#I don’t know if now is the good moment to promote the journals because the season is still far away
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oh, got my first etsy review, bless
#my face is the 🥹 right now#journals stuff#(when I received the notification I had a moment of stress because ‘what if it was bad’ but yeah no we’re good)#I don’t know if now is the good moment to promote the journals because the season is still far away#but I’m gonna try to make content anyway#and maybe prepare some additional free pages to keep track of testing results#I have to think about that
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WC: 4.4k
Synopsis: An exploration of why Bucky decided to cut his hair
AN: This has been in my Google Drive for about two years and finally got around/had the motivation to finish this. This piece was technically my first ever piece of fanfiction I ever wrote. My writing mostly pertains to Top Gun and Top Gun Maverick so this was a nice little brain break from that. I thought I'd include the original author's note I put together, having never written fanfiction at the time, just for nostalgic sake and if anyone wants to know just how new to this I was lol. Also this divider is not mine and I was unable to tag the account that made it since it was deleted. This work will be posted on my side blog @sophs-writing-nook.
Original Author’s Note: Hello everyone :) This is the first fanfiction I’ve ever written and I really hope you guys like it because I’m a bit nervous about it. I’ve had this idea since I saw the first promotions for the Falcon and Winter Soldier series and didn't really do anything about it for a variety of reasons. I haven’t seen a lot of fics exploring this concept so I decided to write this on a camping trip in my notes app where I didn’t have reception so I apologize if there is bad grammar, spelling errors, etc. If there happens to be a similarity to another fic, it is purely coincidence and I don’t intend to plagiarize anyone. Please let me know if it does appear I have. I have a lot of respect for fanfic writers and don’t want to disrespect anyone and steal anyone’s work unintentionally.
Warnings: Blood, Trauma (PTSD), sadness with some bittersweet moments sprinkled in, supportive Sam because that’s a warning in itself.
None of these characters are mine. Read at your own discretion.
Bucky had tried finding a routine after coming back: Get up by 7, go on a run make breakfast, try to keep in touch with his friends he had made since coming back, try a new recipe, maybe try online dating, catch up on what he missed the past 70 years, try to forgive himself for all the atrocities he didn't have a choice in committing, make dinner, shower, and sleep by 9.
That's what his therapist, Darlene, told him to do at least.
She wanted him to write in a journal the names of the people and families he wanted to make amends with, things he wanted to explore and try out, and good things he remembered before he was the Winter Soldier.
Darlene had kept encouraging him to keep referring to the Winter Soldier as if he were his own separate person, and not affiliated with James Buchanan Barnes.
It helped a bit with passing the blame, but not by much. He, naturally, chose the last remnant of Steve he had- his journal- to hold these thoughts.
Steve saw the best in him when he couldn't.
He made an effort to try and forgive himself for everything he did, for Steve’s sake.
Why Steve had left him, he didn't fully understand.
It didn't make the "forgiving himself" part any easier.
If his lifelong friend, who had been with him through thick and thin, decided to leave him now in this time of his broken, mutilated life, what did that say about him?
Was he wrong about him?
Did he truly believe he was worth being fixed and forgiven?
There were small moments of hope that he could be fixed, but they were few and far inbetween.
His nightmares had gotten worse.
If Darlene would ask, he’d tell her, “no, they haven't", "they've stopped", or "I haven't had one for a while.” Bullshit excuses that anybody who saw the dark circles under his eyes wouldn't believe. Darlene knew he was lying and would try to reassure him that their space was safe and it would help him to get his nightmares out in the open.
He didn't think so.
This woman didn't know what it was like to have the same horrific scenarios play out in his mind every time he went to sleep.
To see himself killing innocent people like he was in the backseat of his mind.
The blood.
Their faces, some close friends and others strangers.
Their pleas and calls for mercy were what always broke him.
He was forced again and again to witness himself taking their lives and couldn't do anything to stop himself. Forced to use any part of himself for Hydra.
Nothing was spared.
He felt unforgivable, these nightmares were a sign of the Winter Soldier still being in his head, buried and ready if Hydra got their hands on him again.
He was tired of fighting and worrying, only wanting lasting peace and a full night's rest.
He had started renting an apartment in downtown Brooklyn near where his family had lived during the 40's. It was near the church cemetery his mother, father and sister, Rebecca, were buried. They were placed in the row closest to the street behind the church his family frequented during his youth.
His parents had passed from old age when he was imprisoned by Hydra.
A small part of him was thankful for that.
They never had to learn that their son had done such horrible things.
They lived with the good memories of him.
His sister had passed during the time half the population was gone, the Blip people called it, from Alzheimer's. He visited her once before, but she was in the late stages, and was a shell of who he remembered growing up.
His little sister Rebecca, whom he protected, opened jars for, teased, and made sure the boys she liked would be good to her, was now unable to remember him. He was told she passed peacefully in her sleep a few months after he disappeared.
Darlene thought that buying an apartment so close to his family's resting place might be overwhelming for him, but he wanted to be close to them and the memories he had.
The apartment consisted of a basic floor plan; kitchen, bathroom with a shower and bath, living room, bedroom, closet. However, he only used the kitchen, bathroom, and living room.
He didn't have many things when he moved in, and didn't feel he needed all the space allotted to him.
He had invested in a modest tv set, a microwave, blender, and a camping mat, courtesy of Sam's encouragement.
He had tried sleeping on a mattress, but he felt that he was going to sink through into the floor with how soft and marshmallow-like it felt. He always slept on the floor with a few blankets and sheets.
Sam had the same experience when he came back from Afghanistan.
Sam had tried to help him adjust to things since coming back, and had done a lot for him, including to help him find his apartment and encourage him to try new things.
There were times he had trouble getting out of his headspace to return Sam's calls and initiate with his friend. Darlene had been saying that for a person who allegedly had no one left, he seemed to have a safety net in Sam. She pushed him to call someone other than her and initiate with him. It was another case where he felt she didn't fully understand how difficult it was for him to build relationships, and "get his nightmares out in the open" since coming back.
He had gotten home late that night from the store, buying ingredients to make a recipe Darlene recommended: chicken tikka masala, he thought she called it.
He was amazed at the amount of change he had missed, especially from a grocery store. His family would boil everything with what minimal spices were available, other than the usual salt and pepper. He found solace in trying new recipes and exposing himself to the technological wonders of the 21st century, including learning how to use a DVD player and the iPhone he recently bought. He tried online dating but found it was too overwhelming and made him feel like a fish out of water. Asking people on dates and seeking relationships came easily to him when he was younger before the war, but everything felt so different now.
He felt so different and foreign to himself. His arm. His mind. He felt like a shell of the person he was before the Winter Soldier.
His groceries were unloaded into the fridge and he started to prepare his dinner. He placed a bowl on the counter for mixing chicken marinade and marinating the soon to be cooked slices of chicken. The chicken slices were placed into a pan on a low heat to begin cooking. They wouldn't take long since they only had to cook halfway through initially. He gathered the spices for the marinade.
The soft smells of turmeric, ginger, cumin, and garam masala reminded him of the evenings he spent helping his mother cook during the summer. His mother would rummage together some cash every once in a while to buy a few sachets of spices from the local grocery. It was an indulgence she took part in that, compared to now, seemed simple and less of an everyday luxury.
Sure, the spices she would bring home were more mild and less "exotic" than what he had available to him now, but it was the familiar memory of being taught to cook and the soft smells of his mother's cooking.
His conscience told him to use the spices sparingly despite himself being confronted with a substantially sized grocery aisle complete with spices from almost every corner of the world a mere few hours ago.
Maybe it was his upbringing during the Great Depression and watching his parents worry about where the next paycheck would come from.
Or maybe it was his instinct telling him this small semblance of peace he had found in his Brooklyn apartment would be snatched away, and that he needed to savor every new experience in stride.
Because if he let himself enjoy them too much, it would make the snatching that much more painful.
He couldn't decide.
He finished the marinade and would have to wait an hour or two to start the sauce and cook the chicken. He placed it in the fridge and made his way to the bathroom for a shower.
The warm water felt nice on his warped, scarred flesh around his arm on his left side. The area would often become sore and plagued by knots. Sam recommended warm showers, aloe vera, a massage and spa place nearby, and Advil. The thought of people he didn't know touching his scarred flesh made him feel nervous, so the rest of his suggestions were his go to.
His scar tissue and long hair were the last physical mark of Hydra on him.
He was thankful he didn't have to see the red star that had branded him for so many years when he looked in the mirror anymore, since leaving Wakanda.
But there was still his hair.
His hair that had blood, dirt and grime stained into it for his 70 years of service. No matter how many times he showered, he knew the blood would never leave his hair or his hands. His mind would drift through waves of hopelessness in quiet moments like these more often than not.
He dried himself off with a soft towel, changed into a pair of boxers, and began to gingerly apply aloe vera to the junction where his arm met his shoulder. His shoulder was still a bit sensitive after all these years despite the enhanced healing from the serum. Shuri theorized it was because the metal cavity of his arm continuously tore through the underlying tissue. She was able to remove the bits and pieces of metal embedded in his shoulder. His arm was in the healing process, but it would take a while after years of damage even with the serum. After he finished rubbing in the aloe vera, He put on a dark t-shirt and made his way back into the kitchen to finish the sauce.
He carefully prepared the onions, garlic, and spices for the sauce the way his mother taught him to.
He couldn't help but think about how his parents and sister would have loved to have tried this recipe with him.
He could almost hear his mother's voice in his head telling him to "cut the onions a bit smaller" or "don't let the garlic and onions burn in the pan".
Rebecca's eagerness to try the sauce prematurely with a perfected pout and whines of protest when denied so.
His father's quiet yet strong presence at the kitchen table reading the daily paper and soft scolding of his sister.
Steve drawing in his journal at the dinner table on evenings when Sarah Rogers would be working late at the hospital.
The radio softly playing in the background as a soothing ambiance.
The kitchen window opened to let the aroma of the Barnes’ family dinner wander through the back alley of the apartment building, and let in the sounds of the neighbors' soft conversations, clothes oscillating in the wind on the clothes line, and car engines humming as people made their way home at dusk.
All qualities of his family's evening routine and upbringing he longed for, but took for granted in his youth.
The stark smell of overcooked onions brought him back to the task at hand, pulling him from his thoughts but leaving his buildup of emotions he felt were about to rupture. He added the heavy cream, spices, brown sugar, and let them stir with the marinated onions and garlic. He felt tears start to form in his eyes. Letting the sauce thicken, he turned the pan onto a low heat, and added the marinated chicken to finish cooking.
He placed the spatula down on the counter top with a shaky hand, placing his hands on the counter to support himself as he let out a shaky breath, blinking away tears that formed in the corners of his eyes.
God, he wished they were here with him. Steve. His mom. His dad. Rebecca.
He wished he had somebody who knew him before the Winter Soldier that could help him to pick up the broken pieces of himself and to become the person he was again.
He wished he could have said goodbye to his parents, Rebecca, and that Steve hadn't left him.
He wished he could've held his parents one last time before they passed, met the man that Rebecca fell in love with and had a family with, and fought harder for Steve to stay with him and help pick up the pieces.
All things that he couldn't do anything about now.
He wiped his tears away and returned to stirring his chicken masala. Thoughts of his family blending with the thoughts of his recipe like the spices and heavy cream in his pan as a cope. Darlene had mentioned that the recipe goes best with garlic buttered rice or naan, so he had bought ingredients for both, but opted for the naan. He turned on the oven, placed some naan from the store on a baking sheet, and into the oven before returning to stirring the contents of the pan.
He remembered Sam wanted to come over and check in on how he was settling into his apartment, sometime the next day. Maybe he would want to try some of his dish.
"Initiate, take small steps to initiate". This counted as initiating, right? He hoped so.
His chicken masala was well blended and deemed done. His naan close behind. He placed a bowl and plate on the counter, served up his recipe and naan, and sat down at his two person dinner table, and prepared to eat. Darlene had told him that making a makeshift taco with the naan tasted good if he opted to not make the garlic butter rice. He took his first bite and let himself experience each incredible flavor.
He would definitely be making this recipe again.
Maybe he could make a batch for Sam.
It would be a small way to return the favor.
He made his way through his dinner, and would start heading to bed soon. It was almost 9 anyway. Shuri told him that consistent good sleep would also help him heal mentally along with his therapy and the treatment she provided.
He made a mental note to try making the garlic butter rice, thank Darlene for the recipe, and ask her if she had any more favorite recipes he should try during his next session.
He brought his dishes to the sink, moved to the bathroom to brush his teeth, and shed himself of his shirt. Sleeping shirtless was normal for him both during the war and after getting the serum, finding that he would warm up easily and end up tossing and turning in the night.
His escalated body heat helped him to survive the frigid Siberian winters during his imprisonment, but not the mild to warm summer nights in Brooklyn.
Laying on the hardwood floor with the lights out left him with his thoughts. He remembered the nights he and Steve spent laying on couch cushions on the living room floor of his parents apartment.
The nights he and his sister would read The Hobbit under the covers of his bed when they were younger, while their parents thought they were sleeping.
He liked to sleep with the TV on at a low volume and the window opened so he wouldn't be lost in his thoughts for too long.
He didn't have as much trouble falling asleep as before. Darlene told him to take deep breaths while resting his eyes and had gotten better at it since seeing her.
Breathe in for 5 seconds, exhale for 10, and repeat till he felt calm enough to drift to sleep.
He steadily awoke hours later, feeling warm and groggy.
It was quiet.
The TV was off and the window was shut.
He was none the wiser in his hindered state of being as he lifted himself off of the floor and trudged to the bathroom, the soft sound of his bare feet pattering on the wood floor like rain drops on a window, encompassing his apartment in a soft echo.
He turned on the soft bathroom light and twisted the cold faucet on, leaned down and scooped cold water in his hand, and poured it on his face. Supporting himself by his forearms, he closed his eyes and relished in the feeling of cold on his face and cascading down his neck.
The water felt warmer now and had a distinct iron smell to it.
He opened his eyes and was met with his hands drenched in blood. Blood flowing into the sink from the tap.
He slowly turned to meet his reflection. Met with the cold, dark, blank eyes of the Winter Soldier. The blood stained leather vest, black muzzle, and the long brunette hair stained black from blood falling over his face.
He was there with him, as clear as day.
He felt a stark and deep rooted sense of fear awaken and burrow itself in his chest as he quickly retreated from the sink, pressing himself against the opposing wall. Eyes wide and breathing heavy, he felt the walls of the bathroom constricting him.
The Winter Soldier reached out his metal arm, severing the separation between the mirror and his bathroom, and brought it down onto the counter top with a resounding crack, small remnants of the cheap countertop tumbling to the floor. He lunged for the door and twisted the knob but it wouldn't budge. Desperately, he tried to break down the door, knuckles bleeding and eyes teary. He could feel the Winter Soldier getting closer to him and was too terrified to turn back and face him. He broke through the door with a splitting crack, splinters in his hands. Awaiting on the other side was a long dimly lit corridor lined with bars and cold concrete walls.
His heart stopped.
He knew this corridor.
He would always know this corridor.
He didn't want to go forward, but he had no choice. Breaking into a sprint, not looking back and praying he didn't trip over himself, he felt a sudden, strong grip on his leg, pulling him backwards. Landing on the hard concrete with a groan and turning himself to face his captor: Two dark, army clad figures awaited him. He shuffled away from them as fast as he could but couldn't get to his feet fast enough to avoid being dragged to by his feet towards the bathroom. His screams echoing off the walls, and hands burning from friction against the cement floor at his attempts to escape their grasp.
He couldn't believe what was happening, he thought he was free from Hydra.
Free from these corridors.
Free from the chair.
He felt his nails fruitlessly catching on the small ridges of the cement floor as he was mercilessly dragged. The hallway enclosed in darkness behind him and the bathroom light ahead of him, serving as a beacon of pain and suffering.
He was left on the bathroom floor, shaking and crying, accentuated by the sound of the slamming of a steel door. His teary eyes searched for the figures but found none. Instead, his eyes landed on the dull gleam of the worn metal frame in his bathtub, tinged with small droplets of blood, smoothed down edges, and strained leather straps.
If he wasn't sobbing before, he was now. He felt so trapped, his heart beating out of his chest; his lungs made of tin, unable to expand.
His shaking frame was folded on the floor by the bathroom door. A few moments of silence flooded by the drops of his sink tap and his attempts to catch his breath.
Abruptly, a handful of his hair was grabbed, his body dragged to the chair as he let out seethes of pain and cries.
He was held down in the chair as he was strapped in by faceless, dark army figures. Soft whispers and murmurs of pleas for mercy and forgiveness settled around him, originating from every vent and faucet in his bathroom, nestled their way to his ears.
They grew louder and droned out the sound of leather going through buckles and the mechanical "wrrrrr" of the head plates assembling towards the top of the chair.
He struggled and screamed, but it was no use.
Trapped in the chair, no chance of escape; Limited by his mind and not his body.
He anxiously waited and dreaded for the excruciating pain of electricity to course through his body, to hear the words Hydra spent so much time and care to drill into his mind.
But both never came.
He awoke with a startle, eyes wide, body and blanket soaked with sweat, lungs gasping for breath.
His window open, letting in his neighbors everyday routine squeeze into his apartment.
The TV on a low volume, playing auctions for nic-nacs and heirlooms people didn't find use for. All drowned out by his racing thoughts and attempts at breathing.
The blanket pooled around his waist as he shifted to lean against the wall, closing his eyes and trying to focus on his breathing.
He needed his hair gone.
Like a wounded animal, he made his way to the bathroom with shaky breaths and uneasy strides. He flipped the bathroom light on, feverishly opening and closing drawers to find what he needed most.
A pair of scissors.
A raspy sigh left his lips as his hands met the plastic frame of the twin bladed tool.
His eyes shifted from his reflection to his hold on the scissors.
Carefully, he brought his metal hand to his hair, extending one of his many locks of hair.
His eyes drifted from the lock of hair to the metal blades that almost fully encased it.
Snip.
He watched as the lock frayed till it was severed completely, feeling the freed lock in his hand and watching it fall to the counter.
A sigh of relief left his lips as tears pricked his eyes as he met his reflection in the mirror.
Snip.
Snip.
Snip.
His tears were flowing fully down his cheeks as almost the entirety of his left side was covered in frayed, unevenly cut hair.
He gingerly ran his flesh hand along his head, relishing in the short tufts of hair, and began repeating the same frenzied cutting on the other side of his head, and towards the back
If the tears weren’t flowing before, they were now.
He placed the scissors onto the hair ridden counter with a clang, keeping his relieved gaze on himself, feeling his chest wrack with sobs, body slowly crumbling against the sink and to the floor.
He had never felt such relief in his life.
His hands ran over the chopped hair, savoring the uneven patched of hair, his head laying back to rest against the wood cabinet below his sink, eyes fluttering shut.
Muffled knocks softly rose his mind from the depths of sleep.
He let his eyes adjust to the bathroom light, feeling his neck ache from how he slept against the drawers of the cabinet.
Sam.
He rose up to his feet with a groan, trudging to his front door.
His front door opened with a click.
“Hey, man-woah.”
He rose his eyes to meet Sam’s wide ones, giving him a small smile, “Hi, Sam.”
Sam swallowed.
“Late night hack job, huh?”
He gave Sam a tight-lipped smile, nodding.
Sam’s lip quirked.
“I, um, I made something for you if you’d like to try it.”
Sam watched as he rubbed the back of his neck with his flesh hand.
He moved from the door, leaving it open for Sam to come in.
Sam carefully stepped into his apartment, taking in the rumple of blankets on the livingroom floor.
“It’s chicken tikka masala, my therapist recommended it.”
Sam took the plastic container he held out for him.
“Thanks for this…We should go get you a haircut. You can’t be walking around Brooklyn looking like you had a blender cut your hair.”
His lip quirked, nodding.
After a few minutes, he met him back at the front door in jeans, a t-shirt, and his bomber jacket, and glove.
“Ready to go?”
He wordlessly nodded, closing, and locking the door behind them.
—
“Alright, what do you think?”
The hairdresser adjusted his chair so he could see himself fully in the mirror.
He could feel his eyes glaze over.
His previously poorly chopped locks were no where to be found, replaced by almost buzzed cut hair with a bit of length towards the top. Barely enough for anyone to get a good grip in.
“It’s perfect, thank you Melissa,” he muttered to the woman that gave him a kind smile in return.
He tried to hand the man at the cashier station some cash, but Sam interjected with his card.
He looked at Sam with slight bewilderment.
“You’ll cover me next time.”
His lip quirked, as Sam nudged his shoulder as they made their way to the exit.
He stopped in front of a window for a store on the way back to his apartment, seeing his reflection in the storefront.
And for once, he didn’t have a deeprooted distaste or fear of what he saw.
It almost made him cry.
He needed this.
His long hair gone. The last remnant of his time in Siberia, of the shackles that held his mind down under water like an anchor, gone.
Out of sight. Out of mind.
Sam stopped a few paces ahead of him.
“You wanna stop in?”
Sam’s voice broke him from his trance.
He gave Sam a small smile.
“No, just taking it all in.”
Sam gave him a comforting smile as he caught up with him.
They continued on to his apartment to give Sam some of his chicken tikka masala, running his hand through his hair periodically with a smile on his face.
#bucky barnes#marvel mcu#bucky barnes angst#sam wilson#winter soldier#mcu fanfiction#mcu#james buchanan barnes#james bucky barnes#james bucky buchanan barnes
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Dianna Agron is running late — she’s stuck on the subway. I have no problem believing this because I am on the exact same train a few cars away, as we learn when she sends me a heads-up text. My phone slowly receives a selfie of Agron waving through a grainy train window, face curtained by long light-brown hair, along with another message about how tickled she is that we’re sharing a classic New York experience. And it’s one we continue when we finally make it to The Odeon, the iconic Tribeca bistro. “It's been a staple since the 1980s, which is what I love about this place,” she says in her lilting voice as we mull over the menu. “This is a place that was happening when I was born and didn't even know that it would be waiting for me when I moved to New York City.” We get two dirty martinis and a plate of fries before gleefully cheering to being in our 30s. “I love this time, though,” she adds.
Agron has been thinking a lot about her 30s, and not just because we’re meeting up two weeks before her 37th birthday. Her new movie, Clock, out now on Hulu, is a sci-fi horror film that explores the immense societal pressures women, in particular those without children, face in that decade of their lives. But the film’s messages about making your own choices also resonate within the arc of her career. Agron spent six seasons on the pop culture juggernaut that was Glee — and enduring the intense public scrutiny that came with it — before more recently finding acclaim with a string of indie movies like Shiva Baby and Novitiate. With Clock, Agron pushed herself again. There are big action scenes (hanging from cliffs, elbow-deep gore), as well as dark emotional depths (involving painful family secrets coming to life). “Collected experience really does add up,” she says. “And I think that the life I've lived the last 10 years in some ways has been more magnificent and more challenging than my more formative years.”
Lanvin coat, SKIMS bra, Talent’s own trousers, Pamela Love earrings
Agron never thought she’d try her hand at horror, but the Clock script hit too close to home to resist. She plays Ella, a 30-something who doesn’t want kids but eventually gives into the pressure of prying family and friends and enrolls in an experimental clinical trial, under the leadership of Dr. Simmons (Melora Hardin), that promises to help women who don’t experience having a biological clock. “The moment I turned 30,” Agron says, “the amount of questions that I felt were far too personal — and from truly everyone — just intensified year by year.”
Even for an actor who came up in the Perez Hilton era of celebrity blogging and is used to skirting prying questions, Agron still finds herself surprised sometimes. Just last year, she was on a red carpet at the Tribeca Film Festival promoting the sci-fi drama Acidman when a journalist asked her out of the blue if her mother’s name, Mary, would be “top of the list” for her. “I truly had no idea what she was talking about, so I asked for clarification and she said, ‘The top of your baby list,’” Agron says. “I said, with all of the kindness, ‘You have no idea what my personal journey is. And I'm quite surprised that you asked me that at my workplace when I'm here to discuss a film that I'm in.’” The message didn’t land. “She had no remorse. She just bopped along to the next question.”
Michael Kors Collection clothing and belt, Agmes earrings
Clock only took on more meaning throughout production. Agron was in Texas shooting the last day of principal photography when the draft Supreme Court opinion overturning Roe v. Wade leaked. “It did not feel good, that's for sure,” she says. “But then felt in some ways good that we were making [a movie that speaks] to some of the perils of being a woman and making choices that are more aligned with your own sense of self, as opposed to making choices for other people.” She dips a fry into one of the many condiments we’ve ordered. “All it takes is a film or a piece of journalism [for people] to open their eyes to different experiences that they could never imagine for themselves and have no personal touch points for. As a woman and one who very much loves women and loves the immense and enormous abilities that we have to carry so much, I wish that we had to carry less.”
When writer-director Alexis Jacknow was looking to cast Ella, she knew what she wanted: “It was very important to me that that character just already have a natural, grounded nature, a gravitas to her.” And she knew right away after meeting her that Agron could deliver. “There was absolutely nothing she wouldn’t do,” Jacknow says. “She pushed me, and there was just no hesitation on her part. She showed up every single day, 110%, and gave us everything.”
That is not an exaggeration. During one scene, Ella cracks open eggs into a frying pan and begins to eat them raw with a spoon. Jacknow didn’t want anyone to flaunt food safety guidelines, but Agron thought the only way to sell the scene was to actually do it. “Beef tartare, a whiskey sour,” Agron says, listing all the indulgences with raw ingredients she already enjoys. (There are reasons those are safer than raw eggs, but just go with it.) Jacknow proposed a compromise: Agron could put the raw eggs in her mouth as long as she spat them instead of swallowing. Agron agreed — or at least pretended to. “I winked at our [director of photography] and motioned at him like, ‘Don’t cut,’” she says, laughing. “I go to pick up the egg, I swallow it and go to take another bite. And I just hear, ‘Dianna, what the f*ck?!’”
Dries Van Noten clothing, Khiry earrings
Agron hasn’t always felt such autonomy in her career. When she was in her early twenties, she booked a role in a “big studio film” that, though ultimately a positive experience, involved an eye-opening screen test. “It was like, ‘We don’t like her hair like that, we need her to be more girly. We don’t like those clothes,’” she recalls. “I kept getting moved off set, changed, put back on stage, taken off again. I didn’t feel that I had any say in the matter, even if I had suggested something nicely. I was just a product at that point.”
Glee did not exactly help things. Agron says she was the last person cast for the show and describes getting the job as nothing short of fate. She grew up watching musicals with her mother in hotels on account of her father’s job as a manager at Hyatt. “Look, I moved to Los Angeles and I set out to find a musical. They were my absolute bread and butter. I told anybody that would listen to me, ‘I really want to do a musical,’” she says. “And [agents] were like, ‘No, try to be on Broadway.’ I just had this staunch faith that I was meant to be in Los Angeles and I would find a musical. And then it happened.”
But while she credits the show with changing her life, the show’s explosive popularity tested her boundaries. “There was a moment in time where there was not only a lack of acknowledgement in respect to personal space, there have been times where I've been put in a headlock and kissed on a plane. There have been times where mothers were grabbing you by the arm to meet and take a photo with their child,” Agron says. “There were so many personal attacks in a way that are just truly not what you do to a human. That feels specific to that time and that intensity of the feelings that people were feeling watching the show.”
So she moved to New York in 2016, eager to escape Los Angeles and its “predatory nature of people with lenses down there that just doesn’t exist in the same way in other places.” For a few years, she split her time between London — from 2016 to 2020, Agron was married to Winston Marshall of British folk-rock group Mumford & Sons — but now calls New York “my only home.” “Following my personal life is really not going to yield anything that interesting,” Agron says of public attention. And it’s true, the few times I tactfully (I hope) bring up topics that might lead Agron to open up about other aspects of her personal life, she gently deflects them. It’s clear she’s figured out a way to maintain her privacy while still being incredibly personal in the context of her work.
In New York, she’s able to follow her muse more freely. She’s reconnected with music through a string of residencies at the famed Café Carlyle, where she’s performed jazz standards and ‘60s covers. She served as a producer on Acidman and would like to do more behind-the-scenes work. And she’s relishing the chance to be a “waving the Jewish flag” kind of actor, choosing projects like Shiva Baby and As They Made Us that let her honor and explore her heritage. “I went to Jewish weekend school and Wednesday school for my entire upbringing up until my Bat Mitzvah and spent a lot of time with Holocaust survivors,” she says. “So it was a weird experience to then have many people say [in Hollywood], ‘You don’t look Jewish.’ It is weird to have somebody deny you your own personal experience.”
Next, she’ll make her return to television with The Chosen One, a multilingual adaptation of Mark Millar’s American Jesus comic book that follows a 12-year-old boy who gains the biblical powers of Jesus after a freak accident. She’s bonded with the younger actors on the show who have asked her for career advice — a full-circle moment for the now bonafide industry veteran. They’ve even watched Glee and marveled to Agron about how young she looks and seems. Her response? “I am!” she says, laughing.
By this point, our martini glasses have long been empty. Neither of us want to brave the train again, so Agron walks me up the street and, like a true New Yorker, gives me directions with a McNally Jackson tote slung over her shoulder. She gives me a hug, then turns to head deeper into Tribeca, forging a path all of her own.
#this could explain Taylor’s delayed tweet lol#Dianna Agron x photoshoot#dianna Agron x bustle 2023#dianna Agron x fashion#swiftgron
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Top 10 ways to get amnesia
#Top 10 ways to get amnesia how to#
#Top 10 ways to get amnesia software#
You can string together photographs and/or clips with background music or a voice over explaining where you are and what you are doing.
#Top 10 ways to get amnesia software#
If you’ve never done it before it can sound rather daunting, but you would be amazed to learn how easy it is to create your own travel video or vlog with the free editing software available today. I made the following travel Vlog about my first trip to Thailand with free iMovie editing software and an iPhone 6. It gives a false sense of remembrance, because whilst we know they are there, those pictures are out of sight and out of reach most of the time (with the exception of that token wallpaper or holiday profile picture.) By printing your photographs you can be reminded of your happy holiday moments at random times throughout the day.įor those favouring minimalism/not wanting to clutter their walls with photographs, there are creative alternatives to framed photos such as printing them as coasters/a mouse mat or creating a calendar with 12 of your favourite holiday snaps. This seems like an obvious suggestion, but so many of us fall into the trap of storing hundreds of photos on our phones or in the cloud. You’ve been planning for vacation for months – so why wouldn’t you want to do everything in your power to ensure that the memories stay with you for months and years to come? With this list you’re sure to make memories that last a lifetime – or at least last longer than that fabulous suntan you took home.ġ | Print your Photographs I printed this photograph on wood and this photograph of an antique paint set – and the memory of my delight at discovering it, is now a work of art in my home. You’ve been saving your pennies, created a Pinterest board of holiday outfits, scoured TripAdvisor for the top rated activities in each area and re-packed your bag three times.
#Top 10 ways to get amnesia how to#
For more information, check out How to Do Mindful Meditation.You’ve spent months planning every detail of your dream vacation – so naturally you would want to do everything in your power to remember it!.Just notice, "My mind is wandering" and bring it back gently. For example, if your mind wanders, don’t get upset. One of the most important parts of mindful meditation is to observe thoughts and feelings without judging them.X Trustworthy Source Greater Good Magazine Journal published by UC Berkeley's Greater Good Science Center, which uses scientific research to promote happier living Go to source Remember that your thoughts and feelings are fleeting and do not define you. For instance, you can focus on your sense of hearing, and listen to the sounds in your environment: the hum of the air conditioner, road noise, or the sound of the wind through the windows.Then, focus on your sight and intensely take in the sights around you. Many techniques include focusing on your breath by observing the inhales and exhales. X Trustworthy Source Cleveland Clinic Educational website from one of the world's leading hospitals Go to source There are many ways to practice mindful meditation. Meditation can help you manage dissociative symptoms and bring more awareness to your internal states. Working with a therapist - either on your own or as part of family therapy - can help you address these concerns. As a friend or family member, you may feel frightened by what happened, or perhaps betrayed or upset by the person's behavior during the period of dissociative amnesia.Assure the person that it is safe for him to come to you when he feels upset and needs emotional support. Let the person know that you are there to help - offer to listen, to attend therapy with the person, or to offer comfort in other ways. Part of feeling safe and secure includes feeling supported by other people.Add familiar items or cherished items, such as photos of pets or children. Consider including blankets, pillows, and other soft items.You may return the person to his home, or create a safe space elsewhere. X Research source A safe environment can help create a sense of calm, which can allow for memories to resurface. If you are taking care of someone after an episode, it’s important for the person to feel safe and secure in the environment. Involve friends and family to create a safe environment.
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https://www.charlotteobserver.com/charlottefive/c5-things-to-do/article263224433.html
July 8
Shawn Mendes dishes on the tour he’s bringing to Charlotte — and on being a crocodile
Shawn Mendes has come a long way since he appeared on stage at live-music club Amos’ Southend seven years ago, at age 16, to play for a crowd of just over 1,300 fans.
The best proof of that? When he returns to Charlotte later this month, for the first time since that 2015 show, the now-23-year-old pop star responsible for monster hits like “Treat You Better” and “There’s Nothing Holdin’ Me Back” will need a venue that can hold more than 13,000 concertgoers this time.
Here are a few of the most interesting things we learned about Mendes during a recent teleconference with reporters to promote his upcoming “Wonder: The World Tour,” which supports his 2020 album “Wonder” and stops at Spectrum Center on July 22.
ON THE ALBUM THAT INSPIRED THE TOUR
While the rest of us were making viral pasta from TikTok and learning TikTok dances during the pandemic, Mendes was working on creating the “Wonder” album.
Mendes started working on the album right after his previous tour — “Shawn Mendes: The Tour,” which ended in December 2019. “I started making it and then the world went into pandemic, so it was definitely a fun time to make music, so I felt very called to write about things that really mattered to me.”
Specifically, he referred to his since-ended relationship with fellow pop star Camila Cabello, too, saying, “I was experiencing what it felt like to be in love for the first time, writing about that. And my process was really just trying to get as honest as possible and ... there was nowhere to go so I spent a lot of time just kind of writing in a journal and keeping track of all of kind of internal dialogue.”
ON RETURNING TO TOURING
“It’s been a long time and playing live is something that’s really been a life force for me since I was 15,” he said. “So I’m excited to feel that energy again and connect with people and see the fans. But I can’t say that I don’t have a lot of also anxiety surrounding it, too, because ... I spent a lot of time at home, I’ve gotten used to spending time around friends and family, and road life is definitely a different thing.”
“I think I’m looking forward to really just connecting to the fans again,” he continued, “and connecting to music and connecting to this whole thing that was lost for a couple years, and finding that beauty, because it really is the most special thing I’ve ever experienced — and I’m excited to feel that again.”
ON THE VIBE OF THE TOUR
“I really, with all my heart, think that it’s never been more beautiful,” he said. As much as anything, Mendes hopes fans feel a sense of humanity at the end of the show, saying: “Do you know that feeling when you watch like a really good movie, and it just kind of touches on all the very, like, small, nuanced pieces of what it is to be human and it kind of touches the heart in all the right ways? That’s the kind of thing that I’m aiming for, is to kind of touch the heart in all the right ways and have people feel very just like connected to love and sadness and all of the heavy stuff and the great stuff in between.”
As for the setlist, he said, “It’s really just about an ebb and flow and bringing people up at the right moments, letting them come down to take a breath and feel something deep. And then bringing them back up to kind of peak euphoria and just letting that roller coaster.”
ON HIS PLANS AFTER THE TOUR
For one, he said he’d like to find a home and put down roots. As for where that might be? “All my family’s in Toronto so I’d love obviously to be around them, but ... it’s just generally too cold in Toronto for my liking, so I really — I’m not sure yet. That’s the hard part for me.”
Also, he’d like to try his hand at acting. “I think I have an interest in what that would maybe be like for me,” he said.
Meanwhile, he will make his voice-acting debut in “Lyle, Lyle Crocodile” — as the movie’s titular singing crocodile — when the animated film is released this fall. It’s based on a children’s book where a boy moves to New York City and meets a crocodile who loves singing, baths and caviar.
“Seeing my voice come through the face of a CGI crocodile was bizarre,” Mendes said. But “I think it’s gonna be something I’m so proud of, especially as I get older.”
Mendes said the movie will affect kids in a positive way, which was the main reason he agreed to star in it. The film is set to be released in theaters on Oct. 17.
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Spring, Year 7: Samira and Aisha / Sadie and Silas
I was worried about Samira and Aisha’s marriage after Samira caught Aisha doing romantic interactions with Leonardo, but when I visit their lot, everything seems fine. Samira is furious with Aisha, but she never shows it.
Their roommate, Ash, has become a good friend she can confide in. I’m not sure how long he will be around because he has the want to marry Jayne locked and somehow he is simultaneously living with Samira and Aisha and as a roommate in one of my peasant apartments. Sounds kind of shady to me.
Samira works on her logic and her creativity. Having half full or completely full skill points count toward my points system. So reaching five logic and five creativity will help their status and with bonus funds for the year.
They sorely need more household funds. They are almost completely broke. Painting has the added benefit of making them a little bit of money, but not nearly as much as they need.
The landlady throws a weekend gathering and Samira and Aisha get stuck with the pizza bill that they can’t afford. (What a ripoff!)
They’re going to have to make that pizza last since the pizza man took their refrigerator to cover the bill. :( This hardly seems fair.
Samira and Aisha both want to play music for tips, so I send them to the entertainment lot to see if they can make some money.
I knew I should have just sent Samira and let Aisha stay at home and get ready for her first shift in the law enforcement career.
Because she spends their very last simoleons on a drink at the bar. I hope she enjoys that drink. It may be the last one she has for awhile.
Playing music and free styling for tips get them no where. They don’t make a single tip and now they’re down $15 from their outing.
Luckily, at the beginning of the season, Aisha wanted a job that was offered in the paper so after a day off she finally gets to go to work and bring home a paycheck. Samira keeps painting to make a little extra, but Aisha’s promotions start to bring in some real money.
On the second day of work she gets promoted again and since her new hours start just as she returns home, I send her back out to work a double shift.
(Unfortunately the carpool won’t give her a ride back, so she has to walk.)
And she comes back with a third promotion in two days. Things have really turned around for them financially! Good job, Aisha!
Samira seems pretty content to let Aisha be the breadwinner and she spends her time hanging out with the neighbors in the commons while Aisha is at work.
One of their neighbors is Samira’s twin sister, Sadie, and her husband Silas. It looked like Sadie was responding to a baby bump and that moment of distraction caused a fire to start.
Everyone rushes out to the sidewalk while the fire department comes to take care of it.
Jonathan: Ah, she was frying eggs? That will do it.
(I don’t know, but she was cooking bacon and eggs.)
Maybe it wasn’t a baby bump. It could have been a baby kick, because not long after the fire, Sadie goes into labor. Her twin is there to support her as she gives birth
to twins! Silas sleeps through the entire event in the next room.
It’s a girl, Sasha
and a boy, Sawyer.
This family is also struggling financially, so twins are going to stretch their budget. Before the babies were born Sadie had five different jobs she would consider, but none of them were in the paper or on the computer. (I had to sell some things to be able to get the computer just long enough to search for jobs.) Silas only had his heart set on being a journalist, until the next day when journalism was available, then he decided he only wanted to go into the culinary arts. So these two are still unemployed at the end of the season.
The couple’s firstborn child, Salina, ages up into childhood. That’s one less set of diapers and bottles to worry about.
Silas tries to take on household tasks like fixing the sink on his own. (From the other angle I thought the water was going straight into his face.)
They find a roommate to share expenses. I think this guy is named Jake Thorn. Silas had been wanting to influence someone to clean, so his second interaction after bowing to each other is to ask him to clean up.
Silas: I know you just got here, but can you help us clean up the mess we made before you moved in.
To his credit, Silas doesn’t make the roommate do it all on his own and he immediate jumps in with a mop to help. (The real mess is in the other room with old bottles, dirty diapers, and unwashed dishes . . .)
Before the season is up, it’s time for the twins to grow up! Here is toddler Sasha
and toddler Sawyer with shockingly red hair!
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Ciao Adios
Summary: When you find your boyfriend cheating on you yo decide to expose him in the pettiest way you can think of.
Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader (some Loki x Reader if you squint)
Word Count: 4k
Warnings: Cheating and cursing (I think that’s it?)
A/N: Hi! So this is my first time writing and posting anything here so if its terrible please tell me nicely :). This is some AU where everyone lives and all is happy ok? Also english is not my first language so I apologize in advance for any grammar or spelling mistakes. Anyway, if it turns out that some of you like it I think I’d be willing to do a part 2 if you like. Hope you enjoy it! <3. Btw, the gif is not mine so credit to whoever made it.
Crack. That’s the sound of your heart breaking, ripped to pieces in just a few seconds. And no, you were not exaggerating. Seeing your boyfriend kissing someone else while taking off their clothes would do that to a person. And in his office of all places.
How did you not see that coming? They had a lot in common and they did spend a lot of time together but you were just so naïve thinking that he was the most trust-worthy person ever that you looked the other way and believed him when he told you she was “just a friend”.
Just a friend my ass you thought as you calmly walked to your room. No running, that would draw attention to you and you didn’t need that. No crying either, because once you started you wouldn’t be able to stop. Walking down the hallway and taking the elevator to your floor feels like it takes forever.
Time is funny that way. It has that annoying tendency to slow down or speed up at the worst times. Like when you were in college and the clock seemed to literally stop, you would look at the time and it was 10:20 am and check again after what felt like half an hour for it to be 10:25 am. Or like when you are having fun with your friends at a club and you see it’s 12:30 but when you look again a few minutes later it’s 2:40. Right now it feels like the former, time seems to have slowed down. Maybe Dr. Strange did something to it? No, that’s stupid, he wouldn’t play with time that way.
Finally the elevator pings open and you rush to your room. Well, it’s not only your room anymore. You share it with him and everything is a reminder of what you just saw. The art supplies on the desk by the window, the famous shield leaning against the wall near the door, the messy bed where you sleep together every night …
And every single thing brings tears to your eyes until finally, the dam breaks and you let the tears fall down. You bring your hand to your mouth to muffle a sob that brings you to your knees. Crying is the only thing you can do right now because your brain is stuck on a loop. All you can see is Steve kissing her, unbuttoning her shirt with one hand while the other grabbed her ass. And all you can hear are their moans, Sharon’s whimper when he touched her and his groan as he did so.
And now you are full on crying and choking on air because that scene keeps replaying itself over and over no matter how much you want it to stop. And you do, Gosh you do because there is so much your heart can take and this is too much. It shatters you in more ways than one. It makes you question everything you thought you knew about him, about her, about your relationship and about yourself.
You remember the first time you met him. You were already in college and looking for an internship. Luckily you happened to be the niece of the one and only Pepper Potts. And who wouldn’t want to work near Earth's mightiest heroes? You sure did. You were studying journalism and communications in New York and working with the Avengers was the ultimate dream, one that was about to come true.
Your first day was uneventful, it consisted mainly of coffee runs, delivering files and passing messages along. That was until your third coffee run where you ran straight into a wall, well actually it wasn’t a wall but it felt like it. The coffee spilled everywhere, on your clothes and his, and you were going to fall on your butt if it wasn’t for him grabbing your arms to steady you. Imagine your surprise when you looked up to see Captain America himself.
And that’s the moment your love story started. It seemed like something straight out of a romantic comedy and you loved it. It started with flirting, a date and then another, him asking you to be his girlfriend and finally asking you to move in once you graduated. It felt like a fairytale.
Tony wasn't very happy about you and the Capsicle but he saw how happy you were so he tried to be happy too. Tony was your uncle even if you didn’t share any blood. Growing up you would visit your aunty Pepper in New York and he was always around, you even stayed at his house when Pepper and him had to work. So, you two became really close even before he became Iron Man and started dating your aunt.
The same thing happened with Rhody. Your close relationship with Tony meant you were close to him too, seeing as he was one of the most important people in his life. Rhody treated you like his niece and was the only one he didn’t make fun of which you took as the ultimate compliment.
So those three you knew before you started working at the compound and before Steve. But once you started working there you met the rest of the Avengers. Being Pepper and Tony's niece and Steve's girlfriend meant they all wanted to get to know you.
You met Bruce Banner, the Hulk, and you became really close. But that was thanks to his close relation with Tony and all the time you spent with him working on his social media presence to make sure people saw him as more than just the green monster who smashes things. After a while of working there they promoted you and now you manage the Avengers social media.
Nat and Wanda became your best friends from the moment you met. You just clicked and hung out as much as possible, being the only girls on the team meant they were really happy to have another female added to the mix. As for Vision, he liked you because Wanda did, simple as that.
Bucky and Sam were the funniest people ever, their constant bickering always brought a smile to your face and they welcomed you with open arms. Happy that their friend had finally found someone to be with.
Thor and Clint were like the fun uncles you got to see every once in a while. The God of Thunder was like an excited puppy and would hug you till you couldn’t breath every time he came to Earth and Clint would joke around with you and FaceTime you when he was with his kids because they loved you (“best babysitter ever” that called you).
You met Peter when he started working for your uncle. He was a sweet kid and your love of memes, vines and pop culture made you instant friends. He would ask you for advice on girls and tell you science jokes.
But we all know not all fairytales have a happy ending and this one definitely didn’t. You’re feeling so many things at once. There’s anger, sadness, jealousy and something else you can’t put your finger on. You keep crying and are unable to move from your kneeling position on the floor. Checking the clock you realize you’ve been on the floor crying for an hour so you stand up.
Taking a shower seems like the best thing to do, your head is pounding and your face is all puffy. As you shower it hits you, that other feeling swirling around is inevitability. In a way you always thought he was too good for you, you always thought he would eventually get tired of you and trade you for someone else.
It just hurt too much that it was her, the woman he shared so much with. The niece of Peggy Carter, his first love. An agent of S. H. I. E. L. D. Someone who risked their life for the world like he did. Someone prettier. Someone better than you.
Yeah, you were definitely on a self-pity party. But you needed to be miserable for a while, to cry it all out, to hurt so that you could move on to the next stage of grief: anger. And when that came, there was no stopping you.
You weren’t a mean person, or a petty one. You gave everyone countless opportunities and forgave way too easily so you never really got angry. But when you did, when you said enough is enough, yeah, you better watch out. That could be the meanest bitch you ever met and she had no mercy.
So you got out of the shower, dried yourself and started getting ready. Tony was throwing yet another party about who knows what and you were not missing it. You liked parties, they were the perfect excuse for wearing pretty dresses and putting on make up. And tonight you were going all out.
Your inner bitch was concocting a plan and you were going with it.
You hear the door open and prepare yourself to put on the best acting of your life. You take a deep breath and in the sweetest voice you can muster say: “Steve is that you babe?”
“Yeah doll it’s me” you hear him say. A few second later he pops into the bedroom and gives you a peck on the lips as you continue with your makeup.
“How was your day?” Steve asks as he takes off his clothes, probably to take a shower. “I missed you today, i went by your office but you weren’t there” he says with a small frown between his eyes. You could stare at his blue eyes forever but snap out of it when you remember what he did.
“Oh not much, i left work earlier to get ready for tonight” you answer. Shit your work. You really did leave like that, but after tonight hopefully they’ll understand. “You should start getting ready, the party starts in thirty minutes”.
He smiles at you and tells you he’s going to take a quick shower before getting dressed. He goes to the bathroom and you feel like breaking the mirror but instead take a few deep breaths and remind yourself he’s getting what he deserves later on. With that in mind you finish applying you makeup and smile at yourself, you look good. Moving on to your hair you decide to do some loose waves and that’s it, you really don’t know how to make those complicated updos.
Steve gets out of the shower and starts putting on his suit. Men really do have it easier you think to yourself when you see all the work you had to do and he just showers and that’s it.
You take your dress out of the closet and admire it. It really is beautiful. It has a deep plunging neckline that shows a lot of cleavage and is skin tight with a slit on one side. The fact that it is silver with sequins makes it even better. Pepper helped you pick this dress.
You put on the dress and admire yourself in the mirror. You look good. Behind you, you hear a whistle and turn around to see Steve watching you lust in his eyes. He comes closer and grabs you by the waist, pulling you to him.
“You look stunning” he says as he wets his bottom lip. “I can’t wait to take it off of you when we get back”. Lying cheating bastard.
“Can't wait” you lie as you wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him. This is just a kiss goodbye you tell yourself. One last kiss before he’s out of your life and probably runs to her. Tears threaten to fill your eyes but you hold them down. Not now.
You break the kiss when the need to breathe is too strong. Grabbing his hand you start walking towards the door and say: “Come on, we’re already late”.
——————————————————————————
The party had already started once you walk in and in true Tony fashion it is elegant and extravagant. Everyone is there: S. H. I. E. L. D. agents, the Avengers themselves, politicians and a few famous people.
You and Steve walk to the bar and order drinks. A whiskey for him and a strawberry daiquiri for you, yes you are that basic but hey, it tastes awesome. He offers you his arm and with drinks in your hands you start looking for your friends. A lot of people stop you on the way, nobody wants to miss an opportunity to talk to Captain America.
One thing, or rather on person, catches your attention: Loki. He’s sitting on one of the cushions alone with a drink in his hand. It’s weird to see him there. Sure, he was redeeming himself for what he did in 2012 and Thor said he was doing better but he rarely left Asgard (he “hated mortals”) and when he did come to Earth it wasn’t for a party.
As if he could feel you staring he turns his head and locks his eyes with yours. You weren’t going to lie, he was gorgeous. He was incredibly tall, had those charming green eyes and was actually funny (but you’d never admit that to anyone). But you were in love with Steve and never saw him as anything more than Thor's hot brother. And everyone in the Avengers was hot so that’s not saying much.
You turn away from him and see Nat and Wanda on the dance floor and you tell Steve you’ll see him later and to go find his friends. He’ll need them after tonight you think to yourself. You greet the girls and start dancing with them, for a moment forgetting about what you saw today and putting Loki out of your mind.
The three of you decided to take a break and order some more drinks. Once at the bar Wanda orders for you and when your drinks arrive you go back to the dance floor. You spend the next few hours dancing, talking to your friends and pretending that nothing's wrong. Talking to Steve and pretending that nothing's wrong. Hugging Steve and pretending that nothing's wrong. Kissing Steve and pretending that nothing's wrong.
The fact that Sharon is at the party doesn’t help at all. When you see her talking or touching him you feel like you’re gonna lose it but you remain strong. You remind yourself of your plan and try to keep them out of your mind.
There’s a small stage at the far end of the room and you see your uncle Tony step on it and grab the microphone.
“Hello everyone and thank you for coming to another one of my amazing parties. I hope you are having a good time and taking advantage of the free bar over there” he points to the other side of the room and continues, “Now for what we have all been waiting for: karaoke! And yes, i want everyone to sing something because that’s the whole point of this. I'm looking at you Manchurian Candidate, you’re singing”.
With that he gets off the stage and passes the mic to Sam who decided to sing a Marvin Gaye song. He’s pretty good actually but you can’t fully concentrate on him because your mind is going a thousand miles an hour for what it’s going to happen later.
More people go up and sing their songs and you applaud when they’re done. Nobody is talking much, they're all too busy either laughing at the others performance, drinking or actually listening to the songs. You’re sitting with Steve to your right, Bruce to your left and the rest of the Avengers nearby. You’re your own little group.
It’s finally your turn and as you walk to the stage you can hear your friends whistling and cheering you on. Once you’re up on the stage you choose the song and start singing.
Ask you once, ask you twice now
There's lipstick on your collar
You say she's just a friend now
Then why don't we call her?
So you wanna go home with someone
To do all the things you used to do to me
I swear, I know you do
Used to take me out in your fancy car
And make out in the rain
And when I ring you up
Don't know where you are
'Til I hear her say your name
Used to sing along when you played guitar
That's a distant memory
Hope she treats you better than you treated me, ha
As you continue singing you get more and more confident and take the mic. You walk off the little stage and over to your friends while dancing and you can see them smiling, clapping and having fun. They have no idea how much i mean all of this you think. You look at Steve and he’s completely oblivious. Good, you want to take him by surprise. You arrive at your little circle of friends and start singing the chorus.
I'm onto you, yeah you
I'm not your number one
I saw you with her
Kissing and having fun
If you're giving her all of your money and time
I'm not gonna sit here wasting mine on you, yeah, you
Ciao adios, I'm done
Ciao adios, I'm done
Ciao adios, I'm done
You keep dancing and go back to back with Wanda who’s also singing along. You then turn to Nat and she grabs your hand and makes you do a little spin.
After three, after four times
Why did I bother?
Tell me how many more times
Does it take to get smarter?
Don't need to deny the hurt and the lies
And all of the things you did to me
I swear, I know you did
And now you take her out in your fancy car
And make out in the rain
And when she rings you up
She know where you are
But I know differently
Now she sings along when you play guitar
Making brand new memories
Hope you treat her better than you treated me
You go up to Tony and he starts dancing around you busting out some dad moves. You laugh and keep on singing and dancing.
I'm onto you, yeah you
I'm not your number one
I saw you with her
Kissing and having fun
If you're giving her all of your money and time
I'm not gonna sit here wasting mine on you, yeah, you
Ciao adios, I'm done (I'm done)
Ciao adios, I'm done (no, no, no, no)
Ciao adios, I'm done
If you're giving her all of your money and time
I'm not gonna sit here wasting mine on you, yeah, you
Ciao adios, I'm done
And now you take her out in your fancy car
And make out in the rain
And when she rings you up
She know where you are
But I know differently
Now she sings along when you play guitar
Making brand new memories
Hope you treat her better than you treated me
You walk back to the stage as you sing and step up. You put the mic back into place and sing the last part of the song.
I'm onto you, yeah you
I'm not your number one
I saw you with her (with her)
Kissing and having fun (and fun)
If you're giving her all of your money and time
I'm not gonna sit here wasting mine on you, yeah, you
Ciao adios, I'm done (I'm done)
Ciao adios, I'm done (you get on with your life, I'll get on with my life)
Ciao adios, I'm done
If you're giving her all of your money and time
I'm not gonna sit here wasting mine on you, yeah, you
Ciao adios, I'm done
When you’re done people are clapping and cheering and you look to your friends to see them all smiling. You look at everyone and make a little mock bow and when you straighten you see Loki sitting on the same couch as before. But this time he’s looking at you and he’s laughing, not smiling and cheering but actually laughing.
You look back at your friends and say “Thank you, thank you” with a smile on your face. You continue , “I wanted to dedicate this song to my boyfriend Steve” you point at him.
“In case it wasn’t clear enough, i wanted to tell you that i saw you with Sharon”. You could hear a pin drop. No one was talking and all eyes were on you. This is what you wanted, to humiliate him as much as he did you. And what better way to do it than publicly? Oh but you weren’t done.
You could see Steve's face going pale and nobody knew where to look, if at you or at him. Tony look ready to murder him as did Rhody, Pepper, Peter and Bruce. Thor, Clint and Vision looked shocked. But Bucky, Sam, Nat and Wanda looked guilty.
Your heart breaks a little more when you realize they knew. You can’t really blame Bucky and Sam for not telling you, they were Steve's friends after all. But you thought the girls were your friends, that they would have told you. Apparently you overestimated that friendship.
You keep on smiling and continue “So… I’m breaking up with you. Hope she was a good fuck and wasn’t uncomfortable with the fact that you were once in love with her aunt”. You do a dramatic pause and make a little disgusted face. “Anyway, if I’m lucky i´ll never see you again. Have a great life!”
And with that, you walk off the stage and make your way to your friends. Steve is rooted to the spot and his face is red with embarrassment. You walk up to him, look him straight in the eye and give him an evil smile. He gulps and opens his mouth as if he’s about to say something and then closes it. He does is two more times and still nothing comes out.
You turn to your group and look at Wand and Nat, who can’t seem to be able to look you in the eye. You sigh and say: “Who want enemies when they can have you as their best friends right?”. They look up then and start talking. Telling you how sorry they are and to please forgive them. You raise your hand to silence them and they do.
You go to your aunt and uncle who look like there should be smoke coming out of their ears and say: “I’m gonna stay in a hotel for the night, can’t stand to be here anymore”. Tony scrunches his eyebrows and look at you like you’re crazy.
“Hell no. You’re staying here. We can find him another room to sleep in but you’re not leaving. If anyone’s leaving is Mr. Star-spangled over there” he practically screams the last part as he points at Steve.
You take a deep breath and hug him. It takes him by surprise but he puts his arms around you. “I appreciate it uncle Tony but i can’t stay at the compound, it just hurts too much” you say as you let go. Turning to your aunt you hug her as well and say: “Thank you for everything but I quit”.
The moment those words leave your mouth everyone starts talking at the same time telling you how crazy you are and to think about it. You just smile at them and tell them you already made up your mind. “I'm gonna go pack a bag and ask Happy to take me to a hotel nearby. Please make sure he doesn’t follow” you say as you point to a still red-faced Captain America.
With that you turn around and leave. The room is silent for a few seconds before you hear your friends all screaming at Steve. You look around for a second and notice that Loki is staring at you with a smirk on his face. When you look him in the eye he raises his glass at you ant takes a sip.
You give him a small smile and walk through the doors towards the elevator.
#steve rogers x reader#captain america x reader#steve rogers imagine#captain america imagine#avengers#avengers imagine#loki x reader#loki imagine#tony stark#steve rogers x y/n#captain america x y/n#steve rogers fanfiction
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The Roseville Murders (Chapter 2)
Hi, just wanted to say I adjusted the plot slightly and will go into more detail with the story next chapter! This was a bit experimental and I wanted to write the growing relationship / rivalry between Y/N and Danny. I also wanted to write Y/N as a girlboss and to be just as witty as Danny!
Anyways, please comment any ideas or suggestions you may wanna see in future chapters! I have this planned out but would love any ideas or stuff I can add into the story! Tysm for reading!
It rained softly outside as you took a seat at your workplace. The desk was a bit cluttered with your art, notes, junk, and your papers regarding your current investigation.
One of the drawings on your desk was a sketch of Ghostface’s mask, attached to it was a few notes regarding the origin of the mask. Did Ghostface care for the history of it, anyways? You already theorized he was a narcissist who took pride in his work. Perhaps, he admired Edward Munch and his infamous “The Scream” artwork? Or maybe he based his persona off of it? You weren’t too sure but you did research the distribution and the company that made the masks. It wasn’t a particular popular company but it only distributed to the USA, Canada, and Brazil.
Ghostface didn’t seem too caring when it came to where he stabbed victims. As long as there was a lot of blood and something only he could perceive as art. And maybe you too. You felt excited, you already had a three year timeline. Maybe, you could get ahold of other states and ask if there’s been similar killings. Maybe even Brazil and Canada? You had to pinpoint a location and see if you could find just one name, any name.
Three years. Three countries. A part of you doubted he was Brazilian. Maybe Canadian? You weren’t so sure, you were pretty sure he was American. Y/N would probably have to go to the library tommorow to do research and use the slowly growing internet. Your research was suddenly halted when you knocked your sketchbook over.
Our slid a page. You kneeled down to pick it up, holding it as you examined the dark sketch. On the paper was a sketch of claws? No, they also looked like tentacles. Ever since the incident, you had dreams of these tentacle claws grabbing you and pulling you away from life as you know it. It must’ve been a sign of trauma or maybe it represented what happened through the nightmares? You slid it back into your sketchbook, deciding not to dwell on it. It would only make your room feel more depressing.
Beside your sketchbook was your leather journal. Y/N wrote everything in there, for mental health reasons. You included the incident and what Jonathan did for you. Your previous therapist said journaling your thoughts helped the healing process. It worked but journaling about how you killed your abuser was hell.
Your thoughts were suddenly interrupted when your phone rang. It was a chunky, black mobile phone you got about a week ago? Y/N reached for it and answered.
“Hello?” You answered, using your other hand to organize your desk.
“Hello?” A voice answered, it was a male by the sound of it.
“Hi, who’s this?” Y/N asked, paying no mind to the phone call as she started to put some of her stuff away. Art supplies.
“Who’s this?” He replied.
“Y/N L/N, am I who you’re trying to reach?” You asked, sitting back down.
“Ah, you’re no fun, detective.” He chuckled as you stopped, furrowing your eyebrows in confusion. Who was this?
“My apologies but, this is my personal phone. Can I ask who gave you this number?” You questioned him.
“Why does it matter, gorgeous? I know it’s you now.” He responded.
“Please don’t call me that. And yes, I am indeed a detective but I’d feel more comfortable discussing anything with you on my work phone.” Y/N said sternly.
“Oh, yeah… Detective L/N, huh? Think you’re some sort of hotshot because you’re new? Where did you come from? Washington? Gonna take more than the feds to catch me.” He said to you.
You listened intently and stopped for a moment. Catch him? Must be a stupid prank. Although, not a funny one since he had your personal phone number. An eyebrow raised as you looked at your notes on Ghostface.
“You still haven’t told me your name. Let’s not be rude, yeah?” You responded, being a little more cocky since you were off-duty.
“Awe, don’t tell me you forgot my name. I’ll give you a hint… I’ve been quite famous lately. In fact, I think you’ve taken quite the interest in me, Y/N.” The man teased. It was 100% Danny.
“I asked for a name, not an alias.” You said.
“Maybe after dinner, hotshot.” Danny said to you as you furrowed your eyebrows.
“I’m not in Roseville to play games. Either verify you are who you claim to be or quit wasting my time.” Y/N spoke with a stern tone.
“My last victim had three stab wounds to the throat. It was going to be two but their scream wasn’t as satisfying as I thought it would be. And they had a tattoo on their upper thigh. Bella Smith.” He said as you froze for a moment.
It was true. The latest murder victim was a middle-aged woman named Bella Smith who worked at a convenience store. She had multiple stab wounds but it was pretty much impossible to see she had three wounds on her throat just looking at photos of the crime scene.
“Okay and how did you get my number? I imagine the infamous Ghostface doesn’t have access to these types of things. How do I know this isn’t some sort of elaborate prank orchestrated by my coworkers?” You questioned.
“Honey, I am Roseville. Also sounds like you have experience with these kinds of things. You ever get humiliated like that?” Danny asked, grinning widely.
“No, it’s just a very logical conclusion. And why would you be talking to me anyways?” You asked him.
While you spoke to him, you quickly wrote down what he said and what he sounded like. You quickly speculated what his age may be, maybe 25?
“I keep tabs on the cops who are investigating my work and to be honest? They’re all stupid, it’s pathetic. Although, I noticed something about you. You come from one of the big cities, don’t you? You’re actually smart compared to those other pigs.” He said.
“Those pigs you speak of have tried their best in pursuing you. They have families too.” You responded.
“Really, huh? You’ve only been here three weeks? I think you should just trust me on this one because those other officers really don’t know what they’re doing. If you actually find out who I am, are they gonna give you credit? The newbie? A woman?” He asked.
“I don’t understand why gender is an issue. And why would they try to steal credit?” You questioned.
“They’re stuck in this shit hole city and I bet they could just really use a promotion right now. They want so badly to be the hero that arrests me… but first, they’ll let the freshly graduated detective do the work. It’s so easy to overshadow women in this world.” Danny said.
“Well, I don’t care. As long as you’re put behind bars.” Y/N responded.
“The bars at this station? I must say, your desk is quite cute. A bit plain but I like your style… interesting files too.” He mused.
“Huh?” You responded, furrowing your eyebrows.
“Your lil’ office at the station, I like it. This place has always been easy to break into. You noticed it too, didn’t you? Their security sucks and their morgue is just too damn small.” Danny said as you frantically looked around, shoving your shoes on.
“I’m going to call them right now and tell them you’re there. That was a stupid move on your part.” You said, practically yelling.
“So young and naive. I’ll be long gone.” He responded, chuckling as you hung up.
“Fuck, shit!” You said, quickly dialling the number to the police station.
You practically flung your door open, sprinting down the hallway and out through the front doors of the apartment complex after three flights of stairs. Your heart rate increased as you continued running down the sidewalk, feeling more frantic when there was no answer.
“Answer…!” You yelled, calling the emergency number.
“911, how can I help you?” A staticky voice answered as you continued running.
“I’m Detective Y/N L/N! Please inform the police station that there’s an intruder! He might be armed and dangerous! Do not touch anything since there may be forensic evidence!” You instructed.
“Oh—yes, right away, ma’am!” The dispatcher answered as you hung up, continuing to focus on your running towards the station.
Back at your apartment complex, there stood Danny with his own mobile phone. It couldn’t be traced back to him since it was stolen and he didn’t leave any DNA on it. If anything, it had the previous owners. Bella Smith. Your apartment complex had fire escape stairs outside your window. Easy enough, he thought. His outfit was black and had some stuff hanging off it. Strings? Ribbons? Danny was quite quick and extremely quiet when it came to climbing the set of stairs.
He reached your window, pulling it open gently and hoisting himself through, landing gently whilst kneeled down. For precaution, he had his knife gripped in one hand. This was purely for investigation and to see what you truly had on him. His head tilted curiously as he noticed your desk. Your art and notebook. His gloved hand reached out to your sketch of him.
Danny was truly impressed at how detailed and good it was. He read through your sticky notes and theories. Other than the fact he was blown away, he knew you were a threat since you successfully guessed his age range and height. Wait, his height? You did a careful examination of the footage he was in, looking at objects around him and his boots to correctly guess a height.
“What the fuck…?” Danny muttered as he looked at your notes.
The Scream by Edward Munch and a costume company? He skimmed over your notes and the psychological profile you built on him. He felt somewhat panicked since you were indeed no joke. His gaze averted towards your leather notebook. Eagerly, he grabbed it and opened it. Most of it was your thoughts and causes of your stress and anxiety. He stopped flipping through when he saw a darker page. It was dark because of the writing and how crumpled it seemed.
December 23rd, 1992
I was walking down an alleyway two weeks ago. It was cold so I had a jacket over my uniform. I suppose that’s why the man didn’t know I was an officer.
At first, I thought that he was going to try and rob me. It took me a while to realize that my money and belongings wasn’t what he was after. I suppose it would be appropriate to say that I was in shock for a moment. He never finished what he started. Despite being in shock, I was able to feel everything and the adrenaline only helped my rage.
Why? Why did this have to happen to me? After getting him off, I pulled my gun out and he stopped. I still remember the look on his face after I shot him. He was scared and pathetic, as he was in life. I don’t regret killing him. I never will. I just feel utterly violated. Never once have I been touched like that so violently. Is this what this fucked up world has come to? What if I didn’t have my gun and training?
He definitely did this to other women… he deserved to die. And I would do it all over again to him and to other men just like him. Of course, I had to call the police. They were going to charge me with manslaughter but they said that they would push this all under the rug, just as long as I never tell anybody. Did I contribute to corruption in the police force? This getting out would ruin everything. I don’t know but I do know that this was my gift.
Freedom was my gift for killing that man. It felt oddly exhilarating. I hope nobody remembers him, I hope his family know what kind of monster he was. Anyways, I’m being reassigned somewhere. They said they’ll give me my first investigation. In a smaller city.
Danny’s fingers trailed over the page. He felt angry and sad for you. That this happened to you. But, something arose in him when he kept re-reading that paragraph. You… enjoyed it? Behind the mask, he had a soft expression on his face. He imagined your beautiful face full of blood with you and your gun. He smiled gently as he kept the notebook.
He did indeed feel bad for you but he wasn’t satisfied with his limited knowledge of you. Danny decided to use this notebook of incriminating evidence to hold some leverage over you. Not only that but he figured he’d get to know you better if they had something interesting to talk to you about. Danny couldn’t help but grin when he thought about your journal entry and the sketches you made of him. So smart yet so naive.
Danny quickly took a look around your apartment to see all points of entry. He took a peak into your bedroom, it was neat and tidy. He seemed somewhat paranoid so quickly went back to your living room window, making his swift little escape. Not without taking some of your notes on him and your sketchbook.
About two hours later, you rubbed your eyes in frustration as another officer came to talk to you. There was a forensic team still investigating your little office space. Apparently, there was nobody here and your office seemed untouched. For about thirty minutes, you inspected any points of entry and tried to look for out of place shoe marks since it rained outside.
“Detective, are you certain it was the killer who called? We get prank calls a lot.” He said as you nodded.
“Yes, I’m certain. It was him, he knows I’m going to catch him soon.” You said as he nodded a bit.
“Okay, well, we’ll take it from here. Come early tommorow.” He said as you sighed.
“I will but please, don’t miss anything. I’m starting to think he was lying. It was him though.” You said as you turned, walking down the hallway towards the exit.
It seemed to be evening at this point and the rain stopped pouring. It was slightly humid but the city looked oddly beautiful when it was wet? You couldn’t stop thinking about your phone call with Ghostface earlier. Y/N already had some tech professionals try to track the number he called from and all of the information regarding the phone company. You’d have to wait two days at the latest for the results to come back.
As you walked through light puddles, you felt more and more tired. All the running and frantically searching for him was enough to just make you exhausted. It was all last-minute too. Y/N stopped dead in her tracks when she felt her mobile phone ring. You pulled it out of your pocket and answered it.
“Hello?” You asked, tired.
“Hey, gorgeous. Just wanted to apologize for my little deception trick earlier.” He responded as your eyes widened.
“Ghostface…” You responded, shocked that he had the courage to call you again.
“God, hearing that from you…” He said with a slight husk as you took a deep breath quietly to calm yourself.
“You know I’m close, don’t you?” You questioned him as he chuckled.
“Of course, I do… only these hands of mine can do wonders for you.” Danny said to you as you scoffed.
“You’re disgusting.” You say to him.
“Don’t lose your temper now, detective. There’s… things we should discuss.” He cooed.
“Things? Seriously?” You asked him, already tired of his bullshit.
“Yeah! Like, this lil’ notebook of yours! Really deep stuff… Victor Houston, was it? The serial rapist? Must’ve felt real good to put him down, didn’t it? Did it feel as good as you said it did in this thing?” He asked as you froze.
You probably let out a small whimper of shock as your hands trembled. Your heart pumped hard and fast. It was all you can hear as you felt your face heat out of pure embarrassment and shock. He… read your journal? This wasn’t good, this wasn’t good.
“W-What…?” You asked as he cackled.
“God, you’re so hot when you sound scared. Don’t be offended though, babe. You still sound real sexy in your cop tone.” He said as he continued.
“Yeah, I read all about the guy you killed. And how it was all covered up to accommodate you. Are you a star student or something? It’s hard covering up murders… or has it always been easy for you?” He asked.
“I-I, um… how did you get that…?” You asked him, trembling.
“You see, Y/N… we’re the same. You and I are too smart for Roseville. It’s just that I got the upper hand this time. While you rushed to the police station, I took a quick trip into your apartment.” He said as you let out a light gasp.
“Yeah, that’s right! I know where you live, I know where you’re from, and your number. I know who you truly are, Detective Y/N L/N.” Danny said mockingly.
“And what are you going to do with it?” You asked him.
“Always so straight to the point. I might give that annoying little journalist Jed Olsen. You’re trying to work with him, aren’t you? You mentioned in one of these notes… you also think he’s handsome.” He said as you covered your eyes.
You fought tears.
“Why? Why would you do this?” You ask.
“I should be asking you that. I’m a bit jealous you find someone like Olsen… attractive. He’s so boring, so normal, so… ugh, I hate talking about him. Still though, nice to know I have another fan besides him.” He said to you.
“Where are you going with this?!” You snapped as he chuckled darkly.
“I won’t tell anybody. Just as long as you halt your investigation for a while. I still want to have fun in Roseville here and well… get to know you.” He said.
“Go to hell.” You muttered.
“How original… so what’ll it be? I kinda need to know now since I’m also on a bit of a time crunch.” Danny asked you.
“W-What the fuck do you want me to do? Sit back and watch as you kill more innocent people?! I won’t let you.” You said with a venomous tone.
“What are you gonna do? Stop me behind bars?” He asked mockingly.
“Fuck you.” You said.
“I’m sure we will. But first, I just want you to sit back and not do anything stupid. We’ll see each other eventually. I’ll call you from another phone soon.” He said, hanging up.
You held your phone in disbelief and quickly made sure you had your gun. How the hell could you have been so dumb?! It was genius, leading you away from you apartment and finding such leverage against you purely out of luck. Your breath trembled as you walked back to your apartment, having your gun ready in your pocket as you did so.
#dbd x reader#ghostface x reader#the ghostface#ghostface dbd#danny johnson x reader#jed olsen x reader#jed olsen#danny johnson#dead by daylight x reader#dead by daylight
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Suppression (1)
Alpha Hanamiya Makoto x Omega Y/N
Omegaverse | Angst | Drama | Romance
Warnings: Language, Violence, Mature/Suggestive Content
Hanamiya Makoto discovers you aren’t an alpha.
Mentally you had prepared yourself for the looks and rumors. You practiced responses to all the backhanded compliments and questions that were sure to come. The society you lived in was all about status.
Kirisaki Daiichi is a school with high promotion percentage. It's known to be popular among children from rich families and those with a higher social standing. The only flaw was that it accepted all genders. It fell behind the elite all-alpha high schools that catered to that cream of the crop of the twenty percent alpha population.
That’s the kind of school you were expected to attend.
The fact that you, an alpha from an affluent all-alpha family, had entered Kirisaki Daiichi instead of an all alpha school like your brother left many wondering what was wrong with you. They never suspected the truth but made theories of their own.
The most popular of them all was that you were somehow lacking intellectually. Those who had only heard of you but never seen you thought perhaps your looks were to blame. Be it looks or intellect, they all came to the conclusion that you were unloved or unwanted by your family because of your flaws.
In a way they were correct. They may have never outright verbally expressed it but it was clear enough in their actions and roundabout remarks. You were their greatest failure. Compared to their first born who excelled beyond their expectations you were best forgotten.
It wasn’t always like that.
Up until middle school you had experienced that one percent. There was nothing you couldn't do thanks to your influential family.
It was something your younger self took for granted.
Your father was a renowned author of medical journals who had retired from practicing medicine and your mother a former national tennis champion. Their firstborn, your brother, profited from his inherited good looks and became one of the highest-paid models in the world, recently he even began entertaining offers to transition into acting.
It was a family of strong alpha lineage.
Breeding between alphas is incredibly difficult. Having two children was seen as nothing short of a miracle and so you were extremely doted on by your family as a child.
All that changed in an instant...
One unfortunate day in middle school. A routine school physical identified your second gender as Omega.
“How can this be?” Your mother tightened her grip on the sheet of paper that stated the results. There in black and white was the undeniable truth.
Your father’s once loving gaze turned into one of pity that eventually seemed more like resent. There had been rumors within his family. Several generations ago there had been an Omega on his mother’s side. Now it would seem such rumors were confirmed.
From then on you carried the burden of being living proof of a tainted family history. However your father wouldn’t allow such a huge revelation be brought to light. He paid quite a sum of money to keep those involved silent on the matter. He even went as far as using his old connections in the medical field to forge medical documents.
On paper and to the public you were an alpha.
Your remaining childhood was spent perfecting the lie. A private doctor, knowledgeable on omega physiology, was brought in to monitor and administer the best suppressants for your individual case. It was vital to keep you from going into heat. A collar would be a dead giveaway of what you truly were thus, it was forbidden for you to ever wear one.
For a child that grew up loved to suddenly have it all taken away...
The shame of being an omega in a family of alphas weighed heavily on you but there was nothing you could do. You’d rather put up with these circumstances and live as an alpha in everyone else’s eyes to the alternative.
Society was hard on omegas. They were victims of discrimination, assault, and persecution. Often you heard on the news how unfortunate omegas suddenly went into heat in public. They would be unwillingly mated or worse, paired with someone for the rest of their lives.
Ignorance truly was bliss.
If you could live peacefully as a fake alpha despite your personal life, so be it.
That morning when you left for school your father was nowhere to be seen. He was most likely upstairs in his study tapping away on the computer as he wrote his latest work. Your mother appeared shortly before you left only to give you a last reminder to keep up the family’s image.
You agreed to play the part your parents asked of you.
During the entrance ceremony you sat up front, in the second seat. It seemed you had placed second in your year. The fact that there was someone who scored higher than you was a testament to the school’s admissions.
You heard the whispers.
“Isn’t that her?”
“I heard she didn’t go to the same school as her brother because she didn’t pass the entrance exam.”
“She must be a recessive alpha.”
Even the slightest glance their way would validate their gossip and you were above giving them the attention they wanted so you kept your eyes forward focused on the current speaker at the podium.
\\\
You kept to yourself, never socializing with anyone more than you had to. You gave vague and straightforward responses to questions in order to avoid their prying into your personal life.
It was typical ice princess behavior in their eyes.
And although some talked behind your back for it, others admired the fact that you didn’t try to establish yourself as the social queen of the school just because of your social status. There were plenty of other girls itching to have everyone on their beck and call.
Yet, alphas were known for being sociable charismatic people so you had no choice but to participate and feign a social life.
That’s when it all began. Countless people asked you to join their club or sport. The golf team was especially earnest in their pursuit. At one point their freshman recruiting officer who doubled as the manager of the team somehow became a close acquaintance.
“Come on Y/N,” The short girl quickly packed her stuff at the end of class. She needed to get to the club room quickly but wouldn’t miss another opportunity to convince you. “It’s co-ed,” she wiggled her brows trying to entice you with the opportunity to interact with boys.
“Sorry, I’m not interested.”
“Hmph,” she exhaled puffing her cheeks. “Fine I give up for today but I’ll keep annoying you until you accept.” She ran out of the classroom at full speed.
You had to admit her passion for the team was admirable.
It was unfortunate that you liked her because you couldn’t open up to her and truly become friends.
But by far the most unfortunate thing was the fact the staff saw you as an opportunity to boost their image. After a few months they began to work up the courage to approach you.
“Miss Y/N, can I talk to you for a second?”
The bell had just rung, signaling the end of the school day. Everyone had left in a hurry except for you and those who had no choice but to stay since they were on cleaning duty.
You nodded your head and followed him as he lead you down the halls.
“Miss Y/N we couldn’t help but notice you haven’t signed onto any extra curricular activities. Here at Kirisaki Daiichi we require that every student go beyond academic success.”
You sighed perfectly aware of what he was getting at. In middle school you had been part of the Tennis club as a solo player. It didn’t require much interaction with others and was the sport with the shortest season. The circumstances allowed you to go about your heat period without complications. Everyone at that school bent over backwards for you considering your lineage. It was perhaps the only time you were thankful for your mother’s influence.
“This school doesn’t have a tennis team,” you very matter-of-factly pointed out “And I’m not interested in any other sport.”
“Then how about starting one.” Kirisaki Daiichi was also willing to do whatever it took to boost their image. If you, the daughter of a national champion, were to start and lead the team it would be idealistic propaganda. Many more affluent families would be interested in the school.
“That sounds like a lot of work.”
Hanamiya smirked when he caught onto your conversation with the teacher. He hadn’t thought much of you when you sat quietly at the front of the class. It was interesting though to see you so blatantly shrug off the teacher.
“Then what if you were to simply coach the other girls? We will put the team together and you instruct them.”
“A student coach?” That seemed far better but would still require you to interact with others often. The closer you became to others, the more chances there would be for someone to catch on to your frequently scheduled absences. After a moment of silence you looked up at the teacher to acknowledge him. “I’ll think about it.”
With those final words you walked away towards the school gates. Just as you were about to pop your earphones in you heard your name being called.
You turned around to see Hanamiya Makoto standing surprisingly close to you, enough to merit you taking a step back. All you knew about him was the fact that he was in your class and through the halls you had heard his name one or two times.
What business did he have with you?
“Don’t bother with the old man’s request.” Hanamiya kept his distance as he proposed an idea to you. “Come be the basketball team’s manager.”
“I don’t know anything about basketball.”
“You don’t have to,” he smirked.
-TBC-
A/N: My favorite manga site is down so here I am writing instead of reading. It has been a while since I saw KNB but my passion for the bad boys is still alive. It will be getting dark and mature so read on with caution.
#hanamiya makoto x y/n#hanamiya makoto scenarios#hanamiya makoto x you#hanamiya makoto x reader#hanamiya makoto imagines#kirisaki daiichi scenarios#kirisaki daiichi x reader#kirisaki daiichi x you#kirisaki daiichi x y/n#Kirisaki Daiichi#hanamiya makoto#kuroko no basket scenarios#kuroko no basuke scenarios#kuroko no basket fanfiction#kuroko no basket#kuroko no basuke#omegaverse#knb scenarios#knb imagines#knb x reader#knb x you#kiridai x reader#kiridai imagines#kiridai
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Miraculous’s slowburn episodic storytelling is a feature, not a flaw.
So Season Four’s been killing it. I took a break with all my other shows but it seems Miraculous is really proving itself more flexible with the Status Quo. Alya’s been promoted to a full time holder after Marinete revealed herself as Ladybug. Shadow Moth has upped his game from mere Akumas and has made more active strategies as seen in Optygami.
A far cry from how we started out hasn’t it.
Season One is fairly scrutinized these days for holding out on the story in favor of “Monster of the Day” shenanigans that fully wrap up at the end of each episode. All with little bleed over into the next episode. So much so that a proper episode order often depends from country to country. For some, it felt listless without a solid plotline beyond what Hawk Moth had cooking.
Hell, I often argue that starting with “Origins” is a better choice because it gives a good impression that something bigger is bound to come. Yet even then, that’s twenty plus episodes of superheroes fluff and teenage hijinks to follow. Bit of a tough sell.
Some have thought of how Seasons One and Two could be combined into one without missing much, saving some a lot of trouble. However, I feel like the more slow and steady pace of Season One is the reason why the rest of the show works as well as it does in spite of some YouTube funnyman’s hot take.
Season One’s focus is less that of creating an intricate plot to get caught up in but to chillax in getting aquatinted with the citizens of Paris, France as well as their new normality of superheroes and supervillain. A lot of this has everything to do with Hawk Moth himself. Each Akuma is that of a supporting character either on the streets of Paris or close to the titular heroes. Because Hawk Moth needs strong passions to get a hold of them, this can lead us to learn a bit more about them via their corrupted selves.
We get to know Nathaniel when he’s prodded into becoming the Evillustrator with his imagination and artsy side. We get to know Ivan as somebody with emotional issues when they turn him into Stone Heart. We get to know Alix’s tomboy streak in leading up to becoming Timebreaker. Kim is a jock who wears his heart on his sleeve more than he’d admit even without becoming “Heart Hunter.”
And that’s not getting into the Queen Bee herself. Chloe might’ve been an easy crutch for writers to instigate Akuma attacks but it’s this spite that’s lead her to now become a more polarizing character in the fandom unlike to the pure Hate Sink she was.
Essentially, what Season One lacked in story development was counterweighted by character focus that incrementally explored the cast in both big and small ways. Alya’s journalism and big heart, Nino being a total bro to Adrien, Gabriel’s stick up his ass.
There’s also how the more chill vibe the season had would lure one into a false sense of security overall. However, suddenly “Simon Says” has you casting suspicions on Gabriel Agreste. Suddenly, he has a grimoire of Miraculous holders in “Volpina.” Suddenly, “The Collector” casually drops how he’s Hawk Moth before he akumatizes himself.
In fact, it would plant plot points in plain sight such as Alix’s pocket watch returning in “Timetagger” as a Miraculous and leading to major reveals for future developments. The secondary cast gain their own Miraculous for occasional outings after we got use to them as quirky extras for over twenty episodes. It feels so earned when we’ve sat on them and their idiosyncrasies.
There’s been a divisive debit in regards to binging media vs. weekly installments for some time. I don’t believe that one is better than the other but it can be argued that we get a little overeager for the next game changer, for the next big character moment, for the Kwami-danged love square to come to a conclusion.
Some may feel that the storytelling is outdated but I feel like drawing from old methods of television production can lead to a more unique experience that Miraculous has clearly achieved. It’s a big risk, an investment viewers might not get a return on compared to a thirteen episode Anime from this season.
However, Miraculous made good on its word for me so far. Though if somebody want a more “lore driven” show, perhaps I can interest you in some... Zak Storm: Super Pirate?
Anyone?
I mean, it’s no Miraculous but it’s no Power Players (no offense, it’s passable but can be a tad by-the-numbers) either.
#miraculous#miraculous: tales of ladybug and chat noir#miraculous ladybug#miraculous season 4#ml season 4#miraculous season four#season four#season 4#ml season 1#miraculous ladybug spoilers#ml spoilers#ladybug spoilers#ladybug season 4#ladybug season 1#ml#miraculous world#thomas astruc#jeremy zag#marinette dupain cheng#miraculous marinette#marinette#adrien agreste#alya cesaire#nino lahiffe#chloe bourgeois#zoe lee#master wang fu#master fu#wang fu#storytelling
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Mr. Moreno
Chapter 3: Off-Campus Housing
Summary: Marcus decides it's time for some new scenery during your tutoring session
Warnings: SMUT, language, fluff, teacher x f!student, daddy kink/age kink (all parties are above the age of 18)
Word Count: 3,347!
Check out my masterlist!
_________________
Life has been great!
You're getting good grades, your dad just got a promotion he's been waiting 4 years for, your psychology research was accepted to be part of the department's upcoming journal, and- most importantly- you're sleeping with your professor. Well...maybe "sleeping with" isn't the correct terminology.
The multiple rendez-vous with Mr. Moreno have consisted of him going down on you, you going down on him, your hands down each other's pants and pretty much everything except the main event. That's the one thing he won't do. Yes, you two have definitely had some fun times but he won't go past eating you out and you sucking his cock. Ever since his wife passed, he hasn't had the urge to be with another person in that way. The day he met you, things started to change.
=======
Marcus' daughter, Missy, even noticed he was acting weird that day and confronted him about it. Taking him by the hand to the living room, she sat him down on the couch, "Dad, who is she?" Immediately turning red, "W-what? Who- what are you...I don't...I'm...she's not- she's...why are you-"
"Dad" The pose she strikes radiates the sass that she definitely got from him.
A sigh passes through his lips, "She's...she's just someone I met at work-"
"Someone you LIKE!" Missy cuts him off. She has never seen her dad act this way. She's only heard the stories of how he acted around her mom before they started dating, he must really like this girl.
======
It's not that Marcus hasn't thought about having sex with you- he has and does often- the silver ring that remains on his finger, encompassing the relationship he once had, stirs up this feeling of guilt if he were to have sex with another woman. Even though he knows his late wife wants him to move on and be happy, Marcus still doesn't feel right doing so.
Thank the stars it's the end of the week! Between finishing your project for Mr. Moreno's class and conducting more research for the psychology department, you've been stressed out of your mind. Not only was this week busy, but you also have a test in one of your classes next week. At least today the university decided to give everyone a rest day and treat them to a three-day weekend, even though you're spending it by coming to campus to have Mr. Moreno look over your project. A pleased sigh leaves your lips as you enter the classroom, greeted by a grin from the leader of the Heroics, who is currently talking to one of his fellow teammates, Miracle Guy. He notices his loss of Marcus' attention, immediately realizing who you are, "Well hello there! I've heard so much about you!" If you weren't in the classroom right now, Marcus probably would have knocked him right in the chest. Instead, he turns his head slowly back towards Miracle Guy, his face plastered with a look that can only be taken as 'you need to shut up'.
Setting your bag down as your gaze meets the Heroic's, you're taken back by his last statement, "You...you have?"
"Yeah! Mr. Moreno talks about you all the time! He's always saying how his favorite student is extremely smart and well-rounded!"
Your heart pounds in your ears, hoping Miracle Guy sees past the shade of red currently radiating from your face. You glance over at Marcus and feel heat grow between your legs. If he could kill with a look, Miracle Guy would be dead on the floor right now. The intensity of his stare is enough to make you drop to your knees right there. Your gaze lingers a little too long when Marcus looks over to you and notices your lip between your teeth, his glare changes tones at the sight. The look that fills his wonderfully dark eyes, the same lust-filled look from when he peers up at you from between your legs, causes a flutter deep inside.
"Just fuck each other already!"
Both of you snap from your trance over to Miracle Guy, "What? It's so obvious you both want it! I figured with how much you talk about her, Marcus, that you were already fucking her but I-"
Marcus cuts him off, grabbing his arm and dragging him into his office as you follow with your bag. Shutting the door, Marcus pushes him down into a chair, "We HAVE done stuff." The look on Miracle Guy's face slips to a state of confusion, "But...wait....I thought you said....you told me you haven't..." a sigh passes through Marcus' lips, "We haven't had sex. But we've done other things." A blush dusts your cheeks, Miracle Guy slowly picking up on what Marcus means, "Oooohhhhhhhh....nice! See? Still know how to treat a woman even as an old man-"
"I'm not that old."
"And I really don't care about the age difference." You chime in. Both of them turn to you, "Plus, he's the only man I know that doesn't act like a twelve-year-old," you start to mumble, "Not to mention he's really sexy..."
"What was that?" Marcus leans towards you in hopes of you repeating what you just said. Miracle Guy starts to push, "Yeah I heard you say something but I couldn't tell what it was-"
"I said he's really sexy. Just because he's older doesn't mean he isn't sexy."
Marcus' face matches the embarrassed shade of your own, "You...you think I'm sexy?" Your eyes turn to meet his, "Well yeah! Have you seen yourself?" Miracle Guy remains with his jaw on the floor as the two men take in what you said. A few minutes pass before anyone says anything again, "I think I'm gonna head out. It was nice to finally meet you!" Miracle Guy reaches out to shake your hand. Reaching out to shake his, "A pleasure to meet you as well! Hopefully next time we run into each other it won't be as awkward. Thanks for not telling anyone." With a nod, he steps out of the office, leaving you and Marcus. His eyes lock on yours as he closes the distance between your bodies. Warm, strong hands gently caress your arms, his breath is hot against your ear, "So...you think I'm sexy?" His voice, deep and husky as he moves down to your neck. His teeth graze your skin, a gasp leaves your lips, "Marcus..." His name is a soft whisper filled with desperation. You move your hand up to his hair, your fingers running through each strand causing Marcus to release a low growl against your neck as he continues leaving marks. "Marcus, wait...I need you to....I came in to...-" his lips still on your neck, "Tell me baby." "Why is it so difficult to say something as easy as I came in to see if you could look at my paper?" This man has so much power over you and all he's done so far today is kiss your neck and whisper in your ear. Granted, you can't help but think of all the things he's done to you previously. Stars, you can't help but imagine how amazing he must be in bed...so strong...taking control of you...- see this? This is why he has so much power over you; you can't stop thinking of him. "Baby?" His glasses bump into your jaw as he pulls back to look at you, "What is it?"
"I came in to see if you...um...if you could look over my project?"
His look of realization as he fixes his glasses makes you giggle, "I completely forgot about that...I saw your email and everything and I was going to write you back but then Miracle Guy called and said he was coming in to visit and I got distracted but yes I would love to look over your project." Grabbing your paper out of your bag, still flustered from everything that just happened prior to this moment. Handing it to Marcus, you both take a seat at his desk. He reads over it, paying attention to every detail, biting his lip in concentration. "What the hell? Can you think about anything other than him bending you over his desk and- who are you kidding, of course you can't." He notices your gaze drifting off as he peeks up at you from your paper, "Sweetheart..." You don't hear him talking to you as your mind continues to wander, "...his hands on you...his lips on your body...with how he big he feels in your mouth imagine how he feels in your-" he tries to get your attention again, "Hello? Are you alright?" Still not hearing him, "...and his beard against your skin, especially on your neck and between your thighs..." You still don't notice him as he walks around his desk and leans back against it right in front of you, "Sweetheart, are you alright?" Finally, you come back to your senses. Feeling extremely embarrassed, your cheeks flush red, giving away exactly what was going on in your thoughts. A smirk decorates Marcus' face while he rolls up his sleeves, drawing your attention to his now exposed forearms. "What was going on in that pretty little head of yours, sweetheart?" Even though you two have done a lot together, you still avert your gaze from his, still too shy to admit the dirty thoughts you have of him...not to mention how often you think those thoughts. He gently grabs your chin between his thumb and index finger, forcing you to meet his eyes. Pulling you closer, Marcus' lips barely graze against yours, his breath hot on your skin. His voice drops into a low gravely tone, "Tell Daddy what you were thinking about, all those dirty thoughts that I know run through your mind...be a good girl and tell me..." Your breath leaves your body in a soft moan. Trying to collect yourself, "I was...I-I was thinking of....umm...you...your...uh..I..."
"If you tell me, I just may do it..."
A gasp powers you to kind of form a sentence, "I w-was thinking about you...and what you do to me...and the all the things you could do to me...being underneath you...nearly breaking whatever you're pounding me into..." Marcus lets out a low moan as he pulls you in and kisses you, his tongue already finding its way past your lips. The sounds you make in response cause him to press against his pants. His hands find their way into your hair and on your lower back, pulling you closer. He continues to moan as you kiss, "Damn he's so hot when he moans. Oh my STARS I want to really hear him moan" He pulls back, his hands still on you, "Baby, we should go somewhere..." slightly confused on his comment, "What? Where would we..what do you mean?" His eyes grow dark with lust again, "Some place where we won't get caught when I make you scream my name so much you forget your own..." A whimper escapes your lips faster than you can process Marcus' words. "I'll take that as a yes. Where should we go sweetheart?" You pause a moment to consider, "Well, my apartment is two minutes away. I can send you my address and you can meet me over there." Giving you another kiss before pulling back again, "Sounds like a plan. I'll be over in a few." As you fix yourself up and start to walk away, Marcus quickly reaches out, giving you a quick smack, winking at you with a cheeky grin when you turn to look back at him.
You make it to your car and back to your apartment within a few minutes. Racing inside, you see that none of your roommates are home, remembering they left for the weekend. Quickly climbing the stairs up to your room, you change your bra and underwear to the set you just bought a few days ago, put some dirty clothes in the laundry basket and make sure everything is cleaned up, not forgetting to light a nice candle to set the mood a little more. A few minutes pass and you hear a car door as a text pops up on your screen
"Come open the door, baby ;)"
Trying not to fall down the stairs as you eagerly skip steps, you finally reach the door. Doing one last appearance check, you open the door. On the other side, Marcus leans with one arm against the door frame, closing the gap between your bodies as soon as the door closes behind him. His lips almost on yours, "Where's your room?" Grabbing onto his tie, you pull him in for a kiss, "Up the stairs, the door next to the bath-" before you could finish your sentence, Marcus had you up and over his shoulder, walking up the stairs. Reaching behind him, he waves his hand and locks the door. Once he reaches your room, he lays you down on the bed, kicking off his shoes and climbing on top of you, that familiar look floods his deep eyes again. "You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this, sweetheart." Giving him a smirk, "You have no idea how many times I've gotten myself off to the thought of you." His lips meet yours in a heated clash. Your arms find their way around his neck as his hands find the button to your jeans. Marcus pulls back to slip off your shirt before kissing down your body; on your lips, to your jaw, down your neck, down your chest, past your stomach. Carefully sliding your jeans off, he continues to kiss your body as it becomes exposed. Soft whimpers from you and groans from Marcus fill the room, his lips never leaving your skin. His teeth grab onto your thigh, forcing a loud moan to escape from your throat. Marcus peers up at you with that infamous look of his, "Ooo, baby likes that, doesn't she?" He bites down on you again, getting the same reaction as before, "You sound so pretty. So good for me." His words only turn you on more. "P-please....please....I..I-I need..." He moves back up to your face, "What is it sweetheart?" You moan breathily in his ear, "I need you. Please, Mr. Moreno..." The groan that comes from his lips makes you even hotter for him, your wetness growing rapidly. Even in class, when you call him "Mr. Moreno", your innocent voice masking your filthy intent, his zipper threatens to break from how hard his cock gets. Burying his face in your neck, Marcus' mustache scratching against your delicate skin, "Say it again," his voice dropping to a growl, "say my name again." His hips begin to create friction between your legs while he awaits your response. The things this man does to you, you feel as if you could get off just from him grinding into you as his voice resonates through your soul. Biting the bottom of your ear, he forces sounds to escape your lips but no words can form, "Come on, baby. Be a good girl for me"
"Mr. Moreno, pleeeaaassee"
His lips travel back down your body as he begins to pull you apart, thread by thread. Settling back between your thighs, his hot breath sends a shiver through you. His tongue licks through your folds, already drenched and melting in his touch. "Already so wet for me, baby" he slips two fingers inside you, "How often have you gotten yourself off to the thought of me, baby?" A moan brings an answer to your lips, "All the time...I think about you all the time....think about you touching me...your strong arms around my waist...your hands on me...you-your fingers...doing..."
"Doing this?"
A curve in his fingers guides you closer to the edge. His name escapes your mouth in a chant, the only word your mind can conjure. The sounds you sing only make his aching stronger and stronger until he snaps, "Baby, I need to be inside of you." Your head moves to meet his eyes as he carefully takes his fingers out of you and places them in his mouth. A groan rumbles through his chest as he cleans them off, keeoing eye contact the entire time. Biting your lip, you hold back a moan as you watch Marcus undress before you, taking in the jaw-dropping sight of his naked body. You sit up and crawl to meet him at the foot of the bed, your hands discovering his skin, your lips are soft against his tanned and toned chest. His hands gently push against your shoulders, "As nice as that feels, there's something tighter I wanna feel around me. Be a good girl and lay back for Daddy." The growl sounding like a command, you do as he tells you. Climbing on top of you, his hands land on either side of your head, dragging your focus up his flexed muscles and to his lustful eyes. You can see the hesitation behind his prowling gaze. Arms and legs wrapping around him, "It's alright, Marcus. I want you inside of me." Quickly wrapping himself with you still hanging on him, he lines his cock up with your dripping entrance, carefully pushing into you. Moans rip through your apartment as he takes it slow, easing you onto his size. "I'm gonna start moving, alright baby?" You release a breath you didn't realize you were holding, "Okay. I'm ready."
Easing himself out of you so it's only the tip of his cock left inside, he pushes in slightly harder than before, still adjusting to you, "Ugh....your so tight baby...so tight for Daddy...so wet..." His lips entertain the delicate skin of your neck,your moans and whimpers echoing in his ears, flipping a switch that send his hips into a faster pace. The skin about his cock passes over your clit with every thrust, taking you higher and higher. Your eyes meet as he moves his head back, your lips grazing as you pant against each other. Marcus leans into you depper than before, his mouth meeting yours just in time to swallow the yelp that soars from you. His tongue dancing on your lips, begging for entrance. Parting them slightly, he groans at the feel of you. His kisses travel to your jaw before his lips guide his breath against your ear, "Good girl. Moan for me, baby. Your sound make me want to fuck you until you can only think of me...what I do to you...how much I stretch you..." His husky voice rattles you to the core, clenching tight around his cock. "I'm gonna...please let me come, sir." Marcus pulls back again to look into your eyes, "Come for me, baby. Come for Daddy. You're such a good girl for me." Your climax slams into you at his words just as he chases his release.
Rolling onto his back, he pulls you to his chest, "That...that was...I haven't done that in forever. Was it okay?" You turn your head up to look at him, "Okay? Marcus that was the best sex I've ever had! You really know how to treat a woman." You both chuckle, "Thank you, honey. That means a lot. But..um...what you said earlier about me to Miracle Guy..."
"Y-yes?"
"Is it true?"
"Marcus, I wouldn't lie about that. You're really fucking sexy."
"Honey you're too-"
*buzzzzz*
*buzzzzz*
*buzzzzz*
Marcus' phone begins to ring. Reaching over carefully as not to disturb your comfortable position, he answers it. Still trying to catch his breath, "Hello?"
"Hey pal, it's Miracle Guy. Make sure you turn off your talk to text next time you and hot stuff get together"
Taglist: @no-droids @autumnleaves1991-blog @absurdthirst @velvetmel0n @wyn-n-tonic @leaderoftheheroics @finerthisboutique
#marcus moreno#marcus moreno x f!reader#pedro pascal simp#pedro pascal#we can be heroes#marcus moreno fic#professor x student#mr. moreno series#marcus moreno smut
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What Ethan & Pooja AU is this? #OpenHeartAU
Selcouth (Ethan x f!MC)
Summary: Set in Book 2, Pooja gets the recognition she deserves for solving Naveen Banerji's case.
Selcouth: Unfamiliar, rare, strange and yet, marvelous🤎
A/N: Thank you so much @beastlyinstrument for the visual prompt❤ I had fun thinking up and writing this piece.
A/N 2: The flashback portions are indented
Pairing: Ethan Ramsey X f!MC (Pooja Sharma)
Word Count: around 3.2K (I am sorry!)
Rating: General
Category: A bit angst, A bit fluff
Warnings: 1 Curse Word (again 😆)
Prompts: Late Submission for @choicesmonthlychallenge July challenge day 4: celebration
There was stark silence surrounding him as he scribbled out points from the morning meeting of the Diagnostics Team along with some of his own observations from the patient charts. The days have been nothing out of the blue since his return from the Cholera-ridden district of Amazons.
The steam from the warm coffee filled the entire office with its sweet aroma. With winters in their full force, there was a mystic chill all around the city and the warmth the coffee gave was extremely welcomed.
It took him 30 minutes to the tee to complete his morning paperwork. And as he arranged the white sheets in a clean stack, a slow groan escapes him. He had been so engrossed in work, that he had completely missed the fact that he had emptied his coffee cup.
Ethan looks up from his desk to the windows giving an enchanting view of the brumal grounds. Snowflakes, basking in the distant sun's glory, shining like iridescent jewels, fell slowly, silently to meet their origin.
It's too serene of a day to waste indoors.
The thought caught him somewhat by surprise, even if it was his encephalon producing it.
He had spent long years of his life away from focusing on diminutive happenings like the weather or the warmth of his favourite Vienna on a frosty day.
To appreciate the beauty of falling of the snowflakes today, was a slightly unusual change. He couldn't help but wonder as to what would have caused it.
He didn't need to wait long for an answer. Like a response to his unuttered query, the notification bell of his phone brought him out of his reverie and displayed her name with the joy of a student who had solved a difficult problem with ease on the first try. It was nothing out of the ordinary, just an email of her completed reports.
And yet, he was unable to control the breakout of butterflies in his stomach.
The feeling was orphic, and yet irenic.
As his heels tapped on the white floors, supposedly conducting an intriguing conversation with them, a faint intermix of voices reached him and stopped him in his tracks.
"You're wearing all black." It wasn't a question, but a fact that Alexandra's voice enunciated.
"Are you surprised?" A concordant voice questioned. Even if he didn't acknowledge it, it was one of his favourite euphonies.
"No. Impressed."
"I lost a bet to Bryce, and this is what I get in return." There is a pause. "It's a nice change though."
He can feel the smile that emerges out on her face at the end and feels his lips curl up, like a magnetic connection. He was caught off guard as he stood there thinking of the sweet nothings and sweet everythings of his reminiscences with her.
"Good Morning Dr Ramsey!"
It took him all his power to straighten himself, and to put on the stoic façade before responding,
"Good Morning Dr Walton."
Alexandra didn't initiate a conversation, just like he had expected. Bidding goodbye to her companion, she strode off her way.
Now, it was just him and her, standing in the middle of nowhere, eyes locked in intense focus, tied together with a string they find themselves unable to break.
She looked striking like she always did.
In every hue, every ensemble, at every hour, she knew how to induce that unnamed feeling in his heart.
All she had to do was to look at him the way she did, and his idiotic heart would skip a beat, and an ambrosial emotion would follow.
And what does one do when emotions go out of control?
Self Preservation.
Giving her a brisk nod, he dropped his gaze, hurrying away past her, not having the courage to look at the hurt caused.
Idiotic.
That's the only word he could use to describe his actions.
He could think of a trillion excuses, travel through a hundred bends on the roads of justification, but nothing would be enough to balance out the pain he was giving her. Not even his playlist of curses that he played in his mind every day to remind himself what he truly was.
An asshole.
As soon as his steps took him to the outdoors, the crisp cold winds blew through his hair, and he cherished the moment.
The apricity hugged him, and the scene that met his eyes, the world draped with a veil of phosphorescing snow, generated a euphoria he was unfamiliar with. As a minuscule flakelet fell on his outstretched hand, he realized that no one needs to spend a billion dollars to get happiness.
It is hidden amidst mundane things, and the only thing one has to do is to keep foraging for it.
Happiness can be made, it can be found. But can it be bought?
Never.
------------------
It was unusually calm at Derry's in the morning hours.
Not that he was complaining, of course.
In comfortable, long sips, he lets the caffeine overtake the tiredness and the heartache coursing through his body. The glare of the screen and ping of his cellular broke the aura of comfort that had spread out through the coffee shop. He wants to shut it off and throw it in a corner away from his sight, but decides against it.
It's a text from Naveen.
Skipping is not an option for today night!
A groan escapes him, the annoyance of another meet and greet taking away all the calm. He tried to convince him, but all efforts went futile. He plays the discussion all over again to find any loophole he can to escape the torture.
Flashback:
It's after hours and the wing of the hospital where Naveen's office was situated bore a silence. The amicable old man sat in his chair, leaning back as the younger one stood, with his back at him. It was obvious they had been arguing, but it seemed more like amusement for the old mentor and annoyance for the young protégé.
"There is no need-"
"Ethan, you have been repeating the same words for fifteen minutes now." Naveen chuckles.
"I very well know that there is no need for anything, dear friend. I just want a little bit of happiness and merriment in the hard times."
"I am not stopping you from doing that, Naveen, you know that. But what is the need of the celebration being about me?"
"Because you are a reason I am alive today." The man gives a melancholy smile, vision blurred as the near-death experience of the past year come sailing in front of him.
"This celebration is about you and Dr Sharma. Without the two of you, I would not have been here."
Ethan's features are clouded by the pain of losing his mentor, who has been like a father to him, and inspiration. His frown softens, annoyance long lost, as he comes as takes a seat and places his hand on his.
"Fine. I will do this. But only for you, okay?"
Naveen's lips curl up in a grateful, happy smile as if wordlessly conveying his thanks. As Ethan stands up and proceeds to leave, he cannot stop himself from laying out his observation,
"For her too."
And Ethan knew. He knew exactly whom this was about. And as much as he wanted to deny the assumption, he couldn't help but accept the truth in it. Of course, he was doing it for Naveen. But he was doing it for her too. She deserved it so much more than him. If she hadn't been there, the seat occupied by his mentor today would have been...
Flashback ends
As his eyes skim through the crisp pages of the medical journal absent-mindedly, he thinks of her again. The permanent occupant of his daydreams, who would still manage to come back, no matter how many resets he carried out.
He thinks of her attire from the hour before, hair in a neat long braid, dressed in a meticulously embroidered Indian attire. And then of the celebration at dusk, where she will finally receive the recognition she deserves.
All the doubts regarding her promotion to the Diagnostics Team would be washed away.
He remembers what she had told him a few days after he had heard those nasty rumours,
"I have proved myself and I know what's true. I don't need to show anyone else the testament of my abilities. As long as I am fair and just, their words can do no harm to me."
His admiration for her had increased phenomenally when she spoke those words to him.
His pride, his faith had not been misplaced when he picked her for the difficult voyage named Edenbrook.
He has never felt so proud of any other intern as much as he does of her.
His heart sings to him, his choice was correct. He doesn't let it elaborate itself, because one wrong move from his side would be more than enough to ruin this unpolished gem before she even gets a chance to shine.
Yes, he did tell her that some things are worth any risk, she is worth any risk, back in Miami. The reminiscences of the day still played on the screen of his mind in sepia, they lulled him to sleep.
But the risk to harm her fragile career before it even blossoms?
It wasn't just a risk, it was like a crime for him.
One which he refused to commit.
---------------------
As dusk falls and winter blues colour the land of snow in multichromatic hues, hiding any bit of orange from the setting sun, Pooja Sharma hums along with her favourite songs as she dresses up for the special evening.
No matter how much she wants to curl up in the folds of the soft Cashmere, she has to be in attendance. It's a strict order from her grand mentor and impossible for her to go past.
It's all black day, she reminds herself when picking the outfit. And she doesn't forget to leave a thank you note for Lekh as she finds the perfect one.
And now, as she stands, trying to complete the arduous job of creating a perfect eyeliner wing, a certain someone's reminiscences trouble her pained heart.
No matter how much she scolds it for its stupidity, trying to explain the futility of the hope of getting together, it never heeds, just continues to trouble her with the baritone of his that enchants her mind, the cologne that overpowers all her senses.
As she looks at the reflection in the speculum, she cannot help but imagine his reaction.
Will she even get a reaction?
Maybe just a nod, or a look.
No words.
She has convinced herself with it. It took some time, some stops, some pulls of an invisible harness, but she has convinced herself.
She's stopped hoping, soothing herself with whatever they shared, memories that felt like they belong to a bygone era, and a promise of treasuring them, just in case he ever decided to come back.
---------------------
In the vespertine hours, the diamond dust made the sun devoid city look like a fairytale. Any other time, he would have just worried about the sharp chill, probably cursing the snow.
Being so observant of the places he is a regular visitor at, it was a new experience for him.
Strange, even.
It's something that will take some time to get used to.
The interiors are warm. Minimally decorated, as he had requested. Not wanting to create a fuss, he bee-lines to the corner of the room, where the only occupant was emptiness. He decided to cherish the moments of solace before the bother of the vivacious crowd began, wanting to start a colloquy.
On instinct, he looks around, not being able to comprehend the reason why his heart leaps to his throat. And then a pang of disappointment overlaps that sudden nervousness.
The absence of one person, the feeling so profound.
It's magical.
Dangerous, but still, magical.
A mute scold follows. No matter how hard he tries, strives towards that unannounced aim of reset, his stupid heart and its childishness always ruin his plans.
The call of his name makes him turn around.
Naveen stands, jolly smile fixed in place, eyes sparkling with joy and...
Gratitude.
They chat, topics ranging from Diagnostic team cases to complaints of coffee. His orbs casually drift towards the entryway, in hope of seeing his dearest.
And as the astrologers say, the stars align, the universe comes into play, and the shimmer of black in the lambent atmosphere makes his heart skip a beat. He feels a smile emerging and hastily hides it with a scowl.
If he had to, he would have sworn that he looked like a clown.
Her ambers gaze around in a lucid, tender manner, in strike contrast to his a while ago.
There is a lack of haste, of worry, of unease.
Her very presence fills the air with tranquility and without his consent, his soul basks in it. After what felt like an eternity, their gazes meet.
Melt into each other like the wax of two candles.
Become inseparable.
She smiles, it's faint.
It seems more of a formality than a wish. The momentary cheer is replaced by a somber, melancholic expression. Her orbs drift away, gaze turns away as if to hide whatever was to come from him.
And he knows.
He's the reason.
Silence is suffocating, but right now, the chaos is even more constricting to him.
Everyone chatters, mingles, smiles.
Everyone except her.
She stands too still, flashing a half-hearted smile and half-hearted gaze here and there, as she is surrounded by the rest of her friends, preventing him from getting a better look.
As conflict rises in his interior, a to go or not to debate, the gulps of scotch become more frequent, the frown gets tighter and guilt gets heavier. Before he can drown down into the never-ending cascade of crippling self-hatred, there is a call of his name.
Naveen.
---------------------
Claps and whoots surround her, along with a cheer. She becomes the recipient of numerous bear hugs, and compliments as Naveen elaborates on her contribution to his recovery. It feels like a reel of situations played from her sweven. It took a pinch for her to realize that it wasn't.
A mic tap follows, it's Ethan's turn to speak. She freezes upon hearing her name getting repeated again. There is an uncanny depth to it, she notices. An indication that it conceals so much more than is visible. Not just pride, not just intoxicating happiness.
Gratitude, raw and pure gratitude.
And something else (or maybe not?)
Her focus all over the place, she missed a lot of the address. What stayed carved in golden words was a single sentence, unremarkably remarkable.
"It's not me, it's her. I lost all hope, but she was the one who fought till the very end, never giving up, even if she had thousands of storms to navigate through."
"There can be only one recipient of the applause today, and it's Dr Sharma."
Two contrasting emotions put her in a dilemma. Whether to let the water drops she held strongly to herself or to let the heartfelt joy induce the grin that would shine brighter than the stars the twinkle along with the forlorn moon?
Unable to decide, she let the cracks in her stoic mask deepen, let the faint upturn of lips become visible to the world. Every applaud fell short, in a haze, as the mere words spoken mere moments before played in a loop like a soft harmony.
The 360-degree turn of the evening gave her the most unexpected and the most precious memories.
The change of the blithe chilly eve to heartwarming dusk.
Rare, mysterious and yet, magnificent.
Selcouth.
---------------------
Ethan Ramsey, for the past decade of his extremely brilliant career, has never displayed even a minuscule amount of emotions. Never. The mask of stoicism fixed so perfectly, that no power could ever induce a crack in it.
No one could.
Until one day, an intern waltzed into his life like an unforeseen plot twist and induced changes no one ever could.
The mask has cracked, even if to a small degree, letting the minuscule details of a transformation out. Sometimes it could be as evident as a smile, or a genuine compliment to an intern. In other instances, it would be just the absence of the forehead frown (which had become a permanent resident at a point).
And now, the beloved plot twist of his novel stood before him, her eyes expertly decorated with kohl. She was quieter than usual, engaging in casual conversation, but prevented going into depths of it.
Their gazes never meet, only slide past each other.
He missed looking into the amber of hers, trying to figure out her thoughts like someone engaged with a very complex puzzle that ends up in a phenomenal picture.
He missed listening to her sweet whispers, mumbles which made him smile more than he had for the past decade.
He missed her.
The universe is always planning a conspiracy to make destiny true. And it's definitely an action of its, that his hand extends towards her, wordlessly.
She gazes at it, gazes at him, thinks for a while.
And finally, slips her hand, bejeweled with that bracelet she wore in Miami. He still remembers it placed on his heart, which beat at an erratic rhythm.
Which beats at an erratic rhythm now.
Looking at the Bostonian sky, only drapes of translucent mist could be seen all around. No twinkles, even the moonbeams were struggling to reach them. The silence is comfortable, only interrupted by the sips of steaming hot coffee.
Her eyes are fixed above, in a search for the hidden celestial elements. His focus stayed on the snowflakes resting on his jacket.
He leans back, places a hand down.
There is a lack of warmth.
Soon enough, another hand joins him.
The cold is gone.
And so is his search of moonbeams.
Her touch felt like light, his own moonbeam. So soft, so warm, so dear. Something he could keep etched on his skin forever.
She was his moon.
And for her, those summery blue orbs held depths of the ocean, the faint, soft wrinkles that languid years leave behind as a mark of their passing like map lines of some unknown lands.
He was her world.
In every universe, through trials and tribulations, through pain and smiles, they were destined to find their way to each other. No one powerful enough to keep them apart.
Not even they themselves.
It was a cosmic state of comfort they found themselves in. His hand in hers, their fingers interwoven, the reflex etched in his mind with an everlasting ink.
He has never believed in soulmates, but as he as leans back, eyes closed, hair fluttering along with the icy-cold breeze, having her by his side, he couldn't bring himself to believe this was anything less than destiny.
That even after so many trials of forgetting her, he would always come back to her, searching for the serenity he only finds in her presence.
The feeling is rare, confusing, maybe terrifying.
But right now, he basks in the warmth that it provides, all worries and all woes are hidden in a wooden box, discarded away from his sight. And unbeknownst to even him, he waits for the day he can kiss her the way he wants to, no ties, no binds holding them away.
Yes, he waits for the day.
PS: If you are reading this, I am very grateful for you. Thank you for reading and I hope you have a great day🤎
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Finding my Si: a submission
I’d like to share 6 things that helped me discover my Si and how Charity’s advice helped me, in case it helps anyone else :)
1.It helps when friends and family tell you what they think your dominant function is. Like a fish not realizing the water is wet, it’s so normal that it’s invisible to you. My mum picked Si the minute I asked her which function described me best; she said, ‘You trust your personal experiences and refer back to them all the time; it’s like an anchor for you. You rely on the past to get you through the present.’ One by one, my friends picked the same, pointing to how I recollect everything from the date we first met to changes in their food preferences to the color of the shirt they wore one Monday morning. I never realized the enormity of the storehouse of detail in my head until they pointed out that not everyone treasures memory-keeping in the same way. I wouldn’t say Si memory is photographic; for me, it’s more like a fisherman’s net, where I gather in what matters to me. I see a living mosaic of past and present when I look at people and places I love.
2. Being willing to question my own assumptions. An unflinching look at what I actually do, not what I think I do.
I considered Ni when I thought of goals I’ve set. For example, I got into the same UK university at 18 that I’d loved at age 14. This story initially sounded as though I’d had a clear future vision, and never let go of the dream (Ni). However, I’d left out winding twists and turns in between. At 16, I was captivated by a Canadian university and considered going there for a while; at 17, I considered studying in New York. Eventually, I applied to a bunch of unis and got an offer from the original ‘dream one’ in England. It was the best offer and I’d remained fond of it, so I wound up going. I was pleased, but I’d been open to other unis and happy to go to them too. After reading the perspective of actual Ni-users on their laser-sharp vision, I realized mine wasn’t as unwavering, intense and single-minded.
Instead, I realized that the reason I treasure this story - 'I visited my uni when I was just a kid and then got to go there for good!’ - is that I liked being able to link my childhood self and adult self. I enjoy connecting the past and present and spotting continuity and change ('Back then, I did this…now I still do this…and I don’t do this….’). My mind always traces back to how things were, which spills over into dinner-table family conversations ('Do you remember when…?’/'You know how we used to…?’). I realized that this type of personal mythologizing and cherishing a living past is Si. I can set goals and work meticulously in a step-by-step IFJ way, but it is not a dominant personality trait in the strikingly single-minded, futuristic, visionary way that is Ni. For anyone considering Ni, I recommend looking up mbti-notes and Charity’s explanations here, as it is a very complex function and it helps to understand exactly how it works.
3. Painful honesty. Confronting flaws isn’t fun. However, as Charity says, it helps to think of pairs (Si-Ne, Ne-Si or Ni-Se) rather than functions in isolation.
I tried to determine which flaw I could most relate to: inferior Te, inferior Se, or inferior Ne.
I couldn’t identify with inferior Te because I’ve always been a careful planner and organizer; even my third-grade report cards said, ‘She loves being efficient and organizing her little space!’ Today, I have multiple administrative responsibilities at work and genuinely enjoy it. There’s something about streamlining systems and attending to details that feels satisfying (dorky, I know). I could not relate to inferior Se either, as sensory engagement has always been a big part of my life. Whether it’s dancing or nature hikes or cooking, hands-on hobbies have always been so core to me that I often find myself feeling one with the natural environment, rather than uncomfortable with it. I haven’t had reckless moments characteristic of inferior Se. But inferior Ne - those descriptions embarrassed me.
As Charity says, if something makes you go ‘ouch’, it might hit the nail on the head.
I thought I had good Ne because I can see multiple perspectives. But this is more a 9 and 2 influence ('Staying open-minded helps to understand people, help them, and resolve conflict’) and a skill honed through my job in peace-building. What trips me up are the problems plaguing inferior Ne users. Newness and novelty feels hard. My 9 probably plays into it, but in general I am not good at out of the box thinking and brainstorming dozens of different approaches. Despite my 2-9 positive outlook, I usually feel fearful of the unknown and find it difficult to speculate or imagine possibilities in the uncertain future.
4. It helps to see where your attention goes. When I teach and review students’ essays, I’ll start leaving comments about their word-choice in paragraph 3; the evidence they used on page 2; how their argument on page 12 risks contradicting their logic on page 10, etc. I can hold these details in my head with ease, suggest a clear structure, and spot incongruities, but I have to consciously remind myself to zoom out to comment on the overarching ideas in the work.
On the other hand, I notice when I do something creative or abstract because it’s not really what I do on a day to day basis. When I first began researching MBTI, I found it easy to recall the last metaphor I imagined because it stood out in my mind. But determining frequency helped. Not just how I think, but how often I think that way. Ne is a ‘play’ function for me - on good days, it’s a whimsical scribble in a poetry journal, occasional daydreams, self-improvement books on my shelf.
5. Being able to tease out finer differences in cognition. I got interested in a Royal Family controversy recently. I thought I was using Ni because I mused on the consequences for the nation (in a Ni-Fe way). However, I realized I was less interested in future possibility and more interested in what was helpful for interpersonal understanding (Fe/2-9) and how the country could preserve the traditions and culture built up over centuries (Si). Rather than preferring to look ahead and predict what would happen (Ni). It’s a fine line, but it helped to think: how often is my cognition located in the future vs the past? Which one feels more natural? Is it an Enneagram or an MBTI influence at play?
6. Avoiding sensor bias. I felt I must be an intuitive because I do engage in abstract conversation sometimes. It’s just that my topics of choice come from my Enneagram 269 tritype. How can schools treat children better? What can we do to promote community mental health? What keeps kids safer? My job is centered around people’s welfare, and I’d be happy to discuss theories of human psychology or relationships or mental health because I’m very absorbed in my little niche of knowledge. However, concrete applications interest me most, and I am not likely to start conversations about, say, 18th century theology or automated cars or space travel. My INFP and INFJ friends seem interested in a much wider range of philosophical conversation.
I agree with a post on this blog that pointed out that modern psychology now understands traits not as bimodal distributions (X or Y) but along a spectrum (how much of X? How much of Y?). People differ in where they lie along the spectrum. I’d say I’m close to the middle. My biggest tell that I lean towards sensing is when I look through philosophy books on human well being. Even though the topic reflects my interests, I’m quickly bored by too much theory. I’m happy to thrash out an idea with a friend, but it needs to be animated by real-life examples and practical applications for me to stay interested.
Above all, I recommend observing where your heart leads. Much of my free time goes into journal-writing, old albums, and time capsules. Detail-driven memory-keeping fulfills me deeply, and it was this deep joy that proved most helpful for recognizing my Si :)
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4x17: It's a Terrible Life
How have we not recapped this yet? Man, this one holds a special place in Boris’s heart -- even if it’s a Cas-less episode. (Natasha: I LITERALLY said the same thing.)
Then:
This is just gratuitous
Now:
Okay, by this point we know the premise of this episode. I’m just going to list all the Well Respected Man things Dean Smith does.
He wakes up at 6:00am to an iPod.
He steams his rice milk.
He wears suspenders and cufflinks.
He drives a Prius.
He turns off the hard rock for NPR.
Dean Smith is the Director of Sales and Marketing at Sandover Bridge and Iron.
He types memos in Word.
He uses a headset to talk on the phone.
He plays office mini-golf while schmoozing on said headset.
He watches Project Runway (Ok, Dean Winchester totally watches that too, lbr.)
HE EATS SALAD.
He says the word ‘vis-a-vis’.
His boss Mr. Adler is very impressed with him. Good stuff!
He works late.
He is thinking of doing the Master Cleanse.
He leaves at 5:30 (or really a couple minutes before, rebel!)
On the elevator ride out of the building, another passenger asks if he knows Dean. Dean, focused on his Blackberry, does not recognize the dude. The other dude won’t let it go and Dean tells him to “save it for the health club” before leaving.
Sam Wesson works in the Tech Support section of Sandover. He mainly tells people to turn it off and back on again. Works every time! Sam and another buddy, Ian, head for coffee. They ask Paul, another worker, if he wants to join them. He’s busy working! Okay, okay, wait one moment. Paul got caught surfing porn on company computers and he still has a job!? WOW.
Ian grabs some office pencils in the break room. (And we get a nice little intro shot from within the microwave….very nice easter egg for us second (and beyond) viewers.) He then asks Sam about the dreams he’s been having. Sam tells Ian that he dreamed that he saved a grim reaper named Tessa from demons. Ian finds that HILARIOUS.
At his clown car sized cubicle later, Sam drifts off, only to have vivid visions of murder and monsters --and Dean’s in them. He bolts awake, and looks around disconcerted.
Sam takes a walk and ends up in the same elevator as Dean again. They eye each other warily. Sam asks Dean what he thinks of ghosts. TOTALLY NORMAL ELEVATOR TALK. Dean hasn’t really given them much thought. Vampires either. Sam decides now is a good time to corner a perfect stranger and tell him about his CRAZY dreams. That’s what a journal is for, Sam! Dean dismisses this crazy man and exits the elevator.
Sam starts researching (AW BABY) the monsters he’s been dreaming about. Ian interrupts him and tells him that he got an email telling him to report to HR. He’s not too worried as he heads off to his fate. Sam then hears Paul freaking out because he just lost a whole day’s work.
Paul stays way past closing time trying to find his lost files to no avail. His breath puffs. They must turn the temp down after hours at Sandover. He heads to the breakroom, sticks a plastic fork in the door of the microwave and sticks his head in the microwave, and hits cook. GOOD STUFF.
The next day, as Paul’s body gets carted away, the entire office looks on, including Sam Wesson and Dean Smith. Dean thinks there’s something weird going on. He looks up Paul’s personnel file (um, like whoa, how did he get access to that?) and learns that he was set to retire in two weeks. Curious.
Sam is curious as well, but Ian is too busy working to engage. Dean calls Ian up to his office. Dean points out that there were just a few errors in a form he filled out yesterday. Ian is very remorseful. Dean doesn’t think it’s that big of a deal. He just wants him to fix the errors. Very un-Ian-like, Ian starts freaking out over his mistakes. Ian runs to the bathroom and Dean follows. He finds Ian staring at himself in the mirror. His breath frosts just before all the water and soap turn on. He insists Ian leave with him. Ian turns to look at Dean, and stabs himself with a pencil. GUH. Dean sees the reflection of an old man in the bathroom stall door as Ian dies. Dean calls for help.
Dean is relaying the events to the authorities when he sees Sam looking on. Later, he calls Sam to his office.
For Thirst Science:
Sam and Dean learn that they both started working at Sandover three weeks prior. (Dean! You picked a hell of a week to start the Master Cleanse!) Sam asks Dean if he saw something when Ian died. Dean doesn’t quite admit it but he saw a ghost! Sam wonders about the suicides. “What if these suicides aren't suicides? I mean, what if they're something not natural?”
Sam brings up his dreams again. “So you're telling me that your dreams are special visions and you're some kind of psychic?” Lololololol. No, OF COURSE NOT. Sam shows Dean emails that Ian and Paul got that sent them to HR on the 14th floor --the HR office is on the 7th floor. Hmm. They decide to head to the 14th floor and room 1444.
Mr. Blandface McBlanderson heads there first. It’s an old storage room. The air gets frosty, electronics buzz on. Sam and Dean rush down the hallway after hearing the man’s cries. The door is locked but Sam Fucking Wesson just busts it open. Dean is duly impressed. Sam is too.
The ghost old man attacks Sam and Dean but Dean smashes him away with a wrench (an IRON wrench).
Decompressing back at Dean’s place, Sam longs for beer. “I’m on a cleanse,” Dean explains as he gets him a water. “I got rid of all the carbs in the house.” Oh DEAN.
At the end of this cleanse you chalk a pentagram on the floor, light a black candle, and barter your soul to get rid of those last five pounds
They compliment each other on their ghost fighting prowess. Sam “Boy Wonder” Wesson briefly tells Dean about how he feels out of place in his life. That’s SO MUCH oversharing, Sam! They decide to hit the research track. Dean finds………..the GHOSTFACERS.
We montage our way through Smith & Wesson’s research, interspersed with Ghostfacer tips. A guy named Sandover turns out to be the ghost - a workaholic who lived for his company. Turns out he’ll kill for it too. They trace a number of historical deaths to Sandover employees. It turns out that the room with the ghost attack was Sandover’s office.
The Ghostfacers continue to educate Sam and Dean on the finer points of ghost hunting: SALT. IRON. GUN.
Dean absorbs this, then wonders where one might even purchase a gun. Isn’t there a waiting period? Oh, sweet summer child. This here is the United States of America and it’s far too easy to get a gun. The Ghostfacers lesson continues...
Ed: The aforementioned super-annoying Winchester douchenozzles also taught us this one other thing. You have to burn the remains.
Harry: Okay, this next part gets a little gross. Sometimes you might have to dig up the body. Sorry.
Ed: It's illegal in some states.
Harry: All states.
Ed: Possibly all states.
Smith and Wesson return to the office to search for pieces of non-cremated Sandover. Sam gets cornered by a baby-faced security guard, leaving Dean alone to continue the hunt. In Sam’s elevator, electronics start to glitch. It’s probably nothing! The guard pries open the elevator door and crawls out onto the next floor.
The elevator slips and the guard falls victim to the blood cannon. Sam adds this incident to his list of Terrible Things That Happen in Elevators.
Sam and Dean reconnect by a historical display which includes Sandover’s gloves. Those gloves seem like likely candidates for remnant DNA...and in short order the ghost proves them right. Old Man Sandover zaps in as they break the glass. They fight!
Sandover looks like he’s got the upper hand, lowering his brain-zapping fingers to Dean, when Sam lights the gloves on fire. Sandover goes up like a torch.
Smith and Wesson are amped up after the fight! Sam wants to hunt ghosts full time. Dean scoffs at this. “How would we get by? Stolen credit cards, eating diner food drenched in saturated fats, sharing a crap motel room every night...You don’t want to go fighting ghosts without any health insurance!” Wise words.
For Look at this Well-Prepared Sunshine Science:
Sam confesses that his hunting dreams featured Dean as well. “What if that’s who we really are?” Sam wonders.
Dean defends the reality of his life. HE WENT TO STANFORD. His father’s name is Bob, his mother’s name is Ellen, and his sister is Jo. Excuse me. I’m just going to….stand outside my door and HOWL MOURNFULLY about this with the local coyotes.
“We’re supposed to be someone else.” Sam tells Dean that he started at Sandover because he broke up with Madison - but now her number leads to an animal hospital. (I swear to god, I’m gonna chew off my own arm at this show.) Sam says that Dean’s more than just a corporate suit. Dean shoos Sam from his office.
The next morning, Sam’s back at the daily grind. He steps back from his phone and then swings a crowbar at it, Office Space style.
Upstairs, Zachariah smarms his way into Dean’s office and clucks that he looks tired. He’s heard good things about Dean and offers him a generous bonus.
Zachariah hints that a big promotion could happen in 8-10 short years of constant work and sacrifice. The joy in Dean’s eyes fades. Dean turns it down and tells Zachariah that he plans to quit. “I have some other work I have to do,” Dean tells him. “This - it’s not who I’m supposed to be.” Zachariah smiles and zaps Dean’s brain. The camera desaturates.
“My god am I hungry,” a confused Dean observes as Zachariah chuckles. (Stop reading Goop, Dean! Get off that cleanse!) Zachariah explains that he’s Castiel’s boss, and he’s on Earth to ensure that the Winchesters fulfill their destiny - as hunters!
“You’re a hunter,” Zachariah explains. It’s in Dean’s blood. (I hiss at this.) And if Dean works hard enough, he’ll do everything he’s “destined to do. All of it.” GUH. Zachariah urges Dean to embrace his life. It could be worse, after all!
Semi-quote Kinda Life, Baby:
Good stuff
Did you try turning it off and then on?
Look, man, I don't know you, okay? But I'm gonna do a public service and let you know that you overshare
How the hell did you know that ghosts are scared of wrenches?
I don’t believe in destiny. I believe in dealing with what’s right in front of us
Most folks live and die without moving anything more than the dirt it takes to bury them. You get to change things
Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive!
#spn recap#dean winchester#sam winchester#spn 4x17#It's A Terrible Life#zachariah#supernatural season 4
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Blue Dream VIII
Pairing: Iris West x Barry Alen
Rating: E
Chapter Word Count: 9, 182
Summary: A series of sporadic dates between Iris and Barry turn into something more, a story in its own making.
Chapter I: Primetime
Chapter II: It's Cool
Chapter III: Anything
Chapter IV: Comfortable
Chapter V: The Way
Chapter VI: Say Yes
Chapter VII: Brave
Chapter VIII: Blue Dream; Her eyes close and she lets herself lie in the feeling: opens a space for him to stay as he slides his tongue against hers; lets the feel of his mouth on her pull her from the dream she swears she’s been living since she first laid eyes on him; stencils the same story back onto him, plotting out a scene that only ends after forever comes and goes. She lets the kiss say what she can’t yet, reminds herself that he’s talking with it too, that he’s telling her what she’d seen in his eyes yesterday, and in his touch the week before, and in the curve of his smiles weeks before that. (Read below or on AO3 linked on the chapter title.)
Chapter IX: He Loves Me
We were coastin' on the coast when you opened my eyes
Made me notice where the ocean was holding the sky, right
I was blinded, your smile shining behind those green eyes
The horizon so enticing, please, say you'll be mine
The second Friday in the month of November finds Iris at home as she usually is, tucked into her living room sofa, a large glass of wine on the coffee table in front of her, right next to a loaded pipe.
This week in particular has been grueling, though in the best way. Her classes are going swimmingly, so much so that she might be able to skip the final in her multimedia journalism course; but that means she has to stay on top of every single assignment, making sure everything she turns in is up to par. Not only that, Her segment on Good Morning, Central City is in less than a week, and with the television promotions for it, there has been an increase in traffic on her blog, an increase in comments on her posts, an increase in stories in her inbox waiting to be told. It’s mind-boggling, and Iris finds herself so giddy, she doesn’t always know what to do with it.
Some of it she channels into Barry. Since opening up to one another after Barry’s visit to his dad, everything about them has been more: more exciting, more passionate, more intimate. Iris can honestly say that she’s never been fucked as well as Barry fucks her, and she can’t decide if that’s just because apparently nothing turns her on more than Barry sliding thick and slow into her and muttering, ‘yes, take all of me, baby; good, good girl,’ or if she feels the way she feels because it’s him, because he is a dream of a man, some fantasy she must have conjured up in a daydream she doesn’t remember having. She finds herself always wanting him: the heavy fullness of him, and the way he smiles at her every time he sees her after they’ve been separated for even minutes; the whispered words of ardor, and how his eyes always track her movements, watching and observing and cataloging; the feel of him lean and long and hard on top of her, and the attention with which he listens to her, validates her.
And when she thinks she needs even a moment from that, there is her Friday night ritual. She’s already showered and dressed in a silk nightgown, this one in a deep purple color with thin straps and an open back. She takes a sip of her wine as she scrolls through her phone looking for a song; she chooses one, don’t wake me up ‘cause i’m in love with all that you are, and then she settles into the sofa corner, pipe in hand. Lighting up, she inhales, and releases.
She is full and high when her phone rings sometime around midnight.
Movements slow, she grabs her phone from where she’d tossed it on the table next to the half-empty carton of pad thai. Barry’s name flashes on the screen over the picture taken of them at Wally’s birthday party. Her smile is easy and so is the absurd little flutter in her belly.
(But high Iris will concede that, while she figures she should be past this stage now, this jittery, nervous stage, she’s not at all ashamed that it is still how she feels, because there is something so delightful about being with someone who gives you butterflies, even as time keeps passing).
Her stomach dips as she brings the phone to her ear. “Hello.”
“Hey, baby.” The sound of his voice, a little bit deeper than normal, a little bit slower than normal, makes her stomach tighten even more.
“Hi, Bear.”
It’s then that she notices the sound in the background, music and loud voices. She thinks she hears someone saying, “Barry, are you talking to your girlfriend?” but then Barry hushes them and comes back onto the line.
“What are you doing, beautiful?”
“What I’m always doing on Friday nights.”
“Getting high in those sexy pajamas you like wearing?”
Iris laughs softly, noting the effect of his voice on her, how even over the phone and even when he’s apparently surrounded by people, it travels, quiet and steady, over her skin.
“Are you drunk, Barry?”
“A little bit,” he says, “mostly tired though.”
Iris shifts on the sofa, snuggling deeper into the couch. “Where are you?”
“I don’t know. At some bar with Cisco and Chester. We were only supposed to grab food and a couple beers but then they had some sort of two for one special happening, and Chester and Cisco are degenerates, so here we are.”
Iris shakes her head at that, and there’s a short pause before Barry speaks again.
“I miss you.”
“You saw me yesterday.” The part of Iris that wants to appear less affected by him is glad that he can’t see the grin that lights her eyes as her cheeks warm, as she bites her bottom lip. “And we talked this morning.”
“Hmmm,” Barry hums. “Tell me you miss me.”
“What if I don’t?” Her taunt is quiet, like the whisper of her hands on her own body, trailing along her thighs at the hem of her nightgown.
There’s another pause and the sound behind lowers a little, becomes duller. Her own music comes to her attention again, you make me see the truth in things, i think that you are, the remedy for everything, it seems that you are, the truth itself ‘cause nothing else can take me so far, and it makes her shiver from the truth of it.
“I wouldn’t believe it,” Barry tells her, finally. “Yeah, I saw you yesterday, but I had you shaking on top of me.”
“Faking it,” she quips back and Barry lets out a small bark of laughter.
“Tell me you miss me, Iris.”
She licks her lips slowly, thinking of last night when she had seen him, the encounter he’s talking about, when he’d had her climb into his lap after dinner at her small little dining table and fucked her right there.
“Tell me, baby.”
“Yeah, I miss you, you cocky jackass.”
His answering chuckle was a low thing, deep and dirty. “Now tell me what your pajamas look like tonight?
“Barry, are you asking me this around your friends?”
“No. I'm standing outside of the bathrooms now. Boys' night shifted when they saw a couple of pretty women and I got tired of fifth-wheeling. And I couldn't stop thinking about you.”
She can picture him, standing in the corner and leaning against a wall, a hand in his pocket as he clutches the phone to his ear; his cheeks are probably rosy with his indulgence and his lips pink from licking at them, his hair messy from touching it.
His voice dips again. “Now tell me.”
Iris can admit to herself that she likes when Barry gets a little stern with her, when his voice deepens and he sounds so sure of what he wants, what he needs from her. It makes goosebumps crawl along her skin, and it does so doubly now, her senses already loose, dipping into the warm, heady place that intoxication takes her.
“It’s a nightgown,” she explains. “Purple. Silk. Stops at the middle of my thighs. Has a low back.”
His groan is loud and clear. “You had to come from one of my dreams. There’s no way you’re real.”
The statement sobers Iris, if only a little, but enough that the smooth and easy flow of her breathing stutters, much like the beat of her heart, stilling until she thinks she’s gonna lose breath, and then hammering back.
“I could say the same for you.”
The responding silence is piercing, expansive, a space where words left still unsaid are scattered along the floor, merely waiting for one of them to pick it up and say it.
“Iris,” he starts, and then he pauses again. “Can I come over? I know it’s your self-care night, and you can tell me no, but I need to… I really just want to see you.”
She doesn’t even think about it. “Yeah, Barry. You can come over.”
Twenty minutes later, she peels herself off of the sofa to open the door for him. He’s standing on the other side, in dark blue chinos and a baby blue and white checkered shirt, his favorite tan desert boots on his feet. His hands are stuffed in his pockets and he’s leaning against the door frame when she pulls it open. His hair is a mess and his jaw is covered in stubble, but other than the faint red tinge in his cheeks, there is nothing that tells her he isn’t as lucid as talking to her had made him seem.
She smiles up at him, aware that her own eyes are probably low and red, but he smiles back, just as softly. He doesn’t come in right away, instead reaching out to pull her to him, one big hand holding the back of her neck. He looks down at her, eyes traveling down the length of her body.
“Hey my good girl,” he greets at last, and before she can respond, he leans down and kisses her. The kiss is chaste at first, one peck and another. Then he pulls back, only enough to scoop her up, gripping her by her waist and settling her in front of him, her legs wrapping easily around his hips. She yelps at the action, but then he’s kissing her again, and they’re moving into the apartment, Iris noting the faint slam of her door behind them.
He carries her to the couch and drops down in the center of it, keeping her atop him, keeping his mouth on hers. The kiss is slow, so slow, the sort of kiss that has no purpose, not one other than allowing them the space to be together. He holds on to her by her hip, free hand trailing up and down the length of her exposed spine, but he doesn’t make any move anywhere else. He seems content to just kiss her, this deep, open-mouthed kiss.
It’s like he’s trying to get inside of her, to climb in and settle down, to take up space with his searing, insidious presence.
It’s as if he’s trying to tell himself that this isn’t a dream, that it’s really her, it’s really them, moaning into each other, holding onto each other, breathing each other in.
It’s as though he’s trying to cement their story, to write it clear into her skin so that she can’t deny it’s veracity, like he’s promising that the only thing she’ll get on the other side of her climax is this, a gentle, effortless sort of fall.
Her eyes close and she lets herself lie in the feeling: opens a space for him to stay as he slides his tongue against hers; lets the feel of his mouth on her pull her from the dream she swears she’s been living since she first laid eyes on him; stencils the same story back onto him, plotting out a scene that only ends after forever comes and goes. She lets the kiss say what she can’t yet, reminds herself that he’s talking with it too, that he’s telling her what she’d seen in his eyes yesterday, and in his touch the week before, and in the curve of his smiles weeks before that.
When he pulls back, Iris cannot say how much time has passed. She only knows that her body has molded to the shape of him, that her heart has found the rhythm of his, that she’s there with him, my afternoon dream when the world is speedin’, i am still sleepin’, in my blue dream.
“What was that about?” she asks him. She stares back at him, and the way he looks at her is more intoxicating than the wine he’d just tasted on her tongue, more so than the weed that so effortlessly floods her bloodstream.
“Told you I missed you,” he replies, voice husky with exhaustion, and likely the arousal she doesn’t think ever really disappears.
She nods, a little dazed. They sit together for a while longer; Iris tucks her head into Barry’s neck and he keeps rubbing his warm hands along her spine. The atmosphere is delicate, peaceful. She takes him in, inhaling the citrusy scent of him, savoring the feel of him so close to her, surrounding her. They stay that way until Iris feels her own exhaustion tugging at her. She climbs off of him and, after turning off her music, she pulls him through her bedroom and into her bathroom. They brush their teeth, Barry with the toothbrush that he’d bought to keep at hers, and Iris reties the silk scarf she’s wearing on her head.
Inside her room, Barry strips down to his boxers, laying his clothes neatly on the arm of the chair by her window. They get into bed, Barry spooning her, his arm holding her tight against him. She settles in, fitting herself snuggly against him, and he kisses her temple before resuming his stroking, this time on her belly through her nightgown. It doesn’t take long for her to drift off, her breathing deepening before evening out. And just before she goes under, she hears it, Barry muttering, “I love you, Iris,” into her hair, so low that she’s sure she’s only just dreaming it.
When Iris wakes up, the first thing that happens is she hears it again, hears him, Barry’s night-rough voice whispering “I love you, Iris.” It runs in her head on a loop, an anaphora to every other thought, every question she’s having: i love you, iris, did he think she was asleep? i love you, iris, did he mean it? i love you, iris, does he want her to say it back? i love you, iris, i love you, iris, i love you, iris.
Over the past few weeks, Iris has become more comfortable with the idea of it, with the reality that what she feels for Barry is real and big and grand. It still takes her aback, how quickly she’d, they’d, fallen into it. As naturally wary as Iris is, she can’t discount what she’d felt last night when he’d kissed her, when he started into her, like she was the sun and the stars and every other bright light in the galaxy all at once; with awe and reverence and yearning; like he wanted to be consumed by her, and he didn’t care how close he got to that fiery, burning light, as long as she was standing there waiting for him.
And it’s enchanting to be looked at like that. Iris has been trying to get it out on paper, that feeling, trying to make sense of the contradictions: the fear that comes with caring about someone enough that they could break you; the power that follows knowing it’s the same for him too; the overall potency that comes with falling in love.
Still, the thought of saying it aloud, right now—when she’s still working on writing it all out, still trying to explain it to herself first—makes her seize up, her eyes darting wildly, her limbs frozen in anxiety.
Barry begins to shift behind her, loosening his arm from around her, and she takes the opportunity to slide out of the bed. She pads across her carpeted bedroom floor into the bathroom where her feet meet cold tiles. She uses the bathroom, washes her hands and brushes her teeth, and throws water on her face. She catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror, chocolate brown eyes bright in her face, her skin clear, her mouth turned down in consternation.
She goes back out into her room. Barry is fully away now, lying on his back, both of his hands cradling the back of his head. Her comforter is pooled at his hips. She takes in his bare chest, the way his biceps bulge in this position, how clear his eyes look in the sun, even as his lids are low with sleep. Those candy eyes catch her as she walks over to him, staying on her as she kneels on the bed and crawls over him, settling herself on top of him. He’s half hard under her and he lets out a soft little grunt when she sits her butt right on his crotch.
“You sleep okay?” she asks him as he reaches up and traces at his iris tattoo. She loves it, the violet ink that has sunk into his skin, the hints of blue and orange giving it depth, the fact that it’s an iris, placed big and pretty over his heart.
“Are you alright?” he asks instead of answering her question. His voice is still sleep-rough and scratchy. The sound of it sends a soft little tremble through her.
She smiles, the gesture real but uncertain. Well, maybe not uncertain, but she’s aware that she’s in her head again, trying to parse through her feelings. Or, rather, trying to figure out which of her feelings is taking precedence, which one she thinks that she should address first.
“Yes, I’m okay.”
Barry hums as he drags a hand from behind his head, placing it at her hip. “You know it’s okay not to be, right? Okay, I mean. And you can talk to me about it, whatever it is.”
He gives her hip a squeeze.
“No, I am okay. I’m good, really. I just…” she licks her lips as she hesitates, unsure if she’s even ready to bring it up, unsure if she even should. But she knows that she’ll think about it all day, will hear it in her head all day, will wonder and question and drive herself sick with the thoughts of it. So she bites the bullet, lets out a long exhale, and takes him at his word that she can talk about it.
“I heard what you said. Before we fell asleep last night.”
His expression doesn’t change, but his entire body stiffens, his hands stilling on her hip. He doesn’t break, though, and continues to watch her face in that way that he does. For a moment, Iris wonders if he even remembers what he said, if the words were just some half-drunk confession he hadn’t actually meant to say,
(and the flicker of disappointment that follows is tangible, an almost visceral response that tells her much more than anything else could have).
“Okay,” he says after a moment, tilting his head. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
She wishes she was as good at reading him as he is at reading her. She’s supposed to be able to make the observations, to understand the truth behind what people don’t say. Sometimes she thinks that she can, thinks that when she really looks at him, she can see what’s simmering in those eyes, can understand his intentions in the grip of his hands, and the curve of his spine, and the shape of his mouth. But it doesn’t feel constant, not like he is with her, and that fact is doubly true right now. Because she can’t tell anything about what he’s thinking, his only tell being the way his hand is still on her hip, tighter than it was before, holding her to him.
“I don’t know,” she tells him, truthfully. “Did you mean it?”
For the first time, he averts his eyes, gazing over at the window. There’s nothing to see; the blinds are closed and the curtains are drawn, but he focuses there for several long seconds, brows furrowed and lips pursed. She blinks, and then she’s suffused with something foreign, something cold and bitter.
“You didn’t,” she says, and it isn’t a question. “Okay, that’s, that’s…”
She moves to climb off of him, but he’s quick, bringing her back by sitting up and wrapping both of his arms around her.
“Where are you going? I’m not done.”
Her eyes flash. “Well you haven’t said anything and I don’t need to sit here like this and listen to you tell me that you didn’t mean to say you love me.”
“What are you upset about, Iris?”
“I’m not upset, Barry,” she says, her frustration evident. She tries to move again, but he holds on to her. “It’s fine. Of course you didn’t mean it. It’s only been a few months. We’re just…”
“We’re just what, Iris?”
He’s looking at her again, with those pretty, too-knowing eyes, and she feels a little like she can’t breathe. Because he didn’t mean it. And the thought that she’d managed to get this all so wrong is, is horrifying.
“I don’t know,” she mumbles, and even though she didn’t actually believe it to be true, she continues, “sex, I guess. Apparently.”
She shifts again, but he tightens his grips even more and she can’t understand it, why he’s still surrounding her like this, the look of him and the smell of him and the feel of him so potent.
“Is that really what you think?” he asks, and he doesn't sound angry so much as annoyed. “That I’m just here for sex. When it’s you that initiated all of our first encounters, when…”
Her eyes widen. “Oh, fuck you, Barry. Like all that slick talking isn’t initiating. You’ve got some fucking nerve.”
This time, when she tries to yank away from him, he lets her; and with a grace she doesn’t feel, she climbs off the bed. She strides towards the living room, but she doesn’t get far because Barry grabs her by the arm and presses her body against the wall near the door.
“Let me go, Barry,” she says, heart hammering angrily against her rib cage. He releases her arm immediately, but he cages her in, planting his hands on the walls on either side of her.
“Look at me, Iris,” he commands, his voice a raspy whisper. She blinks over his shoulder, taking in the messy blue comforter on her queen bed in the middle of the room, and the pale cream curtains on the windows to the right that don’t hide much light, and the blue and cream striped lounge chair where Barry’s clothes are.
“Baby, please,” he tries again, and it’s the pleading that makes her turn.
He looks a little like he sounds, frazzled and out of sorts, his eyes darting quickly across her face and the shadow at his jaw far past 5 o’clock.
“I meant it.” The words come out softly, a little strained, and he blinks once, twice, before repeating. “I meant it. I love you. I’m in love with you.”
“No,” Iris shakes her head. “You’re just saying that now. You didn’t mean it.”
Barry lets out a heavy sigh as he steps back from her. She doesn’t move, though, she can’t. Instead, she watches him, her body lost in the turmoil of the past few minutes. He walks towards the bed, then steps away again, stepping in a circle before coming back to her. This time, when he looks at her, she sees it, him, his feelings.
“You looked terrified this morning, Iris,” he explains, “thinking about what I said. I think that I can read you, that I can see into what you aren’t saying to me. I see the way that you look at me, the way that we are together, and I can swear that you also…”
“What if that’s just sexual chemistry?” she interrupts, because she’s still spiraling, her body still so heavy with the range of emotions she’s experienced in the span of just minutes. And what if he really didn’t mean it, what if she’d actually started writing this story wrong, what if this has all been some dream she’s just starting to wake up from.
Barry stops pacing to look at her, incredulous, and then he narrows his eyes at her.
“Is that really what you think, Iris?” He steps, no stalks, towards her, steps slow and measured. He looks up and down the length of her, eyes lingering at the spread of her hips, the dip of her cleavage, before settling on her face. “You really think that the way we are together is, is just sex?”
She opens her mouth but doesn’t answer, and he closes the distance between them. He stands so close that she has to throw her head back against the wall in order to see up at him.
(She tries but can’t find it in herself to be ashamed of what this does to her, even as she’s not happy with him, having his attention on her like this, having his hard length pressed against her like this, the look of him and the smell of him and the feel of him like this.)
“I know that no one else fucks you like I do, Iris.”
That makes her snap and he pushes at him and he stumbles back near the bed. “You’re a smug fucking bastard, Barry Allen.”
She moves to grab her phone off the counter, intending to, she doesn’t know, throw it at his head. But then she’s plucked off her feet. She squeals as he tosses her onto her back and straddles her hips, holding her by her arms above her head. She bares her teeth at him, but doesn’t try to get away from him this time. She’s breathing heavily, and he is too, and for a second, Iris thinks that this love stuff is too much. Because that’s what’s going on here, isn’t it? It’s their first fight and it’s about love, about the fact that they’d slipped into it so simply that they (and by they, she means she) is finding it difficult to just let it be.
“I don’t mean it in an arrogant way, Iris,” he murmurs. “I just… you are a fucking goddess, baby, and if you’d ever been with anyone the way you are with me, there’s no way they would have ever let you go.”
He presses down on her arms a little, presses his hips into hers a little. “And no one has ever made me feel like this, the way that you do, in bed and out of it. And you don’t have to say it back. Not until you’re ready. I meant what I said but I didn’t think you would hear me. I just needed to say it.”
His eyes roam her face and she stares back. Her breathing has begun to level out, but she’s still left with, with adrenaline or something, a heavy, aching sort of feeling flooding through her, making her warm and jittery and, and wet. Which, she’s never been turned on by arguing before, but, by god, she is. She is. Turned on and in love and so gone on the man above her that she doesn’t think of anything at all before she leans up and kisses him.
For the first time since they’ve started doing this, Barry doesn’t take his time. He kisses her back, just as hard, the kiss more teeth and tongue than mouth. He keeps a hold of her arms in one of his big hands and then reaches down to push her dress up over her hips, lifting his own hips just enough that he can pull himself out of his boxers and spread her legs, hiking them over his waist. He doesn’t bother with taking her panties off; he just yanks them over to the side, probably ripping the delicate lace, and then runs a couple of his sure fingers through her slit to see if she’s wet enough to take him. Satisfied, he grips himself and then slides into her.
“Fuuuuuuck,” he groans, dragging the word out, and Iris seconds that, throwing her head back at the heavy, hard, full feeling of him. He gives her one experimental thrust, and then another, and then he’s setting a pace, fucking into her in hard, shallow strokes. He clenches hard around her, her head filled with the press of his body and the smell of his skin and the thought of his love, i know the meaning’, for all the seasons, you are the reason, my love. Then Barry leans down on her, so that his chest brushes her nipples and his pelvis rubs against her clit every time he rocks into her, and her head clears of everything but this.
“God,” she moans, eyes fluttering closed.
He moves his mouth to her ear as he picks up his pace, murmuring as he always does, “fuck, baby, yes, you feel so good, girl; my good girl, shit” but his words aren’t as smooth as they usually are. He is frayed, his breathing choppy and his pace brutal. She likes it though. Her pussy grows wetter with every thrust, her hips rocking up to meet him, and she breathes out through her nose when she finds her mouth stuck in a round “o.” They’re both slick from the exertion and Iris can’t tell if it’s his sweat or hers or theirs. He holds on to the meat of her thigh, widening her so that he can ride her deeper, harder. She drips, down onto her thighs, soaking him too, and she knows that were she to look down, his dick would be so obscenely slick with her. He kisses at her ear, down to her neck, along her jaw, biting and licking and sucking on her skin. His grip on her is hard, and it isn’t so much rough as it is raw, inelegant and sensual and crude and so so so so good.
The thought of it is just as arousing as the act of it, and Iris manages to breathe out, “shit, Bear, how, how, how are you always so gooood?”
He flashes her a grin, her Barry coming back to her, and he says into her ear, “because it’s us, baby. Because I love you and you’re falling for me and we were meant for this.”
When Iris comes, it’s so hard she swears she goes blind for a minute. The world darkens and all she can do is feel: passion and euphoria and ecstasy and every other expression like it.
She’s thirty minutes late meeting Linda for their monthly brunch..
She and Barry shower together, and she drops him off at his car downtown and then she drives the couple blocks over to Golden’s. Before he gets out, he leans over and kisses her, a long slow sort of kiss, licking deep into her mouth as he cradles her face gently in the palm of his hand, and then he taps the top of her car twice before ambling over to his jeep without saying a word.
She feels a little funny after all of that, wondering why she still hadn't been able to say the words to him. He hadn’t said much to her as they’d dressed and gotten ready to leave her apartment. But he hadn’t stopped touching her either: taking her loofah from her and washing her down in the shower, running his hand over her hip after she’d hopped into a pair of light denim boyfriend jeans, rubbing on her thigh as she’d driven them downtown. She doesn’t think he’s upset with her; he’d told her she didn’t have to say it back. But he’d retreated, at least verbally, and it’s fucking with her, making her realize how much her fear is keeping her from him.
Golden’s is already open by the time she gets there so she walks in through the front door, throwing a hand up at Kamilla as she heads to the back in her stiletto heeled ankle booties, tugging lightly at the long, faux pearl necklace lying over her white half tucked in sweater. It’s packed as usual, the Saturday lunch crowd filling most of the seats, and she has to walk around chairs half pushed in and groups of people laughing and enjoying their Saturday.
She slides into the booth across from her best friend, the table already littered with food, Linda’s mango mimosa mostly gone. The other woman looks up at her, perusing, her brown eyes curious. Iris ignores her to grab her champagne flute, dropping a frozen mango slice into the glass and pouring a smidge of juice in, topping it off with champagne. She downs half of it in one gulp.
“You’ve been fucked,” is the first thing Linda says, when she finally decides to speak.
Iris chokes on her swallow of mimosa.
“Freshly,” Linda adds. Her red painted lips curve up in a devious little grin. “Is that big ass hickey you’re sporting the reason you’re late?”
She rolls her eyes, but touches gently at where she knows it’s sitting, an uneven patch of darkened flesh about the size of a quarter on her neck just under her left ear. She’d been in too much of a daze while she was putting on her minimal makeup earlier, the moisturizer and a little concealer, a bit of bronzer on her lids, liner and mascara. She hadn’t noticed the hickey, not until she was putting on her lipstick in the car and she didn’t have any foundation to cover it with.
“I’m too old to have a hickey,” she says to Linda instead of responding to her question.
“Tell your boo that,” Linda responds.
Iris wrinkles her nose at “boo” and starts spooning some sticky sesame chicken onto her plate. She forks a dumpling and bites at it as she goes for the lo mein and she doesn’t realize she’s reaching for the edamame until Linda stills her hand.
“Okay, what’s up?”
Iris chews the rest of her dumpling. “What are you talking about?”
“You’re eating.”
“Is that not why we’re here?”
“No, I mean you’re eating, doing that thing where you just throw food into your mouth without stopping or even really tasting it. You only do it when you’re really anxious and there’s no notebook or wine handy.”
Iris stills with a piece of shrimp in her hand. She drops it back onto the platter and sits back into the booth, chewing and swallowing while Linda waits patiently, sipping from her glass.
And then she blurts, “I’m in love with Barry.”
Linda nods, not yet committing to a response. “Okay.”
“And he told me he’s in love with me and I didn’t say it back.” Iris lets out a breath, tension releasing like a pressure valve has been turned.
“Why didn’t you say it back?”
“Because I’m a coward,” she answers.
Linda’s head shake is automatic, her brown waves brushing at her neck. “There’s not a hint of coward in you, baby girl.” Iris takes her best friend’s white silk blouse just as she says, “Now why don’t you really tell me what’s up.”
To give herself some time to put it all together, she finishes her mimosa and mixes another, though this one with less champagne, and she eats another dumpling, chewing slowly. Then she clears her throat.
“For a while now, I’ve been feeling, I don't know, lost. I was single, school was boring. Work was too, and it seemed like all of you were moving forward while I was just watching. Nothing felt exciting, not even my blog really. And then Barry came along, and I swear, the moment I saw him, it’s like my entire world lit up. There was this, this spark, and even when I was claiming that he was just around for sex, there was always this feeling that it was bigger than all of that, bigger than anything I’ve felt before.
And suddenly, I feel so different. I feel good, Linda. Everything is starting to feel good. My blog is getting real recognition now and Dr. Jamison must also be getting good sex because she’s been an actual joy to be around. And Barry...and Barry is…”
“Putting you to sleep every night?”
It makes her laugh, the way Linda wiggles her eyebrows as she says it, the way her eyes light up with mirth, the way her smile is a soft thing.
“Yeah, he is,” Iris says, her mouth twisting wryly. “But what if it’s a fluke, Linda? This man is everything I’ve wanted in a man and so much more than I even knew I wanted. What if we do this and I learn that he’s been, just, fucking with me this whole time?”
“You know that’s not true, Iris.” Linda picks up her own glass and drains it.
“But how can I trust this?” she pushes. “This happiness that seems to have only come when Barry stepped into my life?”
Linda reaches over and grabs Iris’s hand, and Iris clasps it like a lifeline, her pale orange tipped fingers pressing hard into Linda’s hand and Linda’s own pink tipped fingers pressing back. “There are no guarantees. So maybe we do find out that Barry has been faking this entire time. But what if he’s not? What if he’s as kind and loving as you say he is? ” She lets that digest for a moment.
“Love, and life, is a series of ups and downs, of good experiences and bad, Iris. The timing of it all is just coincidence. And I hear you. It feels so scary to realize that someone has that sort of power over you; that the care of your heart is in their hands. But what I’m learning with Dan is that love, love is always worth it. Because what you’re feeling, it doesn’t go away just because you don’t say it back, just because you don’t acknowledge it. And when you don’t you risk cutting it, him, off, and you’ll get hurt anyway. And that, my love, will be your own fault.”
Iris thinks about Linda’s words as they finish brunch, moving the conversation to Linda’s upcoming trip to meet Dan’s family. She thinks about it as she gets into her car and drives back home, forgoing working on a story in favor of plopping down on the couch and letting music play, my mind is open, so wide since you came inside, i feel so alive, without you life just passes by, passes by, lost in the reality of what she’s feeling.
She thinks about the words as she goes out to grab dinner, picking up a salad for herself and a chicken sandwich and fries for Barry, the intention to take him food not one fully realized until she’s parking in front of the precinct that Barry works out of.
She thinks about the words because Linda is right.
(She would never tell the other woman this, but she is right more often than she’s not, her poise and curious nature making her one to offer sound advice, always realistic and with love.)
She loves him, she does: his wit and his hands and his eyes; his compliments and his patience and ability to make her feel as if everything he’s ever wanted is present in the curves of her body; as if it is his profound pleasure to coax it out of her, with every touch, every moan, every dirty, mumbled thing.
Buoyed by the fact that she’d said it aloud, at the very least, and she didn’t wither away after she had, she grabs the food bags and her purse and walks up the steps to the precinct.
Her dad is working tonight but since she’ll see him tomorrow at dinner, she doesn’t drop by his office. Instead, she heads downstairs to where CSI is located, following the stairs to where they’ve apparently put them in the basement. The hallway is well lit, and there are several windows covered in closed blinds that lead to the lab door. She balances the bags in one hand and opens the door with the other. And she’s stopped short at what she sees.
The room looks like how she’s always imagined a crime lab to look like: lots of white, microscopes, and computers, shelves full of test tubes and petri dishes. Barry is there and so is the Cisco guy she remembers from Fall Fest. There’s a woman there too, in the utilitarian black pants and matching blazer that Iris knows is the norm for detectives. And it’s not that she’s there, because that’s not weird. But she’s there, next to Barry, close to Barry, leaning on his counter with her hand on his arm as she talks. She’s as tall as Iris is in the four inch booties Iris is wearing, with shoulder length dirty blonde hair and the sort of white girl next door look that men fall all over themselves for.
Cisco notices her first, as the door closes softly behind her, and Iris feels a bit mollified at the way his grin rises up when he sees her.
“Iris,” he calls, eyes twinkling. “Nice to see your beautiful face.”
Iris winks at him, pulling out a flirtatious grin so that she doesn’t scowl at the sight of the woman touching Barry.
(She’s not jealous. She’s not, but Iris can’t stand the thought of Barry looking at someone else the way that he does her, can’t stand the thought of him touching someone else the way he does her, can’t stand the thought of him whispering, yeah, baby, fuck, ride me just like that, to someone else the way he does her.)
Cisco, though, is loud enough that Barry hears him, and she watches as he straightens at the sight of her, eyes wide. “Iris!”
He gives her his look, the one where he rakes his eyes over the length of her and then lingers on her face, always trying to read her. She’s still a little frustrated at how she’s always such an open book for him, apparent after he’s finished his perusal and he smiles, slow and with more smirk than anything else. The woman next to him only moves her hand from Barry hesitantly, turning to see what all of this commotion is about. She gives Iris the same once over that Barry did, though decidedly colder, and Iris tilts her head at her before settling her gaze on Barry.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Iris says. “I know that you’re busy, but I thought I’d drop off dinner for you.”
She steps further into the room, and her heels clack loudly in the too quiet space. She pauses in front of where Cisco is sitting. She turns to him.
“I’m sorry I didn’t bring you anything. I should’ve texted Barry to see who else was around, but I was picking up dinner and just decided to get him some too.”
“It’s fine,” he says. “You can get me next time.”
Iris passes him and lets her eyes wander back to Barry and the detective, who’s stepped back in a bit. As soon as Iris catches his eyes again, Barry steps away from her, moving around to meet Iris. She stops at a point along a wide expanse of empty space on one of the tables, and Iris feels it’s a safe enough spot to place the food without contaminating anything. As soon as she drops the food on the table, Barry cups the back of her head and stares down at her. His thumb traces the mark he’d left on her neck.
“Hi, beautiful,” he says, eyes wondering, smile tender.
She looks over his shoulder to where the woman still stands, looking at her too. She gives her a smile in greeting. Iris thinks it’s returned.
“I’m sorry. You look busy,” she responds. “Should I go?”
“Absolutely not. I’m just surprised to see you.” Without stepping away from her, he turns to address the detective. “Patty, I’ll come down as soon as I have the results for you.”
Her gaze trails over to Iris once more, observing where Barry holds onto Iris’s neck, onto her waist. “Of course,” she murmurs, finally.
She walks out of the room, her low-heeled boots nearly silent on the floors. Both Iris and Cisco watch her go, but Barry doesn’t pay much attention, his focus on Iris as he continues to rub along his mark.
Cisco stands, sort of abruptly, his chair skitting across the floor. “Barry, I’m gonna step out for a minute.” He shrugs out of his lab coat, tossing it on the back of his chair. His thick brown hair brushes against his shoulders with every shake of his head. “It’s good seeing you again, pretty lady.”
Iris offers him another smile. “You too, Cisco.”
She turns back to Barry who’s eyeing her, expression curious. “You’re here,” he says, voice low.
“Yeah,” she nods at the bags she’s placed on the table. “I don’t know, I went to get dinner and I was, well, I was thinking about you.” She shrugs with a nonchalance she doesn’t feel.
“Yeah?” Barry’s answering grin is wide, and a little bit boyish, cheeks reddening; it makes Iris smile back in turn.
“Come on,” Barry says, picking up the bags and walking over to a desk tucked into the corner. “I've got a few minutes.”
The desk is messy, stacks of folders and sticky notes all over the place, and he moves some papers around so that he can place their food down. He rolls his desk chair over for her to sit in and he grabs the bag, pulling out her salad container and his sandwich and fries and placing them in front of their spots.
She waits until he sits down in the hard back chair he’d gotten from under one of the computers and she snaps the top of her salad before she says, “so why wasn’t I introduced to the detective?”
Barry takes a bite of his sandwich and looks at her in question. “Who? Detective Spivot?”
“Don’t you mean, Patty?”
Barry pauses with a fry poised for his mouth. “Sure,” he says. “Patty is one of the detectives on the case we got called into.”
“Hmm.” Iris stabs at her salad. She takes a bite and chews, though she doesn’t really taste it.
Barry places his half eaten sandwich into the cardboard container and he turns to her, giving her his full attention. He inclines his head, watches for a second. She thinks that the corner of his mouth tilts up, that humor brims in his eyes.
“What do you want to say, Iris?”
She rolls her eyes, annoyed that she can’t focus on how cute he looks with his lab coat and glasses on, annoyed that that woman was touching him, annoyed that she’s annoyed.
“I didn’t know you were so close to the detective. Y’all were very...touchy.”
Shaking her head, she starts to go back to her salad, but then he drops his food and rubs his hands together. He leans towards her.
“Come here,” he says.
She ducks away, but he grabs her wrist gently and pulls at her. She goes, because her tripping heart and her heaving chest and her warming sex won’t allow her to not. Barry sits her in his lap, sideways so that her legs are half hanging over his. She’s a head taller than him in this position, and he presses a hand at the small of her back as he looks up at her.
“You’re jealous,” he announces, seemingly pleased with the fact.
Iris rolls her eyes. “Of course not.”
Barry laughs. “So you’re just really grumpy right now?”
“I’m just curious,” she says.
“Oh?”
“About the touching.”
“She’d literally just put her hand on me as you walked in the door. I was about to move it.”
Iris harrumphs. “Doesn’t Detective Spivot know that you’re…” Iris waves her hand as she trails off and it makes Barry’s slight grin widen.
“That I’m what?”
Even she knows that the huff she lets out would only be completed with a foot stop.
“That you’re taken,” she says, boldly. Because whatever she was feeling, whatever he was feeling, this morning, they are still them: two people who’ve crawled into open, waiting hearts and made space for one another; two people who are pages deep into a story that the stars must have already been writing; two people hours into a dream that is so vivid, it has to be real.
The statement seems to sober him, because his eyebrows furrow. “Am I?”
She wants to be bothered by the genuine question in his eyes. But they’ve never blatantly talked about them. There has been some conjecture, sex-fueled mutterings that hinted at the reality of them, of their feelings. There have been looks between the two of them that tell far more than Iris has ever even realized could be portrayed through eye contact. He’s told her that he loves her. But they’ve never defined or drawn out the lines or made it real.
But like she said, they are them. And he is. Taken. So she slowly licks her lips, and nods her head. “Yeah, you are.”
This time, Barry’s smile is a sexy, lilting thing. “I’m fully yours, Iris. You have to know that.” He turns her so that he can hold her gaze, and reaches up to curl his fingers around the back of her neck, his thumb hitting that mark again. Then he says,
“I love you. I will until you love me back and forever after that. And that means that I don’t see anyone but you. I haven’t seen anyone but you since the minute I laid eyes on you in that slinky dress you had on, dancing in the middle of the crowd by yourself.” He presses a soft kiss to her lips. “Even before, for months before, I couldn’t see anyone else. Because I was waiting for you, Iris.”
He gives her another kiss, this one longer, deeper, like the one he’d given her before he left her car. She finds herself humming into his mouth, her arms tightening around his shoulders. He rubs against her thigh, higher, then a little higher, until Iris is opening her legs to try to get some sort of friction.
Minutes or moments or eternity after, he pulls his mouth away, though he doesn’t move away from her fully. Instead, he looks at her, and she finds herself lost in him, in this dream of a story. She sees the words of it, my afternoon dream, when the world is speeding; i am still sleeping, in my blue dream and i know the meaning, for all the seasons; you are the reason, my love, and she wants to add to it, wants to let herself live in it, wants to finally fall into this love story without fear or reservation.
“Barry,” she says, whispers, and she notes how hooded his eyes look through the wire-framed glasses he’s wearing and how just the act of sitting here on his lap calms her at the same time that it inflames her. Then she thinks about his infinite levels of patience as he’s waited for her to be ready for him and how he’s always been interested in what she thinks or feels and how no one has even treated her body with the, the homage that he seems to. And she...and she loves him. “Barry, I…”
“Alright, Barry, we have…whoa.”
Iris blinks out of her haze, startles out of the confession she was about to make, at the sound of Cisco’s voice. Still, it takes a second before she’s able to pull herself from Barry, and from the expression he’s saddling her with, she thinks he might have an inkling of what she was about to say.
“None of this hanky panky,” Cisco continues, either oblivious or uncaring, Iris doesn’t know. “Spivot and Mitchell need to see us.”
“Alright,” Barry calls over her shoulder. “I’ll be down in five.”
When Cisco nods and leaves again, Iris is pulled back into Barry’s orbit. He palms the back of her neck, thumb brushing the mark on her throat. She assesses him.
“Did you do that on purpose?”
“I’m sorry.” He immediately goes red. He averts his eyes for a moment, before they drift back to her. “It’s tacky, I know, and I didn’t realize what I was doing until it was too late. This morning, I was, I don’t know, confused about us and I just…” He pressed his thumb into her skin. “I told you I’m not composed around you; I’m a mess.”
Iris covers his hand where it’s still on her throat. “You know that I’m yours too, right?” The earlier moment seems to have passed, but she can, needs to, give him this. His stare is hard and almost unreadable.
“Yeah,” he says after a while, sort of breathless. “Yeah, I guess you are.”
She wishes that she could stay in this moment with him, such a stark deviation from the way they’d left each other this morning. So she takes that feeling with her as she packs her salad up and helps him clean up the trash. Together, they venture into the hall and Barry leads her back out into the bullpen where Cisco is standing with Spivot and a tall, dark-skinned man with a baldhead and a beard. All three of them turn at the sound of Iris’s boots on the floors. Something about the look of them makes Iris grab Barry’s hand. Barry stops her a few feet away and leans down.
“I like how territorial you’re being,” Barry all but whispers in her ear. “I’ll come over after work and remind you why you don’t have to be.”
The thought of them this morning, the hard press of him, his breath rough in her ear, makes her look up at him, her eyes bright, bottom lip between the white of her teeth. It’s only Cisco’s pointed throat clearing that keeps her from falling mouth first into him.
Barry’s grin is knowing. “Bye, baby,” he says, a little louder this time, and Iris shakes her head, knowing he’s saying it in front of Patty for her benefit. He drops a kiss on her check and Iris nods at his coworkers.
“Detectives. Cisco.” She squeezes his hand once and drops it. “See you later, Bear.”
She steps away and walks out of the station, but not before she hears Mitchell say, “Damn, Allen, how did you bag that?”
She wishes she could explain that she’s the one that doesn’t know how she got him.
Barry does come over later, and as soon as he walks through the door, he pushes her up against the wall and fucks her, groaning “mine, mine, fuck, mine” into the bite on her throat, as Iris moans it back in kind, “yours, yes, Barry, I’m yours.”
My afternoon dream when
The world is sleepin'
I am still thinkin'
Of my blue dream
It's bliss
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