#this post is badly worded and old but the sentiment rings true so | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

phantom-curve · 3 years

Note

mads!!! congrats on the follower milestone 🥰

could i please request juke with the following:

ansare - to hardly breathe, to be out of breath

thank you & good luck:)

ahh thank you!💕 I thought this was gonna be fluffy and then it got...kinda angsty😬 set post season one in a mostly canon world where Julie can touch the boys but they're still ghosts, ft. yet another Juke moment on the studio couch (sad & soft edition)

ansare - to hardly breathe, to be out of breath

Breathing was a privilege Luke had never properly understood until he was dead. When he had been alive, it was just another everyday thing that he never once stopped to think twice about. His heart beat, his blood pumped, his lungs expanded and collapsed in time to the rhythm of all other bodily functions. When he went swimming, he plugged his nose and dove deep until he felt the crushing pressure of depth against his chest only to return to the ocean’s surface and inhale once more, everything righted within his system with that single burst of oxygen. It was so simple there were countless idioms derived from the action, and every single one seemed to emphasize the life that existed within the movement. Breathing was as instinctual as living, and Luke never really thought about either one of those things until he was no longer doing them.

Ghosts didn’t need to breathe. Dead boys didn’t have hearts that beat, blood that pumped, lungs that filled and emptied in the same way that the tide pushed against the shore, relentless and unending. Everything that had once made him feel alive now existed as a reminder of the fact that he never would be again.

Except that wasn’t really true. Because Luke couldn’t deny the way he reacted to Julie.

Julie made his heart race and his blood sing and his lungs trip over themselves in an attempt to catch up to the breath that she always seemed to steal from him. Julie was wickedly beautiful, an insane wrecking ball of musical talent, and also probably the most amazing person he had ever met in his life period. She made him want to be better in all the best kind of ways. Smarter, funnier, nicer, happier. She made him want to be the type of guy that could look her in the eye and promise her a lifetime together.

Except he didn’t have a life anymore. He just had more time than he knew what to do with and no way to promise anything.

The thought ate him alive up inside.

Especially at night. In the dark and the quiet and the oppressive stillness of it all he would sit and think about all of the things he had missed out on, all of the things he was still missing out on. Stuck in limbo, neither here nor there, just...existing but not. Living but not. Breathing but...not. Death had changed everything. Julie had changed it again. She was his sole reason for being anymore. He loved the boys, loved the band, loved everything about whatever existence he had been given. But all of it paled in comparison to Julie.

“Luke?”

The sound of his name on her lips made his breath hitch every time he heard it.

It was late, well after the time she normally went to bed. The studio had been dark and quiet for hours. Alex was off with Willie, Reggie had swiped Carlos’ laptop and disappeared into the loft with an old pair of headphones, and Luke was hunched over his notebook on the couch, trying and failing not to write about Julie. And now here she was, wearing mismatched pjs and oversized slippers, standing in the doorway to his kind-of home, taking his breath away once more.

“Hey, Jules.”

Her lips curved into the sweetest smile he’d ever seen, and he felt himself mirroring the expression. It was new, the nickname thing, but it felt right. Their interesting little relationship had shifted recently, they both knew it. He sat up straighter, sliding over to the side of the couch in a clear invitation. Julie didn’t hesitate. Her steps were silent as she closed the distance between them, settling herself onto the worn-out leather next to him, legs tucked up as she angled herself towards him, close but not quite touching.

“What are you working on?”

Normally, Luke wouldn’t think twice about passing the notebook over to her. He would lean in close, listen to her hum the melody, watch her mouth the lyrics, and then, when she would turn to him with suggestions, he would watch that same spark that lived within his soul flare to life in hers as well. The rest of the world would cease to exist, everything shrinking down to just the two of them, Julie and Luke, alone in their own little musical bubble.

But this song? The one he’d been writing while thinking about her and all the things he wished he could give her? He wasn’t sure he was ready to share that part of himself yet. Wasn’t sure he was ready to shift their relationship anymore when he knew it was basically doomed no matter what.

Julie inched closer, like she could feel his reluctance. Her leg brushed his lightly, the sensation still so new and unfamiliar that it made him gasp quietly. He had waited so long to touch her, had wanted to reach out for that kind of physical comfort so badly, so many times and every single one of them had been a lesson in rejection. Dead boys didn’t get to touch girls who were alive.

Except that had changed, too. And he could touch her, now. But he was still a dead boy. And she was still alive.

Something about the way his breath caught in his throat seemed to capture her attention. Her brows softened, shoulders slumping ever so slightly. She seemed to get it then, she always saw through him so easily, but she didn’t pull away.

“I wish it didn’t have to be like this.”

Her words ripped through him. Luke’s arm was moving to pull her close before he could stop himself. She fell against his chest, head coming to rest over his silent heart.

“I know.”

His whisper was just as pained as hers had been. His chest burned, but it wasn’t from lack of oxygen. It was his soul, desperately reaching out for hers, seeking any way to keep them together, forever. He was already touching her, already holding his breath so he could stretch this moment into infinity, already crossing another line that moved them farther away from being just friends, so he didn’t stop himself from reaching up to run his fingers through her hair softly. The curls were wild, and he had to be careful not to snag his rings. Julie softened against him, soothed by his touch, forbidden as it was. If his heart had been working, he was sure it would be skipping all over the place by now.

“I’m sorry, Julie.”

He wasn’t entirely sure what he was apologizing for, exactly. Being dead? Being a ghost? Being here but not here? He sure as hell wasn’t apologizing for loving her. He couldn’t, wouldn’t apologize for something like that. It was the one constant in his life now. It was as undeniable as his breath had been when he had been alive, linked intrinsically to his very existence in this world.

“I’m not.”

Her tone was genuine. Something hard in Luke’s throat melted, his breath whooshing back in like he was being given permission to breathe again even if it wasn’t necessary. He felt the rise and fall of his chest, felt the echoes of where a heartbeat would have lived. There was no more pulse to his bloodline, just a melody running pure and true throughout his veins, Julie Julie Julie.

He pulled her closer, settled her more securely against his side, tucked up next to the heart that no longer worked but belonged to her just the same. Without shifting any farther than necessary, he reached out to snag his notebook off of the table. He left it open to the page he had been working on, laying it across his lap. Julie didn’t move except tuck her chin down a bit so she was looking at the pages, eyes squinting as she strained to read his chicken scratch in the dim light left by the hanging string lights. He watched, mesmerized, barely breathing, as her eyes traced over the paper. A low vibration reverberated against his chest as she hummed, her brow crinkling as she took in the words that had been written and the ones that had been slightly marred by scratches. All different versions of the same sentiment.

“Luke...” her voice was breathy, eyes shining as she shifted her gaze to meet his. “This is beautiful.”

He gave her a soft smile. He didn’t have to tell her that it was about her. She knew. Just like she knew every other piece of him. Just like she had always known him, it seemed.

He didn’t have to say the words to her. She didn’t have to say them back. It was enough for them to know just between themselves. He loved her. She loved him. Nothing had ever been so simple and yet so complicated. But loving Julie wasn’t something he would ever be able to stop doing. Just like breathing, it had become a part of his everyday world. Something that was completely necessary to his survival.

Julie returned her gaze to the notebook; reached for the pen he kept hooked over the pages for easy access. Her curving script put his messy scrawl to shame, her words intertwining with his as she added her own parts to the song. No longer just a song for her, but a song for them. He watched her work, kept his fingers nestled in her curls, twirling the strands absentmindedly just because he could.

She fell asleep like that, pressed up against him, fingertips smudged with ink. He knew whatever they had couldn’t be forever. Not the kind of forever she deserved, stuck with someone on the cusp of disappearance, neither of this world or gone from it. But he could have this. These quiet moments, just the two of them, without the rest of the impossibilities bogging them down. And one day, when reality caught up with them and he inevitably lost her, he would know that a piece of him lived on with her. Caught in her memories, written on the pages of his notebook, tattooed on her heart the same way she would be on his.

#literally how many ways can I write Juke having A Moment on the couch in the studio #the limit does not exist apparently #mads writes #juke #jatp #julie and the phantoms #julie molina #luke patterson #jukebox #juke fic #jukebox fic #jatp fic

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betelgeusessonajblog · 4 years

Text

Carlos’ Final Day....

You knew this was coming

@thelostandforgottenangel not sorry!

Carlos rubs his eyes a little as he steps out of a portal, he groans a little then blinks “I need to get used to that.” he thought as he shook his head. It takes a minute before his vision adjusts to the normal light “Ah much better.” he smiled before pocketing the bottle that was in his hands.

He had decided to surprise AJ and, Raph after hearing both had managed to recover quite a lot since he’d last heard from them.

Carlos walks down the street as he pulls out his phone then dials AJ’s number, wanting to see if AJ was free so he could visit them.

After a few rings it goes straight to voicemail, Carlos thinks for a moment ‘Hm he must be busy with Raph.” so he decides to leave a voicemail “ Hi, Alex it’s me. I’m guessing you’re spending time with Raph. I’m so glad that you and he are doing much better. I decided to stop by Monstropolis to surprise you tonight but since you’re busy I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll be staying at the MonStar hotel. I’ll see you tomorrow, have fun!” he said as he hung up then decided to check AJ’s Facebook page.

He smiled a little as he saw a new photo of Raph and, AJ that the young lizard had posted not too long ago with the caption ‘Spending the evening with my hubby’ underneath it.

Carlos exits his account then puts his phone away as he began walking down the street “I have time before I have to head to my hotel.”

He spends the next twenty minutes walking around, exploring the city as he never truly got the chance to do so whenever he did visit.

Carlos stops in front of a fast food stand and decides to grab a bite to eat, he pulls out his wallet to grab some money but groans a little “In all my excitement I forgot to go to the ATM and get this world’s currency.” he muttered.

Just then a woman with black hair in a bun approached Carlos “Excuse me but are you having some issues with money?” she asked as Carlos looked at her.

“Hm? Oh yeah, I suppose you could call it issues. In all my excitement to visit my son and, son-in-law I forgot to change my currency.” Carlos replied, chuckling a little in embarrassment.

The woman reaches into her trench coat and pulls out her purse “Allow me to buy you something from the stand.”

“Oh I couldn’t possibly do that.” Carlos replied as he held up a hand

“I do not mind as long as you can repay me.” The woman smiled

“....Oh...Alright. I am rather hungry and I have some time before I have to head to my hotel. Not for another half hour.” Carlos said as the woman approached the food stand and begins ordering herself and, Carlos some food.

Soon she hands a hamburger to Carlos whom takes it with a smile “Thank you so much. I’m Carlos Garcia, by the way. I never got to introduce myself to you.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Garcia.” The woman smiled “You may call me Miwa.” she said as she took a bite out of her food.

Carlos nodded “Miwa? That’s nice. Japanese?” he asked

Miwa nods “Yes, that’s right. My father named me it after my late mother.” she explained as she and Carlos ate together.

“I am so sorry for your loss.” Carlos said with a sincere look on his face “Losing someone is never easy.”

Miwa nods in agreement “Yes, that is true.” she shook her head “But we live for those that are no longer around.”

Carlos nodded “That’s a nice sentiment.” he smiled. He pulls out his phone to check the time “Oh, it’s almost time for me to check into my hotel.”

"May I offer a cab service? I use this company all the time, they are very reliable.” Miwa said with a smile

“Oh that’d be appreciated, I don’t know any companies in this country.” Carlos chuckled.

“May I borrow your phone to call the company? That way you can save it to use later.” Miwa asked to which Carlos nodded, the idea sounded reasonable to him.

Miwa took Carlos’ phone then dialled a number into it, she spoke briefly to someone on the other end before hanging up “They’ll be here within the next five minutes. Luckily a driver was in our vicinity.”

“Oh that is great. I hate having to stand around for long periods of time.” Carlos said with a smile.

Miwa nods a little in agreement “We should get going, they’ll be wanting to park nearby.” she said as she started walking off.

Carlos nodded as he followed Miwa towards a nearby store “outside here?” he asked

Miwa nods a little “Yes, I often stand outside this store whilst I wait on them.” she replied with a smile “plus it is a nice way to watch something on the TV whilst waiting.”

Carlos turned to look at the store, noticing it was an electronics one “Oh that is a nice idea.”

Whilst Carlos’ back was turned, a van pulled up behind him and, Miwa. Without hesitation, Miwa pulls out a syringe and stabs Carlos in the neck, he quickly passes out and is dragged inside the van.

Hours later Carlos groans as he wakes up in what appeared to be an old warehouse, his hands shackled above his head “Wh...where....”

Before he could fully grasp where he was or what was going on, something stabbed into his side then began to zap him. Carlos screamed out in agony as he felt the electricity run through his body.

Soon the zapping stopped as Carlos panted heavily, he looks up and sees Miwa standing before him “M-Miwa...?? What are you...”

“My name is not Miwa, you fool. My name is Karai.” Karai said as Carlos’ eyes widened in horror realising who it was

"Wh-what do you want from me??” Carlos asked, his voice trembling a little.

“You are going to spill everything you know about your son and the turtle.” Karai said with a smirk

"You must be insane if you think that I would ever betray my son and his husband.” Carlos replied before getting punched in the gut, causing him to grunt

Karai spends the next three hours trying to get Carlos to spill anything that could help the Foot win against Raph and, AJ but Carlos would just toss out useless information about AJ like how he has a passion for playing the guitar.

Karai slams her fist onto a nearby desk “STOP WASTING OUR TIME AND GIVE US THE INFORMATION WE WANT!!” she shouts

Carlos’ face was badly beaten and very bruised, his left eye had swollen a little, he spits some blood onto Karai’s chest “I told you, you stupid bitch....I would never betray my son or son-in-law.”

Karai growled as she went to punch Carlos again “Do not bother, Karai.” a voice called out as Shredder appeared from seemingly nowhere.

Karai looks at Carlos then walks towards Shredder “I have been at this for three hours now, he has given no useful information.” she said with an annoyed tone in her voice.

Shredder walks towards Carlos whom was trembling a little “If you wish to make it out of here alive, you will comply with our demands, lizard.”

Carlos inhales deeply “I...am...NEVER going to betray my family.” he replied as he trembled a little.

Shredder shook his head silently before looking at Karai and, in Japanese, tells her to bring Carlos’ cell phone over. He looks back at Carlos “You might as well say goodbyes now....” Shredder said as freed Carlos’ hands

Carlos drops to his knees, blood dripping from his mouth as he panted. He looks up at Karai as he takes his phone, his hands shaking as he dialled AJ’s number once again and...once again...only reaching his voicemail. Part of him was hoping AJ would be able to answer this time, hoping he could tell AJ personally his final words but decided to just leave one final voicemail for the young lizard “Al-Alex…I’m so sorry honey to call again….something happened and I’m…I’m not gonna be around anymore.” he took a deep breath but it still came out shaky “Alex….you have no idea….just how proud of you I am. Of the life you’ve built for yourself with Raphael…..I am so glad I took you in as my own son….You were the best thing to happen to me since Ollie….I want you to promise to keep doing your best….no matter what happens to me, okay? Tell Roger that I love him so much and he’s an amazing young man. Raph….Raph is an amazing partner….and I was proud to call him my son-in-law. I know he’ll keep you safe when I’m gone. Never forget how much you meant to me, Alex. I love you….I love you so much.” as Carlos finishes his message to AJ, Shredder looks at Karai and gives her a nod.

Karai quickly grabs some wire that was on the nearby desk then wraps it around Carlos’ neck and begins to choke the life out of him. He drops his phone onto the ground as Karai did this. He begins to struggle, attempting to break free. He wasn’t ready to die, not yet. There was so much he wanted to do and, experience. He wanted to live, he wanted to see his family again.

Karai tightens the wire around Carlos’ neck, she then puts her foot on his back as she pulls upwards causing a loud CRUNCH to be heard as his windpipe was crushed, killing him in seconds, the life quickly draining from his eyes.

Shredder stomps on Carlos’ phone as Karai lets go of Carlos, causing his lifeless body to drop onto the ground with a thud. Shredder looks at two nearby Foot ninjas “Hold his body up.” he says to which the two ninjas agree.

They each grab an arm then hold Carlos’ body up, he looks at his bladed arm then in one swift motion cuts Carlos’ midsection open causing his guts to drop out, blood pouring onto the ground “....Take his body and string him up. I want them to find him.” Shredder instructed some Foot ninjas whom all nod then carry Carlos’ body away.

A while later the Foot members wrap wire around Carlos’ neck then hang him up. Luckily for them this was the quiet hour in the street so no one saw them. Carlos’ body was soon hanging, blood dripping from his guts.

Meanwhile.....in the Netherworld....Carlos lays in the middle of a street, he sits up and rubs his neck “...wasn’t...I just...” he muttered as he stood up and begins to look around. it was clear to him that this wasn’t AJ and, Raph’s world....nor was it the Monster World....

Carlos walks backwards as he looked around until someone tapped him on the shoulder causing the lizard to turn around to see who it was.

Carlos’ eyes widened as he saw a young dog-like monster standing in front of him. The dog-like monster had two small horns on his head, his eyes were a light blue colour, his body was muscular “...Hello...love...” the monster said.

Carlos began to tear up “O-Ollie...??” to which the dog-like monster nods smiling as Carlos quickly wraps his arms around Ollie. The two share a long, loving kiss before they pulled away, Carlos places his forehead against Ollie’s “Ollie...I...I am so sorry for...”

“Sssh....Carlos....not once did I ever blame you for what happened to me...I should’ve tried to keep fighting but I was just so broken....” Ollie said as Carlos lightly caresses his face “I was....sent here to help you with....dying.”

“...so...I really died...” Carlos said as he began to sob softly, Ollie wraps his arms around Carlos “I...I didn’t want to die, there was so much I....”

“I know, love...I know...” Ollie said as he lightly rubs Carlos’ back, trying to soothe the lizard.

“Wh-What about Alex....?? He...” Carlos started to say before Ollie kisses him on the lips gently

“Alex is going to be okay....he’s a strong kid....I’ve been watching over you for some time. I am so proud of you for helping him out when he needed someone....” Ollie said as he pulled away, taking Carlos’ hand into his “....Why won’t we go start our afterlife together?”

Carlos looks at Ollie’s hand then at Ollie, nodding a little with a small smile “At...least I get to be with you again, Ollie...”

The two walk off together, hand in hand heading off to start their afterlife together. For once....Carlos felt truly happy....he finally had the love of his life back. They stand in front of a door, Carlos was nervous about whatever it was that was behind it but Ollie gives him a reassuring smile before they walked through it, a bright light engulfs the pair as they share another kiss.

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shirtlesssammy · 5 years

Text

14x17: Game Night

Then:

Parenting is hard

Now:

We open with Donatello making cookies and bopping to BJ Thomas in his head. He’s just living his best soulless life, folks.

Well, until his doorbell rings and he answers it. He’s soon trussed up and injected with an unknown substance.

Meanwhile at the bunker, it’s family game night! Dean’s made a head start on the festivities by setting up Mouse Trap by himself (poorly), Jack’s old enough to pop popcorn over an open flame, and Mary’s got a big bowl of carrots for Sam.

Mary checks in on Jack, and 10% souled up Jack tells her that her concern is annoying. XD He knows she’s just being a concerned mom though (and Mary’s just trying with this kid like she never had the chance with her own kids.)

Just before Sam comes back with pizza, Dean checks his voicemail to find a message from Donatello. He needs their help. Dean instantly calls Sam, but can’t reach him. Mary and him take off right away. Jack stays behind to fill Sam in on what’s happening.

At Cindy’s Wafflette, Cas and Anael meet up. Anael is less than impressed with the diner vibe. I, on the other hand, am COMPLETELY SMITTEN with the whole thing. The waffle wallpaper! The tunes on the jukebox, the Formica tables, Cas’s order of waffles, the sun on the menu, the lady holding a giant waffle on the menu, the shots from the outside where we see the driving snow and the cozy tableau on the inside (more bars and wall separation imagery!).

Cas has something for her. 16th century Burmese blood rubies (lightly cursed), to be exact. He also needs her help with contacting God. She was Joshua’s right hand man, and God spoke to Joshua. Cas wants to find God to help Jack’s soul. Only God can restore a soul. “The Winchesters, they don’t know you’re here, do they?” LISTEN, Anael, stop judging our overprotective to his own detriment angel. She doesn’t want to help him, so Cas starts to take the earrings back. She has an idea though. Joshua tried reaching God after the Fall, and God answered. She wasn’t there when it happened, but she can take him to who was.

Sam and Jack are busy at the bunker trying to translate the bit of ancient Hebrew Donatello muttered at the end of his message. Mary and Dean have a moment in the Impala. Mary laments not being around enough for her children. And I’m like, NOPE. Stop with this nonsense. Too much pain foreshadowing.

And I don’t have enough time to unpack this:

Mary: But I know how I am. I can be closed off, hard.

Dean: Yeah, well, that’s where I get it from.

A thousand LOLs. (muttering to self: Dean, stop lying about yourself to relate to others) I will take their mutual smile at the end represents that they both know that’s a big lie.

At the bunker, Sam cracks the message. It’s Peter 5:8. “Be sober, be vigilant, because your adversary the Devil, as a roaring lion walketh about, seeking whom he may devour.”

At Donatello’s, Dean and Mary don’t find Donatello, but they do find the devil Nick. Nick admits to injecting Donatello with thallium to get the WInchester’s attention.

Cas and Anael arrive at Orlando’s Emporium. They find Methuselah inside.

He doesn’t want to play ball, but Cas pops out his smitey blue eyes and Methuselah admits that the thing that Joshua used to call God is somewhere in his warehouse.

Dean and Mary bring Nick back to the bunker. Sam Fucking Winchester almost takes him out the second he sees him. I’m so here for completely done Sam.

Later, Sam is trying to parse why Nick was just waiting for Dean and Mary. It makes no sense. Mary notes that they have to save Donatello. Sam’s already on top of the antidote and he’s semi-confident that he can hack the feed to find him. Dean goes to talk with Nick.

Sam and Mary have a moment. STOP. I’m firmly in the Please don’t kill Mary camp (but see the writing on the wall.)

Cas and Anael continue their search for the Ark of the Covenant conduit to God.

Anael and Cas have an existential conversation about Heaven, God, and humanity. Anael doesn’t agree with God’s whole not meddling thing. Anael doesn’t need Heaven and she doesn’t need God, and she is ...happy. (Keep that word away from Cas!) Cas thinks she sounds lonely, and she counters that we are all alone. Cas has family though. And Cas knows that God meddles.

Dean’s busy beating up Nick in the bunker’s dungeon. Nick is busy mentally messing with Dean about Michael. Nick also asks to see his “son.” URGH.

Mary remains the best and most skeptical mom/hunter in the world, because she advises strongly against letting Nick see “his son.” Sam’s on board though. Weighed down by guilt, he thinks it may be their best shot to get Nick to reveal Donatello’s location. Jack insists on helping Donatello anyway, because he’s his friend. WWWD!

Nick immediately manages to get a rise from Jack. Lucifer was a monster and Jack’s “three dads” have killed tons - soulless Jack has terrible role models. (Which is certainly true.) Nick has learned Lucifer’s art of hurting with half-truths. Nick headbutts Jack as soon as he gets close and smashes his nose, getting blood everywhere. Jack heals himself and then gets Nick to promise to show them where to find Donatello.

At Methuselah’s, Anael has reached the creepy doll stage of their investigation and decides that she is 100% done. She confronts Cas and tells him that he’s jumping through these hopeless, miracle-seeking truths because he’s too afraid to tell Sam and Dean the truth about Jack. “Jack’s soul is gone, Castiel. And there’s nothing you can do about it. I don’t wanna say all that and hurt your feelings, so…” (LOL, I love Anael.) The truth bomb hits Cas hard. Cas and Anael are about to leave when Cas spots an amulet hanging in the jewelry display that looks an awful lot like Dean’s old God-necklace. It’s a Casulet!

Casulet recipe:

1 holy amulet 1 Tbsp faith 2 tsp self-doubt 5 cups of existential angst

Methuselah congratulates Cas on finding Joshua’s amulet. Yay, Cas! You passed his worthiness test (see our Last Crusade post for context). Time to make a long distance call. Cas immediately prays to God and invokes Sam and Dean’s name in his plea for help. (Aw, Cas bby.) It’s decidedly unexciting and Methuselah drily comments that it never worked for Joshua either.

Sam, Dean, and Nick drive out to find Donatello, arriving at a set of warehouses set in a snowy landscape. Dean heads in to find Donatello and leaves Sam to watch Nick. Best friends forever, amirite?

Outside of Methuselah’s Emporium, Cas says he’s finally going to head home to tell Sam and Dean the truth. He bids Anael farewell. But before she goes, he tells her that even if God left them, they’re not alone. Best friends forever, amirite?!! Anael treats this sentiment with all the respect someone might treat an after-school special, but Cas insists that they all have each other. Aw, Cas <3

Back at the bunker, Mary digs through a box of things they’d recovered from Donatello’s and Jack recognizes the silver grace-extracting syringe as once containing grace. They realize that Donatello was injected with grace and maybe not poisoned after all. Ruh roh. She calls Sam, who is currently trapped in the Impala with the meat suit version of Hallucifer. (Meaning, Nick starts to sing. Badly.) Extra annoyed, Sam steps out of the car, leaving Nick to get up to No Good.

Dean finds Donatello tied up in the warehouse. Sam pulls Nick out of the car - Nick, who just pulled a tiny blade from his wrist so he can pick the lock on his cuffs. Sam, BBY, you do know that guns can be used just as well when you’re out of arms reach of the enemy, right?

Nick reveals his dastardly plan. He injected Donatello with grace so he could communicate with Lucifer, who’s been kicking around the Empty doing his best interpretation of the Terminator. Lucifer told him about a ritual he could use to bring him back. All he needed was a little bit of Jack’s blood, which Nick got from Jack’s bloody nose. Oof. Nick’s been working with demons, who want Lucifer back.

Dean gets attacked by demons in the warehouse and Sam and Nick start a fistfight up by the car. Sam gets beaned on the head by a huge rock. UGH, Sam. Your poor cabeza! While Sam fights with another head injury, Dean almost gets killed by demons.

Dean races out to the Impala to help Sam, who’s been honking the horn full blast after locking himself in the car to save himself from Nick. Sam’s doing…really, really badly. He’s incoherent and has trouble breathing and…Sam might not make it? Dean calls Mary and fills her in on Nick’s plan. He tells her that he can’t go after Nick because he has to stay with Sam and wait for an ambulance to arrive.

Nick steals a car and makes his way to an abandoned cabin to start the ritual to bring back Lucifer. As it begins, Jack buckles in pain. Mary puts all the pieces together, realizing that Nick was after Jack all along. She tells Jack to take them to Nick and gives him permission to use his powers.

Nick’s ritual starts to work and the Empty goo folds out into reality. Lucifer approaches like a mess of sludge and glowing eyes, ready to jump back into Nick.

Jack flaps in just in time. He uses his powers to zap Lucifer back to the Empty and then slowly tortures Nick, breaking his bones and burning him alive. Mary begs Jack to stop his slow torture but Jack’s too far into it.

Back with Sam, Dean begs him to cling to consciousness. But as he desperately tries to get Sam to engage, Sam sputters in some final goodbyes about how Dean’s always put him first and it’s FINE we don’t have feelings about this at all. Sam’s eyes slip closed and…I was not expecting this.

The editing cuts expertly from Sam’s maybe-dead face to Nick’s, then pans out to see Mary’s look of horror as she gazes at Jack. “I had to,” Jack whispers and…like…maybe? But the torture is not on-brand for you. Something is wrong with Jack ™

Mary sends Jack to go help Sam. Jack arrives in a flurry of wings and races immediately for Sam. He heals Sam, who takes a giant breath and returns to life. Dean tries very hard not to freak the fuck out at seeing his brother come back to life.

(Side note: I realize that we’ve learned this episode that Jack is soulless and this is a Problem ™ but he did race immediately to heal Sam. So some of his instincts are good. I retain hope that his “dark arc” will be nuanced. Thank you for coming to my TED talk.)

Mary gathers her thoughts at the cabin and when Jack flaps back, super proud of himself for healing Sam.

Mary tells him that he’s not fine. We’ve seen lots of beloved characters slipping into the ol’ torture role on this show, so Jack’s mode of hurting Nick certainly feels on brand for the WWWD movement. But I think the best point that Mary makes is that it’s not him. Mary tells him that he’s not okay. “It’s not your fault,” she goes on to say. “The Jack I know would never have done that.” At first I’m scared for her, like Jack will destroy her so she doesn’t reveal his secrets. But instead angel-speech-ringing breaks into Jack’s mind. He can’t hear her. Can’t see her. Mary hurries to him to try to help but there’s a rushing sound and then the screen goes black.

“Mary?” Jack asks in a small voice. OOOOH DANG

Boris: I believe that the last scene is complete misdirection for the audience. We’re supposed to have this fear of soulless Jack because he killed Felix. Mary is distressed that Jack killed Nick. She talks to Jack and he doesn’t want to listen to her until she says “If Sam and Dean saw what you did, they would be as worried as I am.” Jack looks at her and looks down, defeated, worried. He asks if she is going to tell them ---he needs their approval. He needs to know that what he’s doing is what Sam and Dean want. He now knows he messed up and is scared he won’t have their approval anymore. It’s the next part that I’m waffling about what happens. Mary says, “You need help, we’ll help you. We’re family.” Then Jack says, “You can’t. No, just leave me alone.” He starts to walk away AND puts his hands to his ears. THEN the angel radio buzz starts. Was Jack responding to Mary or did he hear the buzzing before we as the audience did? The subsequent “Leave me alone”-s aren’t meant for Mary. He’s talking to the voice(s) in his head. His glowing eyes are a reaction to the voices, not Mary. We’ll find out next week what really happens with Mary, but I’d like to exist in the world that Jack didn’t harm her for a week, knowing that the last time we saw Jack react to angel radio, he lashed out and knocked the sheriff unconscious after he was first born.

Natasha: This is pure speculation, but I think Jack accidentally sent Mary to the Empty, which is where he was trying to send Lucifer back to after he kept shouting in Jack’s ears. Anyway, stay tuned for my Mary vs. The Shadow full length screenplay.

WWWQ (What Would the Winchesters Quote):

Just a general reek of ill conceived lone wolf desperation…

I’m grateful - every day I get to spend with you and Sam.

The thingamajig he used - it’s around here somewhere.

Are you insane? This is Mulberry silk.

What’s it like not having a soul? Must be relaxing.

Come on, Sam. Nobody stays dead anymore. You know that.

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#spn spoilers #spn recap #spn 14x17 #game night #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #cas #jack kline #mary winchester #nick #donatello redfield #anael #supernatural season 5

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ravenwritesstuff · 7 years

Text

Wandering Hearts (15/?)

Fandom: Frozen AU. Set after shipwreck but before coronation day. 17th Century. Pairing: Kristanna (Kristoff/Anna) Rating: M (triggering for everything. if you like happy things, stay away) A/N: I have nothing to say. This is a thing. I have been trying to update it forever. Sorry I take so long. Sorry this is not proof read, but I can either post it now or not for another two weeks and so yes. I guess I had something to say.

A SERIES OF UNFORTUNATE EVENTS

[ part one ] [ part two ] [ part three ] [ part four ] [ part five ] [ part six ] [ part seven ] [ part eight ] [ part nine ] [ part ten ] [ part eleven ] [ part twelve ] [ part thirteen ] [ part fourteen ]

He does not come back in for dinner which is fine enough since she does not prepare anything. Her stomach is too uneased from all that has happened to even think of food. She thinks, much too late, that she should have prepared something anyway just in case he wanted something. She should not be so preoccupied with what had passed between them, or the pain in her body. She should be more useful, more selfless, but was too lost in thought and pain to have done anything substantial.

Some wife she is turning out to be.

She sinks to the hearth stool. A nervous bubble of laughter wells up and escapes her lips. The sound of it is too bright, too loud, for the small, dark cabin but she cannot stop it. A wife.

She looks at her hands, marred and maimed.

Elsa would never believe –

The laughter dies.

She looks to the table with the instruments and supplies they had used to mend each other. She thinks to clean them, to erase what has transpired, but that will mean venturing into the light and chance meeting him. She is not prepared for that. Not yet. Not ever.

His parting words ring in her mind: his limit and the size of it.

She understands what he means, but it is not a warning – a threat. It is something worse. It is a truth and that has no place here in these woods. The truth when put out so plain in the open cast light on all the shadows that lurked on their edges, and there were so many shadows. Their entire relationship is a shadow and she is uncertain she is ready to see the light show it for what it truly is.

Or is she?

The kisses he had given her, that she returned, burn through her resolutions. She has been gone from Arendelle for so long. Even despite the recent visit and mishaps she thinks that surely – surely – her sister has forgotten her in her absence. Surely her sister has forgotten. Surely she must have. If her sister had not yet she would have found Anna by now and Bjarg would just be another pair of boots buried for treason.

The thought makes her stomach roil and she is again thankful she has not prepared food, but not only for the fear of Bjarg’s untimely end. If Elsa has not found her that means that she has not searched for her and Anna does not know if that is a blessing or a curse. If Elsa has not searched for her it means she does not care and that is an entirely different shade of pain.

Perhaps caring and other such natural sympathies are romantic notions she has used to pass lonely hours. She has never found conclusive proof that true affection existed in the castle, and as badly as wants to believe Bjarg’s actions stems from something deeper than obligation she cannot quite bring herself to believe it. It seems that survival, life, has precious little to do with things like caring and sentiment. Instead they have everything to do with effort and strength.

Anna wants to survive.

Anna wants to care.

She does not know how to reconcile the two.

Her head aches and so does her heart

She is uncertain of the time, but goes to the bed and lays down. The days are short now, light leaving early, and she could make use of the lamp - the fire - to complete tasks about the cabin but the state of her hands renders such endeavors impossible.

She does not undress. She does not move once she has herself settled atop the familiar pallet. She just breathes.

Infinite times passes. He comes in. She keeps her eyes shut, her breathing even, willing him to not realize that she is no more asleep than he.

His feet shuffle in the straw on the floor as he putters about the small space. She hears the sound of him eating food she had not prepared and she remembers the package Alva had sent with them. She hears him lay by the fire on that same pile of pelts and blankets that he had lain on for the long months they had spent sharing this space. His breathing falls even and deep after only a few moments, but it still is hours before she sleeps.

….

When she wakes, he is gone. The fire is stoked which strikes her as surprising. Her sleep had been fitful, but apparently she had been able to sleep through that. The air in the cabin warm from his efforts and makes the process of emerging from under bedclothes easier than it could be on such a chilled morning. She remembers the palace and how servants had skittered in and out like mice before dawn to stoke the fires in her room before she woke. She’d never known a cold morning before she had come here, and the recollections brings a bittersweet smile to her lips.

She looks at the pile of pelts he had slept upon by the fire. She is uncertain if she is glad he is gone or if she is troubled. Her chest aches with disappointment on one breath and then fills with relief on the next.

What if he had gone on one of his harvesting trips? What if his limit had grown so small that even the sight of her was more than he can bear?

She considers venturing outside to discover the answers to these questions. She considers checking the shed to see if his sleigh and reindeer are gone, but she does not trust her heart with the answer. She hardly trusts her heart with the question.

She looks at the table.

The instruments and implements remain just as they had left them the night before and she wants to imagine a different reason for them being present.

She can almost convince herself of just that. That she has just awoken from a strange dream and nothing is changed. She can almost believe that Bjarg had placed those things there for a purpose unknown to her, that she had never tried to run, that they had never gone to Arendelle, that the happenings of the hollow were nothing but the working of an overactive mind. She can almost, until she looks at her hands.

The bandages remain as a stark reminder of reality. They remind her of searing pain, of tender heat, and of words she cannot yet comprehend. They remind her of the warning that they will need to be changed this day and that is a task she cannot hope to overcome alone. She will have to rely on him, but the idea of yesterday repeating in any fashion seems only a tremendous way to break her own heart.

She is driving herself mad.

Her thoughts swirl out of control in her physical stillness. The rush reminds her of the endless tedium she experienced in the palace where her mind was left to run circles around itself and she will not succumb to that dismal fate.

She springs from the bed, exceedingly glad she had not undressed at all the night before (not that she would have been able to) or crawled beneath more than the topmost bedcloth. Even with the fire stoked she knows that there are plenty of other chores upon which she can endeavor. The pain of her hands is the same as the day before if not greater, but this world does not stop for pain. It does not slow its brutal pace, and she there is cleaning to do, food to make, bandages to wash -

She checks the pot above the fire before she lets her thoughts stray too far in that particular direction. The water from the night before had all but evaporated. She will need more, much more, for the washing. The buckets wait by the door, but she hesitates.

He is outside, no doubt nearby because if he had not run last night she cannot imagine that he will this morning, and to venture out on her task is to risk an encounter. Her heart throbs at the notion, but it is unavoidable. It is silly to even take into consideration. She cannot very well spend the rest of her life hiding away in this small house when it is his to begin with.

She steels herself on a breath and takes one bucket in her cut hand. The muscles in her arms, her shoulders, still ache from the she had done for Ketil but she does not want to dwell on that. She wants to give herself no space to over think her situation or the events that led up to it any more than she has already so she pushes open the door with her shoulder.

The world is blinding. Unseasonable sunshine bounces off of the snow and its brightness causes her to shield her eyes with her burned hand. She blinks and squints. Her eyes adjust incrementally, but as she surveys the yard he is nowhere to be found. Relief and disappointment war again in equal measures.

She sets a course for the stream. Her boots crunch through the snow. They are the same boots she had upon her escape, designed for summer, but he had fitted the inside with fur when the weather had first turned so the kept her feet warm and dry. The cloak around her shoulders, old and worn as it is, also had been provided to her by him and she thinks of caring as she enters the woods.

She is transported back to the last time she had taken these steps. Her intent to leave him still rings urgently in her breast, but she knows it is even more than foolish to attempt such things now. She had never imagined…

She swings the bucket hard and breaks the ice over the stream. The freezes had not been long or constant enough yet to require more effort than that and she fills her bucket with clean, frigid water. She is on her way back to the house, cut hand screaming at the weight, when she hears a familiar voice hale her.

“Ho now - what’s the hurry?”

Anna stops and looks down the stream. She sees the broad frame and long braid that has grown so familiar in the past few days.

“Alva?” She hears her own surprise. “What are you doing here?”

The other young woman’s cheeks are ruddy with cold as she approaches, heavy skirts in hand. “Ma sent me to collect the things I lent ya on the day of yer binding.”

Anna remembers the offerings made upon leaving the longhouse, remembers the sounds from last night that could have only been him enjoying that which Alva had prepared.

Still she had not expected…

“Of course.” She nods as the girl reaches her. She nods to the east. “It’s just this way.”

“I know the way, strange one.” Alva laughs, but it is not born of cruelty. “Some of us grew into ourselves among this trees.”

Anna flushes. “Yes. Of course. I’m sorry.”

“Look at ya, all apologies. If there ever were a doubt whether ya were of our lot or no that would argue against the point against as well as anything.” She says with a twinkle in her dark, watchful eyes. “Now hand me that bucket before ya tear yer worried hands to bits.”

Anna has no time to object before Alva snatches the bucket from her wounded hand. Anna cannot quite explain the feeling she has at Alva’s arrival. It is a funny mix of apprehension and joy, and she is uncertain which is wiser. Has she been so long robbed of companionship that she will accept it from anyone who shows her the slightest ounce of kindness?

She offers Alva a tentative smile. “Thank you.”

Alva clucks her tongue. “None of that. We’re simple here. We work with our hands.”

Anna is about to answer with the notion that she works with her hand just as well as anyone when they break into the clearing. Bjarg stands there in front of his cabin with a substantial portion of felled tree, halved and clear of branches, dragging behind his reindeer. Everyone freezes.

Alva is the one to break the silence.

“Hey now.” She says in a boisterous voice, stepping further into the clearing as if this is a common occurrence. “What’s all this? Forget to cut your cords for winter?”

Bjarg ignores her question.

“These aren’t your parts.” His jaw is tight. “You have no reason to be here.”

Anna does not know Alva well, but still she feels her bristle at the challenge of Bjarg’s words.

“I’m here to collect what belongs to my people.” Alva says and Bjarg spits.

“Then take it and go. No need to linger.”

Alva’s hand tightens in her skirt at his harsh reception. She lifts her chin towards his task.“Tisn’t the building season. Ya may have no mind on how to save yer own hide, but surely ye’ve no gone daft.”

Bjarg sets to loosen his reindeer from the lead that attached him to the lumber. “Leave it be, woman.”

“Yer work will spoil before ya even begin.”

“I told you - let it be.”

“Ye’ve always been hard headed but ye’ve never been stone cold foolish!”

“Take what you are needing woman and be gone!”

His voice echoes across the snow to where the stand and Anna has never heard this tone from him. She has never heard the thunder of his shout and it braids an inexplicable chill down her spine. Had he not just yesterday spoken to Alva with favor? Hadn’t Alva just stoked their hearth and provided for their table? Hadn’t Alva just been the only gentleness Anna had experienced outside of Bjarg in this strange, bitter world? Her history with them both individually makes the hostility seem out of place, but she is unable to speak, unwilling to draw attention to her ignorance.

Alva tromps forward through the snow and Anna follows dumbly.

“The gods may have dealt ya a cruel hand.” Alva says as she stomps towards the looming man. “But ya set the path ya are walking on now. No one else.”

Bjarg leaves his place alongside his reindeer and the timber dragged from the woods opposite to meet them in the middle. He cuts a broad figure, worn and young at the same time, but Alva does not flinch at his approach. She does not slow. She does not even bat an eye.

“You know just what ill will come of you if word spreads you have been to my door.” Bjarg’s voice is low, determined, but Alva meets him with equal resolve.

“I can stand twice as much as what any man can give me.” There is a vicious glint in her eye as she meets Bjarg head on.

Bjarg grunts, whether in appreciation or disdain Anna does not know, and crosses his arms over his chest. “Which is why I cannot allow you to linger.”

The hardness that hangs around Alva’s edges falls away at that. Her expression becomes softer, sadder, and Anna’s mind cannot help but question why. She knows better than to voice her inquisition, but still her eyes search his face. She sees there a strange, hidden part of Bjarg. He is younger in this moment than she has ever seen him.

Alva reaches across the distance between them and rests a mittened hand on his wrist in alarming familiarity. In an instant, Anna mind races to all the thoughts of how much better Bjarg’s life could be if she were not in it, if someone accustomed to his world had stumbled into his sphere. She looks at where Alva’s hand touches Bjarg and she is reminded of the idea that Bjarg could have had a simple love if she had not gotten in the way.

She wants that for him.

Doesn’t she?

She stares at Bjarg and Alva and feels invisible.

“My troubles are my choosing. Ye have enough on ye own.”

Bjarg’s expression does not relax at her reassurance.

“I will no stay longer than necessary. I am to fetch what I gave ya yesterday, but no one will know if I tarry a bit.”

Bjarg’s eyes lift and sweep the parameter. “The woods have eyes. You don’t know who is watching.”

Anna’s skin prickles at the idea. Who could be watching - why? And if they were, why had they never bothered them before?

“There’s nary a soul in these parts asides us.” Alva’s hand squeezes Bjarg’s arm in a way that is everything but reassuring to Anna. “I promise ya. A herd was spotted a ways off and their all on the last hunt of the season.”

Bjarg watches Alva with the same scrutiny Anna is so used to receiving, like he is reading her, but Alva does not flinch. Anna envies that. It is not something she can ever hope to duplicate as she had too much to hide and she shrinks in that knowledge.

“No good can come of this.” Bjarg says after a time and Alva scoffs

“And no ill will come of it either.” Alva withdraws her hand and sets it on her hip, the full bucket still hanging at her side. “Ya worry entirely too much.”

For the first time Bjarg’s gaze flickers to Anna and she feels the weight of it all the way to her toes.

“I worry the amount I have been taught.”

….

Alva stays for the hour. In that time she aids Anna in boiling water and changing the dressings on her wounds. For once Anna is thankful she had not cleaned up the mess from the previous afternoon.

“It always looks worse afore it improves.”Alva says as she smears new honey over the old and wraps over Anna’s abused flesh, but it is of little comfort.

Both injuries have taken a more sinister appearance than they had the day before, the colors deeper, insidious discharge oozes out from the center of the burn, and Anna can only believe Alva’s reassurances so much. A cold sweat has become a permanent resident along her spine. The throbbing of her head has only intensified throughout the day no matter how much water she drinks, but she says nothing. Surely Alva is correct. If not - there is a fire that waits for her. The chill that has set upon her makes her shiver.

After Alva finishes ministering to Anna’s wounds, she places the worn bandages into the pot. Boiling water and lye separate the balm and filth from the fabric as Alva gives vigorous strokes through the water with the stirring stick. The honey and clay purges from the cloth and Alva fishes them out of the steaming water.

Anna sits and watches.

She has done this before. Bjarg had shown her how in a brief, terse, lesson that led to many days of water towing, washing, and hanging. The state of her hands, however, has rendered a typical task all but impossible. She is glad for Alva as she sits on her typical chair, but it is little comfort to have someone to do the work when you know you must be able to do the work by week’s end or face the consequences. When she is done, Alva slops the steaming cloth onto the table to cool before she hangs them from the rafters.

“Mind yer hands rest as much as ye can.” She advises as she sets about her tasks. “The hollow has taken more than its fair share.”

Bjarg never joins them. They can hear him hack at the sections of timber he’d brought in. Anna thinks of the deep score on Bjarg’s palm tearing with each swing of his ax and her own palm aches. Or maybe it was aching before. She does not know for certain, but she stays silent about it regardless. She will be as strong and ruthless as the rest of the world around her.

Alva hangs the bandages from the hooks where the herbs of autumn had hung the season before and Anna watches in attempts to focus past the strange ideals that torment her now.

“I canna stay any longer.” Alva says as she wipes large hands on her functional apron. Anna wonders what it would be like to have such an apron, if this world would not seem so strange without it. “Ma will wonder after me if I tarry beyond this.”

Anna nods. Of course Alva must go, but the idea sends a shoot of fearful longing through Anna’s chest. If she takes the time to trace the root of her anxiety she will find it to be as much because she is dreading the inevitable confrontation with Bjarg as she is apprehensive that this new acquaintance us already lost to her for unknown reasons.

“I understand.” She says though she does not, but she stands. “Thank you for all of your assistance.”

Alva laughs her deep, throaty laugh. “Ya kept me from havin’ to go to a birthin’ with Ma. The woman’s been striving to have this child an entire week and I dunno if I could stand another hour at her bedside without going mad myself. It is I who should be thankin’ ya!”

The words strike Anna. She has been so lost in the strangeness of her situation the days before that she has never considered that Alva had not been there at the house that day she had been there helping Ketil. She has grown so used to not asking questions that the very idea is shocking. She cannot ask questions when she cannot answer them.

“Still you have my gratitude.” Anna says instead and thinks of friendship and what that could mean, what that could cost both herself and her companion.

Alva blusters past the praise. “We all must do our parts, mustn't we?”

Anna smiles. Alva’s approach is so refreshingly brisk and unhindered that Anna feels her own hopes rising on the tide of forgotten exuberance. Though it is unlikely that Alva will become the friend her heart has longed for - even the potential is enough to bolster her spirits. Someday, somewhere, she will have a friend. The idea is enough to make her smile through her growing headache.

Anna watches Alva fetch and don her cloak and gloves. She hates to consider Alva’s departure knowing that this may be the only afternoon she ever spends with her contemporary. She tries to stall the goodbye.

“I am sorry he never came inside.” Anna stands by the door, but props her shoulder against the door. Her head is strangely dizzy. “He can be so stubborn.”

Alva chuckles, but it lacks her usual merriment. “Ah well. He is no without his reasons.”

Anna wants those reasons. She thinks of Alva’s hand on his arm. She thinks of Large Leader’s parting charge. She thinks - but her head is even more clouded than normal.

“Will you come again?” Anna asks as Alva gathers her hearth pail and the cloth from the day before and Anna is proud that her voice stays straight and true.

“As soon as I am able.” Alva says as she puts her hand on the door and smiles at Anna. “But don’t hold yer breath, strange one. I wouldn’t if I were ye.”

She makes moves to push back out into the cold world, as Anna’s mind struggles to assign meaning to Alva’s words. She leans forward as the door cracks open. The frigid outside air bursts against her face and it should refresh her, but it only causes the strangest sweat to break out across her body. It confuses her, or had she already been confused?

“What would you do?” Anna asks, squinting against the brightness. “What would you do if you were me?”

Alva sighs, strangely somber, and pierces Anna with her steady gaze.

“If I were ya,” she starts, then stops herself as if she thinks better of finishing. She pushes the door open further and takes a step. Her gaze leaves Anna’s to scan their surroundings. “If I were ya -” Her voice is quiet. “I’d ask him about his mother.”

And with that Alva is gone and Anna is alone again.

….

Anna attempts to prepare some sort of meal for dinner, but between the state of her hands and the strange swimming sensation that pulses throughout her body keep her from doing so. Alva had done the great service of draining and refilling the kettle as that task, even when at her fullest, is insurmountable, but she cooks nothing in it. Instead she nibbles on a few roots from the larder, but even those turn her stomach. Every time she rises from her chair to make something more substantial she loses energy with each motion until she is forced to sit again.

She should have had Alva help her prepare a meal. She should not have focused so much on re-bandaging her wounds without Bjarg’s help. She should be able to still work and be as able as Bjarg to contribute to their home, but she cannot. She cannot add the way he is, not even fresh bread or warm fare. She is left to wonder at the sounds erupting in spurts outside and to swallow against the strangeness rising inside of her.

Alva had tried to clarify his actions while she had been present.

“He’s building, he is. Looks to be adding to ye home, but the wood will have no time to cure afore the winter sets in for good and will spoil. The time to build is the thaws, not the frosts.”

While Anna does not understand the nuance of or even the grosser concepts of building structures, she supposes she understands.

What she does not suppose, however, is that the tension that stands in the air is anything less than real. She knows it is. She can feel it thrum in her bones as much as she can feel the throb of her heartbeat behind her eyes. She had seen that same tension, the weight of things unsaid, wrap Alva and Bjarg earlier. She knows that shroud, but still it is so different to see other wrapped in it while she stands outside.

She thinks of Alva’s parting words but she can make no sense of them.

She will not ask Bjarg about his mother. She cannot.

Can she?

He comes in after the last light of the day is gone. She slumps in a chair over the repairs of her torn dress but she will not finish tonight. She can barely focus well enough to make a single stitch, much less figure the best way to repair the complicated garment torn awkwardly during their struggle in the woods. Still her eyes come up to the door when he presses inside half frozen.

His shoulders are slumped. His face is red and windburned. When he pulls his mittens from his hands she sees the fresh blood that has crusted his bandage and she looks at the paste that Alva had rehydrated for their purposes to see if it has retained its usability, but she cannot see it from her vantage point and standing seems impossible under the weight of his gaze. His eyes are dark and hollow though she imagines a spark at the sight of her.

These same eyes take in the bandages hanging to dry from the rafters. He grunts.

“This is what you did with your time together?”

It is not accusatory, but it stings still. Her previous train of thought steams back on track. She should have been more judicious with her time with Alva. She should have done something more to help him. She should have -

“Yes. She tended my wounds.”

He jerks his head. “Probably best that way.”

There is no malice in his tone, but the implication stings through her crowded mind.

Is he already regretting what passed between them the night before, what was said? Her eyes go again to his bandaged palm and she sees his blood. The same blood he shared with her. She wonders at the notion of a promise becoming a scar.

She is eager to change the subject, but her mind is moving too slowly to make it effortless.

“Alva also said your intent behind the timber is that you endeavor to build.”

He doffs his hat and hangs it on its peg. His hair is tinged with frost around his shoulders.

“Yes. I endeavor to build.” He replies, but does not elaborate and her mind runs wild.

Why is he building? What is he building? What if his timing is all wrong as Alva alluded? It would be no great surprise. Their timing has never been superb.

He takes in the meager, cold fare she had set out on the table without complaint, but she cannot imagine he is excited to consume hard roots and dried meat.

She should have made something else.

Her sewing remains on her lap, but she cannot bring her mind to attend it. She swallows around a dry throat as he sinks into his customary chair and begins to eat. He keeps his focus on his food and she turns her eyes to look anywhere but him. Her eyes land on the fire. It is burning low. She should stoke it.

“Leave it.” He says as she stands and heads for the kindling by the door.

She frowns. “What now?”

“I said to leave it.”

He repeats and she remembers how he had said the same words to Alva earlier in the day. Had there been other words he had said to Alva the same as he spoke to her in another time, another life? The idea takes root in her troubled mind, but she cannot pursue it. Her thoughts are clouded with a fog of heat and confusion. She returns her thoughts to the fire.

“It needs mending.” She reasons.

“And I will mend it.”

“But -”

“Are you trying to go to your death?” He pounds his palm to his thigh and the clap of it is loud enough to startle her. “Mending the fire may very well send you to stoke your own in the hollow so leave it and rest.”

She looks at him in the dim glow of the fire. His mood is darker than she can ever remember seeing, and she thinks she must have bothered him with her constant insufficiency. After all, she has bothered herself with it for certain.

“I must do my share.” She treads lightly. “I cannot be expected to sit as a drudge, doing nothing.”

“I managed my own affairs quite well before your arrival.” He takes a bite of root, the crack of it like he is punctuating his own points. “I am certain I can manage again until you are whole once more.”

There is something dismissive in his tone that stings deeper than any physical wound. She has seen this irritation before when they left the longhouse and again her mind is drawn to Alva, to the world in which he had clearly belonged at one point though he did no longer. She thinks of the castle and realizes that closed doors could be present in much more than just a physical sense.

She looks at her feet to avoid his indifferent gaze.

“I only want to be helpful.” She says and he sighs.

He is quiet and still then and it only makes her want to move, but even the idea of moving is exhausting. Her body, her mind is so overwrought with the events of the previous days that she is stuck between the need to run and the need to fall where she stands. She wishes they could go back to when things were easier, when the silence between them did not hang with things unsaid, but it is impossible. Time is unchangeable, immutable.

She does not want to look at him, but she can feel his gaze pulling her eyes to his as inexplicably as the waves to the shore. His eyes are deep and dark. He stands, keeping her gaze locked with his, and he takes up more space than just his body. The gravity of his presence takes up the entire room and she can feel him press against her body as surely as when he had held her in his arms.

The idea sends her heart to her throat and she is already burning without the heat of the fire to warm her.

“You give me no help in breaking yourself further.” She can hear the wild thing scratching in his voice, can see the tendons strain on the sides of his neck.

She does not shrink however. He will cause her no harm, but he will harm himself and the hypocrisy of it drives her wild.

“And what of you?” She points at his bloodied bandage. “You tear yourself apart and for what? To build when it is not the season for building?”

His eyes grow a shade darker.

“They will not burn me for my wounds as they will you for yours.”

“And that gives you permission to destroy yourself?” She remembers all the times he came home ragged, cut, and bruised. She wonders how much of it was as unnecessary as his hand.

She can hear the strain in his voice to keep it low and even.

“There are things at work here Logi that you do not understand.”

Her head throbs. “Then make them plain to me! I am your wife.”

He comes up short then, chest rising and falling on a staggered breath, and he meets her eyes in a way that she can feel throughout her entire body. She had not meant to speak that word into their small haven, to invoke its power and acknowledge its reality when she can never honor it completely. A heated chill fills her body as sweat reemerges on her back, her neck, even as her face flushes, but she does not look away. She does not give ground.

He takes one step towards her, arms flexed stiff at his sides, and his face moves into shadow.

“Tell me your name.”

Her entire world tilts. He has not leaned this hard in so long and she can feel her walls give way. Anything - she had said. Anything but this. She panics.

“You know my name.” She cannot quite bring herself to wrap her tongue around any title he had given her anymore than she could speak the truth.

“No.” He shakes his head, something sad and deep shifting beneath his words. “And I fear I never will, will I?”

He holds her gaze for one breath, two, but she has no response. She cannot tell him the truth. To do so would be to damn him, to damn herself. She sees the wave of disappointment wash over his face. He steps towards her and she steps back, a reflex, but he presses past her - pointedly avoiding even the slightest brush of their clothing. He goes to where the dry logs are kept by the door and takes what he needs. Wordlessly, he stokes the fire but she cannot bring herself to look at him. She cannot bring herself to move.

She hears him finish and go to the door. She feels the winter night blow in, but she does not dare look back to him.

“I am harvesting tomorrow. I will return the next day.” The first crunch of his boots hit the snow, but then stops. “For the love of Odin - don’t do anything foolish.”

He does not come back the rest of the night, not even to sleep.

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#wandering hearts #kristanna #kristoff #anna #frozen #raven writes stuff

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