#i know beach life in death would be his most streamed song

[hopeful-kath]

rip zuko you would've loved twin fantasy by car seat headrest

[dumbass-mha-simp]

Elliott x GN!Reader

Your New Playlist

Kinda sad? Ig angst but not actually like, bad angst yk.

1k words

Stardew Valley

Warnings: crying, mentally beating yourself over a crush, self-sacrificing but not in a death kinda way, cussing (I think like one f word), Elliott is a theater kid you can't convince me otherwise,

I wanna do a part two, would anyone be interested? I know how much us Elliott simps want fanfiction. I'm probably gonna start on it anyway lol.

Yes I actually made this playlist smh ikik, you don't have to listen to it ofc but his aesthetic really fits my music taste, at least I feel so. I write my fanfiction as gender neutral as I can but if you ever spot any mistakes I'd love to fix it!!

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

Elliott's POV

My feet took me across the path leading to Leah's house. The gentle cotton clouds stretching their wisps across the blue sky, bright enough to blind me as though it were the sun that it surrounds. The gentle new Spring breeze froze my cheeks lightly as my eyes closed to avoid the same chill from the past winter.

Fresh Spring flowers and hidden vegetables encircled her yard as I made my way to knock against the dark wood door that always seemed thunderingly loud.

Leah peaked through the window by her door before I can see her face light up and reach for the door.

"Hey, c'mon in!" She opens the door wider to let me pass through. "How are you doing?"

"If I'm honest, a little troubled." I sigh looking forlornly to the floor.

"Come sit." Leah pulls me to her table and sits in the accompanying seat. "Tell me what you're thinking."

"Leah, what does it feel like to you before you admit you fancy someone?" I look up into her listening eyes before her face changes into slight shock.

"Hmmm." She brings her hand up to her chin as she ponders. "Well, you miss being around them when they're gone. You constantly find ways to connect anything back to them, like `oh they'd love this`, or `I should check up on them.` You care about their opinion more than others and you want to learn about them, even if it's the uninteresting things."

I slide my arms down onto the table, placing my head on top of them. That sounded exactly like what's happening. I had read about it a million times, falling gently in love with a close friend. Perhaps that interest to become friends was always attraction.

"I can't get enough of Y/N." I muffled through my folded arms sighing once again as I turned my head to finally look back up at Leah, the light stinging my eyes.

"Well maybe I could help you with getting more of them?" Leah smirked as she grabbed her phone from her pocket.

I lifted my head slightly panicked. "What are you doing?" I rushed out.

"Relax, I'm not telling Y/N. But they shared something with me. They have a wide music taste yes?"

I had heard some of their music. While they made us lunch, while they partake in their hobbies, when they hum near silently late at night on the beach. I nodded back thinking of how they never seemed to be signing along to a song similar to the others. Unpredictable, and absolutely captivating.

"Well one of their tastes in music is very folk-y and they mentioned how those songs reminded them of you. So they made a playlist of songs that remind themselves of you." Leah said looking down and scrolling through her phone.

They made a playlist about me. They actively want to remember and listen to things that remind themselves of me. I feel I might faint. Was this something that was common among friends? Was this nothing more than an act of kindness? Or something they decided to do on a whim?

"Here give me your phone I'll send it to you." She holds her hand out expectantly.

I quickly go to pull out the hardly used device. I had never had much use for it but if it could bring me any step closer to Y/N I wouldn't hesitate to learn.

Leah downloaded a music app, laughing at how I had no applications. Before leaving it opened on the playlist. "The Lonely, Ocean-Accompanied, Writer." It read. I reread it a couple times to convince myself it was real. A lovely name, but is that how they see me?

"Chill out, Romeo." Leah giggled. "I can practically see you overthinking everything. Just relax and listen to the songs, maybe they'll tell you something."

I wrapped my arms around her neck, hugging her closely before leaving to listen to the playlist.

~~~

As I shut the door behind me I pressed my back against it. I've never felt so scattered before. I looked for the volume button, turning it up before hitting play.

The songs, quiet but emotional. As though you had just lie down on the grass to cry or relieve tension or reminisce. They felt like a memory I had trouble recalling.

The songs seemed to renew me, before I heard one I distinctly remembered hearing before. From high-school theater club, a time in my life that was fond to me. I do remember Y/N telling me they loved musicals, hearing them hum along to Heathers while I wrote.

A song unlike most others on this list.

"When He Sees Me" from Waitress.

~~~

Y/N's POV

"Oh, Yoba. What if when he sees me, I like him and he knows it? What if he opens up a door, And I can't close it?" I belted out the lyrics as loud as I wanted, the tears streaming down my face unwavering.

The good side to owning your own farm is you could scream along to your songs without people to complain. You had been replaying this part of the song for awhile now. He was all you could seem to think about.

Your head was swarmed with thoughts of Elliott. Some where he reciprocated your feelings and others where he shut you out. Every time you built a daydream where he loved you unconditionally you trampled it with the thoughts of his rejection.

You brought your knees up to your chest, resting your head between them as you cried.

~~~

Elliott's POV

We had had conversations about musicals, perhaps that's why they chose this song? Maybe they thought since my school had a play of Waitress that it'd fit. But I know they liked other Waitress songs, why weren't those added? Only this one.

After that song came another, "I Hear A Symphony" one I've never heard. As the song started all I could see was Y/N. I could hear them singing along, their smile, their eyes averting to mine for the thousandth time.

Y/N was my symphony.

The powerful, breathtaking ocean couldn't compare to the awkward farmer that ran across town just to give me their best sweet pea flowers and be the first thing I saw as I left my quaint cabin.

They brought the motivation and inspiration for 8 hour writing sessions, they brought me food when they knew I'd forgotten to eat between writing the book and planning on what to write next.

They were something I could never dream of losing. I wished to live the rest of my life with their support.

If telling them my feelings means I'd lose them, then I couldn't dream of making such a selfish decision.

~~~

Y/N's POV

I trudged my way into town. After last night's crying session my eyes still felt a bit dry, if I'm honest I cried when I woke up as well. The loneliness felt suffocating in such a lonely little house. But I needed some new seeds. The stone path drawing all my attention as I walked.

As I walked into Pierre's it wasn't hard to tell that people could see something was off. After buying my seeds I felt a hand on my shoulder, turning around to find Elliott.

"Y/N are you feeling alright? You look as though you've been distressed lately." You motion to him to follow you and walks out of the store behind you.

You take a deep breath as you start to tear up a bit more. He reaches for your face as he lifts it up, looking at the pooling tears.

So many things, the things you could have said. But they didn't come up. Instead a vision of his face of discomfort at your confession. You couldn't bear it. You couldn't tell him.

"I've just been stressed. I'm sorry for worrying you, Elliott." You sigh, attempting to put up a fake smile as you wipe your eyes. He retracts his hand as he looks guilty. Fuck does he feel like it's his fault?

"Well I'm willing to listen to your troubles if you ever need." He also puts on a strained smile as you both part ways.

"This is for the best." They both whisper as they leave.

[otomelavenderhaze]

Yes! That's it, you got it right. Do it as you prefer

Sweet. Just to make sure ppl know what we're talking about in this ask: "You're asking me what I think happening during that 4 year time skip between High School and University Life with Kentin's, Lys' and Armin's lifes right?"

Lysander -

Probably the one that had it the hardest with the death of his parents and with choosing what to do with the farm (together with Leith for sure), maybe that's why he decided to hold on to it, it's something that he could control, take care of and see grow with his own effort (so I don't think it was a that bad of choice).

Now I also like to think that isolation and bucolica life inspired him to keep writing poetry and lycris for songs. He probably would try to learn how to play the piano and acoustic guittar, to make his compositions more complete (collabs with Castiel and the Crownstorm for sure happened at that time, when they would sleep over or even work remotely).

Maybe Rosa and Leigh pushed him to try strive for a publication of his poetry too, one thing would let to the other, and in the end he got a deal with a publisher for a poetry book - that pushed him to actually (I guess two years after High School) strive for a major in literature.

Kentin -

After so many fights and disagreements with his father, Kentin decided to move in with one of his uncles on his mother's side. With a more stable father figure, he likely started going to therapy and redirecting his frustrations with hiking with Cookie - then he got into a local hiking group and made some dope friends that also did other sports like surfing and biking.

Then he started to work in a pet shop which makes him realize how much he loves animals and how much way he got with them - which lead him to decide go for a major in veterinary.

Ge got his glasses back, learned how to be more laid back now, he bikes everywhere but want to get a car so he can take Cookie more often to the beach and in his travels. At certain point, he finally got to sit down and have a honest conversation with his father and they both are trying now to have a more close relationship.

Armin -

He resisted going to college at first, but in the end he decided to study programming and take a technical course in technology science on the side - studying is fun when he gets to create and challenge himself.

Didn't give up on his dream of becoming a game developer - but also, he found out how fun is to streaming games on his free time on Twitch (is still somewhat a small creator, but it's from streaming/youtube that he pays his bills with). Have been working for a long time now in his first game with a friend and after 3 years, they got to finally release a demo.

Lives with Alexy after their relationship improved with time, Evan sometimes comes back to crash in and spend some quality time together. Armin also have put together a long furret/hamister tunnel around the place for Rocket activily move around - his most succecful project in years.

------

Yes, for me they all somewhat got better lives and sort out most of their hardships at that point, they all in college and they're all striving for their best lives.

[hatterstan-shameblog]

Here is the first one

Second :D

And last..he's looking at you 👀💦

ALRIGHT you know WHAT—

There’s…a lot going on here. So much so, that I have decided to create

CONTEXT

for these three images that is

COMPLETELY FAKE

because I think it’ll be a fun writing exercise. kind of a cringe move on my part, but consider: i have fun making up ridiculous lies about characters who don’t exist in real life.

(which is how I’m treating these, by the way. yes, they are pictures of kaneko nobuaki, but for my purposes, they are NOT actually him. they are distinct fictional characters who are not real.)

so if you’re feeling adventurous skip below the cut and watch me break it down:

Image 1: Accidental “Date” Makes Cousin’s Wedding Less Terrible Than Originally Expected

The year is 1999. Your cousin (who you are not particularly close to) is getting married…on a cruise ship. Your mother insists you attend. You insist upon spending 90% of your time sipping margaritas on the deck and flipping through the latest issue of Marie Claire while trying desperately not to think about the fact that you are surrounded by nothing but open ocean.

One of the (very drunk) bridesmaids tries to toss you a beach ball because you have been, and I quote: like, a total bummer this whole time. She misses. It hits the person next to you in the face. Great. Awesome. You think: well now who’s being, like, a total bummer?

Luckily the person who got hit in the face laughs the entire thing off. He says your friends seem…’lively.’ You say that’s pretty rich coming from a guy who looks like a rejected member of ‘The Clash.’ He insists that he left them, not the other way around.

You slip into conversation. You tell him that you’re here for a wedding. He offers his condolences. You accept them. He says he actually likes weddings—something about two people making a life-changing commitment speaks to him on a soul-level. That and the open bar, of course.

You suggest he crash the wedding. He says he’s not sure if he can make it—there’s a shuffleboard tournament that evening that he would just hate to miss, plus the latest issue of Soap Opera Digest is waiting on his bedside table just begging to be opened. You say that’s perfectly understandable, but, if he suddenly finds himself caught up on the latest All My Children gossip, he can meet you back here at four.

Surprise, surprise: he shows up. He’s wearing the same shirt he was before, but buttoned up this time—and with one of the most hideous neckties you’ve ever seen, which he apparently borrowed from the kind old man next door. Instead of complimenting his attire (because it is truly un-compliment-able), you take the opportunity to mention that this is a Titanic-themed wedding. He says that having a Titanic-themed wedding on a cruise ship is “kind of fucked up” and you solemnly agree.

Everyone is very surprised and pleased to see that you’ve brought a date—even the bride, who tells you that you’re “just like Jack and Rose.” You agree, much to her delight…until you say that, if the ship goes down, you also won’t share the door and let him freeze to death in the icy water. He insists he’d be the guy who jumps off the ship and hits his leg on the propellor—that’s his favorite part of the whole movie, and it’d be an honor to re-enact the scene.

The wedding is…a wedding. Vows, toasts, pictures—and you’re sipping champagne through the entire thing. The two of you spend the evening getting completely wasted and telling everyone a different story about just who your ‘mystery date’ is. Highlights include: the captain’s unruly son whose been tasked with following in his father’s sea-faring footsteps; professional cave-diver who discovered a new species of slug and is spending his reward money on a nice vacation; head of marketing who gives all those clever names to the nail polishes at OPI; the guy who folds everyone’s towels into animal shapes.

You end up where you started: on neighboring lounge chairs, with a margarita, and talking to this stranger who has recently crossed into “acquaintance” territory. You chat about how “My Heart Will Go On” is actually a good song, and he promises not to tell anyone that you said that. He also says that this is the best Titanic-themed cruise ship wedding he’s ever been to, and he can’t wait until somebody decides to do Jaws.

Eventually, you both stagger back to your rooms with promises of seeing each other at breakfast. Unfortunately, you have the worst hangover of your life the next morning and even the thought of ‘breakfast’ makes you want to roll over and die, so you don’t manage to stumble out of bed until it’s time to disembark.

You see him at port, and you each offer each other a little wave before going your separate ways. Six weeks later, you get a Polaroid of the two of you together, sitting at the bar and laughing at something that must have been very, very hilarious.

You don’t remember most of what happened that night, but you remember it was not as terrible as it could have been.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Image 2: Extremely Weird Guy On The Street Has You Questioning Your Sanity

It’s 6:00 in the morning—a truly terrible time to be awake, but a necessary evil. Your flight leaves at 10, and since it’s an international thing, you want to make sure you get there in plenty of time to get to your gate (and maybe sample all the fancy perfumes you can’t afford at one of those high-end stores that are always in airports.)

The streets are mostly empty, save for a few random pedestrians and a handful of passed-out salarymen snoozing on the curb. The sky a rainy gray-blue as the sun tries to rise behind the springtime cloud cover—it’s no doubt going to be another dismal day, as is common during this time of year. Hopefully there’s not too much turbulence on your flight…

You stop at a crosswalk, waiting for the little walking man signal to show up on the light across the way. You’re soon joined by another person—a man in a soft-looking jacket who supplies you with a small “good morning” bob of his head. You respond in kind, throwing in a small smile for good measure. It’s nice that he too understands that it’s entirely too early to be having any kind of conversation, even if it is just a simple verbal greeting between strangers on a street corner.

The light changes, and you both begin your trek across the street. Your fellow walker is faster than you—or, more likely, has longer legs and, ergo, a longer stride than your own—and is nearly halfway across by the time you get your wheeled suitcase over the curb. He seems decent enough. You hope he’s going somewhere nice.

It’s then that you make the mistake of looking up. It would have been much better if you had just continued watching the white painted lines on the road and thinking about how it reminds you of piano keys—and how you hated the six months of piano lessons your parents forced you to take in the first grade.

But no. You noticed someone walking towards you, and you just had to look up.

The first thing you notice is a rainbow tie-dye shirt. The second thing you notice is that the rainbow tie-dye shirt is on a very cheerful looking gentleman, who seemed to be bobbing his head in time with a song only he could hear.

The third thing you notice—and this one’s the real kicker—is the large blue-and-green reptile sitting on his shoulder. It’s bulging eyes are hooded in pleasure as it’s red-pink tongue darts out to eat the green something—maybe a grape or a small piece of melon?—from the rainbow tie-dye man’s hand. It is nothing short of a spectacle, honestly, and you feel a piece of your sanity evaporate.

The rainbow tie-dye man continues on, uncaring of your confused stare at his strange pet. You even turn around to make sure that you weren’t somehow hallucinating, and sure enough, there is definitely some kind of creature draped over this stranger’s shoulder. It’s tail even sways in time with the man’s steps, which is both cute and confusing.

Because it would not do to stand in the middle of the street all day, considering the existence of rainbow tie-dye man and his exotic pet, you do the only thing you can do: turn back around and continue on your journey. You need a coffee. Maybe with an extra shot of espresso, after witnessing whatever the hell that was. Something to set you right again.

“Was that…?”

The other man—the soft-coat long-stride one—is speaking low enough as to not draw attention, but loud enough for you to hear as you make your way towards the sidewalk. His expression reads ‘concerned, but trying not to show it’ which you suppose is the polite and mature way of handling the situation.

“…an iguana? Yeah,” you answer him, “I saw it too.”

The man’s brow furrows. His mouth puckers into a small frown as he considers…well, something.

“…Okay, then,” he concludes, shrugging his shoulders, “Hell of a way to start the day.”

“Yeah.”

And you both continue on your way. He turns left at the next intersection, you turn right—but even though your paths may now be different, you will forever share an unbreakable bond over the fantastical sight you’ve witnessed today.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Image 3: Near Death Experience At Open Mic Night

You are not a poet.

Well, not professionally, anyways. You’ve been known to dabble in the written word, often scribbling little snippets of rhyme in a notebook over your lunch break or tapping a verse or two into the notes app on your phone. It a kind of outlet, you suppose—a way to keep the creative energy that bubbles inside of you from boiling over.

It’s also worth mentioning that you are not a confident public speaker. Not since that unfortunate incident in the third grade where you forgot the single line you had in the school play and ran off stage, tears streaming down your face and—actually, no, you’re not going to think about that right now. Or ever again, hopefully.

So when your (tipsy) coworkers decide that it’s a good idea to push you onto the stage at the local dive bar’s open mic night—while shouting at you to “read the one about the night-blooming jasmine”—you freeze up. There are at least seven strangers staring at you, expectation rising with every passing second of your inaction. It’s nerve-wracking in the way that the third-grade incident was not, and you gulp against the nervousness that rises in your throat.

Shaking hands scroll frantically through your phone, looking for the requested poem—and after a few agonizing moments, you manage to find it. Your voice cracks rather embarrassingly as you begin to read, trying your damndest to get the words out right so you can slink back to the bar and drown the rest of the night in Chardonnay.

Everything is going well—or, at least, as well as can be expected—until you notice that the room is suddenly feeling very hot. That’s the last coherent thought you have before the room goes dark and everything falls silent.

Next thing you know, you’re staring at the ceiling. A man who you do not know is leaning over you, and his mouth is moving—oh, he’s probably trying to say something to you, but it’s very difficult to tell what he’s saying over the throbbing pain in the back of your head.

You ask him if you’re dead. It’s a possibility after all, that you’ve somehow died and landed yourself in some kind of special public-speaking hell. That’s what this feels like, anyways.

The man says no, you are not dead. You say ‘dammit’ in response. He tries to hold back laughter, offering to help you up by extending his hand. You take it and—ouch, ugh, ew, going from laying to standing is not a fun experience.

You thank him (albeit awkwardly) for helping you up, and he insists that ‘it’s cool.’ Passing out in front of an audience is not even remotely cool, but you nod and thank him again, anyways.

Before you’re able to converse with the helpful stranger any further, your coworkers have come to collect you. You are whisked away by someone from accounting, who offers to escort you home—an offer you gladly accept, very excited to leave the site of your failure behind you.

Safe to say, you never go back to that particular bar again.

[aregebidan]

the nice one

Or: A small (1.6k) pile of angst featuring a darker take on the two eldest Feanorians, based on the popular fanon that Maglor is only known as “nice” because he’s good at propaganda and my own Discord Maglor headcanon.

tw: mentions of blood and torture

“Maglor?”

“Hmm?” he says, never taking his eyes off the worn parchment. The ink has smudged, the corners of the scroll damp and ragged from being carried through the battle, but the writing has somehow managed to survive both the clash of blades and the fell songs of the golden one. Now, safe in Himring, he must copy it down before some other danger strikes the precious notes. 

The act also serves to calm him, drawing him into the familiar scratching rhythm of quill and ink, all delicate lines and quiet chords in the air that speak of peace safety honor. He is loath to separate himself from it, this piece of home, and so he does not make any further reply until his brother calls for him again: “Maglor.”

He should have noticed straight away: the way Maedhros stopped just outside the threshold of his new chamber instead of coming in, his awkward stance and slight shuffling, the fact that he called him by his Sindarin name instead of Kano or brother.

But it is past midnight, and they are both exhausted by the loss of the Gap, so he expects nothing out of the ordinary when he turns around and gives Maedhros his full attention. “What is it?”

Maedhros shifts, again, and he finally realizes something is wrong and puts down his quill. “Are they attacking us again?” 

“No...” 

“Well, then.” Maglor pitches his voice lower, tries to speak as clearly as possible. He hasn’t used his “King-Regent voice,” as the Ambarussa call it, in years, but he senses Maedhros needs someone else to be responsible now. “Tell me what you need me for.” 

His brother fairly squirms. The only candle in the room flashes in Maedhros’ eyes, making him flinch, and Maglor reaches over to put it out, pulling back his hair with the other hand. Having it loose in the dark would bring back memories of... well. Suffice it to say it is not an option, especially on the bad days.

“We took some-” Maedhros’ jaw clenches, seemingly involuntarily. Maglor watches, concerned but strangely fascinated with this rare loss of control. For a moment he just looks like Maitimo-Nelyo again, frustrated with his brothers’ antics and able to express it. 

That is, until the next words make it past his throat. “We took several of the orcs captive. I need you to make them talk.” 

Maglor stills and glances up at his brother again, a tall shadow against the well-lit corridor outside. His brow is twisted in an emotion none would ever expect to see on a kinslayer, and it makes him look young again. Pity.

Make them talk. The others would not put it this way: they would say break them, or question them, or when Maedhros was away break them in, like a new weapon. But break him and question him further, then is what Thauron said in the pits of Angband, as far as Maglor could tell from his brother’s feverish sleep-talk in those dreadful few months after his rescue. 

Maedhros, he realizes with a jolt, still considers himself to be in danger of becoming like his captors. The mental image slithers in- Maedhros standing over the orc prisoners, comparing himself to them, seeing some warped reflection of his stupid, beautiful self in them, avoiding the best decisions for their sake- and he is reaching for his swords before he knows it, pausing only at the stricken look on his brother’s face. 

“Kano.” 

Ah, it’s Kano now, is it, now that you have been reminded of what I am. He pulls back the words- even he has enough sense to keep that particular thought in his head- and smooths down his tunic as calmly as possible, if only to stop making fists. 

“You may question them yourself, brother,” he says curtly. “You captured them, therefore they will fear you the more.”

Maedhros lets out a sudden, harsh laugh and takes a few more steps into the chamber. There you are, son of Fëanor. I have missed you. “You of all people should know that can easily be remedied.”

It hurts, how eager his heart becomes at these words. He shoves any more treacherous thoughts aside and lets some of this indignation into his next words, punctuating them with the kind of wild gesture that he thought he had left behind with the rest of his adolescence. “It is not my job to torture these prisoners at your beck and call-”

“So you admit it is torture?” Maedhros’ voice rises. “If you knew what this means for me, why in Arda would you want-”

“You have done plenty worse!” 

“Nothing is worse to me.” 

“They are the Dark One’s servants, not his foes- they are not as you are! I am trying to help you understand that, Nelyo-”

“And I,” Maedhros snaps, “am trying to do you a favor.”

Maglor freezes mid-gesture. Moonlight streams in through the window, showing the satisfaction and shame mingled on his brother’s face, and he has the absurd urge to slam the door shut, as if someone could be listening in on them at this hour. 

“You go too far,” he whispers, hearing the terror in his own voice. It has been centuries since they agreed never to speak of this again; is Maedhros so sympathetic to his captives that he is ready to break his word to his own brother?

“I go this far because I am concerned for you, because you are not the only one who worries,” Maedhros retorts. “I have heard the tales of your fight with the golden beast.”

Maglor spits out a curse and ducks his head; the weight of Maedhros’ most disappointed stare is too much for any single elf to bear, oath-bound and insane or no. “They were not meant to tell you…” 

“Your people spoke of darkness and sounds of death.” Maedhros advances in small, careful steps, aiming his words like the Ambarussa aim their arrows. “How long will it be until your veneer breaks again, brother? How many have you convinced that your false face is your true self, now? The kind one, the nice one, the soft one, the only one here with a conscience. What would they say if they could see you for yourself?”

Maglor finds that his eyes are suddenly stinging. “I do have a conscience.”

“And it only comes out at the worst possible moments.” The shadow of Nelyo comes into Maedhros’ face again as he reaches out to push back Maglor’s hair with his left hand, loving and brutally honest in equal measure. “I do not know much of what happened to you at Alqualondë, but I know that it pains you to keep it locked in after a battle. I do not want to see you hurt, brother. I cannot say that is the only reason I avoided speaking to the prisoners, but it is by far the most important.”

Ah, so they are getting to the heart of the matter now. Alqualondë. 

Alqualondë, where he had used his music as a weapon for the first time, half mad with the ease with which his voice flowed, his darkest thoughts translating perfectly into the realm of sound. Alqualondë, where the bodies were piled high and the crimson color of the blood on his swords had matched the blood from his own throat, dry and torn up by the first battle-song he had ever dared bring to life. 

They had all died and come back in some way during that first battle, but something else had come back with Makalaurë, something cruel and sharp-toothed and hungry that Maedhros couldn’t stand to come near in these first terrible months after Angamandi. 

The Discord, he had called it, the song of the enemy. The very essence of him, carried on his own voice.

And Maglor, deep in denial, had built up his reputation, only to ruin it by facing the golden one.

He has to fight to keep himself in the present; the memories have grown too strong now, hissing in his ears, burrowing into the cracks in his mind. “You are trying to distract me.” 

His brother’s face is unflinchingly understanding, as frightened by their many hard truths as the Calacirya may be by a summer wind. “I am trying to help.” 

It is easy, so easy to yield when he puts it that way. Maglor inhales slowly and feels the walls of his mind come down, letting the beat of fire-blood-ruin and the cold notes of his swords wash away all other thoughts like waves smoothing out the sand of a beach. The moon has hidden itself again; he looks up from the floor and absently notes that his hands have grown paler, and the ache in his throat has disappeared. 

“We will speak of this again soon, brother.”

Maedhros tenses at the sound of his real voice, and a last pang of guilt lodges in his heart before it is swept away again. His brother knew that was coming; he is not to blame for his fear. 

The prisoners’ fear, on the other hand… 

He sighs, thrilled and embarrassed at himself in equal parts, and takes up one of his swords, letting the tip of the blade scrape against the floor as he heads out. “Tell your guards to go to sleep. You don’t need them anymore.”

His brother calls him again, softly, but he refuses to bring Lady Nerdanel into this mess by answering to the name she gave to her son; instead he merely raises his free hand and turns a corner, putting Maedhros and the ink and parchment behind him. 

If anything, he means to find out what they call the beast from the Gap. Perhaps he can repay him for his people’s pain if they should ever cross paths again.

[adarlingwrites]

Dormouse

Summary:

After playing a game with two of The Beach's most dangerous members, the dormouse gets her tail caught by a tiger's paw.

He’ll make a wildcat out of her.

all my days were spent by a telephone | that never rang and all I needed was a call | that never came to the corner of First and Amistad

IX

Surrounded by armed and dangerous people, Mr. Yamane and his new wife backed away. Aguni kept his eye trained on the pair, while Niragi chortled and faced Yamaneko, who is glaring daggers at Mr. Yamane’s back.

“All of you, scram. Get ready for the games tonight,” Aguni barks, and he turns to walk away. The rest of the militants do as he says, save for Yamaneko, who finally let out a breath she was holding, and Last Boss stood a little closer to her.

Then, she runs after their leader.

“Chief Aguni, wait. I need to say something,” she said.

Stopping to listen to what she has to say, Aguni crosses his arms and lets her continue.

“No one really stood up for me when my father abused his family before I came here. I tried calling the cops once, but they saw who my father was and only left with a warning. I’m more than capable of handling him now, but you still backed me up. Thank you. You have my loyalty as my show of gratitude,” she declares, and gives him a deep bow.

Something in Aguni’s stony facade shifts for a moment; old and painful memories of his own past fleeting through his psyche, but it’s gone after a few seconds. “Get ready for tonight's game, then. Show your loyalty to me by surviving and bringing back a card.”

Without another word, Aguni leaves. Yamaneko turns and presses her face in Takatora’s chest.

“Thank you for defending me, too. I wish I had someone like you long ago,” she whispers.

Truth be told, Takatora wishes she came into his life earlier as well. He begins imagining what life could’ve been like. Perhaps he wouldn’t need to pour his heart out in online columns that no one cared about. Perhaps he wouldn’t have ended up as a recluse if he had someone who understood his existential dread, his philosophy, and him.

“No one’s allowed to hurt my wildcat.”

Hearing those words made her heart go aflutter. Her lover took her back to their shared bed, where she curled up in his arms. She will survive tonight, for her chief, for herself, and for Takatora.

Especially Takatora.

Tonight’s game was a Five of Clubs in an art gallery.

Yamaneko wasn’t sure if she was distracted because of the sudden appearance of her father, or due to the side effects of the pills Sunohara prescribed, but she nearly got roasted alive in the ordeal.

One of the Beach members she came with perished, foolishly braving the jets, only to drop from the pain midway. Now there’s only Chishiya, another woman in a blue bikini whom he referred to as Kuina, and Yamaneko herself. She had seen the other two’s tags; they’re in the top twenty, just like her. Hell, their ranks are higher than hers, and she found out Chishiya’s actually an executive member, so they must be good. There were ten players total, and they were the only three left.

The game is simple: cross a narrow hallway to the next exhibit area within the given time limit, and avoid getting roasted alive in the process by the jets of fire that blow through the wall. There are three columns of tiles, and ten rows. Kuina had considered risking it, seeing how the others had made it three-fourths of the way, but Chishiya held her back. The man in white waited for the other players to make a move, like he always does.

Observe, then formulate a plan.

Kuina cringed as the others got burnt to a crisp, while Yamaneko’s only reaction was a glassy stare. She didn’t know what the other two are thinking about, but the more she sees people dying, the more determined she is to avoid their fates.

She has someone to go home to now.

“So, any plans?” Yamaneko asks them, stumped. It doesn’t help that she’s feeling nauseous, and a killer headache is making her space out. Kuina regarded her warily, while Chishiya had the same, condescending smirk on his face the first time she  met him.

Being the smartest of the three, Chishiya figured out the trick to winning the game.

“Look closely,” he tells the other two as he watches the others fail and burn. “That man stepped on one tile, and the jet in front of him stopped for five seconds. It’s a pressure plate.”

“So, someone needs to be stepping on the correct tile one row behind,” Kuina replies. “But, if the person behind steps forward, they’re both toast.”

“Well, there’s nothing in the rules forbidding two people to step on the same tile, or that we can’t use an object to apply pressure on the plate,” Yamaneko adds.

“Ah. Always looking for loopholes, huh, Yamane? You’re starting to convince me that members of the militant sect are capable of basic thought,” Chishiya comments in a sing-song manner.

“It’s Yamaneko now. I’m not just some mindless goon just because I’m allowed to carry a weapon,” she spits, crossing her arms and temper flaring from his condescending tone.

“I always had an impression that most militants are given that role precisely because they are mindless goons.”

Yamaneko draws a dagger, irritated to no end. “The chief’s not here, so if I hurt you, I’m not doing it as a goon. I’m doing it on my own accord because you’re such an ass.”

The man in white’s only response is his signature infuriating smirk.

Before a fight can ensue, Kuina steps in between the two. “Can we just focus on the game? The clock is ticking.”

The militant sheaths her weapon. “You’re lucky Kuina doesn’t get on my nerves, or I would’ve ignored her.”

“Oh well. Now that we know how to clear the game, let’s begin.”

“Wait, could you at least spell it out for the two of us?” Kuina asks, eyebrows furrowing, and Yamaneko nods in agreement. “Yeah. I’m not exactly some smug bastard who can figure things out with a glance,” the militant adds, tilting her head.

Chuckling, Chishiya indulges them.

“First, Person A needs to step on the correct plate. Then, Person B will step on the same tile. Person A will leave Person B to figure out the correct tile for the second row. Then, Person C will join Person B. Person B will leave Person C to move to Person A’s spot, while Person A steps on the next correct tile. Then, Person C needs to drop a weight on the tile she’s standing on, and join Person B. Then, Person B will join Person A again. Person A figures out the next tile, then Person C should simultaneously move to Person B’s spot and move the weight to her previous spot, while Person B jumps to Person A’s spot. Rinse and repeat. It’s all about timing. A simple game, really.”

Yamaneko’s head starts to pound from trying to understand the plan, and she groans, massaging her temples.

“You call that simple?! Why don’t we just place weights on every correct tile then?” Yamaneko asks, exasperated.

“Look around you,” Chishiya replies. “The only item in this hallway is that pedestal over there. The room before this one had a few paintings and sculptures, but retrieving them would take too much of our precious time. We’re not even sure if they would weigh enough to keep the plate pressed.”

“Ah, shit. Let’s just go with your plan then. I’m nimble, so I’ll be Person C,” Yamaneko sighs, walking over to the pedestal and dragging it with her.

“I’ll be A,” Kuina volunteers.

“I guess I’m B, then,” Chishiya says in an offhand tone.

Despite the need for a few reminders and a few curses thrown here and there, the plan worked. Yamaneko’s reflexes definitely helped; moving the pedestal quickly and jumping to Chishiya’s position almost at the same time is no easy feat. Time it wrong, and they will both be burned to a crisp. Of course, if they die, Kuina will have no chance of survival too. Such is the nature of a Clubs game: players either have to rely on all the skills required to survive in the borderlands, or work together with other players.

In this case, it’s both.

“This game would’ve been easier if those morons didn’t just rush in,” Yamaneko grunts as she moves the pedestal and maneuvers her way to Chishiya’s side at the same time.

“Well, we wouldn’t have figured out what to do if it wasn’t for their mistakes,” Kuina replies, testing which tile would get the stream of fire in front of her to stop.

“They’re still fucking idiots, rushing into the fire like that without a strategy! Couldn’t they have tried to look for an off switch first? Idiots!”

“Look at that, I actually agree with you. They are idiots,” Chishiya says in a sing-song manner. “I hope you’re not a pot calling the kettle black, though.”

Yamaneko rolls her eyes, head throbbing. “If my survival didn’t depend on you, I would’ve left you to burn simply for being a condescending asshole.”

On the last row, the militant’s line of thought got befuddled due to the searing tension around her forehead, and she still took the pedestal with her and froze instead of just crossing to safety. The five seconds were up, and flames burst out of the walls, licking the left side of her body. Before it could completely engulf her, Kuina pulled her out of harm’s way, eyes wide with terror.

Screaming, Yamaneko panics as her hair, the left sleeve of her jacket, and her skirt caught fire. Kuina quickly tackles her to the ground and rolls her around, extinguishing the flames. As soon as the fire is out, the taller woman helps her out of her burned clothes, both breathing hard.

They looked at each other when they heard the robotic voice from their phones chime in.

“Game clear! Congratulations!”

One of her hair buns is singed, her left arm is suffering from minor burns, and she’s wearing nothing but her black bikini and her shoulder brace now, but Yamaneko is alive.

That’s all that matters.

She can go home to her new family now.

Kuina lets out a sigh of relief, leaning back and closing her eyes as she sits on the floor, while Yamaneko remains lying on her back, staring at the ceiling and still in shock from yet another near-death experience. Chishiya walks over and leans down, and she waves her good arm.

“Fine, fine. You’re a genius, and I can be an idiot,” she admits, not wanting to engage with any more arguments with the man in white.

Chishiya gives her another maddening smirk. “I never said that.”

Then, he walks away.

The militant sits up and watches as he does. “I know that’s exactly what you think though!” Yamaneko yells after him, and Kuina just scratches her head.

All three of them made it back to the car after Chishiya collected the card. He drives, Kuina sits in the passenger seat, and Yamaneko lies on the back. She looks at the burned skin of her left arm and hisses at the pain. It went through so much in just a span of weeks.

After a few minutes of silence, Kuina speaks up.

“Does it hurt?”

Yamaneko wanted to roll her eyes, because it obviously does, but the other woman is probably just trying to make small talk. If it can distract her from the pain, she’ll engage in it. “Of course it does. But I can manage.”

“Sorry about your hair,” Kuina adds, and Yamaneko shrugs.

“I’ve tried crazier hairstyles before. It’s just hair. It’ll grow back.”

“So, how did you end up hanging with those militants anyway? From what Chishiya has told me and from what I’ve seen, you’re not violent unless you need to be.”

“Two of them took me with them, and the rest is history. I’m pretty sure you can figure out why I can’t say no.”

“Fair. They say if you want to live a peaceful life on the Beach, you’d stay out of their business. But if the militants want you to get involved in their business… you better say yes if you value your life,” Kuina replies.

“Yeah. I didn’t have a choice. But even so, I’m grateful to have met them.”

The other woman gives her a questioning look through the rearview mirror. “Why?”

“They stood up for me against my abusive asshole dad. Nobody did that before. They’re a fucked up bunch, but they take care of their own.”

Kuina gives her one last look, a sympathetic one, and looks out the window, wind tousling her hair. On the other hand, Chishiya’s look is cold and calculating.

“You do know that most of them are abusive themselves, right?” Chishiya asks, eyes flicking back to the road.

“Well, I’m no longer at the receiving end of the abuse, so I’ll take what I can get.”

The rest of the ride is filled with silence, a silent understanding forming between the two people in the front seat. When they arrived at the Beach, Yamaneko left the two without saying another word, looking for her lover amidst the crowd.

“So, do you think we can still win her over?” Kuina asks the man in white, placing a faux cigarette between her lips.

“I think she’s a lost cause. Look.”

Kuina looks to Yamaneko’s direction, where Last Boss of all people approaches the shorter woman. The tattooed militant sees the burns on her arm, her lack of clothes save for the bare minimum, and he quickly sheds his hoodie to cover her. Last Boss puts one arm around her shoulder and whisks her away from the crowd.

“Huh.”

“She’s involved with one of them,” Chishiya comments, then he turns to leave, leaving Kuina to gawk at the odd couple.

Takatora held Yamaneko close as they made their way to the clinic. Onlookers be damned, he’s not allowing her to walk to the clinic alone. When arrived at the doorway, Sunohara is tending to an injury of her own, dabbing antiseptic on her scraped knee.

The doctor looks up and her face falls.

“Oh, what happened to you?!” she exclaims, putting down the used cotton swab and walking over to her friend, if she can call Yamaneko that.

“Game involved fire,” she groans, holding her singed arm out. Sunohara leads her inside, and Last Boss follows suit, close as a shadow.

“I can take it from here,” she tells the tattooed militant, who only stared at her with a defiant look.

“Just let him come with me, it’s fine,” Yamaneko tells the other woman, and Sunohara nods, not wanting to deal with what might follow if he didn’t get his way.

Sunohara cringes at the condition of her patient’s arm. “You really should be taking care of that arm,” she mutters, eyes not leaving the injuries. “First you dislocated your shoulder, then you almost nicked a major vein, and now it’s covered in burns.”

“It’s not my dominant arm, so I think I’ll manage. Do you think you can switch me back to tramadol, though?”

Sunohara gives her a pained look. “You know that I’m trying not to get you addicted. I’m sorry, I can’t-”

The words came to a halt when Last Boss drew his sword, and Sunohara panics, jumping away from the two of them. Yamaneko is quick to calm him down. “Relax. If she thinks giving me the medicine might harm me, I trust her decision to withhold it from me.”

Nodding, her lover withdrew, and Sunohara cleared her throat to defuse the tension. As the doctor and Yamaneko talked, Last Boss couldn’t stop observing the two, eyes flicking back and forth between the two women. Sunohara had planned to sit and ask about Yamaneko’s day, but her lover is already whisking her away.

“Talk again tomorrow. I need some rest,” Yamaneko calls out as she leaves the clinic.

“Right! Right. Rest well,” Sunohara replies with resignation, watching her slip away.

As soon as they’re away from prying eyes, Takatora mashes his lips against Yamaneko’s, her lipstick staining his mouth. She sank right into the kiss, tongue darting out to meet his. It was a frustrated, desperate makeout session, and it left both of them breathless.

“Huh. Somebody missed me,” Yamaneko whispers breathlessly.

“You got hurt. I was scared.”

“I didn’t know there were things you’re scared of, Tora. You’re my big, brave tiger, after all.”

With those words, he claims her lips again, softer this time, cupping her face between cold hands. As soon as they broke the kiss, Yamaneko buried her face on his chest, breathing deeply.

“C’mon. Let’s go back to our room. I need to treat my wounds and salvage the rest of my hair.”

Takatora nods.

Showering together is becoming a habit of theirs. Takatora helped wash his lover’s back as she avoided getting hot water on her burned arm. When she turns to face him, she chuckles as she reaches up to clean up the stain her lipstick left on his face.

“I should probably look for a formula that doesn’t smear,” Yamaneko mumbles. His long fingers found themselves on her face, and he gently wipes the rest of her makeup away with a soft washcloth. Not a lot of people ever saw her bare-faced.

Takatora considers himself lucky to be one of them.

After they have dried off, Yamane rummages around for scissors, and heads back to the bathroom. Dragging a stool inside, she sits in front of the mirror, assessing the damage. The fire nearly reached her scalp, mere inches of healthy hair between the singed parts and her skin. She’ll need to cut it short. Using a wide-toothed comb to part her hair, she takes a pair of scissors and trims the ends off.

Then, she looks at the other side of her head and sighs.

“Tora?” she calls out to her lover. He opens the door and peeks.

“Could you do me a favor?”

He nods.

“Could you help me cut the rest of my hair off?”

After a moment of reluctance, he nods again.

Behind her, Takatora holds a pair of scissors. Her lover takes the long strands of her hair, and proceeds to cut. He continues cutting until the ends of her lover’s hair are a blunt, uneven mess.

“I’m not good at this,” he says in a low voice as she helped her shake the strands of hair off.

“It’s fine,” Yamaneko replies, turning from left to right to look at her new hair. “I kind of like it. Looks wild. I guess calling me ‘wildcat’ is appropriate after all.”

Cold fingers caress her neck and tilts her head upwards. Takatora presses a gentle kiss, lips cool as well, and she smiles against him. He gets cold easily and Yamaneko’s warmth is a nice contrast. She always warmed him up.

They sit on the bed, Yamaneko sitting with her legs crossed and her back against Takatora’s chest, whose long legs are splayed on the mattress. He watches in silence as his lover applies burn ointment all over the affected areas of her arm, while his are wrapped around her waist.

“So, how was your game?” she asks him, pressing the back of her head against him.

“Easy. It was a Spade.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything else from you,” Yamaneko responds, smiling as she bandaged her arm. Soon, her eyelids are getting heavy.

“I’m sleepy. Hold me?”

Wordlessly, the tattooed militant shifts his position on the bed with her, spooning her and avoiding contact with her bandaged arm. Takatora buries his face against her hair, getting sleepy as well.

“Hey,” Yamaneko mumbles, voice thick with drowsiness.

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

For a moment, her lover tenses up, which made her fear for the worst. Maybe she should’ve waited longer, or didn’t say anything at all.

But then, he draws her closer and presses a kiss on top of her head.

“I love you too.”

Yamaneko fell asleep with a smile on her face, curling into her lover’s embrace.

The morning after, they headed to the banquet for brunch. The aroma of beef curry made Yamaneko’s mouth water, and she immediately went to ladle some for herself. As she filled her plate with rice and curry, Mr. Yamane stands next to her, waiting for his turn.

It’s their favorite dish after all.

Determined not to spoil her good mood this morning, Yamaneko moves away as soon as she’s finished, not giving him an opportunity to speak to her. She stands next to Last Boss, good arm bumping with his, and she leans against him as he grabs a few sticks of yakitori.

“Could you take a few more for me, please? My plate is full,” she asks him, and with a small smile on his face, he grabs the entire tray, making her laugh.

They were about to leave for their room when people started running towards the outside of the building. Sunohara is among them, and Yamaneko shouts after her.

“Sunohara! What’s going on?”

Pausing, Sunohara has a worried look plastered on her face. “Someone jumped from the third floor of the hotel! I’m sorry, I have to go and see if they can be saved.”

Eyes trailing after the doctor, Yamaneko couldn’t help but feel uneasy.

A few hours later, she was called alongside her father by Rizuna An, the Beach’s number six, and an executive member. Last Boss came alongside her, being an executive member himself, and because he wanted to ensure her safety. However, Mr. Yamane’s new wife, who usually stuck to him like a lost pup, is nowhere to be found.

The militant has a bad feeling about this.

They were led to the lower levels of the hotel, to a room with various medical equipment and tools. Other executive members are waiting, including the Hatter and Aguni themselves. The ones loyal to the Hatter regard the members of the military sect with suspicion. Then, what Yamaneko saw behind them made her stop in her tracks.

On one of the gurneys lies Mrs. Yamane’s corpse.

Desensitized by all the death and violence in the borderland, could only stare with her mouth open. On the other hand, her father rushes to his wife’s side, shouting and crying.

“What happened?” Yamaneko asks, not moving from her spot.

“We thought it was a suicide, but there’s a laceration on the victim’s neck. She’s been murdered.”

Then it hit Yamaneko.

She is summoned because she’s a suspect.

[babyflossy]

don’t forget about me | h.rj

pairing: renjun x reader

requested: yes lmao this is for the angsty anon <3

summary: how could renjun possibly forget about you? everything in his life reminds him of you. from the moment he wakes up, to the moment he falls asleep, you’re playing on the forefront of his mind

genre/warnigns: angst, very sad, death, metions of car crash, unedited

word count: 2.4k (sad bitch hours; open)

it's cold. the november breeze is chilling and it floats down the neck of renjun's black coat. but he can’t feel the cold; not currently. nowhere in his mind is there even a sliver of concern for the goose bumps raising on his skin, or the purpling of his exposed fingertips. he pays no mind to the way his teeth start to chatter, or the way his shoulders sit stiff and sharp.

renjun doesn't notice, but the group of people behind him does. doyoung shoots taeyong a look which is returned by a shake of the elder’s head. doyoung knows he should leave renjun to himself, he needs this time to process his thoughts, but the way the younger's shoulders shake sparks concern. he felt a lot of that these days, always in respect to renjun. the way he closed in on himself, the way his eyes would search a room for something that was no longer there.

a bright shift of colour catches renjun's eye and he finds himself staring at a pinwheel, spinning delicately in the wind. the small spark of pink in the gray landscape is almost jarring. it may be a deep shade of magenta, but it looks like the dullest shade of red next to the flowers he has grasped in his hands. the wrapper crinkles every now and then as his fingers flex uncontrollably in the chill of the winter morning.

overhead, the skeleton of a tree casts spindly shadows on the frost-covered grass. the cold morning's sun casts a frozen glaze over the scene in front of him, heightening the details until everything appears crystal clear and precisely in focus. his eyes scan over the cold marble, bright white and angelic and for a sickening moment he thinks he might be drowning at the way his throat closes up. the words he was planning on saying are dying in his throat and he has to focus for a few prolonged seconds on his breathing alone.

a pair of polished black shoes crunch the grass and a hand falls onto his shoulder, wrapping around his shoulder as the perpetrator moves to stand next to him. renjun doesn't need to look to know it's kun; he can see the worried frown on his face without facing away from the sight in front of him. he doesn't need to turn around to see the identical faces on the rest of the people around him, and it makes him feel sick.

it's a sunny thursday in july and renjun sits on the beach. jeno lounges on one side of him, jaemin flicking through songs on the speaker on his other. in front of him he sees johnny chase donghyuck around, a stick covered in seaweed swaying precariously in his hands. the music jaemin chooses floats out the speaker and for a sweet, sweet second renjun is taken back to a time at a similar beach.

"renjun! stop!" the voice is accompanied by a shriek of laughter and a slew of curse words as the boy in question manages to push you into the water. he watches, a beaming smile on his face, as your head breaks through the surface, gasping when another wave hits you. a devilish smirk covers your face and renjun stops cold, knowing exactly what you're planning.

"y/n! no! i didn't mean it!" his pleas fall on deaf ears as you launch yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling. freezing cold water surrounds you, salt stinging your eyes. the first view you have out of the water is renjun's shocked face, not at all matching the jubilant grin on your own. with a disbelieving laugh he pulls you back to him, resting his hands on the backs of your thighs when your wind your legs around his waist.

when you can tell he's about to make a smart jab at you, you take the opportunity to press your lips against his, relishing in the way he sighs into your mouth. it seems you successfully distracted him, pulling away only for his lips to chase yours.

a shriek pulls renjun back to the present. it's donghyuck, screaming out for taeil to stop johnny who now has the stick dangerously close to the younger's face. the painful sinking of his heart momentarily disarms him, letting the sombre expression shine through. jaemin sees the change in his demeanour and swallows hard, thinking of something to distract him

"hey, renjun," renjun turns his head in recognition but his eyes don't leave the waves, as if he could almost see the memory play out in front of him. "you wanna come find the arcade?" lingering only a moment longer on the flashback, renjun buries it under his expertly crafted mask, a smile toying at his lips. jaemin knows it's insincere, but he'll take anything at this point.

the theme park is teeming with people. it's the opening weekend of the carnival and it was tradition to come on the saturday. mark had spent weeks convincing him it would be good for him to come this year, just like any other. renjun knows taeyong and doyoung and quite possibly kun as well had given him that advice, and mark was a good friend to stick to it. in the end, renjun had even started believing him.

he regrets that now, as he stands in front of the stall where he had won you the first gift you had ever exchanged; an oversized stuffed panda that was nearly twice your size. that same panda rested on his bed at the dorms now.

"these are rigged, i swear," the ball you throw narrowly misses the last can, and you sigh, turning to face the smiling boy next to you. your complaints aren't acknowledged by renjun and you watch in amazement as he throws his last ball at his own set of cans, hitting it straight on and watching in glee as it clatters to the ground. the joy on his face makes a matching smile light up your own face.

"can i have the panda, please?" he asks the person behind the counter, grinning at you as he is handed a ginormous fluffy bear complete with red bow tie. upon seeing your pout, he does nothing but poke your nose, loving the way your cheeks heat up. "you're welcome." the panda is thrust into your arms and you wobble on your feet before renjun's arms come up to steady you.

the panda has wide gleaming eyes and you look from its embroidered mouth to renjun's now blushing face before pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, enveloping his cold fingers in your own. renjun swears his heart burst at that exact moment.

the theme park is teeming with people but as he scans the crowd, he cannot see your face. the crushing reality that you're not here crashes down on his chest and he suddenly can't find the breath he was holding before. before he can stop himself, the tears are streaming down his face. he faces away from mark, less out of embarrassment and more out of concern for the older boy. he knows his friends had the right idea but seeing the exact place you had stood and kissed him for the first time is suffocating.

taeyong rarely cooks for everyone, but this is a special occasion. the dining table is filling slowly and renjun waits in the hallway, staring into the mirror and trying to paint on the most convincing smile. he hopes the others don't notice his absent but deep down he knows they're all waiting with bated breath for him to enter. jaehyun and yuta help taeyong carry plate after plate of delicious smelling food to the table.

it seems fantastic, and renjun hears his stomach growl loudly. the sound makes doyoung's ears perk up, the ever-concerned older brother knowing how long it had been since renjun had eaten a proper meal. the last dish is brought out and taeyong sits down last at the head of the table. a round of murmured thank you's arises from the group before people start piling food onto their plates.

renjun reaches for the hotpot but his eyes fall to the seat next to him. he had carefully avoided looking at it until now, hoping if seeing is believing he could make it disappear. the chair is empty. it's empty and suddenly so is renjun's heart. the spoon clatters to the table, the chatter at the table halting. the more he stares the plush velvet, the empty plush velvet, the sicker he feels. doyoung reaches for him but renjun stands abruptly, the chair behind him swaying on its back legs. the group watches with sad eyes as the young boy makes a beeline for the hallway, breaking out into a jog when he hears someone else get up from the table.

on the rooftop the clear night sky spans over renjun's head. he lies back and stares upwards, letting himself have this moment of grief. the stars are bright tonight, but the tears in his eyes distort them until they spike outwards in little lines. hot, fast tears fall out the sides of his eyes, sliding down his cheeks and onto the cold concrete beneath him. the hard surface makes his head ache, but he can't bring himself to care. it's nothing compared to the feeling of his heart clenching painfully. some higher being must have been listening to his prayers on the roof, as he sits for hours unbothered by anyone else. car horns from the roads below create a distant song of chaos and disorder, reminding him that life goes on. life goes on for others, even if he's frozen in time. frozen at the moment he lost you.

the ringing is unbearable. it fills his ears and makes his head spin. his eyes open, but everything is upside down. there are feet in his line of sight, and he realises he doesn't remember what just happened. however, he can guess from the glass on the ground, the bloodied shards glinting in the sunlight. after a moment his vision stops swimming and he looks around, heart stopping as his eyes meet yours, wide and scared.

renjun's hearing is still escaping him, but you can't find the strength to speak regardless. vaguely, you feel a warm hand slip into yours. in front of you renjun is still looking at you, tears cascading down his face. you're not much different, hot streams of salty tears mixing with the fresh blood, slipping into your mouth and down your throat. the taste is mild, as if you can't comprehend the bitter aroma.

pain throbs through your head, your eyelids getting heavier with every second that passes. renjun is screaming for help and you think you can hear sirens in the mix. somewhere. distantly. a surge of white-hot fear jolts you back to the current, squeezing the hand in yours as tightly as you can.

the pain has numbed, you know it's a terrible sign, but you can't bring yourself to care. the darkness around you vision increases tenfold and you get the overwhelming urge to make the boy in front of you understand your thoughts.

"renjun," the voice that speaks is foreign to your ears. renjun's full attention is on you and the fear is replaced with a warm feeling that you recognise as love. "i love you."

"no, no, y/n!" he sobs, the sound is broken and painful to hear and you can do nothing but tighten your grip on his hand. "baby, keep your eyes open."

"i've loved you since we were thirteen, renjun. i always will."

"y/n–"

"don't forget about me."

the broken voice returns as your hearing fades away. "i love you so much, baby. wait for me, okay, i could never forget you."

renjun can hear your words in his mind every day. don't forget about me. he cannot fathom how anyone could ever forget you, let alone him. when he wakes up in the morning, his hands find the cold space you left behind. the green toothbrush you used every morning next to him still sits in the cup holder in his bathroom. your favourite cereal sits in his cabinets. he could never think about anything except you.

kun pulls him further into his side, offering a type of comfort only a select few can. renjun stares at your name engraved in the marble. the words gone too soon stand out. the plans you had together flash through his head; touring europe together, visiting his family in china, even the list of movies you wanted to watch is still saved in his phone.

renjun breaks away from kun's grip to lay the flowers down in front of your gravestone, tracing your names with his fingers. as he finished engraining the way your name swirls in the stone, he thinks back to every time he's done it before.

every sunny summer day spent here, a half-eaten picnic for two between him and the cold stone; every snowy morning he sits and tries to catch snowflakes on his tongue like you always used to; every warm autumn night where he sits and watches the stars above, telling you about all the conspiracy theories he's heard, all the facts about space he knows you would have loved to hear; every lazy spring afternoon when the flowers he planted next to your grave start blooming. he can trace your name by memory now.

don't forget about me. how could he? you're the constant warmness in his chest. you're in the shadows that follow him in the sun. you're in every promise he makes to himself. every time he falls asleep, you're the last thought that crosses his mind. how could he possibly forget about you?

somewhere deep down, he knows it wrong to be waiting for the day he can join you again. you would have wanted him to live his life to the fullest, enjoying every moment and only thinking of the good memories. but renjun's biggest comfort is knowing that you're sat somewhere watching him. watching him and waiting for him to join you.

waiting for him to come home, into your arms.

a/n: a double update,,, who am i? also i may or may not have ugly cried whilst writing this

[vesuvian-american]

Yo, so I think I’ve got the right acc- I saw the Song Writing Prompts on AO3 and it lead me here. I just wanted to give a song, so Partner’s in Crime by Set It Off- Julian x MC. Maybe in a setting that, instead of Julian staying to be hanged, He and MC ran away and became fugitives. Woot woot. Thanks.

Yes you came to the right account, even know it’s taken me like literal years to answer this. So sorry, i was depressed. Anywho, this was a super cute idea thanks for the request! <333

You can find the rest of my Song Prompts on AO3!!

Words: 973

A chaste kiss decided your fate. You looked in to Julian’s tired grey eyes. He was afraid of dying for the first time in a long time, and you couldn’t lose him so soon. You couldn’t risk it, the cons heavily outweigh the pros. Losing Julian forever, or the chance of a normal stable life together forever.

No, the risks were too great, if he were hanged for a crime he didn’t commit and didn’t come back... You don’t want to imagine what you would do. You gave Julian’s slender gloved hand a final squeeze before bolting for from the dungeons under the coliseum.

“Hey! Stop!” Shouted a guard, before he was roughly shoved into a cell and locked inside. The guard waiting at the top of the stairs heard the commotion and came running towards you and Julian, hand on her sword. You called upon your magic, lifting the guard off her feet and tossing her to the side out of the way.

You and Julian dashed across the sand of the Coliseum towards the gate, you heard the confused murmurs of the crowd and the Courtiers floundering to give chase.

“How dare you!” Vlastomil shrieked, hiking up his gown to stomp clumsily down the steps of the stage. Valdemar didn’t move an inch, they only stared at you both running away and tilting their head off to the side.

Valerius choked on his wine and smashed the glass in anger, “stop them”! Vulgora was hot on your tails and you used your magic to slam the gate down in their face just after you and Julian crossed the threshold.

Asra watched your two figured disappear in the distance, shocked, disappointed, and sad. He always thought of Julian as a bad influence for you, and now he was making you a criminal. Whether he was guilty for the Count’s death or not, running away from the gallows was a crime in and of itself, and you became an accomplice in that.

Portia left Nadia’s side, tears streaming down her freckled cheeks. Her hand reaching out as if she could grab Julian out of thin air. “Ilya...”

The Countess sunk into her chair, massaging her temples to ease her growing headache. Asra placed a hand on her shoulder in support. There was nothing to do now except hope they make it out of Vesuvia alive and safe as a crowd of guards and Vulgora hunted them down.

On your way to the docks, you and Julian whipped passed Muriel, who happened to be in the market as he suspected it would be nearly vacant with most of the townspeople at the coliseum to see Julian hang.

His eyes widened in shock as he stepped out of the way, his eyes tracked your movements in disbelief. You snatched Julian into an alley off to the right and disappeared from sight. Moments later a slew of guards led by Vulgora stormed through the market place.

Vulgora stomped up the Muriel impatiently, grabbing him roughly by his metal collar and yanking him down to their height.

“Which way did they go, you worm!” They snapped. Muriel scowled and pointed to the opposite alley to the left. He didn’t agree with you and Julian running but he wasn’t going to lead them right to you.

“Let’s go men!” Vulgora shoved Muriel out of the way and they raced down the left alleyway. Muriel was quick to leave the market place and head home, not at all mentally prepared to shop with palace guards littering the streets.

You and Julian made it to the docks without much incident, finding a ship that was waiting for you both to dock. Mazelinka aboard looking disappointed but supportive if it would keep Julian alive.

“Below decks you two, quickly!” With that, the ship swayed and pulled off from port just as Vulgora and the palace guards made it to the beach. Vulgora kicked up the sand at their feet and growled.

“Arghh!” they watched in anger as the ship that must have Julian Devorak aboard was sailing off in the distance. They panted angrily and stalked off back towards the Coliseum to inform Valdemar that the doctor and the apprentice got away.

When you both caught your breath you and Julian looked lovingly into each other’s eyes. He chuckled pulling you into a hug.

“I’m sorry I got you into my mess, darling.” He was truly upset about that, from the beginning he wanted to keep you from getting entangled in his baggage but you loved and accepted him despite that. Now look at you, a fugitive when only days ago you were a trusted confidant of the palace. You were leaving your friends and family behind; Julian was used to this life but you? He didn’t want that for you.

“No, I wasn’t going to let you die.” You replied, squeezing him tight and taking in his scent, your face buried in his chest.

“We can never go back...” He warned.

“I know.” You were sure of your decision; you’d never regret running away with the love of your life.

“We’re criminals now...” He added, making sure that you were okay with the reality of the situation.

“Yes. Partners in crime.” You smiled up at him, swiping auburn curls from off of his forehead and removing his eyepatch.

Julian chortled and gave your head a pat, he peppered kisses all over your face. He admired you, he was so lucky to have you, if he was going to be on the run forever, he was glad he’d be on the run with you.

Months passed, and oceans away back in Vesuvia, Asra sighed as he snatched a WANTED poster off the wall of his shop that displayed you and Julian’s faces.

[michaelbogild]

Lines by Joanna Newsom

No one knows what is coming Or who will harvest what we have sewn Or how I've been dulling and dumbing In the service of the heart alone

Oh, silent, constant driver of mine: wordlessly calling from the end of the line, where, even though each hour I ever loved must queue and dive, still, you will not take my heart, alive.

And darling we will be fine but what was yours and mine appears to me a sandcastle that the gibbering wave takes But if it's all just the same then will you say my name? Say my name in the morning so that I know when the wave breaks

I fell, I tried to do well but I won't be. Will you tell the one that I love to remember and hold me?

See, I got gone when I got wise But I can't with certainty say we survived

Stay with me for awhile, that's an awfully real gun I know life will lay you down as the lightning has lately done

All we saw was that Time is taller than Space is wide

What happened to the man you were, when you loved somebody before her? Did he die? Or does that man endure, somewhere far away?

I don't know if you loved me most, but you loved me last.

Meanwhile, I will raise my own glass to how you made me fast and expendable And I will drink to your excellent health and your cruelty, will you have one on me?

It was a dark dream, darlin', it's over The firebreather is beneath the clover Beneath his breathing there is cold clay, forever A toothless hound-dog choking on a feather

the records they left are cryptic at best, lost in obsolescence.

The old veil of desire, like vessels that we fired, fell thin as eggshells.

But stand brave, life-liver, bleeding out your days in the river of time. Stand brave: time moves both ways, in the nullifying, defeating, negating, repeating joy of life;

Anyhow, I sat by your side, by the water You taught me the names of the stars overhead that I wrote down in my ledger Though all I knew of the rote universe were those Pleiades loosed in December I promised you I'd set them to verse, so I'd always remember

I called to you several times while the change took place and then arrived all night And I died But all these songs, when you and I are long gone, will carry on

That the meteorite is the source of the light and the meteor's just what we see And the meteoroid is a stone that's devoid of the fire that propelled it to thee And the meteorite's just what causes the light and the meteor's how it's perceived And the meteoroid's a bone thrown from the void, that lies quiet in offering to thee

Hardly seen, hardly felt– deep down where your fight is waiting, down 'till the light in your eyes is fading:

There's a big black spider hanging over my door Can't go anywhere, anymore

Who asked you? Asked you if you want to be Loved by me? Who died and made you in charge of who loves who?

And I saw straight away that the lay was steep But I fell for you, honey, as easy as falling asleep And that right there is the course I keep

And the tilt of this strange nation And the will to remain for the duration Waving the flag Feeling it drag

Hey, hey, hey, the end is near On a good day you can see the end from here But I won't turn back now though the way is clear I will stay for the remainder

You froze in your sand shoal, prayed for your poor soul Sky was a bread roll, soaking in a milk-bowl And when the bread broke, fell in bricks of wet smoke My sleeping heart woke, and my waking heart spoke

And it's my heart, not me, who cannot drive At which conclusion you arrived Watching me sit here bolt upright and cry For no good reason at the Eastering sky

bearing weight, taking fire, trading smokes, in the war between us and our ghosts.

And every little gust that chances through will dance in the dust of me and you, with joy-of-life.

We broke our hearts in the war between St. George and the dragon But both in equal parts are welcome to come along I'm inviting everyone

By the time you read this, I will be so far away Daddy Longlegs, how in the world am I to be expected to stay? In the night, in the night, you may hear me call Pa, stay your hand and steel your resolve, stay where you are, so long and tall

Our nature does not change by will In the winter, 'round the ruined mill The creek is lying flat and still It is water, though it's frozen

Our lived come easy and our lives come hard. We carry them like a pack of cards: some we don't use, but we don't discard, but keep for a rainy day.

Until the night is over, hold on, hold on Hold your horses back from the fickle dawn

I am easy Easy to keep Honey, you please me Even in your sleep But my arms want to carry My heart wants to hold Tell me your worries, I want to be told

There is a blacksmith and there is a shepherd and there is a butcher-boy And there is a barber, who's cutting and cutting away at my only joy

And that is all I want here To draw my gaunt spirit to bow Beneath what I am allowed

How I said to you, "Honey, just open your heart" When I've got trouble even opening a honey jar And that right there is where we are

My heart is a furnace full of love that's just, and earnest Now, you know that we must unlearn this

Squint skyward and listen Loving him, we move within his borders Just asterisms in the stars' set order

"Do you love me? Will you remember?" The snow falls above me. The renderer renders: "The event is in the hand of God".

And I been 'fessing double fast Addressing questions nobody asked I'll get this joy off of my chest at last And I will love you 'til the noise has long since passed

With your hands in your pockets, stubbly running To where I'm unfresh, undressed and yawning Well, what is this craziness? This crazy talking? You caught some small death when you were sleepwalking

And there was a booming above you That night, black airplanes flew over the sea And they were lowing and shifting like beached whales Shelled snails, as you strained and you squinted to see The retreat of their hairless and blind cavalry

You ranged real hot and real cold but I'm sold I am home on that range And I do hate to fold Right here at the top of my game

Then down and down and down and down and down and deeper Stoke, without sound, the blameless flames, you endless sleeper Through fire below and fire above, and fire within Sleep through the things that couldn't have been if you had not have been

You burned me like a barn I burned safe and warm in your arms

All the way to the thing we've been playing at, darlin' I can see that you're wearing your staying hat, darlin' For the time being all is well Won't you love me a spell?

And when the fire moves away Fire moves away, son Why would you say I was the last one?

And I rose, to take my shape at last, from the dreams that had dogged me, through every past, when, to my soul, the body would say You may do what you like, as long as you stay.

And, in your kindness, you put me straightaway in the cupboard with a bottle of champagne And then, later, on a train

Well I wish we could take every path I could spend a hundred years adoring you Yes, I wish we could take every path because you know I hated to close the door on you

And then a slow lip of fire moves across the prairie with precision While somewhere with your pliers and glue, you make your first incision And in a moment of almost unbearable vision, doubled over with the hunger of lions "Hold me close," cooed the dove, who was stuffed now with sawdust and diamonds

In martial wind, and in clarion rain, we minced into battle, wincing in pain; not meant for walking, backs bound in twine: not angel or devil, but level, in time.

The text will not yield, nor x-ray reveal with any fluorescence where the hand of the master begins and ends.

When cruel death debases, we believe it erases all the rest that precedes.

What’s redacted will repeat, and you cannot learn that you burn when you touch the heat, so we touch the heat, and we cut facsimiles of love and death (just separate holes in sheets where you cannot breathe, and you cannot see).

Here, the light will seep And the scythe will reap And spirit will rend In counting toward the end

All the livelong day If I have my way, I will love you But one can't carry the weight Or change the fate of two I've been waiting for a break How long's it gonna take? Let me love you

But it don't make no difference, now, and no-one's listening, anyhow, and lists of sins and solemn vows don't make you any friends.

I have got some business out at the edge of town Candy weighing both of my pockets down Till I can hardly stay afloat, from the weight of them And knowing how the common folk condemn What it is I do, to you, to keep you warm Being a woman, being a woman

And it pains me to say, I was wrong. Love is not a symptom of time. Time is just a symptom of love

Where i know that you can yield, when it comes down to it; bow like the field when the wind combs through it:

But though I tried so hard my little darling I couldn't keep the night from coming in

All along the road, the lights stream by. I want to go where the dew won’t dry. I want to go where the light won’t bend– far as the eye may reach–nor end.

I can't claim that I knew you best, but did you know me at all?

But it's mine. Or, at least, it's lent. And my life, until the time is spent is a pin-light, bent.

Though the long road begins and ends with you I cannot seem to make amends with you

In the folds and the branches, somewhere, out there, I was only just born into open air. Now hush, little babe. You don’t want to be down in the trenches, remembering with me, where you will not mark my leaving, and you will not hear my parting song. Nor is there cause for grieving. Nor is there cause for carrying on.

But inasmuch as that light is loaned, and, insofar as we’ve borrowed bones, must every debt now be repaid in star-spotted, sickle-winged night raids, while we sing to the garden, and we sing to the stars, and we sing in the meantime, wherever you are?

Rowing along, among the reeds, among the rushes I heard your song, before my heart had time to hush it

Easy, easy You must not fear You must meet me to see me I am barely here But like a Bloody Mary Seen in the mirror Speak my name And I appear

And the little white dove made with love, made with love made with glue and a glove and some pliers Swings a low sickle arc from its perch in the dark, settle down, settle down my desire

In our lives is a common sense that relies on the common fence that divides, and attends, but provides scant defense from the Great Light that shine through a pin-hole, when the pin-light calls itself Selfhood, and the Selfhood inverts on a mirror in an Amora Obscura.

When I've been trying with my whole heart and soul To stay right here in the right lane But it can make you feel over and old Lord, you know it's a shame When I only want for you to pull over and hold me Till I can't remember my own name

Then in my hot hand, she slumped her sick weight We tramped through the poison oak, heartbroke and inchoate The dogs were snapping, and you cuffed their collars While I climbed the tree-house, then how I hollered

At night, I walk in the park with a whip between the lines of the whispering Jesuits Who are poisoning you against me

And what do you remember most? The line of the sea, seceding the coast? Fine capillaries, glowing with cars? The comfort you drew from the light of the stars?

Failing this, failing this, follow me, my sweetest friend To see what you anointed in pointing your gun there Lay it down, nice and slow, there is nowhere to go

it was dark out, I was half-dead I saw a star fall into the sky like a chunk of thrown coal as if God himself spat like a cornered rat

but honey it’s been a long time since I’ve come to any use. And it hurt me bad, when I heard the news that you’d got that call, and could not refuse.

But always up the mountainside you're clambering Groping blindly, hungry for anything Picking through your pocket linings, well, what is this? Scrap of sassafras, eh Sisyphus?

Come across the desert with no shoes on I love you truly or I love no-one

And when I cut your hair and leave the birds all of the trimmings I am the happiest woman among all women

You asked my hand, hired a band "In your heart is all that you need Ask and you will receive," it is said I threw my bouquet and I knocked 'em dead

Haven't you seen what I've seen? Don't you know what you ought to do? I was born to love And I intend to love you

The borders of the land that man has girded All double-bolted and tightfisted Until we reach the open country A-steeped in milk and honey Will you keep your fancy clothes on, for me? Can you bear a little longer to wear that leash? My love, I swear by the air I breathe Sooner or later, you'll bare your teeth

From the top of the flight of the wide white stairs Through the rest of my life, do you wait for me there? There's a bell in my ears, there's a wide white roar Drop a bell down the stairs, hear it fall forever more Hear it fall forever more

And no amount of talking is going to soften the fall But, like after the rain, step out if the overhang, that's all It had a nice a ring to it when the ole opry house rang So with a solemn auld lang Signed, sealed, delivered, I sang And there is hesitation and it always remains Concerning you, me And the rest of the gang And in our quiet hour I feel I see everything And am in love with the hook upon which everyone hangs And I know you meant to show the extent To which you gave a god dang

Beyond recall, you severed all strings to everyone, and everything.

And in an infinite regress: Tell me, why is the pain of birth lighter borne than the pain of death? I ain't saying that I loved you first, but I loved you best.

And though our bones they may break and our souls separate, why the long face? And though our bodies recoil from the grip of the soil, why the long face?"

I think you saw their flares and kept me safely unawares In your arms

But there is nothing I adore apart from that whore's black heart

But I took my fishing pole, fearing your fever Down to the swimming hole, where there grows a bitter herb That blooms but one day a year, by the riverside, I'd bring it here Apply it gently to the love you've lent me

See how the infinite divides: and the divers are not to blame for the rift, spanning distant shores. You don't know my name, but I know yours.

We are tested and pained By what's beyond our bed We are blessed and sustained By what is not said

The wandering eye that I have caught Is as hot as a wandering sun But I will want for nothing more in my garden, start again In my hardening to every heart but one

So, across the years and miles and through On a good day you can feel my love for you Will you leave me be so that we can stay true To the path that you have chosen?

But for now, just dance, darling C'mon, will you dance, my darling? Darling, there's a place for us Can we go, before I turn to dust?

I see the blossoms broke and wet after the rain Little sister, he will be back again I have washed a thousand spiders down the drain Spiders' ghosts hang, soaked and Dangling silently, from all the blooming cherry trees In tiny nooses, safe from everyone Nothing but a nuisance, gone now, dead and done Be a woman, be a woman

I had a dream that i walked in the garden of Chabot, and those telescope ruins. It was there that I called to my true love, who was pale as millennial moons, Honey, where did you come by that wound?

Rushing, tearing, speeding home: bound to a wheel that is not my own, where round every bend I long to see temporal infidelity.

My mind is failing and my body grows weak My lips won't form the words I speak I'm floating away on a barrel of pain New York City won't see me again

Save up, up where the light, undiluted, is weaving In a drunk dream at the sight of my baby, out back Back on the patio, watching the bats bring night in While, elsewhere, estuaries of wax-white Wend, endlessly, towards seashores unmapped

Bleached the night with dawn deleting In that high sun after our good run When the spirit bends Beneath knowing it must end

Recall the word you gave: to count your way across the depths of this arid world, where you would yoke the waves, and lay a bed of shining pearls!

When the sky goes pink in Paris, France, do you think of the girl who used to dance when you'd frame her moving within your hands, saying This I won't forget?

Hey little leaf, lying on the ground Now you're turning slightly brown Why don't you get up on the tree Turn the color green the way you ought to be

Now the towns and forests, highways and plains, fall back in circles like an emptying drain. And I won't come round this way again, where the lonely wind abides, and you will not take my heart, alive. You will not take my heart.

I saw a rabbit as slick as a knife and as pale as a candlestick And I had thought it'd be harder to do but I caught her, and skinned her quick

I said a sort of prayer for some rare grace Then thought I ought to take her to a higher place Said, "Dog nor vulture nor cat shall toy with you And though you die, bird, you will have a fine view"

till we hear the telltale Boom, too soon– hotdogging loon, caught there like a shard of mirror in the moon!

There's an old trick played, when the light and the wine conspire to make me think I'm fine. I'm not, but I have got half a mind to maybe get there, yet.

It was dark, I was drunk and half-dead and we slept, knocking heads

And the moment I slept, I was swept up in a terrible tremor Though no longer bereft, how I shook and I couldn't remember And then the furthermost shake, drove a murdering stake in and cleft me right down through my center And I shouldn't say so but I know that it was then or never

Down in the valley where the fields are green Watch my luck turn, fro, and to Pluck every last daisy clean till only I may love you

I saw a life and I called it mine I saw it drawn so sweet and fine And I had begun to fill in all the lines Right down to what we'd name her

I wasn't born of a whistle or milked from a thistle at twilight No, I was all horns and thorns, sprung out fully formed, knock-kneed and upright So enough of this terror we deserve to know light and grow evermore lighter and lighter You would have seen me through but I could not undo that desire

A goose, alone, I suppose, can know the loneliness of geese, who never find their peace,whether north, or south, or west, or east

I'll hunt the pearl of death to the bottom of my life, and ever hold my breath, till I may be the diver's wife.

I call and call for the doctor but the snow swallows me whole with ol' Florry Walker and the event lives only in print.

This is blindness beyond all conceiving Well, behind us the road is leaving, yeah, leaving And falling back Like a rope gone slack

Bottle of white, bottle of red Helpless as a child, when you held me in your arms And I knew that no other could ever love me as you loved Love me as you loved but help me, I'm leaving

Dig a little hole not three inches round Spit your pit in a hole in the ground Weep upon the spot for the starving of me Till up grows a fine young cherry tree When the bough breaks, what'll you make for me?

But I saw the Bering Strait and the Golden Gate, in silent suspension of their golden age

And everything sloped like it was dragged from a rope in the mouth of the south below

Do you remember staring up at the stars So far away in their bulletproof cars?

I found a little plot of land in the garden of Eden It was dirt and dirt is all the same I tilled it with my two hands and I called it my very own There was no one to dispute my claim

[fanfoolishness]

waves (Steven Universe)

Greg knew it would be hard, raising a child alone.  He never knew it would be this hard. Angst and a little dash of hope, Rose’s death, 2600 words.  Thanks to @followerofmercy and the Connverse discord writing hour for helping me suss some things out on this one!

***

They say the day your child is born is the happiest day of your life.  One you’ll never forget.  They say a lot of things, Greg thinks later.  

He doesn’t remember much of Steven’s birth at all.  Just… flashes.

Late afternoon summer sun, drenching the van with gold.  Rose’s hands, soft and large and powerful, tightening around his.  Her smile is a little pained, a little frightened, so excited.  Tears in her dark eyes.  Is it now?  Before he can form the words to ask her, she kisses him, and it’s over.

He doesn’t know what he expected.  None of them knew how it would happen.  Rose is there one second, bright and alive and so, so beautiful.

And then she’s gone -- there’s only light, light, light, a pink flare shocking in its suddenness --

There on the blankets, small and round and squalling, is Steven.  Rose’s gem glows from the curve of his belly, then fades.  Steven’s blotchy face screws up into a wail that pierces the silence. Greg stares.  The baby is so, so beautiful.

For a moment, Greg doesn’t know what to do.  Rose.  Her absence is a void that crushes, his chest is caving in without her, how does he breathe, how does he do anything --

Steven’s hands are angry fists.  His legs wheel. His tiny feet kick jerkily.  And he cries.

Shaking, Greg wraps him in the blanket.  The baby stares out at him with dark eyes, his face relaxing beneath the black curls plastered to his forehead.  Greg clumsily picks him up and holds him to his chest.  The baby quiets and settles against him, and Greg kisses the top of his head with a sob.  

Flashes.   

He fumbles for the pink onesie Rose liked most. It’s a little too big for Steven.  He cries as Greg cleans him up, cries as Greg gently directs his arms through the sleeves. 

Greg tries to remember the directions for formula.  He messes up the first three bottles, too hot, the formula mixed unevenly.  The fourth he holds for Steven, and the baby feeds hungrily, gazing up at him with those dark trusting eyes.  

She’s gone.  Rose is gone.  He’s so cold in the summer heat.  Is that why he can’t stop shaking?

The sunset’s brilliant rays play on the wall of his van.  He remembers how much Rose loves, loved, the Mr. Universe logo.  Remembers the way her large hand splayed against the paint when he pushed her up against the wall and kissed her.  How she grinned.

It isn’t true.  She’s away right now, busy on a gem mission, that’s how she got this baby, right?  He’s mistaken somehow, confused, and any minute now she’ll knock on the van door and there’ll she be --

Voices, visiting.  Not hers.  Familiar.  No, no, how can he explain, there wasn’t time, they didn’t know -- 

“Rose?  Greg?” The van door opens and the light spills in.

He can’t speak.  Mouth isn’t working right.  

Mechanically he turns to the bassinet and lifts up the sleeping baby.  They stare, and Greg sees their world change in an instant.

Pearl, wide-eyed, mouth dropping.  She screams.  Keeps screaming.  It’s a sound that tears through him, keening and terrible; she cries on her knees on the pavement with her face in her hands, and Greg knows she will never forgive him, not for this, not for all of it.  

Amethyst, nudging the baby, whispering at first, voice rising louder and louder into a ragged yell, Rose, Rose, Rose Rose Rose ROSE!

Garnet leaning against the van to stay upright, tears leaking from all three eyes, hoarsely muttering that she should have known, they should have come earlier --

Steven crying in the commotion, Greg laying him back in the bassinet; what if he drops him, his hands won’t stop trembling, how is he supposed to do this….

Just flashes.

***

The days blur.  It’s hard to keep track of them.  It’s with a shock he realizes that Steven is a month old.

There’s plenty to keep him busy, he supposes.  Beach City might be small, but there’s a surprising amount of tourists passing through in the summer months, their cars dirty with sand and exhaust.  Greg gets a decent amount of work.  More tips than he used to.  He suspects the tips aren’t for the sad sack with the swollen eyes and the receding hairline, but probably have something to do with the sleeping baby strapped to his chest.

In the downtime he sits with Steven, pulling him out of the baby carrier and cradling him in the crook of one arm and just… marveling.  Every day he finds a new wonder.  Today it’s the shadow of his long black eyelashes against the curve of his plump little cheek. Yesterday it was his small hand, fierce and mighty curled around Greg’s index finger.  He can hardly bear to think of what it will be tomorrow.

Sometimes the downtime is different.  He’ll hear a song out of a car radio, one of those silly human things that made her laugh, and he’ll hear her voice singing along -- but sometimes he doesn’t hear it, sometimes he’s afraid he’s forgetting it, and he sinks down to the ground behind the car wash and bawls.  Steven cries with him.  And he realizes in those moments that Steven will never know why he’s crying, he’ll never fully understand who Rose was, and he cries harder.

But those moments slowly, slowly become fewer.  One morning he doesn’t think of her immediately upon waking; it’s ten minutes after he checks on Steven that he remembers, feeling a familiar pit deep in his stomach.  Another day, busy at the car wash, he doesn’t cry at all.  It’s freeing and frightening both.

He keeps going.  It’s not as if he has a choice.

He closes up the car wash after the day’s rush, takes Steven for a walk in his stroller.  He swings by Vidalia’s to bug her for baby advice for their weekly meeting.  He can tell she doesn’t know what to say about Rose, so Greg doesn’t mention her, and Vidalia doesn’t ask.  Instead they talk about Sour Cream, and Steven, and how to get babies to sleep through the night.  Vidalia mentions colic and diaper rash.  Greg shrugs.  Steven always seems fine, his skin pink and healthy, his stomach settled.  He wonders what role Rose’s gem plays, pink and gleaming in the baby’s belly.

He makes up a little routine for the two of them.  On the evening walk he stops by the market for more formula, picks up dinner at Fish Stew Pizza.  He was never into cooking much before, and he sure as hell doesn’t have the energy for it now.  It keeps him going, anyway.

On the boardwalk people smile, and peer into the stroller, and coo at the baby.  Steven stares up at them with wide eyes, looking from face to face in the deepest concentration Greg’s ever seen.  “You like people, huh?” he murmurs, and Steven gives him that look, and he melts.

He feels all right like this.  Like a real person.

But every night he eventually pulls away from the real people and stands on the boardwalk, looking over the top of the stroller to the temple beyond.  He tells himself the wheels would just get stuck in the sand, and he turns aside.  He can’t face them again. Not yet.

Some evenings he climbs to the top of the hill, lays on his back in the grass, Steven nestled against his chest.  He watches the sun set in the distance.  Somewhere out there the old farm sees the sunset, too, and Greg wonders about the DeMayos, where they are, what they’re doing.  He wonders if his old man ever held him like this on a summer night in the twilight, ever marveled at his small hand. 

He climbs down the hill in the deepening dusk, Steven safe in his arms, and he prepares for another night.

***

Nights… aren’t good.  This one’s no different.

He’s set up a little cot in the back of the carwash beside a little crib.  He doesn’t mind the van for himself, but a baby needs a real crib, not a crate in a passenger seat.  

He tries to sleep with one hand dangling over the edge of the crib, fingertips brushing against Steven’s chest as it rises and falls.  Tries to sleep on the saggy cot, each position more uncomfortable than the last.  Tries to sleep in the summer heat, lingering heavy on the air.

Tries to sleep when he knows she’s gone.

And there it is, the sledgehammer: the agony that leaks around the daylight’s edges, the shock that tears the air from his lungs every time it hits again.  

He gasps with it, the weight of missing her.  How, he howls silently into the night, how can Rose be gone?  It’s a reality that makes no sense, a hollow wound bigger and darker and more confusing than anything he’s ever felt in his life, and he thought he was ready, she told him it would be worth it, she told him so many things --

It’s a full five minutes before he realizes Steven’s stirring, making soft cooing sounds in the crib.  The sear of missing Rose fades blissfully away.  It’s a wave, he thinks blearily, it crashes over him and drowns him every time, and every time, somehow, he comes up breathing once again.

The baby cries.  Greg turns to him, eyes blurry with tears as he drinks in his angry pink face and those fierce little fists.  He picks him up and rocks him on the flimsy cot.  “It’s okay, little man, it’s okay.  I got you.” 

Once, Rose had him.

He tries to ride out the next wave, focusing on Steven cuddled in his arms.  He presses a trembling kiss to the top of his son’s head.  The wave crashes again; he drowns again.  This time he cries so hard he hiccups, cries so hard Steven echoes him with a ringing shriek.  

“Rose,” he sobs.  It strikes him again that it isn’t fair -- she should have been here, she should have felt the weight of their baby in her soft arms -- she should have been able to see those long eyelashes, those dark curious eyes -- and why couldn’t she, why couldn’t she, dammit --

But Steven needs him.  So he does the things he needs to, tears still streaming down his face.  He changes the baby.  Dresses him in a new pink onesie, the shade as soft as Rose’s hair.  Tries to rock his son back to sleep, hoping Steven can’t sense the emptiness spiraling deeper and deeper through him, cutting to the core.  The baby whines in soft tired noises.

What did we do? he asks the darkness.

He clicks on the light, sleep vanished again. He paces with Steven in his arms, walks in circles around the tiny room with the peeling linoleum and faded car posters, and he sings nonsense lullabies in minor keys.

***

The days begin to shorten, summer’s hold on the town starting to slip into autumn.  Steven’s getting bigger, outgrowing the newborn clothes.  Vidalia gives him a few of Sour Cream’s hand-me-downs.  Greg tries them out, but Steven looks strange in them, little button-up outfits in blue and white.  Greg picks up a few more pink onesies in the next size up.

The days get a little better.  The waves still come.  Sometimes he can even see them coming from a distance, can hunker down and prepare for them.  Sometimes, though, they’re still a surprise.  Like the dreams.

“Greg,” she laughs, pink hair dancing in the breeze.  She’s adorned in pink flowers, a glorious goddess.  He reaches out to hold her hand, and he remembers.

“Rose, you -- you’re not supposed to be here,” he says in a small voice.  He feels guilty for pointing it out.

Her laughter fades.  The flowers wilt, petals dropping to the grass beneath her bare feet.  “I know,” she says softly.  Then a mischievous grin.  “Don’t tell anyone.  Promise?”  

Despite himself, he grins back.

He jerks awake from the dream, blinking back tears.  The morning is still in the blue-black pre-dawn, and he knows Steven will be waking up soon.  Might as well get up now anyway.

He mixes Steven’s bottle, tests the temperature.  Still a little warm.  He looks back to the sleeping baby, then picks him up.  Steven breathes quietly against him.

It only takes a few moments to get together Steven’s diaper bag and bottle, and settle him into the car seat in the van.  He doesn’t know where he’s going, not exactly, but he feels restless.  

He drives through the town’s empty streets in circles until he remembers the dream, Rose in flowers.  He heads for the hill as the sun begins to crest the horizon, far over the edge of the sea.

Steven drowses in Greg’s arms, waking up as they reach the top of the hill.  The sun spills over the waves below.  Greg throws down a blanket for both of them, and settles down on the grass.

“Hey there, Schtu-ball,” he says as Steven fusses.  He reaches for the bottle, tests it again.  Perfect temperature.  He holds it to Steven’s mouth, and the baby drinks hungrily, watching him all the while.

“Did I ever tell you about this place?” he murmurs.  With his thumb, he brushes a stray lock of hair from Steven’s forehead.  He’s so small.  Yet he’s already grown so much.

“Of course not,” Greg answers.  He looks out over the water.  “You know, your mom and I used to come out here all the time.  We’d sit in the flowers while I wrote her songs.  She said that in all her years in Beach City, the ocean never changed, but everything around it did.  She thought that was beautiful.”  Steven flailed his fists in agreement.

“Yes, she’d think you were beautiful, too,” says Greg.  His voice cracks.  “You’re perfect, Steven.  You’re everything we hoped for.  And I’m sorry -- I’m sorry you’ll never get to meet her.”

The tears burn, a familiar sting as the morning light grows.  “I loved her so much.  I always will.  You don’t just stop when someone dies.  You keep loving them, and that’s why it’s so hard.”  Little feet kick against his chest; he breathes faster, swallowing.

“Rose was incredible. I loved her laugh.  Her smile.  The way she sang.  Just… everything about her.  I wish you could really understand what kind of person she was.”  He sighs.  “She saved the Earth, you know.  Not only that, she loved the Earth.  And she loved me.”  His breath shudders.  Steven looks at him in concern, and he straightens up.  “She wanted you more than anything.  I hope you always know that, kiddo.”

Steven finishes the bottle and Greg sets it aside, holding him upright in his lap.  He rubs his back, the action now practiced, natural.

“I miss you, Rose,” he whispers.  

The sunlight sparkles on the water, white and gold dancing on the sea’s surface.  The light edges the grass of the hilltop, outlines Steven’s dark fluffy hair.  Greg lifts him from his lap.  He turns the baby around to keep the sun from getting in his eyes, giving him a watery smile.

Steven searches his face, his tiny hands still, his eyes intent.  Then his mouth lifts in a smile, his eyes crinkling at the edges, and he laughs.

“Steven--” Greg gasps.  “You -- you smiled!”

Steven flaps his hands in delight, letting out a giggle.  And Greg laughs through the tears, laughs on the green grass, laughs amid the pink flowers unfurling in the morning light.  He holds his son, remembering Rose’s voice, treasuring it.

Steven’s laughter is the sweetest sound he’s ever heard.

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #367

“i should warn you that you may fuck me, but chances are i’m gonna fuck you over”

Where was the last place you went for vacation? The beach. When was the last time you wore makeup? Halloween. Do you watch soaps or drama series? If so, which ones? Not currently. What’s your favourite tomato variety? I hate tomatoes. What was your very first pet like? Dad had a dog named Trigger when I was born, but I have no memory of her, so I'm excluding her. I consider our first family pet to be Chance, a cat my mom took in after finding her literally in the trash. She was... god, incredible. She was a loyal friend, and I can imagine no greater mother than she was (she legit fought off a rottweiler head-on to protect her kittens). She was so smart, so gentle, and just simply amazing. I'll always miss her. What was the best school project you remember doing? Looking back, despite the fact it TERRIFIED me before, that would be my senior project presentation. It was about snake misconceptions and fallacies, so I made a slideshow to present to the special ed class. I made drawings for them to color, word searches, all that kind of stuff. They were just the sweetest and seemed really into it. What’s your favourite type of fish to eat? None. What kind of an old person do you think you’ll become? I really... don't like thinking about this. Like I'm weak enough now at 25, I can't imagine how my, say, 60s would be. I hope and just about pray that my physical health will improve, but I'm just going to exclude that part entirely from this answer. Personality-wise and such, I have a feeling I'll be the quiet and sweet kind, the one that loves her (hopeful) spouse like crazy, and comes most alive on Halloween if I live in a place where children come trick-or-treating. I imagine I would LOVE that. I'd love to be the type that goes on morning jogs to help stay spry. Which well-known person’s death shocked you the most, if any? Steve Irwin and Chester Bennington might be tied. Both were so, so sudden. Steve was like, invincible to my childhood eyes, and when I heard about Chester's death, I thought it was just a sick rumor. Two amazing people that died way too soon. What’s the craziest colour you’d dye your hair? That would depend on personal opinions. I want to dye my hair LOTS of colors though, if that tells you anything. What’s the coolest hobby one of your friends has? Uhhhh. Idk. Name a video game you can play over and over again: Shadow of the Colossus. It's a pretty short game if you know what you're doing, and it's super relaxing to me and just so goddamn pretty to look at. Every time I've played it has just been a pleasant experience. Do you like meatloaf? Yeah, it's fine. How about Meatloaf? I know who he is, but I've never really listened to his music. Do you take time to do charitable work? If so, what do you do? No. ;_; Especially with all the free time I have, I really should... What is something that will make you laugh instantly? Okay, don't ask, but if I for a SECOND see that commercial of Mr. Clean dancing while he's cleaning, I will die because of memories. What is something you hope you will never inherit from a specific relative? Diabetes. It runs heavily in my family. Name a movie you wouldn’t watch solely based on its name: The Human Centipede. No. Thank you. Have you ever played in a stack of hay bales? No. What’s your dearest souvenir? The stuffed moose I got at Cabela's during a visit to Ohio. I named him Brownie, and he was my "childhood plushie" we all have. Is there a lot of graffiti around your neighbourhood? Not in the actual area I live in, but there are DEFINITELY places where it's a pigsty of distasteful shit. Have you ever made your own soda? (Soda Stream doesn’t count!) No. Do you have a hobby that forces you out of the house? If so, what is it? Nature photography. Have you ever been part of a theater group? No, that stuff doesn't interest me. What’s the most ecological thing you do? We recycle, and I also use metal straws. Would you stop eating meat, if you had to raise and slaughter it yourself? Absolutely. There is no fucking way I could do it. What’s your favourite board game? Why do you like it best? I like Clue just because of the mystery-solving factor, and I think it's kinda cool how you can think ahead and use other's findings to your own advantage to win the game pretty early. Besides English, what other languages can you speak? Some German. It's gotten pretty weak with neglect, though. Besides English, what other languages can you read? I can read German well. What thing/person/happening has made you the happiest you’ve been? This is a complicated answer that I just don't feel like elaborating on. What’s the most freeing thing you’ve ever done? Letting Jason go. Have you ever had a restaurant dish that was made with bugs? If not, would you even want to try one? No, and I'm not interested. Have you ever tasted birch sap? No. How about the young buds/shoots of spruce trees? No. Which edible flowers have you tasted? Honeysuckles. What has been your worst restaurant experience? Well, it's a fast food restaurant, but lemme tell you about my vegetarian encounter with Burger King. I ordered their veggie burger. Which they have. It's not a secret. These idiots gave me a bun with tomato and lettuce, and I think mayo on it, after sounding confused when Mom was ordering for me. Mom went back in there of course to tell them, and oh god was the manager pissed, lol. I got my veggie burger in the end. What’s the most immature, adolescent thing that still makes you laugh? Some sexually inappropriate jokes can still get me sadly, lol. Have you ever had a life-threatening condition? If so, what was it? Not literally, but boy do I think depression counts. Do you ever compare your life to somebody else’s? If so, why? Y E P. I can't tell you why, I just... do it. I look at other's successes and am just like, "Why aren't I there yet?", and beat myself up about being a failure. What is a food item or a dish you absolutely cannot stand? Brussel sprouts, asparagus, runny eggs, many other things because I'm just mega picky. Have you ever had a custom print done on a shirt? If so, what was it? Just the spray paint kind that vendors like to do at the beach and stuff. I don't remember any I got, though. What does your favourite mug look like? It's black with a Markiplier quote on it, given to me by Sara. :') Do you ever read other people’s survey answers? Yeah! Friends', anyway. I love learning all the obscure things about them. Do you like daytime or night time better? Why? Daytime, specifically early morning, because it's better for my depression. Are you more comfortable as a leader or a follower? A follower that isn't afraid to speak up when I'm really against something. What is your favourite song right now at this very moment? I've been really into "7empest" by Tool lately, and the synthwave edit of "Voices" by Motionless In White. If you watched The Fresh Prince of Bel Air, who was your favourite character? I don't remember it well, but I think I liked the butler. Was there even a butler? Who was your first online friend? Emma. :') Do you have any plants in your home? No. If you wear makeup, what’s the most outrageous colour you use? I only ever use black. What was the last photograph you took? My cat being adorable while sleeping. <3 Have you ever submitted a video to Funniest Home Videos? No. What was the first sport you learned how to play? I want to say soccer? I absolutely hated it. Do you have a headache at the moment? Yes, actually. I've really been attacked by the Covid shot side effects. Are your parents still together? No, thank god. What was the last hot food you ate? I made a chicken and I think pesto (some Italian noodles, idk) Healthy Choice bowl for dinner last night. Have you ever seen a meteor shower? No. :( Do you ever feel afraid people will question your sanity? I'm sure people have before, and back then? Rightfully so. Which X Factor audition(s) was/were your favorite? Never watched it. Were you a straight A student in spelling and grammar? Always. It's so weird how it's gotten worse with time since leaving school, even though I write... Were you a straight A student in math? Yeah, no. I usually got Bs or Cs. What is your favorite shade of yellow? Pastel. I don't really like yellow. What is something you want to accomplish before you turn 30? Have a stable job. Are you afraid of getting yelled at? YES. Do you feel a connection to the moon? It's not something I think about, so not really, but I do believe all things in the universe are connected in some way. We are simply a part of nature, as all else is. What does your heart long for? Contentment in who I am and where I am in life. I know I also miss being in love. Do you know what your purpose in life is? We have no innate purpose; we make our own, and I want mine to be to show others that there is always hope for yourself in yourself, and also to spread the message of love of all animals. Did you decorate a pumpkin this year? Last year I didn't. I really should change that this go around. Have you ever seen a fox? Yes! They're a kind of rare sight here sadly, so when I had the opportunity to photograph a fox tragically as roadkill, it was a photographic experience I won't forget. God, I wanted to pet it (I obviously didn't), but I did talk to it about how beautiful (s)he was as I got some shots. I never had a harder time leaving one of those angels I've taken pictures of. Do you find Halloween fun or scary? FUN!!!!!! Is there anything about Halloween you find offensive? Not at all. What do the trees look like where you live? I mean, there's a variety, but the staple that you see literally everywhere are pine trees. What is your dream vacation? Somewhere with mountains, clear lakes, cool weather, beautiful and various wildlife... What was the best vacation you’ve been on so far? Disney World as a kid. What is the best class trip you’ve been on? The zoo in the 5th grade. It was the one occasion I got to see meerkats. Did you like field trips when you were a kid? I lived for them. Do you find museums boring or interesting? I find science museums to be very, very fascinating. Art ones are great, too. What are three issues you are passionate about? LGBT rights, the pro-choice movement, and wildlife conservation, to name a few. Would you ever wear a shirt with your country’s flag on it? No. I'm not patriotic enough at all. What size is your bed? Queen. What’s a medicine that makes you sleepy? When we were experimenting with my Klonopin dosage, I learned that 3mg was enough to knock me on my ASS. Do you like bath bombs? I mean they're pretty, but I wouldn't waste money on 'em. Who are your favorite small YouTubers? Yikes, a looooooot. But this also depends on what you think qualifies as "small." Most of my favorite "small" YTers are tarantula keepers or sub-1M let's players. Who are your favorite big YouTubers? Markiplier obviously, Snake Discovery, Good Mythical Morning (even if I don't watch them anymore, they are veeery dear to my heart and I will always support them), Sam & Colby... Again, there's a lot. When you don't watch TV and YT instead, you really get attached to a lot of them. What was your favorite girl group when you were growing up? Would you believe me if I said Pussycat Dolls? haha Do you like Disney movies? Um, DUH. Were you ever in the popular crowd? No. Have you ever used an outhouse? UGH, at like childhood sports games, yes. I could NEVER nowadays, oh my god. Could you possibly write a successful novel? I think I have the creativity to, but not the dedication. Are there any foods that make you gag? Beans, for one. I just canNOT with them. It's a completely involuntary reaction. Have you ever had blonde highlights in your hair? I think I did? Who was the last person you video-chatted with? The lady who was seeing if I qualified for TMS therapy. Do you think sleeve tattoos look trashy? Definitely not, I love those. If you had to get a portrait tattoo, who would it be of? I don't actually want one, but if I did, I'd go to a serious professional to get THE Darkiplier smile. :') If u know u know. Do you have any stickers on any of your electronic devices? No. Do you think half blonde/half dark brown hair is attractive? It looks great on some people, but it's not my favorite combo.

[jarienn972]

La Sirena

Captain Swan Supernatural Summer 2020

Posting day is here at last!  I have been looking forward to sharing this new @cssns tale with everyone.  The past 2 events have allowed me to experiment and stretch my creativity out of my comfort zone, inspiring me to create the world for this story. 

This is the story of a disillusioned and lonely siren who chooses to defy her nature and rescue the sole survivor of a shipwreck, providing him shelter while he recovers.  The two come from very different worlds but they find a kinship through`their similar failed expectations. My interpretation of the Greek mythology here has not been taken literally.  In this story, sirens are shape-shifting sea creatures. Also, please note that the version of Killian written here is the young Lieutenant Jones so he does not have a hook.  I know that there are some readers out there who prefer him to have the hook in CS fics so I wanted to make that clear if it is an issue for anyone.

I have to thanks @kmomof4 for being an amazing beta and I also want to thank @courtorderedcake​ for the absolutely stunning watercolor artwork she created for this story! (Edited to add artwork)

If all goes as planned, I’m hoping to update weekly.  I’ll also be posting updates on AO3 and FF.net.

And here he go!

The Siren

For as far back as she could remember, this craggy spit of sand at the southernmost end of a narrow isthmus had been hers and hers alone. She had a nearly unobstructed view of the rock strewn bay as it blended into the deep blue sea at the horizon. Each dawn, she watched the sun rise to the east, basking in its glow until it sank beneath the waves at sunset, rarely encountering others of her kind - which was fine with her.

She'd separated herself from them decades ago, no longer content with doing Poseidon's bidding. She'd tired of using her song as a weapon, enchanting unsuspecting sailors until they leapt to their watery deaths as their ships were crushed against the boulders, their spoils lost to the depths. She'd long been told that it was merely what she'd been created to do, her beautiful voice simply a tool to serve the god of the sea. Her duty to Poseidon to rid the seas of the scourge of humanity.

Some time ago, she'd grown weary of her meager existence, gradually distancing herself from the pack. Her solitude had been her own choice, the years of loneliness easing the conscience that she wasn't supposed to have. These turquoise waters surrounding her cove provided all she needed - all except the one thing her heart desired most.

This day had begun like so many before it, low grayish clouds hugging the glassy surface of the bay. With scarcely a breeze, she knew these clouds would linger until the early morning sun rose high enough into the sky for its rays to dissipate them.

The water calm and clear, she'd decided to take a sunrise swim, wading into the gentle surf until she was deep enough for her land legs to transform into her muscular tail. The metamorphosis began at her waist, shimmering scales replacing her ivory skin as she dove beneath the surface with a flick of her fins. She was grateful for the unique physiology of her species which allowed her to breathe as freely in the depths of the sea as she could on land as it had allowed her the freedom to explore the hidden caves and reefs below the land she called home. She'd become familiar with every detail. Every pebble. Every blade of kelp. Every colorful fish that lived here amongst the coral. These were her friends, her confidants. Today, however, she sensed something out of place.

As she skimmed above the reef, her gaze was drawn upward to the streams of light that filtered through the ocean's surface, discovering a sight that didn't belong - a dark void blocking the light. The anomaly seemed too large to be any sea life from this bay and the shape unlike any ocean creature she'd seen - oddly rectangular but with two shorter and narrower protrusions sticking out from one side. It was also remaining strangely close to the surface… Whatever might this mysterious thing be?

Curious, she gave her tail fin a powerful kick to propel herself upward, poking her head above the waves a safe distance from the floating object. It may have been eons since she'd last used her voice to scuttle a ship into its grave but she could still recognize the long wooden planks as having belonged to such a vessel. Such wreckage was commonplace along these shores but what drew her attention was the human engaged in a desperate struggle to retain his grip on those still-buoyant planks.

She'd witnessed many a man plunge willingly into the depths under the hypnotic spell of the siren song but never had she seen one this close - and never had she seen one fighting to stay alive! She was transfixed by the human's struggle. Such an unusual sight - the flailing and raw instinct to save itself. She found it fascinating to watch - at least until the human's eyes met hers.

In that fraction of a second, she saw the fear in his stare transform into a glimpse of hope and now she was the one who was terrified. No human had ever seen her before, her nature screaming at her to drown this human and put him out of his misery. The problem was, her intuition was telling her to do the opposite.

It was becoming obvious that the man's strength was failing. There was no telling how long he'd been in the water but as his eyes fell closed and his grip went slack, she sprang into motion. She twisted and twirled her body towards the mysterious human, her fins and tail separating into six lithe tentacles, one of which encircled his midsection, raising his torso above the surf as she maneuvered them both to the shore.

She lowered him gently onto the white sand then drew her tentacle back into the sea as she regained her humanlike legs. Splashing her way out of the shallows, she made her way up the beach and dropped to her knees beside him although she had absolutely no idea what to do next. Tentatively, she extended a hand to touch the strange creature, oddly fearful that it might surge to life and bite her fingers off. When her fingertips at last made contact with the human's arm, they brushed against the tattered remnants of the cloth garments the man wore. He made no movement at her touch, boosting her confidence to proceed.

The majority of her kind were female and although there were a few exceptions, she'd rarely had the opportunity to be in close proximity of a male. This one lacked the long flowing locks of the males of her species, sporting dark hair cropped close to his scalp. She traced her fingers along his hairline and down across the exposed side of his face, bristling at the prickly whiskers that lined his jaw. Save for Poseidon himself, facial hair was unheard of, as was body hair. This human possessed a broad patch of wiry, dark hair across the exposed sections of his torso and a similar, though lighter coating covered other sections of visible skin on the man's arms and legs.

There was little doubt that he was the strangest creature she'd ever laid eyes upon.

But there was so much more that she could also see. The man was obviously injured. A trickle of crimson spilled over his forehead from what appeared to be a deep laceration along his hairline and she noticed dark purplish splotches dotting his pallid skin, the most prominent extending from his brow to the hollow of his cheek. The bruises showed only traces of yellowing, indicating that they were recent. His wrists were ringed with angry abrasions and she held no doubts that invisible wounds lay unseen. Whatever had this man suffered?

She hopped backwards as the human lurched awake, curling onto his side while choking and spewing seawater and bile. She'd not intended to flinch, but his unexpected movement startled her. She remained perched just beyond his reach as his fit settled and he dropped listlessly back to the sand, all the while staring at her with his haunting, intense blue eyes. He uttered but a single word before fading back into unconsciousness.

"Angel."

The Sailor

He'd been a bloody, damned fool to allow himself to be captured. The mission plans had been perfect. Liam had drawn them up himself and yet they'd still failed. Most of his landing expedition had been lost in the battle and the rest who'd survived had been captured along with him. All because His Majesty, King George, had insisted that they scout and survey a previously uncharted island that he'd now coined Neverland. The island may have been uncharted but it had been far from undiscovered as his team had found it teeming with bloodthirsty pirates - pirates who had been using the land's numerous craggy coves to stash their treasures.

On their second day after landing the skiff on the deceptively calm shore, they'd run afoul of a band of rapscallions, ill-prepared for the skirmish that followed. That had been his fault. He should have done more reconnaissance. He should never have blindly trusted the vague map and initial scouting report provided, even if they had come with his brother's blessing. As their lieutenant, it was his mission. His to lead and his alone to fail, not that any of it mattered right now…

He believed it to have been a week since he'd been taken prisoner, but in truth, he'd lost track of time. He'd spent most of his captivity bound, beaten and locked away in a foul smelling hole adjacent to the ship's cargo hold. He'd not laid eyes on his remaining crew in days, wondering whether they were in a similar predicament, were they even still alive. His captors had kept him isolated, perhaps because he was an officer in His Majesty's Royal Navy. He might fetch a ransom, should the king show favor upon him. If not, he feared he'd be executed without a second thought.

As each day passed, he was slowly losing hope that he might be rescued. Surely Liam would have learned by now that the expedition team had not returned to the rendezvous point. Would they have dispatched a search team? Did anyone even know he'd been taken prisoner? His dreams of one day captaining a ship himself taunted him as he wallowed here in this dank prison.

But as he did each day, he clenched his jaw and swallowed back the pain as he struggled to wriggle free of the ropes binding his wrists behind his back. His skin might be raw and the hemp bindings soaked with his blood, but he was Killian Jones and he'd be damned if he didn't at least attempt an escape.

The crew of this vessel had clearly been ordered to keep him alive, as evidenced by the swill they brought him as sustenance. The mangy pirates would show up periodically with a bowl of slop, untying his hands only long enough to gag it down. They cackled as he drank it, the contents never identifiable but he didn't dare think about that. He focused solely on the sustaining water it contained, avoiding thoughts of contracting dysentery or whatever other foul disease might be present.

On this day, he'd barely a minute to swallow their putrid offerings before the bowl was snatched away and his arms were yanked behind his back once again. He'd expected them to bind his wrists tighter as they typically did yet for some reason, the ropes didn't feel quite as restrictive. He wasn't sure what may have transpired, whether his captors may have been distracted, but he was certain that he'd not heard them secure the hatch either.

If he could find a way to get free… Find a sword and perchance - a way off of this miserable vessel… There were so many ifs but he had little to lose. At least were he to die fighting, he'd die with honor.

He'd not expected the sudden lurch that came next, his aching body slammed into the chamber wall as the ship's forward motion abruptly ceased. A boom reminiscent of a loud thunder crack echoed through the hull followed by the gushing of water into the void.

They'd struck something.

Was this what had distracted the pirates? Had they run aground on a sandbar or veered into the shallows in error? Oddly, he heard no voices resounding on the decks above. No orders shouted. No fearful pleas for aid. All his ears could hear was the creaking of failing wood and the pounding of his own heart.

It was life or death now for certain. This ship was sinking; he could feel the list to port and there was absolutely no way he was going to be dragged down to Davy Jones' locker on this heap. He felt along the cell walls for anything he might use to free his hands - a protruding nail or even a splintering board would help. As luck would have it, he chanced upon a bent nail which provided just enough leverage to hold the rope taut while he wriggled and contorted his hands until he could pull them free.

He shook his arms out of the bindings, grimacing as his muscles protested but he couldn't spare a moment to dwell on aching bones. While it hadn't reached the cargo hold yet, it was only a matter of time before it filled with seawater so his first priority was to get to the upper deck. He leaned his hip into the hatch, whispering a silent prayer that he'd been correct and it hadn't been fully secured.

The hatch fortuitously swung open as another violent tremor shook the ship, knocking him off of his bare feet. He was certain that the hull was fully breached as he crawled on hands and knees through the tight confines of the cargo hold in search of the spiraling steps that would lead up to the crew deck. He'd remembered to count his paces when they'd led him blindfolded to the tiny chamber so even in the darkness of the hold, he knew they must be around here somewhere.

Killian scrambled to his feet as his hand found the staircase and he scurried upward to the seemingly vacant crew deck. It was strange not to encounter another soul as he ascended through the open hatch. It was eerily quiet but nevertheless, he pressed on toward the midship staircase that would open onto the main deck. At least this deck had lanterns to illuminate his way as he dodged empty hammocks and hurried past the unoccupied bunks to get topside.

The late afternoon sun assaulted his vision as he emerged onto the abandoned deck. There wasn't a single man visible as his eyes swept his surroundings. He spied no one manning the riggings, no one in the crow's nest and most disturbing - no one at the helm. So these cowardly pirates had all abandoned ship, including their captain? So much for the captain going down with his ship…

He crossed the deck and vaulted up the steps to the bow, trying to get his bearings and determine the ship's position. He was only vaguely familiar with this expanse of the sea but there seemed to be a landmass on the horizon off of the starboard side. It was likely where the pirates had set off for although he saw no dinghies in the water. Something didn't seem to add up here.

From the bow, he was able to get a glance of the rocky outcrop they'd struck. It extended well above the surface and in broad daylight, should have been quite visible to the navigator. Experienced sailors would have known to steer away. Everything about this situation was confounding his brain but he had to concern himself with escaping this ship.

The ship shuddered beneath him as it began to slide free of the rocks. He slipped, bare feet unable to find purchase on the slick teak planks as he fell, driven into the side rail as the vessel leaned more to port. He clung to the still-sturdy posts separating him from the sea as his mind went into overdrive. Even if the pirates had left a skiff behind, he doubted he could launch it himself. And then there would be the problem of encountering these deviants again should he reach land but it seemed preferable at this moment to take his chances with the pirates rather than ride this sinking ship into the depths.

He needed to locate something that would float, not daring to attempt swimming that far in his weakened state. Maybe there was an empty barrel? A hatch he could pry loose? And he'd need a way to debark… Where would they keep their rope ladder?

He forced himself back upright using the railing for support. On Liam's ship, the rope ladder was dispatched from the aft deck and as this ship was of similar design to the Royal Navy schooners, he knew he was on the wrong end of the ship - and his good fortune had run out.

Too much water had now entered the ship's hull and she was beginning to break apart. The weight of the water tore the ship free of the boulder that had ripped through the hull and as it slipped deeper into the waves, a crack split the deck apart. Killian grasped wildly to the closest rigging lines he could find as the stern broke loose. The time for plans was gone.

He swung out of control in the tangle of ropes and pulleys, teetering precariously above the deep blue ocean. Damnit, Jones - what the hell have you gotten yourself into? He'd trained for dangers like this - for how to survive a sinking ship… He'd just never figured he'd be without a crew…

And out of nowhere, his chances of survival took a turn for the worst. A steel pulley swinging in tandem with him smacked into his forehead and he lost his grip on the rope. Stunned from the blow, he couldn't coordinate his limbs to reach for anything that would stop his fall, splashing awkwardly into the sea.

That sudden impact jolted him back to consciousness as sheer instinct took over. He was a strong swimmer under normal circumstances, but this certainly was not and to make matters more complicated, the sun would soon set. He could tread water in the dark all night…

There! his weary brain called out to him. There's a board… It will serve as a raft. Get yourself to it! His gaze caught sight of the planks floating a short distance from him. Hampered by the sting of salt water in his wounds, angry muscles that had been abused for too long and a steady stream of blood pouring from the fresh cut above his brow, the swim was arduous. He was near ready to faint by the time he reached the panel of three boards still somehow holding together. He used every remaining bit of his strength to drag himself atop it and collapsed.

Killian was thankful for calm seas as he drifted through the night although less thankful that the current had carried him away from the land he'd hoped to reach. By the time the first golden rays of morning sun crested over the eastern horizon, he found himself enveloped amidst a thin layer of marine clouds. He could no longer see any traces of the ill-fated pirate ship nor any visible land masses.

He'd fought valiantly to remain alert throughout the evening, fearful of losing his perch on the narrow planks but fatigue and injury were taking their toll. He struggled to raise his head as he succumbed to the blissful call of unconsciousness. As a man of the sea, he'd always expected that his death would come at the mercy of the sea. Perhaps he hadn't thought it would come so soon…

I'm sorry, Liam… I've failed you yet again… was the last thought he remembered as he gave in to the blackness.

He wouldn't recall slipping from the planks or the momentary struggle to pull himself back atop of his makeshift raft. The next time his eyes opened, he was certain he'd crossed over into the afterlife. An expanse of azure sky loomed above him and he felt the security of land beneath his back. He wouldn't have expected the aches and pains of his life tragically cut short would have accompanied him into the next life, but he'd never died before…

Of course, this could be but a dream. Exhaustion still weighed heavily upon him so this could all be a mere hallucination of a dying man - more so when he saw her. Killian couldn't make out the details of her face but there she was, cutting a figure akin to a goddess with tresses like the sun tumbling over her porcelain shoulders and bared bosoms. Such beauty could only be…

The words formed in his head: Are you an… Only one would cross his lips - "Angel?"

[stenbrozier]

Addict (Teen!Richie Tozier x Reader)

Warnings: drug use/abuse (cigarettes, alcohol, weed), mentions of dead parents + drug overdoses, mentions of rape (not in detail), religious themes (Christianity), angst, violent outbursts, swearing, cute and caring Richie Tozier

Aged up to 17 !!!

Based off the song Using by Sorority Noise

A/N: I needed to write this because I’ve been grappling with nicotine withdrawal and writing is the one way that I can really release this energy. I’m sorry if this offends anyone in anyway. I just really needed an outlet, especially while I’m stuck at home during this quarantine. This is my longest one yet, so I hope you guys enjoy it.

——————————————————————————

The moment (Y/N) took a puff of Beverly’s cigarette for the first time, she was hooked. It was nice to have something to hold onto, something to fall back on when everything felt like it was going to shit. After her first cigarette, she asked Bev to get her smokes whenever she was getting herself some because (Y/N) didn’t have the balls to flirt with that creep like Beverly did. She couldn’t just waltz up to Mr. Keene and say that she was getting them for her parents because she didn’t have any parents to get them for. She lived with her aunt and uncle, and everyone knew that they were the most Christian, drug repelling household in all of Derry. They would berate her friends if they walked into the house smelling even faintly of alcohol, weed, or cigarettes, especially if it was Richie. Richie smoked weed all the time but always had to change before he went to pick up (Y/N); however, that didn’t stop him from having a natural drug scent. They had been best friends the majority of their lives, ever since she had moved in next door when they were 7. Her aunt and uncle loved him, loved the way he handled her and helped her through life if she needed it, but they despised the fact that he did drugs. What they didn’t know, was that she did them with him.

Richie would sneak into her room, usually at 1am, and would drag her out of bed to go on walks with him. These walks consisted of smoking cigs or weed, occasionally getting drunk off of a bottle of wine. Richie introduced her to alcohol, and it was something else she started to rely on. Richie noticed how bad she was getting after that. She would go to parties just for the sake of getting drunk, and Richie started to worry every time she got too drunk. Something else that was worrying him was how quickly she finished a pack of cigarettes. Bev would get her a pack, and she’d finish it within a day or two. (Y/N) was a chain smoker; it was very hard to catch her without a cigarette in her mouth. The only time she didn’t smoke was when she was within a 100 feet of her house or inside it, but once she couldn’t see it anymore when they were walking to school or to hang out with the losers, she would light up cigarette after cigarette. Richie tried multiple times to talk to her about it, but she just shrugged it off, saying that it wasn’t as big of a problem as he said it was.

“I don’t smoke all that often,” she would say defensively. “Fucking, come on, Rich. You smoke, too.” She rolled her eyes at him whenever he brought it up. He did his best to talk to Bev, but she would just shrug her shoulders.

“I only buy her one pack a week,” Bev said, crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s not my fault she smokes it so fast.”

“You need to stop buying her cigarettes,” Richie whispered back, seeing that (Y/N) was walking towards them. “She’s getting bad, and she’s going to keep abusing it unless you stop supplying.” Beverly sighed, smiling at her best friend as she stopped in front of them, wrapping her in a hug. (Y/N) handed Bev a $10 as she pulled away, asking her to get her the “usual.” Richie knocked into Bev’s shoulder, her glaring at him as he went around to (Y/N). He wrapped my around her waist and she smiled up at him. They’d always been touchy; it wasn’t something that bothered them. They were both touch starved growing up, and they needed that person that would give them that physical attention. It just so happened that they had found each other.

“Don’t...don’t you think you should try smoking weed a bit more,” Bev asked, trying to persuade (Y/N) away from the nicotine. “It’s better for your lungs, anyways. I-I mean not completely, but at least it’s not all nicotine and chemicals and shit.” (Y/N) rolled her eyes, pushing away from Richie because she knew he was behind her questioning.

“I’m fine,” (Y/N) said, kicking her feet along the pavement. “I’m already a few years in anyway. I might as well keep smoking. Besides, you smoke, too. Don’t be a hypocrite, Bevvy.” She shrugged her shoulders, pulling her backpack straps up higher. “Hey! Did you guys hear about Greta’s party tonight? I think I’m gonna go.” Richie gulped, moving swiftly towards the girl and wrapping her in his arms again.

“I’ll-I’ll go with you,” he mumbled, rubbing his hand down her arm. She shrugged looking over at Bev. Bev shook her head and held her hand out.

“Ben wanted to have a movie night,” she answered simply. “Maybe Eds and Stanley will go with you guys.”

“No,” (Y/N) shook her head, “Bill and Mike might though.” She thumped Richie’s head with her pointer finger, a few of his curls shaking from the impact. “We should invite them to the quarry.” Richie shook his head rapidly, which caused Bev to raise her eyebrows.

“Why can’t they come to the quarry,” she asked suggestively as she stuffed the $10 bill into her back pocket. Richie stammered, looking at (Y/N) for help.

“It’s kind of our thing,” (Y/N) said. She freed herself from Richie’s death hold, booping his nose when he frowned. “We go and get high most days. Sometimes we just talk. It’s our time. It’s personal.” She looked over at Richie, who was staring at her with a small smile. “I’m sorry I even suggested it.” She whispered the apology to him, and he nodded, looking over at Bev.

“We’ll see you at the usual time Monday night,” he asked, throwing up finger guns. The Losers usually met at the clubhouse on Mondays and Thursdays. They didn’t have a lot of classes together anymore, so that was their time to catch up and just talk. She nodded back at them, shooting back finger guns, laughing as she ran off to meet Ben at the bike rack. Richie unwrapped his arm from (Y/N)‘s shoulder, reaching his bent elbow out to her with a dramatic bow. She laughed, wrapping her hands in the crook of his elbow and they walked off the quarry.

“Are you sure you want to come to the party with me tonight,” the girl asked. Richie shrugged, looking down at her as they crossed over the rickety Kissing Bridge, ducking under a few trees to get out to the sandy, faux beach that was the quarry. They sat down on the big rock wall, and (Y/N) sighed in content when the sun hit her face. Richie laughed at her, taking his backpack off and sitting down next to her. “You never answered my question.” Richie furrowed his eyebrows at her as he turned his head to look at her.

“What question?” He knew exactly what question; he was just trying to avoid it. In all honesty, he hated going to parties with (Y/N). She always got wasted and left him by himself, and yeah, he liked to drink, but not by himself and not while babysitting his best friend.

“Do you have a problem accompanying me to Greta’s later?” Richie looked over at her, sighing before moving to lay on his side and prop himself on his elbow to look down at her.

“I hate going to parties,” Richie said calmly. “Especially with you, and it’s not because I don’t like you anymore or anything. It’s just...” he thought for a moment, “I’m tired of you walking off and getting wasted and I have to clean you up.” (Y/N) scoffed at him, sitting up as she scooted off the rock. “Don’t get upset. I have the right to hate when you get drunk!” (Y/N) sniffled, tears threatening to fall.

“You know parties are the only time I can let loose,” she responded, her voice getting caught in her throat. “I get wasted because it’s fun, Rich. I never asked you to be my babysitter.” Richie stood up, throwing his arms up in the air.

“You get wasted every single weekend,” he yelled, causing her to flinch slightly. She could tell he was getting pissed off, and she hated when he got angry. He became a bitch, and it wasn’t something that she wanted to see. She made him mad once when they were 14 and he didn’t speak to her for weeks; this was all over her missing one of their quarry meetings because she promised Bev she’d help her dye her hair. “I have to babysit you cause no one else will! No one cares enough, not even you! You’re always getting drunk and it pisses me off. I hate seeing you risk yourself to cirrhosis because of how much you drink!”

“Richie, I’m in perfectly good health!” (Y/N) grabbed her backpack, slinging it over her shoulder. “How much I smoke and how wasted I get doesn’t fucking concern you.”

“Yes, it does,” he said angrily, jabbing his finger at her. “It concerns me because you’re all I have. You’re the only person that I know will be there forever and you...you’re killing yourself! At this rate, you’re gonna get lung or liver cancer before you’re 35! Hell, maybe fucking both!” She tried to walk away, but he grabbed her arm. “I’m not done. I love you, (Y/N), okay? I-I’ve loved you forever and-“ (Y/N) ripped her arm away from him, looking him up and down with tears streaming down her face.

“If you loved me, you’d let me do what I want to do ,” she spat at him. She could feel the tears streaming down her face, soaking her shirt collar. Actually, it wasn’t her shirt at all. It was one of Richie’s shirts that she’d stolen and cropped, but it didn’t matter anymore. She thought about it for a second, looking down at the band that was on it: The Cure. She sighed, looking back up Richie who was grabbing his backpack, too. “I’m going to ask Bill to come with me, instead. Show up if you want, but don’t try confessing your love for me unless you’ll let me be me.”

“Darling, come on,” Richie said, the high pitched nature of his voice scaring him. “Don’t do this. If you don’t love me, just say it.” (Y/N) turned away from him, taking in a deep breath.

“I never said I didn’t love you back,” she whispered. “Just don’t tell me what to do and then think I’m gonna kiss you and throw away every other thing I love to make you happy.” She started walking up the steep hill that separated the quarry from the street. “I’ll see you Monday.” Richie watched as she walked away, and he followed her. He tried to catch up with her but she ran off, too fast for him to catch. He sighed, banging his fist on the splintering wood of the Kissing Bridge.

“Fuck,” he screamed as he started punching the shit out of the bridge, splintering his knuckles and making them bleed.

———————————

(Y/N) got to her house, slamming the door shut and marching over the phone. She had all of the Losers’ numbers memorized, so she quickly dialed Bill. Mrs. Denbrough picked up, and they had a conversation about school as she waited for her son to come down and grab the phone. Mrs. Denbrough said a quick farewell as Bill slipped onto the phone.

“H-hey,” he said and (Y/N) could practically hear the smile in his voice. The two didn’t hang out all too often anymore; they were honestly the most distant out of the group, but that didn’t stop them from loving one another unconditionally. “Do you n-need something?” (Y/N) laughed, rolling her eyes.

“Wanna go to Greta’s with me,” she asked as she twirled the phone cord. “Richie’s being a dick and he’s decided that he doesn’t like getting wasted with me anymore.” She heard Bill sigh and let out a small chuckle.

“W-what time does it st-start? I have b-baseball practice in the m-mor-morning.” (Y/N) sighed, scuffing her shoes against the wooden floor of her uncle’s house as she thought. She shrugged as if he could see her.

“I don’t know. 8ish? But I can always ask Eddie,” she said, taking on a reassuring tone. She hated taking Eds to parties but loved it all the same. It was very difficult to get him to let loose, but when he did, he was the life of the party. “Actually, don’t worry about it. You focus on baseball. Love you, Billy.”

“L-love you, too, (Y/N).” The line went dead and (Y/N) started to dial in Eddie’s phone number. She was prepared for Sonia, since she barely let Eddie touch the phone, and was pleasantly surprised when she heard Eddie’s voice saying a soft greeting.

“Eds! You’ve got to come to Greta’s with me,” (Y/N) yelled. “Pretty please?” She did a pouty lip, more to allow Eddie to hear the desperation in her voice. She heard him sigh, and the sigh felt as if it was in remorse.

“I-I’d love to, but...why can’t you just go with Richie? Trouble in paradise,” he asked mockingly. “Listen, I’ll come by and we’ll talk, and if after we talk you still want to get wasted, we’ll go.” (Y/N) scoffed.

“There is no paradise to have trouble in,” she said defensively. “Besides, the conversation will all be done in vain, Kaspbrak. I always want to get wasted.” Eddie laughed on the other side of the phone, shaking his head.

“Fine. I’ll be over in like 45 minutes so you can get ready for the party with company.” Eddie regretted telling her that the moment he did. He didn’t want (Y/N) to drink anymore, but he wanted her to be happy. Maybe he could convince her to drink a little less tonight and not blackout like she normally did.

“Okay, Eds,” she replied sweetly. “Door will be unlocked, so just walk in. I’ll probably be in my room.” He made a noise in response and then the line went dead. (Y/N) sighed, walking up to her room. She looked out her window and noticed Richie’s blinds were close, so she closed hers as well.

——————————-

“Richard, you have to watch what you punch,” Maggie said to him sternly, taking the set of tweezers back to his knuckles to pull out the last few splinters. “I know you were upset, but you don’t have to punch things. Don’t worry, she’ll come around.” Richie scoffed and rolled his eyes, his mother lightly bopping his head to the side when he did. “Go wash off your hand and we’ll bandage it.” She ushered him to stand up, pushing him lightly over to the kitchen sink as she went to the bathroom done the hall for bandages. He sighed, taking the hand soap and putting it on his left hand, rubbing the soapy water over his blood covered right hand. The soap made him cringe, it stinging his cuts a bit. He finished washing it, taking a paper towel and dabbing them to dry them off. Maggie came back with the bandages, going over the him and wrapping them around his knuckles. She secured the antiseptic wrap, giving him a soft kiss on the hand.

“I think I’m going to go to a party tonight,” Richie said softly. “(Y/N)’s mad at me and I-I don’t want her to get too drunk.” Maggie nodded, waving for him to follow her in the living room. They say on the cough and Richie tucked his legs underneath him, feeling his mom’s head on his shoulder.

“Just don’t do anything stupid,” she said, sitting up and kissing his temple. “I’m going to go get things for dinner. Do you need anything?” Richie shrugged.

“More Gatorade?” Richie drank Gatorades all the time. They were packed with sugar and sodium; however, they miraculously calmed him down and made him sit still for once. He looked up at his mom with a small smile on his face, and she pinched his cheeks. She nodded, grabbing her jacket and purse from the coat hanger. She checked her purse for her keys, and she opened the door, ready to leave. “The blue ones!”

“I know, honey,” she replied softly. “I love you.” She walked out the door before Richie had the chance to say it back, but he would’ve been cut off my the phone ringing anyway.

“Hello,” he said, expecting (Y/N) on the line.

“Hey, Rich.” He sighed, disappointed. It was Eddie. “What happened between you and (Y/N)?” He furrowed his brows. She asked Eds to go with him? Damn, she really didn’t want him there.

“She’s pissed I don’t support her chain smoking and excessive alcohol consumption,” Richie replied flatly. “Did she ask you to go with her?” He could practically hear Eddie, nodding a soft sniffle coming from his end.

“Yeah, I’m leaving in a few minutes to help her get ready for the party. You should show up, let her know you still care.” Richie tapped his fingers against the phone, no doubt causing a hollow sound to go through to Eddie’s side.

“I was going to,” Richie said sarcastically. “I also, might’ve, sorta confessed my feelings to her as she was screaming at me to “not control her”, so I need to make up for that.”

“Jesus, fuck, Rich,” Eddie mumbled on the other end. “We’ll talk more tonight. I’ve gotta get to your girlfriend’s house. See you later.”

“She’s not-“ The line went dead before Richie finished. He sighed. “-my girlfriend.” He hung the phone up, marching up to his room to see that there was little light coming in. He shrugged, thinking his mom must’ve dusted the blinds. He opened up his curtain, bringing the blinds up to see that (Y/N)’s were closed. Richie rubbed his hand across his face. They always left their blinds open, no matter how mad they were at one another. She must’ve been pissed.

——————————

Eddie walked into (Y/N)’s house, and he marched up the stairs. He saw that her door was slightly ajar and she was laying out outfits on her bed. He walked in, her hand waving him over.

“Light blue dress with my white Converses or black jeans and one of Richie’s cropped shirts with Docs?” She looked up at him to see him biting his lip, tilting his head to the side to closely examine the outfits. He noticed a blue mark on the white cropped shirt and he pointed it out.

“Is that marker or paint? Get a different shirt you’re not wearing one with a stain on it.” Eddie walked to the closet when she did, looking at all the shirts she had. He noticed a faded olive green top with bell sleeves and he took it down from the rack. “I think this one with the jeans and the white Converses.” He shoved it at her. (Y/N) looked at it, nodding before taking off her shirt and throwing it into her hamper. She slipped the shirt on, going back out into her room to put on the jeans. Once she slipped on the jeans, Eddie looked at her with his head tilted side ways.

“Why are you looking at me like that,” she said, furrowing her eyebrows and frantically looking at her self in her body length mirror.

“Tuck in the front, fix your hair, put on some mascara and lip gloss,” he said bluntly. Eddie ended it with smile and (Y/N) went over and ruffled his hair.

“Thanks for being blunt, love,” she sighed. She dramatically rolled her head around on your neck and sat down at the bench in front of her vanity. “Love my quintessential gay best friend.” She laughed and Eddie rolled his eyes.

“I’m not gay, you bitch,” Eddie said, sitting down on her bed. “But I am pretty sure that you should try to make things better with Richie again. I called him earlier and he was a little bit of a mess. He sounded like he was in pain, I don’t know why.” (Y/N) sighed, finishing up her mascara before she turned around to look at Eddie.

“He closed his blinds, Eds,” (Y/N) shrieked. When Eddie just looked at her weird she sighed. “It means he’s pissed. We never close blinds without talking about it first.” Eddie snickered and (Y/N) shot him a death glare.

“Love birds,” he said, making it sound like a song. (Y/N) rolled her eyes, turning back to her mirror to tussle her hair and make it lay flatter on her shoulders. After a few seconds of changing its position, she sighed and walked over to her desk to grab a hair tie. As she put her hair into a bun, Eddie started talking to her again. “He’s not pissed at you. He’s pissed at what you do. There’s a difference.” (Y/N) scoffed.

“I can do what I want Eds and he just needs to realize it.” She pulled some baby hairs out of the front of her bun, watching as they framed her face and blew from the slight breeze her fan was giving her. “We should eat before. You wanna go to the pizza shop in town for dinner?” Eddie shrugged and thought before shaking his head ‘no.’

“Let’s go to the diner,” Eddie said. “We can at least get healthier food there to combat all the alcohol you’re going to drink tonight.” (Y/N) slipped on her shoes and threw the bird up at Eddie, causing him to laugh. “And don’t forget your lip gloss.” She shoved him out the door, grabbing her purse and shutting her bedroom door behind them.

—————————

After the diner, they walked over the Greta’s and all (Y/N) had in mind was beer. She wondered if Greta had gotten the good kind this time, the craft beer that came from a local brewery in Bangor, or if she got the shitty beer from the grocery store in town. (Y/N) also thought about Richie. He confessed his love to her, which was horrifying enough. She always tried to push her feelings of him away because she knew that they’d got unrequited, but she was quite wrong. He told her he was in love with her, and it made her regret walking away from him. But she wanted to get drunk and he didn’t understand that. Eddie talked her through it at dinner and revealed Richie was going to apologize at the party, or so that’s why it seemed like he was going to do when Eddie called him earlier.

“He isn’t mad at you, babe,” Eddie had said. “He’s mad at himself for letting your alcohol and drug issues get this bad.” (Y/N) didn’t think they were bad. Sure, she smoked too much and got high too often, but she didn’t get drunk more than once or twice a month, tops. She shook her head, looking down at the streets, which were now illuminated with the orange glow of the street lights.

“I’ll be okay,” (Y/N) said slightly above a whisper. She said it more to her self than Eddie, but she looked up to see his eyebrows raised and a major side eye. (Y/N) grabbed his hand, dragging him down the street, causing him to fumble with his fanny pack to make sure the zipper was closed so that nothing would fall out. When they got to the Keene household, there were a few cars already parked out front and they could hear music coming from inside. (Y/N) jumped up and down slightly with a little squeal and Eddie rolled his eyes, smiling slightly at his best friend. They walked into the house and Greta greeted them, pursing her lips together and turning around when she saw who it was. Greta liked (Y/N), but she knew that with (Y/N) came Eddie, the Trashmouth, and the rest of their nerdy friends. They didn’t ruin the parties, though. In fact, their drunk asses made them more fun, so it was whatever. (Y/N) made a b-line towards the kitchen, smiling when she saw vodka and whiskey as an option, too. She grabbed a cup, pouring and taking three shots of vodka while Eddie watched awkwardly from the side, tapping his fingers on the granite counter.

“You drinking already,” said a deep voice from behind them. (Y/N) turned around to see Ryan, a kid who was in her science class. He was the second best baseball player on the high school’s team, trailing behind Bill who already had 7 scholarships as a junior. Ryan had 4 and was extremely popular. (Y/N) smirked a little, shrugging her shoulders as she looked at Eddie and raised her eyebrows a few times. She grabbed a beer from the cooler, the good kind, and opened it with the ring in her finger.

“It’s a party, what else am I supposed to do,” she replied with a hint of over sweetness in her voice. Eddie noticed and smiled dramatically at Ryan before dragging the girl away from him and out into the backyard, where people were smoking weed and jumping into the pool. “Eds!” (Y/N) whined as she looked back into the house through the big windows, seeing Ryan grabbing a red SOLO cup and pouring whiskey into it.

“We should wait for Richie somewhere by ourselves,” Eddie replied, dragging her over to a bench swing that Greta had in her backyard. “We’ll just sit here and wait.” (Y/N) rolled her eyes, standing up and going back to the house. Eddie quickly got up, tripping as the bench swung back and made him slip on the grass. When he caught up to her, she was talking with Ryan in the living room. The party had gotten exceptionally more crowded in such a short amount of time, and he stood on his tiptoes to look over the crowd and at the front door for Richie. When his eyes met the closed door, he sighed and walked over to the kitchen, grabbing himself a SOLO cup. He looked at the drinks, ultimately deciding he’d make something (Y/N/N) taught him: a Cape Cod. He poured about three shots of vodka into the cup and then topped it off with cranberry juice. Eddie took a sip of it, grimacing when he tasted how strong the vodka was. As he poured more cranberry juice in, he heard heavy footsteps coming into the kitchen.

“‘Sup Eds,” Richie said softly, clapping his hand on his shoulder. “Why’s (Y/N/N) not with you?” Eddie took another sip of his drink and pointed out towards the living room, seeing the jock she was with heads over everyone else. Richie followed Eddie’s eyes and cursed under his breath. “I-I’m gonna go talk to her.” Richie shoved through the crowd, making his way towards the two. He appeared behind Ryan, causing your too furrow your eyebrows as Ryan yelled over the music about college or drugs or something. You tapped Ryan’s shoulder and pointed to the kitchen, silently letting him know you were “getting another drink.” You looked at Richie disdainfully and sighed when you heard his footsteps following you. Eddie smiled at you, glad to see you were okay.

“What the fuck, Rich,” you yelled, stomping your foot on the ground. “I thought I told you to leave me be.” He reached out to grab your arm, but you yanked it away, taking a long swing of your beer and finishing it off. You abandoned it on the counter, walking around Eds to get a SOLO cup.

“What happened to the one you had literally half an hour ago?” Eddie asked, scoffing as you shrugged at opened the green apple flavored Smirnoff that caught your eye. Richie took it right out of your hand, capping it and holding it above your head.

“No more.” He grabbed your hand, sticking the bottle back on the counter behind you as he dragged you out of the kitchen.

“Richie I’ve barely had anything,” you whined, stumbling over your feet as you got pulled into the hallway that lead to the front door. Eddie followed close behind, taking tiny sips of his drink as he helped Richie push you out of the house. “What the fuck! You guys are no fun.” You crossed your arms, allowing Richie to shove you into the passenger’s seat of his beat up Buick Regal. Eddie hopped in the back. When Richie got into the driver’s seat, you smacked his arm out of rage, tears welling up in your eyes. He started the car and pulled off the street, taking a few turns to get to Eddie’s house.

“If you need help with her, call me,” Eddie said quietly to Richie before reaching around front and giving (Y/N) a kiss on the forehead. “I love you, (Y/N/N).” You sighed in response, squishing yourself into a ball and moving closer to the window. He quickly got out of the car, closing the door and running up to his house. Richie drove up into the intersection, making a left and heading towards where Mike lived, to the farmland.

“Home’s right, dumbass,” you spat softly, rolling your eyes as he kept straight ahead. You looked down at his hands on the wheels, and through the dim streetlights, you could see that his hands were extremely white and wrapped in bandages. Usually, they had a pinkish tone to them, but all traces of that were gone. The bandages were stained a little with blood, so you figured he punched the shit out of some wall. He was mad. Richie was angrier than you had ever seen him, and you hadn’t even looked at his face yet. Tears stung your eyes when you saw the familiar dip in the trees that lead down into the quarry. He parked his car right at the top of the hill, getting out without a word. You got out, too, following him down into the quarry. When you got there, you saw him sit down on the rock and put his head in his hands. You came and sat next to him, folding in on yourself by wrapping your hands around your knees which were pulled up to your chest.

“I told you I didn’t want you to go to that party,” Richie whispered. He ran his hands up into his hair, the curls falling over his forehead when he violently slammed his hands down on his lap. He looked over at you, a scowl on his face and tears in his eyes. “That guy was going to get you drunk and fuck you. He was going to fuck you, and you were going to let him.”

“Richie, I would’ve said no,” you said defensively. “One, my standards aren’t that low, and two, I wouldn’t want him to touch me while I was sob-“ Richie scoffed, shaking his head.

“You were on your way to being wasted as soon as I got there, darling.” He stood up, kicking the small rocks that lines the big boulders. “He was going to rape you. I could see it.” You looked down at your hands without answering, feeling tears well up in your eyes. “You can’t ever go to party without me again. I have to protect you.” You started crying, sobs racking your body as you wiped your eyes in your sleeves.

“Says the one who told me he didn’t care what I did not even 6 hours ago,” you yelled, pointing at him as tears continued to fall down your face. “You’re a piece of shit! Ya know that, Richie? You want to help people, but then you just trample over everything they love, including people.” Richie furrowed his eyebrows, confused at the end of her statement.

“People? I’ve never purposely hurt someone in my whole li-“ (Y/N) pointed to his knuckles.

“What did you do?” (Y/N) asked, sniffling as she tried to calm herself down. “You punched the shit out of something, I can tell that much. I just don’t want you hurt.” Richie sighed, sitting down next to the girl who looked so small compared to the rocks and big trees behind her that were faintly highlighted by the moonlight.

“Now you understand,” Richie responded calmly. “I don’t want you hurt. Drinking hurts you. Smoking hurts you.”

“You know why I do it,” (Y/N) interrupted. “It makes me forget, drinking especially. I hate thinking of them so much. They’ve been gone for years, but I can’t stop thinking about them. So, I try to destroy my mind enough to forget for a little while.” Richie hesitantly put an arm around her, and when she melted into him, he pulled her closer and kissed the top of her head.

“I don’t understand that,” Richie answered. “But I can tell you that drinking and smoking is just going to get you closer to where they were. They were so addicted they died, babe. Died.” He shoved his face into your hair, sniffling as he held you super tight for a few seconds while he paused. When he pulled away, he brought one of his hands up to your cheek. “I-I can’t have you dying on me.” You looked up at Richie, tears falling down his face as he stared into your eyes. You leant up closer to him, bringing his face down to yours and kissing him on the lips. He was taken by surprise and pulled away immediately, a confused expression on his face.

“A-are you okay,” you questioned. “I shouldn’t have kissed you, I’m sorry. You just...earlier you told me that you loved me and I love you too and I thought I’d kiss you because-because this is a meaningful moment and-“ Richie planted his lips back into yours, causing you to melt into him. After a few seconds, he pulled away and rubbed his thumb over your cheekbone as he smiled at you.

“I love you too much to lose you,” he said softly. “I-I don’t care you smoke or drink...just-just don’t get excessive, okay? That’s my worst fear, honestly, you becoming an alcoholic or dying of lung cancer.” You snickered a little, Richie look at you in confusion.

“I’ll take it easier, ya goof.” You wrapped your arms around his torso and you stuffed your face in his neck. “Whenever I go to a party, I’ll make sure you protect me from all of the big, scary guys.” Richie laughed at that, and he ended up having to pull away to catch his breath.

“I’ll do my best, princess,” he said back, his laughing fit still leaving his body. “I will definitely do my best.”

[openheart12]

All I Want

Song by Kodaline (recommend listening while reading)

*character death*

Warning: mention of suicide

Pixelberry owns Ethan

Taglist: @ethandaddyramsey @lilypills @junggoku @sekizincimektup @edi654 @camiyumi5 @ethanramseysgirl @flyawayboo @binny1985

Ethan Ramsey’s world stopped on May 18, 2019. The day he lost everything.

He, Ethan Ramsey, had found someone he loved, someone who broke through his walls he built up over the years. He was going to spend the rest of his life with this woman. He was certain of that. But fate had other plans. That left him broken.

It was supposed to be one of the best days of his life. He was asking his girlfriend of almost a year, Casey, to marry him. He had his proposal planned for months, waiting for the perfect time to set it in action. May 18 was that day, or so he thought.

He woke her up that morning with breakfast in bed, he even attempted to make her pancakes which turned out good. That was a good sign right? They both had the day off and he was going to make good use of it. He had planned on taking her to the beach and at the end of the night, they were going to take a walk on the beach where he was going to propose to the most amazing woman he had meant.

Who knew fate had other plans that night?

It was no surprise that Casey Wilson was the best thing to every happen to him. He let everyone know it after he got over all the reasons he told himself that they couldn’t be together. She had turned his world upside down. She was the first person he could let his guard down in front of and wouldn’t judge him. She loved him for him. They were meant to be together for the rest of their time.

Their walk on the beach was peaceful until they heard the shot that rang out. They turned to see a man pointing his weapon at woman with blood pooling around her head. Ethan instinctively put Casey behind him and tried to leave unnoticed but the shooter had already seen them. The man raised his weapon at Ethan’s chest. Ethan pleaded with the man to spare his life but he heard the shoot and braved himself. But the excruciating pain never came. He looked to see that Casey had pushed him out of the way right in time but he never felt it.

His heart stopped in that moment. The guilt, the anguish that consumed him when he saw her blonde hair stained red. He heard the sirens but he was a doctor. It was too late. He lost everything. He felt empty. “I love you Case” he whispered as tears streamed down his face.

A few days later, was her funeral. Everyone came up to him offering their condolences but it was white noise to him. He lost his best friend, his love. How was he supposed to survive? No one could understand what he was going through. Not her best friends, not Naveen, not anyone.

Ethan started drinking himself into oblivion. He quit his job at Edenbrook. He ceased all contact to everyone, Naveen, his father. He visited her everyday. Tears streaming down his face when he got there and left. They didn’t have their chance.

He blamed himself for not protecting her. It should’ve been him. Would she of felt like this? He often wondered to himself. He couldn’t bear to see her like this if things were reversed. They finally got together and everything was gone in the blink of the eye.

It had now been 10 months since that fateful day. Things hadn’t changed. Ethan was drinking everyday to ease his pain, to forget the image of her laying there bleeding out. 10 long months without her.

Ethan gingerly traced her name on her tombstone. Casey Wilson. October 5, 1993-May 18,2019. Dedicated doctor, friend, sister.

He leaned his head against it and cried until he had no tears left. He touched his fingers to his lips and back on her tombstone.

[darnloveablecharacters]

Prove Me Wrong, Part Twenty-Six: Fire

Series Summary:  Caithwistë, born from the only known pairing of an elf and a dwarf has spent most of her life in hiding. When an old friend, (or a certain meddling wizard) finds her in the woods, everything changes. Now, she will have the chance to prove the world wrong about her value. A ‘The Hobbit’ fanfiction based off of the following imagines from @imaginexhobbit: This One is the basis of the story, and This One and This One will be added in later. If you recognize it, it belongs to Professor Tolkien or Peter Jackson. But, as usual, the story and all of the mistakes are my own!

Prove Me Wrong - Masterlist

Chapter Notes: I told you we weren’t going to spend long in TDOS lol. Without really any preamble or any further ado, here is the opening to TBOTFA! Home stretch baby!!

Warnings for this Chapter: mentions of burns, mentions of killing, considering what happens in this chapter…. It’s quite mild I think lol

Tagged: @imaginesreblogged @chevycastiel1967 @rices4me93 @tschrist1​ If you want to be added just let me know!

Caithwistë had never heard the sound of bells before. Her father had told her about them once, explaining that the melody they made was a beautiful song to behold. The bigger the bell, the deeper the call and the better the music that is awakened in your heart. He had told her they were comforting, a call to home.

Caithwistë grimaced. The bell that now rang was not comforting. It was a warning. A melody that was tainted with the screams of the townsfolk who were scrambling to evacuate before death reached them. Caithwistë jumped when she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder. She hadn’t even realized Tauriel was standing beside her, silently watching the approach of the dragon.

“We must go, now.” She urged and retreated into the house.

Caithwistë physically shook herself out of her daze and followed Tauriel quickly.

“Caithwistë!” Fili and Kili exclaimed together as she entered the home, pulling her into their now familiar bone-crushing hug.

“We thought we would never see you again!” Kili said excitedly after they released her.

���And I thought I had lost you as well.” She said, narrowing her eyes at him. He was quite pale, but his eyes still twinkled with humor as they had before.

“Your reunion can wait. We have no time, we must leave.” Tauriel admonished as she helped the human children prepare to leave.

Caithwistë nodded. “She is right. Can you walk, Kili?”

“I’m fine, I can walk.” He muttered as he shook off Fili who had reached to help, making Caithwistë chuckle.

“We’re not leaving, not without our father.” The human boy said, approaching Tauriel.

“If you stay here, your sisters will die. Is that what your father would want?” Tauriel said impatiently.

Caithwistë frowned at her abruptness as the boy bristled, but she knew Tauriel was right. “You’ll know this place better than any of us. Help us get your sisters to safety.” She added, hoping to ease the tension.

The boy regarded her for a moment then nodded, straightening himself. “This way.” He said, leading them out of the house and down to the dock where a small river boat was tied.

“We’ll never fit.” Oín grumbled as they approached.

“We must.” Caithwistë said, patting him on the shoulder before hopping on behind Bofur and Fili.

They managed to all squeeze together on the boat, but Caithwistë was pressed tightly between Kili and Oín. Her discomfort was quickly forgotten; however, as they pushed away from the dock and the form of Smaug the Dragon appeared directly over their heads. She felt completely helpless as they could only watch the dragon flip in the air and begin toward the town again, chest glowing.

“Get down!” Oín yelled, pushing Caithwistë on top of Kili and covering both of them just as the first stream of fire hit the town.

When Oín sat back up after the first pass, Caithwistë tried to rise but she felt Kili grip her arm tightly. “My Uncle.” He said shakily, looking at her with glistening eyes. “Do you think Uncle is…”

Caithwistë winced as another spray of fire was released directly behind them, but she couldn’t take her eyes off of Kili’s mournful expression. He had voiced the very same fear that she held, but in that moment she felt a warmth in her that was not connected to Smaug’s breath. “Thorin is alive.” She said, feeling strangely confident as she gripped Kili’s shoulder.

Kili, despite the situation they were in, looked immensely relieved and looked toward the front of the boat deep in thought. Caithwistë glanced around then, after confirming Kili was comforted, and tried to focus on the attack. The screams were quieter now, and somehow louder at the same time. They were now completely surrounded by fire and ash, and still the bell rang.

As they continued through the town though, the ringing stopped abruptly. Caithwistë glanced through a clearing of smoke and gasped at what she saw. “There is an archer on the bell tower.” She said in awe.

“Da!” The boy cried out when they finally saw the man.

The girls screamed as well as the archer drew and fired at the passing dragon, but Caithwistë groaned as the arrow pinged harmlessly off its thick scales.

“He hit it!” Kili exclaimed excitedly. “He hit the dragon!”

“No.” Tauriel whispered.

“He did, he hit its mark, I saw!” Kili argued.

“Those arrows cannot pierce its hide. I fear nothing will.” Tauriel said sadly.

Caithwistë felt Kili physically deflate at that news, and they all turned back to watch the lone archer continue his fruitless defense of the town.

Unexpectedly, the boy suddenly jumped from the boat and dangled from a hoist.

“Bain! What are you doing?” Bofur cried, trying to catch the boy as he swung himself toward the docks.

“Come back!” Fili cried, joining the call. “Bain! Come back!”

“Leave him! We cannot go back.” Tauriel said, urging Fili and Bofur to continue rowing.

“Bain!” The smaller girl cried as her sister tried to hold her back.

Caithwistë reached to squeeze the trembling child’s hand and tried to give her a comforting smile. “Is there nothing we can do?” She asked Tauriel after a moment.

Tauriel only frowned and shook her head.

They were nearing the entrance to the lake when she heard Smaug’s voice again. She was not able to make out his words over the roaring fires and remaining screams, but she could hear his triumphant tone. She felt the tears begin to stream down her face at the feeling of defeat. “So much pointless death.” Oín said quietly.

Caithwistë could only nod as they slowly paddled into the lake, passing the last burning home. Suddenly, a howl of pain rang out through the night and she glanced back in time to see the dragon writhing in the air. “It cannot be.” She whispered.

“It is!” Kili called out joyfully as the dragon began to fall.

“The bowman, he did it.” Fili said quietly.

“Smaug is dead.” Bofur said in awe when the dragon finally crashed into the remains of the town.

~

Caithwistë trailed behind the dwarves on the ashen beach as they readied their boat to leave for Erebor. The screaming while the town was under attack had been terrible, but this somehow felt worse. Families cried for those they had lost. Many who had been deeply burned screamed as the few healers the town had tried to assist them.

She shook her head and stole a glance to the spot where Kili had run, to Tauriel, and couldn’t help but smile.

“This will cause nothing but trouble.” Fili muttered, stepping to her side to watch the pair share hushed words. Caithwistë raised an eyebrow at him and he met her pointed look. “Tell me I’m wrong.” He said with a shrug.

Caithwistë chuckled when Kili finally returned to them. Oín and Bofur were already on the boat and Fili was tapping his foot impatiently. “I’m ready.” Kili announced.

“Finally.” Fili grumbled. “After you, Miss Caithwistë.”

Caithwistë frowned again and glanced toward the townsfolk. She didn’t feel right leaving, not with so many people that needed help.

“You’re not coming?” Kili asked when she remained silent.

Caithwistë winced, hearing the pain in his voice. “I feel that I can do more here.” She said softly, turning to Kili. She crossed her arms and smirked. “Besides, I was relieved from my contract remember?”

Kili shook his head. “Thorin will welcome you back, I know it.” He said with certainty.

“Kili, don’t.” Fili warned.

Kili turned on him angrily. “No, she needs to know.” He argued before turning back to Caithwistë with pleading eyes. “He was heartbroken when you left. He wanted to chase after you but that’s when the bowman showed up. After that he never smiled; he barely ate. He needs you Caithwistë. Don’t you love him?”

Fili grabbed his arm and pulled him back. “This is not our place.” He said firmly before regarding Caithwistë solemnly. “You must do what you feel is right.”

Caithwistë nodded and addressed Kili. “I do love him, very much. Perhaps someday I will be brave enough to face him, but now is not the right time.” She said sadly.

Kili’s gaze fell to the ground in defeat but Fili nodded in understanding. “Come brother, we must go.” He said, pulling a dejected Kili into the boat.

Caithwistë’s heart went out to the young dwarf. She knew what this meant to him. It would have been hard to miss his connection with Tauriel. A bond between Caithwistë and Thorin could grant the possibility for Kili to love her freely.

Caithwistë watched them row away for a moment, sad to lose them again so soon. She knew her decision was the correct one though and, straightening herself, she turned to find the children again.

She spotted them quickly among the crowd and jogged to them. The smaller one was crying and it was all the older one could do to console her. “We cannot find Da or Bain.” The older one explained as she approached.

Caithwistë nodded. “What are your names?” She asked politely.

“I am Sigrid, and this is Tilda.” The older one said patting her sister gently.

“Pleased to meet you both. I am Caithwistë. I will help you find them if I can.” She said kindly.

Tilda smiled and ran to Caithwistë, hugging her fiercely. She was shocked but hugged the child back just as hard. When they broke apart, she held Tilda’s hand and gave her a wink before moving through the crowd to find their family. She could only hope they had survived.

Fortunately, it was not long before they heard a commotion and slowly moved toward it. As the group parted, Tilda released her grip on Caithwistë and dashed forward screaming “Da!”

Caithwistë glanced in the direction she ran and there stood the bowman, his son standing proudly at his side. Sigrid must have seen them in the same moment, for she suddenly dashed forward with the same delighted scream.

“Come here.” The bowman said smiling widely. He opened his arms wide as the girls ran into his embrace.

Caithwistë smiled at the interaction and approached the boy. “You are either completely mad, or quite possibly the bravest boy I have ever met.” She said clapping his arm, making him smile bashfully.

“I knew it was the only way we would survive.” He said with a smug grin.

Caithwistë grinned and turned as someone began to yell. “It was Bard! He killed the dragon! I saw it with me own eyes. He brought the beast down. Struck him dead with a Black Arrow!”

The surviving townsfolk cheered wildly, and the bowman tensed as a smaller greasy haired man held up his arm. “All hail to the Dragon-slayer! All hail King Bard!” The bowman ripped his hand away from the man, but the other continued. “I have said it many times, this is a man of noble stock. A born leader.”

Bard bristled, just as his son had earlier with Tauriel. “Do not call me that. I’m not the Master of this town.” He growled, turning to the crowd. “Where is he? Where’s the master?” he demanded.

Caithwistë frowned as the townsfolk began to argue. Eventually they tore the smaller man they called Alfrid away, presumably to kill him. This went on for some time before Bard stepped in again. “Enough, let him go! Let him go!”

The group dropped Alfrid to the ground roughly and shuffled their feet in a stunned silence.

“Look around you! Have you not had your fill of death?” He asked them incredulously.

Alfrid tried to stand and put his hand on the Bard’s shoulder as if to act as his support but was quickly pushed back down into the dirt. Still, he tried to rise as the bowman spoke but Caithwistë shoved him back down with her foot. “Stay down if you wish to survive this.” She warned quietly.

Alfrid glowered at her but nodded, wisely choosing not to protest.

“Those who can stand, tend to the wounded, and those who have strength left, follow me. We must salvage what we can.” Bard commanded, walking toward the wreckage with a group of men in tow.

When the townsfolk had dispersed to fulfill their duties, Caithwistë finally removed her foot from Alfrid. He stood up and brushed his cloak off, regarding her warily. “Thank you, Miss?” He asked, holding his hand out.

Caithwistë glanced at his hand briefly and chose to ignore the gesture. “I did not do that for your benefit.” She said coldly, feeling ill at ease with this man. “I simply have seen enough death to last me many of your lifetimes.”

Alfrid huffed and stomped away, leaving Caithwistë to simply shake her head. She looked around, wondering what she could do to help before noticing Legolas speaking quietly to Bard. Assuming Bard would know best what they would need, she decided to simply ask him.

“How may I be of the most help?” Caithwistë asked as she approached them.

Legolas narrowed his eyes at her, but Bard smiled warmly. “You have no obligation to help us any further. My daughters told me that you helped them escape. That is far more than I could ever ask for.”

Caithwistë returned the smile before responding. “How may I help anyway?”

The bowman raised an eyebrow and glanced at Legolas who had let out a small chuckle. “This one is very stubborn but is a very capable hunter.” Legolas said with a smirk. “She can help keep your people fed.”

“Very well. You can join the hunters as we travel to Dale, Miss?” He asked, holding his hand out just as Alfrid had.

This time, she took the offered hand gingerly and shook it. “Caithwistë.” She replied softly, surprised at the warm gesture. “I should warn you though, I am a half-breed of an elf and dwarf.” She blurted out suddenly when he released his grip.

“Is that a problem?” Bard asked with a raised brow.

“For some.” She said, shooting a smug look to Legolas who had begun to shake with silent laughter.

“If you are willing to help us beyond what you have already done, then I seen no problem.” He said, still wearing the kind smile. He nodded respectfully to both of them before returning to his salvaging.

Caithwistë glanced back at Legolas and crossed her arms. “I never thought I would hear you speak so kindly of me.”

Legolas smirked again. “It was not kind. It was simply truth.” He said simply.

“Have it your way then.” Caithwistë said, rolling her eyes.

She turned to join the group of hunters but Legolas stopped her by gripping her shoulder. The smirk was gone, replaced by something far more serious as he searched her eyes. She was uncomfortable but waited patiently for him to find the words he was searching for. “Keep your ears sharp and your eyes open, Mellonnen. I fear there is a greater evil at work here.” With that, he turned on his heel and left her standing there, speechless.

Beyond the fact that he had called her friend, she also felt a chill creep down her spine as the image of fire flashed before her eyes.

“Why must Elves and wizards always speak in riddles?” She muttered to herself, shaking off the strange fear that had gripped her from Legolas’ words.

Author’s Note: Awww, ever the all-around good guy Bard and see? Legolas isn’t a complete shit like his father! Don’t panic y’all, Thorin makes a re-appearance in the next chapter. This chapter was super fun to write and we’re getting so close to the end! I actually can’t believe it. Thank you all SOOO much for all the support you have given me through this journey. 😊

Translations: Mellonnen (SIndarin) - My friend

[ladyideal]

Our Love 2/3

Pairing: Leonard McCoy x Reader

Word Count: 3359

Warning: Whoo boy. Cursing, fighting, alcohol, slight fluff at the end, mention of character death, mostly angst and couples arguing

Summary: Two years since you met Leonard at the cafe, and you were together. Now working together on the Enterprise, you were happy. He was CMO, and you were First Officer on board. Concerned over Leonard’s health, you forced him to take a few days break, only to have it backfire in your face. 

A/N: Each part can stand on its own, if you don’t feel like reading it as a series. This is the second part where I chose “The Good Stuff” By Kenny Chesney which I love. Hope y’all enjoy, and you too @cuddlememerrick. ~ Italicized are the lyrics!

Part 1 is here. Part 3 is here.

That was two years ago when you first met Leonard McCoy at the cafe.

Since then, Starfleet had called you back to serve on a ship. With tears, you hugged your mom and the rest of your friends, and bid them a good bye with the promise of calling when you can. Your dad died serving aboard the USS Valiant when you were five. For you though, this was a family tradition. Every generation had served in Starfleet, and you were the fifth. 

Tearfully, you had told Leonard the news. Only to hear that he too was going into space. With luck, maybe you two could serve on the same ship one day. It was easier knowing he was in space, that there was a chance you get to meet him. However, it was a double edged sword, as anytime you could lose your boyfriend to the dangers of what space was known for.

Surprise, surprise though. 

You surprisingly met Leonard on the Enterprise. You explained that Starfleet sent a message saying that you were going to serve as First Officer. Almost immediately, your boyfriend rolled his eyes, and introduced you to his best friend and Captain James Kirk.It wasn’t long before you made friends with him too. 

Now two years later, you had everything you could ever want. Friends, a loving boyfriend, and working on the best place you could ever be.

“Dozed off there, Commander?” Jim grinned from behind you. 

Chekov had taken a sick day off. After some bribing from him, you agreed to take his shift. You rolled your eyes.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed the same thing to you too, Jim,” You frowned down at the notes from the previous ensign at your console. “You drool most of the time.”

“You wound me,” The Captain gasped in mock disbelief, putting a hand over his heart. 

You snorted loudly. “If only that can wound you, then a killing blow must be the actual truth. Isn’t that right, Len?”

“What’s this about the truth?” The doctor asked, looking between you and his best friend as he entered from the turbolift, before settling a scowl at Jim. 

“Bones!” Jim hastily turned to his doctor. “Your girlfriend has been spreading rumors about me.”

“Our Jimmy boy over there disagrees that drools when he naps.” You cut in, ignoring the spluttering from Jim. “What do you say?”

“Infants,” Leonard scowled. “What do you want, Jim? I’m busy.”

Two years brought you more happiness than you’ve ever imagined. He was CMO, and you were the First Officer. Both you and him held busy lives, but you’ve always made sure to find time and try to be with him. After the first year, you moved in with him. 

As a couple, you’ve had your fair share of arguments with him. How you were the one doing the laundry, how the way he cleaned his dishes, how this and that, but nothing big. You were fully grown adults, and you and him did your best to try to reconcile in the middle. Win some, lose some.

Till now. 

“Sweetheart,” Leonard frowned down at his PADD. “Why did Jim put me on a two day leave?”

You tilted your PADD downwards to watch him angrily toss his onto the nightstand. “Yeah, you have a bad habit of overworking yourself, love.”

“You went behind my back, Y/N!”

You put your PADD down entirely, having a bad feeling that was going to go south really soon. “You need a break, Len. Every time you always come back exhausted, and almost all the time, I have to tow you out of your office so we can eat together,” You defended yourself. “I’m only looking out for your well being.”

“I don’t need a. Fucking. Break.” Leonard stalked towards your side of the bed. “What the hell gave you the right to look out for my well being?!”

“Because I'm your goddamn girlfriend!” You stood up. “And that gives me the right to look after you when something isn’t right. You and Jim are the same! You put on the weight of the entire fucking crew on yourself and more, without thinking of yourself first!”

“That does not give you the fucking right to go behind my back!” He stopped, mere inches from you. His face was set in angry lines, red, and even a vein popping out at his anger. Involuntarily, you took a step back and gulped. 

“Len, please,” You tried, eyes widening as he continued. 

“I can’t believe I trusted you!”

“Damn it Leonard McCoy,” You immediately shot back at him. “Would you listen to yourself for one damn minute? You can’t look after the goddamn crew if you can’t look after yourself first!”

“Forget it, Y/N.” Leonard spat, storming out your shared quarters.

When the doors slid shut, you stood there in shock. Before long, you spun on your heels and marched back towards the bedroom. Tears came streaming down, falling quietly onto the carpet below. Crawling into bed, you hugged your knees to your chest and bawled loudly, shaking as you did so. 

All you could do was cycle Leonard’s hard words over and over again, as if the repeat button was broken in, and there was nothing to stop it. It was never easy from the beginning. You knew this, Leonard knew it too. You enjoyed your job, and so did he. For the first time in a long time, you let yourself utterly break down.

“Doctor,” The bartender greeted when Leonard sat down on a bar stool. 

“Bourbon, on the rocks.” 

Wisely, the bartender left. Leonard held his head in his hands, not a single sound was uttered as he sat. A glass of bourbon sat untouched in the quiet bar.

Well, me and my lady had our first big fight 

So I drove around till I saw the neon light

The corner bar, it just seemed right so I pulled up

Not a soul around but the old bar keep

Down at the end lookin' half asleep

But he walked up and said, what'll it be?

I said the good stuff

He didn't reach around for the whiskey

He didn't pour me a beer

His blue eyes kinda went misty

He said you can't find that here

He was ready to spend the rest of his life with you. He was sure you were the one. After the divorce with Jocelyn, you had been there with him since that small cafe. It was easy being around you, almost as easy as breathing. Your smile shone as bright as the stars, your laughter was infectious, and he could get lost in your eyes every time he caught your gaze.

He’d fallen head over heels quickly, and you did too.

Cooking recipes together, eating burnt dinner, enjoying a brief time down at the holodeck. There was nothing you didn’t do on the ship together. He was nervous speaking with your mom the first time when you introduced them to each other. You were a mess when he did the same to you with his mom, Joanna, his sister, and his grandparents. 

Everyone got along well, and were hopeful that he would be it. Every time you went down for an away mission, he would be the one to patch you up. When he went down, you micromanaged up until he returned back into your arms once more.  

The ring was stuffed deep inside his pocket, an uncomfortable constant reminder that he’d made the choice. The subject was brought up after a drunk night, at the same bar he was in now. An old song played, and you told him what you wanted.

Marry him. 

Leonard had never thought that he would ever hear the words again. You had to be kidding, you couldn’t mean what you said. In the morning after, you assured him that you were 100% serious. If you were ever going to marry anyone, it would be him. No one else. 

You were his.

He was yours. 

He’d chosen the ring during one of the shore leaves, while you were out with your friends relaxing at the beaches. Jim had teased him the entire way there and back. It was a small market that he had looked around for. An artisan jeweler brought out the pieces, and after much thought, he had chosen a modest one. 

It was a promise. A promise of more in the future, and a life full of happiness. But now, it felt as if everything he’d worked for was crumbling down. 

“I apologize for intruding, doctor,” The bartender hesitated, barging into Leonard’s thoughts. “A fight with the Commander?”

'Cause its the first long kiss on a second date

Momma's all worried when you get home late

And droppin' the ring in the spaghetti plate

'Cause you're hands are shakin' so much

And its the way that she looks with her eyes and her hair

Eatin' burnt suppers the whole first year

And askin' for seconds to keep her from tearin' up

Yeah man, that's the good stuff

It was just a relationship hurdle Leonard had to go through. Everyone did.  He wanted you and him to work, badly. Jim was no help, and so the only logical thing was to explain it all. He didn’t know how long it was since he last asked for help.

Him and Jocelyn went to marriage counseling, but that fell through immediately. It wasn’t long before they were arguing again, bringing the whole house down. As the rift widened, he knew it wasn’t long before they separated. 

He was right. Now, he didn’t want a repeat number two. 

“Doc, I met my wife five years ago,” The bartender started placing the clean glasses away, reminding of how Leonard first met you. “Lost her after a year together on the Valiant. It was a new planet, and she was a scientist that wanted to know as much as she could. I regret it all, spending my time drinking at a bar when I could’ve been with her.”

Leonard frowned, rolling his glass around in confusion. “I don’t-.”

“Alcohol changes nothing. The problem at the end, is just swept under the rug where hopefully no one ever notices it,” The bartender continued, as though he didn’t hear the doctor in front of him. “But what you don’t know is that turning a blind eye only makes the problem grow bigger.”

He paused. “If I had known that Morgan would be brought back home in just a year, I would take it all back. All the arguing, all the anger, just to be able to see her smile again. It’s not worth it, worth the shouting, worth the pain.  I’d do anything to keep her happy, and I’m sure that’s what you want with Y/N also.”

Leonard nodded, taking a sip as he listened. 

“I spent it all at the bar here. We fought. I drank. We fought more. I drank more. It was a continuous cycle of love and hate. Eventually, we would crash and burn. We would forgive each other, and try to move on. In the morning before she died, we fought too. I told her it was too dangerous, that someone else could go in her place. But my wife was stubborn, said that it was her job as a scientist and to document it all. She later died in my arms, thinking that I hated her.”

The bartender took a sip from his water, looking forlornly out the window. 

Leonard stared down at his empty glass, contemplating the words. When he and Jocelyn started fighting, he had ended up turning to alcohol. Too close with alcohol in fact. Being a resident kept him busy, almost always around the clock at the hospital. It was always work, went home to sleep, and then went back to work again. He took it all for granted, and he paid the price.

Now, he was noticing the pattern again. Working down at the medbay, and only coming back to his quarters dead on his feet. He knew what he had to do. 

He grabbed a carton of milk and he poured a glass

And I smiled and said I'll have some of that

We sat there and talked as an hour passed like old friends

I saw a black and white picture and it caught my stare

It was a pretty girl with bu-font hair

He said, that's my Bonnie, taken 'bout a year after we wed

He said, I spent five years in the bar when the cancer took her from me

But I've been sober three years now

'Cause the one thing's stronger than the whiskey

“Now all I have left of her are my two kids that I raised on my own, and I’ve told them the same that I’m telling you now. Life is too short to focus on the small arguments, to waste it all away on something far less precious than the one you want to be with the rest of your life. Even more so, when no one knows when we will pass out in space where our control is out of our hands, doc.”

Leonard looked back up at the bartender, who was now leaning against the counter. 

“And your kids now?”

 “Morgan didn’t watch them grow up into the adults they are now, and didn’t hold what would have been our grandchildren. All I could remember was drinking all the time in order to drown my sorrows away, and hopefully forget it all.They keep me sober for two years now, and I do it for them now.   Both have their momma’s eyes. But I still miss her like crazy. I miss her laugh, her smile, her jokes, her eyes, the way she moves, everything. What I have left now are memories and a picture of her.”

He indicated a small colored photo propped up against a shot glass with a slight nod. “I keep her on me at all times. But most of my memories were hardly good. So I live with the regret of yelling and arguing at her for the rest of my life. I hope she’s up there somewhere though, in a better place and have forgiven me.”

“If I had the chance to do it right, I would take it within a heartbeat. Don’t repeat what I did. You never know when the good Lord will call your loved ones home.”  

“I understand what you’re tryin’ to say,” Leonard quietly spoke. 

“Here,” The bartender slid a glass of water over to the doctor. “I hope you keep this in mind, doc. We’ve only got one chance to get this right.” 

Was the sight of her holdin' my baby girl

The way she adored that string of pearls

I gave her the day that our youngest boy Earl

Married his high school love

And its a new t-shirt sayin' I'm a grandpa

Bein' right there as our time got small

And holdin' her hand when good the Lord called her up

Yeah man that's the good stuff

“I-I should go,” Leonard stood up, reaching over to pay for his drink. He drained his glass of water quickly. 

“It’s on me, doc,” The bartender waved his offered credits away. “For my wife Morgan.”

Thanking him, he hurried back to his shared quarters, desperately hoping you were still there. He knew what he had to say. All he needed was you to not have left. It would crush him even more if you did. No, he convinced himself. You were still there of course, but unhappy and upset. 

Rightly so. 

You didn’t know how long it had been since Leonard left, but you assumed it must have been a bit by now. Your mind still echoed of his anger, and it was all you could think about. The crying hadn’t exactly stopped either, only enough for you to suffer in the silence. 

It was silent enough that you heard the doors slid open though, and curled up tighter into a fetal position. You hid deeper under the covers, desperately hoping that he wouldn’t be able to immediately see you. You shivered as you heard his footsteps approach. 

“Still here, sugar?” Leonard called out from the hallway. He waited a moment for a reply, a sound, anything, but heaved a heavy sigh in the silence. “Thought so,” he mumbled, slowly making his way towards the bedroom. 

You kept your eyes on your pillow, one side of your cheek brushing against the wetness of the pillow cover. It was easier to not meet his gaze, or anything to associate with him. You whimpered quietly, eyes glassy and faraway. When the mattress dipped beside you, you kept your eyes focused on the other wall, refusing to look at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry. 

It’s all you’ve known previously. You’d hoped this time, it would be different. Clearly not. 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean any of it, I swear,” He murmured, slowly sliding his way into the covers beside you. His voice always soothed you, and this time it was no different. Yet, you still didn’t move.

Tentatively, he wrapped his arms around you in an effort to bring you closer to him. Wrenched out of your mind by the sudden contact, you flinched and jumped, before finally turning around to fully face him. 

Leonard looked wounded. For a moment, the self loathing crossed his face before it disappeared as quickly as it came. You knew Leonard, knew him enough that he would never hurt you. Therefore, you trusted him more than you had ever trusted anyone outside your immediate family. 

The mind was cruel that way. It twisted and turned, whispering words of pain and distrust after the fight. Playing a trick was how the mind defended itself, but his time, it was hurting you in its path of self defense. Sniffling, you slowly looked up from his blue tunic and up to his eyes. All you could see reflected in his eyes was apologetic, understanding, and most importantly, love.

“I’m here, sweetheart,” he continued, his voice soft and gentler than he had ever used on you. You whimpered once more, and he squeezed you tighter in his arms. “I know. It’s alright.” You ducked your head back down, letting out a sigh of relief that you didn’t know you were holding in, and laid your head on his chest. 

And cried once more. 

“I’m so sorry, sugar,” Leonard spoke lowly. Bit by bit, your tears stopped falling. Quieting down after some time, you let Leonard gently wipe away tear streaks upon your cheeks. You cleared your scratchy throat, hoping to get the words.

“Should’ve told you,” You managed out, looking tearfully back up at him. 

“Let me hold you for tonight, worry about that tomorrow.”

He said, when you get home she'll start to cry

When she says, I'm sorry, say so am I

Look into those eyes so deep in love and drink it up

'Cause that's the good stuff

“I’m not going to break up with you.” Was the first thing you said in the morning over breakfast. You’d taken the day off, knowing that even if you went back to work in the state you were in at the moment, Jim would just take you off anyways. Plus Leonard mattered more to you than a job. He was your everything, and you would do anything to fix this together.

Leonard came first. Job came second.

Leonard frowned, nearly choking over his spit at your words. “You should be furious with me.”

You only shook your head, poking your eggs around before taking a bite. “It's not the first time I've gone through this, Len.” A pause. “And I should’ve known better.” 

“You were looking out for me, sweetheart, and I’m sorry that I yelled at you.”

You reached out with your other hand to grab his, rubbing circles into his skin in an attempt to soothe him. “Thank you.”

That's the good stuff

ST Tags: @mournthewicked​ (You’re the best, thank you.)