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baezdylan · 3 years

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LITTLE WOMEN FANFICTION

CHAPTER 3: SEVEN

Escapism

"Please, picture me in the trees...

...before I learned civility."

- seven, Taylor Swift

***

one.

- Let's run away.

It's barely a whisper. It's said more to the open sky above them than to anybody else.

- Let's run away.

It's more than a whisper now. It's a call. An invitation for something greater than both of them. And Laurie would gladly buy a ticket for that particular train. He would. But the sun is so wonderful and the clouds are so enchanting in their unusual shapes that even getting up seems like a chore. He wants to stay here. On the grass. But Jo is persistent in her wishes. Jo March never, never, gives up.

- Won't you say something, Teddy? Can't you just see it? We could be anything, do anything, go anywhere! The world could be ours!

She, unlike him, is on her feet. She always seems to be. Gravity isn't very fond of Jo. Or at least that's what Jo will tell you. Laurie doesn't know if that's true or not, but he likes hearing her talk. He finds himself generally attached to sounds. The chipering of birds. The first note you play on the piano. Amy's chaotic laughter. Beth's soft chuckles. Meg's little mumbles. Jo's wild exclaims. That's one of the many reasons why Laurie loves the Marches. It's like these sisters have discovered an utterly fresh, vivid and extraordinary way to be alive. It's a pleasant contrast to what he's used to.

It's always quiet at home.

"What do you say Theodore Laurence, kindest and most noble of knights of this kingdom? Shall we follow the wind and see where it leads us?"

"I wouldn't want it any other way."

"Then you accept my proposal?"

"I sure do, Miss March."

People's faces usually look radically different when lightened up with smiles. They look prettier, more beautiful and somehow truer to themselves as opposed to non smiling faces. Jo's doesn't. She is smiling at him right now and her face doesn't look any different. It's just as true and warm as it was a thousand smiles before. And would Laurie even be allowed to call himself a comrade of Jo's if he didn't gift her with a smile of his own in return? He grins at her with no specific thought behind the expression. This is how people are supposed to be smiling, he thinks. Wide and real. Yes, people are supposed to be smiling just like this.

For a second, Jo and Laurie are the same person. Hair wild, shirts half unbuttoned, cheeks flushed. Laurie's hands are splattered with dirt from the ground whose hostility he was taking advantage of moments prior. Jo doesn't seem to care about that. Once he's up and standing, she grabs his arm a bit forcefully (which he doesn't mind), a bit theatrically (because this is Jo and life is a theatre piece) and they start running, both of them now embellished with dust. There's a lot of stumbling (and stumbling is blamed on the seemingly nonexistent objects that appear and disappear under commands of fairy like creatures) and there's a lot of laughter (laughter that comes in its most natural form and doesn't show any interest in being contained under anyone's wishes, especially not the ones of the world).

"Oh dearest, the world might not be for us, but us we are for the world."

***

two.

Freedom is both the most basic and the most complicated aspect of life to be gained. It is so simple of a concept, one could easily and rightfully so believe how all of thought guardians (more commonly referred to as humans) should have the right to not only experience, but spend their entire lives swimming in shinning lakes of freedom. But it's not how it all works. Some have tiny bits of freedom. Some don't have it at all. Some have loads. Some have just enough. Too much, sadly or sadly not, have none.

Jo sometimes wishes she were a tree. High up in the sky, stretching out her branches towards infinity. She isn't a tree though.

Imagination is of grave help despite what anyone says. To a normal person, the tree is just a tree. Tree and nothing else. To Jo March, a tree is so much more. It's an opportunity. An adventure. It's a solace and a home. A sanctuary. She's climbing up one of her leaf providing friends as she's trying to figure out how to describe this moment the best. Her reflections are interrupted by a voice which surprisingly doesn't come from the bellow, but from the above instead. Once Jo spots the speaker's ground conquerors (or "shoes" if you are of dull old sameness and don't find the pleasure in crafting phrases unlike our Jo), she immediately recognizes their owner. She still isn't sure why Teddy let Amy paint his shoes with images of flowers, but she is mesmerized with the final result. And although she shall never share this with the oh, so great artist, Jo thinks Amy's creations to be exquisite.

"I presume you are coming here to put your mind at ease."

"That is correct, my boy, and I suppose you are here for the same cause. "

By the time they exchange these lines, Jo has already climbed up to the place where Laurie is. She finds herself a steady enough branch and rests her head against the surface of the wood. Her friend is positioned in a similar way, his leg gently swaying to a peculiar beat of his own making.

Two figures, who almost seem to be one with the wooden fellow, occasionally take an exceptionally deep breath. Their hands colored with bruises, souvenirs from many extraordinary expeditions, their clothes decorated with leaves. Seemingly they are flowers, nature is their most beloved companion.

It's quite a story how Jo and Teddy, these flower resembling humans, coexist without many syllables shared. The phrases they do sometimes grace each other with can end up being translated as meaningless or lacking in thought. But Teddy and Jo, among everything else, are inventors. They invented a language which only functions for them. What is mean to others represents to them a code. What is strange to some, playful and witty to them it is. What is impossible to comprehend, they understand with little to no effort.

"Language of flowers is the language of flowers for a reason. Nobody, but flowers, thinks it much sense."

***

three.

"I'M ALIVE! LOOK AT ME, EARTH!!! I! AM! BREATHING!"

This is just one of the many declarations that have furiously been shouted at the void today. Young people often have trouble befriending compromises, especially if those compromises are to be made with the creatures you live in close proximity with. Jo has again been fighting with her sisters for reasons she cannot exactly recall right this instant. It's funny, because this always happens to her. Something sparks her temper, she recklessly gives into it and at the end, it's all about the anger she doesn't know how to release. She usually goes on long walks or takes deep breaths. She basically tries to isolate herself from everyone until the storm passes.

Teddy has a different solution for her troubles, troubles that naturally turn out to be his troubles too because they are Jo and Teddy, Teddy and Jo, and they have the same troubles (which is both wonderfully relieving and awfully annoying at the same time). Jo wouldn't even call Teddy's solution a solution. They are both making these announcements of nonhuman frequency and dancing their heads off, and as ridiculous as it is, Jo feels it liberating. They aren't improving anything (just the opposite, screaming random things into the air represents the peak of impulsive behaviour) and the conclusion is: no profitable discoveries in the "containing yourself" department. But who cares? Sometimes you have to let it all out. Dance and shout the worries away. It wasn't a coincidence that Jo met Teddy under the circumstances that she did. They were both of hot tempers, strong wills and free spirits. And they needed to dance it all out out. Despite the absurdity and inappropriate mannerism a foreign eye would most certainly find in their actions.

"There exists no right nor wrong way to express one's self."

***

four.

Laurie is surprised with how much he is enjoying this. It's all very simple. Yet, he feels at peace. He feels like everything inside him has a chance to rest.

It's the fireplace and captivating movement of the fire flames.

It's the soft "click" he discovers every time Meg takes a step. Her shoes are marvellous singers.

It's the chattering of dishes he recognizes somewhere in the background. It must be Beth, cleaning the table after the meal.

It's Amy giggling mischievously after coming up with what Laurie supposes to be some kind of scheme or more accurately, a master plan. He wouldn't know what is it about, but whatever it is, Amy is destined to succeed in it.

It's Jo. This is all because of Jo. He wouldn't have come across the hidden delights of the "uncomplicated" and "boring" if it weren't for her. She takes a seat beside him interrupting the spectacular date he had with the fireplace, rests her head on his shoulder and sighs. It's like this with them. Touching has never been a big deal.

"Beautiful."

That's all Jo says. "Beautiful." He doesn't question it. He understands what she means even though he cannot explain it. He understands.

"Warmth. Choreographed chaos. Lines overlapping. Minds intertwining. Familiarity greeting you "hello". People. Family. Home."

***

five.

She cut her hair. She cut her hair and everything is supposed to be at least a little better if not completely fine. But she can feel the tears forming in her eyes as she's approaching the house. The money in her pocket is so incredibly present. No, the money is not just present in her pocket. Everything those dusty pieces of paper represent carries weight. A weight so grand Jo could swear there is somebody following her, kind of like the money has taken the shape of a person and is now accompanying her, monitoring her every move. What kind of world sees a green, ugly paper and claims of it a metaphor for greatest treasures? And the tears? The tears she cannot comprehend. Why would she care? It's just hair. If anything, she should be bursting with joy right now. She got rid of the womanly burden. But it doesn't feel right. It's all extremely selfish of her. Selfish and thoughtless.

Her sister is... not well. Her father is out there doing all sorts of heroic things and instead of crying over her sins, she's crying over this. For once she does something right, for once the part of her that's wrong different isn't screaming. And then it hits her. It's not just a part of her that's different wrong. It's her. The moment she realises this she steps into the house. Everyone is either too distant or too close to notice all that is hiding underneath her seemingly admirable actions.

Her body is barely handling the atmosphere. It's barely cultivating the facade. But her body is also covered with Teddy's waistcoat and just as she remembers this little fact she sees her best friend right there in front of her. He is not too distant nor too close. He is right where she is.

They have the same hair.

Jo is pulled towards him because this is Teddy and hugging Teddy is like hugging herself. They stay like that for a few moments, their realities greeting each other like two fellow soldiers, finally reunited in battle.

It doesn't make her feel any less hollow. It doesn't change anything. It doesn't alter the wrongs. But it does make it a little better. It offers an assurance. An assurance embodying validity so present, money can do nothing but hold a candle to. An assurance of rational absurdity. Because that's what Jo and Teddy are.

They are rationally absurd.

"It's a childish belief that all twins look the same. There exist many ways to be somebody's twin."

***

six.

She is holding his hand.

He has just told her how he doesn't fit within himself. He has just told her that and she is still here, laying on the floor with him, covered with blankets. She said it made sense. She must have been too tired or something. She must have misheard. She must have.

"Jo, are you there?"

She does not respond. She only squeezes his hand. It's not about the gesture itself. It's about everything the gesture holds.

Promises. Lifetimes. Daylights. Midnights. Setting suns. Growing spirits. Flowery Youths.

She is holding his hand.

" Mutuality sure is a wonderful creation. What is more wonderful though is mutual understanding. Mutuality means the returning of the same. Mutual understanding means accepting and loving of the different."

***

seven.

"I could run away for real this time. Explore the unknown, unravel the mystical. Encounter the miracles. Touch the heavens..."

Her words are empty. They don't mean much. They are empty and desperate. Empty, desperate and meaningless.

Her sister got married. Meg got married and she is talking to herself about running away. The wind is dancing with her again long enough hair, tangling its fingers into her rough curls, reminding her of the countless times it has done the exact same thing before. Mocking her with its endless supplies of stability and comfort. Jo is leaning over the wooden fence, despite the wishes of her dress which keeps complaining about her unlady like methods. Jo honestly does not care about the fancy bridesmaid dress and its wants. If one has the will to climb fences, one shall enjoy the act of doing so, no matter what some piece of fabric might have to say. She is trying to hold back rivers her eyes miserably wish to let flow. She cannot cry. She must not. She has an ongoing bet with Teddy about this. He was daring enough to assume she will turn herself into a paddle today and she ought to prove him wrong.

"What might a lady like yourself be doing here instead of enjoying the jolly ceremony out there in the open?"

"I am no lady Teddy, my being is in no need of such chains."

Laurie doesn't pressure her into answering the question (she would have answered it in the first place if she had the intention to) and steps on the fence beside her. He starts humming a random melody, rhythmically moving his fingers to the sound. He must be composing something again, thinks Jo and silently envies his creative range. It's been too long since she's written anything worth sharing.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Everything."

"Isn't that a bit too much of things?"

"Oh, it's just a little over the top Teddy, but I believe I can handle it. This mind is no stranger to overcrowding."

The same tree they used to climb when they were younger is now observing them, representing an eternal and haunting reminder of everything that once was. Jo is frightened. That silent way in which Teddy is looking at her is frightening. He is looking at her in ways she longs for to be different and his eyes have too many freshly discovered stories to tell. She is frightened she won't find those stories to be very pleasant.

"Do you remember that day when I told you how I wanted to run away?"

"How could I not?"

"I need to run away again."

Laurie doesn't need to hear it twice. He jumps over the fence and starts running, his arms widely spread, his tie and jacket long forgotten. It isn't real. Jo knows they will never go anywhere. The sun is setting and the lines of separation are clearing up. The sun is setting and challenges, struggles and complications lie ahead. She knows all of this. Yet, she hikes up her skirts like she's sixteen again and follows the path her boy has chosen for as long as she knows how to. Jo and Teddy run through the endless fields of gold, specks of sunlight meeting their bones. Teddy and Jo, Jo and Teddy, high in the sky for one last time before nightfall.

They keep falling over each other and eventually end up wrestling on the grass, occasional screams and consistent laughter adorning the air around them.

The last song of Meg's shoes. The last symbol Amy will ever paint on Jo's hands. The last wide smile of Beth's. The last understood conversation of birds. The last fellow of the trees. The last arrangement of flowers.

The last.

"Oh, to live in a world where there are childhoods, fields of gold and raging hearts."

"Grab a coat, leave a note and run away with me."

- William Chapman

#louisa may alcott #little women 2019 #little women fanfiction #laurie laurence #jo march #amy march #my writing #beth march #meg march #taylor swift #folklore #evermore #jo × laurie

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watarigarasu · 4 years

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Seashell

Pairing: Kíli x Reader

Word count: 2,159

Warnings: None

Author’s note: None

Synopsis: Kíli reveals that he has never seen an ocean.

Fresh breeze caressed your cheeks causing the goosebumps to appear on your arms and making you inhale deeply, the familiar scent of salty air filling your lungs. The neverending ocean reached its white, foamy fingers toward you only to withdraw them in the next moment, leaving dark stains on the rough sand and repeating the action, again and again, with the steady sound of moving waves. This evening, the waters were calm, softly moving on the delicate blows of cool wind and swaying to the melody you could not hear but sense with your whole mind and soul—the same rhythm of your serene heartbeat.

The sky above you was painted in all the colours you could ever imagine, from the bright yellow, vivid oragne and burning red, through the soft purple and graying blue, to the darkness swallowing the sky far on the east, right behind your back. With every passing second, you could notice them changing in a mesmerizing kaleidoscope of art, on which the single stars were starting to appear. The sand was harsh under your touch, now much colder than when you reached the beach and the sun was still up over the ocean's surface, but you did not pay too much attention to it, nor to the ache in your legs after wandering for the last few hours to get to this memorable place.

To be perfectly honest, for the first time in many months, nothing seemed to matter. There was no past chasing after you, no future with the upcoming mistakes, only the very moment you were stuck in, the wind on your skin, sand under your fingers and the sound of dancing waves. All this and the blissful smile on Kíli's lips.

„I have to admit,” he started slowly after a long while of sitting in a complete silence—much unlike him. „That you were right.”

„How so?” You looked at him and noticed the joyful sparks in his dark eyes.

„About all of this.” He gestured vaguely to the view in front of you. „About this place.”

„I thought that you might like it. Personally, I enjoyed spending the time here. It is easier to focus and to forget about the problems or rethink them. Quite refreshing, if you ask me.”

„I cannot argue with that,” Kíli nodded and looked at the waters again, but something in the tone of his voice made you think that he had more in mind, than he decided to share with you. Still, you did not want to push him into anything and decided to let it go.

The humid air caused his hair to slightly curl around his face, giving him even more playful look. Kíli seemed to be very excited about going to the beach with you, just as passionate he was when you suggested taking him there many weeks ago, during your journey to the Lonely Mountain with the whole Company. It was an accident that you have heard his confession about never seeing an ocean, the one he whispered to you when you were both trying to fall asleep next to each other on the narrow floor in the house of Bard the Bowman.

It was hard to believe that someone like him could not personally face it; someone much older than you, considering the different lifespans between Dwarves and Men. Still, between you two, it was always Kíli who had more experience in travelling, who had seen lands you only heard about in stories, who met creatures from fairytales, who fought evil you could not even imagine yourself. That is why, when you heard him admitting that fact, you considered yourself lucky to be able to finally show him something new and not the other way around. For once, you could be the one giving an explanation and observing the way his expression changed when you went out of the forest and stood by the edge of heather's fields meeting with the beach. The image in front of you was breathtaking and you missed it dearly after the months spent on the journey—and yet, you did not share a single glance to the ocean itself, too focused on the wide smile speading on Kíli's face, as his sight wandered over the landscape.

„I like it,” he admitted, drawing a small circle in the sand next to the place he was sitting on. „I really do. Thank you for taking me there.”

Pulling your knees to the chin, you noticed how warm your cheeks were getting, not affected by the wind anymore. It was rare to see him this kind of content, not overly exited, not laughing out loud with a big cup of an ale in the hand, but simply enjoying the new experience and trying to memorize it as best as he could. Oh, if there only was a magic trick which would allow you to freeze the time in that second and keep the image of his happy face by the ocean forever! Unfortunately though, you were no sorcerer and all you could do was to look at him, remembering every detail of this blissful moment.

„Wait,” you said and stood up, causing Kíli to give you a confused look. „Just wait for me. It won't take long, I promise!”

And then you headed toward the waters, quickly taking step after step until finally reaching more firm ground—the one washed by the waves over and over, where you could find all different kinds of colourful stones, soaked tree branches and various seashells. The latest were your main aim when you were walking right and left with gaze glued to the sand by your feet, looking for the most interesting ones and eventually picking them up, collecting in the pocket of your coat. When you were done and straightened your back, you almost jumped after noticing Kíli standing barely few steps behind you and carefully observing your actions.

„I told you to wait for me,” you grumbled, trying to hide the fact that he somehow ruined the small surprise.

„It was taking you so long I felt my beard grow long and gray.” He moved next to you, peeking at your hands hidden in the pockets. „Come on, show me.”

There he was again, impatient as always, making it impossible to not smile at the innocent curiosity in his voice. Thetrically rolling your eyes, you picked a handful of colourful seashells and took them out of the pocket, letting Kíli take a look at them.

„Oh!” he gasped and gently poked them with his finger, only then picking one up and eyeing it from every angle. „Those are pretty. Nowhere near as pretty as you, but still quite good looking.”

„Kíli!”

„Alright, alright.” He winked and suddenly you were speechless when he slowly reached toward you holding a seashell by your ear for a while, as if checking whether would it make a nice earring, not taking his eyes off of you for the whole time. Still, instead of being focused on the seashell, his sight was directed only toward you, constantly keeping an eye contact. „So pretty... Once again, you were right. There are real treasures here, simply waiting to be found.”

You remained in this position for a while, not being able to turn away, not when his dark gaze seemed to hold you in place. It was so gentle and full of love it made your knees weak and tongue dry, the urge to kiss him stronger than ever before.

Before you could do anything, Kíli placed the seashell back on your open hand and smiled at you knowingly.

„May I keep it?” he asked. „The treasure.”

You were not sure if he was still talking about the seashell you found, nevertheless you gave him an answer.

„Of course you can. It is all yours.”

Later on, when you were back in the same place you left your belongings on, the sun was drowning deep in the ocean, the sky above you growing darker and more stars shining. Somewhere near the trees, you noticed the pale moon bitten in half.

Kíli was laying next to you, arms crossed behind the head and staring upon the endless space. The leather coat he offered to put on the ground so you would not catch an ill was indeed helpful, preventing the chill from crawling on your skin. Long ago you have found out that he did not need too much protection during the cold nights, his hands always creating enough warmth to even share with you and stop the unbearable trembling of your fingers.

Slowly, you turned your head to him, hoping to unnoticeably trace the line of his profile with your sight and to make sure that it was no dream, that he was truly there with you. Surprisingly, you caught him staring at you first and immediately startled him by this discovery, a short cough leaving past his lips as he pretended to be changing positions so he was resting on the side now, facing you from barely inches away.

„Can I ask you something?” he inquired all of a sudden.

„Of course... No need to warn me, go ahead.”

The weight of his chocolate gaze landed upon you, although not as heavy as the soft, butterfly touch of his finger on the top of your hand. It almost sent shivers down your arms, the way he drew invisible patterns until reaching your wrist and then coming back to the fingers, the unspoken question lost in your mind long ago. You saw the tiny grains of sand tangled in his hair from laying on the beach with nothing under the head, you felt how warm and attentive he was, carefully playing with your hand and ready to withdraw in every moment, just in case you were to stop him.

But you did not and only smiled when he finally caught your hand in his, resting them both at the top of your stomach. Just like before, the time seemed to have no power over you two, there was no past, no future, only the present, his fingers entangled with yours, his adoring gaze upon your face and the breeze on your skin. Almost like a dream, the one you never wanted to wake up from.

Kíli bent over you, so close that the wild strands of his hair tickled your cheek and you held your breath, waiting for him to move even closer. Just when his lips barely brushed against yours, you heard him whisper something you did not comprehend in the first second.

„May I kiss you?”

The question was so unnecessary, it almost made you laugh. Instead, you placed a hand on his nape and brought him to yourself, finally tasting the kiss you desperately longed for. You felt him smile against you, freeing the hand from yours and stroking your cheek until he broke the kiss and looked down at you with so much love and passion you could melt under the mere sight. Kíli poked the tip of your nose with his and giggled before kissing you again, this time delicately sucking your upper lip and tracing it with his tongue. You embraced him, running your fingers through his hair which made him grunt deeply, satisfied with your endeavour and craving more with every passing minute.

The kiss seemed to contain all the previous times when your true feelings were restrained, be it by the unfavourable situations or your own uncertainty. Right now, however, there was nothing which could stop you from expressing how much you meant to each other, the greatest adventure of your life just starting with him by your side.

When you parted, Kíli licked his lips and rested his forehead against yours, not breaking an eye contact even for a moment.

„I think I love you,” you muttered, his warm breath caressing your lips.

„You think you do?” You scrunched the nose up. „That is not very convincing.”

Kíli kissed you again, this time shortly and sweetly, making you stay quiet before he spoke again.

„No, I have actually never been more sure of anything, than I currently am of my endless love for you. I could give you some teary comparison about it and the ocean (since I am quite a good poet, as you will soon find out) but that would be a waste of a perfect moment to kiss you all over again.”

You giggled at his words but did not have the time to answer as he did, what he promised to do. Only in the small break between soft kisses, you managed to whisper back your own confession, the one which seemed to move him so deeply, you could swear that there was a glimmer of a tear of happiness in his eye, before he blinked quickly, preventing you from fully noticing it.

„I love you, too, Kíli. Through the ocean and far, far away.”

#kili x reader #kili #kili imagine #the hobbit #the hobbit fanfiction

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anangelicday-mrwolf · 3 years

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Wolfsbane : Noblesse Fanfic (post-ending)

(previous chapter)

Chapter 64 – The Will of the Blade

“Sir.”

It was Rael that Raizel’s steps were destined at, following his talk with Frankenstein.

“...Rael Kertia. It was of an honorable accomplishment that you have brought.”

Rael sheepishly nodded in response to his commendation.

On the first day ever he stood in the Lord’s Hall as the head of his clan, Rael cursed the fact that he had nothing to present as a medal unlike other heads of clans.

But now he finally got for himself what Raizel would dub as an accomplishment.

Even with something he could carve upon a new trophy for himself – something that he can proudly present to the patriarchs of the Kertia clan – he did not feel elated or proud at all.

His head was endlessly winding and rewinding a marathon of what he had gone through during his showdown against Deneb, pumping into his atriums and ventricles a myriad of feelings for each heartbeat.

The last of his curiosity for Grandia that has finally made its comeback.

Indignation at Deneb’s unspeakable plan.

And......

“Seem tremendously troubled you do.”

Just before he was once again conquered by the emotional chain most intricately bound to his mind at the moment, Raizel’s velvety call dragged him back to reality.

“Apologies, sir. I’m afraid I failed to attend to your words.”

“From your body I feel the edge of energies of Rayga and Razark.”

Rael’s head twitched, bowed in the presence of the Noblesse.

His soul weapon was tucked in hiding, waiting for the next summon its master would issue.

And just because a soul weapon is on standby for a summon does not mean its energy is completely intact within its outline.

However, in order for the energy within the soul weapon to leak, its owner must engage in a battle to unleash even the least portion of power he or she could afford, which will whisk only the faintest of the soul weapon’s energy.

Like the very first time Rael put himself against Frankenstein in Seoul, for example.

Compared to what happened back then, Rael’s Grandia is half-asleep, if its state is to be transcribed into a medical state, and Rael did not even attempt to dispense his power.

Yet Raizel claimed he picked up traces of Rayga and Razark, permanently asleep in Grandia.

Rael’s head wobbled back and forth, driven by the thought that his father and brother must have been aware of the anguish and deliberation he had suffered.

As expected.

And now he knew why Grandia had been serving as a thorn in his path.

“Sir, could you please spare me some time for me to open my heart...?”

What he had experienced was not the sort to rub into anybody’s nose, but Rael saw no reason to keep it a secret any longer.

Thus he unraveled the entire history of distress and woes he had with his soul weapon.

He also unleashed the sorrow, disorientation, and pressure he had to bear in relation to his conflict with the patriarchs of his clan.

Even though he was made an audience for something he had never asked for, Raizel kept his ears as focused as possible, his eyes never once blinking.

Rael’s speech met its end, but Raizel remained silent.

From his mouth as well-reserved as his nature, and from his eyes as serene as his physique and psyche, Rael could read Raizel’s intention.

The Noblesse was serving himself as a well – a well that never retorts or rebukes or rejects, regardless of the words that are poured into it.

A well that will simply accept whatever its visitor throws in and wait where it is until the visitor completely empties his or her monologue.

Rael realized a tad late that he was puffing up feeble gasps, now that he was done speaking.

It was not of the rate that would tail unimaginably rigorous physical labor.

It was closer to a physical and mental closure to a long, long mediation.

In fact, Rael could feel his heart clear like never before – at least he had never felt like this since his perpetual return to Lukedonia – reminiscent of the heaven made clean with a tempest.

As of now, he felt like he could do anything – including, for instance, dealing with his struggle against the oh-so-fearful patriarchs of Kertias once and for all.

‘I see.’

That was when Rael caught up on another motive behind Raizel’s quiet toleration of his narrative.

‘He’s helping me with my practice. After all, second is always easier than the first.’

And he even took caution to be considerate of Rael’s dignity, to allow him to figure out his purpose.

Rael met Raizel in the eyes, the Noblesse pleased that his treasured follower’s son earned an enlightenment.

“My Grandia had been unresponsive because my will was not what I should have carried. I should have held my blades with nothing but the very essence of the will of Kertias. Since who-knows-when, I’ve been captivated by this obsession that I must be a head of my clan that will not shame my father and brother. I have forgotten about myself as the head of Kertias, even committing shame of mimicking my brother in every aspect of my life, copying his hair and manner of speech.”

Rael’s voice was devoid of its past weight, instead firm and well-grounded.

“When I discarded all my obsession and corrected my path into the direction that will lead me to the Kertian will, albeit uncoordinated and inexperienced... That was when Grandia returned to me. And now... I think I know what path I must follow as the head of my clan... What I should do to truly return my gratitude to my father and brother, who gave me an ordeal of a lesson from my blades.”

It had been less than 24 hours since his steel reassumed its position, but Rael’s eyes were glowing with unmeasurable profundity.

“There is no need for perfection. There is no need for reenactment of my father and brother. What I need is self-discovery in my own path and will as a head of my clan. And I will never forget what truly matters. My deepest gratitude, sir, for being a company to my account.”

Raizel at last parted his lips, illustrating a subtle smile as if he was elated to be of help.

“Now go.”

Go? Go where?

“Concerned of him, you have been.”

Yup, he is impossible to fool.

“In that case, please excuse me.”

Keeping his manners functional to the very last moment, Rael showed the most well-shaped bow he could perform and turned his course, to the most seriously injured person among all people hospitalized as urgent patients within KSA’s infirmary.

*****

“...Sir... Rael...”

Rael was greeted by a vocal beckoning so very thin, not strange at all to be gone in mere seconds, the speaker’s every plane supposedly naked for the noble to see clad in bandages.

Had Rael been born from a different race, he would not have caught that Yuhyung was making a sound, let alone comprehend what he was making sounds for.

That was just how disastrously his voice box – no, how his entire body was compromised.

“Hang in there for just a little bit. Sir Frankenstein will be here soon.”

Rael offered a notice on Frankenstein’s return, by courtesy of Tao.

No punishment ever coined would be enough upon the human, considering what he had wrought and hence brought upon Korea.

Nonetheless, the RK’s reached an agreement to show the felon to Frankenstein.

After all, neither legal penalty nor physical retaliation would be possible if he is to die.

And Rael took out that part in his news; he did not feel this is the time to reveal the fact.

“And I recommend you to brace yourself. Lukedonia may summon you as an affiliate to Deneb’s act of treason, So...”

At then, Yuhyung spat out eccentric pieces of coughs.

If his throat happened to be better even by little, Rael would have noted immediately that it was meant to be a self-sneer.

That it was meant to be a self-scorn of immense regret, for making an irrevocable, erroneous choice and marking upon hundreds of people humongous bitterness of betrayal and scars.

‘Just how blind have I been...?’

The day he lost his colleagues to nobleborn and wolfborn elders of the Union and begot the blade called vengeance in his bosom.

That was the day Yuhyung got to define the noblekind and wolfkind as his nemesis.

He swore he will never forgive them.

He swore he will have his revenge.

He swore he will pry out the hearts of his nemesis with the blade within him, on the day he finally gains power.

So on the day Taesik and the doctor suddenly called him and assigned him business trips to nobles and werewolves, he burned with cruel passion.

And he even got to meet a Union agent called Helga, everything seemingly a golden chance from Lady Luck.

Which is why the moment he began his duty with the QuadraNet project, he deliberately shaped himself more uncoordinated and frantic.

He never stopped smiling and dispersing goofy laughs, as if his mouth was full of honey, but he painstakingly waited for the day he would get to reveal the blade within him, very much alive and hissing like a snake.

That was the way he had been, until he got to learn about Rael.

He felt his vindictive stance crumbling, in the face of a noble very far from arrogance or vanity.

He even felt for sure how he was wavering when he met the beautiful lord of the nobles.

Because when he was demonstrating for her Tao’s phone and apps, she was not hugely different from the human girls from his world, shy about her affections for her certain someone.

And then he ran into an unexpected addition to his quest – a noble named Deneb who forced him to be his spy on Rael.

Because of whom Yuhyung was half-coerced to yield from his set of equipment a walkie-talkie and the extrasensitive thermal detector, in case there were to be a future collision with Rael.

‘I almost had a heart attack when I realized Sir Rael rummaged through my bag, upon the sea where he was to hand me over to Miss Lunark, when I had a seizure. I was scared he might have realized my bag lost some weight.’

Apart from his apprehension towards an unwelcome ally, back then Yuhyung was actually thankful for Deneb.

For he became the reason for Yuhyung to scold himself that nobles cannot be trusted at all (and he should know it), the Illiness reeking of desire for Seira in every composition of his being, upon the sight of which Yuhyung regrounded his attitude that was swaying ever since his encounter with Rael and Lascrea.

Notwithstanding, he found himself hesitating once again, as he watched how Lunark was basically screaming into his eyes how she had a crush, with Garda making a huge show of teasing her.

He felt that they are basically werewolf versions of his own kind.

And he could feel himself precariously dithering, as he could practically hear the word “maybe” in his head at least dozen times.

He even had to shake his head as if there were a tarantula sitting upon it, but in the end he was met with a trial.

When Lunark escorted him back to Lukedonia, they had stopped in the middle of their marine trail.

He was horrified that she might have detected what lurks in his heart, but to his utmost surprise she brought herself upon her knees.

I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry about the death of your colleagues and devastation of your homeland, because of the assault that I was part of on that day. I know it’s too late to apologize. I know my apology does not bring back your colleagues. Still... I’m so sorry. I really am.

Never has he seen it coming.

Never has he even imagined that the very assailant of the tragedy would kneel before him.

What shocked him even more was that he almost offered her his hand to raise her up before she did.

As he put on a masquerade of every frenzy he could muster, he internally gritted his teeth.

That’s right, werewolf. This doesn’t change anything.

I’m not changing my goal, no matter what you do.

And how do I know if you’re being serious?

So I’m going to stick to my plan.

I will bring power to the KSA and stab your heart with this blade of mine!

‘I should have known that I was being stubborn... I should have known that I knew I was being stubborn. I should have stopped myself from ignoring what my heart was screeching at me.’

It was because of this incident at Seoul that he finally realized his heart could no longer stay as the sheath for his blade.

As he watched how the blade he was so certain was meant for nobles and werewolves ironically butchered his own kind and his beloved motherland, and as he grew delirious with pain and despair, as if the heaven had forsaken him, he finally had the enlightenment.

‘Not all nobles are evil. Not all werewolves are morally castrated. It is not right to dump individual evil upon the entire kind. Most importantly... I knew it deep down inside. But I’ve been playing deaf and blind.’

Which was proven by the fact that he unconsciously shifted his eyes towards Rael when he was pleading to Deneb to save this city.

For a reason unbeknownst to him, he knew that Rael is the one he should be begging to, not Deneb.

Which is why when Rael saved him from being pushed off the brink of death via Deneb’s hand and speedily carried him to KSA, Yuhyung did not waste his time at all in providing something to him.

Something he had earned during his quest at wolfkind’s realm, when he found from Adne’s computer the most recently printed file during the course of his work with QuadraNet project.

A file on something called GC chip.

It was the Union technology he found to be most enchanting, so he even took his separate notes about it.

That was what he handed to Rael, and the latter lived up to his expectations, saving Seoul with his team.

‘Even now he’s caring for a criminal and a traitor called me... Brace myself? I’ve already given up on myself, whatever it is that is waiting for me.’

Enemy to him. Enemy to Korea. And enemy to the mankind.

One of the subjects he had deemed so in fact saved him. He saved Korea. And he saved the mankind, at least those inhabiting this city.

And he could collect fragments of words that Tao, Takio, and M-21 shared as they visited in turns to take a look at him, to learn that Lunark did something similar at Lukedonia.

‘My true enemy wasn’t the nobles. Or werewolves. It was my thirst for vengeance twisted and distorted into obsession and obstinacy, refusing to accept that not all nobles and werewolves are my enemies.’

Which means it is time for him to throw away the blade he had been tucking deeply in his chest.

‘No... I shouldn’t throw it away. I must free it from the sheath called obsession, wipe off rust called obstinacy, and pass it on to the new wielder. To somebody who is directly affiliated with this matter and thus scheduled with a hell of a round of toil. Not to mention how he was discussing with Mr. Tao and his team that he must return to Lukedonia as soon as possible and bring judgment upon Deneb.’

With his decision made, Yuhyung croaked repeatedly to draw Rael’s attention.

His eyes bulging, the Kertia approached to look into the man, and Yuhyung for first time ever gave it all he had gotten to clutch onto his garment.

Or rather, he managed to barely place two of his fingers on Rael’s sleeve.

“I... Have... Some... Thing... To... Give... You...”

At first Rael tried to stop him from speaking; speech was on the list of not-to-do’s for the human in his current condition.

But the fact that Yuhyung would know very well how he is doing and yet is struggling to say something made him change his mind.

Which resulted with Rael’s eyes, already bulky enough, growing so enormous that it was a wonder they did not burst.

(next chapter)

Once again, I’ve brought you a chapter on how much Rael has grown lol. He happens to be my 3rd bias from Noblesse, so I’ve been waiting to compose and post this chapter. And at last here it is. :) Once I’m done describing the internal shifts the characters have gone through, this fic will finally meet its end. Actually, I assume Ch. 70 will be the final chapter. I have several projects I must get busy with, so it’s about time for me to finish this series. Although I don’t feel like I’m getting there yet, by the time I post the final chapter I’d feel immensely rueful that it’s over. Until then I will do my best as a writer. Much gratitude to those of you who would read my fic!

#korean webcomic #korean webtoon #fanfic #noblesse #frankenstein #lunark #frankensteinxlunark #lunarkxfrankenstein #wolfsbane #Mr.Wolf #AnAngelicDay

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capricornus-rex · 4 years

Text

A Path I Can’t Follow (10 - End)

Chapter 10: Duel of the Fates | Cal Kestis x Reader

Summary: It was a matter of life and death—the question is, should it be the life of many or one, the death of many or one? Cal Kestis makes what ought to be the biggest and hardest decision of his life as he is pitted with a question of high stakes and morals. He descends to the Dark Side and becomes an Inquisitor. A choice he openly made for the sake of saving you, even if you didn’t know you needed it until it was too late.

Tags: Dark Side! Cal Kestis, Inquisitor! Cal Kestis

Notes: Finally finished! Thank you to everyone who has been staying tuned to what could be my biggest (in terms of word count) SWJFO yet! I hope you enjoyed it and my other fics, and also hope that you’ll still be there when I make more! Lots of love! 💕

Also posted in AO3

Chapters: 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – 6 – 7 – 8 | Previous: Chapter 9 | Masterlist

10 of 10

Cal clutched back your hands on his face, savoring their softness after yearning for your touch. He wasn’t sure what to say, he kept silent while avoiding your eyes. Impulsively, you pull yourself close to him into an embrace which he gladly returned, relishing your warmth as you tightened your hold around his back.

Over your shoulder, he notices the pair of antennas poking out—he knew that it was BD-1. He was relieved that the little droid has regrouped with you.

“What happened to you?” you whispered in his ear.

His eyes wandered all over the place, searching for the answer. He didn’t know what to say. He gently pulls away from you but never let go of your hands.

“You’re not hurt, are you?”

“No, no,” he weakly chuckled. “I’m fine, see?”

His assurance didn’t really console you, he knows well enough not to take you for a fool—he feels that you can sense it too within him: the Dark Side of the Force.

You didn’t want to startle him with your questioning, but you wanted to know everything all at once whilst a part of you still doesn’t want to believe or perhaps isn’t ready to believe. Cal saw the troubled look in your eyes—the way your eyebrows furrowed, how your lip trembled even if you’ve bitten it, and the shallow rapid breathing.

“BD told me that… you went with the Grand Inquisitor… And Razh! He told me that you gave the order… at the village, you… slaughtered them!” you rambled away, your thoughts out of sequence. “W-Who is the Grand Inquisitor?!”

“Razh and BD didn’t tell you everything.”

From that reply, the worst of all your assumptions have been confirmed. There was no need for more questioning; you have the answer to everything you need to know.

There was a churning feeling in the pit of your stomach, your heart was pounding so loudly that you were out of breath just by trying to calm it down.

“What do you mean?”

“What a droid couldn’t understand is my reason for doing it,”

BD-1 trilled loudly, obviously confused and shocked at what Cal had said.

“What reason!?” your voice cracked, your tone becoming more demanding as the moment passes.

On the other hand, Cal understood where you were coming from; you were in a state of shock, of course you’re confused and can’t comprehend everything going on right now. You came to him for answers, although they were answers that you never hoped and perhaps weren’t ready for.

“I should’ve told you way back then,” he muttered, blankly staring at the floor.

“So, you were hiding something from me then?!”

“If only you knew what I had to do to save you,”

“Save me…? From what!? From the Grand Inquisitor?” you pointed at him. “From you!?”

One thing piled over the other. You had sensed something wrong with Cal back then, even when you were still recovering in Razh’s house. You hated yourself for not sensing it much earlier, had you been vocal about it and brought it up with him—even at the expense of his comfort in talking about it—then you would’ve averted this entire disaster.

The blast door behind Cal jerked open. Out comes the Eighth Sister back from the dead. You didn’t even realize it, your legs were moving on their own—you backed away in a fearful shock, discovering that you apparently didn’t kill the Mirialan Inquisitor.

“It’s you!” The Eighth Sister exclaimed at her discovery, the longing to exact her vengeance on you immediately took over her actions, she briskly ignited her lightsaber, ready for a second round.

“No, you’re not taking another step!” Cal growled.

“Screw that, I’m gonna get a go at her for dropping rocks on me!”

“I SAID NO!!!” Cal, with a great ferocity, roared again and stretched out his arm at the Eighth Sister and an unseen wave—as violent at the Fourth Brother’s in their first encounter—threw her right back into the metal hallways and locking her there in the process by busting the control panel.

You witnessed how strong Cal had become—obviously stronger than you—and wondered if this was the work of the Grand Inquisitor and the Dark Side that has seeped into him. All of a sudden, your fear of him was starting to outweigh your love for him.

It felt like time had stopped ticking for that one moment.

Cal’s heart pounded loudly through his chest, despite the flurry of emotions wounding between you and him, it was beating rather in a calm rhythm.

Every plea you uttered, echoed and then drowned by the eruption of geysers. The hot wind pricking your cheeks. Your breathing was unstable and shaky, gasping in hiccupping beats as you fought back tears.

You cannot deny it: his descent was imminent.

“Please, Cal,” you stepped closer to him so that you reach to touch his face. “Stop this. Stop this and come home with me.”

“No, no,” he shakes his head. “Don’t you see that this is the better choice? A choice that either you or I should have done a long time ago?”

You unconsciously shake your head, but he didn’t notice.

“[y/n], if only you knew how it feels, all this…” he looked at his hands, then looked around him, gesturing at the expanse of the Empire’s hold. “This power, it’s something I’ve never ever felt in my whole life!”

“Please stop, you’re scaring me, Cal…” you cracked.

“Stay here with me, I’ll protect you like I always do—I’ve become stronger already, [y/n]! All this strength that’s been hiding within me, this is what it only needed for me to finally get a hold of it. The Inquisitors won’t dare lay a finger on you. We’ll always be together—like we’ve always planned, haven’t we? Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“But not like this!” you bellowed, still struggling to suppress the tears welling up in your eyes. “This is NOT how I wanted that! You of all people should know that!”

He continued to justify himself. It was for the best, he says. This could do some much good that you two have been lacking all this time, he presses. A twisted smile curled in his face alarmed you, though you remained stubborn with yourself, you had hoped to convince him back.

Your heart broke and ached so much that you felt your chest suffocating you.

“This isn’t you… This isn’t who you really are!” you said shakily, on the verge of tears. “I don’t know the person I’m looking at anymore!”

Cal’s lips parted, his once-soft expression quickly morphed into a face seething with rage and greed.

“Please, don’t make me do this…” your voice quivered as you hesitated to reach for the hilt on your belt.

“It doesn’t have to be this way!” Cal roared, fighting to get you to his side—not the other way around.

“You’re right, it doesn’t,”

You didn’t even realize that your hand was moving on its own, your fingers clamped around the elegant cylinder and gave a quick tug.

“And that is why I will do what I must.”

One lightsaber being ignited was followed by another.

Your eyes trailed blankly to the beam of light, a second beam was ignited, appearing out of the other end of his hilt.

There was no other way to settle this. Both of you positioned yourselves in stances. As quick as the blink of an eye, both of you lunged at each other until your lightsabers hissed and sparked as they collided. Cal shifted all his weight on his deflect in an attempt to stagger you, but you withdrew and restarted your stance.

He’s gotten more aggressive. You analyzed as the two of you circled one another, you wagered that it was a new lightsaber form he’s picked up but it’s impossible—even for an Inquisitor, let alone a fledgling Inquisitor.

To his advantage, Cal has read your moves—none of which were new—and knew exactly when and where you were open; though, he took the liberty of going easy on you—he remembers that you hated that, it always felt like you were being robbed of a challenge and a lesson altogether, resulting to you throwing a tantrum in the form of reckless moves and attack patterns.

The meeting of your sabers procured a blinding light for every collision, the weapons hummed and snarled violently when one of you deflected the other, you gracefully evaded his lethal dash strikes; in frustration, he turned to you, teeth clenched and bared, and then prepares for another attack.

Is he trying to kill me or apprehend me? You pondered in that second. It doesn’t matter. I have to fight!

It occurred to you that for once in your life, you never imagined that you would be crossing blades with Cal in this kind of predicament. This couldn’t be what the Force willed, could it? It felt like a premature joke, a cruel prank at you—it was bull, you thought. The anger was growing in you; little by little, it manifested in your strikes until you were at par with your boyfriend’s caliber. While it was satisfying, you knew you had to be better—you forced the anger to recede, remembering all of your training in the space of a second, and the words your master and Cere spoke that burned into your mind.

“The Dark Side could make you grow so much stronger than this,” Cal hummed.

“And be a prisoner of it? I don’t think so!”

The floor beneath your feet shook and rumbled, later realizing that you’ve stepped onto the elevator. When the lift had hoisted you a mere three feet up from the ground, Cal wasn’t letting you get away from him—he somersaulted effortlessly and attempted to land a strike on you, much to his chagrin, you deflected it again.

“Good block,”

“Thanks, I take after you!”

The duel dragged on as the elevator brought you to the upper levels of the fortress. You elbowed Cal in the stomach, hoping that the few seconds of his staggering would buy you some time; you ran off of the elevator and found yourself in what you assumed to be a control center, you used the Force to seal the doors behind you.

“[y/n], are you still there? We don’t have much time, their command ship has picked up the Mantis in their radar!” Cere crackled through your comlink.

“I’m here! Tell Greez to make the Mantis do a fly-by at the upper level of the fortress, I’ll find my way to you!”

The doors didn’t barricade Cal from you for long. The two of your continued the duel, slashing up the computers and terminals in the process.

“If you knew better, you wouldn’t let this battle drag on!” Cal bantered again.

“If you knew better, this wouldn’t be happening in the first place!” you clapped back.

An Imperial security droid awoke from the sound of your skirmish; unable to identify friend or foe between the two of you, the tall, human-like droid charged at Cal and picked up the boy with great ease. The young fallen Jedi kicked his legs in the air, trying to break free from the droid’s surprisingly strong grip.

The droid somewhat did you a favor and afforded you mere seconds to flee. You ran to the outdoor balcony overlooking the operations of the facility below; there were some pipes that connected this level to a higher one. You looked over your shoulder and saw the droid slam Cal hard into the ground—it was so strong that the impact of his back against the metal floor caused it to quake. It somewhat hurt you more than it hurt Cal.

There was no time to lose. Slowly but steadily, you stepped onto the narrow width of the pipes with both of your arms extended but relaxed.

“Don’t look down,” you chanted to yourself at every step, trying to calm down. “Don’t look back.”

The young redhead made quick work of getting rid of the droid and then returned his attention to you. He ran to the balcony and saw you were halfway across the pipes to the high platform; you’ve already jumped up to the pipe above your head and shimmied through. Instead of following you in the same route, he looked to his side and wall-ran to another, much thicker, pipe.

You saw him at the corner of your eye but you ignored him, concentrating on setting foot onto the platform. Unexpectedly, he directed his focus on the second, upper pipe you were standing on and used the Force to pull it. From the distance, you could hear the throttle of the Mantis.

They’ve come through! You thought with great relief.

The rusty pipe groaned as it loosened from Cal’s Force-pull, you lost your footing in effect but you hugged the beam until you figured it was safe to stand on it again. You watched Cal easily balancing on his pipe and reaching the wide platform first.

“That son of a—!” you growled and bolted through the pipe, making a run for it instead of going gently. Each step you brought on the pipe was a burden, it creaked and slowly you can feel it falling apart under your feet.

You took a leap of faith and made it through the gap. You propped yourself back on your feet and reignited your lightsaber. Cal wasn’t letting this fight end so easily and quickly, and neither were you. Lightsabers intercrossed once again, attempting to overpower the other by the shifting your weights on blocks and strikes, refusing to end up in a stalemate both of you forced each other’s strength against the other—in turn, sparks have begun to spew out of the blades.

Cere was searching for you and Cal in the tower, Greez kept the Mantis hovering by the fortress in a close distance for Cere to find you. The lightsabers were enough of a beacon for her to easily spot you. Leaning close to the windshield, she pointed at the platform here the pipes have led you and Cal to.

“Look, there they are!”

“Hold on, I gotta maneuver the old girl!” Greez strained at the wheel as he makes a sharp turn with the Mantis.

You looked to the Mantis for one second and knew that Greez is preparing to hover the ship close. You turn back to Cal—in a final, hopeful attempt, you pleaded to him.

“Cal… Please, can we go home?”

“I can’t go back anymore,”

The fire in his eyes, stoked and illuminated by the mingling colors of your lightsabers, burned differently. When you discovered that glint in his jade eyes, you looked at him as if he was someone else. A whole, new person.

A stranger.

He can feel your strength ebbing, about to fumble any minute now; but you gathered the remaining power you have in you and pushed him away, stealing his chance of ever landing a strike at you—with this newfound frenzy, you denied him an opening to hit back, not even a single jab. The strikes that he blocked from you were noticeably stronger than before.

You kicked him in the abdomen, enough to make him stagger away a few steps away from you, and your next move is what surprised him the most in the entirety of this duel.

You aim your outstretched hand at him and then a powerful ripple emitted out of your open palm. Out of the blue, Cal was stiff as a board, stuck in a painfully arching posture as he stood with his chest sticking out, causing his back to camber in a wide, convex curve. This was entirely different from his Force-Slow. He’s ultimately stuck in place. Not a single muscle was allowed to twitch. A single jerk of a finger felt like he’d sprain it if he tried.

You yourself were surprised at what you had done. You gawked at your hands at the discovery of this once-dormant ability.

Behind your back, you could hear Cere calling your name.

“[Y/N], COME ON!”

From the distance, ion cannons from the TIE Fighters whistled as they fired at the Mantis and tremendously missed by a hair.

Seeing that it’s hopeless to convince Cal, you directed your concentration on his lightsaber and pulled it away from his hand; then you turned tail and booked it towards the Mantis hovering by the railings. You closed the gap between the platform and the ship. You almost made it as you landed on your stomach; Cere cautiously approached you and grabbed you by the arm as she helped you pull yourself up. You held onto the bar of the entry ramp and looked back: Cal remained standing there, still stuck in the influence of your Force-Halt. His face was crumpled with great anger as he watched the Mantis prepare for takeoff—a part of you understood if a fraction of that anger was for you.

This is the last time your eyes meet.

You retreated into the ship and threw yourself on the co-pilot seat and started typing out coordinates. Meanwhile, the crew was staring at a frozen Cal on the platform through the windshield. They—especially Cere—couldn’t believe what they're seeing. A thought was bothering her the whole time as well, and much like you, the sight of Cal is what confirmed her theory.

“H-Hey, wai—what are you doing?!? What about Cal!?” Greez yapped in confusion.

“GREEZ, JUST GO!”

Startled, he pressed buttons on the dashboard with all of his four arms in the speed of lightning before cranking the lever and the Mantis fled out of the planet. Greez told the entire crew to hold on as he dodged all of the cannons that the TIE Fighters blasted at the Mantis—you felt all of your organs spin out of their place as the ship performed a 360 and then jump into lightspeed. Your knees were already weak from the altitude and the duel, but it felt like your caps have dissolved and turned into broth with Greez’s daredevil stunts with the Mantis.

While the ship sped through the tunnel of blue light, you finally afforded to catch your breath. You almost forgot that you had Cal’s lightsaber in your clutches. Just by holding it, you could feel the emotions that he has imprinted on it—fear, desperation, and even hate. These were emotions that you knew would be the last thing to stay in Cal’s mind.

Though, you figured that the young redhead that you tried so hard to lure out of that wrath-filled husk of a man could be just that—a shell, an image. You held the hilt close to your heart as you leaned back slumping against the co-pilot seat.

Greez and Cere exchanged glances, torn between give some comforting words or letting you be in your silence; but Cere sensed that the latter would be the best thing to do for you.

“[y/n], why don’t you… lie down in your room for a while?” Cere cooed in a motherly tone.

You swiveled your chair to face her, she shoots a gentle look at you, slightly motioning her head at the direction of the quarters. Without a word, you obliged.

The room has never felt so empty. It’s like stepping into it for the first time and not knowing what to do, expect, and say. You placed Cal’s lightsaber on the workbench along with yours. You approached the narrow bed and found his scrapper’s poncho sitting there. Unconsciously, you take it and let your fingers run across the matted fabric, giving off the musk of combined rainwater and gear oil.

BD-1 hopped off of your shoulder as you sat down, you continued to feel the cloth and let it squish through the spaces between your fingers.

“Boo-woop?”

“I’m okay, BD…” you mumbled.

“Boooo…” he lowed sadly.

“Yeah, I miss him too…”

You curled up into a ball lying down on your side, with Cal’s poncho held close to your heart and BD-1 nestling by your side as you dozed off in a hushed sob.

Meanwhile, Cal had already broken off from your Force-Halt, pounding the metal floor with his fists in agony more than anger as he regained his bearings. The Grand Inquisitor found him in a complete disarray, although he dismissed as a tantrum.

“Oh come now, you could’ve bested her if it weren’t for her ship,”

“I… I thought she’d want to be with me…” he mumbled, confused and disappointed like a child. And then he suddenly snapped. “Now she’s fled with the Holocron!”

“Which I believe you will make quick work of… after your training.”

“Yes, Grand Inquisitor,” Cal hissed, his mood immediately shifting into a calm yet ominous demeanor as he followed the Grand Inquisitor into the fortress.

TO BE CONTINUED…

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yieldfruit · 4 years

Text

by Joseph Philpot, 1845, excerpts. Click for full article.

“He is no longer able to shelter in his own wisdom, righteousness, and strength.

The pleasures of the world and the pursuits of business, that alternately amuse and engross the great bulk of mankind, have lost for him their interest. He can no longer find his element in these things. The inward teachings of God the Spirit have driven him out from them all by laying the things of eternity with weight upon his soul; and thus he has become a wanderer.

But there is another idea connected with a wanderer--that he has lost his way. When he was in the world, he had no difficulties--the path was so broad that he could not mistake it. But when the work of divine grace begins in a sinner's heart, he loses his way. He cannot find his way into the world--God has driven him out of it, as he drove Lot out of Sodom. He cannot find his way to heaven--because he at present lacks those clear testimonies, those bright manifestations whereby alone he can see his path.

This is his experience, then, that he has lost his way--having turned his back upon the world--and yet unable to realize those enjoyments in his soul that would make heaven his home. He has so lost his way, as to be often unable to go backward or forward; so lost his way, that whether he turns to the right hand or the left, he has no plain landmarks to show him the path in which his soul longs to go.

This is a mark peculiar to the child of God--that the path by which he travels is, in his own feelings, a solitary way. This much increases his trials, that they appear peculiar to himself. His perplexities are such as he cannot believe any living soul is exercised with; the fiery darts which are cast into his mind by the wicked One are such as he thinks no child of God has ever experienced--the darkness of his soul, the unbelief and infidelity of his heart, and the workings of his powerful corruptions, are such as he supposes none ever knew but himself.

It is this walking ‘in a solitary way’ that makes the path of trial and temptation so painful to God's family. To be without any comfort except what God gives, without any guidance but what the Lord affords, without any support but what springs from the everlasting arms laid underneath--in a word, to be in that state where the Lord alone must appear, and where he alone can deliver, is very painful. But it is the very painful nature of the path that makes it so profitable. We need to be cut off from resting upon an arm of flesh--to be completely divorced from all props to support our souls--except that Almighty Prop which cannot fail.

The Lord's people are very apt to lean upon one another--they will rest upon anything (so prone is our nature to look to and rest upon something visible) before they will lean upon the invisible God. But the mark of the believer is, that he has to do with invisible realities--that he is supplied with invisible strength, and upheld by an invisible hand. Were it not, then, that the people of God had to walk in this solitary path where none but the Lord can support or comfort their souls, they would cease to deal with these invisible realities, and lean more upon those things which sense and reason could comprehend.

But the Lord will take care that his people shall deal only with himself; that they shall have no real comfort but that which springs from his presence, and no solid testimonies but those which are breathed into their conscience from his own lips. And thus he puts his people into, and keeps them ‘in a solitary way,’ that they may receive communications out of Christ's fullness into their souls, just as much as though there were no other believers on the face of the earth.

How many a gracious person is utterly unable to communicate the feelings of his heart to any one! And sometimes this burdens us. We desire sympathy, pity, and compassion from men. But the Lord will not often allow us to find this pity or compassion; or if we find it, he will not allow us to rest upon it. His object is to draw us away from the creature; to take us off from leaning on human pity and compassion; and to bring us to trust implicitly to himself, ‘whose compassions fail not’--to lean wholly and solely upon him, who is ‘full of pity, and of tender mercy.’ Thus the very circumstance of having to walk in a path of peculiar temptation and sorrow, which makes it to be ‘a solitary way’" is the very reason why that solitary way is so profitable.

But there is another expression added, which helps to fill up the description of the solitary wanderer--’They found no city to dwell in.’ Man is, by nature, a restless creature, and he desires some place of rest. The world rests in the shop, the farm, the pleasures and vanities of the passing day--men in a profession of religion without the power, rest in a name to live. But the Lord has determined that his people shall find no rest but in himself. He is a jealous God. He will not allow us to find any solid resting-place for our souls but in the Son of his love.

Do you not find this in your experience, that there is an aching void in your souls, which nothing but the presence and love of God can fill? Are you not often restless at home, restless abroad--restless alone, restless in company? Is there not a desolate vacancy in your soul that the world cannot satisfy? Is not all confusion without the Lord's presence--all darkness without the Lord's light; and a feeling of dissatisfaction generally prevalent, except the Lord lift upon you the light of his countenance? This is a sure and infallible mark of the life of God in the soul.

But the Lord has a special purpose in all this. It is his object that their souls should faint within them. It was so with Jonah. ‘When my soul fainted within me I remembered the Lord; and my prayer came in unto you, into your holy temple.’ (Jonah 2:7) We must be brought to the fainting point. And so with spiritual hungerings and thirstings; they must go on until the soul faints; this is the intention of them. Until the soul faints, it does not desire support--the everlasting arms are slighted--the bosom of Jesus is not leaned upon. ‘Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples,’ cries the Bride. Why? Because she was swooning away--not indeed, in her case, of hunger, but of love. ‘He gives power to the faint--and to those who have no might he increases strength.’ (Isa. 40:29)

But what makes them cry? It is this solemn feeling in their hearts, that they have no other refuge but God. The Lord brings all his people here--to have no other refuge but himself. Friends, counselors, acquaintances--these may sympathize, but they cannot afford relief. There is no refuge, nor shelter, nor harbor, nor home into which they can fly, except the Lord. Thus troubles bring us to deal with God in a personal manner. They chase away that half-hearted religion of which we have so much; and they drive out that notional experience and dry profession that we are so often satisfied with. They chase them away as a strong north wind chases away the mists; and they bring a man to this solemn spot, that he must have communications from God to support him under, and bring him out of his trouble.

If a man is not brought to this point by his troubles, they have done him no good. They have been like the clouds that have passed over the desert, and transmitted to it neither fertility nor fruitfulness; they have been like the rain that drops upon the pavement, and is evaporated by the sun, producing neither fruit nor flower. But the troubles that God sends into the hearts of his people are like the rain that falls upon the fertile soil, causing them to bring forth fruit, and every grace of the Spirit to deepen and fructify in their soul.

Manifestations, testimonies, revelations, and gracious discoveries--these are all nothing to a man except he be in circumstances to need them. What is Christ, with all his glorious offices, what is his blood, what his righteousness, what his love, what his sympathy, to a man settled upon his lees, and at ease in Zion? There is in him no felt necessity for these heavenly realities. There is no groan and cry after them. There is therefore no precious communication of them. It is but a delusion, a deceit of Satan, to think that we can have deliverance except we are in troubles and trials out of which God alone can set us free.

Now, when the soul cries to God in his troubles, he is sure to deliver it out of its distress. But we must not always expect very bright and conspicuous deliverances. I know that such alone can fully satisfy a troubled soul; but we must not think there is no deliverance when it falls short of a powerful manifestation. The Lord does not confine himself to one way; and perhaps the very way to which we are looking for deliverance, is the very way by which it will not come. It is a deliverance when the Lord supports the soul under trouble. It may not come with great peace and joy; but when there is a solid support that the soul can rest upon, and it feels a measure of dependence and leaning on the everlasting arms--that is a deliverance.

What is deliverance? It is a bringing out of captivity. If, then, we are in distress, and any measure of relief is given in that distress, that is a deliverance. If we are in a state of felt weakness, and must sink without support--if there be a measure of support given, that is a deliverance. If we are in a state of rebellion, and a measure of meekness and submission is given--that is a deliverance, because it is a deliverance out of our carnal, worldly state. If in trouble the Lord secretly assures the soul that these trials are working together for its good; gives it faith to believe the word of promise, though sense, nature, and reason fight against it--and enables it to rest upon divine faithfulness, in the very teeth and in the very face of nature, sense, and reason--that is a deliverance, because it is a deliverance from leaning on our own strength, and trusting to our own wisdom.

His object in bringing them into trial may be not to raise, but to lower; not to give them sweet testimonies of his love, but to discover to them more and more of the depth of their corruptions; to clothe them with humility; to stamp upon them more of the mind and image of Jesus.

By faith, then, only can we understand how it is ‘a right way.’ And when faith is in exercise, then it is known to be ‘a right way.’ Your losses, your crosses, your trials in providence, your afflictions of body, your perplexities of mind, your sorrows of heart--all are then to you ‘a right way.’ 'Once,' you say, 'they were a labyrinth--I could not find my way through them--they were an enigma, which I could not unravel. But now I see that those things, which so puzzled, perplexed, and tried me, led to my greatest blessings. I could not see the hand of the Lord at that time--but how plainly do I see it now? In that sickness, that painful dispensation, that agony of soul, that trouble of mind, that distressing path, how plainly do I see now that the Lord's hand was leading me!'”

#1845 #pilgrimage

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lain-solus · 4 years

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(JUDE LAW / 43 / HE/HIM ) – (Dr. Lain Solus) has been spotted in the castle. they said to originally be from Royston, Hertfordshire (UK) and is often seen to be (stubborn) but seemingly (innovative). After being in Wolfenstein for (5 years), they’ve come to be (hesitant of the council) in their own way. They work as a (pharmacist) and are known around these parts as (the alchemist). better watch your back with that one around.

A LIST OF (AT LEAST) 6 AESTHETICS FOR THIS CHARACTER: 1. A wet specimen of a Rhesus Monkey fetus preserved in a dusty old jar. 2. A grimy lab coat stained with blood and various reagents. 3. A round bottom flask bubbling over with fluorescent aqueous mixture. 4. A book of anatomical illustrations, all pages yellowed from age. 5. Broken mirrors. 6. Equations and calculations haphazardly written on walls. 7. Liquid mercury. 8. Two hands, palms open and then superimposed on each other, a visual representation of a chiral molecule. 9. Bio-luminescent E.coli pumped through a series of clear tubes to light up a room.

Hey yall my name’s Chloe and I’m here to fuck shit up.

THE SONG YOU SEE AS THIS CHARACTERS THEME: Yellow Box - The Neighbourhood

I'm dying to live again I'm doing my best

I got a feeling And it ain't leaving, no, it ain't leaving Hard time believing if I don't see it Like a secret, you lie to keep it, oh

(AT LEAST) THREE HEADCANON: (character headcanons) TW: ILLNESS, TW: DEATH, TW: OVERDOSE, TW: DRUG USE

An early infatuation with comprehending how things work has been the primary drive over the course of Lain’s life. He was adopted when he was a year old by an older couple that were unable to have children. He was fortunate enough to grow up in a household that encouraged his desire to seek to understand the environment around him. Being considered gifted in the areas of math and science came with additional pressure to succeed, to not let such a gift go to waste. His mother and father did their best to ensure that Lain received only the best education, sending him to a private STEM based boarding school when he was eight. Living away from home was incredibly difficult, but making friends was easy considering he was now surrounded by other nerds with similar interests. He went on to attend Cambridge University, seeking an undergraduate degree in nuclear engineering. But the second semester of his freshman year, his picture perfect life burst into flames. His mother was diagnosed with ALS, a terminal disease with no known cure. A brilliant mind, trapped in a rapidly failing body. The doctors gave her a year to live; she made it six months. Lain nearly flunked out of school, he turned to drugs and alcohol as a means to escape the suffering that was reality. After waking up in the hospital after an intentional overdose, he was given an ultimatum by his father: go to rehab and get clean, or he would no longer be paying for his education. During his rehabilitation, he began to heavily question the path he was taking in his life, why everything seemed to spiraling out of control. He switched majors when he returned to his studies, instead choosing to pursue organic chemistry. He made it through undergrad and went on to attend pharmacy school, obtaining a doctorate in pharmacology from Cardiff University. Lain went on to conduct pharmaceutical research at a private lab in Ireland for the next decade.

He was at a conference at the World Health Organization in Geneva, Switzerland when the lines of transportation were cut. Some of the world’s greatest minds gathered to compile their discoveries in desperation that someone knew how to stop the virus. When the announcement came that everyone in the complex was now stranded, panic and chaos soon followed. Riots broke out, data was stolen, many died fighting to defend their discoveries from the hands of thieves. Weeks had passed before the first helicopters arrived, rations and moral at an all time low. An offer was extended to Dr. Solus, come to Austria and continue to research a compound that would halt the extinction event in its tracks. With his back against the wall, Lain made his choice. So he carefully packed the few items he could salvage from the ransacked laboratory into a suitcase and came to Wolfenstein.

Carrying what feels like the weight of the world is beginning to take its toll on the pharmacist. A castle full of survivors in need of medications, some of which are impossible to manufacture given Lain’s rudimentary laboratory. Meanwhile, beyond the stone fortress, the infection continues to spread like wildfire from host to host. With every precious second that slips away, humanity drifts closer and closer to imminent extinction looming on the horizon. Every minute breakthrough the pharmacist makes raises many more questions than actual answers. He is constantly experimenting with both organic and synthetic compounds to try to formulate a vaccine to halt the spread of the virus. As he searches frantically for a cure, Lain cannot help but feel as though he’s aboard a sinking ship. If a solution is even possible, is there anyone left outside the stronghold worth saving?

A pharmaceutical researcher turned clandestine biochemist, Lain can usually be found in his laboratory when he’s not assisting at the hospital. Since he’s been at Wolfenstein, he has been able to craft a handful of drugs (most of which were synthesized from plants and fungi) that are capable of easing pain and stopping the spread of some infections. But the cure for the virus continues to exceed his grasp.

He is fully aware of the expectations laid upon him, yet strives to exceed far beyond them. He treats his body like a damn machine, often forgetting to take well earned breaks and will continue to push onward until he is physically unable to do so. He’s always going and going and going, because once he’s idle the self-doubt and intrusive thoughts come creeping in. Talkative, driven, obsessive and selfless are all words that can be used to describe Dr. Solus.

He is distrustful of the council, but understands that it is a necessary evil. While he appreciates that they would try to keep democracy alive (or at least the facade of it) by allowing a select few to aid in decision making, however, he thinks that is unfair that voting rights are not extended to all members of the compound.

He is currently in the process of training an apprentice (hello wanted connection) in case something happens to him.

He can probably put your character to sleep just with his excessive talking, but if that doesn’t work, there’s always morphine!

#wolfen. intro #wolfen. ooc #// i changed his theme because I was vibing so hard to this song while writing his app lol

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hollowedrpg · 5 years

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CONGRATULATIONS, RO! — You’ve been accepted for the role of Pandora Lovegood. There was something so charming about your application. Pandora felt like so much more than the four paragraphs I wrote for her bio, and that’s because you made the character your own. I was so ecstatic when you ran the idea by me about Pandora being deaf, and you’ve written it in such a beautiful way. Being able to add onto her character in a way that not only makes sense, but further develops her before you’ve even had the chance to write her in-game leaves me so excited to see what you’ll do with her.

Thank you so much for applying. Please create your account and send in the link, track the right tags, and follow everyone on the follow list. Welcome to Hollowed Souls!

name: Ro age: 29. Literal granny. preferred pronouns: Female. She/Her timezone: AEST (Australia) activity: I work full time and stress full time, but am usually around on my phone for plotting and chatting, and have a few hours a few days a week dedicated to writing. are you applying for more than one character?: (if so, list your preference in order) how do you feel about your character dying?: I am such a sadist, I am honestly all for it. I love crying over my poor dead characters. Provided it is not just a gratuitous death, but something to further the plot. I like to get in some decent character development first, of course! anything else?: (questions, concerns, etc.) Obviously Pandora and Xenophilius’ relationship is v important to her character, I’ve kinda guessed at a few things here but of course nothing pertaining to him is set in stone!! ic details. full name: Pandora Lovegood. Born Pandora Min Jee Park. Nicknames Panda. Dora. Pea. Min

date of birth: April 8 1954. Aries. Born to Joon Woo Park and Hae Yun Fenwick. former hogwarts house: Hufflepuff sexuality: Pansexual. gender/pronouns: Female. She/Her face claim change:

more. how do you interpret this character’s personality? how will you play them? include two weaknesses & two strengths.

+ Compassionate. Unrelenting

- Impatient. Restless.

Silent and strong, it is all easy for others to overlook Pandora. A sweet little witch, her husband’s devoted carer. Always sipping on a steaming potion from a chipped porcelain teacup or blowing her nose on a delicate silk handkerchief. These lingering remnants of childhood illnesses she can never quite shake, ever a reminder that she can’t cure everyone - not even herself. That will never stop resilient Pandora from trying.

But look at her, really look at her and see the depth of the ocean. The brilliant, unrelenting mind constantly searching for answers others dare not seek. When one is found she asks another question, digging deeper until all the truths of the universe are laid bare before her. Pandora’s hunger for knowledge is all consuming, she will often forget to eat or shower for days until reminded by a concerned friend. Ceaseless hours are spent reading obscure books of dark artefacts and curses, diving deeply into long forgotten lore, searching out near extinct plants. No length is too far for a new discovery, Pandora would do anything for her patients. Since her time at Hogwarts Pandora has been no stranger to working herself into exhaustion. Impatient, Pandora will quickly grow frustrated if her research isn’t going her way. She will become tense while she continues to push herself to the point of self destruction, the delicate girl with bones of glass and skin of paper almost shattering. At times she is reckless, believing in her own great mind enough to test an experimental potion with no proof other than her own confidence that it will do good. It is a dangerous line to walk, Pandora has been lucky she has not yet caused any damage to a patient or friend that doesn’t know the true risks of what they are about to imbibe.

The person who faces the greatest risks in Pandora’s experimental healing is also the once that faces the greatest rewards. The one that needs her most. The one that Pandora needs, so desperately, to heal. No one is more important to her than her husband. Though some would call Xenophilius a mad man, they would say he is too far gone from reality. But he grounds Pandora, her shining beacon in a world blanketed in confused darkness. He is the only one to understand her. His words are her gospel, at times impossible to comprehend, she will never stop trying to decipher what he has to say. She wishes she could calm the screaming in his head and share with him the silence in which she finds so much solace. Pandora knows together the pair will find his much sought after cure. In doing so she knows they will be unleashing the full potential of Xenophilius’ mind, the likes of which the Wizarding world has never seen before.

Deaf from the age of five after a near deadly case of meningitis Pandora has never let the loss of one of her senses slow her down. If anything, it pushes her further. She can lip read comfortably and speaks in a soft, unsteady voice, though she prefers to communicate in sign language. Fed up with traditional spell casting Pandora dedicated time at Hogwarts to creating new methods of spell casting using sign rather than speech. A small book was published, Pandora hopes to see more inclusive magic being taught at schools and in the Ministry itself. The ceiling of the small tent she and Xenophilius now call home is strung with soft golden lights so Pandora can always see, and bright charms attached to the knocker on the front door to always alert her to visitors.

Just like many of the other new residents of Godric’s Hollow Pandora could not face living in a cottage that had seen so much death, the metallic scent of blood she knows all too well still heavy in the air. The shadows of the dead were still there, filling the cracks in the wall, whispering in Xenophilius’ ear. Almost every surface is covered in books, books from their own libraries, books filled with the neatly organised handwritten notes of Pandora and Xenophilius’ frenzied scrawl. The kitchen has more cauldrons than cooking pots, there are always several bubbling along, filling the room with coloured smoke and curious, heady aromas. The Lovegood home has become a makeshift clinic for the Order, Pandora has all the healing supplies she needs to treat most illnesses. Her compassionate warmth and open door has also made her kitchen a drop in spot for those who need a cup of tea and the chance to let out all the feelings whenever they need to talk. Pandora knows she is doing a good thing helping the Order, she knows this is what her cousin would have wanted. But the quiet girl that believes in her own greatness knows she has a world to save, not just one broken town.

how has the war affected this character, emotionally and otherwise?

A half blood witch adored and accepted by her muggle family, Pandora truly cannot wrap her head around the reasonings of this war. There are many things wrong in the world, both Wizarding and muggle, there are many things worth fighting about. Blood status is not one of them. At first she found it foolish, more anti-muggle propaganda they had all heard a hundred times or more. But as the injured kept arriving at St Mungo’s in higher numbers, carrying dark curses, as the death count become a number so astronomical Pandora’s heart ached to the point she couldn’t breathe trying to imagine what that much death really meant she realised that this really was a war. It was at that time Benjy approached her, asking her to join, to fight, to heal.

She couldn’t. Pandora’s fight was at her husband’s side. Her fight was in the wings of the hospital with patients that needed her. She did all she could, splitting her time between the wards and the Order, helping where she was needed. She kept her eyes open as she worked her rounds, always seeking out information. She passed on everything she deemed of importance to the Order - names, places, curses. Pandora did her best to help. Though she would never admit it, not even sign it in pitch darkness, a part of Pandora she tried to keep buried deep within was grateful to have so much work to do. Her talents finally were being used to her full potential, she was needed. With so many people to heal the higher ups at St Mungo’s allowed her unauthorized methods to go forward without the usual testings and verification. She was helping more people she had ever dreamed possible.

The presumed death of her cousin shattered her. In a morbid reprise of the news of her father’s death Pandora collapsed in a faint upon hearing the news. Just as with her father Pandora felt his death should have been prevented, she should have been there, she should have done more for him. Pandora finally felt ready to fight, just as the Order decided upon retreat. Pandora knew that she had to follow them to Godric’s Hollow. Without as much work to keep her occupied Pandora’s mind is continuing to crack. Anxiety keeps her awake at night more often than her books, she stares at the posters of the missing hung so morbidly in the graveyard wide eyes shimmering with tears, bitten fingernails digging into the palms of her hands. The weight of all those lives lost is pressing down on her, Pandora isn’t sure how to fight back. She tries her hardest to keep herself occupied helping the Order. But with the fighting at a standstill Pandora has no one to heal.

where does this character currently stand? with those who wish to hide in godric’s hollow until the war ends, with those who wish to rebuild the order and continue fighting the war, or on neither side? why?

Pandora has no desire to stay in Godric’s Hollow. She is there because she believes it is what Benjy would have wished for her, because she thinks that is what is best for Xenophilius’ right now. Her own desires are less important than theirs. She agrees with the people that wish to carry on fighting, though she tremors at the thought of losing yet another person than she has grown close to.

What Pandora really wants is to get out of Godric’s Hollow and return to St Mungo’s. She knows there are still people there that need her. Pandora needs to be needed, she needs to help.

She sits quiet in meetings and conversations, as a mere associate of the Order she has no say anyway. But she pays close attention to what those around her are feeling and saying, she is sure she isn’t the only person that feels hopelessly stuck in this death filled town.

Pandora Lovegood: How does Pandora feel about being forced to stay in Godric’s Hollow, when she could be out helping those who have been wounded by this war?

Pandora feels utterly trapped in Godric’s Hollow. With no real work to keep her occupied she is restless and anxious, fixating on small problems, even creating problems just so she has something to do. The decision to relocate was made in haste and fear. It is a choice she is ever increasingly regrets. The only reason she is content in staying is Xenophilius, without the distraction of a world torn apart by war is that every book she reads, every potion she brews is dedicated to deciphering the voices drowning his mind. Pandora isn’t sure how much longer she can stay, the gnawing guilt in her stomach a constant reminder her skills are going to waste when so many people are suffering without her healing hands. extra.

Pinterest board.

if i were a season, i’d be late spring

if i were a time of day, i’d be sunrise

if i were a place, i’d be a quiet corner of a library

if i were a type of weather, i’d be a sunshower

if i were a scent, i’d be antiseptic cream

if i were a plant, i’d be a aloe vera

if i were an element, i’d be water

if i were a color, i’d be off white

if i were a song, i’d be Here comes the Sun by The Beatles

if i were an item of clothing, it’d be a clean white tshirt

if i were an object, i’d be a fountain pen

if i were one of the seven deadly sins, i’d be pride

if i were one of the seven heavenly virtues, i’d be diligence

if i were a god/goddess, i’d be Epione, Greek goddess of soothing pain

Future plot ideas:

Pandora is ignoring her own mental health in order to look after those around her. She is in a fragile state and edging closer to breaking point. She may start turning to potions to help get through each day. It would also be very nice for someone to realise how much she is struggling and help her for once.

Pandora can take many risks when creating potions or perfecting a cure. She could trial a new potion on someone and end up doing more harm than good.

Pandora feels like a caged bird unable to sing stuck at Godric’s Hollow. She would like to start making occasional trips back to London/St Mungos to gather supplies and intel. She may learn more about missing Order members this way.

Pandora , Xenophilius mystery solving!!

#hp rp #rp #lsrpg #marauders rp #new rp #accepted

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bekaroth-reads · 6 years

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Albert Vanderboom x reader 2

There you were in this part of the woods around Rusty Lake again. It had been moths now, but no one was giving up on Frank yet. He had disappeared without a trace one morning and ever since then the Vanderbooms and you had been looking everywhere. Today you were walking the woods near the shore of the lake. You all knew the he was smart enough not to be around the water by himself, but at this point you were checking everywhere no matter how unlikely. While looking around the shoreline, you saw a boat arrive at the small dock up the way. It looked to be Mr. Crow, you would often see him as he went back and forth from his job at the hotel across the way, but your weren't sure who was with him. The two men started to walk your direction as you kept looking around the area. "Hey, are you all still looking for that poor kid?" The raspy voiced of Mr. Crow caught your attention as he got closer. You just gave him a somber nod in response. You were in no way trying to be rude, but between the overwhelming feeling of hopelessness and tiredness you were hard pressed to think of coherent words at the moment. You looked from him to the man that was standing behind him. "Allow me to introduce myself," the man said in a deep and smooth voice that seemed to be the opposite of Mr. Crow's. "My name is Mr. Owl.” It appeared that the two of them were actually headed in the same direction as you were for a bit, and they asked you questions as you all walked to see if they could do anything to help. Right before you went your separate ways, Mr. Owl asked you something that caught you off guard. “You haven’t, per chance, checked to see if perhaps a member of the family knows something that that they aren’t letting on.” His voice almost had an apologetic tone to it. “Well, no.” You answer almost too quickly to even give the question any thought, causing you to back track a little bit. "I mean, they're all family; they wouldn't want to do anything to purposefully hurt each other, would they?" Was your second and more thought out answer. Mr. Owl just gave a sigh that was laced with wash seemed to be a mixture of sadness and what you can only compare to remorse, yet that still didn't seem quite the right word for the feeling. "Just try to remember this: there are times when even family cannot be trusted. Be vigilant yet cautious in your search. Good evening." He said as he and Mr. Crow started to go their separate way from you. Seeing as it would be nightfall soon, you decided it was time to head back to the Vanderbooms' house and see if anyone there had found anything. Everyone had been doing their best to look for Frank in whatever way could be thought of. Emma, Mary, and Samuel were scouting around the area munch like you were, and Ida, when she was not helping in that effort, would focus on her cards, crystal ball, and any of her other methods to see if anything would come up there that would help show the poor chid's location. This was proving to be frustrating to her, because it was alway showing the house for some odd reason, and everyone knew that he was nowhere on the grounds. This assurance was given by Albert, who had been looking right around the house and its nearby area and had searched everything from top to bottom countless times by now. He also kept checking the well that was in the front yard, even though he was in the yard near to it the entire morning of Frank's disappearance and had promised that he never saw the boy in that time. Upon arriving at the house, you and the others talked of the areas you had all searched over the map the seemed almost permanently sat on the table by this point, and marked the searched locations for what seemed like the millionth time. Everyone was there except for Albert, which was not entirely odd. He was often either in the observatory keeping watch for anything through the telescope, or in his room contemplating everything that was going on. When you went to check the observatory he was not there, so you went over and knocked on his door. When there was no answer you figure the he was not there or just didn't want to talk to anyone at the moment, so you just left things be and went back down stairs. Thinking of seemingly everything, yet nothing at the some time, you absentmindedly leaned onto one of the bookshelves that was in the room you were in. To your surprise, it moved very easily despite how study it looked. All other thoughts, no matter how important, were pushed to the side in lieu of this new discovery. You went to move it back to its original place, but when you saw there were scuff marks on the floor signifying that it was actually moved quite often you decided to continued to move the shelf in the opposite direction. When the shelf was slightly more to the side you saw something that you never expected to see in anything except for stories: a secret staircase. After a good debate on weather you should proceed or not, the first option was taken as you wondered if the Vanderbooms were even aware of this place's existence. You were scarcely to the third step when you were suddenly pulled pack up with startling force right before the bookshelf quickly slid closed once more and you were pinned to it from behind by someone. If the brown jacket sleeve didn't let you know who your captor was, the familiar, masked muffled voice did. "Somebody's been looking where they shouldn't have." Albert almost whispered in your ear, close enough to that you were sure that if he didn't have his mask on you would have felt his breath. "Albert? What's going on? What on earth is down there?" You almost stuttered out due to this mixture of emotions you were feeling due to the recent events and how close Albert was to you at the moment. Albert gave a little hum, before flatly responding, "Nothing that you need to know about. Not yet, at any rate." He then turned you around so that you were facing him, yet still stayed as close as he was before. He did nothing but look into your eyes as you looked at his, unsure of what was even going on right now. Eventually, he ran a hand gently down your jawline, and almost sighed, "It's getting late. I'll walk you home." You had went outside to wait while he told Mary where the two of you were going. As you waited, your eyes caught sight of the well, and something nagging at the back of your mind told you that you needed to go check it for yourself. "It's just to double check for the day." Was the reason the you try to tell yourself that you were checking, but the nagging at the back of your mind knew your actual reason. Mr. Owl's words rang thought your head, and as much as you wanted, almost needed, to believe that Albert would not do anything to hurt a soul, especially that of his nephew's, his odd behavior inside made you feel the need to check the deep, dried out, man made cavern. You walked over to it slowly with your lantern, almost dreading what might be found at the bottom. Vision cresting the stone rim of the well, you were about to use the lantern to try light the inky darkness when it was ripped from your hands. As your eyes went to follow the stolen light source, you were grabbed around the waist from behind, and went to yell, however you were stopped before you could by a hand covering your mouth. You tried to struggle, and managed to knock you and your attacker to the ground. This did not do much for you, seeing as, after a brief moment of shock, the attacker used this as an opportunity to roll the both of you over so that you were pinned by him underneath of the tree in such a way that you were sure that it would block the two of you out of view of those in the house. Your eyes were still adjusting to the darkness, and seeing as his hand still prevented you from making any noises of note, you started to grope madly at the ground in hopes of finding something that you might use to defend yourself. What you found was something that you assumed to be a rock at first, but realized the size and texture were not quite right. It soon hit you what you were holding: Albert's mask. Your eyes finally adjusting to the night's lighting, or rather, lack there of, showed you the one above you. Albert, unmasked and heaving out of exhaust, anger, and something else more primal that you weren't quite able to comprehend fully, used his body weight to pin you down and his hand to cover your mouth with an almost bruising grip. "Shame, shame, Nosey Rosey." He panted out, still trying to gain his breath back. "Always looking where you shouldn't be. That seems like something that should get you punished." He almost purred sadisticly, making you whimper for not knowing and being afraid of what he might mean. Albert gave a chuckle and moved the two of you so that his back was leaned up against the tree and you were sitting in his lap, his arm once again around your waist to keep you from going anywhere. "Who am I kidding? I can't stay upset with you." He chuckled once more as he started to move his hand from your mouth, but stopped and warned, "Make a sound, and there WILL be consequences." before moving it the rest of the way. "Albert I-" you started to whisper, but he shushed you with his finger. "Now, now, your not out of the woods just yet. Just because I'm spoiling you by not giving you the punishment you deserve doesn't mean that I won't be keeping a close eye on you. A very, very close eye..." He mused darkly. "Albert, please ju-" you started to talk to him before he gave a slightly perturbed growl. "How can I get you to hush?" He almost didn't finish his thought before a though came to his mind and manifested itself outwardly with a sly grin. Suddenly his lips were on yours as his hand around your waist was trying to pull you impossibly closer. Albert leaned over to your ear and whispered darkly, "You and me are inseparable now, whether you like it or not." before giving you another kiss, one which you returned this time. Even though you knew you loved this man, you couldn't shake the feeling that you practically just made a deal with the Devil himself.

#albert vanderboom x reader #albert vanderboom #rusty lake: roots

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anonthenullifier · 7 years

Text

A Proposal

Chapter 20 of Celestial Bodies

Chapter Summary: Finding the perfect moment to propose is harder than Vision anticipated.

Word Count: 7.5k

Notes: Unlike most of the other chapters in this collection, this one is a culmination of the past 19 chapters. It’ll be more impactful if you’ve read everything, but you can certainly read without those as well. You do you!

AO3 Link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/8535118/chapters/26496528

I hope you enjoy!

The feeling of being watched is curious, a prickle of unease along the back of the neck and the odd drop of the heart when attempts to catch the prying eyes only uncovers feigned indifference and all attention turned in other directions. It is something Vision has become accustomed to, experiencing the discomfort of attention whenever he leaves the compound or even in the compound when they host training sessions for new SHIELD agents, the recruits suddenly intensely interested in their freshly polished boots whenever he stares back. What he is not accustomed to, and what creates a new weighted sensation in the pit of his stomach, is Wanda behaving in such a way. Vision turns his head but once again finds an exaggerated look of concentration on her face as she studies the board game. “Wanda?”

The innocence of her “hmmm?” is off-putting as he watches her move her vehicle along the board.

“Is something the matter?”

“Other than the fact you married another woman, apparently can’t keep your hands off of her, and stole my Victorian house, no.” The facetiousness in her voice and the playful smirk on her face when she finally makes eye contact chip away at his unease, extracting a brief, embarrassed smile from him.

Vision studies the board, his initial yellow car (filled with three blue pegs and three pink pegs) and then his additional green car (that houses two more blue pegs) is currently ten spaces ahead of Wanda’s single red car. “Not only did I offer to sell the house to you for a competitive price, I did attempt to negotiate an alternative set of rules that did not require either of us to be forced into these seemingly arranged,” his voice falters slightly, the word needs to come off nonchalant and yet it, and the way Wanda so easily tossed it out before, leads to an arrhythmic beating of his heart, “marriages.”

If she notices the falter, it is not evident in the vigorous way she flicks the wheel. “But then how could me and my childless car demolish you?” The stuttering click of the wheel comes to a stop and he watches as her red car journeys up and over a hill and she somehow wins yet another game show on top of her Nobel Prize for a scientific discovery even though she is a rockstar, and he is, in fact, the doctor. “Something bothering you?”

Despite his annoyance at the tactic, Vision finds himself in awe of the way Wanda so easily navigates around questions she does not wish to answer, always redirecting the onus so that he is the one that must verbalize the issue. “You are making me feel as if I am at the mall.”

The hissed intake of breath means she understands the reference, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her dress as her eyes travel up from the board to his face, guilt weighing down her lips into a frown. “Sorry, I-,” now that he has pointed it out she seems unwilling to break eye contact, “I guess I didn’t realize I was staring so much.”

“I am not perturbed by your attention,” slowly he scoots his two car family along a curve, unfortunately (though it seems odd for his first thought to be about the misfortune of the space) discovering that all six of his children need him to pay for college. Vision sighs, partially at the realization that he is losing horribly at a game that requires absolutely no skill, and partially at how to proceed from here, uncertain if Wanda has sensed the shift in the air between them since returning from their undercover mission, but he has and it is stifling. Yet every time he attempts to raise the issue, dissect what he can only describe as a susurrus of trepid anticipation hanging between them, he finds his fingers fidgeting and his mind racing, concerned that he may cause more harm than good by acknowledging it. “You seem,” so he finds himself utilizing Wanda’s tactics more and more, adjusting to the unsavory process of evading and redirecting, “preoccupied lately.”

Clearly, given the narrowing of her eyes, this was not the most strategic option. “Just,” reticent is a close cousin of preoccupied, a pause in her words and her eyes focusing in on the answer, “have a lot on my mind,” a quick qualifier is thrown in, “with all the little missions and new protocols since we got back.” Then she redirects. “Why have you been so jumpy?”

The answer to that is quite easy, he’d simply describe the flutter in his heart when she sits on the bed, calmly telling her about his day while his eyes try not to stray to the spot in the mattress where he has stored her ring. He’d speak of how he can’t seem to breathe when she mentions the future, whether it’s an hour, a day, a week, or, one time, even a year. Of how he has rehearsed a speech with Sam, had it double checked and amended by Natasha, but each and every time his accomplices find a way to give them the compound to themselves, he freezes, falters, becomes jumpy, certain she can sense what he’s trying to achieve and then the worry that crashes down as he wonders if her distance since the mission is an indication that he has misread the signs. More than anything he finds himself on edge due to the slithering dishonesty of keeping such an enormous secret from the only person who knows pretty much everything about him.

But Vision swallows the truth, managing to place what he hopes is a confused frown on his face. “I have not registered any tangible increases in the response of my autonomic system nor in the spasming of my muscles that would be characterized as jumpy.”

Wanda’s displeasure at his answer is clear without any verbal acknowledgement, what could be construed as a snarl puckering her lips as her eyes make a long, slow revolution. Though he knows it is unnecessary, Vision gently nudges all his previous thoughts into a dark, secure corner of his mind. With a sigh she spins the wheel again, silently moving her car along the track and grabbing a LIFE tile, adding it to her collection that is already three towering, unstable stacks. “So, I was talking to Tony the other day,” another oddity of late that Vision has been unable to fully comprehend, a tenuous line of communication between the two that has not resulted in yelling or cursing or eruptions of power, yet.

The comment trails off, her fingers toying with the ring on her middle finger. “Yes?”

A rare, uncertain smirk tugs at her lips, her ring rotating three more times around her finger before she continues, “He asked if we’d prefer a single invitation for the Avengers’ Anniversary Gala or separate ones.”

Once more his breath runs from him, emptying his lungs with such force he experiences a brief moment of vertigo, the gears within his mind grinding to a halt for a reset before clicking back into action. “The Gala is not for another eleven months.”

Wanda drags out her “Correct,” head tilting as she stares at him. “He said Pepper wants to make sure she plans for enough people, Tony wants it to be a huge event.”

A logical course of action. Vision takes his turn, his car rounding the corner towards retirement. “What did you tell him?”

“That I’d ask you and get back to him.”

Evading and redirecting, but with a hopeful uptick to her voice and perhaps a slight tremor, the murmur in the air between them building, becoming more concentrated, pulsing in time with her ring continuing to circle around her finger as she waits for him. “Though it is counter to formality, given we are not married,” somehow that word or some iteration of it is in every facet of conversation lately and he cannot fathom how they always come back to it, “It would certainly streamline the process to send only one, as we will be attending together, and one invitation is far easier to keep track of than two. Unless-”

Elation blooms across her face and his breath stops for an entirely different reason. “Perfect, my thoughts exactly. I’ll let him know.” The tension between them leaves, the air settling peacefully around them as she takes her turn, parking her car at the Millionaire Estates retirement community. Vision only needs to spin a 4 to complete his own journey, overachieving with a 10. Strategically he knows he cannot compete with the stacks of money Wanda has amassed and so he begins to inch his car towards the safe retirement option. “Don’t go there.”

“Why not? I have exactly a 0.25% chance of having accrued more money than you and will thus be negatively impacted if I do not choose Countryside Estates.”

Her hand descends on his, fingers curling over his knuckles and her thumb tucking under his palm, directing him towards her car. “If we retire in different places how am I going to convince you to be my second husband?”

“I-”

A static buzz fills the air, followed by a click and Steve’s stern voice Reminder that everyone going on the mission needs to be in the hangar in five minutes. Wanda’s smile remains as she pats his hand, “Guess I have to go.” Without breaking contact she stands from her chair. Four steps and she's able to sit in his lap, a hand to his chin guiding his lips to her own. “Love you.”

“I love you too.” Vision allows the caress of her fingers to momentarily empty his mind. “Be safe.”

Another kiss and she stands, a wicked smile on her face as she redirects him to their game “Loser cleans up.”

“I appreciate the graciousness of your victory.”

Her laugh remains in the air long after she's gone.

After the reverberations from the quinjet’s engines have died away and Wanda is gone, Vision allows himself to sit on their bed. Even though he is aware there is no conceivable way for her to be in the compound, his eyes still sweep the room three times, auditory sensors honing in on detecting any movement in the closet or bathroom. When he is completely certain she is not in the vicinity, Vision measures twenty three inches down from the headboard and eight inches in from his side of the mattress before dipping his hand inside. A relieved exhale escapes his mouth as his fingers grip the hard casing of the box, lifting it out from between the springs (he experimented with putting the box in the mattress without the ring first, increasing his density and bouncing several times to ensure the springs would not harm anything) and bringing it to rest in the palm of his hand. Slowly he opens the box and smiles.

“So guessing you didn’t do it, again.”

There was once an entire week at the compound (a week where the lack of missions and abnormally high numbers of injuries created an atmosphere of boredom that manifested in questionable bets and activities) where the team attempted to startle him. No one succeeded, Vision’s awareness of the environment and his own body far too advanced (particularly when he is cognizant of said bet). But none of them ever caught him at a moment where his nerves were so strained even a gentle breeze could snap them. The ring box slams shut as Vision hurriedly stands from the bed, arm instinctively bending behind him to hide the box.

Sam is leaning in the doorway, arms crossed with a barely contained prideful gleam in his eyes and a large, victorious smile on his face. “Gotcha.”

“I- yes, congratulations.”

Sam enters the room, hand directing Vision’s attention to the box behind his back. “Can I see it?”

Based on several books, movies, and websites it seems the tradition is to allow the soon-to-be-bride to proudly show the ring to everyone once the proposal has occurred, but, given that Natasha aided him in locating the ideal jeweler for his search and Sam has been offering invaluable help in brainstorming potential avenues of proposing, Vision decides it is likely okay for either of them to see the ring. “Of course.” He brings the box back out, carefully transferring it to Sam’s hands, and then he remains silent as he watches the man open the box and bring the ring closer to his face for inspection.

“Nice, very nice, different, but it screams Wanda.”

“That is encouraging, thank you.”

The ring is handed back and Vision turns away from Sam long enough to phase the box back into the mattress. “So, what was wrong with the plan this time?”

“It did not seem appropriate given she was about to depart on a mission.”

“Makes sense, I guess.” An empathetic nod goes along with the sound of hands rubbing together, Sam flashing Vision a smile as he tosses himself into the chair across the room, feet coming to rest on the ottoman. “Okay, so I got another idea, if you’re game?”

Since Sam is now sitting, Vision understands he should as well, so he lowers himself onto the bed, hand rising to indicate he can continue. “Please.”

“Alright, so I say we take it back to the beginning, like all the way back,” the man pauses for feedback so Vision gives him a brief nod to continue. “Helen’s bringing the original cradle back next week to do something to it, pilfer parts or something.” The purpose of the cradle coming back is determine if she can retrofit any of the debris to use in the latest iteration, an attempt to save money so she can reallocate funds to a project involving the use of the cradle in eradicating cancerous growths. “I think you take Wanda down there and just you know, be all romantic and reminiscent. It’s simple and personal, just what you want.”

As with all proffered plans, Vision must hesitantly step through the maze of pieces, analyzing every factor of the plan and anticipating any unaccounted for item that could infiltrate the airtight borders. On the surface it seems a decent suggestion, but almost instantly he can sense it falling apart, though, annoyingly, he’s not entirely certain the exact mechanism for it’s destruction, only that it feels wrong. “Is that not a bit,” words are not his friend as of late, his mind skimming through every dictionary from every language in an attempt to come up with a term that encompasses the notion of rooting your future too deeply into the past, trapping it’s momentum at the foundation instead of allowing it to branch outwards to far more exciting, unknown corners, “backwards?”

Exasperation weighs down Sam’s words, “You’re killing, man.” Sam rubs his eyes, shrugging as a contemplative and defeated sigh breaks the silence. “How about we just drop plans altogether?”

Vision is a creature of planning, of logic, but he recognizes the biggest issue with advanced, careful planning is that all it takes is the brashness and disregard of extenuating circumstances to send the plan careening out of control, decimating every ounce of hard work placed into it. Hence why he has yet to propose to Wanda despite several well-laid out plans. What Sam is implying, he thinks, is introducing a certain amount of chaos. The concept is not altogether unappealing, as Vision has found himself softening to the idea of disorder, sometimes willingly flirting with its possibilities, but it does give him pause, uncertain if he can completely release his desire to control the circumstances. “How, precisely, would that work?”

“Well,” Sam bobs his head side to side, a clicking of his tongue that conveys to Vision he is thinking through the possibilities and will respond shortly, “you can carry the ring around and when the moment feels right just, you know, do it.”

“And if that fails?”

This time Sam laughs, standing from the chair and walking towards the bed. An amiable hand is laid on Vision’s shoulder, giving his upper body a gentle shake. “Then I’m just going to do it for you.”

The issue with waiting for the moment to feel right is twofold, first is quantifying exactly what “right” means. Is it a neurological response? A physiological response? Is it emotionally based? Socially based? Or, perhaps, is it the alignment of all four? Maybe even another facet he has not yet identified. The second problem is that once the right moment has been identified it is fleeting, a split second hesitation and it’s lost.

For instance, the room is currently dark, the compound and its inhabitants long ago quieting for the night, and Wanda is collapsed on his chest, breathing still uneven, lungs attempting to recalibrate, the layer of sweat on her skin adhering her to him, a unique, pleasant warmth trapped between their bodies. Vision runs a hand through her hair, fingers combing from the top of her head down to her nape, tips peeking out of the strands to massage her neck. A pleased, humid sigh is absorbed by his skin. Vision is aware of the influence of oxytocin and endorphins, of the high that fills his mind, amplifies his love, but that does not erase that fact that the love is true, irrevocable, and undeniable. In this moment his love for her is dizzying. “I love you.”

Her body shifts, elbows digging into his stomach, a readjustment of his ocular sensors producing a fairly clear, bluish gray image of the carefree happiness in the upward curve of her lips, her face sandwiched between her palms as her eyes stare at him, despite the fact she likely cannot make out his features. Then her smile drops and that tremble in the air forms between them, consuming his heart, a chill from the change that is quickly replaced by a smoldering ember at the way she carefully asks, “How long will you love me?”

Forever is the cliche response, but forever is unquantifiable, and Vision decides she should have an exact number. “Did you know they estimate the sun could burn out in 7.5 billion years?”

The crinkle of her forehead fills him with joy, the type that forms first in the tips of the toes and fingers, crawling up millimeter by millimeter until his entire body is blanketed in a blissful, satisfying warmth. “I did not.”

“That is not long enough,” the twitch of her lip is encouraging, her mind whirling just out of his reach, their connection having been knocked askew at some point that night, but even still he can sense the shift in the atmosphere from hesitation to excitement. It’s then that he feels the moment twisting into shape, is unable to describe exactly why it feels right, but that seems inconsequential. As he speaks his hand dips into the mattress, fingers brushing the box, gathering courage with each touch, the certainty of his love and their future solidifying in time with the words on his lips. “There are other stars left, produced in nebulous nurseries, but based on aging galaxies it is assumed even those will one day stop being created. From there the stars will continue to burn, moving through each phase of their existence until they become inert.”

Wanda parts her lips just enough to whisper, her voice wavering slightly, an anticipation, a longing mixing with the syllables, “How long will that take?”

“One hundred trillion years,” he sits up slowly, arm wrapping around her back, holding her in place, helping her resettle, bringing their faces closer, foreheads touching, the light of the Mindstone illuminating the grin on her face. “When the last star in the universe burns out, then, and only then, will my love for you fade.”

The moment transforms, wriggles free of his grasp, a breathy, “Vizh” before her lips crush against his and he is far too enamored, far too engrossed in her presence, in the beat of her heart and the brush of her hair on his skin, the way she tastes of spearmint and salt, and the overwhelming crash of scarlet moving from her mind into his, his senses erupting into flashes of twinkling red light. He drops the box back into the mattress and loses himself in her embrace, wishing to preserve this moment just as it is forever in his memory.

The only other time that felt remotely “right” was on a mission, the rush of adrenaline from fighting mixing with the spark of their bodies meeting, finding each other for a brief moment of respite, hidden behind a tree. But that moment was promptly, and rather rudely, interrupted by Sam, who was struggling under the weight of yet another robot henchman, yelling, “Now is not the time.”

Which leaves Vision anxious, worried that perhaps there will never be a correct time unless he reverts to the prior strategy of planning, one that has already proven fruitless and rife with complications.

A foot nudges his calf, eyes sliding to the side, Natasha in the co-pilot seat, her leg pulling away from his, crossing up and over her other one. “Want my advice?”

This is unusual, an understanding between the two of them that advice is only ever given when first solicited, an understanding that goes both ways and has for quite some time. Yet the offer is quite appealing. “Please.”

“Okay.” Natasha uncrosses her legs, leaning forward to press three lit up buttons, initiating the landing sequence as they approach the compound. “Just do it. As soon as we land find her, drop down on one knee, and go.”

The advice churns in his head as he allows his muscle memory to guide his hands in flipping several switches before gripping the steering wheel, easing the quinjet down through the wispy cirrus clouds. “Based on the preparation for our mission and Sam’s myriad suggestions, I believed the proposal was meant to be more meaningful and memorable.”

Natasha places her hands on the secondary navigation controls, bracing her muscles in case of an emergency. “I mean I don’t have much experience with getting engaged, been proposed to a few times by unwitting marks, but what you say will be more memorable than where you ask, in my opinion.”

“I-” despite his best efforts he cannot seem to find a fault with the approach. He has always utilized fairly straightforward tactics when it comes to serious topics of discussion with Wanda and it would be logical to remain on such a path, perhaps that is why this has been difficult, denying one’s nature will never feel right. “Thank you.”

Vision is concerned. Even the threads of his straightforward, no-nonsense plan are unraveling as he searches through the rooms of the compound -- the training facility, common space, kitchen, library, billiard room, swimming pool, labs, and the roof-- and finds them all empty. He returns to where he started, a scowl on his face as his eyes take in their bedroom once more. It is eerily clean, not a single shirt thrown over the back of the chair or a damp towel bunched on the floor right next to the convenient towel hook he installed, and, most vexing, is the fact the bed is pristine. All of this would be common had he been in the compound for the past three days, but given he has not, it leaves him perturbed, his fingers curling and uncurling at a rapid pace.

Though he cannot detect any movement or heat signatures in the space around him, he finds himself resorting to questionable actions as he feels a pebble of fear forming in this amygdala. “Wanda?”

Unsurprisingly he is met with dense silence, eyes narrowing as he pivots on the balls of his feet, studying every inch of the room for signs of where she might be, which is when he freezes, head cocking to the side at a small yellow post-it note adhered to the middle of their replica of The Park at Monceau Paris. His feet leave the ground, a cautiousness in his hovering as he moves towards the painting. Gently he peels the note from the canvas, his brow bunching as he reads it.

Don’t look so concerned, Vizh. A minuscule smile forms on his face, Wanda’s handwriting instantly recognizable with the slightly sloppy slant and rounded letters. Remember what Sam meant for you to use instead of this picture? Come and find me.

Vision folds the sticky portion of the note down before putting it into the pocket of his pants, walking towards the door and then stopping. An exploratory pat to his pocket confirms his suspicion and he hovers to the bed, hand dipping into the mattress to grab the box. Just in case.

The hallways are quiet as he floats towards the kitchen, the creak of the hinges on the pantry door echoing in the empty room as he pushes aside boxes of cereal, bags of rice, aluminum cans, and loaves of bread. Eventually he comes across a box containing one cookie and a yellow note.

Thanks for the snack, you’re too sweet. Be careful at the next stop, you might get a brain scorpion.

Vision places the note with the first, wrapping the cookie in a paper towel, unsure how long this search is going to last and not wanting it to dry out, and phases up through the ceiling until he hits humid air and feels the caress of wind on his face. The next note is exactly where he suspected, this time taped to the bench on the roof that sits directly in front of the basil plants. All this one says is, Look again. His feet leave the ground immediately, a haze of confusion forming at why she’d be in New York City, and then he remembers Sam’s suggestion. The original cradle is in the compound currently. With a small, determined smile, Vision continues his search.

Slowly he amasses a pile of notes (moving from Helen’s Lab to the rooftop lawn to the training room to his original room) and at some point even a partner in the search, Rhodes’ curiosity and boredom quickly morphing into an infectious excitement as they search through the compound. “What do you think you’re going to find with the last one?”

“I am unsure.” His mind is attempting to temper all the extra noise of spurious thoughts and conjectures so he can focus on the current clue - You’re my planet, not my moon. “Have you found the note?” They are standing in the common space right where it happened, his feet working through the wider orbit of a moon and then the smaller, more intimate orbit of a planet, eyes locked on the surroundings for oddities, yet there is no note and no sign of where one might be located. The couch is empty, the table is empty, there is nothing on the television or the windows.

Rhodes checks inside the remotes and shrugs. “Nope. Anything else from that night? What else did you all do?”

All Vision can easily recall from that night is the way it felt to be so close to Wanda, the sparks that singed his skin whenever his shoulder brushed against hers and the way her hand felt on his chest, the exact pressure of her palm and the odd, thrilling heat that swelled within his body. A slow, steady breath out and he guides his thoughts earlier, to when they were sitting, her feet in his lap and the excruciating decision he had to make concerning whether it was acceptable to lay his hand on her foot or if he should keep it at a safe distance. “Oh, yes,” there are only six times that he can recall losing a game and that night was one of them (well, he lost multiple times that night but he lumps them all in as one instance), “we were playing Sequence.”

“Perfect.” Rhodes disappears for several minutes, returning with the box in one hand and the lid in the other. “Found it.” The box is offered to Vision and he reaches inside to pluck the note out. “What does it say?”

This one requires him to leave the compound and Vision hopes it means he is close to finding Wanda, his curiosity surging dangerously close to antsiness. “It says ‘I’d love some tea but I’d appreciate if you don’t get the barista’s number again.’”

“How many times have you gotten the barista’s number?”

Vision folds the note in the same way as the others, sticky side tucked under and adhered to the paper so he can keep it with the rest without them tangling too badly. “Roughly every third Tuesday. She is quite persistent, even with Wanda next to me, I believe it might be a game now.”

The astonished, wide-eyed gaze of Rhodes is slightly hurtful, but Vision is not surprised by the disbelief. “Interesting. Well,” the game is placed on the table before Rhodes steps up to Vision, hand patting his back twice with encouragement, “go get her! My money’s on her proposing, by the way.”

“Oh?”

“Yep, this,” Rhodes nods to the yellow corners sticking out of Vision’s pocket, “is proposal level dedication. Let me be the first to say congratulations!” All excitement and warmth rushes from Vision, a petrification of his body at the suggestion and a vertiginous fear threatening to send him into the couch. “Dude?” This is not according to plan and yet, the conjecture is not faulty given the carefully planned revisiting of key moments of their relationship, it just had not occurred to him that Wanda would spurn this tradition despite her endearing boldness to topple antiquated customs. A hand waves frantically in front of his eyes and Vision blinks. “You okay, Vision?”

Vision shoves his hand into his pocket, gripping the box and centering himself. “I-yes. That would be…wonderful. Thank you for your well wishes.”

The concern on Rhodes’ face is shoved aside by a wide smile, clearly unable to detect the apprehension gripping Vision, “Yeah, go get her, man.”

When Vision touches down outside the coffee shop he finds himself hesitating. The flight cleared his head, slightly, a shaky acceptance of what is to come though for some reason he finds himself disappointed knowing that all of his time and thought would be for naught. But, this is what bothers him most about his irrationally emotional response, it would achieve the same end as if he proposed which is most important and there is no logical reason to be upset.

A ding from the bell above the door dissipates through the air, “You didn’t seem to want to come inside, so here you go.” Alisha, green apron perennially tied in a haphazard, skewed fashion (by now he assumes on purpose) is standing in front of him, a steaming cardboard cup held between them.

“Thank you.” The cup is transferred slowly, a carefully learned maneuver to ensure none of the scalding liquid spills out on either person’s hand.

“You know you still haven’t called me.”

“I believe I have made it quite clear I am not romantically interested.”

The woman smirks at him, “Trust me, I know, you’re just fun to mess with, Mr. Serious.” A finger pokes playfully in the air at him as she turns to leave, throwing a genuine, "Have fun with Wanda," over her shoulder as she walks back into the coffee shop and leaves him alone.

Vision pulls the tea closer, tucking his elbow into his side to reduce the chance of spilling the liquid and then realizes that he needs the clue. With deliberate slowness he lifts the cup, rotating it to find a yellow note, but there is none. What he does find, however, is Wanda’s writing on the cup. 211 Leonia Drive. There is a sense of familiarity with the address and yet he cannot recall anything from their relationship tied to the words, unless he has somehow forgotten but that is highly unlikely. He inputs the address into his gps system, discovering it is only ten minutes from the coffee shop.

Though he can fly, he decides to walk, allowing himself ten minutes of calm, giving his parasympathetic system time to override the sympathetic system, send soothing neurotransmitters to his muscles, calming the erratic pulsing that has overtaken his body. This doesn’t happen, unfortunately, but his nerves are quickly replaced by confusion and curiosity as the path to the address transforms from a relatively busy street into a quiet, tree-lined neighborhood, the houses ranging from traditional craftsman to colonial to Georgian, and then his breath catches in his lungs, fingers almost dropping the tea to the ground. Vision re-checks the writing on the cup, a waiver of uncertainty in his mind that he might have inputted the wrong address, but no, he is not mistaken.

The lawn is overgrown, grass and weeds practically up to his thighs, and there is a tree with drooping branches that needs to be trimmed, but behind these sits a gorgeous arctic blue Victorian house with sapphire trim. Vision swallows, fingers tightening around the cup as his mind whirls but is quickly rendered inert by an excited, nervous, “Vizh!” His eyes immediately locate the source, identifying Wanda’s smiling face peeking out the front door. “You just going to stand there?”

Before he can respond her head is gone and he finds his feet refusing to move so he resolves to hover to the door instead, soles only touching the porch once he reaches the door and hesitantly pushes it open.

The feeling of deja vu is unique, though at its epicenter is the notion you are unaware of the original source of recognition, but even with him knowing full well that he has perused the pictures of this house hundreds of times, he still feels that uncomfortable prickle along his arms and the way his thoughts scatter, attempting to form some sort of serviceable web to function. The inside is exactly as he expected, though with no lights on minus the table of candles in the middle of the room, he is unsure if all of the trim is pristine, any flaws hidden. But his attention does not linger, drawn towards Wanda standing near the table, a half-cocked smile on her face and her fingers interwoven, a nervous swing to her arms that he has only seen during rare and particularly tense situations. “Wanda?”

The other half of her smile appears, a crescent of worried anticipation as her fingers untangle and she throws her arms out to the side. “Surprise!” Vision understands the need to respond but cannot seem to fathom the appropriate way to approach this surprise mainly because he is uncertain what exactly is happening. The lack of response is clearly incorrect, Wanda’s smile floundering as her arms descend, fingers finding each other again while her eyes follow his in studying the wood trim along the walls. “It’s,” her voice draws him back, an uncharacteristic tremble of panic thickening her accent as her eyes bore into him, “the right one, right?”

A simple yes would be sufficient, but the fact she somehow knew about this, one of his most closely guarded thoughts, builds into a swell, cresting with horror at what else she has picked up from his semi-frequent daydreaming. “How did you know?”

Wanda’s smile softens, nervous fingers calming as she steps up to him, a hand coming to rest on his bicep, thumb moving in soothing circles. “I dreamed about it, a lot,” his body tenses at the admission, “some weeks every night and it took, well,” Wanda pauses, letting out a self-conscious laugh met with a shake of her head, “an embarrassing amount of time to realize it was from you, because-” the whisper of uncertainty that has gripped the air between them returns, growing louder until Wanda breaks it with a quiet, honest, “it’s what I wanted as well, with you. But you never brought it up so neither did I.”

All the images he has conjured late at night rush through his mind, the house, the furniture, Wanda smiling, tiny feet pattering on the hardwood floors, and then he processes her admission, that she couldn’t tell his daydream from her own wants. And now here they stand, in the middle of a very real house. “Are you implying this is ours?”

“Not yet,” a hollow pang of disappointment fills his stomach, “but,” the pang blossoms into hope at the way she grins at him and the squeeze of her fingers around his arm, “it can be, we just have to sign some papers. I didn’t want to finalize this without you.”

He scans the room around them, awed at the gesture, at the possibilities, and he isn’t sure what to say, a bit concerned at the malfunctioning of his verbal skills, particularly when all he can manage is an incomplete question, “How?”

This seems to be a trigger for her nervousness, which manifests in a tighter grip on his arm and a rush of words that slam into him, requiring him to slow down her explanation, play it back, and analyze it to fully parse all aspects. “Tony, mainly, he’s been helping with all the loans, since neither of us are really ideal candidates, he’s been getting impatient and I’ve been antsy but I was trying to wait to tell you because I thought you were going to ask me to m- well it’s been killing me to keep this from you but you deserve a grand gesture every now and then so I wanted it to be a surprise. Do you-, do you like it? I can’t tell.”

There are so many things to acknowledge, but he determines only the last is vital at the moment, squaring his body with her own so he can stare into her eyes, “I love it, Wanda.”

She sighs, relief smoothing the creases of her forehead. “Good, want a tour?”

“Very much.”

A tendril of scarlet steals the tea from his hand and places it on the table while her hand slides down his arm, lacing their fingers together before tugging him along behind her as she shows him the house. “It needs a lot of work,” an orb of scarlet leads them, illuminating the darkened space. Vision increases the glow of the Mindstone to help as well, eyes moving along the intricate, though cracked, wooden accents and archways, attempting to accept the realization that this is not a daydream, only the pressure of Wanda’s hand in his own confirming reality. “Unfortunately the kitchen is the worst.”

The counters are cracked and there are no appliances, several cabinets are missing as well. “I do not understand, the images online showed it to be in pristine condition.”

Wanda releases an annoyed huff, grip tightening around his fingers, “Yeah, apparently it was foreclosed, the previous owners wrecked it, and the bank used the old pictures.” A shrug goes along with the explanation. “But I figured we aren’t in a rush, I'm not sure Steve would approve us moving out yet, so we can fix it up, right? Make it our own.”

“I believe our abnormally high consumption of HGTV will finally be of use.”

A gentle laugh at his side pulls the smile that’s been hovering on his face up higher, “Oh, we’re going to end up on the renovation nightmare show, aren’t we?”

Vision shrugs, enjoying the carefree air around them, a rarity in recent weeks. “I have faith in our perseverance and problem solving.”

“Don’t get cocky, Vizh.” A tug to his arm guides him to the left where Wanda opens the back door and leads him out onto a wooden deck, their feet following the planks until they are standing under an ivy-covered pergola. “This is my favorite spot.”

In all of his daydreams this spot was always his favorite as well. “It is lovely.”

“Look up.”

He obeys her command and is met with a small, oval opening at the top of the pergola giving way to a view of the star studded sky and in this moment he cannot breathe, thrilled and yet overwhelmed by everything around him, everything that has happened, and everything that is going to happen, unable to process all of the unknowns they're about to encounter. There is one thing, however, that is not in chaos, one small, stubborn pinpoint of absolute certainty: he loves this woman more than anything else in existence.

Vision phases his hand from hers, bringing his palms to cup her cheeks, bending to rest his forehead against hers, their eyes locked. “I love you, Wanda Maximoff.” The dilation of her pupils and the scrunch of her eyes in sheer elation confirms his suspicions, traps the moment long enough for him to finally act. A deep breath and a quiet, heartfelt kiss gives him just enough time to gather his thoughts, trying to remember everything he wanted to say to her. “I- I am in awe that I can say that to you. I never thought I would find someone who viewed me as human, as capable of love. But you do and because of you I’ve accepted my humanity as truth. You,” his voice falters slightly but the gleam in her eyes and the rapturous smile on her face urges him on, her breath shallow, bated with expectancy as she stays silent to let him continue, “are strong-willed and bold, compassionate and vulnerable, and I have never and will never encounter anyone as bewitching as you, anyone who challenges my logic, inspires me to feel, who makes me realize I am alive.” He strokes her cheek, blinks and regrets it, realizing he missed a millisecond of her stare. “You are a singular, inspiring, fascinating, and stunning woman.” Vision breaks, knows he is supposed to fall to one knee but he cannot wrest himself from her eyes, does not want to suffer the chill on his skin if he were to pull away, “Wanda Maximoff, will you please marry me?”

“Took you long enough.”

“You- does that- is that a-”

She lifts onto her toes just enough to bring her lips to his, her hands gripping his sides, “You were doing so well, stammering’s not your style, Vizh.” The implication is yes but his lungs hold his breath hostage until the word comes from her mouth and his body cannot function enough to even kiss her back, frozen, hanging on the tip of her lips for an answer. “Yes, Vision, that’s a yes, of course I’ll marry you.”

The words vibrate against his lips and he devours them, capturing her mouth and channeling every thought, every emotion, every of ounce of his love into the kiss, barely registering the way the lingering tension between them erupts, the emptiness replaced with something intangible, ineffable, but perfectly serene, comforting, and exhilarating. Their embrace ends and his smile matches the broad, full-bodied arc of her mouth. “I,” Vision remembers only then that there is one more part to this, his hand reaching into this pocket, “have a ring.”

He opens the box and holds it out for her, finds himself filled with worry at the burgeoning tears in her eyes, but her smile has not fallen, in fact, if possible, it has grown broader. “It’s gorgeous.”

Vision grabs the ring, positions his fingers along the outside (or so the videos Sam forced him to watch suggested this to be the best method), and slides his other hand under her left palm. “May I?”

The struggle to not roll her eyes is valiant, but it would not be Wanda if she didn’t indicate clearly when he’s asking an unnecessary question. Regardless she always answers. “Yes, Vizh.”

Gingerly he slides the ring along her finger, the process not as smooth as he would like, the ring catching on her knuckle but she continues to smile, encourages him with a wiggle of her finger until he is successful. “I hope it is acceptable. It,” he draws her hand up, thumb running over the stone and the intricate, delicate metal work of the band, “is an opal, from Sokovia, reinforced with vibranium so you can safely wear it on missions, if you wish.”

Wanda runs her hand along his cheek, the feeling of her rings not a new sensation, but this one, this one is far different, it is cold but ignites a fire under his skin, one that he knows will never die, nor grow old, nor disappear, one that he will feel for 100 trillion years. “I love it, Vizh, almost as much as I love you.”

She kisses him again and everything about this moment, about this night, about this woman feels inexplicably right.

#scarlet vision #vision #wanda maximoff #proposing #about time #wedding bells #fluff #fanfic #ao3

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5hfanfiction · 7 years

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To Taste Life Twice - 02 - Fifty One (Camren)

TRIGGER WARNING: Dignified Death

“You cannot save people, you can only love them.” - Anaïs Nin

Day 0

“I’m not agreeing until you tell me what’s going on, Lauren. You know I can’t just leave on a couple of days’ notice. You still haven’t responded to all the briefings I sent out, and you’re one of the majority shareholders. Some of us still have to work, y'know.”

She tries to put steel behind her words, even though she knows she’ll give in to her. She always does.

Instead, she sits down at the kitchen table, resting her elbow on its surface, to cradle her phone more comfortably against her ear.

“Camila–” Lauren starts, and the sound of her name’s already melting her resistance. “Please, it’s important.”

There’s a tug in her chest.

Lauren’s voice sounds raspier than usual, heavier than usual. She’s probably got the flu or something.

Figures, she’s been totally checked out for the last seven months.

She probably picked something up from all of that travelling she’s been so secretive about lately. She even took their daughter along with her for an entire month, without giving her much of an explanation about what adventures they were getting up to.

She gnaws on her bottom lip, absently tapping her fingers over her knee.

No, she’s not surrendering that easily; not yet.

“Listen, Lo– if you want me to commit to spending an entire week with you for another one of your self-discovery retreats to process your feelings, well– don’t you think we’ve spent enough money on counselling, and–”

“Camz,” Lauren says, her voice almost cracking, “Please.”

She’s weak to that word; she’s weak to Lauren, using that word.

It makes her pause, because she’s trying really hard not to read into it. She’s done that way too much with Lauren in the past, and from her experience, over analyzing gets her nowhere.

The longer the silence stretches between them, the shorter the limits of her resistance go.

So she bites her lips one last time, giving it one last fight, before sighing, and answering, “…okay. Fine. Email me the details.”

She hears the relief in Lauren’s voice when she thanks her. And it only adds to her curiosity.

What could Lauren possibly have to say to her now, after all this time?

When she hangs up, she ignores the nonexistent smoke, creeping in, and filling the cavity of her chest.

She shakes her head. It’s probably nothing.

Day 1

“Hey.”

For a moment, she wonders how one word from Lauren can so easily carry the weight of a thousand.

Then she reminds herself; words leave wounds that the body can’t quite comprehend. It’s not a surprise that the heaviest burdens exist in the mind.

“Well, this is nice. You’ve made some changes,” she says, trying to fill the silence around them.

She even makes a point of looking around the modest beach house, trying not to succumb to the nostalgia of familiar surroundings.

When she received the details of this mystery rendezvous, she was a little surprised. She didn’t think that this would be the place Lauren would pick.

The sun’s setting just over the horizon now. Sure, it didn’t really take all that long to drive out here, but admittedly, she tried to leave as late as possible.

Regardless, she doesn’t regret letting this property go in the settlement. Holding on to old things is Lauren’s specialty, not hers.

“Can I help you with your bags?”

She looks back at the sound of Lauren’s voice, and this time, her gaze lingers like midnight fog over an empty field. She has to stare, to notice the subtleties.

She hasn’t seen her face to face in months, and Lauren’s beautiful, as always– moreso, with age.

But there’s something different about her today; something slightly out of place.

It’s not even that she’s cut her hair just above her shoulders, or that she’s wearing an unfamiliar shade of lipstick than the one she’s used for most of her adult life.

She’s paler than normal, thinner than usual.

Despite that, Lauren’s eyes are still as bright and as piercing as the first day they managed to puncture holes all over her heart.

“Camila?”

The sound of her name makes her blink out of her thoughts, and she quickly shakes her head ‘no’ in response, “No, it’s okay. You go on in, I’ll grab my stuff and get settled– then you’re gonna tell me what exactly I’m doing here.”

She watches Lauren hesitate, then nod quickly after. And she waits for the other woman to quietly shuffle back inside, before turning around to gather her things out of the car.

She has just enough hands to carry all of her stuff, and she doesn’t even think twice, until she makes it all the way to the master bedroom, abruptly stopping in her tracks.

Right– guest bedroom it is.

She spins on her heels, almost running right into Lauren, who jumps back, spilling red wine all over both of them.

“Shit– fuck– sorry!” She swears, the words tumbling out of her mouth, faster than she can zip it shut.

Lauren’s face scrunches into a smile, before she erupts into a full on laugh, bursting the built-up tension between them.

She joins in easily, unceremoniously dropping her bags in defeat, so she can surrender to the moment.

She suddenly remembers how much she loves seeing Lauren smile; hearing her laugh like this.

When their eyes inevitably meet, she sees it.

Lauren misses her–

Or is the expression she’s seeing, just a mirror of her own?

It lasts barely a heartbeat, but their eyes are drawn to each other’s lips. It’s magnetic, the air around them.

That’s until Lauren smiles shyly, and she looks away, murmuring something about getting something to clean up the floor.

She watches her walk away, deciding whether she should offer to help. But she doesn’t.

It’s better this way.

Instead, she picks up her bags, and heads where she’s supposed to go to begin with– the guest room.

As soon as she’s able to close the door behind her, she takes a deep breath. She realizes she’s blushing; how embarrassing.

She’s fifty one years old, and somehow, Lauren still manages to make her feel like the same clumsy teenager she was, when they first met.

She decides that she needs a shower– a cold one.

When she’s done, she feels a little bit more in control. She gets dressed in silk pyjamas, wrapping the towel around her wet hair, and twisting it up into a crown.

She takes one last breath, braving the outside of her bedroom.

The first thing she notices, is the smell of the sea breeze, filtering in from the open French doors, leading out to the back deck. She walks towards it, dragging her bare feet.

She hesitates by the doorway. Lauren’s sitting in the oversized loveseat, right in front of the lit firetable, facing the ocean.

It makes her wonder– how many nights have they spent, in this same exact spot, under the same sea of seemingly ageless stars? Countless, she recalls.

Somehow, Lauren notices her presence, and she sits up to turn around and face her.

She decides that the wind hates her tonight; because it’s playing with Lauren’s hair, reminding her of the things she used to be able to do, a long time ago.

“Nice towel,” Lauren says, with a smirk.

“Bye,” she answers, spinning around, before her grin exposes her.

“Wait!” Lauren calls after her, “I’ve always loved your hair towel, you know that…” Then her voice drops to a near whisper, “My pink princess…”

It works as planned, and she turns back around, playfully narrowing her eyes. But she does undo the towel from her hair, shaking it out as she takes her place beside Lauren.

Once she’s satisfied that she’s wrung as much moisture as she can, she looks up, to catch Lauren staring at her.

While her first instinct is to look away, she doesn’t.

Lauren’s staring at her differently tonight. She’s looking at her as if it’s the end of the world, and she’s the last thing she wants to see.

The intensity of this moment is too much for her to handle, so it’s her turn to look away, and murmur, “Do you have any more wine in the house, or did I spill it all earlier?”

She waits a few seconds, because Lauren takes longer than necessary to answer.

“Um– yeah, sure. I’ll get us a couple of glasses.”

She feels relief once Lauren’s out of her immediate vicinity. She knows this feeling all too well– the immense pull of her gravity.

And it’s funny, how when it comes to bruised egos and emotions, time and distance are often the greatest liars.

To have finite measurements in order to absolve things that are so abstract, so infinite– it’s either inherently flawed, or maybe just simply, human…?

“Here,” Lauren interrupts, “Try not to spill this one, okay?”

She takes the offered glass with a polite smile, waiting for Lauren to settle back down before taking a much-needed sip.

It takes several more glasses, for the heavy air to disperse between them. But it’s not just that, that the alcohol loosens.

She knows they’re falling back on that same pattern; it’s not a surprise, really.

There’s too much attraction, too strong of a connection; to let past mistakes, guide their current states of mind.

By the time they polish off the third bottle, there’s an unspoken understanding between them.

So when Lauren finally leans in to kiss her, she’s already halfway there.

There’s no awkwardness, no hesitation as their lips melt against each other.

If anything, it’s relief; it’s muscle memory that goes deeper than the blood, pumping erratically in their veins. It’s the physical connection, bridging– manifesting, and realizing the abstract to the tangible.

It’s a web of hands, and skin, and barely audible moans. It’s made of simmering heat, and stumbling inside while they giggle like teenagers when their clothes don’t come off so easily as they used to.

It’s getting lost in memories– reliving them, as they create new ones with every inch of skin they uncover.

It’s pleasure.

And love– at its pure rawness of this, exact, moment.

Day 2

Today, dawn feels sobering.

She senses it in the hesitance, bathing Lauren’s disposition.

The time for knowing denial is over now; it’s time to use their words, instead of their bodies.

After breakfast, and coffee, she feels the impending shadow of their discussion, looming over them.

Whatever it is that Lauren’s about to tell her, it’s going to change her life. She knows it; she feels it.

So once they finally settle in, sitting outside the same couch they reconnected in last night, she feels her chest caving in from the pressure of the unknown.

“Camila– Camz,” Lauren murmurs, unable to look her in the eye.

She decides that silence is the only answer she’s capable of, now that it’s begun.

They’ve already stepped off the ledge, so what’s the point of screaming?

“I…I wanted to– I mean…” Lauren trails off, struggling to find the right words.

Everything’s falling into place, in her mind.

Lauren’s unusual behaviour in the last seven months– the change in her physical appearance.

Maybe she already knew all of this, the second they spoke on the phone. Intuition can be both a blessing, and a curse.

It hurts to do it, but she reaches forward, taking Lauren’s cold hands, forcing her to look up and meet her unsteady gaze.

Her throat feels like it’s stuffed with cotton, but she still manages to speak, “Just tell me, Lo…please…”

Lauren’s chest is inflating, and deflating heavily.

She sees the tears, coalescing in Lauren’s eyes; they’re about to slip past the lip of her bottom lids. And she wants to stop them; she wants to catch them.

But she knows that some things, are just meant to fall. And there’s nothing she can do about it.

“Camz…”

And she thinks…that maybe, if she doesn’t let Lauren say it out loud, then it wouldn’t–

“I’m dying, Camila, and I need you to see me off.”

Day 3

She can’t look at her; she can’t even be in the same room as her.

It hurts so much, she doesn’t even have the strength or the desire to unpack what she’s feeling right now.

What Lauren’s asking of her is unfair– it’s cruel.

Day 4

She knows she can’t just spend all day crying at the beach, away from the house.

She knows Lauren’s waiting patiently for her to calm down. Ironic– that. To wait, only to decide to go.

But she’s too upset with her right now.

At the same time, she knows she can’t really take her time with this. They don’t have much left.

Lauren’s dying, after all.

Day 5

Selfish is a difficult word.

Without context, it’s primarily a negative concept. And with it, the meaning of the word changes– especially today.

So once she wakes up and freshens up, as unprepared and terrified as she is, she still steels herself for the difficult days ahead.

When she gets to the kitchen, Lauren’s waiting for her. There’s a fresh pot of coffee, and breakfast laid out on the table.

How she knew that she’d be ready to talk, is beyond her. But then again, what choice does she have?

Without a word, Lauren gets up, and she prepares a cup of coffee for her. She doesn’t have to ask how she likes it; she already knows.

So she accepts the steaming mug like the peace offering that it is, even going as far as lifting the corners of her mouth to mimic a smile.

“Angelica called,” Lauren says, continuing, “She said your phone’s off…”

“You knew you were sick for the last year, and you didn’t tell me,” she answers, diving head first.

She watches Lauren’s expression tighten into a relenting smile, before she answers, “I know you’re angry with m–”

“Angry doesn’t even begin to describe what I’m feeling right now, Lauren,” she snaps back. Then she bites her tongue, painfully aware of how futile it is to unload on her like this.

“It’s okay, you can say what you have to say,” Lauren answers, bravely looking back. “I know what I’m doing is selfish, Camila. I just– You’re the one that I couldn’t– that I just can’t– Say goodb–”

“I get it,” she interrupts, unable to cope with the obvious distress in Lauren’s demeanour, “I understand, I mean– why, you wanna do it this way, choosing when you want to die, instead of–”

She can’t follow the destination of her words, so she switches, “After… after what you went through with your dad, Lo… what– what I’m trying to say, is that I get it. But to do it– like this, and here, of all places– and to not tell me earlier, or even give me a chance to– an actual chance, to…”

Her emotions are robbing her of her words now.

So she swallows the rusted nails keeping her lips shut, and she says, “It’s not fair, Lauren. It’s not fair.”

Because she knows that some things are meant to fall, she releases her tears, yet again.

And when she feels Lauren pull her into her embrace, she holds onto her– for dear life.

Day 6

Nostalgia usually kicks in, as things draw to a close.

When a movie’s past its climax; when you’re walking back to your car after a magical date– minds have a way of trying to replay, or relive moments, before they even end.

It’s early in the morning, and they’re walking hand in hand, along the shoreline. She hasn’t been able to let go, since the day before.

“Hey, remember that one crazy summer we had,” Lauren says, trailing off to collect her thoughts.

Her words trigger a stream of memories; from hitchhiking down the coast, to stowing away on a train that they had no idea where the hell it was going– to that awkward time when they first made love in their zipped together sleeping bags on the beach, under the stars. They got sand everywhere– even days after…

“So which one?” She asks, forcing herself out of the past. “We’ve had a lot of crazy summers,” she continues playfully, smiling as she tucks stray strands of hair behind her ear.

“We have,” Lauren replies, with a wistful expression on her face.

She tries to ignore how her heart pulses in response. One beat, it’s because she remembers pieces of those summers so vividly, and the next, it’s because she realizes this one will be their last.

She knows Lauren senses the shift in her mood, because the next thing she does, is disentangle their hands, so she can try to kick a spray of water her way. But she misjudges her momentum, and accidentally launches her slipper right along, causing it to slap the other woman’s thigh with a wet, sandy splat.

“Lauren!” She gasps, stopping in her tracks.

But Lauren only starts laughing in response, eyes narrowing, as she walks a few more steps into the water, and she grins mischievously and starts to bend down with both hands ready to scoop–

“Don’t. You. Dare, Lauren Michelle Jauregui,” she tries to warn, but to no avail.

The first splash gets her right in the face, and she spits the salt water out because she’s unsuccessful at trying to hold all of her laughter in.

She manages to advance e a few steps, only to stub her toe on a rock, giving Lauren ample time to get a head start at running off.

She chases after her without a second thought, laughing and yelling, “Lauren! I’m– way, too fucking old– to be running after you! My arthritis– hey! Get back here!”

All she hears is the rich sound of Lauren’s laughter echoing in her head. And she helplessly follows its trail, afraid of the fact that it’s fading.

She watches Lauren’s retreating form, and the thoughts she’s held in the back of her mind, fight to rise to the surface.

Please, Lo– don’t go, don’t leave me.

Please…

Day 7

Numb.

It’s the only feeling she can relate to right now.

Funny that; to have the absence of emotion, be an actual feeling.

She’s sitting alone on the deck, facing the ocean.

It’s always been Lauren’s favourite place. That’s why she chose it.

Dusk is upon her, but it’s not the coming night, that’s darkening her mind.

She can still see the outline of the small paddle boat at the end of the horizon.

Lauren’s in it– well, at least she thinks she still is…

She takes a sip out of her wine glass, letting the liquid slide down her throat.

She knows the earth is round, but from her perspective, it almost looks like it’s about to just fall– off the edge of the world.

A/N: Sooo………😅 How’re we doing so far? Still with me?

Wattpad: kyrie999

Tumblr: lovve-fearlesssly

#UPDATE #series #AU #slash #trigger warning #camren #angst drama #submission #To Taste Life Twice

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lowcarbnutrients · 7 years

Text

Don`t Let a Wheelchair Hold You Back

For many the recent Paralympics were a discovery. They were an opportunity to see that even if you are regrettable adequate to be in a mobility device, you do not need to quit getting to for your desires as well as accomplishing success.

It's understandable when you initially find out that you are bound to a mobility device for the remainder of your life that your heart will sink. You undoubtedly anticipate the worst. Just how can you lead a regular life? Just how can you have a family and do the sporting activities you used to love doing? Thankfully there are methods you could stay in the leading edge without being held back through sheer resolution as well as making the ideal of the situation.

Young Olympians

As you watched the Paralympics, you probably assumed to yourself exactly what hard individuals the athletes were. Those utilizing lightweight mobility devices managed to compete in a range of occasions consisting of basketball, which is always a largest hit.

When a younger person is associated with an accident and also the heartbreaking news is exposed that they will not stroll once more, there is a black cloud that surrounds both them and also their family members, which could take time ahead to terms with.

For the household this is a time to continue to be favorable as well as motivate the individual. This is not a time to sit sulking in the corner due to the fact that it's unfair this happened to your family members. Also in a lightweight wheelchair the individual could live a regular life, compete in a variety of sporting activities as well as visit function similar to every person else around them.

Let the Motivation Begin

It is so simple to really feel sad as well as really feel that your family members has been mistreated when problem is provided, such as a young family participant being not able to stroll progressing. Yes, it's understandable you will certainly be injured and wonder why this has actually taken place. However at the very same time, you cannot change anything as well as rather embracing just what has actually taken place as well as encouraging the person is much better compared to the entire family concerning a grinding halt because you are unsure how you can proceed.

Encouragement can provide the person the self-confidence to move forward. Purchasing them a lightweight wheelchair which is simple to walk around and load into an automobile is a great beginning position, this makes sure that there are no reasons that this family member need to be left in the house when every person else is delighting in a family members day out.

If they liked sports, perhaps the injury also occurred on the rugby area, after that encouraging them to try sporting activities once more is a great incentive in their day-to-days live. You require to comprehend just what they are undergoing, they are possibly encountering years of physical rehabilitation and require something to motivate them relocating forward.

Don't Hold Them Back

I bear in mind years ago viewing a young child who remained in a wheelchair tackle a skateboard training course, he had created a means to delight in skate boarding in his mobility device so he had not been excluded when his pals reallied going to the park. It was a fantastic view, entirely motivating. He did the ramps as well as transforms, he flew throughout the program with practice. Now I'm not stating launch your member of the family out to a skateboarding ramp in a light-weight wheelchair, but there is a host of sports offered which will certainly assist created self self-confidence as well as a way to communicate with various other athletes who are additionally utilized to appreciating their showing off activities from a wheelchair.

There is no factor a mobility device ought to hold anyone back. The option of magnificent lightweight wheelchairs enables them to handle their lives with simplicity daily, they are able to navigate without hassle as well as appreciate high quality time with the family members, appreciate sporting activities and also live a regular full life without really feeling inferior or unable.

Lightweight wheelchairs make it simple to delight in time with each other as a household any place you are going, these wheelchairs fold promptly and are light and fast to load into the back of any type of car.

#diet #low sodium diet

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the-smolartist · 7 years

Text

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Source: http://eliterehaballiance.com/drug-rehab-port-charlotte-florida-33983/

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eliterehaballiance · 7 years

Text

Drug Rehab Port Charlotte Florida 33983

A must-read! You’re about to experience a life changing guidance on drug abuse.

Don’t Be Worried If You Cannot Do It The First Time All By Yourself Since This Is An Easy To Follow Guide That Will Help You Throughout The Process.

Port Charlotte, Florida Drug Recovery

Dear Friend,

This Isn’t Like Any Other Handbook on Drug Addiction You Can Find In Any Shop On the web, or even at your local library for instance!

Having this book is like inquiring straight from a professional on this matter of discussion!

Get out of this drug abuse today! Learn lots of tips from this book on how to get started on this process.

‘Wait – Don’t Forget About

FREE Brand New 5 Part E-course!

Sincerely,

Jonathan D

• Find out about the appropriate methods to handle stress.

• Learn how much you can get even without help from others.

• Discover why drug abuse takes place.

• Find out the types of drugs.

• Learn how to deal with people who have the same troubles.

This book cannot be located anywhere else but right here, because it is a unique book. I recommend that you order your copy now by clicking on the link below.

From the original $47.77 price of the book, I’m giving you the book for free, since this is a special time for the internet.

That’s an excellent offer on the “Drug Addiction – Stop Your Dependence”!

What are you risking? With “Drug Addiction – Stop Your Dependence”, you can start reading a few minutes right after clicking “Order Now”.

50% Complete

Drug Rehab eCourse

Live a better life with what you already have! Our 5 part drug rehab course will put you on top again!

Get It Now

ga('send', 'event', 'drugaddictioncourse' , 'Pageviews' , '/feed/');

Some people who have read the book have their own claims about it:

There is no risk, so grab it now.

Best of luck on your drug-free endeavors!

With Love,

Gregory Beaty

Drug Rehab Port Charlotte Florida 33983

50% Complete

Drug Rehab eCourse

Live a better life with what you already have! Our 5 part drug rehab course will put you on top again!

Get It Now

ga('send', 'event', 'drugaddictioncourse' , 'Pageviews' , '/feed/');

Keep in mind that there’s no trouble for it. You will discover so many details in “Drug Addiction – Stop Your Dependence” , so grab your copy today!

Drug Addiction

Stop Your Dependence FREE 5 Part E-Couse. Get Yours Here...

Get Started Here...

ga('send', 'event', 'drugaddictioncourse3' , 'Pageviews' , '/feed/');

Source: http://eliterehaballiance.com/drug-rehab-port-charlotte-florida-33983/

0 notes