#Now we have to wonder is max over sixty years old? He was around before the collapse so what up | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

animepopheart · 3 years

Text

Wonder Egg Priority, Episode 7: The Scars to Prove It (or, Love for the Moms, the Cutters, and the Drunks)

Wonder Egg Priority (WEP) has felt like the successor to Puella Magi Madoka Magica in many ways throughout its run, but in episode seven, it almost went full Madomagi by driving the stakes to their utmost height—to the death of one of the main characters. But as has been consistent with WEP, what it did instead, after some moments of true worry, is to instead deliver hope in the face of pain, resolve against overwhelming circumstances, and strength in weakness.

The series returns to Rika Kawai’s story in this episode, which starts with her turning 14. And on her 14th birthday, after leaving her hungover mother halfway asleep at the bar she works at and which they call home, Rika opens up to the rest of the girls, explaining that she doesn’t know her father (it could be any of five possibilities, or even more) and her mom won’t reveal any further information about him. As she trashes her mom, Neiru and Momoe are incredulous, which only drives Rika away from them. And though Ai goes to comfort her, Rika is in a terrible state of mind as she enters her next fight.

This was a difficult episode to watch. They’ve all been somewhat hard since the series never shies away from brutal and violent situations impacting young people, but I found myself squirming especially here as Rika’s cutting takes center stage. At one point, she decides to cut herself and it seems certain she will, before her turtle-like partner, Mannen, prevents it from happening.

Challenging, also, is how strained Rika’s relationship is with her mother, who’s life revolves around drink—alcohol both pays the bills and helps her forget how miserable her existence is. And in the midst of all the bad behavior in this episode—the usual Rika talk, her mom’s alcoholism and neglect, and the selfishness all around, one begins to feel deeply sorrowful for the Kawai women. Yes, Rika is often obnoxious, but her family life is in shambles, and she still exhibits goodness, including a curiously gentle relationship with Mannen. And Rika’s mother is a tragic figure, used by men and quite on the road to an early death, it would seem, unable to lift herself out of the gutter as she tries, in her own sloppy way, to protect and reach out to her daughter.

It’s in this hopelessness that Rika turns again to cutting, and then finds herself tempted by something even more dangerous. Her foe this time is a religious leader who led the egg, a follower who continues to believe in him, to commit suicide as a way of “connecting” with the universe (Heaven’s Gate, anyone?). Rika decries the ghoul as a charlatan, but is confronted with her own weakness when the egg shows her own scarred arm to Rika, revealing that she can tell that the latter cuts just like she did. And then she explains that Rika can be released from this pain.

The scars, evidence of what Rika does to cope with her pain, now become the weakness that they truly are, revealing how hopeless she feels, and how powerless she is against the mechanizations of her family life. And defeated, she’s about to allow herself to be killed when a surprising savior comes along—a turtle. Mannen attacks the spiritual leader, to Rika’s surprise as well, until she remembers that he has imprinted on her. Rika is Mannen’s mom, and as he did when he prevented her from cutting, Mannen is again protecting his mother.

The conclusion that Rika reaches is unusual but inspiring. She understands, in this moment, the need to protect one’s mom, finally admitting to herself in a de facto way that maybe her mother is in need of love, too. It’s funny to consider the need that mothers have for love since culturally and socially, they’re always seen as the providers of it. But of course, they need it in return, especially when they falter. My own mother is sick right now, and I think of the support I need to give her and the lack of that I’ve provided through the years.

Warning: Screenshot involving cutting after the jump.

My mother was a good one, however. Rika’s, on the other hand, has struggled with the charge, which reminds me of a story from one of my favorite books, The Ragamuffin Gospel, about another bad parent—a far worse one, in fact, and a real one. I’ll quote part of the passage from chapter seven:

“‘Our daughter Debbie wanted a pair of earth shoes for her Christmas present. On the afternoon of December 24, my husband drove her downtown, gave her sixty dollars, and told her to buy the best pair of shoes in the store. That is exactly what she did. When she climbed back into the pickup truck her father was driving, she kissed him on the cheek and told him he was the best daddy in the whole world. Max was preening himself like a peacock and decided to celebrate on the way home. He stopped at the Cork ‘n’ Bottle–that’s a tavern a few miles from our house and told Debbie he would be right out. It was a clear and extremely cold day, about twelve degrees above zero, so Max left the motor running and locked both doors from the outside so no one could get in. It was a little after three in the afternoon and…’

Silence.

‘Yes?’

The sound of heavy breathing crossed the recreation room. Her voice grew faint. She was crying. ‘My husband met some old Army buddies in the tavern. Swept up in euphoria over the reunion, he lost track of time, purpose, and everything else. He came out of the Cork ‘n’ Bottle at midnight . He was drunk. The motor had stopped running and the car windows were frozen shut. Debbie was badly frostbitten on both ears and on her fingers. When we got her to the hospital, the doctors had to operate. They amputated the thumb and forefinger on her right hand. She will be deaf for the rest of her life.'”

Max—a real person, mind you—was a successful, well-liked man, but his drinking problem led to an unconscionable decision and profound failure as a parent. And yet, this book is about grace, an idea which to humans feels unjust, but which has the power to change hearts and tear down walls, sometimes literally.

Could Max be given grace? Could Rika’s mother? If not directly, she’s done her own physical damage to her daughter in the form of those cutting scars (difficult and perhaps triggering images below). As mentioned earlier, the egg that she’s helping knows her pain and insists that letting go of everything, including life itself, is the way to peace. After all, to a young, suffering girl, what else could these scars mean?

But in the midst of giving up, in the moment that she actually capitulates (and this episode takes you 99% to the edge, both in the cutting scene and in the apparent death scene), Rika experiences something powerful. She experiences grace.

Have you ever been challenged to forgive someone when you don’t want to, when you feel completely in the right? Maybe it’s easy for you, but perhaps it isn’t. The girls surrounding Rika experience differing degrees of this with her sometimes maniacal and often hurtful behavior. Ai forgives easily. Momoe gets fired up and then equally seeks to make peace. And Neiru…well, Neiru holds onto “justice” more than love (setting up what I imagine will be the most powerful transformation in the series of all, in true Homura fashion). But in the moment that Rika is about to give her life, the girls yell out their love for her, even Neiru, and then more profoundly, without any hesitation, Mannen puts his own life on the line to stop the death from occurring. Rika has already given up, but this turtle hasn’t—not for his mother, whom he loves very much.

And experiencing that love from a different angle, Rika is changed just a bit. She begins to see her weakness as a “mother,” failing her turtle-child, and thinks of her own mom who is overwhelmed by hurt and a failure as well. And if just a little—for as the final scenes indicate, it is just a little—the path toward forgiveness begins.

But a little bit of grace is like a little bit of a flood—its power overwhelms, and it defeats the enemy, whether that means bitterness, a physical person (or manifestation of one), or the devil himself.

When Rika returns from the event, having killed the cult leader monster, it’s interesting to note that she isn’t a wholly different person. She’s changing little by little. And her scars remain. In fact, as she admits, she probably will cut herself again. But strangely enough, those scars now represent something different. They show someone trying—failing, yes, sometimes considerably and maybe very often—but trying, and only able to try because love was shown her, and through that, she is now able to show love as well.

You may have such scars in your life, physical or emotional, battered by the world and by people. I hope that you can develop relationships that help you heal as well, and that you’ll also remember that there are other scars which are meaningful to you, but which you cannot see on your person, scars that were borne out of a desire to heal you. Christ took the piercings, on his head, hands, feet, and side, so that while your heart and flesh may be cut, your soul need not be. And through his wounds, you may be healed.

The grace offered through Christ is one that, as he explains about everlasting water at the well to the Samaritan, for now and through eternity. The egg seeks peace forever by dying, but Jesus, unlike the cult leader, died for us so that we may not have to. He took the nails, the cross, and the spear so that we don’t have to inflict pain on ourselves and receive the punishment of our actions against him and others. He is our scar.

That’s grace. That’s the power that it has. And it can reach anyone—even a terrible dad, an alcoholic mom, a tempestuous child, and, and most significantly and personally—you.

If you’re suffering and in pain, maybe self-inflicted, we encourage you to explain such to a parent or trusted adult and ask for help. It’s a difficult first step, but one that will help you begin recovering. And we also advise that you turn to Christ for help—in prayer, community, and scripture. He provides people to us that will aid us in our times of need, as well as himself and the Holy Spirit if we are believers.

Additionally, there’s a scene in this episode where triumphant, Rika concludes that cutting is okay. That’s said in the context of her moving forward bit by bit and forgiving herself for her failures, even the upcoming ones. That’s an important lesson, though we must certainly be careful not to let it be a license to continue cutting with impunity.

Wonder Egg Priority can be streamed through Funimation. Read more of our articles by signing up for our weekly newsletter.

#wonder egg priority #rika kawai #wep #pmmm #Christianity #tw cutting #blog

197 notes · View notes

coffeecomicsgalore · 3 years

Text

Navigating the Chaos

Ao3

@adrinetteapril

Chapter 7: Homemade Gifts

After Alya’s little interrogation, Marinette and Adrien found each other in the hallway before walking into class together. He did ask her about the anime Marinette had mentioned on the fly, and Marinette happily explained the premise. He became interested in the storyline, especially given that he liked to consider himself the knight in his princess’s life, so the title definitely intrigued him when she had mentioned it earlier. He listened closely as she described some of the scenes, nodding along and deciding that it would be something he would thoroughly enjoy.

When they walked into the classroom and sat across from each other in their seats, the gaggle of girls noticed the change in their demeanor, yet chose to stay silent on the matter. They would just question Alya later to see if she had heard anything, or even just ask Marinette when she was alone during PE.

The rest of the morning went along fine. They sat beside each other in their classes and even focused on the joint assignment they were given the day before. When the lunch bell rang, Adrien turned to Marinette, a hopeful look in his eyes as he waited for her to finish packing.

“What are you doing for lunch, Marinette?”

“Huh?” She looked up from her bag, surprised that he had yet to leave. “Oh, uh, going home to eat.”

She finished zipping up her bag and shrugged them onto her shoulders, looking up at him with a smile.

“What about you?”

Adrien looked down and scuffed his shoe against the floor, looking up at her with slight hesitation. “Um. I was going to eat lunch in the cafeteria. Nino and Alya are going to a café today.”

“Oh.” She realized that he was eating alone and her heart couldn’t bear leaving him alone. “Why don’t you come over and eat at my house? I was going to snack and work on a sewing project, but you are welcomed to come over and put on a movie or play a video game. I just need to get this project done soon, so I need to focus on that. I hope that’s okay? I don’t want to be a lousy host.”

Adrien perked up at the invitation. “You aren’t a lousy host! If we are being honest, I’m the imposing houseguest. I don’t have to come. I can eat with Kim or Max. It’s not a big deal.”

“Adrien.” She called to him warmly, pressing her hand on his. “You are never an imposition.” She smiled, bringing a radiant smile on his lips. “Now let’s go. Food should be ready soon, and my sewing project will not sew itself.”

---

Focus, Marinette! She scolded at herself, trying but failing to stitch the seam while Adrien fed her bits of her food. She was adamant about not being fed while working, but Adrien was extra adamant that he could feed her while she worked. His reasoning was that she didn’t have to stop sewing to eat her food, and that if she forgot to eat, her food would be cold by the time she finished sewing the outfit.

She couldn’t deny those were good reasons, but she could have enjoyed her meal with him first before working on the project. But his adamancy and his sweet smile made her choose to follow his lead, and now she was stuck in a predicament of her love interest feeding her food like they were at a romantic restaurant.

“Here,” he held out the fork with a small piece of chicken with broccoli. His hand was cupped underneath the food, ensuring that neither the floor or her commission would get dirty.

She bit into the food and chewed slowly, trying her hardest not to choke on the bite after noticing the fondness in his eyes for doing this. She swallowed and thanked him, then turned back to her sewing project to finish the last piece of the seam before cutting the thread and tying it off. She inspected her work before turning towards her array of spools, and frowned when she couldn’t find the correct shade of blue.

She looked around her table to find where she had placed it, but then noticed that there was a seam out of place on the project.

“Shoot.” She sputtered out, and Adrien turned towards her with concern.

“What’s wrong?”

“I thought I did this right, but a stitch is out of place. And I can’t find my blue spool.”

“It’s not that spool over there?”

“No. This one is a shade too dark. I need the light blue one. But I just need to fix this first.”

“Why don’t you go ahead and fix that. I’ll go get the spool.” Adrien got up and looked at the opposite end of the desk before turning towards the trunk. “Is it over here?” Adrien asked, looking towards the trunk as he said so.

Marinette was focused on removing the stitch to see what he was referring to. “Probably? I most likely have it attached to another commission. If you see it, can you bring the project over? I’ll remove the spool from the commission so I know where it goes.”

“Sure.”

Adrien walked near the trunk and noticed that there were a few commissions placed in baskets on the floor, but none were the color she was describing. He turned to the trunk and opened it, wondering if the commission was in there. But what he noticed was a large selection of gifts wrapped up nicely in the trunk, all addressed to him with Marinette’s name in a pretty flourish.

Adrien gasped and dropped the trunk’s lid in a panic, and Marinette turned towards the noise to see what was happening.

“Oh. Oh!” Marinette yelped out, jumping up and standing in front of the trunk to hide the surplus of gifts hidden in the trunk.

“Marinette?”

Marinette was about to sputter up a lie, ashamed of how foolish she had been for creating an array of homemade gifts until he was sixty years old, but the baffled look on his face just broke her heart. She just didn’t have the energy to lie to him anymore.

She carefully opened the trunk and took out the present that she was going to give him for his fifth names day this year. She looked at it solemnly, handing the wrapped present to him with a shy expression.

“Here.” She said as he lifted his hands to accept the gift, his eyes passing between her and the gift as if it was a bomb about to go off. “Open it. I made this for you. I mean. I made all of these for you.”

“All of them?” He whispered, his heart beating rapidly as he understood the reasoning behind the gifts.

“Yeah… all.” She chuckled lightly, an embarrassed flush coating her cheeks in response. “I got a little excited with my crush on you, that I spent some of my free time making you gifts for the next fifty years?”

Adrien swallowed thickly as he stared at the gift in his hand, handing it back to her so she could take it back.

“I’m sorry.” She said, dejectedly, knowing that this topic could put a stop to their partnership and friendship for the weirdness alone.

“Why are you sorry?” He whispered, worrying his bottom lip as to what she was about to say.

“You don’t want it. You’re handing it back. It’s weird, I know, and I understand if you don’t want to be my friend anymore—”

“No!” Adrien shouted back at her, wanting her to stop her self-depreciating tone. “No. I love it! It’s sweet that you made all these for me. No one…” his tone lowered, a sad strain holding back a sob, “no one has made me anything like this. Not even my dad.”

“Oh, Adrien.” She frowned, dropping everything to hug him and make him feel wanted. “Open it. It’s yours.”

Adrien shook his head no, handing her back the gift. “No. I want you to take this back. I would love it if you could give this to me on all those important dates and moments so I know I have something amazing to look forward to.”

Marinette grinned, pressing her hand to his cheek. “Okay, minou. And if you ever want something to cheer you up, you are welcome to get what ever you want from there. Just let me know so I can watch you open it.”

“Thank you.” Adrien smiled back, placing his hand on hers. “Thank you for being you.”

#ml fanfiction #adrinette #adrinetteapril2021 #adrien x marinette

15 notes · View notes

snacc-noir · 4 years

Text

The Idiot Effect

(Marinette the Flirt AU)

AO3

Summary:

It starts as a game about their mystery love interests.

“He’s really smart. I’m sure he’ll pick up on it one day.”

“Oh really?” Chat goads. “Then for them to realise, let’s see who can flirt better.”

Yeah... turns out there’s a lot more to realise.

(Or the fic where Marinette’s a ruthless flirt, Ladybug and Adrien are dense, and Plagg can’t stop laughing at everyone)

Notes: the fact that a few actually wanted this crack mess is concerning, and it seems some have brought “expectations” so i’ll kindly ask you to leave those at the door. thank you!! (and there’s more chapters coming im so sorry)

Listen.

Marinette stuffs up but when she stuffs up it’s with class, alright? When there’s a problem, her own or not, she fixes it because that’s just what she does. She spews garbage and has the composure of a flailing eel trying to stand upright – but she’s a pillar source of entertainment for it. She’s a normal girl, with a normal life (except for the superhero thing), so excuse her for trying to be adventurous once and a while.

Adventurous, flirtatious; whatever.

She’s made it to school two minutes after waking up before and was recently (6th Grade Graduation) voted “Sweetest Classmate”, so yeah, she’s quite up there. And ever since (unwillingly) sprouting the wings of a brave superheroine she’s tried her hand at a bit of confidence, despite those continual dignity stuff ups she’s played off gracefully (the tripping happens no matter what, she can’t control that, okay?) The Guy may be the son of a famous fashion artist—that has, in fact, recognised Marinette’s talent and sent her self-esteem higher than Chat’s puns make her want to throw him—and is entirely out of her league,

But see, usually that would cease her pursuits, if not for, you know, the fact she’s an epic superhero and he’s the biggest snack she’s ever seen.

Kindness? A literal angel? Most wholesome grace?

A model?

As if she’s not flirting with that.

She shivers remembering the ignorant days (half a school day) where she was under the idiocy that Adrien Agreste of all celestial beings had the tenacity to be an entitled jerk with an inheritance long enough to rival the list of times Dupain-Cheng had sliced from Chloé’s lips through the years.

And yeah, that couldn’t have been further from the truth, but genuinely, genuinely, flaws and all, Adrien Agreste is the sweetest being she’s ever met.

That she’s stuffed up her chances with, countless times.

But she’ll work on that.

Chat Noir knows how to flirt. He’s not too relevant – her miraculous partner in battle, black suit clad teenage girl idol, the best friend she’d kill herself and everyone she knows for – you know, the least of importance right now. But she’s got to admit, he has some good ones when she’s suited up. Only difference between him and her is that on Ladybug, it’s all fun and games with no meaning. But with Adrien,

she’s serious.

(Most of the time. The lines are pretty eccentric.)

She loves him. It’s whatever. She doesn’t know if he loves her back but she’ll make it work. He can’t pick up a hint for his life — causing completely no progress— but the way her indications of affection propel over his halo is just a spanner in the mission to conquer his heart; a mere stain to the golden-hearted persona she adores so much; so much as a friend, too.

Because, you know,

“We’re friends,” Adrien tells his capped bro as though the suggestive nudges up the courtyard would lessen, an attempt that fails, because an arm is slung around him instead in such a buddy-buddy way he knows is saved for interrogating or persuading purposes.

“You didn’t hear what she said to you?”

How could he not.

He didn’t mind. If anything, he found it humorous. “Yeah, she’s just messing around like that.”

“Mmmhmm… sure,” Nino says in a way that totally isn’t assuring. “I don’t even have Alya telling me we should share a locker to hide in during an akuma attack. And we’re dating.”

“That’s because Marinette’s joking around. Since we’re friends.”

“Since you’re soulmates. ”

“Mmmhmm…” he mocks, cheek twitching, “sure.”

One-hundred percent sure, according to Marinette the next day.

It’s some chemistry lesson half the class doesn’t pay attention to because they’re overreacting (ha) to their assigned lab partners, and Adrien’s fine since he’s paired with Good Friend Marinette. And although he doesn’t like her like that – after all, Ladybug’s a thing – she seriously is lovely company without so much as an awkward fence (excluding the way she stumbles heading to the bench) to hinder their bonding (haha).

Because, for those in the back, they’re just friends.

She’s funny and kind and all that, talented too – class rep, master of the arts, always doing things for others. Her confidence is mystifying but not unappreciated. In fact, having a crush on her would baffle him since she’s so out of his league (he says, dressing up as a cat and going after a superhero) , or at least impossible considering how much she’s definitely kidding with her flirtatious behaviour. No matter what Nino says.

The equipment clinks on the benches as his partner sets up. Distracted by Chloé whinging about Alya for a lab partner, he’s oblivious to the manner about how Marinette scoots next to him.

“Look at us together. I bet we were paired because we have so much chemistry,” she says, out of nowhere, and yet completely expected at the same time as he turns back. “I guess we just work so well together.”

His lips tickle, but he sterns himself by moving an elbow dumbly, knocking a small beaker of water so the contents spill across a ripped page of discarded notes. Her old work fuses to the bench as the ink bleeds and they watch. “Apparently not.”

Marinette cracks a grin. “You suck.”

“You suck.”

“You—”

The lesson is a blast.

Marinette doesn’t know how someone can get any more dumb. Or is it dumber? Whatever. They’re tied for English, anyway (“The A + stands for Adrien plus Marin—” “Shut up.”). And she knows it’s not her who’s the dumb one because, you know, you need to have the supremacy of a genius to have the flirtatious skills she can dish out, possibly a degree of some kind.

Adrien’s smart, but he’s not—

He’s not there sometimes. It’s because of her absolute lack of progress (and she knows the lines are just Too Good for her to not be at fault here) that she often wonders if retreating to the long-abandoned pink-cheeked and shy character would’ve made things any more obvious.

Not that she thinks they can.

“When we get married, I shots the left side of the bed.”

Seriously.

“You’re only getting the prime bed spot if you take the most dishwashing days,” he plays along, musing irresponsible blond tuffs with the towel Kim’s tossed him as he slinks from the locker room. “That includes Sunday morning. Saturday nights are major guest nights.”

His lacrosse game couldn’t have gone better, even if Nino and Alya were babysitting and didn’t attend. He scored most of the goals and the pride warming Marinette’s expression as she greets him is what tops the cake. He still hears Alix, Kim and Ivan chatting jubilantly of their win as the door swings behind him.

“You’ve obviously thought about this before.”

Adrien snaps the towel at her, purposefully missing, but water that’s been tipped on his head spurs from it and Marinette’s composure is quelled as the assumption of sweat drives her over.

“You wish.”

Boy does she ever.

They break into step down the hall. Adrien pats down his arms and side-eyes her. Her blue pools of comfort are already beaming at him.

“I did that good for a marriage proposal, huh?”

“Yep!”

He does little to hinder the bashful chuckle.

“And you touched my shoulder twice yesterday. That’s sixty-eight percent more than usual according to Max.“

“That doesn’t mean we’re married, Marinette.”

Her lips quirk. “Totally does.”

tagged 💕:

@aplayfulplatypus @wegan97 @soap-lady @poisonouscephalopod @woodsbeyond1 @spartanxhunterx @laadychat @mochegato @gelana-12 @heldtogetherbysafetypins @galaxiesanddaisies @melicmusicmagic @legallyspawned @aarushi-03 @purple-people-eaters-productions @gothfoxx @glassesandcardguns @princess-of-fangirls @mewwitch @emeraldpuffguide @johnlockfeels @kittyynoirr @aryamanbose @paintedbirdsong @trubel43 @lulumatthews

#the idiot effect #miraculous ladybug #ml fic #adrienette #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #if you wanna be tagged for the next chap just ask in replies or smth #i'll keep those who've already asked in all the taglists for each chap but lemme know if you wanna opt out #em writes #original content #ml crack #im likely gonna change the summary #again #marinette the flirt au

110 notes · View notes

amoralityplay · 3 years

Text

Kiev, 1992

The baroque house in Kiev was very quiet during the day, only interrupted occasionally by footsteps or hushed conversation between the maid and the handyman—Max was one of very few vampires who still kept thralls, of a sort—or sometimes by the jingle of a cat’s collar bell; Max had always rather liked cats, much to the chagrin of his wife…but, they hadn’t lived together, or really even seen each other in more than just passing, in centuries, so he’d have his cats if he wanted to.

Audrey wasn’t particularly fond of cats, either, but hadn’t said anything about it. After all, her grandfather had been generous enough to let her move into his sprawling home after her finances had taken a disastrous turn; she’d already been living in Kiev, just a few blocks away from his home there, but the forced sale of her apartment had left her with only two options: stay with Max, or limp back to Boston. And Audrey was not going home, not yet.

[Cut for length]

“You know, Audrey…it’s been nice having someone around the house again,” the older man mused, setting a teacup and saucer down in front of his granddaughter, the china rattling in his unsteady hands. Max had been turned when he was quite a bit older than many vampires—a member of the Roman senate at the time—and looked to be about sixty, though of course he was much, much older than that. He wasn’t a frail man and looked much like a living version of the Roman marble busts one might see in a museum, but the harsh military life he’d led before joining the senate sometimes showed in the tremor of his hands. “I know the circumstances weren’t ideal…but we never got to spend much time together, once you grew up and started moving around so much. I’m glad you’re here.” Audrey forced a small smile as she looked up. “I know, grandfather. I’m glad, too.” The truth was…Audrey wasn’t glad to be there. The life she’d planned on had unraveled over the last couple decades, starting with her arranged marriage, then her mother’s death, and now financial ruin. Audrey loved her grandfather, but this was not the future she’d hoped for.

Max nodded, sitting across from her at the small table, set into a corner of a parlor room. “You don’t have to lie for my sake,” he said, reaching over to pat one of her hands where she’d flattened it against the table to keep it still. It wasn’t uncommon for vampires to develop the ability to read another’s thoughts, and most vampires as old as Max were very good at it…meanwhile, vampires as young as Audrey tended to be equally as bad at keeping their thoughts quiet and were easy to eavesdrop on.

“I know you don’t want to be here, and it doesn’t have anything to do with me. It’s just been nice, regardless. And you don’t seem so melancholy lately. Is it the birds? Do they help?” He lifted his own cup to sip at the contents—blood, warmed until it steamed slightly. Audrey disliked blood much above body temperature and left her own cup to cool down somewhat.

It might have been true that Audrey was getting out a bit more than she had for years, really, testing the water here and there at various vampire gatherings…though she wasn’t sure her melancholy had been cured.

“Well…Cyrus ate one of them,” she said with a small sigh, glancing in the direction of the huge white cat, wearing a blue velvet collar with a golden bell, that was lounging on the rug nearby. The birds her grandfather referred to, a trio of canaries exactly like the ones she’d tried to keep as a little girl, had not, in fact, helped her feel much better. If anything, they’d only soured her disposition further, given the first’s untimely demise and the remaining two that refused to sing at night, just like the ones of her childhood; that had not been an experience Audrey had wanted to relive. “They’ll sing plenty for the maid when she opens the curtains during the day…so I told her she should take them home. They’ll be happier with someone who can let them see the sun a little.”

“Ah, well, don’t be cross with Fedir for sending them, he hadn’t seen you since you were a teenager. It was what he remembered about you.” Fedir, a vampire Max had sired in the early 1700’s, had always taken a bit more interest in Audrey than anyone—especially Audrey—liked and had been, apparently, rather crushed when she was matched to someone else--he’d long lobbied Max to use his sway with Phersipnai to ensure Audrey was matched with him—and was equally elated to hear the wedding was called off and she’d returned to Kiev. He knew how vampire matches worked and that Audrey was still betrothed regardless of what her current feelings towards her fiancee were, but had made a handful of attempts to garner her attentions regardless. Max thought it was harmless and Audrey found it mildly annoying and certainly hadn’t encouraged the efforts…but she hadn’t exactly put an end to it yet, either.

“I don’t get cross.” Audrey frowned down at her teacup.

Max chuckled and nodded. “You have a tendency to be cross, my dear…isn’t that what this is all about? Why you’re in Kiev to begin with? You’ve been cross with Rowan for twenty years, don’t pretend you don’t get cross.”

“Please don’t start with that,” Audrey groaned.

“Well. It’s the truth. And your grandmother is supposed to call today—any minute, I think—to talk to you about it, so best you hear it from me first.” He shook his head, running a hand over his short cropped, grey hair. “You should head upstairs, take the call in your room.” Phersipnai hadn’t alerted Max that she’d be calling that day, but after nearly two millennia together, they often had a sense for what the other was doing or feeling, even across continents. Audrey didn’t move immediately, looking down at the blood in her cup as it started to congeal. As she had any time she had been away from her grandmother, she’d remained close with her, writing often or, in more recent years, speaking by phone…but since she’d been in Kiev, the calls had gotten tense…and thus Audrey often avoided them. “Go on. You know she won’t let it slide if you won’t answer.” Max stood and nudged Audrey’s shoulder, and the younger vampire stood with a small sigh. As predicted, the phone rang within a couple minutes of Audrey stepping into her room; she sank into the armchair beside the small pedestal table and lifted the receiver. “Hello?” “Audrey, finally. Do you know how many times I’ve called and that silly little mortal maid your grandfather keeps told me you were out? Have you really been out, or are you avoiding me?” Phersipnai’s voice was unmistakable, lilting with a faint Italian accent.

“I was out, grandmother. I wouldn’t avoid you.” “Oh, don’t lie, you’re terrible at it. When are you going back to the States, Audrey?” “I don’t know. Maybe never.”

“Stop that. It’s been twenty years and you’re being dramatic, I think that’s plenty long enough to have this little tantrum. You need to go home and sort things out with Rowan. I know he’s written you all those letters and you haven’t even had the decency to write back.”

Audrey drew in a small, angry breath. “That’s unfair.” “No, Audrey, what’s unfair is I went to the trouble to make sure your life was comfortable and you never wanted for anything, and then made sure to find you a match that could do the same for you and was a decent person, and you turned around and repaid me by running off to your grandfather the moment things got a little unpleasant—“ “A little unpleasant? He humiliated me, grandmother! There were a hundred other vampires sitting in that church, he could have asked to delay things at any time, but he chose then to do it! People still talk about it when I walk into a room at coalition meetings! Not to even mention he was already practically married and you couldn’t even mention that to me!” “You will not shout at me, Audrey Lavinia Alden.” Phersipnai’s tone dropped low with warning. “People still talk about it because you’ve been punishing him for it for two decades. Rowan has been apologetic and there’s no reason you shouldn’t have at least spoken to him. If you had come back after a few months and sorted things out with him they wouldn’t have anything to gossip about. And I didn’t tell you about his partner because it was irrelevant to your arrangement. Do you really think, with as long as we live, vampires only engage in monogamous marriages where they’re romantically in love with their chosen match? You’re naive. Their partnership existed outside of our rules about marriage—call it a loophole, if you want—and thus had no impact on yours or the obligations you have to each other. And you’re lucky enough that Rowan actually does care about you, even given the circumstances and that it isn’t required of him, and you still treat him like you have.” “No impact? You don’t think that would have an impact? Are you insane?” Audrey had never taken such a tone with her grandmother before, but she couldn’t believe she’d have the gall to tell her that her fiancee already being married to another man wouldn’t have any impact on her own marriage to him. “You don’t care about what I want at all! All you care about is getting a great-granddaughter for your precious line to carry on. I’m not anything more to you than a prized cow you want bred.” Phersipnai didn’t say anything for a moment, the line quiet and Audrey nearly wondered if she’d hung up, but then the Elder finally spoke. “You’re right about part of that, but you’re no prize cow, Audrey. You’re an ill-tempered heifer and I can only hope that any child you have has their personality curbed by their father’s influence.” She paused a beat, drawing a slow breath. “Pack your things. I’m coming to get you. I’m not going to tolerate any more of this nonsense. If you want to act like a child, I will treat you like one. You’ve made it clear enough that you can’t take care of yourself and you can’t be trusted to make reasonable decisions. You have 12 hours.” Audrey’s hand were shaking so hard she nearly lost her grip on the phone receiver. She wasn’t going back. And it didn’t matter to her if Phersipnai was an Elder. She was going to prove that she could live without her grandmother or Rowan or anyone else. “No.” “No?” Phersipnai parroted, incredulous.

“No.” And with that, Audrey hung up. 12 hours was plenty of time to get a head start on the Elder…and Audrey had always wondered what Tokyo was like.

#[Drabbles]#[Audrey]#[Maximillian]#[Phersipnai]

1 note · View note

anotheronechicagobog · 4 years

Text

The Heroic Heralds of the Hermann Horde

Part 1

written by: @anotheronechicagobog

Warnings: swearing, tension, parental issues

A/N: You should read my fic ‘Tylenol and Tequila’ part three for some relationships to make sense but it can be read without having done so, the story focuses mainly on the Hermann family (or Hermann Horde as I have dubbed them) but there’s some stellaride and upstead in here as well.

Being one out of five kids was exhausting. There were pros and cons that they all had to deal with. Lee Henry, Luke, and Annabelle got new clothes, Lee Henry because he was the oldest, Luke because hand me downs were too worn when they got to him, and Annabelle because she was the only girl. Kenny, Luke, Max, and Annabelle got away with pretty much everything because they didn’t have to set an example (and the only times they did get in trouble usually had more to with a bad call their dad had than anything else). Kenny was unintentionally favoured by their dad more because he has made it very clear he wants to be a firefighter like his dad. Max was favoured by their mom because of his traumatic birth. Kenny, Luke, and Max were closer because Lee Henry was the firstborn and not only had Cindy and Christopher decided to wait a few years before having more kids but also because he had to be the responsible older brother/third parent most of the time, his parents hadn’t intended for that to happen and they felt guilty about it sometimes, but they needed his help and made sure he got at least an hour of free time (this didn’t include homework or chores) a day. Annabelle felt left out frequently because she was the only girl and while she didn’t fit the girly girl mould, she just didn’t share a lot of interests or societal problems with her brothers. So the Hermann’s were their own unique brand of love and chaos, and they were alright with that.

Lee Henry had gotten a part-time job for Friday nights and weekends as a lifeguard. People liked to joke that lifesaving ran in the family, but that wasn’t the case. Lee didn’t want to ever rush into a burning building, he never wanted to let worry and fear linger over his family’s heads day after day. Wondering if every unexpected knock on the door or phone call was a death notice or call to the hospital. He didn’t resent his dad for his career, but it had affected a lot of his life choices. The reason he became a lifeguard was because when he was 10, almost 11, his dad fell through the floor of a burning building.

He remembers the phone ringing, wondering if it was Susan from his granna’s quilting club, or Kraken (Karen) from the PTA. His mom answered with a cheerful hello but when she made no other noise and the room suddenly felt thick, he looked up, and he saw his mom’s face. She had gotten so pale he could see her veins, her eyes were wet and had sunken in, her mouth moving like she was screaming so loud it would shatter windows but nothing was coming out, and then she collapsed. Her knees just gave out underneath her. Lee jumped up to try and keep his mom from falling on the floor. He was too weak to catch her so they landed together on the hardwood together with a thump. She still couldn’t say anything, she started shaking, so Lee grabbed the phone. “-Ms. Hermann? Are you still there? Did you hear me? Your husband fell through the floor of a burning building, he’s on transport to the hospital-”

“In ambulance sixty-one?”

“... I’m sorry who am I speaking to?”

“Lee Henry Hermann, son of Christopher and Cindy Hermann. Is my dad being taken to the hospital in ambulance sixty-one?”

“Yes, but I should really-”

“Which hospital?”

“Lakeshore medical centre, I should really speak to-”

“We’re on our way.” He hung up, remembering the words his dad has said to him a thousand times, ‘if you’re in a dangerous situation do everything you can to stay calm, you can make things worse if you panic’. “Hello, yellow taxi? I need a cab to take five people, one adult and four kids, to Lakeshore medical centre. My Dad got hurt and mom can’t speak.” It was a flurry of running and car seats and firefighter turn out gear that wasn’t his dad’s. That wasn’t cool anymore. That he couldn’t stand to look at or smell. So when no one was looking he got up and, calmly, walked to a closet. He walked inside, closed the door, and let it all out. He cried, muffled his screams with his forearms. He ruthlessly scratched his arms, and hit himself. In the head, chest, thighs, feet. He knew right then, from the look on his mother’s face, from the grimness behind uncle Randy’s eyes, from the tearing feeling in his chest, he could never do it. He could never be a firefighter.

When he returned to the group, his long-sleeved shirt was rolled down and he’d stopped at the bathroom before heading to the cafeteria to make sure he looked okay. He was carrying two plastic bags that were filled to the brim with sandwiches and water bottles. He was spotted by uncle Randy first. “Lee Henry! There you are, what’ve you got there?”

“Some food and water, I figured we’d all need something to eat and drink, we might be here a while after all.”

“Yeah... Hey, I heard that you helped get everyone here, and you’ve been really calm and level-headed throughout this whole thing. You’ve done really well, why don’t you sit down and we’ll keep you company til we hear some news about your dad? Severide can pass around the grub, okay?” Severide made his way over to the oldest Hermann child and gave him a proud smile. “I for one, am not even remotely surprised that you’re so calm. Your old man is a firefighter, remaining calm in stressful situations and helping others is in your blood. Should we be expecting another Hermann at 51?” Lee felt his heart sink into his gut, but thankfully Boden called for all the members of 51 to have a talk in one section of the ER before Lee could answer.

Lee took one last walk around the pool, to make sure he hadn’t missed any puddles or items when cleaning the deck while the last of the stragglers got out of the pool and the stands when he heard a loud crack. He whipped his head around and found a teen about his age lying on the floor at the bottom of the stands. He rushed over and methodically went over his injuries, calling out orders to the other lifeguards and people around him. He and Kylie got the guy on their backboard and his neck stabilized. The paramedics arrived quickly. “Lee Henry?”

“Hey Brett, so we have a teenage male, unsure of age or name, with a head laceration, possible neck trauma, and loss of consciousness. He fell off the stands and hasn’t so much as opened his eyes, one of the other lifeguards went through the change rooms to see if there was anyone waiting for him but they couldn’t find anyone. I noticed him come in a couple of hours ago, but he didn’t socialize with or appear to have come with anyone. He just came in and sat down at the top.”

“Alright, well you did a good job, we’ve got it from here.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next morning he was met by his dad, smiling from ear to ear. ”There's my boy.” Christopher began patting Lee Henry on the back. ”Brett said you were amazing, guess you'll be joining me at 51 pretty soon, huh? And tonight we are going to celebrate, the entire firehouse is coming over and we're gonna do a pot luck.”

Lee Henry couldn't get a word in edgewise, just sighed as his dad walked away, over the moon. Lee Henry finished getting ready under the concerned eyes of his mother, who had witnessed the tension in his shoulders and fine line his lips went into. ”Are you okay, honey?”

”Yeah, I'm great. I'll see you after work.” He gave his mom a kiss on the cheek, grabbed his duffle and headed for the station.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lee felt his stomach sink when he recognized the extra cars cluttering the street in from of his house. He rolled his shoulders back at the sound of heavy laughter coming from inside, knowing it was better just to face it head on. He was met with the smell of various kinds of foods, and was met with the sound of rowdy firefighters. ”Hey Herm, the guest of honour had finally arrived. Lee Henry, come over here!”

”Hey guys.” Lee spent the next two hours, after working a 10 hour shift of a labour intensive job, bearing everyone’s comments about the ’next generation of Hermann firefighters’, and constantly being pulled away from the food table! Donna made pallea and his mom made brownies! He just wanted to eat!

He was tired, hungry, and emotionally worn out when uncle Kelly pulled him aside. ”Hey, Lee, I didn't want to say this to your dad before you, but I made a couple calls, and was able to get you a spot at the academy for next fall if you want it. It'll be great-”

”I don't want to be a firefighter.”

”What?”

”I haven't since I was ten.”

”Lee, you don't have to-”

”I... It's just a personal choice.”

”But your dad... He thinks you want to be a firefighter.”

”He never lets me get a word in, just rambles until he has to leave for shift or Molly's.”

”What do you want to be then?”

”A doctor.”

”Ha, you’re a healer not a smokeater, huh?”

”Don’t laugh, you'll need someone to fix up your self-destructive ass when you fall through a floor in a burning house.” Lee just couldn't take it anymore, his emotions had boiled over, so he’d snapped. And now he needed to leave so that he didn't have to watch his uncle put all the dots together right in front of him.

----------------------

He was hungry and in need of comfort. Both from food and people. So when Kylie jogged out of his house after him, he was grateful. They caught the el downtown and went to Bartolli’s, a favourite restaurant of the Hermann’s. ”You were pretty loud, when you were talking to Kelly, just so you know.”

He sighed. ”I figured. I texted my mom before we got to the station, told her where we were going, mostly to avoid her worrying, but I fully expect someone to show up.”

”It does seem like something anyone at 51 would do, they are very involved in each other's lives.”

”Hey, you've been dealing with this for a few months, I've been dealing with it my whole life.” Their conversation flowed freely, mixed with milkshakes and deep-dish pizza.

”Do you know what you want to do when you get out of high school?”

”Definitely something that helps people, but I don't think I want to be a firefighter either. Kelly and Stella worry about me just going to school, I can't imagine how they'd feel if I was running into burning buildings! They'd probably only be okay with it if I was at 51 with them, and while I love them, I don't love them that much. I think something in law.”

”The only issue for us is how to pay for all that.”

“We could join the military, but that does kinda defeat the purpose of not being firefighters...”

“Lee Henry? Kylie?”

“Detective Upton and Halstead, hi.”

“What are you two doing here? I thought that 51 was celebrating a big save you made.”

“Yeah, but it just ended up being a firefighter thing, you know how it goes, especially because apparently, you guys do the same thing.”

“Yeah, we do...”

“Well,” Halstead gave a smirk and a nod, “you two enjoy your pizza.”

“Thanks,” Kylie piped up, having not spoken much with the detectives, “and you two have fun on your date.” Lee and Kylie turned to go back to their meal, but noticed the frozen body language and panicked expressions of the two adults. They looked at each other, concerned, before Lee decided to bite the bullet. “Uh, guys? Are you okay? Should we call the other Halstead?”

“We’re not dating.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“... Yesssssss.”

“You don’t sound so sure.”

“Have a nice night kids.” Upstead (what they were to be referred to as according to his mom) turned and bolted out of the restaurant, blushes and pizza in tow. “I really hope that they sort out their feelings, it’s getting a little exhausting and I don’t even spend that much time around them!”

“Amen to that.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Lee returned home it was late, and only the porch and living room lights were on. He entered the quiet house alone, having dropped Kylie off at her apartment before returning home himself. He locked the door, turned off the porch light, and went straight to the living room knowing that it was better to face his dead head-on than beat around the bush. “Dad.”

“Lee Henry.”

“We need to talk.”

“Apparently we do.”

“I don’t want to be a firefighter.”

“Well, I heard that pretty loud and clear. It was too loud to miss. You know I just don’t understand-”

“October 10th, 2012.”

“Excuse me?”

“You and uncle Matt fell through the floor of a burning house. Your ADSU went off cause the fall knocked you unconscious. I’ve heard Gabby say that that was one of the scariest days of her life. And I remembered you comforted her when she visited you in the hospital. But you didn’t comfort me-”

“Lee-”

“No. Let me speak for once. I was ten years old. And I had to call the cab company, and get everyone in the car, and keep everyone together, and make sure everyone was eating, and check-in with the nurses about your condition, and get school stuff organized for Luke, Max, and Annabelle, and make all the meals for a week, and get Granna and Grandad on an earlier flight back to Chicago, and manage your medication because mom was too stressed to. Your voice was ringing through my head the entire time, ‘if you’re in a dangerous situation do everything you can to stay calm, you can make things worse if you panic’. All that I was told that miserable week was that I was destined to be a firefighter like you. But I was just listening to you, and I realized that being a firefighter was the absolute last thing I want to be when I get older. I had always known in the back of my mind that your job was dangerous, but it didn’t hit me until that day, not even when uncle Andy died. I just... I had my blinders ripped off, and I can’t ignore the terror I feel every time you leave for work. And I see mom and the others feel it too now that there have been more close calls, and I can’t do it. I want you to know that I don’t resent you for it in any way, but I can’t do that to my friends and family. I can’t let the people in my life feel like they’re saying goodbye to me every time I go to work. And I’ve tried to tell you, but I can never get a word in.”

“I tend to do that apparently. Look, I’ll admit there’s a part of me that’s always wanted you kids to follow in my footsteps, but that is a very small part of me. I am actually really happy that you don’t want to be a firefighter because I know that I don’t have the strength to worry about you or any of the others day after day. It takes a special breed of people to do that, and I don’t come from it. If you want to be a doc, that’s great. I know that you’re more than capable and I’m really proud of you for being able to recognize that. I’m also really sorry. That you had to be so brave so young. Need you to know that I love you, that I am so proud of you, and that I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you as much as I should have been.” Lee had never, ever, seen his dad cry. Christopher Hermann was always strong and firm. But here he was crying in front of his eldest son, exposing all of his vulnerable emotions to him. Cindy found them forty minutes later full-on bawling and clinging to each other as though their lives depended on it. Finally making peace with each other.

#One Chicago #Chicago Fire #Christopher Herrmann #cindy hermann #lee henry hermann #stella kidd #Kelly Severide #stellaride #stella x kelly #kelly severide x stella kidd #hailey upton #hailey x jay #jay halstead x hailey upton #jay halstead #upstead

32 notes · View notes

duckbeater · 4 years

Text

Courtship, pt. 2

Writing about happiness is very difficult and boring. The below are some small attempts I’ve made to write through my happiness. My small, important readership deserves an update, says my brother, whose sensibilities have only rarely steered me catastrophically wrong.

I AM BUYING CHAMPAGNE TO CELEBRATE MY LOVER

Today’s the last day of his job and he’s throwing himself a little party. In September he begins med school and in the next month he’ll put his affairs in order, readying for the big move. I have the sense that tonight begins our diminuendo, despite his staying over last night and spit-fucking me, and I’ll surely stay over tonight, after the many champagne toasts to his prosperous life ahead.

We’ve started sleeping as two spoons embracing chest to chest, with our faces tucked awkwardly in a neck or an armpit. Of course I wake up gasping, my mouth sucking after a less hot pocket of air, and turn, and enjoy that he pulls me tightly back to him. He’s a heavy sleeper and I’m a light sleeper, and our bedding situation resembles something like a rock in a tumbler with my rolling over and over and over again, arising too early, wildly underslept, shining with sweat, but ecstatic that we’ve touched all night long. I’m attending his celebration in a sleep deficit that I’ve covered with caffeine and a long, soulful run beside the lake. I’ve been thinking about us a lot.

He wouldn’t call himself my lover, I think, but I’m hoping the expensiveness of the champagne I’m bringing will convince friends in attendance that that’s what we are. I’m hoping my largesse goes noticed and commented on—that it’s interpreted as my being in love with him, and that his peers compel him, by either fretting over my largesse, or pitying me for it, or anyway finding it impressive or amusing or tender or charming—that they tell this young man I’m adoring him and I’m adoring him well. That my adoration seems steadfast and considered. And despite the riskiness of the circumstances (our differences in age, the widening gulf in distance, a sometimes depleting lack of shared cultural references), when we are together I feel comfort and joy. This must be obvious to him without the expensive champagne. I’m always saying it out loud, or anyway variants on the theme of “comfort and joy,” like a seasonal blessing, a profusion of blessings, needing remarked upon. I’m seriously afraid I mother him.

“Let us take in the scene,” I have said before, “let us only observe for the moment my sitting in your lap, your hands on my neck, my constant kisses. What joy!”

He’s done something to my sense of my proportion, and also my prose style. I can’t seem to describe our relationship without slipping into the sardonic, recursive, mildly-institutionalized voice of Robert Walser, a writer I find too cute by half. I’m finding my life too cute by half, I fear. If this is what happiness feels like, I don’t really want much more of it. It’s making me stupid. “People will think that pain has made you stupid,” wrote Walser, a statement that comes back to me when I can’t distinguish between the good times and bad times making me an idiot.

AFTER THE SPIT-FUCKING

We stayed up late talking about what it means to say goodbye to people who don’t know you’ve cared for them. I don’t pretend this conversation had subtext. For the last two years, he’s worked with profoundly disabled people, first as a case worker and then, after the pandemic closed the campus and made that job “nonessential,” as a nursing assistant on the same floor.

He spent months feeding, changing, bathing and bedding non-ambulatory children and adults. Most cannot speak, a few cannot see, and none can walk, of course. It is a world I’ve rarely thought about—indeed, a world many of us rarely consider, because in its theater of human need are scenes of unremitting hopelessness. It is a languageless suffering and it perdures. I can become very mystified, very shallow-breathed thinking about his care for these souls, however quick he’s been to dissuade me from romanticizing or elevating his ministrations. “One of my verbal residents tells me to fuck myself all the time,” he’s noted. Still, I would point out that birth defects and accidents account for a small percentage of his caseloads’ impairments, and that active neglect and abuse perpetrated intentionally by former guardians (or unwittingly by the American healthcare complex) have hobbled his charges for life. I don’t like hearing stories about choked babies and toddlers left so long in beds their soft bones grow slab-wise, so I’ve asked him, coward that I am, to please skip origins if he’s entering an otherwise benign workaday anecdote.

His most patient complaint: using his iPhone to FaceTime parents who want to see their son, then listening to one-sided conversations, burbling, giggles, tears, even story-time. His campus closed to all guardians—a devastating precaution. “Don’t send anything xrated today,” he’d text, and I’d know he was hosting a reunion. So I’d keep my clothes on. And he’d answer the phone from an immediately weeping seventy-year-old mother saying, to her forty-year-old son, “Why good evening, Max, good evening. This is your mother. Hi, baby. Hi. I love you. I am your mother. I will always be your mother. I am sorry I cannot touch you, I cannot hold you, I cannot be with you in this time, but you are my Max, and I am your mother. And I love you always. You can hear me and I’m gonna tell you all about my week, okay? And then I’m gonna ask Scotty here how you’ve spent your week, okay?” He said he usually cries on these calls and when I asked why, he said, “Because it seems polite?” And I pressed harder and he said, “Because I get to—I get to connect these people who have missed each other so much, and it’s so sad. They haven’t touched in months. They might not touch this year. My phone sometimes runs out of battery. It’s so weird.”

I’ve asked him whether families are happy to be rid of their incredible dependents and he said that by and large families are miserable to give over members to the institution: that age arbitrates the giving. “A mother and father have a baby at twenty-five. They can care for him well into their fifties—their twenty-five-year-old, their thirty-year-old son. But when these parents enter their sixties? Their seventies? They can’t lift an adult male. They can’t bathe him or change him. Even basic nutrition gets hard. Meal prep is tiring. It’s long. They start to lose track of medications, and they have medications themselves, you know? So the situation gets very difficult and if they want to live, and if they want him to live, they feel like they have to give him up.”

We’re at the point now where intimacy is a given. He doesn’t swallow, but brings me to orgasm, taking me in his mouth and then dribbles it, I guess, my cum, back onto my stomach, apologizing with a flushed red smirk. “I hate that,” he says, “I really hate it.”

“Go ahead, eat it,” I say, joking.

He gives me dark eyes and showily palms the wad into the black pillowcase behind my head.

“Holy Christ!” I yell. “The nerve! The pluck! The audacity!”

There must be a phase in relationships when extracting intimacies—not only of the “terrible things I did in high school”-vein, or the “times I cheated”-vein, or the “unwittingly right wing ideologies I support”-vein—that close couples endeavor. Where you’re always compulsively revelatory, to seem as interesting as you did in early courtship, as erotically forward and emotionally captivating. We’re in that moment and we surprise one another with small tributes as befits that level of affection.

One of the intimacies I proffered is that I’m going through a religious re-awakening, a need for ritual and sacraments. He finds this funny. (I find it embarrassing.) Yet one of his duties has been wheeling charges to his building’s Tuesday Mass, and then helping to administer the Eucharist. I don’t think he in fact touches the host (I don’t think many in his care can safely take of the host; “I’m mostly there in case anyone seizes,” he said), but he did slip a large wafer away for me and now it’s in my apartment, among my candles, possibly growing mold. He asks me when I’m going to eat it and I tell him around Christmas.

(That was a lie. I’ll eat it when our romance is over, to consecrate the time we had.)

“I eat it,” I say, and he glowers.

I TOLD HIM ABOUT A MYSTERY SURROUNDING MY FAVORITE AUTHOR

Norman Rush. For a decade and better I’ve wondered about the long dedication in Mating, whose last lines read, “...and to the memory of my father, and to my lost child, Liza.” The novel, set in Botswana and borrowing heavily from Rush’s time there as director in the Peace Corps, suggests that perhaps Liza died in Africa or was born still. She goes unmentioned in his Paris Review interview, in subsequent novels, short stories, and reviews. There’s no hint of Liza’s fate. (As I edit this, I recall a phrase in Mortals, the narrator’s idea that “children exposed you to hellmouth, which was the opening of the mouth of hell right in front of you.” Explaining further: “[I]t was the grandmother, the daughter, the granddaughter tumbling through the air, blown out of the airplane by a bomb, the three generations falling and seeing one another fall, down, down, onto the Argolid mountains. With children you created more thin places in the world for hellmouth to break through.” And then, in Subtle Bodies, Rush describes a wayward teen boy, whose angry and aggressive behavior corresponds exactly to Rush’s own troubled teen son. In fact, Subtle Bodies is about the decision to have children at all. Nina follows Ned to a funeral, to fuck him. So, Rush has indeed remarked on children and strife, as he has lived it. Anyhow—) Yet by accident I listened to an old Fresh Air interview where Rush is asked to comment on the aspect of family in his novels, and to clarify that inscription.

“I have a daughter who is now thirty,” he says, “who was born with diffuse brain atrophy and has been institutionalized for many years. Um. But I think the rest is pretty self-explanatory.”

“What was her condition?” presses his interlocutor.

“She is uh profoundly retarded,” pauses, “and will be so.”

“So you feel she is lost to you?”

“Yes. There is no recognition possible between her and us.”

I reproduced this exchange from notes on my phone. Scotty replied, “I don’t think that’s right, actually. Maybe between her and—who—who was it?”

“Norman Rush and his daughter Liza.”

He said, “Maybe between Liza and her dad—yeah, maybe she was so disabled she couldn’t recognize him. I take care of men like that. But I recognize them.”

We were talking about important books at all (I mean that semi-seriously) because his co-worker had gifted him three works, including a volume of Yeats’ complete poetry.

“Why did Paco give you Yeats?” I asked.

“He thinks I need more poetry,” said Scotty.

(Frankly I have felt and still feel sexual jealousy against Paco, who recently got brilliant red and black knee tattoos of spider webs. Like, Spider-Man spiderwebs, covering both kneecaps. Every few weeks he cooks a large meal for Scotty, and they talk about life until 4 A.M. drunk on bourbon, immobilized by edibles, full and warm and caring, and it makes me mad. It makes me mad, because I can’t really see the point of staying up until the uncomfortable small hours between 2 and 5 unless there is sex involved, but Paco is straight, a father, an excellent chef, a dedicated friend, and so my grousing is a kind of unwarranted possession that baffles me into silence on the matter.)

I didn’t have anything intelligent left to say about Norman Rush. I groped along a narrow thought, however, a thin ledge. “You know—a novelist, especially a novelist as concerned with language and comprehension as Norman Rush, would feel particularly devastated by the condition of his daughter. He would see it as ironic and then as punitive and again as senseless—supporting his comforting regime of a militant atheism.”

Although very sober, I recited the first stanza of The Second Coming, tripping over two lines (but the best lines), saying, “The worst lack all conviction, while the best/Are full of passionate intensity.”

“What?” said Scotty.

“I just—that was Yeats.”

“Who?”

“Go ahead and tell your boy Paco that your hot fuck gave you a teach on William. Butler. Yeats.”

“What?” said Scotty. He grinned at me. He got up and ate a yogurt.

#norman rush

6 notes · View notes

goose-books · 4 years

Note

Ok first of all your Darkling magic post was fantastic and I can't get enough but now I MUST know...what kind of magic do the Stayer sisters have and how does it manifest??? (Also if you want to share more about Jasper's I will take it because I can't get enough of this bastard)

first of all: i apologize for the length of time between my posting of the worldbuilding post and the posting of this ask... i had almost finished writing you a response and then my computer shut down and the ask did not save! so that was a blow directly to my head! i also apologize for... the length of this!

second of all: [cups my hands and offers you this]

They say Cressida Stayer was nine years old when she turned her hair to gold. They laid her down in bed blonde, and the next morning, the waves cascading down her shoulders were solid metal, glinting harshly in the sunlight, weighing her down, creating that odd head-cocked expression she still wears now. Nine years old. Two or three years before most people develop enough magic skills to dye a single curl. Much less transfigure their hair into precious metal.

People also say Leovald Stayer’s immediate reaction was to hack it off her head and melt it down for cash. But generally they say that part a lot quieter.

— darkling, segment iv: control

so: the stayer sisters and magic.

if we charted the stayer sisters on the passive-to-active scale, it would look like this!

(left to right: ruby, cressida, and gracen.)

that said, they’re all leovald stayer’s kids, and leovald is pretty well known as one of the most magical people in dovermorry, if not in general. so he fully expected his children to have large amounts of raw magical energy as well. and they didn’t disappoint. cressida is the one well-known as a Magical Prodigy ™, but gracen and ruby are also notably powerful and notably in-control of their magic, especially for their ages! (21, 19, and 16, in descending order.) most people don’t get really, really good at controlling their magic until well into adulthood. technically you can join the guild at 17 or older, but the median age on the Mage’s Guild’s high council is, like, sixty. (when leovald is the young guy in the group, there’s an issue.)

interestingly, cressida is about two months from turning 17. but let’s not get ahead of ourselves. in descending order:

gracen’s entire thing is control. gracen stayer has a lot of power inside of her that would very much like to be outside of her, and gracen would very much like to prevent it from getting loose. she deals with this by being so hyperaware of her magic that it cannot possibly Do Things On Its Own, because she keeps it on an extremely tight leash. (this is a pretty good metaphor for how gracen deals with things in general.)

gracen... runs the stayer household. by which i mean she does everything from cleaning up after Mandatory Family Dinner to helping cressida with her calc homework to making sure ruby comes home before curfew (as not to get yelled at) to organizing leovald’s paperwork and making sure he doesn’t say something stupid on TV. gracen does most of leovald’s grunt work, actually. does she hate this? yes. but she’s also pretty sure that training the most powerful man in dovermorry into instinctively relying on her for everything is… a good long-term move, pragmatically speaking.

so gracen has a lot to do! and a lot of magic that she absolutely will not allow to build up inside of her. and she deals with this by using her magic for everything. she parcels small bits of magic out for every small task - doing the dishes, summoning a pencil from the other side of the room, making paperwork organize itself. if someone spills their drink on the carpet, gracen will draw the drink back out of the fibers, drop by drop, into the cup. by twitching one finger. understandably, this takes a lot of practiced focus and control; magic is very much something you can study and gracen very much studies it the way feral high schoolers study for the ACT. it almost doesn’t matter how active her magic is, because her magic NEVER takes any kind of natural form - she wrings out every drop in a very deliberate way. (i say almost because she can still feel it. she deliberately keeps it calm. it is harder than it looks. pretty much everything i’ve just said about gracen’s magic is a FANTASTIC metaphor for [gestures] the everything about gracen.)

and then there’s ruby, who is exactly the opposite. quelle surprise.

look, ruby is fully aware that no matter how much she practices, she is never going to be as good at controlling her magic as gracen. so she just… doesn’t. she just doesn’t! she doesn’t control it and she doesn’t use it. magic isn’t her best skill - her skillset lies in writing, in thinking, in persuading, in befriending, in provoking. why on earth would ruby magically whisk her laundry off the floor when she can just pick it up? and why would she pick it up when she can probably convince someone else to do it for her?

“but max,” you are thinking, “doesn’t her magic build up like you’ve been saying?” yes and she likes it. to be fair, she has comparatively more passive energy than her sisters; it’s easier for ruby to deal with this buildup than it would be for gracen. or for jasper, for that matter. when jasper’s magic gets to be Too Much, it’s a physical palpable thing; he gets itchy and shaky and tense and sometimes sick until he can twist off the metaphorical cap and let off some steam. for ruby, it’s more like an adrenaline rush - pounding heart, shaky limbs, heightened senses and emotions, without the risk of Making A Mess in public. she likes to let her magic build and build and build and build and then pull it back and release it into something deliberate at the very last minute. she finds this thrilling. which isn’t to say she doesn’t care! that honestly takes as much control and focus as gracen’s strategy does.

at her high school graduation, ruby “accidentally” “lost control” and set off magical fireworks over her head as she crossed the stage. loudly and vividly. leovald in the audience was so psyched he shouted. gracen would have slammed her head into the wall, except she had to comfort cressida, who reacts to loud noises like this:

as much as gracen and ruby differ in their ways of handling their magic, they’re… very similar at the core. what looks effortless is actually a lot of concentrated effort behind the scenes. and then there’s cressida, who just… does not have that.

some people (leovald) think of magic as a thing to flaunt. some people (jasper) are constantly fighting it. cressida just… does not care all that much? she just does not care. magic comes very naturally to her because it is first and foremost a way she copes with being trans and autistic in a world that is not made for her. she used to turn the lights out when rooms got too bright (and then sat back and let everyone else wonder what had happened). she’ll change fabrics to make them softer or smoother. the real story of her hair has nothing to do with gold - she was ten, not nine, and she grew her hair out to shoulder-length overnight, because she was sick of having short hair. and that was what made the rest of her family realize that maybe all that stuff about wanting to be a girl was, like… significant.

technically, yes, she is a Magical Prodigy ™! her magic settled very early and she has a LOT of it. and her magic, more than even her sisters’, is very similar to leovald’s. leovald lets his magic do WHATEVER the fuck, and the result is that he warps the world around him a LOT - fireplaces light when he walks into the room; lights flicker when he raises his voice; doors burst open in front of him even when they aren’t automatic; when his emotions are running high they affect the weather. cressida’s magic would like to be doing all of that. leovald would also like cressida’s magic to be doing all of that.

but cressida… kind of just doesn’t give a shit? she has a lot of untapped potential that she is fine with not tapping. she is perfectly content with living her life using her magic to, like, change the radio station from the backseat of the car (when you’re the youngest of three children, you NEVER get shotgun).

buuuuuut leovald is really psyched about having a freaky magical savant child. and most people see cressida - quiet, staring off into space, blank facial expression, not great at talking - and quietly assume that the magic thing is… like… all she has going for her. so she’s very much been pigeonholed into Magical Prodigy Zone, whether she likes that or not.

whoa this is a lot of text have an image

and then jasper is just… the anti-cressida. he has a thousand and one talents and gets perfect grades and charms everyone he meets and he is a walking biohazard when it comes to magic. and it drives him CRAZY, as much as he pretends not to care.

most people have their magic all figured out by the time they’re in high school. jasper is sixteen, almost seventeen, and something about it is… still just not working for him. even simple stuff (duplicating post-it notes! making flashcards shuffle themselves!) just… takes much more effort than it should. and because he hates being bad at it, he doesn’t use it, and then it builds up, and he ends up jittering like a live wire, and then if that goes too far things explode.

jasper has elected to blame his mother pretty much entirely for this, because vee has NONE of the same problems. (plenty of problems! but not related to magic.) …plus, you know. jasper’s had enough mishaps in public to know that his father ALSO blames jasper’s mother, pretty vocally, whenever he gets the chance.

on a conscious level, jasper is actually fine with having magic that just Does Not Fucking Work. because he has SO many nonmagical skills that it makes up the difference. at his boarding school, he sits atop a throne made of forged prescriptions, pay-per-page homework, and confessions of love from people who do not know him nearly enough to confess their love to him. on a subconscious level he has a whole complex about it but [gesturing] that’s a given, isn’t it

#suits-of-woe-main #THANK YOU BTW SERIOUSLY...#i adore your writing so your interest in this makes me 🥺🥺#so here i am writing an essay as per usual.#max.txt #darkling tag #leovald stayer #gracen stayer #ruby stayer #cressida stayer #jasper greenwood #all maxes know... is rewrite shakespeare... and respond to questions with a full page of text...#asks

6 notes · View notes

axelsagewrites · 5 years

Text

Raphael Santiago*Ramble Pt1

Ship(s): Raphael x reader, Lightwood!reader

Requested by @cokecola4211

Shadowhunter imagine the reader is a Lightwood Alec and Izzy younger sister and she is reading her novel at the Down world hang out restaurant which is what the young Lightwood is known for is her love for her novels and books and Raphael comes in and sits w/ her and they discus and talk about her novel that's she's reading and Alec comes in and runes the moment and stuff and it embarrasses the reader and he yells at the reader for hanging out w/ Raphael and the reader yells back.

Warnings?: Nope

Type: fluff

Masterlist HERE

Wattpad HERE

Shadowhunters just don't take enough time to sit down and just breath. Let your hair down, relax a little, and enjoy the peace. With a job that fast-moving and ever-changing sometimes you need to sit down and calm down.

Isabelle said I'd understand when I was older the joys of spending your free time in a club or having a drink, but I doubt it. Alec was all convinced that training could be made fun and the occasional drink in a quiet bar was the best ending to the week. Frankly, I think they're nuts.

Max and I were close, Alec and Isabelle were close, neither pair really understood the other. While max and I enjoyed reading the older two enjoyed activities. My free time is not for hiking nor for drinking. It's for books.

At first, my parents encouraged it seeing I was reading which was learning until my mum actually read one of the blurbs. "What's sci-fi?" then I had to explain.

Sure, they knew I was reading fiction, but they didn't love the mundane fiction I had been picking up from 2nd hand shops and clearance bins. They reluctantly let it go, more concerned with max reading manga, and one of the best presents they got me was a library card to the New York public library. Yeah, I'm that type of sad.

I was easily the quietest lightwood but when people did notice me, I had a novel in hand. Call me weird but it was just too quiet in the institute to read. I need at least a little background noise. The New York library was the same, plus clearly, they didn't appreciate a runed up teenager ruining their 'aesthetic'.

Downworlders cafes were the best option. Partly because the few, but close, friends I had were Downworlders and partly because the food was better. When the chef is a hundred and sixty years old and has been cooking since he was a teenager the foods pretty delicious.

"Usual (Y/N)?" Hayley the cashier asked me. I awkwardly nodded as I fished out my wallet. You know that weird thing where you know someone, and they know you, but you don't actually know each other? All I knew about Haley was that she was a werewolf and normally worked the evening shift on Mondays and Thursdays, the days I come in, for at least the past 3 months. And all she knows about me is I come in at the same time on Mondays and Thursdays and get the exact same thing each time. Honestly, I don't even know how she knows my name.

My work was normally done around dinner time so I would eat dinner at home and come here. My goal was to leave as the sun was setting since it began to get busy with drunks and vampires. I didn't mind vampires, but vampires and drunk werewolves are a headache.

It was easy to get a seat and even easier to jump right back into my novel. This morning, Mid chapter might I add, I was rushed away from the Fahrenheit 451 to a mission and a grumpy Alec.

My eyes swam in a sea of words and stories. I had never really gotten into the mundane classics, but this book seemed to have a grasp on me. When I finally came upon a slight break, even though I was desperate to read, I forced my eyes off the book.

I sat it down with a sigh, the satisfying feeling of reading washing over me as I looked to my food. I had finished my drink through constant sippage but noticed how my bagel was mostly untouched. As I picked up my bagel someone cleared their throat. I looked up and froze in my awkwardness, "Want a refill?"

That wasn't Haley. I nodded, looking at the washed-out skin on the new waitress. She gave me a smile and took my cup to the refill station. I blinked a few times and looked around noticing the new clientele; vampires. I looked outside and inwardly groaned as I saw the sun was all the way down. Damn winter nights!

I smiled as I was handed back my mug, trying not to be awkward and probably failing. I couldn't not have this now. I'd asked for it. I began eating my bagel and sipping on my drink only now noticing the looks I was getting from my runes. Out of instinct, I shrugged my hoodie on.

"Cold?" I almost jumped out of my seat at the voice.

I looked up and it wasn't much better as a guy was standing next to my table, "Just a little," I said after a moment too long. His face was unreadable.

His eyes fell onto my book and a small smile tugged at his lips. "You've got taste," he said, "Can I sit?"

"Um yeah sure," I said, not knowing what to do, "You've read it?"

He hummed a yes, "It gets boring sitting around all day, waiting for night. Thankfully winters here so we'll have more time,"

"Yeah, summer must suck for you," I said, only now realising it literally trapped them inside all day. He nodded but I still wondered, "So um what do you want exactly?" I asked, noticing how many empty seats there were.

"You probably think I'm some weirdo," he said through an awkward laugh, "Most of my well not friends but kind of friends, anyway, most of them don't read so when I saw you with one of my favourite books I don't know I kind of wanted to talk but then you know-" he sighed, looking down ,"and now I'm rambling,"

I couldn't help but grin a little, "Its alright. I'd be the same if someone asked me about harry potter,"

"I've heard about that. Is it any good?"

My mouth almost dropped. "You haven't read harry potter?" he shook his head, "Oh my- right listen because this is some serious stuff right here," queue me rambling on about my favourite book, "And now I'm rambling," I cut myself off.

Raphael grinned, "where are you in your book?" he asked, nodding to the book.

I had never had a friend to gush about over books, not really. tv shows, movies, real people, sure, but never books. We talked about favourite characters, plot points, that one bitch who needs to calm down. Everything.

"And of course, my favourite character- "as I was mid-sentence my face fell.

"Are you okay?" My new friend asked.

"He's gonna kill me," I slunk down in my seat in an attempt to hide.

Alec stormed over "For a shadowhunter, you're crap at hiding," he glared, "And why are you hanging out with Raphael?"

"Whose Raphael?" I asked.

"Me," the boy across from me said with a smile before turning to ' with an eye roll, "Hello shadowhunter,"

"Stay away from (Y/N)." Alec snapped.

"Who?" Raphael said.

"Me," I mimicked him.

Raphael chuckled but Alec scowled "You didn't even know his name? right, that's enough to get up. Now,"

"But maybe (Y/N) doesn't want to," Raphael said.

I sighed, "No I should go," as I stood up, scrambling to pull out a tip. "See you around- "

"Or not," Alec cut me off, stalking away.

'Sorry' I mouthed as I followed Alec. I hadn't even realised I forgot to grab my book off the table.

#raphael #raphael santiago #raphael santiago imagine #shadow #shadowhunters #shadowhunter cast #shadowhunter smut #shadowhunters imagine #shadowhunter ships #shadowhunter preference #tmi #tmi imagine #tmi imahine #the mortal instruments #the mortal instruments imagine

24 notes · View notes

lahbarsaglini · 5 years

Text

ᏴᎪᏟᏦᏚᎢᎪᏀᎬ

→ CHAPTER ONE

Here it is! It’s recommended to read all "Backstage Masterlist" items available on my profile before or after reading this chapter! Hope you like it!

Warnings: mentions of death and depression.

July 20, 2011

Orange County, Southern California, USA

She knew that in exactly sixty minutes, a year would be complete. The girl’s brown orbs were almost wide open, fixed on the two flashing red dots that marked the time on her digital clock by the bed. Even turned around, she still could feel her twin sister’s gaze on her back, penetrating her ribs, as a signal that she was also aware of the approaching date in three thousand six hundred seconds.

If you have been through this, you will surely recognize every following word: denial, anger, negotiation, depression, acceptance. Although death is the only certainty of all mankind, no one is ever prepared to go through emotional grief. The intense pain, the feeling of revolt, the deep emptiness. The whole family was aware of all these emotions.

Exactly a year ago, Naya Valentini and her family had lost two members of their family tree. Under her precise social perception, her favorite uncle and her little cousin. Matteo Valentini was that uncle that, no matter what, made the day better. He was the life of family reunions, and after his divorce, he seemed to be doing better than anyone else in this world. On that afternoon, in July 2010, he had taken his triplets Max, Graham and Sophie to the movies. Everyone was excited, talking about the premiere of Despicable Me. What no one knew was that when they were coming back home, tragedy awaited them. The white van hit the driver’s entire side, including the back part, where Sophie was.

When Naya’s parents arrived at the hospital after being notified, the news that Matteo had died on the spot frightened them at the thought of the possible death of the children. Luckily, the boys would recover quickly, but Sophie had been rushed to the operation room. Naya wasn’t with them, in fact, she and her other siblings had been left behind to take care of the new foster son of the family, who was a newborn.

At home, everything was in chaos, and she still remembered the whole scene, which her brain insisted on showing in slow motion: her oldest brother Liam trying to stop Autie from shouting that she wanted to go to the hospital to see her cousins, Ethan almost blowing up the microwave while preparing something to eat, while she was trying to finish helping Devyn out in the bath, but hearing the baby crying wasn’t helping much.

With their parents out of the house and the dread of the idea of their cousins and uncle involved in an accident, the four eldest kids Liam, Ethan, Naya and Lexi were able (with a lot of effort) to bring the heavy mattresses downstairs where they had decided to spend the night together, with the strategy of gathering the younger ones on the same space so they could keep a better eye on them. It was dawn when their father arrived, finding all his children on his living room floor, sleeping, except for Lexi, who was giving Joey baby formula. Naya still remembered waking up and how her father had tried to be as gentle as possible telling them that Uncle Matt and Sophie had passed away.

— I can’t sleep either. — Naya heard her sister’s voice over her shoulder.

And in that simple sentence, it was possible to feel the weight. They both knew how hard it had been for the whole family, especially for their father, who had just lost his favorite brother. The situation was ten times worse when he entered the fourth and most difficult stage of grief: depression. Mornings at the kitchen table, once animated by the children’s conversations, suddenly became quieter and quieter. Dad had just recovered from the last phase, acceptance, and the one-year anniversary had already arrived.

Another person who was suffering a lot was Moon, Naya and her brothers mom. She had an extremely maternal relationship with the triplets, especially after her brother-in-law’s divorce, where their mother decided to abandon them. Sometimes, it even seemed like she was grieving more than Alexander, her husband and Matteo’s brother.

— What do you think will happen today? — Lexi asked, but it was the silence that greeted her. — I just hope mom doesn’t freak out. Dad’s fine now, but her…

Naya turned to her twin sister’s side, tugging at the blanket, realizing for the first time that night that they were laying in the same position.

— She won’t. She is a force of nature. — And there was definitely a very strong degree of intensity and precision in Naya’s response. Her mother really as a very inspiring woman, starting with her life story.

Kwon Moon never had any contact with her biological father, the only thing she knew was that he was part of the USFK, the American Forces of Korea. After a one night stand, her mother eventually returned to Busan, where Moon was born and they moved to the United States when she was 15 years old, just because of her mother, deluded with life in a foreign country and hopes to marry her daughter’s father. They didn’t find him, and spent a good time in cheap hotel rooms.

Moon was the one who decided to go to school and learn as much English as she could, teaching her mother in the spare time of her first job. Years later, she went to college and became pregnant, resulting in marriage to her boyfriend. Still studying, even in a distance program, as her children were born, never for a second of her life did she give up the dream of creating her own line of products in Beaufort, deciding to move to Los Angeles to finally open her store and put into practice what she learned with her chemistry degree.

Nowadays, mom had two stores in Southern California, and she was doing her best every day, always encouraging her children to do the same. Today would also be a day without school. The family would visit Matteo Valentini and his daughter’s grave.

— Do you think about Sophie? — This time it was Naya who broke the moment of reflection.

— Honestly? — Lexi turned up, staring at the ceiling before moving on. — Not anymore. Of course I miss her. It must be much worse for the boys, I can’t even imagine what would be like to lose you.

After the accident, Max and Graham were living with the Valentini-Kwon’s family, as their mother didn’t show up and they didn’t have anyone besides Alex and Moon to take care of them.

— How about you?

— I’m thinking about her now. — Naya confessed.

— But that’s because it’s the death anniversary.

— Yes, but I thought the same thing when dad came home that day and told us everything. Sophie was seven years old. She’s gone without knowing what high school is like, or what it’s like to kiss someone, or drive a car. She never had a chance to live, unlike Uncle Matt. — Naya adjusted a lock of her own hair. — Thinking about it makes me depressed. She could have had the world.

— Yes. — Lexi’s agreement came in a low voice tone.

— What about us?

— What do you mean? — Without understanding the question, Lexi frowned.

— What I mean is that… — Naya sat on the bed, the blanket falling on her lap, just as her hair fell over her pajamas. — We can have the world. The question is: what are we doing with our lives?

— Okay, Nay. Relax a little and quit all this philosophy of life for now. Me and you… We’re only sixteen. School things are our biggest concern. — Lexi accompanied the twin on the move, getting up and going to sit on her sister’s bed.

— But that’s the point, Lexi. What if we die? I never did anything I wanted. Sophie was seven years old, didn’t have much she could have done except… Bring some message to our family. — Saying that sounded like the right interpretation. — And it hurts me to say this, but I don’t want to end up like her, Lex. I want to live. I want to decide what I am going to do, to challenge myself more. Because as far as I know, I can die tomorrow, or the day after. I want to be like Uncle Matt, he did everything he wanted.

Alexa seemed to understand the meaning of the conversation, the reason for her sister being so reflective.

— So what do you want to do? — Unrelated to, you know, what we have now. Boyfriend, dancing, friends, apart from all this?

The question took her by surprise. What did Naya want to do with her life? Once she graduated from high school, what would happen? The memory of a little girl came to light when her interest in old movies began to emerge after a summer vacation at her grandparent’s farm. After that, she remembered her godfather and the piano classes, and how he said she had a good voice. Her dream of being a musical actress started from there, together with an entire week spent only watching the famous Broadway plays. She had participated in “13” two years ago and she missed that place.

Still thinking about her and her sister’s godfather, she wondered if she should believe him. After so many refusals, she wouldn’t have the courage to call him for advice.The way was to try to go through every phase of the challenge, just like what her late cousin would never have the opportunity to do.

With a smile building up just as a year had passed since the accident, Naya looked at her sister before laying on the bed again.

— What? Why are you smiling? Nay?

— I figured out what I want to do.

— And you won’t tell me?

— You will find out, Lex.

The girl glanced once again at the digital clock, following the moment it had just shown 04:01am, just one minute more than when her cousin had been declared lifeless. However, the only thing she could do was smile. She had understood one of the little girl missions on her short passage through Earth, and hoped the rest could understand soon too. With a lighter heart, Naya whispered before closing her eyes.

— Thank you, Sophie.

#fanfiction #backstage #naya #nayakwon #chapter one #jyp #jyp entertainment #jyp nation #2pm #miss a #wonder girls #got7 #twice #day6 #15&#stray kids #jus2 #boy story #somi #itzy

1 note · View note

cryinggameff · 6 years

Text

Sixty-nine

Randi

Cayden and his friends were drinking and doing god knows what else while watching the game. I had agreed to let him host the party here, which i was kind of regretting because they were loud as hell and it made it hard to take my mid day naps. I had left for a bit to go and pick up some groceries so i could make some food for them to eat plus some snacks and such and now i was back home. I walked past going to put the stuff in the kitchen.

“Baby, you back?” Cayden said, getting up and coming to the kitchen.

“Yeah, just went to target,” I said, taking stuff out of the bag.

“How’s my baby?” He put his arms around me to grab my belly.

“Active. He’s been jumping around all day,” I sighed. He moved his hand around.

“That’s because he’s a little baller. Or maybe a gymnast if it’s a girl.”

“Mmhm,” i said, putting my hand over his. Somebody scored and the guys got all excited. We both looked over. I started taking stuff out the bags. Cayden removed his hands and started going back to the living area. I glanced at him and saw his jaw was locked and arms flexed. I was confused. He walked up to Rambo and smacked him on the back of the head.

“Damn man!” Rambo jumped. He turned around and Cayden grabbed the blunt that he must have just lit out of his mouth.

“I told your slow ass not to be smoking in my house when my wife is pregnant. Are you dumb? That’s my kid you fucking with bruh,”

“My bad Cayden, I forgot,” he said quickly. “I’m sorry man,” he said. Everyone else looked to see what Cayden was gonna do. I already knew what he was planning to do and considering he was China’s man and what not i couldn’t have them falling out or that would make things awkward for all of us. I put the milk I was holding down. I reluctantly intervened.

“It’s ok baby,” i said to him from the kitchen. He looked up at me and I gave him a look to calm down and of course he listened and backed down. He just put the blunt out and came to throw it out in the kitchen. He came up behind me and wrapped an arm around me again.

“Sorry,” He said by my ear just so I could hear.

“It’s ok,” I said, leaning up to kiss him. I wasn’t mad, after all he was right, it was bad for the baby. Cayden had stopped smoking, around the house anyways, all together. It was cute how concerned he was about the baby. He kissed my shoulder and I giggled.

“She’s already pregnant dog, give it a break,” ty said as he came strolling in to the kitchen to open the fridge. I blushed but laughed.

“Hey! I just got those,” I complained. But nobody was listening. He was long gone and they had broken into a play fight, crashing on to the floor and rolling around like children. “You’re 26 years old,” I grumbled, picking my rolls off the floor.

I made some stuff for the guys and then took my food upstairs to eat and watch some shows.

I ended up falling asleep after eating, but woke up a few hours later with terrible heart burn. That was happening a lot now. I would take it over being nauseous 24/7 like in the beginning, but it was still very uncomfortable. I went downstairs to go find some tums and realised Cayden and his friends were gone. I looked at my phone real quick and Cayden had texted me saying he was gonna go in to work. I got some tums and some milk and went back to the bedroom. I decided to give Cole a call because i hadn't talked to him in a while.

"Hi Colebear,"

"Hey lil mama. How you doing?" he asked.

"Im ok, just tired and sick all the time," i complained.

"That sounds horrible," he said. "How much longer you got anyways? Tryna make sure im there when the baby gets here."

"Still have like 4 months. Im ready for it to be over, and i just wanna hold my baby already." I groaned in frustration.

"When we gon find out if its a boy or girl? How am i supposed to buy them some swag if i dont know?"

"I was supposed to find out a while ago but i kept missing my appointments. Im going in a few days, should find out then."

"Word? aight keep me posted."

"I will," i said, "so whats up with you and Ty. He came to my house a week ago and from what he said yall had some drama when he visited." I was being nosy as usual.

"Aint no drama," he mumbled.

"What did you do?" i asked in an accusing tone. He sighed.

"I may have iced him out a little."

"Why?" i asked, confused.

"Things were getting...intense."

"Thats how a relationship works Cole," i pointed out.

"I know," he said simply. I smiled a little bit.

"I get it. I was the same way when Cayden and i started getting serious. It terrified me. It's scary to love someone."

"So what did you do?" He asked.

"Well Cayden didn't really give me an option to run. He followed me every time, " i laughed. "Eventually i just got tired of trying to run away and i just dove in. Now i'm married to the fool and carrying his baby."

"Diving in sounds terrifying."

"It is," i bit my lip, thinking back to when Cayden and i were still dating. "But its worth it."

"Ugh. I cant with this sappy shit right now. Im bout to go to practice and i dont need to be in my feelings while tackling a bunch of dudes."

"Okay fine, ill drop it for now. But you need to just accept you love him and move on. Don't overthink it," i said seriously.

"okay mom."

"Oh God, can you imagine someone is gonna be calling me that soon," i said, more to myself.

"I can see you as a mom. You always taking care of people or helping them fix their lives, even when they didnt ask," he laughed.

"What can i say, i dont know how to mind my business," i shrugged.

"Lowkey im the same," he said. "But i gotta go."

"Okay babe, have a good practice. Ill talk to you later." He said bye and then i hung up.

Cayden

"Yo, How's the shipment going?" I asked him, referring to a deal i had going with Sean. He was organising the order while i handled the logistics and such.

"Man i don't think we have enough here. We gotta bring some from the other warehouse. I was gonna call Pat but i wanted to run it by you," he got up and i followed him out to the balcony looking down to the rest of the warehouse. It was busy with niggas at work like usual, organised by product.

"What he want?" i asked.

"Coke mostly, but he talking about he got some guy wants a bunch of crystal. We got 10, 20 pound max here," he said, nodding at the back of the room where the guys were breaking and weighing a fresh batch.

"Who the fuck wants to buy that much crystal?" My brows came together.

"Man who knows, thats your boy, ask him. Im just saying, thats pretty much all our supply from both warehouses, and we have one cook" he said. I nodded because he was right, but that wasn't my biggest concern. It was just weird to me that Sean was suddenly moving crystal when he had never before. I couldn't help think back to the time Randi asked if Sean could be trusted and wondered if she was on to something.

"Dont call Pat. Not yet anyways. Imma have a little meeting with Sean first," i decided.

"Got it," he nodded.

"By the way, thanks for checking on Randi while i was gone," i said. He shrugged.

"Uncle duties and what not," he smirked, "how she doing anyways? You weren't playing when you said she was emotional."

"She tired all the time, i feel bad. She go off on you?" I laughed.

"Nah, just crying and shit. I don't know how you do it."

"Ill take crying over when she gets angry."

"True," Ty nodded. I checked my watch.

"I gotta go find Keisha, i need her to get Sean here. I aint going to Cali, i just got back," i looked around a bit.

"She was here with Kassie earlier, training and what not. How you get her to come back anyways?" he raised a brow.

"I begged," i chuckled. " Why? you still got a crush on her? Thought you were all about the D now."

"Fuck you Cayden," he said, turning to go back to his office. I laughed and went off to find Keisha.

I ended up just calling Keisha from my office and she came up.

"Hey, sorry, Kassie was showing me around. She just left," she said.

"It's all good. I need you to do something for me though. 2 things actually."

"Sure, what is it?" she pulled out a pen and notepad.

"I need you to get Sean here. ASAP."

"Got it," she nodded.

"Also i need you to book me a trip, for 2. Jamaica, not business. Anytime in the next month or so," i looked up from my phone calendar.

"I'll get right on it..." she paused. "It's sweet. I mean, im assuming it's for your wife."

"Yeah it is. Gotta keep her happy," i shrugged. She smiled. Then she seemed to remember something and pulled out her phone

"Oh before i forget, the accountant is coming tomorrow. Just a reminder. Also, your calendar says its Ty's birthday soon, do you want me to arrange anything?"

"Remind me an hour before tomorrow. Get a gift for me, Randi is doing the rest. She throws unnecessary parties, its kind of her thing," i rolled my eyes.

"Okay then. Ill go start on this," she said, turning for the door.

"How was the training by the way?" i asked. Kassie had been here the whole time i was gone, showing her the ropes

"Good. She was really nice. She had a lot of great things to say about you. But i'm not surprised, you're a nice guy Cayden. I cant tell you how much this job means to me, my son too," she brushed her golden curls aside. "I mean i made decent money at the club, but...this is a lot better," she bit her lip. I nodded.

"You should have called me, I always cared about you Keisha," i smiled at her gently seeing her get emotional. She was all tough exterior, it was rare to see this side of her.

"I was embarrassed," she shrugged.

"You aint gotta be. How people make money is none of by business. Bur don't worry, i pay my assistants a lot. You gotta put up with my ass, just wait, you'll be sick of me soon." She laughed.

"Thanks Cayden," she smiled.

"You're welcome," i said simply. She left and closed the door behind her.

Once she was gone i called Randi to check on her.

Randi

Cayden called me just after id gotten off with Cole. He asked how i was and then he was telling me about what he was doing and when he would be home. Then i heard someone talking in the background, it wasn't a guy though, it was a female voice.

“Who is that” I said.

“Who’s who?” He asked. I sat up straighter in the bed chair.

“The chick talking in the back ground,” i said. I couldn't think of any reason for there to be a girl in his office at the warehouse. I knew there were a few girls who were involved in selling and what not but Cayden didn't spend time talking to pedlars or people lower in the chain, he handled all the big time stuff. I started to wonder if he wasn't really at the warehouse but i didn't see why he would lie.

“Keisha,” he said, as if that meant anything. “My assistant.”

“When did you get an assistant? You don’t like anyone, how’d you even pick someone.”

“I told you months ago that I needed an assistant baby,” he reminded me. This was true but still.

“Hm,” I said simply.

“So we good then? I’ll see you in a few hours,” he said.

“Okay,” i said, hanging up. I had been too annoyed to say bye or I love you.

Why would he get an assistant without telling me? If that even was his assistant. I knew there was always random girls walking around that definitely weren’t assistants, the business kind anyways. I wondered what this Keisha girl was assisting Cayden with and my blood started to boil. I tried to not be this person but pregnancy also had me a bit mentally unstable and I wasn’t particularly confident right now. Was Cayden fooling around with another girl because i was becoming the size of a whale? I panicked and started to get up off the bed and pulled on a sweater.

I wasn’t really sure what I was doing until i was driving for 20 minutes and leaving the city to go towards the warehouse. I never came here on my own and I started to second guess myself as I pulled up and security immediately posted up. I got out of the car and locked it. One of the guys looked familiar though and I was pretty sure I’d seen him before.

“Are you lost shawty?” Another guy said, licking his lips in a disgusting way and looking down at me. I was about to release all my fury on him when the familiar guy spoke up.

“That’s Cayden’s wife you idiot” he said. The previous guy shrunk back.

“My bad,” he said quickly, head down.

“Should i get Cayden for you?” The familiar guy asked. I shook my head.

“I know my way,” I said, motioning to the door. They paused but moved out of the way. I adjusted my cardigan and went in. People stared at me because i rarely came period let alone on my own. Also I was pretty pregnant now which drew attention. I went upstairs to the offices and stopped in front of Cay’s. I debated whether or not to knock then decided against it. I opened the door and walked in.

Cayden looked up and his face went very confused when he saw me. He was in the chair and a girl stood beside him, bent over and pointing to the computer screen.

“Randi? What the fuck are you doing here?” He said. My face must not have looked happy because he quickly got up. “I mean is everything ok? Is it the baby?” He came over and put a hand to my lower back. I immediately checked his hand for the wedding band which was there.

“The baby’s fine,” I said, looking him over for lipstick, makeup, anything.

“What’s going on then?” He asked. I looked up at the girl standing and starring at us. Cayden looked up. “Keisha can you give me a minute with my wife,” she stood for a minute looking which was strange but then she shuffled out. I was looking around his office looking for any signs of anything messy when Cayden put a hand to my cheek. “Baby, What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” I mumbled, feeling like the biggest fool.

“You drove all the way up here for nothing. Nah,” he shook his head. I choked up, I couldn’t say I came because I thought you were cheating.

“I don’t feel good,” I lied. I did feel sick to my stomach all of a sudden but more out of guilt. Guilty that I’d thought he’d do something like that and also because the way he looked worried now that he thought I was sick.

“Maybe I should take you to the hospital,” he said, feeling my forehead.

“No I’ll be okay,” I said quickly. “I think I just need to go home,”

“I’ll take you,” He said “someone will come pick me up after.” I agreed. He held me all the way out of his office and down the stairs. Once we got in the car I was still thinking about the fact that he got an assistant and didn’t tell me. That was still sketchy, cheating or not.

“How do you know her?” I asked.

“Keisha?” He asked. I waited for him to lie because honestly I already knew the truth. I was simply testing him. “Being 100, we used to fuck but it was a long time ago, and we were actually friends.”

“So is that why you didn’t tell me?” I asked.

“This about to be a problem isn’t it?” He asked. “Wait? Is that why you drove all the way down here?” Well shit.

“Well I heard a girl in your office,” I said, defending myself. He turned to face me then.

“And you automatically assumed I was what? Cheating?” He looked upset. I was supposed to be the one angry. “You don’t even trust me huh? Still,” he shook his head. When he put it like that he made it sound bad.

“It’s not like that-“

“What’s it like? You came running, so that’s what you thought.”

“Well...” I started. “Normally I wouldn’t be scared but look at me,” i gestured at myself. “I don’t look tight and right at the moment. And don't eve play me like you didn't just hire a girl you used to sleep with and not tell your wife about it.”

“You’re insane Randi. You’ve lost your mind. I ain’t even gon fight you cause you carrying my kid.” I got frustrated and was fighting the urge to break into tears so i just glared out the window for the ride home.

#chris brown #Jhene Aiko #chris brown fanfic #chris brown ff #jhene chilombo #jhene efuru #jhene aiko fanfic #jhene aiko ff #fanfiction #fandom #fanfic #fanfic update #j cole #j cole fanfic

43 notes · View notes

tricklingstreamdacre · 6 years

Text

Let Me Have This; Steve x Reader [Last People on Earth AU]

STEVE HARRINGTON x FEM!READER

SUMMARY: You’re the last people left in the world, it’s a hard reality to face knowing you’ll be the last ones here. But you’re going to make the most of it.

WARNINGS/NOTES: ANGST (oh my god), death (of like the world?+ animals), suicidal thoughts, car crash, blood

REQUEST: The people want more Steve what can I say (thanks @heckin-harrington ) WORD COUNT:

A/N: THIS IS THE LAST POST OF AU WEEK IT’S NOW MY BIRTHDAY I’M HAPPY Y’ALL

You were the last person on earth for ninety days.

Feet dangling off a plummeting cliff, the air pushing your hair behind your shoulders you wondered what would happen if you pushed yourself over. Left behind the world reduced to nothing but a wasteland and nothingness.

It was laer that morning you had met Steve Harrington.

Driving in another hijacked car you pulled up in another town searching for food to collect and resources to pick. You spoke to yourself loudly to numb the deafening silence around you, even if the birds still chirped and the flies still hovered. You thought back to the cliff while tossing a rock in your hands poorly, as the thoughts became more vivid you threw the rock into a glass pane of a music store next to you and heard it smash into a million pieces and scatter on the floor.

The sound was loud, the loudest thing you’d heard since your screams into open fields as you travelled the US alone. The thought made you let a tear fall from your face as you stood amongst the broken glass. Your fists clenched looking into the store filled with cobwebs and dust.

The sound of footsteps were ones you ignored, it reminded you of day sixty roaming the streets New York and you could feel the people around you bustling in hoards.

But these footsteps were real.

When they got quicker you frowned and turned around before seeing the silhouette of a boy your age.

You freaked, your heart skipped beats, eyes widened beyond your own knowledge and you felt your head spin as he walked closer with a similar shock.

“I’m going crazy,” you mumbled as your eyes started blurring his face coming closer. But he didn’t seem to slow and as you saw his greasy hair, pale complexion and large eyes and took it all in.

“No- you’re, you��re real right?”

You paused, the question was so weird, his voice was so foreign and you felt yourself cry with the most happiness you’d had in months.

“I-I’m real.” you paused, he stared tensely as you reached out for him, feeling the side of his face and tears poured down your face as you processed his existence, “Y-You’re real.”

You hugged him tightly, he hugged back just as quick and you could feel his tears stain your jacket as he thanked gods you weren’t sure he even believed in.

You were one of the last people on earth for another two years.

Standing side by side for months that turned to years you couldn’t even guarantee the days wondering if you’d forgotten to mark them off. But you found yourself clinging to Steve Harrington like a lifeline because he was the only reason you’d stayed.

You’d marked down every state in the US, travelling as far you could go and explored every mansion you found as if it was a virtual reality game. The two of you tried to experience things you’d always wanted to, took whatever you had wanted as a kid.

You sung on famous stages, visited famous sets, stole from the richest stores and hung onto small souvenirs from every place you visited. Your favourite was the photo’s you’d get from a working photobooth you spent hours in.

Because in the last one he kissed you.

Ever since the kiss you too had loved each other unconditionally, considering it might be because you were the last, but not caring, holding hands as you slept every night.

You were one of the last people for three years.

It was the third anniversary of your meeting, you were looking through an antique store eating cookies that didn’t go out of date when you heard a cough from behind.

Turning around Steve on one knee held a simple but beautiful ring in his hand and proposed to you.

You cried and kissed him as he slid it on your finger.

You had a June wedding in a beautiful dress you found in that very antique store.

Spending the night dancing for hours to a stack of mixtapes with a million songs to listen to, laughing and smiling, by the time your feet were blistering he dragged you to bed and stared into your eyes blessing the world for giving him one thing to love in this world.

Many nights were spent talking of past, these kids called Dustin, Mike, Max, Lucas, Will, Elle and his friends Nancy, Jonathan and some estranged one called Billy who had spent his last moments trying ‘to make things right’.

You talked of family, things you wished you’d done and things you regret. You cried into each other's arms when necessary, everything was free and sacred between you, for only the two of you to hear. Husband and wife in your early twenties.

You were the last couple on earth for four years.

You coughed for the third time during dinner and Steve looked at you worried, but you waved it off took some medicine that wasn’t out of date and went to bed thinking of the trip to the bowling alley you’d planned for tomorrow.

When you woke up Steve was outside picking out fruit and vegetables to eat, a dog, a stray you’d found alongside him dropping a ball at his feet every minute or so. You smiled standing on the veranda of the small house you’d been sleeping in the past few months.

“How you feeling?”

“Better, I told you not to worry,” you reassured as your hands wrapped around his waist the sound of your dog panting filling the area.

“Well don’t do it again.”

“Don’t cough?”

“Don’t get sick,” he elaborated, “I don’t want to lose you to a cold.”

“Don’t worry about that.” you waved off picking up the ball and throwing it into the large field.

Steve looked at you anxious, it seemed you forgot how risky your life with him was. He wasn’t a doctor, there would only be so much he could do before he’d just have to watch you fade away.

But you said it wouldn’t happen. So he didn’t have to worry.

He would have to worry about something else.

“Dustin!” you called, but the dog was gone.

You and Steve had been searching the lonely town for hours, but your dog you’d come to love and cherish had disappeared into thin air and you were both extremely concerned.

“We should go into the forest we found him,” you explained, “It’s the only place I can think of.”

He nodded and you both rode bikes there and started searching together, you had made a rule two months into knowing each other; never split up.

It started raining, hard, you were glad you brought an umbrella but Steve was getting worried at the idea of one of you two getting sick and was trying to get you to go home, but you refused to.

“I think I heard him!” you yelled out as the rain muffled your words, “Over there!”

He grabbed your wrist, “Y/N we need to go back.”

“I’m not leaving Dustin here!” you replied, the mention of Dustin softened his grip and you wandered further into the rain. He called out for you to stop but soon he couldn’t hear you.

He couldn’t see you.

Steve was the last person on earth for two weeks.

Watching Dustin dropped the ball at your feet, he let his face screw up in a mix of anger and sadness as he screamed at the dog and threw the ball so far into the field the grass now overgrown before storming back inside and locking the dog in the open.

“Please come back to me,” he mumbled between tears and a clenched throat, his hair dirty and his eyes sunken in and burning red.

The silence was killing him, the silence at dinner as his cutlery scrapped against the plate alone had him shaking, even managing to spill his juice over the tablecloth.

But the world would show him mercy when you appeared at the door covered in bruises, pale and weak barely breathing at his doorstep.

Screaming shits as he forced water down your throat and food in your mouth, he panicked his hands fumbling and shaking as he laid you on the bed giving you medication and disinfectants for every scratch you had.

You remember looking up at Steve, eyebrows slightly furrowed and your hands dragging over his face softly, it seemed to calm and still him and he finally looked into your eyes. They were shaking with adrenaline, you smiled breath hoarse, “I love you so much Steve.”

You and Steve were the last people on earth for one more year.

Burying Dustin in the ground it proved to be a wake-up call for the two of you, you’d forgotten about death as you only experienced it once on a mass occasion so many years ago you were numb to the memories. You held each other knowing what you were thinking but not speaking a word of it. Because you were both thinking about what would happen if one of you died, and the other had to stay here.

Two days later you were driving in a new car, you had tried to leave your existential crisis in the dust and appreciate the life ahead of you, you were out of town for awhile, you’d made a small machine to keep the plants watered and were now ready to visit some states and explore like the old days.

You weren’t paying attention to the road because there was nothing to see, you held hands tightly and hummed in unison to the song on the radio. A song you’d listen to a hundred times yet never gotten bored of, you could even play it on the piano a skill you picked up after practising and reading several books.

Steve fiddled idly with you ring a band on his as well, he felt content and happy, now well into his twenties he imagined what kind of life he had ahead.

You both said no kids, not only did it seem too risky for you but there would be no outcome, or two kids doomed to live alone when your inevitable pass, then what?

Giggling you started to sing louder to the song playing taking the sombre moment and creating laughter. You started to sing louder and louder and Steve joined as you danced spastically and without technique.

“Do you think we’re really the only ones?”

Steve shook his head, “What do you mean?”

“Well,” you paused, “What if their people in... Australia?”

He laughed and turned to you, “Maybe.”

He didn’t notice the large ditch in the road.

Going beyond the speed limit the second it hit and dipped one wheel of the car you felt yourself getting thrown throw the glass of the car and launched onto the road beside Steve.

You could feel the broken bones in your body, you could feel the glass in your face and hands as you let out a guttural cry.

Steve, less injured than you but still bleeding from his head, looked over at you in shock. He managed to crawl towards you with shaky feet and kneel beside you, he felt his heart leaping from his chest and stabbing itself.

“Oh my god Y/N.” he mumbled cradling your head.

“How bad is it Steve?” you breathed out as you looked into his eyes tears of pain flowing from your eyes, you tried to look down at your lower half but couldn’t so Steve did it for you.

He could only look for half a second.

“I-It’s fine Y/N.” he said, “It’s fine.” he reaffirmed trying to convince himself more than you. But with dirt in your hair as blood flowed from your nose and mouth you knew better, you could barely feel anything yet feel everything all at once.

“You know I love you Steve right?”

He nodded, “I love you too, you know that.”

You nodded slowly throat tightening, “Right.”

Taking a deep breath you started to shake and you felt yourself pale as everything started to tingle in your body, “And you know I won’t hold anything against what you do when I’m gone... right?

“Once you’re gone?” he questioned, “No you’re not leaving yet.” he denied his head shaking causing his head to pound harder.

You saw it in his eyes, the fear and denial and you let out a large sob as more tears spilt from your eyes into your mouth, “I’m not going anywhere, I’ll always be with you.”

He nodded, “Right, because you’re fine, you’re safe I’ll protect you-”

“You have.” you confirmed, “And I love you so much.”

You could feel everything around you blur, and it wasn’t from the tears, everything started melting and you took in the last clear look of your husband.

Steve looked down at your weakening body with adrenaline and fear, he wasn’t a doctor he didn’t know what to do.

“Wha do I do Y/N? I don’t know what to do.” he explained his voice high and desperate as he looked at you mouth open and tears and snot falling from his face, “Don’t leave me yet.”

“I’m not.” you confirmed, you felt a small jolt of adrenaline allow you to lift your hand and drag it over Steve’s face for the last time, like you’d done the first time you met him, like you’d done when he kissed you for the first time, like you’d done when you said ‘I do’ and when he saved you.

Though his face was wet and slightly cold, you felt comforted, “I’m always with you Steve. Promise me you’ll remember that.”

“I will,” he replied quickly, “I won’t forget, I’ll never forget you.”

“Good.” you whispered your eyes fluttering closed, “That’s good...”

Steve was the last person on earth for three days.

Standing in front of the small house he lived in forever he looked over to the small grave with Dustin written on a wooden board and then looked to his left where adorned in flowers your name was sketched as neat as Steve could attempt in a wooden board that sat in the dirt.

In his hands was a box, filled with your favourite souvenirs the world had to offer, mixtapes, photos and rings, wedding dresses and letters you had written in case someone ever happened to find this.

Steve wrote a long letter in careful detail though messily as he hadn’t had much need for writing in years. It had your final words, anything he thought important, any moment he loved the most. He wished he could write it all.

But after reading it once more he placed the letter in the box and left it inside the house, locked it and turned away warily as he coached himself not to look back.

Don’t look back Steve... Don’t do it.

He stepped into a car and slammed the door looking at the road ahead. And he wondered; how many days could he be the last man on earth with an angel following him everywhere he went.

Tell me your thoughts xxx

#au week #it's over #i'm giving you angst 101 for my birthday #stranger things au #steve harrington au #last people on earth au #stranger things x reader #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things headcanons #stranger things oneshot #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington gif imagine #steve harrington oneshot #steve imagine #steve harrington x reader

108 notes · View notes

setmeatopthepyre · 6 years

Text

DGHDA S02E08 thoughts

THIS WAS SUCH A GREAT EPISODE GUYS I AM STOKED.

- So we see Marina murder Hector in a fight, stabbing him in the head with scissors. According to Max’s tweet this is where she breaks two fingers - which makes sense, considering the force needed to stab through someone’s skull. Then there’s Hector laying on the floor surrounded by yellow flower petals from the vase that fell.. just like Panto in Amanda’s vision.

- I love how Friedkin attempts to bullshit his way through his conversation with Priest and Priest is having none of it. “Can I talk to Ken?” Guess who’s in charge now, Hugo. PS I sort of want that shirt Priest is wearing.

- What is being kept track of on the whiteboard in the monitoring room in Blackwing? There’s ‘Project Icarus’, ‘Gripps’, ‘CROSS’, ‘Vogel’, ‘MARTIN’ and what I assume is ‘Moloch’ but I can’t read the rest of them. What do the numbers mean?

- The original Blackwing in the sixties? As far as we knew, Riggins started Blackwing in the 80s. And there’s already references in files from that far back to dimensional gateways.. but no one ever followed up. Ken mentions the government pulling funding from Project Paperclip. When asked about it, Max tweeted these links: 1, 2, referring to the (real!) Operation Paperclip and Project MKUltra. Lots to unpack there.

- Friedkin stress-stripping while Ken is putting on a jacket is so symbolic.

- So did Blackwing shut down cellphones, internet and just power in general, or is this a power surge sort of thing?

- I love that Farah, anxious Farah, is keeping her cool and helping Tina through her panic. She reminds me of that post along the lines of ‘I can’t do x because of anxiety, but as soon as one of my friends can’t do x either, I suddenly gain the ability to do x to help them.’

- Dirk built himself a nest. Just like the blanket nest in Hobbs’ house.

- I love that Amanda “freaking witchakookoo” Brotzman, who recently pulled an imaginary knife out of her own hand, seems to be the sole voice of reason in Wendimoor. Everything isn’t just magically ok, Todd. People have died. Your old life is over.

- Mona Wilder aka Project Lamia (confirmed!) was a chair for six years before Blackwing brought her in. I want to know how that went. How did they find her?

- I’m still thoroughly freaked out by those two creatures at Wakti’s Pool. What’s with the red eyes? What are they? Why are they there? Also apparently if you control the pool, you control the kingdom and the whole world. Does that mean all of Wendimoor, or.. all dimensions?

- I was delighted to see Suzie couldn’t touch the water itself. Everything comes with a price is a general rule of magic and Amanda went through serious pain to master her powers. Suzie’s taking the easy road and I feel like that’s going to come back to bite her.

Then again, sticking her wand in the pool seemed to work and gave her the Mage’s tattoos / leaves her with a mark of the magic of that world(?). I wonder what effect that’s going to have on her powers. Also, that means the Mage (probably) did the same thing at one point.

- Frija Dengdamor seems ready to listen to Amanda and to be reasonable, but she flips out the second the name Dirk Gently is mentioned, just like in an earlier episode. What is it with his name that makes her so angry? I feel like there’s more there than just the prophecy. Maybe it’s reflective of something in Moloch and Dirk’s time in Blackwing?

- Suzie’s “Time and space are no longer obstacles” is really eerie.

- The little guy with black hair is Amanda.

- Martin just straight up whispering to Vogel that he can’t see without his glasses was fantastic. Poor squinty man in a bright world. And then the catlike swat. Then they pick Dirk up and put him in charge. Fantastic. Give me infinite seasons of this please.

- I feel like Todd’s been booed while on a stage before and his immediate reaction is just to flip everyone off. That’s so punk. There’s the big brother that little Amanda probably learned to be punk from.

- Is that the same car Dirk saw in the woods earlier? How did they manage to Rowdify it in that short period of time? Was Vogel just hanging off the side spraypainting while they drove? Is their punk aesthetic really the only constant in the universe? Also if anyone finds me that soundtrack that plays, let me know because it’s great.

- I feel like Wygar is really important somehow. He has an accent we don’t hear anywhere else in Wendimoor and he can take on the entirety of the Rowdy 3 without much of a problem. Plus bonus points for him taking off his cloak before fighting because yes that is actually realistic thank you. I am passionate about fighting scenes and will say nothing more about Martin’s little twirl. That’s how you get knocked down, Martin. Oops.

- When did Martin’s club turn into a scissor sword?

- Amanda getting tired of the ineffective fighting and just kicking Silas in the chest was great. Todd following up with some punches was even better. I’m all for small angry Brotzman fighting. Also Amanda whistling for the Rowdy boys? Best.

- I love when everyone straps in for Dirk Story Time. Dirk gets his podium to tell us all how he Solved It and everyone else just listens with rapt attention. Vogel’s just hanging off his brothers because he is the purest being in the world.

- So in the sixties, the predecessor to Blackwing was drawn to Bergsberg because of Moloch. Arnold turned in Moloch after his parents died. Moloch freaked out and tried to make his fantasy world, Wendimoor, real. Boom, surge of ‘67. That explains the mural in Bergsberg. But what about the one in Wendimoor?

I want to say that Moloch, when he fell into a coma, was transported to Wendimoor as a second version of himself somehow. That means someone or something around his age should be in Wendimoor.. but what did the stroke do? Would that have influenced the person he is in Wendimoor?

- The Rowdy 3 calling Dirk out on his Nerdy Bullshit makes me think that they know him well enough to expect nerdy bullshit from him. I can just imagine little Dirk, freshly escaped from Blackwing, trying to make conversation with the Rowdy 3 about books or interconnectedness or something like that.

- Did Amanda only bring in the Rowdy 3 yesterday? And they cobbled their entire outfits together in one morning and then got them all super dirty and went to look for the mage’s army and holy crap a lot of stuff happened in one day.

- I loved the detail of Martin looking over at the hut just before Suzie starts cackling because of the magic smell thing.

116 notes · View notes

kilo1118 · 7 years

Text

Every weekend for exercise and intimacy, Pretty-Girlfriend and I take long hand-holding walks around our picturesque New York community. She always wears a “Fitbit” on her wrist that measure her steps. I always wear tan boat-shoes that hurt my feet. My whole life I have witnessed fifty-something couples taking brisk walks on pleasant summer days. I am now that guy. For those who have never been to Saratoga Springs NY, it is a town of 29,000 people, located 30 miles north of Albany. Saratoga boasts a race track, a performing arts center (SPAC) a vibrant downtown business district, and just happens to be the whitest place in the greater North Atlantic region. I have heard that Saratoga is so white that you can see it from the moon. In the summer, during “track season”, every type of white person is well represented in this small affluent community. We have wealthy Ive-league WASP’s up from Newport, driving tiny Jaguar convertibles with trunks barely large enough to house their hybrid golf clubs. Pot-bellied, middle-aged insurance salesmen who never smile, walk to town wearing salmon colored shorts and smoking cheap Corona’s. There are sixty year old divorcees with overly processed blonde hair and nicotine strained voices, drinking sugary cocktails far too early is the afternoon. At dusk, packs of young girls with important hair, wearing heals longer than their skirts, walk down Broadway and Caroline streets promoting cleavage that would leave a Girls Gone Wild alumni blushing. Their male counterparts carry a demeanor that makes each look as though he could be prosecuted at any time, for date rape, insider trading, or discriminatory and unfair housing practices. We have gaggles of ethnically sterile restaurants, all serving chicken Caesar salads. Each also offers a pineapple-chutney salmon entree with couscous and shaved Brussels sprouts which are served in a balsamic vinaigrette Demi-glace. These eateries often house well appointed bars with tasteful up-lighting, they offer drink menus with “Signature cocktails”, all of which are well garnished and given pretentious names, like the “skinny mule” or the “bitter hamlet”. I feel safe here in Saratoga Springs, NY. Maybe too safe. I want to hear an accent that is foreign to me. I want to be flirted with by someone with ambiguous gender or sexuality. I want my surroundings to challenge me, reminding me better of the ease and station of my life. I want eateries that confront me with the scent of previously unrecognizable spices and decor. I want to look at art that asks something back of me, to hear music that wont let me ignore it. I want to see people wearing clothing that I would not dare wear, but feel strongly about how damn good they look wearing it. I want to read the front of a t-shirt and be left perplexed with its meaning. I want to hear street musicians who aren’t on their summer break from Julliard or Eastman. I want to feel like I did when I was 17, on the nights when I climbed aboard that bus at the end of Caroline avenue, the one that brought me to the Port Authority, in NY. Where the cat calls of aggressive gay men made me feel vulnerable and the smell of urine quickened my pace. I want to feel the bass on the staircase when I enter the club before I even recognize the music; No! Instead, I don’t want to recognize the music. I want a black bartender with cornrows and an open shirt filling my highball glass. There will be no air conditioning, but instead a big noisy metal fan blowing air and politically charged Hip-hop over me. My borrowed town of Saratoga Springs is a wonderful place, its tree lined streets are filled with well maintained 19th and early 20th century homes, each one larger than the next. I can walk out my door and in minutes be strolling through a well conceived urban park adorned with a pond and a family of ducks. When I leave Congress Park and turn right on Broadway, I have many choices; frozen yogurt at Plumb Dandy, coffee at Uncommon Grounds, wine at Max London’s. It’s all very pleasant, very easy, comfortable. I think maybe it’s time to look around.

1 note · View note

theliterateape · 4 years

Text

Finding What Really Matters When It All Shifts for the Worse

By Don Hall

The Vegas mid-day sky is strangely dark and slightly orange. The sun, ordinarily a blazing hot laser that has this amazing hostility in the desert, is muted. I can stare right at it and see it’s perfect circle. It is the stuff of a Ridley Scott dystopia.

At this moment, my mind goes to the end of the world place. I know the haze comes from California currently on fire in so many places that the smoke has drifted as far as Kansas but is still thick here. It smells like a Webber charcoal grill just before the steaks go on. I wonder if the clothes I’m wearing are my apocalyptic outfit, the costume of my End of Days character. I’m not sure if the shoes will hold up to Cormac’s Road but the jeans have some staying power, I think. The vest, at least, will look cool as the planet descends into galactic irrelevance.

If this is it, that minute when it all goes to shit, did I remember to tell my mom I love her? Was my last kiss on my wife’s lips worthy of being our, you know, last kiss? Will I remember, months from now as I scavenge cold canned food out of abandoned grocery stores to survive, the feast of a club sandwich, fries, and a Dr. Pepper as bounty?

Did I write about things and ideas worth reading and soon, long after the digital footprint is erased by the absence of electricity, will anyone remember them?

I grew up reading about the demise of civilization. King’s The Stand was among my favorite books. Movies about the nuclear holocaust destined to come, pandemics devastating humanity, zombies hoarding through empty cities. The inhumanity of humans balanced with the kindness of survivors. Hard choices following devastating loss.

Yeah. I think what makes my specific brand of optimism potent is the always present knowledge of impermanence. Mortality is never far from my thoughts although it is not the fear of death or pain that permeates the brainstew. It’s the billions of distractions spent eating up the life being lived just before the end that fascinate and horrify me.

This too shall pass is both a salve for those in troubled times and a warning for those whose heads are stuck so far up their cakeholes that they miss the importance of significant but easily discarded life.

I’d like to believe that if we all were a bit more in tune with the fact that the party eventually ends we might be the slightest bit more grateful for that last Solo cup of beer and that final bite of cheese. We’ll feel pretty fucking stupid taking for granted a hug when there is suddenly no one left to embrace.

I stare at the sun for that beat and the moment passes. I head back into the casino for more of the bizarre, the mundane, and the simple weird day-to-day of managing the swing shift in a casino at the end of the world. Boulevard of Broken Dreams, my ass. The fractured lives of gamblers on the ass end of broke-dick is more like it.

On a corner slot machine sits Ted. That isn’t his name as far as I know but Random Addict Homeless White Guy Mumbling to Himself is too burdensome for an essay so Ted will do. Ted has been here before. Ted could be thirty-five years old or somewhere north of sixty. Who knows? The desert sun has a way of fossilizing age.

My general manager has tossed him from the place for refusing to wear a mask. I physically threw him out in the parking lot when he decided he was going to get a free drink and scream his ass off in order to get it. When I tried to get him out the door, he started screaming “Don’t you put your hands on me!” My response was “Or what?” His reaction was to try to break the glass on one of the exit doors. I grabbed him by the back of the shirt and shoved him onto the pavement.

As the Nice Manager or the Manager of Multiple Chances I figure as long as he’s not bothering people or acting up, he’s fine to play his found two dollars for a beer and a chance to get out of the heat. He has a tall boy beer in his pocket. “Yo. Don’t open that beer on the casino floor or I’ll have to chuck it in the can.” He nods in a frenetic way and continues to slowly push the penny bet button.

I remind him to wear the fucking mask (really a red bandana but who quibbles in a pandemic?) and he haphazardly pulls it up. I register a sour smell from him. A combination of weeks of sweat dried, booze, and something else unpleasant.

A few minutes later, he’s up at the cage trying to cash in cash vouchers for $0.03 and $0.11 that he has found in machines abandoned by players who couldn’t be bothered with the small change after losing. This practice, known as ticket surfing is forbidden so it’s time for Ted to head out for the day.

He takes the news better this time as me booting him from the property is now semi-routine. He points to the machine he was playing. “Someone left those cigarettes. Are those yours?” he asks.

“Not mine. I smoke but not cigarettes. No one seems to want them so if you do, they’re yours.”

“You don’t want them?”

“Nah. Menthol. You couldn’t pay me to smoke menthol.”

“I can have them?”

“Yup.” I hand him what looks like three-quarters of a pack of Newports.

Another moment. A microcosm expanded.

The look on his face—surprise, gratitude, sadness, desperation—freezes time.

How did Ted go from being an eight-year-old boy just like I once was and end up, in this moment, here? What was his journey in this descent?

The feeling in my core isn’t pity or empathy. It isn’t some virtuous need to demonstrate kindness or a need to save him. It’s almost a clinical interest in his story. A desire to understand his path and how it diverged from my own. Looking at a disaster and wondering how I avoided the same. Genes? Upbringing? Dumb luck?

At once I am struck by the things I fail to appreciate in my life. In the midst of the frustration with so much of society, with the struggles with the needs and complaints of so many, I recognize the absolute necessity in reflection. Staring for a moment in the mirror, not at myself in the narcissism of the social media age, but at the people and things around me that keep me from walking those footsteps of the apocalypse, from dancing the sad death spiral Ted seems to be on.

This too shall pass.

A Las Vegas friend with ties to Chicago made an odd comment recently. He was commenting on his enjoyment of Johnny Depp films and said “I’m truly fascinated by the work of those who have been cancelled. Depp, you...”

Wait. I was cancelled?

I suppose, in some ways, I was. My frame is that Chicago was as done with me as I was Chicago but no one can present themselves from within their own lens. Everyone sees everyone else the way they choose to and if some see my trajectory in that way, I suppose it doesn’t change things for me.

It’s that lens thing that gets to the point, right? The world is as you choose to see it. Not so much as a frame for truth (because that whole “I’m living my truth” is some ego-driven prattle) but as a guide for how one behaves.

There are always going to be people who will take advantage you. Always. You can choose to then see everyone as a potential grifter or choose to avoid assigning guilt before specificity. The choice will determine how you approach every relationship you enter into. It will dictate how you treat strangers. It will stipulate the terms of your own social contract.

We are living out big history right now. The events we are enduring are going to be taught in history classes for hundreds of years. For those folks living in 2120, the COVID pandemic of 2020, the reign of Donald Trump, the results of decades of climate change, will all be chapters in the book.

In Brian DePalma’s Vietnam film Casualties of War there is a moment that sticks in my mind. This is certainly a paraphrase so don’t get your little girl panties up in a wad about accuracy but at one point a character looks at Michael J. Fox and states that nothing matters in the conflict. That with the horrors surrounding them, no one is looking at the brutal behavior of single individuals so who cares.

Fox’s character’s response is simply that maybe, when no one is looking, when the world is on fire, maybe it is even more vital to do the right thing. When everyone is angry and misunderstanding everyone else, when war envelopes us all, maybe that is the exact time to be kinder and less angry.

This too shall pass and we will still be here. The world feels like it’s ending a lot more than it did when I was reading The Stand and listening obsessively to Maynard Ferguson. Perhaps the immediacy of knowing at every second what everyone is doing and feeling has something to do with that. I don’t know.

I suspect that the world will never end, at least not in the way our active dreaming envisions it. The world, whether it includes us or not, will continue to turn. Each day will follow the next. Maybe it takes the form of a Mad Max world or a dystopia where Kevin Costner is the postman hero. I can almost guarantee that the momentary vitriol and infighting over identity, over politics, over whether to wear a mask or how we fund college will not be on the radar.

At this particular end of the world it’s that kiss and on my wife’s lips, that FaceTime call to Mom, that fucking dry-ass club sandwich that matter. It’s the fact that I had the privilege to take a hot shower, that I’m remarkably COVID-free, and I own more than one pair of shoes (despite wearing the less durable pair today) that count.

We have bigger fish to fry and even those, too, will pass.

When it comes, at least I’ll be wearing this cool ass vest.

#food for thought #personal apocalypse #casino life

1 note · View note