#she haunts everything i have and its driving me fucking nuts

[goofylaffytaffy]

A little bit of all of the passages I wrote about you were smeared onto my hand at one point. Some of the ink seeped into my skin, the rest swirled down the drain when I washed my hands.

I tried to avoid the ink as best I could because it felt like having a part of you with me.

[hes-writer]

deja vu

Summary: part two of drivers license!

Warning: angst

Word Count: 1643 words

let me know if you liked it!

_____

If this was a movie, Y/N would’ve collapsed on the floor, knees hitting the ground as her legs lost the ability to keep her weight up. The corners of her lips would tilt downwards as a fusion of sadness and nostalgia bombarded her at every corner. Tears would collect at her waterline, waiting for the remarkable blink that would send each drop of salty liquid down the apples of her cheeks. Y/N imagined she would call Harry on her phone and scream at him as soon as the click sounded, signalling that he had picked up the call.

Yet as seconds passed by, none of those theatrical episodes happened.  Unlike in the movies, Y/N’s physical reactions were minuscule. Her heart ached in her chest. Her throat scrunched like a wad of tissue papers in her hand, drying up with shock and the shallow inhales she let out.  The swirling of her stomach increased tenfold as she teetered between feelings of anger and indifference.  This should not affect her anymore--or should it? It had barely been a few months since she last saw him and a little bit after when the first photos of Harry and his girlfriend went viral on the internet.

Everyone, especially him, seemed to move on from the relationship that they had shared.  Y/N felt like she needed to catch up to him, racing to throw away the feelings she still held for him and to pretend as though nothing happened.  But it was easier said than done.  There were still endless memories that replayed through her head every time she passed by an ice cream shop.  It was a hidden gem, past the popular hot spots.  Not a lot of people knew about it because of its distanced location.  And as much as Harry was a certified health nut; his guilty pleasure was a scoop of strawberry ice cream--in a cup instead of a waffle cone, of course.

Y/N still remembered those drives-turned-beach-trips.  It was mostly during his days off.  She and Harry would spend the whole day together, sharing one spoon amongst each other while they passed the cup of ice cream back and forth. The sound of the ocean encompassed them as they lay hidden around an alcove of rocks. It was a secluded area of the beach that Y/N had found way before.  The sand was grainy beneath the layer of a checkered picnic blanket that Harry kept at the trunk of his car, their bodies laying on top of it.  Eventually, Harry would proceed to just spoon-feed her, ‘accidentally’ nudging her nose with the cold treat.

.

.

.

.

Y/N could feel her shoulders slump at the flashback, body sagging as she sighed at what her phone screen was reflecting back to her.  It was her Instagram feed showcasing Harry’s profile. A picture of a haunting landscape was captured by his phone lens; it was the very same beach spot that she had taken him to.  Deja vu.

She bit her lip, wanting to smile about how he still visited it even without her.  It showed that Harry still kept a memory of her at the back of his mind.  Y/N’s heart fluttered at the thought, a sliver of hope shining through the dimness of her days. But it was impossible to keep an optimistic stance when she saw the caption.  A simple tag of his new girlfriend’s Instagram handle puckered her lips into a sour expression, brows pinching together in curiosity as Y/N continuously denied the obvious constituent of events.

“There’s no way,” She muttered, breath hitching as Y/N’s thumb hesitated on tapping the bolded font.

There was absolutely no way that Harry would bring someone else in such a coveted spot.  It was hers; she found it first and now he was acting as though it did not hold any meaning to her.  Not like Y/N didn’t spend the last few days laying on his lap, watching the sunset over the horizon. Harry’s fingers would comb through her tendrils, tucking his jacket tighter around her chin to ensure that she was warm despite him being covered in goosebumps himself. Y/N would look up to see the beginning stubbles of his facial hair as Harry looked ahead, his green eyes mirroring the artistic hues of orange, pink and purple.

“What’s up, Y/N?” Jenny asked, returning from her short trek to Y/N’s small kitchen. One hand was carrying a large bowl of chips while the other held two cans of soda.

Y/N stared at her friend with hesitance.  Was it worth bringing it up? She must be sick of her talking about him all the time.

“He brought her to our place,”

It was harder to hear it out loud.  She didn’t even recognize her own voice; void of emotion except for a strained sound of pain.

Jenny tilted her head to the side, “Who did?”

“Harry. . .” Y/N cleared her throat before continuing, “There was this place I found in Malibu. At a beach.  It’s pretty hidden and I used to go there by myself whenever I needed to think. I took him there.  It was our place, you know? Somewhere only the two of us knew and I don’t know,” She trailed off.

“You thought he would keep it between you guys,” Jenny finished off, nodding her head in empathic comprehension.

“Yeah, it just sucks,” Y/N furrowed her brows, staring at the space in front of her as she took in the gravity of the situation. “He even took her to D’Campos,”

“The ice-cream shop?”

She nodded, “It was on her Instagram story today,”

“Forget about him, Y/N. He doesn’t deserve your tears,”

“I’m not even crying,” She chuckled, slapping Jenny’s arm jokingly.

“You look like you’re about to,”

Y/N sighed, “It hurts.  Feels like he’s everywhere.  Just when I thought I was moving on, he pulls shit like this and I’m forced to remember how good it was between us, you know? I haven’t driven past D’Campos or anywhere else that I might see him because it hurts too much to reminisce what I don’t have anymore.”

It was ridiculous how much Y/N has had to change her routine in order not to feel any more pain.  She actively avoided places where Harry frequented in fear of confrontation and also because he might be with his girlfriend.  She didn’t know how she could stay stoic seeing their hands clasped together, gazing at each other lovingly when Y/N wanted that from him for herself.

“You’re doing just fine, honey.  Do you know who can’t move on? Him.”

“I’m pretty sure he’s doing fine,” Y/N said sarcastically, resting her back on the couch. “Better, even.”

“Uh, I don’t think so,” Jenny argued, “Out of the two of you, who’s the one always going to the places you shared?”

Y/N opened her mouth to answer but a swift hand in the air caused her to halt.

“It’s him, right?” Jenny answered rhetorically.  “I do not care what you say; that man misses you and it shows.  Harry’s going to where he expects you to be, probably in hopes of running into you. Maybe even because he wants to relive the moments you shared together with her in hopes of him feeling the same way he felt like when he did with you,”

“T-that’s insane. He’s fine without me,” Y/N stuttered out, crossing her arms over her chest in defiance.

“First of all, you are in denial. Secondly, you cannot tell me that he doesn’t. He’s practically doing everything you guys used to do with this new girl.  Why? Because he fucking misses you, Y/N.  Hell, you’ve even got the same name.”

“It’s just a coincidence,”

“My ass,” Jenny scoffs, “Answer me something, do you still remember how it felt being there with him?”

Y/N nodded, “Always,”

“Describe it to me,”

Y/N squinted her eyes in suspicion. Where was Jenny going with this?

“Uh, as cheesy as it sounds, I felt happy and free. I could talk about anything without being judged.  He had a way of making me feel comfortable without even saying anything.  When we were together--wherever we were--I could be vulnerable about myself in front of him,”

“Would you do whatever it takes to feel that same way again?”

In a heartbeat, Y/N stated, “Without a doubt.”

“Tell me, if Harry asked you to meet him there right now, would you go?”

Y/N’s breath hitched as she took a moment to process the question. She had just said that she would do whatever it takes to feel the same unconfined emotion again.  So why was she saying ‘no’?

“I-I wouldn’t,”

“Exactly,” Jenny concluded with a quirk of her brow.

“You’re gonna have to explain,”

“Gladly,” Her friend quipped. “You want to feel liberated, vulnerable, and honest again but not necessarily with Harry.  That place meant a lot to you--sure.  But it doesn’t matter.  What counts is who you are with.  Who’s giving you that type of comfortability that you’re able to be just yourself around them. Do you understand?”

Y/N leaned forward in interest.

“You are well aware of that but you won’t accept it. You won’t go with him because you know that it won’t be the same anymore. That’s the first step of moving on.  Once you acknowledge that as much as you miss him, as much as you think you want him to be around, you know better than that. He’s changed and so have you.  He’s searching for that same feeling by going back to the places that you used to go to.  Thinks he will find it there but--,”

“He won’t.” Y/N finished off. “Because she is not me,”

___

[botanicallyinclinednerd]

*sigh* I entertained the cursed thought of Evil!Leon and now it won't leave, so fuck it: bullet point frame work

Warnings for blood, temporary character death, graphic injury, murder, attempted murder, angst with a happy ending, magic reveal

First of all this is also immortal Leon, because I could

Morgana is discovered by a patrol headed by Leon and he's the only one of the round table there.

For some reason or another Morgana is having a really bad life day and completely obliterates the patrol in her rage.

And for narrative purposes/ the man is very sturdy, Leon somehow survives the assault, but he's not in good shape

Morgana, in her full sadistic glory, offers a painfully dying Leon a second chance, he need only pledge himself to her and she would heal him

Leon, while chocking on blood, defiantly glares at her, declaring "You're wasting your time Morgana, I will die before I betray Arthur"

And at this something hardens in Morgana's eyes and she lunges forward with a dagger and plunges it into Leon's heart, twisting it violently while hissing "so you shall" before pulling it back out

This, obviously, kills him

And for some reason or another, maybe its a part of why Morgana is having a no good very bad terrible awful day, she sticks around the site of the massacre for a bit rather than immediately leave.

Which is how she witnesses Sir Leon, whose heart she plunged a dagger into not an hour ago, take a gasping breath

This, quite understandably, scares the shit out of both of them

It scares the shit out of Morgana because she knows she killed him, there is no way he's alive

And it scares the shit out of Leon for much of the same reasons, he knows she killed him, why the fuck was he breathing (he did not know he was immortal before this point)

And while Morgana is still in shock, Leon asks angrily what she did to him, why did she bring him back (while he is scrambling for his sword and to rise, because that worked soo well for him the first time)

Morgana tilts her head at him, a slow sinister smile spreading across her face as she replies "I did nothing my dear knight"

And it is in this moment that Leon realizes he fucked up

Morgana probably kills him again for good measure, to see what will happen, and sure enough, he's back again in a little while.

Leon is freaking the fuck out and Morgana's day just completely turned around because she has Arthur's most loyal knight, his first knight, and he can't die

To make a long process short, she kills him for transport to where ever she's hiding, kills him a few more times because she can, and as she does so she formulates a plan. Since it has become quite obvious that Leon was not aware of his allergy to death, Morgana reasoned that no one back at the castle would know either. And if she could control Leon... well. Camelot and Arthur's head on a platter was as good as hers.

Since her last attempt to kill Arthur by proxy through a creature ended poorly, Morgana decides on an enchantment.

I’m thinking maybe the spell has a caveat, the only way for it to be broken is if Leon was killed by another Immortal's hand, something Morgana is certain is impossible, and is sure to gleefully inform Leon of this so in his last moments of free will, his hope and spirit would break

When Leon returns to Camelot, he doesn't act strange. A little haunted maybe, but not outwardly out of character

He says he was the only person to survive the attack by Morgana, and he barely made it away with his life (she either roughed him up to make this believable, or he did it himself)

Everyone is relieved he’s safe and back home

Arthur makes a light hearted joke about how this was the second time Leon was the lucky sole survivor of an attack, and he really needs to stop scaring Arthur like this, he’s starting to think he's doing it on purpose

And in the first indication that something might be off, Leon smirks at this, his laugh much darker than usual, and he makes a returning dark joke. Nothing out of the ordinary, really, nothing that couldn't be explained as him having survivors guilt and being exhausted and in pain

And for a while everything seems fine.

Everything is not fine.

Leon is a much more subtle assassin than Merlin was. Much more patient as well. His first attempt is in a patrol in the woods, where he tries to catch Arthur off guard.

Arthur notices in time and fends him off, expressing confusion, and Leon pulls what he pulled in Servant of Two Masters when he finds Arthur behind the tree: awkward apologetic smile (much more sinister this time, his eyes are much colder)

He apologizes profusely, being a bit self depreciating as he admits that he was still a bit jumpy from his last trek through the woods and was on edge

Arthur accepts this and just tells him to be more careful, though ultimately there was no harm done

Arthur turns away and Leon frowns/glares

Maybe Arthur makes a passing mention of it to Merlin, asking him if he noticed Leon jumpier than usual, and Merlin replies that he hasn't really seemed jumpy per say, but definitely quieter and more closed off

Again, this isn't a huge red flag considering that he went through, but Merlin starts to pay closer attention to Leon, just in case

Leon seems fairly normal. He's a little quicker to temper, and his humor is much darker than usual, and his smiles are more smirks than anything, but he's not really treating anyone any differently

His behavior isn't suspicious, he's not in questionable places, he's just Leon with some survivors guilt and trauma. So Merlin relaxes.

When a mystery assailant keeps setting traps and ambushes for Arthur in cleaver and subtle ways, Merlin is at his wits end trying to figure out who it is. And he’s getting worried, as the last two attempts very nearly succeeded.

Leon is a very patient assassin. This drives Morgana nuts

She demands he meet her outside the castle walls one night when he's on solo rounds of the castle to demand what is taking so long

"Do you want him dead or not?"

"Of course I want him dead, I want him dead NOW. Stop dragging your feet and kill him already!"

And let me tell you, Morgana may have taken control of his loyalty and twisted his motivations, but she could never rid Leon of his sass

"Morgana, this is why you've never managed to kill Arthur. No patience. No attempts on Arthur's life have ever succeeded for a reason, I'm avoiding those mistakes. You can have it done quick or done right, I'm trying to do it right."

In the end, Leon had a valid point, as it was Morgana's impatience that demanded Leon sneak away from his rounds to meet her, and caught Merlin's attention as he saw Leon sneaking into the woods

Merlin follows Leon and sees him meeting with Morgana and every alarm bell goes off in his head. Because Leon despises Morgana, and he would never betray Arthur, never. Not willingly at least. So Merlin figures out that Leon is compromised, and all those near misses on Arthur recently that Merlin couldn't figure out the source of must have been Leon's doing.

Leon tells Morgana she just needs to wait one day more, as he plans to kill Arthur the following night. Morgana hisses at him "see that you do" and leaves

Merlin follows Leon back to the castle where the knight continued on his rounds, prompting Merlin to run to his and Gaius's quarters.

Gaius isn't happy to be woken in the middle of the night, until Merlin explains what he saw

"Leon? Working with Morgana? Are you certain?"

"Pretty sure, yeah. I heard Leon tell Morgana he was going to kill Arthur tomorrow night. Leon would never betray Arthur, especially not to Morgana. She did something to him, I know she has"

They quickly rule out a femora and eventually conclude that it must be an enchantment. One so powerful to bind and manipulate one's loyalties and will would have to have a very specific condition to break it. The only way to stop/ save Leon and protect Arthur is for Merlin to figure out what it is so he can break it

He does not manage to figure it out

So when night comes and Leon is acting shifty as he heads in the direction of Arthur's chambers, Merlin has to do something, prepared or not

He comes up with an excuse or another to get Leon to come with him, its urgent, blah blah blah

Merlin pulls Leon into an empty room where no one would be likely to find them or interrupt them. And Leon tolerates Merlin's rambling excuse for pulling him aside for a few moments before he's had enough and brushes Merlin off, trying to leave

And Merlin doesn't let him, blocking the exit.

Leon is still trying to maintain his cover, but his patience is finally beginning to run out

He tells Merlin to move, he has duties to attend to, and Merlin cuts to the chase. “I can’t let you hurt Arthur, Leon”

And Leon studies Merlin, nods, and breaks out into a wide smirk. “Took you long enough to figure out. What gave me away?”

And Merlin is thrown by the sudden shift in behavior, but as long as Leon is talking he isn’t killing Arthur, so he’ll take it. 

“I saw you talking to Morgana. I heard you plotting to kill Arthur.”

And Leon nods, tutting. “I really wish you hadn’t seen that Merlin.”

And Merlin is in desperate ‘try to reason with him’ mode, which is obviously not working because Leon is under a powerful enchantment. And while it was amusing at the start to toy with Merlin, Leon has had enough.

All patience has run out. 

"Merlin, if you do not get out of my way and keep your mouth shut, I will kill you, and do so gladly"

Merlin of course does neither of these things.

Leon attacks Merlin, and Merlin barely dodges the sword. Merlin is, understandably, pretty scared. This is someone he considers a close friend, a brother, and he's currently trying to kill him. Merlin tries to talk Leon down, but its not working. There is taunting involved, and some very evil smirks

All the while Leon is swinging at Merlin with his sword, coming very close to hitting Merlin.

The final straw is when Leon knocks Merlin down, stands over him with his sword to his chest, and taunts Merlin that he is going to kill him, and then he's going to kill Arthur, and there is nothing Merlin can do about it

Well. Yes. Yes there is.

Merlin's eyes flash gold and before his eyes can even widen in surprise at this unexpected development, Leon is thrown backwards into a wall. Hard.

His head hits the wall with a sickening crack and collapses into a still heap.

Merlin is very much panicking as he scrambles up and over to Leon, feeling for any sign of a pulse.

He can't find one.

Merlin desperately tries to cast a healing spell but its not working. Leon's dead.

Important note for the record: Merlin did not know Leon was immortal. Merlin also did not know the stipulation that would release Leon from Morgana's enchantment.

So Merlin thinks he just killed a man he viewed as a big brother

He takes this about as well as could be expected: absolutely horribly.

He’s crying, babbling definitely, the words "I'm so sorry" "I didn't mean to" "please wake up" are mixed in there and repeated a lot

And then, lo and behold, Leon woke up

Its hard to say who was more surprised: Leon or Merlin

It would be fair to say Merlin, as his brother he accidentally killed ten minutes ago was sitting up in his arms, definitely alive

But it would also be fair to say Leon, who decidedly was himself again, free of Morgana's enchantment. Which should have been impossible, save from dying at the hand of an immortal. So not only is Leon dealing with being himself again, but he's also processing the information that apparently Merlin is immortal. And oh yeah: killed him by using magic

So they are both freaking out

And Merlin stammers out a mess of words that boils down to "what?? How are you alive? You, you were dead, I know you were dead! Oh gods, you were dead, I killed you, I swear I didn't mean to, you were trying to kill Arthur, you were trying to kill me, I was just trying to stop you, I didn't mean to kill you..." and he's clinging to Leon during this, and is totally not still crying

And Leon eventually manages to get a word in and halt Merlin's rambling with an exasperated and slightly hysterical "Merlin, I'm not dead!"

"You were!"

"Can we focus on that later? Is Arthur alright?"

And now Merlin is instantly back on alert, drawing back a bit to study Leon's face, but still holding his shoulders. "He's fine." At Leon's sigh of relief, Merlin asks slowly "Do you still want to kill him?"

And Leon is instantly horrified and shaking his head vehemently declaring "No!"

And then he stops, thinks, and realizes he truly meant it. He no longer felt any distain towards his friend and king, the sickly poisoning influence from Morgana's enchantment gone

Which was only possible at the hand of another immortal.

Leon's brain is going a million miles an hour, his often misused or missing brain cells taking longer than they should to come to the obvious conclusion, but in his defense, he had a lot to process, and it is a pretty unbelievable conclusion

"Merlin, you said you killed me?"

And the guilt is right back with Merlin apologizing and defending with "I swear I didn't mean to!"

"But you're sure YOU killed me? Absolutely positive?"

And Merlin's starting to get a bit annoyed, why the fuck would he lie about killing a man he viewed as a brother? "Yeah Leon, I'm pretty sure. I don't think I'll ever be able to forget it"

If this had been normal circumstances, Leon may have comforted Merlin, but these were most certainly not normal circumstances, because if Merlin killed him, that had to mean one thing:

"Merlin, since when are you immortal?"

What ever Merlin was expecting Leon to say, it sure as fuck wasn't that (friendly reminder that Merlin doesn't know he's immortal at this point)

So it is with very real confusion that he says slowly "I'm... not?"

"Clearly you are, or I would probably be trying to kill you to get to Arthur right now"

This is clearly the wrong thing to say, because Merlin now thinks this is an elaborate trick, and somehow, has come to the conclusion that this isn't even Leon, or if it is, he's a Shade like Lancelot was.

So Merlin scrambles to his feet, grabbing Leon's sword and pointing it at him. Leon raises his hands in alarm and also to placate Merlin (he’s still not used to being immortal and forgot that the sword can’t actually do him permanent harm)

"Merlin, I'm not going to kill you. The enchantment Morgana had over me is gone, you broke it" ("with magic" is screamed loudly in his head, but one earth shattering topic at a time)

"I don't believe you"

"The enchantment had a condition to it: the only way to escape Morgana's control was if another immortal took my life. You killed me, and now that control is gone. I have no desire to hurt Arthur or you, or anyone else in Camelot." I swear to you on-" he goes to say his life and realizes that maybe that wouldn't mean as much anymore and adjusts "I swear to you on my honor as a knight of Camelot."

Merlin doesn't know what to believe. He wants to, but he doesn't know if he can. So he makes Leon explain everything, which he does. Leon still has all his memories, though some of them seem a little distorted and distant, but still there are the same

When Leon finishes, Merlin puts down the sword, approaches Leon and makes him promise again. He does so, and Merlin finally believes him

He collapses into a sitting position next to Leon, looking exhausted but relieved. They are silent for a bit until finally...

Leon eventually decides its time to address the elephant in the room: "Merlin, how long have you been practicing magic?" It’s said in a way that aims for nonchalance and misses by several miles

Merlin, naturally, goes pale and plays dumb

"Merlin, I saw your eyes glow gold and then I was being flung across the room. That's magic"

And Merlin's still denying it, fiercely, and Leon has had a very long day and an even longer month

"Merlin, I'm having a hard enough time knowing what's real and what's not right now, please don't make me question this too"

And what was Merlin supposed to do? Continue to deny what Leon clearly figured out?

"I was born with it" is whispered, a scared admission

"I didn't think that was possible"

"Yeah well, I'm special"

"I could have told you that Merlin"

This is going much better than Merlin thought it would. He expected anger, yelling at least. Not teasing, as tired as it sounds

"Are you going to tell Arthur?" Is asked in that same scared voice from before

He should. Leon knows he should. As a knight of Camelot, it was his duty to uphold the laws of the kingdom, and magic is against those laws.

But it was also his duty to protect the king, a duty, through no fault of his own, he had abandoned and gone against. Where as Merlin did his job for him.

That and he could not deny his friendship to the younger man, the protective nature he felt for him

Seeing Merlin stare at him with fear and resignation, like he had already been condemned to death, Leon realized there was really only ever one possible response he could give:

"No. I'm not"

Merlin did not expect this.

When he sees Merlin's surprise, Leon gently bumps Merlin with his shoulder. "Merlin, I know you. You would never hurt Arthur, would never do anything to put Camelot in danger. Magic or not, that doesn't change. I would not risk condemning you to exile or death when you have done no harm"

At Merlin's pained look between Leon and the wall, Leon sighs. "I'm fine Merlin. I'm more than fine, you broke Morgana's enchantment. It was not... ideal, but it was the only way"

Merlin shakes his head "Leon, I didn't know. I didn't know you'd come back. If it was anyone else, they wouldn't have. I killed you, using magic. How do you not hate me?"

"Merlin," Leon waits for Merlin to make eye contact, putting a hand on Merlin's shoulder. "Magic has saved my life, in the past. And as far as I'm concerned, it saved my soul today. Am I wary of it? Yes, because I have seen the harm it can do in cruel hands. But I also know that it can protect and heal in kind ones. How many times have you saved Arthur's life?"

Startled by the sudden question, Merlin answers honestly "I've lost count"

"How many times have you used your magic to protect, to save?"

"Always"

Leon ruffles Merlin's hair with a ghost of a smile on his lips. "I could never hate you for upholding the same ideals I live by Merlin, regardless of your methods of doing so."

And finally, finally Merlin gets it. He's not going to be imprisoned, he's not going to be outed as a sorcerer, Leon is alive and himself again and has no intention of hurting him, and Merlin doesn't have to worry about losing his friend anymore because apparently he's immortal and he is too but he is not about to deal with that right now (and also let's be real, he’s still going to worry about Leon)

It is with this that Merlin finally relaxes for the first time in a long time, shuffling closer to Leon and leaning against him, the knight putting an arm around him and pulling him close, each taking comfort in the presence of the other

It's a lot to take in, and it will take many conversations and explanations over the next few days and weeks to even begin to unpack and comprehend it all, but for now, each man was left with the relief and knowledge that they were safe with the person beside them.

The end! This is not at all what I thought it would be when I first started to write it, but I'm okay with that. If anyone wants to write this into a proper full length fic feel free to do so, I just ask that you please credit me and send it to me so I can read it!

[angeltrapz]

OK we’ve both touched on it but yr post reminded me, wld LOVE 2 hear more on ur thoughts re: a Rigg&Gibson&Perez friendship squad !!!

YEAHHH god I love them!!! Three people with the biggest hearts and strong moral compasses who want to help the people... these three would get along so well I know this in my heart.

I like to imagine them as the kind of friends that all congregate in someone's apartment every Friday night and they just chill together and talk about anything and everything. Sometimes Kerry is there because I like to think about her as Perez's gf, which is a whole other layer of comfort + fun bc Rigg is super close to her too!! Those nights are kinda like. Double date nights without going out. Whether Kerry is there or not, though, the main thing is its just a way to relax around ppl you're comfortable around + care about.

Another thing I think about is that I think Perez + Gibson probably have similar senses of humour? I can't explain why I feel this so strongly I just do. Not quiiite to Gibson + Brit levels, but just about - sometimes they drive Rigg nuts w how snarky they can be with each other. He loves them both so much though and he knows its all jokes so he's mostly just fond about it lmao. If Gibson catches his eye its just heart eyes the whole time,, Perez notices this too + she thinks it's adorable. I love them!!!

And ohhh can you imagine them as a trio of vigilantes though. People who have been drawn into the Jigsaw case whether they wanted to be or not (and they definitely didn't want to) and lost so much because of it. Perez lost Strahm. Rigg & Gibson, though not in the same way, lost Hoffman. There's so much potential there and honestly? I think all three of them deserve to go ape shit on someone's ass (preferably Hoffman or even John, though obviously that's not. An option). I think the three of them working together could definitely organize something, and I think that they'd work together well as a unit. I've been thinking abt that one a lot actually bc of our Strahm/Adam discussions <3

I like to think that Gibson and Perez (+ Kerry as, ideally, she would still be around) try to help Rigg while he's going through it in IV... Gibson would be too technically but. He knows how hard it's all hitting Rigg because it's hitting him too. At that point they wouldn't know Hoffman was an apprentice yet so like the reveal that he's a part of Rigg's test? With Eric? There would be so many conflicting emotions but ultimately neither of them want Hoffman to be hurt like that.

Branching off of this, at the end of everything when Art yanks Eric off of that ice block and Hoffman turns out to be fucking Fine, that's kind of when Rigg realizes what's happening and it's like. He loved this man. He really really did. And he had a hand in what was done to him, to ERIC, to countless other people and I think Hoffman lets them (Rigg, Eric, + Art) fuck off as we've discussed b4. He can't look Rigg in the eye but he tells him to go. He passed. They all did. They won, so they can leave.

He and Gibson are messes for a while, for more than that reason alone, naturally. Kerry + Perez are there for them every step of the way bc holy shit. Things could have gone so so wrong and they almost did. They kept Eric captive for six months. Rigg had to do things that are going to haunt him, regardless of if it was for his safety. Perez got a face full of shrapnel and genuinely thought that was going to be it for her. These people could have been torn apart in the worst way possible and now that they haven't, they have to deal with the fallout.

In turn, I think Rigg and Gibson are there for Perez when Strahm is injured in the water cube trap + later killed (though I suppose it depends on how you want that to go, i.e. whether Strahm also survives or not) and they help her to cope with being made not to inform one of her Best Friends of her survival bc I hc them to be VERY close. It would kill her not to be allowed to tell Strahm she was relatively alright. Gibson + Rigg (+ Kerry, of course) are there to reassure her and keep her updated on his condition.

If this is a scenario in which this happens, they're also right at her side when Hoffman tries to string others along into believing Strahm is the Jigsaw accomplice (knowing Strahm already has to be dead, which is just Devastating for Perez) because they know it's not him. They have undeniable proof that it isn't him. The three of them cannot be ignored by Erickson when they all have the same story. Can you imagine the three of them being the ones to take Hoffman out then and there? They make sure they have backup before they even lead him down to that room with Sachi + decode the Seth Baxter tape. No one dies in that room except the persona that Hoffman has built. It ends there in that room - at least, on Hoffman's side of things.

Basically I think it would be good for all three of them to have friends like that!!

[wevegottogetaway]

Whirlwind  Part IV - Khamseen

DAY14

The energy shrouding the air of Godspeed’s is much different from what it was for Induction Rave a couple weeks ago. The place is still one of high spirit but the loud euphoria that permeated each of its nook and cranny in celebratory cheers, is now replaced with liquor-prompted laughters and light conversation melting into a mellow background noise. The music seems to have taken the same cue, its lowered volume simply adding to the mesh of sounds of the bar and no longer pulsing baselines into the heart of its patrons. Even the number of clean tables surpasses that of sticky ones for once; a rather improbable phenomenon for such an establishment.

Sitting in a corner booth as he nurses a bourbon in his hands and a scowl on his face, Harry is the embodiment of sulkiness. Feeling drained despite having the rare day off, his shoulders are stuck in a permanent hunch. They bear the pressures of being in the most competitive Navy pilot program in the world only to be met with disillusion once partnered up with someone who traded trust for contempt wherever he was concerned. Not to forget, he is still grieving the loss of his best friend. The sharp memories of the accident have yet to depart his mind whenever he closes his eyes or sits in a cockpit alongside a certain daredevil lady. A lady who haunts his nights by dragging him out of whatever peaceful place he’s escaped to, her crestfallen face appearing just as Morpheus’ arms reach out to him. And Aella always wins his attention no matter the weariness in his bones or how appealing a good night sleep might be.

Entranced in a meticulous reenactment of their last mission, involving pistachios as makeshift aircrafts, Dazzler and Tigger are seating across their subdued friend. They brushed off Harry’s taciturn disposition as they’ve come to be familiar with it, and instead proceed to do as usually ever since the accident: offer friendly companionship whether he decides to actively partake or silently tag along. He’ll start sharing again when he’s ready, they figure. No use in prying and pocking; any person who’s ever been around Harry would know. A closed book he may not be, but rather, he remains selective as to who can leaf through his essence and more importantly, what they may uncover as well as when they get to do so.

"Need a refill?" Dazzler asks Harry as he comes to a standing position hovering over the table, two beer-less pints in hand. The person of interest looks down at the drink cajoled in his hold, a couple sips away from dryness. A nod and a soft ‘please’ is all he offers his friend before returning his focus on the glass in his hands. 

As Dazzler approaches the bar effectively out of earshot, Tigger turns to the laconic man seating as his table. For once, his instinct tells him to candidly check on his mate, the absence of Dazzler’s overjoyed nature perhaps giving the moment a tone better suited for confidence. "Got a lot on your mind Styles?" He asks as softly as his voice will let him.

Harry’s eyes lift from their aimless target on a crack of the table to finally land on Tigger’s inquisitive face. They remain unwavering for a second too long as if gauging whether now was the time to exteriorize some of his sorrows. Wasn’t the headache throbbing hard enough already? Didn’t he reach his last thread when Aella and him both shot their last chance at a peaceful partnership? Be that as it may, there is so little space left in Harry’s brain for pondering purposes, he’s just desperate to get some sort of leeway.   

"You could say that, yeah" he says to his bourbon with a humorless chuckle.

"Anything involving a certain someone?" Tigger tentatively inquires whilst inconspicuously fiddling with the nutshells scattered across the table. They both know the identity behind the certain someone, and the mere mention is apparently enough for Harry to warrant another mouthful of inebriant. The gesture effectively empties what was left of the liquor, but it’s all the troubled pilot needs to open the floodgates of his censored mind.

"She’s driving me nuts, Tigger. We can barely stand to be in the same room, how are we supposed to fly together?" The piercing green eyes always had this magnetic pool to them. In friendly conversation, they were meant to make the narrator feel like the center of the universe. But right now, under the bar’s dim lights, their glow is shaded by an unhinged quality as if this time their owner was looking at the sun because his world had fallen off its axis and needed fixing.

"Maybe…I don’t know…have you guys tried talking about it?" Tigger doesn’t have much faith in the anticipated answer, but he’s a firm believer that communication can resolve anything. Proper communication, that is.

"Right." Harry looks at his poised friend unimpressed. "All the ‘talks’ we’ve had end in the same way. We scream at each other till we’re blue in the face and we say stuff that leaves us worse off than how we were." His mind takes him back to their last squabble 3 days ago, the way they had completely blown off at each other’s scowling face with crude words escaping their mouth. Like a reflex, he reaches for his drink in a vain attempt to erase the taste of malice still lingering on his lips, only to be met with a teasing drop idling around the rim.

"That doesn’t sound like talking Harry." Tigger retorts with a pointed look. His friend his better than that. Better than the excuse no doubt about to come is way if Dazzler wasn’t making a reappearance with two foamy pints and a bourbon.  

"Oi, what’s the chitchat about?" He asks with a beaming smile at the idea that his tortured soul of a friend is finally coming out of limbo, or - at least - back to his talking self. The grin is enough to reprieve Harry from his tiresome thoughts for a second as he looks up to Dazzler and thanks him for the amber liquid placed in front of him. He’s always thought that Dean earned his callsign because of that particular smile: all around contagious, and well, nothing short of dazzling…

He is quickly brought back to the matter at hand by Tigger though. "Just talking about Harry and Aella’s inability to hold a civil conversation together and their propensity to rip each other’s head off." He says, not beating around the bush whilst watching with a raised brow as the seemingly defeated man across from him promptly indulges in his replenished drink.

"Right Styles, what’s got you so riled up about our lovely Aella anyway?" Dazzler bluntly asks once he’s comfortably back in his seat. The term of endearment is not lost on Harry’s ears, however, and the reminder furrows his brow some more.

"Fuck, I forgot you lot were friends with her." He sighs. How is he supposed to vent to his friends about another friend of theirs without coming off has an asshole? He’s positive that ship has already sailed though, without much to be done about it. "Look I’m not saying she’s a bad person, but you guys don’t have to work with her." He tries to soften the blow with a subtle deflection but in his defense, he says it all genuinely so. 

Harry doesn’t really know Aella. Doesn’t know what kind of friend she is, how caring she might be with those she cares for, or how witty her words become when prodded by the right person. He does know, however, that any compatibility they may have ends at the gate of any Navy base. He knows she’s more daring than she ought to be when she’s high above the clouds and high on adrenaline. And he knows she can be downright contentious, not to say bitchy when she doesn’t get her way. So no, Harry doesn’t consider Aella to be a particularly good pilot, at least not in a tandem set up. She’s too quick to set his nerves on fire like she does everything else, to make him think otherwise.

"Damn straight I don’t work with her! Coz Tigger’s stuck with my annoying ass until the day it’s too flabby to sit in a Tomcat. But I still don’t get it, man. From what I’ve seen, she seems pretty fucking brilliant to me." Dazzler once again shows his luminous colors as he senses the conversation is about to get much somber. 

"Completely reckless you mean. Half the time she’s suggesting moves that’ll send us crashing faster than I can say emergency ejection." Harry has abandoned any cushioning tactic at this point. His resentment has taken control of his speech and his body tightens in accordance: jaw so defined, the contracting motion could be spotted from across the bar, his shoulders stiffen underneath a slightly oversized shirt and his knuckles turn a few shades whiter at the pressure exerted around his already half-empty glass.

The look his two comrades share across the table in silent conversation does nothing to alleviate his frustration. Instead, it makes him feel like a kid about to be given a talk by his parents. And the way Tigger hesitantly speaks up next, voice as easeful as he can muster, makes Harry think he’s not so far off the truth. 

"Harry, do you think you might still be processing what happened with Fox?"

The mention of his deceased best friend sends a shiver down Harry’s spine, an indescribable coldness seizing his body that no alcohol could shake off. On the defensive, his guard soars up and the same chilling tone is now clouding his words. 

"And what’s your point exactly?"

Dazzler is quick to elaborate on his friend’s suggestion as tactfully as one Dean Marshall  is capable of. Subtlety was never his strong suit. "Come on, mate. It’s kinda common knowledge that Fox was a bit of a stuntman himself. But that’s what made him such a great pilot, Harry."

"It’s what got him killed." The retort comes harsh, triggered by an array of emotions still festering in every far enough corner of his being, because he can’t quite fathom how to face them yet. It’s an out-of-body experience in a way, a disconnection between body and mind, that makes him a mere bystander of his knee-jerk reactions. Surely the words are not his. Surely some kind of demon is hijacking the headquarters of his mind and turning him into a sourpuss who can’t reign in his spreading misery. Pretty ironic for someone who used to spread kindness every time he was given the chance.

"Now, you know that’s not the whole truth." Dazzler tries to reason, admittedly slightly shocked by his friend’s outburst. The things grief can do to one’s temper…

"Whatever. She’s still impulsive and she doesn’t know how to fly with a partner." Harry’s quick to dismiss the subject of Fox, he’d rather have a slumber party with his new nemesis before reminiscing the circumstances of his friend’s premature death.

"That’s probably because she’s used to flying solo." Tigger rightfully points out. "See, you’d know that if you two talked like decent human beings."

"Well, she doesn’t have to be a bitch about it." Somewhere, a muted part his brain is considering Tigger’s statement, but it’s not enough to sweeten his bitter thoughts. It’s not pride getting in the way; Harry’s not a prideful person, or at least not in the ways that would blind him from admitting any wrongdoings. His mind is just too fuzzy to reason from both exhaustion and the booze he’s been continuously sipping on this evening. The mockery seems to be the last straw for Dazzler, however, and for once the wrinkles on the usually chirpy lad’s forehead are not caused by laughter.

"Jesus Harry! I love you mate, you know that. But stop acting like a prick, it doesn’t suit you." Green eyes immediately widen at the admonition, and before he can even think of defending himself, he’s being told off some more. "And before you say anything, no I’m not on her side. I just want to help you. Both of you. And believe me, she’s been given the same speech a handful of times, but I’ll be damned if one of you listened for once." 

"Daz, you’re getting carried away." Tigger says, once again acting as his partner’s counterbalancing act. He also doesn’t want to end the night with a fall-out. Losing another friend is the last thing Harry needs.

"Damn right I am." Dazzler quips back, his index finger pressing on the table. "I’m tired of your childish antics. Fuck! Since when am I the most grown up of the bunch?" He asks in disbelief, not able to resist throwing humor in an otherwise tense conversation. "I’m your friend Harry, and sometimes friends are here to kick your butt when you’re acting like one." He gets up from his seat before opening his arms wide in a taunting gesture. "So watch me Styles. This is me kicking your goddamn butt. Now, if you’ll excuse me, we’re out of pistachios." And just like that, he’s off on his new quest for a fresh bowl of snacks. They all know it was more so a way of withdrawing from the conversation before it got too heated. And perhaps to prevent Harry from having a chance at a comeback, but he wouldn’t admit that anyway…

"He’s right you know." Tigger softly breaks the silence that had filled the space. "You two need to sort your shit out because we’ve still got 3 weeks left and I know for a fact you’re not a quitter. Besides, TopGun is not the kind of program you can just give up on. You can still make it, Harry." 

He can’t quite figure out if his hopefulness has reached the moping man on his left, especially when all he gets in a response is one more bourbon sent down the drain, followed by a "fuck, need anothe’." 

DAY 15

Leonie Forbs was born to teach a group of overzealous navy pilots about the riveting matter of astrophysics; or so is Aella convinced. She is poised, calmer than the sea before the storm, yet when a bunch of bullheaded students does storm in her class, her collected and no-taking-shit nature still prevails. Quite the paradox for such a frail looking woman, but she’s made it clear since their first session that her place at TopGun was not to be questioned and that she could not only handle herself but also the 16 adrenaline-driven aerialists sitting in front of her. Aella admires that a lot; she can only dream of receiving the same kind of respect around base these days. 

Even more baffling to her, is how Leonie still inspires kindness and confidence within her students. Mastering the rules of the universe in no cakewalk, but with every explanation and encouraging word she provides, Dr Forbs has managed to make it that little bit easier on them. Come to think of it, she somewhat reminds Aella of Berks and his fatherly yet firm lead. The way they both seem hellbent on making her feel welcomed without giving her any free pass either, is enough of a sliver of hope to outweigh all the anguish Rex’s clique has been giving her since she joined the program. 

She doesn’t know if it can counterbalance her own partner’s though. 

"Last point we need to discuss before your test today comes from the Pentagon itself," Leonie declares as she leans back against her desk, arms casually crossed around her middle.  "Intelligence services have discerned a flaw in the Russians’ new MIG 22 flight tanks system. Their negative G push overs are out, so they operate zero to one G only." She scans the room, watching as they all process the new information.

"What happens if they don’t?" One of the students Mason Homes - or Ace, as commonly called around base - bluntly asks.

A pregnant pause ensues before Aella promptly answers her fellow comrade in a bored tone. "They risk flaming out."

"That is correct." Leonie interjects with a quick glance toward her star pupil, before turning her face back to Ace. "Even below one G, the internal fuel tanks are placed too far off ahead the plane’s center of gravity to keep it stable." The explanation immediately falls out of her lips, concise and simple to comprehend, before her attention extends to the whole class. "Now that this precious intel has been handed to us, we need to exploit it. So what’s your take on it?"

Harry is the first one to speak up as everybody seems to mull over the enigma formulated by their professor. His voice is poised, the answer definite and confident. "Concentrate on low altitude, push boosters to +3.5Gs and negative Gs alternatively."

"Very good." Dr Forbs praises in a smile, uncrossing her arms for her hands to hold onto the desk behind her. "Much like their predecessor, MIG 22 have excellent fast-climbing interceptors, so keeping it low will put their tanks at high pressure. Their endurance is very limited, so you would also be right to keep them on their toes and make them really work for it. Chances are they won’t be able to pace up or they’ll run out of fuel."

"What about using after-burning turbojets in inverted thrusts?" Aella challenges. While she doesn’t deny Harry’s tactic would prove adequate, she thought of a different way around the puzzle. Once again, the conventional route didn’t cut it in her opinion. It was too predictable, something she makes sure to always stay clear of.

"I guess it could work on paper, but your range and scope would be infinitesimal." Leonie responds truthfully after giving the proposition a thought. In the past couple weeks she has come to understand and appreciate Aella’s unorthodox thinking. She knows it comes from a knowledgeable place as opposed to one of attention-seeking. Aella doesn’t defy the MOs of traditional naval aviation to drop jaws or get a round of applause. She’s simply driven by her own curiosity and in all straightforwardness, it’s just the way her brain operates. Conjures up the unexpected first like some kind of survival instinct, but in her book, predictability is the first step towards failure. And in her profession, failure usually means death.  

"Not if you push the compression to 50%, then their scope is smaller than yours, and that’s enough to put you on their six." Once again, Aella made the laws of science her greatest ally. The plan may be venturesome but her calculations make it also airtight.  

"Very avant-garde of you, Lieutenant Lonethorne, I shouldn’t be surprised." The professor admits with a knowing smile and glowing eyes. "If well-executed then yes, the maneuver would prove successful. However, Lieutenant Styles’ approach is just as valid and much less risky." She adds for good measure. Even though she values Aella’s mind dexterity, her purpose is not to bring this groundbreaking side out of her students. Harry’s answer is the one she had expected all things considered. 

"But more time-consuming." Aella retorts to drive her point home. She doesn’t think outside the box for the hell of it. There’s always a reason, a worthy advantage that her partner always seems to overpass because of the riskiness of it all.

"I won’t deny that. Both tactics are absolutely potent in their own way; what matters is the situation in which they come to play. And that’s your job to determine." Dr Forbs reminds her fervent student that being a navy pilot can be a long list of pros and cons at times. What maneuver will result in what outcome and for what gamble. Knowing all the possibilities at any given moment is a great skill to have, one that Aella seems to have down to a T. But the real excellence of a pilot shows in the way they can make the right choice out of those possibilities.

"Alright, I’m gonna pass these exam sheets around. Once you’ve been handed yours, you have  two hours to complete them. Please don’t forget to provide explanations to your calculations, this is not a math test." Leonie explains with a pointed look before sharing an encouraging smile. "Good luck to you all." 

The next two hours are then filled with the sound of pencils scratching paper and frustrated sighs that only increase in volume as the clock ticks closer to the impending time allotment. As there is only two remaining questions waiting to be completed on his exam paper, Harry breathes deeply and takes a look around the room. Most of his fellow classmates are immersed in deep reflection, various level of frowns hardening their face depending on their advancement on the test. His green eyes then settle upon his co-pilot. She’s scribbling furiously on her paper as though her fingers are straining to put her racing thoughts to ink. Whirlwind on paper, is what he thinks.

His musings are further strayed away from applied physics as Harry recalls his conversation with Dazzler and Tigger the night prior. He certainly did a lot of thinking since then, but his mind is still fuzzy when it comes to Aella. He’s been juggling with the thought of giving her a chance, talking things out as Tigger suggested, but for some reason the idea has him terrified. Certainly a repeat of history would crush him for good, but at the same time he knows he’ll never be the pilot he longs to be again if he keeps being the person he is with Aella. They decidedly need to find a way to be at their best together, because this bringing-out-the-worst-of-the-other business is not doing them any favor. 

Harry is about to refocus on the problem at hand when Aella suddenly stands up, all 6 papers of her exam gathered in her hands in a neat pile. She cooly makes her way to Dr Forbs as quietly as she can, as to not disturbed her class, before handing her work to the teacher. Their exchange remains silent but Harry doesn’t miss Leonie’s small head gesture and yet another smile she addresses his partner. It’s not the first time he’s noticed one of his superiors showing that kind of recognition for her work. Time is running against him though, so he shoves the note in a far corner of his mind and goes back to the task at hand. Partner differences is a can of worms that will have to wait to be opened. 

The ocean has almost entirely enveloped the setting sun as Harry wanders along San Diego’s Crystal pier. Few people decided to roam the promenade, probably too busy on this brisk and not to mention, week night. Harry is just glad the urge to come here wasn’t sprung on him on a Saturday evening. The experience would have included much more elbowing and people dodging than tolerated for reflective purposes. But as his feet tread the wooden structure, gaze glowing over the breath-taking view, his mind feels clearer than it has been in weeks. 

He’s let it go too far. The angst, the animosity, this bottomless gap edged between Aella and him, as well as between his truthful self and the bad-tempered doppelgänger that seems to have replaced him. He’s become almost desensitized to it, too riddled with grief to really care, but the way Dazzler put him in his place the night before served as a good wake-up call. This petulant and dismissive person isn’t him, or as his friend no-so-gently worded it, he is better than that. 

He can’t ignore the pit forming in his stomach though. Can’t blindly hand over his trust, forget about his doubts, and relinquish the reins to the woman that put said doubts in his mind in the first place. And that leaves him one only option really: talk to her about it. But while Harry’s never been one to shy from divulging his feelings, usually the person at the receiving end of his disclosures is already part of his trusted cycle.

Just as a runner passes him on the side, he lets out a long sigh at the prospect of such a heavy conversation. How is one meant to deliver the most vulnerable parcels of their character on a silver platter to the person they are the most scared of? Harry can’t help to see it as yet another test the universe is kindly throwing his way. The only thing stopping him for cowering away is the fact that she might have to shared equally vulnerable parts of her in the process. Perhaps it’s the only way they may align to finally be a working team: weaknesses and susceptibilities all out in the open.

The end of the pier is slowly coming to view, a couple of benches providing the perfect front row seat to the Pacific’s show. The sun has now completely gone MIA, faint lanterns scattered along the path dispersing small beacons of light that pale in comparison to their predecessor, but it’s enough for Harry to notice a silhouette standing ahead. Based on their movements, they seem to be caught up in a yoga or stretching session, one foot placed upon the wood railing as their upper body folds over the extended limb. Harry distractingly takes note of their suppleness but as he finally reaches the end of the dock and the mysterious athlete stands back up, he quickly realizes the soul he’s sharing the pier with tonight, is not so mysterious.

The uniform has been traded for a light hoodie, combat boots for a pair of neon trainers and long legs usually hidden under protective layers are now bare to any curious eyes as the only piece of cloth ‘covering' them up is a pair of light running shorts. Harry comes to a sudden halt as he realizes the very reason of his torments and spontaneous walk is now standing a few feet away from him. He finds himself at a bit of a crossroad: he can either stay and get on with what feels more and more like the only option he has, or turn around and delay the inevitable for one extra night. The choice is stripped from him anyway when Aella turns around as though guided by a sixth sense and her eyes cross his in confusion.

"What are you doing here?" She can’t help but ask.

Harry is at lost as to what to say, he didn’t expect to confront her so soon after deciding confrontation was their only saving grace. All he can do, is look at her questioning eyes that for once, are void of any hurt or resentment. He’d like to keep it that way if possible, no matter how unlikely it might be. 

"Just walkin’, enjoyin’ the sights I guess," it almost comes out as a question. 

"Oh. Well, I was just gonna go so…bye" She has trouble meeting his eyes as she nervously readjust her running attire and prepares for a quick escape. 

"Wait!" She’s interrupted by Harry’s voice and her whole attention is brought to his tall figure awkwardly standing in front of her, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket. She raises a brow when he takes too much time elaborating on his request for her presence. "I just…thought we could…talk, you know? Like, we kinda need it, don’t we?" His stance is not the only thing manifesting awkwardly it seems.

"Um, right now?" Aella suspiciously inquires, her eyes swiftly bouncing to the sea on her right and back to Harry.  

"’S good time as any, innit?" Is all Harry says in response.

Aella seems to gauge him for a second as if becoming aware of the meaning of this upcoming conversation. She knows it might be a tipping point in their partnership; if they want to make it work, that is. And the moment took her by surprise sure, but will there ever be a right time? There usually isn’t, after all. "Right then" she agrees with a quick tilt of her head towards the benches as an invitation to sit. For a minute or so they remain silent while they try to figure out a way to start the conversation.

"I’m not the sexist prick you think I am." Harry eventually says, looking at his hand on his lap.

"Right." She answers not convinced. He certainly didn’t go out of his way to make her think otherwise.

"I’m not, I swear." He briefly looks at her before settling back on the lathes paving the pier. "I know I haven’t given you much reasons to think so, but I don’t have anything against you as a woman." 

"Ah my bad. You just think I’m a worthless co-pilot then." Aella spits out as she stands up, ready to run back to the safe space of her home. This was a terrible idea…

"You remind me of him." The words immediately bring her to a halt, half because she’s intrigued by their meaning, and half because of Harry’s searing pain obviously laced through their utterance. She turns around and looks at his hunched body, elbows now resting on his knees, glossy eyes still fixed on the ground. "You remind me of them both."

Aella swallows the lump in her throat before hesitantly asking "and who would they be?"

At that, Harry looks up and painfully answers,"my dad and Fox." 

Taking her time with the new information Aella takes a deep breath, drawing strength from the two blue immensities surrounding her. Slowly, she goes back to her seat next to Harry, though she leaves a decent space between the two of them. "How come?" She encourages.

"Fox was my partner before you came into the picture. But he was also my best friend." He starts explaining without losing an inch of his composure much to his surprise. 

"I know about Jonathan." Aella softly answers and Harry momentarily looks sideways at her from his bent position.

"You know of him, but you don’t know what kind of person he was." He argues with a shake of his head, short curls fluttering on top. "Fox was passionate. He was the strongest force to be reckoned with and he was fearless. And he was my best friend, but one day he took it too far and we got into an accident." Pause. "I survived, he didn’t." It surely is a condensed version of the whole story but that’s all she needs to know at the moment. 

Aella is slightly taken aback by the confession. She knows lieutenant Evans lost his life as a pilot, but she didn’t think Harry had been part of the equation, picking himself up as he watched his best friend stay down. She can’t really fathom the trauma that comes with such an incident, having flown in tandem for a very short period of time and with someone she isn’t particularly sympathetic with. Until tonight maybe. 

"Harry, I’m sorry about what happened…but I’m not him." She tries to reason.

"I know, I know." He is quick to acknowledge, taking his face in his hands before brushing them through is hair. "But the way you fly, or want me to fly is just…" He struggles to find the right words. "Look, I let him take all the risks when we were partners and he died for it. I’m not about to let that happen again. To you, me or anyone that sits in the same airplane I do," is what he settles for.

Aella doesn’t know what to say. Her brain is the one running now, faster than she ever has, as it pieces together the puzzle that is Harry Styles. She doesn’t necessarily approve of his conduct but she understands it better now. Understands the moody attitude and the resentment at her expend. Most of all, she is relieved that his supposed hatred for her has nothing to do with her gender nor her person and everything to do with his troubled past. It makes it somehow easier to stomach though she’s not about to mold herself up to his safety-appreciative standards. 

"What about your dad?" She asks instead, redirecting the subject at hand. Once again, the inquiry has Harry looking back at her. Except this time, he unfolds his torso to let it lean against the backrest of the bench, crossing his arms instead. Aella tries to overlook the way his biceps seem to pop out underneath the sun kissed flesh. She’s positively compelled away when he lets out a long sigh and dives back into the night’s confidences.

"I actually don’t know much about my dad," he starts with a humorless chuckle. "He was a Navy pilot too, gone most of the time, but he was a hero at home. He died a hero too. Left for a mission one day and never came back. I was 12." He pauses, needing a break and when he turns back to assess the weight of his words on her face, he’s only met with compassion and her undivided attention. "And all I’ve ever from anyone the wiser, is that he went into an ambush, knowingly, because he thought he could save a comrade. See the pattern?" He asks bitterly before he can help himself, but Aella knows it’s not really aimed at her. 

"I get it Harry. You’ve been through some trauma, and I’m just a breathing reminder of it. But I know what I’m doing." She says its conviction as her eyes cling onto his emerald versions. "I would never suggest something that would put you in danger; not matter how much I want to kill you most of the time." That earns them both a chuckle, and the weight on Aella’s heart is alleviated some, upon the realization that this is it, this is their turning point. The moment that can break or make their duo, seal their fate and pave their path. And by the sound of it, the future looks promising finally. "I know it looks like I’m crossing the line at times, but I spent the last 10 years of my life up to my neck in books. I never got to do the fun stuff during Navy School. The parties, the raves, the bonding… I was just the girl deluding herself into thinking she could make it, stealing a perfect spot from a more adequate man to take. And since it was just me, I studied all I could, and then when I run out of books to read I studied some more anyway." It’s now her turn to gaze at the ground while Harry listens carefully. "My choices up there, they’re not a way for me to prove myself. They’re just the possibilities I got from all the things I’ve missed out on since I enlisted because of who I am. And that’s fine. I’ve always been fine with that. But now, I have a partner and I can’t do my job properly if he doesn’t accept the possibilities he doesn’t see yet."

They both look at each other then, letting the words resonated into the night, in tune with the sounds of the crashing waves. The cards have changed, weakest ones at last laid out on the table whilst they still hold onto their kings and aces. But their fate is yet to be determined. Letting go of their blatantly mutual distaste might bring them one step closer to being a unit but they’re still ways from flying as one. 

Rome wasn’t built in a day though, and Aella still has half a run to complete. She figures it’s best not to push whatever progress they made that night, so she calmly stands up, about to resume her training when Harry softly calls out to her.

"See you tomorrow partner." It’s faint and simple, but Aella understand every ounce of its meaning. 

It’s a peace offering, an olive branch shyly extended from the tip of his fingers; a vow to try and figure this all thing out not as co-pilots but as equals. And that’s all the promises Aella needs to mutter back a ‘goodnight Harry’ and run back to her place in record-breaking time with a smile etched upon her face. 

Tomorrows have finally regained their wonder.

[theholycovenantrpg]

CONGRATULATIONS, ALI! YOU’VE BEEN ACCEPTED FOR THE ROLE OF ORIAS.

Admin Cas: Ugh, there’s so much I loved about your application, Ali. Orias is a tricky nut to crack, I think, because it would be easy to mistake their desire for worship as a desire for power, or their want of a legacy for sovereignty, but you didn’t. Their magic and incantations are such an important part of who they are — in fact, it’s the very essence of them — and you didn’t shy away from that. I think what particularly impressed me was the way that you weaved together all their separate motivations and related them to their status as the Vice of Greed: you said it best yourself, although Orias takes and takes and takes, they are also always building. I genuinely can’t wait to see what you do with our self-proclaimed False Prophet! Please create and send in your account, review the information on our CHECKLIST, and follow everyone on the FOLLOW LIST. Welcome to the Holy Land!

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Ali.

Age | 23. 

Personal Pronouns | She/her.

Activity Level | 5/10. I’m finishing up my last year of nursing school so there’s certainly days where I need to buckle down and focus. My lectures and clinical hours also happen to be quite long, so I’ll most likely pop up around the nighttime.  

Timezone | EST. 

Triggers | REMOVED.

How did you find the group?  | It was whispered to me in my sleep (Rosey gave me a lil’ rec). 

Current/Past RP Accounts | Insert ‘it’s been 84 years’ meme here.  

IN CHARACTER

Character | Orias. 

What future plots do you have in mind for the character? | 

I.                             THOU CHOSE TO FEED THY DEMONS. 

Greed, as fitting as it is, has made Orias insatiable above all else. Their heedful, yet steady rise to conquer a sense of blood-curdling worship, succession, and power is absolutely inevitable. Whether it’s by a cunning, violent force of hand or simply mere influence among distant, anguished wanderers, Orias has lived enough lives to know where they stand among a world full of futile creatures – or so they believe. I love the idea of Orias acknowledging the strength and power they hold between bared teeth and nimble fingertips. The idea of them feeding into that thought, turning a slight nose up at the inconsequentiality of their fellow demons, angels, and gifted mortals. In their own sense of the word, they are some sort of God and they’ll be gaped at as if they were one – whether you condemn the thought of their depraved divinity or not. I’m interested to explore how far their greed pushes them into believing they can modestly oversee all factions with the intent of enforcing the certainty of their future, heredity, dark sorcery, and lineage onto all beings. What will they give up in return for bleeding, unwavering worship? Will they ever be fully satiated? How callously will they tip toe the line of thunderous, earth-shattering power? Who will they decide to turn away from in the process – especially when no one is keeping a close eye on their every waking gesture? Will they succeed? Or will they fall just like Lucifer once had? Only time will tell.    

II.                         THOU CHOSE INSATIABLE GREED ABOVE ALL ELSE. 

When Lucifer had fallen from his own grace, Orias knew what they must do in order to continue their destiny, their succession, and everything in between. It took nearly little to no thought when they began to pry pieces of themself from the flesh of his skin – from the very carved bones of his ribs. You must carry on, as you were always meant to do, they thought. And that is exactly what they did, as they carried their invocations and prophecies under granite-grey feathers and silver veils. Now, don’t be so foolish. If Orias was able to look at the fall of Lucifer as a mere inconvenience to their overall plan, why would it not be the same for Damien? 

I want to explore and test the idea of Orias’ loyalty to Damien (as well as the other Vices) for the sole fact that he is the Leader of the Vices. A title they do not believe he should be able to harness for as long as he lives – a title they believe could belong to them. To Judas. It is an idea that could potentially further ensure their destiny – a position that would bleed into the pages of their legacy, along with all of their ink-stained balms and primordial secrets. If woven correctly (and approved by Judas’ and Damien’s mun, as well as the admins), this could potentially be a piece to the puzzle of their character arc. In this, I would want to explore the probability of Orias gradually turning their back on Damien and the Vices as a whole. The manipulativeness behind their biting, eloquent syllables as they speak cunningly ill of his leadership to others. Perhaps Orias even convinces Judas that the two of them could rule in equal measure – that they could promise to take the Realm of Infernum to beautiful, earth-shattering heights and smother the idea of Damien’s iron-clad God complex (and maybe – just maybe Orias fucks over Judas in the process). And all but bone-achingly slow, Orias sinks Damien’s stature a little further. To get to this point, Orias knows that they must be weary of Abaddon, Judas, and Azazel – that they must study Damien and play the part of an abiding, loyal Vice, whether they’re able to execute the will of their leader or not. But alas, Orias awaits the vision that depicts his downfall – whether it is by their force of hand or not.

Overall, I want to ensure and promise adaptability on my end when plotting with other muns. I’m wholeheartedly open to changing/altering anything mentioned – I’m even more open to Orias failing miserably, considering how tightly woven Abaddon, Judas, Azazel, and Damien are. I’m very much just interested in developing and exploring their subtle ruthlessness, gilded serpent-like ways, and sheer manipulativeness behind all covetous actions – no matter the outcome. 

III.                        THOU CHOSE WAVERING COMPANIONSHIP. 

As much as they wield their witchcraft and gape at unexpecting, anguished wanderers for some sort of promised lineage in return, it rings true that Orias has never expected anything from Azazel. I would love to explore the overall theme of this dynamic considering that Orias has never really seemed to love anything at all – nor have they granted another being without a heavy price. To have a creature of Orias’ extent love you so deeply, so openly, so raw – it’s dangerous. I so badly want to tap into that side of them, even if it’s just for a quiet moment in time. You see all of the greed, the give-and-take, the tug-and-pull – but you never see the honest grit and rose-tinted tears that go into protecting someone so fiercely. For someone that is so used to taking without caution, how does this meld into everything they’ve ever known? Will their loyalty to each other face as a haunting barrier (I would love to explore the extent of their loyalty – perhaps even test how far they would be willing to go for each other considering Orias has never quite remained loyal to anything)? Would Orias’ biting love for Azazel take precedence over their desire for heredity? For a legacy? For worship and a nearly promised destiny? And if something ever happened to Azazel, would Orias burn everything to the ground? Or would they pry the shattered pieces of themself from her ribcage just like they had once done with Lucifer? And in retrospect, would they guard Azazel the same way if they knew she may not even be able to burn her very own kingdom for them? 

I’m really so interested to see how Orias molds to this connection. The initial rise as they climb over clambered skeletons to reach a state of absolute influence and raw worship – will they bring Azazel along and respect her own vocations? Will they clutch onto the first creature that has made them feel full and so devoutly satiated? Or will they forget where their loyalties lie and extinguish the splintering fire that Azazel has pitted in their core? 

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | If it was detrimental to the flow of the plot then absolutely.  

IN DEPTH

Driving Character Motivation | What motivates your character’s actions? How does it define them? Where does this motivation stem from?

It starts with Lucifer, clutches to Judas, sinks its bared teeth into the flesh of the Vices – but always ends with them. At large, there are a multitude of staples that contribute to Orias’ actions. As beautiful and as wickedly raw as they are, nothing that comes from their steady hand is sincere – and everything they offer the Holy Land is all but a mockery. Each passing conversation, each calculating glance, each faux notion – it’s all woven from the extenuating pillars they have built upon.

The entirety of their driving motivation seems to inhabit the notions of sacrilegious “greed”, divine “worship”, a bleeding sense of “power”, and a promised “lineage”. Whispered at the sky, the moon, and the stars, it is believed that this is all but what truly keeps the feathers of their wings stirring across the holiest of lands. Never their fellow creatures, never the Realm of Infernum, never any external force – but the outwardly prominent self-factors that dare to devour them whole.

Interestingly enough, I also believe that Orias is motivated by their abilities (the power they harness, the ability to receive something promising in exchange for it, etc.) – prognostications, incantations, the subtle but forceful touch of a wicked alchemist. They’re very much aware of their potential as the Original Witch and in turn, I think somewhat of a God complex, as well as festering greed, became a main driving force for them. It’s also no secret that Orias is convinced they’re meant to leave a blistering mark on everything they touch – and for a heavy price. Because if they weren’t, why would they be granted such heady capabilities?       

To sum this absolute mess up, Orias was never brought into this world to want or need anything besides things that contributed to their own personal gain – worship (whether it’s honest or not), a molded destiny, and a warm body to carry all of their new rites and tomes (a very one-track mind if you will). So, these outright motivations, goals, desires – it all derived from their wants, their needs, their abilities and I truly believe that’s what makes them such an unwavering force (as well as extremely selfish). 

Character Traits | OPTIONAL. Please list 3 positive traits and 3 negative traits that you identify in the character you’re applying for. 

Positive – Calculating, Influential, Authoritative, Meticulous, Entrancing.  

Negative – Insatiable, Patronizing, Egocentric, Despotic, Duplicitous. 

In-Character Para Sample | There is no minimum or maximum word count to this para sample, but we do encourage that you highlight your character’s VOICE and MANNERISMS within it.

Macerating chaos. Outlying, starving howls that would bleed onto canvases for eons to come. The unrestrained syllables of Judas advising the rise. The uproar – the new age. But Orias heard nothing of it. Not even the unbridled rage that flooded past Lucifer’s lips, as the pillars he built upon began to deteriorate underneath his unsparing touch. 

And despite the utter destruction that threatened to swallow them whole, Orias almost looked angelic against the ruins – because not all carnivores came in teeth and claws. Nor did the loss of such features extinguish their want for blood – for starving glory. There are carnivores that hunt in stillness, in elegance, and in false prophecies. They come in heavenly entities, spines exposed to the moon’s bridal-white burn in webs of elaborate lace, throats armored in a rib of emeralds gleaming wet with starlight, the moon cut down and born as moonstones, and strangling silk ties that pooled like opaque salt water. 

There is distraction in their decadence and they are apart of the living breeds of predators that mask themselves in the distraction that innocuous beauty and debauchery allows – the drip of bleeding meat on the mouth dies out to rose-tinted lips, granite-grey wings and silver veils devouring all suspicion in its extravagant darkness. 

Good. Let that be a warning. 

Orias, whose frame was snug in translucent silk and drooping pearls, drifted over and neared the entirety of his putrescent stature. Their last encounter felt almost sincere but it was anything but. He gaped at them expectedly – as if they were meant to go to war for him. How foolish, they thought. But they’ll allow the sentiment to die with him and his kingdom. 

Fingertips reached out to nimbly splay over the crescents of his jaw, their wings nearly caging them in – almost as if to protect the disingenuous moment from prying eyes. “Oh Lucifer.” Bared teeth. A hollowed coo. “You must have known this was your fate all along, no?” An unholy smile that did not quite reach the sable of their eyes. “It is best if you accept it.”

He clutched onto them. They recoiled in revulsion. 

“Oh but you see, I cannot stay.” I am taking every piece with me. 

Aching silence – accompanied by a tight-lipped plea and a knowing stare. But Orias did not flinch.

Instead, they removed themself from his demoralized hold, granite feathers spanning behind them in the process – as if they were mirroring the image of an eclipsed halo. 

“May you find harmony with all you encounter.” A desolate hiss. A depraved leer. A vacant heart. And then they were gone.   

And darkness followed soon after. 

[afewmarvelousthoughts]

Stay Ch. 19

Master: @afewmarvelousthoughtsadmin

Pairing: Natasha X Reader (Female)

Summary: You have a gift, the ability to see other people’s innermost secrets. For years you used it to gather intel for the highest bidder when you take on The Widow. After she becomes more than a mark the two of you spend years stealing moments. Post snap you wait in your designated meeting place, look back on the sordid past you share with the woman you love and hope against everything that she’s still alive.

Warnings: A little violence (kinda) and a lot of feelings

A/N:  HOLY SHIT I AM SO SORRY! I had no intention for this to take over a fucking month. But Endgame fucked me up so hard (in the best way, I think I earned those hurts with the shit I write here lol) and just life, in general, has been NUTS (also in a really good way).

I honestly cannot thank you all enough for being so goddamn patient and supportive while you waited for this chapter. Some folks have to deal with really demanding and dickish followers but I’m over here getting asks and DMs of y’all wishing me well and shit. HOW AM I THIS LUCKY?!

I hope y’all like this one.

Tags are open!

Post Snap: Wakanda

Shock settles cold and heavy over Natasha’s shoulders.

Her gaze has been on the blank screen of her phone for an unknown amount of time. She’d tried to call… but all communication had been cut off, Wakanda locking itself away… A knock from the door behind her causes her to jump, sending the phone clattering to the floor.

“Sorry,” Bruce’s tone is cautious. “The jets almost ready.” They needed to get home… She knows people need them but…

“I can’t.”

“Nat… we have to-”

“No. I have to find her Bruce…”

There’s pity in his eyes, “Natasha… the odds…”

“Go,” Steve’s voice comes from the hall, rough and low. She steps out holding his haunted expression. A set of keys sail in her direction, “There’s a bike you can take outside…” Steve pauses, taking a shaky breath before continuing, “Outside Bucky’s place.”

A touch of warmth fills her chest. He already knew what she’d need to do. Her fingers curl around the keys. “Thank you.”

The moment she’s outside of Wakanda’s protective barrier she tries to check for the message… still, she can’t get through…

A scream threatens to rip her apart. She may be able to make it through the end of the goddamn world… through watching members of her small family fall to ash… But she would not survive losing you… not again.

October 2009

“Fuck!” Natasha bellows slamming her fist against the wall.

Months of searching… this had been their last lead. It came up empty. She was supposed to be the best and yet she couldn’t find and save the one person she cared the most for… not even with the resources and blessing of S.H.I.E.L.D…

They’d given her everything she could need. Everyone from Secretary Pierce to Fury throwing their weight behind this, pulling strings no one would even fathom pulling with governments and low lives alike and still not a sign of you. It was as if you’d simply disappeared.

“I’m sorry, Nat…” Clint lays a comforting hand on her shoulder, she shrugs him off.

“We missed something. There’s gotta be… something…” her voice cracks as he takes her by the shoulders.

His sad eyes break something in her, “There’s not, Natasha. She’s… she’s gone.”

“No,” her voice is thick with restrained tears. “She wouldn’t-”

He shakes his head, “I don’t… I don’t think it was a choice… But someone…” Nat shakes her head like a child denying a very obvious truth.

“Clint-” A sob slips out before she can catch it.

He tugs her into his arms, crushing her against his chest. “I’m so sorry.”

That’s it. A guttural sob rips from the deepest parts of her being and her knees give way sending them both to the floor. All she can think is how you’d feel this emotion with her, how you’d understand everything without her having to speak a word…

Slowly her sorrow is replaced with a cold rage. Someone took you from her. They likely caught wind that you’d turned your services over to S.H.I.E.L.D. and thinking you’d give something away… They couldn’t even leave her a body, couldn’t even give you dignity in death.

“We’ll figure out who did this, Natasha.” Clint may not be you but he knew her well enough to read her. “We will.”

Of that, she had no doubt.

-

They never did though…

Fury assigned her to Stark because she was best suited but also because he felt the distraction of deep cover would help. It may have but… Being Natalie Rushman reminded her of your night in Tokyo… There was nothing she could do to escape your memory.

Thankfully it hadn’t lasted long. In less than a year she was back to just being Natasha, back to the Widow, working every job she could. The more exhausted she was the less she felt how hollow she was. The more her body ached the less she missed your touch.

When she stared down a horde of alien invaders she thought that just maybe this was it. She’d go out fighting and save some people in the process. If there was another side well, she hoped you’d be there waiting.

But it wasn’t the end. Somehow they’d pulled off the impossible.

By that point, almost five years had passed. Natasha still missed you on a level that felt impossible to truly convey. But there were days that the ache was less than it had ever been. It wasn’t moving on per-say but it was something like healing.

At the very least now she had the distraction of Steve. She could make him a project. She’d never have the life or happiness she wanted but maybe she could help him find his footing. Maybe one of them could have a chance at happiness, at a life.

There was something she related to in his detachment. She supposed the loss of just about everyone and everything a person knew could be similar to the void you left. So many times she thought of telling him about you, hoping that he’d feel less alone in his pain but… He was a man from the ’40s… She wasn’t willing to risk losing a friend over dated prejudices.

Turned out she should have given Steve Rogers more credit.

When she heard the ballistics on the bullet that killed Fury her blood ran cold. It was him…

So many things had crossed her mind then. Not a single one of them had been that somehow she’d find you because of this.

She’d been so wrapped up in the aftermath of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s demise that she didn’t have time to look at the files she’d released. Thankfully Clint had her back and had been scanning them the moment they’d hit the web.

Just after she’d settled into the tower he showed up looking like he’d seen a ghost.

Fear gripped her. Had she exposed Laura and the kids in her haste to topple Hydra… had she sacrificed everything-

“I found her.”

For a minute the words rang hollow and meaningless.

“Found who?” Steve asked from his spot on her couch.

Clint said nothing, just held her gaze until his shot inevitably hit its target. “I think she’s alive, Nat.” He hands you a file.

With trembling hands, she turns the pages. Scarcely breathing. Steve says something but Clint hushes him.

As the words on the pages soak in she thinks she may vomit. Experiments, tests, torture… kill missions… Riots you’d incited at their command, dignitaries dropping from what appeared to be brain aneurisms. Little subtle things she should have looked for and then the last report… February 2014… nine months prior.

Natasha’s knees give out and she hits the hardwood with a thud. They’d had you for five years…  Her breath stills.

No.

“Natasha!” Clint kneels in front of her, Steve stands at the ready behind him.

Pieces rapidly click into place. All the subtle ties to Hydra since the very moment the two of you met and they meant one thing. My fault. All my fault. They wouldn’t have gotten to you if it weren’t for her. You wouldn’t have let your guard down. You wouldn’t have trusted S.H.I.E.L.D. You’d had a feeling about them from the start but she’d been convinced you were just being overly cautious.

“Nat…”

A raspy breath sucks into her lungs so fast it almost hurts. “I did this.” She breathes out.

“No. No, you fucking did not.” Clint grabs her shoulders, shaking her.

“I did. She wouldn’t-”

“If you don’t shut the fuck up with that I’ll slap you,” she sees Steve shift in the background. “You didn’t do this. They did this and we will get Y/N back.” She says nothing, just stares at a hair on Clint’s shirt, numb. “Do you hear me, Natasha?!”

Slowly her eyes meet his. “Do you hear me?” His tone level now.

“Yeah,” weakly she nods.

-

This was the last base that could possibly be hiding you. The last little flickering ember of hope. With cell after cell empty or filled with rotting bodies, that ember was fading quickly.

Natasha thought when the inevitable realization that you were gone hit her she’d go mad. Screaming, tearing her hair, the full Linda Blair. Instead, she feels… nothing. Not the calm detachment she’s used to but a nothingness so deep she wonders if it’s actually what death feels like.

“Natasha,” Sam’s voice crackles in her comm, “one floor down from you, south side. We think we got her.”

Tingles creep up her spine, feeling electric against her scalp. She won’t believe it. Won’t hope. All Sam and Steve had to go off of were old photos… Who knew what they’d done to you… Natasha ran faster than she ever had in her entire life. The slightest chance that you could be alive was all it took to drive her forward.

Honey. That’s all she wanted to hear in your rich accent. “Please,” she breathes out to anything that would hear her as she sprints down the hall toward where the guys waited. “Please give me her.”

“Where!?” They’re standing before a glass wall and part as if on cue.

The figure slumped on the floor beyond the glass isn’t the woman she remembers. There are bones where once ample curves had been, supple skin replaced with dull bruised flesh, thick hair traded for thin scraggly locks, pink lips for cracked grey things. Honestly, she couldn’t even tell if the person in there was alive.

A small sound ekes from Natasha’s mouth before her hand can fly to cover it. Why had she dared to hope?

Clint’s warm hand settles on her back. She doesn’t know when he arrived or how long she’s been staring. “That’s her, Nat…” He says it like she really doesn’t know like you aren’t a part of her very soul. She’d know you… she’d always know you. But were you-

Your head rolls on your shoulders, a groan sounding through unseen speakers. Natasha’s breath stops. -Alive.

“Hey,” your voice is cracked, low, and hoarse but still… it really is you. Clint grabs her hand tight. “How about you pieces of shit bring me some water?”

Still very you. Unable to wait a second longer she rushes to the door. Desperately she tugs at the handle, clearly locked.

“Rogers, a little help?!”

“Are you sure Nat? We don’t know if-”

“If. I know that if you don’t help me open this door I will break your super-powered body in ways you can’t even imagine.” Every word drips with conviction.

Steve holds up his hands in surrender. With a swift tug and a touch of effort, he pries the door open.

Your head rolls in the direction of the door, “About fuckin’ time. Was beginning to think y’all were just gonna-”

Eyes Natasha has missed for far too long fly wide open. Instead of the joy and love, she was hoping to see, terror floods your features.

“No,” your voice is barely a whisper. “God no please, no.” You bury your face in your knees, covering your ears with your hands, “I’ll do anything you want… don’t make me do this, not again, please. No.” Your body trembles, rocking back and forth.

Natasha doesn’t even hear Steve and Clint warn her to hold back as she kneels before you, tugging your hands from your head. Caution a long forgotten skill. This is you. You need her.

“Baby, it’s me. It’s ok. Look at me, feel-”

“Don’t, please don’t.” Your head shakes back and forth, “They lied, whatever they promised you is a lie. You won’t win, just go. Go. I can’t… I-”

“Y/N,” she tilts your chin up. Red rimmed, fearful eyes, gaze at her. “It’s me.”

“No. Leave, they’re gonna make me… just go. Go now. Tell ‘em I’ll do whatever it is, just leave… please… don’t make me do this…”

She shakes her head, “Do what? Baby, I-”

“Go!” You roar. Behind the word is something else. A force so strong it knocks the wind from Natasha’s chest. “Get out!”

She can’t breathe, her heart begins to trip over itself. Panic, terror, pain, all combine making her brain misfire in every direction. A low keening rises from you, with the sound the emotions become more and more pronounced. Natasha can’t even reach her concern for you anymore, there’s only this, this inescapable feeling of pure fear. Curling into a ball she tries to focus.

Slowly you rise, looking down at her. When her eyes meet yours she’s struck by how black they are, the pupils so huge they seem to take up more space than your irises ever did. They look… inhuman. For a second it quells the suffocating fear.

“Please…” Desperately Natasha reaches up for you, silently begging you to know her, all of her, in that way only you can. Instead, your hand slowly lowers, aimed for her head.

This is fine, Nat thinks, eyes closing. Strangely, she’s at peace with the thought that if she died here, by your hand, at least then you’d feel her, know she came for you even if she was too late.

The distinct crackling of electricity followed by a thud beside her meets her ears. Breath begins to fill her chest as her heart slows. Something happened to you… A new sense of panic breaks her from the stupor she’d fallen into.

You’re unconscious, one of Clint’s shock arrows stuck to your back. Vaguely, Natasha is aware of the shuffling feet near the door. Someone grabs her shoulders. Logically, she knows they’re helping her up but she isn’t operating on logic. Without thought, she blindly lunges at this faceless person. Flesh contacting flesh with an effective smack.  

Ignoring everything and everyone else she crawls to you ripping the arrow off your limp body tugging you into her arms. With every ounce of strength, she has she clutches your back to her chest. Your head lolls on her shoulder as she presses a kiss to your forehead.

“I’ve got you,” Natasha whispers against your skin. “I’ve got you. It’s ok. It’s gonna be ok. You’re gonna be ok, baby.” Tears burn the backs of her eyes, pricking like a thousand needles. She refuses to allow them to fall. Tears won’t help you.

“Nat?” Clint’s voice is level like he’s speaking to one of the kids. “Nat, we need to get her some help. Will you let us do that?”

Clarity dawns. Her eyes scan the room to find Steve rubbing his neck. It was Steve who she’d lashed out at. “St… Steve?”

“I’m ok,” his smile is weak but he’s sincere. “Will you let me carry her?”

The thought of letting you go… but Clint was right. Your skin feels clammy, your breath shallow… scarily so… Natasha nods and he cautiously approaches, not wanting another fist to the throat.

Steve lifts you from her arms like you weigh nothing. Despite his bulk, he’s so gentle, ensuring you’re supported properly. Clint and Sam flank her, making sure she’s steady on her feet before trekking to the jet.

Immediately Sam begins hooking you up to oxygen and a saline drip. He says something about your oxygen levels and heart rate that doesn’t sink in. All Natasha can do is stare at you, horrified and amazed in equal measure that somehow you’re back with her. Somehow after all these years, she has you again.

-

“This isn’t fucking necessary, Tony!” Natasha shakes with rage.

“I think all present parties would disagree.”

Her eyes desperately scan the room for backup but even Clint averts his gaze.

“I don’t know if you blacked out back there but all of us damn near flipped shit when your girl in there did. She’s a bomb and we have no idea what the trip wire is. Until we know exactly what’s going on we need to control the environment she’s in.” Tony collapses in a chair, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“I don’t like it either, Nat but he’s right. We have to play it safe. For her sake as much as ours.” Clint looks so tired…

She shakes her head, “She… she won’t know she’s safe… that-” I’m here… Natasha can’t finish the statement though because she knows that’s part of the point. Seeing her had set you off.

“We’re gonna have to keep her partially sedated for at least a few days anyway, Nat.” Sam offers a half smile when she glares at him. “The withdraws from whatever they had her on will be rough, it’d be cruel to keep her fully conscious while she goes through the first part of them. She’ll come to slowly so the change doesn’t shock her.”

She knows Sam’s right. They’d had you on some sick mix of heroin and other chemicals for longer than they knew. It was the perfect combination to keep you desperate and pliable without harming your mind, leaving you an effective weapon for them.

But when she looks at your unconscious form through the view screen she just wants to hold you. Truly it feels as though her whole body is aching to wrap around yours. She wants to be the first thing you see when you wake up but… they took that from you both.

Sam wraps an arm around her shoulders, “I’ll make sure she knows she’s safe, Natasha. Promise.”

-

Post Snap

The rain had slowed but that only meant that cold could settle in. That kind of cold that makes your insides ache.

You can’t bring yourself to move, all you can do is focus on the pain and what it reminded you of…

November 2014

Your whole body throbbed with pain. A deep, aching, hungry kind of pain. It was familiar but you weren’t certain of it until your stomach clenched.

Without ceremony, you lean over the side of the bed and heave, nothing but bile burning up your dry throat.

After you refused to kill the woman they sent you should have known they’d do this. It never took very long for withdrawal to set in and the last time it had been enough to break you… They’d send her in soon enough… And Natasha’s face or not you were fairly certain you’d end her life if it meant stopping the pain.

Anyway, it wasn’t Natasha… Hell, sometimes you wondered if there ever was a Natasha. Maybe your brain, in hopes of surviving, crafted some fantasy to comfort you…

You heave again, abdominal muscles screaming from the effort. “Fuck,” you groan, wiping your cracked lips on your arm.

It’s not until you collapse back into the bed that you realize you’re in a different cell, and this bed… well, it’s possibly the most comfortable thing you’ve felt in years. Interesting tactic for them to take.

The door opens cautiously. A dry laugh tumbles from you. Even if you wanted to attack whoever was on the other side you don’t have it in you. It’s strange though, caution isn’t usually their style.

Slowly a man with a kind smile comes into focus, a tray in his hands. He’s not in uniform, just plain street clothes. Your head cocks to the side, trying to put these pieces in place.

“Hey, thought you may want something on your stomach. Better than heaving up nothing.”

You say nothing, eyes narrowing. Focus, Y/N. Read him, come on. But your brain isn’t in the mood to obey you.

As he approaches, instinctively you curl into yourself. Thoughts of other men, other cells, flash rapidly through your mind setting your heart to thundering. The familiar feeling of your chest splitting open begins but you fight to maintain control. If they thought you attacked him…

The man clears his throat shaking his head a bit as if to fend off a fly. “I’m not going to hurt you.” Slowly he sets the tray of food at the end of the bed. “You can tell if I’m lying right?”

He extends a hand just close enough for you to reach. For a long moment, you just stare at it, confused, trying to work out what the trap here is. It’s always something there’s always something. But maybe if you played along they’d give you want you needed to make the aching stop. Fuck, you just want it to stop.

Hesitantly you let your fingers graze the back of his hand.

Quick as though you touched a hot stove you withdraw. Bad idea. You couldn’t control it. So many images tumble in your mind. Faces, names, voices. A small sound comes from you as your hands grasp your head, trying to keep it from flying apart.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Are you ok? Can you open your eyes?” Sam, his name was Sam, is kneeling beside the bed looking up at you with earnest eyes.

Slowly things come back into focus and you know one thing for certain. He’s not lying to you. This Sam, whoever he may be, does want to help you. You don’t trust him, he could be being used, but it’s been a long time since someone was near you that didn’t mean you harm.

“I… it was too much at once…” Your body relaxes a touch, “Thank you, Sam.”

There’s that familiar flash of surprise before he responds, “Wanna tell me your name?”

“Y/N.”

“Good to meet you,” his smile is true. “Think you can eat something?” Blankly you stare at the trey, the thought of eating making your abdomen clench. “If you can eat a bit I can give you something that’ll help with the pain.”

Saltine crackers had never looked so appealing and horrifying all at once. Taking a deep breath you scoot down the bed and pick one up with a shaky hand.

The salt explodes on your tongue as though it’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted. Your stomach growls demanding more. In an instant you’re reaching for another cracker.

“Take it slow,” Sam smiles brightly as he pulls up a chair close enough to be personable but not uncomfortable. “If you’re feeling hungry that’s a good sign. Means your system is getting closer to being clear.”

“What’d they have me on?” You ask before taking a deep drink of water.

A muscle in his jaw ticks, “It was a cocktail. An addictive one.”

You didn’t really need the details, nor did you want them in all honesty. Knowing wouldn’t change anything. One thing you did want to know…

“Where am I?”

Sam holds your gaze, clearly weighing his response carefully. “Somewhere safe.”

“That’s a shit answer.” Your hands shake as you sip the oversized mug of broth. It’s hot and stings your chapped lips a bit but you nearly groan from the taste.

“True.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You’re in New York. With people who want to help you. Can that be enough for now?” His sincerity hits you, a warm wave of emotion, unlike anything you’ve felt in so long.

You’re too tired to fight, “For now.” The half-empty mug clatters to the trey as it slips from your hands. Mindlessly you itch at your arms, every nerve feels like it’s tingling, almost enough to drive you crazy.

Sam stands, crossing the room. Your eyes follow him as he places his thumb on a pad causing a small door to open. “This will help that.” He holds up a vile and syringe.

Fear chills your over-warm body instantly. However, your eyes light on your arms, scratch marks red and irritated, and despite the food, everything still hurts… badly. Plus, who gave a fuck what you wanted. He may be kind but you were still in a cell, still a prisoner.

Habitually you hold your arms out. With a gentle touch, he grips your wrist, locating a non-ruined vein and injects whatever new concoction these helpful people have for you.

As it works its way through your blood the aching does quiet some, your nerves stop their incessant tingling. A deep sigh escapes you. Whatever it was it felt good. You’re not sure if it’s the drugs, the food, or just soul-deep exhaustion but your eyes flutter and you sway.

“Here,” Sam grips your shoulders, guiding you to the plush pillows. Suddenly you see a flash from him.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“For what?” Through your half-lidded eyes, you see his confused expression and feel just a touch of fear.

“Your friend. Riley. I’m sorry.”

He looks away, clearing his throat. “Thanks.” When he looks back his eyes are glassy, “Get some rest, Y/N. I’ll check back in on you soon.”

-

It had been six… no seven days… They blurred together into one purgatorial haze.

Natasha hadn’t left the observation room off your cell the entire time. Sleeping on a cot next to the viewscreen just to feel closer to you… when she slept that was. But after Sam had assured her that his exchange with you earlier was an excellent sign she couldn’t seem to keep her eyes open. That little touch of relief better than any sleeping pill.

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been out but a sudden cry instantly pulls her from sleep.

You’re still in the bed, very much unconscious, but… You’re thrashing, so much so it’s hard to tell if you’re not seizing. The only thing convincing her that you’re in the grips of a terrible dream is the cries of terror filling her ears. Then…

“Natasha!” Your desperation and pain feel like a bullet straight through her heart. A red light flashes in the observation room, the others are coming, she has to get in there now before anyone can stop her.

“Natasha! Don’t!”Clint’s voice barely hits her ears as the door to your cell slams shut behind her.

For a moment she can’t breathe or move. The air of your cell is thick, swamp-like with your emotions. Taking a deep breath she gathers herself.

With effort, she focuses on every good memory she has of you, every happy moment, every safe tender night and… love. She pulls that core emotion around her like a cloak hoping it will somehow reach you.

“Get out of there, Natasha!” Tony’s voice is harsh through the speaker. She ignores him, almost to you.

A scream accompanied with a wave of abject terror and images of a lab almost send her to her knees. She doesn’t falter though, tears stream down her cheeks, her body shakes but still, she moves toward your thrashing form.

Slowly she lowers herself onto the edge of the bed, laying on her side. Her arms wrap around you, pinning your arms. Her legs do the same around yours holding you steady.

“No!” You screech as your head flings back. She barely avoids the hit.

She’s not feeling the fear you’re pumping out though, not anymore. All she feels is relief. It springs from some part of her she had forgotten about. You’re in her arms, the ache she’s felt for years quieting.

“Y/N, you’re dreaming baby.”

“Natasha, no!” You sob as an image of her own bloody body slams into her. She just holds you tighter.

“That’s not me. I’m right here. I’ve got you, Y/N.” She feels a shift in your body. “Do you hear me? Focus on my voice baby… Come back to me, Y/N… please.”

You gasp, “N… Natasha…”

“That’s right.” You’re no longer thrashing so she slides her hands to grasp yours. “It’s me.” Natasha keeps her mind focused on all those good memories that got her from the door to the bed. Focused on the love she feels for you.

A thick sob bubbles from you causing your torso to shake. You try to turn in her arms and panic grips her, remembering your reaction in the base.

“Keep your eyes closed ok? Can you do that for me?”

You nod and she helps you turn to face her. You’re so gaunt, so clearly battered, but somehow still so fucking beautiful to her.

A trembling hand releases hers rising to find her face. Natasha hears the speaker click, but her free hand shoots up, signaling them to shut up. Your fingers lay gently on her cheekbone, from there they slowly trace her features stopping on her lips.

In a movement as natural to the both of you as breathing you pull one another even closer, your lips fitting together perfectly.

Natasha nearly cries out with joy at that long forgotten warm feeling of love that always flowed form you when your lips met hers. It was thick and golden like-

“Honey.”

@mywinterwolf @disagreetoagree​ @breezy1415 @peachthatdrinkslemonade​ @5aftermidnight @jeromethepsycho @marvel-randomness @daniellajocelyn @katecolleen​ @yanginginthere​ @wonderlandmind4 @piensa-bonito @for-the-love-of-the-fandom @lesbian-girls-wayhaught @siriuslycloudy2 @alphalesbianwolf @sxph-t @marvelb00kwolf​ @itsqueenofchains @demonlover87​ @firegoblet01​

[deadreligions]

Beginning

Chapter 1.

A true story.

I don’t know why i’m writing this. I don’t know why I feel that after all these years, that this might be the most forward way to conclude this internal dialogue of what was real and what wasn’t. I have the journals. Scratched in words filled with anxiety and lust wrapped up in a toxic relationship that ultimately determined my path in life.

We go back

 We go back

We go back

Down

Down

Down

Do you care to follow?

It might hurt.

Enjoy the ride.

July 11, 2007

The air is crisp and rolls through my window, it's hot and the air feels so heavy in this monstrous room that I share. I’m tired. My heart still hurts. I don’t understand why I’m being forced out of this relationship that I've been in for like a year almost, my parents can be so uptight. I still remember my mom wigging out after finding out I use tampons over pads now at the ripe age of 14, but oh man when they found out I lost my virginity they completely lost it and banned me to my singleness and internal loathing. My whole last year of 8th grade was nothing short of craziness and experiments that some people would highly question. Maybe i’ll let you know a few things but until then i’m trapped in this fucking room left to my own devices, maybe i’ll make a habit of journaling every thought that happens to cross my mind but i’m sure its going to be a boring summer. Who knows. I’m going back to bed.

July 11, 2007

DUUUDE my mom came in and said that I can go to the lake with her and my sister! I’m super unmotivated but the idea of being able to be outside for a few hours might just cure this aching heart. I don’t know, maybe i’ll actually catch a decent tan for once instead of just burning to a crisp per usual pastiness. I may have some hispanic through me, but the irish trumps all and provides olive skin with long thick brown hair that is almost unmanageable sometimes. I sometimes feel like a decent blend of both ethnicities but who's to say, I never felt like I was that special anyways. I’m rambling. Again. 

I couldn’t put my finger on it yet, but this anxious feeling was washing over me and I couldn’t think as to what it might be. I tongued the side of my cheek in hopes of a distraction. My mom was busy driving and enjoying the 85 degree weather to notice any signs of worrisome. My younger sister tuning out just as much but more or less excited for this impromptu trip to the lake. We haven’t lived here long but the scenic trees that nestle in the great seattle regions felt like home when compared to the dry desert of Richland, Washington. I could almost breathe in the moisture. When it came time to finally turn off of an intersection towards the waterfront, the anxiety feeling became almost overwhelming and knotted in the pits of my stomach, I felt so uncomfortable in my two piece bathing suit in public. Mainly because even at 120 pounds of flesh I felt so out of touch with myself and the way I looked. I wasn’t nearly as developed as the girls in my 8th grade class and the averageness of myself was almost glaring. I wanted to sink into fall already.

“You ready? Now I understand that you’re under a tight restriction but I couldn’t resist giving into this day, it's all nice and what not. I don’t know what's gotten into you, but maybe a day out with your family would be good for you. I love you, but I just need you to be safe okay?”

I tried to understand what she was implying, but all I heard was the echoing insecurities and everything that followed was you aren’t going to date. Ever. Again. I shuffled out of the front seat and replied with a simple yeah just to mull things over with her, I honestly didn’t feel comfortable talking to my mom about how I was feeling let alone what others were doing at my age. She wouldn’t understand. 

I had to guide my younger sister by my side and slowly walked down a narrow path that would eventually open up into a huge entryway with trees lining the way, almost guiding you into a private oasis surrounded by greenery. The lake big enough to swallow as far as I could see, I felt drawn to be enveloped by it. I wanted to be weightless. My younger sister took no reservation by running gleefully into its depths, and sinking into its lucrative fluid that made her shiver with laughter. My mother’s hearty chuckle that barreled through her chest and a side eye that questioned my own enthusiasm. 

“You getting in?”

I shrugged my shoulders hoping maybe she would let me sit down and enjoy the scenery but of course that’s not the case.

“Go on, I have some reading to catch up on and you need to be outside at least for a little bit this summer so I suggest you enjoy it while you can.”

“FINE.” I was entirely annoyed with the situation but I knew it was also pointless to start with her once she gets going, besides anything is better than that dreaded room at this point. I dropped my towel and glasses and kicked off my sandals, and was soon already crossing the waterfront pier slicked with water from the numerous people jumping off of it. One by one, gainers and backflips performed for onlookers who waded in the water below. Girls about a year or so older than I were crowding towards the corner of the pier and hoping to find a suitable partner for the summer. Like a mating call. Flocking with all of their colorful feathers and huge tits luring all the possibilities that would fling themselves. I felt awkward. I definitely didn’t want to jump but standing there completely dried alone just screamed weird. I wrestled with my thoughts for a second at most and was disrupted by cheers of the cackling hyenas, giggles and hushed words implied that whoever it was, was the flavor of the day. I stared at the water hoping to catch a curious glimpse at this suitor that seemed to have wooed a slew of young women and was surprised. His hair caressed his skin with its onyx waves while he moved gracefully through the water, like butter being passed through with a knife, his body cut out of the water as he hoisted himself through with the ladder joined to the waterfront. I studied his muscles that moved in symphony as he moved hand over hand, water dripping from every crevice and cut. Like marble cut fresh and polished over. My face felt hot quickly as soon as I noticed that he had turned and met my gaze. I felt exposed. His eyes were haunting pools of black that seemed to have burned when looked at for too long. I turned my head, maybe looking at the water and pretending to search for my sister might make him advert and continue whatever conversation he was having at the time with one of the hyenas. It didn’t. 

“Hello.”

A caramel voice oozed a greeting and left me frozen. I jumped because I wasn’t convinced that this person is literally talking to me, I even looked to my left sure that I was mistaken and was confused to see that I was.

“Uhhh… H-hi?”

“So are you just going to stand here the entire time or are you actually going to go swimming?”

“Well I, u-uh, Yeah I was planning on it but I wasn’t sure how the water felt or anything and didn’t want to freeze to death you know?”

Really. Thats the best you could come up with?

He ran his hand through his hair shaking the residual water out, he cracked a smile as if he knew that was obviously a bluff but something read that his black pools were soft. They greeted me warmly. 

“Come.”

His hand outstretched covered with veins and light hair that speckled through, warmth is being offered from a strange man so why not. Not like I have anything better to do. 

“Okay…”

I took his hand and trusted him as he guided me toward the end of the waterfront, questioning looks from the pack and I could feel the intense analysis of my body being a process. 

“Hey, I realized I didn’t ask your name?”

The more we walked, the more slick it became thick with wet bare feet running through repetitively. I leaned way more into his hand than I wanted too but lord, I was not about to bust my ass on the ground.

“Quinton, but you can call me quint for short, usually everyone does. What's yours? Sorry I’m horrible at introductions.” He suppressed a light laugh and maybe a hint of embarrassment? We finally came at the end of the waterfront and was briefly introduced to his friends, Micah and Max, both seem to be the main culprits of the suitors that the pack was still lingering around. Micah was short, maybe as tall as me at 5’ 7 with copper hair that had ringlets dangling about his pale face, something said that he and Quint were close based on the eye gestures Micah tossed about, he looked up to him. 

“Oh no, you did not let my man lure you in!”

Max smiled wryly at Quint and made his gaze back over, green eyes greeted me kindly and offered an olive tree of friendliness amongst strangers.

“ I’m Max, seems like you’ve already met Quint, don’t let him convince you to do anything because unfortunately he has a bad habit of doing it with us.”

“Hence all the extravagant diving!” Micah waved his hands about and bowed in an incredibly dramatic fashion. “Quint being the swim nut that he is, he’s always trying to level up everyone and it gets old but it's okay, at least we can play into the benefits right?”

Micah gave a wave to the girls still idling near bye and a squeal of giggles erupted, I laughed nervously and tucked as much hair behind my ear that I could before giving a reply.

“Well I actually just met him, he thinks i’m weird for being dry and watching everyone swim but I just don’t want to get cold!” I playfully rolled my eyes, maybe if I match the same enthusiasm that was presented I might just be able to get away with being cool, these guys were obviously a few years older than me so why would I ruin that opportunity? That's all I heard about from high school, the benefits of being with older people in upper classes and that you can get access to anything was enticing.

I noticed that the entire duration of talking to the guys, Quint was still holding my hand, and while typically I would feel absolutely weird and probably creeped out about it something was just so familiar. It felt normal. Quint was quicked to assess the conversations and was reserved, almost as observing but providing small touches of smiles and shrugs here and there, He was even quicker to notice my thought process and was able to put two and two together.

“Ready?”

The guys who were laughing moments ago became serious instantly, They both gripped the side of the waterfront and lifted themselves perfectly to a standing position balancing seemingless. I couldn’t help but gaze in awe as a perfectly timed synchronization of twisting and flipping through the air was accomplished and disappeared into the water below almost within a blink.

Quint pulled on my hand issuing that I should follow, I nervously did but was not quite sure what he was expecting me to do, I cant jump and do crazy flips like that! The more I walked the more I felt like I didn’t belong there. That I should leave. The intense pit back again and barreling deep into my chest now and the heavy thumps proving louder in my ears, I was sure he could hear it. He guided me to the edge of the dock. I looked at him and told him that I was scared, I don’t know you and I don’t want to jump but I feel like I must. That I have too.

“It’s okay stranger, you just have to trust me.”

And just as quick as was spoken, the icy waters caved in around me and pulled me

Down

Down

Down

Into

The

Abyss

You 

Held

Me

In

The

Darkness

And I wished to never come up for air again.

[littlelovelymemes]

✰ * º ❛   buzzfeed unsolved sentence starters  ( pt. four )   ❜

         (   part of the youtube starter series   )

‘  you don’t feel strange at all? not even a little bit?  ’ ‘  oh shit, waddup! i’m taking a selfie with some demons, yooo. hell yeah, whaaa!!  ’ ‘  you’re insufferable.  ’ ‘  yeah, i’m just gonna... get some fucking holy water.  ’ ‘  i’ve lived my life with one adage and that’s don’t fuck with demons.  ’ ‘  i just love seeing you squirm!  ’ ‘  okay, tell your spooky story!  ’ ‘  i think this is all bullshit.  ’ ‘  we better get out of this house, somebody knocked our little bear out of his little wicker chair.  ’ ‘  you’re telling me you wouldn’t be unnerved by going upstairs and seeing a bunch of stuffed animals organized into a little cult circle when no one did it?  ’ ‘  what the fuck? oh shit! no!! where’s my holy water?  ’ ‘  what the fuck? oh shit! no!!  ’ ‘  where’s my holy water?  ’ ‘  it’s just a flashlight! it rolls, it’s cylindrical!  ’ ‘  here’s the thing-- this is what i fucking love about like, paranormal evidence. people are always clamoring for it, right? like ‘where’s the evidence,’ and then when the evidence is finally they’re like, ‘fake!’  ’ ‘  if you slit my throat tonight, i’m gonna have a hard time forgiving you for that.  ’ ‘  will you haunt me for the rest of my life?  ’ ‘  no, i won’t haunt you cause i’ll be dead. ghosts aren’t real.  ’ ‘  that demon’s racist!  ’ ‘  fuck that demon, he’s whitewashing the history of this house.  ’ ‘  this demon’s what’s wrong with hollywood.  ’ ‘  whatever, demon’s racist. i don’t respect this demon.  ’ ‘  you’ve lost your mind!  ’ ‘  here we go! rock and roll, buckaroo.  ’ ‘  fuck this house. fuck this house so hard.  ’ ‘  here’s the thing, i discount almost 100% of all of ‘i saw it in the middle of the night’ things because sleep paralysis, often times, most people wake up and see shit.  ’ ‘  if i wake up tonight and there’s this grotesque looking thing laying next to me and just staring at me with it’s fucking stupid beady eyes open, i’m gonna shit myself. there’s gonna be poo in my sleeping bag.  ’ ‘  i’m gonna sleep closer to you, i don’t care.  ’ ‘  every little pin drop that you hear, every little creak, it’s gonna make your butthole tighten.  ’ ‘  i think it would be a sleep-full night for me if it weren’t for you.  ’ ‘  annnnnd nope, i’m man enough to admit that this is not happening tonight. i can’t. it’s not happening ever.  ’ ‘  you givin’ up?  ’ ‘  i just think it’s silly to give up at the last minute, but whatever. you know, it’s no big deal.  ’ ‘  did you just call the demon a motherfucker?  ’ ‘  i don’t give a shit now, i’m gone.  ’ ‘  peace out, bitches. go fuck yourself. you were truly awful and i hate you.  ’ ‘  this is the happiest moment of my life.  ’ ‘  i think it was just a wonderful coincidence.  ’ ‘  i’m glad it happened because i got to see you turn into a babbling mess.  ’ ‘  i’m happy to let you believe in this ‘cause i think it’s fun that you believe in it, cause if we go to more places, it’s gonna be fun to watch you freak out some more. so great.  ’ ‘  let’s just call it unsolved, how ‘bout that?  ’ ‘  but we sure had fun!  ’ ‘  he looks really happy, actually. look at that little face. he looks like he’s eatin’ grapes.  ’ ‘  that’s really interesting, let’s get the fuck out of here.  ’ ‘  i don’t wanna imagine that. can’t you just let me enjoy the moment for once?  ’ ‘  what a trip its been. we’ve seen a lot of stuff. seen spiders, we’ve seen... ghouls.  ’ ‘  this looks like disney land. i wouldn’t be surprised if they got cotton candy in there.  ’ ‘  yuk it up, man. yuk it up. you’re really enjoying this, but when the lights go off, this may be a little different.  ’ ‘  you’re full of shit if you do not feel strange right now.  ’ ‘  i assure you in like half of the places you’ve been, people have died there. people have probably died in the chipotle we just ate at.  ’ ‘  well then that’s why she didn’t live forever! cause she found a loophole!  ’ ‘  i won’t argue that your logic is flawed. i just hate it because it’s detrimental to my argument.  ’ ‘  you think the ghosts just checked in every like 3 to 5 years?  ’ ‘  this is a theory. i’m just stating a theory.  ’ ‘  no one builds a house like this because they have arthritis. no one says, ‘oh, my knuckles feel a little funny. i’m gonna build a house with 500 rooms.’  ’ ‘  i hear ya, man. i agree with ya. i’m just saying this is a theory that people believe... and i’m relaying the theory.  ’ ‘  those people are idiots.  ’ ‘  i mean, you know what the doctor says: ‘nothing’s better for arthritis than a two story drop to the floor below’ right?  ’ ‘  although, i will say, i cannot imagine communicating with spirits produces any kind of receipt.  ’ ‘  that’d be-- yeah. i... i agree with your calling of bullshit.  ’ ‘  good! i’m glad we agree on something for once.  ’ ‘  i’m gonna lock myself in here with the ghosts.  ’ ‘  i knew that you were gonna do that and it still scared me. fuck you.  ’ ‘  hey, man. calm down!  ’ ‘  you almost scared me to death -- i’m never gonna forgive you for that. hope you’re fucking proud of yourself.  ’ ‘  there’s a lot of things that you can’t see that are real. you can’t see gravity -- that’s real.  ’ ‘  i can’t see gravity? yeah, i can drop an apple.  ’ ‘  hey, ghosts! tussle my hair. give me a little purple nurple or something, let’s have some fun!  ’ ‘  you’re the worst.  ’ ‘  if i have to spend one more moment looking at your silly face, i think i might murder you myself.  ’ ‘  we’re on our way to a nightmare.  ’ ‘  you’re on your way to a nightmare. i’m on my way to a nice retreat.  ’ ‘  this is a mistake.  ’ ‘  there’s also a thunderstorm rolling in so that’s fun.  ’ ‘  he looks fine. look at him! the kids fine and now i feel like a big weenie.  ’ ‘  you are a big weenie.  ’ ‘  this is the beginning of a horror movie right now.  ’ ‘  that’s an ominous cloud in the sky. some very atmospheric thunder.  ’ ‘  well, this seems all horrible and awful in general.  ’ ‘  look, there’s spiders everywhere, so that’s nice.  ’ ‘  see, i’m more concerned about the spiders than the ghosts.  ’ ‘  i thought i got bit in the asscheeks by a spider.  ’ ‘  anytime i get even remotely spooked, i just look to the monkey with the sunglasses.  ’ ‘  is that a bed? is that a guy? should we poke it with a stick?  ’ ‘  uhh, sure. if that’s what it’s gonna take to get us out of here then yes, i believe in all of this.  ’ ‘  this is a fucking nightmare.  ’ ‘  what the fuck was that?! holy shit balls!  ’ ‘  okay, i don’t care what his favorite was -- fuck that, let’s go.  ’ ‘  toodaloo, can’t say it was pleasurable.  ’ ‘  fuck everything about that place.  ’ ‘  ‘odd’ doesn’t even begin to describe this one. it’s very strange.  ’ ‘  my interest is piqued.  ’ ‘  they’re making their kids work seven days a week? my parents would maybe be like, ‘empty the dishwasher’ on a... you know, a thursday, and i’d be like, ‘this is bullshit.’   ’ ‘  i guess i’d run away from my parents if they made me work seven days a week, especially if i was shoveling horse shit and moving dirt.  ’ ‘  i’d fake my own death.  ’ ‘  you strike me as one of those idiots who likes to put their phone down and walk into the middle of the woods and experience nature and all that bullshit.  ’ ‘  either way, leaving your house in this day and age without your phone, without your credit cards, that’s already a death sentence. you can’t do that.  ’ ‘  this is what happens when you live on a farm.  ’ ‘  what wide generalization are you gonna make about people on farms right now?  ’ ‘  i just think you gotta read some-- some culture, eh, watch some two and a half men, i don’t care. just connect to popular media and know what the world is thinking, otherwise you go nuts.  ’ ‘  yeah, ‘cause nothing says sanity and civilization like a red robin resturant, right?  ’ ‘  how much trouble could a family of farmers get into?  ’ ‘  farmers and bears don’t mix. they don’t put bears on farms.  ’ ‘  i imagine this is a little bit more than they bargained for when they were trying to find that pikachu.  ’ ‘  that’s fucking terrifying.  ’ ‘  you just lock your door. you’re in a car, drive away. that’s not that scary. and then, you know, if the doors don’t work and he starts breaking a window, then guess what? time to die. and that’s a bummer.  ’ ‘  then guess what? time to die. and that’s a bummer.  ’ ‘  what point does the fear come in? about when the life is draining out of my body.  ’ ‘  oh yeah, excuse the public for wondering about your safety, sir.  ’ ‘  this does make me realize i don’t give people the middle finger enough.  ’ ‘  i guess i’ll just go fuck myself then.  ’ ‘  i’m not gonna go find my kids if i’m trying to get off the grid. off the grid, no more kids.  ’ ‘  alright, well... once again, we’ve solved nothing.  ’ ‘  do you think you could become part of a shared delusion?  ’ ‘  every time i’ve ever offered even a little bit of a delusional thought, you immediately shut it down.  ’ ‘  no one thinks they’re susceptible to shared delusions and then it happens.  ’ ‘  what if we’re in a shared delusion right now?  ’ ‘  is this all in our mind?  ’ ‘  it could be all in our mind. this could be the most elaborate delusion of all and we’re talking we’re talking about delusions which, in term, is actually a weird delusional loop.  ’

[perambulatelove]

“She’s just a beautiful person, inside and out. And the most radiant person I’ve ever experienced, and I just can’t get her out of my head!”, I said frustratedly to my best friend over FaceTime.

“Suzi?” She asked.

“No hah” I started laughing, as much as I thought Suzi was a fantastically wonderful girl and I adore the fact we have some SERIOUS unmatched seamy chemistry...it still wasn’t HER.

“Oh Jessica then? Or Jazz? I did like her freckles, they complimented her eyes so beautifully! She was so gorgeous, damn I can’t believe you dated such a beautiful girl.” Kate kept on.

“No Kate...Anne.”

“Oh”, she said solemnly, letting her emotions splay across her face in the sudden onspread of depression and sadness that those four little litters always seem to bring on.

Kate just looked at the screen and then reached across her bed for her pipe.

“Well honey, I’ll smoke to that!” And we both took a hit for good measure before I delved into my heart, yet again, as this subject always requires reminiscing, solumn sadness and a generous degree of unrequited love that has lasted for 10 solid years, straight, sprinkled with the occasional fucking dreams of her.

HER. Such a big word. So much weight. And has for years. But since I’ve had dreams about her dating back easily to when I was just out of college, and for sure when I was in Japan, nothing has ever been the same. I even suggested she read The Celestine Prophesy after that dream in Japan.

...I wonder if she even remembers that’s the book I gave her last Christmas...

There’s like this insatiable desire that was shook awake when I began having those dreams. It was as if I was reassured that my feelings when we were a bit younger weren’t just a symptom of adolescent hormones at work.

“What about her?” Kate asked, snapping me out of the inner history I was reminiscing on the screen of my mind, something I always seemed to replay rapidly in my head anytime I get notions of Anne again.

“I had another dream...” I said again, watching as her face went from sad concern to a small frown of contempt and virtual disgust. She wasn’t unfamiliar to these dreams.

“Hell, I think I even remember telling Cara about these dreams though dude...she’s just everywhere” I said letting anger and frustration rise in me, as was customary whenever I talked to my best friend about this one girl. Her.

“Whose everywhere? Cara?” Kate chortled out lightly.

“Kate stop! You know exactly what we’re talking about!” I snapped back at her, not allowing her damn humor to make me feel anything but what I was feeling, again, because of this woman’s insatiable haunting of my dreams.

“I know...” she trailed off, letting me watch as we mirrored, this time, the small frown of mutual understanding.

“So what the fuck do I do about her then? I’ve never been able to stop thinking about her. And the only times that I’m happy and finally starting to just let go and fall for someone, let someone else have that place in my life where I can ACTUALLY love them, not this unrequited bull shit; every time I come so close I begin to have these fucking dreams.” I said throwing my phone down while Kate watched me take a hit to relax the ever-building anger inside of me.

“I can’t stand it! She doesn’t feel anything? Really? Fuck off with that! She can’t feel anything?! Why? Because I’m a little bigger and curvier than her usual MO? Because her shallow ass can’t see past that and see how much I could give her, and have wanted to give her for the last 10 years? I mean god fucking damn Kate! 10 years! A whole decade she’s been in my fucking life and like I literally...dude I think that I’m actually on the verge of going insane because she probably doesn’t even remember the moment we met but I’m just that in love with her and have been since that day...”

“What?!” She said coughing out her hit. “No! What the fuck?! Why on earth would you think you’re insane dude?! Because she can’t feel something? She’s lying; and I’ve told you this before. And fuck her for saying that and making you think you’re not good enough. Like all the reasons you’re even in school, all the reasons behind why you wanted to be a physicist and she’s telling you that everything you’ve been doing in your own research and theories is virtual bull shit...I mean there’s just no way! I feel your essence dude! Shit, I can feel even your god damn appreciation, longing for, and just utter love for this woman 3000 miles away and in the god damn mountains! You know for fucks sake that she’s hiding from it, or maybe she is really just shallow and thinks you’re not good enough but fuck her then! Totally fuck her because if she can’t see the love you’d fucking give her? Shit, if she can’t see how much you’d romance her and give her in this world, having to keep all those feelings locked away for so long, then totally fuck her! She’s immature and shallow and how could you want that?” She continued, spitting out her chips here and there while scooping salsa into her mouth.

“I. Fucking. Know.” I said getting irritated, still more, letting out the breath I was holding in while Kate was ranting the same bull shit I’ve gone over and over and still over again in my head. I just looked at her over the phone and said,

“So then what the fuck do I do about it? Give me a substantial answer!” To which she was quiet, as she always gets about this unending question that seems as if there’s to be no resolution from any angle.

“How do I get these dreams to stop? How do I get her out of my head? How do I get myself to stop thinking of her, and comparing literally every woman I come across to her? How do I stop loving someone who literally said she can’t even feel ANYTHING for me? TELL ME WHAT THE FUCK TO DO BECAUSE ITS DRIVING ME INSANE NOW!” I yelled more to the universe, cursing the gods, than at Kate.

“I don’t know man. Just keep living? See more tarot readers? Therapists? And I mean the reiki kind, not the physcology bull shitters who have no history of experiencing anything in their life...Who will just pull the odepuss-y shit...I mean...have you told her about this?”

“No.” I said quickly. “That’s NOT an option, and you know that. She told me she didn’t have feelings, so that’s the end of it. We just stay friends, that’s it.” finishing the sentence so resolutely, we sat in silence for a little. Knowing this fate has brought unending torture on me.

“Look honey. Sometimes people really are just scared. Sometimes even someone who is a boisterous, outgoing lion like herself can get afraid of being vulnerable. Not everyone will accept what they feel out of that immovable force of a wall they built up. But I can tell you this, the wall Anne’s built to keep others out, she’s also seemed to trap herself in, and that gets truly lonely. And I think we both know that she’s not going to be happy with anyone else, ultimately. She’s searching, she wants someone like you I’m sure, she wants that ability to just cry and be vulnerable with someone for once who could sit there and look her in the eye and say I get it; and hell how could she not want that from literally the most amazing and flawless woman on the planet? You do realize you study PHYSICS bitch, and do you know how much you’ve touched my life and changed so much about me? If she can’t look at you and see holy hell the compassion that oozes out of you and your wicked intelligence to boot plus you have to be the most interesting person Ive ever met - well shit you and I both know she must be HELLA stupid if she can’t see that. Or even if she’s running from it. You need to just...idk write it out and then forget about it. Just do that”

So I guess here it is, 10 minutes after a crying phonecall about my damn recurring dreams of this woman who has always been the muse of anything I could possibly imagine doing, drained of tears and anger just trying to get this god damn emotion out of me so that it will stop controlling me.

I don’t know what else to do because I’m going insane otherwise, so I did what Kate told me to do, I’m writing it out.

Anne,

I remember like it was yetsersay, fucking Christ be damned, you had to be the most beautiful woman I had ever laid eyes on. And not in a simple manner either, there was something about you. You lit up the room. And everyone knew it. Hell, I’ve watched over the years as you’ve always been the one that just shines like the sun in a room. The blonde in your hair was utterly golden, translucent and this just amplified this glow you always emmited. To this day it still does.

Then I remember hearing your voice. It was like the smoothest molasses my mother’s ever poured into a ginger snap, and that’s truly where Cupid pelted me, deep, with an arrow that’s been pierced straight through my heart that’s remained for 10 years. We had to go around the room, Hell I even feel like this must have been the reality weekend that was at Sam Wheeler’s House. I remember what the room looked like, that’s for sure. The roof was slanted and the walls were red, of course just amplifying the flame you omitted and I think there was a pool table in the room. We must have been 14 at the time, it was 8th grade. And we were all told by our leader to go around and tell everyone something about ourselves in a nutshell. When it got to you, it was this coy but commanding, clearly sociable force that simply just spoke, capturing my heart, “Hi, my names Anne Deal, and this is me in a nutshell” and you proceeded to envelop yourself in a nut shell made from your arms. This probably had to be why I always called you by your full name. The way it just sang, I could never forget it. In the moment, I don’t think I really thought too much of it other than thinking you were so unboundingly attractive. I was right at that age when I was questioning that side of me possibly being gay, but meeting you that day changed so much in me.

I found myself being so wildly attracted to you after that. Too shy to really do anything to make any sort of lasting impression, considering I had enough depressive bull shit to go through struggling with my weight over the next four years (and prior, but it got worse in high school, a lot because of home life, but that’s not for putting all over the Tumblr), I remember that we would have passing conversations, but I wonder how much you remember about high school. Shit, I did crazy shit in high school and I know I don’t remember like 99% of it. Hell, I don’t want to remember that time in my life, except for one thing. Roughly around junior year I remember seeing a picture of you with this little yellow cartigan on, sitting in a field of yellow flowers, and I’ve never been more taken aback by a woman. And I mean a woman, a god awful, completly beautiful, radiant woman that continually stops my heart because there is no way she is not just a complete goddess down to her SOUL. But by this point I knew I was gay, and I knew you made my heart melt, that’s for sure.

And sitting in that theater, I know I was a nervous wreck, but shit can you blame a girl? I’m this nerdy, geeky, always been ugly and not something to look at girl who plays video games and watches anime and reads manga, Hell, dresses in Lolita and you had to be, by far, the most attractive, interesting, flooring woman I had ever met in my entire life - and I was on a damn date with you. After all those years of wanting you? Shit I was a god damn nervous wreck, Hell, both dates. The first one you didn’t touch me much so you didn’t see that anxiety-ridden ball you got to experience during an okay, but generally shitty ripoff of a saw movie (that Rob Zombie only came up with between other jobs). And I wanted to woo you. I wanted to take you out and show you all those feelings I’ve been having to hide for so long. I wanted to show you how a woman deserves to be treated, especially now, this fantastically ever more radiant beyond goddess-like woman that you’ve become, and you tell me the most heartbreaking and odd thing I’ve ever heard “I just don’t feel anything”...oh.

I mean it does change things if that’s really the case. 10 years of unrequited love...fully unrequited. Energy, after all this time has lied to me. I’ve had to hold these feelings down since before high school, before going through THAT bull shit, then college and the partying that followed and all our bull shit, rapes and abortions and meth? Shit...what the fuck did we do...and yet all of it this, this entire time has always been to try and keep away this lingering thought of you that just can’t seem to break beyond being so trapped by my own inadequacy...

But here’s the real kicker, is that so much of me wants to just let it go. I crave nothing more in this world, especially because you don’t want me. I’m not enough for you, and thats simple. I’ve already been through that hurt, Hell I was even surprised I captured your attention to actually get a date. That alone meant I was good enough for that much. Possibly just attractive enough to get a date with this one woman I couldn’t even begin to compare to any beauty ever mused about prior, because god damn there’s just this thing about you. And you know you have that charm, no doubt about that. It’s what makes you so irresistible to so many other people.

But every time I try and let ALL of this feeling swirling around inside of me go, especially so that maybe I can move on, maybe to have a girlfriend worth loving and actually give my love to, I have these dreams. And they’re weird. I’ve never had such vivid dreams unless you’re in them. It’s like you’re there. You used you not even look at me in them, most of them I’d be watching over you at a party, no doubt I’m sure when you needed a guardian or some shit to get you home safe, but as they’ve developed over the years I watched as you noticed me in my dreams and in real life more. You started actually touching me, just softly, in the dreams after we dated. But now they’re odd. They occur where you just wisk me away somewhere, dancing around with me or pulling me along to do something. And I’ve just never seen you with a smile so big and so beautiful.

And that’s all I’ve ever wanted was to be able to give you that smile. Be that reason and that long standing history of watching all the shit you’ve gone through happen, as I deal with my own shit too, but look back on it and look at this person you’ve become out of all that? Out of every trauma you’ve experienced yourself, I’m sure even some actually unbenounced to me and it wouldn’t surprise me, but I’ve still watched you come out of it. Seen this beautiful soul, still capturing my heart after a whole decade, go through everything...Meanwhile I’d still be here thinking the exact same thing I thought 10 years ago in 8th grade...this astounding radiance that even a passing poet on the night of a singular concert session through Seattle could see this fire that’s inside of me. He knew. He asked if I was a fire sign, and I said no I’m an air, to which he said “but I see a fire inside you” I could only answer him with...”passion”.

I think I just god damn, unequivocally, irrevocably and unwaveringly am so beyond in love with you. And always will be. And I just don’t understand how else to put it because I’ve always felt the same way for you before dating, after dating, even now. It’s the exact same feeling.

It’s a good thing I’ll be moving to Colorado at the end of May. I’ll be back with my best friend and far far away from all this.

[thesinglesjukebox]

TAYLOR SWIFT - ...READY FOR IT? [5.79] After the last one, sure!

Katherine St Asaph: The old Taylor's not quite dead -- that pre-chorus is pure Nashville melody, from melody to bowdlerization ("you should see the things we do" is about as explicit as someone marveling over a particularly large pumpkin harvest.) Like her former/current/who knows anymore rival, "Ready For It" pumps up Swift's numbers by sounding like interstitial music for Big Sports -- premiered for the NFL, currently being stripped for instrumental parts by NBA promos -- but also like blood sports. The track's a bombed-out, post-apocalyptic version of 1989, the Yeezus to "LWYMTD"'s 808s. Or possibly approaching NIN: the pretty date machine of "Blank Space" gone rogue, locking onto someone arbitrary (the gossip algorithms still cross-referencing it against increasingly nonentity dudes) because "I see nothing better." It's romance only in the literal sense -- the jailer/thief scenario is even pulpier than "Bad Romance" managed -- and otherwise love reduced to plan and execution. The verses are alternatively tryhard, artificial and vaguely offensive, as if it isn't Taylor on the mic but Microsoft Tay. But the all-consuming, heat-seeking mania of a certain inadvisable sort of crush is palpable as adrenaline, and stokes the all-consuming, heat-seeking maximalism of Max Martin and team throwing every resource and songwriting trick into ensuring this is a hit. Petty points for Swift saying the word "island" this many times in a track with no trop-house whatsoever, and given that she's enough of an in-joker to come up with "Nils Sjoberg," I bet it's on purpose. [9]

Ramzi Awn: The most commendable thing about "...Ready For It?" is that it completely erases any memory of the single that preceded it. A confusing, feverish dash for relevance, the song makes Katy Perry's "Swish Swish" sound even more fun, an accomplishment not to be taken lightly. [3]

Alex Clifton: The rapping is an atrocity. The production is a slicker version of Sleigh Bells with half the heart. Taylor's enunciation is bizarre: "no one has to know" is such an awkward line delivery, second only to the nasally "he can be my jailor" and "let the games begin." Her vocals are a piss-poor imitation of Rihanna; at first listen, it's hard to find a shred of the Taylor I've known and loved. It's a travesty. And yet. It's 100% a Taylor production, overdramatic, narcissistic, full of easter egg references to old songs like "Haunted" and "Wildest Dreams". It's obsessive dark love writ large: "I keep him forever / like a vendetta" marries romance and vengeance perfectly. And the sheer force of that chorus makes me want to scream "IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIIIIIGHT" in public. I love the idea of sexy, dirty Taylor, less concerned with perfection and more with ghosts and robbers and gritty feeling, but the haphazard execution of the verses is so frustrating. Par for the course with all Max Martin creations, though, that chorus is a melodic masterpiece. I've got this on repeat and I'm upset about it. [6]

Eleanor Graham: Who would have guessed that the legacy of Taylor Swift's fifth album "reputation" would be to have production so DIABOLICAL that it makes "Welcome To New York" sound like "Heroes"? No one on pop's A, B or C list should come within 100 feet of something that sounds like this. I've seen comparisons to Yeezus, which is fair because they are comparable in terms of sheer nerve, but on tracks like "New Slaves" or "I'm In It", Kanye's sleaze is a feasible sparring partner for electro-roar. Taylor's Pennsylvania-goth-Bratz-doll-masochism-adjacent-revenge-core is not. You'd think that would be obvious! To, you know, anyone! I don't even know what's happening anymore. The 2 points are mainly for the way she says "go", which does something to me; no, I don't want to talk about it. [2]

Stephen Eisermann: Taylor's thrown caution to the wind and no longer gives any fucks. The provocative chorus and the weird, rapid-fire, off-putting rap/sing hybrid verses are the most prominent examples of her willingness to toss out all consistencies previously found in her music. None of this feels like Taylor and that's fun, but I'm not sure everything works. The verses especially, though lyrically fun, are delivered so oddly that the parts that should be "cool," instead make me cringe - the "Burton" line, specifically. I mean, I'm not sure what I was expecting based on the first single, but it certainly wasn't this, for better or worse. [6]

Ryo Miyauchi: Taylor writes her tried-and-true narrative of love as tragedy into self-parody. The bare-bones beat and the anti-chorus structure of "...Ready For It?" laughs at the many hits of 1989. Her self-satisfaction is maddening, truly: the snicker to "the Burton to my Taylor" is designed to drive everyone nuts. But I should remind: the real target is not exactly you but, as always, her exes, who she destroys without lifting her voice: "every love I've known in comparison is a failure" doesn't so much rip apart the journal pages where they're enshrined than it sets her entire bookshelf into flames like some great purge. [6]

Claire Biddles: Speculating who the 'real' Taylor Swift is is reductive and boring, but my favourite Taylor Swift is the wide-eyed, extra, romantic, saying-too-much-too-soon Taylor Swift that we get a glimpse of in the bridge, swallowed up before she even gets started by that sub-Kanye womp-womp in place of a chorus. There's a mutated version of her in the verses ("We'll move to an island/and he can be my jailer" -- I'm imagining she's just met the guy for full effect) but the self-conscious, sub-Lana Del Rey delivery dampens it. Perhaps I'm just being selfish, wanting for the Taylor who most relates to (and thus excuses) my embarrassing romantic tendencies, but Cool Girl Taylor's attempts at aloofness are unconvincing. [5]

Alfred Soto: A bad single, an uninteresting bad single. Mouthing "are you ready for it?" over synth bass farts comes off like preparing listeners for the punch line: Taylor Swift rapping with as little regard for cadence as Lou Reed in 1986. At least "The Original Wrapper" had the performer's rage as its subject, affected or not; Swift is writing bad bumper music. [3]

Will Adams: It's standard practice now for Taylor Swift to drop an incendiary lead single that gets the discourse a-churnin', only to reel in the masses for the more palatable, less batshit follow-up (and she's not the only one to do this). But for "I Knew You Were Trouble" and "Blank Space," there was still a distortion of who we thought Taylor Swift was (dubstep; dissection of public image). The distortion in "...Ready For It?" is... distortion. But it's hard to care about whether Swift is stoking more controversy when the song is so bracing. There's nowhere to run as blocks of drums stack atop the opening pounds and warped roars, all culminating in, finally, an actual chorus. Where "Look What You Made Me Do" was a firebomb kindled by thinkpieces, the fire in "...Ready For It?" comes from the song itself. [8]

Iain Mew: Like "Wildest Dreams" with the wild dreams added in. [8]

Joshua Copperman: A couple of years ago, I actually co-wrote a song where we used that phantom/ransom rhyme. Until that song actually comes out, here's Taylor being the ransom phantom instead of someone else haunting her. I wish that the opening line was "Loki was a killer/first time that I saw him," because that would be hilarious for her to bypass the "tilted stage" subtweets altogether and talk about how Hiddleston's now pining over her. These lyrics are also as good as anything she's even written, so a "Loki" joke would work better than whatever she was on about last time. What bugs me, though, is the empty space in the chorus. Taylor's best melodies are stream-of-consciousness, but "in the middle of the night/in my dreams.................... you should see the things we do" feels like something got cut out last-minute. I do love the idea though, the way it flips the narrative of Wildest Dreams in a really interesting way - now, she's seeing him in her wildest dreams. That's the kind of self-referencing and subversion I'd rather see Taylor do. [6]

Edward Okulicz: So many of the ingredients of Good Taylor Pop Songs are in this one -- dreamy and melodic chorus, don't care attitude, groan-inducing but quotable lyrics -- but the production feels really dated (to around the time of Red, in fact), stalling the track when it tries to accelerate. [6]

Sonia Yang: On one hand, this is generic pop I would have brushed off had it been any other artist. On the other, it's refreshing to see Swift step out of the zone of what I've come to expect from her in particular. I love the ominous synths and how the entire track has a spy thriller vibe. The best part is that breathy prechorus, you can really feel the "island breeze" as Swift delivers that line. The chorus, unfortunately, is a wisp of a thing that doesn't have any impact. The melody neither compels nor is purposefully anticlimactic. The lyrics, while not quite Love Story levels of awkward, are not great; the Taylor-Burton reference is campy at best and cringe at worst. [5]

Jonathan Bradley: Taylor Swift has rolled out singles from Reputation like trailers for the next release from a blockbuster film franchise: not only songs, "Look What You Made Me Do" and now "...Ready For It" (next: "Gorgeous"?) have acted as teasers for a new product launch. Unveiled during a college football broadcast, "...Ready For It" sounds like sports, like a pre-game huddle, like a highlights reel from last season building excitement to see how the new line-up will perform. "Welcome to New York" did the same for 1989 and was fine, but "...Ready For It" is better because it crams more into its pop overload: a rap that traces the "Empire State of Mind" flow, K-pop synth blasts, a gleefully audacious pun on Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton, and a chorus about "dreams" and doing things in the night that throws it all in for the romanticism Swift has always been so resolved to earnestly commit herself. If Reputation should turn out to be her New Jersey album, and if all the stage-setting should ultimately overshadow the show itself, I hope we'll one day rediscover how good the songs themselves were. [8]

[jmaria200]

Epoch

When I began this blog I and my wife were expecting twins. Then, this past Wednesday, on July 27th, we became parents. This happened nine weeks early and the world shifted on its axis. Life has become haunting long white hallways, beeping and pulsing machines, and scents of over cooked food mixed with sterilization. It is surreal and scary.

Early Babies

Around 4 o’clock I’d gone for an afternoon jog that Wednesday.  I wanted to see how close I could make it to Fort McHenry in the Federal Hill, the next town over. I was wrestling with my recently purchased phone because it wasn’t properly set up and I wasn’t sure if this status contributed to my not getting my wife’s urgent calls. Ten minutes from home, for some reason, she got me.

“My water just broke, I need you home,” 

I went numb all over.  

“Are you serious?” I said knowing right away she was. The pregnancy had been tedious one fraught with concerns and frequent doctor visits. My wife was older and was carrying twins which made her a high risk pregnancy. She’d been measured forty one weeks when it had only been twenty eight. Various doctors said either that they weren’t concerned about the excessive fluid retention she was experiencing or that it was possible to keep growing.  We bought into their expertise and now it had proven wrong.

“I need you home right now.” 

Words like “Holy Shit, or Are You Fucking Nuts“ should have left my lips but all I got out was “All right.” Part of me was convinced it was a false alarm. Still I took off as fast as my body would take me. Having already run for forty five minutes, it didn’t take my limbs to grow heavy and my chest to tighten up. I kept thinking this is what happened to people in movies and books. Not in real life. We hadn’t taken any classes, packed any bags, even had a damn baby shower. 

Sweating viciously, I fumbled with number fingers to get the fucking key in the door. I shot into the living room expecting my wife to be struggling on the couch but there was no one there. My brain didn’t comprehend. Had to be the bathroom. Not there either. 

“Aurora!,” I started hollering up and down hallways. 

Nothing. 

Desperately I went back to to my phone and saw a message there. 

She had a friend who lived nearby drive her to the hospital. She’d called her sister was on her way to pick me up. I let out a lungful of air and jumped in the shower. I couldn’t think but I couldn’t stop moving either. I play music while in the shower and decided I should now, maybe to keep some normalcy. The one song I remember was “Apologize” by the group “One Republic”. 

Ten minutes later I was grabbing fistfuls of clothing and anything else I thought was important. What was important: toothbrushes-would this be an overnight stay-snacks? pillows? clothing? There was a class that taught us what to pack in a bag for the hospital. We hadn’t taken it yet. Reality was a boat tipping dangerously to the side despite my mental efforts to keep it upright. My sister-in -law showed up while I was still scrambling around. After an additional five minutes of mindless looking(I even stopped and gazed at nothing from time to time) I threw my old duffel bag in the back of her car and we took off.

When I walked in the maternity ward of Sinai hospital I expected people in scrubs and hair nets and babies to be flying out but I found my wife laying quietly in a bed in the triage area where she’d been every previous time she’d come in with an issue.

False alarm, I thought. All is normal. False alarm.

The nurses, one who’d been there for almost every previous visit, was discussing testing for amniotic fluid. We almost knew them by first name. Then my wife asked for her sister and, since only one person could be with her at the time, I had to leave, which ticked me off a little. Wasn’t I the father of these future children? But I respected her wishes. In the meantime, for the some reason, I decided to get my phone working. Call it an escape or just my paranoia. Twenty minutes had passed before sister in law came out and said they were moving my wife.

It looked like all was not normal and we were staying. Maybe just overnight. We followed a hallway past the triage area, through a set of the many electronic doors that don’t open if you stand too close, and found my spouse in a more typical hospital room filled with loud electronic chatter. They had what looked like hockey pucks strapped to her belly and nurses were adjusting these ad-nauseum to monitor the babies heart beats.

“The baby girl’s amniotic sack had ruptured,” she explained sounding scared. “I’m going to need to stay in the hospital until they are born.”

My heart began to chatter again. The pregnancy was in jeopardy. The babies might come two months early. We were use to things not going as planned but this wasn’t just about us. Also one thing you naturally do when in a unknown situation in a hospital is gauge the mood of those who work there. If they panic, you panic. Since non one was panicking I figured okay then. Ride it out. Also I wasn’t loving two months of hospital visits. 

We shooting to keep them in until thirty four weeks, the doctor had said.

They administered magnesium to stall the potential labor and made my wife feel strange. At that point, I’d envisioned staying until everything had settled then going home to my bed but my wife requested I stay the night. Ergo, I put on the television stretched out on the vinyl couch near the window. My wife was swollen and sore and couldn’t stand up, but otherwise all right except they kept adjusting those dam microphones again and again.

The neonatal doctor was sent in to discuss premature delivery. It was sort of like talking about what could go wrong before a big surgery. Does nothing for your piece of mind. 

“At twenty eight weeks we’re concerned about their lungs being undeveloped. Also there could be bleeding in the brain as there are ventricles in there that aren’t fully developed.”

Basically, premature children is all about under development. I and my wife listened and nodded and were both still convinced these babies wouldn’t be coming tonight. Who wanted that badly to enter this world?

Then the contractions came sometime before midnight. My wife was curled in the fetal position at one point. The contractions were like rubber bands slowly tightening and releasing.  The staff gave her a second drug to stop the labor. Who knew one could even stall the process. And, yep, they were still playing with those damn hockey puck microphones strapped to her stomach as the babies kept moving. 

Disney’s version of “Hercules” was all I could find on the television; I wanted to get lost in the moving colors but there was too much action. 

A young doctor, who looked like someone who would play a doctor on tv, checked in regularly.  He had been checking on the dilation of her cervix mostly by sight as there was a fear of infection. The tv doc pulled out a a large spotlight and did so again. Apparently dilation was holding steady yet my wife was still having contractions. 

As the pain geared up, the nurse suggested either stronger pain medication, that might sedate the babies if they do show up, or an epidural. My wife agreed to the epidural. Now most people who’ve seen movies with labor scenes have probably heard of epidurals.  I knew they were for pain but never underestimate how complex and painful they were. In marched the anesthetist and opened a packet of tubes and equipment.  The nurse propped my pregnant wife up and the anesthetist proceeded to either drive a spike or something close to it into her spine from the way my wife hollered.

There came a momentary calmness after as the contractions were blunted. 

“It’ll feel like pressure. You won’t feel the pain, but it doesn’t take away the pressure.”

Then the head obgyn doctor came in. I’d seen her earlier that night but I had no idea who was who at that point. 

“I’m going to check you again,” she said to my wife. After a short examination she declared “You’re dilated to three centimeters. I can feel a little head pushing. Sorry, these babies are coming tonight.” 

And just like that. Like a badly scripted show we were going to become parents  at three thirty in the morning on a Thursday. No typical rush to the hospital with my wife in labor, no classes, no grandparents in the waiting room.

Ten minutes later they were wheeling my wife to the operating room while leaving me to pack together our stuff. I felt like a guest at a sleep over who gets kicked out at the last moment. I was given the proto-typal blue suit and hair net that almost all surgeons wear and told to wait five minutes. I’d been charged with taking pictures/video like a good husband and I was experimenting with my wife’s Iphone by taking pictures of just about everything in the room. 

Then they came for me. I was led down another wide, white hallway to double doors. Inside was like another world. I’d been inside operating rooms before but always as a patient. Now I could actually study the place. Everyone was dressed the same as me. To the left was the Neonatal team with life support equipment ready. In the center was my wife or should I say my wife’s upper half surrounded by more equipment with a cloth stretched across her middle hiding the surgeons that were already at work. Suspended above the operating table was a pair of those classic spot lights that people stare up into as they are leaving this world or maybe returning. Nothing like that would be happening now.  I huddled up next my wife and the anesthetist and started filming. At first all was pretty quiet. My wife looked at me with glazed weariness. I took her hand and kept watching the blood pressure on the monitors.  Thoughts of women losing blood too quickly during cesareans was in my head, but, once again, no one else seemed to panicking yet so I wasn’t. In fact, The anesthetist, the same woman who’d put in the epidural, narrated what was happening, which was somehow comforting. She asked if I wanted to see what was going one beyond the cloth.

“I’m okay. I get woozy of this kind of stuff.”  Not a chance. I considered becoming a doctor until I realized I was bad at chemistry and grew light headed at the sight of blood. The calmness continued until my wife started to shift on the table and cry “Oh, oh”

A “sorry” came from the other side of the cloth. This went on for about ten minutes more. The camera was still rolling on my wife’s phone. A nurse noticed this and asked me to stop when the children was born. Another nurse, or doctor,(it was hard to tell) then said “You can’t be filming in here.”  Regretfully, I turned off the camera seconds before the tiny, moist pale form my daughter appeared from the other side of the curtain with the most beautiful little cry that cut right through me. 

The nurse laid her on a little table and a group of nurse and doctors closed in blocking my view. 

Her brother silently followed close behind.  The neonatal staff closed in looking anxious for the first time. I could see someone massaging his chest.  The silence was frightening. Were babies this small suppose to come out crying? Was he okay.

“Is he all right?” my wife said in a harsh whisper. “Is he all right?”

“Yes, I think he is,” I said reading body language as best I could. 

“Congratulations,” one nurse said after another. 

Tired and lightheaded, I happen to remark offhandedly “This is too much for me.” 

At this point, our guide, the friendly anesthetist turned serious. “Are you okay? “She pretty much cajoled me from the room. I went and sat and drank orange juice and tried to recall this was all real.

I made it back int time to watch our daughter, the future Amaris (named for a co-worker of my wife’s) being wheeled out in a plastic box known as an incubator. She was a little, red body thrumming and covered with what looked like saran wrap. Our son, future Jacob, picked from a list of Biblical names, was already gone. 

The surgeons took what seemed like forever to put my wife back together. 

“A lot of layers here,” one of them said overhearing me talking to the anesthetist.

The last official race I’d run during my running days was an over night relay from Cumberland, MD to Washington DC. I’d gotten maybe ten minutes of sleep that night after seven miles of running.  That was how I felt in the recovery room after. It is surreal when the night runs seamlessly into the morning without any gaps like one has somehow violated a law of nature.  .  Aurora was nodding off in her bed and I was trying vainly to sleep on anything I could find.The last mission was the fate of the babies. The first seventy two hours were the most sensitive and we were only three hours in by seven. At eight am I was allowed to see them for the first time in the neonatal intensive care unit (nicu) a large room lined with machines, incubators, and desks. Part machine, part doll helplessly laid out on their backs under plastic casing and wires and tubes.  The head doctor, the woman who’d prepped us before, was thrilled and I tried to be the same. These were my children after all but it had all happened so fast.  

“You can touch them,” she said. Hesitantly, I reached in and touched the incredibly soft, almost paper thin skin on my son’s leg. He moved just a little. He was real.  I stayed until my wife was able to see our children. She put her hand right in a placed it on each of the their little chests and told them they were loved. It was one of the most touching moments I’ve ever experienced.

 Back in the room a rough and ready nurse with a very slavic name burst in, took care of my wife, and started shoving papers at us. “You don’t look very happy about those papers,” she said. I fought back rage and said something to effect of “I’m ready to fall on my face I’m so tired.”“Why don’t you stay here.”“With all due respect, not a chance.” I made it home, called my parents, and tried to grab some sleep. While I was laying there a swell of emotions brought tears to my eyes.  I cried for awhile eventually drifting off. The sonic ring of a phone brought me out. I told my parents as many details as I could then feel back asleep.

I spent the next five days shuttling back and forth between the hospital to see my wife and children and home.  We watched a Harry Potter marathon on tv and ate bland macaroni and salads. There was no comfortable way for me to sleep in the room and I resisted the idea. With all the noise and necessary pestering from staff, a one has to be ill to really get any sleep in a hospital.  Aurora came home on time, suffering only occasional pain from her cesarean, and ever since we have been made the daily sojourns to the nicu.  Regular skin contact has been shown to help premature babies develop better(now there I go sounding like a public service announcement). Seeing our children hasn’t been all joy as it involves two activities I don’t enjoy driving and being at a hospital. I think hospitals are confining and sterile. Also we’re constantly interacting with the nurse staff, which is often more interaction than I’m comfortable with and not everyone working there is a real people person. Although it will mean long days and often sleepless nights, I’m looking forward to taking the babies home or having them “graduate” as the nicu pamphlets state.

The First Real Challenge

Our ritual went on for three and a half weeks when Jacob came down with bacterial menegitis. In short, it is a common bacteria that most people can resist but not a premie with a weak immune system and membranes around his brain and spinal cord became inflamed. It’s present in most pregnant women and Aurora had been given antibiotics before giving birth and the babies had been given them right after but the bacteria had somehow hidden out and survived in our son. He’d started looking listless in the days leading up to the diagnosis and last Sunday we got the call as we were walking out the door to pay a visit to the nursery. Thus, the circus began again. 

We were back at the hospital and the first few hours were terrifying. Premature babies are tedious to begin with but an ill premie is a downright nightmare. Every moment feels like walking a fine wire and there really isn’t much you can do. Jacob had turned gray and, if it hadn’t been for his vitals remaining strong, it looked like he might be fading. In fact, his heart raced through the night. I thought he might blow out a blood vessel. Thankfully the staff had acted quickly in getting antibiotics in, which had hopefully stopped any long term damage but it will be a long time before we know for sure. It is hard to describe how it feels to come close to losing one of the most precious people in your life even before you really get to him.  My wife kept a vigil at the hospital until Jacob started to pull through. He started to recover from the illness but the treatments and tests wore him out. The doctor had to intubate (insert a tube down one’s throat and have a machine breath for you. People probably know this from final moments of characters in hospital scenes) Jacob at one point as he was growing too tired to keep breathing on his own. The tube started causing mucus plugs that would block his airway. Then there was the blood transfusion, eeg test, spinal taps, pic lines for antibiotics, etc  The weird image (if you consider it ) of three large people gathered around a lump of flesh no bigger than a teddy bear. 

As of this writing, Jacob is going to make it. He is still agitated by touch and agitated in general but stable enough that the doctors removed his breathing tube and put him back on a nasal cannular which is that clear tube one sometimes sees in the noses of elderly people who need oxygen.  The cannular allows him to more of the breathing: a great sign.  I and my wife have returned home to our semi normal life with hospitalized children. My wife contacted her mother who rushed up here as Jacob was recovering. While I appreciate her desire to see her grandchildren and support her daughter we didn’t really need a house guest to think about. I will continue to update this blog as our lives with these two amazing children unravel. 

[ourloveisforthelovely]

Brothers and Zombies

A/N: one shot: This is based off a Youtube prank two brothers played on their sister. If you want to check it out the link is included (https://youtu.be/AXFhTXSLjco)

Summary: Having Sam and Dean for older brothers can be a pain! Especially when you have to have your wisdom teeth taken out! Little do they know their master plan isn’t really the smartest! Sam and Dean learn a valuable lesson about tricking the trickster’s girlfriend.

Pairings: Gabriel x OFC. 

Words: 2,966

_________

Mia sat in the backseat of the Impala looking miserably out the window. The day ahead was going to be a doozy and she was NOT looking forward to it!

“You with us back there?”

Mia’s green eye rolled up to meet Dean’s as he drove down the road. Her brother seemed far to happy about her going to have her wisdom teeth cut out.

“Yeah….why are you so happy?”

Dean shrugged, not daring to look at Sam. His brother was keeping it smooth as always on the outside but he knew inside that Sam was probably laughing like a hyena.

“Just a good morning. You look awful moody.”

Mia frowned harder.

“Yeah I am about to go have my teeth cut out of my gums. That’s something to be cheerful about all right. Dean I will pay you $100 to keep driving.”

Dean chuckled.

“Ah you’ll be fine. We’ll make you some pudding and soup. You’ll be up and about in no time.”

Mia mumbled a few choice words for her brother under her breath as he went back to the road. Dean was still smirking like an idiot in the driver seat.

“Sheesh you sure are moody when you don’t have your coffee.”

Mia looked up again.

“You got that right. Let’s see here. I couldn’t have my coffee, I am about to get my mouth cut into, I haven’t seen my boyfriend in weeks. I have a lo to be bitchy over!”

Dean made a gagging expression  at the mention of the word boyfriend. The less that Dean had to see of Gabriel that happier of a person he was! Mia, meanwhile, didn’t appear to share his sentiment.

“I’m sure Gabriel would much rather be with you too. Should have asked him to come home to deal with your crabby ass.”

Mia groaned.

“I tried to call him this morning to let him know that my surgery was today and what did I get voicemail! I have got nothing but voicemail for three days. If I somehow end up as one of those statistics that die during wisdom tooth removal I am going to come back as a ghost and haunt him.”

Sam laughed at that.

“Then we would have to hunt you. We don’t wanna do that.”

Mia narrowed her eyes at Sam.

“I’ll haunt you two for even mentioning that to me.”

Dean rolled his eyes as they pulled into the oral surgeon’s parking lot.

“Okay enough you two. Mia you are going to be just fine and your angelic boyfriend will back as soon as he can. Now are you ready to do this?”

Mia rolled her eyes getting out of the car with a scoff.

“Of course I’m not ready! I don’t want to do this.”

Sam and Dean stayed back near the car for a moment as Mia walked inside. Dean looked over at Sam with a smirk.

“Are you ready to do this?”

Sam winced.

“I don’t know Dean. She is feeling pretty down right now. Don’t you think this is kind of mean?”

Dean blinked before holding a hand up.

“Oh hell no! She is mean to us when we are sick!”

Sam raised an eyebrow

“Uh no that is you Dean. Mia took care of you last time you were sick with the man cold.”

Dean appeared to be truly offended by his brother’s comment.

“Oh you shut up and don’t spoil my fun!”

Sam groaned before going to walk into the office after Mia.

“Fine. When she kicks you in the nuts I am going to say I told you so.”

Walking into the office Mia was at the receptionists desk finalizing all of the paper work as the nurse walked out.

“Mia Winchester?”

Mia held her hand up before looking back to her brothers who were sitting in the waiting room. Dean was eagerly looking over a Highlights magazine while Sam was glaring at his brother. They both gave her innocent smiles.

“We’ll be her when you get done kid.”

Dean said. Sam nodded.

“It will all be fine”

Mia took a breath with a nod before walking back after the nurse. Following the nurse down the long stark white hallway, Mia tried to control her breathing.

“Gabriel now would be a hell of a time for you to respond. I am panicking here.”

Mia silently prayed. This wasn’t like Gabriel to completely ignore her prayers for days on end. She knew that he was busy with the impending war with Lucifer but she needed her boyfriend at the moment. Taking a deep breath Mia knew that this was something that she needed to put on her big girl panties and deal with it!

1 hour later….

“Mr. Winchester?”

Sam and Dean both looked up at their name being called. The nurse that had taken Mia back stood at the open doorway leading back to exam room.  

“Yeah?”

They both responded at the same time. Then nurse smiled realizing her mistake. Both of these men were the girl’s brothers.

“She’s good to go. Do one of you want to come back and help her?”

Dean looked over to Sam with a smile. Sam stood following the nurse.

“How is she?”

He asked softly. The nurse smiled.

“She did wonderfully. She is under some strong anesthesia and will probably be groggy for a few hours but she will be fine.”

Sam nodded, feeling a little better as they walked into the room where Mia sat looking around with an awe filled expression on her face. Right away Sam smiled realizing how “out of it” Mia really was. Sam leaned down holding a hand out to Mia.

“Hey Mia. How are you feeling?”

Mia looked up at Sam with wide eyes.

“SAMMY! We have got to go buy a giraffe! You have to tell Dean that he can’t say no. We NEED this!”

Sam couldn’t help but smile.

“Okay if you want a giraffe we can go get you one. Boy they gave you the good stuff.”

Mia grinned.

“I can’t feel my face!”

Sam laughed as he helped his sister up.

“Its a good thing.”

Sam said before leading her out of the room. Mia held to his arm, grinning like an idiot.

“Sam have I ever told you that I love you?”

Sam was having a hard time keeping his amusement under wraps. Mia was definitely out of it!

“Yeah a time or two.”

He replied as they walked out of the room. Dean stood when his siblings walked out. Mia looked at him with a super excited smile on her face.

“Dean I missed you!”

Dean instantly began to laugh. He wasn’t expecting this. Dean figured Mia would be one of those people who were super cranky under the influence of medication. Now here she was telling him that she missed him.

“You just saw me an hour ago.”

Mia shook her head.

“Well it seemed like an eternity.”

Dean smirked at the freaked out expression on Sam’s face as they got her in the car.

Once the door was shut Dean looked to Sam with a smile.

“This is going to be so much fun!”

Sam groaned.

“Do we have to? She is so sweet and loving right now.”

Dean held his hands up.

“Oh hell no! We had a plan! This is going to be fun and she will probably find this amusing later.”

Sam sighed heavily as he walked the passenger side of the car.

“When she kills us in our sleep it will be all your fault.”

Dean did he his best evil smile as he got into the car.

“Ah calm down Sammy. It’s all good isn’t it Mia?”

Dean looked back into the back seat where Mia sat hugging her stuffed rabbit that John had given her as a birthday present when she was six.

“Everything is wonderful!”

She said gleefully. Both Sam and Dean had to stifle their laughter as Dean started the car and pulled out of the parking lot.

About a mile down the road, Dean decided to put his master plan into action. He gave Sam a wink before pushing a prerecorded cassette into the radio. Dean waited eagerly until the loud obnoxious beeping noise took over the car. He glanced back at Mia who made a frowning face as the emergency broadcast began to play.

“The center for disease control in Washington DC has issued a viral outbreak warning. State and local officials have reported cases of high fever, nausea, death, and even cannibalism. Stay in place until further notice.”

Dean frowned before looking to Sam.

“What the hell?”

Sam tried to appear as concerned as possible.

“Cannibals? Uh Dean we should really get Mia home. The bunker is going to be the safest place to be.”

Mia looked up.

“What? Dean you are driving like a slug can you get to the bunker? Just drive!”

Dean quickly stepped on the gas. Sam looked out the window. He was trying his best not to crack up before he focusing back on Dean.

“We probably need to get somewhere else. Maybe we should head out west or something.”

Dean nodded as they pulled into the driveway.

“Good idea Sammy! Mia stay put. We are going go inside and get some stuff.”

Mia blinked a few times obviously scared out of her mind.

“Dean! Don’t leave me!”

Dean quickly opened the back door taking Mia’s hands in his.

“Mia it is going to be okay! Do you want me to bring your cat?”

Mia screamed.

“OF COURSE I WANT MY CAT YOU IDIOT! Gabriel got me that cat! Oh my god we need to get a hold of Gabriel! He and Cas doesn’t know!”

Dean tried to calm his sister with a soothing voice as he squeezed her hands.

“Mia, they will be just fine! Now stay here I am going to get your cat and some supplies!”

Mia sat trying to piece everything together as Sam and Dean ran inside like madmen. She started feeling around for her phone. She had to get Gabriel on the phone! There was no way that she was about to head someplace away from home without letting Gabriel and Cas know! They had to know where to find them!

She looked up as Sam walked out carrying a potato masher. Mia’s face went from confused to livid!

“Sam what the hell are you doing?! We don’t need a potato masher! We needs guns and weapons! This is like a fucking episode of the Walking Dead and you are going to get us killed!”

Sam shrugged.

“We gotta eat!”

Mia threw her hands up.

“Are you going to be the one peeling the potatoes because I sure as hell am not! We don’t have time for that! Go get weapons! Where is your brain?!”

Sam stuck out his bottom lip before turning and going back inside. Mia muttered a few curses under her breath as she finally located her phone. Dialing Gabriel’s number she frantically wiggled her foot trying to calm herself in some way.

Meanwhile…

Gabriel sat beside Cas in an near empty dinner. They had been working on tracking down Lucifer for some time. He was feeling guilty over not contacting Mia in a few days. The time had just gotten away from him now here it was going on a few days without hearing her voice.

The moment his phone rang Gabriel quickly dug his hand in his pocket to grab the phone. Cas looked up from the map that he was looking at.

“Who is it?”

Gabriel looked down seeing Mia’s name.

“Mia.”

He said feeling strangely concerned.

“Hello?”

The moment the word left his lip Mia was practically screaming in his ear.

“Gabriel you have to come quick! The zombies are coming! This isn’t some Walking Dead prank and stupid Sam comes out of the bunker with a fucking potato masher! Who the hell has time for that?!”

Gabriel winced as he pulled the phone away from his ear. He was totally confused! What was going on back home?

“Sugar, what are you talking about? A potato masher? Zombies?”

Right away he could tell that Mia was crying and panicking. The protective lover in him was immediately on guard as Mia started talking again.

“We were on our way back to the bunker after my getting my wisdom teeth out and there was this news alert that made that obnoxious beeping noise. The people in Washington DC said there are zombies and cannibals on the loose. You have to come home because my stupid brother’s don’t know what they are doing. The zombies are going to eat my feet off!”

Gabriel glanced at Cas who was looking as equally confused. Cas mouthed, “What is going on?” Gabriel shrugged tying to piece everything together still. He stopped when the words wisdom teeth out left Mia’s lips.

“Wisdom teeth? Mia, baby, you are going to have to calm down. I don’t have any idea what you are talking about? You had your teeth out?”

Mia squealed again. Gabriel knew that she was losing her temper quick!

“YES!!! I have been trying to get a hold of you for days but you keep ignoring me! They did my surgery this morning. Now what am I supposed to do about these zombies?!”

Gabriel groaned.

“I’ll be right there.”

In an instant Gabriel was back at the bunker. He stood beside the Impala where Mia sat in the back seat trembling like a scared child. Gabriel quickly walked to the car opening the door before kneeling down so he could get a better look at his lover. Mia’s face was tear streaked and eyes were open wide.

When she saw Gabriel she all but jumped in his arms.

“Gabriel! We have to get out of here. We can go to Mexico or something. I remember how to say pants in Spanish! That’s about it.”

Gabriel had to stop himself from laughing. He knew that Mia was genuinely freaking out. Whatever anesthetic that she had been put on was definitely winning. Gabriel reached down taking her hands in his before gently kissing them.

“Gabriel you need to be serious! Now isn’t the time to be wanting to make out!”

Gabriel chuckled at that.

“Sweetpea there is no zombies. Everything is fine! I promise you are totally safe. Do you think I would really let anything happen to you?”

He nuzzled his nose against Mia’s taking extra care to send as many loving vibes as he could to her. Before Mia could respond Sam and Dean came walking out of the bunker. Dean was holding an iron while Sam still held the potato masher in his hands. Both men froze seeing Gabriel with their sister in his arms. They had never seen the archangel look so annoyed.

“Having fun boneheads?”

Gabriel asked coldly. Sam held a hand up.

“Gabriel it was just a…”

“SAVE IT!”

Gabriel snarled. He looked back to Mia with a loving smile.

“I’m going to put you safely in your room and I will be with you momentarily . You need to get some rest and are over due for some cuddles. I need to have a word with your brothers.”

Mia yawned.

“That sounds nice. Did I ever tell you hot hot you are?”

Gabriel smirked making sure that her brother’s heard that comment.

“A time or two. I’ll be with you soon babycakes.”

Once Mia was safely out of ear shot Gabriel turned to Sam and Dean with an expression that could clearly said run!

“Gabriel, it was just a joke.”

Sam stuttered. Gabriel crossed his arms over his chest raising an eyebrow.

“I bet you both think they you were pretty clever huh? Well you wasn’t. So do you all want to see a real Zombie?”

Before Sam and Dean could respond Gabriel snapped his fingers and two zombie appeared. Gabriel smirked as the two zombies started waddling toward Sam and Dean.

“Okay! Gabriel this isn’t funny!”

Sam shouted. Gabriel turned with a cold smirk. Dean looked coldly at the archangel

“Wait until I get my hands on your you winged douche bag!”

Gabriel laughed…

“Who are you calling douche bag, you douche bag?Well good luck fighting these Walking Dead rejects with an iron and a potato masher. Best wishes.”

Gabriel walked into the bunker and slammed the door behind him locking it with another snap of his fingers. He made sure that the zombies wouldn’t actually be able to hurt Sam and Dean if they did bite. Scare the living shit of them, yes! Hurt them….as much as he wanted to…no. The last thing he wanted was to have to explain to Mia why her brothers were zombies!

Gabriel remained invisibly watching Sam and Dean scrambling inside the Impala to avoid the zombies. Chuckling he turned to join Mia in her bed. He already dreaded explaining all of this to Mia the next morning. Right now all he wanted to do was cuddle with Mia until she was 100% again.

“Good luck you gigantic morons….that’s what you get for tricking the trickster’s woman.”

Gabriel said with a proud smile before shutting Mia’s door behind him.

______

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