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Aku rindu

Seperti biasa hatiku yang berbicara dan lagi lagi mulutku tak berkata apa-apa. Aku juga terkadang bingung sebenarnya aku sedang rindu dengan siapa, namun perasaan itu selalu datang setiap sepi menjelang. Apakah kamu merasakannya juga??

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- No grief -

- No grief -

It’s an awful feeling to love someone so much that you absolutely hate them for leaving you. Even before they’ve gone…
I had the same nightmare again last night, the whole day it kept my mind spinning , the reason behind these nightmares remains a perturbing mystery.
I saw her again, wearing the same dress , the same sad smile on her tiny, little radiating face. I saw her again turn her back on me and jump straight into the abyss. I ran after her trying to save her, only to find that she is standing right behind me.
Tears running down her tired face, and her slim, long ,bony fingers trying to cover it up . I saw her falling down on her knees , her blank eyes staring at me. Her delicate hands rising up to her face again…
Only if I didn’t know the ending of the dream, only if I didn’t have to see the only thing I love , the only thing I have left in such a condition…
Her beautiful hands rising up to her face again, peeling the skin off her face , then swollowing it as a whole, not satisfied, she bites her pruney fingers off.
More tears falling down her face , and changing colour , turning dark, until it fills her up on the inside as well , spilling out of her perfectly shaped mouth.
I don’t understand, why is this happening… My nightmares of losing her again burn my soul up in fire that I cannot let out.
Last month she ran away but I found her , I brought her back to me. I’m whatever manner that might be… I brought her back.
This time I won’t let the same thing happen again, I will hold on to her, hold on to her harder this time because, I know in a world without her I would be lost , it would be the wrong world for me . I am damn sure that a place with her absence is a place deserving of being burned down.
My strong emotions for her might scare her off sometimes or all the time, but I cannot control myself , no one can control a mad man , no one can alter a mad man’s feelings . You cannot save a mad man, cause the mad man doesn’t want to be saved , a mad man rarely ever sees himself all that he can see is her.
I try to keep those thoughts away while looking down at her. She is just as beautiful as the first day I saw her , I believe that if anyone else saw her before I did, they would call her art and they would be asking her to become a top model, but I am a lucky man , I found her before they did.
My beauty is still asleep on the rose filled bed I made her. Her lifeless body still gives me hope , for I know she is owned by me and only by me.
The minutiae of her finely created glass box allows me to array her demure beauty.
If I didn’t accidentally choke her while I had another one of my episodes , I would still be holding her shaky body against my chest but she would find a way out again , and I cannot risk it , because I would rather have one breath of her hair, one kiss of her mouth , one touch of her hand than enternity without it. One.

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Basé sur ce prompt de @visualwritingprompts2

Spot dormait tranquillement sur l’épais tapis blanc (heureusement, il ne perdait pas ses poils ou elle aurait passé la journée du lendemain à nettoyer le tapis) tandis qu’elle étalait les photos sur le sol. Il faisait doux et chaud, ce matin-là et elle se sentait particulièrement jolie dans sa petite robe blanche. Ses pieds nus, elle ne put s’empêcher de danser à côté de Spot. Le chat, peu impressionné, ouvrit un oeil et le referma. Un peu vexé par son manque d’attention, elle décida de se mettre au travail.

La vieille dame lui avait confié presque toutes ses photos et les trier avait déjà pris un temps considérable. Il avait fallu trouver les dates ou inspecter soigneusement les photos, penchée sur une loupe, la nuque cassée en deux. Quand elle avait enfin fini, tout son corps avait été raide et une longue douche brûlante avait été la seule chose qui avait pu faire passer la douleur dans tous ses membres.

Elle avait passé beaucoup de temps avec la vieille dame, à essayer de lui raviver la mémoire et à prendre des notes soigneuses de sa main égale, mais ça n’avait rien donné, du moins au premier abord.

Elle mit en fond de la musique classique car cela l’aidait toujours à réfléchir et elle s’assit en tailleur à côté de Spot, une main caressant son poil doux.

Elle fixa les photos et les albums avec intérêt, sifflotant l’air de la musique, son carnet de notes à ses côtés, relisant attentivement. Les indications de la vieille dame ou de sa petite-fille n’avaient pas été extrêmement précises et elle n’avait pas essayé de leur mentir en leur disant qu’elle accomplirait facilement la mission qu’elles leur avaient confié. Il fallait dire que lui dire que, quarante ans plus tôt, un crime avait été commis, mais qu’elle ne se rappelait plus qui était la victime, qui était le meurtrier et quel avait été le crime, ça n’avait pas été d’une grande aide.

Mais la vieille avait dans les yeux quelque chose de profond, une sorte de blessure quand elle en parlait, alors qu’elle ne se rappelait plus de tout, alors même que sa mémoire flanchait. Une meurtrissure encore présente après tout ce temps, cela méritait bien une enquête.

Et puis, la petite-fille, souhaitant apaiser sa grand-mère, avait offert une jolie somme et quant à la petite-fille en elle-même, elle était encore plus jolie que la somme…

La playlist passa de Beethoven à Vivaldi, la surprenant et elle hésita à se relever de son siège confortable pour alla la changer. Mais, au moment où elle s’appuyait sur sa main délicate pour se soulever du tapis moelleux, un détail d’une photo en noir et blanc lui sauta aux yeux et elle se pencha en avant au dessus de ses genoux. Elle plissa ses yeux et de doux, ils devinrent acérés.

Ce n’était rien. Qu’un petit détail, qu’une petite chose qui ne clochait pas. Peut-être même était-ce dû à un défaut sur la photographie en elle-même.

Mais c’était, en réalité, tout ce qu’il lui fallait. Un bout, un simple petit rien, c’était tout ce qu’il lui suffisait pour remonter la piste…

Elle sourit en elle-même. La chasse commençait…

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Water, Wine… or Shin?



“Water or wine, don’t make me choose,” huh… Never thought I’ll ever relate to this quote to deeply.


Initially, it was just a random line from a recent trendy song… But then he happened. Shin happened. And now I can’t even drink water in peace without a memory related to this man attacking my brain. As though he lives below my eyelids — I could see him even with my eyes closed.


I let out a sigh. It’s gonna be another tough night.


A few weeks ago…

“Let’s go on a date,” Shin suggested as though it was the most natural thing on earth. I stared blank back at him. Hoping my boring stare would let him know that he has some explaining to do… but he could not catch it — or perhaps refused to acknowledge my stare. “Why?” I finally found the voice to ask him. It’s not every day someone asks your close friend out, especially in a romantic way… I mean, dates are romantic, no?


“No reason,” he chuckled, amused with my reaction. “I just wanted to date you at least once. May I do the honour milady?” I was about the blurt out a curse in his face when suddenly he brought up my right hand and gave a light peck on my knuckles. I could only swallow back my words in shock. “I shall take it as a yes, my Carine.” And with that he left me at the bench of my faculty’s canteen, too shocked for Shin’s proposition. He didn’t catch on… right?


And indeed, Shin took me to a cafe that I was delighted to visit. I have yet to hear of it but he was my friend indeed, to actually bring me with such ambience — rustic and reserved, but with a modern and cozy flair to it. And when we were done with our meal, I had asked for the bill since we always split it after our meals together. However, “It’s my treat, I asked you out, remember?” was the answer I’d heard. And he had pulled me along before I could protest.


I’d thought that would be the end of our date, and we would go our separate ways home, but Shin instead brought me to the cinema. And I could only raise a brow at him before he chuckled and proceeded to buying tickets at the counter. “So.. what are we watching?” I couldn’t hide my curiousity, since there are many great movies out now, surely he didn’t pick that… right? “Oh I picked horror. Your favourite,” Shin said in a singsong voice. Oh God, he knows that I always watch anything but that genre!! “Shin! You know I don’t take horror well!” I whined. Horror really gets me bad and leaves me covering my eyes and ears half the time I’m watching it. It’ll end up being a waste of money, really.


“Aww… I wanted to see you holding my arm with your cute but scared expression pleading for help,” this guy really knows how to push my buttons. “It shall never happen then!” I hissed as a sent a threatening gaze to this so-called friend of mine but he had the audacy to actually wink! “My arms always welcome you whenever, babe.” Oh gosh. Did my heart skip a beat?


I ate my own words. Not even 30 minutes into the show and I was already clutching Shin’s arm for dear life, praying to all whatever Gods exist in the world to end my misery in this damn theatre. But instead of the teasing I thought I’d receive from Shin, he actually pulled me closer towards him. We were so close he was basically enveloping me in his arms as he shielded my eyes from the jumpscares that’s airing on the screen. “Hey, I’m sorry. Shall we leave if it’s really bad?” His voice was full of concern, very unlike the teasing tone he used before the movie. But I declined. “Let’s watch? You wanted to watch this right?” I mumbled as I felt his arms tightening around me. Ahh… these arms feel so safe right now. However, I heard a very unexpected reply from him. “I just wanted an excuse for having you in my arms,” he whispered into my ears.


I gulped. I slowly tilted my head up and saw a determined look on his usually carefree face — telling me he means his word. And I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks. If it weren’t for the dark lighting in the theatre, I’m pretty sure he would have noticed pink that’s creeping on my cheeks. “Huh, wha-“ my words were cut off when he placed a soft peck on my lips and my eyes widened in surprise. “Carine, I’m serious about you.”


After that fateful day at the movies, Shin had stopped approaching me. Well, more of me telling him I wanted space to think about us. Yes, he’s a great guy, I’ve even once pictured us being lovers and all, but I still gotta sort out how I feel about him. It’s only fair so that I won’t decide I only see him as a friend and nothing more. And that’s how it led to me staring at that wine bottle I took out 30 minutes ago only to stare at it. If it was me before, I would have been halfway through the bottle and started cursing at all things under the sky. But now I’m debating on whether I should even over the darn bottle or proceed to get myself a glass of water. Damn it! It’s all his fault I’m unlike myself now.


When I had asked for space and time to sort myself out, Shin only gave me a tender and understanding gaze, reminding me to take care of myself. But not before he caught my chin with his thumb and index finger and whispering “May I?” in his raspy voice. In the spur of a moment, I gave a slight nod and I allowed myself to melt into his kiss. So light and tender yet unyielding and determined. When we pulled away and gazed into each others’ eyes, all he said was “Don’t drink too much, it’s bad for your stomach and liver” was all he said before he ruffled my hair and drove off leaving me blushing to the roots of my hair at the driveway.


I decided that I need this liquid courage anyway and decided to open the bottle, but not before dialling Shin’s number.


“Carine?” He answered groggily


“Mmhm?” I furrowed my brows, the anxiousness seeping in though I have yet to spill what I had prepared to reveal to him


“Uhm.. it’s 2am now… Are you okay?” Even at ungodly hours, he still cared for my well-being. Did I save a country in my past life to deserve someone like him?


“Yeah.. I was wondering if you could, y’know, drop by? I mean, your girlfriend here is drinking here alone and she’s lonely,” I decided to finally drop the bomb. Please let the earth swallow me now.


“Wait, but I don’t have a— OH MY GOSH I’M COMING OVER!” I could hear Shin grabbing his car keys and running out of his unit. “Thank you for accepting me babe. Thank you.”


Why choose between water or wine when Shin’s way better?

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Submitted by @mantrabay

image

Echos Of A Shady Past.


An icy chill descends on 13 Beaver Veil Cottage as sisters Ester and Ellie walk gingerly up the steps on this wet and windy night.

This once charming pied-a-terre was now in a final phase denouement.

The trees surrounding this house creak ominously overhead as tangled electric wires cackle in the rusty leaves.

“Night owls like us should be wary.”

Ellie sighs in a shudder as her sniffling nose warps her every word.

“Yes……Ellie, watch your every step or we could be joining our Uncle Denny and Auntie Diane in that eternal place in the sky, that is, if there is one.” Ester countered with a ghost- laden voice.

“Heavens above or heaven on earth your faith or is it fate is sealed in another world?”

Ester continued dryly.

A loose tile suddenly drops in front of both of them as they approach the rotting front door of this old period home

with its spaced windows, dripping eaves, and contoured outlines.

“Focus that torch of yours, Ellie.

Look at how evenly split those tiles are.

The hidden hand of a superior being no doubt.” The moon peeps behind the clouds almost in sync with Ester‘s edgy broadside.

Ellie smirks nervously as they both tread the damp dark hallway with its crumbling structures and sinister undertone.


“Auntie Diane and Uncle Denny used to poke fun at our squabbles when we were caring for them.

Like ourselves they were natural mimics.

They loved copycatting our voices just as we did when imitating them.”

Ellie’s tone a haunting echo reverberating around the interior of this latter day cave.

“Oddly enough Diane always had her worry beads with her. But our impish banter offset her angst. Auntie’s ripples of laughter at the two of us proved that.”

Ellie once more stressing a point.

“Indeed.” Ester concurred. "Denny was more unearthly in his asides.”

Pictures, CDS and other personal belongings seemed either to appear out of nowhere or were left strewn as if they had been planted deliberately.

“Ester…where are you? My walks,…My walks….I know you are hiding on me.”

Ellie’s mischievous giggle now a misty cacophony in imitation of uncle Denny’s sonorous voice.

"The joker within me surfaces despite myself.”

Ellie deadpans.

"Joker or perhaps a lurking scruple or two.”

Ester replied as she cast her auntie Diane’s scapulars at Ellie which she had just spotted on the floor next to a Light Emission Diode gadget.

This religious object somehow missed its target.

"Far too long brewing that coffee.

Are you making that Percolator?”

Ester assuming her aunt Diane’s plummy twang.

Within seconds a swirling witch’s brew of Diane and Denny voices filled the air in grotesque mockery as the sisters taunt each other in rotation.

“You are holding on too tightly, Diane. I need a rest, Uncle Denny.”

Ellie calls for an immediate halt to this hair-raising escapade.

“We both cared for our relatives as best we could.“ Ellie observes against this web of suspense.

“Diane with her plain dress sense at odds with her aura loved to drop oblique hints about delays. Oh…. and that rocking chair.”

Ellie opined. “All an act too…she was never glued to it when it suited. The sudden movements and those long- range controlling beams from her peepers.”

Ellie darkly noted.

"As for Denny and his colour scheme clothing. He was always nudging Diane when we stared at each other. They had an inkling as to when you and I would row over the Eternal Life question…..or some other state beyond this earth.”

Ester her voice now saturated with the dampness of this old house.

“The 13 BEAVER VEIL BROUHAHA.”

Ester as she adds another spine-tingling quip to the proceedings.

“They loved our spats.”

Ellie whispers amid the sound of scurrying mice and sinister splish-splash of ceiling leaks.

"This hovel could still be the death of us literally.

It has decayed since our last visit.”

The sisters’ voices now merge as one.

For whatever reason Ellie seemed to be curiously familiar with this dwelling despite the fact that it was supposed to be their first visit in six months.

Ester’s suspicions had been heightened every minute they spent in this abode.


Diane and Denny had a special sense of attachment to this house despite the best wishes of their caretakers.

The elders revelled in this old home and its ghastly….indeed ghostly choir of sounds from the mists of time.

"Have you the gumption to climb these stairs?

After all, the way things are going this could be our last chance to peer around Diane and Denny’s rooms.” Ellie’s wet croak vent in the ascendant.

“Wouldn’t be too sure about the lights unless there’s Divine Light.”

Ester and Ellie jostling with each other.

A pregnant silence ensued followed by spooky giggles.

Ester and Ellie climb the stairs carefully eyeing their surroundings while they take big gulps of dank mould air.

This was no time for either to lose their balance.

Suddenly a burst of thunder and a scattered moonlit beam meld with Ester’s frightened shriek.

"Ellie, am I seeing things? It’s the rocking chair. Is that where you left it the last time?…..on the top of the stairs.” Ester now frantic.

“Now you might believe in a higher power ….er…gosh.” Gasps Ellie.

"There’s a faint outline in the chair. Apparition or spirit.” Ellie again.

"Where’s my tea? Aren’t you going to read to me? Are you two still at it?”

Diane’s voice or its like as it flits from spot to spot.

"Ellie please not now ….oh no is that Denny?”

Ester was almost possessed.

Denny was seemingly speaking through her in retaliation.

"I’m here, those delays, feeling guilty are we?” Was I that much trouble?”

The rocking chair was tilting back and forth as if it was about to tumble.

The ceiling plaster crashes as Ellie and Ester grab each other before heading back downstairs.

They dash to the front door which Ellie had forgotten to shut.

It looked as if the door was going to close of its own accord.

The rocking chair was now at the foot of the stairs as they just managed to squeeze past the closing door without being trapped.

Just!

” Keep running.”

Ellie her words nearly choking her.

Out the gate and down the main road they fled against a bizarre backdrop of strange whirlpool noises emanating from the house they had barely escaped.

“Phew that was close….I never want that experience again.” Ester blurts.


“You seemed to know the house much better than I did?“ Ester again in an arched tone.

“You haven’t been out there by yourself within the last six months?”

Ester posing the question again suspiciously.

“Oh…..oh…no….that God is my witness.”

Ellie gleams with her ironic religious retort.

And the moon peeps out again from behind the clouds as Ellie and Ester continue to flee.

Their fearful laughter mingling with beads of sweat that segue into the frost encrusted air for miles around.


mantrabay photograph and short story copyright protected

I’d like to thank you for reading and assessing my work.

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Timeless

by beth

(Based on an idea by P.J.V.)

The clouds veil a full moon hovering above a misty forest. The enigmatic, cloaked figure is walking barefoot in-between the trees holding a candlelit lantern. Within the forest are trees with glowing symbols etched into the bark of their trunks. These marked trees guide the mysterious figure through the quiet forest. Suddenly, the candle is extinguished, this is the signal the individual has waited for, they’ve reached their destination.

The cloaked figure removes their hood, and the robe flows to the ground, pooling like dark water around bare feet. A beautiful, nude woman is revealed, wearing nothing but a silver chain holding a crystal pendant, is revealed, she gazes at an open area of the forest, within the glade is a circle, outlined with fallen tree branches. Stepping into the center of the circle, her green eyes reflecting the moonlight as she tugs on the pendant she wears, it comes off the chain easily. Kneeling down, she gently places the crystal on a bed of kindling, standing she moves a few steps away. Whispering a few words, she makes a sweeping hand gesture and the flame is ignited.

She begins to perform a graceful dance, her body moving to an ancient rhythm, her auburn hair seems to become flame as her feet move lightly across the dewy grass. Her fluid movements allow her to feel closer to the God and Goddess, embracing them in the dance. Her body, free from constrictive garments, seemingly floats as she moves, her nudity symbolizes that there is nothing hidden between her and the ones she honors. Swaying and twirling, the flames growing higher as if to emulate her energy. She dances with abandon under the full moon.

In another part of the forest, a man sits inside his truck reading the day’s newspaper. He suddenly stops, folding the paper, he places it on the seat next to him, the date on it reads, Tuesday, October 04, 1960. Stepping down out of the truck, he stretches and then removes several items from the back of the truck. Looking carefully around him, he starts into the trees, wielding a lantern and a rifle. He’s tracking the mysterious symbols on the trees until he sees the light of the bonfire in the distance. He moves quietly towards it, intent on his prey, for he is a Witch Hunter. When his lanterns candle is blown out and he knows he has found what he was searching for, this is sorcery.

Silently he moves up on the frolicking witch, but he fails to see a small branch in his path. The loud crack startles the woman and she trips and falls outside the Protective Circle. She desperately tries to crawl back inside, but the hunter restrains her. The moon seems to weep as it silently watches as a noose is thrown over a tree branch. The witch, her hands bond behind her back stares in defiance at the hooded executioner securing the noose around her neck. A priest holds a bible mumbling his prayers, he makes the sign of the cross, there is a clank as the handle is pulled. A hush sweeps over the woods as the witches feet drop and dangle, while the autumn leaves continue to fall.

Laying upon a bed of leaves is a young woman with auburn hair. More falling leaves shower over her, a closer look reveals the face of very same witch who was executed so long ago. Her emerald eyes stare up blankly at the branches. Picking up her crystal pendant between her fingers, she begins to twirl it absentmindedly as she closes her eyes. Softly sighing, she languidly stretches one arm above her head, the phone beside her blinks on, showing the date, Sunday October 04, 2020. Nothing is really over, with every end, comes a new beginning, a new journey and a new life.

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“So, what’s the plan?” I ask, clinging to John as we walk through the forest. Hades glances back at us, chuckling at what he sees.

“We’re going to get as far as we can today and camp tonight. I’d say we stay at the inn but if we rest now it’s going to take us even longer to get to the kingdom and I’d rather see Snow again sooner than later.” He turns back to watch what’s in front of him, leaving John and I to catch up.

Trying to stay at the same pace as Hades, John drags me slightly. I don’t complain though, because it doesn’t take much to catch up to him. “How did a selkie get with a god in the first place…?”

John presses his lips together, fighting a smile as he moves his hand from mine, patting my back. Hades merely readjusts his jacket, saying after a few seconds, “She was sent to the underworld for a quest Rudy sent her on, I wouldn’t have even noticed her if she didn’t drop her coat. Before I was able to grab her coat for her, she picked it up.”

“Understandable, did you not know she was a selkie at first?”

“Obviously not. Having a fur coat doesn’t scream ‘selkie’ that just says that she has a fur coat. I didn’t realize it until she told me.”

“And when was that?” I look up at him, more entertained than curious at this point.

“…Until I took her coat as a joke on our first date.” I hear snickering coming from John as I fight back my own.

“So you two are technically…” He nods, clicking his tongue.

“Yep, for four years if we consider the accidental joke a real thing.”

“Do you?” Hades shakes his head, stepping over an incoming log. I hop over it quickly, trying to keep up.

“Nope.” John pulls me to the side, making me avoid a tree. We all group together again and the conversation ends like that.

                                                           ***

Once night falls and John made a fire with the help of Hades, we set up camp, sitting on whatever we can find. That however is a small log that Hades took, a stump that John instantly sat on, leaving me with a large tree root. When I sit, I glance over at the two, spinning my wedding band around my finger. “You can come closer, Reed.”

“No, I’m good here. Besides, there’s nowhere else to sit.” I lean back against the tree, shrugging. 

“So, how did you two meet?” I chuckle suddenly, looking over at John

“You wanna tell him?” John rolls his eyes, a smile on his face. Hades leans forward on the log, resting his head on his hand.

“It was five years ago. I went overseas to Larond for a quest, surprisingly.”

“I thought Avalon and Larond weren’t eye to eye?” 

“They aren’t, but usually travelling doesn’t affect you much if you’re helping out the kingdom.” He glances over at me as I smile. “A band of hobgoblins formed around me looking combative and before one could even attack, a certain noble dropped kicked one.”

Nodding happily, I chuckle again. “That made em snap and suddenly we’re fighting together.” 

“He lost himself in his rage and when the fight was over, I was suddenly trying to calm him down without getting a black eye.” Hades gives me a look.

“One hell of a meeting.” I shrug, my eyes darting over to John.

“I knew something was going to start…you don’t just fight a group of hobgoblins with a stranger and call it a day.” Readjusting myself, my smile turns soft. “He bought me a drink and then after a while I went to Avalon. We go back to Larond to visit my family every year.”

“Wonder how that works.”

“Don’t you go overseas? You’re literally a god.” He nods, pointing towards me.

“Exactly. I’m a god, so people don’t care where I am. You two go back and forth between countries that hate each other. No one bats an eye?” I shake my head, shrugging.

“They’d be pretty stupid to stop us. My parents work for the royals, so it’s pretty much common knowledge to let me and John pass or you’d piss off the royals, the royal bard and the royal artificer.” Hades gives me a look.

“You act like that isn’t a special privilege to have.” I pause, realizing my tone and looking down at the ground, making John take over for me.

“We both had our issues to work on. He was used to being spoiled so I had to teach him to appreciate the small things in life, and I had to learn how to control my rage.” I wring my hand, clicking my tongue slightly, still embarrassed that I sounded like that cliche rich kid. “Sometimes his tone gets like that when talking about Larond, so you just have to get him back out of it.” 

I stay quiet, not wanting to run my mouth anymore. One god knows I’ve already done it enough. However, I yawn, instantly breaking the ‘stay quiet’ thing I had a few seconds ago. “How late is it?”

“Not that late, the moon isn’t high enough. About nine or ten?” I nod, yawning again before I get up, moving towards John. “Are you always asleep this early?”

“No, I’ve just had very little sleep for the past few days and it’s catching up to me again.” I welcome myself on John’s lap, wrapping my arms around his neck loosely. “Now if you excuse me, I’m going to sleep now. See you in the morning.”

I hear them both laugh as I close my eyes, trying to force myself to catch up on my much needed sleep.

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(otak-atik file dan menemukan tulisan 3 tahun silam. Dan ternyata ini jawaban yang selama ini kucari. Selamat menikmati!)

Duduk di samping jendela café adalah tempat favoritnya. Bisa melayangkan pandangan mata ke segala penjuru arah dari balik jendela adalah kegemaran yang sulit diabaikan. Di sudut ini, aku juga selalu menjadi teman setia yang tak pernah dia lewatkan. Aku bahagia, meskipun hanya menjadi bagian terkecil dalam hidupnya. Tapi aku tahu segala tentang isi dan pikirannya. Apa yang selalu membuat dia tersenyum, tertawa ringan maupun terluka.

           Bagi orang lain, dia adalah sosok yang periang. Pipinya yang membulat dan mata yang segaris adalah ciri khasnya saat tersenyum dan tertawa. Meskipun begitu dia sering dibilang sebagai ‘gadis jahat’, bukan berarti dia adalah seorang kriminal. Hanya saja, setiap kata-kata yang dia ucapkan adalah sebuah umpatan dan makian. Dari segala hal yang dilakukannya, sebenarnya dia sedang bersembunyi. Tidak segamblang yang orang-orang lain pikirkan, tapi segelumit pikiran yang menyesatkan kerapkali merasuki tiap kali dia sendiri.

           Kali ini, sepertinya sudah hampir di ambang batas kesabaran yang dia miliki. Duduk di sudut café dengan secangkir matcha latte dan sudah pasti, diriku. Aku menatapnya lekat-lekat. Tatapannya sedikit kosong, tidak ada tangis, apalagi senyuman seperti biasa. Kalaupun dia tersenyum, hanya sebagai formalitas semata. Dia terdiam. Akupun. Kemudian tangannya bergerak, di atas kertas. Tanpa dia berkata-kata aku mengerti apa yang sedang dia tulis diam-diam. Sebuah surat…

Untuk Ibuk yang selalu tersenyum,

Keep reading

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Welp it’s Christmas break for me meaning I have a lot more time to do posting.  Which means I’ll be trying to do longer posts.  Starting with this one…

I was skimming one of my old journals and found an entry I wrote.  It’s basically a giant analogy for maladaptive daydreaming and I thought I would share it.  Admittedly I did change a few things to make it a little less cringe, but it still may read as a 13/14 year old angst induced sob story…either way here it is.  

There’s No Difference

Certain days her house would be vacant.  The occupants only being her and her assortment of books.  Both strewn across her bed tucked in a tight corner.  She could usually make herself believe that that corner was the only other existence besides her and the books.  In reality it was usually more than just books.  Sometimes it was journals with muffled cries tucked inside or monochrome pictures in the sketchbooks.  On rare occasions it’d be the piles of letters, notes, and cards assembled over the years.  She never discarded them fearing she’d somehow wound those who’d given them, despite the likelihood they had forgotten about them. So they stayed crammed in her desk, under her clothes basket, or heaped into the uttermost high corner of her closet. 

Whenever nostalgia afflicted her she’d bring them out in an effort to imagine the day the hand that wrote them. They ranged from scraps of papers for daily reminders to massive bent Birthday cards.  Ye they all spoke the same thing to her…

Life becomes more sad the older we get.

And she’d shroud herself in thick comforters, pillow pets, and stuffed animals in her corner of the world.  Music blaring in her ears and fingers ghosting over whatever lay before.  Today it was a book.

It was rather lovely and peaceful drowning in those dogeared pages and Calibri font paragraphs.  Underwater it was so silent, but not too much.  Her mind drifted aimlessly while simultaneously inhaling the story in front of her.

After an eternity she lazily brought her eyes up to meet those of her unexpected visitor.  It didn’t bother her that she hadn’t even heard him open her door.  This was rather normal.  Each of them happening upon the other as they were hungover.  Her from the her books and him from the alcohol.

“My parents would kill me if they found you in here.” She actually didn’t care, fully knowing this he still responded spitefully,” I don’t give a fuck.”.

Sighing she placed the book down.  Silently they stared at each other.  There was nothing romantic or enticing about it.  Rather it was a shared feeling of boredom with their own lives.  And here in these meetings, they’d forget about the rest of the world.

Sluggishly he scanned the books littering her bed.  His eyes slid up to the one in her hand.

“You’re not gonna be able to finish just that one.”.

“So.”.

His face gazed at her blankly.

Considerately he brushed some aside for room.  Settling down by her on the bed he took out a white package from his coat pocket.  Lying his head at the foot of the bed he withdrew a lighter as well.

“A couple of cigarettes and some beer and you’d be complete.”.

The following wisp of smoke precariously floated up.  She observed it warily.   Resisting the urge to cough, she returned to her story.

“Why don’t you try these for a change.”.

Carelessly he chucked the small package toward her.

“Better now than never.”.

She was silent.

“Alcohol and cigarettes won’t change reality.” She murmured silently.

“Yeah well,” he blew out a ring of smoke, “neither will those.”  He sloppily gestured toward her mound of books.

She blinked.

“There’s a difference.”.

He began to hack voraciously, choking on his laughter.  Sitting up he leaned against the wall.  Staring at her.

“You get yourself high off of ink words on a page.  You get drunk on pencil shavings and black gel ink in those ringed sketchbooks. You fuel syringes with nostalgic ‘what ifs’ and ‘thens’ and hopes for a more intricate life before injecting yourself with it.  Coming out of it you’re hungover with expectations of meaningful words and ideas.  You trip over your feet in a stupor for a desire for something deeper than the mediocre sentences people throw at each other.  And everyone laughs at you stumbling around dumbly with no solid connection to the physicality of reality.  Your vision blurs, sound are fuzzy, and you feel alone in crowded rooms.  You rather go snort the dust off your charcoal drawings in a hopeless effort to reconnect with the universe you laid on that page.  What’s even more pathetic is that you know.  You know it’s sucking the life out of you, blackening your lungs, slowing your brain.  You almost want to change.”.

He laughed bitterly, “ But you can’t, can you? You’re in too deep.  You know with each more smoke or drink you fall deeper.  Admit it, you’re an addict.  Either way, even though you hate yourself each time your come out it, you keep running back.  It’s your only way of escaping from now and all around.”.

With one final puff he averted his eyes above to the rise smoking.  With a grim smile he returned his gaze to her.  Extending his arm, he offered his smoldering cigarette, the end welcoming her.

“There’s no difference.”.

She took it. 

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Rosie woke as the wagon lurched to a stop and the donkeys complained about the reins. Her lace curtains opened with the movement and sunshine poured through. It looked to be well past midday. She tried to roll over and snuggle back into her quilt, but then she heard the door open and her mother’s tell-tale footsteps. This was followed by two knocks on her wooden bed frame by her mother’s shillelagh.

 “Rise and shine, dearie. We’re near Delstone and we’ve stopped to make camp. I need your help getting the fire ready to make supper.” Molly, Rosie’s mother, stood tall, with soft brown hair and green eyes, and freckles decorating her sun-kissed skin. She was wearing her brown shift, the one that matched her hair, and as always, her apron with multiple pockets. Well worn boots finished the outfit. Molly was sturdy and looked like she knew how to use that shillelagh, but there were laugh lines around her eyes. Usually there was also a smile on her lips; however, at the moment she looked harried and tired. Her tone brokered no argument about getting out of bed.

“Yes, Mama,” Rosie replied. “I’ll be out in a minute to help.” Her mother left, taking a scone out of her pocket and leaving it on the ledge. Rosie sat up in her bunk, head not quite touching the ceiling, and lowered the mirror attached above. She reached over to the nearby shelf, on level with her bunk, and grabbed her toiletries and the bowl of water left out the night before. Rosie splashed some water on her face and gave her teeth a rinse, not minding sprinkling her bedsheets. It’ll be many hours before she sees her bed again; they’ll dry by then. 

She glanced at her face in the mirror, noticing her own freckles. Rosie looked a good deal like her mother, and took after her in many ways. She had her father’s blue eyes though, as well as his crooked nose and easy laugh. She managed to tame her strawberry blonde hair, from neither father nor mother, into a high ponytail and scrambled down the ladder. The two bunks below were her sisters’ and the made beds indicated they had been up for a while. Clean clothes were found in a drawer under the bed and she changed quickly. Rosie favored soft beige leggings generally, and today she chose an old gray tunic and pulled on her own well worn boots to finish dressing. 

Rosie took a moment to notice the rest of the wagon, seeing if anything had fallen out of place during the trip. Soft, colorful rugs lined the floor. Her parent’s bed, separated from the rest of the wagon by a wall, was towards the front. That wall was brightly decorated with painted vines and flowers, adding life to the room. Next came a small table and bench on the right, with flowers in a tiny vase; tools and materials were neatly organized on the left. Rosie picked up a hammer that had fallen to the floor and placed it back on the pinboard. After on both sides came bookshelves – cooking and tinkering books on one, “fun” books on the other. The bookshelves were also decorated, this time with carvings of intricate knots. Next came the bunks and all of the children’s belongings – the three girls in a line on the left, the three boys in a line on the right. Noah’s teddy bear had fallen and was trapped between the bed and the wall; it was rescued. Because space was so tight, everyone got one shelf and one drawer. That was it. Though she loved her family, Rosie was itching for a little more room to herself. She sighed; she could delay helping no more.

Grabbing her staff, Rosie headed out of the wagon.

Rosie took a bite of the scone as she watched the familiar scene before her. The four wagons in the caravan were in a semicircle around the beginnings of a fire. An outsider might have seen chaos, but someone who looked closer would see an intricate dance, with each person knowing their role. As if on cue, Rosie’s younger sister Clara came by with a bundle of sticks under her arms. 

“Here. This should be enough now. You should be able to start the fire. I’m off. I’ve…”

“Been minding the animals and the babes all day while I lay around not contributing anything. Not like I’m up all night guarding the caravan or anything.”

“Guarding from what, owls?”

“You know better than that. Don’t make sleepiness make a liar out of you. Come, give us a kiss, and then spend some time relaxing. You’re not wrong that your shift is over and mines’ begun.” Rosie grabbed the sticks from Clara’s arms and planted a sloppy wet kiss on her cheek. 

“Someone thinks they are so wise now that they’re of age. You have one more year ‘til you’ve your own wagon to manage.” 

Rosie stood in front of the pile of firewood and steadied herself. With any luck, she won’t be managing a tinkering wagon ever, she thought surly. She had different plans than that, as much as she valued and honored the work her family did. As she thought that, and pictured a fire burning in front of her, a now familiar itching began in her palm. When she pointed her hand, fire jumped from her fingers to the dry wood.

“Nicely done. Good control. But don’t get too cocky.” Molly had come to stand next to her daughter. She lifted her own hand and rearranged the burning wood into a more efficient shape. Not a single ember went somewhere she didn’t want it to in the moving. A few of the embers Rosie had let slip were smoldering on the wet leaves nearby. “Control is everything with powers like ours. Others learn their magic, or make deals with gods for it. Ours comes naturally…”

“And like nature, magic must be tamed to be useful, or else it will run amok.” Rosie said laughingly, leaning her head on her mother’s shoulder. “I know Mama.”


more to come if wanted…

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𝓘 𝓒𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭 𝓗𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓛𝓸𝓼𝓽 𝓨𝓸𝓾

·* . •     · •.   ✶˚ .  ·*✧* ˚    · . ·* .      ✵.

✧✵ .·      ✵ ✫˚            · · .             ·✦ ˚  ·

.           ⊹   ·   . *              ..      .  °

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Hello Lovlies

Welcome To My New Blog! 

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─── ・ 。゚☆: *.☽ .* :☆゚. ───  


Hello! Mother of Dragons here to welcome you to my first official piece of writing I’ll be posting on here. I’m a Marvel fan and Clintasha is my favorite ship, there is just so much angst and like possibility for drama in this relationship, which means good things to write for. I really hope you like this.


Trigger warning

There is cursing in this, there is like one f-bomb 


I don’t want to talk about it much more

So please, enjoy


Word Count: 3,098

Time Taken: 3 hours


─── ・ 。゚☆: *.☽ .* :☆゚. ───     


ılı.lıllılıı.ıllı

𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠…🖤🥀

[ Broken Bridge • Daughter]

𝚘.13 ━━ㅇ──── 5.11

[Together Or Not At All • Murray Gold]

𝚘.40 ━━ㅇ──── 3.16

[Once Upon A Time…Storybook Love • Mark Knopfler]

1.03 ━━ㅇ──── 5.11

↻ ◃◁ II ▷▹ ↺


It happened again. Natasha’s eyes flew open, and she was in her room. It was dark and cold; her window was open and she was under her blankets. Well somewhat under her blankets, she had moved a lot in her sleep. She always did that when she had a vivid or intense dream. She always woke up in cold sweats and tangled in her blankets and sheets. She didn’t sleep with much, a few pillows, a couple of blankets and a stuffed animal that Clint had given her. Nobody knew that she slept with it, and she wanted to keep it that way. She kept a pretty good image of being a badass; she didn’t want it ruined by her sleeping with a stuffed animal.


It was raining outside, it had been doing that recently, and it filled Natasha’s room with the sweet smell of petrichor. The air was rich with movement and energy as the rain poured outside. A light filled up Natasha’s room, it was her phone on her bedside table. It was Clint calling. It was the second time during the few days that she had gotten off. She was surprised that he wasn’t calling her more, but he knew her and he didn’t want to get on her nerves. But the weird thing was, he already had.


Natasha was upset with Clint, and she didn’t know why, but she had been feeling like this for a while, but she couldn’t tell if it was since the two had started dating or since the last mission that they had gone on. She really couldn’t answer anyone that asked her if she had tried. Her emotions were something she did NOT want to navigate. 


Natasha sat up in bed, moving so that her back was against the wall at the head of the bed. Rubbing her forehead she tried to remember what she was dreaming about. Most of the time it didn’t matter, but this time she wanted to know what had taken sleep from her. The thunder answered her call and rolled outside. She didn’t think that it would help her remember, but it sure did.


——–


Get in, get the intel, get out. It was easy. The rain coming down flattened Natasha’s hair sticking it to her black catsuit. On her right was Clint, he kept having to push his hair back out of his eyes. They looked at each other before heading into the building. Clint went first, Natasha followed. It was easy enough, they didn’t run into anyone that would cause a problem, and they were able to get the intel. At least until Natasha took out the jumpdrive. There was a blaring alar that sent them to the ground, not in pain, but in fear. 


Natasha looked at Clint, she knew that something was going to go wrong. Ever since the two had started seeing each other things have been going wrong, And it was because there was a new, complex layer to their relationship that was going to send their missions to Hell. But there was no way Natasha was going to let Clint go on another mission with someone that wasn’t herself. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him, she didn’t trust others. She never trusted anyone, and it took her this long to even talk to Clint. But this, right here, sent her anxiety to a whole other level that she was not prepared for. 


Clint closed his bow and put his arrow in the quiver that was on her back. He gave her this look of reassurance and all Nat could do was note how his hair was starting to dry and how different it looked from when they had left for the mission. She holstered one gun and then the two made a run for it. She was able to shoot people that got in their way and weren’t ready. It was almost like the path that they were taking was longer than the last, but it was the same path. They eventually got outside and were hit with another blast of rain, and the wind was not helping either of them. Natasha’s hair blew in her face and stuck there and she had to keep pushing it out of the way. Just as they reached the car, a shot rang out. Natasha was able to turn around and take out the person who fired.


It was a van more than a car, but things had to be discreet. Clint threw the door open and the two of them climbed in, soaking wet. There was no laughter like on previous missions, Clint and nat sat down next to each other. Clint was fixing something on his suit and again, all Nat could do was study his face. She had never been involved with anyone before, at least not like this. Clint was different, he was nice, kind, and sweet. 


She was pulled from her thoughts when Clint’s hand came from his side and the only word he could bring himself to say was: “Shit.”


——–


The thunder rolled again and Nat blinked a couple of times, back in her room. She brought her knees close to her chest and rested her face on her knees, looking outside the window. She looked calm on the outside, but internally she was pissed. It had been a few weeks since the incident and Nat had been sent out on other missions with other people while he was recovering, and she had finally gotten a couple of days off. She was so mad at Clint and she didn’t even know why. Every time that she woke from this nightmare she would get so angry she would cry. But right now, she had no tears to cry. Not physically, at least. The rain was doing that for her. 


Her phone buzzed again. Probably Clint calling again. He had found out that she had a couple of days off and even though he was known for his sleeping skills, he didn’t stay asleep for too long. He never slept well, it was one thing that Natasha felt bad about. She wished that he could get rest and fully be himself, but at the same time, she knew the struggle. The thunder rolled again, prompting Natasha to get up and stretch a bit before heading back to bed. If she could, that is.


Only a couple second passed and the buzzer to her apartment rang. It could only be one person. The one person that Nat was unjustly pissed at. God, she hated him. She hated him for getting shot. But she wasn’t going to tell him that. 


Shrugging on her sweatshirt, that was once Clint’s, she left her bedroom and headed to the door. She opened it and Clint was drenched. The only thing that had started to dry was his hair, just like the night that he had been shot. He was in a zip-up hoodie, a t-shirt, and jeans. All of which were soaked through. Natasha opened up the door and she looked up at the male’s face as he entered her apartment. 


There was no justification as to why she had been ignoring his calls other than the fact that she didn’t want to talk to him. But even she couldn’t explain that. She couldn’t rationally explain her feelings for Clint, and she didn’t know if she wanted to. She didn’t understand them, she didn’t want to navigate them, she never has. She had always said that love is for children, but it was very possible that she was a child, begging to be loved. She shook her head as Clint took off his hoodie and laid it over the back of a chair at the table that was in her kitchen/dining room. 


He sighed as he rested his hands on his hoodie before turning to look at her. The only light that was in the room was from various lights on the oven, microwave, and street lights outside. Natasha looked at him in fear and took a step back. She had only ever seen Clint this quiet when he had something on his chest and he had to get it off. And the start of it was that sigh, and Natasha knew that she was going to be breaded. 


“I’m sorry I haven’t called you…” She said quietly, crossing her arms over her stomach.


“Nat, you haven’t talked to me since I got shot.” Hearing him talk about it so openly just reminded her of the life that the two of them lived. 


“Would you like some tea or some water?” She asked him. 


She knew full well that his favorite drink was coffee, and she knew that he wasn’t going to accept anything right now. He was doing the one thing that Natasha was just too scared to do, he was feeling things, he was going through emotions and he was doing it openly. When he turned around to look at her, he pushed his blonde hair from his face and crossed his arms over his chest and gave her a disappointed look. That she could take from anyone, but from Clint, it hurt worse, like his approval was what she lived for.


“I’ll have some tea.” He said, but he wasn’t moving to sit down. 


Natasha headed towards the cupboard where she kept all her tea and grabbed some lavender tea, she knew that he liked it whenever he had it and lavender was a calming scent and taste. She took the kettle that was hanging above the island/dining table in her kitchen. And just for a second, she looked in his blue eyes and she knew that he wasn’t going to get too upset with her. She filled the kettle and turned on the stove, setting the kettle down on the stove. She took in a deep breath and turned to Clint.


“Nat, I’ve been fuckin’ worried about you. Why didn’t you get back to me?” He asked. 


There was no reason that they wouldn’t answer each others calls other than being killed and with their skill, it wasn’t going to happen any time soon. 


“I’ve been bus–”


“Bullshit.” he interrupted. He looked pissed, and it was the first time in a long time that Clint looked pissed at her. “You haven’t been busy, I even checked with Coulsen. You’re not busy.” He paused for a second before running his fingers through his hair. “What’s wrong?”


Natasha stayed quiet, she didn’t want to tell him that she was pissed at him, she really didn’t. Especially since she had no real explanation for it and nobody wants to hear how their hated and not know why. Not be given a reason why. She grabbed a couple of tea bags and then a mug. She placed the teabags in the mug and then set the mug on the counter. She could feel Clint’s gaze burning holes in her back and it didn’t take long for her to snap. 


She didn’t even know why she did it. There was no rhyme or reason, she guessed it was because he was here and she knew that he wasn’t going to let up in asking her if she was okay or what was on her mind. She didn’t want to suffer through that, hell, she didn’t even want to see him right now. But here he was. She gripped the edge of the counter tightly and took in a deep breath. 


“What does how I feel matter to you?” She asked him. “What does it matter?” 


She turned around looking at him, and his expression turned from pissed to mighty pissed. He was concerned about her and it was easy to see, it was easy to read. But Natasha just couldn’t understand why someone was concerned about her


“Why does it matter?” He asked, starting to raise his voice. He hadn’t even been here 10 minutes and the two were starting to yell at each other and go at each other’s throats. “Nat, I care about you…” He whispered. 


Natasha had moved past the timid soft stage, she had just relived her best friend, her new boyfriend getting shot. “Well too bad. I’m pissed at you.” She said, her voice low and dangerous.


Clint wasn’t scared of Nat, but the anger left his eyes and he gave her a concerned look. That was where the caring side of Clint came out. He uncrossed his arms and took a step back, having to think about what she just said. She could see the confusion and hurt in his eyes, and now she had to try and explain it. 


“W-wh-wh-why?” He asked.


Natasha thought for a moment, and she couldn’t come up with anything creative. “I…I don’t know.” She said. 


“You don’t know?” He asked, his voice rising again. 


Natasha rubbed her eyes with her thumb and pointer finger, her eyebrows furrowed. She really didn’t know why she was so upset. But she wasn’t this angry before she relived watching Clint getting shot. 


“I had a bad dream, well, I don’t know.” She said.


Clint knew that Natasha didn’t just have bad dreams, they were her past catching up to her, they were things that she didn’t want to think about, but how that made her pissed at Clint didn’t make any sense. Then it clicked with Natasha. For the first time in a long time, she felt something for someone and she didn’t think she had to be someone else. She was herself. 


“The last mission we went on, the one where you got shot?” She paused, taking in a deep breath. “That’s what I dreamed.” 


Clint came around the island to give Natasha a hug, and she pushed him away. “You could have died and I could have lost you.” She growled. “You are my family right now, and if I had lost you-” Her voice started to crack and her vision was getting blurry from tears. “I don’t have many people I can lean on, and- and if I had lost you…I-” She stopped and looked at him. 


She could feel the tears falling down her cheeks, but Clint was still a blur in her sight. She couldn’t read his facial expression, she couldn’t tell how he was feeling. She closed her eyes to blink away the tears, but she ended up squeezing them shut. She went to wipe the tears from her cheeks and then she felt arms around her. Clint’s warmth surrounding her just made her cry, even more, knowing that he was there. 


“I’m here…” He said quietly. “I’m here…”


The kettle started to whistle and it made the two of them jump, and it was Clint who took care of the tea. He took the kettle off the stove and set it to the side that way it didn’t bother either of them. He wasn’t going to take the time to pour the cup of tea, he had to be there for Nat. He turned back to his partner and wrapped his arms around her again. 


Natasha wrapped her arms around his middle and rested her head on his chest, listening to his heart. He was here, and she wasn’t going to lose him. She wasn’t going to lose him. She squeezed him tightly and he just responded by holding her even tighter. Natasha slipped from his hug and wiped her face clear of snot and tears with the sleeve of the sweatshirt, but it wasn’t long before the warmth of tears greeted her cheeks again. Clint cupped her face in his hands and Nat just melted into his touch and she could feel his lips press against her forehead before he pressed his own there. His thumbs wiped the tears from her cheeks and his breaths were shaky almost like he was trying to not cry. Natasha placed her hands on his.


“Come here.” His words were just as soft and inviting as his touch and Natasha fell into his arms again. 


The two started swaying back and forth to some sort of invisible beat that Clint had come up on his own and Natasha just followed his lead, her arms wrapped around his middle again. Her perfectly fitting into his arms. She was still crying, but it wasn’t as harshly as before. She was also still holding onto him like her life depended on it and Clint only returned the gesture. 

It was only a minute or so of improv dancing before Clint realized that Nat was asleep, and it didn’t even occur to Nat. She was tired and emotionally drained. He would never understand the extent of what she felt, and she was thankful for that. She was even more thankful that he wasn’t upset with her for feeling the way she did. So thankful, so maybe that’s why she fell asleep in his arms. She could never say. 


But after he laid her in her bed, she woke again. The difference in her weight distribution and the atmosphere woke her up. She was on her side and sitting in the chair across the way of her room in front of her desk was Clint. He wasn’t asleep, he was watching Nat, to make sure that she didn’t have another nightmare. Natasha looked at him and then shifted how she was laying. 


“Can you lay by me?” She asked quietly.


She was comfortable with him laying next to her, it wasn’t awkward. She just needed to know that he was there physically and that she was able to reach out and touch him if she needed to. She needed to know that the person that she has labeled as her family wasn’t going to leave her or use her like previous people she considered her family. She saw Clint get up and it wasn’t long before he was lying next to her. 


was laying on her back and him on his side, but it didn’t take long for her to roll over on her side and look at him. She tucked her hands under her head and she looked at Clint. He looked worried about her, his big blue eyes swimming with concern. She reached her hand out and touched his cheek.


“I’m not going anywhere…” He said, taking her hand into his. 


The rain had stopped for the moment and it was just silence, the clock on the nightstand read 1:05 AM and it wasn’t long before the two fell asleep holding the hands of each other. 


─── ・ 。゚☆: *.☽ .* :☆゚. ───   

I hope that you enjoyed reading this, I know it’s long, but I hope that it was worth it. 

I hope you all have a wonderful day/evening

·* . •     · •.   ✶˚ .  ·*✧* ˚    · . ·* .      ✵.      

✧✵ .·      ✵ ✫˚            · · .             ·✦ ˚  ·

.           ⊹   ·   . *              ..      .  °

╭══• ೋ•✧๑♡๑✧•ೋ •══╮

Thanks for reading!

Fire and Blood

╰══• ೋ•✧๑♡๑✧•ೋ •══╯

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