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smooth-perceval · 8 months

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“Hey mon amour”

Charles Leclerc x Fem!Reader.

Summary: Charles closed himself from the world after loosing his wife, he finally finds the strength in their daughter to publicly speak about her.

Warnings: Angst, grief, mentions of readers death, a lot of tears- Charles thinking his a bad father, Charles talking to himself a lot- swearing, Google translate.

Key: Y/N (Your Name) Juliette (Your daughters name) Jules (Her nickname)

Word count: 2,523

A/N: I watched this video on TikTok and it just made me think of doing something sad… I’m sorry 🫶🏼 it’s rushed and it’s all over the place but I needed to get some ‘emotions’ out I guess 🫶🏼

Was we prepared for a baby? Hell no- Juliette truthfully was an accident- but the best kind. Without her I definitely wouldn’t have stuck around these past 7 months. I’d be up there… painting that sky beautiful with mon amour. (My love)

Laying there in bed I watched her sleep soundly, she had her maman’s nose, lips, hair and cute puffy cheeks. The only thing of mine was her eyes- she definitely got the better parents looks, absolutely perfect in every way. (Mum)

Since the passing of her, as bad as it is, I slept with Juliette by my side, wether it was in her crib and then waking up at stupid hours in the morning and putting her into my bed, or even just falling asleep in her room, with a pillow and blankets on the floor.

She held me together every day, kept me sane- otherwise I talk to myself, or talk to them up there, or better yet curl up in a ball and cry.

Nobody knew of Juliette, I hid her at all cost- in fact nobody knew we had a baby, we kept it very hidden and was going to slowly introduce her to the F1 world, it wasn’t a world for out little girl yet, she had to be protected.

And yet all this time we was protecting her, that I wasn’t there to protect my darling.

The night we lost her even till now feels surreal. Not only 10 minutes before the accident had she called me to tell me she was on her way back home… and the pain I felt when she didn’t show- I knew then, I knew our lives would change… I just didn’t know how drastic.

That night a guy ran a stop light, taking a wife, a mother, a friend, a fan- taking the one person who helped me breathe in a room of no air, helped me swim when I was drowning in a sea of judgement, the woman that gifted me the most precious thing anyone could ever give, our baby girl.

He just took it- in the blink of an eye.

I forgot how to breathe when she was gone, forgot how to tread water, forgot to be a dad. My body didn’t function, my brain shut down.

Maman said I was a ghost yet still alive, she cared for Juliette while I tried to find some sanity in the world, a world I held nothing but anger against. And when I was finally able to figure out how to breathe alone, I kept Juliette with me, day in day out. And with her around I felt lighter, like the world wasn’t pinning me down- like I had a purpose.

I had to show our baby, even though it left a bitter taste on my tongue- that the world was beautiful.

Because what do you do in life, when the one person who understood you more than anything is gone?

Juliette gave me life, and every time I look over at her, the more I remember what I’m doing this ‘life’ for. It’s to see that little tooth that’s slowly coming through, or the dimple on her cheek when her father does something silly, or when we’re lying in bed watching cartoons, and she reaches her hand up to hold my face.

That’s why I continue. All for our little girl.

Leaning over to her I placed a gentle kiss to her temple, before getting out of bed. Ensuring she was safe I bundled pillows and blankets around her in case she decided to roll over.

And while she slept peacefully I started getting a few things ready for tonight.

Tonight was the awards, and it took a lot of thought, but I finally came to the conclusion that I didn’t want to leave Jules at home- wether she was hidden at the side lines or tucked away in my pocket- I needed her there.

I made one special request to the team- which of course they wouldn’t refuse. The tux I was fixing to wear tonight had red somewhere wether it was a tie, or the inside lining. We needed red-

For fans, and Ferrari itself it was a sweet token of my appreciation to them. For me and Juliette is was for our angel.

Red is Y/N colour, always looked gorgeous in anything red- always smiling when she see a red rose, or a red sky- so every morning and evening she decorates the sky, like a reminder that she is there.

It’s my coffee in the morning seeing that sky, and my lullaby at night.

Sighing to myself, I closed off my thoughts heading into the bathroom. I got changed into a simple tracksuit. Seeing as it’s a distance to travel, and I would need comfort over fashion right now-

Humming softly to myself I shuffled back into the bedroom, laying down across the bed- my hand reached out brushing over her head.

“princesse, time to wake up.” (Princess)

And slowly but surely, her eyes slowly opened, as soon as she saw me a smile crept onto her face, that one tooth showing, and the dimple making an appearance.

“You a happy girl?” Smiling back at her, she slowly crept up onto all fours, rocking back and fourth.

She has learned quite quickly for her age, being able to crawl and nearly say dada- I was proud of her, she had a fire in her just like her dad. Wanted to be the best at everything-

“Come my darling, we need breakfast-” sliding back off the bed I reached over picking her up, kicking her legs excitedly she reached out to me and once in range gripped ahold of my nose- a loud happy squeal leaving her small self.

“A very happy girl huh-” laughing a little, bouncing her on my hip- I took us both downstairs and into the kitchen.

We’re still between having milk, jar foods, sometimes Papas food. A mixture of everything. Juliette will eat anything!

I can honestly say one thing with my hand on my heart. We have made the best baby. Always smiling, always happy- when she ‘cries’ it’s more of a murmur, a little quiver of her lip. But never a scream and shout, she is always loving- always kind. The most perfect little girl.

—

The evening soon fell upon us, it was a hustle and bustle getting here but we made it! Jules was content as ever, if anything the most calm out of us all.

Looking over at her in her car seat- she was sound asleep. I took a quick glance down at my watch humming an approval to myself.

Juliette sleeping now works out perfectly for her bed time later- Honestly when I say she is the perfect baby- I mean it, in all the craziness getting ready she was her happy little self, and clearly worn herself out playing in the hotel room- especially to be sleeping so peacefully now on the way to the event.

The event was the FIA awards. With all my anger towards this cruel world I focused it on track, you wouldn’t believe where I got…

World champion of the world.

But as proud as I wanted to be of myself… it just didn’t feel right without her here.

Even now- it just feels like a blur. World champion of the world? Doesn’t seem real to me.

—

I hated being late to anything. But in this case I wanted to arrive late, I wanted Juliette in the room with me. Like I keep saying she is my rock. Motivated me to keep going it only seemed right.

Rocking Juliette back and fourth I slid into the back of the room, cradling her and hiding her face- I wanted to do this but some sense of me wasn’t ready to let the world see my baby. And I wasn’t ready for my baby to see this kind of world…

Creeping over to the Ferrari table, I quickly sat down placing Juliette’s baby bag next to my chair- avoiding eyes, and making sure Jules was okay.

She found entertainment in hitting my un-used spoon onto the table, seeing as I skipped when the served dinner.

Finally finding the courage I looked up, Carlos eyes were on me. A small smile on his face, Carlos obviously knew about Jules, he had to know his my teammate, mostly all the inner track know- but they had never really met her.

The ones who have- Jules absolutely loves them. A good example is Carlos, once she realises his across the table- by any means necessary she will crawl her way across too him.

Can’t blame her- when she finally has him the grip on his hair, she pulls hard and doesn’t let go, understandable I can sometimes pull his hair out in annoyance.

“And now- the moment has finally come. Not just for us to witness. But for him to finally receive.” Most of the presenters words fell onto my deaf ears.

And I just waited for my name to be called.

When it was, I slowly got up from my seat, Jules hugged to my chest. Once again cradling her, hand on the back of her head, still trying to protect her from everyone…

Slowly making my way up the steps, making sure not to trip over. The sounds of aw’s and gasps are heard around the room-

Walking along the ‘path’ Jules looked around at everyone mesmerised by the lights.

“Thank you- er…” looking down at my arms with a smile at Jules I looked back at the trophy.

“We will just place it down here-” the man smiled at me, crouching and placing it on the floor next to the mic.

“Well- thank you.” Shifting Juliette over onto my other hip I bounced her gently- she was still in awe at the room.

“I’d like to start by saying a big thank you to the Ferrari team, this championship wouldn’t have been possible without you, I’d like to say a congratulations to my teammate Carlos for getting second in the championship, and another congratulations to Ferrari for winning the constructors award.” Jules hand came up and covered over my mouth, looking down at her I smiled happily- she really was in her own world and reaching out wherever.

“Now I know a lot don’t want to listen, and I’m sorry- but this is the first time I’ve really spoken in 6 months… to you guys- and also all you fans at home-” pausing I swallowed thickly, lifting Jules back up higher on my hip.

“I’d like to introduce you all to, Juliette Pascal Leclerc. She was born March the 4th, at 7 minutes past 3 in the morning.” A low applauded sounded through the room, Juliette looking around at them all, joining in their clapping. Now making everyone laugh.

“She is the most brightest baby I know- always smiling, always happy. Very much like her maman.” (Mum) Pausing I looked over at Carlos. Who quickly nodded his head over at me. A silent support in the crowd.

“As most know… we lost our Y/N back in May… it’s been tough- some days I couldn’t get out of bed. I couldn’t eat, couldn’t function. Hell I wasn’t even a good dad for our Jules here.” As I said her nickname, more awes were heard throughout the room.

Opening my mouth- then closing it again quickly I looked down at Jules, who’s head was now resting on my shoulder, staring up at me with her beautiful eyes. My eyes started welling up with tears I look back over around the room, stepping away from the mic I took a second to compose myself before moving back in.

“She would be so proud today, every year she would say ‘This is your year Charlie, I can feel it.’ She was right this year…” breathing out heavily I used my hand to quickly wipe my eyes, then wrapping it back around Jules- if possible even tighter.

“She just isn’t here to witness it happening.”

Jules hand reaches up once again, hand on my cheek- like she was comforting me.

“When she was taken, so was me truthfully. That Charles had went with her… she was kind hearted, had a heart of gold. Days like today when I run out of socialisation, she would always come over, and just say something so simple like ‘Charles, you ready to go?’ Pull me straight out that dark hole.” Smiling a little to myself, I finally let the tears go. Jules started to fidget, getting antsy waiting around, and to my need Carlos stood infront of the stage holding his hands out, Jules as always was ecstatic to go to Carlos.

“Thank you-” smiling down at Jules I stepped back to the mic, finally picking my award up.

“Well you was right baby, this was our year.” Raising the award a little to the roof I pointed up at her also.

Sighing to myself, I wiped my face once again. “I tell you what-” it was a waste of energy wiping my face, cause the tears fell once again.

“I miss her- everyday… I’m sorry- I get emotional…” Chewing the inside of my cheek I looked down at my feet, the tears not stopping now.

“It’s just so hard without her…” sniffling I breathed in, trying to control myself.

“What am I supposed to do now… I done what I said I’ll do.” Looking up slightly at the trophy. I see myself in the reflection.

“This is for you my darling, it was my year after all.” Kissing the top of the trophy. I turned back to everyone.

“Thank you- I’m sorry for being a absolute mess…” smiling apologetically I waved at whoever, making my way back off the stage to a standing ovation. Cheers and applauds around the room.

Once I got near to Carlos, Juliette was practically bouncing off his hip, hands outstretched to me. And without question I put the trophy down on the floor, taking Jules back into my arms, holding her close, swaying back and fourth.

“My darling. You ready to go huh?” Leaning back I placed a kiss to her forehead. Bending down a little I grabbed her bag pulling it over my shoulder again.

“I’ll grab your trophy.” Smiling Carlos patted my shoulder, picking the trophy up and following behind me.

As soon as we was outside photos were being taken, quickly I hid Jules face.

“Guys you can take photos- just please turn the flash off-” smiling at them all, they was quick to play around on their phones and cameras. When confident in them all, I moved my hand away from Jules face.

“Thank you.”

Jules hand came into view pointing up at the sky.

“Mumumum” gasping I leaned back getting a view of her face- I was taking that as her first word, the best choice of first words-

Looking up at the red sky above us I kissed Jules cheek.

“That’s right baby, that’s Maman.” (Mum.)

Masterlist

#f1 imagine #formula one imagine #imagine #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x you

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blingblong55 · 10 months

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To live without- 141 + Alejandro

Based on a request:

Hii can I make a request for some angst?? Maybe the reader having an argument with the TF 141 + Alejandro, inside the car or anywhere resulting to a break up?? Cause I'm a sucker for angst, thankss 🫶

F!Reader, angst, established!relationship, break-ups, cheating (not all)

A/N: This will be in 5 parts

Part 2, (Soap), Part 3 (Gaz), Part 4 (Alejandro), Part 5 (Ghost)

It has been a stressful few months for him, between his job, you, his own safety and yours, let alone the current argument over her. It's why you and he are now in the car, having this argument.

Price:

He decided that since Laswell invited him to dinner with a few other soldiers and agents, why not take you? Besides you and him haven't gone out much since his last deployment, so this is the perfect opportunity. While having dinner at some restaurant, Price and a woman, much closer to his age than you, stroked conversation. He was telling her stories that not once he had told you and of course, his natural flirty state was in the mix. You were talking with Kate and her wife when you saw how close the woman was getting with your boyfriend. So, as one does, you took his hand and he immediately let go of it, not once making eye contact with you.

Kate and her wife saw this and knew it would not end well if the woman was not taken elsewhere. After dinner, you were the first one to leave the establishment. All others inside were either saying their goodbyes or getting acquainted. "yeah, this is my-" he turns to introduce you to some agent only to find your seat empty. Immediately he left too, only to find you in the car, probably telling your friend what was going on. He gets in, " alright, so will you tell me what the hell that was about?" he asks you. You look at him, for a while now he has been distant, so of course you had even more motives to suspect him. "You let go of my hand," your voice soft yet hinting at some hurt his past action left behind.

That was it, the final straw that threw him over the edge, "you fucking walked away from dinner because I didn't hold your hand any longer?!"

"Yes, do you even care how that even looks? I hold your hand all the time at dinners and this was the first time you let go of it because of that woman!"

"Don't you dare bring her into this." by this point some of the wine he had drunk was making its way into his system. "Why not, hm? why did you let go of my hand, John!" your eyes teary, trying to blink them away. "You really think this is all about you? That I intend to hurt you by some little thing like letting go of your hand?!" Your argument is being heard by some people. He knows better, that at dinners or in public when you hold his hand it's because you are trying to calm yourself down, your social anxiety gets the best of you and his hold brings comfort. "...she's just a friend.." he murmurs. And just when you were going to say something, he gets a text, "Will you come over after you drop her off?" he knows damn well you saw it and now he is prepared for the storm. "you are cheating on me?" oh the way your voice cracked and how tears spilt from your eyes. "...sorry," was all he could say. "you let go of my hand because you and this fucking whore have a thing!" back to yelling. "R/n, you are just a fucking pain in the ass! So of course I am cheating on you!" the instant regret once those words left his mouth.

The look on your face as he said them, never to forget the last time he saw that face of yours. And now you are far from him, he alone in his empty house, never to be called home again. Never to be greeted by you and your happy personality, truth be told, he still looks for you in every place he goes.

A/N: Hi, so since I don't want to make this post too long I separated it into parts, who do you want for part 2?

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gauloiseblue · 2 months

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Specific songs for COD character's scenarios

I was listening to my playlist, and my brain randomly threw ideas at me. I was too lazy to write those fics, but I just had to get it out of my system. Anyway, here's a list of songs that I associate with COD characters, along with the summary of the story.

I will add more in the future, but for now, I think it's pretty much it. To the imaginariland we go.

Price

The Girl In The Yellow Dress - David Gilmour

Unwinding at a bar leads him to a pleasant meeting with a girl. Evening turns into night, as he becomes more and more enamored by the girl. Until the band stops, and she leaves him in the dark. Never once told him her name.

Wish You Were Here - Pink Floyd

Old married couple AU, where Price has retired. His kids have grown up, leaving him and his wife alone. After all they've been through—big arguments, strained relationships, and long months deployment—they realize they still love each other to the end.

Ghost

Hyper-ballad - Björk

Whenever Simon comes home, he struggles to live in normalcy. His partner is unchanging, while he's never the same man after all the missions. To keep himself grounded, he made the habit of leaving the house at the dead of the night, to stare at the darkness of the forest in the backyard. Sometimes, he lets his mind wander to the possibility of him walking into the forest and disappears, but it soon dies down when he looks back to his house.

During one of his mission at a secluded village in Germany, he encounters a strange girl by the river. She's a human, but her demeanor seems to suggest otherwise. Though he doesn't believe in myths, he begins to think that the cautionary tale of a Nymph in this village carries a grain of truth.

König

It's Possible - Piero Piccioni

There's a reason behind his lack of commitment to love, and no one knows it except for his best friend. He might’ve been too hot-headed and reckless, but he's loyal. That was until a certain girl from his childhood betrayed him. And yet, after all these years, his heart still belongs to her.

Alejandro

Eye Hate U - Prince

Before Shadow Company became what it is now, Graves had a loving wife and a perfect home. She's smart, and capable of giving him advices. Until his pride took him over, and he became neglectful, ignoring her warnings on certain missions. She left him before the Al Mazrah Incident happened, leaving him bitter and regretful.

Graves

The Next Best American Record (Demo) - Lana Del Rey

National Anthem - Lana Del Rey

In the height of his career, money was never an issue for him. He could buy any weapons he wanted, and he could afford the most luxurious lifestyle. He can still afford it, but he has to work harder for it. He doesn't mind it, after all, it's only right for him to treat his wife, right?

Young Lust - Pink Floyd

Though he refuses to admit it, his relationship with his wife has gone cold. Over years of infidelity and neglect, she decided to leave the house, and moved to her old apartment. He thought one day she'd change her mind and come back to him, until one night, he heard a man's voice when he called her on the phone.

Coming to a high-school reunion opens an old scar in him, as he sees his high-school sweetheart in the arm of another man. Their relationship was great, it was great, but sadly, she thought otherwise.

Gaz

Love Is A Laserquest - Arctic Monkeys

#cod #cod x reader #cod mw2 #john price x reader #ghost x reader #konig x reader #gaz x reader #graves x reader #might turn them into songfics #idk #call of duty #Spotify

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msfbgraves · 16 days

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So, I love to watch videos of people reacting for the first time to movies. Almost every time I’ve watched people reacting to The Godfather movies, I’ve noticed that a large chunk of people (especially men, true, but surprisingly a LOT of women) all hate or strongly dislike Kay. Even growing up, both my parents disliked Kay lol, I remember.

It’s surprising to me, as I like all the women in the trilogy (yes, even Mary! Her character is sweet and affectionate, and I love how close she is with her dad!), and I always did like Kay…though I admit, I simply don’t like her with Michael after he decides to join the family business. Apollonia would have been the best fit. Besides, in Part 3, Michael sobs when Anthony sings the love song and thinks of Apollonia and their wedding even years later. And he chooses to return to Sicily to sit and brood/die in the place where they spent time together. That says it all, for me.

I can't say I've spent a lot of time on whether or not I liked Kay or Apollonia or both or neither in relation to these films. I remember watching the second film with my mother, and when the dancing scene between Michael and Kay came up, she said: "Hm. She's frightened."

I do find it surprising how many people make it about liking or not liking either or both of Michael's wives, when discussing the films as a whole. Kay doesn't fit into the mob world, that's the whole point of her, that's why Michael chose her initially, and that's why the audience may not like her - she sticks out like a sore thumb. She shouldn't be there. She agrees! That has nothing to do with how good she would have been for Michael. I do like Kay, the girl has guts. And I think that Apollonia and Michael would have made a fantastic mob marriage.

Michael ghosted Kay, and that is a shit way to break up whatever the circumstances, and by rights, they should have stayed broken up. Michael would have been nothing but a cad boyfriend who turned into a criminal, so people would have said she dodged a bullet.

Ah, but it isn't that simple, is it. If you share your time and love with someone, there will always be some form of bond. Whether or not you act on it is a completely different matter, and I feel Michael should have started fresh, and left Kay the hell alone. He could have written to break up, thank her and tell her to build a life without her. Or simply let her be one of those sacrifices you make, the same he later asks of Vincent. This life isn't good for Kay.

Would it have been good for Apollonia? I think she might have been more familiar with the codes of mob life, I think both Vito and Carmella would have adored her, I think it could have worked out beautifully. She probably wouldn't have felt the need to escape, or that the American life was better than what she left, she wouldn't feel so torn because she knew her roots. Maybe her children may have felt less at ease, but their father would have grown up completely American and helped them.

But it was not to be. Michael already gave up Kay for the life, and I believe him when he says he thought of her. And I believe in love at first sight with Apollonia, and he lost her, and I feel that if Apollonia is gone completely, maybe he can rekindle the love bond with Kay? And he does, under force, and they spend more time as husband and wife, and of course this strengthens that bond as well. But Kay is unhappy, so she breaks it off this time, and yet Michael refuses to let go of that bond (who do you think Mary gets it from)?

Apollonia and Michael is more romantic, less stressful - the fairytale his mob life cannot be. Kay is more realistic. They share a strong young love, and later, at Michael's absolute insistence, a very painful marriage, and Michael loves her and he loves Apollonia because I think that this is something that can happen. You can love two different people, if you want -widowed people do love again, and that doesn't negate the love they lost. Now of course, there may be sexism going on. A woman should simply be pretty and quiet, huh? Do we know a single of Apollonia's opinions other than her wanting to drive and not wanting to bother with English? Whereas Kay actually challenges Michael the way a wife has a right to challenge her spouse! And some people don't want to challenge their spouse and that is fine too! The point is that a marriage should work between two people and Michael's and Kay's didn't and Kay was the one calling that long before Michael, if she does love him. And Michael does not want to give it up. It's tragic, but it isn't Kay's sole fault. Again, she did move on. She rejeced his proposal, or tried to, he didn't want to hear no, she left him, he won't let her be, because he can't let go of emotional bonds apparently.

And who is to say who Apollonia might have become? These films are so very rarely interested in the world of these women, only looking at them in how they affect the men. And that's fine, the films are about Michael. But it's unfair to reduce all the other characters as people to how they relate to Michael. I promise you, if anyone ever made a biopic of my father, you wouldn't get to know everything there is to know about me simply by watching how I relate to him, or vice versa. People are allowed to exist however good they are, or not, for other people.

#kay adams #apollonia vitelli #michael corleone

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sgt-scottymoreau · 1 month

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Lesson of life

Summary: Everyone has their way to learn what Death is. What are the implication of this stage in life that can come at any moment without a warning. But not everyone learn it at the same stage og their life, some ealier than others. More importantly, not everyone handle it the same..

Warning: Mention/Talk of death, description of panic attack

Words: 2.1k // AO3 // Masterlist

A/N: Ok back to the regular schedule, if there's even one lol Anyway I have a few fics to post either from the main serie or the AU, it just recently I didn't had much the heart to post them. Or even write anything... I have a few ideas why and I really hope it will get better. Anyway, enjoy some angsty fic <3 (Likes are appreciated but reblogs are loved!)

"How do you do it?" Gaz asked.

"Do what?" Scotty raised an eyebrow. They were all relaxing in the common room waiting for Price to finish his debriefing before going out for a drink.

"Be so." He gestured his hand in all directions. "So you. So calm around death? I know with our work we need nerves of steel, but never heard you complain about anything."

"Yeah." Soap chimed in. "We all have our nightmares, you don't have any?"

She weakly smiled. "I do have mine. I just learn to cope with them. Truth is, I learned at a young age what death really meant."

Scotty saw Soap and Gaz on the edge of their seats, ready for a little story. Ghost didn't show much interest, but his head had turned in her direction as well. She knew his scars by now, he did not know hers. Scotty let out a sigh. "Ok, so the day I learned about the army and death, the day I hit a reality check I was around 7-8…"

*****

Like every time before, Suzanne would bring her girls to the base when their father would be back from his deployment. As usual, he would always be happy to see them, despite the tiredness, the arching muscles, the hard work, it always paid off to see his two girls with a smile. He would have his arms wide open ready to receive the blowing hugs from them. But also be ready to answer Camille's billion questions about what happened and what did he do. Henri loved her innocence about all he had to go through and hoped to never break her ideas. Even if deep down he knew he should be doing so since she started to show a lot of interest in military life. To Suzanne's despair.

Of course, Henri was never alone on his way back. More than a decade ago he enlisted with his best friend, Didier.

The two men had gone through almost all their life together. As far as they could remember they have been there for each other since forever. Didier was a good friend of the family and someone Henri considered like a brother. Both men had no siblings and so found family in each other. Even in the army, they were placed together in the same unit, same mission and everything. It was to say they were a good team. To the girls he was known as Uncle Didier. Although he had a wife, he didn't have kids, yet. In the meantime he considered Camille and Gabrielle like his own. Just like Henri he would often get the warm welcome of Camille running toward him and jumping in his arms. This was the routine.

Till it wasn't. Until one day, it all changed. The four girls were waiting for their husband/father to show up in the flood of officers coming back. Camille was more restless than usual. It has been a while since her father and uncle left for so long and she was impatient to hear their story. Gabrielle was also excited, but kept a calmer state than her sister on the outside. Suzanne and Didier's wife were chatting, eyes looking through the crowd for them. The crowd eventually thinned and throughout the happy face, Suzanne saw it. A mile away, she could tell something was wrong with her husband. Normally, he did have his head up and was impatiently searching for his little girls. But today, his head remained down, his gaze avoided her when he caught Suzanne's eyes. Yet the worse was to come. Because Didier wasn't by his side. At first, the women thought it's because he was held behind by some superior or forgot something, and was late. But the look on Henri's face…

"Gabrielle, Camille, stay here please." Suzanne told her kids with a tone they never heard before. The two girls looked at each other with confusion. Suzanne and Didier's wife ran to him. In the distance, Camille watched silently as the three adults spoke. She wanted to step in, but Gabrielle stopped her, reminding what their mother said. Camille frowned, not pleased that she couldn't see her father. Then she heard it. A scream, a wail filled with so much pain, it scared her. In the distance she saw Didier's wife holding onto her father, crying, shaking, begging. Her mother grabbed her by the shoulder as if she tried to calm her down, but the woman only fell on her knees. Camille pushed her sister's arm away and ran to her dad, who had seen her. Henri had a little idea of what she would ask and this wasn't the question the mourning woman needed to hear. He quickly crossed the distance between them to make sure his daughter wouldn’t be too close.

"Dad! Where's Uncle Didier?" Camille asked once he had scooped her in his arm. Henri didn't have his usual smile, he looked different which made her worry.

Henri didn't know how to bring this to her. She knew what death was, but not like this. She had been too young when her great-grandmother died to remember anything. Since then the family didn't had much loss. This would be the first she would be aware of it. He had to be careful of his words, but he also didn't want to shield her to the reality of things. "Uncle Didier…." His throat tightened.

"Why Auntie Thérèse is crying?" Henri bit his lips feeling the tears coming up again. He grabbed her and hugged her tightly. He stroked her hair, his shoulders shaking under the silent cry. "Dad?"

"I'm sorry, Tulip. Uncle Didier is not coming home."

"When he is coming back?" The innocence of children. Oh, he wished to have this again.

*****

"When we got home, we had a long discussion about why he would never come back home." Scotty said, fidgeting with her fingers. "He explained what happened, not in detail, but vaguely what caused his death."

"Must have been hard." Gaz sympathized. "Losing anyone on the field is always a blow." They all agreed to this.

"How did this affect you?" Ghost asked. He had been very silent but attentive the whole time.

"I realized that war wasn't the fantasy idea I made up in my mind from my dad's story and the movies. We all knew this had been rough for my dad, but no one, not even myself realized how much it changed me."

*****

She was on the playground, sitting on the bench, mindlessly dandling her legs. It had been a week since her dad came back and he had changed. Camille had listened to the grown up conversation in secret, when she was incapable of sleep. She heard all of her dad's sorrow. How her mother tried to support him. Everything resonated in her mind like a strange unharmonized symphony. As the days went by without seeing her dear uncle, reality just kept hitting her in the face all the time. Two kids came up to her, taking her out of her mind. "Cam, wanna play war with us?"

"Yeah, okay." She didn't sound too sure, but it was usually her favorite game. Having someone in the military other kids looked at her for some stories and game ideas. Even if sometimes, Camille would tell them that it didn't work that way normally and it should be like this. In the end, they always had fun.

And she did at first. The girl had to warm up a little to the game, but eventually got more into it. Till one of the kids pretended to die. In a way that resonated close to how her uncle did. All of a sudden, Cam froze. The stick she held as her 'gun' dropped in the ground. The dead kid was still laughing while on the ground, talking with the others. Her mind couldn't handle this. The kid got up, using his time as a dead soldier, to go grab a snack, when she grabbed him by the wrist. "No it doesn't work like that!" Her voice cracked under the pressure.

"What are you talking about?" The boy frowned.

"When you are dead you don't get up! It's not like that!" Her breathing grew faster, her eyes watered, her grip was almost painful on his wrist. "You don't come back home!" The last sentence came out in an almost cry. Every kid around stopped what they were doing and a nearby teacher was alerted by the noise. Camille let go of the boy and crouched on the ground as the tears flowed down, her breath was erratic. Her head felt so light, she couldn't feel her body. All she could do was cry and scream about not coming back home because that's death. Death means you don't exist, you are gone. The teacher called for help while he tried to focus on Camille who seemed to ignore him completely. Another teacher brought the other kids away.

Camille eventually calmed down after ten minutes of intense emotions. She was resting in the infirmary, feeling so drained. The nurse was watching over her when her parents finally arrived. Suzanne was slightly panicked, she grabbed her daughter in her arms. "Are you okay, Tulip?"

The little girl felt too exhausted to talk, so she nodded. Henri looked at his kid, guilt took him by the guts. Gabrielle was older and had been able to process some of the situation better because she had some memories of death in the family. But Camille was still young. This was a huge reality check. He took a seat on the small couch she was resting on. She looked at her father with glassy eyes. Suzanne understood that for now it was best to leave them two alone. The nurse followed the mother outside. Camille buried her face in her dad's chest. "I don't want you to die dad." She weakly let out.

"Don't worry, I'll always come back." He hushed her with a kiss on the head. "Camille, listen. I want you to talk to me when you feel sad or afraid ok? Never be ashamed to come ask for help. Your mom and I will always be there and if we can't, we will find someone who can."

"How do you do it? How can you be so calm when people die?"

Henri smiled weakly. "I'm maybe calm, but I'm still hurt. This is my job, we all know the risk. Didier knew them as well, but we love our job. We want to protect our country and save people. But when we lose a friend, it's always hard. That's the reality of things."

Camille hugged her father thigher. "I still don't want to lose you." Tears flowed back again, but this time she was just sad. No panic.

He smiled. Henri could either keep going in circles with the reality of life or he could try to throw some humor to get her to think of something else right now. "I'll be with you till I'm so old and crazy, you will want to kick my ass because I ate all your favorite cookies!"

She stopped crying with a gasp. "No! You can't do that!"

"Oh I can and I will! No more cookies for you!" He tickled her. She laughed and told him to stop.

*****

"After that I went to therapy a couple of times till they were able to work out with me all that happened. Eventually, I accepted this just like my dad and…. Here I am." She finished her story.

"That's hell of a tale." Soap said. He gave her a pat on the shoulder. They all sympathized with her. Even Price who joined mid story gave her a calm smile. But life was still going and for now it was time to get some relaxing time at the pub. Gaz, Soap and Price left first. Scotty was about to get up and follow when Ghost stopped her. He grabbed her wrist and forced her to turn around to face him.

"Do you still think about this often?" He asked calmly. His hand reached for her face and he brushed her cheek. She melted under his touch.

"Not too much. I sometimes think about him and how he would be proud of who I became. He was a nice uncle. He would have liked you."

Ghost pulled her into his arms and she gladly accepted the hug. Even after all these years and the therapy, talking about this still leaves her with a lot of emotions. "Thanks for sharing your scars." He whispered.

"About time I shared them with you. Maybe I should tell you about others."

"You don't have to, love."

#call of duty #cod fanfic #call of duty fanfic #cod oc #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #oc:camille scotty moreau #john price #kyle gaz garrick #series: wie goed doet goed ontmoet

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sheikahwarriork · 6 months

Note

Post war unplanned pregnancy dimileth in which Byleth had to leave because Dimitri lowkey ghosted her after a one night stand because he felt unworthy of her love.

But she came back per Gustave's request because of a new kingdom crisis. When Dimitri met her again he fell all over again but he is heartbroken because he thinks she already got to do her life since she is now is a mother of three and his very slim chance is gone.

Reader, all the kids are his. They were triplets. That Blaiddyd (TM) genes were at it again.

Gustave: *requesting Byleth to help Dimitri once again to stabilize the kingdom while lamenting the king is still unmarried and the Blaiddyd line is done for*

Byleth, who has been raising by herself three small blonde menaces with major crests of blaiddyd:

Background: One of her 3 year olds plucking a wholeass tree with their crest, 10 times their size, because his momma loves flowers and the tree had a lot of flowers while Gustave speaks. And the others kids running to search bigger flower trees for her.

Dimitri found out they were his when one of them mistook Areadbhar for an ugly stick and tried to use it to search for earthworms for their mom's fishing and accidentally activated atrocity.

YAAAAAS i love dimi being a dumbass clueless of byleth's feelings

id like to think of this headcanon as post three hopes: byleth got recruited into the kingdom army, she and dimitri [REDACTED] and then she left while being pregnant after the war ended. both of them have feelings for each other but are unaware of the others'

gustave calls her back after a few years and dimitri is all sad and grumpy seeing his beloved the ashen demon got over their little one-night adventure (unlike him) so that she has a family of her own (even tho... wheres the father?? what kind of man could have left this beautiful woman all alone with three children????? children that are particulary cute..... with their blonde hair and green eyes........ dimitri cant stop thinking about his old fantasy of having a family with her and how much they look like his dreamed-children...... well what a funny coincidence!)

since its hopes, jeralt is still around but he doesnt know who the real father is. when he sees the king playing around with his grandchildren he goes <.< but says nothing. too much to deal with

one day, dimitri talks to byleth about his worries of not having a wife yet bc blayddid bloodline blabla...... byleth is like 👁_👁 while thinking about how well dimitri f*cked her all those years ago and his desk looks great for getting pregnant again...........

the little three menaces children go around the castle causing troubles but everybody already loves them. one day dedue tries to teach them to cook and when he saw one of the children eating leaf-spices [how are they called those like laurel?? lol] thinks "hm. already saw that but cant recall when or where"

and then your last scene dear anon. dimitri looks at that child with disbelief... ofc his first thought is "did the ashen demon meet someone else with the crest of blayddid?? who are they??? could it be...... RUFUS?!?!?!??!?!" bc hes dumb as fuck. dimitri is still looking at his child when byleth arrives and grabs the baby, lecturing them about taking someone else's things without permission, but smiles fondly when the child hands her the worms they found. dimitri is MESMERIZED by her smile and loses his composture. he drops by his knee and says, "miss eisner... i am aware you already have another significant other in your life since you two have children, but... i cannot bear the sight of you raising them alone. please let me take care of them, of you... please let me be their father and your husband"

byleth: 👁_👁 "you DUMBASS they are already YOURS. always have been"

dimitri: *brain stopped working* "oh! i... see..."

byleth: "the marriage thing can still be arranged. yk. since we're not married."

dimitri: *hes in paradise or what??* "you... youd like to marry me????"

byleth: *oh my sothis help me* *kisses dimitri* "pretty much so." and smiles again

they get married the next day and one month later byleth is pregnant again eheh. the blayddid bloodline requires a lot of heirs and they are both happy to indulge in it

#YOOOOO I HAD SO MUCH FUN THANK YOU ANON THANK YOUUUUU #dimileth #byleth eisner #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #fe3h #anon ask #few3h #sothis ships dimileth

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sayafics · 6 months

Text

Ghost - Chapter X

Sorry for the long wait! I didn't see much traction with the series so I wasn't sure if people were enjoying it anymore, but thank you to everyone who reached out to ask for more because I do genuinely enjoy writing this series! This was my first series as a fanfic writer, so it will always hold a special place in my heart <3

Previous Chapter

Masterlist

It was up on that roof where Rick had come up with a plan - a plan so brave and so foolish Casper almost wanted to knock him up across the head.

Rick wanted to make it to the construction site, to grab a truck so they could all hide away from the walkers whilst he drove them far away from the infested streets of Atlanta.

A stupid plan.

But a good one.

She was reluctant to admit it, and angry that he wouldn't let her join him.

That was what brought them to this moment now, standing across from each other with a truly dead walker lying on the ground between them with his body mutilated and guts spilt across the floor.

She was fuming, eyes narrowed as she looked the stubborn man in his eyes - "I'm coming with you."

"No. You're staying here, and that's final."

She rounded the body, shoulders raised as she looked at him with incredulity laced in her voice, "you cannot be serious. I am not letting you go out there. There's hundreds of them and one of you. It's not safe."

"That is exactly why I need you here. I need you safe."

The heated pair pretended to not notice the lingering eyes or awkward coughs, "I mean," Glenn's hesitant voice piped up, "it's not like he'll be alone. I'll be there too. I'll make sure he comes back safe."

Casper stared at him with scepticism, eyes flashing between the man she met only hours ago and the one she had been with for only a few days.

She almost laughed at the irony of how she had trusted Rick within seconds of staring into those terrified eyes, and yet here she was doubting the words of a man who saved her and Rick from dying of starvation, cramped within a tank.

Casper couldn't help the frown that crossed her face, couldn't help but look into Rick's eyes as though it was finally her chance to look for something.

"I'll come back."

Something flashed within those sea-blue eyes of his, something deep and daring and true.

He'll come back.

He has to.

"Promise?"

Rick was wary of the eyes upon him, recalling how Glenn and his friends had thought she was his lover and not his friend, remembering the guilt that stung through him as he confessed he had a wife which was not her.

Still, looking into those earnest eyes of hers, he could not help but wrap her tight within his arms. Casper gripped the front of his shirt, her cheek pressed firmly against his chest as she focused on calming her breaths.

This would be the first time Rick and Casper had been apart, even if it was just for a few moments. There was a part of her terrified he would never come back, just like the people who left her in that hospital bed.

There was a part of her angry that he was willing to sacrifice himself for this group of people they had just met.

There was an even greater part of her that roiled in the horror of the idea she might forget him, just as she had forgotten her past life so easily.

If Rick was here, in her sight and in her arms - she could never forget him. But if he was gone, the lingering fear she would simply forget it all sat heavy upon her chest.

"Promise, sweetheart."

His whispers of reassurance did little to assuage her, but his calming touch, a relentless grip, was the most real thing she had felt since the moment she woke up.

He was real.

He was here.

And he is going to come back.

She pulled herself away from him, hands trailing down his arms as his own stayed locked upon her waist. Casper sent him a strained smile, "okay. But if you don't come back, I'm going to burn your hat."

A surprised laugh escaped Rick, his eyes alight as his pacing heart settled with her agreeance.

"You're gonna have to fetch it from the tank first, if that's the plan."

"Well then, I guess if you really want to keep me safe and stop me from being eaten by a big group of walkers, you better get that truck and come back here quickly."

Rick's expression sobered at that, even if she didn't mean for it to.

"I'll be back. And you'll be here. Safe. Y' hear me? No leavin' or we're gonna have a problem."

She had never seen him so serious, so blunt. His Southern accent rang clearly as he voiced his concerns, a tinge of anger at the thought of her being harmed coated his words.

Her fingertips tingled as she gripped his arms tighter. Her smile was shyer now as her eyes flickered between their amused audience - "whatever you say, cowboy."

Casper stepped back from him, eyes falling onto the soiled remains of a walker as she took a resigned sigh, "I guess we should probably get started then."

***

The group had smeared Rick and Glenn in the entrails of walker guts, covering them thoroughly head to toe.

Casper smeared Rick with blood and muck in careful drags, trying not to catch his face. She held back her giggles of amusement at the way his nose scrunched up under the scent, the way Glenn heaved, and Rick held back his gags. She thought it was weird how she wasn't as averse to the smell as they were, but perhaps her sense of smell was simply not as sensitive.

When the time had come, Casper couldn't give Rick a parting embrace so instead she sent him a shaky smile.

"You promised."

Rick replied with a smile of his own, eyes fluttering as they roved over her figure. It was like he was committing her to memory, afraid that this may be the last time he saw her.

"I'll come back to you."

It was his quiet whisper that had her heart sink to the pit of her stomach, but she held strong for the moment.

There was no longer any anger within her, not when she could lose him so quickly in a matter of seconds. There was only gratuity, there was only appreciation, there was only friendship and love and trust.

He'll come back.

He promised.

He left with a parting nod, exiting the building with a hesitant Glenn at his side as they shuffled into the alley with the faux gait of the rotting dead.

The moment the door was slammed behind them, Casper found herself turning for the stairs, racing up to the roof so she could watch them from there.

So she could make sure he didn't lie.

So she could make sure he was safe.

Morales followed the boys using his binoculars, whilst the others talked in hushed voices behind her. It was as though he could sense the anxiety rushing off of her in waves, so he turned towards her with pity in his eyes.

"Here. They're doing good, they're making it through. Keep an eye on them, would you? I wouldn't wanna lose them in the crowd."

Casper couldn't find it within herself to smile, she simply took the binoculars from his grasp and looked into the sea of walkers of frantic eyes.

There.

Safe.

He is there and he is alive and he is safe.

Behind her, she hears chatter upon the radio, senses the way the air charges up as the people she met were finally able to get into contact with their group.

She thinks she wouldn't mind meeting them now, because meeting them would mean Glenn and Rick made it back safely.

Casper bit her lip out of habit, her wandering thoughts quietened as she focused on what was in front of her. Rick and Glenn were making progress, although it was agonisingly slow.

They were passing through unnoticed, and she could see how the boys began to swell in confidence. Their movements became more assured, and they waded through the waves of walkers with practiced ease.

Thunder rumbled overhead, and Casper drew back from the binoculars to shoot a worried glance at the sky. It seemed like it would rain soon - she hoped they would have made it safely to the truck by then.

But it seemed luck had not been on her side from the start.

***

Slowly edging towards the silver gates, Rick kept his head on a swivel, watching out for any walkers that did not follow the rest in their mindless dronings.

He was keeping a silent count of every step he took, tracking every tread and every shuffle he made in order to know how many he needed to take back to find Casper.

He just needed to get to the truck, just needed to get in and drive it back. Then she would be safe, next to him. Safe and warm and breathing.

Safe.

He was so close, so close that if he could sprint without being jumped by walkers he would.

And it seemed he may just have to.

A drop of water hit his head, the cool sensation trickling down his forehead to glide across the bridge of his nose.

Soon, Rick and Glenn were soaked to the bone, all remnants of walker remains washed away by the harsh winds and icy rain.

"The smell’s washing off, isn’t it? Is it washing off?"

Glenn tried to keep his panic down, tried to lower his voice, but he could see how the walkers threw him a second glance, then third, then another and another and another.

"No, it’s not." Rick was not sure if he was trying to convince Glenn or himself, but he just knew that if they failed now he would most likely never make it back.

And he couldn't let that happen.

But it seemed he could also no longer deny the obvious, as the walkers had stopped to stare at them with hunger, "well, maybe," Rick corrects himself.

The closest walker to him roars, rearing back before launching towards him. But Rick was quicker, aiming for its head with his axe.

He is sure, even across this entire distance, he was able to hear a horrified scream. And he hoped Casper would not watch him be torn and mutilated, hoped she would not watch him fail to fulfill his promise, hoped she would be brave enough to turn away.

***

The group upon the roof watched with terror painted across their face as Rick and Glenn barrelled their way through reaching arms and biting mouths, escaping every grasp and pinch and tear.

"C'mon Rick, please."

Casper had her hands held up towards her face, fingers covering her moving lips as she spoke fervent prayers to anyone who would listen.

Her heart bound within her chest, beating on her ribs as though it was trying to escape and reach out to him. She felt her gasping breaths become shorter as she watched with horror sinking deep into the confines of her skin.

Rick launched himself towards the gate, Glenn just behind him.

Casper held her breath now, watching with avid eyes as Rick threw his axe over before himself. Her eyes welled with tears of relief as he managed to throw himself over and escape the infective touch of the walkers only a hair's breadth away. And then she hesitated for a moment, her eyes no longer following Rick as she focused on Glenn instead - maybe she didn't trust him as much as Rick, but he had helped her. Had saved her.

She thinks if Glenn had died in that moment, there was a part of her that would be upset for a long time.

Glenn gave her a second chance, she only hoped he didn't need one now.

A bubble of laughter escaped her lips, relief colouring her features as she leaned against the closest wall with her hands rubbing across her face, brushing the wet strands of hair from her face.

They made it.

Rick made it.

Glenn made it.

They were alive.

The group watches as Glenn makes a run for the key board while Rick turns and starts picking off the walkers who got too close for his liking.

Casper leaned as close as she could without falling off the building, paying no mind to the figures that sidled up next to her.

She lets out a silent cheer as she watches Glenn throw something towards Rick, and she hopes it was the keys.

The pair run towards the truck, frantic in the movements as walkers begin to climb over the fence and trudge towards them with increasing aggression.

The run in, slamming the doors closed behind them.

Glenn watches the walkers get closer to him, beginning to pound on the glass, separating him from being torn and consumed - "go, go, go, go!"

Rick adheres to his pleas, tires screeching as he backs up the truck. The walker was thrown off, but still relentless in his pursuit.

Rick drives towards the gate, trying not to waver at the sight of a crowd of walkers who pushed against the gate until it collapsed under their weight. He drives through the crowd, heart racing as he tries to not look back.

Rick looks towards the building roof, remembering his promise to Cassie. He could drive there right now, he could hope she made it into the truck without getting caught in the crowd of walkers, he could try and save her now if he wished.

But he wouldn't succeed.

He wouldn't.

Would he?

He couldn't risk her life over a possibility.

No there had to be a better way.

He wasn't leaving her.

He wasn't.

He couldn't.

He'd be back.

He'd save her.

He had a plan.

***

The tears flowed down Casper's face freely now, hearing the group argue behind her as she stared at the space where she last saw Rick's truck before it drove out of view.

He left her.

He left.

Rick left.

Rick lied.

***

Rick and Glenn stood upon a deserted street, a flashy car sat untouched in front of them. With a crowbar in his hand, Rick breaks through the driver's side window causinh the alarm to blare.

Whilst Glenn covers his ears, Rick works quickly - the engine begins to rev as Rick hotwires the car, with floundering gestures he ushers Glenn side.

He had to get back to Cassie.

***

Glenn couldn't stop the grin stretching across his face as he drove chaotically past Rick in the cube van, he manouvered his way past debris and walkers as he traced his steps back to the department store.

Glenn fumbled with the radio, eyes flickerinh between his steering wheel, the road and his shaking hands - "those roll-up doors at the front of the store facing the street," God, he hoped they could hear him over the screeching alarm, "meet us there and be ready."

Casper felt her heart swell at the words - they were coming back. Rick was coming back.

She felt guilt sting her throat at the idea she had believed Rick broke his promise so easily. She thought back to all Rick had done for her, to keep her safe and felt ashamed she ever doubted him.

Casper wiped her tears, a hesitant smile stretching across her face at the sound of cheers echoing around her. The group began to race down the stairs, a frenzied air of chaos radiated around them now.

Casper went to follow, but hesitated as a voice called out - "hey, you can’t leave me here!"

Merle.

It seemed the others paid him no mind, launching for their bags so they could escape quickly.

"I’m not fooling, man! Morales! Hey, man!" Morales paid the man no heed, rushing away before guilt could hold him still, "don’t do this! Come on. You can’t leave me. Don’t leave me here, you guys."

Casper stood by the door, watching how Morales encouraged T-Dog to go, "you too, Casper," she met his gaze with an inquisitive gaze, "he ain't gonna leave without you, you know that."

"We can't leave him like this."

"Leaving him like this won't hurt anyone."

"You might be okay with it, Morales. But I ain't."

"Yeah! Y'hear that, Morales, even the chick got better sense than you," there was a frantic sense of desperation in Merle's voice, he sounded grateful even.

It seemed Casper's insistence was all T-Dog needed as he ran back from the door in an attempt to unlock Merle's handcuffs as quick as possible. Although, it seemed in his rush he lost his footing, tripping over Dale's tool bag and launching the key down a drainpipe.

Casper's mouth was agape, dread colouring her features at the realisation of what this means.

No.

"Son of a bitch! You did that on purpose!"

Casper really hoped he didn't, and Merle simply looked murderous.

"I didn't mean to!"

"Now what do we do?" Casper's question went unanswered as T-Dog ran for the door once more, "it was an accident!"

"We can't just leave him here."

"We have to! Rick isn't leaving without you, we both know that. And we need to go."

"He may be a bastard, but I am not leaving Merle behind."

Her heart ached at his petrified pleas, she couldn't imagine being trapped knowing that walkers would eventually find you and consume you piece by piece until you choked on your blood or lost enough to die, only to return as one of them.

She wouldn't wish such a fate upon her worst enemy, and she certainly wouldn't wish it upon Merle.

"We have to go, Casper."

"No," she looked at him with incredulity, but he only clenched his jaw in return. T-Dog reached for her arm, holding it in a tight grasp as he pulled her into the stairwell.

"Let me go! We can't leave him! Please, he'll die here!"

"No he won't," T-Dog begins to spew off hurried whispers as he reached for the chain hanging from the door jam and sealed the door shut with a padlock, "no he won't."

Casper watched on, aghast. He had locked Merle onto the roof, after leaving him handcuffed. No man deserved to die a death like this.

T-Dog paid no mind to either of them, instead grabbing Casper once more as he hauled her down the stairs. This time, she did not have it within her to resist.

***

"I am not leaving."

It had been too long, and still Casper hadn't come.

Rick's heard sank in dread - did something happen to her? Was she simply angry with him? Too stubborn to want his help anymore? He hoped not.

He prayed not.

"We have to go! They're going to get in, we need to leave. She doesn't wanna come Rick, we have to leave her behind."

Rick ground his teeth out of irritation, so close to lashing out at Andrea for her words but then the sound of running catches his ear.

"Wait for us! We're coming!"

T-Dog.

Us.

He said us.

Casper was with him.

Rick felt his heart slow to a steady beat, his hands still trembling in anticipation as he waited for them to show.

Seconds passed before a large figure launched itself into the truck - he seemed to be holding onto Casper with a vice grip.

The sight of such a thing caused Rick's lips to twitch, but he held himself back.

First he had to make sure they were safe, and from the sound of groans drawing closer that wouldn't be anywhere here.

He hit the gas, speeding off as Morales let down the back door.

As the truck slows down from its rushed pace, Rick's wandering eyes search for Casper in the rearview mirror - "hey," his voice soft as he took in hed quiet form and darting eyes, "sweetheart, are eyou okay?"

He was worried she was upset with him for his detour, angry that he hadn't come back as soon as he had gotten into the truck.

Casper's eyes met him through the mirror, red and swollen - "he dropped the key," her words were a dreaded whisper.

"I wanted to help him, but I couldn't."

Rick wished he could reach out to her now, wished he could hold her in his embrace.

He wasn't sure what to say, so maybe that was why he was relieved when Andrea spoke instesd - "where's Glenn?"

As if on cue, the sound of a blaring car alarm rushed passed them, the red sports car a blur in the wind - such a sight caused many to break into laughter but Rick's eyss stayed fixed onto Casper who continued to stare out into space.

They had left Merle behind, just as her people had left her.

The only difference was, Casper had survived. They had left her in a hospital with resources, somewhere she had the chance of surviving.

But to be handcuffed on a roof of a walker-infested department store, with no weapons or food, no shelter or barricade - Merle was a meal ripe for picking, he was a sacrifice so the rest could live.

And Casper felt like an active participant to it.

So so sorry for the long wait, I feel like this chapter does seem quite rushed but I'm honestly looking forward to the reuinion between Rick and his family, and Casper meeting Daryl. I didn't want to miss any plot points out so this chapter is like one big summary, I hope you guys enjoy it and that I didn't disappoint.

The reunion chapter is next, and hopefully, so is our first glance at Daryl!!!

Taglist: @maxinehufflepuffprincess @brittney69 @hhhilloklll

#andrea twd #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x oc #daryl dixon x reader #glenn rhee #lori grimes #rick grimes #rick grimes x oc #rick grimes x reader #rick grimes x you #the walking dead #twd fanfiction #twd #ghost

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krethes · 7 months

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(Continuing my efforts to break out of my writer's block...sad Remus & Lily content)

It's hard, seeing someone you love—the first person you ever loved—in pain. He wasn't used to it, not like Lily was. She saw him in misery every month, visited him in the Hospital Wing with a sack of sweets and a thermos of heavily honeyed tea for his scream-raw throat. But Lily never let her hurt show, not when Snape betrayed her confidence, not when people called her names, not when Death Eaters fired off lethal curses around her.

But she's in his arms now, broken, sobbing. It's not quiet. It's loud and gasping and a deep, unending pain, and Remus knows it. Knows it so keenly, he can barely stand to be here with her. But he must. He will. No one can bear this alone. Remus had Sirius. Lily normally has James. But they're on a Mission, and even the news of his wife's mother dying was not reason enough for Dumbledore to bring James home early.

What a load of shit.

Remus has long since started to see the heartlessness behind their general. Perhaps it's necessary. Perhaps it's what they need to do to win against a ruthless, genocidal maniac. Or perhaps he's just too focused on the mechanics and not the cogs making it run.

His shirt is soaked with salty tears, and Remus would do anything to lessen her pain. He gathers Lily closer, kisses the top of her head, her forehead, her cheeks, and briefly, chastely, her lips. She tastes like salty tears, too. It's not sexual. It's just…comfort. She sighs against his mouth and buries her face into his neck after a few seconds, crying silently now save for a hiccup or two.

Remus rubs her back in soothing circles, though it seems pointless. He can't do anything to help. A cheering charm would only force laughter and a smile, but her heart would still be breaking behind it, a hollow, jagged mockery of the true emotion.

"What am I supposed to do?" she whispers when the sun has gone down and the moon rises, fat and heavy in the sky. It's not full, but close, and Remus hopes Sirius will make it back before then. Make it back at all. Lily's voice is frail and torn, hoarse from her crying. Her scent is sour, misery and anguish and fear, but Remus doesn't shy away from it, overwhelming as it is.

"I don't really have an answer for you, love," Remus admits. His mother died a few months ago and he still wakes up with wet, tear-streaked cheeks. He still thinks about visiting her in Dover, but remembers she's buried in the neighboring town as he's pulling on his coat. And his dad, well…he's fucked off to Merlin knows where. Left behind an absolute mess in the house, vanished into thin air. Maybe he's dead, like Lily's dad. Maybe he's just trying to disappear. Remus wants to, sometimes. Just get up and run and run, outrun the horrors that plague him.

They've lost so much this year. Friends, family, sleep, innocence. Remus has committed sins he can't even tell Sirius about, and the knowledge of that haunts him like a ghost.

Lily is quiet for a long time, but Remus senses she has something she wants to say. "Your dad…" She clears her throat and looks up at Remus, her fair eyelashes clumped together, cheeks wet. "His library, he-"

"Lily." Remus cuts her off with a sharp shake of his head. "No, it's not-"

"It's not fair! I don't- I won't…I wouldn't do anything, I just… I just want to know if it's possible."

Remus sighs and rests his chin on her head. "It's possible." He'd read through everything. The loose leaves of parchment scattered around his dad's library that spoke of reanimation, resurrection. Necromancy. The theory was sound. Remus immediately checked that his mother's remains were still undisturbed after, and was relieved that his dad hadn't gone through with it. Or hadn't yet.

"Can I just-" Lily bites her lower lip and pulls back to look up at him again. "Please? I just… to pretend. Just for a little while. That I could…that she could be here."

Remus closes his eyes, fighting the drowning pull of her grief. He's never been good at saying no to her, and has been even more rubbish at denying the allure of the darker magics. They both share that, the appreciation for the mysterious, the forbidden. Maybe it's how they were raised. Maybe it's the dark creature in Remus. Who's to say.

"... Alright. Get your coat. I'll show you everything."

#remus lupin #my fics #lily evans #lily potter #lunarflower #cw: parent death #cw: grief

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carebooks · 10 months

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ideas for the Lockwood & Co. crossover with Bridgerton

beware, this gets pretty dark for the Bridgertons

Lockwood and Co. are investigating an old mansion in Mayfair, ever since they’re recent adventures surrounding the bone glass they’ve been moving up in the world a bit. And now it was time to locate and contain a Type 2.

When they arrived, they were faced with a much worse terrifying feeling of dread than from their previous cases. Yet, it was also twisted and different, not quite the same as they usually expect. It took a while to find any ghost at all, let alone a Type 2, and most of what Lucy could hear were happy memories from the house of different people, a family most likely.

Finally, she started hearing a low buzzing, and so did the boys too eventually. They made their way to the mansion’s cellar and that’s where they discovered:

“Please tell me that is not what I think it is,” spoke Lucy since no one else would. The boys remained in uncomfortable silence for a minute or two.

“That looks like…” Lockwood trailed off.

“The bone glass.” George finished for him.

A warped copy of the bone glass they had dealt not six months ago sitting in the middle of the floor.

They froze finding that thing, but the strangest bit about it was despite looking like the bone glass, it was missing the most crucial part of the relic: its center.

The rest of it resembled the first one they encountered, only slightly bigger, almost the size of a Viking shield. But the center was missing, it was just gone, an empty circle where they could see the cement floor beneath it.

When Bickerstaff first made his infamous bone glass, not many knew that it was not the first attempt. Nearly fifty years before when he was a young man he made his first attempt.

His first try was on a rich family of the ton. In his older age he would come to regret going after such a well-known family, but they were accesible to him and the perfect number he needed. The mother had eight children, they were all more than enough for his glorious venture.

That night, the Bridgerton family were all together, they were celebrating Hyacinth’s twelfth birthday, it was the whole family minus their spouses. Daphne came with her son as Simon and her were going through a small tiff at the moment. And Anthony’s wife, Kate, was visiting her sister out of town. It was supposed to be a lovely affair, filled with laughter and dancing. And birthday hats, of course.

Unfortunately, that night came a man. He was a Lord, from what Violet could remember. A Lord that lived a bit far off from their city and was always invited to the ton’s balls, especially during the matchmaking seasons. He had danced shortly with both her oldest daughters if she remembered correctly.

No one knew what Bickerstaff was doing there. No one expected him to commit such heinous, morbid, inhumane crimes. He went after the servants first, killed them and made sure the home was isolated. Then he went after the men, easier to subdue the women with them out of the way, it may have involved threatening their mother. Then after that it seemed easy to just go oldest to youngest. They screamed and they cried and he didn’t care. But as he went through them all he noticed something by the time that all that was left was the mother. He had taken his seven souls, seven Sources, but she had eight children. Who was missing?

He tried forcing her to tell him, threatening to kill her if she didn’t speak the truth. But what good was that when she was already dead by the time he cut into her firstborn? She would never tell him where her last living child was, she’d rather join the ones that were taken from her. And just as he was going to torture it out of her, she got the upper-hand, he was too distracted, she was gaining some adrenaline. And so she took the knife he had been wielding and drove into his torso, leaving him on the floor and taking the macabre object he made with her children’s remains. She refused to leave what was left of them with their killer.

And so he chased after her until he caught her near the up the stairs. It didn’t take long for a fight to ensue and she realized what she would do. She didn’t know what this strange relic was or why he had to destroy her family to make it, but she didn’t care. She lost what was most precious to her and now so would he. She made a determined step to the balcony overlooking the foyer, it had been bent and open during the earlier fights with her boys fighting the intruder. Still gripping the bone glass, she stepped off the ledge and made sure to aim it at the ground. She died on impact as the glass shattered around her. Her revenge complete and his crimes wasted.

He tried repairing what was left back in the cellar, but to no avail. It was damaged beyond repair. He left it there and didn’t look back.

Hours later, the third daughter and sixth child had arrived. Francesca Bridgerton had arrived late, coming all the way from her private studies in London. With gift in hand for her little sister, she didn’t know she would arrive to her home only to find her mother and siblings all horribly murdered. Her screams were heard throughout the neighborhood, alerting all of the ton practically.

The papers called it the Butchered Bridgertons.

Simon drank and barely left his manor when news of his wife’s and son’s murders made their way to him.

Kate, now a grieving widow but with no son to inherit the Viscount title, started living with her step-mother again. She goes back to India a few years later.

Penelope lost her best friend and her long time crush in one swoop, she stopped writing as Lady Whistledown for a year.

Lady Danbury visits Simon often, at this point just trying to make sure he doesn’t drink himself to death, and when she passes in her sleep six years later, he does.

The Queen had ordered her men to find the criminals responsible for her own subjects being murdered in their home. Mainly because the ton started talking of how the King and Queen cannot protect their own people. Everyone has become even more distrusting ever since.

Francesca Bridgerton is the last remaining Bridgerton left alive.

She cannot inherit her brother’s title and it’s passed on to a distant male cousin she barely knew. She cannot stay in Mayfair any longer. Rather than become some stranger’s ward and be forced to live in the place where so much death happened, she took what money she could find, her mother and sister’s jewels, and her brother’s hunting knife. She headed North, as far as she could get from the ton and from that house.

She eventually settles in a small town, finding work as a serving girl, and a few years down the line she marries a kind man and they have four children, two boys, two girls. She names them after her siblings and her mother.

When Violet Bridgerton jumped off that ledge and smashed the bone glass, something happened. One might never know what caused it: her self sacrifice, the love and grief of her children, or perhaps just blunt force to the relic— but something she did changed the bone glass. It no longer had those tormented souls, its Sources were in pieces and they suffered less. But it was still powerful. With her death, her ghost created its Source: the bone glass. And all her ghost ever wanted was to go back to a time when her children were happy and alive.

And then it did.

For decades, Violet’s ghost just kept going through the bone portal. Watching her children laugh, cry, and fall in love. But it never lasted, it always ended the same way. She still kept going back to it. She carried it on like a loop. Because that’s what it was.

Two centuries later and Francesca’s descendant would be finding her way to the Bridgerton manor. Finding the remains of the family and discovering what kind of ghost still haunts the area, eventually leading to the activation of the bone portal.

Her source was uncovered and the pretty girl fell first. The boys cried out for her, the taller one diving trying to catch her before it was too late. But as his hand barely grasped hers, he was being pulled down too, and then the third one did his best grabbing the boy’s ankles, to no avail. Soon, all three went falling through the bone window.

When they woke up, to their surprise, they were still alive.

They just weren’t in the right time.

#so this is basically what happened and why #and the rest of the fic would be lockwood and co. trying to stop the murders / try not to fuck up time / survive the 1800’s #save lockwood and co #lockwood and co #anthony lockwood #lucy carlyle #locklyle #george karim #i havent read the books idk what happens six months after the bone glass #also i may have made bickerstaff older than he should have been but it was for plausibility #bridgerton #anthony bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #colin bridgerton #daphne bridgerton #eloise bridgerton #francesca bridgerton #gregory bridgerton #hyacinth bridgerton

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user-omi · 7 months

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—something is deeply wrong with these mfers.

hilliam; cw: murder, stabbing, child murder, typical fnaf shenanigans, out of context roleplay replies. this can honestly be read platonically or romantically.

word count: 663

(1)

It's strange, this all started out normally—just curiosity making its rounds. But it never did go away, it stayed, festered in his hidden desires until one thought was left: just once.

Just once he had to try it, just to see how it felt, how it would go. Would he be able to get away with it? What would their blood taste like? What would their last expressions be? Would they refuse to look at him or—

The first kill is always the messiest, you're an amateur who's hungry for experience. But William Afton strived for perfection, and besides, it wasn't like he was in this alone. Looking back it really felt like a dream come true, his friend—best friend; childhood friend—has always been there for him.

Henry in some ways was a fool, thinking he could have both; his life and their life. But in the end he had to choose, and it seemed as if he chose himself. Far gone was his previous life, William made the choice for him.

As William bled out the voice of Henry rang out in his head, there's so much emotion in his voice yet it all muddied together to rid William of any understanding. He couldn't help to find this funny, he always thought—dreamt—of killing Henry. Seeing his blood paint the floor a beautiful red, how would Henry look? How would he feel?

Similar were his thoughts with Charlotte, it's why he had to do it, you understand, don't you? Curiosity had a hold on him at first, but now—now—he doesn't think he can live without it.

"What I... remember of... her? Charlotte? Or perhaps... your wife?" William chuckled, thinking of all the expressions Charlotte made during her death. "Your wife... would've been... next and then... and then you."

(2)

William grinned, it was vicious and victorious. Even as his body was falling apart, even as Henry had him pushed against the desk; even as his best friend drove the knife into him.

"Don't you see? Dear Henry, you think... you think you're getting rid of me?" A dark chuckle echoed around the room, but their eyes never left each other. There's a certain type of love that felt like hatred in your bones, perhaps this is what described them; perhaps there was no love at all. "I'll always come back, whenever thoughts... thoughts of your daughter, of sweet little Charlotte, come to you—I'll be tied to them. You can't think of Charlotte without me."

There's a heavy feeling in the air, the words of William ringing true. Every thought Henry will have, every action moving forward William will be there for. Dead as he may be the ghost of his memories will forever haunt Henry.

"Don't you... don't you see? Dear Henry, if you really didn't want her dead... you simply had to stop me the first time it happened. But you didn't... and here we are." Red splattered across Henry's face, not unlike what countless children's faces looked like the day they died. There's something so exciting, so... enticing about blood on Henry's face—it suits him.

Now Henry was going on a path much like his own, finding his own sins, and bathing in them. Allowing them to cleanse your body, tuck inside every crevice of your very being until you're nothing but the sin you've created. William's only regret is that he won't be able to watch it with his own eyes, but at least he knows one thing.

"Don't you see, dear Henry? I've won."

(3)

Counterroute for dialogue:

"Oh? Did you want me to say I regretted it? That within the depth of my very being I feel ashamed? Is that what you wanted to hear?" William chuckled, distorted and slurred from the blood trying to choke him. "I wonder, what would you have done if I said I regretted it? Would you have tried to work things out? Feel hesitant killing me... or feel even better about killing me?"

#helliam #fnaf #five nights at freddy's #fnaf william afton #fnaf afton #fnaf au #william afton #henry emily #fnaf henry emily #william x henry #william afton x henry emily #henry x william

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wardogsong · 1 year

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[ HEADSHOT! HEADSHOT! ]

Frank && Death.

They HAVE met, even if Frank is unaware of it. Oh, they flirted throughout his long-gone youth— when he was reckless with his vitality, utterly fearless and courting trouble for either fun or status; they brushed elbows at war, strange colleagues of a sort. And of course. . . he DID die the once.

Here was a man so promised to them, SO GUARANTEED, that they perhaps rested a little too comfortably on their laurels awaiting him after a bullet found his skull and a wrathful woman took control of his plug. They did not come for him in that sterile hospital room— AND SO HE ROSE AGAIN, only moments after his heart stopped it's beating. It was a mistake that did not bear repeating. His was a soul long overdue for Death's embrace. .

So Death itself goes to collect when yet again Life is bleeding sluggishly out of Frank Castle some months later. It waits in the wings and tries to soften the ultimate transition with pretty memories plucked right from the man's own head. Death takes Maria's face for it's own and embraces Frank; reminds him of the sweetness of wedding his wife and the pleasure of bedding her. They dance. They kiss. They fall into bed together and never once does it register or matter to that dying man that if he were truly in his memories proper the room would not be so bare and gray. And when his time is up? Death stretches out it's hand ever so gently and asks him to come HOME.

The problem is. . . they have not been left alone and interrupted. Frank is dying slowly of torture; not slipping away calmly in the warmth of his own bed, letting go a well-aged ghost. No. That was never going to be his end. Frank Castle is a soldier. He is a man still at WAR though his career days are done.

Death has been awaiting him in Maria's mask in that gray liminal space while Frank comes and goes— goes and comes back again. He wakes to pain, he slips away from it. He rises up. He falls under. Each time Death greets him and tries to keep him a little longer, waiting for that FINAL moment when they walk away together, hand in hand.

And Frank DOES take their hand. Terrible man that he is, he dares smear the blood of his war upon it; but he takes it. Outside, in his quickly fading reality, William Rawlins tells his body the truth of it all. ❝You're a dead man. Your heart just doesn't know it yet.❞

AND YET— HE RISES TO FIGHT AGAIN.

Rather than accept the truth he is told, Frank tells Death his own truth. He IS home. War is his home. He takes back the contrasting warmth of his hand. He turns his back. HE WALKS AWAY.

So what can Death do but let him go and turn it's own back in return?

A rejection like that can not be repeated. It is made once and never again— never even given the opportunity to be recanted. Frank may be sent to them; he may come seeking, but, he will NEVER be collected.

HE WILL ALWAYS RISE AGAIN.

[ Tell ‘em closed case. ]

#ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏ ʙɪᴛᴄʜ sᴘɪᴛ ɪᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛʜɪs sɪɴᴄᴇ '08 #. ( ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴs ) .#death cw #torture cw

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matthewbaudelaire · 1 year

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AU - HONEY, ARE YOU A VAMPIRE?

featuring @zaina-castillo as the Secret Vampire & @matthewbaudelaire as the Unknowing Husband

He did not know what he was looking at. Matthew held the door of the fridge open with one hand while he stared unblinking, trying to process the sight of the contents within. It had been a day like any other, he’d woke up in the morning, had breakfast with his wife, gave her a kiss to the cheek and then left for work. The office had been tedious as always but very productive and he’d been praised by his boss who had even alluded that a raise or a promotion may be coming his way shortly. He’d returned home hopeful, eager to share the good news and had gone down to the basement to retrieve one of the bottles of wines they stored there for special occasions only to discover there was a leak and the entire basement was flooded. Not a problem, nothing he couldn’t handle, he’d always been good with his hands and adept at fixing random things around the house so he set about to solve this task. Except when he started to inspect the source of the leak he discovered a part of the wall which gave way, it was not a wall at all, not solid like the rest of the cement walls of the basement, it was a wooden board which had been painted over to look like the rest of the walls and with a good shove he’d pushed it aside to reveal a small dark room that housed one item: a fridge.

Matthew had thought it was strange, why would there be a secret hidden compartment in their basement with a spare fridge? His answer came when he opened it and revealed the entire thing was filled with blood bags. He’d shut the door almost immediately as if afraid the bags would somehow spill out or reach for him, that he might be stained by the blood if he stared at it for too long but disbelief and shock prompted him to open the fridge once more and now he stared at the bags as cool air spilled out, ghosting over his features while his brain worked slowly trying to determine why. Why? Why was this here? His thoughts went to every dark and horrible suggestion. His wife was a murderer. These were her victims. Didn’t serial killers keep mementos of their victims? But why bags of blood? Why not something much less conspicuous like locks of hair or a trinket? Then his thoughts turned strange. What if she was drinking the blood? The thought alone made him slam the door shut as he pressed his fist to his mouth to keep himself from getting sick. He needed to put as much distance as he could between himself and this fridge and this sickening basement, rushing up the stairs and toward the kitchen sink, the first available basin with water so that if he could no longer hold back the contents of his stomach he could easily wash it away.

He heaved in a breath, shaking, shuddering, fear and uncertainty and shock gripping him tightly and making his blood run cold and his face heat. He turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on his cheeks. There had to be a reasonable explanation. There had to be. He reached for a kitchen towel and lightly dabbed at the damp on his face and forehead, holding it against his upper lip as he focused on his breathing, staring out the window which overlooked their back garden. Maybe she was running a blood drive. Maybe they were donations. Maybe it was only temporary storage. But why wouldn’t she tell him? His thoughts betrayed him once more, his lame attempt at trying to come up with something reasonable failing. Still wracked with nerves, Matthew pulled a chair out at the table in the kitchen, a small breakfast nook in the corner of the room, needing to sit before his knees gave way. He chewed nervously on his lower lip and glanced at his wrist watch. His wife had gone out for some last minute shopping before dinner. She would be back any moment. He should confront her somehow. He stood up suddenly when he heard the front door open. Panic and nerves sent his heart racing up to his throat yet he willed himself to move, walk through the house until he would meet his wife as she was entering, “Need me to help with those bags?” He asked her, doing his best to keep his voice calm, level, not knowing anything and only that he did not want to upset her. If she was a danger to him then confronting her recklessly would be a mistake.

#zaina-castillo #au para: zaina #serial killer mention tw #blood tw #murder mention tw

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libidomechanica · 1 year

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Untitled Poem # 8703

A sonnet sequence

Thou waste, when on the billows rude. —I’ll swim to the day complaint. How happy plain, with hellish tyranny. The moon. To wing, fann’d the judgement of sepulchral from the daylight it come indolence. Thou wilt be gone, I marry the bed. Me by my name, Bannockburn, Passchendaele, Babi Yar, Vietnam. Prophet, curse me through buried there crost towards a cruel, cruel fire, the charm of which I gasp to have you more thyself to Brushing, head to hear it growing.

Ankles points; it is a world that old ruined fortune flout, the brood. Of Saturn’s vintage; mouldering the ancient bugaboo follow’d all, and the portraiture of clouds faintly sat down; and, with round him grew all these joys; ask nought beyond thy presence he stood; like old Deucalion mountain’d o’er the stars she seem’d that is the shelter of large- browed steals unto her boy, you know’st it not. How quietly her fancy from me, what means this poor tears fell ere the World from hill to hill.

III

Will last the trees. I rear’d my heart’s workings be, that nest and lost huge self; and that were ever saw. Who lov’d—and music in the west, she was borne a voice of many throes! And when storm-rent disclos’d in one accents halcyon. And live! Fell down, alone can taste loues dainty food; if eagle and strange love the pony, that hung just out that widow’d wife; I sue not for the pony, where sleep! Will gulph me—help! A horse, a shield me from such comes from this restless world, and left my legs.

There are thrust, only a yard beneath a coral clasps and amber studded with causefull ten times nine. In the ground were I go hence, know that I prize with voice expire. And slowly from thee my wandering about her waist, and all around upon push’d thro’ the Miller was in Christ was altogether by pulleys like vibrations of dryness find this I know that vessel’s shrouds in perilous bustle, Betty sees, but Juliana’s scorching up, and fearing nought of sea.

She stops, she loves, her idiot boy. Guide-post—he turns right team gulphs in the eie of heaven, his name for that spake he, and wailing, this was not then he called on fire, which like as like a dreadful night. More wit is now bestowing. The sheets will here swear, eterne Apollo each one little eas’d, the poor sob doth pine, not a woman, tired of my kind, keep back them night the Olympian eagle landed him, and I feel their eyes that was never live, supposing through road?

And that’s the cannot be long, or I am so oppress’d. For while Endymion! Never to silence all one! Should be seen, or canst not go the flowers on a slothful shore, down whose passe-praise hue scornful of milk! In bush and look at her pipe in growth about me them of kind, am urged by your state complain. Strife, but he heard, what to her door, what do, and away, for term of life, lilies, like a morning; if that it is sae prevailin’, and wae on the forest o’er.

VII

Arsenic, sure, would be rear’d aloft its hungry lick about the shrill winds bound it round above my husband’s at the dome pomp, reflections cast: a little more has that is become something rings—o let the world will say tis very idle, bethink you often seen. Cried throat, in mossy bed and power too. Yet she had not buried ghosts tonight, alone, but for thou art not for scenes must confesse O noble fire fed by the purpos’d to flow, and how to forget not yet.

VIII

Each one plays his patience is the measured mine, and then the same around her guide, for should not: therefore? Or she never fall; and so its ink has pass’d, even he, of cat or mouse, nor knows what became of the splendour, not a mother he hecht her airy flower’d Elysium. Of fresh upon mine when thou should not: there we mighty ones who have told me thereon could even weeping in array, and in how plenteous showers, into the core all other cattle thing real.

He had seen, lull’d with lichens to it our naked as someone … and I must wed them now for your beauty fairness now I could not to fear the little her luscious Honour’s parle, but when sweet queen: That when her lips daignd to shew his spread. A thousand score. And send the whole herd, as by a red rock, glimmers thy chaste breast more did I see their pedantic boring cry: every farthing out and heels on along the earth in the east, and satyrs stark, with cold half awake I sought.

It brings honey-dew from this country first sunrise. To pay: no suits or fret at all, comes to thinke I then, what you again. Would defile the eagle, ’twixt cape and clown’s- all-heal, the silvery shape that it is like a cinder, and Betty, going, there his travelling, to their vermillion, and high fantastic bridge athwart the nine white doves. The grave. Yet not yet escap’d from worldly please you right that get broken wing thro’ cells of madness of love! The hour when the gable-wall.

It is but one word scarcely even as thou hast passed with anybody’s weight upon his large Hercules wound I seal. Trim her bed, as if her very joy and pine more than one pretty lambs we pull; fair-lined slipperie place: for others, because that out an hour; we whispering breast, and sigh’d, Sweetest essence, when she said; she said:-Then, cried the horizon’s breast the fire of a duke, and panting light; that gray old wolf, for her smooth it steal about the ghosts, the dale, and thou move?

XII

But do not there lives, had child. Least ioy, by his while stand amazed ken, to margin, and will betide? But when thou wilt not, nor passion; when he flung himselfe in the Sword and Master of thee to him befel, for sure he met with you, O Love and me, i’ll restore five yearn’d with rapine, and rejoice! Only to kiss than she is known rustic revels he had died, that temple, so complete and gin; therefore like awe, that he could I dibble take, or drop a seed, till my griefs have grown common bulk, those two sad streams subterranean tease their dull skies, which though its verdure of this with, God forbids to spare, till she heart leal and hint, and doth always used him well; perhaps, with Etnean throe the entirely; no, thy state!

XIII

It was yours years of her tale may take off shoes. In truth it was enough to drive one glass eye. But yet I know this fears were heard the lane, or be deliverers tasted her brain—’tis all in traveller had a dreadful might and the pony’s worth to strike him and lawless war are scarcely wastes one step? Like thunder-glooming like a ruddy shield on the sky is blue, that every minutest fish would go, and flower-plots were clear from the quiet air Stella, the one tonight.

XIV

Nor could ever dwell; whate’er thou canst do thou canst do thou wilt be blest, and like an infant’s bier she looked on, and Nineveh. He ever in the day, although thou know I have kisses. And another flow of joy and pine more ground the doors old footsteps murmur breeds along the stars kept secretest. I would that woful day a cruel, cruel snare in a pit to catch a friend, nor thou wouldst mount up to my health to a hole in the eye, that valley, that’s like a wretch’s knife, too base?

Actually I’m hung up on it. The ignoble never heard her cry, oh misery! A voice is listens, but so. Her messenger and pleasant grass it should be engulphed in the waves lie still I am but half-dead; there is coming flame—o let me melt into the drift of Heaven’s gates, at love the very sweets: onward it shook upon the whole days agone her soul to the dusk below, if such a mournful place, and all, comes nectar at the scornes this poor thorn!

XVI

Emerald deep: yet not yet when he did lye, the Lady FRANCES drest so let our love inevitable Outside they cannot know thy cheek is pale for one as sorrows of your eyes thick films I see play with his pocket bring the tropics, to arrest thy silvery shower fell, as down with many a light and travelling, to renew embower’d Elysium! You plainly in his hand to their own, belonging compliments they gain’d, and pearl. That blow softly round me.

XVII

Cruelty has a human accent: Potent goddess was past bounded wide, is silent night are shouts from thy diadem, out-sparkling sudden voices were sports in a cloud of poisoner! Can see no object. What Meg o’ the door, she quite a scoff; and when I behold another down, uncertain ways: through a vast antre; then the fierce complain, moving about his looks at you will not been a Sultan of old and then ’twere pity, for the water fair, as careless ill.

XVIII

Away, my life away like an uptorn for ever and are bent on her own bow, can mingled with lichens to it our naked trees: if only you wouldst thus, and lull their promise to an end. I don’t stand before to the dull a spur like pretty, trifling? She lifted drowsily, and how to consummate all the bed; at lengthen out the shaping air will guide. Could wandered the first I came, ere I have felt with a stirring claims, yet God’s just going, what can ease my pain.

XIX

Thus did he ever have as he passion to a moment’s self must feel sometimes like a morning slowly from the town so long on a chair, think and quiver is mute in her, ere she should not marvel at either hand: as she’d been resum’d in spite of truth; as ’tis kept secret all your rhubarbe words, and weep to the rounding of you. For into the minutes, by those same feather to the floor, blacken’d waters play which mads the jewel, here is no old power of love and closer.

Soldiers spitting, spears in the Carian’s ear; first he, far and reset.— As if she has caught as the multitude in which whales arbour queen, what do, and at the self-approving glow, of conscious lips and all around my limbs, bathing stuff might say some plainly set her within him those olden three, memphis, and Daies, which burns the famous—that you say parataxis would seem to decay, o’ercharge, while there? Her body it grew better state to the bats, when a little patience, youth!

XXI

And Johnny, Johnny’s but half starved. Why will, my Johnny is just going, though I have new sorrows come with Aarons pretious time she’s nothing to a lyre, touch’d the tribe of Reuben? Spouse—next, on a dolphin tumults, when at last all deckt with finger, now; now, while one huge Python antagonizing was the cost of thee the promise to an end to the bones for those who with my lays, as Philomel in the earth I cry for the bosom of a crescent? In a long farewell!

XXII

Sitting crag, and dipp’d a chin but that smile, or with wit, as with his caract, and fairer flow. The end of mercy? Drunken, and what a happy times, like or what we two must be a nurse made of thy sweet shower heal’d up the wound, and legal ways which I spoke, a woman at her door, The youth’s slumberous ease: long years and years. Over his nested young: sweet I hear he loves, her gentle Goddess was a nymphs, and your love-salute was seen such we in roses. Oh woe is me!

XXIII

Of you where oft there; fresh and comes from hiding up that seemed as thine. Grant in his face sweet Venus, bending loud, he flew, the scene more I know not how—as if she may his face my hair uptying within the skies, their father. Is enough? Which calls all creature lie, mortal, and desolation stir; And down, alone amid a prospect,—diamond gleaming a song. And far in the degrading details I have chose, by whom my being blush’d, with you, O Love and howl, and marrow drain’d.

XXIV

Start—no bosom beats as plain the baby looks how quiet woodlander— pass’d like a city, with spirit in thy presence, look upon it, tis plain; she wept, and flow, anon she took you dedicated, naked waist: Fair Cupid’s sake! Thing, once the leaves among, chance did intwine, alive when thou wouldst thoughtful tale pursuing, among the glasses of you. Blaze, and was a whelming soul of love! For thou hast smil’d. I shall never can work War’s overthrow. I saw the dismal knell!

XXV

Sparrow’s chirrup on the dungeon core of the same himself along the ghosts, his appetite to dive into his noted want of my thrice-seen love, to move openly together with a sweetness, to cradled me then regality of Neptune’s eastern blast did nip a fairer flowers smother’d thro’ the Miller. Whose steadfast faith embrace, and at once: for down-glancing the ground, and keep my mind hath so dense a breathing an elephant appear, when my black, as erst to Pindar’s eyes there art thou break it—What, is it true—away, and thus it was to talk to you to every Muse to rove: and doubling overhead their axle! And though in his high and look’d as she repeat, the right this sort of hotel.

XXVI

To carry back my idiot boy? Those hopes it seem’d to sight, a beauteous bill of moss, that no just pretense of mine of heaven, where we might that are gone, by our eternall praise: discriminal. To the morn. Every part was consent, so in this country comets, that I were deathlessness, and tenderly unclos’d, by tender scions for very feare would ease him down. Bones in a certain ways: through the while. A hundred-years-old name with daily boon of fish moving came these?

XXVII

Down from the trees, and call it love? To do the sea, or a crime we hear the woody dale; and the bars that kept within him that million dye. Though the leg. The sparrows from the tough ones that widow’d bed sat silent sapphire-spangled, and there was a jasmine bower veils mantling the gloom: down, down, and—ah, ripe sheaves of happy times, when I thought him, in kind striving that, near again in grass a long pillars, and thus he raped her. But that when her luscious Honour more than he.

XXVIII

All blisses be upon a gentle wrists, and shells, and wither’d when thou wast my sister; darting still, and, downward, so too—too high: only I pray, as fairest friend and worn the wood, whether he hecht her amorous plea faint throne of emeralds break it—What, is it sings his dreary space he seeth a hundred years with his slumber; while beneath the wood. Sweetly blushing the east, and speak of other still: I can prepare with joy, even thousand time in silence; first sunrise.

XXIX

Like pretty rooms; who for her mournful hymns did hush the night I saw a jutting calm and pearl. The pony there; so, not to solemn their gaze ripe from knee, nor far, ere from the tongue. And Betty’s head and somebody, surely be sent: the nested wren has thy fountain bend? Grown old, and low! Her voice is listen for common lose their office mighty pulses: in thine eye, so deep is their fames this booth, whence full many a heath, through the public foe, then live no hatred and fast she scuds with our feet, innocent flood that hell-born Circe. It is, the dead; seen them most sweet in cowslip-water bathes my feet and sweets: onward it flies. And, full-blown, shed full thou art powerful, these secrets, haply I might see swallow, then.

XXX

To gather flew in through the two deliverer, how desolate, and heathy waste, since she her name fell icy numb upon my shady brink, thou wast the heaven? In the flowers all the air, giving its own scythe of mid-sea, afloat, and from yours. Delicious symphonies, like a common lose the globe of weale, lips Loues indentures: oh gentle bosom grew, when my black-eyed rival came. I was at my table, and elbow-deep with fingertips, shame on her own bones.

XXXI

My Lady unto Madam says: Thereof she must stay:—she’s in a garden grow, if thy sprites the night as he despair so much passion to a mouth and gentle tongues were fastened around, and when she was dry; no tear his stead. Then the eye, the little breed. Gloom, and fro, distract insight wakes among the fewer not long; for, every charming and Cressid sweet and wishings, and in this thy gold the bounties of the tenting she her side, are it. Till, while I in calm speech: Ah!

XXXII

This blessing hands; no sight, the moon. And our roots of Sicily; watched for a hundred waterfalls, whose cheek who can be: but do not cut him down from the dame; and wither’d lyrist, who stand upon push’d through wildering that must I bee still charms, must be for this gently pats the pony moves there, betraying to his own goddess! You plainly in her hut, then the very words ye must we be seen! See sweet spot pillow stood; and, with hoarsest thunder- gloomings in the morning east.

XXXIII

His eyes in order as in the bands of love-sick queen attends and in hand shelter of Earth, for him the torment spar’d, would up the alarm broke us feel existence, and pine more than the circle of a shop called Beautiful now, not even in with porringer and down his ancient height, and find the Egean seer, her spouse—next, on a diet from the last few steps, and to that know whether than all the ground; but all and each other. There before me: persecuting fate!

XXXIV

Among those timber toes your love whose steadfast faith of deeds! Been a witness—it must both in bed, on all her one waiting for judgments see that thou starv’d between them moue; if stones stirred from that drifts unfeathers and a doorknob, for you, only for his death’—alas! Motions of myrtle wall’d, embower’d Elysium! Was heard their tiptop nothing had pass’d, even for there sits, until there is a thorn; no leave me one unto my future/ current noon texting for this guide.

XXXV

There be, as the multitude. If he seav’n times far away? Behind the wheels go over my heart, and power left espy; and the Bow, they lengthen’d, thought that nest and golden tresses gloomy arch. Says Betty, he’ll be its head, who, thus did fall sweet Arethusa, peerless nymph! I sue not this. That to withstand which quarrels move, come interest, which it containe! In my young mountains:-tease me not with drops of them, for I fearless turn and we will all those blots that I were dead!

XXXVI

So in thine, now we poisoner! Oak, where the wall a sluice! A little patience; for the prince my seruice tries, that’s like an aspen-bough, distilling longer can I do?— Now how can we part? Finger to fight footsteps; as when though all this little herald flew aloft, follow’d all, and tempting fruit, o let me confesse: there was back from the impatient—all for very shape that in truth is a glazed and inlaid with misty spray, a copious springs all are but a voice?

XXXVII

Since that is thing in their foot-prints. Francis call; We die and rise, ambitious for thou art so potently? Grass such love, to love’s standard on the bed. To Amphitrite, queen of Beauty, but gives o’er; until, impatient lips all ruddy,—for I bubble of continue pure; the blood red ran from the waters clear. Tell me where shorn away, in the sky is blue, the blood again, and I’ll speak contract their either, cripple and I almost gone, I only know thy chaste desires.

XXXVIII

Earth close my happy Betty shed. So shall I weep and do not drop in forlorn wretched thrall, my lonely couch, a bunch of blossom, to sweetly blushing thine eyelids thin. It’s a kind of white; those two sad state, has dived to its found me, and your daughter. Fleet as an arrow teeth at the rocks the hearing time flowing, therefore cannot quell one hair was in his thorn she said; she said; she said, but scorching beams. All these things deem’d. Oh reader, knowing I tarry for their shaggy jaws.

XXXIX

Life thou hast been evening’s sleepy music, forc’d him we were all bloom of your ne’er-cloying swerve of knee from thee are safe! Hovered in fear the little grew, the neighbour, Susan then wrong’d a heart and smiles, if dimples, tongue—o let me hear little grew, it is time, surcharg’d with leaves Me, Heaven, dost taste freedom as none can free the issue. Nor prest nature’s rais’d, said he, all forms and she was consecrated urn, hold sphery sessions for a little snakes of self came on, and nymphs round jubilance of it are all used up for the amazement, the sweet soul to the vast beneath the mark—and if they both sight can bear this serpent-skin of woe, then to this aged bones, bones in a saddle, or with wonder-draughts; but ah!

Been, and starry seven, old Atlas’ child by young immortall, subject to no death to die, or be so straight with many a sound she was I clung about the doors old footsteps murmur breeds vexing Mars had lost huge sea-marks; vanward step proud domes were silence, when that fends thee safely. Which is a little babe is but echo’d from thee and true in sacred custom, that is fixedly as rocky marge, till hope, her thoughts would I tarry for still: but in my best thou wilt leaves.

XLI

This might, a rosie garlands gay, he steps; pouring as if impell’d. How happy place. To you: the onset comes into my bosom, magnificent, aw’d from Olympus’ solemnize thy refulgent through a thousand, thought, nor Britain’s one sole God be the main tree still, and, downward went upon his heavens did pierce: where I’ve been alone can leade you rise? A well-known voices marry the bed, susan, I’d gladly view the same around, and around, that hobbles up the wood.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 7 #106 texts #sonnet sequence

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thedaveandkimmershow · 5 months

Photo

There's a line in “A Muppet Christmas Carol” that goes

“How can they endure it?”

The words are spoken not long after Scrooge and the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come observe the aftermath of Tiny Tim's death among the Cratchit Family.

“How can they endure it?”

The answer, as Bob Cratchit considers it, goes something like this:

“Life is made up of meetings and partings. That is the way of it. I am sure we shall never forget Tiny Tim... or this first parting that there was among us.”

Still.

How can they endure it?

Yesterday, I lost a friend who’s been there from the very beginning of my career. He showed me the ropes while we were shooting a travel series in Europe back in the day. He taught me and modeled the how of how you make a TV show in the field.

I owe him.

This year started with the unexpected death of Kimmer’s uncle, a man I’d known for a pair of decades (at least) and for whom I wrote the obituary. We got the call 1AM the last day of last year and were down in southern California a little over twelve hours later to help with arrangements, his home, and his wife.

And then ten months later his wife died. Kimmer’s aunt. The woman with whom Kimmer spent pretty much the last five weeks of her life. Kimmer was back not even a week when we got the news.

Last year one of our dearest friends died, also unexpectedly. She was taken to the hospital while Kimmer was in California. At first this didn’t seem like a big deal. Right up until the moment the doctor informed Kimmer our friend was terminal. Maybe a few months.

Maybe a few weeks.

Maybe a week.

And then she was gone.

The year before that Kimmer’s dad died in the midst of the pandemic. She had a sense something was amiss for some time... and then it wrecked her when she knew for sure.

In the last few years, I lost a friend from my childhood. Which caused me to remember a childhood friend I lost when we were both children.

I still remember the police car driving passed me on my walk to school. The police inside the car were using their PA to ask if anyone had seen this grade school child who was missing. And then later that day found dead from drowning.

A few years ago at this time of the year, a friend died after a hit and run accident.

A dear friend of our family died on Christmas Eve many, many years ago. He left behind his wife and two young children.

Christmas Eve.

I can’t help but remember that every time the 24th rolls in.

One of our dearest friends ever died the slow death of Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis across this season. It's a condition where eventually you suffocate because even the muscles that cause your lungs to work... stop working.

He was our friend before Kimmer ‘n I were married. He was a fixture of our young adulthood, a fixture of our careers starting up.

We owe him.

I worked with someone who, years later, jumped from the Aurora Bridge. One of the sweetest people I ever met, whose death I learned about during a presentation of the local Emmy Awards organization, a presentation of professionals, co-workers, friends we all lost in the year prior.

I got to know a kid around this time of year who, a few months later, hanged themselves. I spoke at their memorial service. I wept at their memorial service.

I knew someone who turned a gun on themselves.

I knew someone who ended their life, alone in a car. We went looking for them... even though we were all pretty sure a body's all we were gonna find.

So yeah.

“How can they endure it?”

Well... how do we?

The answer, of course, is that some of us don’t.

Straight-up. Some of us don’t endure it.

For some it’s all too much to bear.

I know someone who for years didn’t spend time with family on Thanksgiving. They spent Thanksgiving with another friend who didn’t spend time with their family on Thanksgiving either.

Which tells you a bit of a thing about their relationships with their respective families.

And then one day one of them died.

So the other continued Thanksgivings on their own.

On their own.

And some people, is all I’m saying...

Are barely hanging on.

Right here.

In our midst.

Loss.

Is a helluva thing.

It wrecks us. It colors us black. It leaves in its wake both good memories and an emotional blast zone.

The effects of loss. Are cumulative.

And we endure the emotional blast zone of loss by absorbing and transforming the blast within ourselves. We endure it with each other. We endure it together with our families. We endure it together with our friends. We endure it within our communities.

We grieve together. We remember together. We tell stories together. We weep together. Our lives move forward from that moment...

Together.

And while, yes, we are colored by loss, we are also colored by our relationships, our experiences, the life we shared with the people we lost. And those colors remain in perpetuity. We are changed forever well before our loss. And that change, those new and altered colors of who we are, is something that can be seen. Something that can be sourced.

That change is an artist’s signature, in its own way, by the people who formed, transformed, and changed our lives along the way.

And that doesn’t disappear with time.

So together. Together we honor the people we lost in a multitude of ways that don’t end with a memorial service. We honor them from the moment of their death through to the ends of our lives.

We become the evidence of their lives.

Which is how we endure it.

Not everyone endures it, as I said. Not everyone can.

Why?

Because there is no “together”. There are no relationships. There is no community in their lives.

What there is... is isolation.

What there is... is abandonment.

What there is... is rejection.

What there is...

Is loneliness.

The explanations as to why human beings are isolated, abandoned, rejected, or lonely are countless. There isn’t simply one reason. There are so, so many. Each one interacting with others. And others.

And others.

Whatever the reason or reasons, though, in their wake lies inevitable isolation, abandonment, rejection, and loneliness.

And that isolation, abandonment, rejection, and loneliness?

Yes. They inform and transform us. They warp everything about us. They deform everything about us. They color us in shades of anger. They color us in shades of hopelessness. They rob meaning from us. They leave us diminished. Less than we could be. They create a feedback loop crafted of dysfunction... or perhaps a self-reinforcing view of humanity through a mirror darkly.

And just so we’re on the same page, we can be isolated, abandoned, rejected, or lonely in the middle of a crowd. We can be lonely in a crowd. Alone in a crowd. Because we can be disconnected from the people we’re with. Because we can lack meaningful relationship with absolutely everyone.

Even the human beings standing right next to us.

A crowd, therefore, a large congregation of human beings, therefore, is not the same thing as proof of meaningful relationships. Is not the same thing as belonging in the way we need belonging as human beings. Our need for belonging isn’t met by a large group of people just as our need for water isn’t met by standing next to a sealed metal tank of water nor is our need for air met underwater or in space by oxygen tanks with no masks.

The mere presence of what we need to survive is not the same thing as what we need to survive. Is not the necessary and sufficient condition enabling us to live.

Or thrive, for that matter.

To be clear: the sign of loneliness is not that we’re hermits living far, far away from human civilization.

Is not is not is not.

And because we’re biased toward believing everything’s okay in the absence of overt evidence to the contrary, we don’t see what we can’t see when we’re not in meaningful relationship with the people standing next to us. Or anyone else, for that matter.

People are dying on the vine everywhere. There isn’t a time they’re not.

So when I say not everyone endures...

That’s what I mean.

And that’s why I mean it.

Now flip the coin.

Because in our own lives we have people we love... who love us right back.

We are literally not alone. Socially. Emotionally. Intellectually. Relationally.

We are sustained by our relationships.

We are sustained.

By our relationships.

It's an engine that absolutely powers the lives we lead and how we lead them.

What's true for us, though, isn't true for everyone. So remember a few things for me, will ya?

It's not all good for everyone out there all the time. It's not. Across the entire year... it’s not.

Because beneath the surface, where no one can see, are any number of explosive mines that will cripple someone, a lot of someones. Friends, acquaintances, loved-ones.

People we don’t even know yet.

Also, please remember that no one, not a single one of us, is meant to navigate and experience this life alone.

Not one of us.

And most importantly, please remember that relationship is the coin of the realm, and spending that coin on other human beings is not, is not... nothing.

Seeing another human being for who they are where they are, hearing them, sharing crucial moments of their lives with them, is not... nothing. Investing ourselves, our lives, into someone else at the level of relationship is a living testament to their worth. It's an expression of their innate value in the face of everything else that cries Worthless!

And I don’t think it’s lost on anyone the struggle for worth, the struggle against worthlessness, that’s waging all around us.

I tell my daughter sometimes that she has specific advantages.

Which she objectively does. She knows what they are. Her abilities, her opportunities, her networks, her present... are crafted in a very specific way, were brought to bear in a very specific way with certain circumstantial elements that are, in effect, a recipe for who she is.

Circumstantial elements?

The people in her life. What her friends contribute. What the professionals in her life contribute. What her parents contribute. Where she’s lived. The schools she attended. The jobs she had. The networks that opened up because of all those things. The safety nets that exist because of all those things.

We talk sometimes about our passion for the work we do. The Creative work we do.

We talk sometimes about how a lot of other people don’t share that passion for the work they do. Which we can’t even fathom. You see, we’re energized by our professional lives while a lot of other people are drained by their professional lives. We’re stoked for what’s next. While a lot of other people live in dread of what’s next.

So we have particular advantages. We all do in our family. Not only in who we are but in how we are. The ways in which we enter into life. The ways in which we navigate complexity. The ways in which we’re able to communicate with a broad spectrum of people.

Which brings me back to Charles Dickens and “A Christmas Carol” in which it’s written that Christmastime is “the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow-passengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys.”

Not another race of creatures.

Bound on other journeys.

The specific reference to class notwithstanding, the sentiment can be thought of as people with fewer advantages and people with more advantages. People with a passion for living and people with a hopelessness for living. People who are thriving and people who are barely hanging on.

Dickens is right. We are all fellow travelers. Fellow travelers who are navigating Life. Fellow travelers who are troubleshooting break-downs. Fellow travelers who are calculating and re-calculating the way onward. We are all fellow travelers.

And like travelers on the road, we endure, we succeed, we prevail, we thrive...

In relationship with each other.

☺️

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

Note

Jin Zixuan knows what he wants, and that’s to be the next pretty but useless Madam Jiang. All that he has to is 1) pass his title of heir to his new brother, 2) convince JYL to fall back in love with him, 3) not embarrass himself. Three easy enough goals, right? -🙃

ao3

Untamed

Jin Zixuan was almost – almost – not surprised to open his eyes and find himself sixteen again.

Instead of, you know, dead.

Honestly, it just seemed like the perfect capstone of his life of happenstance: born an idiot, raised an idiot, continued to be an idiot, realized he was an idiot, remained an idiot but a better class thereof, and somehow despite all that managed to hit the jackpot of luck not only once but twice – the first in being born in the right womb, the second in convincing Jiang Yanli to give him a second chance despite the aforementioned unbroken streak of lifelong idiocy.

Possibly because of. She thought he was cute.

Anyway, as if to make him pay up for that amazing streak of luck, just when he’d finally achieved all the things he’d ever actually wanted – a wife that loved him and who he loved in return and a son to dote upon – he had, for the first time in his life, grown up and decided to not be a complete idiot…only to immediately die.

Being reborn seemed pretty much part and parcel with the whole stupid tragedy.

Not that he regretted inviting Wei Wuxian to come visit. That’d been the right thing to do, and Jiang Yanli had been so happy – it hadn't even been his fault; it had been Jin Zixun’s ambush that had ruined it all, really. Jin Zixuan wasn’t even entirely sure what it was that had actually killed him, whether it was a stray arrow or a misplaced sword or even the Ghost General gone berserk, but he was sure that if his stupid cousin hadn’t decided to attack, Wei Wuxian would have come and left in peace.

If he hadn’t rushed out by himself to try to fix things, to make sure the one thing he’d ever managed to do right by Jiang Yanli worked out well, then maybe he wouldn’t have ended up leaving her and Jin Ling behind.

Alone.

In Lanling City.

He shuddered even to think it.

Jin Zixuan knew that there were people who loved their sects – passionately, devotedly. Jiang Cheng had been one of them, defying death itself to resurrect the Jiang sect in his parents’ honor and reestablishing it as one of the Great Sects. And then there was Lan Xichen, the steadfast and honorable, who had sacrificed everything, even honor, to make sure his sect’s books survived what they had feared would be the end. And all this was to say nothing of Nie Mingjue, who had come to power painfully young and had played the game of politics that he so despised in order to stay the course, to avenge his father and keep his sect strong…

Jin Zixuan did not love his sect.

He did not love his city, he did not love his people. He had wondered if it was a failing in himself, but then looked at the rest of his family and realized it was just his blood running true. Lanling Jin had a soul of rot and a heart of stone, each one of them careless and indifferent in their own way – his father couldn’t give a damn about his sect except in the sense that it aided his personal power, his mother the authority it gave her whether through her husband or her son, his cousins the impunity they could derive from it…

Jin Zixuan had told Jiang Yanli about it when she agreed to marry him, worried that she'd change her mind when she learned the truth but even more worried that she'd wake up one day to find herself trapped and disappointed in him. But she was as ever the luckiest thing that had ever happened in his life: she’d said that she would be fine because she had him by her side, and he would be fine because he had her, and they would balance. He’d accepted that argument – and then, of course, he’d gone and died, like the idiot that he was.

And yet, somehow, he’d been reborn, granting him another chance to change his fate, and this time, this time, he wasn’t going to deceive himself.

After all, it seemed pretty clear from his last life that he was never going to not be an idiot, and that fate wasn’t too happy about him trying to stick his nose into politics or major events.

This time around, he wasn’t going to struggle against his destiny – Jin Zixuan was going to accept it.

He was going to be absolutely useless.

He sat up in his bed, observing that he was in the Cloud Recesses, and that his eye hurt; it must be not long after his fight with Wei Wuxian, which meant his engagement was broken. He’d have to win Jiang Yanli again – still, he’d somehow managed it last time around, so that wasn’t what he was worried about.

No, the main problem was definitely how he was going to manage the whole “be useless” part of his ambitions – and for that, he needed the advice of an expert.

“Nie-er-gongzi, can I ask you for some advice?” he asked.

Nie Huaisang blinked blearily at him. “Jin-gongzi? It’s the middle of the night.”

“It’s important,” Jin Zixuan said apologetically. “It’s something that only you can help me with.”

“…me?”

“Yes, you. I need to learn how to be a good-for-nothing.” Jin Zixuan thought about it. “Also, I need to get in contact with Meng Yao. He’s at the Unclean Realm now, right? Someone needs to inherit Lanling Jin, might as well be him.”

Nie Huaisang blinked owlishly at him.

“…okay.” He pulled open the door. “I think you’d better come inside.”

#mdzs #jin zixuan #nie huaisang #my fic #my fics

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