#these 3 facts took me 84 years to come up with | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

elvendria · 1 year

Text

Clean (Formerly Love is a Battlefield)

AU Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Part One

Summary:

You return to Hawkins after a few years in the middle of the night during the summer with your 4-year-old sister in tow, thinking the two of you could fly under the radar and settle in at Forest Hills Trailer Park. You thought you could get by without bumping into your old enemy, Eddie Munson, the town freak.

But you weren't always enemies, in fact, there was a time when you two were closer than anything.

Eddie dreams of making it big, you just dream of making it out of here alive.

\\enemies - lovers//

((Warning I'm not from the US, so bare with me when it comes to states and such))

tw: 18+ MINORS DNI or I will be busting kneecaps, E.D, physical abuse, child abuse, runaways, reader is 20 and Joyce's ex-step-niece, Will and Johnathan's cousin, Joyce is Queen, Wayne is King, slow burn, gambling addictions, Eddie is 20, Chrissy is the villan but we stan grace

Word Count: 3.96K

part two part three part four

May 21st 1986

You drive the back roads as much as possible, the 1970s Dodge Challenger illuminated under the moon as you try your best to drive carefully. You didn't want to wake Willow, your 4 years old sister, sleeping in the backseat. It was drizzling rain, pouring down the windshield in sheets, how very fitting.

It had been a whirlwind, a spur-of-the-moment decision. Things had gotten to be... too much, having moved to Vegas from Hawkins a few years ago for your Dad's new telemarketer job. Willow wasn't even born yet, and after she was it didn't take long for it all to go to shit.

Pleasant conversations turned into civil discussions turned into small spats turned into full-blown fisticuffs. You could handle the occasional black eye or bust lip, you were a big girl, but the second you found out that they'd laid a hand on Will you were out of there.

The summer had just begun, and you were taking care of Willow while you were both at home. It was at least 84°F, and so you changed her out of her jammies and into a loose sundress when you noticed it. A large handprint on her arm and an even larger bruise began to form in the center of her back.

"Will, what happened?" You already knew what it was, but you hoped beyond hope that you were wrong. Mom was decent enough to hit in places you could hide unless she was drunk, hence the purpling bruise under your eye. Dad was the one to smack you if you got in his way of something. Dad would slap you and not care where it landed.

"Daddy got mad at me for playing with my dollies while he watched TV. I'm sorry sissy I didn't mean to be bad." She hung her head, to which you tilted it up to look in her eyes, wiping away the tears that threatened to spill.

"Shh Willa it's okay..." You pulled her in for a hug, careful not to hold her too tight. "How about we go on a little trip, you and me? We can go for as long as you want." She was four fucking years old. She was a child. She shouldn't be worrying about getting in trouble for playing with a goddamn toy. "You can bring all your dolls with you! They can come on the trip with us."

It never took much convincing with her. You'd soon learned that she was the kind of kid who just wanted to help others, giving them her lunch and going over to someone who was sitting alone and asking if they wanted to play jump rope with her.

You shook your head no when she asked would your parents be joining the two of you, and her eyes lit up a small bit, which made your heartbreak. Your father was known for flying off the handle, a loss at the casino was enough to put him on the warpath for weeks. If he had bet on the football game and she got in his way of seeing something he considered important, it wouldn't have mattered that she was only a child. She was standing in the way of him and his money, and so she needed to be removed.

You shoved anything and everything you could into 3 duffel bags. Mostly clothes and essentials along with any cash you had saved up for college tuition. It wasn't like you were going anyways, you'd have never left Will here alone plus you missed the deadline on applications. Now you were just a high school graduate with no prospects.

You threw in a lot of snacks for the drive, it was going to be a long ride back to Hawkins and Vee could get hangry at the best of times.

And Hawkins you had landed. After spending the past three nights in different motels, hood up anytime you saw the hint of a security camera at a gas station, you finally arrived to the one place that had always been like a home away from home, to the one person who you could trust like no other. You felt guilty for knocking at this hour, especially when you remembered that it had been almost 2 years since you last spoke with her.

The porch light turned on, door swinging open with a loud creak as you cradled the sleep-drunk 4 year old on your hip, her drool pooling on your shoulder, not that you cared.

"Hi Aunt Joyce..."

Joyce was your aunt in the every way but legally. She had married your Uncle Lonnie, leaving him when she found out that her husband was a lot like his brother. Thankfully, from what you've heard through the grapevine that is your fathers derogatory comments, her sons seem to have been spared those genes.

"Y/N? Is that.. Is that you?" Her voice was bleary, dull and squinted from tiredness, and once again I felt immense amounts of guilt for waking her up at this hour. It had to be at least 3 in the morning, and here you were, a niece who hadn't contacted her in two years (not that you were allowed to) standing in her doorway, soaked to the skin from the rain.

You remember the last words she said to you, the hurried phone call as she told you Will was home safe, no longer missing. You didn't even care that your father had cut the phone call short, quite literally taking a scissors to the cord, you were that happy to hear your cousin was okay.

"Yeah I'm uh..." You'll be honest, you didn't think this far ahead. You knew where you would be living, you'd called ahead to the trailer park owner from a shady motel and told him you'd pay him a deposit tomorrow. Well, today. But you hadn't planned what you'd say to Joyce, how you'd tell her that you skipped town with your sister in an attempt to save her from the abuse back home. "I'm back home. Just us.."

That was all she needed to hear to usher you inside, her arms wrapping you in the first hug that wasn't your sisters in four years.

Telling everything to Joyce was actually a lot easier than you thought, especially when you didn't have to tell her at all. She took a good look at you and noticed the deep bruise under your eye and the small scar on your chin from where your mom had forgotten her own strength, causing you to hit the kitchen counter. It hadn't been there when you left, so it confirmed what Joyce already knew. You didn't have to utter a word for her to understand.

"I'll be moving into Forest Hills in the morning, I'm only asking for two things, and I'll make it up to you as best I can, I promise." Your eyes were pleading with her, not that they needed to be, Joyce would've done anything to help you. She saw you almost like a daughter, wanting on more than one occasion to sweep you away from them and take care of you. She'd never gotten to meet Willow, but already she was in love with the bouncy brunette curls that fell across her face as she slept in your lap, cuddled up to you on the couch like you were the only person in the world.

"I don't have a lot..." She reached into her purse, bulling out a few crumpled bills, only stopping when you put a hand on her arm and looked at her. Everything favor with your parents had to have been paid back with interest. If you needed a ride to school, you had to fill the car with gas and wash it. If you needed to borrow $5 for lunch, you had to pay back $35, all under the guise of 'this is how it is in the real world, no ones going to love you for free'. And yet here was Joyce, a woman who wasn't even technically related to you, who you hadn't spoken to in years, offering over whatever she had with no strings attached.

"I have the money, thank you though. I just..." You blinked back tears, the overwhelming feeling of gratefulness washing over you like a waterfall. You had never been great at accepting help, no clue why. It's not like you were in a transactional relationship with your parents. You stroked Willow's hair. If it weren't for her you wouldn't even be asking, you'd be determined to do this alone. But you needed stability for her, along with a steady cash income. "I need help with a job."

You saw Joyce's eyes light up, holding your hand that had been on her arm. She smiled at you, a soft gentle smile that made you feel at home again. This house had been your home away from... whatever it was you could call where you lived. You used to play board games with Johnathan at the kitchen counter, or lie on your stomach and draw pictures with Will on the floor. It all smelled the same, a thick mustiness in the air combined with a lemon cleaning product.

You stayed and talked with Joyce for a while, she told you she could secure you an interview at the local music store, and if that failed she joked about having someone on the inside at Melvalds. She hugged you goodbye, kissing the top of your head like she used to when you were a kid, standing in the doorway as you drove off, not closing it until your tail lights were out of sight.

It was early morning when you pulled up to your new home. The owner had given you a discount along with a look of pity. Usually you'd be the first to tell a person off for looking at you like that, but hey, if it got you a discount you weren't going to say no.

You parked up outside and instinctively looked across the dirt road, realizing why it felt like such a familiar drive. Right across from your trailer, where you planned on laying low for a while, was 53 Forest Hills Park.

The Munson Residence.

You swore you saw a curtain move back into place when you took Willow from the car, balancing her on your hip as you held your new key, but maybe you were imagining things, because you stood there for five more minutes to see if the door would open, and all it did was remain shut. For some reason that hurt you more than if he was to actually show his face.

Not that you wanted him to.

You brushed it off, looking down at the key before you pushed it in the lock, a little extra force was needed as it was somehow already rusty, even though he told you it was new. Not that you were going to complain. A home is a home after all. All you needed was somewhere for yourself and Ivy to rest your heads and eat food, everything after that was secondary.

You walked into the bedrooms and saw that the beds already had sheets on them, though they looked... questionable. You didn't want to run the risk of Willow or yourself being bitten by something, so you hastily undressed the beds, flipping both mattresses. It was a temporary solution until you could take them out back and beat them senseless with the sweeping brush to be a bit more certain they weren't infested.

Once again, you weren't complaining, anything was better than a motel bed where the springs threatened to burst through and stab your skin. You were really looking forward to a night where you weren't swaddled in blankets and towels to avoid being impaled.

"Here you go monkey, snug as a bug in a rug." You had put one of your hoodies on Willow, the fabric coming down to her ankles, the sleeves well past her fingertips. It looked ridiculous on her, but you didn't pack sheets because why would you think of that? You walk over to a closet in the hallway and find some relatively clean linen, pulling them out and making the beds. You'd plan a trip to a laundromat soon, you needed to wash your clothes from the journey anyways.

You pulled the blanket up to her chin, kissing between her eyebrows gently. As you went to pull away, you felt a tiny hand grab onto you, or at least attempt to. She was too tired to speak, but you knew what she meant, what she wanted you to do.

Crawling onto the bed beside her, one arm bent up behind her head as you stroked her rosy cheeks, you smiled down at her as you felt your eyes droop, growing more and more tired by the second.

"I'm here petal, I'm not leavin'." You mumbled lightly, sleep overcoming you as you lay beside her.

A few days had passed, and Willow seemed to be settling down to the idea of being here for a while. You'd been keeping an eye on the news, and there were no reports about either of you, so even though you'd been gone just over a week, you're parents hadn't reported you two missing.

You were standing in the kitchenette, having just gotten back from your first shift at the record store, a resounding success if you did say so yourself. Willa sat in the manager's office, you were going to need to find someone to look after her. Joyce had to work too, even though she told you numerous times that she could babysit.

She was sitting watching Looney Toons, giggling at something Bugs Bunny did on the TV. You looked over at her as you flipped pancakes, having only grabbed the bare essentials to make a few meals. Your paycheck was due at the end of the week, and you were planning on going grocery shopping then.

The room felt hot from the sun pouring in, the rays of light accentuating every speck of dust in the room. It filtered through the curtains, the room now a soft glow, the dark brown furnishings looking brighter. You were calm, and relaxed, setting down the plate of pancakes in front of Willow when there came a knock on the door.

Of course you were nervous, why wouldn't you be? just because they hadn't called the cops doesn't mean they hadn't figured it out for themselves. They could be standing outside, waiting to drag you both back to Nevada to be their personal punching bags. Hunching down, you stayed low as you walked, or rather crawled over to the window, peering out.

You saw what looked to be a kind but stern man standing outside holding a tupperware box. He looked vaguely familiar, like he was from a distant memory. Something about him felt safe, or at least safe enough to open the door anyways.

Pulling it open, you looked at him as his eyes widened slightly like he was surprised to see you. You stood there trying to piece where you knew him from when it finally clicked with you who was before you.

"Jesus Christ darlin', thought I was havin' a vision when I saw ya'll pull up just t'other day. Said to myself, surely Y/N Y/L/N isn't back here." Wayne's southern drawl made everything sound pleasant and inviting, and you couldn't help the smile that grew on your face. He looked different than when you last saw him, his hair was thinner and his skin was more aged, but no one would ever be able to forget the energy Wayne Munson radiated.

"Oh my god, Wayne! How are you? Come in!" You stepped back, holding the door open for him to come and sit, suddenly realizing something as your words caught in your throat. There was a chance that Wayne wasn't going to be alone, and that his nephew was going to be joining him very soon. "Is he uh... Is he going to join you?"

There was a reason you knew the drive to the trailer park so well, why you stared at the Munson trailer for a solid five minutes, afraid to blink in case you missed him, why you knew Wayne and he knew you, both acting like old friends. It's because you were. Or at least you had been with his nephew.

Eddie Munson, in all his wickedness and cruelty, had been your best and closest friend in the world. He was the first boy you ever loved, the first boy to break your heart too. No guy you met since then has ever been enough to make you forget about him.

Despite how much you wanted to.

"No no, he..." His words faltered, his eyes cast down at his hands as you placed a cup of coffee in them. The trailer wasn't much but at least it had a kettle. "I don't think he knows you're here. Y/N I really think you two should..." But you cut him off before he could finish.

"I'm sorry Wayne, but after everything he said, everything he promised and and what he did, I can't look at him right now." Mentioning him made your chest ache, and made you want to not hate him. You wondered if he'd grown his hair back, if he'd gotten any better at guitar, if he still had that tattered old copy of Lord of The Rings that you'd gotten him for his 9th birthday with your pocket money that you'd hidden away.

You twisted the ring he gave you on your finger, something you always did when you were nervous. It was a thick silver ring, with a chain pattern around the middle of it. You'll never forget what he said to you when he walked up, holding out the ring on a small chain. You were only slightly older than Willow. It also happened to be the very first thing he said to you.

"Hey! Wanna see what I have?!" He came barrelling over to you, his hand clasped around something tight. You were worried if he was going to show you a bug because surely it would be dead by now. He was a small boy with shaggy dark brown hair to match his eyes. You hadn't seen him in your grade before.

"Um.. sure?" You had been making daisy chains on the grass, taking a short break from the swings. You were gonna go back to them though, you were determined to swing so high you could see your house.

"I think it might be too big for you, but I won this at the arcade." He looked shy, nervous even. He'd been admiring the way your pigtails flowed when you soared high, and he remembered he had the ring in his pocket.

"Thank you!" You were at the age where you didn't question anything, and where someone being friendly was only that, a person being friendly. You took the necklace from him, slipping it around your neck and giggling as it swung side to side. The boy looked a little older, maybe a year? You slipped the ring over your finger, giggling as it slipped back off again, danging from the chain.

"My mom talks about growing into stuff all the time, maybe that's what you can do with that!" He looked so excited, so eager and happy and joyful before sitting down on the ground and plucking a long blade of grass, holding it between his thumbs and trying to make that noise you'd seen people do before. He kept muttering about how he almost had it even though he was nowhere near close.

You sat like that for what felt like hours before a young-looking woman called him over, walking and taking his hand. She looked so much like him, a striking resemblance between them both. He began to walk away, before breaking his grip on his mother's hand to run back and tackle you into a hug.

"I'm Eddie, see you soon!"

You told him your name, and if anyone were ever to ask you when you fell in love with Edward Munson, it would be that moment exactly.

"I understand, just... try to go easy on him okay?" He nodded his head, hands clasped around the mug. You both heard scuffles coming from the side and turned to see the mischievous brunette staring at you from over the sofa, the lower half of her face obscured.

"Where are my manners! Wayne... this is my sister Willow." Walking over, you scooped her up in your arms, her giggles warming your heart and Waynes as you sit down again with her on your knee. That was the thing about Willa, everything about her made people want to smile, and her very presence lit up the room.

"Well hello there little lady, how are you this fine afternoon." He grinned over at her, his gruff exterior giving way to that heartwarming smile you remembered from childhood.

The one thing about Willow, the one thing that you knew for certain, was that she had absolutely no filter whatsoever. She sat there for a second, ignoring Wayne's question before looking down from his receding hairline to his face.

"You have a very shiny head."

She said it with full confidence, no hesitation. You felt your face turn bright red with embarrassment. You were about to scold her, tell her that she couldn't just go around commenting on how people were bald, when you heard a loud bellowing laugh from across the table.

Looking at Wayne, he was clutching his sides as a stray tear rolled down his face. He started wheezing, which caused you to laugh, which caused Willow to laugh. Her laugh was like a lilted giggle, bouncing on your leg and hiding behind her hands as her lopsided pigtails danced around her.

"I suppose you're right, my head is rather shiny.." He chuckled further, finishing up his coffee. You sat there and talked for a few minutes, before Wayne stood up, carrying his mug to the sink, ignoring your protests claiming that you would take care of it yourself.

"I best get going, working night security at the plant, they need me over there at 7 on the dot." He reached over, playfully pretending to steal Willows nose. "Now we have to meet again so I can give this back, okay darlin'?" Willa just nodded her head and giggled, hands flying up to cup her face.

The two of you walked out to the front of the trailer, chatting away again, completely oblivious to the figure watching you from 53 Forest Hills Trailer Park. A figure with a heart that was beating a mile a minute, because there you were, after some long, excruciating years of being without you, and you were talking to his uncle like nothing was wrong.

He was still in his daze when he felt her soft hand on his bicep, pulling his focus away for a second.

"Eds, come back to bed, Wayne's left for the evening, wanna have some fun with you." He used to like the way she said his nickname, the nickname you started for him, but now it felt wrong, weird even, and he wasn't sure why.

"Sure Chris, lead the way..." He followed Chrissy into his bedroom. He knew he should be thinking of her, of his girlfriend, the prom queen and former High School Queen, but his mind still thinking of you, his mind filling with questions, but predominantly one.

"What the hell were you doing back here?"

part two part three

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!

#stranger things eddie munson #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things eddie #eddie stranger things #eddie smut #stranger things #eddie munson smut #eddie headcanons #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie the freak munson #eddie x reader #eddie x y/n #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #enemies to lovers

263 notes · View notes

punemy-spotted · 1 year

Text

A Worthy Grave - Chapter 3

Chapter 3 - The Dead Become the Emperors of Memory

Pairing: Federal Agent!Ari Levinson x Witch!Reader

Masterlist; Chapter 1; Chapter 2

Pairing: Federal Agent!Ari Levinson x Witch!Reader

Warnings: THIS IS STILL A HORROR FIC; A Whole Lot of Body Horror; Blood and Gore; Harm to an Animal; Gruesome Murder; Religious Iconography; Straight up Heresy; Christ Imagery; Gruesome Descriptions of Organs; Ghosts; Ghouls; Violence Against Women; Discussion of Grief; Witchcraft; Blood; I Cannot Articulate Enough That This is a HORROR Fic; Dead Dove: Do Not Eat; Seriously so so dead, HEED THE WARNINGS

PLEASE REMEMBER THAT YOUR CONSUMPTION OF MEDIA IS YOUR OWN RESPONSIBILITY AND IF YOU ARE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH THE CONTENT THAT IS BEING PRESENTED, PLEASE DO NOT READ

Chapter Summary: Death was not supposed to visit you in the one place you spent your day speakin’ for it, carvin’ answers out of flesh and bone.

Notes: So yes it took me 84 years to update and I'm SORRY. Please take this update as an apology. (also yes this was on Ao3 ages ago… depression’s a bitch, y’all.)

I cannot emphasize enough that this is a horror fic so things are going to get gory going forward. PLEASE read at your own discretion, I'm begging you.

As always, I crave feedback so please let me know your thoughts! Have questions about the lore? Let me know about those too! As a reminder, reblogging fics supports authors so please let me know you want more by liking AND reblogging!

All of my work is 18+ Only, Minors DO NOT INTERACT. I do not consent to my work being posted anywhere besides Tumblr or Ao3 and I post my work there myself. Do not copy, translate, or repost any of my content.

The next morning comes with lab results and Ari Levinson bringing you coffee, bright and early.

Good coffee, too, which you note with amusement the moment you take a sip, You convince Janice to upgrade the beans?

Pretty sure she’d tell me asking wasn’t even on the budget. I went to Jed’s.

You go to his restaurant or his house?

You’re teasing him — which you’ll admit is new for you, especially with Ari fuckin’ Levinson standin’ in front of you, sipping coffee and enjoying one of Jed’s famous breakfast sandwhiches — but considerin’ your couch an’ the fact that he slept on it night before last, it’s not like you’re unjustified, is it? A fact which he, to his credit, takes in stride, taking a smug sip of coffee — if such a thing were possible, it would be Levinson to pull it off — and shrugging, Showin’ up unannounced at the ass-crack of dawn’s a privilege I reserve for you, Doc.

You roll your eyes, hide your smile behind the lip of your coffee cup, Just cuz you spent the night on my couch don’t mean I’m gonna be any nicer to you, Levinson.

Shit, Doc, you start bein’ nice to me and I might swoon here and now.

You’d refuse to admit it if he or anyone else asked you to, but that makes you laugh, hidden behind a huff that could be annoyance or amusement, Hope you ain’t expectin’ me to catch you, Levinson.

I learned my lesson last time the Chief tried makin’ us do trust exercises.

Not my fault you didn’t warn me.

He shrugs, you roll your eyes, turning back to the computer as it dings with a message for you to review, You better have ordered me a sandwich too, or I’m bannin’ you from my biscuits for the foreseeable future.

That’s for you to find out in the lunchroom, Doc.

Where the hell’s your apple butter?

In a twist of fate you will not be thankin’ anyone for — least of all Ari Levinson — there is a sandwich waiting for you in the breakroom fridge, labeled and everythin’. You pop it into the toaster oven like you always do with Jed’s takeaway, pouring yourself a glass of sweet tea and taking the time you deserve for yourself an’ your lunch break, having taken great care to make sure there’s not an ounce of paperwork or results to review while you sip tea an’ enjoy a meal to the sound of blessed silence.

Most of the office would be done with their lunches by now, or eatin’ at their desks to avoid traffic in the break room. ‘Course, with your lab, the idea of eatin’ a meal with a frozen corpse in the next room waitin’ for you to finish rummagin’ around in its guts did not whet the appetite.

Least the break room don’t smell like formaldehyde all the time.

So you take your vigil here, disappearing into your thoughts and the quiet joy of pastrami on rye.

Until Ari Levinson, like a bloodhound sensin’ the exact moment you find silence in your life and choosin’ to hunt it down, comes strollin’ in, See you found the sandwich, Doc.

You might’ve been grateful you’d already finished your meal, just sippin’ tea by the time he came by, but you’re already missin’ silence and there’s a good fifteen minutes left before you need to clock back in an’ pretend you’re comfortable ‘round grieving parents, so you’d thank him to forgive you for lookin’ like he made you swallow a lemon. Whole. You bribin’ me with a sandwich to keep talkin’ to you, Levinson?

Is it working?

You open your mouth, poised to continue the time-honored tradition of tradin’ barbs with him, sarcastic quip ready to fly from your tongue, when you see her. Standin’ there in all her spectral glory, mouth open wide in a static scream of horror an’ fury, a livid necklace of purple bruises blooming around her throat, hollow eyes trained on you.

And Ari Levinson, goddamn him and his goddamn training, notices. Notices. Watches you. Makes silent note of how your mouth snaps shut, how your lips fold into a grim line and follows the trajectory of your gaze with a turn of his head, watchin’ the hallway behind him.

Hey Doc, he calls back to you, voice as level as he can probably manage it.

Yeah? You make a valiant effort at doing the same, refusin’ to take your eyes off the specter once known as Jane Doe #117.

I’m assuming you see her?

Sure do, Levinson.

There’s a pause, a moment, Ari’s hands slowly reaching for the gun at his holster and you slowly reaching a hand out to stop him, ears ringing as you try to make sense of the radio static pouring from that endless scream, your daddy’s lessons servin’ you well. Run.

A beat.

Then—Levinson, I need you to get security over to the lab.

The look he fires back at you is pure confusion, hand still poised over his gun and you know in your bones the only reason Jane Doe #117 hasn’t moved is cuz you’ve got eyes on her right now.

Bad deaths. The humanity is rotting out of her by the second, an’ no amount of cornbread offerings an’ promises to do our best are gonna keep her from lashin’ out at the humanity she’s lost, not ‘til the person who took it from her is found and named. Named for her to haunt until they too, turn to rot.

But you don’t got time to think about that right now, not when Ari’s already arguing with you ‘bout leavin’ you alone with an eyeless, bloodless, ghost. Or haint, you ain’t sure what he’ll call it—Doc, I know—

I know I didn’t stutter, Levinson. Security. Lab. Now.

It’s already too late.

Jon Doe #43 is less pleasant lookin’ than the girl whose ID he had hidden inside his flayed jaw — the girl whose radio static warning is still ringing in your ears as you take in the sight of him now, lookin’ leagues worse than he did the first time he showed up on your doorstep… two nights ago.

How quickly things move.

Ari swears low under his breath behind you, both of you frozen in place and trying to make sense of the tableau before you, the sight of a dead man strung up against the wall, arms outstretched and a crown of broken scalpels forced into the exposed bone of his scalp, head hanging low as if looking down at the figure kneeling at his bloody, skinless feet.

Is that…?

It is.

Something sick rises in your gut as you take a look at the blood-bathed figure kneelin’ before the corpse you know she’d been busy trynna put back together into somethin’ buryable, her gloved hands bound into some bastardization of penitent prayer by a line of what you’re pretty sure is John Doe #47’s own large intestine, havin’ been cleaned out after another one of your techs “recovered” it from the tupperware container it’d been found in when the whole mess’d been discovered.

You can’t see her face — part cuz she’s turned away from you, lookin’ up at that flayed Christ, an’ part cuz of the horned thing resting on her shoulders, a shape you wish you didn’t recognize as you take in the sight of cream-white fur stained with drippin’ viscera — but you suspect you know exactly what kinda expression she’s wearin’ underneath that “mask” forced over her.

Blood for blood.

You made a life of it, death. Cornbread offerin’s like your momma taught you the first time you met one of the wailin’ spirits of the woods ‘round your home, let ‘em gorge themselves on the vitality of food the same way a livin’ bein’ might fuel themselves with the actual thing. Tried to make sense of the static the way your daddy would when he stepped off the pulpit and into the graveyard behind your family home, always hissing warnings to the bein’s beyond to keep away from his family.

You made a life of it.

But just like the mountains, the ones meant to keep you safe if you kept ‘em safe, death was supposed to stay way the hell away from you, was supposed to keep its scythe off you an’ yours until they were good an’ ready to travel through that big black door. That was the promise written all over that big ol’ family Bible you spent your childhood copyin’ so you’d be ready for the world outside your homemade Eden, the one you wielded like shield an’ sword against any manner of haint unwillin’ to recognize the darkness in your own blood.

Death was not supposed to visit you in the one place you spent your day speakin’ for it, carvin’ answers out of flesh and bone, woe to you who rend the flesh.

Your lab is now an active crime scene, casting you out to make your calls to next of kin — you know them, you’ve met her husband ‘bout a half-dozen times this past month alone, bringin’ her lunch when her scatterbrain forgot it, got used to seein’ him lingerin’ sheepishly in the doorway and then hollerin’ for her to come out front an’ give her beau a kiss — and try to get used to sayin’ her name in conjunction with, There’s been… an incident.

You’re no grief counselor.

There’s no training for this, but it ain’t right. It ain’t right for someone who ain’t family to call hers, someone who don’t remember laughin’ at her gettin’ giddy over stomach contents. Someone who don’t understand what it’s like to miss the sound of her hummin’ some pop song you ain’t even heard of—

You holdin’ up alright, Doc?

Ari Levinson makes you jump for the second time in as many days, office phone clatterin’ from your hand as you spin ‘round and try not to let your heart beat out your chest, still too busy overthinkin’ to manage a glare, I’ll be fine. You get the security footage from the lab?

Yeah. Got a couple computer guys on it now, trying to figure out what happened.

Well, you sigh, rubbin’ the bridge of your nose as you lean against a metal countertop, We better hope we find out soon enough, cuz I’m ‘bout three seconds from shakin’ this whole goddamn buildin’ apart lookin’ for someone to pin this shit on.

Ari nods, mouth pressed into a thin line as the silence ‘tween you stretches out, eyes wanderin’ over to the closed-off lab, sanctuary swarmin’ with corpse beetles mournin’ the loss of one of their own as they try an’ find out whodunnit.

You know they won’t, ‘course, but it’s enough to let ‘em try.

You’d never admit it, of course — an’ maybe you’d almost forgotten it by now, those childhood truths givin’ way to the kinda truths you needed to keep your callin’ here in these mountains — but it used to terrify you. An’ why wouldn’t it, all ‘em screamin’ mouths an’ radio-static pleas beggin’ you to make sense of the injustices of the world they’d been cut right out of?

Too much, too much pain, too much horror, too much for a girl of tender years to tolerate hearin’, much less repeatin’ to those still grieving.

Problem with the dead is, well, they’re selfish. Don’t care if you’re barely old enough to understand the meaning of death, still meant to be shielded from those things that should long have left this plane of existence an’ passed through that big black door.

Ari Levinson don’t know none of that terror though, don’t know much more’n what you jammed into his head after blowin’ away another one of your ghosts, but he means well. Stands a little to close behind you like he could just peer ‘round an’ see the way your lips twitch as you swallow down blood an’ bile, holdin’ back the shadows of your daddy’s own temper.

You gonna be alright, Doc?

Ah shit.

You’d rather chew glass than tell him you prolly won’t be, tell him you just lost a girl you loved like your own blood, tell him you got cocky and now the very community you called your home was in danger cuz of it.

But there he is, standing in front of you like a fuckin’ sentinel while he waits for you to give him something back. Assurance, more likely, but as much as you’re used to tellin’ lies an’ keepin’ secrets, there are some falsehoods even yoou can’t keep.

Sure, you finally answer, trying to sound convincing and feeling the hollowness bitter itself on your tongue, I’ll live. Gimme a few hours an’ I’ll have somethin’ to say for her.

#ari levinson x reader #ari levinson #chris evans #ari levinson imagine #chris evans imagine #chris evans character #a worthy grave

54 notes · View notes

lannisterdaddyissues · 1 year

Note

I want to enable your BillRita screaming so for those ship asks...

How do they sleep?

What's their most and least favorite thing about each other?

How are they with PDA?

What's their favorite thing to tease each other about?

What little things remind them of each other?

I would apologize for how many of these things I sent but we both know I'm not sorry...

OHHHHHHH HEATHER YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW MUCH YOU’VE ENABLED ME WITH THIS I’M FROTHING AT THE FUCKING MOUTHHHHHHH GRGSHGRHFJGHASRJGHASJFHSAGRJSFSGAS YOU KNOW I LOVE THEM!!! YOU KNOW I DO!!!!

IM SORRY THIS TOOK 84 YEARS BTW AND THERES A LOT OF TONAL DISSONANCE IN THIS BECAUSE I WAS BEING SILLY AT FIRST BUT THEN I GOT SO FUCKING SERIOUS ABOUT THIS YOU KNOW HOW I AM AHRESGAKJHJSGKHALSJGKHFASG ANYWAY-

im putting this under a cut because it is. so fucking long. im so sorry for my mental illness

3. What's their favorite thing to tease each other about? AHHHHHH i think we all know rita will bully bill over anything and everything because she's just. so mean to him 😭 but i think her favorite thing to make fun of him for is his accent, or really just his being american in general because i think he’d be the most stereotypical american guy lol. he has a silly, dumb american accent and he likes silly, dumb american sports and silly, dumb american food! rita pretends to find his Americanisms™ exasperating but privately she thinks they're funny lmao

as for bill, his favorite thing to tease rita about is how messy she is. i’ve already said it, but rita being a messy bitch and bill being a neat freak is one of my favorite headcanons about them sjdfhskjgffjs… you’d think being in the army would’ve taught rita how to put things away but no, bill finds her bras and stuff lying around all the time and it was awkward at first but he’s gotten used to it now, so he lets her have her little rebellion against army regulations and politely pretends that isn’t her. uh. underwear. wedged between the couch cushions next to him when he sits down to do Important Media Relations Major Stuff™ on his computer 😳

5. How do they sleep? they sleep back to back because it's a show of trust and vulnerability for both of them... blubbubbublbddlwwbwudfbfbldludubldublub;;,.,$$.,$,&.,., goodbye... i'm crying now...

of course, by the time the morning rolls around bill is normally lying half on top of rita and drooling a bit on her shirt, which isn’t super sexy but bill will be bill 🤷‍♀️

7. What's their most and least favorite thing about each other? AHHHHHH oh my god. i have to think long and hard about this and it sounds like a cop-out but i truly don't think bill really has a favorite thing about rita. if you ask him what it is, he will actually spontaneously combust from thinking too hard.

but the short answer is her smile!!! he works so fucking hard to make her smile—cracking jokes, doing nice things for her, earning her praise by proving his competence—and he swears it lights up the entire room whenever he can get her to do it!!! 😭 and if he can get her to laugh? he won’t be able to think about anything else but that sound for DAYS

on the other hand, his least favorite thing about her is…well, probably her optimism. she's not very good at it. in fact, most of the time it just makes him feel worse whenever she tells him he’ll just have to try harder next time! like gee, thanks rita! he was already doing that but he’ll take it into consideration… just like he did the last time… and the time before that… and before that…

when it comes to rita though, she would never, even on pain of death, say anything sappy like her “favorite thing” about bill where someone else can hear her, but i think her favorite thing about him is—surprisingly, since it’s his least favorite thing about her—his optimism.

for her, it’s just been so long since she was able to enjoy things without feeling guilt or some kind of loss, but bill somehow never lost that. which certainly isn’t to say he didn’t acquire his fair share of trauma or grief or loss along the way, but he remains steadily resilient in the face of adversity even in the very last iteration—“we’ve had worse :)”—and that strikes a chord with her, i think. then, slowly, being around someone so stubbornly happy despite carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders starts to not only impress her, but it heals her. with his help, she learns to enjoy things again: the delight of a good meal after years of carrying a bad aftertaste in her mouth, the comfort of a spacious hotel room and a soft bed after sleeping on the ground for god knows how long, the satisfaction of a healthy jog just around the block after spending years running at a sprint with no breaks. the all-consuming joy of someone knowing her the way she never dreamed anyone would ever know her again after before. the relief of not having to think about 'before' anymore because now she has an 'after' to look forward to instead.

ahem. sorry. i got carried away for a second.

that being said, her least favorite thing about bill is easy to pin down and that is his complete and utter lack of dignity LOL... rita can say for absolute certain she has never met a man with as little pride as bill cage, and although he is rather funny and makes for surprisingly good company on a quiet day, he is often ridiculously embarrassing to be around and can be very difficult when he doesn’t want to do something because he’s being a chicken about it🙄

14. What little things remind them of each other? ohhhhhhh 🥺🥺🥺 i apologize because u will get a LOT of sappiness for this but-

on bill's side, he is reminded of rita in everything, but mainly in their experiences together. he sees her in a young woman's loosely braided hair as she passes him on the street. he sees her in his coffee cup when the waitress taking his order asks if he wants sugar or cream. he sees her in the sun at 6:45pm exactly, when he and rita sat together on the fence outside the farmhouse and watched it disappear over the horizon. in his lifetime, he's experienced everything with her, and he probably has as many things to remember her by as there are stars in the cosmos.

of course, he's reminded of her in other ways as well. things she taught him. he thinks of her when he looks to the sun to check the time rather than turning over his wrist, just like she taught him. he thinks of her when he does his stretches at the gym, just like she taught him. he thinks of her when he checks all his exits every time he enters a room and someone closes the door, just like she taught him. everything he knows he learned from her and for her.

it's harder for rita though, because she doesn't have anything to remember him by, so she remembers the little things instead: his preferences and whatnot. she pretends not to care when he tells her where he's from or what his favorite color is, but she thinks of him when his favorite baseball team is shown on television, or when she goes for a walk in the park and it starts to rain even though it's sunny out because sunshowers make him smile the brightest :')

26. How are they with PDA? UGHRGRHREHGHUDRHGJSHRKHASG DONT MAKE ME THINK ABOUT ESTABLISHED BILLRITA AND PDA ILL EXPLODE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

no but bill has ALWAYS been a pda guy that much is so obvious!! i think he was always chasing something real with his old girlfriends, and even if it never felt like much with them, it was better than nothing... and then he fell head over ass into the mimic war and the closest thing to PDA he got was a kick in the gut or the barrel a gun trained on his temple, so surely no one can fault him for craving comfort, reassurance, intimacy—anything to take him away from the reality he was living in for even 5 seconds.

...and this did not answer the question at all which is to say bill is SO fucking annoying (affectionate) about pda 😭 rita please hold his hand please kiss him on the forehead please cuddle him he wants to hold you he wants you to hold him PLEASE!!! he will actually die if you don't and then you'll be sad (he hopes) :'(

meanwhile rita is a fan of pda in the way cats are a fan of anything. she either wants all the fucking pda or none of it. if she's not the one initiating, bill is Not the one getting it 😔

#OKAY THATS IT THATS THE POST. I FINALLY FUCKING ANSWERED THIS AFTER 84 YEARS GOD BLESS #ask #reply #thethistlegirl #mutual #edge of tomorrow #bill cage #rita vrataski #billrita #headcanons

46 notes · View notes

softlittleheartsandsparkles · 2 years

Note

cgler isn't kink. it has aspect I guess "borrowed" from kink. (rules, punishments etc) but it IS age regression related in nature, the purpose behind cgs it to make sure the little feel safe. it's therapy/therapeutic. a lot of people do cgler because of trauma reasons & they like having a daddy or mommy to help them cause of childhood stuff. (like people who never got to be kids.) idk shame on you sae, its sad you can't seem to see it's harmless and they are putting it with gross stuff.

Whats the purpose behind rules, punishments etc then if it's suppose to be therapy/therapeutic? Rules add unnecessary stress, and shame. punishments heighten that unnecessary stress. guilt and shame, If your someone who struggles with trauma/childhood wounds I don't get the unnecessary pressure. What if your a people pleaser? What if you have prefectionsim issues? What if you struggle with abandonment? What if your codependent? Thats why these communities make me uncomfortable because they don't account for these issues. Like as someone with also trauma this just seems unfair almost because it adds so many extra pressures and then puts on the costume of being a 'therapy'. Therapy doesn't do 'punishments and rules' or even 'reward charts'. Like is therapy rewarding? Yes. But it's cause of the work you put in there & you see it come back and benefit you. It's extremely fulfilling to see your work actually pay off. But yeah I have seen "guidelines" and comfort agreements for therapy. But I was also in a group setting with many people with different respected traumas. So the guidelines state things like "Don't talk about your trauma via group, or during breaks with group members" because for some people that's extremely triggering, especially if a trauma is recent or someone is doing something like EMDR. The only "rule" I can think of from dbt is: 'please don't skip 3 (back to back) therapy sessions in a row without informing us" It's cause the program is hard to get into, (took me 2 years) limited seating. They only allow 14 students per chunk of course.... and it's a 14 month course, 2 times a week. One session is 3 hours long, the other is a hour long sessions 1:1 with a therapist privately. They run two groups each year at the same time(s). So I get the please don't skip rule. There's a major wait list to get in. Also We do each module 2 aside from mindfulness which is repeated in between ever other module. (6 classes total I think) They do a rolling graduation I think is the term. So after ever module typically 4(or less) students do graduate from dbt. So ever year they see about 84 adult "students" learning skills. So 84x2=168 students with bpd graduate per 14 months courses. (I'm giving this info up. =/ ) The purpose behind saying don't skip is also cause people do have behaviours of avoiding discomfort and it's better for that to be addressed via therapy privately if the person is ready. But even then, they don't boot you out if you have reasonable reasons not to show up. (I.e. sick) They also don't announce someone is leaving. "Sam is leaving cause they are not showing up!!" they don't do this. Different people have reasons also to discontinue therapy. (I.e. Moving) I'm explaining this because this is a real therapy. And it's the only comparison I can think of. And you can't compare cgler to something like dbt. I haven't seen this from "CGLER" the "therapy". I've seen posts about rules which are always 'daddy/mommy' themed, ("Listen to mommy" "ask daddy for permission....") i've seen reward stuff posted which isn't really therapeutic imo, and punishment posts including terms like 'time outs' 'sfw spankies' and 'privileges taken away' or 'early bedtimes", which also aren't therapeutic. To me that is k*nk. =_= also the childhood part is interesting, I didn't have a good one. But cgs and cgler I don't feel like reflects what I'm missing. Having someone roleplay isn't going to fix childhood wounds, cptsd or the fact that I was (repetitively) homeless as a child. (And other issues) To me that feels misguided & because of the dynamic it opens you up to be abused further.

#scribbles #tw:trauma mentioned #cgler #why cgler makes me uncomfortable #why age regression makes me uncomfortable #tw:age regression #cw:age regression

6 notes · View notes

theclownprnc-arch · 3 years

Text

——— BASICS! ♡

(PEN)NAME: Roy PRONOUNS: he/him but they/them is fine too ZODIAC SIGN: Sagittarius TAKEN OR SINGLE: taken for granted 😤 still in a fulfilling relationship with the shadowman lounging around in the corner of my eye

——— THREE FACTS! ♡

— I genuinely hate talking about myself. Guess that counts as the first fact? But, alright, for starters: back in September I defended my thesis revolving around new genres of criticism (focusing on forms of literary criticism on the internet) and on one hand I do want to go into that direction more, but on the other hand, I fucking hate academia (just as much as I can’t stand Rupi Kaur’s work, don’t @ me) for countless reasons and I want nothing to do with it anymore. But… Time will show.

— My perhaps main interest is art and nowadays I’m trying to find more time to draw/paint as regularly as I used to. On a related note, I seriously consider diving into tattooing and in the near future, I want to finally get the beginner’s kit and start practising (yeah, about to treat myself as canvas too *wink*).

— I have two cats — Rufus and Gucci. They’re both assholes, but they’re pretty cute. Rufus is around ten years old, walking definition of If Looks Could Kill™ and a few days ago he stole a french fry from me. Gucci has the mentality of a possum (loves trash), doesn’t meow and he vibes with some of my vegan meat-substitutes.

——— EXPERIENCE! ♡

PLATFORMS USED: I actually started on Instagram, but quickly moved on to Tumblr. In the meantime, I also tried to roleplay on forums, but it wasn’t really my cuppa. Sometimes I also write on Discord.

——— MUSE PREFERENCE! ♡

GENDER: Throughout those years I’ve written mostly muses you could call, I guess, masculine-presenting. A few times I actually did try to write female characters, but each time it was triggering my dysphoria rather badly, so eventually, I gave up. LEAST FAVOURITE FACE(S): I don’t think I have any? I mean, there are certain faces I’m not a big fan of (like that Timothee something dude), but I’m not sure if it would be enough to discourage me from writing with a certain person. As long as the character is fire, the faceclaim doesn’t matter that much to me. MULTI OR SINGLE: Tried my hand at multi once and, uh, it’s kind of dead in a ditch now, so personally I do prefer managing single blogs, but I love and appreciate anyone with a multimuse blog.

——— FLUFF / ANGST / SMUT! ♡

FLUFF: I enjoy it in moderate doses, mostly because I feel like I’m not that good at writing fluff. Though there are days when fluff’s the only thing I wanna wallow in. ANGST: Give me. That’s good McFreakin’ food. There’s nothing I love more than the sound of my tears hitting the keyboard. SMUT: Mixed feelings about that one? Like, I’ve had some terrible experiences with smut that for a long time I was reluctant to write it and I’m still very selective with who I write it with. However, in the long run, I feel like I’m running out of good enough euphemisms (no, we’re not naming body parts in this circus tent). PLOT / MEMES: Plotting makes it way easier for me to really get into the dynamic and whatnot, but sometimes my head is too empty to put together a worthy idea. As for memes, it’s no secret that I’m a hoarder (but trust me, I’m doing my best to get more tidy with them). I like keeping them around for times when I’m not feeling my drafts, but I still want to write something. They’re also great ice-breakers.

TAGGED BY: @alreadybrcken ( thank you! ) TAGGING: youuuuu :o)

#♣ 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙘𝙠 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙘𝙠 ! / ooc.#♣ tagged.#these 3 facts took me 84 years to come up with #i literally don't know myself

6 notes · View notes

kmackatie · 3 years

Text

Originally asked by @jamieylnn on this post: "84, 102, or 119 for the intimacy prompts with Shadowgast". I got around to another one of them. It's less fluff and a bit more angsty, but this is where my brain went with it.

Thanks again to @mllekurtz for taking my spaghetti-thrown-at-a-wall mess and helping turn it into an actual coherent meal. <3

request a prompt here

84 - sky watching Shadowgast, post canon established relationship, canon compliant, 2108 words, cw: brief fatalistic thoughts

Caleb stepped onto the roof, hands tucked into the pockets of his linen pants, feet bare and hair untied. He found Essek in the middle of it, lying on his back and hovering a few inches off the ground, one hand held up as he seemed to map something in the stars above.

He paused, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness, taking in the sight of moonlight against Essek’s skin. The shifting, gentle light was like a caress, catching on the smattering of freckles across Essek’s cheeks, the traces of silver still lined around his eyes, and glinted off the jewellery delicately clasped to his ears. He had come out here sometime while Caleb was bathing, the bedroom empty and the open window the only indication that he hadn’t teleported away completely.

They were in Emon, Caleb visiting Allura under the pretence of collaboration in magical education when really it was an excuse for Essek to spend some time investigating some interesting dunamantic pulls he had discovered in the jungles to the south of the capital. It had been three weeks of exploring, discovering, and relaxing in the way that Essek and Caleb do, days filled with academic pursuits while taking advantage of the fact that Essek didn’t have to hide, could just be Essek. They had their Tower, though it wasn’t used much, each more content to take the time to enjoy the open air and sky above them.

But, like all things, it had to come to an end. They lingered as much as they could, on the journey back to Emon. Had slowed down the pace, spending more time in the Tower than exploring outside of it, until they couldn’t justify the delay any further and Essek teleported them back to the house they had rented.

Essek’s easy smile had become strained during their dinner, as Caleb spoke of his students and the plans he had been toying with for the next semester, answers taking longer to come when Caleb would ask for his opinion. He could recognise the signs, having seen them before, but he knew that Essek would only talk about it when he was ready to.

He stepped forward, feet scuffing intentionally against the loose dirt and pebbles. One of Essek’s ears twitched, the only indication that he had heard Caleb’s arrival. Essek continued to stare up at the sky, hand pausing in its tracing before he pulled it back. His violet eyes were shining in the low light, the stars reflected back, an endless void that Caleb could lose himself in if he looked too long.

Pausing, Caleb debated for a long moment before he eased himself down onto the ground next to Essek, groaning slightly as his muscles protested the movement. He envied Essek’s ability to hover, the rough ground was not kind on his ageing body, but it was one trick he had never quite got the hang of every time Essek had tried to teach it to him.

He stared at the skyline of Emon, Allura’s tower in the distance, a beacon on the edge of the Cloudtop district, the few lights still lit up in the houses around them. It was still, quiet, and every bit of his focus was on monitoring the small movements of the drow next to him. The stuttering rise and fall of Essek’s chest, breath ragged and uneven, hand flicking through somatic gestures and arcane runes as if by habit, all while his eyes stared at the sky above, unblinking.

It was a long moment before Essek blinked and broke the silence, his voice rough and low.

“I miss the sky. This one… this one is different. It’s not Rosohna’s sky. I did not think— I should not miss it.”

“It is not that different—”

“Except it is,” Essek cut in, voice sharp. “Rosohna’s… it isn’t a perfect match for what would be in the sky above Wildemount. It’s based off the Bright Queen’s memory of what it once was, over thousands of years ago. The sky has changed since then.”

“I wasn’t aware of that,” Caleb admitted, drawing one knee up to his chest and wrapping an arm around it, eyes still focused on Essek’s face.

“No. You had no reason to be. You weren’t there for that long… and you had more pressing concerns.”

“Fjord never did see that ceremony.”

Essek laughed hollowly. “No, he did not.”

They fell back into silence, and there was a tension there now that wasn’t there earlier. A wariness to the way Essek’s shoulders hunched ever so slightly, as if he had to brace himself for whatever was said next.

And Caleb didn’t want to ask it, didn’t want to bring it up, but he knew that if he didn’t, then this would fester and he couldn’t bear anything being a reason for Essek to stay away.

“Do you regret it?” He saw Essek flinch, a barely perceptible motion that he would have missed, hadn’t he been looking for it. He clarified, “Not… not taking it. I mean— well. Us, the Nein. We threw your plans into disarray and Jester… and me. You would not be here if not for us, you wouldn’t have had suspicion placed on you.”

“There would have been suspicion on me eventually.”

“And Shadowhand Thelyss would have had a plan for that,” he pointed out with a rueful chuckle. “Or at least, the glimmer that we saw of Shadowhand Thelyss would have, and if he was anything like Bren, well… plans upon plans.”

There was a long beat before Essek replied.

“I would not change any step that I took that led me to you—”

“I don’t doubt you on that, meine Liebe, but—”

“I don’t say that for you,” Essek snapped, holding a finger up between them while his eyes didn’t move from the sky. “Just… just let me finish.”

Caleb merely nodded, biting his lip at his instinct to respond.

“I don’t say that for you. I say it because sometimes I need to remind myself of what I have gained. I don’t… it’s not regret. Or rather, I did not know quite how much it would bite. I did not anticipate the… the vastness of it, of displacement.”

Caleb got the sense that Essek wasn’t finished, so he said nothing, just waited and watched, hands itching to reach out, to comfort and hold.

“I miss home. Not… I know I have one with you. My towers, my laboratory. I did not expect to miss it quite so much. The eternal night, the easy access… this hiding. I hate it. I hate it.”

Essek scrubbed a hand across his eyes, and Caleb’s heart ached. He knew what it was like to not be able to return to a place that he wanted to, a weight that nobody who hadn’t experienced loss understood. He lifted a hand towards Essek, but before his fingers could connect Essek flinched back, turning away from Caleb.

“Essek, Liebling.”

“No— don’t,” Essek gasped, curling in on himself. He hunched over, still somehow hovering a few inches off the floor, shoulders raised. “Don’t give me your sympathy. I bought this bed and now I have to live in it.”

Caleb could not help the way his heart clenched at that, the fondness for the jumbled saying seeping through his own pain, his own realisation that this had been brewing for far longer than he had realised. He should have seen it. Should have realised that all the times Essek snapped recently weren’t just due to the exhaustion of being in the sun, that when Essek chose to trance before Caleb had fallen asleep he did so to avoid conversation, that the times he had tracked him down to the ninth floor, the moment of vacant expression before a smile kicked in was more than just troubling thoughts. Caleb had to swallow around the lump that had formed in his own throat. There was a sudden hollowness in his stomach as he realised how much the situation was affecting Essek.

It took a moment to realise the hollow gasping sound wasn’t coming from him, that despite the swirling storm of his own emotions, his shoulders weren’t shaking and he wasn’t falling apart.

Essek was.

Essek, who had tried to hide his worries from Caleb. Essek, who had to be coaxed to state what he needed and wanted on a good day. Essek, who could command and demand his way into any room but would barely make eye contact when he truly cared about the opinion of whoever he was talking to.

This was exactly why he hadn’t said anything, why he didn’t show it. He was as bad as Caleb in his determination to carry his own burdens.

But there was something Caleb had learned, that he had an advantage on Essek in learning, and that was that burdens were immensely easier to carry when shared.

Shoving away his own guilt, carefully, ever so carefully, Caleb inched forward and placed a hand on Essek’s back. He felt Essek tense under his hand, but this time he didn’t move away. Swallowing, Caleb took that as encouragement and shifted again, hand moving across Essek’s back until his arm was wrapped around Essek’s shoulders.

“Essek.”

Essek gasped, letting out a heartbreaking sob before leaning the tiniest bit into Caleb’s grasp.

Caleb just waited. Not demanding, and not expecting, just hoping that Essek would take the comfort offered.

Slowly, Essek turned to Caleb, fraction by fraction he shifted until his shoulder was against Caleb’s chest, his forehead tucked against Caleb, and he was sobbing into Caleb’s shirt. Caleb held him, hand moving in gentle, soothing circles on his back as he murmured in Zemnian, nonsense phrases and observations about everything he loved about Essek.

When he judged that Essek may have calmed, when the sobs became sniffles and Essek stopped clutching Caleb’s clothing like he would drown without the lifeline, Caleb leaned down and pressed a kiss into Essek’s soft curls.

He gently ran a thumb under each eye, drawing away what dampness he could as shining violet eyes blinked up at him.

“I’m so—”

“Shh, Liebling, it’s okay. There is nothing to apologise for.”

Essek’s eyes closed, as he let out a shuddering breath.

“It is okay to mourn what you had, Essek. It is okay to acknowledge what you have lost, even while you acknowledge what you have gained. One doesn’t cancel out the other. Looking back… it is not a bad thing.” He was saying it as much for Essek as he was for himself. They had always been similar, had always understood each other in a way that no one else did. It could be a crutch, could be their downfall, but instead it led to a partnership that was equal, that felt so right, like it was always meant to be. He wanted to be that support for Essek, the way Essek always was for him. “When we visited Blumenthal, and I said goodbye, you stood with me. In the T-Dock even, you would have helped me, without question. You have ever since, even when all I wanted to do was rewrite time so I could step back and do it all again.”

“It is not the same.” There was little conviction in Essek’s tone, it was barely a protest.

“No, it isn’t. But what I am saying is that it is okay to have dark days, to have days where it is all too much. That is why I am here. To remind you that you can do this, Essek. That it is worth it, that you are strong enough to get through it. And on the days where you aren’t, where you need quiet and to escape, I will be here to hold you.”

“You won’t always be here, when you’re teaching and I’m off… wherever.”

“We can both teleport, distance and time are meaningless with the right determination.”

Essek half laughed and half hiccuped, an odd choked off noise that Caleb had never heard him make before. A grin started to grow across his face as Essek looked taken aback at the noise, and it was far too cute for Caleb to let it go.

He leaned forward and kissed Essek, chapped lips pressing gently against carefully looked after ones. Drawing back, Caleb presses a second kiss to the tip of Essek’s nose, another between his eyes, his forehead.

“I love you,” murmured Essek.

Caleb smiled, shifting carefully to lie back, adjusting and holding Essek to his chest as he went.

“Come. Tell me about the differences in the stars.”

#shadowgast #critical role #essek thelyss #caleb widogast #critical role fanfic #cr: fanfic #the mighty nein #my writing #ficlet #writing prompt #non-sexual intimacy prompts #jamielynn #katie replies #ask katie

115 notes · View notes

ourmondobongo · 2 years

Note

Hello! I’m sending this to various accounts: At ch132, it seems that Hange wasn’t planning to say goodbye to Levi, why do you think Hange would do that and how do you think Levi would react if Hange actually would’ve gone without saying goodbye? Do you think Hange underestimate their bond or was a way to protect both of them? Also, do you think the final plane was a wink to Hange or was a way to portrait their fallen comrades? If you took the time to answer this question, thank you very much <3

Hello!!

Thanks for the ask! Let's dig into your heartbreaking questions... And sorry not sorry it sort of became a whole meta (why I am like this haha)

1. It seems Hange wasn't planning to say goodbye to Levi, why do you think Hange would do that?

Goodbyes of beloved ones are always heartbreaking in AOT. But some are just too much of a wreck to face them without feeling like nearly falling apart...

We know Hanji almost always wore their feelings on their sleeves, revealed much through their eye(s). I think Hanji was feeling too much at that moment already, while at the same time having to shut their emotions down so they could keep their resolution to walk to their death unwavering. Thus, having to say farewell forever to Levi - the one who became almost a despite-this-hell-surely-you-will-be-there-tomorrow presence at her side throughout those long 10 years, and that they had risked their life to save as well as to whom she had "secretly" asked to run away with just 03 nights ago - damn... This certainly leaves someone shaking.

However, I don't think Hanji was planning on leaving without saying goodbye to Levi. Like, I surely can't imagine the words and intonation of the "See you" that Hanji used with the kids coming out of their mouth when they were dealing with Levi - that wouldn't work with them both because their relationship was very different! And also, rather than giving any comfort or feeling of proper closure, even the "See you guys later" left the kids at a loss...

More painful than this, though, is that (imo) the group were caught off guard seeing Hanji leaving, but they also saw that Levi was on their path. And then they seem to look even more shocked when Levi lets Hanji go because it's like they all expected that Levi would somehow produce some kind of miracle that would hold Hanji back...

Back to Levihan, tho, while Hanji couldn't bring themself up to say See ya to Levi, just the fact that while they were parting, Hanji asked Armin to take care of Levi shows that he was already in their mind. And, knowing each other for so long, I think Hanji knew there was no escape from facing Levi during her last moments alive...

Then, it's only in the wisp of seconds between the kids and the point where Levi stops and waits for them that Hanji figures what they both need to hear in order for them to keep her determination, and they both be somehow somewhat spared of further pain. (Unfortunately, Yams only drew Hanji's back when they turned around and saw Levi waiting for them. I wanted to see their reaction too...)

It will forever break me that Hanji cuts Levi's unspoken protests so sharp and so ready using "You understand" as their first words to stop him. Whenever I read these words, it's like time stops, and I can't help but remember Hanji's discourse in chapter 84. Mixing them up, it's like Hanji is saying, "You understand, don't you? Everyone you meet will be parted from you one day. [And now] It's my turn." But as if this wasn't heartbreaking enough already, Yams goes and adds, "I want to look as cool as I possibly can right now. So just let me go."

This just doesn't only disarm all the confrontation and arguments Hanji knows Levi was preparing to put up, but it also makes it clear that this goodbye, this parting, has such a power to hurt Hanji that they had better not even try anything anymore. And.God.This.Hurts.

Yams, why were you like this?!

2. How would Levi react if they hadn't said goodbye?

You see, imo, one of the worst things in life is losing someone without the chance of saying goodbye to them. Death is an occurrence so abrupt already! Can you imagine the immense amount of pain, hurt, and regret of you simply losing the person you've trusted with your own life for 10 years, and who knows you deeper and longer than anyone else and reciprocates the feelings, without you at least saying or expressing anything for this person in their last minutes alive??

There would be such heavy regrets in the survivor's heart...

So it's actually bittersweet to think Hanji wasn't planning on approaching Levi to say goodbye: I tried to imagine Levi just watching Hanji just waving at him from afar (like Annie to Armin) or maybe pretending he wasn't there, and I swear I can't help but laugh with a pain in my heart because no matter the situation, in my head, Levi would have never accepted that arrangement - neither from his part nor Hanji's!

Levi's pretty terrible at accepting things (especially death and defeat) passively. Which, thank Ymir, I think Yams thought as well. He made Levi - who during most of the chapter could hardly walk or stand up straight without help - muster the strength to walk those painful meters and "ambush" Hanji. Levi saw Hanji had walked from the hangar to where everyone was at the pier, and he nearly walked all the way up there too...

And man, just like Hanji had this wisp of a moment to think of a way to halt Levi's attempt of stopping her, Levi as well has just this wisps of a moment to find something to halt Hanji's deadly walk. It hurts deeply that Levi is probably aware there is nothing he can offer or do that Hanji would accept (because the only other option available would be him going in Hanji's place to fight the Colossals) but still, he attempts to try to stop Hanji.

I can't wait to see this whole sequence in the anime...!

3. Was it underestimating their bond or a way to protect them both?

By now, with this and all the other metas also answering this question, I think it's the second in our opinions! But to whoever has doubts about Hanji and Levi's bond, just reference tell them to reread chapter 132 without bias.

To sincere readers, it's impossible to look at all these panels and conclude that what they had together (romantic or not) was something ordinary...

4. Also, do you think the final plane was a wink to Hange or was a way to portrait their fallen comrades?

To me, the plane is Hange Zoë all the way to the depths of AOT angst! Especially because Onyankopon my hero is precisely looking at Levi, and Levi is making sure to have changed his hairstyle so evidently in a way that his bangs are completely out of the way of his scarred forehead and blind eye - the proofs that the fact he (and the others) could be there alive now was because Hans saved his (and their) life first...

By fulfilling his vow and helping to save humanity as his life mission, Levi was able to face all his dead comrades with heart at ease - like, letting them go because they would finally find some kind of peace. However, toward the personal 2nd chance in life he was given by Hanji when she saved him in the forest, and the 3rd chance at the plane's departure, there was nothing Levi could do about that now that Hanji was dead. Not that they would see it as "I need to pay you back", tho - but like, I wish I hadn't lost you at all, and that you were here with me.

Hence, there is nothing to do but acknowledge that despite "Everyone you meet will be parted from you one day" and that you still have to "keep moving forward", our personal responses to tragedy should be marked because "only after these events are memorialized can we move forward". And while our lives will never be the same after this, marking this occurrence with a memorial frees us to embrace the future...

...because only the living can remember the dead.

And like Mika said in chapter 07, "If I die now I won't even be able to remember you".

#answering devoted hearts #now this hurts #it didn't help I listened to all my set of LH crying songs while writing lol #snk 132 #snk 139 #sorry the essay #otp #tysm for the ask!

33 notes · View notes

potteresque-ire · 3 years

Text

This post is Part 4 of the five-part meta series on the Zhang Zhehan (張哲瀚) Incident, based on what has transpired up to 2021/08/22.

1) The 2nd Sino-Japanese War (1937-45) & the Yasukuni Shrine 2) Post-War Sino-Japanese Relations; “Every Chinese should visit the Yasukuni Shrine” 3) The Summer of 2021: The Brewing Storms for One 4) My Thoughts on Zhang’s Incident, Part A 5) My Thoughts on Zhang’s Incident, Part B

4) My Thoughts on Zhang’s Incident, Part A

Now, I’m finally going to dive into Zhang Zhehan’s incident. They’re, of course, my personal opinions, based on what’s known until 2021/08/22, and I’m talking about them not as a turtle, not as a Gg or Dd fan, not as a fan at all—but as … me. A Hong Konger, half-way American, and representative of neither.

I should start with a confession.

While, in the parts before, I wrote as if there were signs enough that I could see this coming, that I could see Zhang being handed the severe punishment that he had… I actually didn’t. I thought it would stop at People’s Daily critique of Zhang’s apology letter posted on August 13th, and Zhang would lose his endorsements, be forced to lay low for a while. I didn’t expect the all-out invisibility campaign the would happen, including the removal of his already-aired, groups projects such as Word of Honour (WoH 山河令).

Do I feel Zhang made a mistake? Absolutely. I agree with his self-assessment in his apology letter that he had been ignorant and careless. I’d add this as well: he had likely suffered from a certain degree of arrogance. When previously asked by his fans to remove from his Weibo a photo he took of a car painted in a manner reminiscent of WWII Japanese War Planes (and with a Rising Sun flag), that should’ve been a reminder, a warning enough for him to refrain from posting similar materials online. Being politically insensitive as a public figure in China is dangerous, and often costly. And one has to be really, really, insensitive politically, and very, very out of the news cycle, to be unaware of the tension in Sino-Japanese relations in the past decade, with the Yasukuni Shrine being at the epicentre of that tension.

A photo posted on Weibo by Zhang, later deleted at fans’ request and re-surfaced online during this incident (Left). The Nakajima Ki-84 fighter jet, used by the Imperial Japanese Army 1943-45 (Right). (Source)

But ignorance, carelessness and even arrogance are not crimes. These are corrigible traits; late 20’s may be not-so-young for an idol, but Zhang was young when he visited the shrine and took the photos in 2018. He’s still young now, having just reached 30, with lots of years to grow.

From a practical standpoint, I also fail to see Zhang’s behaviour as causing more actual harm to anyone than as the Global Times Network (GTN) piece.

Zhang’s photos had never been widely circulated before the incident. The location at which they had been taken was also not obvious to those who haven’t investigated, or haven’t visited the Yasukuni Shrine. In contrast, the large quantity of photos in the GTN piece, their portrayal of the shrine’s right wing visitors, can arguably be said to be more visually offensive, if visual offensiveness is sufficient to be hurtful, if The Reporter of the GTN piece had, indeed, had his heart sunk just by the sight of the sakuras on the shrine grounds planted by the descendants and friends of those enshrined (reminder: overwhelmingly not war criminals), as he had described in the article.

To put it in Chinese state media lingo, the GTN piece could arguably be said to have done more to 冒犯國人情感 (“offend the feelings of the country’s people”) (from People’s Daily critique piece against Zhang) and 輕佻地傷害中國人民的情感 (“flippantly hurt the feelings of the Chinese people) (from 中纪委 Central Commission for Discipline Inspection’s critique piece) than Zhang’s photos.

A thing to mention, perhaps: the phrase “hurting the feelings of Chinese people” (and its close cousins) has somewhat of a ... celebrity status among Chinese politics watchers, with ample articles and statistics dedicated to it for the sheer number of times it has appeared in China’s foreign policy materials, as well as the multi-purposeness of its application. Another example of “hurting the feelings of Chinese people”: an English Mercedes-Benz ad, posted on Instagram (a blocked site in China), featuring a quote by Dalai Lama. The phrase has become a bit of a joke in anti-CCP communities, not because the feelings of Chinese people aren’t legitimate or important, but because a regime that doesn’t allow voting, that suppresses the freedoms of speech and press, is hardly an expert on the feelings of its people.

An entertaining infographic about China’s “hurt national feelings” (high-res version). Japan has consistently ranked 1st in the number of times it has hurt China’s national feelings (upper right corner).

And, speaking of “flippant”, I find flippant perfectly described the tone of the GTN piece, which I, as a reader of Chinese descent, was perhaps even more embarrassed by than the fact that The Reporter visited the shrine. The Reporter admitted he already had a “fight-picking heart”, had chosen to act confrontationally; the article he’d write later reflected that, was filled to the brim with bravado. However, as I mentioned before, he never did what would’ve mattered if he had elected to fight, made the cause of his troublemaking clear—he had said nothing about the war criminals, or the revisionist material in the museum. Statements of protests needn’t be physical or violent; they simply had to be communicated, and to the right audience—which doesn’t include his translator, or the staff at the Yasukuni Shrine.

The American tourist could’ve been a potential target; wouldn’t it be interesting to find out what they knew about this piece of history, how much they knew about the controversies surrounding the shrine? But The Reporter only told them Americans were not welcomed—a statement automatically doubtful by the presence of … an American next to him. If The Reporter’s account were true, then, to the staff, the tourist who interacted with him, The Reporter behaved just like … a passive-aggressive, very rude Chinese tourist. He had scored zero victory for his cause—if he did have a cause—during his visit.

If the defence was his fight-picking heart, no one asked Zhang if he had harboured a fight-picking heart when he had visited, taken the pictures.

That’s double-standard. That’s hypocrisy.

Personally, I would’ve left out the Yasukuni Shrine from my Tokyo itinerary — as much because of the two thousand war criminals there, and the 2 million+ not-war-criminals there who deserve respect and peace. If I’m not a descendant of those enshrined there; if I’m not worshipping; if I lack deference for the shrine and the Shinto religion it represents, then, I have no business to be at the Yasukuni Shrine.

There are beautiful sakuras all over Tokyo.

Sakuras along Tokyo’s Meguro River (Source)

Okay. Back to Zhang. I personally believe he made mistakes. Do I feel, then, that Zhang’s punishment was appropriate, or was it too much?

As someone whose family was mostly spared from the pain and suffering caused by the acts of the Imperial Japanese Army during the 1930s and 40s, I don’t think the answers to these questions are up to me to decide. It’s inappropriate for me to decide.

But I’ll follow my answer with this question: whoever are deciding now, are they the people who should be deciding, whose lives have been truly impacted by the war? Those screaming on social media that Zhang is a traitor, a 漢奸 hanjian—a term originated from the KMT and Sino-Japanese War era to refer to persons who have illicit relationships with the enemy of, specifically, the Han Chinese ethnicity—those wanting to destroy not just Zhang’s career, but Zhang himself … do they really believe visiting, taking photos at the Yasukuni Shrine are acts enough to warrant those accusations, bearing in mind that treason is, perhaps, the most unforgivable crime in China?

Is Chairman Mao, a Han Chinese, a hanjian when he thanked the Japanese prime minister? Why not? What he said could’ve been out of pragmatism, but did he hurt the feelings of the Chinese whose family had died from Japanese military brutality during the war, of the comfort women who, at the time of the meeting, were still living in significant numbers? Why, when a post quoting Mao’s words in defence of Zhang surfaced several days ago, the vast majority of online reactions was “here goes another brain-disabled fan”, until one netizen whispered it had actually been spoken by a Great Figure, without naming, without daring to name the actual speaker of the quote?

Why have those quotes been buried in the graves of the Chinese internet?

And the netizens who went on to “dig up”, spread unsubstantiated rumours about Zhang’s being 精日 (short for 精神上的日本人 “Spiritually Japanese”), being a secret right-wing Japanese, even—were they patriots or were they cyberbullys? Were they out to defend their country, or were they out there torturing someone they didn’t like for their own enjoyment? For their own potential gains?

They called Zhang a 行走的五十萬 “Walking 500,000” — the number referring to the sum of money (500,000 RMB, ~ 77,000 USD) the Chinese government rewards someone who reports, offers tip-offs on a foreign spy. If Zhang’s family happens to be Japanese too, they said, the reward could be 500,000 * n !!

An Anti-Spy Law (反間諜法) advertisement. 12339 is the phone number and website for reporting / making tip-offs on foreign spies. (Source)

One would say, of course, that these netizens were only joking.

But are jokes jokes if they can ruin someone for good? Same goes with every one who attempted to connect whoever, whatever they didn’t like with Zhang, @ ing the state agencies on the Weibo posts to call the latter’s attention to connections, wishing for the government and the platforms to remove these whoevers, whatevers along with Zhang.

These whoevers, whatevers have included: Zhang’s former work associates; CP supertopics; Danmei and Dangai; Dangai dramas before WoH; actors involved in Dangai dramas before WoH; supertopics of these actors; the fans of these actors; fandom in general …

(To the Anon who asked: this is how the rumour that all CP supertopics may be removed came about. So far, there are no evidences that the invisibility campaign related to Zhang is heading in that direction.)

These “soft reporting” attempts—soft, in the sense that they were reporting to the state agencies, but not using the state’s formal system—conjures a scene like this in my mind: a class of small children, all with little to no power on their own, pointing their stubby fingers to whoever they don’t like in front of who they perceive as absolute authority. “But (S)HE did this!! “ screams a child who tries to borrow the teacher’s “knife” to take down their enemies, not understanding what it’ll mean to themselves if the teacher does yield to their demand, does punish their “enemies” based on their words alone: that the child can themselves will be punished when another child points their stubby fingers at them.

Perhaps, here’s the resemblance of the scene: when absolute authority exists, critical thinking tends to go wayside, even if the capability to critically think exists—because what’s the point of thinking? The opinion of the authority is the only thing that matters in the end. Mob mentality and actions take over: mobs of not only netizens, but mobs of companies, mobs of platforms.

And so, when it rained for Zhang, it poured.

===

The Zhang Zhehan Incident Meta Series:

PART 1 PART 2 PART 3 PART 4 <- YOU ARE HERE PART 5

#pie metas

57 notes · View notes

bvccy · 3 years

Text

Nothing to Despair | Preview 2 / Work In Progress

PAIRING: Soft!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Bucky and a girl he never met before are asked, because of their language skills, to go undercover as married on a two-week mission to Europe. He feels alienated in the modern world, and notices his partner feels similarly isolated. Maybe they can find a new home in each other, but she’s not easily persuaded.

WARNINGS: Just nightmares and hurt/comfort, MORE ANGST

WORD COUNT: 2K

A/N: It's been 84 years and the fic is still not done, so have another preview. I didn't wanna post more, and this is a rough version, but then N I G H T M A R E S happened and NEW GIFS I was just bouncing to contribute so here, have this. Ironically, it's not Bucky having the nightmare in my fic, it's the reader/MC having one and being comforted by him, but still gonna take advantage of this lovely gif <3

She was running aimlessly away, but he was always behind her. She could hear him catching up, and if she turned her head she could see him coming closer, and his angry heaving breath was almost right behind her, and then she woke up.

Laying in bed frozen stiff with fear, her eyes took in the darkness of — oh, her hotel room at the Grand Continental in Cer. She stood up in bed and looked around: safe, quiet, and if she tried to remember her dream she already couldn't. She picked up her phone on the bedside table, fiddling with the Stark tech to see the time: 3:36 AM.

The fear was so intense she thought she would die if she didn't hold another person, right now. She had never felt anything like this in her life: not when falling out of a tree, not when flying, not when she got the mission from Steve, not when Bucky cornered her…

Bucky. He was sleeping in the other room. If she could just — No. He would either laugh at her for being silly or resent her for waking him up. She could almost hear him now: "You woke me up, for this? Take it like a big girl and go back to bed."

But there's never been a fear like this… in her blood and her bones, and her mind and underneath it. Through the silence of the room, she could hear her own heart thrumming, and though she knew it was impossible, a part of her mind was certain there was someone there with her, waiting, ready to —

It took three minutes of hugging herself in bed and trying, uselessly, to not be scared to absolute death before her heart won over her head and she stepped lightly to Bucky's room. She didn't even knock, she scratched at the door lightly. If he was awake, he'd hear it; if he wasn't, she won't wake him up.

No response. When she turned the handle slowly and inched the door open enough to poke her head through, only then did Bucky stir in bed. She could just make out the shape of him through the light from the window.

As he groaned sleepily and shifted in his sheets to get up, she wasn't sure if he was upset with her or not, and it didn't escape her notice how his hand went underneath the pillow — a weapon hidden there, most likely — but then he spoke into the dark and sounded gentle, if groggy.

"That you, doll?"

"Yeah… Can I come in?" she whispered, clinging to the door and trembling.

"Something happen?" asked Bucky, practically awake already.

"No, nothing, but — " How to tell him, how to explain a reason as dumb as this?

He was sitting up in bed by now, rubbing his face with his flesh hand, and then he looked right at her. "Come on in."

She stepped through gratefully but still ashamed, holding onto herself in her flimsy nightgown as she padded to his large bed. As she got closer, she could finally see him: soft hair ruffled, a stubble just barely grown, a plain white tank top stretching across his chest and the hint of scarring around the left shoulder.

His eyes looked curiously up at her, even worried. She hated depending on him, or anyone, and he'd noticed it. So when she looked at him pleadingly from beside his bed, he looked ready to listen, and to do almost anything.

"This is so stupid but —"

"Tell me."

"I'm really sorry to bothe—"

"It's ok, just tell me."

"I had a nightmare please don't laugh at me."

He wordlessly lifted the duvet and patted the bed for her to lie down.

She got in quickly and, before she could think of whether it was the smart thing to do, snuggled up into his body, her face at his neck and knees brushing against his stomach. She had enough control to keep her arms folded to her chest and didn't grab onto him, although she wanted to. Her heart was still beating powerfully away, her ribs and neck pulsing with its rhythm, her breath near panting.

"Thank you. I'm so sorry I woke you up."

"It's ok." he shushed her, one heavy arm going up to tuck her in then staying curled around her, braced against her back on top of the covers.

"This never happened before." she whispered apologetically. "I think I'll be fine in… a few minutes."

"Get the adrenaline out of your body, I know."

She paused and wondered if she should ask, then decided. "You get like this too?"

"Night terrors? Yeah, used to have them a while."

"I don't think it's a night terror… Not really."

"Good." he breathed into her hair, a touch away from a kiss.

It made sense why he'd be so sympathetic. He probably understood what she was going through better than she did, and suddenly she was filled with pity at the thought of him going through that alone — that and even worse, which was unimaginable. She snuggled in just slightly closer, but this time it was not for her own sake, and she regretted, with the strength of real guilt, that she did not know him sooner, that she couldn't be there for him when he needed someone —

"H-how did you get over yours?"

— if, in fact, he didn't have someone already.

"Slowly."

She sighed and rubbed her knuckles against his chest, the closest thing to a caress she could manage, and all around her she felt him freeze for a second in an intake of breath.

"M-must've been some nightmare." to get you to cuddle with me, he left unsaid. "Wanna talk about it?"

"Not really." she sighed. "I already forgot it. But this fear, it's not going away…"

"It's quite something, isn't it." Bucky softly said, the arm around her back moving slightly to brush a thumb over her shoulder in slow, caressing motions.

She burrowed deeper into his chest, feeling surrounded by his warmth as his chin rested lightly on top of her head, both of them melting into the pillows. Slowly, her fear left her, and she became aware of the scent of him burning her up from the inside, sharp and spicy and just a bit sweet, and how she could just about hear his heartbeat, and his breathing, and how she had never seen that much of his naked skin before — though she barely could at all in the dark.

His fingers started making circles over her shoulder, lazy and absentminded, and she had to bury the mournful thought that this was the first time she'd ever felt anything like it.

Bucky pulled her imperceptively closer, bit by bit as the tension left her, and soon the back of her curled hands fell to rest against his chest, her knuckles pressed against a naked patch of skin. She felt him inhale sharply at the contact, and underneath his sheets she too trembled at the quiet tenderness.

"Don't worry, doll." he breathed into her hair. "I'll keep you safe."

She must have dozed off at some point. She became aware of Bucky's hand now hung around her hip, her own arm flung around what measure of him she could reach. Her head was resting on his broad chest and one leg was curled on top of his underneath the blankets. He seemed sound asleep, breathing softly beneath her, head tilted toward her as the faintest sliver of morning light shone through the curtains.

Without moving her head much, she looked up at his face. Bucky seemed more grim asleep than he did awake, his delicately drawn mouth resting in a frown, his brows low and with a hint of tension, his unshaven cheeks scruffy and dark. He must've put on a bit of a show to seem cheerful in front of her, when he did…

She let her eyes lick across his figure, down his thick neck, the stretch of tough skin, and the chest with the hint of hair peeking from underneath the tank top. She breathed in the warm scent of him and suddenly the feeling of his arm gripping her waist, even in the gentleness of sleep, was overwhelming.

There was too much of him, too close, too trusting, too intimate, so wide open just for her, and the inescapable hint of his affection distressed her: with how impossible it was, with how demanding it promised to be.

Slowly, she lifted her cheek off his chest and slinked away, his hot hand scraping across her figure as she went and stepped backwards onto the floor, trying to move the bed as little as possible. She looked at the watch on the bedside table: 4:55 AM.

Tip-toeing away, she left his room and closed the door with the faintest click she could manage.

Bucky opened his eyes to find his bed empty, the room quiet and just light enough for shadows to stretch across the length of it. It was just like every other morning but somehow, through her presence the night before, she'd taken something away. It's not like he'd hoped to wake up to her in his arms. Of course not. That would be silly.

His hand moved over the sheets: cold. She probably left as soon as he fell asleep. It was amazing enough that she had come at all, but then again he had an idea of how her nightmare made her feel; if hers were anything like his, she'd have gone to just about anyone. Even… Don't finish that thought.

He turned in bed, his back to where she'd been, facing the windows and the balcony glass doors beyond which the crowns of far trees swung in the morning air, big and beflowered and brimming with birds. It was, in every other way, a beautiful morning.

And things were so close to being perfect. He had her there, he'd held her in his arms, he'd been given the chance to be good to her, and wanted, and there when she needed him, and over it all hung the cloud of wonder at what a rare person he had found in her. Yes, she was a bit sullen sometimes and unassuming, but he realised those things were what he liked so much about her, that opening to being cared for so precisely shaped for what he had to give.

She wasn’t like the women he remembered from before; she didn’t try to make herself seem softer or sharper or more cheerful than she was, with a carefully curled mane of hair or an impossibly fertile figure, nor was her every gesture an invitation to flirt. She was dull and tender by comparison, a little sensitive and a bit sad, like a girl that never grew up but who, with so small a twist, might suddenly become beautiful.

When he pushed aside his guilts and longings, Bucky was grateful for all those little faults she had. He knew that if she poured her energies into seduction, she could be terrifying and irresistible. So he decided that he liked her distant and sullen and shy, even if it kept her from him. If anything, it only made him like her more, long for her more, want her for his own flawed self; take his pity, that her pride couldn't stand, and turn it into the most dedicated caring.

But he wondered was was wrong with her — what was wrong with him for her. She could hardly stand more than a few seconds' touch from him, like a raw nerve. Did she just not like the way he looked, or walked? Or the things he said, or how he treated her, or talked? Was it the arm? Was it his age? Was it who he was?

All of these were plausible, but somehow it felt like he was missing something. She wasn't just indifferent, she was so deliberately distant it almost seemed calculated. And she didn't just decide to avoid him, he realised: she did it instinctively. Her body reacted first, and she followed. At the periphery of these unhappy thoughts was the pitying realisation that she'd had practice.

Bucky wasn't heartbroken by her tacit rejections, of course not, he wasn't that far gone yet (but there was no way his was the first heart she'd broken).

He thought back to how she was around other men. Charming, more cheerful, joking and flirty but still, in the end, distant. All the teasing jokes distracted from her, all deep conversations distracted from her, all heartfelt consolations distracted from her, every incline of her body faced away.

After only a few minutes, Bucky relented and turned, burying his face into the pillow she'd slept on. It actually still smelled faintly of her hair. It was so specific to her and so comforting, her perfume mixed with something sweet and cloying and just a touch salty, it made his mouth water and his loins burn.

He rolled onto his back, lifted the sheets off his body, and looking down he noticed the state of himself.

"Down, boy." he sighed. "She's not here anymore."

Bucky rolled out of bed and got ready for his morning push-ups. They always made him feel better… Maybe he could add another couple hundred today.

146 notes · View notes

theminionjcfucked · 3 years

Text

BB23 FINALE SPECIAL EDITION! HAPPY FINALE DAY!

The BB23 Houseguests As Memorable Death Scenes from TV Shows/Movies:

Alyssa: The Titanic- Rose: honestly she knew that man for what? three days. And she was ready to marry him. And then she let his ass freeze to death. And it took her 84 years to see him again.

Azah: Spy Kids 3: Game Over- Demetra: Like damn if you didn’t love Demetra just to be pissed off that she was a virus and had to stay in the game as it was being destroyed and couldn’t even be with Junie like damn she was such a conflicting person but they didn’t have to do us that way 😭

Brent: John Tucker Must Die- John Tucker: this is more of a character assassination than an actual assassination but strong, fed up women coming together to humiliate and exact revenge on a POS man. Iconic.

Britini: The Maze Runner- Chuck’s death: Like yeah was he annoying at times and all over the place. Of course. But damn it hurt when he died. Like shit I didn’t think I was gonna miss Chuck but there I was crying that they killed him 😔😔

Christian: Scream- Stu: Honestly the way Stu shot himself and then cried like a bitch was very reminiscent of how Christian threw a fit the moment he knew his game was over.

Claire: The Walking Dead- 4x14 “Prey”: When Carol has to kill Lizzy because Lizzy had become a threat. The parallels I felt from watching Tiffany send Claire out OOF. JUST LOOK AT THE FLOWERS CLAIRE! LOOK AT THE FLOWERS!! 😭😭

Derek F: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 2- Bellatrix Lestrange: it’s the fact that Bellatrix was called a bitch and then killed by a scornful woman. That’s exactly how DF’s BB deserves to end. NOT MY DAUGHTER YOU BITCH!

Derek X: Marley & Me- …we knew it was coming…but it was so hard to watch 🥺

Frenchie: Game of Thrones- 4x02 “Purple Wedding”: When King Joffrey finally kicks the bucket like damn took y’all long enough never thought we’d ever get rid his ass (like I realize it was only two weeks but Frenchie felt like a goddamn life time)

Hannah: Avengers: Infinity War- Peter Parker: The devastation I felt. The fear in her eyes. She was just like Peter. He knew he was dying and he couldn’t stop it. MR STARK I DONT FEEL SO GOOD 😭

Kyland: The Lion King- Scar: His reign of terror comes to end and he gets thrown to the hyenas. Poetic really.

Sarah Beth: The Wizard of Oz- The Wicked Witch melting after Dorothy douses her in water. She’s melting! WHAT A WORLD WHAT A WORLD!

Travis: Spongebob Squarepants- 2x06 “Bubble Buddy”: that one fish they died because Bubble Buddy let him drown by high tide.

Tiffany: Avengers: Endgame- Tony Stark: I’m not even gonna explain why this is Tiffany YALL GET IT RIGHT?? LIKE THAT SHIT HURTED SO BAD 🥺

Whitney: Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith- Padme: no because by the time she died she was annoying and I didn’t care. “Luke you’re breaking my heart 🥺🥺” stfu already jesus.

Xavier: Harry Potter and The Deathly Hallows Part 2- Voldemort: It’s literally just because they are both bald headed assholes. Avada Kedavra bitch!

#big brother #bb23 #cbs #houseguests as

25 notes · View notes

sakura-83 · 3 years

Text

Things from Anne with an e that I feel like writing down

Season 1 Episode 7: Wherever You Are Is My Home

⚠️WARNING!!!⚠️ this episode not only talks about suicidal thoughts but also a character trying to commit such acts, of you are sensitive to this I suggest you just skip this post or at least skip #75-77

1. Anne calling it comforting that no two snowflakes are alike, as well as calling snow a sign of gods forgiveness as he blankets the dead world in a beautiful frost

2. Josie gossiping about her while she’s RIGHT THERE

3. Her and moody just talking

4. “And I love Christmas, don’t you?” “I don’t know, but I plan to.” “Did you not have Christmas at the orphanage?” “There wasn’t much to it really. I’m not sure why Father Christmas wasn’t able to stop there, maybe the matron scared him off.”

5. “Do you at least know if they’re going to keep you?” “Keep me!?”

6. Anne trying to sing with the others but the other voices quickly fading out as she panics and rushes home

7. “They’re not going to send you back, you’re in the Bible and everything!”

8. Marilla has every right to be angry that Matthew rushed their home without even discussing it

9. “I knew you’d lose your head-“ “Oh, I oughta smack yours right off your shoulders!”

10. Matthew is prone to heart attacks, the very same thing causing his death in the books

11. “He’s had an episode of the heart” just a funny way to say heart attack, sort of long winded

12. Marilla not understanding the complex math because she had to leave school when she was young

13. Anne helping her with it because she’s top of her class

14. “Not keeping you? You’re a Cuthbert, for better or for worse! No getting out of it now.”

15. The awful bank not relenting on the payback schedule despite the fact that Matthew cannot work. Corporations are cruel and ungiving despite the human struggles and needs of its clients and it hurts. I know the bank invested that money and they need it back but Matthew was indisposed by a tragic event and to not only not extent but to SHORTEN the payback schedule is just unfeeling

16. Marilla putting out an ad to the mainland to take in borders

17. The terrifying idea that you must sell everything you have in order to survive

18. Marilla being desperate yet still too prideful to accept charity

19. The fact that it not only effects the family but also Jerry, as they can’t afford to pay him. It puts him out of a job and lowers his families income

20. A reoccurring theme I love in this show is the idea that the characters will give up their belongings, no matter how sentimental, in the name of family. Matthew selling his dead brothers watch, Marilla selling her grandmothers brooch, Anne selling the dress of her dreams, all because no matter how important these items are, they are just things. That family is more important, so even though it pains you to have to give those things up, you do it in the name of love for others

21. “Theyre just things.”

22. Anne feeling sorrow and yet being excited to stay at aunt Josephine’s

23. Despite being told she can keep the dress, Anne insists on selling it back because it’s a family effort

24. Anne being exited for a solo adventure and then getting stuck with jerry

25. Jerry has to be there to get money Anne his family is hungry :(

26. “I don’t actually need your help.” “When’s the last time you drove a sleigh? Auctioned a horse? Let’s go.”

27. Diana giving her things to sell as well

28. Jerry knows how to drive a sleigh?????

29. “It’s not so bad to ask for help sometimes, y’know?” “If I needed help I would say so.” “No you wouldn’t.” “Yes, I would.” “Wouldn’t.” “Would! Times infinity.” “What???”

30. Jerry singing in French

31. “No singing. I mean it. I’m serious, Jerry! This is an important journey! I WILL KILL YOU WITH MY BEAR HANDS!”

32. Jerry grinning as she gets madder

33. Anne bring mystified by the dress shop

34. “I’m here to return a dress.” Is something wrong with it?” “Not a thing.” “Do you not like it?” “It is my very favorite thing that I have ever possessed in life. But I need to return it to help my family.” “You’re Anne, Matthew’s Anne!” “I am! How nice it is to hear it said that way.”

35. Anne being upbeat until Jeannie asks what’s wrong and then ask just breaks down

36. Poor Jerry waiting outside in the snow for her

37. Either Matthew spent some much money on Anne’s dress or Jeannie gave her extra, or both

38. “Did Matthew really spend this much?..” “You’re worth a lot to him.”

39. “I hate to say goodbye…” “😏 I won’t be so long~” “To the HORSE, Jerry. Why are you so annoying.”

40. “You’re a good horse Birdie, try to remember that. Someone will be very lucky to have you.”

41. Birdie really is a beautiful horse though

42. Anne’s little “my parents are spies” act she uses on the pawn broker

43. The pawn broker is so understandable rude because of his profession, it makes him equally annoying and funny

44. “What a piece of work you are.”

45. Anne is so good at making up stories on the spot

46. “If you can’t afford it I completely understand.”

47. I love how snide remarks of “being a good Christian” are frequent and effective insults in the 1800’s

48. Poor Jerry doesn’t just get beaten up and robbed, he gets brutally beaten by two grown men and there’s nothing he can do despite that being… his last paycheck. That was the last income he was going to give his family and he’s so ashamed of himself that he keeps apologizing for it despite most of the money being his. He apologizes to Anne, to Matthew, it bothers him for months to come

49. Gilbert’s back!!

50. “Still seems unreal. Even though I just sold all our… everything.”

51. “He’s a good man.” “I love him with all my heart. I don’t know what if do if…”

52. Them arguing over not arguing

53. Anne apologizing

54. “Anyway…” “Anyway..”

55. I genuinely didn’t realize that the men who beat up Jerry are the same men that took in borders at green gables, I got the same face blindness as Jerry himself

56. “I’ve missed you.” “Yeah?” “At school, theres.. no one to compete with.” “”You want to spell out a few words for old times sake?” “How about… truce?”

57. Jerry thinking Gilbert was going to hurt Anne and take her money and immediately jumping in to stop him despite swaying on his feet

58. When Anne asks him if he’s okay he immediately starts apologizing about the money

59. “I don’t like the city.”

60. “Just take care of yourself, and come home someday.”

61. Anne and Gilbert staring at each other quietly

62. “This is a palace, not a house.”

63. Jerry assuming that they’ll make him sleep in the stable instead of inside the massive house

64. “I’ll look after belle.”

65. “This city is rife with ruffians!”

66. Aunt Josephine insisting on helping

67. Matthew lamenting his own life, talking of how his life insurance will give them a sizable sum and how he drags them down despite them needing him

68. “Anne loves you, you have to remember that.” “But her future…” “Which do you think she would choose, this house or you?”

69. Jerry bring terrified to stay in a room by himself because he’s always had his family around him

70. Anne making room for him only for him to sleep upside down

71. “Don’t worry, I don’t kick like my sisters.” “Yeah, you’d better not.”

72. “Everything will be alright. It’ll be alright..”

73. Aunt Josephine helping by paying for Jerry to work at Green Gables, as well as giving Anne books

74. “We’ve been together all these years, thick or thin, so don’t think I’ll put up with you slipping away now. Anne will be home today, and she’ll be very happy to see you.”

75. Matthew trying to kill himself because the life insurance would pay off the debt he caused

76. Jeannie happening to show up and find Matthew with the gun just in time as he tries to hide what he’s almost done from her, realizing what he’s done

77. The way they stress how his passing would effect Anne the most because of what they mean to each other, that she will suffer without him despite what he’s trying to do

78. “Don’t ever get old…” “Too late for that.”

79. “You would’ve left us that way!? Left me?..”

80. “Give it back. I won’t take charity.” “But.. love isn’t charity.” “I won’t take it.” “Nay I ask why not?” “We will not be pitied! I don’t want people thinking we can’t fend for ourselves.” “Well at the moment we can’t, and I’d sure give my last bit of strength or my last dollar to help a friend. Then I know that friend would feel grateful and loved above all else. And I do. I feel very grateful to have such a dear friend as Miss Barry. Sometimes you just have to let people love you Marilla.”

81. Anne selling her cleaning services to make steady income

82. “We’re rich, aren’t we Matthew?”

83. Jerry carving a star for the Christmas tree!!!!!!

84. Anne’s friends coming to sing carols at their house

85. Anne helping Matthew walk outside

86. Not Nate :(

87. Nathaniel, the bane of my existence

#renew awae #awae #anne shirly cuthbert #jerry baynard #mathew cuthbert #marilla cuthbert #josephine barry

29 notes · View notes

intothehawkseyes · 3 years

Text

The Dancer in the Moonlight - Dracule Mihawk x Female OC/Reader (N.S.F.W)

hello, it's been 84 years... but i'm here to update this fanfic uwu

warnings: alcohol

word count: 3k

ao3, spirit (português)

if you are a new reader, you can find the first chapter here and welcome, i hope you enjoy it! to the older readers, i hope you forgive me for the late update and keep interested :( but the next chapter will be coming up sooner than this one and will be nsfw!

but, have a good read, and comments are greatly welcome and sorry for any mistake!!! <3

A legend was heard over the seas and on land about an event that changed the lunar cycle of an entire island. According to what was said, on a night of strong storm, a woman goes into labor at sea, alone, in a small sailing boat. Right after the first baby cry, the waves stop and the moon that lit up behind dense clouds begins to make room for the biggest star. Astonished, the island's inhabitants watch the postpartum woman return safely with the baby in her arms, while trying to understand how someone could survive in a small boat in the middle of a storm at sea, as they have never witnessed such a phenomenon. In addition to the miraculous birth, they also saw the sun entering the moon's front, leaving them even more open-mouthed. The most emotional ones say that the eclipse happened because the baby would be the “Heir of the Moon”, and the Sun was the first guest to visit her at her birth. And even within the legend, from that moment on, the location of the island simply disappeared from all compasses, preventing people from going after the truth, thus putting the child's safety at risk, as it was graced by a strange power coming from the Moon, and could attract a lot of malicious people. However, with the passage of time, the legend fell into the oblivion of adults and became just a story for children.

Even though there is no evidence as to the veracity of the correlation with the legendary island, as it is no more than a fictional story, there is actually an island named Gesshoku¹, which is well known for producing the best wines, and many believe that this one island is the same one present in the story and the speculation comes from the suggestive name that surrounds the natural satellite – so present in the legend – and the fact that it does not appear in any compass.

However, although it seemed complicated to go there, it is not difficult to find pirates who have visited Gesshoku Island, and it is said to be located on the edge of the Grand Line, at a point where the ocean waters are treacherous, making many vessels diverted to the Calm Belt, making the adventure extremely dangerous.

Regardless of what is real or fiction, whether there is any heir to the Moon with strange powers or not, I went to Gesshoku Island just for the wine.

Contrary to all the rumors surrounding arriving on the island at the risk of being thrown to a stationary place and loaded with kings of the seas, my trip was smooth, and I got there without any harm.

The first thing I noticed upon arriving was the hospitality of the locals. Everyone always with smiles on their faces ready to welcome each foreigner who docked their boats and ships in the port. With me it was no different, something that was not always the case as I was usually received by crossed and contemptuous looks. Still, I left my boat moored in a strategic, remote corner, always on the lookout in case something went wrong along the way.

I went there with the script already decided. First I would look for an inn to stay in, and leave my little luggage and soon after I would go to a winery to learn more about wine making and only then would I go out in search of information about the place and its customs. However, the energy of the island, which I hadn't identified right away, meant that plans were all put aside so that fate would define each visitor's itinerary. I was no exception.

The first sign that my itinerary was not going to work was when all the inns and hotels were full, I only got a place very far from the central area, which made me frustrated, but the room was clean, spacious and quiet, so I stayed right there. The second sign was that the wineries were closed due to a pest that had spread to almost all the vines, resulting in a considerable reduction in the production of wines.

Maybe I should have checked out of the inn at that moment, but I insisted, because the trip, although calm, had been long and I wouldn't waste money and time like that.

Resigned, I stopped in front of a bar and for a quick glance I saw a rather presentable cellar. I entered. And it was in this bar that I would come to know the lady of my life and the one responsible for my misfortune, even if she wasn't aware of it at that point.

♚♛

I was just sipping the wine, alert enough not to be caught off guard, but not enough to pay attention to the unrestrained in and out of the bar. I just wanted to relax and enjoy the moment of peace presented to myself after so many setbacks. However, my peace was shaken when, in a fraction of a second, and in the rare glances I gave the establishment's door, my eyes caught the figure of a woman who entered the place. She would be just another random customer that would leave my mind the instant she was no longer within sight of my eyes if it weren't for her imposing way of carrying herself. Something about her made my eyes nab at her image, maybe it was the elegant way of tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, or the almost sensual way of crossing her legs – quite attractive, by the way –, and straightening her posture as she sat in the front chair at the counter after ordering.

It was involuntary the way I followed her every gesture with my eyes. I can't explain it, but I just couldn't take my eyes off that woman. She chatted amiably with the bartender, like good old friends, and my curiosity and desire to get closer to her only grew as she tilted her head back to laugh at something the man had said to her. She was unusually different from other women, who carried themselves in a restrained manner, always hiding their mouths with their hands when they laughed. But that stranger didn't seem to care what others might say, she acted spontaneously, in such a way that it would be impossible not to notice her. Despite the flashy aura emanating from her, I seemed to be the only one affected there. I reined in my instincts and turned my attention to my wine, which no longer tasted so good, still intrigued that I had been so uneasy in the presence of this strange lady.

Though I tried not to look at her too much, I still wasn't able to contain the urge to take a few furtive glances in the direction she was sitting and talking to the attendant, condemning me for acting like a fool because she didn't seem to have the same interest in me, since she hadn't even looked at where I was, as her friend had sometimes done.

But to my surprise, before I could leave my seat to settle my bill, she was quicker to get up, still looking at the bartender, and pointing to a bottle of wine that was in a prominent place, which was one of those that should be opened on very special occasions. Which seemed to be the case with her, since she said out loud – too loud – that this was a special night and that she wouldn't be tasting the wine alone. After that, she straightened her robes before grabbing the bottle and leaving the bar, this time holding my gaze with those unreadable eyes.

I was never a man to prioritize dating – that's not exactly the right word to describe my relationships with the opposite gender, although I kept my sex life active as much as possible. I've also never been stubborn about moving mountains to get someone. I have always been objective and valued for mutual interest. When I had the need to indulge myself sexually with a woman, I specifically went out looking for it. However, the instant that mysterious lady entered the same bar I was in, my focus completely changed. I felt an itch grow in my lower belly and a restlessness took possession of my being.

After she left the establishment with that bottle of wine, her words began to echo in my mind with an undertone of reproach to my fixation. Surely she would have a boyfriend or even be married, I figured. So I put it in the back of my mind, in a place with difficult access, and headed towards the inn to take a shower and then decide to go back to my house. This island had already brought me enough trouble and I wasn't about to face another one.

And once again something stopped my plans.

Along the way, I heard the voices of three children whispering to each other, as if they were deciding who would approach someone. When I get angry and turn around to tell the three of them to shut up, my eyes lock on the tiny figure of a girl of about nine or ten years old, and I completely forget the reprimand for being amazed at the child's stark resemblance to the woman from the bar.

"Hello you!!" she says in a small voice, forcing a sympathetic smile. “Today there's going to be a festival here, can you attend…?”, she tried to formulate sentences while nervously gesturing with her hands, which were holding a crumpled piece of paper. “Here! It's tonight, don't go away because there will be good wine!” she said before throwing the crumpled paper near my feet, which I assumed was so I could pick it up and read it, and run off with the other two boys who were with her. In the distance I could hear them questioning what their sister had seen in a man so terrifying that he had made her fall in love.

I would have ignored the paper if I hadn't overheard such a conversation. So I picked it up and stuffed it into my pocket and headed to the inn, this time succeeding in my goal.

♚♛

After my shower, I rested in the lounging chair while reading a book I had picked up in the small library of the inn where I talked about the island. A curious thing was the value they placed on their customs and pride in their local culture.

Although focused on reading, my mind diverged on how interesting was the existing variety of children's books about the child "Heir of the Moon" in all ways, illustrated, in comic book form, short stories, lullabies and etc., which made me wonder if Gesshoku Island couldn't really be home to such a legend.

But that aside, I finished reading the book and intended to take it back to the library. The piece of paper given to me by the child earlier fell with a photo of one of my overcoat pockets as soon as I picked it up. This time I paid attention to it. It was a pamphlet about the festival and information, no biggie. However, the possibility that that woman was there crossed my mind, and this idea only intensified when I noticed that the photo that had fallen next to the brochure, which I deduced had been purposely placed there, was of a young woman with unreadable eyes, the same ones that met mine at the bar.

Maybe a festival wasn't such a bad thing. I was there for the distraction, after all. With that in mind, I gained the inn hallway and headed toward the library.

♚♛

When the sun was already fading over the horizon, from the window of the room I was staying in, I could see a crowd taking on an increasingly voluminous shape. The winemakers were already preparing to open the best wines from their respective cellars to offer their customers and also juices for those who were not old enough to drink alcoholic beverages.

The festival took place once a year, from what I've read about the island's culture, and there was no specific day, just so that any obstacles would not prevent the event from happening – such as the last one in which a plague spread through the winery –, and so that the strangers present would not return home without knowing the most valuable thing the island could offer.

I stayed on the porch just as an observer, I wasn't in the mood to face that crowd of people, although I wanted to taste a good wine, I knew that place was exceptional for that. So I preferred to wait patiently for the right time and also when the excitement of the beginning of the party calmed down a little. Furthermore, the best wines would be the last to be opened, as it was a way of holding as many people as possible.

Between glances at the movement below, I caught the moment when the three children from earlier appeared in the crowd. With the same energy, but much more excited. Even though I was a considerable distance away, I could see them passing each booth to look at the treats while a young woman approached them to pay for what they ordered. And the lady was the same one from the bar, as I thought.

And that was my cue for me to enjoy the festival too.

Lucky for me, people were too busy enjoying the festivities and entertaining the festival's attractions. I was one more among so many people, and so I went unnoticed by any enemies who were there. With this feeling of tranquility, I was also able to enjoy it in my own way, in a more remote location.

After a while there, I was able to feel much more at ease. The island's atmosphere and energy were welcoming and made anyone feel at home. Maybe it was the way the locals treated the outsiders, with a lot of sympathy and smiles, or maybe it was the wine I had drunk but any irritation caused by the adversities throughout the day seemed to have completely disappeared and I tasted of a tranquility that only then I felt when I was in my house.

After just watching the coming and going of people, between sips of wine and another, my eyes caught the moment when a cluster of people formed around an enigmatic figure of a woman. Before I could think too hard or try to figure out her identity, the dancer began a shy, slow dance. The restrained gestures were encouraged by the small audience around her and they began to create a firmer and more precise form. The way that woman was gesturing was familiar to me, but I didn't try to remember as I wanted to watch it. I must admit that I carry a fascination with dancing with me, although I've never talked about it with anyone. It's really interesting to see how someone manages to use their body to express themselves, which was the case in the middle of the festival. The dancer in question seemed to have mastered the art of dancing and was in full control of every member of her body, as the dance had steps that only someone with a lot of training could reproduce, and these were performed with such skill that they looked as smooth as a feather. .

As I was far away, almost hidden in the dimness, the dancing woman had her back to me, so I only had a view of her back, which was covered in light, thin fabrics that reminded her of veils and that hid her body curves. But the feeling of familiarity only increased as the dance progressed to a climax, and at that moment the person turned and as if it were predestined, our eyes met and it was as if everything had cleared: it was the girl from the bar.

Even though her eyes were covered by a kind of transparent mask, I would have recognized them from yards away. And the moment she noticed my presence, her movements abruptly changed. If before they were firm and precise, now they seemed much looser and more sensual. The dance took another turn and my sanity was almost taken with it.

The dancer did not lose focus as she changed the tone of her dance, quite the contrary, the transition was made so smoothly that it was not noticeable. Still hidden in my personal space almost in darkness, my eyes followed her every movement of her hips and my mind immersed in nasty thoughts. Her silhouette wasn't well defined due to her fabrics, but that didn't stop me from tracing her in my imagination. She used her hands too, with her eyes locked on mine, gesturing as if inviting me to join her, and as soon as she changed direction, breaking our eye contact, and unpretentiously she moved and the fabrics fluttered so that I got a glimpse of her curves for milliseconds, but enough to take my breath away. She really knew what she was doing and used all her weapons to get what she wanted. I just let myself go.

However, her dancing not only caught my attention, but also some pirates present there, who began to direct her obscene words, which she didn't seem to hear, as she didn't change her way of dancing for even a second. I continued as a passive spectator, just watching the unfolding of the event, she continued the dance and I kept my attention on her, and the pirates too, until the point came that one of them dared to invade the dancer's personal space and from that what unfolded was very fast: a very loud popping noise and the power outage that lasted for less than thirty seconds, but when everything lit up again, the dancer was no longer on her stage and in her place only one purple pink smoke poured from the floor. It was a cheap trick, but it was effective because the pirates were like dizzy cockroaches trying to figure out where the woman had gone.

She had come towards me, I just felt her presence sneak past me leaving a trail of soft perfume and a touch on my hand causing a new shiver down my spine, out of the corner of my eye I saw her disappearing once and for all into the darkness.

Still a little dizzy from the alcohol, but much more sober than before, I made my way to the inn room where I would check-out.

I made the journey slowly, packed my things and took a new shower to chase away any traces of drunkenness and left the place after paying off the bill and headed towards the place where my boat was moored, not without first searching all the places in search of the woman who had disturbed my mind all day, not finding her. Resigned, I decided to leave.

I unhitched it and advanced the boat towards the ocean that would take me back home, but before I could make my way home I saw her finally. This time she was sitting on the dock, as if waiting for someone, and unlike the baggy clothes that hid her curves, she now wore a tight red dress, fully defining her voluptuous figure. Beside her was the bottle of wine she'd picked up earlier at the bar and two crystal glasses. I risked walking past her, and I didn't have to do anything to get her attention, because as soon as she looked at me and gave me a crystalline smile. Seeing her up close, she looked even more beautiful.

We didn't say anything, as if we understood each other mutely, she held out the wine and glasses to me and I picked them up and set them down in a corner of the boat and then it was time to put her there. I pulled her around the waist and now she was much closer to me and I was now able to see every detail of her face. As beautiful as the full moon that illuminated the entire island imposingly.

#mihawk x you #mihawk x reader #mihawk imagine #op boys imagine #one piece #dracule mihawk #one piece mihawk #mihawk x oc #hawkeye mihawk #lunar eclipse part 2 #lunar eclipse chapter 2 #one piece imagine #mihawk x y/n

26 notes · View notes

wandaswigglywoes · 3 years

Note

Junksen - Aubrey takes care of lil werewolf Emily

Don't know if Aubrey is also a were

This took me some time to figure out what I was doing. Thank you for prompting me!!! :3 I hope you enjoy!! I’m going to try and let this be sort of ambiguous— let the reader decide if they wish to ship them romantically. (If my muse will let me. We’ll see where the girls decide to take it lmao) Haha, just kidding-- this has been sitting in my drafts for 84 years. basically ignore that above, i can't do ambiguous apparently. bye

“Why me?!” Emily winces at the shrill voice on the other side of the door, but only for the fact that it’s loud and causes the sharp pain behind her right eye to pulsate. “Why do I have to take care of her? I should be out in the trenches!” The voice continues, outraged. Emily thinks under normal circumstances, she would feel hurt, and guilty that this woman would rather be out fighting then to have to deal with her, but the only kind of emotion that Emily can muster is a sort of throbbing numbness.

“Aubrey!” A warning growl. “Her entire pack was brutally murdered before her eyes, and she was taken captive only to be tortured. Have a bit of sympathy!” Something sharp digs through the numbness and suddenly, as if she’s being submerged into an icy fjord, it all hits her at once. She has nothing— no one left.

There is silence on the other side of the door, but Emily’s exceptional hearing picks up heavy breathing. “I— I’m not saying that what happened isn’t terrible and despicable,” The shrill voice from before is much softer now, remorse evident in her tone. “I’m saying that perhaps I’m not cut out to be the one to take care of her. Someone like Chloe could—“

“Chloe is unavailable, and you know that, Aubrey. She is dealing with our spy that brought Emily in.”

“But daddy, I—“

There is a low growl and the hairs on the back of Emily’s neck stand on end. “Are you challenging me, Aubrey? I know I am your father, but I am also your alpha, so are you challenging my authority?”

“No. Of course not.” This time the voice is tight and controlled.

“Good, then you will do as I say.” The sound of someone retreating is followed, leaving no more room for argument.

Emily stares down at her bruised and raw wrists, waiting for the door to open, but it doesn’t. Not right away at least, but she knows that someone is still standing on the other side of the door.

Finally, the door creaks open, sounding so much louder in the quiet bedroom. Emily keeps her gaze downcast, wishing for all the world that she could disappear. There’s a sharp intake of breath that Emily knows has to be about her appearance. She hasn’t been able to bathe in— well, she isn’t really sure. Maybe a week? Her wrists and ankles are raw and bloody from where they had kept her shackled in pure silver, and there were fang marks at her neck where they had fed from her.

Werewolf blood was said to be warm and intoxicating to vampires, and not only that, but they lasted a lot longer than normal humans. "How are you feeling?" The voice sounds much softer now, though Emily can still hear the strain underneath.

Anger burns the back of her throat. "You don't have to be here if you don't want to," Emily says darkly, still unwilling to look up.

There is a sharp inhale through flared nostrils before it's exhaled shakily. "You heard that..." Emily chuckles derisively, but says nothing. "Right, of course. Look, I'm sorry. I'm just-- I'm not good with--" The voice trails off and Emily finally brings her gaze up to put a face to the voice.

It's a mistake. The woman is beautiful, blonde hair pulled into a tight bun with wisps of it framing her pretty, delicate features. Her eyes are a piercing green with flecks of gold, and behind them is remorse. Emily feels all the anger melt from her body in that moment. The woman's hands are clasped together tightly in front of her, as if to keep them from fidgeting. She's wearing a pair of form fitting jeans and a maroon colored Henley shirt, the whole outfit making her look effortlessly beautiful.

Emily clears her throat. "It's fine." She finally murmurs, eyes dropping back to her bloodied wrists, feeling as if she's been staring for too long.

"I'm Aubrey," The woman says gently, slowly approaching the edge of the bed where Emily sits rigidly.

"Emily," She mumbles, a shaking hand coming up to push a few greasy strands of hair out of her face.

She looks up to see Aubrey smile gently and Emily feels her insides clench. She has a nice smile. "Emily, is there--- is there anything I can help you with? We should probably clean up your wounds so that the healing process doesn't take more time than it's already going to."

Emily feels herself blush, realizing she's going to have to ask Aubrey to help her with bathing. "I--I'd really like to wash up, but-- I don't think I can stay standing long enough."

Aubrey nods. "Of course, and then we'll tend to those wounds." She approaches slowly and then holds out her arms for Emily.

Emily slowly reaches out, gripping both of Aubrey's forearms and allows herself to be pulled into a standing position. Her body screams in protest at the movement, but Emily manages to keep from crying out in pain.

Emily sits in the warm bath, knees pulled up to her chest and head tipped back slightly as Aubrey carefully pours water onto Emily's hair. Some of the tension leaves Emily's broken body as Aubrey's fingers massage shampoo into her scalp. The last time someone else washed her hair, Emily was a small child and it had been her mother.

This is-- it's different. The air feels charged, the action too intimate for two strangers.

Aubrey had respectfully kept her eyes averted while Emily struggled to undress, using Aubrey's outstretched hands to keep herself upright. They hadn't spoke since Aubrey had agreed to help her, the silence somehow louder than anything Emily had ever heard.

"Are you okay?" Aubrey finally asks, voice quiet, as if afraid to break the previous silence.

Emily swallows the dryness from her throat. "Yes, thank you."

"Close your eyes, I'm going to rinse your hair." So Emily does, barely suppressing a shiver as Aubrey's fingers comb through her hair.

After Aubrey had helped Emily get dressed (Some borrowed sleep clothes of Aubrey's), she lead Emily back into the bedroom at had her sit at the edge of the bed once more.

Aubrey is very gentle as she wraps her ankles and wrists, before looking her over for any other wounds. They still hadn't said very much to each other, which is fine with Emily. She doesn't have the energy to try and make conversation, too emotionally numb to think.

It isn't until Aubrey's fingers gently trace the fang marks on her neck that Emily's mind buzzes to life quite suddenly, pain shooting down her neck. Emily jumps and in turn, so does Aubrey. "S-sorry, is it painful?"

Emily blinks, suddenly realizing how close Aubrey's face is to her own. "I--a little," She squeaks, a soft blush coloring her cheeks.

Aubrey's fingers are still on her neck as she stares into Emily's eyes. "I'm sorry, the ointment should numb it." She finally says, and Emily realizes that Aubrey's fingers are coated in something thick and that the pain is slowly receding.

"T-thanks," Emily says, eyes quickly finding somewhere else to look other than Aubrey's probing gaze. "For everything, for doing this even though you didn't want to."

"I'm sorry you heard that," Aubrey looks ashamed as she finally pulls her hand back, wiping it on a towel. "It had nothing to do with you, I hope you know. I'm just-- not very good at any of this."

Emily smiles for what seems like the first time in a while. It doesn't quite reach her eyes, but it's gentle and earnest. She reaches out and takes one of Aubrey's hands in her own, ignoring the way her heart picks up speed as she does. "You've done a pretty good job so far."

She isn't sure if it's a trick of the light or not, but Emily thinks Aubrey blushes at the compliment, eyes falling to their joined hands. "Thank you, Emily."

Emily wakes up screaming, her neck burning and her ankles and wrists aching painfully, and the haunting screams of her family echoing in her mind. For a moment, Emily isn't sure where she is, chest heaving as she chokes on her own tears.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," Hands are on her shoulders, stilling her thrashing, and when that doesn't work, arms wrap around her. "It's just a dream, Emily, you're safe."

"A-Aubrey?" Emily sobs, her world slowly coming into focus, nose picking up Aubrey's scent.

"Yes, it's me. I have you." Fingers comb through her sweaty hair.

Emily's body sags into Aubrey, nose burying into a slender neck and allowing the now familiar scent to push away the image of her family being murdered in front of her. "They're all dead," Emily hiccups, her arms wrapping around herself. "I'm-- I'm alone."

Aubrey pulls Emily practically into her lap, fingers trailing up and down her spine. "I'm so sorry they're gone, Emily," Aubrey murmurs, her voice thick with emotion. "But you aren't alone, I promise."

"Y-You don't even kn--know me," Even as she says it, her fingers grip the edge of Aubrey's sleep shirt as if she might disappear.

Aubrey sighs softly. "It doesn't matter. I have good instincts, and I can tell you're a good person. So, I mean it when I tell you that you aren't alone."

"Will you-- will you stay with me?" Emily doesn't think she can be alone again. True, Aubrey had made it into Emily's room in record time, but the thought of laying in this big bed alone with her thoughts scares her.

Aubrey doesn't hesitate. "Of course I will."

Emily sits with her back against a large tree, basking in the sun. It had been months since she was rescued and the war was getting closer to ending, and though Emily's heart still ached for her family, she had adjusted relatively well in this new pack.

A shadow crosses over her face and Emily frowns, opening her eyes to find Beca staring down at her-- the one who had rescued her. "Hey." She offers Emily a crooked grin before settling beside her.

"Hey, what's up?"

Beca lulls her head to the side to look at Emily. "Just checking in on my favorite little wolf."

Emily chuckles, nudging Beca with her shoulder. "Are you sure that title doesn't belong to someone else?"

Beca flushes slightly. "Shut up."

Emily's grin grows wider. "Pretty blue eyes, red hair--" Beca shoves her playfully and Emily laughs.

"If you're going to tease me about Chloe, then I can tease you about Aubrey."

Emily's smile drops. "Aubrey and I are friends." She says mechanically.

"Why don't you just tell her?" Beca asks gently.

"Why don't you tell Chloe?" Emily counters, annoyance evident in her voice.

Beca sighs resignedly. "I plan to... Later today. So you've got no reason not to to tell Aubrey."

Emily whips around to stare at Beca in shock, before something dawns on her. "You're going on another mission, aren't you?"

Beca inhales slowly, seeming to hold the air in her chest for a moment before exhaling. "Yeah, and life's too short to keep this shit bottled up."

Emily swallows the sudden burn of tears in her throat and nods jerkily before dropping her head to Beca's shoulder. "You better be careful, or else." She murmurs.

"I always am." Beca lets her own head drop onto Emily's.

Emily smells her before she sees her, the scent of lavender and earth growing stronger the closer she gets.

Aubrey stands outside her room on her balcony, leaning against the railing and staring up at the moon. "Hello, Emily." She says without turning around, probably having both scented and heard Emily.

Emily steps up beside her, heart in her throat. "Hi," She replies quietly, leaning against the railing next to her. Their arms brush against each others, and Emily allows it to calm her racing heart. "I uhm-- I wanted to talk to you."

Aubrey turns slightly to look at Emily. "Oh? Is everything okay?"

Emily visibly swallows as she brings her own gaze to meet Aubrey's. "Yes-- I mean, I think so." She can feel her cheeks heating up beneath Aubrey's concerned eyes and hopes it's just dark enough that Aubrey doesn't notice. "It's just-- I was talking to Beca earlier, and she said-- well, she said something to me that made me realize that I should tell you how-- how I really feel about you."

Aubrey's eyebrows draw together in confusion. She turns fully to face Emily. "How you--"

"Life's too short to keep these feelings bottled up, and I should know that better than anyone. So even if you don't feel the same, I wanted to tell you that I-- that I have feelings for you."

"You have feelings for me?" Aubrey stares at Emily in shock.

"Yes. Well, technically, I'm like-- a little bit in love with you. Which--- I don't want you to feel pressured to love me back, or feel guilty if you don't. I'm perfectly content to be your friend, I just-- I felt like you should know. So don't--"

"Emily," Aubrey's fingers press against Emily's lips.

"Hmm?"

Aubrey grins, eyes watery. "I'm a little bit in love with you, too." And before Emily can try to say anything else, Aubrey kisses her.

#junksen #junksen fanfiction #fanfic: mine #pitch perfect fanfiction

15 notes · View notes

whimsicallyenchantedrose · 3 years

Text

Fluffy Fridays—Chapter 161: Once Upon a Flower Shop, Ch. 3 of 3

Pairing: Captain Swan

Summary: A series of unrelated, fluffy one shots featuring Killian Jones and Emma Swan and the relationship that makes us all swoon. Will contain both canon and AU stories. My contribution to Operation Rainbow Kisses and Unicorn Stickers (aka, my attempt to drown out the season 4 finale angst with ridiculous levels of fluff.)

Other Chapters: ( 1) (2) ( 3) ( 4) ( 5) (6) ( 7) ( 8) ( 9) ( 10) ( 11) ( 12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18) (19) (20) (21) (22) (23) (24) (25) (26) (27) (28) (29) (30) (31) (32) (33) (34) (35) (36) (37) (38) (39) (40) (41) (42) (43) (44) (45) (46) (47) (48) (49) (50) (51) (52) (53) (54) (55) (56) (57) (58) (59) (60) (61) (62) (63) (64) (65) (66) (67) (68) (69) (70) (71) (72) (73) (74) (75) (76) (77) (78) (79) (80) (81) (82) (83) (84) (85) (86) (87) (88) (89) (90) (91) (92) (93) (94) (95) (96) (97) (98) (99) (100) (101) (102) (103) (104) (105) (106) (107) (108) (109) (110) (111) (112) (113) (114) (115) (116) (117) (118) (119) (120) (121) (122) (123) (124) (125) (126) (127) (128) (129) (130) (131) (132) (133) (134) (135) (136) (137) (138) (139) (140) (141) (142) (143) (144) (145) (146) (147) (148) (149) (150) (151) (152) (153) (154) (155) (156) (157) (158) (159) (160) (162) (163) (164) (165) (166) (167) (168) (169) (170) (171) (172) (173) (174)

(ao3) (ff.net)

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

Killian put his truck in park, and then took a deep breath, trying to get his galloping heart rate under control. It had been quite some time since he’d felt this nervous about approaching a woman he fancied. Part of it, of course, was the fact she had been so very angry with him yesterday. It felt as though he was going into the game with several strikes against him already.

But that wasn’t all.

No, there was quite a lot more to it. The connection he’d felt to Emma during their brief five minute interaction was stronger than anything he’d felt in years. Even at the height of their relationship, he hadn’t felt this kind of a pull to Milah. If Emma were to reject him, it would hurt deep in his soul.

He didn’t know what to expect, but he was no coward. He would not let his fear keep him from pursuing something he knew deep in his bones could be right in a way nothing else had ever been.

After one more deep breath in and out, he grabbed the colorful bouquet from his passenger seat and walked up to her apartment.

He’d started the morning by touching up his flower arrangements and then stopping by Mary Margaret Blanchard’s home to drop off her bouquet. He’d liked her from the first. She had such a warm, optimistic, comforting presence about her. Though she was likely near his own age, there was something about her that felt almost maternal.

After he’d delivered her flowers, he’d found himself opening up to her, telling her about the mix up at the shop, and of Emma’s reaction. He’d even found himself telling Mary Margaret of his thoughts toward her sister.

At the admission of his burgeoning feelings, a gleam of excitement had come into Mary Margaret’s eye, and she’d invited him in for tea, during which they’d had a rather enlightening conversation.

“Emma is…reserved,” Mary Margaret began. “She’s had a very difficult life, and has come to expect the worst from people, because that’s what she’s always received, for the most part. I’m not sure how much she would like me to share with you, but suffice it to say, my family--our family--treated her terribly, and it’s taken her the better part of a year to truly let me in.”

“Are you suggesting I leave her be; forget about this attraction to her?” Kililan asked.

She’d laughed at that. “Far from it! I’m suggesting you take it slow, but be consistent and be persistent. Show Emma you are sincere, that you find her worth fighting for.”

“She is,” Killian said immediately. “Though it sounds ridiculous, given the fact we’ve only just met, somehow I know she is.”

Mary Margaret had sighed dreamily. “Love at first sight! It was the same way between my husband David and me when we met. Within minutes, I just knew he was somehow different. So, Killian, the question is what are you going to do about it?”

He’d felt the nerves kick in at the thought of his bold plan. “I...I was hoping to give her a bouquet, as an apology of sorts. Perhaps she’d accept it and then be amenable to starting fresh. Unfortunately, I’ve no idea where to deliver it.”

Mary Margaret had squealed at that suggestion, and then jumped up to get a piece of paper. She began writing, then slid it over to him. “I think it’s a perfect idea! Here’s her address.”

So here he was, buoyed by Swan’s sister’s optimism. Peering down at the sheet of paper once more, he checked the address, and then knocked on apartment 815.

It felt as though his heart would beat out of his chest as he waited, hearing the muffled sound of a feminine voice....footsteps....and then the turning of the lock, and the opening of the door.

She was gorgeous, even dressed casually in a pair of skinny jeans and a simple white cotton shirt. She took his breath away.

“I rather think an apology is in order, Swan,” Killian said, pulling his bouquet from behind his back and presenting it to her. “Please accept this as a token of my regret for yesterday’s debacle.”

Now was the moment of truth. She’d either accept his offering or slam the door in his face.

She shook her head, and for a fraction of a moment, Killian’s heart plummeted, but then she smiled wryly.

“Actually, I think I’m the one who owes you an apology,” she said, stepping back and inviting him inside with a wave of her hand. “Sorry I was such a bitch to you yesterday. I know it was just a mistake.”

His heart turned over at her self-deprecation. “You, love, are not a bitch. I spoke to your sister, and she alluded to some extenuating circumstances that might have led to your emotions yesterday. It wasn’t intentional, of course, but I regret adding to that.”

Emma took his offered bouquet, brought the flowers to her nose and inhaled deeply, closing her eyes and smiling at the lovely scent. Her smile turned sweeter. “You really didn’t have to go to all this trouble just to apologize, but thank you. They’re gorgeous.”

Killian glanced aside, reaching up to scratch at the spot behind his ear. “In all honesty, Swan, I didn’t do this merely to apologize. The truth is I wanted to see you again.”

For a long moment she was silent, opening a cupboard, pulling out a vase, arranging her bouquet within it. Finally she looked back up at him and smiled again. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said with a teasing smile. “I rather fancy you when you’re not yelling at me.”

She laughed at that, leading him toward her couch and inviting him to sit. It was so easy with her. Within minutes Killian’s nerves evaporated, and he found himself genuinely, unreservedly enjoying her company. They talked of nothing and everything, and in what felt like a blink of an eye, Killian looked down at his watch to find that two hours had passed in her beguiling company.

“I’m afraid I must be going,” he said, getting reluctantly to his feet. “Will has been alone at the shop for far too long, and the gods only know how many more orders he’s royally cocked up.”

She laughed, gracefully getting to her feet and walking him to her door. They simply looked at each other for a long moment, neither ready to say goodbye, it would seem. Finally, she glanced away.

“Um, Killian?” she started, awkwardly.

“Aye?”

“I wanted to ask you out. To dinner or something.”

He pulled in a quick breath, his heart racing and joy bubbling up inside. “I’d like nothing more, love,” he said before grinning mischievously, “on one condition.”

She grinned. “Yeah? What’s that?”

“You allow me to plan the evening.”

“Hey!” she said with a laugh. “I know how to plan a date!”

“I’ve no doubt,” he said. “But I can assure you, I’m quite good at planning a romantic evening out.”

She grinned again. “Just so you know, I don’t pillage and plunder on the first date.”

He winked at her. “That’s because you haven’t been out with me yet.”

She laughed again, the joyful sound filling him with warmth, and then she did something that sent heat all the way through him. She reached up to frame his face with her hands, then brought his head down for a soft, gentle kiss. It was little more than the ghosting of her lips against his, but the simple gesture went straight to his heart.

“Pick me up tonight, at say six?” she asked, when she pulled away.

“Not a thing in this world could stop me” he answered.

As he stepped out the door and began walking back to his truck, he brought two fingertips up to his lips, reveling in the fact that she’d kissed him. She’d actually kissed him and asked him out! It was better than he’d hoped for.

Perhaps, rather than a reprimand he should have given Will a raise.

Notes:

--So there you have it, the fluffy little conclusion to this fluffy little story. I hope you enjoyed it!

NEXT CHAPTER-->

#fluffy fridays #cs friday fluff #cs ff #cs au ff #cs florist au ff #my fanfiction #once upon a flower shop

24 notes · View notes

a-froger-epic · 3 years

Text

About the Interview

Since I posted the interview with J - a woman who has described herself to me as one of Queen’s first “groupies” - there has naturally been a lot of discussion about the veracity of the interview, the source, and my own motivations in posting it. I fully expected that, and I will say once more that nobody (apart from a small handful of anonymous trolls) has behaved inappropriately in these discussions. I have not received any “hate” because of this. There is no “drama”. Nobody is wrong, or a party-pooper, or attacking me by expressing their doubts. I have seen some awful bile spat at people anonymously recently, and that kind of behaviour has got to stop.

Now, if you don't think I am genuine, there is obviously nothing I can do about that.

However, what I am hoping to do here is add as much transparency as I can in regard to how and why the interview happened, and also share my own full thoughts on it with you.

First things first. No unverified, anonymous source can be seen as definitive proof of anything, ever. That is my stance. I have myself been criticised for so much as suggesting that other anonymous sources tied in with Freddie’s history are not 100% proof of one thing or another. But for me, an anonymous source can never mean more than at best: this seems very likely, but we can’t be 100% certain.

Perhaps I was naive to think that what I considered to be enough of a disclaimer at the beginning of the interview, was enough. My intention was to express that while I, personally, believe J to be a) the person she says she is and b) genuine about what she remembers, that does not mean I believe everything she has told me is fact or happened in that exact way. I thought this was obvious. Perhaps I was unclear, and I apologise for that.

So let me be clear. There is nobody in the world who has perfect, factual recollections of what happened to them almost 50 years ago. Not even J herself claims for one moment that this is the case. She mentions several times that these are old memories from when she was very young, that she indulged in recreational drugs at the time, and that her views - of course - carry a personal bias. All this, I thought, would be enough for readers to know not to take everything they read at face value.

All of the above is why I kept my own thoughts and notes to a minimum within the interview, why I didn’t correct or point out obvious mistakes. I simply assumed that everybody would go away and read the interview against all the sources and information they already have, as I have done myself.

But maybe that was somewhat irresponsible of me, and I should have been the first person to dig into how J’s memories fit in (or don’t) with the information which is already out there, and how to put the two together. While I refrained from sharing all my thoughts alongside the interview (although I have fragmentally done so in response to other people since), others like @quirkysubject (here), @iwilltrytobereasonable (here), @emmaandorlando (here), @sarinataylor and @talkingismylifewrites (here) all had some very good things to say. All of them make excellent points. DO NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES SEND THEM NASTY MESSAGES. I frankly can’t believe I have to say this at all.

I found myself in a difficult position, because as the person who had spoken to J and asked her all these questions, I did not feel as though I could dissect her words as freely as anybody else. She has put a lot of trust in me, and I do not want her to think that I question her honesty and intentions. Because I don’t. If I hadn’t felt as sure as I reasonably can be that she is the person she says she is, and that her story is genuine from her perspective, if I had been in any doubt about that, I would not have made it public.

Here's the thing:

Even if you don't believe J knew the boys, her recollections of the time period alone are still valuable and incredibly interesting, giving us a glimpse of early 1970s London.

But I do believe J. Why?

Before I answer that, let me just say: I fully realise that of course the fact that it was my story J happened across, and me she decided to speak to because of it, makes me more inclined to want to believe her. However, other authors I'm friends with, as well as myself, have received messages from older people several times before. It does trigger nostalgia when a story is very strongly rooted in a time somebody has lived through. There are older people in the fandom. (I recently ran a poll and all age groups were represented even here on Tumblr.)

Now, on to the reasons why my communication with J has felt nothing but authentic to me.

1. She was never in any rush to get in touch with me or relate information to me. It took her a few days to email me after she first spoke to me in the comment section, where I begged her to please get in touch. She then sent me the same email five times, over two days, because she couldn’t quite work my email address out at first.

I ended up asking several questions more than once to get an answer because they were overlooked. The conversation went off on tangents, and we chatted about her weekend at her friend’s house (and I was presented with a beautiful snapshot of the beach), the memory box her daughter made for her, her work and other things. There were stretches of days at a time when J simply didn’t find the time to get back to me. And I may have badgered her with a few too many emails asking her to please remember to answer my questions when she has a moment. In short, it was the opposite of somebody rushing to share their story. I was doing all the rushing. (I realise that I am asking you to take my word for this, but this did not all happen in a vacuum. @plainxte, @quirkysubject, @fingersfallingupwards, @onegoldenglance and @freddieofhearts witnessed the process first-hand, as well as my excitement and some of J’s original emails.)

2. J was very trusting. I know her full name, where she lives and her place of work. She sent me current pictures of herself and her husband unprompted. At no point did she ask me not to reveal her identity, that is a call I made because I did not want to expose her to any possible harassment.

3. There were a few things in her account of what she remembered which were so obviously at odds with what we know to be true - it’s well-known John is a bit taller than Roger, for example, but J remembered him shorter, Queen went to Sydney in ‘85, J remember it as ‘84 - that I couldn’t help but think, if I was somebody who was trying to convince others of a made up story, the first thing I would surely do is make absolutely certain to get the facts which are easily findable right. Instead, J always lead with: this was all a long time ago, I’m sorry, I’m doing my best trying to remember.

I realise that a very clever hoaxer could do all this and convince me. But here the question has to be, to what end? This would be quite an act for someone to arrange, to make it seem quite so naturalistic. Nobody would go through the trouble of doing that for nothing. There’s no monetary gain. Scandal? There is nothing scandalous in the interview. Attention? J is barely an active member of the fandom. She has managed to create a Tumblr though: @since72. There is one post currently.

It also took her a couple of days to get back to me after I posted the interview.

In brief, I have no logical explanation for why somebody would go to these lengths and fool me so cleverly, with such attention to detail, when there seems to be nothing in it for them. Why then did J bother to talk to me at all? What was her motivation? Well, after I thanked her profusely for doing this, she simply said that she felt she owed me as reading my story had brought back so many memories for her.

All of the above is why I strongly feel that J is very much real and genuine. But I completely understand that it all hinges on the fact that in order to believe everything I say is true, you would have to trust me. And I know that as I am just another person on the internet, you have no reason to do that. But I’ll get to me in a moment.

Here are a few more doubts which I have seen come up with regard to J.

Why would she be reading fanfiction about people she knew? That’s weird.

To be perfectly honest, exactly that was my first reaction, too. But then I thought about it and talked to friends about it.

Firstly, J says herself that she was never a close friend. I agree that it would be far weirder to read fanfiction about somebody you knew very well. Having said that, John Deacon’s son has been known to read Queen fanfic about his father (and read it out on his YouTube channel). But I think given that it’s been half a century and J has been watching Queen in the public eye ever since, it isn’t really all that strange to read about fictional versions of them.

Secondly, a friend of mine noticed that it seems as though older people in the fandom find J overall more credible than younger people. I’m 35, and it is true that the older we get, the more we look for the things which remind us of our younger years. There is an urge to remember and re-live. You can trust me on this, or you can ask anyone over the age of 30 or 40. Nostalgia is real, and it only comes to you with age. Why would somebody who had briefly brushed shoulders with people who later became celebrities not take an interest in them later? It seems natural that she would. As J says, she never stopped being a fan of Queen’s music and came across fanfic when she looked up Adam Lambert. Is it really so strange that she would find fanfic about them entertaining? Having given it all this thought, I really don’t think so.

It’s unrealistic that she was so young.

This is something I have to disagree with. Times were different. Pete Townshend entered Ealing Art School at age 16, according to Wikipedia. My mother (currently 62) moved 600km away from home at the age of 15 to study piano at music college. I myself moved out from home at 17 (no tragic reasons whatsoever), but that’s beside the point. I have seen it framed in a way where it was said that “It isn’t realistic that a 16-year-old was hanging out with Queen who were all in their 20s”. I agree, it would be a little strange if the story was that one 16-year-old girl was hanging out with Queen by herself as their good buddy. But that is not the story. (Even though it is well-known that during the 60s and 70s, young teenaged groupies did in fact hang out with rock groups very frequently. Of course, J was not that kind of groupie.) She was simply part of a large circle of friends, by her own admission not a close friend of the band. Personally, I struggle to see how this is unrealistic in any way.

It seems super suspicious that she lost her photos in a flood.

Yes, it does. I agree. J realises that, too.

Like @quirkysubject said in her post, I don’t blame anyone who is too sceptical at this point. But there actually was a pretty bad flood in Australia in 1988.

There are mistakes in J’s story!

Yes, there are! Let me point them out to you. I already mentioned John’s height and Queen being in Australia in ‘85, not ‘84. I also think that her perception that Freddie was taller than Roger in ‘72, but no longer in the 80s, had everything to do with platform shoes. I have to say that I did ask J some questions which I knew were things which are almost impossible to remember about people you weren’t particularly close to. I knew there was no way she would be able to accurately recall their heights, but I still wanted to know what the impression was which she had come away with. I don’t for one moment think she could possibly know why and if Freddie’s nickname was really ‘Freddie Baby’ at EAS well before she went there. But I still wanted to hear what she thought of that. This is why I stated specifically that this entire interview consists of one woman’s subjective opinions and memories. That alone means you can absolutely not take any of it as definitive fact. That just isn’t how memory works.

Kensington Market and the stall:

J’s answers on this one thoroughly confused me. Not only did she say that while she saw Freddie at the market a lot, Roger was hardly ever there, but there was also some Indian man working at the stall during the week (who I don’t think could have been Freddie’s father). She saw Freddie at multiple stalls, a girl named Jill also worked at the stall… and J was under the impression that Roger and Freddie hadn’t even started the stall. None of this made a whole lot of sense to me, until somebody pointed out that the original stall owned by Roger and Freddie must have closed in the second half of 1971. (Sources: Queen in Cornwall & Queen: As it Began)

It is confirmed (same sources as above) that Freddie worked at the market until as late as 1974. I think it is therefore entirely possible that J would have seen him working at Alan’s stall, or helping out at other stalls, and the likelihood that Roger would have come to hang out with him on a weekend is fairly high, in my opinion. Later, reading about Freddie and Roger running a stall, J would have had no reason to think that this wasn’t the same stall she had seen them at. And yes, this is of course only a theory.

The gay pride march:

@rushingheadlong, who has recently done a lot of fantastic research about Tim, confirms that there’s no chance (as far as we know) that Tim could have been at the march. Did any of them really go? Is J misremembering entirely? Could it be that one of them or two of them went, and looking back, J remembers it as all of them (minus John, however) because she was used to mostly seeing them all together? Does she remember them from another protest march and got it mixed up with the gay rights march? I can’t say. The march and who exactly went is a big question mark. Even J herself is only “pretty sure” that they were all there, and I have to say, I can’t tell you who was where exactly when I think back to when I was 16. Certainly not when there was a big group of people around. And that was only 20 years ago for me.

Lastly, I’m going to try and use the guide our awesome local historian @emmaandorlando provided on how to analyse new sources. Of course, I’m not a historian (and I’m also partly the source by being the interviewer, so I can perhaps only do this impertectly), but let’s give it a go.

1. Who wrote this document?

‘Written historical records were created by individuals in a specific historical setting for a particular purpose. Until you know who created the document you have read, you cannot know why it was created or what meanings its author intended to impart by creating it’.

In this case, the answer is two-fold because essentially I wrote the interview, in as far as that I asked the questions, I gave it shape and presented it in the form in which it came, but the answers are J’s. I completely understand that this is already a big stumbling block for many, because not only am I presenting her as an anonymous source, but many of you don’t know anything about me. If you follow me on Tumblr, you will know that I have shared more with the internet than is probably wise. But still, I am somebody you know little about, presenting to you a person you know even less about. Whether you trust me or not is entirely down to your own judgement and instinct, and that will be different for everybody.

(I’ve seen it said that I’m plugging my own work through this interview. If that was my plan, I’m afraid it’s failed miserably. I looked, and DoA has gained a whopping 2 or 3 kudos.)

2. Who is the intended audience?

‘The relationship between author and audience is one of the most basic elements of communication and one that will tell you much about the purpose of the document. Think of the difference between the audience for a novel and that for a diary, or for a law and for a secret treaty. Knowing the audience allows you to begin to ask important questions, such as; “Should I believe what I am being told?”’

The intended audience is the Queen fandom on Tumblr and AO3. I have no interest in sharing this anywhere else because I’m not familiar with the other fan communities (Facebook? Instagram?) and wouldn’t know how to go about it. For J, the intended audience was mostly me, an author she likes who was very interested in her memories.

3. Why was this document written?

‘Everything is written for a reason. Understanding the purpose of a historical document is critical to analysing the strategies that the author employs within it. A document intended to convince will employ logic; a document intended to entertain will employ fancy; a document attempting to motivate will employ emotional appeals. In order to find these strategies, you must know what purpose the document was intended to serve.’

I got really, really excited. That is the reason. When J got in touch with me, I had a decision to make. I could ask her all the questions I wanted privately and share her answers only with my "inner circle” of fandom friends, or I could share everything with the fandom spaces where I’ve been very active in the last two years. I wanted to share the excitement and decided to do the latter.

I also wanted to present the interview in a way where it would be an engaging, well-structured read and not simply all of her emails to me dumped here with a quick ‘there you go’. So I tried to wrap it in a beautiful “package”, which is why I asked her for her art, for example.

4. What type of document is this?

‘The form of a document is vital to its purpose. The form or genre in which a document appears is always carefully chosen. Genre contains its own conventions, which fulfil the expectations of author and audience.’

An interview, written by somebody who has never interviewed anyone before.

5. Can I believe this document?

‘To be successful, a document designed to persuade, to recount events, or to motivate people to action must be believable to its audience. For the critical historical reader, it is that very believability that must be examined. Every author has a point of view, and exposing the assumptions of the document is an essential task for the reader.

You must treat all claims sceptically (even while admiring audacity, rhetorical tricks, and clever comparisons). One question you certainly want to ask is, “is this a likely story?” Testing the credibility of a document means looking at it from the other side.’

This is for all of you to decide for yourselves, and that was always the case. Far be it from me to be upset with anyone who straight up doesn’t believe a word I say, doesn’t believe J is real or any other scepticism. I’ll say it again, DO NOT harass anyone for expressing their opinions on this! It is NOT WRONG to discuss a new source! It’s wonderful that people are doing it!

And so, we come to that last question: Is this a likely story?

Personally, I can firmly answer that with: Yes. In my personal opinion, it is. I find J’s story very likely and there is close to nothing that makes me question that these are indeed her real memories. But given the nature of human memory, they are just as imperfect as anybody else’s and do not, and should not, supersede any factual, verified information we already have.

With that, I hope to have provided a bit more clarity and transparency, and leave you - as before - to make up your own minds.

#the interview #my thoughts #others have had their say so here is mine #in detail #long post

52 notes · View notes