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wavesoutbeingtossed · 2 years ago

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Thinking about “evermore,” as you do, and something struck me about it this afternoon.

One of the things I love about the song is its imagery. It’s a song about the depths of grief and sadness (and depression), but instead of saying it explicitly, it’s all about conveying it with the mood. E.g. “Gray November, I’ve been down since July” = been in the pits of it for months, “Motion caption put me in a bad light” = freeze framing a bad time in your mind (or in the minds of others), “I replay my footsteps on each stepping stone, trying to find the one where I went wrong” = mulling over your actions over and over again trying to figure out if it’s something you did that has led you here, what you could have done differently to prevent this from happening, etc. “Writing letters addressed to the fire” = thinking of the million different ways you could have said something (or done something) but never being able to do anything about it, basically screaming into the void. And so on.

You’ve got all the imagery of being stranded alone in the winter cold, waves crashing, etc. Which on the surface lends itself to the “Victorian cabin” mood of the folklore/evermore era that Taylor talks about in her speeches every night at her concerts, but obviously stands in for feeling lonely and alone and unbalanced, and fighting your way back to yourself after going through the depths of despair.

One of the curious parts I’ve been thinking of is that the verses and the chorus are very self-centered — not in a narcissistic way, but in the sense that it’s very much about the narrator’s feelings of loss and isolation. Then the bridge hits and in the cracks of light “I thought of you,” dreamed of you, etc. Because “you were there,” and thats’s when the story flips from insurmountable pain to the first rays of hope by the end of the song.

But the one part that really struck me today was, “And I was catching my breath, floors of a cabin creaking under my step,” specifically because she’s talked so much about the fantasy cabin on tour. When I used to listen to the song, I loved the imagery (and sound) of that line, because she’s finally on solid ground after being tossed and turned in the water, but in light of how she’s talked about where her imagination took her in 2020, it also strikes me (intentional or not) as a metaphor for that whole uneasy period of the pandemic lockdowns. Taylor has talked about how the fantasy cabin sparked her imagination and set off this creative streak that hasn’t really stopped since. I almost wonder if “floors of a cabin creaking under my step” leading into “And I couldn’t be sure, I had a feeling so peculiar, this pain wouldn’t be for evermore,” can also be seen as, using this creative outlet (her music/the cabin) to process these feelings, and particularly in that point in time, to ground her and bring her back to herself. The creaking floors being the reminder that she will be whole once again, the metaphorical creaking in her mind being the spark of ideas leading to her most introspective work. “It was real enough to get me through,” like getting lost in these fantasies was enough to get through the worst patch, and in the end, it’s what ended up bringing her back to life (metaphorically of course).

I don’t necessarily think that was what the song set out to be, but given the narrative around the cabin in her mind etc., I just think it’s a neat coincidence at the very least that when she was feeling unmoored and “on waves out being tossed,” the metaphorical floors under her reminded her (and by her, I mean whoever the narrator was or will be) that the ground will be steady again under her, because it always will be when she goes back to doing what she loves.

Anyway. I love this song, why do you ask?

#Taylor swift #me thinking too hard about taylor lyrics #evermore #can you tell I kicked ass in English lol #look I know the song is (probably) about joe #but despite being a fan of the music for years I am a new online fine #*fan #and I’m not used to specifically assigning each song to a person #I just listen to the music lol #ANYWAY #whoever the song was initially about she’s clearly reassigning it #and probably towards her music/fans #so anyway

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ahoonterisahoonter · 1 year ago

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Horror In The Hills, Chapter 1

I've never shared my writing publicly, but I just finished NaNoWriMo and I thought I'd give it a shot. So, here's the first chapter of my new novel.

Happy Hills is perhaps one of the most poorly named establishments in history. For one thing, it is built into a mountain over two miles above sea level, an elevation that no sane person would refer to as a hill. Secondly, no happy thing has ever occurred in, around, or in relation to Happy Hills. It is a sad and lonely place, where people come to drink deeply of their own sorrows and find no solace. Every small town has a heart: a building, institution, or family that typifies the place and around which it organizes. Happy Hills is that heart for Learston, Colorado. The rest of the town is just as sad, lonely, and booze-soaked, a true cesspit of despair. Despite its height, Learston seemed to be a deep pit into which the pathetic drained, never to be free again. This was the environment into which I was born.

Everyone I knew from my earliest memories was a drunk. My father went to Happy Hills every night, and eventually made it home about half of them. On those occasions when I did see him, he was nothing more than an empty husk of a man. He died in a car accident when I was ten, and it barely felt like I’d lost anything, so slight was his presence in my life. My mom was a much more functional alcoholic, who managed to maintain a veneer of sobriety during most of the day. Only as the sun went down did she truly indulge, washing away any thought or feeling and leaving me alone in the night. Just eight months after my father’s accident, she succumbed to cirrhosis of the liver. My uncle, two cousins, and several childhood friends have all been consumed by drink, each meeting some alcohol-related death.

I say all this, not to disparage my town, and certainly not to sully the memories of my deceased relations, but simply to give the reader an insight into the mindset of my youth. I saw nothing but a long slide into depression and drinking, ending in accident or overdose. The reader may, perhaps, then better understand my feelings when the Franklin party came to Learston. Here was a different vision for my future. Here were adults that were healthy, hopeful, athletic, accomplished, and most importantly to my young self, free. That is why I have been for so many long years obsessed with their case, their disappearances and deaths. For me, that group of hikers represented a new path in life, a different way forward. It opened my eyes to the possibilities of life, and ultimately set me on the path to leaving Learston for a better life than any that awaited me there. To contrast these beacons of hope and promise with the actuality of their grisly demise, it set my mind at odds with itself, leaving in me a rift that I’ve spent a lifetime trying to heal.

This book is the culmination of that journey, and I will warn the reader that it contains fewer answers than I would have liked. However, it does bring to light many things that were previously unknown, and it weaves together a more cohesive understanding of what happened. Ultimately, the truth cannot be fully known. The only ones who can tell the story are the hikers of the Franklin party themselves. Still, I am not entirely a stranger to the tale. I was wrapped up in it nearly from the beginning, and this book is in many ways the story of my journey to discovering the truth as much it is about the hikers themselves. This is the story of the Horror in the Hills.

As with any good story, it is important to begin with an understanding of our principal characters. Most treatments of this subject begin with the group’s eponymous leader, Adam Franklin. I, however, will diverge from tradition and start by introducing the town of Learston. At the time these events occurred, no reports paid much mind to the town, it’s only connection to the party being their brief stay there before heading deeper into the woods. This made some sense then, but any further investigation makes it obvious that Learston is key to understanding what happened.

Learston, Colorado was founded in 1899 by Timotheus Lear. Or, rather, it was founded in his name. Timotheus never actually stepped foot in Learston, nor is there any record that he even traveled west of the Mississippi. More accurately, the town was founded under the supervision of Roger Stevenson, the foreman of the T. Lear and Sons iron mill. The mill was the original heart of Learston, the original bait that trapped the ancestors of many of the town’s modern day prisoners. From the first, the TL&S was an attractor of misfortune and ill news. Less than a year after the mill began operations, two workers were killed in a molten spill. One of them, an unidentified man in his late 30s, was completely buried and burned away to nothing in an instant. The other was less fortunate: Wan Shi Long, a recent Chinese immigrant, had his legs caught in the flow. Others rushed to his aid and pulled him free, but everything below his mid-thighs had been consumed by the fiery metal. Another day and a half passed before he eventually succumbed to his injuries, a period in which he never ceased to rant and scream about a dark presence that caused the spill. Official investigations determined the spill had been caused by a malfunctioning hinge, which had broken and dropped a vat of iron. TL&S was found not to be at fault.

Although that incident had cast a pall over the new endeavor, it continued to grow. This development was rather shocking to many experts who had been consulted regarding the mill. It had been determined long before a single hammer ever struck rock that there wasn’t enough iron in this remote area to justify the mill’s placement. Their assessment seemed born out by the mill’s poor financial performance and pitiful output. Still, it grew. In 1899 there were 22 workers living in makeshift shacks scattered haphazardly around the central building. Just three years later, in 1902, the mill employed over 200 workers. An additional 400 people had moved into the area, including wives and children. In that time, four more workers were killed in three separate incidents, with TL&S being found not liable for any.

Timotheus died in the tail end of 1902, and his son Matthew took over. Matthew took a much more hands-on approach to managing the Learston mill than his father. Despite its position as the least productive of TL&S’s many ventures, Matthew moved to the remote town, where he lived out the rest of his life. Under his guidance, the mill’s, and by extension the town’s, prospects seemed to brighten. Nearly a decade passed without any major injuries. The town continued to grow in this period, albeit at a much slower rate than the first few years, peaking at a high of 1,237 citizens in 1910. If one were to stop studying the history of Learston in this year, they may predict its fortunes to follow a similar trajectory to countless other similar towns scattered across the American West. Perhaps it would continue as it had, amassing more business and citizens to patronize them, or perhaps it would falter and fade out of existence, with its inhabitants at the last leaving for somewhere that fell in the former category. Learston, however, was not like those other places.

1911 was an especially bad year. The winter seemed especially brutal, accompanied as it was by a wave of illness that claimed nearly one sixth of the population. During February of that year, an avalanche destroyed the only road leading down the mountain. This essentially cut the small town off from the outside the world, isolating an already suffering people. It was during this trying time that a strange aspect of the region was first noted: there seemed to be a great dearth of fauna. Hunters tried their best to provide for the starving town, but they were unable to catch much of anything beyond a few small rabbits and squirrels. Elk and deer, notably, were completely absent from the area. The hunters were, however, able to bring in an abundance of birds in a variety of species; a variety that was not only surprising for an alpine winter, but that was unexpected for that part of the country at any season. The road was repaired and reopened in May, which was the last good thing to happen to Learston. Not one month later, the TL&S mill exploded. The official story was that a large store of dynamite that had been purchased for mining but never used was stored safely underground, but flecks of molten iron had, over time, bored holes down to it. Something got through one of these holes and ignited the dynamite, claiming the entire mill and all 300 workers on duty at the time, including Matthew Lear.

With the town’s heart destroyed, this would be the normal time for the town to die off, as widows and the unemployed fled for safer harbors, starving off the businesses that had sprung up to support them. Learston persevered. 1911 saw the opening of the Happy Hills bar, which has limped along ever since. A few families did move out, but the vast majority remained. The historical record is unclear as to how the stalwart Learstonians made a living with no industry to speak of in the area, but they pushed on. In this way, Learston continued. A sad main street has a few rundown businesses, but most of the town’s inhabitants are unemployed. Only six people moved in over the next 60 years, and nine moved out. All the rest of the population’s fluctuation is attributed solely to the two portals through which we all must pass.

So it was that, in 1971 when the Franklin party arrived at Learston, the town looked nearly identical to its turn-of-the-century predecessor. It would, however, not remain that way for long.

#writing #writers #writers on tumblr #nanowrimo

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ditsydaydream · 4 years ago

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Feelings of Frisson

Newt (TMR) x OC

[part 2 of 2]

Frisson: a sudden strong feeling of excitement or fear

‘Winston you have to start taking better care of yourself.’ I insisted, wrapping his wounded forearm in a clean bandage.

‘Sorry, Florrie.’ He said, sheepishly, slightly wincing at the bandage.

‘This is the third time in the past 5 days I’ve had to bandage you up. Half of my bandages are being used on you. Honestly, it’s like you deliberately butcher yourself to come and see me. I joked.

‘Yeah…So where’s Newt?’ He asked.

‘Bedrest.’ I finished tying the bandage up and put a little bow at the end, Winston smiled. I grinned back at him, as I started tidying away my herbs and bandages.

Suddenly, Ada flew into the Med Hut, slamming the door open.

‘The box. It’s coming up.’ She gushed, breathily.

But it’s not due for another week?’ I questioned; my eyebrows arched.

‘We know.’ Ada replied.

Every Glader was sprinting over to the rising Box, Winston, Ada and I bolted out the door to join the crowd of confusion that was gathered round. I slid to the front of the crowd, desperate to get a good glimpse at whatever was happening.

Gally pulled the metal doors open. The box was bare, no supplies, no Greenie, nothing was in it. Except a single scrap of paper, that was crumpled up on the floor. Confused looks flew around the Gladers. The whole situation was suspicious. Gally jumped down into the Box, landing with a large clang as his boots hit the rusted metal frames, and picked up the flimsy paper. He uncrumpled it, a black marker had scrawled ‘Florence’ on one side. Underneath it was some smaller black scribbles.

Gally’s eyes roamed the paper for a second. He quickly folded up the note, and handed it to me. I leant down and grabbed it, still confused.

‘Everyone back to work.’ Gally ordered.

Protests came from the Gladers.

‘They can stay if they want. I’m sure it’s nothing bad.’ I hoped.

‘Trust me, you don’t want them here for that.’ Gally said darkly, herding the grumbling Gladers back to their jobs. ‘Go to the Med Hut, get some privacy, I’ll wake up Newt.’

Newt had dislocated his shoulder yesterday whilst helping the builders move some supplies. Clint and Jeff had help me pop it back into place and I told him to take a day of bedrest, he protested but eventually I got my way and he’d dragged himself off the hammocks and dozed off.

‘C’mon, he was hurt, he’s resting – do we really need to wake him?’ I argued, my mind now in a frenzy and panicking over what disastrous thing could be on the paper that had made Gally so deadly serious.

‘Yes.’ He said solemnly, taking off towards the hammocks.

Ada nodded at me reassuringly. I jogged over to the emptied Med Hut, clutching the note so tightly in my hand I felt my nails dig into my palms.

I sagged down onto one of the beds, in a state of terror of what the note could say. Trying to convince myself it couldn’t possibly be that dreadful, I took a deep breath before opening the crumpled paper.

‘Florence

This note is in regard to your pregnancy’

I turned the fragile note over, revealing a paragraph that had been hurriedly jotted down.

‘The Glade is unsafe for children. It would be inappropriate to raise one here. You and the other girl subjects in the Maze are forbidden from ever having offspring.

This pill will terminate your pregnancy. You have 60 minutes to consume the pill. This is a direct order. Failure to comply will result in the execution of Subject A5, known as Newt.

~ The Creators’

A small red pill was strapped to the bottom of the paper. I didn’t doubt it was an empty threat for a second, I don’t know how they’d kill Newt but if these people had the power to put us in here without any memories, they could slaughter him like a dog.

I didn’t realise I had been holding my breath, until my lungs begged for air. Letting out a loud gasp, I dissolved into the kind of despair that can take one's mind prisoner and never give it back. I sank down to my knees onto the hardened wooden floor. My chin trembled as if I was a small child. I breathed heavier than I ever had before. I was gasping for air that simply wasn’t there. My throat burned forming a silent scream. I released the most hysterical cries, the screaming sobs only interrupted by the need to draw breath. I cried as if my brain was being shredded from the inside. Emotional pain flowed out of me like a dam bursting. My mouth released a cry so raw, I felt dust fall from the support beams

Tears streamed down my face, they pooled into a small puddle of salty sadness below me, as my hands were placed on the wooden floor, the only thing keeping me from collapsing.

Barely able to breathe, I gripped the paper tightly, watching my tears soak the fragile note. This wasn’t fair. They can’t do this. I don’t have a choice.

My breath was as jagged as sharp rocks, but I knew what I needed to do.

I ripped the red pill off the paper, and discarded the paper, watching the pill lay in my palm. Panting, I whispered, ‘I’m sorry’. I snapped my eyes shut. I threw the pill into my mouth. I swallowed it.

Newt charged into the room; panic written all over his face. He saw me, sobbing like a child on the floor and quickly pulled me into a hug as he fell to his knees. He tried to soothe me, he stroked my hair gently and rubbed my back but my heart-wrenching screams wouldn’t cease.

‘Florrie, love, what’s wrong. What happened? Are you okay? Is the baby okay?’

Words failed me and I just continued sobbing into his chest, letting my heart bleed its pains. Newt picked up the discarded note, his eyes scouring the paper, horror consuming his face.

‘No.’ He gasped, in shock, tears welling in his eyes. I sat back from him; I saw the heartbreak on his face. He looked like a broken shell of a person.

‘Florrie, where’s the pill?’ He whispered, his voice fighting off a sob. ‘Where’s the pill?’ He repeated, his voice slightly firmer.

‘I’m s-sorry.’ I sobbed, my voice catching on my hysterical weeps.

Realisation dawned on his face, he looked like someone who had just had all the joy stripped from their life. He wrapped his arms around my neck and pulled me into his body, cradling my head as my tears stained his shirt.

‘You didn’t have a choice.’ He reasoned, I knew he was pretending to put on brave face for me but inside he was breaking like a shard of glass.

For a while, we just stayed there, holding each other. Our hearts were beating next to one another, and I felt as if without Newt’s arms wrapped around me and keeping me grounded, I’d slip into a deep sleep and never wake. His care was like a life support machine, keeping me alive when I didn’t have the strength to. And after today, I didn’t know if I’d ever had the strength again.

These ‘Creators’ had taken so much from us, I was terrified of how much more they would take, because God knows I couldn’t lose anymore.

‘I’m so sorry, love. They can’t do this to us.’ A mix of grief and rage intertwined in his trembling voice. Newt’s mouth turned into a snarl and he radiated fury. But the anger was nothing but a shield for pain, like a cornered soldier randomly throwing out grenades, scared for his life, lonely, desperate.

‘It’s not fair, Newt. It’s not. They took our child from us.’ I wept.

‘I know, love. But I promise, when we get out of here, we are going to make them pay.’ He said darkly, a growl in his voice.

A ball formed in the pit of my stomach, I recognised it as an old friend, my thirst for revenge. I changed that day, became bent on destroying the Creators, became a fighter. These people had taken everything from me, my memories, my family, they had tried to take Newt but I fought for him and I won.

They weren’t people, they were monsters. And I’d fight against every last one of them.

#planetnaptune #tmr series #tmr thomas #tmr alby #tmr newt #newt x reader #newt deserved better #newt fanfic #newt maze runner #newt imagine #the glade #scorch trials #the death cure #the maze runner fanfic #maze runner oc #maze runner #tmr fanfic #tmr fandom #fanfic

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gotdreamsagain · 4 years ago

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The Beast You've Made of Me

With the appearance of Alaric Saltzman and his gaggle of supernatural misfits, Kai Parker is given everything he needs to escape his prison world with an added bonus: no one remembers him. So, when he finds himself in 2031, the world is his oyster, but there’s only one thing on his mind: Bonnie Bennett.

Dedicated to @koiporker

note: self repost

Triggers: Death, Abandonment, Violence, Blood, Drug Mention, Gore

For all the years Malachai Parker had been seeking salvation from his prison, he’d never imagined it would come in the form of a magical mud pit of all things. It wasn’t much to look at, not nearly as pretty as first ticket out of a prison world, nor was it as entertaining, but he wasn’t going to complain. Whatever lied beyond it’s murky depths had to be better than this, if only for the sheer fact that he’d known he hadn’t let the witch win. So, after making his final phone call in dear old 2018, he tossed the phone he was using across the room, and prepared himself for the most anticipated swan dive of his life. With a sigh of relief, and a smile in his face, the heretic leaned back on his heels and let himself fall. As he was engulfed in the mud, the last clear thought he had was one name: Bonnie Bennett.

---------------------------------------------------------------

When he emerged from the pit, covered in sludge and muck, it wasn’t until he stepped food on solid ground that he let himself take a deep breath. It didn’t feel real until then, and then the realization truly struck him, and the gemini let out a laugh. He was out. He was really out. All at once he felt his emotions hit him like a ton of bricks. Excitement. Fear. Anger. Despair. All of those emotions culminated in a wave of nausea that over took him, and as easy as it would have been to turn it all off, he didn’t. He needed that anger, and that fire, and most of all, he needed a clear head.

As the heretic’s laughter died down, he wiped his face, his eyes first, and then past lips that were silent but still bright with a smile. “ Son of a bitch, I made it. ” There was no one else to here his declaration, not a single soul, and yet, he found himself saying it again. “ I fucking made it. ” In the glow of the candlelight, he let himself enjoy it for just a few moments more before his thoughts turned back to those emotions, and why they were so very important.

First to come off were the gloves, the digit less fiends sliding off into a slimey mess of the ground. Next came the jacket, which lasted a few moments longer, but only long enough for Kai Parker to further wipe off his hands with the dryer bits on inside before it met the same fate of the gloves. With his hands as clean as they’d come for the moment, he reached into his pocket, and pulled out a mostly clean sandwich bag from his pocket, having been saved a muddy grave by the jacket. No, the thing was practically pristine, and he could even see the jam covered finger prints he’d left on it before Josette’s family had so rudely barged in. No matter, none of it mattered now, all of it water under the bridge as he held up the bag to the light, smiling even wider at the sight of the contents: a button, the only thing a witch had left behind when she’d left him in that karaoke bar.

He’d thought he’d just been too lucky whenever he’d found the lone silver button lying over by the karaoke machine inside the bar years ago after Alaric’s rejects had set him free. It had reflected the red light up at him mockingly when he first saw it, and he wasn’t sure what had enticed him to pick it up, but when he did, he remembered where he’d seen it before. A witch had been wearing a jacket with the same button when she’d damned him to live out his worst fear, and made the soundtrack of his hell a song he hated. In that moment he’d store the thing away, knowing when the time would come, it would be his ticket to finding her. Now the time had come, and he was only a shower and a locator spell away from returning the favor. Don’t worry Bon Bon, I’m on my way.

---------------------------------------------------------------

In all the times he’d pictured it, he’d try to imagine what the Bennett would look like after all the time they’d spent apart. Would she have smile lines burned into her face from years of gracing the world with its warmth, or crows feet around her eyes that came with time. A million questions had crossed his mind, and he’d imagined thousands of possibilities, but none of it was as satisfying as seeing all of those ideas proven wrong by the real thing. No, Bonnie Bennett didn’t have any laugh lines, or crows feet, no, she looked just like he remembered her. Smooth skin, green eyes filled with fire, and lips that could drip with honey or venom, if you asked nicely. The years had taken nothing from her but time, and that was exactly where he wanted her.

The heretic had expected to find the Bennett in Mystic Falls, playing the role of the martyr as she always did. The one who sacrificed so her friends didn’t have to, the witch stronger than any of them reduced to little more a pawn in their eyes, it would have even been comical if it wasn’t so sad. Instead, the locator spell had led him to small market in Georgia, admiring the witch as she looked over the produce. He hadn’t bothered with a cloaking spell, he didn’t need one, not when she wouldn’t remember her anyway. Toying with the apple in his hand to seem preoccupied, he couldn’t peel his eyes off of her as her focus stayed glued to the contents of the basket hanging on her arm as she moved down the aisle.

“ Are you looking for something or are you just going to keep staring? ”

The familiar voice caught him off guard, but it prompted a sly smile on the face of the heretic. It was only when the green eyes he knew so well met his own that he answered her query.

“ Oh, no, I found just what I was looking for. ”

With that, he wasted no time closing the gap between them, grabbing the item directly to her right with a smirk. Her own eyes looked at him accusingly, but she didn’t say a word as she went to step away and lowered her gaze from his own.

“ Where are my manners, Kai Parker. ”

There was no reason to lie, it’s not like the name would mean anything to her, or the rest of the Scooby Gang, or anyone else for that matter. He was a ghost, a phantom, and not even the brilliant witch before him could be able to put the pieces together.

“ Bonnie Bennett. ”

He noticed the slight inflection in her voice, it was the same way she’d talked to Damon about him before she’d learned of his sins. It was cute, damn near adorable actually, to see history repeating with the witch, unknown to her. The Bennett witch was suspicious of him. Clever girl, Bon Bon. Then again, she always had been. Always the clever one, the smart one who thought she could get away anything, but she wouldn’t get away from it this time. While Malivore had been his saving grace, he would be her own slice of hell. If he couldn’t send her there, he could give her just a taste, and she wouldn’t get away so easily this time.

“ It’s nice to meet you, Bonnie Bennett. ”

He watched her hesitate as he offered his hand, the same skepticism in her eyes as always as she finally reached out and took his hand. Feeling her magic humming beneath his finger tips, it took everything he had not to drain her dry right there. It’d been so long since he’d had it, even a taste of her magic was enough to keep him running on a high for days, he was an addict, looking for a hit, and he had it right in his grubby hands. His eyes focused on her jugular vein, thinking about how easy it would be to tear it open with his teeth, how pretty she’d look in her own blood pool on the ground when he was done with her. One move, and that would be it. She could be dead before she hit the floor, the way she should have been eighteen years ago when he’d given Damon the ultimatum. But he’d waited this long, he could wait a longer. Just a little longer.

“ New to town, Kai Parker? I’ve never seen you here before... ”

He wasn’t surprised when she didn’t return his greeting, and the suspicion lingered, though he didn’t really care as the sound of his name on her lips sent a shiver down his spine, the way it always did, whether it was said in a scream or a whisper, it didn’t matter. It was almost like nothing had changed, well, almost nothing.

“Yes, actually. Just got done with a long and unexpected vacation, so I decided to drop by and visit an old friend, might stick around for awhile.”

Dropping her hand, he moved down the way, taking some time to look at the options presented to him, but none of them were what he wanted. It wasn’t the food he was hungry for. The witch could have turned away and walked away, but she didn’t, and he knew she wouldn’t. In some ways, Bonnie Bennett was too nosy for her own good, and that was exactly what he was counting on. As he browsed, he felt the familiar green eyes on him, examining him, trying to figure him out. If only you knew, he thought coyly to himself with a smile. He let it go one for a few moments, pretending not to notice, the same way she had, hand firmly wrapped around whatever had been in front of him on the shelf before he piped up.

“ Are you looking for something or are you just going to keep staring? ”

This time he caught her off guard, and he cocked his head to look at her just in time to see it in her eyes as she was caught red handed..

“ I - ”

There’s no time to let her make up an excuse, he’d done that way too many times to fall for that.

“ Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind gorgeous babes staring at me in grocery stores but .... ”

Ever more flustered, he could even tell her cheeks were starting to get warm as she tried to regain her composure. Bonster sure looked good, even when she was trying to dig herself out of a hole.

“ I wasn’t staring, I was just - “

Now he couldn’t help but chuckle, taking his opportunity to cut her off one more time.

“ Staring. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone, it can be our little secret Bon Bon ”

The only saying rang in his ears as he made her his promise. Two can keep a secret if one of them is dead. Oh well, he wouldn’t have to wait long for that, and he was sure one more secret wouldn’t drown him in guilt. At that, the Bennett witch managed a small smile, and her signature eye roll.

“ Okay .... thanks. ”

As the witch turned to walk away, he felt like he’d won this round, even if she hadn’t known she’d been playing. He could have stopped her, kept the conversation going, lulled her further into a sense of safety, or even just raised her suspicions for the hell of it, but instead he let her go, almost letting her out of ear shot before calling out to the witch.

“ Until next time, Bennett? ”

He was smug, confident and cocky with his question as he raised an eyebrow at the witch. Turning back to glance at the Parker, the Bennett offered him a small smirk.

“ Assuming there’s a next time, Parker. ”

“ Maybe there will be.”

“Or maybe there won’t. Goodbye, Kai.”

“Bye Bye, Bonnie.”

Thirteen years may have passed since the last time they’d spoken, and the world may have moved on without him, but Bonnie Bennett was the same as she always was: cocky, stubborn, sarcastic, fire still burning in those emerald eyes, exactly the way he wanted her. She could run, but she couldn’t hide, and it was only a matter of time until next time, and next time, she might not be so lucky. You can run, Bonnie Bennett, but you can’t hide. One way, or another, I’m going to find you, and I’m going to get you.

#bonkai fanfic #bonkai #bonnie bennett #kai parker #malachai parker #• ship ♡ bonkai #• character: bonnie bennett #• character: kai parker

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fizzyxcustard · 5 years ago

Text

I Will Be Beside You.

Fandom: The Hobbit

Summary: From the recently posted imagine “Imagine you think Thorin detests you. In fact, he’s madly in love with you but has personal reasons for keeping away”. One night in Lake-town, you decide to confront Thorin about his behaviour towards you, but his response is FAR from what you imagined.

Pairings: Thorin Oakenshield x Fem!Reader, Thorin Oakenshield x Human!Reader

Warnings: Angst (LOTS OF ANGST!), tooth-decaying fluff

Word count: 1121

Comments/Notes: If you wish to be added to my tag lists for a particular fandom, character, or even everything, please send me an ask or a private message and I will add you. As always, all imagines I post can be requested as fics. This one wasn’t requested, but I just had the urge to write it. I’m now also going to put in my descriptions the music I listened to whilst writing this.

Music inspiration/listened to for this piece: ‘Compass’ by Two Steps From Hell (from the album ‘Miracles’)

Masterlist of fan fiction here

After the celebrations in the town square with the Master of Lake-town, all of you retired to Bard’s house, clambering under blankets to keep yourselves warm. There was chatter in the air, excitement and apprehension about leaving Lake-town and getting to Erebor on time, before the last light of Durin’s Day.

You helped Tilda and Sigrid make warm drinks for yourselves, Bard and Bain. The Dwarves were enjoying more intoxicating beverages which would no doubt put them straight to sleep for the night. Thorin had ordered you be the one to wake everyone to make sure no one was late for the boat journey towards the Lonely Mountain.

All the time that the drinking went on and the laughter rose, you couldn’t help but remain distant, cut loose from the rest of the Company. Even Bilbo was enjoying himself, the first in quite some time since the beginning of the quest. Thorin, you noticed, as usual, had his arms crossed, inspecting everyone else. Then his eyes met yours; his expression remained stern, almost angry. Why was he like this? Why did he hate you? You felt the pain of hot tears and a lump rose in your throat.

Angrily, you stormed outside into the cold air. Flurries of snow were falling around you, and high above, stars were beginning to peep out from behind thick cloud.

No one came to look for you. No one had noticed you disappear. They had all been too caught up in their own merry-making to notice your sudden exit from the house.

You couldn’t understand why Thorin detested you the way he did. His answers were always short, snappy and whenever you stood in front of him, he scowled. Was it because you were a woman? A human? The rest of the Company treated you well enough and called you one of their own, but Thorin made you feel like an outcast and something that needed to be watched at all times and not trusted.

Time slipped by and you lost track of how long you sat on the bottom step leading out of Bard’s house and down to the walkways which made up the town built upon a lake. The cold was becoming painful now and you shivered, your arms clasped so tight to keep in any last ounce of warmth that you had somewhere inside you. But you knew you couldn’t stomach going back inside.

Footsteps came, banging hard down the steps and then a voice spoke. “What are you doing out here?”

Anger within you hit full tilt and you shot around, your entire upper body facing Thorin as he descended the steps. “Why do you talk to me like I’m nothing but excrement on your boot? Why do you hate me somuch?” Your shoulders shuddered in grief and frustration. “What have I done to deserve you detesting me?”

Thorin stopped in his tracks and felt nothing but shame, pain, guilt….and love. That was all he had ever felt for you: love. Nothing else could ever come close to what he felt for you. Even the red hot hatred that burned in his gut for Azog the Defiler was nothing in comparison for his love for you. The love was consuming him piece by piece and watching you cry made him clench his fists in disgust at himself.

You turned away from Thorin and continued to weep. “I’ve done nothing but support all of you, and even put my own life at risk…”

“Shhhh,” Thorin’s hushed tone came, and he picked up your hand.

Your head rose from its position against your chest and through teary eyes, you looked upon Thorin. His face was full of concern and sadness, grave sadness.

“Forgive me,” he whispered and kissed the back of your hand. “Hate is something I could neverfeel for you. Of everyone in my life, you are the last person I could hate.”

Your chest lurched and butterflies began to flutter in your gut. “Why? Why have you…”

His words cut you off. “I carry burdens on my shoulders and no one else should ever have to bear them, least of all the one who has my heart.”

You gripped Thorin’s hand tighter, your fingers lacing in his, and you turned in towards him. “Your burden is carried by all of us, Thorin, and you don’t see that. Every one of us: me, Bilbo, all of the Dwarves who heard your call to them; we carry that with you.”

For the first time since meeting him, you saw Thorin smile. His eyes sparkled with hope, love and absolute joy.

You leaned forward and placed a kiss on Thorin’s brow, lingering there for a few seconds. “You are so loved,” you whispered. “You have no idea how much.”

“Do you forgive me for acting in the way I have?” Thorin asked, his voice a whisper as you rested your head against his.

“There is nothing at all to forgive. I just want to ease your burdens and be beside you.”

Thorin lifted his head and looked upon you for a few seconds and then he swept you both into a kiss. It was so quick that you lost your breath, being completely caught off guard. Thorin’s calloused, yet gentle palms cupped your cheeks, and his fingers dried your tears. Both of you held each other tight and deepened the kiss, feeling warmth rise.

As your kiss ended, Thorin was still smiling. He took your hand again in his and looked upon both of them, joined. He chuckled, finally feeling his heart soar, rising from the pit of anguish and despair.

“I want to come with you tomorrow,” you told him, speaking against his previous demand that you stay in Lake-town.

“It is far too dangerous for you, my love,” Thorin told you, the smile slipping from his face. “We may all find ourselves cast into dragon fire come this time tomorrow, and that is not a fate I wish for you to endure. If I am to die, I want to die knowing that you are still able to live a life of happiness.”

“I’d rather die next to you than have to live the rest of my life without you,” you replied, feeling tears fall down your cheeks again.

“There is not only Smaug to consider, but my grandfather succumb….”

“I know what happened to your grandfather, and I’ll be there with you. I will be beside you.”

Thorin’s gaze left yours and he looked down at the wooden slats beneath his boots and then lifted his head back up, looking at you. “If we are to find ourselves victorious, would you do me the honour of being my Queen?”

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#thorin Oakenshield #The Hobbit #Fanfiction #Imagine #Thorin Imagine #Thorin Oakenshield Imagine #The Hobbit Imagine #Thorin x You #Thorin x Fem!Reader #Thorin x Chubby!Reader #Thorin Oakenshield x You #Thorin Oakenshield x Fem!Reader #Thorin Oakenshield x Reader #Fluff #Smut #Angst #Insecurity #Love #Requited Love

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maine-writes · 4 years ago

Text

22. Happy Birthday Vonvon!

Another day in Beach City. The salty sea air washed over the boardwalk, the waves crashed upon sand and stone, and seagulls wheeled overhead, their warbling cries echoing through the evening sky.

But this was no ordinary day in Beach City. It was July 22nd, Vonvon Maheswaran-Universe's birthday, and they had a lot to do.

Every year, they would spend the afternoon in Funland Arcade, collecting tickets from the ball games and Meat Beat Mania. Mr. Smiley never really minded that they would occasionally cheat, not that day.

As with every year, the child would approach the prize counter with a tangled mass of paper tickets, Mr. Smiley would have their prize neatly wrapped up in a box with a bow taped to it, and he would wish them a very Smiley birthday before they'd leave.

Next stop: The Big Donut. Before Vonvon was even through the door, the one employee, Bill Dewey, would be waiting with a box of donuts and a birthday card. Inside was an assortment of that morning's finest donuts, plus a few extra Pink Lars donuts.

By now, the child had a box from Mr. Smiley, a box of donuts, and their green duffle. But they still had one last stop before the big event.

Mr. and Mrs. Maheswaran always wondered about what Vonvon was up to in Beach City on that day. But they would always tell the elder Maheswarans that they were hanging out with friends. Rather than pry, they'd wait for the child's return that evening, with their favorite biryani.

Fish Stew Pizza and Beach Citywalk Fries, the two oldest food establishments in Beach City. Old Fryman and Kiki and Jenny Pizza would always wait for Vonvon to come by for their gift, a French Fry Bit Pizza, extra tomato sauce. No visitor to the boardwalk would find this on either restaurant's menu, this was something special for the child.

With kind smiles, they would wish Vonvon a happy birthday as the child left for their destination.

Far away from the city, beneath the abandoned lighthouse, there stood an ancient stone temple, an old house built within. A chainlink fence surrounds the structure, a few signs warning off any trespassers hanging off of it.

Every year, Vonvon would sit in the sand, under the watchful gaze of the stone statue, to watch the sky turn color. They set the boxes down and dug through their bag, producing a framed picture of their parents; Steven Universe and Connie Maheswaran.

After setting the picture in the sand, Vonvon opened Mr. Smiley's gift, a pair of glow bracelets, and set them in front of the picture. Then they took a couple paper plates from the bag, put a slice of pizza and a donut on each, and set them beside the bracelets.

Happy with the set up, Vonvon let out a sigh of relief.

"Hi Mama, Papa." They began, taking a ukelele out of the bag. "It's me again. It's been a wild year. I'm learning how to play, just like you Papa!"

They gently strummed at the ukelele's strings, the subtle notes, like the soft sweetness of flowers, was carried by the breeze.

"Met some friends of yours." They continued. "I-...I've been meaning to ask them about you. What you're like. Where you are."

As they listened to the sounds of the ocean and their strumming, a inkling of a thought crossed their mind, like a spot of oil seeping through a crack.

"I can't wait for you guys to come home." The child continued, ignoring the thought. "I want to hear about your adventures. I dream about it sometimes, being on some distant moon, fighting a gem monster. I sometimes dream about how you guys are on some distant planet with big crystal spires and a glowing green sky. You guys would come back on a cool alien ship, and we'd hug and everyone would welcome you back."

They remembered the look on everyone's faces that day. Even though everyone smiled, wishing them a happy birthday, their eyes betrayed them. There was sadness, worry. No matter how careful they were, they couldn't hide their concern.

"Everyone misses you." Their fingers slowly slipping away from the instrument. "They wonder if you're okay. Some of them think you'r-...you're...even Grandma..."

"I-..." the child muttered, clawing at the warm sand beneath, a sick feeling building in their stomach. "I dreamt..."

Images and sounds slowly seeped into their mind. An angry yell, a thunderous shatter, a familar, desperate cry, and a blinding light.

"I-...I just want..." The gross feeling climbed up their throat as they tightly clenched the sand between their fingers.

"I just want to be happy."

The world around them suddenly faded away, dissolving like an illusion undone, and they fell into darkness. In the nothing, they saw it; the shadow of the monster that lurks in their nightmares, a massive creature with mirror-like eyes. Fear gripped their heart as they saw themselves within the shadow's eyes, their own, rage-filled eyes leering back.

A cacophony of doubt swelled within them. Their own voice, distorted and dark, echoed in their head, their body wracked with pain.

"You'll never be happy. They're dead." Said the other, its twisted, cracking form reaching out from the reflection. "You've seen it."

In their dream, they saw shadows, a massive hand ripping out a pink gem. They heard a desperate cry, and saw a shattered sword.

As anger filled their body, Vonvon was cloaked in rose-colored light, and with a single punch, they shattered the reflection. The massive shadow let out an ear-splitting roar as its body cracked.

They continued to strike at the mirror, with each punch, they would cry. Tears streamed down their face as they gave into the despair that festered in their heart.

And then they felt something different. A lone butterfly landed on their nose. As they looked through the insect's crystalline azure and crimson wings, they found themselves back on the beach. As the butterfly fluttered away, they noticed that they were now sitting in a concave pit, the sand had been compacted, hardened by force.

Seeing the remains of the gifts scattered around the dome, Vonvon frantically searched for the picture. They found it partially buried in the sand, the frame broken and the glass cracked.

As they looked at the kind, loving faces in the picture, they were overcome with remorse, collapsing into the sand and crying.

Soon, the sorrow subsided, and Vonvon wiped the tears from their face. As they looked up at the starry sky, they pictured their parents, on some distant planet, looking up as well.

"I love you."

As Vonvon gathering up what remains of the gifts to return home, they noticed that in the center of the pit, where they had been, there were claw marks.

@artsycooky13

#VonvonMonth2020 #Happy Birthday Vonvon!#the day they realized that there was a monster within #dream powers are tricky

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observedchaos · 4 years ago

Text

Fic: Favors the Brave (1/1) [Jaime x Brienne, Tyrion]

Posting so that I don’t chicken out of cleaning it up and posting to AO3 later

“WHAT DID YOU DO???”

Tyrion lifted his head muzzily from his desk to see Fury incarnate hovering over him.

Like every true sinner, a part of Tyrion had known that there would be a day of reckoning. What was a thrill without the threat of danger?

Though he had rather imagined his headsman resembling his father, not this...gargoyle having a bad hair day? Tyrion squinted with heroic effort but the haze of a proper hangover won.

"TYRION, WAKE UP, DAMN IT!"

Hmm, the sound of the Fury seemed familiar. Was it an ex? Gods, he hoped he wasn't so cliche. That would be humiliating. Wasn't his type more backstabber than frontstabber?

Who else, who else? He had always thought there was something off about Varys…

No, wait it was Brienne Tarth.

Tyrion patted her muscled arm in relief. Brienne was mighty but merciful. She would rescue him from the consequences of his ale-soaked misdeeds.

Whatever they may be.

Tyrion found he couldn't remember much at the moment. Only the most unshakeable pieces of identity remained: his name, the view straight up Father's flared nostrils when Tyrion delivered a perfect bon mot, and every curve of the '77 Playwench centerfold.

"WHAT DID YOU DO, TYRION?"

The question sank in that time. Sank in like an arrow right into his aching head. Words. He must find words to fend off Brienne's vicious volley.

Words, his old friends. He had dedicated his life to sowing adjectives, japes and invectives across the land. Rude of them not to bear fruit in his time of need.

Finally, a lone weed wound its way to the surface.

"Offended the gods," he croaked.

There. Those were words that resembled a sentence. Take that, foul Fury! Of course, his tongue was so dry it may have sounded more like "often the goths." In vino, visigoths, Tyrion chuckled to himself.

"There’s no time for this! What did you say to that woman??”

Brienne was implacable. It had been amusing when Jaime was the one to tease her into anger. Like watching a gladiator poke at a saintly lion. To think, his brother *liked* her this way. Jaime was a braver idiot than Tyrion had given him credit for.

"Woman?"

"The one time I need you to talk!" Brienne groaned in despair. She might have clutched her tragic hair. Tyrion was too busy trying not to puke to be sure. Brienne regrouped and fetched him a glass of water. Bliss.

"Tyrion, focus. Last night. You went inside that tent and when you came out you said that you 'fixed it.' What did you fix? What did you do to Jaime???"

"Jaime? Tent?"

"That stupid red tent at the carnival you MADE me go to last night! THINK, TYRION!!!"

How had he never noticed that her voice was more forceful than a battering ram? Merciful Mother.

"Not so loud, woman, please."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Does your head hurt? BECAUSE I WILL TAKE IT OFF YOUR NECK IF YOU DON'T TELL ME WHAT YOU DID!"

Shock that she was capable of sarcasm jolted his brain into gear. A very rusty third gear.

“Brienne, if you are going to be dramatic, then I will have to be sensible and no one wants that.”

Brienne hauled him forward by his shirt with such force that Tyrion felt his wing tipped shoes take flight. Their disparate sizes meant her hand nearly spread collar to cock. Fear shook him sober.

"Yes, ok. I am trying to remember. I swear it." Tyrion scrambled for purchase and details that would jog his memory. "We went to a carnival? Why in the world would you and I go to a carnival?"

"You were moping! You said we had to go where we belong!" Brienne's fist clenched. Unfortunately, so did his windpipe.

Less unfortunately, gurgling her name fueled enough guilt to loosen her grip.

Tyrion had never been so glad to have his feet on the ground. Rolling his shoulders in relief, he felt his freshly oxygenated mind rev with curiosity. He *did* like a puzzle.

A carnival. That might explain the calliope music merrying around his head.

"Walk me through last night, Brienne. From the beginning. If I have the big picture, maybe I can remember the details."

She took a deep breath. Brienne slipped into the cadence of an officer delivering a shift report, something she and Jaime had surely done hundreds of times when they served together in Essos. Calm was Brienne’s specialty. Jaime often called her a robot, with mirth in his eyes. Outside of her hearing, Jaime had told him that her stoicism was the only reason he still had two fingers on his right hand. Tyrion didn’t have words for the look in Jaime’s eyes, then.

"You and I left work at the same time. Jaime was picking you up because you were sad after… Chai?"

"Shae." Tyrion's throat was dry again.

"After she dumped you. Jaime insisted that I come have a drink with you. We went to a bar you hated."

Tyrion rubbed his head. "Were there...there were hubcaps on the wall. And they dyed the ale green."

"Yes! You told Jaime it was like playing a symphony with a kazoo.” Brienne smiled fondly. “He laughed so hard he…"

Tyrion took a swig of water as his interrogator trailed off. She had a bad habit of sharing details that made her affections too apparent. It was hard to watch.

"We had an appetizer but then Jaime got a call." She blinked too quickly as she stumbled on. Another tell.

"From Cersei. She called and he came running." An all too familiar pit formed in Tyrion’s stomach.

Sympathy briefly returned to Brienne’s face. "You were upset. You ordered shots and...people were looking. Then you dragged me to the carnival. Mostly I tried to keep you from falling on your face as you told me that Jaime would always choose Cersei.”

Truth was bitter. Tyrion had run out of wine to sweeten his tongue.

“He will, you know,” he snapped. “I’ve watched him do it a dozen times. You dragged him out of the pits of hell in Essos and not even you can save him from her. She ruined him the day she met him. She’s the main attraction and we’re the sideshow!”

Brienne flinched. Her left hand smoothed the skin of her right thumb in an absent gesture of anxiety. Tyrion cleared his throat in apology.

“He feels responsible for her somehow,” he said gently. “She trusted him when he needed someone to need him. We were never good enough for our father but he was exactly what Cersei wanted. Because he did everything she wanted. Terrible deeds did not feel terrible if he did them for her. Then he saw what she was but he couldn’t take back what he had done. Jaime thinks he doesn’t deserve...anything better.”

Seeing his sorrow reflected on her face was unbearable. Deflection, then.

“And how else did I charm you last night, my lady?”

“You cursed fate for making you beautiful but unloved. Then you literally flung yourself onto several women and screamed ‘once more unto the breach!’"

"Ah, yes. Well, I suppose I do get a bit theatrical when I’m drunk."

Brienne glared at him. "You disappeared when I was helping one of your poor victims up. I found you an hour later coming out of that red tent with the burning heart. "

A burning heart. Tyrion’s pulse quickened. “Jaime. I wanted to help Jaime.”

I tell desires, not fortunes. An impossible memory. A woman’s eyes flashing red. Smoke stinging his eyes. A voice from the embers....We all must choose.

“Please, Tyrion. You said you ‘fixed it.’ I thought you were just drunk but then this morning…”

Tyrion clutched Brienne for balance. He spoke without hearing the words. “I wished for Jaime to have a second chance.”

A clang from the outer office jarred him from his stupor. He toppled over as Brienne rushed to the blinds. The slats crumpled like paper in her hand as she peered through the window of his office door.

“He’s here.” She looked scared. Tyrion had never seen Brienne look scared before.

His assistant’s voice drifted in. “M-m-m-Mr. Lannister?”

The door opened. It was reckoning day, after all.

From the floor, Tyrion saw the face of the man he had looked up to his whole life. A face that he hadn’t seen in over 20 years.

Blond hair untouched by grey. Trouble-free eyes. 10 fingers.

Jaime was 16 again and his heart burned bright gold.

#jaime x brienne #fic #game of thrones #tyrion lannister #my fic #writing wrongs #brienne of tarth #I need to learn formatting #braime #I feel like I said their names 8 million times #wishes #modern au #writing this fic made me realize that I am a tyrion (sans booze) and I will have to live w that knowledge #be gentle

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moody-bloosh · 5 years ago

Note

For the yandere prompts: 17 with Abbacchio please?

w-well… since you asked so nicely,,,, oh who am I kidding,, I love me some goth daddy

content warning: yandere, violence, homicide, manipulation

repetitio (Leone Abbacchio)

Your phone buzzes in the middle of the night, stirring you awake. You groan as you glance at the clock on your nightstand: 3 in the morning. You want to ignore the call, but you assume it must be something important. Perhaps your partner finally had a break in the case you guys were helping out with. Seems some new hotshot detectives from upstairs had finally gotten tired of all the corruption within the precinct and decided to take it upon themselves to try to get to the bottom of it. The discreet case was only known to you and a select few, knowing how Passione has its strings in almost everything. Your hand blindly gropes for your phone on the nightstand beside you, your fingers moving on muscle memory to answer the call. You peek to check the caller ID and sure enough, its your partner.

“Hello?” You said sleepily, “this better be good.”

Your partner is silent for a moment and you wonder if they misdialed. Your partner’s name is barely out of your mouth when they finally speak. Their words finally stirring you awake.

“You damn dirty cop,” they hiss, so hatefully, so spitefully that it sends a chill up your spine.

“E-excuse me?” You sit up this time, it was too early for fucked up jokes like this.

“You’re disgusting, thinking you can play with people’s lives like this!”

“I-I don’t understand… what are you say-“

“You’re going to get what’s coming to you,” your partner snarls, “you won’t get away with this.”

The call cuts off before you can even get another word in. Sitting in silence in the warm embrace of your bed, you close your fingers around the phone. Did Passione get to them? What- what was going on? You don’t hesitate. You head to their home to investigate.

So selfless, so foolish, that was what he loved about you.

Your hands tremble as your gaze falls upon the paperwork on your partner’s desk. An incriminating report painting you as the ringleader of police corruption within the precinct. You walked right into their trap. You shouldn’t have come, but if you didn’t… damned if you did and damned if you didn’t. You curse, casting a regretful look at the vomit by the doorway, you couldn’t help it. The stench of blood was so thick and the sight of your partner, or rather what was left of them. Their head was bashed in so hard you could see bits of gray matter all over the carpet. You cried then, right there on the floor, holding yourself as you wept for the loss of your closest and most trusted friend, your partner in the line of fire and, some small part of you was hoping. Your partner for life.

But you can’t dwell on that anymore. You have to move. You know what this will look like and you’ve already tainted the crime scene with your presence enough. You have to do something, prove your innocence in some way but how. Despair nips at the pit of your stomach, would you even be able to do anything? How wretched, how cruel this world was. Snuffing out every good and pure thing until only ugliness was left. So this was what it meant, to chase after meaning and justice, this was the reward. A painful and lonely death.

No. You couldn’t submit to this fate, there were embers still, little bright spots that you can still cling to. You mumble a goodbye to your partner before you leave. You run to the only other person you can trust.

You’d known him even before he became a police officer, you’d known him when you’d spend afternoons playing hide and seek in the park, sharing popsicles, and walking home together from school. You’d followed him and his dream of being a policeman, meant to uphold law and order. And even after his duplicity was discovered, you refused to believe it. He could never, perhaps he was framed, like you were now. That’s right, Abbacchio would help you.

You knock frantically at his door, you stand for a few breathless minutes before he stumbles, opening the door. He takes in your disheveled state, the bits of dried blood on your clothes your and then he’s shuffling you inside, leading you to his living room and ushering you to the couch. It is in the comfort of his home that you break, telling him everything. You don’t even realize you’re crying until he is wiping away your tears with his finger. And then you crumble.

“Why- why did they have to die,” you whimper as you lean into his embrace. “W-why- why is this happening? Why is this world so fucked up?!”

Abbacchio cradles you in his arms as your body is wracked with sobs, as you grieve for your partner, as you weep at the unfair situation you find yourself in.

“I’ll protect you,” Abbacchio whispers, his voice so gentle and kind. “I’ll keep you safe, remember that, _____.”

“I’m the only thing keeping you safe from a filthy, disgusting world.”

You step willingly into the prison of his making.

There are things he keeps only to himself, things he must hide from you to safeguard your happiness. Never mind the fact that you can’t ever show your face in polite society again, that was just how he wanted it. You sequestered in his home. No, what he couldn’t ever bear was the sight of your tears and knowing that he is the cause for it. Some days, his resolve wavers. Some days he wishes he can tell you the truth to comfort you when you wake up from a nightmare.

‘It’s not your fault, it’s mine. I’m the selfish bastard who’s making you suffer.’

You cling to him when you cry, words slurring as you recount the details of your dream. He holds you as you weep, his arms around you as if to steady your trembling form. He holds you until you drift off once more. He never wanted you to suffer, he never wanted you to have to endure all those terrible nightmares. But then, you look at him like he’s everything that’s right with the world, as if he’s still that idealistic idiot you’d trailed after in school. Like he is still whole and worthy, and he reasons that if two lives were all it took to have you in his arms, to have your love and adoration, then it was all well and good.

Because you are his and he is yours.

And no one can take that from him.

It had been months since he’d last seen you, he couldn’t bring himself to show his face to you. But when you reached out to him, on one sweltering afternoon, your smile still as radiant as he remembered, it felt like he’d never left you behind. You had given him a big hug and then dragged him someplace quiet. You chatted excitedly as you told him about your latest case, something about snuffing out dirty cops in the police department. He tries to remain impassive, dismissive even with his curt replies but you persist, insistent on catching up. He can’t help it, seeing you again brings back reminders of senseless, carefree days spent at school, when he still had something to believe in. He can’t help it; he snaps at you. Did it please you to see him brought low? Disgraced and shamed, barely even able to show himself in public, tormented by his sins.

“What are you even doing talking to someone like me?” He sounded so worn, so broken, the tone of a man defeated. “Don’t you know what I’ve done.”

He was so different from the man you looked up to back at school. But despite all that, despite his flaws he was still that same person you knew. That same person you’d adored so much. You can’t help it, your heart bleeds for him. It takes you a moment to compose yourself, to find the words you want to say to him. But he takes this an entirely different way and just as he turns to leave you you reached out to take his hand in yours. He stops, startled by your sudden gesture.

“I know. I know it all, Leone,” you said, a sad yet resolute smile on your lips, “but I know deep down, you’re still that same idiot I played with, the same idiot who’s dream I believed in.

Your eyes shown with such genuine sincerity as your hand squeezes his encouragingly, “I know there’s still good in you.”

This is when he understands that strange feeling welling up in his heart now and all those years ago.

He wants you, he thinks. He wants you all to himself. The only one from his past who hadn’t turned their backs on him, who reached out to him, who believed in him. Who can blame him for falling? You reminded him so much of himself, his old self. He could delude himself into thinking that he was someone worthy enough for you. That was your fault, you believed that he could still be kind, that he could still be good. But if that was what you wanted to believe, he could pretend.

Even though he’d long since abandoned any notion of being good.

It’s easy, all too easy to break into your partner’s home. It’s even easier to forge the documents that will incriminate you. He knows how to make it look like the perfect crime scene, tossing aside and resetting the furniture. A heavy thud resounds through the apartment as your partner falls to the floor, bound and gagged. Their words are muffled, filling the apartment with grunts and groans. They are the helpless accomplice to his crime. When he is pleased with the outcome, he turns to your partner, hooking his fingers around the cloth.

“You damn dirty cop,” they had hissed at him as soon as they were able. “You’re disgusting, thinking you can play with people’s lives like this!”

He snorts, looking down at your partner with a contemptuous look in his eyes, “are those your last words?”

Your partner spits at him and Abbacchio only shifts, the spit lands on the floor, useless and to be forgotten.

“You’re going to get what’s coming to you,” your partner snarls, “you won’t get away with this.”

Abbacchio chuckles, a deep unnerving timbre that sends a chill down your partner’s spine. He angles the baton to your partner’s forehead and for a moment, a primal fear flashes through their eyes.

“I already have.”

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere jjba #leone abbacchio #abbacchio x reader #vento aureo #golden wind #play #side b

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bonniobonnotta · 5 years ago

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The Beast You've Made of Me

Dedicated to @koiporker

Triggers: Death, Abandonment, Violence, Blood, Drug Mention, Gore

---------------------------------------------------------------

“ Are you looking for something or are you just going to keep staring? ”

The familiar voice caught him off guard, but it prompted a sly smile on the face of the heretic. It was only when the green eyes he knew so well met his own that he answered her query.

“ Oh, no, I found just what I was looking for. ”

“ Where are my manners, Kai Parker. ”

“ Bonnie Bennett. ”

“ It’s nice to meet you, Bonnie Bennett. ”

“ New to town, Kai Parker? I’ve never seen you here before... ”

“Yes, actually. Just got done with a long and unexpected vacation, so I decided to drop by and visit an old friend, might stick around for awhile.”

“ Are you looking for something or are you just going to keep staring? ”

This time he caught her off guard, and he cocked his head to look at her just in time to see it in her eyes as she was caught red handed..

“ I - ”

There’s no time to let her make up an excuse, he’d done that way too many times to fall for that.

“ Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind gorgeous babes staring at me in grocery stores but .... ”

Ever more flustered, he could even tell her cheeks were starting to get warm as she tried to regain her composure. Bonster sure looked good, even when she was trying to dig herself out of a hole.

“ I wasn’t staring, I was just - “

Now he couldn’t help but chuckle, taking his opportunity to cut her off one more time.

“ Staring. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone, it can be our little secret Bon Bon ”

“ Okay .... thanks. ”

“ Until next time, Bennett? ”

He was smug, confident and cocky with his question as he raised an eyebrow at the witch. Turning back to glance at the Parker, the Bennett offered him a small smirk.

“ Assuming there’s a next time, Parker. ”

“ Maybe there will be.”

“Or maybe there won’t. Goodbye, Kai.”

“Bye Bye, Bonnie.”

#bonkai #bonnie and kai #bonnie bennett #kai parker #malachai parker #blood tw #gore tw #drug mention tw #violence tw #this was going to be a one shot but if people want more i can probably write more!#especially because i didn't know i was going to write this and then #i heard a song and here we are two hours later

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thirstyforbishiesimagines · 5 years ago

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I had this whole elaborate story in my head that I just had to write and kinda went a little overboard... Sorry it’s long 😅 Hope you enjoy! xx

Dangerous Fellows Christmas Event

Harry POV x Reader

Angst / Fluff

💍 I Post-Apocalypse

It has been around two months since the zombies became less and less of a major threat. The safe zone has quickly grown to become an amazing community. High sturdy walls encircle our ever-expanding oasis. Armed guards secure the perimeter, keeping any and all zombies at bay from entering our vicinity. While food came abundant with the consistent supply runs and newly thriving agriculture.

To think, not too long ago were we mourning the countless amounts of bloodshed from friend after friend; to now, where death has become more of a rare occurrence. Things actually seemed to be looking up for the future of our society. Things finally seemed to be looking up… for us.

How naïve I was.

My head hangs low, tears dropping silently upon her cold lifeless hand within my palms.

Here, (Y/N) lies still — timeless and untouched.

“Ready to head off?”

“Mmm…” (Y/N) groans as she rubs the sleepiness from her eyes.

“You sure you wanna come? I’m just making a quick stop to grab a couple of things from zone 2.”

“I’m coming.” Wrapping her arms around me from behind, she yawns loudly before nuzzling her face against my back. “You know I don’t like it when you go out there alone…”

I chuckle lightly, turning around to embrace her properly and placing a quick peck upon her lips — hoping to ease into her good graces as I attempt to convince her to stay home. “Get some more sleep! I’ll be fine. Plus, I won’t be alone; the guards would’ve been patrolling around there for hours already anyways.”

“Please?” She looks up, staring at me with wide puppy dog eyes — swaying my heart immediately.

“Alright, alright. You win.” I pat her head gently, giving in to her wishes.

“Yay! Lemme go grab my bag!”

My gaze follows after her cheerful form, now fully awake and energetic as per usual while I sigh quietly to myself — shaking my head in defeat.

Looks like I’ll need to be stealthy when grabbing things after all...

Fiddling with the chain around my neck, I take out my mother’s ring from beneath my shirt — smiling at the thought of it decorated upon (Y/N)’s finger.

Today’s the day, Harry. It’s now or never.

Entering into the convenience store within zone 2, the second area out of 4 zones to have been cleared, I quickly make a mental note of all of the supplies I needed to gather for tonight.

“Well, I’m off to get some snacks! You coming with?” She beams excitedly.

As much as I’d hate to separate right now, despite how safe it’s been lately, I need to make sure she doesn’t suspect anything. Everything needs to be perfect.

“Sure, I’m just gonna grab a couple things over here first and then I’ll meet you soon. Got your knife?”

“Yup!” (Y/N) exclaims before comically exaggerating a curtsy. “Now excuse me, kind Sir. The snacks await my presence.”

“Of course, Milady. You mustn’t keep them waiting.” I play along with a bow.

She giggles light-heartedly, disappearing into one of the aisles near the entrance while I make my way towards the back of the store.

Candles… Candles...

My eyes scan through each passing aisle, before finally finding a couple of scattered scented candles upon the shelves. Shoving as many of them into my bag as possible, I quickly leave to head back to (Y/N) before she questions my prolonged absence.

Making my way toward the snack aisle, I hear a slight squelch beneath my shoe.

Water?

No… Blood.

My heart begins to pump as my eyes trace my bloodied footsteps back to a small puddle of red peeking out from an aisle.

One of the guards must’ve taken one out this morning…

Walking over to confirm my assumption, I nearly stumble back from shock as I’m met with the image of flesh completely devoured from one side of a guard’s face. Crowbar gripped tightly in hand; I immediately impale his head to prevent him from turning on me. I lower my weapon, hands shaken with adrenaline.

Wait… If this guard’s been attacked… where’s the other…

Before I could finish my thought, (Y/N)’s scream echoes through the building.

My heart drops.

I sprint as fast as I can, halting in my tracks as the other guard lay unconscious upon the ground — knife wedged deep within his skull.

“Harry?”

My head snaps toward her voice, dread filling up in the pit of my stomach. I watch in horror as (Y/N) staggers back onto the shelves, clutching her shoulder tightly as pools of blood flood down her arm.

I felt numb. I couldn’t feel my legs.

Every fibre in my body screamed at me to run to her, to hold her. But my body stood frozen in place as I watched my world come crashing down. It wasn’t until she whimpered my name again that I broke out of my trance and ran over to her to catch her, right as she collapsed onto the ground.

“(Y/N)… N-No… How did… W-Wha-”

“Harry…” Her voice weakening by the second while her temperature rapidly rises within my arms.

“W-We need to get you back! You’re burning up!”

I attempt to lift her, but she begins to scream in agony — stopping my actions immediately and leaving me at a loss of what to do.

“Harry… You need to… kill me… Quick!”

“NO! WE’RE GOING BACK! They’ll know what to do, they can fix you. Everything will be fine!”

“Harry, please! You’ll die… if you… don’t.”

“I’M NOT KILLING YOU! I’D RATHER DIE THEN KILL YOU! Don’t… Don’t ask me to do that! I can’t…” I begin to sob uncontrollably, misery and despair taking over.

(Y/N) reaches up, gently caressing away the never-ending tears escaping my eyes as her own are filled with nothing but love and affection toward me.

“Harry… I love you so much.”

My heart throbs — a kind of throb I’d never felt before. The words that used to fill my heart, now caused me such pain it feels almost agonizing to hear.

“I love you too, (Y/N). More than anything.”

She smiles dearly, silent tears glistening from the edges of her beautiful (e/c) eyes as her face grows pale. Caressing her bloodstained cheek, I kiss her forehead before wrapping her up within my arms and whimpering against her hair.

“You’re my everything… You’re my everything under the sun. You’re my rock, my home. It doesn’t matter where we are; when you’re by my side, I’m whole.”

She is the one thing I’ve always been so sure of. Never had I felt so sure of anything in my whole life, than what I was about to do right now.

Grabbing hold of the chain around my neck, I grip my mother’s ring tight before ripping it off of me — small pieces of metal scattering across the floor.

I take (Y/N)’s left hand in mine, burning determination in my eyes as hers look back, wide with shock.

“Wait.”

“For as long as I’ve known you, I knew you were the one. There’s nothing in this world that would make me happier, than your hand in marriage. So please, would you do me the honour-”

“Harry, please…”

“Of being my wife?”

Ignoring her pleas, I slowly lift her hand. Hands shaking violently as I struggle to place the ring upon her finger. Though my vision blurs from the overwhelming tears glazing my eyes, I was determined to follow through. However, (Y/N)’s soft, blood-soaked hands wrap around mine as she gently encloses the ring within my palm.

Heartbroken and confused, I look back up at her; only to be met with a sense of hopelessness.

Her quivering lips accompanied unbearably sad eyes that only seemed to convey what I dreaded most. She didn’t speak a word, but I knew what she was thinking. As much as we wished for it to be so, it’s clear we could no longer be together.

Cupping the side of my face, she smiles fondly through tears that never ceased to fall. “Kiss… me?”

I couldn’t help but bawl from her pure-hearted request as I lean down to meet her lips one last time.

“I’m… sorry, Harry. I love… you.” She whispers against my lips — her hand falling from my face.

“No… Please (Y/N). I can’t lose you too.” My voice, weak with vulnerability.

Rubbing my forehead with hers, my tears fall upon her rested face as her body goes limp within my arms.

“Don’t leave me.”

I held her body dear against mine for what felt like an eternity, screaming and pleading for her to wake up.

But she never did.

Nor did she ever turn.

Days pass, yet nothing has changed.

No one knew why or how it was possible, but here she lay — surrounded by the flowers we used to tend together, never awakening as a zombie, yet never decaying like a corpse. It was… as if she was simply within a deep slumber.

Night after night, I sit by her side; wishing and praying she’d open her eyes and greet me with that breath-taking smile once more.

“It’s so lonely not hearing your voice…”

Her face showed no sign of ever waking, she seemed so at peace.

Every day was a struggle to keep going, but I didn’t give up. Every day, I fight against the grief that screams at me to let her go, to move on.

“Time moves so slow without you; each day feels like a test of my patience.”

I sit, lonesome within the darkness with only the moonlight illuminating the room — casting a silver sheen upon her face. I missed her so much I found myself talking to her each night, but her lack of response almost made it too excruciatingly painful to handle at times.

“When will you wake up? I just… want to be with you. There’s still so much that I want to do. Build a family with you… grow old with you. To love you, forever and always…”

A single tear falls along my cheek as another night goes by without her glowing presence.

“I miss you. Please… come back to me.”

Hand in hand, my mother’s ring pressed between our palms, I fall asleep by her bedside as I do every night — dreaming of a future worth fighting for.

Weeks pass, and hope has finally presented itself.

Recently, news has begun to spread throughout the community that a vaccine began rounds of testing and was on its way to being developed. A promising start to the end of the apocalypse.

I didn’t care much for the reasons as to why (Y/N) ended up this way, all I knew was that this news gave me hope. Hope that felt abandoned since the moment I thought I had lost her forever.

Months pass, and a cure has finally been developed with a 100% success rate.

Once administered, the vaccine takes effect immediately and the person goes right back to normal, all memories in-tact — as if nothing had even happened.

Today, our community was delivered a limited amount of the vaccine, and I was graciously given the pleasure of being the first to administer the cure due to my outstanding efforts in rebuilding our society. A society worth welcoming (Y/N) back to.

I stand eagerly by the door, a smile upon my face for the first time in what seemed like years.

The door swings open as the representative of our community steps in, vaccine in hand — a warm fatherly smile upon his face as he places the vile within my palms. I stare at it in disbelief, tears glazing my eyes as I draw out the liquid into a syringe.

Inhaling deep, I grip her arm tight and inject the vaccine directly into her vein. Hand tightly gripped in mine, I monitor her face — anticipating the light within those gorgeous (e/c) irises to come to life once again.

Minutes go by, and yet she showed absolutely no sign of waking.

“They said it takes effect immediately… Why isn’t she waking up?!” I turn back, hands trembling with rage.

“Harry, I’m so sor-”

“No… No, no, NO!”

I cut him short, not wanting to hear the pity within his words. Desperation quivering within my voice, I plead as I stare down at her lifeless body — unable to meet his sympathetic gaze. “I need another one… Please!”

“Harry, (Y/N)’s case is pretty unusual; they’ve only been able to test and cure those who became zombies… (Y/N) never exactly changed.” He pauses for a moment, hesitation in his tone as he places a reassuring hand upon my shoulder. “It’s been months. I’m… I’m afraid it might be too lat-”

“NO! You’re wrong! It’ll work! She just… she just needs another dose!” Flinching away from his touch, I slide a chair over to sit beside her.

“We’re limited as it is… You know we can’t do that.”

Holding her hand softly, I place her cold palm upon my cheek – droplets falling upon her pale fingers.

“She’s all that I have left…” I whimper helplessly.

“I really am sorry, Harry.” He makes his way toward the door, pausing slightly to look back at my crestfallen form. “I’ll… be in my office if you need me.”

As soon as the door clicks closed, I sob in silence. Face nestled upon her stomach; I grip the sheets around her hopelessly — staining the fabric with my tears.

“Why? Why bother?! I just… wanted you to see the world as it grows more and more beautiful after overcoming such an ugly situation. What’s the point in working so hard to build a future worth living, if you’re not going to see it?”

The uncontrollable emotion eating at me was too overwhelming to bear. The faith I once held so dear, crumbled within my grasp. I cried and cried ‘til I lost all sense of hope, lying upon her lifeless body as my eyes fall heavy with exhaustion.

Mmm, so soothing…

This warm touch felt almost too real to be true. Soft, gentle fingers comb through my hair as I lay resting upon her. I feel the rays of the sun streaming through the window, lightly kissing the side of my face as her body emanates warmth beneath me. It had been a while since I last dreamed of such a serene and comforting scene, despite crying myself to sleep the night prior.

“Harry…”

Why? Why would you remind me?

Hearing her call my name only pained me more. This dream almost felt cruel for allowing me to revive and indulge in her softly, sweet voice — knowing full well that when I awoke, she’d be there; still and lifeless as ever.

“Harry…” She calls again. The honey-like quality of her voice, like music to my ears.

It was so clear. So lifelike. So… heartbreaking.

My eyes flutter open, forcefully escaping myself from the false scene within my mind.

Or so I thought.

As my vision adjusts to the sudden brightness of the sun, the calming feel of feather-like caresses within my hair never seemed to disappear. My eyes shoot wide open and sure enough, there she was; sitting up with that adoring smile of hers as she takes my hand in hers and squeezes it tight.

“Good morning, Harry.”

It wasn’t a dream. This was real. She’s awake.

She’s… alive!

Hot tears sting my newly awakened eyes, streaming along my cheeks as I stare at her in disbelief.

Every night, I had so much I wanted to say to her. So much I wanted her to know.

And now here she was. Yet, I couldn’t utter a single word.

It was all too much, I didn’t know how else to convey these fervent feelings. I cup her face, hands shaky with hesitation. Her skin felt warm against my palm, indicating she was indeed alive and well. Before my mind could even comprehend my actions, I crash my lips upon hers as gently as I could handle — kissing her with all the passion and longing I had suppressed for so long. She grips the front of my shirt, pulling me closer and reciprocating all the love and devotion we shared.

No longer able to keep my composure, I break the kiss; face scrunching up in overwhelming emotion as I burst out crying. (Y/N) holds me tight within her arms, allowing me to bask within her returning presence.

“Harry?” She calls once more, her tone as warm and gentle as I’d remembered it.

“Yes?” I finally manage to reply.

She breaks her hold on me, gracefully enveloping my fingers with hers as she looks me right in the eye.

“I don’t know how long it’s been. Or how it’s even possible that I’m able to speak with you once more. But what I do know, is that I don’t want to take this time for granted and give up this chance again.”

She reaches out toward the bedside table, carefully holding my mother’s ring within her hand before placing it into my palm and enclosing my fingers around it, like she did that one fateful day.

“I promise… to always be with you from this day forward. To create and nurture a loving family together. To stay right by your side and grow old with you as time intended. I promise, with all my heart, that I will love you, forever and always.”

I don’t believe it. She could hear me after all this time…

“I promise… I won’t ever leave you alone again. So, Harry… will you marry me?”

My eyes go wide with surprise, pausing for a moment — never thinking mere words could bring me such an immense sense of happiness. Lips curling up from ear to ear, I laugh wholeheartedly with utmost joy.

“I will... Of course, I will!”

I hastily wrap her within my arms and squeeze her tight with overwhelming excitement before placing my lips upon hers once more. I kiss her again, and again, and again ‘til her melodic giggles reverberate against my lips with glee. As I withdraw my mother’s ring from within my palm, (Y/N) places her left hand in mine and I delicately slip the ring upon her finger. We both stare at it for a while, hearts elated with pure happiness at the thought of starting a new chapter within our lives.

Together, hand in hand. Forever and always.

For the rest of our days.

x mod luna

#dangerous fellows #dangerous fellows christmas event #dangerous fellows blog #angst #fluff #dfel #dangerous fellows harry #dfel harry #harry x reader #character x reader #reader fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic blog

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justanother-unluckysoul · 4 years ago

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The Sound Of Surviving, Killian/Milah, Chapter 1/5?

Characters: Killian Jones, Milah

Rating: PG-13

Word count: 1355

Chapter summary: In which both Killian and Milah’s minds are their worst enemies, and they talk about it. For Whumptober prompt alt.10 Nightmares.

A/N: This will be part of a series of short, loosely connected stories set around the theme “x times Milah saw Killian at his most vulnerable and one time she didn’t.” I am loving writing young pirate!Killian too much. Hopefully, some of you will enjoy this story. :) Also, I have accepted someone else’s headcanon that Milah struggled with depression.

- on AO3 -

The Sound Of Surviving

Chapter One: We Can Fight The Dark

It's been roughly two months since she ran away with him and they're still getting to know each other. Killian feels so far out of his depth, feeling inept and inarticulate in a way he hasn’t been for years, because he’s truly in love for the first time in his life and he’s terrified he’ll ruin it. And although Milah’s settled in well to pirate life and she seems to enjoy it out here on the seas, he sees another side of her, sometimes, in the dimness of his quarters. A version who's quiet and morose, and Killian's worried he's not good enough. He wants more than anything to keep her with him, but at the same time he loves her too much to do anything against her will. He can’t be selfish.

“Tell me if you’re not happy with me, Milah,” he says one night, against his better judgement, “Tell me it’s so and I’ll take you back, to your husband and to your child.”

His fingers are almost trembling as they trace across her skin because he’s so afraid she’ll say she does want to leave him.

“No, Killian,” she says quickly, almost too quickly, “I am happy with you. You’re perfect. This… this is perfect.”

But Killian can’t shake the feeling that something’s wrong, because Milah’s clearly not happy despite her assurances, and for the life of him he can’t figure out why. It takes him a long time to fall asleep that night, his mind swirling with troubled, painful thoughts. So it serves to reason that his dreams tonight would follow suit. And some hours later, Milah wakes to him shifting restlessly against her side, his breaths quick and short. The moon is casting a fair amount of light into the cabin and makes the sweat on Killian's skin glisten quite clearly.

"No," he murmurs, a whisper of breath, his eyes moving quickly under closed lids, "No no no..."

Milah wonders briefly if he's become unwell, but his body still feels cool and then she knows what's going on. A nightmare. She has her own share of them these days, but she’s never been privy to Killian’s.

"Killian?"

He twists away from her touch, groaning softly.

"No, d-don't... Please."

He sounds so scared, so broken. Milah can't bear to listen to his suffering a moment longer.

"Killian, wake up," she says a little louder, shaking him gently, “Wake up.”

He does, coming out of his dreams with a sharp inhale, his eyes wide and frightened. It's not a look Milah's accustomed to seeing on him and she doesn't like it.

"It's okay," she whispers, her hand over his racing heart, wanting to draw him back to her, "You were dreaming."

In the moonlight she can see a small tear sneak out of his eye before he rubs his hand across his face.

"Milah," he breathes out, lowering his hand to rest over hers, "I apologize for waking you."

And of course, his only concern is for her.

"Don't worry about that," she says, "Are you okay?"

"Aye."

But he's still wound tight, his hands fidgeting, unable to find calm. His breaths quiver rapidly across his teeth. He hadn’t wanted her to see him like this, but he’d known it was only a matter of time. They slept together too often now for it not to be inevitable. But still Killian struggles with both humiliation and the lingering anxiety from his dark dreams.

"What do you need, Killian?" Milah asks softly.

"Out," he says, and almost falls out of bed in his sudden haste to leave.

He fumbles to put on his trousers and shirt, doesn't bother with his other layers. Milah has to spend a little more time redressing herself before following him. It wouldn't do for the other men to see her in such a state of disrobe. (She’d been anxious, at the start, because they were coarse and brash and she was the only woman on board, but Killian’s eyes had blazed fiercely when he swore that they’ll never lay a hand on her or they’d be facing a swift and deserving punishment and she knows he meant it, and the way his crew treat her with the greatest respect she’s ever received in her life shows they know it too.) It's a pleasant night and Milah joins Killian where he stands on the deck, staring across the ocean. She rests her hand against his back. The night sky sparkles with a million stars, far more than she had ever seen from land. The small ripples on the water catch the moonlight, further adding to the peacefulness of the scene, and Milah understands why Killian felt the need to look upon this view after his nightmare.

"It's so beautiful at night," Milah says quietly.

"Aye, that it is."

He puts his arm around her and she leans into his touch. He's calmer now, his breathing steady, the sight of the open water clearly working its magic on his tormented soul. Milah wonders what he had been dreaming of. But she never asks, just like he never asks about hers. He always just holds her until her breathing steadies and her trembling ceases, and she wishes he’d allow her to do the same for him, but his peace always comes from the sea.

“I love you, Milah,” he says, not for the first time, his voice cracking, “I.. I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t lose me.”

He turns to look at her with eyes full of desperate hope, his eyebrows drawn together, and his hand cradles her face, thumb brushing her cheekbone.

“But something is troubling you,” he insists, “Please, tell me what it is.”

Milah can’t seem to meet his gaze, his eyes too intense, too full of passion.

“Killian…”

“Do I make you unhappy, my love?” he whispers.

“No. It’s not you, Killian. I’m just…”

She’s never told anyone. With Rumpelstiltskin, it had been easy to convince herself that her persistent feelings of despair came from the fact she had married a coward. That she was bored. That she was lonely. That it was because she didn’t love her husband. But here on the Jolly Roger, standing on the deck in the moonlight with Killian’s calloused hands gentle on her skin, ready and willing to give her anything she ever wanted, she was forced to admit that it wasn’t her miserable life that caused her moods.

“Sometimes I just feel… sad. And I don’t know why. It’s been going on for a long time. But it isn’t because of you, Killian. I’ve felt more joy since I met you than I have in years.”

Killian’s perplexed. He can’t quite understand her meaning, the contradiction of feeling sad but also feeling joy? But Milah can’t explain it any better than that, because honestly, she doesn’t understand it very well herself. Although it has improved markedly since she left Rumpelstiltskin, because with Killian she hasn’t yet had a morning when she couldn’t find the fortitude to get out of bed, the darkness still plagues her. Even in her moments of happiness, there seems to always be a lingering pit in her stomach, and some days she can’t seem to feel much of anything.

“I suppose I’m just broken,” she says, a little too bitterly.

Killian’s eyes blaze, his jaw clenching in anger and he lifts her chin, forcing Milah to meet his eyes.

“No,” he says sharply, barely reining in his fury that someone had put that idea into her mind, “You are not broken, Milah. You must never think that. Never again.”

He wraps his arms around her, and Milah sinks into his embrace. His next words are softer, although they’re no less sincere. She feels them rumble through his chest.

“You’re perfect and I love you. And whatever it is you need to feel better, I will provide it. Just… tell me how to help.”

“You’re already doing it,” she murmurs, voice muffled against his body, “I love you, Killian.”

He holds her tighter, presses a kiss against the top of her head.

“And I you.”

END

#whumptober2020 #alt.10 #nightmares #once upon a time #killian jones #milah #fanfiction #angst #emotional hurt/comfort #my fanfics

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brokenmusicboxwolfe · 5 years ago

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I haven't read anything from you for some days. How are you? :)

I appreciate you asking, and I know I haven’t been my usual rambling self on here. I’m alright, but just haven’t had the zip for writing. Three reasons really.

1) Busy!- Yeah, what else is new! LOL That new section of tree falling on Mom’s house, the lock on that house breaking, the fact I hadn’t cut the brush under the powerline to this house in a year and now vines had nearly reached it, trying to figure out the computer problems so I can get new pics off my camera, protecting the cats from a mysterious something that literally tore apart one of them, etc (you REALLY don’t want me listing it all) had me constantly working on “things” on top of all the previous “things” that were still being worked on.

Yesterday I had worn myself so down that when I took my ankle braces off I found myself unconsciously doung this thing I do when I’m really hurting of walking on the sides of my feet. It hurts less BUT it isn’t as stable, so what happened? I stumbled walking the plank into my room! Oh, I bounce well and didn’t fal into the “pit of despair” so I wasn’t injured at all by the fall, but it is a sign of how tired I was. AND I still had to go cook my meal! LOL

2) Lack of sleep!- Again, it sounds like “What else is new?” But actually my sleeping has gotten worse. The causes vary from night to night. Sometimes worries, sometimes breathing problems, sometimes I have a very hard time getting myself to go to bed, sometimes it’s itchy poison ivy and bug bites, sometimes it’s “This damn bed refuses to cozy tonight!”... but whatever, not falling asleep until 3am, waking up again at 5am, lying awake until 9am, and then sleeping again until noon isn’t fun.

So I’m been trying to not write when I’m wanting to be asleep. This means no more insomnia writing (though I have a few still in drafts before I stopped letting myself do it) and no more writing just before bed. Also I’ve been tired enough that stringing words together sounds exhausting! LOL

3) Mood- Umm...how should I put this? “I am sick of the human race”? “The stupidity of people drains me”? “Every day, maybe even more during all these supposedly encouraging all-in-this-together pandemic posts, I am become more aware of just how outside of society I already am”? I dunno.

To be honest, that’s a whole post in itself. I’ll give you the gist..

All my life I’ve realized my brain is wired oddly, that I see things different that others, and that even my life is highly atypical. I used to think one day I’d discover a place, or at least people, where I belong. For the last few years I’ve been working to accept the fact I actually fit nowhere and that this is okay.

My key method of coping with this has always been to assume that people are smarter than they seem and always capable of so much more. Lack of perception was a lack of looking, of being distracted. Lack of understanding was simply not having the information broken down in basic and relatable ways.

It wasn’t discounting my differences, but seeing them as just a minor thing. Yes I notice things that others don’t, spot the patterns, can tell you the shock twist ending of a movie 20min in...but so what. I see things differently, but you can say the same about literal sight. Just give them some metaphorical glasses and they could see like me...

Not that anyone wants to, just that they could.

Who would want to always be the one the one that when it’s said “everyone thinks” or “everyone feels” or “everyone knows” has to go “Um, well, I don’t”.

The weird one.

The odd one.

The strange one.

The one that sees everything in shadings and nuances when the world expects binary answers.

The action hero takes of pf the bookish girl’s glasses and says “Why Miss Jones, you’re beautiful!” She’s blind as a bat, but she never wears the glasses again because now she’s won the hunk, and being alone was really no fun.

People weren’t stupid, they just had the sense to belong instead.

But now it’s “You know what? Most people, even “smart” ones, are fuckin’ stupid! And if I really am usually smart, resourceful, etc, then that’s the most terrifying thing imaginable!”

No really. Over my life people have commented about me being smart, resourceful, honest, kind, sweet (geez, really?), insightful, and so many things that sound lovely but have a disturbing element. I assumed I wasn’t being exceptional when these things were said, but only doing whatever was in my nature. If these things are considered notable and praiseworthy in me, does mean most people can’t even meet the low bar I’m easily stepping over?

Put simply, if I am smart, them just HOW stupid are most people?

And recently it’s gotten to where everywhere I turn I see it. Misinformation and pseudo science, missing the point right in front of them, not seeing or understanding the other, assuming without any facts, all absolutes and rage...

I mean, the human race is facing a pandemic and they still can’t fucking work TOGETHER! That’s the best example of the collective stupidity of the human race since...oh, climate change which we’ve done such a GREAT job in dealing with.

Look, Trumpland obviously is a factor, but even in attempts at escapism I get slammed into it. I almost never to get to go “ YES! That’s it! That’s how I feel/think/live (delete as applicable)!” When I do the fandoms tend to insist I am wrong in my own personal take, not just “well, I see it differently, but cool you do” but “you are WRONG, I will prove my version is canon so you have to stop liking it that way!”. There is no place for me in fandoms either.

Recently I’ve begun to get really irritated and fed up.

I mean, growing up I used to beg to know “Why can’t they see???” when something was blindingly obvious to me that no one seemed to get. Back then I turned it on myself. How could I get them to see? I’d cry because they would constantly let me know I wasn’t like them. I had several people calling me their best friend despite the fact they didn’t understand me at all. Everybody is different, just some of us are more different. It didn’t make me angry at them, just made me wonder what was wrong with me.

But now I find myself getting angry out of proportion to the trigger.

Take a this from a few months back. I heard a guy in a podcast, in relation to some movie, saying that if faced with god they would never dare be critical of any horrors of the world because you never disagree with god to it’s face. But he wasn’t just speaking for himself but said no one would. I got angry, really, REALLY angry, because you know what you do when faced with an unjust and cruel god? You fuckin’ spit in their eye! You don’t yield to monsterousness because the monster is powerful, you fight back! You blow up the goddamn death star (repeatedly if necessary)!

I didn’t get angry because he was saying he was a coward or because he pragmatically would sacrifice morality for survival. I wasn’t even angry because that’s the kind of thinking that lets dicators and bullies hold power. I was angry because he assumed everyone would agree with him and that people like me don’t exist.

I do exist.

I know my reactions and views are frequently atypical. I know I notice things others don’t. I know my lifestyle is peculiar. I know I don’t really fit anywhere and never will. My brain is just wired up in a rather strange way.

I know everything that makes me odd, but I just don’t like having to constantly be reminded.

But right now I am reminded every time I look at or listen to anything. Yes, even posts on Tumblr.

Frankly, the human race breaks by heart.

I end up angry, sad, lonely and intensely frustrated. I kinda want to avoid writing in this mood. (Which I obviously just did! LOL)

Sorry I rambled so much. Guess I made up for a lack of posting with this rant! LOL

#mood #writing #belonging #tired #my day #busy #frustrations #I need a nap!

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ireddeadredemption2pc-blog · 5 years ago

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Red Dead Redemption 2 PC

Red Dead Redemption2 PC

The old west feels brand new again.

Oh Jesus Christ, what have you done? “Thomaschen 978 wants to know why a dozen carcasses and a couple of horse corpses are placed on rail tracks bordering the early industrial city and are the New Orleans stand-in St. Denis.” You killed half. village.” PC Games For Free

We are on round two of the recurring corpse pile. My poses got the idea to jump in front of the train after a few rounds of Lose Your Friends and Toss Them in the Sea in the Couple Friendly Strangers. Like GTA 5, Red Dead Redemption 2 has its own bowling minima, we explain to Chen in a roundabout way that provokes his fear. Die in the shared open world of Red Dead Redemption 2 and you’ll react fast enough to move your corpse around. Best RPGs games pc

The boy is in line with us. We should make it bigger. As the train comes around again, another pose tries to take us out. The chain defends us but does not bring it back to the tracks. He goes away screaming. Death of a true warrior.

Red Dead Redemption 2 could be the biggest, most humble videogame ball pit for an annoying story about impulsive children, the forced disintegration of the community, or simply a quiet and reflective hiking simulator. It’s just about what you need it to be, and it’s good at it.

Just hours before the corpse-bowling, I was alone through the icy forests, stepping into the long shadow cast across the snow by the rising moon. I heard a gunshot from a distance. The tracks of some wolves marked snow in the same direction. I saw them who won. Anytime I pay attention and look closely, RDR2 is the result of my curiosity. Best Racing games on pc

The mind-numbing expanse that makes up the vast world of RDR2 speaks to the creative force of a development team with an intense, obsessive dedication to realism (and all the money and time needed to do so). Like how my friends’ characters flare up when I fire a gun at them, how animal carcasses disintegrate over time, how NPCs react according to a sloppy or bloody outfit, how to stir through a doorway. Scares everyone everywhere.

It is hard to believe that RDR2 is so deep and wide and is also a harmonious, playable thing. I was already playing it for days worth the console version. This is why I am particularly disappointed that it ended up on the PC to some extent.

For every non-taught multiplayer adventure, disconnect or crash on the desktop, desktop. The rock star’s best storyline and character so far has been filmed through Frame Hutches’ slideshow and addressed over the launch weekend.

RDR2, one of the best Western games and one of the best open-world games I have ever released with enough stability issues, is recommended for the hard way until everything is completely smooth.

Morgan trail

EVERY PRETTY VISTA IS SOMETHING TO LOSE THROUGH ARTHUR’S EYES.

The story genre of Red Dead Redemption 2 follows the dying days of the Wild West. The sprawling industrial world faced the bandits and social downtrodden of Arthur Morgan’s small band, an imperfect but loyal, loving and self-reliant community.

Capitalism is reducing its value as resources to humans. Indigenous USA America is driven from the plains to make way for ‘civilization’ and commerce. The forests are brought down for timber, the hills are cut down for coal, and Morgan’s chosen family is caught in the middle, forced to flee, assimilate, or respond with violent protests is done. They do all three.

This is Rockstar’s most serious drama, and it’s really, really long. If you are running, the story ends after 40 to 50 hours and then continues for 10 to 15. The main story missions of Red Dead 2 feature distinctly rockstar fare: ride to a destination that is talking to everyone, tightly scripting though, entertaining things, riding, and chatting to the final destination.

Missions are often thrilling action sequences or artificially mundane pictures of wrench labor and trade, full of long-winded Bespoke animations, and outstanding performances. They are only hopelessly harsh, to the point where it feels like I am following the stage directions rather than playing the role of a vagabond in the Old West.

Step out of line in these campaigns and this is a failed situation. As opposed to Red Dead Online, there are very few of them that encourage players to think for themselves, each designed to advance the story. The RDR2 show is at least a spectacle of the slow pace of life in the Old West.

This is not the death and theatricality of a lifetime; My favorite missions include shoveling, drinking wine with a friend, proposing an old romance and riding a hot air balloon. Working through a greater rut, stricter tasks are considered meaningful in the end anyway, inspired by extraordinary, ambient world-building and characterization.

Side missions, minigames, small activities, and random world events — whether they hunt great guns, capture a play, or stumble upon a woman trapped under a horse — all set Arthur’s character and setting in subtle, rich ways. Please inform.

Nested in the third act of a fully animated and voice theatrical performance, something like 10 minutes, it is possible that the response button is pressed after an artist has included a telephone. Arthur would shout, “Hell with the telephone!” It is an optional activity, a long one, and an option is to react in that short window. I think most players will remember this, but this is Canad Response 1 through 3 because this is something Arthur would say, a rageless goofy set his way in the right way.

He would write complete, real diary entries about the 50-hour campaign, sketching memorable scenes and depicting the state of affairs of his chosen family, which people once knew changed their fortunes between hope and despair. It is meant to be a completely alternative reading, but a refreshingly intimate take on a masculine figure that unsettles many doubts and hopes as to the next person.

He sings himself on a lonely ride and lowers his old body in the mirror. He will have an exciting conversation with the horseshoe woman as he gives her a ride into town, both commenting on the troubles of working for wealthy, ungrateful men as a growing necessity. I feel it all. Best horror games on pc free

Hillbillies can capture him after making the camp, a couple may try to rob him after inviting him to dinner, a man with snakebite can come out of the forest by stumbling and tell him to suck venom is. These haphazard encounters portray brutal life on the fading frontier, as nature pushes back against inner poppers who want to change it. Arthur is the perfect vessel to see it

This is because Arthur Morgan is one of the darkest human characters I have played during a great turning point in American history, playing a playful, cruel and compassionate role according to differing theories.

The game world, beautiful as it is, is made more beautiful and tragic by how it is ready to play it on every occasion. Every beautiful vista has something to lose through Arthur’s eyes, power lines and train tracks, cut through the skies, and the rest of his life is slowly filling with factory smoke. Just about everyone sees a sad end in RDR2, too. This is a story that I might not sustain every moment, but I will not forget its brutal arc or the man in the middle of it all. God damn is it sad? An apocalypse that led to this.

Ren Der Reflection

Assuming that you are able to run it at high settings, the biggest strength of RDR2 is how it exquisitely renders the Old West setting on PC, drawing more attention to the nuanced details that make it. This is one of the best looking games I’ve seen and a rare experience that justifies a new GPU or CPU.

Better draw distance and a greater range of vegetation detail were added, making some vistas look photographic. Long shadows vary from walking or roaming between places to rides, to cute nature tours. Due to animal attacks, bullet holes, rain, mud, or rapid flow of blood, the markings on the clothes are caused by very high-resolution textures, which tell a very little story about your friends.

A new photo mode makes it easy to share those moments of amazement. The way the player rides on RDR2 for just sightseeing and sounds is an important feature. I am desperately trying to get an artistic portrait of my horse’s silhouette to sit against the moon, yet another self-proclaimed goal was tolerated by this ridiculously large complex game.

With 2080, i9-9900K and 32GB of RAM, I can run RDR2 mostly on ultra settings with some resource-intensive settings completely off or switched off. But some hardware combinations are proving troublesome for RDR2, leading to random crashes in some APIs and, more recently, to a hotfix, leading to hitching problems for some 4-core CPUs.

During the first weekend, I couldn’t spend more than an hour without crashing on the desktop, though Vulcan switched from DX12 (which gives me better framerates) back to static stuff. Sometimes the UI malfunctions and I cannot select a select or purchase option, the map fails to appear, or I get paged unexpectedly from game servers.

The graphics settings are almost too much as well, and probably confusing. In our test, only a handful of settings affected performance by more than 1-2 percent. Large residuals, the mapping between MSAA, volumetric lighting, and parallax occlusion, affect performance by 5 to 25 percent. Most of them don’t make a big visual difference anyway and are best left out.

The way the settings are presented is made to feel underdeveloped: a huge list with unclear presets that require tinkering to make RDR2 run in a satisfactory framerate. It is hard. The PC should be the best place to play, not the best place to play, after all, after a few patches. It’s a shame for a game to look good. upcoming pc games

Cowboy poetry Red Dead Redemption 2 PC

Like in singleplayer mode, in Red Dead Online I can make my goals reasonable and watch them. The problem is, it is basically hamstrung by a frustrating multiplayer leveling system that locks basic equipment and cosmetics behind long XP requirements that can meet hours, perhaps days,

The option is spending gold, premium currency, items and clothing to unlock them immediately. A fishing pole is not available until level 14. A damn fishing pole in an outdoor recreation game. This is not spectacular and is a terrible way to invest players.

out a basic suite of tools (fishing rod, bow, varmint rifle, nice hat, etc.), Red Dead Online opened up widely. I have largely ignored traditional matchmaking modes such as gunfights and horse races, cheap thrills, I will play much better versions in different games, to have fun. It led to the most inventive, serene, real, and sometimes buzzing echo I’ve ever had.

I once walked into the middle of a fire in Blackwater and took the player corpses one by one to the church cemetery. Some were captured and participated in the ‘burial’ of their friends. A corpse thanked me for the gesture. Later, in an extended streak of criminal activity, my pose and I caught another player and instead of killing them on the spot, we rode into the swamp and threw them into the garter infected waters. I got the idea to act like a friend. Best pc games 2017

On a less absurd note, I set myself a constant goal of earning strictly enough money from hunting to buy cool-weather gear and a fine rifle. I am going to hike in the mountains and find the best way to hide there, a wild mountain man adorned with animal skins, which almost touches the floor.

In the meantime, I’m stopping gunmen across the city by running through the streets and calling for a parley. I am participating in an eight-player ballroom. I am living the life of a normal cowboy in the best shepherd game. I hope it clears up soon.

RDR2 PC System Requirements

OS : Windows 7 SP1 64bit

Graphics Nvidia GeForce GTX 770 2GB / AMD Radeon R9 280

Processor: Intel Core i5-2500K / AMD FX-6300

Memory: 8 GB RAM

DirectX: Version 11 Or 12 Support

Storage: 150 GB

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