#and the way she writes about grief and loss is so real and throwing yourself into something in order to cope god i love her

[emmaspolaroid]

my secret dream is i meet megan thee stallion in the girls bathroom and we’re both drunk and I’m like omg girl you finished inuyasha?? and then we talk about satoru gojo and his —

[bardic-tales]

Content Warning: Grief, Death, Cancer, Loss of a Loved One, Familial Disconnection, Cancer, Death of a Pet, Funeral, Emotional Distress, Mental Health Struggles, Self-Blame, Isolation, Prolonged Mourning, Absence of Closure, Regret

This is a little something I wrote today. It's hard to believe my grandfather will be gone a year in Jan. I needed to try to write something about this today. I also want to sort of apologize for the somberness that I've been in lately. This time of the year is going to be so hard for me, since this is when the huge chunk of deaths occurred over 2 years.

Writing always makes me feel a little better as it helps me visualize what is bothering me.

It's been almost a year now since my grandfather passed. The anniversary of his death is approaching, and I still feel the weight of that absence. I remember when I got that call from my mother. She said, "Pap's gone." I was in my apartment with my husband and daughter, the distance that had grown since I moved was ever more real in that moment.

Throughout this time, I have noticed one thing. My family had already moved on, but I am stuck, stuck in the moment where I was told he had slipped away, still unable to move past it. So, I pretend. I throw myself into my fandoms, into my Sephica content, and into Final Fantasy as a whole to forget that I am still unable to move past it.

It's strange how life goes on for everyone around you in your family, but you remain frozen in a place of grief. My mom and my aunts had their time to grieve, to process, to say goodbye in the ways that they needed. They were there when he passed, of course, sitting with him in those final moments, holding his hand. But I wasn't.

Mom let me know when I called on Thanksgiving that Pap was in the hospital for two weeks. They watched as the cancer ravaged his body. Yet I was still at home, at my apartment, 6 hours from the hospital, anxiously waiting for the release of Rebirth. I feel like a fool: an idiot who doesn't know what's important. Excited to see the changes in the game and whatever content for Bianca and Sephiroth I could make. Maybe, that is why this ship is so important to me? I don't know.

It's not like I didn't want to go, either. I wanted to be there for him, for my family, but the weather had turned. The snow began to fall heavily. The roads were dangerous, and my grandmother -- who had always been the strong and practical one as she is where I get my strength -- called me repeatedly the week leading up to the funeral to tell me not to risk it. That they didn't want to bury me, my daughter, and my husband, too. She said that Pap wouldn't have wanted me to drive in that weather, especially since we were having Lake Effect snow. I heard her voice crack on the phone as she said, "Don't come, Nikki. Stay home. Pap wouldn't want you to risk yourself."

Of course, she was right. I knew he wouldn't have wanted me to take that risk: or risk my own little family. But, in some way, it felt like I have been denied closure. At the time, I was okay with it. I was the strong one up here and pushed down my feelings to be there for my daughter. I couldn't attend the funeral. I couldn't' say goodbye. And even now, I haven't brought myself to go back to the house or even really call home. You see, when I called home, it would be Pap who answered and we would talk about whatever projects he had done around the house. Now, it's just . . . silence. And facebook? I haven't been on there as the last time I was there, I saw my uncle and his family on vacation to Disney Land three months after Pap's death. It's not like I begrudge them. I just can't understand how they did it.

How do you move on? My family, on the other hand, has managed to move forward. They went through the motions -- the wake, the funeral, the gathering of memories -- and they kept moving. It's what you're supposed to do, right? Life keeps moving. No matter how heavy the grief may be. They visited his grave, cleaned out his belongings, and settled his affairs. They've accepted it in a way that I just haven't been able to. And I feel . . . out of touch.

I haven't moved on. I can't help but feel there's a part of me that's still with him, a part of me that hasn't been able to let go of the man who used to take me on his UPS deliveries and tell me stories on our porch, who would show an interest in my books that I was writing even if he didn't understand what 'dark fantasy' was, and how to change a tire and other things with my hands. The man who would always have a kind word to say and whose presence made ME feel safer. How can I move on from that? A person can't.

In the last two years, there have been five deaths: five people and one animal I loved who are now gone. The first was my husband's 17-year-old cousin, killed in a fatal car crash where the driver, high at the time, was given only probation, sparing him jail time but stealing closure from our family. Then, Loki, my emotional support cat, passed on from cancer a month after his diagnosis, leaving a hole that no other animal can fill (even though Skye tries). I am still grieving him. My husband's aunt was next. She passed away from Covid on Thanksgiving, the same day I learned Pap had been hospitalized. Soon after, my grandfather passed, I found out that a mutual on here passed away too. She was always so warm and kind to everyone. These losses have stacked on top of each other, each one heavier than the last.

But still, I haven't gone home. Losing Pap was the final blow, a sharp and sudden reminder that not everything lasts forever. It's like if I go back, it will make it too real. Too final. I feel like I am stuck in limbo and the grief will not lessen. I can't stand the idea of seeing the chair he used to sit in empty or hearing the silence that has replaced his simple question 'How's the writing going, Coal?" Oh, how I hated that nickname growing up, but what I wouldn't give to hear it once more.

When I talk briefly to my family now, I hear the change in their voices and the way they've started to fill the gaps he left behind. My mom, who used to speak of him with so much love, has found a new rhythm in life. My grandmother also. I don't fault them for it. I know they're healing. But I'm still stuck in the snow surrounding his death, in that moment when I got that call, and still back in that space where he was here, still living in the before. Pap to me was not just a grandfather. He was my father in every sense of the word.

As the anniversary of his death approaches, I know I will have to face it. I have to face the fact that he's gone and that life continues to move, whether I am ready or not. My daughter is graduating this year. She has her pick of colleges. I should be happy and shouldn't have been crying all day, but that is the thing about grief? You don't know when it's going to strike.

Maybe, next year, I'll go home. Maye I'll find the courage to step through that door and finally say goodbye. But for now, I'm still holding onto the memory of him, still feeling that sting of absence in the quiet moments when I least expect it.

[septembersghost]

I know we're supposed to separate art from artist or whatever but it's really hard for me to take anything she wrote from rep to midnights seriously when she was writing about maturity and recovery and building a real love w someone only to stand onstage and say she's happier than she's ever been and her life "finally" makes sense with a racist while her fans are hurting. wtf is that. it's not only the activism feeling performative it is literally everything about her that I thought was genuine and real seems fake and empty now. she's trying to change the meaning of songs, not to heal but for her pet rat's sake. she doesn't even stand by her own art at this point.

while they were never married, i think there's a usefulness here in viewing it in terms like a kind of divorce - separating a shared life, losing a love you were building a future on and a partner who was a support for you. does a divorce mean that all the love those people had and the vows they took weren't real? it doesn't. people also cope with that loss very differently - they may go into deep mourning, they may feel relief, they may be angry, they may feel free, they may start immediately dating again, they may never date again in their life (my mom). there's no single way to handle it, which is true of grief in general. i can't speak too much on romantic relationships since i don't have life experience there, but based on the observation i have, there's not one way to handle it. it doesn't mean all that love wasn't genuine and beautiful and needed in the moment. it was true when it was written. and ultimately it matters more what it means to you and if it still brings you joy and solace.

a lot of us connect to her because she's had a special way of making us feel understood. it's not comfort or even enjoyment in the music alone, it's this sense of empathy and personal reflection, where we find pieces of our own hearts and souls in her lyricism, and the closeness and resonance of that is part of why this is affecting fans now. but i don't think you need to question what was genuine - it was real (it was rare, i was there!), and what it means to you is still true! that will always be true! i promise that matters.

i think taylor has a lot of trouble being alone and feeling validated without a romance, and it's caused her a lot of pain, and i wish she could learn to love herself more, but that's not the easiest thing. i also think she gets obsessed and caught up in limerance (or, as she called it, the lavender haze), and that's not real, committed love, nor is it sustainable. i have other things i could say about this, but i hate to armchair diagnose her. i just hope she has real help right now that isn't throwing herself into infatuation while she works. i think to some degree she's clinging on with her fingernails and trying to totally disassociate from what certain songs mean to be able to perform them, it doesn't mean she doesn't stand by her art, it's just a survival method. none if this is excusing the person she's chosen to do this with, but keeping it in mind helps to sort through some of what's happening.

as ever, i hear you and hate this situation and am so sorry you're hurt. please take care of yourself ❤

[father-time-and-baby-new-year]

I love bully shiggy, but i love shiggy angst more, so could you write some bully shiggy angst where reader goes to live somewere else or just...dies or something? I need the bully to suffer of a broken heart hehehehe thank you!

your wish is my command. TW: death, violence, slight mentions of past noncon and past dubcon, angst, drugs

Most, if not all throughout his life, Shigaraki has always gotten what he wanted. Rich parents helped. His absurd talent for computer science helped, and when his parents were being especially annoying and threatening to cut him off-well thank god his crypto is going to the moon.

No, he couldn't say he was happy. But he wasn't sad either. Objectively, he knew he had a good life. Happiness is foreign to him, but thrills aren't. Mindless enjoyment isn't. He smokes skinny Korean cigarettes, snorts cocaine off glass tables, places acid tabs under his tongue, and fucks girls when he's high, sober, coming up, or coming down.

You were happy though. You were the kind of girl to be very grateful to live, the kind of girl who walked through life like the sun was shining on her, the kind of girl he hated and wanted to crush under his thumb.

No, that's a lie. He's never hated you. He could never hate his favorite toy no matter how many times she misbehaves.

So when you fucking died, of course, he didn’t believe it. Not at first. Not fucking possible. Not until he saw your fucking body, all twisted into grotesque angles because you were trying to save a stupid kid who was on the road when he shouldn’t have been. Fuck, out of everyone, at least you deserved a peaceful death.

And it’s so like you to throw yourself into oncoming traffic, trying to save other people. Always other people. The complete and utter opposite of him. He wasn’t even aware he had a heart, the metaphorical one that felt emotions because his real beating heart was a jumbled-up mess of pounding and vessels.

But all that adrenaline is gone now and there’s a hole where his heart is. A you-shaped absence imprinted on his body and mind. He was already so so numb but the flashes of feelings, the memories hurt. He smells your perfume in the scent of wildflowers and it drives him insane.

His drug habit had gotten exponentially worse. Days and nights blurred into frenzied chaos. How could he sleep when your voice on discord wasn’t the last thing he could hear before shutting his eyes? The cocaine has probably burned off the inside of his nose, and acid flashbacks wouldn’t be so bad if the patterns didn’t spell out your name.

How dare you leave him alone? How dare you? You were supposed to die whenever he dies. Your existence was meant to be alongside his.

His last straw is when he finally shows up to school and everyone looks at him with eyes of sympathy. It doesn't click until a reassuring hand is over his shoulder, “It’s okay, Shigaraki. We know you were good friends.”

He can’t stop laughing. Laughing and laughing until his jaw is going to unhinge itself. Everyone looks uncomfortable, perplexed by the sudden onslaught of never-ending laughter. A know-it-all voice chirps in the background, “...normal traumatic response.”

He excuses himself to the bathroom much to the relief of his classmates because they were not used to a manic Shigaraki, the boy who was usually cold and aloof. He grips the porcelain sink, laughing. He wonders why there are water drops falling into the basin. He wonders why he’s crying. And once the first few drops fall, the dam breaks. He’s sobbing.

How brain dead does everyone have to be to think you guys were friends. Yeah, Shigaraki was a great friend to you as he forced you to jerk him off. He was a great friend when he threatened revenge porn if you didn’t break up with your doofus boyfriend. And he definitely was a great friend, when he stumbled into your house high as balls, fully knowing you’d be alone that night and fucked you until you bled on your sheets. Victory tasted like your virginity on his dick that seemed like it would never soften.

Was everyone that blind to what you were going through? How much he hurt you? He wondered what you’d say if you here right now. You’d probably laugh too, wouldn’t you? Laughed until you cried and couldn’t stop crying.

Dabi and Hawks tried. They did. But they weren’t friends who sat around talking about their respective traumas despite being well too aware of how fucked up each other’s home lives were. But Shigaraki’s grief was different. Dabi tried to put himself in his blue-haired friend’s shoes. If Natsuo or Fuyumi died, he probably wouldn’t take it so well either. Still, he couldn’t fathom why Shigaraki would be so sad over some pussy, however tight it may be. Hawks especially could not understand, girls being replaceable him too like model cars—infinitely less valuable of course. The golden-haired boy had no frame of reference, but he did crash his Audi R8 which was his favorite car. Maybe that’s what Shigaraki is feeling, the loss of something very precious. (Maybe Hawks wasn’t too far off. Shigaraki did treat you like a possession.)

He visits your grave often, every day if he can. It’s beautiful, encased in obsidian and marble, gold lettering announcing the tragedy of your short life. He never learned what your favorite flowers were so he returns with a different bouquet each time. Today’s were pink carnations.

Much to his surprise, there was a figure already standing there. Your father, he recognizes. “You come at a time when no one else does so it’s hard to get a hold of you.” That was on purpose of course. He didn’t want to complain to you with an audience.

“I’m sorry I don’t know who you are but the way you come here every day with flowers, spending hours at a time you must have loved my daughter very much.”

His throat closes. He doesn’t know what to say.

Shigaraki cries more when he goes home, an avalanche of memories saturating his brain. Memories of your smile, your sarcastic quips, how he could never shut you up when you were talking about your favorite manga.

There’s a revolver in his desk. He could do it. Shoot his own brains out. Be where you are. His hands are shaking. Is he this much of a coward? You don’t care right, you wanted him to die right? For all the shit he did to you? You told him you had nightmares, that when you closed your eyes, all you could see was him.

But you were a bleeding heart. You’d never wish that upon anyone. Shigaraki looks out the window, wondering that if he could do it all over again, whether he’d be kinder to you.

No, he wouldn’t be.

[dancingaliensfics]

♡My Prison Pen Pal♡

Helmut Zemo x reader

Word count: 1,802

Warnings: swearing, mentions of prison and crimes and slight angst to do with his family

A/N: its finally here! I havent writen a fic in a long time so hopefully you guys like this! I tried to avoid using idioms and things like that but message me if you need anything explained or reworded as I know most people aren't native English speakers

@sorcerersofnyc

♡♡♡

His first letter came during the series finale of your favourite show. A rather inconvenient moment, you thought, so it stayed on the welcome mat until you passed through the hall on your way to bed. Picking it up, you figured you'd skim the first few lines then finish it and write a reply before work. Instead, you found yourself writing and rewriting a reply through the night. Somehow this man had managed to enthrall you with only a letter. Maybe it was the way he wrote as if he was some elegant poet whose sonnets would one day be hailed as classics. How he managed to be open and expressive, exuding a welcoming aura, and yet still seeming mysterious. Or perhaps it was simply fated by the stars that Helmut Zemo would capture your heart.

You waited anxiously for his second letter to arrive. After sending the first, you hadn't cared whether you got a response, the whole thing seemed like a bad idea to you. But your mother was insistent that you needed to meet new people and this way you wouldn't need to worry about awkward face to face conversations. Sending the first letter felt like any other chore you do in the day, done with much effort and resignment but forgotten within minutes. But the second? It felt like the most important thing you'd done in a long time. You'd even bought a first class stamp (not that it makes a difference).

You wanted to know more about this intriguing man. No, supervillain. Charged with international terrorism. Jesus christ what the fuck was wrong with you? Were you really falling in love with a supervillain after one letter? But he didn't seem evil to you. He wrote eloquently, somehow his simple and brief description of his day (he'd started reading a new psychology book, you'd have to send him some recommendations) sounded fascinating in his words.

Over time, you started to notice small things about Helmut. The way he crossed his t's, how he signed his name, but mainly that there was a romanticism to his writing. From the way he described his home, his wife, his son to his recipes for Sokovian dishes with small notes and doodles (your favourite was his shepherd's pie recipe where he helpfully noted his mother's assertion that you should always add more than you think you need). It was becoming clear to you that he wasn't the stoic and vengeful baron you expected but rather a soft, lonely and endearingly weird man who you couldn't imagine plotting to destroy the Avengers. Whilst it was his mystery that first captivated you, it was his sweet and sometimes awkward personality that convinced you to keep writing.

It took a while for Helmut to tell you about his family. You had heard on the news back when he first arrested about his motive, so you were interested to hear his perspective on his crimes. But that wasn't what you got. Instead, he told you about when he and his father used to play football when he was young and how they would play a match every time he visited, with Helmut playing against his father and son, who always wanted to play with grandfather. He told you of the songs his wife used to sing, how her voice was always loud and shaky and after years of singing somewhere over the rainbow she would still forget the lyrics and invent her own. He told you how his son was the best pianist he had ever heard. How he could play the greatest rendition of amazing grace and that he had just learnt the theme from swan lake. That he had been excited to practice it on his grandfathers grand piano the day Ultron attacked.

There was something so human about this man. His love for his family, his loss and grief, his plan to avenge his family, it was all so tragic and yet here he was sending you drawings of the flowers from his garden growing up. You wanted to hug him and yet sometimes you felt he wouldn't need it, wouldn't want it. You were wrong.

Helmut Zemo missed his family. He told you so in one of his most recent letters. He missed holding his son, brushing his wife's hair, going for long drives, waking up at 2am to comfort his son, early morning trips to the shops, cleaning up after dinner, helping with homework. Everything he listed seemed so trivial, so meaningless in the grand scheme of life and yet the memories meant so much to him.

You realised then you had never pitied him before. Not that he wasn't deserving of it, just that he didn't seem to need it. But overtime you realised that what Helmut had really needed wasn't revenge or to make a world free from superhumans, it was someone to talk to. Someone to trust. Someone who would understand his pain and not judge it. Perhaps, you thought to yourself, you could be that person.

Fuck.

You couldn't think of how to cope with this. No one you knew had ever mentioned falling in love with a criminal through letters. And as hard as you tried you hadn't been able to find a single romcom with this plot line. You couldn't tell him. You imagined with his seemingly fragile state of mind receiving from basically a stranger professing their love would at best cause him to ghost you. Especially after he confided in you, shared his thoughts and memories.

So instead you continued as normal. You sent him pressed flowers and pictures of your favourite places. Eventually, he asked what looked like, and you spent an hour trying to decide whether you should send a picture of yourself or to just vaguely describe your features. After deciding to send a picture of yourself on holiday a few months before the blip, you found yourself wondering what he'd do with it. Would he throw it away as soon as he got the letter or would he keep it, tuck it away in some book to look at whilst thinking of you?

You also found yourself wondering what he looked like in the real world. You had found pictures of him online, but they didn't feel real. He was never rarely happy. The pictures pre Ultron were clearly taken by paparazzi, so you weren't surprised he rarely looked anything other than annoyed. There were a few though, ones with his wife and son, where he clearly hadn't noticed, and some from when he was much younger and seemed to enjoy the attention. Then were those taken after his arrest.

And so you continued to wonder he looked like. How he looked in the morning, with flowers in his hair or in summer with the sun lighting his face. You wondered what his hair looked like wet, if he ever scrunched his nose in disgust. You wondered what his smile was like.

Over time, you told him more about yourself. The stress of returning home after the blip to no job, no house and your friends 5 years older. Your ex was married with kids and your sister had moved abroad. It was as if you blinked and your whole life had changed. You mentioned how it was your mum who had suggested getting a pen pal, so you could talk to someone new, who was living a different life to you, although she had meant someone in a different country not jail. Since coming back you'd been isolated and stressed with starting a new job, recovering lost information and personal belongings and moving house, so you had thought it might be good to speak to someone who didn't know you, who couldn't judge you. You told Helmut how it had been good, how writing to him had helped you, how he had helped you more than he could ever know.

No, that sounded creepy. How you appreciated his letters.

Too formal. How you hadn't expected to become his friend, but you were glad to be able to say you were.

Helmut was comforting. You knew in your head that your meeting on Friday was nothing to worry about but seeing him say it felt so reassuring. Each one of his letters made you feel relaxed, feel safe. You wanted to make him feel the same. So, as a way to repay his kindness you had told him that no matter what happened, he could always trust you. And it was true. You couldn't imagine a world where you wouldn't do anything for Helmut and although you knew he would never need it, you still wanted him to know you would always care about him, even if no one else did.

Writing to him had become as easy as talking to someone you'd known all your life. You had fallen into an easy routine, you knew when to expect his letters and you knew when you'd send a reply. The routine felt so natural that you even knew what the envelope would look like, always the same off-white with a square edged flap. The address was always the same too. Except on his last letter. Which was strange.

At first, you thought Helmut had been moved to a different prison but after frantically typing the address into Google Maps you realised it was not a prison. Fuck you had no idea what it was, but it wasn't a prison. It also wasn't in Germany.

You sat still, staring at the unopened letter for a few minutes.

You looked up at the door. You thought you heard someone knock. The post had already come and you weren't expecting people. Hell, there wasn't anyone other than your parents who would visit anyway and they would have called first. Now you were sat still, staring at the front door.

"I know you're in there, the lights are on."

It was as if you were a marionette, being moved by some strange force that was slowly pulling you out of your seat and towards the door. You didn't even register that you moved until you felt the door handle on your fingertips. The cold metal caused you to stop, as if broken out of a trance. There was a sudden realisation that if you opened the door your life would never be the same. It was sickening, a mixture of dread and excitement; it reminded you of the moment before a roller coaster drops. You repeated that thought in your head. "Your life would never be the same". Your life hadn't been the same in almost a year. What would be the harm in one more big change. So you did it. You opened the door.

His smile was beautiful.

[simp-for-mha-men]

𝕔𝕒𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥 𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕣𝕒𝕚𝕟 (𝕤𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕥𝕒 𝕒𝕚𝕫𝕒𝕨𝕒 𝕩 𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣)

Request by @hermionie-is-my-queen​: Hey! Not necessarily a request, and kind of a scenario proposal: but imagine aizawa and reader adopted a cat a while back together, and the cat gets sick, or has to be put down, and it’s just some comforting fluff? Idk if this falls into the category of no angst so if it does instead maybe visiting a shelter to adopt a new kitty? Tysm anyway! Soft aizawa and soft kitties are my fav

A/N: Yes, yes, and yes! I am so in love with this whole idea. I took a little bit of inspiration from the English voice actor’s Tik Tok and from where I live for this one. School just started back up, too, so I’ll now be taking a bit longer to reply to requests. Sorry! Anyways, I really hope you enjoy it!

Genre: fluffy times with a rescue cat and your boyfriend, angst in the first half due to animal death 🌧️💜

Word count: 2.7k

♥*♥*♥*♥*♥*♥*♥*♥*♥*♥*♥*♥*♥

It had only been a month. One month ago, you lost your precious siamese cat, Willow. Your boyfriend, Shouta Aizawa, had given her to you once you moved into your first apartment together. She was a gift that kept on giving, whether it was hairballs or purrs. She kept you company through the day while your boyfriend was teaching his students, and you both would welcome him home with kisses and cuddles every day.

Aizawa loved Willow just as much as you did. You were both the lights in his life, and without you, he would feel incomplete. After the worst days at U.A., he could come home and feel at peace due to the loves of his life. It tore him up inside that Willow was gone, but he knew the loss broke you apart even worse than it did him.

He adopted Willow when she was 11. The shelter he went to, usually just to browse, was going to put her down just because of her age. Aizawa formed a bond when he looked into her ocean blue eyes. He knew that she would be perfect not only for him but for you as well. In a matter of minutes, the adoption papers were signed and finalized. A beautiful forest green bow was placed around her neck, and she was on her way to meet the better half of her new owner. The three of you were inseparable when home. Midnight cuddles and afternoon snacks were always a favorite among your little family. Despite you and Aizawa never talking about kids in your future, you felt like Willow was your daughter. It was true perfection and bliss. Sadly, it couldn’t last forever.

When Willow turned 13, she started acting strange. She began hiding around the house more, throwing up whenever she ate, and losing an excessive amount of weight. You decided a check-up was in order, and Aizawa whole-heartedly agreed. Praying for a fluke incident was what you did, but deep down, you knew that wasn’t going to be the case no matter how much you wished it to be. Her vet told you both that she had cancer and wouldn’t live much longer. This caused your world to come spiraling down.

How someone handles the five stages of grief depends on the person. For you, Willow was absolutely fine. You were in absolute denial. Over the two years you and Aizawa raised her, she was always healthy. There was absolutely no way that she could have cancer. Healthy cats don’t get cancer, right? You went about your life with Willow as if everything was normal. Aizawa tried to knock some sense into you, but you blocked it out. A week later, a certain piece of information triggered the second stage of grief.

Aizawa told you that he would be staying home to take care of Willow with you, since she was living her final weeks. Saying you were furious would be an understatement. You took your boyfriend onto the balcony and yelled at him for 15 minutes about how Willow was completely normal. You told him that everything was fine and that she would live longer than what the vet said. Seeing you were too stubborn to change, Aizawa refused talking to you about the matter but still took those extra days off. It lasted like this another week before another trip to the vet.

Once you got home that night, you found yourself on your knees next to the bed. You were praying to whatever deity was in the sky or under the ground to save Willow. You didn’t know if bargaining with the immortal was a sane idea, but you had entered the third stage. Aizawa watched you do this every hour of the day, it seemed. He heard you muttering to yourself in your sleep, begging for Willow’s safety. None of this worked, though. Two weeks after the visit, Willow was back at the vet to be put down for good.

The last month had gone by agonizingly slow. Your boyfriend was back at work, leaving you alone to your own devices. The depression had been the longest stage. You wondered to yourself if you would ever get to the acceptance part of the five stages. Nothing you did to try and clear your mind worked. You tried to write, draw, sing, and dance, but nothing seemed successful. Most days, you were confined to your side of your shared bed, sobbing your eyes out until they looked unusually red and puffy.

Losing an animal shouldn’t hurt this much. You had a cat when you were younger, and when she was put down, you were only upset for a week before understanding it was time to move on. Why did losing Willow hurt so much. The question plagued you day and night. You racked your brain trying to figure out why this pain wouldn’t subside. Why did it sting so badly? Why did the tears keep falling?

When you were starting dinner one evening, your boyfriend came home. He seemed to be in a good mood, which was strange for someone like him. He came around, gave you a quick peck on the cheek, and leaned against the counter next to the stove.

“How was your day, babe?” you asked, mustering up as much fake happiness as possible.

You flashed your lover a quick smile, hoping it hid the pain better than you thought it did. However, you had been dating this man for 3 years. He knew you all too well. Willow’s death had affected you so much, which caused him to mull over it for longer than expected. An animal’s death was, of course, sad, but people usually got over it quickly. Why was it taking you longer?

“Are you alright?” your boyfriend questioned, placing a hand on your upper arm.

Sighing, you answered, “Of course I am.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am.”

You both began a waltz to avoid each other. You stood on the opposite side of the island, setting the places on the table for the both of you to eat. Right as Aizawa met you, you sauntered off back to the stove to turn off the burner. It went on like this for much longer while your words went at each other.

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am.”

“(y/n)...you’re not.”

“Just shut up, ok?”

“Listen to me...”

“SHUT UP!”

Suddenly, a bright flash of lightning struck outside. The deafening boom from the sky sounded next. In a matter of seconds, a downpour began outside and inside the apartment. Your eyes were filled to the brim with tears. Aizawa froze, giving you time to finally realize why Willow’s death meant so much to you. It was right in front of you the whole time, but your ignorance caused blindness. Just as your boyfriend began to approach you, the tears and truth spilled over.

“She was like our baby,” you began. “Once I moved in with you, I was so scared that you would break up with me. Willow brought us together. No matter what had happened on a bad day, she would fix us back up. It’s like I lost a part of our relationship, Shouta.”

Aizawa was shocked to say the least. In actuality, Aizawa was completely caught off by your statement. He never knew you felt this way about Willow. He knew you had developed a close bond with the feline, but he should’ve noticed sooner the parental role you took for her. He felt like a terrible boyfriend. He felt like he should’ve found a way to keep Willow alive longer. He felt like her death was his fault.

“(y/n), I’m sorry I should’ve--”

“Meow.”

Both of you came to your senses. Did you really just hear a meow? Had Willow come out of her grave to come back to you both? Aizawa looked at you, causing your tears to stop for a moment. Another flash of lightning struck, followed by the familiar thunder. Then, you heard it again.

“Meeeeow.”

Your brain was going crazy. You were already running on endorphins due to the sudden outburst you had at your lover. Now, you felt your fight or flight responses kick in. There’s no way there was a cat at your apartment. Sure, you lived in an area where an animal could get lost, but a stray cat would never be near your complex.

“Meow.”

Taking a deep breath in, you tried to calm your nerves. Silently cursing your boyfriend’s senses, you heard him shuffling over to you. He placed his hands on your hips and kissed your forehead. Aizawa felt guilty. He knew that a cat wouldn’t be outside in this weather, especially if it was a stray. It was just his mind playing tricks on him. His guilty conscience was in full force, or maybe it wasn’t?

“Meeeeow.”

“Ok,” you said, slowly tilting your head up to meet your boyfriend’s gaze. “Please tell me you’re hearing the meowing, too.”

“It’s real?” Aizawa asked, gazing at you with confused eyes.

Shaking your head, you slithered out of his arms. Despite your mind telling you this was a bad idea, you decided to stick with your sudden plan. You were going to check outside. You didn’t know what you would find, but it was worth the risk. Wherever this cat was, you had to find it. You weren’t doing this for you, however, but for Willow.

Placing your hand on the front door knob, you unlocked it and slowly opened it just a little bit. That’s when you saw it. A beautiful tabby cat sat on your front mat, meowing to its heart’s content. It was drenched, laying against the door in search of some warmth. The poor little angel was shivering, but it looked up upon sensing your presence.

“Well, hello there,” you greeted, opening the door wider.

“Meeeeow.”

You bent down and sat on your knees, cooing the little creature forward. Taking your invitation, it sauntered over to you. Once your hand made contact with its back, the cat began rubbing its wet body all over your leg. Laughing slightly, you turned to look at Aizawa.

He was staring at you with true adoration in his eyes. He knew from the moment he met you that you were the one, but this tender moment between you and a stray cat solidified that even more. It was perfect. You were perfect. Despite the past month, he realized what this new stray would mean to you immediately. Willow sent him or her as a gift from heaven. That much had to be true. It was her way of saying that everything would be alright.

“I’ll get some food and water for the little one,” Aizawa said, walking over to first close the door.

“Make sure to get a towel first,” you replied. “I don’t want this poor baby getting sick from being to cold. Right, sweetie?”

The cat gazed at you with thankfulness in its eyes. You felt much different than you had just a few minutes ago. You were no longer sad about Willow. Instead, you were happy her pain had ended when it did, even if it wasn’t in the best way. Somehow, this little stray just happened to choose your doorstep. Your heart was starting to feel whole again. That’s how you came to a simple conclusion: this was fate. The stage of acceptance was finally in your sight.

You and Aizawa resumed your waltz around the kitchen, but this time, things were much different. It felt like the day Aizawa first brought Willow home. You immediately took on the role of the parent, watching your new friend’s every move to make sure it didn’t hurt itself. Once Aizawa brought you a towel, you sat on the couch and began drying off the cat. You discovered during this that you had found an adorable little boy, proud and frisky from his recent adventure.

Aizawa set the food and water out, luring the tabby out of your lap and to the kitchen. He lapped everything greedily, only further confirming that this was indeed a stray. Walking over to your boyfriend, you stopped once you reached his side.

“I’m sorry,” you began, lacing your fingers with his.

“Oh, don’t be,” he replied, smoothly changing the position you both were in so he could snuggle your neck. “I should’ve taken off time from work and been there for you. It was wrong of me to think our lives would go back to normal.”

“But, still..”

“(y/n)...just let me hold you.”

You did what he asked. You let him wrap his arms around you as you both watched your new boy. Unspoken between the two of you was what was going to happen with your newfound cat: you were going to keep him. Of course, he would need to pay for his shots, a proper bath, and new amenities, but that was a thing for the future. Aizawa knew you would bring it up tomorrow morning, worrying about it profusely, and you knew Aizawa would tell you to stop worrying so much, peppering your face in kisses as a distraction.

Once the cat was finished eating, he walked over and began rubbing himself against Aizawa’s leg. Realizing he needed to be warmed up, you reached down and picked him up. He clearly enjoyed being showered in attention and didn’t pull away when you both began talking to him.

“What do you think?” Aizawa questioned.

You knew what he was talking about: his name. Despite only finding this cat outside of your doorstep 20 minutes ago, you both knew this was his new forever home. The name was an important part of claiming a pet, which you made sure to educate Aizawa about before naming Willow. This, however, wasn’t a tough decision like Willow’s name.

“I was thinking Thunder,” you replied softly, gazing into your lover’s eyes.

He hummed in response, alerting you that he liked that name. You purposely chose that name due to the circumstances you found him in, but you also had an ulterior motive. You eventually wanted to get another cat and name it Lightning. Why? Easy answer: why not?

Suddenly, your boyfriend let go of your waist. Turning around, you noticed he began walking off to the bedroom. It was only 7:30, but, of course, your lover was already exhausted. That was one of the qualities you loved about him, though. He could always fall asleep easily.

“You didn’t eat dinner,” you called after him.

“I know,” he replied in a low voice, “but wouldn’t you rather fall asleep with the man you love?”

His words made you blush, but he wasn’t wrong. With Thunder in your arms and dinner long forgotten, you made your way over to your bedroom. Upon entering, you saw your boyfriend was already laying down and waiting for you to join him. You placed Thunder on the bed and went to lay down next to your lover. He placed his arms around you, making you fell safe and secure before someone interrupted you both.

Thunder began slowly crawling up to lie in between you. Chuckling, Aizawa left a little bit of room between your bodies for your new baby to curl up between you both. It felt natural. It felt like home again. It was just you, your boyfriend, and your cat. Willow, you could tell, was smiling down from heaven. You knew she could be fully at peace now knowing you were happy.

“I love you so much,” you mumbled to your boyfriend, allowing your eyes to close.

“I love you, too, kitten,” Aizawa replied, drifting off to sleep and allowing your breaths to match one another.

This was home. This was family. This was perfection for the both of you. Now, Aizawa went to bed with a single question on his mind. It was quite simple but also heavy. When was he going to place that wonderful ring on your finger?

[scoundrels-in-love]

Almost 300 years a week later, here are some of my thoughts on Dan Ah and her actions through ep 11 and 12. I will try not to repeat too much of the points I made here, or elsewhere in my rambles, but if it happens, it happens. + I won’t operate on mindset that you’ve read it.

First, I think her saying ‘apologies are meaningless, I can’t take back things I said, only make up for it’ is incredibly telling of her as person and the kind of environment she grew up in - the high society and family where apologies are dished out hollowly and never followed through with intention of changing something for the better or your behavior. Time and how you spend it is very important to her. She even says as much in her confession and I think it only outlines how much her time is the one thing she tries to have control of, and exert it (over herself as well). Considering the concept of possibly terminal illness that she suffers from, it makes sense. She doesn’t have time to be patient, no one will wait for her, including her own health. Yeong Hwa is the one immovable object that forces her to slow down and readjust her whole approach to life and it’s been... Not comfortable, necessarily, but it’s been functional, so she struggles to redefine it, especially without real example.

Second, there’s lot of parallels to be drawn between her and Mi Joo. And I ended up writing this all backwards, so I am not sure if I’ll manage to include it, but in some ways, Mi Joo’s line about ‘I value myself more than anyone else’ both in the sense that she’s the most important to herself and that no one else values her truly highly is very reminiscent of Dan Ah’s attitude and the way she admitted she isn’t in control of her life entirely o Mi Joo.

And there’s. of course, that moment when Mi Joo responded sarcastically to Seun Gyeom, later to apologize for it, which he took in a stride (much as he had said that he had never felt Dan Ah walked over him unjustly), because he does understand where they come from and how they work, on a certain level (even if he underestimated just how his father would strike and manage to hurt Mi Joo). I think Dan Ah isn’t at place where she cay say that yet, but I do believe sentiment is within her.

If someone asked what motivates Dan Ah, her answer could be similar to Mi Joo’s - fear and obsession, rather than Seun Gyeom’s regret. Fear of being controlled, of being weak and sick, obsession of having and exerting certain power and keeping yourself safe. Now, this point altogether is purely speculation on my part, of course, but that’s my read on the character, but also her anxiety has been mentioned several times and anxiety is basically that - fear, especially of things going wrong/being out of control, if we wish to trivialize it.

And although Dan Ah merely adds that whatever she had, got taken away from her, she basically used same method as Mi Joo - set her goals and opted for the best ‘fake’ that she could get, in this case her company, rather than being football player or the gallery. Both, in the same way, would rather put up walls to not lose what little they have but the men in their lives just... Bypassed them.

It’s interesting to note that similarly as Mi Joo is currently trying to sort ouf what is real and to go for, instead of relying on having a ‘fake’, so does Dan Ah - it’s likely she is planning to expose the illegitimate status of both her brothers to gain what is technically rightfully hers (hence asking her younger brother to side with her even when it will not be comfortable for him).

Third, I think the way she’s seeking out Mi Joo and her opinion is very interesting. And it does loop back to Yeong Hwa as well!

From the very start, we see that Dan Ah actually cares to listen to other people to an extent (she asks her secretary what she did wrong to upset Seun Gyeom, even if she ends the conversation how much simpler it’d be if all of us thought were similar, which is strongly undermined by all of her interactions with Mi Joo and even Yeong Hwa essentially). She is interested in experiencing being opposed and challenged in a way that is not downright demeaning as she does in her family. She finds their view on world interesting, if somewhat incomprehensible, and listens to it, processes it inwardly, even if her initial reaction might be defensive. (Also, it shows from start she’s willing to admit she doesn’t have all answers, same as she does with Yeong Hwa telling him that she doesn’t know what answer he wants - as she would need to know in business deal which is what most of her world consists of.)

But in some ways, I also think she is interested in what Seun Gyeom and Mi Joo have created and how. She basically instantly could tell Seun Gyeom is interested in Mi Joo which is implied as rare occurrence (or perhaps even the only time since she says she’s the last woman he liked and he debunks the theory), she asks several times what Mi Joo sees in Seun Gyeom that makes her so protective of him (which I think is both a way to see how deeply Mi Joo cares for him and to see more of Seun Gyeom). But also in some way, although it is her own act to let Seun Gyeom, she “loses” him to his own path and Mi Joo both. Because I do think she cares for him as a friend, perhaps only one she has.

Although she puts Seun Gyeom’s picture by the trash, it’s actually not taken out for several days and it’s definitely not because the secretary or the cleaner are neglecting their duties. Rather, same way as he didn’t throw away the honey but handed it back to Yeong Hwa, the secretary is aware she’s not really emotionally throwing him away. Because once she likes something, she never really stops, as per her own admission.

So there’s this certain feeling of loss that she can’t quite admit to herself and want to know both what Mi Joo saw and supported in Seun Gyeom and how and a yearning for something similar, because this is basically the first friendship/not work based relationship of the kind that she sees. (The same way she marvels is this how full-blood siblings are supposed to be when Eun Bi is upset about Seun Gyeom’s picture and how she defends her brother and then, Dan Ah actually ‘tattles’ on her so he can protect her, which can be covered up with excuse it was over the schedule, but was it really?)

In fact, she seems to be somewhat envious of relationship her brother has with her secretary, saying he still cares for her brother more and also the way she wanted to be included in the whole cat talk. She is upset when he doesn’t say he’s her person, but employed by the company, she protects him the way she knows how to (regarding revenge kick) and generally cares for him. She just wants someone truly and personally on her side, even though she probably has a hard time admitting it to herself which results in these odd and halfway there and nowhere attempts, especially paired with  the fact she doesn’t really know how to establish not-work-related connection on a deeper level.

I will add point fourth here, although it’s still technically third. It’s safer, far more practical and logical to stay detached. But the heart wants what it wants and it’s friendship, connection, being liked for who she is and being challenged but not seen as lesser, with someone who won’t smile because she’s his boss, although that sort of control is precious and hard fought to be had in part of her life.

Caring for something or someone is relinquishing this control, basically inviting the same result Seun Gyeom got taste of at ep of 12, the result she already experienced with her dreams of being football player crushed. Except if it involves another person, it increases the chances of being hurt by them exponentially. And it’s also worth considering that if her relationship with mother was close, she’s also already experienced abandonment and grief of losing someone dear and close. (Which, of the leads, only Mi Joo knows and even then it’s more the absence of reflection what other people around her have which hurts, but in a different way, as per my experience.)

Concept of Mi Joo’s friendship, and Yeong Hwa as a whole, become very images of these unsaid wish fulfillment because they’re not trying to be.

They’re themselves, argumentative and challenging, and teasing, despite her being ‘above them’ in power hierarchy, leveling the field by merely ignoring it, and, initially, she doesn’t even try to get Yeong Hwa sign a contract, it’s only when her own yearning for his work (and for him), and him denying her any of it becomes a problem that she ‘admits’ it was her own fault for not drawing the sort of lines she’s used to with everyone else, and even then she’s not really thrilled about him agreeing to it, because it’s not really what she wants from him, although it’s what would be the safest and make the most actual sense within her world.

Even then, as her employee, he refuses to follow her orders and tells her plainly - if she wants something, she is to be vulnerable and invest herself into it (she actually tries, by smiling because he had said it was cute) and she has to admit to herself and to him, that he has grown onto her, not as a ‘vending machine’ or ‘employee’, but person whose opinion and feelings toward her are very important to her.

Also, it’s very telling how she tells him she belongs to herself, of course, and that he, too, can still belong to himself. She wants him as individual separate from herself, but the thought that he is firmly on her side obviously makes her very happy. In some ways, it’s also upgrade from ‘my person’ claim she makes toward her secretary, a learning curve.

Fifth, I suppose. While I rewatched some scenes to make sure I wasn’t actually misremembering, I started to think of another motif that repeats through her conversations.

Dan Ah repeatedly tells him not to have expectations, sentiments, disappointments toward her. From one side, it’s to draw a clear line of employee/employer and view each other in a detached way (that she tries again and again herself, but fails to), but from other, is it that simple?

She is almost crying when she asks him if he’s really stopped liking her and from preview, we learn that no one has asked her out before, seemingly? Probably because she was too much of a boss ass bitch, but still possibly left with a certain sense of inadequacy and that ‘when I am being apologetically me and I will always be that, I am not likeable although I do not entirely understand why’, as per her wondering why people always think she’s mean when by most of her society’s standards, she is rather thoughtful.

Her want of gallery has been brought up several times, her older half brother often says her pick of artist will never be good enough, her father still sees her as a tool to marry off. She as person with her goals and dreams and what she has achieved, just isn’t good enough for people around her at large.

The moment he cares for her, the moment she inherently becomes capable of disappointing him. The moment she cares for him, the moment she becomes capable of disappointing him. And that thought, of doing that and not enough to Yeong Hwa who has sneakily smiled his way into her heart, the growing awareness she truly doesn’t know how to be in some aspects, is overwhelming and painful and she tries to shut the door to it.

Also, he tells her he likes her no matter what he does, but he hates it, which I imagine is double the punch and she tries to find a solution that would make him happy and stop hating it - the perfect answer, as she would in a business deal, but she can’t, until she commits to the truly mortifying ordeal of being known (as suggested by Mi Joo).

Sixth, I really liked that she (or the narrative) didn’t make fun of Yeong Hwa crying. In fact, she’s eyerolled about her younger brother’s temper, but not really in the present made fun of him for apparently being a ‘crybaby’ in the past. I think that in a sense shows her actual streak of empathy and maybe the fact that she’s familiar with need to cry herself and doesn’t find it ‘weak’ as most ‘tougher’ characters would. Also perhaps that she cares for her younger brother more than she has admitted to herself, similarly as she kept denying she cared for Yeong Hwa and went rather far to hurt him.

[f0rever15elf]

I Just Need Five Minutes: Part 1

Part 1 of the Maxwell Lord “I Just Need Five Minutes” Series: Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4, Part 5 (Coming soon) Pairing: Maxwell Lord x f!reader Wordcount: 2,325 Rating: G  Warnings: Death mentions Part 2 (Coming soon...)

Summary: Lord Corp has become the top business contender on the global stage, lead by none other than Maxwell Lord IV. His rise to glory has taken him from the lives of those he once loved, and you can only watch as he slips further and further out of reach. You had to stop it, before it was too late. You had to get inside. 

A/N: This story is going to call a little bit on the comic book backstory of Maxwell Lord IV, most of which can be found in his wiki article, if you’re interested. I’m excited to write for Maxwell, his character has so much potential. And hopefully this will tide me over since the movie release has been delayed again.

Masterlist  |  Ao3

He was a genius. Shrewd, cunning, and charismatic. His way with words had everyone coiled tightly around his finger; he could sell holy water to the Pope if he wanted to. And with that silver tongue, that guise he wore to stroke the egos of those who ate from his palm and were none the wiser, he continued to climb higher and higher. More and more power fell into his grasp.

But a glass can only hold so much, and as his brimmed and spilled over with power and influence, so did he lose his humanity.

“Maxwell...what have you done?”

~~~~

The sun shines brilliantly in the summer sky over the wide yard in front of the Lord estate. In the lush green grass, two children play, no more than five or six years old. A boy and a girl, giggling and laughing over jokes and stories told in funny voices. It is the picture of innocence, purity. The little girl picks up a flower from the small pile they had collected, tucking it behind her ear before finding a matching one, tucking it behind the boy’s.

“We match now!” she beams in a way only a child can. “It means that you and I will be together forever!” The boy blushes at her words, soft blonde hair blowing gently in the summer breeze. His face is gentle and kind, shy even as he watches her with bright brown eyes that shine in the light. Tentatively, he sticks out his hand to her, pinky finger extended.

“You gotta promise! It doesn’t work if you don’t promise!” His serious voice makes the girl giggle before she makes a serious face, wrapping her pinky around his tightly.

“I promise! Forever and ever.” The boy smiles and nods as she says so, repeating her words back to her before they both erupt into giggles. From the balcony, the mothers of the two children look on fondly over their cups of tea. The sound of the children laughing danced on the warm breeze, pleasant in their ears. If only things could stay like this forever.

~~~~

Your pinky twitches as you stand before the gilded doors of the Lord Building, looking up at its windows, blinding in the sunlight. You would get in. You had to. Things had been put into motion that you need to stop, but the only way to do so is from the inside. With a shake of your head and a sigh, your turn on your heel, heading down the street towards home. It seems that nearly every screen you pass on your way has Maxwell’s face on it, selling empty promises and loaded bargains. And every time you see his eyes, they look a little less like the boy you use to know.

~~~~

“Max can’t meet you today, dear,” your mother says, petting your hair. To an adult familiar with grief and loss, the tightness in her voice would betray the tumultuous emotions she feels. To you, she just sounds uncomfortable, and you tilt your head in confusion. Fourteen years doesn’t provide much time to become familiar with the concept of loss, so you shrug, saddened you wouldn’t get to see your friend today.

Gone were the days of sitting in the grass to play, tucking flowers into each other’s hair. Maxwell was always busy helping his father to run the family business, and you would go months without so much as a word from him before he would show up at your door with a lily, smiling that dimpled smile at you. Promises always poured from his lips that it wouldn’t be so long next time before he came to see you.

But today… Today would change everything. Today, Maxwell’s father died.

~~~~

The door to your apartment slams shut behind you with a thud, shutting out the hustle and bustle of Metropolis. It’s small, but cozy, filled with your plants to bring a little life to the drab living room and kitchen. Taking a seat in the living room, you pull out your computer from your bag as you flip on the TV. It’s Maxwell’s face again, smiling at you with the look of a used car salesman who swears he wants only the best for his favorite customer. You know it’s not a real smile. Maxwell has a dimple when he smiles, and this charade didn’t. You shake your head as his promises of whatever you want in this perfect future fill the room, your eyes refocusing on your laptop, refreshing your emails. One meeting...that was all you needed.

~~~~

You let out a frustrated sigh as the door slams closed, your mother letting out a cry of surprise at the sound before coming to find you, resting a concerned hand on your shoulder as you throw yourself onto the couch.

“He still won’t see you?” Her gentle words just cause your heart to ache further and you nod.

“His mom greeted me, invited me in and made me tea. We chatted, but as soon as I asked about Maxwell, she stood up and ushered me from the house, asking me to not come by anymore since I couldn’t seem to stop asking for him.” You turn to look at your mother, tears in your eyes. “Why won’t he see me, Mom? Did I do something wrong?” Your mother’s heart shatters at the broken light in your eyes. She knew how much Maxwell meant to you, and that having him refuse to see you was tearing you apart.

“My sweet, you’ve done nothing wrong. Maxwell has a lot of responsibility to take on now that he’s running his father’s company. He’s very busy and doesn’t have as much time to see friends as he use to.” She brushes your hair behind your ear with delicate fingers. “I’m sure he still cares about you.”

“I miss him, Mom. I miss my best friend. It’s been three years since I’ve seen him...” Seventeen years of life and you still struggle with keeping your emotions in check, especially when it comes to Maxwell.

“I know sweetheart...When the time is right, you will see him again…”

~~~~

The alert from your inbox pulls you from your reverie, your eyes refocusing on the screen. As they do, your heart stutters in your chest

‘To Whom It May Concern,

We graciously thank you for your interest in Lord Corp. Mr. Lord has personally reviewed your product and would like to arrange to meet you on Wednesday at 3 p.m. You will have thirty minutes to make your sales pitch and answer any questions he may have. The front desk will direct you when you arrive. Please bring a valid photo ID and copies of your pitch for convince. Do not be late, Mr. Lord’s time is incredibly valued.

Cordially,

Sam Preston

Personal Assistant to the CEO’

You had gotten it. That moment you needed on the inside...you had finally gotten it. A relieved smile graces your lips as you begin to amass your files. You had one shot at this, it had to be perfect.

~~~~

You stand alone in the cemetery as you watch the caretakers laying new sod over the fresh grave. Your heart feels hollow, and only the black lace veil conceals the tears streaming down your cheeks from the world around you. Today was beautiful; cool and still with the birds singing in the trees as the sun warmed the earth. It was too beautiful for a day filled with such grief.

As the caretakers pack up their tools, one stops to rest a hand on his shoulder, passing along his condolences before continuing on his way. You nod gratefully before kneeling beside the headstone. It is modest, small and simple with a delicate engraving of a singular rose by your mother’s name. Black-gloved fingers trace along each petal and letter, your shoulders shaking with silent cries. You were now well and truly alone.

You shouldn’t have had to be alone. He should have been there with you, you had made a promise to one another. You were there when his father passed, and his mother. He didn’t even have the time to attend his own mother’s funeral, but you did. You mourned for him as they lowered a woman close enough to be your second mother into the ground beside her husband. So why were you alone now?

Where are you Maxwell?

~~~~

Your hands work to smooth the front of your dress down before you enter the lobby of Lord Corp. Slate gray with a simple black belt that held nicely to your figure but didn’t reveal too much. Professional and classy, with a dash of sexy. Nothing beyond anything any self-respecting company owner would don. Head held high and the bag you specifically reserved for important business trips and meetings over your shoulder, you make your way inside, up to the front desk.

“Welcome to Lord Corp, where the future is yours, do you have an appointment?” The intern who greets you sounds like every last bit of his soul has been sapped from him, and you pity him. Giving him a sad smile, you nod, pulling out your ID.

“I do, at 3 pm with Mr. Lord.” You give him your name as he takes the card, looking you up in the system before nodding, handing you back your ID and a visitors badge which you quickly put around your neck.

“Lily Solutions, you’re still on schedule. I’ll have you head down the hall. Take your first left, you’ll find the elevators. Take it all the way to the top and have a seat on the bench outside the double doors at the end of the hall. Sam will come and get you when Mr. Lord is ready for you.” You smile sweetly at the young man, thanking him before following your instructions. Your ears pop on the way up and you grimace, pulling out the folder with your ‘sales pitch’ inside, flipping through to make sure everything is in order. As the doors slide open and you make your way down the hall, you sigh. This floor was so much more opulent than the ground floor and you feel so out of place. Floor to ceiling paintings like the walls, depicting grandiose battles. Priceless vases and sculptures sit along marble pedestals. It’s like walking through a museum rather than an office, and your jaw clenches as you think about how he had come to acquire some of these items. When you reach the bench, you take your seat and cross your ankles to wait, trying to calm your racing heart.

“Lily Solutions?” The voice that calls out for you immediately grates on your nerves, high pitched and nasally. Looking to your right, so you a man in a pressed navy blue suit make his way towards you, and you stand to meet him, taking his extended hand. “I am Sam Preston, Mr. Lord’s personal assistant. Did you bring your requested documents?” The way he looked down his nose at you makes your blood boil, but you paste on the sweetest smile you can, nodding as you hand over the folder.

“You’ll find copies of all requested articles inside, neatly labeled for yours and Mr. Lord’s personal convenience.” Sam makes a disinterested sound in the back of his throat, snapping the folder shut before checking his watch.

“Very good. This way.” He strides past you and as soon as he is in front of you, you drop the sweet smile. Maxwell, why hire someone like him? You shake your head as Sam opens the door at the end of the hall, getting your salesman smile in place. “Mr. Lord, your 3 o’clock is here from Lily Solutions.” Sam ushers you inside and you are taken aback once again at how over the top the design of the office is. Floor to ceiling windows line the whole back wall with arguably the best view in Metropolis and the curtains that hang every so often are of a rich red velvet with gold filigree.  The marble tiles cause the click of your heels to echo as you make your way to the center of the room beside Sam, your eyes locked on the man sitting at the large mahogany desk.

It’s been seventeen years since you last saw Maxwell, and your heart ached for the man who appraises you with shrewd and cunning eyes. With a wave of his hand, Sam nods, leaving the folder on the desk to make his way out of the room. The large oaken door closing echos ominously through the room as Maxwell stands, coming around his desk to face you, hands in his pockets. If he recognized you at all, he didn’t show it.

“Thank you for taking the time to meet with me, Mr. Lord. I realize your time is very valuable, so I won’t keep you long.” Maxwell chuckles humorlessly at your greetings, leaning back against his desk.

“You say that, but you bring me this fake, garbage company in an attempt for a sales pitch?” His voice is rough and hard as flint, no trace of that gentle sound he once had. “What game are you playing?”

“No game, sir.”

“I don’t believe you.” He pushes off of his desk, walking back around it. “Everyone has a game they play, and if you’re not going to tell me yours, I’ll have you escorted out.” When he picks up the phone, your heart leaps into your throat and you dart forward pressing down on the receiver, cutting it off. He glares at you in disbelief. The audacity, he thinks, is astounding and he would make sure you suffer for it.

“Maxwell, please.” His eyes flash at the use of his first name, something in the way it sounds in your voice bringing him to pause. “I just need five minutes.”

~~~~~

Taglist is open!  Requests are open!

[supernaturallyobsessedchic]

Still Hurts

Pairing: Dean x Reader/Jensen x reader

Warnings: Death (noncharacter), Depression, sadness galore, some fluffy Dean, fluff ending, bible scriptures at the end depends on Faith. I am of Christian faith, and spiritual, and have added 2 scriptures to help with grief.

Summary: The reader is in the world of Supernatural, but things at home are still going on. It makes things hard.

Main Masterlist

Mobile Masterlist

a/n: My grandma passed away today, of all days Friday the 13th. We knew it was coming, she started going down hill 4 days ago, did good yesterday, was somewhat coherent. But today, she didn’t do good and passed sometime this afternoon. I felt numb pretty much all day, cried off and on. Slowly I’ve come out of the hole to write something mostly for me, but it can be for whoever would need it. Just with the fact, we knew it was coming, makes the pain not any better. Still hurts.

a/n #2: This, this storyline is going to be a little messy but, it’ll be a mix of my Down the Rabbit Hole series and another series that hasn’t even surfaced yet, it’s still in the daydreaming slash brainstorming stages in my brain. But It may be Dean, or it may be Jensen, I haven’t decided yet. Not fully anyway.

~

Still hard to believe, despite being in this mess my phone even works here.

Mom always kept me in the loop, same for Dad, about my grandma. My mom’s mom. I damn near lost myself after my last grandma died. It still hurts now, but not as bad when it’s fresh.

But this, we’ve known it was going to come sooner or later. She wasn’t doing good; she started the early stages of dying a few days ago. Her heart doing weird things. I was waiting for it then.

It never came.

Next day she’s fine. She’s talking, sort of. She’s somewhat awake. She was okay yesterday.

This morning my dad texts me.

‘Grandma’s not doing good today, they’re expecting soon. But I’ll let you know.’

So, while Dean was out, doing a supply run. Sam finding Chuck. Or should I say, Jensen was out on the supply run and Jared was searching for Chuck.

We had just finished up in Alaska, now we’re just trying to keep busy. Slow Chuck down.

I decided to do house chores. Keep busy, keep my mind at bay.

“Jared, I’m gonna do laundry, need anything washed?” I asked.

“Hmm?” he asked, coming out of a haze from searching. “Oh, uh, sure. I have a hamper; it should be ready.” He says. Getting back to searching, waving me off.

I nod.

My Supernatural phone buzzes. It’s Jensen, screen comes up as Dean. Texting me.

‘Need anything from me?” he asks.

‘That time of the month has passed, I’m good. When it gets closer I’ll do it. I don’t want to do that to you.’

‘You can’t plan ahead on what we’ll be doing. Just send me a pic of what you use, I’ll pick you up a few packs.”

‘Um, sure. Hang on.’ I send, as I head to the bathroom. Shooting a picture of my package of pads and sending it to him.

‘Don’t get lost Priestly.’ I send with a smile.

‘Oh, harty har, har, you think you’re so funny. Dee does that all the time to me when I offer her the same thing.’ He texts. Sending a few laughing emojis.

‘Okay, be home soon. I got food for supper if your up for it.’ he sends.

‘Wonder what it could be?’ I text him. Already curious about food.

Since being thrusted into this whole shit show. My ex friend, somehow turned into a mad scientist was able to break the realities. Make dimensions, portals to them. He made Supernatural real somehow. There was a period for 13 seasons the boys blamed me for created it. Because fan fictions, anime shows would be mixed in with the stories. Make their own episodes of them. They hated me, didn’t trust me. Until I couldn’t take it anymore, when we gone through episode Advanced Thanatology, instead of Dean injecting himself. I just yanked the needle out of his hand and killed myself. After that, things got better but it still feels forced. Then again, I could be miss reading it, as always.

But since that day, Jensen’s been strangely nice, Jared…he tries but Jensen’s seeming like he’s forcing himself.

I get the clothes loaded in the washer; I clean the bathrooms. I clean our rooms, make our beds and such. Dust.

Then my other phone vibrates. I’m getting a call. It’s my dad.

“Dad, what’s wrong?” I asked. Knowing deep down in my gut somethings wrong. He never calls, moments in this show when shit hits the fan back home he’d usually text me.

“Grandma passed away just an hour ago. I just got done telling my boss, I’m on my way home. I know you’re still in there with those guys. But, don’t tell them. Chances are they’ll just hurt you. I still don’t trust them.” He says.

“She’s gone.” I said, my chest feeling heavy. My eyes feeling the heavy, hot tears surface.

“Yes, sweetheart she’s gone. She’s no longer suffering.” He says. “That’s all that matters. She’s up there with grandpa, she’s not suffering. We’ve known it was going to happen.” He adds.

��Yeah, but…it hurts.” I said. Sobs are now wanting to break me.

“Y/N, you need to try to hold together until you can get into your room. I would kill to be there to hold you, mom too. But, we can’t. We’re here, dealing with it. But you deal over there, just put yourself back together, come home. In one peace, try not to kill yourself again. I know it hurts. But once your home, we can help you heal too.” He says.

“Thanks dad. I’ll try.” I said.

And I hang up after we said our goodbyes.

Everything’s clean enough. I thought.

I’ll keep doing laundry. It keeps me away from the boys; besides, I have all their clothes. I’ll fold, put away, and then hide and break down. I thought out my plan. That’s what I’ll do.

Point of view switch [3rd person]

Jensen walked in with the groceries, all in each arm, making it in one trip. Jared meeting him in the kitchen.

“So, what’s for supper?” He asked.

“Y/N found this recipe of her mom’s; I want to try it. Grown up Mac and Cheese. I just had to buy the pasta, she got everything else last week.” Jensen explained.

“Sounds yummy, she’s doing the laundry.” Jared said.

“Cool. I’ll give her, her stuff and she can get cooking.” Jensen says.

He makes his way down the winding halls, no sign of her in Jared’s room, but there’s signs she was there. His clothes were neatly folded on his bed.

He checks his room, same deal. Neatly folded clothes on his bed.

He heads to the laundry room, she’s not in there.

“Well, where the hell?” he asks himself. Maybe her room. He thought.

He gets to her door, but stops himself from knocking when he hears crying behind the door.

“Hey,” he says gently. “Hey, Y/N,” he says again with a knock. And slowly opens her door.

“Not now.” She says, her voice shaking from the crying.

“Sweetheart, what’s got you crying?” he asks kindly.

“What do you care, leave me alone.” she cries.

“Y/N –”

“I said get out!” she shouts, throwing a pillow at her door. Making Jensen shut it.

Jensen stood there, baffled by her outburst. And heads to the kitchen.

“Dude, what’d you say to her?” Jensen asks.

“What?” Jared asks. “Nothing, why?” he asks him.

“I went to her room, found her crying. She threw a pillow at me to leave. I don’t know why she’s crying.” Jensen explains.

Jared shrugs. Clearly, he didn’t cause her pain.

Jensen’s personal phone buzzed. It’s his wife.

“Hey baby.” Jensen answers.

“Jay, her little brother just reached out to us. Her grandma passed. She’s hurting. And her parent’s don’t trust you guys. They think you’ll still hurt her.” Danneel explained to her husband.

“Probably after treating their daughter like shit for 13 seasons, driving her to the point to kill herself, I don’t blame them. But, we’re trying. Or I thought we were. Guess we’re not trying hard enough.” Jensen says.

“Hey, don’t talk like that. You just need to keep assuring her. It’s her you’re trying to regain that trust. Just, try again. Either wait for the crying to stop, or just, do something you would do if your sister was hurting. Or your own daughter. Just, I hate seeing her like this Jay, maybe you guys cook that dinner for her.” Danneel says.

“We’ll think of something baby. Love you.” Jensen tells his wife.

“Love you more. Now go cheer our girl up.” She says. Ending the call.

“What’s the plan?” Jared asked.

“Well, the recipe is right there on the island. I guess, start cooking. I’ll go try to piece her back together if I can.” Jensen says.

“Don’t push too hard.” Jared advises.

“I know man.” Jensen says.

He makes it back down to her room. Hearing it’s silent behind the door he knocks.

“Hey, sweetheart, you okay in here?” he asks.

“Go away.” She says weakly.

Her light was on, she was curled into a ball in the center of her bed. The pillows surrounding her, minus the one she threw earlier.

“No can do sweetie, my wife and your little brother want us to take care of you. And besides, we hate seeing you hurting.” He says.

“I don’t trust you, now leave.” She says. Her voice cracking.

“Um, something tells me, you really don’t feel that way.” Jensen says. “But it’s okay to protect yourself from anymore harm. Whether it’s physical or emotional. But I promise you, I’m not here to cause any more pain. I’m here to put you back together.” He adds.

He hears her let out a sigh. Defeated. He takes that as his cue to enter fully, and take a place on the edge of her bed. Her head, near his lap.

“Your little brother contacted my wife somehow, told us what happened. Loss is never easy.” He says.

Seeing her face distort again with pain, she starts crying again.

“We knew it was coming.” She sobbed. As she hid her face in her hands. Letting some sobs rack through her, she sits up. Taking a deep breath.

“We,” she starts again, trying to breathe. “We’ve known for a little while. I mean, she’d have good days, bad days. But one day, she…she…” a sob began to surface.

Jensen placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, rubbing up and down her arm. “Shh, it’s okay.” He says quietly.

“She got worse; her heart started doing something. She was dying, but then the next day she was fine, and she was okay. Same for the day after that. Then today, dad tells me she’s not doing good. And not, two…three hours later, she’s gone.” She explained.

“At least she’s at peace, she’s not suffering anymore. That’s all that matters.” Jensen says, his hand not leaving.

“I know. But just because we’ve known, doesn’t mean it makes the pain that much easier.” She cries.

“I know it doesn’t. It just means you love her. But you have to remember her as she was when you last saw her, remember her at her best. Don’t think about the bad, the depressing stuff that’s happened along the way. Think about the good times you had with her.” Jensen said.

“God, it’s like that episode Cas has with Jack. About appreciating the time we all have together now. And that the pain, is…is because I love them. And the pain is awful, but it’s also living. But…” she began to trail as sobs racked her again.

“Don’t…please, don’t finish that sentence.” Jensen says. Tears of his own surfacing.

He doesn’t like seeing this. People crying over loss, losses so close to home. Especially people he cares about.

“I know it hurts; I can’t imagine how much it hurts right now. But you can’t give up, you can’t stop fighting now. You have to keep going. Do it for her. Do it for you. Take a knee sweetheart, you need to heal. And this kind of pain, it doesn’t have a set day of when it’ll go away. But it does get better. Once your better, let us know. And we’ll get back to hunting again, because the faster we get this done, the faster we get home. But for right now. Our focus is you.” Jensen explains. Giving her a kind smile.

She returns it, forcing it some. She casts her gaze down as some more tears escape.

‘C’mere.” Jensen says, bring her in his arms. Hugging her, holding her tight. Her face in the crook of his neck. It’s only then her walls come tumbling down fully.

“Let it out sweetheart, let that hurt out. I’m here, I’m not going anywhere. Just cry it out.” He tells her softly in her ear. He can feel her tears hit his neck the longer she cried.

It was a good long while she cried in his arms. He just started rocking her gently in his arms.

“There she is.” He says, seeing her peer up from his shoulder.

He takes his finger, gently wiping a finger across her cheeks, catching any stray tears that fall. “Feeling any better?” he asks.

“Just numb, and drained. Not sure if I can eat now.” She says.

“Well, you haven’t had anything all day. At least try a few bites.” Jensen encourages. She nods. “Atta girl.” He says.

“Knock, knock.” Jared says entering her room with bowls of her mom’s mac and cheese.

“You made this, I thought I was…” she trails.

“You were dealing with your own issues, wanted to help out a bit. Plus, I already tried some. This shits good.” Jared says.

“Is that why you only brought in two bowls?” Jensen asks.

“Yep.” Jared says shamelessly with a big grin.

Jared handed Y/N her bowl, and Jensen his. The smell from the bowl caused her stomach to growl.

“Sounds like your starving, eat up.” Jared says, leaving the room.

“At least try, could always snack on something.” Jensen says.

“I am starving, I’m not numb to that. Just, it’s like my light is gone. I mean, yeah Jared did make me giggle there a few seconds ago. But it’s like…” she trails.

“Need a recharge?” Jensen asks.

“Yeah. I feel so drained. And I’m running on empty. Things that’ll make me laugh is a 50/50 shot now, if I do laugh, it will only feel good for that split moment. Afterwards, I’ll feel shitty again. I don’t want to feel shitty.” She says.

“Then, what do we do? What’s the Winchester way?” Jensen asks with a knowing smirk.

“Always keep fighting.” She says with a tired smile.

“There you go.” He says to her, kissing her forehead. “Now, lets eat, I’m starving.” He says getting up to the kitchen. Y/N following suit.

Joshua 1:9

Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the LORD your God will be with you wherever you go.

Matthew 5:4

Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.

~

Dean/Jensen tags:

@luci-in-trenchcoats, @supernatural-jackles, @becs-bunker, @mlovesstories, @winchesters-favorite-girl

~

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[life-observed]

The Moral Peril of Meritocracy

Our individualistic culture inflames the ego and numbs the spirit. Failure teaches us who we are.

April 6, 2019

David Brooks

By David Brooks

Mr. Brooks is an Opinion columnist. This essay is adapted from his forthcoming book, “The Second Mountain: The Quest for a Moral Life.”

Many of the people I admire lead lives that have a two-mountain shape. They got out of school, began their career, started a family and identified the mountain they thought they were meant to climb — I’m going to be an entrepreneur, a doctor, a cop. They did the things society encourages us to do, like make a mark, become successful, buy a home, raise a family, pursue happiness.

People on the first mountain spend a lot of time on reputation management. They ask: What do people think of me? Where do I rank? They’re trying to win the victories the ego enjoys.

These hustling years are also powerfully shaped by our individualistic and meritocratic culture. People operate under this assumption: I can make myself happy. If I achieve excellence, lose more weight, follow this self-improvement technique, fulfillment will follow.

But in the lives of the people I’m talking about — the ones I really admire — something happened that interrupted the linear existence they had imagined for themselves. Something happened that exposed the problem with living according to individualistic, meritocratic values.

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Some of them achieved success and found it unsatisfying. They figured there must be more to life, some higher purpose. Others failed. They lost their job or endured some scandal. Suddenly they were falling, not climbing, and their whole identity was in peril. Yet another group of people got hit sideways by something that wasn’t part of the original plan. They had a cancer scare or suffered the loss of a child. These tragedies made the first-mountain victories seem, well, not so important.

Life had thrown them into the valley, as it throws most of us into the valley at one point or another. They were suffering and adrift.

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Some people are broken by this kind of pain and grief. They seem to get smaller and more afraid, and never recover. They get angry, resentful and tribal.

But other people are broken open. The theologian Paul Tillich wrote that suffering upends the normal patterns of life and reminds you that you are not who you thought you were. The basement of your soul is much deeper than you knew. Some people look into the hidden depths of themselves and they realize that success won’t fill those spaces. Only a spiritual life and unconditional love from family and friends will do. They realize how lucky they are. They are down in the valley, but their health is O.K.; they’re not financially destroyed; they’re about to be dragged on an adventure that will leave them transformed.

They realize that while our educational system generally prepares us for climbing this or that mountain, your life is actually defined by how you make use of your moment of greatest adversity.

So how does moral renewal happen? How do you move from a life based on bad values to a life based on better ones?

First, there has to be a period of solitude, in the wilderness, where self-reflection can occur.

“What happens when a ‘gifted child’ findshimself in a wilderness where he’s stripped away of any way of proving his worth?” Belden Lane asks in “Backpacking With the Saints.” What happens where there is no audience, nothing he can achieve? He crumbles. The ego dissolves. “Only then is he able to be loved.”

That’s the key point here. The self-centered voice of the ego has to be quieted before a person is capable of freely giving and receiving love.

Then there is contact with the heart and soul — through prayer, meditation, writing, whatever it is that puts you in contact with your deepest desires.

“In the deeps are the violence and terror of which psychology has warned us,” Annie Dillard writes in “Teaching a Stone to Talk.” “But if you ride these monsters deeper down, if you drop with them farther over the world’s rim, you find what our sciences cannot locate or name, the substrate, the ocean or matrix or ether which buoys the rest, which gives goodness its power for good, and evil its power for evil, the unified field: our complex and inexplicable caring for each other.”

In the wilderness the desire for esteem is stripped away and bigger desires are made visible: the desires of the heart (to live in loving connection with others) and the desires of the soul (the yearning to serve some transcendent ideal and to be sanctified by that service).

When people are broken open in this way, they are more sensitive to the pains and joys of the world. They realize: Oh, that first mountain wasn’t my mountain. I am ready for a larger journey.

Some people radically change their lives at this point. They quit corporate jobs and teach elementary school. They dedicate themselves to some social or political cause. I know a woman whose son committed suicide. She says that the scared, self-conscious woman she used to be died with him. She found her voice and helps families in crisis. I recently met a guy who used to be a banker. That failed to satisfy, and now he helps men coming out of prison. I once corresponded with a man from Australia who lost his wife, a tragedy that occasioned a period of reflection. He wrote, “I feel almost guilty about how significant my own growth has been as a result of my wife’s death.”

Perhaps most of the people who have emerged from a setback stay in their same jobs, with their same lives, but they are different. It’s not about self anymore; it’s about relation, it’s about the giving yourself away. Their joy is in seeing others shine.

In their book “Practical Wisdom,” Barry Schwartz and Kenneth Sharpe tell the story of a hospital janitor named Luke. In Luke’s hospital there was a young man who’d gotten into a fight and was now in a permanent coma. The young man’s father sat with him every day in silent vigil, and every day Luke cleaned the room. But one day the father was out for a smoke when Luke cleaned it.

Later that afternoon, the father found Luke and snapped at him for not cleaning the room. The first-mountain response is to see your job as cleaning rooms. Luke could have snapped back: I did clean the room. You were out smoking. The second-mountain response is to see your job as serving patients and their families. In that case you’d go back in the room and clean it again, so that the father could have the comfort of seeing you do it. And that’s what Luke did.

If the first mountain is about building up the ego and defining the self, the second is about shedding the ego and dissolving the self. If the first mountain is about acquisition, the second mountain is about contribution.

On the first mountain, personal freedom is celebrated — keeping your options open, absence of restraint. But the perfectly free life is the unattached and unremembered life. Freedom is not an ocean you want to swim in; it is a river you want to cross so that you can plant yourself on the other side.

So the person on the second mountain is making commitments. People who have made a commitment to a town, a person, an institution or a cause have cast their lot and burned the bridges behind them. They have made a promise without expecting a return. They are all in.

I can now usually recognize first- and second-mountain people. The former have an ultimate allegiance to self; the latter have an ultimate allegiance to some commitment. I can recognize first- and second-mountain organizations too. In some organizations, people are there to serve their individual self-interests — draw a salary. But other organizations demand that you surrender to a shared cause and so change your very identity. You become a Marine, a Morehouse Man.

I’ve been describing moral renewal in personal terms, but of course whole societies and cultures can swap bad values for better ones. I think we all realize that the hatred, fragmentation and disconnection in our society is not just a political problem. It stems from some moral and spiritual crisis.

We don’t treat one another well. And the truth is that 60 years of a hyper-individualistic first-mountain culture have weakened the bonds between people. They’ve dissolved the shared moral cultures that used to restrain capitalism and the meritocracy.

Over the past few decades the individual, the self, has been at the center. The second-mountain people are leading us toward a culture that puts relationships at the center. They ask us to measure our lives by the quality of our attachments, to see that life is a qualitative endeavor, not a quantitative one. They ask us to see others at their full depths, and not just as a stereotype, and to have the courage to lead with vulnerability. These second-mountain people are leading us into a new culture. Culture change happens when a small group of people find a better way to live and the rest of us copy them. These second-mountain people have found it.

Their moral revolution points us toward a different goal. On the first mountain we shoot for happiness, but on the second mountain we are rewarded with joy. What’s the difference? Happiness involves a victory for the self. It happens as we move toward our goals. You get a promotion. You have a delicious meal.

Joy involves the transcendence of self. When you’re on the second mountain, you realize we aim too low. We compete to get near a little sunlamp, but if we lived differently, we could feel the glow of real sunshine. On the second mountain you see that happiness is good, but joy is better.

[untilmynextstory]

Chapter 8: Family Recipe 

Eventually Jax was able to get Nathan to calm down. It was only after Nathan unleashed everything. Namely that he doesn't know when the abuse happened, in fact, he never saw a bruise on his mother, but he just knows Vitaly hurts her. Jax knows that the abuse doesn't even have to be physical, but mentality and emotionally.

It takes everything in his power to not storm to Alma's right now, but he has to be smart. He has to prepare for the worst. He can't just kill Vitaly. The man does have ties to the Russians and any blowback can land on Alma's doorstep.

Then there is the fact in separating Alma from her abuser. He has to be prepared that she won't want to leave. He needs to be prepared for her to fight him on everything.

He does his best to not even think about why Alma got herself in the situation. The anger doesn't lay on her. Now he knows why Alma wanted Nathan to move in with him. The abuse must have been escalating. He knew something was wrong. He should've pressed and pressed even if it would have pissed her off.

Jax walks over to the end table and grabs some stationary. He writes a short and coded message to Lenny to see if he could give him some basic info on Vitaly and his schedule. He knows he can't just show up to Alma's place of work. He wouldn't be surprised if the man kept eyes on Alma while he was away. He needs to be careful.

.

.

.

Alma feels Vitaly only did what he did to ruin her Thanksgiving. After all, he had left promptly three days after his parting gift for a business trip that would leave him gone for three weeks. It would have him back in town just for Christmas. She has a feeling that he may try to ruin that for her as well. She already plans to leave for Christmas early. Nathan has most of December off and since she missed Thanksgiving she can make it up to him by arriving a week or two earlier.

She knows she put Nathan through a lot of worry those two days he couldn't reach her. Vitaly did smash her phone during his fit of rage. She had been able to easily explain that to Nathan, who had demanded a video call, when she was able to get a hold of him.

She hated to see the utter look of relief on his face. It was like he knew something had gone wrong. She had tried to shield him from the decline of her second marriage. She should've gotten out the first time Vitaly ever raised his hand to her, but she didn't. She stayed. She stayed and she didn't even know why she did.

She thinks maybe she didn't want another failed marriage under her belt. She didn't want to admit that she let herself into the situation. She got herself trapped. Maybe, just maybe, it had to do with she didn't want for anyone to know she got herself in this situation. She didn't want to go crawling back to Charming - back to Jax. She didn't want the stares of pity. She wanted to show people that she could move on from the Life she had in Charming.

She also didn't want Jax to go to jail for murdering Vitaly. She knows it would get to that point. Her ex husband was a very smart man, but at the same time,if pushed he shoots first and thinks later. She knows he would not let Vitaly get away with putting his hands on her.

She is just grateful Vitaly never targeted her son. During his rages, he always insults Jax. She ignores them mostly. They seem to stem from a place of jealousy. It makes her wonder if he knew what she had done with Jax on their wedding night.

Alma had always carried so much guilt from that night. She was truly disgusted with herself. What woman cheats on their future husband on their wedding day. She carried that guilt for months until Vitaly's real side began to show. Hell, she even had a pregnancy scare. She didn't know how she was going to explain that to Vitaly. He had made it very clear he didn't want kids. Although, she had found out by accident that he couldn't have kids.

She prayed to god everyday that Jax didn't manage to knock her up again. She didn't even know how she would have managed to make a good lie for that one. She knows deep down what she would've done if she had been pregnant. She didn't know if she could live with that. She probably would've chickened out and would have to manage the embarrassment of running back to Charming with her tail tucked between her legs.

Now, she doesn't feel guilty. It was the last time she truly felt loved from anybody in that way. Maybe she shouldn't have let her mother push her into this marriage. For the first time she ever really listened to her mother she ends up being a victim of domestic violence.

Alma shakes her head. She is not going to blame her mother. She made the choice to continue seeing Vitaly. She accepted the marriage proposal.

Alma sighs as she opens one of the many boxes of decorations for Christmas. This is the first year she will be decorating without Nathan's help. This house is much larger than her two previous homes. The one thing she misses is all the homemade decorations Nathan and Kaylee made. She had left those in Charming. Alot of Kaylee's things were still in Charming.

She is glad because she has a feeling Vitaly's anger might escalate to destroy any connection she has to Charming and Jax.

Alma goes to her record player and puts on some Marvin Gaye and pours herself a glass of wine and begins to decorate. She has been decorating for only about 30 minutes when the doorbell goes off. She frowns as she wasn't expecting anyone. She's never expecting anyone now that Nathan isn't home. There is also the fact that she didn't bother concealing the bruises on her body. She grabs a throw blanket to wrap around her body to hide the bruises on her arms. She can't do much to hide the bruise on her cheek. She peeks through the side window and she stiffens in surprise to find Jax on the other side of the door.

She knows if anything was wrong with Nathan he would've called. The only reason he would come down if it was about Nathan, but she knows he would've called beforehand. She knows this because she is pretty sure he doesn't want to be in the same room as Vitaly. She knows there is no use in trying to act like she isn't home.

She unlocks the dead bolt, but doesn't open the door all the way. She hides half her body from Jax.

"I can admit I am surprised to see you on my doorstep," Alma greets with.

"I can say the same." He replies.

She watches as his eyes narrow at her presence. She takes in his appearance. He isn't wearing his kutte and he doesn't have his bike. She notices his truck parked in her driveway. He is practically incognito.

"What are you doing here, Jax?"

"You going to let me in?"

Alma takes a deep breath and she opens the door wider to let him in her house. He steps in and she closes the door behind her. She takes a deep breath. He knows.

"We need to talk, darlin'," Jax tells her.

Alma nods her head and she leads him through the living room. She knows he doesn't care for a tour of her house.

She leads him to the couch where he sits down and she sits in the lounge chair opposite from him.

He doesn't say anything for a couple minutes. In fact, he doesn't even look at her as he seems to take in the world she lives in. He takes a deep breath and leans forward to rest his elbow on his legs.

"Instead of coming back to my bed, you married a sick fuck that beats you. You let Nathan witness that shit." Jax starts. He doesn't beat around the bush. He gets straight to the point of why he drove down here.

"Nathan was never in any danger."

"Jesus Christ, Alma, that isn't the point." He snaps and looks her in the eyes. His eyes focus on her bruised cheek. The point is that she is in danger. It's a truth that goes unsaid.

"I can't leave him, Jax."

"The hell you can't. I will drag you out kicking and screaming if I have too."

Alma runs her hands down her face. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Let me see it."

"See what?"

"I can see that nice shiner on your face. Let me see the rest." He demands.

Alma pulls the blanket around her tighter. "Look, I appreciate the concern, but you need to go."

"Nah, I'm not leaving until I know you're getting out of this."

"Jax, I'm not your wife or old lady anymore. I'm not your concern."

"You're the mother of my children. You think I am going to go back to Charming knowing you're getting fucking beat. Do you think I can go home to our son and tell him 'hey I left your mother to get fucking beat'." Jax spits back. "Is that why you wanted him to live with me? You were scared Vitaly would take his attention to Nathan."

"I got Nathan out, Jax. That is all that matters right now."

"Do you even hear yourself, right now?" Jax asks in disbelief. "What the fuck happened to you, Alma?"

Alma snaps her head up. "What happened to me?" The laugh that escapes her lips is far from humorous. "How about the fact I had to grieve the loss of two children and my ex-husband decides to bury his grief in another pussy that isn't mine. Then a woman comes along claiming to be pregnant by him. How about the fact you humiliated me in Charming with the croweaters and pornstars leaving me to grieve all alone and taking care of the only child we had left alive. So excuse me while I tried to mend the pieces of me you fucking tore apart led me to fucking Vitaly."

Jax falls to his knees and his hands frame her face. Alma tries to turn away from him, but he forces her to look into his blue eyes.

"Alma, please…"

Alma doesn't know exactly what he is begging for. Does he want forgiveness, for her to leave Vitaly, for her to come back to Charming?

"Did he threaten me and the club?" Jax asks softly.

"I don't want you or Nathan to get hurt, Jax."

"Don't worry about the club. Don't worry about me."

"Easier said than done." Alma tells him weakly with a smile.

Jax smiles. "I know. I know." He brings his forehead down to hers. "You gotta come home, Alma."

Alma doesn't respond because she knows her answer won't please Jax. She thinks Jax must sense what she is thinking he pulls back from her and opens his mouth. She distracts him as she presses her lips against his. He is startled and he falls back. Alma takes advantage of his surprise as she straddles his hips. Her blanket falls off her shoulders and she meets Jax lips again into a burning kiss.

She thinks she has Jax distracted. He moans against her lips as she grinds down on him. A part of her missed this. She misses Jax and the feel of him against her, inside her. She leans down fully against him as she begins grinding against him. She won't feel guilty this time. After all, she can't remember the last time she has actually enjoyed sex. However, Jax's hands grip her hips and she winces as it presses against a tender bruise.

Jax notices the reaction immediately and pulls away from her and leans up. Lips already swollen, pupils dilated, Jax sucks in a breath as he takes in the damage.

Her arms are littered with Vitaly's fingerprints. She doesn't stop Jax when he lifts up his tank and sees the splotchy bruise on her hip from when she was pushed hard into the corner of the dresser in the bedroom. She had been worried about internal bleeding due to the pain she has been feeling for days.

"Al -"

She pushes his hands away and goes back to meet his lips, but he stops her. "Jax, please -"

"You're not coming back after Christmas." He tells her. "I'm not arguing with you about it."

Alma licks her lips. She closes her eyes and nods her head.

Jax sighs in relief and wraps his arms around her. Alma can't help the tears that begin to fall.

.

.

.

Jax is anxious. He has been since he had gone and seen Alma two weeks ago. She is supposed to arrive in a couple days. She had informed him that she planned to come down for Christmas early to begin with. His only comfort was that Vitaly was out on business. Alma would be left alone. She wouldn't see him unless he came down in Charming once he realized Alma wasn't coming back. Despite her assurance that she was leaving and would stay in Charming, it didn't stop the bad feeling in his gut.

It didn't stop him from feeling as if something was going to go wrong. It was hard leaving with the knowledge that Alma was in an abusive marriage. It hurts to know that he was the one that fucked up and it led her to that man's arms. Jax thinks he might hate himself a bit.

He knows Nathan didn't have any comfort either. In fact, Nathan has been calling or texting Alma every day since he came back from his trip to Alma's. Jax thinks he is just lucky the visit managed to slip the radar of his club and mother. They could deal with everything including people knowing the sliver of the truth once Alma was here permanently.

The one thing that was on replay in Jax's mind was the kiss. He knows it was stupid of him to even get partially distracted. Alma was doing it as a means to distract him. He was tempted and it probably would've gone further until he would have seen the damage Vitaly had done to her.

He did cry when he came back to Charming. It hurts to know that she's been dealing with this practically her whole marriage. Jax isn't blind to the fact that in this life men have shown physical dominance over their old ladies and women. Yet, Jax never took on that view. It disgusts him frankly. He even regrets what he had done to Ima. After all, it was his mistake for sleeping with Ima. It all landed on him for inviting Ima into his marriage. After Alma left him, he did apologize to the blond and managed to get her behind the camera as penance.

Even then he has witnessed a few slaps from the guys with the women, but Vitaly is fucking beating her. He knows Alma had to be in pain.

Jax thinks they need to figure out how to handle any potential blowback from the Russians. He doesn't think they would care, but Vitaly could be petty. He was surprised that the Russians did not care about any domestic situations.

Jax feels his phone vibrating in his pocket and he pulls it out and squints at the unfamiliar number.

"Hello?"

"Hi, is this Jackson Teller?" A polite, feminine voice asked.

"Who's asking?"

"My name is Lisa. I'm a nurse at St. Vincent's hospital. You're listed as Alma Petrova's emergency."

"Is she okay? Is she alright?"

"She's stable and sedated, but it's best you come down here."

[danceworshipper]

Okay I can't wait any longer so I'm posting this now. This is my writing piece for @hphmbang2020 and the art by @mervinamoonishere will be linked when it gets posted! The prompt was about how much better Rowan deserved. I'm on mobile, so I sincerely apologize for the lack of a "read more" (5,035 words)

Edit: link to the art: https://mervinamoonishere.tumblr.com/post/630784625693818880/hello-this-is-my-art-piece-that-i-did-to-the

Not Your Sacrifice

Rowan Khanna stands at the edge of the universe, staring out into the abyss. Her eyes are bright, shining with the light of the stars, but dull and sad inside. She stares at something she can't see, something impossibly far away. There's a pain in her chest that won't go away. She doesn't know how to alleviate it. Right now, all she can think of is her memories of the living world that haunt her, all the things she left unsaid. Hands shaking, Rowan takes a breath and begins to speak, though no one is around to hear her.

"Uh, hey. Merlin, how do I even start this? I'm pretty sure you can't hear me now, but I wish I could have said something before I got hit. Or at all. It happened so fast, didn't it? I'm not even sure when the moment I died was. At least it didn't hurt; not that I can remember. I didn't feel anything, but I saw it coming. It was rather pretty, actually, being surrounded by such a bright green."

She chuckles sadly, pressing a hand to her chest. Though there had been no pain, Rowan flinches. Sometimes that moment is all she can see, all she can hear. Just the green, and the sound of crackling power. She doesn't want to cry, not right now, not yet. After refocusing her mind, Rowan speaks again.

"Are you okay? I guess not. I wish you hadn't had to watch. Really, I wish it had never happened. Jumping in front of Ben wasn't even a choice, I don't think. I just moved, and then I was here. I suppose this is Heaven? No one has said. It seems like Heaven with how beautiful it all is. The gardens are mind blowing here. I landed in a garden, and then my grandfather found me and brought me to his and my Grandma's tree farm. They have tree farms here, can you imagine that? Anything you could ever want in the entire universe, right here where you can have it."

A brilliant smile forms on her face. It falls just as quickly.

"Anything except living people like you. You're what I miss most of all. People always said that the suffering ended once you died but... you're suffering, and that makes me suffer."

Her voice is growing tighter. Rowan grips her arms, never looking away from the person she can't see. Her nails dig into her skin, but leave no marks behind.

"Sometimes I can see you all, just little glimpses of what's going on. The 'Circle of Khanna' huh? Sounds a lot more impressive than it should. I believe in you, of course! I didn't mean that in a bad way. It's just rather funny to imagine a powerful group of witches and wizards named after me. Is that my legacy? I died so you all could become great? Rowan Khanna, the girl that got murdered. I - "

Her arms drop.

"I don't like that. That's not who I wanted to be. I wanted to be the youngest professor at Hogwarts. I wanted to travel with my friends and learn as much as I could. I wanted to live, really live. Now I don't get to. I don't just want to be the girl who died. Anything else; I could have been anyone else! Why was I such a failure? I didn't do anything I wanted. I didn't even get to be a prefect. Don't blame yourself, though. Please. Don't be more upset. You deserve to live your life and be happy. You do so much for everyone. You've saved lives. You've done so many amazing things."

Rowan sniffs. Now, instead of sad, she looks as though she hates herself.

"Why didn't I try to stop Rakepick? I had plenty of time. I had my wand. I could have stunned her. Anything but die, which was arguably the least logical action. High stress situations, I suppose. You never know what you'd actually do, and apparently my solution was to jump in front of Ben and die instead of doing anything that would have made sense. Even being a coward and doing nothing might have been better. Is that selfish? To wish that I had let Ben die? I don't like it here. I don't want to be here!"

Rowan screams in frustration. There's nothing around her, but her yell echoes anyway. Tears are falling from her eyes, and she blinks fiercely, still not taking her eyes off of her first friend. Her best friend. Rowan's chest heaves with every forced breath, and a look of desperation grows on her face.

"I know so many spells. I could have stunned her, hexed her, set her on fire, frozen her, blinded her, even just confused her with some random flowers. I could have helped. I could have prevented all of this. Not you. You did everything you could. I'm the one who was lacking. I always dreamed of a situation like this, where I could swoop in and be a hero and maybe then I'd matter a little, but when it happened I didn't even think about using my stupid wand."

Her wand materializes before her eyes from the nothing, and she angrily grabs it and snaps it in half. She can't use it from here. When she throws the pieces away, they fuse back together and vanish. It only serves to make her more upset.

"Everything is perfect here. Nothing ever goes wrong. You can't break anything, or hurt anyone. I cut myself while trimming branches and I didn't even feel it. No blood, no scar, nothing. Is that supposed to be a good thing? Can anything even be good if there isn't anything bad to compare it to? Or are we supposed to compare all this good with all the bad we went through in our lives?"

Rowan finally looks away. She rips her glasses off and wipes at her eyes, though the tears keep coming. Her chest shudders now as she tries to control her breathing so she can keep talking. The grief is overpowering her, threatening to consume her, so she tries to cheer herself up.

"It really is beautiful here. I shouldn't be complaining. There's so much space for trees, and they never wither or get sick. All the bowtruckles are easier to get along with. They seem to trust everyone. There are even dragons here! Friendly dragons that don't want to fry me up and eat me. I got to ride a Chinese Fireball around. She took me up to the nebulas and I could almost touch the stars. It felt like a dream, and it still does. None of this feels real. It's too perfect. I guess that's how it's supposed to be, right? No more suffering, unless you're me, still mourning the loss of my own life."

The tears start again no matter how hard Rowan tries to stop them. She looks down, fidgeting with her hands for a moment, and then looks back up almost hesitantly. Within a second she looks back down. There's something she needs to know, but is afraid to ask.

"Why did you leave me?"

It's a change of subject, from beautiful star dragons to ended friendships, but by the pained look on Rowan's face, she's been thinking about it the whole time. She keeps her eyes down, glasses still clutched tightly in one hand.

"I thought I was a good friend. What did I do wrong? Why did you stop hanging out with me? We used to do everything together. What happened? Was it me? Did you just outgrow me?"

Rowan sobs loudly.

"Was I too much of a coward?"

She hits the ground with a thud, sprawled out with her legs in different directions and her back at an odd angle. It can't be comfortable, but she doesn't move from the position. She's too exhausted.

"I gave up on the vaults. I couldn't handle it. Even though Ben used to be a coward, he kept trying. That was it, wasn't it? I was too scared, so you left me behind. You didn't tell me anything because you thought it would keep me safer and I was too weak to handle it. Right?"

There's no answer. Rowan's friend can't hear her. With a huff, Rowan sits up, the effort making her wince. Her face is wet and red and blotchy, and she's squinting - she dropped her glasses when she lay down. She doesn't look for them.

"You should have told me so I wouldn't have to find out for myself."

The dark anger in Rowan's voice is far different from the sad anger it held previously. Her friend's betrayal - could it even be called that? - really hurt her.

"This is your fault. It's not, and I know it's not, but it's your damn fault. You're the one who stopped talking to me. You're the one who left me so far behind I had to run to keep up! I tried! I tried so hard to be the best friend I could be, and what did I get? Dead. I got dead. I hate you!"

Rowan falls silent, and flops back down. The rage has dissipated. Her next words come out barely audible.

"I don't hate you. I shouldn't have said that. I love you. I love you so much it hurts. I miss you so much and I shouldn't, because you didn't love me. Not in the end. You loved everyone else; you loved everyone useful. All you could focus on was those vaults, and so anyone who wasn't helping you didn't matter. I didn't matter. All I did was follow you around like a puppy. Was I annoying? Were you too nice to tell me to go away? Were we really friends in the end?"

A pause.

"I noticed you kept the spare pair of glasses I had in my bedside drawer. There's a few more things in my trunk that I'd like you to have, if you ever find the time to go through it. If you even want to. My old watch is in there, a few things from Diagon Alley, and a few pictures. There's one of me and you from the beginning of fifth year, and one of us and our friends at the Celestial Ball. I think there's also one of me and Fuzzclaw in there. My parents already have a copy of that one. It's from the day he was born, I'm pretty sure. We had already decided we were going to keep one kitten, and as soon as I picked him up for the first time he snuggled right into me and that was that. I was only seven, so I thought I was super special that a newborn kitten already liked me that much. Merlin, I didn't even get a decade with him. Never would have guessed that I'd die first. You never expect that kind of thing. You always think you'll outlive your pets, your parents. My parents are miserable, you know. I've seen even less of them than I have of you, but they're not doing well. I can't blame them. I never told them much about the vaults. I didn't want them to worry."

Another pause, a longer one. Rowan is lost in thought for a while, looking thoughtful at first, and then even a little angry.

"Was that it? You didn't want me to worry? Too bad. I already knew too much. Even if I didn't know a single thing about the vaults I would have been worried about you. You don't get enough sleep. You say you do, but I don't believe you. I doubt you eat enough. You run yourself dry with homework and the vaults and every little problem anyone has. It's okay to make sure you're okay. As much as I miss you, I hope I don't see you again for a really long time, because if I do, I'll have to smack you for not putting yourself first. Just say no! Just say 'sorry not right now, I'm tired.' Stop wearing yourself thin! You're not helping anyone by hurting yourself like this."

Rowan reaches out, her hand easily finding her glasses, almost as if they were right beside her the whole time. They weren't. As Rowan sits up, she refocuses her eyes out in the distance. If she tries hard enough she can almost see her friend again. Almost.

"Put yourself first, but you need to take down R. If that's the last thing I can ask from you, avenge me. You need to make me worth it. It's selfish of me to say, because going through this might ruin you, but I know you can stop Rakepick. I know you can end R's reign once and for all. You and all our friends. I've seen the things you can do with friends by your side. Taking down this cabal should be nothing."

Rowan snorts.

"Maybe not nothing. But I believe in you either way. You're incredible, and you have Bill Weasley on your side. Is it just me, or is he only getting cooler the older he gets? I still sometimes can't believe that I got to be somewhat friends with him."

A small smile appears on Rowan's face. Her eyes glaze over a bit, no longer focused on her far away friend. Instead, they become focused on a memory.

"Remember when Bill told Emily off at the Celestial Ball and then came over to talk to me? I'm so glad you convinced me to go. It would have been fun even without Bill, but really it was only because of you. You always made me feel better about myself. You were right; I would have regretted not going. I didn't want to make a fool of myself, but if I didn't go I wouldn't have those memories or be a part of those inside jokes. I would have felt even more left out then I already did."

The smile drops.

"Dammit, I really don't want to start crying again."

A little meow comes from behind Rowan. She whips around and sees a large, fluffy grey cat staring up at her. Rowan's smile comes back through her tears, and she reaches out for the cat to come closer.

"Toebean!"

The cat perks up at the name and leaps onto Rowan's lap. Rowan strokes the cat's fur as it purrs.

"You're another someone I didn't think I'd see so soon."

Rowan looks back up toward her friend again.

"This is Fuzzclaw's mother. She was one of the most affectionate cats I've ever seen. She'd always come into my room when I was crying and sit on my lap like this."

Toebean adjusts on Rowan's lap to be able to look up at her. Rowan wipes at her eyes again and rubs Toebean's stomach, something most cats would never let anyone do. Rowan smiles sadly again.

"Such a good kitty. I was nine years old the last time I saw you, wasn't I? You were the first family member I ever lost. I remember sobbing under the blankets every night for months, wishing you would come back to me and cuddle me again. Every single time I was ever sad I'd think of you. Fuzzclaw was wonderful, but he never quite understood me like you do."

Wiping her eyes isn't helping at this point. Rowan's getting choked up again, alternating looking at Toebean and her friend in the distance.

"Turns out dying yourself hurts just as much."

Toebean meows louder, pawing gently at her owner. Rowan sobs and leans down, hiding her face in Toebean's fur. Now Rowan's voice is muffled when she speaks.

"Did you feel like this? Did you miss us like I miss my friends? My family? Did it hurt to leave us behind, or were you happy here with all the other cats and all the food you could ever eat?"

Another sob. Rowan sits up straighter, and Toebean meows disapprovingly.

"I know. I know you want me to stop crying."

Rowan sniffs.

"I want me to stop crying, too."

Toebean leans into Rowan's chest, looking as sad as a cat possibly can.

"I just miss them so much. And I can't stop thinking about how I'll never be able to be anything. I'll never get to be Head Girl, or the youngest professor at Hogwarts. I might get to learn everything there ever was to know, but I won't get to do it with my friends. I'll never get to help them achieve their dreams, or help them through their hardships. I'll never get to attend their weddings, or go on a tour across Europe with them. I'm nothing now. They'll all forget me someday. They were already starting to before I died. I did get to spend a little time with my best friend though, right before. It was so nice. It felt like the old days, where it was just the two of us against the world. You would have loved them, Toebean, all of them. I have so many stories to tell you, like that one time my best friend cast the tickling charm on this nasty girl Merula in first year. I almost laughed as hard as she did, and I didn't even get hit! Merula did end up getting nicer throughout the years, even if only slightly. And then there were all of my actual friends, like Penny and Barnaby. Penny was really good at potions, and she knew all the Hogwarts gossip, which would have been a bad thing if she wasn't so nice. Barnaby seemed pretty stupid, but once you got to know him he was one of the sweetest people ever. I used to help him out with his homework sometimes, and he always thanked me so genuinely. Ben I'm not sure I ever really liked, which is ironic because he's the one I jumped in front of. He was cowardly at first, but he still always helped out when he could. He started acting weird though, and I didn't trust him. It turned out he was being controlled by someone, but I still thought something was wrong. I guess he won me over in the end. Oh, and I was sort of friends with Bill Weasley! He was the coolest boy in school. He was smart and powerful and really, really tall. He was a couple years older than all of us - I'm not actually sure why he spent so much time with kids that much younger than him, but I'm not complaining. Maybe he did it for his brother, Charlie. Although Bill joined our friend group before Charlie did... I don't know. He's a Cursebreaker now. Rakepick got him that job."

Rowan's face hardens at the mention of her murderer.

"If there's only one person I could ever wish death upon, it would be her. Rakepick was our Defense Against the Dark Arts professor during his last year, my fifth year. She came to the school the year before that because Dumbledore wanted her to deal with the vaults and not us, although she immediately got a few of my friends involved, which got the rest of us involved too. I wasn't there when this happened, but she took a bunch of them into one of the Cursed Vaults and then left them there to die. She hit Merula with the Cruciatus Curse, and probably would have killed them all if my best friend hadn't through Garroting Gas at her. No one expected her to be a member of R, not even Professor Dumbledore. We thought she was working against R, and that even if we didn't like her we could trust her. I didn't trust her, though. I thought she was a bad influence. Turns out I was right."

A little smugness appears on Rowan's face, although she grows more serious again quickly.

"After she disappeared we decided that we couldn't let her get to the last vault first. She was willing to murder children, so if the treasure of the vaults was anything to do with power, we couldn't risk her getting her hands on it. We tried everything we could to stay one step ahead, which was difficult considering we had no clue what R was up to. And then..."

Rowan trails off and gulps. Toebean looks up at her almost encouragingly.

"I wasn't as involved as I should have been. I still don't know everything that was going on, but I was getting really worried. It was so rare to see anyone with any hope anymore. I followed Ben, Merula, and my best friend into the Forbidden Forest one night. They didn't want me there, either to keep me safe or just because they thought I would get in the way. No one ever told me anything at that point. I used to help all the time, you know? They'd ask me about curses or secret codes, and I'd do what I could. But in sixth year they never talked to me. That's why I followed them. I felt left out and I just wanted to help. I didn't actually follow them, I guess. They left long before me, but after a little while I couldn't help myself. I knew they were in danger and I just had to go make sure they were alright. They weren't. Rakepick was there, and it was really cold for some reason. I think there might have been dementors there. That would explain the cold and the heavy feeling of dread. Rakepick was attacking the three of them - Ben, Merula, and my best friend - and she said something about my best friend owing her a life, and then she tried to kill Ben. And I ran..."

Toebean gives a sad meow.

"And now I'm here, because I acted on impulse instead of doing something smart. I was watching for a little bit. I could have stopped her! I could have done something to throw her off so they could get the upper hand! Why didn't I help? Why was I so stupid?"

The tears start again as Rowan shudders. She heaves so hard she almost throws up, and Toebean jumps off her lap to avoid it.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

She's not talking to her cat.

"I'm sorry, okay? I never wanted this. I just wanted to help, and now I can't even say your name because I'm afraid I'm going to go off the deep end even more than I already have. I'm a damn coward."

Her mind has gone back to second year when she said she'd never go to another vault. It may have been the right decision at the time, but she regrets it so much it causes a physical pain in her chest. Rowan thinks it may be her biggest regret in her whole life.

"I know I let you down. I know. I'm sorry. I was scared. I know you think I'm a worthless coward. I know you like your other friends more than me. I know! I just wish you had lied about it! That you had pretended you still loved me and needed me! I know I was annoying! I know I wasn't as useful as everyone else! I know! I keep saying the same things over and over again and I know that I am but you're not hearing me!"

Rowan is screaming. Toebean sits a short distance away, watching.

"You never listened! You never listened to me and now you never will! It didn't matter if I was right or not, because you wouldn't listen! You should have left it alone! Let the adults deal! I know they were incapable but at least you would have been safe and then I wouldn't have had to die! I don't care who else would have gotten hurt as long as you and I were okay! I'm a terrible person, alright? I just wanted us to be okay."

Her voice cracks on the last word and she stops screaming, panting. She shoves her hand in her hair and pulls. She scratches at her arms and claws at her chest. Nothing hurts her. She can't make her blood flow, can't leave a mark. Even launching herself out of a tall tree didn't hurt, which Rowan discovered - had it been yesterday? She can't remember. It's so infuriating.

"I want to go back."

It's a whisper, a miserable whisper.

"Let me start over. Let me be better. Even if keeping you safe means I'll have to make you hate me, I'll do it. Just let me start over."

Nothing happens. No god responds, no all powerful force resets time. Rowan is dead, and she can't go back no matter how much she wants to.

"I hate Rakepick for doing this. I hate Dumbledore for not stopping her. I hate Mad Eye Moody for not preparing you better. I hate your brother for getting you into this mess. I hate you for dragging me into it with you. I hate you so much but I don't actually hate you and that hurts more than hating everyone else does."

Toebean slowly creeps back over. Rowan sniffs and reaches out slightly.

"I'm not going to freak out again. Not right now."

Taking that as permission, Toebean settles back onto Rowan's lap. Rowan's right hand goes back into her cat's fur, her left fixing her glasses on her face. They stay silent for a long time, although time doesn't really matter anymore. It might be days they sit there, staring out into nothing, or it might only be seconds. Neither of them could say for sure. All Rowan does is stare, absently stroking Toebean's fur, and the cat simply lies there and offers silent support. Rowan's face shifts with her train of thought sometimes, but she doesn't speak aloud until the silence fully unnerves her.

"Do you think Grandpa knows where we are? Is he worried?"

Toebean doesn't answer.

"Do you think he and Grandma even care? How long does it take until you become numb to the living world? They don't react at all when I mention Mum and Dad. You'd think they would want to know what they've been up to, but they don't. They're perfectly content to be here and let the living world be as it is. How long did that take? For them to let go? Will I ever reach that point?"

Still, Toebean doesn't answer. Probably because she's a cat and cannot speak. Even without an answer, Rowan continues on.

"I guess I should be grateful I'm not a ghost like Duncan. He constantly seems miserable, from what I've heard, and he'll never be able to pass on. He'll never see anyone he loves ever again. At least I'll be here with my family and friends in the very end. No matter how far away that is. I miss them, but I hope it takes a long time. They all deserve to live and be happy."

Rowan sighs.

"I guess I didn't."

The silence stretches on again. No one is around to tell Rowan just how much she did deserve to live and be happy. That out of everyone, she deserved to live her life the most. No one is there to remind her just how much she means to everyone, and how much they miss her, and because no one can tell her, she doesn't believe it. She cries again, and again, but she doesn't let go. She just keeps trying to send her message out.

"I miss you."

Rowan was an incredible friend. She cared more than she let on, and she worried so much. She loved her friends with all she had, and it left her dead in a moment of impulse. Could she have stopped Rakepick, at least for a second? Yes, of course she could have, but what she did do shows just how big her heart is. Even if she and Ben never fully repaired their friendship, she still was so horrified at the thought of him dying that she jumped in front of him. She could have just run away, but instead, her fear driven impulse was to protect, and that means something. Rowan deserved better, so much better. She was not a throwaway friend. She was smart, brave, loyal, and ambitious. She could have fit perfectly in any house. If only she had lived, she could have done incredible things that no one else could have ever dreamed of. Like everyone, she had her bad moments. Her trust, once lost, was hard to earn back. She let anger get the best of her sometimes, and fear. Rowan was human. Humans are not perfect, but Rowan Khanna was closer than most. Rowan was wasted potential in every way, and no one should ever forgive the people who did this to her. Rowan Khanna will not be remembered as the girl who died, but rather the most incredible friend we've ever had. As we prepare to face R and fight this final battle, we must remember her and all she's worked for. We're doing this for her. It's the least we can do to repay her.

I miss you, Rowan. I wish I could tell you how much I miss you, and how much I love you. We'll win this fight for you, and no one will ever forget you. I promise I never will. Love, your best friend forever and ever.

Rowan's best friend can't sleep. It's not an unusual thing these days, but tonight it seems even more impossible. If they try hard enough, they can almost see her again, hear her voice. She's watching over them; they know she's watching. They'll make her proud.

"I miss you."

The two of them said it at the same time, but they'll never know that. Even so, saying it brings a small amount of comfort.

"I miss you so much."

There, in bed, in the dark, with a silencing charm around them and with the curtains drawn, Rowan's friend finally breaks down and weeps.

[xx-ingie-xx]

Forgotten 15 Excerpt

GAH Ch. 15 is a challenge. But I’m making progress... slooow progress. The meat of it is there, but I keep hitting these little walls where the writing doesn’t feel right and I can’t identify why. When that happens I have to walk away for a while and come back with fresh eyes. Sometimes it’s only a day or so, sometimes it’s several days. BUT I think I cleared a hurdle recently, so I figured the least I can do is get an excerpt posted. I can’t say when the rest of the chapter will be finished, but I’m fairly confident it will be posted within the next couple of weeks... As always, thank you for your patience! 

Oh, and Happy 4th to the Americans out there! Please celebrate safely with social distancing! And a happy Saturday to everyone else! :)

---

“Link… Link, wake up.”

A low female voice seeped into his dreamscape, causing it to fade. He felt himself rise toward consciousness, and the grey void gave way to blinding light. Link flinched and shielded his face with his hood, grimacing at a painful throb behind his eyes.

“Hey there, kiddo,” the voice spoke again. "Didn’t expect to find you here… Can you sit up?"

A gentle hand grasped his arm, helping him sit upright against the wall. He groaned when his body protested, having spent the cold night huddled on a bed of stone. Finally he managed to open one eye, focusing on the bright red hair and tanned, angular features of Nabooru. Loose, windswept strands framed her concerned face, and a softness shone in her otherwise fierce golden eyes.

“You're a mess,” she murmured, pulling back his hood and brushing some sand from his hair. "I take it things aren’t… going well back home?”

Home... 

Zelda.

Shame sank its talons into Link's heart, cold and unrelenting. He looked away from Nabooru, choking back tears as the previous night came back with nauseating clarity. 

“Oh, come now,” Nabooru said, though Link caught a note of worry. “It can’t be that bad…”

He gave no reply, and the Gerudo sat back with a sigh. Then she reached into her pack and pulled out a canteen, offering it to Link. Reluctantly he accepted it, meeting her gaze before he took a small swig. The tepid water soothed his dry throat, but a painful tightness remained. 

He handed the canteen back to her, but she waved his hand away. 

“You keep that. Now, tell me what happened."

Link lowered his gaze, unsure where to start.

He had carried Zelda out of the library, barely able to disguise his panic as he passed the guards posted along the way. Impa had helped him put her to bed, then checked her vital signs while Link had struggled to calm himself. 

“She doesn’t appear to be in any danger, but I’ll have Maddox examine her when she wakes.”

Link sat in a nearby armchair, listening with his head in his hands, unable to look at Impa or Zelda. 

“I can’t stay here,” he whispered. “I can’t…”

Impa turned to him and crossed her arms, waiting for him to elaborate. 

“I need time to…to accept this.” He lifted his eyes to rest on Zelda’s still form, watching her image blur behind his tears. “...I owe that to her.”

He rose to his feet and glanced toward Impa, relieved to see sympathy in her solemn gaze.

“And you owe it to yourself,” she said gently.

He swallowed and glanced back at Zelda, seized by a wave of reluctance. Part of him felt determined to stay, to see her wake and face whatever anger she threw at him. The rest of him yearned to flee the sight of her, to hide somewhere far away and wring the grief from his soul.

“Please tell her I’m sorry,” he said, failing to keep his voice steady. “And… that I never meant to hurt her.”

“I know, Link. I will.”

Still he hesitated, rooted by guilt and obligation. 

“The Council…”

“Can spare you for a few days.”

Link clenched and unclenched his hands, considering every reason to deny himself. “But Shayne…”

“Will be well cared for.” Impa drew closer and laid a hand on his shoulder, giving it a gentle shake. 

“Go, Link. It’s time you allowed yourself to grieve.”

He had left the room with heavy steps, his mind too shrouded in misery to bother with supplies or a change of clothes. Throwing a dark cloak over his shoulders, he took the Ocarina of Time and vanished to the farthest place he could reach.

The desert had greeted him with cold air and stillness. A slight breeze rustled the palm trees, and an overcast sky veiled any starlight. Pulling his cloak tighter about his shoulders, he had trudged toward the Spirit Temple, shamed by the colossal goddess' stern, unflinching gaze. He took shelter in a far corner of the antechamber, huddled against the wall. There, utterly alone, he wept until merciful exhaustion overcame him. 

His sleep had been shallow, fraught with nightmares. Memories blurred together and flitted from his grasp; others languished into joyless imitations, robbed of warmth or meaning. The wrongness of it lingered in the sun’s light, leaving him cold and empty despite the midday heat.

What has Zelda seen in her dreams? He shuddered to think what invasive images he had forced upon her, how they might distort the memories she once cherished.

"...I’ve made a terrible mistake," he told Nabooru, his voice little more than a croak.

She gave him a dubious look. "How so?" 

“Zelda was… exposed to our bond. I let it happen.”

Nabooru stared at him, her face blank. 

"And that was wrong because…"

"You don't understand," Link said bitterly. "She experienced everything I've hidden from her all this time. My anger, my grief, my memories—all of it came at her in a jumbled, horrifying mess."

"All right… That sounds overwhelming. I take it she did not respond well?"

Link remembered the way she had clutched her head and sank to the floor, the way she collapsed into his arms… 

"She begged me to stop," he said hoarsely. “And then she… lost consciousness."

"Link, you should go back to her—" 

"And do what?" he snapped. "Torment her some more? I'm the last person she needs."

It pained him to say such a thing, especially when doubt still pricked at his conscience.

"But you don't know what happened,” Nabooru offered. “Maybe she wants to see you."

Link shook his head, fear closing around his heart. 

"I can't see her," he whispered. “Not yet. Not like this."

Nabooru sighed, taking a moment to study his profile. Link stared down at the canteen, letting himself sink deeper into melancholy.

"Why did you drop the barrier?" The Gerudo's voice was unusually hushed, as though voicing a secret. "After all this time?"

"It doesn't matter,” Link muttered. “It was wrong."

“I know something provoked you… Did she ask you to do that?”

He hesitated, then gave a small nod, reluctant to make excuses. "I should have refused.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because I’m selfish and weak.”

Nabooru snatched the canteen from his hands, causing him to meet her hard gaze. 

"If I’m prying, just say so,” she said. “Don’t avoid my questions with that kind of nonsense.”

She raised her brow, waiting for a better answer. Link sighed and looked away, his eyes going distant.

“...if you and I are to find any real happiness… you must accept me as I am now."

“Everything was slipping away,” he whispered. “I just… wanted her to understand…”

“What do you mean?” Nabooru’s voice was gentle again. “What did she say?"

He closed his eyes, struggling to repeat the words that still pierced like knives. “...She no longer wants her memories. She would rather start over. A clean slate."

A heavy silence cloaked the antechamber, broken only by the howling wind outside.

“...She doesn’t want to remember anything?”

Link shook his head. Nabooru shot to her feet and moved several steps away, standing with her back to him. Her stance was rigid, her hands pressed to her hips.

“How can that be her decision?” she hissed.

"She has the right.” His voice sounded hollow, void of sincerity.

“Her rights be damned!" Nabooru spun around, her face dark with anger. “And what of her responsibilities? Does she even know what this means for us? How can she lead us with the mind of a sheltered adolescent?”

Link looked away, grieved to hear her speak of Zelda with such venom, with words so similar to his own.

"And what about you? Does she expect you to move on, just like that? Will she even talk about your past?"

Talk? About the past? Bitter laughter sounded in his head. She would sooner have me forget. 

She's not malicious, his gentler side countered. She just wants to build a new life, in the only way she knows how.

It's selfish! She's barely even tried to remember!

Link squeezed his eyes shut, biting back a cry of frustration. He had come there to make peace with the path laid before him, to stitch the gaping wound on his heart, let healing begin… but it seemed impossible. Bitter conflict warred within him—loyalty against loss, guilt against rage, hope against despair…

Vaguely he heard Nabooru sit back down beside him. 

“Hey,” she murmured, tentatively caressing his arm. “I’m sorry. I'm not being helpful. I… I don’t know how you’ve coped this long. It would drive me mad.”

“I haven’t coped,” he said bitterly. “I’ve avoided and denied. And I can’t do it anymore, not if I want any kind of happiness with her."

Nabooru fell silent, and Link ran a hand over his tired, tear-stained face, breathing a slow, unsteady sigh.

"At least she's still with us," he spoke, using the same hushed tone that so many used at the castle. "That’s what everyone says. And it's true in many ways—she is no less brilliant or beautiful, and her kindness hasn't left her. But when I look at her… I see a shadow of her former self. It was such an abrupt change—one day my Zelda was there, and the next she was gone. Vanished. Replaced. There was no closure, no mourning… just this sudden, jarring shift…”

He paused then, wondering how many long, exhausting days and lonely nights would pass before some genuine happiness reentered their lives. Could he settle for good enough? Could he find a companion in this new Zelda, and would she take any interest in their past? She had been open to it at one point… Or would it remain a painful subject, something he could only reminisce about in solitude?

Suppose they never forged a deeper connection? Would their marriage wither into a union built on nothing but habit and obligation? 

"I know I should be grateful," he whispered, more to himself than Nabooru. "And I have to believe that death would have been worse. But all I see is everything she isn’t, everything she might never be, and I… I just... ”

He paused to take a steadying breath, pushing away the grief.

"...I have tried and tried to face this as she would. To focus on what I haven’t lost and find a way forward. But all I see is that she's trapped behind this—this mirror of herself. She's right there, hidden in plain sight, and every instinct I have screams at me to reach inside and free her…”

He rested his head back against the wall, gazing up toward the ceiling. The tears came steadily now, streaking the thin layer of dust on his face.

"...But that isn’t my choice to make. And even if it was, I don't know how. I can’t save her the way she saved me… and she doesn’t want that anyway."

He closed his eyes and swallowed hard, too exhausted to weep. Nabooru ran a soothing hand along his arm, taking a moment to form her response.

“The last time we spoke,” she said softly, “you said she reminded you of how Zelda used to be, before you were married. You fell in love with that Zelda, didn't you?”

Link shook his head. "It’s not that simple..."

“I know—you are no longer that fifteen-year-old boy. You grew up together, endured hardship together, and it changed you both. But that boy still lives in you, and this new Zelda is part of the woman we remember. Much as I hate to say it, there will be more hardship, and she will catch up to you. She just needs time.”

She paused then, watching his face for any sign of comfort. 

“I have to believe that, one day, we will recognize her again. It won't be the same, but it will be enough. And there is always a chance that her memories will return, whether she wants them or not.”

Link opened his eyes and stared at the far wall, considering her words with a gloomy expression. Then he turned away to wipe his face on his sleeve, though it did little good as more tears fell. Nabooru took his free hand in hers, giving him a rare look of sorrow.

“I am so sorry, Link,” she whispered. “I wish there was more I could do.”

Gently she drew him away from the wall, and he let himself be pulled into her embrace, resting his head on her arm as she ran her bejeweled fingers through his unkempt hair. 

"You know you are welcome here," she murmured. "Stay as long as you need. All I ask is that you keep some faith. I will not leave you to wallow in despair. Can you do that, kiddo?”

Link breathed another tired sigh, then gave her arm a small, appreciative squeeze.

[kilyra]

It’s Okay to Not be Fine

Chief Jim Hopper (Stranger Things) One-Shot

A/N: Absolutely no one requested it, but trying to focus on a more fun fic is just not happening. So I’ve fallen back on the ‘ol write what you know trick (in a sense, the reader’s loss is a husband though).

In the midst of grieving your husband, Hopper comes over to help in his own, gruff way.

Warnings: Spoilers about Hop’s family. Grief. And also, the reader gender-neutral but be aware it is about the loss of a husband.

If you want to be on my tag list for this or any character just let me know!

The firm, steady knock on your door was enough to draw your ire. So when the repetitious knocking kept growing louder, it just pissed you off.

In seconds, you went from deciding to ignore whoever was there to stomping across the living room and flinging open the door without even looking through the window first.

“What?”

Hopper's large fist hung in the air as the wood disappeared from under his knuckles. His eyebrows lifted as you spat out your irritated greeting, but his reply was calm. “Evening.”

Huffing a curt sigh, you relaxed your grip on the doorknob. "Chief...what are...can I help you?"

His steel-blue eyes swept over your face and even the quick study made the muscles in your stomach tighten. You hadn't glanced in a mirror all day, but you were suddenly self-conscious. Your eyes felt like sandpaper, there was little doubt they were swollen and bloodshot. Awkwardly, you forced a smile.

Not bothering with returning the hollow gesture, he raised the oversized paper bag he was carrying in his free hand. The scent of tomato sauce, cheese, and a mix of spices wafted through the doorway with the gesture. “Flo asked me to bring this over. Said you haven't been seen at the grocery store in a few days, figured you might be needing some food.”

Your stomach didn't so much as grumble at the smell. He may as well have been waving a wet dog under your nose for all the good it did. A lead lump formed in your gut at the thought of eating. “Flo's...been keeping tabs on me?”

Nodding towards the table, he casually stepped inside, forcing you to move back and out of the way. After he set down the bag, he grabbed a stack of papers tucked under his arm. “It's Flo, she keeps tabs on everyone. She also said your mailbox was overflowing and sent me over to the post office.”

“That's my...how could you get my mail? You don't have a key.” Reluctantly you grabbed the pile from his outstretched hand.

Lightly shrugging, he didn't try to hide the fact he was looking over the living room. To his credit, his gaze didn't linger on any of the many piles of stuff that overtook the space. Shoving his hands in his coat pocket, he started to aimlessly wander the room. “I'm the Chief of Police. I can do anything.”

Dropping your attention to the papers in your hand, you weren't surprised that there was only one bill to break up the monotony of the card envelopes. More sympathy cards. They just kept rolling in from the relatives in the far-flung corners of the country who couldn't make it to the funeral. Dropping the bill on the table, you piled the rest with the other cards already crammed in your telephone stand.

“You're not going to open any of those?” Hopper had paused to focus on a picture of you and your late husband, but he was clearly still keeping track of you.

“What's the point? Everyone's already called to ask me if their card came yet and they all say the same thing anyhow.”

Grunting in agreement, he reached up and carefully straightened the picture on the wall as he tenderly traced the frame. It sent a dull pain through your chest. You hadn't even noticed it was crooked.

“I'm just glad people stopped sending flowers at least.” Any that were delivered after the funeral went straight in the garbage – you didn't even wait for them to start wilting first. There was just something sickening about having them around just to watch them die. And you doubted you could ever enjoy the smell of a flower store bouquet again.

His boots shuffled loudly as he hummed another agreement and turned back toward you. Nodding at the mess, he finally addressed the elephant in the room. “So...what d'you got going on here?”

Wasn't it obvious?

Clearing your throat, you shrugged. “Just packing up some of hi-...just some stuff. To donate or something.”

That was a generous statement. The reality was you had pulled all of his clothes from the closet, put a few things back – shirts that still smelled like him – and then sat in a daze in the middle of it all. After a couple hours, it seemed to make sense to bring stuff from his den to add to the already-overwhelming pile. All it did was make the fog worse as you stared at everything. You started this project when you first woke up in the morning and had maybe put five items in the box over the course of the day.

“Right, that makes sense. And is this all going or are you still sorting?”

His voice brought you back to the present like an anchor to your drifting boat. Wait, had you been drifting? A glance at his patient, passive expression didn't give you a clue one way or the other.

“Uh...yeah...no I'm done sorting. It's all getting packed, everything in here.”

With a solemn nod, he shrugged his jacket off and slung it over the back of one of the table chairs. Reaching over he unpacked the food, pulling out a smaller brown bag sporting a grease stain and a large baking pan. Once it was set out, he peeled back the tin foil cover on the pan. Lasagna.

Flo must have made it.

“Great then. Tell you what? How about we trade places? I'll get to packing up some of the...stuff...and you sit down a minute and eat.” As he made his suggestion, he opened the smaller bag and the smell of the garlic bread filled the room.

“It's fine, Hopper, I'm not hungry.”

“Uh, huh. Sure...I’m just going to...” His voice trailed off as he went into the kitchen. All you could hear were the rushed sounds of cupboard doors opening and closing as he searched for everything, but you made no move to help. Not that it mattered; within moments he came back with plates, cutlery, and a large knife. Paying you no mind as you tightly crossed your arms, he cut into the lasagna.

He was being nice. You knew that. And yet, a flush of anger prickled over your skin, forcing you to grit your teeth to keep it from jumping through your mouth. Your lips pressed together in a tight line as you composed yourself and tried again. “I'm not hungry.”

Nodding along with you, his mouth tugged down in a soft frown as he pushed a plate of food into your hand, forcing you to unfold your arms. “I hear you, I do. But...and it pains me to admit this...Flo was right. You need to eat.”

Clenching your hands along the rim of the plate, it was all you could do to stop yourself from throwing it. “I'll eat when I'm hungry.”

As hard as you were trying to keep your raging fire in check, there was no doubt Hopper easily picked up on it. But it seemed to roll right off him. “Right. And when's the last time you ate, exactly?”

Your fingers relaxed as you thought about it. The days were a blur, something you hoped would stop after the funeral but it only seemed to get worse. Thinking back over the day was a challenge. Slowly, your lips parted as you wanted to be ready to blurt out the answer when it came to you. But it didn't.

“Mmhmm, that's what I thought. So now, I need you to sit down and eat. I can even leave you alone if you want, and take over packing for a bit.” Hopper firmly pressed his hand to your shoulder, guiding you towards the table.

The fire came back.

“W-would you just stop? I'm so fucking sick of this.” Shoving back against his hand, you broke free as you dropped your plate onto the table.

Letting go, Hopper submitted with his palm out and slowly let his hand drop to his side. His eyes stayed glued to your face, however, quietly scanning over you like he could read your thoughts. “Sick of what?”

“This. All of this. People calling me or stopping by to see how I'm doing. But they're mostly upset their cards didn't make it yet, or telling me how strong I am, that I'm God's brave soldier marching on with His strength.”

His eyebrows furrowed together, perfectly reflecting your own disgust. “People actually say that shit to you?”

“Yeah. And everyone is too busy shoving that crap at me to just ask how I'm doing, nevermind actually listen. I had to put on the brave face for the funeral to try and help everyone else through this. And I did it because I thought I'd get my chance to just...just help myself through it later when the shock wore off. But it's still happening. They only check in to reassure themselves that I'm okay, but they have no idea. I keep having to wear that mask and tell them what they need to hear because otherwise, they freeze up. But it's not fine. It's not fucking fine, Hop.”

Tears barbed along your sore eyes as your rant hitched in your throat. Holding your breath, you forced it all back down so you could compose yourself. You were getting good at that.

“No, no it's not fine. I get that. After Sara died, I watched Diane go through that too – grieve with everyone while trying to hold our life together. No one knew what to do, how to help, so they just kept wringing their hands at us before finally backing away altogether. All they had to do was be there. Hell, all I had to do was be there. But...instead...it tore her apart and I...I just...drank...” Staring past you, he rubbed the back of his neck as he let out a long sigh.

For a brief second, you saw the pain behind those confident eyes. It wasn't a flattering confession, but it was probably the most real thing you'd heard in weeks. His eyebrows flinched as he rifled through the memories until he finally blinked himself out of it. Running his thumb over his forehead, he refocused on you. “But I'm here. And you gotta know, I'm not here for me, Y/n.”

“I'm fine.”

Slowly, he moved closer. "You're not. You could use some help and you need to eat. I mean, I've known you since high school and I've never seen you so...do you even realize how baggy your clothes are now?"

“I'll deal with it,” you said through your clenched jaw. Each step he took made you want to step back but the telephone stand was behind you. All you could do was mentally recoil.

“But you don't have to, not all by yourself. Okay yes, some people might mean well but they're...kind of useless. But we're not all useless, alright?  Let me help." He was close enough to rest his hand on your arm, but he kept his touch feather-light.

“Don't.”

He didn't move his hand, and you didn't pull away.

“I don't have time to just...just break down, okay? I can't do this right now.” As hard as you tried to keep your voice steady, it cracked.

His fingers curled around your arm, keeping you still as he closed the gap. “Yeah, you can. Why not? It's okay to not be fine.”

A shiver ran down your spine and spiked through your chest. The cold chill radiated outward and everything trembled – your arms, your shoulders, your chin – everything. Steeling yourself against the wave did nothing to stop it. “We were so happy...why did this happen?”

It was barely even a whisper, but Hopper caught it as he gathered you against him. Your arms were folded and trapped between your bodies, but you clung onto fistfuls of his uniform as he held you close. “I wish I had an answer. You're both good people and you didn't deserve this.”

The tears came harder as a sob finally broke free. Before you could even think of pulling away, he wrapped his arm tighter, keeping you tucked against his chest as he gently stroked your hair. The front of his shirt grew damp as you wept, your cries filling your otherwise-silent home. Lowering his head to rest his cheek against the top of your head, he hardly gave you room to breathe as he quietly held you.

Just like every other time you had broken down, it felt like you’d never stop. The intensity was frightening but somehow subsided quickly. It was like you could only handle such immense heartbreak in small bursts before the numb curtain dropped again.

Letting out a shaky sigh, you felt the trembling slow as your muscles seemed to melt inside your body. “I didn't want to do this today.”

Still absently rubbing your scalp, he nodded and lifted his head slightly. “I know.”

After a sharp inhale, you felt on the verge of crying more but you held your breath until it passed. You were too exhausted. Hopper relaxed his grip, letting you move away if you wanted. But you didn't.

“You're an asshole.” There was no fire to your words.

You felt his laugh rumble deep in his chest as he rubbed your arm and let out a soft chuckle. “Yeah...I know that too.”

“Thank you.”

His only reply was a soft squeeze as you started to pull yourself together. Even with help, there was still a lot that had to get done.

After you finished eating.

Taglist:  @foreverfaeries​  @flower-two​  @getlostinyourparadise​   @selfishkiddo​  @angelicshinigami​  @pansmexualparker​ @givemeabite​

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Dragon Dancer Chapter 18: Welcome to Cassell Pt. 1

Caesar threw a banquet the night after my arrival.

I didn’t know how he could do that, with my heart still constricting with grief, when I couldn’t sleep for the horrific nightmares that plagued me every time I closed my eyes.

“You have to get your mind off it…” Nono told me, after I called her to refuse.

“You don’t understand, it’s been only a few weeks for me, even if it's six months for you!” I’d sobbed.

“I’m sorry, but there's no changing his mind. Just go. If you don’t feel well, I’ll cover for you.”

Previous Chapter

Go back to the Beginning

A box was left in the corner. Unlike several other anonymous special deliveries, Caesar had given this one to me directly. “I’ve been saving this, as a welcome back present.” He’d said, his eyes sparkling with happiness as he’d handed it to me. 

I sat up from my bed to dry my tears and look at it. I don’t know how he knew I was alive. Maybe he was blowing hot air. When I opened the box though, I knew he hadn’t been.

It was the kimono from the Japan mission. He’d kept it. I stared at the shining white and blue silk fabric. The feel of it immediately took me back there. The suffering, the blood.

I closed the box and laid back down.

Maybe I did need a distraction from my grief and loss. Only at night did memories of home come back to torment me in the form of nightmares. They weren’t frightening or terrifying, but I loathed them, delaying sleep as much as possible. Inevitably I closed my eyes, and the small dreams tore at my heart like a sniper’s bullet. 

If the party did anything good, it would keep me awake.

I decided to wear something I was used to: A khaki maxi skirt and a flowy bell sleeved floral pink top. I did wear the earrings that Nono gave me: Large gold chandeliers. 

As I stepped out of my dorm I looked up and startled to see someone waiting. He waved at me and approached. My heart was pounding and I didn’t know why. I backed away.

“Take it easy! I’m Lu Mingfei’s roommate! I know this is last minute but I wanted to ask you a few things and- No wait don’t run!”

Lu Mingfei’s roommate. I paused, half in and half out the building door. He was lanky, older, looking to be in his midtwenties. His black hair was pulled back in a ponytail.

“I’m Fingel Von Frings! I run the school paper! I’ll be your ticket to maximum popularity! I promise this won’t take long!” 

I watched him flip through a notepad and click a pen. I frowned, but if I answered his questions maybe he would go away. I had a sudden intense desire to be at Caesar’s party.

“Okay, number one: Lionheart and Student Council are huge rivals! Which club do you prefer?”

My brow furrowed and I wrinkled my nose. “I’m not interested in being in a club at all.”

“None of the above? Are you sure?”

“Next question, you’re going to make me late!” 

“Okay, just one more question! Many people have expressed interest in you personally, what's one thing that they should not attempt to win your companionship?"

I let out a little moan. "Really?"

"Charlotte, these are the top questions I'm getting from students and the online forums are full of similar. You're getting gifts from all over…"

"All over?I thought those were from Caesar."

His eyes flashed knowingly. “Caesar would never do something like send an anonymous present!” He prepared to write. “Your answer?”

I sighed deeply. “I’m not interested in dating anyone.”

Fingel straightened up, a more serious look on this face. “I’m trying to help you out here. You’re going into a den of lions.”

He put the pad and pen away. "You can’t stay secluded forever and there's way more guys than girls, if you get my drift. You are the only other S-class student I know of besides Lu, you’re in the top team."

"I'm telling you now, whether you like it or not, you’re Cassell’s Most Wanted!”

My hand tightened on the door frame. “Then Cassell can go to hell!” I hissed, marching past him. “Tell them Johann Chu is my boyfriend.”

“That would keep them off you but its a lie they’d see through really quickly! I can’t print that!”

“I don’t care!”

That was my state of mind when I arrived. The party was outdoors, the food on white linen table cloths. A live orchestral quartet was playing for people dancing in tuxedos and ball gowns.  I stood out in this crowd. Already, I felt looked down on but I was the guest of Caesar. He appeared next to me right away holding a glass of wine in one hand, his other around Nono’s waist. 

“I’m glad you could make it.” 

His words seemed genuine enough. I sighed and glanced away. “Thanks for inviting me.”

Nono detached herself from Caesar and stood next to me. I felt more reassured now that she was close. “Lucky you, I wish I could have worn that and not this skinny red thing. Why don’t we get you something to eat?”

Lu Mingfei was already there, his plate piled shamefully high. He stared at me, wide eyed, a roulette of emotion spinning in his eyes. I picked for him. “You’re going to eat all that yourself?” I beamed.

My happy chatter had the opposite effect. Pain flashed through his eyes and he glanced away. 

I flinched and reached out to him. “Hey.”

“No, no, it’s fine!” He chuckled. “You just… you look really nice.”

I felt Nono retreat from us, having done her duty. “Is everyone here?”

Before he could say more, a commotion happened at the entrance.

Johann Chu walked in with two other people, a blond guy with blue eyes and a darkhaired girl with glasses. 

“What is Lionheart doing here? Don’t tell me they were invited?” Someone growled on the other side of the table. The speaker had a white grip on his wine glass, his face twisted with rage. In fact, everyone’s eyes were on Johann.

Caesar raised his voice over the angry murmurs. “In a gesture of goodwill, I’ve invited the representatives from Lionheart to join us in welcoming back our second S-ranker. Please give them a cordial, Student Council welcome!”

Johann glanced around at the furious banquet guests and then his eyes fell on me and they softened from their intimidating stare. I waved broadly. “Johann!”

The crowd sound returned, though muted. He made his way to me. “This is Susie, and this is Lancelot. They’re my deputies at Lionheart.”

Lancelot held out his hand for me to shake. “I’ve heard a lot about you. Finally happy to meet you.”

Susie offered her own hand, squeezing it tight around mine. “Likewise, though, having been gone so long, you must feel terribly behind. Have you decided on a tutor yet?”

“I haven’t had time to think of that.” I replied, “Do you have someone you can recommend?”

“Lionheart excels in academic study, if anyone can catch you up, it’s us.” 

“Well aren’t you a bold one, coming to recruit right in the middle of your rivals?” I glanced around, convinced that only Caesar’s say so kept these people from jumping us.

“He did invite us.” Susie shrugged.

“I am wondering what he’s planning.” Johann, the tallest of all of us, was still scanning the crowd.

“Speaking of catching her up, Johann,” Lancelot looked over at his senior, “There’s also the martial arts training she needs.”

“I’ll take care of that.” Johann said, still not looking at me.

Lancelot and Susie both looked at him, incredulous. He didn’t meet their eyes. He was looking at everyone else with an odd challenging smile.

I got the distinct impression that he was daring someone, anyone, to come forward.

“I don’t know anything about martial arts. But I don’t want to fight anyone… and accidentally hurt them.” I lowered my eyes.

Susie let out a guffaw, covering her mouth with one delicate hand. “Oh you really are cute. You think you can hurt Johann?”

Johann’s gaze slid down to me.  I chewed my lip. After regarding me for a few seconds, Johann explained. “If it's your Speaking Spirit you’re concerned about, there’s a Hybrid here that holds a suppressive aura around the school. No one can use their dragon abilities without his permission. So that won’t be a problem.”

Susie crossed her arms. “You’re giving her too much credit!”

Johann didn’t budge. “I’ve already underestimated her once.”

A loud voice suddenly shouted from the entrance. “Caesar! My, my, it’s not like you to throw such a lame party. What is this heavy atmosphere?”

Principal Anjou had arrived, just as dapper as all the other arrivals. He pulled his cigar from his mouth. “My dear, student.” He addressed me, “Seeing you is like seeing the sun of spring after a long winter night! Come! Come! Let me take a look at you!”

I detached myself from my friends, making my way over. Anjou looked down at me, blue eyes sparkling. “Since I heard everyone is here. I decided to come see you myself. You were out way past curfew, but I think we can overlook that for now.” He gave me a wink.

A crowd of people suddenly rushed in from behind him, bearing all kinds of equipment that they open and start to set up right in the middle of the party grounds! 

Anjou had a mischievous grin on his face. “Now that our S-ranker has given us a glimpse of what she can do, why not give her a glimpse of what Cassell has to offer!

Johann walked quickly to us. “Principal Anjou, I… haven’t had the opportunity to talk to you.”

Anjou spoke kindly to Johann. “No words are needed, my boy. It is never easy losing someone like her.” His mischievous smile broadened even further.

Johann’s brow furrowed in consternation. 

Noting his anxiety, I interrupted. “Principal… Don’t tease him!”

He laughed. “Ah, my dear, just sit back and relax and enjoy the show!”

And a show it was. The people with the equipment, all wearing badges that identified them as members of a Gear Department had set up what could only be described as a game show stage, complete with lights and large screen TVs.

“We have a lot of new information to decipher and not a lot of time to do it! So I would like our students to step forward and impress our new girl. Feel free to volunteer!”

“Is this for real?” I whispered. 

If the latent rivalry was a powderkeg, Caesar set it ablaze with his next words. “I’ll grant the Star of Cassell to whoever defeats Lionheart!”

Mad cheering burst from the crowd.

“Now it’s a party!” The old principal let out bellows of laughter. “Get ready for the riddle! You have 20 seconds to answer!”

Johann had left my side and hurried back to his fellow club members. Nono replaced him, ushering me away. Her eyes were snapping furious. 

“What’s happening?” I asked.

“Just a bunch of rich guys having too much fun. That’s what.” She turned back and looked at her fiance, who was moving towards his own group of club members. “Caesar, what are you thinking? Offering the Star of Cassell? It’s too much!”

“What’s the Star of Cassell?”

She looked down on me, her eyes worried. “It’s a special emblem. Whoever holds it has the right not to be rejected for 3 months.”

“What? That’s insanity!”

“That’s the rules.” She said, flipping her hair over her shoulder and looking back at the crowd. “I’m sure Caesar plans on winning it himself.”

“For what?!”

“Isn’t it obvious?” She looked at me over her shoulder. “He intends for you to join his club.”

I followed her gaze. Caesar and Johann were standing facing each other, their challenging gazes unwavering.

“Here comes the riddle!”

Next Chapter

[13gatonegro13-blog]

Final Fantasy VII: "Ideal" vs "Real"

First of all, English is not my mother language, any suggestions or corrections are welcome, I want to learn. 

Second, this is just for entertainment purposes. I have a little free time and I want to distract myself from work. This it is merely theoretical

Third, if you disagree with something here, you can approach me in a kind way/ or feel free to ignore me.

Now… I don't know much about Body language so I won’t relate actual scenes here, but what I do know is about writing, I have a degree in Literature that includes, Audiovisual Media Script and Discursive Analysis. With that said, I want to proceed to develop certain aspects of FF7 story using a symbolic approach.

Let’s begging in the fact that one of the most common resources to convey real feelings in a story, for readers/viewers, is to take reference in personal feelings or seek inspiration in other people. Without this, representing a feeling successfully would be extremely difficult and possibly the same result will be superficial. FF7 not only takes inspiration in real emotions but also gives them preference over other feelings. With that clear, let’s start off the assumption that the entire plot of FF7 pushes us to meet and cherish reality. This is mostly represented in the REAL being hidden in the protagonist, but also in the events around him, including dreams and aspirations of other characters, to obtain one of the most basic emotional conflicts: "Life is what happens to you when you're busy making other plans”.

The story is about finding ourselves and what we want. This is why the concept of "Reunion" becomes a pivotal element throughout the entire plot. The path we walk shapes us and shows us the truth, finding parts of ourselves, and losing others. Yes, is about what happens when we lose someone we love, but not only in a tragic way but in the aftermath: How these losses are also part of us and help us to discover and reconnect with our true selves and with people around us at the moment we live, is about forgiveness, second chances and to appreciate what we have, while we still have it. 

The story shows us different examples of how sometimes in the constant search for this “IDEAL”, we forget to live the present and value who we are and what we have: Sephiroth, was this great soldier loved and respected by everyone, but he abandoned all this, in his ambition to become a god, while Shinra, is this company with a dream, of bringing the promised land to earth, even though in search of that dream, they were destroying the world that will become this Paradise; even Avalanche tried to save people from living in a land without future, in their path affecting the people they wanted to save. Although their actions seems to be justified, but that's another subject. There are more examples of this kind of behavior, but now we will focus on Cloud:

Cloud left his hometown to become worthy in the eyes of others and the girl he always wanted, but more importantly to become worthy in his own eyes. Tifa didn't believe he wasn’t good enough; it was he who didn't feel good enough for her. Cloud didn't appreciate himself enough to see what he already had, and in his quest to become this IDEAL man, he ended up losing everything, including himself. This is one of the reasons why Sephiroth is the main antagonist of the plot, he represents the ideal Cloud wanted to pursue, his dream was to be like him, and that’s the reason why Sephiroth moves in those instances around him, as something effusive and deceptive, that drags him away from that he loves, and from himself. He represents something unreal.

The meteor is one of the strongest symbols in the game. Everything that descends from the sky has a sacred implication, however in the simplest way; a meteor is a shooting star. The “shooting star” is the "idealization" the “illusion”, but in fact, a meteor is a visible passage of an incandescent rock breaking into pieces at the moment it contacts with Earth's atmosphere, that's all it is. So Sephiroth summoning a meteor to destroy the earth makes perfect sense. He is the representation of those false "ideals", what is "wrong" and false. This shooting star that holds dreams and aspirations, and was so beautiful and striking from afar, can be transformed into something violent, and a force capable of destroying everything we have and cherish. A wish is a driving force, for better or worse.

In another hand, shooting stars also represent change and spiritual destination, a reminder of connection with the universe. In one symbolic approach, stars are the representation of the union between soul and matter; so it's not weird that one of the strongest meanings of a shooting star besides luck and dreams is the rise and fall of a human soul. In certain cultures, the shooting stars represent a human soul that left the physical world, but is still connected to earth through the spiritual world, and seeing a shooting star is a sign that that person is still around looking for a way to land. So yes, it's also about landing and destination. Cloud being deceived and trap for his dreams, and later reuniting with his former being, mind, and body, and accepting himself, is the point of the whole story. He becoming REAL. 

And of course, the reality is different from dreams. In the real world, not everything is easy, not everything is happiness, he will feel pain, sorrow, and grief, love would be complicated, but it will be real. By this time he will know to value this reality the way it is, not the way he wanted it to be. This will not only lead him to face his fears, and realize his own worth. But also will lead him to face the pain of what he lost and eventually to heal.

I have read many people saying that Nojima's words: "Perhaps things would have gone well with Aerith" (comparing the relationship with Tifa) it's proof that if Aerith lived, Cloud would choose her instead of Tifa. But I must disagree with that, and to justify this, I want to leave any visual facts or personal toughs aside, and focus on what it works for the plot only and concerning the aforementioned. Although the author wanted to imply a kind of "ideal" in the relationship between Aerith and Cloud that doesn't mean she is the person for him for purposes of the story. Yes, perhaps with Aerith everything would be easier —but that's the tricky part here— in the REAL world, not always the person who is the "ideal" for us, is the one we want. Real love is not "easy", it's complicated and we must do our part to forge it, it doesn't come night to morning. Cloud choosing Aerith over Tifa would destroy all this wonderful work in the plot, it would be Cloud throwing the real love of a girl who always wanted him, and was his link between reality and his true self. And it's telling us, not only that the person he was before was not worthy of love, but also, that if you want to get "the good stuff" you have to give up to yourself and despise everything you already have, because “isn’t good enough”.

Nojima's complimentary words "But Aerith's responsibility is big" also could/seem to imply something about Aerith’s character, not as Cloud's love interest. Meaning that her "responsibility" is not the reason why she and Cloud cannot be together. Even if she and Cloud relation would be ideal, the role of Aerith in the story is more important.

In the plot, Aerith not only fulfills the role of being the last Cetra of the world, but she also has the function of showing other characters to appreciate what they have, at the moment they have it. In the end, Aerith is the protector of the real world, a flower that although fragile and perish is beautiful and attached to the earth, she saves the life in the world from the meteor, which symbolically represents something hard and alienated from ourselves, these desires Sephiroth transformed into something grotesque and harmful.  

But Aerith also represents herself something utopian, which although beautiful is not compatible with the real world completely. She represents hope, and eternal reunion in the Promised Land with those we lost, those we will lose, and love. And that’s the reason why she can’t stay in the real world either.

Even if Aerith lived, Cloud would still choose Tifa, for the simple reason that Tifa is the person he always wanted, the person he loves. Tifa is his redemption. It will be ups and downs because this time will be real; but it will be better, something intense and tangible, not something that only sleeps in his mind. He will get that by being himself, and by appreciating the person he really is. This will be his second chance and his TRUE opportunity of REAL happiness.