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forevercloudnine · 3 years

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new 52 scarebat ship meme

(I had @heroes-etc give me more questions, but for scarebat this time, since we talk about it 24/7 but I never post about it. These are from this ship meme.)

4. Their favorite physical feature on each other?

There’s only one feature of Bruce’s appearance that’s scarier when he’s not wearing the batsuit, and that’s his creepy blue eyes. Especially the way Greg Capullo draws them where they’re sickly pale and have ridiculously constricted pupils.

So his eyes would definitely be in the running for Jonathan’s favorite feature, even if seeing them would require Bruce’s mask to be off, which is something New 52 Scarecrow explicitly avoids. Yes, that character trait only exists to justify why Batman’s identity is still secret after Scarecrow mind controls and subsequently institutionalizes him in “Gothtopia,” but I think it’s interesting so I’m going to pretend it’s not shoe-horned in there for meta reasons.

Actually having to see Bruce without the cowl on would definitely permanently break the illusion of Batman as a nightmarish inhuman bat demon, which I’m sure is a large part of the appeal for anyone as obsessed with fear as Jonathan Crane. But Bruce’s creepy eyes would be a serious consolation prize.

Bruce’s favorite of Jonathan’s physical features is rough, because Jonathan is famously not great re: physical features. I’m going to say his mouth, because a) that’s where the snark comes from, and b) the New 52 establishes that in one of their earlier encounters, Jonathan had sewn his own mouth shut, so it’s one of those things where a bad first impression turned positive later on leads to more fondness than if you’d made a good impression in the first place.

I just looked up the panel where he does it and I DID forget how incredibly gross his lips look here, which makes the fact that I have chosen it as Bruce’s feature seem really funny in retrospect. But I do think that seeing Jonathan’s mouth healed and unmutilated would be a reassuring reminder of how he’s stabilized since their first encounter, at least to the point that he isn’t hurting himself anymore. Also, Bruce buys him a lot of chapstick.

Bonus alternate answer that did not make it into the Google Doc:

9. How open are they with their feelings?

Bruce and Jonathan are both pretty competent deceivers in the New 52; Bruce always, Jonathan depending on how the writer is feeling (though you could argue that Bruce just has a stronger grip on reality, while Jonathan’s skill at obfuscation varies with how lucid he is).

...I was going to use Detective Comics #23.3 as an example of Jonathan being a good liar, but actually upon re-reading I’m realizing that only 1/4 rogues buy his attempt at manipulation. So maybe he’s considerably worse at hiding his intentions than he thinks he is. Regardless, he doesn’t ever attempt to disguise his obsession with Batman.

Whether or not he’d express romantic feelings or try to hide them is debatable. There’s no Masters of Fear equivalent in the New 52 establishing that he was ever mocked or punished for expressing romantic feelings for someone, though there is a flashback panel in his origin emphasizing that he was always lonely in this regard (and coincidentally doesn’t specify that his interest is in women, which is fun).

In Green Lanterns #17 he has some internal monologue about how fear is his romance and he needs Batman to feel it, but it is an INTERNAL monologue, so it’s not clear if this is something he would express to Bruce or keep to himself. Or if he’s even fully processed it himself, given how incredibly out of it he is in this comic. Most of his spoken lines are just kind of screaming incoherently. Bruce gets pretty snippy with a Green Lantern at the end of the issue for suggesting that Jonathan should be punished for his crimes as if he were in control of his actions.

Bruce is a similarly complicated answer, since for all his deceptions and shadowy mystery he pretty much wears his heart on his sleeve when it comes to romance. It’s just that his heart doesn’t express or process emotions the same way as anyone around him, which can create conflict. His (seriously underrated) love interest during Scarecrow’s origin arc, Natalya, spent most of her time dating him thinking that he didn’t care about her for this reason. He was trying to express that he loved her, but he mostly did so through complimenting her skills, which she never took as serious declarations of affection because he wasn’t being straightforward and she was insecure.

Jonathan does not himself seem like someone who would be especially secure in the idea of another person having romantic feelings towards him, so I assume that while Bruce might THINK he’s being open with any romantic feelings he develops, he would in reality just be really confusing.

13. How do they react to being away from each other?

I actually think that in general, Jonathan is one of the few people who would have no issue dealing with Bruce’s tendency to unexpectedly go AWOL for long periods of time, given that he himself has a tendency to fixate on his work to the exclusion of everything else.

But New 52 Jonathan specifically probably has pretty serious abandonment issues due to his father putting him in “the pit” and dying before he could take him out, meaning that Jonathan was waiting for his dad to come back for him for God knows how long, until Jonathan Sr.’s employers finally sent the police to investigate.

So while in general I think he wouldn’t be very clingy, any impression that Bruce had died or otherwise wasn’t coming back for him would probably be incredibly triggering. If Bruce could assuage this reaction by occasionally sending updates that at least indicated he was still alive, then I doubt Jonathan would have any problems with his absence.

(@heroes-etc: bruce sending like a checkmark emoji once a day. jonathan hears his phone ping, looks at the screen, and goes hm. good. and doesnt respond.)

Bruce meanwhile has no problem ditching literally any love interest at any time if something crime-related comes up, unless he’s considering quitting the cowl for them (as Joker probably accurately fears will happen with Catwoman in Prelude to the Wedding). But I don’t think he’d stop being Batman for Scarecrow, nor would Jonathan ever want him to — he’s interested in Batman, not necessarily Bruce Wayne.

But even though Bruce wouldn’t have an emotional problem with distance, I think he would get similarly paranoid if they went too long without contact, though for different reasons than Jonathan. Unlike some other villains (*cough* Joker and Riddler), Scarecrow has machinations that don’t require getting Batman’s attention, so if he decided to continue with his less legal experiments, he would not feel compelled to get Bruce involved. While the “World’s Greatest Detective” would probably not have an issue keeping an eye on Jonathan while he’s in Gotham, he’s considerably less capable of that in space. And Jonathan is definitely a rogue he would be obsessed with keeping an eye on, even if he reformed.

Batman & Robin Eternal established that Dick’s first supervillain conflict AND first mission leaving the country was chasing Scarecrow across the world for an entire summer, which is kind of insane considering how early it was in Batman’s career. Like, he did not have an army of children to watch Gotham for him while he was gone. He had one child, and he took that child WITH him. He left Gotham undefended for months, JUST to catch Scarecrow. Sooo that in of itself implies he wouldn’t be great at keeping his distance.

15. Does their view of themselves differ from their partner’s view?

Well, Jonathan occasionally sees Bruce as a giant bat demon, so yes.

Outside of that very obvious differing view, Jonathan in general sees himself and the rest of the rogue gallery as more vital to Batman’s identity than Bruce considers them; the extent to which he’s right varies depending on your interpretation of Bruce’s character, but it’s definitely not something Bruce would ever consciously think or say.

This is related to something that’s definitely a misconception of his, though, which is that the majority of Batman’s job revolves around supervillains like him. In Kings of Fear, when Jonathan blackmails Bruce into letting him come on patrol with him (which is a whole thing in of itself), he’s shocked at how boring most of Batman’s work is. Which probably goes along hand in hand with sometimes seeing Bruce as an almost mythologically inhuman figure.

In his defense, it’s not like he has a lot of context for what the minutiae of Batman’s job is like. He’s either fighting Batman, hiding from Batman, or imprisoned by Batman in Arkham, a place where everyone else also spends all their time fighting or hiding from Batman. Which would really skew your perspective.

Interestingly, Bruce and Jonathan are both people who pride themselves on being extremely self-aware. Both of them probably inaccurately. You can rant about how you have a perfect understanding of your troubled mental state all day long, but if you’re still dressing up like a monster at night to indulge the power fantasies you created as a traumatized child by scaring the hell out of people, there’s probably a level of self-realization you haven’t gotten to yet.

Bruce however is at least self-aware enough to regularly be able to analyze his way out of fear toxin induced hallucinations, which Jonathan is unable to do — when he’s not depicted as having become immune to his fear toxin due to overexposure (as he is in Green Lanterns #17), he can be defeated with the same formulas that Batman regularly manages to resist (like his honestly embarrassing breakdown in Nightwing #50).

Which ties into the difference between how he sees himself and how Bruce sees him: Jonathan obviously visualizes himself as a “master” of fear. He actually has the same internal monologue about fear and trauma that Bruce does in Batman: The Dark Knight #13: “Make it your own... run to what you fear... stare it in the eye... until it whimpers and backs down.” But Bruce doesn’t see Scarecrow as conquering his fear; he sees him as addicted to it, to the point of his own detriment.

Which is interesting, because Jonathan clearly sees his Scarecrow persona as a way to regain control after being victimized by his father’s fear experiments throughout his childhood. I guess Bruce’s perspective would be that Jonathan’s father instead got him addicted to fear as a child, so his attempts at agency as Scarecrow are just a) reliving his trauma over and over and b) compulsively inflicting his own trauma on others. There’s probably some truth to that, even if overall it’s probably an oversimplification (and coincidentally pretty much EXACTLY what Riddler argues Bruce is doing by “funding” Batman in Batman Annual #4, so there’s that).

20. Did either person change at all, to be with their partner?

The obvious answer here is yes, because Jonathan is a supervillain with no regard for human life while Bruce is a superhero who has dedicated his life to protecting people. So presumably one or both of them would have to make serious compromises to be together. HOWEVER. Scarecrow’s primary motivation is to research, understand and inflict fear, while Batman’s modus operandi is making his enemies afraid of him. So despite their contradiction in morals, they’re uniquely positioned to advance each other’s goals, were they to ever join forces.

Bruce never has a problem using fear toxin on Scarecrow, presumably partially out of an “eye for an eye” sense of poetic justice, but also because Batman is practical and it’s a nonlethal weapon that’s always available to him while fighting Scarecrow. If he could have fear toxin customized for his own use, it’s hard to imagine him being unwilling to use it. In Gothtopia he actually advocates for using what’s leftover from Crane’s new formula on all the inmates at Arkham, which seems about as insanely morally ambiguous as it gets. Arguably, putting fear toxin in his smoke bombs would be considerably less wrong than drugging mental patients out of their mind when they’re supposed to be receiving therapy (this is also the issue where he illegally releases Poison Ivy because she did him a favor, which is both morally questionable and relevant to the current topic).

Jonathan obviously already thinks Batman is the most interesting possible case study in fear; it’s why he keeps coming back to Bruce and Gotham despite being one of the more independent villains in Batman’s rogue gallery in the New 52. So though he would have to give up actively kidnapping people (which would be a huge sacrifice, I’m sure), teaming up with Bruce would give him unrestricted access to his favorite test subject. Unfortunately, it seems very possible that he would fall back to old tricks if he ever felt that he’d gotten everything he could out of a partnership with Bruce. Fortunately, that would probably take a VERY long time.

#scarebat #jonathan crane #scarecrow #bruce wayne #batman #ship meme #every day i think about the parallels between bruce and jonathan's childhoods that were set up by their new 52 origins #well. not every day #pretty goddamn regularly #i used to absolutely despise the new 52 scarecrow origin + characterization #but scarebat redeemed it for me

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ladyseaheart1668 · 3 years

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Endless Summer Book 4: Daughter of Vaanu (Chapter 55)

Description: In the aftermath of her daughter’s birth, Alodia fights for her life.

Tagging: @endlesshero1122 @feartheendlesssummer @mysteli @whatmcsaid @xo-endlessmayhem-xo @tigerbryn11

Chapter 55: Inevitability

Alodia

I felt the static creeping in at the edges of my vision even as I heard the voices around me telling me to push. Michelle. Jake. A thousand ageless, sexless voices belonging to the generations of ghosts manifesting around me. Push. Find a breath somewhere in the suffocating fog, gather together the seeds of strength scattered across a barren landscape and plant them in my core, let my tears be rain to nourish the soil, and push against the determined life tearing me apart in her effort to be free. Then I feel her slip free, and her piercing shriek is like music. She is alive. Unto the world, I delivered the fruit of my womb, and she is free of my body. And when the fog envelops me, I don’t fight it anymore. I’ve earned my rest.

I can feel myself sinking. I can also feel myself buoyed out of freefall by countless arms that ease me gently to the ground.

...Alodia...my daughter…

Vaanu? Father? Is that you?

“Hey. heyheyheyheyhey…” Jake’s fierce whisper close to my face, the repeated syllable sending puffs of warm air over my skin. “Stay with me, Princess.”

Aren’t I here? Aren’t I here with him? Where am I? Where am I going? Sudden awareness of a chill at the back of my neck brings the world sharply into focus. Jake at my head, hunched over me. Estela cradling my feet on her lap. And Michelle beside me, a towel in her hands rubbing down the small, warm body on my chest.

“You’re doing so well, Alodia,” she tells me. “The hardest part is over, but you’re not quite done yet. Placenta should deliver in a few minutes. ...Are you okay if I leave you for a minute to check on Diego?”

“...Diego…? Is he…?”

“He’s injured his shoulder. I’ll take care of him until help arrives. Iris, monitor Alodia and the baby. Keep checking their vitals and sound the alarm if there’s any change.” I am aware of her placing my arms around the body on my chest. “...You hang onto your baby, Alodia.”

...My baby...my daughter…

...My daughter…

Oh, no...please, no...please, leave me alone… Drawing breath feels like trying to suck up ice-cream through a straw. I open my mouth, forcing out a word in a weak exhale.

“...Jake…”

“I’m here. I’m right here. I’m right here with you.”

His face is dim and fuzzy above me. But behind him, my father’s ghostly form is bright.

“Alodia. My sweet child…”

No! Jake, don’t leave me! Don’t let me go!

You’re not going anywhere, Princess! I won’t let you!

I’m sinking...

Caleb

I didn’t bother explaining to Ysa what was going on in that house. When we met up with her cousins and brothers, I only assured them that Dragonness and her people were taking care of it, and told them we were getting out of here. They didn’t protest. I don’t know if it’s because they agreed with me, or because they just saw there was no arguing with me, or because they were finally satisfied, or they were just cold and worn out and wanted to be back in the warm van. Unfortunately, when we reach the van, there’s one more obstacle to get past.

“Hi, Dragonness!” RJ calls cheerfully to the masked superhuman leaning casually against the van door. Her hands are folded low in front of her, one ankle crossed over the other. In anyone else, the pose would be non-threatening. But Dragonness isn’t anyone else. I’m pretty confident she doesn’t want to hurt me, but she can definitely keep me from leaving with minimal effort.

“...Thought you were back at the squat,” I say carefully. “...Those people need help.”

“The situation is under control.”

“Is everyone okay who we want to be okay?”

“...I don’t know yet. What I do know is that if you hadn’t have shown up when you did, the situation could have been a lot worse.”

“Didn’t seem like you were that far behind me.”

“In a situation like that, every second counts. ...You know who those people are to me.”

“Yeah. Kind of. I’m pretty sure I picked up the basics.” I pause for a second, trying to get a measure of her intentions. “...Listen, Dragonness...the kids are tired and cold. I’d like to find someplace to put ‘em up for the night, maybe get ‘em something to eat.”

“Let me level with you, Caleb. The authorities are going to be all over this whole thing, and I don’t see a way to keep your name out of it. Me and mine might lie, but I’m willing to bet your...former associates aren’t going to be so accommodating.”

“...So say you lost track of me.”

“I intend to. ...But I don’t want it to be true.”

“Pretty much a given now. Considering you could hold me here with your little finger, it’s really up to you to either let me go or turn me in.”

“...Or I take a third option.”

“What kind of third option?”

She takes a step away from the van. “...You trusted me before, Caleb. I am hoping you will trust me again. I don’t know what will happen in the morning. But I do know somewhere you and the kids can be safe for the night.”

Alodia

Consciousness comes in waves. Between the moments of lucidity there is darkness and silence, but it isn’t sleep. It’s like being shut up in a windowless room. I feel afraid in a distant sort of way. But I am also tired down to the marrow of my bones. Anxiety spikes in consciousness and bleeds out with the tide, leaving exhaustion in its wake. There’s a voice, calm and confident, and commanding my attention.

“My name is Ryan. I’m an EMT, and I’m here to help. Can you tell me your name?”

I hear myself answer, “Alodia…”

“Do you know where you are?”

“...There was a house...it was empty...we hid…”

The warmth on my chest had sunk beneath the threshold of my perception, but its sudden absence is jarring. I hear a tiny whimper and icy fear grips me.

River…

“It’s okay, Princess. She’s here. They’re just keeping her warm.” A painfully bright flash makes my eyes water. I try to close my eyes, but they’re being held open. I push at the hand on my forehead.

“You’re doing really well, Alodia. Can you tell me how you got hurt?”

I fell...I slipped in the dark and I fell down a hill…

I’ve slipped under water. The rushing sound fills my ears and drowns out the voices. I’m in the darkness again. Bone tired and riding a gentle current. Then, flashes of sound and color. Flickering red light. Pressure on my hand.

“...born 42 minutes ago, full term…”

Pain, just a nagging sensation in the background a moment ago, rapidly floods my senses, and I choke on a cry.

“I gotcha, Princess. Just stay with me. I’m right here.”

“Placenta delivered twenty-three minutes ago, apparently complete...laceration on the lower back showing signs of infection…”

I try to roll away from the pain, into the dark and silent waters. But I’m not alone there anymore.

“Alodia,” my father says softly.

No. I can’t go with him. I have to stay with Jake.

“...Fever is 104°...Let’s get a saline drip going. TKO.”

“It’s okay, Alodia.” My father is no longer the ghost I knew on the island. His face is human, the way it was when I saw him in a vision months ago, before I even knew I was pregnant. The fear that grips me at the sight of his face is colder and more visceral than anything I think I have felt before.

No...please. Please don’t take me. Don’t take me back…

“I will not take you back. I don’t have that power. But nor do I have the power to save you. Not on my own. But I may be able to help, if you allow me.” His hands seem to enfold mine. “Trust me, daughter. Please. You must trust me.”

Trust him. As if I have a choice in the matter. I’m terrified and exhausted. Too exhausted to fight. I want to go home. I want to be gathered up and sheltered in a loving embrace. I remember the warmth of Ramona Soto’s arms around me when I was a child, tainted by the distance that formed between us when she turned her back on her son. Sometimes Aunt Molly was tender, too. But she isn’t who my heart aches for now. There’s a word forming in my mind as I look up at the strange face of the long-dead man hovering over me in the darkness. It’s a word that was never mine. But I want to surrender to it. I want to wrap myself up in the word and all the tender love that comes with it.

...Dad...Daddy...I’m scared...

Michelle

Our traveling party has been significantly reduced from when we arrived at the abandoned house, but we still have two rented vehicles that need to be taken back to Northbridge. Sean and I take one, while Estela and Rebecca take the other. We should probably be going home to get some sleep. I think that’s where Estela is going once she drops Rebecca off at the hospital. Back to Quinn, back to her brother and the other Catalysts, back to get everyone up to speed and wait for any more news. No doubt they’ll all be at the hospital at some point in the morning. But I can’t go home just yet. Even if I technically can’t help in any way, I have to be at the hospital with my friends. I don’t even need to ask if Sean feels the same. When I ask him if we should go straight to the hospital, I know the answer even before he nods grimly.

We’re silent as he drives, though he does periodically reach over without taking his eyes off the road to put his hand over mine on the armrest between us. I don’t mind. I’m stewing in the knowledge that Jake--and the rest of us--could easily lose Alodia in the next few days. I find it hard to object to my husband reminding me that he’s alive beside me.

I don’t really notice that he’s slowed down until he pulls over and stops on the shoulder of the road.

“Sean? What’s wrong?” I glance at the dashboard, trying to discern if there’s a mechanical problem. Sean hesitates for a moment before spreading his fingers and pressing his palms into the steering wheel.

“Look...feel free to tell me to piss off and keep driving, but...I would really like to kiss you right now.”

Worried and exhausted as I am, I can’t hold back a smile. “I wouldn’t mind a kiss right about now.”

We lean in and he takes my face in his hands as our mouths meet. I am a little surprised at how gentle he is being. I remember the way he kissed me for days after the showdown between Dragonness and Prescott, the fierce need in the way he pressed his mouth to mine. This is different. This is...more like the way he kissed me on our wedding day, just a few weeks ago. Tender. Loving. A kiss that makes me feel like we’re the only two people in the world.

“You’re kissing me like you love me,” I murmur.

“I do. I adore you. I don’t think I’ve ever been more in love with you than I am right now.”

“What makes you say that?”

He touches his forehead to mine. “...What I saw you do back there in that house…”

“Aww. Did seeing me delivering a baby make you sentimental?”

“Yeah. But it wasn’t just that. Alodia was sick. Diego was hurt. Alodia was having a baby. You were the only doctor there. But you were calm. You got help where you needed it. You made calm out of chaos.”

“...That’s my job, Sean. I’m a doctor. Doesn’t mean I wasn’t scared.”

“I know all that. Doesn’t make it less impressive. ...You’re a great doctor, Michelle. And hell, I’ll just say it: you’re my hero.”

I can’t help myself. I grin as I kiss him again. “You know, the only reason I’m not laughing at your corniness is because I know you mean it. Which just makes you more adorable.”

He keeps my face in his hands as he nuzzles my forehead with his. “...Do...do you think they’ll be okay?”

I swallow a bitter taste at the back of my throat. “...Diego should be fine, I think. The baby seems healthy. ...Alodia...it’s a little more uncertain.” I take his hands in mine, pulling back to meet his eyes in the light from the dashboard. “It will depend on how much the infection has spread, if it’s damaged any internal organs...whether there are any post-partum complications…”

He nods, squeezing my hands. “...I...guess we should get to the hospital. Be there for them.”

“Yeah…”

He releases my hands and turns his attention back to the car. He puts the gear shift back into drive and pulls away from the curb. We’re silent as he navigates the dark road ahead, and I don’t distract him by reaching over to stroke his arm or shoulder. But it doesn’t feel like we’re distant at all. Being beside him now, I feel as close to him as if I were in his arms without enough space between us for a hair to pass through.

Alodia

I don’t know how much time passes in the fog of light and noise and pain that I find myself dragged through. I am aware of things in bits and pieces. I don’t remember arriving at the hospital, but I find myself there, under harsh fluorescent lights, my nose assaulted by the sharp antiseptic odor. At some point, I realize River isn’t there, and I hear myself call out to her.

“It’s okay, Alodia,” Jake murmurs, his breath warm on my ear. “They’re just checking her over. They’ll bring her back to us soon.”

I’m cold. The air feels too close to my skin. I think I might be naked. I want to move to cover myself, but I am not sure where the surface is that’s supporting me, or whether I’m even upright or lying down. I do feel Jake’s arms around me, and I cling to him for dear life, even as I feel him gently manipulating my limbs.

“That’s it, Princess. Good girl. I gotcha. I’m right here.”

I open my eyes and find myself on a gurney, the filthy gray sweatshirt I had been wearing replaced by a thin hospital gown. Jake is still beside me, but now he’s wearing a mismatched set of scrubs. Pain flares in my spine, white-hot and intense enough to make my stomach turn. I hear myself make a noise like a wounded animal. I feel the pressure of Jake’s grip on my hand, and his cool fingers raking gently through my hair, soothing an intense itch that I hadn’t realized was there.

“Look at me, Alodia. Look at me.” His voice is gentle, but it brooks no argument. I force myself to meet his eyes. “That’s my girl. You’re doing great. Listen...this next part isn’t gonna be pleasant. You got a really nasty wound they gotta take care of, and you also had some tearing during delivery that they say is gonna need a couple stitches. They’re gonna numb you up so you won’t feel the worst of it, but that part ain’t gonna be a cakewalk, either.”

His words don’t help the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I feel my eyes burning. I’m scared. I’m so scared, and I’m so tired of being scared. It all must show on my face, because Jake’s mouth twists into a grimace as he brings my hand up to hold against the rough, days-old beard that darkens his cheek.

“I know, sweetheart. I know. But you can do this. I know you can. You’re the strongest, bravest person I’ve ever known.”

I can’t see my father just now, but I know he’s here. He’s hovering over me and Jake, equal parts a comforting, paternal presence and a frightening spectre I’m terrified has come to take me to whatever afterlife is waiting for me. I grip Jake’s hand.

“Don’t let me go.” My throat is so dry that it seems to chafe with the effort of speaking. The effort of drawing breath is rewarded with needling pain at scattered points on my torso. But Jake tightens his grip and bends to kiss my temple.

“I gotcha, Princess. I ain’t leaving.” The air around me shifts abruptly, and Jake’s grip on my hand tightens with anxiety. Something terrible is about to happen.

Sleep now, my daughter. It will be better if you sleep.

“Look at me, Alodia,” Jake says again. Again, I am compelled to obey, and I look into the depths of his clear blue eyes. “That’s it. Just keep your eyes on me. Don’t look anywhere else. Just look at me.”

But as the pain washes through me in a heady wave, I can’t help but break my gaze. I hear myself moan and Jake seems to press closer to me, even as the rest of the world is falling away again.

“I’m here. I’m here. I’m right here. Just stay with me…”

Grayson

My family has a luxury mountain cabin a little ways upstate. Dad hasn’t been there since Mom died, but once I was old enough to drive, I took over the upkeep and used it for my own private getaway. In college, I always had friends over to the cabin for spring break, and for summer parties. Tahira and Poppy were both frequent guests back then. I haven’t been back since before the gala that changed everything, but I keep it well maintained enough that when Tahira contacts me to ask if Caleb and his runaway children can stay there for a night, I don’t have any qualms about saying yes. Since everything is remotely connected, I am able to unlock the door and turn on the lights and the heat from my apartment. The local town doesn’t have a late-night grocery store, but I do put in an order for delivery from a nearby Chinese restaurant with instructions to leave it in the kitchen.

I don’t hear anything for a couple of hours, and in the meantime, I can’t sleep. I’m sitting up at my kitchen table with a mug of decaf when I hear the tapping at my balcony door. Tahira, in full Dragonness garb, waits for me on the balcony, squeezed into the shadow in the corner to avoid the beam of the outdoor lights. In a big city and a big apartment complex like this, one never knows who might be up late and watching, curious about who Dragonness is visiting at this hour. I flip off the outdoor light before I unlock the door and let her in.

I barely have the door open wide enough for her to slip through before she pounces on me, kissing furiously with her fingers raking through my hair. I push back, wrapping an arm around her waist as I stumble around to blindly push the door closed. I’ll worry about the latch in a minute. Right now, I am aware that my girlfriend is hovering an inch or so off the carpet as she presses her hips against me, one hand tugging at the belt of my bathrobe. My hands are at her back, groping for the mechanized clasp of her supersuit, but I resist tapping it just yet.

“Tahira… your wound. ...Is it safe to…?”

She hesitates, pulling back just a little. “I...think so…” But her feet sink into the carpet again as she presses her forehead to mine and reluctantly adds, “But maybe I should wait until a doctor clears me. I mean, it’s gotten a lot better...but I don’t know. I’ve never been stabbed before.”

I pull back enough to remove the mask from her eyes and brush the dark wisps of hair off her forehead. I lean in and kiss the spot between her eyebrows, then each eyelid in turn, the tip of her nose, and her mouth.

“...I missed you,” I murmur.

“I missed you, too. In case you couldn’t tell.”

I lace my fingers together at the small of her back. “Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea? Water?”

“How about a shower and a change of clothes?”

“I’m set up for that, too. Actually did a load of some of your stuff just yesterday.”

She snorts lightly. “I’ve got enough clothes here for a load? Might as well be living here.”

“...Might as well be,” I murmur. “...But that’s a discussion probably best saved for later. Did Caleb and the kids get settled in okay?”

“Yeah. Hopefully they’re still there in the morning. I don’t know what we’ll do if they aren’t. Don’t know what we’ll do if they are, either.”

“We’ll come up with something. I promise. You’re the Hero of Northbridge, and I’m the son of the city’s most powerful billionaire captain of industry. Between us, there have to be some strings we can pull to keep the kids together and Caleb out of prison.”

“You’re basically the head of Prescott Industries now,” she points out. “And you’ve got a lot more goodwill than your father. ...I’m honestly less worried about how we’re going to keep the kids together than I am about the whole Caleb situation. I don’t just want him out of prison, I want him on the right side of the law. And that’s going to take a lot of compromise.”

“We’ll figure it out. For now, you need to rest.”

She sighs, wrapping her arms around me and letting her head fall onto my shoulder. “...Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. ...For what?”

“For not asking why I care what happens to Caleb.”

I kiss her hair, letting my cheek rest against her head. “I don’t have to ask why, Tahira. Even if I don’t know. I trust your instincts. If you think he’s worth caring about, I believe it.”

“...I hope my instincts aren’t wrong about him. Because I have a feeling I can’t shake that we’re going to need him on our side in the future.”

Diego

My arrival at the hospital is a whirlwind of doctors and nurses asking questions, taking pulse, temperature, and blood pressure, and sticking me here and there to collect blood samples, place an IV for fluids, and pump painkillers into the space between my shoulder joint and my arm bone before they attempt to put the two back together.

Having my dislocated shoulder put back in its socket is not the most pleasant experience, but it’s also not as bad as I would have anticipated, especially once the painkillers set in. I feel a little heady, but there’s no violent wrenching motion to force it back into place like they show in the movies. It’s a lot more slow and gentle. Having Varyyn there to hold my good hand goes a long way, too. I really haven’t thanked Dax enough for his Christmas present.

I don’t exactly feel the bone slip back into place the moment it happens, but I do feel the pain start to ebb away almost immediately, and exhale with relief. The doctor smiles down at me.

“Think that did it. How do you feel?”

“Waaay the heck better,” I reply languidly.

“That’s what we like to hear. I’m just going to get a sling on you, and send a nurse to take you to your bed. We’re gonna keep you overnight, just for observation, but I’m optimistic you’ll be discharged tomorrow.” He pauses a moment, glancing at Varyyn. “I know you two live out-of-state. Do you have friends in the area who could put you up for a night or two after discharge? I don’t want you to have to rush your travel plans to get home.”

“We have a number of friends in the area,” Varyyn confirms. “And we certainly won’t be going home before Alodia and her baby are discharged as well.”

“Alodia is our friend who came in with us,” I explain when it’s clear the name doesn’t ring a bell with the doctor. “Or probably a little before us. Alodia Chandler. She had a newborn baby. A little girl. ...She was hurt. A cut on her back that got infected.”

The doctor’s eyes flicker with a brief spark of recognition, and he nods. “Ahh. Of course. I remember her coming in.”

“Do you know where she is?” I ask anxiously. “Do you know if she’s okay?”

“I haven’t heard anything since she came in. But she and the baby would have been taken up to the mother and baby unit.”

“Would I be able to see her?”

“Right now, you would be better off getting some rest.”

“That’ll be easier if I know what’s going on with my friend,” I point out. The doctor nods, reaching out to pat my good shoulder.

“Tell you what. As soon as I’m done here, I’ll see what I can find out. It’s quite likely she’s not ready for visitors herself yet, but would it help if I could get you an update?”

“Yeah, it would. Thanks.”

The doctor’s assurance is enough to keep me satisfied for a little while. I don’t badger the orderly who comes to take me to my room. It’s early morning by now, and the sunlight is streaming through the window. The orderly draws the curtains as I settle into bed. Varyyn sits down in a chair beside me and takes my good hand. When the orderly leaves, I roll my head to look at him.

“You’ll be more comfortable in the bed, you know.”

“...Is that permitted?”

I shrug. “Don’t know. At the moment, I don’t really care. If it’s not, we’ll stop when they tell us we have to stop. And I really want you to hold me right now.”

“I’m not very much inclined to argue. I want to hold you.”

He slips off his shoes and lies down beside me, holding me gently. I let my head rest on his shoulder. I feel safe in his arms. For a while, I can almost pretend that he and I are back in our bed in California. But I think the truth of where we really are and what’s really happening is pretty inescapable, because the dreams that take over once I’ve drifted off are anything but safe and peaceful. I wake up with every muscle in my body cramping around my thumping heart and the fading image of angry wasps droning around me. My own sharp gasp is already a vague memory as Varyyn’s soft lips brush my forehead and cheek.

“Shhh. You’re safe, my darling. I’m here.”

The sun is still up, but the light isn’t streaming through the window anymore. “How...how long was I…?”

“Only a few hours, my love.”

“Hours…? But...Allie. What did…?”

“The staff could not say much. But Sean and Michelle spoke to Jake. River is well and healthy. She is in a room with her parents.”

I want to smile at the thought. But the fact that Varyyn started with River’s condition is enough to tell me that her mother isn’t as well and healthy as she is. “Varyyn…”

Varyyn knows what I want him to tell me. He sighs, kissing my forehead. “Alodia’s wound has been treated. The tearing she sustained during delivery has been stitched. The infection is being treated with antibiotics. But...it is simply too early to tell if she will be alright.”

I gulp against the choking sensation in the back of my throat, biting my lip in an effort not to let out the anguished howl I can feel clawing its way up from my chest. I can’t stop the tears from dripping down my cheeks, but I am not going to wail like a banshee in the middle of a hospital.

“I should have gone for help,” I whisper when I can speak again. “I shouldn’t have waited. I should have gone when I knew she was sick…”

“That would have meant leaving her alone with enemies in pursuit when she could not defend herself. You did the best you could in an impossible situation.”

“She might die, Varyyn. River might never know her mother. Jake might lose his wife again…”

Varyyn kisses my cheek. “Diego, everyone knows how much you love her. No one doubts that you did everything in your power to protect her as best you could.”

I roll away from him as best as my injured shoulder will allow. I feel him withdraw just a little, feel his hesitation, and guilt pricks at me. He’s right. In my heart I know he’s right. But that knowledge isn’t enough to cut through the fear that encases me.

“...It won’t matter if she dies,” I say after a protracted silence. “...If she dies, it won’t matter how much I love her or if I did everything I could. She’ll still be dead.”

“Perhaps not. Not right away.” He hesitantly strokes my hair, and when I don’t pull away, he continues. “...But don’t bury her before she is gone. Hold onto hope as long as we have it.”

Alodia

I know that I am a ghost. But I don’t care. I’m home on La Huerta. The place where I was born. And for a moment, that is all I need. But then I see my friends. Jake, Sean, Craig, and Estela. All four are battered and bruised. Estela’s expression is stoically grim, but I know her well enough to see fear in her dark eyes. Sean and Craig are doing a worse job of hiding their anxiety, though they still seem to be holding it together. I guess they think they have to for Jake. Jake’s face is breaking my heart. He’s not crying just now, but his eyes are swollen and rimmed in red, and his face is splotched red with tears. He looks down as he walks, hunched and shaking like a terrified little boy.

Across from them are Diego, Varyyn, Michelle, and Raj. Diego breathes shallowly as he regards the other foursome.

“Where is Allie?” he asks, his voice low and trembling.

Sean answers the question, even though Diego is looking at Jake. Jake raises his eyes to meet Diego’s hard gaze, and there is guilt there. I don’t hear Sean explaining. But I know what he’s saying. They don’t know where I am. I fell from the chopper and they haven’t found me yet. Diego’s fear and grief burn into anger and he flies at Jake.

“You were supposed to take care of her! You let her die!”

Jake doesn’t fight back. He barely flinches to protect himself. Varyyn grabs his lover to hold him back.

“Diego! Diego, stop! She isn’t dead!”

I am, though. I want to tell Varyyn that I am. ...But I’m not. I’m standing at the Threshold, staring numbly down at the eleven graves. I look down at my hands. Wrinkled and papery, speckled with liver spots. But both of them flesh. I’m not the Endless. The Endless is in front of me.

“This is where we’re always going to end up,” she says mournfully. “This is the fate I cannot protect you from. It may be tomorrow, or it may be ninety years from now. But you will always live to see the last one die.”

“...They were protecting me.” I raise my eyes to meet her face. “...That’s what I’ve been seeing in my dreams. I watched them die to protect me.”

“You will always live to see the last one die.” She reaches out to cup my cheek in her good hand. “...Unless you die first…”

I can still feel her bony fingers against my cheek, but I am no longer at the Threshold. I recognize this place. I have danced on this stage for years. This is the stage at the performing arts center where my dance school’s showcases, workshops, and recitals have been held since I was a four-year-old ballerina, feeling like a princess in my shimmering purple tutu with a plastic tiara bobby-pinned to my head. It is familiar, but somehow wrong. Distorted. I shouldn’t be here, waiting in the wings like this. I haven’t been a student in years. I don’t know my choreography. I am in sweatpants, without dance shoes or stage makeup, and my hair is a tangled mess. And I am pregnant. I am sure of it. What other explanation could there be for the potbelly pushing against the waistband of my sweatpants, and the movement behind my navel? But even that feels wrong. Vague memories tell me that I am nearly ready to give birth, but my belly feels too small. The child’s movements are sharp and erratic.

But ready or not, I am pushed onto the stage. Harsh white lights turn the audience into a faceless dark sea that swims beyond the polished lip of the apron. Music floats up from beneath my feet. The Doll Dance. This is the Doll Dance. I have to push.

I don’t have time to question. My Catalysts are rushing in to surround me, all cradling shapeless bundles as they move through something that vaguely resembles the Doll Dance. I lie down on my back and open my legs.

“The doll is almost here!” Michelle sings from between my knees. Diego giggles, flitting between Jake and me, tapping us in turn.

“Daddy Ballerina, Mommy Ballerina!” He laughs wildly, and taps his own head. “Skinny Ballerina!”

Jake laughs with him, and taps my nose. “Princess Ballerina!” Then he and Diego laugh together, the sound morphing into a shrieking cackle as I feel a sudden emptiness in my belly.

“Baby Ballerina!” Michelle crows.

“Where is she?!” I hear myself cry. “Where is River?”

I can’t find her. I am on my feet, rushing around the stage, searching for the baby that was just torn bloodlessly out of me. The Catalysts plié right and left, shading their eyes as they search the darkness of the house.

“Where is River?” They sing in one voice. “Where is River?”

I can’t find her. I can’t find my baby.

“Oh me, oh my! Oh me, oh my!” The Catalysts jump from first position to second, scrubbing at their eyes.

I leap off the stage, into the house. I know where my baby is. The doors at the back of the house are open, and I can see the swaddled bundle in a cone of light at the end of the aisle. I scoop her up, and I feel my heart sink. The cloying face of a plastic baby doll peers up at me with unblinking eyes of blue glass, chubby plastic cheeks tinged red, lips permanently parted in a toothless, saccharine smile...

I’m going to be sick. No sooner have I realized this than there is a bowl under my jaw, and an unfamiliar pair of arms wrapped around my chest from behind, holding me upright. I want to fight their grip, but painful spasms wrenching through my midsection distract me from any potential escape attempts. A sour-tasting wave of liquid fire bubbles up my throat and sloshes out from between my lips.

“You’re okay, Princess. Just let it all up.”

“J-Jake…?” I croak weakly, barely able to raise my eyes to his face before another acid wave splashes into the bowl.

“Shhhhh. I’m right here. Everything’s okay.”

Everything is clearly not okay. But I don’t have the strength to worry about more than emptying my stomach right now. When that’s done, I sink limply back onto the pillow, shivering as Jake dabs at my forehead with a sponge.

“Here…” I open my eyes as I feel something poking at my lips and find a straw. “Have a little water.”

I obediently close my lips around the straw and take a few cautious sips as I take stock of myself. I hurt. That much I realize right away. My back and between my legs are the worst of it, but most of me aches like I had every muscle in my body clenched at the same time. I know where I am, even before I realize that the unfamiliar arms that held me up belong to a nurse. A few gaps aside, I know what happened before I arrived at the hospital. But there is an image in my mind of a plastic doll swaddled in my arms.

“R-River...Jake, where…?”

“She’s here, Princess.” I hear his voice catch, and I manage to look up at him to see a shaky smile on his lips. “...She’s perfect…”

“C-can I see her?”

“Of course. Doctor says you might even be able to feed her later if you were up to it.”

Jake looks somewhere to his side, and I crane my neck to follow his gaze. I can just about make out the bassinet at the end of the room, and the nurse bending over to carefully collect the yellow-swaddled contents. For a moment, my stomach lurches again. I’m not entirely convinced that the nurse is not about to hand me a plastic doll. But then the bundle squirms and whimpers. The nurse passes the bundle to Jake, who gently places our daughter beside me on the bed, keeping his hands on her for support.

The chubby face that peeks out from a cocoon of yellow blanket and a pink crocheted hat is no plastic doll’s face. She’s been cleaned since she was born, but her little face is still rosy over a warm complexion. Above a pudgy little chin, tiny pink lips are drawn into a pout that shows off their perfect cupid’s bow. Her round little nose wrinkles as if she smells something foul and her eyes are puffy around the edges. But then her eyes open, blue as sapphires, and her gaze cuts through the feverish haze the clouds my head. I carefully place a shaking hand on her chest, stroking her lightly through the blanket.

“Hello, River Skye McKenzie,” I murmur. I feel the corners of my mouth lifting into a feeble smile. “Aren’t you the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen…”

“She’s an angel,” Jake agrees. “Here, take a look at this.” He gently pulls off her little crocheted cap, revealing a fine layer of downy chestnut hair. I bite my lip, feeling tears pooling in my eyes.

“...How did we live so long without her?”

“The same way we lived without each other: incompletely.”

I raise my eyes to his face. Something cold has begun to thread through my veins. “...Jake...is she real?”

Jake’s expression falters just for a moment. “Of course she’s real, Princess.”

“I...I think I was dreaming. ...I found my baby, but she was just a doll…”

Jake’s face softens as he brings up a hand to stroke my hair. “It was just a dream.”

“...I’m afraid of my dreams. I’m afraid to go to sleep again. I’m afraid that when I wake up, she will be gone…”

“I won’t let her disappear.”

“...What if you’re gone, too?”

He presses his lips to my forehead, holding them there for a long moment. Long enough for me to realize how much his breath is shaking. When he pulls back to smile at me, his eyes sparkle.

“Then I’ll fight until I’m at your side again. Isn’t that what we do, Princess? They pull us apart, and we fight like hell until we’re back together?”

Even heady with fever as I still am, I hear the catch of desperation in his voice, the pleading note under his fierce words. He is as scared as I am. He is scared that he is watching me fade. He is scared that he’s watching me die.

...I will live to see the last one die. Unless I die first.

Aleister

How to describe the moment when I see my wife descending Castor’s boarding stairs. I hear myself speak her name, but it comes out as a gasp as I start toward her. The moment her foot hits the tarmac, she breaks into a run, arms outstretched. We meet in a small collision, arms closing around one another in vise-like grips. I feel my throat tighten as I rest my cheek on the top of her head, savoring the familiar texture of her narrow braids on my skin, and the sweet scent of her honeysuckle lotion. It has not been two days since last I saw her, but it feels like a lifetime. From the strength of her grip, I can tell she feels the same.

“...You didn’t bring Reggie…?” she asks after a moment.

“He’s at home with Estela and Quinn. I am fairly certain that looking after him is all that is keeping Estela from getting herself arrested for disorderly conduct by marching down to the police station to threaten those cunts who attacked Alodia and Diego at the abandoned house.”

I feel Grace pause for a moment. “...That’s strong language for you, honey.”

“...Can we agree that I am justified under the circumstances?”

“Absolutely. ...How are they?”

“Diego has a dislocated shoulder, but he should heal. Thus far, it also seems that the baby is well and healthy. Alodia is being treated, but it is simply too soon to know how she will respond.”

“...I think she will be fine,” Grace says decidedly. “She knows how much she’s needed. She won’t let a little infection beat her.”

“I sincerely hope you are right.” I keep an arm over her shoulders as I begin to steer us toward the car. “...I don’t suppose you learned anything of interest from your mother? Anything about where Father was planning to take them, or what he intended to do with them? Even if...when...Alodia recovers, this is far from over.”

“...I did learn a few things,” she confirms, though she waits until we are in the car to continue. “She has reason to believe Rourke has a base in the Greek Islands. Specifically Ithaca.”

I can’t help rolling my eyes. “Of course it would be Ithaca,” I mutter.

“But that’s not all. Aleister, I think Yvonne is alive.”

Jake

The minutes and hours melt into each other while my wife is sick. The world tunnels and fills with static at the edges. All I can focus on is her. My princess. My princess and the little angel in the bassinet at the foot of her bed. I almost never don’t have one of them in my arms. Except when Rebecca or Michelle or my mother force me to get some sleep on the couch. I don’t generally fight them on it. One of the advantages to Alodia being in a maternity suite is that the couch is in the same room, a feature that surely exists for anxious partners waiting out a long labor.

I don’t know exactly when my mother and father arrived with Alodia’s aunt and uncle, Diego’s parents, and Raj. I know it was sometime after Alodia gave River her first feeding. It was mostly successful. Lots of pillows and my hands helped to keep River safe and supported, even with her mother feeling as weak as she is. I helped the nurse bathe her in a process that seemed like a compromise between a sponge bath in bed and a full shower, with Alodia seated on the shower seat while I helped wipe her down and rub dry shampoo into her hair. By the time that was done, the fever seemed to have sapped her strength again because I almost had to carry her back to bed. By the time her bandage had been changed, she’d slipped back into a fitful sleep. She hadn’t awakened yet when the anxious faces of our families appeared in the doorway.

I don’t really like all our folks being here. I don’t like the way Alodia’s aunt and uncle are hovering over her bed like loving parents, kissing her hands and stroking her hair. I like it even less when Diego’s parents do it--especially because I know from Raj that they’ve been decidedly cool to their own son since meeting his husband. I don’t even like the way my own parents are hovering right now, trying to help me with River. I don’t want help with River. Not yet. I don’t really want anyone but me and Alodia touching her right now. Somehow, letting someone else change her diaper or rock her to sleep makes me feel like I’m letting Alodia’s nightmares come true. Like somehow letting someone else touch her will turn her into the doll Alodia dreamed she was.

...I know it’s irrational. Especially because I don’t feel the same fear when one of the Catalysts offers their help. Knowing that it’s irrational doesn’t stop me from feeling the fear. A part of me feels guilty for it. But the fear holds on.

At some point after drifting into a doze on the couch, I hear familiar voices over my head. I’m not sure if I’m mostly awake or if I’m deep asleep and dreaming when I hear them, but I know the voices, and their words are clear.

“If the worst happens,” Diego says softly, “...will he have it in him to look after her?”

“Of course he will,” Rebecca replies. “He’ll need her more than ever.”

“...I watched my best friend grow up knowing she wasn’t wanted by the people who were raising her. People who took her in because they didn’t want to lose the last piece of her mother that they had. ...I don’t want to watch the same thing happen to her daughter.”

“Diego. Trust me. If the worst happens, River will be what keeps him alive.”

By the time I come fully awake, Diego and Rebecca are gone, replaced by Molly and Rob. Both Alodia and River are asleep. Molly sits at Alodia’s bedside stroking her arm, while Rob stares stoically out the window with his arms folded. Both of them melt into the scenery as I approach my wife and take hold of her hand. No matter how many people are around us, when I hold her hand, it’s just me and her. I sink into the chair, gripping her hand in both of mine and kissing her fingers.

“Stay with me, Princess,” I whisper. My chest is tight. I feel like it’s been tight for ages. I feel like I’ll never breathe free again, but I know I will if only she gets better. “You’re doing great, Alodia. Just hold on. Just keep fighting. Please...I...I can’t lose you again…”

“No one is going to lose Alodia,” Rob mutters. The reminder of his presence sends irritation threading through me, but I let it go.

“She’s a fighter,” Molly agrees. “She always has been.”

“She’s going to bury us all,” Rob adds with conviction. Now I properly grimace. It’s all I can do not to deck him. Instead, I press my lips hard to my wife’s fingertips, screwing my eyes shut as I exhale to a count of ten.

“Do me a favor,” I growl without looking at him. “Never say that in front of me, or her, or any of our friends.”

“...I...what? ...Why?”

“...If you’d been on the island, you’d understand. You just gotta trust me on this one.” I give Alodia’s hand another kiss and stand up, moving to gaze down at my daughter, sleeping peacefully in her bassinet. I reach down to stroke the back of her tiny hand, soft and delicate as a rose petal.

I’ll never leave you, Angel. It’s a silent promise, but I mean it with all my heart. No matter what happens, I’ll always be here for you.

Slowly, though, the cloud of fear and uncertainty hanging over my family begins to dissipate as modern medicine starts to do its job. Alodia’s fever starts to dwindle. And three days after the birth of our child, it breaks.

#pixelberry choices #choices stories you play #Endless Summer #hero #playchoices

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ashleyswrittenwords · 4 years

Text

Whumptober No.7

I’ve Got You (Support | Carrying | Enemy to Caretaker)

Series Summary: After Calamity Ganon awakens, Zelda is left alone and heartbroken. Now something horrible has happened to Link and no more is she merely tasked with fighting the Calamity - but also what is left of her knight.

Against her better judgement, Zelda unfurled from the ball she had cocooned herself into. Impa was long gone – back to the village that wasn’t too far from where she stayed stargazing. Chills snuck down her spine and her joints ached from the long period of stasis on the ground.

She rolled up into a seat, hands quickly rubbing at the crick forming in her neck.

There were a tumultuous number of factors that made this a bad idea. Even while knowing that, she didn’t feel the urge to return to the village where she knew she’d be safe and warm. There was a freedom in being alone, a hint of the independence she had always yearned for.

Now, her fingertips reached for the sky.

I believe he was looking for you.

Her movements stuttered and her arms folded behind her head.

The implications of that were obvious and to pretend they were anything else was childish, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t dwell on it any less. Nor would it spell that she would forget the way Link saw her for the brief span of time. It was almost him.

Almost.

Behind her was a cluster of buildings and within that light from several pitched tents. Zelda wasn’t sure how long she had been away. The songs she could scarcely hear coming from the village had ceased and she assumed that the only ones awake were the rotating night watch. Her nose scrunched at the brief comparison to her former guard. These people were far from that. Though some had formal training, the majority were simply men and women who had lost enough to follow her in protecting what was left of Hyrule.

It was confounding because it was her fault after all. Normally Impa would scold her into “corralling her thoughts”, but Impa wasn’t here to read her mind. Zelda could be as unschooled as she pleased.

A short walk is what she needed, or that’s what she told herself. She’d be a fool to waste a night like this. Other than the slight wading in the snow, it wasn’t hard to convince herself to do just that. The land laid out in front of her, the darkness not as fierce when the stars were there to light the way. The snow, however, hid small crags that made her trip.

She made an embarrassingly uncouth noise, found her bearings, and glanced back at the town she was temporarily leaving. At that point the distance would mask any uncouthness she could muster and it suited her just fine. Zelda wobbled up the hill to gain a better vantage point.

Castle Town had been once formidable. It had fortified walls to keep its wealth within and its enemies outside. For centuries, it had endured and even grown. On a clear night, one could spy the lights of Castle Town from the peak of Mount Lanayru – she would know because she had done it. A chill not born from cold met her as she stared at the black abyss of where the city was meant to be. Nothing but the dull hue of Calamity Ganon illuminated the castle.

As the princess, she should feel anguish and she had for a time. Guilt, sorrow, and grief rolled into one wedged deep. But no one human can keep living with that weight, according to Impa of course. Zelda found that she had only gotten used to it; dulled it, adapted to live with it. None of that was communicated to her Sheikah friend. Some things were better left unsaid.

Below her was the snaking Regencia River, winding from Hyrule Castle’s moats and to the south. Zelda had seen is freeze over before, but she recalled remark from Purah about the downward temperature trends.

Ice skating. That was something she missed. She wasn’t particularly good at it, as much as her father bragged. To anyone that discussed his daughter with him, Zelda was a renaissance woman to the fault of where the kingdom needed her most. Who was to call him out when her days were spent studying in monasteries and venturing across the country for holy springs?

Zelda glanced back at the village while biting at the inside of her cheek. Scaling down the hill left her completely out of view, but her feet had their own mind.

Her mother, however, was a little too honest. It was her smile that Zelda remembered the most, toothy and unadulterated. Always so perfectly her and bursting with optimism. Before the doctors had barred Zelda from seeing her mother alive again, she promised her that she would be able to surface her power. In a sense, she wasn’t wrong but it couldn’t have been what she had expected.

Zelda’s boots toed the edge of the iced over river. Solidness against rubber felt safe enough and once she had smoothed back any loose hairs from her braid, the woman had a surge of confidence. It bubbled in her chest and twitched the corners of her lips upward.

The boot’s heel picked up in hesitance before stepping on the ice altogether.

This was silly.

She took another step and the liberty to slide it across the surface, her stance wobbling in uncertainty. Another step when she regained it. Pale hands outstretched on either side of her. They traded heights frantically as nervous laughter trembled on her lips.

Surely, she had gone mad.

With time she created a gentle shuffling of feet and her subconscious dared her to venture further. Whatever she was doing was a pitiful bastardization of ice skating, but she’d be lying to think that having the correct footwear would make any difference.

A noise made her whip her head back to the shore. The swiftness caused her to misplace her weight and her back foot slipped forward. Her backside hit the ice harshly, pain shot up her sides.

“Dammit-”

The curse froze on her lips when a sharpness pierced through the air. It lasted long, as if snaking through the air. Suddenly Zelda felt it and her hands scraped up the ice only for her to fall again. The bank was so far with her, nearly halfway across the river’s width. Another low, cutting sound caught her ears and then the ice turned to large sectioned puzzle pieces.

Zelda held her breath, scrambling upward to see the world turn and capsize.

Her environment muffled. Shock stalled her muscles as icy cold invaded her senses.

Cold, cold, cold.

She kicked her feet wildly only to realize that she couldn’t tell which direction was up. It wasn’t until the weight of her boot suctioned her further into the dark abyss did she begin pulling herself to the surface. The first attempt was lame, and already Zelda’s muscles burned fiercely.

Anxiety gripped her. She kicked again, then again until there was nothing more she could give. Cold solid ice scraped her fingertips and despite the force she applied to her pounding, it wouldn’t give. In the murky water, Zelda watched how more air left her.

Screaming. She was screaming.

It was foolish. All of this was, she decided suddenly when her hands left the ice. Born a princess, soon motherless, a life of falling dominos left her an orphan altogether.

What was the point?

Meant to be Hylia’s servant, maybe. And she had been for a time. Now here she was, drowning in a river caused not by Ganon. Her lungs met the unforgivable water. It would soon be all black due to her closing her eyes or falling deeper into the river.

Life was unforgiving too. All it did was take. Zelda was all too willing to give: her time, energy, opportunity. Had it not been good enough for Hylia?

She just wanted to be happy – even if it took taking a few dedicated moments back.

The water jostled her.

Had she taken too much?

Solidness gripped her arm.

Her mother seemed happy. Is that why she died?

Then, her waist.

Zelda’s lungs hurt. She wanted it to stop.

“Death is only good when it’s swift.”

It was as if he meant to add that he knew from experience. He watched her with stolen eyes. His coat, too, was most likely stolen. The winter weather an excuse enough to mask what Calamity Ganon had done to him. She had heard stories of him tricking clueless people into giving him shelter.

Zelda hated him. This was not Link. How dare he pretend to be the same man!

But the string of her bow relaxed anyway because nothing good ever came from hope.

There was pressure on her chest. So much pressure that came and went.

The woman was taken away by Impa. The town was built into the hillside, so she found herself on a rooftop. Zelda was stuck in a fight with him. His grin was wild, drunk until she read his steps wrong and her arm was caught in the crossfire of his blade. It was a shallow cut only because he jerked back at the sound of fabric tearing. Blood pooled in the wound, but she rebounded quickly.

The jacket she wore was roughly being torn.

Then, muttering anger. “…never walk on river ice…”

Her short sword balanced in her hand as she met him once more. Link appeared laxed, meeting her blows with an unreadable expression – staring uncomfortably at her arm. The roof was sloped, and with him taking the upper ground she expected this to be difficult. Zelda hadn’t expected to be tripped by his foot and sent tumbling into a snowbank. He was gone by the time she recovered.

Unexpected warmth enveloped her. She clung to it, shivering violently. It was a moving heat that adjusted her until she was comfortably cradled. There was a crackling fire singing in her ears and something that was distinctly not fire. A haven she desperately clung to.

Zelda couldn’t feel much. Her hands were the ice that trapped her. She pressed her fingers closer to that warmth – she wasn’t burned, just pulled tighter. Exhaustion took hold of her mild consciousness. There was a smell that was familiar, but sleep overtook her before she could figure it out.

“Princess?”

The sudden light made Zelda squint. She buried herself deeper into the quilts.

“Princess, please. Are you alright?”

Light nudges stirred her to lucidity. She blinked, adjusting to the brightness and then to who was in front of her. Esme stared with wide eyes, adverting them with a flush. Zelda shivered and, to her horror, looked down to see pale nakedness. The princess yelped, pulling the blankets around her tightly.

She was at the entrance of a barn; the doors were ajar. Beyond Esme was her soaked clothes laid out nearly on hay bales.

Esme seemed to take assessment, already with a steaming cup in hand. “You have your people worried sick, love.”

“I-I um,” she swallowed, sitting up. It was difficult to form words. She looked down at her forearm to see intricate bandages around her wound from last night. “Did you see anyone else here?”

Esme gave her an odd look, glancing around the small barn.

Evidently not.

#I envisioned the movie Ice Age while writing this #thank you ice age #the prompt kind of gives it away but...#if you read into the last part there's a lot to unpack #i think #whumptober2020 #no.7 #enemy to caretaker #zelink #loz #legend of zelda #legend of zelda: breath of the wild #corrupted!link

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peraltasames · 4 years

Text

in all your gorgeous colours

49. “Stop being so attractive!” 76. "I want to go home."

or, amy's in the hospital after minor surgery and goes through a wide spectrum of emotions while under the influence of pain meds.

read on ao3

Jake’s been pacing the waiting room of Brooklyn Methodist, no doubt disrupting the dozens of people silently sitting with his nervous energy, for about three hours straight when the doctor finally comes out.

She says a bunch of things about the surgery that Jake doesn’t understand but Holt is nodding attentively to right beside him, and finally finally gets to the “she’s okay, I expect her to make a full recovery” part of it. Jake is so relieved he nearly collapses, and Holt’s hand on his shoulder is the only thing keeping him upright.

“Mr. Peralta.” The doctor checks the clipboard as if to double-check that he’s really listed as her immediate family, to make sure that the man who had been holding her hand and harassing that very surgeon with questions and concerns as they wheeled Amy into the operating room is really her lawfully-wedded husband. “You can see her now, if you’d like. Visiting hours for non-family start at eight tomorrow.”

Jake turns to face Holt - and Rosa, who’s a few steps behind them. The rest of the squad had stayed behind at the precinct to await further information after Jake reported that it was just diverticulitis and she would be okay after routine surgery. Of course, they all knew that he would still be a mess - he’s sure his face when he left with her in the ambulance gave that away - so Holt and Rosa came shortly after, Holt providing logical and somewhat emotional reassurance and Rosa bringing him an NYPD hoodie from his locker to change into because he looked, to quote her exactly, “all sweaty and gross.”

“We’ll see you tomorrow,” Rosa says with a rare, brief smile. “Let us know how she’s doing.”

“Yes, Peralta, please call if you need anything,” Holt adds.

“Thanks, guys,” Jake says, unable to smile in return until he sees his wife’s face again, but still mustering a small nod of appreciation. “I will.”

He follows the doctor to the elevator and through a winding hallway. He can’t help but replay the day’s events in his mind as he makes his way to her. He won’t soon forget the feeling of pure terror in his chest when he saw Amy collapse in front of everyone in the briefing room, nor the look of pain on her face as he raced to her and gently pulled her head into his lap while Terry called for an ambulance.

“You can go on in, she should still be awake but might be a bit out of it from the anesthesia.”

He’s so disoriented that he doesn’t realize they’ve arrived until the doctor speaks to him directly and he stops in his tracks and turns to face the door. She lets him in and then continues down the hallway, allowing him to finally be alone with his wife.

Amy’s a little pale and her hair’s a little messed up when he sees her lying awake in her bed, but she no longer seems to be in pain and that thought alone floods his system with relief. A glowing smile spreads across her face as soon as she spots him.

“Hi, babe,” Jake says tenderly, racing over to her bedside and gently cupping her cheek. “How are you doing?”

“I’m great,” she grins, leaning into his touch. “The doctors said I had diver - diverticlio-“

“Diverticulitis, babe.” He chuckles at her adorably puzzled expression. “Infection in your digestive tract. That’s what made your stomach hurt so bad.”

She grimaces in memory of the pain from earlier that day. She had a stomach ache since she woke up but had chalked it up to early period cramps or stress and denied his many pleas for her to go home early or let him take her to the hospital. It wasn’t until she was giving the afternoon briefing that the pain overcame her and she fainted in front of half the precinct.

“Doesn’t hurt anymore, though,” she says contently.

“Mhm, the nice doctors fixed you up and gave you lots of fun drugs.”

“Drugs are fun. I don’t know why we don’t just let people do them all the time,” she laments, and Jake can’t help but laugh.

“Ah, spoken like a true NYPD sergeant.”

Amy shifts a little bit and beckons him closer with her finger, her expression suddenly very serious.

“Are you okay?” he asks quickly, his brow furrowed. “Can I get you anything?”

She shakes her head, a smug grin spreading across her face.

“Nuh-uh. I want you, Peralta.”

Amy leans back against the pillows and does her best attempt at a sexy pose, and Jake has to bite his lip to keep from laughing. Oh, he can’t wait to tell her about this tomorrow.

“I don’t know, babe, I think we might need to take a break from sexy times while you get better,” Jake says, making her frown in response. “We’re also in a very public place right now.”

Amy pouts and crosses her arms. Apparently Amy on morphine is mysteriously similar to four-drink Amy, and though he hopes he never has to see her in a situation like this again, he is definitely entertained.

Jake sits down next to her on the bed and gently brushes the hair away from her face, attempting to match her level of sincerity despite the strong urge to laugh at his loopy wife.

“Tell you what, as soon as you’re better we can have a whole day of sexy times. And we’ll do whatever you want. Sound good?”

She examines his face closely, her eyes narrowing, then lets out another huff and leans back into the bed again.

“What’s wrong, babe?”

“Stop being so attractive!” she sighs dramatically. “It’s not fair.”

“Oh, honey,” Jake chuckles, a slight blush creeping on his cheeks. “You know I can’t help that.”

Amy nods like he’s just made a very compelling point, sighing again. “Yeah, I know.”

His heart swells as she grabs his hand hovering over her hair and presses it against her cheek, laying back and nuzzling into his palm. She lets out a small sigh of contentment, her momentary lust for him fading as the drugs begin to wear her down.

“You scared me today, Ames,” he admits when he’s not sure if she’s still awake. He knows these feelings can and probably should wait until she’s more lucid, but the immense relief of seeing her safe and comfortable is overwhelming.

She opens one eye and furrows her eyebrows. “How come?”

“Cause you fainted in the briefing room and we had to call an ambulance and I didn’t know how serious it was,” he rambles. “And I knew I should’ve forced you to see a doctor earlier-”

“Not your fault, babe.”

Jake sighs. “I know, it just sucked seeing you in pain. A lot.”

She slides her hand up to his forearm and squeezes, and her grip is weak but comforting nonetheless. She smiles at him softly, and it says more than she’s capable of articulating right now.

“I’m okay,” she assures him, adjusting her position slightly in an effort to get comfortable. “I want to go home. I miss my bed.”

“You’ve gotta stay here overnight so the doctors can keep an eye on you.”

“But I’ve gotta go home so I can get ready for work tomorrow-”

She’s cut off by a yawn, and Jake stands to pull the covers from her waist up to her shoulders to ensure she’s warm enough.

“You’re definitely not going to work for at least a few days,” he says, immediately met with another frown. Of course, Amy’s FOMOW persists even as she lays in a hospital bed. “Don’t worry, you’ll be nice and comfy here, and hopefully we can go home sometime tomorrow.”

She lets her eyes close again as she’s enveloped by the warmth of the hospital blankets and the reassurance of his words.

“You’ll stay with me?”

“Yeah, babe, of course.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

“You don’t have to thank me, Ames,” Jake murmurs, bending down to kiss her forehead. “You’re my wife.”

She smiles again as he kisses her and nods in agreement. “I like being your wife.”

“I like it too.”

He pecks her lips quickly, unable to resist her adorableness right now, and then pulls away to sit back down in the plastic chair at her bedside. He drags the chair as close to her bed as possible.

“You should sleep now, honey, I’ll try to save you some jello when the nurse comes around.”

“You should sleep too,” she mumbles, voice already getting heavier. “It’s nighttime.”

“I will, I just wanna watch you for a little longer.”

Amy’s asleep before she can reply, but she drifts off with a loving grin still lingering on her face and her head turned towards him.

He does take a few more minutes to admire every detail of her face before he finally gives in to the lure of sleep, knowing that she will be here when he wakes up and that she’s safe and comfortable and alive.

Jake grabs the extra blanket the nurse brought for him from the back of his chair and carefully drapes it over Amy to make sure she doesn’t catch a chill during the night.

Once he’s sure she’s properly tucked in, he lays his head down next to her on the mattress, takes her hand loosely in his and lets his eyes fall shut.

request a fic from this list! xx

#jake x amy #b99 fic

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kitsunebaba · 4 years

Text

Just a Little Change

Rei stared down at the body at his feet, the butt end of his dagger still raised from the strike. Ryu stared at him in shock, gaze slowly drifting down to focus on Teepo's unconscious form. He wasn't entirely sure how he'd managed it but his brothers had been so focused on one another and Rei had seen the opening and before he could really think it through, he was moving.

And now Teepo was out cold on the grass.

"Oh good thinking Rei!" Nina exclaimed, the first one to move. She went straight for the pack on Ryu's back muttering "rope, rope," to herself.

Everyone else seemed to jump out of their stupors, with Nina breaking the silence: Momo riffling through Teepo's pockets, Garr interjecting the best way to restrain one of the brood. Rei couldn't quite follow the conversation, his ears still ringing from this whole mess of a situation. For years he'd been consumed by nothing but revenge and now to find that not just one, but both of his brothers were...

Teepo was alive... Teepo was alive!

A grin was slowly stretching its way across his face and when he looked down at where Ryu was fixing Nina's knots, he saw a smaller but just as bright smile on his face, too.

Rei wasn't quite stupid enough to think this was going to be easy. Whoever this God was, they'd really done a number on Teepo's outlook. All that nonsense about the brood, his self righteous attitude. Teepo had never been particularly kind, but this just wasn't who he was meant to be.

Well, whatever he'd thought of this pilgrimage before, it was personal now. No one did something like this to his family and got away with it. No one.

With Teepo wrapped head to toe in rope, Rei hefted his little brother over his shoulder and on they went. On to meet God.

---

Teepo didn't wake up until after God was dead and they'd escaped to the desert.

Garr had finally found his peace and they'd lost track of Peco in all the chaos of their escape. Their victory was bittersweet at best but that was just how vengeance tasted, he'd learned. Rei wouldn't kid himself into thinking his own participation was anything but. Ryu was the selfless one in the family.

There was a gasp to Rei's side, a groan and instantly he was kneeling to turn Teepo over. His brother squinted against the harsh desert sunlight and Rei shifted to shadow his face.

"That was a dirty trick," Teepo murmured, voice deeper than before but cadence much closer to what Rei remembered. Then Teepo tried to move his arms and froze. Eyes narrowed and flicked intensely to his with so much venom it made Rei's heart jolt.

"You dare-?" Teepo hissed and his teeth were already extending, his skin turning purple, scaly, face elongating.

Before Rei could so much as move, Ryu was there, sitting down hard on Teepo's chest. It knocked the wind out of him, the shock enough to stop the transformation. They glared at one another, two obscenely powerful beings vying for dominance.

Teepo looked away first.

Huffing, Teepo glared at the sand instead. "So you bested me and removed me from my sanctuary. Does the safety of the world mean nothing to you? Our God Myria has-"

"We chose freedom," Ryu murmured, interrupting.

Those words confused Teepo more than anything and he cast his gaze around to the others, as if they had the answers, as if he'd forgotten how to read Ryu and everything he didn't say.

"He's saying we killed your God," Rei couldn't help but clarify. It was petty and not worth the devastated way Teepo's face fell. His brother's breath caught and, alarmingly, his eyes began to well with tears.

"Myria is...?" his words were barely sound.

"Yes, I'm sorry," Nina replied when no one else did.

Rei couldn't watch the clear grief on Teepo's face but nor could he hide from the sounds, all the more heartbreaking for their restraint. Small sniffles and whispered denial. Each one struck home in Rei's chest until he felt ill. He couldn't regret what he'd done but there was always a price and once again it was Teepo who had to pay it. Yet another way Rei had failed.

There was no giving up this time, though. Rei had people to fight for again and he wasn't letting them go without one.

---

They almost lost him on their way to the oasis.

Teepo had refused to eat or drink. Occasionally they could get some water down his throat, with Ryu coaxing or Momo forcing but that hadn't stopped his lips from cracking or his cheeks hollowing out. They couldn't afford to untie him, either. When Teepo wasn't catatonic with grief, he ranted.

Rei was ashamed to say he left Teepo to Ryu when he got like that. There was something stalwart to Ryu that Rei could never even hope to emulate, so he didn't even try. To Teepo's threats, his fanatical recitation of God's rhetoric, Ryu kept a straight face, silently stoic as he held his brother down and waited it out.

By the time they reached the oasis, Teepo hadn't woken in at least a day and his breathing had begun to get laboured. They couldn't just leave him with the head man's wife like they had with Nina, either. That first night, they'd all been exhausted. Ryu had taken first watch regardless, making sure no one was hurt in Teepo's lucid moments as he was tended to.

Eventually, though, even Ryu couldn't keep his eyes open.

A shout woke them all, then a scream and they all clambered to their feet in alarm. Rei could feel his rabid side start to stir, eager for a fight, but pushed it down. The head woman had scrambled backwards, Ryu trying to hold back a struggling Teepo, free from his bonds.

Unable to think of anything else, Rei punched Teepo in the face and his brother slumped in Ryu's arms, his form shrinking, changing until he was a tiny, purple dragon. The look of disappointment that Ryu gave him for that made him want to shrivel to the size of a mouse and hide for the rest of eternity.

They got Teepo back into bed, tied to the posts, and Ryu went to sit back down at his side.

Rei didn't let him. He finally had to admit to himself that he'd been avoiding this new, heartbreakingly unfamiliar Teepo. Rei had promised himself there was no giving up, yet he'd almost done so to spare himself more hurt. So Rei swept Ryu into his arms and lay him down gently along Teepo's winged side, then took up the chair himself.

It was one of the longest nights of his life, watching his brothers sleep on that bed, one struggling, again, to hold onto life. When morning came, his eyes itched with tiredness and his muscles screamed from sitting for too long, but Teepo was once again in human form and Ryu smiled at him and that made it all worth it.

---

Teepo started eating again, a few days later. It had taken many, many hours of nagging and begging and pleading (and a few guilt wrenching tears from Ryu) but they'd managed to convince him to continue to live, at the very least. While his brother's ranting had stopped, along with his attempts to escape, he hadn't started speaking normally again, either, or at all.

Instead, Ryu talked. It was more than Rei thought he'd ever heard him say in his entire life, let alone at one time. He spoke of their journey, their lives, why he'd come to the decision he had. Ryu talked himself hoarse and then some until Rei took up the slack. There was only so much he knew, so much he'd been there for, but he could reminisce on their time together, at least.

Rei spoke of their lives before Ryu, reminders of the people they'd been, the ways they'd changed after they'd adopted their third family member. That one, near perfect winter and early spring where they'd been accepted, well fed, happy. That one season of bliss before everything had fallen apart.

And then Rei confessed how he'd gone off the rails in his quest for revenge. How devastated he'd been to lose his brothers to one mistake.

Teepo listened, at least, even if he never said anything in reply. He listened and Rei hoped he was taking it all in, considering their perspectives instead of clinging to a dead god's dogma.

---

Once they were all well enough to walk, about a week later, they resupplied and made their way north. They didn't need the ropes by this point. Teepo was silent and submissive, following along when asked.

It was Momo who tried to strike up a conversation this time, as they made their way through the debris of old technology. She asked a stream of questions about Eden and the space station, though the whole thing went over Rei's head. Teepo watched her, wary, but he must have understood because once she was done with her rambling hypothesis he either nodded or shook his head. One time Rei swore he heard a response but it could have been his imagination.

A few trips by Portal Drive later and they were emerging from the hut hear Mount Levett. Why they'd gone here, he wasn't sure. This whole place left a bad taste in his mouth, memories blurred from spending such long periods transformed but certain moments horrifically vivid.

"I... um, don't want to go home yet," Nina offered when he asked.

It was understandable. The prospect of possibly being confined to one place for your whole life... Rei wasn't sure he could do it. Certainly after the trick they'd played on the king and queen, she wouldn't be allowed to leave for a good long while, even if they didn't just lock her in her room.

There were other reasons she didn't want to go home. Nina still had to work out what she would fight for now. At least Rei didn't have that problem anymore.

Down the path towards the Yraall Region, they reached the road in good time. Across the bridge and they quickly came to the edge of the farmland that marked the area. A sense of unease passed over Rei the closer they got to the place they used to call home. The girls sensed it, too and the whole party remained subdued as they trekked. It was by far the easiest terrain they'd navigated in months but the tension in the air ruined any relief.

It was at the junction where the Yraall Road split towards McNeil Village that it happened.

Nina screamed as Teepo shoved her back and in an explosion of power he transformed. Momo was already aiming her weapon as he spread his wings, taking to the air. Rei jumped forwards to push the bazooka towards the ground and they were both flung backwards as it went off.

Rei picked himself up with a groan, grumbling a few choice swear words. It took a few moments to get all his senses back in alignment and by the time he had, Ryu had transformed too, staring at him, waiting.

The dragon tilted his head, indicating his back and Rei didn't have to be told twice. Scrambling to his feet, he didn't even consider what he was about to do until he felt muscles lurch below him and the ground began to lift away. Rei's eyes widened and he wrapped his arms in a vice lock around his brother's neck.

They shuddered and shook as they climbed altitude and Rei had to wonder how they weren't just dropping out of the sky. At last, though, they evened out. The turbulence stopped. Wind still whipped about his ears, pulling at his clothes and tail, but slowly he pried one eye open to look down at the ground below.

It was like a patchwork quilt he'd seen some of the women in town making; all greens and browns with the occasional patch of colour. He couldn't see any people, though with the roars he could hear in the distance, it wouldn't be a surprise if they'd all sought shelter.

With a jolt of surprise Rei found himself able to pick out landmarks. There was the farm near town, the village itself not too far off, McNeil manner. Already they'd travelled what would have taken hours on foot. He watched as it all passed below them, turning into the forests he'd once known like the back of his hand. A glimpse of Bunyan's hut, the mountain close by, then they were descending and Rei had to bury his face in Ryu's neck again or risk being sick.

When they landed, Ryu shrank back into his human form, collapsing to his knees, breathing rapid. Rei rested a comforting hand on his shoulder for a moment, long enough to know he was okay, then he was moving again.

Teepo stood at the base of the burned shell of their hut. The smell of ash and smoke had long since been washed away but Rei could still remember them, phantom scents in his nose. He came to a stop three steps behind his brother, staring up at what remained of their home.

"Sometimes I was half convinced this was just a dream... but then that would mean you had simply abandoned me."

"What?! I would never-!" Rei cut himself off, nails cutting into his palms with the effort.

Teepo shook his head, "no. You're petty and self severing like everyone else, but you wouldn't do something like that."

They were quite for a while, lost in their own memories.

"You know, Ryu said he looked for you after," Rei gestured vaguely at the burned building. "Me? I just assumed you were dead and went off to get revenge but... He went all the way to Wyndia. Would have gone further, I think, if he hadn't been caught up in all that Brood shyte."

Teepo frowned. "Wyndia...?" The frown deepened and he crossed his arms. "I... perhaps I reached it? I remember being hungry and stone walls. It wasn't long before Myria saved me, gave me a home, clothes, food, love."

"If you'll remember, so did I. And I didn't lock you in a damn cage and feed you self hate for ten years," Rei growled.

"Myria has good reason to think the way she does... did..." Teepo turned his face away, swallowing thickly before he continued. "How many people died for Ryu's cause? Just defeating her you lost two of your number. Can that be justified?"

Rei snorted, "oh, so when she kills thousands of people, it's for the good of everyone, but when a few people sacrifice their lives willingly, it's not justified? Well don't that just beat all. And here I thought we had numbers on our side."

"We are dangerous!" Teepo spun, one fist raised threateningly but Ryu was already situating himself between them, a hand on each of their chests to keep them apart. He still looked worn out from carrying someone on his back, using muscles he wasn't used to for so long, but the colour had returned to his cheeks and he wasn't winded any longer.

"So am I," Rei countered, sounding much calmer than he felt. "Sure I don't hold a candle to you guys but I slaughtered an entire crime syndicate in cold blood. It was easy. Should I be put under lock and key?"

Teepo scowled, "yes."

"Okay, so what of God's Guardians then? I know for a fact that Garr alone killed, what was it, Ryu?"

"Two hundred and ninety nine," Ryu replied softly.

"Two hundred and ninety nine Brood members during the war. That's way more than a measly crime syndicate, I'd say. And he only did it because he was told to, not because they killed his family or something."

"That was God's power-"

"So should God be locked up then? Why is her power okay but yours isn't? What gave her the right to dictate what we can and cannot do? Who lives and who dies? Since when is genocide something the good guys do?!" Rei snarled, breaking away from Ryu's restraining hand to pace, prowling the path.

Teepo rose to his full height, clearly trying to look regal. "She saved the world."

"Does it look destroyed to you? Has Ryu gone on some monstrous rampage and killed everyone? Blown up any mountains lately? Because let me tell you, he's had the motives. Half of this crap isn't even what he wanted, he was just dragged along because he was being hunted or someone else wanted to know the truth! He lost us, he lost friends, he lost years of his life and he's never destroyed anything that wasn't asking for it!"

"And what if I do?!" Teepo screamed. "What if I... I hate everyone. I hate what the world did to us! I hate how petty people are, how self serving, how no one will ever share just because they... No one ever deserved what Myria did for us, not even me!"

The silence in the clearing could have been cut with a knife.

"What if I'm the one who destroys the world?"

"You won't," Ryu said, clear and confident, "because we won't let you." Slowly, like he was touching a wild animal, Ryu lowered his hands to clasp one of Teepo's gently between them. "Just like you won't let me."

For a long moment it seemed like Teepo would pull away, whole body tense. Then he slumped, head bowed. "Is it that easy? I don't want to be around people. I don't want to go back to a society that would let children, orphans just- just starve. I don't want to-"

Rei let his hand fall heavily on Teepo's shoulder. "So we live in the woods, away from everyone else. Heck, that's pretty much what we did here before Ryu came along, just without all the stealing. Maybe we try grow our own food or something? We got friends and resources that we didn't have as kids, yeah?"

Teepo's gaze was unreadable as he looked from Ryu to Rei.

"Not here," he said at last, raising his free hand to rest on top of Rei's. "Not here."

---

They met Nina and Momo back in McNeil Village but didn't do more than pass through after joining back up. The frightened rumours of dragons in the sky effected both his brothers negatively and Rei had to suppress the urge to take his rage out on the villagers, too. They'd never wanted help, but they'd been children. Someone should have given it regardless.

Nina didn't try to pry like Rei had expected. One look from Ryu and she looked more relieved than anything. It was odd, seeing someone else able to read his brother so well but slowly Rei was coming to see Nina as family, too, and well maybe they needed a little sister to balance them out.

Reluctantly he had to admit that Momo felt like family, too, but that was dysfunctional at best. Not all family could be sunshine and roses, he'd learned. Well, one out of four wasn't so bad.

Conversation picked up when Rei voiced their intentions some time later. Nina was eager to offer locations and Momo building advice. She'd had to fix her own equipment often enough that she was handy with a hammer or a welding torch. After all, if they built with metal and brick, they couldn't be as easily burned out of the home again.

The process wasn't as difficult as he thought it might be. The forests surrounding Wyndia were vast, so before they parted ways with Nina and Momo they all ventured into them to find a good spot to build. Officially this would be Nina's vacation cottage, since the forests were technically royal hunting grounds. Hopefully they were deep enough that no one ever noticed they were there in the first place.

Momo threw herself into the building with as much enthusiasm as she did new machines. Confusingly enough, after the initial distrust, Teepo and Momo ended up getting along well. She was oblivious enough she didn't notice the way he talked down to her and he was knowledgeable enough in machinery that she was endlessly pumping him for details that he was now willing to give.

Nina, for her part, could only come by extremely occasionally. The king and queen hadn't locked her in her room but she was under strict guard whenever she argued an outing was legitimate. Slowly she was amassing a following of soldiers more loyal to her than her parents, however, and sometimes she could slip away.

When they were finally done, Momo and Nina had tentative permission to visit on occasion, though Rei could see Teepo only agreed with Nina doing so because Ryu always looked so sad when she left. It probably helped that she was their main source of supplies and Teepo could easily use that as an excuse if anyone ever confronted him on it. He'd always been unwilling to admit how soft he was where his brothers were concerned.

Rei mused on Nina's situation and how he'd thought he didn't ever want to be confined. Funny, how he didn't feel like he was locked away staying here, even though technically they were. Perhaps it was the self imposed nature of it... though Rei would put more zenny on his brothers having something to do with it.

They had to be careful with hunting in the area but they had a neat little vegetable garden going by now and a book on pickling to get them through the winter. Nina had even visited bearing some fruit tree saplings yesterday. Rei had left his brothers to plant them while he'd gone to find them some meat to celebrate.

Coming home, Rei heard them before he could see them.

"Ryu that's not how you dig a hole. No you have to- No use your- Oh, just give it here!"

Holding back his mirth, Rei rounded the corner of their house to see Teepo instructing Ryu on the proper technique for digging a hole, complete with demonstration and short, sharp directions.

Rei caught Ryu's eyes and his youngest brother flushed. Then Rei noticed there were quite a few holes already done, perfectly created, and couldn't quite hide his amused smirk as Ryu once again failed to dig a hole in the most dramatic way possible. Teepo promptly snatched the shovel back again and dug two more holes. They'd have too many at this rate.

Dropping the rabbits he'd caught by the house, he strode forwards to clap a hand down on top of each of their heads, grinning ear to ear. "I may not be very good at math but even I can see we have eight fruit trees and seven holes." Grabbing the spade himself, he dug the last one quickly, before anything could escalate. It was a little sloppy but deep enough that Teepo only scowled a little at it. He didn't even try to fix it when Rei handed the spade back.

Ryu moved off to start putting the saplings in the ground and Teepo only looked alarmed for a moment before he realised Ryu was doing this part right, at least.

Turning back to Rei, he said, "I see you're getting bolder with your kills."

"Their Royal Pains In The Butts aren't going to notice a few less rabbits in spring, Teepo."

"Early Spring."

Rei waved off the concern. "Whatever. I think we got enough tomatoes for a stew, at least. Momo better bring us more spices when she comes next. I got used to fancier food on the road than we ever had as kids. Who knew salt could do so much to a hunk of meat."

"You're getting careless. If we're-"

"Relax, Teepo."

Teepo scowled but they lapsed into silence, watching Ryu move from plant to plant, carefully placing them in the ground. For someone with the power to literally destroy the world if he wanted to, Ryu was the gentlest soul he'd ever met. Even plants were treated tenderly.

"Do you still think he's dangerous?" Rei asked softly.

Teepo watched Ryu as he answered with a shake of his head. "I don't think I ever did... not really. The kid that cries at the drop of a hat? With too much empathy for his own good. That's not someone who wants power."

"But...?"

Teepo sighed, "but I still don't trust myself. All I've had time to do is think and I know who I am. I don't want to leave, but I don't want to keep him here, either. If he wants to go..."

"And what if he wants to stay?" Rei murmured.

Ryu looked up from his work and waved, Rei waved back with Teepo reluctantly doing so too a few seconds later. The grin on their youngest brother's face was heartbreakingly bright.

"All he ever wanted, was be with his family, and that's us, Teepo. Ain't no way you can change that." He swung an arm around Teepo's shoulder, drawing him in close. "Maybe one day we let him go, yeah? But he's gonna come back. No matter where he goes without us, he'll always wind up back here sooner or later with a new story and some new friends. Probably a few new scars the way trouble finds him."

"Then maybe we need to go with him to protect him..."

"If we ever do, I'm sure we can go wherever you want..." Rei replied, giving him a squeeze.

"...Except Wyndia. We're wanted criminals there."

"You're what?!" Teepo squawked.

From where he was planting, Ryu looked up to watch Teepo chase Rei across the clearing and smiled.

#bof3 #breath of fire iii #fix it fic #I wrote this for you sama because you had to break my heart with that last bit of writing #just knock the boi out and take him with #problem part way solved

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candyshua · 4 years

Text

It’s a Long Way Home | Chapter 4

Pairing: Joshua x Minghao x Reader

Synopsis: It was dark, and then it was light. You’re finally lucid. After 15 years of not being conscious, you wake up in a desolate and post-apocalyptic earth where infected flesh-eating beings roam the streets. Soon enveloped into a mysterious group of survivors, you consistently wonder who they are. But most importantly, who are you?

Genre: Heavy angst, some fluff here and there

Warnings: Gore, bad language, physical & verbal abuse

Word Count: 2.6k

Throughout the time period of a few weeks, you drifted in and out of consciousness hazily. Joshua and Minghao checked up on you daily, along with Cleo, Margo, Junhui, and of course Seungkwan. You were high on morphine for the majority of the first week, the second week you slept most of the time. The third week is when you started to slowly get better, recuperating with baby steps. The fourth week is when you were again coherent, and most of your bruises and wounds had healed. Of course, there would be some scars that never faded.

Throughout your hazy isolated rendezvous, you had dreamed of many things. You were convinced some of the dreams were memories, but you couldn't remember them. All you could process is that there was a doctor whom you were terrified of.

Now on the fifth week, you decided to contribute to Fort Lockwood. You had gained everyone's trust (even Junhui's) much to your surprise. Today, you were to go back to your assigned house, where you'd live with Cleo and Margo. They welcomed you warmly, for which you were eternally grateful. Everyday, you'd help out just about everywhere, until working with Seungkwan is where you realized you were much more useful than you thought.

Many important bits of knowledge came to your head while helping out various patients, until you realized that you were very educated on the topic of medicine. You knew how to address a wound, what medication to give them, yet you were still frustrated. Where had you learned this?

One night, while walking back from a shift at the community "hospital", Joshua had approached you. You walked in each other's silence quite comfortably, until he broke it. "Are you okay?" He asked, and you knew he wasn't asking about your injuries, or your recent experiences with Seungcheol, he was just asking you if you were comfortable.

"Slowly, memories are coming back to me. I don't know if I'm okay, but I don't think I am." You admitted, the two of you walking down the sidewalk. You reached his house, and he made the notion for you to come in, and you did so quietly. Junhui was passed out on the couch, so the two of you sneaked quietly up stairs. You arrived in his room, which was next to Minghao's (his door was closed which did not surprise you in the slightest). His room was quite plain, the beige walls and king sized bed were the main parts of it. There was a plain wooden dresser, and the floor itself was a tan rug. His curtains were closed (it was a rule to do so at night when a lamp was turned on), but you had a feeling it'd be closed anyway. What grabbed your attention was a picture on his nightstand. It was a framed, old photo, with him and what looked like his mother in front of the Statue of Liberty. You picked up the frame without thinking, while Joshua closed the door. He looked over to you and you smiled shyly, and he didn't know why he smiled so easily around you, but he just did.

You two sat on the floor of his room, legs crossed while you held one of his pillows. He admired the way you leaned on the pillow you head, your cheek squished against the soft material. "Can I tell you a secret?" You questioned, positioning yourself to a more upright pose. Joshua merely nodded. "I-I'm not okay. But no one is, because everybody has lost somebody, but I just lost myself." You admitted, Joshua's intent gaze on you the whole time.

"Can I tell you a secret?" He said, and you nodded just like he did. "I'm really fucking scared, Y/N. I don't know how exactly I became the leader of this place, and I don't know what to do with it. I just want to keep the human race alive for as long as possible. But it's hard when people are trying to kill you, and it's even harder when you kill them. I've done a lot of fucked up shit, but everybody has. Everybody. I'm just afraid that this is it for us - humans - I'm afraid that there will be no more future generations to clean up the mess that was created. I'm just so scared." Joshua rambled, his brown eyes sad and intent while his soft voice said all the words that made him more likable. You looked up into his eyes, those beautiful brown orbs swimming with many unreadable emotions. You swallowed.

"I'm scared too. I'm getting to know myself, all while comprehending the fact that I killed people when I could've solved it differently, but I killed them." You said, eyes distant and empty.

"We have all killed. Even the kids here have, it's what you do to stay alive. The first person I killed was my mother." He said, those words hanging in the air. You sucked in a sharp breath, letting him continue.

"She was bitten. I shot her before she could turn. This was about six months in, and a part of me still isn't over it. It's a miracle that I've survived three whole years in this mess, but I stayed alive for her. So her death wouldn't be another meaningless end to a sad unlucky life." He explained.

"You've managed to stay a good person throughout all of this. I think that's why you're the leader of this place," You began abruptly, "because you're genuine. Your intentions aren't malicious, you aren't power hungry nor evil. You're a good human being, and that's why you're still alive. It may seem like the evil people rule this world now, or those infected things, but if you manage to stay a good person you're stronger than other those other evil bastards. You're strong, Josh."

He gave you a small but authentic smile, and you returned it shyly. You were glad that you came across a person like Joshua throughout this horrendous confusing life, because with him you felt a little less lost. "I should get going." You muttered, standing up. But Josh reached up to your wrist and held it, looking up at you with hooded, tired eyes.

"Stay." He almost pleaded, so you sat down next to him immediately. You wanted to stay anyway.

You didn't realize how long you two had been talking until it started to get a little lighter outside. You told Joshua everything that you could remember, from waking up in the city to your experiences with Seungcheol. You talked about your memories, showed him your scar, and tried to figure out what your memories meant with him. But in between those heavy topics, lighthearted ones bloomed peacefully. You'd share the occasional giggle with him, along with playful banter. It felt like you had known Josh for years, and he felt the same. His heart felt light when talking to you, which was quite odd. Even when talking to his best friends, the stress of responsibility weighed him down. But when talking with you, he forgot all of his troubles in the world. His undivided attention was focused on you, and you only.

"Have we been talking for that long?" You giggled, and he nodded with a light frown on his face. You heard the door of Minghao's room creak open, to which you looked at Joshua confusedly.

"He gets up at dawn, and goes and works out in our gym." Joshua explained, and you nodded. "If you want to sleep, go ahead. I don't get much sleep anyway, so this won't affect me much."

"I don't get much sleep either, to be quite honest." You admitted, so you walked downstairs with Josh and started making breakfast with him. "What are the plans for today?" You asked while Joshua was frying eggs.

"Since you're kind of weak from all of your injuries, Minghao is going to train you today, since he just wants you back in shape. When you finish eating, head over there ASAP."

"'ASAP?'" You questioned.

"As soon as possible." Joshua chuckled, and you nodded innocently.

To be quite honest, you needed to get back in shape. You became soft after five weeks of doing absolutely nothing, and softies didn't survive in this world. "Hey Minghao." You greeted, walking into their "gym" casually. It was merely the basement of their "hospital" with punching bags, various equipment, and some mats.

"Mhm." The preoccupied Minghao responded. He was sprinting on a treadmill, his harsh eyes completely focused on the task at hand.

"It's Y/N. I'm here for 'training'." You further explained, which caused him to realize that it was you, and then turn off the treadmill.

"Hi."

"Hey! How are-"

"I'm so sorry." Minghao interrupted, which only made you chuckle lightly.

"I know, and I forgive you. We've been over this many times." You responded, with a warm grin plastered on your face.

"I'm such a pussy. I shouldn't have ran, it was selfish of me. I only ran because I needed to get more people so we could come and save you, Y/N. I would never run solely to save myself-"

"I know." You sarcastically said, already exhausted.

Within 15 minutes of your training session, you were burnt out. But, Minghao was merciless. He pushed you until you physically couldn't move, and the moment you could you were back on your feet.

You worked on your fighting, your stamina, and your overall strength. You lifted weights, ran for what felt like hours, swung at the punching bags mercilessly, and now it was time to face off with him. "Please go easy." You huffed.

Minghao couldn't help but find you incredibly cute. Whenever he trained, he became serious, strict, and quite mean. You were no exception, but your cuteness definitely challenged him. "No." He spat, and you rolled your eyes.

To be fair, you held up a good fight. It took Minghao a good fifteen minutes to pin you to the ground, and even then you still fought. You struggled underneath his tight grip, his legs sprawled across you so you couldn't kick him. "Ughhh!" You groaned, which resulted in a slight smirk on Minghao's end.

He lied next to you on the mat you just fought on, breathing slightly quicker than usual. He was barely fazed, unlike you, you were a glistening sweaty mess whose breathing could not slow down. Suddenly, a pang reverberated through your head. You closed your eyes, knowing what exactly was about to happen.

"You need to learn all of these things, Y/N, so you can survive when you're down there." Your father explained while you were hunched over, hands on your knees.

"I know, Dad. I'll try harder." You promised, and the both of you knew that your promises were sacred. You continued to fight with your father, until you managed to flip him over when he attacked you. He landed with a loud thud, but he showed no sign of pain.

"Good job, Y/N!" He encouraged, and you wore a genuine smile after succeeding. Smiling was a rare occasion, so your dad savored the moment. He savored every moment with you, because you were the most important thing to him. He loved you, and he made sure you knew that while you still could.

You were sixteen, and at that age you were a desperate and curious soul. You would indulge in books about medicine, human anatomy, and much more. Learning is what kept you sane, along with your dad.

"One more round, Y/N." Your father demanded, and you nodded and got back up. He loved you so much, and you would never remember how much he did.

"Oh my god." You said breathlessly, holding your head in a hunched over position. Minghao's worried face was actually quite cute, and he held you trying to calm you down. Each time you remembered something, the pain was less severe. "Minghao...I think I know why I can fight. My father taught me." You mumbled, while Minghao furrowed his eyebrows.

"What?"

"My father. He trained me how to fight, so I could survive while I'm 'down there'." You explained.

"What?"

"My exact thought." You responded. Was "down there" here? Why was earth down? Where were you at that time?

"Y/N, your memories will come back slowly. But eventually, all of your questions will be answered." Minghao said with an insightful tinge to it. A few moments of comfortable silence passed until Minghao spoke up again. "Y/N," He began, "why'd you tell me to run? Why did you save me, instead of yourself?"

"Because, people need you. You're important. I'm not." You muttered, shrugging casually. You soon felt his hands on your shoulders, long, calloused fingers and a large palm. He forced you to face him, his brown eyes boring into your irises, while he clenched his jaw tightly.

"You're important to me." He stated, his words leaving a thick tension in the air. "Don't ever pull shit like that again, I was worried sick about you."

"But you barely knew me." You argued, which was quite true.

"People who go out of their way to save my life are automatically important to me. You have saved me twice now, and I owe you just about everything. I'm sorry if I'm a jerk at times, it's just who I am, but don't ever doubt your importance."

His gaze was intense, and you - a naturally dominant person - felt vulnerable under his dominant eyes.

"Minghao," You muttered, "who are you?"

He sighed. He knew he owed it to you, you had to know who exactly he was. You deserved to know the horrible things he had done, because he knew that you enjoyed his company, but usually nobody ever does once they find out the truth.

You had learned that his parents were Chinese immigrants, so he was fluent in the language. You had also learned he had a girlfriend he was engaged to when the outbreak began, and he watched her turn because he was too scared to save her. "I just stood there, frozen, as the love of my life died right in front of me." Is what he had said specifically.

He also told you about what that had turned him into. After the death of his girlfriend, he became a monster. He killed survivors, stole their supplies, and continued to live on his own.

That was until one night, when Joshua, Junhui, and Seungkwan weren't important figures but mere struggling survivors, came across Minghao in a house on Lockwood Street. He had begged for them to kill him, because he was horrible, he was a monster, worse than the infected. He was a fucking monster.

But they refused. And slowly, Minghao unwound his past to them, thinking he was horrible. But he changed, and slowly he got over the love of his life, and he built Fort Lockwood with them, and two women they met along the way.

He expected you to hate him, and spit on him like you did with Seungcheol. Instead, you hugged him. "I'm glad I saved you." You whispered in his ears, the soft echoes of your voice making the hairs on his neck stand up straight.

"When you're lost, you let yourself go. You lose all sense of who you are, and I never exactly had one in the first place. But if it weren't for you and your group, who knows what would've happened? You don't need my forgiveness, nor your victims' forgiveness as well. You need your own, Hao." You stated sagely, giving him a spontaneous new nickname.

He was taken aback by how wise your words were, and how much he needed them. You were completely right, and it surprised Minghao to no end. Instead of dwelling over your words, he got back up.

"We need to continue training," He said, but he did that for selfish reasons. He needed you to get back in shape, so that you could protect yourself again. He needed you to survive.

He just needed you.

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redfoxwritesstuff · 5 years

Text

600 years (Loki x ofc)

Hello! As you likely noticed, I mucked up my posting schedule so Dust is getting a skip week. This is for @devilbat and their Halloween Marvel Madness Writing Challenge using the prompt: “You look the same as you did 600 years ago.” “Thanks. I have a great skin care routine.”

Loki x ofc, Rating: Mature

warnings: aftermath of extreme violence

This one shot picks up right after Loki’s end in Infinity War.

Summary: Thor was picked up by a passing ship however the rescuers assumed everyone else was dead. Loki floated, clinging to life in the void of space. A better time to think over his greatest regrets and remember the warm smile of the woman he had cared for 600 years ago? It is with her memory he intends to comfort himself as he waits for death. Turns out, death had a scheduling conflict.

600 Years

When one’s neck is broken and their bodily systems barely functioning, there is little else to do but think while one waits for death. He couldn’t close his eyes, it seemed his whole body was paralyzed. It made sense, he could remember the sound his neck had made when it snapped. Time seemed endless, no different than the vast nothing around him. With so much nothing, he had nothing to do but think while he waited for death to take him.

He didn’t want to think of the pain he’d suffered in the last ten years. It wasn't worth the heartache to think of the betrayal of the man he thought of as his father. It wouldn't do to dwell on how unfair it was that he should die only now, when he was beginning to rebuild a relationship with his brother.

He didn’t want to think of the horrors he had seen. Not in what he expected would be his final moments. Instead, he turned his mind back through the years and settled on one of the few truly happy memories he had. By the gods, he could still see her face as clearly as if it were yesterday.

~~~~~<3

“Come, Loki.” She ran, fingers wrapped around his hand.

Her red hair was a mess of waves, tied back with a green ribbon he had gifted her a few days prior. Odin would surely chastise him for letting a human drag him about by his hand but Loki couldn’t find it in himself to care in the moment. Her green eyes sparkled as she ran along. He could overtake her, out run her with hardly any effort but he allowed himself to be dragged along just the same.

She had something she wished to show him. It was likely mundane but he couldn’t managed to be annoyed with her. Aileen was something unique, even among her people. While Thor, Loki and Odin were worshiped as Gods by these people, Aileen was different. Her devotion was to Loki alone and maybe that was why he was so forgiving of her eagerness to waste his time.

Loki wasn’t an idiot. Far from it, even so long ago. If he could smile, floating in the void of space while his mind was in the distant past, he would have. Even then, Loki had known he was telling himself lies.

She had dragged him to a field of wild flowers. The deep green of the grass stretched out in front of them as the trees gave way. The sky was a bright blue and the sun was shining down on the field. Blue flowers of all shades dotted the ground. Some were small, others rather large. The field went on until the cliff face dropped, giving way to peaceful rolling ocean.

It was beautiful, even Loki could admit it but there was something far more beautiful in the field.

She had been brought to his attention almost ten years ago, dancing on the line of a woman and a child at the time. She was the only of her village to declare herself to Loki and only Loki. She didn’t bow to Thor, nor to Odin or even Frigga. She bowed to him alone, though she faced ridicule for it.

Loki had always showed her favor whenever Odin would bring them to Midgard and that was fairly often at the moment. For whatever reason, their father was going through a benevolent period in regards to the youngest of his subject realms. Once Loki had her, he found himself minding these trips less and less.

“It’s a field.” His voice was lost in the wind, yet the way she smiled at him left no doubt that she had heard him.

“It’s been blessed.” Her voice was soft, far softer than any flower’s petal.

“Not by I.” She pulled him out, fingers still wrapped around his hand.

“Not by any god.” She laughed.

Even now, floating in that cold void, waiting for his brain to shut down, his heart to beat the last time, he could hear her laugh. It was more akin to the sound of bells tinkling than the hearty laugh of many of the women in her village.

“Than how has it been blessed?” He asked. They were at the center of the field now and finally she let go of his hand. He watched as she spun and danced in a sea of flowers.

“By the sun.” She held her hand above her. The long, flowing sleeve of her dark green dress fell to expose her slender pale arm. She then cast her arm out, waving at the ocean waters beyond the cliff. “By the great sea.”

“Those are but the natural forces of the world.” Loki was well aware she knew better.

“And yet, are we not a blessed people to have them?” She smiled and he shook his head. He wouldn’t say it, but he knew it was she her people were blessed to have.

He wondered what had ever become of her. For a few short years, they had visited Midgard every few months. Than it became every few years. He had watched as she grew from a girl at the cusp of womanhood and into a young woman any man would have been lucky to have.

Had she married? The last time he had seen her, she hadn’t yet though she was well of age. He’d only gotten to see her a handful of times after she had shown him the field of flowers.

Once he had told her he’d loved her. She had said she loved him and he had known it was more than the way the rest of the villagers loved the Gods. She had loved him in the way a woman loved a man. And he, her. He’d sworn that he would go to Asgard, speak to his father and they would be together. She would be his High Priestess and he, her God. She would be his wife and he, her husband.

But war came to Asgard. A few days had become weeks and months before he even noticed. Human lives were fleeting and he had spent what would amount to years of her life on the battle field offering strategic aid that more often than not was ignored.

When he next found himself standing in the field of blue flowers, she was surely bouncing grandchildren on her knee. Or at least, Loki had hoped. Now, floating and waiting for death to take him, Loki found himself wishing he had been strong enough to make sure she had at least had a good life.

Black consumed his vision or perhaps it was simply that he had shifted in the void and no longer could see any distant stars. It didn’t matter. He’d had a long life. A hard life and maybe he was ready for it to be over.

~~~~~<3

He was aware of warmth before any other senses came to him. It confused him but it could be that what came after death was warmth. There was no way to know how long he was aware of only warmth but he paid time no mind. Time didn’t really matter anymore.

Sometime later, how long he couldn’t even begin to say, he became aware of sound. First it was a slight breeze running through the space, though he could not feel it. Than it was a voice, familiar and yet he couldn’t place it. It didn’t feel important enough to place, in the moment as it hummed a sweet song. The sound was hardly there, as if carried on a fleeting breeze and gone the next moment.

He became aware of the weight of a blanket over his form, a soft mattress under him and a too fluffy pillow propping his head. He realized he was in fact somehow alive. The aches in his body had returned but they felt dull and far away though he still couldn't open his eyes or twitch a finger. Sometimes, coppery liquid would drip into his mouth, cool and wet.

He was beyond weak still and spent much of his time unaware and asleep. When he was swimming so close to consciousness, he would wonder how long he had been where ever he was. It felt safe. Surely, Thanos wouldn’t give him a soft bed and nurse him to health after breaking his neck.

Eventually, there was a lucidity when he woke that was a stark contrast to what had been. There was light and dark that he could pick up even through his closed eyelids. It felt like it took all the strength he had to crack open his eyelids.

The room was sparsely furnished and that was putting it rather kindly. A groan slipped out of him as he pushed himself up. Casting his eyes around, he found that rather than just a room, he found himself in what appeared to be a two room hut. There was a lamp in the corner with one dim bulb casting light into the space.

Through a door standing open was a bathroom though he hesitated to call it as such. From where he propped himself up on the bed, it looked to hardly have enough room to serve its most basic purpose. There was a two burner stove that looked to run off gas. A small chill box was next to a thin counter and a sink with a board balanced across.

The space was small and cramped- just hardly big enough for one person to live in though in most cases he would hesitate to call it living. A chair was piled high with clothes and assorted personal items. Except for that and the bed he was on, there wasn’t anywhere else to sit.

The bookshelf next to him offered no clues about who had been caring for him. The writing on the books told him he was likely in Midgard, though how he had ended up there was a mystery. Hell, he didn’t even know how he could be alive yet somehow here he appeared to be.

His limbs felt like they had weights attached as he dragged himself and swung his feet to the ground. The soft fabric of loose pants clung to his legs. The ground wasn’t offensively cold as his feet touched the worn wood floor.

A breeze pushed the airy curtains through a window with no glass, caressing his exposed chest. The breeze was clean and fresh, something he missed when in many places through Midgard. He could feel how badly his hair needed a wash and would give anything to bathe but first- he needed to find answers.

When he stood, black swam through his vision for a moment and he was sure he was going to hit the bed again. When it receded, he made his way through the small room, inching toward the door. Everything hurt. Every muscle ached.

Stepping outside, he found a field of dark green grass that stretched to the drop of a cliff that looked achingly familiar. Above him, clouds moved lazily by in black masses against the velvet blue night sky. The moon was full between the clouds, casting her cold light on the world below.

Blue flowers dotted the ground on either side of the worn path he was dragging himself along. The coastline felt so much closer than it should have been. His heart pounded in his chest as he told himself he couldn’t be here. Anywhere but this cliff.

For so long he had avoided this place, though he wouldn’t have admitted it to anyone. Perhaps it was another cliff, somewhere similar.

He almost didn’t see the woman standing at the cliff. Though he regretted to admit it, his attention was far more focused on taking in the surroundings. She was standing so still that she was easy to miss.

But when the coastal wind blew, loose waves of red hair floated to the side. The skirt of her dress, a green that almost matched the grass she stood on, danced above her knees. One slender arm reached up, pulled the waves from in front of her face and tucked it behind her shoulder and ear. He could see nails painted dark and a ribbon tied around her wrist with a neat bow.

“Who are you?” He called out and when she didn’t answer he added, “Where am I?”

“You’re awake.” She finally answered without turning to face him as he drew closer still. The sound of her voice made ice run through his veins only to be replaced by a rage fueled fire an instant later. “I’d worried that you’d not wake at all.”

“Face me.” He ordered and she did but he didn't believe what he saw. “Show your true face, witch.”

“I’m no witch though that would indeed be useful.” She mused, eyeing him. “Relax, won’t you? You’re so very weak still.”

“Who are you?” She stepped closer, unafraid even as a dagger shimmered into existence. He’d not show it, but the small magic alone left him feeling drained.

“Who do you believe me to be?”

“She’s dead, has been for centuries.”

“Have I been?” She asked, cocking her head to the side only to have the wind shift and blow more strands of red across her face, destroying the moment of elegance. He couldn’t begin to explain it but she appeared wholly unconcerned with his dagger. Instead, she looked around her and smiled. “This field has been blessed. Not by you, my God but by the Sun and the Sea. Most importantly, it has been blessed by me.”

“Aileen.” The name slipped from his lips without his consent. There were beings who could do terrible things with a name alone. “Who told you that?”

“I told you that.” She walked up to him, unafraid. “You fell from the sky and landed in the ocean not far from here. It was simple curiosity that drew me out to see what caused the splash and I’m beyond thankful that I did. You’ve been asleep for almost three weeks.”

“How am I still alive?” He didn’t expect her to have am answer, truly.

“I do not know how you survived getting here or from where you came. I wasn’t sure you’d survive the first few days, then I feared you wouldn’t wake at all.” She admitted and Loki wondered how it was possible that she was there. “I’d never thought I would see you again, after centuries. Then you where there, in New York and gone again. I’m sure once you’re healed, you’ll be gone once again.”

“How-”

“How am I still alive?” She finished when the words seemed to catch in his throat. “It doesn’t matter right now. You should be resting more, you’re still weak.”

He didn’t want to admit that she was right. Still, when her delicate hand wrapped around his arm, he allowed her to lead him back inside the small hut. His mind was far too busy trying to piece together what was happening and what it meant. This couldn't be real.

“Your hands are cold.”

“As is your arm.” She said as they crossed the threshold. “You’ve always been colder than most.”

“But you were not.”

She sighed and admitted, “You’re right. I am different now. I have been for a very long time.”

“Tell me, how is it possible that you look the same now as you did 600 years ago?” Loki again pressed as he sat heavily on the bed.

“Thanks, I’ve got a great skincare routine.” She laughed at her own joke before understanding that he wasn’t going to let it go. “Shortly after you left, our village was attacked by beasts of the night. They would come and steal the lifeblood from their prey, night after night. Our numbers dwindled as others fled.” She sat on the bed next to him, picking at her fingers.

“I remained, even as my father abandoned me. You had said you would return for me and I couldn’t bring myself to leave. One night, the beast came for me. I prayed as he sank his teeth into me. I prayed to my god to give me strength and rolled the man beast off of me. He landed in the fireplace and my life was spared.”

“And how are you still alive now?” Loki pressed. “What does that have to do with now?”

“I was the only one to survive the beast’s attacks. I thought that was the end of it, and for a while it seemed to be. But then, I began to change and became the monster that had driven my friends and family from our home. I wasn’t always able to retain my sanity and at times I was no better than the beast who attacked me. Years ticked by and I waited for you. Soon, centuries passed and I remained standing in place as time moved on without me.”

“What medicine had you given me?” Loki watched as she tensed up.

“It’s unimportant. It healed you. I couldn’t stomach the thought of watching you die.”

“I assumed you’d grown old and died.” Loki admitted. It pained him to think that she had suffered this condition he only was now learning of for so long alone.

“Why did you not come back? Had you changed your mind?” She asked before shaking her head. “It doesn’t matter, forget I asked.”

“Asgard went to war for nearly a century. When I was able to return- I assumed it was too late.” She nodded at his words.

“You should rest. There is food should you hunger. I must leave for now but I’ll return by morning.”

“Why?” Loki felt weariness pull him down. He didn’t want to sleep now but his energy was draining. There was an ache in his neck that went deep down to the bone and the longer he sat, the harder holding his head up became.

“To feed.” She answered as she stood.

“I don’t understand. You said there was food here?” With a firm hand she guided Loki back on the bed as he spoke.

“You need not worry, all will be clear in time. The food here does nothing for me. I am a beast now.”

Once he settled on the bed, she spread the blanket over him. With another urge to get rest, she turned and pulled the shutters closed on the window before stepping out into the night. Part of Loki wondered if he should be gone before she returned but sleep claimed him again before he could give it much thought.

~~~~~<3

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#dbhalloweenmadness #loki x original female character #loki x oc #loki x ofc #loki laufeyson x oc #loki laufeyson x ofc #loki odinson x ofc #loki odinson x oc

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voicesfromthelight · 5 years

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Some Experiential Examples of How Clairaudience Works

I was a teenager when I had my first clairaudient experience. I was in my hometown, walking alone, at night, in a quiet, empty park. All of a sudden, by my left ear, I heard a soft, kind voice. “Look up, and you’ll see a shooting star.” The vaguely masculine-sounding voice, I knew, was not my own, nor was it exactly that of another person, either. It felt like it was coming from an external source, but at the same time, I knew it wasn’t that of a flesh-and-blood person. Still, it felt completely natural and reassuring. I looked up, and at that very moment, a beautiful shooting star streaked across the sky.

Apart from lucid dreams, that was one of the few times I’ve ever had an unplanned clairaudient experience, and one of only two times in which the voice seemed to be coming from an external source. Let me make this clear: Healthy clairaudience is not the same thing as the kinds of uncontrolled hallucinations that plague people with schizophrenia. (Some psychics do feel that there is some overlap between this kind of mental illness and being clairaudiently susceptible to interference from lower-vibration entities, but as I, luckily, have no experience of such disturbing phenomena, I cannot say for sure.) While this isn't always the case, the most common form of clairaudience feels almost exactly the same as thinking verbally, in your head. You will hear your own voice articulating a word or a sentence that can be verified as objectively true, or meaningful in some other way. However, instead of actively formulating a thought, you are passively allowing the thought to come to you. If you are practicing your psychic skills with a solid foundation of well-grounded discipline, you should be able to switch it on and off at will through consciously tuning in and out. Everyone can do this with practice.

My clairaudience picked up in a more structured way quite recently, and has, for now, become my strongest, most reliable clair-sense. I realized that I had been activated in this way one evening when I was attending a psychic development circle, fairly early on in my studies of evidential mediumship. We were sitting in meditation, seeing if we could pass on any messages to the people who were present. A gifted woman sitting across from me in the circle had communicated a message, from a male presence, to a man sitting next to me. The man suspected that the spirit coming through was his neighbor from a previous home, but wasn’t quite convinced. “He says you own some plaid shirts you inherited from him,” she said. Yes, this was correct. As this conversation was happening, within my meditative state, my thoughts suddenly formed the name “Katie,” and then, what I thought was “Karate-Katie.” Then, I saw a woman with her hair in a brown bob, wearing the uniform of a flight attendant. My inner eye wandered through the plane in which she worked, like she was giving me a tour. I felt the energy of a person who was very playful and fun to be around. “Is there a Katie?” I asked. “Because I’m seeing a woman with a brown bob, named Katie, possibly nicknamed Karate-Katie, with a playful personality, who works as a flight attendant.” The man sitting next to me perked up. “Wait, is she alive or dead?” “I don’t know, but since she’s coming through, it would make sense that she would be dead, no?” “I’m asking because that’s my neighbor’s wife. But her name is Kristie, not Katie, and she’s still alive.” I had picked up on additional information the neighbor in question had been sending through to identify himself.

At the time this happened, I felt somewhat frustrated that what could have been such specific evidence had gotten garbled in transit. I had had experiences before, in lucid dreams, in which I had precognitively heard snippets of the names of people I would encounter for the first time the following day, along with claircognizant impressions pertaining to them. (An example of this was knowing that a taxi driver whose cab I would ride in had the name of a Roman emperor ending in -“ius.” It turned out to be Julius.) I wanted to get full names! I wanted hard proof! My instructor told me to relax. Why get frustrated with this one little glitch, when I had also been able to bring forth an occupation, a personality and an appearance? I still wanted to do better.

Sometime later, I was experiencing a psychic growth spurt after having figured out how to do clairaudient dictation (which I’ve written about at length in a previous post.) One day, while on my lunch break from working on a film set, I was sitting in a quiet corner, practicing my writing. My thoughts drifted back to the seance in which I had brought through Kristie’s garbled name. I thought to myself: “Next time, I’ll just ask outright: Can I get a name?” Now, I didn’t mean to actually ask the question at that moment, but immediately, my thoughts responded clairaudiently, as if answering it: “Alvarez.” Taken aback, I tuned back into my inner voice. I guessed my guides were still on the line. “OK. Alvarez who?” I asked. “Lou. Pilot.” I wrote it all down. It all seemed to come so out of the blue. How could I know if it had anything to do with an actual person?

Since I had no other way of verifying anything, still on my lunch break, I decided to google the information that had come through. I discovered that there existed a man by the name of Luis Alvarez, who had won the Nobel prize in physics. He had been an avid pilot, and among many other things, had developed breakthrough innovations in aircraft navigation. (Again with the airplanes!) He had also made use of cosmic rays to search for hidden chambers in an Egyptian pyramid, and was famous for his theory about an asteroid collision leading to the extinction of dinosaurs. This guy was certainly extraordinary, but, I thought to myself, all this could certainly be chalked up to confirmation bias. There was no way to know for sure. It might just be a coincidence.

I turned my thoughts back to the mediumistic process and clairaudience. Somewhat randomly, I thought to myself: “I wonder if answers ever come in the form of questions?” Again, the answer, unsolicitedly, instantly formed itself in my head: “How are we doing?” I smiled to myself. My guides seemed to be having fun treating my inner monologue as dialogue.

Thirty minutes later, my lunch break had ended, and my foreman walked up to me with a new prop he was preparing for a scene. We were working on a period piece set in 80s New York City, and the prop was an old newspaper with a picture of Mayor Ed Koch on the front page. My foreman said: “What’s that thing this guy was so famous for saying all the time? How am I doing? Yeah, that’s it!” He shifted his voice into a throaty imitation of the politician: “How am I doing? How am I doing? How am I doing?” he repeated. I had to take a moment to stop my jaw from dropping on the floor.

Since these experiences, my track record with bringing through complete names on a first try has gotten better. When they do come across garbled, it’s usually the middle letters that are swapped out, or the pronunciations that are slightly off. (”Tom” can sound like “Tim,” and “Marie” can sound like “Mary.”) The whole process is fascinating to me. As I’ve written before, learning to tune in clairaudiently is like learning to tune a radio to a specific frequency and tune out the interference. When what we hear is getting slightly broken up or scrambled, it is good to be able to back it up with other psychic impressions that are claircognizant, clairvoyant, clairsentient, etc.. But the key thing I have learned is to be patient with my development and appreciate every bit of information that comes through. Every little step of progress adds up in the long term.

Have you ever had a precognitive or clairaudient experience that seemed irrefutable? Did it change the way you thought about intuition, and the precision of the information we have the ability to bring through?

#clairaudience #spirit guides #accurate psychic reading #psychic #mediumship #psychic medium #intuition #lucid dreaming #evidential mediumship #evidentialmedium #luis alvarez #psychicdevelopment #psychic development #channeling

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lateforcoffee · 7 years

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Star dust;

The blank page. The beginning of all literary projects. Made from a mighty tree that spent its entire life growing to be as big as it possibly could. Growing leaves destine to bud, green, wither, die, repeat. To face winter and summer over and over. To mourn silently to itself as its leaves die. To speak silently to the other surrounding it. Only for it to be sawed in two. And left as nothing more than a humble stump. The end of a journey that took nearly a life time to make. Artists, poets, writers, scientists, we stare at this blank page that we have been bestowed with through our hard work and labor... Or perhaps the hard work and labor of a father or a mother. Or maybe even a brother or a sister. We stare into the milky expanse of an incomprehensibly thin slice of a thing that lived a long life standing still only to be cut down to its humble beginning again. We grab our pens and pencils and our minds, our cognitive capabilities, summon words and language. We scribble and jot and drag these tools to tattoo the refinements of the dead. We tattoo this flake to express our dreams, our opinions. Sometimes we don't do anything with that flake of a journey ended by an outside source. Sometimes we do nothing but stare at that ended life. Our hands ready to mar but our minds at a loss for what to mar it with... What marking, what curve, or line? Where, for that matter? Sometimes we cannot summon our deeper thoughts, our opinions. Sometimes we wish not to. Instead, sometimes we summon ideas of others. We jot those and scribble those dreams and thoughts and words. We tattoo this fleck, and call it ours. This drawn on, marked up, etched into piece, this is ours now. We have made this. The blank page. The beginning of all literary projects. We stare into this page, and we summon our minds onto it. Some better than others. Some more fluidly than others. With the few who know what needs to be said. And the few who know not what needs to be said. Some sitting down to begin their mindful scribbling while others sit down to hours of waiting. Holding their heads in disappointment over their lack of deeper cognition. Their lack of lucidity in their reality to dream of such concepts. To begin to write, or draw their mind. The blank page is the portal to the person who owns such work. Their opinion, their knowledge, their dreams, their reality. Their perception of the very fabric of us. Star dust, scribbling with star dust, on star dust to share the more complicated mechanics of a world that defies its own laws in more than one way. We envision, collectively, this world of ours where we stand on a flat surface. We all see it as such. We know, however, that this is not true; as we are a spherical object. There is no true up nor down; just as there is no true left, nor right, nor south, nor east, and so on. We are our own fixed reference point for our realities. We are ever changing and yet we never change. Our positions are relative only to us. We move on our own, and act upon our selves. We are our own outside force, tattooing our flakes of dead plants. Imprinting our thoughts, our opinions, and more importantly, our dreams. Our reality that is our reference point. Escaping it only for a while in our works. Marring countless pieces of plants that we end up calling our own simply to dive out of reality and into a dreamscape. A dreamscape of a new reality. A new reference point that is not fixed in a solid world, but a world entirely in our minds. The minds of the people go on for a few steps. The minds of a person go on forever. We take our blank pages, our tools in hand, we mark them. We make them our own. That is a piece of us, a piece of the very fabric of us. That dive into our minds, into what makes us, us, what shows us our perception of reality, that marring, that tattooing, that is us. Star dust, marking star dust, with star dust. Too scared to realize that it is a collective gathering of luck, math, incomprehensible forces, and an even more unimaginable quantity of time. We are shaped like the stars we come from. In the bellies of our mothers who provide us with the basis of us. Then send us out to become the more literal us. Our personalities, our unique traits. What kind of star we grow to be. Our stars are formed in plooms of material that come together to create a natural nuclear power plant that will one day explode just like we do. Our lives are the lives of galaxies, of gods themselves. Each one of us a magical mystery as to how we came about. We are purposefully blind to what lay behind the curtain. It is far too terrifying to take a peek at. We dare not cast a gaze to see the deepest mechanisms. We mar our papers to explore us. To explore who we are and what we are. Building our selves on words made from words made from words made from people who lived long long ago. Words that lose their meaning when spoken too often. Words that people rarely use. Words that we understand; they spill onto the page in front of you. These words are what make you you, and what make me me. These words are meaningless when we peer behind the curtains. When we take the bravest deepest breaths we can to see how it works. When we do we're blinded by the awe that we absorb. We glean bits and pieces with each wonderful gaze. Eventually we come to find out there is no up, nor down. We are made of stars, which were made from stars, who were made from stars, exploding and coalescing over and over and over. Creating new elements, new ideas. Creating new pieces of a reality we know. That we're all terrified to realize we're only human. That all of the events to allow us to be reading these words, to be processing them and comprehending them on the level you are currently, has kept you alive and brought you to this. That there may be such a thing as fate. That maybe not everything is up to random chance, that not everything can be explained with numbers, science, logic... Certain things defy us. Certain things will, possibly, forever perplex us. We may never know. We may some day know. We ask interesting questions that in reality are pretentious. We ask these questions not out of curiosity, but out of the deep desire to sound fascinating. To sound, "deep". As if we understand more than we do. In reality, these questions are meaningless and based in a reality where they need not be asked or answered. The meaning of life, for example... Currently you're either reading this in a digital format or on the remnants of a dead tree. Either way the technological advancements of our society and our species with its advantages of bigger brains that learn and devour information and ask silly questions like, "what happens after death?" has given us the opportunity to create this: this essay. If it is a digital format this is comprised a language of zeros and ones, ons and offs, sparks of something and a sheer lack of something. If you're reading on a traditional format, on paper, you're reading the tattooed remains of a tree that spent its life growing up to be killed by an outside force, that outside force being a human doing his or her job to earn currency to pay for things that they can't just trade for. The meaning of life in either format brings us to this conclusion: We are human. We control what we shouldn't be messing with for our own gain. These zeros and ones, they share the information. They share my dreams, my opinions, they are an embodiment of me. This flake of tree that I have called my own, that I have drawn on with ink produced from a machine built by man through our incredible progress and evolution of technology, this is still me. This is a me printed on a dead thing. And one day I'll be a dead thing. We will all return to what made us, just as stars do. But that's the beauty of this pretentious mess of an essay. We're all star dust, too terrified and living for too short a period of time to realize such. We benefit not from this philosophy directly so we ignore it. Shove it to the side. We are a collective mess of science, math, luck and outside forces we have yet to explain. We're all beautiful in that we all come from stars. That we will one day be dispersed back into what we came from, and what helped make us. We are the star dust that made the water, the plants, the air, the everything we so much as come in contact with. We are all stars. And we all end with a big, epic, bang that leaves those who knew about us crying as they watch our atoms and our collective dust return to the other collective dust. Some cry, some cheer, every one moves on. Eventually their big epic bang comes too. We all have our own. But who cares. We live with a perception of reality on a fixed point in space that will never be drastically farther away or drastically closer. We have our up, we have our down. There is a left, there is a right. But there would be none of this if we never dreamed to begin with. If we never asked those pretentious questions as to the meaning of life. If we never ended the lives of trees living their humble silent days, if we never put our thoughts outside of our minds, if we never threw rocks at one another, later swords and arrows... We would never be reading ones and zeros. Or printed ink on my flake. The blank page is the canvas to all. It is the beginning of all literary works. It is where we explore our selves. Where we make our dreams a reality. Where we see our reality in a different light. We are star dust, reading star dust.

#essay #being a pretentious fuck just like i said we all are #philosophy

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