#headstone prices

[anachrennism]

people in the notes wanted this set to breakcore

[castagnamonuments]

Are you looking for a trusted supplier of marble headstones in Melbourne? Our high-quality headstones are crafted from premium marble, ensuring long-lasting beauty and elegance. With a range of styles and sizes to choose from, we can help you create a fitting tribute to your loved one. Contact us today to learn more about our marble headstones.

[cressidagrey]

Stars all aligned - Chapter 3

Summary:

If there was one thing that both Azriel and Zahra Archeron had in common, it was that they were both very good at blending into the background.

They just never thought that their family were going to be the ones who never saw them at all.

Warning:

Bashing of like...every IC member? Especially the Archeron Sisters, discussion of chronic pain

(Lovely dividers thanks to @sweetmelodygraphics)

Her father had had three ships. The Nesta, The Elain and The Feyre. 

There had never been The Zahra. 

Of course not. 

She wasn’t truly one of his daughters, was she? 

The ships were reserved for his legitimate daughters. Zahra was a bastard. And bastards didn’t get ships named after them. 

And still…still she had loved him. Loved her father in that stupid way that every child loved their parent. 

She still had yearned for his love, his affection and praise. The praise that only her sisters ever seemed to get.  It was such a stupid, childish thing, she thought to herself. 

And when he had died...it had still broken her heart. Because it had taken from her the...hope. The hope that one day he would look at her with something other than...regret.

He had looked at her with cold distaste, disdain clear in his eyes. Her mother…a common maid, that he had dallied with on a whim during his wife’s pregnancy with Nesta. And she had been the result of that particular choice. 

He had paid the price for it in his marriage, with the woman he had actually loved.

The woman who had hated Zahra…and made it very clear to everyone that Zahra wasn’t wanted or welcome around them. Her half-sisters were beloved. The beautiful daughters of their father. And she was the bastard child. An abomination. 

For Nesta and Elain the years at the cottage had been horrible. They had lost their status in the world, the hope for a match with a man in possession of a fortune.

But Zahra…Zahra had known that she would never marry a man with a fortune. She had hope at all to marry a man from a good family anyway…her options had been thoroughly limited from the time she had been born…because even servants didn’t often want a bastard born wife. 

And after the cottage…

Her options were just further limited. 

Still, she had loved the years at the cottage for one thing and one thing only: She had just been one of the Archeron Girls. 

(Everything else that happened…that was another thing entirely.) 

She had lost that when her father's wealth had been returned...to be thrown back to being a maid, a servant, not a member of the family, but the staff...it had been bitter. And still...still she had hoped. Hoped that one day, her father would...change his mind. Accept her properly as his daughter and not just as...as something he had been saddled with because her mother had died.

But the day never came. He continued to look at her as if she stained the very air around him. As if she was worse than dirt to him.

Maybe she was. 

But Zahra foolishly didn’t give up. She clung to that hope like it was the only thing that was keeping her alive. 

And then he had died. And Zahra had lost that hope.

She had been a fool to hold onto the delusion that one day her father would love her as he had his real daughters.  Such a silly, stupid, little girl she had been. To cling to something that could never be. 

And still, Zahra went and visited his grave. Still, she came there every week and laid some flowers near the headstone...

She never knew why she still did. It seemed….pointless. After all, it wasn’t as if her coming to his grave would bring him. But still, she continued doing it. Every single week. Without fail. 

And this week…this week she wasn’t alone. 

Zahra froze, the flowers clutched in her hands, as she saw them. All three of them. Standing in front of the headstone. Talking amongst themselves.  As if not even noticing that she was there. 

They probably didn't.

"Thank you for coming with me," Elain said softly. “I wanted him to hear it from me.”

"He would be so happy for you, Elain," Feyre said. Her voice was softer than usual, but it was clear that she was happy. "He would be so happy for you and Lucien."

What?

“He would be,” Nesta agreed. “Sad that he won’t be there to walk you down the aisle, but happy that you would be happy.”

Her sister got engaged? And nobody had...nobody had bothered to tell Zahra?

Her breath caught in her throat…the realization hitting her. They didn’t want to tell her…no, they didn’t care if she knew or not. To them…she wasn’t even worthy enough to get an invite for such a thing. They hadn’t…they hadn’t invited her. 

The numbness returned. Full Force.

The numbness she always felt when everything was too much. When all the feelings and emotions got too overwhelming. When she just simply couldn't handle it any longer and her brain shut down.

Numb. 

Numb was good. When she was numb, nobody could hurt her. When she was numb, she could survive. 

Her hand clenched around the stems of the flowers. And then, suddenly, her feet listened to her and she managed to turn around. To turn around and walk away, like her heart hadn't been shattered...like it was completely normal.

Her eyes had glazed over, her mouth was a thin line, but otherwise not betraying any emotion. As quietly as she had walked to the grave…she walked away. Her sisters clearly not noticing the fact that she had even been there, to begin with. 

She returned home to her broken little cottage.

It was probably a good metaphor for her as well, wasn’t it? she reflected weakly. 

That cottage…broken, dirty…a fucking mess. 

Her hands were cold as she clutched the flowers, her heart aching like it had just been pulled out of her chest. And no tears. No tears. Why wasn’t she crying? She wanted to cry. 

She wanted to collapse and sob until she passed out. But no. The feeling of numbness was still around her, like a cloak that just wouldn’t go. The one that always came in situations like these.

It was the only thing that kept her from completely shattering into a million pieces. 

She stumbled through the door, her body moving all on it’s own. She walked over to her small kitchen, and filled a bucket with water. Her hands shook so badly that the water sloshed over the top and on the floor. 

There was nothing Zahra could do against the grime that would cover her for the rest of her days…but she could scrub the floors.  

That's all she was good for, wasn't it? She was a maid's daughter, not a merchant. She would always just be a bastard daughter. Always just be a half-sister, on the edges of her family. 

It didn’t matter what she did, what she had done…what she had given to keep them alive, to keep them fed.

She swallowed the bile back down, forcing herself not to think about what she had done. 

It was over. She should be over it. She should be…

She kept scrubbing the floor, her hands reddening with the harsh lye soap she used. 

Sometimes she wished, she could scrub herself with that as well. 

Why was she even surprised? Was she seriously that stupid? Of course, her sisters wouldn’t bother to tell her. Why would they? She was just a bastard-born daughter. A half-sister. Why would they bother to invite her? 

She was a nobody. She had always been a nobody.

A bastard that no one wanted. That no one loved. It had always been like that. Why did it surprise her now?

Why did it keep hurting her?

A single drop of water landed on the stone floor. Then another. And another. Slowly trickling down her cheeks.

Why did it keep hurting?

She should be used to this by now. Should have gotten used to the pain. But she wasn’t. 

So she kept scrubbing the floors until they were sparkling. Washed off the walls, until they were clean.

She kept scrubbing and cleaning. The floors had to sparkle, the counter gleamed, and the windows shone. 

Something needed to be clean. Needed to be pure. Because it wasn’t going to be her. 

Never going to be her. 

Anything to distract her from the fact that her sisters had just kept her out of a very joyous occasion. Like she wasn’t even worthy of being invited. 

She wasn't worthy of being invited. She should get that into her thick skull. 

She kept cleaning. She cleaned the floors and the walls and mopped and dusted and did her laundry.

She wondered if Azriel knew. The thought came unbidden to her. Did Azriel know that Elain and Lucien were engaged?

She had to stop the scrubbing and she was clenching the brush so hard that her knuckles had turned white. 

Did Azriel know that Elain was engaged? Elain? The one he had...this flirtation with? The flirtation that Rhysand must have put an end to, because nothing else made sense?

She understood completely why Azriel had fallen for her sister…for beautiful Elain. Who didn’t love her? Who didn’t find her beautiful? Elain, who could be sweet and kind to seemingly everybody she came across. 

Zahra looked at the clock she kept in the kitchen. 

There was a family dinner this evening at the River House, just like there was every week. She was expected to attend. Of course, she was. 

Granted, most of the time that meant that she sat through Nesta’s pointed comments and was otherwise ignored. 

But if Azriel didn’t know…she didn’t want him to be alone when he found out. 

Though, maybe he already knew…just Zahra didn’t. 

She didn't believe that though. He would have told her. She was certain of that.

He was a good man. There was no doubt about that. 

She glanced over at the clock, her hands clenching on the brush. 

Zahra had 2 hours. Just enough time to bake a cake to bring along and appear there...to pretend like her sisters hadn't broken her heart.

Two hours to pretend that her heart wasn’t shattered to a thousand pieces. Two hours to act as if she hadn’t been just completely left out. Two 

She took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down. No tears. No tears.

2 hours to act like everything was well.

2 hours to pretend that everything was alright. That she was fine. That her world hadn’t just shattered into pieces. Two hours to shove all the pain to a little corner and not show anything at all. 

She could do that. 

She had done that before. 

***

Azriel would have realised that something was off with Zahra far quicker, if his hands weren't trying to kill him that day.

It was hit or miss if Azriel’s had feeling in his hands at all...and that day...they decided to be far too sensitive. The weather wasn't helping. Velaris had had another cold snap a few days ago and Azriel paid the price.

The bones in his hands and fingers ached, the nerves on fire. The cold had settled deep in his bones and there was nothing he could do to alleviate the pain. It was rubbing his nerves raw.

He had even considered not showing up for dinner at well...but he didn't want Zahra to face the rest of their family alone. 

Granted, most of the time, they just ignored them both…but sometimes they didn’t. 

And when they didn’t ignore her, well, then sharp comments were the norm and quite frankly…he was over it. For both Zahra and himself. 

His temper was on a far shorter tether than normally. 

His fingers were aching and burning. He never wanted to touch anything ever again.

He tried to ignore the pain. It was only a few hours. He could push through for a few hours. 

The first thing that should have told him that something was wrong was the bright pasted on smile on Zahra's face. It was...too much.

The smile on her face was too tight. Too forced. Not like her normal, natural smile.

Something was wrong. He could sense it. 

And then Elain showed off her ring.

The engagement ring. She and Lucien were engaged.

He saw Zahra’s face freeze for a split second before the smile was back to being plastered on again.

“I wish you two every happiness,” Azriel said softly. He found that he was even saying the truth. He was wishing them every happiness.

And this was what they all wanted him to say. It would hopefully get Rhys off his back as well.

Now, that wasn't that difficult, was it? Rhys drawled in his mind. Azriel was half tempted to reach for his shadows and wrap them around his brother’s throat.

But he refrained himself from it.

He was glad that they were happy. He truly was...but Rhys’s smug voice in his head was not something that was appreciated at all.

He could practically feel the shadows twitch with annoyance. But he held back from doing anything...stupid. 

You got what you wanted, Azriel gave back, his voice icy.

Indeed I did, Rhys drawled back. Azriel could practically feel him leaning back in his chair, smugness seeping from his voice.

Azriel very much wanted to strangle him. 

But he didn’t. Because quite frankly…he was more worried about Zahra. Zahra who hadn’t said a word yet. Whose smile was far too tight, her eyes dull. 

Like a mask that was pulled over her face, hiding whatever laid beneath it. 

Something was definitely wrong with her. 

But nobody but him seemed to notice it. 

Especially not when Zahra was very good at making the mask as enthusiastic as Mor on her best days. 

“I am so happy for you! Congrats!” she gushed to Elain. “I hope you have a long and happy marriage.”

“Yeah, because you absolutely respect the sanctity of marriage,” Nesta muttered under her breath, low enough that Azriel nearly wouldn’t have caught it, if the shadows hadn’t snapped it up. 

The sanctity of marriage? From where was that coming from?

But then Zahra continued, her voice too high pitched. Way too cheery. Not like how normally she spoke. But no one else seemed to notice.

Her words were clearly fake, but no one but Azriel seemed to notice. 

"I know Father would be so pleased for you," Zahra continued, Nesta snorting under her breath and making a face like she had bitten into a sour lemon. Elain's face seemed to nearly freeze but Zahra just continued smiling brightly.

Even the mention of their father would usually cause Zahra to falter slightly…but today she didn’t even skip a beat. The smile stayed on her face, even as she continued to speak. Her voice was far too cheery, it was almost painful to listen to. 

Azriel glanced around the table at his family. None of them seemed to notice how...off Zahra seemed. Her cheerful voice and her overly bright smile.

How come no one else noticed? How could they not see how obviously fake she was acting? 

But then, nobody really cared, did they?

The rest of the family dinner was taken up with talking about Elain and Lucien's upcoming nuptials, an nothing else seemed to matter to them at all. 

Nobody gave them a second glance either when Zahra said her goodbyes and he followed after her, minutes later.

He caught up to her on a bridge crossing the Sidra. "Tell me what's wrong," he demanded sharply.

"Nothing is wrong," Zahra said, her voice, smooth and bubbly. He would give it to her: She was one hell of an actress. It was near imperceptively how well she was lying. But the dead look in her eyes gave her away.  "My sister just got engaged, what could possible be wrong?"

"Don't lie to me," Azriel bit out. “I can tell something is wrong. Now tell me what it is.”

His patience was fraying at the edges.

"What's wrong with your hands?" she shot back. "You have been clenching and unclenching them continuously."

“They hurt if it rains,” he gave back tightly. “Now you.” 

She stared at him, obviously not having expected him to actually answer that question. 

And then Zahra crossed her arms, nearly hugging herself as he had seen her do often, whenever there was something…something that brought up memories she didn’t want to think about. 

“Feyre, Elain and Nesta went to visit our father’s gravestone. I wasn’t invited," Zahra whispered, not looking at him. She kept walking, staring down at her feet. Clad in leather shoes that had already seen much better days.  

He could just stare at her. 

"You...you weren't invited?" He repeated back, stopping on the bridge.

She was their sister. And they had just not…not invited her? 

“I went to lay flowers there this morning, and I saw them,” Zahra said thickly. “Elain told him about her engagement….All three were there. I wasn’t invited.” 

He clenched his hands into fists again, the pain returning to them with a vengeance. 

“It’s fine, it shouldn’t hurt me," she said thickly. "They are his daughters. He had three ships named after his three daughters. And then there is me."

He was still trying to process her words. "It’s not fine,” he snapped out, anger rising in his chest. How could they just exclude her like that? “You are his daughter as well. You are their sister,” he continued, following after her. “They shouldn’t have just excluded you like that.” 

Zahra just shrugged, her shoulders caving in.

He felt her wobble on her feet and he reacted without even thinking about it. His hand shot out to grab her arm to keep her upright. He held her by the elbow gently to help balance her.

He watched as she continued walking, her shoulders slumped in. Her voice was quiet, like a whisper. “I know where I stand now...right?” 

They both knew it, didn't they? Rhys got what he wanted and was happy about it and how Azriel felt didn't matter...and Zahra...

Their family had never been normal by any means, but he had never thought...no, he had hoped. He had really hoped that they would never leave Zahra out like that. But they had done that this time. Left her out, like she was nothing. Like she didn't matter at all. 

And he hated that realization. He was used to solving problems. But this…there was no solving this. No way that he could fix this mess. 

"How bad do they hurt?" she asked him suddenly, her voice still broken. Or again.

He was surprised by her question, but he quickly looked down at his hands...his hands were clenched into fists, and his knuckles were turning white. He loosened his fists a bit and grimaced.

“Like hell, but I’ll be fine,” he muttered out. 

“Don’t you have a cream or salve from Madja or something?” she asked him, still holding onto his arm as they made their way to her cottage in unspoken agreement. 

“I do,” he agreed with a sigh. “It just doesn’t help much.” Or at all. A drop of water onto an inferno. 

“Let’s go home and try that,” Zahra said nonetheless. “I  have a hot water bottle you can have as well…does warmth help?” 

“It does,” he answered, surprised by how…much she was trying to help. Even now. Even when she had the most horrible day he could imagine…she was still trying to make him feel better. 

Her cottage was sparkling clean that evening…spotless and immaculate. 

The shadows fetched the salve as he sat down heavily at her kitchen table. Zahra returned just seconds later, bandages in her hand. 

He had expected her to hand him both and was startled when she grasped his hand.

Azriel had been expecting her to just hand him the salve and the bandages. He had not been expecting her to actually just take his hand in hers. To not even hesitate. 

To touch the scarred skin like it didn’t even matter.  People flinched back from the scars. they didn't just...He had people flinch away from his scarred hands before. He had never had someone just grasp them in theirs and not even blink at the sight of the scars. 

But she wasn’t done shocking him. Not when she started spreading the salve over his hands, gently and thoroughly.

Her fingers spread the salve over his skin with gentle, circular motions. The salve was warm on his skin and it brought immediate relief. He could feel his hands slowly relax under her touch. 

He felt it more than he saw it at first...though then it became visible as well. Her hands warmed up against his skin, something like a prickling sensation under his skin, but the feeling was....nice. soothing. And then he could just stare at the glowing golden light that radiated from her skin as she cradled his hands.

"Sorry," she apologised meekly, the light stuttering. "Normally it's just sparks."

He was staring, mesmerized almost at the light.

It was only after a moment that he finally processed her words. “Sparks?” He questioned, his voice much softer than usual. 

Zahra nodded. 

Seconds later, sparks started to dance across her skin. Tiny, golden sparks. Like little stars, dancing across her skin. 

“It’s beautiful,” he found himself saying, his voice sounding a bit raspy. He was completely transfixed as he stared at the lights dancing across her skin. 

Azriel had never seen anything more beautiful in 500 years of life. 

It was…utterly mesmerising. 

Only then he realised that his hands didn't hurt anymore.

No ache, no burn, no stiffness. Nothing. It was just...the soft, gentle touch of her hands on his.

"Since when...Since when can you..." he asked, his voice raw.

He could not even form a proper sentence as he looked down at his hands. No stiffness, no ache, no pain. For the first time in years, he was feeling...nothing in his hands. 

He gently flexed the fingers of his hands, curling them. He felt nothing. Just the smooth, pleasant glide of the skin. Not a single throb or ache. Nothing. It was completely...incredible. 

He continued to stare at his hands, still completely and utterly speechless. His hands...the pain he had been dealing with in his hands for as long as he could remember...it was just gone. 

The scars were still very much there. Visible, and the sight of them would always cause his heart to ache. But the pain he had come to know so well...it was gone. 

The scars were still visible, but the pain…

He slowly looked up to her face, still completely, mind-numbingly stunned by what had happened. “How...what did you...? How?” He managed to ask, his voice breathless. 

"What?" Zahra asked him, her voice shaky. "I didn't hurt you accidentally, did I?"

He quickly shook his head “No, no, you did not hurt me at all," Azriel quickly assured her. “Quite the opposite, actually…” He said, flexing his hands again. He still felt no pain.  “They don’t hurt me anymore.”

He flexed and curled his fingers again, watching as they did so easily. No stiffness, no pain. He felt...nothing. 

"The sparks came after the cauldron," Zahra answered quietly.

“The cauldron?” He repeated back. The cauldron. 

Of course. 

"Can't see the future or be pure death, but I do have sparks," Zahra quipped weakly. “Useless, I know.“

No. Not useless at all.

Pure Golden Light. Healing Light. Similiar to Dawn’s gift maybe…but then he saw the sparks still dancing around Zahra and corrected that. 

No. Not similar. Completely unique to her. Cauldron-wrought. 

"No," he disagreed, unable not to stare at her. "Not useless at all, sunshine. You are pure light."

[lord-freakwad]

What if I died in action?

…you did.

He sobbed in one hand, his walls finally crumbling down while he sat alone in his office. All he could remember was your face… “You must’ve been so fucking scared, dove...”

- Captain Johnathan Price

“I miss ye so much, bonnie...” He said while looking at the photo of you in his wallet, his tears soaking the pillow.

- Johnny “Soap” Mactavish

He sat next to your grave, wailing. It wasn’t fair. He hiccups and lays his head against your headstone. He held your favorite flower in his hand and brought it close like a child would with a teddy bear. “I’m so sorry…”

- Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

He couldn’t bear your absence. He refused to. He’d take your pillow and hug it at night. The faint smell of your perfume helped ease his mind. “It’s like you’re still with me…” His voice cracked as he buried his face the pillow.

- Simon “Ghost” Riley

[cmncisspnandmore]

Not Coming Home

Pairings: Simon Riley X F!Reader, Plationic!141X F!reader

Warnings: hurt, Angst, Character Death.

The hardest thing John Price ever had to do was tell you that Ghosts has been killed in action.

When you pulled open the door, expecting to see Simon standing there with a smile on his face, only to be met by the solemn face of his captain. Your heart sank, your entire body going cold as he stepped into the room.

"I wish I was here with better news..." Price mumbles as he closes the door behind him.

Your entire body feels detached from your mind, like you're not really here. Not hearing the words that are coming from your husbands superior.

"I'm so sorry... Simon is dead.." Price stumbles out, his own words thick with emotion.

It was at that moment that the world seemed to stop spinning. Everything came to a screeching halt as you processed his words. There was screaming, but you didn't know where it was coming from. Who or what could be making that awful sound?

You sink down to the floor, and only as the door flies open, John MacTavish standing there, with his hand on his gun on his waist. You can barely see him through the blur of tears that cloud your vision. The telltale mohawk the only give away. His face is pale as he stares down at you with blue eyes wide with emotion. That's when you realize that the screaming is coming for you.

Hot tears stream down your cheeks as Price and Soap crouch in front of you. Their hands come out to touch you only for you to recoil from their touch. You shrink back against the wall, as if they were trying to hurt you.

Because they were. Not physically, or intentionally. But the comfort they tried to offer you hurt. Knowing that it would never be Simon who held you close when you cried again hurt. Knowing that they also lost a teammate hurt.

You aren't sure exactly how long you screamed for, huddled on the floor. Your knees pulled up to your chest as the two men who served alongside your husband kneeled in front of you. But eventually your voice gave out, leaving you with nothing but broken sobs in its place.

As morning grew into day, your tears eventually stopped. The silence that settled over the room was worse than the screaming. It felt fragile,like one small word and chaos would ensue again.

Johnny couldn't stand to listen to the sound of your sobs and screams. Each one felt like a knife twisting in his already mangled heart. He wanted to hold you, tell you that it would be okay but he couldn't. Because he didn't know if it ever would be. How could he tell you such sweet lies just to placate himself.

In truth you probably wouldn't ever be fully okay again. Even though you spent years preparing yourself for the possibility that SImon might not come home one day, you never thought it would happen. No one wanted that to come to fruition, but it did and now as Johnny and Price stare at the broken mess of a woman at their feet they don't know what to do. There aren't any magic words or miracles that would bring Simon back to you. 

Johnny stands next to you at Simons headstone, you had one placed even though he was cremated. You couldn't bring yourself to damning him to eternity in a pine box, not after everything he went through. You wipe a tear that trails down your cheek as Johnny wraps his arm around your shoulders. 

“He’d be proud of you ,” Soap whispers, his hand tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I hope so,” you whisper, wiping your eyes and sniffling. He gently grabs your face in his hands and brushes your stray tears from your cheeks. You give him a small half hearted smile as a small voice calls out to you.

“Mummy! Mummy! I found some pretty purple flowers for Daddies stone!” Your 4 year old daughter calls out as she runs towards you. Her blue dress swishing around her ankles, she stops in front of you and Soap. 

“Oh they’re beautiful, he’ll love them,” you smile crouching down in front of her as she thrusts the flowers into your face. You gently move them from in front of your face as 2 other figures come over the hill. John Price and Kyle Garrck, you give a small wave as they walk up. Your eyes flickering back down to your daughter as she looks at the flowers, gently stroking the petals. “Didn't we talk about running away from Uncle John and Uncle Kyle?”

“Yes mummy, I'm sorry,” she sighs, and looks behind you at the gravestone. “Can I give the flowers to Daddy now?” She looks up at you. 

“Of course Baby,” You smile softly as she grabs Soaps hand and drags him over to the stone.

“C’mon Uncle Soap, lift me up so i can put them on the tippy top! That way Daddy can see them all the way from heaven!”

[auspicioustidings]

Firewatch Part 14

Summary: You visit a grave as our story comes to an end.

Words: 1.9k

You wondered if Johnny had snuck into bed with you. He had done it the last time Simon was on watch and it had been admittedly sort of nice waking up bundled in him. He was pretty cute when he was sleepy. 

He hadn't, the warmth was from Dosia which was strange because these days she usually was either outside or cuddled up with Price if Simon wasn't around like the little traitor she was.

This was not Simon's bed.

–

“You've been through quite the ordeal! Can't believe you were in the forest all this time. Surprised you never came across our Firewatch, they live out there. Or they did I suppose.”

“I- sorry, what do you mean?”

“Didn't you ever notice that tower from your old place? It was a watchtower for wildfires, the men who ran it had a cabin out there as well. Shame about what happened.”

“The fire…”

“Ah last I heard between air support and the trucks coming in to help from all over it's looking like they have it contained, but these things tend to burn for days or weeks before we can really relax.”

“What about the men in the forest? What happened to them?”

The sheriff blinked at you.

“How exactly did you survive out there all this time?”

–

It wasn't as bad as it could have been was what people kept saying. The tower was gone, but the fire had never ripped through the town thanks to quick detection and action to contain it. 

In the span of six months you had lost your home to fire twice over. You were living out of the little bed and breakfast while paperwork was sorted. There was a lot of red tape involved in bringing someone back from the dead, although it was curious how much easier it was made by the sheriff having not properly filed the death certificate in the first place. You weren't as officially dead as you should have been. 

Everything would be wrapped up soon and then you didn't really know what you would do. You had money from the Insurance claim on your cottage (that had been a wild series of phone calls to increasingly senior people as you tried to explain that you were the owner who had perished in the fire), but you had no clue what to do with it. 

You knew you had been putting it off, but it was time to go visit the grave. Maybe then you'd figure it out.

–

It wasn't anything fancy, just a rustic headstone set in the ashes. Dosia wasn't super interested, instead going to rub up against your visitor. Wonders never ceased.

“Knew she'd come around eventually.”

“They do say absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

“Does it?”

You glanced over at Kyle and your heart thumped. The last time you had seen him had been weeks ago when he was disappearing into smoke and embers.

“Yeah, yeah I think it does.”

You both stood and stared at the gravestone, Dosia's ears pricking before she took off towards the treeline. You weren't worried, you were pretty sure you knew who she was in a rush to see. She completely ignored the man walking towards you and Kyle on her way. 

“Ouch.”

“She still hasn't forgiven you for saying I should've got a dog you know.”

“Still think ye should swap her for one.”

“He cried when we thought she didn't make it out.”

“Away and biel yer heid Gaz.”

You had missed them. You had really, truly missed them. It was overwhelming being on your own after always having them around. You were angry a lot at little things like how difficult you found a busy shop now. They had done that to you. It didn't make your stupid feelings any less complicated. It didn't make you feel any less like kissing the new scar on Johnny's arm or the bruises healing on Gaz.

“So you buried your girl in the end huh?”

“A few weeks before the fire. We were planning on bringing you to see it.”

“This close to town? Bit risky no?”

“Aye, reckoned ye were worth the risk.”

You took a deep breath to calm yourself. It was a strange thing looking at your own grave. Why put it here to bring you to see it? To prove that they weren't holding you to some impossible dream girl standard anymore?

“Was supposed to be a birthday present, but we're a bit late now aren't we little bird?”

Price looked tired as he emerged from the treeline. It must have been an awful few weeks for him. There was still the remnants of the fire to be looked after incase it blazed up again. It had taken out the cabin and the tower, nothing left but smouldering wrecks and a nasty looking burn creeping up his neck. All of those drawings in Simon's room gone. You don't know why that was one of the things that made you the saddest.

“Didn't feel much like celebrating anyway” you answered truthfully. 

Your birthday had been 5 days after the fire and you had spent it for the most part staring into the void and napping. You hadn't felt like celebrating your new found freedom at all. 

“We did actually get you something. Still have it, if you'd like.”

You wondered what it was. As far as you knew nothing survived the fire. But they were just things and things didn't seem all that important anymore. Not when Simon finally joined you, a purring Dosia in his arms. He was slow due to a bad left leg it seemed like. 

“OK.”

Simon let Dosia down even though she was very reluctant to go so he could take something from around his neck. He handed you the corded necklace. It had a key on the end.

“Happy birthday sweetheart.”

“What's it for?”

“Havnae given it a name yet, thought we'd leave that for you tae do.”

“It's a 20 minute drive out the other side of town, just on the treeline.”

You stared at them. You knew what they were talking about. There was a crumbling cottage out there, you knew because you had considered buying it when you had first moved here but it was more expensive than the one you had went with and you couldn't afford it. You had completely forgotten it was there.

“Hope you don't mind sweetheart, but we took the liberty of getting the electrical work done.”

“And the roof, sorry luv I know you're a good roofer but my heart cannot take watching you do that again.”

“Tae be fully honest the whole thing is already done. Got a wee bit carried away.”

All those trips into town. The way they'd come back looking tired. They had been building you a home. 

“But… no wait, that's not… you were going to let me go?”

“Couldn't keep you in a cage forever little bird.”

“You'd have gotten arrested!”

“Would we aye? For what?”

“For kidnapping me!”

“Funny thing sweetheart, nobody in town is talking about the fire because they're too busy talking about the miracle girl. Apparently survived months in the forest on her own, told the sheriff she was quite the survivalist.”

“Yeah well! You! I!” you huffed, trying to come up with any reason that you had lied that didn't sound like “I love you”. “It was a cooler story.”

They laughed and it made you smile. You couldn't do it in the end. They were not bad men, you couldn't tell the truth knowing it would see them punished and put away. When you didn't know if they were dead or alive it had brought your feelings a stunning clarity. You had fallen stupidly in love with them. 

“So what's next?”

“Don't know honestly. We're camping out and keeping an eye on things. Once the danger has passed we rebuild” Price said, hand massaging at his shoulder.

“I'm pretty handy with a hammer.”

“Yeah?”

“Suppose I could help out” you offered, fighting to keep the stupid grin off of your face as you held up the key  “after all my cottage is pretty nearby right? And this guy is going to be useless with that leg.”

“Watch it sweetheart, my teeth are still intact.”

–

John liked to joke that you would combust if you didn't have a project. Once the cabin was rebuilt (5 bedrooms, incase they had visitors obviously) you helped where you could with the tower, once that was done you wanted to redo the kitchen in the cottage, after that you talked him into taking in an abandoned dog (honestly very easy what with you and Kyle both giving your best puppy dog eyes). Dosia surprisingly seemed to enjoy the new addition, bullying the german shepherd into doing whatever she wanted. The pair of them mostly came and went as they wanted between the cottage and the cabin, thriving running wild in the forest in between. 

Simon tried to get you into football which you sort of did. You had no interest in the big games, but you'd both go and cheer on the local team when they had home games. Inevitably you both looked a mess having gotten into a bit of a paint fight when you had insisted Simon have a little flag on his cheek. You threatened to de-fang him at least once a week. Both Dosia and Riley were absolutely in love with him which both you and Johnny sulked about. You thought maybe, for Riley at least, that Simon felt safe. His leg never quite healed right so he was more cautious and slow moving now, something you thought she might find comforting. 

When Johnny wasn’t grumbling about the animals wanting nothing to do with him, he was whining at you to not get out of bed. You had never met a lazier creature than John MacTavish on a duvet day, he just wanted to cuddle and watch movies. When he was on a hyper day he wanted to redecorate which almost always ended in a fight because you disagreed on what would look good. Everytime a big video game release rolled around the two of you (and sometimes Gaz depending on the game) would just hole up for a weekend and do nothing but play. Luckily Price indulged you and usually kept you fed and watered. 

Kyle had only been half kidding about making a fire fighter out of you. It started as therapy really, a way to try and control the nightmares. He took the lead in teaching you about all the equipment, letting you observe drills and even buying you custom fitted kit. While you never did want to be near a fire again, you learned to be less scared of the idea, you learned to believe that you would know what to do if anything happened. When you hadn't panicked at a little bin fire in your cottage and instead had just dealt with it, you had showed up at the cabin bursting with excitement to tell them. 

The Firewatch went from 4 to 5. You enjoyed it, the peace and quiet and the stars as you sipped hot chocolate and looked out onto the forest. You didn’t really know what the future held for you, but against all odds you had found a family and you were well and truly happy. And if sometimes you found yourself looking through the binoculars just to check on said family, you figured that was just karma.

[anamelessfool]

A Naming (part 3 of 5)

Rated Teen, Papa Emeritus II’s Son and Family

Tags: Halloween Hijinks, Eldest Kid Anxiety, Suburban Dad Secondo, Disabled Secondo, Post-Retirement Life, Magic Rituals, My AU with Seocondo being Papa from 2001-2008

CW: Underage Drinking, Strong Language

Paul does the ritual. It goes exactly as expected.

Dedicated to @kissingghouls thanks for cheering me on you’re my little Hell Pumpkin🎃 I’m on AO3 with all my other fics but Tumblr gets mad at me when I post links check out #anamelessfool halloween tag for the prev chapter, #anamelessfool halloween start to start the fic.

The car full of teens crunched along the gravel path behind the old church. Headlights illuminated the rickety silhouette of a swingset, beyond which the old churchyard loomed. The kids unfolded themselves from the car and mingled in the grass.

For most of the short ride here it was a joke. Get the weird gravedigger kid to do some magic or something, see some ghosts. But as they surveyed the headstones cast about like old crooked teeth juxtaposed beside the children’s covered picnic area they fell into a reverent silence. The big junior boy attempted to lighten the mood by dragging his body down the metal slide meant for preschoolers and he wasn’t even rewarded with the dumb grins he craved. Brian was still taking furtive nips from the flask in his jacket but Paul hadn’t been interested for two hours now. This didn’t seem like the place for it.

He wondered how he’d do it, whatever he’d decide to do. He knew he needed to create a circle and surround it with the right symbols. Something would need to be inside, maybe the candle; and he’d utter the syllables while tracing the circle once more with his tibia wand. He knew enough about magic to know that most of it was about just thinking about what you wanted and letting whatever happened after that run its course, but a good show was in order. He didn’t want to look stupid on top of failing to procure a decent paranormal event.

Dana smiled again at him, but she still held her friend Tiff’s hand. “What are you going to do for us?” she asked. In the low light emitted from the nearby streetlamp her eyes were wide, glittering. She was living her favorite quote, and all Paul needed to do was to let her soul take her where she wanted to be. Some sort of dark, mysterious place where demons and magic are fun. Paul left all that when he was too young to remember, but knew enough that gothic drama had a price.

“Maybe…” Paul analyzed the scene beyond the fence, where the ancient headstones were planted. “Spirit communication?”

“Ghosts? We’re going to talk to ghosts?” Tiff could barely contain her excitement.

“Yeah,” Paul replied quickly. “Let’s use the picnic area to set up.”

Under the awning studded with dead wasp nests was a smooth platform of sidewalk concrete. The kids gathered around and Paul felt the fear settle in. He was a natural performer as long as he was lodged in some hole with only his music to be perceived by. Now five older kids stared into him, getting more restless as he scrambled through his father's journal to find an enticingly arcane image to entertain them with.

He finally discovered a page drawn with a ring of syllables that he could reasonably pronounce. He got to work, drawing on the white concrete with the dark sidewalk chalk. He placed the candle in the center of the small circle along with the obsidian chunk and a sprinkling of the dried rose petals. The two girls were captivated while the boys half watched and half play wrestled with each other. Brian swayed a little and handed him a lighter for the candle, chuckling.

“Now I uh…call in the energies,” said Paul. He was supposed to start facing east and go clockwise, but in the dark there was no indication of true direction. He remembered observing a few of these gestures and repeated them here. Just recently at the equinox he had helped Secondo circumnabulate the property line of his home, restoring the energy buried along with all the nail-filled mason jars holding up the wards. He replicated the careful gesture of drawing a pentagram in the air with the wand, but refused to include the deep sonorous chant that went with it. He knew they would laugh.

At last he returned to the circle. “I…cast my will as a net,” he mumbled. “The Void will provide. Nevertheless I will endure.“

“Now what?” Muttered Brian.

“I circumambulate the circle.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Grunted the boy from the backseat that Paul thought was named Tyler.

“Walk around,” said Paul. “Say the words.” He held out the tibia, pointing at the syllables as he stepped toe to toe past them. The other hand held the book as he read out each symbol slowly, his voice cracking. “Ab-Che-halva-ach-aleph-namu…eke…ab-Che-halva…” In his circumambulation he kept passing Dana and Tiff, trying not to meet their eyes. He wasn’t certain whether they were fascinated or bored and he didn’t want to find out. The sounds were guttural, cruel, and unknown. He was not sure of when to stop.

And then the candle went out.

The boys stopped mugging. Paul cautiously brought the tibia back into his hoodie pocket, blinking. “Should we…go out and check?”

“Check for what?” Whispered Dana. He hadn’t realized how close she came to him, her eyes wide with excitement. The boys were already out on the grass, still pretending to be half-interested but silent and watchful all the same.

“I dunno…” Paul held out his hand and Dana took it, Tiff linking arms with her. The three of them stepped cautiously back onto the grass to scan the treeline.

There was the chainlink fence, the gravestones beyond it, solid as always. The candle went out, but nothing happened. Paul felt stupid, wondering with a growing sickness in his gut that all he did tonight was look like the weirdo gravedigger kid they thought he was.

“So does your dad talks like that to all the dead grandmas he works on or…” Tyler was already done with all this, and Dave laughed in response.

“I told you there’s no spirits there,” muttered Paul. “And he’s not the one that works on them ,okay?”

“Yeah. This is all a fucking joke. Honestly.”

Paul heard Dana’s voice and it warmed him, just for a small moment. “Listen, come on, it’s just all in good fun, ok?”

Paul felt something small bounce off his shoulder and fall into the grass. “Ouch, fuck!” snapped a kid nearby, clapping a hand over his own head. “What the hell is that?”

Paul ducked down to retrieve the items that fell by his feet. It was an ordinary quarter and two pennies. He heard someone else stir, disturbed by more items falling on their head. “Coins.”

“Coins? Oh! Yeah!” said Dana, holding one up. “Where are they coming from?”

Something fell behind Paul, bouncing off his back. A cigarette lighter phone charger. Nearby, a few crumpled receipts and empty paper soft drink cup dropped onto the grass, followed by more coins. “It's…stuff from the car…”

“Car’s fucking locked,” hissed Dave. He swore again and Paul heard another coin bounce off his head. He felt old crumbs collect in his hair, sprinkled by something inexplicable above them all.

Paul glanced over to the car.

Then something happened. It felt like his brain was broken; his eyes lied. He saw the air above the car, the negative space empty there for a moment, and then watched an object pop into existence. Something big, dark and heavy that then was dropped down on top of the car so forcefully the hood crumpled into a crush of metal.

It was a small headstone from the churchyard.

“Everybody under the awning,” Paul commanded hoarsely, running backwards while still staring fixedly at the car in front of them. Coins continued to drop seemingly from nowhere, the soft sound of them hitting the grass all around them.

Paul couldn't process what he just saw. The rock was not there, and then yet it was there. And absolutely totaled the car right before their eyes.

The night taunted them with its normalcy. There was nothing out of place. No stirring leaf, no swing disturbed. The single streetlight buzzed and threw stark highlights across the asphalt by the ruined car.

A small stone fell from the awning, skidding to Paul’s feet. But there was nothing there except those empty husks of paper wasps and cobwebs.

“The car, man!” Dave whined. He bit his lip and wrung his hands. “My fucking car…”

“Would you shut up about the car?!” the junior boy rasped. His hands were over his head. “How did that stone—”

Gravel dumped across his head and skittered to the floor. The boy yelled, hopping backwards into Dave, who nearly punched him in terror. The sliding hiss of gravel falling behind them made their heads whip around to see when more would drop.

“Just like that,” said Paul, pointing. He stared fixedly at a spot where another stone had dropped. He squinted, trying to steel his nerves. Name it, his father’s voice uttered. Name what?

Just as before, a new stream of gravel was there in the air as matter-of-factly as how they were not there moments before. The space became filled without even a blink of an eye. And more stones fell.

“I’m getting out of here,” shouted Tyler. He made a few steps towards the edge of the awning and another heavy grave marker dropped, barely missing his head and cracking the concrete. He scrambled back to the group just in time for Paul to read the date 1812 carved upon it.

“It doesn’t want us to leave!” shrieked Tiff. “What did you even do?!”

Another fall of small stones from the parking lot; this time a steady, almost luxurious stream of tiny pebbles appearing, falling, and pooling into an aggressive pile right before their eyes. The sliding, angry hiss rustled terror up Paul's spine as he bit the inside of his cheek and drew blood. Satisfied, the gravel stream ceased as if someone turned off an arcane spigot. Another rock dropped onto the Junior boy's head, and he screamed, prompting yet another small rock to be pelted at Tiff and Dana.

In the silence between the bursts of stones across their heads, one of the girls started sobbing. Paul stared down at the circle in front of him, tears blurring his own eyes. “Oh, fuck! Fuuuck!” shouted Dave and Paul whipped his head up to the sound of tires on the gravel. Another spurt of rocks fell to the ground, these much larger and thrown fast enough to bounce off the concrete.

Beside the wrecked car loomed a black hearse. The headlights dimmed as the door opened, a form gingerly rising to its feet and affixing a crutch. Tall, wide shoulders slung back. The face was obscured, but the Eye shone. The eye, a brilliant beam in the dark.

“Fuck, run!” Brian yelled, but his drinking got the best of him and he stumbled across a picnic table. The other kids were frozen on the spot, the spurts of rocks scattering around them forgotten as a storybook nightmare materialized in front of their eyes.

“No,” Paul said softly. “Don’t run.”

The hearse, the Eye, the shambling gait on the large proud form was an image out any slasher movie. But Paul knew this visage more than anyone. And more than anyone, he felt an intensity of fear only experienced by a son who had completely, utterly, and wholly fucked up.

if you like it, please reblog and share!

Next part in comments!

[paarthurnax59]

"Happy Memorial Day, bro."

Summary: It’s Memorial Day and you pay a visit to Steve Roger’s grave, your twin brother, with your husband and your kids. When facing his headstone, you are confronted with grief and guilt. Logan then decided to help you bring the closure that you needed.

Pairings: Steve Rogers x sister!Reader, Logan Howlett x Rogers!Reader

Warnings: angst, fluff, abandonment, reader is depicted as being Caucasian, grief, talks of suicide.

Important note: Regardless of how you feel about American politics today, please keep the comments respectful and do not dishonor those that paid the ultimate price for sustaining peace in the world. All who leave disrespectful comments will be blocked. 

Also, if you have served or have family members that served, whether be American or any other countries military that have passed on, please share!

 As Logan pulled the classic car up to Arlington Cemetery, you grabbed the flowers and photos, along with an American flag that Bucky helped you fold up. Both he and Sam were going to meet you after you had visited the cemetery with your kids, Charlotte and Joey, both nestled in the back sound asleep from the long car ride. Unbuckling your seat belt, you looked to the crowd of people. Mourning families and couples standing in front of the headstones of their deceased loved ones who paid the ultimate price. You saw as many people lay solemnly on the ground of the graves. There was this one older woman that you saw brushed her fingers on the headstone in front of her, as the tears began to fall from her wrinkled cheeks. 

“Baby?” You heard Logan’s voice, snapping you out of your trance, making you look into those beautiful hazel eyes you had grown to adore. “You alright?” He asked as he touched your face, gently stroking your smooth skin.

“I’m okay…just feels weird being back here again. Almost three months since the funeral.”

“Yeah, I know.” Logan replied as he got closer to you and kissed your forehead with a comforting hand on the back of your head.

    It had been three months since your twin brother, Steve, had passed away. After he returned the stones, he went back to the 1940’s and had the life with Peggy. The life that you had with Logan, a home and a family. He never truly got over her. The woman that was the very first, possibly the only woman, to show him interest while he was still your scrawny, older brother. When Steve went through the platform and disappear, he didn’t come back. Instead, you all looked to the lake and saw an old man sitting on a bench. That old man was your big brother. 

    He told you about when you all had defeated Thanos and how he wanted to leave this time and go back. You objected at first and even got angry at him for even abandoning you once more. The first time in the ice, and now to go back to the 40’s. Leaving behind his niece and nephew, his family to chase some dream that died the moment he crashed that plane in the 40’s. You refused to talk to him after a few days after that. Bucky had to literally drag you to the site where Steve had to return the stones. Logan was at your side the entire time as Steve gave you one last look before leaving through the time machine, never to return. Looking back, you began to think differently, and it was eating away at you.

“Come on, let’s get the kids up.” Your husband interjected, making you nod your head in agreement and got out of the car and to the back seat. “Munchkins? Wake up. We’re here!” Logan gently shook your daughter while you unstrapped your son from his car seat. The little two-year-old boy began to stir from his sleep as you picked him up and into your arms. You thanked your lucky stars that he didn’t start crying. 

“Daddy…” Your four-year-old girl awoke from her sleep and hugged Logan as he got her up from her own car seat. “Where are we?” 

“We are at Arlington Cemetery, little munchkin. It’s where many of the brave soldiers are buried.” Logan explained to his child. Both you and Logan decided long ago that you would be honest with them when it came to grim topics, like death. Seeing the line of work, you are both in and all of the things you had seen, it made sense to let them know of the nature of the world.

“Like uncle Stevie?” She asked sadly, making the both of you look at each other with gloom.

“Yes, Like uncle Stevie, angel.” You replied.

   Steve and Lottie, Steve’s nickname for her, were as close as an uncle and niece could get. As soon as she was born, like Logan, Steve was wrapped around her finger. Whenever Steve would come over, it was the best day of the week for Lottie. Playing tea parties, having sleepovers at his place, baking in the kitchen, trips all around the city. the Zoo, Coney Island and Central Park, you name it. Lottie adored Steve and he loved her just as much. It was one of the main reasons that you got so angry at Steve for leaving.

     Lottie was devastated when she found out her uncle Steve wasn’t coming back. At least, not how she remembered him anyway. You tried you best to explain to her that he wanted to go back to the 40’s, so he can have his own life. She still didn’t understand, which you were sympathetic. She was only a child and trying to explain quantum time travel were complicated to her already. All she thought was that her Uncle Steve had abandoned her. She didn’t eat or sleep for days after she was told Steve wasn’t going to return. You took her to the hospital when Steve was struck ill. She eventually was able to warm up to him again and Steve had shown her all the pictures of his own family. Of her aunt Peggy, and his son and daughter. Tony and (Name), naming both after the most important people in his life. You were happy for him, but at the same time had wished he would have found his happiness here in this time. 

   After the funeral, Lottie had stayed in her room. Barely speaking a word to anyone, even her own parents. It took a long time for her to cope with her beloved uncle’s death. You even had Morgan visit her, seeing as they were also very close one another. Time was the only thing that was going to heal her, just like you. 

“Let’s go, you got everything? You need me to grab anything?” Your husband asked and you shook your head.

“No, just take Joey. I got everything.” You answered and handed him your son, who was very happy to in his father’s arms. Grabbing all the stuff, your family strolled into the crowded cemetery. 

   As you walked into the cemetery with your family, you watched all the many people swarming the place, paying their respects to the honored dead. A few crying widows, children standing with their parents in front of headstones and parents mourning for their deceased child. Even fellow veterans kneeling in front of their fallen comrades’ final resting place, the lucky ones that made it back. It would make one wonder how many times you had come here before Steve was found in the ice. Kneeling in front of the graves of both Steve and Bucky, talking to them both like they could hear you. How you considered yourself lucky that you were the one Rogers that made it home. You were a nurse, like your mom, serving for the US Army, but still fought with your fellow commandos. There was never a guarantee of coming home from war. Once you had met some cooks that had to take up arms in the heart of battle. Back in the day, it didn’t matter what your station was or rank. You fight in the most dire situations. It what it meant to be a part of the military. Everyone is counting on you for something. 

“More crowded than I thought.” Logan interjected as he carried to two tired children across the hallow grounds, staring at all the people as they come by. 

“Yeah, it is.” You agreed as you continued to walk the historic cemetery. A few people recognized you and walked up to both you and Logan and thanked your for saving the world. As you continued your forlorn march through the grounds, you reached yours and Logan’s destination. Steve’s grave, lying next to your father’s grave, who died back in the first World War. 

“Here we are.” Logan said as he placed down both his children. “Let me get those, sweetie. You can place the flowers down.” He turned to you and grabbed the flag and pictures. Logan stood back a little with your kids, allowing you to place the flowers by his grave. Taking a deep breath, you stepped forward and placed the flowers on your beloved brother’s grave. Red poppies, that symbolized remembrance and hope for a peaceful future. A flower used commonly for occasions such as days like today. Memorial Day. Logan then placed the flag which was encased in glass and some of the pictures of Steve form both the forties and the modern era. You all stepped away and as you did, your little girl stood by you, clinging onto your leg, sniffling as she looked at her uncle’s gravestone. Your son soon joined in with you as he stood by his older sister, despite no knowing what was going on. Logan walked toward you, placed his arm around and sighed.

“I feel guilty, you know.” Your voice cracked as you look at Logan with the saddest expression that he had ever seen you make. Tears started to seep from your eyes.

“Why? You have done nothing wrong.” He asked truly growing confused as to why you, his wife, felt like you had to say such a thing. Logan and Steve may not have always gotten along, but one thing he knew for certain was that your brother knew Logan loved you. 

    You two had met back when you were serving as an Army nurse in the 40’s. He was serving with your brother as part of the Hollowing Commandos. Your eyes met and the both of you could not look away when you were both in the same area. You had dated for a time, but when you lost Steve in the ice, you broke up after due to not getting over your supposed brother’s death. You traveled around the world when you found yourself meeting the Ancient One, sorceress supreme. She had revealed to you of the great potential to become a powerful sorceress. You accepted her training and through the decades severed her and the Masters of the Mystic Arts. Never aging or growing ill. Throughout the years, you grew close with the ancient one. Sharing with her about your grief and loss, of both Logan and Steve. 

“All things that are meant to be… will come to pass in its own time.”

   She told you at one point about the pain you had endured. That whatever is meant to be, will happen. You trusted her words, believing and hoping things will work out like they are meant to. When word broke out that Captain America had been freed from the ice, and was alive, you left for the States as quickly as possible. You arrived by portal at SHIELD headquarters, ready to welcome your brother back home.

   When he first saw you, he was in shock of how you remained young and spry as you were. You told him that you had become a sorceress of the mystic arts. Over the years, you fought together, against Loki, aliens, genocidal robots, dark warlocks, and the Brotherhood of Mutants. He stayed with you through the good and the bad times you had in this time, just like when you were kids fighting off bullies in Brooklyn. 

   After finding your ex, Steve helped you through Logan had no memory of who you were. After you helped Logan gain back his memories, you started relationship from square one. Overtime, your love for each other had restored and blossomed. The two of you wedded within a year, with Steve as Logan’s best man and Natasha as your maid of honor, with Charles conducting the ceremony. Thus, your married life with Logan began. Soon, after you both had two children together, Charlotte Stephanie Howlett and Joseph Logan Howlett. Named after the most important people in your life.

   Even though Steve had said he was happy for you, you could help but noticed the Longing gaze he had when he watched you and your family. Looking as though he was missing out on something, or someone. While in this era, his entire life was dedicated to duty and keeping the world safe. Barely even had time to rest or even start a life of his own. You finally were starting to realize, he needed to leave in order to live the lie he wanted. He needed to go back to a time where everyone believed him to be dead. To be with the one whom he never stopped loving, like you with Logan. Suppose that runs in the family.

“I should have been more supportive of him, you know. Of him wanting to go back to the forties.” You admitted sadly as the guilt started to take hold of you while you looked deep into Logan’s eyes and then the tears started to fall. Logan held onto your hands tightly as you started to sob. “Ever since he was rescued from the ice, Steve always felt like he was out of place. He was like a ghost, trapped in a world where he no longer belonged.” You continued as you cried, leaning into Logan all the while he rubbed your shoulders tenderly. “He wanted it, the life you and I got. Marriage, family, a much quieter existence and not be forced to go off and fight all the time. He was never going to have peace unless he left. I feel so selfish for trying to make him stay.” You cried harder as Logan wrapped his arms around you and held you as close as humanly possible. “All because I didn’t want to lose my brother again. I have lived for nearly seventy years without him. I lost my father, my mother and now I lost Steve. My twin brother.”  Your two children looked up at you, knowing that you were in serious distress. They both surround you with tiny arms trying to engulf you in a hug to calm you down. 

“Don’t cry, mama. We wuv you.” Your daughter mumbled as she too sounded like she was about to cry. 

“Ma!” babbled your young son as he reached up and pulled at the hem of your dress, who was feeling exactly what his sister was feeling. You looked down and smiled as your son’s brown eyes widened with some tears in his eyes. The sorrow from your being so strong that it was affecting your own children. 

“Joey, my sweet boy.” You said as you picked him up and kissed his sweet face fiercely and he cuddled close to your head. Logan had his little girl right in front of him and placed a warm comforting hand on her beautiful, blonde covered head. 

“Sweetheart, if there’s anything in this world you are not, it’s selfish.” He calmed you down as you snuggled closer to your boy. “When I first met you, all those years ago, I couldn’t believe on how a beautiful woman like you could be so compassionate, caring and brave all in one.” He continued. “I saw on how much you cared for the injured and the wounded during the war. Even the enemies that had surrendered, you still gave them medical treatment even when others refused to help them. Not once, did you stop until every person had gotten aid. Steve and Bucky basically had to pull you away from the infirmary tent because you nearly burnt out from treating people.” A small smile creeped on your lips while the tars still fell down your pale cheek. “I wanted to ask you out so badly that I felt like the stars aligned perfectly when you said yes. I was so in love with you then that I wanted to ask you to marry me after the war had ended.” You chuckled at the memory of the short courtship that you and Logan had during the war. “Then…Steve went into the ice, and you were devasted. You were a shell of your once bubbly and loving self. I yelled and screamed at you to get over him. That he was dead and never coming back.” He sighed with a remorseful huff making him think back to the day of when you two breaking up. “Then you left. I regret it every day of my life for letting you walk away after that fight. However my stubborn ass-“

“Language, James. We have the kids here with us.” You interrupted him. 

“God, you really are his sister.” He joked and you giggled despite the serious and heartbreaking conversation you both were having. “Anyway, I was just too stubborn to go back and help you through your loss. So, I went back into the army and fought like hell until I met Stryker. I got these,” He held out his fist and the adamantium claws came out. You weren’t sacred of them and reached out your free hand and touched them carefully so that you would not get cut. Logan then retracted them and went on with his story. “Then I lost my memory. For over twenty-five years, I had no idea of who I was or where I was going. I had no purpose or self-worth even. I was just going through the motions as I fought cage match after cage match, trying to make petty cash so I could eat. I was miserable and was alone with no one by my side. Every time…I looked at my claws…I wanted to just…end it.” He admitted making you cry again. You knew of Logan’s attempt at taking his own life, but you only heard it from Charles and Rouge. Never had you heard it through his own lips, like he was confessing an unpardonable sin. It truly made you hate yourself for ever leaving him in the first place. 

“Logan, I’m sorry. I should have been there. I never should have-“

“Let me finish, honey. Please.” Logan softly interrupted you, making to you listen to his story. “However, I odiously couldn’t. I would heal after every attempt. Every cut and wound, I would just heal. Leaving no scare, scrape, or mark on my skin. There was nothing, like the void that I was so desperate to fill.” He looked down and saw that Charlotte was now the one hugging him, obviously feeling her father’s suffering. How you got so lucky with wonderful children like these two munchkins was beyond you. “Then I met Rouge, Charles and the X-men. They helped me to find answers of who I was. I helped protect and train the kids at the school. They gave me a purpose, one that I was satisfied with.” He alleged as he stroked his daughter’s hair. “But…every night…along with the nightmares…someone was there…calling out to me…telling me to hold onto her hand…saying that everything was going to be okay.” He whispered intensely, like it was deep, dark secret kept hidden deep, buried underneath all of the malice and hardship. “That voice…reaching out for me…was you.” He said in your ear, making your gasp and your heart race like a comet. “Somewhere out there, even though I had no idea of who or where you were, I knew you held the missing piece of me. I asked Professor Xavier once, but he said that he was not abled to see your face. Only able to hear the sweet sound of your voice.” Logan whispered in your ear, which made you blush. It’s amazing that after all these years, Logan still had this effect on you that made you so weak in the knees. “So, I ignored them, no matter how many times my dream image of you came back to me in my mind. Then the day came that the Avengers came…then… I heard you. Yelling at something your brother did as you came walking down that jet, cute as a button and fierce as a mountain lion.” You felt the smile form on his lips as he confessed his thoughts from the past. “I felt like I strayed into a daydream. Like my mind was playing tricks on me. Then I had the professor tell me in my head saying that he heard your voice as well and it wasn’t a mind games. When you saw me…you stopped in your tracks and tears began to well in your eyes. At that moment, I knew you knew me from somewhere. You came running to me, trying to embrace me like your life depended on it.” He picked up his pace in his tone, he sounded almost excited with the prospect of meeting you again like it was the first time he met you. “However, something deep inside of me, a much darker part of me, wanted to reject you. Shove you aside and stay as far away from you as humanly possible. So, I pushed you away, distrusting you in an instant and denied any interaction with you.” He said as you think back to you’re your experience meeting him again after all this time. You believed that because you broke up with him that he didn’t want anything to do with you and even hated you after that. When you talked with Charles about it, he said it was because his mind was at war with him. Fighting for who gets to be in control, Logan or the demons that were plaguing his mind. You wanted to help, you wanted Logan to end his suffering and bring his memories back. “Looking back, I hated myself for it, even then, I believed that you didn’t deserve it. I was too damaged and broken, so pushed you away so you didn’t get drag into my mess. A few days later I overheard you and Steve talking to Charles. About the possibility of getting my memories back.” That information surprised you. You didn’t think Logan was listening to your conversation with Charles.  

“Charles told me that it might be too dangerous, but I refused to give up. I didn’t want to give up on you again, Logan. Walking away from you in the forties was the biggest mistake of my life.” You confessed to him, feeling like a weight had been lifted from your shoulders.

“I know, and I couldn’t be more grateful that you did.” He replied. “I told Charles that I agreed and would do my part as well to get back my memories. When you came to me with the spell, I was apprehensive, but I was more than willing to trust you, despite the battle that was going on in my head.” He acknowledged, thinking how risky it was to help him. “I was told of the risks…the risks of you being braindead.”

“It was worth the risk, Logan. You were worth the risk. Always were.” You sweetly talked to the love of your life. Logan truly didn’t know what else to say to that. You were willing to risk being a vegetable for the rest of your life it meant getting him back. 

“And you succeeded.” He remarked with a kiss to your head. “What I’m trying to say, (Name), is that you are not selfish. Not even close to such accusations. Steve was your brother and you wanted him to stay. Nothing more.” Logan held you close as your entire family looked at Steve’s name that was scribed into the marble stone. “You were the best sister and the best wife and mother that anyone could ask for.”

“Best mama eva!” Lottie shouted and hugged you by your legs. You chuckled and bent down to kiss your daughter’s head. 

“And you are the best daughter ever.” You claimed as she looked up at you. You looked to both family as you stood there looking at Steve’s grave for a little while longer. Soon, Buck and Sam came along to pay their respects to their best friend ns see you, Logan and the kids. You all stayed there for a while longer before heading to Sam’s place for a Barbeque. You packed up all the pictures and flag before heading out, leaving the flowers behind. One last time, you look back at the headstone and smiled before leaving with your family.

“Happy Memorial Day, Bro.”

[mustardsticks]

tw-character death 

Saw cute sprout!ghost, then saw animatic. very cute. Soon ANGST. 

Unedited

When Ghost first awoken, he noticed his pot wasn't in Soap's room but in an office.

Ghost grumbled as he tried to wiggle himself free. The soil was dry, it hadn't been watered in awhile.

Where's Johnny? He promised he would stay with him until he came back. Ghost wanted his sergeant to be the first thing he saw not an empty office.

But Ghost understood why he wasn't here. He didn't blame him, just a tad disappointed. They were soldiers that could've been pulled at any minute. 

Ghost hopped off from his pot and shaked himself like a dog to get rid of the excess dirt that clung onto him.

He looked around and sat on the edge of the desk and waited for someone to come in. 

Sure enough, Price opened the door a few minutes later. 

"Price!"

The captain tensed and his head shot up, only relaxing when he sees the sprout waving at him.

Ghost lowered his arms and went quiet when he saw the captain.

Price's eyes were swollen and bloodshot, like he was crying. Looked like he had lost alot of sleep too from his eyebags.

Did something happen while he was out of commissison?

"Price whats wrong? Where's Johnny?"

Price tensed as he pursed his lips together in thought. He slowly shut his door and slowly walked towards Ghost.

Soon enough his knees hit the floor and his hands flew to hover over Ghost.

"Simon..."

Uh-oh thats not a good sign

"Soap..." Ghost's hands grabbed onto Prices pointer fingers to help ground him. Unknownly his hands were tightly gripping Prices fingers and trembling in nervousness.

"He's gone Simon" Price gasped out as sobs racked his body and he let his head thump onto the edge of the desk.

Ghost started to panic and grab onto the hair that hid under Price's hat. "Who's gone Price?!" He tugged onto the hairs.

Price seemly ignored him. "It was a mission gone wrong. Intel was wrong and they were ambused. At most their injuries weren't too servere but it came at a price."

"Price..."

"Soap..." Price's voice started to fail him as his crying robbed him of his breath.

"He's dead Simon." He finally managed to rasp out.

Ghost tugged harshly on the hairs in his grip. "NO! I dont believe you! Show me!"

Ghost let go of Prices hair as his head moved to look at him.

Suddenly they were at Soap's grave. Ghost couldn't tell when they had even left, the news had left him in a daze and now he was staring at a headstone with a name that he never wanted to see on it.

If Ghost could come back, then so could Soap.

He would return the grave the next day with a water can and a shovel that were his size and wait.

He waited for a sprout to grow from the dirt. Just in case, Ghost watered the dirt around the bural site to see if it would help.

But nothing happened, and that continued on over the week.

He was optimistic when grass started to grow around the headstone.

He continued to be hopeful when grass started to grow.

In his excitement, he even roped a pot and began to drag it daily to the grave for if Soap were to finally sprout he can quickly take him back to the base.

But as time passed, and the grass has continued to grow. No sprout was in sight.

It's been more than a month and any sprouts would been up and grown into a seedling by now.

The sun was setting and the night began to creep up. Ghost whimpered. "Johnny...?"

"You promised you would stay with me Johnny, so why aren't you here right now?" Tears began to leak from his eyes.

"Ghost..." Ghost turned to Price who was standing behind him.

"You can't keep doing this, this isn't healthy."

"But! But he can still come back, I did so why can't he?"

Price shook his head. "I wish that could happen too, but even if it did, he would be here right now."

"NO! Just a little more time. We just need to be patience with Johnny like we always have." Ghost argued.

"Simon..." Price bent down and reached for him.

Ghost made no move to fight him as his hand closed around his body and lifted him up.

"Soaps gone. He's not growing Simon." Price said.

Ghost looked back at the grave, eyes darting around the greenery searching for something. His gaze turned back to Price when he didn't find what he was looking for.

He deflated in his hand, head hanging low and tears started to stream and damp his skin.

"He's really gone isn't he." Voice low and thick with sorrow.

Price nodded sadly and moved to put him close to chest.

Ghost whimpered. "I didn't even get to tell him goodbye. Didn't get to even tell Johnny that I loved him."

Price let out a shuttering sigh as he craddled and comforted his distraught lieutenant. "I know son... I know..."

(fin)

Thing from my twitter UwU

A part 2 alternate Happy ending 

[ants-personal]

hope season 2 has a plot point where a new witch or demon warlock whatever gets annoyed with the boys and crystal and so they do a spell that binds them to wherever their bodies are separating them and also then we get to see that

a. Edwins body has been gathering dust in the basement of the school shoved in a box in the wall out of sight out of mind and we get to see more flashbacks/trama with that (maybe even some mention of his parents a letter or a vist) but we also get a cont scene of charles choosing edwin over death and yeah the demon that took him is around cause the portal was open and he was summoned so he can come and go feedin on the torment the kids cause eachother thats amplifyed by his presence could go either way hes actually chill or he wants to take edwin back because the boy who escaped hell twice fetchs for a high price

b. Charles is stuck in the graveyard/town he grew up in buried with a small cracked headstone with simply his name and dates. We get more flashbacks of charles childhood maybe it isnt all bad but the darkness of his father always looms the man isnt even dead and yet theres a dark force he creates. He gets to see his mom up close when she sneaks out to vist his grave could be a touching moment that she gets to see charles since sadly shes probably dying and seeing her boy still young and happy makes it so when she does past on or tragically she doesnt get to hear or see him but he leaves a sign for her

meanwhile crystal has jenny help her find her friends while also trying to figure out how to break the stupid curse between edwins books the cat king or going after the curser head on

[rhaistars]

"Happy birthday dumb Dazai"

I woke up today. It was like any other day. Honestly, every day merges together. It's all the same. I got up from my bed and picked up my phone, noticing the date. "June 19.", my phone read. June 19th. My heart drops as I feel my throat grow dry. I shook my head to dismiss how I felt.

"This day again." I mutter to myself as i get ready for work, putting on my vest, coat, pants, choker, and my hat. Before I leave, I grab the bolo tie with a teal pendant, which was gifted to me a few months back.

Once I arrive, I begin walking to the conference room, meeting everyone in my ranks, as well as our boss, for the discussion pertaining to the upcoming missions.

"Ah, Nakahara I'm glad you could make it." Mori greets me, "Yeah of course I did." I gave a smug grin as I sat in my seat. The date never leaving the back of my mind. This is the one day of the year that feels different.

"So let's begin," Mori officially started the meeting, "You all will have assignments. Let's start with Kajii."

Mori started to talk about all the assignments we would have, like I expected. I had the one that was the most difficult due to my ability. I used to use corruption every now and then, but now I can't, so I still need to have slightly easier assignments so I don't kill myself like someone I knew.

"Alright, everyone, I assume you all will research what you need to do...at least a small amount so you're all dismissed. Have a nice day." Mori concluded.

One by one,everyone exited the room, other than myself. That meeting was two hours long, boring too.

"Excuse me, boss?" I asked before I left. "Yes Nakahara?" "I don't have an assignment for today, it's later in the week, could I leave work early?"

I saw the man contemplating his answer, I waited a few moments before he answered. "Sure. I appreciate you asking." "No problem boss." I nod then proceed to leave the room.

I continue to walk out of the building until I arrive at a flower shop. I walked throughout the shop before I finally choose a bouquet of roses, some red, some white.

I walk to the cashier, she was probably in her early thirties, and not much shorter than I. I hand her the bouquet, "Just these, please." "Ooh, who's the lucky lady?" She smiled. "It's for my ex-", I pause as I spoke, Clearing my throat in the process. "It's not for a lady, it's for my partner." "Oh I'm so sorry!" She waved her hands in front of her, obviously embarrassed. "Don't worry, it's not a big deal." I assured her.

"Uhm..9,664.10 is the price." She told me while wrapping the bouquet. "Alright." I take out my wallet and the respective amount of yen. "Here you go." I handed her the yen as she handed me my flowers, "Thank you Ma'am."

That whole deal was thirty minutes, I needed to pick the right bouquet for him. It's the least I could do.

After walking for fifteen minutes, I finally arrived at the graveyard, Of course, his grave was all the way in the back. I sigh as my heart feels heavy. I wasn't even there yet and I already felt shitty. Damn you.

After a walk that felt like forever, I arrived to his Headstone. "Dazai Osamu." I kneel down to the grave for a few moments before I place my hand into my pocket, grabbing the bolo tie.

I bring it up to my face and kiss the Teal pendent while I put the flowers down on the headstone. I feel my eyes start to fill with tears, I didn't care, no one was around. Soon they started streaming down my cheeks. My grip on the tie tightened, "Happy birthday stupid Mackerel. I miss you."

I'm sorry if this sucked I got bored tbh😭 if it didn't suck though, yippee

[anachrennism]

WAKE UP luke von obeyme you're gonna LOVE Salesforce - Lauren Bousfield (releasing July 7 2023) (available for pre-order now)

[josephquinnswhore]

At Her Mercy

Pairing: Simon “ghost” Riley x Fem! Reader

Summary: you’re needed to help guide the task force 141 group, when you meet ghost, it would tear open your wounds.

Word Count: 6.7k

Content Warning: mentions of murder, childhood abuse, physical violence, ghosting, heartless reader, typical cod violence, child death, bit of physicality between ghost and reader. Ptsd. No happy ending.

Note: I have a lot of requests and I’m sorry I just have so much Simon brain rot I need to get this out of my system. Sorry this is angsty. May be open for p2 idk lol.

You try not to linger around the grave too long after having sat here for 23 minutes, the longer you sat the longer it usually was harder for you to walk away. You couldn’t afford that attachment today; you had a plane to catch. Time didn’t stop for you, the world didn’t stop spinning and you knew you’d have to trudge through the metaphorical mud you often got stuck in again once you’d left; leaving was always the hardest part.

The clock on your wrist didn’t slow for you, the hands tick with each passing second you spent knelt into the unkempt overgrown grass at the cemetery. The headstone was old, in desperate need of a pressure wash to restore it’s original state. The arch shaped stone seemed to stand strong in the structure itself, your fingers had swiped the cobwebs off the top and base of the stone, clearing any critters that tried to make this memorial their home.

You knew you shouldn’t have purchased a whole bouquet of flowers, the bunch of red and orange flowers sat at the base where you’d carefully placed them upon your arrival, a mix of his favourite colours. You’d even purchased him a small gift, a hot wheels car, a red mustang with white stripes across the bonnet. He had always loved cars, playing with them and working on them; he mentioned a dozen times he’d wanted to be a mechanic, now along side him in his coffin; lie his dreams. A life unfulfilled and cut short at no fault of his own. It had been 10 years and 7 days; December 18th was the day your semi-normal but functioning life was stripped away; the day he was taken from you.

“Sorry I couldn’t come see you last week kid, I know I always make sure but things got-complicated. Hope you’ll forgive me.”

Things were definitely complicated. You were contacted by General Shepherd, you knew of him; being he was in charge of several units across the United States Military, including your section. He had a lot of contacts and if you worked for him; there was nothing about you he didn’t know. He directly had asked you to come and command the task force 141 team, alongside a man named Captain John Price.

-

“John Price is a good man and a damn good Captain.” Shephard stated, hanging off his last word on the laptop he’d called you on, his face could barely look at the camera.

“But?” You question impatiently.

“We fear he may’ve gone soft on the men here. We could use your..” he trails off, looking for the right word to use. “Resourcefulness and ruthlessness.”

“Do you think I’m ruthless, General?” You deadpan. His face pixilated as the wifi on your end fails to keep up.

“I’ve heard many a stories about you, Captain. Plane leaves in two days. John Price will meet you upon your arrival.”

“Copy that. I’ll be in touch General.” You shut your laptop screen, the call automatically ending as it meets the keypad.

-

You check your watch once more, the action becoming more frequent as the minutes passed, knowing you were cutting it close to missing the plan which left in half an hour to your new workplace.

“Sorry kid I better get going. I miss you everyday, still keep you near to my heart.” Your fingers trace the small ‘m’ letter necklace, the simple silver letter was attached to a small-link chain. Something that spent more time by your bedside table than around your neck these days-something you were ashamed to admit. The small trinket was one of the few items you owned of his, you tried to keep his memory alive as your brain often forgot what he looked like, the sound of his voice and laugh. The day you received this gift was one you’d remember until you died. You pull your mask up to cover the bottom half of your face, reaching underneath your eyes, closing yourself off and your vulnerability.

-

Christmas Day was always hectic in the household; spending time with your husbands family, his brother and wife, your nephew who was practically your own son.

“Hey, hey! I give up, put me down!” The boy giggled through his fit of laughter, short brown hair brushing the floor as you held him upside down.

“Gotta say the word otherwise you don’t tap out!” You manage through your own burst of laughter, his parents watching on with their own smiles, your husband watches you with a fondness and hope for your own children someday.

“Mercy! Mercy!” The boy squeals, finally. You set him down on the carpet gently, once he stands his cheeks are red and freckles are visible now more than normal.

He walks to the heavily decorated Christmas tree, bends down and precisely plucks a small, messily wrapped gift and hands it to you with a shy smile. The yellow Christmas lights shine in his blue eyes as he watches you expectantly, waiting for you to accept the gift. The first thing you notice is the outrageous amount of tape that secured the wrapping paper, the second was his messy hand writing that had scribbled your name, with a love heart next to his, you tear off the note and secure it in your pant pocket, too valuable not to keep.

“Do you think you can help me open it? I might need your big muscles to help unravel all this tape. Whaddya say?” He grins, nodding, helping you claw at the tape he had fervently taped last night after his parents had finally lent him some money he’d been begging for weeks.

Once the paper is gone, it’s exposed. The small white cardboard top that covered a black velvet box; the brand of a well known jeweller splayed in a cursive font on the box in silver. “This is so sweet!” You hum, completely delighted before you get the chance to even open the gift.

“Just wait till you open it! I think it’s neat.” He boasts proudly. You open the box, a small silver letter ‘m’ shines back at you, casting your reflection in the cursive letter. Before you can question him, he’s already starting to explain.

“It’s for Mercy, it’s something that reminds me of you when you’re not here. We always have so much fun playing together and I hope you like it.”

The tears in your eyes are fluent, your mouth is wet as you fill to the metaphorical brim of the cup with emotion, about to overflow. “Like it? Are you kidding, I love it. I promise we’ll come see you more often okay?”

“Yeah, that would be so neat!”

-

The memory replays as you’re sitting in the taxi to the Military airport, a junction that’s privately owned and used by few occupants that require urgent travel. The plane is being boarded with flight crew when you arrive; the army plane was one of many you’ve seen before; the dark grey would be a blip in the perfectly blue sky, like the little boy on your mind; his absence was your loss; your dark grey blip.

“Captain, please, let us take care of your luggage. Board the plane swiftly as we are on time and due to depart in 10 minutes.” You offload your giant luggage bag to a low ranking worker, his uniform clear indication he was what the higher ups call a shitkicker, or rookie. They were generally to stupid-or immature to be anything more than a servant, someone to fetch and do basic physical training until they were filtered out; booted or into the military as a low ranking soldier.

“Thanks kid.” You offer the younger man, kindness wouldn’t hurt with the rookies, you’ve been there and were there for two years-they were a necessity in the industry, without them there would be no new soldiers, no people to do the dirty work, like cleaning the toilets and washing the bedsheets.

The inside of the plane was nothing fancy, while it’s seats were mildly stiff and there was a lingering smell of cigarette smoke you didn’t complain, it was better than being seated where the low ranking soldiers were strapped, in the back of the aircraft with the luggage and whatever cargo they were shipping to the next location.

“Anything to drink, madam?” You look up to meet the eyes of a tired stuartess.

“Got any whiskey?” She nods politely and you pull the plastic tray down that’s attached to the seat in front.

“How would you like that made madam?” She’s pouring from a glass bottle, by the look of the honey coloured liquid, it was expensive.

“On the rocks, prepare me a second. Better make it a double.” You grab the drink, throwing it back and swallowing it in one go, the bitterness burned going down your throat, followed by tones of malt and honey.

You hand the glass back to the middle aged woman, she prepares you a double as you ask and you set the cup in front of you.

“If you need our assistance please don’t hesitate to ask, enjoy your flight.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Your voice is rough, the whiskey was harsh on your throat, despite the sweet after taste, it was harsher than you were used to, the ice adding a coolness that made your teeth sensitive with every sip of the liquid.

You pull out a small baggie from your top right pocket of your dark uniform, two small white rounded pills sit at the bottom of the small ziplock plastic bag. You fish out the pills, your fingers a decent size too big for it to be an effortless task. Getting disgruntled and sick of waiting another minute, you tip the baggie upward and crane your neck back into the seat, the two pills falling from the bag onto your tongue. The powdery residue on your tongue is bitter and unpleasant, you don’t take another second to pick up your glass and swallow the pills.

After a few years of using the sleeping pills, you’ve gained a small tolerance, it takes close to 15 before your eyelids start fluttering, the loudness of the aircraft starts to drown out, all the emotion from the gravesite seems to fade away as you fall out of consciousness, you would enjoy the peace as it came; no nightmares, no pain, just blissful ignorance.

You wake just as the plane lands on the runway, the loud screeching of the rubber tyres hitting the tar at great speed. To speed up the process of waking up, you gulp down the last of your whiskey, the beverage barely relieving the dry mouth the pills had caused you on a daily basis. You clear your throat and lick your lips, looking around at the view outside of the moving scenery as the plane circles around to its final stop, where two military grade unimogs full of soldiers await your arrival.

You adjust your black mask, the material clings tight to your chin as it drapes down your neck. A man approaches you as you walk down the giant ramp of the aircraft, the noise ceasing as the engines come to a halt, the blades rotating slowly as they realise their journey has ended. The man stands a few inches taller than you, his brown mutton chops frame his face, blue eyes piercing you with a friendly look that makes you uneasy, the crows feet around his eyes are a knowing sign of his stress. You don’t even want to get started on that stupid hat.

“John Price, Captain John Price. Nice to finally meet your acquaintance.” You shake his extended hand firmly. Believing all you need to know in a person is all in the handshake; take Price for example, he’s firm, friendly, a business man, his hand doesn’t linger for longer than it needs to.

“You can call me Mercy. Glad to finally meet you Captain Price. Shepherd hasn’t informed me much of your men, I hope they’re up to standard.” You begin to walk to the truck, Price has his men load your luggage into the back.

“I firmly believe they are, Captain.” He holds the door open for you to sit in the backseat, an unusually kind gesture for someone you just met.

“Guess we’ll see about that.” You deadpan bluntly. You had seen your fair share of failures in your time, leaders who weren’t harsh enough on their men, who didn’t correct their mistakes or claimed to be a family unit. You hated that dynamic, you weren’t here to build a family or make friends. You were placed here to help the men of this task force with their dedicated mission and get the fuck back to your own unit, you had your own men that relied on you.

“Hope you don’t mind the introductions will be made off base this evening.” You raise an eyebrow, turning to the man beside you.

“Is that so? Where exactly will this off base location be? Is the area secure, will you have men patrolling the area?” These are all necessary questions and this man had looked at you as if you had two heads, which answered your questions for you.

“We can have it arranged Ma’am.” You hum in distaste.

“It would want to be arranged, I don’t leave base unless I know myself and my men are safe. I’m sure you understand Captain.” You already showed no fondness to the man who was supposed to be leading a task force, how incompetent were the men he were in charge of if the Captain himself didn’t pre-organise this off base meeting.

The base was small, a dozen buildings, one awfully large one in which you would assume was medical. One in which you would hope is medical. The trucks come to a stop, you’re grateful for your mask that filters the dust in which stops you from inhaling the swirling storm of dust as you open the door. Your boots leave an indented footprint on the beige dust, the grass growing in patches and the buildings invaded with overgrown weeds that haven’t been touched in what you’d assume were years.

“If you’ll follow me ma’am, I’ll show you around base.” You pull out the small notepad and pen, scribbling down how someone needs to hire a damn maintenance man to clean the weeds and mow the grass.

You come to the largest building which is attached to the other smaller ones in a large D shape. As you walk in, the room is outdated and the stench makes your nose scrunch in disgust under your mask.

“Captain what the fuck is that obnoxious smell?” Price turns to you, slowing his pace to match your own as you look into the windows of the old, outdated rooms, trying to figure out where the smell is coming from.

“This is the mess hall, we used to have people cook for us but they were all fired when the government stopped extra curricula funding.” You frown, speeding your pace through the dirty halls of the building.

“Why hasn’t it been cleaned, or demolished?” You finally exit that part of the building. Price doesn’t have an answer for you. You write some notes in your notepad about the foul stench and lack of use for that building, writing demolish with question marks and drawing a big circle around it.

“This is where we sleep, we have a dozen men on base at the moment, myself and 3 others are the task force 141 team you’ll be working closely with, your room is this one right here.”

You come to a stop, room 5F. He hands you the key, putting a spare in his pocket. Your luggage is sitting outside the door already.

“Keeping the spare key for any particular reason?”

“For emergencies only, we’ve had an incident where someone had a heart attack and locked themselves in. He passed away before we could get to him. Just a precaution, that’s all.”

The room is stuffy when he opens the door, the single bed is topped with a 4 inch mattress and one old flimsy blanket and a flat pillow, you’re grateful you brought your own bedding.

“If you need anything give me a buzz, I’ll text you the address of the bar tonight.” He gestures to a small piece of paper on the wall, sticky taped on all four sides. Written Prices name and mobile number.

“Right. Thanks.” You drag your luggage in from outside the door, the wheels are loud on the floor as it squeaks. You begin to unpack your things, deciding to put up the image of your nephew on the bedside table, having cropped out your ex-husband from the image to show the two of you, an image from your last birthday you spent with him.

-

“I want a corner piece please, please!” The boy pleas, his love for the crispy par burnt edges of your birthday cake were his favourite. You slice him up a large piece, swiping your finger in the delicious yellow frosting that topped his oversized piece. You lean into him and wipe it on his face, earning a groan of protest from him as he retreats from you.

“I’m trying to eat it, not wear it!” You laugh, cutting your family each a slice of the cake your brother-in-laws wife had made. The sunflowers were handcrafted with such delicacy you were saddened to cut into them-let alone eat them.

“Alright, alright, I guess I can leave you unbothered. But just for the moment.” You push his arm with your own gently in a playful manner.

To your surprise, he pulls out a sunflower from beside the seat he sits on, you set the cake down and grasp the flourishing flower, inspecting the beauty and vibrancy of the perfectly bright yellow petals, it had been picked perfectly. Tears pricked your eyes as you held the flower.

“God kid, you know how to make me cry dontcha?” He grins, his mouth full of chocolate mud cake, “good tears, right?” You smiled at your nephew and he smiled back, “right.” Unbeknownst to you in that moment-your brother in law had snapped an image.

-

A picture you held dear to your heart, and now bedside. You manage to pull yourself away from the image-a painful memory in which all of him had become, yet you had to preserve as there was no one left that would do so. You refused to let his memory die.

You pull your mask down as you near the sink, a crusty mirror hangs above it, barely clear enough for you to see yourself as much more than a blur. You reapply the black paint to your face as some unwelcome tears had fallen and dropped down your cheeks, ruining the pigment of the paint. You brush your teeth, turning the tap on to see a musty brown coloured water before it turns clear, note to self, don’t drink the water unless it’s bottled.

You apply some deodorant before pulling your mask back upward, your hot breath is once again trapped in the confines of the mask as you close yourself off. Your phone vibrates on the bed and you check it’s a text from Price confirming the location of the ‘meeting’. More like a typical military piss up, these men will find any excuse to drink.

Price: “Bar at 112 West Highland Road. Neon green sign out front, be blind to miss it.”

You: “Got it. Be there soon.”

-

The bar was quieter than you expected, sure it had a few typical rowdy drinks, but nothing like any of the chaos you’d experienced in America. It doesn’t take long for you to spot Price, your eyes scanning every face in the room as if you’ve got facial recognition in your brain, just in case you need to remember. Price stands from his seat, 3 other men sit with him, one is significantly larger than the rest, he’s wearing a black hoodie and jeans, the rest you don’t see as he’s turned towards the bar.

You stand tall as you approach them, people moving out of your way as you barge into their shoulders roughly.

“Glad you could join us tonight. This is the rest of the team, Gaz, Soap and Ghost.” He points to his men and you shake the hand of Gaz first, “nice meeting you Gaz.” He’s got a bright smile that you find hard not to reciprocate.

“I’m John McTavish but you can call me Soap, ma’am.” You raise an eyebrow, two johns? Seriously? You shake his hand, “I’ll keep that in mind, Soap.”

The last man you approach is large, he’s tall and a black baklava with a skull print covers his face. His hoodie is pulled up and a black substance covers his eyes, his blonde lashes untouched as they poke through, his blue eyes are piercing as they stare through you. “Ghost eh, interesting. I like the look.” He looks you up and down before nodding. “Appreciated Captain.” He sets his drink down on the bar and you take a seat in between him and Soap, there feels something familiar about his accent, those beaming blue eyes and blonde eyelashes, but you chalk it up to him being British. “Call me Mercy.”

“How’d ya come up that callsign?” Soap inquires. You exhale deeply, this was going to be a long night.

“Before I answer any damn questions, I need a drink.” The bartender took your order, within the minute you had the drink sitting in front of you, pleading for you to drink it so it could take your pain away for you, deal with the guilt and memories you found to traumatic to continue to think about.

You take a sip and smack your lips. “It was an inside thing between my nephew and I, the name kinda just stuck.”

You finished off your drink and slid it back to the bartender who gave you a refill as you asked. “You got family back home then?” Gaz questions.

Thank god for the refill. “Negative. All deceased.” The men went quiet and you sip on the liquid, it warms you from the inside out, taking away the guilt and stripping you down to where you had no emotion on the topic. They murmur apologies and you feel ghosts gaze on you, his eyes felt dark and sinister, like he was distant from his physical body, he didn’t really feel there.

“You ever marry?” You grit your teeth, your jaw is clenching so hard you can almost feel your teeth grinding. The mention of your husband boils your blood, but also breaks your heart into a million shards.

“Still married, technically. Piece of shit ghosted me when things got hard, haven’t seen him since. First thing I’ll do if I ever see that sorry bastard is serve him the divorce papers I’ve been carrying for half a decade. Cant change my last name without the divorce being finalised.”

You throw your neck back as you finish off your second glass of whiskey. Your bladder feeling full from the beverage, your mind hazy and spinning already, the talk of your husband is making your head ache. You pull of your ID and card, throwing it onto the bench for the bartender, “excuse me a moment while I use the restroom, prepare another drink for when I get back would you?”

The bartender watches you hesitantly and mutters, “sure.”

-

The bartender tossed your cards back to the bench in front of you, attempting to sit them where you left them, seemingly throwing it too far as your ID rolls off the bar onto the floor beside your stool legs. Soap mutters, “fuckin idiot.” As he picks up your card, setting it back upright in front of your drink, noticing the last name, he does a double take. He thinks his eyes are deceiving him when he sees your last name- Riley. This surely is just a coincidence, right?

“Eh Lt, you seen this lass’ last name, might be a relation to you.” Ghost turns to soap, irritated by his shenanigans, but glances towards the card anyway and can’t take his eyes away from it. He sees you- her. His wife. It’s her face and her name, how did you get this? His wife hated the military, war and fighting, she would never join it, let alone become a Captain of her own army.

He felt his blood boiling, the alcohol in his blood seemed to fuel the fire swirling in his stomach. How wife was killed that night along with the rest of his family- it made him sick to his stomach having to think you could try and come into this talk force and betray him.

“You alright Simon?” Prices voice is unheard, the noise of the bar and the photo of his wife’s face brings back too many painful memories for him to focus on the reality. Memories that plagued his nightmares- of you and him.

-

“What do you think Si?” She twirls in the blue sundress for him as her hair falls over her shoulders, he can only smile at the sight of her, her beauty was immeasurable to him-incomparable. He had never felt this way before about anyone. In that moment, he remembers how perfect he thinks she would’ve looked swollen with his child.

His hands snaked their away around her waist, pulling her into his body. “You know I think you look fuckin’ perfect baby, always perfect.” She rolls her eyes at his compliment.

“This is a serious matter you know! It’s a wedding, people will be taking pictures that last many lifetimes, you look so handsome and I have to match it.” He remembers cradling her face, forcing her to look him in his eyes, “you look better than I ever could, baby.”

She smiled but shook her head, “no one could ever be more handsome than my husband.” She rubbed her hands up and down his white long sleeve button up shirt, smoothing out the collar which barely had a wrinkle in it post ironing.

“What’d I ever do to deserve you hm?” His voice was a quiet whisper, she’d worked through previous hardships, his struggles and scars she had kissed better and even attempted to stitch up when he’d come home because he blatantly refused to let anyone else touch his body. She had been there through the worst of it, helped him through his family troubles, stayed after he applied for the military and stayed up during the nights he had nightmares, his ptsd was severe for months on end when he first signed up.

“You deserve me Si, more than anything you deserve me.”

-

“Ghost?” Soaps hand was on his shoulder, shaking him out of his hazy memories of his old wife.

“Need a minute outside.”

As he pushes through the large crowd, he finds you already outside, smoking a cigarette that blows large clouds through the cool night air. You pull down the bottom of your mask, not wanting to be exposed to the larger man. He towers over you, something about his size and silence is both terrifying and has you feeling safe.

“Don’t like people seein’ your face?” You’re surprised when he asks, having not said much to you this evening.

“No one but myself has in a long time.” He leans up against the brick wall, standing too close for your liking beside you.

“You ever get sick of it?” You turn to him, squashing your cigarette underneath your boot, the red light fizzling out on the damp cement.

“Sick of what exactly?” You turn to him, an arm on your hip.

“Bein’ a snake, pretendin’ to be someone you’re not.” This makes you frown, your impatience coming in at an all time high, blood pressure rising as this man insults you.

“If you’ve got something to say, Ghost, I suggest you spit it out.” You snap accusingly, pointing at his chest as you stand tall, keeping eye contact and not intimidated by what he’s doing. You take a step closer and he comes off of the brick wall, standing a foot in front of you.

“You’re the enemy, have to be smarter than to use an ID of someone who is dead!” He snarls, his voice is booming as he swings at you, his fist connects with your stomach and it sends you sliding backwards on the wet cement. You exhale, steadying your breathing after the hit. You lunge towards him, ducking at the last second to avoid is hands trying to grab you, you kick as his knees and one falters, nearly bringing him to the ground, you had quickly figured out his weakness.

He levels himself on his leg, watching you with a look so furious in his eyes you want nothing more than to erase the look from your mind, if you had to accomplish that with violence-so be it.

He pulls out his knife from his boot, you scowl as he does so, “fucking coward, fight like a man!” You yell at him, he ignores you and charges like a raging bull, heavy footsteps slow in comparison to your nimble movements which allows you to narrowly avoid the knife he aimed to plunge into your ribs.

You pulled out your own knife, “wanna fucking okay dirty hm? Come on then you fucking prick! I’m not scared of you, I eat shitheads like you for fucking dinner.” You’re eyeing each other off, circling like predator and prey, although no one knows who is which yet. The rain makes it difficult to see, the drops falling onto your mask make it more difficult to breath through. Through the scuffle part of your hair had fallen out of its plait, the strand of hair irritating and blinding you as it sits in front of your eyes.

“Fuck it.” You growl lowly, tearing off your mask as you cut it with your knife, all while avoiding a blow from Ghosts forward attack, you pull your hair backwards and tuck it behind your ear.

The man freezes in place, his movements stop entirely, the knife falling from his hands, clattering onto the wet sidewalk. As he sees her-you, his wife. Your face is more matured, it’s grown into its features and you have a sternness he doesn’t recognise, eyes as cold as stone as you watch him fall apart before you. He notices a giant scar along your nose that has never been seen before.

“It can’t be, you’re dead, you died-“ he trails off, eyes wide as he watches you like a Hawk.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” You growl, confused and still pent up from the fight.

He doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t mutter a single word, he barely finds the strength to lift his hands to the bottom of his baklava and pulls it off his face, revealing himself for the first time in over a decade. He felt himself crumbling, so vulnerable and exposed to the world, his world-you. His wife and the woman he loved so much-loves.

You stutter for a moment before your face hardens again, you storm forward and shove him, your fists hit his chest so many times you can’t count, he doesn’t react, he just stands like a punching bag for you to let out your Pent up anger. You pull away from him, the thought of touching him and him touching you, made you nauseous.

“You piece of shit! You left me! For better or worse my fucking ass!” You pace the sidewalk, kicking the trash can as a decades worth of emotions come crashing down on you. “You weren’t even there for the funeral Simon! Have you even visited them? Since they’ve died, have you? I see Joseph whenever I get the chance.”

Tears are falling down your face at the thought of him, your nephew Joseph.

“Don’t talk about him.” Simon growls, obviously still a soft spot for him. You roll your eyes, “I thought you were fucking dead with them! When I ran through that house and didn’t find you I thought they’d taken you to fucking get back at me! I chased every piece of intel for years on end trying to find you.” He steps towards you, his big chest heaving. The street lamp above you shines above him, his face looking more scarred and handsome as ever.

“I killed every damn one of those motherfuckers and you were still nowhere to be found. I dedicated the past decade of my life trying to find you and you’re in the fucking military, alive and fine.”

You slap him across the face at his accusation.

“If you think this is me fine Simon Riley, you’re stupidly fucking mistaken. Now get the fuck out of my face! I’m your Captain, you’re dismissed! Get the fuck out of my sight.”

You storm away from him, sheathing your knife into your leg harness. Once you were far away enough and sure he couldn’t see you, you slipped on your mask and sobbed, uncontrollably against the wall of a building in the street, forgetting about the bar, the team and the ID you’d left behind. Screw all that, in the morning you were going home. The rain poured on you, your uniform heavy on your skin as it sticks.

You mindlessly walk until you reach base, not realising how far you’d walked until you ended up standing out the front of your room door with the key in hand ready to unlock the door. You exhale and close the door, removing your mask and grabbing a fist full of wipes to clean the smudged black face paint that had dropped down your neck from the rain and probably your tears. Fuck Simon, you couldn’t stay here, not when he was a constant reminder of the pain, your past was too much to have to relive everyday. The death, blood, the screams, the way he abandoned you.

You sit on the chair beside your desk, grabbing the photograph of you and Joseph before your emotionally exhausted body begins to slump over the desk, eyes fluttering shut before you can remember to take your pills.

-

You’re preparing Joseph’s things for a bath, his clothes laid down on his bed, his green towel and toothbrush on the bed. You’re about to call him up when you hear the front door bust open.

“Kill every last one of them, I want no survivors. Riley has to pay.” It’s a foreign voice you don’t recognise, the fear of something happening to your family and realising this is the end as they fire the first gunshot. The screams of your brother in law shake the foundation of the house as gunfire rings through the walls, his wife begging through her sobs for these men to stop, “we’ll do anything, please!”

Her pleas are ignored and she too is gunned down, silence fills the house, you sneakily hide in the bedroom closet in Joseph’s room, the door thankfully making no noise as you close the door shut, the old hinges working a charm for the first time ever. You can barely see anything through the tiny cracks of the closet door, the moonlight coming through the window is the only thing you see.

You hear footsteps running down the hall to your direction and you try to even your ragged breathing, you hear more footsteps running up the stairs, the thundering noise beats in your ears. You hear him crying, sobbing as he calls for help, for you to help him. You’re frozen, trembling in place as the kid stands there alone with a gun pointed to him in his own bedroom.

“He’s just a kid, can’t we leave him?” One man says, the other sneers at him, “boss said all of them, especially the kid.”

“No please!” Joseph begs before he’s gunned down, his blood splatters into the closet cracks and onto your face, you flinch and your eyes are wide as your nephew is ruthlessly murdered in front of you. You were too much of a coward to help him, you are compliant in his death.

The man walks closer to the closet, hand rattling on the closet door knob like he’s going to open it, then the sound of police sirens can be heard coming down the street, they’re coming fast and the red and blue lights are seen through the window, illuminating the room and the dead body but feet away from you.

“Hurry up and let’s get out of here. I ain’t goin to prison!” The hand releases the doorknob and trips over Joseph’s body, running downstairs as they escape the consequences.

Your body is trembling, stuck in a back and forth rock of trying to self sooth but to no avail. Your brain replays the scene over and over, him begging for your help and being shot by a couple thugs in a targeted attack.

“M sorry joey.” Is your mantra, you’re repeating it over and over, what starts as a soft whisper becomes a chant that attracts the police.

“Hey, we got a survivor over here!” The officer calls to his colleagues, trying to pry you from the closet. “What’s your name?” His voice is drowned out by your ears ringing, your dissociated state accompanied by the incoherence nonsense that leaves your lips, “mercy.” You mumble, mercy. That’s what you wanted, hoping the muttered word would stop the pain, stop the cruelty and stop the joke.

But it didn’t. Of course it didn’t.

-

Your eyes shoot open as you’re gasping for air, the scream that leaves your lips is one of genuine terror, your arms are thrashing and shoving the weight you feel on your arm as someone’s hand.

“It’s me, it’s just me.” You recognise his voice, Simon. Your heart is thumping and you sit up from your spot on the chair, pacing the small area in the room that Simon didn’t occupy.

“You have em too?” Your neck snaps around to Simon, glaring at him through your tears and wet face. “Of course I have them, I hear their screams and see Joseph killed in my head over and over on reply, as if it happened yesterday.”

Simon stumbles backward, shocked by your confession. “You- you saw him..” you rubbed your hands over your eyes. “Yes.” Confirming what Simon would never want to hear from you. You watched your nephew die.

“I don’t want you or need you in here Simon, I need you to leave.” He shuffles on his feet, his eyes torn between you and the photograph of you and his nephew on the table you’d just been cradling.

“If you ever want to talk-“ you cut him off with a scoff, irritated by his presence.

“I don’t. Now get out, I’m fine. I’m not here to make amends with you and sure as hell not trying to be your wife again, Simon. You were a shit husband, now please, get out.” You sigh, sitting on your bed, completely exhausted.

Simons heart shatters at your words, every wall he’s built comes crumbling down at his feet, he’s now left truly alone. The hope of you had kept him going- now what does he have? He simply nods, wanting to respect your needs, when he reaches the door you call his name, he’s hopeful when he turns around to see you barely a foot away when you hand him an envelope.

“Sign the divorce papers Simon. Please.”

It feels like his heart has been stomped on the for third time tonight, you were trying to sever the last connection he had to you, his last name. The only proof he had that you were ever his, that his family existed at all; he holds the papers tight in his hand and walks out of your room, leaving you to take out your pills and swallow them dry, having a sleep that’s uninterrupted by those plaguing nightmares, those pills, your poison, you were at her mercy and Simon was at yours.

[lost-technology]

To Those Lost and To Those Who Remain Trigun Ace Week Prompt 6: Found Family / Queerplantonic Relationships [IMG ID: Black and white image with grayscale background. From left-hand to right-hand in the background - silhouettes of Meryl Stryfe, Vash the Stampede and Milly Thompson. In the foreground is Wolfwood's wrapped Punisher, a massive weapon in the shape of a cross covered in fabric and belts. It leans as if placed as a headstone to a grave. Digital painting done in Corel Photo Paint / END IMG ID] With any family, blood or found, loss and grief are a part of it. Once upon a time, an improbably-pacifist gunslinger, a pair of insurance agents / disaster investigators and a priest/assassin formed tight bonds and a strange little family together. By the end of their story, one of them was gone, leaving those who remained with the memories. This piece was done and scheduled to post as it has a reality-subtext for me. On this day, January 19th, 2023, I lost a vital member of my own found family. My partner, his adult nephew and I were three geeks in a pod - and then we learned that our nephew had died suddenly. He'd had some health problems, but he had been getting better and his heart just giving out on him wasn't something we'd expected. Matt was the one who told me that Trigun, which he knew I was a nut for, was getting a reboot and one of the little things I miss is the fact that we didn't get to talk about it together, even though his classic anime reboot of choice was the new Lupin III. Matt loved Eevees and Transformers, dogs, cooking shows and good food. He has been missed every day. _ This piece is not so much a memorial to him as it is just a fulfilment of one of the prompts for Trigun Ace Week (regarding the importance of found families), but I chose to do something sad and regarding memorials. Vash, Meryl and Milly met Wolfwood and from then on out, their lives were never going to be the same. Their lives shaped his and his life shaped theirs. The rest of the odd little family remains, and this is a tribute to their remaining bonds. The price of love is grief. We keep those we love alive in the countless ways they affected us.

[bigassmoonchild]

Now I'm curious on how you planned to off Simon like non Canon maple syrup can we get his death or HC on How everyone deals with fucker dying

(i never actually wrote out his death, but i sat for close to ten minutes debating on going thru with it. also MEDICAL INACCURACIES as well as DEATH)

you had helped sedate simon, ensuring the doctors could check on him and make him comfortable. you sat next to him, watching his peaceful face while waiting for the doctors to return with the news.

god, you’d missed simon. he was your alpha, your mate and now the father of your child. these last few months without him hurt beyond belief. the knock on the door brought you from your thoughts, turning to watch the doctor walk in.

she had a rough look on her face, brows slightly furrowed and she wasn’t making eye contact with you. clearing her throat, she gave you a quick glance before opening the file she had in hand. 

‘ma’am, we’ve got the brain scan results back,’ she whispered and your heart sunk. you knew the way she was speaking, you understood why she was talking so softly. you’d done this before, but you could never have assumed it hurt this much.

she gave you a frail smile. ‘i’m so sorry, but his brain is shutting down. he doesn’t have long left,’ she whispered, finally making eye contact with you. you had thought you’d felt nothing when you were told he was possibly dead, but now you truly felt nothing.

a strange sense of numbness spread through your body and your eyes shut. you could feel the tears, hot and wet, dripping down your cheeks. there was nothing left of simon, but a shell of the man he had once been.

your lover was gone, even if his body was still breathing right there. you were alone.

the doctor stood there as you blinked back into it. ‘could you bring his pack, please?’ you whispered hoarsely, feeling the burning of your nose with more tears to come.

how could you love a man who had continuously hurt you, someone who couldn’t even decipher his own emotions? because he was all you had.

you knew nothing you said or did would bring back your mate, but you could feel the pit in your stomach with the realization you’d have to inform them. price and soap, gaz and everyone he’d ever made a connection with.

the knock on the door jostled you from these thoughts and you saw them come in, moving around simons bed. ‘is he gonna be alright?’ price whispered and you shook your head.

‘we were too late,’ you whispered to the group, dropping your head down into your lap and letting the sobs out.

and for weeks you lay in your nest, surrounded by the slowly fading scent of simon. surrounded by all the memories you would never have with him, left alone to raise the pup.

the pack left you alone to grieve. all of you were grieving in your own way. price buried his sorrow with simon, leaving barely enough to get by with his own omega and pups.

gaz found himself training harder and harder. he wanted to be better, faster. make sure he knew exactly what to do in any scenario. he worked himself thin trying to just be better.

soap was hit almost as hard as you, trying to find ways to have corrected what happened. he worked himself to the bone trying to figure out what he could’ve done different to save simon. he spent countless days and nights trying to fix his wrongs but he couldn’t.

he never would’ve been able to do anything different, he hadn’t even been on the mission.

it was raining when his funeral was held. price and the rest of the pack stood around you as you watched your lover, your mate be lowered into the ground. you’d bought a beautiful headstone, it stood tall, with just the same amount of broodiness that simon would carry himself with.

you’d brought flowers of all kind, laying them around his now covered casket as a final goodbye. kissing his headstone, you stood and allowed price and the others to help you home.

for some time after his death, you’d wished for a boy. hoping without hope that he would grow to be similar to his father, but without the same level of emotional constipation his father had.

and it was soap who took to helping you as the months wore on, soap who took you just after your birth to introduce your pup to simon. feeling the love wash over you, even through the pain when you’d realized alpha wasn’t there.

he would never see any of the firsts or lasts.

that grave plot was where your pup introduced you to their own, laying fresh flowers where they had died. and lying just under the newest member of the family, you and simon laid together.

[the-froschamethyst4]

Easter Breakfast

𖤐Pairing: Hook up! Gaz x F! Reader

𖤐Pronouns: She/Her

𖤐AN: If I have to cry, you have to cry

𖤐Warnings: fluff, angst, morning after, aftercare, language, sad ending, more use of Kyle, the ‘L’ bomb, short fic, blaming Price,

𖤐Summary: When Y/n and Gaz hook up before he has to leave for duty. He is usually before the sun even up, but today was different, and Y/n doesn't know why?

————

————

6:00AM

Y/n yawns when she hears birds chirping and the sun just barely poking from her curtains. She rolls on her back and looked to her left seeing an empty bed.

He quick hook up was gone for the day. He probably had to get back to the military base. She sits up and grabs a shirt off the floor and opened her bedroom door, but a scent of freshly made pancakes filles her nose.

She was confused and walked downstairs seeing a tall man, gray sweatpants and no shirt.

"Kyle?" He turns when hearing his name. "What are you still doing here?" She asked.

"Oh good morning...thought I'd make you some pancakes, I know how much you like them," he says with a smile and scraping a pancake on a plate.

He then pushes the plate across the counter and smiled at her. "I found strawberries, bananas, syrup, whipped cream, and some chocolate chips, make it how you like it," he says.

"I thought you were gone. You usually are by now," she says, sitting at the counter. She looks down at the plate and saw the pancakes made a little bunny.

"Thought...maybe I leave too soon and thought maybe you deserve a few things."

"A few things?" She asked.

"Yeah, homemade pancakes, I also have a few gifts for you."

"Gifts? Kyle, you didn't have to. I didn't get you anything."

"Nah, it's okay, it's okay," he says. "It's just for you."

He walks off and went to go grab a paper bag and come back placing it in front of Y/n. "I didn't have time for wrapping paper and I couldn't find a gift bag either."

Y/n opens the bag and looks down in it and then pulled out a small light tan teddy bear with a small dark army green t-shirt with 'Task Force 141' on it and Kyle Gaz Garrick on the back.

"Kyle? What's this for?" She questioned him, looking up at him. "I don't understand, what is this for?" Gaz and Y/n aren't a couple, so what's the teddy for?

"Just to show my love for you," he says. Y/n felt some sort of suspicion going on, why is he, a hook up, doing all of this?

“Kyle…you don’t this ever! What the hell is going on? Tell me. I’m not going to be mad or anything…” she asks him.

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“Okay…I’m going on a year long mission…it’s…it’s going to be in Russia and my Captain says…we may…we may not come back…”

“What?” Y/n was shocked. “You might not come back-THAT’S FUCKING SUICIDE! You are going on a suicide mission and you’re okay with that?!”

“I don’t have a choice, Y/n…” he says with his mouth open and taking in a sharp breath. “I leave tomorrow morning. That’s why I didn’t leave right away like normal…I wanted to spend more time with the one person…that…that makes me feel happy and loved…I know I’m just a hook up but I’ve learned from you and what we do together and you make me feel happy…I love you, okay?”

"Kyle," she gets off the stool and placed her left hand bend his neck pulling him down into a hug, his arms immediately went around her waist holding her tightly. "I love you too," she felt tears in her eyes.

Soon they fell and she buries her face into his shirt.

-----------

Rain hits her umbrella, she stares down at the head stone, reading his name to herself and tears fells from her eyes again.

"I miss you," she says to the headstone. She bends down and placed her hand over the photo of Kyle, smiling in his Military uniform, he surprising looked happy in that photo and not forced like all the others she's seen of him.

Going home was hard because of the memories that were made in her home, so she moved from Manchester to Yorkshire to get away. She lives happily in Yorkshire but misses Kyle dearly.

She comes and visits his grave every so often, when she thinks about him really. She placed a sunflower down and touched his grave once more.

"I love you," she says before leaving the graveyard.

As she heads to her car she sees his friends dressed in tuxes and looked sad for Y/n. Kyle use to talk about Y/n all the time.

"Came to pay respects as well?" She asked, sounding a bit sarcastic towards Price. Price and the guys were badly injured but Kyle paid the price with his own life, while the others were just in the hospital and came home to their families.

"Y/n-"

"Don't...I'll be leaving, so you guys can pay respects to him..." Y/n blamed Price for Kyle's death, he had a chance to save Kyle like he did with the others, but Kyle 'didn't want to be save,' is what Price told Y/n.

She didn't believe that.