#this first chapter is sad i will admit but it gets much better i promise | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gretavanmoon · 1 month

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an omnipresent force• ch 2

Chapter 2- DARK ENIGMA

Jake x reader (we'll get there... I promise)

Words: 12.4k

A/N: Semi-AU// Set six years in the future, the world has decided to cast humankind aside, starting with the poisonous entities that are destroying her the most.

Warnings: Dystopian Horror Cursing, Smoking, Mention of Drugs, Feelings of Fear and Uncertainty, An Apocalyptic World, Hunting, Violence (mention of firearms), Kidnapping, Wounds and Pain, Blood, Death & Dying, Burials, Lying, Deceit, Sadness, Panic Attacks, Use of Restraints, Mentions of Sex

Cheatham County, Tennessee

Five days later

Y/N

The old wood of the rocking chair squeaks beneath me as I gently move my body back and forth, snuggling into my thick afghan wrapped around my body. There is a light dusting of snow on the ground, and I’d spent the majority of the evening out here on the porch, taking in the scene of my grandparents’ farmland before me. The lead in the pencil I’ve been writing with all evening is starting to dull, but I press a little harder to get the last few sentences written down into my journal.

December 29, 2030

Day five back at Pap and Gran’s farm. We didn’t do much today except peel some potatoes and boil chicken for broth. Gran’s state has deteriorated since we made it back here. Paps and I truly thought that maybe bringing her back to her home would make her feel better, but she’s only gotten worse. Part of me thinks that she might have just wanted to find her peace here, in her own home, in her own surroundings before she decides it’s okay to let go. Awful of me to think that, isn’t it?

I miss my Mom. And I miss my dad, and I really, really miss my brother. Having nearly no time to mourn them has truly put me in a weird headspace, I don’t know how I’m making it day to day. Sometimes I think back to that fear I felt when I first realized I had to get the hell out of my house when I found the faultline in my foundation, that feeling that it could all come crashing down on me at any second, burying me in walls and furniture and drywall to the point I can’t breathe… That’s what this feels like. Like I’m standing in my basement again, just waiting for the whole thing to crush me.

The only thing that is keeping me going is Paps and Gran. And the fact that if I stop, then they stop. And Gran is already slowing to a crawl.

I pull out my pocket knife from my pants, opening the blade and sharpening the graphite in my pencil a bit before licking the tip, and getting back to work.

I’ve lost nearly 16 pounds, and my hair feels so thin. I can feel my muscles starting to wear out, and the joints of my bones are beginning to ache. Lack of nourishment, I guess. But I don’t let it stop me, and neither does Paps. We are still getting up at the crack of dawn every single morning to look for roaming wildlife to catch. Thankfully we were able to get our hands on six chickens, a rooster, a goat, and the neighbor’s old Blue Heeler, Hank. Hank sits by my Gran’s side day in and day out… I think he remembers that she used to throw him scraps out into the front yard.

The strangest thing happened to me yesterday, and I feel embarrassed to even admit it in this stupid journal.

For the first time in months, I got the overwhelming urge to want to fuck.

I wish I could write that in invisible ink like we used to do in text messages, yikes. But, I guess I have to realize that I am still a living, breathing woman who still goes through her monthly cycles, and still possesses the urges associated with it all. God, I fucking laughed out loud at myself. I haven’t seen another man close to my own age since we left Nashville and I saw a group of young people throwing a cinder block through the front glass of a coffee shop. For fucks sake I’m so embarrassed.

But I actually even dreamed about it last night. Real, true, romping sex in some strange place… it was so real that I woke up in a cold sweat with my heartbeat between my legs. Shit. I don’t even know who it was with, but that part didn’t matter. I used to love those pointless, carnal dreams that made you blush in your sleep. But damn, now? That’s as close as I’m probably ever gonna get.

I had to spend the rest of the day fighting the flashbacks while spending time with my literal grandparents. Ignoring the fact that I used to daydream about it, then make a phone call to whoever, and make it happen. It used to be so easy. Shit, I miss random hookups. Fucking hell.

Now I’m spending my days collecting freshly laid eggs before a pack of wild dogs come and kill my chickens. Goddamnit.

ANYWAYS.

Tomorrow is my 33rd birthday. And I don’t even care. It feels silly to even think that even though the world is pushing me off the literal land I stand on, I still have to age. I still have to deal with being a human. And mourn the loss of my family. What the fuck. Just lost the last of my immediate kin, I’m digging up last season’s potatoes from the ground and nursing my sweet Gran as she lies in her bed in pain, and I’m having sex dreams. Really, really fucking good sex dreams. If I could roll my eyes with paper and pencil, I’d be doing it right now. The human experience is so fuc

My thought process is stopped when I hear the sound of something I haven’t heard in literal days. Weeks? I don’t know… But I hear it, the faint sound of a tune and a melody coming through an old, staticy speaker. I close my pencil into my journal and stand, realizing I’d been sitting outside for a while now as the stars had become bright and the moon sat high in the sky.

My brow furrows as I listen harder. It’s Billie Holiday. I push the front door open and enter the warm house, firstly noticing the crackling fire that Paps had kept burning all day. I then saw him standing in the dimly lit corner, fiddling around with his old vinyl records and adjusting the volume of the music. The wall behind him is stuffed full of records, floor to ceiling and two shelves wide… all full of the music he filled mine and James’ lives with since the time we could walk. He’d been collecting his entire life. Truly, I owe my love of music to him.

“Paps…” I say softly as I enter the living room.

“Hey youngin’, sorry if I disturbed ya…” he said, puffing some pipe tobacco smoke up into the air. I used to tell him he needed to quit, but now… what’s the use?

“You didn’t, Paps.”

“I sorta… forgot that music exists,” he chuckled, opening the cover of a Bill Monroe album and inspecting the inside.

I place my hand on his back, giving him a few pats as I lay my head against his shoulder, watching the record spin on his antique hand-crank phonograph. “I kinda did too, actually,” I reply, admitting it to myself. “What made you pick Lady Day?”

He shrugs. “Not sure. Always loved her voice, hated it when she passed. She left one hell of a legacy, though, huh? Your Gran sure loved her, that’s for sure,” he mumbles on, looking back to the daybed we had set up for Gran in the living room so she could be closer to the heat of the fireplace.

“Love her, Don. Not loved. I ain’t dead yet,” we both hear Gran stir from under her blankets. The both of us erupted in a fit of laughter at her unbridled and filterless sense of humor.

“Hell’s fire, Jane. Didn’t think you’d be able to hear us,” my Paps laughs as he places the cover back down on the table and goes to join her at her side. I follow behind. “Did we wake you?”

“You did, but that’s okay. No better way to be woken up from a dreamless sleep than by some pretty music,” she says, propping herself up on her pillows. She still has so much strength, and though she’s weakening by the day, I’m still astounded by her ability to get up and even walk herself to the restroom. “And!” she boasts with her crooked finger in the air. “No way I wanted to miss my favorite granddaughter’s birthday when the clock strikes twelve,” she adds with a reassuring nod.

“Gran, you don’t need to stay up this late! It’s almost midnight now, go back to sleep,” I push her, not wanting to miss one second of any rest she can get, while also wishing that she and Paps could sit up and reminisce with me until the sun comes up. I’d give anything to have just one more hour with my parents and James.

“Oh, child, I’m fine!” she pushes my hands away, pulling herself back up. “You’ve gained another year. This day and age, that means something, you know?” Her voice is weak, but she still sounds like herself, her southern drawl coming out to play as she tries to fluff the pillows behind her.

I nod in understanding. “If you say you want to stay up, we’ll stay up!”

There really isn’t such a thing as a true bedtime, anymore. I’m up at strange hours of the night, take many naps throughout the day… time doesn’t matter, aside from the rooster reminding us of when the sun is about to come up every morning.

But we still set the clock, and we’ll change the batteries. The Grandfather clock against the back wall reminds us of each hour, every day. And how lucky we still are to have each and every one, no matter how long they drag us on.

Gran taps her fingers along to ‘Love Me or Leave Me’ as Paps sings quietly along, and I place a few new logs onto the fire to keep it burning. The smell of this house has always stuck out to me– matured wood, the scent of the barn wafting through the cracked windows, the Murphy’s Oil Soap that Paps was always obsessed with cleaning the floors with… it’s all still stuck here, unmoving in time. Just like the photos on the walls, the dinnerware filling the shelves, and the wall that’s covered in pencil markings and dates, marking mine, James’, and my father’s height growth over the years.

It’s all still here, exactly where they left it. Exactly where they carved things into the load-bearing beam that runs the span of the house. The wearing in the wood of the floor where Gran stood for fifty some odd years in front of the stove cooking meals. The screen door that hangs haphazardly on the front door, the screen ripped and aging as it served its purpose keeping the flies out of the house for however many summers.

A time capsule. And by god, were the three of us overjoyed when we pulled up and found it not sitting at the bottom of a sinkhole.

“Have you got any Sinatra?” my Gran asks, pulling me from my deep-thought trance as the Billie record spins now, without any sound.

“Of course, sweetheart,” Paps agrees as he stands to replace the record, knowing that he’d give my Gran anything she could ever ask for, just like he always had.

He makes his way back over to his setup and finds exactly what he’s looking for, switching the vinyl out and putting the needle back down. Gran tilts her head back onto her pillows as she hears Frank’s voice come over the crackly violin sounds.

“Ol’ Blue Eyes,” she mutters before sitting back up and grabbing at my hands. “You know, Y/N, I didn’t always love music, it was your grandfather’s doin’ that got me to fall in love with it.” Much like he did for me, actually. “Of course I’d go to the dances at the school and I knew a few songs here and there, but it was when I met him that I truly found my love and appreciation for it.”

“He’s had that effect on us both, then, hasn’t he!” I jest, smiling and squeezing at her frail hands. We both glance at him still standing by his collection, eyeing the spines of the covers and pulling them out to look over. I truly did owe a lot to him, he taught me more about artists than I could have ever taught myself. Older ones, especially. He knew the stories that were never recorded in interviews and tabloids. He knew, because he kept them all in the back of his mind as if they were his own family stories.

“That man got me to follow the Dead around for nearly six months before I told him he’d better get me back to Tennessee so I could have me a garden,” she went on, making my face warm with a grin. I’d heard the story a hundred times before, but I’d sit and listen to it a hundred times more, if time would let me.

“Oh, shoot, Jane. We had a good time,” Paps interrupted, scowling at her as he puffed his pipe.

“Didn’t say we didn’t, Don!” she pokes back, and I can tell they’re about to get into one of their little playful spats. “Your grandfather and I tried LSD for the very first time while we sat in a drum circle after a Dead show in Kansas City,” she said, her eyes wide as she still held my hands.

Now that, they’ve never shared before.

“Gran!” I exclaim, truly surprised.

“Now Jane!” Paps barks from his place.

“What?!” she replies, shrugging her bony shoulders. “It was a damned good time and I can honestly say I came back a changed woman. Nothing wrong with that, now is there? I’ve lived one hell of a life…” she trails off, earning a scoff from Paps as he waves her off. “There should be nothing stopping you from still living your life, Y/N. Do you hear me? The Earth might swallow us up, but that doesn’t mean you can’t keep running, keep on living, you understand, child?” she asks, moving her cold hands to cup my cheeks.

“‘Course I do, Gran. I promise,” I relent, and I envy her ability to speak to me with this regard, knowing that the end of her life is near.

“Good,” she pats the side of my face. “Don, how about a little acoustic for a dying old woman?”

Paps drops his shoulders. “Now Jane, do ya have to keep talkin’ that mess, or am I gonna have to make you?” he teases.

I laugh and stand to go into the kitchen as Paps makes his way over to the corner, plucking his old acoustic from its place. I re-wet Gran’s cloth in the icy water, wringing out the dripping water and returning to place it back over her chest.

Paps sits beside us on the daybed, the smoke rising from his pipe as he plucks at his strings, his feeble but strong hands re-tuning them to where it sounds best. My grandfather is, and was, a very handsome man. Strong and built like an ox. I can see why Gran followed him around chasing after the Dead for six months.

Finally he strums a perfect chord, raising his eyebrows at Gran as she smiles back at him. “Guess it’s a good thing I never got my hands on an electric, hm?” he says as he bites the end of his pipe.

Neither Paps or I have shown any signs of the rash, at all. No where. And neither of us could fathom why.

The two of us sit and listen to Paps play a plethora of familiar tunes, his fingers still agile enough to float over the strings and play little snippets of all of Gran’s favorites. I can feel Gran’s body relax as she listens to him, her mind probably floating through a million memories of watching him play over the years. He hums along a little as his eyes close on their own, listening to himself play. I swear I could sit here for days.

After a few minutes, his fingers contort and play a little more harshly, strumming out a tune that hits a nerve buried so deep within me, I almost cry right there on the spot. His very own rendition of one of my favorite songs in the world, You’re the One.

“Paps…” I murmur, almost whining.

“Hush, child, let me see if I can still pull through these chords,” he shushes me. And he does. I want to scorn him for bringing up the music that was made by my favorite band in the entire world. But then again, in later months, Greta had become one of his favorite bands, too.

“Babe, ain’t no denyin’, that I got you in my head…” he sings to Gran, making her cover her face with her hands. He plays through about half of the song before he stumbles over a note or two, and decides his hands have gotten too tired.

“How dare you, Paps. You know that struck a nerve…” I say, scowling at him.

“Oh, quiet, now. You used to walk around the house singing their songs for days on end. Watch those silly videos of them, hell. How many shows did you go to?” he asks, truly schooling me on my own obsession with that band.

“Twenty-three,” I mutter under my breath.

“How many?”

“Twenty-three! Okay?” I play along with him, the both of us knowing that he attended the last five of them with me.

We’d traveled over to Kentucky for his first time seeing them live after I’d shown him a few of their songs. He was hooked after his first play of From the Fires, ripping the album cover from my hands to read along with the lyrics. After that we moved on to Anthem of the Peaceful Army, Garden’s Gate and so on, each play enrapturing my grandfather even more than the last.

“These kids have some damned promise, that’s for sure. This is a sound I haven’t heard in ages… and their talent? Boy…” he’d said. I still remember the day I surprised him with tickets to his first show, watching him fall in just as much love with them as I was. Swaying along to their classics, singing along with the lyrics he’d learned to love. He learned their names, he learned their personalities a little. He even met a few of the friends I’d made along the way, flirting with them as we’d all stand in line before a show.

It was Paps and Gran’s travels with the Grateful Dead that inspired me to follow Greta Van Fleet around on their tours. Not for six months straight, as I had to hold down my job, but nonetheless. Twenty-three shows I went to over the course of nine years. Strange Horizons all the way up to their last tour before the world shut down. I had tickets and plans to meet up with my group of friends for a show after Greta had gotten back from Greece, but, of course that never happened.

Paps grew to love them just as much as I loved them. Love them. For so many years, they were my escape. My solid rock to land on as the headaches of daily life surrounded me. I made lifelong friends through them. Traveled to other countries to see them, with my friends by my side. I watched them grow into men, as I had grown into a woman right alongside them. Watched them evolve, grow, and retreat into silence before exploding back onto the scene with something brand new and fresh, roping me right back into their world. Obsessing over every little detail they fed us. Digging deeply into the meanings of songs, and discussing all the lore with my cohorts on social media. I can account many of my life’s milestones to at least one song of theirs.

Now, when I find the world more quiet than it ever has been in my lifetime, I find myself reminiscing on those times, some of the best times of my life with that band, and my friends that felt more like family. I catch myself humming their songs, just trying to keep myself centered and rooted to the earth as it literally is falling apart beneath my feet. Greta was always my solid foundation, and even during the End of Days, they hold true to that assignment.

The grandfather clock finally decides to strike midnight, signaling my 33rd birthday.

“I’m sorry we can’t celebrate like we normally would, sweetheart,” Paps says as he continues lightly strumming.

“It’s okay, Paps. Just having the two of you still here with me is celebration, enough.” And I truly mean that. I watch as Gran’s sullen eyes fill with tears as she watches the two of us, and I know I’d give anything to keep the two of them alive as long as I possibly could. But her rash is worsening by the day, and Paps and I can tell that though she puts on a tough exterior, she’s suffering inside.

Gran had fallen back asleep peacefully to the sound of Paps’ acoustic, and we covered her up and threw another few logs onto the fire to last us a few more hours, at least. Paps kisses my forehead after he places his guitar back on its stand in the corner, wishing me a happy birthday as we both retreat to our beds.

+++

The next morning, I wake to myself shivering; Paps and I both must have slept through the night without waking up to tend to the fire. I stretch my muscles and rub my eyes, but I’m instantly startled by the sound of someone coughing. I throw on my robe and slippers and rush to the living room, finding Gran sitting up in her bed, coughing terribly. Paps and I are by her side in seconds, asking her what she might need to get through the fit, but she just shakes her head.

Her skin is cold and gray, and it looks as though her muscles are shaking uncontrollably. She’s almost completely covered in the rash, now.

“Do you want to get in the tub, Jane? Do you need to get in the water?” Paps begs of her, kneeling by the bedside.

She shakes her head more. “No,” she chokes out. Her throat sounds scratchy and dry and we offer her water, but that, too, she rejects. Finally her coughing subsides and she relaxes back, and Paps and I share a knowing look. A look that we’ve both shared three times, when everyone else finally succumbed to the rash.

This is so fucking unfair. Why don’t I have the rash?! Why can’t I take this pain away from her? Why am I not suffering, too?!

“I’m ok Don. I’m ok,” she mutters, her voice barely her own.

We both sit there with her for hours, until the sun is noting midday. We hold her hands, caress her face, talk to her, tell her stories… anything to get her to pass with as much comfort as we can. She coughs, still, but each time she begs us to carry on with talking to her. I watch as my grandfather finally sheds a tear, wiping it free from his face as he sniffles through it.

“Don’t you dare cry for me, Don,” Gran says. “We’ve had a beautiful life together. Beautiful… family,” she struggles to breathe. My chest feels heavy, too, with the overwhelming amount of sorrow it’s holding. I want to throw my fist into the wall, curse everything that has ever lived. I feel a rage building up in my stomach, one that is beginning to burn with so much fury that when it finally awakens, I’m not sure I’ll be able to contain it.

“I love you, I love you both…”

And with one small exhale, she ceases to breathe any more.

We both allow ourselves time to weep at her bedside for a minute or two before I finally stand and open the windows, uncaring of how it will chill the house. I wanted to let her soul be free.

+++

It took me about three hours to dig my grandmother’s grave, as the ground was hard from the cold and one shovel can only dig so fast. Hank the heeler was by my side the whole time, sitting and watching guard as I threw the shovels of dirt into a neat pile. I insisted Paps let me do it alone, and he spend a little bit of time with her to say his goodbyes.

It was cathartic, really, putting my body through physical grunt work as I let the tears fall freely. I wept for her, for the rest of my family, for the heartbreak of my grandfather. But mostly, I cried for myself. I shouldn’t have, it felt selfish to, but I had hardly allowed myself any time to feel sorry for me. Fuck, a person can only take so much. My heart was already broken into a thousand pieces, but the numbness of the past few months had shielded my ability to listen to myself. My body somehow must have felt the need to get it out, so that I could put a brave face on for Paps. He’d need me to. So, as a rare bit of bright sunlight came down and scorched my arms, breaking through the freezing cold wind, I allowed myself to cry again.

It’s almost sunset, now, and Paps had wrapped Gran up in a few white sheets, topped with a pretty lace tablecloth that she had woven many years ago. It used to cover the dining room table, but it did seem fitting for it to be with her, now.

I give Paps a sweet smile as I make my way into their bedroom, sitting on her old chest as I open the top drawer of her armoire. There, arranged still so neatly, was all of her expensive jewelry that she hardly ever wore. Gold bracelets, diamond rings, emerald-encrusted pieces… all if it is so precious, so valuable, and so completely worthless.

I take a second to collect it all up and slip it into a canvas drawstring bag, making sure first to keep just one piece out for myself. She’d have wanted me to, I’m positive of it.

A sterling silver ring topped with the prettiest piece of deep blue turquoise. Her grandmother had given it to her many years ago, and she only ever wore it to special occasions, but it fits perfectly on my middle finger. And if I wanted something to remember my grandmother by, it would most definitely be this.

I go back into the living room and gently grab my grandmother’s cold, bruised hands, replacing each piece of precious jewelry onto her fingers and wrists wherever I can fit them, stacking them one on top of the other.

“Should we add her books, Paps?” I manage to ask.

He shakes his head solemnly. “No, might be best to keep things like that above ground…”

Paps and I make our way out to the barn as dusk falls, and I light the few candles he has placed around on the shelves and tables. It’s dilapidated but in a good way; the walls and ceiling showing wear of many, many years of hard work. I watch as Paps grabs up one of the candles and walks to a swing door I’d never really noticed before, using some force to pull it open and propping it with a cut of a two-by-four. My eyes take a second to adjust to the darkness as he walks further inside the room, illuminating the space. There in the center of the small room is a pine box casket.

“Paps, what in the world? When did you…?” I breathe, walking closer to it. I notice that it has my grandmother’s name carved right in the top, the letters painted in black.

“About fifteen years ago, I’d say. Jane and I always said we wanted to be buried right here on the farm, when our times came. Guess we never told you kids about that. Your parents knew, a’course, but we never dreamed they’d go before us…”

Paps pulls his blue handkerchief from his back pocket and wipes his nose, his eyes still dripping with remnant tears.

“It looks really good, Paps. You did a great job,” I commend him, but he pays no mind. Instead he blows across it, relieving some of the old sawdust from its home on the lid. He pulls the top open and inspects it again, pulling a few pieces of straw from the inside.

“Help me get it over to the site?” he asks, and I realize I’d never even asked him where he wanted me to dig the grave. I just picked the prettiest place that I could. Something tells me he would have picked the same place, too. “Under the willow?” he asks.

Great minds.

“Under the willow.”

We lower the casket onto the wheelbarrow and roll it across the back yard and along the fenceline, right beside the weeping willow tree. It was Gran’s favorite place to come and lie in the grass with a book. Hank walks alongside us, his snout on guard for any wild packs that may be a threat to us.

Together, we lower the pine box into the hole I’d dug, making sure it was level at the bottom. “Want me to go get her?” I ask.

“I’ll get her,” he responds as he takes off back toward the house. The wind is whipping my hair across my face, now, as the stars are beginning to show themselves, and I can’t stop myself from crying again. This shouldn’t be happening. I shouldn’t be standing beside a grave I just dug, with a casket my grandfather built, watching his back walk across the tall grass to retrieve the body of the love of his life. This shouldn’t. Fucking. Be. Happening.

In the moonlight, I finally see the figure of him coming back through the shadows with her in his arms. I silently thank the heavens above that he is a strong man, still yet, with more brute strength than any man his age should have. Just like James.

I help him lower her inside, but not before the both of us place kisses on either of her cheeks. I work to cover her back up with dirt as he stands behind, Hank begging his hand for a pet.

“You wanna say a few words?” I ask him as I throw the last shovelful of dirt on top, wiping a hand across my cold-sweat forehead.

He takes a quick, chopped breath. “Sixty-two years wasn’t nearly enough with you, sweetheart. Won’t ever be enough. Thank you for every single laugh, every single tear, every single argument and happy moment. Thank you for our beautiful children, and grandchildren, and thank you for filling my heart with more joy than any man should have the privilege of havin’. You sure made my life worth livin’. Give ‘em hell up there in heaven, Janie. I know ya will. I love ya to the moon.” He sniffles again as he gives in to Hank’s requests, finally leaning down and wrapping a strong arm around the dog. I sidestep and wrap my arm around him, too, and we stand there in the wind until we can’t stand any more.

JAKE

“RRRUHHHHH!” I growl loudly as I wake up from unconsciousness in a full-on panic. My eyes are shifty and dry as I work to sit myself up quickly, my hands still bound at my back. The tape is gone from my mouth now, though.

It’s dark, and it's cold, but I’m indoors. I just can’t fucking see a god damned thing.

“Hey! Help!! Can anyone hear me?!” I yell, my voice echoing hard off the walls that surround me. My voice feels dry and knotted in my throat as I try to swallow what little moisture I have in my mouth. When I get no response, I crack my neck sideways as pain sets in over my body, and not just from my arms being bound. I feel as though my legs have been hit with something hard, and my back feels like it’s bruised and sore. What the fuck? What the fuck!

“Heyyyyy! Somebody come and fucking talk to me! What do you want?!” I yell again, my heart rate flying as reality sets in that I’ve been kidnapped from the cabin. Alone.

The last thing I remember is being alone in the back of that truck, rolling around as whoever was driving had little care for it’s cargo in the back. Maybe that’s why I feel bruised and beaten. Or maybe it’s not.

Yes, alone. In the truck… six intruders… weapons… it’s all coming back now, in little spurts of memory. Where is everyone else? Where is my family? When was I brought in here? I feel bile rising in my throat as I feel a panic attack setting in, and I grind my hands against one another so as to try and free them from their ties. But it’s no use, of course. It only digs them into my skin more.

I sit in silence listening to only the sounds of my uneven breathing, trying to calm myself and make a plan of action. No time to fall into fear, Jake.

I maneuver my body around to get to the walls, standing on my sore legs to turn and let my hands run along them. There’s nothing there– no windows, no chairs or furniture. Just a box. I diligently run my hands along every one. Four walls. With nothing. Nothing but–

A door.

I turn my body to try and find a doorknob or whatever to open it, and when my hand finally grasps the spherical knob, I realize that the mother fucker is locked. Of course. I turn and slam my shoulder into it a few times to see if I can pry it, but it’s no use. “Hey! You son of a bitch! Let me out of here!” I yell again, getting mad, now.

“Quiet, Jacob,” a voice I do not recognize suddenly fills the room. My stomach drops.

I open my mouth to reply, but nothing really comes to mind. The voice is male, but distorted. Quiet? QUIET?

“Who the fuck are you? Open this door and come and talk to me!” I yell again, my body suddenly feeling like my blood is going to pulse from every orifice of my body.

There is a long pause.

“I said quiet, Jacob,” it repeats.

I grit my teeth. This voice is really pissing me off.

“I’ll be quiet when you come in here and fucking show your face!” I yell even louder this time.

There is another long pause, and finally, I hear the metallic screeching of the heavy door opening. I waste no time in trying to push through it, relying on only my hearing to know what is going on, just as I had back at the cabin. Everything is so fucking dark.

But I get nowhere. I’m stopped by my body running into two stern and sturdy men again, pushing back further into the echoey room. I nearly lose my footing, but I press forward again, determined to get through that fucking door. But they stop me again, thrashing my body back so hard I hit one of the walls. It nearly knocks the breath from me, but I catch it. “Who are you? What do you want? I want to see my fam–”

“It’d really do you good to stay fucking quiet, like we told you to.” Suddenly I feel a gloved hand cupping across my mouth, stopping me from speaking. The man’s face is close to mine, whispering in my ear as he pins me back against the wall with his other arm. “Do you understand? Can you keep your voice down?” It asks, a little more lax.

After a few seconds, I nod, but my mind doesn’t have the time to process another plan. Maybe if I cooperate, they’ll let me the fuck go. His hand slowly falls from my mouth, and I stay quiet, nothing filling the room now but my haggard and nervous breathing, again. “Who are you,” I whisper, my tone demanding.

I notice that the second man must be standing behind the one still holding me to the wall, hearing him huff a laugh under his breath. How can they fucking see me?

“Let’s just say that if you play your cards right, we’ll be your new best friends,” the man says as he releases my chest, allowing me to breathe. I hear the tear of velcro twice, realizing he must be taking his gloves off.

“I don’t need any more fucking friends. I have plenty back at home,” I bark, still gritting my teeth as I stay at a quieter level.

They laugh again. “Home? You mean the cabin you were holed up in? Barely surviving?” the man behind the first asks sarcastically.

“Home is where my family is, actually,” I bite.

“Aww, isn’t that cute,” they laugh at me again as I hear that they’re both standing, now. I should try and run again, right? But it might get me knocked unconscious again. Maybe not. Not yet.

“Little Jake Kiszka, maybe you really do have the heart of gold everyone says you have,” the first one says. “Maybe being rich and famous didn’t get to you, after all.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? Who are you? How do you know my name?” I ask.

They both scoff again. “You’re fairly fucking famous, my guy. Lots of people know your name,” the second one blurts. My guy? Who–

“Well it’s pretty convenient that I don’t know yours, seeing as how you have me fucking tied up in a pitch black room. Can we cut the shit? Or am I gonna have to try and run again?” I ask, completely over this game. Suddenly, I don’t feel very threatened.

“You won’t get very far if you do, Jake,” the first one whispers, and I hear his boots step closer to me again, and his breath hot on my face. “Listen to me, and listen closely, okay? Are you listening?”

“Yeah, fuck, I’m listening,” I say.

“We told you to stay quiet for a reason. You’ve been captured by an outfit that’s been around for a long, long time. But you weren’t caught for just any reason,” he goes on, barely audible.

“What does that mean? What reason?” I ask.

“They’ve got reason to believe that you know.”

“Know what?” I ask, confused.

“Why the fucking world ended. Or actually, how. Your brothers, you all wrote about this, didn’t you? In your music?” he goes on, and if I wasn’t confused before, I sure as shit am now.

“What?!” I squeal, almost laughing. “You’ve got to be kidding me…”

“Hmm-mm. They aren’t kidding. Does it feel like they’re kidding right now? No.”

“Why do you keep saying they? You are the one that’s got me locked up, right now,” I retort.

“Because we’re pretending,” suddenly the other one is in my ear. “They think we work for them. The brunt work. The dirty jobs…. Like kidnapping you,” he says.

“Listen Jake,” the other interrupts. “We know you, we know who you are. We were… we were fans of your band, back then. But these people, the ones who hired us, they trust us. And they have worse plans for you than holding you in a dark metal box with your hands tied…”

“Why me? Why did they take me?” I ask.

“Your music, your songs… you fucking predicted more about all this than you think you did,” the other explains.

Josh’s dreams.

“We didn’t predict shit, we were just writing fucking songs, we didn’t–”

“All of it is real, Jake,” the first whispers, his lips brushing my hair. “The stories you told, the worlds you built… all of it exists, and has existed for a long time.”

“I don’t get it,” I say, blinking my eyes in the darkness.

“The lyrics you wrote about, the Garden you all dreamt up… It exists. In a complete other realm.”

I damn near laugh in their faces. “You’ve got to be kidding me, right? This is a joke?”

They stay quiet for a beat. “No jokes here, Jake. Just know that more is happening than you could ever even fathom. It’s not just the end of the world here. It’s the end of the world there, too. Well, it’s about to be, if the battle is lost,” the second says.

“You’re both insane, and I’m in on some kind of prank. This is all a joke!” I argue. “We didn’t create that world...”

“No, you didn’t. But you knew about it. You wrote songs about it, didn’t you? You told tales of a Battle, wrote songs about war and peace, lyrics about the water rising, and the air so thin…”

My head is spinning. I’m getting a headache. And I could really use a fucking cigarette.

“Yeah, global fucking warming, who didn’t know about that?” I defend.

They both laugh under their breath. “Let’s just say you guys literally wrote the time and space of another world as if you’d read their history books. And, lived there alongside them.”

There’s no fucking way. This is absolutely ridiculous.

“What do you mean if the battle is lost?” I ask, the question coming from my mere curiosity.

The second crouches down in front of me again, from what I can tell. “Our world here has already begun to end, right? Technology itself is murdering us by the boatloads. The thing we created. It’s omnipresence became too much for earth to handle, started to suck away at her resources and poison her. Poison her natural way of ebb and flow. So she said fuck you humans, I don’t need you. You shall all suffer my wrath, and I’ll use the poison that you created to kill you,” his voice had gotten a little dramatic, as if he was reading a romantic tragedy.

“Okay Shakespeare, we get it,” the first says, and I can’t help but laugh a little. “Here’s the thing… the other realm is suffering, too. What happens on earth is mirrored in that realm, but the mirror isn’t a clear reflection. It’s more of a…”

“Cloudy and messy shadow of what happens in our realm,” the other says.

“Yeah, actually,” the first agrees. “It happens here, it happens there, just not the exact same way. So their world is suffering, too. But they’re going to try and stop it.”

“How are they going to do that?” I ask.

“...Have you not figured that out yet, man? Don’t you think that uh— capturing a few guys who have predicted it all to a tee so far and using them for information on what’s to come next wouldn’t be a nice and easy route for them?”

“You’re shitting me, right?” I say blankly. “You kidnapped me because they think I know what’s going to happen next after the world ends?”

“Mm, kind of. You’ve gotten it all right, so far.”

No, Josh has. Apparently.

“That and… a pretty good other reason,” the first mumbles.

“What other reason?”

“You don’t have any signs of the rash yet, do you?” the second inquires, throwing me off. How would he know that?

“No… but what’s that have to do with all of this?” I say, my mind spinning.

“You’re an immune. Just like us,” the second says with a bit of pride in his voice.

“An immune? How the fuck do we know that we just haven’t gotten it yet?” I press.

“You’ve seen how fast that shit kills people,” the first scoffs. “Don’t you think you would have at least shown a little bit of a sign of it, by now?”

He’s right. It’s been months since the first sign of the rash, killed more people than I’d like to discuss. And quickly, too. But my whole family… none of us have shown signs…how are we all so lucky?

“Maybe the earth decided that she’d keep a few of us, the ones who aren’t fucking assholes,” the second barks, earning what sounds like a slap to the chest from the first.

“I don’t think that’s how it worked, idiot,” he says. “Anyways, we’ve already spent too much time in here with you, Jake. But listen. Remember we’re all pretending. They’re going to push you, they’re going to make us push you. But we want you to know we’re on your team, even if we act like we’re not. They’re out collecting immunes as we speak, trying to put everyone into some type of commune to protect the longevity of mankind. But you’re special, because they think you know. They’re special because they’re immune. You following me?”

“When they kidnap more immunes they’ll group me with them, but treat me differently because they think I can help them, got it,” I say, catching on fairly easily, for some reason.

“Bingo,” the second clicks his tongue.

“Do the people who hired you live in the other realm, too? Like, why do they care?” I ask, feeling like I just read the plot of a fantasy novel.

“Think of it like a family intertwined between both worlds. They’re able to bounce back and forth, but they all take up space in both places. One realm can’t live without the other. That’s why they’re trying to stop the end of their world there, so they have somewhere to be if our’s ceases to exist,” the first explains.

“That’s fucking confusing,” I whisper. “If ours ceases to exist, one can’t exist without the other. Isn’t Earth already too far gone?”

“Maybe her inhabitants are almost wiped, but as a planet, she’s still got a long way to go before rejoining the cosmos. If the other realm is saved, it could power Earth enough to stop her eradication. Plus we have immunes. Earth won’t completely die, she’s just trying to do a hard restart, if that makes sense,” the second one adds. “She’s sick, and she’s trying to make herself healthy again.”

I let out a huff as I try and wrap my head around the dystopian film I’m apparently a part of now. Half of me thinks these guys are lying to me. Playing games to distract me. But then again, why would they be wasting their time?

“Play dumb, Jake. Pretend you don’t know a goddamn thing. Especially when they start to question you about what you guys wrote in this last album,” the first says, standing to his feet and putting his gloves back on, from what I can tell. “This isn’t gonna last forever, we’re going to put a stop to this.”

“You are? How?” I ask, pulling hard on the ties around my wrists.

“We are. With your help,” the second whispers. “There’s a whole group of us who plan on breaking free of this shit, we’ve just got to trust each other that we can run. Gather up the other immunes once they’re captured and create our own destinies.”

“But, if we don’t go along with them, won’t Earth completely shit out on us? If their realm dies too?” I ask.

“Catching on quickly, Jake. I’m impressed,” the first whispers. “If we recreate our own line of mankind from the immunes, everything will be okay. We just want to do it out from underneath the thumb of these selfish motherfuckers. We can do it on our own.”

The two of them turn on their heels and start to walk toward the door again, leaving me sitting in the floor. “Hey, where is my family?” I ask.

“They were assigned elsewhere. Separated all of you, we don’t know where they ended up. Sorry, man,” the second says. And within seconds they’re both gone, and I’m alone, yet again.

Y/N

I trudge back inside the house now under the cover of darkness, after having spent a few minutes outside trying to breathe and calm myself. Paps has lit a few candles inside, and I can see the warm glow of them through the windows making the house look like a jack-o-lantern. I smile a little at the thought. As I push the door open and lock it behind me, I turn and notice he’s stood by the kitchen table, a few more candles lit across it. There in front of him are two bowls of potato soup.

“Paps, this is so nice of you,” I mumble as I hang my afghan on the back of a chair. “I thought you said you weren’t up for eating tonight?”

“Your Gran would have been ticked if she knew we were too upset to feed ourselves, you know that’s a fact,” he says, pulling my chair out for me. I take a seat and I can smell the herbs he’s put into the soup.

“You’re right…” I agree. “She wouldn’t have been happy with us at all.”

“Plus, figure you could pretend one of these candles is on a birthday cake, and blow it out. Since we didn’t get to celebrate you the right way,” he adds as he takes his own seat.

“I think I could do that,” I say, picking up my spoon to dig in. “Thank you Paps, you’re really too good to me.”

“We’re all we’ve got, sweetheart.”

As we eat, I watch as Paps’ hands seem weaker now, and how they shake a little as he brings his spoon to his mouth. He’s done an excellent job on the soup, but we both know we’re choking it down, both of our stomachs too wrought with nerves and heartbreak to enjoy it like we should.

As we clean our bowls, he pushes one of the candles toward me, holding his hand out to motion for me to blow. The candle is old and burned through almost all the wax, but it still smells of pumpkin and apple pie. “Don’t forget to make a wish, sweetheart. And make it a good one,” he says, giving me a sweet wink from behind his glasses.

I take a deep breath and wrack my brain, feeling like making a wish right now is selfish. Normally, I’d wish for a happy next year, health and fortune for my family, or even for the next man that walks into my life to be the right one.

But all of that feels stupid now, pointless to request of the universe.

Next year isn’t even promised.

Over half of my family is gone.

And no man is destined to walk into my life to better it in the least, let alone offer me kinship of any kind.

So instead I wish for Paps to stay as healthy as possible for as long as possible, and that the universe bestows good things upon us both. Because like he said, we’re all we’ve got.

+++

After I’ve cleaned the dishes and tidied the kitchen, I’m stopped in my tracks from the same sound I heard coming through the walls last night– the sound of quiet, staticy music.

I find Paps with his record player again, cranking the handle on the side as the sound begins to spill from the horn. For a second, I’m happy that he’d kept this old thing, knowing that without it, we wouldn’t be able to hear music at all, probably ever again.

I step up beside him and watch it spin, listening to “Lovin’ You More Every Day” by Etta James drift into the air. I know that Gran loved this one, too. It was one of the songs they danced to at their wedding.

So I take his hand in mine, pulling him to stand with me on the old oriental rug in the middle of the room. I begin to sway around as he gently places his hand on my back, swaying right along with me. We’re dancing a little too slowly for the speed of the song, but neither of us care. We’re just enjoying our time, wishing that Gran was here to clap for us after the song ends. But as it comes to a close, we’re met again with static, waiting silently for the first note of the next song.

“You’re a bit too big now to stand on my feet,” he says through a stiff smile.

“Maybe so,” I giggle. “But it was your training that got rid of my two left feet…gave me a sense of some rhythm…” I grin.

He smiles again as he sniffles through some more tears. “I’m sorry I won’t be there to dance with you at your own wedding, sweetheart,” he mumbles as he pulls me close, and my heart shatters into a million pieces.

“Now Paps, don’t talk like that…” I argue. “Lord knows I’m not gonna find a man who can dance better than you, anyway.”

I hear a chuckle run through his chest. “May be, sweetheart. May be.”

We sway along to a few more songs before we’re both yawning. “Believe I’m gonna hit the hay,” he says solemnly, patting me on the head a few times before making his way to throw a few more logs onto the fire.

“Me too, I’ll see you in the morning?” I ask, realizing that this will be the first night in over sixty years that he is going to sleep knowing he won’t wake up to the love of his life.

“When the rooster crows, my sweet. Love you.”

“I love you, Paps,” I say as we part ways, drifting off to our respective rooms.

I’m thankful the weather isn’t too horrendous tonight as I snuggle into my bed, pulling the covers onto my chest. I relax, but leave my candle lit, staring up at the ceiling and recounting the day. The look on Gran’s face as she finally met peace, no longer feeling the wrenching burn of the rash that had enveloped her body. Poor Paps. I can’t even imagine what he’s feeling, right now.

I grab my journal back up and flip to the page I’d left off on, realizing I’d stopped in the middle of a thought. Instead of finishing it, I start a new one.

I write about Gran’s passing, how and where we buried her, how I adorned her hands and wrists with all her old jewelry, and how Paps had made me a special birthday supper. I try to be as detailed as possible, leaving nothing out as I let my hand flow from print to cursive. My eyes begin to get heavy as the candle light flickers, and I realize just how exhausted I am. How mentally and physically drained I’ve become, simply from trying my best to stay alive.

My eyes close a little, drifting down onto my forearm that’s covered in tattoos. My dad hated them, but Paps and Gran always told me they were an expression of my life at the time, like a roadmap of all of the things I loved, when I loved them. Keepsakes I’ll never part with. I always thought it strange, that coming from grandparents from an era of humans who normally found tattoos distasteful, but.

But they were right. I have over twenty tattoos, but my forearm is dedicated to the band that I knew and loved so much, and who brought me some of the happiest times of my life.

The first one sits right in the crook of my elbow, a simple sun and crescent moon that I got right after I fell in love with From the Fires. Then words, right below that, reading ‘In an age of darkness, light appears’ in small font, wrapping all the way around my arm. Under that, a swirling symbol that resembles a radar, 13 lines that make an almost complete circle to commemorate the song that reminds me to step back into the natural world. Beneath that, a sword and an arrow, parallel with one another. And lastly, a symbol that truly represented their fifth album, lines shaped into what looks like a bird in flight.

I never got to get a tattoo from this last album. And honestly, the darkness of the theme of it made choosing what I would have gotten a little difficult, anyway.

I run my hand over the dark black ink and my mind begins to sleepily drift. I wonder what my friends are doing right now…are they alive? Are they sad, too? Are they still clinging to the good times we shared to keep their minds from falling into the deep depths of solitude?

My fingers stop over the Age of Machine tattoo, the little ridges of the skinny lines still rigid on my skin. I think about how much this tattoo reminded me to unplug and drown myself in nature every chance I got. How that song truly motivated me to do the exact opposite of letting myself be pulled into the false world of social media, and spend my time in my garden, or swept up in a book. Strange, now… thinking about how it made me feel when I listened. Haunted, dizzy, and uneasy. Scared, almost, but cautious. Ominous and anxious, but in the most peaceful way. Now I’m glad of the inspiration it gave me. Maybe that’s why I haven’t gotten the rash. It’s almost like that song was warning us of what was to come…

What are the men who wrote this music doing right now? Are they okay, too? My heart wrenches in a different way than it has, yet. Yearning to know of the state of people I had never met, yet worried about the wellbeing of for so many years of my life. “Silly,” I whisper to myself. But, it’s not silly. It’s just the heart they helped me find within myself to care about other people so deeply.

I close my pencil into my book again as I blow out my candle, thinking of all the nights I went to sleep excited to wake up before the sun and double check the luggage I’d packed, grabbing a quick coffee before I hit the road to travel to god knows where to see my friends and my favorite band again. Carefree, and careless. Living my life the way I wanted to, choosing the road ahead to achieve that happiness I’d always chased when it came to hearing their music live. Life unchained, the way Gran lived hers.

+++

Just as my body is relaxing into a well-deserved sleep, I’m awoken by a loud rumble, a deafening sound so deep that I feel it in my bones. I shoot up in bed, realizing that the bed below me is shaking, vibrating. I pull the covers back quickly, rushing down the hall to find Paps already coming toward me with his candle in hand.

“What’s going on?!” I yell above the loud rumbles.

“I don’t know! I don’t know!” he yells back, and we both make our way to the large picture window in the living room. The moonlight illuminates the hillside of the farm, revealing a giant faultline that reaches from one side of the field all the way to the next.

“Shit,” Paps mutters as I feel panic setting into my gut. “Faultline.”

“What’s that mean?! Paps, what is it?” I ask in succession, watching as the crack as wide as a river is eating up the ground.

“Probably another sink hole. Or one is going to happen nearby, I’d say,” he barks as he turns and rushes back to his room. “We’ve got to go. We’ve got to run,” he hollers.

What?! Run?? We can’t run!

“Paps, but the house! We’re alread–”

“Get your backpack. Get dressed, hurry! We’ve got to get away from it!” he commands, his voice booming. The house begins shaking again as I run to my room, throwing on my pants, jacket, and boots, and tossing my heavy emergency backpack over my shoulders. I make sure to secure my toboggan onto my head before stuffing my journal into the free pocket of my backpack, rushing back out into the living room to find Paps ready and waiting.

I hear plates and dishes falling from the shelves of the kitchen, and books falling off the shelves of the living room. It’s just like an earthquake, except I had watched a crevice form in the ground, right before my eyes. My hands are shaking, and I am already broken out in a cold, panicked sweat. We rush to the truck, throwing our things into the bed as we climb inside.

“Hank! Where’s Hank?!” I yell, looking around for him.

“Leave him, we’ve got to go,” Paps says as he turns the key in the ignition, hearing the engine purr to life for just a second, before shutting right back off. He tries again, pumping the fuel pedal to get the block to heat and the glow plugs to light. “Fuck, fuck!! Come on, baby! Don’t do this!” he yells, trying to coax the machine. But it’s to no avail. The battery has died.

We open the doors and clamber to grab our bags again, realizing that on foot is our only means of escaping the growing faultline. We take off rushing down the dirt road, still hearing the deep rumble of the ground separating behind us. I wish I could describe the sound, a noise unlike anything I’ve ever heard before. The cracking and snapping of deep roots, the crashing of trees, a low bellowing sound so deep that it sounds like it came from hell, itself. Unreal. And utterly fucking terrifying.

My legs carry me, and luckily so do Paps’, straight down the long driveway and back onto the main road. I hear the wood of the house start to creak, and more wooden-sounding bangs. Fuck. Please, not the house…

“Should we go to the woods?” I pant, knowing that Paps is just as out of breath as I am.

“No, to the knoll,” he points, panting too as he motions toward the top of a high hill. When we finally make it there, we stop, taking a breather as now it feels as though we’re far enough from the field to get a better view of everything that lies beneath. And there, right in the center of the field is another sinkhole, giant and deep and dark with half the farm swallowed up in it.

Luckily, the house is untouched.

“How on God’s green Earth…” Paps breathes as he lets his hands fall to his knees, trying to catch his breath as the two of us look down on the scene in front of us. Like it was straight from a horror film.

“Had to of been Gran. She wouldn’t let the devil himself take her home, if it was the last thing she did,” I say, earning a breathy laugh from Paps.

“You’re goddamn right, sweetheart. You’re goddamn right,” he says, finally catching his breath. “We need to run, we’re pretty close to this thing, still.” We take off again, rushing back down the road as we still hear the ground shaking below us. We hear trees falling in the distance, and we begin running again. I’m truly thankful for Paps’ stamina and heart right now, his legs getting him to safety even at his age.

“Keep going, Paps, not much further,” I encourage him, just in case he needs it. “We’re okay, we’re okay…”

Suddenly, I see a set of headlights in the distance, barreling down the road towards us in a cloud of dust. When it finally approaches, I flag it down until it stops beside us. An old man is sitting in the driver’s seat, his face just as panicked as ours. “Hop in! Hop in!” he says, and we listen. Paps and I rush to the passenger side and slide into the cab, the man already hitting the gas before Paps can even shut the door all the way.

“You’ve got to turn around!” I say, “There are sinkholes this way!”

He turns the wheel harshly, and I’m glad he listens to me. We rush back the opposite way, zooming down the road so fast I can hardly fathom what’s happening. Pure panic.

“We’re alright, Paps, we made it out,” I try and calm him, reaching for my canteen of fresh water and offering it to him as he catches his breath.

Suddenly we’re being thrust forward as the man steps on the brake, and I’m close to cursing him before I notice he’s stopped before another faultline in the road. “My god…” the man says, opening his truck door and climbing out.

“No, no… what are you doing?!” I yell, wondering why in the hell this man is getting out of our escape vehicle and walking towards the crack in the ground. I watch as he steps closer to it, inching his steps as he peers down over the edge. “Is he insane?! Are you insane? Please, come back!!” I scream, but he doesn’t listen. The ground shakes again, throwing the man off balance as it makes him stumble, swallowing him right up into it.

“Oh my god!!” I yell as Paps lets out a guttural scream. My hand covers my mouth as I yell in disbelief, watching as the man is there one second, and gone the next.

“Drive, Y/N, drive!” Paps urges me, pushing my arms to scoot to the driver’s seat. I throw the truck in reverse, pulling the door closed as I rush to get us away from it all, pushing the pedal to the floor as my eyes scan for more faultlines. It feels as though we’re surrounded by them. My heart is pounding, now, as my body does the necessary work on auto pilot.

“Keep going! Keep going!” Paps says as we get closer to town, and away from the vibrating ground. After a few minutes of shaking panic, it feels like the buzzing of the ground has subsided, and I can finally take a deep breath. A shaky one, but a breath nonetheless.

As I finally allow my eyes to adjust and my hands to stretch, I’m finally feeling in control of my body again. Okay, okay, I’ve got this. Just keep driving. “Paps, you okay?”

“I’m okay sweetheart, you okay?”

“I’m good, I’m good,” I breathe, taking another deep breath in to calm my shaking body. “God, why the fuck did he do that?”

“Couldn’t tell ya, dumb and curious, I guess,” he says, taking another drink from the canteen before offering it to me. “Head toward the city, we’ll need to find a place to hunker down, tonight.”

And though my heart is still pounding as his words hit me, I take the right turn off the state route to head to the interstate, both of us in high hopes that the city will offer us more than it did when we left it. But honestly, I’m losing faith.

I’d been driving for nearly twenty minutes on the empty road before I take a cutoff exit, determined to cut our drive time down and conserve fuel. The exit leads to a sideroad that is heavily wooded, but I know it will get us to the city more quickly. As the headlights shine down the two-lane road, I notice some kind of dark, shadowed figures standing down in the distance. I blink a few times, trying to see what is there.

“Is that deer?” I ask Paps.

“Can’t tell, it’s too dark,” he says, so I slow my pace. My headlights do little to light them up, but the closer we get, the more human they look. Tall, dark… just standing there?

And they aren’t moving. I bring the truck to a stop, my headlights almost no help at all as the figures begin to close in on us, instead of moving out of the road.

“The hell is this, what’s happening?” Paps yells as the figures have us completely blocked from continuing down the road, now. My panic returns. I hear Paps cock his shotgun. “Drive, drive!!!”

My foot smashes the pedal to the floor, but the truck doesn’t move. The tires screech as I continue pushing it, willing the truck to keep going. But it won’t. It’s like I’m running it into a brick wall. “What’s happening!! Why won’t it go?!” I scream, my hands gripping the wheel as the truck begins to fishtail from the force of the tires on the ground. The lights from the truck are completely gone, now. We’re in total darkness. “Paps!”

“I’m here, I’m here, honey!” and I feel him grab my hand. Suddenly the truck doors slam open, and my body is being grabbed and pulled from the seat. I thrash and kick at whatever has grabbed me, but nothing works. It’s too strong. I feel a painful hit to my head, and my ears scream as I start to lose consciousness. I feel a dark cover be put over my head and secured, completely blocking my vision altogether. “Paps!!!!” I try and yell, but I’m slipping quickly into unconsciousness as my voice is barely a squeal. My hands are being tied in front of me, and all I feel is cold.

+++

I wake up in a cold sweat, my hands still bound as I sit with my back against a metal wall. My breathing is ragged as I try and take in my surroundings, and I realize I still have the covering over my head. I wince in pain from the impact of whatever hit my head earlier. I hear others beside me, many crying, panicked voices whimpering in the same room. I try and make a sound, but my voice is hoarse from screaming. I try and speak, but there is tape over my mouth. What is happening, where is Paps?!

My heart is pounding in my chest as I try to raise my bound hands and remove the covering, but it’s secured tightly. I’m in pitch black darkness, and I can’t see a fucking thing. I try to stand, but my muscles are weak and sore, and I can hardly will them to move, let alone stand. It’s unclear how long I was knocked out, and how long I have been sitting in this cold, metal room, but it feels like only a few minutes have passed. I feel tears begin running down my face, I feel so helpless, so exhausted. So blind.

Suddenly I hear a loud noise, like a heavy metal door being thrust open. I see a light through the covering over my face, and I try and yell again. But nothing comes out. Just like in those nightmares where you are unable to make a sound. I hear footsteps come into the room, heavy boots pounding against the concrete floor. My covering is forcefully removed, and it takes a second for my eyes to adjust to the bright light.

Finally, I’m able to see eight or ten others with me, all of us sitting with our hands bound, lined up against the walls of this room. Some beside me, some directly across from me. I watch as two tall, masked men work their way around the room, removing each and every face covering. A woman, a man, a teenaged boy, an elderly lady… and then, Paps. I make excited eye contact with him as I feel a squeal leave my taped lips. He’s safe. He’s here.

I watch as the rest of the covers are removed one by one, the person seated directly across from me being saved for last. They leave him sitting for a few seconds as they exchange what looks to be laughs with one another before one of them gently kicks his legs a little before undoing his head covering.

The man’s face is beaten and bruised, his brown hair tangled and long and falling in front of his face as he winces in pain. They throw his face covering back down to the floor beside him, laughing again as they turn and leave the room without a word, locking the door behind them.

I peer to the hair-covered face again to get a better look, and I swear if my mouth wasn’t taped shut, I would have screamed out in disbelief.

That’s Jake fucking Kiszka.

He feels my eyes on him as he finally looks up to me, noticing my awkward stare. Neither of us can speak. I feel myself smiling under the tape, what are the fucking odds? What is happening?! Where the fuck are we?

His eyes grow wide as he realizes I know him, and he stares back at me in utter confusion. Do I tell him I recognize him? Shit, he can probably tell I do, by now. For some odd reason unbeknownst to me, I maneuver my tied hands to slowly pull up the sleeve of my shirt, showing him the splattering of tattoos that line my forearm. I know you. I watch his eyes see them as I straighten my arm out, willing him to see them, recognize them.

I watch his chest rise and fall as he begins shaking his head slowly side to side, his breathing picking up significantly as he looks at me with red, swollen eyes.

No? Is he telling me no?

Just as I hear the sound of the heavy footsteps coming back down the hall, I watch as Jake slowly lifts his bound hands to his face, his pointer finger sticking up in front of his taped mouth.

My stomach falls as I realize he’s serious. Not only is he telling me no, he’s telling me to stay quiet.

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syndxlla · 1 year

Text

best friends don’t look at each other the way we do

A low stakes, high reward and self-indulgent Zelink fanfic. Canon-compliant, takes place between BOTW and TOTK

Chapter Two: You’re Safe

Read Chapter one here

Song: Sick of Losing Soulmates by Dodie

Summary: Link introduces Zelda to their new home in Hateno, and Zelda begins to face the reality of what her life has developed into.

Warnings: PTSD, body-image, mentioning of scars, passing out

Word Count: 4.9k words

Author’s Note: This shit is so sad I promise its going to eventually get happy haha.

It’s late afternoon when they get to Hateno, just when the sun is starting to low hang in the sky. The gate is quiet, probably because it was their day of worship. Little kids who usually play tag on the main road were praying to the Goddess in their houses, and farmers who practically work in the field studied their devotionals in their kitchen. Link hopped off of Epona when they got into town, guiding her and Zelda through the back road, past the Bolson homes, and over the old wooden bridge to his house.

He leads his horse to the old stable, and then helps Zelda off of her by lifting her at the waist and gently placing her onto the ground. Zelda looks around at her bearings while Link removes the bridle and saddle from his steed, refilling her trough with some water from the well.

“Well… this is it.” He presents the building with his arms open, as if it were a mansion. Zelda doesn’t say much, she just observes the structure with her hands held together, arms bed at the elbow. He leads her through the front door, waving his hand around the dust and coughing once or twice. “I haven’t been home in a while.” He awkwardly smiles. It’s dark and dank there, so quaint. “It’s no palace, I know. But I could afford it, and I really needed a place to store all my extra junk.” Zelda walks up to the weapon displays, seeing the weapons of their dead friends. lined up one by one.

Link drops his equipment, placing the Master Sword on the table, which had nothing on it but a few knife cuts and a dead flower. He moves to open a window, which creaks loudly as he pushes, startling Zelda. “Sorry, sorry.” He sniffles. The window allows the light to pour in, the sun getting slightly golden. He turns to see her staring at the portrait of all the champions that Link hung not six months ago—when he was here last. He moves towards her, nervous and apologetic. She’s so hard to read.

“Look, I know it isn’t perfect. But it’s got a bed, a kitchen, and a bath, and we can clean it up.” He places a tentative hand on her bicep, standing behind her. She looks around. “If you really hate it, we can get a room at the Inn downtown, or we can go up to Purah and Symin’s-“

“It’s perfect, Link.” She stops him and turns around. They’re about the same height, so their eyes meet perfectly.

“What?” He was talking it up out of embarrassment, this place is a dump.

“It’s perfect. Anywhere is better than that throne room. And I wouldn’t want a castle, I’ll be happy here.” She smiles, and if Link didn’t know any better he would pull her in for a tight hug. He doesn’t think they’re that close yet.

“Really?” He asks. She nods.

“It needs some cleaning up, and as much as I love your tributes to the Champions, I think we should return these weapons to their people. I think we should give them a proper burial. Finally put those four to rest.” She explains, sounding like her old self again. “You and I will never move on if we coexist with these.” She admits, and Link agrees.

They stand quiet for a moment. The dust settles. “I‘ll draw a bath for you, if you would like.” He says. “I can start on some dinner, too.”

“That would be lovely.” Zelda smiles.

They have to catch a frog that was sitting in the wooden tub before Link starts bringing in water from the well, and as they chase the bugger, Zelda hears Link’s laugh for the first time in a hundred years. His real laugh, not a polite chuckle or a distant giggle as she watched over him from the Sanctum, but an actual, full-body laugh as he chased the frog. Her entire demeanor softens as she hears it, her heart racing. He rarely laughed when he served as her Knight, and it would always be because of something Mipha said. His laugh now sounded joyous, safe. She needed to hear it.

She looks at the warm bath, Link taking time to heat the water with coals underneath before she gets in. He goes to yank the screen closed, leaving behind a towel, and some soap made out of goat milk from the farm up the mountain. He explains to her that he’s gonna take care of some things outside of the house while she’s getting clean. That he won’t leave, but he’ll get out of the house so she has total privacy. He rambles about taking care of Epona and then picking some endura shrooms for dinner. With a toothy grin he teases about maybe finding a truffle.

“Just yell my name if you need anything and I’ll come running.” He says as he places some folded clean clothes on a stool for her. “Tomorrow we can go to the general store and get you some new clothes. For now you can wear these. The trousers might be a little big, but the shirt is from when I first woke up and I was a skinny little thing. The ghost of your dad actually gave it to me.” Link laughs, clearly happy to have a companion. “I’ve bulked up since then.” He jokingly flexes his bicep and Zelda giggles.

“Link-“ She tilts her head, almost scolding him.

“Alright, alright, I’m going!” He leaves, and Zelda can’t stop smiling. He’s come out of his shell so much. A hundred years ago he never spoke, and mainly communicated through sign language. She wondered if he even remembered his signs. The two of them would speak frequently through them. He taught her the entire language, it took the full year they spent at each other's side, but by the time all the divine beasts were being piloted she was almost fluent. She misses that. Sometimes he would sign things to her as she stood behind her father, trying to make her laugh and get her in trouble. It worked one too many times.

And he really had bulked up, even from when she knew him first.

She shakes her head, reminding herself that she mustn't think like that. Not about her closest friend. She sighs, truly alone for the first time in a century.

She looks down at her hands, dirty and frail. She kicks her sandals off and her feet are so sensitive to every feeling. In fact, every part of her skin feels hyper-sensitive to every sensation. She takes a deep breath, she had forgotten what it was like to breathe in. She does it ten times. Zelda then touches the water with her hand, sighing at the feeling of it. She forgot what water even felt like.

The princess stretches, and then goes to take off the white goddess gown. She freezes, not being able to bring herself to do it. Her hands start to shake, and she frowns.

“Pull yourself together, Zelda.” She mumbles to herself. She then pulls the dress up over her head, dropping it to the ground and leaving herself naked. Along with the dress, she feels like she pulls off a piece of her identity. She was truly relieved and thankful the fight was over, especially because it felt like it would never end, but she’s terrified of what comes next. She wore that damned dress for one hundred and three years. And as easy as it went on, it came off. It came off along with her jewelry, the bracelets and necklace. She stands there in complete vulnerability, heart racing.

A lump forms in her throat and she pushes it down. Looking at the white rags on the ground. She carefully steps into the basin of water, gasping as she sits in it. It takes a moment for her to control her breathing. When she doesn’t, she sighs and settles into the water, her heart relaxing. She closes her eyes and then dunks her head underwater, letting all of her long hair get wet. She blows bubbles out of her nose, and runs her hands up and down her skin. She resurfaces, tilting her head back to keep the hair out of her face, and then wipes the water off of her eyes.

Baptism. She thinks. Washing away her sins, and restarting.

She cries exactly three tears. She isn’t sure if it’s because of relief or anxiety or exhaustion and excitement or all of the above.

She sits there for a long time, not moving. It feels good to be in the water, she feels comfortable and safe. She tries to bring herself to move but can’t, maybe her muscles were finally settling into exhaustion. She just sits there, not even really thinking, just existing quietly.

It was simultaneously silent and blaring loud all of the time inside of the trance-like-state she lived in while sealing away The Calamity. Her heart rate finally relaxes, and her eyes even droop for a moment. She has to repeatedly remind herself that she was safe. Maybe one day she would be able to believe that. The water started to get cool, and so she finally moved. It was nice to experience real peace for the first time maybe ever.

Zelda reaches for the bar of soap.

She scrubs away a century of dirt and grime, and it comes off with very little effort. The soap is soft, she appreciates that it came from the locals, and that Link had it at all. He isn’t half as put-together and tidy as he was when he served as her knight. His hair is longer, and it sticks out in all sorts of directions. He’s missing a chunk of cartilage from his right ear, and he’s more scarred, especially on his face. Zelda hopes that isn’t the result of carelessness, she couldn’t bear the thought of Link being put in danger even though he is the most capable person in all of Hyrule. But ever since he nearly died in her arms at Fort Hateno decades ago, she can’t stomach it. She watched in pain and disarray as he threw himself at every monster, every challenge, unfaltering and unafraid.

When she gets out of the bath, she starts to shiver, her body still not used to regulating its temperature again. Zelda quickly dries herself off and gets dressed. The clothes are even a little big on her, and more revealing in some places than she would have ever worn in her past life. She shrugs, and pulls the screen open.

Just as he had promised, he wasn’t in the house. She glanced around, taking in the surroundings even more, trying to get her bearings again. Link doesn’t have much, and what he does have looks mostly like junk. Zelda wasn’t sure how long she was going to be here, but her guess was a long time. It’s not like she has anywhere else to go anymore.

Knowing that Link won’t bother her until she goes looking for him, Zelda takes this as an opportunity to snoop. Not out of malice, but simply because she wants to know more about this new Link, and she’s too afraid to ask still. In her heart, he’s the same devoted and stoic Knight of few words, but she knows deep down that’s not who he is anymore.

In the corner of the room, there’s a work table, one with an old bow on it. She walks to it, examining the weapon. There’s a series of knots on the body of the bow, some Rito and some Gerudo. He seemed to be practicing on the bow, not using it for any combat. There’s a broken-up ruby on the desk, too. Zelda turns around, the front door is open, but she can’t see him. She continues her exploration.

The kitchen is lovely, nicer than anywhere else in the house. Clearly Link had spent some time fixing it up. There were dried herbs on the wall, and a few pieces of paper hanging up with recipes scribbled on them. His handwriting has not improved since she first knew him.

She notices all his different pairs of shoes by the door, he must store his extra clothes that he doesn’t use very often here. She’s never seen him in anything other than his Hylian boots, but here there were a pair of Shekiah sandals, Gerudo Voe slippers, and a pair of snow boots. His feet were big, she picked up one of the shoes, examining it. She noticed there was more wear and tear on the left shoes than the right, implying that he preferred his left side. She sets the shoe down and looks up the stairs to the loft. She peers out of the door again, making sure he wasn’t nearby. She didn’t want to invade his privacy, but couldn’t help her curiosity. Besides, Link has never been that private anyways.

Zelda creeps up the stairs, and when she gets to the top she nearly collapses. She does not have the strength for stairs yet. All there was in the loft was a single bed, it was a double size, though, and a dresser. On top of the dresser was a vase. It was full of flowers that Link had surely picked. All of them were beautiful still, and most importantly, all of them were silent princesses.

Zelda’s favorite flower. She swallows back a tear, walking to them. A few had wilted already, she wondered when he picked them. If he hadn’t been here in nearly a half a year, they couldn't have lasted that long. Or could they? She wasn’t sure. In her youth she never dared pick any because of how rare they were. Are they still so rare? Do they have prolonged longevity? Her mind started rising with questions, and her heart started racing out of excitement, the way science and asking questions used to make her feel. She picks them out of the vase, examining them in between her hands and even smelling one. The scent was diving, and she sighed as she exhaled.

She freezes after processing what the flowers were, what they could have stood for. Did he really collect all of these for her? She shakes the ridiculous idea out of her head. What a silly, schoolgirl thought to have. She sets the flowers back.

Zelda wastes no more time snooping, and instead decides to step outside. It was golden hour now, and the warm sun felt incredible on her skin. She took it in for a moment, savoring every single human moment she experiences because she never thought she would get them again.

She savors the feeling of the grass against her bare feet, wiggling her toes with joy. She can’t help the smile that grins across her face. Her skin tickles with it, the feeling still incredibly sensitive. She giggles a few times, and then turns around the house where the stable was, in search for her friend.

A shirtless, toned and sweaty Link tosses a bale of hay into a pile, lifting it high over his head with ease. His biceps flex as he tosses it, his skin slightly sun kissed from the work, and his hair somehow even more disheveled than before. He discarded his shirt on the fence, letting it hang out next to the undershirt he wore, and some chainmail. His chest glistens in the sun, sparkling from the light peppering of sweat over his pectorals. He’s scarred to high-heaven, old cuts and gashes healed with scar-tissue that stretched along his muscles.

Zelda’s face goes bright red when she sees him, immediately turning around to go back inside, but that’s when Link sees her.

“You’re finished!” He chimes cheerily, jogging over to her. She turns around slowly and painfully, her entire body tense because of the sight. Of course she had seen him shirtless, he was practically naked as the day he was born when he woke up in the Shrine of Resurrection, but she was watching him through lense that made it feel more detached, less real. And before the two of them were sealed away from the outside world, she had never even dreamed of seeing him in such a state. They were both too uptight with their titles. Oh how the times have changed. Even if she had seen him partially-nude, it was never this close, never this…detailed. She could smell him, the scent of hard work and horse-hair displayed in the most appealing aroma of a man she could think of. She makes a special effort to look at him directly in the eye, not daring to look anywhere else. The cherry on top? Link had no idea what he was doing to her.

“I-It was lovely,” She stutters over her words like a fool, She takes a shaken breath and then chooses to sign “Thank you.” She forces a smile, was he going to remember.

Link smiles wide and immediately signs back “You’re welcome, I’m happy you know how to sign, too!” And then he dropped it as fast as he picked it up, he used to rely on it so heavily but he doesn’t need it like he used to. He continues speaking verbally: “I’m glad! I’ll go drain the bath! Hudson and Bolson made this fancy contraption that dumps the gray water into a big ole bowl under the house!” He articulates with his hands, showing just how big the bowl really was. Zelda’s heart dropped a little, she was sad he didn’t remember that he was who taught her their special language. But at least he remembered.

She looks at him, pulled into his elaborate explanation of the water invention…his skin looked so soft, so inviting. “And then it drains into a monster camp down the hill! They drink it or something and everyone’s happy! It’s really quite clever, you know.” He smiles a wide, toothy grin. Zelda had never seen him get so excited about anything before the calamity. She was struggling not to fall apart out of embarrassment as he talked, though.

“Fascinating… I would like t-to see it.” She smiled politely, hoping she doesn’t look as foolish as she feels. “D-do you have a comb?” She asks.

He smiles and nods.

Inside of the house, it started to get dark. Link lit the few oil lamps and candles inside, but it was still dim.

Upstairs, Zelda groans frustratedly as she attempts to braid her hair. She looks at her reflection in the old mirror sitting on the dresser. No matter how hard she tries, she can’t seem to get the plaits to lay the way they’re supposed to. For whatever reason, she is incapable of being able to braid her hair in any way. She can’t seem to remember, and no matter how hard she tries, the hair just won’t knot correctly. Link heard her frustration, and out of both curiosity and a desire to protect her, he steps away from the dinner he prepares, and treads up the stairs carefully.

“Zel? Is everything okay?” He asks gently.

“I’m fine!” She sighs exasperatedly. Link stops in his tracks, not wanting to bother her, but still being concerned. She was clearly not fine. He observes the situation, and sees the problem. He walks towards her, not wanting to upset her further, but wanting to be helpful.

“May I?” He asks, gesturing to the comb he let her borrow (that he “borrowed” from Riju… she still doesn’t know he has it).

She sighs, “No.”

Link is a little taken back by that.

“I don’t need your help.” She swallows, looking at herself in the reflection, a frown plastered across her face.

“Okay.” He nods and turns to go. Accepting her wish. “Dinner is ready, come down whenever you feel like it.” He says over his shoulder before continuing. She watches him, frustrated with herself and embarrassed that she can’t do something so simple anymore. When he walks down the stairs and is out of sight, she lets go and silently drops a few tears. Only a few, and she quickly wipes them away. How pathetic she thinks to herself.

She stands up, taking the comb and walking downstairs.

He plates the food he made, whistling a distantly-familiar song as he did so. Zelda sits with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders at the table, watching him, now he has a shirt on, finally. It wasn’t his blue tunic, however, it was a soft, emerald green tunic. She didn’t recognize it. It was big on him, like it was supposed to have chainmail and an undershirt, too. Either that or Link was just too small for it.

“What is that song?” She asks.

“Hm?” Link turns around with the bowls in his hand, “Oh, I’m not sure. It came to me in a dream once.” He whistles it again, down middle up, down middle up. It was the song of forests, and fairy children, but neither of them knew that. “Here, it's vegetable cream soup. I know it’s not the most glamorous mela but I was able to get the ingredients in town while you bathed, and it's filling.” He sets it down in front of her and she looks down at it. He then sets his serving across from her, and sits. The two looked at each other, neither knowing what to say.

How do you save the world and rid it from the most demonic and ancient of evils one day, and then the very next you’re sitting across from another eating a vegetable soup?

Link digs in first, purposefully eating it with one of his two spoons instead of swallowing it down like a shot. Zelda was a princess, after all.

Zelda stirs it around a bit, but brings some up to her lips, sipping it. She hums, “That is incredible, Link.” She says, and takes a bigger bite. “Where did you learn to cook?”

“Your dad taught me a lot, actually.” He says, “Back when I first woke up and he wasn’t really your dad.” Link takes a few more bites, trying to satiate his hunger but not pig out in front of her. “And then I just picked skills and recipes up from stable to stable. I really enjoyed it, actually. It gave me a hobby that didn’t have to do with strategy and how to kill the most bokoblins with the fewest arrows.” He shrugs, “By the wayLin, I can kill six bokoblins with two arrows and an acorn. I’ll show you sometime.” He speaks nonchalantly.

Zelda laughs at it and he looks at her with a puzzled look.

“I’m serious!” He defends himself.

“I believe you!” She smiles, “That’s what makes it so funny! No one would stand a chance against you.”

“Awe was that a compliment?” He teases and she laughs more. He succeeds at his attempt of cheering her up. “Don’t start giving me compliments, Zel, you know how my ego handles them. That has not changed in the last hundred years.” He jokes with a lighthearted air. She smiles, the two feel warm, and comfortable inside.

Could you really truly feel happy after an event like what they went through yesterday?

They both believed so.

They believed it because of the other.

Link finishes and stands up, “If you don’t want my help, I understand. But I would be happy to braid your hair for you. It’s not a problem.” Link says in a voice so gentle fairies would come to him. “And if you don’t want me to, that’s okay too. My feelings aren’t hurt.” He turns to the kitchen, leaving the choice up to her.

She sits in contemplation for a moment.

“I’m so embarrassed that I can’t do it.” She sighs. “I used to before the calamity,” the word feels like cotton in her mouth. “But I tried and I just… can’t. My fingers don’t remember how to.” She pushes the emotion down.

“Hey that’s okay!” Link places his bowl in the basin, “I had to remember how to jump when I woke up.”

She smiles, “you’ve recovered so much. I’m glad.”

He turns, “You will, too.”

She wanted to believe that.

“You taught me how to sign”. She signs to him, “Do you not remember?”

Link frowns, “I don’t, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Zelda sighs, “It was our special thing, none of the other champions could sign. Not even-“ She catches herself and doesn’t finish the sign.

“Mipha?” Link spells out her name, there wasn’t a sign for it.

“Yes…” Zelda responds verbally, a little ashamed.

They look at each other, youthful eyes who have seen horrors connect with each other.

Zelda picks up the comb and holds it out for him. He smiles and moves behind her.

He takes the comb and runs it through her long, golden hair. “Your hair grew while you were sealed away.” He says as he holds the soft hair in his calloused hands.

“What?” She asks. “No it did not!”

“Whatever you say, but I think it did.” He hums, parting it and then setting the comb down before beginning the plaits. “What do you want?” He assumes her classic hairstyle of the braided crown, but she lifts her hand to stop him when he starts braiding by her ear.

“Just one braid, all of my hair in it, please.” She asks.

Link nods and lets go of the strands he had in his hands, moving to a different part of her head to restart. He’s always been a very talented braider, even before the calamity. He does it fast, and he is very gentle with her scalp as he does it. When he gets to the bottom, the hair tapering, he realizes he doesn’t have a hair tie to secure it with. Instead of making her hold it while he looks for one, or having to restart, he pulls the blue one out of his hair, and ties Zelda's hair with it. He drapes it over her shoulder and walks away to close the window by the kitchen, his back towards her.

Zelda notices the blue, and looks up to see his hair loose and messy.

Her heart does something because of that.

“I would like to go to bed, I think.” She says. “Would you like me to sleep down here?” She asks.

Link turns around, puzzled, “No?” He furrowed his eyebrows, “I want you to sleep upstairs.”

“I thought that’s where you slept?”

“Nope, I mean I do. But not now, not when you’re here.” He shakes his head. “I can sleep outside with Epona, I sleep better that way anyways.” He shrugs. She looks at him with a blank stare, “What! The bed is clean I assure you.” He chuckles, so charming it’s stupid.

“No that’s not it.” She sighs, “You would sleep with an animal instead of inside?”

“Yeah… Do you not want to sleep in the bed?” He cannot comprehend what she was implying.

“No! I mean yes! I mean no!” She drops her head into her hands, “I would like to sleep in the bed, yes.”

“Great! I’ll sleep outside.”

“Link!”

“What?”

“Just… sleep inside, it's safer.” She suggests.

“But-“ He pauses to think about her words, folding his arms. “I do not understand? I am happy to sleep outside.”

Zelda chuckles, exhausted with his thought process. At least that didn’t change. “Fine. But really, I do not want to take your bed from you.”

“Please do! I don’t need it.” He pushes.

“Okay, okay.” She goes to stand up, but when she does, she completely collapses to the ground, hitting the wood floor hard.

Link wastes not a single second before running to her, calling her name. He kneels on the ground next to her, rolling her onto her back, and supporting her head under his hand.

“Gods, are you alright?” He asks, but she isn’t answering. “Zelda!” He calls her name, and she doesn’t answer, so he calls louder and louder, placing both of his hands on her face to try and wake her.

Link swears, and he grabs her hand to check her pulse but he’s so shaken up that he can’t feel anything. He leans his malformed ear against her lips to see if she is breathing, but that was the ear that he lost his hearing in a year and a half ago when fighting Windblight Ganon. He places his hand on her chest to feel, not caring that he was touching her in a place that he never should, just thinking about her safety. It’s rising and falling but shallow, and he quickly must consider mouth-to-mouth, grabbing an elixir that was too far away, or yelling her name one more time.

He chooses the latter.

He yells at her again, the loudest this time, at a volume that he never used, not even in battle. With a gasp for air, She finally comes to, her eyes opening but hazy and confused.

“Oh my goddess, you’re awake.” He gasps, pulling her against his body, cradling her against his chest. It felt like she was out for an eternity. “Thank Hylia.” He holds her tight.

“Link?” She asks, her voice weak. He squeezes his eyes shut, keeping her close.

“Shit please don’t scare me like that again.” He says, his voice quivering. He pulls away from her and she looks up at him, her eyes welling with tears. “It’s okay, it’s okay I got you.” He holds her again, “You’re safe.”

You’re safe.

—

Chapter three

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sirianasims · 10 months

Text

Chapter 20

Get the Party Started

I clearly remember how I felt when I got my acceptance letter from Foxbury. I knew that this would mark the true beginning of my life. I would get my dream career, everything was going according to plan.

Even though I had assumed, perhaps a bit arrogantly, that I would get in, I still did a little happy dance in front of the mailbox.

My parents were proud and happy for me, but I suspect they were also looking forward to finally spending some more time alone.

After all, they started dating when my brother was a baby and had never lived alone together.

My own love life was less happy. My girlfriend, Cecilia, who I had been dating for almost a year, told me we needed to talk. I knew what was coming.

She had also been accepted into her dream university, and wanted us to break up before we left.

I knew she was right. We were too young for long distance, and we would both be better off being free while meeting so many new people. Neither of us wanted a messy breakup later in case one of us found someone new.

I knew it was for the best, but it still hurt. Cecilia was my first long-term girlfriend, and I really did love her.

We hung out for a few hours, just enjoying each other’s company one last time. Neither of us wanted her to leave and make it final.

I’m not ashamed to admit that there were some tears when we said goodbye, but I still wished her all the best at her university.

Even harder was saying goodbye to Maggie. She was very old, much older than we ever expected a pitbull to get, and I knew she didn’t have much time left. My parents promised to spoil her completely.

Despite the pain of saying goodbye to everyone, I still felt great when I arrived at Foxbury. I knew that this was where I belonged, my destiny. I had dreamed of this for years.

I immediately started preparing for my first classes, I knew I wanted to be in the top as always.

I also walked around campus, familiarising myself with the new surroundings, especially the common area, Larry’s Lagoon, where the canteen was, as well as a gym, a robotics lab, and a study area.

The very first week, I met Jamie. She just walked over and started talking to me during lunch. At first I wasn’t sure what to make of her. Surely, no one could be that outgoing? The next day, she came over and asked to join me for my morning workout.

She was pretty fit, and it was nice with some company. She could even give me some tips.

I managed a new personal record with her guidance.

At first, I was a little worried that maybe she was interested in me, but it was quickly apparent that she wasn’t into guys at all. We even ended up discussing ex-girlfriends, and I told her all about Cecilia.

Cecilia and I knew each other from school, and had been flirting for a while before meeting up at a coffee shop near the park. I was surprised when she kissed me as a greeting. She then insisted we found a more private place.

We sat in a nearby picnic area. I was a bit shy, and a little startled by her taking the initiative like that, so I nervously messed around on my phone, but Cecilia wasn’t having it.

She demanded my attention. It was honestly refreshing. The few girls I had briefly dated before her were the quiet types, and since I also tend to be quiet until I get to know people, the dates had been pretty lame.

But Cecilia challenged me. She didn’t take no for an answer and she was smart and witty.

Flirting with her was like fencing, both of us taking turns attacking and parrying, throwing smart-ass comebacks at each other.

I don’t believe in soulmates, but if I did, I might have said that she was mine. We matched so well.

When we got tired of bantering, she simply pulled me in for a kiss. No mind games, no insisting that I take the initiative just because I’m the guy.

It was one of the things I loved about her. The simplicity. Everything was so easy with her.

Well, it also didn’t hurt that she was a great kisser.

Talking about Cecilia made me a little sad, but Jamie managed to cheer me up with a few anecdotes of terrible dates she had been on, and just like that, we were friends.

beginning / previous / next

#duchellilegacy #duchellichapters #duchelligen3 #cora duchelli #zane fyres-munch #eric duchelli #cecilia bell #first person pov is here to stay #the curse of being hot is thinking everyone is into you #bonus info cecilia is the granddaughter of michael bell and speaks in a slight henford accent

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anotheroceanid · 2 months

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Hello! I just wanted to share with you my full appreciation of your fic <3 I only discovered PJO with the show (since then I've read all the books except the two last TOA). While I'm multishipping Percy, Perpollo is my last obsession.

I LOVE everything about them, I LOVE dark Apollo, and I LOVE all the angst that could fit with this ship. However, as I've read several of the Perpollo fictions on AO3, some of them did hurt me too much with their angst... </3 For example, I always feel so bad when, in some ff, Apollo ends up killing Percy; so bad it makes me cry and makes me feel kind of sick. Some of my friends told me I'm ridiculous to feel so many things with a fiction, but I can't help myself :(

Your fiction has a fair share of angst, but it's eveything I love and I don't feel like it'll be hurting me in the end. (Or maybe not?) I really enjoy reading Foreboding and WTHB, they're like my confort fics, especially since my life is a little bit hard right now.

I don't know if my comment is understandable, english is not my native language and I had a hard time writing it, but I just wanted to thank you for writing both of these wonderful fictions <3

I hope you have a wonderful day <3

This is so sweet 💕💕💕 thank you

Perpollo is also my obsession, when I first wrote foreboding I considered letting the “who’s the father?” as an unanswered question, but then I realised (at that point I wasn’t aware I’d ever write the sequel, though I had the story in my mind) I wanted us to have a glimpse of them together.

While I also love the darker fics with the sad outcomes, I decided I wanted to go with something different. Yeah, the story is very sad, but in the end everything in foreboding and WTHB is about love and how much we need it. Not even in a cheesy way, we literally need companionship as we are social creatures, loneliness can drive us crazy.

Despite being a Perpollo fic, the themes I wanted to write about (which are the themes I like to write about in general) are family and healing. This also is something that exists in Apollo’s storyline, when we get to his pov. So though I also like dark Apollo, for this fic I wanted them to actually have a nice relationship and a connection. I can’t wait till we get to the flashbacks of their past together.

Though I admit, it’s easy for me to go angsty with PJO fics because these are child soldiers. They have a lot of abilities and none of them are healthy coping mechanisms, I fear. We’ll see that a lot in Annabeth’s chapter, when we get to see the adults that came from these child soldiers.

Her chapters is the hardest to write so far, not only because it’s the first non-Percy chapter we’ll see, but because a lot of things happen, things that impact much more characters than just Annabeth, even if her arc and her bitterness is explained through these many things that happened these past years.

And if it makes you feel better, these are also my comfort fics but in a writing way. My life is a mess rk, and this years was rough. I’m definitely using it to organise my feelings and thoughts and to keep myself as calm as possible. February, when I posted foreboding, was a terrible month, and the only good thing that happened was that I posted the fic and had something else to talk about. So yeah, I want these characters to have happy endings.

Ofc, I can’t promise everyone a happy ending, but the fic will end in a warm way.

And don’t worry, I’m not native neither. And I understood you perfectly!

Thanks for reading and commenting 💕

#WTHB fic #ask

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ladysomething · 4 months

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Hi, Maddie!

Can I just say, your writing is brilliant and I love this fic, as I've loved your other fics! This is my first omegaverse fic actually and my first time exploring less... traditional or let's just say acceptable themes (people outside ao3 would deem it as problematic) and I have to admit I am a bit dizzy after that last chapter haha, but this fic has rlly opened my mind and I find that it's good to explore complex human behavior and emotions. I wanted to ask though... Does their relationship (maybe in terms of trust at the very least) ever get worse from here? I'm a bit horrified but I trust you with the happy ending tag haha! I can't envision how they could trust each other again atm but that's probably because all romances I've read before this are soft lighthearted ones 💀 (And when you tagged it happy ending, is it like actually happy or is it more... hopeful?)

Anyway, I love all your lestappen fics and I just know once we get to that happy ending it will be soo worth it <3

Oh my god … I’m so sorry that your first omegaverse fic is this 😭 I promise they’re not all so dark. But also …. You have no idea how happy it makes that you chose me and my writing to take you on this journey.

Honestly the last chapter even made me a little dizzy. And these things are so personal - I’ve had people say they wish Max kept fucking Charles through the alpha voice, and then others say he should’ve stopped sooner. Opinions can be so mixed! But you’ve hit the nail on the head .. at the end of the day, I’m not here making a judgement on what’s right or wrong, problematic or unproblematic. I’m exploring the complexity of the human experience when people are backed into a corner and feel they have no choice but to lash out like a wounded animal.

To answer your question … it’s rather complex. In my personal opinion, it does not get more morally grey than it was in this chapter with the alpha voice smut. That’s about as bad as it gets. Their relationship is about to get better for a little while, and then it’s going to crash and burn so badly that ya’ll are gonna be gagged about how I could possibly have managed to make it worse. And THEN …. Well. Once we’re over that, ya’ll are gonna be FED.

As for the happy ending. On a scale of 1 being solely hopeful (like give me that fire) and 10 being happy (like big reputations), I would probably put it at like a 8. Their relationship ends in an amazing place (picture your ideal lestappen and this is probably it), but it’s still bittersweet because so much of the outside forces don’t get fixed. I don’t want to give too much away, but I would say: expect the best for lestappen, but kinda sad for everything else?

#anon ask #where you go i go #wygig: max #wygig: charles #wygig: the great war #wygig: smut

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minhoskofi · 8 months

Text

chapter 12: lovers or enemies

warnings: smut, edging (again lol), unprotected!sex, so..much..tension..

word count: 3k

masterlist

As you walked together, the weight of unspoken emotions hung heavy in the air, begging to be released. Byounggon broke the silence first, his voice tentative yet filled with a sense of urgency.

"You know, I've been doing a lot of thinking lately," he began, his eyes focused on the path ahead. "About us, and what went wrong..."

You nodded, feeling a lump form in your throat. "Me too," you admitted softly, unable to meet his gaze.

Byounggon stopped walking, turning to face you with a mixture of sadness and determination in his eyes. "Honestly…. I just feared that I wasn’t good enough for you, that you’d betray me for someone better, and-"

Your heart ached at his words, knowing all too well the depth of his insecurities as you interrupted him, "Byounggon, you are more than enough," you assured him, reaching out to gently squeeze his hand. "Don’t you ever doubt that."

He gave you a small, grateful smile, but the weight of his doubts still lingered. "It's just... I couldn't shake off that feeling for the longest time," he admitted. "And I let that fear consume me, I pushed you away when all I wanted was to hold you closer.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you listened to his confession, the raw honesty of his words breaking down the walls around your heart. "I’m sorry I made you feel that way ," you said, your voice trembling with emotion. "I really am."

He took a step closer to you. "I’m sorry too, for not trusting you," he whispered, reaching out to cup your face in his hands. "And I'm so sorry for pushing you away."

You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him close as you buried your face in his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart against your cheek. "Can’t we figure it out?," you asked, your voice muffled against his shirt. "Together?"

As Byounggon pulled up in front of your apartment building, the air felt charged with tension again, thick. You could feel the weight of Byounggon's gaze on you, his eyes searching yours for answers.

Finally, you gathered the courage to speak, your voice barely above a whisper against the backdrop of the night. "Do you want to come in?" you asked, the words hanging in the air. A promise of what could be.

Byounggon's expression softened at your invitation, a flicker of hope lighting up his eyes amidst the uncertainty. "I... I don't know," he admitted, his voice tinged with hesitation. "You sure that's a good idea?"

You chuckled. “What could go wrong?”

You led the way up to your apartment in a comfortable silence. As you unlocked the door and stepped inside, the familiar surroundings enveloped you like a warm embrace.

Byounggon followed you inside, his eyes scanning the room as if taking in every detail. "It feels strange being back here," he mumbled.

You nodded in understanding, feeling a pang of sadness at the reminder of what once was. "Yeah, it does," you agreed as you sank down onto the couch with a heavy sigh.

Byounggon took a seat beside you, the space between you filled with tension and longing. You turned to face him, the sadness in his eyes reflecting your own. "I know I’ve apologized a gazillion times now but, I'm sorry. Again," you said softly, "For not being able to make you see how much you meant to me. If we could only get past th-”

“Giving you another chance - it scares me, you know? You scare me.”

Byounggon's words weighed heavily on your heart as you gazed into his soft brown eyes full of fear of the possibility of getting hurt again.

"I know," you replied softly, your voice barely audible. "Believe me, I'm fucking scared too. The thought of losing you for good... it terrifies me."

"I want to believe that things can be different this time," he echoed amidst the quiet of the room. "But I'm afraid of getting my hopes up, only to have them dashed once again."

You reached out and gently placed a hand on his arm, the warmth of your touch seeping into his skin like a balm. "I get it," you said softly, your voice filled with empathy. "I'm not asking you to forget what happened or to pretend like everything's okay. I just... I want the chance to try again, to rebuild what we had, even if it's one small step at a time."

Byounggon's gaze softened at your words, a flicker of hope reigniting in his eyes. "Honestly, I want that too, y/n" he admitted, his voice was tinged with longing. "But I don’t think I’ve completely processed everything, or worked through all my fears and doubts. I don’t want them getting it our way again."

You nodded again, a sense of relief flooding through you at his raw honesty. "I'm not going anywhere, Gon. I can wait."

With that, you both sank into the silence of the room, the weight of the conversation hanging heavy in the air. But there was also an even heavier tension crackling, thickening with each passing heartbeat. Byounggon's presence beside you felt both comforting and electrifying, his warmth seeping into your skin like a gentle flame.

Without realizing it, your fingers grazed against his, sending a jolt of electricity coursing through your veins. His hand twitched ever so slightly at the touch.

You found yourselves drawn closer, the space between you diminishing until there's barely a breath of air separating your bodies.

Would you dare? Or would he dare? To take another step?

Byounggon's gaze flickered down to your lips, his own hovering tantalizingly close. The temptation to bridge the gap between you was almost overwhelming, the desire to taste the sweetness of his kiss nearly consuming you.

It became unbearable. The voice of reason faded into the background, drowned out by an overwhelming pull of desire and longing. Your breaths mingled in the space between your lips.

With a barely audible whisper, Byounggon's voice broke the silence. "Am I reading this wrong?" he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. As he tilted his head to the side ever so slightly, he continued with, "Please... push me away if I am. 'Cause I'm dying to kiss you right now."

But you didn’t.

Instead, you closed the remaining distance between you, your lips meeting his in a searing kiss. You hesitated at first, pulling back soon after, uncertain. Byounggon's hand cupped your face, his thumb gently brushing your cheek as he pulled you back in.

His hand moved to your bottom lip, his touch light and tentative as he ran his thumb along the fullness of it. He closed the space between your lips, again, a slow, open-mouthed kiss that was filled with hesitation, longing, desire and more.

With every touch and movement of his lips, you could feel the emotions and memories flooding back. You both pulled away for a breath, looking at each other with a mix of uncertainty and desire.

But before any words could be exchanged, Byounggon pulled you into another kiss. This time, with the hesitation gone. The kiss became more urgent and passionate. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling ever so slightly at the strands, as his hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer as if he was afraid to let you go.

His lips moved against yours with a hunger that mirrored your own. The desire to feel the warmth of his body grew, and without much thinking, you straddled him. Byounggon's hands roamed your body, and the familiar touch sent shivers down your spine.

But then, just before losing all control, "Wait," he stopped, pulling away slightly, "is this right? Are you sure?” he asked, almost, rhetorically, his voice filled with uncertainty. You paused, looking into his eyes. “I don't know,” you admitted. “But I do know that it feels so damn right.”

Without another word, Byounggon pulled you in. His lips were hot and demanding against yours, his tongue parting them, slipping into your mouth with a fervor that left you breathless.

You melted into him, your own tongue dancing with his in a heated tango. A low moan escaped your lips as his hands grabbed onto your hips, pushing you down on him, “I want you so bad right now,” he hissed, his teeth grazed your bottom lip, causing a rush of electricity to shoot through your body.

Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as you deepened the kiss. His teeth nipped at your lip, then moved to your jawline, leaving a trail of heated kisses along your skin.

You couldn't get enough of him, and you felt his desire match yours. His hands that never stopped roaming all over your body, ignited every nerve ending in their wake. You let out a gasp as his hand slid under your shirt, his touch sending waves of pleasure through you.

With each kiss, you became more and more lost in the moment, the world around you fading away as all that mattered was the heat between your bodies. You moved against him, the fire between you only growing with each touch.

And then, as if in a daze, you both pulled away, breathless and desperate for air.

"I know it's wrong but, can I ask you to stay tonight?" you whispered into his lips in a silent plea.

Byounggon's brows furrowed as he looked at you, surprised by your request.

"I..." he began, his voice wavering with uncertainty, "I don't know if that's a very good idea." He knew he should resist, that giving in to the temptation of spending the night with you would only complicate things further. But with you sitting on top of him, your bodies so close and the weight of your words hanging in the air, he just couldn't.

Byounggon let out a sigh before finally nodding his head. "Okay. But just for tonight."

Your face lit up with a smile as you leaned in for yet another kiss. Byounggon's hands slid up your back, pulling you close.

Impulsively, you whispered, “Let's go to my room.”

Byounggon's eyes widened at the bold statement, his growing erection quite evident against your thigh. He wasn't sure if this was the right decision, but his body was obviously screaming for you. Without a word, he stood up, pulling you with him as he made his way to your bedroom.

Upon entering the comforting darkness of the room, Byounggon couldn't hold back any longer. He pushed you hard against the door, capturing your lips again. Your hands tangled in his hair as he lifted you up, wrapping your legs around his him. Every push of his hips into yours sent waves of pleasure through your body and you could feel the heat between your legs growing with each passing second as you gripped onto his shoulders.

Without breaking the kiss, Byounggon pushed you onto the bed, his hands running down your figure, caressing every curve and dip. You felt the warmth of his body press flush against you, soft lips tracing wet kisses down your neck. Your heart raced as he slowly undressed you, taking his time to savor every inch of your skin.

His hand trailed down your stomach, stopping just above your core, where you were already soaking wet with need.

He looked up at you with a wicked smirk, before gently running his finger over your clothed folds, eliciting a shiver from your body. Byounggon leaned in close to your ear, his breath hot against your skin as he whispered, “Missed me that bad?”

You couldn’t help the whimper that escaped your lips as he continued to tease you, his finger circling your clit but never touching it directly. You bucked your hips in frustration, desperate for more contact, but Byounggon just chuckled and moved his hand away.

“Goni, please,” you begged, your voice filled with desire. “I need you.”

He grinned and slowly pulled down your panties, his eyes never leaving yours. He spread your legs and settled between them, his hot breath teasing your already sensitive folds. You moaned as he ran his tongue through your folds, teasingly avoiding your clit.

Each lick sent waves of pleasure through your body, but just as you felt yourself getting closer, Byounggon pulled back, making you groan in frustration, but before you could say anything, he slid two fingers inside you, pumping them slowly as his thumb rubbed over your clit in slow circles.

Your hands clutched at the sheets beneath you as your breathing became more erratic. Byounggon's pace never faltered, his fingers moving in and out of you at a torturously slow pace. You could feel yourself getting close again, and so could the man between your legs. He stopped completely.

“For fuck’s sake, Byounggon,”' you panted, lifting your hips off the bed in search of more.

Byounggon leaned back, his gaze fixed on your soaked core. “Not yet,” he said, his voice husky with desire, while undoing his belt. “I want to watch myself fuck you.”

Your eyes widened at his words, the thought of him watching you in the throes of pleasure sent another wave of arousal through you. Byounggon positioned himself at your entrance, teasingly rubbing the head of his cock against your slick folds before slowly sliding inside.

You moaned at the feeling of him filling you up, but he didn’t move, allowing you to feel every inch of him as he leaned down to kiss you. His lips moved hungrily against yours as he started to move, his hips rolling against yours in a slow, maddening pace.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, trying to pull him deeper inside you, but Byounggon's pace didn't change. He continued to move in and out of you at that same slow, torturous pace, his eyes never fixed on where your bodies connected.

You could feel the coil of pleasure building inside you, but he showed no signs of speeding up. Instead, he took his time, savoring every moment as he watched himself fucking you.

“Gon, I’m begging you,” you moaned, your voice filled with desperation. “I need to come.”

"There's my good girl, begging me," he finally picked up his pace, pounding into you with a force that left you seeing stars. You lost yourself in the pleasure, unable to think as he continued to fuck you senseless.

Byounggon's grip on your hips tightened as he thrust into you, making you moan out his name here and there. The sound of your voice drove him wild. You wrapped your legs around him, successfully pulling him in deeper. He responded by bringing one of your legs over his shoulder, giving him even more access.

Your bodies moved together in perfect rhythm, the sound of skin slapping together filling the room. Byounggon's name fell from your lips like a prayer as you felt yourself getting closer to absolute heaven.

Just as you thought you couldn’t take anymore, Byounggon reached down and started to rub your clit in time with his thrusts. The combined stimulation pushed you over the edge, your body trembling as you came undone around him.

Byounggon continued to move, drawing out your orgasm as he chased his own. With a few more thrusts, he finally reached his own release, spilling inside you with a groan.

Both, panting and sweaty, Byounggon collapsed on top of you, his chest heaving against yours. He leaned down to kiss you tenderly, whispering soft words of love and admiration.

As you both laid in bed, limbs tangled together, the only sound in the room was the soft rhythm of your breaths. Your skin was still flushed and damp with sweat, and you could feel the pleasant ache in your muscles.

Byounggon turned to face you, his hand caressing your cheek gently. “Are you okay?” he asked softly, his voice filled with concern.

You nod, a small smile forming on your lips. “More than okay,” you replied, looking into his warm brown eyes. Despite being exes… for now, there was no denying the connection between you.

He leaned in again as he pressed a tender kiss to your lips, before pulling back and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I'm glad."

You both laid in silence for a few moments, enjoying the peacefulness and comfort of each other's embrace. It was strange, being with him again like this after all this time, but it felt right.

“I missed you,” Byounggon whispered, breaking the silence.

You look up at him, surprised by his confession. “I missed you too,” you admitted, your heart swelling with emotions.

He leaned in for another kiss, this one more passionate and longing than the last. As you both got lost in each other's embrace once again, you couldn't help but feel like maybe this was a spark of hope, a hope for a second chance.

As you lay entwined together in your bed, the gentle rise and fall of Byounggon's chest beneath your hand lulled you into a sense of peace you hadn't felt in months. In the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the curtains, you traced the lines of Byounggon's face with gentle fingertips, committing every curve and contour to memory.

And, for tonight, he was yours, and you were his.

prev. next: (coming soon)

#cix bx #cix imagines #byounggon x reader #cix x reader #byounggon #bx #cix #lee byounggon #kpop smut #cix hard hours #cix soft hours #kpop au #cix x y/n #cix smut #byounggon imagine #bx imagine #bx x you

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ga-yuu · 2 years

Text

My Very HONEST Opinions on Clavis's route!

Let me first tell you one thing if you don't know! I did play this game on the day of its jp release. I was excited to play a new title from Ikemen series, after my most favorite game of all time Ikemen genjiden. I expected Ikemen prince to be much better than Ikemen genjiden BUT unfortunately....I didn't like it :(

My first route was Chevalier and I didn't enjoy it like I thought I would. I thought I would feel all sorts of emotions but I didn't. Then I played Yves route and...it was fine, but it still wasn't enough to make me wanna continue playing this game. Then I started some routes here and there but didn't go past chapter 1. I uninstalled it and after some time when heard the news that it's getting an eng ver. instead of Ikemen genjiden---I admit I WAS SUPER SALTY!! I didn't play the game anymore after that.

Now, there's no exciting news from Ikemen genjiden and the next route will be coming out in late Apr or early May. I had free time, so I thought I would revisit the other Ikemen games I once stopped playing and you guys voted me to play Ikemen prince. I did. I played Clavis's route and OMG! IT'S FUCKING CUTE!!!

Clavis's route is really really cute and it's really sad that this wasn't the first route in Ikemen prince because if it was, it would have left a great first impression on me. I loved the overall theme of his story. A story about a loser working hard every day and trying his best to be like his perfect brother but he still can't beat him but he doesn't give up!! It's so perfect. The whole time I played his route, I was like "YOU CAN DO IT CLAVIS!! JUST THINK OUT OF THE BOX!! YOU MAY NOT BE ABLE TO BEAT CHEVA IN THE BATTLE OF SWORDS, BUT IF YOU COME UP WITH SOME KIND OF PLAN THAT EVEN CHEVA CAN'T PROCESS, THEN YOU CAN BEAT HIM!!!" Yeah, that was me! And he did, at the end of his route. He took him off guard and stabbed Cheva!! YAYY!! I was cheering wholeheartedly because it's so beautiful to see a person's hard work pay off in the end. It was such a satisfying ending. I truly enjoyed it. I enjoyed it because it didn't feel like a love story.

But in the end, I realized that this is a romance game and it was chapter 24 or 25 something which means, according to Cybird's rule----"Sex scenes happen at chapter 24 or25. If any male lead tries to have sex with MC in the earlier chapters, the MC's male friend will come and cockblock the male lead." I'll talk more about their relationship afterward.

I was so focused on Clavis getting his win that I forgot about Emma. Emma for me was 50/50 in this route. In the earlier parts, she is annoyingly stupid and unfunny, but in the later parts, she does things that are commendable. Like encouraging Clavis to get up back onto his feet when Clavis was ready to give up, trying to bargain with Chevalier to get information about Clavis, going to the enemy territory illegally, and most importantly facing Mr. Obsidian without shivering. She did a great job so it wasn't a complete letdown.

Also, she's tsundere. The whole time she's like "No I'm not in love with you! STop looking at me like that! I don't love you! I'm not falling in love with you! I will NEVER FALL IN LOVE WITH A SCOUNDREL LIKE YOU!" The whole time I was rolling my eyes because I know every MC says this but they end up falling in love anyway. Has there been any one MC that has actually stuck to her words? (*thinking hard* Yoshino? Nah! she too falls in love with Ibuki after promising that she would run away from him).

Another thing I wanna say is that if Clavis's route were to be the first route of this game then it would have left a good impression on me! I would have not uninstalled the game at all. The new characters introduced---Gilbert, Silvio and Keith...they did for me! They brought something into this game which I have been looking for the whole time and that was the feeling of tension! Gilbert is a threat. His appearance out of nowhere every time in this route is like a bomb and that enhances my experience because I get more interested in the game. Gilbert is a very intelligent character and fascinating as well. I'm 10000000000% sure that this guy knows everything about Emma and he also knows that the King is dead. Like I'm very very very sure that this guy has more than enough evidence to expose Emma's identity but is simply holding back because it's fun to watch Sariel and Emma trying to cover up by lying. It's really interesting, that's why whenever he shows up, I always end up laughing out loud because I know that he knows that Emma is Belle. Also, Sariel and other princes (except Cheva) naively thinking that Gilbert is still 'suspecting' about Emma being Belle is just stupid. How long are they gonna keep lying? Gilbert can simply place all the evidence on the table if he wants to. What will Sariel do at that time? So yeah, thanks for adding three new villain characters Cybird, you made me wanna play this game now.

Things that I liked:

I loved Clavis's mischievous personality and how he's so positive when everyone else is actually running away from him. I love how he makes pit traps for Yves and Licht, throws smoke bombs at Sariel, knows sneaky tricks like unlocking a lock etc. I loved how he used those tricks as a weapon to beat Cheva. It's cute. He may not be the textbook definition of a prince, but hey, he's the prince who would protect his own people at the cost of his life. So you can blindly trust him.

I loved how they showed his relationship with his people and his mother. Even if it's only for one chapter, it was still good that they showed it, because it made me like him even more. It made me wanna root for him more. Also revealing what is inside his room, made me almost cry.

His relationship with Cyran. I loved it! They are cute! They're like buddies! I love their relationship. It's great!

The humor. Clavis has a good sense of humor. I wish Emma could have matched that. Unfortunately, she couldn't. Tsundere MC didn't match Clavis, maybe a much more fun-loving, considerate, and straightforward could have worked better. She could have played along with him and catch him off guard sometimes. Clavis and Emma's relationship, to be honest, it was fine. But I wish they were more like partners in crime rather than lovers. I wish they were more like best friends than lovers. I wanted Emma to be like a, how should I put this, kinda like a second mother to Clavis. I wish she was shown to be enjoying Clavis's little pranks and laughing it off. But all the time she sees Clavis as a scoundrel. I mean doesn't she like to have fun? Whatever. I wished they were best friends rather than lovers because I wasn't getting sexual tension between them at all.

Things I didn't like:

Other male leads feel like side characters. Other than Chevalier, who is Clavis's nemesis, the other princes don't have much of scenes other than Emma simply asking "What would they do if they become the king?" Nockto had two scenes and in one of them, he didn't even have any lines. If it hadn't been for these two scenes, I would have forgotten his existence. Leon only had one scene and that was him answering Emma's question. Emma just ask this one question and that's it! Done. After that, the whole route is about Clavis. I know he's the main lead, but it would have been nice if they had more scenes about them talking about their ambitions and stuff, but the scene just cuts to black all the time.

I think that's all I have to say about this route. It was a fun experience for sure. I enjoyed it!

#ikemen series #ikemen prince #ikemen prince clavis #ikemen mc #otome #cybird #cybird ikemen #cybird otome

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drifting-pieces-blog-blog · 1 year

Text

Nothing and Everything - Part 8

Summary: Certain times of the year are harder than others. This is the first year where they have all been present to face the memories of all the trauma. How can they come together when they each have their own traumas to face?

Pairings: Gen fic (they love Layla and she loves them)

Warnings: Heavy dissociation, Mentions of child abuse, some mentions of violence, Depression, mentions of self harm, PTSD, mentions of hospitalization.

Word Count: 5299

Part Eight: It's time to communicate. Or at least try. Why can they only get part of the story? What do they have to do to come to an understanding?

Previous Chapter HERE

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“I’m supposed to be happy. To be cheerful, aren’t I? To be this shining beacon of light in the dark.” Steven gazed up at the gray sky, feeling the wind shift as it rustled through the trees and the birds moved as if following the sun.

He closed his eyes and let the last of the warm rays bathe his face before they faded behind the clouds.

Today was the day. The day when he had become we. Perhaps that was what it really meant. The birth of a brother. When I became us and when mine became ours.

The loss of a brother, when everything became nothing.

Now here they existed in this nothing desperately trying to make it work.

Steven felt like a child that had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. It was hard for him to admit that he had done wrong when he was doing what he felt was necessary. It had never crossed his mind that it had the potential to hurt them.

Yet, he had still kept it a secret and done it without asking. Perhaps a part of him had been afraid of being told no.

Marc had been so distant lately and hardly around. Steven had felt he was free to make that call. He had not thought that anything about the situation might trigger Marc out.

You are lucky I didn’t answer the phone.

Jake had chastised him, making him feel like a small child, as Jake cleaned up the mess. The mess being Marc.

He watched memories be swept away like so much dirt on the floor. The papers were pushed into a top drawer of his desk and locked away. Jake had elected not to dispose of the past, but had made it very clear that if Steven were to look at it, he had better do it when Marc wasn’t around.

Why do you have to be difficult? You don’t need to know these things. These things don’t involve you. They aren’t your timeline.

But they did. They involved Marc and Jake. They involved the body. They involved the making of them.

“What does involve me? What history do I have?” Steven had been angry. Demanding to know his place in how they got here.

You have every happy thought and moment of peace.

The message on the board was for them all. Talk. How did they talk? How was it possible to communicate when Steven sat alone in the light and the other two hid in the shadows?

Steven had asked Layla, much like a child asking for permission, if he could go outside on a walk through the park. She had hesitated, offering to go with him. “I need this. Please?”

She had nodded, saying that she couldn’t keep them caged up forever. Perhaps a test of her fragile trust. Steven promised not to run.

How could he run when the problem was very much a part of him?

“We can’t heal if we don’t know what we are healing from.” Steven sighed. “I’m not some house plant that you feed and water and put in the sun so that it can look nice.”

You are not the one with the trauma. You are here to support us. Jake argued.

“Presumptuous, don’t you think?” Steven shot back. “My trauma and your trauma may look different, but they are still traumas. Bad memories can’t and shouldn’t always just be covered up!”

I’m sorry you feel bad. I really am. Jake sounded tired. We aren’t ready to all sit here anguished in memories that just hurt. You saw what happens when it becomes too much.

“So I’m just supposed to never be sad? To be upset or overwhelmed? That’s a lot of pressure, don’t you think?” Steven hunched as he continued his walk through the park. His favorite oversized sweater kept the gusts of cool air from chilling him, even in the warm afternoon rays of the sun. Summer was ending but there was still some fight left in it.

So what do you want to know? Do you want to know how many people we killed in the service? Do you want to know that we weren’t always the good guys? Do you want to know how many detentions we got or how we flunked out of chemistry? Do you want to know how to most effectively reload a gun when under fire? How to avoid getting stabbed in hand to hand combat? Maybe you want to know the best way to defend yourself against a belt buckle! Or do you want just the basics on how to pretend to be good so the psychiatrist will let you out of solitary after you tried to escape!

“Have you ever erased my memories?” Steven paused to let a happy family walk past him on the path. Two seemingly loving parents doting on their young child. Would it stay that way forever? The child had yet to disappoint them. The father had yet to look the other way and slowly disappear into a silent background. The mother had yet to fall into alcoholic dependence that both distanced her from them all and also sparked a violent fire that would burn them.

You know the answer to that.

“No. I don’t.” Steven watched the family disappear down the path. “I know the fake memories. Those are mine. Those were my coping mechanisms. I’m dealing with that. I’m sorting it out and I’m dealing with the fact that I’m…”

Not real. Made up. A fictive.

It didn’t matter how many times Marc and Layla both tried to reassure him that it didn’t matter. That Marc hadn’t made him up. It still didn’t take away from the knowledge that he now had that he was a person born from a desperate need to be someone and something else. It didn’t take away from the fact that Marc had a history and Jake was his own person from the start.

You are Steven Grant. You are a man with your own wants and desires and stubborn ass beliefs. Jake sighed softly. I have never taken away your memories. I’d made up stories to explain why you suddenly woke up in Bosnia or Pakistan, and you accepted them happily because you were not ready for the truth. You once woke up in the middle of a gun fight and fought me when I tried to put you back to sleep. You won’t remember that because it didn’t fit into your narrative. I never had anything to do with how you handled your memories. I only take away what Marc can’t handle.

“Dreams.” Steven nodded. “The feeling of restlessness and travel. It’s what I told myself.”

His own coping device had always been to brush it off and continue on. On and on and on until it was too much not to look away from. Until Marc had crumbled at his feet and Steven had literally tripped over him.

“Why didn’t you stop it? When Marc went back for…For Mum’s funeral. Why did you let it get that bad? Why let me out? Why did you let me wander off with our life and away from Layla?” Steven gripped his sleeves as he found a bench and sat on it. “Why let me wander into that gun fight in that village?”

Jake was silent a moment and Steven could feel him shifting inside.

I was…compromised.

“Compromised? What does that mean?”

When she died. I… went to sleep. I woke up in the Alps.

Steven looked up as if he might see Jake standing before him, eyes on the ground and hat down low to hide his face. “You went dormant?”

Not to that extent… But close to it. I didn’t think I was helping. With her dead it felt like I wasn’t needed. That maybe I was hurting things. That maybe we could get our lives back together and just be… normal.

“I was dormant then too.” Steven looked down at his hands. “I know I wasn’t around. Years… There are so many years I have missing. You tried to give the live back to Marc. You didn’t think he would break down and try to give the life to me.”

We all make mistakes, Steven. Was it so wrong of me to think that without me or you that maybe if we were one person that things might be easier? Marc obviously had the same thought with a slightly different twist.

“Bloody hell.” Steven closed his eyes and listened to the wind rustle the still green trees. Soon their leaves would turn and fall. Bare limbs reaching for a sun that sat too far away and indifferent to care for them. “We are a mess, aren’t we?”

It was nice for a while, wasn’t it? Just you out here living… Doing normal things… Being one person….

“I’m not one person!” Steven snapped loudly and winced as a jogger gave them plenty of space as they went by.

“That’s the problem, isn’t it? I’m not one person. I was given the stage without a script! I was alone and shouldn’t have been! I should have known what was going on and I didn’t! Some of that is my fault but you both left me drowning and did nothing!”

I’m not here for you! Jake snapped back. My purpose was Marc! Not you! Every time I ran was because of him! Every time I had to protect us it was because of him, not you! How was I supposed to keep an eye on you when every time I looked away from him we died!

“Try looking at yourself for a change, Jake!” Steven stood up, angry and wanting to stand his ground. “You’re a part of this life too! Try living in it!”

I DID LIVE IN IT!

Steven huffed for a moment then a thought hit him hard. “Did Marc go dormant before?”

Two years. Maybe three. I was primary host. We were still very young.

“Was I around?” Steven sat back down.

A bit. You went to synagogue and major holidays. You were the good one. Marc started to dissociate so much that he became a problem. He couldn’t run the life and you were too…you. We were in hiding, Steven. This isn’t normal. You have to understand that. A little british boy has no place in a hispanic jewish family in Chicago.

Steven nodded. He understood the concept of masking but the thought to actually do it always made him feel ill. It was just one more thing Jake had been forced to do in order to protect them.

I had to take over. Marc is missing those years. He faded so hard and fast that I thought he might disappear all together.

“Like the others?” Steven probed gently. A suspicion that he had long had ever since he started looking into their condition.

Jake quietly and carefully checked to make sure Marc was nowhere near. Steven could feel him locking doors and shuttering the place till it was like they were both enclosed in some sort of tomb.

Yes. There were others. They came and went. Some split, some just showed up. They never stayed long. There was one that only showed up to eat since Marc went on a hunger strike once. They all had specific purposes. I can’t tell you how many. I don’t know. There was one that was obsessed with space. Another fictive maybe? I’m not really sure. It’s been a long time and they didn’t make it past our teen years.

“We really are just a small system, aren’t we? Is it still just the three of us? I want to know.” Steven didn’t mind if it was. What he did mind was the thought that maybe there was someone else inside that was in pain and he wasn’t helping them. Someone hiding or unaware that was just as lost as he had been.

As far as I’m aware… It’s just us three. I check now and then.

“Were they your friends? Do you miss them?” Steven couldn’t imagine having other head mates that just disappeared. The thought scared him suddenly. It was possible to lose purpose and fade away. What if Marc really did leave one day? What if Jake left? Would he ever no longer be needed and go like the others?

The space guy was kinda cool. Jake smiled and Steven could feel a wave of sadness come off of Jake. They were not as well defined or developed as us. We got along and functioned as well as we could. I think maybe if things become as bad as they were, there is always the possibility for others to show up.

“But as long as we can hold down the fort it will be just us three.” Steven sighed. “I want to know these things, Jake. I want to know our life. I want to know how we lived and what hurts. I want to be able to know why I’m sad and how not to make Marc spiral. I want to know how to help you.”

I don’t need help. I need cooperation. We have to find our flow again. I can’t protect us if we’re all freaking out!

“Welcome to denial, Jake.” Steven laughed softly. “You aren’t immune to pain and hurt. We’ve all got trauma and some form of PTSD. I think you’ve been ignoring your own pain for too long.”

Jake made a grumbling sound but he better than to argue this with Steven.

They sat in silence for a moment then they felt a nudge.

It felt strange and Steven felt himself shift as if he were floating outside the body. Marc had entered the room and things had gotten so bad that their communication suddenly felt like they were yelling across a vast field against the wind.

Steven gripped the sleeves of his sweater and brought them to his face, covering his mouth with the soft fabric. He could smell their aftershave and a hint of Layla’s shampoo. There was a faint smell of their morning coffee and toast. He felt the light fabric, soft and warm brushing his cheeks and lips.

It was comforting and brought him back down.

They sat still, all three holding on. After numerous tries, Steven at last shook his head and stood up.

“Sorry mates. It was worth a try, right? Maybe three is a bit much right now. I’m going to head back. Can I talk to Marc?” Steven waited patiently while Jake faded back and the field between them all disappeared.

He could feel Marc shifting behind him. It felt like so long ago when speaking only happened through visual effort and control was fought for. He missed the moment of fluid switching when they were so close that they could share thoughts and motions.

Now, a wedge sat between them and there was frustration, hurt, and confusion.

Steven continued on his walk through the park. He looked at the sun burnt grass, the reaching flowers, the bees on missions, and the children that ran without care.

He paused to watch a game of cricket, lamenting on how Marc and Jake didn’t understand the sport at all. Not that he understood baseball. Not that any of them had tried to understand the other…

“We’re really shit at this.” He laughed.

I’m glad you find it all so funny. Marc muttered.

“Laugh or cry, Marc.” Steven smiled. “I’m tired of crying today.”

Did you cry today?

“One of us did.” Steven was starting to accept that perhaps he was the emotional medium between them all, if that was even a thing to be. He could feel their overflow of sadness, anger, and often brutal self hatred. He now understood them to be not his own, but it still affected him.

Sorry. Marc apologized, though Steven wasn’t so sure it was Marc who had been the one to start the tears. He was always taking the blame. Always ready to assume the worst of himself.

Steven shook his head. “I know what day it is. It’s okay to shed a few tears.”

Marc nodded, his lips pulled thin. Was he ready? Would he ever be ready?

“Do you think Randall would have liked London?” He continued on, leaving behind the cricket match.

I don’t know. Maybe.

“I think he would have liked the museum.” Steven couldn’t help but think about what it would be like to bring a brother to the museum. Pointing at the pictures and picking what they liked best about them. Would he have liked Egyptology? Maybe he would have been more into natural science and collected rocks.

I think he liked anything he was given. He was just a kid. I don’t know what he would have liked now. Marc sounded a bit short tempered. It was hard for him to imagine who Randall would have been.

“Did you like things?” Steven changed directions quickly. “When you were little, I mean. What things did you obsess over?”

They stopped walking and looked up at the sky, watching the clouds.

I don’t know. I don’t remember.

Steven thought back to their bedroom. The one in his memories and the one he saw in Marc’s memories from the afterlife.

“Did you like cars? Space? Egypt?”

No. Jake likes cars. You like Egypt. I think we got a telescope at some point but I don’t remember ever using it.

A warning flashed across his mind, some sort of signal from Jake to stop pressing on their childhood.

So he was still watching.

“Yeah. I don’t remember much from our childhood either. Guess it wasn’t that important, huh?” Steven turned up the path and settled into a comfortable stroll back towards the entrance to the park. “Do you hate Dad?”

They stopped walking and Steven felt his legs stiffen on their own. He wasn’t sure if it was Jake or Marc.

He stubbornly pushed on. “You were angry I talked to him. I don’t understand why. I have so few memories of him and I don’t know how he fits into my life. Am I not supposed to figure that out?”

I think the general consensus was that we were going to cut out all the toxic bits from our life. He was a part of that.

“How was he toxic? Was he cruel to you? Did he hurt you?” Steven didn’t mean it at all as a sort of prod. Wide eyed and hands at his chest as he pulled on his sweater, it was an innocent question. He legitimately didn’t understand.

Compliance in the face of cruelty is still cruelty.

Steven jumped as Jake’s voice cut across the space between them.

Marc’s voice was a little quieter but still there. He’s right, Steven. He let it happen. He was very much a part of our abuse.

Steven walked on slowly, hands gripping the fabric tightly as he struggled with this.

“I don’t think he understands.” He thought about the few conversations he had had with the man on the phone lately. How surprised he had been at first and then how easily he had slipped into a normal conversation of ‘how are you’ and ‘how is the wife’ and further ‘you should visit.’

He doesn’t have to understand. Marc huffed.

“But how will he know that he hurt us if we don’t tell him? What if he’s sorry?” A memory flashed across their minds of the old man in the window, beconning for them to come inside. To return home. Of the younger man pleading with him not to leave.

It is not our place to tell him that he has caused us pain. It is his place to know and recognize that he should have done better as the father. He has every right to ask for forgiveness and we have every right not to accept it.

Steven stopped again and felt himself drift ever so slightly. It was a lesson he had heard before. A teaching that he had never understood at the time. He was so gentle and soft, he had not understood what it meant to not forgive someone asking for it. He never wanted to hurt anyone. To cause conflict or pain. He wanted to be the peacemaker. To be loving and make people happy.

Memories started to flow. Ones that never made sense before. Memories of an empty chair across from him at the table. Memories of his father sitting silently at the head of the table. Always silent and looking down. Memories of sad eyes watching him and turning away.

When he thought of his father, he never could picture his father addressing him. Never recalled any conversations or praise or interaction. That was why he had become a hidden part of Steven’s life. Overshadowed by the mother that he thought and wished he had. Her attention had been on him. Her eyes always fixed on him. Her everything enveloping him while his father had given him nothing.

Steven?

Marc gently reached out and Steven pulled back, physically taking a step back.

Today was the day that he had become they. Today was the day that they had become a second thought and a third and then on and on until a mind shattered and now all the pieces were trying so hard to come back together but there were pieces missing. Pieces that would never be there again. Pieces that were too broken to fit.

Steven, give me the body, okay?

Steven shook his head and sat down there in the grass and dirt. He turned his face to the sky and felt the sun, colder now as it faded behind the clouds.

Jake. Don’t… Don’t force it. Okay? Make it gentle.

I have an idea.

Marc sounded tired and far away and Steven was distantly aware of his hand moving into his pocket to fetch his phone. A few buttons hit by feel and memory alone.

The phone was a comfortable and warm pressure at his ear and against his cheek.

Steven smiled as the phone rang. He searched the memories. Had it always been voicemail? Could he remember her voice? What would he say to her now?

He would say a lot. He had so much to say.

He heard the click of someone picking up. Or perhaps the machine.

He could pretend. He could imagine just like always. It was no different than when he had thought she was alive and she had been dead all that time. Talking to ghosts. Celebrating ghosts… Everything in his past was a ghost.

“Hey Mum.” Steven took a slow breath. “I’m glad you’re dead. I am. I don’t know what I’d do if I knew you were alive and had everything that I have now. Everything you gave to me.”

There was a sound on the other end of the line but it was too far away for him to know it. He took a shaky breath and continued.

“You gave me so much, didn’t you? More than pretend postcards. I wonder if you knew that you birthed another son when you picked up that belt. You lost one and gained another. Was it a fair trade? Was I enough like him?”

He breathed softly, listening to the machine record. It was silent but he could hear breathing. Was it her listening?

“I think I tried to make up for it, didn’t I? In a way. Marc felt so bad about how we lost Roro that he tried to give him back, didn’t he? But I wasn’t right. Did you notice? Did you notice me at all? Did you notice Jake? We tried, didn’t we? I wanted your love so much and what did Jake want?”

He dug his free hand into his sweater at his chest and twisted tightly.

“I realize now that I never asked about Dad. In all our conversations, I never once asked for him. He didn’t care for me. Even now, he calls us Marc and I realize I’m still masking. Without trying, I wear the mask around him. He wouldn’t give me the time of day. Now here I am reaching out and all he can see is Marc. And it isn’t even Marc he sees. He sees who he wanted Marc to be!”

Steven closed his eyes and turned his face to the sky, listening. “Jake took over when it was too much. Did you beat him too? Did you make Jake listen to you as you made him nothing? As you told him not to exist? Is that why Jake doesn’t want to exist now? Because you hurt him so much? Did Dad ignore him too? Or did Dad talk to Jake? Jake was more of the son I couldn’t be. Did Dad tell him to be a better son? Did Jake ask Dad for help? Is that why Jake hates him?”

He could hear the breathing on the other end, quiet and trembling slightly with emotion.

“I hate you for how much you broke us. I hate you every time I wake up from a nightmare. I hate you for every tear I’ve had to shed without knowing why. I hate you for the doubt and self destruction you embedded into our heart! Every time Marc drinks and every time Jake sits in his car trying not to have a panic attack! I hate you for every moment I was alone and didn’t understand why! I’m glad you’re gone. I don’t know what I would do if I had to know you were there hurting us by refusing to love us! All I wanted was a mother and all you gave us was this broken house!”

Steven wiped the tears from his face with the back of his sleeve. “Today is Roro’s birthday. Somewhere in another timeline I like to think that he’s still alive and I don’t have to exist. He’s celebrating with his big brother and a loving mother and father. But those people don’t exist here. There never was a loving mother and proud father. Roro is dead and so is that happy big brother. He died and now it’s just these ghosts inhabiting this body. We aren’t who we are supposed to be because of you.”

He took a slow breath and looked at the sky, gray and filled with colors as the sun started to set. They were pretty. In the past, he would have glowed about it to his mum. Told her about the gorgeous sunset and amazing weather. Now he could only focus on the clouds.

“I got your death certificate in the mail. Dad sent it to me.” He took a moment to swallow back the tightness at the back of his throat. “Long term alcoholism. Destroyed your liver. You must have been sick a long time. Dad must have known. We don’t let Marc drink anymore. It’s hard. We also made Jake stop smoking. I won’t let them destroy us the way you did. You took everything. You even took away our chance to tell you how much you didn’t deserve us. So I’ll say it now. You didn’t deserve us. We were too good for you. We deserved better. And we still do.”

Steven choked back a small sound and wiped his nose. “Bye Mum.”

He hung up and slowly put the phone down.

The world was silent for a moment, and he floated over it. He floated in a space where he was happy and unaware. He lived in the light and acted as a beacon of happiness. He had to. There was too much darkness in their lives and someone had to help guide them out.

He felt gentle hands wrap around him and strong arms pull him close. It was imaginary, deep inside where touch was odd and sometimes communication didn’t work. Yet still he sank into it as Marc and Jake wrapped around him like his favorite sweater.

Distantly he heard the phone buzz and sing a jaunty tune. A hand picked it up and he wasn’t sure who it belonged to.

“Hello?” No one was certain who was speaking. All three of them felt the body a if they were controlling a puppet on strings. Real but not where they were. They existed in a far away place where nothing could hurt them.

“Baby?” Layla’s voice reached out. Even she didn’t know who she was talking to. She couldn't find their accent.

Steven smiled at the cleverness that was Jake. Jake, unsure if they were in danger or not and knowing that they needed her, had called Layla. Always her.

They struggled to reach through time and space, all three happy to hear her and all three unsure where they were in the head and body and world. “Hey. We’re… We’re okay. Still at the park, I think. We didn’t go far. There’s… Families and kids.”

“Do you want me to come get you? Are you okay?” She was crying. They could hear her crying. Was she crying because she was scared? Had they hurt her again?

No. She was crying for them. Because she at last understood where their pain came from. Where it started and lingered across their lives like an unending storm.

They looked around. “Could you meet us at the exit? The one at the corner. We can get there.”

“Of course, Baby. Do you want me to stay on the phone?” She sounded worried.

“No.” They thought about it for a moment. “No. I… We want to be us for a moment. See you soon.”

“Okay. I love you. Call if you have any trouble, okay? I’ll wait for you.”

“We love you too.” They hung up and stared at the phone for a moment. It was odd. Before, in the rain and storm inside, they had all wanted different things and fought. Now it was different. They all wanted the same thing and moved without argument or asking.

Standing up, they brushed the dirt and grass from their pants then moved carefully as if expecting the body to not function right. Taking a step, they expected it to be like walking across the moon. Yet gravity and the world was still there. The body moved and they blended in a way they had never felt before.

It was odd. Both unsetting and comforting. They deeply disliked the loss of autonomy but there was a greater sense of comfort in knowing they had support. They were functioning as a team.

They made it to the end of the park and stared at the people around them. People that moved and functioned every day as single units with one purpose and thought. None of it seemed real. How one body and mind could house so many and endless worlds and realities.

One of those people smiled to them and hugged them close. “Layla.” They sank into her, hugging her, though they could only feel it from a distance. “Sorry. We aren’t sure who…Who is where.”

“Do you need help? I’m not sure how I can help…” She looked them over as if maybe she could find a button or something that might separate them out again.

They shook their head. “It will sort itself out. We’re just going to be for now. If that’s okay… We just want to exist right now.”

She slipped her hand into theirs and held it tightly, anchoring them to her as they walked back towards their flat. “Exist. You deserve to exist as much as the rest of us.”

They smiled and held her hand. It was nice to exist together.

Part Nine (last one) HERE

#Moon Knight #Moon Knight fic #Marc Spector #Jake Lockley #Steven Grant #Layla El Faouly #I seem to have a magic number for how many chapters belong in a fic #There's a good chance there's just one chapter left you guys #It's hard to realize that you've been hurt #harder still when that person is gone #I wish we had the diab cut #we deserve to see it

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emmy-dekarios-bg3 · 4 months

Text

Heart of the Weave - A Baldurs Gate fanfiction - part 3

{find the link to my full fanfiction pinned on my page}

Chapter 7 - *Fanden’s Point of View {Emmy’s evil half-brother who is introduced for the first time}

My name is Fanden, a former human who grew up not having much of a childhood. I had a mother who was an escort and worked at Sharess Caress in Rivington during the week while I stayed with a sitter most of the time, and my father…well, he’s a tyrant who hungers for power, control, and working people to the bone. One night he slept with my mother to ease his mind, which was rampant from stress and his eagerness to get shit done. I saw my mother for only one hour a day as a kid, and the most fun I ever had was when my sitter took me to the playground every day. Occasionally, we went to the beach, but it didn’t feel right not having my mom there. I wonder who she would’ve been today. I wonder if I’d be so corrupted if she was alive.

My father was mostly out of my life, because my mother never told him she was pregnant with me. He didn’t want to have sex with anyone else but her when he went to Sharess Caress, and when he realized she stopped going, he felt the need to search for answers, like where she went and if she was even still alive. She left the city and hid for as long as she could, taking me with her and promised me a new life.

“We won’t live in these sewers for long,” she told me. Her voice was broken, her eyes drenched with salty tears. When I was around ten years old, she was murdered by Orin and her body was given up to the altar of Bhaal, right before Orin became his chosen. Gortash didn’t know of this for a while. I don’t quite remember how he found out or if he even knows Orin was responsible.

I wanted to forget every single horrible instance I’ve endured. I sold my soul to the devil Mephistopheles to replace the horrid sadness I couldn’t escape from. I told the devil that I’d rather feel any other terrible emotion than the painful heartbreak that I just couldn’t handle any longer. He couldn’t promise me happiness, but he could promise me a new life. I accepted and couldn’t wait for the heartache to leave my body. The moment my soul was sold, I became a grey-skinned tiefling with crimson eyes, beyond recognition of who I once was. This happened seventeen years after my mom’s death, and I found a new way to live: bloodthirsty for murder. As a kid, I managed to survive on my own, though it was hard. Hiding in shadows, scrounging off food from the trash, hunting animals…and dealing with the sorrows of my mothers death along with it all. However, recently, after selling my soul to the righteous devil, I’ve felt empowered. Right after Orin got killed by Emmy, who is my half-sister, I became his chosen. I have searched every corner of Baldur’s Gate seeking ways to murder so I can please my angry lord. Yes, the dragonborn used to produce Bhaalspawn is dead, but I’m now Bhaal’s chosen, and it’s only going to get worse from here.

Gortash came to me after becoming resurrected, admitting to me that he’s my father and he found out the entire truth just years later. He resents my mother for never telling him I was his son. He took me in, and I’m free to shelter and eat an endless amount of food as long as I obey his wishes.

“My son, have you gotten any sightings of Miss Emmy yet? I need to find her soon. She will receive the wrath that’s been long-awaited from her,” he mumbles, cracking his knuckles. “Maybe I’ll be merciful. She is my daughter after all.”

“The last I saw, she was eating breakfast at that Inn in Waterdeep where you had made contact with her mind. Her, that Wizard, and their baby were eating with some other tiefling. She was so absorbed into the mind tricks, I really couldn’t get too much info out of her. That was last tenday though.”

“They have a baby? My grandchild? Oh, even better.” The hallways of the palace are rather quiet as his voice echoes through the place. “This will be so much easier without Orin getting in the way.” My brow furrows, confused by what he means by that. Last I understood, she was alive and ready to rip apart the city again. Hells, if she’s dead, that just makes life even easier for me.

“Wait –”

“Yes, she’s dead. Again. Bhaal made his choice, realizing she’s really not as worthy as he thought. He found you, a much better predecessor. We’ll have to get into that later. This is the one instance I guess I could say I’m glad you worship Bhaal, though I hope you can join me in my praise for the almighty Bane. Ahem. Moving on to other matters.” He studies my face, realizing I have so much I need to ask him. “It appears you have questions. Out with it, son.” My claw scratches the flesh of my thigh, but I’m fighting the urge to dig for blood, even though it’s my own. I want to destroy. Obliterate. Annihilate.

“Well, you mentioned the baby before. Why do you want her?” A smirk appears on his stern face as he begins to pace back and forth.

“You’re a paladin. An oathbreaker, like our dear friend Ketheric. I wouldn’t expect you to understand everything, so I’ll let it slide. That baby has a chance to grow up and dominate the brain, helping us control and gain power for ourselves. It’s not too late. I will please Bane and show him I really am worthy of this second chance.” I guess I can’t argue that. However, there is one particular issue getting in the way of the plan.

“I’m afraid that’s not possible, father.” Gortash sighs heavily and crosses his bulky arms against his chest, pouting like a toddler.

“And why not?”

“Emmy, that wizard, and the baby included – they’re all immortal. All of them. That baby won’t age, so she has no chance of falling to your demands.” Ketheric steps in next to my father, holding a serious stare with him.

“That also means Emmy’s memories can’t be affected if she’s immortal. If we chain her with the soul chains…we can take that from her. She’ll be weak like a squirming imp who can’t bother to fly.” Gortash smiles, nodding at Ketheric and impressed with his plan. It seems their goal is to gain immortality for themselves and conquer the world like before, but hopefully with success.

“Fanden, my son, I must say I am rather impressed with your abilities to get all the information I need about her. You’ve been keeping track without even being spotted, and for that, I must say thank you. I underestimated you. Bring Emmy to me at all costs. We will use the soul chains to grant us eternal life and suck out the weakness within her, unless we can somehow manage to get her to comply. We’ll go from there.”

“And if she somehow catches me?”

“Find a way to lure her in.”

“Tell her that little tiefling friend of hers was abducted,” Ketheric grumbles, his voice so deep it brings chills across my flesh. “If she doesn’t comply, he dies.”

I pick up my warhammer and place it behind my back, feeling a powerful urge within me to destroy. I have to fight the temptation to murder her right then and there, no matter what happens. I will become worthy of my father’s love and compassion…if Gortash even has it in his heart.

“And spawn? Try not to get yourself killed.” I nod as I turn around to storm out the doors.

“You underestimate my power, father.” He claps his hands together as he gives me an evil yet appreciative gaze, his smirk expressing hopefulness and determination.

“That’s what I like to hear, son.”

#ao3 #bg3 #Baldurs gate 3 #archive of our own #Gortash #lord enver gortash #baldurs gate 3 fanfiction

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tinylilemrys · 1 year

Text

Lonely In London

Relationship:

Trent Crimm/Ted Lasso

Additional Tags:

Angst and Romance | Romcommunism | Friends to Lovers | Romantic Comedy | Alternate Universe – Canon Divergence

Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Summary:

Henry, worried about how lonely his dad seems to be in London, writes into an advice podcast for some help. A podcast run by an ex-colleague of Trent's – one that he listens to religiously. If Trent falls a little for 'Lonely In London' because he reminds him of Ted, well that's just coincidence. An homage to romcommunism, largely based on 'Sleepless In Seattle' with a few others thrown in for good measure.

Next Chapter

A/N: I'm posting at least the first two chapters on Tumblr, because I have no idea when AO3 is going to be back on its feet and I know I'm looking for fanfic on here too. 💛

CHAPTER 1

It starts one relatively normal weekday in June. Henry is in the living room, with his iPad and new Richmond-branded headphones, a welcome-back-to-England gift from Jamie. Ted is a few feet away at the kitchen table, putting together his plan for the upcoming season.

He's not supposed to be working. Not yet. He's been ordered by Rebecca to take the month to focus on rest and spending as much time with Henry as possible. It's his reward for an incredibly hard-fought season.

Unfortunately Ted's never been one to take much of a break. Not when there was so much still to do.

If he's being honest, a lot of it has to do with Nate's betrayal. It stung then and it stings now and the only way Ted can think of dealing with it is by being better than they were last season. He wishes Nate all the best on his new adventure with West Ham, he really does, but it would be great to succeed in the face of Nate's spiteful turn.

He can't stop thinking about how it had cost Trent his job, and that, more than anything, makes Ted furious. The club would recover, but he could never go back to being Trent Crimm, The Independent.

His train of thought is interrupted by an excited shriek from Henry, who up until that point, Ted assumed was playing games on his iPad.

"Dad! Dad! Guess what? They used my question!" he yells, bounding up to his dad and handing him an earbud. Ted laughs, partly in confusion, partly because Henry is so earnestly excited.

"Whoa, hold on now, Bud. I'm gonna need you to take several steps back in this conversation so I have context." He pops the earbud in. "Who are you sending questions to?"

"It's this podcast called 'Help, I'm So Sad'," Henry explains. "They take questions from people who are sad and give them advice."

Ted's stomach plummets. Both he and Michelle knew it was a risk, having Henry come to London for the whole summer. The idea was to give Michelle a break to spend some time with Doc-- with her new boyfriend, while giving Ted some quality time with his son. Throw in the promise of one-on-one training with Henry's hero, Jamie Tartt, and it seemed like a solid plan, albeit one with the potential to go terribly wrong. Henry has never been away from home as long as that, and now, barely a month into his time here, it seems like Henry is so sad he had to write into a podcast about it.

"Oh, Henry," Ted manages to choke out when his breath returns to his lungs a bit. "I love that you're admitting you need help. That's a very important step that not even a lot of grownups get to. I just wish that you knew you could talk to me about these things too. What's got you so sad? Do you want to talk about it or do you just need a hug right now?"

"No, Dad, it's not for me." Henry giggles as if it's the most obvious thing in the world, and Ted feels some of the sensation come back to his hands. Maybe he's not a complete failure as a father after all. In fact, he's so relieved that his son isn't sad to the point of getting write-in advice about it, that the next sentence completely blindsides him. "I wrote to get advice for you."

Oh. Well. Shit.

"Now that was mighty thoughtful of you, Bud," he says, measuring his voice, trying not to panic. The earnest smile on his son's face tells him that all of this was done with the absolute best of intentions. He'll have to course correct on where the healthy boundaries are when it comes to personal struggles, but he can't rightly be mad at his son for something that was done out of kindness. "What did you write to them?"

"Listen," says Henry, scrubbing back a bit in the episode. Ted obeys, heart hammering against his ribcage, the foreboding bubbling up inside him, turning his stomach.

"Smidge," says a woman with a clipped English accent.

"Bits." says a voice in response.

"Lauren says we're going to love this next letter."

"Ooh, I'm listening," Her accent sounds Scottish. At least Ted won't struggle to tell their voices apart.

"It's from 'My Dad's Sad'… aged nine and a half."

Smidge gives a small squeak.

"Oh, we're not going to survive this, are we?" she says.

"Probably not," laughs Bits. "Okay here it goes. Dear HISS. My friend told me about this show. Her mom listens to it a lot, even though we're in America and you're in England. My dad is also in England, so I was hoping you would be able to give him some advice since you're right there.

"He's been very sad ever since him and my mom got divorced. My mom has a new boyfriend and they seem to be happy, but my dad is still sad. He says that he's happy with work and even though he has a really cool job that he's very good at, I can see that he isn't happy. He pretends to be and I think most of his friends at work think he is, but I know he isn't. Even though we still play catch and Minecraft and build LEGO like we used to, I can tell the whole time he's not enjoying it like he did before. He doesn't ever go out on dates or even talk to anyone except his work friends. I don't get to see him a lot, since I don't normally live in London with him, so I don't know how to help. How can I make my dad be happy again like he used to always be? Love, My Dad Is Sad, nine and a half."

"Oh bless him," says Smidge. "Well, My Dad Is Sad, I think in this case the only advice we can really give you is to talk to your dad about it. He probably doesn't know that seeing him unhappy is upsetting you as much as it is."

"Yeah, I agree," says Bits. "And maybe he hasn't given himself the permission to let the old times go yet. I know when my parents got divorced, my mum struggled a long time with letting go of what we used to be. She didn't date for ages afterwards because she said she didn't want to introduce too much change into my life, but it was really her excuse for not wanting to move on herself. And you know what, My Dad Is Sad? He sounds like a really good father even though you don't get to see him a whole lot. Sounds to me like if you talked to him about this, he would be willing to listen."

"Of course I would," says Ted, who has tears streaming down his face despite his best efforts to keep it together. He removes the earbud and pulls Henry into a tight hug. "Oh man, I didn't realise you were so worried about me, Champ."

"I try not to be," says Henry, and Ted can hear by the wobble in his voice that he's also crying. "I just wish things could be like they used to be."

"I know, I know. I do too," says Ted, rubbing Henry's back soothingly before pulling away to look him in the eyes. "But, hey, look, I need you to know that I am getting help, alright?. I have a great therapist who's helping me work through a whole bunch of things I've never ever thought to work through. Things I'll be able to explain to you properly when you're a bit older. So even though I might be sad now, and even though it might not ever go away completely, I want you to know I'm working on getting better, okay?"

"Okay," nods Henry. He wipes his arm across his eyes. "Sorry for crying so much."

"Hey now, ain't nothing wrong with a good cry," says Ted. "And in any case, I started it. So you don't get to be sorry about it even if you wanted to be."

"That's not how it works, Dad." Henry smiles a little and it's better than the sun peaking between the clouds on a rainy London day.

"Oh, shoot, you're so right." He slaps his forehead for comedic effect, this time even drawing a little giggle from his son.

I really do owe you so much, Kiddo, he thinks to himself.

"Look, would it count as a start if I wrote into these kind ladies to say thank you for the advice?" Henry nods enthusiastically and Ted laughs. "Well, that's settled then."

He saves and closes the report he was working on and opens his email.

"Dear Smidge and Bits," he says out loud as he types. "And Lauren too I guess…"

He begins typing up the email, Henry leaning against his shoulder until he gets bored and goes off to play on his iPad some more. Once he's sure that Henry's engrossed in his task again, Ted decides to give his letter a bit more context, so that they understand he's not a completely lost cause.

After reading and rereading the message again, he sends it off, taking a deep breath as it moves from his outbox to his sent folder. The afternoon sun is striping across the living room floor and Ted realises they've been too cooped up all day. It's time to head down to the Green for a kickaround.

"Hey, Bud, boot up. We're heading out."

***

It doesn't matter how many times Trent leaves Anabelle, it never gets any easier. She looks so genuinely distraught that he feels physically ill looking at her. She loves Shaun, Trent knows she does, but she's still so little, and he knows she doesn't understand what's happening to her. When Trent deposits her into her other father's arms and turns to leave, and she screams like she's being subjected to the deepest betrayal, Trent feels his heart break that little bit more.

After one last glance back at the house, where Shaun has finally managed to wrestle the door closed behind him and the screaming four-year-old, Trent sighs, sets his satnav from "Shaun's Place" to "Home" so he doesn't get lost, and reluctantly pauses the complete Bluey soundtrack. He's about to get going when he remembers that he's promised to text Ted that he's safely in Aberdeen.

He doesn't usually text Ted his whereabouts. It was all down to a chance encounter a few days ago out on the Richmond Green. He'd bumped into Ted and Henry kicking a football back and forth and when he explained that he was taking Anabelle to get her favourite ice-cream, Ted asked if he and Henry could tag along.

Trent wasn't about to find a reason to say no even if there was one.

Despite the growing pit of dread in his stomach at having to leave his daughter, he'd had a surprisingly good afternoon. While Henry and Anabelle had giggled together about whatever kids find funny at that age, Ted and Trent had talked about everything and nothing. About Trent's firing and Richmond's chances in the upcoming season. About Henry staying for the summer and about how it was Anabelle's other father's turn to take her. Trent could have spent all day there, but a huge chocolate-stained yawn from his daughter had told him it was time to say his farewells.

"Hey, I know we're not on best bud terms yet," Ted had said and Trent had smiled at the word 'yet'. Like it was an inevitability that they would be one day. "It's just I know it's a long drive to Aberdeen and it would set my mind at ease to know that you made it there safe."

"I'll text you when I get there," Trent had replied, trying to ignore the way his stomach flipped at the idea that Ted was that concerned about his safety.

"I'd appreciate it, Mr Independent." Ted had offered the most devastating wink then, and Trent knew there was no way he wasn't going to do as promised.

It's nice to have a somewhat positive excuse to text him for a change. The past few texts back have all been Trent delivering bad news, including the latest one informing Ted that he'd accidentally locked his keys in his car. Okay, maybe that had been worse for him.

Hi, Ted – in Aberdeen safely. I'm just stopping at a service station to get a coffee and a bite to eat and then should be on my way back to London. Thanks again for your concern. Hope you're having a lovely Saturday with Henry.

By the time he gets to the nearest service station, there's a voice note waiting from Ted.

"Hey TC! Thanks for the message! Glad to hear you made it to Scotland safe. Hope you're holding up okay? I know it doesn't get any easier to let go of your kiddo, no matter how many times you do the handover. Holler if you want to talk about it. Or even if you want someone to take your mind off it. I have it on good authority that my ability to talk for hours about absolutely nothing is practically a superpower."

Trent gives a little huff of laughter at the direct quote from one of his Ted Lasso articles.

"At the very least, please let me know when you're back in London again, no matter what time of the night it is. Drive safe and I'll see you around."

He probably won't – not with Trent no longer covering AFC Richmond – but it's a lovely thought all the same. As is the idea that he has an offer to call Ted for the sake of just talking to him for a bit of company. He can't imagine working up the nerve to actually take him up on it, but it's fun to imagine.

He reacts to the message with a heart emoji, and then, panicking how that might come across, changes it to a sunflower instead. Friendly. Happy. Safe.

He really is such an idiot when it comes to Ted.

Fuelled up on coffee, an overpriced BLT, and, well, actual fuel, Trent loads up the latest episode of his friend's podcast and begins the long journey back to London.

He refers to Help, I'm So Sad as his friend's podcast, but he's not sure he could actually classify Lauren as a friend. Certainly, they were colleagues for many years and she was one of the people he hated the least. She worked in a different department, covering high society. Until one day as legend had it (Trent had been covering a match that day) she'd declared loudly to everyone in the cafeteria that she couldn't take it anymore, strode out of the building, and never came back.

Though he was convinced at the time that it was the stupidest thing he'd ever heard someone do to their career, he couldn't help but admire the nerve it must have taken. Now, with the hindsight of his own firing, it seems even cooler. He wishes he could have left The Independent with his head held high, instead of with his eyes on the carpet, trying to balance the embarrassment of his dismissal with the lack of regret he felt at treating Ted like a decent human being..

In any case, Trent finds her podcast quite entertaining and listens to it as often as he can. What better remedy for his own foul mood could there be than listening to other people's problems for an hour?

At first, it's not particularly effective. The voices seem to blend into the sound of rain beating against his windshield as Trent wonders if Anabelle has stopped crying by now. If Shaun's remembered to take out her favourite bath time toys. If he still remembers all the words to her special lullaby.

It's only the phrase 'My Dad Is Sad' that draws him out of his lull.

"…then we have an exciting follow up for you," says Bits. "My Dad Is Sad's sad dad reached out to the show after hearing his son's lovely little letter."

"Ohhhh my god," says Smidge. "I'm going to be a wreck."

So am I, thinks Trent. He'd cried at the kid's letter last episode.

"Well buckle up then," says Bits. "Sorry, listeners. This one's a little on the long side, but if you're anything like us, you won't care all that much. Here we go."

Bits starts reading the letter, and Trent, indeed, doesn't care that it's longer than normal because it's perfect.

Dear Smidge and Bits (and Lauren too, I guess)

He can't help but smile at Lauren being included.

I can't say I know much about your show, other than that my sweet boy decided you were the right people to talk to about my overwhelming sadness for the past few years. I have a smart kid, and I trust his judgement, so as such, I have to thank you for the kind advice you gave him.

I want it to be known that I am in therapy and I'm working on getting myself back up on my feet. There's a lot I've been struggling with that I didn't know I was struggling with, even beyond the divorce, and as I'm working through it, I'm starting to slowly return to myself. That's not to say I have it all figured out. More than anything I'm still trying to figure out how to be a good full-time dad when I only get a fraction of the time I want with my kid.

Trent's stomach does a little somersault. As silly and parasocial as he knows it is to feel things for a person who for all intents and purposes isn't real, he can't help but be taken by this man and the way he talks about getting better for his son's sake. It's why he'd insisted on couples therapy when he was still married. It's why he immediately found a therapist for both Anabelle and him after the split. After the disaster of Shaun, there's nothing Trent finds sexier than a man who's serious about his mental health.

And that's not even touching on my love life, the lack of which seems to be causing my kid a deal of concern. It's not for lack of trying. My job makes dating a little more complicated than it is for most folks and I realise that after 20 years of being in the same relationship, I don't have the game I once thought I did. I've been in a bit of a situationship with a lovely lady on and off for the past couple years and when I tried to shift it over into the relationship zone, I was soundly and correctly shut down.

"Sounds like a mistake to me, Ma'am," mutters Trent, chastising himself even as he does. He's being ridiculous. The man could be a serial killer for all he knows. She might have actually made an incredibly intelligent decision. He doesn't know and he shouldn't care.

Now, I have a crush on a guy that it would be way too complicated to date.

Bisexuality? Now that is a plot twist. And it's not doing anything to stop the surge of affection he feels for this random anonymous person.

Not between the two of us, mind. I think we'd get along like a house on fire. We do get on like a house on fire. But it would be a bit of a PR nightmare and I don't want to put our burgeoning friendship in the line of fire like that. For that reason, I've decided tamping down my romantical feelings so I can just focus on being his friend. I think it's something we both need.

That's pobably for the best, honestly. Trent has been witness to and involved in his own fair share of PR disasters throughout his career. It rarely ends well.

All that to say, as much as I'm working on getting better, I'm honestly still pretty lonely. It's not helped by being a fish out of water in a country that only just now seems to be warming to me. I guess if I could ask any advice from my own perspective, it would be: how do you start again and put yourself out there after 20 years of being so firmly off the market, you tried to believe the market didn't exist?

Sincerely,

Lonely in London.

Smidge and Bits immediately set about providing all the advice they can, but Trent isn't really paying attention anymore.

He feels for this man. He knows what it's like to be so lonely it aches. Even in his marriage, things had been so fraught that most nights he lay next to Shaun feeling like a shell. There was always something inside him reaching out for something life sustaining that he was fundamentally lacking – like lungs trapped underwater gasping for air.

And he knows firsthand how London exacerbates that feeling. People who'd sooner spit in your face than ask you how you're doing. Cold modern buildings that make you feel insignificant in comparison. Grimy old structures that remind you the city's history spans millennia and your story is barely a blip on the radar. The contrast of windows glowing gold at night against the icy blue of the streets, reminding you that there are people that don't feel the same crushing isolation.

And, sure, Anabelle is a lifeline against the crushing loneliness, but what is he supposed to do when she's an eight hour drive away? He can't even imagine being on a different continent to his child altogether.

This is how Lonely In London consumes his thoughts for hours. Trent finds himself scrubbing back in the episode to listen to the letter again, until he practically has it committed to memory, each time feeling a deeper connection to this complete stranger.

If this man is Lonely In London, he's Isolated in Islington, and he's never related to anyone more.

If you were being honest, a nasty voice says in his head at about the four hour mark, you would admit that the reason you feel like you fancy this guy is because he reminds you of Ted.

With that final unhelpful thought, Trent knows it's time to change the subject. He finds one of his old faithful football podcasts and decides he won't spend another second more thinking about Lonely In London or Ted Lasso, even when he's brought up in discussions about Richmond's chances this season.

It's almost two in the morning when he finally gets back to his flat. He's too tired to even change out of his clothes, instead collapsing face-first onto his bed and toeing off his shoes over the side. He's about to let himself slip off to sleep when he remembers he promised Ted he'd text him when he got home. Groggily, he picks up his phone and types a quick message.

Home safe. Smooth drive home. Thanks again for the concern. Sleep well.

It's barely a minute later when his phone buzzes. Did Ted wait up for him?

Glad to hear you're home in one piece. Sleep tight, Trent Crimm. 🌻

It's only the next morning that he fully notices the sunflower and decides that with Ted Lasso around, perhaps London is a little less lonely than it used to be.

Next Chapter

#tedependent #tedtrent #ted x trent #trent x ted #ted lasso #trent crimm #ted lasso fanfic

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imkazz · 1 year

Text

akaza’s backstory

heyo so i decided to do live notes on me reading this guys backstory. my mom says she literally cried when she read a year before me, and that its really sad so i wanted to keep my live reactions bcs this isnt my first time screaming at the plot twists in demon slayer. i start the live notes in the beginnings of chapter 154 and im also reading the manga in japanese so i might have mistranslated/misunderstood some things lol

SPOILERS BELOW THIS IS YOUR WARNING

initial thoughts on akaza: idk hes pretty fruity like the mugen train arc “oni ni nare, kyoujurou” in japanese was omg just. so fucking fruity. and he said the same freaking thing to giyuu omgs- also he hates douma and wants to kill kokushibo but idk what to really feel about him. anyways ive seen the little hints at the girl holding his hand and he tried to punch it, and his head grew back bc he said he had to get stronger???

live notes start here (just jot notes):

- damn she pulling out the existential crisis on akaza

- oh his dads sick boo hoo

- woah wait is he a pickpocket?

- oh my fucking wait is that why he looks like a basketball???

- holy shit is this where he becomes a basketball?

- like every time he gets caught stealing he gets a mark as punishment

- damn how many times did u get caught bruh

- welp idk how hed steal without his hands

- oof he just got called a demon child well hes a demon moon now

- oh wait my mom specified for me it means a kid who was born with teeth

- HOLY SHIT NAME DROP DUDE THATS A NICE NAME

- OMG HIS DAD KILLED HIMSELF JUST LIKE ZENITSUS TEACHER

- dude this suicide letter like ‘i cant take medicine bought by stolen money sorry for making myself a bother for you live a good life’

- oh hes mourning by hurting himself fighting people

- “even if it took 100 years for my dad to heal” and he kept half of that promise

- damn akazas backstory is just him getting beat up by everyone he meets

- and hes just like taking the beatings bc he wanted his dad to get medicine

- well fuck medicine for special diseases does cost a lot poor akaza

- and his dad just killed himself anyway

- still dont know who the girl is

- damn i wouldnt be able to stand getting whipped and bones broken for my parents

- huh he beat the living shit out of seven adults

- and he didnt get a scratch and hes also a kid

- who tf is that guy it seems akaza also has the same question

- oh is this guy who applauded akaza some sort of sensei i mean he has a dojo

- why does akazas personality sort of remind me of inosukes ‘fight me bitch’ type thing

- oh shit theyre gonna fight

- that wasnt so much of a fight than a man slapping a kid silly

- nother name drop keizou

- OOF AKAZAS FACE LOL

- oh akaza is gonna take care of a girl?

- HOLY SHIT ITS THAT GIRL I THINK WAIT HER NAME IS KOYUKI

- I SMELL BUDDING TEEN ROMANCE HERE JUST SAYING

- OMG ITS SO AWKWARD AND CUTE

- and akaza has someone to take care of again!

- aww cute moment between them

- also fireworks! yay! hes saying he can piggyback ride her there that so sweet

- oh shit shes crying

- oh thats so cute that their only purposes are to protect those they love

- omgs and akaza on his little training arc with keizou like how tanjirou did with urokodaki and both are taking care of a younger girl who is bedridden- the parallels

- holy shit three year time skip

- oh ok koyuki is better now

- OMG THEY DO LIKE EACH OTHER AAAAAAAAA THEYRE SO SWEET AND SHES SO NERVOUS AND HES SO NERVOUS

- OH HES GONNA SAY YES TO THE MARRIAGE PROPOSAL

- HES GONNA FOLLOW HIS DADS SUICIDE NOTE AND LIVE A GOOD LIFE

- HE EVEN VISITED THE GRAVE HELP

- WAIT SHIT NO HES A DEMON SOMETHING GOES WRONG

- NONONONONO WAIT SHIT I WAS ACTUALLY SORT OF STARTING TO LIKE THESE TWO

- OMG HES ADMITTING THAT THEYRE HIS TWO FAVOURITE PEOPLE

- wait whats this abt poison

- WAIT WHAT POISON

- THIS IS TURNING VERY FAST WHAT THE FUCK

- WHAT THEY WERE BOTH POISONED AND FUCKING DIED WHAT

- BECAUSE OF THE FREAKING DOJO WTFFFFFF

- I- I NEED TO THINK ABOUT THIS

- ok were back and ready to react

- wait what promise

- CALLBACK TO THE FIREWORKS

- ohh shes saying she wants to watch the fireworks with akaza next year and the year after too... oh shit she died.

- damn so both their parents killed themselves bc of their kids

- ohhh this is so sweet but sad knowing she just died

- AND HE PROMISED TO PROTECT HER BUT OH NOOOOOO

- OH SHIT HES KILLING THEM ALL WITH HIS BARE HANDS

- DAMN THATS BRUTAL AND TWISTED OF AKAZA

- BUT DAMN THIS IS HIS WAY OF MOURNING HOLY FUCK

- EVERY SINGLE STUDENT OF THE RIVAL DOJO?!?!?!?!!??!

- HOLY SHIT ITS MUZAN JACKSON

- DO THE MOONWALK PLS

- OH SHIT THIS IS WHEN MUZAN WAS THINKING ABOUT MAKING THE TWELVE KIZUKI

- OH SHIT AKAZA RLY SAID MOVE BITCH TO MUZAN

- HE PUNCHED AKAZA I REPEAT HE PUNCHED THROUGH AKAZAS SKULL

- i feel like this is sad because it wasnt even muzans fault that the two of them died it was just poison

- he even admits it out loud himself that his own story is sad help

- hes even completely ok with the fact he wont go to the same place as the three most important people in the world to him

- and giyuu is just standing there

- lmao tanjiro is just always yelling for demons to stop

- wait what tanjiro ur sword-???

- oh shit it slipped from his grip

- sorry i snorted at the fact that tanjiro decked akaza in the face instead

- i think im gonna stop there the backstory is over

- i feel horribly empty inside after finishing that chapter

- think i might just go cry

current thoughts on akaza: damn i understand why ppl are so sad about this, holy shit this is so sad like i have no words im probably gonna have to come back to this post tomorrow to give my thoughts after thinking about this all night

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tarabyte3 · 2 years

Text

I Want You to Show Me Weak

Fandom: Andor

Pairing: Kino Loy/F!Reader

Chapter 6/27 (2.5k words)

->start at chapter 1<-

<- Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 ->

Summary: You're pretty sure Kino Loy hates you. He screams at you, grabs you, and shoves you against the wall, and it's becoming a problem because, well...it shouldn't fluster you as much as it does.

Warnings: Explicit rating, Smut, Prison, Prison sex, minor non-graphic injuries, Dom/Sub, sexual tension, dirty talk, praise, hair-pulling, light choking, unprotected sex, oral, angst

A/N: This is, tragically, a smut free chapter. I promise 7 will make up for it. Kind of. 😇 Work title is from "Poison" by Vaults. Chapter title is from "The Chemicals Between Us" by Bush. Previous chapter links up above.

AO3 Link

Chapter 6 - And I Want You to Surrender

The next morning, you stand next to Threl in the cellblock hall as you're waiting for everyone to finish getting ready for your shift. At first you don't say anything. You just stand next to him, both of you content with the silence. Probably because he thinks you're still miserable and need the comfort. Because he's a bro like that.

"You were right," You finally admit quietly, staring straight ahead.

He looks down at you, wary, but curious. "Right about what?"

"He doesn't hate me." You try to keep your voice flat.

"Oh," he says, surprised.

"Yeah." You wait another moment until you can't contain it anymore, and then you smile up at him, wide and blinding.

He spins towards you with excited trepidation, suddenly far more curious. "What?! What happened??"

"He came to talk to me." You keep grinning, unable to stop yourself. He grabs your arms then, though very gently, and hunches forward to give the both of you some semblance of privacy.

"And?? Details, kid!" You swear he's about to shake you, like he can just rattle the words out of you.

"Well, he definitely doesn't hate me. Quite the opposite. But," your grin turns roguish, "I don't kiss and tell."

"I told you!" He shouts, but then he quickly lowers his voice and leans in farther, and tries again. "I told you he didn't! About goddamn time he listened!"

You narrow your eyes suspiciously at him. "Did you do this?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." He looks at you with false innocence.

"Yes, you fucking do." You point a finger into the center of his chest, your anxiety getting the better of you. "What did you say to him?"

He releases your arms and holds up his hand to placate you. "I didn't tell him how you feel, if that's what you're worried about. I left that your business." You immediately sag with relief. "I only said I didn't know what happened, but whatever it was, he fucked up big and he needs to fix it before Sorrek beats his ass." You snort out a laugh. "I'm not kidding." Threl looks serious. "He's been pissed. Jevid had to talk him down when he heard you crying."

"What? No! Poor Sorrek. I made sad dad even more upset?" You feel terrible all of a sudden.

"He's fine! Don't worry about him. He's tougher than he looks. He's just…protective, you know? And besides, I told Kino that he also owed it to you to make things right. I didn't understand how he could stand to watch you like that because I sure couldn't."

You don't want to say, 'because he thought I was playing the part. That I was behaving. He didn't realize I was genuinely miserable.' So instead you say, "I think he just assumed I was being sulky and dramatic, and can you really blame him?"

Threl sighs and shakes his head. "No, I guess I can't fully blame him. At least not for the first few days, but still. I'm glad it all worked out. Or…is working itself out." He winks at you and you're immediately back to grinning. "He actually asked me to distract Sorrek yesterday, so I was really hoping he got his head out of his ass."

"He what?" You blink in surprise. "Why?"

"Because he wanted to talk to you without Sorrek hovering and glaring at him. Makes it difficult to have a conversation, I imagine. And I guess he really wanted that alone time." He nudges you with his elbow. "And you know I'm going to need more details than 'he doesn't hate you,' come on!"

"There's really not that much to tell." You get a dreamy look on your face. "He told me how much he fancies me." Technically the truth. "I told him how much I fancy him." Understatement, but still the truth. "He apologized." Also true. "And then he kissed me." Overall, you're satisfied with the half truths of your answer because it's the only version you can tell. The technically true version.

"I can't imagine Kino being sweet."

"He's not sweet, per se, but he is…" Down the hall, Kino starts shouting for everyone to get lined up. "He's considerate." You move to get in line in front of Threl.

"Yeah," he says, straightening up, "That I can see."

Everyone else files into the line around you, and you do your best to settle down so you can get through the day with as few distractions as possible. Because you just know it's going to be a very long shift.

Everyone is standing around the table, staring at you in disbelief, as you hum a song you used to hear all the time on the holonet while you prep all of your tools. When you're finished, you smile at them and rub your hands together in excitement. "Who's ready to get to work?"

The only person that isn't shocked by the sudden swing in your mood is Threl, who had the benefit of knowing ahead of time. And Edii because, well, it's Edii. He's also busy prepping his workstation, as if your new found good mood isn't anything surprising or out of the ordinary.

"Nope. You got switched. Who are you? What is this?" Taybus takes a step back with a look of distrust.

"Yeah, hey, I also have to ask. Uh…what the fuck?" Alis gives you a critical look over, like he missed something.

"Are you okay?" Sorrek asks cautiously.

"Guys, I'm fine." You chuckle. "I'm better than fine! I'm just in a great mood today." You still can't stop smiling.

They continue staring and then Kino sweeps by the table with a glare and barks, "Get to work!"

"Yes, Kino! Sorry, Kino." You respond automatically while everyone else jumps. You look at Jevid expectantly. He doesn't look down at the panel, preferring to look at you in suspicion instead, but he hits a button and the first part raises in the middle. They all continue watching you to the sounds of the gears whirring.

When it clicks into place, next to you Edii says suddenly, "Kino visits her cell last night. I hear."

You feel like someone splashed ice water on your head. You turn and look at him in wide-eyed mortification. "You what?"

"I am above you," he responds, seemingly unbothered.

No one says anything at first, the combined shock of Edii contributing to the conversation and the implications of said contribution is too much to digest immediately.

Then hell breaks loose as everyone begins whispering loudly at you and to each other all at once.

"Are you fucking Kino?" Alis hisses.

"Saw that coming." Jevid grunts, now unconcerned, and excuse you?

"Did you know?" Alis turns on Threl.

"I'm gonna kill him." Sorrek growls.

Jevid puts a hand on his shoulder to stop him from stalking away from the table with a, "No you're not. Calm down. She's an adult."

"No way! Gross!" Taybus whines.

"She likes him." Edii shrugs, like he doesn't get what the fuss is about. You grin at him.

Finally Threl holds up a hand. "Okay, that's enough! We gotta work or we're gonna get our asses chewed and then fried later." He picks up some tools and hands one to Taybus. "And let's not bombard the poor woman, my god."

"Thank you, Threl," you say gratefully. Because this isn't how you imagined them all finding out. You hadn't prepared for this moment and you need a second to figure out how to handle it. But it's done now. God, you make a huge mental note to never assume Edii isn't paying close fucking attention to everything around him. Maybe you'll even have to move to Kino's cell. Though yours being at the end of the hallway is a hell of a lot more private, even with Edii above you…

You all settle in to work, and you're happy to have something to focus on while your mind wanders, both to your predicament and to Kino. But you can still feel everyone glancing up at you every few minutes.

"Okay, fine, ask your questions," you sigh and continue to work on preparing the joint on the second piece as you talk. "One at a time starting on my left, and I reserve the right to decline an answer."

"Did you get some?" Alis doesn't look up from helping you on the other side of the joint.

"Nope, next question."

Sorrek pales. "You're good now? Are you happy?"

"That's two questions, but I'll let it slide. Yes and yes." He gives you a relieved nod.

Jevid grunts. "You done moping?"

"I also reserve the right to mope whenever necessary because I am a complex human being with feelings. But for now, yes. Next question."

Threl pauses what he's doing to think for a moment before returning his attention to his work. "I just know you want to gush about him. It's gotta be killing you. So…what's he like?"

You immediately blush as that one catches you off guard, and you don't know how to answer him.

"He's…passionate. Intense, but," you shift awkwardly, "gentle." Your hands get back to work as you consider everything Kino Loy is. You know Sorrek has turned a shade of red further down the table, but he has to get used to it at some point because it's happening. And will continue to fucking happen. "I mean, he's Kino," you say, as if that explains so much, and honestly, it probably does. You wait a beat and then add, "Plus he's so fucking sexy."

Sorrek drops his drill onto the table and fumbles with it while Taybus pretends to gag. Jevid just looks across the room at where you imagine Kino is likely glowering, as if he's trying to see it himself, but he just grunts and looks back at his panel. Alis gives you a light punch on the shoulder with a, "Hell yeah!"

Threl laughs. "I'm happy for you, kid. Really."

"It's my question now," Taybus interrupts before you can respond. "Can we never talk about this again because it's fucking gross? I don't want to think about you and Kino, ugh."

"Bet you're glad you stopped spying on me, huh?" You raise an eyebrow at him in challenge.

He blanches. "You knew?"

"You're like six foot four, are you even serious? So if you saw something that would have traumatized you, it would have served you right!" You point an accusatory finger at him.

"Okay, fine. Point taken and I retract my request. Karma is real because I had this coming and this is my punishment. Please, continue talking about how hot he is. Maybe we can see who throws up first, me or Sorrek."

"No, because it's Edii's turn to ask a question."

Next to you, Edii looks up from his task and stares. "You would like me to go from my cell when Kino visits?"

"Oh, no, Edii! Absolutely not. I won't kick you out of your own cell. We can…keep it down." Your face burns with embarrassment.

"Edii, you can come hang out with us if you want," Alis offers, "waay the fuck down the hallway."

"It does not bother me," Edii shrugs. "You are happy. That is beautiful. But also, I would like hanging out."

You feel an overwhelming swell of affection and joy listening to Edii talk because he's talking. You're having a conversation! That's huge! But there's also sadness there because…how often had you all excluded him because you thought he wouldn't be interested in chatting or telling jokes? Just because he's quiet. And how often had he wanted to join in? But he didn't ask because maybe he thought you guys didn't want him there? Or maybe he didn't know how. You have the sudden urge to hug him tightly, to apologize and promise it will never happen again. But you aren't sure he would appreciate it. Yet. Instead you reach out and pat him on the shoulder, the same way you do to Alis at least once a shift. He smiles back at you.

You glance over to see Threl giving you a knowing look and you realize he's going through the same range of emotions about this moment.

"Hell yeah, man! We can grab you when we see Kino come sniffing around." Alis grins.

"So does that mean he's not going to yell at you anymore?" Taybus speaks up, finally having thought of a real question.

"I mean, I am still me," you laugh. "I think that's inevitable. He kind of has to if I open my mouth. And it's my own damn fault every time I do, let's be honest." There are mumbles of agreement around the table and you try not to get offended by them. Because that's fair. "But now we have an…understanding." You blush, thinking about what sort of punishment he might come up with when you eventually do.

"Nope, regret having asked that." Taybus shakes his head.

"What! I just mean now I know he isn't doing it because he hates me. Get your mind out of the gutter." Then you wink at Alis, who stifles a laugh.

"I guess, now that I've thought about it, it makes sense." Alis sets the cap over the joint and quickly sets to work tightening it. "A few of those times he was pissed at you, it looked like the two of you were about to jump each other's bones right in front of everyone. Real intense shit."

"Yep," Jevid agrees as he sets up the center drill.

"Alright, what the fuck. Did everyone notice he doesn't actually hate me except me?"

"I thought he hated you." Taybus responds as he braces against the drill handle. You all pause the conversation to get the center bolt tightened.

"I never once thought he hated you," Threl says when the drill stops.

"Like you say, you deserve it." Edii nods. And okay, again, fair.

"I just thought he was an asshole," Sorrek adds.

"Woah, let's not say things we can't take back." You pretend to act offended. "Because he IS an asshole."

Everyone at the table laughs as you all grab the heavy, finished part and lift. It takes you a minute to walk it over, but you get it set on the rack and slide it to the back. One down, way too many to go.

"So! Who wants to try for first place today?" You all glance around at each other, the excitement from second place the day before settling back over the group. Alis moves to scramble to the table first and the rest of you lag after him. The remainder of the day goes by in a flurry as you all work as quickly as you can, only stopping to speed walk to the hallway for bathroom break.

You notice Kino walk by your table several times, and he gives you a pleased, heated look.

You're behaving.

NEXT CHAPTER->

#andor fanfic #andor #kino loy #kino loy x reader #kino loy x f!reader #i want you to show me weak fic #fanfiction

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