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fatecanberewritten-writer · 9 months

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Card Tricks | Chapter Three: Stuck

Stars Series | Card Tricks

Trigger Warning: Suicide

The eighteenth of December always seemed colder than any other day. As a day caught between autumn and winter, the actual temperature of it was relatively mild for the season. She’s seen it cloudy, raining, snowy, and even clear, but no matter how bright the sun shined or reflected off the frost, the eighteenth of December was always dark and colder than anything. To Laine Gladden, at least.

The sun was bright and filtered as she set out that morning. With the sun just over the horizon, the town was quiet, most of it still asleep. Since leaving school, Laine began to like mornings more and more, especially in this town - she could walk around and feel like she was the only soul in her neighborhood. She was finally able to understand why her mother would wake so early to watch the sunrise.

She wore a worn pair of black jeans, a long-sleeved shirt with holes in the sleeves, faux-leather boots she’s had since she was fifteen, and a maroon pullover with a school logo no one in this town recognized anymore. The sleeves of the pullover were pulled up over her hands, only her fingertips poking out. Her right hand was empty. In her left, a bouquet of reddish-orange chrysanthemums was held loosely at her side.

She heard the chiming of the bells long before she saw the church, but by the sixth and final chime, she stood at the gate of the churchyard. Here, she paused. The small graveyard hadn’t changed much with the exception of a few new plots. The same century-aged, hardly legible headstones loomed in the front; the same plant overgrowth, dead with the season but inevitable to be reborn in the spring, crept up the walls of the church; the same moss bloomed on the short stone walls the separated the yard from the street, despite how often children would pick at it as they walked home from school. If St. Catchpole’s Church hadn’t changed, then it only made sense that she did, because the headstones and steeples that once towered over her, casting her in their shadows, now seemed miniscule. She took a deep breath, visible in the cold, and pushed open the gate.

She wove through the headstones blindly, almost habitually, until she reached the north-eastern most corner of the yard. She knelt down to the flat marker that seemed to be set apart from the rest of the graves and started at clearing away the frosty, overgrown grass that obscured it. While the rest of the churchyard was well-maintained, this back corner and the few graves that resided here always seemed to be forgotten by the groundskeepers. Laine knew why, of course.

Slowly, the engraving became visible once again. When it was clear enough, Laine laid the chrysanthemums over top of it so that they framed the words Irene Murphy, beloved wife and mother, 4 May 1955 - 18 December 1990. She mustered a small smile and sat cross-legged at the base of her mother’s grave. The first tear of the day cascaded down her cheek, but she quickly wiped it away.

“Hey Mum,” she said quietly, staring at the name ‘Irene.’ Aside from the wind, her voice was the only sound in the world. “Six years already, can you believe it?” She paused, as if waiting for a response. After a silent moment, she scoffed, shaking her head as another tear fell. “I don’t know why I thought this would get easier. It’s gotten better - I’ve gotten better, I mean. Most days are alright, normal even, if you could call it that, but today,” she sucked in a painful breath, and when she closed her eyes, she could still see the tall, slender figure standing too close to the edge, “it always feels like it did that day.”

Alone in the graveyard, Laine sat with the headstone of her mother for nearly an hour. She didn’t talk much after her initial greeting, but when she did, it was fairly impersonal. She told her about the spring and its blooming wildflowers; about the summer and its bright blue skies; about the autumn and its changing leaves - but she didn’t bother with winter. Winters were cursed long before Irene Murphy stepped off that bridge.

By the time the church bell chimed at seven, Laine had finally pulled herself away from the graveyard. The shadow of grief hung over her as she walked away, but as she turned the corner out of the church’s view, her head was held high, and she was the Laine Gladden that the town could recognize again.

She was focused, making a list of what she had to do before the shop she worked at opened at nine. It wasn’t a very long list, but she knew today well enough to know that even the simplest of things wouldn’t be simple at all. With two hours to spare, she had to shower, get ready, walk the dog, and attempt to consume something more than coffee. Laine should be heading home, but again, she knew better.

She didn’t even bother looking into the windows as she approached the pub, and sighing, she knocked on the thick wooden door. Footsteps approached like she was expected - hell, at this point, she was - and the door swung open.

After a stiff silence, the kind-faced woman offered her a small, almost guilty smile. “Good morning,” she greeted, stepping aside to let Laine in.

“You’ve got to stop doing this, Millie.”

Millie Cook was a woman who looked like she would fit in better at a school, surrounded by young, eager children, than in a bar, surrounded by men who didn’t want to go home to their wives, but here she was. Laine had never fully understood how The Ottery came to be in her possession or why in God’s name she even wanted it. Millie was too good for the drunks in this town - the one currently asleep in the corner booth especially.

“I know,” Millie started, wringing the towel in her hands. Laine strode over to the whiskey-smelling man and shook his shoulder. He did little more than groan. “It’s just, I - ” her hand still on the man’s shoulder, Laine looked back over her own, her eyes locking with Millie’s dull blue ones - “I know what today is.”

With almost a grimace, Laine turned sharply back to the sleeping man, her hair curtaining around her pale face. “Bobby,” she barked. The man grunted again, but didn’t show any other sign of consciousness. Exhaling sharply in annoyance, Laine turned back to Millie. “Could I get a glass of water and a towel?”

The woman had been sympathetically gazing at Bobby, but at Laine’s words, she stood straight, as if she had been doing something wrong. It took her a second to process her request, but as she did, she nodded in response and scampered behind the bar. She emerged a minute later with the requested items.

She had the slightest hesitation as she handed them to Laine, having an idea of what she was going to do, but still, she didn’t protest as the girl took them from her hands. Millie grimaced, looking away as Laine emptied the contents of the cup onto Bobby’s sleeping head.

“Fucking hell!” the man screamed as he sat bolt upright, his Irish accent coming out strong despite being parted from the Emerald Isle for nearly thirty years. His wide blue eyes immediately fixed on Laine, who hadn’t even flinched. “You tryin’ to waterboard me or something?”

“Not today, Bobby, not today,” Laine drawled, her eyes tired and unfocused. She threw the hand towel at his chest. “Clean up your mess,” she ordered, pushing herself up and away from him. “Millie already let you sleep here, you’re not going to make her clean up after you, too.”

Still high-strung from his rude awakening, Bobby looked incredulously after the girl as she walked away. “Don’t you go bossing me around, Lainey, I’m the parent here!”

Halfway down the bar, Laine scoffed. “Yeah?” she spun around to face him, her lips pursed. “Then fucking act like it.”

With Bobby dumbfounded and Millie pressed against the bar like she wanted to disappear into it, Laine walked straight to the door, not bothering to look back as she slammed the door behind her. Outside The Ottery, the girl paced back and forth in the soft light of a new day. Up ahead at the main street, she could tell that the town was waking up, and as she heard the tires against the pavement, or the soft chatter of children on their way to school, or the happy panting of a dog on its morning walk, she had the sudden desire to punch something. It’s not fair, she thought to herself, it’s not fair that to everyone else it’s a regular morning while I feel like I’m drowning. She felt a shudder work its way up from deep within her chest and she stopped her pacing to attempt to calm herself down. She was audibly hyperventilating when the door to the pub opened again.

Though he had woken with a start, Bobby couldn’t deny that he actually still felt a little drunk as he soaked up the water his step-daughter had poured on him. He apologized to Millie as best he could and stumbled to the door, but when he looked out and saw tears streaming down Laine’s face, he sobered up in an instant. He rushed down the stairs and pulled her into his arms.

All resentments out of both their minds, Laine sunk into the arms of the man who raised her, falling into a place of vulnerability very, very few got to see. “I thought it would be easier by now,” she spoke through sobs.

Bobby held her tighter, trying his best not to fall apart as well. “I know, sweetheart, I know.”

Laine closed her eyes so tightly she saw stars and said nothing. Had it been anyone else, she would have protested, fought them, pushed them away - but Bobby Murphy was the only person in the world that did know.

When they had both calmed enough to stand on their own, Bobby and Laine started home. Bobby apologized for staying out all night again, Laine apologized for losing her temper, and then they fell into an easy conversation until they had made it home. With an hour and a quarter to spare, Laine started on her short list of things to do, and however painful, she did each and every one of them. She said goodbye to her sluggish, hungover step-father, pet the head of her ever-happy golden retriever, and set out for her day.

The bell on the door of The Written Word chimed in time with the first of nine church bells and Laine pushed her way in. “Morning,” she called out. She could hear the tea kettle whistling in the back room.

“Morning Laine,” her boss, Bea, called out. “Can you open up shop? I’ve got to call about that late shipment.”

“Sure,” she answered, pulling off her gloves and shoving them into her jacket pocket. She warmed her still-cold hands with her breath before flipping the small sign in the window from ‘closed’ to ‘open’ and making her way around the shop. Though she’s only been working here for a few months, Laine knew the paper shop like the back of her hand. She wasn’t much into stationery, but her best friend had always been obsessed, and they would spend many of their afternoons in this shop well before Laine started working here. It had actually been through Lizabett that Laine had gotten this job, taking over her position when she finally decided that she did want to go to Uni.

With everything in place, Laine settled herself behind the counter, removing her coat and helping herself to a cup of tea. It wasn’t long before Bea came out from the backroom, a frustrated look on her face.

“Everything alright?” Laine asked with raised eyebrows.

“A bunch of pansies, the lot of them!” Bea exclaimed, throwing the phone angrily back onto its receiver. “They’re worried about some supposed snow storm, so they’re delaying our shipment until January!”

Laine quickly matched her frustration. “We’re not supposed to be getting heavy snow for another week, at least!”

“I know!” the short woman exclaimed, pacing. “They’re acting like they’re shipping from bloody Scotland - it’s from London. That’s a day trip at most! I could drive there myself, and - ” she stopped very suddenly, an idea dawning on her - “I could drive there myself.”

Her wide brown eyes shot up to meet Laine’s, and Laine knew what she was going to say in an instant. “You’re going to drive up there, aren’t you.”

“I sure as hell am!” Bea exclaimed, grabbing her coat and her keys. “The holidays are when we’re at our busiest - I am not going to run out of inventory. I know you’ve only been here a few months, but would you be comfortable - ?”

“Of course,” Laine answered immediately. “Go show those suits in London who’s boss.”

“I knew there was a reason I hired you,” Bea chuckled, wrapping one arm around her shoulders. As she pulled away, she handed Laine a set of keys. “Lock up when you leave for lunch, but I should be back before closing. Call if you need anything - I can always have Murray swing by.”

Bea was in the car to London not five minutes later, leaving Laine to her own devices.

All alone, Laine let her preformative smile fade and let her chin rest in the palm of her hand. She did her daily tasks - stocking, cleaning, inventory - but without the interaction between herself and Bea, she finished in no more than an hour and a half. She retreated back behind the counter, sitting blank-faced with her hand supporting her head again, unconsciously staring at the sympathy cards. She longed for a break in the monotony, but not a single customer came in that morning.

By lunch, she traded blank stares at pale blue cards with pink flowers and sorry for your losses for blank stares at graveyards, sitting at a cold bench across the street from the church. She thought of nothing but going in to see her mother again for her entire lunch hour, but she sat frozen as a statue on the bench, her lunch forgotten. Her face was flushed from the cold by the time the church bells chimed and she made her way back to the store.

She walked along Main street with a quickness to her stride, unsure if she was rushing to get back to the store or put distance between herself and the church. Her mind was racing, her heart beating so loudly she could feel it pumping. Unlocking the door and flipping the sign to open once again, Laine hurried back behind the counter and sat at the register, breathing deeply. She had finally realized something.

Laine Gladden was stuck. She couldn’t get off that bench, she couldn’t look away from that card, she can’t get out of this damned town. As a kid, all she could talk about was going out and seeing the world. She knew there was so much more out there, and her plan, ever since she was seven years old, was to leave as soon as she finished school. She’d been out of school for a year and a half now. Most of her classmates had left as soon as they had gotten their diplomas, escaping to university or to London or anywhere other than Ottery St Catchpole, but Laine was still here, and she was beginning to think she always would be.

Her eyes closed, all she could see was the bridge and the lone figure that stood at its edge. There had been a fog so dense that she couldn’t even see the river below, but she could see her mother so clearly. She had turned to face her, her face almost unrecognizable, and Laine had slowly realized what was happening. She said something, like a whisper lost in the fog, but Laine hadn’t heard her as she ran, trying to reach her. She stepped off into the fog just before she got to her.

Her eyes shot open as she heard the bell on the door chime, tearing her out of the memory. She didn’t know if she was grateful or not, but she was thanking God that the card displays hid her from the customer’s view. She got the briefest glimpse of red hair over top of it.

#card tricks #ct #stars series #fatecanberewritten #fatecanberewritten-writer #fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #george weasley fanfiction #ao3 fanfiction #wattpad fanfiction #tw: suicide #oc: laine gladden #oc: millie cook #oc: bobby murphy #oc: bea codsworth #fred weasley #george weasley

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gastricotv · 2 years

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#chuvrches #sons and daughters #protection #still love you #new music #musica nueva #music #musica #laine cook #scott paterson

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avatarkv · 8 months

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EVERY CORNER OF THIS HOUSE IS HAUNTED. (4)

Synopsis ! Jake had taken you as his own after Tsu'tey's passing, leaving no one to care for you. Things had been good before your relationship with him had blurred along growing of age. You and him fought all the time; argued each other's ear off and tonight was no different-- except words have been said, severing the already damaged bond. Content & warning Jake sully x Daughter!Reader, Sully kids x Sister!Reader Neytiri x Daughter!Reader. Mentions of violence and death. (wc: 4955 )

Neytiri was up early– too early.

She ran her hands tiredly over her face, her fingernails barely grazing the creases of her skin. Her eyes felt heavy, but it wasn’t tiredness that forced itself to weigh on her lids– it was the dread that continued to settle in; she could hardly make out the sound of the pot blowing out steam, rising in pitch with the soup threatening to boil over. The lid covering the kitchen pan was shaking fiercely, trying desperately to contain itself.

No, who was she kidding? She had lain awake all night, tossing and turning in her hammock. Not a single wink of sleep had been granted to her.

Neytiri swore her heart cried every time she took a deep breath, gravelly gasping along her. She couldn’t sleep even if she wanted to– not when tuk-tuk quivered in her embrace the whole night; the slightest movement made her flinch and the softest touch made her cry. It was gut-wrenching, the thought that her own child felt no safety in the arms of their mother.

Not my children, eywa. Not them too.

War had started long before her mate had come, Neytiri couldn’t blame him– but sometimes, late at night when the only sounds that grace her ears are the thoughts running through her head, she dreams of a life away from the wildfire and bullets; a life where she had fulfilled her mother's desires and took Tsu'tey’s hand instead. Every once in a while, the idea pierces her heart as she finds herself tucked in between Jake’s embrace. It felt wrong to think so, like being unfaithful, but not quite.

Tsu’tey was never someone who crossed her thoughts as a person that had gotten away from her, nor had she ever been attracted to him in a romantic way. It would’ve been an union of convenience; for the clan and the people itself. They would be unhappy– unhappy and awfully miserable. With Jake, it was something else entirely; like marriage had more meaning to it rather than a simple alliance. Sure, it was miserable, but they were happy– she was happy. Neytiri could never resent her mate, not when they’ve come so far already.

However, in terms of her children’s well-being, she couldn’t help but think if Jake was the bane of it all– the root of every bad thing that has happened to them. There were no softer words to lay it out, but they deserved better. Her children deserved none of this war.

She was crying again– crying for them. She let the beads of tears roll down her cheek as she stared afar with not a single coherent thought behind her eyes.

It was no surprise that Neteyam was already up with the sun rising. He moved quickly, quietly lowering the fire and lifting the lid of the pot with caution— hissing when its hot liquid splashed onto his skin. With a concerned look on his face, he glanced over at his mother who sat an arm’s length away from the very stove; how could she not have heard the loud cackle of her own cooking? He was sure it would’ve caused a wildfire if not for him.

He slowly moved closer to Neytiri, gingerly reaching out and nudging her with his fingertips. He was mindful not to startle her already tired state. “Sa’nok– sa’nok?” Neteyam called out to her, “Sa’nok, are you okay?”

Neytiri stirred just slightly, turning her head to view the worried face of her eldest. Her lips thinned involuntarily, a feeling of relief washing over her; her children were here, safe and sound. Nothing will happen to them– not ever. As long as she lived, they will never be harmed ever again. No demon would take this away from her.

A wave of panic swept over her as she finally realized that she had been cooking before. She quickly turned back to see a billowing cloud of smoke rising from its surface. Neytiri cursed under her breath as her small attempts at fanning away the fog that had settled upon the area were to no avail, finding herself in a fit of coughing. “Why don’t you get y/n?” She requested, voice strained. “She can help with breakfast.”

With a heavy sigh, Neteyam could only nod, quickly leaving.

Right, y/n– you. When was it never about you?

Neteyam grumbled as he dragged his feet towards their thatched hut, kicking at every pebble that came across his path with a grunt. It wasn’t you who had woken up early to assist Neytiri nor was the one who had stopped fire from possibly spreading and yet, your name just had to be the first he’d heard today.

It was you. Always you.

Neteyam would be a big fat liar if he said it didn’t affect him. He saw you as a parasite – a damn leech that was draining the life out of everyone around him. He couldn't understand why you had to be so selfish and callous; why you were unable to look past Jake’s reprimands when all he desired was your well-being or how you had driven his own mother to such anguish that it became her own undoing.

You weren’t a kid anymore. On top of that, you weren’t theirs– so why had you always been on top of their priority? Why had you become a chore?

But never his, oddly enough. You were too good for him and he hated that.

(Heavy steps thudded behind Jake as Neteyam trailed, his disappointment palpable. He had been unsuccessful in his mission to persuade his father to let him come along on today’s expedition, always quick to dismiss him. He had gone through all the training, but what was the point if he still wouldn't be able to put it into practice?

Being olo’eyktan one day will never feel rewarding.

“It’s too dangerous, Neteyam.” Jake grumbled under his breath, eyes never meeting his as he gathered his arrows. “I need you here. Make sure Lo’ak doesn’t follow– do you copy?”

Neteyam couldn't help but wince when he remembered the time they had failed to be spotters, but it was just that one time– why couldn’t he let it go? It weighed down heavily on his conscience; the mistake that even still, months later, sent shame prickling on every fiber of his being.

Jake expected a copy in return– a curt yes-sir but Neteyam was silent. He finally urged himself to look up, only to see both his eldest locked in an intense stare, eyes never wavering nor breaking away from one another.

It clicked almost instantly the moment you walked through the flap of the hunt, clutching on the strap of your woven bag that held your own weapons. The war-paint drawn across your face had been the salt on the already deep cut of his– you were coming. Jake had asked you to come and he wasn’t.

You were looking down at him, Neteyam was sure of it; judging him, and no doubt thinking of how much he had failed himself. His sense of shame deepened as he saw the derision in your expression, feeling more exposed than ever before. He wanted to disappear right then and there, anything to escape this moment that felt like an eternity.

But you were there. You always were– and you could see straight through him.

If only he knew how different your mind worked– how you desperately ached for the same concern Jake had for his son. You wanted him to understand the immense longing to be seen in the same light that he was in, to receive even a fraction of his unwavering affection; wanted Jake to care enough that this could be the last hunt he would have with you, that you could get hurt or worse.

Jake was worried enough to sit his golden-child down; the one with capabilities greater than those warriors years older than him– the one he would make olo’eyktan someday.

Not you. Never you.

Neteyam was the first to turn away, a deep rugged grunt leaving his lips as he nodded once.

“Lima charlie.” )

What really messed with his head was that, despite his obvious resentment, he couldn’t actually bring himself to truly despise you the way he felt he should. Every time Neteyam looks at you, he swears he only sees himself– the same child that only yearns for the recognition of a father. There is a reflection of each other in the two of you that binds you nonetheless.

He wanted to truly look up to you; he wanted what Lo’ak, Kiri, and Tuk felt when they were with you– to have someone older, to feel as if the weight on his shoulders wasn’t his alone. Neteyam tried, he really did, but as much as you were there, you also weren’t.

It wasn’t always like this. Your relationship with him wasn’t built entirely on rivalry– he knows he had something more familial with you before, but whatever it was had blurred along age. As much as he wanted to come closer, you were always two steps ahead of him. To you, he will always be olo’eyktan– but never a brother.

It was a harsh reality– the same hands that cradled him when he was small couldn’t even look at him the same; like he had grown so ugly that you couldn’t recognize him at all. You didn’t even want to fly your ikran with him, nor did you want to train the same time he did.

He hated you, but not quite– he could never hate his sister. You were more of a stranger now that lived under the same roof as him and it was better than to perceive you as someone rather horrible– but that was what you were. A horrible, horrible stranger. Someone who saved him once from trouble and handed him years of headache in return.

You were a horrible sister. That’s what you are.

(“Tsmuke, what do I do?”

You couldn't believe your eyes as you gazed down at the mess on the floor of the hut. Beads were all over, and what used to be a clay tray laid shattered into several pieces. Neteyam stood still in midst of it all— the culprit of such doing evident. Your brain wracked itself to move, to do something.

“This is sa’nok’s favorite necklace. She told me to come get it for her, but the shelf was too high–” Neteyam spoke in a rush, hands gesturing wildly as he talked. His face crumpled in worry and his brow furrowed with frustration.

"’Teyam, don't move!" you said in a hurry, alarmed at the thought of him taking a step forward. Moving quickly to his side, you gently stopped him from doing so and scooped him up under his armpits. He was heavy in your arms as you stood there with him, but the shards beneath were sharp enough to cut skin. You grunted as you moved him aside.

"Tsmuke, what are we going to do?" He asked again, his voice running high with worry.

You tried to think of another solution, assessing the situation once more. You glanced at him and said, "I'm going to tell ma I broke it so she won't be mad at you." You quickly search for something sturdy enough to scoop the pieces off the floor. Maybe you can redo the necklace, but there was no salvaging the tray.

“But I broke it– she’ll know.” He visibly deflates, not exactly thrilled about not being truthful to Neytiri.

“Only if you tell her.” You said, looking up at him with a slight smile, though your heart was racing. You felt terrible knowing that you were going to disappoint Neytiri, especially since her beloved necklace had snapped– but something about your little brother's worry-stricken expression tugged on your heartstrings. You understood why her scolding was necessary, but it felt wrong to leave him alone to bear the brunt of it. “This will be our little lie, okay?”

“Lie?”

You immediately dismiss him, gesturing impatiently for him to exit the hut as quickly as possible. “I’ll tell you about it later, but you have to promise now that whatever mom says, just know that I broke it.”

He only offered a subtle nod in response, his eyes glossed over as he nervously played with his hands.

“Say it, ‘teyam. She’ll be back any minute now!”

"You broke it!" Neteyam had shouted and almost as if in response, Neytiri had walked in through the hut's entrance, all but gasping as she took in the sight before her– shards of what once held her jewelry now on the floor. She stumbled slightly as she carried the basket of fruits, before dropping it to the ground and quickly scurrying over towards you.

The scolding you got was harsh, but Neytiri couldn't do much other than wrap her arms around you and sigh. You were just a kid, after all. Mistakes like these are inevitable and all she could do was understand.

Neteyam was patiently waiting just outside the doorway, swinging his legs back and forth as he listened with a heavy heart. He awfully felt guilty. You sat with him moments later.

“Why did you do that?” He quietly asked.

You looked at him with a confused face, “Do what?”

"Lie." He says, his accent making the word feel awkward in his mouth. It was unfamiliar to him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You only say, casually shrugging as you swung your legs along his. Little Neteyam looked at you with the most confused face; eyebrows furrowing and the creases in between deepening as he tried to make sense of everything that had happened.

But then you glanced at him again– winked and gave a small giggle.

And only there did he understand. He leaned his head on your shoulder.

“Thank you, y/n.” )

Neteyam didn’t even realize he had finally reached home. He stared at the flap of the hut, unable to let himself in, despite living here ever since. He wasn’t exactly thrilled about having a moment alone with you– not when the thoughts that ran through his head had been unpretty.

He knows damn well Eywa could strike him down if she heard herself.

He sighed, “Y/n? Sa’nok asks for you.” He softly said, waiting for a reply. You had never been a deep sleeper; any little noise would bring you right back to consciousness. Every creak from the floor, every whisper and murmur from outside, even the lightest rustling of leaves would startle you wide awake in an instant. Neteyam knew of that, knew of the many sleepless nights you had. You had the habit of scratching the walls of the hut, carving who-knows-what on its surface. It kept him from being able to get any rest himself.

When only silence greeted him, he finally urged himself to go inside only to be met with an empty space.

Your absence now felt different to the other times when you had gone for a stroll through the forest or set out to train before dawn. It was not like that this time, and Neteyam felt it deeply. He frantically rummaged through the hut, searching every nook and cranny for anything that you possessed. Nothing. Neteyam stood at the center of the room, taking in the now cluttered room.

His fingers nervously reached up to the intercom on his ears. A voice crackled over the device, "Sir, is y/n with you? Over." He took a deep breath as he glanced around once more.

Almost quickly, Jake answered. “No, she should be back at the hut.”

Neteyam gulped, “She isn’t– nor any of her things are. What do I do?”

“You– you! You let this happen, Jake!”

After spending hours on scouring the forest for any trace of you, they had finally concluded that you had chosen to leave of your own accord. This was not something that anyone wanted to believe and yet it seemed like the only option left; none of your things were to be seen back at home, or at least those that were valuable to you— your worn-out saddlebag, the wooden bowl that you had carved yourself, weapons. All of it. Soon, eclipse neared and everyone was tired.

Neytiri was quick on her feet. As soon as Jake had returned from the south, she lunged at him – pushing him forcefully with a look he didn’t want to come home to. He attempted to grasp onto both her forearms, wanting desperately to soothe– but, try as he might, she continually knocked away his hands with increasingly greater force. It was like his very touch had burnt her skin; the same hands that held her children.

“What did you do? What did you say?” Her panicked voice quivered as she asked in desperation. She felt her breath quicken, body absolutely worn out from everything that had happened. Neytiri’s tear-stained face was like a punch to his already battered heart. He had caused this. Jake had finally pushed you away.

“One thing I asked of you– and this one thing you couldn’t do!” Each word that left her mouth was accompanied by a strike to his chest, not enough to cause any physical pain but enough to emphasize the anger he knew he had been keeping to herself for years. Neytiri was patient with him– understanding. Jake had pushed the limits of what she was capable of doing for him and this was the very consequence.

Shame. Nothing but shame.

People were watching– warriors that had accompanied him on the search and lingering eyes of the clan, but he couldn’t care less. Jake allowed her to hit him, he let her push him around; it was better for him if she inflicted the pain instead of harboring it. He’d let the people talk for all he cared. He failed as an olo’eyktan and as a father.

Let everyone know he failed his eldest.

“I did talk to her, please listen to me.” He begged, his pleadings faint. He desperately tried to reach out and grasp Neytiri's arm, yet his hands seemed unable to find the strength to hold her. His voice quivered as he spoke, fragile and hesitant in its delivery.

“Tell me how exactly!”

And he couldn’t answer that. Not when he made the crucial mistake of not checking the hut beforehand. Maybe if he did, he would’ve known you had run away– maybe he could’ve gotten to you. The fact that you weren’t able to hear his vulnerability was a different heartbreak he refused to acknowledge. You were never there to begin with.

When Neytiri saw that Jake had nothing to say in response, she was rendered speechless. Her hands flew up to cover her mouth as she tried to muffle the cry that threatened to escape her throat. She frantically paced around, harshly tugging on her braids. Jake could only close his eyes, shoulders slumping in defeat. He stood there, stunned in silence.

“My daughter, Jake! My daughter is out there with those– those demons scattered! She could be lost– dead! Do you not understand?”

Dead. You could be dead. Jake refused to close his eyes, hoping he could keep the thought at bay. But it came back again and again, wriggling its way into his mind like a snake. He let his heavy eyelids shut and instantly, he was presented with a vision of you in the dark - his sweet babygirl, lying there lifeless. It would be his fault. The blood would be on his hands.

"Ma, please," Neteyam had spoken, his voice gentle in a bid to soothe his mother. He tried desperately to soften the blows, carefully pulling her away from Jake. It was Neteyam that calmed Neytiri and all he could do was stand and let it happen– what the hell was he doing? How could he fail so miserably? His eldest had to step in and do his job, his pride and joy.

His gaze drifted across to where his other children were, huddled together on the corner. They looked bewildered at what they were hearing, unsure of what to make of it all. It seized him, squeezing what’s left of its already limp heart. Tuk was nestled in Kiri’s protective embrace, asking her– trying to understand. She asks of you, where have you gone?

A father protects, that’s what gives him meaning and Jake Sully has done the opposite– ushering you to danger.

“Have we failed them, Jake? Have I been a horrible mother?” Neytiri asked, her voice now barely above a whisper. She tried to be gentle with pushing Neteyam away, attempting to continue nonetheless. Jake placed a firm hand on his son's tense shoulders, and he gave him a subtle tilt of the head. He could see the battle that was raging inside of his young boy's head, between wanting to do what he felt was right and obeying his father's instructions. “Jake what have we done?”

Your mother needs this, his eyes try to tell him, go. Neteyam reluctantly steps back, deciding it was better to return to the others.

“Look for her again. Send out everyone this instant!” She sobs, pounding her fists against Jake’s chest in a desperate attempt to get her point across. Her neck is strained with veins popping out and bulging eyes filled with desperation, pleading him to understand. Each beat of her fists matched the intensity of her wails, no amount of tears ever seeming to be enough.

Neytiri takes a heavy inhale once more, “I beg of you, Jake Sully. Find our daughter, bring her back home.”

His gaze finally met hers and the feeling it brought was more than he could bear. He had to make a decision, another choice that would have to let her down again. “We can’t go looking for her now, Neytiri. We are already short on warriors, you know this.” He gently says, as if it was enough to soften the blow– but his eyes saw how her face slowly fell. He could clearly hear the telltale sound of her broken heart, shattering once more.

“I have to ensure everyone’s safety. Warriors are out scouring perimeters and we can’t risk one hold-up. Our family, Neytiri, I cannot risk our family,”

“She is our daughter!”

“And I am still olo’eyktan.” He was heartless. He was sure everyone thought so, but he had to be the one to make decisions. His composure was a mask that hid the fact that inside he was breaking apart; that he was failing– that he already had failed. If he let himself break down now, he might as well gamble everyone he loved.

Jake’s responsibilities weighed down heavily on his shoulders. Everyone was at stake– Quaritch was on the loose.

Neytiri told him he had a strong heart the moment they had met, but right now, it was stone-cold– shut off and mean. Not the compassionate man she had once saved. “I’m trying, Neytiri. I’ll get her home.” He tries to assure her, but the breathy shudder that left her lips only made him wince.

He was finally able to wrap his arms around her mate and when he did, it was tight– as if he was trying desperately to piece her back together. He closed his eyes once more, kissing the top of her head. “I promise. She’ll be back, I promise.”

You were out there. Alive. He had a chance.

Your mama’s crying for you, sweet child, come home.

“Mawey, Mawey!”

You found yourself in an unknown area. How you had gotten there, you could not explain. Your ikran, exhausted from the raging storm, needed some respite and so did you for that matter. After all, it would be cruel to deny her this much needed break even if it were just for a night. You only prayed that it’d be peaceful.

You searched the space for materials needed for fire, but the rain was ruthless and provided no light. You felt a chill as you curled up beneath the shade of the tree. Hugging your knees to your chest you tried to conserve warmth, shivering slightly as a gust of wind blew past. Nothing around you but darkness - no stars, no moonlight, and not even the bioluminescence around provided much warmth. This was it, you thought.

Should I go home instead? Have they even noticed that I’ve gone?

Why couldn't you just stay? Why couldn't you have simply kept it all down inside rather than running away? You had been content enough to stay silent before, content enough to ignore everything; what had been different now? It was home still— who were you kidding?

Thoughts ran unmercifully inside your head as you sat motionless.

You are never satisfied.

I miss my mom.

They deserve the heartache.

You should’ve listened instead– now look at where you are.

Why couldn’t they love me?

Maybe I should head back.

Father will be mad.

You wanted this– needed this. You had to prove yourself. There was no use crying over something small, a night had only passed.

The snapping of leaves and rustling of bushes pulled you abruptly back to reality, your head quickly turning in its direction. You had been lost in thought before the sound startled you; the somber pool of thoughts still eddying in your mind. But there was something else nestled in that pool now, taking up the space– fear. Genuine and terrible, terrible fear. You might never come home ever again. You will never see them again.

This was it, you thought, something that had been swirling around in the back of your mind since you’ve left now finally felt certain. You gripped your spear tightly in both hands.

The cry that ripped through the air was deafening, shaking every part of your being. It felt like each syllable ricocheted around your entire body; coursing through your veins and settling in the cavity of your chest. Even the ground seemed to tremble in response, shaking beneath your feet as you tried to keep composure. There was no mistaking it; it was an 'angtsìk— a particularly angry one, at that.

The loreyu that once surrounded you shriveled in response; coiling up and retracting to the ground, and then was gone completely, leaving you exposed to the hammerhead.

You were in a desperate situation. It didn't help either that you were unable to make out your surroundings– you were one on one with an 'angtsìk with nothing but a spear and a lousy handgun (that you don’t even know why you brought in the first place. It was small on the palm of your hand, but it was valuable to Jake– this couldn’t damage any animal even if you tried.)

Lifting your bow and arrow and preparing to shoot would be pointless. The threat could be just a moment away; it could pounce on you in the blink of an eye, leaving you as food for its prey before you even have time to process the danger.

You stood your ground, constantly shifting on your feet as you carefully backed away. You kept your gaze steadily ahead, refusing to break eye contact with the 'angtsìk– but when it roared again in response to your steps, you couldn't help but express your annoyance with a loud kiss of your teeth and an exasperated groan.

You did something that no one in a million years would ever consider or do– you ran straight towards it.

You stepped forward with your spear raised, shaking it threateningly in front of the strange creature that had been creeping closer. Your movements were frenzied, a frenetic attempt to scare it off and make it retreat back to where it had come from. You could feel your heart pounding against your rib cage as you readied yourself for whatever would come next. All around you, an eerie silence had descended upon the dank forest that seemed to be holding its breath in anticipation– watching both of you.

As it was poised to launch a counterattack, the creature suddenly halted; its gaze directed toward something past you with an expression of sheer terror, but your mind was too clouded for you to take any hint of the bigger threat skulking just behind you. You could feel the nervousness bubbling up from your chest, but before you knew it, a confident chuckle had escaped your lips that soon turned into fits of laughter, not believing how that foolish move of yours had made the 'angtsìk retreat.

“Yeah? Yeah! That’s right– you better run!” You yelled, brandishing the spear in your hands and waving it around in triumph. “Get your punk-ass back to mommy, penis-face!”

As the 'angtsìk disappeared into the distance, you allowed a sigh of relief to escape your lips. "You're not getting any of this, keep running!" You called out after it mockingly, putting your hands on your hips. In spite of this bravado, your heart was pounding and your knees were weak with fear– you were this close to give Eywa an early visit.

You slowly turned back, that’s when you finally saw it; the force with which the thicket of bushes violently parted around it, the palulukan emerging from behind. It was like all the air had been sucked from your lungs, and a chill ran through your body as a wave of fear engulfed you. Every part of you tensed up, and you could feel your soul being wrenched from within.

You looked at it like a poor deer in headlights, grip momentarily loosening around your spear.

If death knocked tonight, let it be instant.

NEVER BACK DOWN NEVER WHAT ?? ???? finally, after a month! (i am gonna be honest, i am this close to loosing interest in avatar.. jesus. i am holding onto crumbs people) this is so long overdue, but i hope it's good enough!

put so many references here, hope ppl can tell! teehee

not thoroughly edited so please feel free to point of any mistakes! thank you so much for being patient with me, until the next chapter loves! smooch <;3

(i removed tags that didn't work anymore :/ again, i am not taking anymore tags! please leave your notif on instead) tags: @reyalvr @sparklyphantom @iwanttohitmyself @planetslove @teyamsjustsleeping @grandgreengrapes @erensbbg @queen-dk @loaklvr @theyoungeagle @ducks118 @teyyyteyyy @yeosxxx @simply-lovely78 @ellabellabus07 @thehoneymushroomhealer @saturdayrj @kingjulian0o9 @hippiezworldz @joemamalackin @random-3455 @zoetrope1997 @cl0esblogg @anxietydrogz @lokisfirstandlastwife @lunyyx @blkmystery @marsbars09 @gcldtom @luna-salem @wolflover384 @mushy-mushroom04 @whatthemonsterfuckisthis @eternalidentity @celi-xxmoon @dumb-fawkin-bitch @pinkeroppi @mellowdiy @jimfiqs @ell0ra-br3kk3r @ayra2452008 @vodoo-heart @rose-brulante @starxao @bluevenus19 @entertain-my-lvst @wwwellacom @starjane312 @mona-aiko @audigay

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rachalixie · 1 year

Text

sleepy seungmin.

one of the most endearing things you’ve noticed about kim seungmin is how he looks when he sleeps.

how his drowsy eyes look up at you when he’s drifting in and out of consciousness, the one time where his guard is all the way down and he has no reservations in showing how enamored he is with you. how you can see through the clouds in his eyes straight into his soul.

how his soft lips purse a little bit when he’s deep in sleep, forming a cute little pout that you can barely resist the urge to kiss off of him. how they smack a little when he’s waking up, or when they edge open gently when he murmurs your name in his slumber.

how his hands curl up like little labrador paws when he holds them right up to his chest, like he’s protecting his heart from everyone (except for you, showing when his fingers slowly uncurl as he senses you near and they reach towards you in a silent plea for your touch).

how even when he’s in the loveliest of dreams he subconsciously nuzzles his head into your neck or the softness of your stomach or wherever he decided to settle into that day. how your presence against him, the feeling of your skin on his own, only makes that dream that much sweeter.

how he drifts off sometimes while standing, leaning on you while you’re cooking or washing dishes with his arms wrapped around your waist. his head is lain on your shoulder and his soft, slow puffs of breath tickle the hair around your ear as he snoozes. his weight slowly gets heavier until you’re holding him up, and you huff as you tap your hand to his cheek a few times until he startles awake, tightening his grip around you as he stumbles a bit.

how he falls asleep with his glasses on sometimes, a book left open on his chest and his hands flopped to the side as if he fell asleep mid-sentence. and, knowing him, that’s more likely than not. you’d remove his glasses gently from his face and pick the book up off his chest, bookmarking it (with a slip of paper, not by folding over the corner of the page, you didn’t want him to kill you). he sighs as the weight lifts, breath leaving in a slow exhale as he turns his head to the side, facing you now like a moth drawn to his own personal flame.

—

soft hours

#stray kids imagines #stray kids fluff #stray kids soft thoughts #soft #seungmin fluff #seungmin imagines #seungmin x y/n #seungmin x reader

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moonlight · 10 months

Text

OLIVIA COOKE as LAINE MORRIS

Ouija (2014) dir. Stiles White

#ouija #mine #filmedit #horroredit #ocookeedit #fyeahmovies #dailyflicks #femaledaily #uservee #userzil #userhers #userelm #usersugar #userhugh #underbetelgeuse

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honeygrahambitch · 1 year

Text

It had been easy to repress those thoughts in the 3 year period while Hannibal was locked up. Well, not easy but certainly not extremely hard either. There were, of course, times when everything would remind Will of him. Such as the times when Molly would ask him to cook with her. Or when he would drink a glass of wine. Each and every glass of wine carried Hannibal's presence. And then there were the letters and his immaculate writing. But in the back of Will's mind lived the idea that he could visit him whenever he wished to. He knew where he was. And that had been Hannibal's plan all along after all.

So the thoughts of abandonment were certainly not that strong, not at all as worse as they had been when Hannibal had left to Florence. Was surrendering to the FBI some kind of abandonment? Yes and no. Was leaving to Florence abandonment? Absolutely. The search, the depression he had to overcome, the longing, the endless nights of drinking and crying on the floor of his kitchen as if he was waiting for him to materialize in front of him and to touch his face like he had done that night. Those months had felt as if he had been stuck in a loop and was going to live that night again and again.

He had been the one to tell Hannibal a long time ago that "Abandonment requires expectations". And Hannibal had maybe been the only person Will had had expectations from. He had expected him not to leave him. Not like that. The stab itself hadn't been half as painful as the longing and need he had felt in the months afterwards.

And now all those thoughts were washing over Will again, one month after they had jumped off the cliff. What if he would leave again? And this time it would be for good. He knew he wouldn't be able to search for him. What if growing attached to him would end up just like the last time he did exactly that?

He craved him from all possible points of view and it was easy to tell that Hannibal did just the same. In fact, he was the one to usually initiate certain talks or physical touch. And Will wanted to give in. But what if he left again?

Half of him wanted to push him against the wall and kiss him for hours, to feel all of him, to finally heal those wounds, to finally trust the fact that he was his and his only and he was never going to leave him again.

The other half of him wanted to push him against the wall and yell at him for what he had put him through. For breaking him to crumbs. For all those nights when he had lain on the cold floor of his kitchen and had imaginary conversations with him and Abigail. Played on repeat. He wanted to scream and to cry and to blame him for abandoning him like a dog. Only that no one had been there to rescue him.

All these opposite feelings were roaming the halls of his memory palace. And he would sometimes zone out lost among the scenarios and memories. And there were times when he would be incredibly possessive. He would give deadly glares to every woman who would flirt with him. To everyone who would take him away from him. He knew he would even go as far as commit crimes just to make sure he would not lose him again.

And one morning he hadn't been able to leave the bed until he made a decision. He had had a nightmare about that night when his shaking voice had told Hannibal that he was supposed to leave.

He had walked to the kitchen where Hannibal was cooking. It was just like back then. Only that Will was not going to tell him that he was supposed to leave. With the same painful expression on his face and his shaking voice, he said something that made Hannibal stop everything he was doing.

"You weren't supposed to leave"

#yeah so #blame the others for this #hahaha enjoy #hannibal #hannigram #hannibal lecter #will graham #hannibal nbc #hannibal series #hannibal fanfiction #mads mikkelsen

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astrum-aetherium · 9 months

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hi dear

no because i love anything domestic and mundane and with henry even more.

you know those sweet little things. like washing the dishes, drying them, cooking, glances across the room, reading quietly together, falling asleep on his lap, oh and if i saw one of those small smiles adorning his lips i would never stop grinning ( or sobbing) while looking at him ( honest id love to see what he'd do if he saw me staring at him with a big smile upon seeing one of his smiles). i so so so need this.

im violently sobbing rn

-A

i, too, am immensely fond of domesticity and the simple things, specifically applied to a character as cool and otherwise indifferent as henry. it's very mellowing, so tender, and comforting beyond all comprehension. i wholeheartedly love the few ideas you've pitched in the request, they're marvelous. let me see what i can conjure up on the basis thereof.

doing the dishes for him after a long, taxing day; knowing he is merely situated in the adjacent room, working; being reassured of the fact by the waft of smoke curling its way into the kitchen. washing mugs that previously harbored tea he'd made for you, precisely the way you like it; drying plates that were previously used to serve a meal you'd brought from home for the two of you, a loving gesture he appreciated so much he couldn't help but press a gratuitous kiss into your forehead, specifically because he had been so busy lately he couldn't even bring himself to cook. but there you were, swooping in, and saving him from the brink of giving up on himself once more.

finishing up the dishes and tiredly lowering yourself into his couch with a book as he sits at his desk in the same room and continues working on something so tremendously important to him. flicking through the pages placidly, calmly, at utter peace — lighting yourself a cigarette when and if you feel like it, having wordlessly snuck one from the pack of luckies lain by his dominant hand. indirectly and passively listening to how he breathes, how his pen scratches ink into the firm paper, how he turns over book pages of his own and sighs every now and again with a heaviness that awakens sympathy in you. all the while, you read, immersed in either a story to get your mind off of your studies or matching henry in productivity by reading something on the curriculum.

soon enough, he would rise, and flick off the desktop lamp — thereby marking his work time done for now. without detaching your eyes from your book, you'd know that his would be looking for you, only because mere moments later, you'd feel his tired, large frame sinking into the very same couch you're curled up on. he would gently grab hold of your legs and place them on his lap, tenderly caressing them through the dark tights posing a barrier between his digits and your bare flesh. you'd sigh, then, laying your book aside — only to be met with a mellow, soft glance exuding from him. he'd smile upon having locked eyes with you, albeit lightly — tiredly. that smile would simultaneously cause your heart to swell and bleed, aware of how much relief your presence provides him but also due to the bitter recognition of how much he needs said relief in the first place due to constantly being burdened and plagued by his studies, his environment, and his problems.

"read that to me, please," he'd request, then, nodding at the book you will have lowered in your lap. "and come a little closer, if you'd like."

because of his kind, meager proposition, you'd be propped against his shoulder, his arms tenderly encasing your body, in no time. you'd be lowly reading to him, regardless of whether he is familiar with the content of the book or not; he would merely delight in listening to the velvety, quiet flow of your voice. every now and again, his lukewarm fingertips would drift across the stretch of your arm, your waist, or your legs — whatever he will be holding onto. once you would end up falling asleep on him in this way, he would slowly lull you into a more comfortable position, and then light himself a cigarette — descending into contemplation and worry once more, ready for yet another sleepless night, which would merely be sweetened by your warm and comforting presence asleep in his grasp.

#henry winter imagine #henry winter x reader #henry winter thirst #indulgent thoughts #astrum asks #i went off on this one okay oops #i need this very badly though #like wow wow wow craving this carnally #all i need is tenderness and domesticity #mr winter i NEED you #please let me have this #godddddddddddddd

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silassinclair · 1 year

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Can you do Dave Mustaine angst?

Maybe with his girlfriend threatening to leave him bc of his alcohol addiction?

If not it’s totally fine! :)

I have taken it upon myself to be the Dave Mustaine writer that the world needs. Thanks for requesting, and I hope this is to your liking <3

Please Don’t Leave Me

Upon entering your and Dave's shared apartment after the late shift the scent of alcohol hit your nostrils like a truck. It's been going on like this for a while. Having childhood trauma along with getting kicked from the band he put his heart and soul into only made him worse. And you understood, so you gave him space.

Over five months of space to be exact. But he didn't let up at all. His lain body was sunken into the couch with a bottle of jack loosely hung from his index and middle finger. The TV was playing MTV and what a coincidence, it was Metallica playing Four Horsemen. A song he wrote and worked his ass off on.

"You shouldn't be watching this. They're all dickheads." You walk up to the TV and twist the knob on the console, changing the channel to some random cooking channel.

A low growl and the thud of another empty bottle sounded. "I was fucking watching that." Dave said and got off the couch to stumble up. He walked to the TV but you held him by his shoulders in place.

"Stop it Dave. You're only destroying yourself. Can't you see what you're doing to yourself? What you're doing to us?" Your voice cracks in desperation. These have been the worst five months for you and your high school sweetheart. Everything felt like it was crashing down all at once.

"Oh stop being such a fucking sap!" He shot loudly and slapped your hands off him making you hold your stinging hands to yourself. "It's not my fucking fault! It's all because of my shitty old man and bat shit crazy Mother! They made me this way and those four, CUNTS-" He punched the wall making you yelp and reel back in fear.

"THOSE CUNTS ONLY FUELED MY FUCKING ANGER!"

By now his face was beating red. His snarl was animalistic and violent, everything about him was just pure drunken rage.

"D-Dave..." You whimpered in fear, voice cracking. Tears began to form in your e/c eyes. Dave has never hit you before, never lain a hand on you.

The man only huffed and puffed. His breathing ragged and shoulders rising up and down with every intake and exhale of air. His white knuckled fists were at his sides and his eyes pierced through you like knives.

This wasn't the love of your life anymore. This was someone else entirely. Someone Dave kept locked up in chains in the dark depths of his mind. But now it was free and it was ruining his life.

Ruining your life too.

“Dave. I don’t think this is working. With you like this.” You say as you turn your back on him to walk to your shared bedroom. Opening the closet you grab a duffel bag and stuff some clothes inside along with toiletries.

“Heyy…” Dave’s low voice said as he stumbled into the bedroom, he held onto the door frame for support. “What’re you doin there? And don’t you fuckin walk away from me.”

Ignoring him you continue stuffing your bag with your belongings. Slipping in some cassettes, photos, makeup, and other valuables.

“Hey!”

Dave grabbed your shoulder from behind and spun you around. This time he looked to be standing straighter. His tight expression loosened when he saw your own expression though. Tears were falling down your face and your mouth was in a wobbling frown that threatened to break into a sob.

“Y/n.. hey why you cryin’?” Dave slurred and reached to cup your cheek, but you flinched and backed away.

“H-Hey. I’m not gonna hurt you.” He said, his own eyes becoming glassy.

You turn back around and zip up the duffel bag and put the strap over your shoulder. Hurriedly you leave the room and grab your jacket and keys off the hook. Dave chases after you but doesn’t touch you.

“Talk to me baby. What’s wrong?”

With a final snap you whip around and poke a firm finger into his chest.

“YOU HAVE A LOT OF NERVE!”

He’s never seen you so angry. His Y/n, shy, sweet, and supportive of his dream. You’ve always been there for him and now here he was throwing it all away. The look of realization crosses his face.

“You slapped me, scream at me, lay around and drink, don’t pay rent, AND COMPLAIN AND COMPLAIN AND COMPLAIN FOR OVER FIVE MONTHS STRAIGHT! I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE DAVID, I CAN’T TAKE YOU ANYMORE.”

He’s in utter shock. Now he’s just about sober, or closest to sober he ever has been over the five months.

“Honey please understand that I-”

“UNDERSTAND AND GET THE FUCK OFF YOUR ASS AND DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT!” You push his form away from you. His outstretched hands pleading for your forgiveness fall to his sides.

“Is… Is this it for us?” He sniffles. No no no he can’t imagine a world without you.

Sighing and pinching your nose you nod. “Yes this is it. I can’t take it anymore so we’re done. We’re breaking up.”

“Anything but that Y/n, please baby I’m so fucking sorry.”

He reached up slowly to hold your face, when you didn’t back away this time he cupped both your cheeks and leaned in close.

“I’ll change. I’ll cut down the drinking, I’ll get a job, I’ll do whatever it takes to get you to stay with me. Just please,”

He dropped down on his knees and hugged your waist, burring his face in your tummy.

“please don’t leave me.”

Dropping your bag at your side you kneel down on his level and wrap your arms around him which he returns. Like a starved man he takes in your scent like it’s the last time he’ll ever have the opportunity. His tear stained face buried into your neck as small whimpers and pleads left his lips.

“One more chance Dave. But if I even so much as catch you doing drugs or drinking then we’re over. I’ll help you though okay?” Your fingers brushed his long locks. Feeling him nod you continue.

“We can do it together. It’s always been us right? Just you and me Dave. Your dream isn’t dead yet, you can still have your band and play your music.”

An excruciating cry left his lips. “What have I done? I don’t deserve you N/n..”

Pulling him off of you you gently caressed his puffy tear ridden face that reflected your own.

“Dave listen to me.” You wiped the stray hairs from his face. His glossy eyes looked into your own.

“I would never give up on you that easily okay? But you’ll have to accept my help. If you don’t accept my help then there’ll be no point.”

He nodded.

“So will you stop with all this drinking nonsense, get your act together, and chase your dreams?”

A smile that outshone glistening gold crept onto his face. “Hell yes.” He pulled you in close and kissed your lips lovingly.

“I can’t believe I went so long without your kisses… I missed you so much N/n, and I’m sorry I was away for so long.”

Wiping your tears away you smiled, “I’m glad you’re back love.”

#dave mustaine x reader #dave mustaine x you #dave mustaine #megadeth #metallica #angst

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