Magla je ponovo obvila nas grad mila moja. Cesto prosetam u te snove potpuno sam, na ta neka mjesta uz kafu izgubljen u vremenu koje je nekad bilo, cini mi se, sve za sta sam zivio. Ali ne zbog tebe mila moja, niti zbog nas vec zbog onog sebe koji sam ja bio zbog tebe. I dalje se inatim zivotu i dalje bih se tukao sa svima koji diraju u moje. A gdje si ti, mila moja, u kojem gradu sad lutas sa svojim snovima od papira nakvasenog kajanjem I ceznjom za cetiri zida male sobe I jednim snovima, davno odsanjanim…
This is a Michael one shot that I’m dedicating to @brokenscenequeenx . She’s been very supportive and writing some deliciousness today. I wish it was a more upbeat story, but this is what came out. I blame the music that was on. Enjoy.
Complicated almost described things, but sometimes it felt more asinine than anything else. When Michael was in town, you two were as together as any young Southern couple in a Nicholas Sparks novel. You two had even held hands at a neighborhood fair and then gone tubing at your best friend’s boyfriend’s cabin. It was practically picturesque. However, it would always inevitably end as quickly, if not faster, than it began since he always had somewhere else in the world he needed to be. Sometimes, all you had was a weekend of constant kisses stamping along your skin and, other times, you were gifted with a whole season of Michael’s affection, but it never lasted. He always left with the promise of one day he wouldn’t be leaving or, if he was, you would be coming with him. At first, it made your heart sore from smiling, but now it just sounded empty and easy. In fact, you never felt excited when your phone lit up in the middle of class with a text from him. You deflated instantly and felt tired. So, today, considering you hadn’t seen him with the exception of over FaceTime, for four months and two days, you decided to just ignore the message and the two that followed an hour later. Michael wasn’t the only thing that mattered in your life after all. He wasn’t even your boyfriend when he was away due to his passionate stance that long distance relationships were all pointless. You had mid-terms to focus on though, an internship to work towards, plus two birthday dinners to help organize. Michael Clifford could take a page out of the book he wrote for you and wait.
“Oh, good. You’re alive.” A sigh of relief peeped out though he tried to hide it beneath his nervous laughter on the other end of the phone. It was nearly ten PM, just about nine hours since he first texted you, but Michael wasn’t used to you not obliging him, not texting back as soon as you could. He always appreciated that you never played games with him, so he couldn’t help, but worry when you were AWOL. “I didn’t really think you were dead, but I worried something bad, maybe, happened…”
“What’s up, Mike?” You didn’t mean to expose your exasperation, but it slipped out with ease from the lips you had been biting all night while writing study notes on the floor of your bedroom.
“You didn’t answer my texts, so I was calling…I guess, I just missed you.”
“Yeah, your text said that.”
“What’s going on?” Through the phone, Michael swore he could feel frost from your voice run over his arms. He shifted his eyes to peer down the hotel hallway where his friends were beginning to get rowdy, drinking before heading out to check out the bar scene in Austin, and then walked even further in the other direction for some privacy. He felt ill-equipped for the cold shoulder you were giving him. Kindness and excitement had only ever greeted him on the other side of the phone. Periodically, during conversation, both of you would find yourselves sad over being apart, but Michael much preferred that to how abrupt you just sounded. “Is everything okay over there?”
“Michael, it’s just…” Sighing again, you decided not to give him any soft bullshit and just be honest. You were just going to tell him that you were busy studying, but you had put off your books before to talk to him about absolutely nothing. “I feel myself giving up.”
“Giving up what?” Knit together tightly like a professionally crocheted infinity scarf, Michael’s eyebrows came together over his eyes. He fixated his stare on an oversized ceramic vase full of barley and fake sunflowers at the end of the hallway, imagining it was your face as if you two were about to get into it right there in front of the brown elevator doors.
“On this. You. Whatever we are.” Pushing away your textbook, you sat up off your stomach and hiked your knees right to your chest and resting your chin on top. “You’re not ever going to commit and I need to give up on the idea that one day you’ll invite me to come with you - ”
“You’re in school!” Yelling, Michael interuppted.
“You still have never asked. You know you’re important enough to me that I’d find a way to make it work.”
“How many times do I have to tell you? Long distance relationships don’t work!” He had seen plenty of friends put themselves through that mess only to end up despising people they once adored so much that they changed their entire lives for, or tried to. It just didn’t seem worth it. In fact, Michael imagined it would be a lot more painful to be away from you if you were his girlfriend and not just the girl he fantasized about constantly. “I don’t want one.”
“So, we’re together when you have a break and can come visit, but then you leave and I’m supposed to just carry on while you go out and be single all around the world? How could that not hurt?” It was your turn to give an inatimate object a sour face that you wished you could throw at Michael, staring at your laundry hamper as if it had just said one of the most ridiculous sentences ever uttered. “Explain to me how that’s fair or how I’m supposed to see that ever growing into something sustainable, please.”
Michael opened his mouth to plead his case, but let out a loud gust of an exhale instead. Frustration drained out from the back of his throat as he tried to speak again only to find the right words weren’t in his vocabulary.
“You said you’d hold on.”
“That was two years ago. Two years of this craziness!”
“You don’t think I’m worth it?” Without thinking, Michael asked. He hated himself for asking right away and slouched his body against the window pane in defeat, staring out at the busy night below without actually looking at it. “I meant us. You don’t think we’re worth it?”
“I think you don’t treat us like something that’s worth it. I don’t think you leave behind things that are worth it.” Slowly and somehow softer, you managed to tell him. Emotion had been rushing rampant through you before, your voice growing with every word, but suddenly, you felt something serene replace the calamity. You were too confident in what you felt to need to defend yourself. “One day, if you really want to, you’ll make us happen, but if all you want right now is someone warm when you have time off, I can’t do that for you - ” Michael’s sorrowful pant on the other end of the phone stopped you for a moment, you could hear a squeak from his shoulder screeching down the window as he leaned in deeper, feeling defeated and sorry for himself. “Because I can’t do that to me.”
“You don’t love me?” Sounding spiteful, Michael hissed.
“You know I do.” A sharp inhale wasn’t enough to keep water out of your eyes. While you knew you were doing the right thing that didn’t exactly make it enjoyable. “I love you very much and I know you’re capable of loving me that much, but you’re just not ready to right now.”
“[Y/N] - ”
“What are you going to say that’s going to change things, huh?” It was your turn to interrupt him and after a beat of silence passed, it was obvious that he was stumped. “Michael, I need to study and we both need to move on.”
“Okay…” He didn’t feel the same way you did at all and Michael felt nothing, but anger as his free hand pulled his hair from the back, right at the roots. “I’m not going to just be over you, you know? I don’t know what to do, I still want you…”
“If you still want me, you’ll figure it out.” You weren’t exactly hopeful that he would, but with a shrug of your shoulders and a hard swallow, you choose to believe in what you said. You knew that if Michael wanted you in his life, he would try to make it happen.
“[Y/N] - ”
“I need to go. I’m study, truthfully.” It sounded like a line, but you started to lay back down on your stomach and right over your notes and textbook again. “Go have fun tonight.” It would have been unusual for him to not be going out considering he was in another new place with access to almost anything he wanted.
“Yeah, it’s not likely now.” Ready to throw himself a pity party at whatever club or pub they wound up in first, Michael grunted and hung up, not saying another word. It was as if he knew as he stared down at the blinking blue screen on his phone that he was going to wind up drunk-dialing you fifteen times as the night progressed and leaving you three different voice mails; one that was impossible to understand, one that was more crying than words, and one that was somewhere between passionate and rude. You wanted to pick up every time, but you knew you couldn’t be what he wanted anymore for the sake of your own self-respect.
- Ginny and Harry always light cinnamon, vanilla, pumpkin spice, and gingerbread scented candles in the evenings, while they snuggle up on the sofa and read a book, or watch the TV.
- Harry taking Ginny to art museums, and fashion shows, and to coffee shops, and watching her face’s expressions, soaking in every moment; the joy in her eyes as she watches the models strut down the runway, wearing outfits that are, in all honesty, ridiculous, but very aesthetically pleasing and alluring, in some strange way. Harry laughing under his breath as she drags him from one painting, to another, and posing with statues looking every bit as disheveled and happy as she was as a child (only this time, without fear, without horror). Ginny holding Harry’s hand as he leads her into the cafe, the smell of chocolate, and pasteries, and coffee, and teas attacking her nose delightfully. Harry swears her pupils dialated, but Ginny denies it.
- Ginny once started a tickle fight with Harry, and although he denied being ticklish, she discovered that there was this /one area/ on his hipbone that if you just lightly brushed against it, he’d start flailing about and laughing. Needless to say, Harry never forgave her for that tickle war.
- In retaliation, he started a pillow fight, and after five minutes, the pillows broke, and feathers flew all around the room, causing Ginny to sneeze for fifteen minutes straight.
- Did I mention that they were staying over at her parents house? Molly Weasley was not thrilled at the mess that her children had made.
- She made them clean it by hand.
- Ginny’s eyes were red the rest of the night, and the following day.
- Ginny always naming inatimate objects the most bizzare names; she named a knife ‘Archibald’, and a chair 'Herashio’, as well as various plants names, such as 'Wilbafore’, 'Dextor’, 'Parker’, and other names that are so ridiculous or out of left-field, that it would take me all afternoon to write them all down.
- Ginny is no longer allowed to bring strays home, because one week while Harry was gone to train some new Aurors, he came home and found that he was to share his home with six owls, four toads, three cats, two kittens, five dogs, one puppy, a turtle, and there were two miniature goats in the back yard.
- After a nightmare, Harry is almost always found sitting on the swing in their backyard. Sometimes Ginny will join him with a cup of tea, and will hold his hand until dawn, swinging back and forth gently, and rubbing his hand with her thumb, because she knows. And he knows that she knows, so why speak of it? Some things don’t need to be expressed in words. And sometimes, a simple touch of the hand is enough to help you feel better. It won’t make you forget, but it will help you to remember that you’re not alone.
- After they married, Ginny wanted to bake some cookies, as well as some bread, for Luna and Rolf. Ginny forgot how much of a hassle it was to bake, especially without magic (they wanted to do things the muggle way for a while), and Harry had never baked. They both ended up coated with flour (because a certain Gryffindor seeker got impatient, and may or may not have thrown a handful of flour over his gorgeous wife’s hair, causing her to retaliate [and rightly so], by throwing some baking powder on his glasses, obscuring his eyesight…)
- They decided not to keep cooking the muggle way. It was probably for the best.
- Ginny always makes sure to dry flowers that Harry has given her through the years. She hangs them from the ceiling, and keeps them dust-free, and keeps them from falling apart, using various charms.
- Harry has gotten used to waking up in the morning to Ginny singing off-key in the shower. Their children, however, have not gotten used to Harry walking to the bathroom door, and joining her in her off-key ballads. James doesn’t really like inviting his mates over to spend the night for this reason. Albus and Lily usually bet on which songs they’ll sing, and how bad it will sound. Lily usually wins.
- Harry always tells his children he loves them and is proud of them. When James was a baby, Ginny would sometimes wake up in the middle of the night to find Harry not in bed, and would go to the nursery to make sure everything was alright, and would find Harry walking around the room, holding James in his arms, telling him 'daddy loves you, daddy is so proud of you. Daddy is so happy that you exist,’ and all the things the Dursley’s never told him.
- Harry and Ginny who are loved, and cherished, and happy, and no longer have to live in fear.
Ono što sam imala da ti kažem već sam ti rekla pre dve godine. Nisam ljuta i ne želim da delujem grubo i osvetoljubivo. Ne inatim se, jednostavno me više ne zanima ono što imaš da kažeš. Za mene je ta priča završena.
shameless weird gajevy angst I wrote like fifteen minutes ago
How to start.
How do you start something like this?
Gajeel tapped his pencil against the paper, frustrated, and ran a tired hand through his hair.
How to start.
Who could he write it to? Family? People who’ve lost someone dear to you?
He settled for somebody, scratching the empty word against the paper.
Uh…honored. Let’s go with honored.
I am honored to have received something so precious from your…
Husband? Son? Brother?
Family member… It truly has been an experience. I have waited nearly two years for someone as amazing as him to come along. I am alive today because of him. The doctors did not tell me his name. Only that he was twenty four, and his heart was ready for me. And although I have never felt this lucky in my life, I cannot express how sorry I am for your loss. Anybody who is brave enough to be an organ donor doesn’t deserve to die. It might sound weird, or insincere, but I mean it.
I should be dead. I should be dead and he should be alive, but I guess that’s just not how it worked out.
Today, I am three weeks out of the hospital from a 100% successful surgery. I have no one to thank but him.
And he’s no longer here.
So I knew that I had to contact you, or at least some of his family and friends to tell you how grateful I am.
This is really difficult for me to write. Mostly because I have no idea what to say to you. Sorry means nothing when it comes to losing someone. I know that. But all I can tell you is that I’m going to make this heart live as long and happily as possible. That’s the least I can do.
I don’t expect you to write back.
You have no obligation to.
But I just want to let you know that his heart did not go to waste, and I’ll be damned if I let it.
He couldn’t write his name. He wasn’t allowed to release any personal information, it was basic donor 101. The doctors got to read his letter first before they approved it.
Now, all he could do was wait.
3 months later
Gajeel strolled outside to his mailbox. He had to head out early today, he had been volunteering at the hospital ever since the transplant, and had never felt more alive in his life.
Ironically, all at the expense of someone else’s.
He emptied the few advertisements, letters from his mom and dad, and finally, a letter from the organ donor society.
It was all to be expected, they had been checking up on him for the last few months to make sure he was doing alright.
On his way inside, he ripped open the letter, only to find something he certainly wasn’t expecting.
A dusty, handwritten letter, in elegant script with a small color photo attached.
I have to admit. I’ve been meaning to write you back for a long time but every time I’d look at this letter, I just couldn’t bring myself to write a word.
So, here it is.
His name was Jellal. Jellal Fernandes. I’m his sister, and I miss him more than I ever could’ve imagined.
After the car accident, he was rushed to the hospital, only to be declared brain dead after fifteen minutes on life support.
A few blotched specks on the paper lead Gajeel to believe that she had been crying when she wrote the letter. It made him feel…sick.
He had wanted to donate his organs. In your letter, you sounded really guilty. And I just want you to know that you shouldn’t be. You didn’t kill Jellal. You never hurt him, and I can only wish that if you two would’ve met under different circumstances, you would’ve been great friends. Unfortunately, fate had other plans for you two.
I’m glad that it was a success. Jellal would’ve been happy.
So I’m going to tell you about my beautiful brother, Jellal.
He loved hiking. He’d insist on taking everyone in our family for a hike at least once in their lifetime. He’d climb to the top of Magnolia Mountain, and look down into the canyon and say ‘that is one big crack’ and then laugh for twenty minutes straight.
He was funny. Always cracking jokes at the most inapropriate of times. He used to try to make me laugh during church so I would get glared at by the priest.
He left behind a wife and a two month old daughter.
I miss him. I miss him so much and yet the longer I’ve thought about it, the more I’ve come to realize how much I appreciate you. You are living proof that Jellal lives on. Not even death could push him down.
So thank you, thank you so much Nobody.
The photo attached to the bottom was of, presumably Jellal, a blue haired, red tattoed man who was standing at the edge of a cliff, comically waving a hiking stick around with a bright smile plastered across his face.
A weird thing to say, but oddly, the letter had covered up the insane guilt he had felt ever since accepting Jellal’s heart.
But he smiled, because he knew exactly what Jellal would’ve wanted him to do.
He hurried to his kitchen, snatched a piece of paper and a pen, then sat down in this favorite chair, and got to work.
Today was the annual hospital fair.
It celebrated the major success of the hospital, as well as a lovely get together of the town to celebrate health by eating deep fried everything.
Gajeel had been invited to his own booth, to share his amazing story about Jellal and his recovery, and how just signing up to ba an organ donor can save the lives of sixty people.
He felt a little silly, retelling his tale to a bunch of wide-eyed teenagers, while pointing to the framed picture of a hiking Jellal, and a lazy post it note across the bottom with two simple words.
Cheesy. He knew that well enough, but damn it, Jellal deserved some credit.
But, he did have over twenty seven people signed up to become organ donors on his little sheet of paper.
It wasn’t too much, but hey, the day had just begun.
Gajeel sipped his ice water coolly, listening to the bustling sounds of the fair. Kids screaming, adults yelling, teenagers laughing.
All of a sudden, Gajeel’s tranquil world was interrupted by a child.
A small child.
Probably a little over a year of age, toddling over to his booth with the scent of curiosity ripe over her little jumper and windbreaker.
The child grabbed ahold of his folding table for support, tracing her chubby hands all over his papers.
He didn’t make any move to stop her. Only watched in awe that this kid clearly had no parental supervisor anywhere near.
She babbled some incoherent nonsense and shoved the capped pen in her mouth, before waddling to the next beeth.
At this point, Gajeel decided to take action. Didn’t want this little brat getting kidnapped.
He set the toddler on the grass next to his booth chair and handed her a piece of paper to crumple up. That oughta keep her busy for the next few minutes.
The next dozen people to look at his booth all had the same question: Is that your daughter? She’s so cute! Before listening to Gajeel’s lecture, and, surprisingly enough, scrawling their names down on his sign up sheet. (which was now a little crumpled due to the little girl’s adventures.
After fifteen minutes of unscheduled babysitting, Gajeel lifted the kid up and looked at her.
“Where is your mom?” He wondered aloud, knowing very well that the girl’s answer would be something similar to woosheegaga.
Ah. That sounds fairly motherly.
Gajeel turned to see a brilliantly red-headed woman marching towards him like he was the one who stole her baby.
“What are you doing with my daughter?1” He could tell by the woman’s sense of harsh urgency that she was fiercely protective of her kid. Even though she lost her.
“Relax, she just wandered in, figured I’d let her crash here until her parents showed up.” Gajeel said, trying to sound as polite as possible because this woman looked like she was going to stick him in the deep fryer.
Her face calmed a bit. “Oh. Very sorry, she’s just mastered walking and is very, very curious.” She hoisted up her daughter and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
“It’s fine.” Gajeel said.
A short, blue haired girl came running up next to the woman, sounding out of breath and stressed.
“Oh thank god, you found her,” she praised the older woman, looking relieved and a bit astonished.
The Red head looked up to the sign on top of Gajeel’s booth, and for a split second, looked like she might’ve been sick.
Her eyes scanned over him, probably to make sure he wasn’t a major league creep-o that had kidnapped her daughter.
Ad Gajeel had to admit, he did appear to be a little bit rough around the edges. But for God’s sakes, a guy running an organ donor booth with a sob story?
But, although Gajeel had been expecting a smack to the face with a good ‘stay away from my daughter’ at the end of it, he definitely wasn’t expecting the woman to slap a hand over her mouth and scream.
She set down her baby and started bawling, frantically covering her mouth to muffle her screaming.
“Erza! What’s wrong!” The blue haired girl rushed to her aid and set a hand on her shoulder for comfort.
“L-Levy! It’s…it’s…” Her words were cut off by her inatimate cries.
But her shaky hand was pointing to the shiny picture frame with Gajeel’s savior, peering through the glass.
It hit Gajeel like an ice cream truck.
She knew Jellal.
He had a thousand questions. Well, at least a few that Somebody hadn’t answered for him. They had been mailing back and forth for almost a year now, but it wouldn’t beat actual talking face to face.
“Oh my god,” Levy cried, covering her mouth as well while tears streamed down her plum cheeks.
“Uh…are you girls going to be alright?” Gajeel asked, nervously scratching the back of his head.
The smaller girl, Levy, wiped her eyes and studied him, and he allowed himself to do the same.
Short, curly blue hair wisped across her shoulders, and warm, honey brown eyes skirted him up and down. She looked, a little bit like…
“You…you’re Nobody. Aren’t you?” She asked shakily, feverishly wiping her tears.
His mouth went completely dry.
“Then I suppose…you’re Somebody.” He answered.
Her watery smile made his heart lurch.
And for more reasons than one.
“Hi.” She said, a bit awkwardly, but he couldn’t have asked for anything more.
“Hi.” He returned, because maybe finding his Somebody was exactly the thing he, and Jellal, needed.
They’d be ok.
what where did this come from im supposed to be doing requests bye
Ono što sam imala da ti kažem već sam ti rekla pre dve godine. Nisam ljuta i ne želim da delujem grubo i osvetoljubivo. Ne inatim se, jednostavno me više ne zanima ono što imaš da kažeš. Za mene je ta priča završena.
The heavy rainfall beat down on what was once a stark white
Juvia, on a normal day, would’ve made a fuss about it. It
was new, and expensive. Saved especially for occasions such as the one that was
scheduled to occur today.
The dress was torn around the hem, pieces of grass and dirt
stuck to it diligently. It seemed that nature was so set on de-purifying that
dress, it had gone a little overboard.
Juvia’s breath came out in hushed rasps, a ludicrous attempt
to keep herself silent. Her grip on the fender of the decrepit Jeep was
unwavering, her knuckles were pale from the incessant beat of the cold rain and
the tightness of her grip.
Juvia could feel Gray’s presence better than she could see
him, the rain shielded most objects, living or inatimate, from her vision. His
presence, unlike the rest of her environment, was warm.
She wanted to grab him. To clutch that worn sky blue shirt
and hide behind it like the child she was inside. But stirring deep
inside of her is the fear that if she moves, she’ll die.
Gray made the first move, she could just barely catch the
glint of his dark hair, slicked back from rain, moving upwards.
Her hand shot forward and grabbed his leg, fear and
adrenaline taking the reigns from the sensible part of her brain and she
clamped down onto his ankle, paralyzed.
When his hand comes down to remove hers, it was surprisingly
gentle, unlike his normal brutal mindset. He plucked her hand off of his leg
effortlessly, and places her hand in her lap where it could be safe. He brought
a single finger up to his lips, although the image was foggy, Juvia received
He scouted out the surrounding forest, eyes trained in on
the animal that was no doubt hunting them. His eyes saw nothing, but Gray was
smart enough to realize that if that beast didn’t want them to see it, they
He sunk back down to a crouching position beside Juvia and
shook his head curtly. Juvia stayed frozen.
“We have to move,” he said lowly, eyes fleeting back and
forth like a cornered animal. He was just as terrified as she was.
Juvia swallowed. When she told her legs to move, they
promptly refused. She then shook her head.
“Juvia, come on.” Gray encouraged, “we’re sitting ducks
here. Better to attempt an escape than wait for death, right?”
She nervously nodded, her mind in agreement with his. Her
legs still resisted movement.
“I-I’m scared.” She gasped, her hands beginning to shake
under the weight of her arms as she tried to push herself upward.
“I know,” he whispered, grabbing one of her arms carefully
and throwing it over his broad shoulders. “You have every right to be.”
Juvia sniffed, letting her weight fall onto Gray’s shoulders
for a bit. Her limp legs finally complied, and she was able to shakily stand,
with some support of course.
“Please don’t leave me,” she whimpered, revealing to him her
greatest fear since the Indominous Rex had escaped. He was stronger than her,
mentally and physically, he could leave her to die anytime he wanted to, and
why he hadn’t yet continued to baffle her. She was a useless burden, he didn’t
“Hey,” he said, trying to get her attention. When it didn’t
work, he tried just grabbing her face with his hands forcing her to stare
directly at him. “I’m with you, ok? Always.”
His simple words quelled the fear in her heart, which he was
miraculously able to do in less than five seconds. Her legs gained strength and
she pried herself away from him, not wanting to burden him with her weight any
“You alright?” He asked, without his casual dripping malice,
and almost with a hint of what she liked to think was concern.
“Yes.” She answered. A bittersweet smile tugged at his lips
as he gripped his gun to his chest. He leaned over the hood of the Jeep to
double-check for any raging hybrids, cleared the area, and looked back at her
She nodded at him tersely. His half-smile evolved into a
full-blown one, what a strange man. But fear does odd things to you, she’d be
able to contest to that.