#she's been SO stagnant for so long. this conversation is finally taking her (and us) somewhere | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

stars-and-inkpots · 9 months ago

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One of my dnd characters, Iris (who I have made in BG3), happens to have a lot of parrallels with Gale, so I wanted to write something about them. Got this done during some spare time a bit ago and have decided to share it here.

Thanks for reading :3

Wild Magic

Word Count: 2,336

Ao3 Link: Wild Magic

Full moons are the nights where the veil between the Wilds and the mortal realm is at its thinnest. For those who pull their magic directly from the Feywild, full moons are when they're at their strongest, but for some, also when they're most volatile. Iris struggles to bear the pull of the Wilds. Gale is there to help.

Iris shifts uncomfortably and spares the rising moon in the clear night sky a nervous but steady glance. On nights like this, she can almost feel the marks moving on her skin, sprawling sporadically as they struggle to contain the magic while the veil between the Wilds and this world grows thin. Full moons are always like this, and Iris laughs to herself because she might as well be a werewolf at this point.

She can feel her companions’ eyes on her. She knows that they must see the slight glow the marks on her face, neck, and arms give off; they must note how even the pink iris of her left eye contains the same light.

She wonders if they are scared of her, her with her magic that is wild and unpredictable.

She wouldn’t blame them if they were.

Mercifully, they retire early tonight. Astarion insists he’s too tired to continue, but Iris knows that he’s lying for her sake. She’s too proud to admit when she’s struggling, but she also does a poor job at hiding it. Regardless, she throws a silent ‘thank you’ his way when they pass each other in the camp. She tries to ignore the obvious concern on his face. Concern is too close to pity, even though she knows that isn’t his intent.

Iris doesn’t join the others for supper. She’s too exhausted.

Her absence does not go unnoticed, of course. She can hear it in the slightly strained conversations they have around the campfire- never spoken of directly, but it sits in the air stagnant with a nervous tension bound to break eventually. All of them cast their eyes towards her tent, unsure of whether their presence would be welcome, and for some, wondering if it’s even safe to offer it.

Gale is the only one to walk over to Iris’s tent once supper is finished and cleaned up. He stands near the entrance, hesitant but determined.

“Iris? Would you care for some company?” His voice betrays no concern at being close to her, because he has none. Iris notes quickly that he’s been the only one who has not put a safe distance between them when she’s been particularly unstable.

“I’m afraid I’m not going to be great company if you’re looking for conversation.”

“So long as you don’t mind, I’m sure I can do enough talking for the both of us.”

Iris smiles.

“I wouldn’t mind at all,” she answers.

Gale makes his way inside and sits across from Iris on the floor of blankets and pillows. It’s dark, save for the faint, pink glow that Iris herself gives off. Her eyes are closed, breathing steady, but controlled and methodical. It’s taking her a lot of effort to remain still. The tent itself seems a reflection of that same, barely controlled chaos. The blankets and pillows are colourful, unmatched. There are books strewn about and organised in a way that Gale is sure must make sense to Iris, but is lost to him. A silver bowl of small trinkets that Iris found particularly pretty or interesting sits beside her bedroll. She’s very much like a magpie, Gale thinks fondly.

He turns his attention back to Iris, who has finally opened her eyes to look at him. Her left eye is brighter than earlier, the colour shifts from pink to purple and blue, then green, then back to pink. The marks- which he had thought were simply a collection of intricate tattoos when he first met her- are still moving. Her hair, usually brown and far darker, looks lighter. The pink strands (easily mistaken for grey hairs if one didn’t look close enough) have grown in number, and they too have taken on the same glow.

“You scared?” Iris asks suddenly, and even though her voice is teasing, Gale can hear the barely concealed and, admittedly familiar, self-loathing in it.

“Never,” Gale answers without hesitation. “Never with you.” And he means it.

Iris hums. “Then for a wizard, you aren’t very smart.” She sounds resigned, but grateful all the same.

“My confidence is not often misplaced. I’m sure I can handle myself, sorcerer.”

Both of them are smiling now. Gale watches as Iris takes another steadying breath and closes her eyes again. She seems controlled, but he can see the slight shake of her hands which are clenched tightly into fists where they rest on her knees.

“I was working on translating the book we found,” Gale begins speaking. It’s nothing of importance, just a simple journal they had found in an abandoned house. It was written in dwarvish, which was, of course, easy enough for Gale to work through quickly.

“Oh? Find anything interesting?” She knows that he’s only talking to distract her from the rush of the Wilds that threaten to overtake her. He’s keeping her grounded, and she’s more than thankful.

Gale continues to explain what he found in the pages of the tattered book. It truly was just a journal. It didn’t have any special knowledge to impart, only the gossip of the nearby town and the author’s thoughts on it. While it wasn’t anything important, it did provide quite the entertaining read. It was a dramatic novella in its own right. Gale notes that he wouldn’t be surprised if much of the stories inside were rife with dramatic embellishments, and Iris laughs when he suggests that perhaps they’ve merely stumbled upon someone’s (unjustly) rejected manuscript, given some of the notes in the margins.

“Thank you,” Iris says quietly when silence falls between them again. “It’s easier to bear with someone else around.”

“I am happy I could help then.” Gale studies the marks on her skin again. They have not slowed in their movements or dimmed, but Iris does seem to be calmed significantly. “Is it painful? If you don’t mind me asking, of course. I understand if you don’t wish to speak of it.”

Iris is silent again for a moment.

“It’s not painful, at least not exactly. It’s like… electricity beneath my skin. Like when your arm or your leg goes numb when you rest on it for too long. There’s a longing too, like I need to go back, or I need to bring it here. It kind of feels like treading water in the middle of high tide.”

Gale nods. Though he can’t exactly understand, the discomforts of the orb are enough for him to sympathise.

“And the marks?”

“I swear I can feel them. It’s a familiar feeling- like an old friend, if that makes sense. They don’t cause any discomfort themselves though, if that’s what you meant. They feel a little cold or a little too warm sometimes, but that’s it.” Iris puts a hand to her cheek instinctively, feeling the marks there while she talks about them.

Gale shifts closer to her and raises a hand slowly.

“May I?” His hand stills while waiting for Iris to answer.

“Go ahead,” she answers after some thought. No one has ever been this close when she’s like this, and the realisation of how willingly he’s here with her is dizzying in a pleasant way.

Gale runs his fingers along the pink patterns that swim across her cheek and down her jaw. They’re cold to the touch, just as Iris said they would be, and inhumanely so. It’s strange, the cold does not spread to the rest of her face, it is contained only in the marks themselves.

Iris can focus on nothing but the look on Gale’s face. There isn’t apprehension or fear, the expressions she’s grown accustomed to people regarding her with. It’s curious, yes, but also caring. He wants to know more about her because he cares. When Gale moves to hold a lock of her hair, examining the pink strands within it, she realises this is the closest anyone has been to her ever, even without the Wilds calling her.

“Have you always had them?” Gale asks. “I will admit, I’m at quite a loss when it comes to the nature of sorcerers’ magic.”

“Not always.” She doesn’t hold the same reservations she usually does when it comes to telling people how she fell into her powers, not with Gale. “I always had my magic though, at least to some extent. I think there’s a Fey branch somewhere in my mom’s family tree. The whole story is a little long.” Iris is ready to leave it there; not because she doesn’t want to, but because it’s not a conversation that normally interests people outside of giving them a reason they should tread just a little more carefully around her.

“Well, I think we have more than enough time. Though don’t let me force your hand.” Gale has returned his hands to his lap, and Iris finds herself missing his touch far more than she thinks she ought to.

“When I was a child, I managed to stumble into the Feywild. Of course, it was less of a stumble, and more that I was pulled into it, I’m sure. I spent a lot of my time there. Titania was quite fond of me, and she wasn’t keen on the idea of returning me home- though, neither was I at the time. I was just a kid, and the idea of playing all the time with no bedtime and getting whatever I wanted was incredibly appealing. I would say that she ‘taught’ me magic, but it was more of her giving it to me and then having to teach myself so I could actually manage it. I had to be good at it too if I wanted to remain in her favour. Fey blood or not, I’m still human, which meant my acceptance in the court was very much conditional. So long as I entertained her, I could stay.”

Gale looks genuinely interested. He believes her too, which is not something that Iris is used to. Most people think she’s a liar the moment she mentions the Seelie Queen. Gale only seems surprised that the two are on a first name basis.

“I was there for ten years- well… it felt like ten years to me. One day it was like I suddenly woke up, and I wanted to leave- she wasn’t happy with that idea. She tried to keep me there. I didn’t know what I was doing, I just knew I wanted out.” Iris pauses for a moment, trying to think. “Now, the best way I can explain Wild magic is that it bends to the will of the caster. Your desires shape it, and it takes the form that you will it to. I can only assume that it’s similar to working the Weave, in a sense, but it’s more… I don’t know. It’s less of an academic kind of thing, and more instinct. It’s a feeling.” Iris almost expects Gale to object to her explanation somehow, but instead he only nods in understanding. “You open yourself to the Wilds, and you have to shape the magic that comes out. That’s why there are the surges, because it’s hard to just start and stop the magic- and it’s more difficult when you’re upset. When I tried to leave, understandably, I was very upset. I was scared, I was angry, I was desperate. I knew it was going to take a lot to get me home. So I opened myself up to the deepest wells of magic that the Feywild has to offer. I knew it was the kind of magic that the Seelie Queen used, and I thought I could do it too. It worked, but it was too much for me, and it never really left.” Iris gestures to the marks on her face. She takes a few deep breaths before she continues. Gale is patient with her.

“My parents were happy to see me, relieved to finally have their daughter back… but they were old. Very old. It felt like ten years to me, but it was nearly forty here. I didn’t have very long with them once I was home.”

“I’m sorry.” Gale’s hand reaches out and Iris holds it, thankful for the regained contact.

“It’s alright. I got to see them again, at least.”

The buzzing beneath her skin has faded considerably. It’s easier to focus now, and every moment isn’t spent suppressing the urge to give in to the Wilds. The glow still remains, but it has dimmed a little. Gale must notice too, because he smiles slightly.

“Thank you for staying.” Iris pauses. “And for listening,” she adds.

“You’re very welcome. I would be happy to talk like this again, full moon or not.”

Then, Iris surprises both of them by moving forward and hugging him. Then Gale surprises her by returning the embrace. He holds her with just as much feeling, uncaring about how dangerous she has the potential to be. In the grand scheme of things, he could be dangerous too, maybe even in a similar way.

They fit together well. Two people who hold remnants of the very magic that threatens them inside themselves. One who went to every length to keep the approval of the one who gave him magic, and the other who gave up everything just so she could escape them. Both of them reached for magic incomprehensible to them. Both of them held it in the palm of their hands. Both of them were punished for it.

Iris is the first to pull back.

“You should go get some sleep. I’ll be fine now, it’s calmed down a lot,” she says. Gale looks like he’s about to object, but is cut off by a yawn that overtakes him instead.

“If you’re certain,” he says after. “I hope you are able to get some rest as well. Goodnight, Iris.”

“Goodnight, Gale,” Iris answers, smiling.

The pull of the Wilds is practically a whisper. It’s the first somewhat peaceful sleep Iris has gotten during a full moon that she can remember.

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 fic #gale dekarios #gale x tav #my tav - Iris #named tav

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elliemarchetti · 2 years ago

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Five Ways to Seduce a Male [5/5]

Merry Christmas to everyone involved in this year’s @acotargiftexchange

@aldbooks this is the last gift in my little advent calendar, I hope it’s the proper grand finale you deserve!

Until next time, your hyperactive elf 😘

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

TW: kinda mild, but NSFW in the end (masturbation)

Words: 1.223

5. Express Your Needs

Elain knew she startled everyone when she disappeared from her bedroom and apparently winnowed outside Prythian just to reach for her mate. She hadn’t done it intentionally, but since then Rhysand insisted for the wards around the house to be strengthened, and the priestesses at the library intensified their studies on her condition, or her ability, as Amren claimed she should call it. In general, Elain felt like a freak, constantly monitored by Nuala and Cerridwen and kept so busy by the entire Inner Circle she was too exhausted in the evening to muster the strength to write to Lucien. Besides, it wasn’t like she really knew what to say. She wanted to talk about her days, the stagnant situation at the Night Court and the progresses Nyx was making, and at the same time it would all be a way to ignore what she did when her sister showed up with her husband to take her home. Worn-out from the bath, the conversation with the Queen and her brain’s desperate attempt to understand what just happened, she let them decide for her again, without opposing or siding in favour of her mate, who claimed that if magic led her this far there had to be a reason. He was right, as he’d been all along in his attempts to know her better and get her out of the cocoon of despair caused by Graysen’s rejection, yet falling back into old habits was too easy, especially when she was a vulnerable mess, so the High Lord brought her back to the very place she unconsciously fled, and Elain could’ve sworn there was a lingering smell of ashes and rot on her pillow. To make matters worse, Lucien’s absence threatened to drive her mad, even more after she tasted what it felt like to indulge in his caresses. In her head, she relived the surreal events at the manor so many times she could hardly distinguish what was real and what not. She was sure that if Vassa hadn’t interrupted, she would’ve done something reckless, something she might regret and would’ve complicated things beyond repair, yet the flashbacks of Lucien’s fingers exploring her jaw and stroking her hair never failed to give her a warm feeling between her legs and that was why she asked Feyre to meet where no one else could hear her admit the shameful things her mate made her think. Nesta showed her the waterfalls on a scorching summer afternoon, and Elain enjoyed its cooling splashed and nature’s peaceful song so much she thought her younger sister should see it too, perhaps as inspiration for one of her paintings. The path leading there was well hidden, lonely but not too difficult, and once they reached their destination, the High Lady insisted on taking a swim and teaching her how to stay afloat and hold her breath without getting water up her nose. With her eyes turned to the clear sky and her long golden-brown hair spread like a fan, Elain could only mentally thank the bird-Queen for her words of encouragement. She was right when she told her she couldn’t be ruled by fear, that it was only a feeling she should learn to use at her advantage like everything else. If she hadn’t listened, she would’ve missed that wonderful view, and probably much more of what awaited in the infinite journey her life had become.

“Breathtaking as this place is, I don’t think we’re here just to hang out,” Feyre told her once they were back on the stony shore, the sun kissing their bare skin. She wasn’t wrong, of course, but the fact this was the reality of things didn’t make it any less depressing. Was there going to be a time when they would act like a normal family again? Had they ever been, or had it been too long since mother’s death and the loss of father’s fortune? Had they ever really acted like sisters?

"I'd just like some advice," she admitted, and apprehension made its way on the High Lady’s face. Whatever she thought of the urgency with which she requested the little trip was shadowed by the fear of an irrevocable decision, able to destroy the resilience and sanity of the only friend she had left from her time in the Spring Court. While the possibility was obviously hurtful, she didn’t press her, nor she tried to change her mind, so the relief was truly genuine when she learned Elain wanted nothing more than a safe way to experiment before accepting the bond.

“With a mental link as strong as yours, I have no doubt you’ll come up with plenty ways to let him know you’re interested in a more physical approach,” she teased, and the topic was dropped, yet Elain mulled over those words for a long time, assuming there must be at least a little truth in them. She could’ve asked Rhysand, who probably used his daemati powers for all his life to achieve such feats, but just the idea made her so nervous she avoided her host like the plague, making her retreat often in the solitude of the gardens. A spicy romance Emerie lent her at the end of summer was the turning point, and it gave her a wonderful and not so sensible idea on how to placate those fantasies creeping into her dreams, so vivid and intense she often woke up covered in sweat and with the evidence of her desire on her underwear. After she made sure everyone was long asleep, Elain locked both the windows and the door, and dressed in nothing but her shortest, thinnest nightgown, she slipped under the light blankets, ready to explore her own body as she wished for her mate to do. It was a strange feeling, investigating the depths of pleasure when there was no one to share it with, but above all it seemed almost unnatural that she could set aside her mother’s teachings and the expectations of mortal society, fully embracing her being Fae and all its benefits. With moral and conflicting thoughts, she caressed her breasts, her nipples already turgid with the excitement the whole ordeal gave her. While the now familiar feeling of warmth was growing in her lower abdomen, she moved a hand on her stomach, her nails tickling the sensitive skin of her waist, her mind gradually emptying itself of ponderings and filling up with images of Lucien. Once she reached the centre of her womanhood and the bundle of nerves above, every coherence dissipated from her conscience, her only purpose to reach her mate, to show him, without flaunting it to everyone or making a decision that would irrevocably change her life, what he could have. Her orgasm built up fast and she came like crashing waves, biting her hand to silence her moans, the mating bond saturated with things better left unsaid. Satisfied, and more exhausted than she’d imagined, Elain settled back into the pillow. At some point she must’ve fallen asleep, but her rest was short-lived, for she heard a noisy coming and going from the corridor, whereupon someone knocked on her door. Feyre appeared from the dark, sleepy eyed and with dishevelled hair, but nonetheless amused.

“May I know what Lucien Vanserra is doing on my front yard before dawn?”

#acotar secret santa 2022 #elucien #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #feyre archeron

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precurelegends · 1 year ago

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Fumi is on the verge of crying again, but this time from this kindness just pouring out of this woman in front of her. She takes the tea in her shaking hands, and only manages to get a single sip before setting the cup down again. Rei doesn't know it, but she happened to brew Fumi's favorite flavor. Three breaths. In for five seconds, out for seven, like she has been taught to do to keep from breaking down. When she's finally stabilized, she gives Rei a smile and drinks the tea again. "Thank you. Now, I'm going to show you something and tell you a truth that I've been trying to hide." She reaches into her white leather purse, and takes out a package wrapped in the same material used in space blankets. As soon as Fumi unties the ribbon, the item inside the mylar is practically incandescent with magical energy. She rests her palm atop it.

"I swear upon my power, that everything I'm about to tell you is true. This item is called the Cityscape Compact and it gives me the power to protect the song of the city. And back home, I have been doing it for twenty-five years."

From the bag, she draws out a picture of a magical girl with long hair in a traditional bun , wearing a white knee-length dress with a red overlay on the hemline showing the skyline of Tokyo. She hands the picture to Rei. "My name is Watanabe Fumi, and for the past twenty-five years, I have operated in Tokyo as a legendary warrior." She strikes a dramatic introduction pose "The Beating Heart of the City, Cure Metropolis."

The compact is wrapped back up so the light doesn't attract any other attention from outside the divination room. "It was my fourteenth birthday. February 1st, 1998. I was going to school and on that day, a rift in space opened up and a man dressed like the Pied Piper emerged, transforming my classmate Ako into a monster. That's when my first partner, Heisei, appeared and gave me the compact to transform for the first time."

This memory hits her hard, and she catches her breath again before continuing.

"I fought that man, and three others who serve a being called The Breach over the course of that year. I'd show up, transform, fight the monsters, save the people inside, and then get into a firefight with the summoners.. On the 29th of January the next year, I finally defeated the most powerful summoner and I thought I was done."

Her head shakes.

"I had exactly two days to rest. On my next birthday, the first of The Breach returned. And he said exactly the same things, attacked the same place, created exactly the same monster, although from a different victim. And most insultingly, he acted as if he never seen me before. And this wasn't him being prideful. He was genuinely surprised when I transformed in front of him, and even reacted exactly the same way."

She takes a moment to finish her tea before it gets cold. "I've grown older, though I don't look it. My partner retired and was replaced when the era changed from Heisei to Reiwa. The city grew around me, and the people in the city developed their own lives. But by comparison, my enemies are stagnant, always coming back to the first time I met them. And I can't tell them. I have tried. I took the time to tell the first summoner that he was caught in a cycle, that I already knew what he was going to do and when, and that everything he was doing was futile. And it looked like I was getting through to him."

She locks eyes with Rei. "In the moment I told him, and he started to see the logic of my words, I watched his body get pulled inside-out. He popped out of existence, and then popped back in. And once he returned, he had no memory of our conversation." She dabs a tear from her eye. "I feel like I'm doomed to keep fighting them until the city dies or I do."

"I've been fighting a war of attrition for almost three decades. As my Tokyo started falling apart at the seams, my magic got weaker. Every fight, even though I know how it will go, takes longer to win. The song of the city that sustained me became muddled and weak. Standing at a shrine like this one, I called out for some relief, for someone to help me. And that's when I saw her. A tall woman in a short skirt, standing in front of some kind of door in time. She beckoned me to follow her, and I walked through and found myself here in this world."

Her smile is fading, but still present. She was able to get through all that without crying. "Your world, your city, is so much more alive than mine, and I need to know why. What sets our worlds apart? Why is the song so much stronger here? And where can I find the people who defend that song?"

Fumi pauses for a moment, looking past Rei to the city. And in that moment, there's a gentle voice in her mind. "Tell her. She can help."

That's all she needs and her eyes meet Rei's again. "To be honest, I haven't been..." She starts. "Is there somewhere private we can talk? I've been carrying a burden since I was young, and where I come from, there's nobody that would understand it. " She had opened up to a few people back home, but they couldn't handle that responsibility and many of them left when they saw the toll it took on her. "I don't mean to impose, however, I really need someone to listen to me. Will you help?"

#That took some time to write #But I hope you and Rei like it

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daryl-dixon-daydreams · 4 years ago

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Words: 5,340 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: Hershel's Farm Warnings: Language, domestic violence, fear and anxiety A/N: Here with some Protective!Daryl for ya'll! Summary: When Daryl finds the reader outside in the rain in the middle of the night, he gives her a dry place to sleep, but the next day it causes problems with her asshole of a boyfriend.

Your name: submit What is this?

Daryl couldn’t sleep. He’d tossed and turned restlessly in his tent and finally decided to get up and do a perimeter check just for some goddamned thing to do to pass the time. A heavy rain was falling and it bothered him not being able to hear anything over the deluge.

He shouldered his crossbow and sheathed his knife, grabbing his flashlight from its place next to his cot. He slipped out of his tent and started through the maze of tents. That’s when he saw you. It looked like you were sincerely hoping he wouldn’t, like you were trying to blend into the tree trunk you were leaning against, sheltering as much as you could beneath the oak, obviously somewhat wet from the rain and shivering slightly.

Daryl’s brow drew down over his eyes and he headed straight for you. “What the hell are ya doin’ out here alone in the dark in the middle of a damn thunderstorm?”

You didn’t answer but you did raise your eyes to his, hugging your arms more tightly around yourself. He watched another shiver wrack through you. The archer frowned. “Why ain’t ya in with your guy?” he asked, jutting a thumb in the direction of the tent you shared with your boyfriend. Daryl didn’t like him at all... Frankly he thought the guy was a controlling piece of shit, and he had a hunch that he might be worse even than that.

You avoided his eyes again. “We, uhh—had a fight,” you murmured. Daryl could easily read the embarrassment and shame on your face.

“That don’t explain why you’re out here in the rain,” Daryl drawled.

You continued to avoid his eyes and didn’t answer. He could think of a couple reasons why you’d be out here instead of inside the dry tent, and neither of them were good. Either he’d kicked you out or you’d left because you were afraid of him, afraid of what would happen if you stayed. Either way, there was no way in hell Daryl was gonna let you spend the night outside in the cold autumn rain.

“Ya ain’t stayin’ out here in the rain. C’mon,” he said, nudging his head back in the direction of his own tent. He turned to lead the way and glanced back over his shoulder to see you hesitating to follow him. “If ya stay out here all night, all soakin’ wet like ya are, yer gonna catch yer death. C’mon.”

This time you followed him, still shivering.

Daryl held the tent flap open for you and you stepped inside, your arms still wrapped tightly around yourself. He followed and zipped the flap closed on the rain and night. When he turned you were standing awkwardly in the middle of the tent. Daryl set his crossbow down and clicked on the lantern next to his cot. He replaced the flashlight and pulled off his jacket. He held it out to you.

You gave him a questioning look.

“I can see ya shiverin’. Take it. Can’t have ya gettin’ pneumonia. We’ve already gone through too many of Hershel’s antibiotics.”

You accepted it from him. “Thanks,” you said.

He watched you pull it on, anxiously chewing his bottom lip as the fabric swallowed up your frame. He sat down on the floor across from you and pulled his knife out and his sharpening stone, just for something to do. He needed to busy his hands, because with you in that small space with him he was suddenly feeling nervous. “Make yourself at home,” he said, nodding toward his cot on the opposite wall.

You sat down on the edge a little gingerly and watched as he drew the blade of his knife across the stone.

He kept his eyes fixed on what he was doing but his deep voice broke through the pattering of the rain on the tent. “Ya wanna talk about it?”

You shrugged deeper into his jacket. It still held the warmth of his body and it smelled like him—musky leather, campfire smoke, and the outside air. “I don’t know,” you admitted.

The sharp noise of his blade punctuated the silence. “He kick ya out or… did ya need to get out?” This time his eyes flickered up to your face.

He watched you gulp, but you held his eyes. The warm lantern light threw the angles of your face into sharp relief. Your eyelashes cast long shadows on your cheeks.

Daryl’s light blue eyes moved back down to his hands. “S’alright. Ya ain’t gotta say.”

You bit at the inside of your cheek and couldn’t help another shiver that ran up your back. The archer looked up at you again immediately, concern furrowing his brow. He set his knife aside and climbed to his feet.

He unzipped the flap of the tent and stepped out. He met your questioning gaze with a nod. “I’ll be right back.”

This left you alone in his tent for a short time, just the hammering of the rain to keep you company. Your eyes wandered around the contents. It was a little unkempt, with clothes piled haphazardly in one corner and the edges of the canvas floor cluttered with tools and random items. There were half-finished crossbow bolts piled on a box that was serving as a side table, but something beneath them caught your eye. You gently brushed aside the wooden shafts and carefully lifted what had drawn your attention. It was delicate and brittle but you recognized it immediately as you carefully laid it out flat on your palm.

One day in the summer you had been collecting firewood for the group, eager to do something useful and needing some space for a while. You’d come upon a vine bursting with crimson flowers and as you’d stood and admired it, such a simple but beautiful thing, you’d watched hummingbirds flitting between the blossoms.

Wanting to know the name of the plant, you’d plucked a bloom and brought it back to the archer to identify. He’d taken hardly a glance at it before telling you its name. “Coral honeysuckle,” he drawled. “Ya can crush the berries and use ‘em on bee stings.”

“Coral honeysuckle,” you repeated. “There were tons of hummingbirds on it.”

He nodded. “Mhm. They like the nectar,” he said, holding the flower back out to you.

“Keep it,” you said with a smile, “as payment for your identification services.”

Daryl’s heart jumped at the smile on your face and he twirled the bloom between his fingers as he watched you retreat back toward the group.

This looked like the very same flower you had picked. He’d obviously pressed it underneath something to preserve it. The vibrant red petals were only slightly muted in color. He’d kept it all these months? You puzzled over this as you replaced it where you’d found it and arranged the crossbow bolts over it again. It was hard to ignore the warm feeling growing right between your lungs, threatening to spill outward.

A few minutes later, Daryl came into the tent again. There were raindrops on his shirt and caught in his hair. He had a small mug clutched in his hands and you could see spirals of steam rising from the surface. He extended it toward you and you accepted it, puzzled as you looked inside.

“Tea?” you asked, looking back up as Daryl settled onto the floor again.

He nudged his nose up at you in a nod. “Mhm. I dunno if it’s any good. I think it’s some ginger-lemon thing Maggie brought to help with Lori’s nausea. But it’s hot. And you’re still cold,” he said. He felt nervous under the bewildered gaze you were giving him.

This man had just gone out into a thunderstorm to heat water for you and bring you tea simply because he’d seen you shiver. Not to mention that you were wrapped in his coat and he was sheltering you from the storm when your own boyfriend had—his voice broke your train of thought.

“I told ya. Can’t have ya gettin’ sick.” Daryl picked up his knife again and went back to sharpening it.

It was silent for some time as you sipped at the tea and watched the archer work on his knives diligently. You didn’t know that he could feel your eyes on him and it was driving him crazy. His body seemed to respond to you like you were a drug and he was an addict. He did his best to keep it under control. After all, you were technically spoken for, even if the guy was a complete douchebag at best.

But finally you spoke, setting the empty mug aside and sitting farther back on his cot, pulling your boots off and folding your legs under you. “Can I ask you something?”

“Mhm,” he hummed, grabbing the next knife that needed sharpening from its sheath.

“What do you think of—of my boyfriend?” you asked. Your cheeks immediately flushed. You felt stupid even asking the question. You already knew the answer and you knew where this conversation would lead. You knew what you needed to do, but you were afraid to do it. Did you really think someone else saying what you thought out loud was going to somehow give you the courage to go through with what needed to happen?

Daryl’s hands froze and he looked up at you, his eyes narrowed and fixated on your face for a long moment. He averted them back down and resumed his work again just as suddenly as he had stopped. “Don’t matter what I think.”

“It matters to me,” you said quietly.

The silence between you was suddenly thick, like a stagnant room full of humidity, the air heavy. The raindrops on the tent seemed to surround you and insulate you from everything else, from the rest of the world. The atmosphere was almost intoxicating, disorienting.

Eventually, Daryl’s blue eyes lifted again and fell on your face. He sighed heavily. “Ya really want to know what I think?” You nodded. “I think ya deserve better.”

Your heart skipped a beat as your eyebrows lifted in surprise. You’d expected Daryl to call him an asshole. You hadn’t expected that stated so explicitly. And you really didn’t expect him to go on.

“Either he threw ya out of your own damn tent into a thunderstorm in the middle of the night, or ya had to get out because being outside in a thunderstorm in the dark was a better option than bein’ in there with him. What kinda man is that?” He scowled for a moment as he thought about how much he wanted to drag the guy out of your tent, give him a few good punches, and leave his ass in the rain. He turned back to his knives.

You were silent, consumed by your thoughts, but eventually you yawned and Daryl looked up immediately. He systematically put away his tools and then he grabbed some balled up clothes to use as a pillow. He also grabbed his poncho. His eyes lifted and met yours. “Ya take the cot. I’m good down here,” he said.

“Oh, you don’t have to—I’ll go—”

Daryl let out a scoff. “What are ya gonna do? Go sleep out under that tree?” He shook his head and settled down on the floor, leaning back onto the makeshift pillow and draping his arm over his eyes. “Wasn’t a question anyhow. Just get the lantern when you’re settled in.”

You couldn’t help smiling at him on the floor where he was stretched out under his poncho, a knife right beside him. You watched his ribs rise and fall with his breathing a few times and the butterflies in your stomach made you realize that you were most definitely in trouble… in more ways than one.

You clicked off the lantern and laid down on his cot, still wrapped in his coat. You slept peacefully until morning.

_ _ _ _ _ _

You woke early as the orange glow of the sun struck the tent walls and you shot up straight at the sound of Daryl stirring.

He nudged his nose up at you in a greeting and you gave him a small smile. His heart jumped at the sight of you in his jacket, on his cot, that sleepy smile and your tousled hair. He tried to ignore how many times he’d fantasized about this very scene, but with a slightly different context where that was right where you were always supposed to be.

“Hey,” you greeted him.

He stood and shouldered his bow. “I’m gonna go hunt. Ya ain’t gotta get up yet. Sun’s barely up.”

You bent and started pulling your boots on. “It’s alright. I’m already up.” You slipped his jacket off and laid it on his cot. “Thanks,” you murmured, tucking your hair behind your ear and trying to smooth the strands a little self-consciously. “For everything last night.”

He shrugged and chewed his bottom lip a little anxiously. “S’nothin’.” For some reason this made you smile and he thought your cheeks grew a little pink.

“You always downplay everything you do. You shouldn’t,” you said kindly, standing up. “It was way more than nothing.”

Daryl gulped and simply opened the tent flap and stepped out. You followed him and gave him another small smile as he nodded at you one more time and then headed for the woods.

You decided to do some of the morning chores since you were already up and set about gathering more and restacking the fire wood and doing some preparation for breakfast. You grabbed the water canisters and headed toward the well to fill them. You were filling the second container when you heard footsteps in the grass behind you. You turned to see your boyfriend striding straight toward you. Your stomach churned.

“Morning, Y/N,” he said, coming to lean against the side of the well. His affect was flat and you were immediately on edge.

You avoided his eyes and didn’t say anything, just continued your work.

He reached over suddenly and pressed the pump handle down hard to stop the flow of water and your eyes shot up to his face. His expression was dark.

“You know, it’s weird. I got up while it was still dark and went out to look for you. Even went up to the house, but,” he shrugged, “you were nowhere to be seen.”

You stared back at him, your heart starting to rush a little in your chest.

“And I just wondered to myself, ‘Where could my girl have gone?’” He moved toward you, drawing himself up to his full height.

You stared up at him, gulping at the nervous tightness in your throat. “Seeing as you threw me out, I figured you wouldn’t care or come looking,” you said, reaching over and lifting the well handle again to start the flow of water, a little surprised at your own boldness to talk back to him in the way you did.

He immediately slammed the handle back down. “Well, I did. And imagine my surprise this morning when I saw you coming out of Daryl’s tent.”

You gulped.

“As soon as you found an excuse you just went running straight to that dumb redneck, didn’t you? Huh? How long have you been sneaking around behind my back? Did you have a good fuck last night?” He was right in your face now and you recoiled.

“It wasn’t—It wasn’t like that. I didn’t! It was storming. All he did was get me out of the rain. He—he slept on the floor. I just slept on his cot! That’s it,” you said, urgently grabbing the water and trying to rush back toward the tents and the group, sensing sincere danger not far away.

But your progress was stopped when he grabbed your arm and spun you back around. You dropped one of the water containers which spilled its contents onto the ground. “You really think I’m gonna believe that? How stupid do you think I am?” There was rage burning in his eyes. “We have a fight and you think you can go fuck whoever the hell you want? Do I have to remind you who you belong to?!” He was yelling at you now and you tried to pry his hand from your arm. His fingers were digging in painfully.

“I’ve never cheated on you! I wouldn’t—please!”

He sneered. “Why the hell should I believe that?! Huh? You’re mine! I don’t want to see you talking to another man. Hell, if I even catch you looking at that redneck again, you’ll pay for it.”

His grip on your arm felt like it was tightening by the second. “I swear nothing happened! You’re hurting me! Let go!” you pleaded, feeling your eyes going wide with fear.

He growled at you through his teeth. “I can do whatever the hell I want. I’ll break your arm if I want to,” he said viciously, starting to twist your arm behind your back painfully. You couldn’t help crying out, but that was the wrong thing to do, and you knew it.

The next moment you felt a blow across your jaw and tasted blood in your mouth. You fell to the ground, splayed in the dust, narrowly missing cracking your head against the cobbled stone of the well. Your vision was black. You could only hear a high-pitched ringing in your ears.

The blackness dissolved slowly and you climbed desperately to your feet, but another blow landed across your cheek and you fell hard against the stone well this time, your back colliding painfully with the jagged edges of rock. You had an arm up to shield yourself as you tried to orient yourself again, waiting for your vision to clear.

You were waiting for the next blow to come, steeling yourself as best you could, but it never landed. The next thing you knew Daryl had barreled out of nowhere and he had your boyfriend on the ground beneath him, landing blow after blow into his face and body. “You piece of shit! Ya think hittin’ her makes you a fuckin’ man?! I’ll kill you if you ever lay a goddamn hand on her again!”

You watched in stunned horror. The rest of your group members were tearing across the field toward the commotion. They’d heard the yelling and your surprised scream and raced to get to you. Rick and Lori were in the lead and suddenly they were there. Lori grabbed you and helped you to your feet, her face white as a sheet as she looked at you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and supporting you in your daze, leading you slightly back and away from the melee. When you glanced back over at Daryl you saw that he now had his crossbow aimed right at your boyfriend’s head. His chest and shoulders were heaving and every muscle in his arms were tensed. Rick was trying to talk him down.

“Daryl. Daryl, this isn’t the way. Let’s just calm down and we’ll decide together how to deal with him,” Rick was saying softly. “Just put your bow down and we’ll deal with him.”

The muscle in Daryl’s jaw twitched as he clenched his teeth. “This bastard deserves to die,” he growled.

“I know. I know… I see what he did. But we’ll talk about this and decide on it together. Alright? Let’s just calm down for a minute.”

It took everything he had, every bit of willpower not to pull that trigger and end the bastard right there. And if you hadn’t been watching, he might have done it. But he didn’t want you to be afraid of him too. Daryl lowered his bow and Rick pulled him off your boyfriend, who was cowering on the ground with blood pouring down his face from an obviously broken nose. His eyes were already swelling shut.

Rick grabbed him by the front of his shirt and hauled him to his feet. “You are comin’ with me,” Rick growled, dragging him away toward the barn.

Daryl ducked his head, his chest still heaving with exertion, and spared a glance in your direction. Your bottom lip was split and you had a hand pressed over the left side of your face, concealing the already blooming bruises from that asshole’s fist landing on your jaw and cheekbone. His heart ached, his stomach twisted, and he turned and stalked off after Rick.

You avoided the looks of pity and shock that the rest of the group was giving you and did your best to hold in your tears of pain and humiliation. You focused on Lori as best you could.

“Oh my God. Come here, honey. Let me look at you,” Lori said, moving in front of you and pulling your hand away from your face. Next, she noticed that your back was bleeding in a few places where you’d hit the stones and you winced as you tried to straighten up completely. Spots of crimson were staining your shirt. “Oh, Y/N. I’m so sorry. Come on. Let’s go clean you up. Come on.” She wrapped an arm around your shoulders again.

You felt like you were going into shock. You were disoriented. Lori led you up to the farmhouse and called out to Maggie and Hershel as you entered. They both rushed into the front room.

“Oh my God. What happened?” Maggie asked urgently, her eyes going round with horror.

Lori gave her a look and Maggie seemed to understand. There had been suspicions going around the group that perhaps your boyfriend was laying his hands on you occasionally, and they all seemed to now be confirmed.

Lori led you to sit down on a chair in the dining room. The vet-turned-doctor examined your face and determined that, luckily, no bones were out of place, but that you likely had a fractured cheekbone and a concussion, not the mention the injuries to your back and your split lip.

Lori guided you to the bathroom and started the bath tub filling with warm water. “Alright. Climb in there and I’ll be back in to help clean up your back, alright?” she said gently. She left and shut the door softly behind her.

You obediently stripped your clothes off, in a daze still, and stepped into the tub, wrapping your arms around your knees, holding them tightly to your chest. Lori knocked a moment later and you murmured a “come in.” She had a washcloth in one hand and sank down on the edge of the tub, immediately dipping it into the hot water and dabbing at the wounds on your back. The abrasions weren’t too deep, but it looked like most of your back would be badly bruised.

You were grateful she didn’t say anything. You’d seen the expression on her face and that was enough. She sighed heavily and climbed to her feet. “Come on out when you’re ready. Hershel says you can stay in the guest room tonight. We want to keep an eye on you because of that concussion, okay?”

You nodded and rested your chin on your knees. It was right then when the tears finally started pouring down your cheeks and you gasped in a shuddering breath. “Y/N. I’m so sorry this happened to you,” Lori said, rushing right back over and kneeling beside the tub, smoothing a hand over your hair.

“I don’t even recognize who I am anymore,” you said, rushing to wipe the tears that broke free from your eyes. “I think after everything fell apart, I just thought if I didn’t have something to cling onto from before that I—I don’t know—that I wouldn’t make it. But then he just… changed. And it didn’t happen all at once and I think that’s why I didn’t just—it was gradual. I almost didn’t notice it and then all of a sudden he just wasn’t himself anymore.” You hastily wiped at your tears again. “I feel so stupid and embarrassed and ashamed,” you admitted, unable to look at her.

“It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault. And you have nothin’ to feel ashamed about. And it’s all over now, alright? It’s over.”

You gasped in a shaky breath. “If Daryl hadn’t—”

“I know,” she shushed you. “I know. But he did. It’s all gonna be okay now, alright? Get cleaned up and I’ll be right outside in case you need anything.”

You gave her a grateful look and nodded. You sat in the hot water until it started to cool, your mind mostly blank. The adrenaline had worn off now and you were feeling every bit of pain. Your head felt like it was going to split open and you winced at the sight of your swollen and bruised face in the mirror. You pulled your clothes back on and ventured into the hallway. Lori was standing there with some clean clothes for you and she led you to the guest room and set them on the bed.

“Get changed into those clean clothes and then you need to rest. Hershel’s orders. He wants you in bed. We need to be careful because of that concussion.”

You thanked her again and nodded. You discarded your bloodstained shirt and dirty jeans on a chair in the corner and pulled on the new outfit before climbing under the covers. You couldn’t stop the tears from flowing out again and you squeezed your eyes shut against the pounding in your face and head.

Outside, the group was gathered to discuss what to do with your boyfriend. Daryl couldn’t stand still and was pacing angrily in front of the house. He looked up as Lori came out and the screen door slammed with a snap.

“How is she?” Rick asked, his face dark with concern.

“Alright, considering,” Lori said, slipping her hands in her back pockets. “Concussion. Bruised and swollen. Abrasions over half her back. Hershel thinks her cheekbone is fractured.” She caught Daryl’s eyes and gave him a knowing look.

“Oh my God,” Andrea said, exchanging a look with Carol, whose eyes turned down toward the grass.

Daryl swore under his breath and resumed his pacing.

“Well, what do we do?” T-dog asked. “We can’t just keep going on like everything is normal with him in camp. He’s got to go.”

“The question is how,” Dale said.

“That bastard ain’t even deserve to still be drawin’ breath,” Daryl drawled. He looked at Rick.

Rick sighed heavily. “Yeah…”

“I mean, I agree with Daryl, man. I don’t want that guy around any of us,” Shane said.

“What if we just take him out and leave him? Drive him way out and drop him off somewhere,” Rick mused.

Shane scoffed. “We might as well shoot him in the head right now. He’d never make it out there alone. That’s as good as killing him.”

Rick nodded. “I know, but it feels a little less like the blood is on our hands then... He has a chance.”

“He don’t even deserve a chance. I’m fine with his blood on our hands,” Daryl spat. “If I hadn’t been over there huntin’ he coulda killed her.”

Rick sighed again, the weight of the decision obviously weighing on him, and he rubbed a hand over his face. “Yeah… Let’s just take the day to think it over. We can decide tonight. And Y/N can have a say.”

The group nodded in agreement and dispersed. Lori went back in to check on you.

She knocked lightly on the door and you murmured for her to come in. “How are you feeling?” she asked you.

“I’m fine,” you said, lying about how much pain you were in.

She nodded. “We’re all going to figure out what to do about him,” she said. “You should think about what you want to happen. He can’t stay here, but as far as what that means—”

“Okay,” you interrupted her. You rolled over and looked at her in the doorway. “Is Daryl—?”

She smiled a little and nodded. “You want me to get him? He’s probably still pacing on the front porch.

You nodded. “If you could.”

“Of course.” Lori left and in a moment the archer appeared in the doorway.

You were in bed, your back to the door, but you turned and looked over your shoulder at the sound of his footsteps. Daryl’s stomach twisted at the swelling and red welts on your face. “Hey,” he said softly.

“Hey.” You pulled yourself up in a seated position and Daryl came around and sank down on the chair pulled up at the side of the bed. “I just wanted to say thank you,” you said, unable to meet his eyes and instead running the edge of the sheet through your fingers, staring at it like it was the most interesting thing you’d ever seen. “And I’m sorry that you got pulled into this mess…” you trailed off.

“I ain’t,” he said forcefully. “I’m glad I got to beat the shit out that guy. I just wish I’d done it sooner.”

You looked up at him and the glistening tears in your eyes made the colors in your irises stand out. His stomach flipped again at the sight of your injuries. “I feel so stupid. I never should have stayed with him.”

Daryl shook his head. “Ain’t that simple.”

You were grateful for his understanding. Daryl watched you struggling with some thought until you finally spoke it. “What if he gets out?” you asked, fear obvious in your eyes.

“He ain’t getting’ out. I tied his ass up myself,” Daryl reassured you. “But I’ll sit watch outside all night. Nothin’ is gonna happen to ya. It’s over.” The archer stood but your hand shot out and gently landed on his arm. He froze at the feeling of electricity that crackled from your fingers.

“Will you sit with me for a little while?” you asked. ��Just—until I can fall asleep.”

He nudged his nose up in a nod and sank back down, feeling nervous and chewing on his bottom lip. Daryl watched as you settled back down in bed, pulling the covers up over yourself and shutting your eyes, your long eyelashes fanning out against your cheeks. The feelings welling up in him were getting more and more difficult to deny, and he knew now wasn’t the time—not yet. You needed to get through this first. But Daryl wanted to show you how you did deserve to be treated, even as he dared not hope that he’d have the chance, that you’d feel the same thing for him that he felt for you. He wanted to protect you, take care of you. He wanted to show you how strong you actually were, even as he thought of how much you reminded him of that flower you’d brought him; vibrant, sweet, soft, delicate, but always climbing toward the light. And he was determined to help you see it.

#daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon twd #the walking dead #twd fanfics #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl imagines #daryl dixon x reader #fanfics #writers of tumblr #twd drabbles #protective!daryl

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whaleofatjme1920 · 3 years ago

Text

In a Mirror Image (Eyeless Jack X F!Reader)

🌸 In a Mirror Image

[Eyeless Jack X F!Reader]

[Warnings: blood, language, cheating (both physical but it's not like, in your face, and emotional)]

Part 1

The flowers that grow like weeds in your lungs bloom thicker and thicker every day. Your vision clouds with blue more often than not, and you can’t think about anything but the blossoms and blood that paint the bathroom with a hue you’re already much too used to. It’s a painful existence, and it’s getting worse. One of the most wretched parts? You’re deteriorating so fast that your vision no longer services you. You are blind, unrendered to see. You still choose to live in a delusion, and you are amongst the only who choose not to acknowledge it.

By now, everyone knows but only one other than you refuses to acknowledge it.

You hear Hoodie arguing with Jack more often than not. It seems the blond haired proxy is angry over what Jack has done to you and because he knows what Hanahaki does to those it takes root in.

“You’ll fucking kill her,” Hoodie seethes as he gets in Jack’s face for the fourth time this weekend. “Look at her-”

“I am!” Jack shot back, his arms crossing defensively over his chest. “Who are you to come in here and speculate on something that you’re not a part of?” He growls. Normally, Jack likes talking to Hoodie, but not when Hoodie’s on a mission to prove Jack a sinner.

“I wasn’t even aware you still had one,” Hoodie retorts through grit teeth. “I can’t believe you. Look at the flowers Ja-” and before he can continue tearing into Jack, he hears your bedroom door open.

While you still share the room with Jack, neither of you are in it at the same time. You’ve taken residence up on the living room couch with Kate and Jack more often than not stays with Leia. The room you share is usually empty, much like your heart.

“Hey there, buttercup,” Hoodie suddenly greets you as you tiredly walk into the kitchen where the two men had previously been in a standoff. “Did you sleep okay?” He asks, voice so much softer and gentler with you than what he had just been using.

You shake your head as you take a seat at the table. “I can’t sleep,” you say.

Hoodie’s brows furrow in sympathy before they knit in frustration when Jack sits next to you. He watches as Jack snakes his arm around you before he presses an empty kiss to the side of your head.

“No?” Jack says in a sickly saccharine tone. “I’ll see what I can do about that. Does that sound good to you?”

You nod slightly, the ghost of a smile on your lips. “That sounds good,” you murmur back.

“Anything for you,” he hums as he pulls you in closer to his side.

“You disgust me,” Hoodie hisses to Jack as he gets up and pushes in his chair roughly, making the table bounce. He doesn’t take his eyes off of Jack for a second as he leaves, roughly slamming the front door behind him.

“What was that about?” You ask, feigning innocence. You refuse to open your eyes to the situation you are in.

“He’s having a bad day,” Jack answers. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” he hums as he presses another kiss to the side of your head.

The butterflies in your stomach are dead, but the flowers blood evermore.

“You’re still sleeping out here?” Kate hums as she takes a seat next to you on the couch. She looks exhausted and she’s covered in blood. Her mask is cracked too.

“I guess,” you yawn as you shift slightly from your not so comfortable position. “How has your day been?” You ask as you reach for a glass of water only to see it’s not there.

“Let me,” Kate says as she gets up once more. She knows you’re getting worse. After getting you a bottle of water from the fridge, she comes back to your side. “I’ve had a busy day. Met with an independent named Nyein. They remind me of a big cat,” she finally answers as she opens the water bottle for you.

You take it and begin to slowly sip from it - it stops the flowers from blooming ever so slightly. Your airway opens just a little bit. “Do they now?”

Kate nods as she flips mindlessly through the channels. “They said they’re falling in love with a human. Bad business,” Kate winces, her dark eyes watching you carefully. “I hope they don’t…”

“It’s bad business,” you suddenly say as you feel petals fill your mouth. You cough slightly and the small little forget-me-nots fall into your lap, thankfully free of blood this time. You take one of the flowers into your fingertips and observe it gently. “I hope they’re okay.”

Kate puts her hand on your thigh, lightly squeezing before finally settling on the early evening news. “You wanna burn these blue fuckers?” She asks as the flowers in your lap remain stagnant save for the buds that unfurl at an alarmingly fast pace.

You feel the corners of your lips curl into a smile. “Yes.”

Morbid, your flowers have been springing up everywhere. They’ve infested the temporary house. So, you and Kate went around the place, plucking every single one before starting a bonfire in the backyard.

Toby, who considers himself a bit of a pyromaniac, was immediately summoned by the fire the two of you had cast in the backyard. He’d been out on a grocery run, and honestly, he had wanted to get out of the house.

The dynamics of the house had become uncomfortable to him. What with Leia and Jack sneaking off together and you coughing up a full greenhouse, he has been stressed. Toby can’t stand Jack and Hoodie arguing all the time as it reminds him of the life he tried to escape, and Masky can offer so much but ever since he renounced his love for Jay by force… It’s been hard. Toby knows it’s been hard for everyone involved.

He crosses through the house, sneers at Leia’s room, and then exits through the back to the scent of fire. He sees Kate’s arm around you as the fire blazes slightly blue.

“W-What are you g-gals up to?” He asks, coming to your other side so you remain in the middle.

“Burning stuff,” Kate nonchalantly replies. “You care to chuck anything in?”

Toby glances at you as you struggle to keep air in your lungs. “If I d-d-did, I’d be u-under c-charge for killing a-a-another under the O-Operator’s care,” he muses. He’s referring to Jack, of course. He takes in the scent of burning plant matter and blood and frowns when he remembers it’s yours. His hand reaches yours and squeezes gently.

You squeeze back.

Your experiences with Leia are lukewarm at best, and cold at worst. She’s something, she really is something. There’s moments when no one is in the temp house with you except for her alongside you, and those moments are tense, sharp, like a knife and burn colder than the depths of the sea.

The most memorable conversation you’ve ever had was the one that triggered a domino effect that would lead to a black hole in your chest.

“You’re still up?” Leia’s honeyed voice questions softly as she takes a seat across from you on the back porch at the glass table.

You find it more stifling inside so you choose to spend your time out. The weather is warm, afterall. The sun shines and fluffy clouds the size of whales swim overhead. You have a glass of pink lemonade made from a pouch Hoodie and Kate had picked up earlier. You find that the tang is enough to keep the flowers down.

“Of course I am, why wouldn’t I be?” You say in passing before you sip from the glass. You enjoy watching the rabbits in the backyard. They hop around without a care in the world.

She begins to thread her fingers through her long silver hair, braiding it. “I just think you should be resting,” she says. “You look so tired these days-”

“That’s none of your concern.”

“Touched a nerve,” she sighs. “You know you’re getting worse, right?”

You shoot her a glare, but you know she’s right. You’ve actually been holding out surprisingly longer than most people with Hanahaki Disease. Most people succumb to it within a few weeks of coughing, but you’ve managed to hold out for damn near an entire year. That’s almost unheard of. You’ve been hacking up flowers, their stems, roots and blood ever since Leia came into your life.

Everyone tells you that you’re getting worse, but you should have been dead months ago.

“Stop it,” you growl.

“You’re killing yourself,” she continues. “You could just… Let it all go, y’know?” She hums as she continues to fishtail her silver strands. “Renounce your feelings for him and save yourself.”

You grip your glass and set it back down roughly on the table. “That is literally none of your concern,” you repeat, eyes narrowing at the blue eyed beauty across from you. “Acting like you care-”

“I do, though,” she cuts you off. “I know that the Slender Man has big plans for you, but with you wasting away like this… You’ll never live long enough to see them through.” She flashes you a look of concern, but you can tell it’s fake. It shines like pyrite.

“What, so you can take my place just like that?” You bite back. “You can’t even wait until I’m fucking dead?”

Leia giggles and you hate to admit that it sounds pretty. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Daddy always did say I got what I wanted.” Her eyes drift off and you’re able to see she’s no longer thinking about you, but someone who once loved her. She finishes the braid. “Happy six years to you and Jack. Give him all my regards, won’t you?” She stands up, eyes the rabbits feasting on the clover in the grass, before she plucks your half empty glass from in front of you.

“Leia-!”

“It’s not like you need it,” she chuckles.

“It’s a special day,” you said to Masky, a small smile on your face. “It’s our six year anniversary.” Your posture changes to attention as he closes the door softly behind him. He still smells like cigarettes, but it’s a pleasant scent you’ve found comfort in where others find it a nuisance.

Masky put a smile on his face but it didn't reach his eyes. “You need me to draw a portal or something for you?” He holds his arms open to you as you fall into them, part because you’re so weak and secondly because he knows you need the affection - even if he can’t feel it.

You feel light come to your eyes as you nod after leaving a note for Jack in your shared room on his nightstand.

‘Dear Jack, happy six years! I’d wait for you to get back, but I have a surprise for you at the field you gifted to me for our first anniversary. I await you with happiness. Love, R.’

Masky drew the portal in the living room, a mess of swirling cloud-like silvers and blacks before he laid eyes upon the place you once shared only with Jack. “It’s super pretty,” he says, dark eyes scanning over all the wildflowers. There’s weeds on the path, like no one has cared for it in a while. ‘How poetic,’ he thinks. ‘It’s an allegory for your decayed relationship with Jack.’

“No it’s not,” you giggle as you bring Masky down one of the weed and chicory covered paths to the gazebo. “But it’s special to me,” you hum as you take a seat.

Masky follows beside you. He doesn’t take a seat, mostly feeling it wrong to impose on a space that is Jack’s despite his respect for him falling so far from what it used to be, but takes in the scent of dying flowers all the same. It’s summer, and instead of the sun warming the soft petals, it’s burning them. When you cough up more flowers while waiting for the man who still holds your heart (and refuses to return it) you’re less than pleased to see that they blend in with the untamed mosaic.

“Are you still tired?” Masky asks softly as he lights up a cigarette. “You can rest, I’m sure he won’t mind.”

You glance over to Masky before you rest your head in your hands, wondering where your lover is. You listen to the wind as it blows through the leaves. You listen to Masky’s hum, and eventually, you fall asleep.

You wake back up sometime during the night in your bed and not in a position you normally sleep in. It looks like whoever delivered you back here was extra careful with handling you. You only wake up because Jack has accidentally turned on the light.

“Shit, my bad,” he apologizes, quickly plunging the room back into darkness. “Did I wake you?” He knows he did.

“No,” you lie. “I couldn’t sleep anyways.” That was the most rest you’ve had in months. “Where have you been?” You ask quietly, still choosing to remain buried in the sheets.

Jack slides into bed next to you and gets comfortable. He smells like perfume you don’t wear. Through the faint light of the hallway that peeks under your door, you can see he’s got dark marks on his neck and jaw. “Leia wanted to show me her childhood home. Place isn’t run by Zalgo anymore, so we took a trip out there.”

“Did you now?” You hum as you feel tears prick your eyes.

Jack can see you in the dark. His vision at night far surpasses a human’s. He just chooses not to acknowledge it. Jack knows that his relationship with you is gone, and that you’ve been coughing up flowers for the past year. He knows, and it hurts him. Hurts him deeply that he’s the one causing you such pain, but at the same time, he’s a coward. He chooses not to let you go cleanly because his relationship with Leia is so finite.

He knows she only wants him because at the time he was unattainable. Now that she has him, it is only a matter of time until she does to him what he’s done to you. He understands that fully, but he refuses to leave the safety net that is you because he is selfish. His feelings for you aren’t nonexistent, but it’s that kind of fondness one has after the deed has been done, a love based on past memory and sentiment rather than what will and can be. It has reached his threshold, and you both are too caught up in security rather than what is healthy.

“I did,” he says as his mind rushes a mile a minute. “What did you do today?”

You wonder if you should answer that honestly or not. Would he even care? “I stayed here today, nothing special.” You feel the flowers unfurling in your lungs.

Jack hums once more, his back now facing you as he slowly succumbs to sleep.

You met Masky in the bathroom again, hacking your lungs and more of those fucking flowers up into the bathrub and the sink. Hell, you even got some in the toilet. Your body is growing weaker and weaker by the day. The fact you’ve held out for a year is astronomical, but you know you’ll be being taken from it eventually. No one survives Hanahaki when their lover’s feelings aren’t returned. It either gets returned, or you lose them all entirely.

He almost lost you. You broke the mirror when your body went limp as the vines and flowers crawled out from your lungs, through your esophagus and out of your mouth. If it was an art installation piece, Masky might’ve thought it beautiful, but the fact you went cold and limp and the flowers were blooming at a rapid pace - one he thought he couldn’t keep up with.

Masky, despite not being able to really feel anything, panicked as he took you into his arms. Did he genuinely care for you? No, but he cared to whatever extent the surgery left him with. He fretted because you are under his direct care. He cared so deeply because he too had seen many good proxies and independents lost to it. He cared because a part of him remembered what it was like to have daisies and rhododendrons fill his lungs. Normally, you only have one type of flower to clutter your lungs. Science says “just because.” An old wives’ tale says “love truly lost.” In his case? Jay’s death. Nothing was the same after that.

Masky took no hesitation in scooping you up into his arms and running out of the house to the forest to be closer to his boss’s energy. The Operator could fix this should he will it. He didn’t care that the lights in the house went on from his concerned proxies - the ones who had been sick over what befell you since you came into their care. He didn’t dare let you go as he trampled through the brush in the dead of night, using only the moon.

“Sir!” He calls out frantically. “Sir! I need your help!” He can hear your heart get slower and slower.

And just like that, the devoted father came to his child’s cry.

“My child,” he greets, instantly swooping down to look at your pained, flowery visage. “Did I not tell you to handle this?” He chides softly as he takes you into his arms. The sound of static only grows louder and louder.

“I thought she could,” he says, his tone clearly apologetic. “Please, just… Just fix this for me.” He watches the Operator closely as the tall man holds you in his arms.

While you are not exactly his child directly, you are also still under his care. Leia did not lie that the Operator sees good things for you. Without any other words, the tall man is gone, giving you to gods know who to perform a surgery that should be considered the only humane way out.

He returns to the house where Hoodie, Kate and Toby eagerly awaited him, clamoring around him and pecking like hens wondering where you are. He says that you’re in the hands of a god.

You floated in the ether, your body a galaxy. You watched as your chest was torn open - looked like by the hands of an independent that had talons to rival an eagle.

‘There’s so much,’ she says, her mouth turning into a frown as she worked on carefully removing the clusters of flowers. ‘How is she not dead?’

The Slender Man continues to observe, not offering the doctor any words.

The spirals and swirls inside of you continue to swirl before the flowers get torn out, one by one. The roots that cling to your lungs are stubborn, but with every single one removed, the lights of a different universe go out. Snuffed. Lost. The cavity in your chest grows wider until it births a black hole.

‘How much longer?’ The Slender Man asks, watching as the independent calls in another to help her rid your body of weeds.

She shakes her head as she continues to root them out. They bloom under her touch. ‘I have no idea - she must’ve felt so strongly-’

‘They just keep coming up, Sir,’ the other interjects, her four eyes scanning you rapidly.

The black hole begins to suck up the stars and nebulas that comprise your system. It feasts on you, making every part of what made you you, disappear in its depths. It grows larger as it consumes you. It grows heavier. It grows more powerful.

‘We’re almost there,’ the taloned independent says, her wings fluttering softly to emphasize her point. ‘I’ve never seen it this bad before.’

‘Fix this,’ the Slender Man seethes, his patience wearing thin. He knows your body will not be able to handle this much longer.

The black hole reaches its mass, and slowly, it begins to consume you. It overtakes you, bathes you, and leaves nothing left when it has taken all that it can. Your body is empty. You are a shell. Glimpses of blue, grey and reddish brown flash in your mind’s eye and through the eye of the black hole, but you cannot place the feelings you used to associate with them. You remember, but you do not feel.

The last of the flowers are pulled. The taloned independent is exhausted, and her partner is just as tired. ‘Good fucking lord,’ she breathes out, exhausted from the late night gardening session. ‘In all my years I have never seen that awful disease take hold of an individual that bad,’ she notes. Her bird-like eyes watch over your open chest to make sure they’ve fully cleared it out.

A single forget-me-not sprouts, and the Slender Man is the one who plucks it. Just like that, the flowers, their roots, all evidence you’d ever had life inside of you, is gone. Withered and wilted away.

The black hole takes all that you have to offer, and you are back to consciousness, no longer floating, no longer a home to the vibrancy of the universe.

What came after was a bit of a blur. The Slender Man had brought you back to the safe house you had called your home for the past year surprised to see that some of his favored children were still away, waiting for you as the light of the sun rose over the grass. It was a new dawn.

“How is she?” Hoodie asked, immediately springing up.

“Fixed,” was all the Slender Man said, his gaze shifting from you to your group’s leader. “Masky, I’m entrusting you to watch over her as you have been through something similar.”

“Of course,” the dark eyed man says as he takes you gingerly into his arms. “I wouldn’t trust her with anyone else.”

“One last thing,” the tall man in a suit hums. “I am taking Eyeless Jack from this house. Leia will stay with him.”

“It’s probably for the best. We trust your judgment,” Masky replies.

The Slender Man’s head gently cups Masky’s cheek before he leaves them with the sound of static that dissipates as fast as it appeared.

You spent the first few days after your surgery under bed rest. The Slender Man had healed you but he still worried for the state of your lungs. You needed the rest, and you were pleased to have it. Other than that, you felt… nothing. You were numb. Fleeting feelings of happiness or thankfulness, maybe something melancholic would slip through but ultimately, you were nowhere near your old self.

Jack was not allowed anywhere near you. That was one of the first instructions given to him when the Slender Man had popped into his head. While he did not have an opinion on Jack’s unfaithful behavior, he was more displeased with the fact he’d kickstarted the disease in you. The Slender Man thought that if he started it in Leia, then perhaps everything would turn out alright.

So, he sent the two out with a different group - which mostly meant Jeff, someone the Slender Man knew detested behavior that Jack had committed.

It was not easy for Jack to share the same space with Jeff after word had gotten out about you.

“You’re my best friend,” Jeff had sighed one late afternoon, refusing to even acknowledge Leia in the room. “But that? That was fucked up.”

Jack hummed and kept his gaze on Leia, who looked at him with nothing short of adoration. “Sure.”

Jeff sighed once more and stood up. “You don’t feel an inch bad, do you?”

“No.”

“You’re a shitty guy but you’re an even shittier liar.” Jeff broke the door with how hard he’d slammed it on his way out.

Jack really wasn’t the same, that much was apparent. He’d slowly been becoming more withdrawn and quicker to agitation. Of course, he’d take it out on whoever was around to deal with it. Leia included - it just came in a different form. One in which she’d never complained. But when things were rough between them, things were rough.

Jeff could hardly stand the two most days, so when he’d sneak out, it was with his dog to come pay a visit with you. And he hated how dull you had become.

“Masky used to be a lot more personable,” Jeff would say. “Life of the party when we could get him out of his pseudo-philosophical bullshit. Then he hurled flowers and we knew something was wrong.” Jeff’s hand rubs your back gently as a sign of friendship.

“And then?”

“Then he got that stupid surgery and now he’s just existing. No further purpose, just existing because some pale guy says so for his benefit.” Jeff huffed and looked up at the setting sun.

You found your gaze following his.

“What you’re doing right now,” he began. “It’s no way to live.”

“Would you have rather I’d succumbed to it?” You asked, not adding any inflection to whether you’re happy or sad, hurt or even offended.

“In all honesty?” Jeff tore his eyes from the pink and blue sky. “Yeah. This,” he gestured to you. “This isn’t you.”

Everything you’re supposed to feel feels dampened. Instead, you nodded. “Note taken.”

Jeff frowned.

The first time Jack was able to see you after your surgery was nearing halfway to what would have been seven months. It’d been a rough time without him seeing you, mostly because the guilt had been devouring every humanity he had left. Nothing could fill the void.

Like the first time you had met him, it was an accident when you crossed paths once again. You had been clearing out a house one fine winter’s evening, doing what had been asked of you before you got the faintest scent of something familiar and something you once recognized as comforting. You furrow your brows, weapon at your hip as you slowly and quietly come down the stairs.

Your lips are pressed into a thin line as you peer into the living room. Snow falls outside the window.

“Reader?” A male voice asks, turning around from the hallway. “Is that you?”

You tilt your head slightly as you register the mask you’re looking at. Eyeless Jack, mostly just known as ‘EJ’ or ‘Jack’. You’ve never really spent any time with him though outside of little jobs, so you have no idea who this is or why he sounds so happy to see you.

“Uh, hi, EJ?” You say as you walk at a leisurely pace down the stairs.

Jack freezes momentarily as he comes to greet you in the living room. He’d almost forgotten that when the flowers are removed, so too are the memories alongside feelings.”It’s… It’s good to see you,” he says as he looks down at you, wondering if he should touch you or not.

“I guess it’s nice to see you too,” you say. “What are you doing in this area?” You inquire. You vaguely remember the Slender Man not wanting you two to be in the same area.

“Just out and about,” he answers as he scratches at the back of his neck. “Leia wanted to uh, hunt down some of her sisters - I - it doesn’t matter,” he suddenly finishes, feeling much too awkward to even look at you. He knows you don’t remember, but he certainly does. Looking at you… He has a fresh slate.

“That’s nice,” you say in a tone that’s clearly disinterested. You walk towards the living room windows and look into what is now a cold winter’s night. You can see the snow still falling. If you want to make it back to Masky before he gets worried, you’ll need to head out almost immediately. “Pretty, isn’t it?”

Jack slowly comes to your side and puts his attention on you, watching as the snow continues to fall. “Yeah, the prettiest,” he says softly, desperately trying in vain to hold back on scooping you into his arms. There’s something scratching at the back of his throat.

You nod once again and zip up your coat. “They’re expecting me,” you say, gearing up to brave the snow.

“Do you need any-”

“No,” you cut him off. You’re not sure why it comes out so harshly, but you figure it must be a remnant of a memory you no longer have access to. “I can manage on my own.” You brush past him and open the front door, eyes momentarily clamping shut at how cold it is before you step onto the porch. The sound of the crunching snow is satisfying.

“Stay safe out there,” Jack says softly, not moving from his place as he continues to gaze out the window at the falling snow.

You turn your head briefly over your shoulder, “and you as well.”

Jack hears the door close and you walk off into the night, back to a group he was barred from. That tickling in the back of his throat grows more and more prevalent until he clears his throat. Feels like there’s something on his tongue. He coughs a few more times before holding his hands in front of his mouth, displeased to see the small blue petals he knows will bloom to full flowers in a time frame that is too long to be considered fair.

#eyeless jack #xreader #creepypasta x reader #eyeless jack x reader #creepypasta #hanahaki #angst #masky #hoodie #brian thomas #tim wright #kate the chaser #reader insert #slender man

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sparklykatt · 3 years ago

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Last part of casita kicks everyone out! We made it!

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

To say Alma was frustrated was an understatement. She just couldn’t understand! Mirabel kicked the entire family out of their own home, and they’re all siding with her? They’re apologizing to her? Every day more madrigals went out of their temporary home, and didn’t come back. More and more until it was just pepa and felix. But even then it didn’t take that long for them to knock on Alma’s door, saying they were going back to casita. So alma was left alone. In a house that isn’t even hers. She really just couldn’t understand her family. The woman stared out the window. For the first time in years the town looked stagnant. Usually everyone was out working, talking, and playing, but everything seemed empty. Alma couldn’t help thinking once again that it’s all mirabels fault. The town needed the madrigals! It’s not mirabels place to harm the community like this because her feelings were hurt. A small knock interrupted Alma’s brooding. “Abuela? I just wanted to check on you.” Dolores cracked open the door. “I’m perfectly fine Dolores.” Her tone betrayed her words plainly. “Are you still blaming mirabel? Even though you’re the only one left here?” Dolores’s question was met with silence. “Even without us telling you, you should know that you’re able to come back and work things out with her if you just try.” Alma furrowed her brows. “Work things out? This is just happening because mirabel is being selfish. The casita does not belong to her.” Dolores sighed. She had hoped that her abuela was reflecting on how she treated mirabel when she locked herself in her room. Turns out she was just festering. “It’s not selfish to wish for your family to love and understand you.” The door clicked and alma was left alone again.

Her anger didn’t subside. She’s done everything the could for the madrigals and everyone within the encanto. She’s done nothing wrong! Alma huffed as she grabbed the doorknob, finally stepping out of the small house.

“You’re alright!” The first villager who saw her greeted her with relief. “I was getting worried since we haven’t seen you since back then…” the man’s voice faded to a whisper, being careful not to upset the woman. “I was in a state of shock for a while.” Alma admitted, shaking off the comments. “I hope you all haven’t been having a hard time while the madrigals are in disarray.” The villager shook his head. “Not at all! It’s been a little tense, but nothing we can’t handle. This past week has actually been… enlightening.” A woman, who had been cleaning off her porch a house over laughed. “Really enlightening! A single day without Luisa and Julieta and we don’t know what to do with ourselves.” The woman jabbed. Alma turned to the cynical woman. “It was that bad?” The man huffed as the woman nodded, leaning over the railing. “I mean we can live a few days without the others since we can find other ways to do the jobs but Luisa’s the only one who can move a house. And apparently the babies around here can’t seem to live with a little cold or scrape. No sense of independence.” Alma held onto her clothing with a newly furrowed brow. Her family was continuing not to help the community? But- “I don’t think we can complain though. For what little I’ve seen of them this week, I don’t think I’ve ever seen them so happy. When I brought my kid to julieta after he broke his leg, they were all laughing together. I even saw Bruno.” The man crossed his arms. “Ah… yeah. We can handle a little inconvenience if those kids can have some time for themselves.” Alma bit her tongue and nodded along with the conversation. There’s no way things were that much better… the madrigals were perfectly content before. There was no shortage of smiles and no complaints. And brunito… Alma turned to continue roaming the streets.

Everywhere she went the story seemed the same. The madrigals thriving, and the townspeople supporting them. And it all made alma even more bitter. This felt like the family making more jabs at her. Like they were calling her the bad guy, saying she was a bad matriarch. She stopped at a small startled sound as she spotted a certain nieto duck behind a building. “Camilo?” She called, creeping towards the hiding spot. “…Hi, abuela…” he was less than enthusiastic in his greeting. In fact he was nervous. “I was just… mingling… checking on the village and such…” Alma crossed her arms indignantly. “At least someone in this family remembers their obligations. Really, the rest of the madrigals just left the town to rot-” “um…” Alma snapped her head back to the boy. Regardless, he began to speak. “I think they deserve a break. I’m here because I want to be… and I’m not really doing anything to help around… we just wanted time to recover…” “recover? The village needs to recover, Mirabel selfishly stole the miracle-” Camilo cut her off again. “I think you are the one being selfish right now.” He stepped back, preparing himself for one of her hard glares, but instead received a hurt look. “…what?” Camilo softened his tone again but stayed firm in his words. “We all just need a break. Taking a week to not work isn’t abandoning the town.” His abuela stared at him again. She supposed her choice of wording for the situation was a bit harsh but… “Um… abuela I need to ask… since we’re here…” Camilo became more reserved as he prepared his question. This had become an unfamiliar sight since his gift ceremony. “You isolated mirabel back then… didn’t you?” Alma reeled back at the accusation. “How dare-” “I remember how you told me to stay away from her, then reeled my mom into allowing me to work when I didn’t listen… I’m not the only one either… Isabella said you would insinuate that mirabel was a burden and that you made sure they didn’t like each other. Luisa said you always dragged Mirabel away so she could focus… even Dolores said you kept them separate, even from casual conversation.” Camilo listed the complaints one after the other, a look of remorse on his face for the lost time with his family. “Did you hate her that much? For not having a gift?” Alma stood shocked. Her mouth moved but no words were formed. Hate? She just didn’t want her distracting the important work of the madrigals. They needed to serve the community and mirabel couldn’t so-

So what? Even a normal person could do mediocre tasks, so why did mirabel need to stay away from work? Seeing that he wouldn’t get an answer from his abuela, Camilo turned to leave. “…it hurt not having her around you know… maybe mirabel isn’t the only one you need to apologize to.”

Alma was left by herself again, this time with bitter questions. Did she really hate mirabel? No that wasn’t it… was she so focused on the gifts that she isolated the girl without reason? But it was for the community wasn’t it? The miracle? What did she do all those things for when it wasn’t helping the community? Alma eventually began to walk again. Through the streets, and the beaten paths. She truly had no idea about the past, but that didn’t affect right now did it? Mirabel stole the miracle and the casita, she’s in the wrong, she’s the selfish one right now. But would this have happened if you’d treated her well? Like a beloved grandchild instead of… Alma stopped again. What did she think mirabel was? She was her grandchild but… it was different from the rest of the children. Maybe she thought of her as a nuisance, or maybe a child who would tire themselves out…Cawing from a birds nest drew her attention. Oh… maybe she saw mirabel as a frail baby bird. One who didn’t fly when pushed from the nest. A baby bird who would die off soon anyways without the ability to fly, so why bother?

The idea that Alma was wrong hurt her pride, and the more she reflected on her actions, the more she hurt. At the very least, weren’t some of the accusations thrown at her overblown? Sure she wasn’t a good abuela, but she didn’t deserve the look she got from Camilo… she didn’t deserve to get kicked out of her own home… she… “stop that.” Alma whipped her head around to her eldest grandchild. “Isabella…” “you were trying to find another way to justify yourself again. You’ll do anything but apologize.” Isabell stared down her abuela with crossed arms. She had come when Dolores and Camilo mentioned that Alma had finally gone out. Initially she only meant to peek, but frustration took over seeing the remorse fade from the woman’s face. “Do you realize the extent of the damage done to the family you caused, long before mirabel was even born? Do you realize how antagonistic you would be to anyone who didn’t fit a mold that was useful?” Alma stared in stunned silence as Isabella let her anger show without restraint. This confrontation was awful, because out of everyone, they treated others the worst. Isabella was made into a mini Alma, and she hated knowing that. “Did you ever stop to think that the cracks, the loss of power, even your loss of control over your family, was because of the things you’ve done?” Alma clenched the fabric of her skirt but kept listening. “I can spell it out for you if you want.” “Stop…” Alma muttered. “Your children are crushed by the burden of your expectations,” “stop.” Alma repeated, fists shaking. “I almost married someone i don’t love to keep up your perfect image of me, Luisa was being crushed by so much responsibility she could barely sleep, Dolores-” “please stop!” “Dolores never had peace, and was made to give out others secrets. Camilo was never able to live as himself for very long” “I’m begging you, stop!” Tears welled up in Alma’s eyes. “And we’ve talked more than enough about the horrible life mirabel lived because of you.” Alma was brought to silence again, this time because she couldn’t fight the tears, or the admission of her faults. “…I would think again about giving a heartfelt apology, but not just to mirabel.” Having evidently said what she’s been wanting not say for a while, Isabella retreated back towards casita, leaving Alma to wallow.

Alma began walking the opposite direction, away from casita, away from the community, and toward the mountains. She continued following a path through the mountains, untouched by anything other than plant life, and found a place she had never had the chance to confront. Or really, she never wanted to try. But there was also someone else, someone she was actively trying to avoid. “Mirabel?” The teen whipped around before fumbling to hide behind something, most likely afraid of being yelled at. Alma had no will or energy for that anymore though. Instead she sat by the river side and patted the spot next to her, mirabel hesitantly kneeling there a moment later.

Eventually alma forced herself to speak, still reserved by a newly recognized prejudice against mirabel. “It has occurred to me in the last few days… through some… necessary conversation amongst the towns people and some grandchildren, that I…” Alma sighed in self defeat, hating the hesitance and stutter in her voice. “That I have not been very fair to you as a member of our family, and that I have never taken the opportunity to really understand any of you… or allow you to understand me.” Mirabels eyes seemed wide. Was she admitting she was wrong? Alma gently took mirabels hands, not daring to look at her face. “…I was young when I married your abeulo, and just as young when I hand your mami and pepa and Bruno. Just as young when we fled our home and when I was left alone with just my three children and the miracle. After he died… I was so afraid. I couldn’t bear the thought of anyone else suffering like I did. I thought that of our family was strong, if we worked hard for others… We could keep what we had left safe. But I realize now that I was wrong… I have done nothing but destroy what I wanted to protect. I’m… I’m so sorry…” Alma shuttered at drops hitting the tops of her hands. Tears. Mirabels tears. “I… my one wish for so long was to be recognized by you. To be loved by you… I think that was everyone’s wish… but you were… all this time…” mirabel sobbed and pulled her hands away. “I let my emotions waver for too long, and I purposely hurt you the most… ignoring you, isolating you…” mirabel shook her head at Alma’s words. “Please… can we try to be a loving family… i… I just want everyone to feel better… to feel…” Alma took mirabels hands again and gently pulled her to stand. “Let’s go back together. I’ll offer each and every one of you an apology…”

As they returned, mirabels door was depicted with pure joy and love. The image of the house seemed to move energetically, figures and decorations popping in and out of windows, or swaying on a balcony.

I’m so sorry this last part literally took months. It’s been 80% finished for a while but Im in a competitive art and have a job and stuff and I was just kinda anti thought in my free time. I hope this was a somewhat good ending though.

#encanto #encanto au #encanto camilo #encanto maribel #encanto fanfic #encanto luisa #encanto abuela #encanto agustin #mirabel encanto

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starlessea · 3 years ago

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𝙎𝙩𝙚𝙥 𝙤𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙂𝙖𝙨 - Chapter 2. Manic Pixie Dream Bitch

A/N Make sure you read the prologue and other chapters first! Things are starting to pick up - I hope you stick around for the ride.

Series Masterlist: Step on the Gas

Summary: A dishonourable discharge from the military results in you being hauled off to live with your grandparents in the boonies, otherwise known as the middle of nowhere Georgia. After running over a nail on the road, and pushing your grandpa's vintage Camaro to the nearest auto-shop, you meet Daryl Dixon - the local mechanic. At some point, the world ends, but that stubborn man never gives you a chance to slow down. His smile gives you whiplash, but he still insists that you to step on the gas.

Words: 5374

Chapter Warnings: Language, Injury, Domestic abuse mentions

The evening was cool, and a breeze hung in the air.

The midday Georgia heat had all but melted away, leaving behind tepid winds that rustled leaves on the trees — and the canvas tents. They fluttered around you as you walked, like the beating of butterfly wings, or ripples atop the ocean.

It was peaceful. It felt safe.

All eyes were on you as you followed Daryl to the firepit, taking a seat on a low log beside him — but not too close.

The night was still too young to turn in yet, so the man had begrudgingly led you out of his tent when the silence became stifling. For some reason, conversation didn't come as naturally to the two of you as it once had.

There was tension there. You could feel it.

But you didn't have the slightest clue why. The last time you had seen Dixon, it was in the midst of a tremendous thunderstorm. The two of you had laughed, and ran through the rain until your clothes were soaked through, and your skin was cold.

It was one of the best nights of your life.

Yet, here you were — sitting beside the man in stagnant silence as he kicked at coal embers with his boot, and pretended not to feel your stare seeping into the back of his head.

Across from you were the people you had briefly met earlier — the two officers by the names of Shane and Rick, or helicopter boy — the asian man named Glenn, and Carol who was sitting beside her husband. Their individual conversations were low, barely audible against the crackling fire, but one-by-one they seemed to filter off, until there was nothing but silence once again.

Shane stood up.

He stoked the fire a little with a branch, careful not to let the flames rise too high. "So, tell me," the man spoke, his voice wide and assertive,"how's a sweet young thing like yourself figure out how to fly a Sikorsky Hawk?"

His presence was big.

It made you shuffle in your seat as his eyes dragged down you, resting on your arm — which was bound by a sling. "Well, minus the landing part," he murmured below his breath.

You didn't like the way he smirked when he said that, like it had been amusing to him — funny to him that you'd almost died. Daryl let out a sound beside you, a low rumbling noise from the back of his throat that only you could hear. But you didn't bite to his words.

After all, men like that could only bark.

"I was in the military," you answered, meeting his eyes and not breaking the stare.

Your throat was still sore, but your words rang out clear, atop the thrum of the evening air, and flickering flames. Shane stuffed his hands in his pockets, and rocked back on the balls of his feet — as though he was putting on some type of show.

"Air force, then?" he questioned, but it was starting to feel more like an interrogation.

You caught the whites of Carol's eyes across from you, as they darted between the officer and yourself, and to her husband, then back to the other officer. She seemed as skittish as a person could possibly be — just watching, waiting, for something to happen.

You cleared your throat and forced a smile. "Training to be," you clarified.

For some reason, the exchange didn't feel like a conversation. The mood was too tense, too untrusting. It reminded you of the few minutes you'd spent alone with Dixon, back at his tent.

Something felt wrong.

Shane stalked around the firepit, his police boots crunching against the leafy bed, and kicking up dirt where he walked. He stopped directly in front of you, looming a shadow down onto you and Daryl — and making the other man scoff as he looked up.

"So not actually a pilot yet?" Shane smirked, crossing his arms over his chest.

Your smile faltered, he was asking too many questions.

The other officer, Rick, took off his sheriff's hat and tracked his partner's movements with his eyes, as though anticipating something that hadn't happened yet. It made you feel a nervousness you were ashamed of.

You never did play well with men like Shane.

"And tell me this," he said, lowly, as he crouched down to your level, "why aren't you at Fort Benning?" He looked back over his shoulder, at Rick who was sitting stiff as a board, before cocking his head back to you."Or were you part of the group that showered Atlanta with napalm?"

The word hung heavy in the air — even though he had practically whispered it.

Your mind flickered back to the day it rained fire down upon the city, to the sounds of screams, and the charred remains you'd stumbled across on the occasions you wandered too close to the centre.

You shook your head immediately, feeling the pain shoot up your shoulder. "I had no part in that," you hissed — much more viciously than you anticipated.

As soon as the words left your mouth, you curled in on yourself. You didn't miss the way the man recoiled slightly from your face, and you'd even caught a fleeting glimpse of your reflection in the blacks of his irises.

You wore a look of pure disgust.

"I was discharged," you whispered, after taking a few moments to collect yourself. "Couple months before all this." You glanced to your right, to where the former mechanic was sitting — trying to pretend like he wasn't watching you. "Got sent to Georgia afterwards, which is where I met Daryl," you explained, noticing his eyes narrow at your words. "Briefly."

He looked away. He didn't seem to like that choice, either.

Shane stood back up, stretching out his knees, and then his neck. He rolled his head back in a circle, before glancing to and from you and Daryl with a smirk.

"Makes sense," he murmured, before turning on his heels to walk away, "dropouts tend to stick together, no?"

And for the second time today, Dixon went wild.

The tension finally snapped, like an elastic band having been stretched to its limit, and Daryl shot up to his feet, lunging for the man.

But you reached out for him at the same time, trying to grab his hand so that the night didn't end in the way you were almost certain it was going to end.

After all, you'd only seen Daryl go off once before — back in the old world — which had left an aftertaste of bloodstains over your bar, and maroon-tinted bruised knuckles that needed tending to well after your closing time.

But now he seemed even worse — more tightly wound than a coil beneath your boot, always ready to jump up and spring.

He was playing the part of a man far more angry than you had ever known him to be.

Although you still couldn't figure out why.

The ticking of the wall clock was stark against the silence. Joe's Bar had been cleared out more than an hour back, but the two of you remained — like ghosts haunting whiskey bottles and looming around the jukebox until it played a song you liked.

Dixon hissed as you tipped alcohol over his knuckles, watching as it seeped into the cuts and spread over his bruises like a clear film. They weren't that bad, really — only a purplish hue to them.

After all, you'd seen the other guy.

But you'd never seen Dixon get so riled up before. He'd always been a cocktail of shy glances and dumb wonder around you. That was until tonight at least, when a drunken customer slapped your ass at the bar, and the mechanic beat him bloody.

He'd probably seen how rattled it had made you, and how you looked ready to either snap or break.

"Ya don' have to do this," the man rasped, purposefully avoiding your eyes. "Save the vodka."

Your hand stilled over his knuckles, as you breathed in the strong, sharp scent which made your lungs burn. You laughed, pointing back over your shoulder at the shelves atop of shelves — stacked with an array of bottles, all different shapes and sizes.

"We've got plenty to spare, don't you worry," you hummed, before tipping more Smirnoff onto a cotton pad. "And you didn't have to do that, either," you chided, narrowing your eyes at a particular cut — which had already begun to crust over. "I could've handled him."

The mechanic scowled, glancing back over his shoulder to the place where it had all gone down — as though watching the scene play out once more in his mind.

He shook his head. "Ya could'a lost yer job."

"I'm used to that by now," you bit back, not once looking up from his bruise-splayed knuckles. "But Dixon," you cautioned, "don't go doing that again."

A car drove by outside, its headlights streaming in through the window and illuminating the dark husk of the bar — the pool tables that had been otherwise cloaked in shadows, and the expression of the man sitting opposite you, studying your every word.

"Joe might bar you next time," you whispered, screwing the lid back onto the bottle.

But Dixon only laughed.

"Barred from a bar?" he scoffed, stretching out his fingers to inspect your work, "he ain't gonna do tha'."

The stool squeaked as the man stood up, dusting off his jeans and retrieving his jacket. It was long past midnight, and you knew you'd be catching a ride back with him as he sped down the streets, reminding you to hold on tighter.

"What makes you so sure?" you teased, untying your apron and leaving it at the end of the counter.

Daryl held the door open, and fished around in his pockets for something that jingled — pulling it out to show you.

It was a set of car keys, with a tacky coke-bottle charm hanging from them.

"Still got his truck sittin' in the shop," he smirked.

The scuffle between Shane and Daryl was interrupted before blows could even be exchanged. Rick grabbed a hold of his partner, whilst you pulled the former mechanic back down to his firepit seat, trading places with him until you were face-to-face with the other asshole — a few inches shorter but a whole lot more pissed.

Daryl tried to stand back up again, but you flashed those eyes at him — the ones that made him immediately second guess the action.

"Sit down," you seethed, punching out each word as you spoke them.

And surprisingly, Dixon did as you said.

You weren't angry at him, exactly, but you didn't want him fighting your battles for you anymore — especially not whilst he had a chip on his shoulder more noticeable than the sling on yours.

Then you turned back to Shane, looking up at him as he stood with his chest almost flush to you, completely ignoring Rick's pleas behind him. He knew exactly what he was doing. That comment wasn't off-handed — he made sure you could hear it.

"I don't like you," you said lowly, not backing down from the glare he shot your way.

You didn't want things to turn out like this. There was nothing more you hated than making a scene.

Well, there was one thing, you thought.

You couldn't fucking stand men who abused their power.

"Don't have to like me, princess," Shane retorted, reaching out a hand in your direction. "I'm just here to keep you alive."

You smacked his palm away — as though it were a fly buzzing much too close — before he could make contact with your skin. And you saw red.

Daryl would have punched a man for less, if you'd so much as given him the right look. But this time, you shot a warning glance at him, telling him to stay put.

"Don't fucking touch me," you whispered, but your words held more weight than if you'd screamed them — and Shane retracted his hand. "I can take care of myself."

Except, he made a point of letting his eyes drag over your injuries, lingering on the makeshift sling, before settling on your stomach — as though he could see your stitches underneath the material of Daryl's shirt.

"Clearly," he remarked, before turning on his heels once again.

Nobody stopped him this time — not even Rick — as he stalked around the fire, and into the night. You caught a glimpse of his metal dog tags as he did, glinting off the light of the flame and jumping around his neck with every step he took. You thought it was ironic for him to even wear them.

Or maybe not.

After all, he seemed the same as every other military man you'd encountered — a goddamn animal.

"Make sure you take care of your manic pixie dream bitch," he yelled, probably directed at Dixon. "Wouldn't want anymore helicopters fallin' from the damn sky."

And so Shane disappeared into his tent — into the shadows you couldn't quite make out — and Daryl stood up straight after, heading in the opposite direction. The remaining group was uneasy, tentative almost, as they watched your head whip back and forth between them and the mechanic as he left.

Dixon stalked away into the brush, despite the shouts and warnings not to stray too far from the campsite.

And you followed him.

With each step further from the flickering flames of the bonfires, it became harder to navigate the night. Your injuries had slowed you down, and you flinched every time a twig snapped, or leaves rustled near your ear. You didn't even have a weapon anymore — since it had burnt up with the rest of your gear in the crash.

But it didn't take you long to track down Dixon. After all, his smoke trail gave him away.

He was sitting on a grassy bank, over facing the quarry waters. There was a full moon out, and you could now see it peering above the tops of the trees — ghostly white against the stark, black sky. And cigarette smoke swirled around it, leading back down to the shadowy figure on the ground, legs tucked up to his chest as he breathed deeply.

You approached, wincing as your shoulder caught on a low-hanging branch.

"Yer gonna bust ya stitches messin' 'round like tha'," Dixon spoke, not even turning around to confirm it was you. But still, he outstretched a hand, helping you sit down beside him.

The moonlight was beautiful. It drizzled over the treetops in the distance, and the spindly branches that reached up to the sky. It even reflected off Daryl's skin as you glanced at him in the corner of your eye — watching as the smoke poured out from his lips and settled in the air.

You tucked yourself into his side just a little, missing the heavy feeling of your jacket which smelt like him — and was almost just as warm. Part of you expected him to shrug you off, or make some remark in-keeping with how withdrawn he'd been throughout the day.

But, he didn't.

He let you sit beside him, as he blocked you from the breeze — as though you weren't the one person who would be used to it.

"Got a spare?" you asked, eyeing his packet of cigarettes.

Dixon hesitated for a second, before placing them down in the space between you. "Thought ya didn't smoke," he replied.

You shook your head and laughed. "I don't."

In truth, you'd only recently taken up the habit — smoking much too scarcely to even call it a habit, really. It had all started when you'd stumbled across a rundown convenience store, and looted a packet of cigarettes without thinking — just because they were the brand that Dixon smoked.

The first time you lit one, you'd cried. They smelt like him.

They'd smelt like your only friend, and reminded you of just how lonely the end of the world was. So, you started to smoke — only when you missed him — and you continued because, even though he was now sitting beside you, for some reason you still felt empty.

Neither of you said anything after that, but you could hear his thoughts — those questions he wanted to ask but didn't. After all, he'd voiced them once before, back before the world ended. Except, it was you who wasn't willing to answer.

"What'd ya do tha' got yer ass sent here?" Dixon asked, one day whilst you were hanging around at the auto-shop, watching him scrub down that Honda bike. "Y'know, locked away in rural Georgia."

You laughed at his words, taking a swig from the ice cold cola you'd skimmed from Dean's fridge.

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

"I was training to be a helicopter pilot," you admitted into the air, answering that question truthfully for the first time.

But he'd already guessed — after the day you'd both had.

"Why didn't it work out?" Daryl mumbled, the cigarette bouncing between his lips as he spoke the words.

You watched as the smoke formed white clouds against the black night, before finally reaching for the packet yourself.

"Fear of heights," you told the man, letting out a breathy chuckle that blew out the lighter's flame.

It was a lie, but the truth was much more bleak.

Though, perhaps that was what nights like this were for. Out here, there was no one else to hear you speak your thoughts, or even see the two silhouettes sitting in the dark. Maybe you could even start trusting the man called Daryl Dixon, since he'd done nothing but pick you up and set you back onto your feet ever since you fell from the sky — and even some time before that.

"No matter how long I would fly for, I always had to land at some point," you explained, though it didn't really sound like much of an explanation. "But the people on the ground made me wish that I never had."

Daryl met your eyes, and in that moment you swore you saw a glimpse of that former mechanic — the one who was street smart but still clueless to people.

"That was until I met a man at a garage who promised to show me the world on his bike," you smiled, before letting the smoke trail from your lips, "but we ended up watching the stars instead."

Dixon didn't smile back.

And somehow, the smoke on your lips tasted more familiar — felt more like Daryl — than the man sitting beside you.

"Ya can take the tent tonight," he mumbled, snuffing his cigarette butt out on the grass.

You pulled a face, but he didn't retrieve it like he normally would — he probably thought there was nothing left in the world worth preserving anymore.

"And what about you?" you asked, making an expression he couldn't even see. "You should rest up before tomorrow."

But the man shook his head in the dark, pushing back on his knuckles to stand up — and offering you his hand once more.

"I ain't none of yer concern," he dismissed, whilst his palm was still warm in yours, "'m gonna sleep out under the stars."

The stars were bright overhead, with no light pollution, or mysterious blinking flickers that could have been mistaken for planes of satellites. But somehow, you didn't fully believe his story.

You laughed, but it wasn't the warm kind. It was the kind that felt foreign on your tongue, because it was a far cry from the fits of giggles the man normally had you in.

"Well, enjoy the view," you replied, shortly.

But you failed to notice the way Dixon watched you the entirety of the way back to camp — as though he already was.

Once Daryl had walked you there, and left you at the tent doorway, he did indeed roll out an old blanket over the grass, to lay back underneath the stars — just as promised.

He was far enough away that he didn't feel like you were right beside him, but still close enough to make out your silhouette against the lamp-lit canvas walls of his tent. That way, he didn't have to worry about walkers — but he didn't have to worry about you, either.

The night was quiet. The full, bright moon beamed down on him like a streetlight and the stars blinked in the sky like peering sets of eyes — staring back at him whilst he looked up. Daryl sighed, and crumpled his packet of cigarettes in his fist, crushing any left inside.

He needed to stop smoking them, because now they'd become tainted by you — and had become another thing that inescapably reminded him of you.

The lingering scent of them on his fingertips alone made him remember just how intoxicating you were. It made Daryl feel like he'd gotten a high from the scent of unbottled moonshine, or from that smile of pure starlight which could make a man go blind.

Though, he'd only had the pleasure of seeing it once today. The rest of the time you'd been pissed, confused, hurt.

He'd probably caused a lot of that — he wasn't that oblivious.

But you were the type who could break his heart without even knowing, and then offer to mend it like it had been someone else who'd done the damage.

He didn't understand how you could act so nonchalant, so blasé, as though you hadn't nearly died, and as though you hadn't just come back from the dead — where Daryl had thought you'd been this entire time.

He laughed, and it almost sounded as cold as the one you'd directed at him earlier.

Merle always called him naive, but Daryl often overcompensated for the fact with blind curses and bruised knuckles from butting heads those who suspected him of being as much.

But it had been the truth.

He was naive — especially when it came to you.

But, Daryl was also angry and hurt. And he didn't know how to fix that without bruising his knuckles — or his ego.

He bit his lip, wetting away the dryness with his tongue, whilst trying not to focus on how dry his throat felt, too. Then, Daryl rested his arm over his eyes.

He didn't feel like watching the stars anymore.

When you awoke, light had filtered into the tent through the mesh netting, speckling over your face like glittering gold as you blinked.

But when you awoke, the man was gone — leaving only another shirt behind in his place.

It almost made you cry, because of how familiar it felt. It smelled like Joe's Bar, of Marlboro cigarettes, of Georgia, and of home.

But you couldn't cry; you hadn't done since the day everything fell apart. So instead, you pulled on your big-girl shirt — the one belonging to the man twice the size of you — and grit your teeth as you threaded your bruised arm through the sleeve, and caught your stitches on the buttons.

You spent the whole morning trying not to notice the glaringly obvious absence in the camp — the men who'd left in search of Merle Dixon. But at the same time, you grimaced at the sight of the ones who hadn't left, the ones like Shane, and Carol's husband — who leered at the women as they washed his fucking underwear.

"Carol, why don't you ask Ed to come and help us," Andrea remarked, glancing towards the man resting languidly by his jeep, "make himself useful instead of just standing there smoking cigarettes."

Beside you, Jacqui laughed a high-pitched laugh, as she wrung out another damp t-shirt in her fists. You had only been formally introduced to her this morning, but her smile was infectious — and for a minute, it made you forget about the anxiety deep in the pits of your stomach.

Carol was quiet, but eventually chirped up once she mustered enough confidence.

"If I knew how to get him to do that, I would have done it years ago," she muttered, and shyly rolled her eyes.

Andrea boomed out a laugh, whilst the others chimed in at the appearance of Carol's unexpected humour. You tried not to let the chuckle wrack up your body, since every slight movement sent shockwaves to your injuries. But at this moment, you didn't really mind.

Carol had a pretty smile, and an even nicer laugh.

Except, her husband didn't seem to think so.

He stalked over with the same bravado Shane had mastered the night before — probably taking inspiration from the other man who wore boots three times his size. You could make out the sneer on his face before he even got within a few steps of you all. It was just that deep.

The man flicked his cigarette in your direction, and it barely missed the toe of your boot.

"What's so funny, hmm?" he jeered, but his tone was anything but light. You didn't have to hear them twice to recognise those words as a threat. "Gotta be somethin' if it's got you ladies so distracted."

Each of the women stayed silent as a grave — as though in some secret pact Ed was unaware of. He sauntered around, weaving in between Jacqui and Andrea, until the latter eventually snapped.

"Is it really any of your business?" she remarked, frustration clear in her voice. "After all, we're the ones doing your laundry."

She thrust the damp clothes she was holding at the man's chest, before letting them fall to the floor. The moment you heard them hit the ground, your hands were already shaking with adrenaline. You knew that look — the one Ed wore — and nothing good ever came from it.

He stepped up to Andrea, his pride damper than the shirt at his feet. "Know your place, little bitch," he hissed, shoving her back with his shoulder.

And chaos broke out.

Jacqui's screams sounded very much like her high-pitched laughs had done, and Lori called for Shane like a broken record that only knew a single name. You wanted to get everyone to calm down. You wanted to diffuse the situation like how you'd been trained to do.

But all you saw was red.

Carol interjected, lacing herself around her husband's arm as she begged for him to stop. "Ed, please don't-"

The man backhanded his wife, sending her to the ground with a single strike.

And that was your queue.

You rushed over, feeling your feet sink into the pebbles deeply with each step. You had a dozen stitches in your stomach, but you would rather pop every damn one open than let him get away with that.

"You dare lay your hands on her?" you roared, approaching the man — the monster — from behind as he loomed over Carol like a shadow of cowardice.

Ed reacted out of instinct, flailing his arm backwards and hitting you across the jaw with his elbow as you tried to pull him away. Immediately, your mouth pooled with the taste of copper, and you spit it out onto the pebbled stones beneath your feet.

You looked over at Andrea, who was dumbstruck as she watched blood drizzle from your lip, before you wiped it away by the sleeve of Daryl's shirt — with your one good arm.

"Get Carol out of here," you said, so quiet that it might as well have been a whisper.

You looked at the man, sizing him up as he stared you down.

"She isn't gonna want to see this."

The evening sunset was a vibrant salmon, tinged with deeper, darker hues the further you got from the sun. Those parts of the sky were the same maroon colour as your jaw — you'd caught glimpses of it in Andrea's compact mirror.

You'd spent the latter part of the day avoiding Shane's lectures, and the women who meant well but fussed over you far too much. So, you retreated back to Dixon's tent — icing the ripe bruise on your chin with a pack from Dale's RV cooler.

The scent of Marlboro cigarettes lingered around you — faint but still present in the fibers of the blankets beneath you, and in your shirt which was now bloodstained. You tried to ignore the pull of it, not wanting to smoke.

The tent puckered as someone fumbled with it, and soon the entrance flap was unzipped — revealing Carol, who timidly ducked inside.

"We meet again," you greeted her, thinking back to how she'd tended to your wounds in this very spot, not even a full day before. "I was going to apologise for beating your husband into the ground, but I couldn't bring myself to say that I'm sorry."

You grimaced as the words left your mouth. They sounded a lot more sharp than you'd intended.

But she still smiled warmly at you, a smile that you didn't think you deserved, and shook her head. The woman sat down on her knees opposite you, coaxing the ice-pack away from your skin for a second to inspect the damage.

"I don't blame you," she said, as gentle as her touch. She smelt like citrus, and summer days as her palm ghosted over your face. "I came to thank you, actually. For being the first to stand up for me."

Your gaze dropped down to where her sleeves had risen up, revealing the yellowish bruises dotted over her arms — in the shape of fingerprints.

"Well, someone had to," you noted, sadly.

She caught the way your eyes lingered, and quickly adjusted her shirt, pulling it back down to her wrists.

"Was it really that obvious?" she chuckled, nervously.

But you felt like she already knew the answer.

Her stance was practiced, even sitting down. She wasn't at all relaxed, hovering on her knees like a small rabbit, ready to dart to safety at a moment's notice. You felt like you were looking into a mirror — one that only reflected the past.

You nodded. "When you know the signs, it is," you admitted, sitting back against Dixon's pillow. "I had my suspicions before."

She hummed in return, acting much more casually around you than she had done a mere moment before. "What gave it away?" she asked — curious more than anything.

Light streamed in through the little plastic windows on the tent, falling in a stream between you — warm against your lap.

"Your hair, for one thing," you confessed, gesturing with your free hand. "You shave it yourself? To stop him grabbing it during fights?"

She remained silent at the accusation, but her eyes gave her entirely away.

You nodded. "They always tend to stoop that low."

And Carol bit her lip in response, not pointing out how you'd done the same with your braids — keeping them tight to your scalp, not even a strand out of place.

She excused herself then, making some remark about how she best ought to go check on her husband, before letting you catch a glimpse of the brave scowl which made its way onto her face as she said it. The sun hung high in the sky as she ducked back out, almost as bright as that full moon had been the night before.

"Hey, Carol," you said, loud enough for her to still hear it, "if he gives you trouble again, don't hesitate to come find me."

The woman nodded once more, and waved you off.

"Just you wait until my good arm heals," you called after her. "My right hook's even better than my left."

Then, you winked — watching as she debated letting out the laugh she had stifled — as you recalled the actual reason that got you hauled off to Georgia in the first place.

Dishonourable discharge, my ass.

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sasa-gay-yo · 4 years ago

Text

Levi Reacting to You Being Pregnant

Request: Here

Summary: You find out you’re pregnant right after you’ve taken back Shiganshina, but you and Levi both know that you couldn’t raise a kid in this world no matter how much you want to. No, you shouldn’t... but the happiness was so tempting.

Timeline: After taking back Shiganshina arc

Art Credits: ? help pls

Levi was blunt with you. He always was. There was no grey area with him, no reason for you to ever doubt your relationship or his trust; Levi was straightforward and to the point. Sometimes it hurt, him not knowing why you would react in such a manner other than his way, but you were with him for so long that you’d gotten used to each other. If he was upset, he needed space and a cup of tea before he could talk in that calm, unwavering tone of his. If you were upset, you just want to be apologized to and hugged at least once before you went on with your day. The problem was, however, that this problem happened because of both of you. There was no one single person who blame could be directed to and you both were upset, probably more with yourselves than the other. You were now stuck in a grey area, and Levi hated grey areas.

“I’m… I don’t think I’m far along. If you want, I can go to Hange and terminate th-“

“No.” You hung your head again, sitting across from him. He had his head in his hands, elbows resting on his desk, and a massive headache coming on from thinking about this whole situation too much. He was scary like this because nothing you could say would help. You wanted to go get him a tea and leave him alone, but you also wanted to be held. It was happening to your body, not his.

It happened on the night after everyone returned from Shiganshina almost a month ago. The ten of you that were left. Hands of desperation and longing, ripping off clothes, were trying to get as close as possible to the one thought to be lost forever. The emotions were still on you both, having lost a close comrade and a best friend, you were trying to find solace in each other. Again, you were both upset, both crushed by the loss of that many scouts and of Erwin. However, then, you didn’t need tea or a hug, you needed to be completely wrapped around each other. You needed to know that you were both still alive, no matter if it was only physical. You needed to hear Levi’s heart still beating in sync with yours. In that wave of emotion and passion, the will to be as close as possible, you both had forgotten common biology. After that day, you were swept up with paperwork as now there were only three officers remaining in the Survey Corps that you both may have completely forgotten the climax to that last night.

“You’re pregnant.” Hange almost dropped her clipboard when the attending doctor told you that. She had brought you for a routine checkup, thinking you had gotten sick from lying with open wounds in a puddle of stagnant water and needed serious medical attention for sepsis. Little did you know that the nausea and vomiting had been brought about by the evidence of you and Levi’s passion.

Hange tried to console you, holding you as you cried into her chest, but she too felt the weight of what was to come. You couldn’t afford a child now. Maria was closed and there were countless of expeditions to be planned to finally eliminate the titans. You couldn’t be left out of those, now being a second to Levi’s skill and to Hange’s orders. You asked Hange what it would take to get rid of it, not even wanting to tell Levi because you knew what he would say. You two had talked about it one night in bed, early on in your physical relationship. You two didn’t want kids. Not now, maybe not ever. If there were titans on this earth, you wouldn’t be comfortable having a child on along with them. Hange was the one who convinced you that Levi would be hurt if you didn’t tell him something this serious was happening to you and him both.

That’s why you had told him here in a place so unintimate as the makeshift office in the capital, mere hours before you were to be congratulated by Historia, MPs, and Garrison. When you told him, he was blunt, like he always was and even if you were crying to Hange about not wanted the child, it still hurt the way he said it. It made it feel like it was your fault you were carrying it inside of you. Deep down, he was also in pain, but you knew he wouldn’t tell you that.

“Do… you want the child then?” He wouldn’t look you in the eye. He couldn’t because if he did, he would tell you to keep it. He would tell you that he wanted the child and if it was a boy, he was going to name it Erwin. Yet, the Captain side of him knew the a child would be devastating to operations and to your lives. If you were to fight with Marely, how was Levi supposed to go off to war when he had a wife and child at home? He wouldn’t be able to peel himself away from that heaven he wanted for so long to go off into Marley’s hell. It was for his scouts and Paradis. Their two best fighters couldn’t have a child, because it would be disastrous in the long fight for freedom.

But he wanted to be selfish. So bad. That’s why he was practically grabbing at his hair, trying to tell himself that he couldn’t have it. He couldn’t have peace. He couldn’t have a family. He couldn’t. He couldn’t. He shouldn’t.

But, Paradis was safe, wasn’t it? They would be able to defeat the Titans in a few months time, and Shiganshina would be populated again. They wouldn’t have to deal with Marley any time soon, as they were focusing on rebuilding society. Even during the recent meetings they had with Historia and the new government, he felt a small strike of hope brimming in him. By the time you would give birth to the child, it would be a new era. You two would have a house or an apartment and would be overseeing the rebuilding of the walls and agriculture around them. No fighting. No titans. For maybe two or three years.

He shouldn’t.

“After the ceremony. We’ll decide then.” He stood up and walked out, leaving you, sitting broken in his makeshift office. Why did it hurt you so much? You two were being realistic like you always were. It was dumb to have any type of wedding, so you just started calling each other husband and wife. You didn’t need a paper to tell you that. Even when you two started dating, it was four months in when you had to put a label to it because Hange was asking over and over. It was hard to be concrete is a world like this. A world where over two-hundred scouts vanish in under ten minutes.

But, you didn’t live in that world anymore, did you? Marley was here, Zeke was still out there somewhere, but you’d held them off once before. Soon you were to be helping farmers plant, organizing the lay of the land and the crop rotations. You had been born into a farming family, and Historia was going to put you to work since you volunteered. There was nothing violent about that. You could raise a child, just like your father raised you: sitting on a horse with him while you tilled the land. If it were a boy…

You lifted a hand to find tears running down your face. You shouldn’t do it. You shouldn’t. Day dreaming about having a family, about a little Levi running around a farm was dangerous. Once you did this, you would get attached to the growing mass in your stomach and give it a name. Then, you wouldn’t be able to part with it. You were trying to be so blunt and realistic so you wouldn’t grow attached.

Yet, that never worked for you. Example: Levi.

“(Y/F/N)?” Hange knocked twice on the open door, seeing you hunched over in the chair. She knew you were crying, and she knew that Levi had walked out on you. She saw his face as he marched down the hallway. For once, she saw Levi in pain. Hange knew more than anyone that Levi and you deserved normal. You two deserved the child you had mistakenly made. But, you two were also too stubborn to be selfish and turn your loyalties away from your job into making a family. Hange had saw the look on Levi’s face. He wanted to give it up so bad. He never ever wanted to tell his best friend to go die. He was in pain because he was conflicted inside. He wanted to have the child, he wanted to do something for himself for once, but he also had never allowed himself to do that. You were the same. She knew you were. The fact that you were here crying over a child you learned about an hour ago revealed it all to her.

You two wanted this child. You two wanted normal. And now everything was perfect, the time was oh, so right to do it, but you two were so scared of having something so right ripped out of your hands, that you never tried it. You never pushed for anything. Hange wanted you two to try it, and so she would make sure you did. Her two best friends needed this. She knew Erwin would want his two best friends to have this too.

“W-w-we… later. Decide later.” She kneeled down to look you in the eye, seeing how red they were. You needed to stop crying so that the hundreds of people gathered wouldn’t know the terror inside of you. They couldn’t know what you and Levi did.

“Hey, hey, hey. Don’t cry, (Y/F/N).” She handed you a handkerchief from her coat pocket and you took it gladly. If Levi couldn’t hold you, Hange easily could. She sat on the chair arm, making you lean into her again.

“Hange…” You wanted to tell her. You needed to tell someone. You wanted her opinion too. She was involved in this. If you kept the child, her two captains would be out for the count for a while. You would leave her by herself, and you couldn’t do that. You shouldn’t.

“You want to keep it, don’t you?” You just nodded into her, and she ran her hands through your hair to calm you down. She couldn’t have a full conversation with you, having the award ceremony in thirty minutes, but she could give you encouragement to face Levi and everyone else again. Levi would never be able to tell himself that he wanted the child and act on it. That wasn’t who Levi was. He did things only for others and never for himself. You were able to be swayed, and you had Levi wrapped around your finger, so Hange knew if you went to him now, saying that you wanted to keep it, in nine months she would have a godchild. Her heart beat faster thinking about it. She wasn’t going to tell you that she also wanted you two to have a child so she could teach it all about titans and science and watch Levi’s annoyed face as she did it.

“If you want to keep it, I’m sure he does too. You just have to tell him that. Levi loves you too much. You two deserve happiness for how much you’ve done for humanity,” she cooed to you, trying to make you feel better about the decision she knew you wanted to make. You just sat there, hoping her warmth would make you feel better, but it didn’t. You were scared. Scared of the thing growing inside of you. You never had a mother. How could you be one if you didn’t know one? You were a soldier. You kill people and titans. You’ve had more peoples’ blood on you than you could count. You watched as your team was murdered by Annie’s titan and you were helpless with a broken leg and arm. How could someone like you, someone so violent and broken and… how could you be a mother?

While Levi stood in some random corner, thinking everything over and over again, that thought came to his mind too. He never had a father and barely remembered his mother. The closest thing was Kenny, and he abandoned Levi. What makes Levi so sure he could be a father? Would he be like Kenny? Suddenly not able to be a father, so he leaves? No. No. No. Levi wasn’t Kenny. He would never leave you. He couldn’t. But Levi… he was a murder. He was a killer. Humanity’s Strongest. He was broken inside. How could he be a father to a child when he couldn’t take care of himself? You were the one who took care of him.

Historia had noticed something was wrong with you during the ceremony when she looked into your eyes, giving you a bolo tie matching Erwin’s. The one Levi had on his makeshift desk. It made you scared now, having one like his. Would you end up dead like Erwin? Would your bolo tie end up on Levi’s desk? On some shelf in your child’s room? Levi wouldn’t die, you were confident in that, but what about you? You didn’t want to leave Levi alone with something he never wanted in the first place. You wanted it, not him.

Armin was the one who noticed something off with Levi after the ceremony. Rather than being stuck to (Y/F/N)’s side while talking to the other branches of the military, he was leaning on a column, boring holes into the ground. Armin also saw that in place of Levi was Hange, having your arm in hers. You weren’t smiling or chatting with the officers like you always did, Hange was doing it for you. Armin had never seen you like this and he’d never seen Captain Levi so… he couldn’t put his finger on it, but something set in his stomach when he saw the Captain look up at you. Longing. It hurt Armin’s heart seeing that and he was the only one in the room who did. Why was Captain Levi longing for his wife that was only a few feet away?

Levi was longing for a future. When he saw you next to Hange, he was already imagining what you would look like with a smaller version of you at your side. He was making up so many logical plans for this child you told him you were going to get rid of if he wanted. It terrified him that he was acting like this. Right now, he would look up at you and see a small boy following you along, talking up to the officers like you always did. He saw the same blonde boy, with your hair and your eyes, planting flowers in the little garden you’d made outside of Scout HQ while he sat in the shade and watched. Levi’s heart had only hurt like this in three other situations: when Isabel and Furlan died, when Erwin died, and when he thought you had died in a puddle of sewer water at Shiganshina. His heart hurt because it was going through everything that person should have done. That person’s future. Now, he was sitting here going through the future of someone he had never seen or met before. Why? Why? Because he wanted that child so bad, but if you didn’t, then he would be passive. You were carrying it, so you had a bigger part of the decision than he did. If you didn’t want it, he wouldn’t stop you, but he would still think about the child’s future. His child’s future. What could have been.

It was nighttime when you made contact with Levi again, in your shared bedroom. You almost went to sleep with Hange, scared of what Levi would say to you, but Hange gave you a pep talk. She wanted this baby as badly as you did and that gave you some confidence. You couldn’t stop thinking of the little boy who could have been standing next to his father’s feet at the ceremony. The boy, who had his hair and his eyes, sitting on his father’s lap while he unwillingly talked to the Garrison Captain at dinner about the future plans. What were your future plans?

You walked in and he was already sitting on the bed, only a pair of linen pants on, staring at the wall above the door. When you walked in, his eyes snapped down to you and you saw what Hange was talking about earlier. Pain. Did you look like this too? Instead of talking, you went to change out of your formal attire and into the sleeping gown you always wore. His eyes were hot on your bare skin and he was waiting for you to speak. He was afraid that if he spoke first, he would pressure you into keeping the child you didn’t want.

Replaying Hange’s words over and over in your head, you closed the door to the wardrobe and turned to look right into his eyes. The pain in his eyes hurt you, knowing you were about to trap him into something he didn’t want. You couldn’t let it go. The child you had. If Levi ended up not wanting it and left, then you would find Levi in the child’s eyes. Somehow, someway.

“I want to keep the child.” You wanted it to sound strong when you said it, like you practiced with Hange, but it was soft. So soft, you worried he didn’t hear it, but he did. He heard it and something inside broke. Something made Levi come completely undone, something you’d only ever see happen after Erwin’s death. Tears.

“Thank gods,” he whispered before standing up to take you in his arms. His grasp was tight, like the day he thought he lost you. He wasn’t holding on to only you, but also his child. Your child. Together. He was holding the first ever pure, unadulterated happiness in his life. That thought would change once your child was born and he held it for the first time in his arms.

You cried too, but that was normal for you in Levi’s presence. He only had a few tears running down his face, but you were overwhelmed. You didn’t think he wanted it, but you could tell he did. He wanted this child as bad as you did. You were happy. These were tears of happiness and relief. It felt so good to finally have something to be happy for in your life.

“I want to keep it too,” he whispered again in your ear, finally being able to push back the emotion that was keeping him from holding you. When you cry, you like to be held to his chest like you were now. When he cried, he likes you to rub his back like you were doing now. It was going to be hard, both of you were still soldiers and didn’t know how to raise a child, but you’ve been fighting for so long, this would be easier than that. It had to be. If you could deal with a titan, you could deal with a child. A child that gave you so much happiness and hope, you could burst.

“If it’s a boy, I want to name it Erwin.” He was the first to bring the emotion in the room back to normal, like he always does. You look up at him with a smile, nodding. You couldn’t see any other name for the child.

“We’ll have to think of another if it’s a girl, but I’m sure it’s a boy.” You put one hand on your flat stomach and Levi imagined you, standing up on the edge of the wall, yelling down at some poor farmer, round as a watermelon. It made him laugh a little.

“You’ve only had it in you a few weeks and you’re certain? I don’t think so.” You glared up at him playful, signaling that you were also back to normal.

“Is it inside of you? I don’t think so.” He laughed again into your hair, leading you to the bed so you both could go to sleep. Tomorrow was a long day of meeting and planning, and now he had to look after two people instead of one. It was going to be backbreaking since you had no care for what happened to your body. Levi was going to have to be extra careful and strict with you, and he was even debating making a rule book he could give to the brats so they could help him make sure you didn’t kill yourself.

The next day, you decided to tell everyone right away. They needed to feel something other than pain. They needed the happiness that even made Levi feel lighter on his feel. You could see on their faces that once you announced it, it worked. It made them take their mind off of the impending threat of Marley, or how they were going to have to go out and kill titans again. Sasha and Historia were grabbing at your hands, getting a glare from Levi, asking about how you were going to raise it and how you could stay in the castle during your whole pregnancy. Even their reactions gave you more joy.

“If you’re like, a month along, then if you think about it,” Connie went off, using his hands to try and count back to the days of conception, “you two did it right after-“ Levi smacked him over the head and everyone froze. This was the first time that Levi had outright hit one of them recently, as they thought he pretty much mellowed out when Historia punched him. Admittedly, the streak of nice Levi scared all of them. You scowled at Levi, patting Connie on the head.

“How many times do I have to tell you, Levi? Stop hitting them!” Levi rolled his eyes and smirked slightly.

“Well, how many times do I have to tell them to stop saying stupid things that make me want to hit them?” You glared raising your fist at him and he shrunk back a bit to try and dodge it.

“Why I outta-“

“You shouldn’t hit me, you’ll injure my chi-“ You scoffed again, cutting him off.

“Your child?! Who’s the one carrying it?!” The others laughed on at the sight, finally feeling some sort of security knowing that their two captains were acting normal again. It all felt normal and happy, the tone of underlying bitterness going away as they watched you two bicker like an old married couple. Well, bickering like you two usually do.

“That kid is going to be 50/50 of both of them, and that scares me more than Captain Levi does,” Jean muttered to Armin who nodded in agreement.

“It’s going to be the safest kid in all of Paradis, though. All of the world. With those two as it’s parents.”

“And the craziest, too.” You turned your assault to Jean, hearing those words.

“What did you just say, horseface?”

xx I hope you like it requestor! I think this is one of my favorite things I’ve written so far!

#levi ackerman #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #shingeki no kyoujin levi #attack on titan levi #aot #snk #snk levi #aot levi #dadlevi #pregnant #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #captain levi #levi heichou #levi x y/n #levi ackerman x you

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lepusrufus · 3 years ago

Text

To bargain for immortality pt.3

As it turns out, poison did not kill her. Not by a long shot. Not if the numerous tests with different kinds of poisons were to be believed.

Nicole was currently bent over the sink placed in the corner of Miranda's lab, her assistant hovering behind her with a timer in hand. What was it this time? Hemlock? Belladonna?

She stopped caring when a new wave of blood carrying the replaced tissue from internal damage came rising in her esophagus. With a disgusting gag, it came splashing onto the white porcelain, now stained and coated in crimson multiple times over. She coughed, trying not to let any of the burning mixture remain stagnant in her throat, and focused on the feeling of her body healing itself. It felt, for lack of a better word, like static coursing through her nerves and organs. After that too was gone, and the only thing that remained was the nauseating coppery taste in her mouth, she raised a shaky hand, too tired to speak up.

"Seven minutes, thirty four seconds," Emma announced.

Mother Miranda noted it down, fingers typing quickly over the keyboard.

It was a miracle that Nicole was still able to stand, although leaning a good part of her body weight on the sink thankfully secured to the wall did help. She took a few deep breaths, doing her best to not sound too croaky when she spoke.

"Can I see the results once we're done?"

She could keep track of everything herself of course, but it got difficult when her body was fighting toxins meant to shut it down. And she'd be lying if she said that she wasn't dying of curiosity.

"It's none of your concern," Miranda replied coldly.

That got a scowl to appear on thin blood stained lips, partially hidden by her hunched position. "I stood here quietly while you shoved pill after pill made from every poisonous plant you could get your hands on down my throat. At least grant me the grace of knowing my own body's limitations."

Her reply was little more than a tongue click. She couldn't help a scoff when Miranda simply ignored her request and told her assistant to continue with the next test on their list. Emma picked up one of the numerous pill bottles lined on her employer's desk and came over to Nicole, who unceremoniously grabbed one pill and swallowed it before looking at the label. Cyanide.

Oh for fuck's sake.

Her body's reaction was immediate, heart starting to beat painfully quick while her head started to spin. It was nauseating, the ache seeming to flood her chest and going up her spine in a searing migraine. Not to mention the deep breaths that didn't seem deep enough, as air itself seemed choking, the oxygen not quite reaching where it should. Mild panic started to settle in when black splotches began to cloud her vision and the tingling sensation seemed to battle with the pain for dominance. Before she knew it, her shaky legs gave out under her and the white ceiling of the lab blurred out of focus.

---

She woke up with a start, the bluish lights a painful glare to her eyes. The sound of ticking stopped and Nicole realized it was Emma's timer. She looked down at herself, haphazardly placed on a bed and then at Miranda, typing down a result the ringing in her ears hadn't allowed her to hear. With a few shakes of her head to try and chase the fog in her brain, Nicole finally croaked out: "What the hell happened?"

"The cyanide was damaging cells and keeping them from taking in any oxygen at a slightly faster rate than those cells were getting replaced. Which caused you to lose consciousness."

Miranda's tone was just as cold and clinical as ever, but a slight smirk tugged at her lips when she continued, the excited scientists buried under the mask of a goddess showing a crumb of itself.

"Although I'm quite certain we solved the mystery behind the accelerated heart rate. All previous tests show that it takes no longer than a few minutes to recover, while this took over twenty five."

Nicole was still fighting some mild dizziness, but she put all the focus on Miranda's words.

"We'll have to rerun the tests under anesthesia, but for now it's safe to assume the healing slows down while unconscious."

She acknowledged the theory with an oh. She wasn't really capable of much conversation at the moment, but she let the thought be metaphorically chewed in her brain. That made sense. If healing was slower after passing out, then her body had a damn good reason to keep her awake, hence the unnaturally high heart rate.

A slow shuddring sigh was let out when Miranda asked her assistant to prepare the anesthetic, laying back down. At least she wouldn't be awake for this one.

It took around double the normal dose to finally get her unconscious. She kept her eyes glued to the needle embedded in her arm until her vision was starting to fail her, the surrounding room becoming nothing more than dark blurs and vague beeping sounds.

People do not dream under anesthesia.

Nicole knew that of course. But as the lab blurred into odd shapes and more or less familiar places, there wasn't really a better word to describe it. Perhaps a result, she would later muse, of her overactive brain, fighting for consciousness at any given moment as it now had an instinctual need to stay awake.

That need manifested itself in the vague image of one of the castle's hallways. It was in an old wing, not frequently used by many other than the cleaning staff. She was walking along the wall, using it to compensate for her wobbly legs, and looked around for something. What exactly, was beyond her comprehension at the moment, but that didn't stop her from stumbling inside each room on her path, looking around the bright and beautifully decorated space, only to exit and continue down the hallway.

Something. Something ugh.

Nicole tried not to lean on the wall too much when she got to the golden frame of a painting, not wanting to risk damaging it. Slowly walking around, she threw a glance at the canvas when she was fully in front of it. She frowned.

It was the familiar portrait of all three sisters, dressed in period appropriate clothing and hair up into small curls. Their eyes, painted in such a way that they seemed to follow any onlookers around, greeted her with soft expressions. Some details seemed different though. They were small, and it took a bit of effort to notice how the brushstrokes seemed to have shifted ever so slightly in places. A familiar rose tattoo was present, albeit quite faint, on each of their foreheads, and their features seemed a little less soft and more akin to how Alcina would paint them. Nicole stopped to look at Cassandra's hand for a little longer, as if something was supposed to have changed there too. But before she had time to dwell on that, the realization that the painting should not be there dawned on her. Why would Alcina move it? And to a near abandoned wing of the castle no less. If she remembered correctly, that portrait had been at the main entrance for decades.

Nevermind that, she could just ask Alcina herself if they crossed paths. She kept walking down the hallway, trying to ignore the nagging feeling at the back of her mind that something was off. Off, like the slightly misplaced furniture, or the lack of certain decorations, or antique objects that she knew for a fact were on display on a completely different wing. No, Nicole kept looking through every room she came across, in search of something her foggy mind couldn't quite grasp the memory of.

She finally reached one of the more populated areas, and although still not fully able to grasp her surroundings and walk around without any support, a shiver still ran down her spine. The off-putting feeling turned to dread with the realization that she was completely alone. No maid or other staff member has crossed paths with her in what felt like an eternity. No sound could be heard aside from her own breathing and a faint beeping coming from outside. At that moment, Nicole longed for the sound of giggling or the shuffling of a broom, hell even the sound of lycans howling outside. Anything.

By that point, shuffling against the wall felt more of a psychological need than a physical one. There was a fear that accompanied anyone when you found yourself in a place that seemed so unlike its normal self, and Nicole tried to make herself smaller than she already was in the eventuality that something would pounce out from the silence and tear her to shreds.

She found herself traversing another corridor littered with numerous doors to guest bedrooms or simply storage rooms. Each was opened one by one, whatever laid behind it inspected, and then shut again. Rinse and repeat. Repeat until Nicole found herself in front of an oddly familiar door. It had nothing special, the crest and color exactly the same as the ones she had left behind, but its position seemed to tug at her memories.

The door was pushed open, a slight creak accompanying the movement, and Nicole found herself in a well lit office. It was obviously a rarely used one, the shelves only holding a small number of oddly organized files and boxes, while the chair was tucked under a large desk. The plush carpet underfoot caught her attention, beautiful black, white and golden motifs waved around each other in an intricate pattern. She walked across it, up to the desk and crouched down to run her fingers on the old worn wood of small drawers. The iron handles used to open them seemed to be gone from all but the topmost one, which she opened slowly.

Oh.

The drawer was empty save for two familiar objects, a pair of matching rings with minuscule branches in flower engraved on them. She picked them both up but almost dropped them back when a set of hurried footsteps sliced through the dead silence just outside the room.

There was no time to scramble for a hiding spot, especially not with how her head started to spin the moment she stood up again. All she could do was put the hand that wasn't holding the rings on the desk to support herself and watch as the door swung open.

A sigh of relief flew past cracked lips at the sight of confused golden eyes framed by dark locks of hair. Cassandra was standing at the entrance, head cocked slightly to the side.

"Did you lose it again?"

There was a hint of annoyance in her tone, but it was mostly drowned out by an amused chuckle as she walked up to her.

"No, I-..." Did I? "I'm sorry."

Cassandra simply took one of the bands and wordlessly slid it on Nicole's ring finger, gesture that was imitated in turn.

"Why are they here?" Nicole's question was barely a whisper, either due to the dizziness she felt or the cemetery-like silence that almost demanded not to be disturbed. "I know I instructed the staff to bring mine to my room if they find it."

"Oh it wasn't any of the staff members," Cassandra replied matter of factly, even waving a hand to dismiss the apparently absurd idea.

"Then who?"

"I don't know."

Nicole frowned. She pinched the bridge of her nose trying to chase away the eerie feeling that seemed to have made its roots deep inside her mind. Cassandra's voice seemed off, and that beeping from earlier seemed to close in ever so slightly.

"Why here?" She repeated.

Her wife only shrugged and looked around the room, taking her time with the reply.

"Isn't this where we first saw each other?"

Right. That's why the office was so familiar. The memory of Lady Dimitrescu, so beyond intimidating at the time, sitting in the chair and interviewing her for a maid's position came flooding her foggy brain. Then the giggles and the rather dramatic entry and the small bickering.

"Are you waking up?"

If Cassandra wasn't so close to her, she would've thought a third person had spoken. Her wife's voice seemed off before, but now it didn't even sound like her own. Familiar, yes, but the regal icy tone belonged to someone else.

Nicole tried to instinctively put some space between them, only for Cassandra's expression to twist with concern, furrowed brows over soft golden, always so uncharacteristically soft when pointed at her. Cassandra opened her mouth to speak again, but the beeping came in louder, almost as if making its way from her throat with the sole purpose of attempting to bust her eardrums.

The room seemed to rapidly bleed out of focus, details replaced by black dots and blurry lines. Cassandra's shape slowly morphed, her beautiful black dress leaving way to a plain lab coat and golden eyes turning into icy green, ever calculating and scrutinizing. Incessant beeps from the cardiac monitor brought her back to consciousness more rudely than she would've liked.

Nicole shook her head slightly, trying to chase away the last effects of anesthesia. Her body seemed eager to oblige, quickly trying to wake up and be back on her feet. Not that she had any intention of actually getting up, but soon enough, she was looking around the space and all the pristine equipment held within. Emma was busy arranging vials and pill bottles inside a cabinet while Miranda was by the bed typing away, nails annoyingly loud on the keyboard. She shook her head once again, and looked to the opposite wall, where a clock was ticking. It was almost 11 p.m. and Nicole let out a soft groan thinking about how she'd been under anesthesia for about three hours and how her family was probably waiting for her to get back.

She laid her head on the uncomfortable pillow while waiting for the goddess wannabe to be done with her observations on her current lab rat, which meant Nicole, and finally dismiss her.

It took a moment to realize that Miranda had turned towards her and pushed her laptop close to the side of the desk, screen facing Nicole. After receiving a confused look, the woman rolled her eyes as if she were a teacher explaining basic maths for the hundredth time.

"You wanted to see the results."

Nicole's confused expression did not change, though now it was more directed towards the suspicious willingness to give what she asked for. Nonetheless she scooted to the side of the bed, letting her legs dangle over the edge, and she narrowed her eyes at the file on the screen.

---

Date: 23rd April 2012

Subject: Nicole [REDACTED] Dimitrescu

Mutation experiments - 2 (Regeneration - 2)

Resistance and healing time to various poisonous plants (in the form of highly concentrated pills or injectable) and other toxins. First number refers to the healing time while conscious and the second while unconscious.

Belladonna (Atropa belladonna) - 2'13" // 6'30"

Rosary pea (Abrus precatorius) - 2'20" // 7'02"

Crowbane (Cicuta virosa) - 2'40" // 7'12"

Wolfsbane (Aconitum lycoctonum) - 3'30" // 8'11"

Hemlock (Conium maculatum) - 3'18" // 8'28"

Oleander (Nerium oleander) - 3'55" // 10'17"

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Cyanide, 50mg - / // 26'53"

#unhinged maiden™ my beloved #cassandra dimitrescu x maiden #mother miranda #fanfic #to bargain for immortality #whacky dream be whacky #tw torture

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theadventurousdork · 4 years ago

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Dani Clayton and Jamie Taylor: A scene by scene study on the dynamism of a queer romance

by theadventurousdork

Well, here we are! An unnecessarily long essay breaking down Dani and Jamie’s scenes together that I decided to write purely for the fact that they have taken a hold of my queer little heart and haven’t given it back yet. Grab some awful tea or coffee and take a read, if you’d like!

Episode One

In this episode, we see Dani and Jamie meet for the very first time. This is the beginning of them and their story. It all starts in the kitchen of Bly Manor where a dirt covered Jamie walks in just in time for the residents of Bly to gather for an afternoon lunch.

“The gardener didn’t even introduce herself to the new au pair. She barely acknowledged her at all. Simply treated her as if she’d always been there. The others in the room just assumed they’d already met, which, if she were honest, was how the au pair felt when she first saw the young woman.”

Jamie walks in without even batting an eye to the new guest meanwhile, we see a soft eyed Dani looking over at the gardener with a gaze that gives the audience the first look to the gravitational pull that seems to be set between them. With Dani explaining her belief that she has seen someone on the parapet of the old wing, Jamie’s reaction is cold. She looks down at the table with a hardened look. She looks almost hurt. We learn later on that Jamie was the first adult resident of Bly to find the dead body of Rebecca Jessel floating in the lake of the manor which has probably resulted in trauma for Jamie as she remembers her late friend. With Owen and Hannah also finding the possibility of someone being on the balcony to be slim, the residents carry on with their meal. As the introduction to Jamie’s character, we are able to see her cold and guarded exterior. However, we also see her wit and humor as she comfortably pokes fun at Miles and Flora. The space she takes when she walks into a room isn’t empty for she fills it with her bold personality and Dani immediately takes notice of this yet she doesn’t show any hint of openly acknowledging it.

Episode Two

Episode two sheds a different light on the pairing. This episode gives us the first look at Dani’s trauma and the weight that she’s feeling on her conscience. But first, we see her changing the tide at Bly as she puts Miles and Flora to work in the garden as punishment for locking her in a closet. As Dani and the children pull weeds, a relaxed Hannah and Jamie watch from a distance just as Owen offers them drinks. As the trio sip on their gin and tea, they discuss Dani and how her presence is a nice addition to the grounds of Bly. This is where something I call “testing of the waters: part one” occurs. Jamie asks Owen if he thinks that Dani’s pretty before continuing to poke fun at his inability to answer. Now this seems rude, especially considering Hannah’s negative reaction to it even going as far as to remind her that romances don’t fare well at Bly. However, I feel like Jamie does this purposefully to see if Owen would provide any reaction that would indicate that he would have any intent of pursuing Dani, which he quickly shuts down as he states that he only has eyes for Hannah. Jamie’s choice to do this can boil down to a simple poking of fun or maybe something more in terms of her trying to understand, and maybe even deny, the gravitational pull that she’s feeling towards Dani by deflecting it to Owen.

This episode also offers the first glimpse into Jamie’s humanity and her deeply empathetic nature. As a distressed Dani storms outside in tears after being triggered from seeing her dead ex-fiancé’s glasses, our favorite gardener comes to the rescue with buckets in hand. Now this is probably the first time that Dani has physically seen Edmund’s glasses since she packed them away before leaving Bly which can explain her intense reaction to finding Flora wearing them. The part to highlight about this interaction between Jamie and Dani isn’t the fact that Jamie tries to console her but is the way that she does so. First and foremost, the gardener tries to make au pair laugh. She makes multiple attempts in her dialogue to make Dani crack the slightest smile. Jamie’s dialogue saying, “there we are,” after Dani finally gives into the attempted jokes shows how laughter was Jamie’s initial goal.

“How else do you think I keep all these fucking plants watered? With my endless well of deep inconsolable tears. That’s how. It’s what got me the job in the first place.”

After she accomplishes this, she goes on to relate to Dani by telling her that she cries several times a day in an effort to make Dani feel normal and not alone in her vulnerable state. To see someone as cold and guarded as Jamie admit to something like this quickly humanizes her and puts her in the position of becoming a dynamic character. Finally, Jamie tells the au pair that she’s doing a great job and leaves a smiling Dani to watch her as she leaves. This offers insight to how Jamie doesn’t like seeing people in distress. She radiates a grounding energy and puts it upon herself to ensure that no one feels like they’re in over their head.

Dani is able to return the favor as she finds an angry Jamie kneeled over a massacre of her rose bushes. Jamie’s hotheaded attitude is shown as she wastes no time getting up to confront Miles for cutting her roses before they were ready. The point to highlight in this moment is that Dani hears her out. Dani listens to Jamie’s grievances and not once tells her that she’s overreacting. Dani hasn’t known Jamie for long but she knows the importance of plants to the gardener and she doesn’t give Miles a pass at ruining something that matters so much to her. Having two separate scenes showing that each half of the pair have the power to talk each other down regardless of having known each other long, serves as a taste as what’s to come for their journey together.

Episode Three

Here we see “testing of the waters: part two” as the keepers of Bly watch over a sleeping Miles and Flora by a crackling fireplace. A tired Hannah rests her head on Owen’s shoulder as Dani and Jamie watch from across the room. Jamie goes onto ask Dani if she wishes she were leaning on Owen instead of Hannah and explains how every woman in town fawns over Owen without him even knowing it. This key moment goes hand in hand with Jamie’s testing of the waters in episode 2 when she tests Owen’s potential attraction to Dani to now testing to see if Dani would be interested in Owen. Jamie’s subtle comments allow her to see the odds of Dani liking Owen without risking any awkward interaction that would potentially be too invasive. With Owen being the only man in the house, it’s understandable for Jamie to want to see if Dani would pursue him which in turn would signal that Dani may not be interested in someone like her.

What comes next is what I like to believe is the moment that Jamie begins to fall for Dani and I mean really fall for her. The conversation about love and possession is beautifully done and sets the distinction that will go onto separate Peter and Rebecca from Dani and Jamie. After a vindictive history lesson on the toxicity of Peter and Rebecca’s relationship, Jamie mentions the idea of loving someone versus possessing someone to which Dani replies that she doesn’t believe should be possible. The effect of this is seen on Jamie’s face as she looks at Dani. It’s a face that says that she’s staring at someone who understands. Understands the fragility of love and the thin lines that separate healthy versions of love from toxic ones. It happens in the span of a second but we can see a switch click in Jamie’s mind just before she breaks her gaze. From what we collect of Jamie’s past a few episodes later, we come to understand that she has always been owned. Stemming from a broken home and growing up in the foster care system, Jamie has always been someone else’s possession to claim ownership of but never was truly loved and nurtured. To hear someone finally understand that there’s a distinction between loving someone versus feeling like they have the right of possessing them, must feel like a moment of overdue comfort.

After a restless night due to seeing Edmund’s ghost again, Dani wakes up the following morning to see Jamie asleep on the couch. This scene lasts merely thirty seconds so why make the choice to keep it in? What significance does it really hold? Is there any significance at all? For me, the significance is comfort. I feel like there’s a level of comfort that Dani feels when she realizes that Jamie was just down the stairs as she laid awake the night prior feeling as if she were alone in the depths of her own shadows.

The new day ends in the tragic news that Owen’s mom has passed away. After a sympathetic Hannah sends Owen off and leaves to light a candle for the deceased, the gardener and au pair are left to give their own goodbyes to each other. As Dani voices that she’s glad that Jamie stayed on the grounds throughout the day and the night prior, Jamie agrees and the two share an uninterrupted gaze at one another. Here is where we see Dani’s first advance as she takes hold of Jamie’s hand. Ever so slightly does Jamie latch back before Dani quickly pulls away.

“Who the hell knew?”

Those words leave Jamie’s mouth as a mixture of relief and shock paint her face as she gets into her car. Dani watches her drive away with an expression that reads “did I really do what I think I just did?” This moment is cut short as she turns around to see Edmund’s ghost staring blankly from behind her. Fear overcomes Dani and a scream is let out as Edmund gets sucked backwards by an invisible force. Up until this point, Edmund’s ghost has remained stagnant, either appearing in a reflection or in parts. This extreme motion of getting pulled backward into the manor can be read as a way to reflect the intensity of the emotions that Dani is feeling in that exact moment. The amount of tension that Dani must have felt to muster up the courage to reach for Jamie’s hand must have been extremely intense which in turn would evoke an intense manifestation of Edmund’s ghost.

Episode Four

Episode four is what I call the episode of guilt. In this hour, we delve deeper into Dani’s past and the darkness that she’s been holding in her heart. Dani’s life just before Bly is revealed and we see snippets of her life with Edmund. From childhood best friends to teenage lovers to getting engaged, Dani and Edmund almost seemed like the perfect set up to an 80s romcom. Almost is the key word here as it’s revealed that Dani breaks up with Edmund just before he storms out of their car into the path of an oncoming truck, killing him right in front of her thus revealing why Edmund is haunting her. Flashforward to Bly, Dani has begun to see Edmund’s ghost more and more. His first appearance in the episode is in Dani’s bedroom mirror just as Jamie helps unzip her dress. If it weren’t apparent in the episodes prior, Dani holds an immense amount of guilt. This guilt doesn’t only stem from being the reason why Edmund was killed but also lies in who she is. Edmund’s presence is symbolic for the guilt that Dani feels whenever she is just on the brink of exploring her sexuality. We see that every interaction that Dani has with Edmund’s ghost occurs just after she shares a moment with Jamie. With Jamie being a tangible representation of what Dani desires, her visions of Edmund become more intense and more frequent as her guilt increases.

The episode continues to show Dani experiencing Edmund’s haunting again when Jamie arrives back to the manor after attending Owen’s mom’s funeral. Here we see Dani catching herself staring at Jamie from across the table. When Jamie catches her gaze, Dani retreats to the sink where we see a mixture of nervousness and excitement across Dani’s face as she looks over her shoulder to take one more look. This moment filled with butterflies and yearning is cut short as Edmund’s hands slide across Dani’s hips as she sees him in a reflection which causes her to panic. Edmund’s presence is growing closer and stronger as Dani has begun to navigate her feelings for Jamie.

In a flashback, we get a glimpse into possibly one of the first times that Dani’s internal conflict of her sexuality crosses her mind. As Dani gets a dress fitted, the female tailor makes flirtatious passes at her. We see Dani acknowledge these advances and isn’t opposed to them occurring. The scene switches to a guilt stricken Dani, her eyebrows furrowed above saddened eyes that wander upward to Jamie who’s helping prep the table for dinner. This quick glance up to Jamie holds so much. The internal turmoil that Dani is feeling in this moment is palpable. To think that all of her moments of repression have led up to this. This feeling of wanting. This feeling of yearning. To live openly and authentically as the person she’s always been.

Later that night, the keepers of Bly hold a bonfire to honor those that they’ve lost. A weight can be felt on the four as they remember their late loved ones by the warmth of the fire. The concept of found family lies in the heart of those who find a home at Bly and can be seen through Hannah and Jamie’s odes to the late Rebecca, Dominic, and Charlotte.

“Because from here on in, the shadows get deeper… the nights get longer. We’re heading into the dark and we have to hang onto each other. So, we can only carry so much.”

As they commemorate who they’ve lost, Jamie mentions Dani and how she believes that Dani is the key to getting Miles and Flora back to themselves. A moment of pain rushes across Dani’s face as Jamie states how she believes that Dani is stronger than she thinks. To be in the midst of an internal conflict yet hear how someone believes in your strength can be something so painful to hear as you struggle to believe it yourself. We see Dani in a battle with herself as she fights to live authentically regardless of the guilt she’s carrying.

Eventually, the gardener and the au pair break away from Owen and Hannah to go to the greenhouse. A pivotal moment in the growth of Dani and Jamie’s relationship occurs here when Dani makes the decision to lay everything out on the table for Jamie and finally explain her history with Edmund as well as sometimes seeing his ghost.

“I’ve never told anybody that.”

These words that leave Dani’s mouth are so intimate and so vulnerable. Jamie takes what she’s being dealt and handles it with such a level of care that ensures that Dani knows that she’s being heard and respected. As we’ve seen Jamie talk Dani down from a breakdown in episode 2, we see a parallel here where Jamie takes it upon herself to make Dani laugh in an effort to console her. This moment is cut short as Dani musters the courage to ask the heartbreaking question that allows Jamie to make the decision whether to take or leave Dani and all of her baggage.

“Think I’m crazy?”

The pain in Dani’s face as she asks this shows just how scared she is to be rejected by the one person she wants the most. Without even a hint of hesitation, Jamie reassures her that nothing has changed in her view of Dani’s strength. A wave of relief comes over Dani as she’s hit her tipping point of acting upon the feelings she’s been suppressing all this time. She kisses Jamie and a moment of vulnerability is shown on Jamie’s face as she gets the confirmation that Dani is sure in her decision to do this. This moment is short lived by Edmund’s ghost appearing just behind Jamie, causing Dani to retreat in a panic. This is probably the worst cockblock in the history of cockblocks. Dani quickly retreats as Jamie mirrors her actions and immediately puts her walls back up as embarrassment sinks into them both in different directions. As the pair make it back to Hannah and Owen, Dani is visibly disappointed with how things ended up. Jamie’s comment of “it’s all good” as she guides Owen away from the bonfire shows how she would prefer to move on right away instead of confronting the confusing messages she’s just received from Dani.

The final scene of the episode is what I like to call Dani’s last straw. Dani’s guilt has turned to anger as she makes the decision to confront her own shadows by throwing Edmund’s glasses into the bonfire. Flashbacks of kissing Jamie intercut the scene to really solidify Dani’s desires to move on and be able to freely love her without the burden of her past.

“It’s just you and me then.”

Dani is tired. She’s waited for this moment. She’s finally accepted this part of her and she stares straight into Edmund’s ghost without any more fear. She’s found the strength to move on.

Episode Six

The sponsor of this episode is cement as Dani and Jamie cement their relationship in this hour. The episode begins with Dani’s attempt at reconciliation after the unfortunate cockblock of a certain dead ex-fiancé in episode four. Dani wakes up at the crack of dawn to visit Jamie in her greenhouse. Dani’s entire existence in this moment is ridden with nervousness as she puts on her best “everything is normal” face. Jamie is quick to notice how out of character waking up this early is for Dani to which Dani dismisses. We see that Jamie’s cold and guarded exterior is back and for good reason considering the unfortunate events at the end of her and Dani’s last interaction. Dani’s eagerness to patch things up puts her through several attempts at getting a reaction out of Jamie, each of which ends up being shut down. First is the gesture of giving Jamie coffee which results in her gently spitting it back into the cup. Next is Dani’s attempt at voicing how lonely she’s been.

“No Owen. No you.”

Dani’s voice drags on a little longer here to emphasize how Jamie’s absence the last few days have created a noticeable emptiness at the manor. Jamie responds with a simple “sometimes people wanna be alone” which seems like her own personal choice. However, Dani finally gets a reaction through Jamie’s icy exterior when she makes her laugh after a terrible attempt at a British accent. This mirrors the other instances prior where Jamie has made the effort to make Dani laugh in order to ease any emotional tension. After the ice has been broken, we see Dani’s first wind of confidence as she asks Jamie out to a boring ol’ date at a boring ol’ pub. We can see relief and a sense of pride strewn across Dani’s face when Jamie catches her drift. This marks the beginning of a fresh start for the two.

The next time we see the pair is in the kitchen as Jamie surprises Dani by coming back to the manor after initially leaving.

“Made it halfway home and I thought ‘rough day, maybe Poppins might fancy a little boredom.’”

Dani’s shocked excitement quickly turns into awkward nervousness as Hannah and Owen wave them away to spend time together. Jamie gently takes Dani’s hand and guides her out of the room. This presents the reaffirmation that Jamie still cares enough to try again with Dani.

The gardener leads the au pair somewhere off on the grounds of Bly to a secret area where moonflowers have bloomed. She explains how difficult they are to grow in England and how fragile their lifespan is.

“That’s a lot of work for a flower that only blooms once.”

“That’s what people feel like to me. Exhaustive effort, very little to show for it.”

“All of them?”

“All of them. Even you. Even me… especially me.”

Jamie’s emphasis on herself shows her insecurity of not being enough after anyone makes the effort to break down her walls and gets to know who she really is. What follows is a tear-jerking speech that gives insight on Jamie’s past and her painful upbringing. From the details of her childhood like growing up in a broken home, being forced into foster care, and serving time in jail, we begin to understand why she puts such a strong, guarded front. The absence of a family unit in her youth and young adulthood has resulted in her feeling like she may be unlovable. Like she might not be worth the effort of loving. Just as Dani did in episode four, this is Jamie laying everything out on the table for Dani to decide whether or not she will take or leave Jamie and all of her baggage. After Jamie finishes her monologue, Dani gets up and doesn’t say a word. She takes hold of Jamie and kisses her. No words can alleviate the pain that Jamie’s endured but the effort of loving her can be a start. Dani pulls away for a brief moment to reveal a relieved Jamie smiling back at her after she has realized that Dani has chosen to accept her for everything that she is.

The next scene they have together is the morning after Dani finally gets her first restful night’s sleep.

“The au pair could not remember that last time she’d slept this well. And she thought perhaps she never had.”

The moment to highlight in this short scene is Dani stopping to look at herself in the mirror. She is finally able to see her truest self without being haunted of guilt. She smiles as she looks at her reflection and to a sleeping Jamie in the bed next to her. She’s finally made peace with herself.

The final Dani and Jamie scene of the episode occurs at the end of the day just as Dani puts Flora to bed. Here we see the purity in the relationship that the two are creating. We see Dani unapologetically long for Jamie as she says she’s going to leave for the night. The au pair’s subtle look at the gardener’s lips as she speaks and the inching closer and closer to her shows just how high Dani’s confidence levels have risen to after being able to finally love freely. To see Dani in such a smitten state of mind is a breath of fresh air for not only herself but for us, the viewers, who have seen her in such a trapped state of mind when it comes to loving someone. The innocence of longing, in tandem of making the promise of spending other nights together, show how much care and caution they are taking in order to ensure that they’re building their relationship in a healthy manner. What they are both experiencing shows a trade off of what they each have to give to the other. Dani has accepted her sexuality, which is something that seems like Jamie has already done long ago. Meanwhile, Jamie is being loved and wanted, potentially for the first time which is something that Dani has already experienced in her past. Each half of the pairing offers support and guidance to the other as they begin their journey as a couple.

Episode Nine

This final episode of the season was an absolute doozy in terms of Dani and Jamie’s relationship. I’ve watched all of these scenes a solid million times over and I bawl my eyes out every. damn. time. But I mopped up my tear-soaked notebook and carried on for the purpose of this essay. The episode picks up action as Flora sacrifices herself to save Dani from being dragged and choked to death by Viola, the Lady of the Lake. As Jamie and Owen arrive back at the manor after both having awful dreams, they briefly see Hannah as she says that they’re needed at the lake. Jamie bolts the second she hears Dani yelling. She knows Dani’s in trouble and wastes absolutely zero time trying to find her. Jamie yells Dani’s name and you can feel that her sense of urgency has one goal in mind: save Dani.

“It’s you. It’s me. It’s Us.”

Viola has accepted the au pair’s offer. Besides Flora, Jamie is the only witness to see Dani’s last moment of belonging to only herself. From this point on, the darkness begins to fester deep within Dani’s soul and Jamie must live knowing that there was nothing that she could do as she watched Dani let part of herself go to let Viola in. Jamie runs into the lake as Dani’s trauma starts almost immediately. Her breathing is quickened, and she can’t stop repeating those final words that she felt deep in her bones. The gardener holds the au pair and takes one look at her as she already notices the effects of trauma. Dani’s darting eyes are panicked as she struggles to register that Jamie is there with her. Her breathing finally slows as Jamie holds her close in her attempts to calm her down. Jamie is Dani’s grounding force in this moment. Dani has finally freed the ghosts of Bly but at the cost of her own self. Her own life for the souls of the others.

The following scene highlights the days following the incident at the lake, immediately starting with Jamie and Owen looking into the well to find Hannah’s dead body. I wanted to highlight this moment just for the sake of Jamie for she has been there to witness all the deaths of her loved ones firsthand. She was the first adult to find Rebecca in the lake, one of the first to find Hannah in the well, and the first to see Dani die in more ways than one. She just can’t seem to catch a break but after all… death is beautiful, it’s natural.

Jamie finds Dani as she packs away her things however, Dani’s mind appears to be somewhere else. Darkness has begun to burrow itself into Dani’s soul. She’s shaking. She’s terrified. She’s mourning the loss of herself.

“I feel her. In here. It’s so quiet, it’s so quiet, but she’s in here. And this part of her that’s in here, it isn’t… peaceful.”

Dani explains how Viola’s presence feels like a beast waiting for her in a thick jungle. She feels hopeless again but this time feels heavier than all the rest. She has something to lose here now. She has a relationship with Jamie to lose, she has an entire life to lose. It isn’t as simple as feeling the guilt of losing someone or the guilt of loving someone. This feeling isn’t human, this feeling of dread goes beyond what the stages of grief entails. Where is she to go if she can’t go within herself to find peace?

“She’s gonna take me.”

A tear falls down Jamie’s face as these heavy words fall out of Dani’s mouth. This is the first hint of Jamie losing Dani. The fear of the inevitable fills the room with such a weight that no words can alleviate Dani’s pain. Yet Jamie tries. She tries her damn best. She offers her company with the seal of a pinky promise. She gives all that she can offer: herself and her love. Dani’s feeling of darkness doesn’t have to be lonely this time.

After a final goodbye to Henry, Miles, and Flora, the gardener and the au pair set off to start their lives together as the image of Bly fades away into the distance. Their life together starts at a diner as Jamie plans their course of action, hoping to end up in Vermont to see snow by Christmas. Here we see Dani looking at her own reflection in the tableside jukebox before stopping Jamie as she worries that they’re planning too far ahead. Dani’s cautious. She doesn’t want to get either of their hopes up.

“One day at a time is fine by me. As long as those days are with you, Poppins. One day at a time is what we’ve got.”

There’s a brightness in these words which in turn reflect onto them. There’s a light in this moment that shows that they haven’t lost their footing yet. And thus begins the final climb to their highest point before the tragedy that lies ahead occurs. We flashforward to a year later to The Leafling, the flower shop that the pair have opened up together. Dani is still Dani and Jamie is still Jamie but more in love this time than the last time and the time before that.

“You see, I’m not sick of you. At all. I’m actually pretty in love with you, it turns out.”

Here we see the reintroduction of the moonflower. The symbol of Jamie and Dani’s love. The last time we saw the moonflower was back when the pair finally made the choice to accept one another and start their relationship. This time, we see the moonflower one last time as Jamie chooses to solidify their love by finally breaking the big L word.

A montage ensues of the gardener and the au pair’s life together. Years have passed and peace was just finally in their grasp. Or so it seemed. This feeling of fluttering innocence is put to a halt as Dani sees Viola’s reflection in the door of the flower shop. Dani stops in her tracks as she stares at the reflection, her face is still as she stands in a quiet shock. That is until she sees Jamie through the door, smiling at her with such a playful gaze. This instance shows yet again that Jamie is Dani’s grounding force even after all this time and Dani’s own reflection returns not even a second later. This is a moment for the audience to take a peek into Jamie’s importance in Dani’s life, especially at a point that something so vengeful is making its way to the surface. To see Jamie’s smiling face cut through the image of the beast in the jungle, we can’t help but feel the same pain yet also the sense of relief that Dani must feel in this moment. Although Dani returns to herself, we can’t help but feel Viola’s presence looming.

The scene that follows is another significant milestone in Dani and Jamie’s journey together as Dani comes back home with a dying plant that’s concealing an engagement ring. Above the surface, Dani has put the ring in a dying plant because she knew that Jamie would waste no time investigating how to save it. But this can also be interpreted in relation to Jamie’s moonflower speech where she says “every living thing grows out of every dying thing” to show how their relationship is taking the next step of growth as she pulls the ring out of a dying plant. The ring itself is a traditional Irish Claddagh ring, which shows how Dani did her research and chose a ring specific to Jamie’s northern heritage. The hands that make the band of the ring represents friendship, while the heart representing love, and the crown representing loyalty. These representations are fitting for the relationship that the pairing has created and for Dani’s proposal speech.

“Here’s the thing - you’re my best friend and the love of my life. And I don’t know how much time we have left but however much it is, I wanna spend it with you.”

The thing to highlight about Dani and Jamie’s relationship is that it runs on Dani’s timeline which is something that is so important to showcase, especially considering how Edmund had made almost all the choices for her in her previous engagement. Jamie understands this and has always insured that Dani felt comfortable before progressing further into their relationship together. In this moment, Jamie finally has a promise of love while Dani has security in the person she loves the most. As Jamie accepts her proposal and the two share a moment of celebration, Dani’s face of worry as she hugs Jamie shows that she feels an inability to be fully happy. She’s unable to fully give herself to Jamie in this moment which in turn shows how Viola’s presence is getting closer and getting darker.

We jump slightly forward in time to the pair visiting Owen’s aptly named restaurant, A Batter Place. After a moment of remembrance for Hannah, Dani looks into the reflection of a metal water pitcher to see Viola’s reflection yet again. Dani’s face is surprised by this sight, but she keeps it quietly to herself as to not ruin the moment of reunion. If we compare this instance to the first time Dani looked at her reflection at the tableside jukebox at the diner years prior, we can see that this moment is filled with much more darkness. The light that used to be inside of her is dimming. Although Jamie is holding her and is physically next to her in this moment, she doesn’t cut through the darkness anymore. Jamie’s power as a grounding force is dimming as well.

“So, they’re all happy?”

The inflection in Dani’s voice here is so subtle that only Jamie takes notice of it. Jamie looks at Dani and senses that something has gone off in her. Owen continues to explain how Miles and Flora have no recollection of the events that took place at Bly. No recollection of the sacrifice that Dani made to save them.

“So, if they don’t remember Hannah…they don’t remember…”

Dani’s voice trails off here. She looks down and is caught in the bitter realization that her sacrifice has been forgotten. This feeling of a looming darkness, this feeling of living a life that’s ticking down to her own demise… was it worth it? Jamie can feel Dani’s pain immediately as her eyes stayed glued on Dani who’s trying to see if there would be any way to remind Miles and Flora about what she did. The gardener stares at au pair without breaking away and in this instant, we can see that, along with Dani, Jamie is breaking too. Breaking under the burden of knowing that she can’t take Dani’s pain away.

The scene that follows shows Dani washing dishes where she sees Viola again in the water. She panics and finally admits to Jamie that she’s been seeing her more and more. The tension that was present between them moments earlier immediately fades away as Jamie wastes no time in trying to console Dani. Jamie’s blind optimism here has a slight tinge of desperation as she refuses to let Dani slip away into the abyss that’s growing stronger and stronger. Dani’s interaction with Viola’s reflection in this moment sets off an alarm bell within her, unlike the other times where she sat quietly and dealt with it on her own. This is Dani’s tipping point. The highest level of fear is felt as the reality is beginning to sink in that the beast is coming for her. Another thing to note here is that even after all these years, Jamie still makes the conscious effort to make Dani laugh.

“I’ll do the washing up from now on, yeah? You’re shit at it anyway.”

Dani can’t help but give the smallest laugh, but it’s more than enough for Jamie. Through Jamie’s optimism, we have begun to see that she’s not only consoling Dani but also herself as she tries to convince both of them that they can have so much more time together. The episode continues on with the train of heartbreak as Jamie comes home after receiving civil union paperwork for her and Dani. What comes next is what I feel like is the most heartbreaking Dani moment in the entire series. Dani stares deep into an overflowing bathtub where an ominous Viola stares back at her. Jamie is quick to bring Dani back to reality but Dani has lost her footing. Her hold on Viola has flipped to Viola having a hold on her.

“It’s like every day I feel myself fading away, but I’m still here, and… I don’t really understand how that is.”

The fear has withered away into emptiness as Dani struggles to stay afloat. We see Jamie so pained as she watches the light fade into a grey nothingness as she listens to Dani talk about how she is beginning to lose herself to the beast.

“I’m not even scared of her anymore. I just stare at her, and it’s getting harder and harder to see me.”

To listen to the love of her life slip away through her fingers has Jamie in a phase of denial as she continuously refuses to let Dani break apart. We see the gardener’s optimism wavering as she tries her best to help the au pair hold onto herself. Dani’s voice as she says Jamie’s name is filled with nothing but pure hopelessness and despair as she dips further and further into uncertainty. Yet Jamie doesn’t lose hope. Jamie would never give up on Dani as she repeats the words she told Dani in the diner all those years ago.

“One day at a time.”

However, Jamie has run out of answers. She can only offer comfort now.

Next we see Dani hit her lowest low as she is taken over by Viola and awakes to see that she almost strangled Jamie to death in their sleep. Dani is shocked and broken as she sits in the disbelief of what she almost did. The time has come. The beast has arrived. Viola has waited years until Dani was so broken down and so vulnerable, that she would finally be able to take her. However, we can’t help but believe that Dani fought off Viola this long thanks to the love her and Jamie shared.

The gardener wakes up the following morning to find an empty space next to her. She reaches to the empty space in the bed and then for the note left on the bedside table. It can only mean one thing: her biggest fear has come to light. With her strong will and determination, Jamie gives one final push and flies back across the pond to Bly to face what she’s been in fear of all this time. The amount of immense grief that is felt in this moment, to be at the same place that the love of her life began to be taken away from her all those years ago, must be incredibly damaging. The manor holds so much of Jamie’s life. She found her family there. She created a beautiful garden on those grounds. Her and Dani’s love blossomed on the same grounds that she first began to lose her that night at the lake. Jamie storms off to the edge of the water. Her face is so tired. She already knows what she’s going to find and yet she still doesn’t lose the hope that maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t be true.

“The gardener said the words she’d heard those years ago; she willed it with everything she had. You, me, us. Us. ‘Take me with you,’ she cried in her heart. ‘Take me. Drag me down like you did the others.’ But the lady in the lake was different now – the lady in the lake was also Dani. And Dani wouldn’t. Dani would never.”

The agony and desperation that we see Jamie endure in the moments that we see her find Dani laying at the very bottom of the lake is a type of pain that is unmatched from any other moment of pain that we’ve seen this season. Her muffled screams as she takes a hold of her heart, only to let her arms go in despair under the water is something so haunting yet so unbelievably moving to see her love so much considering how far she’s come from the cold and guarded gardener we saw all the way back in episode one. She would’ve given up everything. Absolutely everything to take Dani’s place. Given up everything to join Dani at the bottom of the lake. Unlike Peter with Rebecca, Dani could never take Jamie down to the depths. Dani could never harm a single soul, let alone the one person that mattered the most to her. By letting Jamie go and taking Viola’s place as the lady of the lake, Dani has broken the cycle of violence that’s haunted the grounds of Bly for centuries. As Jamie was the hero of Dani’s story, Dani will always be the hero to Jamie’s.

The final act of the season ends with an older Jamie finishing her story to the wedding guests.

“She would know nothing of the gardener, nothing of their life together. The details, the specific moments would all fade away. More time will pass, and the water will wash away the delicate features of her; of her beautiful, perfect face. But she won’t be hollow, nor empty. And she won’t pull others to her fate. She will merely walk the grounds of Bly, harmless as a dove, for all of her days. Leaving the only trace of who she once was in the memory of the woman who loved her most.”

We see an older Jamie comfort a teary-eyed Flora who is afraid of the time when she would also lose the love of her life. Jamie comforts her with advice that we can only ever assume she learned in her time with Dani. The final scene shows the gardener’s nightly routine as she stares into reflections, hoping to catch one last glimpse of the au pair. As she drifts away into sleep, a hand wearing a golden wedding ring rests gently on her shoulder. Our haunting love story has come to an end. And the rest? Well the rest… is confetti.

#dani x jamie #dani clayton #jamie taylor #thobm #the haunting of bly manor #damie #amelia eve #victoria pedretti #bly manor

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chainofclovers · 3 years ago

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Grace and Frankie 7x1 - 7x4 thoughts

Meh? Like...I love them so much, but...meh?

(I did enjoy this line about brunch.)

I really loved season 6 of Grace and Frankie. I thought it was well-paced, largely very well-acted, generally well-written, and it culminated in a massive moment of character development for the title characters, who, having spent years growing closer and being there for each other when others could not or would not be, finally articulate to each other that they are the primary person in each other’s lives. Platonic gal pal soulmate BFF emotional support witches 4 lyfe!

I know progress isn’t always linear, and in fact is very rarely linear, but after a moment that significant, you’d think the writers on this show would maybe come up with some more interesting things for these characters to do than spin in circles?

@bristler and I watched on Friday night, and just this morning over breakfast had a good conversation about the first four episodes of the new season now that they have settled in our brains a bit. We concluded that the writing (often noticeably clunky, like the dialogue is responsible for more narration than usual) and the tone (aggressively wacky) feel really off, especially compared to the prior season. I think we diagnosed the big issue, which is that Lily Tomlin and Jane Fonda are by far the most talented actors on this show (if you disagree, fight me in the parking lot) and it feels surprisingly unfortunate that their characters have, to this point in the new season, pretty much figured out their perspectives on each other. No matter how people feel about Grace and Frankie’s sexualities, the whole show has been about them finding each other and getting in deeper and deeper, and it’s less interesting to watch other characters have realizations about that than it is to watch Grace and Frankie having realizations about themselves. If the title characters are now limited to reacting to other people’s actions, and the title characters are played by the best actors on the show, the whole show’s gonna suffer. And is suffering, very much so, at least for these first four episodes. I’m definitely still excited for the final twelve in 2022 (twelve! I cannot believe this season will have sixteen eps!), but I’m pretty disappointed so far.

Stuff I Loved:

The family brunch. These families have been entwined for so long, and the backstory for this particular brunch was so fun (even though I didn’t care for the effects they did to depict Grace and Robert 25 years ago; there was no need for a visual flashback in the scene). I love that Grace hit Frankie with a wiffle ball bat. I love that the two couples realized some of the emotional reasons behind their decisions to lie to each other about Bud’s Bunny and about M’Challah. I love the way Jane Fonda sounds uttering the phrase “Bud’s Bunny” with little to no irony. I love that Grace is able to recognize and articulate just how deep and miserable her anger issues were, albeit with the continued help of her omnipresent martini, and that Frankie told her she’d now make up a holiday in order to spend more time with Grace. I really, really hope Frankie does exactly this at some point in the remaining episodes of the season. I love that Grace is generally a pretty good person now, with aspirations of being a delightful person. I love that she and Frankie don’t have it in them to stay angry with each other, and I love all the evidence that they really, really talk to each other about everything now.

Frankie talking to the man at the office (I don’t remember who he was supposed to be? A toilet manufacturer? I didn’t mention this before, but I actually got pretty high while watching?!? Believe it or not, this was the first time I smoked pot and watched Grace and Frankie at the same time despite having enjoyed both activities on their own for quite some time. I would recommend the combo! And I think I still pretty much got what was happening) about paying for the toilet parts with candy. This whole subplot with the money laundering was absurd and not that interesting, but I loved this particular scene because it was finally evidence of some really thoughtful writing. The concepts aren’t enough! You have to write them into good dialogue! And the whole cash/candy thing was a moment of dialogue that only someone as hilarious as Lily Tomlin could pull off. Which she did, IMO.

In a show about super messy people, Coyote has stayed sober this entire time. He is sober, employed, in love, and preparing to buy a full-sized house with his partner. He hasn’t murdered anyone in his family. Hasn’t even attempted murder once.

In 2017 or whatever, Grace Hanson would have been furious about Frankie using obscure Beatles references like a treasure map when hiding the cash. But here in 2021, she cooperates and even gets in on the fun. The writing is very unsubtle this season, but that did feel like a reasonably subtle moment that shows how good of a partner she is for Frankie. (Platonic, of course! So platonic. Female friendship, amirite?)

Stuff I Did NOT Love and Felt Incredibly Negative About:

Brianna. I can only conclude that June Diane Raphael has decided she’s happy with playing a character whose primary role in life is to be hot and mean. She succeeds at being hot and mean, but I have reached my limit with this character. I realize we’re only a quarter of the way into the season, but I don’t think I can take another arc about her learning to compromise only to reveal to Barry that she never intended to compromise at all. At this point, it’s both abusive and boring. How?! The Grace/Brianna parallels aren’t interesting anymore, because one character has grown and the other is stagnant. I get that Brianna was raised in an emotionally stilted environment by two unhealthy people. But I think it would be very cool if she could learn something from her mother at this point. Grace has put a ton of effort into dealing with her “rabbit-killing, mad-at-the-world anger.” She’s put a ton of effort into figuring out what makes her happy, what she wants her life to look like. She’s even started accepting her age and abilities without shame. And that growth is believable; Grace is still short-tempered and she still slugs back way too many martinis and she struggles to articulate certain things, but she’s grown into a truly lovely human. And while, as a daughter with a mother, I can absolutely attest to the fact that it can be difficult and uncomfortable to learn lessons from one’s mother, Brianna really, really should. Grace spent decades letting anger and shame trap her in a small, miserable life. Brianna—and even Mallory, who just seems like a vapid idiot this season—are traveling that same path, but there’s someone right there who could really help, maybe even more than Frankie helped when the Hanson girls were first growing up.

The arraignment. The scene might’ve been salvageable if it was filmed from Grace’s perspective, and filmed to reflect how surreal and improbable it all was. But speaking of non-linear progress, this scene erased everything Nick Skolka has done to put himself in my good graces (LOL) over the past couple seasons. I mean, I tried, man. I even wrote fic about Nick, Grace, and Frankie making a genuine effort at polyamory. But the arraignment is so emotionally manipulative, such a slap in the face of everything Grace has worked for, and while we’re certainly “supposed” to feel the weight of the moment, I mean, it’s not like we’re supposed to be like, “Oh, cool, we’re in a rom com now! This is adorable!” it still felt bad and unearned and slapdash.

And I want Frankie to process these things with her! Frankie seems so happy to have all this information about Grace and how Grace feels, but I want to see scenes in which we can gain an understanding of how Frankie actually feels. Hearing Frankie talk to other people about how Grace feels is interesting, but it’s like there’s no room in these episodes for us to learn anything new about Frankie herself.

Grace’s transitional wig. Is so. Bad. It is. Such a. Bad wig. Oof. I mean, I like what they’re doing with Grace’s hair from a plot perspective, although (see one bullet up) I would really like to get more of an understanding of what’s happening in Grace’s head, not just on top of her head. And gosh, Frankie would be a really good person to talk to about this in a conversation that lasts longer than 30 seconds. But the wig! She’s in a wig in all four episodes, of course, since Jane Fonda went grey and cut her hair short before they started filming this season. The wig for episodes 1 and 2 is fine; it’s a good approximation of Grace’s typical hair, and of course we know that canonically Grace’s hair isn’t 100% her own hair anyway. But the wig with grey roots looks so weird. The part that’s growing out doesn’t look the same as the hair on the wig from 1 and 2. And the grey roots look like a yarmulke. I cannot wait to get to the point in the season when Grace goes all the way grey.

(One more thing about the hair. I can’t let it go. I paused the show while we were watching to rant, but I’m not done.) I had the great privilege of seeing Jane Fonda in person at a protest in 2019. She is an insanely beautiful human. She was growing her hair out and it was partially dyed blonde and partially grey. It looked really cool. I am not ashamed to say I spent that day learning many things about the climate crisis and about Jane Fonda’s hair. Having seen her in real life with her real hair looking that fucking great, I just have a an extra-large grudge against everyone involved in that horrible wig. The wig is necessary, but it didn’t have to be this bad.

What Do I Care About Now?

I am pretty intrigued by the way Grace threw out her real age in a conversation with Nick and Elena. She has nothing to fear anymore! She’s so chill about aging! What could go wrong? I assume that Nick and Elena maneuvering for Nick to be on house arrest in Grace's house specifically has to do with the fact that Grace is 82. She’s gonna find out that Nick is allowed to be with her because she’s ancient and helpless and the court took pity. Or something like that. She’s going to feel betrayed on top of feeling stifled and overwhelmed by Nick’s presence. I want to see where this goes for sure.

Other than that, and other than the fact that I really do continue to believe this show is moving in a direction in which Grace and Frankie will choose each other, I feel very whatever about this whole thing. I love this show and I will always appreciate this show for giving me some incredible characters to spend years of my life writing about, and for bringing me some pretty amazing friendships. Speaking of those friendships, yesterday @ellydash and @telanu and I were talking about some of the incredible TV we’ve watched recently, like Ted Lasso and Hacks and Fleabag and Killing Eve, and how great it feels to watch beautifully written TV crafted by writers who are profoundly—organically yet intentionally—attuned to even the most minor character’s rhythm. The disappointment of these first few episodes of the new G&F season feels like a mild disappointment rather than a sharp heartbreak, and that has a lot to do with being deeply invested in other shows that could also go in all kinds of different directions but with writing I fundamentally trust.

Also Jane Fonda and Lily Tomlin are my forever faves and my appreciation for their performances and general awesomeness onscreen and in life is undiminished. So that’s pretty cool.

#grace and frankie #meta by me #grace and frankie s7 spoilers #a lesbian watches ted lasso #grace hanson is a gay disaster #except #she's not even a disaster anymore #she's totally fine and men keep bothering her!#frankie bergstein is a bisexual mess

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karajaynetoday · 3 years ago

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i'll be honest, it's better off this way | luke hemmings

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hello pals! long time no writing! i know it seems a bit weird to post a luke break up fic just after he got engaged but to be fair, I already had this in the works before the news broke yesterday, so soz not soz. It is kind of a happy break up story though... kind of? this one features lyrics from our song by niall and anne marie that are in italics throughout the piece (you know i love a song lyric incorporation lol) and i’m a bit rusty, so any feedback is welcome! a big shoutout to my dearest @notinthesameguey for beta-reading this one for me, you’re a gem blanca! enjoy xo

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: mentions of a break up and a car accident/hospitalisation (minor/non-graphic)

(This is a fem reader insert)

More writing here | send thoughts/feedback/suggestions here | if you’d like to be on my taglist go here

I'll be honest, I'm alright with me

Sunday mornings, in my own bedsheets

The break up with Luke had been easier than you’d first thought. It’d been months of growing apart, feeling like a stranger in your own home, before you finally worked up the nerve to utter those four words: We need to talk. He’d been spending most days and some nights in the studio, and you’d been working overtime at your job too; you were ships in the night who barely had time to say hello and goodbye, let alone have any sort of proper conversation. You’d spent an entire evening rehearsing a script in your head, and as soon as Luke walked through the door and greeted Petunia, you mustered the courage to stand up and speak your truth.

It turned out that you weren’t alone in feeling stagnant in your relationship, and although you could feel your heart breaking as you said the words, Luke’s hand on your knee was all the gentle reassurance you needed. Just like always, even when your relationship was falling apart, Luke was there for you. And that’s what he promised, that night in the living room. It didn’t make sense for you two to become strangers overnight after 3 years together, but you also both knew that you needed space to grow and heal, and that space needed to happen sooner rather than later.

You could tell that part of Luke wanted to fight it, wanted to raise his voice, wanted to convince you to stay. But part of Luke also knew that it was time to walk away, no matter how much his heart was feeling like it was being ripped out of his chest, because he did truly love you, and if he loved you, he’d let you go.

Even though Luke insisted you could stay in the spare room for as long as you liked, it only took a week or so to find a new place. An apartment in KayKay’s building opened up for rent, and thanks to her help, you secured the lease and started moving in as soon as you could. Ashton accompanied you to Ikea and then helped with assembling a new bed and dining table for you, while KayKay helped unpack some of your boxes. You could tell that they were trying to be sensitive, but at the same time were desperate to know what went down in the break up, and after a few slices of pizza and half a bottle of wine, you felt the emotions rushing to the surface.

“It feels dumb to get upset, after all, I was the one who suggested we should break up.” You sniffled, smiling sadly as Ashton handed you a tissue.

“Just because it was something that needed to happen, doesn’t mean you can’t be sad about it. You two shared a lot in the time you were together, it’s only natural that it’s going to take you a while to untangle yourselves from one another and to get your head and heart back on the path that’s right for you.” KayKay spoke softly, throwing an arm around your shoulders.

You knew she was right, and the healing would come; it was all part of the rollercoaster of walking away from someone you thought was the love of your life, but had turned out not to be. Time to adjust and find some independence, and re-shape the life you found yourself in until it was the life you wanted.

But every time I think that I can get you out my head, you never, ever let me forget

Once you’d completely moved out Luke’s house, your reasons to contact him became few and far between. A few occasional texts to advise that he’d let his family know about your split, and a link to a new cafe nearby that he thought was your kind of vibe (and it absolutely was). Everyone in your friendship group was trying their best to help you both cope, but it was hard to avoid the awkwardness that came with a break up of close friends.

You felt like you were walking on eggshells for a while, so you started to say no to invitations out. You threw yourself into a new work project, and barely replied to any group chats. Whenever your friends called, you had the perfect script rehearsed, about how you were going to be up for promotion, and after the next month or so, you’d have plenty more time for catching up with everyone. You were fairly certain that no-one believed your story, but you were sticking to it nonetheless. You’d seen photos online of Luke out and about with various beautiful women amongst the partying crew, and even though you knew better than to torture yourself with doom-scrolling through the internet, you couldn’t help yourself. You had to keep reminding yourself that it was YOU that wanted the breakup, and that it was for the best. Or something like that.

It was coming to the end of your big project, and the entire office decided to head out for celebratory drinks. You only stayed for a couple, because after a month of overtime you were ready for bed. Your boss took you aside to assure you that the promotion was yours and the new contract would be on your desk on Monday, and as you reassured him you were excited to take on the role, a song playing over the bar’s speakers made you stop in your tracks. You’d spent many a Sunday morning dancing around the kitchen making pancakes with Luke and singing these words; something you’d completely forgotten until this moment. As you stepped outside to await your Uber, the first person you wanted to call with the news was Luke. Your fingers hovered over his name for a good few minutes before your Uber driver honked and broke you out of her trance, and you settled for texting the group chat instead to share your exciting update. Lots of confetti and heart eyes emojis started popping up alongside congratulatory messages, and you let out a giggle when you saw that Luke had sent a photo of Petunia with “congrats!” scrawled across it in purple font. It was the last thing you remembered, before the squealing of tyres and your vision going black.

Just when I think you're gone, Hear our song on the radio

Just like that, takes me back, To the places we used to go

The rhythmic beeping of the hospital monitors was the first thing you noticed as you stirred awake. The second was a dull pain across your skull, and the third was that your arm was in a sling. Fourth was the large, warm hand that was holding your own and gently squeezing; without opening your eyes, you knew it was Luke’s. You felt too weak to say any words, so instead you tried your best to squeeze back as you slowly opened your eyes. You heard a sharp intake of breath, before Luke’s smiling face came into view.

“Hey there, sweetheart. How are you feeling?” Luke asked, reaching up to gently brush some hair out of your eyes.

“Like I was in a car accident.” You managed to croak out, shooting him a wry smile and earning a laugh in return.

“You are correct, you can pass go, and collect $200. A pretty gnarly accident, the car’s a write-off, but thankfully everyone’s injuries are relatively minor. Some dickhead ran a red light.” You could tell Luke was trying to remain calm, but under the surface he was pissed.

“Not ideal, but at least I get a few days off work.” You joked, grimacing as you tried to sit up. Luke stood and gently maneuvered your pillows to support your back and shoulders better, and you felt a zap of electricity as his hands brushed your arms in passing.

As Luke sat back in the chair next to the bed, you suddenly realised that it was just the two of you in the hospital room.

“No offence, Hemmo, but what are you doing here? Considering we’re no longer significant others, and all…” You said awkwardly, looking down at your arm sling with sudden great interest.

“Very observant, dear. Glad to see the concussion hasn’t affected your short term memory, I was worried you’d forget me entirely. You did, however, forget to update your emergency contact details, so I guess I was first on the list for the hospital to call. Ash, KayKay and I have been taking shifts but they’re out getting food right now - “ The rest of Luke’s explanation was cut off by a gasp and a cheer at the door, signalling Ashton and KayKay’s return and subsequent delight at you being awake.

The days that followed were uncomfortable physically, but kind of heartwarming emotionally. You got home to your apartment thanks to KayKay’s assistance, and found that your friends had stocked your fridge and freezer full of ready-made meals and your favourite snacks. They’d also made a roster so not a day went by without someone popping in to check on you, although you noticed that Luke never came by.

Your recovery was slow but steady, and soon enough the doctors gave you the all clear. At this point, it was nearly 6 months since you’d broken up with Luke, and you could feel your mindset shifting. He was no longer the first person you wanted to call with good or bad news, or the first memories that popped into your head when you needed cheering up. It almost felt like… relief? Because for the longest time, even though you knew the break up was for the best, detaching yourself from one another seemed almost in possible after so many years of so many memories.

I've been waking up alone, I haven't thought of him for days

I'll be honest, It's better off this way

The tipping point came at Calum’s birthday party, a month or so later. Ashton had invited you out for coffee and nonchalantly mentioned that maybe, possibly, well actually extremely likely almost definitely Luke was bringing a date to the gathering at Cal’s house; a girl he’d been seeing for a month or so. Everyone wanted you to be comfortable, and everyone, Cal especially, wanted you to be there, but they also understood if you wanted to avoid any potential awkward encounters with Luke and his new love interest. You assured Ashton that it would be fine, that you honestly weren’t bothered, and laughed off his suggestion of setting you up with a super hot blind date to help level the playing field.

The night came along, and you found yourself stumbling along Calum’s front path in the dark as you tried not to drop the gift you’d bought for him (a new cookbook and a collection of various hot sauces). “Bloody 5sos and the “no good party starts until 11pm rule”, you muttered to yourself as you almost tripped over again, and you heard an indignant shout that sounded very Ashton-like behind you.

“Oi! Don’t be mad at us, you know that rule has never let us down!” Ashton bellowed, as he came forward with his phone flashlight switched on, KayKay not too far behind him.

“Damn girl, you like fiiiiiine!” KayKay said, letting out a low whistle. You rolled your eyes, knowing she was exaggerating. Your outfit was essentially a denim skirt and a t-shirt - maybe you’d sexed it up a little bit with some thigh high boots, tousled hair and a red lip, but all’s fair in love and war, right?

The three of you made it inside, and a very tipsy Calum greeted you with open arms and a lot of excitement at your gift of hot sauce. It felt so nice to be back with all your friends at a house party, like the old days, and you found yourself stepping out onto the back patio for a moment of quiet reflection and to share some pats with Duke.

You’d exchanged a wave with Luke when you’d entered the house, but hadn’t quite worked up the confidence to go up and speak to him, especially when he had his new girl in close proximity. She looked really friendly, though, and you could tell from the spark in both of their eyes that their relationship was blossoming in the best possible way. Part of you thought you’d be upset about it, but all you truly felt was content. Content in your life as it was, surrounded by friends that loved you just as much as you loved them, and actually quite proud of how far you’d come over the past year. You’d learned to stand on your own two feet, and you’d grown into a much more settled, independent human as a result.

You were lost in your train of thought when you heard the song change on the speakers inside. Duke’s ears perked up and he licked your hand attentively when you stopped patting him as the song registered - it was your song. Or at least, it used to be. You felt a smile creep onto your face when you remembered the Sunday mornings of pancakes and singalongs, and the smile grew wider when you saw Luke’s girlfriend dragging him onto the dancefloor, much to his (fake) protests. You made eye contact with your kind-hearted, softly-smiling, gentle-eyed ex-boyfriend, and for a split second you saw a flash of concern cross his face. In response, you raised your glass in a cheers and shot him a wink, which earned a smile and a small laugh from Luke before he turned his attention back to the beautiful girl in his arms. You took a sip, and smiled to yourself. It truly was better off this way.

When I hear it, I just can't stop smiling, I remember you're gone

Baby, it's just a song on the radio, That we used to know

Taglist: If there’s a line through your name, I couldn’t tag you, so please message me to let me know your new URL or what the go is! @suchalonelysunflower @blackbutterfliescal @redrattlers @loveroflrh @spicycal @notinthesameguey @metalandboybands @cheekysos @ashton-trash @another-lonely-heart @queenalienscherrypie @becihadshawn @allthestarsandthemoon @oyesmendes @andrianawinchester @333-xx @findingliam-o @hoodhoran @rbforsmileycal @myloverboyash @myhappylittleyoutubee @saywhatnow07 @secretsicanthideanymore @ar1analara @killmywildflower

#my writing #luke hemmings imagine #luke hemmings one shot #luke hemmings fan fiction #5sos one shot #5sos imagine #5sos fanfiction #lol how do i even write things anymore #i feel VERY rusty #but alas #hopefully it's okay #lmk what you think!

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 4 years ago

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The Logical Epilogue

Epilogue to The Logical Progression

Pairing: Nathan Bateman x Reader Rating: Mature Warnings: Cursing; sexual innuendo; Nathan being Nathan Notes: Honestly was kinda stunned that so many people asked for an epilogue 🥺 Sorry it took so long! Just as a note, the painter mentioned in this piece is entirely fictional Summary: At first, it was exciting.

Berlin worked.

Berlin worked for a while.

You settled into your new position, your new office. Your new boss, Mark’s replacement, was out in California, and the time difference was a little bit of a bitch, but you made it work.

You made it work for a while.

You saw Nathan most weekends, at first. Most, because he got consumed with his work so often, and so did you, sometimes. Truth be told, you couldn’t always take the time out of your schedule to take the two hour flight from Berlin to Oslo, and then the hour long helicopter ride from the airport to the drop zone near the estate, and then the forty five minute hike from the drop zone to Nathan’s house.

At first, you did.

At first, it was exciting. At first you were optimistic, and in love, and brimming with hope because this was a compromise—and sure, it wasn’t something that the two of you had come up with together; it had been your idea, but he had said yes. Yes to your idea, yes to Berlin, yes to your new title – in his company. You had carved out your own place in his company, gotten to where you were by your own merits. You were happy. He was happy.

It worked at first.

After the first few months, though, the bloom was off the rose.

It started with the travel.

Four hours was a lot one way – and that was four hours if everything was running on time and the weather permitted. It was eight hours all told, round trip. Eight hours every weekend, back and forth, was a bit much. So after a few months, every weekend became every other weekend – and it was still a lot. Of course, any time you mentioned that to Nathan, he was unapologetic at best.

“If you’d just moved in with me like I’d planned, you wouldn’t be tired.”

The first couple of times, you’d laughed. The fifteenth time, it wasn’t so funny anymore. You finally stopped mentioning it to him.

Then, it was the work.

It took you four hours to get to his house. Four. Three flying and an hour of a hike – sometimes through the snow. Silly you, you’d thought the man might stop for more than a kiss and a, “Hey, honey,” when you got there.

At first, the two of you were fucking like rabbits. And then your visits became more infrequent, and even when you were there, Nathan was sometimes too locked in to whatever it was that he was doing to give you the time of day, so much so that you felt like his damn Jackson Pollack: you were around to be looked at occasionally, contemplated, and then left to your own devices.

You’d made the mistake of mentioning that to him, too.

“I’d have more time for you if you were here, honey.”

That had started as a tease, too, but you knew Nathan. Every little joke and jab had a thin layer of saccharine shielding the spike he really wanted to stick you with.

And it stuck.

It didn’t help that your work had felt stagnant since you’d moved. Blue Book was still flourishing; your performance reviews were all positive; the Berlin office was thriving, but… But ever since you moved, you just felt so disconnected.

“You’re not coming this weekend?”

Nathan’s voice didn’t manage to lose any of its petulance despite how tinny it sounded through your headphones.

“I can’t, we’re going through tissue sessions for the pitch on Monday,” You told him.

“I haven’t seen you in, like, a month.”

“Oh, you noticed that?” There was a pause on Nathan’s end before he dryly asked, “You driving at something, sweetheart?” “Look Nate, I’ve got work to do,” You retorted, “I’ll call you later and try to make it out next weekend, alright?” Nathan let out a scoffed laugh and hung up. No ‘goodbye’, no ‘sure’, no ‘noon will be fine’. Looking back, that should’ve been a warning. With Nathan, there wouldn’t be a goodbye. There would be a drift. The time between your trips to see him became longer and longer, and your countenance in one another’s company became more and more icy, more static. The trips stopped, the calls stopped, and then a box with the things that you left at Nathan’s place showed up at your door. No note, no letter from him, nothing. His Maya console was right at the bottom. He’d finally ripped it out of the fuckin’ wall. Mommy and Daddy had broken up and you got full custody. --

The decision to leave Blue Book wasn’t a result of the break up. You’d had other job offers before - Nathan knew that-- No. No, you told yourself to take Nathan out of the equation as you handwrote your resignation letter. Handwrote, because you were still under NDA, and you didn’t want the drafts of this to be caught in one of the regular data audits that Blue Book did.

You weren’t leaving to join Google, Apple, or IBM, or any of the other companies that had offered you positions with them over the years. One of the reasons that you had moved up in Blue Book as quickly as you had was your ability to look at a product release and translate the jargon-heavy language into something the average person could understand. You’d done it for a few friends in the tech industry on the side now and again, when they were getting started with their own companies. And as much as you liked Blue Book, you liked the idea of being your own boss more. -- Your last night at Blue Book was no less than a fiasco - you’d been there a long time, so they made an effort, a fuss. They threw a party at a swanky art gallery in Berlin. People had come up to you all evening, asked you what your plans were, if you were excited, what you would miss. You’d told them - you were going to become a freelance writer, focus on technical writing. You already had a number of jobs lined up. You were incredibly excited, but a little nervous. Blue Book had been one big cyber safety net. You’d be alone.

“You hear Bateman was here?” It was a whisper behind you - from one member of the sales team to another, but loud enough for you to hear, loud enough to distract you from the conversation that you’d been in the middle of. There was no way. You hadn’t heard from the man in months - four of them, if you were going to be precise. There was no way he would turn up at your going away party - to do what? Make a fucking splash? All eyes on him? You wondered exactly how much shit you’d get for leaving your own party. You heard the ping of Blue Book’s messaging system on your phone and you pulled it out of your pocket, going cold when you saw the message. N. Bateman: Ferrar room.

No. No, you wouldn’t let him do this. This motherfucker wouldn’t get the chance to just swan back in and sweep you back off of your fucking feet after he was such a shit. -- “So you haven’t plugged Maya in yet.” “...Well between my phone, laptop and the NDA, I’ve kinda already got enough of your spyware in my apartment.”

Nathan chuckled, still wandering around the little back room of the gallery. You’d had to ask an attendant where the Ferrar room even was - but it was full of some of the most vibrant work you’d ever seen. So maybe, for that reason, you’d briefly forgiven Nathan for not even turning to look at you since you’d walked in. And yeah, it had stung, but considering everything that had happened and-- and not happened -- considering the things that the two of you had never said and the fights that you’d never had, and the compromises that he’d never made and every single compromise that you had made, it was no wonder that the man didn’t bother to turn and look at you when there was canvas after canvas after canvas of life in vivid color all around him. “Armel Ferrar,” Nathan said, “French painter, born in Peillon in 1868. Moved to Paris in 1885. Heavily influenced by Seurat and Cézanne -- more Cézanne than Seurat. You can see it in the color use, but… the way he plays with light, that’s all Seurat.” You weren’t looking at the painting that Nathan was looking at. Hell, you weren’t even looking at the paintings. You were just looking at him - at the back of his fucking head. At the back of his fucking head, and the slight tapering that you could see of his beard; at the way his shoulders sloped, and where his hands were tucked into his pockets. Your eyes drifted up his back again, over his neck, his head. The painting he was looking at, whatever painting it was, had bursts of yellow - wheat, maybe, or stars, or the sun, it was difficult for you to tell at that distance. From where you stood, it was as though the man was haloed and framed. Bright and shining and on display, this man that liked to keep to himself and spent his days underground in his office. “Stayed in Paris, too--” He was still talking, of course he was still talking, “Most of his life, or what was left of it. Never married, had one kid outta wedlock… Died in 1891, same year as Seurat. His daughter, Marie-Thérèse, married a military man that moved her to Berlin after the second World War. She brought his paintings with her, that’s how they wound up here.”

Nathan went quiet for a few moments before, “What do you think?” “...I’m wondering why you had me come back here when you very well could’ve given that TED talk to an empty room. Or better yet to any one of the people out there that are utterly fascinated with you. Either would suit, considering how much you love your own voice.” You had already turned yourself to look at a painting, made yourself distracted by the time you answered, because you’d known that that would get a look from him. You were right, too; you saw him turn to look at you out of your periphery. “Can we skip this part?” That bored tone was back. You dug your nails into the palms of your hands, letting your eyes hone in on the vivid splashes of red on the painting in front of you - petunias. “Which part would that be?” You asked. “The part where you tell me what I did wrong and I pretend that you’re right so that I can say sorry and we can get back to what we were doing.”

You laughed. You actually laughed. Not a fake one, not a haughty one, but a real peal of laughter left you in shock. “Wow,” You sighed once it had passed, “I forgot what a dick you are, you know that? I actually kinda managed to forget.” “Look--” “No,” You turned to face him, holding a hand up to stop whatever he was about to say, “If you came to fake some sincere bullshit, or to tell me that everything would’ve worked if we had done things your way--” “They would’ve--” “Shut the fuck up, Bateman,” You snapped, “You don’t know that, alright? You don’t. I don’t care if you have it in your head that it would’ve all been perfect because you said so.”

“You really think my way would’ve been worse?” “Well, we’ll never know,” You shrugged, folding your arms over your chest. Nathan was quiet for a single, blessed moment. Then-- “Why are you leaving Blue Book?” “I don’t wanna sound egotistical here, but I kinda refuse to believe that you didn’t read my resignation letter.” “I did.” “Then you know the answer.” “Were those the only reasons?” You looked over his face for a few moments. “... It wasn’t you,” You shook your head, “I don’t know if you wanted it to be, or didn’t, but it wasn’t you.” “Why the fuck would I want it to be?” “Because you think the universe revolves around your beard.”

He seemed to fight a smile for a moment, and your stomach twisted. You’d seen that look - the way he had to work to pull down the corners of his mouth - in the first video he’d ever sent you, yelling at Maya to remove you as an admin. Maya, which was still sitting in a box in your apartment, because you couldn’t bring yourself to get rid of the damn console. You didn’t want to plug it in, but you couldn’t just fucking throw it out. “...So, this new job,” He approached you slowly, and you were careful to hold your ground - not just because backing or turning away felt like weakness, but because stepping backward would mean knocking into the work of a French artist whose life sounded pretty fucking tragic. “Yes?” “You staying in Berlin?” You were quiet for a few moments before you shook your head. “I don’t know. I can do it from anywhere, so I haven’t really decided what my next move is going to be.” “Anywhere?” Nathan repeated. “Whatever you’re thinking, un-think it.” “Can’t unscramble an egg, honey.” “Don’t.” “Don’t what?” “Bateman, I’m serious. You think I’m just gonna crawl back to you?” “Who the fuck is doing the crawling? I’m here!” He snapped. “Oh, look. Nathan did one thing,” You cooed mockingly, “Nathan put on something other than sweatpants and left his estate--” “It’s a four hour trip--” “Oh, you cannot fucking tell me about the travel, Bateman, don’t you dare. I did that for months and you acted like it was nothing, you acted like I was nothing!”

And then Nathan stopped. Nathan stopped and lowered his chin to his chest for a moment. “You’re not,” He spoke softly - so softly you almost didn’t hear, “You’re not-- You know that. That's your insecurities talking--” “Knowing and feeling are two different things. I’m not a console, I don’t run an OS, I can’t just go in and fix the buggy code that tells me differently,” You had to work to keep your voice steady and get the words out, “What you just did once to get here? I did that for months, Bateman. And that’s after I pulled my whole life up and moved to a new country. That trip, two days a week, every week, and half the time I was there, you acted like I wasn’t. I may as well have not been, so I stopped going.” “You could’ve talked to me.” “...You know what, I’m not even going near that one, because I really don’t want to yell in here,” You managed through gritted teeth, eyes diverted to another painting. Nathan lifted his head then, looking you over before he stepped forward, muttering, “Stop that.” “What?” “That.” He reached out, taking hold of your hands from where they were crossed under your arms. He ‘tsk’ed softly as he uncrossed your arms and unfolded your hands, running his thumbs over the small half-moon dents that your nails had left in your palms. “... Alright, maybe gatecrashing wasn’t my best idea,” He glanced toward the door to the room before his eyes scanned your face. “I don’t think it even breaks your top five.” “Would you care to list that top five now?” “I would not, at the risk of puffing up your beard.” You heard him chuckle, felt his thumbs continue to smooth over your palms. “...You remember that first Rise of AI, when I told you why I’d pulled you up on stage to give that presentation?” He asked. You frowned, turning to look at him again. He was watching you closely over the top of his glasses, eyes knowing and dark. “You wanted to see what I'd do if you threw me in the deep end.” He nodded. “That was Blue Book, something we both knew. This…” He wrapped his hands around your, gave them a gentle squeeze, “This is new for the both of us. We jumped into the deep end and uh…Starting in the kiddy pool might’ve been better.” “Did Nathan Bateman just admit defeat?” “No. No,” His gaze went stern, then, “Because kiddy pool or not, you’re still in the fuckin’ water.” You looked down at where his hands were holding yours still. “I want to try again,” Nathan crowded closer to you, “And I know-- I know that I am an asshole and that I fucked up, and you know what, I’m probably going to fuck up again,” He raised one hand to cup your chin, raising your head to meet his eyes, “But I wanna give it another shot. I just… I just need to know if that’s even an option here.” When the box of your things had arrived at your place, you’d told yourself that it wasn’t. You’d told yourself that Nathan was an asshole, and a shitstain, and a dickwad, and a douchecanoe, and a host of other derogatory names that you’d dreamt up in your most frustrated moments. Because, yeah, he could be those things. But that didn’t change the fact that you still had feelings for him. It didn’t change the fact that you’d made mistakes in that relationship, too. “So?” He prompted you as you looked at one another, “How do you think we’d do in the kiddy pool?” You gave him a small smile and murmured, “Swimmingly.” The force of Nathan’s kiss nearly knocked you off of your feet - your head would’ve hit a Ferrar if his hand hadn’t come up to cup the back and cushion it. (The gallery owner saw the two of you and was horrified.) (But Nathan bought that painting and like five others, so they got over it.)

Tag list: @spider-starry ; @mylittlelonelyappreciation ; @grogu-pascal ; @blueeyesatnight ; @kid-from-new-zealand ; @revolution-starter ; @kindablackenedsuperhero

#The Logical Progression #The Logical Epilogue #Nathan Bateman #Nathan Bateman x Reader #Nathan Bateman x You #Nathan Bateman/Reader #Nathan Bateman/You #Titled that way because i'm an asshole and it's what nathan would've wanted

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tinylethologica · 3 years ago

Text

where there is dust, there is stone

Part I | Part II | Part III prompt: incognito notes: guili pains, part III. features female traveller because there is not enough of her methinks (and also because she's pretty). also plays around with Zhongli’s gender because shapeshifting powers. words: ~3.5k

After an elegant and sharp dance, the maiden was nowhere to be seen, with naught left but a pile of bloodied dust.

𒆙

The truth stems from a single question, as innocent as dust.

“Have you heard the rumours, honoured Rex Lapis?” the crane adeptus says lightly. “The mortals—they speak of a woman along the Bishui River. One whom even the glaze lilies follow.”

A spontaneous bout of reminiscence, Cloud Retainer had said in her invitation. A conversation between friends, of the recent and not-so-recent past.

Just Ping, Rex Lapis, and Cloud Retainer, she had proposed. So he had agreed, thinking her lonely in her mountainous abode. For all her praise of solitude, Cloud Retainer, of all the senior adepti left, is most likely to seek companionship. So Morax descends upon Mount Aocang, stone dragon dissolving into human flesh—though it is not Zhongli, it should suffice.

However, his assumption has led him into a trap instead. Ever since the flooding of Guili Plains, Rex Lapis prepares for everything.

But he has not prepared for this.

Wisdom still eludes me, it seems, he thinks with a self-deprecating smile. I still have much to learn from the settling dust. Morax gently blows over the surface of the tea, warm mist diffusing into stagnant atmosphere. It should be cool enough now, he decides. The perfect temperature to be enjoyed by a mortal’s tongue. He much prefers the sensitive palate of a human to that of a dragon-lin.

“One wonders which mortal was audacious enough to come up with such wild, disrespectful stories,” Cloud Retainer says with a proud tilt of her slender neck. “Glaze lilies do not move for just anyone. Perhaps one should pass punishment for these mortal lies?”

“Let us not jump to conclusion,” he says with a shake of his head, words polite and courteous. As if he were speaking of the weather, and not of the dead. “From whom did you hear such a tale?” Sometimes, diplomacy was required rather than brute strength. This lesson has been taught to him well—and he has used it well.

“It matters not,” Cloud Retainer says. “Just know it has, through certain methods, reached this one’s ears.”

However, it appears diplomacy is all but useless in the face of an Adeptus’ anger.

Besides him, the unusually silent Ping shifts. A miniscule movement, but Morax’s sight catches on a bite of her lips. And, when she notices his eyes upon her, she offers a guilty smile. Don’t be mad, it says. No wonder Cloud Retainer has also invited A-Ping.

The same A-Ping who has heard the rumours, clearly, and was terribly fond of gossip.

Cloud Retainer presses on, unaware of the silent exchange. “You have not answered my question, Morax. Have you heard these rumours?”

Her crane-eyes, lined with vermillion red, are keen enough to cut into mountains; however, Morax yields neither to wind nor cloud. Instead, he takes a sip. Considers the question.

The ensuing pause is long as the settling of dust—transience and eternity. Both a second and a year, before he finally answers. “Yes. I have heard of such tales, in my days of travelling incognito. There are whispers that she may be a lost illuminated beast.”

“Or that she is the servant of some long-dead god,” Cloud Retainer counters, the word ‘servant’ an especially brittle note. One of many brittle words. “They say she mourns her master at night,” she spits, clearly on a vendetta against so-called master. “I wonder, between the two of us, whose tale is true?”

“Perhaps both are true,” he allows, taking another sip. Delicate sips, but even more delicate moves. It would not do well to ruffle Cloud Retainer’s feather further. “Perhaps neither.”

“This one wonders… Would this legend possess the form of a dearly departed friend? If one were to meet her, would she resemble dust that has been wrongfully stirred from the earth on which it sleeps?”

Morax stills. Ping’s eyes flit between them, caught in the middle of an unseen battle.

“Would this woman resemble the dust disturbed from her slumber? The dust risen from the dead?”

Morax tilts his head, an acknowledgment of the crane adeptus’ victory. “Ah,” he says, but he does not answer—though his silence ought to be enough. He has been caught.

“Cloud Retainer,” A-Ping says, a warning edge to her normally melodious voice, but her advice goes unheard. “Watch your tone. You would do well to remember: Rex Lapis is still Lord.”

“It is sacrilege, Rex Lapis,” Cloud Retainer hisses, a beat of her wings in rebuke. The mountain air sweeps against an immovable face of stone. “You may be Lord of Geo, but you would dare? Even if it is you, dear friend—you have no right!”

“I know,” he says simply. It is all he says.

“Rex Lapis—Morax,” she says, anger bleeding into pleading. “Do not sully her form like this. Let the dust rest where she wills. Let your heart be serene.”

I would, Morax wants to say. But without the glaze lilies, how could dust rest in peace? Without the glaze lilies, how could my heart remain serene?

But he does not. Instead, all he does is sigh.

𒆙

It starts from an accident.

It starts small—as small as a speck of dust.

It starts from a quirk of Morax’s eyebrows, after which A-Ping blurts this:

“You know, this particular female form of yours… the brows remind me of Guizhong’s.”

To wander incognito, a dragon metamorphoses into a delicate woman. That is where it starts.

𒆙

Does it? Morax brushed off A-Ping’s comment, as though it were a joke. I hope I am as beautiful, then. Ping responded with a nervous titter.

But under the moonlight, Morax peers into the clear waters of the Bishui, hoping, hoping—

Oh. It is nothing like Guizhong’s.

In the jade of the river, Morax sees a woman’s reflection. She looks lonely. She looks lost.

“Guizhong?” the reflection murmurs—and the sound is not bloomed glaze lilies. It is ragged rock shards.

Ah.

It is not Guizhong who is lost; it is Morax.

Morax falls on her back, suddenly breathless. She looks at the moon. “It seems I am the one who is lost,” she repeats aloud, fistful of grass as she rips them out by the roots. Scatters it to the sky and watches as a shower of grass blades fall to earth. A chuckle tears its way out of her throat.

She clenches her eyes shut. Stone does not weep—it cracks.

And that night, along the arteries running in her veins, Morax splits into a million pieces. That night, as she stares at the stranger in the river, Morax learns that stone does not weep. She crumbles instead.

𒆙

In the tales of traveling merchants and porters, there was once a mysterious figure that would surface in the dead of night upon the plains: it was a maiden in a long indigo robe, striding along the shallows of the Bishui River, the moon wrapping her face with silver light as the night wind carried her words up to the shimmering, sleepless stars.

𒆙

Every night, Morax returns to the river. Every night, Morax sculpts. He—She cannot help it.

A carve here, a cut there. The lines of her brows, the strokes of her lashes, the shades of her lips; Morax becomes a painter, and her body the canvas. Her hair lightens, darkens, and lightens again. Until she resembles memories come to life once more, Morax does not cease.

Geo is patient. Geo waits. Geo morphs so that Guizhong may rise from the ashes—

Only it can’t.

Geo cannot change its nature. Geo cannot raise the dead.

When Morax stares into the river, it is always glowing amber that stares back.

It is never a glaze lily. It is never a smile.

It is never Guizhong.

𒆙

“Let our Lord mourn in peace, Cloud Retainer.”

“By transmuting himself into Lord Guizhong?” A snap of beak in frustration. “This one cannot accept it. He has gone mad, surrounded by his perfect memories.”

“We all remember differently, dear friend.”

“Some do it properly.” A haughty sniff.

A chuckle, accompanied by a bell chime. “Who is the one that keeps that ancient stone table around, so neatly cared for? The one who lays out the chopsticks still, even after its owner is long gone? You do not let anyone use the table except for Rex Lapis.”

“It is different! One does it to honour her memory.”

“And he is doing the same. Are you sure you’re not just bitter at the reminder of her? Bitter at him for dredging up old memories when you’d rather lay it to rest?”

“…This one does not know. All this adeptus knows is that…” A pause, as if swallowing painful acceptance. “Lord Guizhong is gone. She will not return.”

A sigh. “Then you are the same as he. Do not judge him too harshly, Cloud Retainer. The war is over, and our Lord thinks too much. Remembers too much. He is still walking her memories. Soon, either he will outpace her footsteps or…”

“Or?”

“She will leave him behind.”

“Has she not already done that?”

A hollow laugh. “Then he will chase her but find nothing in turn. We need only wait.”

“For all your words, you are far crueler than I, A-Ping.”

“Someone has to take on the mantle, dear friend. If not I, then who?”

𒆙

Morax wears Guizhong’s shadow, Guizhong’s skin, Guizhong’s glaze lily. The flower in his hair shimmers in moonlight—but it does not sway. They never did sway to his song, even while she was alive.

Yet another failure in his metamorphism.

The amber eyes were already enough. He cannot bear to see more differences. He cannot bear to realize more of this gulf between them.

Morax walks the Bishui Plains, scattering seeds of glaze lilies, as she used to do once. Is the era peaceful enough that the wild ones will persist? Are the people’s songs joyous enough to coax their blooms? Has Morax done enough for their people? Will it ever be enough?

The Archon Wars have ended, and he has donned the Geo Archon mantle. Her memories are so long ago.

Finally, will Morax know peace? Could he?

He does not know the answer, so he walks in her footsteps, tracing the path of drowned glaze lilies.

They say the riverside maiden is a sole servant of some long-dead god, gently mourning her master only at night. Or so the tales go.

There is always some truth, he thinks self-deprecatingly, in rumours. As smoke is to fire, where there is dust, there is always stone.

𒆙

He wears that too. Slung on his hips, a sword hewn from glowing jade, its edges bathed in oceans of blood. Enough to flood plains. Enough to flood assemblies.

A gift ungiven. A bond unspoken.

He thinks a foolish thought, that perhaps her spirit will see fit to haunt him then—

But.

It is a story for another time.

𒆙

No one knows how her story began, but it ended with the tale of a certain hunter. But unlike the stories of those merchants, the hunter encountered her brandishing a sword against several perilous shadows under the merciless moonlight. After an elegant and sharp dance, the maiden was nowhere to be seen, with naught left but a pile of bloodied dust.

𒆙

“I’m telling you—” the hunter blusters, to the sound of boisterous laughs.

“Sure, sure,” one man waves off, wiping the tears from his eyes. “So you’re telling me you saw the riverside maiden wielding a sword? Against some shadows?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying, you buffoons!” The hunter crosses his arms, sweeps a paranoid look around him, before speaking conspiratorially, “Under the merciless moonlight, she fought them in a dance to the death. I watched and watched, but one second, she’s there—”

“And the next second, she disappeared?” The men laugh uproariously again. One slaps the hunter’s back. “Did she fly back to the moon? Perhaps you met a moon goddess, my friend!”

“Yes—! I mean, no! Will you just listen?” With a crazed look in his eyes, the hunter whispers, “She disappeared, but that’s not all. When I went closer to inspect what happened, all I found was—”

“Her hairpin?”

“Her sword?”

“Her clothes?” One man suggests, wiggling his eyebrows, as guffaws ripple through the rest of the men. “Perhaps she meant to seduce you—”

“Bloody dust,” the hunter interrupts, eyes dazed. “All I found was bloodied dust.”

The laughs are cut short. Silence reigns.

“Hey now,” the man who’d made the joke before says hesitantly. “You just had a bit too much to drink. And in the drink, any man lonely enough would imagine a woman. That’s all.”

“Yeah, yeah,” the people in the crowd murmur, eyes shifting.

“Enough of this foolish talk,” one man pushes. “It’s bad luck to speak of such profane things. It will offend our Lord, Rex Lapis—”

“It’s the truth though—”

“Then let us go check!” someone suggests. “Then we will see whether this tale is indeed honest, or your alcohol-fueled imagination.”

And so the men went to the riverside where the hunter had seen the maiden. There they realized: the hunter did not lie. Indeed, the Bishui River ran red that day, tainted by the corpses of Millelith and land surveyors.

𒆙

When Morax hears the story from Ping, the lines of his face turn even more sharp. Even more unmoving.

“Was that you, dear friend?” A-Ping asks, voice quiet. “The description—it could not have been anyone else. The bloody dust…”

“It was not me,” he says harshly, heart thudding in his ears. “I did not walk the plains that day. I am certain—she was not I.”

“Then…” A-Ping trails off.

“What were the Millelith doing there? And the land surveyors?” he asks, patience scattered by urgency. When Ping remains silent, he resists the urge to gnash his teeth. “A-Ping!”

She clears her throat. “It seems,” she says delicately, “they had ill intentions upon places where wild glaze lilies were rumoured to grow. Out of profit, they sought to claim it as theirs and plotted reprehensible deeds—”

“Then they have broken their contract to Liyue.” His voice is calm, but his eyes are dark. “A fitting punishment.”

“Rex Lapis. Old friend—"

“I must leave now,” he interrupts. “Do not come find me.” Morax pauses, and then adds, “Unless it is urgent.”

Ping threads her hand through her hair, helpless to his whims. “It’s not as if I could refuse a friend’s request. Just…”

Morax stares back blankly.

“Don’t be long,” she finishes with a sigh. “Azhdaha will miss you.”

“I do not intend to be,” he says. He doesn’t. Then, there are no more words; he is gone.

𒆙

One week. That is how long he waits at the Bishui River. For seven days and seven nights, Rex Lapis sits at the bank, unmoving. He does not move, and he does not blink—he dares not, for fear of missing her. Her puzzle lies in his lap, quietly moving through boundless permutations, waiting to be opened, waiting for its owner. So Morax waits.

He is patient. He will wait. For as long as possible. If his duties do not call him back to Liyue, he will wait. If that is her will.

There is no formal contract between them. Still, he keeps his oath. Has kept it. With your strength and my wisdom, this city will surely become a great one, she’d said.

This is merely a part of the unsaid, unformalized contract between them, he tells himself. With us both, she said.

So for seven nights, Morax waits in Guizhong’s skin. Waiting to be possessed.

The wisdom to leave never comes.

𒆙

The sound of boots crushing grass and the flap of wings gliding on the night wind announces the end of his wait.

“Is it urgent?”

“No. But I was worried. We were worried.” A-Ping’s voice breaks through the quiet rush of the flowing river. “How long were you planning to wait here, old friend?”

“Not so long,” he answers, unblinking. It is not a lie; not completely. A thousand years was not so long to the Lord of Geo. All he has is time. He does not peal his eyes from the riverbank, even as he speaks. The moon hangs in its waters, its edges chaotic swirls of countercurrent eddies.

“How stubborn,” she says behind him, followed by a click of her tongue. Ah. She has caught him in his lies. “You see, Cloud Retainer? If I did not come, he would stay forever.”

“Geo does not change quite so easily,” Cloud Retainer agrees softly. “Some things always remain constant.”

“Am I to return to my duties, A-Ping?” Morax asks, placid voice belying the dust storm inside. “Is it time?”

The crane adeptus sighs, but Morax still does not look back. “Return to Liyue Harbour, Rex Lapis,” Cloud Retainer says. “Your place is not here. You will not find neither shadow nor spirit here. She is not here. The dust has long settled.”

“I see,” he says calmly. That is another lie—he sees nothing.

“Then, will you return?” A-Ping asks. The Cleansing Bell at her side seem to chime in unison.

“I will. Leave me.” Morax pauses and remembers his manners, so he adds, “Please. I will follow. Just…” He takes a deep, shuddering breath. Neither Cloud Retainer nor A-Ping comment, and Morax finds himself grateful. “Let me make peace with this.”

“…All right, old friend. Let not the Lord of Contracts forget his own promises.” The ring of a bell, a gust of wind, and Morax finds himself alone once more.

He stares into the river, into its dark depths of adeptus blood. In Skybracer’s blood, is not Guizhong that stares back.

Instead, it is diamond yellow pupils, dark with ache and longing. It is a whirlpool of grief and yearning. While he has seen them both in her—the end, always at the end—it is not hers. It is his.

She is not here.

Morax closes his eyes. The edge between almost-here and not. Between dead and alive. She is so close, yet so far. He cannot close this gap. Geo cannot change its nature. He cannot bear the thought, nor the image of her distorted visage.

Still. It is her; what was left of it, at least.

Helpless, Morax open his eyes, slow and hesitant. Just one last peek, he tells himself. One last time, and he will burn her image into his mind and depart from this place for good. He will leave her to her permanent slumber.

With an even breath, Morax stares into the bloody waters of the Bishui River and for an infinitesimal second—

Guizhong stares back.

She smiles. It is the same curve of her lips, the same smile before she—

(In his memories, she laughs; in his memories, she smiles before dying.)

Morax, entranced, reaches out with one hand toward her. Wishes he could smooth the sadness in her eyes, as one would polish jade. But when he does, when he finally makes contact…

The water ripples.

The illusion shatters.

She leaves Morax staring into amber eyes of wonder. Of despair. Every feature is hers, but the eyes—they are his.

Morax finally stands, and Guizhong transmutes into Zhongli.

Zhongli looks at the moon. He then looks down at the river. Nothing appears. Nothing speaks.

So he leaves.

𒆙

After this, no matter how many search parties the Ministry of Civil Affairs would send, no one saw that riverside maiden ever again.

𒆙

Outtake:

The Traveller—the Outlander—offers Fate’s Yearning, and the statue pulses. Resonates. Glows.

“Oh!” The small fairy-child gasps, wings eagerly flapping. “What was that?”

“Looks like Rex Lapis really likes this perfume,” Lumine murmurs with a smile, knowing golden eyes glancing toward Zhongli.

Zhongli acknowledges the stare with a slight tilt of his head. She is more perceptive than she seems; her words appear soft, but her eyes are sharp. Cloaked in the scent of ozone and stars—Zhongli should not underestimate the traveller.

“Does that mean that Rex Lapis is actually an older lady?” The pixie child asks, eyes sparkling.

And Zhongli—he can’t help it. He laughs. The sound is deep and gentle. “Perhaps,” he says indulgingly, heart aching with the memories. “Perhaps.”

“Truly?” Lumine asks.

“Rex Lapis has taken on countless forms,” he allows. Let the traveller make of it what they will. “Perhaps that really was one of them.”

𒆙

And it was.

#guili #zhongli #guizhong #genshin impact #guiligardenweek #guili pain #all i know is suffering #all i know is pain #not on ao3 #lethe writes

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