#we sleep in the fetal position in this household and that's just how it is | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

avengerscompound · 3 years

Text

The Tower: Family - 25

The Tower: Family An Avengers Fanfic

Series Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Pairing: Avengers x OFC, Bruce Banner x Bucky Barnes x Clint Barton x Wanda Maximoff x Steve Rogers x Natasha Romanoff x Tony Stark x Thor x Sam Wilson x OFC (Elly Cooper)

Word Count: 2175

Warnings: Pregnancy, Labor/childbirth, medical proceedures

Synopsis: With new powers, Thor now living on Earth full time, a wedding to plan, and Natasha and Wanda expecting, a lot is changing for Elly and her large and rather unconventional family. When Elise’s parents try to reestablish connections, Elly questions what being a family actually means.

Chapter 25: Sarah and Rose

As Wanda got closer and closer to her due date, we all started hovering around her in case she went into labor. I was by her side almost constantly, as was Natasha and Sam. The others seemed to take shifts, but we all went to bed at the same time in the same bed which hadn’t always been a given before. Everyone was a little worried that she’d go into labor early and that someone wouldn’t be here for it so they were staying pretty close by.

In the end, we were all worrying for nothing. She made it to thirty-seven weeks just fine and they decided to induce her.

Wanda wanted to go through a natural labor despite the advice that for twins it would be very difficult. She knew she’d most likely need some sort of intervention at some point, but she thought that given her new powers, she might be able to get through most of it without any. She was so into being pregnant, and so connected with it, she wanted that to be the case right until the end.

By the time we got to her induction date, our new nannies had been working for us for nearly a month. They hadn’t been super actively involved with the care of the kids yet. With the ten of us, things like baths, stories, and bedtime were covered. We had maids and cooks, so they didn’t have to clean up or feed them. They’d done a few drop-offs with Happy driving the car and they would help during the morning chaos to get them ready to go, but otherwise, they were mostly not needed and were just getting the feel of the household.

The first real taste of really having full responsibility for taking care of the kids was after breakfast on Wanda’s induction day when we kissed Riley and Pietro goodbye and went down to the medical ward with Wanda.

They’d designed a delivery room just for the three of us because Wanda had very specific things she wanted there, but Tony was adamant that we all get the best medical equipment too. The room had all the medical things needed in case of an emergency. The bed, while you couldn’t tell it to look at it, was an adjustable hospital bed. The functionality of it was hidden in dark purple linen and soft pillows. The whole room could be lit up in harsh hospital lighting, but with the flick of a switch, the room was lit in low soft lights that were placed in sconces on one side of the room. The walls were painted in mint green, with a burgundy feature wall on one side. There was a large clover-shaped bathtub in one corner of the room. A sitting area with couches that would fit all of us. A spot to do yoga or meditation with yoga mats and exercise balls, and around the room were scented candles we could light. Music that Wanda had selected was being piped through the speakers and there was a large screen TV if she wanted to watch anything. All the rest of the medical equipment was hidden behind a secret wall.

It had to be opened up, to begin with, because of the induction process, and Wanda waited impatiently on the bed, strapped up to a fetal heart rate monitor until she was told she was allowed to get up and walk around.

“Just a little white longer, záĭka,” Natasha soothed, running her fingers through Wanda’s hair as Wanda flinched with a contraction.

“I know I should relax while they are still mild,” Wanda reasoned. “But I hate this equipment around me.”

“We’ll get rid of it as soon as we can and you can try the meditation thing you wanted to do,” I said. “But I’m not getting on the floor with you.”

Wanda giggled. “I’m much more pregnant than you are.”

“Clearly,” I teased. “But you have flying powers. I just get to know when you’re in pain.”

“I’ll get on the floor with you,” Sam said. “Don’t worry.”

“And I’ll go through the meditation script we’ve been practicing,” Bucky added.

Tony was pacing up and down by the door, and he poked his head out to see where the doctor was. “Oh good, there you are,” he said, holding the door open and letting Doctor Schroeder in.

She chuckled. “You better not get my patient all wound up, Mister Stark,” she said as she passed him and approached Wanda.

“Yeah, Tony,” Bruce said, patting the couch next to him. “Come and sit down.”

Tony went and sat next to Bruce, who pulled him close with his large hand. Tony couldn’t quite keep still even with that extra comfort. His foot kept tapping on the linoleum floor.

“Okay,” Doctor Schroeder said, looking Wanda over and checking how far she was dilated. “We can put all this away again. Everything looks good. I’m going to want to check on the twins again in a few hours, but we’re going to be in for a long haul. The nurses will keep checking on you and you can call me if you need me. Don’t be scared of using pain medication, Wanda. You aren’t cheating if you need something to help you through it.”

Wanda nodded as Doctor Schroeder removed the equipment from her. “I know,” she said.

“This is going to take a long time. Make sure you all take care of each other and try and relax as much as you can,” she said.

When everything was packed away Bucky offered Wanda his hand and helped her to her feet. “Do you want to try and meditate?”

“Yes, please,” she said. “Can someone dim the lights and light some candles?”

I went and lit the candles as FRIDAY dimmed the lights and Wanda took a seat on the ground with Bucky.

“Take a deep breath in. Focus on how the air fills your lungs…” Bucky began.

Doctor Schroeder hadn’t been kidding when she said we were in for the long haul. Wanda managed to meditate with Bucky for two hours until the doctor returned. She checked how far along she was and put the fetal heart rate monitor again.

Wanda had barely progressed, so she was left alone again and this time the guys all took turns massaging her back while she dozed. After another check-up, we took turns going to get lunch, while Wanda continued to try to sleep. It was another four hours before her contractions got to the point they were painful enough that she couldn’t nap through them. She got up and began using the exercise ball and Clint and Sam took turns doing stretches with her and providing someone to lean on during contractions. She tried doing yoga an hour later and then started pacing the room with Tony.

After thirteen hours of labor the contracts had gotten close together and painful to the point she wasn’t able to do anything while she was having them. She hopped into the bath with Thor. He would rub her back and hold a jet of water against it as she rested her head on the edge of the tub.

After sixteen hours she was waning. Doctor Schroeder would make her get out of the tub every few hours to check how things were progressing and she was starting to take these four or five-minute catnaps between contractions.

“I can’t do it,” she moaned as another hit while the babies were being monitored again.

“Do you want some drugs?” Tony asked. “She can have drugs right.”

“She’s passed the point where she can have an epidural, but she can take something else,” the doctor answered.

“No, no drugs,” Wanda whined. “I don’t want them.”

I patted her forehead with a damp cloth. “You’re not failing them if you need help, honey.”

“I know… I don’t want them though,” she said.

“Okay. It’s okay,” Doctor Shroeder soothed. “It shouldn’t be much longer now.”

Not much longer was two and a half more hours before she reached the transition period. Wanda was exhausted and crying and I could feel her distress passing through from her to me through the threat. “I can’t… I can’t do it. I was wrong.”

“Breathe, záĭka,” Natasha soothed. “You can do it. I know you can.”

“This is the last bit, Wanda,” Bruce said. “Those little girls will be in your arms soon.”

It lasted around half an hour and the nurses stayed with us until it was time to push when Doctor Schroeder was called in too.

“That’s a girl, Wanda,” Doctor Schoeder praised. “When you feel the urge, push down as hard as you can.”

I held one of her hands while Sam held the other and Clint dabbed her forehead with a damp cloth. She was pushing for half an hour until Doctor Schroeder took out the vacuum to help get the first little girl out. When her head was free, Wanda pushed as hard as she could and the rest of her joined us in a messy and noisy entrance.

“Here she is, Wanda,” Doctor Schroeder said, holding up the little girl. She was tiny with pale brown skin and a thatch of curly black hair on the top of her head.

“Look at her, Wanda,” I said. “She’s perfect.”

“Hello, Sarah,” Wanda murmured.

“Which one of you would like to cut the cord?” Doctor Schroeder asked as she clamped it.

“Let me,” Natasha said, stepping forward.

The cord was cut and she was whisked off for a moment to be cleaned up while Doctor Schroeder checked the position of Rose. “Aright, Wanda. She looks good. Right in line to come next. You can keep pushing when you’re ready.”

It seemed to take a moment before the next contraction hit and Wanda started pushing again. She was exhausted and her eyes had begun to flicker pink. It was twenty-three minutes before Rose entered the world. It took a moment for her to make any sound but when she did, it was a loud wailing.

“You did it, Wanda!” I praised leaning down and kissing her forehead. “Look at our daughter.”

“I did it,” she repeated softly, collapsing down on the pillows.

Sam went and cut the cord and as Rose was whisked away to be checked over, Sarah was brought back to us and placed on Wanda’s chest. “There you go, mommy,” the nurse said.

“Okay, Wanda,” Doctor Schroeder said. “I know you’re really tired, but you still need to deliver the placenta.”

She nodded slowly but wouldn’t take her eyes off Sarah. “I can do it.”

“It’s the easy part,” she assured her.

Wanda started to push again, but without the straining that she did with the babies. None of us were paying too much attention to that though. We were all looking at our daughter.

“Look at the little mark the vacuum made,” Clint said. “Poor little pickle.”

“Don’t worry about that,” one of the nurses said. “It’ll go away in no time.”

“Yeah, she’s here,” Steve said. “That’s the important part.”

As Doctor Schroeder took the placenta away the nurses weaved in and out of our group, fussing over Wanda and the babies. Wanda tried breastfeeding them, but she was extremely exhausted and it didn’t last long.

A nurse approached with some toast and juice for Wanda. “You must be starving now.”

She smiled and nodded slowly. “And tired.”

“Have something to eat, and moms and dads, quickly have a go holding the twins. They’re going to need to go into the incubator soon. Then we’ll take you to your room to sleep.”

“Me first,” I said, taking Rose from her.

“Hey!” Sam argued. “I helped make her.”

“You can hold Sarah,” I said and poked out my tongue at him.

He chuckled and picked the tiny little bundle up. “Hey there, little one,” he whispered.

“I cannot believe you did this with no drugs, Wanda,” I said. “You’re definitely a superhero.”

She shook her head. “I was scared,” she admitted. “With the amount people have messed with my head. I didn’t want to not feel in control.”

“The epidural doesn’t do that though,” I said.

“I know… but it’s a huge needle,” she said.

“Oh honey,” I said, leaning down and kissing the top of her head. “It’s all done now.”

“Yeah,” Clint said. “Now it’s just sleepless nights and diaper changes.”

“Alright, Elise, quit hogging that baby,” Natasha said, coming and taking Rose from me.

Wanda hummed and relaxed back into the pillow. “Hey, sweetheart,” Steve said to her gently. “Do you want me to help you to the shower? Then we’ll get you to your room.”

She nodded slowly and Steve helped her to her feet.

“Two down, two to go,” Bruce said, as Sam placed Sarah into his hand.

Natasha let out a strained laugh. “Let’s not hurry them along too fast, Bruce,” she said. “I’m in no rush to go through any of that.”

// NEXT

109 notes · View notes

spardarose84 · 3 years

Text

This is still a work in progress but I suffer from debilitating chronic migraines (as well as some other health issues) and I just wanted to make a fic about MC (myself in this case) experiencing them in the Devildom and how a few of our beloved demon brothers would help MC with her pain. This is only part one but it sets the stage. Part two will probably be a bit more on the NSFW side but nothing like that in part 1. I hope you enjoy it. It brought me some comfort writing it.

Migraine Diversion

Social events were never really your thing. Most people preferred to spend their Friday nights at a bar or a club or a concert; someplace typically jam-packed with people and quite lively. As far as you were concerned, getting into your comfortable clothes and curling up with a good book and a cup of tea was what you considered to be a ‘wild Friday night’. Honestly, crowds made you uncomfortable and you could never understand what people found enjoyable about being crammed together like sardines or having their ear drums ruptured by the loud music most of these venues played. And yet, here you were at just such a venue on a Friday night.

Asmo’s charm may not have worked on you but curse those pleading puppy dog eyes and those pouty lips of his. You just couldn’t say no this time around so, here you were sitting at the bar in the Devildom’s hottest nightclub The Fall. Asmo had been asking you to join him for a night out at The Fall for what seemed like ages now and you ultimately relented. You did adore the avatar of lust and while going to a club wasn’t your scene at all, you were willing to attempt it so long as it made him happy. And damn if his smile did not melt your little human heart when you agreed to accompany him.

The two of you had danced for a bit when you first arrived although, Asmo did most of the dancing and helped teach you as you went. You were starting to question your choice in shoes before Asmo decided it was time for a break and a drink. Asmo ordered himself a Demonus and a human realm Mudslide for you. You really didn’t drink much if at all but Asmo insisted that he get you something, so you politely accepted.

Currently you were sitting alone at the bar while Asmo went off and mingled with a few other demons. You sat there just sipping your drink quietly while the lord of lust did his thing when you suddenly became acutely aware of yourself and your surroundings. The flashing, pulsating lights of the club began to maim your eyes as they became increasingly sensitive. The music, which you typically loved seemed to turn against you, the notes becoming the shrill wail of a banshee that threatened to split your skull in two and rupture your eardrums. In that moment you knew you were in trouble as after all of this time a migraine had ambushed you.

You see, you had never mentioned it to the brothers but, you suffered from debilitating chronic migraines. Not that you had ever needed to divulge this information until now. Honestly, it was nothing short of a miracle that you had not had an attack until this very moment, especially considering all of the stress you had been under since arriving in the Devildom. As you sat there at the bar with this looming pain and increased sensitivity you were completely unaware that you had covered your ears with your hands to try and block out the music. You did not realize this until you felt a hand on your shoulder which startled you enough to jump out of your seat. To your relief, it was only Solomon.

“Are you feeling alright, MC?” asked the sorcerer.

You opened your mouth to speak, to reassure him that you were perfectly fine but those mysterious grey eyes of his told you he wouldn’t believe a word of it.

“No,” you sighed defeated. “I’m not feeling well…at all,” you confessed, telling him the truth without coming out and saying exactly why you were not well.

Solomon silently scrutinized you before he nodded in some sort of agreement with himself as to your words. The sorcerer could see that your complexion had paled significantly and that there were tears pricking the corner of your eyes. “Where is Asmodeous? I’ll have him take you home,”

“NO!” you protested before Solomon could even finish his sentence. “No…please,” you said a little softer. “He’s been really looking forward to tonight and I don’t want to take that away from him,” you admitted.

Solomon placed a hand to his chin in thought but nodded once more. “Very well. I won’t make him take you home but, can you get ahold of one of the other brothers? You know it’s not safe to walk around the devildom at night alone,” he reminded you.

Nodding, you pulled out your phone. Like roots from a tree trying to tether itself to the ground, a throbbing, stabbing pain was starting to take hold just above your right eye. You quickly sent a text message to Satan, apologizing for bothering him but asking if he could come escort you home.

The response was quick and to the point, as was typical of Satan. The lord of Wrath would come escort you home. You were to stay inside until he arrived however so, wait you did. Solomon got you a glass of water but the longer you stayed put in this club, the harder it was to concentrate on anything besides the searing pain in your skull. The migraine pain had completely taken root by this point and while you wanted nothing more to curl up in the fetal position and cry, you knew doing so would only make things worse.

Only 20 minutes had passed when Satan finally arrived on scene. Solomon walked you out of the Fall to make sure you were passed over safely to Satan. Solomon was shady as Hell but he had proven himself to be a gentleman this evening so, he had that going for him at least.

Satan was looking at his phone not seeming happy with the time when you came out alongside Solomon. The blonde demon looked like he was about to give you a lecture until his eyes fell upon you and quickly assessed the state you were in. Rather than a lecture a sigh fell from his lips instead. “Thank you for staying with her, Solomon. I’ll take it from here,” Satan said approaching you and offering an arm to escort you home.

You gave Satan an apologetic look but took the arm he offered you wordlessly, thankful for it as vertigo had started to seep in at this point. You thanked Solomon and promised to text him later when you were feeling better before you and Satan started the long walk towards home.

The night was crisp and there was a definitive chill in the air that reminded you of Autumn evenings back in the human realm. Sadly, you weren’t able to enjoy any of it what with the stabbing sensation in your skull. Satan was quiet but ever observant and, since you were overly sensitive to everything right now you were hyper aware that those green-blue eyes were keenly watching you.

“I’m sorry,” you finally said in a soft and hushed tone.

Satan blinked at the apology but sighed and shook his head. “MC…you don’t have any reason to apologize. You’re obviously not well,” he said reaching over and moving a strand of hair behind your ear. “I would appreciate it though if you’d tell me what’s ailing you?”

“I…I suffer from what’s known as Chronic Migraines. It’s a neurological condition that causes multiple symptoms. In my case, excruciating head pain, extreme sensitivity to light, sound and smells and sometimes intense vertigo,” you explained. “There is no cure for it, just trial and error methods with medications. This is the first one I’ve had since coming to the Devildom,” you confessed.

Satan didn’t like hearing that you suffered from a chronic condition that had no cure. He didn’t like to see you suffer even though he wouldn’t bat an eye were it someone else. Everything had a different viewpoint when it came to you. “Is there anything I can do to make the pain go away?” asked the avatar of wrath.

You gave a little smile finding it sweet that Satan wanted to rid you of your pain but you lightly shook your head. “I’m afraid not. All my abortive medications were left in the human world. Best thing I can do is isolate myself in a dark, quiet room and hope sleep with take away the pain,” you sighed rubbing the temple above your right eye where your migraine always manifested. “I think I’ll take a shower when we get home. Sometimes the warm water helps,”

Satan nodded although the frown was still present. He wished you would have said something before now about your condition but realized that you had been whisked away here to the Devildom with no notice whatsoever. Diavolo really needed to reevaluate his selection procedures when it came to the exchange program. At least some sort of warning and preparation rather than being plucked from one realm to another straight away and without pause. There were certainly some kinks to work out.

At any rate, Satan returned you to the house of lamentation safely and without incident. You were grateful for the rare silence that had settled upon the usually noisy household but, as you passed the threshold, stepping into the artificially lit hallway just about did you in. You winced in pain as your extreme sensitivity to light only caused the imaginary hot poker in you head to delve deeper.

Satan frowned as you let out an audible whimper at the pain but he placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

“Come on. I’ll take you to your room and while you’re showering, I’ll make us some tea. Does that sound good, Kitten?” he offered soothingly, shielding you from the artificial light as he stepped in front of your smaller frame.

You certainly did enjoy a nice hot cup of tea so you readily agreed which made Satan smile a little although it didn’t alleviate the concern in his eyes. As promised, he led you upstairs and made sure you would be alright on your own before he left you and went back down to the kitchen to get the kettle going.

Along with the soft glow of the fairy lights in your room there was a Himalayan salt lamp on your bedside table. The lamp had been a gift from Asmo when you had mentioned one day how you had a couple back home and loved the soft, soothing glow they emitted. You turned the lamp on once you were in your room. It was the only spectrum of light your eyes could stand right now and even then, it seemed piercing in your overtly sensitive state. You managed to get the shower going without incident, but you were still practically bathing in the dark. It wasn’t like you were doing anything spectacular anyway, just standing underneath the showerhead and letting the warm water caress your scalp, hoping it would be enough to compress the nerves and vessels in your head.

Up until this point you considered yourself quite fortunate that you hadn’t had a significant attack until now but, at the same time you had forgotten just how merciless migraines were to their victims and this one wasn’t letting it’s hostage go. It was pure Hell, and you were actually in Hell so, how was that for irony?

You sat on the shower floor in complete darkness and silence with the warm water cascading over your head long enough that the water eventually became cold. You didn’t feel great as you turned off the water but, it was at least a slight improvement from earlier. Beggars cannot be choosers after all, not in the game of chronic illness Russian roulette. You would take what little relief you could get.

It was as you were blindly reaching for a towel in the darkness that you found yourself being wrapped up in one. You squeaked out of surprise but the soft chuckle behind you told you everything you needed to know.

“A….Asmo?” you stuttered in surprise at finding yourself bundled up in a towel in the lord of lust’s arms.

“Hello my darling. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he said giving your head a soft kiss. “You weren’t there when I came back from mingling and Solomon told me that you had left because you were unwell,” Asmo explained as he helped dry you off with the fluffy towel. “Satan told me about your condition just now,” he said finding a comb and running it gently through your damp hair. “What a dreadful thing that ails you, my sweet. I can’t even begin to imagine what it’s like,” he said giving a pout.

“Well I…I certainly don’t wish it on anyone,” you said softly in reflection of your pain as Asmo gently dried you off, keeping you close so you wouldn’t fall if your vertigo became particularly bad.

Asmo nodded. “Of course you wouldn’t, my sweet. Because you are a kind soul. But still, to suffer that kind of pain…why didn’t you tell us?” he asked looking at you with expressively apprehensive eyes.

“As I told Satan, it never came up in conversation until today. I’ve just been so preoccupied with everything…” you sighed, shoulders slumping downwards. “I’m sorry, Asmo…I ruined your night.”

“No, no, no, my sweet,” Asmo said placing a gentle hand on your cheek and stroking it with well-manicured fingers. “You didn’t ruin anything. Don’t even think that for a minute,” he reassured you as you made eye contact. “Now, enough talk about pain. Let us get you into your pajama’s and snuggled into bed. Satan’s bringing some tea for you,” he said planting a tender kiss to your forehead.

True to his word, Asmodeous helps to get you into your pajamas before leading you to your bed. He manages all of this with the lights off since he did not want to risk your migraine getting worse. Satan arrives just shortly after Asmo gets you all settled and snug in your bed, propping you up with pillows so that you can drink and enjoy your tea.

“Feeling any better?” Satan asked as he approached carrying a tray with three mugs. “It might not work with your migraines, I haven’t done enough research on them yet to know for certain, but I brought you an anti-inflammatory,”

You smiled tiredly at Satan, the lord of wrath seeing the toll that the pain was having on you and it was honestly a bit startling to see how quickly your health deteriorated. “Thank you, Satan. It certainly won’t hurt,” you admitted. “It’s still there but the shower helped a little bit,”

Satan nodded. “Good. I’m glad you found some relief,” he said gently handing you your teacup and the anti-inflammatory.

The warm cup being placed into your hands already relaxed you some. Satan had made you a London fog, the tea always seemed to evaporate the own fog in your brain. You swallowed the anti-inflammatory and quietly sipped your tea with Satan and Asmo by your side. You had gotten close to all the brother’s during your time at RAD but Satan and Asmo were probably the two brothers that you were closest to. The fourth and fifth born were almost a package deal like the twins and you were ok with that.

You finished your tea and started to feel the lull of sleep outweighing the pain throbbing furiously in your head. Satan took the empty cup and Asmo helped you get settled down and comfortable. The avatar of Lust lay next to you, softly running his fingers through your hair, his touch relaxing you even further as his fingers gently caressed your scalp. Within only a matter of minutes the sandman had finally arrived to rescue you from the vile pain. “Sleep well, Princess,” Asmo said as he lovingly kissed your temple, hoping perhaps somewhat childishly that the action would take away your pain.

#OBEY ME #obey me shall we date #obey me fanfic #sick mc #ill mc #mc has migraines #how do I hide my post behind a cut help #f!mc

25 notes · View notes

boarix · 3 years

Text

Wraith in the Ruins: A Fallout 4 Story Part XXI

Lost

Trigger Warnings: canon language/violence/gun, drug and alcohol use. Sexual/mature content. Burning/fire.

Please Enjoy!

……

“AAAAARRRRGGGGHHHH!” Strong’s roar of outrage carried far across the swamps south of West Roxbury Station. He pounded the earth, ripped up trees and threw them away like javelins. “RRRRAAAHHHHAAARRR! COWARD GHOUL, FACE STRONG!”

Terrified of him, Radiance had slipped into a narrow crag and instructed her few remaining ferals to abandon any attempts to attack and flee. There were two glowing ones left in the group and so their light had been what led the super mutant away. For several hours he doggedly pursued them: at first through the many twists and turns of the almost completely dark, rough-hewn tunnels and then on and through to the straight, derelict tiles of the metro tube.

Initially he made no attempt to calm himself. Reveling in his fury, he tore apart the landscape and yelled at the sky. He knew what the plan was: if separated or unsuccessful he was to rendezvous at the Peabody safehouse. He found that he didn’t much care. It wasn’t Alpha’s plan. It wasn’t even Cait’s.

He liked when his alpha went berserk. Her shear power and ruthlessness thrilled him and made him proud. But, he also very much liked the pups that were a part of their pack. Duncan, Shaun, Nat and even Billy Peabody tickled memories of something he couldn’t quite recall and the thought of Wraith hurting any of them, was unacceptable. Finding Wraith didn’t matter so long as Radiance lived and he very much wanted to be the one to kill her. Failure was also unacceptable, and having been around humans for long enough to gain a small sense of personal accountability, he was disappointed in himself.

Strong remembered MacCready telling him about the fight with the behemoth in the swamps around Murkwater, and decided that an epic battle of that nature would help improve his mood so he took up his hammer and slogged away south: looking for trouble.

……

Deacon fell up the basement stairs, bashing his shins and elbow in the process. His uncharacteristic clumsiness carried him through to the kitchen with a sharp countertop to the hip. He paused in the living room to take a couple of deep breaths before racing up the stairs to the room Hancock and MacCready were sleeping in.

He opened the door as quietly as possible before creeping to the bed. Hancock was furthest away and had his back to him. He was fully clothed apart from his hat and boots and was tucked into a fetal position. MacCready, on the other hand, was flat on his stomach, spread-eagle, shirtless, wearing pants and one sock. The young man’s face was tilted to the side, like a swimmer gaining air mid stroke. He had pushed his pillow onto the floor and was snoring and drooling directly onto the bed sheet.

Deacon picked up the pillow and raised it high above his head before swinging it down directly onto the sniper’s head, “WAKETHEFUCKUP!”

Both of them leaped to their feet with weapons at the ready. Hancock stood next to the bed and MacCready on top of it, “DEACON! Goddamnit! You gotta death wish?! You ASSHOLE!” Hancock hadn’t put his blade away when he came around to where Deacon was doubled over laughing. The ghoul dismissed the very satisfying image of stabbing him as soon as he noticed that the spy was also crying, “What? What the hell is going on?!”

MacCready was still standing on the bed, his fierce glare giving over to rapid blinking as he noticed the odd combination of emotion, “Is it Wraith? What’s…? Wraith?!”

“She said words at me!” Deacon nodded and pointed eagerly toward the basement, “To me. She said my…”

“Why is your hand bleeding?” MacCready saw the flash of crimson as Deacon gesticulated.

“Well, she uh, bit me too...”

“I keep telling everyone not to put their hands in the cage!” He scolded him as he pulled on a shirt and crammed his feet into his boots.

The three of them were loud enough to wake the whole household so there was a small amount of shoving when the group bottlenecked at the basement stairway. They thundered down the steps and crowded around Wraith’s cage. For her part she seemed to have once again lost all trace of sanity and was hissing and growling like a cornered alley cat.

“Deacon, if this is some sort of prank, it’s in very poor taste.”

“I swear, Danse. She said, ‘Deacon, don’t leave me’.”

“I told you I could be of help.” Infamy stepped from a shadow and lifted their hood to reveal a smug look on their luminescent face, “It’s just a matter of finding the cracks in the…”

Hancock didn’t let them finish. He seemed to fly across the room, and lifting the surprised glowing one up by his lapels, he pinned them to the foundation wall. When he spoke, his voice was a menacing growl and he punctuated his clipped words by slamming the other ghoul into the wall after each one, “You. Did. Not. Have. Permission.” He let them drop to the floor and he took a step back, flexing his hands.

“We never gave you the go-ahead.” Deacon felt he’d somehow been robbed, “Was that even her?” He was shaking as he advanced on them, “You put words in her mouth? DID YOU FUCK WITH HER MIND?!”

“That’s interesting, coming from you.” Danse’s comment was soft but it cut through the room like a knife.

“Later, son.” Hancock shot him a look that killed any rebuttal.

“You are all very excitable, aren’t you?” Atom’s Assassin pushed themselves up against the wall and into a sitting position, “Not very friendly. No, no. Hahaha!” They dipped their chin and held out their hands, palms up, “I meant no harm. I felt I needed to prove my worth. It’s a very nice cage you’ve made for her; very spacious. Much better than the one you brought her here in. Better than mine. Hahahahaha. Still a jail cell though, huh? How long do want to stand around her prison and watch her suffer? Wraith’s words are her own. It took a great deal just for that much. Quite the effort! You all should be thanking me.”

“Thanking you?! Why, monsieur, you are the cause of all this! Had you not attacked Madame’s citizens she would have never had cause to learn to call feral ghouls. She would have never summoned this Radiance and none of this would have happened!”

“She didn’t summon her.” When all their eyes flashed to him, Deacon waved a hand and shook his head, “Off topic, don’t worry about it. Doesn’t matter.”

“What matters to me is how you got out of your cage.” Piper glared down at them.

“Locks are nothing to me, my dear.”

“I think we should let them try.” Preston was watching Wraith. His face twisted between grief and anger.

“Non, General. Not at least until Dr. Amari has come to give her assessment. As her physician, I will not permit this.”

“Oh, but how will you stop me, sweet child?”

Curie lifted her chin slightly, her voice was as cold as the look in her eye, “I will have you shot if you dare.”

“Well, you are all very terrifying. Whatever happened to the Oath? Hippocrates is spinning in his tomb. Oh, nuts. This didn’t go very well, did it?” They started to rise but thought better of it in the face of seven pairs of glaring eyes, “As you wish. I won’t go poking around where I’m not invited. Do I have to go back to the cage?”

“It’s more than you deserve.” Danse was watching Wraith as she had decided to ignore the mob surrounding her and was remaking her blanket nest. He felt like crying, “Why should you be free when she isn’t?”

“Cage is up to you, but you’re livin’ in the shed until I say otherwise, you feel me?”

Infamy gave him a lecherous sneer, “I think I’d like to…”

As if it was choreographed, Deacon, Danse and MacCready, wearing identical expressions of grim resolution, unholstered their various sidearms and leveled them at Infamy.

“Fine! Fine. I know when I’m defeated. It is by Atom’s will, that I devour this slice of humble pie.” With hands raised above their head, they crept up the stairs and out to the shack.

Piper sat cross-legged on the floor next to the cage. She washed her face in her hands and groaned, “I’m so tired of them. I’m tired of hearing about them. I’m tired of their ghost-in-the-receiver voice...” She trailed off as one by one, four of the other six joined her on the floor. “I have so much work back-logged at home. And I don’t want to leave, but Shaun and Duncan are coming in soon, so I’m heading out in the morning.”

“Thanks for keeping a eye on my son, Pipes.”

She cast MacCready a sideways smile, “’Sokay. I like him better than you anyway.” Preston was to her left and she leaned over and set her head on his shoulder. She smiled again when he reciprocated, “When are you going back to the Castle?”

“Tomorrow. I’m making myself crazy watching her and we are having problems from the groups exiled out of Nuka World. The best I can do is to make sure everything she set up doesn’t come crashing down, just because she’s not here holding it up.”

“Literally.”

Preston smiled at Hancock, “Yeah, literally. Did I ever tell you all about the time when she threw a refrigerator at a Deathclaw?”

“What?!”

“Incredible!”

“No way!”

“Why a refrigerator?”

As Preston settled in to his tail, Deacon, who had remained standing, quietly headed back up to the main level. He intended to follow Infamy out to the shack and rough them up for eavesdropping on his heart-to-heart with Wraith, but his plans were altered for him as the unmistakably heavy footsteps of Danse followed him up the stairs.

“Something you need, pal?”

Danse gestured to the small living room, “I would like to have a word with you, if I may.”

Inwardly, Deacon growled in frustration, “You have a specific word in mind? I’ve always liked ‘spatula’.”

Danse looked confused for a second, “Very amusing…” He sat in an armchair and waited for Deacon to sit on a sofa across from him. He cleared his throat, “We haven’t spoken frankly to each other…”

“Don’t take it personal; I’m not frank with anyone.” He refrained from eye contact and picked idly at the raised floral pattern on the couch’s arm.

God, this thing’s ugly…

“I’m referring to matters of a personal nature that you may have been a party to…”

“Oh, I don’t really go to parties.”

The effort it took to maintain his composure clearly showed on Danse’s face, “By God, man! Please! I’m asking you for information about my being a synth!”

Deacon immediately stood and turned to leave, “Sorry can’t help you.”

Danse reached out and caught the other man’s sleeve. He looked up at him with light brown eyes that were so lost it nearly brought a tear to Deacon’s eye, “Please.”

He sighed dramatically and pinched the bridge of his nose, “Okay, but not here. Leave a note for Curie then follow me to Quincy. I’ll be waiting in the church.”

……

Deacon paced around in the nave, waiting. It seemed to be taking longer than it should and the spy was beginning to think he’d been stood up. Or, that something else might have happened with Wraith. He decided to head back and almost ran face first into Danse.

“I apologize for the wait,” the large man shook a Minutemen pack above his head as he maneuvered around him, “I talked to Curie directly and she advised I bring us a ‘snack’. She probably thinks we’re both too thin.”

Deacon had to bite back a harsh comment as he felt an intense stab of envy at the look of tender love on Danse’s face, “Yeah, I might have over corrected on my weight-loss plan.” In truth the weeks of worry and hard travel had ate into his muscle mass, leaving him more wiry then when he was in the Commonwealth last, “There fruit leather in there?”

Danse smiled as he passed him a strip, “Naturally.”

Rather than bite into it right away, Deacon held it almost lovingly in his hand. When his vision blurred with tears he quickly turned away from the other man and shoved the whole piece in his mouth, chewing noisily, “Mmmpf. Moorph. Hmmm. Thish batch is pretty good; lots of mutfruit. MacCready make it?”

Danse chuckled, “If there is a specific joke in there, I’m not aware.”

“Hmm. You’ve more a capacity for a sense of humor then I remember.”

Danse rightened a table and pulling up a nearby chair gestured for Deacon to take the one across from him, “As I said earlier; you and I have never had a real conversation.” He took a large bite out of jerky and leveled a rather intense gaze at him as he chewed, “I’ve been told that it can be difficult to authenticate a great deal of the information you share.”

“That’s maybe the prettiest way anyone’s ever called me a liar, Danse. Thank you.”

“I’ve also been told that you have a tendency toward more factual discourse when you aren’t wearing your sunglasses.”

Deacon briefly covered his eyes then pulled them away as if he was playing peek-a-boo, “The eyes tell lies as much as the truth, just so you’re aware.”

“So, it’s just another way for you to keep people guessing?”

“How very perceptive of you.”

The two men stared at each other unflinchingly for several seconds before Danse sighed and reached back into the pack for more food, “Do you want jerky?”

“Why not? You only live once.” He chewed thoughtfully for a moment, “I have to tell you this is not how I thought this was going to go. I also don’t mind telling you that I’m actually pretty tired so…”

“Right, right. Of course.” Danse set his hands together then held them out toward the spy as if he was asking him to set information in them, “Do you remember me as M7-97?”

“No. I wasn’t your handler.”

Danse’s eyes flashed back and forth, searching Deacon’s pale blue eyes for any sign that he was lying, “Are you quite certain? I’ve come to understand that my appearance was most likely altered.”

“It most likely was, but I never forget the synths that I’ve personally helped. And before you ask; no I don’t know who your handler was, or even if they’re still alive. The Railroad has had a high turnover. Probably because groups like the Brotherhood keep blowing us the fuck up.” He hadn’t meant to envenomate his reply to that severity, but found that he didn’t regret it.

“Ut sementem feceris, ita metes.”

“Post hoc ergo propter hoc.” Deacon was not going to back down, “We didn’t have to be your enemy. That was Maxson’s choice.”

Visibly upset, it took several deep breaths before Danse trusted himself to speak, “I wasn’t present during the attack on the Railroad. I had already been exiled. And even more so, I will admit, I did not approve of every order Maxson gave…”

“But you still followed them.” In Deacon’s mind he relived the moment when the light in Glory’s eyes went out, “My friends are still dead.”

“As are Rhys and Ingram and a multitude of others…”

“Others who turned their back on you when they found out you weren’t human.”

Danse slammed his hands on the table and stood, “YES! CORRECT! THOSE OTHERS!” He closed his eyes and swallowed, “I will never be able to take back the things I’ve said and done. I can only not forget and work toward making better choices.” He sat back in his chair and glared at Deacon.

The words struck a chord in him and Deacon suddenly felt ashamed, “That is something I can understand.”

“If I had my memories of being a synth, I’d have never joined the Brotherhood and we’d not be having this argument.”

“That was your choice.”

Danse twitched his head and narrowed his eyes, “What do you mean by that?”

“When the Railroad frees a synth we give them the option of a full memory erasure and face change, in fact we very strongly suggest it, but we never do it without their expressed consent.”

“You’re saying that I asked to have my identity stolen? My very life was ended and I asked you to do it?!”

“I’m not going to debate the concept of Nature Verses Nurture with you, but yes, you would have had to agree. We’ve had a bunch over the years who opted out of both but unfortunately, most were recaptured by the SRB or killed by hatemongering wastelanders.”

Like the UP Deathclaws.

Danse sat back in his chair, his expressions morphing from disbelief to anger and sadness. When he spoke his voice was low, “Why didn’t you at least give me memories of a family?”

“I could speculate but…”

“I would appreciate any insight you can provide.”

“Okay,” Deacon stood and began pacing, “so first, let’s get one or two things out in the open.” As he spoke he tallied items off on his fingers, “You’re not ageing. Your physicality is above average and… you’re… um… shooting blanks.”

Danse groaned and set his face in his hands, “I don’t even want to know how you ascertained that.”

Deacon had the decency to make himself look abashed, “Yeah, let’s move on. In my humble opinion as an expert in these matters; you were most likely a courser. It wasn’t necessary for you to fit in with the population at large so those items previously listed weren’t included in your design. And when you were given new memories, they wouldn’t involve people whom you would have tried to go look for because that would make you more conspicuous. If that makes sense.”

“So, I never even had a chance to have a family.”

“What do you mean by that?” Deacon let an edge creep into his voice, “What about the family you have now?” When Danse gave him a bewildered look, he grew legitimately angry, “Curie, Wraith, Shaun, Duncan!” He shook a finger toward the safe house, “Preston and Piper. Not to mention your ever-angry little brother MacCready.” He brought his hands up to either side of his head, “Hancock! Oh my god! The scariest being in the entire fucking Commonwealth calls you ‘son’, and you ‘don’t have a family’?! Fucking shit, man!”

“You’re scared of Hancock?”

“Never said that.” Deacon came back to his chair and sagged into it. “’Self-determination is not a malfunction’.”

“What do you mean?”

“That’s a quote from someone who could probably help you much better than I can. They were also a courser and were also upset when they found out their life wasn’t what they thought it was.”

“May I speak with them? Or, have they been… reset?”

Taking a bite of jerky, Deacon sat and thought out loud as he chewed, “Maybe only on the vaguest of terms. I could ask them to read a letter from you… have to be anonymous… would take some time… What information do you want?”

“I want to know what M7-97 was like… who they were. Anything you can offer me would be helpful.”

“Honestly, Danse I think it will only be helpful if this lets you move on from your past.” His voice grew soft and low, “We can’t always be living there.” He stood up and stretched, “Now, I need to shut down for a couple of hours…”

“I think I might need a beer… don’t you mean ‘sleep’?”

“Oh, I don’t actually do that.” He flashed Danse a shit-eating grin, “I’m a far superior model.”

……

There was some difficulty with moving the memory lounger to the basement and more still with its power supply, and so even after Dr. Amari’s arrival, it took several more days before they were able to try and scan Wraith’s mind. Curie’s tranquilizer was administered and she was carefully strapped in.

“Are the restraints really necessary?” Nick Valentine had arrived a few days before the doctor, and had been greatly distressed at seeing Wraith’s living arrangements. He frowned as Curie tightened the straps.

“They won’t hold her for more than a second anyway, Nicky.” Hancock was frowning as well and despite his words, he seemed unsure, “It’s to give us a chance to bail outta here if she decides to wake up early.”

“Would she really hurt us?” Valentine had been trying to convince himself that when she had rushed the cage bars when he tried to say “hello”, it was out of a response to fear and not wanton violence.

“She tried to kill me, Valentine.” MacCready’s voice was flat but his dark-circled eyes were sad.

“She must’ve pulled her punches a little. After all, you’re still very much alive and kicking. Though, from the looks of you, not as high.” He looked around critically, “Have any of you been eating properly?”

Hancock patted him on the back, “Yer a dad alright.”

“I don’t know about her holding back, but after I saved MacCready’s very life,” Deacon paused to smile at the sniper’s eye roll, “she responded to me. She even stopped trying to pull my head off.”

“It’s likely that due to the power armor, Wraith would have had no idea who MacCready was.” Danse smirked at Deacon, “Had she failed to give you a chance to speak, you’d likely be a headless corpse right now.”

“Hmm. Not sure that’d be a good look for me.”

“Gentlemen, we should be ready to begin.” Amari turned from Curie and smiled at the five men, “You can stay during the exam if you wish, but I ask that you refrain from any loud conversations.”

“She means arguing.”

“We know what she means, Deacon.”

“And there won’t be any arguing, cause yer gonna keep yer trap shut.”

……

Wraith was watching Glory. Beautiful, powerful Glory. The memory came into focus as her mind filled in details. They were fighting side by side in the Metro. Now they were sitting and talking at HQ. Now they were sharing a beer.

She was in an expanse of white nothingness. Prism like, the memory hung in midair as if it was suspended from an invisible celling by invisible rope. Wraith became aware that there were two others watching it with her.

Philippa was staring intently on one side. In her full Marine dress uniform, she was the very picture of military discipline and order. Her hair was tightly pulled back and up, held fast by a squad of hair pins under her cap.

The other confused Wraith and she narrowed her eyes, “You can’t be here.”

“That’s right; you’re dead.” Philippa was matter of fact, her eyes emotionless.

“If I’m dead then I can go and be anywhere I like, wouldn’t you say?” The dead woman didn’t look away from the memory, “You are in love with this woman.”

“Was. She’s dead. Like you.” Philippa corrected her.

“Probably not like me…”

“I’m not sure if I was in love. I was definitely interested, though.”

“The timing was inappropriate, Wraith.” There was a hint of disapproval in Philippa’s voice.

“Maybe. I wanted to try. I just…”

“Ran out of time.” Philippa finished the thought.

The memory changed. Now it was Deacon; fighting raiders in the rain. He was wearing a white t-shit and his muscles were clearly visible as they move underneath the wet, transparent cloth.

The dead woman hummed appreciatively, “Very nice. I don’t know this one either. You’re in love with him too.” She raised an eyebrow at Wraith, “Quite the harem you would have had.”

“How obtuse. Regardless, he’s not interested.”

“Don’t be stupid, Philippa.” Wraith rolled her eyes at her, “That’s not the problem.”

“Explain.”

“He doesn’t think he deserves to be loved. By anyone. So he… sabotages himself.”

“I’m bored. What else is on?” The dead woman twirled her index finger in the air like she was dialing a phone. When the memory changed to Hancock and Wraith in the midst of strip-tease foreplay, she hummed again, “Now this is something worth watching.”

“Inappropriate.”

“This… this is private…”

The dead woman leered, “My, he is hung nicely for being so tall and slender. And you,” She turned her lecherous gaze to Wraith, “how responsive you are! You can see how you savor his every caress. More!”

“No… get…”

The image changed again with a flick of the dead woman’s finger. Now it was MacCready and Hancock: in a flurry of motion as they passionately kissed while removing each other’s clothes.

“Fantastic. I can appreciate why your eyes would linger.” Her laugh was cruel, “Ha! So much to take in.”

“Not funny. Also, your intrusion is inappropriate.”

Wraith reached out, swatted the memory and as it spun each revolution showed a different memory in a confusing blur, “This isn’t a peep show. Those moments are special. What the fuck are you doing here?! You don’t belong. You’re not me!”

The dead woman pouted, “Aww, just when it was getting good. I want to see more of Hancock’s…”As she reached out to the memory Wraith smacked her hand. In turn the dead woman dealt Wraith a vicious backhand that sent her spinning away through the void. “Know your place!”

In an instant the memory and the two other women reoriented next to Wraith. She rubbed her jaw and slowly stood, “I’m going to kick your ass!”

The dead woman vanished.

“What the fuck?”

“You can’t keep me from him, you know. Hancock, that is.” The dead woman appeared at the very edge of Wraith’s vision then began circling her; like a shark that smells blood in the water. “I’ll have him.”

“I remember… you hurt him. Why?! Leave him alone. Why are you doing this? What do you want?!”

The dead woman’s face twisted into a mask of rage, “You dare ask me ‘why’?”

“It is reasonable.”

The dead woman ignored her. She stopped directly in front of Wraith and held up two fingers, “Twice you’ve destroyed me! You took all that I had; my only chances for happiness.” She folded her arms, a smug look on her face, “So now I’ll take all that you hold dear. Your empire will crumble and your people will die. Then when you are completely lost, you’ll come to my embrace willingly!”

“You’re just like Marie.” Now Philippa circled the dead woman, her modest heels somehow making a tapping sound that was immensely satisfying to Wraith’s ears, “You were never happy. Not in any recent years. You committed murder and engaged in other criminal acts; kidnapping for example. And much like Marie, you blame your loss and shortcomings on Wraith. It’s a classic case of projection.”

The dead woman’s eyes grew shrewd, “One major difference between us is that Marie is dead.”

Wraith paled and took a step back, “What? How…”

“Oh, I believe you know.” The dead woman reached out and spun the memory one more time, “Watch closely now, darling.”

The image of Wraith ripping Marie in half, from the vantage point of her own eyes, played over and over on the prism.

Wraith’s voice was weak, “No…”

“Yes! Look how strong you are. I have never wanted you more than at that moment!” The dead woman raised her arms above her head, exalted, “You are a monster, Wraith!” In a flash of blinding green light, the dead woman became Radiance, “But I am a much, much stronger one!” Grabbing ahold of Philippa, she enveloped her.

Wraith felt the pain as a part of her was being slowly consumed by fire. Her inhuman screams echoed throughout the void.

…..

“I SAID TURN IT OFF!” Hancock clenched and unclenched his fists; seconds away from smashing the memory lounger.

“Mr. Mayor, I am doing my very best to do just that.” Amari had begun shut-down procedures as soon as Wraith started screaming, “There!”

Wraith’s wail abruptly cut off and the ensuing silence was almost as defining. Then, everyone moved and spoke at once.

“Her pulse is stabilizing…”

“What happened?!”

“Oh, Madame! Oh, oh…”

“It sounded like… What was happening to her?”

MacCready and Hancock were each working on a wrist strap and as soon as she was free, Valentine scooped her up and took her back to her cage and laid her on the mattress, “Just what in the Sam Hill was that supposed to accomplish?!”

“I don’t understand these readings…” Amari was frowning at her terminal, “There is a film or some sort of interference. And an overlap of… there are images of two brains here.”

“What does that mean?” Danse was holding on to Curie as if she were a life raft.

“It means that I cannot get a proper reading of the condition of Wraith’s brain.”

“We just wasted so much time.” Deacon sagged into a chair and spoke into his hands.

Curie sniffled, “I am so very sorry. If I had…”

“It’s alright, Baby Bird. There’s no way you could’ve known.” Hancock joined Valentine in Wraith’s cage and he patted Curie’s back as he passed. Reaching down, he laid a hand on the detective’s shoulder, “I know you want to stay with her, Nicky, but it’s not safe.” He walked over to Deacon and stood tapping his foot until the spy looked up at him, “Yer getting yer way now.” Placing his hands on his thighs he bent down so his face was directly level with his, “I can’t hear her screamin’ like that though, you feel me?” If the ghoul still had a nose, it would have been touching Deacon’s, “I am trusting you.”

Deacon swallowed hard, “I… uh guess… I won’t live to you regretting it.”

……

They didn’t let Infamy try right away. The decision to wait after Wraith regained consciousness and had demonstrated at least the same level of functionality as pre brain scan was unanimous. Unfortunately for Valentine it also meant it was past the time he had allotted himself to be away from his immediate family.

As difficult as it was to leave Wraith, MacCready left with him, “I shouldn’t be away from Duncan this long.”

They decided to wait further until MacCready returned and there was a changing of the guard as Cait arrived with a Minutemen convoy. She spent some time trying to talk to Wraith, but after the initial aggression, she ignored her.

“I tried me best, but… How much should I tell Bear? I’m… not for knowin’.”

Outside of Hancock none of Wraith’s ghoul friends were allowed, for their own safety, to visit with her. And consequentially, Hancock wasn’t allowing himself to return to Goodneighbor for fear of bringing further harm to his people. He stayed in contact with Fahrenheit through Radio Freedom, and even had her hold his granddaughter near the microphone so he could hear her burble.

After a few days, MacCready passed Cait astride Gracie on the road, each offering a sad wave to the other. As he was walking through the door, he intended to shout a “hello”. Raising his head he took a deep intake of breath and collapsed, unconscious on the stoop. Deacon, dozing under a book on the couch in the living room, heard the thud and vaulted the furniture to get to him.

“Crap! Curie! HANCOCK!”

He had already started to come around by the time Hancock had picked him up and he batted at his arm as the ghoul was taking him up the stairs, “You can put me down. I’m fine.”

“No, I don’t think so. You are going to get some sleep and let Curie give you some fluids and eat some damn food and…”

Hancock left him to Curie’s care and came down to the kitchen. He muttered to himself as he started to heat up leftovers, “…what if ya fell on the road? Christ! …tryin’ to be all places at once… just alike… the two of ‘em are givin’ me fits! How am I supposed to… shit… fuck… goddamn it!”

“Uh, Hancock? Your shirt. Your shirt’s on fire, man!” Deacon grabbed a dishtowel, extinguished him then proceeded to roll up the mayor’s sleeves, “Not sure if MacCready likes to eat burnt ghoul…” He was surprised that Hancock let him help and it made him nervous for some reason. Especially since the ghoul didn’t say any sort of snappy comeback and just quietly watched with his large, dark eyes; a half smile on his scarred lips. He looked away quickly, angry that he almost blushed, “What?”

“Heh. Nothin’, brother. Thanks.” Deacon returned to the sofa and Hancock worked quietly for a minute before casually calling to him over his shoulder, “You know that floral-nightmare couch you’ve been tryin’ to sleep on jackknifes, right?”

“No?! I did not know that! Was anybody gonna tell me that?!”

…..

“I need total concentration. Complete silence. It would be ideal if you left us alone so I might focus…”

“Absolutely not. We cannot permit this treacherous villain to have any unsupervised contact with Wraith.” Danse stood with his hands on his hips and his chest out.

“Alright, Capt’n Eyebrows, take it easy,” Deacon was having a difficult time clearing the image of Danse in a cape from his mind, “we won’t. Just…”

“STRONG IS HOUND MASTER! BLUE HUMANS DON’T SHOOT!”

“Hey, Strong’s back!” MacCready went outside to bring the super mutant in, “Hey, buddy. Wow! You alright?”

Strong sported a fine collection of new scars and one of his eyes was swollen shut, “MACK REE DEE! STONG FOUND A GOOD FIGHT!”

Prompted by a look from Danse, who had followed him up the stairs, MacCready questioned the super mutant about his pursuit of Radiance, but Strong only shrugged and made an assortment of noncommittal grunts.

“We kinda assumed it went that way. She didn’t rough you up like that, did she?”

“No. Glowing one ran. SCARED OF STRONG!”

“Rightfully so. Excellent effort. Glad to have you back in one piece.” Danse was stiff and formal and the words were forced.

An awkward silence descended as the two stared at each other and was only broken when Strong sniffed somewhat disdainfully and muttered something about wanting to see his alpha.

“She’s downstairs, but,” MacCready touched his friend’s big green elbow, “she’s in a cage. It’s so… uh…”

“HA HA!” He smiled, “It’s okay, Mack Ree Dee; Alpha is strongest. Would hurt little humans. Strong would be…”

“Sad?”

The super mutant said nothing, only raised a hairless brow, turned, stomped down the stairs and over to Wraith’s cage. He stood there silently while she growled and threw herself at him. His brutish face softened somewhat and he lowered his voice to a whisper, “Alpha is the strongest.”

Infamy snapped their fingers, “You all trust this big green nasty, right?” The glowing one addressed Strong directly, “Radiance should try and retrieve Wraith. You’d like to rip her asunder, right? Ha! How long can you sit still and quiet, waiting for prey?”

Strong looked over their head to Hancock and MacCready, “What does this ghoul say? Strong stay here?”

“That’s up to you, brother.”

“I agree that Radiance is afraid of him.” Danse actually liked the idea, “She fled as soon as he charged her, despite having numerical superiority.”

“Then shouldn’t he be stationed outside where she can see him?” Deacon was considering using a Stealth Boy to sneak back into the basement regardless of the consensus and was worried that the super mutant might smell him and tattle.

“STRONG HUNGRY! WANT TO EAT MEAT!”

“I’ll hook you up, brother.” Hancock indicated that Strong should proceed him up the stairs before turning back to Infamy, “We’re gonna take shifts keeping an eye on you. I don’t give a flying fuck about what your ideal setup is. You’ll figure it out or I’ll take you apart.”

…..

“Now, this is interesting! Never quite had an experience like this before. Ha!”

“Great. Another unwelcome guest.”

“What’s the matter, Wraith? Not enough room for one more mind? Seems spacious to me. Hahaha!” Finally past the barrier, Infamy spun. They wore a set of clean, hooded, midnight blue vestments with a simple atomic diagram of hydrogen embroidered in gold thread across their back. Raising their arms and twirling in the white void, their robes billowed out behind them.

“You’re not the company I’m looking for.”

They dropped their arms and sagged their shoulders, “It’s so hard being so far from home in a place where no one likes you.”

“Yeah, well, whose fault is that?”

“That is becoming increasingly obscure, actually.” They frowned at her, “Admittedly, I should have done more research into Marie’s claims and less into where your weakness were to be found.”

“I helped the Children more than I hurt them.”

“Ah yes, but you did hurt us.” They grimaced at her, “You look like shit.”

“Hey! Fuck you too, you glowstick-looking motherfucker!”

“I would figure you’d look more like your version of normal. You’re still wearing that deathclaw armor. Hmm. You look worse in here then you do… Well, that is neither here nor there. What was all that yelling about?”

Wraith sat, cross legged on the non-existent floor, “Radiance was… flexing.”

The glowing one sat as well, “She comes and goes as she pleases then?”

Wraith half shook her head, “No, I don’t think she’s actually here. It’s more like she’s left a piece of herself here to watch me, but I’m a little fuzzy on the details.”

Infamy popped up and danced around her, “Drop the barrier then. Come out and play!”

Wraith tilted her head back and laughed; a humorless and unpleasant sound, “It’s not mine!” She suddenly stood and spun around much like Infamy had, “I’m a prisoner. Radiance both loves and hates me. She wants to keep me safe while simultaneously torturing me.” Wraith stood still and raised her fists, “I keep fighting her though. I’m starting to remember real stuff. When she went for Hancock I felt it. I felt him! And I remembered later.” Her eyes went wide and she took Infamy by the shoulders, “Hancock! How is he?!”

Although they felt a rush of fear, Infamy willed themselves not to pull away from her, “All of your rowdy, ungrateful, terrifying friends are fine. Sad to say.”

“Oh, thank goodness.” She let go and returned to the floor, drawing pictures with her finger in sand only she could see, “She wanted me to trigger detonations on the fusion cores, but I just ejected them. It took all the ground I had gained and I pretty much lost it after that.” She smiled sadly, “Except for Deacon. I remember Deacon. He told me he loves me.”

“Well, you can thank me for that! I’ve been chipping away at your crust for a while now. Now that I know it’s not yours, I can be a little harsher. Hmm, I think. Hahaha! Are there any rules for this game we’re playing? I’ll work from the outside and you’ll…”

“Why are you helping me all of the sudden?”

They adopted an indignant expression and put their hands on their hips, “I’ll have you know we do a great deal of charity work! Infamy is very altruistic.”

Wraith snorted, “Right. Just because you don’t charge for your services doesn’t magically change what you do into charitable works by any stretch of the concept.”

“Ha! Well, maybe it’s because you are a Child of Atom? The Mother’s Chosen One even.”

“Bullshit. Who was it that beat you up and made you help? Mac? Not Danse or Hancock; pretty sure they would have killed you outright.”

They stuck out their tongue, folded their arms and turned away, “I’m not admitting to anything.”

“Deacon. If he’s back then he’s the one. He’s an incredible fighter.”

“Yes, yes. As I said; all of your friends are terrifying.”

“But why help me and not Radiance?”

They dropped back to a sitting position and propped their chin up with their elbow, “I don’t think this creature is of Atom. I think she’s on her own, awful agenda. She’s probably going to interfere with my people. Might even send you to destroy us. Perhaps that’s what the Fog Mother meant by you being the Harbinger. As it is, many of our ghoul members have been suffering headaches and even Mother Isolde, a human, felt the pain of Radiance’s insidious intrusion.” They pouted like a child, “Plus, she stole all my ferals, so I wouldn’t wanna help her anyways.”

“Okay, fine. Let’s say that your intentions are honorable…”

“Because they are.”

Wraith rolled her eyes, “Then what should I be doing? Sunny didn’t have much time to teach me... before…”

A brief flash of regret passed over the glowing one’s face, “He surly is with Atom,” They sprang to their feet and twirled again, “but I’m in here with you! You’re so lucky. Hahahahahahaaaa!”

Wraith made a disgusted face, “Great. Now, how do I get out of here?”

“Just what you had been doing I suppose. How clear can you see the barrier?”

“Not well. I’m pushing out all around with no real direction…”

Infamy was impressed.

“I shall be your guide. Follow my light and I will lead you to the vulnerable…”

“Follow your light?” Wraith interrupted, stood and narrowed her eyes, “How do I know you won’t just entrap me the same as her?”

They looked around and held out their hands palms up, “What choice do you have? You are clearly powerful, Harbinger. Fight Radiance. Fight me! Fight, fight, fight!” They raised their fists and shook them in the air in time with their chant, “I’ll aid you on the outside, while you…”

There was a sudden flash of green fire and Radiance was there. She glowered at Infamy, “Hsst. Begone, pest!” With a flip of her wrist she cast them out, smirked at Wraith then vanished.

Left alone, Wraith smiled, “Fight from the inside.”

…..

MacCready happened to be on guard when Atom’s Assassin had their next major breakthrough. He was working on a gun restoration that Cait had brought for him and he felt her looking at him. Glancing up their eyes met and he could see that hers were clear. He jumped up and all but threw the worktable aside to get to her, “Wraith! Wraith! Wraith!” Breaking his own rule, he stuck his arms through the bars and pulled her to him. He cupped her face, kissed her then clunked their foreheads together, “I love you.”

“I… love… you too… Mac.”

He turned away to call to Hancock before kissing her again, “Are you back? Please. Please be back!”

The rest of her friends poured down the stairs with Hancock in the lead. He hugged and kissed her as well before making way for rest of them. He happened to glance at the glowing one and noticed that Infamy had their teeth bared in obvious effort, “Not sure how much time we got...”

Wraith suddenly pulled away from Deacon and turned back to MacCready. There was fear in her eyes and the effort it took to speak was clear, “I… love you, Mac.” When he tried to reciprocate she shook her head, “No… you don’t… understand. I would have… killed you anyway. It doesn’t… matter.” Her eyes filled with tears and she backed away to the far corner of the cage, “She’ll use me… to kill… you all. I love you all… I’ll kill you all… and she’ll… make me see every moment of it.”

“Why is she doin’ this?! Who or what is she?”

“And what does she want with Hancock?”

Wraith’s eyes lost their focus and she was soon back to a snarling beast, but she held on for just long enough to tell them Radiance’s true name, “She’s… Emogene.”

......

Thank you so much for reading! Like what you read? Looking for more? Please see my masterlink post under the Wraith in the Ruins tag (if my tags are working, haha) or my pinned post. As always, my ask is open. If you have any questions/concerns/comments please feel free to drop me a line. I will try to answer promptly and would love to hear from you. =^..^=

#wraith in the ruins #fallout #fallout 4 #fallout companions #fallout fanfic #fanfiction

1 note · View note

andtails · 4 years

Text

A Prelude to Chaos Control - Chapter 1: A Brighter Day

Note: I hope you enjoy this story! You may also find this story on FanFiction.Net or Archive of Our Own.

Story Summary: "It's my fault the Chaos Emeralds were lost, so it's my duty to find them before Eggman does!" An immediate prequel to Sonic X, this story explores Tails' struggles with self-worth as he attempts to build a detector to locate the mystical gems. Action/adventure elements with brotherly moments between Sonic and Tails contained herein.

Chapter 1: A Brighter Day

Waking up a few minutes before his alarm clock was set to go off, a young, orange fox rose out of bed, stretching his thin, furry arms. After a few brief yawns, muffled by his large white gloves, he firmly planted his feet to the floor as he began to collect his bearings.

Rubbing the remaining sleep from his eyes, the fox cub approached the window dividing his modest bedroom from the gorgeous view from the second floor of his home, drew the curtains, and slowly opened the window. While the rejuvenating sunlight warmed his fur, and the brisk breeze replaced the stagnant aroma of his bedroom with the refreshing smell of the outdoors, Tails looked out over the world beyond. As he slowly filled his lungs with the outdoor air, he listened to the sound of flickys chirping in the distant forest to the east and the shallow waves of the ocean waters to the west, steadily crashing against the mountainside.

“Today is going to be a good day,” Tails said as he placed his hands on his hips in determination.

After making his early morning prediction of the day’s events, and stealing one final stretch, Tails stepped out of his bedroom into the narrow hallway leading to the staircase.

“Wonder if Sonic’s still asleep,” he pondered to himself as he crept his way across the second floor stretch, walking past his big brother’s bedroom in the process. Twitching his triangular ears in the direction of the occupied bedroom, Tails could only make out the consistent sound of light snoring coming from the blue hedgehog.

Walking a bit more briskly, but still light enough to prevent the bitter end of Sonic’s well-deserved slumber, Tails finally made it to the main floor of their home, comprised of a moderately-sized, sparsely-furnished living room and an open kitchen, complete with a small table wide enough to accommodate a gathering of four.

Stepping outside to begin his daily morning routines, Tails performed a visual survey of his property for any damage caused by the thunderstorm the prior evening. While Tails could be fearless when fighting Eggman’s array of mechs alongside his big bro, the young kitsune had a devastating fear of thunderstorms, a phobia that caused him to roll into a fetal position and bury his face into the fluffy protection of his twin tails.

After walking along the perimeter of his yard, Tails was relieved to find that his home completely withstood the ravaging storm. Then again, why wouldn’t it have? Even a tornado would’ve failed to do a modicum of damage to the brilliantly engineered, albeit almost plain-looking homestead. In fact, if it weren’t for the large satellite sticking out from the top of the roof, the adjoining workshop that was at least twice the size of his living quarters, and the large runway strip that led right off of the cliff overlooking the ocean, most would consider the house nothing extraordinary.

But this was to the liking of Tails, a scientific and mechanical prodigy who prioritized utility over style and would rather prevent unwanted attention.

“That’s Sonic’s job, after all,” Tails said to himself, lost in a daydream while gazing upon the deep blue ocean, a sight that never ceased to bore the young fox. This was in stark contrast to his older brother, who was unable to swim and feared any body of water larger than a pitcher. Not as much as Tails’ overwhelming fear of lightning, but still enough to refuse Tails’ offer to provide him with basic swimming lessons.

Tails made a quick stop to the mailbox before coming back inside, grabbing a freshly delivered letter. Sitting down at the kitchen table, he delicately opened the envelope to reveal a typed message on thick cardstock paper, complete with official-looking letterhead.

The letter read:

Dear Sonic the Hedgehog and Miles “Tails” Prower,

On behalf of the Mobian Federation of States, I would like to commend your continued support in the collective struggle against Dr. Ivo “Eggman” Robotnik to keep the citizens of Mobius safe from his evil schemes.

In recognition of your outstanding bravery and commitment to protecting the innocent, the President of the Mobian Federation of States has indefinitely extended your service contract and increased your compensation by 15 percent.

May you stay in good health and continue the good fight.

Sincerely,

General H.W. Pitliff

“Outstanding bravery, huh?” Tails questioned to himself, putting the letter down and resting his head with both arms against the table. His muscles tensed as memories of being saved by his big bro filled his thoughts. Feelings of self-doubt and worthlessness followed suit, creeping back up from the recesses of his mind.

Tails was a master mechanic whose quick cognitive processing power had helped Sonic thwart Eggman’s dastardly deeds time and time again, but despite this, the prodigious fox was often overcome with anxiety, feeling he wasn’t living up to his big brother’s legacy and, worse yet, only serving as a liability on the battlefield, cowering with fear the instant the duo were separated in the heat of combat.

As far as he could tell, he’d always been like this; back in the day, Tails was constantly bullied for his twin tails, a rare genetic mutation that made him stand out amongst all other Mobians. Coupled with the lack of parents to provide a warm, comforting home, the abnormal kit roamed the lands until he first met Sonic, who’d later adopt him as his little brother. Just being around him washed away his loneliness and crippling self-doubt, but even living with the one whom he greatly admired hadn’t cured his emotional woes.

“Clearly this letter was intended for Sonic,” Tails said with a sigh, twirling the letter along the surface of the table with a finger.

“Intended for me?” came a voice from behind the young fox. Tails turned around to see Sonic, wide awake and emitting his ever-present positive aura.

“Heya Sonic,” Tails said, his sadness instantly replaced with joy upon his brother’s unexpected arrival to the kitchen, smiling wide enough to brighten anyone’s day.

Before Tails could explain the good news, Sonic dashed over to the kitchen table and snatched up the expensive-looking paper. He gave a long whistle as he finished reading the letter.

“Let’s do something fun to celebrate!” Sonic exclaimed. “Anything you’d like to do, Tails?”

The young fox pondered potential ideas for a few moments, rubbing one set of fingers against his furry chin in thought.

“Well, I guess my idea of a good time vastly differs from yours!” Tails said, giggling to himself.

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?” Sonic asked with no hint of seriousness in his voice.

“Oh, nothing,” Tails replied. “I was just imagining you sitting quietly in a library reading a book.”

Both Sonic and Tails laughed at this ludicrous idea.

“Well,” Sonic said. “I’m sure we’ll think of something to do.”

“As long as we don’t break the bank, I’m up for almost anything,” Tails said, subtly reminding Sonic that they shouldn’t dent their savings account by partying. While the duo was not strapped for cash by any means, especially since they had just received a raise from their freelance government partnership, Tails was solely responsible for balancing the checkbook and ensuring that their household remained fiscally solvent, a duty that he took quite seriously.

“Of course,” Sonic agreed, as he began to playfully rustle Tails’ hair. “Now, how about we fuel up before our morning run?”

******

Some time later, after Sonic and Tails enjoyed a delectable three-course breakfast of eggs, pancakes, and toast, the brothers began their morning run preparations. Sonic, who had already gotten a few stretches in while Tails finished washing the dishes, dashed outside in anticipation of his favorite pastime. Meanwhile, Tails prepared more slowly, ensuring that he didn’t cramp-up after consuming more food than someone his size should be able to stomach.

“C’mon, Tails!” Sonic called from outside, as he performed his signature foot tap. “The day is wasting away.”

“Coming, Sonic!” Tails replied, hopping on one foot out the door as he slipped on his sneakers.

“Ya know,” Sonic began, chuckling at the sight of Tails hobbling out of the house. “You’d save so much time if you just wore your shoes everywhere like me.”

“Yeah, and get dirt everywhere,” Tails retorted, continuing a long-running debate between the two companions that pitted convenience against cleanliness.

Instead of prolonging this friendly spat, though, Sonic took his place at the edge of the yard, facing the direction of the wooded path to the east that served as the daily stomping grounds for the two brothers. Taking the hint, Tails quickly joined him.

In unison, Sonic and Tails gave their pre-race countdown.

“Three…two…one…go!”

And with that, they were off.

******

Making their way through the green planes on the outskirts of the Mystic Ruins, any passersby would likely only see parallel blue and orange blurs speed past them, with the former going slightly faster than the latter. While Tails could run at impressive speeds on-foot, there was absolutely no way the young kitsune could keep up with the “fastest thing alive” without using his trademarked twin tails as propellers.

“C’mon, Tails,” Sonic playfully taunted as he began running backwards for comedic effect. “You’re too slooo-oww!”

Aided by Sonic’s goading words of encouragement, Tails kicked it into high gear, spinning his Tails faster in order to prove his speedy brother wrong.

And he almost did.

Flustered by Tails’ rapid advancement, Sonic spun back around to continue their friendly racing competition.

“First one to that oak tree is a rotten egg-man!” Sonic declared, widening the narrow gap between the companions.

“You won’t win that easily,” Tails replied, ensuring that Sonic would have to work up a sweat if he were to beat him.

As Sonic was about to touch the oak tree, solidifying his continued winning streak, he heard a yelp from behind.

Tails had focused so much on rapidly spinning his tails that he didn’t see the incoming tree trunk that stood as the only obstacle between him and victory. Not having enough time to increase his altitude, Tails’ dangling feet collided with the trunk, causing him to lose his balance mid-flight and dive headfirst into the ground. Before impact, however, Tails took to his spherical shape, rolling down the remainder of the path towards the oak tree, only his namesakes distinguishable in an otherwise blurry orange ball.

Sonic watched in awe as his little brother quickly recovered from the fall by adapting his signature rolling technique. Unfortunately for the blue hedgehog, though, Tails was rapidly rolling towards him much faster than he anticipated. Without enough time to defend himself, or jump out of the way, Tails barreled right into Sonic’s chest, launching the hedgehog back-first into the oak tree.

After sliding to the ground, and shaking the imaginary flickys from his vision, Sonic looked down to see the young fox, resting on his lap, panting heavily, sweat soaking through his orange fur coat.

“Are you alright?” Sonic asked. He took no damage from Tails’ unintentional attack, but even if he did, his priority would always be the safety and protection of his little bro.

“Did I…” Tails struggled to speak between gasps for air. “Did I…win, Sonic?”

After a few moments of pause, Sonic replied, “Yes, Tails…Yes you did.”

“Hooray,” Tails said in a slow, quiet voice, hardly able to keep his eyes open from utter exhaustion.

“Good job, buddy…I’m proud of you,” Sonic said. Tails smiled brightly before dozing off to sleep in the comforting arms of his big bro.

Sonic allowed himself to get comfortable, not wanting to disturb Tails’ peaceful slumber. Placing his arms behind his head, gazing up at the mid-morning sky, Sonic allowed his mind to wander.

Tails needs this. He tries so hard to make me proud. Little does he know how much I already am.

Basking in the comfort of the cool breeze and the warm sun peeking through the tall oak’s wide branches, Sonic succumbed to sleep himself, allowing his arms to fall from behind his head and gently land beside Tails.

******

By the time Tails woke from his morning nap, the sun was already high in the sky, reflecting over the small lake just down the hill from the tree. Apart from a slight stiffness from lying in a semi-awkward position, the fox felt well-rested and in good spirits.

I wonder where Sonic is.

Of course, Tails didn’t need to look far. Not seeing him within his peripheral vision, he tilted his head up to see his big brother sleeping soundly behind him, resting against the oak tree which now served as a permanent reminder that, with great perseverance, even he could overcome his obstacles.

In this case, it was finally beating Sonic at his own game.

Careful not to disturb the heavy-eyed hedgehog, Tails slowly rose from his comfortable naptime position, planting his short legs firmly to the ground while brushing himself off with his gloved hands, even though he wasn’t dirty at all. Tails peered down at his older brother, still sound asleep after their thrilling race a short while ago.

I suppose it’s time to wake up.

The orange kitsune looked around to see how best to disturb Sonic’s slumber. He didn’t need to look far, noticing a small branch a few feet away with a small green leaf attached to the far end. Chuckling to himself in anticipation, Tails grabbed the twig from the leafless end, got down to his knees, and slowly drew the branch closer to his sleeping friend. Tails was careful to ensure that the wood didn’t touch his face as he positioned the leaf below Sonic’s black nose.

The sensation of a flat, smooth surface rubbing against his nose slowly brought the sleeping hedgehog back into consciousness.

“Tickle, tickle, tickle, tickle,” Tails said, as if talking to a baby, attempting to laugh his brother awake.

“Heh heh, cut it out!” Sonic said between bouts of laughter.

This, of course, only egged Tails on further, as he tickled Sonic’s sensitive nose more ferociously than before, causing the hedgehog to roll from side to side while laughing so loud as to disturb the birds roosting in the tree above. As Sonic stopped rocking and rolling below the big oak, he slowly tilted his head back, opening his mouth in preparation for a signature Sonic sneeze.

Tails was caught unawares, lost in his quest to continue tickling his older brother until he couldn’t take it anymore.

“AaaaCHOO!” Sonic sneezed, directly in Tails’ direction. Of course, while the force of the sneeze was small, the loud noise caused Tails to lose his footing and fall backwards. Almost by instinct, Tails rolled back into a ball before making impact with the ground, causing him to roll downhill.

By this point, Sonic resumed his raucous laughter, although not from tickling, but from his little bro’s comical clumsiness.

Splash!

Sonic stopped his laughter and immediately faced the nearby lake. At first, he only saw the patch of disturbed water, bubbles rising to the surface, but then an orange shape began bobbing up and down in the lake. Only the back of Tails’ head, his back, and his namesakes were visible as his seemingly lifeless body floated still in the deep blue water below.

“Tails!” Sonic exclaimed as he ran to save his little brother from drowning.

Sonic dove headfirst into the water mere feet from the lifeless fox. The blue hedgehog flapped his arms in the surprisingly deep waters for a few seconds before securely placing his hands on Tails’ shoulders, half-sunk below the water’s surface. It was at that moment the small kitsune’s propeller tails sprang to life, raising the fox above the water, leaving Sonic to fend for himself.

“Ho ho ho!” Tails bellowed, imitating the laugh of a certain evil mastermind while depicting a fake moustache with his finger. “It looks like I’ve finally got rid of that meddlesome hedgehog!”

Sonic, meanwhile, continued splashing about in the water, doing his best to keep his head from bobbing below the surface. After a few more laughs, Tails hovered close to the drowning hedgehog, extending an arm out to help his blue friend out of the lake. Sonic gladly accepted the assist, their hands locking together before Tails transported them both back to the safety of the oak tree.

Sonic laid flat on his back upon returning to dry land. Tails joined him, still laughing under his breath.

“I thought I was a goner for a second!” Sonic exclaimed, shifting his head to see his younger bro staring back.

“Yeah, but you should know that I’d never let you drown,” Tails replied with a hint of humorous sarcasm.

As Sonic and Tails’ laughter slowly started to die out, the two companions stared up at the clouds, allowing enough sunlight to naturally dry their wet fur from their lakeside escapade.

“You know, Sonic,” Tails began, placing his arms behind his head in a fashion not unlike Sonic. “Don’t you wish that everyday could be like this?”

“What d’ya mean, little buddy?”

“You know…just the two of us hanging out and having fun. I don’t think I’ve ever felt more at peace.”

Sonic looked over at his younger brother once more, all but confirming Tails’ current emotional state as he stared at the sky, a smile on his face, not a care in the world.

“Ya know, Tails,” Sonic replied as he stood up from the refreshingly warm grass and lowered an arm in Tails’ direction. “As long as we keep Eggman at bay, what is there to stop us from always having fun?”

Tails thought to himself as he allowed Sonic to pull him up from the ground. “I guess nothing, now that I think about it.”

“Then it’s settled,” Sonic said, pressing his fist against the palm of his other hand. “We won’t allow anyone to stand in the way of our adventures, and if they do, they’ll have to answer to us!”

“You said it!” Tails replied, flashing a thumbs up that was quickly met with Sonic’s own mere moments later.

“Now let’s say we get ourselves home,” Sonic said, pointing back in the direction of their abode. “It’s almost time for lunch.”

Tails nodded in agreement. “Maybe after lunch I can get back to working on my latest project.”

“What about our party plans?” Sonic asked, as they both started walking towards the direction of their shared abode.

“To be honest,” Tails replied, “spending a nice, quiet afternoon in my workshop is as much excitement as I’ll ever need.”

Sharing a few more laughs, the brotherly duo enjoyed a brisk walk back to their cozy, mountainside home.

******

Spacious by design, Tails’ workshop, directly connected to his shared home, was an absolute paradise for any professional mechanic. Spanning several yards in all directions, and equipped with two floors, the well-organized space was full of workbenches, high-tech computers, complex tools, storage cabinets several times taller than Tails himself, and a host of spare parts, components, wheels, gadgets, widgets, doodads, and other advanced contraptions beyond the comprehension of most.

The mid-afternoon sun poured through an open window on the east side of the facility as the young kitsune sat at his messiest workbench, tinkering with a handheld device with one hand while taking a large bite out of his half-eaten chilidog with the other.

A droplet of sweat rolled down Tails’ forehead as he focused on meticulously taking apart the contraption, a ritual that he had repeated several times that afternoon alone.

“Maybe if I recalibrate the sensors, I’ll be able to get a reading,” Tails theorized to himself as he continued unscrewing components with his specialized multitool, his head bent over multiple work lamps.

“So this is the project, huh?” Sonic said from behind Tails’ chair. Sonic didn’t enter the workshop particularly quietly, but Tails was so involved in his work that he didn’t notice his big brother’s approaching steps.

“Woah!” Tails exclaimed. The surprise caused him to stand up with a jolt, only to hit his head on one of the overhead lamps. Rubbing the new bump on his noggin, Tails accidentally swiped the device and several loose components off the desk with his wandering tails. Reacting quickly, Sonic snagged the device and a few components before they could fall to the ground. The remaining pieces scattered around Tails’ chair, flipped over after his fright.

“Gosh, buddy…are you okay?” Sonic asked. He set the items he saved down on the table in order to properly inspect Tails’ head.

“Yeah…I think so,” Tails replied, moving his hand out of the way to allow the hedgehog to feel through the fur for any damage.

“It looks swollen already,” Sonic said, identifying the cranial bump. He looked down at his fingers to find a small amount of blood from Tails’ wound. “I’ll go and fetch a bandage and some cream,” he said, allowing the young fox a glimpse of his lightly bloodstained glove.

Before he could respond, though, Sonic was already gone, leaving a blue afterimage in his wake, before quickly returning with the items he promised: a square-shaped, sticky bandage and a small tube of antibiotic ointment.

“Thank you, Sonic,” Tails said in a somber voice, looking up at his big bro with wide eyes while Sonic applied the cream to the bruise.

“I shouldn’t be thanked at all,” Sonic replied, as he affixed the bandage to the bump. “After all, it was because of me that you got hurt in the first place.”

“But it was due to my clumsiness that I got startled over something so trivial,” Tails argued, always preferring to find fault with himself over others, especially when compared to Sonic. At this point, Tails was sitting back on his chair, looking down at Sonic’s shoes as the hedgehog eyed the fox with concern.

“Well, I gotta make it up to you somehow,” Sonic replied.

Still looking at the floor, Tails noticed his components scattered all around him. Ignoring his big brother’s offer, Tails got up and began picking up the pieces. Before he could grab the third component, however, Sonic dashed around the desk, swooping-up the pieces as he went, and placing them back onto Tails’ workbench.

“Heh heh, thanks Sonic,” Tails said, smiling while placing an arm behind his head. Sonic simply replied with a thumbs up.

Tails looked back at the device, resting undamaged near the pile of components. Tails got to work organizing the parts into smaller piles on the desk, giving at least some breathing room for the device so that he could better work on deconstructing it later.

“Mind if I help too?” Sonic asked.

“Well,” Tails replied. “I suppose organizing these components isn’t too difficult, so we can separate them out together.” Sonic rolled another chair over from a different workbench a few feet away and placed it next to his fox companion. He sat down, and they both got to work.

After a few minutes of meticulous organization, Sonic broke the silence.

“So, what’s the device you’ve been working on?” Sonic asked, eyeing the contraption that he saved from colliding with the floor moments ago.

“Oh,” Tails replied, just realizing that he never actually explained the project to Sonic. He picked it up and showed it to him. Its circular shape was covered by a glass screen, a small button resting at the top. It almost resembled a pocket watch, albeit larger and more technological looking.

“Well, you see, Eggman hasn’t caused any mayhem for a while, right?” Tails said, as he set the contraption down on the desk again.

“Right,” Sonic replied. “But what does that have to do with your project?”

“I’m getting to that,” Tails replied with a patient smile. “I fear that the good doctor may be up to no good, possibly trying to collect the Chaos Emeralds after they were scattered during our last showdown.”

“Oh yeah,” Sonic replied, thinking back to the last time they battled the evil mastermind. He remembered fighting one of the doctor’s large mechs before using the power of the emeralds to transform himself into Super Sonic, granting him a temporary boost in power that allowed the glowing, yellow hedgehog to fly and deal greater damage for a limited time.

At this point, Tails stood up from his chair once again and began pacing, fingers scratching his chin as his eyes looked down in thought.

“The process of re-collecting the emeralds is incredibly tedious,” Tails continued. “But what if we could track them down easily using a detector?”

After a few moments of pondering, Sonic replied, “That sounds like a brilliant idea, Tails!”

“Thank you very much,” Tails said, performing a humorous bow with his right arm against his belly as if he just concluded a theatrical show in front of a live audience. “But there is one problem that I’m unable to figure out.”

“Oh?” Sonic replied, stunned that his little brother encountered a mechanical quandary that he couldn’t solve with ease.

“Yeah,” Tails replied. “The issue is that I can’t get the detector to register the presence of the unique energy that emanates from the emeralds.”

“Huh,” Sonic replied, scratching his head. “If it’s any consolation, I probably could’ve taken out Eggman’s mech without the emeralds, so I probably shouldn’t have used them.”

“It’s fine, Sonic,” Tails replied, remembering how the mech had held him captive, unable to break free from the giant machine’s heavy grasp. He began to breath heavily as the memory of Super Sonic cutting through the thick arm of the robot and teleporting him to safety made him feel worthless, the self-loathing invading his thoughts once more. “I was the reason why you resorted to using the Chaos Emeralds in the first place,” Tails continued, a few tears beginning to well up in his eyes.

Sonic, unable to see his brother in pain, extended his arms. “It’s okay, Tails.”

Wiping the tears from his blurred vision, Tails saw Sonic approaching him for a hug. As soon as he entered into his brother’s embrace, his heart rate slowed and breathing eased.

Still choked up while hugging the blue hedgehog, Tails began to speak again.

“I figured that a device to help us gather them back up would make things right.”

“I’m sure this will make things easier,” Sonic replied, rubbing Tails’ back, “but don’t think for a second that it was your fault.”

Sonic ended the embrace, still holding onto Tails’ shoulders. His young companion sniffled a bit, looked down at the floor once again.

“Now how about you take a break from work and I prepare us some ice cream sundaes?” Sonic offered. This caught Tails’ attention.

“But it’s only three in the afternoon!” Tails countered, concerned about spoiling dinner.

“Okay, mother,” Sonic replied in a teasing voice, eliciting a playful shoulder punch from the orange kitsune, whose spirits appeared back on the upswing.

“Tell ya what,” Sonic offered. “I’ll prepare our treats while you finish cleaning up down here. Sound good?”

“Yes it does,” Tails replied with a smile, his eyes still slightly red from crying.

As Sonic left for the kitchen, Tails’ smile began to fade.

He stared intently at the semi-organized piles of components remaining on his workbench. He felt a little better, but the guilt, shame, and sense of incompetence were still ever-present in his mind.

Tails sighed as he returned to his workstation, sitting back down to continue the organizing that he and Sonic started.

“I’ll try my absolute hardest to make things right,” Tails said out loud to himself. “For the safety of my friends, and to prevent Eggman from gaining absolute power, we must prevail.”

I must prevail.

*****

Chapter 2

#Sonic fan fiction #Sonic the Hedgehog Fan Fiction #Sonic Fan Fic #Tails Fan Fic #Sonic the Hedgehog #Miles Tails Prower #Tails #Tails the Fox #Fan Fiction #Fan Fic #Sonic X #Action #Adventure #Brotherly

12 notes · View notes

jordswriteswords · 4 years

Text

Clextober19: Trick or Treat

"Mads? Aden? You guys ready to go?" Lexa asked.

"Go where?", Madi questioned, dropping her head back on the couch to look at her mother standing in the doorway.

"Trick or treating?" Lexa said unsurely. "Where are your costumes?"

"Maaaa," Madi whined. "I'm too old to be trick or treating."

"No one is too old for candy," Lexa corrected with a pout.

"No way, Ma," Madi said.

Aden attempted to be the mediator and said, "I actually don't mind -,"

"Shut it, Forrest," Lexa snapped at Aden, cutting him off.

He clenched his jaw and played with his hands nervously. Lexa never would admit that she got a little thrill out of scaring the boy. She absolutely adored him, and thought he was perfect for her daughter, but loved that he found her intimidating when no one else in her household did.

Madi rolled her eyes. "I'm seventeen. I'm over that stuff."

Lexa gaped at her daughter as she waved her off. Madi turned back to the television, and Aden gave an awkward smile to Lexa. She stuck her tongue out at him in response.

***

"What does she mean 'too old'?" Lexa asked, pacing the bedroom. "We - she - she used to do it all the time!"

"Babe," Clarke spoke softly from the bed, not to startle her frazzled wife. "Baby, come here."

"Clarke, she can't be too old. She's my kid." Lexa's voice cracked slightly, and Clarke opened her arms to welcome Lexa into her embrace.

"Maybe we start a new tradition. What else can we do other than treats?"

They sat quietly for a moment while Lexa pondered how to keep Madi involved in the spirit of Halloween.

"I got it," she laughed, giving her wife a copy smile. "Instead of treat… we can trick."

***

"Listen up, Madi Griffin-Woods. We are hereby commencing Project Trick Or Treat."

Madi stared up at her mothers. Both were wearing face paint and camouflage.

"O...Kay?"

Clarke cleared her throat. "Henceforward, we will no longer be looting the town for candy, but having our own prank wars. Winner gets a hundred dollars."

"Oh, you are so on!" Madi cheered. "Mama needs a new skateboard."

"What?" Lexa asked, breaking character. "I don't need a skateboard."

Madi huffed. "No it's -,"

"It's just an expression, honey," Clarke explained. "Okay, Madi, to make it fair, we're only doing human pranks, so Aden and I can help. Nothing dangerous, and nothing permanent. The team to successfully pull off the most pranks by the end of this month wins."

Madi and her mom's shook on it. When she shook Lexa's hand; however, Madi yelped and leaped back, rubbing the palm of her hand.

Lexa smirked and waved her hand at her daughter. In her palm was a tiny little hand buzzer.

"Looks like we're up one," she smirked.

Madi narrowed her eyes and cracked her knuckles. "You're going to pay."

***

Aden fell off the back of his bike at the sound of the foghorn from the car driving by.

He looked up and saw his girlfriend's mama laughing at him.

***

"Lex, can you come in here?"

Madi hid behind the mattress of her mothers' room, giggling at her boyfriend as he tried desperately to clear his throat. Madi had cast a spell to make him sound like Clarke. She knew it was cheating, but she couldn’t think of a reason to get her mama to come upstairs without tipping her off.

"Coming!"

The floorboards creaked as Lexa approached the bedroom. Aden and Madi had to hold their hand over the other's mouth to get the giggles to quieten.

"Babe?" Lexa called, opening the door.

There was a loud SPLASH, the squeak of Lexa’s shocked yelp, and then the loud thud of her falling to the floor.

Madi and Aden's giggles turned into full bellied laughs as they stood up from behind the mattress to find Lexa lying on her butt, soaked from the bucket of water that was balancing on the edge of the door.

"Trick or treat!" Madi yelled, but her expression faltered when Lexa grimaced on the ground. "Ma? You okay?" She asked.

Lexa groaned and winced again. "Help me," she said. "I think I hit my head."

Madi and Aden both rushed to her side, extending an arm to help her from the floor. But, instead of standing, Lexa pulled them both down, soaking their clothes in the puddle underneath.

"Trick," Lexa answered with a laugh. She stood and ran out of the room before the teenagers could react.

"Ugh!" Madi yelled, splashing the water in Aden's face as she slammed her hand down in frustration.

***

Just as Aden rounded the corner, Lexa pressed down on the trigger of the foghorn.

He screamed and fell into the wall, clutching his heart.

***

Lexa could barely contain herself as she placed clear tape over the toilet seat. She knew that this one was mean, but she also knew that her daughter deserved it after soaking her through.

She exited the bathroom and ran straight into her wife.

"Hey! What are you doing?" Clarke asked.

"Don't use that one," Lexa replied.

Clarke rolled her eyes. "Fine, but you gotta clean up any mess."

The day carried on as normal, until Madi walked to the bathroom before dinner. Lexa and Clarke both laughed at the sound of her screams.

"We're awful parents," Lexa said around a laugh.

"The worst," Clarke agreed.

They high fived.

***

Early mornings were always tough for Clarke. She worked the most ridiculous hours at the hospital when she was in her residency and had a hard time adjusting to a nine to five when she moved to her own practice.

So, she wasn't prepared to walk into a wall of clear tape as she exited her bedroom.

"Madi!" She screamed, desperately trying to dislodge herself from the sticky material without ripping out her hair.

Madi laughed, snapped a picture on her phone to send to Aden, and left her mother (partly out of fear of retaliation).

***

Lexa felt bad for almost a full second before squeezing down on the foghorn.

Aden startled so violently that he fell right off the couch and curled into a fetal position. "Please don't tell Madi," he begged.

Lexa just winked.

***

Madi screamed when she unrolled the toilet paper to see a spider. She poofed herself into Aden's waiting arms outside of the bathroom.

"What's wrong, love?" Clarke asked, a mischievous smile to her lips.

"Spider!" Madi yelled.

Clarke unrolled the toilet paper to show the detailed painting if the spider she put on the roll. "Gotcha!"

***

Aden swung the door open to Madi's room and screamed as the door handle hit the foghorn stuck to the wall.

"Mrs. Griffin-Woods is trying to kill me," he said to no one in particular.

***

Lexa was in a rush to get ready, her alarm clock not going off in the morning (thanks to Madi unplugging it).

She scrambled out of the shower and immediately went to dry her hair. Except, it wouldn't start. She turned it on and off a few times to no avail. She unplugged it and plugged it back in, flipped the switch and a puff of baby powder exploded from the end of the hair dryer, coating her face in a thick layer.

Lexa grumbled and swung open the bathroom door, ready to snap Madi into another period of time when she walked right into the lanky figure of Aden.

"M-M-Mrs. Griffin-Woods!" He greeted. "You look -,"

Lexa snapped her fingers and removed his mouth from his face, and Aden's eyes widened in fright.

Suddenly, Aden's mouth was restored and Madi's laughter sounded from the end of the hall. "You okay, Ma? You look white as a ghost!" She said, pointing at her mom before vanishing with a wiggle of her nose.

Lexa laughed and chased after her.

***

Lexa kissed her wife, snuggling into her arm on their mattress. She felt the warm pull of sleep overcome her and she sighed, happy to fall asleep with the love of her life for another night.

The sounds of birds chirping and the glow of sunrise helped wake Lexa in the morning. She yawned and stretched her arms above her head, enjoying the cracks and pops of her muscles.

When she opened her eyes, she nearly screamed.

She and Clarke were floating in the middle of the local lake.

Clarke woke shortly after, shooting up at Lexa's shocked expression. She took in their surroundings and let out a hard bark of laughter.

"Our daughter is an evil genius."

***

One month of pranks later, and the Griffin-Woods gang collapsed onto the couch together.

"Alright, alright, that was fun," Lexa said to her daughter.

"Fun? That was awesome!" Madi countered. She reached across her boyfriend to give her mama a big hug.

"Who won?" Aden asked.

Lexa tapped her chin. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a hundred dollar bill, holding it out for her daughter to take. "I think you deserve this."

Madi, eyes wide, reached for the money, but stopped. "No, mama, I think you guys won this year. You deserve it."

"No, I insist," Lexa said.

"No, I insist," Madi replied.

"No, you," Lexa said.

"No, you."

"Oh, Jesus," Clarke groaned.

"Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, Mads," Aden said, reaching over to take the money.

"Aden, wait --,"

With a poof, Aden was transformed into a black kitten the size of Lexa's hand.

"Oh my God, he's so cute!" Madi gasped.

"I actually don't mind him like this," Lexa teased.

Aden purred in Lexa's embrace, crawling up her shoulder and nuzzling under her chin.

"Suck up," Lexa scolded, a small smile on her lips as she played with kitten-Aden.

"Don't let the big meanie scare you," Clarke said to Aden. "It's totally working on her."

52 notes · View notes

wittyvitale · 5 years

Text

Jellal’s Lullaby (A Fluffy Jerza fic)

Notes: I decided to post the full text here since I posted the full text of all my other FT fanfics. Enjoy!

Summary: Erza and Jellal's baby daughter wakes up crying in the middle of the night. Jellal enters her nursery and struggles to quell her cries. He then remembers a certain night at the Tower of Heaven in which he had to comfort a young Erza. His recollection gives him an idea on how to calm his daughter. Slight spoilers for the Tower of Heaven Arc and GMG Arc.

Midnight had long passed and the inhabitants of the Fernandes-Scarlet household were fast asleep. Baby Juliet had just awoken from a deep sleep and began to wail. Both Erza and Jellal awakened and began to get out of bed.

“I’ve got her, Erza,” Jellal said to his wife groggily. “Go back to sleep.”

“Mmph.” Erza replied in consent; as much as she adored her daughter, she was exhausted and needed a break.

Jellal stood up from the bed and made his way towards his daughter’s nursery.

***

Every night at the Tower of Heaven was the same; slaves young and old were tired and bruised from the day’s labor. As exhausted as they were, some of them could not find rest and fall asleep. The cells were filled with groans of pain and the tears of children, many of whom cried for their parents in the midst of their restless slumbers.

There was one scarlet-haired girl who tried her best to be strong, but she became overwhelmed with her thoughts in the quiet of the night. She stayed in the farthest corner of the cell and lay on her side, not wanting any of the other children to see her tears. She hugged her legs to her chest in the fetal position and allowed her tears to flow. She was silent aside from the occasional sniffle.

Everyone else in the girl’s cell had fallen asleep for the night and were unaware of her sorrow. All except for one blue-haired boy. As he was about to fall asleep, he heard the sniffles and saw his friend’s body shuddering. Being very concerned for the young girl, the boy stood up and walked in her direction.

***

“Juliet,” Jellal said calmly to the baby girl crying in her crib, a kind smile on his face. “What’s the matter? It’s been a while since you woke up in the middle of the night.”

Jellal picked his daughter up and cradled her to his chest. Usually being in her father’s arms would calm Juliet somewhat, but tonight she continued to wail. Jellal checked the basics but Juliet was fine in all of those areas. He began to pace back and forth in the nursery, gently bouncing his baby girl.

“Shhh, it’s all right, Juliet, it’s all right,” Jellal spoke softly, continuing to pace. “Are you just cranky? Maybe you had a bad dream?”

Juliet’s cries continued. Jellal rubbed a thumb against his daughter’s face to wipe away some of her tears.

Jellal sat on the rocking chair and tried to think of what else he could do to quell his daughter’s cries.

***

“Erza?” the blue-haired boy asked as he placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Are you all right?”

“J-Jellal,” Erza stuttered, not expecting anybody else to be awake. “I’m fine, don’t worry about me. You can go back to sleep.”

“I was never actually asleep. And you’re not fine, you’re crying. I can’t just leave when I know you’re crying.”

Erza felt her cheeks grow hot at Jellal’s words. She rubbed a quick arm across her face.

“I just want to get out of here so badly, Jellal. But I’m afraid I never will. And even if I get out, where will I go? The slavers destroyed my village. I have no parents. I have no other family. I don’t see where my future will go. What if this is the best it gets? That scares me so much, Jellal. I’m so scared of everything.” With that, Erza began to cry all over again.

Jellal quietly listened to his friend, allowing her to fully express herself. He then sat next to Erza, took her hand, and held it gently.

“Erza, we are going to get out of here, I promise. This won’t be forever. We’ll find a way, and we’ll get out,” Jellal said with determination. “As for what happens when we get out… we can go together. The slavers killed my family and destroyed my village too. So we’ll find a new village, maybe even a city, and we’ll live there. Together. I’ll stay by your side, I promise.”

Erza felt herself becoming more hopeful as she listened to Jellal. She also felt her cheeks grow hotter as she reflected upon Jellal’s words and felt the warmth of his hand holding hers.

“Together…” she said in a quiet voice, testing the word on her tongue.

“That’s right. We’ll be together.” Jellal nodded, smiling widely. Erza couldn’t help but smile back.

“Thank you so much, Jellal.” Erza replied with a yawn. Jellal gave Erza’s hand a light squeeze.

“I think it’s time for you to get some sleep. If you don’t, you’ll be exhausted in the morning.”

Before Erza could reply, Jellal took a deep breath. He knew just what to do to help his friend fall asleep.

***

Jellal gently rocked his baby daughter in the rocking chair, trying in vain to calm her cries.

“My poor Juliet,” Jellal said sadly as he looked at his red-faced daughter. “I hate seeing you so distressed. What can I do, Juliet? How can I help?”

Jellal tried to think of anything else he could do to comfort his daughter. He searched in the recesses of his mind, desperately searching for a way to bring her peace. It was then that he remembered how he comforted another scarlet-haired girl a long time ago. He wasn’t sure if it would work, but he was willing to give anything a shot. Jellal took a deep breath.

***

Erza was shocked at what happened next. Jellal began to sing. She had never heard him sing before, she never even knew he could sing. She listened with quiet awe, allowing the melody to surround her.

“Goodnight, my angel Time to close your eyes And save these questions for another day I think I know what you've been asking me I think you know what I've been trying to say.”

Erza’s focus was solely on Jellal. It was like they were the only 2 beings in the world. The tower, the prison cell, the despair, none of these things existed in this moment. All that existed were Erza and Jellal. Erza was entranced by the song and felt herself relaxing.

“I promised I would never leave you And you should always know Wherever you may go No matter where you are I never will be far away.”

Jellal continued singing and Erza felt her eyelids grow heavier and heavier. Before Jellal finished the song, Erza was overcome by sleep, breathing deeply and still holding onto Jellal’s hand.

***

“And like a boat out on the ocean I'm rocking you to sleep The water's dark And deep inside this ancient heart You'll always be a part of me.”

Juliet’s cries finally began to wane. They died to soft whimpers and her big brown eyes focused on her father, listening to his singing voice.

“Goodnight, my angel Now it's time to dream And dream how wonderful your life will be.”

Juliet’s eyes were drooping and she yawned.

“Someday your child may cry And if you sing this lullaby Then in your heart There will always be a part of me.”

Juliet yawned one more time until she was embraced by sleep. Her eyes finally closed and she was now sleeping peacefully. Jellal let out a sigh of relief and smiled fondly at his little girl. His beautiful little daughter, his perfect baby girl who looked just like her mother.

“There we are, there’s a good girl.” he said lovingly as he stood up and turned to Juliet’s crib. As he turned, he saw Erza standing in the doorway. She had tears running down her face, which alarmed Jellal.

“I didn’t dream it,” Erza whispered, not wanting to wake Juliet. “You did sing me to sleep. I thought I dreamed it, that night at the Tower. But it was you. You did sing me that lullaby. Oh Jellal.”

Jellal’s concern softened into a kind smile as he listened to Erza. He gently lay his sleeping daughter in her crib and placed a blanket over her. Erza walked over to Jellal, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him passionately. Jellal returned the kiss and wrapped his arms around Erza’s waist. After they removed their lips from each other, they stared at each other and smiled.

“My grandmother used to sing me that lullaby,” Jellal said as he reached a hand up to brush Erza’s tears away. “It never failed to lull me to sleep. That’s why I sang it to you that night in the Tower. And since it worked for you so well, I thought I’d give it a try with Juliet.”

The couple turned their attention towards their daughter, who was sleeping soundly.

“Obviously it worked just as well on her as it did with me,” Erza replied, a motherly smile on her face. “I think I’d like an encore performance. Would you mind singing it to me again when we get to the bedroom?”

Jellal chuckled and kissed Erza’s cheek. “It would be my absolute pleasure, Erza.”

The couple looked at their daughter once more before turning to leave the nursery. Before the night was over, the Fernandes-Scarlet household was filled once again with the sounds of Jellal’s Lullaby, a song he reserved only for his wife and baby daughter.

Notes: The lullaby is called "Goodnight My Angel" by Billy Joel.

#fairy tail #fairy tail fanfiction #jerza #jerza baby #erza scarlet #Jellal Fernandes

21 notes · View notes

earlybird820 · 5 years

Text

Widow Maker

On the third and final drive to the hospital that fateful Tuesday night, my boyfriend, Rob, reached for my hand and squeezed. I began to cry. For my sister, Jenna, for my niece, Olivia, for my unborn baby niece who Jon would never hold, for Jon’s parents, John and Ann Marie, and for me. Jon was more than a brother-in-law to me, he had become my protective big brother over the years. Our mutual love for Jenna and Olivia had especially bonded us.

Jon had had a massive heart attack at home early Monday morning and had been rushed to the hospital. After coding several times on the operating table, the surgeon was finally able to stabilize him with a stent. According to his doctor, his left ventricle was 100 percent blocked with plaque and the blood was not able to pump as it should which caused the ventricle to burst leading to cardiac arrest. I didn’t know it at the time, but this type of heart attack is often referred to as a “widowmaker.”

When my family and I were first led back to the ICU on Monday, we were shocked at what lay before us. Jon was hooked up to tubes that seemed to be coming from everywhere, machines beeping and whirring continuously, punctuating the silence. In an induced coma, Jon was just a shell of the man he was before. My brother-in-law, the man with the boisterous laugh and heart of gold, now had machines breathing for him and pumping his broken heart.

For two days, friends and family took turns sitting with Jon, holding his limp, cold hand. Some of us simply sat in silence at his bedside, while others talked to him, hoping he could hear them. On Tuesday morning, I, along with my mom and dad, went back to visit him. I sat on his left side holding his hand, my mom and dad across from me. My mom began to speak to him. I can’t remember exactly what all she said, but I distinctly remember her saying, “Today is Tuesday, December 13th. Olivia is exactly 2 years and 5 months old today.” My dad adding, “You gotta pull through buddy; Jenna and the girls need you.”

I said nothing. I sat silently, my mind racing through all the things I wanted to say. How much I appreciated him taking me into his home three years prior, so I could start a new life. How much I loved him for being a wonderful husband to my sister and an even better father to my niece. How much I treasured him for always looking out for me and wanting the best for me. But I couldn’t turn those thoughts into spoken words. I believed that I would be able to tell him all those things when he woke up.

Later that afternoon we received good news from one of Jon’s doctors: “He is not completely out of the woods yet, but his vitals are improving slightly which is a step in the right direction.” We hung all of our hopes on those words.

Deciding it would be beneficial for Jenna to leave the hospital for a couple of hours, we picked Olivia up from daycare early and drove back to her house. Just as we were about to sit down to eat dinner, Jenna’s phone rang. Jon had gone into cardiac arrest again and the doctors were trying to re-stabilize him.

The drive back to the hospital felt like the longest drive of my life. When we finally reached the ICU waiting room, it was full of Jon’s family and friends—many of whom had red, puffy eyes. Fearing Jon had passed and that I didn’t get to say goodbye, I began to sob. One of Jon’s friends reassured me, telling me the doctors had been able to stabilize him but wanted to speak to the entire family in an hour. That hour was agonizing. My sister lay on a couch in the waiting room curled into a fetal position, her entire body racking with sobs. My mom gently lifted her head into her lap and stroked her hair, my dad crouched beside her and squeezed her hand, and I placed her legs in my lap and hugged them, as if by cocooning her inside our love, we might shield her from the inevitable pain.

Finally, we were led back to the ICU to see Jon. The damage from the most recent cardiac arrest was clearly visible. His whole body was bloated from the buildup of fluids in his failing organs. A mixture of blood and some other clear liquid continuously leaked slowly from his nose. My mom grabbed a Kleenex and tenderly wiped the fluid away.

The doctor entered the room. He was not the same one we had spoken to earlier. His words were also not as gentle.

“It took 45 minutes to get him stabilized again. His organs are failing from cardiogenic shock and we believe he is brain dead due to lack of oxygen to the brain. He is no longer salvageable.”

Yes, the doctor used the word “salvageable” as though Jon were some household appliance and not a husband, father, son, grandson, brother, nephew, cousin, friend.

The sound of wailing permeated the room.

Ann Marie turned to John, “Why is this happening to us? Why? Why? Why? Both our sons. Why?” They had lost their only other child just six years prior in a fatal car accident. He was only 24 years old.

All John could say was, “I don’t know, I don’t know.”

They held each other and wept.

My sister, six-months pregnant, lay herself across Jon’s chest, her round belly protruding underneath her. She kissed his face—his lips, his forehead, his cheeks, his eyelids. She whispered, “It’s okay baby, you can go. It’s okay. I love you.”

One by one, all his family and friends came in to say goodbye as we waited to remove him from life support. I watched, with tears streaming down my face, as my mom continued to wipe the fluid from Jon’s nose every few minutes.

A little after midnight the doctor came back in to say it was time. All Jon’s friends left the room as the family gathered around him to say our final goodbyes. At 12:29am on December 14, 2016, Jon took his final breath. He was only 33 years old.

When I awoke the next morning, I thought for a split second that Jon’s death was all a bad dream. But that reprieve did not last long. The wave of reality and grief came crashing down and swept it away. I lay there crying while Rob silently held me tight. I wished he could have held me forever, but I knew that my sister needed me, so I broke the embrace and wiped my tears.

While Jenna, her in-laws, and my parents were away making funeral arrangements, Jon’s Aunt Mary Kay, Rob, and I stayed with Olivia and hosted the revolving visitors who brought food and items for the funeral. Later that evening I helped my sister pick out music for the picture slideshow that would be displayed at the funeral home. I never realized how many songs had been written about death and losing loved ones until then.

The next several days were a whirlwind as we made the last arrangements, attended the funeral home visitation, and the funeral ceremony. With the constant coming and going of visitors paying their respects, the full extent of Jon’s absence had not yet hit us. It wasn’t until everyone else went on with their lives and routines, that the quiet set in. Jon had a big personality and an infectious laugh, and it broke my heart to realize that I would never again hear that laugh.

One day after Jenna had picked Olivia up from daycare, she began to cut up strawberries for Olivia—something that Jon would always do. With a hitch in her voice and tears welling in her eyes, she said, “I can’t do this, Jon always did this.” My mom took over while Jenna retreated to her room, sobbing.

My mom was a blessing during those difficult days. She was retired and able to stay with my sister for months at a time. I know this could not have been easy on her and my dad, who had to stay home, an hour and a half away, for work. They barely got to see each other, though my dad would make the drive down whenever he could.

As for me, I settled into a routine of going to my sister’s after a full day of work, helping out around the house in whatever way I could until 10 or 11pm, and then making the 40-minute drive home every night. My boyfriend, Rob, had just signed up for the Army National Guard a few months before Jon’s death and he had shipped out to bootcamp in Missouri a month after Jon’s funeral. For three long months the only correspondence I had with him was through writing letters, which would take up to two weeks to receive a response. I missed Jon terribly, and I also missed my boyfriend. Under different circumstances, I would have been able to lean on my sister and talk about how much I missed Rob, but it would have been selfish for me to do so now. Rob’s absence was only temporary, Jon’s was permanent.

At the funeral, many people had said to me, “It’s up to you now to take care of your sister and the girls,” “Jenna is going to need you more than ever,” “You need to be strong for them.” I felt that if I broke down in front of my sister, I would be failing her somehow. Yet the more I was around her and Olivia, the more deeply I felt Jon’s absence. I would save my grief for my drive home each night, crying the entire way.

That year, Valentine’s Day fell exactly two months after Jon’s death. I was expecting it to be a shitty day since I wouldn’t be able to spend it with Rob and because it was a reminder of how much time had passed since Jon died. About two hours into my work day, I received a flower delivery; Rob had planned the month before to have them delivered. When I arrived at my sister’s later that night and told her about the flowers, she said, “That’s nice,” before welling up and adding, “I had to spend my Valentine’s Day at the cemetery to visit my husband.” I cried myself to sleep that night.

On February 28th, 2017 Jenna went into labor. My mom and I were in the delivery room. As I witnessed my niece, Layla, being born I was overcome with bittersweet emotions. Joy at the sight of this perfect, tiny angel, and grief that Jon wasn’t there to meet his little girl. I could not save those emotions for later, I let them pour out of me, bawling as my sister held her daughter for the first time.

Layla’s arrival was the turning point in my family’s journey to healing. Though Olivia certainly brought joy to us all as well, there was something about this new life after a tragic loss that gave us hope.

Layla just turned two years old last week and my sister’s house was full of family and friends that have surrounded her with love and support over the past two years.

Olivia, who reminds us so much of Jon, will start kindergarten this fall. She still remembers her daddy and talks about him on occasion. Jenna takes her to Ele’s Place once a week where she participates in activities with other children who have lost a parent.

Jenna has recently started dating again and though she will always grieve her husband, she is allowing herself to be happy and find love again.

Jon’s parents live close by and they pick the girls up from daycare twice a week and spend the evening with them. John takes Olivia with him to the car wash once a week, which is something Jon used to do with her.

My parents still visit often, but my mom no longer has to be away from my dad for extended periods of time. They take the girls one weekend a month to give my sister a little time to herself.

Rob and I bought a house about a 10-minute drive from my sister’s, so I could be closer to her and my nieces. I went back to school about a year after Jon passed because I knew that both he and my sister had always wanted me to finish my degree; my big brother wanting the best for me. I will graduate at the end of June with honors. I like to think that he would have been proud of me.

Jenna and Jon on their wedding day.

My first photo with Jon as his sister-in-law.

Jon and his mom, Ann Marie, at his wedding.

Jenna and Jon on their honeymoon in Aruba.

Jon, Jenna, and newborn daughter Olivia.

Jon holding his newborn daughter, Olivia.

Jon and a sleepy Olivia.

Jon giving Olivia a horseback ride.

The day Layla was born. Photos of Jon are taped to the bedpost.

Jenna and her two beautiful girls, Olivia and Layla.

1 note · View note

sidewritings · 6 years

Text

Tarnished Crown

Pairing: Prinxiety (platonic or romantic, reader’s choice)

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: Negative self-image, insecurities, lack of sleep,

Word Count: 1865

Author’s Note: This lovely fic was expertly edited by @jiyudreamer for the wonderful @nyxwordsmith . Happy birthday, sweetheart. I hope you like the fic.

Roman shut his bedroom door behind him with a gentle click and slumped against it. He rubbed a hand across his eyes and dimmed the lights in his room. Roman groaned and pushed himself away from the door, moving slowly and slightly unsteadily over to his bed. Reaching it, he flopped down onto it without his usual dramatic sigh or gesture, he was too tired for that.

He'd been so busy lately, writing scripts for videos, acting (and doing a bit of directing) in the videos, practicing for auditions and then auditioning for local shows, and so on. Of course, he enjoyed those things, but they still took a toll on him. And the most draining thing was pretending it wasn't draining him.

Even exhausted beyond belief, a prince still has got to slay. Roman had to wake up earlier than normal to make himself an extra cup of coffee and cover up the dark circles under his eyes, consequentially making the dark circles worse, but the other sides couldn't know he was struggling. He was their comic relief character, the one who could always be counted on for a dramatic reaction, high energy, and a playful nickname. Even if Thomas said Roman could never let him down, that didn't mean he couldn't let the others down, and he didn't intend to find out.

But it was finally (mostly) over. They were taking a break so no one would notice if he went to his room too early or slept in late tomorrow. Of course, he'd still have to wake up 'early' to do his makeup and get his extra cup of coffee, but they didn't have to know that. He'd still be their energetic dramatic prince.

Roman sighed briefly and quietly, unlike his usual dramatic huff of irritation or long sigh of exasperation. Who was he kidding? The other sides didn't even like him most of the time. If he stayed in his room for a while it'd probably be a relief. He didn't want to believe that, but he was the least favorite side for a reason.

He curled up into the fetal position against his pillows as he felt the first tear drip down his cheek. Roman held tightly to his knees and let the tears he'd been holding back for over a week start to fall.

There was a knock at the door and Roman held his breath.

“It's me, Princey. Let me in.”

Virgil really knew how to crash his pity party. Quickly (and reluctantly) Roman dashed away his tears, brightened the room and walked over to the door, opening it with a large smile.

“Virgil! What can Sir-Sing-A-Lot do for you today? Need some music that isn't filled with teenage angst?”

Virgil looked unimpressed with Roman's booming voice and princely performance as he entered Roman's room, letting Roman close the door behind him.

“Cut the crap, Princey. I know you're exhausted. You're not as good at hiding it as you thought.”

The words were accusatory, but the tone was not. On anyone else, he would have pegged it as concerned, but from Freak Out Boy? No way. His smile faltered before he plastered it back in place.

“What are you talking about, V?” Roman asked, raising an imperious eyebrow.

“For one thing, you're loud. I heard you get up earlier.” Virgil pointed to the wall separating their rooms. “For another, you're talking to the resident insomniac. I saw you making coffee before anyone else was awake. You also forgot to throw out your used coffee grounds a couple of times.” The anxious side put his hand up when Roman opened his mouth, “Don't worry, I covered for you, told Patton it was mine. He's worried about my caffeine intake now, but I told him I'd be kicking the habit soon.”

Roman's shoulders fell, and with it, his chipper facade.

“What do you want?”

Virgil narrowed his eyes. “I want you to get some rest. You've been working overtime for too long. We have a break, I want you to actually use it.”

Roman sighed and sat down on the edge of his bed. “I meant, what do you want to keep you from telling Logan and Patton about this?”

Virgil rolled his eyes and shook his head. “I don't want anything from you Princey, get that through your head.”

Roman cocked an eyebrow at Virgil who sighed, “Fine, there is something I want from you.” Virgil pulled out the The Nightmare Before Christmas posters Roman had admired in Virgil's room from behind his back. “If anyone sees these and asks, I want you to say that you bought your own. They didn't come from me.”

Roman gasped and took the posters when Virgil handed them to him. “These are...” he turned them over, hardly believing they were real. On the back of each frame was a quote. On the back of the Jack poster was: '“Take time off... The world will not fall apart without you” -Malebo Sephodi' and on the Sally poster was '”You're my hero” -Thomas Sanders (and V)'

Roman looked up at Virgil who was looking at the floor, a blush spreading across his cheeks, visible even through his foundation.

“Thank you, Virgil. I won't tell a soul.” Roman set the posters against his bedside table, deciding to hang them up later, after a nap. He yawned and Virgil looked up, gesturing his head towards the door.

“I'll get out of your hair, let you get your beauty sleep.”

Virgil turned to go, resting his hand on the doorknob, “You're a good guy Roman, you deserve a break.” He quickly shut off the lights and slipped out of the room, leaving Roman alone.

It was sort of ironic, he hadn't liked Anxiety for the longest time. He'd wanted to be alone in his room, but now that Virgil was gone, he felt a little lonely. Shoving the feeling aside, Roman kicked off his boots, removed his tunic, and got into bed. He'd deal with emotions when he was awake.

Roman woke up sometime the next day feeling more relaxed and energized than he had in a while. Smiling, he sat up in bed, remembering the wonderful dream he'd had. He'd been a Disney prince searching for his true love, singing songs, fighting dragons, out-witting wizards, making beloved animal friends. It had been fun and sweet and romantic, though he hadn't managed to find his true love. Maybe tomorrow night.

He nearly stubbed his toe on the posters when he got up; he'd forgotten they were there and last night's strange interaction with Virgil. Roman turned the posters over and looked at the quotes on the back more carefully. They were written in beautiful swirling script in metallic gold Sharpie marker. The ink was bold and bright, it looked like it had been written recently, but the posters themselves were slightly faded in their frames. Roman smiled, they were clearly the posters fro Virgil's room, but the quotes were new. Virgil had probably added them (and in gold script no less) when he'd decided to give them to Roman.

Then he read the quotes again, the one from Malebo Sephodi was a reminder to rest. It stung a little, to see that they didn't need him all the time, but it was also a bit of a relief. He could and should take a breather from time to time. The second quote was from the Am I ORIGINAL? Sanders Sides video, where Thomas said... In small script next to Thomas's name was '(and V)'.

Virgil had just called Roman his hero. After all the insulting nicknames, the arguments, his blind distaste for the other side in general, Virgil had still written that. He wanted to run out of his room and hug the other side. He wanted to cry and hide in his room, he didn't deserve this. He wanted-

Roman's stomach growled and reminded him that he hadn't eaten since lunch yesterday. He needed to put in an appearance and get some food before he did... well, whatever he decided to do about Virgil's kind gesture. But first, he needed to look like his usual regal self.

Roman got dressed in a clean set of his usual clothes, brushed his hair until it shone and stayed where it was supposed to. And for the finishing touch, a bit of concealer under the eyes. He didn't need as much as he had, but it would still be a while before the dark circles under his eyes went away completely. Looking as much the part of the handsome prince as he could, Roman exited his bedroom, heading down the hallway and stairs to the kitchen where something smelled very good and cheesy.

As he passed the living room, Logan briefly acknowledged him with a nod over the top of the book he was reading. Roman returned the greeting with a jaunty salute, no use trying to talk to Mr. Academia when he had his nose in a book.

Given the delightful smell wafting from the kitchen, he'd expected to find Patton there cooking something delicious. He hadn't expected to see Patton sitting at the kitchen table and Virgil of all people standing over the stove.

“Good morning, Roman!” Patton called cheerfully, looking up from whatever game he was playing on his phone to smile at him.

“Good afternoon, Patton! You're looking well,” Roman responded with his usual cheer, though it wasn't as forced as it had been the last few days. He looked at Virgil who hadn't turned around or acknowledged him at all.

“Hey there, V! I didn't know you could cook.” He tried to smile kindly at Virgil as the other side turned to look at him.

Virgil smirked at him. “Morning there sleeping beauty. I didn't know you knew what a stove was for.”

Roman rolled his eyes at Virgil's weak attempt at an insult. It looked like playful banter was still on the table then, and like they weren't going to publicly acknowledge what had happened last night.

“I may not be the brainiac or the father figure here, but I figured out basic household appliances a while ago.” Roman sat at the table next to Patton, who had gone back to his game.

Virgil turned back to stirring the pot on the stove. “Good, then maybe you can cook tomorrow. I made mac and cheese for lunch.”

Roman raised an eyebrow. What with the break and everything, he'd assumed each of them would be on their own for food or at least they'd be ordering pizza or something.

“I tend to burn everything to an inedible crisp or get overzealous with the chopping thing. How about I just set the table and do dishes afterward?”

“Fine.”

It wasn't perfect, Roman thought as he got up to get glasses, bowls, and forks out for lunch. He was still hiding most of his insecurities, and the truce between Virgil and himself was still tenuous, but it was better than it had been, and Roman only hoped things would continue to improve.

#Tarnished Crown #Sanders Sides Fanfiction #sidewritten #Prinxiety #hurt/comfort

256 notes · View notes

mangled-dreams · 6 years

Note

The septic household finally go to bed, but are awoken early the next morning by Jamesons surprisingly loud screaming. Poor boy has nightmares

Dude, I have no idea where this story came from, so here you go. Good or bad, a little glimpes into Jameson’s past.

Haunting Dreams

Screamsin the night aren't unheard of, but in the Septic household it neverhappens, well until tonight. The ear splitting, earth shatteringcries shake the household to the core. Bodies jump from various bedsfeet thundering against the floor as everyone files into the hallwayssearching for the source of the screaming.

Exchangingworried looks Sean and the others do a quick head count. Only oneperson is missing from the group. Before anyone can move to check onthe missing ego another heart torn cry echoes through the house.

Sprintingdown the hall everyone converges on Jameson's room. As the youngestego to be created and last one to appear in Sean's universe there isstill many things they do not know of the mute. They sure didn'trealize Jameson had an actual voice.

Shovingthe door open a dozen eyes peer in at Jameson curled into the fetalpositions, his hands wrapped around his head as he screams. Flickingon the room light, Sean really looks around the room, searching forany outside source that would harm or frighten the young man.

“Jameson!”Marvin shouts pushing forward to comfort the man shaking and cryingon the ground. Without warning images flash inside Marvin's head upontouching Jameson's shoulder.

Atall dark lit figure stands over him, looming with a menacing aura asthe light behind him obstructs any features from being seen. Even ashis view is skewed Marvin has the feeling he knows who this man ifand it terrifies him.

Thetall figure lashes out against Marvin, a whip cracking against hisleft cheekbone. Blood quickly seeping out of the fresh cut. Marvincries out but doesn't move away. “That's a good boy, Jameson. Youknow better than to think you can escape me.”

Thevoice is familiar but Marvin can't place it. He knows he's not fromJameson's universe and yet he knows this voice from somewhere.“P-Please, enough, I... I can't take...” Marvin recoils. He'snever heard Jameson's voice before. “I'm sorry! I'm sorry!”Jameson shouts trying this time to pull away from the approachingfigure.

“Itold you to never talk!” The figures bellows. The tone he usesscares Marvin, Jameson whimpering as a hand strikes out withlightening speed. Wrapped tightly around Jameson's throat, Marvinfeels the panic, the pain, the fear coursing through his brother fromanother world. Jameson cries become gargled, his nails clawing at thehand wrapped so tightly around his neck, crushing his larynx.Silencing Jameson for good.

Marvinstumbles away from the usually cheerful and smiling ego with horrorhe's never known before. What hell had this man come from? What worlddid Sean create around Jameson to cause that much main, that muchtorture?

“Whathappened? Marvin are you okay?” Chase asks. Marvin looks directlyat Sean with an anger no one has ever seen in the man.

“Whatworld did you create around Jameson? What twisted need did you haveto crush his larynx?” Marvin shouts, charging at a very confusedSean.

“Wh-what?I didn't make Jameson mute because his voice box was broken! It was atime period thing!” Sean says surprised Anti is the one to rescuehim. “I'd never have someone's voice crushed.” Sean adds unsurewhat happened when Marvin touched Jameson. “What happened?”

“I...he always seems so happy...” Marvin mutters to himself looking backto Jameson shifting on the floor.

Jamesonshifts from his sleep, his eyes blinking rapidly as he rubs the tearsfrom his face. He hasn't had that dream, that memory since appearing.Looking around Jameson freezes at seeing his alter personalitiesstanding in his room. He asks why they're in his room and what timeit is.

“Jameson,we heard you screaming.” Sean says noticing Marvin can't seem tolook at Jameson.

Jamesonmakes a face. He can't talk, let a lone scream... at least last timehe tried he couldn't. Taking a deep breath Jameson tries to screambut nothing like anyone expected is emitted from his vocals. There isa little bit of screeching, but nothing that would amount to ascream.

Baffledby the attempt and nothing coming of it the egos look between eachother before zeroing on Jameson. “What were you dreaming about? Weheard you screaming, Jay. I've never heard anything like it before.”Jackie says rubbing the back of his neck. Whatever Marvin saw nearlycaused him to attack Sean and it caused Jameson to scream in utterterror.

Jamesonlooks at Marvin and knows he knows. With a sigh Jameson stands up,takes a seat on the bed, and looks at Marvin. Jameson tellsthem about his childhood, growing up with a strict father that was avery powerful being in his world. Jameson tells them he escaped afterbeing attacked by his father that ended in him losing his voice.Jameson informed them he ran away that night and looked for a way toescape. He, like Anti knew of the other egos, knew of Sean's worldand found his way out of his universe.

“Youda crushed your voice?” Sean asks looking to a very pale Marvin.

Jamesonnods his head. He explains that he expended a large majority of hispowers to form the bond he needed to escape. Jameson adds in time hispowers should return but he doesn't know how long it would take.

“Howdid you form the bond?” Chase asks.

Jamesonsays he connected to Sean through his subconscious in order to createhis character providing a strong link he could grasp hold off.Sean doesn't like the whole idea of being manipulated, even if it didfree Jameson for his hellish universe.

“Isuspected as much.” Anti says honestly. “Will he come after you?”

Jamesonshakes his head no saying the night he ran away was the night hisfather completely disowned him. He tells them that if his fatherreally wanted to find him it would have happened long before now.

“Jay,if he were to come here, what would happen?” Sean asks seriously.He wants Jameson to be protected but at what end? There are others,their friends and family that need to be protected.

Jamesonpauses looking directly at Anti then to Sean assuring him that Anti'spower alone would be more than a match for his father but he doubtshis father would ever come searching for him.

“Isthis how you really look in your world?” Sean asks knowing it couldbe possible Jameson took on a completely different appearance.Jameson shakes his head.

Jamesonlooks Sean directly in the eye and tells him they are the sameperson, just different lives, different out comes. The egos lookbetween themselves. Of course everyone assumed they were eithercopies of Sean or were pulled from multiple universes and thrown intoSean's world, but now... It's like a fact now.

“Zisiz not how I zoght ze morning vould begin.” Henrik saysacknowledging it's a lot to take in. The others nod their head.

“Thisis some conspiracy shit and I don't know if I want to figure it out.”Sean says running his hands through his hair. He can't honestly sayif he ever wants to figure it out or not. Glancing at the clock onJameson's bedside table he sighs and suggested they go down stairsand make breakfast.

Aseveryone files out of his room Jameson pauses next to Seanapologizing for causing such a panic. Sean shakes his head.

“No,Jameson, we like having your here, but talk with Marvin. He sawwhatever you'd dreamed.” Sean says patting Jameson's shoulder.Nodding Jameson hurries after Marvin. With a sigh Sean looks atJameson's messed up bed and hopes nothing more comes of Jameson'spast. Jameson seems pretty sure his father won't come through andunfortunately Sean has to take his word for it.

“Sean,if anything were to happen I can protect us.” Anti says standing atthe top of the stairs waiting for Sean.

“I know, but I hope it doesn’t come to that.” Sean responds. Anti nods his head and the pair head downstairs to the converstations in the kitchen. Sean sees Marvin andJameson at the table alone “talking”. As they converse Marvin'sexpressions seem to relax a little. Sean smiles a little, moving tohelp Jackie from destroying the pancake batter.

15 notes · View notes

asrisartarena · 6 years

Note

So we now know how Robbie sleeps, what about the others? Do some sleep on their stomachs? With a teddy? Full pyjama sets, or just trousers? In silence, pitch black, night light, or with music? I wonder... I definitely know that Schneep can sleep anywhere in any position, the whole sleeping at his desk thing explains that, he'd probably starfish on a bed taking advantage of being in a bed for once. Jameson and Shawn probably where trousers and a vest top, as was expected during their time.

Those kinds of questions are always super fun to consider! How I think these boys sleep will be under the read more!

Robbie: Refuses to sleep in anything other than an oversized shirt and pajama bottoms, and loves being covered in thick fluffy blankets and surrounded by his plushies. Sleeps with binaural beats if he’s having trouble sleeping, but always sleeps with his door either opened a crack or with some sort of night light. Curls around himself in a ball to feel safer when he sleeps. Has fallen asleep standing up once or twice from being super fucking sleepy.

Anti: Sleeps shirtless except in the winter, and he always sleeps on his side in case his neck wound starts to randomly bleed in the middle of the night. Sleeps in a very loose fetal position and prefers to sleep in total darkness. Definitely one of those people that’s out as soon as his head hits the pillow. Can’t sleep with more than one pillow.

Marvin: Tends to sleep on his back since Jackie likes sleeping on him, which he doesn’t mind since he finds the pressure soothing. Usually wears one of Jackie’s shirts and pajama bottoms to sleep, and he uses Jackie’s breathing as his own personal white noise. Absolutely cannot sleep unless at least part of him is under the covers.

Jackie: If he’s sleeping alone, he sleeps on his back in case duty calls in the middle of the night. If he’s sleeping with Marvin, he sleeps on his stomach and uses his boyfriend as his own personal pillow. Usually sleeps in a tank top and boxers, and listens to Marvin’s breathing and his heartbeat to lull him to sleep. Cuddles in his sleep a lot, and tends to be a bit of a bed hog. He’s also physically incapable of sleeping in past nine.

Schneep: If he can rest his head against it, he’ll be able to sleep there. The egos have found him passed out at his desk more times than they can count. He can basically sleep anywhere and in anything, but usually prefers to wear a t-shirt and pants to sleep. If he’s in a bed, he sleeps on his back and takes over the entire surface area like a goddamn starfish. Not very picky when it comes to covers and pillows, and while he is one that’s quick to fall asleep, he’s also a fairly light sleeper, so it’s rare for him to get a solid night’s sleep, especially considering who he lives with.

Chase: Sleeps on his side in the fetal position when not holding onto something/someone, and usually only wears boxers to bed. He’s a fairly heavy sleeper, but having two kids has trained him to wake up at the drop of a hat if he needs to, which has caused a couple of false alarms for him in the past. He can’t sleep without background noise, so he usually listens to music in order to fall asleep.

Jameson: One of the things he loves about modern times is the improved sleepwear, and he’ll either wear a matching pajama set, or steal one of Shawn’s shirts and wear his own pajama bottoms. He switches regularly between sleeping on his side and on his back, and doesn’t really like sleeping without covers. Despite being a light sleeper, he always somehow gets a good night’s sleep, and this baffles the other egos, especially Shawn. Prefers to sleep in silent darkness, but doesn’t mind natural light such as moonlight or starlight.

Angus: He’s the only one that sleeps completely naked, and he tends to sleep on his back. He’s also the heaviest sleeper and can probably sleep through the apocalypse if he tried hard enough. He sleeps best to the sounds of nature, so when he comes over to the SepticEgo household to spend the night there for a few nights, he brings a noisemaker Chase got him for Christmas one year that plays nature sounds and he falls asleep to that. Hates having covers on him and will only have them on him during the winter, which is also the only time he goes to bed with pajamas on, and even then it’s just a tank top with boxers.

Shawn: Cannot sleep unless he’s surrounded by a fuck ton of pillows and blankets and, surprisingly, stuffed animals. They’re mostly ones he’s made and has lots of positive associations with, and he’ll scoop them all up and give them a squeeze before he goes to bed, lining them up against the wall so they aren’t scattered all over his bed when he wakes up. Being surrounded by a bunch of soft things helps him feel safe, but Jameson eventually becomes his soft thing and Shawn clings to him instead of his pillows if he’s spending the night.

#robbie the zombie #antisepticeye #marvin the magnificent #jackieboy man #dr schneeplestein #chase brody #jameson jackson #angus the survival hunter #shawn flynn #theobliviousshipper #Asri's answers #Asri's HCs #Asri posts

61 notes · View notes

fleetingfan77 · 6 years

Text

The Flaw in Every Crystal

Chapter 18: 'Life in Praxus' Part 2

Aka: Part 1

Aka: Time for walkies!

Aka: Jazz’s surreal day

Aka: Shopping montage!

So, as with any good relationship Prowl has to remind himself in the morning not to body slam the mate next to him. Jazz was able to catch some sleep it seems by closing himself to protect his midsection in a kind of fetal position but is woken up by Prowl’s movement. This is interesting in that I can see how this will parallel Jazz’s ability’s later on since being able to maintain a light sleep will probably be a top skill for a spy.

Jazz then lies to Prowl about how he slept with Prowl just accepting it despite the way Jazz slept and speed that he woke up. Prowl then gives Jazz a choice:

"Would you like some Energon or would you prefer a chance to clean up first?"

This seems almost like the kind of choices that one would give a child. Either choice is acceptable and in the grand scheme don’t matter. Yet the choice is given to both give the child a greater feeling of agency and experience in making decisions. Part of me wants to say that the reasons Prowl gives the choices are to both give Jazz some agency back to temper any anger early and start training Jazz about how to make decisions again but it is more probable that Prowl finds the choices so unimportant that he might as well just let Jazz pick without thinking about it too deeply.

Jazz offers to get energon for them both and Prowl accepts without question, even pleased that Jazz was thinking of him as well without any prompting. This is once again I believe Prowl’s desire to be at the happy couple stage again that he tends to fall into once Jazz starts behaving in line with Prowl’s beliefs. Of course his beloved mate would fetch him breakfast as well, this is how things were always done in his home after all (I assume at least). There is no way then that Jazz could poison his energon while alone with it because that is not what a sub in the household does after all. Not to mention that Prowl probably has the cleaning supplies locked up at the moment and any other dangerous chemicals. I’m sure that any education for getting/training a foreign sub mentions that foreigners tend to mistake cleaning solution for energon additives, silly subs, ha...ha...ha...

Jazz takes a moment to reflect that his rebellious feelings have left him and just feels empty. This of course is a perfectly natural response to trauma/depression. Like someone/thing opened a hole and all the “you” fell out.

"’That was quicker than I expected,’ the officer praised” god Prowl, even your complaints are weak. Can’t even do a thank you?

I think Jazz is dissociating at this point due to how surreal he feels and how he goes on a kind of “auto-pilot” mode, but I don’t really know that much about the condition and have a hard time finding explanations of it so I can’t say for sure. The next line mentions Jazz’s “mental state” but that could also be referring to the depressing thought that Jazz was having that the current situation is simply his dying dream.

Prowl seems to be moving fast with wanting to take Jazz out already on only his second day out of THAT ROOM. I can’t say for sure wither this is due to Prowl’s wanting to speed the relationship along again or if he doesn’t want to leave Jazz alone in the house since its currently 2/2 ending in explosions. Or a combination thereof.

I guess then Jazz didn’t clean up enough the first shower since he still looks kinda like crap? Or is it that after healing more and getting more energon it is more apparent? Like he went into the shower a 0/10, came out a 5/10 and Prowl was just like “good enough” till he saw it in the light of day?

Prowl again offers Jazz the choice of what cleanser he would want, another pretty meaningless gesture, but a gesture nonetheless. (I don’t count the energon as a real choice since it was more of an if/then than a choice.) At least he didn’t just assume Jazz should use the same cleanser as last time.

Jazz’s wings it seems integrated well since he can do the Yes/No moments easily and readily. He can also control twitching.

Jazz then gets his first taste of having Prowl’s name painted on him. At least Prowl does it quickly, probably because he didn’t want to risk Jazz losing control and twitching without meaning to. Prowl brings up that currently they are a plain black that can be fixed in the future. I wonder what color? I can’t remember if there is another one in the future and Jazz/Prowl tend to be mainly black and white. Perhaps red?

“[Prowl’s glyph(s)] was a sign of who one belonged to, and who another would have to compensate should anything be done to the wearer of such marks.” Aka: only damage the ones below your current rank, or else.

It’s sad that Prowl is probably the happiest he has been in a long time with the relationship while Jazz is wondering how much it is worth pretending/performing the role Prowl forced him into. I just know as well that if Jazz said no Prowl would probably be disappointed at Jazz’s lack of caring but still accept it.

Jazz then gets his first look at himself after exploding twice, gaining two new wings, and being tortured multiple times. What he sees, isn’t that great. Prowl gives Jazz another choice, seemingly an import one this time, of what Jazz would like to look like. Jazz tries to respond that he would like to hang on to his current look, but then Prowl dismisses how important the choice actually was by saying how it would have to be changed, aka Jazz’s black will have to be changed to a dark grey.

Prowl also says that too much contrast will make Jazz stand out. This seems to be both a hint of how Praxus works with the subs trying not to be noticed and that Prowl’s rank is nowhere near the higher end in the city. I assume at least that if Prowl were one of the elites Jazz would be able to stand out more without problem. I almost want it to be that the real elites have some sub slaves in the gaudiest paints ever put together just to show that the sub can stand out so much without problem due to the name on their wings.

I am a bit disappointed that we didn’t get more details about Jazz’s first walk about since getting married and then arrested. Like is Jazz still on a leash or is he allowed to walk on his own? Does he have to be a certain distance behind Prowl and is Prowl enforcing the distance? Or is Prowl simply depending on Jazz’s absolute knowledge that even if he did run there would be no where to go?

After his repaint Jazz admits that he considers himself dead inside now. That the real Jazz “died” in the training room and now he was just a walking talking doll for Prowl. Though if one can consider one’s self dead, can one really be dead?

“ Prowl would never win because he could never have Jazz, just his frame and a drone-like response system to serve as a personality.” Oh, the foreshadowing, the horrible, horrible foreshadowing....

“ In the end, he'd been forced to accept a light gray in place of the white as well as replacing the black. It wasn't a situation he liked but there had been no better options.” Are the he’s here referring to Jazz or Prowl? Because Jazz wasn’t putting up a real argument so I want to say Prowl. But then why would Prowl be forced to accept a light grey color instead of white? Did the white contrast too much with the dark grey? But Prowl got Jazz a reward, so is it just Jazz? But then Prowl was disappointed with the look and @-@ I have a confusion....

(Okay, that Just Jazz line has it so I now want a transformers AU doki doki literature club where Jazz slowly falls for the too-smart self-aware Prowl or go AI Jazz but full on creepypasta)

The glyphs are red now! Called it/remembered it/assumed it! Now then, how would a conversion on the paint go.... “It is not my favorite of your looks” “Same. Yet you dressed me like this without my say so!” “I asked what colors you wished for!” “And I said I liked my old ones!” Cue argument about the Praxian sub culture again.

God, Prowl is really in fake perfect relationship mode again. He even does the hold ‘close your eyes and hold out your hands for a surprise.’ The visor even works enough for Jazz to thank Prowl for it even though Prowl was the one who took his original. I wonder if Prowl actually threw it out or if he’s keeping the original visor somewhere.

"Even the white is only to be used to prevent outsiders from viewing your optics." - ? Why would outsiders not be allowed to see Jazz’s optics?

“It was a choice between which would be least horrible, and none of the options were looking good.” I feel as if this line summarizes the story perfectly and yet not completely. And look, another meaningless choice from a selection that Jazz is allowed while having no say in what he actually wants!

Its also kinda horrible that Prowl is taken in or at least going along with Jazz’s perfect/dead inside mate act but still knows/paid attention enough about Jazz to order him something he would enjoy.

Jazz realizes the disconnect as well and tries to justify the two Prowls in his mind by thinking one must be an act since if one is a monster sometimes, one must be a monster always and otherwise just pretend to be human. Though its interesting that it really isn’t an act with Prowl. Its more that this is how he wants to be and the monster is just something he justifies to himself and then never looks back on.

Honestly this day is probably what Prowl had wanted/planned for the day after the marriage was accepted by the council to go. His mate wearing his glyph, getting a treat from his generous dom of lunch, then as another treat going to the gardens Jazz wanted to visit so much as the first of many if not happy then at least interesting and acceptable days together. Then Jazz had to go and ruin it all by exploding....

Jazz of course sees this as a trap in waiting since he can’t see his captor/torturer treating him this way for any reason except getting his hopes up just to dash them. Though actually its probably just Prowl over-gifting again. It is too bad that if Praxus were more normal it would be that Prowl was one of those guys who bought their significant others waay too much just because they wanted to/could. Like flowers everyday or something. And this would probably have annoyed the crap out of Jazz in a way.

“...but overly praising one's mate was frowned upon so he had to condense his reasoning. ‘Such things may become standards in your life even, if you continue to excel as you have been.’” Ha, Prowl finally admits he enjoys over-praising/rewarding his mate. Though Jazz has a point that there is no price worth what happened to him.

And thus Jazz visits the crystal gardens again, IN PART 2! ... of Part 2....

Till next time!

#Prowl/jazz #the flaw in every crystal #ao3 #read through #fanfiction #meta analysis #maccadams

2 notes · View notes

within-grace · 7 years

Text

Week 3 (July 16th - July 21st)

It was a long week. My cold improved by a lot but my cough worsened to the point where I could barely speak with coughing. As I am writing this, I am still coughing. It worsened to the point where on Tuesday, I lost my voice on and off throughout the day; therefore I didn’t lead worship for 2 of the 5 days. However, I’m so thankful that leading worship at Birch Bay is allowing me to be a more confident worship leader in that I am able to just let go and praise God.

When I met the girls this week, I knew it was going to be hard because they had a difficult time respecting one another and respecting my cabin assistant and I from the first night alone. One of my girls this week suffers from ADD/ADHD, Fetal Alcohol Syndrome, and she lives in a household where her mother plays with ouija boards with her friends – she was traumatized from the spirits that her mother had contacted. Please pray for God’s presence in her life.

For Monday night’s JAM, I relayed the gospel message through Pastor Henry’s Bridge to Life diagram and went in depth on the concept of sin, grace, and eternal life. The girls posed good questions about why Jesus needed to come down as a human and we got to talking about how God is good and what’s good and holy cannot mix with what’s evil just as how water cannot mix with oil. They also asked about how death came into the world when Adam and Eve ate from the fruit of the tree of knowledge. I continually feel that these questions challenge me in my own walk with God because I need to always be equipped with an answer.

This week, I was the nurse’s assistant! I got to shadow Ruth, our camp nurse, in order to prepare myself for week 8 when I actually get to step into the position of camp nurse. There were so many kids that faked injuries this week just so that they could get a tensor bandage on their foot. Right after they see their friends having fun, they are ‘miraculously healed’ and want to take it off. Tensor bandages - I found out - are pretty expensive and we don’t have many of them left. Every summer, Sharon and the administration staff always pray that the nurse has a boring summer because no one wants injured kids. So I’m happy to say that Ruth and I had a very boring week and the highlight of the position was to be able to chart and administer medication. I was so bored that I begged Becky to let me work on the ropes course in order to save myself from staring at walls for more hours than intended.

Throughout the week, there was a lot of crying due to homesickness and fear of storms from the girls. I’ve never had to walk to Cedar Lodge so much to make phone calls to parents. The peak of the crying was on Wednesday when one of the more difficult girls threw a tantrum and I had to rebuke her...which led to a further tantrum. What started with, “I hate Birch Bay and I want to go home,” ended with, “I love Birch Bay and I never want to leave.” Praise God for that. On Wednesday, I led JAM for the last time and I told the girls my testimony...which led to more crying from the girls. To 11-12 year olds, my testimony is very sad and one of the girls said to me, “Maybe you shouldn’t tell your testimony since it makes people cry,” however I said, “I believe I have a happy ending because I’m still alive and my identity is in Christ.” I’m so very thankful that Christ saved me from both my physical and spiritual death! By the end of the week, 1 girl rededicated herself to Christ and another girl became a Christian. Praise the Lord.

Prayer Items:

- The awful cough to go away

- A joyful week of kitchen in week 4

- More kids to come to know about God

- Wisdom on how to lead kids with ADD/ADHD

- I am back on anti-depressants and it’s making my body exhausted; I want to sleep all the time; please pray for energy

#faith #reflection #bbradventures

1 note · View note

second-tolast-blog · 7 years

Text

My Favorite Movies of 2016 in Nine Digestible Categories

Every year it is the same story. As the year happens, people bemoan the state of movies. Then by the end of the year, and people compile their end of the year lists, we realize that movies are not a dying medium, slowly being replaced by television. Studios just succumb to the antiquated model of old release patterns. Movies vying for Oscars has to come out late in the year for momentum and blockbusters must be released in the dead heat of the summer. Both “20th Century Women” and “Why Him?” were close to sell outs last weekend as I attended my local multiplex. “Lion,” although only playing in two theaters in New York, sold out a 560-seat theater and its highest billed actor was Dev Patel.

Sure, those films were helped by the holiday bump and limited releases, causing the demand to look greater due to the lack of supply, but people are still going to the movies. And if not, the means of production has allowed for filmmakers to make $20 million indies with sources of output like Amazon Prime and Netflix along with the traditional studios to distribute to a wider net of audiences. With emerging voices like Barry Jenkins and Damien Chazelle and returning veterans and legends like Jarmusch and Scorsese releasing films this year, it is hard to begin eulogizing cinema.

So, it is my job to highlight 20 of my favorite films of the year. And to not succumb to the usual listicle, this list will be broken down to ten categories because all these films deserve to be watched.

Best Movies of the Year where Mahershala Ali Plays an Untraditional Father Figure for about 10 minutes of the movie

Moonlight, Kicks

Thank god for “Moonlight,” a film that has been written about so much that I do not know what I can bring to the conversation at this point. Without it, people may be left to try to salvage Nate Parker’s ill-begotten “Birth of a Nation,” as the obligatory black film of the year that it was positioned as at Sundance back in January of last year. But, “Moonlight” should not be considered a token of a film. Its rise to the top through think pieces and word-of-mouth speaks to how it was able to naturally build its base of spectators. “Birth of a Nation,” on the other hand, struggled to connect partially due to its controversy but also to its haphazard “Braveheart” style hero narrative and questionable use of victimhood especially that of rape. “Moonlight” is cinema at its best. It is a passport to a world, a mindset, an experience that is not readily available. It is empathy.

While “Moonlight” has dominated the conversation, Justin Tipping’s “Kicks” has been barely touched upon. It has been spoken so little of that since I saw it I have questioned my love of this small film. Tipping riffs on “Bicycle Thieves,” in which an African American teen, Brandon, gets his brand-new sneakers stolen in a city right on the outskirts of Oakland. This allows for Tipping to breeze through the neighborhood as Brandon and his two buddies searches for the men who stole his shoes. It’s a small film that screams that this is a first feature, but the style is so assured. Tipping is not afraid to take risks, allowing for flourishes of style and metaphors (there is a motif of an astronaut that aggressively highlights Brandon’s alienation for the things around him) that many more conservative filmmakers would not bother to entertain. Like “Bicycle Thieves” the plot is simply an excuse to explore a post-world II Italy, the plot here is an excuse for Tipping to explore the neighborhoods that has been forgotten about in film since the early 90’s. These characters are so richly drawn beyond what could easily be caricatures. If “Boyz in the Hood” gave a glimpse to life in “the hood,” “Kicks” is a portraiture. Also, best Mahershala Ali performance this year.

Best Movies of the Year where the Central Theme is that Grief is a Motherfucker

Manchester by the Sea, Jackie

There are horror movies which relies on jump scares. Like a roller coaster these momentary jumps are fun but ultimately has no lingering effects except for a scratchy throat. That is exactly the same way I feel about tearjerkers. Movies like “Lion” or “Beaches” live on sentimentality and tears. Like a superficial thrill ride, these films have a purpose and place. But, then there is a film like “Manchester by the Sea.” The film is filled with little moments that prove that Kenneth Lonergan is one of the great humane dramatist working today. Sadness and grief seeps into you like water slowly draining into the ground. But, what is so illuminating about the film is how the film portrays people dealing with grief; with anger, ambivalence. These characters are simply living. I have a friend, unfamiliar with Lonergan’s works and what struck as well was how funny the film was. That’s because even when our closest love ones are gone that does not mean that life stops going.

What happens, though, if someone’s life is defined by a person who dies? Pablo Larrain is one of the most exciting filmmakers working today. In “Jackie,” he takes what could have been a maudlin drama and with an incredible score by Mica Levi, creates a horror film. The monster for Jackie Kennedy is the weight of legacy, purpose and the American ideal. Is this what the real Jackie Kennedy went through in the immediate aftermath of JFK’s assassination? Probably not. But, what historical fiction does is to draw a parallel with these pristine historical figures with everyday living. What struck me most with “Jackie” was the amount of decisions that had to be made immediately after the tragedy. The same with “Manchester.” Jackie Kennedy mourns while also keeping up appearances in a role that has been bestowed upon her. She is the first lady of America, after all. She can’t be seen too sad, angry, or drunk. The real-life piece that is written about her weeks after JFK’s funeral which is fictionalized here as a framing device, was instrumental in sculpting that image. It sculpted a Camelot.

The Best Movies of the Year Where Coming-of-age is Manifested as a Monster

Closet Monster, The Fits

Not enough movies talk about how scary it is to become an adult. I’m in my early twenties, on the precipice of doing adult things like getting a full-time career and job and I still go to sleep at night in the fetal position. So, it is no wonder that puberty, adulthood and burgeoning sexuality has been portrayed in films as some sort of monstrosity. “Closet Monster,” a small Canadian film that I do not know anyone who saw, creates a monster in a teenager who is discovering his sexuality for the first time as he goes off to college. But, the complexity of this film from first time director, Stephen Dunn, comes from the fact that he is not defined by his burgeoning sexuality. Rather, this stress is compounded by the facts of adolescence. Pressure come from his single-parent father, whose self-destruction comes from the loosening of his grasp of his child, his artistic ambitions while confined in a small Canadian suburb, and the trauma from the abandonment of his mother. The monster in the on-the-nose title is not just one of repressed sexuality, but rather repression in all fronts. It’s no wonder that the violent act that occurs in this film is not because of sexuality at all.

The monster in “The Fits,” another small film by a first-time filmmaker, Anna Rose Holmer, also rides the line of imagined or real. Her characters are on the precipice of teen-hood. This is the time when divisional lines are truly cemented, especially gender norms. Her protagonist starts off in a boxing gym, filled with males but is drawn across the hall to an all-female dance troupe. Insecurities are never immediately present especially from those who are feeling it. It usually comes with a look. Especially for a teenager, there is no greater currency than a sense of belonging. “The Fits’s” ability to hone in on that central need in a way that is not pedantic really creates a powerful image. The final shot of bliss as Royalty Hightower finally embraces the monster that would make her belong is one of the great cinematic images of 2016.

The Best Horror Movies Where the Little Girl is the Most Terrifying Things about It

The Wailing, The Eyes of My Mother

To be fair, little girls are terrifying. It probably has something to do with the corrupting of something innocent that gets into the crawl of everyone’s skin. “The Wailing” is a Korean epic of a possession movie. And like the best Korean films, there is fluidity with genre in this film. The film readily goes from horror to police procedural mystery to comedy. Horror films are best when it comes from an assured hand and Na Hong-Jin is certainly assured in his skill and style. He slowly paces out the film with mood, atmosphere and uncertainty. At 2 ½ hours, each layer is lovingly paced. Not all the best movies have something to say in the undercurrent of the film. Some can just be plain scary and fun.

From the epic nature of “The Wailing,” comes the efficiency of “The Eyes of My Mother.” Nicolas Pesce’s first feature runs at a little under an hour and 20 minutes, and will undoubtedly become a cult film in which high schoolers show their friends to revel in how fucked up it is. Once again, this film thrives on the assured hand of Pesce’s direction. The black and white photography, the loving reconstruction of a minimalist household and the combination of aspects of image, costuming and setting creates a total cinematic experience. This film is informed by many in the past. The black and white images is reminiscent of early David Lynch and the economy of violence reminds me of the European art-house horror from Bunuel to Franju. Eyes plays a big role in horror films. It is scary to not be able to see and sight is connected to something so fragile and disposable. The camera is our eyes to this particular world. And the film works with the whole image. In one scene, we saw our hero/monster washing dishes and it is what we see through the window that is grotesque and haunting. These are images, that will not escape anybody who will eventually discover this film.

The Best Movies Where the Traditional Notions of How We Fall in Love is Questioned

The Lobster, The Love Witch

Love is overrated. Well, the way most people think about love is overrated. “The Lobster,” from Greek satirist Yorgos Lathimos, skewers our societal pressure on people to find a partner. The film’s dystopic setting strips away all that feels human so that all that is left is a kaleidoscope view of human interactions. Here, people decide that they are perfect for each other because of the most artificial of reason; short-sightedness, nose bleeds and beautiful hair. Everything is played pitched perfectly to dry deliveries anchored by Colin Ferrell at his best. Oh, and if I was had to be turned into an animal I would be a turtle. They have a portable shelter and could be proficient on both land and water.

I took a B-movie class at SUNY (Inset NY state city here) and the films we saw was a mish mash of exploitation with some rising to the top with subtle feminist’s ideology. But, for most of them, they are pure sexploitation of the woman’s body. Anne Biller lovingly recreates this subgenre of 60’s sexploitation film to create the defining feminist statement of the year. Everything is so acutely detailed that you might get distracted by the immersion into the world. The colors are in technicolor splendor, the clothes are beautifully retro and the acting is purposefully stilted that requires levels of acting that Brad Pitt will never reach. Yet, underlying all this is a story of a woman, a witch, who because of societal pressures keeps changing to what a man wants. She is the fantasy of every man but no man ever becomes the subject of her fantasy. In a genre that is often defined by superficial satisfactions of the id, Biller is able to create a nuanced film while not only embracing all the idiosyncrasies of a form from a bygone age, but by upending them.

Movies that follows the day in the life of its protagonists that eventually leads to drunken screaming and crying

Blue Jay, Krisha

The way people get excited about Marvel Movies is the way I get excited by the latest Mark Duplass joint. His latest film is a micro-budget film with Sarah Paulson that follows the familiar trope of two people walking and talking for a day that had been perfected by Linklater in the “Before Trilogy.” But, what it does with that trope is create an intimate film about lost love that becomes unpredictable. You question why are two central characters are doing what they are doing until the end makes it crystal clear. “Blue Jay” deserves to be watched twice just for the nuances that Paulson is able to portray that will not be clear the first time through. As if anyone needs any reminder that Sarah Paulson was a great actress.

In another micro-budget indie, Trey Edward Shults’ first feature does not even have any actors of note in it. In fact, everyone in the film is played by members of his own family about a story that is based on events from his life. “Krisha” is truly a family affair. Everyone knows the anxiety of coming back home for a big family dinner. Here, Shults films it as if it was a sweeping epic film. The way Terrence Malick films the fields in “Days of Heaven,” is how Shults moves his camera through the big open house as Krisha comes back home after stints in rehab. To call Krisha self-destructive will be an understatement. Here Stults captures moments of family that feels too close to home. With specificity comes relatability; Krisha prepares herself before she goes into the house, children running around with no care for the adult conversations, courtesy small talks with family members who no one cares for. In the end, it is the conflict of hope and shame family has for Krisha that makes the film unforgettable.

Movies in which Adam Driver plays a character who is unsure of himself

Silence, Paterson

Quentin Tarantino has always said that he was afraid about the complacency old age might bring him with his directing. Well, Martin Scorsese has not grown complacent. With “Silence,” Scorsese proves to be as vibrant, self-reflexive and edgy as he was in the 70’s. This film will be the definitive mark of his greatness. “Silence,” is the nearly three-hour epic about Jesuit priests facing persecution for their faith in Japan. The film becomes a meditation of faith in all kinds of obstacles. And as an early-twenties American living in the 21st century with no religion to call my own, I identified with the plight of the people longing for Catholicism and the priests that bring them. Scorsese creates a total cinema that is more sensory than any artificial 4D can create. The theater melts away and you become immersed in 17th century Japan. The first two hours are physically brutal but the genius is with the emotionally brutal last hour when the form of storytelling changes, ending in a beautiful final shot.

Best dog of the year goes to the now departed Marvin, whose presence in “Paterson” puts him in the pantheon of great dogs in cinema alongside Toto and Uggie from “The Artist.” I don’t know how to explain this film to people except to say that it is the exactly what you expect from Jim Jarmusch. He has not made a film like this in a while; a poetic meditation of a bus driver in Paterson, New Jersey. Much of this film was influenced by the poetry of William Carlos Williams and the film moves like a poem. There is a structure but not a traditional story structure. The film ambles along like a NJ Transit bus and characters move in and out. Adam Driver as Paterson warns at one point, before he reads his poems, that it does not rhyme. I feel like I have to preface this film the same way. But, I like my films like that. Jarmusch instead populates the film with colorful characters, including a couple that cyclically fights and breaks up and a gang in a convertible warning about dog-jackers.

Documentaries that subvert the form

Kate Plays Christine, Cameraperson

I love meta explorations into the form of films and why we watch them. So, to see Robert Greene continue to question why people watch film while also making his audiences question what is real brings me pure bliss. Here, Greene follows actress Kate Lyn Sheil as she prepares to play Christine Chubbuck, a real-life reporter who committed suicide on live television in the 70’s. There is no role for Sheil, just the process. But, through the process in which we see her try to get into the head of a person who suffered through manic depression, Greene and Sheil begin to question our obsession with these figures. Chubbuck fought against the increasing exploitation of violence on the news and her senseless violence has since made her into a cult figure that has seen people desperately searching for the video of her death like it is the holy grail. It’s unclear what parts of “Kate Plays Christine” is real but the questions certainly are.

What we learn from that film and “Cameraperson” is the camera is inherently subjective. We see what the camera person wants us to see. And we know based on what images are put together and what sequence they come in. Kristen Johnson has been a longtime cinematographer for some of the greatest documentarians from Michael Moore to Laura Poitras. Through those films, she has saved plenty of footage and compiled a film that is a diary of sorts. Through the montage of out of context footage, we get a story of who Johnson is, despite the fact that we barely see Johnson. The only times we do is when she shows footage of her mom and she documents her struggles through Alzheimer’s. It is an amazing way of presenting self and highlighting the power of the form. Also, it is strangely satisfying to see the philosopher, Derrida, casually crossing a street in Manhattan.

Movies in which little trinkets given to the main character serves as important character development

Kubo and the Two Strings, American Honey

Laika takes a Studio Ghibli approach to filmmaking. Their films take time and persistence to make, not just because of their intricate animation style but because so much attention is put to little humane moments. Animation has the distinct advantage of being able to do the impossible, but the best of animation comes when the human moments are recreated amongst the impossible. “Kubo” is Laika’s crowning achievement in their young history and it is a shame that more people did not see it. It’s an exploration of grief and how people deal with it but it never stops being a children’s film. It achieves the sublime beauty of storytelling and art. This the type of movie that kids will be drawn to because of its beauty and action and watch again to realize the complexity of emotions it is tackling with. Here as an unnecessary dig, “Kubo and the Two Strings” does more for the genre of animation than all of Illumination films combine.

Rhianna is the soundtrack of youth. Last year the French film, “Girlhood” had the best use of “Diamonds” is a film when four young French girls lip-sync to it bathed in neon lights. Now, a bunch of runaways in Andrea Arnold’s “American Honey” does the same to “We Found Love” in a Midwestern grocery store. Rhianna is freedom. And “American Honey” is the truth. A somewhat divisive film, the film follows a magazine crew, a mish mash of reckless youths selling overpriced magazine subscriptions. Our protagonist is Star, played by a future star in Sasha Lane, as she decides to leave her constrained life to freedom with this band of merry people led by Riley Keough and Shia LaBeouf. The film wanders along with this crew who has no destination. Rather, the destination is a journey for Star as she achieves self-actualization through wandering across the American landscape. This is a life unknown to me, a pleasure to be in, and an aftertaste sweet as Tennessee honey.

18 notes · View notes