#but mostly they were mourning their sister and the woman she was forced to become and the fact she wasnt given the same chance | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years

Text

Enough, Always: Izzy

CW: Newly adult child of whumper and whumpee, whumper in prison, references to romantic/intimate whump, referenced child emotional abuse, verbal abuse, brief gendered appearance insults with single line of brief homophobia at end, plus final crowning moment of badass for Izzy.

Izzy’s mother Savannah Marcoset has been locked in prison on a life sentence without parole for eleven years for abducting Izzy’s father Jax, keeping him captive, and forcing him into a horrifying facsimile of domestic bliss - and Izzy last saw her in person fourteen years ago, when her father escaped with her and her infant brother in one desperate final bid for freedom.

Newly eighteen and feeling the need for some kind of closure in one of the foundational aspects of her identity, Izzy decides to visit America - and pay a visit to her incarcerated mother.

During the visit, she learns that Savvie Marcoset, in the end, couldn’t change - but Izzy fucking Gallagher did.

For the first time with her mother, Izzy finds her voice.

Jax Gallagher (referenced) belongs to @comfy-whumpee and is used with permission.

---

“Is this how you dress now?” Her mother’s voice is sharp-edged and still familiar, even fourteen years since Izzy last spoke to her face to face. It’s funny, how she barely remembered it, but as soon as she hears it, her heart starts to race, and it’s the feeling of her heart beating wings inside her chest. It’s the way other people might remember the sense of a warm hand to forehead, checking for illness, or laughter, or praise.

It’s a voice like a fever, a rush of chill down her spine and through her arms and thighs. Is it familiar from real memories, or because Izzy has heard it in interviews and documentaries and recordings, during her nights spent researching the woman who makes up half her genetics and absolutely none of her life?

She almost gets up and leaves right then.

Almost.

But Izzy Gallagher fought for this trip, had declared herself able and willing to do this, had more importantly convinced her father she needed to do this. She can’t just give up because it didn’t start well.

Even if he wouldn’t judge her, or at least he wouldn’t show it, Izzy Gallagher sets her shoulders and declares herself her father’s stubborn strong daughter, and not her mother’s weak and frightened one.

She steels herself against the instinctive uncertainty, the rush of anxious shouldn’t have done this, shouldn’t have tried. Instead, she gives her mother a faint smile as a plastic-and-metal chair is pulled out and she sits down across the small round table, just enough space there isn’t any danger of accidental - or, hopefully, purposeful - touch.

The walls are beige, the top of the table is a wood so pale it might as well be. There are bars on the window that lets in a pale and faded winter sun. There are some others, nearby, people younger or older than she sitting at other round tables, seeing mothers, wives, aunts, sisters. Izzy wonders if all of them are scared, or if none of them are. If it’s only her who has to remember how to breathe, in her mother’s presence.

She can do this. She told him she could do this.

“Um.” Izzy looks down at herself - just a band shirt and faded jeans worn with holes, her still-knobby knees showing through, the boots a birthday gift from Nana she’d thought would help her crunch through the grayish snow in the parking lot, a light hooded sweater over it all - and then up again. Her mother’s eyes are still wide-set in her face, which is less rounded as time has passed.

Those eyes are still overbright, and very blue.

It’s been so long since Savannah Marcoset saw her eldest child, and Izzy can’t ever remember having been the focus of her mother’s all-consuming interest before. It feels like standing in the eye of a storm, where everything is still but the air carries weight, electricity, and threat.

“Mostly,” Izzy says, finally. “Mostly this is how I dress. I mean, I couldn’t wear gray, could I? They wouldn’t let me leave.” She tries to sound lighthearted, then winces. Bad joke.

Her mother, in what looks almost like flat gray scrubs, with a high-cut V-neck and a waist without a drawstring, smiles back, apparently unoffended. There’s a shift - subtle as a cat moving onto its back paws in grass, eyes focused on a nearby bird. Izzy has always been sensitive to changes in the tension of a room, and her own eyes - hazel leaning towards brown, her father’s eyes through and through - move to a nearby guard, reassuring herself with his presence.

Savannah Marcoset is firmly locked in prison for life, with handcuffs and ankle-cuffs that ensure she can’t make herself a threat here, and still the soft nearly-buzzed hair at the back of Izzy’s neck stands up, and she feels like she is being inspected, a bit of bacteria in some scientist’s microscope.

“I had hoped for a little more color, is all,” Her mother says, tilting her head to the side, giving an impish little smile. “As you can imagine, there isn’t exactly a surplus of art here. You look lovely, Isabella.”

Izzy swallows against a lump in her throat. Absurdly, she feels outnumbered, one-to-one. “I, yeah. Thanks.” She tries for a responding smile, maybe half-successful at it. “You have-... you have art classes here, I read.”

“You read up on me.” Her mother’s expression changes a little, opens up. She sits up a little straighter, then, and there’s a flash of still-white teeth in her smile, now. “You know about me. I would have thought you wouldn’t be allowed to know a thing.”

“I’m, um.” Izzy’s hands fold in her lap, and she rubs over the shredded white threads along a hole that’s worn over one thigh, the softness of a patch of fabric she’d sewn herself beneath. “I’m eighteen now, so. I get to pick what I know, more or less.”

“You’re eighteen?” Her mother’s surprise is genuine, and she glances sideways at the clock as though it will become a calendar, back to Izzy. “When did that happen?”

Why that question hurts, she doesn’t know - but it does. It’s not like Savannah Marcoset has anything to do here but remember, and yet-... she didn’t.

“About three weeks ago, actually,” Izzy says, and hears herself sounding embarrassed, like she should have not grown up at all, if that wasn’t what Savvie wanted, or expected. Like the turn of the Earth is her fault, something she did on purpose just to spite Savvie by stealing time.

“Oh. Well.” Savvie folds her hands with a soft rattle as the cuffs knock into the shiny, sealed tabletop. She leans over, and Izzy can see the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, now, the hint of them around her lips. Her jawline seems stronger, more carved, she is a statue version of a parent that Izzy remembers as a kind of terrifying whirlwind. Her hair is less overwhelming, the deep brown graying at the temples, pulled back simply against the nape of her neck. It isn’t so long, as it once was. Savvie pauses, waits for Izzy to look her in the eyes. “Happy birthday, Isabella.”

The name is wrong - it’s always been wrong - but Izzy smiles, anyway. “Thanks. Eighteen is a bit weird, it doesn’t feel any different than seventeen did, but-”

“My no-contact orders were signed here, in the US,” Savvie says, interrupting her, thinking this through. “So you, what, had to be eighteen to come see me? Have you wanted to before?” She leans forward, and Izzy leans back, feeling her back press into the chair behind her, letting her right hand drop to rub at the seam of her jeans on the outside of one thigh. Her heart beats harder. “Did he keep you from seeing me?”

He.

“No,” Izzy says, and her voice is thin at first, but she clears her throat and the second try is stronger. “No, he didn’t. He would have, if I’d have wanted to, before. I just didn’t ‘til now. We’re, um-... we’re doing an American holiday, more or less.”

Shit. She shouldn’t have said-

“‘We’?” Savvie’s expression brightens, with real interest now. Her eyes pin Izzy like a butterfly to a display case, jam tiny needles through her wings, hold her fast. “He’s here? Jax is here?”

“He’s not,” Izzy lies, smooth as silk, without hesitating. She’d planned for this question, prepared for this. She’d sat up til two in the morning prepping for the ways her mother might try to talk about her father, and more importantly, the ways that Izzy wouldn’t give her what she wanted. She’d just been hoping to hide it better for longer. “He didn’t come with m-me here. It’s just me, Mom, and some friends.”

Savvie clicks her tongue against her teeth. “He didn’t think I was too dangerous, for you to speak to?”

She can’t help her slight, sardonic laugh at that. “You’re in prison, Mom.” It feels weird, to hear herself say Mom out loud, as though that was ever what Savvie had been. She was four the last time she said Mommy to Savvie’s face, and even then it had been an apology Izzy can barely remember now, her own sense of a small voice saying, I’m sorry, Mommy, I won’t do it anymore, but she can’t remember what she’d done to get in trouble.

Breathe, probably.

“You’re in prison,” She repeats, and her heartbeat settles a little, reassuring herself with the words spoken out loud, made real. “You’re the least dangerous you’ve ever been, to us.”

Savvie sits back, less pleased now. “I was never dangerous. Did he tell you I was dangerous to you? I never was. That was a lie he made up, so they would help take you and your brother away from me. I only ever wanted us to be a family, Isabella.”

“Mom.” Izzy’s voice wavers, and Savvie might smile a little at the sound, but if she does, it’s because she sees the wrong reason for the waver, or… maybe she enjoys the annoyance, the anger, as much as she would fear. “We both know that’s not true, none of that is true.”

“I wanted a family,” Savvie says, in a low voice, not quite a whisper. Regretful, mournful. She trails a fingernail along the top of the table, and Izzy tenses at the scrape of it. Barely audible but it grates on her nerves nonetheless. She swallows, presses her lips together, tries not to watch it move.

Fails.

Savvie’s nails aren’t painted - in Izzy’s blurry remaining memories of her, Savvie’s nails are always painted colors - but they shine, perfectly filed edges moving, catching a hint of light.

“Your dad,” Savvie says, in that same mournful, grieving tone, “didn’t want you at all. Did you know that? He never did. He hated the very idea of you, and your brother. He thinks I don't know that he cried over the concept of you. No… you were never wanted by anyone but me, until he realized he could steal you to hurt me. He could always be cold that way. He took you and hoped I would-”

“Stop.” Izzy struggles to say it. Even now, with therapy a constant foundation of her life and a stronger one than her mother’s terrifying rage, it’s hard to make herself say the word. She has to fight to make it audible, but it’s still clearly surprising - Savvie goes silent, watching her with those unnerving wide blue eyes. “Please-... stop. I, I know how he felt. You can’t-... you can’t rewrite history, Mom. I know… I know how it was, or I know enough.”

“It’s the truth, Isabella.” Her mother’s expression is so earnestly sincere. Izzy licks at her lips, suddenly dry and chapped, and thinks that if there were a lie-detector test, her mother would pass it, stone-cold. No way to tell she didn’t believe her own words. She might, actually, believe the story as it leaves her mouth, believe it so utterly she can lie without even knowing she’s doing it. “That’s all I ever wanted to do, is have the chance to tell you the truth. But he got that no-contact order and made sure you would only ever know how he saw it.” Savvie smiles with wistful regret, every inch the mother mourning her lost children.

Izzy knows better.

Jamie, her little brother, fifteen and with no memory of his mother at all, might fall for this. She's a stranger to him. But Izzy remembers the hours locked alone in the dark, and the sound of her father screaming in pain.

She swallows trying not to think too much about that memory. “It’s not about-... there aren’t two sides, Mom. This isn't like any other divorce. You held him prisoner.” She’s falling into a trap, and she can feel it but she can’t stop herself. Her mother hasn’t tried to so much as reach for her - it wouldn’t be allowed, the guard would step forward if she did - but Izzy still feels like she has been pinned, claws sliding into her shoulders and a heavy weight holding her to her seat. A bird that didn’t see the threat in time to take flight. "You-... held us all-"

“Well, now he’s made sure I’m a prisoner, hasn’t he? Must be nice, to pin all your problems on the Big Bad Witch in prison who can no longer defend herself. But, of course, everything is always my fault.” Savvie shrugs as she cuts Izzy off, almost idly.

"Mom, he has-..." Izzy feels unmoored. Drifting, like this can't be real, this conversation. This can't be real. "You abducted him, you-"

"Everyone has problems, sweetie." Savvie's head tilts a little more, eyes moving over Izzy’s face with an awful, palpable weight. “Don't try to make it a competition." Something gentles, then. The hard planes of her mother's face soften. "You know, you look like him.”

Izzy warms, a little, at that. She shouldn't and she knows it, but still, she does. She smiles, slightly lopsided, and raises one hand to touch the silver rings in the shell of her left ear, two of them right next to each other, one for Jax and one for her brother Jamie. “I hope so,” she admits. “I’ve always wanted to.”

The moment of gentleness in her mother’s expression slips away, replaced by a brittle frigid chill that washes over Izzy, a wave that breaks against her.

Oh, no. I cared more about him than her. Even now, fourteen years on, she still shivers in an old fear.

“He is handsome,” Savvie says, tapping her fingernails again, scraping them along the table. The sound is starting to grate on Izzy’s nerves. “He always was, even in the earliest days. He never knew it, I don’t think. I tried to tell him.”

He didn’t want to hear it from you.

“He hears it enough now,” Izzy says, and her heart goes cold with dread as she realizes she’s nearly given away something much, much worse to say than accidentally admitting her dad came on the trip with her.

Damn it, Izzy, don't let her know about Kieran.

Savvie doesn’t seem to notice the clue. She just keeps tapping. “Do you play music, Isabella? I wondered if either of you would have talent, in the end.”

It’s an abrupt change of subject, and Izzy doesn’t see it for the trap it is.

“I play-... um. I can play some things,” Izzy hedges, shifting uncomfortably from the simple truth that she can play almost anything, if she hears it a couple of times, remembers note-for-note the songs on the radio or the forbidden ones she still hides in playlists buried in playlists, the soft strains of violin that draw her but she would never admit to. “I’m-... in a band, actually.”

Savvie’s eyes are back on hers, then, that unnerving total focus. “What do you play in that band? Is it a real band, or just noise?”

Izzy rubs at the back of her neck, flushing in embarrassment. “Um. I guess it’s about fifty-fifty noise and real. I play bass guitar, actually.”

She’d read somewhere that bass guitar was easy, and figured if she played that, no one would realize the music was inherent in her, demanding expression. She could say she wanted to be in the band because of her father, who had been in one once upon a time, too. She wouldn’t have to admit that the music didn’t come from Jax, but from Savvie’s blood in her veins. She could pretend, with the bass guitar, to be worse at it than she really was without ruining the songs.

Her mother snorts, derisive. “Anyone can play that,” She says, waving one hand in dismissal - but the other has to come with it, and it’s a reminder that, no matter how Izzy feels in the moment, there is no real danger here. “That hardly counts. Can you play a real instrument?”

“It is a real instrument.”

“Hardly.” Savvie looks disappointed, and it’s weird - she hasn’t seen her face-to-face since she was four, and she hasn’t said a word to her in that time, and still… the disappointment hurts, a little. “You weren’t allowed to do music, were you? He forbade you, because of me.”

“No, he absolutely didn’t.” It’s Izzy’s turn to lean forward, her hands closing into fists in her lap now, an old habit from childhood she’s mostly broken but it comes back, now, as her irritation rises in eternal defense of Jax. “He’s always supported whatever I wanted to do-”

“Because he doesn’t care enough to make sure you’re doing something worthwhile.” Her mother’s sigh cracks open a dark door inside her, it’s familiar even to her fading memories. It’s a sigh she knows from birth. Before Izzy can respond again, she changes the subject, deft as a dancer. “What are you doing for school, then? Are you going to go to college?”

Izzy blinks, thrown off track. “Um. Yes, I do plan on it, I’ll be going to university next autumn-”

“You’ve got the accent, too. Guess they’ve painted over everything they didn’t like, didn’t they?”

“Wh-what?” Her heart stops as her mother’s voice is sharp again. Her fists tighten, pressing down into her thighs until they nearly ache. “What’d you-”

“You look like him, dress like the dime-store version of him - honestly, Isabella, look at you, you look… grimy. You even talk like him. What is this, trying to look like the daughter he might have actually wanted? Is that it?”

Izzy swallows, sitting back again, thumping into the back of the chair. Someone nearby is crying, soft, muffled sobs. Someone else is whispering, in vicious intensity, in fury. The guards are impassive. There’s no sign they even hear Savvie speaking at all. “It’s just who I am-”

“No, it isn’t. I saw your name, Isabella Gallagher. You were born a Marcoset, but he was happy when he changed it, wasn’t he?” Savvie’s eyes won’t let her look away. She feels completely captured, the center of Savannah Marcoset’s world, the most terrifying place on Earth, somewhere Izzy has never once been. “I asked you a question, Isabella. He was happy to have you change your name, wasn’t he?”

“Yes.” She’s not sure why she answers. The anxious shivering inside of her is stronger than it should be. Her voice is a whisper, a rush of air with only a hint of sound. “But it was-... my idea-”

“I’m sure he let you think that. I feel sorry for you, you know. I really do. He must care for James so much more than he does you, don’t you think? My beautiful son wasn’t old enough to even speak to me, but you�� you’re a reminder, aren’t you? Oh…" Savvie's lips purse, in a sort of smug smile. "Oh, you are. God, what torture it must be for him to be around you."

She’s supposed to be stupid. Izzy has watched all the documentaries that mention the case, she read an awful unauthorized true crime book she found in a thrift shop once that just had a little teensy chapter on Savvie buried between other femme fatales. She’s done her research, to understand the woman she was going to meet as best she could.

Savannah Marcoset is supposed to be… well, stupid.

Izzy wasn’t prepared for cunning not being the same thing as smart. And she didn’t think through what eleven years in prison, with almost nothing to do but think, and no chance of leaving ever for the rest of her life, might do to hone her mother’s ability to wound. That Savvie might have taken a blunt instrument and whittled it into a blade.

“I-I’m not-”

“You are.” Savvie hums, and the tapping of her nails is going to drive Izzy up the fucking wall. “Even just being alive, you are. And your hair, well…” Savvie’s eyes go up to Izzy’s hair, the same deep chocolate brown as Savannah’s own, a shock of curly brown that falls over her forehead and against one side, nearly shaved on the other side and along the back. “You can cut it, but it’s still my hair. You walk around a living reminder of what he stole from me, just to hurt me, what he didn’t even want. You were never wanted, Isabella. That’s why your birth is part of my crimes, don’t you think? You and James both. You’re a crime I committed against him, right?”

“A crime-” Her voice cracks, but if she sounds uncertain, it’s only her nerves, her inability to stand up for herself sometimes. It’s not fear. She is not afraid of this woman, and she doesn’t believe her.

Okay, a little afraid.

But she doesn’t believe her, she doesn’t. She knows better, because she knows how hard her father has worked to build the life around her, the one she’s living now. She knows how many times he has held her after nightmares - hers and his both. She knows he could have left her and James behind, but he didn’t.

Every chance he had to set them down, he chose to hold them instead.

Most of all, she knows the way her father has carefully, day by day and year by year, taught her that love is not the same thing as danger.

Her shoulders square, and her back straightens. “You keep saying that, b-but… there’s a difference between not wanting someone who will be hurt to, to be there to be hurt, and caring about someone. There’s-... you can’t see the difference, is all, but I can. I know-” She swallows. “I know how it looks like when he loves someone, and you don’t.”

“Hm.” Savvie’s fascination flags, a little, at that. Her stare is unnerving, unblinking, but Izzy feels the anger coming off of her, hidden and still plain as day. “Changing the subject, I see. So much of you is just a walking reminder. You’re just a tragedy on two legs, aren’t you, Isabella?”

Part of Izzy thinks wryly, how long ago did you think of that and how long have you been waiting for someone to say it to? but the rest of her can’t find the breath to say it out loud. “You can’t make my life worse than it is, Mom. Not anymore. I didn’t come h-here for this, I came here for-”

I came here to see if you could see me, even now, or only a reflection of what you can’t have. I guess I have my answer.

Savvie hasn’t stopped talking. “What of you is even yourself, Isabella? Are you just… trying not to be me? Do you not want him to think of me?” Her smile widens. Flash of teeth. For a second, just one brief second, Izzy sees fangs. “Oh, sweetie. You can’t ever change that, no matter what you do. I was important. I ruined his life, remember? There was a whole court case about it. Two, really. It’s why I’m here. Because I’m the Big Bad Wolf, or so I’m told.” She snorts. “You should have worn red, Isabella. Or something.”

“Or something,” Izzy whispers, looking down at her hands, at her knuckles gone white, her fists. The round clock is ticking on the wall, and it’s only an hour. She told herself she could last for an hour, when she walked in here. She told herself she could make it, and she would.

“Isabella-”

“You didn’t, by the way.” Where the words come from, she’s not sure. But they come out sure, and strong. "You didn't ruin his life. It’s better, it’s good.”

“Oh? Is it?” Savvie feigns disinterest, but she’s so bright and sparkling, pulling Izzy in. “What about it is so good, Isabella? What does my husband do, in his whole new life without me? What can he do? Show me how I’m wrong.” Savvie’s presence is heavy, it takes up too much space, feels like Izzy is pressed against the wall, suffocating. How did they live like this, surrounded by her on all sides, all the time? How had Jax ever survived so long alone with her?

Her voice trembles more than she wants it to when she speaks. “What?”

“You say I’m wrong - about him, about you.” Savvie is a shark, and Izzy is blood in the water. She seems bigger, suddenly, or maybe Izzy is smaller. Younger. Has too much hair for her age and a frilly dress she hates and she has to be good, and so quiet, and do exactly what she is told or her father will be hurt, and it will be her fault, because it’s always, always her fault-

Savvie’s voice is not quite a whisper. “Tell me, Isabella, all these things I am so wrong about. Even if you believe his side of the story, he’s all I thought about, the only thing that mattered, right? So I know him better than anyone else, don’t I? And you’re mine. I know everything about you, without even trying."

“You don’t-... know anything about me.” Izzy knows she’s getting quieter, and knows as she retreats, her mother presses forward, thrilled to play a game she hasn’t played in… in eleven years, more or less. “And you don’t know a single thing about him.”

“I know every fucking scar on his body.” Izzy’s stomach flips, but Savvie is leaning forward again, and the blue of her eyes is overtaking everything else around them. Plain beige walls and plain table and plain bars over plain windows can’t compete. The gray of everyone’s prison outfits, her own black-and-slightly-less-black, none of it is a good enough distraction, enough to tear her away. “That’s what I know. You’re sweet, Isabella, and it’s lovely of you to try and be the dutiful little daughter all over again. But I know things you don’t, I always have. I know I still do. He hasn’t told you half of it, and he won’t.”

It’s a strike, a feint and then a jab, and if this were a real fight Izzy would be ready for it, but words are so much harder to defend against. “I was a little kid, I didn’t need to know it, I didn’t want to. I don’t need to know-”

“You had colic, for a month or so.” Savvie cuts her off, raising her voice a little. One of the guards behind her shifts, might look at them from behind the dark of his glasses at the volume. “When you were little. Cried like a banshee, day and night, no reason. I could hear you in my practice room. Still think you know everything?”

“This isn’t-... I don’t know why you’re telling me this."

“I had my responsibilities, sweetie. I mean, I was a new mother, but I was still a person. I didn’t need to change all that much, really. Jax spent half his time trying to keep me away from you, your own mother, and the other half trying to shut you up.”

“You could be-... he said you were up-upset, sometimes, um, you c-could be-”

“Violent? Never. I was tired, maybe - we both were. Jax has never slept well."

Because of you.

"Oh, here we go. One of my favorites of his little insults… does he say I was unstable? I’m sure I’ve heard it all. Probably in court, no less, he very much enjoyed getting on stage to put on his little show. Taking the jury around and around in circles acting like I never did anything kind for you.” Her eyes move back to Izzy’s hair, shaking her head slightly, one lip curling upward in a sneer. “I certainly would have been kind enough not to let you make yourself look like that.”

“Mom-”

“Shut up, Isabella. I am talking to you, and I am not done yet.”

Izzy’s mouth snaps shut, teeth clicking together, her nails digging into her palms. Her eyes flicker to the guard, trying to catch him, but no, she’s going to last the whole hour, she promised herself she could do it, she promised.

Besides, it's… sort of harder than she thought, to look away when Savvie is talking.

“We ended up getting my, well, Isaac’s servant Hannah to help with you. Because of the colic. He asked for her, really. I was prepared to bring in someone else, but Jax had his demands, and when he really wanted something, well.” She shrugs, calmly, casually. She is talking about a reality that never existed, moving all the pieces around until the past suits her and not the court documents. Until her story is the one circling Izzy’s head, and not the story she knows has to actually be true. “How could I refuse?”

“He asked-... but when he wanted-”

“What did I just say?”

“Mom, I need to-”

“Let. Me. Finish.”

“N-No, I don’t want to hear this-”

“You know what he started to do? Once we had Hannah around, a few days a week? When the steward began to come as well? Do you know what the number one change your father made to his life was, once that happened?”

“Mom, please. Please don’t do this.” Her voice is nearly gone, and Savvie leaps.

“He started getting the hell away from you.” Savvie throws her head back and laughs, loud enough to make people look over at them. Izzy wonders, face burning in embarrassment, what they see. Do they know who Savvie is? Is she really famous, here, like Izzy thinks she is? Does everyone know they’re watching Savannah Marcoset push her daughter under the water and watch her struggle to breathe?

But… the words hurt. He got the hell away from you. “He did-... he did what?”

“Fucking escaped you. He thinks I didn’t notice. Everyone always thinks I don’t notice, didn’t know things. Your father - my Jax - thinks I’m a fucking idiot, I get that now. But I saw that, him handing you off to Hannah or the steward and get as far away from you as he could without-” Savvie lifts her hands to tap at the side of her neck with a slight, almost dreamy smile. “Everyone says I’m the bad mom, the bad parent, but I’m not the only one who shoved you aside every chance I got.” Savvie hums, almost idly. She’s playing, Izzy thinks dimly. Cat with a ball of yarn. Somehow the words hurt a little less when the realization comes. “That’s the thing, though, isn’t it, Bella-”

“Izzy,” She whispers, but her mother doesn’t hear her, or doesn’t care.

“You know you are, fundamentally, his fucking nightmare. Your father sat up there before judge and jury and told everyone that I only had you so I could control him just a little bit more. Did you see that, in the documentaries you watched? Did you hear about it? Did he tell you that you only existed to be a weapon, that you're just a pretty little tool in my toolbox?"

She doesn’t want to answer any of those questions, and keeps her eyes down, focuses on the knuckles of her hands. How they sit over her lap so nicely, if you ignore that they are fists. Her face still burns bright red, and her eyes are hot with tears she blinks rapidly away before her mother can see them fall.

“He’ll say I didn’t love you.” Savvie’s expression is chilled, disdainful. “But your father had whole days he could barely stand to touch you. He had days he couldn’t even look at you. You ran around after him begging for, what, for someone to pat you on the head and say you were good just as you are? No wonder he couldn’t give you that.”

“He did give me that, over and over-... how you’re saying it isn’t how it happened, you’re not remembering what actually happened, Mom-”

“I think, deep down, you know it’s because no matter what you do with your hair, or your clothes, he is always going to look at you and see me. That’s the fear, isn’t it? That you're me, or you will be. That’s why you’re here, why you flew all the way across the fucking Atlantic to pay Mommy a visit. You wanted to see how much of you is me. How much of me is in you. How much of a fuck he can even give, in the end, for my daughter." She laughs again, and Izzy flinches. "He must hate you, deep down, and part of you knows it. Am I right?”

Izzy can’t answer at first, and her mother clicks her tongue, falsely sympathetic.

“Oh, sweetie. It’s okay. I can’t do a fucking thing to you, or him, or anyone now. But I’m glad you came to see me. I'm glad to see that you're just the same, easy to break as ever. You'll end up with exactly the love you deserve, Bella. Won't you?"

Izzy's eyes are blurred, struggling to focus. What rises in her isn’t fear, or doubt, or even sadness. It’s anger, the same simmering slow burn that that comes whenever someone tries to push her and her father down, when they have to force their way back up. "N-no-"

"Yes. You'll get what you were born for, one way or another. Don't worry, sweetie. You're not like me at all. You're just… a mirror, and the reflection isn't even a good one." Savvie laughs, cold and cruel, delighting in the pain on her daughter's face. "Here I was worried you’d be angry, but I don’t think you can be. Is that too much like me, too?”

“No, I’m… I get a-angry sometimes, I can… it’s not like that-”

“Not like what? Speak up, Bella. Stop mumbling, you were always a mumbler. Most children shout, you know.”

“Most children don’t get locked in closets if they do.” Izzy is still whispering at the start, but the words come more strongly as she works her way through them, eyelashes heavy with tears she tries to pretend don’t exist. “Most-... most kids can throw a fit without their dad getting hurt, and most kids get to leave the h-house sometimes, and if I-... if he couldn’t-... it was because of you, not because of m-me.”

“Tell yourself that.”

“I do. I do tell myself that. I only have to tell myself that because of you, and you-... you just wanted to be his whole life and the only thing in it and you’re n-not, and this isn’t even about hurting me, is it? All of this-... telling me about, about him-...”

She can remember it, can’t she? Faint traces remain, of asking for Jax and being told by her Aunt Hannah that he needed some time, of asking and having her Papa Stewart give her a hug instead, of asking and asking and then learning not to ask…

“You aren’t telling me this to hurt me. You’re telling me this to hurt him.” Izzy raises her eyes, aware of the bright red blotches on her cheeks, aware of the tear tracks, aware of her hands in fists and the zinging anger in her that simmers underneath her fear. “You want me to take this out into the-... into the world, back to Dad, and tell him what you said because it’ll hurt him to hear that you said it, and you’ve been in prison for eleven years and missed most of my life and nearly all of my little brother’s - who you haven’t asked me a single fucking question about, by the w-way - and all you can think about, even now, is the… the one who got away from you.”

The balance shifts, some of the glittering brightness fades from Savvie’s eyes, the fascinated sadism seeps out of her expression. “Isabella-”

“Izzy. I’m called Izzy. And you know that, because you’ve known it ever since the trial. And maybe I was-... was hard, for him, when I was a baby and I can’t fix that or make it any better, it’s all already happened and I’ve had to learn not to feel guilty about it since I was four years old, but of the two of you, only one has ever bothered to give any solitary fucks about who I am! I came here to see if you could-... if you could change, or rethink, or even just, just feel something about me, and all you can feel is the parts of me that are him!”

“Isabella-”

“You shut up! You do it, now, and you listen to what I have to say! I was sc-scared, all the time, because of you, not him. He was the one who came to let me out, and he was the one who held me when I was scared, and even if he didn’t want to be near me, he still tried! You don’t-... you don’t get to change the story and make it not what it was, Mom, I know what it was.”

“You know what he told you it was.”

“No. I know what it actually really was. There is no other alternative world where you’re the good guy, or better than he was! Maybe I was a hard baby to l-love, because of whose baby I am, and I-I carry that forever… that I'm not the kid he would've wanted to have... but he tried, and if he didn’t love me at first, at least he tried until he learned how! But… but I know he did. I know he loved me, and Jamie, so much that he did the scariest thing he could imagine by running with us and having to hope we could make it to Grandpa before you could catch us again. I think you don’t know him at all, and you’re going to die in prison still not knowing, and that’s why you’re doing this now. It is killing you that you could lock us up and put that thing on his neck and keep us trapped and you still don’t know any of us at all.”

“I made every single scar-”

“Scars aren’t who someone is! They’re just marks of you being shitty to him! They don’t say who he is now, or how his mind works, or how fucking brilliant he is at being a dad! You know some marks on his skin, but I know who he is when he’s safe, and strong, and happy, and you will never know that man. You won’t ever know what he looks like really in love, and I do, and it is absolutely nothing like he looked around you!"

Her eyes flare. “Bella, what are you talking about, in love? With who? Who would-”

“I came here to see if-... if any part of me really is you, and it’s not, because all the parts of me that matter are from him and Grandpa and Papa Stewart and Nana and my aunties and none of the important bits are yours at all! No one loves you, because you can’t love anyone, but I can, and he can, and Jamie can. You are never ever going to see him again… and I’m going to walk out that door and give him a fucking hug."

She shoves her chair back, making a metallic screech along the floor that makes her mother wince, adrenaline pumping through her veins. It’s a kind of fight, this, she’d been pinned to the mat and fought her way back to standing in the end.

“I am proud of him, for all he’s done to make an even better life for Jamie and me, and I am proud of him for finding Kieran, after you - and Kie’s a better bonus dad by a million years than you ever were a mom - and… and he’s proud of me. He’s proud of the person I am and not just the person he thought I was supposed to be. That’s more important than, than anything, is that he and I-... we can be proud of each other, and you can’t be proud of anything but yourself.”

Savvie looks startled, now, struggling to regain the surety she’d felt before. She can’t stand or the guard will come, and so she stays seated, and looks up at Izzy, no taller than her father but wiry still. “I think we’re done here,” Savvie says coldly. “You’re clearly too swept up in your father to be worth talking to.”

“Maybe,” Izzy shrugs, shoves her hands in her hoodie pockets, finds the comfortable weight of her phone, switched off for during the visit like the guards had asked. Wonders if her dad, sitting in the rental in the parking lot, has started pacing yet. If he’s watching the clock, waiting for her text to come through, bouncing his foot like he does sometimes. If he’s pretending to read or texting Kieran or if he’s just staring at the squat building that stretches wide on either side, waiting for her to come out. “Did I disappoint you, then? How I am, just me?”

“Oh, sweetie.” Savvie shakes her head, ruefully. Her expression shifts into mournfulness, just a few seconds too late for it to be convincing. “I had high hopes for you. But he ruined you, in the end. Absolutely ruined you.”

“That’s… that’s probably good. I don’t think I’ll come back, Mom. But I might-... I might write a letter.” Why she throws the offer out, she doesn’t know, only… only some part of her will always, always want to keep hoping that this will change.

Savvie’s eyebrows raise. “I might answer it. Can you fix your hair, if you ever come again? And wear something… nicer than this?”

Izzy blinks, rolling her eyes back to look up at her hairline, down to look at her shirt and jeans, and then back to her mother. “Why? Because it’s shorter than you want it to be? Because you don’t like my clothes?”

“Because you look like a lesbian, Isabella.”

Izzy blinks, too thrown to find the words at first, and then she shrugs, rubbing her thumb along the side of her phone in her pocket, her palms aching where her nails had dug in so deeply, over very old scars. She can’t quite help her smile. “Oh. Well, fuck, Mom, my girlfriend will be shocked when she hears you feel that way.”

“Your what?”

Izzy turns and walks away, past the other tables with crying or hurting people, or people who look like they want very badly to hug and can’t, and she doesn’t look back.

The door clangs open and slams shut behind her, the hallway stretching out ahead, and she walks down two sets of stairs and around a corner before she sees the big heavy doors that lead out into the world, the huge parking lot warmed by sunlight with no trees to break the glare of it. She gives the guards manning the checkpoint a little wave of one hand, pushing the door open, and moves into the glaring, brilliant light, turning to face the corner where her father has been waiting by the rental.

He’s definitely been pacing.

She smiles and heads towards him, giving him a big wave. He’s moving towards her before her hand is even fully in the air.

If her mother’s words are designed to shatter, her father’s love - starting with his desperate attempts to protect her, his whispered be brave for me, Izzy as they boarded a train, written across every single day of her life - is a foundation too strong to be broken.

Her mother, Izzy thinks, can’t understand love like that.

But Izzy does.

And it's more than enough.

Always.

---

@astrobly @finder-of-rings @burtlederp @wildfaewhump @whump-tr0pes @moose-teeth @orchidscript @sableflynn @pretty-face-breaker @raigash @vickytokio @eatyourdamnpears

72 notes · View notes

torchwood-99 · 3 years

Text

Edith and Mary

I feel like it is 2016 again, comparing these two and their character developments.

I keep thinking about how there was a time when Edith and Mary actually got on a bit better, from mid series 2 and series 3. They were both shown growing up as a result of the war, both of them becoming kinder and gaining more perspective. Edith especially matured rapidly and thrived taking care of the soldiers. And when Edith told Mary about Matthew going missing, genuinely respecting Mary’s feelings for Matthew and believing she had a right to know. And this showed a major shift in their attitudes towards each other.

Then Series 3 came, and although there was some sniping they still got on ok. Mary was genuinely sorry for Edith when Anthony jilted her and they hugged each other over Sybil’s death. Their relationship wasn’t without flaws and they still clashed, but overall they got on OK. It was mostly sniping, the consequences of two sisters who are too different in some ways and too similar in other ways clashing together. And it makes sense because Mary was happy with Matthew and focused on her relationship with him, and didn’t need to put Edith down in order to feel good about herself and Edith was starting a new chapter of her life as a journalist, distinguishing herself as something other than the ‘lesser Crawley daughter’, so Mary was no longer the target of her resentment.

Then series 4 it starts going drastically wrong. It begins with Mary in deep mourning, with Edith; although quite giddy and excited about her new relationship with Michael. trying to be respectful, as evidenced when she and Mary come across each other on the stairs and Edith tones down her happiness over her Valentines Day card from Michael and looks at Mary with concern. This isn’t a great sisterly bond or a massive act of compassion, but it is basic respect for the grief of someone else.

And this contrasts starkly with Mary’s reaction to Edith’s grief over Michael. When Michael is confirmed dead and all hope is gone, and Edith is trying to have a day to properly mourn and come to grips with her feelings, Mary jokes about Michael hiding in a tree and scorns Edith by declaring she can’t see what Michael saw in her. Which is harsh, but at least it’s behind Edith’s back. But then when Edith tries to leave the room during Mary’s hair reveal, Mary scorns her to her face and in front of everyone else in the room. It’s not even that she isn’t trying to give Edith sisterly comfort during what is evidently a difficult time for her, she is actively belittling her. Kicking her while she is down.

Which again, contrasts pretty heavily when there is the crash at Henry’s race. Edith runs after Mary to the track, takes Mary’s hands and tries to offer what comfort she can, sharing in her distress and trying to find out who has been hurt.

And this pretty much sums up the state of the sister’s relationship at this point in the series. There is bickering and nastiness and a history of cruelty on both sides, but the major difference is that Edith has grown enough that she can draw the line. In times of distress or grief, she will be respectful and even offer support and compassion. Mary is a person she dislikes, but she is still a person and is owed basic decency. Whereas to Mary, Edith isn’t even allowed that. She’s a lesser being, not even owed minimal consideration for her feelings. And when Mary pointedly sent Carson out of the breakfast room and then told Bertie about Marigold, she was pulling the same stunts the sisters pulled on each other back in S1.

And I wonder why it is that Edith was able to keep that consideration she showed Mary back in S2, when Matthew went missing, but Mary’s attitude towards Edith deteriorated. And I think that back in Series 1, Edith was the plainer, duller sister, caught in her sisters’ shadows, and Mary became the focus point of Edith’s unhappiness and resentments. And for Mary, who I think despite her confidence was also insecure about herself; especially not being a son who could run the estate with her father, she could feel better because at least she was better than Edith.

Then in series 3, Edith got jilted, which she couldn’t blame Mary for, and she lost Michael in series 4 and again got pregnant. Again, nothing she can blame Mary for. As well as being maturer than in series 1, these problems existed separately from Mary and she had to deal with them and build herself up. The core reason for her cruelty to Mary in Series 1 is no longer there.

Meanwhile, I think the trauma of losing Matthew, so suddenly at such a vulnerable time when she had just given birth to their newborn child, resulted in Mary almost going back to adolescence in some ways, at least in regards to Edith. Once more, Mary admits some feelings of insecurity, such as whether she would be a good mother, saying that she felt losing Matthew had taken away the softer parts of herself. And so once more, she uses Edith as her punching bag, someone who she can always feel superior to and direct her unhappiness towards.

It is interesting then when Edith makes the first move and forgives Mary for trying to break her and Bertie up, because it forces Mary to confront some things about Edith. First, Edith showed a lot of maturity because she owns her own bad choices in what happened, not blaming Mary for Bertie leaving but only for acting in a way that she hoped would cause Edith pain. Then she went to her job in London where she had distinguished herself and shown she has accomplishments and a life away from being Mary’s lesser sister. And in showing Mary forgiveness, she revealed a strength of character that Mary hadn’t acknowledged until that point. Edith’s actions in response to Mary revealing the truth about Marigold probably also showed how mysterious as a bucket Edith was able to begin a career in London, deal with an out of wedlock pregnancy, and have both a successful and modern man like Michael Gregson, and a Marquess like Bertie, fall heavily in love with her.

So Mary, as well as being happier with love in her life once more, could no longer tell herself that Edith is her frumpy, boring and tedious sister from series 1. She is an interesting, accomplished woman with her own life and achievements. Therefore, just as Edith could no longer focus all her resentments onto Mary, Mary could no longer put Edith down to build herself up. Edith forced Mary to open her eyes to the woman her sister has become.

Looking at their relationship between the sisters in the movie, there are still barbed comments and some verbal jousting, but it has softened considerably. They will always squabble, their relationship has become stuck like that and their personalities do not allow for a completely harmonious relationship. But they have both managed to put the intense ugliness of their earlier relationship behind them. They can be civil, maybe even affectionate or jokey when they are in good moods, and shrug off each other’s sniping as merely sniping, Maybe in ten years of growth and no longer sharing a house, they could even become friends.

#Downton Abbey #Edith Crawley #Meta #Lady Edith Crawley

31 notes · View notes

invisibleinorange · 4 years

Text

Chapters: 9/? Fandom: Bridgerton Rating: T Warnings: Presumed Character Death Relationships: Colin Bridgerton/Penelope Featherington, Eloise Bridgerton/Penelope Featherington(besties), Bridgerton Family Dynamics, Simon Hastings/Daphne Bridgerton Characters: Colin Bridgerton, Penelope Featherington, Eloise Bridgerton, Anthony Featherington, Benedict Bridgerton, Portia Featherington, Violet Bridgerton, Genevieve Delacroix Additional Tags: Bridgerton, Polin Summary: Unexpected bad news arrives for the Bridgerton Family (and friends) regarding Colin's travels. This will be a series that is set after "The Duke and I" or season one of the show. It is a companion piece to "Goodbyes".

There were fleeting moments of consciousness here and there; bits and pieces of conversation overheard mostly in French which his mind tried to translate but only could manage the bare minimum. Most of the time, he lingered half-asleep, half-awake dreaming of a home that he was beginning to wonder if he’d ever see again. At first it had been a combination of sheer exhaustion and whatever the physician forced in his mouth that led him to sleep but several days in he became feverish. He had overheard voices outside where he was kept suggesting that if they didn’t make it to land, they weren’t sure he would survive.

The world infection was universal and he knew what it meant. From the pain in his left leg, he had little question to where the infection lied. Bed sores from not properly moving had festered and now they had no choice but to treat it. He wasn’t quite of clear enough mind to ask questions or to fight whatever treatment was provided to him. When they cut into his skin to blood let, he screamed until his lungs felt as if they could scream no more and when they let him be his cried himself to sleep. The cycle repeated itself several times a day and eventually he lost track of time.

He was barely holding on by the time they docked and he carried to a waiting carriage, escorted by the physician to what he later learned was the home of another physician.

This physician was younger and clearly English. He lived with a wife and the wife would often come and hand feed him bread or tea to ensure he kept up his strength.

Most importantly to him, she had curly red hair that reminded him so very much of Penelope though there was no comparison. There mere thought of Penelope Featherington at this point made his heartache. The first time he’d seen her in a haze, he’d thought she was Penelope.

“Pen,” he murmured, mustering strength, trying to reach for her.

Concern was always clear on the woman’s face and she was always kind. She didn’t hesitate to take his hand, try and calm him down.

“You need your rest,” she would say. “The fevers will come back if you don’t.”

“I must tell you something-“

“Then you must say it,” she would say, squeezing his hand. Her husband was never far, always just across the room working on his notes or crushing some concoction in a mortar.

They’d all but decided that the infection might still take him and if he were to die, they’d let him go in peace. The only way to do that was to give him the freedom to say whatever needed to be said.

“I’m in love with you,” Colin declared, hardly caring that he could barely keep his eyes open or that it was impossible that Penelope be there now. In his mind, she was. “I should have never have left.”

The husband and wife exchanged glances as if trying to determine what the best course of action would be. Ultimately, they decided that it best to carry on until their guest could properly be lured back to sleep. The husband moved to set what appeared like an innocent tea beside her so that she might get their patient to drink.

“Then you must drink and get better for me,” the wife told him, rising the cup to Colin’s lips. That was all it took him to fall back into a hazy sleep.

Once he was asleep the wife patted his hand, rose back to her feet and moved toward her husband at the foot of the bed. She looked somberly back toward the patient.

“I hope that he does,” she confessed.

He did manage to pull himself from near death though, his mind becoming clearer and more certain with every passing day. Everything that he had of value had disappeared along with his ill-fated boat. He was honestly just grateful to have landed in the home of two people who had no desire to see him on the streets.

He told them about everything.

His family, his failed engagement, his travels plans and even Penelope.

The way he spoke of her clearly endeared him to the wife even further, to the point that they offered to pay his passage when they returned to England to visit their family in a few short weeks.

With limited options, he accepted.

He could not just sit idly back as a houseguest though. Even though he was still recovering from his experience, he had immaculate handwriting and became an asset for the physician/helping him organize his notes and performing small errands that wouldn’t exert him.

He dared not ask for more than a little food and a bed to sleep in after all the generosity that had been displayed to him but they did give him a little money to find clothing to keep him until he could be back with his wardrobes at home.

It was a trip to a tailor that made him feel more like himself and less like someone in borrowed clothes that never fit quite right. He didn’t get much, just enough to help him exist until he returned. It was a dress shop next to the tailor that caught his eye instead.

He had been to the Modiste back home with his mother and sisters more times than he cared to acknowledge. This was no Modiste but the dresses on display were immaculate. He could easily imagine his sisters fighting over a few of them.

There was a dress that stood out against the rest.

It was a net dress that was embroidered with silver lame, which he could only imagine matched the petticoat. The neck and the sleeves of the gown were trimmed with Brussels lace and a matching train. It looked as if it cost a fortune, which he might have been able to negotiate in London but he was living on the kindness of strangers here.

His hand reached to touch the lace that adorned it, his chest hurting as he imagined it on pale skin, pinked with embarrassment. All it took was his mind thinking of her face and he knew he would do anything in his power to get it to her.

“Mister Bridgerton,” a voice said behind him. He was so unfamiliar with his own name and existence at this point that it caused him to jump, his body turning slightly in shock. From the way she looked at him, she hadn’t expected to see him but she also didn’t seem to think him dead which was a positive.

“Madame Delacroix,” he stammered, actually stunned by this turn of fate. “I thought Benedict said you were in Paris.”

“Well he told me that you were going to be traveling to Greece.”

“It’s a long story,” he managed. “But perhaps, I can have you vouch for me. I must have this dress.”

“It would have to be taken in considerably for one of your sisters… or out if it’s for yourself,” she said eyeing him and then the dress. She nodded after a long minute though. “Your family has always paid their debts and as a matter of keeping their business when I return to London, I suppose something could be arranged.”

For the first time in weeks, he felt as if he could do anything. He came very close to hugging the woman. He didn’t know if she knew how much it meant to him.

“It’s for Penelope Featherington,” he said after a long moment. “If you could have it sent to her, I’d be much obliged and if you could put a note with it.”

The Modiste tilted her head in surprise but then nodded. “And what will this note say?”

“For when you decide to put away the mourning black,” he told her.

#bridgerton #polin #⚜ writings — polin #colin bridgerton #penelope featherington

34 notes · View notes

love-bean · 4 years

Text

Spectacular - Prologue

so hello! i decided i would upload this in parts since it is quite long lol this is gonna be a little prologue type thing to help you get to know my oc a little bit and get the ball rolling. so without further ado!

wk: 1760

-o-o-o-o-o-

Growing up, Anastasia never understood why she had to be prim and proper while all of her older brothers did not. It made her life particularly un-spectacular.

“Miss Mackenzie,” the governess sighed. “Please do not do this today.”

“I just want an answer!” the nine-year-old groaned. “Why can’t I learn to shoot and ride and fight the way they can?”

“Augustus does not shoot or fight,” the governess pointed out.

“Augustus is only one year my senior. Our other brothers did not learn to fight until they were nearing 12,” the girl grumbled.

Sighing, the elder woman sat down beside her pupil. “Anastasia, there are many things a boy must learn in order to become a man. But there are different things that a girl must learn in order to become a woman. Unfortunately, although your mother has passed and you have no older sisters, you still must learn these things, no matter how upsetting it is to you.”

The little girl frowned and crossed her arms. They were both silent for a few moments before the governess placed a gentle hand on her knee.

“How about after we finish our lessons today, I will summon Alexander and perhaps he will take you riding.”

It wasn’t until she met Eloise Bridgerton that she truly understood the pressure of a young woman in society.

“It’s unfair,” Anastasia, aged 13 years, complained as she kicked a stray rock from the path.

“I agree,” Eloise replied, walking arm-in-arm with her new friend.

“Respectfully, you do not understand,” Anastasia said. “You have your mother, and your older sister, Daphne. You are well-guided. And you do not have to be perfect! I am the only girl in my family, and the youngest, and-”

“Anastasia,” Eloise interrupted gently. “Do not work yourself up. While I am not in the exact same position, I will still have to be a perfect lady eventually. Daphne will be married someday, and the responsibility will fall onto me to help guide Francesca and Hyacinth.”

They walked silently for a few moments before Eloise snorted out a laugh.

“Besides, your first season won’t even be for seven more years. You have plenty of time to perfect the art of perfection.”

Seven years. Anastasia wasn’t supposed to debut in society until after she turned twenty. That all changed when her governess fell ill and passed away shortly before her seventeenth birthday.

It was a hard loss for the Mackenzies, but it was particularly difficult for the youngest member of the family. Mrs. Henrietta Hobbs was the only female figure Anastasia had ever known, having been less than one month old when her own mother passed.

But the loss of Mrs. Hobbs sped Anastasia’s life into motion.

Anastasia stood in the sitting room by the window, watching the rain drizzle over London. It looked as miserable outside as she felt, and while not usually content to sit still, she did not have the energy to do much else.

“Sister.”

A gentle voice broke her from her trance and she wiped a stray tear away before turning her head toward the door where her eldest brother stood.

“Yes, Alexander?” she replied.

“Father would like us all to meet in the study,” he said, offering his hand. “That means you too.”

She nodded and walked toward him, wrapping her arm around his and allowing him to lead her through their home. In the study, their father sat behind his large wooden desk while their other three brothers had gathered in front of him.

“Ah, my beginning and end,” Lord Mackenzie said as his remaining two children entered the study.

As they joined their siblings, he stood.

“As you all know, we have been mourning the recent loss of Mrs. Hobbs,” he said, glancing at his daughter. “As a result, Anastasia, you will make your debut in this upcoming season. I will chaperone you as well as your four brothers. Am I clear?”

And make her debut she did. Not only was she named the diamond of the first water that season, but she found a husband by her third ball.

Of course, she shared many dances with many different suitors, all wishing to claim the hand of the only Mackenzie daughter. Mostly, however, she socialized with the three eldest Bridgertons, who were the only ones in attendance apart from their mother and who had become her close friends over the years she had known Eloise.

Anastasia stood at the edge of the ballroom, attached to her eldest brother’s protective arm, when three familiar faces approached them.

“Hello, Mackenzies,” Anthony greeted.

“Hello, Bridgertons,” Alexander replied in a similar fashion.

“Miss Mackenzie,” Benedict said, bowing his head slightly. “You look beautiful this evening.”

“Just this evening?” Anastasia teased.

“I have always favored pink on you,” he replied with a lopsided smirk.

“Well, I am glad to have pleased you tonight and I will have to continue my efforts in doing so for the future,” she said dryly.

“She hates pink,” Augustus interrupted, flashing his younger sister a mischievous grin.

“You try having to wear nothing but the wretched color for your entire life,” she snapped quietly before straightening her posture and recovering from her unladylike outburst. “It is the color of weakness, of softness. It is the same color of dress every young lady wears to every ball; the same young ladies who fawn over my brothers, of all of you, I am sure.”

“In my opinion, softness is not equal to weakness,” Benedict quipped. “Tulips bear the same color, and yet they manage to survive the harshest of winters and longest of summers.”

“Only to be picked by a careless person and die within days,” she argued.

“Ever the optimist, Ana,” he said, tone warm and fond.

She rolled her eyes. “You have not called me that since I was but a child.”

“You are still but a child,” he said. “But over the years I have had the pleasure of knowing you, I have watched you blossom into a beautiful young woman, much like a tulip.”

She shook her head, chuckling.

“Please, Benedict,” Andrew groaned. “If you’re going to court my sister, fine. But at least ask her to dance first.”

In the end, it was one Lord George Weston who had the honor of marrying the youngest Mackenzie.

Lord Weston was nineteen years Anastasia’s senior, making him thirty-six at the time of their marriage. He was a kind and gentle man, expecting nothing but companionship from the girl.

In the long line of Westons, it was common for a man to die at a relatively young age. They often grew very tired very quickly, and were usually in a great deal of pain. Once infection set in, there would not be much time left.

George was no exception, and he knew that.

So, all he wanted was a companion to live out the rest of his days. He did not wish for heirs, for to produce an heir was to force upon them the same fate he would suffer. Half of his fortune would be inherited by a cousin on his mother’s side, one with heirs who would live until he was old and grey. The other half would remain with his wife.

And for which, he desired was a kind, honorable young lady whom he could spoil and make happy in his final days.

A young lady like Anastasia.

At first, he approached Lord Mackenzie with the proposal. He laid every detail out, specifying that he would seek neither a dowry nor heirs from his daughter in exchange for a few years of bliss before his time was up. Once the men were in agreement, it was explained to all of the Mackenzie children, who were under direct instruction to never speak of it to anyone else.

It was a hard secret to keep, but especially hard to keep from her dearest friend in the world.

“I cannot fathom actually being engaged at our age,” Eloise snorted.

“Eloise,” Lady Bridgerton sighed at her daughter’s noise. “Please at least try to be ladylike for once.”

“Please, Mama,” Eloise replied. “It is only my siblings and Anastasia.”

Her mother waved her hand and moved on.

“That is why I came to visit you today, El,” Anastasia said, wringing her hands. “I am engaged.”

Upon hearing the statement, Benedict began listening in on the conversation between his sister and his friend.

“Pardon?” Eloise deadpanned.

“I am engaged,” Anastasia repeated.

“To whom? When? Why?” Eloise fired.

“To Lord Weston, last night. And we are engaged because he will provide for me. He will take care of me for the rest of my days.”

“Surely you are not in love with him,” Eloise gasped.

“I am not,” Anastasia confirmed. “But I do believe I will grow fond of him.”

“Doomed to a life of fondness,” Eloise muttered. “Well, congratulations, my friend. I am happy for you if you believe you will be happy.”

“Happy about what?” Lady Bridgerton asked, only catching the end of the sentence.

“Anastasia is to be married,” Eloise said.

“Congratulations my dear!”

As he watched his family congratulate their close friend, Benedict felt his world turn upside down at the fact that the girl he loved was betrothed to another.

However, the few years Lord Weston was hoping to have turned into a few months, for he fell ill not six months after his marriage to Anastasia. And she was with him to the bitter end.

Anastasia sat in the same chair she had taken residence in for two entire weeks prior. She was at her husband’s bedside, keeping him occupied with books and art.

“Anastasia,” George croaked, interrupting the sonnet she was reading.

“Yes, my lord?” she replied, glancing up.

“I am dying,” he said. “My final days are coming, and I do not wish you to witness that.”

She placed a gentle hand on his. “I made a vow to you, and I intend to see that through.”

“I do not deserve your kindness,” he whispered.

“You have been nothing short of the perfect husband, George,” she said. “The months we have spent together, however few, have been the best of my life. I do not deserve your kindness, sir.”

“You deserve the world,” he insisted. “I do believe I have become quite fond of you.”

“And I you.”

He took his last breath three days later, his teary wife at his side. Upon his death, his cousin took over his estate and Anastasia returned to London to live with her family.

-o-o-o-o-o-

so there it is. a bit of backstory, a bit of introduction. very VERY roughly edited. i have much more coming but this just gets it going. let me know what you think if you have a spare moment! next part will either be coming tonight or tomorrow. much love x

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton fic #bridgerton #bridgerton netflix #jo writes #jo speaks #jo tries really hard

17 notes · View notes

mihrunnisasultans · 4 years

Note

It really says something when fans want to see more of King James IV of Scotland & Queen Margaret Tudor. Their marriage was arranged, but I think the way TSP depicts it is how most royal marriages were back in the day—built on love, friendship, and mutual respect rather than passion. I would love to see a prequel series devoted to these two! Ray Stevenson & Georgie Henley are fantastic together!

Couples with a significant age difference between them usually bother me, and King James IV of Scotland was about 16 years older than Margaret Tudor IRL. However, Ray Stevenson & Georgie Henley brought something to James & Meg that made me root for them. Their characters’ age difference wasn’t disheartening at all. James loved and demanded respect for his Queen, always. He showered her with gifts and trusted her enough to make Margaret regent in their baby son’s name.

Yes, there was something charming about their characters and their relationship, which IMO cannot be said about Katherine and Henry, both as a couple and individual characters. You see how Emma Frost tries sooo hard to paint them at that great romance (later going wrong of course), practically couple goals and KoA as a perfect woman and queen... but she overdoes it all so much, it comes off artificial in the end. Henry so far has been portrayed as a bit of clown and truly just a brat king, but as husband atm he is supposed to be the great, supportive one, who keeps his queen next to him during all council meetings and practically worships the ground she walks on.

IDK but for me both characters are just empty vessels than flesh and blood human beings, KoA is there to practically all the time deliver “badass quotes” and show how awesome she is, while being almost solely focused on her gIrL pOwAh, and Henry is most often just a target of a joke. For me they don’t exist as multi-faceted characters, especially since their relationships to characters other than their spouse are truly given little attention. They barely have inner life for me, any doubts etc.

And again, we are beaten to death with people stating how awesome couple they are. Mary Tudor tells Charles V she wants to rule with her hubby like KoA does with Henry, Meg Tudor also says that to her husband.

Frost tries to sell awesomeness of these characters so much that it does the opposite and makes people tired with this duo that is practically forced down their throats.

Meg and James on the other hand were simply... natural. We’ve never seen a romantic kiss between them, but considering age difference it’s absolutely a good decision? Because precisely it’s what you said, Anon - most arranged royal marriages back then had precisely this sort of dynamic - they weren’t so much IN LOVE, but came to develop more friendly affection and working partnerships. It’s truly very poignant how Meg says James was her “best friend”. Maybe it was arranged, maybe it was impossible for a young girl to develop romantic feelings for this man, but they nonetheless made it work, so that she didn’t feel so alone in Scotland and got so attached she felt comfortable with him and didn’t want him out of her life. There are different sort of couples, not all must be based on romantic love and passion, it’s truly precious to see those well-known arranged royal marriages being potrayed also in this way instead of creators trying to sell us epic love stories for all of them in any historical fiction show/movie/book.

It felt kinda endearing how Meg could literally enter council meetings when she wanted, even punch or scold her husband in presence of his courtiers and get away with it LOL. He actually looked like he enjoyed it 🤣. Again, it felt more natural than Henry’s flowery speeches about his wife (but then such is Frost’s writing, I really dislike her dialogues and can barely provide examples of good ones). Plus, Meg always said what she wanted to say with him - she could roast his ass standing face to face with him or tell him that things weren’t going on smoothly. She wasn’t afraid of him disagreeing with her either. Meanwhile, KoA already is very careful with Henry, trying to sell that “we are perfect, everything goes splendidly, we will manage everything even despite difficulties, it will all pass very soon” message so hard,which maybe at the moment stems more from her trying to be such a perfectionist (ironically, a trait of real life KoA) than because Henry is too demanding. This faux positivity again becomes tiresome after some time.

And yes both actors did great job and had nice chemistry, with Meg mourning James we finally got some truly moving scene acting-wise.I will miss this duo NGL :) I admit I don’t know much about them historically, but I’ve been always under impression it was a working partnership, so I’m glad Frost didn’t turn it into abuse or hatred. And yes I’m now interested in doing some reading about them and the Stuart dynasty..

At the moment I’d love to watch anything other than KoA-Henry drama, I’m far more hyped for Tudor sisters’ storylines and I never expected that, since Katherine of Aragon is my favourite wife of Henry. But I cannot get attached to Charlotte!KoA at all. I love this spin-off idea, Frost made Scots to be mostly uncouth and shit, but I watch Scotland scenes more eagerly than anything happening in England NGL.

Thank you so much for such great messages Anon 💗

#Anonymous #Joanna asnwers #the spanish princess #tsp #tsp spoilers #meg tudor #james IV #georgie henley #ray stevenson #emma frost

37 notes · View notes

tsukihimeyfan · 4 years

Text

Things in AtLA that I wish had gotten resolved/addressed better

So we all know AtLA is the Greatest Cartoon Show Of All Time (TM) but I always felt like there were several loose ends that would’ve REALLY benefited from a Book 4: Air, and I wanted to rant about them for a second, so here they are:

1) Azula’s mental health and (possible) redemption: I really wish we had gotten to see Azula come out of the pit she dug herself into. Because of the evil acts we see her commit, we often forget that Azula was just a 14 YEAR OLD GIRL, who had spent all of her life trying to live up to the expectations of her abusive father and who was betrayed by literally everyone close to her in the end. Of course there still should’ve been consequences to her actions, but I don’t believe she was an irredeemable hopeless case. I feel like this line:

was REALLY telling as to why she did what she did. I often wonder if maybe she’d started out just doing her best to act in a way where she would NOT be punished or hated like she’d SEEN her brother be, and then it just became so ingrained into her that it changed her. Especially since her mother and uncle, the only other adult presences in her life, kept themselves mostly removed from her and ultimately failed her (I understand that Ursa was probably trying her best to help the child she believed was most in danger from Ozai, but if your 9 YEAR OLD daughter comes out of your relationship believing “my own mother thought I was a monster” then you’ve failed as a parent. Sorry)

Aaron Ehasz said this about a year ago:

and honestly I would have LOVED THAT. “At the deepest moment in her own abyss she would have found: Zuko”. Like, what?!?! Zuko getting to be Azula’s Iroh, to help her crawl of the dark place she was in through compassion and kindness?? YES PLEASE!!! Also, imagine what Azula could’ve been if she’d ever decided to use her razor-sharp intellect for Good? This girl conquered Ba Sing Se with only 2 people on her side initially, little to no bloodshed, and no civilian casualties! She could’ve accomplished SO MUCH as Zuko’s advisor/right hand woman or something!

2) Aang dealing with his grief regarding the Air Nomad Genocide: truth be told, we never see Aang truly take the time to cry and mourn over the loss of literally everyone he ever knew and loved aside from those brief moments during the Southern Air Temple and The Guru, and even then he never got to dwell on it for long because the world needed him and he had to focus on that.

I’m quite sad that he never got to have that catharsis, to truly come to terms with his feelings on the matter (besides seemingly focusing all his love on Katara, as we’re told during The Guru). He should have gotten the chance to rebuild his home and find his new place in the world in the appropriately-named Book 4: Air. For example, I’ve seen theories that Ty Lee was a descendant of the remaining Air Nomads, and it would’ve been so great for it to be true and for Aang to go around the world searching for others like her and teaching them Air Nomad philosophy. Also wish we could’ve seen Aang finding and protecting the last Sky Bisons, collecting Air Nomad scriptures with Zuko’s help and spreading them across the world, or restoring the Air Temples to their former glory (maybe Teo and the Mechanist could’ve helped in that endeavor to make up for wrecking the Northern Air Temple. I never liked that at the end of that episode we’re told to think Aang was in the wrong, when literally the last remaining vestiges of his culture had been changed and almost destroyed and he had every right to be angry about it).

3) Toph’s Life Changing Field Trip with Zuko: I really dislike Zuko dismissing Toph’s talk about her parents during The Phoenix King. I feel like it’s quite a bit out of character, since he would of course be able to understand better than anyone in the Gaang how being forced to change yourself to fit in with your rich&powerful parents’ expectations of you feels. You’re telling me that the guy who immediately empathized with Katara when she mentions how the Fire Nation took her mother from her in the Crystal Catacombs (while they were still “enemies” might I add), who encouraged Aang when he felt uneasy about his firebending, who stuck with Sokka when he was feeling down about his plans failing and inspired him to keep trying, who helped Katara find closure on her mother’s death and praised her sacrifice saying “[she] was a brave woman”, and who was comforted by Toph herself just a few days before when he was feeling down about Iroh, wouldn’t take a second to empathize with her? I don’t buy it.

Also can you imagine the kind of shenanigans two badass rule breakers like them could’ve gotten into???

They could’ve saved or toppled a city in one night. It would’ve been EPIC. WE WERE ROBBED.

4) Aang and Katara’s relationship: just... so much about it. I’m not even going to get into how much I wish Zutara (or the beginnings of it) had been made canon, but if they were going to make Kataang canon I wish they had showed us MUCH MORE of the development of Katara’s feelings. I mean, on the Ember Island Players we leave them with Aang having screwed up by disregarding her boundaries and forcing a kiss (and then never apologizing for it smh),

and then we get NOTHING until somehow during the very last 10min of the series she all of a sudden reciprocates his feelings in full???? Without anything getting resolved????

Like what?!?! How did she go from A to B???? At least show me how she debated the matter! Show me how she talked about it with someone, or mulled it over on her own! Show me what exactly she found that she loved ROMANTICALLY about Aang! Show me him apologizing for overstepping and her forgiving him! Show me Katara stop babying Aang gradually! Show me Katara having cute blushing moments like she does for her other crushes (namely Jet and Haru) SPRINKLED ALL THROUGHOUT THE STORY WITH INCREASING FREQUENCY INSTEAD OF ONLY ON 2-3 ISOLATED INSTANCES IN THE WHOLE SHOW, WHILE OTHERWISE SHE ACTS LIKE HIS MOM OR OLDER SISTER!!!! Arrrggh we should’ve gotten a Book 4 if only so we could end on that kiss on a balcony properly. They both deserved better than we got.

5) Katara’s role in the world Post-War: from what little I’ve heard of the comics, it seemed as if Katara was relegated to the role of “Aang’s girlfriend”, which was reinforced by what we saw in LoK where she mostly stays in the South Pole while all her other friends are helping save the world. She doesn’t even seem to have her own statue! I find this highly disrespectful of her character, since the Katara we know would’ve “never turned her back on people who need her” and would’ve fought tooth and nail to make the world a better place. She never would’ve been content as a stay-at-home wife. She ends up “in the healing huts” just like Pakku thought she should and that’s so sad😔 I wish we could’ve seen her become a political activist protesting for women’s right to learn combat waterbending at the North Pole, an environmentalist/ecoterrorist, a medical volunteer, an ambassador for Aang’s new Air Nation or for the Water Tribes, a warrior putting the Fear of God(TM) into anyone who tried to assassinate Zuko or Aang, or even all of the above. Katara is a BAMF with strong opinions and we should’ve seen her do something with them goddammit.

Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk

#atla #Avatar The Last Airbender #thyf rambles #meta #the gaang #team avatar #Zuko #aang #katara #sokka #toph beifong #atla meta

40 notes · View notes

bestillmyslashyheart · 5 years

Text

hit the road

on Ao3

It didn’t quite set in until they hit the coast. The miles of ocean unfolding before and around them, the sand between his toes, and the crushing realization that Rosa Ortecho was alive all hit Alex at once.

The days immediately following Rosa’s resurrection, and Max Evans’ coinciding demise, were a mess. Liz, as much as she tried, couldn’t process it all. She flip flopped between heartbroken over Max’s death, frantic with determination to bring him back like he’d brought Rosa back, overjoyed that she had her sister back, and confused to hell as to what that meant for them. As much as she’d had trouble coming to terms with Rosa’s death, the fact was that she’d had ten years of being an only child. She made it two days, two whole days of trying to be strong and trying to be her big sister’s older sister, before she locked herself in Maria’s spare room and drank herself stupid.

For her part, Maria wasn’t doing much better. She’d arrived at the caves with Michael and seen Rosa before anyone could think to hide her. With the reality of Rosa’s resurrection came the truth about everything else. Maria was strong, she compartmentalized and made sure she was there for Liz for whatever she needed. When Liz couldn’t go home and lie to Arturo about Rosa, she offered up her spare room and went and collected everything she needed from home. She asked enough questions to get the answers she needed about Rosa and Max and the night at the UFO opening but she didn’t push and she didn’t pry. But the realization that Michael (and Max but he was dead and she couldn’t be mad at him) had known for ten years the truth of what happened to Rosa and let her life and her family be vilified because of a lie they created coupled with the reality of Rosa being alive and Liz falling to pieces meant that she spent more than her fair share of time clutching a bottle.

Isobel and Michael were a mess. Alex had never really had the time or perspective to consider the relationship between the three of them before but Max’s absence left a clear gaping hole in them. As much as Michael professed not to get along with Max, to hate him sometimes even, Alex didn’t recognize Michael without his brother. And there was no mistaking that’s what they were. Isobel and Max may have been raised as twins but the three of them were a family, a unit if it were. Take one of them away and the other two fall apart.

For the most part, Kyle was fine. He’s blurted out the truth of Rosa’s parentage in an incredibly awkward moment and freaked her out but otherwise, he was dealing.

Rosa was not.

Alex tried to give her space, considering she looked overwhelmed by literally everything every time he saw her, but he couldn’t just ignore her. She might have been Liz’s older sister but she was the missing piece of their group. She was his and Maria’s older sister, too. When he’d joined the Air Force after graduation, yes it had been mostly because of his father and his family and what happened with Michael, but it was also because Rosa was dead and her ghost haunted Roswell too much for him to stay. He wasn’t sure how Maria had handled it all of these years but Alex couldn’t. It was the third day that he stopped by Max’s house and saw it. That look. He’d seen it in her eyes his senior year as graduation neared. He’d seen it in Liz’s the last time he’d seen her before their ten year reunion. He’d seen it in the mirror every time he saw Michael Guerin.

She was going to run.

Alex didn’t waste any time. He gave her a hug as he left and broke several traffic laws on his way home. When he pulled up outside, he didn’t bother bother taking the keys out of the ignition or even turning the car off. He’d had a bag packed since the day he moved in. It had all of the essentials and he wasted precious seconds by adding a few more changes of clothes and his leather jacket. He was back in the car and pulling away less than two minutes after he’d pulled up. Even so, Rosa was gone when he got back to Max’s house.

He searched the place just to be sure. The only sign Rosa had ever even been here was the pile of dishes in the sink and a note to Liz on the counter.

Alex cursed as he slid back into his car. He had no idea where she’d gone but he figured the bus station was a safe bet, considering her license was ten years out of date and she didn’t actually have a car, not even Max’s. Alex never thought he’d be grateful to Isobel for parking Max’s car at her house but he knew if Rosa had had his keys, Alex never would have caught up to Rosa.

He was almost to the edge of town when he saw a woman walking along the side of the road, an overstuffed backpack weighing her down. Alex ignored the other cars on the road and slowed to a crawl next to her. “Get in,” he called through the open window.

Rosa just looked at him sadly and shook her head. “I can’t.” She kept walking.

A horn honked loudly behind him but Alex ignored it. It was a two way street, they could go around him. He sped up just a little and angled the car off to the right and cut Rosa off. There wasn’t much of a shoulder so traffic was still blocked but it gave the other cars a modicum of space to slip around him. Alex unhooked his seatbelt and hurried out of the car and planted himself in front of Rosa.

“Alex-” she started.

“Where do you wanna go?” Alex cut her off. “Want to go west? California? Or north? Or east? I wouldn’t recommend south right now because coming back over the border would be a mess but pick any other direction and we’ll go.”

Rosa eyed him. “Why?”

“Because I know what it’s like to run,” Alex answered simply.

She scoffed. “Alex Manes? Running away from his problems?” She shook her head. “That’s not you.”

He smiled sadly, mourning briefly for the teenager she remembered. “Where are we going?”

Rosa looked at the car then back at him. “I can’t stay, Alex,” she warned. “And I don’t know if I can come back.”

“I know.” He raised an arm and pointed at the car. “So where to?”

She still didn’t look like she quite believed him but eventually she smiled. “I want to see the ocean.”

“California it is.”

---

From: Guerin

What was your excuse this time?

Alex tore his gaze away from the waves and stared at his phone. It hadn’t even been a full day since they’d left. He hadn’t expected anyone to notice their absence yet and he would’ve bet good money that Michael wouldn’t be the first. The last few days had been strained between them and Alex wasn’t sure why or how to fix it. He wasn’t sure if it was Caulfield or Max or Maria or some combination of all three of them. He wasn’t even sure if the problem wasn’t just him and Michael.

He’d be lying if he said he only left because of Rosa. Sometime in the last decade, Alex had become a runner, the urge to just get up and leave constantly under his skin. He wasn’t sure if he needed a specific reason any more or if he just waited until the world handed him an excuse. He looked back down at his phone, rereading Michael’s message. He’d never thought about Michael’s word choice before but suddenly it seemed important. Like Michael understood what Alex had never been able to admit.

Without putting too much thought into it, Alex snapped a picture of the early morning sun glinting off of the waves, Rosa’s smile bright as she turned back to look at him, her feet kicking up the shallow water on the beach. He sent it to Michael without adding a message.

Rosa ran awkwardly up the beach and sprinkled some water on him. “Taking pictures of me? Perv,” she teased as she flopped onto the bench next to him. “That whole fake leg is really a bummer on the beach.” Alex tensed as he did whenever anyone mentioned his leg but Rosa’s lackadaisical way of going about it made him relax almost immediately.

“You could always carry me down to the water,” he nudged her shoulder. “Think you’re strong enough?”

Rosa scoffed. “For your fat ass? As if.” But she nudged him back and shook off the last bits of water on her hand into his face. “I’ll just bring the water to you.” Alex wiped his face off with a playful glare. “That Liz?” She nodded at his phone. Alex followed her gaze to see a new message from Michael. He turned the screen off and tucked it away without opening it.

“Not Liz?” Rosa sat up, a grin spreading across her face.

Alex pointedly stared out at the ocean. “Not Liz.”

Rosa barked out a laugh before sobering. “I’m not the only one running, am I?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know if you’re running?” Rosa raised an eyebrow. “How’s that working for you?”

Alex ignored the question and stood up. “Breakfast?”

“I’ll get it out of you Manes,” she warned but hopped up anyway. “You’re buying. Y’know on account of me being dead and having no money.” She teased, the smile not reaching anywhere close to her eyes.

“So what I’m hearing,” Alex unlocked the car and tossed Rosa a towel to wipe off her feet. “Is that you want to get a job.”

Rosa looked up from wiping her feet long enough to glare at him. “Who’s gonna hire a dead girl?”

“I can fix that.” Rosa got in and Alex turned the ignition. “Make you a new identity. You could pick a new name.”

“And what’s wrong with Rosa Ortecho?” She didn’t quite huff.

“Absolutely nothing,” Alex replied seriously. “I can find you a new social security number and you can be Liz’s cousin with the same name or we can come up with some other story.”

Rosa sighed and thumped her head back against the seat. “Can we just eat?”

Alex let it go. “Yeah. Find somewhere that looks like shit. Probably has the best food.”

An hour later they flopped onto the end of a surprisingly empty pier, their stomachs full to bursting. “That was a mistake,” Alex groaned.

“A delicious mistake,” Rosa amended. “I can’t believe he didn’t warn us the special was meant for two people. He just let us order two of them.”

“He didn’t make us eat all of it,” Alex defended.

“He should have spit in it or something so we wouldn’t,” Rosa whined.

“You would’ve eaten it anyway.”

Rosa paused. “Yeah fine maybe,” she confessed and Alex laughed brightly. He’d missed her.

They lay in silence for a while before the sun grew too hot for them to lay about. “We should figure out where we’re going,” Alex announced. He didn’t move, though.

“What’s wrong with where we are?” Rosa asked even as she rolled over onto her stomach.

Alex looked at her. “Where do you want to go?”

Rosa pushed up onto her knees and looked around. “I don’t know. What’s there to do in San Diego?”

Alex sat up on his elbows. “The zoo?” He tried to shrug. Rosa looked at him and shrugged in return.

“Let’s go to the zoo.”

---

Alex’s phone rang just as they left the Reptile House, Liz’s name flashing on the screen. “Rosa?” He called as she skipped ahead of him. Rosa turned back immediately. “What exactly did you tell Liz?”

Rosa walked back towards him slowly, his phone sending Liz to voicemail. “I left her a note. Told her I couldn’t stay. That I love her but I couldn’t be in Roswell.”

“That’s it?” Alex asked in mild disbelief. “You died, Rosa. I know it’s hard for you but Liz lost you once already and-”

“Alex,” Rosa cut him off with a glare. “I get it. I died and put my family through hell. But my being back was putting Liz through hell again and I couldn’t stay there and make it worse for her. Every time she looked at me she saw Max’s dead body.”

Alex shook his head. “No, Rosa, she didn’t. She’s just trying to-” his phone started ringing again, somehow more insistently this time.

Rosa nodded at where he clutched it tight. “Answer that. Tell her I’m okay but I’m not coming back. And don’t tell her where we are. Please, Alex. She’ll come after me and I need some space. She needs it too.”

Alex disagreed but he didn’t want to argue. He answered the phone before the last ring could cut off and watched as Rosa walked away from him. She didn’t go too far, though, stopping just far enough away that she probably wouldn’t be able to hear him.

“Alex?” Liz’s frantic voice calls before he can say anything. “Do you know where Rosa is? I can’t find her.”

Alex wasn’t sure if he should be pleased or disappointed that Michael hadn’t told her that Alex was with her. “She’s fine,” he promised.

Liz let out an audible exhale. “Where is she?”

“She’s fine,” he repeated.

There was a pause. “Alex,” Liz’s voice turned hard. “Where is my sister?”

“Liz-”

“Where the hell is she?”

“We’re not in Roswell.”

“What? You’re with her? Why? Where are you?” Liz’s voice, calm a moment ago, was frantic again.

“Liz,” Alex replied softly.

“Don’t,” Liz barked. “Don’t take that tone with me, Alex. I just got my sister back. Tell me where she is.”

“She asked me not to,” Alex told her apologetically.

“Alex-”

“Liz, listen to me,” he stopped and waited but Liz didn’t say anything. “I- I was talking to her and I saw that look in her eyes and I knew she was going to run so I offered to drive. I didn’t want you to lose her again so I thought if I went with her you’d at least know she was okay and she might come back.”

“Alex-”

“She’s fine, I promise,” Alex continued over her. “But she needs some time and some space to process the fact that she blinked and missed ten years. And she thinks you need the same to process the fact that your sister isn’t dead anymore.” He paused. “She’s not wrong, Liz. I can’t imagine what you’re going through with her and with Max. Maybe it’s not a bad thing that you two take some time apart to figure out this new reality we’ve got. I’ll keep her safe, I promise.”

Liz didn’t say anything at first, the only sounds between them her shuddering breaths as she held back tears. “She’s my sister, Alex.”

“I know.”

“I’m gonna call you every day. You’re going to be so sick of me,” she warned and he let himself smile.

“Can’t wait.”

Liz didn’t say anything for long enough that Alex had to check that she hadn’t hung up. “Take care of her, okay? Or I swear I will kick your ass.”

“I promise.”

“And let her take care of you.” Alex opened his mouth to object but Liz kept talking. “She’s your big sister, too.” She hung up without letting him reply.

Alex stared at his phone. “She okay?” Rosa asked. Alex looked up in surprise. He hadn’t heard her come back over. “Is she mad?”

Alex shook his head. “She’s worried. And a little scared, maybe. But she’s not mad.”

Rosa looked away before squaring her shoulders and plastering a smile on her face. “Let’s go see the gorillas.”

Later, Rosa will steal his phone and snap a picture of an eagle trying to eat Alex’s hair as he holds it aloft on his arm. (Even later, he’ll send it to Michael.)

Later, they’ll go back to the beach and he’ll take a picture of Rosa with her eyes closed and the sunset reflecting on her face and he’ll send it to Liz. (She’ll send back a ’thank you’)

Now, he lets her drag him from enclosure to enclosure and pays for her food and her ice cream and a stupid stuffed animal all without comment.

---

In San Francisco, Alex finally texts Michael back.

To: Guerin

Why’d you kiss Maria?

They’ve been gone just over a week. He still hasn’t talked to Rosa about why he left but he left a nightclub with the taste of another guy’s lips on his and a limp dick and he’s drunk enough to ask. It’s late and he’s not really expecting a response until morning, if at all, but his phone buzzes less than a minute later.

From: Guerin

Seemed like a good idea at the time

Alex didn’t know what to do with that. He stared at the message until a new one appeared.

From: Guerin

A lot happened that day and my head was a mess and I wanted something to make it better

So Alex made it worse. On one of the worst days of Michael’s life, Alex would’ve only made it worse.

He turned his phone off before Michael could send another text.

It took him half an hour to find Rosa but eventually he collapsed next to her on the edge of the beach. She’d taken to spending all of her free time there. Didn’t matter what city they were in or where they were staying, Alex could always find her with her toes in the sand.

“Have a good night?” She teased. She’d gone with him to the club but was turned away when they checked her ID. He’d tried to leave with her but she’d talked him into staying and having some fun for once. (Her words, not his) Alex didn’t answer as he closed his eyes. “Hey,” her voice softened. “What’s wrong?”

“Love sucks,” he confessed and it was like the dam broke. “I’ve been in love with this guy since high school but we’re always on different pages and we can’t communicate for shit and I thought I was ready for more, ready to try it for real and I told him. I told him and then he kissed someone else.” Rosa carded her fingers in his hair and didn’t say anything. “I, uh, I asked him why and he said he’d had a shitty day and he just wanted something to make it better. Apparently I would’ve just made his day worse. Because that’s what I do.”

Rosa hummed lightly when he stopped. “I thought I was in love with this girl,” she confessed quietly. “And then she killed me. Or I thought she did.” Alex’s eyes snapped open but she wasn’t looking at him. “I woke up or whatever and she didn’t remember anything about us. It was like we never happened and I don’t know what’s real anymore.”

“My dad and my brother rigged up a facility full of aliens to explode and I had to talk him into leaving his mother behind inside.” Alex kept his voice soft. There was no one around but he couldn’t help but be cautious.

“My sister’s boyfriend killed himself to bring me back to life,” Rosa returned. “And I feel guilty but also angry?” Her hand never stopped moving through his hair. “It’s been ten years. I don’t recognize the world anymore.”

Alex didn’t know what to say so he stayed quiet. They sat and listened to the waves for a long time. “He loved her,” he finally said. “Be angry. Be fucking furious. But don’t feel guilty. Max knew what he was doing and he knew why he was doing it.”

“Who’d Guerin kiss?”

Alex sighed. “Maria.” Rosa’s hand finally stopped as she stared down at him.

“Did she know?” Alex nodded. “Have you talked to her?” He shook his head. “Jesus. What happened to you guys?”

Alex smiled sadly. “You died.” Rosa looked away. “You died and Liz and I both ran and Maria stayed. We kept in touch but it wasn’t the same.”

“Nothing’s the same.”

---

From: Guerin

It didn’t

From: Guerin

It just made everything worse

From: Guerin

I should’ve come back. You wanted to talk and I wish we had

From: Guerin

But then Max died

From: Guerin

I never look away Alex

From: Guerin

But you always leave anyway

Alex stared at the phone with groggy eyes. He’d forgotten to turn his phone back on last night.

“What’s wrong?” Rosa asked from the other side of the room. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost or something.” She paused. “Other than me, I mean.” Alex spared a glare at her for the tired joke before his eyes were drawn back to his phone.

The first four messages were sent right after the one Alex had seen last night. The last two were sent hours later. Alex stared at them and tried to imagine Michael thinking about them and deliberating over sending them. He couldn’t.

“Alex?” Rosa was next to his bed now. “What is it?”

Alex shook his head. “Love sucks.”

She laughed. “What’s he got to say now?”

“He said kissing her didn’t help,” he replied, still not processing it.

Rosa raised an eyebrow. “That’s good?”

“I have no idea.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “Well. I say ignore it for now. We’ve gotta check out in like half an hour.” Alex glanced at the clock and cursed. Thankfully, Rosa had already packed up their stuff so Alex only had to worry about taking a shower and making sure he was sand free before getting dressed. They were on the road before their check out time passed, the map firmly in Rosa’s hand.

“Where we off to next?”

“Yosemite?”

“Done.”

---

By the end of week two, Alex had a brand new identity set up for Rosa. She’d kept her name, kept Arturo’s even. Rosalita Ortecho was the youngest daughter of Arturo Ortecho and an unnamed mother. She grew up in foster care until she reached the age of 18 and went searching for her dad. It’s an unfortunate coincidence that she shares such a similar name to her older half-sister that she never got to meet.

By week three Alex bought a new cell phone and forced it into her hand. Rosa was quickly becoming obsessed with the wonders of the modern internet age and he was sick of her stealing his phone at every opportunity. Plus, it was high time the Ortecho sisters communicated with each other and not through him.

Week four saw Alex pulling up to CU Boulder. Rosa had asked about Liz’s life in the past ten years and all Alex could really tell her was where she’d gone to school so Rosa insisted on a detour. They bought a shirt at the gift shop that said CU Boulder Family and she made Alex take a picture of her in it in front of the school sign. She sent it to Liz from her new phone and Alex made himself scarce when Liz called her immediately after.

He hadn’t talked to Michael since San Francisco.

The pictures he kept sending didn’t count.

The pictures Michael sent back didn’t count either.

On the one month anniversary of leaving Roswell, he called Maria.

“Hey,” she greeted. She sounded reserved, almost timid, and just like that Alex was over it.

“Hey stranger,” he greeted warmly. “What’s new?” It was how they’d started every conversation while Alex was stationed elsewhere and it cut through the tension like it was nothing.

They chatted for a few minutes, Maria filling him in all of the mundane things that had happened lately. Alex in turn shared a few stories from his and Rosa’s travels.

“I’m sorry,” Maria said when the conversation lulled for a beat. “I wanted to be selfish for once. I should have talked to you but, honestly, I didn’t want to.” No one could ever accuse Maria of beating around the bush. She had a tendency to be brutally honest when needed. Alex wasn’t sure it was needed just now but he appreciated the lack of pussy footing around the issue. “And I should have talked to you after instead of avoiding you.”

“Thank you,” Alex told her.

“Nothing’s happened since that kiss,” she told him.

“No need to hold back on my account,” Alex said weakly.

He heard the sad smile in her voice when she replied. “Yeah I do. You love him too much for me to try anything with him. It was stupid of me to think I could be that selfish. And besides, he loves you too much. I deserve better than being his second choice.”

“He doesn’t-”

“Yes, he does,” Maria cut him off gently. “I don’t know what’s going on between you two because he won’t talk about it with me but he does love you. You should talk to him.”

“I don’t want to,” he protested. He ignored how close it was to a whine.

Maria laughed softly. “Alex. Running away isn’t going to solve your problems. Eventually, you’ll have to come home and they’ll still be here.” Alex didn’t say anything. “You are coming back right?”

“Eventually,” Alex allowed. It was all either he or Rosa could agree to at this point. He looked up as Rosa collapsed into the seat opposite him, her phone landing loudly on the table in front of her. “I’ll talk to you later?”

“Definitely,” Maria promised. “...tell Rosa I said hi.”

Alex agreed and hung up before tossing his phone next to Rosa’s. “Maria says hi.”

Rosa arched an eyebrow. “You two good?”

“Yeah. Takes more than a guy to come between us.”

“Damn straight,” she nodded once.

“How’s Liz?” He asked as the waiter dropped off his food and took Rosa’s order.

She waited until he was gone before answering. “Did you know a person can sound old?” She mused. “My little sister sounds older than me. She sounds…” she shook her head. “It’s like she’s Liz but not at the same time. She’s not my Liz.” Her hands twisted the napkin until it started to shred. “I can accept that music sucks nowadays, that the president is a racist cheetoh, that my phone is basically a computer. But I can’t wrap my head around the idea that my little sister is an adult. She’s older than me and she’s- she’s a grown up,” Rosa laughed mirthlessly. “It’s easier to accept that you’re a vet and you lost a leg in the Middle East than it is to accept that she was okay without me.” The last part came out so quiet Alex wasn’t sure he’d heard her.

“She wasn’t,” Alex remarked idly. “I mean she was but she wasn’t.”

Rosa stared at him. “That made total sense, thank you for that.” The waiter came back and she leaned out of his way as he set down her plate.

Alex smiled. “You’re right, she’s not your Liz. She’s a Liz without an older sister. And she’s okay, she got her degrees, she found something she loves, and she’s okay. But she’s also not because she’s a Liz without you.”

Rosa fiddled with her straw and stared at the table. “I don’t know what to do with that,” she confessed.

“Who says you have to do anything?” Alex leaned forward. “Rosa, no one can tell you what to do or how to act. No one has any clue what the hell you’re going through. What you and Liz are going through. You’re both just going to have to figure it out as you go. I’m sure that’s terrifying but at least you can’t screw it up, right? Because there isn’t a right answer here.”

“You sure? Because I think I’m still gonna manage to screw it up. That’s kinda what I do.” Her lips twisted sardonically.

“No, it’s not,” Alex refuted. “You’re not a screw up, Rosa. You never have been.”

She laughed. “I’d heard that people romanticize the past or whatever but in what world were you living in where I wasn’t a screw up?”

“The one where you were the first person I came out to because I knew I was safe with you,” Alex smiled. “Maybe you made mistakes. But you were- you are a kid. You’re supposed to make mistakes.” He shook his head. “Doesn’t mean you are one.” Rosa still looked like she didn’t believe him but she didn’t argue anymore. “Besides, whatever mistakes you did make, you’re a damn good older sister. You always put Liz first, made sure she was okay.”

“I was running away,” Rosa reminded him with a scoff.

“Sometimes you’ve run,” Alex shrugged. “Sometimes the best thing you can do for someone else is make the right choice for yourself. If you’d stayed in Roswell just for Liz, do you think you would’ve regretted it? Then or now?” Rosa nodded without hesitation. “Then staying would’ve only made you resent her. So leaving was the right choice.”

Rosa thought about that and they made it halfway through their food before she spoke again. “Is that your excuse?”

Alex looked at her in surprise. “What?”

“Is that what you tell yourself? That leaving is best for both of you? Because if you stayed you’d resent him?”

“I-” he blinked. “I don’t know.”

She nodded like he’d just confessed something important. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

Rosa hummed. “Where we going next?”

---

They made it to the Atlantic. It took them another month and a few unfortunate detours north wherein they were quickly reminded that they grew up in a desert and winter was not for them but they got there. Rosa wriggled her toes in the sand as the waves washed over them.

She looked up at Alex as he took a picture. “It’s warm.”

“It’s February,” Alex furrowed his brow. They had the beach to themselves and he’d parked his butt on the edge of a pier.

“I know. And yet it’s warm.” She rolled her eyes. “I mean it’s freezing but it’s warmer than the Pacific.” She looked around. “I wonder how warm it would be if we went further south.” They’d hit Virginia Beach because it was the easiest for them to get to but they were only about halfway down the coast.

“You wanna go south?” Alex sighed.

Rosa grinned and nodded.

They went south.

---

“We literally cannot go any further south,” Alex laughed when Rosa suggested it again. They both looked up at the buoy proudly proclaiming this spot to be the southernmost point of the US. He took a selfie of them with it and sent it to Michael. They still hadn’t actually spoken but he refused to stop sending pictures until Michael asked him to. It felt like a lifeline. Like if he stopped, then they stopped. And he wasn’t willing to do that.

“Come on,” Rosa tugged his arm. “The beach is calling my name.”

“The beach is always calling your name!” He laughed. She shot him a wicked grin over her shoulder and skipped off ahead of him.

---

Somehow they found themselves in New York. Alex blamed Rosa. Rosa blamed Alex.

---

Boston was 100% on Alex.

---

“It’s literally a ball of twine,” Rosa gawked.

“It does appear that way, yeah,” Alex agreed. They both tilted their heads to the side as if it would be more interesting from a different angle. It wasn’t.

---

In Austin, Alex finally called Michael. It had been almost four months since they left and it was almost three o’clock in the morning but he’d walked away from a really hot guy with just enough alcohol in him that he didn’t care.

“You pick now to call?” Michael’s grumpy voice answered. “Was three p.m too hard?”

“I can’t get it up with anyone else,” Alex complained. “He was really fucking hot and he knew how to use his tongue and yet nothing.” He thumped his head against the wall. “He had curly hair and all I could see was you.”

“...I don’t know what you want me to say here,” Michael admitted.

“Why didn’t you come back?”

Michael sighed and Alex heard the sheets rustling as he moved around. “Because I was a mess and I wasn’t thinking straight. It’s not an excuse and it’s not an apology. It’s just what it is. If I could go back would I do it differently? Probably.” He paused. “Why’d you leave?”

“Because Rosa was,” Alex answered. “And I didn’t want to let her go by herself.”

Michael hummed. “That the only reason?”

Alex sighed. “You kissed my best friend,” he accused softly.

“Yeah,” Michael agreed. “I did. That’s all I did, by the way.”

“I know,” Alex assured him. “She told me.”

“Yeah, she mentioned she’d talked to you.” There was an accusation in his voice. Alex ignored it.

“What do you want from me?” Alex had to ask. “What do you want from us?” Michael didn’t answer right away. “Do you even know?”

“Do you?”

Alex hung up.

---

“Isobel called me,” Rosa announced as they drove through the endless corn fields of Kansas.

“Oh?”

“She said she remembered some things from back then but she didn’t know what it all meant.”

Alex waited.

“Why do I have to tell her?”

“You don’t.”

Rosa looked at him. “But she doesn’t know. She doesn’t know who we were to each other.”

“And that sucks for her, really it does. But that doesn’t mean you have to make yourself uncomfortable to remind her. I know she’s a painful subject and I can’t imagine trying to talk to her about her would be any less painful.”

She looked out the window. “It’s not.”

“If you want to talk to her, then do it,” Alex advised. “But don’t do it if it’s going to hurt you. Remember it’s okay to pick yourself first.”

They made it to Nebraska before either of them said another word.

---

“How’s Guerin?” Rosa asked in Nashville.

“How’s Isobel?”

Rosa shrugged. “Wouldn’t know. I’m putting me first,” she smiled around her straw. “Guerin?”

Alex let out a heavy sigh. “We don’t know what we want.”

“When’s the last time you talked to him?”

“Talked? Austin.”

“Texted?” Alex’s phone buzzed then, Michael’s name flashing on the screen as if summoned, and Rosa laughed. “So?”

Alex shrugged and turned the phone face down. “It’s a work in progress.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Good? Or…?”

“I don’t know,” Alex sighed. “And that’s the problem.”

“But you love him.” She didn’t phrase it as a question because by this point she knew better.

“And yet we don’t seem to be good for each other.”

“Says who?”

Alex stared at her. “The past ten years.”

Rosa pulled the straw out of her shake and sucked a chunk of ice cream out the other end. “Sounds like you’ve never actually tried before. So how do you know if you’re good for each other or not?”

Alex didn’t have an answer for her.

---

They went to Vegas for Rosalita’s 21st birthday. The less said about that weekend, the better. What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas and all that jazz.

(except for the three drunken phone calls to Michael, the unintelligible message on Isobel’s machine, the 27 texts in a group chat with Liz and Maria, and the four videos sent to Kyle - those unfortunately did not stay in Vegas)

---

Rosa drove them back to California so she could learn how to surf. Alex found a bar that reminded him of the Wild Pony with an open mic night and a guitar for him to use.

They stayed there for two months.

---

It was almost eight months after they’d left when their phones went off almost simultaneously in the middle of the night.

Five minutes later they sat in silence, the dark room suddenly oppressive.

“They’re going to wake Max up,” Alex broke the silence.

“She wants me to meet him,” Rosa admitted quietly. She waited half a beat before she was up and out the door. Alex let her go. Sometime in the last few months, Rosa had taken to literally running her stress off. Alex wasn’t sure if three a.m. was a good time to go running by herself but they were in a small coastal town in Maine and he wasn’t too worried.

Instead of following her, he shifted on his bed until he was sitting up against the headboard and he waited.

He didn’t wait long. Maybe ten minutes after Kyle and Liz called them, his phone rang again.

“Kyle and Liz already called,” he answered.

“You asked me what I want,” Michael replied. “I want you. I want you here and I want you with me when I get my brother back because I want my family here and together and I can’t have that if you’re on the other side of the country.”

He said it like it was that simple.

Maybe it was.

“Okay.”

They both hung up after that, no need for any more words. Not when they’d see each other soon.

When Rosa came back half an hour later, sweaty and panting, she took one look at him and nodded in resignation. “We’re going back.”

“I’m going back,” Alex corrected. “You have to decide what’s best for you.”

She flopped onto her bed. “What if I don’t know what that is?”

Alex considered his next words. “Well. You’ve tried running. How about you go home and see about staying?”

She rolled over to look at him. “The entire town of Roswell thinks I’m dead,” she reminded him. “My dad still thinks I’m dead.”

Alex turned to face her, his legs hanging over the edge of the bed. “We just tell them your cover story. They might not buy it but I think they’ll accept it in the face of literally any other explanation. And I think it’s time your dad knew, don’t you?”

“I don’t know, Alex.”

“You don’t have to come with me,” he reminded her. “I can leave you the car and catch a plane back. You can keep traveling.”

She shook her head and stood up. “I’m going to take a shower and then I’m going back to sleep.” Alex let her go.

He managed a few hours of sleep before getting up and taking his own shower and packing his things. In the fifteen minutes he spent running out for breakfast, Rosa got up and packed everything else.

“What?” He stared at the room when he got back, greasy take out in hand. Everything was packed and ready to go. For both of them.

Rosa took the food from him without meeting his eyes. “I miss my sister.”

---

It took them two days to get back. Truthfully it probably should’ve taken them three, maybe even four, but they only stopped for food, gas, and a few hours of sleep when neither one of them could keep their eyes open anymore.

They rolled into Roswell at almost midnight the following night and Alex dropped Rosa off at the Crashdown with a smile and a (gentle) shove out of the car. He waited just long enough to see Liz come downstairs with a bat only to drop it in shock. The two of them collided in a hug so fast Alex honestly wasn’t sure he could say who moved first.

He left them to their reunion and turned towards the scrapyard. There was a fire dying down when he pulled up and a light on in the Airstream. The door swung open as Alex turned the car off and got out. The headlights stayed on just long enough for him to almost close the distance between them before Michael got a good look at him.

“Alex?” Michael breathed.

“Hey,” Alex replied softly, twisting the keys in his hands. Michael hadn’t exactly asked for him to come by when he got back into town but Alex had assumed…

Michael was wrapping his arms around him before Alex registered that he’d left the doorway. He pressed his face into Alex’s neck and held him tight. Alex tensed in surprise before returning the hug in kind. “How was Bar Harbor?” Michael mumbled into his shirt.

“Bah Habah,” Alex corrected with a small grin. Michael pulled back just far enough to raise an eyebrow. Alex shrugged. “It’s how they say it. It was nice.” He smiled. “Good to be home, though.”

“Yeah? Didn’t think you missed Roswell all that much,” Michael questioned.

“I didn’t,” Alex shook his head. “But I got back into town an hour ago and I wasn’t home until just now.”

Michael grinned. “Wow.” He laughed and shook his head. “That was so cheesy.”

Alex blushed and started to pull back. Michael didn’t let him go far before he was pulling back in. He cupped the back of Alex’s head and kissed him gently. “I missed you.”

“Missed you too,” Alex confessed before kissing him again.

---

They woke Max up two days later. The first thing he did was ask for Rosa.

The first thing she did was slap him upside the head. “Don’t ever die on my sister again.”

He laughed breathlessly. “I won’t if you won’t.”

Alex was a little afraid Liz’s face was going to break with how wide she was smiling.

---

Three months later Rosa left again. This time, Alex stayed and Liz went with her. They had a going away party and Arturo gave both of his girls hugs before waving them off. Alex had been right when he’d said the people in Roswell wouldn’t believe Rosa’s new life story but they’d accept it over the truth. No one really questioned how or why Arturo suddenly had a new younger daughter named Rosa who looked exactly like the old Rosa. They didn’t want the answer if they did.

As they drove away, Michael tightened his grip on Alex’s waist. “You want to join them?” He’d already asked Alex that no less than eight times since Rosa announced she was ready to hit the road again.

“No,” Alex answered anyway. “Besides, next time I leave, you’re coming with me.”

---

(Rosa and Liz were gone for almost four months. Max was a mopey mess the entire time but the two came back with a stronger bond than ever and the absolute certainty that Rosa and Vegas are a bad combination. They all had the messages to prove it.)

---

(Alex left a year after they got back. He took Michael with him. They didn’t come back for almost two years. Thank god for Airstreams.)

#very long so if the read more doesnt work i'm deleting it #malex fic #roswell fic #rnm #my fic

98 notes · View notes

aph1wonderland · 4 years

Text

Achilles Come Down(Songfic)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T_V76Dm42bY

(by Gangs Of Youths) Happy late birthday Kay {1/11}]

Achilles

Achilles come down, won't you

Get up off

Get up off the roof?

She heard stories, how people get visions blessed by archons, when they know they have lost something dear to them. It's selfish for her to claim she has so much, but how can she bare face with the honorless daughter who selfishly granted a wish to her desperate mother? To be given freedom, but at what cost? The obedient daughter can no longer learn because her household refused her to excel in her gifts they sold her.

You're scaring us

And all of us

Some of us love you

Achilles, it's not much but there's proof

She could only acknowledge the sacrifices of her mother’s paranoia and insanity driving her to act out of her driven mind. Forced to push her first daughter gifted to leave the nest before the danger of a curse to seal her away. What a feeling she learned when fought as a child, not entirely understanding why her fragile and injured mother could dare teach her violent arts of breaking bones. No matter what she could with the trait passed down to obey like she did, the inhuman strength was supposed to be her brother’s. Was she supposed to be a man, or play a coward of a woman like she was last time she saw her.

You crazy assed cosmonaut

Remember your virtue

Redemption lies plainly in truth

Perhaps it was insane to teach her child to fight and out of turn for her to act this way on the day she was supposed to depart away to Fontaine. To run, a virtue truly from her heart, passion but plainly she didn’t know how to fly by herself if she nested warmly alone in her noble home. But maybe it was a better hesitation than she thought distracted by the differences of Liyue Harbor the sounds, the unknown to the factors of cultures shifted from them and herself.

Just humour us

Achilles

Achilles come down

Won't you get up off

Get up off the roof

She was bringing too much attention to herself. A distraction to few of the many bustling crowds, it did not help if she was holding her vision from Inazuma. The crafted origin of her homelands if only it was possible to cover it up, but she cannot do anything to god blessed item. Afraid to break such a glorified object that could possibly bring her even more fear brought among her. She could not say much but the expensive silks of her layers of clothing on her and mora tied as the side of her sash. Perhaps this was a better choice to exchange for more temporary stability.

Achilles

Achilles come down, won't you

Get up off

Get up off the roof?

Parting for her meticulous layers, as if she felt bare to foreign weather. It was an uncommonly shifted need to adapt. To live is to survive the world that felt dangerous in the as if shores she arrived at the port, soaking her soles. As the hydro element felt attuned as she gazed over it, perhaps she mistaken it for cryo for a few seconds. The newly acquired clothing felt perhaps embarrassing to be seen wearing it, but it must be done. Exposing skin could throw them off of her, needing eyes to attend too afforded a pair of glasses to wear. No longer blinded and blurred by the setback.

The self is not so weightless

Nor whole and unbroken

Remember the pact of our youth

She planned back to see the village of her mother, in which she thought would be best to rely on them for a settlement. As quick she wanted to live again, the feeling of the forest life once again she’ll dearly make it possible to work away her favor and honor. The face of her selfish wish from her mother’s demands, for once she’ll do her justice in living in the truth then the lie. She was the selfish one in the end to drink the god’s gift in the journey of living outside the box.

Where you go

I'm going

So jump and I'm jumping

Since there is no me without you

The hardest part was truly talking to the leader of the community of Qingce Village. Basic knowledge of contract is the word of the old in Liyue, for that it must be fair to do so as a way to be accepted. As long as she can work what she can there’ll be no one to stop her from becoming something unexpected. Perhaps if she’ll survive the jump she’s making herself take, someday she’ll see her mother smile once more. One day she will not need to hear rumors of the walls that could speak about her siblings and the warmth of the sun not the gaze of cold expectations.

Soldier on

Achilles

Achilles come down

Won't you get up off

Get up off the roof?

As if her eyes hesitated at the time she heard from the old woman, she warmly laughed off her noble character she played. She felt warm, her own layer of her mask cracking and her face wrinkling in confusion. Perhaps one day she’ll understand why she left, accepted into the community and warm tears to the location to her new home. Gazing at the moon and the stars among the indigo sky, on the roof. Feeling alone at the end of the ledge wondering why does she feel this sadness?

Loathe the way they light candles in Rome

But love the sweet air of the votives

Hurt and grieve but don't suffer alone

Engage with the pain as a motive

It had been an additional two years she had hesitated a few times to work her way into the community once again, when the old woman told her to visit the night of the lantern festival and live a bit. Scolding her for something as tedious as working too much for others and not herself. She wishes to stay, tending her home, to the children in the village. Listen over to the elderly and middle aged for things to do, when she returns from the commissions in the early morning before. She could not see herself anymore as a woman who could stand sitting looking beautiful in wealth in silken in silence without someone or a book in hand. Yet here she is fidgeting to do something in Liyue Harbor, gazing at the port away from the festivity waiting for it to end. Hands shaking over the candle lights, flashing sounds of fireworks behind her.

Today of all days

See

Leaning against the stone fencing far away from the peaceful cold tones wondering about Inazuma. Her 2nd younger sister, Kaori was already sent to Fontaine after her brother 3rd youngest Daichi was prepared. Who knows where, but hope the best for him. That his wife would not stop him from doing what he loved in the end. Becoming an alchemist and a doctor, something she felt taken from her life however perhaps this is the exchange of her natural build taking away his inhuman strength. She loved every single child born in that house. Chie, she has yet to entirely meet, but she must have been close to a mischievous child she was when she was younger running in the fields. Last time she remembered from her nanny telling her before sending her off from the interception of her mother that week she fled.

How the most dangerous thing is to love

How you will heal and you'll rise above

Thinking about it now she was alone on the side of this world, the chills returned. It felt suffocating and an uncomfortable delusion to find herself drowning in the sea of doubt. The constellation of her verse was a siren, or a mermaid. They long and lost their dreams and here she was living the dream not of hers but someone else's, what could she say now but choke back the mourning not of death but the new life given to her. Perhaps she’ll love the gods for this life for hers, the opportunities to breath in the beauty of Liyue. Live for the virtues of Justice, but for now she shall wait for the day to be taken back home, not alone but with others in strength.

Achilles

Jump now

You are absent of cause

Or excuse

She flinched when she turned to look to the side to see a tall man, he was beautiful. Awed at the sight of the strangely encapsulating man who was glowing entrancingly from the lights and the moon as well. Mostly his vision of his eyes from the mid ranged distance, she panicked once again when he caught her staring. Flustered in beyond her life had she met a man who made her feel so out of place. He was confused why she suddenly looked away, “Miss? Perhaps you are a traveler? Considering I have yet to see you before in this country? Have finished experiencing the festival in Liyue?” She froze, right the festival that is taking place right now. Was she dreading for so long to not realize the time?

So self-indulgent

And self-referential

No audience could ever want you

One thing is for sure she was embarrassed herself once again, no way to correct the fact she had nothing to tell this man to answer that. “Perhaps you are asking for an introduction from a stranger like myself, but it does not seem fair if you do not return the favor first. In all honesty I did not partake in the event, I tend to busy myself too much in working around Liyue as an Adventurer from the guild. Well I don’t know how to experience these events. It’s best for me not to attend and perhaps ruin it all. Good night Sir.” She shouldn’t bother this man at all, leaving was the only thing on her mind.

You crave the applause

Yet hate the attention

Then miss it, your act is a ruse

“Would it be possible for me to guide you through the festival? Of course I am Zhongli of Wangsheng Funeral Parlor, a consultant, may I ask for the name of your Miss?” She stopped, “I would not mind if you were to show me the knowledge of yours of your beloved Liyue. I am Kay of Haru, please do not mind my hesitancy and not honor among me to be called anything as Miss. Kay is enough for me to be called in such a fluency.” Returning a feeble gaze up to him, taking him as her guide for that night to return alive that day.

It is empty, Achilles

So end it all now

It's a pointless resistance

For you

Achilles

Just put down the bottle

Don't listen to what you've consumed

Open to opportunities and refreshed and ready to work her life for another day to look for Mister Zhongli had inspired her to take on learning the world the best she can starting with Liyue. From the whole trip listening to him speak the loveliest tunes of a tone, enchanted possibly. Yet she began to notice how little time she spent on her commissions in which she decided to ask Katherine in a few hours for more things to do. In which she began to enjoy the thrill of control she realized of her life envirgated by the thought itself grew her confidence and growth in her skills. Passing 5 years had affected her bond with Mister Zhongli to increase in size on her personal affections to his personal side of feelings towards simple things in life. Someone who could answer her curiosities in the best way they could and confide, not once thought about leaving the country of Liyue.

It's chaos, confusion

And wholly unworthy

Of feeding and it's wholly untrue

Yet with few time he found her as often as he could in Liyue in finding her in returning to Katherine filing in the many commissions built as she carried on her shoulders. He gave her glaze lilies on her birthday each year, not sure how he knew, but perhaps the old woman told him. Cooking was one her specialties in which she began collecting recipes after trying to find a way to return back to Mister Zhongli to acknowledge his distaste in seafood as a reminder. Perhaps he was too addicting to let go, however was that alright to call him something close to a friend. Would that be alright with him?

You may feel no purpose

Nor a point for existing

It's all just conjecture and gloom

Yet she would miss him as much as she thought when Childe took on his arrival. Perhaps the fact alone that she took on now is the gnawing hunger, she was childish to share a desire of hers with him. Considering the truth, he always found her and never the other way around. She did not see him that much anymore, feeling like a distant memory that returns every week he does. Never once complained for the fact she enjoyed his company, for the returning fact, she was lonely.

And there may not be meaning

So find one and seize it

Do not waste your self on this roof

Perhaps for once a longing will not leave her and let her stay on the roof of her home given to her and the children of those who breathed in this village. The moon was always lucky to know it was never alone, possibilities of her insecurities to eat her. Was she not worthy to know the fact she is not considered in the spotlight, but entirely on being known? Still he gave her glaze lilies on her birthday.

Hear those bells ring deep in the soul

Chiming away for a moment

Feel your breath course frankly below

See life as a worthy opponent

Driven to bite back the petty thieves in Liyue with her strength reporting to the adventurer’s guild and stealing treasures and effort from others. She did not like them, she made sure to take note of base locations from each leader she fought, monsters she battled and planned meticulously in a clean beat down. Same old same old, spending Mora on things she could think of. To one she could tend to a bird; Kyu a loving bird with a blank expression but a silent affectionate one in the end of it all, who carries packages and wordless secrets of her loneliness. Perhaps her own feelings she can express is what tearing her apart over and over again. Life was hers to learn more of as her commissions made her wander to Monstadt’s region but never once thought about entering into the city of freedom.

Today of all days

See

How the most dangerous thing is to love

How you will heal and you'll rise above

Crowned by an overture bold and beyond

Ah, it's more courageous to overcome

She faced Childe in a confrontation when Mister Zhongli brought him over for dinner that week at her home. Why did it take a year for her to finally meet Childe, Mister Zhongli? She frowned, but bonded slowly with Childe, he was pretty sketchy around her, but nonetheless she wasn’t alone if Childe actually had something to confide with family. Considering they had similar visions from the same values of Justice but different archons blessed. He gave white lies with reason, sometimes it was cruel to keep to himself. While Kay herself was one who hesitates but nevertheless her strength is for the good reasons that are proven. Yet even the harder things get she won’t give in so easily she rather die fighting for things that are right, failing to do so does not mean she’ll stop. The moment she’ll stop if she dies breathing blood. Perhaps that’s why she talks with him often, even that does not satisfy her.

You want the acclaim

The mother of mothers (it's not worth it Achilles)

More poignant than fame

Or the taste of another (don't listen Achilles)

But be real and just jump

You dense motherf*cker (you're worth more, Achilles)

You will not be more

Than a rat in the gutter (so much more than a rat)

You want my opinion (no one asked your opinion)

My opinion you've got

You asked for my counsel (no one asked for your thoughts)

I gave you my thoughts

Be done with this now

And jump off the roof

Can you hear me Achilles?

Mister Zhongli lowered his visits to her compared to Childe who was able to find him whenever he needed to talk to him. However another person, the traveler, arrived in Liyue a few weeks ago. However Mister Zhongli had briefly mentioned her if they needed any assistance. Not sure how to feel if he was using her, unsure if their bond would be truly mended and here she was letting him into her own heart every time he came. Why does she hesitate when it comes to him? Someone who could destroy all her defenses and weaken her to the point she doesn’t help but stutter. She’s not sure if Mister Zhongli realizes as she doesn’t entirely, she is hurting. She is selfish to continue this cycle she let herself eat till he leaves her. This is not entirely healthy, she’s disgusted to look how encapsulated when it comes to him. Perhaps it’s better to give up before it ruins her, she thought. She’s selfish to think he would see her again. Does this mean she’s drowning by the sea with no shores for her to rely on.

I'm talking to you

Achilles come down

“Kay.” She stood by the cliffs and turned around to see Mister Zhongli with the Traveler. She is confused yet a bit sad by her own thoughts of self pity. “Mister Zhongli. It’s been too long hasn’t it?” The Traveler worriedly looked in between them. “Hello dear Traveler, I hope you’ve been well, I hope I did well to help you in Liyue.” She ignored the fact Zhongli was about to respond to her, but ended letting him continue since the Traveler nudged him to do so. “I apologize, if I left you too much in the dark. Perhaps we could mend for a few moments with a story to tell. I will confess the fact I was not honest in my reasons for disappearing too much.” Her eyes conflicted, whether or not he was truly speaking his mind, but knowing him for years regardless of his disappearance. She sighs, bitterly but allowing his invitation to tell about the salt goddess that late evening.

Throw yourself into the unknown

With pace and a fury defiant

Clothe yourself in beauty untold

And see life as a means to a triumph

Today of all days

See

One thing she could even do was not judge him, but comfort him as a human like she was born to do. Sure she was angry, but nothing could compare over the immortal and emotional wounds that cut deeply over time and left a swollen temperament of a situation. She cannot help but relate once again leaving her fragile over the fact she wasn’t smart enough to understand him, but connect through the empathic nature she was. In the end she knew she'd join the Traveler to Inazuma to finish her parting justice for her country. Perhaps one day she’ll understand to feel more, if they joined them. Perhaps she’ll tell people in Liyue about her choice in following the Traveler.

How the most dangerous thing is to love

How you will heal and you'll rise above

Crowned by an overture bold and beyond

Ah, it's more courageous to overcome

She loved this man to the end of her aging life, even if he would not take it for granted compared to her existence. After following her beloved traveler to the end of their journey, healing her country she must take over duties as next head with the revived honor of her clan. She realizes Mister Zhongli will wait for her, not the reason she wants to believe. In which she cannot return the sentiment that he plans to give back in the end. That is not the love she needed from him, nor can force it. For that she will settle for another, her children will remember the age or gods in her place. She will heal and forgive him over and over again. For she will love him to not feel forgotten for eternity. Perhaps he was right to compare her to glaze lilies on her birthdays.

#genshin impact #genshin impact oc #oc #songfic #angst #zhongli #the traveler #mc #oof #why did i take 6 hours #cause i started fking crying and shit #happy late birthday #sduhfkjvsiodjk

4 notes · View notes

i-write-shakespeare-not-disney · 4 years

Text

Mom and I were speaking. We have a better storyline for GOT.

Sansa and Daenerys bond over both being women who came from pain and suffering and became powerful rulers. Seeing as Cersei is nothing to Dany and Arya has avenged her brother and mother by slaying the Freys as well as enjoyed her glory in killing the Night King, Dany offers Sansa the chance to avenge her father. She leads her to the gates, distracts the forces with her dragon, let's Jon Sow sneak her into the castle. They run into the Hound and Arya who kill the Mountain together, giving Sansa free reign to take Cersei down. Cersei has some badass last words idk which maybe like "there will come along one younger, more beautiful-" anyway Sansa gets to kill her, they ring the bells and Dany takes her place on the iron throne.

Sansa then tells Dany she wants the north to be independent, and seeing as they wont accept dany as queen, but they would accept an allegiance, Dany agrees. Jon snow serves as Sansas hand. Tyrion doesnt become suddenly dumb and stays as Danys hand.

Arya takes to discover whats west of Westeros with Gendry at her side because he wants to follow her to the end of the world and the Hound because he begrudgingly wants to keep protecting Arya (and also Brienne said if he didnt shed skewer him).

Tyrion and Jaime (mostly Jaime) mourn the death of their sister, but Jaime get to learn what it is to be loved properly, equally, to love someone who sees his worth and isnt afraid to call his bullshit. This woman so opposite of his sister, large and bulky and tall and manly but who manages to make his heart beat faster than Cersei ever did.

Bran helps Sam become a better Maestre and document the history of the world.

The end.

#game of thrones #got #my mom said we were better writers hahaha

9 notes · View notes

sustraiii · 4 years

Text

TEAM ZRCN ARC 3 - CHAPTER 7

Well, the years Rossi’s start coming and they don't stop coming

CORDOVAN

Time passed by slowly at Cordovan’s house in the days that followed their attack in Mantle. Cordovan found it ironic that barely a week after returning to the Academy full-time he and his team once again found their schooling cut short. That had mostly been his mother’s doing, pulling some strings to ensure that until whatever - or, whoever - was targeting ZRCN, they were kept safe and out of school. A few of their professors had argued against such a thing, especially after the damaged robots went missing causing them to lose what little evidence they had against their adversaries. But Wren had persisted and this was how they found themselves.

Although glad they were taking precautions, as the days ticked by Cordovan found himself longing to return to school more and more. He had already spent six months stuck at home recovering from his injuries on Shizukana, and now forced into hiding his home was beginning to feel increasingly scrambled and stifling. Something which wasn’t helped by seven people currently taking residence there.

Still, despite the irritations he and his team might have felt at being cooped up, there were a few brighter moments. Rosie became a welcome source of light for the group, most notably Helia and Xanthos. Xanthos frequently told Cordovan she reminded him of his own sister, and truth be told, Cordovan did get a sense of brotherly affection coming from Xanthos when he watched their interactions.

It had been her presence around Helia he had worried about more; considering Helia was still clearly in mourning for Alcyone, he worried that Rosie’s lack of tact - in that way that young children often are - would distress the older huntress. However, despite her sometimes strained smiles, he got the impression Helia was actually quite grateful for the distraction that came from Rosie’s chattering.

Among the other lighter moments, the team had come to enjoy whilst stuck at home was Xanthos’s birthday. Compared to the previous year, where Xanthos had loudly woken his team in the early hours of the morning, the event was something of a sombre affair.

Xanthos didn’t say it, but Neela expressed her concerns he was feeling down about not being able to speak with his mother and sister, and so was keen to lift his spirits now the day had arrived.

Neela had taken charge of getting presents, which considering they were still supposed to keeping a low profile, only wound up being a few small trinkets, most notable of which was a little gold bracelet. Zelde and Cordovan had offered to make breakfast and dinner for him, as well as chipping in for his gifts. Rosie had also offered her help, despite not knowing him very well, and had tasked herself with making what turned out to be quite creepy looking decorations.

The day went by without a hitch, and by the time the night had rolled around, Xanthos had openly wept three times - expressing loudly how he was glad to have ZRCN as a second family. He went on to add additional thanks to Wren for her support and hospitality, to Helia for being a loyal friend and keeping them safe even after all this time, and to Rosie for bringing some much-needed laughter into everyone’s lives.

The majority of the household all retired to bed at around the same time, though Xanthos and Neela continued celebrating by themselves downstairs for much longer. Cordovan was still awake when the two of them finally came to bed, hearing his bedroom door creak open, before Xanthos flopped onto his makeshift bed on the floor below.

He hadn’t told his teammates of his fitful sleeping schedule, but it was something which had developed in the weeks after losing his leg. It varied by night, some were better than others, and others were worse. It had been getting better for a while, but it had started becoming more bothersome in recent weeks. His mother had prior knowledge of his nightmares, but he hadn’t wanted to worry her by telling her his nightmares had gotten worse again.

His dreams were nearly all the same, focusing on the night he had been crippled by Wisteria. Sometimes if the dream had been enough to jolt him from his sleep suddenly, he could swear he could feel the pain in the leg he no longer possessed.

PHTOOM!

Although he had been awake, Cordovan couldn’t help but sit up in surprise at the sudden sound. Xanthos had a stronger reaction to noise, literally jumping out of his bed and mumbling incoherently for a few seconds in his confusion.

“W-what’s going on?” He finally managed to stammer out.

“I don’t know, I woke up when you did,” Cordovan explained. Before he could say anything else, he heard the sound again, followed by movement from inside the house which he assumed to be everyone else waking up due to the noise.

“I’ll go see what’s going on,” Xanthos decided.

He was already moving towards the door when Cordovan held out a hand to stop him. “Ravi, wait.” When he turned back to look at him, Cordovan made a gesture towards a corner of the room. “My leg.”

Xanthos gave him a silent nod before quietly retrieving his prosthetic leg. He had just about managed to get it on when a flushed looking Xanthos returned.

“Okay, so I have some good and bad news,” He began, a nervous chuckle escaping his lips. “Good news is your house isn’t falling down. The bad news is we are being attacked though.”

“What!” Cordovan got out of his bed immediately. Ignoring his teammate for the moment, he gathered up Braveheart and Solaris Splendour from inside the room, forcibly shoving Xanthos’s weapon into his hands, before leading them both out the door. “Maybe lead with the bad news next time, Ravi.”

Stumbling into the hallway, they found Wren peering out of the upstairs window at the ground below, muttering something quietly under her breath. Helia, Neela, and Zelde were stood beside her looking equally concerned.

“Mom, what’s going on?” Cordovan asked.

“Three assailants. Possibly four as I think there’s one sticking to the shadows,” Wren informed them without turning around. “There’s a larger woman up front who keeps hitting the house with blasts from her gauntlets.”

“That big woman was there on Shizukana,” Helia said to no-one in particular, clenching her fist as she spoke. “We have to do something before we have another repeat of that night.”

“Don’t worry we won’t,” Wren assured her, giving her shoulder her an affectionate squeeze. “I need to call this in. Will you keep them safe for me?” “Of course, Wren.”

“And I’ll help too!” A voice boomed from behind them. Stood ready to go, wielding a gun that was far too big for her, and dressed in a pink cat nightie was Rosie.

“Rosie, honey, no. You are not fighting against those people,” Wren said, moving away from the window and coming to crouch close to her. “I need you to be safe, okay?”

“But I can fight!” Rosie pouted. “I killed a Creep before my sixth birthday!”

Wren gave her a small smile to humour her. “Then you can protect me while I call this in. That should be no problem for someone like you, right?” Rosie puffed out her chest proudly and gave a thumbs up to Wren. She then proceeded to give ZRCN and Helia a knowing glance. “Do what you need to do.”

Helia didn’t need to be told twice and was already heading downstairs to confront them before ZRCN could react. Cordovan and Xanthos were quick to follow her after being given the go-ahead by Zelde. Their remaining teammates would follow them once they had retrieved their own weapons. When they finally got downstairs, they found Helia grappling with a skinny person with a braid. They had barely stepped outside when they found themselves being rushed by a woman wearing rocket gauntlets, presumably the “big woman” from Shizukana that Helia had mentioned several times.

Xanthos gave Cordovan a sharp shove, knocking him out of the way just in time to avoid a punch from the woman, which Xanthos proceeded to parry by focusing his semblance to his arms to counter.

“Cute trick,” The woman smirked, as she jumped away momentarily. “Let’s see how you deal with this!” She proceeded to punch the air, directing a small blast at Xanthos. He rolled away from it in time but wound up right in the path of a tall man with closely cropped blonde hair.

“She sets them up, I knock them down,” He grinned before lunging at Xanthos. He barely had any time to react before the man had grabbed him, turned him upside down, and the dropped to a sitting position on the floor. Xanthos’s aura broke almost immediately, and when released from the hold, Cordovan could see that his teammate had been badly winded, if not knocked out from the attack.

“Ravi, no!!” Neela’s voice echoed from behind, as she and Zelde joined the fight. Naturally, Neela went straight for the blonde-haired man, managing to get him to back off by creating several arcs of electricity by swinging her weapon. Cordovan noted that there seemed to be another person lingering in the shadows where the man had retreated to, recalling that his mother had mentioned seeing four people.

He was too far away to hear what was said, but he was close enough to see as a trembling girl came forward, clutching her scroll nervously in front of her. She looked back to the man hesitantly, before he yelled something at her. She pressed something on the scroll and stumbled back out of sight, only to be replaced by another one of those robots. Either this was a new robot, or it had received some upgrades prior to this battle; unlike its predecessors which had fallen to ZRCN, this one carried a gun.

Zelde was quick to note the difference than Cordovan was, and when the android raised its gun ready to fire, she quickly barked an order for him to grab Xanthos. Whilst Helia and the rest of his teammates ran to cover, Cordovan was able to use his shield to run towards his fallen teammate, expanding it into a dome-like structure once he was close enough as he could not immediately move Xanthos. When the robot ceased firing suddenly, Cordovan noticed both the muscular woman and the person with the braid coming towards him, but he could not risk moving and leaving Xanthos vulnerable.

Thankfully, Helia was quick to return to battle against the person wearing the braid, dashing after them with her katana drawn when they attempted to retreat. That still left the muscular woman who was pacing towards him. It took some effort, but he was carefully able to manoeuvre his rifle so he could get a shot. It wasn’t a perfect aim, but it was in the general direction of her, so he pulled the trigger and hoped for the best.

To his surprise, his bullet struck closer to the woman than expected, hitting the ground in front of her and causing her to jump back in surprise. Confusion lingered on her features before she realised what was going on, and a deep frown creased her brow. Straightening herself, she released several blasts at his shield.

It held strong for the first few hits, but by the fourth, it wavered and broke. Smoke from the last explosion clouded his vision for a moment, but when it began to fade he could see the woman charging him. He scrambled on the floor in an effort to move both himself and Xanthos out of the way, but she was moving too fast, and he was moving too slow.

She might have successfully run into them both had it not for her colliding with a large hammerhead which she sent her flying backwards. When she looked up, she would see Wren stood between her and Cordovan and Xanthos, gripping her weapon in both her hands.

“Stay away from them,” She warned, staring her down.

The muscular woman slowly rose to her feet and spat on the ground. “Or what?”

As if on cue, the sounds of sirens could be heard in the distance, growing louder as they came closer. The muscular woman frowned and looked around, as though debating whether to run or continue the fight. In the end, she chose the latter. She shouted towards her slimmer companion who was still in the throes of battle. Her companion gave Helia a sharp kick to get her to back off, and the pair of them retreated back to the man and the younger girl.

Again, Cordovan was unable to hear what they were saying, but he could tell by how urgently they were pushing and shoving each other, there must have been a few heated words said. The person with the braid was the first to retreat out of sight, climbing over a nearby wall with such fluid ease it had to be due to their semblance. The muscular woman was the next to disappear followed by the man, who hesitated once he realised their younger companion was not moving.

He gripped her tightly by the arm and tried to pull her back, but when she shouted at him, appearing to refuse to leave, he turned more violent. Still, the girl held her ground, and eventually, the man must have seen he was fighting a losing battle as he released his grip on his arm and finally turned to flee. but not before leaving the girl with a parting shot, slapping her so hard across the face that she dropped to her knees.

When the girl’s companions had left, Zelde and Cordovan approached her. Zelde cautiously pointed her gun at her. “Let’s not make this difficult,” Zelde advised.

On the floor below the girl was clutching a reddening cheek, sniffling softly. She lifted her head and Cordovan was struck by her blood-red eyes, which were striking in contrast to her light green hair. Neither Cordovan nor Zelde saw her reach for her scroll.

“Don’t touch that!” Wren snapped from behind them, which made them look down and see what she was doing. Zelde went to kick it away from her hands, causing the girl to pull back in alarm, leaving the scroll where it was on the floor.

“You don’t understand,” The girl said with a trembling voice. She stopped speaking when the security Wren had called for finally arrived. Seeing the flashing lights and blaring sirens, the girl looked around with a wild, panicked look. “You can’t let them take me!” She pleaded, suddenly throwing herself at their feet.”I didn’t want to hurt you, I swear! They made me do it!”

“Who made you do this?” Cordovan asked. “Who ordered the attack on my home?”

“I’ll tell you everything you want to know,” The girl blurted. “Just please -- don’t let them take me.”

#team zrcn fic #Zelde Sewick #Cordovan Radcliff #Xanthos Ravindra #Neela Oxford #helia vines #COUSIN ROSIE #miho ryuzaki #sparrow #calantha rossi #uriah astrella

8 notes · View notes

chicagocityofclans · 4 years

Photo

Scorpius Getta → Jake Gyllenhaal → Vampire

→ Basic Information

Age: 1378

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Straight

Birthday: December 2nd

Zodiac Sign: Sagittarius

Religion: Satanism

→ His Personality Getta is practical and down to earth with strong ideas about how vampires should be in this new age. He is orderly, organized, systematic and controlled, and once committed there is no stopping him. Getta has a great capacity for loyalty and affection, considering vampire nature. Being a calm and methodical individual, Getta is mostly in control of his emotions. He rarely loses his temper, but has a great capacity for violence when pushed. Getta is courageous and a true survivor, he is the builder and the foundation of the Underground, and his hard work and values paid off; the Underground is booming and he has one of the largest seethes in America. It's also his ‘fuck you’ attitude that links up with his sucess. Getta is unconcerned about being viewed as ‘the bad guy’ and sees his actions as a means to an end. He is often secretive and can be somewhat of a trickster, but is honest and direct. He is headstrong, persistent and passionate. Getta downright refuses to accept authority and has a stubborn belief in himself and his dreams.

→ His Personal Facts

Occupation: Master of Chicago Seethe

Scars: None

Tattoos: None

Two Likes: Blood with Pepper and Business

Two Dislikes: Vampire Movies and Bananas

Two Fears: Being Forced to Feed Off of Himself and Naked Zombie Grandmas

Two Hobbies: Enhancing the Underground and Inventing

Three Positive Traits: Innovative, Lively, Extremely Confident

Three Negative Traits: Sassy, Maniacal, Disconnect

→ His Connections

Parent Names:

Ulfrik Göransson (Father): Getta enjoyed his father and if he had been given the chance he would have changed him into a vampire.

Bon’Ginnever (Mother): Getta doesn’t remember much about his mother beside the fact that she had blonde hair and an unusual eye color. Bon’Ginnever died from an infection. He was sure it was over the loss of Aleigha, his little sister. She was never the same after and death took her months later.

Emmalee (Step-Mother): Getta didn’t approve of his father remarrying. Since Emmalee was around his age, Getta tried his best to ignore her to keep from showing her any disrespect and disappointing his father.

Sibling Names:

Eirikur Ulfrikson (Brother): Eirikur was born several years after Getta. Getta doesn’t remember much about Eirikur as a child but he remembers his little brother all grown up and being a ladies man. Eirikus died mysteriously in his sleep. Getta is now sure he must have caught an STD or something.

Aleigha Ulfrikdotter (Sister): Just like Eirikur, Aleigha was born several years after her brothers. Getta was nearing his late teens when she was born. Sadly, Aleigha was sold off to pay their debts and Getta still has no idea what faith laid out for her.

Bryleigh Ulfrikson (Half-Brother): Getta was out of the castle when Bryleigh was born. Getta never had the chance to meet Bryleigh. He only knew his name and the random updates his father would send him.

Children Names:

Ulfric Scorpiusson (Son): Ulfric was named after Getta’s father, following the old Nordic practice, before hereditary surnames were introduced. Ulfric grew to be a spitting image of Getta’s father with the same attitude to follow it. That’s probably why they get along so well. Getta turned Ulfric, on his request, into a vampire on his 20th birthday. He is still alive and married with his own seethe in Sweden.

Bjorn Scorpiusson (Son): Bjorn was named after Solveig’s father, following the old Nordic practice, before hereditary surnames were introduced. Getta doesn’t know where Bjon got it from but he is absolutely unpredictable. He was well on his way to become a shadow vampire when Getta stepped in and killed him. Bjon was always Solveig favorite and Getta still mourns the both of them.

Kjersti Getta née Scorpiusdotter (Daughter): Kjersti was named after Solveig’s mother, following the old Nordic practice, before hereditary surnames were introduced. Kjersti was unexpected but wanted. Getta made sure she didn’t follow the same fate as Aleigha and kept her close. She was the 3rd person Getta changed and he doesn’t regret it. She now holds rank in his seethe.

Romantic Connections:

Solveig Pelledotter (Wife): Getta wasn’t in love with Solveig but at the time it was his duty to marry and continue his bloodline. After marriage, they became close friends. If given the chance, Getta was sure they would have eventually fallen in love. Solveig had taken her own life after Getta was changed.

Platonic Connections:

Alva Ebba Getta nee Garbo (Daughter-In-Law): Alva married Getta’s son Ulfric over a thousand years ago. At first he did not approve of her but thought a wedding would be good for overall morale. Over time Getta learned to love her as one of his own. Getta especially likes it when she puts his son in his place.

Geralt Getta (Son-In-Law/Progeny): Geralt was an orphan on the streets Getta fed from. Getta adopted Geralt and he was Getta's first vampiric progeny. Getta sees him more like a brother and best friend than a son, especially after Geralt married his daughter, Kjersti.

Winona Fili (Progeny): Getta had originally turned Winona into a vampire for his son Bjon. He should have known better because the two hated each other. Frankly, after the way his son reacted Getta knew Winona deserved better. Getta still cannot accept that Winona is gone and is trying his hardest not to fall into a depression. Losing Winona was worse than losing a limb or death itself. Getta still expects her to be there when he turns around or wherever he gets a brilliant idea.

Aleksander Mazur (Progeny): Getta found Aleksander when Aleksander was at his lowest on the streets of London. Aleksander tried to rob Getta and failed. Instead of killing him or turning him to the authorities, Getta fed him, gave him fresh clothes and offered him a new life as a vampire. They have a well built relationship that is not exactly a father and son type but close enough.

Raphael Caron (Progeny): Getta saved Raphael's life. Raphael was dying from Leukemia when Getta gave his parents the terms and conditions of vampirism. Their relationship is stronger than ever nearly two centuries later. Getta enjoys Raphael’s creative side and allows him to use him as a test subject.

Fiona ‘Fi’ Marz (Progeny): Getta does not like sharing the story of how he found Fi but she has been with him since she was a 6 years old human. Getta held out on changing her into a vampire until she was mature enough. After living and dealing with Fi for centuries, nearly a millennium, Getta has turned from an overbearing father to a cool understanding brother and to a best friend. Getta can switch to whichever role she needs from him at the time without making it awkward.

Dan Prior (Vampire Son-In-Law): Getta couldn’t hate Dan if he tried nor can he blame Dan for Winona’s death. Dan's first few years were tough on Getta, he was the new master of his seethe, lost his closest companion and progeny, and had a suicidal baby vampire to watch over. Getta feels like Dan and Fili are the only things he has left of Winona. He has been better about separating them from her but something in him always feels like it's snapping when he does.

Richard Fili (Vampire Grandson): Fili was changed by Winona many years ago. Getta has always been accepting of Fili and even fatherly at times. Getta puts up with Fili’s bullshit, only getting pissed if Fili messes up big time, and he knows that is enough to make Fili grateful and undeniably loyal. Fili seems to be the only one that has taken notice of Getta keeping himself busy and staring off into space since Winona’s death; Fili is worried for him but Getta isn’t ready to talk yet.

Audrey Ann Wallace (Vampire Granddaughter): Audrey was turned into a vampire by Garelt when Kjersti started mourning the loss of ever being a mother. Audrey reminds him a lot of Kjersti and can be mistaken as their biological child.

Petra Chak (Best Friend): Petra and Getta have an unlikely friendship. She had originally come to Chicago to take over Getta’s seethe for her own master but somehow Getta had won her over. Over the years they formed an unbreakable bond and Getta trusts Petra with his life and the lives of their entire seethe.

Sadie McCoy (Good Friend): Sadie randomly showed up one day… Or at least Getta finally noticed her and was too ashamed to ask anyone who she was or where she came from. Sadie hung out with Winona and by default hung out with Getta. It didn’t take long for him to grow fond of her and to constantly want her around. She became his muse and little soldier girl. She took Winona’s death as hard as Fili, Dan and Getta’s other progeny.

Morana ‘Ana’ Vickors (Old Friend): Ana was a part of Getta’s seethe before he became the seethe master. She saw the destruction their old seethe master caused and quickly jumped on his support train when he took over. Getta considers her a trusted and loyal friend. Getta is also close to Ana’s husband and daughter.

Sven (Old Friend): Getta met Sven a few times in Europe and again in the New World. Sven was always a loner and some considered him to be a feared shadow vampire. It took Getta a while but he convinced Sven to join the seethe he was apart nearly 300 years ago. Sven came and went as he pleased but Getta is happy to see that lately Sven has been making a permanent home for himself in Chicago.

Chiara Ricci (Friend): Getta knew Chiara’s adopted vampiric parents. When he asked them to come teach for them, he was aware that they had changed a woman to be their child but never figured it would be someone with Chiara’s personality. She makes Getta laugh and can retell stories about himself better than he can.

Hostile Connections:

Nick and Ray Hamelin (Hate): Getta doesn’t hate easily nor does he have a vindictive streak but the Hamelin brothers live to test his restraint. Vampires are not widely liked among the mortal supernaturals and Getta understands that. What Getta doesn’t understand is why the rats are constantly trying to enter the closed section of the Underground or why the rats cannot leave them in peace. After the poisonous gas accident Nick and Ray attacked the Underground killing multiple orphaned and neonate vampires. Getta was tempted to retaliate but put the entire seethe needs ahead of his own. He and Petra have tried to explain that the closed section of the Underground is semi poisonous but their pleads have gone unheard.

Pets:

None

→ History Scorpius Getta was born Göran-Skorpionen Ulfirkson. He changed his name to Scorpius Getta after he was changed into a vampire and a widower. He no longer wanted to associate with his human past and this was especially so after changing all of his biological children to vampires also. Getta travelled the world, finding those he bonded with or those he thought deserved another life and changing them. → The Present Getta plans on expanding the Undergrounds and opening an above ground full service Hotel made especially for vampires. The only thing holding him back are key features and trusted human or supernatural construction workers. The key features are shutters and windows that completely block out the sun which are currently out of reach. Getta has already begun employing witches and warlocks to help, and his dreams seem closer to reality. Getta plans on naming it Hotel Winona.

#Scorpius Getta #Taken #jake gyllenhaal

2 notes · View notes

blueishfood · 4 years

Text

Forgiving or forgetting

(Bellarke drabble)

Words: 1,4 K

A/N: So this is a little bellarke drabble I did. The story is set as they were trying to get Luna, after the conversation on the beach if the sea clan had taken a little longer to get to them. The story is about grief, guilt and companionship. It's a little angsty. Enjoy!

Summary:

"If he felt her staring, he made no indication of it.

She let her eyes glide over the edge of his jaw, the slope of his neck and the muscles forming by his shoulder. Bellamy was practically begging to be drawn, but unfortunately, they were short on art supplies on earth.

Short on time as well.

After a few drawn out seconds, he stirred, finally turning to look at her. Clarke didn’t bother looking away.

“Is there forgiveness for people like us, Clarke?”"

The night was clear, dark but not gloomy, cold but not freezing. Clarke closed her eyes where she reclined in the damp grass. Her body felt sore after the long day of travel, and even though she now should be relaxing, working up her strength towards the next day, her body couldn’t seem to let go off the stress.

She inhaled slowly, then held her breath and tried to listen to the breathing of her friends. The relationships had been tense for days, but especially between Bellamy and Octavia. Clarke felt a little awkward, standing in the middle of it all, but mostly she felt sorry for them.

Bellamy had been misled, and the results were fare more terrible than any of them could have imagined. Clarke knew Octavia blamed him. Lincoln was still a burning wound in their midst, a black hole, drawing light out of every being. The space left behind felt cold and empty.

Clarke turned to her side, slipping her hands under her head, and looked at Bellamy. He was sleeping next to her, Octavia on the other side of the fire and Jasper between them. Bellamy didn’t look calm like he usually did when he was sleeping, the lines in his face were strung tight, on guard. That was what made Clarke understand he was awake. Though if he felt her staring, he made no indication of it.

Short on time as well.

After a few drawn out seconds, he stirred, finally turning to look at her. Clarke didn’t bother looking away.

“Is there forgiveness for people like us, Clarke?” She knew he was trying to whisper but his voice rasped anyways, and he sounded wounded, a little lost.

Clarke swallowed.

She knew what she usually would have answered. We do what we have to do, or something along those lines.

But this was Bellamy.

Bellamy who had pulled the lever with her because she needed him, who had killed an army for his people, who had shot the chancellor to save his baby sister. Bellamy who had forgiven her when she deserved nothing of the sort. She could hide nothing from that Bellamy, even though his eyes welled with unshed tears.

So instead she whispered, “I don’t know” and rubbed her itchy nose with the rough leather of her sleeve.

“I feel empty”, he said, not quite looking at her, but not looking away either. “I feel empty and angry as fuck. But nobody deserves it.” He had gathered leaves in a tight fist, now they fluttered to the ground and his hand fell limply by his side.

“I’m losing her, Clarke.” He sounded pained. Like someone was dragging the words out of him, forcing him to admit it. Clarke sighed. She knew he had been thinking it, and the tension was obvious between them, but losing her?

“She’s just hurting, Bellamy.” He shivered a little, maybe from the cold.

“It’s my fault.”

“You didn’t kill Lincoln. His blood is not on your hands.”

“Some of it is.” Clarke didn’t know a good answer to that, so instead she pulled up memories she desperately tried to forget.

“Sometimes, when I can’t sleep at night, I see their faces.” She drew a heavy breath and heard Bellamy shuffle closer to her in the grass.

“You didn’t stay there for long, but I can still see some of the people I met and talked to in the mountain.” She laughed without humour, lifting a braid to examine it instead of dwelling on the tear making its way down the side of her face. It rested wetly in her hair and she ached to wipe it away but would rather ignore that it was there.

“Yesterday I remembered this woman serving food”, she smiled a little, didn’t look over to see Bellamy’s reaction, “I don’t know her name, but she had blue eyes and long straight brown hair.” Clarke shook her head, wanting to forget what she thought would be burned into her eyelids forever.

She blinked and saw the lever again. An impossible choice that seemed a little too easy to make.

She knew she would do it all again. For her people.

“I remember thinking she looked like the German astronaut in the picture hanging by alpha station, section two.” She paused before explaining; “Right before the hallway down towards mechanics.” A long pause followed.

“We do what we have to do”, she said clearly, flinching when Jasper shifted in his sleep. She would really like to avoid a shouting match between them right now. “but in a world like this”, she continued, “what we have to do could be far from what is right.” Bellamy stayed silent for a while. She saw him pluck at a straw of grass in the corner of her eye before he uttered;

“What is the right thing now?”

Clarke knew the answer to that question.

“What we’re doing is right. I know it is.”

“We can hope.” The answer wasn’t pessimistic. Not demanding or downgrading. Just the truth, the facts, and oh so very Bellamy.

“We’ll make sure of it, it’s not like we’ll stop fighting before life is worth living” Clarke tried to make it sound positive. It was the truth after all.

“How could we? Fighting is all we know”, his voice was on the verge of breaking. She let the words sink into her bones while Bellamy turned away, looked up to the sky. “Not just here, but on the Ark as well.” He said as Clarke examined the stars, wondering if she missed it a bit, then remembered that she didn’t. “The more we’re on earth, the more I see what they were doing, why they were doing it” Bellamy trailed off, she didn’t understand where he was going.

“Who?” Clarke asked, glancing at him. He had a sombre look on his face, his eyes were muted.

“The council”, he paused, “Jaha.” He let out a huffing laughter, as Clarke lifted an eyebrow, then asked; “Could you imagine the chaos it would have caused if everyone knew of the radiation?”

“We’re not like them”, Clarke said. It was a statement, something she forced herself to believe. Because if she were like them, the world would never be better.

Bellamy didn’t answer, she knew he disagreed.

“I could have saved her, you know?” his voice was timid a little while later, like he was afraid of telling someone else than himself. Clarke knew the feeling.

“If I hadn’t trusted Ecco, I could have…” his words trailed off, lost to the wind in a whisper that Clarke didn’t catch. He did not have to tell her who he was talking about, the word love burned through his words, his voice was soaked in it.

“If I had left when Octavia wanted to, Lexa wouldn’t have died.”

His eyes snapped to her, startled, lost in his own pain without realizing she was hurting too.

What she had said about Lexa was a truth she had avoided long enough. She had stayed just a little longer, hoping beyond hope that she could get the best of both worlds. It was of course a lie, as it always had been.

She heard the unspoken words between Bellamy’s lines. They both blamed themselves. It hurt more than it helped.

“You protect, Bellamy. It’s a huge part of you” he turned to her, didn’t quite look like he believed her words. “I didn’t know her, but I’m sure it was part of the reason why she loved you.” Clarke said, a small smile playing at her lips even though she knew she had no right to speak of the dead she had abandoned, “It’s the reason why I learned to.”

The guilt wasn’t gone when they stopped talking. It never would be, Clarke reasoned, as she settled on the moist ground. Maybe that was a good thing. If the guilt left her, like Allie wanted it to, there would be no pain, but neither would the dead be remembered. Lexa would not be honoured, Maya would not be mourned, and Wells would not be missed.

She hated the mountain, she hated Cage, and yet it didn’t seem right to forget it all. Honouring the dead by her guilt was something Clarke had become good at.

What was it Wallace said? He bore the pain, so they didn’t have to… She blinked, trying to chase the drowsiness away, loathing the motto that had become her reality, while Bellamy’s body heat touched her back in a silent reminder that she wasn’t alone.

Their reality, she reminded herself, as the moon dimmed and disappeared.

#bellarke #the 100 #the 100 clarke #bellamy x clarke #bellamy blake

10 notes · View notes

deathboundinautumn · 4 years

Text

The LoL AU

The sprawling and constantly expanding world of Runeterra is home to many remarkable figures. Why not add one more?

Character Stats:

Name: Shinjiro Aragaki Age: 25 Birthplace: Tevasa, Ionia Status: Wanted by the Kinkou Order and the Navori Brotherhood Condition: Tormented by the Azakana dubbed ‘Castor’

Background (This is by far the most in-depth AU I’ve ever written so you can pretty much get by with the stats above if you don’t want to read the whole thing):

A native of the First Lands, Shinjiro Aragaki was born at the footholds of the mountain in a small town called Tevasa. Shortly after his birth the small village was struck by tragedy. Inexplicably, villagers would just up and leave their homes randomly throughout the day and never return. Search parties were sent but were quickly stopped when party members would also go missing. Several children were orphaned in the process, including Shinji.

Though it was never said, many of the villagers that remained often blamed the recent newborns for the disappearance of the villagers. It was believed that some lives were to be returned to the land as new ones began, to maintain balance. Regardless of the teachings, these children were looked down upon and only cared for in the most basic of ways, ensuring that none went hungry and all had a home.

Despite receiving little support from the adults in his village, Shinjiro found solace in his fellow orphans who were largely given free reign over what they did once their daily chores were completed. Though he never knew his parents, Shinji never felt without family. For as long as he could remember he’d been best friends with two other orphans Asheru and Mi’rai-Ey, together the three formed their own family growing closer than most blood siblings in the village.

Everyone lost something during the Noxian Invasion and Shinji is no exception. When invaders came to Tevasa Shinji, Asheru and Mi’rai-Ey took up arms alongside the rest of the villagers to defend their home. Amidst the chaos the trio became separated. Asheru, always too eager to get in the thick of the fight, rushed towards the invaders leaving Mi’rai-Ey and Shinji. Though the villagers fought valiantly it was clear from the beginning that they’d be no match for the Noxian invaders. They were a rural farming town, armed with only the most rudimentary farming tools against an enemy brandishing superior steel and tactics.

Many lives were lost that day, none more significant to Shinjiro than Mi’rai-Ey who died in his arms after an arrow struck her in the heart.

“Take care of him. He’s always been a cry baby,” she chokes while a shaky hand reaches for his own. His tight grip around her hand gives her just enough of a second wind to refocus her gaze as she whispers to him “It’s not your fault,” before succumbing to her wounds.

Having lost his sister and fearing the worst for his brother Shinji welcomed death openly. But death never came. The battle should have ended with the razing of Tevasa, its inhabitants either killed or enslaved, but it didn’t.

Miraculously, the Noxian Invaders were halted by a single figure emerging from the nearby forest who’s powerful magic completely outclassed the invaders most well-trained soldiers. Shinjiro looked on, a mix of both awe and horror painting his visage as this wild feral woman with nine long white tails ripped the life essence from Noxian soldiers, seemingly growing more and more powerful with each felled enemy till the remaining troops fled. Tevasa would later attribute their victory to the powerful ancient Ionian fox spirit the Gatekeeper and would erect a shrine.

In the aftermath Shinjiro was overjoyed to see that Asheru had survived the battle but elation quickly turned to grief as he broke the news that Mi’rai-Ey, their sister, had been killed in the battle. Together they mourned and remembered their fallen kin and tried their best to move forward. Overtime it quickly became apparent that, without her, their family was falling apart. Shinjiro feeling responsible for not being able to protect her and Asheru growing more and more bitter as news of the war came in. Asheru never blamed Shinji for Mi’rai-Ey’s death but as time passed the boy could no longer sit in their village while invaders ransacked their home.

“I’m going to get stronger,” he says, “strong enough to protect the people I care about.”

Shortly after Mi’rai-Ey’s death Asheru left Tevasa to join the growing Navori brotherhood leaving Shinji alone.

Shinji spent most of his time tending to Mi’rai-Ey’s garden; their last moments burned in his mind. It was his fault. He could have done something, anything. It should’ve been him...

A year or so passes and the guilt is too much to bear. Too long has he spent sleeping in the same hut he once shared with his family, their things remain largely untouched save for the occasional dusting. Privately he entrusts Mi’rai-Ey’s garden to one of the elders before leaving Tevasa in the late evening.

With the loss of his family and now his self-imposed exile, Shinjiro spends his life as a vagrant. Shinjiro keeps mostly to himself, rarely traveling with others unless absolutely necessary. Despite traveling alone and largely camping outside of settlements, the teen can’t help but hear words of affirmation whispered on the wind that passes through the trees.

‘it’s your fault’ ‘you deserve to be alone’ ‘you could have saved her’

Every waking moment is plagued by these thoughts until it becomes so regular it barely bothers him at all. The only time he can seem to quiet his mind is in sleep and eventually that respite is soon taken as nightmares poison his dreams. Though every nightmare is different the malformed, twisted humanoid creatures in them remain the same until one nightmare he is no longer tortured by three but one: A pale rider impaled on his own sword riding a one legged horse that hunts him relentlessly.

The vagrant would wake in the middle of the night in a cold sweat gasping for air and clawing at his chest. After a while the waking and dreaming world often blur together, making him question which was which.

After two years of wandering and torment both in the waking world and dreaming Shinjiro is ambushed by a group of bandits. Despite fighting valiantly, incapacitating three of the eight, their numbers are overwhelming and they beat the vagrant within an inch of his life. As the would-be killing blow comes down the teen collapses to the ground writhing in agony. Its as if thousands of needles are piercing his brain all at once. A familiar haunting whinny cuts through the blood pounding in his ears and the apparition of the pale rider can be seen through swimming vision.

He looks on in horror as the horseman charges forward impaling one bandit on the horses’ head-spike while the rider cleaves through another two. Smoldering eyes burning crimson with hatred turn to the remaining two bandits that have started to flee in terror. With a sharp tug on the reigns, the horse leaps high into the air and as it begins its descent Shinji can’t bear to watch any longer. Though his eyes are shut tight the weakening cries of agony and sickening crunch he hears over and over are more than enough to paint a clear picture in his mind.

Eyes are forced open when he feels two large hands tightly wrapped around his neck lifting him into the air. The pale rider’s.

“You’ll die when We say so”

Shinji wakes with a scream in the middle of the night next to the dying embers of a campfire nowhere near where the supposed mugging took place. Was it all a dream? He could have sworn it was real. It all felt so real. Yet where there should be cuts and bruises from the mugging he finds nothing. As time passes, Shinji goes without another incident as severe and just assumes it was a one-off.

At the age of twenty, Shinjiro encountered a Kinkou Acolyte, Selune, who immediately recognizes that something isn’t right inside the vagabond. Shinjiro’s Essence is being strangled and poisoned by a large amount of dark spiritual energy unlike anything she’s ever seen before. Upon hearing this and desperate for some respite, Shinji discloses what he’s been experiencing since leaving Tevasa four years ago and the two decide to travel together to learn more about why this dark spirit energy hangs so heavily around him.

After a few weeks of observation Selune gathers that Shinji’s spirit is occasionally being pulled into the spirit realm while he’s sleeping and the things he’s been experiencing in his “dreams” are what’s ripping apart his soul. She informs him that if this continues his soul will diminish until there’s nothing left, killing him.

As weeks turn to months the two grow close despite Shinjiro’s best efforts to remain acquaintances and after three months of travel he warily (and never to her face) considers her a friend. During this time, Selune formulates a plan to sever the dark spirit energy from Shinjiro’s soul via a ritual involving her Spirit Blade and after a few days of preparation the day long ritual begins.

Neither of them are prepared for what would happened.

The first few hours go well, Shinji feeling a great deal of weight being lifted from his heart. However, six hours into the ritual Shinjiro begins to break out in a cold sweat. The blood in his veins like fire, heart racing as breaths get shorter and shorter before the pain becomes so excruciating that he cries out in agony.

As he writhes on the ground in the sealing circle the outline of the pale rider that’s plagued his nightmares begins to manifest. Selune looks on in shock that quickly turns to terror as realization dawns on her that what’s tethered to Shinjiro’s soul isn’t just dark spiritual energy from the spirit realm, its a full on demon and it’s powerful.

In an attempt to sever its connection to Shinjiro, Selune takes her spirit blade and plunges it deep into Shinji’s chest. This only further enrages the demon and it is only then that she realizes just how powerful the demon really is. It’s had five years to fester deep within is his soul and was now, finally, powerful enough to interact regularly with the physical realm.

Shinji chokes out a desperate cry for her to leave him as pain wracks his body leaving him incapacitated. The last thing he sees before consciousness fails him is the demon pulling the sword from its own chest and charging at his new companion.

“Foolish boy. You couldn’t save her either.”

The low gravelly voice cuts through the unnatural silence rousing him from unconsciousness. The demon looms over him, picking him up by his head and throwing him towards Selune’s lifeless body.

“It’s your fault. It’s ALWAYS your fault. You made US. Anytime somebody tries to take you from Us we will ALWAYS be there to stop it. Your life is OURS,” the demon taunts before disappearing.

After a few hours recuperating from the ordeal, Shinji begins the difficult task of laying Selune to rest.

He never should have involved her. She was dead because of him

As he goes through her belongings he discovers her journal. It’s contents contain the bulk of her research from the past few months of their travels. From the journal he learns that he’s been playing host to numerous tiny demons, or Azakana, ever since the Noxian Invasion. These demons have been feeding off his negative emotions for the past five years and the longer they’ve gone unchecked the stronger they’ve become.

Suddenly the nightmares and invasive thoughts he’s been hearing ever since the invasion make sense. The whispers reinforcing his own guilt for not protecting Mi’rai-Ey, his unyielding sorrow at the loss of his friendship with Asheru and his own fulminating self-hatred. Those feelings attracted separate Azakana and as time went on and how normal those feelings started to feel caused the three demons to become one; A conglomerate of his worst feelings made manifest and much more powerful together than any single one of them could have been alone.

As he continues to read her journal he learns that not much is known about exorcising these demons as they only started appearing after the Noxian Invasion. She is able to assume however that, like all demons, an Azakana cannot be harmed by conventional means and only powerful magic or spirit weapons like her Spirit Blade are able to harm/ kill the demons.

Strangely enough after being fully recognized as real by Shinjiro, the demon begins to communicate more directly and when asked for a name it responds: Castor. As the two talk Shinji learns that Castor emerges when Shinjiro is threatened to ‘protect Their kill’ and even encourages Shinji to take Selune’s Spirit Blade to summon Castor on command. When asked why Castor would encourage taking a weapon that could kill the Azakana, Castor responds

“You’d never kill Us because We know this is the fate you deserve.”

A few weeks after the death of Selune wanted posters issued by the Kinkou begin popping up in the territory searching for Shinji for the murder of a Kinkou Acolyte. This gains the attention of the Navori Brotherhood who’ve been at odds with the Kinkou since the Noxian Invasion. With eyes all over the countryside its only a few short months before he encounters his old friend, someone he hasn’t seen in years, Asheru.

Overjoyed at reuniting with his friend, the two spend their first night back together, drinking and reminiscing about their shared past but those feelings don’t last.

“Join us. We could use someone like you. Someone with experience. It’s not everyday someone kills a member of the Kinkou.”

Shinjiro walls up almost immediately, stating that Asheru has no idea what he’s talking about and that it’s much more complicated. As their conversation turns to argument a deep sadness wells within his heart. Asheru, his brother, was not the same boy who left Tevasa all those years ago.

War had hardened his heart and Asheru’s quest for power had blinded him to the reality of what it was the Navori Brotherhood was really doing. But Shinjiro witnessed it anytime he passed through towns, sometimes first hand. The way members of the brotherhood would act more as thugs than protectors; Collecting weekly taxes from those already struggling to get by for their ‘protection;’ The random beatings and ransacking of homes for ‘the cause;’ How they’d ‘borrow’ daughters and wives to ‘relieve stress.’

He never would have believed it, but seeing Asheru now...was he like that too? Realizing that Shinji would never join the Brotherhood, Asheru leaves Shinji with a few parting words that confirm Shinji’s worst fears

“For the sake of our past I’m letting you walk away. Can’t say the other members will do the same but if you stand in our way then I’ll see to it myself to hunt you down and kill you. If you’re not with us then you’re against us.”

It’s been four years since he last saw Asheru. Now twenty-four, the vagabond is wanted dead by the Navori Brotherhood, the Kinkou Order and Castor. As time passes it grows harder and harder to resist Castor’s influence and it’s only a matter of time before he’s captured and executed by the Kinkou/Navori or he succumbs to Castor’s influence.

#We Are the First Lands (LoL AU)#hkjsadfaskd fucking finally this took me way way wayyy too long #i dont even wanna look at this anymore good god #get outta my drafts so i can do literally anything else

1 note · View note

oneshotnewbie · 5 years

Note

Can you do a oneshot where Kara is tidying b!d's room because it's a mess and the younger one promised she would tidy it herself when she comes home from university but Kara wants to take it in her hands since she has superspeed and b!d would be too tired. She finds a letter to Jeremiah even tho he is gone for years now and she opens and read it? She starts crying and then Akex comes home and comforts her?

Words: 1.796

---

The once neatly tidy and always decent big room of yours, with its own little bathroom and a small balcony overlooking the National City Park was now a mess since you started to go to the medical school and you didn’t have the time and energy to clean it up.

Every time you promised Kara and Alex, yours sisters with whom you were living with, to clean your room when you got home but you never made your promise real. The constant tests you needed to learn for or the homework you had to do for the next day got in your way.

You were not lazy, on the contrary. You kept trying to put the things back from where you took them out, trying to create order, if only piece by piece and even if you were only at the desk and in bed, mountains full of things stacked in spite.

At some point it was enough for Kara. Not because she got angry, no. She was crazy about tidiness and nothing could be cleaner that it already was and she saw how done you were after you came home from school. You didn’t allow her to take it into her hands. After all, it was your four walls.

Nevertheless she did it anyway. She felt it was right. Not because she was your sister and wanted to relieve you of a burden but because she had super speed and it would be much easier for her than you had to fight through it.

She started with you freshly laundered clothes that were stacked on your couch. Carefully the blonde ordered everything in your closet, ironed the shirts and blouses you mostly needed for meetings before she also hung them in the closet. Your dirty laundry that you had accumulated in your hamper, she flew up to the bathroom and threw it directly into the washing machine.

Once again arrived downstairs, she put your make-up that you used every day in your vanity cabinet and cleaned the wide full-body mirror, wisely to not tear down the photos of you and your sisters and friend that hung on it.

The pillows on your couch were again carefully lined up next to each other and had the kind in the middle of them formed in a kind of heart, it was always Kara’s symbol.

Kara continued with the desk, where she cleaned only the vacancies because she was afraid to throw you off the train of learning. Papers lay on piled over books and all sorts of highlighters lay scattered on the table. Where you the only one who had a look through this chaos.. As you always said to your sisters, ‘it was an organized mess’. Even Kara had no idea how you managed it.

The energy cans and empty coffee cups found their way into the trash and into the sink. Once flown back up to the bedroom, she picked up your new favourite bedding and sheets and covered your bed with it, hoping you wouldn’t be mad at her doing that for you.

Just as she was about to lift the mattress to put the bed sheets over the corners, a letter you had recently hidden between the slatted frame and the mat you wanted that no one ever saw, flew right towards her and stopped by her feet.

Of course, Kara had immediately stopped her work and sat down on the unfinished bed. She wrestled with herself, refusing to open this letter and snooping around in your privacy but got more tensed as she turned the letter over and the name of your father appeared on the white rectangular envelope with thick black letters.

You were just like Alex, couldn’t handle it when he disappeared until today. Your sisters were older than you and understood earlier what happened, but you still didn’t. Nightmares still plagued you and many times you were still seen floating in the thought that he would come back. You always covered the table for one more person when it came to family events; the sock with the “J” was still waiting at the fireplace every time before Christmas. You were still buying presents for him and every time your hoped that he would be standing at the door on your birthday or sending you a card.

But that was never the case.

Everyone knew how much you fought day after day; everyone looked at your agony and the eyes that were red the morning after a night of mourning to ask God to bring him back to you. And you knew that Kara had heard everything every time. But nobody said anything anymore.

Your sisters had tried several times to talk to you about it, but you locked yourself away from them when the topic came to the surface again.

With shaky hands she opened the envelope after all. Some notes with your writing were pulled out and she took another breath, wondered if she really did the right thing before she readjusted her glasses and decided to read the letter.

“Dear Dad,I miss you so much.There are so many things I would say to you now, especially as I would like to hug you again and get your warmth and everyday kisses on the cheek. I have managed to live my dream, daddy. I am officially a medicine student; do you remember when I first told you about it? I was sitting on your lap with my broken doll, watching you fix her with all the stuff you could get in your garage. I hope you’re proud of me for making it all, even though I was hoping you would be there and walk me through all of it.. Alex and Kara are fine, they take good care of me and are the best sisters I could wish for. They support me wherever they can. Apropos, did you know that Alex is now the director of the DEO? Unbelievable but I am so proud of her! And Kara? She has won the politzer and has become a wonderful reporter with her own flesh and blood interspersed with everything she does. I’m so proud of her too!Dad, there are so many things I want to tell you. But my head is so full of thoughts and my heart is so heavy with feelings and I don’t think I could ever talk about it with both of them. Not that I don’t trust them, they just have so much to do and I don’t want to lose Alex in this down spiral when she needs to face your disappearance again. It was so hard to help her get out of the first one and it almost costed us our relationship.I cry a lot and every time I hope that you will dry my tears but you can’t see them. Going on without you is a nightmare. Your strength has been my strength so far and your advice has been my help. But now you’re gone. I miss you but I know that you are well where you are now and that you take good care for yourself. After all you have done for your family and you had to go through, you have earned your peace. Recently I painted a picture of you with the technique you once taught me. I hope you like it.I want to give you my promise that I will take care of the people you love and make sure that this family stays together in your interest. I want to thank you for your unique love, which I will never again experience in this form. She was one of the best gifts in my life. Thank you, for everything. I love you. Your little Y/N.”

With a sob, she flipped over to the next letter and looked at the picture you had previously mentioned. She was sure that you had used the charcoal pencils that Jeremiah gave you years ago when you started to draw more and more pictures in your free time.

The individual lines of your father’s potion, which you made from his profile, and the shades and floods of grey/black shades that blended into each other made a beautiful picture and she was amazed at the progress you made in drawing.

She put the papers on her lap and let the tears run wild. She knew that you didn’t feel well about your dad and there were often days when you wanted to be alone and not talk to anyone, but she didn’t know that it was so stressful for you.

“Kara? Kara, where are you?” the blonde heard a dark and rough voice before she wiped away her tears and looked up. She saw the redhead who was walking through the door and more tears started to fall.

“Y/N will kill you if she sees you clean- What’s going on? What happened?” she asked in shock, immediately dropping her bag to her feet before kneeling in front of Kara and putting her arm on her legs.

But the once so though and young woman didn’t answer, just held the papers in front of the older sisters face and buried hers in her hands as Alex took the letters away from her.

She scanned this briefly; her eyes reflected the tears she tried to suppress. Your words reminded her so much of her own words she tried to find for all of her pain and it hurt even more knowing that you had to go through it too. She readjusted herself, recently sitting on her knees she was now in a cross-legged position.

Instantly Alex threw the letters on the floor when loud and terrible sobs came from her opposite. Her arms supported her and she stood in less than a few seconds in front of Kara, putting both hands over Kara’s head and pulling her to her stomach. The blonde clasped her tightly and buried her face in the red-heads shirt. Again and again Alex stroked the back of the young alien and tried to calm her down.

But nothing seemed to help until the older one broke away from her and took her up, carrying her to the couch and laying her down on it while she also lay down next to her and pulled Kara over to her.

Kara listened to the older woman’s heartbeat and calmed herself down slowly as she followed her thoughts and enjoyed the closeness of her sister.

She was grateful to Alex that she understood without words and didn’t force her to speak. Was the disappearance of Jeremiah also an open gaping wound for her? She knew that she would wait until she opened herself, ready to talk everything.

83 notes · View notes