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favoniuscodex · 3 years

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embrace. [zhongli x reader]

prompt: lifting someone up out of excitement + zhongli // in which you take a commission and disappear for a few months. all zhongli wants is to be able to hold you in his arms again -- is that too much to ask? pairing: zhongli x gn!reader warnings: disappearance, description of injuries. it’s angst to fluff, okay? word count: ~1.6k words a/n: the spirit of sad zhongli consumed me and i really wanted to write this angst piece i guess. happy ending tho, dw. this is the power of the forehead zhongli pics.

Despite the countless years Zhongli had lived, it felt as if it had been eons since he last saw you. Each morning, he would awake to the other side of the bed being empty, your side of the still neatly made while the former archon’s half of the sheets had been jostled to the high heavens from his restlessness due to your absence. He had become accustomed to your brief absences as you were an adventurer. Your commissions often forced you away from his side for days at a time.

However, there had never been an absence as worrisome as your current one. For the last month, you had gone completely off the grid. Nobody had heard from you, nobody even knew if you were alive. What should have been a simple mission led to your complete disappearance. Zhongli had even gone as far to recruit Childe in the search for you, but even his Fatui connections had turned up nothing.

All Zhongli had left was continuous use of his resources to seek out any lead that might bring you home, but in the cold nights spent alone, Zhongli couldn’t help but bitterly weep over the fact that if he was still an archon, he would have found you by now. Stuck in this mortal form with limited powers, Zhongli feels the sheer vulnerability that ingrains itself within human DNA as he dresses up for work every day. He feels the hollow fear that paints his insides and dries quickly whenever he looks in the mirror. It leaves a film that feels as if it will never go away.

For once in his life, the almighty Morax feels useless. He detests experiencing such mortal woes, but he can almost hear Guizhong’s amused laughter in his ear about how Rex Lapis had fallen so hard and felt so desperate over the company of a mere mortal human.

She would have loved you, he realizes one day as he eats his breakfast alone. Before Zhongli can stop himself, tears are falling onto his plate as unfamiliar emotions consume him once more.

One month turns into two. Two turn into four. Four turn into six and Zhongli only grows more bitter. Even with the limitations of this weakened form he took on when he gave up his archonhood, his memory is still as strong as ever. Zhongli cherishes the way he can tell others stories about you, but despises the way your smile shines in his mind every time he closes his eyes. He detests the way his hand feels bare without yours in it. Most of all, Zhongli hates the way he can’t hear the three little words he had come to adore fall from your lips once more, even if their memory echoes around in his head.

In the mortal-centric world that Zhongli now traverses, there is little time for grief. Life moves on and unfortunately, Zhongli realizes, everyone expects him to as well. Work continues on as usual at Wangsheng Funeral Parlor, but Hu Tao’s pranks are softer and his colleagues are kinder in their words. Eventually, people stop asking about you. No news means nothing has changed and Zhongli can see in their eyes that they have no hope of your return.

He wonders if the mortals pity him for his loss.

Zhongli wonders if they would still feel differently if they knew he was Rex Lapis.

Rather than letting empty nights consume him as he sits in your shared home alone, Zhongli takes on more work. Hu Tao initially voices her concerns, but a sharp, yet desperate glance from Zhongli has her holding back her words and instead has her placing more paperwork upon Zhongli’s desk. If Zhongli can’t be efficient in searching for you, he might as well busy himself until you return.

You will return, he reassures himself. You have to.

Zhongli lies in bed with a new lover: Grief. It wraps her seductive arms around him, pulling him into her misery, entrenching him in the bitter aftertaste of love that has long since reached its expiry date. He hates her, yet she refuses to leave the bed, resting on your side and holding him close. If he squints, the hollow void of Grief materializes itself in the shape of you.

Zhongli requests more paperwork to avoid her company.

However, eight months after your disappearance, Zhongli’s outlook on the world flips on its head once more. The desolation that rages inside him is briefly distracted as commotion occurs outside of Zhongli’s office. The funeral consultant’s door is closed, yet the sheer noise of shuffling and yelling that appears to be coming from the desk of the receptionist causes him to poke his head out the doorframe.

Down the hall, he sees a frantic head of ginger hair, which quickly matches Zhongli’s eyes with its own cerulean ones. Childe, Zhongli notes with confusion. The two of them were friends, certainly, but not close enough to make impromptu visits to the other’s place of work.

“Zhongli!” Childe bellows down the hall and Zhongli wonders what situation could possibly result in Childe feeling the need to disrupt the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor in such an uncouth manner. Zhongli’s bewilderment grinds to an abrupt halt as Childe utters his next three words.

“We found them.”

The next moments are agonizingly slow, despite the immediate rush Zhongli throws himself into, hastily getting his things together and heading out the door. A simple nod from Hu Tao gives him the permission he needs to leave, but Zhongli would have fought Celestia if it meant he could see you again. The paperwork that rests on his desk is long since forgotten as he follows Childe’s hurried pace, the two of them nearly breaking out into a sprint as Childe guides Zhongli to your location.

When Zhongli sets eyes on you, you’re resting in an infirmary bed in the back of Northland Bank, one typically used for fallen Fatui agents. Amidst the Tsaritsa’s décor, your innocence looks out of place, but Zhongli’s heart swells nonetheless. Your figure is exhausted as your chest softly moves up and down, eyes shut in an uncomfortable rest. Bruises and scars mottle your skin, along with bandages that encase your arms and legs. Even with all of your injuries and your battered state, Zhongli swears he’s never seen a more relieving, beautiful sight.

You’re alive. Quietly, Zhongli moves to sit next to you and reaches out for your hand, but hesitates before he can take it in yours. The two of you had been apart for so long. You were in front of him now, yet your sleeping status still left a divide between the two of you. It was clear to Zhongli that you had been through hell and back, so he withdraws his hand, not wanting to bother your rest, and instead elects to sit on a chair near your bed.

Childe wordlessly excuses himself before Zhongli can issue his thanks, but the archon knows that Childe is more than aware of how much Zhongli appreciates the gesture of the Fatui both rescuing you and allowing you to recuperate on their premises. No debt goes unpaid, but Zhongli would have paid any amount of Mora just to see you safe again.

As Zhongli shifts his weight, the wooden chair lets out a noisy creak and, much to Zhongli’s horror, your eyes flutter open groggily at the noise.

“Zhongli,” You croon, moving to step out of the bed. At that moment, Zhongli realizes you’re farther in the healing process than expected, likely due to the work of one of the Fatui’s Vision-wielding healers. You stumble over to him and Zhongli immediately stands, capturing you in his firm arms before you can fall.

“Darling, you should rest,” Zhongli chides, but the look of love in your eyes as you glance at him silences his complaints. Warmth floods through his chest as your body heat merges with his. You are here. You have returned.

Before he can stop himself, Zhongli lets out a relieved laugh before lifting you up and twirling you around in a hug. You let out a noise of surprise before giggling along with him. As he sets you down, you use the opportunity to plant a kiss on Zhongli’s cheek before wrapping your arms around his torso, hugging him tightly. Your firm yet gentle touch reminds him of his godhood. With you, Zhongli feels unstoppable.

“I missed you,” You murmured, leaning in to listen to his heartbeat. “I thought of you every day.”

Once again overwhelmed by the utterly unfamiliar, utterly human emotions, Zhongli’s eyes well up with tears as you begin to hum a soft Liyuean melody as you hold him close, his hands rubbing small circles on your back as he returns your gesture. For all the times he had wished to hear those three little words from you again, Zhongli realizes what he desired most of all those months you had been missing: the ability to say the words to you himself.

Rather than be his typical longwinded self, Zhongli realizes that for all of the complexities that entrench the current situation, only simple words are needed to convey all that he feels in this moment. Therefore, rather than reciting affirmations that would rival that of the most glorious of weddings, Zhongli smiles softly and presses a kiss to your hair as you continue to listen to his heartbeat.

“I love you,” He murmurs and, as you bury your face in his chest, he feels you smile in return as you trace a heart with one of your fingers onto his back.

For all the months you had been gone, he now has a plethora more to make memories with you and Zhongli is determined to keep you safe throughout all of them.

#writing endings is hard lol #might remove the primogem banner if this doesnt show up in tags eventually #zhongli #genshin impact #zhongli x reader #genshin impact x reader #//zhongli

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nashvilledreams · 4 years

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My Naya, my Snixxx, my Bee. I legitimately can not imagine this world without you.

7 years ago today, she and I were together in London when we found out about Cory. We were so far away, but I was so thankful that we had each other. A week ago today we were talking about running away to Hawaii. This doesn’t make sense. And I know it probably never will.

She was so independent and strong and the idea of her not being here is something I cannot comprehend. She was the single most quick-witted person I’ve ever met, with a steel-trap memory that could recall the most forgettable conversations from a decade ago verbatim. The amount of times she would memorize all of those crazy monologues on Glee the morning of and would never ever mess up during the scene… I mean, she was clearly more talented than the rest of us. She was the most talented person I’ve ever known. There is nothing she couldn’t do and I’m furious we won’t get to see more.

I’m thankful for all the ways in which she made me a better person. She taught me how to advocate for myself and to speak up for the things and people that were important to me, always. I’m thankful for the times I grew an ab muscle from laughing so hard at something she said. I’m thankful she became like family. I’m thankful that my dad happened to have met her weeks before I did and when I got Glee, he told me to “look out for a girl named Naya because she seemed nice.” Well dad, she was nice and she became one of my favorite people ever.

If you were fortunate enough to have known her, you’ll know that her most natural talent of all was being a mother. The way that she loved her boy, it was truly Naya at her most peaceful. I’m thankful that Naya got that beautiful little boy back on that boat. I’m thankful he will have a strong family around him to protect him and tell him about his incredible mom.

I just hope more than anything that her family is given the space and time to come to terms with this. For having such tiny body, Naya had such a gigantic presence, a void that will now be felt by all of us - those of us who knew her personally and the millions of you who loved her through your TVs. I love you, Bee.

My favorite duet partner. I love you. I miss you. I don’t have words right now, just lots of feelings. Rest In Peace Angel, and know that your family will never have to worry about anything.

We started out as the closest friends and then like all new things, we went through a bit of a rocky phase. However, we stuck by each other’s side and created the most beautiful friendship built out of love and understanding. The last I had the chance to see you in person, I had left oranges outside our home for you to take. I wanted to say hi through the window but my phone didn’t ring when you called (which it never does, f*cking T-Mobile), so instead you and Josey left two succulents on our doorstep as a thank you. I planted those succulents and I look at them everyday and think of you. I still listen to your EP on repeat because from the moment I heard it, it struck me and I always wished the world knew more of your voice. You sent me over 5 dozen SnapChat videos when you and Josey woke up in the morning and I kick myself that I didn’t save one of them. You always shared recipes and I admired your love for food. We vowed to spend every Easter together, even though Covid stole this last one from us. You are and always will be the strongest and most resilient human being I know, and I vowed to carry that with me as I continue to live my life.

You constantly taught me lessons about grief, about beauty and poise, about being strong, resilient and about not giving a fuck (but still somehow respectful). Yet, the utmost important lesson I learned most of all from you was being a consistent and loving friend. You were the first to check in, the first to ask questions, the first to listen..you cherished our friendship and I never took that for granted.

We never took photos together because we mutually hated taking pictures...our relationship meant more than proof. I have countless pictures of our babies playing, because we shared that kind of pride and joy. So I’m showing the world a photo of our little goof balls for you, because I know that meant more than anything and they remind me of you and I. I speak to you everyday because I know you’re still with me and even though I’m feeling greedy that we don’t get more time together, I cherish every moment we had and hold it close to my heart.

There are no words and yet so many things I want to say, I don't believe I'll ever be able to articulate exactly what I feel but... Naya, you were a ⚡️ force and everyone who got to be around you knew it and felt the light and joy you exuded when you walked into a room. You shined on stage and screen and radiated with love behind closed doors.

I was lucky enough to share so many laughs, martinis and secrets with you. I can not believe I took for granted that you'd always be here. Our friendship went in waves as life happens and we grow, so I will not look back and regret but know I love you and promise to help the legacy of your talent, humor, light and loyalty live on.

You are so loved. You deserved the world and we will make sure Josey and your family feel that everyday. I miss you already.

She was bold. She was outrageous. She was a LOT of fun.⁣

Naya made me laugh like no one else on that set. I always said it while we were working together and I’ve maintained it ever since. Her playful, wicked sense of humor never ceased to bring a smile to my face.⁣

She played by her own rules and was in a class of her own. She had a brashness about her that I couldn’t help but be enchanted by. I also always loved her voice, and savored every chance I got to hear her sing. I think she had more talent than we would have ever been able to see.⁣

I was constantly moved by the degree to which she took care of her family, and how she looked out for her friends. She showed up for me on numerous occasions where she didn’t have to, and I was always so grateful for her friendship then, as I certainly am now.⁣

And even as I sit here, struggling to comprehend, gutted beyond description- the very thought of her cracks me up and still brings a smile to my face. That was Naya’s gift. And it's a gift that will never go away. ⁣

Rest in peace you wild, hilarious, beautiful angel.

How can you convey all your love and respect for someone in one post? How can you summarize a decade of friendship and laughter with words alone? If you were friends with Naya Rivera, you simply can’t. Her brilliance and humor were unmatched. Her beauty and talent were otherworldly. She spoke truth to power with poise and fearlessness. She could turn a bad day into a great day with a single remark. She inspired and uplifted people without even trying. Being close to her was both a badge of honor and a suit of armor. Naya was truly one of a kind, and she always will be. 💔 Sending all my love to her wonderful family and her beautiful son.

Dear Naya,

I’m failing miserably to process this news. I always imagined old future senior moments where we would hear your infectious laughter down the hall knowing that our funny bone was in for a treat. To many people, myself included, you were the life of the party. Not only able to rock when fun was to be had after a long day but that shining friend that was always willing to listen, offer sympathy, perspective and at times, give much needed levity to any situation.

You were a beast on the show. I admired you as I watched you nail multi page monologues that you learned moments before and pour your heart into every performance with an energy that had that snicks special written all over it. Our deep conversations about life inbetween scenes are some of my favorite moments with you. Getting to hear about your hopes and dreams for the future and with Josey’s arrival, ‘Your greatest success’ I was so happy to see your dream turn into reality.

You deserved more. I’m so sorry but you deserved more. You gave life your all and I hope all the good that you have given to the world will be returned in abundance when you reunite with our brother in the heavenly skies. I’m so grateful for our memories. We will make sure to keep your legacy and spirit alive so Josey will grow up to know the incredible woman you were. Love you, Naya. You are already missed. Eternally.

-HSJ

Naya and I fell into stride with such ease, she was my first friend and ally on our show. In the pilot, our characters came and went with such swiftness. Our enthusiasm brimmed with all of the unknown. We tried to grasp what the other cast members must be feeling as we were working in such separate manners. We dared to dream. What if this show worked? Wouldn’t that be something? Something was brimming, it was palpable. And thank god it worked. Naya’s magnetic talent was going to be unleashed, we just didn’t know it yet. ⁣⁣

I’ve been revisiting Naya’s performances on our show and it has brought me great joy. To work with her was a gift. There was a great deal to absorb - her work ethic, her fearlessness, her talent - supreme. Naya had a laugh that would envelop you and hold you captive. She was mesmerizing. That twinkle in her eye, her luminous smile. Naya lead with truth, humor, wit. I loved her for all of these reasons. ⁣⁣

I loved her sense of curiosity and wanderlust. I was lucky enough to be her travel partner for some of my most favorite adventures. As I write this, I’m grinning with swelling memories of a spontenaous 36 hour excursion - one might even say diversion - to Paris. With Naya, everything was possible and would often simply unfold before us, almost magically.⁣⁣

On this particular jaunt, within ten minutes of checking into our hotel, we found ourselves strolling the halls of L'École des Beaux-Arts, sipping wine from paper cups with students showcasing their latest work. It was fantastic. We were united in our commitment to discovery. And there was always a list of cleverly curated ideas in Naya’s back pocket, should we need it. ⁣⁣

I cannot make sense of this tremendous loss. I will hold onto her and these memories for the rest of time, alongside our Glee family. Please hold space for her, her family, her beautiful boy. ⁣⁣

In absolute, loving memory.

Naya The world is at such a loss and I am truly heartbroken. I still remember the day I met you. You Walked straight up to me, grabbed me by the face and drug me around until I met every single person on set, introducing me as “new booty”. You were one of the first people who made me feel like family when others saw me as an outsider. I didn’t know then that you would become my family and that’s just who you were to everyone.. A Mother, Sister, Daughter and most of all a friend. Your massive heart and bright spark is what carried our entire show, when at times we all felt like giving up.

You always showed up for me when I needed some wisdom or was down and just needed someone to talk to. You took care of everyone around you in a way that was so warm and comforting and you sure knew how to throw a hell of a party!

I always admired your bravery and passion to fight for what’s right even when it seemed like you were up against the world. Your spirit is contagious and you continue to make everyone you have touched a better and stronger person by knowing you.

My favorite part of glee was getting to watch you perform and shine up close every day. You really were the pulse of that show. Anyone who was blessed enough to see and experience your raw talent knows it to be true. You’re one of the smartest and most gifted people I have ever met. There is no one like you and there never will be.

You have changed peoples lives all around the world and you continue to change mine forever. I will never forget your love and kindness. Thank you for sharing your spirit Angel.

I will miss you always. I Love you Naya

For the last 7 years the 13th of July has shattered our hearts beyond repair. There aren’t enough words to describe the pain we are feeling, we are truly heartbroken at the loss of @nayarivera .

Naya, Cory loved you so so much. He cherished your friendship more than you will ever know. From the laughs you shared, to the strength you gave him when he needed it the most. Cory truly adored you. He was in awe of your incredible talent, the way you gave everything you had to each performance; the slap in the auditorium was one of his favourite stories to share. You once said Cory was like a member of your family; you will always be a part of ours. We’ll carry you in our hearts forever. We miss you. Friends reunited for eternity.

We send all our love and strength to your beautiful boy, your family, friends and fans 💔🐻💔

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soukokuwu · 4 years

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↳ genre: angst

↳ characters: dad!chuuya, wife!reader, you guys have a child

↳ synopsis: a small look at how he handles himself in the aftermath of the catastrophe.

↳ warnings: implied death

↳ word count: 1,689

↳ requested by anonymous || Do whatever you want have s/o killed by one of Chuuya's enemies or die in childbirth idc which one you choose or how you do it JuSt maKe iT hURt

Chuuya sits in the living room, in the dim opalescence of the moon, picture perfect memories scattered on the coffee table before him. He takes a sip of shiraz as he carefully appraises the photo in his hand, thumb delicately grazing over the smile set on your face.

You were so beautiful.

No, not like those typically featured starving adolescents on countless magazines, covered in so many products they barely appear human. Not in that way. You were much more.

Your kind of beautiful was a smile so freely given, a sign of how tender your soul was. It was that spark in your eye — the one that showed him you were always up for an adventure. They held such an intelligence and serenity that he couldn’t help but be prisoner to them. Your kind of beautiful was a mind singularly practical and sagacious.

Your kind of beautiful... was who you were.

And the most precious beauty you graced him with in this life, he thinks, would be the faint memory of your voice muttering out an “I love you”, a phrase that rolled off your tongue so smoothly like birdsong, forever echoing in his heart.

He spends every night like this, as he has for the past twelve years. A nightly routine, brought about by a nameless sadness which is always born of moonlight. And each time, the colours of the day will fade into the black, and it gets dark with unutterable sorrows.

Your death haunts the recesses of his memory. What was supposed to be the happiest day of your lives turned into his worst nightmare. Chuuya can’t remember how many times the scene plays back in his head; the doctor apologising and the sounds all turning into muffled feedback right after, the blood staining your hospital gown, the sounds of his screams muffled by the blanket covering your hollow shell and the gentle touch of Kouyou trying to pry him away from you. It didn’t matter how much he held on to you anyway, Chuuya had already lost you to death’s grip.

The incomparable happiness he felt just a few hours before had given way to immeasurable grief. And he was conflicted, so conflicted, because in another room, she was crying too. So he did what a father was supposed to do — he straightened up, cradled his little baby in his arms and hushed, telling her everything was going to be alright.

One of the first few sentences he had ever said to his newborn baby, and it had to be a lie. Because how was he supposed to know if everything was really going to be okay? For the first time since he’s met you, Chuuya had felt utterly lost, despondent. Every day since that moment, he has felt his mind being beaten into the ground because of the catastrophe.

Not to say there aren’t happy moments — how could there not be? He lost you, but he also gained an amazing daughter who, he realised after some time, was quite like you.

The first few years had been extremely hard on him. He didn’t know what to do, he didn’t know if he was doing it correctly, he didn’t know what else he should do. He had thought the two of you would figure it out together, learn how to be parents together. Turned out to be just another unattainable dream. But Chuuya considers himself lucky. Even until now, the mafia takes care of her as they do him, because she is, by extension, a part of him. She keeps him sane, grounded, particularly during her waking hours. She is not only his miracle but also someone who never fails to distract and beguile his soul. When he spends time with her he can’t help but be completely absorbed in it, in her.

There’s so much that reminds him of you. Why wouldn’t there be? She is your daughter too. Although, she has his eyes (he silently wishes she got yours, so that maybe, somehow, he might see a glimpse of you from time to time). But there are other, more significant, things that reminds him of you. Her smile; the way it slowly and sometimes unwillingly (when she’s feigning being mad at him) shapes into a grin, before the silence gives way to a laugh of jovial significance. It’s not just in its melody — it’s in the way her face changes into a vision of unrestrained mirth. Just like you. Even her, as a person, reminds him of you; the way she manages to touch someone’s life just with mere words (he’s very surprised at this, considering how she’s still just a kid), and the way she protects those she loves with utmost enthusiasm. Even the way she manages to make Chuuya, the hot-headed brute with short temperament, have a patience worthy of admiration, is remarkable in itself.

It’s only in the night that he allows himself to feel about you; to let it out. It’s only when his daughter is asleep that he allows himself to crumble under the pressure of trying to hold it together for them both. Never once does he allow himself to falter in the face of his daughter. Chuuya feels the undeniable need to be her pillar of support, an iron wall that would never break. He can’t let her see him like this, ever, lest she worries. And she would, because she is exactly like you. If he can’t protect you, the least he can do is to safeguard what you left behind — the family.

“I miss you,” he utters into the night, well aware that no one is there to hear him, to respond to him. His eyes are glued to your face.

“I miss you so much.”

But someone does hear it. She has heard it ever since that night two years ago when she woke up due to a little nightmare about fictional monsters. But she met an even greater one that night. The one that haunts her father until the dawn breaks each day. She hears him sobbing every night through the little crack in her door, the door that faces the living room, allowing her a small peek at her father’s shoulders trembling, his crimson locks — now mixed in with several white hairs — a disheveled mess against his body. She knows he goes through this every night — mind in a daze and wandering in a mist of memories.

It’s when she realises that her father is just like her — not a villain, not a hero, just human.

Have you ever felt responsible for something that wasn’t your fault? For something that you had absolutely no control over?

Because that’s how she feels. She feels responsible for her mother’s death. She feels that it’s her fault her father is miserable. She feels if she wasn’t born that none of this would have happened. And she only blames herself… because she knows it’s true. Without pregnancy, you wouldn’t have died. Without a baby, you’d still be here.

And every moment there’s a chorus of conflicting thoughts playing in her mind: “I’m the reason mommy’s gone”, “I wish I could meet you, mommy, daddy loves you a lot”, “I should’ve been the one, not you”. There are more, but she’s lost track of them as the years passed.

Her misty eyes train on the back of her father’s head. Should she finally talk to him about it?

“Daddy?”

Cerulean eyes shoot to the clock on the wall. 1.12am. He wonders why she’s even awake but he pulls it together. This is no time to be panicking. He clears his throat, subtly wiping the tears away from his cheek.

Keep up the act.

“Yes, my little princess?”

She skips toward him in spite of the somber mood. Anything that can make her father smile, no matter how small, she will do it. But the real tension comes when she opens her mouth seeking the truth.

“Is it my fault mommy is… dead?”

Many a times Chuuya had wondered what was the right thing, the best thing, to say in a situation like this. But somehow, in this moment, now that she’s actually asked him the very thing he wished he would never have to address, he knows exactly what to say to put her at ease.

“Honey,” he calls as he carries her up to sit on his lap. “It could never be.”

He lifts an index finger to boop her on the nose, just to watch as she adorably scrunches up her face in response.

There it is — the same reaction as you.

“Wherever mommy is, she’s glad you were born. And you weren’t there but, the moment she laid eyes on you that day you were born? I promise you, I’ve never seen her happier than she was.” He plants a kiss on her temple. “She loves you, little lady, and so do I. So don’t worry your pretty mind with this, okay?”

The relief they both feel — it’s unbelievable. A huge burden off their shoulders. And he carries her into bed, tucking her in as he usually does, but this time he stays beside her, lulling her to sleep, just as he did you — tenderly, softly, like she’s the most precious thing in the world. And your daughter? She feels safe, warm, tranquil.

...

Or so she would have.

But she’s still a child.

The doubt of the practicality of the ideal situation etches itself in her mind, securing a permanent spot in the back of her head. Fear takes over, and she snaps out of her daydreams, closing the room door instead of going to talk to her father — coming back to the nightmare where her father cries himself to sleep at night, all alone on the couch, then to sleep in a cold bed; coming back to the nightmare where her father lives with the monster.

The monster called pain.

And unfortunately, that’s a monster they both share. And will share, for as long as they live.

@yokelish @gogolparadise @fyowyn-writes

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suttttton · 3 years

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Kindred Spirit//Crumbling World

Written for @bookish-bi-christian as part of @tma-valentines-exchange!

Happy Valentines Day, Ray! Enjoy your nostalgic timsasha angst!

~*~*~*~*~

In a windowless basement I look across my desk And your smile And your stupid hair And the golden rays of your eyes Become my sun

Tim stares at the poem for a long time. He’d found it on top of a little box he’d always known was in his desk, but hadn’t looked at for over a year now. It was full of cards with little notes from Sasha, printed-out photos of the two of them together. And this love poem.

He remembers when Sasha gave him the poem. He’d just gotten back from a follow-up adventure that had taken him out of the Archives for a couple of days. It had been on his desk when he came back, and he’d read it, grinning the whole way as Sasha determinedly avoided eye contact.

“Not a word!” she’d said when he’d opened his mouth to thank her for it. “I know it’s stupid and cheesy, I just—” her face had been fully red by this point. “I don’t know. I missed you.”

He didn’t think it was cheesy. He’d been touched. Even as he teased Sasha about ‘the golden rays of his eyes’ for a week straight.

He remembers that.

But it doesn’t—

He doesn’t—

When the thing that wasn’t Sasha had mentioned her new boyfriend, it hadn’t seemed odd to Tim. He hadn’t felt jealous, or, or hurt. Why would he? He and Sasha weren’t that close. They were work friends, and that was all.

But before that, Sasha had written him a love poem. She’d written him a love poem because he was gone for two days and she missed him. That evening, he remembers, they’d gone back to his place together and gotten wine drunk while watching The Princess Bride. That was Sasha’s favorite movie, which Tim knows because he’d gone through a whole phase of saying, “As you wish,” whenever Sasha made any request of him. Because what he really meant was—

But—

Tim starts taking everything else out of the box, spreading it across his desk. He starts with the cards, both of them written in Sasha’s messy cursive.

First is the card Sasha had given him for his last birthday. The printed message says, “With Sympathy, to let you know that thoughts and prayers are with you in your time of sorrow.” The inside is crammed with her tiny script, paragraph after paragraph, hundreds of words. It was titled, “A Eulogy for 33.” On the other page, written much larger, “Long live 34! Love, Sasha.”

She’d taken him out to dinner, and when she’d given him the card, he’d insisted on reading the whole thing out loud, even as she’d complained. She was laughing, even as she said, “Tim, I will leave if you don’t stop it.”

Tim stares at that “Love,” for a long time, trying to suss out any deeper meaning from it. Not such a strange thing to write on your friend’s birthday card. She’d cared about him, but he already knew that, didn’t he? The poem said as much.

He moves on to the other card, a Valentine’s day card. There’s a picture of three chickens on the front, and inside it says, “Hope you have a happy Val-HEN-tine’s day!” It was a tradition, between them, bad cards presented with exaggerated flourishes, signed with sickeningly pet names. Tim would sign his, “Your sweetest sugar,” and Sasha would write, “Love, your honeybee <3”

On the inside of this one, Sasha had simply written, “I love you Tim”. Serious and sincere. Tim tries to remember how he felt, reading it. He doesn’t remember finding it strange at all. It had just felt nice. Warm.

He turns his attention to the photos. None of them are polaroids, because of course they aren’t. But they are something. Memories. Evidence.

The first photo is from the yearly holiday party. Tim is wearing antlers. His arm is around Sasha, and she’s smiling. They’d gone to the party together. But they always went to the party together, and the photo isn’t especially recent. They hadn’t moved to the Archives yet.

Next is a photo of the two of them at a wedding. Tim can’t remember whose. Some distant cousin of Sasha’s. There had been a kitschy photo booth at the reception, and the two of them had taken far too long playing with the props before finally settling down for the photo. They’re wearing oversized sunglasses, a feather boa is looped around their shoulders. Tim had been Sasha’s date then, too. It had been normal for them, going together to parties and events.

The third photo shows them on their first day in the Archives. They’d taken lots of pictures that day, with Jon and Martin and the infamous dog, but this one is just the two of them. Sasha is hugging him from behind, chin resting on his shoulder. Close, because they were close. Best friends. And—

The final is from a research mission they’d gone on together. Tim isn’t in it. It’s just Sasha, sitting on a bench at a bus stop. The sun is just beginning to set in the background, the sky turning from blue to white. He’d taken it because she looked beautiful, and he’d gotten it printed because—

Because he loved her.

He had loved her. Every moment he’d spent with her, he had loved her. How could he have forgotten? He had loved her, and she’d been dead for more than a year now, and in all that time he hadn’t thought about it even once.

He looks at the poem again. Sasha had loved him, too.

He wonders what else he’s forgotten, what else that thing had turned his mind away from. Had there been something, between him and Sasha? That would make sense, wouldn’t it, if they’d loved each other? He doesn’t remember anything like that, but… he isn’t sure he trusts his memories, anymore.

The last thing in the box is a friendship bracelet, made from colorful embroidery thread. Sasha made it, during that first week in the Archives, when they were annoyed with Jon and took whatever chances they could to slack off. “Pink for you,” she’d said. “Green for me. And brown for both of us.” The colors clashed horribly, but Tim still liked the way they looked together. At the time, Tim’s hair had been pink (”your stupid hair,” Sasha’s poem had said). Sasha wore a green cardigan nearly every day. And both of their eyes were brown.

The thing that killed Sasha had blue eyes. How had Tim not noticed that?

He picks up the bracelet, ties it around his wrist. Looking at it makes his heart seize up with grief for Sasha, for something he still doesn’t know how to name.

Good.

***

Tim has one tape of Sasha’s voice, and he listens to it, over and over, rewinding and rewinding. He listens to the cadence of their interactions, the closeness that had existed between them.

On the tape, Tim jokes about them being love interests, and Sasha rebuffs him. Tim remembers this, remembers feeling—frustrated? Sad? No. This happened at the beginning of their time in the Archives, before the cards, before the poem, but after countless nights out and nights in, parties spent paying attention to no one but each other, countless jokes and secrets and traumas shared between them.

He’d loved her.

And even as he listens to her laughing him off, he knows that she loved him.

There was more to it than this tape. Something existed between them, something precious, something wonderful, and he can’t—

He can’t remember what it was.

***

“Martin,” Tim says, cornering him in the break room one morning. It’s early, but Martin gets to work early, these days. Jon is gone, but what else is new?

“Christ,” Martin swears as he spins around, spilling a few drops of tea on the floor as he swerves. “You scared me. I didn’t think anyone else was here yet.”

Tim shrugs. “I have a question. About Sasha.”

“I—Okay,” Martin says, sobering.

“Do you—” Tim doesn’t know how to ask. It seems like such a trivial thing to be asking about. Sasha is dead, and none of them can remember her face or her voice, and Tim wants to know—what? If she had a crush on him? He twists the friendship bracelet on his wrist, steadies himself. “You were with us every day. Did you ever notice anything—romantic, between Sasha and me?”

“Not really,” Martin says.

“Do you know that, or do you just think it?” Tim asks.

Martin blinks. “What? I—” and then he pauses, as he starts thinking about it. “Oh, that’s weird,” he says, after a moment.

What?” Tim says, and his voice is too much, too desperate.

“It—She—” Martin pauses, takes a deep breath. “It’s hard, thinking of specific events. My mind keeps kind of… sliding away. But I think we used to talk about you?”

“Office gossip?” Tim asks, raising an eyebrow.

“No, not—Sorry. That came out wrong,” Martin says. “Did—She wrote you a poem, didn’t she?”

“Yes! You remember that? Hold on—” Tim turns and returns to his desk, grabbing the poem from where it still rests on top of the box. He hands it to Martin, who smiles softly as he reads it.

“Yeah, I—I helped with this,” Martin says. “She—she wanted advice to make it worse. Which—ouch, but… I knew she wasn’t trying to be mean, you know?”

“Yeah,” Tim says softly. That was Sasha. Harsh without meaning to be, never quite thinking through the implications of her words. “Wait—she wanted it to be bad?”

Martin nods. “She wanted you to laugh, and to tease her about it. I mean, that was basically your love language, wasn’t it?”

“Was it?” Tim asks.

Martin hesitates. “I think so?”

Tim is silent for a long moment, staring at the poem. He twists the bracelet on his wrist again. “Were we a couple?”

“Maybe?”

“Maybe,” Tim repeats. “Jesus.” He sits down at the little table, frowning down at the plastic tabletop. How many times did he eat lunch here with her? “It took her face and her voice, and it can’t—I can’t let it take this. If there was something between us, I have to remember, but—” There’s nothing else he can do, is there? If these memories ever existed, they’re gone now. Stolen by the thing that killed her. He slams his hand against the table. “Damn it!” he says, blinking back tears in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Tim,” Martin says, softly. Tim just shakes his head, and after a moment Martin leaves.

***

Two days later, Tim sneaks into the Archive early in the morning, and there’s a new tape sitting on his desk. For a long moment, he just stares at it, anger rising in his chest. Was it from Jon? Was Jon trying to contact him, trying to send him on some mission?

No, thanks.

He picks up the tape, planning to drop it in the trash. And then he sees the note underneath it. “Tim—Listen to this!” Martin’s name at the bottom.

Not creepy or foreboding at all, thanks Martin. Nevertheless, Tim relaxes a little. There’s a recorder on Martin’s desk, and Tim picks it up and pops the tape inside, leaning back in his chair.

The first few minutes are nothing but Martin, reading his poetry. Martin’s poems are fine, but Tim somehow doubts that’s all Martin wanted to show him. He keeps listening. And then—

The creak of a door opening. “Goodnight, Martin!” It’s Sasha’s voice. Her real voice. Sasha.

“How hard is it to knock?” Martin says, sounding pissed. “You always knock when Jon is recording.”

“That’s because Jon is my boss, recording actual work in his office. You’re in a storage closet.”

“… Fair enough,” Martin sighs.

“Speaking of Jon, are you going to make your move any time soon?”

“Wha—no!”

“Boo, why not?”

“Putting aside the fact that he hates me, he’s also my boss.”

“It’s Jon. He doesn’t have any real authority down here and he knows it.”

“Still doesn’t fix the problem where he hates me, does it? What about Tim? Are you going to make your move soon?”

Sasha hums. “I think I’m just going to leave it, actually.”

“Oh come on!”

“I just… I kind of like what we have now? We’re best friends, we share everything with each other, and we go out and get drinks, and—and there’s no expectation involved. Or—no, that’s not the right word. It’s like—you know how friendship can’t really survive romance? There’s too much passion, too much give-and-take, too much change.”

Sasha laughs then. “It sounds so unromantic, put like that,” she says. “Who wants a relationship without passion? But—It feels special. Like we’ve found a way to love each other, gently. Does that—that probably makes no sense, does it?”

“No, I—I think I understand,” Martin says.

“It’s like we’re teetering between being in a relationship and being best friends, and I feel like if either of us acknowledge it, we’ll be forced to choose, one way or another. And this wonderful thing between us will be destroyed.”

Martin hums. “I kind of think you should talk to Tim about it anyway?”

Sasha lets out a sigh. “Maybe I will,” she says, after a long moment.

And then the tape clicks off. Tim sniffs, wiping at freshly formed tears, and remembers.

***

There was this one night, the two of them laying in bed together, fingers intertwined between them.

They were talking, softly because they were both on the verge of sleep. But Sasha kept making him laugh, and he was so happy. So happy that it didn’t quite fit inside him, so happy that he felt nearly weightless with it.

He brought her fingers up to his mouth, and she sighed softly next to him. And the unspoken thing between them felt so huge, so real, so all-encompassing.

“Sasha James,” he whispered, his voice slurring slightly with sleepiness. “You are going to be the death of me.”

“All according to plan,” she mumbled, rolling over to face him with a sly smile. “I have to earn my membership to the assassin’s guild somehow.”

He returned her smile. And then he leaned in to kiss her, still holding her hand.

“Are you happy?” she whispered against his lips. And that was a ridiculous question, because he couldn’t stop smiling. He could nearly cry with how happy he was.

“Yes,” he said, and he felt her smile in return.

“Me too.”

#tma valentine's exchange 2021 #tma #tma fic #timsasha #stranger danger #my fic

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laurieteddy · 4 years

Text

tale of the field | beth march x reader

Description: you and Beth make your way to the field to have a picnic together. (gender neutral reader x beth march)

Request: anon requested simply something beth x reader

Wanrings: none

Word count: 2,066

A/N: this is my first ever Little Women fic, please let me know what you think! I dearly love Beth and I hope I did well :) also I’m on mobile so sorry if the post is weird/long

Requests are open!

Beth was the most captivating person you had ever met. She was such a caring and loving person, always glad to give a helping hand and kind word. She had such a tender and compassionate demeanor about her. It was as if she could calm any storm with the most gentle of words, something quite amazing. She did seem to put others before herself more often than not though. You were always there to put her first, as she at times would allow herself to slip in order to help other people.

Growing up around the March family and Laurie, you spent most of your days with Beth, finding her company to be your favorite by far. You would do a variety of things together. Cooking, gardening, acting out plays with her sisters, miserably failing when she would try teaching you how to play piano. Name anything and you have done it or will in the future. Both of you loved every minute of it. Jo often teased that you should mind how much time you spent together because might become too much alike.

“I couldn’t stand another Beth.” She’d joke.

This didn’t stop you of course, if anything it pushed you closer. Neither of you really enjoyed anyone else’s company as much as each other’s, why not do it as often as you could? So together you were, going on adventures of all sorts. From going to the market to exploring the woods, you would make anything an adventure. Today your adventure was going on a picnic in a field.

The sun was out and a light breeze was in the air, it was perfect weather for your plans. A smile was on your face as you entered the March home, much like your own, and quickly you made your way to the kitchen where you could hear Beth scorning Amy for trying to steal the bread. It felt like home to all who entered and they felt like family that you were ever so close to.

“Amy March, you keep your grubby paws off of my delicious lunch,” you teased with a grin.

Amy jumped at the sound of your voice, soon after making her way over to you when she recognized you.

“Oh, y/n, you’re here!” She chirped, “Don’t you look wonderful today.”

You raised a brow, “No reason to suck up, you aren’t going this time.”

Beth let out a small giggle, continuing to pack her picnic basket. Amy stomped her foot and was clearly upset at what you said. You knew she would want to go and that she had likely been bothering Beth and Marmee about it all week. Typically you wouldn’t mind if she joined but it was nice to spend some time with just you and Beth, no one else, especially not Amy. You both loved her to death but she could be a handful at times.

“Why not?” Amy whined.

“Because Beth and I have had this planned for just the two of us for weeks now.” you explained.

“We have to go now, Amy. You can come with us next time, we promise.” Beth offered a small smile.

Amy was quick to decline, a frown on her face. “I want to go now!”

“I know you do,” you pat the top of her head with an exaggerated frown. “Here, if I give you some of the cookies I made will you settle for next time?”

Her eyes widened and a smile spread across her lips. “Yes!”

You handed her three cookies and off she went, skipping away with joy and calling out to Meg and Jo. You and Beth couldn’t help but laugh at the rather simple solution used to pay her off after days of begging. Amy wasn’t typically so easy to get off your back, you knew she’d beg and you also knew she’d cooperate with those cookies.

Beth shook her head at her sister’s antics, “How did you know to make her favorite cookie?”

“Because Amy always wants to tag along, I knew I could get her to listen with them.” You smiled, “And if I didn’t have to bribe her we would’ve had more cookies, it was a win win situation.”

She chuckled at your response, knowing you were absolutely right. Locking arms with Beth you started today’s adventure. You had been to the field many times, meaning thought no longer needed to be used when finding your way there. Often you’d come up with wild tales to share along the way, dramatically acting them out with whatever makeshift props could be found on the path. It became somewhat of an unspoken tradition, and the crazier the tale the better. Another game seemed to be paired with this.

If you happened upon anyone you were to pause, acting completely normal as you passed but breaking right back into the story once out of sight. These were simply silly games but they brought smiles to your faces, and they helped Beth to feel more comfortable doing such things where you could be caught goofing around.

Anything you could do to help Beth feel more comfortable you would do, especially when you had gone out away from home. While plenty of fun could be found close to home there was much to be had elsewhere and you didn’t want Beth to miss out. You always went out on her terms, never wanting to make her feel pressured. She easily found herself calm around you, knowing she could trust you and that you were someone who truly understood her. Both of you had only the best intentions and interest for one another, promising to always be there for one another.

Though maybe not when you were deep in your tales.

“Put your sword to rest, Margaret! It’s no use to you any longer.” You spoke with a strong voice, pointing your sword (a conveniently found and crooked stick) at her.

Beth slowly placed her own sword on the ground, raising her hands above her head as she stood. “Would you truly kill me, Adrian? You’re no killer, even at your worst.”

You pushed your stick towards her, “I would watch my mouth if I were you.”

Margaret and Adrian, your newfound names in this tale. They were deeply in love with one another, but being from opposing families that despised each other for generations made it nearly impossible for them to be together. Still, they tried. Their families were not happy about it and did what they needed to prevent the two from being together. Spreading slander, making them go at each other’s throats just like the rest of their relations.

“I only speak the truth,” she delivered her line stern but gentle. Reaching out she put a hand on your sword, lightly pushing it down to point the ground. “I know you loved me at least once upon a dream, and if that love still lingers as mine does for you… I find it hard to believe you might kill me.”

Your heart swelled as she stepped closer, something that wasn’t part of your game. Her words and actions were so soft spoken and delicate, catching you off guard and stumping you. Your character was to stab Beth’s, giving the tale a dramatic speech about Adrian’s grief and regret before they drew their own final breath, making for quite a dramatic ending. Something was telling you to go for a different and new ending, finding yourself unable to hurt Margaret as Beth played her so well.

Keeping your gaze on Beth’s you dropped your sword. “You were right, I could never kill you. How could I ever have even come so close as I did?”

Beth was a bit surprised by the drop of your sword, quickly going along with it though. She held her chin high and embraced you in a hug, what she believed Margaret may do in that time.

“All is well, my love.” Her fingers tangled themselves through your hair, “I understand, I had been as close.”

A blush creeped onto your cheeks, completely out of character for Adrian. You and Beth had hugged countless times before but never in the context of this tale, never in such a way more than friendship. You wrapped your arms around her, trying to fall back into character. To appear more heartbroken you let your body fall somewhat limp, hoping to mask your previous flustered feeling.

Beth held you closer, “I am here. I will forever be with you, my dearest Adrian.”

“I have missed your embrace so,” your fingers gripped tighter as your eyes squeezed shut. “But… I cannot ask you to stay, nor can I allow it.”

Unwantingly, you peeled yourself away from her, resting your hand on Beth’s cheek. Her eyebrows furrowed, showing a confusion in herself and Margaret.

“I love you,” you began, “and yet I have hurt you. I can never forgive myself for this.” Your thumb skimmed over her cheekbone and she rested her hand over your own. “It would be selfish of me to wish you to stay,” you smiled weakly, “and so I must leave you once more.”

She let out a gentle breath. You seemed to have exchanged postures, yourself now standing tall while Beth let her shoulders drop. You were holding each other in near silence and definite bliss. Beth realized, too, that you had never held one another in such a way. She kept the thought to herself, just as you had. A blush nearly came to her as well, which she was quick to hide by bowing her head which was a seemingly meaningless action.

“Stay or leave,” she removed your hand from her cheek, “I shall think nothing but fond and loving thoughts of you daily.”

Her lips planted a small kiss on the palm of your hand, covering your hand with her own once again as if to seal the kiss. With that she let your hand fall, looking up to you through her lashes one last time as Margaret. Your breath seemed to have caught in your throat and you found yourself speechless, completely overcome by the moment.

Beth March had just given you a kiss on the palm of your hand, a completely new kiss than you had ever received. A kiss that part of you longed for, even if you didn’t realize it until you received it. Such a simple, and likely aimless, thing. Maybe you were reading too much into the tale, possibly creating an overemphasized reality. Beth was doing the same, her shy nature doing her no favors that minute.

“What a way to end our tale,” you broke the silence. “I simply couldn’t kill Margaret after everything she had been through to be back with Adrian.”

Beth brushed her hair behind her ear, clearing her throat and straightening her posture. “It still gave us the dramatic ending we craved, Jo would approve.”

“Ah, yes. Jo does enjoy a good drama,” you were both quick to change the subject. “And I think she’d be impressed by our impromptu skills.”

Beginning to feel a pressure, your actions were meek. You both did your best not to let feelings stir, always offering to listen to one another talk about anything whenever needed. There were times like this, though, where you were both too afraid to address anything. How were you to confess your love for one another when you refused to first confess it to yourself?

“Look, the field.” Beth smiled, skipping ahead to find the perfect spot for your picnic.

You stayed in the field for nearly the rest of the day, returning home right as the sun had set. The evening wasn’t filled with many words, rather each other’s peaceful company as you rested your head on Beth’s shoulder.

On the way home you picked a flower for her, something you joked she could keep as a reminder of that day. You both laughed about it in the moment, saying there wasn’t anything very special about that day. It was another day in the field, that was all. But it wasn’t a reminder for what took place in the field, it was a reminder of what happened before you had arrived. Beth kept the flower, pressing it as soon as she got upstairs and keeping it in her private journal as a bookmark.

#beth march #little women #beth march x reader #beth x reader #little women fic #little women oneshot #little women 2019 #little women 2017 #little women 1994 #first fic #long post #little women x reader #little women imagine

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maluminspace · 5 years

Text

Genre: Fluff/Post Apocalyptic

Pairings: Michael Clifford

Word Count: 2.8k

Requested: by @h0tsos for spooky!sos 2019

Trigger Warnings: end of the world/apocalypse/grief/disease

A/N: this took a while but I think it turned out okay? I’m fully intending on using this and the previous blurb as the basis for my first reader insert multichapter fic 🙈 I’d love to know your thoughts on that.

—

It’s been almost three months since you and Calum had found a scared, grieving Michael in a store cupboard during one of your routine supply runs.

A lot had changed in that time.

After being officially voted into your group, Michael had become an invaluable member of your tiny community. He always volunteers for every single task that needs to be completed around your base, no matter how tedious or unappealing it might be.

All-in-all, Michael’s selflessness, his kind sweet nature and his seemingly natural ability to make people laugh, has earned him a very quick and secure acceptance into the group.

Besides the obvious changes such as developing the farmhouse base, the biggest development within the last three months was your own growing infatuation with Michael.

It’s now getting to the point where you can’t be alone with him through fear of blurting out something that you can never take back.

Sometimes, you find yourself thinking that maybe Michael is developing feelings for you too. Like tonight at dinner; the two of you had shared a lingering touch when he’d passed you your plate of food and your conversation had been bordering on flirtatious whenever no one else seemed to be paying you any attention.

There are, of course, many reasons why you can’t give in to your urge for Michael. Romance, love, sex and all that went with them are considered a very low priority, these days. If the two of you started getting distracted from your various tasks it could literally mean that you endanger the lives of everyone in your group.

One of the biggest personal reasons why you’re reluctant to make a move, is Calum. Your best friend is finally starting to warm to Michael and you’re loathe to jeopardise their fragile new friendship. Calum needs someone else his age to connect with besides you and it actually turns out that he and Michael have a lot in common.

Once that the dishes have all been cleaned, the group gathers together in the large living room to discuss the schedule for the night patrols.

As soon as everyone’s settled, one of the older members of the group reminds everyone that a couple of corpses were sighted and disposed of last night after they’d become impaled on one of the perimeter defences.

You’re not surprised when your name is mentioned for tonight’s first watch. Your turn is due and you accept the responsibility without hesitation. As always, Calum is announced as your patrol buddy and you acknowledge your best friend with a smile before listening to the schedule for the rest of the night.

It makes you stupidly happy to hear that Michael will be one of the people taking the second watch. It means you’ll probably have a few minutes to chat with him during the shift change and little things like that are true highlights when the rest of your life is pretty much a total misery.

Michael seems to have a similar thought as he meets your gaze across the room, his cheeks turning a pretty rosy colour as he smiles over at you shyly.

It’s amazing to you how no one else seems to notice the chemistry between the two of you, but you’re sort of glad they haven’t. For now, at least, it’s your little secret.

...

The first half of your patrol turns out to be incredibly dull and uneventful.

The world beyond your little base seems even quieter than usual. Besides the odd field mouse and bat, you’d barely seen or heard another living creature besides Calum.

To top it all off, your best friend isn’t nearly as chatty as he usually is, either. There’s been some long stretches of silence between the two of you which is really odd. Most of your attempts at making conversation have fallen flat so you’d given up a while back, figuring that Calum just needs some time with his own thoughts.

Unsurprisingly most of your own thinking was about Michael. He’d probably be asleep in his tiny corner of the room he shared with three others. The thought of him curled up in his blankets, his soft blonde hair in disarray as he slept soundly made you smile to yourself.

After a moment the images in your mind of a sleeping Michael began to take a turn for the dirtier. Instead of the handsome blonde sleeping in his blankets, you start to imagine his pretty green eyes staring back at you as you lay down beside him.

Soon the silence in your head is broken by imaginary whimpers and gasps as the pictures in your mind turn to kissing Michael deeply, feeling his skin beneath your fingertips as you drag them over his back, craving every inch of him to be pressed against you.

Before your thoughts become too much for you to handle, you force yourself to attempt to begin another conversation with Calum. “Do you think the corpses know when it’s our turn for patrol?” You ask, peering through the darkness on the other side of the wire, outer perimeter fence. “We never seem to get any action...”

Calum rolls his eyes, pulling his black beanie hat lower over his ears. “You shouldn’t be complaining about that.” He reprimands, “we should be glad that there aren’t many corpses around, it means we’re safe for the time being.”

It’s true of course... you feel a bit guilty for complaining about your boredom. In the great scheme of things having no rotting heads to chop off means that you can be relatively content in the knowledge you’ll live to see another sunrise. It’s been proven to you on countless occasions since the world ended that surviving each night is never a given.

“I appreciate your eagerness to protect the base, though.” Calum smiles. Leading the way back to the inner fence. “Maybe you should come with me and Michael on our supply run in a couple of days.” He shrugs, “you’ve been cooped up in this place for a couple of weeks now. I thought you might be up for a little adventure.”

Just the mention of Michael’s name makes your tummy do a backflip but you manage to keep your response casual. “Yeah, I think I’m about ready to get back out there.”

Calum smiles, opening the heavy metal gate to let you both back inside the main grounds of your base. “Good, I’ve really missed having you around on those long walks.”

The affection in Calum’s voice warms your heart as you nudge his shoulder playfully. “You old sap.”

Your best friend gives a sigh of laughter before closing and locking the gate. “You know me...” He shrugs distractedly.

There’s something about Calum’s tone of voice and general demeanour that gives you the distinct feeling he’s hiding something from you. “You’d tell me if something was wrong, wouldn’t you, Cal?” You ask gently, touching his shoulder to stop him from walking away. “You’ve just been acting a bit... off, tonight.”

For a moment it looks as though Calum’s about to confess something, taking a deep breath as he scratches the back of his neck nervously. He seems to think better of it though, disguising his nervous gesture as a stretch. “I’m just tired I guess...” He lies.

You’ve known Calum for too long not recognise the tell-tale signs of when he’s keeping something from you. As much as you want to question him further, the sound of crunching gravel draws your attention to the path leading from the main house.

Calum glances up, too, seemingly pleased by the interruption.

There’s no denying that the approaching figure is Michael. His distinct posture and the way he slightly scuffs his feet as he walks give him away instantly.

“He’s not due to take over yet.” Calum frowns. “Do you think something’s wrong?”

You shake your head in response. “I’m sure he’d be walking a lot faster than that if there was an emergency.” You said, hoping more than anything that you’re right.

Obviously still fearing that something was amiss, Calum strides off up the path towards the newest member of your group. You take off after him, eager to know Michael’s reasons for being out of the house this long before his watching duties are due to start.

“Everything okay?” Calum asks, a slight hint of panic in his low voice.

Michael nods as the two of you come to a stop in front of him. He does look slightly guilty, though, as he glances between your own face and Calum’s. “Everything’s fine...” he confirms. “I was just having trouble sleeping so I thought I’d come and see if you needed any help.”

Calum sighed with relief, obviously pleased that the base was in no immediate danger. “We’re good thanks.” He replies after a moment, “it’s pretty quiet tonight.”

You nod in agreement, blushing under Michael’s gaze as his eyes settle on you once more. “That’s good.” He says, “i guess I can take over then. If nothing’s happening, I should be fine on my own.”

“That’s against the rules.” Calum states sternly. “There always has to be at least two of us out here during night watches, you know that.”

Michael curls in on himself a bit. You’ve noticed him do this before, too. Anytime that someone’s tone is a little firm or if they raise their voice, Michael flinches or wraps his arms around himself. It makes you worried about what he’s had to go through in the past to cause this reaction.

“I know.” The blonde replies quietly, dropping his gaze to the ground. “I just thought I might be able to help, that’s all.”

Despite your curiosity about whatever has turned Calum into the bristly grump he’s become tonight, it seems evident that he isn’t willing to discuss it. Snapping at Michael unnecessarily only lessens your desire to spend more time with him. “Well you must be magic or something.” You smile kindly, touching Michael‘s upper arm. “Because Calum was just saying how tired he is. If you don’t mind spending a while with me, you can replace him for the last couple of hours.”

“I wouldn’t mind that at all.” Michael replies, his tone of voice and facial expression suddenly much brighter. “I’m happy to help.”

Calum looks a little taken aback when you return your gaze to him. “I guess you owe Michael a favour for letting you go to bed a couple of hours early.” You say, your tone a little clipped.

Your best friend shrugs, seemingly thinking better of arguing whatever point he might have. “Yeah, thanks.” He sighs, clapping Michael in the shoulder before shooting you a sad glance.

Seeing Calum’s cute face portray any kind of negative emotion always hurts your heart, even when he’s being a pain. There didn’t seem that much that you can do for him right now, though.

“You don’t owe me anything.” Michael adds quietly. “You deserve a little extra rest, Cal.”

Calum thanks Michael again before wishing you both goodnight and heading back towards the house.

Suddenly being a lone with Michael makes your body tingle with excitement. Even though nothing can happen between the two of you, it doesn’t stop parts of you from imagining his fingers and lips on your skin...

To distract yourself from the dangerous thoughts, you blur out the first thing that comes to mind as you watch your best friend disappear into the house. “He’s been acting a little odd tonight.” You sigh thoughtfully. “Have you noticed anything weird about him today?”

Michael has a sort of guilty expression on his face as he shrugs. “I don’t really wanna speak out of turn or anything...”

Turning your gaze back to Michael, you raise an eyebrow. “Is something going on with him?” You ask, trying to keep the concern in your voice at an acceptable level.

Michael looks more than a little nervous and embarrassed as he replies. “Umm... maybe you should talk to him about it? I don’t want to jump to conclusions.”

“He’s my best friend, Mike.” You insist. “If he’s in some sort of trouble or...”

Michael holds up his hands in sort of a surrendering gesture. “I don’t think it’s anything bad!” He continues, “I just don’t want to spark any gossip if it’s nothing.”

“If what’s nothing?” You ask, subconsciously taking Michael’s hand. “Please tell me, Mike.”

Michael’s pretty green eyes widen in shock as they drift to where you’re touching him. “I-I saw him and Ellie, in the barn earlier... They sort of jumped apart when I walked in, it felt like I was interrupting something.”

Relief floods through you even though you’re a little hurt that Calum hasn’t told you about his new romantic interest. “The dirty little...” you chuckle, “he better tell me all about it soon. I miss gossiping with him about dates and secret flings.”

You unintentionally meet Michael’s gaze and your face is much closer to his than you thought it was. Your mouth feels dry as you concentrate on the feeling of his hand in yours. “Not that I’d have much to to tell him...” you whisper.

There’s a moment during in which you’re tempted to close the distance between your own lips and his. The scary thing is, Michael drifts forwards a little as though he’s contemplating the same thing.

Summoning every bit of self control you have, you let go of Michael’s hand and take a step back.

“So where’s left to check?” Michael asks, anxiously shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he buries his hands in his pockets.

“We’ve already checked the outer perimeter fence all the way around.” You explain, trying to recover from the rush of emotions caused by the near-kiss. “We just need to keep a look out now, really.”

Michael nods, allowing you to lead the way to the viewing deck that your group had built behind the inner fence. “Sounds good, I’ll do another check of the fences when Sammy joins me later for my official shift.”

You lead the way up the ladder to the viewing deck. The make-shift half walls around the deck form a sort of railing for you to lean on whilst you survey the nearby surroundings.

The sound of Michael’s heavy footsteps on the wooden floor alerts you to his arrival and you smile awkwardly at him as you use the binoculars to check a little further afield.

“Did you mean what you said back there?” Michael asks, his soft voice sounding unnaturally loud in the silence of the night. “Y’know, about having nothing to gossip with Calum about? You’re really not like, secretly seeing someone?”

Shaking your head, you try to keep your attention on the job at hand. Accepting Michael’s help and sending Calum away was a reckless thing for you to do, given your current infatuation with the blonde. “I’m not...” you reply simply.

“Is that because you’re not interested in anyone, or because you’re sacred that they don’t feel the same way back?” Michael asks tentatively.

You take a deep breath and turn to face him. He looks too pretty in the soft moonlight and your voice comes out much softer than you intended it to. “I could ask you the same question.” You counter, channeling all of your remaining energy into not giving in to your urges.

“I deserved that.” Michael chuckles quietly. “I’ll answer if you do?”

He steps closer to you, something like hope burning in his eyes as he bites his bottom lip between his teeth.

You’re determined not be caught out on this and so you fix him with the most confident glare that you can. “You go first, then.”

“Fine.” Michael concedes, somehow managing to hold your gaze although his fingers are trembling when he lays them over yours on the barrier. “I’m very interested in someone.” He mumbles, “sometimes I think they’re into me, too. I’m just worried that I’m misreading their signals, though and the last thing I want to do is overstep a boundary.”

Michael’s face has somehow drifted closer to yours whilst he was speaking and you almost feel his breath on your lips. “There’s only one way to find out, if they feel the same way isn’t there?” You reply. “You need to ask them.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do right now.” Michael replies, his cheeks a burning crimson as he curls his fingers tighter around yours. “I’m just not very good with words.”

Your heart feels as though it’s desperately trying to escape your rib cage. It’s no secret that you’re not good with words either and you don’t want to ruin this moment. There’s only really one option left open to you and you choose to take it. Finally giving into your screaming inner voice, you lean forward, connecting your lips to Michael’s in a soft kiss.

As he kisses back, the blonde man relaxes, lifting up his free hand to cradle your cheek until you eventually pull apart for air. “Is that a good enough answer for you?” You ask, a slight smile curling your lips.

Tag list: @clffrd @byxthexway @afuckingunicornn @lukesahoy @thrillchaser @moonchildsblack @calumbbyyy @h0tsos @valentinelrh @sexgodashton @megz1985 @myfalsedevotion @aulxna @honeyedlashton @tea4sykes @spookymashton @fairyintheglass

#michael clifford #michael clifford fluff #michael clifford imagine #michael clifford blurb #michael clifford fic #5sos #5sos imagine #5sos blurb #5sos fic #5sos fluff #michael fluff #michael imagine #michael fic #michael blurb #h0tsos #my writing #spooky!sos 2019 #spooky!sos 2019 michael

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imamotherfuckingstar-lord · 5 years

Text

That Night

Peter Quill x Reader

A/N: Reader is an Avenger, this is set before Peter met the other Guardians. For @squirrel-moose-winchester

Summary: Peter and you had been childhood besties, until he disappeared the night his mother died.

The road was flanked by green grass, music blasting through the car stereo. The weather was perfect as you drove through Missouri, back to your home roots. Back to the place that had given and taken so much from you.

Especially on that night, the one single night that had changed your life a long time ago.

No ever believed you.

How could they?

You were an eight-year-old child, who described things out of a Sci-Fi movie. They thought you had a big imagination and were just grieving the loss of your best friend; Peter Quill. Your parents tried to explain that Peter had ran away but you knew better. You saw that night, outside the hospital, they had come from him. A light shined down on him from the sky and he was gone in seconds, your best friend was gone.

That was over twenty years ago, but you never really moved on or forgot Peter. You had loved him in the way an eight-year-old could, he was your best friend. You had his back when the kids would try to fight him at school, and even more when they teased him for having a girl as a best friend. He was always there for you, waiting to catch the bus together, sharing his mom with you.

Meredith was a kind woman, loving and sweet. Your own mother was wonderful but had been busy with work and a husband who needed more attention than her own child. Peter would always have you over for dinner and movies, dancing like fools in the living room and sometimes late-night drives – the three of you cruising while listening to music.

The Quills were everything to you and all at once, they both left your life without a goodbye.

You had never or could ever forget them, but life never stopped for anyone. So, you soldiered on, never forgetting Peter. You grew up, joining the Airforce and eventually catching the eye of SHIELD. Your flight skills had gotten you a job flying on classified missions and when needed, you would run with Romanoff and Barton. It was good for a solid couple of years and then Steve Rogers was taken off ice, and then the Avengers were assembled. The Avenger’s facility had become your new home and your teammates, your family.

One night, during a night of drinking at the facility, you confessed to your team what you had seen that night.

“I was running after Peter,” you explained quietly, holding the shot of tequila tight. “He just lost his mom, I wanted to find him. I went outside the hospital and saw Peter standing in the middle of the back field, he was just…standing there crying.”

“What happened to him?”

You looked at Nat and sighed. “You guys are going to think this is crazy, believe me, I told everyone I could about this and I was the Crazy Girl in my town…”

“You still are sorta crazy.”

“Fuck you, Clint,” you laughed, taking a deep breath. “Well, I saw Peter being abducted.”

Steve, Nat, Clint, Tony, Thor, and the rest of the gang just stared at you until Tony cleared his throat. “You mean…like aliens?”

“Don’t start with me, Tony,” you grinned, before taking the shot. “I knew I shouldn’t have told you guys.”

“I believe you,” Steve spoke up, giving you a smile. “I mean, we did jus fight aliens from space. I was frozen for years, Thor is a literal God and…”

“Clint runs off coffee,” Natasha teased – everyone laughed, and you relaxed.

You were glad they believed you, but it still didn’t make you feel any better. You often wondered, in times of loneliness, if you had imagined it all to comfort your grief. Maybe Peter did runaway, maybe he was off somewhere with a family of his own, happy. While you pretended that was such a nice thought, there was no denying the jealous you felt. It was awful to admit but you had held a spot for Peter in your heart, even after all these years. Perhaps that’s why you made the yearly trip back home to set flowers on Meredith’s grave on her birthday. A love letter for Quill, wherever he was or simply a thank you to Meredith, a woman who had made you smile countless times.

Nonetheless, your drove until you reached the small cemetery, parking on the side of the road. You grabbed the bouquet of yellow daisies and got out of the car, walking alongside the gate. The sun was shining bright as you made a beeline to Meredith’s gravestone, but halted when you saw a tall figure in front of it. All the years of coming, you had never run into anyone before. Not wanting to overstep boundaries, you waited a few feet back.

The man, who was wearing a dark red leather jacket, sunk to his knees. His hands rested on top of the tombstone and you watched as his head hung low, you felt embarrassed. You were not meant to see this moment, so you decided it would be best to come back but as you gave the man one last glance, something caught your eye.

He had headphones hanging from his belt, headphones with orange mufflers on the ear pieces. They were recognizable, instantly your body seized – it couldn’t be true? Unable to control yourself, your feet moved forward, slow but steady. The flowers in your hands shook as you approached the man until you were a few inches behind him.

“Peter?”

Your voice was weak with disbelief has his back tightened and he slowly got up and turned around. Dropping the daisies, you gasped. It felt like being punched in the gut, it had been over twenty years, but you knew those eyes better than you knew your own.

It was him.

“Y/N?”

Peter’s eyes widen, his chest heaved as you nodded through tears until he pulled you into his arms, holding you close against his body. He was older, as you were, bigger than the scrawny eight-year old you remembered but he was alive.

Pulling from him, hands on his shoulder, you stared at Peter. “I saw them take you that night, they took you and no one believed me.”

“Yeah, Yondu took me. I’ve been in space this entire time. I’m sorry I never got to say goodbye,” he apologized with a sheepish smile.

You smiled back at him and hugged him once more. “I missed you so much, Peter. I never stopped thinking about you.”

“I missed you too. This is my first time on Terra, I decided it was time to come see my mom.”

“Well, I’ve been keeping her company. I come on her birthday every year.”

Peter grinned, bending over to retrieve the flowers. “These were her favorite.”

You watched as he placed them gently down on her grave, his fingers touching her name before getting back up. He turned to you and seemed to be lost in thought for a moment until he smiled.

“My ship is hidden in the woods, come with me.”

“Come with you where?”

“To space.”

Staring at the man, you laughed. He was still the same old Peter, expecting you to drop whatever to come play with him, to go on whatever adventure he thought of in the woods. Of course, every time, without failure, you said yes.

“Yes,” you whispered, stepping closer to him.

Peter’s smile faded as you grabbed a hold of his face. His moss colored eyes stared into yours before his head moved closer and as your eyes shut, his lips touched yours. It felt like coming home after a long trip, a brief gust of wind hit your back and for a moment you catered to the thought that it was Meredith giving her blessing.

Kissing him harder, your hands moved down to around his neck until the two of you finally broke the kiss. Peter had this cocky expression on his face and you knew then wait was worth it.

“I’m not letting you leave me this time, Quill. “

“I don’t plan too.”

You grinned, caressing the curly hair at the nape of his neck. “I have one request before we go.”

Peter’s hands rested on your waist and he started to sway you. “Anything.”

“I want you to meet a few friends of mine.”

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#peter quill x reader #peter quill #starlord x reader #marvel imagine

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thetimelesscycle · 5 years

Text

The Hobbit Fanfic: The Heart of Erebor - Chapter 65

Summary: ‘He could stand the wild light in his uncle’s gaze. He withstood the crazed glint that entered the ravenous stares of his companions. He endured seeing the dragon’s greed take them all. But when that madness seeped also into the eyes of his own beloved brother, he knew something had to be done. He just wasn’t expecting it to be this.’-The gold sickness of Erebor claims one more, and the path of destiny is irrevocably changed.

Inspired by the following quote from ‘The Hobbit’: “So grim had Thorin become, that even if they had wished, the others would not have dared to find fault with him; but indeed most of them seemed to share his mind-except perhaps old fat Bombur and Fili and Kili.”

*Cover Art Courtesy of Toastytoastie

/THE HEART OF EREBOR\

ACT VI -The King Beneath the Mountain-

Chapter 65

The Madness of Hope

It seemed strange to think that it had been less than a year ago that Kìli had stood upon the wall above Erebor’s shattered gate, believing all he had ever loved in the world was about to come to a violent and terrible end. He had been alone, abandoned and friendless, more afraid than he had ever been in his life, and certain that he was about to die. The despair he had felt in that moment remained engraved in his heart as one of the worst moments of his short life, and the days that had followed it had been no better, filled with grief and loss and pain.

And yet, it was just an echo now, an event that had been and gone. A past that felt far more distant than the short, intervening months should have allowed. He was doing his best to overlay such fading recollections with new memories, happier memories, not just for himself, but for those around him as well.

Some days it was easier than others. When wounds still raw were not yet open and weeping, and he could be enough to wrench a smile from beneath Fìli’s preoccupied frown, or to scatter the dark clouds that formed over his uncle’s head, to chase away the haunting memories that gripped his mother. Other days the events of the past were a weight they all felt, a veritable hammer above all their heads, just waiting for the opportune moment to pound them into the anvil of cruel fate.

The battles they had survived had left their scars, and he knew they would take time to fade; to heal.

Thorin’s coronation would go a long way towards accomplishing that, or so he hoped. Their victory certainly felt more certain now that the crown was resting upon his uncle’s brow. Now that oaths had been sworn and old alliances reformed. He was proud to have played a part in that, no matter how small that part might have been in the grand scheme of things. Proud of what they had accomplished, rising from the ashes of wrath and ruin to restore the Line of Durin to its rightful place amidst the Seven. Had this been one of Balin’s epics, the adventure would have ended the moment Thorin took his rightful place upon the throne. Sadly, if this quest had taught him anything at all, it was that the stories of old only ever told half the tale.

His own experiences had given him a new appreciation for the moments that the historians forgot. Those events deemed unimportant by the scholars who chose to study such things, dismissed in favour of great battles and the speeches that followed them. There would no doubt be countless retellings of the celebration that had marked the return of Erebor’s king, each more ridiculous than the last, especially with the inclusion of their elven guests. But he doubted anyone would remember him slipping away from the gathering, confident his absence would not be noticed with the festivities in full swing, to seek a moment’s solitude and reflection in what was swiftly becoming one of his favourite haunts.

The view from the wall above Erebor’s gate was a world away from what it had been months before. Gone was the pool of dammed water, meant to hold the war camp that had lain further down the valley at bay. Gone were the dotted gatherings of campfires, the sound of voices and metal carried on the wind. Gone was the terrible aftermath, the rows upon rows of dead and the stench of the wounded and the dying. Peace had slowly crept in to take the place of it all, nature gently wiping away the blood spilt upon its back, until nothing remained to speak of the tragedies that had unfolded in this place.

Where once the sight had brought him nothing but dread, Kíli could now take comfort in the vista laid out on the mountain’s doorstep. It was a sign of healing. A sign that, no matter the suffering that had passed here, time marched ever onwards, knitting over old wounds, bringing new hope to lift the afflicted from the mire of tragedy’s aftermath. He needed that faith right now as much as he had needed it then, a light to cling to, a vision of the future he could lay before others when darkness ensnared their thoughts and despair sunk its claws in deep.

Perched upon the parapet’s edge, his heels drumming an irregular beat against the stone seams, he let himself revel in the tranquility. It had been a long time since he had had a chance to simply sit and think, the world flowing peaceably by, and he intended to make the most of the moment while it lasted. Below him the celebration would continue, not stopping until well after the sun began to peek over the horizon. He did not begrudge them that, they had earned the right to their revelry, but he did not feel the need to join them. His victory was a quieter triumph, one he hoped he would be able to enjoy for years to come.

“There you are,” Fìli’s voice interrupted his musings, his brother’s uneven stride accompanied by the ‘thwap’ of his cane on the stone floor, and Kìli frowned briefly, wondering when Fìli had found time to retrieve it, and why he hadn’t asked someone to assist him up the stairs. His brother was not likely to appreciate either enquiry, however, so he held his tongue, keeping his gaze turned outwards as Fìli crossed the space between them. “You’re missing Bofur’s rousing rendition of The Cat Jumped Over the Moon.”

Kìli snorted, easily able to picture what such a thing would entail. He had, after all, seen it before. “A request from Elrohir?”

“Well, he did miss the original performance whilst we were in Rivendell.” Coming to stand beside him, Fìli leant his forearms on the wall, taking some of the weight off his bad leg. He waited a beat, letting the gentle breeze fill the space between them, then he asked, “What’s bothering you, Ki?”

“Nothing.” At his brother’s sharp look, he elaborated. “I really mean that, Fìli. Nothing is wrong right now. We’ve won. Erebor is at peace, Thorin has been crowned, and I… I think maybe I just wanted a moment to let that sink in. We’ve been so busy trying to make sure that everything else goes smoothly that there just hasn’t been time to… to… to just be.”

“I know what you mean.” Fìli nodded, his words a murmur. “It’s been months, and yet sometimes this still doesn’t feel real. Like a dream that could end at any minute.”

“I’m sure it will seem real enough once we actually have to take part in ruling Erebor,” Kìli interjected lightly, unwilling to surrender his hardwon sense of peace. “All those letters to write and documents to sign. My hand is aching just thinking about it.” That earned him an amused look, which he returned, before continuing in a more thoughtful vein, “In many ways, tonight is an ending, and not just for Bilbo’s book.”

Fìli cast him a curious look, head tilted ever so slightly to the side. “What do you mean?”

“We set out from Ered Luin to reclaim our home,” Kìli reminded him, rubbing his hands together in his lap. “To take back a mountain from a dragon. It sounded simple enough to us at the time, I’m sure, and it could be argued that that journey ended when Smaug was slain. But I don’t think Erebor was ours again, not truly, until today.”

“You think you’ll be happy, then?” Fìli enquired, his tone mild, but his words earnest. “Calling Erebor home now?”

“My family is home.” Kìli shot him a wry grin. “It really doesn’t matter where we live.”

“Even if it means being a proper prince?” His brother challenged, and Kìli laughed.

“Even then. I think I’m starting to understand that there are worse fates.”

Fìli was silent for a long moment, staring out into the night, and his words, when they came, were almost a confession. “I don’t know if I can look at it the way you do. Sometimes… Sometimes this all feels like a prison, and I don’t know if that will ever change. Everyone says it will just take time, but…”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Kìli ventured, unsure if Fìli wanted him to speak, or was simply airing his fears aloud. “And you don’t have to stay, Fì. If going back to Ered Luin would help, or paying a visit to Rivendell, then that is what you should do. Erebor doesn’t have to come first.”

“And that is why you are not going to be king,” Fìli teased him, if weakly. “Your priorities are all askew.”

“I am going to be your advisor,” Kìli reached across to swat his sibling lightly on the head. “And that gives me leave, oh future king, to rearrange your priorities however I please.”

Fìli raised an eyebrow at him, incredulous. “I do not see that working for Balin.”

“Yes, well, we both know Uncle Thorin is far too stubborn for such a strategy to be effective.”

“Oh.” Now he was affecting offence. “And I am more easily persuaded?”

“Of course. I will simply fill your room with boxes of apples fresh from Dale’s orchards and you will be halfway to Rivendell before you can say ‘burglar’.”

“Apples?” Fìli groaned. “Kìli, how could you betray me like this? Throwing your lot in with my one, true nemesis.”

“And here I was thinking that was stairs.”

“Hey.” Fìli’s indignant shove nearly sent his brother tumbling right off the wall. Laughing, Kìli overcompensated, falling backwards instead to land at his elder’s feet. Fìli glared down at him, imperious, and that only made him laugh harder until Fìli let out an annoyed huff and lowered himself down to sit beside his sibling. “You are an ass.”

Still chuckling, Kìli reached out to pat Fìli’s knee in only half mocking apology, before settling back with both his arms behind his head. His shoulder twinged slightly at the motion, but it was a passing pain, easily ignored as he let his eyes settle on the starlit sky above. Fìli was only a moment in joining him, the sigh that escaped his lips one of contentment more than sorrow, and Kìli was willing to let the silence stretch, a blanket of comfortable familiarity between them both.

He had meant what he said. Tonight was an ending. The end of the quest to reclaim Erebor, the end of so many fears; so many battles and old, untended wounds. The end of one chapter, and yet the beginning of another. The next day would dawn with Thorin as Erebor’s King, with Fìli and Kìli as princes and councillors officially sworn into their new roles. There would be decisions to make, meetings to attend, alliances to cement, duties to uphold. It should have terrified him, the weight of responsibility upon his - upon their - shoulders, but he was not afraid.

The Line of Durin had survived dragon fire, had survived madness and death and treachery. Though the challenges that lay before them were great, Kìli was surprised to realise that they no longer daunted him as they once had. Something had shifted, in the moment Thorin had been crowned, or before that even, when he had placed the Arkenstone in the hands of his fallen uncle and felt the rightness of that choice. He had no doubt that there would be further mistakes going forward, choices that would gnaw away at him, reminding him of the lives he was responsible for, the duties a Son of Durin could not escape.

But he was not alone.

That which he had sacrificed to try and save had been restored to him, a reward for his faith, a lesson learned and remembered. He had been prepared to give the Arkenstone away like a worthless trinket because he was afraid of losing that which he held most dear, and in so doing he had uncovered the true Heart of the Mountain. It was not the jewel that had so bewitched Thror and Thorin after him, or the gold that ran in rivers within the treasuries of the king. No, the beating heart of the Lonely Mountain was to be found in the merrymaking taking place in the Great Hall, in the laughter ringing out from every corner, in the quiet that had settled over he and his brother, restful and content. These moments, and the bonds that forged them, were what gave Erebor life; riches that could never be measured or bought.

It had taken him a long time to realise that simple truth, to understand that that was what he was sworn to protect, as a Son of Durin, a Prince of Erebor. He would never be a ruler with the power and authority that Thorin wielded, nor did he have Fìli’s sense of duty and calm steadiness, but he was beginning to realise that lack was not the failing he had always assumed it to be. The Seven may well have been right in their assertions that he would have made a poor king, caring too much for one thing and too little for the other, but he didn’t need to be what they thought he should be.

He had been spared the gold sickness because he had no use for wealth. He had given the Arkenstone away because Thorin and Fìli and the Company were simply more important in his eyes. He had turned his back on his birthright to gamble instead on the slim chance his kinsmen were alive. He had sought aid from those considered to be the enemy without a second’s thought. He had made so many choices that had caused others to shake their heads in scorn or despair or both. And yet… he could not regret the future those choices had brought him. A future that might never have been had he listened to the words of others. Had he chosen to believe as they did, and abandon a course of action they had deemed madness.

And it had been. He recognised that now. Not gold sickness or the dragon’s curse or grief or rage, but his own kind of insanity. To trust in good fortune in lands that had long been abandoned by the same. To believe when all others beliefs had died. To dare to stand against the tide and rage at the abyss… what else was that but madness? A year ago, he had sat atop this same wall and wished that he could share in the sickness that had taken his friends from him, his family. He had known it was wrong, but he had wished it all the same, never once realising that the curse of Erebor's treasure had found no foothold in his mind because another madness had already preceded it. So he could ask himself the same question again now; Was it wrong to wish for madness? And the answer, too, would be unchanged.

Yes.

Yes, it was.

For madness had already taken him.

The madness of hope.

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rilenerocks · 4 years

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Dear Fern(or Phil if we’re using inside jokes,)

May 14th. Another birthday. I start thinking about it in April, girding myself for the slog through all the challenging events that are emotional triggers for me from early May into early June. Now I have to contend not only with the hole where you belong, but with Michael’s absence too. I’m glad I never had the gift of the vision to see the future, to know in advance that my biggest loves would be gone, leaving me here with memories so vivid and palpable, that processing your absence is still a challenge. Today I realized this 68th birthday of yours, and the anniversary of your death in October, will officially mark the sum total of the entire length of our relationship. We knew each other for 30 years and now it’s 31 years since you’ve been gone. It’s hard for me to wrap my mind around that fact. I’ve already spent more than half my life without you. The truth is, I still remember so much about what we meant to each other, what we shared, the good times and the awful times.

I can close my eyes and look straight into yours, seeing your expressions which I knew so well. I can feel you. I still mourn you and am angry that you were victimized to the point that death became a relief for you. I remember those harsh realities. But I also remember laughing.

I remember visiting your house at 8138 S. Jeffrey in Chicago. I lived in an apartment so being in a house was pretty impressive. You had a piano in the living room and you played Clair de Lune for me. We went into your bedroom that was all yours, unlike me who always had to share. You had a double-sided chalkboard that flipped in circles and on it I wrote the “Personality Plus” program that I thought would help you be happy. We bowled at the Pla-Mor bowling alley and ate at Carl’s Hot Dogs which was so close to where we lived.

I remember when we saw the Beatles at the Chicago Amphitheater.

I remember sitting in the Woods Theater all day watching “Help” when they just re-spooled it for hours. By the time we left we’d memorized most of the lines.I remember sharing the great adventure of our train ride and trip to Montreal for that magic summer world’s fair, Expo ‘67.

I remember our three sarcastic little novels which I still have in my nightstand drawer. I remember reading our diaries to each other every night.

I remember March 20th, the day we anointed to mark how we felt about our crushes. I remember when at 15, we were smart enough to realize that we’d need a special perfect childhood day to conjure when things got too hard as adults. The details of that day have always stayed with me. That day is still my retreat. I feel it, smell it and hear it, with you by my side. Hot sun with friends by the lake, shimmering pavement, burgers and fries, hearing Elinor Rigby for the first time.

I remember photo day at Comiskey Park, and Cubs’ games in the bleachers at Wrigley Field. I remember eating at the Shoreland Deli, Rib Hill and Seaway’s on 87th Street. I remember countless Black Hawks games, standing room only, and all the songs we wrote to Beatles tunes, memorializing your passion for Bobby Hull. I liked Doug Mohns.

We were both lefties which seemed to mean something. I don’t know why we thought that made us special and inevitable. I remember our disastrous attempt at being roommates as freshmen in college and how we fixed everything later, after I moved out.

I remember when you pledged a sorority as I stood watching, understanding your need to do that, while never wanting to join you. I remember you coming to be with me as I tried acid for the first time. You didn’t need any drugs – you were already naturally impaired. I remember so many of your emotional crises.

I’d get phone calls from strange people saying you needed me to come and get you, and I always came. I talked you down from your latest ceiling and tried hard to be the mom you never had.

I remember how we loved mocking Rosamund du Jardin novels. I remember your flying fingers at the typewriter, on the piano and eventually on your court-reporting machine. I remember how you came to rest your overworked brain when you hid out in the many houses I shared with Michael. I remember my visit with you in California, the year before I got married.

We hiked in Muir Woods and bolstered ourselves mentally as we set off to live like grownups. I remember your life as an au pair in Europe and your marrying Omar and your not having babies. I remember taking a break from you after I felt you’d sucked all the life out of me.

And then I remember forgiving it all and finding you, to be connected the night John Lennon died. I remember the first time you met my daughter. I have every letter you ever wrote me.

I have our class photos from elementary school and our high school yearbooks. I remember your life getting more challenging as mine was getting more solid. I wanted to make you better, to make you survive, and more than that. I remember our last conversation, when it felt like you might get back here from Utah, to come and stay with us so we could hold you up while you climbed the hardest if your internal mountains and memories. I remember you saying that the worst part about contemplating suicide was realizing how hard it would be for the ones you left behind. I thought we were speaking rhetorically. I didn’t understand that as you told me you loved me that Sunday night, that you were saying goodbye. On Monday night, you were efficiently taking your life. As I slept. I woke that night from a terrible dream, a dream in which I was dying. I sobbed inconsolably in Michael’s arms as he tried to reassure me that I was alive and well. I know that was the moment you faded into the oblivion which had become your inviting sanctuary. It took two days for me to learn that. I learned everything I could from your Utah cohort. I couldn’t work or do anything for days. Eventually I rebounded from that torture. One night I dreamed of you, dressed in a red turtleneck sweater that made you look beautiful and exotic with your dark hair.

We went toward each other and when I put my arms out to embrace you, you went right through me and I knew that was a message. A message that you were where you needed to be and that was ok. I accepted whatever that dream was but I still miss you, always. I still think of what it would have been like to be old together. You were my family. I still can’t hear Beatles tunes on certain days when my wiring is in high gear and I dissolve into the familiar companionship of grief. And I go on. Who knows why? I’ve never been religious and I’m not the world’s most fanciful person. Still, I find myself wondering if somehow, you’ve bumped into Michael out there in the universe, who’s taking care of you like he used to help me do it when we were young. Wouldn’t that be wonderful? Maybe one day I can find you and we’ll be together for so much more time than we lost. Happy birthday, my precious, oldest friend. I hope I’m long gone before I ever forget you.

Happy Birthday, Fern. Dear Fern(or Phil if we’re using inside jokes,) May 14th. Another birthday. I start thinking about it in April, girding myself for the slog through all the challenging events that are emotional triggers for me from early May into early June.

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rilenerocks · 4 years

Text

Dear Fern(or Phil if we’re using inside jokes,)

I remember when we saw the Beatles at the Chicago Amphitheater.

I remember our three sarcastic little novels which I still have in my nightstand drawer. I remember reading our diaries to each other every night.

I’d get phone calls from strange people saying you needed me to come and get you, and I always came. I talked you down from your latest ceiling and tried hard to be the mom you never had.

And then I remember forgiving it all and finding you, to be connected the night John Lennon died. I remember the first time you met my daughter. I have every letter you ever wrote me.

I wrote this post a year ago. I edited it a bit but my feelings today are as relevant, poignant and vivid as they were back then. A tribute to my beloved friend who remains a part of my internal fabric. Dear Fern(or Phil if we’re using inside jokes,) May 14th. Another birthday. I start thinking about it in April, girding myself for the slog through all the challenging events that are emotional triggers for me from early May into early June.

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