#I’m being forced to keep a journal of everything I eat cause I’ve lost so much | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mickeymouse-moshpit · 4 years ago

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street lights, people

A/N: Hi, hello, greetings, happy Monday! Woo lord I did it. February was hell on earth from a schedule perspective, and the people I worked with completely drained my creativity. Thankfully, I’m now on a service that is incredible and the creative thoughts are BACK BABY! That said, thank you to all you kind people who stick with me when I can’t keep up. And please enjoy this (spicy) chapter!

Warnings: SMUT (fingering, grinding, descriptions of masturbating with a vulva/vagina, service top!Fennec has arrived, dirty talk, a dash of like light loving degradation if you squint?? probably not considered this), vague descriptions of a meal, I have no excuse for this, peds!Reader is just really tired okay

Rating: Explicit, 18+ ONLY

Word count: 3.1K

February 3rd

Dinner at my place?

You pressed send on the text, hoping your offering would be accepted. You wanted her company and to share food with someone so some of the fresh prep wouldn’t go to waste. You really needed to learn the art of making halved recipes actually produce half of what they usually did.

Something wrong? -fs

No, just wanna share food

...and see you

Time? -fs

You checked your watch. 4:30. 11.5 hours until you had to be awake again.

Can you do 6?

Course. -fs

You slipped your phone back into your coat pocket and went on with your afternoon. Only thing left was to check in with the night team and drop your white coat off in your office. You just wanted to be home.

***

Fennec perched on the counter. She wasn’t sure that she had seen you so focused since that night in the bookstore. But this was different in a way. Then, you had floated through the shelves, letting your hands have their own mind. Now, you were the picture of intensity. You had welcomed her into your home with a quick kiss and a squeeze of her hand, but you hadn’t said much as you led her into the kitchen and gestured at the island to a place that was empty, but had a glass sitting next to it. She took the hint, hopping up and watching as you went back into a flow state.

Every once in a while she would want to make a comment, but every time your hands started moving at a speed she didn’t think was possible for a human to achieve. She wondered how you had learned to cook like this, what prompted you to learn to cook like this, with a million spices and minced vegetables, in bulk. How did you have time to do this?

She got lost watching you, almost slipping into her own meditative state, but was pulled out by your touch. It was brief, if she had been doing anything but watching your hands she would have missed it. As you passed by her on the way to the pantry, her hand brushed over her forearm as though it had its own brain. She searched your face for any sign that you knew what happened, but all she saw was focus. And the dark circles around your eyes.

That was new.

But she didn’t bring it up, not yet. Not when you brushed her knee as you took the plates from the cabinet to the small breakfast nook you had created in the kitchen by the window. And not when you did it again bringing the pan of goodness to the table too.

“Come on, let’s eat.”

Your voice was quiet as you appeared in front of her, holding out your hand to her as she slid off the counter. She let you lead her to her seat, glass in hand. She couldn’t believe the volume in the pan, wondering how you would ever finish it.

“That looks amazing, but I think you would be more suited cooking for a little league team, not me.”

“Oh no, I’m sending leftovers with you. And some are going in my fridge. Others are going in my freezer for a rainy day.” You let out a little huff of laughter as you served the meal and sat down in your usual spot.

“Oh good,” she said simply, wondering when the right time to bring up the elephant in the room that was apparently obvious to only her. You looked content for the most part. You glanced at her every once in a while between bites and sips of water, eyes full of what she couldn’t describe, but surrounded by those damn dark circles.

“So I have to ask. Are you sleeping?”

You stopped what you were doing, wrinkled your brow.

“Uh, what do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean. Your eyes look like you’ve been punched and you’re in this state I haven’t seen before. Whether you’re in some kind of flow state or it’s one step away from being a brain eating zombie I’m not sure.”

She really hoped she hadn’t just upset you beyond repair.

“Can’t sleep,” you whispered, using the volume that made people question if it was you or their conscience speaking.

It was Fennec’s turn to look confused.

“I can’t sleep,” you tried again, “I’m so tired all the time but when it comes time to go to sleep my brain just won’t shut up. I’ve tried everything over the last week since it started. I’ve exercised, that makes it worse. I’ve tried chamomile tea, it just makes me sleepier and causes me to almost cry because I’m so tired and want to sleep but I just can’t. I’ve tried masturbating, but the whole brain-running-in-circles-thing just stops any progress from being made. I’ve tried going to bed early, going to bed later, reading on the couch, reading in the library, reading on the floor, reading medical journals in the bed,” you took a breath finally, “Nothing helps. I eventually go to sleep but then I wake up and it’s like I didn’t get any rest at all.”

You went back to the last few bites on your plate, looking to all the world like you might actually fall asleep. She watched you while she finished as well.

“Okay, Doc. Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to go find whatever book you’re loving the most right now, you’re going to go sit on that couch, and you’re going to read it while I clean up.”

“But--”

“No buts. Go. Chop chop.” She waved a hand at you as she stood up and grabbed the plates off the table to take back to the sink.

“But you don’t--”

“I’ll figure it out. Go. Now.”

You just nodded, not sure why she was so upset with you. You went into the library to grab the book you were actually enjoying in the midst of your exhaustion. You took it back to the living room, perched on the couch. You let yourself sit back for a moment and take in what was happening around you. Your favorite thing was the sound of Fennec in your kitchen. The clink of the dishes, the sound of the water running occasionally. You wanted her to come sit with you but you just listened and eventually let yourself read. The pages started to turn, you fell into the story. You came to the end of the chapter as you felt her presence in front of the couch.

“Feeling better?”

You nodded simply, tucking your feet under you and gesturing for her to sit by you.

“Listening to you in there helped the most,” you said quietly.

“Yeah?” She sat down facing you.

You just nodded, distracted by the way she was watching you and the way her hands rested on her legs. You wanted to reach out and touch them.

Your hands, of course, were moving before you had finished the thought. Your fingers skimmed over the backs of her hands and you shifted to sit on your knees to get closer to her. Your hands continued their journey up to her shoulders as hers cradled your face. You let yourself have a quick inhale as her thumb caressed your cheek and started tracking toward your mouth. As it moved over your lips, you placed a kiss to the pad of the digit. You were focused on her face, saw the way her eyebrow quirked as she pressed down on your bottom lip every so slightly.

You let her.

And you let your tongue slip out for a kitten lick that didn’t surprise her, just made her press further into your mouth. When the first knuckle was at your lips, you let your teeth rest on it while your tongue swirled around her thumb.

Before you could get carried away, she replaced it with her own lips, letting you explore her mouth and rest your arms over the tops of her shoulders. She coaxed you to move to kneel over her lap, letting her arms wrap around your waist while one hand pressed into the middle of your back and the other grabbed the back of your neck. She pressed you closer to her and you groaned against her lips (and against your will) when the movement caused you to grind down against her. Her mouth trailed kisses across your jaw, not breaking contact with your skin until she could whisper against the shell of your ear,

“Do it again, sweet one.”

You moved with hesitancy, just letting yourself brush over the apex of her thighs, testing out the way the seams of your pants felt. She grabbed your hips, giving you more stability. Sensing your reluctance, she encouraged you ,

“That’s it. Keep going, harder if you want to.”

As you experimented with the angles, you found just the right one, started rutting against her with more force. She kissed at your neck and your head fell to the side and your mouth fell open with a soft moan. She mouthed at the place where your neck and shoulder met, but didn’t leave a single mark. She pulled back a few centimeters, your hips stilled.

“What time do you have to be up tomorrow?”

Not what you were expecting.

“4am, same as it’s been for the last couple weeks.”

She faced you, held your gaze, took in your rumpled hair and the slight sheen across your forehead, your lips parted just so as you tried to catch your breath.

“I want you to sleep. Will you let me help you with that?”

You nodded.

“Alright, sweet one. Stand up for me.”

When you were on your feet facing her, she tapped at your hip.

“Go lay on your bed, take these off.”

You heard her doing something as you padded into your bedroom, clicked on the soft lights that you liked when you were intimate. You decided you should probably brush your teeth so you could pass out at some point. You pulled the pants and underwear off, considered removing your sweatshirt. When the slight chill of the room hit your legs, you decided against it but did remove your bra. You turned on the radiator before you went to finish following her instructions. You weren’t quite sure how you should lay, so went for comfort. You leaned against the pillows at the head of the bed, propped up so you could see her come in, and pulled a throw blanket over your legs while the room warmed up.

When she came in, she had taken off her own sweater and pants, leaving her in a tank top and her underwear. She climbed up in front of you just out of reach.

“I have an idea, sweet one. You said you get too far into your own head when you try to touch yourself at night. How about, you tell me how you would usually do it, and I’ll do it for you. You’ll have to stay focused on what we’re doing, and that should shut that pretty mind up long enough for you to come and go to sleep.”

“But…” you trailed off.

“But what?”

“But what if I want to feel your mouth on me?”

“I know how much you like that, but not tonight. Tonight you need to sleep. Tonight I want to know how you make yourself feel good.”

“I understand.”

“Good, now sit up for just a second.”

As you did, she moved to sit behind you so that you were between her legs and she had you lean back against her.

“Go ahead.”

“Um, first I would see if I could play with my nipples through my sweatshirt, see if I could feel my thumbs through whatever shirt I was wearing.” You took a steadying breath as you felt her hands cup you through the sweatshirt. “I’d use my thumbs to test it out.”

Her thumbs brushed over where your nipples stood out, hard still even though you were warm. Not satisfying.

“If I couldn’t feel it, I would slip my hands up under it and play with them directly, just enjoy the sensation.”

She got the hint and you both let out a heavy breath when she rolled the hard buds between her fingers.

“How long would you do it for?” she whispered behind you.

“It depends on the day, usually just until I’m squeezing my legs together and a little desperate to touch myself.”

“Mm, I bet. How are you feeling now?” She pressed wet kisses up and down your neck, wishing she could mark you as hers again but not certain if your turtlenecks were clean. Another time.

“I--I’m a little desperate for you to put your hands on me.” You squirmed in her grasp and she hooked her knees under yours, holding you still.

“Yeah? Tell me what you would do next, sweet one.”

“I would sort of, I guess cup myself is the right word? Put some pressure on my mound, tease my inner thighs with my other hand, start to stroke my outer lips.”

As you spoke, her hands found their way under the blanket, doing exactly as you told her. You would say it felt like when you did it, but that would be a lie.

“You’re so methodical. Am I doing it right?”

“Feels diff--” your breath caught as her fingers found your clit, skimming over it but making your hips jump nonetheless, “Feels different but so good, want to try and make myself feel like this next time I’m by myself.”

That got you a nip to where your neck met your shoulder.

“Keep talking, sweet one. You stop talking, I stop touching you. What do you do next?”

You nodded quickly, adjusting so sitting spread out for her was easier on your hips.

“I would let my fingers tease my labia open, seeing if I was wet enough to keep going, adding a little lube if I wasn’t.”

“I say you’re wet enough, you’re dripping. What’s got you so excited?”

“Mmp, it’s you, you holding me, touching me, feel like I’m on fire,” you managed to get out between the noises she was pulling out of you.

“On fire, huh? Think you’re warm enough to uncover a little? Want to see you.”

You didn’t say anything, just pushed the blanket far enough back that you both could see in your lap.

“I would start to rub at my clit some, just figuring out what feels good today. Other hand would just kind of drift over my skin, pads of the fingers lightly brushing over it. If I really got into it would play with my nipples more.”

You were pretty sure you were going to need a day or two to process just how well she could follow what you were asking for. You knew they were her hands, knew the difference in sensation that was another person touching you, but it still amazed you.

“Let me guess, this is where that pretty little brain of yours would start to drift.”

Under her touch, you were starting to pant, couldn’t do anything more than nod.

“I’m going to do things my way now, little one. But you have to let me know what’s feeling good and what’s not. I need to hear every beautiful sound that comes out of that mouth, I need to feel how you move against my touch. Can you do that for me?”

“Yeah, ‘course I can.”

“Good. Would you like me to tell you what I think about at night?”

“Yes, Fen, please,” your voice became more high pitched as she slipped a finger inside of you, caught your clit under her thumb, tweaked one of your nipples.

“I think about that night when you first let me touch you. How you squeezed me with your legs while I ate this perfect pussy of yours,” she slipped a second finger in, crooked them ever so slightly, not quite trying to find your G-spot just yet, “You tasted so good, loved the way you got so messy when you came.”

Her other hand came back to give your clit some attention.

“A little to the right, please, down just some, ooohmygod right there.”

Your hips had a mind of their own, twitching up against her, chasing that delicious friction, needy whines starting to spill out of your mind.

“I also think about the next morning, you had already had a whole morning before I woke up. When I found you in the kitchen cooking breakfast you had just showered, your hair on top of your head, that black silk robe moving with you,” she went in search of your G-spot now, stroking the spongy area with her two fingers, gave some more pressure to your clit that was positively aching.

“Please don’t stop, please!”

“I’m not going to, baby, wouldn’t dream of it.”

“T-tell me more about that time, one of my favorite memories.”

“Anything you want. I know it was so sweet, you just talking about your morning, making your second cup of coffee. I heard all you said, but all I wanted was to take you back into the library and spread you out on that couch again. I wanted to find all the different ways to make you come apart, wanted to learn more about you like I am now.”

“Want to do the same, want to do it n--” your orgasm cut you off. Tiny little whimpers and a refrain of, “Fenfenfenfenfenfen.”

“That’s it baby, so perfect for me.”

“For you,” you whispered as you came down, her fingers leaving you before you ended up overstimulated. You caught one of her hands, bringing it up to clean yourself off of her.

After you had given the other hand the same treatment, the two of you moved in sync, you curling into her side, your favorite place to be these days.

“Hey,” she whispered as she pet your hair, rubbed your back. “I wasn’t mad at you earlier.”

You looked up at her, curiosity etched on your face.

“I was mad at the way they’re treating you. You do everything for that place, and they take your help away from you, leave you working so hard, not leaving you any time to take care of yourself.”

“It’s really o--”

“No. It’s not. I just wanted you to have some time for yourself, to get you feeling like you again, get you to be able to sleep tonight.”

“I’ll sleep better if you stay,” you hoped the smile on your face and light tone would convince her.

“How did I know you were going to say that? Okay, I’ll stay, but only if you go take a shower and promise to try and be asleep before I’m out of mine.”

“I can handle that.”

You were true to your word. You were mostly asleep when she slipped under the covers beside you, just settling down more and tucking yourself against her.

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

Tagging: @promiscuoussatan @phoenixhalliwell @ifimayhaveaword @maybege

#street lights people #biker!Fennec #biker AU #Fennec Shand x reader #wlw #star wars fanfiction #sw fanfic #Star Wars fan fiction #the mandalorian fan fiction #the mandalorian fanfic #Fennec Shand fanfiction

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ecto-american · 5 years ago

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If Found Please Return to Danny Phantom

Phic Phight Oneshot for @imperfection-at-itsfinest: When Jack manages to get his hands on Danny Phantom's ghost hunting logbook, an investigation reveals some information about ghosts and the infamous specter himself that a scientific study would never cover.

Read on FFN and AO3

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It would be wrong of him to read it.

Jack kept staring at the book in his hands. It resembled a diary, the front design being colorless but a pressed design. The moon with stars, with no words, and the diary itself felt unusually thin. There was no lock, as if it was almost inviting him to just read it. Jack had, in fact, already opened to the first page, and the first words greeted him. In a standard font read: If Found, Please Return to: and the name scrawled, in surprisingly tidy handwriting, was the name Danny Phantom.

What an absolute find. It was pure dumb luck. He had seen Phantom drop it, but Jack had went looking for it in hopes that the ghost teen had dropped one of the stolen Fenton gadgets. Only to recover...this book that he had taken home and into the privacy of his lab for study.

The idea of Phantom keeping a diary was kinda funny. He never struck Jack as the type to write down his deepest darkest secrets or teenage embarrassments in a book. That would imply that the ghost had some kind of emotions. They didn’t. They were blobs of ectoplasmic energy.

So it should be okay for him to read, right? Why was he so hesitant? Well...it was an invasion of privacy. But it was fine. Phantom dropped it in the park. Phantom was a menace to society. There was likely evidence in this journal that could explain all of the ghost boy’s terrible deeds, that could prove that he truly was evil. This diary could change everything.

...Jack had children though, and he knew both were avidly creative. Scrapbooking, drawing, painting, writing. They were stress outlets for his girls, and he wouldn’t ever dare dream of invading their privacy like that. So he couldn’t. He shouldn’t. Phantom deserved privacy, right?

“Jack? Are you coming to dinner?” Maddie’s voice snapped him from his thought process. She hadn’t made a noise as she came down the stairs. But Maddie was a much better stealth hunter than him.

“Yes, yes! Sorry, I was distracted,” Jack apologized. He set the book down on the table. Maddie rose an eyebrow at him.

“Did you get a new ectobiology book?” she asked. His eyes glanced to the book, and he shook his head no. Maddie came over to him, studying the book cover. Of course, it didn’t resemble any of the scientific texts that they owned.

“I don’t know how to explain it…” Jack said slowly. He held it out to her. Maddie accepted it.

“This looks like it belongs to the kids,” she stated. She opened the first page, and Jack saw her eyes widen. Her breath hitched, and she looked up to him “Jack...where did you...get this?”

“He dropped it during a fight,” he replied. “I thought it was Fenton tech, but…”

Her eyes sparkled, and she shut the book. A wide grin had appeared, and she threw her arms around her husband.

“Oh Jack! This could teach us so much! If this really is a journal or some kind of diary, then he may have recorded motivations! Thoughts! We can really get into how Phantom thinks and a raw, honest, firsthand account from Phantom himself! This changes everything!”

She was right. She was absolutely right, and he hugged her back. They were scientists first and foremost, and this journal could fill in so many missing blanks about ghosts. It was a starting off point. Jack’s mind raced with all the things they could possibly learn. Just from a simple peek of the book. That was worth more than the invasion of privacy of a ghost that caused so much havoc, destruction and pain.

“We should look at it right now!” he exclaimed. Maddie pulled away with a small frown.

“After dinner,” she reminded him. “I finally got everybody corralled upstairs for a family dinner. It’s nearly impossible to get either of the girls at the same time.”

“Oh, right!” Jack nearly slapped his forehead. Yes, they were scientists first and foremost, but before even that, they were Mom and Dad. “First thing after dinner.”

“First thing after dinner,” she agreed with a smile.

Upstairs, he saw that Jazz was already serving herself. Chicken, mashed potatoes and peas. His youngest was pouring iced tea into glasses for everybody.

“Hey Ghost-kateers!” Jack greeted cheerfully with a grin. Both kids groaned in embarrassment. Perfect.

“Daaad!” his youngest complained, a whine hitching as she put the pitcher of ice tea back. “I told you, if I’m going to be some kind of ye olde soldier type, I wanna be a knight, like at the renaissance fair.”

“Ah, but if you’re a ghost-kateer, you can get an anti-ghost musket!” Jack teased. As he walked past her to get his own food, he playfully ruffled her pixie-cut hair. She waved his hand away.

“But as a ghost knight, I can get a cool sword!” she protested. Jack shook his head in fake disappointment.

“Never bring to a ghost sword to a ghost musket fight, baby boo,” her dad replied.

“Can’t shoot what you can’t see!” she shot back with a grin. Jack had to hand it to her, and he just chuckled.

“Can we please have a ghost free dinner?” Jazz scowled.

“Yes, yes, let’s save ghosts for after dinner,” Maddie agreed. Jazz shot her a grateful look, and Jack focused on getting his serving of dinner from the stove. His youngest pushed her sleeves up, exhaling. Jack stole a look at her and frowned. She had some sweat collected on her forehead.

“Honey if you're hot, you can just take your sweatshirt off,” he told her. She shook her head no.

“No, I'm fine,” she insisted. Jack was skeptical.

“You sure?” he asked.

“Mhm!”

Jack shrugged a bit. She was always insisting on wearing a hoodie, no matter the weather. If she got hot enough, she’d take it off. No need to force it. He got his food and took his seat.

“How's school going?” Maddie questioned. Jazz lit up a bit, and her sister flinched. She raised a suspicious eyebrow at her youngest.

“I managed to get a B on my chemistry test,” the youngest spoke up with a forced smile.

“That’s excellent!” Maddie’s demeanor shifted as she smiled warmly. “Keep it up!”

“Yeah!” The youngest seemed to visibly relax. “Sam’s been helping me study.”

“That’s good, I always studied better when V-man or your mom helped me,” Jack nodded at her as he cut up his chicken.

“Oh it’s true, I used to help your father study for all of our shared classes,” Maddie confirmed. “Otherwise he’d get so distracted.”

“Yeah, Sam just explains it super well,” their daughter agreed. “Tucker’s been going over math with me a bit, which helps some.”

“Well if you need a tutor, just let us know, and we’ll help you arrange one,” Maddie smiled. “What about you, Jazz?”

“Pretty good,” she replied. “Mr. Lancer asked if I wanted to be his TA this summer, which I really do. It’ll look good on a college application, and I might even get paid!”

“Have you been narrowing down where you might wanna go?” Jack asked. Jazz eagerly nodded.

“Yeah! Oxford is my number one choice, but I also would love to go to Yale or Stanford. I’ve been talking with the college counselor about what else might look good on an application for them that I can do over the summer. I wrote them down in my planner notebook earlier-”

“Hey, that kinda reminds me,” her sister interrupted. “Have you guys seen one of my notebooks? I think I lost it,” she asked them. Jack stared at her. The reminder of the notebook he actually had found. Maddie seemed unbothered by the question. This wasn’t unusual, for the parents to have to play “where’s my stuff?” with the kids.

“What notebook?” Jazz asked hesitantly.

“My important one,” came the reply. Jazz frowned lightly.

“Sorry, princess, haven’t seen any notebooks laying around,” Jack replied. He saw the briefest of a cringe cross his youngest’s features. “Did you leave it at school?” Her shoulders slumped.

“I don’t think so?” she said hesitantly. “I’ll have to check tomorrow. I was so sure I had it earlier…” Her voice trailed off before she forced a smile. “If you see it, let me know!” She picked up a forkful of chicken, only to freeze. The clattering made Jack glance up curiously as she was turning her attention to Maddie. “Can I be excused? I have some homework to get done.”

Maddie let out a soft sigh. So much for family dinner.

“Of course, just make sure you come back down before you go to bed to get your chores done,” Maddie nodded at her. The young Fenton snapped to her feet with a thanks, fully abandoning her dinner as she went to the stairs. Jazz stared after her sister, craning her neck to track her movements before hurriedly shoveling more mashed potatoes in her mouth.

“Uh, I’m not that hungry, and I totally forgot to do this online assignment,” Jazz spoke, standing up, taking hers and her sister’s plate. She was already walking away before either parent could truly give permission. “I’ll put our plates up and clean up in a bit!”

“A-alright?” Jack hesitated, watching his other child put the plates on the counter before rushing up as well. Another child down. They seemed to grow up so fast.

“Least they’re doing homework,” Maddie sighed lightly, shaking her head before taking a drink of her tea. “Oh well. Might as well take their lead and eat in the lab?”

“Please,” Jack agreed. He stood up, taking his plate. “I’m dying to see what Phantom has to say.”

January 10

Skulker: 1; captured

Ectopuss: 1; captured

Box Ghost: 8; captured

Ember: Fought; got away

Fenton Thermos: half-full

Fenton Fisher: untangled

January 11

Vultures: 1; got away

Cujo: 1; played fetch and he went back to the GZ

Fenton Thermos: Full

Ghost Bazooka: overheated and doesn’t shoot anymore, take apart and fix it

January 12

Skulker: 2; got away

Box Ghost: 3; captured

Sidney: 2; got away

Fenton Fisher: tangled, untangle asap

January 13

Skulker: 1; captured

Box Ghost: 4; got away

Fenton Thermos: damaged, won’t suck up ghosts

I met a new ghost today named Desiree. She got away, but it allowed me to discover a new ghost power. Ghost ray.

Maddie furrowed her brow as she studied the words. She stood at the table, her dinner half-forgotten as she thought on the words.

“It sounds like a record,” Jack mused, and he ate another spoonful of peas. Maddie nodded in agreement.

“I think we found Phantom’s logbook,” she agreed. “I’m assuming these are the ghosts he’s fought. And he seems to be recording his powers too. This is huge, we can match up what we know about his powers and what he’s claiming.”

“And he’s recording the status of our equipment.” Jack frowned. “Why would he care?”

“Yeah, he made note that he was going to fix the Fenton Bazooka too,” Maddie pointed out. The scientist flipped through the pages, only to stop at a page, staring curiously. Maddie laid the journal on the table, pressing the spine so that the pages stayed open. She read the page aloud to Jack.

December 19

I hate my life. I hate this existence. I look in the mirror and wonder why it has to be this way. Why am I the one cursed to be this freak? Why is everything about me and my body wrong? For once, I wish something about me was normal, that somebody about me could be right. If Desiree wasn’t such an unreliable asshole with wishes, I’d give everything I have to wish that life could, for once, allow me to be a normal teenage boy.

Jack listened to her in a stumped silence. This couldn’t have been a pre-death thought process of a moody teenager. It was written too recently, and the words hit a sorrowful chord to him. He didn’t intend to, but he quickly began to feel sorry for Phantom. He was very young. It couldn’t have been easy to lose everything at that age. His daughter was his age. Jack cleared his throat.

“It’s not just a log then?” Jack questioned. Maddie shook her head, flipping the pages back.

“No, I think it’s a mix. There’s still records of ghosts and FentonWorks equipment,” she replied. Using a leg, she pulled a wheeled chair to her to sit in. She leaned back, and she pulled the journal to her. After a moment of flipping through and scanning pages, she settled on a page about a third of the way through. “It seems like this is when he began to record things other than just ghosts.”

“What’s it say?” Jack wondered. Maddie read aloud the next few entries as Jack silently continued to eat.

April 4

I only fought this shitty panther today, and he still got away. I’m such a fucking idiot. I can’t believe he got away. I was too slow. All I do is fuck up. There’s ghostly activity happening around the school, and I just can’t figure it out. I feel like I can’t stop them anymore. I don’t know what’s going on, why I suddenly suck so much. I honestly probably just always sucked, and now it’s starting to hit me. [scribbles] and [scribbles] were trying to make me feel better, but I fucked up. It was only one ghost today, and I couldn’t catch them. It destroyed an entire store, and it’s my fault.

April 8

No ghosts today, surprisingly. But [scribbles] has been acting weird lately. The other day she poked and prodded me at dinner. No clue what that’s about. She also tried to give me this speech that I can talk to her about anything, and that she’d love me no matter what. That makes me think she found my binder. I’m honestly kinda freaking out. I knew I shouldn’t have left it out like that. She’s such a nosy know it all.

“Phantom must keep more records than just this,” Maddie lightly mused. “He has an entire binder full of information that somebody discovered.”

“Maybe on other ghosts?” Jack theorized. “He’s recording his fights, he must be also recording information about them.” Maddie’s eyes lit up.

“That makes so much sense,” she agreed. “He probably keeps so many kinds of things written down and logged. I wonder where he’s keeping it? Obviously paper, which is a bit odd. I figured a teenager would move to the digital age…” Maddie paused.

“Maybe he’s older than we think he is?” Jack suggested. “He could have died fifty years ago, and just be more comfortable with writing things down.”

“Oh, that’s true,” Maddie mused. She put down the notebook to take a long sip of her drink. Jack picked it up to observe the page she read.

“Phantom has neat handwriting,” he noted. “He’s not fighting ghosts when he writes these.” Jack’s eyes scanned the words. “...I wonder who he’s scribbled out.”

“Allies?” Maddie shrugged. “He probably went back and blacked out some of the names. Privacy. Especially if this isn’t the first time he’s lost this.”

It made the most logical sense. Jack skipped the purely log entries to one that had more written, and he read it aloud to his wife.

April 10

She was feeding on us. Spectra, the Casper High “psychologist” was feeding on emotions, like some kind of emotional vampire but she’s a ghost. It’s so scary. I saw her do it. She asked [scribbles] and [scribbles] about their lives. What made them unhappy, and why. And when they left, I saw her absorb? I guess how I’d describe it? She absorbed the energy into her skin and it just seemed to instantly revive her, and it made her happy. When she did it to me, I could just look in her eyes and know that she enjoyed every minute of my misery. I managed to stop her, with [scribbles] helping me. It was weird. She didn’t seem afraid of me. I don’t know why.

Spectra: 2; captured

“Ghosts can feed off of energy!” Maddie exclaimed. “Human energy! We always suspected it, but this is confirming something!” Jack glanced up at her excitedly. It was the first real, true ghostly discovery that Phantom was revealing to them.

April 13

All I do is fuck up lately. Because of me, this ghost dog just absolutely has been causing havoc on this girl’s life. She blames me. And I don’t blame her. I ruined her entire life. She lost her house because of me. I didn’t mean to. I tried to stop the dog, but he just won’t respond to anything I say. I can’t capture him. I’ve been trying. I’ve been just calling the dog Cujo. After the Stephen King book, because damn is this dog giving me one fucking nightmare of a time.

Cujo: 3, got away

April 16

[scribbles] kissed me. It was to force me to change back, and it worked, but she kissed me. It was great. She smelled like lavender. I don’t think my heart’s ever beaten so fast. Afterwards she clarified to me that it was just a fake-out make-out. It didn’t feel like it. I don’t want it to be. But she’s my best friend, and I can’t lose her. So I agreed, and when I came home I cried. My dad caught me, and I pretended it was just girl problems, even though that excuse made me feel even worse. He got me some ice cream, and we watched Star Trek together. It didn’t really help that much, if I’m being honest.

Anyway, apparently Cujo’s trained. He knows his commands. [scribbles] thinks it’s because he was a guard dog when he was alive for Axion Labs. For a guard dog, he’s such a playful puppy though, he loves his squeaky toy. And [scribbles] became a hunter specifically to kick my ass. It’s my lucky month. But I deserve it. Will there ever be a day where I actually can do more good than bad?

Skulker: 1; captured

[Scribbles]: 1 Red Huntress

Cujo: 1, got away

“Phantom has a family?” Maddie wondered. She chewed on her food as she thought. Jack shrugged, an odd, unsettled feeling hitting him as he put the book down for a moment. He used his spoon to push around his peas.

“I mean, we all do,” Jack reminded her. “Just...I didn’t think Phantom still talked to his family. After his death. Or did such...non-ghost things with them.” Watching Star Trek with his dad? Jack did that with his own kids all the time. It was his and his youngest daughter’s favorite show to watch together. Jazz typically preferred documentary series, and Maddie was too bothered by scientific inaccuracies to really enjoy science fiction. So it was always “their thing” and knowing that Phantom did it too was...too human.

“Yeah, I didn’t...really expect him to still be haunting them,” Maddie said. Jack could tell that this was disturbing her a little.

“But ghosts can retain their memories from life it seems,” Jack spoke up. Maddie stared at him. “The dog remembers commands from his life as a guard dog. What extent, I’m not sure.” Maddie hummed curiously.

Jack picked the book up again, skipping through more boring logs to other words.

April 29

Ember: 2; captured

Fenton Thermos: full, empty

The past few weeks have been terrible. I have definitely come to the conclusion that I really am developing a crush on [scribbles]. Or maybe I always had one, I dunno. Is this really just an effect from Ember’s supposed spell? Does ghostly mind control really last? I think I always knew that I liked her though. I mean, ever since I told her that [scribbles], she’s been so supportive. She even cut my hair for me, which really pissed my parents off, but they ended up admitting that I looked better with my hair short anyway. Almost like it’s meant to be, huh? Ha. [scribbles] is also one of the only two people who know my deeper secret. She’s been so supportive through that too. She calls me Danny, and every time she refers to me as that, it makes my heart go crazy.

But would she even like me? Would she even wanna be with somebody like me? I don’t think I’d be her type. Some other friends I met at this local support group have complained about the struggles of dating. The stories are depressing, and it makes me worried that while [scribbles] will always love and accept me as a friend, that she’d never be able to love me as a boyfriend. I hate my life.

“Aw, Phantom has a little girlfriend,” Jack half-joked, only for goosebumps to raise and an odd chill run down his spine. He looked to Maddie for her opinion, and her face was scrunched up.

“That’s a bit creepy,” she commented. “He’s pretending to be human.”

“I dunno, Mads,” Jack shrugged. He re-read the ghostly teen’s internal conflicts. “Why would he pretend to be human in a journal that nobody’s meant to read?”

“He has to be sharing it with his allies,” she argued. “Those people he’s been scribbling out. Phantom has to be pretending for them. To keep them around. He even mentioned ghostly mind control.”

She pushed her mostly-finished plate from herself, motioning for Jack to hand over the journal. He complied, and Maddie flipped through it. She stopped, and she set the journal down on the table once more. Leaning over, she studied the spine. A finger ran along the inner spine, and she frowned.

“Pages are missing,” she noticed. Jack pushed his plate out of the way to lean over as well.

Indeed, the top of the diary revealed that it was meant to be a normal, full diary. Now that Maddie pointed it out, it looked like well over a fourth of the diary had missing pages. Jack squinted, pulling his hood over his eyes. He used his googles to better examine.

“They weren’t ripped out, like in a ghost fight,” Jack told her. He pointed to what remained of a page, a barely noticeable strip. “It was carefully cut out.” Maddie narrowed her eyes to get a better look.

“You’re right,” she mused. “Phantom did this purposefully. Probably to hide stuff from his allies.”

“But why hide some stuff and not others?” Jack wondered aloud. “Clearly this girlfriend figure is an ally, but he can’t be...sharing this with her, right?” Maddie pulled back from the notebook to lean in her chair with a heavy sigh.

“...I don’t know,” she admitted. “I don’t think he would. But he’s also a ghost, they do weird things.” Jack didn’t know how to reply, and so he continued to read.

May 16

The past few days have been so full of drama. Walker ruined my life. He absolutely ruined it. He set out to make me the most hated person in Amity Park out of pure spite, and he succeeded. I’m public enemy number one. I can never win. For a while now, I had debated telling my parents, because I so desperately want their support, but they were part of the news coverage calling me a disgusting, evil ghost. I ended up crying yesterday. I don’t think they’ll ever truly love me if they knew. I also failed Wulf. Another failure on my plate. I’m just waiting for it to all crash down on me.

Walker: 1; sent to the GZ

Wulf: 1; sent to the GZ

Walker’s goons: at least 14, all captured

Fenton Thermos: overflowingly full

“Oh this is just becoming nonsense,” Maddie complained. “He’s lying. We were there, Jack! We saw him attack us.”

“I know, I know, he did, yeah, he did,” Jack tried to gather his thoughts. “But why would he lie in this? I don’t think anybody was meant to read this?” Jack flipped through the pages. The further he flipped through in, the more he could tell that some sections had more carefully cut out papers than others. Why was Phantom cutting out? What was he hiding? Why was he hiding it?

“He meant for somebody to read this,” Maddie lightly argued.

“Yeah, it seems like it, but…,” Jack trailed off. He shook his head a bit, flipping back to where they had left off. “I dunno.”

“Hold on a second,” Maddie urged him, standing up. “Let me get something to write with, we should take some notes.”

“We can just use the scanner to make a copy of the journal afterwards, and we can further analyze it afterwards,” Jack suggested. Maddie thought on this, and she nodded, but she still reached for some scrap paper and a pen.

“Good idea, we should probably read through it fully first anyway,” she agreed. “But I still want to jot down some thoughts.”

“Of course, of course,” Jack replied. He knew that’s how she thought and processed information best, and it was always from her notes that he could visualize his own theories properly. He took a drink of tea before he continued reading the next true entry.

May 24

My entire relationship with my other crush (not [scribbles]) was a lie. She was being overshadowed by Kitty the entire time. This was my first real girlfriend, and it was all fake. I had assumed I was so lucky. I found a girl who knew and was okay with both of my biggest secrets. When I got home I ended up just going straight to my room. [scribbles] brought me dinner, but I didn’t feel like eating. Is this what life is going to be for me? I don’t want it to be like this. The only good thing is that [scribbles] doesn’t know either secret alongside our brief relationship.

Least Kitty and Johnny seem happy again. For now at least. I swear, they’re always breaking up and getting back together.

Kitty: 1; sent back to the GZ

Johnny 13: 1; sent back to the GZ

Shadow: 1; sent back to the GZ

Jack could lightly hear Maddie taking notes on her scrap paper, the pen scratching at the surface. He didn’t comment on it, silently flipping to the next page, and he continued to read.

August 19

I was forced to really face the reality of how much I fucked up [scribbles] life. I hate it. I’d do anything to take it back. It makes me wonder if I should just retire. Am I even really doing anything to help? Am I just a nuisance? Everybody thinks that.

Rationally I know I can’t. I’m the only one who can properly deal with the ghosts, who has the power and abilities to fight back without getting killed. I have to do what I can, but I just wish I could do it without making so many mistakes. [scribbles] said that it’ll be okay, and that it gets better, but it sure doesn’t fucking feel like it.

Skulker: 3; finished

Red Huntress: 2; temporary truce?

“He’s so full of...emotion for a ghost,” Maddie finally spoke up.

Jack glanced at the paper she had in front of her. There was some notes of what they had been learning so far, and there were emotions written in all caps with a line under, and a list of various emotions. Emotions Phantom seemed to be displaying. Guilty, despair, loneliness, self-hatred, self-doubt. Despite the few entries, it was already quite a list.

“It’s not just him either,” Maddie continued. Jack rose an eyebrow at her. She didn’t immediately reply, fingers on her lips as she stared down at the journal. “He’s giving emotions to other ghosts too.”

Jack stared down blankly at the journal in his hands.

“Where?”

Maddie began to write, and as she wrote, it clicked. Spectra’s joy in hurting others. Kitty and Johnny’s relationship. Walker’s spite. Cujo being a playful puppy. According to Phantom, and against what they knew as scientists, ghosts were experiencing a wide variety of emotions and for different reasons. It was weird.

Jack continued to read.

October 17

I don’t know what happened the past few days. It’s this weird blur. According to [scribbles] and [scribbles] I did a lot of bad things under Freakshow’s control. [scribbles] hugged me and told me that it was nothing that we couldn’t fix, but I doubt that. Why does this keep happening to me? I don’t want to hurt people. I want to be a good person, and I want to help Amity Park, but I don’t know what keeps happening. Everything’s a fog, and I’m exhausted.

Freakshow: 1; arrested by APPD

Circus ghosts: freed from Freakshow’s control, went back to the GZ

Replace Fenton Anti-Creep Stick, print out another sticker to put on it

“Freakshow...that was the weird circus guy,” Jack interrupted himself. Maddie nodded.

“Yeah, and if Phantom’s right...he could control the ghosts,” she mused. “So there’s a way for humans to take control of ghosts...That’s something to look into. If we can control the ghosts into staying away, it’d be such a massive scientific breakthrough.”

“We should look into Freakshow more, and see if we can talk to him!” Jack agreed. “Maybe he’ll share something with us.” Maddie smiled softly.

“I doubt that,” she replied gently. “But there’s no harm in trying. What else does it say?”

November 8

I have to fight Pariah Dark. I’m terrified. I don’t think I’ll live through it. How can I live through fighting the actual ghost king? I may never see my family again, and I can’t even tell them what happened to me if I die. I’ve been debating telling [scribbles] that I like her, but I don’t think I could bring myself to do it.

What happens if I die? I have no clue. I’m scared to find out. I can’t die now. I have to make it back. I’ll go missing, and I won’t even be declared dead as my parents’ son. Nobody will know who to really look for. I have to come back. Maybe if I succeed, and people like me again after this, I can tell my family everything.

November 10

I couldn’t tell them. My parents still despise part of me, despite what I’ve done. I know they love me, cause my mom’s already been fussing over me like crazy because of my injuries. [scribbles] said she cried when they couldn’t find me, and that my dad had gone out looking for me all over the city, even in the dangerous parts. They of course love me, but do they really love me unconditionally?

Jack felt his voice trailing off as he hit the end. He coughed lightly, and he took a long drink. Maddie stared off into nothing. The only thing he could think of was his own search for his baby girl. He wasn’t alone, bumping into several other parents desperately looking for their missing children, and several children who got separated from their parents. The entire day was somber and frightening, and Maddie had spent the entire day glued to the phone. In case she called them.

It was all...too real, and Jack flipped past more logs. He couldn’t help but begin to take note of how every single day had a log of ghost fighting activities, even if Phantom didn’t write down his feelings every day. This was so much more than the ghost hunting duo ever expected, more attacks than they were recording.

His eyes rested only for a moment on December 19, and he decided to just skip it. They had already read it earlier. No need to refresh those memories. More logs, and more missing pages, and he came upon another one.

March 26

I ripped out a lot of pages, more than I intended. I can’t risk anybody finding out what happened, but also other pages revealed too much, so I kept them tucked away where nobody could ever find them. I’d burn them, but I don’t want to lose the ghost hunting data. It’s okay now. I fixed the problem and assured that everything’s going to be fine. Possibly better. I made the right choice this time, and now I know that one day, I will grow a sick beard.

I know somebody knows my secrets now. All of them. She had known for months but wanted me to tell her. She asked me if I had a name, and ever since I told her that it was Danny, she’s been calling me that whenever she can. It made me cry the first time. It’s so great to have her know everything now. She loves me no matter what. I couldn’t ask for a better person. Even though she found out because I’m an idiot. This entire thing also made me realize how important it is to keep those secrets, and how poorly I’ve been keeping them.

I didn’t ever mean for this to turn into a diary. I wanted to keep track of ghost fights. But it honestly helps with both the dysphoria and the stresses of being a ghost. I just went back and scribbled out names. Just in case. In the future I need to be more vague.

But this is also the end for one secret. If things go wrong then well. I don’t know. I’ll make it up as I go along. But I know that this is who I am, and that I’m hitting a point where I need help to just be me.

Him: 1; captured for good

Skulker: 2; captured

Desiree: 1; captured

Ectopusses: 1; captured

Cujo: 1, sent back to the GZ

Fenton Thermos: full

Fenton Anti-Creep Stick: destroyed, get new bat and sticker to put on it

Also learned a new ghost power: Ghostly wail. A scream that can just absolutely fuck somebody’s day up. I have to use it sparingly though.

Jack closed the journal, and he set it flat on the table. His mind was blank, and he couldn’t read Maddie. She continued to stare at the closed book, hand in pen but almost unsure as to what to even jot down as a note. He leaned in his seat, finishing his drink. Maddie exhaled deeply, dropping her pen in favor of stretching.

Neither said a word. Jack knew that this journal was not any kind of trick. It was too raw and emotional to be anything more than the thoughts of a teenage ghost. He regretted reading it. It held some interesting information, and he was sure if he dug deeper, that he would find more. But as it stood, his own intense guilt was settling as he knew that he just took too personal a look into the private emotional afterlife of Phantom.

“This is a lot to take in,” Maddie finally spoke. Jack only nodded.

The basement door opened, and they heard dual pairs of footsteps hop downstairs. Jack instantly brightened, and he turned in his chair to smile as his kids soon came into view.

“Hey, is this a bad time?” Jazz asked. She glanced between them, and Jack immediately shook his head no.

“No, no,” Maddie replied quickly. Jack saw her push the journal and her notes, along with her pen and a few spare lab tools, carelessly into a drawer to help assure the Fenton kids that they weren’t interrupting anything. “What’s up, sweetie?”

“Well, I have something that I wanna talk about,” their youngest spoke slowly. Jack noticed that she had finally taken off her hoodie, and that while she wore her normal tomboy attire, that something was a bit off about her. He couldn’t place it. Jazz stood close to her, an arm full of books clutched to her chest, though he couldn’t make out any titles. “It’s something important, and I don’t really want to put it off any longer.”

“Is something wrong? Are you in trouble?” Jack asked. His daughter shook her head no.

“Oh, no!” she said. “It’s just…”

She took a deep breath, and soon, their son began to explain.

#phics #my phics #phic phight #team ghost

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maknaesdancersrappers · 5 years ago

Text

july 21

hello. july 21 is a special day for me and you dont have to read this because its just me venting out my thoughts and emotions as long as i can without word/character limits on any platform.

july 21 is my maternal grandmother’s birthday. when i was born, my mom went abroad often and my dad had the regular 9 to 5 job plus extra hours for commute. so growing up with my sisters who are 5 and 7 years older, our grandparents and aunts took care of us.

im also more fond of my maternal grandmother since my paternal grandmother lived far away and we rarely ever get to see her (usually only during summers and once she stayed with us for awhile) until she passed away from Alzheimer's.

during the long hiatus i took early this year (late december to mid-march?), a lot has happened in my life. my health was put at risk because of the ash fall brought by the volcano eruption (january 12); i had allergies for weeks - i couldnt breathe properly, let alone sleep because of it. it was about to be the second year after graduating college and i have yet to get a job; the pressure from my family - and myself - was so unbearable that i caught myself slipping back to my very, very, very dark thoughts. and the worst thing that happened in those three months: my grandmother passed away. in filipino, grandmother is lola (loh-lah) and i’d like to use that for the rest of this post.

if you ask anyone in their neighborhood, any of our family friends, and relatives, everyone will tell you that her death was sudden. because everyone knows her as the sometimes-funny-sometimes-cranky old lady that owns the convenience store at the corner of the street. she was 96. she was 96 but she refused to get a wheelchair or use a walking stick even though her knees started to hurt after a few steps. she was 96 but didn’t need glasses to read most of the time. she was 96 but didn’t have any maintenance medication. ever since she reached her 90′s, she had gone to the town clinic at least twice because she fell over (from loss of balance) and busted her head. yet she would walk the next day like she doesnt have stitches on her scalp. she hated going to the doctor, she’d always claim that nothing hurts and the only thing she wanted the doctor to fix was her hearing (its as weak as how her eyesight is clear)

i wasnt the only one in the family that got severely affected by the ash fall. my lola also had trouble breathing because of it. she also went to the doctor for it and they only prescribed her antibiotics. please remember this info. this should be around early february

she got a little better but her voice was very hoarse from the phlegm. even before this, lola had little to no appetite and would only eat when someone else is eating (usually if it’s us, her granddaughters). and by little to no appetite, i mean her whole meal would be three spoonfuls of rice and one piece/chunk of whatever the main dish/ulam is. whenever we ask if she had eaten (even though we know she hadnt) she’d always claim that she already has (this eventually became a little joke in our family.) we took this sign as her dementia getting worse (although she was never really diagnosed with it, we had naturally assumed it because she would always repeatedly tell us stories that she insists happened even though some have been debunked and there were times she forgets our names if we havent visited in a while.)

after she gets better from the cough (idk the real diagnosis of it), her legs started to swell and because her routine had been reduced to being bedridden for most of the day, my aunts thought it was just poor circulation. it took two weeks before they brought her back to the town clinic and again, they just prescribed her with some medicine. everything after this is blurry to me until feb 21

my mom, being the eldest, made the decision to bring lola to the hospital. she’s, rightfully, unsatisfied with the town doctor’s diagnosis and prescriptions because lola is in so much pain and her legs were still swollen and its been weeks. i was with her in the emergency room while my mom and aunt did the paper work and the staff ran tests on lola. i’m contacting my sister who was in singapore and we’d video call to entertain lola since she was very adamant - and vocal - that she did not want to be admitted to the hospital bc she was “fine.” goSh she made so many hospital staff laugh because she would always announce whenever she had to fart. after like 2 hours, we move her into a ward and my mom tells me that i’ll have to stay overnight to watch over her. i was very apprehensive of this idea. i honestly did not want to. seeing her in pain was bad enough, but the fact we were in a room with other people and she was crying out loud made me really anxious but it was final. my mom, aunt, and uncle all went back home just to have dinner and they’ll come back since lola’s doctor would be coming by to give the results and for that hour they were gone? i lost it.

lola started talking/praying out loud, asking god why she was in so much pain, asking what she had done to deserve this; and i didn’t know what to do but hold her hand and kiss her head. i couldn’t even show her i was crying. when my mom got back, i told her i cant do it and she eventually convinced my other sister to join me, who cancelled her plans for the next day. that night, i did not and could not fall asleep. after a few hours, her doctor finally came by and dropped a bomb on us. he was kind enough to talk to my mom and aunt behind the curtains in the softest voice ever while i helped the nurse with lola, but i could hear him crystal clear.

cancer of the liver.

they even momentarily walked back to lola to touch her stomach and stepped back out. i almost thought i misheard, but my mom and aunt’s expressions were too grim that it basically confirmed it. later on, my mom finally told me and explained that the antibiotics she had been taking weeks ago were too strong for her because of her lifestyle and diet. there were tumors in her liver and surgery wouldn’t do anything. i dont remember what i did aside from sketching on the journal i brought, but until i got home at 10am the next day, i did not sleep a wink.

feb 22. when i woke up at 2PM, i was told that they had lola discharged from the hospital. there was nothing we could do but try to ease the pain to the best of our abilities and wait. starting that day, i went over to lola’s house to help out with feeding her, giving her medicine, and just trying to keep her happy by randomly smiling at her when i see her looking around or dancing to no music.

feb 24. these were the early weeks of covid - ph hadn’t had a case yet, i believe, but travel restrictions were being implemented. my sister in singapore was doing everything to make sure she could come home because we don’t know when, but we know lola was leaving soon. of all the things our mom told her not to do, she cried at the entrance of the embassy and by the grace of god, someone took pity and listened to her (bc she was denied entry since she had a small cough) and she was able book a flight at midnight and be home in 4 hours. that afternoon, when i arrived at lola’s house, that was the very first time i stood at the doorway to greet her like i usually did and she didn’t smile. not even the corners of her lips moved. she was in that much pain that she couldn’t even greet me back like she always did, which was to smile and nod her head. that night, we all decided to sleepover there (with the exception of my dad since he had to feed our dogs at home). i take my usual seat in the living room and i notice a white dress that i remember (from photos) being lola’s 50th anniversary wedding gown and without being told, i know it was what she was going to wear for the very last time.

feb 25. being notoriously a late sleeper, i was about to go to sleep at 2AM when i hear lola groaning and whining out loud. when i checked her, her stubborn lil ass was trying to get out of bed alone!!! so i obviously panic and try to wake up anyone by exclaiming that lola had to go to the bathroom - she’s been wearing adult diapers for weeks now but refuses to go in them and is adamant about bringing her to the bathroom so she could relieve herself - so me, and the same aunt and uncle from the hospital, assisted her into this modified chair so she could pee and the only thing i could do was hold her hand, like always. after that, my uncle said he’d watch over her and lie down beside her on the bed so in case she needs to go again, he can take care of it himself. after falling asleep, i heard a few hours later that my sister from SG arrived. when i woke up later on, my sisters and i presented ourselves to lola bc its been so long since she last saw us complete, and this time she was able to give us a small nod of acknowledgement. i realized that none of my uncles and aunts went to work that day, thinking it was just so we could be complete since my sister was home. but then i overhear them making plans to have a priest come over for the sacrament of anointing of the sick - which based on my last and only experience (my grandfather/lolo), this must be the day. during the session, a few of my aunts and an uncle cried. my sisters cried, too, but i forced myself not to. when the priest left, i don’t know how long, but suddenly, she was gone. i didn’t know how to react. this was the second time i’ve seen someone pass away before my very eyes. everyone was crying out for forgiveness, kissing lola’s head, but i couldn’t move one bit. i was finally crying, but i couldn’t move at all.

3 days. from learning about the real problem with lola, it only took 3 days for it to take her away from us. not even a week, or a month. the only bright side to this was that she’s finally relieved of all the pain that’s been causing her suffering. 3 days of knowing her time was very, very short, but it was still a shock when she finally left.

for the longest time, lola’s goal was to reach the age of 100 because apparently our government will reward her with 100,000 pesos (like 2k usd) for doing so. she wanted to reach 100 because she wanted to leave us with some inheritance haha. and everyone believed she could do it. no one doubted her. until this happened. maybe its just me, but i feel foolish... completely stupid and ignorant for knowing deep down in my heart that she would reach 100 that losing her 3 years prior her goal hurt me more than ever.

it’s been 5 months but remembering her death still makes me cry. i have dreams (and you all know im a lucid dreamer) where she’s still alive and we’re talking about how she beat cancer at 96 in just a few months, but then i’ll remember that she didn’t and the dream in front of me just shatters and i’ll wake up empty and crying. i have never felt so much regret after she passed bc all she wanted was to see me graduate and it was up to me to show her that i got my first job and give her a portion of my first salary, but i couldn’t even do that. i waited too long and now its too late. her ideal type for me was a rich atenean boy who could drive 😂 and i still couldn’t give her that bc im so anti-men. there was a time i was so scared to go back to lola’s house bc she called me out during dinner - “baket ka malungkot/why are you sad?” - when all i was doing was browsing through my phone, scarily enough going through another “episode”, and the last person i’d ever want to know about my possible depression was her. of all my suicidal episodes, i’ve always resolved them by thinking of her - that i will continue living because i wanted to see her smile. because i wanted to see her happy.

i miss her so much. i wish i had been a better granddaughter to her. the small things i’ve done for her were never enough. in the past 5 months, i’ve only dreamt about her twice (actually being with her) and both times made the day so hard to function. i havent moved on and i dont know if im the only one. i dont know if i’ll ever move on. she would have been 97 today. whenever she forgets my name, i’ll tell her i have the same birthday as her and she’ll remember me. she’ll say “ahhh rosean! july 10!”

if someone read through this, im sorry you had to go through that mess. but thank you for hearing me out. no, i’ll thank you the way my lola would thank people, verbatim:

thank you very much from the bottom of my heart.

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empyreanwritings · 6 years ago

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Long Way Home

Pairing: Bucky x assassin!Reader

Warnings: Some language, mentions of murder, mentions of rape (no details, just saying someone was raped), and killing a pedophile by beating his face in with a phone.

Word Count: 4.6k

A/N: I let myself really get away with this one, and I’m very happy with it. I hope yall enjoy it! Maybe there will be a part two? I left it open for a reason! Just let me know what you think :) x

The sun started to set, leaving streaks of dark pink and purple in the sky. It felt like a whole day passed since we started driving, but it had only been six hours. My legs cramped up more than once, and I was pretty sure I lost feeling in my butt two exits ago. Bucky swore up and down that we weren’t lost, but when he refused to let me turn on a GPS, I knew he was trying to cover himself. We were definitely lost. What was it with men and asking for directions? Being openly lost should hurt an ego more than stopping and asking for help!

Fury sent Bucky and I on a mission to gather some intel on a possible HYDRA hideout popping up. We spent three days staking out for no reason. The hideout wasn’t HYDRA personnel at all; it was a group studying Bigfoot sightings in the area. When I found out, I wanted to shoot all of them even if it wasn’t their faults. If Bucky hadn’t pulled me out as soon as my hand touched my gun, I might have.

Three days of eating nothing but protein bars and getting only two hours of sleep each night for Bigfoot? I was a little touchy.

“Hey, so, I know we’re not lost or anything. . .” Bucky gave me a sideways look, and I forced myself to not smile. “But can we hop off the highway and get something to eat? I’m starved.”

He didn’t say anything, but in the dim light I could see a small smile playing on his lips. We had an odd relationship dynamic. I liked to tease him and point out when he was being a stubborn ass on a daily basis. He never entertained my antics, though. He’d smile or roll his eyes, which always drove me crazy. Why didn’t he ever respond the way I wanted him to? I’d push his buttons as many times as I could, and he’d stay perfectly calm. Never an outburst. Never a fight. I’m not exactly sure what I was looking for, but damn, I wanted something!

I read the exit signs as we passed them to see what places sounded good. Every suggestion I made, Bucky would crinkle his nose and turn it down. We eventually settled on stopping at Waffle House because he had never been to one before. Their food was mediocre at best, but I was so hungry that I could have eaten a bowl full of grease.

Odds are that’s what we were about to be served.

It wasn’t that late, but we were the only ones in the diner. Bucky chose the booth in the farthest corner possible. I wanted to tease him about making us seem dark and mysterious, but my stomach growling kept distracting me.

“Oh my god,” our waiter gasped when he came over to our table. “You’re the Winter Soldier.”

I could visibly see Bucky tense as soon as he said this. People had mixed views of him because of the media. Some thought he was a damaged hero with a heart of gold. Others looked at him and saw “MENACE” written across his forehead in bright red letters. He never admitted it out loud, but I know it got to him. How the hell could people judge someone they never met? Sure, they’d see whatever the news wanted to post, but it was all political bull anyways. They knew nothing about the real James Buchanan Barnes.

The waiter, Tom, didn’t look older than twenty-one, but I couldn’t believe he’d be that stupid.

“Is it true HYDRA mind controlled you into killing a ton of innocent people?” He sounded so enthused, I wanted to punch him.

I slammed my hand against the table to get his attention. “Are you seriously that stupid?”

“I—“

“Let me tell you what you’re not going to do.” I was seething at this point, and it didn’t help that I was hangry already. “You’re not going to ask any questions that aren’t related to our food. I’ve killed more people than Sergeant Barnes has, and I’m not above adding you onto that—“

“Just get us coffee for now, please,” Bucky quickly interrupted.

Tom practically ran away once he said that. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I could feel Bucky’s eyes on me as I did. I didn’t want to look at him cause I know he’d be smirking at me over my outburst.

The biggest reason I hated people’s perception of Bucky was due to the fact I lived much worse. I didn’t have to be brainwashed to kill people, and my list grew past the hundreds. Bucky had some of the best intentions. He had no control over the evil he did when he was with HYDRA. But me? Everything I did, every life I took was on me and me alone. If Fury hadn’t sent Nat to find me, I don’t know if I’d ever let myself out of that evil lifestyle.

“Just order me a waffle and a side of bacon,” I mumbled. “I need a second.”

The temperature dropped significantly since we’d gotten there. The crisp air felt nice against my face. I could literally feel the anger bubbling inside of me and needed to take a breather. If that dumb ass inside made another rude comment before I calmed down, I’d end up putting his face through a window. And I didn’t care how awful that sounded.

My eyes stung with tears threatening to come out. I hated how emotional I was feeling.

I felt Bucky approaching before I heard him. He stood behind me, his chest barely grazing my back. We stayed quiet for a moment. He knew his presence was all I needed right now. Even the way his fingers gently grazed the back of my arm was enough to pull me back into reality. The mutual understanding between us spoke a thousand words.

“I’m fine,” I whispered.

Bucky rested his chin on top of my head. “I know you are.”

I turned around and looked into his eyes, searching for any signs of disgust at my outburst. There was none. He held my gaze and reassured me with a smile. I was okay. We were okay. Nothing could ever change that, especially a minor freak out in a Waffle House.

“You should eat something.” His voice was so warm and calming. I wanted to listen to him talk for hours.

“I could just use a hug right now.”

He didn’t hesitate to envelop me into his arms. My nose pressed against his chest, and I couldn’t stop myself from inhaling his scent. He smelled faintly of pine needles and new car. This wasn’t his usual smell—which was vanilla, if you were curious—but it worked for him. My fingers clutched onto the back of his shirt. I feared that if I loosened up for even a second, he’d disappear.

“I hate how people see you, James,” I mumbled against him. “You don’t deserve it.”

“You don’t deserve thinking you’re somehow worse than me, doll.”

I didn’t have a response to that. Bucky always managed to find the good in me no matter the situation, even when we first met. We had a silent connection in knowing all the evil we both committed. Neither of us had to say anything, we just knew. When Nat first brought me back to the compound covered in someone else’s blood, he was the only one who didn’t feel wary of my presence. There had been a debate over whether I was stable enough to be a part of the team, and he and Nat had been the first to defend me.

I sat on the edge of the tub, scrubbing furiously at my arms with a washcloth. Blood was caked on my arms, on my hands, and under my nails. Specs of it scattered my face, and I wouldn’t be surprised if it somehow got in my hair. Flashes of beating the man’s face in with his office telephone kept going through my mind. I scrubbed harder, trying to distract myself from the images, but nothing worked. Before I knew it, I scrubbed my skin raw and tears streamed down my face.

I focused so hard on scrubbing that I hadn’t heard someone come into the bathroom until he kneeled in front of me and wrapped his hands around mine. I stared down at my lap, refusing to make eye contact with the man. I could hear Tony Stark and Steve Rogers debating over me just outside the hall. The last thing I wanted was for another person to think I was a monster. Deep down I knew I was, but I didn’t want this stranger knowing.

“Nat says he forced an underage girl to marry him,” he whispered to me. “You saved her from a life of torture.”

He didn’t say anything after that. He simply took the cloth from my hands and began gently washing the blood away from my skin. If he saw me crying, he didn’t say anything about it. I knew were connected in a dark way. We remembered every life we took vividly. I didn’t need to look into his eyes to know the pain, the secrets, and the blood behind them. I remembered the name of every person I murdered; I kept a list written in small journal. Somehow I knew he did as well.

“He raped her.” My voice was hoarse from all the screaming I had done during the fight. “He would have killed her. I know men like him all too well.”

“I know, doll. I know.”

We stayed in each other’s arms for at least ten minutes. I only managed to pull myself away when the sound of his stomach growling interrupted the silence. There was nothing left for either of us to say, so we headed back inside to finally eat.

This was always the dynamic between us. We’d have a tender moment that only ever stayed between us. After the moment was over, we’d never talk about it again. There were nights I’d let him sneak into my room because we both had nightmares keep us awake. In the morning, he’d be gone. I never felt the need to bring it up either. What we shared in those moments was our business. No one else needed to know. And even if they did, they knew not to say anything.

I stared out the window as I ate. Cars sped through the empty roadways like they didn’t have a care in the world. I wasn’t ready to go back to the compound. As much as I’d like to sleep in my own bed, I wasn’t ready to embrace reality. Fury liked to keep up busy because he knew we’d get ourselves into something we shouldn’t if we got bored, so as soon as we’d get back, there’d be another assignment waiting for us. I’d like one day to turn my brain off. I wanted to lounge around the compound in pajamas with a cup of tea. One day was all I needed.

“I was thinking,” Bucky’s voice pulled me out of my thoughts. “We’re technically not due home for another three days.”

I looked over at him and raised my eyebrows. Did he read my mind or something?

“We should rest for the night and find a decent motel. Maybe take a day to just relax.”

I nodded, trying my best to hide the grin sneaking onto my face.

He always looked out for me, even when I didn’t understand why. I think he knew what I wanted before I did. Hell, maybe that’s what he wanted and used me as an excuse. I was okay with it either way. It wouldn’t be the first time we had to share a room.

The mission was supposed to be easy and only take a night. None of us expected our target to hide in a hotel for most of it. We weren’t allowed to barge into his room without probable cause, and he refused to meet us outside. He must have known he pissed off the wrong people. Once you get on Tony Stark’s bad list, you weren’t going to get off easy.

Nat suggested we all stake out in rooms surrounding our target. She and Steve took the room to the left; Tony and Sam were across the hall; and Bucky and I were on the right. We agreed to take sleeping shifts every three hours so at least one room was awake in case something happened. The plan was to catch him doing something that allowed us to break in his door, but I had a feeling he was too smart to fall for that.

Bucky and I volunteered to take the last shift. We both enjoyed the six hours of sleep that he hadn’t had in a long time. When it was our time to stay awake, we were wide awake and ready for action that never came.

“If you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go?” I asked as I propped myself up against the headboard.

“I want to see the northern lights,” Bucky admitted. He walked back over to the bed and lay down in the spot next to me. “What about you?”

I thought about giving him an honest answer. I’ve always wanted to go to Egypt and explore the pyramids or their ruins. The knowledge that they provided the world with was monumental. To be in that environment and experience it hands on would be amazing. But I wasn’t ready to fully open up to him like that, so I had to give him a goofy answer instead.

“If I say your arms, would you hold it against me?” I flashed a smirk his way.

Bucky rolled his eyes and pulled the pillow from under his head to smack me with it. I swiftly caught it before he could and threw it towards the end of the bed. For a split second, I could see his face fall. Whenever I evaded answering a deep question, he’d make that same face. I began to wonder if he wished I was honest with him for once. I trusted him more than anyone on the team, I just hated feeling vulnerable. Maybe that thinking hurt him more than I thought.

“Egypt,” I answered after a beat of silence. “There’s so much history there. I want to know all of its secrets.”

He laid there for a moment, staring at me in shock. Never had I ever given him a straight answer like that, and I think it was going to give him a heart attack.

“What would you want to see first?” His voice was soft and full of worry that I would shut him out again.

I slid down so I was lying next to him, our faces just an inch away from each other. “They say there was a library in Alexandria that the Christians burned down during their ‘I hate pagan temples’ escapades. I’d like to try and find its ruins. They say so much knowledge was lost that day, I can’t imagine what it would be like to find something.”

Bucky hummed in content at my response. He wasn’t going to push anymore, and I appreciated it. Surprisingly, though, opening up to him wasn’t all that hard. His eyes had been so inviting, I was ready to spill all of my secrets to him. Of course, I couldn’t do that. Some secrets aren’t meant to be talked about, but he certainly made me feel like they could be.

“Bucky?” I looked over to see him fast asleep. We were supposed to stay awake for the mission, but he looked so peaceful. I reached over and brushed a stray hair off his forehead. My fingers lingered against his skin, and I silently prayed he wouldn’t wake up. “Thank you.”

“Are you sure getting the motel isn’t your way to try and cover up the fact we’re lost?” I pondered.

He leaned his head back against the booth and groaned, which prompted me to smirk. I could hear victory trumpets playing in my head. Celebratory fireworks were being set off somewhere in the distance. I finally got him to crack. I didn’t think I’d ever get him to do it, but tonight I finally won. Was it pride filling my heart? Absolutely. I deserved a gold medal for this occasion.

“We’re not lost,” he grunted. “We’re taking a scenic route. The long way home, if you will.”

I wiggled my eyebrows at him, not believing his words for a second. Men really hated admitting when they were wrong, huh? He huffed and threw enough cash on the table to cover the bill and a tip before heading outside to the car. I laughed so loud; I knew he could hear me even when the door closed behind him. I didn’t want a gold medal for the this—I wanted three.

Before I could follow him, the waiter called to me from behind the counter. When I turned, I felt my heart sink to see how terrified he looked. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down several times, and I’m sure there was a sweat bead trickling down his forehead. I guess I had been a little scary.

“I wanted to apologize,” he stammered. “Sometimes I get so excited that I say horrible stuff without thinking.”

I shrugged. “Sometimes I get overly protective and threaten to kill people when I shouldn’t. Consider us even.”

“Honestly, I’m okay with it.” This made us both laugh. “I wish I had a girlfriend as protective as you. He’s lucky.”

“Oh, I’m not—“

I stopped myself and glanced back at the man leaning against the car. His arms were crossed against his chest, and he was kicking at something on the ground. My biggest secret that I swore to never tell? I wish I was his girlfriend. The way he looked at me made me feel perfect despite being the complete opposite. The more time we spent together, the more my heart ached for him. If a waiter I’d never met before now could see that, why couldn’t he?

“Tell him that,” I replied sadly and stepped out to meet Bucky.

There was only one time I ever thought about confessing my feelings to Bucky. It was during the New Year’s Eve party Tony was hosting. Bodies packed so tightly into the compound, I thought we were a can of sardines. Whenever I walked somewhere, I had to walk sideways and hold my drink in the air so it wouldn’t spill.

Bucky stood off to the side, awkwardly tugging at the tie Steve made him wear. Tony wanted all of us to be formal. I’m not sure why, but he insisted. I had to admit, he looked fantastic tonight. His deep red button up was a little too tight for him, but I was not complaining. I could see every ripple of his muscle underneath the fabric. I was surprised he hadn’t torn the sleeve off to expose his metal arm and loosen up the shirt a bit.

Now that would have been a sexy sight.

I walked over to join him and held out the glass of champagne I snagged for him. He took it gratefully and downed it, which made me chuckle. Parties never got easier for either of us. We hated having to fake enthusiasm for whatever crazy show Tony tried to put on. I especially hated how many girls would be there trying to get into one of the guys’ pants. They’d twirl their fake hair and bat their fake eyelashes at anyone who paid attention to them for more than a minute. I wanted to hurl.

Thankfully, Bucky was infamous for blowing off a woman’s advances so they avoided him all together at parties now. I loved being able to spend time with him in peace.

“Nice dress,” Bucky complimented while stealing my glass of champagne. “Did you purposefully try to match me?”

I looked down at my dress and laughed. I wore a floor-length, off-the-shoulder dress that was the same shade of red as Bucky’s shirt. It was very tight at the waist and had a plunging neckline, but I hadn’t actually picked it out: Nat did. She told me she wanted me to look capital H hot. I wondered if she knew what Bucky planned on wearing and coordinated.

“You caught me,” I responded sarcastically. “I snuck into your room just to see what you were wearing tonight and picked my outfit based on that.”

Bucky rolled his eye playfully. “I knew it. You’re so in love with me, doll.”

I am.

God, I wanted so badly to tell him. The words danced on the tip of my tongue. If I told him now, it would make everything easier on us. We’d be able to move past this will-they-won’t-they game and just be. I’m not sure when I wanted that change, but it hit me so strongly just now. Would it be so bad to admit it? The answer was yes. I couldn’t risk everything I had with him for love.

“You wish.”

He scoffed and downed what I had left of my drink. He was lucky his metabolism burned off alcohol quickly. If I drank the way he did and as fast, I’d be on the floor within the hour. I may be a tough assassin, but I was unable to hold my liquor. It was absolutely embarrassing to admit, so I tried not to drink a lot in public if I could help it. Sometimes I’d participate in drinking competitions with Sam, but those were the only times I’d let myself get a little out of control.

Every time I got to that level, Bucky was there to take care of me. It was sweet.

“You better get me another drink,” I ordered as I poked his stomach. “It’s five minutes to midnight, and I need something to kiss. Alcohol is the only option.”

“Is it the only option?” He challenged.

I hesitated for a moment, trying to read whether or not he was joking. Maybe the alcohol was getting to him a little more than I thought. His eyes trailed down my body, and I didn’t miss him biting his lip. I sucked in a breath. Was he attracted to me? After all of the things he’d seen me do during my time with them, did he really feel something for me? No, he couldn’t. I had to be reading into it.

“You know I can’t handle kissing some stranger here,” I laughed off the heat rising in my cheeks. “You, on the other hand, should go find someone to make out with. We both can’t start our New Year off pathetic.”

I stepped to the side to begin my journey back to the bar when Bucky moved to block my path. I let out a small gasp and looked up at the man in front of me. His jaw was set, but his eyes were bright as he looked at me. He never acted like this around me before. The little alcohol in his system couldn’t have made him this bold. It must have been something else; I just couldn’t read into what it was. My brain turned to mush under his gaze. I had so many questions, but nothing came out.

“I don’t want some stranger, Y/N,” he mumbled. He spoke so quietly, I thought I had imagined it.

Tell him you idiot, I thought to myself. Tell him how you really feel just as the ball drops. There’s nothing wrong with starting off the new year happy.

“James, I—“

Five.

Four.

“Just be honest with me about your feelings, doll. Just this once.”

Three.

Two.

“I-I can’t,” I whispered and brushed past him without another word.

One.

He never told me so, but I knew that would be the last time he’d ever try to get me to admit my feelings. I ruined my one chance, and I’m not even sure why.

Bucky seemed lost in thought when I approached him. The way he clenched and unclenched his jaw, I knew he was annoyed about something. I figured it had to do with the whole being lost thing, so I didn’t comment on it again. He looked up at me when I leaned on the car next to him.

“What did he want?” Bucky nodded his head in the direction of the restaurant.

“Oh, he wanted my phone number,” I sighed in a fake dreamy content.

“What?!” He yelled—practically roared.

I jumped at the volume of his voice. Usually when I said something like that, he’d brush it off. I guess I had been picking on him too much tonight. I really needed to learn boundaries.

“James, I’m just kidding.” I tried my best to keep my voice steady.

His nose flared as he took a deep breath. The anger practically rolled off of him in waves. I suddenly became very aware that I may have gone too far tonight and didn’t even realize. I actually felt bad.

“Why do you do that? Why can you never give me a straight answer?” Bucky snapped. “You’re so-so—“

“Don’t finish that,” I begged quietly. I refused to know what he really thought of me. “Let’s go. I think there’s a motel at the next exit.”

I headed towards the other side of the car, but Bucky’s hand grabbed mine to stop me. I didn’t turn around, and he didn’t pull me closer. We just stood like that with our fingers interlocked for what felt like hours. The air around us felt like electricity. If one of us moved, a fire would probably spark. At least that’s what it felt like.

“I just want to know what you’re thinking.” His statement came out more like a plea. “You’re such a mystery to me. I let myself believe that there is something between us and then you shut me out.”

His grip tightened on my hand, and he pulled me back to face him. Our chests bumped into each other, and his breath fanned my face. I felt intoxicated by his presence. My heart hammered so hard in my chest, I’m sure he could hear it.

“What are you so afraid of?”

His eyes scanned mine. Every inch of him pleaded me to be honest for once. What was I afraid of? Everyone I loved usually died, sometimes by my hand. I trained most of my adult life not to love because it was easier. I never knew where life would take me or force me to do, and I couldn’t risk being attached to anyone. But that was years ago, long before I met the beautiful man with the metal arm. The day he washed blood off of my body and didn’t flinch, I knew I was screwed. My life, my opinions on love and friendship, would never be the same.

I wanted so badly to tell him, but I was terrified. Terrified he’d stop loving me one day. Terrified my past was too dark for him to handle.

I didn’t want to be scared anymore, though. I didn’t want to walk away from this man who made me feel so alive. I wanted a life filled with happiness. I wanted to let myself feel like home in his arms. My past was dark and filled with images of blood, but that didn’t mean I had to be unhappy in my future. I needed him. I needed this.

“I love you,” I blurted out.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes one shots #bucky barnes imagines #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #marvel fics #marvel one shots #marvel imagines #marvel #mcu fic #mcu fanfiction #mcu imagines #mcu one shots #MCU

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parasite-core · 5 years ago

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So I’m playing Skyrim for the umpeenth time. Normally I play one of my D&D characters, but inevitably get bored when I can’t really act out everything they’d do. So this time I decided to actually make a character from Tamriel to play. Thus I created a former Thalmor mage, a traitor to the Dominion on the run. I have no idea what his real name is, when he was asked for his name in Helgen he told them it was none of their business (they were going to execute him anyways and he’d rather die fast by Imperial headsman than be tortured and killed by the Thalmor) His in game name just says “None”, and I’ve been calling him Nonni so we’ll go with that.

Anyways after Helgen he followed the main story up through Whiterun because he felt honorbound to at least warn the Jarl about the danger to Riverwood since Ralof helped him to escape. He even agreed to help get the Dragon Stone because it wasn’t like he had anything better to do, and running around in an old tomb could help any trail on him from Helgen hopefully go cold.

During the dragon attack on the Whiterun Watchtower, Nonni slayed the beast with a frost enchanted sword he’d found in Bleakfalls Barrow—the first time he’d used a sword, his preferred weapon, since leaving the Thalmor.

Nonni said ‘fuck this’ to the entire situation. He’s no dragon fighting hero, and suddenly all the Nords in town are treating him like some legendary savior, and a voice from the sky called him to the highest mountain in the realm. No way. He just wanted to lay low somewhere, not get roped into Skyrim’s issues. And definitely not draw attention to himself by playing hero. So Nonni made his way south to Falkreach, intending to slip through the southern border and make his way towards Hammerfell. This didn’t work out, the southern border was blocked off and he found the mountains nearby too treacherous to climb to try to circumvent them. Worse, another dragon swooped down near the border, and he had to slay it by himself. Cold and wet from a rainstorm starting, and despondent at the realization that these dragon’s would just keep coming, he made his way to some nearby ruins to get out of the elements. He decided to take the time while he waited out the weather to explore the old ruins, in the hope of finding some treasure to fund his unwilling but necessary travels to High Hrothgar.

The place was infested with skeletons and two vampires. The first he met just inside, she was weak and starving and was easy to take out. The second, in the deepest chambers of the ruins, was a much stronger master vampire who nearly managed to kill Nonni. After a difficult struggle Nonni managed to limp his way to the top of the ruins, where he unwillingly found another word of power and an exit high in the mountains.

As he left the ruins he began to feel a nagging hunger that his rations didn’t seem to quench, but he shrugged it off as having just dealt with a long and frustrating day. He took some time to climb down the mountain and began a long journey back to Falkreach.

Along the way he ran into a hunter from Falkreach whose companions had been killed by Spriggans. Nonni healed him and helped to avenge his companions, with the promise from the hunter that he could keep the alchemical pieces of the Spriggans for himself. He had no problem with the Spriggans, but was badly hurt by a bear that was also in the cave and began to feel feverish. The nagging hunger had gotten sharper as well. Something about being around the injured hunter made it worse, but Nonni still shrugged it off as the effects of fatigue.

After this he did a few favors for people in Falkreach, including getting a lost journal for their local priest of Arkay. He was a bit nosey and read some of they journal entries, which seemed to say that the priest had a vision of Nonni and the return of the dragons. More importantly, in Nonni’s mind, he found the sword of a deceased member of the Blades. Being former Thalmor he didn’t feel comfortable using it, but kept it as a reminder and to possibly return it should he stumble on any other surviving members someday.

Once he had money and supplies, Nonni began his trek back to Whiterun, intending to get a carriage to somewhere closer to High Hrothgar. After about a day’s journey, he accidentally stumbled on a bandit camp. They attacked without question, so he defended himself. As he faced the final bandit, the strange hunger that had been eating at him for days came to a head. When he killed the bandit, his vision went red, and he fed on him, becoming a fully fledged vampire himself.

Nonni was initially horrified. He’d just gone into all of this intending to keep his head down and just avoid the Thalmor for the rest of his days, but now he was some dragon magnet undead bloodsucker. Worse, he remembered that he’d been hearing rumors of vampire hunters in town recently, so he had even more need than ever to keep his head down.

Still, the dragons were attacking, and he wouldn’t be able to get a moment of peace to figure out his new situation until something was done about that. So he continued to Whiterun, and took a carriage to Windhelm, which seemed to be closest to High Hrothgar on his map.

Outside of Windhelm another dragon attacked. Backed into a corner, weak to fire, and badly hurt, Nonni fought back with everything he had. In a moment of desperation he was forced to use the blade he’d found earlier in a last ditch effort to save himself. He managed to slay the dragon with the Oathblade, and limped his way into Windhelm to rest.

He made his way to High Hrothgar, and began his training as the Greybeards insisted. Then he went to procure the horn at their request, and instead found nothing at the end of the path, only a letter leading him back to Riverwood.

Here he met Delphine, whose connection to the blade he immediately suspected given the armor she donned. He decided to play along for now, to join her in going the Kynsgrove and seeing the dragon burial mound for himself.

There he witnessed Alduin resurrecting a dragon, and was forced once again to play the role of dragon slayer. This earned Delphine’s trust, and she confirmed Nonni’s suspicions that she was one of the few remaining members of the Blades.

Nonni was not keen to help infiltrate the Thalmor Embassy. He doubted that the Thalmor were behind the dragon’s returning, although he didn’t doubt they might be keeping tabs on whoever or whatever the real cause was. Regardless, he had been avoiding them for so long, he feared placing himself right into their hands more than anything else. He finally convinced himself that between the time in hiding, the tattoos he’d had added to his face to make himself harder to recognize, and the changes becoming a vampire had made to his skin and eyes, surely he wouldn’t be recognized even if by some coincidence someone he’d once known was there.

So he handed off his best equipment (and a few bottles of resist fire) to Malborn and dressed in some gaudy Skyrim finery.

When the Thalmor ambassador singled him out to speak to almost immediately he was certain he’d been caught, but between answering her questions in a circular manner and Malborn interrupting and redirecting her attention, he managed to avoid such a confrontation. He egged on a drunkard to make a scene and get attention off of him, then slipped into the back with Malborn.

He immediately snuck up on and took out a Thalmor soldier, swapping clothes with him in an attempt to blend in and to mask his features. This worked part of the way, but as he approached his goal a mage stopped him. The Thalmor recognized him, he raised the alarm that a traitor was in their midst, and a fight ensued.

He managed to slip in and steal a number of papers that proved the Thalmor don’t know who caused the dragon uprising (as well as some incriminating documents about Ulfric Stormcloak that he intends to hold onto for later). After learning about Esbern and freeing the Thalmor’s prisoner, Nonni made to escape. Unfortunately the Thalmor has caught on that Malborn had let him in. Malborn came running into the room chased by mages. Nonni tried to kill them before they could kill Malborn, but he wasn’t strong enough, and only managed to escape with the released prisoner.

After that he’s continued with the main story with few other incidents at the moment. After freeing Esbern from Riften and meeting up with Delphine he agreed to go with them to Sky Haven Temple—he’s less of a reluctant hero now that he knows the literal apocalypse is going to happen if he runs and the Thalmor know he’s here anyways so hiding’s not such an option anymore. On their way they ran into two dragons. One was named and swooped out of nowhere. The other was a blood dragon and was another desperate and close fight that he only survived with Delphine and Esbern’s assistance.

And that’s Nonni’s adventures so far. Most recently he met Paarthurnax, he respects the dragon for his choice to side against his own kind when he saw something was wrong. He has lost any respect he has for the Greybeards however, after Arngeir decided that helping the Dragonborn to destroy Alduin would be a worse sin than letting the world die. We’ll see where those feelings go later. Somewhere along the way he also found Merida’s beacon and accidentally became her champion.

He’s too scared of being smote on the spot to tell her that he’s a vampire and that her making him her champion of light is incredibly ironic.

#long post #sorry I’m on mobile and can’t put a read more #skyrim #skyrim oc #Nonni the Altmer

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slapshot-to-the-heart · 6 years ago

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Step on It

Whoops! I didn’t at all mean to start this, but then I saw a post by @mendeshoney tossing around the idea of a Shawn Mendes Baby Driver AU, and absolutely fell in love with it. It’s probably going to have three or four more parts, and hopefully the next will be up in a few days! It’s genuinely one of my favorite movies and favorite things I’ve ever written, so please feel free to tell me what you think!

Word Count: 3.1k+

Baby was a good kid. He always tried to do the right thing, looked after his foster dad like he was his own flesh and blood, and never hurt anyone unless he absolutely, genuinely had to. Baby was a good kid, but sometimes he got mixed up with the wrong people. After his parents died, and before moved in with James— back when he was still bouncing around group homes— he made some bad moves, ending up with the sort of crowd he swore he’d never get involved with. It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t mean anything bad by lifting the Audi at the corner of Queen and Boulton. All he was ever going to do was take it out for an hour or so, drive around, and return it, no harm done. Nobody was ever supposed to find out. What Baby didn’t count on was that somebody had been watching him.

His heart leapt up to his mouth as soon as he saw the man at the corner, clad in a grey suit, arms crossed and a wry smile on his face. Shit. He wasn’t supposed to get caught. He was tripping over his words as he got out of the car, a combination of apologies and excuses and pleas for forgiveness falling out of his mouth before the man held up a hand and Baby’s words trailed off.

“I saw you driving,” the man said. “Call me Flint.”

Baby briefly wondered if that was his real name. “I’m so sorry about the car, I don’t know what I was thinking—”

“How old are you, kid?”

“Fourteen,” Baby swallowed.

“Fourteen, Jesus. Where’d you learn to drive like that?”

He shrugged. “Don’t really know. Just around?”

Flint looked at him for a moment, weighing his options. “I’ve got an idea. You ever want to make some extra money, Baby?”

He nodded. “Sure, but my name’s—”

Flint cut him off. “Save it. Where we’re going kid, you won’t be needing it. Anyone asks, your name’s Baby. You hear me?”

Forcing down a nervous swallow, Baby followed Flint. What was he getting himself into?

Baby had always learned that if something seems too good to be true, it usually is. Flint’s deal was no exception. While he was undoubtedly dazzled by Baby’s skills behind the wheel, he was more interested in using them for his own, less-than-legal purposes. All to pay off the debt Baby owed him for stealing his car, he had said. Which is how Baby found himself sitting in the driver’s seat of a nondescript red sedan six years later, glancing over his sunglasses to see if the job was done. By job he meant bank robbery, naturally. It wasn’t like Baby felt good about what he was doing; he didn’t. He was doing it because he had to. He had no other choice. So he tried his best to push away his conscience, ignore the ringing in his ears, and skip songs on one of his many iPods until he found something suitable. Fast-paced, driving sound, with the right tempo and rhythm to keep him from thinking too much about the fact that he was definitely about to commit a felony. Bellbottoms- Jon Spencer Blues Explosion. Keeping one eye on the bank door, he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, singing along under his breath. Baby liked to drive, but music is what gave him life, what kept him going week after week when the guilt of what he did threatened to eat away at his soul. Lost in thought for a moment, he nearly missed the blaring sound of the bank’s panic alarm, the small crew sprinting out the side door and across the street to his car. They piled in, Baby turned the key in the ignition, and he floored it. Down side streets, between cars, and under overpasses, until they arrived at the switch point, trading in the red sedan for a demure-looking silver hatchback. Baby vaguely wondered if Flint was channelling his inner suburban soccer mom, before sliding into the front and retrieving the keys from the center console.

The ride back to the headquarters— “the office,” as Flint liked to call it— was much less eventful, and ten minutes later the group of five was walking back into a seemingly-abandoned warehouse.The same strange smile on Flint’s face, the one Baby had learned was his sign of restrained satisfaction, he spoke. “So, how’d it go?”

Working for Flint, Baby had become an expert in waiting around and biding his time. There was never a consistent schedule for his jobs; he could go two days or two months between. When Flint called, he went. He’d take his stack of bills home, tuck them underneath a loose floorboard in the living room, and try hopelessly to reassure James that he wasn’t up to anything illegal, that he wasn’t in danger. He hated lying, but knew that it would be putting them both in way more danger if he knew the truth.

That’s how he ended up in the tiny kitchen in the apartment he shared with James, two pieces of bread on the counter, a jar of peanut butter off to the side.

Banana? He signed to James.

Obviously, he said, eyes rolling.

A corner of Baby’s mouth twitched. Grabbing a banana from the counter, he put the peanut butter back in the cupboard, placing the plate in front of him.

Thank you, James said.

No problem, I’ll be in my room if you need anything.

James nodded, and Baby walked the short distance from the living room to his bedroom, closing the door most of the way but not shutting it. James’ arthritis had been acting up lately, and he didn’t want him to have to open the door if he needed help.

Sitting down on his slightly beat-up but well-loved office chair, Baby pulled out a fresh case of blank cassette tapes that he had bought from the music store earlier in the day. It was the one thing that seemed to be able to get him out of his head, that gave him some semblance of peace and security in the midst of everything he did as part of his day job. Opening up his Mac and powering on his old cassette recorder, he plugged in his earphones. He liked to record bits of conversations he overheard, or lines of a song, or even the ambient noise that made Toronto sound like home. Car horns, trains, birds chirping, the splashing on Lake Ontario, they all made him feel safe. Made him feel at home. The top shelf of his closet was mostly filled with shoeboxes filled to the brim with these tapes, another off to the side having a dozen or so iPods and MP3 players he had loaded with his favorite music. Each one had its own theme. Most people had all of their albums on just one or two, but Baby liked the structure of his system. He was able to have control over that, even if in every other respect his life seemed out of his hands.

Someday, Baby thought he might like to try writing his own music. There would be something powerful about feeling like a piece of music was really his own, not like he was merely toying around with someone else’s words, someone else’s melody. He even had a guitar in the corner of the room, a nice one, that he’d pull out on occasion, an old journal filled with half-written songs lying on top of it. The guitar was the only thing Baby had ever spent a lot of money on, and the very pretty girl at the music store downtown promised him it was worth every penny of the $800 he had spent. He wasn’t much of a spender aside from that, nearly all of the rest of the money went towards savings. Saving for what, Baby didn’t know. He thought he might like to go to college one day, but that obviously wasn’t going to work in his current situation. Travelling was out too. So it was left accumulating under the floorboard, waiting for something, anything, to happen.

As Baby popped the cassette out of the recorder and scrawling a title over the front, a glint of metal caught the corner of his eye. His mom’s iPod. He always found it something of a miracle that it hadn’t been irreparably damaged in the car crash that had killed both her and his father, but he always ended up figuring that she was watching over him now, that she knew he couldn’t survive, wouldn’t want to survive, in a world without music. Baby could care less about his father— he had never really been there for him, never played catch or taught him how to ride a bike ro read goodnight stories, all the things a dad was supposed to do— but his mother, he missed her every day, the pain her death caused left a hole in his heart that had never been repaired. Some days were easier than others, but no days were easy. His mom, Julia, was the one who showed him love and taught him that he was valued and wanted and important, especially when he didn’t feel so himself.

He was ten when his parents died, which unfortunately for him, is right about when you really start remembering stuff, and selective memory doesn’t work as well as it used to. Which meant that he remembered every excruciating detail about the car accident that had left him an orphan. His parents fighting, his dad’s eyed not being on the road, the truck drifting into their lane, the crunch of the metal, being pulled out of the car by some good Samaritan and carted off to the hospital. Some kind-faces, spectacled doctor trying to explain to him how they tried everything they could, but his parents hadn’t made it. His aunt buying him his first suit to wear to the funeral. Thc closed caskets.

His Aunt Lydia had taken him in for a few months, trying her best, but then her husband got transferred to a job in California and he wasn’t able to go with him. She still tried to keep up with letters though, her annual birthday cards sometimes the only thing that reminded him there was a world outside of the city limits. After that, he was put into foster care, bounced around from home to home, never staying more than a few months. Some of them were genuinely terrible places, but more often than not it was Baby who would run away, taking his backpack, iPod, and a change of clothes before his social worker tracked him down and had him sent to another house. James was different. There was something about him that made Baby want to try harder, want to be a better person, want to change. Maybe it was the fact that he didn’t pity him. James had lost people too. Maybe it was the fact that he hadn’t come from much either, but still managed to live a life of joy and gratefulness every day. Maybe it was just the fact that he was a single Deaf man, so unlike any of the other families that he had been with, that all he actually needed was a change of pace. And six months later, he met Flint. Whatever the case was, Baby was grateful. He didn’t know where he’d be without James. So he wasn’t proud of what he did for Flint. Not by a long shot. But he had no choice, not if he wanted to keep himself and the one other person he was certain he cared about safe.

He owed Flint a debt, and it wasn’t like he could ignore his calls even if he wanted to. And by God, did Baby want to. Every time he picked up his phone for another one of Flint’s ‘jobs,’ it chipped away at him. The best he could do, Baby mused, was simply try to ignore the guilt until they were square, until he was all paid up, until he could finally by a car of his own and go driving down the highway and never stop.

Baby stripped off his shirt, unbuttoned his pants, threw the covers over himself, and wanted for sleep to come.

Baby woke the next morning to the blaring of his phone alarm, the speakers playing Mr. Blue Sky until he reached over, absentmindedly thumbing the screen until the music stopped. Opening up his closet, he dressed himself before walking out to the kitchen, where James was already sat in his wheelchair by the living room couch, reading the previous day’s newspaper.

Eggs and toast okay? Baby asked.

James nodded. Bacon? He asked, raising an eyebrow.

Baby shook his head. All out, used the last yesterday. I’ll get more when I’m out today.

Will you have another job today? Baby had never really told James about what he did for Flint, figuring the more ignorance on his part the better, but he was more perceptive than most, and had found out that at the least, whatever Baby was going to be given stacks of hundreds couldn’t be legal.

I don’t know, he said, shrugging. They call, I go. That had long been his motto.

Baby didn’t usually have much to do so long as he kept his phone on him, so he walked until his feet ended up taking him to Grange Park, to the same bench his mom used to sit on while he played on the same playground he looked at now. School was still in session so there weren’t too many people around, the majority being toddler age or younger. He sat for a few minutes, trying his best to disallow any memories from the crash to taint his daydreams, eventually plugging his headphones in, scrolling to his favorite 80s playlist, and walking the twenty minutes to the diner.

His mom had worked at Fran’s since long before he was born, and Baby had spent countless hours staying out of the way in a corner booth, entertaining himself with coloring books and comic strips until his mom finished her shift. Everyone that worked there had always been good to him, Julia’s frequent shift partner Monica even checking in on him a few times after her death, bringing casseroles and condolences that meant well, but didn’t end up doing much more than reminding him that her kids still had a mom while he didn’t. He visited often enough that the manager waved at him as he walked through the door, telling him his usual booth was open and he was welcome to take it. He slid in, and not a moment later the door opened again, and in walked a woman who was inarguably the most beautiful person Baby had ever seen in his life.

He barely had time to register that she was singing, so he pulled out the little, pocket-sized cassette recorder he kept in his jacket, managing to catch the last ten seconds or so. He wasn’t even able to slip it back in and she had returned, her long brown hair now pulled up in a bun and the denim jacket cast away in some cramped employee locker.

“What can I get you this morning?” She asked, with the same kind of planned cheerfulness Baby was used to from any of the servers. He hadn’t recognized her, though. He would have remembered.

Baby swallowed. “Uh, not sure?”

She waved him off, leaning her head towards the near-empty diner. It was a bit of an odd hour for lunch. “Don’t worry about it. Not like I’ve got many other customers to entertain, you see?”

His jaw fell slack, and she cocked an eyebrow quizcally at the cassette. “Am I being recorded or something? For...quality assurance?” She added playfully. “What can I get you this morning, sir?” She added with emphasis.

Rubbing a hand on the back of his neck, he shook his head. “No, no. Nothing like that.” Continually flustered, he stared at the kid’s menu when she asked about his order again.

“You know that’s the kid’s menu, right?”

He grabbed the other sheet and placed it in front of himself, perhaps with a little more force than was necessary. “Uh, yeah. Yeah.”

“So did your day just end or is it starting?”

Baby shrugged a shoulder. “Can’t really say either way. They call, I go.” As if by some cruel twist of fate, his phone chose that moment to ring. Any other person would let it go— they were eating, they were busy, and they were with a very pretty girl. But there was only one number who ever called that phone. Flint. And while he may have had something of a soft spot for Baby, he’d be damn near on thin ice for letting it ring.

“So what do you do, then? Some kind of a driver, a chauffeur?” Her name tag said Joshua, and while Baby certainly wasn’t one to criticize someone for having a strange name, something told me it was likely the fault of some poorly-organized backroom shelves and not the girl’s parents.

“Yeah, I drive people.” Vagueness always seemed to be the best response whenever anyone asked him what he did. Too little detail and his story wouldn’t be believable, but too much and they’d get suspicious. He had learned long ago to tread the sweet middle ground.

“Anyone I’d know?”

He shook his head. “I hope not.”

She already found him interesting, but now he was flat-out mysterious. “You’re a little different, aren’t you?” She murmured.

“Maybe.” Baby didn’t want to leave. God, he didn’t want to leave. He had to, but there was one more question he needed to ask. “What was that song you were singing?”

The second he got out of the meeting with Flint, Baby headed straight to the nearest record store. He made a beeline for cassettes, praying it would be tucked away behind some long-forgotten stack of Elton John’s greatest hits or the Lion King soundtrack. After a few minutes of flipping, he finally found what he had been looking for. Tucked between Prince and Fleetwood Mac— he recalled with a grimace that this particular store didn’t always do a bang-up job at alphabetizing— Carla Thomas, B-A-B-Y. He had never listen to much music from the 50s or 60s aside from classic rock; jazz and folk never really struck him as ‘his kind’ of music, but he swore he’d never loved a song more than when he heard her singing it. Turning over the case in his hand, he remembered something that threatened to throw a wrench in his well thought-out plan. He didn’t know her name.

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes blurb #shawn imagine #shawn mendes fluff #shawn mendes imagines #Shawn Mendes Imagine #shawn mendes writing #shawn mendes smut #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes fanfic

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kinessie · 6 years ago

Text

i thought of you (so i didn’t have to think of myself)

[ao3]

I thumbed at the old wolf insignia on a metal coin I kept beside my bed. Cassie called me through to eat and I stared at her for a second before roughly throwing the past into a drawer.

I watch over Cassie a lot, I feel like it was my duty to keep an eye on her, after being the one to bring her in. I had bad memories associated with taking a mentor role again, Cassie changed my view.

She’s an amazing girl. She’s smart and friendly, always greeting me with a smile. Her combat skills are second to none, even without formal training. Cassie is absolutely an asset to the Resistance. Valera has commented on that fact many a time. I felt pride burn in my chest seeing her up front next to Valera during battles.

Through the time I’d spent with Cassie, I understood more about her quirks and personality. I’d picked up on most mannerisms of the Paladins as we were very tight-knit. Ying runs her hands through her hair when talking and talks to you like you’re the most important person in the world. Inara paces back and forth in the boardroom when she’s taking time to grieve. Cassie wears her heart on her sleeve, she expresses herself so clearly, her eyes were an open book of her emotions.

So it became apparent to me when she started acting… Out of sorts. I noticed it first around six months ago when she came back from a patrol with joy in her eyes and a smile on her face. I asked why. “Buck told me a great story earlier today!” Buck had been spending the last 48 hours up the mountain after he and I got into another Sentinels-themed argument. I chalked Cassie’s mistake up to a simple slip of the tongue.

Cassie had been keeping to herself recently, only slightly more than usual, only enough that I’d noticed. She’d talk and laugh with Zigs for long stretches or write much longer entries in her journal. One day she put her pen down after seven straight minutes of writing. I asked what was on her mind. “Guess I’ve just been more in-tune with my emotions, recently.”

I walked into her bunk the other day and she was no where to be seen, but I reached down and found a scrap piece of paper with long lines and looped words. Cassie wrote poetry. She wrote one for me, once, but that was short and uninspired. This, however, spoke of a place of peace and serenity. “Beneath the trees where my love is unchained and paints the night sky,” I’d never understood poetry, but I could almost see her soul in this piece.

Last week Valera had us all in the boardroom to discuss an upcoming rally in a village three towns over. It was simply another plan to encourage un-allied settlements to sway their opinions in the way of the Resistance. We all stood, nodding along. I noticed Cassie fidgeting. “How about we do this the week after?” Valera raised an eyebrow at her. “Well… Zigs noticed a storm upcoming. We’d be travelling in poor conditions and the village will be boarded up.” Valera told her that Magistrate occupied areas were creeping closer and closer, and we may not have another opportunity. Cassie dug her fingernails into the wooden round table but said nothing.

Valera agreed in the end to push the rally to the end of the week, although she showed distress in the question if the Magistrate had already sent their forces in this direction. I didn’t want Magistrate blood on my hands today, but I would fight with pride if I must.

We walked through the village which was almost sheltered by forest. I looked up and admired the sunlight peeking through the tall canopies. I could hear Inara behind me taking slower steps as she herself spent time with the nature. People of the village started to emerge from their homes as the Paladins made their way closer to the centre. Cassie was looking back and forth between the trees, not in a lingering, admiring way, her eyes darted.

The mayor of the town had walked up to Valera. His robes were expensive and long, his beard long but well-kept, his posture straight and attentive. He almost looked too regal to be from such a small settlement. Valera gave him a speech similar to ones she’s told to many before. While everyone else stood calm in this seemingly safe village, Cassie was almost alarmingly on-edge. Her hand gripped her crossbow until her knuckles turned white.

Something had to be going on.

That’s when it happened. The mayor took a step away from Valera and immediately a bullet shot through the air and through his skull. Chaos ensued. All of us drew our weapons and the villagers ran around in a frenzy. Ying and Buck tried desperately to calm them and get them back into their homes. Valera pointed her sword in the direction of the bullet, but Cassie piped up and stared in the opposite direction. “I see them! Over there!” That was enough for Valera to take off in the said direction. Sha Lin got himself onto a nearby roof and then into the trees ahead, giving chase.

Cassie was lying. I knew she was. She uses small, almost unnoticeable hand movements to direct Zigs. And as she spoke to direct the others, I saw her left hand curl backwards. Zigs had gone in the correct direction. I should have called her out then and there, but I didn’t, I felt like she was my responsibility. I rushed off with the others for a few seconds, then turned back to see Cassie running after Zigs. I followed behind and tried not to be noticed.

The huntress ran for a while until she reached a slightly open clearing that Zigs hovered over, I flattened myself behind a tree. “Nessa?” She yelled. “Fuck.” She hissed. I’d never heard her swear. A twig snapped and a thud sounded on the forest floor, my curiosity lead me to peek around the trunk and I almost got whiplash at the speed I turned right back.

Kinessa. We were in the Sentinels together. We trained together. Lived together. All of us. And now she was here, after five long years, standing in front of the woman I mentor now just like I mentored before.

“I’m here. You okay?” Spoke the voice that cut into my memory like a knife. “Me?” Spoke the other. “We were all there! They could’ve killed you! I covered for you!”

Things were starting to fall into place. I could only think of the obvious: Kinessa killed the mayor.

“Shit. I’m sorry. You don’t need to do that for me, I could have gotten away.” Kinessa spoke with a softness I’d never heard before. I remembered her tone as brash, always either excited or mad. I felt a pang in my chest at the unfamiliarity.

“Look.” Cassie audibly sighed. “I’m just glad you’re alive.”

There was a moment of silence, I peeked past the tree once again and everything finally made sense. The solo patrols, the late-night monologuing, the long-winded journal entries. It was all for Kinessa. It always was. The two embraced and the once larger than life, reckless and dangerous bounty hunter almost looked small next to Cassie.

I didn’t know what to do in the moment. A part of me strived for justice, to confront Kinessa about the murder, to question Cassie’s loyalty to the Paladins. I wanted to raise my rifle at Kinessa and tell her we all felt lost without her. I wanted to see her face contort after telling her I put a bullet in Strix’s arm only two months after I pledged into the Resistance. I wanted her to feel the pain she had inadvertently caused.

But that wasn’t fair? Was it?

That all happened years ago. Now today I see Cassie smiling and writing poetry on scraps of paper. The neutral grounds she spoke so delicately of were never of a place but of a person. War had raised the hackles of everyone and if Cassie had truly found a place to exist comfortably for a while, then did I really have the heart to stop her?

Looking back just one more time I noticed the large scar across Kinessa’s right arm and remembered the face of the gorlock who cut it. The scars on my stomach told the same story. As if she could hear my thoughts, Cassie reached over and trailed her thumb over Kinessa’s scar. It was almost as if she was acknowledging she carried memories in the past, but that they, together, lived in the present.

War was messy, confusing. It bred grudges, anger.

Four years ago I wouldn’t have walked away from that clearing as I did, leaving Cassie behind. I fear I would have killed Kinessa there and then, blaming her for ruining the only hapiness I had. Cassie was a better person than me, I couldn’t pretend that I knew everything about her, but I knew that for sure. It was time for me to take my place in the present. It my have not been politically right, but protecting Cassie was morally right, it was something I wanted to do.

In the coming months, whenever Cassie came in late and I saw her giddy and grinning, I covered for her. Said to Valera she was on a patrol set by me. I talked with Buck, getting out into the open all the bottled up emotion I had of the past, and that was then settled. Tensions rose higher and higher, clashes with the Magistrate had left some of us wounded and angry.

One night, Cassie headed for the door with a bag slung over her shoulders. I spotted her and she looked at me like a deer in the headlights.

“Tyra! I-“

Go. I told her. And she went, seeking the comfort and answers we couldn’t provide.

I opened my drawer and picked up the metal coin inside. It was rusted, it’s status and dignity long lost. Buck found his freedom in worship, Kinessa and Cassie found theirs in love. I think I was about to find my freedom in a way unique to me.

I went to place the coin back but hesitated, I slipped it into my pocket and felt it press against a scar that I would carry with me, always.

A door opened.

#paladins champions of the realm #fanfic #alternative title: Was Going To Just Be Kinessie But Got Emo About Tyra Halfway #alt alt title: I Miss The Sentinels

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wintersxsoul · 6 years ago

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We are stardust (8)

Summary: Your favorite place on New York is a small coffee shop, what happens when one day you bump into a mysterious goth god and he keeps coming just to see you?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Reader

Word Count: 1291

Warnings: Language ???? idk.

A/N: Sorry.

Diary entry nº8

I’m a little bit worried. I haven’t known anything from Bucky in a week. I know I may be a bit paranoid, but it’s weird. After I met Steve and Sam, he dropped me at home after dinner and a cozy day and he said goodbye with a kiss and a promise to see me next day. He’s not answering my texts and he’s not coming to the coffee shop either.

Maybe something happened to his family? I don’t wanna bother him very much, so I’ll just wait for him to get in touch. Steve and Sam left again to do a spiritual retirement, so they won’t be in touch for a month. Nat and Wanda are working their asses off and Marie is in Spain, visiting her family for a while.

It’s starting to feel like winter, and I love that.

Diary entry nº13

Almost two fucking weeks. What is going on? I thought I was being too pushy texting him every two days, so I decided to call him. It went directly to the fucking stupid voicemail. Is he avoiding me? No one from the coffee shop has seen him in, the last time he went was with me.

I said something or did something wrong? I don’t know what to do. Last time I saw him, we were so...happy? Steve and Sam left after breakfast, so Bucky and I decided to jump back to bed to just be together, fucking like rabbits and cuddling, skin to skin and heart to heart. I’m so fucking mad at him, why the fuck would he do this? Without any explanation?

Marie is still in Spain, and I barely see Nat or Wanda. I try to focus on my work and it’s going quite well. The coffee shop is finally putting up some fairy lights and they added new teas. I can’t wait to try them!!

Oh and I managed to write some more.

Diary entry nº21

I can’t do this anymore. It’s been three weeks. He’s like a ghost lingering on my mind. I can’t eat, I can’t write, I can’t read and his face appears every time I close my eyes.

I haven’t been in the coffee shop for a few days, every time the bell rang, my heart skipped a beat, hoping it might be him. But it never was.

The guilt is eating me alive. The memories of him are too painful. Yesterday I remembered one afternoon in his apartment. We were in the observatory room laying down on the floor, a fluffy blanket wrapped around our naked bodies. He was connecting all my back freckles, making constellations and naming them. As I write this, a shiver is running down my spine, my body still remembers his fingertips on my skin.

I’m so tired of crying and the loneliness. I’ve never felt more alone in my entire life.

The girls are all away for the holidays, I’m not in good terms with my family and Bucky...Well, Bucky is just, gone.

Diary entry nº22

I need to know what’s going on. I’m going today to his apartment. This is unbearable.

You threw your journal to the bed and got dressed. The warm and cozy grey sweats were too big for you, and you looked at yourself in the mirror. You looked like trash. Your hair was disheveled, your eye bags were more prominent than ever, your normally chubby cheeks were gone and replaced by sharp cheekbones. You could feel your collarbones through your oversized sweater, your hands were shaking and your eyes red from crying. You were a mess. You sighed heavily and pressed your hand to your aching chest, taking a final look in the mirror and leaving your empty apartment.

As you drove to Bucky’s apartment, you couldn’t stop hoping for the best. Maybe there was a logical explanation to everything. Maybe he wasn’t in the best headspace and he didn’t know how to ask for help. Maybe, maybe, maybe. You turned the volume of the radio up, trying to shut your thoughts, and your heart stopped when Orion’s Belt started to play. You tried to sing along, but the lump in your throat was too huge.

This mess of emotions got his body questioning

Is this feeling alright?

He studied my freckles like the constellations

And he's looking for signs.

A sob escaped through your parted lips, your body shivering. You can do this, Y/n. The song kept playing, but you couldn’t force yourself to turn it off and your memories with Bucky didn’t help to stop you from crying.

Running my fingers through your hair I'm feeling That your thoughts have left this Earth Is it worth it? Yes Is it genuine? Can I love like this? Let me give you some reasons

Okay, you need to pull off or you are going to kill yourself. You told yourself, you couldn’t see the road ahead, your vision blurry from the tears spilling. Your body was shaking violently, your breath erratic. You parked the car in the first empty spot you saw, and tried to breathe as much as you could. Inhale, exhale.

When your hands running down my body It's like a ticket to a cosmic sky Let your body get used to this It don't matter where we are Cause when we're touching we're caressing stars Let your body get used to th-

You turned off the radio, sitting in silence. You tried to gather your thoughts, making a mental list of the things you had to say, on top of it was you confessing your feelings to him. You didn’t care if he didn’t feel the same way anymore, you just wanted to get it off your chest for once and for all. After 15 minutes crying to the point you almost threw up, you started the car and went straight to Bucky’s street. No more radio, no more thoughts. Just Bucky.

You got out of the car, and fixed your clothes trying to ease your nerves. Once you reached Bucky’s apartment, you chickened. You can’t do this. You can’t. What the fuck, of course you can. No men will ever have this power over your feelings. You’ll tell him how you feel about him, and if he decides to leave you, it’s his loss. You rock girl, you can do this.

You gulped and raised your trembling hand, knocking at his door two times. You fidgeted, million of possible outcomes running wild through your mind, but none of them prepared for what you had to witness when the door opened, the smile falling from your lips.

Your feelings were overwhelming, you’ve read about the five stages of grief and had to learn them by heart in order to help your friends when they needed you, but you didn’t know anything about feeling them all together. At the same time. In only a second.

This isn’t happening, this can’t be happening. 1- Denial. You closed your fists and tighten your jaw, a boiling rage coming from your insides. 2- Anger. What if this is your fault? Maybe if he asked you for space...3- Bargaining.

You felt your heart literally break inside your ribcage. You knew these feelings happened often to people when they lost a loved one, how they felt a piece of them leaving, their heart never mending. You raised your hand to your chest, and pressed, trying to feel the void you felt with your own touch. 4- Depression.

You felt a pair of eyes looking at you, confused. You finally gained the courage to look up again. You felt tears threatening to fall, but you squeezed your eyes shut to hold them back and gulped. Everything made sense at that moment, everything fell into place. 5- Acceptance.

“Dot?”

#Bucky Barnes #bucky #bucky x you #bucky/reader #bucky barnes coffee shop au #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x female reader #james bucky barnes #marvel fanfiction #marvel #bucky barnes fandom #angst and fluff #angst #coffee shop!au

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mascara-and-a-smile · 6 years ago

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Let's recap the year.

2018

WRITE DOWN OR CIRCLE THE NUMBER THAT BEST DESCRIBES HOW YOU FEEL ABOUT EACH PART OF YOUR LIFE IN 2018 AND THEN EXPLAIN WHY YOU FEEL THAT WAY.

MY BODY 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

WHY: I do CrossFit 5 or 6 times a week, I eat a healthy breakfast and dinner. I have a hard time being consistent in taking iron and other medications or going to the doctor. I need to eat lunch more regularly.

MY WORK/SCHOOL 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

WHY: I've lost my interest or passion in teaching. I need to re-evaluate my next steps whether that's looking into AQ courses or branching out my teaching experience.

MY MONEY 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

WHY: I have paid off all of my debts to my dad and have set up a savings plan with more though withdrawals. This was set up at the end of 2018 so I'm starting 2019 with a clean slate. I've paid off my m/c but need to be better at spending less overall.

MY LOVE LIFE 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

WHY: I met a new man in the later part of the year who sparked my love again. It was lost and with him it's been found again. It's still new but I know he's the one I want to spend the rest of my life with.

MY FRIENDSHIPS 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

WHY: I have some of the best friends I could ask for, I am truly grateful for each and every one of them. I can do better at supporting them and allowing them to support me daily. I have some friendships I need to let go of.

MY SELF-WORTH 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

WHY: I can be quite hard on myself and sometimes talk myself down. I'm not as confident as I used to be about my beliefs and needs and wants. But I know I'm a great person and important to many people in my life.

NOW THAT YOU’VE RANKED HOW YOU FEEL IN THESE CATEGORIES, USE YOUR ANSWERS TO HELP WITH THE FOLLOWING QUESTIONS:

1. What are 3 good things that happened this year and how did they make you feel?

One good thing that happened this year was breaking up with my ex-boyfriend - it was a toxic relationship and it was time for me to grow and be alone. Another good thing that happened was my dad breaking up with the woman he was seeing that was causing so much stress and anxiety in our lives and relationship. Our family is so much happier and in a better space even though our dad is alone. The most important good thing that happened is meeting my new boyfriend. He has changed everything for me, showed me love and strength and courage and continued support and patience. A final good thing that happened is my best friend is pregnant and having a baby next summer and my other very close friend had a baby and I've been so grateful to be part of her family and watching her baby grow.

2. What are 3 low points of this year and how did you handle them?

As much as breaking up with my ex was a good thing that happened to me this year, it was also one of the lowest points in my year. Most of the spring I spent trying to stay positive and motivated when I felt very alone. Scared and alone. Scared of the future of my family and life because I was still full of stress and anxiety of my dad's relationship as well. Both of our relationships and now ex's were a huge low points for almost the entire year. Another low point was the teaching assignment I had at a very difficult school and group of students. Looking back I know they taught me a tremendous amount about myself and about education, it was extremely hard for me emotionally. A third low point from this year was one of my best friend's (at the time) wedding. The lead up to her wedding caused me so much stress and anxiety when it should have been fun and exciting. I still can't quite figure out why it went the way it did but it was certainly a low point for me. The actual day and the events leading up to it - very high stress, high emotions and negativity. Not to mention too much alcohol and a one night stand to top it off. I still feel resentment towards her six months later and I'm not sure it can be fixed without a whole lot of time and emotional energy on my part and I don't know if it's worth it. Finally, the last quarter of the year has been hard for me the past few years. I thought I had a better understanding of my depression and sadness surrounding Christmastime but it still took me at full force this year and I'm thankful for the support of my best friends, family and boyfriend to keep me positive and deeply happy.

3. What is the big lesson you learned this year?

I've never really thought about it, a lesson I learned in a year. I wish I've done this before. I think my big lesson is that I have to believe in myself even though I haven't done it that well. I think I tell myself that more and more but don't always do it because I worry so much about other people at the same time. I learned that life is precious and can be taken in a moment. I learned that I can lean on people and not take on everything alone.

4. What did you do this year that you are proud of?

I went on a spur of the moment road trip down the west coast to San Francisco with one of my best friends. It was a trip of soul searching, food, sights and drives and I couldn't have done it with anyone else in my life at that time. It was seven days of not worrying about anyone or anything. It set my soul free. I also competed in two CrossFit events - a partner event in the spring and an individual event in the fall. I'm not very good nor am I competitive but it pushed me outside of my comfort zone and made me proud of myself.

5. What are your hopes and dreams for next year?

I have a few CrossFit moves I'd like to get this year - double unders, pull-ups and handstands. I hope to start a teaching blog and sell my ideas and products on tpt. I'd also like to be more consistent writing and journaling and start painting maybe with watercolours. I dream to buy a house with my boyfriend. My biggest hope is that I'm happy - happier than this past year.

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crackcrocs · 4 years ago

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DEATH WILL ONLY BE THE BEGINNING #2

2.Disconnected/ Dissociation/ Depersonalisation / Darkness

Most days I'm not sure that I would choose to look after me... I would like to give up and scream.

consistent healing with mental health is the most frustrating thing. like how do you justify yourself to the people getting annoyed at you for your tics when you barely even know what a tic is and why you’re doing what you’re doing? people never believe your explanations, or it would take them studying you to see the reality of the depth of suffering, why I’m doing these annoying things and it is hard to explain. I can’t say that I can’t control it because that’s not completely true- it’s not like a muscle spasm completely out of control, its more of an impulse a bit like OCD behaviour. My brain follows mental patterns n finds it difficult to not get out of the cycle. its like scratching at a mosquito bite where yeah technically you can just not scratch it but it feels agonising not to and takes all your concentration not to do.

I’ve been more uncomfortable with the idea of being a person lately. i can’t conceptualise time so I get this feeling sometimes where its like , I hate the fact that I’m a person and I exist and it usually makes me super confused & I go into a misty state of mind where everything feels like it’s piling up leaving me anxious n too deep & I just feel too disconnected from everything. I feel lost when I look at my limbs; they grow heavier.

I personally try to spend as little time looking in the mirror as possible because it can be a big trigger for my dissociation. but taking pictures of my day/ what I’ve eaten helps me remember i have been present in the long run. This is why I have a complex relationship with social media, sometimes when I go on it I get depressed even though I want to be active. I cope by only looking in the mirror with other people there or when I have a specific reason to. It’s like I know my soul but my physical form confuses me.

I don’t even tell my friends I’m dissociating any more cause it’s just,, a given. I feel really embarrassingly bad. It’s one of the few things with my mental health that I try and minimise and hide from my friends- but I end up hiding myself as a whole, when my soul wants to be present but my body doesn’t know how to comply. I’m really sorry people have to deal with that, it’s so scary to be disconnected.

it’s annoying to have sucky mental health cos even when I want to get help I get embarrassed & feel ashamed that my brain is the way it is. I feel like a burden, or I don’t care enough about myself to believe I deserve help & to be healthy & mentally okay. I often realise the depth of self hate & my brain tells me I’d be better off dead.

I feel forced to engage in ‘the caste system of life’ . As humans were just expected to ‘keep calm and carry on’ but I’m genuinely tired. I can’t grasp that I ever used to work 2 jobs in a day at one point, I can’t grasp how. I feel an immense amount of distress about having to work in these times too, it’s like finally my mental is free to roam to whichever corner it deserves to feel peace without having to mask at all times, finally I get some extra time to organise my journals and paint & we’re actually still being made to feel obligated to go about our days as if everything is normal, while being tuned into a fear frequency. I feel like so many things are obfuscated with absolute lies & it’s hard to go on just because you have to but not cos you actually desire it.

I’m a great worker & communicator when I do have the energy, but I don’t have any dream job because I don’t dream to slave away to a capitalist system that perpetuates all kind of nonsense, i dream to dismantle it. Which I know I can’t do, so then I feel powerless, insignificant & small. for now I just can’t be arsed doing anything. maybe deep down I still have hope.

I’ve become more pessimistic that optimistic,I receive these death threats from my brain too In really dumb moments, & I’m like oh my gosh we have to just keep washing dishes & putting them away & putting more food in them & doing this over & over until we die.

I am someone that needs people but I have these silly built in coping mechanism. it’s like this character in my brain needs to hop to the recharge centre,it often wants to hide in my mental cavern of preservation because it feels like it’s disconnected from everything else. like how is everyone holding up jobs or education ? how will I be able to have all these good times & spoil my family & friends like I want to, if I can’t hold up a job ? why can’t my head not be such a bloody mess & why can’t I seem to conform to normality ??? My brain starts asking the questions, my brain starts caving away.

Even a long time ago my brain stopped planning for a future past 30 because of my individual situation & traumas, and mainly because the world is a horrible illusion once you grow & realise how truly powerless & insignificant it makes you feel. dissociation turns my memories into flat, unconvincing shadows.

thankfully I haven’t gave up & I’m still here with a bit more of a desire to go on- but only because of the inspiring creative loving caring people that surround me. over the years I’ve come across marvellous souls & I have the most beautiful family I could ever ask for. i would never want to seem ungrateful. I know the whole saying of ‘silence speaks volumes’ but as someone who’s always felt like they need to explain themselves for their entire life, I’ve learned that sometimes silence is necessary, to be able to fully be yourself & uplift the people in your life, you need to learn how to be comfortable & confident with your own self. I’m washing away my Shame and painting my shell shiny y’all!!!! Soon come you’ll see the armour I’ve been working on in the flesh.

My silences are not done in a sense of ‘I need to work on me only & FIRST, THEN I can worry about you’ but a ‘I’ve never put myself first & ALSO need to worry about me the way I worry about you I want all of us to eat together, I just don’t wanna be that friend that feels like they’re holding people back from doing things because I’m on pause. and of course there’s the fact that compromise is necessary to make friendships work, I want to make time & be present.

I don’t feel obligated(I genuinely do want to be there) but in my head for things to run smoothly for everyone’s sake there needs to be consistency(I don’t wanna lose the people I love & want to grow with them) but someone said to me consistency is just obligation sprinkled. and sometimes it just be like that, I hate how all my messages start with ‘so sorry for these late replies’ I hate it. the people pleaser always feels the need to explain but i feel bad because I feel like I’ve let them down already & that I didn’t intend or want to ignore them I just have a terrible relationship with my phone,social media & I’m one of the worst communicators I know, even though In person & in a comfortable atmosphere-I’m someone who can speak for the whole of both Scotland and Tanzania. I have a very all or nothing type brain.

most time I’m restless too and its like..i get hyper aware of all my surroundings and its really scary and emotional for a little bit but then i just start dissociating hella and it sucks ,, it’s become a normal state of mind or thing my brain does to sort of reject humanity and stuff & when I do ‘zone out’ there has to be a sense of awareness in my brain, I care a lot & I’m aware that those on the other side will feel left the dark from the other end.

I just get embarrassed n I don’t wanna ‘be the fuck up’ even though my brain actively just keeps doing it. I’m not even exaggerating sometimes the anxiety builds up because some eedyat from my past that I wanted to avoid messages me. or because I can’t reply to all my people at once. (I have people & connects from Tanzania, Turkey & Scotland) so my messages will pile up & then I don’t know how to start the replies & then I freak out & feel like a failed shitty friend, I also don’t wanna be selective because I WANT to speak & hear from everyone I do maintain contact with, but then my brain dissociates.

sexual abuse, physical & narcissistic abuse sucks. It doesn’t control me - but it’s shaped a part of my brain. for the time’s I’ve had to ‘cope’ & go to work as if everything is okay, further masking. the times as a kid I felt like I’d get punishment or a beating for answering back or doing something or being disobedient or ‘wrong’, it fuelled my ability at being able to mask more. I could lie for as long as I could so remember thanks to pedo paul- he also distorted & lured me into feeling easy & comfortable in highly alarming uncomfortable scenarios no child should ever have to experience.

being myself fully, feeling comfortable to be myself & explain my brain has never been easy.

another example that also made me be able to mask, is growing up in a ‘perfect’ looking family with much more dysfunction than I realised the older I aged. there isn’t necessarily a lack of connection in my family-we have a lot of love & togetherness, we know how to be a team. we’re a fast & fierce intelligent,compassionate bunch & I’m thankful enough to have 2 very understanding parents that will listen..I could’ve spoken to them about certain things earlier, I wish I did but I can’t go back. I forgive & hope they forgive me for there were still years where I felt judged, or like I’d be disowned.

I think it’s invalidating for parents to write off the so called ‘teen phase’ phase as the result of hormones and irrational teenage anger.

We now have more of a relationship yet there’s still that disconnect or connect only when I’m communicating with one of them at a time (depending on the subject matter/ setting).i can still chill with them both but sometimes chat feels forced. they have given me the reassurance that I’ll never be judged with what I share. Though at one point I felt (or in my head) like the downer child, they did project feelings of shame which I think stemmed from a ‘place of concern’ - and that was due to a lack of familial friendship. Both my parents were made to be parents & did a damn good job at raising us because despite the flaws. we remain tough, empathetic, polite,sensible, witty, charming, fun, respectable & decent which are all qualities from both of their seed.

I think they both deserved different loves or a more open one. because you see it sometimes felt they could’ve put their parent badge aside and talk to me like a friend, I’m not sure if all my siblings felt the same but I did. I’m also thankful for all the lessons & can’t discount my parents parenting, they are great. I’m not saying they failed, I just think that if you want your child to communicate with you, there needs to be a sense of comfort ability for them to be able to open up. If you force them to speak while you’ve ingrained fear, you end up pushing them further away. I guess to an extent the whole ‘ingrain’ fear into your child so they can respect you does work, but this creates sneakier children too- finding ways to get away with things because they’re worried you’ll get them in trouble for doing so. so if the communication lessens as the child grows, it’s because they didn’t feel understood, despite being listened to. Anyways I love my family still, I’m just an over thinker & sometimes I feel like there’s a lack of soul level conversation & genuine laughter. there’s grudges held but not expressed so then the atmosphere of the household begins to feel stuffy. whether or not everyone realises it, whether it’s because different personality types clash in the house, a bunch of reasons perhaps. But yeah in terms of dissociating & tying masking into it, it would happen whenever I felt in danger or like someone would think i was not good enough and hurt me.

sometimes I can be dry & just wanna listen to my peoples. but I feel like I always need to talk because of my people pleaser brain that also feels the need to fill in silences or feels rude when it doesn’t respond but the reality is sometimes my brain doesn’t allow me to be able to be consistent with social media, messaging, calls etc- I have a disconnect from social media even tho part of me loves the concept so much & the communication aspect is such a bonus (especially with international friends & family£ in turn my life feels like a dramatic podcast. for a while now there’s been more a mentally tired feeling that reigns over my brain, it all just gets a bit blurry so I have this habit of ‘checking out’ when I feel like I’m under stress & there’s a chance of more overloaded- it sort of makes my brain disengage even more. for some people reality checks help, for others they make things worse. personally when I don’t feel good enough I start convincing myself I already failed & that I’m not worthy of my family n friends & all that yap, the brain mould grows!! whenever stress arises or my awkward brain starts conspiring against itself- the zone out will begin.

I don't even realise the weight of my words, how serious and ugly it is. I am floating around. for years. I don't remember what feeling real is like. I feel like everything is fake and even though I matter I’m unimportant until I wear my skin of confidence & the that life is a game. I want to be able to feel like a normal person and believe myself, to believe that life isn’t a dream. I can't. I am just floating all the time. I just want to feel real for once and not so fake.

I do use listening to music or a podcast as a coping strategy so i have something engaging for my brain to focus on. music grounds me when de realisation gets really bad. but then there’s always knowing that more and more is just piling up. It’s like an outer body experience where you’re watching your lifeless body turn blue & there’s a timer with spilling sand but you’re frozen.

I feel this pattern from childhood of escapism is gash coming into adulthood, feeling everything so intensely can genuinely get overwhelming my heart feels like a racing car. I’m keen & determined though. I’m hopefully going to learn more about the brain, human impulses, how we think, because learning about humans helps me understand why I do things more, and that sort of seems to help. I wanna be strong enough for the people I love, I want to support them in tough times too I just don’t always have conversations- I’m sorry. being half there isn’t nice,neither fun.

I also keep thinking there’s some bigger /thing/ Reason for the universe, maybe waiting for the aliens or government to blow us up with the push of a button lol. I spend more time thinking about the afterlife but don’t do enough in my present one. most days I feel like life is a game boy. Is there a reason why everyone does what they do etc? Is society too dead to mend ? Remembering that it’s just the laws of the universe (human instinct, physics) controlling everything can help me. The master key system helps. Vsauce Thoughty2, Dr Phil Valentine and Brother Panic, Infinite waters,studying, art, music & generally scrolling through youtube helps lol. but I really wonder does anyone else feel like they are interacting with the world but their head is wrapped in plastic, so they can see and hear but are still totally but imperceptibly separated from the world, so they just can’t quite..connect?

#LCZABIBU #deathwillonlybethebeginning

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well-hidden-hot-mess · 4 years ago

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early morning thoughts

So it’s 6:30am and I just finished my daily meditation/hypnosis and wanted to type out my reflections vs. hand writing them because thanks to vyvanse, my brain is moving way too fast for me to be able to get it all out fast enough and don’t want to miss anything. Today’s meditation/hypnosis was about regaining the confidence we are born with and lost along the way in life. It had us go back to a memory in our childhood where we feel that confidence was lost and another one where we felt on top of the world confident which our brains will automatically pick the best memories for us for both of those scenarios. I��m not sure if this was 100% accurate for me since I was definitely not fully hypnotized thanks to waiting to long to start and vyvanse kicking in much faster than usual (normally I’d be over the moon about that but the timing just wasn’t the best for me to get the most out of that session but oh well - they say to listen to it every day for 21 days to get the max benefits so I have at least another 20 tries to get it “right” so I’m not too worried, especially since I’m just getting back into the practice of meditation and am a bit rusty to begin with) but my confidence lost memory wasn’t super vivid of the actual event but it brought me back to JJMS in the main stairwell where all the classrooms are and just stuck there but the memory was when some “friend” who I can’t remember for the life of me told Will R that I had a crush on him (let’s face it, I was beyond obsessed to the point where I’m shocked we don’t have our own episode on Investigation Discovery for being stalked or something. it was that bad) and he basically went ew and flat out rejected me. Not even to my face but told my friend who told me and that just crushed me. The sad part was when it was time to pick a moment in childhood where I felt super confident and on top of the world, I had a hard time picking one... I know it’s mainly due to lyme in one of 2 ways - either 1. its because my memory is shit and I don’t remember a lot of the good times because when there’s so little storage space and my brain holds onto bad memories to help protect me from repeating them in the future, the good ones don’t always stay and/or 2. I was sick for most of my childhood and didn’t realize it so I feel like there was always just a cloud over me or there was like a blurred/black and white filter over my life and where having intense feelings was too much energy for me because I was fighting off the illness I didn’t know I had. But I ended up going with basically the beginning of my time working at EQX (only stuff related to there, not the shit show that was my dating life) where I was MOD or just generally crushing it and was the go to person and knew everything and loved my coworkers and the members loved me plus I was doing GF classes a lot and just getting into strength training and making all sorts of progress in a short amount of time and felt lean and strong and was hitting PRs left and right and god do I miss that feeling. Not necessarily just at that gym or anything but just feeling strong and pushing my body and not having to be so worried that I’m going to overheat and cause a migraine because it doesn’t take a lot to do that and I just miss being able to do so much more and having the drive and being confident that I was capable of lifting that extra weight or whatever it was whereas now I have that cloud over me again where I’ll start to get all fired up and into it and then my body is like uhh chill out and these problems start and I feel like I get knocked off my pedestal in my own brain and am reminded that I’m not some superhuman strength having god but just a weak, sick person. It’s so beyond frustrating to me and that’s literally the theme of my life right now. I have all of this drive and desire to be crushing it in everything I do but it feels like there’s something physically holding me back and imprisoning me and I can’t break free and the most frustrating part is that it’s things that are out of my control. Whether it’s my sick brain and all the issues with anxiety/depression/disordered eating or my actual body that can’t perform the way I want to in the gym or just have enough energy to get through the day or even leave my bed without such a strong medication, it’s just so fucking hard. Like having 1/2 my mother’s DNA aka her drive and type A-ness and all that plus my father’s drive and sicilian stubbornness but being stuck in a body that can’t even begin to keep up and is dragging me down is just so frustrating. The worst part is it’s not something I’m consciously doing or am just lazy or something that I’m not doing that could fix this, no it’s all things that are pretty out of my control and it feels like it’s not because of me if that makes sense and i’m just forced to be a victim of these issues that are not any part my fault or something I can just decide to stop doing and be fine. Plus now being jobless and almost 30, it’s a lot harder to convince myself that I’m still so young and it’s okay to not have life figured out yet and blah blah blah vs. when I was 18-21 years old aka back in that time of the memory at EQX. Like I want a career, I want to have a family of my own and I feel like the clock’s ticking on that and stressing me out but I also refuse to settle for less than like head over heels/soulmates/like the kind of love that you can just feel when you see two people together kinda love and again, I’m not getting any younger and 1. I want to have my own children aka not adopt or have a surrogate and I don’t want it to be too late in that aspect by the time I find someone and 2. I’m already so exhausted now and as I get older it’s not going to get any better unless they magically come up with a cure for lyme but i’m not holding my breath so like I can’t imagine me in 10 years running after a toddler... and I want to be the best mom I can be and I don’t feel like I can do that if i’m just barely survivng life and tired all the time mentally and physically and that’s just not fair to my future husband or child. I know I’m stressing over things that aren’t happening now or anytime soon because I’m not even like talking to any guys but it’s hard not to think about when I had a taste of “love” recently and remembered how amazing it felt and how much I miss having that intimate relationship in my life and ugh. That’s a topic for another day because I don’t want to 1. spend the rest of my day typing away and 2. I don’t want to start my day by getting that far into my feels and then being sad all day. Idk there’s just a lot going on in my brain right now and I don’t really know how to process all of it right now and I’m at a low that I haven’t been at since the whole Corey saga and I know it’ll get better and there’s amazing things coming my way, like I truly 1000000% believe that but right now i’m still stuck and it just sucks and I hate it. I’m hoping that getting back into meditation and journalling will help me start to work out some of this shitstorm and bring me peace with it all. Plus I am going to start seeing a therapist (which I’m exhausted already just thinking about starting that search) which I’m sure will be a huge help and yeah. Good things are coming, I just have to get through this shit first. Like I know there’s the quote or whatever about “i’m going to make you happy, but i’m going to make you strong first” or whatever... but like okay universe/god/whoever’s listening, I feel like I’ve been through enough character/strength building things in my life to where I promise I will truly appreciate being happy and proud of myself for making it through all of that shit so like enough’s enough. It’s my time to be happy and at peace so if you could talk to my brain and both of you sort your shit out and get with the program and make me happy damnit, that would be great. k thanks.

Okay that’s enough rambling for today. Time to get up, take my progress pictures and weigh in, drink my supplement drink thing and some water, plan my day, maybe go for a really early walk and then do leg day later, maybe I’ll even go to QNTM to train legs... we shall see how I feel later.

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scenes-in-between · 7 years ago

Text

Salvage

“Agent Doggett? Meet Curtis Delario. I guess he won’t be much help clearing any of this up.”

It isn't always painful to think about Mulder. There are rare, lucky moments when she’s able to quell the hurt and the sadness just enough to regard his absence almost like a deployment.

A really, really unconventional deployment.

Her father spent a lot of time at sea when Dana was growing up. Tours as long as nine or ten months, sometimes. Missy got extremely upset the first year he couldn’t come home for Christmas, raging at the injustice of it and blaming the Navy for keeping him away from them. Dana can remember getting swept up in the fervor of her sister’s 10 year-old indignance, the two of them eventually marching into the kitchen and tearfully demanding that their mother call the Admiral and make him send Ahab’s ship home because it wasn’t fair.

Maggie calmly sat them down at the kitchen table and pulled up a chair between them, taking their hands in hers. “Your father chose this life,” she told them. “For better or worse, deployments are a fact of life in the Navy. It isn’t a matter of fairness, it simply is. Ships need sailors, and ships don’t know whether or not it is Christmas.”

Even at 8 years old, Dana knew it was men, not ships, who made decisions about when and where sailors were needed. And men knew when it was Christmas. When she said as much, her mother squeezed her hand and sighed.

“I know you girls miss your father. I miss him, too. But he knew when he enlisted that there would be things he’d miss out on at home. Holidays, birthdays, first words and first steps. He and I both knew the sacrifices that his service would require, and we accepted them.”

“Well, no one ever asked us,” Missy pouted, and Maggie shook her head.

“No, they didn't. Because it wasn't your decision to make. Some things in this world are yours to decide, and some things are not.”

Is this really so different? For better or worse, Mulder is gone right now because he chose to be. Maybe it didn’t happen entirely on his terms, and maybe he didn’t fully realize what he was getting into, but from the note he left her in his journal, he went willingly. She can be angry with him for making that decision unilaterally -- and oh, she certainly is -- but just like with her father, all she can really do now is find ways to come to terms with a choice made by someone else.

Maintaining such a pragmatic view of the situation is, of course, easier said than done; human emotions are rarely brought to heel without a fight. But neither is it an impossible task, and when she is able to accomplish it, she takes advantage of the opportunity for healing that it provides.

When she was 10 or 11, Dana coped with missing her father by writing him letters. With Mulder, she has taken a somewhat different approach.

Her “mental Mulder” went quiet for a while after her emotional breakdown on Mulder’s birthday. Maybe her subconscious mercifully recognized the need for self-preservation. In recent weeks, however, she has slowly and tentatively invited him back for brief conversations, this time on her terms. Autopsies, oddly enough, have become her preferred venues for such conversations. Perhaps it’s because her mind is mostly occupied with the task at hand, so the small amount of her attention she allocates to mental Mulder cannot become overwhelming.

You know, she muses while beginning the Y-incision on Curtis Delario, I hope I’m not losing my edge. It’s getting so much easier to approach these cases the way you would, and I’m starting to wonder what that will mean once you’re back.

You mean whether it will disrupt the balance of the Force to have us both on the same side in these investigations? His characteristic deadpan delivery would be offset by the mirth in his eyes, were he actually standing right here.

I hope you’d agree that we have always been on the same side, even when our approaches differ. The question, really, becomes whether we will ultimately be as successful if we’re looking at a problem from fewer angles.

In her mind’s eye, he is leaning against the counter across the room, arms crossed casually over his chest. Maybe we’ll solve cases even faster.

Some of them, maybe. Overall, though? I’m not so sure. She sets down the scalpel and reaches for the rib cutter. Even you have said you value the way our perspectives complement each other.

I do, absolutely. But you’re not giving yourself enough credit. Even if you’re allowing yourself to be more open to extreme possibilities now, I don’t think that means you’ve lost the ability to be skeptical. Your perspective hasn’t changed. It’s simply broadened.

She cuts through Delario’s ribcage, considering. Maybe you’re right, she concedes. If nothing else, I certainly understand where you were coming from a lot better than I used to. I’d like to think that would make you happy.

I’m proud as hell of you for it.

The illusion falters, her mental image flickering like a bad TV signal, because despite her ability to accurately imagine how Mulder’s half of the conversation might go, this is still all in her head. It feels more than a little self-indulgent to imbue this version of him with the exact words she wants to hear. Even if she didn’t consciously put those words in his mouth, it is enough to break the spell, pulling her out of the moment like a clunky passage in a novel.

She shakes her head, turning all of her focus to the removal of the chest plate and initial in situ exam, letting her mental Mulder fade away entirely for the time being. Observing the internal bleeding that seems to have occurred in between the car crash and the time of death, she makes a note as to the initial COD hypothesis.

“Moderate internal bleeding, likely resulting from the impact, continued for some time before cessation of cardiac activity,” she says aloud into the voice recorder. “Extent of internal damage is not sufficiently severe to point to the crash itself as being the cause of death.” She looks toward Delario’s head and the wounds there.

Scully has been quietly formulating a theory ever since she saw the footprints in the asphalt at the crash scene. It is still somewhat shocking how easy it’s been, these past few cases, to simply start from a place of belief in the extreme. Then again, maybe it is just that her definition of “extreme” has evolved. Maybe her mental Mulder was right about her broadened perspective. When she takes into account the full spectrum of her experience, everything she has seen, impossibility feels less and less like a concrete and absolute concept. If a man who eats livers and hibernates for 30 years at a time can exist in this world, why not one who can see through walls? If she accepts the reality of a man who can regenerate himself by consuming cancerous tissue, how can she reject out of hand the mere possibility that what they’re looking for in this case is someone who can take on a speeding car and win?

In accepting that possibility, it is not much of a leap at all to imagine that such a man might be able to inflict, with his fingers, the five large puncture wounds in Delario’s face. Considering how even a year ago she would probably have scoffed at the very notion of such a thing, maybe it is not so unrealistic to think that Mulder really would be proud to see her now. The idea spreads through her with a comforting warmth.

The door to the morgue swings open, and she looks up to see a young man in scrubs walking in. “Doctor Scully? I’m Jason Roberts, the ME’s assistant here. I’ve been instructed to provide whatever support you need on this case.”

She nods, mildly impressed. Cooperation and support from the local ME’s office is not unheard of, but it’s certainly rare enough that she doesn’t expect it.

“Thank you, Mr. Roberts. Let me bring you up to speed.”

#x-files fanfic #txf: salvage #scullyfic #msr #mental mulder #introspection #autopsy

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stardustpubs · 5 years ago

Text

From Neverland

What does it mean to love someone? Do you have to sacrifice everything for the sake of their happiness? Will it come naturally over time? Are there things you have to change about yourself? How does it last forever? May be these are all the wrong questions to ask. May be it's the wrong perception of love. People often stereotypes love; but in actuality; love is diverse, a different case for everyone. Written in these pages is the final journal entry of a man who struggled to keep his love going, but instead, witnessed the death of his high school sweetheart from a deadly disease that had torn apart many. Being in love with someone for years until you are forced to move on whether you like it or not is no easy task. I guess forever is not enough to measure how one can love. A lifetime? May be. Probably. We might never know. These things should just be left aside as a superficial distant future. For all we know, love is boundless.

A dashing first attempt of a bittersweet love story that is relatable in some way or another.

A/N: Picture does not belong to me and if the original artist is identified, please credit and cite accordingly. Thank you. Source: Pinterest

November 21, 2017

Huxley Lofts Apartments, Room 208

478 Railroad Street, Groton, NY

A month has passed since tragedy struck this apartment. It's been an entire month of wistfulness and wander. The incident almost seems like a dream by now, slowly sinking to memory, scar emerging. But echoes and memoirs of my past deeds, whether in bliss or in woe, still haunts me to my very being.

Me. Her. Us. And everything in between.

It all begs me to remember when I try my best to forget. But maybe I don't need to forget. May be what I need is to learn from it. Sounds cliché doesn't it? That's because it is. And it's pitiful enough for me to advise myself some sappy life lesson that I'm sure will not even pursue. Sigh.

'If only I'd ran faster.'

'If only I had kept my mouth shut.'

'May be only then, I wouldn't feel so empty right now.'

'And broken.'

'And alone.'

'And lost.'

These were the thoughts I had on that cold winter night. I still do feel the same, yes, only lighter. The wound is still there but not as deep anymore because I do not intend to be held back by these thoughts forever. Regretting the things I failed to do or what I could have done will not and will never change what had already happened. I have to keep moving forward. I need to let her be the doves and sing among the stars in Neverland. At least, that is what she want me to do and I have to keep my word close to my heart at all times.

What a horrible way to start an entry, I know. I was never really good a writing introductions. Let's just hope I can write the ending better. Anyway, like I said before, I need to keep moving forward, and I'll start by narrating the events that took the life of one (MY) Wendy 'Darling'.

Welp, here goes nothing.

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It was hours afterwards when I found myself weaving hastily through the crowded streets of the city: through the loud chatters of passersby, the constant ringing of phones, and the bickering of cards and buses; an irritating cacophony of the city's night life. I mean, it's the same for the day, but still, irritating. Not to mention the invasive contact of skin and the quick warm breath of the people made it difficult to breathe. Or was it just me? I'm not so sure anymore. What's worse though is that it was so freaking cold. I had nothing but a jacket, a plain shirt, a pair of sweat pants, and sandals on in the middle of November. It was such an embarrassment to be seen in such thin clothing.

To be honest, I just sort of ran out the door and didn't bother to put on anything else since getting the medicine for Wendy was my top priority at that moment. Besides, it doesn't really matter now, does it? It was always my fault anyway. I got carried away by the heat of the moment and overreacted. We had another argument, well, the same argument actually. It's all she has been saying about over these past few months.

"Arthur, I don't want to take my medications anymore," she said in a weak frail voice.

I stood by the bedside table measuring her prescriptions with mouth agape but not entirely. Shell shocked, sure, but seemingly - ok, may be it was obvious- annoyed by the consistency of her pleas.

"Yet you never do," I replied.

"I'm sure of it this time," she responded with great confidence.

"Sigh. Why even what that, Sunshine? If that happens, I'll be lonely for the rest of my days."

I flashed her a soft wavering smile before she mumbled, "But you don't have to be," her eyes wet with tears. At that moment, I dove in to the edge of the bed and caressed her cheeks as I attempt to stop her from crying.

With my heart rumbling, my stomach churning, and my smile faltering, I asked, "What's wrong, Darling?"

"I am! I've caused you nothing but trouble this past year. I'm a burden to you, Arthur. I always have been."

"What are you saying? No you're not. Never have I thought of you like that," I argued in return.

"Just look at you. You work 4 hours a days at 3 part-time jobs each and for what? 3 bottles of 'booze' a month that doesn't even seem to work while you struggle to pay the rent. No sleep, no eat, all work; you're basically as dead as me."

"So, what are you implying?"

"Forget about me. Think about yourself for once."

'But we decided this would only be temporary until we can afford for your surgery."

"Yeah, well, I'm deciding something else now."

"And I decided we will never speak of this again!" I said with a raised voice.

Silence enveloped the room. Not one of us dared to utter a word for the moment. But the presence of it was foreboding, and so I spoke, "It's time for your medicine". I grabbed the tray littered with bottle sand cups from the table and placed it between ourselves like a boundary before guiding one of the cups towards her mouth.

"I don't want to," she pouted.

Irritated, I said, "Enough is enough, honey. Drink the medicine."

"No."

"Drink-"

"I said no!"

"Just drink the god-medicine, Wendy," I exclaimed as I shoved her the medicine.

"NO!"

Next thing I knew, there was a slap at my wrist and a thump in my lap alongside the clattering of plastic and shattering of glass. It took me a second staring at the pool of chemical splattered on the floor before I processed what had just happened: She shattered her one chance of survival I so desperately worked hard to give her. And then, I broke down into fits...

"LOOK AT WHAT YOU'VE DONE! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MUCH I SPENT ON THAT? FOR YOU AND FOR THAT CAD SHIT?"

"Arthur, I'm-" she stammered.

"NO, YOU'RE NOT! ALL THIS TIME, YOU'VE ONLY BEEN THINKING ABOUT WHAT YOU WANT! WHAT ABOUT WHAT I WANT? ALL I WANTED WAS TO SEE YOU GET BETTER. I WANTED YOU TO LIVE. BUT MOST IMPORTANTLY, I WANTED TO KEEP LOVING YOU!"

"WE'RE NOT LIVING IN A FAIRY TALE, ARTHUR. WE'RE NOT IN NEVERLAND LIKE WE ALWAYS BELIEVED. THERE'S NO SUCH THING AS HAPPILY EVER AND THERE WILL NEVER WILL BE. THERE ARE SOME THINGS THAT ARE JUST MEANT TO BE BROKEN. AND I'M ONE OF THEM. IF YOU TRULY LOVE ME, THEN LET ME GO. WE'RE BOTH SUFFERING IF WE CONTINUE TO LIVE LIKE THIS."

The thought of such deed struck a chord in my heart which left me speechless once again. But knowing myself, I refuse to accept such fate, and I decided to make sure of it.

"Stay here. I'll be back in a few minutes," I ordered in the most calming voice I could muster at that time.

"Where do you plan on going?"

"The pharmacy."

"In the middle of the night? That's 4 blocks away! You can't be serious!"

I ignored her nevertheless as I reached for my jacket in the closet, but she held onto my arm before I could do so and pleaded, "Please, Arthur, just stop it already. It's not worth it. It’ll be too late. Please!” However, I just shook her off and went anyway and said, "For you, anything is worth it," because apparently, apathetic is what I am.

The mere lights of each lamppost illuminated a small portion of the darkened setting against the bright fluorescent lights; guiding me and leading me home. A sudden burst of rain made everything dreamy and hazy. While others went to seek refuge, I dashed across the crosswalk with a bag of necessities, passing door after door. I was completely soaked, but I couldn't care less. I was desperate to return to the apartment. And when I did, she was right. It was too late...I was too late. "Wendy, I'm back," I called out. What I expected to be the woman of my dreams to welcome me home, instead, I found a pale figure drowned in blankets sleeping soundly in our bed, a single piece of paper rested over her hand:

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And that was the end of it, the end of our supposed to be never-ending story. When the paramedics came, they informed me that she died shortly after I left her from a heart attack due to high blood pressure. It was my fault. Everything was fault. I was the one who ruined everything. But that's beside the point. What matters right now is how I shall move on from such a tragedy.

Do I call myself a widower now? We haven't actually gotten engaged or anything, I guess not. Would I even learn to love again? It depends on how I see it now. If I would have guess, I once believed wholeheartedly on the concept of forever, yet, I never really understood any of it. But I think I do now; it's a lie. Forever is a beautiful you wished to believe with someone and cherished it together against all odds.

You know what, may be Wendy and I aren't meant to be forever. May be it was only meant for a lifetime, at least, Wendy's. I still have all the time in world that I can spend loving her. May be I won't end it just yet - or maybe I won't. We'll never know. But when I do, I'm going to tell her all about it in another life.

Signing off,

James Arthur Celestine, Her Peter Pan.

PS. What do you know, I did write a better ending!

#short story #love #bittersweet #fiction #rework

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gillasue345 · 7 years ago

Text

Desiderium

12x02 Coda fic AO3

Desiderium: an ardent desire or longing; especially : a feeling of loss or grief for something lost.

Perhaps there is a limit to the grieving that the human heart can do. As when one adds salt to a tumbler of water, there comes a point where simply no more will be absorbed.

~Sarah Waters~

************************************************************************

By the time Mary closed the journal with trembling fingers, her tea had long since gone cold. She sniffed, wiping furiously at the tears in her eyes, and pushed the journal away from her in disgust. She glanced at the chipped cup in front of her, untouched.

Her body was stiff as she stood up from the desk. The painful ache behind her nipples reminded her that she needed to pump before she went to bed. It was strange, she thought, to produce milk for a baby who was now a grown man. Her body still thought it was 1983, despite all evidence to the contrary around her.

A sob worked its way up her throat, but Mary caught it before the sound could break the silence of the room.

She swallowed the pain like she always had, pushed the anger that had arisen in her as she read her husband’s journal down. She picked up the cup, careful not to spill its contents. She slipped on a pair of old loafers she’d found in the wardrobe of her new bedroom and made her way down the hall to the kitchen. Mary needed something stronger than tea.

The bunker was still much like a maze, but she remembered which room was Sam’s. Out of habit, she cracked the door, glancing in. The light was still on but the room was silent save for the deep breathing of her youngest child. Sam was lying diagonally across the mattress of his bed, his knees bent so that they didn’t slip off the edge. On hand was cradled in the other, his thumb pressed into a deep scar on his palm.

He looked so vulnerable in sleep, so utterly exhausted that another sob threatened to break the peace of his room. Mary reached over, flipping the old fashioned light switch off and plunging Sam into darkness. She closed the door and continued down the hall.

Dean’s room was empty. She frowned, glancing at the delicate watch Dean had given her, hidden in a box of her things he’d kept, including her old vinyl records. It was late enough that she thought Dean would have gone to sleep by now. Mary closed his bedroom door and continued on to the kitchen. Maybe he was going to the bathroom or something.

The bunker was always cold, and Mary wrapped her robe more tightly around herself. She got lost only once, making a right turn and ending up in the “dungeon” as Dean had called it when he gave her the grand tour. Eventually, she found the right hallway, but slowed her steps as she approached the kitchen. Light was pouring into the hallway from its open doorway, and she heard the muffled sound of voices coming from within.

“Dean, please just talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong.” Mary stopped. She could hear the sound of beer bottles being thrown into the trashcan. A lot of beer bottles.

“Everything’s wrong, Cas.” Dean’s slurred voice echoed out into the hall. “She’s back. She’s alive and real and its like she was never even gone. Except she was gone, Cas. She was gone for so long, and I…” Dean trailed off.

Mary pressed her back against the wall. She should announce her presence, cough and enter. Apologize for the life her death caused. But she couldn’t move. Cas—she thought it was Cas anyway—sighed, and she listened to his footsteps as he crossed the kitchen, presumably to join her son.

“Dean—” Cas began, but before he could speak, Dean interrupted him.

“—Cas, she’s not my mom.”

“Of course she’s your mother.”

“No! I mean, fuck, I don’t know what I mean,” Dean let out a shuddering breath. “She’s different, Cas.”

“Dean, she’s just been dropped 33 years into the future. It’s going to take her some time to adjust to that.”

“No Cas. I mean she’s different from the mom I remember. All those memories I’ve clung to all these years… they weren’t real.”

“I don’t understand what you mean. She’s the same person, Dean.”

“No she isn't the same person. She is… Mary. Not Mom. Mary is the hunter, the fighter. Mary… doesn’t cook. I mean… even with that vet, when she told you to hurt him. That’s not the mother I remember. That’s not the mother who made me tomato rice soup when I got the chicken pox. That’s not the mom who used to sing me to sleep and tell me angels were watching over me Cas.”

“But it is.”

“No, that’s like saying the way Sam was at Stanford is the same Sam who’s sleeping down the hall.”

“It may be a… different side of her, but don’t you remember what it was like with Lisa and Ben?” Cas asked gently. Mary wondered who Lisa and Ben were. “Don’t you remember getting out of the hunting life?” Mary’s breath caught in her throat. Dean had gotten out of the life too? Why was he back? Why did her children ever come back to this life if they had a chance at happiness?

“Cas, I drank a fifth of whiskey every night just to stay functional with them.”

“I watched you with them,” Cas said, and it sounded like a confession. Dean didn’t respond. “You got out of the life. And you may not have been happy, but you were content, if not resigned to it. There was a day that I needed your help with Raphael. It was autumn. And you were raking leaves. And I watched you. You looked so… miserable. So lost. But then you went inside, and you forced yourself to smile. You helped Ben with his homework. Fractions. You made apple cobbler. You put on an act. And that night, you locked all the doors and windows, you checked the devils’ trap on the door. You drank four glasses of whiskey and out of habit, checked the obituaries for unexplained deaths. You never really got out.” Cas’ speech hung in the air for a moment. “But you weren't the same man with them either.”

“All the memories I have of her are false,” Dean finally said. “She got out of the life, Cas. And I remember her differently.”

“You have the idolized recollections of a child,” Castiel said. “It’s natural to feel confused when the memory you’ve clung to for so long turns out to be different in reality.”

Dean chuckled, low and deep. “Thanks Dr. Phil.”

“I am not a doctor, Dean.”

"You know, I’ve been trying to recreate her meatloaf recipe for years? Years Cas! And she fucking bought the goddamn thing at the Piggly Wiggly. It’s like everything I know about her is gonna turn out be a lie.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“But what if it is? Cuz man… having her back, getting to know her, it feels like I’ve lost her all over again. And it’s hard to let go of the memories because that was all I had for so long.” Dean started crying, and Mary felt something break loose deep within her chest. His raw grief pierced her like an ice pick to the belly, and she felt her own tears well up in her eyes. She wasn’t sure how long he cried, but eventually his sobs quieted. Mary was paralyzed on the ground in front of the kitchen. She should go to him. She should comfort him.

But Mary couldn’t move.

Dean’s voice cut through the sudden silence. “Yesterday morning, she said ‘he was a great father,’ with such… certainty man, and it…I resented it,” Dean trailed off. He coughed. “I resented her for the first time.”

Cas didn't speak, but Mary could imagine his inquisitive expression, even with having known him only a few short days.

“He wasn’t a great father. Hell he wasn’t even a good father after she died. She became his excuse for every shitty thing he ever did. We had to stay in crap motels because he was hunting the thing that killed mom. We were always on the move because he had a job to do. He let the job consume him. He drank so much because he was sad. And I think… I think deep down I always resented her for leaving us to deal with him.”

Mary’s eyes, already filled with tears, snapped shut, and she buried her head in her hands. The movement jostled the cup of tea resting on her lap. Cold liquid seeped into the fabric of her robe, staining the nightgown beneath. She gasped.

“And then I felt guilty,” Dean continued. “I felt so damn guilty, because it wasn’t her fault he was such a shit father. She doesn't deserve to be blamed for that.”

“No, she doesn’t,” Castiel agreed.

“But I’m afraid of bursting her bubble. I’m afraid of telling her all the things that happened because then both of us will feel this way.”

“Overwhelmed?” Cas clarified.

“Yeah,” Dean replied. “Because how can I ever get past the fact that the great father she was speaking about was the same one who was off on a bender the first time I got raped by some douchebag motel manager, because the room money went straight to his liver?” The confession came out in a rush, like he’d never said those words out loud before. He probably hadn’t. He paused before continuing. “That the guy she remembered was the same man who beat me bloody because Sammy ran away in Flagstaff and I couldn’t find him? The same man who told Sammy if he went to college to never come back? How do I break her heart like that? So I pretend everything’s okay. Just like I always do. I push the hurt down and pretend it’s all fine. I eat the pie because that’s what they expect. I make the jokes. I can be that for her, because I refuse to be the one that breaks her too.”

“You can’t keep this bottled up,” Castiel said. “But you don’t have to tell her.” Castiel hesitated before he continued. “You can tell me, Dean.”

There was a long, long pause. “I can’t put all this shit on you, man.” Dean’s voice was soft, quiet. He sounded half asleep.

“You can and you will, Dean. That’s what family is for.”

Mary felt her fists clench. Anger flared through her at her son’s words. How could she have been so stupid? It was so much worse than growing up as hunters. John raised them in the life, which was bad enough, but then to neglect them? To beat them? To put them in dangerous situations? This wasn’t the John she knew. But the John she knew was a mechanic. Not a hunter.

The John she knew was strong, stubborn, loving. He was the kind of father who doted on his children. Who made chili hot enough to clear your sinuses, and who burnt the cornbread every time.

Her John wasn’t a cold man so hell bent upon revenge that he forgot to live.

The men in the kitchen weren’t speaking anymore. She heard footsteps coming toward her. Before she could move out of the way, Castiel emerged, carrying the bulk of Dean’s weight on his shoulder as they walked towards Dean’s bedroom. Cas stopped abruptly, staring at her slumped against the wall, with tears streaming down her face.

Dean was too far gone to even notice her there, he leaned heavily against Cas’ side, his eyes half shut as Castiel led the way. Castiel didn't say anything to her.

He returned alone a few minutes later. Mary hadn’t moved.

Silently Castiel bent to pick up the overturned cup, and held out his hand. She took it and he helped her up. Mary winced. It had been too long since she pumped. The ache in her chest had flared to sharp stabbing needles.

She followed Castiel into the kitchen. She saw the waste bin and bit her lip. It was full of bottles. Strewn across the floor in between the island and the stove were dozens of pictures.

She knelt down and picked them up as Castiel put the cup in the sink. He grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniels carefully hidden in one of the large ceramic crocks on the bottom shelf of the pantry and got two glasses. Mary moved over to the wooden table. She spread the pictures out in front of her. Several of them were familiar to her. But most of them were from after she died.

Castiel sat opposite her. He still hadn’t said a word and neither had she. She continued to pore over the pictures. One of Sam and Dean with an older man with a ginger beard and a trucker cap. One with a teenaged Sam awkwardly standing next to a girl with braces and brown hair. One with Dean, his hair long and greasy, leaning over the engine of the Impala, a plaid shirt tied carelessly around his waist as he worked.

Dean, gangly and tall, in the leather jacket she’d gotten John for Christmas last year—no, she reminded herself. The leather jacket she’d gotten John the Christmas before she died. Before she burned.

They were some of the missing pieces she’d been craving.

“I could take that away,” Castiel said, finally breaking the silence.

Mary gripped the pictures tighter to her, defensively. “Take what away?” she asked, rather more harshly than she intended.

“Your discomfort,” Cas said. “From lactating,” he clarified.

Mary crossed her arms over her chest. “How do you know about that?” she asked.

“I’m an angel.”

Mary almost laughed. Castiel was the furthest thing from what Mary considered angelic. “I’m fine,” she replied automatically. “My body just hasn’t caught up to 2016 yet.”

“I can help with that,” Castiel offered. “I could heal your pain.”

“What can you possibly know about my pain?”

“I know you heard what Dean said.” Castiel’s voice was even, calm, but with a hint of accusation beneath it. “He’d be mortified if he found out you heard him.”

“Is it true?” Mary asked, her voice was small and she couldn't meet Cas’ gaze. She stared at the wood tabletop’s uneven stain, picking with a fingernail at a scratch on the surface. “What he said about what happened to him?”

“Yes,” Cas replied. “But I’m almost certain he's never told anyone about it before. The only reason he told me, I suspect, is because he was very intoxicated. More than he’s been in a while.”

“Does he… drink often?”

Cas bit his lip. In a very human gesture, he ran a hand through his hair. “He drinks to forget, but I thought he was getting a little better. Tonight was a… step back.”

“What does he need to forget so badly that he drinks so much?” Mary asked. What had happened to her baby that was so bad that he hid behind a bottle? What else was her fault?

“His nightmares are from his time in hell, mostly. Sometimes he has nightmares about a man with rancid breath and crooked yellow teeth. I try to calm those as soon as I feel them coming on. But sometimes he dreams about his time with Lisa and Ben. Those are the good nights.”

“Ben? The vampire that bitch of letters was talking about?” Mary asked, latching onto the familiar name because she refused to think about her son in Hell. Refused to think about her son being raped.

“No,” Cas said. “Ben Braeden. His son.”

The bottom dropped out of Mary’s stomach. “I have a grandson?”

“Yes,” Cas said. “Dean was never one hundred percent positive, but he was Ben’s father. A few years back Dean made me wipe Ben's memories of him.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Lisa, Ben’s mother, took Dean in after… after Sam stopped the apocalypse. After Sam died, Dean got out of the hunting life. But the hunting life never… really left him. When he went back on the road, Lisa and Ben were kidnapped by some demons. Lisa almost died, and Ben had to do some things no child should ever have to do,” Cas recited the narrative like he was reading an owners manual. “Dean broke ties to protect them. To keep Ben out of the life he grew up in. And he hates himself for it.”

Fresh tears fell, covering the dried tear tracks from before.

“I should have protected them,” she finally said. “I should have warded the house. I should have been more vigilant. If I had, none of this would have happened.”

Castiel reached across the table, grasping Mary’s hand in his. “It would have happened anyway.”

“Then I should have told John before it did. I should have prepared him. Told him about the life so that he could have handled it better. I shouldn’t have hidden behind a facade of a normal life,” her voice raised. She was yelling now, so angry at her own cowardice. “I was such a fool, Castiel.”

“Your life has been predestined from the moment you were born,” Cas replied. “You and John… had to get together. You had to live your life away from hunting. It was destiny.”

“Why?”

Cas bit his lip. “So Sam and Dean could be born. So they could fulfill the prophecy of the apocalypse.”

Mary shook her head, snatching her hand back. It was too much to process. She reached over and took the bottle of whiskey from Cas’ grasp and poured a healthy portion for both of them. Mary downed hers in one swallow, slamming the glass onto the tabletop so hard she almost broke it.

“How do I do it Castiel? How do I connect with them again? Just... last week they were babies. And now… they’re older than I am.”

Castiel contemplated her question, sipping idly at the whiskey she’d poured him. “I think, with Sam it will be easier. He has no memories of you. No real ones anyway. It will be a clean slate. But Dean…” Castiel trailed off.

“He has this notion of who I am. Who I was. And I’m not measuring up.”

“How could you?” Castiel asked gently. “You… his memory of you… You were in many ways a saint to Dean. He isn’t a man of faith. But that doesn't mean he was a faithless man. Dean put his faith into family. Into your memory. Into honoring you, and being brave for you. Being strong because in many ways he had to fill your shoes after you died.” Mary roughly brushed more tears from her eyes. Castiel smiled sadly. “You don’t have to hide your tears from me Mary, I won’t judge you for them.”

Mary laughed. It was a broken, hollow laugh, but the weak smile she gave was almost genuine. “Thank you, Castiel. Thank you for watching over them.”

Cas smiled tightly. He stood up, and clapped a hand to her shoulder. “It’s all going to be okay, Mary.” Instantly, the pain behind her nipples subsided, the heavy feeling in her breasts gone. Cas healed her. Helped her body stop lactating for a baby who no longer needed the sustenance. She pressed a hand on top of his in gratitude.

He left then, his footsteps echoing down the hall. Mary stared at the bottle in front of her and poured another glass.

************************************************************************

The sound of a cabinet door shutting snapped her out of a deep sleep. A blanket wrapped loosely around her shoulders fell to the ground as Mary sat up, groaning at the crick in her neck and the throbbing of her temples. The bottle of whiskey was half empty, and she felt every single drop as nausea rolled her stomach and spun the world.

“Oh god,” she groaned, pressing a trembling hand to her head. “Oh, mistakes were made last night.”

A laugh from the other side of the kitchen startled her. Dean stood at the stove, his back to her. He looked over his shoulder. “Have fun?” he asked, glancing pointedly at the bottle in front of her.

She studied him. He didn't even look hungover. “Did you?” she asked, raising her eyebrows at the beer bottles filling the trash can next to the door.

Dean shrugged. “Needed to let off some steam.”

“Me too,” Mary replied. She stood up and stretched. The familiar ache to pump was gone, and Mary found she missed the sensation. She missed the feeling of being needed.

She moved from the table to the kitchen island, taking a seat at the stool as she watched her son cook. Mary laughed and shook her head. Dean turned around, a piece of bacon still held in his tongs. “What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Mary said. Dean shrugged and turned back, pulling the bacon out of the pan and starting another batch. “Dean,” Mary began, and he faced her, expectant and looking a little annoyed. “I just wanted to say… I mean I just wanted to tell you…” She couldn’t find the right words. Finally she took a deep breath. “Sam gave me John’s journal,” she said. “I’m… so sorry.”

Dean put the tongs down. He walked around the island to where Mary was sitting. Gently, he pressed a hand to her cheek.

“You don’t have to be, Mom.” He pulled her into a hug. When he pulled back, tears were in his eyes, welling up like rain drops on a windshield. Mary reached out and wiped them away, just like she always did.

“Mom?” he began.

“Yes?” she replied, wiping away her own tears.

“How do you like your eggs?” he asked simply.

It was an olive branch. A chance for them to start over, to get to know one another without the expectations of who each of them remembered. And as much as Mary wanted to fall onto her knees and beg for forgiveness for leaving her son behind to clean up her mess, Mary took it.

“Fried, medium.”

Dean’s face lit up in the first genuine smile Mary had seen in days. “Me too.”

#dean winchester #castiel #mary winchester #lindsey writes stuff #coda fic #im really proud of this fic

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