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redbeansoups · 3 years ago

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Move-In Day

Cove Holden x Reader

In which Cove Holden helps you move into your brand new dorm, and wishes you farewell before your freshman year.

Takes place after Step 3.

Like it or not, your life has always revolved around one Cove Holden. One bright-eyed, silky-haired, infuriatingly endearing Cove Holden. It’s always been him, in everything you’ve done, forever a spectator and participant in one. You have never known a time without him: your classmate, neighbor, best friend and boyfriend-extraordinaire.

Even now, as you edge into adulthood, Cove Holden is all you know: seated beside you with one hand on the wheel, wavy hair tucked behind his ears, his eyes longingly on yours. He catches your gaze, and offers you a smile, full of sincerity as always.

The journey upstate had been a long time coming; a goal, ever-present, but inching along so slowly that you’d opted merely to brush it off. But as the summer of your senior year came to a close, your move-in day had sprung up on you like an unpleasant (albeit somewhat enthralling) surprise.

Cove, forever a gentleman, had insisted on driving you all the way. You’d argued against him, only to be shut down–and quite firmly at that. “If you’re going to be moving so far away,” he’d told you one night, “then the least I can do is go and see you off.” He was a much better driver than you anyway, you’d reasoned with yourself, and it’d be nice to have another pair of hands to unpack. The idea of flying alone didn’t quite appeal to you either, so, after hardly a moment’s hesitation, you’d agreed to let him tag along.

College, all the way up north–you can hardly believe you’d come so far. You’d dreamt of this for years, spent months drafting application essays and crafting resumes. Years of preparation and research, though, hadn't seemed to brace you for the anxiety to come.

Even now, sitting in the car with Cove, hands intertwined, the idea feels more like a dream than your living, breathing reality. But the car trudges along, movements never once faltering for your thoughts.

You’d be on your own soon–a stray left for dead. You’d be nowhere near Sunset Bird anymore.

Lost in thought, it takes you more than a moment to grow cognizant of your surroundings. The scenery has shifted, the sky around you having faded to a pale purple hue. The change in atmosphere is instant. High-rise buildings litter the skyline; the shopping districts, no longer limited to a single street, bustle with activity.

It feels, beyond anything else, unfamiliar.

Isolating.

Realistically, you are far from alone. Derek, having gotten his scholarship, lives right down the hall. Your parents and sister are always a call away, and your friends have never failed to remind you of their presence. And Cove, despite being far from technologically adept, is still a better texter than most–and a relatively consistent one at that.

These thoughts, at least, are reassuring.

But the fear remains–and all you can do is try and work alongside it.

You turn to Cove. The window has been rolled down; you feel the cool evening breeze against your skin, fresh and foreign all at once. His hands are running mindlessly through his hair, detangling the inevitable wind-induced knots. Your eyes flit down to his fingers drumming against the steering wheel, then lower down to his scar, the pale white mark running gently down his forearm.

Sitting there, so unaware of himself, sunset illuminating soft features–Cove is beautiful, in every possible way.

You smile, content.

The hours pass, and before you know it, you find yourself on campus for the first time.

You tap the keycard to your door, and it opens with a soft click. The two of you are met with the sight of the dorm, the yellow-tinted wood somehow even less impressive than the photos you’d seen online. Barren walls, popcorn ceilings, worn-down linoleum from decades past. Sparsely decorated as it may be, the room puts you at ease.

You let Cove move past you to enter. “What a joy.” You scoff at the drawl in his voice. “Where’d you say your roommate’s from?” he asks, his shoulders nudging the door wider. His set of boxes is significantly larger than yours, and he looks smaller than ever with the stack cradled against his chest.

“Florida,” you answer, following his footsteps.

“Oh.” He sets the cardboard down on the ground, the impact resounding with a solid thump. “I hope they won’t mind the mess we’re about to make.”

That draws a laugh out of you; you think back to all the times you’ve stepped into his room, only to find it a complete bird’s nest. “They’re not moving in until tomorrow.” Another thump resounds as you drop your own load. “We have time to clean. But don’t mess things up too bad, please. I’d like a good first impression.”

“No promises.”

You roll your eyes, and, cracking open the first box, begin the arduous process of unpacking.

“Well,” Cove says finally, brushing dust away from his hands. “I think that was the last of your stuff.”

Setting the last of your books in place, you take a moment to revel in your surroundings. Despite his messy tendencies, Cove had done a pretty good job–with your assistance, of course. All your clothes had been folded neatly up in the closet, and your posters were hung all over the walls, like a delicate reminder of home. On the desk sat two small photo frames; one with you and your family, and one with you and Cove.

“I guess so, huh,” you mutter.

There’s a weight in the air around you, and you bow your head.

There’d been too much to discuss. Hell, even now the topic was one you wanted nothing more than to avoid. The ‘what-ifs’ had littered your mind for months now, hanging over you like a constant reminder. And though Cove had tried his best to dispel them, they’d inevitably come back–and with a vengeance. You didn’t know what the future held, nor did you know whether the two of you would last. Uncertainty riddled your mind: what if he grew bored? What if the two of you lost interest? What if, after all your time together, the physical distance became too much?

His hand comes to rest on your shoulder. The gesture is light, gentle–a welcome pressure.

The tension dissipates.

You sigh, lifting your chin up to meet his gaze. There’s a softness in his eyes you’ve come to recognize as sadness. And there’s a warmth behind your own that threatens to grow hot, to liquify and pool before you. You choke back the urge to cry, stifling yourself by clearing your throat. “You’ll text me, won’t you?”

He chuckles softly at that, thumb stroking circles into your skin. “Of course. I’ll call you so often you’ll grow sick of me.”

“I’m counting on it, Cove.”

You give him one last hug, inhaling his scent and pressing your cheek to his chest. He smells like Sunset Bird, a mixture of the ocean and the beach and all the pleasantries that come along with it. His pulse, slow and steady, beats in your ear.

Devoting the moment to memory, you angle your head to plant a peck on his cheek. “Thanks for helping me move in.”

He grins at you. “Of course.” The expression sparks something strange in you, something equal parts melancholy and equal parts pride. You so badly want him to stay–you want to reach out, pull him down into the bed and sit right atop him so he might never escape your grasp.

“I love you,” you whisper, part-plea and part-farewell; you see the pain in Cove’s eyes. “Don’t get into too much trouble while I’m gone, alright?”

He lets out a breathy laugh and, shaking his head, shoots you a smile. "I love you too."

You smile, and breathe him in just once more. Then, with one last teary kiss, you let go, and wish him a safe journey home.

You’re on your own now–

But you know he’s with you, always.

A/N: Another self-indulgent piece as always, because I've fallen in love with one Cove Holden. My freshman year of college starts soon, and I guess my worries culminated in this piece. Thanks for reading, though–I hope this was alright! Any reblogs or likes are appreciated!!

#ok this was so self-indulgent i apologize... i was gonna add more angst but i held myself back #ur welcome ^^#our life #cove holden #our life beginnings & always #gb patch #cove holden x reader #cove holden x mc #reader x cove holden #cove holden fics #our life fics

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haikyuuhimbosandhypebeasts · 3 years ago

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Heliotrope

Here’s my submission for the Forget Me Not collab for Anisylum! Please note the TW as it is VERY heavy. This piece is entirely SFW though!

Ship: Tsukishima Kei x GN! Reader Genre: Angst, but some fluff in some places. Word Count: 2.2k Trigger/Content Warnings: near death experience, hospitalization, COVID-19, vomit mention, amnesia after hospitalization, a suicide attempt is briefly mentioned, swearing because this is by me Sexy Sexy Masterlist: here!

Sand clung to skin and the harsher rays of light that usually cascaded and burnt you had died away into a fading tangerine glow. You perched comfortably on the sand, taking note of the undulating waves- they were like you in the sense that while you could crash down hard on the opposition, you would shy away in a fragile manner when faced with gentle treatment. Perhaps it was that you felt you weren’t worth such luxuries that you found it hard to make friends through your first few years of high school. Perhaps it was trying to push people away because you were afraid yet alarmingly aware of your mortality. Perhaps it was something else entirely, something you weren’t quite ready to come to terms with. What you did know was that you weren’t alone in the violent struggle through high school to make friends while you had your walls up. Next to you was someone you never thought you’d share your favorite place with; in any terms you found this boy appalling with his behavior. So appalling, you saw yourself in the way he closed himself off and cut those close with tongue lashings. You knew this only through another friend who took issue with him as you went to another school in an entire other prefecture. Words mauled their way out from your throat, breaking the silence between you and Tsukishima Kei. “I won’t ask you why you tried to do what you did today. But I will ask if there’s anyone you can talk to in your life.” You didn’t understand yourself. Why would you say that…? You don’t remember anything like this at all… His response was equally incoherent and odd. “Okay, but I’ll kill you if you go back on it.” When you opened your mouth to reply to him, the ground around you suddenly reared up like a defensive serpent. A pillar of beach sand forced its way from the ground into your throat, suffocating and trapping your lungs in permanent fullness. You could only gag and cry, unable to even see Tsukishima past the torrent of sand breaking into your body with the intent to kill you slowly…

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You woke up once more in that dull grey-blue and white room with the only sounds you could properly process being the beep of a heart monitor somewhere behind you. You had managed to halfway curl into somewhat resembling the fetal position, but something kept making you cough and gag as your throat was caught. You move your hand to whatever is catching and about to make you vomit- a tube. This tube, you followed, was in your nose good and solid, and you felt it deep enough in your sinuses you didn’t dare try to pull it out. Moving your hands felt foreign like you had forgotten how to process being human and natural motions like that. You testingly ran your right hand down the tube, taking care to not tug and cause discomfort. Your other hand came to rest on your face. It was slick from sweat, likely due to whatever the fuck you just had a dream about. At the corner of your lips was another tube and when you followed where it led it was taped to the side of your face. You lick your lips and manage to almost fall into a haze until you see movement for the first time in what feels like forever. To be fair, it is one of the most jarring appearances of a person you’ve seen in your whole life to what you can recall. A person in a full-body hazmat suit enters your room through a door you hadn’t even processed was there, then greets you as casually as they can through a plague-resistant suit. “Hey there.” You squint at them. Yeah, you have no fucking idea who this cosplayer in a hospital is, and while you should probably be polite, you feel like you got ran over not once but twice. You try to speak to them, but you can’t. You don’t have the air for it, it’s like you have no control over your breathing. Clarity washes over you. You’re hospitalized. These are tubes because you were asleep and weren’t breathing or eating right. The realization must show on your face because your nurse speaks up again. “Don’t worry about me too much, we’re just gonna check your vitals and if you feel up to it, we can see how you do without the ventilators.” You try to manage out a “whoopee”, which unimpressively comes out as some form of odd wheeze, and your nurse begins by grabbing the blood pressure cuff covered in protective plastic while they wear a sympathetic expression.

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Once you were off the ventilator, the nurse informed you about what had happened. Apparently, an ambulance was called when you were unresponsive and nearly blue in the face, sitting in front of your refrigerator with the door open. You were diagnosed with a severe case of COVID-19, something you had feared would wipe you out entirely and turn you past tense since its spread in your country. This fear wasn’t entirely irrational, either- you were immunocompromised and have been since you were a child. You grew up with being careful around others and hearing of a highly contagious new strain was something that filled you with so much paranoia you seriously considered quitting your current career and instead adopting a hermit lifestyle while completing college at home. Of course, such a thought was squashed by the slowly impending thought of rent, bills, due dates for assignments, and your bitch of a manager who lets people get close to you without a mask on. It’s not a big deal, (y/n), she once said to you. You wanted to shoehorn some tubes down her throat just to survive, see how that felt. It didn’t help that human resources wouldn’t listen to your complaint. They brushed it off since you were just a lowly sandwich maker at a chain sub place. If you had enough scraped together for lawyers right about now, they’d be totally fucked, you thought to yourself. Even more jarring is that it seemed you lost a handful of memories while in the hospital. You could remember basic outlines of people in your head- your very tall and incredibly testy roommate, your younger sister who wore glasses and was much smaller than you, and… a foggy memory of a man with messy black bedhead who had an arm wrapped around your shoulder. It hurt to think too hard. The doctor soon came by to give you test results, to check your vitals again, and to look over your records. He was a bit terse, but you can’t make the best judgments of people when they’re in plastic suits. “We’ll need to get you cleaned up by tomorrow and you should be able to head home,” he’d said, looking over your chart. You didn’t necessarily feel too ecstatic about your trip to your apartment. You remembered your roommate and how finicky he was, and you dreaded for him to belittle you over your condition. You dreaded it enough to even feel a knot of anxiety form in your stomach, wrenched in between your ribs without the intent of ever coming out. “We’ve already contacted uh…” The doctor squints at the screen, “Tsukishima… to come to pick you up tomorrow at noon. We’ll have care instructions printed out. You still have to quarantine for about a week more since your immune system isn’t at its most prime currently.” You agreed, it probably wasn’t a good recovery idea to make a couple of sammies for the public while you were recovering from a virus that had you intubated. He seemed grateful that you were lucid and cooperative, at least.

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You, predictably, didn’t sleep well after being in a medically induced haze for several days. Even more predictably, you found yourself awake from anxieties of the future. Tomorrow was only a few hours away, and then you’d be home. Home… what did that look like for you? The fog in your head was thick initially. You do remember coming home from classes at a different time than Tsukishima, how when you entered he’d often be reading over homework. You remembered how sometimes he would be in the shower and the scent of cheap green apple soap filled the living room connected to it. You remembered… You remembered holding his thin frame in your arms on a bridge, pulling him back from oncoming traffic. You remember how you both collapsed and how the cold autumn air stung your lungs. You remember wide golden eyes staring back at you, as tears slowly filled them, then his normally impartial voice breaking as he hiccuped a sob, “Why? Why did you have to be in Sendai right now?” You felt tears stinging your eyes and a lump form in your throat. You found yourself in distress of your new emotions. Maybe… maybe you can sleep this horrible feeling off. Maybe this fog in your head where you need to know how deep your relationship ran will lift once you get genuine sleep.

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Finally, a knock on the door encouraged you to rouse from your sleeping state. And eloquently, you spoke your true feelings in your sleep-deprived state, “No.” You hear the doorknob turn and the door open. There’s a lack of a greeting from your nurse nor a quick apology from your doctor for interrupting your sleep. Actually, if you’re gonna use logic, what nurse or doctor is gonna wake up their peacefully sleeping patient in recovery? Thought of it being your doctor or nurse practically evaporates once the intruder has a seat on your bed. They still haven’t spoken, so now you’re remembering what tricks of self-defense you learned online to give this person a proper ass-kicking for getting way too close. You crack your hazy eyes open to get a look at where they’re sitting and you stop dead in your thoughts as wary gold eyes peer down at you. Your eyes widen out of reflex and butterflies bloom from your stomach at seeing what you now remember is your roommate. “I knew you were awake,” He said, a wry smile on his face. His expression was betrayed by his concerned gaze, though, “Wow, you look like shit.” You don’t know entirely why past his comment feeling not as an insult, but almost as a compliment, but you smile a little, “I feel like it too.” His expression doesn’t change. He runs a large calloused hand through the tresses of your hair, though, as if to soothe you. The doctor walked in and apologized for interrupting the moment between the two of you, unsure if it was something serious. You told him it was nothing because that’s what it was to you.

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The car ride wasn’t filled with the snarky banter you had been expecting. Instead, there was plentiful comfortable silence as Tsukishima drove. You didn’t know whether to be grateful or not for the silence- you still felt quite feeble and needed way more bed rest before you could get ready to do anything for anyone. Despite the wholesome silence, you felt those round gold eyes focus on you occasionally. And even though it was comfortable, you felt a melancholy twinge in the atmosphere as he inspected you. “I know you’ll give me shit for this… but you look like you’ve lost weight. I uh…” He gripped the steering wheel harder. You glanced over at him. A shade of baby pink dusted itself across his cheekbones and nose as he focused on the road. “I’m worried about you.” Fuck, there go those butterflies again. Something in you pushed to help- to comfort- but the logical side of your brain brought you to a halt. You’d weighed it in your head a couple of times. You two act closer than just roommates, and it’s not entirely clear how or why you got up to this point… but you had a solid hunch you might be dating this guy. Maybe? You closed your eyes and rested your head on the car door as you thought. You remember how sand clung to your body and you could hear the roaring of the sea. How you watched Tsukishima focus on the waves to regulate his breathing. You vaguely remember your words breaking away from your throat and catching the salty sea air. “Why don’t we stay together?” His lanky body stiffened, then he looked at you with disbelief. “... you wouldn’t want that. I’m fucking annoying and mean.” Your eyes creased with familiarity at the line. “Yeah? So am I. We can butt heads until we balance each other out.” It looked like he wanted to cry, but his pride wouldn’t let him cry in front of you anymore today. “I won’t ask you why you tried to do what you did today. But I will ask if there’s anyone you can talk to in your life,” you reached a careful hand over to rub his back, “Kei, if there isn’t, let me be that person.” You felt how his breath shuddered. To save his pride, you looked to the ocean and watched its hypnotic movements. After a few deep, shaky inhales and exhales, he replied. “I don’t understand why you’re being nice to me. Why you didn’t let me die. I will probably come back to this point in my life several times and you’re trying to say you’ll put up with it?” There was some bite to his tone, he was trying so hard to put up walls when he had no will to do so at the moment. How long had he pushed others away from being close? If he was anything like you… it was since grade school. “Let me be your support for when you’re in pain,” You tried once more, “I’m stubborn as shit so I know I won’t give up on you.” “You’re not getting it, you fucking idiot. I’m always in pain, that’s just been life,” he snapped bitterly, glaring at you now. “Then I guess I’ll be by your side forever.” You’d said it without thinking that day. It was like the ocean grew quieter with your words as if even Poseidon became interested in your proposition. You felt heat rise to your face at the implications of what you said. He stared at you with raised eyebrows and the slightest hint of a champagne pink hue on his face. He averted his eyes almost in a panic and watched the ocean again, suddenly very aware of his own expression. You carefully peered over at him again to see he’d only grown redder, now mirroring you. “You… don’t mean that,” He said as if it were a statement. “I do. You’re a good person inside, but you’re defensive and hurt. I’ve seen that from you in the past and I’ve learned more about you today. I want to be there for you as long as you’ll have me. Will you let me?” He picked at the sand as if thinking it over for a moment. There was a brief pause as waves rolled over each other in front of both of you, the sound of their impact being the only thing to grace your ears. Finally, his cynical tone returned as he regained some form of his prior composure. “Okay, but I’ll kill you if you go back on it.”

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“Hey. (Y/n), we’re home,” Tsukishima gently shook your shoulder to rouse you from your sleep. You opened your eyes slowly and groaned out a swear. Tsukishima felt a hesitant smile creep up his face as he opted to just try and maneuver you into your shared home himself. He remembered how waking up was hard for you. Once he opened the passenger door you nearly fell out onto the pavement, only saved by your seatbelt and the giant himself. Your face fell awkwardly into his hip, and you grumbled at the interruption to your sleep. “You sleep like the fucking dead, christ,” he mused out loud and sat you up so it was safe to unbuckle your seatbelt. He urged you to get up more- it wasn’t that you were heavy, he just really wasn’t in the place to lift you at the moment and didn’t even know how to go about it. Regardless, he held you up by a shoulder and crouched to make it easier for you both to walk to the apartment. In some part of your sleep, you began to speak, “Kei.” He kept his gaze trained forward at the front door and struggled to grab his keys from his pocket, “Yes?” “Are we married?” Kei dropped his keys, then shot you a look of concern, “... No…?” He had to hold himself back from saying not yet, unsure of what you were getting to. He reached down to grab his keys and he focused back on the door. “Why are you asking?” He unlocked the door and threw it open, getting you both inside finally. He set you on your couch and sat on the floor in front of you. You looked at him suspiciously, now roused from your sleep. The only thing on your mind was that dream- it had to be a memory! You refused to understand it as anything but that. You prodded, “On the beach, I told you I’d be by your side forever.” He seemed to weigh your thoughts heavily in his mind, “... did you forget about us?” You didn’t expect what felt like cold water to hit your back so hard and so suddenly at his suggestion. He didn’t seem hurt at the thought, instead, he found himself occupied with your reaction. His hand reached out to rub the side of your face as you looked at him with wide, guilty eyes. “Don’t worry about it. Your sister told me this kind of thing might happen…” His calloused thumb traced over your lip, and he offered a smile the best he could, “I’ll try to explain it.” Tsukishima explained that what you remembered happened about four years ago and you had been living together ever since. He motioned to photos on the walls of the two of you and people who you could just hardly remember. When you rested your index finger on an individual who was much scrawnier than most of the people there, sitting on the bench with you and watching you speak with admiration, Tsukki put his hand over yours. “That’s your sister. She took most of these pictures, but she usually sits next to you when you have a space available.” You nodded and closed your eyes. You began to remember summers you spent with her in childhood and her yelling at you to do your homework when you bothered her as you got older. You smiled a bit. Once your eyes opened again, your finger traveled to possibly the tallest person in the room. He was big, but you remembered something warm and comfortable about that man… “That’s Kuroo. You both went to the same high school and you were in his friend group.” You both went on like that for a while until you’d cleared everyone in that picture. Once you did, you sat down to think over the new cluster of names you’d picked up. “... when you promised you’d be here with me forever, did you remember what I promised to you?” Kei asked as he sat next to you. “No… I just remember what happened on the beach up until you threatened to kill me if I took back my promise.” “Oh, right. I was going through that phase,” He seemed displeased with the comment. You found it almost funny but refrained from laughing for his sake. He continued, in a quieter tone, “I promised that if something happened to you, that I would always be here for you, too. That I’d get you back into shape.” His larger hand gently entwined with yours, “... so if you remember that promise and you’ll have me, I’d love to marry you once you get your memories back. … If you want to. I-” You cut him off with a hug to his side, trembling a bit as your emotions got the better of you. You smiled up at him. “I can’t promise I’ll be better fast, and I still feel like several trucks ran through me at once… but I’m happy,” you managed out. You didn’t know what your face looked like right about now and you didn’t have the nerve to look up into Kei’s glasses to check your reflection. He wrapped his arms around you in return, pressing the side of his face against your head. “Please, don’t give me an answer yet. You’re not in the right mental state. I’ll wait for you until you’re ready.” You ran your hands up and down his back. You weren’t exactly afraid of remembering things, but you were quite anxious for what tomorrow might bring for both of you. Despite that, you felt safe recovering in his arms, and you were sure you’d feel that way for a long time.

Have a link to the sexy sexy masterlist down here as well. Unless you’re done reading, then have a good day. But if you’re not there’s some fire stuff in that bad boy.

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klaineharmony · 3 years ago

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300x3

Okay, so my brain has apparently decided to spit out as many of the torturous pieces of this WW1 story as it can. Maybe a sign that I’m a bit stressed? This is also full-on 19th-century supernatural weirdness, so I have clearly read too many of those novels. I have no idea if this will end up in the final draft, but it’s sure something (read: tear-inducing. Heart-shattering. Existential angst).

790 words. Warning: there is a mention of and brief description of blood here.

When he finally slept, Jack dreamed.

The feeling of dread that had refused to leave him during the day followed him into sleep, and oddly, only increased when he found himself back home. Dreaming of their home in Brooklyn was usually a comfort to him, but this night, it only brought more fear.

The vividness of the dream did not help; Jack could have sworn he was standing in their living room, and he knew that he was dreaming, which was not a level of awareness that he often had. He could not shiver, but felt the sensation nonetheless as he moved through the house, not knowing what he was looking for.

He found Lizzie and Jacob first, in the kitchen. Lizzie was furiously scrubbing dishes, and oh, his little girl had gotten so big. She looked more like him, and his mother, than ever, but so many of her mannerisms were Sarah’s.

Jacob was at the table, sketching silently, and Jack saw that he was creating a portrait of Sarah, beautifully drawn and detailed.

A quiet sniffle broke through the noise of scrubbing, and Jack realized in alarm that Lizzie was crying. She set down the dish she was cleaning to wipe her eyes on her sleeve, and Jacob’s pencil stopped as she did so.

“Is Mama going to die?” he asked softly, and Jack’s veins turned to ice.

Lizzie turned around, and the streaks of tears on her face broke Jack’s heart, somewhere underneath the terror that had swamped the rest of his mind. She shook her head.

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “I don’t think Bobe does either. Oh, Jacob, I wish Papa were here! Or Mume Kath - someone!”

Jacob nodded, his mouth tight, and he got up from his chair and hugged his older sister, both of them crying together.

Every nerve in Jack’s body was now frantic to find Sarah, but he could not simply leave both of his children weeping, even knowing that they could not see or feel him. He went over to them and pressed lingering kisses to both their foreheads, before willing himself to Mama Jacobs’ room. He knew that if Sarah was ill, Mama Jacobs would nurse her in the place that was easiest, which was her own room with Meyer on the ground floor.

He steeled himself as he moved into her room, trying to brace himself for whatever he might find.

Sarah’s rattling breaths were immediately apparent. Meyer was in a chair near the door, clearly catching a momentary bit of sleep, and Mama Jacobs was sitting next to the bed, methodically wiping down Sarah’s face, arms, and hands, trying to cool her fever. Jack moved closer to the bed, on the opposite side from Esther, and he could see the bright, heavy flush of color on Sarah’s cheeks, the sweat gathering at her forehead and temples, the wrinkles of pain in her forehead and around her mouth as she moaned softly. Her eyes were wide and clearly not seeing her mother, and Jack’s heart clenched in terror as he realized what was wrong. She had the Spanish flu, the same illness that had been scourging its way through all of the armies overseas. His eyes blurred.

“Oh, love,” he whispered. “Sarah. Please hang on for me. Stay with me, my love.”

And then, in a moment of shocking clarity, he saw Sarah look up at him.

“Jack?” she rasped. Her voice was rough, raw from coughing and weak from fever, but it was unmistakably his name.

“Oh, meyn maidleleh,” he heard Esther murmur. “How I wish I could bring him here for you!”

Jack shoved his feelings of disbelief aside; the how was not what mattered, in this moment. He knelt next to the bed, getting as close to Sarah as he could. Her eyes were still following him.

“Jack,” she sighed. “Basherter. I miss you so much.”

“I miss you, too, love,” Jack said, his voice breaking. “More than you can possibly know. Please keep fighting, mo chroí. I need you.”

“Try,” Sarah said weakly. “I’ll try. I love you.”

“I love you,” Jack murmured. “With everything I am, Sarah.”

Sarah nodded slightly, and attempted to speak again, but choked, and to Jack’s horror, blood began to pour from her nostrils.

“Meyer!” Esther cried, and Jack felt himself drifting away as his mother-in-law rushed around the bed and Meyer sprang up from the chair where he had been resting. Both of them pulled Sarah to a sitting position and attempted to stanch the blood that was running down her face and neck.

“Sarah,” Jack said desperately. “Sarah, I love you.”

Her eyes focused on him one more time, and then she was gone.

Jack woke up in their trench dugout and screamed.

#300x3 #Klaineharmony writes #Defend #Over the Wall #Newsies #Newsies 1992

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thevividgreenmoss · 4 years ago

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My grandfather was awake and lucid for a longish while between late Friday night and Saturday morning apparently first time since this past Sunday when we all thought that was It and crammed ourselves seven people in one sedan that got a flat on the way over of course (as we were leaving the handle of the screen door came off in my hand as I was closing it behind me so the vibe was very on the nose things farcically falling apart that whole goddamn day lol) but then when we made it he was smiling and laughing and talking to and teasing everyone that was there, albeit with much more effort than it would have taken him even just a week earlier when he was already in a really frail state because of his hip surgery. My sister happened to be up later than she usually ever is and got to video call and chat with him for a bit I wanted terribly for my cousin in Colorado to be able to also but by the time he could get through my grandpa's blood pressure had suddenly spiked or something and he'd drifted back into that borderline unconscious state so they didn't get a chance to talk which makes me want to claw my fucking skin off of my face but who knows maybe another opportunity will present itself hopefully it does like he suddenly became really talkative and energized the other day after not having said more than maybe a couple sentences over the few previous days like I was there with him for several hours on Thursday and the entire time he didn't say a word and only opened his eyes once for like half a second and even that I might have been imagining after sitting there sleep-deprived and holding his hand trying not to cry because then my mom would start crying and then my aunt and on and on and if he's conscious at that point he'll start to get worried and his heart rate will destabilize but after that for this one stretch without anyone expecting it he was really talkative and alert and joking around with the nurses and doctors and all that for a while but then later yesterday afternoon he started to get disoriented and drift in and out of the present in between dreaming and waking again at one point apparently he kept saying 'look at my shoes' to my mom and her sisters and they thought it was just just the medication/pain-induced delirium talking but he kept insisting and eventually said 'you're not taking me seriously' and I guess gave up? Or said it a few more times I'm not clear on the course of events I only heard all this secondhand when my younger aunt, who also got diagnosed with cancer late last year but thankfully is more or less in the clear now, got back home last night and she and I went into his room and took all the shoes out of the cabinet he keeps them in and like looked inside and turned over and examined the soles of every pair, took the cushion insert things out of the ones that had them, checked for scooby doo-esque hidden doors, all that but there was nothing there just shoes. Her kids flew back out yesterday morning, the older one's tentatively returning to Toronto in the next week or so she had a painfully rough time in some ways her first couple of years and then abruptly had to be uprooted and leave because of covid then everything with her mom and in time honored eldest daughter tradition bearing the brunt of the familial frustration and insanity associated with that and now everything with our grandpa I really really want her senior year to go smoothly and be enjoyable and memorable in a manner opposite to how this past year+ has been I'm so worried about her and her little sister's starting freshman year there in the fall and I'm terribly worried about her in a whole different way like she's still really attached to her parents in this innocent way that still strongly resembles like a baby's adoring my mom hung the moon type attachment and it can be especially hard being away for the first time ever when that's the case...like she's hyper hypersensitive even by my family's standards lmao but she does have this sort of self-possession and inner groundedness that no one can quite pin down but it's

definitely there and maybe that

could carry her through I really hope so...they were saying to come up to visit them in the fall hopefully I can find a job soon after returning to Texas and like be able to afford to do that and also like keep paying the bills and shit lol in either case I hope so so badly that they'll be okay like I think they will be the women in my family are all really strong but they've also had to be because of various fucked circumstances and I don't want that to keep having to be the case...my grandpa's a Strong Woman in a certain way also honestly lmao like my mom's aunts have always been like your father raised you in a way beyond even most mothers which like who fucking receives let alone genuinely deserves that kind of praise from their in-laws lmao let alone a man from a notoriously patriarchal culture of a generation when fathers from any culture barely had any involvement in their children's upbringing at all which I mean most still don't but even more so back then and like literally everyone we've been hearing from or seeing drop by at the hospital has a story of how at one point or another my grandpa was there for them when no one else was like distant cousins variously removed and loose family friends all with something about how he comforted me when no one else could, I remember word for word what he said to me when I suffered some loss of my own, he's the strongest man in our family, the best times we ever had were when he was near us, when he'd take us out, his youngest brother's children saying he cared for and spoiled them as if their were his own after their dad died suddenly when they were just kids, my mom's third cousin whose own father was with her till a late age saying that he was even more of a father to me than my own father, his other brother's son who was ostracized for decades by his immediate family on some straight up racist ass bullshit on the part of his mom and older brother because he married a black woman but my grandpa stayed in touch and made sure my mom and uncle did as well and made sure we all got together when he'd came to the states, like even now lying there on what very well might be his literal deathbed when he can barely talk he was telling my uncle he's worried about him and he needs to go home and rest, asking who's taking care of the house, are the kids all okay even at this point his thoughts are for others. After I put his shoes back in the cabinet I closed it and opened the one beside just in case I guess just in case what I don't know but it was just like standard cabinet stuff clothes a shaving kit and a couple of what I assume are photo albums that I didn't feel like I should open for some reason and a few old books, a collection of Ghalib's which I can't really read very easily if at all because it's in Urdu lol, a history of government college of Lahore where his father was teaching at the time of his death and the two philosophy textbooks my great grandfather had written himself, Inductive & Deductive Reasoning, and inside the latter I found a handful of yellowed pages torn out of an old notebook upon which mostly seem to be translations of french poems and I think maybe a song or two? I guess old coursework or just for funsies I'm not sure whether written by my grandfather or his own father. My khala was mentioning just the other day that she'd kept one of my grandpa's old notebooks marked as having been designated for biology but inside it were no actual notes just urdu poetry which she wasn't sure whether it was his own original tossed off work or something the lifelong frustrated creative transcribed while bored in class. The night I got here I was looking through his bookshelves after everyone had gone to bed and then a couple of weeks ago I was sitting in the living room by myself watching archer when my cousin came and sat down next to me upset and unable to sleep on her own first night here and I held her and tried not to cry and then went through the same bookshelves again, this time with my cousin who we came to Pakistan for the first time after moving to the US

to see being born who turned three

the day we arrived on what until this current trip was the last time I was here her little sister having just been born earlier that same year (whose life I may or may not have saved when I caught her after she was dropped by the person holding her (the fact that (parentheticals within parentheticals!) I may or may not have been the one who dropped her in the first place is immaterial imo not that I'm the one on trial here but what's important is that I caught her and if anything this would be an even more athletically impressive and frankly heroic incident if I'd been the one that was holding her to begin with since I was 8/9 years old at the time and there wasn't much of a distance for her to fall and yet I kept her from hitting the ground like talk about reflexes like that's what's important and what's more important than even that @ my year older cousin (whose younger sister was the first baby in the family after myself whose arrival in this world when I was three had me positively giddy in the way that young children get when witnessing the miracle of even younger children, who's the only other one of the cousins that's been here during all this, just me and the three I got to see as darling little babies) who was the only other person in the room with me at the time, is that we take this to our fucking graves no one can hear a word of this least of all any adults in the house who like not that they're the ones on trial here either but like who allowed for this scenario to transpire in the first place where two children and an infant are in a room by themselves unsupervised in retrospect that's somewhat irresponsible not that I'd ever hold it against them or even mention it because then they might get mad and not let me hold my little cousin anymore and I do love holding my little baby cousin and carrying her around everywhere, mostly without incident)) neither of whom I'd see in person again until we visited them in Canada the summer after I graduated college the trip during which I finished the last of the Neapolitan novels the day after landing and turned 22 the day after their mother, my younger khala, turned 43, looking through my nana's bookshelves with my baby cousin no longer a baby but a U of T classics major entering her senior year, noting the overlaps with our own, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, George Eliot, the same exact copies of Cheever and Kafka's collected shorts, Umberto Eco, Proust, wondering what the various titles meant to him or what they might say about him, wondering how much of even the version of him that can be hypothesized based off his library I'm missing now that I'm limited to the much reduced version of what had been in his old home in Lahore (when he visited us after my junior year of hs and my mom was trying to convince him to downsize and move in with my other aunt with whom he's been living the past several years, the one who most resembles my grandfather the only one that has his cheekbones my khala whose eyes have sunken all the way into her skull before my eyes with exhaustion and grief over the past two weeks, when my mom was like what's the point of just hanging onto a bunch of books that you've already read: I look at them [dramatic pause], and I feel happy [my mom sighing equally dramatically in.exasperation, me cracking up in the background]) the city I was born in the house where I spent the first almost five years of my life before we moved to the US to join my dad who'd moved back shortly after my mom became pregnant with what turned out to be me, abu nana's house with the garden we'd walk through every morning holding his hand and following along as he puttered around with his plants in the garden in the house in the city he had to leave to move into my khala's house in Islamabad where I've been the past almost a month now where two weeks ago he suddenly came down with pneumonia and had to be dragged to a hospital in Rawalpindi where he's been since, not in his house, my nana's house, with the garden in the city I haven't seen since the last time I was in this country the

summer I

turned nine the day after my khala turned 30 the day before my other khala turned 32(?) the summer I first remember obsessive compulsive disorder becoming an overwhelming aspect of my consciousness although it was there before, the first summer of the Iraq war and being terrified watching the Iraq war unfold on the BBC evening news my nana would turn on

at dinner time and hearing for the first time or maybe just the first time I remember the night we left the phrase 'the rich will get richer and the poor will get poorer' from my younger khala talking to her sisters and some family friends that had come over to see us off feeling terrified and cold then embarrassed because she noticed my face visibly fall from across the room and told my mom and I was like godammit everyone knows I'm scared now smhead then crying the entire flight back home because I missed everyone and maybe had a little kid premonition that I wouldn't return to my nana's house and I would be years and years till I saw any of them again some I still haven't or maybe there was nothing premonitory about it but in either case that's the way it turned out. I do feel grateful I got to see him again at all, when he last came to the US late 2016-early 2017 I was sure it would be the last time we would be in the same room. I'd make breakfast for us every morning and we'd eat together and the entire day I'd sit next to him inhaling secondhand smoke and talking and reading. I was in the midst of my initial aborted attempt to read Swann's way when he arrived. I'd gotten to Guermantes way last summer but I couldn't find a secondhand copy so I had to read it via ebook and that didn't feel right so I abandoned it until now I've been reading a copy pulled from his bookshelf. Last he visited was the first time I learned we were both Garcia Marquez-heads which I'd kind of assumed before and I showed him Mad Men which he heavily fucked with and also every John Le Carre adaptation I could track down online. From the first time I read one hundred years of solitude the summer after freshman year of college the passage describing Colonel Aureliano Buendia's death already absolutely and unbearably heartwrenching enough immediately brought thoughts of my grandfather, aching aching sorrow over the solitude that he himself existed within in all the fucking pain his life has been inordinately filled with grief over the knowledge of this inevitable final separation from him after so many years and so much distance already having separated him from the people he loved and cared for and he loved and cared for so many people so deeply with such sincerity and beauty and endless endless warmth and compassion and humor when Gabo wrote of the colonel trying to reach back through to his memories and being unable to after previously recalling that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover ice even years later, as he faced the firing squad, at the moment of his death like a 'baby chick' my poor frail beautiful grandfather appearing exactly the same way when he'd take off his dentures and curl over to the side to sleep, then when awake but still half asleep hearing your voice having brought his apple cider vinegar and garlic concoction or a cup of tea or just coming by to hold his hand or play with his beard the way all of his grandchildren have at one point or another and smiling with his eyes still closed smiling bright and wide the expression of a precious little cat purring as you scratch under its chin always the most beautiful smile and even as his hair turned white and his body withered and wrinkled and shrunk his cheekbones while still not bad long ago ceased being the way they were in that picture from his wedding day back when he he looked like young Robert De Niro's much much prettier Kashmiri cousin from then until now always that same radiance and those same quick-witted and kind and bright bright bright sparkling eyes. The past month and a half I've been feeling like I'm seeing my own mother dying before my eyes along with her father, my adorable beloved abu nana, I can't even begin to comprehend how she must be feeling right now I feel like I'm witnessing her death in advance through all of this and losing the part of her that is him even though I know that's not actually the case. Things have been so fucking painful and complicated between us but the one thing we've shared that's never

been painful is our love for him. When he left after his last visit four years ago I spent the next two days barely able to even talk. Compliments or like any positive comments directed in my directions have almost always caused me this reflexive discomfort and uneasiness but whenever he or anyone else would say that I'm his favorite grandchild I'd want to hold on to that as closely as i possibly can. I don't want him to leave us and more than that I want for whatever happens to at least happen with him back at home but neither of those things seem likely right now although who the fuck knows. I hope his last thoughts can be of flowers, like Kafka's, and Lispector's, or of love, wherever he is I hope it's not asking too much to hope for that at least. For someone that spent his life so deeply immersed within that Garciamarquesian solitude he never made those around him feel any way other than at home, safe and warm and loved and adored and adorable and lovable and at home not because of a place not even the garden at the house in Lahore but with him always always I've never felt more at home than during the times I spent near him, and his love and his flowers

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volturicangetit · 5 years ago

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A.V/J.V- Loved at last

Summary: After getting rejected by your imprints, Emmett and Rosalie, you needed a fresh start. So you go to Italy where you meet two interesting vampires. Maybe they can show you what’s it’s like to be loved.

Reqeust: YES/no @rexburn12 : Where Male Reader Was Banished From La Push For Imprinting On Emmett, and Rosalie They Reject Him Which Almost Kills Him, and Makes Reader Extremely Sad and Reader Moves To Volterra, Italy To Work As A Mechanic. Alec and Jane Smell A Amazing Scent They Follow It To See Their Mate Reader At Home Who Looks Sad Which Makes Them Growl in Anger and It Catches Reader's Attention He Looks At Them, and Imprints On Them Making Him Shocked. Since Imprinting Is A One Time Thing For Shifters.

Warnings: swearing, self hate

Wordcount: 3226

A/N: I’m turning 17 tomorrow ( may 19 )! I can’t really celebrate my birthday but at least I can celebrate it with my parents and siblings. Also I’m born on the same day as Jojo Siwa so that....nice?

PART TWO

MASTERLIST

Saying that you ' hate yourself ' can't even express the amount of disgust you feel towards yourself. You know that it's something you can't control, something that isn't a choice. But still feel like it's your fault that you imprinted on not one, but two vampires. You didn't even know that it was possible to imprint on something that died decades ago. The fact that they both rejected you didn't help. You knew that they wouldn't love you but you were hoping to at least be friends.

" You fucking what? " Rosalie screams at the top of her dead lungs. You flinch as she takes a step towards you, lowering your head. " They can't control it, " Carlisle tries to reason, but Rosalie and Emmett ignore him. You feel Emmet wrap his hands around you and lift you off the ground. Within a second you're outside of the house where he roughly pushes you onto the ground, right into the mud. You sit there on your hands and knees trying to regain yourself which is very fucking difficult when your covered in mud and getting soaked slowly by the rain pouring down on you. It was like the universe wanted you to suffer even more.

" Did you seriously think that we would accept you? You're a fucking dog. " Rosalie says as she and Emmet are standing on their porch. It's only now that you see the contrast between you all. They're standing dry in their expensive house while you're laying in the mud, which comforts you for some odd reason. You stand up quickly, pushes some of the rain of off your face.

" Please, you know I wouldn't have come here if I could just go without you. ". Your voice cracks at every word. You came here vulnerable and onto the land of your enemies. If Sam knows that you're here, he will rip your head off. Emmett shakes his head but doesn't say anything. He can't bring himself to do so. Sure, he wants to scream at you. To yell some words at you he knows he's going to regret but it's like his mind has shut off. Rosalie, on the other hand, can't stop the words from flowing out. " Go away, you disgusting thing. "

You let yourself slide down the side onto the floor of your shower. The water streaming down onto your already burning skin is way too hot, yet you don't care. You don't deserve nice warm showers. No, you deserve scolding hot showers that makes your skin feel like it's going to fall off. A sob breaks out of your body, causing your shoulder to rumble along with it. You tried so hard to stop yourself from crying. But now you let it all out. Every emotion, every pent up bit of anger, every sad thought. It all comes it whether you want it to or not. Whines and groans come out of your mouth along with the sobs. You know the other pack members can hear you, not just crying, but also through your mental bond. Their voices and questions of concern are being blocked out by you. The only thing you can hear if your own sobbing and a dull ringing in your ears.

You don't know how long you've sat in the shower, but you do know that you're going to have a ridiculously high water bill this month. When you get out of the shower and have gotten dressed in a simple pair of sweat pants and a sweater you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. You stop in your track and stare at your own reflection. Your face seems foreign to you. Your normally gleeful eyes are now puffy and look so sickly that you might as well be dead. Your lips are broken from all the screaming and biting at them you've done. It looks weird to see yourself look so broken, but then again, it is said that rejection by your imprint is sometimes not even survived. " What's going on? ". You jump a little as you quickly turn around to see Paul standing behind you. He's leaning against the doorframe, glancing between you and the mirror. " Nothing, you lie. ".

" Oh, come one. We can hear your thoughts, remember? " he says as he taps his temple with his pointer finger. You nod, still looking down at the ground. When you remain quiet, Paul sighs and pulls you into a hug. You freeze at first. He never hugged you, or anyone for that matter. " Those bloodsuckers rejected you? ". You nod as you bury your face into his chest. You needed this. A hug, to help ground you and get you back to reality. " They don't deserve you, you know? ".

" I think I...I think I need to go away for a while, " you keep your voice soft while you speak to try and keep it from cracking. Paul nods before he lets his chin rest on top of your head. " How about Italy? The weather is a lot better there. I know some people there, " Paul suggests. You pull him closer to you. Italy. Nice, warm Italy. Away from Emmett and Rosalie, away from the pack. It will hurt like shit, but it's the best for you. A fresh start. A normal life. No vampires living right next door, no pack fights, no drama between Jacob, Bella and Edward. Just you and Italy. " Yeah, it sounds nice, "

---

Two months. Two months without cloudly Forks. It has done you good. Extremely good. You didn't realize how depressed that place made you until you left. The moment you felt the comforting Italian sun hit your skin was the moment you knew you made the right choice. You didn't talk to Paul's friends a lot. You got a place of your own after a couple of weeks, due to how small the town was everyone who was trying to sell their house was practically begging you to buy their house. You picked up your hobby of tinkering again, now using to be a mechanic though. The town needed one so you were happy to oblige. It was refreshing to have new faces around and a new environment. The sadness that once had its grip on your has disappeared, now only present in dark memories.

You pick up an apple that is laying on your kitchen table before making your way out of your house and towards your work. Not many costumers would come in, if at all. A festival is being celebrated in a nearby town. Naturally, almost everyone in the village has gone there to have a party. You didn't want to do that though, be around people and all. Plus this new free time would give you time to catch up with work and make some preparations for the next day. The walk to your work is short, yet you still enjoy it every day. Back in Forks, you hated the sound of the birds singing but here you enjoy it so much. The birds sing a different song here. One of joy instead of sadness.

" Buongiorno, " you say to your coworker as you walk into the store. Your Italian is far from perfect but it's getting better every day. " Come va? " your coworker, Piero, asks. " Bene. And you? ". He just nods at you with a smile before he resumes to fix what looks like a clock. You really couldn't tell though, most things that come to the store for fixing are broken beyond recognition. You sit down at your workspace and take in the mess that is laying before you. You need to clean that, definitely. You have enough time today to do so anyways

Going for a stroll through the city isn't something the twins would normally do but today was an exception. A sudden rainstorm has been hovering over the area, blocking out the sun and allowing them to go outside without fear. That and the fact that most inhabitants of San Cipriano were now in Volterra for the festival. They dressed down, replacing their usual robes with a dress in Jane's case and jeans and a sweater for Alec. They talked about normal things like the new store that just opened up down the block and books they've read. It feels nice to them to feel so normal. Anyone who saw them would think that they are just a brother and sister enjoying the cool afternoon weather and not two vampires who work for the three kings.

" They have this machine that can induce dreams, " Alec says as he tries to explain the plot of ' Inception ' to Jane. She nods as she only half listens to his story, more focussed on watching a group of children play hide and seek on the other side of the road. The two siblings are sitting on a bench right next to the cemetery, ironically enough. " Sounds fascinating, " Janes says.

Alec nods before resuming his explanation. Jane enjoys seeing her brother so happy. They were both way too serious for their age, not having enjoyed their childhood years as they should have. Seeing him so passionate and happy about something surely put a smile on her face. Alec stops his words however when a sudden gust of winds blows a particularly sweet smell towards them. Both siblings look at each other as they inhale the scent. " Apple, " Jane says

" And rust. Delicious, " Alec adds. Jane slowly points towards the direction of your store. Alec nods and stands up from the bench, getting what his sister means. Both twins slowly stroll to your shop, they want to see who this scent is coming from but at the same time are to content to feel any sort of rush.

The sound of a bell ringing notifies you that someone entered the shop. " Un momento! " you call out from the back of the shop. You quickly wipe the oil that has been building up of your hands with a cloth before making your way to the front of the store to help the new costumers out. The moment you lay your eyes on the twins is when the world stops. You'd be lying to say that they aren't beautiful. Every birthmark on their skins seems so perfect that it has had to be placed there by the angels themselves. A sudden rush of adrenaline fills your body. Every detail about them become highlighted. You know this feeling, you know what this means. You didn't think you could imprint again but here you are, imprinting on the twins. Apparently, your wolf seems to have a preference for imprinting on duos. " I...I...Can I.... ". Your mind can't seem to form words at the moment. It's too busy with taking the twins in, to memorise every single thing about them.

The moment your mind starts to get clearer, you can start to smell them. The dry, campfire-like smell that comes of them suddenly starts to make sense. Vampire. Of course, you had to imprint on vampires again. Jane and Alec also caught the hint of dog and forest in your scent, both realizing that they're in deep shit now. They know you're their mate, they didn't need to notify the other on it. The way they both feel this need to protect you and the way your scent has intoxicated them both said enough. " You're our mate, " Jane says softly. Her usually cold and stern voice now sounds honey sweet.

The realisation of the whole situation only seems to be catching up to you now. The whole two months you spent here, trying to rebuild your life and your mental health seems to be for nothing now. They will reject you. Those words seem to float around your head. You shake your head softly, feeling tears pricking up into your eyes. You take a couple of steps back and away from them. " I-I'm sorry. I can't. Not now, " you say before disappearing into the back of the shop and leaving the confused twins behind in the shop.

You can feel your wolf aching under your skin, begging to be let out. You rush out of the store through the backdoor. You chose your place of work strategically, right next to the forest, which you are very thankful for right now. You let your walls down and let the wolf in you come forth. The ache under your skin stops as your shift begins. Within seconds you're in your wolf form. Tall and frightening for most you stand there for a second, looking back at the store before making a run for it and into the forest. You sit there in your own mind, drowning in your own thoughts as the wolf takes control of your body. Normally, you would try to at least have a sliver of self-control, not now, however. Now you want nothing more than to get lost into the woods.

It doesn't feel like your in your own body, it feels like your floating above it. Memories is all your seeing. Rosalie and Emmett screaming at you. The disgusted looks in their eyes and the harsh words them threw at you without a second thought. They'll do the same. You're sure of it. How could a vampire ever love you? How could someone ever love you?

---

Wet grass brushes against your cheek. The prominent smell of dirt and daisies fills your nose. Slowly, you open your eyes. You're laying on your back, which you only realize now. You stare up at the dark sky above you. The sun is long gone. Now it's replaced by the moon and a thousand stars. It must be later than three a.m. Maybe even later. You should probably move and get inside before you catch a cold but you can't bring yourself to do so. You're to mentally and physically drained from your shift earlier this evening. After regaining yourself, you finally find the strength to get up from the grass. Every bone in your body aches as you stand up for the first time in hours. You stretch a little, getting used to your human form again. Slowly but surely you walk to your front door. The warmth that meets you the moment you open your door falls over you like a blanket. Sudden tiredness washes over you. You let out a jawn as you walk over to your living room, reading to crash on your couch.

Instead of an empty couch, you find two vampires sitting on it, the same there were in the shop earlier. " What are you doing on my house? " you ask. Your body fills with adrenaline again. A warm fuzz fills your brain now that you're around your imprints. " I'm Jane, ". You nod at her statement.

" Cool, and I'm very fucking confused about why you're in my house. ". Both twins laugh a little at your joke. " You got humour in you, alright. " Alec says. You nod, slowly walking a little more towards them. You hate that you're so drawn to them. They like us. You stop in your steps. Why could you hear Jane's thoughts? Is this another part of this weird vampire-imprint thing?

" I'm sure that you have some question, " Alec begins. You cut him off before he can finish his sentence thought. " Yeah like why two members of the Volturi are in my house. ". Both look at you with big eyes, confused as to how you know them. You throw your arms up in the air. " Oh come one, I lived in the same town as the Cullens! You guys came over like every other weekend for Bella and Edward! ".

You sit down on your couch. Letting your elbows rest on your knees so your hands can hold your head up. You let out a deep sigh. Why did this kind of shit always happen to you? " Look, I know you won't want me and that's fine. Just break the news to me, we don't have to tiptoe around it, " you say, just trying to get them to get to the point. Alec's hand is suddenly underneath your chin. He angles your head in a way so that you're looking up at him. " You think we don't want you? ". You nod.

" No, don't ever think that, " Jane says as she sits down beside you. " It's maybe a bit...unusual to have a wolf as a mate but we definitely want you. If you want us. ". You can't help the small smile from spreading onto your face. They want you. They didn't reject you or call you a dog. " Of course I want you, have you seen yourself? You're both hot. ". The twins send each other a smile. Jane gets up from the couch and stands in front of you next to Alec. She holds her hand out for you to grab. " Come home with us. ". You nod at her before grabbing her hand. Finally, you can go to a home where you're loved.

---

The ringing of the phone seems to go on so long that you're afraid you're calling won't be picked up. You wanted to call home, to tell them how well you're doing. You just hope that someone will pick up. Finally, the call gets picked up. " Hello? " Seth says on the other side of the line. " Seth! " you call out happily. The annoyance in his voice is gone in an instant and replaced by happiness. " Y/n! You called! How are you? ".

" Better than ever, " you say happily, glancing over at Jane and Alec who is standing on the other side of the room talking to Demitri and Felix. You know that they are probably listing along to your call but you don't care. " I'm really good. I um...I imprinted again. ". You wait anxiously for Seth's response. " Really? That's great! Who is it? ".

You and Seth continue to talk for another thirty minutes. Back home things are going great for him and the pack as well. Apparently, Emmett and Rosalie are really sorry but you couldn't care less about them. Not now that you have Jane and Alec. " It was nice to talk to you again. Give my greetings to the rest, yeah? Bye-bye. ". You hang up the call. Within a second, Jane and Alec are standing next to you, both giving you a questioning look.

" He's happy for me. Really happy, " you say with a bright smile on your face. Alec grabs your hand and gives you a kiss on top of your knuckles. " See, I know he would be. ". You nod at his comment. You stand there for a moment before pulling both the twins in for a hug. They wrap their arms around you. Sure, it's a little awkward to hug with three people, but it's comforting at the same time. You take in their scent. At first, you hated the smell of vampire but now it smells like home. You feel happy, truly and utterly happy. Maybe someone could love you after all.

TWILIGHT TAGLIST:

@scuzmunkie @thanossexual @prettyinblack231

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myhauntedsalem · 4 years ago

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19 Parents Share The Creepiest Things Their Kids Have Ever Said

Kids say the darnedest things, but they also come out with ridiculously creepy things as well. When Reddit asked ‘what is the creepiest thing your child has ever said?’ Parents of the internet came forward with their stories and boy, they didn’t disappoint.

Here are nineteen of the most disturbing, chill inducing stories shared. All we ask is for you to try and suppress the urge to lock your children in a cupboard after reading these.

1. “Daddy Its A Monster… We Should Bury It.”

My 3 year old daughter stood next to her new born brother and looked at him for awhile then turned and looked at me and said, “Daddy its a monster… we should bury it.”

2. “The Man Who Crawls On The Floor And Stands By My Bed.”

My co-worker’s four year old daughter always thought that the rattling of the water pipes in the kitchen cupboards were “white wolves” and the sound always scared her. One day she was sitting at the kitchen table and she said, “Mom. The white wolves aren’t bad… they’re our friends!”

Her mom encouraged the idea by saying, “Yes! The white wolves are protecting us. They are our friends.” Then her daughter added in, “They’re our friends, but not the man who crawls on the floor and stands by my bed”.

3. “Good Bye Dad.”

I was tucking in my two year old. He said “Good bye dad.” I said, “No, we say good night.” He said “I know. But this time its good bye.”

Had to check on him a few times to make sure he was still there.

4. “It’s The Closest I Can Get To Seeing Her Dead.”

He’s not my kid, but my godson is extremely creepy. He likes to stand in his little sister’s doorway while she naps and watches her sleep. I ask him why and he says, “it’s the closest I can get to seeing her dead.” He also likes to shove her fist in his mouth as far as it can go because he wants to “know what suffocating is like, just in case.” I’m pretty sure he’d be a serial killer if it wasn’t for Mario Kart.

5. “The Man With The Snake Neck.”

While changing my daughter in front of the open closet door. She kept looking around me and laughing. I asked her what was so funny. She said, “the man.” To which I replied, “what man?” She then pointed at the closet and said, “the man with the snake neck.” I turn around and nothing was there.

I’m afraid to look into the history of my house to see if anyone hung themselves in the closet. At least she wasn’t scared.

6. You Will Die Soon

Not to me, but to his grandmother.

He was cuddling with her and being very sweet (he was about 3 at the time). He takes her face in his hands, and brings his face close to hers, then tells her that she’s very old, and will die soon.

Then he makes a point of looking at the clock.

7. “I Want To Peel All Your Skin Off.”

I was sound asleep, and at around 6am I was woken up by my 4 year old daughters face inches from mine. She looked right into my eyes and whispered, “I want to peel all your skin off”.

The backstory here is I had been sunburned the previous week, and was starting to peel. In my sleep addled state however, it was pretty terrifying for a few seconds. I didn’t know if I was dreaming, or what was going on.

8. “When You Die, I’m Going To Eat You.”

My sons were about 2 and 4 when their pet goldfish died. I attempted to use the situation as an opportunity to discuss death and mortality. After I finished my explanation, my four year looked up at me with his big, blue eyes and asked, “Mommy, someday, will you die?” My heart filled with love and a little sadness, knowing this was one of those pivotal moments when the first bit of childhood innocence was lost,and I told him yes, someday, mommy will die.

“Good,” he said with a totally deadpan expression, and walked out of the room.

Later when we were about to flush the fish, he asked if we could eat him instead. I said no, we don’t eat pets because we love them, and he said, “When you die, I’m going to eat you.”

9. “Carson Is Gone, I Am Rick.”

When my son was little he, maybe 3, he used to do this weird crawl where he would slide his forehead along the floor. That was pretty creepy in itself. Then one night he crawled across the hallway into my room like that and stood up a few inches from my face and made a weird meow sound. He got into bed with me and went to sleep.

Another time he was freaking out about a monster in the basement so we went down and saw nothing, of course, and as I turned out the light and headed upstairs and he said “Hes right behind us now.” I might have peed a little.

Possibly the creepiest thing he did was one day I scolded him for misbehaving so he hid his head under his blanket. I pretended I couldn’t find him by saying “Where is my little Carson?” He slowly lowered the blanket and with a dead evil stare said, “Carson is gone, I am Rick.” I’m certain he’s possessed. We never knew any Ricks, as far I can remember. Still don’t. Never figured out where he picked up the name.

10. “I Died And Now I’m Here.”

Getting my two and a half year old daughter out of the bath one night, my wife and I were briefing her on how important it was she kept her privates clean. She casually replied “Oh, nobody ‘scroofs’ me there. They tried one night. They kicked the door in and tried but I fought back. I died and now I’m here.” She said this like it was nothing.

My wife and I were catatonic.

11. Baby Brother

“So I shouldn’t throw him in the fire?”

3 year old daughter holding her baby brother for the first time.

12. The Pretty Girl At The Cottage

My 3 year old nephew was at my cottage. He’s asked me numerous times about the “girl over there” while pointing at one of the back bedrooms. The place is small, and there is definitely nobody there so I just dismiss it as a really active imagination (he has lots of imaginary friends).

Then some friends are visiting and they have a daughter around the same age. She has never met my nephew. Twice in the one day she asked about the “pretty girl” while pointing at the exact same room. Definitely caught me out and I didn’t know what to think.

Then at Christmas my family was over at my place and my nephew points at a picture of my wife and asks if she is coming to visit us here or does she just stay at the cottage. My wife died ten years ago. Personally I don’t really believe in paranormal stuff so it’s probably just my logical brain putting together a bunch of kids ramblings but it definitely got my attention.

13. “He’s Behind You Now.”

“Go back to sleep, there isn’t anything under your bed”.

“He’s behind you now”.

Still haven’t gotten over that one and shiver at the memory.

14. “He’s Coming For You. You Better Hide.”

While not something my own child has said, my younger cousin (around 5 at the time) once drew a picture of a a black monster, looked up at me, and said “He told me to draw this. He’s coming for you. You better hide.”

15. “You Will Put Me Down, Down, Down In The Hole.”

I have a three year old who says some pretty strange stuff….

Last night: “Mommy.. the man, the very big man with big yellow eyes is looking at you.”

I look.. nothing. I tell him there is no man and he is make-believe. My son laughs, “Oh he is hiding now.” — 2 minutes later, “Oh no Mommy, you made him very mad. Now he says he will come when you are sleeping.”

Few weeks ago he tells me, “I’m not going to be four. I’m going to die. And you will put me down, down, down in the hole.” I tell him that isn’t true, and who told him that. He gets quiet and goes, “The man told me. But I will be scared, so after three night-nights you die too and come with me.”

Sheesh. As if I didn’t have bad dreams already.

16. “Daddy, I Love You So Much That I Want To Cut Your Head Off.”

A friend of mine’s child told him “Daddy, I love you so much that I want to cut your head off and carry it around so I can see your face whenever I want.”

17. The Bad Man

Why are you crying?

“Bad man”

What bad man?

“There.” Points behind me at a dark corner of the room

Lamp on bookshelf next to said darkened corner falls off as soon as I turn to look.

She slept in our bed that night

18. Ham Can’t Scream

When I was a waitress, I watched a little girl (4ish) stab her plastic fork into her sandwich repeatedly, saying “die die die die die die”. When I asked her what she was doing (her mom was in the bathroom for a minute), she replied with a straight face, “I like to kill things, but mom says I shouldn’t. So I picked the ham because it can’t scream.”

19. Satan Wants To Meet You

A few months ago I asked me brother and his wife if their kids ever did any creepy. They both immediately looked at each other and seemed surprised that I had asked.

Apparently the last few couple of weeks they would hear my niece talking to herself in her bedroom. They assumed it was just her playful imagination so they didn’t give it much thought. One day however my brother asked her who she kept talking to, she said it was her new best friend Satan who visits her at her window every day. Her window is close to the ground so they were seriously concerned that there was someone actually going up to her window and kept a closer eye on her for the next few days.

Every single time they would hear her talking he would go outside to her windows but never found anyone. They began asking her more about his new friend and apart from his name being Satan she mentioned that he follows her everywhere she goes and that he promised her he will bring her a cake one day.

At a late cookout at my parents a week before they mentioned that, she took her mom outside to the backyard and pointed at the pitch black backyard and told her that her friend Satan was there and he wanted to meet her also. That made chills run down my spine since I was at that cookout also. After that they made her promise she wouldn’t talk to Satan anymore.

#19 Parents Share The Creepiest Things Their Kids Have Ever Said #paranormal #ghost and hauntings #ghost and spirits

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fleckcmscott · 5 years ago

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Comfort & Joy

Summary: Arthur & Y/N celebrate their first Christmas together. Not everything goes as planned.

Warnings: Swearing, Angst

Words: 4,645

A/N: A request from the mind of dear, sweet @ithinkimawriter. Special thanks to @sweet-nothings04 for being the wonderful beta she is!

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open!

If you’ve sent me a request and I haven’t responded, it’s because I am working on it and will once it’s posted!

Arthur was on his way to Y/N's apartment when the storefront's window captured his attention. Batting covered the floor, imitating fake snow. A plastic fireplace, painted yellow, orange, and red, was angled against the left wall. The artificial tree, bedecked with multi-color lights and a plethora of wrapped gifts underneath, shone prettily. To the right, a cardboard cutout of a couple wearing Santa hats and embracing stood in front of a brand new refrigerator. The large sign suspended from the ceiling, tied in a red bow, advertised low-interest store credit: "Make all your Christmas wishes reality!"

There was a sweetness to the display. A festive cheerfulness. And it induced in him an ache borne of dejection. With Penny in her parallel universe and their lack of resources, his life had never had a place for holidays. Seven or eight years ago, he'd made his last attempt at doing something special. They'd shared the turkey dinner he'd sprung for at a nearby greasy spoon. She'd been mildly cognizant of the make-up compact he'd given her, one he'd gotten off the clearance rack. Then she'd gone to bed, leaving him alone to watch the television special he'd picked out. It had been one of the rare nights he'd poured himself a drink in an attempt to sleep.

Smoke swirled in Gotham's cold, night air as he exhaled around his cigarette. The heaviness in his stomach, his hint of indignation perplexed him. Why on earth did he feel shitty when he had a chance to have the type of Christmas people wrote about? That Sinatra, Cole, and Martin sang about? The type he'd dreamed of, despite knowing he'd never have it? He frowned as he trudged down the street, hoping he wouldn't fuck it all up.

Y/N's greeting was warm as always; the refuge of her arms, the smile she reserved just for him dulled his sharpest edges. He tried to take pleasure in her simple courtesies. How she hung his tan jacket next to her coat, all the while insisting he get a hat and mittens. The hot mug she handed him, the way it thawed his slender fingers. The taste of cocoa on her silken lips as they kissed and she declared she'd missed him.

There was quiet conversation. She did most of the talking; he did his best to pay attention through the distraction of his anxiety. The cards had to be finished, she said. Just for her colleagues, a couple of family and friends, and, if he didn't mind, Penny. He didn't react to that last name, letting Y/N draw her own conclusions. She moved to sit side-saddle on the floor to work, next to her coffee table. As her hand crossed the cream cardstock, he noticed she was signing both their names. He gaped slightly in shock, delight spiking through him. But then delight twisted into unworthiness, and he averted his gaze to his hot chocolate.

He'd believed he was doing okay, though he still didn't have his medication. Especially since Penny had been transferred from Gotham General to the nursing home he'd chosen two weeks ago, and it had clicked that he'd never have to see her again. There were days he woke up (if he was fortunate enough to sleep) energized and confident. He had slipped into delusion once or twice. A call to Y/N or the feel of her hand had helped ground him and bring him back to lucidity. But his negative thoughts were bearing down on him. It was getting harder to separate what was intrusive and what was Arthur. If only he could find it within himself to be better.

Once she finished addressing the envelopes, Y/N extended a hand his way and smirked. Unsure if she wanted him to help her up or join her, he sat on the plush, cream color carpet. "I can hear you thinking. I'm surprised smoke isn't coming out of your ears," she said, laying a palm on his thigh. "You haven't told me what you want to do for Christmas."

He picked up one of the cards, traced his fingertips along the corners. He was bereft of his own traditions to draw from; all his points of reference were from popular culture. It was difficult to know what he'd actually like doing. He gave it a go, anyway. "I dunno. A tree? Listening to music? Being together?"

Chuckling, she put her head on his shoulder. "Of course we'll be together. And we can do the other stuff, too." Her voice lowered as she continued. The caress on his leg became a massage. "I get out early Thursday - Christmas Eve. How'd you feel about me being your guest for three days?"

"Hm." He loathed the possibility of exposing her to what was going on in his brain, his darker notions and malaise. He wanted to hold on for her. To be the gentle person she claimed he was, the man she claimed made her happy.

The man she was mistakenly convinced deserved her.

A kiss on the sensitive skin of his neck. "I'll bring dinner and everything."

Fuck. She thought he didn't want her, that she had to sell him on the idea of her company. He had to put a stop to that assumption. Didn't she know she'd become a brick, a building block in his unstable foundation? He couldn't deny her - he didn't wanted to deny her. Taking a deep breath, he turned to her. The warmth in her eyes buoyed him enough to use what little confidence he could muster. He took her hand, ran his thumb over the back of it, and he forced the corner of his lips up. "I'd love that."

~~~~~

There wasn't normally a spring in Y/N's step, but Arthur had a habit of causing one. She was smiling like a fool, too, walking with her suitcase and canvas bag. The happiest woman in Gotham. It couldn't be helped, even as she struggled to climb those damned concrete stairs to finally reach his block. This would be the best Christmas in ages.

The holiday had been her childhood favorite. But it had become taxing as her father's dementia had worsened, and her sister and she had grown apart. Not being able to leave her father unattended had forced them to celebrate at his house, which Y/N shared with him. A couple of slow cooker dishes would be made, ones her niece and nephews liked. She would do her best to make the large dining table festive, using a red tablecloth and making a centerpiece out of a wreath. Once everyone had sat around it, she'd alternate between taking a bite herself and trying to feed her father, trying to convince him to eat.

The final year had been the hardest. Distress had been clear in her sister and brother-in-law's faces, in their stilted conversation. The middle child had asked why grandpa wasn't talking. Y/N had never learned to communicate on a child's level, and had waited for her sister to take the lead. That hadn't happened. So she'd tried to explain the most painful, complicated situation she'd ever been in in terms a four year old could understand. When her father had started spitting out his mashed potatoes and crying, everyone had packed up and left.

It was understandable. Handling him was exhausting and she didn't want the kids to be traumatized. But it had left her resentful and grief-stricken. She'd cleaned him up and changed him. Then she'd sipped the nice wine she'd bought for the occasion and taken down the tree, tearing up with each bauble she'd put away while her father stared at the television in his wheelchair.

After dropping off a card at Ms. McPhee's, she hurried around the corner to Arthur's building. He was waiting for her at his door, dressed in the red sweater he knew she loved on him. She pecked his sharp cheekbone as he bent to take her luggage, and watched as he made a show of putting it beside the sofa. "Did you pack your whole apartment?"

"Almost," she said, already digging out the food she'd brought and placing it on the kitchen counter. The ham and pineapple casserole had to be popped in the oven for forty-five minutes. The two pieces of pie were from the diner near her office. Lastly, there were a carton of eggnog and a small bottle of whiskey.

He didn't say a lot, but she had a pretty good notion of what he was thinking: a variation on the refrain that she'd done too much. "Arthur, this is for me, too. Besides, you got the tree." Then she pulled him in for a kiss. Though his lips were soft and returned her affections, she could sense the apprehension in his shoulders, her palms sweeping across them. He was probably excited, she figured. And a little nervous, too. This was a milestone for them, after all. She smiled up at him encouragingly. "We're going to have a great time," she said. His nod was gentle.

Dinner went by quickly, which was a blessing because it was terrible. ("I swear, I followed my mother's recipe.") The apple pie was a good substitute for her favorite, blueberry. There wasn't any nutmeg to add to the eggnog. And Arthur covered the top of his mug when she wanted to spike it. He appeared to like it, anyway, and was soon pouring himself a second serving. GCR was playing Christmas music non-stop instead of news, so she turned on the radio. She led him to the living room and admired the tree he'd gotten.

The fir was maybe four inches taller than he was, probably six feet. There were plenty of branches, but it was slim enough to fit into the rear corner of the room, by the windows. The sharp, fresh scent of pine was wonderful. "You picked a great one." As she got into her luggage and dug out the white mini-lights, Arthur searched for an extension cord. Once the bulbs were in place, she knelt before the tree and handed him one of the tins of ornaments she'd packed.

Arthur tackled the upper half while she took care of the bottom. Her gaze turned up to him and she grew fuzzy all over. Concentration was plain in his squint, his handling of the glass-blown, red bulbs cautious. His fingertips carefully closed the hooks over each bough. How long had it been since he'd last done this? She reached out, giving his leg a reassuring squeeze before going through her own box of baubles. A soft sound stuck in her throat as she discovered what was inside.

"What is it?" he asked quietly.

The shellacked, round cookie was in surprisingly good shape, its ribbon firmly attached. "My sister made this for me when we were little. I'd forgotten about it." She cradled it in her palm, a peal of laughter bubbling up. "One year I got a toy oven. Set the smoke alarms off, scared my mother half to death." Sipping her drink, she shook her head. "Mabel - who's younger than me, remember - decided to show me how it was done. She was always better at that stuff."

The memory prompted Y/N to continue. She mentioned her parents taking them to a department store a few towns over to visit Santa. How she'd been completely boring and asked for a typewriter and doll, which she'd gotten. The milkshake she'd had at the restaurant on the top floor. She felt uncharacteristically wistful. "That was a lifetime ago."

Most of the tree was adorned when she noticed he'd stopped responding. It was as though he was frozen in place, his face turned towards the floor. Y/N stood, taking in the clenching of his fists at his sides, the quiver of his frame, the twitch of his cheek. "Arthur?" She reached out to take his hand.

His arm yanked back as if she'd hit him. Then he marched around the sofa, past the television, and went straight into the bathroom. The locks slid into place as soon as he closed the door.

She was stunned. And, if she was honest, disappointed. All she'd wanted was to share more of herself with him. Gingerly, she walked to the door. No light shone from beneath it. The picture of him sitting alone in the dark on Christmas Eve pained her. She knocked.

Laughter broke up the strain in his voice. "I need a few minutes." After a pause, a hushed plea. "Please don't go."

"I won't."

Her lips pursed. The last few times she'd visited, she'd made a note to check his usual spots for prescription bottles. There hadn't been any. And there'd been no indication he'd used any of the doctor appointments she'd paid for. They'd have to discuss it. But not now. New Years was next weekend. She'd mention it then, as well as her hopes they'd be living together soon, treating it as something positive.

Beyond his laughing, he hadn't yet gone into any level of detail about his afflictions, his diagnoses. Since his appearance on Murray Franklin, she'd read almost the entire "Loving Someone With" series to learn how to handle problems when they arose. It had advised kindness, calm, and providing regularity. Discussion of normal things, plans for the future. That was what she had been trying to do. Why had Arthur reacted so poorly?

Then it dawned on her: the experiences that were normal to her, to most people, hadn't ever been so for him. Her thoughts went to the terrible details in the Arkham file he'd brought over. The unspecified categories of abuse he'd suffered. His severe head injury and its permanent effects. The radiator...

She recalled his reaction to the journal she'd given him for his birthday. He'd tried, in vain, to hide how affected he'd been by it. And it was only a few weeks ago he'd meekly asked if she'd ever stop loving him, as if it was a chore for her instead of bliss. It was tough, knowing how hard he had to work to accept her kindnesses.

Rubbing her eyes, she concluded she'd been an idiot. Well-intentioned, but an idiot regardless. She'd so looked forward to making new memories with Arthur, to being able to spend the holiday with someone who could enjoy it, she'd overwhelmed him. Set him off.

He needed space and, so far, she'd always paid the respect of giving that to him. It wouldn't be easy tonight, however. Every fiber of her wanted to rush in there, hold him, and tell him to confide in her. To allow her to support him. But she needed to listen to her brain instead of her heart (which Arthur made hard to do, being the one who'd helped her unlock it). She checked her watch. Fifteen minutes would be a good compromise. She could give him that.

The music had become deafening. After turning it down, she made her way to the kitchen and put away the rest of the food. Every scrub of the dishcloth on the beige plates they'd used, every wipe as she dried the cutlery, expressed her concern. Ornaments still littered the living room floor. A few more were hung before she put their boxes in her suitcase. She worried her lip when she came across the presents she'd gotten him, wrapped in luscious greens and golds. He'd like them, she was certain. If he was up to receiving them. She placed them under the tree, adjusting the tags so he could clearly read "Arthur," written in her looping cursive.

The clink of the bathroom door being unlocked was barely audible. Not wanting him to think she'd been hovering the entire time, she waited before approaching. Then she stepped forward and slowly opened it.

The light from the hall spilled into the room, sufficient to see Arthur sitting on the pink, tiled end of the bathtub. She took in the slump of his shoulders, his arms slack and folded in his lap. He spoke and his miserable rasp split her heart. "I'm- I'm sorry. I'm ruining everything."

"You're not." She turned on the floor lamp in the corner, then sat down on the closed toilet. "It wasn't fair of me to babble on and on like that. I didn't think abou-"

"Don't." It was clear the harshness of his tone was directed at himself. His dark brows creased in the middle as he wiped his nose, embarrassment clear in every gesture. "I just... I wanna be able to enjoy this like everyone else."

The skin of his hands was pink, likely from wringing. And his nails had been freshly chewed. Her chest tightened. "May I touch you?" she asked. At his curt nod, she smoothed his sleeve up to stroke his forearm. The grimace he wore was tight enough to show his dimples.

She'd learned it was vital to speak to his virtues in these moments. That was an easy thing to do - he had many. The compliments she paid him were true, and reflected what he valued in others. "You're so caring, Arthur." Her fingertips drifted down his laugh line to his thin lips. "And good. And funny." She blinked away the tears that threatened, the news articles from his mother's file fresh in her mind. "And strong. Stronger than anyone should have to be."

A dry, hitched sob left him and he shook his head. "You don't need to tell me lies."

"I'm not. I never will." Her kiss brushed the shallow wrinkles on his trembling chin, and she took his hand between her own. "You don't have to talk about it. But I'm here if you want to." A long silence followed, interrupted only by their soft breathing. Eventually, he trailed lines down her thigh, to her knee, caressing her as if she were gossamer.

She considered how he could have gone through such brutality, yet be the gentlest person she'd ever known.

Releasing a long sigh, he leaned his forehead to hers. "I can't," he whispered, lifting one shoulder.

"It's all right." Her grasp slid up and down his sides comfortingly. "I love you. It's okay."

It was awhile before he stood, pulling her with him and against his chest. She nestled into him and soaked up his heat, carding her fingers through his loose curls. "I- I picked out a movie. I think it starts soon." He held her hand as he walked towards the living room.

The analog TV sounded with bells and strings as Y/N got a blanket from the bed. She scurried to him and saw the names Bing Crosby and Fred Astaire flash on the screen. Of course, she thought. He'd picked a romantic musical. After turning off the lamp, she situated herself next to Arthur and draped the cover over them. The opening credits were rolling, but she could feel him watching her instead of the film. Then his touch grazed her bare ankle. She shifted towards him, a smile spreading across her face at the softness of his features. "What?"

His gaze dropped. "I wish I knew how to say how much I love you. Show you somehow."

The lights from the tree were giving his skin a warm glow, and reflected beautifully in his green eyes. She tipped his chin up and kissed him deeply, until they both had to pull away for air. Pink dusted his cheeks and he grinned bashfully, crooked tooth on display. "I know, Arthur." They snuggled closer under the cover and he entwined their hands. "I know."

~~~~~

Since she'd returned to him after Murray, they'd spent an increasing number of nights together. Arthur usually let Y/N sleep as long as she needed. Insisting she wake up with him wouldn't have been fair. She worked hard and the extra hour or two was helpful. But he couldn't hold back Christmas morning.

He made a valiant attempt to pass the time. Really. He'd already shaven, smoked a couple of cigarettes, retrieved her presents, and plugged in the tree. He noticed she'd placed gifts under it, labelled "Arthur" and elegantly wrapped in paper nicer than what he'd been able to pick-up at the drug store. He glided his fingers over them. The corner of his mouth lifted. Written in her script, his name was beautiful.

Thankfully, he was in better sorts than the night before. Enthusiasm for her gripped him. He tip-toed to the bedroom and watched her sleeping form from the doorway. It was still dark - the sun wouldn't be up for another hour - but he could picture what she looked like. Her wet breathing and slight snore meant her pillow had a spot of drool near her mouth. There was a fifty-fifty chance her nightgown had twisted up just beneath her breasts. The blanket may have slipped below her waist, leaving her hip exposed. He knelt next to the bed and palmed the side of her neck, planting kisses to her face until she groaned.

"Your hair tickles," she mumbled. Her arm went around his back and brought him closer. "What time is it?"

"Early." Before standing, he gave her one last peck on the mouth. "But I couldn't wait any longer." He padded to the kitchen to start the french toast they'd decided on.

He was in the middle of cracking eggs when she sat across from him on the other side of the breakfast bar. "It's nice to have someone to celebrate with again," she said, leaning up and forward to peek in his bowl. "I'm happy it's you." He cocked his head at that. She'd had a family before, a sister and brother-in-law. Nieces and nephews. A father. He asked her to elaborate but she shrugged it off. "Just a few rough years. That's all. Don't waste your time on it."

Learning about her was one of the things he liked about having a girlfriend. As sappy as it sounded, even to himself, it made him feel like she was a part of him, and he a part of her. Dr. Sally said open communication was important. If he was going to be a good boyfriend, Y/N should be able to talk to him without fearing he couldn't handle it. He grasped her hand and borrowed her phrase from last night. "You can talk to me." Their gazes met as he ran the pad of his thumb over her knuckles. "I'm okay today."

A wry grin appeared. "Let's just say we've both experienced difficult family situations." She took his fork and finished beating the eggs for him as he turned on the stove. "This is a big step in putting that awfulness behind me."

The way she seemed to understand him, even if she was talking about herself, prompted him to clear his throat. "Me, too." He dipped the bread in the bowl, then placed it in the frying pan.

When they were finished eating (it'd been so much better than the casserole she'd made, and he'd never had real maple syrup before), Y/N poured them both more coffee and made her way to the living room. Arthur offered to turn on the news, aware she was still waiting for coverage on the Wayne Foundation case, but she waved dismissively. "I don't want to think about that today. God knows I already think about it too much."

They took turns opening gifts, sitting on the floor by the tree, close enough for him to feel the heat she was emanating. Y/N immediately opened her chocolate Santa and broke off a piece for him. The musk oil perfume he'd picked up for her at Helm's Pharmacy had been on sale for $1.79, and he was grateful he'd remembered to remove the price tag before wrapping it. She dabbed it on her wrist. It was different on her than it was in the bottle, a bit stronger than expected. But she was wearing something he'd given her, so it was lovely nonetheless. Her favorite of the three presents seemed to be the old, tapered, white vase he'd found. She needed it, he explained. That time he'd given her a rose, she'd stuck it in a drinking glass.

What he'd given her were simple trinkets, born out of a vague idea of what women were supposed to like. Despite her apparent delight and the kisses she'd bestowed on him after opening each one, they felt inadequate compared to what she gave him. There was a teal sweater, one she claimed would bring out (in her words) his "beautiful eyes." He pulled it on over his thermal shirt, tags and all. She'd gotten him a book on comedy writing. He wasn't sure how to take that - had she decided his jokes weren't very good? But then she told him she expected more material for his next stand-up show.

Picking up the last gift, he studied it with mock seriousness. Its shape and weight gave away it was a record, but he had no idea which one. They often enjoyed quiet evenings with his collection of older standards, but she preferred more modern songs. Maybe it was an attempt to introduce him to what she liked. He'd gladly listen to it, at least once. He peeled the pretty paper back and exhaled sharply. The LP was old, the cover worn. It was the soundtrack to Modern Times, a film he'd caught once or twice and loved the music of. Holding it to his chest, he murmured a quiet, "Thank you." Eagerly, he got up and put it on, letting the orchestra and his love for her wash over him, soothe his battered soul.

Y/N followed and splayed a hand on the small of his back. "Gotham Pops played this at the Wayne benefit last month." Giggling, she tousled his hair. "I spent the evening wishing you were next to me. It would have been nice to show you off, all dressed up and handsome." He stiffened for a second, wondering if he should tell her he had been there. If he should practice the honesty he'd been working on since Murray. Perhaps knowing he'd accompanied her, in his own way, would please her. But she interrupted his thoughts before he could speak. "The Christmas parade starts in an hour. We should go now if you still want to see it. Neither of us are very tall - we need a good spot." Her lips brushed his ear. "I brought an extra hat and mittens for you."

He spun to face her as he nodded, and she nuzzled at his nose and sighed. The wide smile she wore halted his breath. It would have been nice if this hadn't been his only real Christmas. If his first thirty-five years hadn't been a cruel joke, a tragedy. But he was glad to have this taste of happiness with her.

He hadn't longed for a paralegal from another part of the country, a woman who couldn't dance well and never guessed the punchlines of his jokes. But what he was about to say was true all the same. He cupped her face and kissed her firmly. "You're the one I always wanted," he whispered against her. "Merry Christmas, Y/N." The words felt unnatural - he was unsure when he had last said them.

The love in her look let him know he'd done all right. "You're the man I never knew I needed. And I do, Arthur." He closed his eyes at her embrace, laying his cheek against her temple as she cuddled into him. "Merry Christmas, Mr. Fleck." Her next sentence and the touch of her mouth to his jaw made him shiver. "Maybe next year we won't have to choose whose apartment will have the tree."

~~~~~

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve @ithinkimaperson @sweet-nothings04 @stephieraptorr @rommies @fallenstarsabyss @gruffle1 @octopus-plasma @tsukiakarinobara @arthur-flecks-lovely-smile

#arthur fleck #arthur fleck fanfic #arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck x ofc #arthur fleck x female reader #joker 2019 #watchwhathappens

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soft-stormcloud · 5 years ago

Text

My name is Patton, and I’m your Guardian Angel [Guardian Angel AU]

Synopsis: Virgil tries to kill himself, but his Guardian Angel stops him.

Trigger warnings: Suicide attempt (not successful), crying, depression, pills, vomiting,

A/N: Really weird worldbuilding idk. This was supposed to be a high school type au but I’ve been listening to people playing DND so it’s a really weird mix between modern and fantasy. Wtv.

Virgil came in through the front door, making sure to slam it loud enough for it to echo through the entire house.

He had skipped his last class and turned his phone off, not to do anything particular, but to walk around town. He wandered through the shopping district, stopping at a bakery to pick up a cupcake, and drifted to a park with a duck pond near the gates. He was half paranoid that the guards would see him on their break and send him back to school, but no one paid him any mind. He just sat and ate his cupcake and watched the ducks and the sunset.

He had turned his phone back on on the way home and it buzzed with three messages, all from the same person.

Did you get detention?

I’ll wait here another ten minutes before going home. I’m not waiting for all the sports’ practices to get out just to find out you left without me again.

I’m coming over later. Don’t do anything stupid.

He couldn’t help the sharp pang of disappointment. He knew it was stupid, and it was childish, but he just wanted to see if anyone would notice he was gone. Adam did, but that wasn’t really a surprise. They weren’t who Virgil was hoping to hear from.

At the sound of the door slamming, another one swung open down the hall. Remus’s little feet slapped against the tile and, before Virgil could blink, he had an arm-full of his little brother.

“Where were you?!” He whined, grabbing fist-fulls of Virgil’s hair and shaking a bit.

“Ow, Remus, stop,” Virgil mumbled, settling him against his hip.

Roman came into the foyer, clutching his script. “Remus! Don’t be so loud, you know your dad just laid down.”

Remus pouted.

Roman frowned. “Virgil, did you just get home?”

Virgil’s heart rate picked up. He nodded.

His eyes widened. “Where were you? Has Remus eaten? Remus, did you eat? How did you get home?”

Remus shook his head. “Nuh-uh. I walked!”

Roman pressed his hand to his heart. “You walked? All the way from school? Virgil, what’s the matter with you?” He tucked his script in his waistband and went over to them, cradling both of their heads in each of his hands. “I’ve never known you to be so irresponsible. What’s going on?”

He shook his head and looked away. “Nothing. Sorry, I’ll make him dinner.”

Roman kissed Virgil’s cheek, and Remus giggled when Roman kissed his nose. “Just be quiet. Logan’s taking a nap in the living room. I’ll be in our room if you need me.”

The resentment-mixed-shame built up in Virgil’s stomach as he made Remus dinner. While he was cooking the grilled cheese, he slipped on some water and reached out for anything to grab to steady himself- Like the hot pan. He prepared himself for the seering burn with a small cry, only for his hand to be pushed away and his body to be righted.

“Vergie?” Remus asked with a frown. “Are you okay?”

Virgil caught his breath, breathing heavily. He was confused, but he tried not to think about it. “I’m fine.” He sat Remus’s food down in front of him and went to his room.

His phone buzzed as he sat on his bed.

Adam: I’ll be late. Don’t ask. Should I bring my camera?

Virgil: no

He flopped back on his bed, the wrinkled purple sheets a comforting, if albeit boring familiarity under him. His room was always very dark. When he was little, he had insisted, day in and day out, that he wanted to paint his walls black. He wanted it to resemble a cave, and he wanted to sleep upside down like a bat. Roman and Logan told him that he couldn’t do that, because if he painted it black he could never paint it any other colour, and that if they ended up wanting to sell the house, that would make it much more difficult. Virgil didn’t care. He insisted.

Finally, Logan did it out of spite. He bought all the paint and a bar you used for pull-ups and before he did anything, he asked Virgil if he was sure. Virgil was. So they painted his walls black together, and Virgil got it all over himself, and Roman nearly lost his mind when he got home but his parents were indestructible and Virgil had never seen them fight about anything serious. After his bedtime story, they both sat down and watched Virgil hang upside down on the bar for all of thirty seconds before he decided the black walls were enough and he wanted to sleep normally.

He now kept faerie lights to keep his room as light as he could, as many as he could find, all over his walls, purple and blue and yellow and green. There were ripped posters from bands he didn’t listen to anymore and photographs of him, his parents, Remus, and even a few of Adam, the short time they’ve known each other. By the only window, he had pushed his ferrets’ cage up against it so they got sunlight.

And as much as he loved it, he didn’t think he could bear to look at it any longer.

He reached between the wall and his bed and pulled out a bottle of pills he had taken from the medicine cabinet in his parents’ bathroom.

He had always thought he would be crying when he did this, but in truth, he dried himself out at the duck pond. He didn’t feel too much of anything, just a slowly increasing heart rate and some sweaty palms. It was like his anxiety was trying to poke through, but it was buried under wrapping muscle and bones and blood. It was all… Muffled.

He felt kind of sick after he took all of them, but that could be because of the overwhelming, chalky taste in his mouth. He grabbed the old Mountain Dew off his bedside table and downed the rest of it.

Then he went to sleep.

xxx

There were flashes of white, soft, soothing white, and he was floating. It was nice, until he threw up all over the carpet.

“Dangit,” someone whispered in his ear. He couldn’t recognize the voice, but he wasn’t scared. “Come on, a little further.”

Virgil collapsed against the toilet and dry heaved, ripping a sob from his throat. It felt like his body was trying to turn itself inside out, it was horrible. He had taken the Atarax to skip this part, sleep through it, but now it was like he was in a dream, the bathroom lights blurred and his skin tingling.

“Sorry about this,” the voice whispered before something was shoved down his throat.

It disappeared, and he threw up again. He coughed and gagged, smacking the base of the toilet a few times. An eternity later, he slumped back against the wall, gasping for breath.

“Oh, it’s not working…” They sounded panicked. “Nng, they told me not to do this… Oh, well.”

Suddenly, Virgil’s throat was cleared, and his stomach was empty. He sucked in a deep breath, blinking away the tears.

“What…” His voice came out a horrible, ugly rasp.

“Oh, no, don’t do that! You’ll hurt yourself. Here…”

A glass of water was forced into his hands. He didn’t question it, just chugged the whole thing. When he finally got his vision back, he came face to face with a boy around his age in a blue cloth dress, perched on his sink.

“We should get you to bed,” the boy said. “You need to rest after all this.”

Virgil blinked. “Who are you?”

“Oh, introductions already?” He giggled nervously. Comically small, pastel blue feathered wings sprouted from his back and carried him gently to the ground. He grabbed Virgil’s arm and helped him to his feet. “I’m Patton. And I’m… Well, that doesn’t really matter right now. Gosh, I can see now why we aren’t supposed to do this…” He settled Virgil on the bed and pulled the covers over him. “Oh, wow, I love your room…” He giggled. “Purple was my best friend’s favourite colour.” His voice trailed off into a murmur as he wandered around, his wings fluttering as he looked at photos and trinkets. “Well, his and about fifty others in my class… Anyway, it’s a good colour. Strong.”

The Atarax was pulling him in again, but… He had to know.

“I need to know who you are,” he slurred.

“Oh, you really don’t-”

“Now!”

Patton tensed up, and then sighed with a subdued smile. “Very well. Virgil Sanders-Rios?” Virgil nodded slowly. “My name is Patton, and I’m your Guardian Angel. But I’m new, so go easy on me!”

Part of him believed this was some Atarax-induced dream- He’s hallucinated before when he took too much. It’s never been this… Detailed, though.

“Huh?”

“I’ve been assigned to you for your lifetime to keep you safe. You trying to kill yourself isn’t quite something I’m allowed to let you do, so… Rest up! You’ll feel better in the morning.”

Virgil stared at him. He was asian, with a light brown pixie cut, peach-toned skin, and round, hooded blue eyes. Other than the ridiculous wings, he didn’t look like an angel. He just looked… Normal. Part of him wondered if the wings were pinned on, but no, he could tell they were real. They breathed with him, fluttered occasionally, and when Patton had bent over to look at the stack of books under his desk, they stretched like muscle.

The only thing he could possibly get out was an astounding, “But you’re… My age.”

Patton giggled and shook his head. “Unless you’re 315, I don’t think so.”

Virgil stared at him. And then he rolled over, pulled the covers up to his ear, and said, “I’m going to bed.”

There was no answer. When Virgil looked over again, a few hours later and in between dreams, Patton was gone.

Tagging everyone who reblogged the intro post, lmk if you want on or off the tag list:

@larry-angels @themysticfae26 @comicsimpson @anxietea-and-insanitea @nonasidesstuff @coffeewithhaiku @arri-aspects @sanders-sister @sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes @anxiousmess82161 @iamthenewqueenofgames @ninjagirl9797 @luna--28 @a-deceit-salad @plunksaysnope @lovesupportandcookies @normallyaspen

#virgil is v emo in this lmao #virgil sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #remus sanders #sympathetic remus #virgil #roman #remus #patton #guardian angel au

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azulann · 4 years ago

Text

Comfort

Prompt: You Choose! (Concern)

Post Stormblood spoilers

Yura and Alisaie friendship comfort times

“Hey…Alisaie.” Placing a steaming cup down on the table, Yura gently rocked her friend back and forth, her hand firmly upon her shoulder. Her own restlessness had awakened her yet again, stirring from nightmares of past loss and fears of the future unknown, ever anxious to give head to whatever god she needed to make things okay for companions if only for a moment. Yet upon her awakening, it seemed the only thing she was met with was an equally distressed friend and sister, her pride doing what it could to shadow the fear in her heart as her desperate sleep induced pleas fell upon silence.

Yura nimbly brushed the hair from Alisaie’s face as her gaze fell upon the closed eyes of the Elezen girl, shut tightly and blocking out the world around her, the curtains of denial separating the realm of reality from that of dreams, though Yura couldn’t figure the latter was much better than the former, given the despaired expression upon her friends face.

With a weary sigh, Yura once again shook her friend gently, though with a greater force than before, praying it might pry her from whatever fear infested plane of existence on which she walked. With an indignant groan, Alisaie’s eyes finally fluttered open, blinking rapidly to clear her vision. Yura finally allowed herself to smile, a desire to greet her friend with a sight other than their fears. “You fell asleep over the table,” she whispered quietly, hand moving from Alisaie’s shoulder to her back

It took Alisaie a moment to process her surroundings, her eyes still half lidded from her restive sleep and her mind still racing from her discomforting dreams, trying her best to process what was real and what was still her cursed imagination. “Yura..?” she muttered quietly, a hand moving to grip the soft fabric of Yura’s arm, clinging to physical force and grounding herself in corporeality.

Yura simply nodded in response to her friend's drowsy question as she pushed the warm cup in her direction, “You really should watch that. Keep up this habit and you’ll hurt your neck,” Yura chimed quietly, her hand moving from Alisaie’s back to the hand which gripped her, giving it a light squeeze as she herself took her place at the table beside the Elezen.

Realization fueled Alisaie’s blush as she processed the scene she had placed herself in, face shooting red at being caught in such a vulnerable position but pride keeping her composure sharp all the same. “You need not be so occupied with me. I am quite well; I assure you this,” though her words were sharp as a blade, the solidified grip she had on Yura’s hands spoke volumes about her present state, pressure coiling around the Xeala’s fingers from the force. Her grip was strong but reassuring. Yura knew she needed it. Needed to feel grounded. Solidified.

A moment passed before Alisaie once again realized their situation, pulling her hand almost as quickly as she had taken solace in it. She balled her fist in her lap, trying to gain any sense of the ghosting reassurance the contact had given her. Yura suspired, her brow knotting in a sympathetic smile as she spoke in a near mocking tone, “Right, what a disappointment should you fall to broken pride before you’ve the chance to chew your brother's ear off for his negligent and impulsive decisions.”

Alisaie’s face twisted in frustration as she crossed her arms, casting her glance far off from Yura with a firm tilt of the head, snapping assuredly, “I never asked you to hover so closely over my shoulder. I never begged for your scrutiny.”

Yura dropped her shoulders like the weight of a thousand tonze, her smiling remaining though her voice twisting to one more akin to the concern she initially wished to express, despite her teasing words. “Requested or not. It does not mean I cannot be concerned.” Silence. Alisaie knew not what to say, not wishing to truly dismiss her friend's concern but also fearing her reprisal should Yura so choose to question her resolve. At the same moment, Yura feared pressing her friend further unto the depths of such despair, knowing well the vice such fears held upon a person. And so, silence it was, as Yura though carefully on her next words, reflecting on the events that had led them to such a drab place.

“Bold of them, is it not. To leave us behind like so and then to continuously haunt our dreams,” Yura questioned gently, staring down at her reflection in her cup. She could see the fine lines of exhaustion in her eyes, that which most often came with great responsibility. The stress and fears pooling as easily in the tea as it did in her eyes. With this done unto her, she could only imagine what fears and stresses lay on Alisaie’s shoulders, her constant clamoring to learn something, anything on her fallen allies being the only fuel to keep her from crying out in pure fear and agony.

Yura cast a glance towards Alisaie, who had at some point come to mimic her motion, looking down at her reflection in her cup. With a great deal more innocence and vulnerability than Yura had ever heard from her before, she spoke “Do you think they think of us as we do them? Wherever they are?”

Yura smiled gently once more, moving a hand to again take the one Alisaie had been so quick to retrieve, the pair lingering in their fears for the future. With a reassuring squeeze, she spoke once more. “One day soon we shall be able to ask them ourselves. We have to.”

#FFXIV #Final Fantasy XIV #FFXIVWrite2020 #FFXIVWrite #alisaie #alisaie leveilleur #ff14 #final fantasy 14 #Yura Kha #yura #My Writing

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thespiralgrimoire · 5 years ago

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Dorothy, Fuegoleon, Mereoleona...

More? More!! Thank!

Dorothy: What's a weird sleep related story?

OH MY GOD I FOUND THIS ABSOLUTE GEM

I was going to talk about my half-assed dream journal, but when I opened it up, this was the first thing in it, so enjoy this dream I have no memory of instead:

We went to watch a movie about Acier when she was young. Turned out that after she’d had Nebra (Nebra and Solid’s birth order was reversed?) she had traveled all over seeking treasure and exploring. This was why the siblings were so close-- they had been in many life or death situations together. Acier was well known as a sailor and her kids were all sailor savvy. Nozel’s personality had not changed much since Acier put way more on him than she should have. Her main goal was to uncover the history of the Silva clan, which had fallen from grace and had its history buried while she was a baby. So basically she wanted to uncover her family’s history and also be Indiana Jones.

Turned out Noelle’s father was a short-term boyfriend who was a centaur on one of the ships they ended up on. The kids tried to talk their mother out of dating the scumbag but to no avail. Still, they were excited about their new sibling and confident that their mother would ditch her boyfriend soon, since she never stayed in relationships long. They were right but Acier still got pregnant, and then sick. They did some serious exploring before she got heavily pregnant and ended up SOMEWHERE that made most of their situation canon compliant.

The older three did all have the same father I think but maybe not because Nebra was a strawberry blonde.

Fuegoleon: What's the worst injury you've ever gotten?

When my sister and I were little, we were running around the house, playing tag or whatever right before bed. Well, one thing led to another, and we ended up running headlong into each other at maximum toddler velocity. Here’s the dramatic retelling pieced together by my mother’s version and my shoddy four-year-old memory of the event.

Mom was on the phone with Dad, who got abruptly hung up on when mom heard the giggles, the thunderous CLOP, and then dead silence.

For better or worse, the silence quickly ends.

Mom comes running. Sister and I are laid out on the ground like murder victims, except murder victims are quieter and stiller. Goose eggs reaching cartoonish proportions sprout from our prominent foreheads. We are screaming and crying, and also taking swings at each other. Dad is trying to call back. Mom wrestles us apart. Grabs ice packs. Tries to get them on our heads. My little sister is an angry potato; she can be held down and treated, but I am a fierce and mighty hot tamale, and I cannot. The bump on my head, un-iced and roaring for revenge, reaches its peak, and splits my forehead open like a snake splitting through its own egg.

Fun fact! I take a blood thinner for a heart condition (which WOULD have been my worst injury if it weren’t congenital). Know what that means? Blood. Blood everywhere.

Sister is hysterical. HOW DARE I BLEED ON HER. She’s fighting mom now. Mom has reached a state of shock-induced stoicism. There’s so much blood. I cannot be contained. I am outraged. I am swinging at my sister again. My sister is swinging back.

Mom abandons sister. The potato screams while Mom dives on me. She pins me under her. I scream like a banshee while she forcibly administers ice. The bleeding will not stop. The bump must be contained. She grabs glue. In a feat that I can only imagine was a god-given mix of strength and dexterity, she manages to hold me down long enough to glue my forehead shut.

The bleeding stops. The ice pack is being forcibly applied to my stupid little head. The potato is still screaming. Dad is still calling.

Mom must now keep us awake for 24 hours, which is protocol when your toddlers crash their heads together so hard they split open. Sister and I are still trying to pummel each other to pieces. We want to sleep. She will not let us. We continue to scream. We want to fight her. Each other. The World. Somewhere during all this, Dad gets debriefed. He is stuck cities away at work. He is perturbed.

Morning comes. No one has slept. Mom takes us to the doctor. We are tired and pissed. But thanks to Mom’s godlike ability to both wrangle and agitate two vicious toddlers, we are fine.

I still have a scar on my forehead.

Mereoleona: What's something you're really good at?

It’s a personal opinion, but as someone who regards their opinion very highly, I can say with pride that I am hilarious.

Thank you so much for more questions! I hope someone is getting some enjoyment out of them besides me!

#spinda tea #nebra #nebra silva #solid #solid silva #nozel #nozel silva #noelle #noelle silva #acier #acier silva #black clover #it's only because of my mother's ingenuity patience and perseverance that I'm not dead 6 times over #this was far from her first time gluing a wound closed

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missconstancehardbroom · 5 years ago

Text

A Visitation

Zelda stared at her sister sleep through her reflection in the mirror, unconsciously, Zelda ran her right hand through her shoulder trying to reach the self-induced welts that now adorned her back. She could still feel Hilda’s shaking fingers as the younger witch applied a soothing balm on the welts on her back earlier that evening.

She hated it.

She hated this.

She hated the fact that her sister had once again seen the vulnerability she thought she had already overcome since her brother had died. She hated that her baby sister had seen her in such state, what must Hilda think of her now?

What was she thinking in the first place?

Does she really think she would do well as the matriarch of the Spellman Household when she could even barely keep herself together?

Weak.

That’s what she is, weak.

And now, for such weakness, her family is in shambles in the eyes of the church. Because of her incompetence as the head of her household, her family suffers.

Half-mortal

House arrested

Excommunicated

All of this happened because of her incompetence.

She felt her finger twitch and her stomach turn. She could feel her chest tighten as another onslaught of her senses engulf her. It was overwhelming, this sense of regret, this feeling of being not good enough.

Not good enough for the church.

Not good enough for her family.

Not good enough for her niece.

“You are not my mother, Zelda! So stop acting like you are!”

Sabrina’s voice keeps ringing inside her head and she couldn’t help but close her eyes. Sabrina was still a child, despite of her claims that she is an adult now, there are still many wisdom of life that her age has not taught her yet. Her niece didn’t mean what she had said, it was just the heat of the moment and her girl just wanted to retaliate for being called out as a 16 year old child and not as a grand magus.

She really didn’t mean it.

Does she?

Zelda could feel her heart beating in her chest, her breath coming is short gasps, her right hand clutched at her shoulder. She felt another sense of overwhelming disappointment toward herself and it is killing her

This is too much, she must feel something else.

She needs –

“Zelds?” Hilda’s voice startled her out of her thoughts and nearly made her jump off her seat. She quickly blinked the tears away in her eyes. She realized that she had been too deep in her self-loathing that she didn’t realized her sister has woken up.

“Sorry, did I woke you?” Zelda onced again wore her mask of impassivity before she turn to look at her sister trying to prop herself up from her bed. Those words felt strange as she says it, it was as if it was another person who spoke it and not herself.

“No, ofcourse not, I was just - are you alright?” Hilda moved to get down from her bed to approach her sister, but Zelda just waved her off.

“Ofcourse I am alright, sister.” Zelda replied. She headed to her bed and laid on her back, but realizing that it feels uncomfortable and it quite hurts, she turn to her side, facing her younger sister.

Hilda just sat on her bed, staring at her and it made her feel even more uncomfortable. She doesn’t like the feeling of being watched, it is too much.

“What?!?” she snapped,

“Is there anything you wanted to talk about?”

“There is nothing to talk about.” She tried to dismiss her sister, but obviously, Hilda didn’t realized it.

“Are you sure?”

She did not replied, she had known her sister too well and whatever she will say, the younger Spellman will just find a way to coax her into talking so she just closed her eyes and let herself drift into a dreamless slumber, but it seems like her sister would not let her.

“Zelda?”

“What?” She hissed, her eyes snapping open to glare at her sister, but much to her surprise, her sister was fast asleep in her own bed. She felt the cold chill of November air enter their room. That is when she realized that Hilda had forgotten to close the windows on her side of the room.

She was planning to wake her sister up to close to the window, but realizing that Hilda was actually smiling in her sleep, probably because of some cheesy dream she is having, the red head decided to close the window herself.

Slowly she walked towards the open windows but something caught her eye as she looked out to their front lawn.

A girl, not older than 8 years of age, was staring intently at her. The girl’s pale feet was bare and muddy, the child’s golden her was a mess but her hands… those tiny hands were waving at her, as if saying hello.

Zelda

She heard it again, that voice.

Grizelda

The girl kept on waving at her.

“Hilda,” she calls out her sister, her eyes still focused on the girl in their yard, “sister, wake up!” She hissed, but the only response that she received was a loud snore from her sister.

Zelda

There was that voice again, calling her.

“Hilda, wake up!” Zelda nearly yelled at her sleeping sister, but when she shifted her eyes towards Hilda’s bed, she noticed that her sister remained asleep.

Something is not right, she could feel it.

She looked outside once again and noticed that the girl was no longer on their lawn. She leaned out of the window and that is where she saw her, walking towards the woods. The girl stopped in her tracks, and once again looked at her direction to wave good bye before she continue walking away.

Zelda doesn’t know what made her do it, perhaps it was that urge to protect the child or the urge to quench her curiosity, she decided to teleport herself outside her house and ran towards the last spot where she saw the child.

Her bare feet stepped towards the edge of the clearing, heading to the direction where she had last seen the child. It was not safe for children to walk around in the woods in the dark, most especially in temperature like this.

She suddenly felt goose bumps on her skin and that is when she realized she was in her sleeping dress without any cloak or robe on. Zelda decided to teleport back to the house and grab something to protect her from the cold when she heard it again.

Zelda

There was that voice again, calling out her name.

She tried to follow the direction where she hears the voice, it kept calling out her name.

That voice. The voice sounds very familiar and yet foreign to her, it was as if it was trying to awaken something dormant in the deepest recesses of her mind and yet… whatever it is trying to waken remained asleep, unmoved in her mind..

Zelda…

She hastened to follow the voice. She could feel her feet touching the muddy ground and normally she would’ve frowned, but at that very moment she couldn’t care less.

There was the girl again, standing a few feet away from her, as if waiting for her, but when she was about to call the girl, she ran away.

“Wait!” the girl kept running, so Zelda hastened her steps, crouching and swatting the branches that obscure her sight from the child.

But she lost the girl.

Zelda got deeper and deeper into the woods trying to grab hold of the girl, but it appears that the girl was much faster than she had expected.

Zelda… Grizelda…

“Who are you? Show yourself!” Zelda scanned her surrounding, she could barely see anything.

Giggles

Mirthful giggling of girls were the only response she received.

Girls…

Then she heard it again, the voice calling out her name, but this time it is no longer a soft whisper but a melodic voice calling out her name as if it was part of a song.

Through her peripheral vision, she saw a flash of white cloth ducking behind the trees. She tried to call it to stop, but the girl kept running, as if it was playing a game of tag with her.

The girl was in fits of laughter as they run and it only made Zelda felt more annoyed. Why was she chasing this girl anyway? What was the point?

As they reached another clearing, the girl tripped and this made Zelda gasp, That’s going to hurt, she taught to herself. She was expecting to hear the girl cry because of a scraped knee, but instead, the girl just laughed as she brushed the dirt off her gown and turned to look at her.

She looked familiar. Those goofy grin and mirthful eyes. The blushing cheeks and breathless laughter. She knows this girl, but she cannot remember.

The girl bit her lip and waved at her direction. She was not waving at her, she realized. The girl was waving at someone behind her.

She turned around, there was no one there. She looked back towards the girl and the girl was no longer there. She cursed herself, how could she be so careless, this could be a trap damn it.

Why do you hate my creation so much?

There was this voice again, but this time it was no longer singing, it sounded like it was in tears.

“Who are you?” she challenged the voice, “show yourself!” she felt her body tensing, her knees shaking, her lungs constricting. She clenched her jaw her magic fizzing through the tips of her finger.

Do you truly hate my creation that much that you find ways just to torment her?

“What are you talking about?” Zelda’s voice began to tremble when she felt the buzz of her magic died down.

I made you. Do you know that?

Zelda took a step back, confusion and fear filled her thoughts, she felt like she needs to run away from here but her legs felt like lead and she could barely move her body. She just stood there shocked and in as much as she wanted to deny it, she is scared.

I hear your thoughts.

Why do you hate my creation?

All of a sudden Zelda felt like something began to run down her cheeks. She tried to swat it with her fingers but she realized it is not some insect that ran down her cheeks.

It was her tears.

She did not realized she had been crying.

Why do you try to destroy yourself?

Zelda looked up to the sky and that is when she realized that he voice was coming from the moon itself. She watched in silence as the moon grew brighter, blue and golden light filled her vision until she saw dark spots, it was as if the moon was trying to blind her.

But then the blind spots started to take form, a shadow, a silhouette of a woman walking towards her, reaching for her.

And that is when she felt it, hands, cold hands cupping her cheeks, wipping the tears away, and that is when she sobbed. She sobbed like a child. She doesn’t know what was with those hands but she felt like she had found a long lost home that she had never known.

Those hands.

Those cold hands that warmed her soul.

Zelda closed her eyes when the silhouette leaned towards her, their foreheads touching.

I made you as perfect as you are.

Please don’t break my heart.

And with those last words, the silhouette kissed Zelda’s forehead before it stepped away from the witch but Zelda tried to stop her. She grabbed the hands that were touching her cheeks earlier, this is not the first time she encountered the lady from the moon. This was not the first time she held her. This is –

“Who are you?” she cried as she kept on tugging the lady’s hand, “Please tell me who you are.” She begged, but the lady just kept on moving away, the hands that she was clutching earlier turned into smoke, but still, Zelda reached out, “Please don’t leave! Please! I just found you!”

She ran towards the light, but it was moving too fast for her feet to follow, the trees are getting in her way, the shrubbery hindering her legs from moving.

She must make her stay.

She needs to make her stay.

“Wait! Ah!” she yelped when she realized she had stepped into a ravine and she found herself falling. It was as if the air was knocked off her lungs when she finally hit the grassy grounds.

“You have been here for a while.”

Zelda snapped her eyes open only to see the young girl she was chasing earlier looking down at her, but this time, the girl was no longer alone. There was another girl standing beside her.

The other girl was much older than the girl she was chasing earlier. She was more or less the same age as Sabrina, she thougt.

“Zelda,” the older girl called her name, as she stared at the girl’s face she realized who it was, the girl smiled at her, “Better wake up before you forget how to.”

Before Zelda could react at the girl’s cryptic word, she felt the girls pushing her towards a pond she did not realized was there.

She yelped as the ice cold water came in contact with her body making her gasp out to breathe in some air.

She found herself sitting up from her bed, her face drenched in cold water and her hair a complete tangle of mess.

She is awake. It was just a dream. And Hilda was standing on her side of the bed, worried, with a pitcher on her hands.

“Did you just doused me in water from the fridge?“ Zelda’s eyebrow arched, her anger started to simmer in her gut.

“What?” Hilda replied sheepishly, “Do you think I have a choice?”

#zelda spellman #hilda spellman #This is from a tumblr post I saw and I though since I am in quarantine I should start writing #oneshot #maybe?#caos #chilling adventures of sabrina

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of-princesses-and-antlers · 5 years ago

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@superhero-forhire 's Sleep Deprived, Boredom Induced, The 100 Hiatus 2019/2020 Fic Rec Masterpost(wow that's a long title)

Ok guys, so for no other reason than it's currently 2:30am and I'm bored and apparently not sleeping, I have decided to put together a list of some of the best fics (in my opinion) this fandom has to offer! And as we are currently at the beginning of what is going to be a very long and excruciating (and our last) hiatus, I figure there's no better way to get through it than with some quality reading material.

(This list will be mostly Bellarke and Clarke Griffin Centric)

So without further ado, here is a (somewhat) complete list of my all time Favorite t100 Fanfics, as they are listed/sorted in my bookmarks

First up

Special Collection:

Reach Out (Touch Me) by ParadiseAvenger

When a hot spring was discovered near the camp, Clarke was excited to use it to soothe her aching muscles and escape from the pressure of holding so many lives in her hands. As it turned out, she wasn't the only one.

Meet Me in the Morning by monroeslittle

“I guess one of us is messed up,” he said, “and it’s part of our hallucination that the other is, too.” He paused. “Seems appropriately hellish that my mind sticks me with you.”

She pursed her lips. “Likewise.”

AU. Clarke is trapped in a stupid time loop, and guess who's trapped with her?

Love is Not a Whisper (or a weakness) by monroeslittle

"There was a strange, muffled snap, and the tentacle around her middle was retracted. The hold on her ankle was gone, and Bellamy was pulling her up through the water. She began to pump her arms, and they broke the surface; she gasped, and coughed.

He pressed a gun into her hand. “If you see a ripple, shoot,” he ordered."

AU. The dropship doesn't land on land. The next seven years are a little bit different.

Sing the Rage of Peleus' Son Achilles by viansian

"I have spent my entire life afraid of men thought to be gods," he finally says. "I'll tell you a secret, princess: these men? The ones who claim to be deities? Their blood isn't ichor. They bleed red like the rest of us, and sometimes they need to be reminded of that."

When the Strong Break by AJRedfern

In which Bellamy Blake teaches Marcus Kane something about desperation, loyalty and unrealised feelings.

(Or the one where Marcus Kane slowly comes to realise what we've all known since season 1)

*Ep. 302 from Kane's POV.*

And Now You're Home by asroark

She didn’t try to muffle the sounds of her crying this time. It wasn’t like anyone was around to hear it, anyway. At least if she was loud, Clarke could drown out the silence for a few moments. She cried for her friends, the ones she had already lost and the ones that might have made it up to space. She cried for her mom and for Kane. She cried for the bodies she found in the valley when she first arrived. And she cried for herself.

She didn’t hear the shuffling behind her this time. She was crying too loud to hear it. But she heard the quiet, “Are you hurt?” rumbling behind her in a deep voice, and it scared her so bad that she almost fell off the ledge and back into the water. But he stopped her from falling. His hand gripped around her wrist, pulling her back onto the ledge as she caught her breath.

Grounder!Bellamy AU where Clarke finds out she isn't the last person left on Earth.

Come Get A Hold Of Me by theinvisibledisaster

Clarke is overwhelmed by the intensity of being around a civilization after six years of solitude with Madi.

She is also very touch-starved.

Bellamy notices.

By Tomorrow We'll Be Lost by WiinterIsNotComing

“I would tell you everything,” he murmured against her skin, “if you asked.”

She swallowed and stared at the ceiling. “Even if it got you killed?”

He pulled away to look at her. “Oh Clarke.” He breathed out. “Being near you is enough to get me killed.”

An Evening I Will Not Forget by theoneinquisitor

It's his last night before deployment, and all Bellamy wants to do is make it memorable. Meeting Clarke? It's definitely something he won't forget.

Canon-Verse/Divergence:

His Arms, Her Crown by beadedslipper

A year has passed since the remainder of the original hundred escaped Mt. Weather and reunited with their comrades. Things are going well for them and they are about to celebrate their first anniversary on earth. But on the ground things never stay simple or safe for long. When Clarke is separated from the group during a routine mission how will she ever find her way back home? And how will Bellamy lead the people who need him now more than ever when all he can think about is getting his princess back?

keep me safe inside (your arms like towers) by glowinghorizons

"Bellamy looks at her, really looks at her, and reminds himself that she’s only just turned eighteen. She’s still a kid, and suddenly he’s aware of how much stronger than him she is. Only eighteen, yet she’s taken it upon herself to make sure these kids survive life on the ground.

“I trust you,” he tells her, and he’s only a little surprised to realize that it’s the complete truth."

season one AU. the 100 are sent to the ground and learn how to survive. bellamy and clarke fight to keep a peace treaty alive when the ark comes down, and find each other along the way.

You're Just Another Recovering Heart by prosciutto

Clarke’s still looking at him when he finally brings himself to turn away, her gaze impossibly soft, but it’s the way she says his name that breaks him, in the end. “Bell.”

He closes his eyes, the motion reflexive. “Letters,” he says finally, sounding absolutely wrecked, despite himself. “They’re letters I wrote to you, while you were gone.”

Bellamy gets into the habit of writing letters to the girl he left behind in the six years they’re apart. But as it turns out, Clarke’s alive, and she’s read them. (Or: the fallout of a love confession six years in the making.)

In My Dreams We Are Always Together by andsowemeetagain

100 delinquents got sent to Earth and battled for survival against the odds. They landed in Trikru territory but that is not where they stayed. After weeks of battle and war, the Sky People finally lost. They were sent to a land far away, where a group of Grounders unlike any they've met waited for them.

as moonlight through the pines by twilightstargazer

The tattoos are Bellamy’s idea.

Clarke has left her kit of ink and needles on their makeshift dining table, next to her paintings that she was letting dry. Harper came in earlier asking for a touch-up and she forgot to put them away.

Now, Bellamy’s eyes land on it and he tugs her towards it saying, “I want another tattoo.”

In the end she draws a minimalistic version of a sunset-- or sunrise, depending on how you look at it-- over the ocean, just a few straight lines for the sea and a semicircle for the sun. It’s very simple, with thick dark lines that stand out nicely from the skin.

“It could probably pass as a clan tattoo,” she says, studying it while she cleans it up. “Maybe we should give it to all our people.”

“I could give it to you,” he says, already reaching for the ink, and Clarke is sufficiently drunk enough that nothing about that sentence sets off any alarm bells in her head. “You’re my people. You need one too.”

She grins and reveals her forearm to him too, already taking a swig from the bottle in preparation. “Okay.”

or, 3 times the grounders thought they were married and one time they actually were

Parents in parenthesis by Ideasofmarch

In which Bellamy and Clarke skip the animosity faze and start straight at co-leaders - and parents, somehow - and things turn out a lot better for almost everyone involved.

or.

The ark's coming down and the council wants to combine camps. The price? Bellamy's head on a stake.

And that's one price Clarke just isn't willing to pay.

The Cure For Anything by enoughtotemptme

Anya said not to approach the Sky People, so he doesn’t. He just watches from a distance as the young, strange people pour out of the mouth of their ship. Many are his sister’s age, but none appear to have a fraction of the discipline Octavia does.

His sister is a warrior, and has been for years.

These people…

These people are children.

Stupid ones, Bellamy notes, as some fall to their knees and kiss the ground perilously close to a pile of deer droppings.

And then, he sees her.

Modern Setting:

regardless of warnings the future doesn't scare me at all by Chash

After an argument with her mother about her unplanned pregnancy, Clarke Griffin ends up back in the small town where her father used to live, spilling her sob story to a sympathetic bartender. And then, somehow, she ends up moving in with the bartender and her brother.

I'll Be Chasing Angels All My Life by grumpybell

“Always. Night, Princess.” He hangs up and finds his mother watching him with oddly clear eyes. He swallows, uncomfortable with the look.

“Who's your princess?” Aurora asks, a smile on her lips. His princess, Bellamy pushes the thought away. Of course it would sound like that to someone who doesn't know.

“She's no one.”

“Now, I know I raised my boy not to lie to his mother,” Aurora says, mock sternly. Bellamy shifts a little, trying to think how to even begin to explain Clarke, what they are and aren't to each other.

Something Always Survives by asroark

Bellamy had been trapped in this place for over two years. He can’t even count how many cellmates he lost over that time, how many times he had to meet a new voice from a person he would never see… And, almost every time, he found himself telling them a story to help calm them down, to reassure them that everything was going to be okay, even when he knew it would never be okay. Clarke had been no different than the others until this moment.

She was the first one to ever try to comfort him in return. So, he whispered, “Okay,” and pressed his ear to the corner.

Modern AU loosely inspired by The OA where Clarke finds herself abducted and caged with four strangers as they all struggle to make sense of their captor's experiments.

Challenge Accepted by insideimfeelindirty

He doesn't even like Clarke Griffin, he's pretty sure he hates how easy everything has come to her. So imagine his surprise when he finds himself at their office party looking through dick pics on her phone.

“You can do better, Princess. In fact, I can do better.”

As soon as she turns to him with raised eyebrows and an open mouthed grin he knows he’s said too much but she’s not going to let it drop.

“Oh really, you think you can do better, Blake?”

And he's never backed down from a challenge in his life.

did you invent the airplane? because you wright for me by FrostedGemstones22

Layovers and plane malfunctions suck. That is, unless you have a sexy stranger to keep you company all the way through your travels...

Or, Bellamy and Clarke join the Mile High Club

when it all comes together by soundtracktomysoul

The four times the delinquents tried to set them up and the one time they didn't need to

The one where Jasper is a die hard Bellarke shipper and makes a group chat.

The Delinquents:

What We Built by elle_stone

What, precisely, it means to be 'Dad,' he can’t actually say. He's something more than a make-believe, playhouse version of a father figure, something less than an actual parent. It's not a role he could explain to anyone, but then, no one ever asks. Outside of their insular group, no one even knows about the old tradition, and as long as the dropship survivors stick to themselves, the status quo remains unchallenged, uninterrogated.

It starts as a joke, this habit the hundred have of calling Clarke and Bellamy 'mom' and 'dad.' But by the time the Mount Weather survivors return to Camp Jaha, it's become much more than that. It's become a way to signal that they're still a family, even as they reunite with their people and integrate themselves into the growing settlement.

One of the Greatest Titles in the World is Parent by jollyrogerjayhawk

“One of the greatest titles in the world is parent, and one of the biggest blessings in the world is to have parents to call mom and dad.” Bellamy and Clarke have somehow quasi-adopted a plethora of children.

Senses by Ghelik

This isn't what Abby expected. She isn't sure what she had expected, but this loyalty to a teenage would-be murderer, this compliance is not it.

It is clear that the children of this camp are in dire need of saving. Good thing that the Ark is here now.

Baby, Let Me Straighten Out Your Broken Bones by chalantness

She's absolutely frightened and he can't fathom it. He can't reconcile the Clarke that's taken care of them since Day One on the ground – that clawed arrows and spears and bullets from their bodies and refused to let them die, that cut open her own wounds in pure protective instinct because she felt like they were in danger – with the Clarke standing before him. She's afraid, not of Grounders, or Mountain Men, or the judgment she'd face as soon as she stepped inside.

She's afraid of herself.

all the kids are talking slang i won't pretend to understand by caramelle

"You told Mo— Clarke?!"

Clarke arches a brow, crossing her arms over her middle. "'Maw-Clarke'?"

Four times the delinquents called Clarke/Bellamy ‘mom/dad’ + One time someone else did

8 times Kyle Wick heard about Clarke and 1 time he met her by a_simple_space_nerd

Wick wonders why Clarke Griffin is so special. He wonders how she could leave. He wonders how people could blame a girl for the way the world was. (This isn't slash, I'm just bad at summaries.)

None of Us is Innocent by amyhanmayari

It was early spring when Jasper went missing and a fortnight after that before he truly returned to Camp Jaha remotely resembling the boy with goggles who fell from the sky with a smile on his face. Whenever anyone asked him what happened during the two weeks when he was gone, he would crack a small, fragile smile and say “got lost, got found.” And that was that.

life in love can never last (everyone becomes the past) by a_simple_space_nerd

“Clarke,” Monty sighs, softly, all his frustration leaving him in a gust. “You’re dead. You in my dream, that’s my subconscious thinking about you while I sleep. That’s all.”

Clarke’s grin turns sharp. “Who says it’s your dream?”

(Grief is a funny thing, and everyone feels it.)

Do Better by juneytunes

Jasper wants to be Clarke's hero. Letting her get some rest in the drop ship is a good enough start. [ Jasper/Clarke FRIENDSHIP ]

Swim by Zaffie

Raven was a little girl who wanted to swim, and screw all those people who say she can't do it.

We Have All The Time In The World by Death_Shapeshifter

They were waiting, of course they were waiting. She was one of them. She was family. They would wait a thousand years for her.

The Griffin-Blake Family:

Lazy Mornings by these_dreams_go_on

Bellamy gets woken up by Madi and Clarke comes looking for her.

it's a chance we'll have to take by killianslonghaul

“You thought the person you loved was dead for six years and then found out she wasn’t. You can’t let that go. Not everyone gets a second chance like that.”

Bellarke reunion after Praimfaya and subsequent feelings

My Heart by QueenoftheWallflowers

Russell and the primes are gone and Bellamy and Clarke try to take a well-deserved nap. Confessions are made and forgiveness is given.

I can see clearly now by melodiousoblivian

6 years after they left Clarke behind, SpaceKru returns to find Clarke alive and thriving. Bellamy doesn't know how to cope.

No eligius, no becho.

little did you know by melodiousoblivian

"Six years later and they were on the ground. Raven saw her first, a flash of blonde hair in the trees, a startled yell, and she was running towards the dead girl. Clarke met her halfway and they collided, falling to the ground at the force of impact. Both were crying, running hands over each others faces to truly verify that they were here. Monty was next, holding Clarke so tight that she couldn't breathe. Harper simply rested her forehead against Clarke's. Murphy let out a rare laugh and embraced the girl he mourned. Echo and Emori greeted her kindly. Bellamy stood behind, frozen.

Monty saw the girl first, standing timidly at the edge of the group. She had hair the color of the night sky, and blue eyes that saw so deeply it was startling. Clarke introduced her as Madi, that she was Clarke's, and that was it."

A Solution by timelordlookingforatardis

Madi’s mouth was set in a thin line as she looked between the two men. Finally, setting on Jordan she announced, "I have a solution for our Prime problem.”

“Thank goodness,” Jordan beamed, moving over to join them as the table. Ignoring Bellamy’s wide-eyed protest, he said, “Tell me more.”

“It involves fire,” She started. Jordan nodded eagerly in front of her, “All -”

“Absolutely not!” Bellamy cut her off, “We are not attacking these people and destroying our chances for a better life!” He sucked in a sharp breath through his nose, “They are going to teach us how to survive on this planet and then we are gone. We are not going to be the bad guys here!” He hissed.

POST 6X06 Madi, Jordan and Bellamy talk about what Clarke would've wanted.

My Home is With You by wake_n_Blake (kt_anasi)

When eight-year-old Octavia Blake is brought into the infirmary for her first check-up, Clarke gets the honor... and makes a friend.

Eventually, that friendship leads to a newfound family.

Or, the one where Clarke and Bellamy fall in love while basically raising Octavia on Earth.

Rated T for some crude language. This fic is like fluff on a stick- no angst... just happiness.

I'm Not Crying, You're Crying:

i'm on my knees, you're faith in shreds by stoneage_woman

"Over the roaring in his ears, Bellamy dimly registers Jackson telling Madi to breathe. His eyes are fixed on Clarke. Clarke, who for once isn’t even trying calm Madi down, who is visibly fighting to keep from breaking down herself, her head bowed low and her breaths coming in short, shallow gasps.

And Bellamy finally understands with an awful, damning clarity exactly how badly he’s fucked up."

Post Season 5 AU. As the last survivors of humanity try to make a fresh beginning on a new, deserted planet, Bellamy tries to find his way back to a lonely, distant Clarke. A life-threatening crisis opens his eyes to a few hard truths. A Bellarke reconciliation fic.

Set The Dark On Fire by theinvisibledisaster

Clarke isn't coping well with peacetime on the Eligius ship, and while Bellamy has woken some of the others (mainly spacekru) and tries to organise a trip to the ground, making decisions and considering all the variables, Clarke makes a choice of her own:

She'll take herself out of the equation.

OR: the post season 5 idea I had to write because all of the unresolved emotional turmoil this season is actually killing me and someone needs to notice that Clarke is in pain, for the love of god.

Monin hou by Ghelik

After Bellamy and Clarke negotiate with the grounders, they decide to share the bunker equally. 100 spots per clan. That marks the start of 5 years of forced peace in which mortal enemies have to learn how to live with each other.

Shit goes as expected.

Blanket of leaves by Ghelik

Madi tells the story of her life: from the moment mom found her to the descent of the Seven Heroes from the sky castle

Not Yet by Ghelik

Clarke finds Madi's body in their home.

Something in the Water by Youremyalways

“You know I love you, right?”

——

Clarke is supposed to die for killing Josephine, but things go wrong at the last second. Nobody is more equipped to help Clarke deal with losing a mother than Bellamy Blake.

This is How I Leave You by Africana123

Clarke decides to take her life after the events of season 6. Right as she's getting ready to do so, Jordan finds her. But it's not what you think.

Clarke Griffin Deserves Better:

Mighty Fine Shindig by theinvisibledisaster

An idea I had while rewatching Firefly, kinda based on the episode Shindig, but you definitely don't have to have watched it to read this, because I really took this in its own direction.

When they touch down on the new planet, the leaders throw a ball in their honour, which involves Clarke in a dress getting all the attention she deserves, Bellamy being very jealous and doing a terrible job of concealing it, and possibly getting into a fight over Clarke, so... everyone's fantasy?

Just mine?

Cool.

The Bruise Won't Heal (the stain stays put) by theinvisibledisaster

“What the hell is your problem, Clarke?” And this time, the tone was so disgusted, so bitter, than something snapped, deep in Clarke’s chest.

Fuck it.

“What’s my problem?” She asked, incredulous. “What’s my problem? You’ve got to be kidding me, Raven. I died. I died, paralysed and alone, and then I died again, and both times, the only person who cared was Bellamy. Kane died, my mother died, my daughter almost did- and you have the audacity to ask me what my problem is?!”

After they save everyone - again - they actually have a moment to rest.

And Clarke has had ENOUGH.

Hear me now (like you never heard me then) by evening_skies

A rewrite of Raven and Clarke’s scene in 6x04. Wherein Clarke does not regret the choices she made, and Raven wonders if the Clarke Griffin she remembers really did die in Praimfaya.

“Raven, I am not a leader,” Clarke said, and Raven’s words lodged in her throat. “I barely remember how to be a friend. I am a mother before all else, and you—you are the people that put monsters in my child’s head and threw her into the middle of a war.”

I accept that you may never forgive me. That’s okay. I don’t forgive you either.

Other Pairings:

In Darkness More than Light by lilybeth84

In the aftermath of the destruction of Mount Weather, with Clarke gone AWOL, his parents dead, and Jasper not speaking to him, Monty finds comfort in the dark forests beyond the walls of Camp Jaha.

One night, while in the grip of despair, he can't help wonder if life is worth living anymore. But his thoughts of death are interrupted when Clarke emerges from the woods, and he is forced to make decisions that will either save her-a woman he cares more deeply for than he ever realized-or lose her, and with her, a reason to survive.

Paradise Found by DAgron01

Octavia can't get enclosed again. Never again. She won't let them put her in cryo-freeze, but at least she's not alone...

Fix it fic--spoilers through season 5 finale! Canon-divergence

Love is Strength by DAgron01

Octavia Blake knew she was at least a little broken. She didn't plan on Clarke Griffin fixing her so thoroughly.

Canon compliant (and spoilers) through "Exit Wounds." Takes place immediately following when Madi officially becomes part of Wonkru.

Saving Clarke by btvscharmedgirl

Nearly a year after the hundred landed on the ground, Octavia watches Clarke struggle with all that happened and tries everything she can to help her in anyway she can.

As Galatea to Pygmalion by apolloadama

Clarke leaves Camp Jaha and rebuilds herself. Octavia and Lincoln help.

The Ties That Bind by Ofseaandsky

With more time to plan before the Death Wave hits, Clarke and Roan need to find a way to get the Coalition to work together and save more people to from the second Praimfaya. What will it take to get the 13 clans to work together and find a way to survive together as life on planet Earth rapidly approaches it's end?

and i'll love the world, like i should, for all the time that i never could by a_simple_space_nerd

And it’s now, of all times, that she lets herself finally, finally think: they’re up in space and I’m down on earth and even if I can survive this they’ll be up there for five years at minimum. I’m alone here.

It’s not as awful as she’d expected the revelation to be. Maybe it’s because she’s in the middle of the apocalypse but suddenly she doesn’t feel the need to curl into a ball and cry for days. Maybe it’s also the fact that she isn’t dead.

She’s still struggling not to get blown away, even sheltered as she is the ruins of some bank or something like it, the building creaking and groaning as the roaring typhoon thrashes its foundations. There’s dirt and grit flying everywhere, the dust so thick Clarke has to squint. The storm is taller than the highest skyscraper in the ruins, reaching down to the ground and back up to the sky for more fuel, thunder and lightning and everything in between all at once.

In this moment there is just Clarke and the storm and the end of the world and her uncertain future.

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myhauntedsalem · 5 years ago

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19 Parents Share The Creepiest Things Their Kids Have Ever Said

Here are nineteen of the most disturbing, chill inducing stories shared. All we ask is for you to try and suppress the urge to lock your children in a cupboard after reading these.

1. “Daddy Its A Monster… We Should Bury It.”

My 3 year old daughter stood next to her new born brother and looked at him for awhile then turned and looked at me and said, “Daddy its a monster… we should bury it.”

2. “The Man Who Crawls On The Floor And Stands By My Bed.”

3. “Good Bye Dad.”

I was tucking in my two year old. He said “Good bye dad.” I said, “No, we say good night.” He said “I know. But this time its good bye.”

Had to check on him a few times to make sure he was still there.

4. “It’s The Closest I Can Get To Seeing Her Dead.”

5. “The Man With The Snake Neck.”

I’m afraid to look into the history of my house to see if anyone hung themselves in the closet. At least she wasn’t scared.

6. You Will Die Soon

Not to me, but to his grandmother.

He was cuddling with her and being very sweet (he was about 3 at the time). He takes her face in his hands, and brings his face close to hers, then tells her that she’s very old, and will die soon.

Then he makes a point of looking at the clock.

7. “I Want To Peel All Your Skin Off.”

I was sound asleep, and at around 6am I was woken up by my 4 year old daughters face inches from mine. She looked right into my eyes and whispered, “I want to peel all your skin off”.

8. “When You Die, I’m Going To Eat You.”

“Good,” he said with a totally deadpan expression, and walked out of the room.

Later when we were about to flush the fish, he asked if we could eat him instead. I said no, we don’t eat pets because we love them, and he said, “When you die, I’m going to eat you.”

9. “Carson Is Gone, I Am Rick.”

10. “I Died And Now I’m Here.”

My wife and I were catatonic.

11. Baby Brother

“So I shouldn’t throw him in the fire?”

3 year old daughter holding her baby brother for the first time.

12. The Pretty Girl At The Cottage

13. “He’s Behind You Now.”

“Go back to sleep, there isn’t anything under your bed”.

“He’s behind you now”.

Still haven’t gotten over that one and shiver at the memory.

14. “He’s Coming For You. You Better Hide.”

15. “You Will Put Me Down, Down, Down In The Hole.”

I have a three year old who says some pretty strange stuff….

Last night: “Mommy.. the man, the very big man with big yellow eyes is looking at you.”

Sheesh. As if I didn’t have bad dreams already.

16. “Daddy, I Love You So Much That I Want To Cut Your Head Off.”

A friend of mine’s child told him “Daddy, I love you so much that I want to cut your head off and carry it around so I can see your face whenever I want.”

17. The Bad Man

Why are you crying?

“Bad man”

What bad man?

“There.” Points behind me at a dark corner of the room

Lamp on bookshelf next to said darkened corner falls off as soon as I turn to look.

She slept in our bed that night

18. Ham Can’t Scream

19. Satan Wants To Meet You

A few months ago I asked me brother and his wife if their kids ever did any creepy. They both immediately looked at each other and seemed surprised that I had asked.

#19 Parents Share The Creepiest Things Their Kids Have Ever Said #paranormal #ghost and hauntings #ghost and spirits

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