, the heart monitor spiking and dipping with his heart, and you try not to think about how he’s dying.

“This is going to sound like I’m crazy.” You look up at the sound of Bradley’s quiet voice, sleep tugging at the ends of it as his eyes remain closed. “But I can feel Alice waiting for me.”

He can’t see it, but you force a smile anyway, swallowing down the bile in your throat. You don’t say anything—you don’t think Bradley expects you to. That hazy feeling settles over the room as his breath evens out and, for several minutes, all you can do is watch him.

Maybe this isn’t fair.

But if this isn’t fair, then none of it is. Why would the universe give you a soulmate who didn’t love you? Why did you deserve to watch him fall in love over and over again while you waste your life pinning over a man who’s never even looked your way? Didn’t you deserve to be happy? Didn’t Bradley?

You look down at his sleeping features, entirely relaxed like he’s not plagued with a single regret or an ounce of hesitance. Maybe it’s because you’re full of it, taking it all for him because you don’t know how to do anything else. The heart monitor beeps continuously. The IV bag drips, drips, drips. And you close your eyes.

…this works

Sunlight filters in through the windows, waking Jake gently as he stretches out his legs on the sheets of his bed. He’s still in that peaceful period between wake and sleep, enjoying the warmth of his blanket as he regains feeling of his muscles. The first thing he realizes is that he doesn’t hear seven of his bones cracking. The second thing he realizes is that he’s very, very sore.

Jake sits up with a start, whipping his head towards the floor length mirror propped up by his dresser. He’s met with striking olive eyes and appropriately trimmed blond hair. He knew it.

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Jake groans, rubbing at his eyes as he gets up from bed. He’s getting tired of this. He hadn’t said anything the first time it happened, nor the second, nor the third. But rewinding his life back to 31 for the fourth time? It’s getting ridiculous.

Moving into his bathroom, he puts his toothbrush into his mouth with a little more force than necessary as he wraps his head around having to live out the rest of his life again. Everyone else was lucky, at least they don’t know they’re reliving their lives every few decades. But not Jake, Jake knows. Just like how he knows everything about this shitty soulmate system. And so Jake is stuck living his life over and over until someone gets to be with their soulmate.

For a while, Jake had no idea who that person could be—there’s an infinite number of people he could have come into contact with, that’s just kind of how civilization works. But then it kept happening and the puzzle pieces kept fitting and Jake has a pretty good idea as to what’s going on.

He cannot believe his life is being actively ruined because of Bradley fucking Bradshaw.

At first, Jake didn’t think anything of the brunet and his infamous best friend/soulmate who had just moved to town. But it wasn’t hard to piece together the one-sided lingering looks and the somewhat charged interactions at the Hard Deck whenever Bradley had a bit too much to drink. You were in love with Bradley, that much was obvious. What hadn’t been as obvious was that you had the power to try to make him fall in love with you too. Which would be all well and dandy, if you hadn’t also dragged Jake into it in the process. He’s almost positive you’re the reason he’s currently reliving his life for the fourth time and Jake refuses to make it five.

Throwing an old shirt over his head, Jake exits his bedroom to snatch a banana from his kitchen counter. He eats it in large mouthfuls, lacing up his running shoes before making sure he has his phone and keys. Moving to throw away the banana peel, Jake also quickly grabs a water bottle and fills it up with cold, tap water in the sink.

Though he’s frustrated, Jake can admit that it’s nice to be in a body so young again. Granted, he’s currently suffering from the pushups Maverick must have put him through yesterday, but he’ll take that over the random aches and creaks he used to feel for seemingly no reason other than age.

With one last check to make sure he has everything, Jake opens the front door of his house, making quick work of the walkway steps as he breaks out into a light jog. His tennis shoes absorb the impact of his strides as he picks up speed, smiling politely at the woman he passes walking her dog. Taking a deep breath of the Miramar air, Jake takes the turn out of his neighborhood, his feet still crunching against the concrete.

He doesn’t entirely have a plan, all he knows is that he can’t keep doing this. And especially for this stupid of a reason. Jake had always been skeptical about the whole “soulmate” thing. Growing up, people always told him how special he was for being granted the ability to see soulmates, Jake just thought it was more trouble than it was worth. Now Jake knows definitively that soulmates are bullshit and he’s not about to let it ruin his life again.

The houses begin picking up in proximity again as Jake makes his way to another neighborhood. Sweat has started forming on his hairline, not quite enough to be droplets yet, and Jake wipes it with the back of his hand. He keeps running until a small, light blue house with purple flowers in the front and a brightly painted mailbox comes into view.

Jake slows to a stop, letting out a pant and taking a gulp of water before he starts walking towards the front door. He doesn’t have a plan, but he can’t keep doing this. Wiping some sweat from the back of his neck, Jake gently knocks on the door. When a minute goes by and there’s nothing, he knocks again, slightly louder.

This time there’s the sound of shuffling inside and Jake lets his shoulders slump as he catches his breath on the porch. The sound of footsteps gets closer and Jake swallows thickly, trying not to fidget. With a rickety creak, the door opens. You fill the doorway suddenly, still in pajamas and a sleepy expression, squinting at the sunlight you’ve let in.

Your eyes meet his and Jake watches your face crinkles with recognition and then confusion. “Hi?”

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desperatelyseekingsusannah · 12 days

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Nan (Part Three)

Old Nan had long given up on counting her years, and there was no longer anyone alive in Blackwoods who could recall her as a young woman. Her own children were long dead and buried alongside their fathers and spouses out in the town’s boneyard, but the village was full of great grandchildren and great greats and so forth. It was one of these, her great great granddaughter Irene who came to her one spring morning bringing with her first child with her, a seven days girl she was set to call Ada. Nan loved all her children, but Irene had been special to her. She had seen something in her when she was a babe, a spark of something that made her think that this would be the one that Nan could share all her knowledge with, perhaps one day lay down her burden and pass it on to.

Irene spent a good deal of time with her great gran, more than most of her cousins. Nan took her into the woods with her, showed her which plants were good for brewing a tea that could bring up phlegm from the lungs, the tiny differences between the tiny red berries that were good for soothing a sore throat and the ones that would kill you before you finished chewing. Time passed and Irene showed more than a passable skill at reading signs. She had a gentle way, and sometimes just the touch of her hand could calm a panicked mother or quiet a sobbing child. Before she was a woman she had helped bring life into the world, and held vigil over it’s passing countless times. If anyone had any doubts about the child’s presence at Nan’s side on such occasions they were quickly put aside. Many of the folks in town began to ponder Irene’s future as Nan had, but these were old folk and they kept their thoughts to themselves. Blackwoods folk had a high capacity for accepting the inevitable changes of life, but not a one of them looked forward to a time when Nan would not be amongst them.

As Irene grew older her mind wandered from her lessons. She never became less than she had been, but then she never grew beyond it either. Her hand remained steady, and eyes sharp as she became less of a child and more of a woman, but her thoughts began to follow along the same path of other young women her age. Namely regarding boys and how you catch them. How to twist the strands of your hair with ribbons to make it pretty and draw their eyes, all the steps of the dances that would be danced at parties, and how to bite down your lips just enough to make them redden. She spent more and more time with her cousins and other friends her own age and less with Nan. It broke the old woman’s heart, but not terrible much. She’d lived too long to be surprised by much. The summer Irene turned fifteen she stood with Tom Wilson’s youngest boy under the Promise Tree and chose her own path. She still came with Nan to gather her plants and such, and she still watched over death and birth beds, but for all the help she was to Nan she would not be the one to truly follow her in her life’s work. She was a good helper to her great great grandmother, but the folk of Blackwoods breathed a collective sigh of relief knowing that Nan would be with them for years yet to come.

Seven days after Ada was born, Irene and Tom brought her to Nan to see what she could see. She was a pale thin creature, the down on her head so spare you could see the delicate skin straight through Her eyes the color of a stilled pond, though. Dark and deep. Nan took the babe into her arms and felt a tremor run down through her very bones. What she saw she could not say precisely; the impressions were legion and they rushed upon her all at once as if they had been waiting; waiting waiting for this moment and could no longer contain themselves. Nan felt as if she was standing on a wide plain, with the wind ripping around her and the past, present, and future laid out in every direction as far as the eye could see. She held the child closer to her. Nan had been witness to many things in her long life, but nothing could compare to the strange wonder contained in this small soul. She wanted to take her time and touch and taste and feel each and every thing as it passed, but the forms and figures would not stand still. Not even for Nan; Nan who had once stood her ground against a rougarou and come out the victor (though not entirely unscathed).

She held her free hand out and brushed her fingers against the visions as they passed. She stood in this place for hours or possibly days as they whipped by, but when she finally exhaled only a moment had gone by. She had not even realized she’d been holding on to her breath until she let go. Tom and Irene stood before her, their young faces bright with anticipation. She couldn’t even imagine where to begin, what to tell them. Irene had spent enough time with her great grandmother to know there were a great many mysteries in this world, but Nan doubted she would understand - or possibly even believe her.

#lunchtime storytime #creative writing #short story #totally not a true story #my writing #snippet #writeblr #worldbuilding #words words words #filthy casual writer #excerpt from a book i'll never write

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waywardsharkharmony · 1 year

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When you're Sixty

When you're sixty and you get together with others from your age group, the conversation consists mainly of health complaints.

First, there are recent surgeries, who was cut open where and what was repaired or removed. This is followed by comparisons and reviews of the nursing staff, the hospital food and complaints about one's fellow patients.

A sort of competition develops among the participants about whose condition was most life-threatening, whose operations were the most dangerous, and whose post-operative infections lasted the longest.

We all feel anxious about our health. We have aches and pains and a plethora of prescriptions to fill, consume, and then refill. We speak of our physiotherapy regimes, diets and pain management. Advice is given and received. We marvel at one another's successes and commiserate with each other's challenges.

Next, we discuss our families. First, we update one another on the status of our children and grandchildren. Inevitably one of us wistfully recalls how much safer, cleaner, better behaved and saner we were 'at that age' — whether that be the age of our children or our grandchildren. 'Kids these days just don't. . .' And we are treated to a recitation of all the things the younger generations either cannot appreciate or sadly, will never experience.

We sigh in unison.

Finally, we move on to : 'who's in hospital and who died recently'.

A sort of lightning round ensues where we list the number of strokes, heart attacks, hip and/or knee replacements, hospitalizations and life-threatening diagnoses that have visited our mutual friends and neighbours since last we met.

These revelations are met with an occasional clucking of the tongue as one or more within the gathering suggests they saw it all coming 'what with the way she drank, or all that weight he carries around . . . it was only a matter of time' — these are not said out of cruelty or to blame the poor victim, but to reassure ourselves that it won't happen to us. We are safe.

The 'who died?' component of our get-together comes last, as our visit winds down.

We list off the names of those who recently passed on. Sometimes, if one of us is in the know, we learn of the cause of death and get a brief narration of the dead's final days.

If one of us attended the funeral, that person will describe it for the rest of us: We learn who was there, and who was not. We discuss how the family is coping and who made a complete ass of his/herself on the day.

As our gathering moves to disperse, we exchange hugs or handshakes and wish one another well. And we mean it.

Finally, we all go on our way to our own worries, aches, pains and prescriptions until the next time.

#aging #illnesses #older people #hospital #social gathering

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angelqueen04 · 3 years

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Hamliza Month, Day 9

@megpeggs @historysalt

Waking Up Summary: Fever does strange things to the mind.

The fever burned through him, a familiar misery that Alexander had felt before. It was something he’d hoped to never feel again, yet here it was. The Yellow Fever had returned for him. The first time it had wracked his small, child’s body, left him weak and delirious, but in the end, he had won the battle against it. Just not without cost. Alexander had never forgotten waking up in that bed, sticking of sweat, shit and piss, to find himself wrapped in his mother’s cold, dead arms. He’d beaten the fever then, but it took his mother from him.

Now here it was again. Alexander recalled the trip out of Philadelphia. He’d begun to feel the symptoms even before the departure, and thus had insisted on riding his horse, thus separating himself from Eliza and the children as they rode in the carriage. He remembered all but falling off said horse when they arrived at their destination, and was uncertain as to how he ended up making it into the house.

Everything after that came in flashes. Mostly, he remembered Eliza sitting at his side, laying cold cloths on his brow in an attempt to bring his fever down, or all but begging him to drink some warm broth to get some kind of nourishment into his weakening body. Alexander was fairly certain he had tried in the beginning to convince Eliza to leave him there, to not expose herself, but she had stubbornly refused to leave him. Even as their marriage had been all but lying shattered at their feet since he’d confessed his affair with Mrs. Reynolds, she had not left him.

He had no memory of the children being anywhere nearby, which was something of a blessing. That meant they were being quarantined away from him, to save them from the disease.

Alexander also began to recall seeing dear Ned Stevens at his bedside on several occasions when he awoke. His old, dear friend from his youth, one of the few good things that came out of his childhood.

“Ah, hello my dear Ham,” Ned had said cheerfully the first time. “You seem to have gotten yourself into quite a scrape this time. Don’t fret, though. Good Mrs. Hamilton and I shall see you through.”

Always the optimist, Ned was. That was something Alexander could never quite manage. He’d see too much from an early age.

And so it was proven true again. Not long after Ned started to make regular appearances at his bedside, Alexander found himself sharing his bed. With Eliza. Even in his fever-ridden state, it wasn’t difficult to understand that there was only one reason she’d be there – that she too was sick, and it was simply easier to have them in one place for Ned to treat.

“No, no,” he murmured when the understanding clicked in his mind. He reached for her, wrapping his arms around her shivering form, trying to give her whatever warmth he had. “Not you, my darling. Not you.”

Eliza made no response, being in the midst of a fever dream of her own.

He looked toward Ned, who sat next to their bed, writing something in a small journal I his lap. “The children?” he managed to ask through his chattering teeth.

Ned looked up at him, peering in his direction through his glasses. “They’ve long since left, Alexander,” he assured him. “Mrs. Hamilton sent them north, to Albany to stay with General Schuyler, when she first started to feel the symptoms. None of them had exhibited any sign of the illness, so it was safe for them to leave.”

There was that, then. Even if Alexander died here in this bed, he could die knowing that his children would live. He trusted General Schuyler to love and care for his grandchildren. He just wished they had left earlier, with Eliza, before she’d exposed herself to him and thus caught the sickness along with him. She’d suffered enough on his account already, and now she could very well die because of him.

Learning of Eliza’s illness seemed to be a blow to his own health, because after that the symptoms became worse for him. The nausea, the vomiting, the headaches, the pain in his back – it all came at him with a vengeance. Ned seemed to be staying close, treating the symptoms as best he could, and Alexander was almost certain he heard Ned speaking quite often, though the words seemed garbled. But even as he buckled under the weight of it, what thought he was capable of stayed on his wife. She had to live. If God thought him worthy of any answered prayer, he prayed that it was that one, that his Eliza be spared. She was always the stronger one, the more steadfast in her devotion to whatever promise or vow she made. If the Yellow Fever was God’s way of punishing the wicked, then it was quite right that he should take Alexander, but surely he would spare Eliza, who never wavered in her faith.

But even as he thought that, he could not help but think of his mother. She had never deserved her fate, and yet God still had taken her.

All of these thoughts careened around in his head, ensuring that Alexander slept peacefully. Then, at some point, he felt movement, something shifting in the bed beside him. Slowly, painfully, he opened his eyes and turned his head.

He saw Ned first, leaning over and sliding his arms beneath Eliza’s knees and back. The other man then lifted her out of the bed. She didn’t appear to react to the movement, her head coming to rest on Ned’s shoulder, her dark hair falling down behind her in a matted tangle of curls.

Alexander would later understand that it was a combination of the fever and his own deep-sated, worst fears, but in that moment, a wave of sheer, unadulterated panic shot through him. She was dead. Eliza was dead just like his mother. She was dead and Ned was taking her body away, probably to be dumped in some mass grave for all of the fever’s victims and it was his fault. Alexander had done this, had passed the sickness on to her and she was dead, his children didn’t have his mother it was his fault, his fault, his fault –

Even with all that was roiling in his brain, all Alexander could do was emit a small, choked moan, tears beginning to well up, and twitch his hand feebly in their direction, a weak attempt to grab onto Eliza, to somehow tie her back to the world. His hand didn’t come close to reaching them, but the sound was enough to catch Ned’s attention, and he paused to look at him.

The other man looked tired, but his eyes were still sharp. He took in Alexander’s state, and seemed to understand just what he was thinking. He shook his head. “No, no Alexander, it’s not that,” he said reassuringly. “It’s just time for Mrs. Hamilton’s cold bath, to help bring the fever down,” Ned explained. He then turned slightly, allowing Alexander a clearer look at his wife.

Her head still rested on Ned’s shoulder, indicating just how weary she was. But her eyes, the fine dark eyes that had bewitched Alexander almost from the first time he’d seen them years ago, were open. Looking closely, he could see the feverish light in them, a sign that the illness was still very much there.

Then Eliza blinked, and seemed to try to focus. Her gaze locked with his. “Alexander…” she said, her voice hoarse and barely above a whisper. “The water is cold, isn’t it?”

“I’m afraid so,” Ned said, “but it will help with the fever.” He started to turn again, likely intending to resume his purpose before Alexander’s interruption, but then he stopped. Glancing over his shoulder, he added to Alexander, “Try to stay awake, Hammie. It’s your turn next, so I can get some fresh bedding on the bed.”

Alexander nodded and watched Ned bear Eliza across the room toward a tub of water. Part of him dreaded getting into the cool water, knowing it would set off another wave of chills, but the greater part of him didn’t care one bit.

Eliza lived. Eliza lived, and Alexander swore to himself that he would do whatever he could to win back her love and respect. God had so far spared them, and if they had made it this far, they could survive the rest. He would do whatever he could to place her happiness first.

#my fanfiction #hamliza month #hamliza #alexander hamilton #elizabeth schuyler hamilton #edward stevens

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elisajdb · 3 years

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GoChi Week 2021: A Fulfilled Life Part Seven

GoChi Week 2021

A Fulfilled Life

Day Seven: Afterlife @gochi-week

“…… he grabbed his toy and tossed it at me. Babies need to know who is boss so I smacked his fanny hard.”

“Babies do try to test you. Gohan and Goten did, but,” ChiChi smiled fondly of the memories of her sons as babies, “I handled it.”

The older man chuckled. Spending this time with ChiChi, he definitely knew ChiChi was a strong woman who could handle anything, especially two-hybrid Saiyans. He imagined Goten to be a spitfire and energetic baby testing his limits like his father but he pictured Gohan to be a calmer baby.

“Gohan? You told me he is a sweet child.”

ChiChi giggled. Everyone who knew of Gohan always thought that. They thought of him as a kind well-mannered person and he is but Gohan had another side. Gohan can get cocky. Gohan can get moody. He had a temper like hers when he got really angry but most tend to avoid that and focus on his gentler nature.

“He is but Gohan has an aggressive personality, too. He’s strong like his Dad but I think Gohan has a perfect blend of my and Goku’s personality.”

“Like his Momma.” Son Gohan leaned back in his chair admiring the strong and proud woman sitting across from him. “I can’t wait to meet them.”

“You will,” ChiChi promised. “But not any time soon.”

“No, no,” Son Gohan chuckled. “I want it to be a very long time before I meet my great-grandsons. I’m very happy to be spending time with my granddaughter-in-law instead.”

ChiChi was very happy, too. When she crossed over, it was a new experience even though she died before. She didn’t have memories of that brief period she was dead except flashes of moments. She didn’t remember waiting in line with floating spirits except for a brief second she remembered being at eye level of a floating spirit. She had a body this time and couldn’t recall having one the first time she died. When she met King Yemma the first time, she was alone. This time, Son Gohan was waiting for her.

After her judgment, she went with him and explored the afterlife. She learned her father, even though he changed, wasn’t able to keep his body and were the many floating spirits. It was sad but ChiChi was happy knowing her father was with her mother. With Son Gohan as her guide, ChiChi wasn’t alone and very happy. She traveled the afterlife with him, met different people and shared stories of Goku and his great-grandsons.

“I enjoy spending time with you, too. You’re the only one who knew my Goku before and after his accident. It’s been cathartic talking to you about him. I never had this connection talking about Goku with anyone.”

“There were times Goku drove me up the walls before and after he hit his head. So, I know what you went through with him, and when he was dead, I gave him a piece of my mind on his decision to stay dead.”

ChiChi imagined that wasn’t pleasant for Goku. From stories Goku told her, to spending time with him personally, ChiChi learned Son Gohan was kind but was a stern and tough man with odd quirks. “I thank you for that because Goku was a changed man when he returned. He treated me differently but those seven years made both of us grow up.”

Son Gohan expected it would and he was very grateful to learn Goku had returned to the living and wouldn’t return for a long time. “And you had a much longer and even happier life: you saw your sons marry, have grandkids and even great-grandchildren.”

Now it was ChiChi fondly smiling. She lived a long and eventful life. When Goku died at the Cell Game, she didn’t see this ending for herself. She thought she would’ve died a decade or two earlier. She thought Goku returning gave more years to her life and let her see her family blossom into a long and healthy line. “Yes. Yes, we did.

“Goku’s a bit thickhead but once I explained it, he understood. He promised he will be waiting for you when you crossed over.”

“But instead of Goku, you were waiting.” ChiChi never questioned it then but now she was curious. “Why were you waiting? I mean, how did you know I will be there?”

“After Goku returned to the living, I knew the next time he crossed over, he will be alone. Before he came with Kami on Earth and King Kai. I didn’t want Goku to be alone so the next time I saw Fortune Teller Baba, I told her to let me know when Goku crosses over so I can greet him. When she told me you were crossing over I knew Goku wouldn’t want you to be alone, so I came.” As Son Gohan said this, something caught his eyes behind him. “And it seems I wasn’t alone in that idea.”

ChiChi turned to see Fortune Teller Baba floating on her crystal ball. She saw the sage mystic some time ago and while she couldn’t ask Baba of her family, she made a request. “It’s time?”

“He just crossed over.”

Third time’s the charm I guess.

Goku mused to himself as he waited in line to check-in at King Yemma’s palace. Goku felt more at peace with dying this time than he did with Cell. There were no loose strings. No regrets. No need to stay dead to protect everyone. The future was secured. His family was happy and Earth no longer needed him and has been taking care of herself for many years.

Son Goku was truly done. In the last year of his life, he went on a farewell tour. He visited friends he made throughout his life. Upa, Suno and of course Eighter were still alive. Some, Yamcha and Yajirobe had already passed on but those who were still alive, Goku chatted and recalled the days and adventures of their youth. One of the hardest goodbyes Goku made was to Master Roshi. Both knew Goku’s visit will be his last. It was hard for Master Roshi as he will keep on living and spend the next several years saying goodbye to everyone who made the last seventy years very exciting for him.

When his tour was done, Goku spent his last month with his sons, Gohan and Goten. Father and son went fishing together, camping and hike through Mount Paozu. The sons listened to Goku's adventures when he was a kid. Sometimes Goku repeated the same stories due to his declining mind but Gohan and Goten pretended it was the first time they heard it.

On his last day, Goku knew this was it. It was a feeling he had that felt stronger today than other days. It was time to go. So, he went to ChiChi’s grave to speak one last time to the slab of stone. He told her he will see her soon. He asked Gohan for a big family dinner. It was last minute to get all fourteen members of the Son Family together but Gohan made it happen.

There, Goku had dinner with his sons, their wives and children and their spouses and great-grandchildren. Goku hugged and said goodbye to each one. It was more emotional and bittersweet for Gohan and Goten for they suspected their father’s time on Earth was coming to an end. After dinner, Gohan asked Goku to stay the night but Goku declined, saying he will sleep in his own bed. That night, Goku walked the short path from Gohan’s house to his, but before going inside, he went into Grandpa Gohan’s home. The old shack was a national landmark in his eyes. He expected it to be here long after he, his sons, their children and grandchildren are gone.

Goku recalled sitting on Grandpa Gohan’s lap and listening to his stories. He remembered the times Grandpa was stern with him. If Goku wanted to eat, he had to earn it through Grandpa Gohan’s rigorous training. He sat on the futon he shared with Grandpa, recalling the talks they had before they slept and laughing at himself as a child at the position he slept on Grandpa’s lap. He’ll miss this place but as Goku left the shack, he smiled.

Grandpa, I’ll see you soon.

When he entered his home, Goku readied himself to say goodbye to every room. He stood in his kitchen for an hour, soaking in all the memories his family made in this room: the meals, the laughs, sneaking out food behind ChiChi’s back and even the arguments. All were fond memories now. With one last parting, Goku went upstairs.

Goku entered Gohan’s old room. A swarm of memories surrounded Goku. The memories in this room with Gohan came after he returned from the dead after Majin Boo. The family upgraded their small dome home to one with a bigger dome. He didn’t have the memories of his old home where he encouraged Gohan to put down his books and play with him outside or the nights he slept in here on a rocking chair holding Gohan as a baby. In this room, he remembered times from Gohan’s teen years: talking with him before prom, sitting on his bed watching Gohan practice his Valedictorian speech from high school graduation and the serious father and son talk they had the night Gohan proposed to Videl.

Goku went to Goten’s room next. He tucked Goten in this room the first night in their new capsule home. He told Goten many bedtime stories of his life as they played catch up after his seven years apart. It was in this room, Goku gave Goten his haircut when Goten decided to change his style. Here, Goku and Gohan had the hilarious and uncomfortable talk of Goten’s discovery of girls, Goten’s first date and the day of his wedding.

When Goku left Goten’s room, he walked down the hallway towards the room he shared with ChiChi. He passed a wall of family pictures: wedding photos of Goku and ChiChi, Gohan and Goten with their wives; baby photos of Gohan and Goten, their children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren; family group photos in and outside the house, at Gohan and Goten’s home and at Gyu-Mao’s castle.

There was an air of relief when Goku entered his bedroom. Even though their homes changed over the years, the memories were still with Goku. He remembered watching ChiChi shyly step out of their bathroom, dressed in lingerie and hoping she is desirable to him. He thought of the first time they made love; the many times after as they learned and love the emotions intimacy brought out of them; the late-night talks they had of their past. There were happy times, sad and worrying times. Goku remembered the night he returned from Yardrat; how ChiChi was angry was with him for the news of the Androids and hurting her. He remembered the night before the Cell Game where their second son was created. Goku remembered holding a tearful ChiChi and promising her Cell will be defeated. He remembered the tearful reunion the night he returned seven years later; the joy of talking of their first grandchild, their second; their third….

When it came time to say goodbye to ChiChi, it wasn’t a time of sadness. In Goku’s eyes, ChiChi was leaving to set up their permanent home. His last words to her before she died were: “I’ll see you soon.”

As Goku laid in bed counting down to close his eyes forever, one more time, he looked around the room that surrounded him with so much love and happiness. He looked at the pictures on his walls of him and ChiChi, Gohan and Goten. In his hands, were a photo of Goku and ChiChi on their wedding day.

He lived a happy, adventurous and long life but Son Goku was ready for this chapter to end.

As he closed his eyes, he thought of the one he will see and smiled.

ChiChi, I’m coming home.

Goku stepped up next in line. “Hi again, King Yemma!”

“Goku,” King Yemma perused his book. He read Goku’s long list of good deeds again. “You’re back again. For good this time?”

Goku confirmed with a nod. “Yup.”

“You know the drill and I am a God of my word…..”

Goku smiled aware of what he and King Yemma agreed on. From the corner of his eye, he saw her.

ChiChi stood in front of a side entrance. “ChiChi!”

Goku ran to ChiChi, picked her in his arms and swung her around before settling ChiChi on her feet and placing a passion-filled kiss on ChiChi’s lips in front of King Yemma, his assistance and the line of floating spirits behind them.

When they parted, Goku looked ChiChi up and down. Head to toe, she had her body and looked as youthful and beautiful as she was in the early days of their marriage. “You’re here and you have your body.”

“So, do you,” ChiChi admired Goku’s youthful face again. No white hair. No wrinkles. No age spots. He looked as young as he did in his prime. She kissed him. “Thank you.”

“For King---”

“No,” ChiChi shook her head. “For letting me go first.”

“Ah,” Goku grinned, “it was nothing, ChiChi. It was my time to wait.”

“Well, we don’t have to wait for each other anymore.” Happy tears rolled down her cheek. “We’re together… forever.”

“Forever,” Goku promised. “Forever.”

#gochiweek #gochiweek2021 #Goku #ChiChi #GoChi #fanfic #dragonball #dragonballz #Day Seven Prompt #Afterlife

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staceysonier · 4 years

Text

Little Red (MxF) *SFW* Part 1

*Gnoll Boyfriend!*

*Little Red Riding Hood~ish*

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I remembered playing in the woods behind my grandmother's property when I was a little girl. There was this little dog-like creature that I played with--and though my 18-year-old brain has forgotten what his name was, I assume now that he was a wolf, a pup, and I thank God that I never met his parents because I surely would've been torn to pieces.

For some reason, I remember him running with me, but on his hind legs--like that was something that wolves did.

We only played when I went to my grandmothers and that wasn't but maybe once or twice a week, and then as I got older, it turned into once or twice a month and then once or twice a year...

Until I stopped going altogether.

And as my grandmother got older and none of her children or her grandchildren went out to her small clearing in the forest, the grass grew tall again, the trees and vines and poisonous plants invaded and it had been almost impossible to get to her by car.

"You have to go, Blanchette," my mother insisted with tears in her eyes after receiving a letter from a doctor who lived around my grandmother.

I huffed because I hated that name and I also didn't want to give up a whole weekend away from my friends just to go trudge through the woods to find out that my grandmother was fine and just as crazy as she had always been.

Remembering when I used to go stay the weekend with her, I recall her telling me of all of the creatures in the woods, the guardians and the monsters alike who would either help or hinder me depending on who I came across so I should stay close to the treeline.

There had only been one time that I got too far away and needed help and that's when I met my dog-like friend.

I scoffed quietly at the rambunctious imagination I had when I was a child.

"Fine," I huffed and went back upstairs to pack.

Going through my closet, I began to pick out the things that seemed the warmest as it wasn't snowing yet but it was still rather chilly out and I could only imagine what the temperature would be like in the woods.

Once I had a small bag packed, I stomped down the stairs and into the kitchen to tell my mother goodbye and that it was nice knowing her.

"Don't be so dramatic, Blanche, I'm sure it'll be fine. The animals stay away from your grandmother's house and if you leave now, you'll be able to make it there with enough light to actually get through the woods and to her house. I love you," she ushered me out of the back door and toward the carport.

"Yeah, yeah," I grumbled but sat down in the driver's seat and turned the key in the ignition.

I was just about to pull out of the driveway when my mother came running out of the house and toward my car. I kept my foot on the brake but rolled down my window as she ran up to it with a piece of red fabric that billowed behind her and what looked to be a picnic basket.

"Here," she huffed out of breath before shoving the material and the basket through the window, "This is that red cloak your grandmother made you for Christmas a few years ago, you remember? Wear it when you see her and maybe it'll cheer her up. And that basket has cookies in it, they are her favorite so none of you!"

I threw both into my passenger seat and nodded, "Yeah, mom. I'll see you later."

"Be safe," she cried as she watched me back out of the driveway, her hand raised high in farewell.

***

I left at 2:30 and grandmother's house was a three-hour drive, plus the 20 to 30-minute walk it would take to get through the woods to her house.

It was now about 5:45 and the sun was starting to set over the treeline as I parked my car at the end of the dirt--now overgrown grass-- road that led to my grandmother's house.

I grumbled as I grabbed the red cloak and threw it on before grabbing the picnic basket and my bag out of the back and hoisting it over my shoulder.

Locking my doors and making sure--twice--I placed my keys in one of the side mesh pockets of my bag and began my trek through the woods.

It wasn't cold, per se, but when the wind picked up, it was freezing so I placed the hood of the cloak over my head and bundled the cloak around me as I walked through the almost darkened woods.

And not even ten minutes into my walk up the trail and I started hearing things past the tree line.

It was a branch breaking here and there until it turned into what sounded like a cackling laugh--reminding me of a hyena--in the distance.

I grumbled as I pulled the cloak tighter around me, trying to protect myself but a huge gust of wind sent my hood flying back and the sides of the cloak billowing open.

"Fuck," I yelled as the cold air stung my cheeks but then all at once, it settled down, allowing me to replace the hood and tighten the cloak around me once more.

"You're back," I heard whispered just off to the side, past the treeline and into the darkness.

I quickly turned to the voice and held the basket of cookies in front of me for protection.

"Who's there," I called, straining my eyes into the darkness until I saw two glowing eyes and I gasped.

"You don't remember me, Chette," the voice whispered and it was closer.

I whimpered as a big mass stepped closer but still not out of the darkness. I could make out the huge frame but nothing more.

"How am I supposed to remember something I can't even see," I asked but listened to my voice tremble.

Was I dead? Did I die in an accident and this was some sort of hell or purgatory?

Or was I hallucinating?

"I would come out but I look different from the last time we saw each other," the voice rose above a whisper, but not by much and it didn't sound like anything I remembered.

"When was the last time we saw each other," I asked curiously but was still terrified that this might be some ploy for this...thing to kill me.

I heard the thing chuckled lowly, "You were a few years younger than you are now, the last time I saw you, but the last time we spoke, you were eight--just a little thing, as I was."

Racking my brain from around the time I was eight and coming here to my grandmother's property, when I finally remembered, I gasped.

"My wolf-dog friend thing," I stumbled through my words as I felt comfort from the memories I had with him.

He cackled, reminding me of a hyena, like the ones I had heard in the distance.

"You wound me, Chette. I told you back then what I was, what my family was. Think hard, love."

I whimpered and shut my eyes to pinpoint any discernible memory and not just a vague montage of happiness.

My eyes popped open with something that was on the tip of my tongue, "You're a...a troll?"

He laughed again, "No, but close. I'm a Gnoll."

"Oh," I blushed as I remembered now, "Tazzimo, right?"

"I go by Tazz now," he said lowly and he still hadn't stepped out yet so I moved forward.

"Don't come any closer, Chette. You wouldn't like what you saw. I'm afraid I don't look like the cub you last saw."

I stopped in my tracks and looked to the path again.

"Have you seen my grandmother, Tazz," I asked quietly, "Do you know if she's doing okay?"

"Hmm," he hummed, "Why don't you go and see. It's getting late and I don't want you out here at dark."

The memory I had of him when we were younger comforted me but his deep voice and the mass of darkness I saw beyond the treeline had me breathless.

"Go," he barked, causing me to flinch but I did as he said and began walking up the trail again until I finally made it to my grandmother's little run-down house.

Stepping onto the front porch, I looked out into the trees to see if Tazz had followed but all I saw was blackness as the sun was almost fully gone now.

I turned around and took a deep breath before knocking on the wooden door.

"One moment," I heard my grandmother sing from the other side.

"Well, at least she's not dead," I muttered and listened to her unlock the deadbolt and then pull the door open.

She gasped and then pulled me into a hug, "Chetty-spaghetti, you're here! What are you doing here," she asked as she pulled back.

"Mom was worried," I answered and gave her the basket I had been holding.

"She sent these. She said they were your favorites."

"Oh, goody," she cried and ushered me inside her house and shut the door.

Her house was still how I remembered it--warm, cozy, and comforting.

Quilts and cross-stitchings were placed all over--finished and not--and it smelled like how it used to--causing my mouth to water.

"Is that--"

"--Chicken and dumplings," she asked with a sly smile, "It sure is. I was wondering why all of a sudden I got a hankering for it! I should've known you were coming... It's just been so long..."

I hung my head in shame and nodded, "I'm sorry, grandma, but I'm here now and I'm staying the weekend with you if that's okay?"

She pulled me into another hug and kissed my head, "Of course, it is, dear. Your room is how you left it, sweetheart. Make yourself at home and have as much of dinner as you can stand."

"I'll get fatter than I already am," I grumbled and tried not to think about the pounds I needed to lose in time to look great during summer.

"Oh, you hush now, Chetty! You're plump like all of the women in our family are and there's nothing wrong with that. I'll let you know when it becomes a problem," she winked and sent me down the hall to my old room.

***

We ate dinner together by the fireplace and just taking the first bite...

"Ugh," I groaned and my eyes rolled back.

"That good, huh," she asked and when I looked at her, she was smirking, "Never knew my cooking could do that to someone."

I blushed but took another bite.

"It's just that I've missed your cooking. There's just nothing like it, not even moms! And I missed it here...and I missed you too, Grandma. I'm sorry I haven't been coming around but..."

"Oh, pish-posh, my love. it's all water under the bridge now. I know you're growing up and you're now in college. I couldn't have exactly expected you to keep coming out here like you had when you were younger... Though I know I wasn't the only one who missed you..."

I gasped softly and looked at her but her eyes were down and looking into her bowl.

"Who, Grandma? Who missed me," I asked, trying to see if she would say who I thought she would.

Her eyes met mine and I saw them twinkle in the light of the fire, "You know who, Blanchette. He's asked about you here and there...and, boy, has he grown up. He's definitely not as...small...as he was when you two used to play together."

"We're talking about Tazz, aren't we," I asked softly and watched her nod.

"So, all the stories you used to tell me...all the guardians and wood spirits and monsters--good and bad--its all real," and she nodded again.

"I'm not in the business of lying, Chette," she said and smiled and then her face fell.

"Your mother used to love it out here. She had friends just like you did. She played with any and all who would play with her...but like you, she forgot as she got older and when she would hear me telling you my stories about what's really out there, she would chastise me and call me a crazy old woman, but she remembers. Deep down, she remembers."

I was quiet for a moment before speaking up again.

"Did...did mom have a 'Tazz'?"

And I watched Grandma smiled and nodded, "Bazz, Tazz's dad, but Bazz couldn't wait forever for a woman who wasn't going to come back so he...met one of his kind and had children--as your mother did."

I smiled at the thought that mom had loved Tazz's dad, just as I loved--love--Tazz. I wondered what her life would be like if she had come back to Bazz after finishing school. She had met my dad in college and bought a house with him when they graduated...

But all I could think about was what she could've had if she had just come back.

"Don't forget again, Chette," My grandma's voice cut through my thoughts and I focused on her.

"Don't forget about Tazz. Don't miss out on a love that could change your life. Because like his dad, Tazz won't be able to wait forever...he waited until now but only because I kept telling him to wait for me to find a way to get you out here."

I gasped and smiled, "Did you forge that doctor's note? How did you know mom would send me out here instead of coming herself?"

"She's scared of what she'll come back to so she won't come out here unless she necessarily has to. Some part of her remembers and is afraid to face up to the past," she shrugged and stood up but not before taking my bowl to bring to the kitchen.

"I'll be putting the food away and then going to bed. I suggest you do the same. You remember how rowdy it can get at night around here, don't you," she called out.

"Yeah, I remember," I smiled and headed to my room to get settled in before the nighttime crowd came out.

#lemon #monster boyfriend #monster x reader #exophilia #My writing #terato #gnoll #gnoll boyfriend #little red riding hood

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misssunflowersandsangria · 3 years

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How Lovely Are

Hello my lights! I have a quick fluffy holiday story. I was going to wait till it was closer to Christmas but I think we all collectively need some happy holiday fluff. I’m tagging this as a modern AU but it could occur in the Narutoverse with some adjustments.

Summary: Christmas was rapidly approaching and a last-minute purchase at a flower shop would completely change Sai’s life.

** How Lovely Are

Ino happily rearranged the flowers humming a familiar tune as she worked. Working at the family flower store had always been one of her favorite jobs, but especially during this time of the year. She always took great care making the arrangements that would be the centerpieces for so many wonderful celebrations. It was like putting a little bit of herself into what she created. It was almost the big day so it was simultaneously slowing down while speeding up. There were just a few orders left to fulfill but not too many being placed. The shop itself was pretty quiet after a morning rush so now it was just her, the flowers, and Christmas music. A pretty perfect afternoon if you were to ask her.

“Welcome,” She announced after hearing the bell at the door jingle.

She turned to look at the customer before stopping dead in her tracks. He was gorgeous, tall, pale skin with deep, ink colored eyes.

He brushed the snowflakes from his coat before looking up his eyes widening in surprise.

“Hello.”

She cleared her throat before finding her voice. “Hi, welcome. Is there something I can help you find?”

“Yes, this might be an odd request but do you happen to sell Christmas trees here?”

She shook her head. “No, unfortunately, we don’t.”

“Oh, it was a long shot anyway. I’ve just returned home and being so close to the holiday most places have sold out. Thank you…”

“Ino.”

“Thank you Ino, I’m Sai. I guess that I’ll be going-”

“Wait, uhm. Give me a second.” She panicked at the idea of him leaving so quickly from the store and subsequently out of her life.

Ino ran to the back where she had decorated the office in a slew of ornaments and holiday cheer. She grabbed the small tree from the desk hoping that the handsome man wouldn’t think it was an odd choice.

“Here.” She pushed the potted tree into his hands and he gazed surprised at the small decorated plant.

Ino began to feel foolish at his stare. She knew it wasn’t exactly what he was looking for.

“I’m sorry, I know that it’s not very large. It’s probably not what you’re looking for-”

“No, Ino, thank you. This is perfect.” He assured her genuinely grateful for the tiny tree in his hands.

She was floored by the sincere gratitude. “You’re welcome.”

“Is this for a party or a dinner?” She asked curiously hoping that it wasn’t a gift for a significant other.

“No, I'm not typically home during this time of the year so this is somewhat unprecedented. I’ll just be by myself so I thought that it would be good to have some decorations to make it a little less lonely.”

“Come to my house!” The sadness and heartbreak in his striking eyes led to the impromptu invitation.

He looked at her surprised. “Ino?”

“Come celebrate with me. My parents are a little ridiculous, and we celebrate with my aunts and uncles too. There’s a lot of food and everyone probably has a drinking problem. It’s loud and messy but it’s fun in that kind of chaotic way. No one should be alone during this time of the year.” Family time was inescapable during the holidays but she knew that she was luckier than most. It was impossible to imagine the season without her family and their precious traditions.

Sai gazed at her curiously completely floored by the invitation. The plan to get a Christmas tree was completely on a whim. He didn’t want to admit but he’d been staring at couples and families longingly as they rushed through the town buying gifts or heading to their celebrations. It made him want some semblance of warmth and holiday cheer. He couldn’t have ever expected the gorgeous blonde offering to spend such a special season with him. It was by far the kindest gesture that had ever been extended to him.

Part of him wanted to politely decline as socializing had never been his strong suit. The idea though of disappointment in her dazzling blue eyes would be far worse than any awkwardness he might have to endure.

“Thank you Ino, I would love that.”

Sai surveyed the annual Christmas dinner. It hadn’t changed too much over the years. It was still far too loud, everyone most definitely had a drinking problem but it was warm and familiar and represented the best part of the holidays. His son was busy playing with his new toys along with Shikadai and ChouChou.

He recalled fondly that first Christmas that he and Ino had spent together. Everyone had welcomed him in with open arms teasing Ino that it was about time that she’d brought someone home. Her two closest friends had been bringing along their significant others for years now and were happy to ease Sai in. He loved all the traditions, helped where he could, and participated in the family games. All the while Ino laughed and celebrated alongside him. It made him realize just how much he’d been missing. And how badly he wanted to hold onto that feeling.

In just a few years he’d gone from being completely alone and now he had his own family and was a Yamanaka. In addition, he gained a huge extended family. They were all far too close and way too invested in each other’s lives. And he couldn’t imagine life without them. Ino had given him everything that he’d never allowed himself to believe could be his.

On the table was a small potted, decorated Christmas tree. It had become a tradition of his to bring one along.

Ino slid up next to him and his arm wrapped tightly around her.

He kissed the top of her head affectionately thanking life and the universe for giving him the greatest gift that he could have ever asked for. His wife, their son, and this family. A kind of holiday miracle if there ever was one. “Merry Christmas Sai.”

“Thank you Beautiful.”

“You know I still owe you a gift.” He peered at her, they’d both agreed not to get each other gifts, which of course he didn’t follow.

“My love I have everything that I could ever want.” She grinned knowing that he genuinely meant that.

Those sky blue eyes that he adored took on a joyful quality. “Well, this one might take about 9 months to come?” His eyes widened in realization.

“Really?” He asked, surprised with tears lining his eyes.

She nodded brushing away her own tears. “We’re going to have another baby.” Saying it out loud made it all the more real.

Sai gathered her into his arms. Excitement and joy hitting him all at once. Early in his life, he couldn’t have imagined having a wife, let alone a son. Now he would be a father of two. It was worth it all to be at this point.

“Mommy, is daddy okay?” Ino nodded while picking up Inojin.

“He’s just happy Jin. How do you feel about being a big brother?” She asked her son affectionately brushing his hair back.

Inojin stared not quite sure how to respond. “So I would have someone to play with all the time?”

“Yes, you’ll get to watch over and help us take care of the baby.”

“I guess that’s okay then. Shikadai seems to like Yoshika even though she’s little and can’t do anything. I bet that I’ll be an even better big brother than he is.”

Ino and Sai smiled hugging him tightly. “I’m sure you will baby.”

Once they told Inojin the word spread and her parents were inconsolable as tears rained down from their eyes. Inoichi was joyful beyond compare at the idea of his baby having another baby. Being a grandfather had easily become his favorite role. He’d become jealous that Shikaku had two grandchildren and had been dropping not so subtle hints that the Yamanakas needed to catch up. Their family was growing and everyone was excited at the idea of a new baby joining them next year.

Mikino came into the world like a soft gentle snow. Ice blue eyes that looked as striking as a snowflake, with jet black hair. She was happy, playful, and a true reflection of the meaning of her name. She was already a daddy’s girl. If she cried or fussed one hug from her father was enough to ease those tears and Sai adored his baby girl.

Inojin was so much like his mother, Fierce, intelligent, loyal, and strong. Sai wondered if his daughter might take after him. Perhaps she’d be more quiet, contemplative, and grow to be as gorgeous as her mother. He never imagined he could love anyone more than Ino and now with his two children, he easily discovered that his heart could carry so much more.

That first Christmas Inojin held Mikino showing her the brightly colored lights on the tree. The lights reflected in her deep eyes as she curiously took in all the new sights and sounds.

“When you’re bigger Miki you can help me decorate the tree. It’s a big deal in our family.” Inojin explained to his little sister as he showed her the ornament he’d painted to commemorate her first Christmas with them.

Ino held onto her husband, both of them quiet and thoughtful watching Inojin and Mikino. This time of the year had always been Ino’s favorite but her family brought her joy all year long.

She kissed Sai as the images of shared holidays and happy times played in her head. He always thanked her for welcoming him into her life. For bringing him a certain kind of completion. He never quite understood that he’d done the same for her.

Peace, love, and joy all present in that room. Who knew that a search for a tree could have led to all of this?

I hope that a handsome man comes into your place of business, sweeps you off your feet and you live happily ever after :D

Also, everyone say welcome to my new OC, Mikino, Sai, and Ino’s baby girl. If you’ve read my story “Nursery Rhyme,” that introduced my OC Yoshika, Shikamaru and Temari’s daughter. I haven’t written anything yet but Chouji and Karui also have a daughter and her name is Chouchi. They are a badass all-girls team of InoShikaCho. I hc that they all go by nicknames, Miki, Yoshi, and Chi. Maybe one day I’ll expand on this idea but for now, let’s all just imagine Sai having a sweet daughter.

Last year I did a 12 days of Christmas thing for InoShikaCho, “My True Love Gave to Me,” but I don’t know that I can do that again this year, but we will see. (If ya’ll have some cute fluffy holiday prompt ideas message me :D)

Thank you for reading my loves! I know it’s crazy this year and things are really tough for a lot of people so I hope that you can find some joy and light in all of the chaos. Love you all.

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of-muppets-and-men · 4 years

Text

A While...

It was cold. So, so cold.

Qrow laid languid upon the smooth stone floor, wondering where he was and how he’d gotten here. With eyelids growing heavier by the second, he weakly scanned the room for any clue as to what was going on. To his right, he saw his daughter, Ruby. And his niece, Yang, along with all of their friends behind them. Blake, The Schnee girl, Oscar, Jaune, the noisy redhead and her quiet boyfriend…

What didn’t make sense, however, was that they were crying. Ruby kept repeating a handful of lines he couldn’t hear all that well. Stay with me and you’re gonna be okay, were the most common. Her voice was off, like she was speaking underwater, every syllable drowning out into muffled noise. Weiss and Blake stood beside their teammates, consoling them for whatever reason.

And then it hit him.

A sudden and horrible twinge of pain in his gut. Or where his gut should’ve been…

Qrow’s weary eyes travelled south to see a fresh, gaping hole in his torso. With a limp motion of his left hand, Qrow traipsed his fingers through the brutal wound. He felt the moisture and heat of his ichor; this was definitely not a dream. His hand slumped back to side, slapping against the hard stone. The wet sensation under Qrow’s palm; more blood, too much in fact. It took a moment for him to realize…

I’m dying, The thought rang out in his mind.

Even though his ears were failing, Qrow could still make out the low sobs of the people around him. Though the ones that shook him the most were Ruby’s. The veteran huntsman watched helplessly as his daughter called his name, begging him to his eyes open. Ruby shook him as gently as possible, but he could no longer feel her touch. Qrow’s vermilion eyes darkened as he stared one last time at his child who looked so much like the woman he loved.

And with a final breath, he spoke: “I love you, Ruby.”

He wasn’t even sure if it was out loud, but he hoped it had been as he faded into nothingness.

No Dad… Please don’t go… Don’t leave me…

His daughter’s words echoed throughout the endless sea of black he fell through. His body felt light, lighter than it had been in decades. The pain had all but disappeared; Qrow closed his eyes as he slipped further into the abyss. This isn’t so bad, he thought to himself.

As quickly as his life had come to close, he felt warmth encompass him once more. Feeling the heat against his brow, Qrow slowly opened his eyes to see a world of golden light. Its radiance stung so with a free hand, the huntsman sheltered his gaze. With a bit of time, he adjusted and stared wildly into this new place he found himself stood in.

Caught up in his surroundings, he failed to realize the pain in his chest was gone. Qrow frantically rubbed at his blazer, to find no wound whatsoever, as if it had never happened.

“What the hell...”

“What’s wrong, Beanstalk? It’s not like you to look so lost.” a voice came from behind him.

Qrow froze in place. He knew that voice, but it couldn’t be…

Slowly, the man swivelled around to see if he was right. And he was. The love of his life looked back at him, as beautiful as the day he lost her. Qrow stood speechless, mouth agape, unable to find even the simplest thing to say. The Huntsman’s knuckles shivered in disbelief, all the while Summer just continued to smile. Her mirror-like gaze laid waste to Qrow’s confidence, as it had since the first day they met.

“Well? Where’s my kiss?” She said snidely, breaking the silence.

His legs moved on their own. First a walk into a run then a run into a sprint. His wife did the same until she was close enough to endearingly leap into his arms. With a spin and a twirl, the two embraced for the first time in over a decade. Qrow took in her heat, her presence and best of all, her lips. Soft and tender, just like he remembered. Summer rummaged her fingers through his thick, feathery locks, recalling every strand; greying as they may be. Qrow slumped to his knees, Summer still pulled to his chest. The only reason they pulled away from each other’s grasp was to catch their breath.

They’d dreamt of this ever since she left, never to be seen again. Emotions from years past reared their heads: Guilt, Regret, Grief… Before he knew, Qrow had begun to cry. Summer’s digits clutched his cheeks, her thumbs wiping away tears.

“Summer… I… Gods I…” Qrow stammered, too overjoyed to formulate anything coherent.

Lucky for him, Summer knew what he was trying to convey.

Pressing her forehead to his, “I know… I missed you, too.”

Overwhelmed by his reunion with Summer, Qrow sprawled out onto the invisible floor. Summer followed suit, laying parallel beside him. The little woman stared deviously at her husband’s attire; a very welcome change to the drab rags her wore before.

“I like the new look.” She said while stroking his vest.

A scoff escaped Qrow’s chest. But his uplifted demeanor didn’t last. Summer watched as his face shifted to a familiar scowl.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Sum… If I’m here with you then that means I’m...”

“Dead? Yes. You are.”

“How?”

“You shielded Ruby from Salem’s black magic… Her blonde friend, Jaune I think was his name, tried to help you but it was too late...”

A deep, shaky breath left him following his wife’s explanation. Qrow’s mind spun into every prominent trail of thought. He’d always longed to see Summer again, but never did he think it would be like this. He was dead, but at least Ruby was safe. Although even that bit of optimism turned to poison his mind. Ruby, his pride and joy, was alive but now, he’d left her alone…

Beset by the anguish of having to leave his daughter behind, Qrow’s face turned away from Summer’s. Well attuned to her husband’s mood, Summer sat up and positioned herself by his head. A little shift and Qrow’s head was resting on her thigh, his sullen eyes still lingering with regret.

Stroking her hand across his cheek, Summer spoke, “Not enjoying my company, Mr. Branwen?”

“Hmph, It’s not that… I’m worried about Ruby. She’s on her own now…”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Summer retorted, “She still has Yang, Tai and the rest of her friends.”

“But I should’v-”

“Oh Qrow, don’t do that. This isn’t your fault. You chose her life over yours, a decision any parent would make. If you died doing something so noble than so be it. Besides, it’ll be nice to have someone to wait with me. C’mon, there’s something I want to show you.”

Qrow felt his beloved suddenly stand up, letting his head thud against the floor. Naturally, rather than apologizing, Summer pointed and laughed instead. It annoyed him, but ultimately let it slide; still the same old brat she always was. The huntsman sat up when Summer offered a hand, letting him tower above once more. With a delicate tug of his arm, Summer coaxed her husband to follow.

“This way.”

A low grumble in reply.

Qrow steadily walked behind her, minding his gait as to not step on her heels. It had been so long since they’d stood side by side, so her tiny silhouette surprised him a touch. He found it tempting to tease her vertically challenged self, but decided it wasn’t worth the asskicking it would bring. So he set her vermilion eyes to the golden scenery around them.

“What is this place?” he asked in earnest.

“A realm between reality and the afterlife,” Summer answered, “Or at least that’s what Oz told me.”

“You met Oz?”

“Just once. Not too long ago actually. I think he was just as surprised to see me as I him.” Summer recounted.

“Did he say anything?”

“No, not really. Just apologized to me and then disappeared after a few minutes. Must’ve reincarnated.”

The two continued to walk in uncomfortable silence. It was difficult to think the man they both trusted used them as a means to an end. How both of them had become casualties of his war. Qrow watched as Summer bow her head as her strides slowed. In a brief fit of speed, she saw her husband pull up beside and take her hand in his own. His rough mitts sprawled to intertwine with hers; silver met red as they grinned at one another. But at last, they reached the place Summer had been so eager to show.

“We’re here.”

“And where is here?”

“Watch this…” Summer said as half-heartedly pulled from his grip.

Puzzled, Qrow looked on as Summer stood still in a place that didn’t look all that different from everywhere else. With a single wave of her hand, the golden sky dissipated and exploded into colour, revealing a place he’d never thought he’d see again.

Thick tree brush and rolling hills leading to a cliff’s edge overlooking an all too familiar island.

“Patch…” Qrow breathed as he stared out beyond the horizon.

“Like it? I found this ages ago. It’s kinda like a window into the real world, though i’m not sure why it’s here.”

“But why here specifically?”

“I thought you’d like to revisit our old makeout spot…” Summer purred coyly.

Qrow blushed, his cheeks nearly as red as his eyes, while Summer relished in her talent for teasing him. Face still flush, she pulled him toward the precipice; a favourite spot of theirs in life. They sat side by side, Qrow traipsing an arm over her shoulder. She in turn wrapped an arm around his waist, then adjusted her bangs with her free hand. The reunited lovers nuzzled their heads together as they watched Patch’s sunrise, it’s majesty looming over the tiny isle.

“I love you, Summer.”

“I love you too, Qrow.”

“Do you think Ruby will forgive us for leaving?”

“I don’t know… but let’s sit here for a while and find out.”

Decades Later

Ruby Rose.

A Huntress. A Hero. Slayer of Evil and Bringer of Hope.

Now laid on her deathbed after years of devoting her life, surrounded by her family. A beloved wife, mother of two and grandmother of four soon to be five. Her children and grandchildren watched on as she took in their faces one last time. Unlike the many before her, Ruby’s age has finall caught up with her.

She’d lost so much… Friends, Her mother, Her father, Her team. But she goes to them now without a drop of fear, knowing she’d done her best.

Slowly, it all fades to black as her long and storied life comes to an end.

She can feel herself pass through the veil, shrouded in darkness. Only to see a light, just as many others had described.

Ruby awakes to a world wreathed in golden light, her body light as it had been in her youth. Confused, her eyes dart around, searching for a sign for… anything.

That is when she sees them.

A man and woman standing side by side, hand in hand. Ruby squints to see who they are and is welcomed by the faces of her parents.

She runs, she sprints and leaps into their arms. Tears stream down all their faces; a moment Qrow and Summer had diligently waited for.

And even without words, Qrow knew the answer to his question.

#rwby #strq #hummingbird #Flown North #Hunter's Dream #dusty rose #qrose #qrow x summer #summer x qrow #ruby rose #qrow branwen #summer rose #qrow is ruby's dad #qrow is ruby's father

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potterandpromises · 3 years

Note

11 of the november prompts for whoever you want!

I decided to use this prompt to practice writing from Lorena’s POV. This is set in the world of a WIP (may it someday see the light of day), but primarily during Lorena’s backstory, so all you need to know is that Lorena is working as an ER nurse in the early 2000s.

Content warning: Hospitals, vomit, and discussion of child death.

Prompt: Nothing’s final until you’re dead. And even then, I’m sure God negotiates.

“That boy is going to die,” Aubrey says and doesn’t look up from the trashcan she was vomiting into.

Lorena runs a hand through her hair, her thoughts of trying to reach the boy’s mother interrupted.

“He will.” It was a question, she realizes. Aubrey is her best friend in the world and she still can’t read her.

“He may die.” Lorena starts the coffee maker. “Or he may recover, grow up, get married, have 10 children and 25 grandchildren.” Lorena hands Aubrey, who’s still slumped against the wall, a cup of water. “It’s not final until he’s dead. Even then—”

“I’m dropping out of divinity school.”

”What? Why?”

She smiles a little, and brings her knees to her chest. ”I’m going to tell people I don’t want to learn Greek, which is true.”

Lorena not knowing what to say or think, picks her own part of the wall to slump against.

After a minute, because they can only ever steal a few, Lorena breaks the silence. “When?”

“Soon as the program’s over.”

That’s less then a week.

“And you’re leaving Chicago, going home?”

She nods.

Now Lorena knows what to do: stare, memorize the exact color of Aubrey’s hair at night in the breakroom, the flutter in her own belly, that space between Aubrey‘s nose and lips.

“You’re so good at what you do.” Aubrey reaches out and squeezes her hand. “I’m gonna miss you so much.” Somehow, someway, Lorena knows they’ll never see each other again.

In 2009, Lorena takes Iris out of the bath and towels her off. “I love you so much,” she says softly, smiling, cooing. “I’d do anything to protect you.”

The boy died, she recalls looking at her sweat baby girl almost eight years later. She’s imagined his parents, never met them. But that’s not the thought that makes her almost cry.

If it was her child, would she be able to accept it? Would she go on, practically the same person as before. Would she start a charity, try to make the world a better place or would she try and burn it down? Would her marriage last? something like half of them don’t survive losing a child.

People rarely react to trauma the way they think will. The first time it happens, anyway.

“Is Daddy getting home soon?” Garcia’s been working late, trying to get his and Stiv’s business off the ground. “I bet he is.”

Iris smiles, really smiles. “You know, that’s not your first smile or your 10th smile,” —Lorena tickles Iris’ teeny tiny foot— “but it won’t ever get old to me.”

#If you’re wondering weather lorena had a crush on the hospital chaplin/episcopal student priest #the answer is yes #timeless #lorena flynn #iris flynn #timeless ff #fanfiction #my fanfic tag #Fic series: Here and Now #Fic: For Reasons Wretched and Divine

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thesolitarystripe · 3 years

Text

Edna Briggs-Writing Prompt # I’ve Lost Cont

Today's entry was suggested by my best friend, Chenoa. This entire premise was hers and despite my encouragement that she write it; she did not feel like she could. So, I told her I would write it for her. I hope this is what she envisioned, equal parts sad and wholesome.

Enjoy my dearest!

“How long will it be tomorrow, Edna?”

“Sixty-five years.”

“Sixty-five. That’s right…”

The man knew very well how many years it would be that he and his wife would celebrate their marriage. Sixty-five years, tomorrow. Wrinkled hands found more delicate ones, pallid and cool to the touch.

“You still…can’t remember.” There was a weak puff of laughter as Edna turned her head and regarded her husband warmly.

“That’s why I need you here Edna,” at this, the man’s voice cracked with the tightness that formed in his throat. “I’ll never even remember to feed myself.” The pair chuckled softly. Edna patted the top of her husband’s hands.

“Yes, you will Jim.”

That was all she said as she smiled through brimming tears. Edna laid in the comfort of a hospital bed within her own home, in her living room, to be exact. The couple had a large family, and their bedroom was so small that Jim barely fit inside next to both the new and old beds. So, their five children deemed it necessary to move Edna into the main room so that they all could sit beside her—them and their ten grandchildren. It had been two years now that Edna was on hospice and an amazing feat considering the doctors thought she would pass on within the first six months. Edna clung to life the way she held fast to Jim’s hand, with nothing but love and enthusiasm. It was noticeable now, perhaps only to Jim, that Edna’s fingers did not grab hold so hard. In the slipping of her fingers, he felt the waning of her soul and it brought his head down upon her chest as she breathed in and out. So long as he could hear that thrum of her heart, he would know peace. Into the early morning hours, they whispered between them of all life had brought. They shared tender kisses and caresses that Jim desperately fought to commit to memory. Each tickle of her fingers at the back of his neck was etched into his bones and stored away in every fiber of his muscles. Jim would not forget. Somehow, Jim fell asleep. A grown man of ninety-five laid on his wife’s chest, back hunched forward and his arms draped over her; one behind her head and the other over her thighs. Jim fell asleep. When he opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was the look of absolute tranquility upon Edna’s beautiful features. Without moving, speaking, or thinking, Jim knew. Edna was no longer on this plane but, she had made it to midnight. They celebrated their sixty-fifth anniversary in the darkness of their living room.

The days that passed next were a blur. Perhaps one day, Jim would come to and the memories of Edna’s memorial service, her funeral, the crowds of people that came to honor her memory; maybe he would recall it. Today, he sat silently in his living room, the vacant hospital bed beside him. A few of his children were bustling in the kitchen, cooking, and making sure Jim had easy options for food because the man was proficient with a grill and that was about it.

“Papa, we cut up some fresh fruit it’s in the fridge. Make sure you eat it up, so it doesn’t go bad.” Jim’s oldest granddaughter was talking to him, but Jim was in his cushioned armchair, staring out the sliding glass door that led to their patio. All of Edna’s flowers popped vibrantly against the emerald hues of their meticulously watered grass. Jim wondered if it would all die within a few short hours once the little garden realized its tender was gone. That was good, appropriate, even. The flowers should no longer grow if Edna did not keep them; just as the sun should not rise or fall so long as Edna’s chest was still. Jim looked up at the blinding rays of the celestial body. It seemed he had not yet convinced the star to cease its normal cycle because how could life possibly go on without Edna Briggs. How, could it.

Eventually, Jim’s children and grandchildren left. He was sure it was not an easy choice for them. While he was absentminded and aloof, it did not go unnoticed the way they lingered in the doorway or how they looked at him with concern in their eyes. Jim waved them off with a brave little smile. Then they were gone, and the house was horribly quiet. There was no talk of the gossip at Bingo, no asking what time ‘Jeopardy’ would be on even though it came on every night at the same time; there was a lingering aroma of food, but it was not Edna’s cooking. Jim sat in his armchair. Jim stewed in the silence and looked out the back door until the light dissolved and nighttime fell. This was how he passed most of his days for a week. People called; he did not answer. The only communication he managed was a short text asking his children not to come—he needed time. Jim ate halfheartedly but per his granddaughter’s wishes, he did not let the fruit go bad. She had worked so hard, after all. It was on the sixth night that Jim finally turned on the television. There had been no sound for so long that it almost felt like an intrusion to hear the people in the commercials talking. He left it on and eventually, he fell asleep in his chair with one hand resting on the end of the hospital bed. That was how they had gone to bed many times over the last two years.

Jim was snoring for several hours when a sound finally woke him from his dreamless stasis. It was not the incessant dinging of bells on whatever game show had just come on—he had slept through that many times. There was a clink in the kitchen. Jim and Edna had no pets and had lived alone for a number of years after their children grew up. In Jim’s mind, there was no reason for any part of their home to be making noise unless someone else was in it. As that thought occurred to him, Jim grew very still, eyes wide open and desperately peering through the darkness. Jim had never felt scared but as he sat, totally alone, he felt that sick heat creep into his belly and spread like fire through his veins. The man was paralyzed in his chair, sinking deeper and deeper each time he heard that clinking noise. It was different and seemed to be moving around the kitchen. There was a certain tone of the porcelain in the sink when it was hit; it was very different from the sound that was produced when the marble countertops were bumped or the wooden cabinets. From what he could hear, it sounded like someone was cooking a full meal inside his kitchen. Jim’s jaw clenched. This was silly. The man, finding all the courage of his younger years rolled to his feet and turned to look back. The kitchen was in full view from the living room, there were no walls separating the adjoined spaces. So, when he looked, there was no mistaking what he saw. There was nothing to block him and his glasses were poised on the bridge of his long nose. Jim’s jaw went slack, and he was certain he was either dead or on his way to the grave.

“Edna, what in the hell are you doing?” The little old lady looked exactly the way Jim had last seen her save for the color in her cheeks. That ever-present vibrancy that Edna had when she was alive, her youthful glow, it had returned with a new fullness.

“Well excuse me, Jim, I’m making your late-night snack like I always do. I am more than happy to stop if you’re going to take that attitude with me.” Jim stared. Jim stared for a long time, so long that Edna rolled her eyes. “Tuna fish and saltine crackers, it’s your favorite.” A small plate plopped onto the counter and slid toward Jim. The man looked down for a moment but immediately brought his gaze back to Edna for fear she might vanish.

“Honey, I don’t know how to tell you this but—”

“I’m dead! I know that Jim, I’m not stupid. Someone’s got to come along and take care of you. You said it yourself a week ago, you’ll forget to eat. Then what? Then I have to spend eternity with you too?” Edna smiled after that. It was full of knowingness and patience because she was, indeed, fully aware of her circumstances.

“The—the…the grandkids…they left some food—Edna! How…” Jim was taking cautious steps forward and he found himself vaguely wondering if there was some sort of technology, he wasn’t aware of that could project life-like images of loved ones into your home. Was this some sort of invention created for coping with loss? Jim’s brown eyes did a quick scan of the kitchen. He saw no indication of a projector. There was nothing out of place in his old kitchen, except for a perfectly intact Edna standing in the middle of it.

“Simple. I didn’t want to leave,” Edna shrugged and gave the plate another inch toward Jim. The man had approached and was well within range of the plate now. He looked at Edna incredulously before he swooped in and wrapped his arms around her. She was whole and smelled like his favorite perfume; she had worn it every day since they had met. Jim wasn’t fully aware of it, but he was weeping. Into the meticulously done curls that framed Edna’s head and neck. That familiar tickle of her fingers at the nape of his neck only made him cry harder because his memory had failed him. In the short time away from his wife, Jim had already forgotten what the scrape of her nails felt like on his skin. Edna embraced her husband in the kitchen, endlessly. Only when he was ready to lift his head did she take a small step back and smile up at him. “They really should change that whole ‘till death do us part' bit. It doesn’t have to end there, not if you don’t want it to.” Jim laughed. For the first time in a week, he was smiling, and it felt like rust was crumbling off all the unused facial muscles.

“Well…what do we do?”

“What do we do? Jim I’m going to sit down and watch my shows, it’s only ten-thirty. Now eat!” Jim was given the plate of crackers. He tested its weight; he poked the bottom of it to see if his finger would go through. It didn’t. Finally, he ate a cracker with a scoop of Edna’s infamous tuna salad, and it tasted like home. Jim was not sure if he was crazy or if the Lord had bestowed a miraculous blessing upon him but, he would not question the extra time. Quickly, he shuffled after Edna who was crawling into the hospital bed already glued to the television. Jim sat in his armchair munching and constantly glancing over at Edna to make sure she didn’t get swept away into the ethers.

This was how life went on. Learning the extent of Edna’s abilities happened quickly. Jim soon learned that his children nor his grands could see her despite her standing in the foyer to greet them alongside her husband. No one else saw Edna. She did, one time, touch a dishrag without thinking and when it moved on its own their eldest son yelped and jumped away from it. Jim quickly offered up that it was simply the wind from the open window in the kitchen. Luckily, that was all it took to convince his son that there were no ghosts in the house. All the while, Jim looked at Edna who had her little hand over her mouth, giggling. Edna got to enjoy her family from a distance, something that both made her happy and hurt her. Jim could see the longing in her eyes as Edna sank to the floor to sit by their grandchildren who played, oblivious that grandma was right beside them. There was much that Jim found cruel about Edna’s current existence. While she cooked and cleaned and took care of Jim as well as she had in her living days—she could not enjoy the material things of the mortal world. Edna could watch television, listen to music, and sit beside Jim while holding his hand. She did not get to taste food or hug her kids; she did not have the luxury of soothing her grandbabies or walking outside. Edna had tried to leave the house multiple times, only to tend to her garden but every door in the home seemed to be a wall. Edna could not leave. The pair existed within the living room and kitchen. Eating and watching television. This was their new routine. Edna did not sleep; she didn’t need to. She would stay up and watch Jim, hold his hand, pet his hair; anything to keep her busy through the hours he was not conscious of her. As the months passed, Jim watched these realities affect her though Edna never complained.

One evening, the couple sat watching another ‘Jeopardy’ rerun. They chuckled a little here and there. Edna had made Jim a small platter of cut up meat, cheese, and crackers. She was always feeding him much to his family’s approval—they had predicted Jim would lose weight in the following months after Edna’s passing. They had no idea she still wandered through the home.

“Edna.”

“Yes, dear?”

“How long are you going to stay?”

“That’s a funny question. Funny, because the answer is obvious, isn’t it?” Jim looked at her with a blank expression. “I’m staying until it’s your time.”

“Do you know when that is?”

“No. That’s none of my business, even as a ghost.”

“It could be years.”

“It could be.”

“My grandfather and my father lived past one hundred.”

“Yes, yes, you have good genes. I know.” Edna said it with an air of annoyance like they had this discussion many times over when she was alive.

“My point is, you could be doing this for five more years if not more.”

“You could also die tomorrow,” she quipped.

“Are you going to live every day hoping I die tomorrow?” At this, Edna laughed and shook her head.

“No. Of course not Jim, I want you to enjoy every second of life. Watch the babies grow, watch our bigger babies grow even more. Feel the sun on your face. Tend to my flowers. Eat good food.”

“And what about you?” Jim was very serious, and the tone of his voice had changed from amiable and inquisitive to firm.

“What about me?”

“I suppose you think it’s fine for you to keep on living in this undead existence. Where you get to experience none of the pleasures you just listed off for me.”

“I get to be with my husband. That is the greatest pleasure.”

“Is it, Edna? I see how much you want to hold those grandbabies. The look on your face while I’m eating something you’ve made but you can’t even taste it. Is this really existing at all?” Edna looked at Jim. There was a long discussion had between them, without words. Jim’s eyes were glossy in the way that spoke of tears unarrived but waiting in the trenches. The line of his mouth was hard set and that horrible lump in his throat was thicker than before. It had taken him months to realize it; to see the selfishness of what he did. Jim kept Edna here. It was a blatant fact. No one else could see her, they had accepted her death and let her spirit soar free. Jim did not. Jim carried the burden of damning his wife to this listless life as a specter when she was deserving of so much more. “Edna, you have done what you needed to in this life, tenfold. You raised a beautiful family, we did, together but we both know who did most of the work. I am not blind to that. You have been an excellent grandmother to those babies, and they will grow up to know unconditional love and how to bake the best pies for Christmas. You took care of me, God, you still are! Even in death. This is not your eternal rest, Edna. This is not the peace you have earned after such a full life. It was full, wasn’t it?”

Edna sat on the edge of the hospital bed, legs dangling, hands folded in her lap as she faced Jim. Tears streamed down her face. The weight of this new existence was taxing and harder than she imagined. Participating in life from the sidelines. Watching but not doing. Living but not living at all. “It was very full, Jim. The best life I could have ever wanted and then some.” Edna’s petite shoulders shook with sobs and Jim rose and sat beside her on the bed; he encircled her in his arms and pressed his face against her neck.

“I love you Edna Briggs, but this is not the existence you were meant to have. It is time for me to let you go,” he whispered. Jim breathed in as deeply as he could. Memorizing every dip and curve of her body as if he had not already done that over the last sixty-five years. The smell of her perfume. The smoothness of her skin. The sound of her breath as she wept. These were all important pieces of information, things he would store away and remember on days when he missed her. Every day. Jim would remember it every day. Jim and Edna wept together, just as they had the night she passed. They squeezed one another and eventually fell back on the bed. Jim felt sleep tugging at his eyelids, and he knew, deep in his gut, when he woke tomorrow Edna would be gone. “I promise, I’ll see you soon. I love you so much. You have been the most amazing wife a man could ever ask for.” Jim’s hands were in those bouncy curls, fingers wrapped around Edna’s skull as he touched their foreheads together. “I won’t last long without my other half, but I’ll make sure the grandbabies are skilled pie bakers before I go.” They laughed. The room was quiet except for their sniffling. “It’s okay to go, I love you.” Edna kissed her husband’s face, his forehead, and lips. Edna fell asleep. Finally. She had not realized just how tired her soul was until her eyes closed and she drifted off into the most peaceful slumber within her husband’s arms.

When Jim woke the next morning, he was alone, as expected. Despite the hole he felt in half of his heart, Jim smiled. Edna was finally at peace and that alone brought him more joy than anything else.

#creative writing #OC #writing prompt #My writing #thesolitarystripe #romance #wholesome #writing #tw death #tw natural death #writers on tumblr

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ktheist · 4 years

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seventeen.

chapters: 16 / 17 / 18

knight!jungkook x princess!reader

xWord had been sent days ago. Jungkook would have been released from his punishment but so would his title. It’s the compromise you agreed on. He will live away from the palace as a commoner. He may return home. You remember the time when he mentions his family and the peaceful life they had... until that dreaded winter.

Every time you think about that, your deceased father comes to mind. It was his rule that caused the death of thousands of his people simply because of greed. But you’d gained something out of it. Naturally, as you were his daughter. Would Jungkook rejoice at the news of the death of the man that caused doom to his family? Or will he mourn with you if he was here?

The latter, you will never know.

It’s been a week since you’ve arrived. Though the workers’ faces are familiar, their treatment of you is not. Before, they would smile at you, ask about your day and tell you about their grandparents back home or their sweetheart who is in the army. Now, they keep their heads low and murmur a quiet greeting. It is fear they harbor.

“So this is where you are.” Seokjin’s warm voice hits your ear as he sits next to you.

He glances at the book you’ve had laid in your lap for the longest time, “are you going to the dinner?”

“I have to,” you affirm in a heartbeat, “otherwise it would reflect badly to the other foreign countries that the Northern Kingdom born and married to the Southern Kingdom-princess are not on so good terms with her birth country.”

Seokjin shakes his head, a small smile on his lips, “yes, but if you don’t feel like going, it’s alright. Minju and mother would understand. Isn’t that what’s most important? What they think. Not what others think.”

“And those are the words of a King.” You look at him with raised brows, “just don’t let Namjoon hear that.”

“Ugh,” he groans, shoulders slump at the mention of the man, “he’s no different than our tutor that kept us locked in the classroom until we finished the exercises he prepared. Only difference is I can use my ‘king’ voice with Namjoon.”

Laughter fills the air as you feel your stomach hurting too much from it. The ‘king’ voice was something you and your siblings did when you were children. It started with mimicking your father’s deep, authoritative voice but then went on to using it on your governors whenever you didn’t want to take a bath or go to sleep early. One Lady Ryu had laughed it off and bopped your nose with her index finger and chuckled while other workers would hesitate in whether to be firm or to let the Prince and Princesses do as they please. Lady Ryu is now retired, you last heard she lives with her daughter and grandchildren.

Somberly, you recall the last time you used your ‘king’ voice. It was just last night and towards your own husband. The man you envisaged to be your friend, partner and close confidant.

“Control yourself, you disgusting man!” You had pushed Taehyung off when he towered over you as soon as Yerin and the maids left. It was unthinkable to hate your favorite drink but he made it all too easy, reeking of the sweet scent that he had too many.

“It’s been days,” he reasoned, fingers snaking around your waist but the touch was short lived as you break away from his grasp, glaring.

“My father just died and if you don’t have a sense of self-decency, then at least have some respect for the dead.” There’s shuffling from outside the door. The maids must have heard the rise of your voice and wondering if they should knock.

The series of out-of-character behavior displayed by Taehyung kept you on edge and rightfully so. You didn’t flinch when his voice boomed across the room, “ I released your god damned lover - you made a scene out of it and made me a subject of ridicule but I released him anyway.”

“Do you expect a thank you note?” Your chin was kept high and your nose higher even though your heart pounded erratically in your chest. Did he know about your nightly rendezvous?

He clicked his tongue, annoyed. Now, that’s the tyrant Prince you married. “Find a place elsewhere to sleep if you aren’t going to fulfill your duties as a wife.”

And you gladly did so. It was way past midnight and you had to knock a plenty of times but your mother finally opened the door. Though a tad shocked but she didn’t question it as she held you like she would when you were just a child, sneaking into your mother’s chamber. Your parents had always had separate chambers and one they shared occasionally.

Your train of thoughts is disrupted by an approaching footman. It’s almost time for tea and the two other ladies of the royal family is waiting for you and the King.

Some calls for you while you’re on your way to the villa where you’re staying. Luckily enough, preparations were made speedily for you to have your own, private settlement while you’re here. You don’t know if Taehyung knows you’re to move here but you have no worries as the workers would have told him. You have your own separate bedroom on the third floor while Taehyung’s is on the second floor. Turning around, your heart almost dropped at the sight of the young man dressed in the finest of clothing.

He crosses the short distance and drops to his knees, hand stretched out. “It’s been awhile, Princes.”

The first tear hits your cheek before a whole waterfall cascades freely. You take his hand with a hiccup and let him bring yours to his lips. When he stands, you’re forced to crane your neck. You forgot how much taller he is from you.

“J-jungkook, h- how - why -” The words come out in muffled as you take in his appearance. Not a smudge of dirt on his chin, his overgrown hair trimmed to perfection though his cheeks seems hollow, his lips are more reddish than the pale complexion that you saw him with. He’s donned a tailor-made suit that you only see on delegates since you came.

“The guard gave me a hefty bag of coins,” he smiles as if his imprisonment was nothing but a dream, “said he’s retiring as the palace guard and have enough to start a new life with his family and gave me the rest of what he didn’t need so I got a horse and a nice shirt and rode here as soon as I found out.”

The smile drops into a deep frown, he takes a step closer but minds the watchful eyes, “are you alright, Princess? I’m sorry about his majesty.”

“Don’t be,” you shake your head, wiping off the tears as you look at him straight in his eyes, “he caused a lot of hardship to the people. I can’t say that I’m glad he’s dead but the Northern Kingdom has a new and better King now.”

“King Seokjin,” he nods stiffly. There’s doubt in his eyes of the future of the kingdom. He will not be the only one who thinks so. Seokjin has been missing for five years as soon as he had the chance to leave the palace’s gates to travel. But you would say he’s gained plenty of experience. All which will help him govern the kingdom with wisdom.

“Where are you staying? What are you going to do next? Will you go home?”The onslaught of questions tumble out in one breath. It’s been over a week since you left for your birth country and longer since you’ve seen him.

Jungkook chuckles but answer them anyway, “for now, probably and inn and I’m going to stay by your side of course. Home is where you are, Princess.”

Something tubs on your heartstrings as you stare at the man forlornly, “but you’re no longer a knight... Taehyung...”

At the mention of the name, his face darkens. Gone is the playful atmosphere you two shared. You can see the rising rage and hatred towards the aforementioned man like that of your own.

“Did he - did he hurt you?” His voice shakes with a cluster of emotions that you can’t pinpoint.

You shake your head a tad too fast. “No, but he’s been getting on my nerves too many times to count.”

“I see,” he breathes out in relief before his eyes travel to your belly and back to your face, “are you...”

A pause.

“It’s too soon to tell,” you say but clutches your stomach with both hands anyway.

Just as he’s about to say something, Eunha’s voice echoes off the walls. You catch her figure half-running towards you with that cheery smile of hers. If Yerin were here, she’d tut and tell her to walk, not run.

“Your highness!”

When you revert your gaze to Jungkook, he’s already taking a step back, bowing and brushing past you with a murmur, “till we meet again, Princess.”

“Who was that?” Eunha hums, neck lolling to the side as she stares at the back of the man you were talking to. Panic begin to rise as the seconds stretch on, so you put on your best smile, “So, what news do you bring?”

Almost instantly, her attention focuses on you, “I overheard Prince Taehyung talking about the coronation with the Duke of Goryeo. Before you start showing. Is it true?”

Your jaw falls open just the slightest bit. He hasn’t discussed such matters with you but it is no surprise that all the news you’ve gathered are from either Lord Park or the maids’ gossip sessions.

“I suppose the cat is out of the bag now.” You school a noble smile, rubbing your stomach as Eunha gushes and congratulates you.

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talesofealdancynedom · 3 years

Photo

Pretty new plumage for the cute young couple: Artemis(crimson), and Matcha(white), in the royal raven kingdom nest.

Tale 11: Artemis Craweleoth & The Griminthrope (chapter 5 - Beloved Princess 5/5) part 3. Stories of Fey

none

A year after Artemis and Matcha decided to tour magic forests, Morgen as hosting all his and Emilia’s children, and new grandchildren, on the gate. All except Artemis. Their other children had all flown the coop, and become accomplished mages; but not above having family reunions. They all took comfort in the knowing that Artemis was happy, in the shadow veil or some magic forest somewhere. It had been months since Matcha and Artemis were last spotted, but they did visit everyone individually on ocassion. But not this harvest gathering. Cadence, the eldest, insisted that no one go look for their littlest sister so late; unlike Calliope, the second eldest, who sided with Patrick. They missed their youngest sister, wanted to invite her. But Cadence was right; it was well in the evening, and everyone was too tired to hunt Artemis down. But as Cadence woke at dawn, to feed the stag fey with her children, she noticed something; silence.

At first, Cadence ignored the quiet; but then Calliope and her wife noticed, and then Patrick and his girlfriend noticed. Where was the morning calls of cockatrice at dawn? The two of albino peacock phoenixes that bickered all their childhoods? The song of the orphan birds, or metallic flap of Stymphalians. Not even gryphons perched along the edge of the tower. The Sibling’s curiously looked around, and then got their father and mother to check as well. All the raven children were missing. Morgan, being Mage of Tiberius gate, could feel all the fey and people on it, but accounting for an entire kingdom of fey was beyond his scope. Tiberius gate was too dense with fey to sort. Morgan sent his familiar Icarus to help search from above. Even with teamwork, the two couldn’t sense any raven children. Each fey they asked, noticed their plumaged mythical cousins were missing, yet had no idea why this was. Many said the raven fey had vanished during the night. Tiberius Gate was a sanctuary, inhabited only by the king mage, his family, and fey. If there were no children of the raven king here, there weren’t anywhere. This had happened before; when Morgan was King mage and in school. All the wolf children vanished, and almost claimed his enfeyed best friend. The propect of one tenth of all magic disappearing, terrified him.

Morgen feared the worst: The Raven King may have been killed. Such a good friend since they met: going for karaoke and flipping TV channels. The Raven King was always good for a laugh, and giving an unhelpful yet whimsical perspective. Morgan’s greif of the loss of fey and magic quickly became overshadowed by the fear for his raven brother’s life. He was experiencing a special kind of tragedy all over again. As much as Emilia and his children comforted Morgan, they would never understand that the death of a beast king, to the King Mage, is like the loss of a sibling. Flustered, Morgan ran to the Raven Door with his children, only to find a twelve-year-old girl, weeping on beneath a tree, when they entered the shadow veil. She had no colour, except her icy eyes; she was human mage. She looked like a princess, dressed as old Anglian nobility. Her dress was black crushed velvet, with feather ruff; Fairy robes like mage Queen Meriam Craweleoth of the Grand West. Like she was from a time when Tiberius made the gate. The sobbing girl was dirty, worn, and grey. Morgan knelt to her.

“Are you ok? Raven Queen Odette? You wear your mother’s fairy robes.” Morgan said calmly.

“My husband and children are dead. Their song silent, and my true love, all lost. I do not care that I am no longer immortal, cannot fly, or have returned to being a human girl; I weep for my children and husband, I weep, for I no longer want to sing or live without them,” Odette responded in tears. “All I have is my name; I have been Raven Queen here for so long, it is all I know. The veil takes your memories, as the surrounding magic does not know time. But enough of me; I need to aid Artemis and the new Raven King. They may need help adjusting to their new roles, but I can’t move myself to do anything but cry for my late husband.” She sobbed. Everyone was speechless. As if they had heard a eulogy. Morgan’s children could not comfort Odette; for no one but him, had been able to read Meriam’s journals about her daughter’s mortal life. Morgan knew the story well, and it reminded him of his own daughter, Artemis.

Long ago, the now widowed Raven Queen was a princess kept in her father’s palace. There were talks of wedding her off in the name of peace. She was the only heir of the Great West of Anglia. Odette’s future was to be decided by lordly men. Even if her mother, the mage queen, protested. Odette stood gracefully in her finery at the edge of the courtyard pools, watching the birds. Princess Odette Craweleoth was her full name. She always wore soft blues, and had pale hair and icy eyes; she had magic move through her, at a very young age. Thus, changing her colours to that of a swan. Odette starred into the skies yearning to fly, and be as elegant as one of the birds she watched. Yearning to be a charmer of the Raven Gate in the Capitol instead, of its princess. Her mother, Meriam Craweleoth, sadly watched her only child resent her circumstances; like she once did.

Meriam, knowing the ways of magic, had figured out that her princess was a mage. In these olden times, mages were the only people who could use magic. Therefore, mages were used as weapons, if not exterminated; and Odette was oblivious to this fact. She only knew about a royal existence inside a palace. Odette was a girl who only wanted to love and live, and was innocently unaware of the trial of life. This resulted in Odette, not yet a fully grown lady, feeling no shame in indulging in the impossible. Meriam covered any tracks of her daughter and nephew finding joy in magical ways, least the people who call themselves wizard’s protest. More importantly, she wanted them to have their youthful pure wonder, a little longer.

Meriam dared to defy her values, and lie to her king husband; and withhold her knowledge of the fine large raven adorned in treasure. The Raven King visited the balconies uncomfortably often. Odette had grown to love and had befriended him. It was sweet, and heartwarming. Odette and the Raven King talked when he visited each night; bringing her shiny junk, and telling her jokes, as she complimented him and confessed her woes of having no choice in her future. The Raven King then revealed his more human face, to confess that he loved her so much, that if she requited his love, they could fly off together. Odette could be his beautiful swan. thrilled by his offer, she agreed and kissed him, becoming enfeyed with his magic as a beast queen. She loved him back. At last, she determined her fate, and could fly.

Queen Meriam did not see her daughter, the princess, fly off with the Raven King. but knew and said nothing; her little girl would be safe, and live long and happy in the shadow veil. But common men would not understand such things. By the time the guards, and Odette’s father, arrived to her chambers, she had gone without a trace. Meriam now guarded the Raven Gate she had made, for her daughter’s sake. Anything to keep her only child safe, and meet her raven grandchildren. And Meriam died in her age guarding it from her people. People who had been given tools to wield magic, and wished to eliminate magery form the world.

All Odette could recall of this, is once being a princess, the birds she watched, and wanting to be herself. It felt like it was only a dream. Odette had forgotten the name of her kingdom, and the faces of her human family. The people who loved her centuries ago. Odette was raven queen no more, but still felt a mother to the bird fey. She, in her emptiness, wished to help Artemis and her remaining royal children, the richen raven and griminthropes, which were now presumably human mages somewhere. Odette wanted to help her daughter in law be the queen she once was. To protect what remained of what she loved most. It was all she had to fill a hole, where love once was.

Morgan was struck with sadness as well. He was close to the Raven King, who was quite the beloved personality among all the beast kings and mages. No doubt the other beast Kings and Queens would grieve him too. The King’s of fey were like the only siblings Morgan and Emilia ever had. They were like aunts and uncles to their four children. Everyone felt cold and empty; as nostalgia reared from pleasant to bitter. There was no more innocent prankster, funny hat wearer, bad dancing crackly singer. The Raven King sung badly purposefully, because his real voice was so beautiful it caused any living thing that heard it to die. The first Raven King was terrifying and glories, in all his majesty. As pure magic should be. Even if The Raven King was made only of magic itself, he felt like a physical person. He was as old as the world itself, and had met his eventual end. Infinity always has eventually. Even though he lived so long, it felt so short. The Raven King was now just a story in books of magic. In his stead, Matcha would now have to be all of these things.

Suddenly it dawned on Morgan, Emilia and their children. Where is Artemis and Matcha? Are they alive and the new king and queen of the raven kingdom as Odette said? Patrick approached Odette firmly, and requested the widowed queen to take them deep in the forest; to the secret nest. The giant raven nest that was forbidden to anyone but the Raven King, Queen and any newborn heirs. The Raven King had decorated an orchard of trees in dazzling gems, armor, jewelry and ornaments in the most spectacular way. Centuries of careful tweaking and crafting; It was art. It was what inspired Matcha to bead and decorate. The nest sat upon the largest tree in the circular orchard. It was made of felt, down, straw and twigs. As Odette lead the concerned family into the clearing, they saw a large four-winged crimson bird with a skulled head in the nest. Perched above her, another large snow-white raven with Icey eyes, that was adorned handsomely with jewelry about his neck and talons. It was like Odette and the Raven King were still there. The family cautiously approached behind Odette; her face still wet from tears. She pointed to the massive birds, which turned to look at them.

“Mother?” the new Raven King said in a familiar voice. He swooped down into his human form, revealing himself. It was Matcha, and he looked exactly like his father had; taller and with more dazzling feathers, and a crown. Except his eyes, which were his mothers. He waved to the visiting mages with a wide smile. Even as King, Matcha was himself.

“My condolences of your father. All the folk of magic will miss your little siblings, and the gifts he gave to us,” said Patrick “but where is my sister Artemis?” He asked. The red bird ruffled and turned into her human form; It was Artemis peering over the edge of the nest down at them. Everyone’s faces lit up to see her in good health. She had gone white and scarlet, just as Odette had when she became queen. Her collar and trims sparkled, and she wore a clear robe, like a veil embroidered with glittering feathers. The regal plume of feathers around her neck was as soft as clouds. Artemis was nearly unrecognizable. Her trademark autumn blacks of her eyes, hair, and clothes were now a regal white and blood red. Artemis jumped down, and landed before her family, surprising them a little. Even as Raven Queen, she was still herself.

“Told you I would never leave him Patrick.” Artemis said, smirking. Then her expression faded to sorrow. “The Raven King was murdered upon trying to rescue a flock of his captured daughters. The wizards must have been so scared to see him, that they lashed out on instinct like trolls. the beast kings can be verry shocking when you first meet one; as they are so big and all. He must have let his guard down because mages have returned, and have been keeping fey safe. I for one, did not know a beast king could die. I thought they may retire by choice, or turn human or something…” Artemis said. She was hugging Patrick, and melting into the fur of his coat. “I will miss him. He named me, and has been an accepting uncle all my life. Now I am Raven Queen, and I do not know how to be a step mother to an entire kingdom of fey. My husband will have to recreate his father’s work to restore balance. It’s a lot, and it’s not fair. I fear that, along the way, I will also forget you.” Artemis cried. Odette gently clasped Artemis’s hand, and looked away.

“I want to help, and stay, but I also need to find my royal children. They will have survived, and are now mages running amok; they must be confused to be human. Similar to Wolf Queen Flowen’s royal children, if I recall. I am no longer enfyed, and will age now; my time is precious. I will do my best to help you be a good queen and mother to the raven kingdom. Our kingdom. I think we are all happy to see you both are well.” Odette said coldly. The family stood in the clearing of trees, decorated like a festive ballroom, as they stayed silent in memory of a lost friend, father, leader, and husband. Morgan ran up to Artemis, pulling her away from Patrick to embrace her.

“I and your family, can visit. As King Mage I come often; If the new king sees me worthy of being a brother, and gives me back the kingdom stone.” Morgan whispered. Matcha pulled a palm sized rock with the raven kingdoms rune on it. He smiled and put it in Morgan’s pocket, like it was another Tuesday.

“You look beautiful. This must be how Queen Meriam felt when Odette, her daughter, became a beast Queen. I am happy to hear my child will outlive me, prosperously for centuries; caring for fey like any proud mage. Though I know the veil can fog the mind, I hope you try to remember us.” He continued. Artemis’s family took turns giving her and Matcha comforting embraces, before parting. They took Odette with them to find the last of her children, wishing the best for the new royals. They saw their family off with a gentle smile in return; in spite of the events that had occurred. On the surface, it all seemed so scary, but underneath it was kindness. In time, and with tender love and care, the raven kingdom will once again have a happy ending. In a way, this new beginning already was one.

TABLE OF CONTENTS --->

<---PREVIOUS

#art #fantasy #tales of ealdan cynedom #story 11 #short stories #artemis #matcha #morgan #emilia #odette #Queen Odet #raven king #cadence #meriam #patrick

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badlokisuggestion · 3 years

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//Hello I decided to write a fic based on an AU I've been thinking about for a while and it basically revolves around BL and Freyja (told from Freyja's perspective)

Freyja huffed as she barely blocked the necrosword. She thought Cul had been dangerous before getting the necrosword. Now...he was almost unstoppable. Almost, but not completely, Freyja thought. Cul had always been proud and arrogant, a trait that would certainly be his downfall. Eventually, he would make a careless mistake, and then this nightmare would be over.

Freyja risked a glance at her husband. Odin had just begun to trust his older brother again. She remembered how she had warned him that Cul probably wasn't content to share the throne with his little brother and his sister-in-law, but Odin had dismissed her warnings.

Freyja almost felt bad that she had been right. Odin's family was, without a doubt, messed up. She would have loved to have been proven wrong about Cul so that her husband could finally have a somewhat normal relation with a family member.

Freyja grunted as she was knocked away. She mustn't let herself get distracted. One wrong move and she would be going straight to Valhalla. And Freyja wasn't planning on leaving her husband to lead Asgard on his own.

She got back up and charged at Cul from behind. She saw Cul driving the necrosword backwards at her a second too late.

The sword plunged into her gut. Freyja gasped. She was faintly aware of Odin roaring in anger. She dropped to her knees as Cul pulled the sword out. Her vision swam, and the next thing she knew, she was being carried away from the battle by a Valkyrie.

"No," the queen rasped. "I can't die yet...not until that bastard is dead."

"You're not dead yet, your Majesty," the Valkyrie replied. "But you will be soon if I don't get you to the healers."

The Valkyrie raced out of the prison and back into Asgard. Freyja gasped at every jolt, every bound. Her wound felt like it was on fire, and that fire was quickly spreading.

The Valkyrie suddenly said something. Freyja didn't quite catch the word, but by the way it was said, she could guess the young warrior was swearing.

"I'm sorry, your Majesty," the Valkyrie said, gently but swiftly putting the Allmother down, "but somehow, Malekith has invaded the palace."

It was now Freyja's turn to swear. This was the worst possible time for Malekith the Accursed to invade. She suspected that was precisely why he was here. He must have been spying on Asgard.

The Valkyrie stepped around Freyja and charged Malekith. The brave warrior would never make it. Malekith aimed a deadly spell at her and the Valkyrie fell. Freyja saw the light fade from her eyes. She was dead.

The Allmother staggered to her feet, nearly passing out in the process. The pain was becoming unbearable, but her people were in danger, and it was her job to protect them. So she stood and slowly walked forward, picking up the dead Valkyrie's sword and silently thanking her for her bravery and commitment to Asgard.

Malekith chuckled. "How the mighty have fallen." He smirked as he watched Freyja plant her feet and raise the sword. "I heard that there is war in Asgard. It must be worse than I thought if its queen is so badly injured."

"You have chosen the wrong day to piss me off, Malekith," Freyja hissed.

Malekith laughed. "I can see that being near death has done nothing to dampen your spirits. Perhaps you're not yet near enough? Not to worry. I can remedy that."

As Malekith prepared a spell that would surely kill her, the old queen summoned the last of her strength and charged, head spinning. At the same time, she sent a simple message to the house where Loki and Balder lived on Midgard: that she was fallen, that Malekith had invaded Asgard, and that she needed her children to right the things she had failed to.

Freyja knew she wasn't going to reach Malekith in time, so she threw the sword straight at Malekith's heart, thus using the last of her strength, and waited for the dark magic to end her life.

But then the queen heard a voice that turned her blood to ice. "NOT TODAY, YOU SNIVELING COWARD OF AN ELF!"

Freyja looked up in time to see BL jump in front of her, taking the spell head on. "NO!" she cried as she watched her child hit the ground. She knew this Loki was from a universe in which Asgardians and Giants were not as strong. Top that with the fact that BL didn't have any magic to protect themself, and Freyja knew that she was losing another child.

She lifted the young god's head into her lap and stroked their hair, crying. BL looked up at her and smiled weakly. "You will not die this day, mother. So says Loki of Asgard...and their family."

Freyja slowly looked up to see Thor leading a small army of her grandchildren, plus Laussa, from an adjacent hall toward Malekith. As she watched, Thor threw Mjolnir at Malekith; Laussa ran forward, bursting into flames; Indigo flung destructive spells at Malekith and his group of dark elves; Killian charged them with his new sword; and Astrid led a group of undead heroes.

But that wasn't all. Freyja's eyes widened as KL appeared behind the elves, his eyes glowing green as he summoned the dead Avengers from the future to the battle. She had no idea how he was doing it, and she recalled a conversation they had had made hours before she had gone to fight Cul.

He had been worried that he was going to repeat a past misdeed from his old life because he had a dream of it, of him raising the dead Avengers against Asgard. Freyja was overjoyed to see that he had been wrong. He wasn't raising them against Asgard, but in defense of Asgard!

She again looked down at her dying child. "Perhaps there's still time to save you. If we can get you to the healers-"

"Mother, please," BL interrupted. "Don't try to make me feel better. I know I will die long before we can make it. But you are stronger than I. You can still make it. Think of this...as me making up for my mistakes." Their eyes brimmed with tears. "I love you, mother. Truly." They gave one last, shuddering breath...and then they were gone.

---

Freyja sat in bed. It was two days after she had been stabbed, and the old queen was already feeling stronger, though not nearly back to full health.

Not long after BL had died, the battle with Malekith was won. KL chased after the devious elf to make sure he really went back to Svartalfheim. While the children grieved over BL, Thor had carried the injured queen to the healers before joining KL in his pursuit of Malekith.

Freyja still grieved over her child's death. Everyone who came to see her left with a broken heart. The Allmother could not be comforted. She blamed herself for BL's death, as well as the Valkyrie's death.

She was sitting in bed, only half-listening to the healers' report on the progress she was making toward recovery, when Odin burst in. The battle with Cul must finally be at an end. The healers respectfully drew back as the Allfather rushed to his wife's side.

As soon as Odin sat down, Freyja tearfully recounted BL's death.

"Thor told me what happened," Odin told her. "You can't let your grief overwhelm you, though. Asgard needs its queen." Odin sighed and reluctantly added, "I need my queen."

Freyja stared at Odin for a moment before hugging him. Odin hugged her back, but gently laid her back down after a moment.

After several minutes of silence, Freyja set her jaw. "Malekith the Accursed will pay dearly for this. The minute the healers let me go, I will go and personally kill him myself, and no one will stop me."

Odin was quiet for a moment before responding. "You mean no one will stop us."

For the first time in days, the Allmother of Asgard smiled.

#ooc #my fic #au #Freyja #Loki #it's not that good #I'm really tired #but i needed to finish this #also I'm emotional now #Odin and Freyja are the perfect couple #you can fight me on that

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eirabach · 4 years

Text

Skin Deep [TAG post 3x26]

Oh my god. Oh my GOD.

Okay, here's my first mini dive into post canon TAG. It is unlikely to be my last 😂

----

Jeff Tracy has five sons.

A five times fic that isn't really a five times fic at all. After all, a man rarely comes back from the dead more than once.

----

I can feel my heart beating as I speed from

The sense of time catching up with me

----

It starts with a mission.

Nothing too out of the ordinary, just a freighter struggling at the edge of the atmosphere, an unstable fuel supply, and his teenage son piloting a rocket to relieve them. Perhaps it is a little out of the ordinary. He does try not to show it though.

Alan is certainly an accomplished pilot, maybe even better than Jeff himself. He's certainly better than Jeff had been as an eighteen year old, taking pretty girls out for joyrides in his mother's ancient turboprop.

Alan is doing just fine.

Scott? Not so much.

Jeff had been led to understand that John had fielded all of IR's calls during Jeff's long absence, a fact that certainly accounts for the dark circles beneath the boy's eyes,l. So it was John's toes he'd worried about stepping on when he'd begun routing calls through to his desk, though John had assured him he'd be glad of the rest.

It isn't John's voice interrupting his every order.

He mutes the line between himself and Three, and spins his chair to glower at his eldest. Scott is pouring over the telemetry, his knuckles white against the edge of the pad.

"Scott," he says, as strongly as he dares. "You're confusing the kid. I know what I'm doing."

"But Alan --"

"Is my son!" He regrets it at once, the way Scott's jaw drops and his hands fall. Hates the way he sounds -- like a bitter old man. Jealous.

He hates the way he means it, how Scott's single nod sits like satisfaction at the back of his throat when it ought to sting.

"I know," Scott says, all quiet and reasonable as though he might be Virgil in a mask. "but he's still my brother."

Soft words gently said, yet they leave a burn he feels right across his heart.

He doesn't quite know why.

---

Virgil is his grandmother reborn, with one fairly major difference. Virgil is absolutely big enough to pick Jeff up and put him in his room if he thinks for one moment that Jeff might be overdoing it.

It seems he thinks Jeff is overdoing it a lot.

It's the third full med scan of the week, and Jeff has undergone less torturous poking and prodding in order to be shot into space than Virgil appears to deem necessary for him to be allowed to head down to the hanger under his own power.

It's touching. It's sweet. It's… getting a little old.

He isn't likely to tell Virgil that though, because although he's treating Jeff as though he's made of glass it's clear to anyone with eyes to see that Jeff's not the fragile one in this room.

Another vial of blood, another heart rate monitor. Another whisper, directed somewhere around his right knee.

"I'm so sorry, dad."

This has to stop. "For what?"

"Scott never gave up."

Ah. Jeff's been gone a long time, but some things never change. Virgil has never been one to admit to being wrong. This is probably as close as he'll ever come, and it's so damn unnecessary that if it weren't for his son's downturned expression Jeff might be inclined to laugh.

"Tell me something Virgil. Do you still play?"

"Yeah, yeah when disasters allow. You know how it is."

Jeff very much doesn't, but he fears a reminder of that fact might just tip Virgil over the edge.

"You stopped for a while, as I recall. After your mother went."

"Yeah. It hurt too much, knowing she'd -- that she'd never hear me again." Narrowed eyes. "You remember that?"

"I'm getting old, Virgil. I'm not senile." A smile. "Did you ever give up painting?"

Virgil stares, then, shaking his head.

"No. I never gave up painting."

Jeff thinks of his own art, scratched into the walls of his hellish home. The villa. Three. His Lucy's eyes scrawled over and over until they became too much to bear and were hidden behind a washing machine. Those same eyes look up at him now.

"Hmm." Jeff squeezes his wrist, lies back on the med bed, and closes his own. "Glad to hear it."

---

He doesn't know what to make of it, any of it. John's standing there with a computer in his hands and an expression on his face that suggests Jeff needs to tread very, very carefully.

Unfortunately, this has never been his strong point. Eight years of isolation have not helped.

"What is it?"

The computer flashes, a circle of yellow light, and John winces. A voice Jeff doesn't know echoes around his lounge.

"I prefer she."

"My apologies," he manages, because his mother's watching and she didn't raise an oaf. "What is she?"

"John made me."

"She's yours?"

John shuffles on the spot, awkward, as though he's confessing to something rather more dire than the writing of a computer program.

"She's not -- I don't own her. I created her, but she's -- she's her own person. Kinda. We're working on it."

"Working on it?" His voice goes up at the end. John winces again. The computer glows. Amber to red to amber. "She's sentient? You created a sentient being?"

Gordon laughs, because Gordon would, and claps Jeff on the shoulder.

"Your first grandkid is a sociopathic sentient computer code. Bet you weren't expecting that one."

"I do not like you, Gordon Tracy."

Gordon beams at this, and John rolls his eyes. It almost looks like they've had this conversation before. Rehearsed it. He'd believe that of John. He'd believe almost anything of John. But this --

"See?" Gordon's still grinning. John's still watching him, the computer held close to his chest. "She's totally John's kid. Grandpa, meet Eos. Eos, this is your Gramps."

"Charmed," the computer says, an echo of John's laugh in her voice, and Christ, he needs a scotch.

Grandchildren. He'd never dared dream of them.

(He knows why, and shame chases the whiskey down his throat.)

---

He spends a lot more time out in the pool now. It starts as physiotherapy, Virgil and Gordon guiding his struggling body through the motions that will help to strengthen atrophied muscles and support weakened bones, but becomes, in time, a place he spends the hours after dinner, watching his youngest children and wishing for things he'll never have.

He does it a lot, enough that his space pale face is now bronzed and pink, enough that Gordon and Alan think nothing of a cry of 'c'mon, get Dad!'. Enough, that when Gordon grabs him round the waist and goes to throw him, he shouldn't be shocked. He should have noticed.

There's a great silver-red scar arching from his boy's shoulder and curving up his spine, stopping just where the high collar of his blues must hide it.

What the hell happened? What the hell happened?

He must say it out loud, or maybe his face says it for him, because Gordon freezes, releasing him, and then just stands there. A little hunched. A little sheepish. In the pool Alan treads water, silent. Waiting.

Alan knows. Jeff does not.

That's just the way of things, now.

"Had an accident."

Alan scoffs, his voice louder across the water. "Nearly got murdered, more like."

Jeff's grip tightens until Gordon flinches. He lets go as though burnt, but his hand still hovers there, just above the puckered ridge of skin. Waits.

"Son?"

Gordon shrugs, the scar pulling tight.

"Alan's exaggerating, dad. It wasn't --"

"He nearly died!"

"I got better," there's a false sort of brightness to it, a twist to Gordon's mouth that suggests Alan is probably closer to the truth than Jeff would like. "It's no big deal, dad. Swear. It's nothing. I don't want to make a thing of it."

The sun dips below the horizon and throws a last burst of red across the water, across Gordon's back and Jeff's hand and he wants to argue. Wants to demand. Wants the information that's owed to him as this boy's father. Who would dare lay a finger on his boy? Just how close had he come to losing him without even knowing?

But his funny little boy isn't a boy anymore, and Jeff's rights to his stories are lost somewhere in the trail of the stars.

"Of course, son," he tells him. "Of course."

---

He catches Alan at the table, some piece of electronic junk spread out in front of him like a childhood jigsaw, his brows furrowed.

"Everything alright there, Alligator?"

Alan's nose wrinkles at the old nickname, as though he's forgotten. Probably he has. Jeff had left him just a little boy, and he's come back to, if not a man, then a boy right on the cusp of adulthood. A boy who's already been taught to shave, and fly, and behave by other men who are not and never will be, him.

"Yeah, yeah all good." He looks up and smiles. Alan's smiles were the purest memory he'd had, out there. They're more beautiful than he'd remembered. "What's up?"

"Not much, believe it or not." Jeff sits, fiddling with a transistor as Alan blows dust from a circuit board. "Electrical engineering, huh? You thought any more about college?"

Alan turns the board over and over in his fingers. "Not really?" He shrugs. "Like you said, I've got a rocket. I save people. I dunno what letters after my name are gonna do to help."

"Well," Jeff says mildly, "it never hurts to have a plan b, son."

Alan drops the circuit board, shoves the various pieces as far away as he can reach, and turns on Jeff with an expression half fury and half abject terror.

"For what? What do I need a plan b for, dad? What's gonna happen now?"

And though Jeff is a man, a grown man, he doesn't have an answer for that.

#thunderbirds are go spoilers #thunderbirds are go #posting from the app #we die like men #jeff tracy #clare vs writers block #inspired very hard by white lies 'death'

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arielseaworth · 4 years

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Ser Addam Velaryon had been forewarned in time to make his escape. Balked and angry, Ser Luthor returned at once to the Red Keep, where he burst into the Tower of the Hand and laid rough hands on the aged Lord Corlys, accusing him of treachery. Nor did the old man deny it. (Fire & Blood)

If only he were a dragonrider himself. He could have flown to the Dragonpit to warn Addam of his impending arrest. He recalled a picture that his daughter Laena and his son Laenor had drawn, many years ago. It portrayed three figures flying on the backs of three dragons, while another figure was standing aboard a ship, sword in hand, single-handedly fighting a losing battle against a band of pirates. He was the figure aboard the ship, rescued from a certain doom by his dragonriding wife and their dragonriding children.

He had watched the three of them taking flight on the backs of their dragons countless times over the years, always with a great deal of pride, and – oh, why deny it now? – with that sliver of envy embedded deep inside.

They were gone now, all three of them. Rhaenys, Laena, Laenor. Jace and Luke too, his grandsons, aye, his grandsons, his, his, his, he would proclaim this loudly to his very last breath. Gone, all gone, while he still lived, when by right and by natural order he should be the first to depart. He, the old man still clinging to the remnants of life like a drowning sailor clinging to the ruins of his ship. And for what? More grief, more sorrow, more loss? Would he live to see all of his remaining children and grandchildren perish before him? Was he fated to be the last, truly the last?

He shook off the self-pity with a furious clenching of his fist. His hand shook, though. The hand of an old man. Enough! Addam still lived. He must not give him up for dead. My boy still lives. The raven would arrive in time. The raven bearing his letter would arrive at the Dragonpit before the arrival of Luthor Largent and the rest of the gold cloaks. They could ride their horses as fast as the wind, but a flying creature would still beat them to their destination.

He had commanded his maester to train a raven to fly from the Tower of the Hand to the Dragonpit, the day Addam took up residence in the pit. Perhaps even then, he had been expecting a day like this one. Perhaps even then, he had foreseen the need for such a contingency.

“The queen has commanded your arrest,” he had written in the letter. “You must depart at once. With your dragon.”

He could predict the questions his boy would be asking. If I leave, then wouldn’t it prove them right, those who suspect me of treason? Wouldn’t it prove them right, the ones who doubt my loyalty because I was born a bastard?

“If you do not leave, then you will die, count on it. For now, escape is your only choice.”

He also wrote, “Your father does not wish to see you die.”

He did not write, Burn this letter after you have read it.

There was no point to that, in truth. When the gold cloaks arrived at the Dragonpit to find Addam gone, they would know at once who it was who had warned Addam of his impending arrest. Who else was likely to do it, except the man who had defended him impassionedly before the queen? Who else was likely to do it, except his own father?

The Dragonpit was located halfway across the city from the Tower of the Hand. There was no way to tell if Addam had heeded his warning, if Addam managed to escape before he was arrested. No way to tell, unless – until – the gold cloaks came for Lord Corlys himself.

He waited. Waited to hear the rushing footsteps and the angry voices. When they finally came, he slowly sank to his knees with relief.

Safe. My boy is safe. Addam had flown away in time.

And now for the consequences. That there would be consequences to his person, he had never doubted it. He rose with difficulty, holding on grimly to the back of a chair, determined to be standing upright with his head held high when Luthor Largent burst into his solar.

#Corlys Velaryon #Addam Velaryon #valyrianscrolls #gotfic #Fire and Blood #arielfic

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