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bills-bible-basics · 1 year

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SWORD OF THE SPIRIT -- KJV (King James Version) Bible Verse List King James Version Bible verse list compiled by Bill Kochman concerning the topic "Sword of the Spirit". Visit my page at https://www.billkochman.com/VerseLists/ to see all the lists I've compiled to date. Thanks! "And Simeon blessed them, and said unto Mary his mother, Behold, this child is set for the fall and rising again of many in Israel; and for a sign which shall be spoken against; (Yea, a sword shall pierce through thy own soul also,) that the thoughts of many hearts may be revealed." Luke 2:34-35, KJV "Think not that I am come to send peace on earth: I came not to send peace, but a sword. For I am come to set a man at variance against his father, and the daughter against her mother, and the daughter in law against her mother in law. And a man's foes shall be they of his own household. He that loveth father or mother more than me is not worthy of me: and he that loveth son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me." Matthew 10:34-37, KJV "Many of the people therefore, when they heard this saying, said, Of a truth this is the Prophet. Others said, This is the Christ. But some said, Shall Christ come out of Galilee? Hath not the scripture said, That Christ cometh of the seed of David, and out of the town of Bethlehem, where David was? So there was a division among the people because of him." John 7:40-43, KJV "If I had not come and spoken unto them, they had not had sin: but now they have no cloke for their sin." John 15:22, KJV "But when Paul perceived that the one part were Sadducees, nd the other Pharisees, he cried out in the council, Men nd brethren, I am a Pharisee, the son of a Pharisee: of the ope and resurrection of the dead I am called in question. nd when he had so said, there arose a dissension between he Pharisees and the Sadducees: and the multitude was ivided. For the Sadducees say that there is no esurrection, neither angel, nor spirit: but the Pharisees onfess both." Acts 23:6-8, KJV "For the word of God is quick, and powerful, and sharper than any twoedged sword, piercing even to the dividing asunder of soul and spirit, and of the joints and marrow, and is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart." Hebrews 4:12, KJV "‭‭Now when they heard ‭this‭, they were pricked in their heart, and said unto Peter and to the rest of the apostles, Men ‭and‭ brethren, what shall we do?‭" Acts 2:37, KJV "And take the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God:" Ephesians 6:17, KJV "And he hath made my mouth like a sharp sword; in the shadow of his hand hath he hid me, and made me a polished shaft; in his quiver hath he hid me;‭" Isaiah 49:2, KJV "And in the midst of the seven candlesticks one like unto the Son of man, clothed with a garment down to the foot, and girt about the paps with a golden girdle. His head and his hairs were white like wool, as white as snow; and his eyes were as a flame of fire; And his feet like unto fine brass, as if they burned in a furnace; and his voice as the sound of many waters. And he had in his right hand seven stars: and out of his mouth went a sharp twoedged sword: and his countenance was as the sun shineth in his strength." Revelation 1:13-16, KJV "And to the angel of the church in Pergamos write; These things saith he which hath the sharp sword with two edges . . . Repent; or else I will come unto thee quickly, and will fight against them with the sword of my mouth." Revelation 2:12, 16, KJV "And I saw heaven opened, and behold a white horse; and he that sat upon him was called Faithful and True, and in righteousness he doth judge and make war. His eyes were as a flame of fire, and on his head were many crowns; and he had a name written, that no man knew, but he himself. And he was clothed with a vesture dipped in blood: and his name is called The Word of God. And the armies which were in heaven followed him upon white horses, clothed in fine linen, white and clean.

And out of his mouth goeth a sharp sword, that with it he should smite the nations: and he shall rule them with a rod of iron: and he treadeth the winepress of the fierceness and wrath of Almighty God. And he hath on his vesture and on his thigh a name written, KING OF KINGS, AND LORD OF LORDS . . . "And the beast was taken, and with him the false prophet that wrought miracles before him, with which he deceived them that had received the mark of the beast, and them that worshipped his image. These both were cast alive into a lake of fire burning with brimstone. And the remnant were slain with the sword of him that sat upon the horse, which sword proceeded out of his mouth: and all the fowls were filled with their flesh." Revelation 19:11-16, 20-21, KJV If you would like more info regarding the origin of these KJV Bible verse lists, go to https://www.billkochman.com/VerseLists/. Thank-you! https://www.billkochman.com/Blog/index.php/sword-of-the-spirit-kjv-king-james-version-bible-verse-list/?feed_id=31828&_unique_id=63feaf81674d3&SWORD%20OF%20THE%20SPIRIT%20--%20KJV%20%28King%20James%20Version%29%20Bible%20Verse%20List

#KJV_Bible_Verse_Lists #bible #bible_study #bill_kochman #bills_bible_basics #gods_word #king_james_version #kjv #list #scripture #scriptures #sword #sword_of_the_spirit #topical #verse #verses #word_of_god

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princessozera · 2 years

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Secret Admirer Beel

GN!MC (they/them, 3rd ppov)

Word count: 1.2k

MC is his star.

At first, Beelzebub hadn’t felt one way or another about the exchange student. They were just another person in the house and he was under direct orders not to eat them, but otherwise, nothing. Even when he walked into breakfast a few days later and saw Mammon’s pact on the back of their hand he wasn’t necessarily impressed considering it was Mammon and he’d overhead Levi plotting it with you. Irritation when you ate his custard, resignation at allowing Luke to sleep in the dorm with them.

Then, a surprise.

MC stepped in to save Luke AND him from Lucifer's wrath after that misunderstanding. Their legs were shaking, voice unsteady, but they used their full body to block Lucifer's path and stood their ground, actually taking a hit for him in the process. It would have been far easier for MC to agree with Lucifer and let him take the beating- he was a demon after all, he would have been fine eventually no matter what Lucifer did. Was it pride or loyalty that made MC strong and weirdly nice? Were they just like this with everyone? Regardless, he felt indebted to them and the pact was formed, a bit of respect earned.

After forming the pact, Beel started spending more time with MC and found himself going to them whenever he had some free time. They didn't complain as much as the others about his appetite and almost always tagged along when he went into town. He found himself starting to pick up on their food preferences and started carrying around snacks he knew they would like, even making an effort to keep Belphegor from eating them. When Beel went out alone, he couldn't help but notice small trinkets in stores and think of MC, and soon he was wracking up bills almost half as long as his dinner orders .

It was one of these days in line, holding a small ceramic figure and imaging how happy you'd be that he realized how badly he'd fallen for their charm. The realization of loving MC hit him so hard he couldn't speak when he went up to the register, and instead of going home, he took a seat outside of a nearby cafe to clear his head. The waitress was stunned when Beel waved her away; the only thing he wanted right now was to see MC's smile and that thought made his face turn into a bright red that went down his neck and reached up to blend in with his hair. When he was able to keep his heart from fluttering just at the thought of you he started to realize just how much time he spent with MC or seeking them out. But no, they're just a good friend. MC is nice to everyone, and being funny was a bonus- a great friend, that was all. He sat there for so long, he actually managed to convince himself he was overthinking things so he went home. But when he gave them the trinket and they smiled up at him, his heart skipped a beat and he knew he was done for.

Beel isn’t stupid, he knows that his brothers also have feelings for MC and they’ve actually been making advances for months now while he was worried over Belphie. He saw how often MC spent time with Mammon, and never turned down a walk through the town with Satan, so instead he resigned himself to loving and protecting them from afar. But that didn’t stop him from making it clear that he was available and just as impressive as his brothers.

Beel shows off his strength any chance he gets. If MC's okay with it, he’ll randomly pick them up and carry them around, especially if MC's being too nice to walk away from his brothers being annoying. When they went go shopping together he’ll take every single bag in one hand so MC wouldn't have to carry anything, and he still has a hand free to offer them. Did they need help rearranging everything in their room? He’s your man, MC. Did they buy an entire blast furnace at the store and need help getting it home? He has no idea they sold those in the Devildom, but cool, he’ll be there in 10 minutes.

“Oh MC, I found your pencil, it was under the bookcase.”

“Thank you Beel!” MC grabs the pencil casually, feeling fully assured that he wouldn’t let the bookcase drop on them, even though he was holding it high up with one hand.

----

Beel starts fighting to spend more time with them. Not physically fighting of course, but he knew how to push his brothers into his favor. Of course MC needed to come to the store with him, what if he ate the food on the way back? No, Belphie’s asleep, it has to be MC.

"MC, you should come to the gym with me. No, a shirt would limit my range of motion so I’m not going to wear one- unless it makes you uncomfortable? Oh, you want to read? What about you sit on my back while I do push ups? I feel like I have more energy when you’re around to encourage me."

Beel doubles down on old habits with MC; making them snacks while they were studying and doing homework, buying seasonal items, carrying extra snacks to offer them that not even Belphegor was allowed to touch them. Beel was true to his birthday promise to MC, every week he treats you to a new restaurant or cafe and shows them all of his favorite places around the Devildom. It’s totally a coincidence that there is always an event or interesting store near the restaurants and now you spent the entire day together. He would cherish every moment he could steal you away from his brothers, and one day would work up the resolve to steal a kiss too.

smaller notes:

asks his brothers for advice but doesn't mentions that you're his crush, so everyone is eager to share their knowledge.

Satan suggests writing and leaving love poems in secret, but Levi is the one who helps Beel write it. It's 4 pages long and so god awfully cringey, filled to the brim with references that Beel didn't understand but Levi had been so excited to get to show off his craft that Beel still accepted the letter. He didn't give it to you though.

Mammon offers to ask out this mystery person then break up with them so Beel could be their night in shining armor and comfort them afterwards, which Beel also declined for obvious reasons.

Asmo suggests a big romantic gesture- since there was no dances or galas coming up soon, maybe serenading them at home? Belphie unintentionally helps Beel talk his way out of this one, saying there's no way to make sure the person would actually be at home and mentioning that if he accidentally interrupts their sleep or something important, they'd be mad at him instead.

#ozera request #obey me shall we date #obey me beel

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bonkers-4-hatter · 3 years

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!Yandere !Vampire Kisumi X Reader - Love Bites

♥ TW: This fanfic has mentions of kidnapping, violence, assault, biting and mentions of blood along with the biting, forced intimacies, forcing self onto the reader at certain points and yandere themes and actions. ♥ If any of the above does trigger you, please do not read. All characters are 18+ as college is mentioned in the past tense.

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ You were never one to believe in such things as mythical creatures, it was just a bunch of nonsense. Of course, they’re wonderful tall tales to tell and talk about when you were younger, but you’re grown now; out of that phase you could say.

Tall tales, that’s all they were...at least you thought they were.

You could draw everything that you’ve experienced and seen as a lack of sleep, working too hard, or just needing a break to calm your mind, but with the most recent experiences you just couldn’t come up with an excuse for them and that very thought chilled you to your core. The dark figure standing in the corner of your room at night using the darkness as a veil, but the thing that stood out to you was the flickers of pink from the top of the figure's head from the small slivers of moonlight peeking through the closed curtains.

Not only did the figure terrify you, but the touches were what set you over the edge. The soft touches that caressed your cheeks, head and the curves and contours of your body as the hands glided across your blanket covered body. You would always peek your eyes open only to see the same pink hair in your view.

The only person you knew with pink hair was Kisumi.

He was your friend, a close friend at that. You guys did everything together, having been friends since College it just made sense for you guys to do things together. His behavior used to be carefree, fun and just free. Kisumi was a free spirit, but you noticed something change within him in the past few years; he was more possessive toward you. Always wanting to have your attention, scaring off potential significant others.

This wasn’t his usual behavior with you. Not only that, but his mannerisms have changed too. Not really eating in front of you, coming over at night only; claiming his new job had him working mornings many days and just being too exhausted to go anywhere with you during the day. Just weird things that have come up that rubbed you the wrong way.

You hated that your mind went to these tall tales of Vampires, but you couldn’t come up with a normal answer. With his towering figure plaguing your mind, the touches that came in contact with your resting body and the constant fear and shiver of being watched by something unknown, hidden, just lurking in the shadows with their eyes fixated on you.

Looking at how Kisumi was laughing and socializing with your guys’ group of friends, it’s as if nothing changed with him and he was the same ole Kisumi that everyone knew and had a great time with. He might have been able to fool the rest of your friends, but you knew something was up and tonight you were going to confront him even if you sounded like a lunatic. Taking a final drink of your (favorite drink), you placed some money on the table to cover your portion of the bill along with everyone else as everyone started to get up and say their goodbyes, making plans to meet up again next month as usual.

Giving a final wave to your friends, you felt an arm snake around your shoulders and pulled you into a firm body. “(Y/N)-chan, let’s get you home.” Kisumi’s smooth voice filtered through your ears as you both made your way down the mostly empty sidewalk, the chatter and lively atmosphere of the restaurant dying away the further you walked away. The only noise that echoed around the silent street was both of your footsteps.

“You know I can get myself home, right Kisu?” He only shook his head and rubbed your shoulder, his cold skin giving you goosebumps as he brushed his fingers against the skin of your exposed upper arm. That was another weird thing with him, he was always cold now. He used to be warm, overly warm actually, always a human furnace. Now though, he was always cold to the touch and it always made you shiver no matter how many times it happened.

“I know (Y/N), but I have to protect you from all the monsters out there, don’t I?” Another shiver ran down your spine at his question, you knew it was playful. It was Kisumi, he was always playful when it came to you, but this felt like it held an underlying meaning; like he was trying to tell you something. Scoffing, you rolled your eyes at his words. “Sure, the monsters Kisumi, whatever you say.” He laughed at your words as the both of you continued to walk down the street in silence.

Clearing your throat, you decided to just ask him. “So, speaking of monsters, what do you think about vampires?” Kisumi stopped walking as he grasped your shoulder in a tight grip making you reel back as well. “What the hell Kisumi?!” Your shoulder burned a bit at how hard he dug his fingernails into your skin, but he still didn’t let go. Looking at his face he had a stoic look and his eyes were menacing in a way; narrowed and pointed right at you. “Vampires? Now, why would little (Y/N)-chan bring up such a thing as Vampires?” The malice that was laced in his voice was evident and downright terrifying especially in a situation where you were alone with him at night on an empty street.

You tried to yank yourself away from his strong hold, but he didn’t let up. “It was a joke Kisumi, what’s wrong with you?” He only smirked at your words, before pushing against your shoulder until you hit the brick wall of one of the buildings. “A joke huh?” Placing his other hand on your free shoulder, he pinned you in place, the brick rubbing against your exposed skin in a way that it surely would leave marks. Before you could protest, Kisumi leaned down to your ear and whispered, “Do you think it’s a joke as you watch me in the corner of your room, or when I touch your delicious body in bed?” Your breath caught in your throat at his words.

Your hands pushed hard against his chest, fear crawling up your body at his words. “That’s not fucking funny Kisu, I’m leaving.” Without waiting for him to respond, you shoved your way past him, resuming the trek to your house. Even the thought of your house wasn’t safe, it made you even more fearful, but you didn’t have much of a choice at this point. You felt like the darkness was suffocating you at this point and without a second thought, you ran the remainder of the few blocks, your front door in your view making you somewhat relieved.

Deadbolting the door, your body slid down, settling at the floor. You felt exhausted, fearful and not to mention paranoid. Heavy eyes scanned the living room and what you could see of your hallway and everything seemed clear. Getting up with weak legs, you turned on every light in the house paying no mind to the thought of your electric bill nor how silly it seemed. This was what made you feel safe and at this point you were going to do anything to feel that way.

After changing into some pajamas and trying to relax from the encounter with Kisumi, you found yourself wrapped up in a blanket on the couch, television playing a cliche horror movie. Wanting something to take your mind off what happened, you got sucked into the black and white film.

Your mind was completely preoccupied with the slasher film, blanket clutched in your hands, hiding your face behind the fuzzy comfort item as specific gory and violent scenes would pop on the screen. Usually you would watch these movies, any movie really with Kisumi...your mind went to your friend for a moment, not of the creepy things that have arisen recently, but of the memories of you both together. He would be here right now poking fun at you for being scared of these scenes, but also ‘protecting’ you from whatever was going on.

As your mind was wandering, you didn’t notice the presence next to you, not until a hand was on your thigh, fingers tapping against the supple flesh that was exposed from your pajamas. A scream erupted from your throat, but a hand clasped over your mouth, muffled cries were the only thing in the room, the noises on the television being drowned out by the thumping of your own heart. “Now (Y/N), this is the best part, hold in that scream for a minute, alright love?” His hand was still over your mouth and his free one was still trailing along your thigh. Side eyeing him, he sat there with a content smile on his face, eyes still glued on the screen. You stayed in that position for the next ten minutes until the credits were rolling.

“I loved watching these movies with you (Y/N), it was nice to be your savior when you got scared at certain scenes.” His hand uncovered your mouth, but started to stroke the soft skin down the slope of your neck getting dangerously close to the valley of your chest. “K-Kisu...how’d you get in?” Your body started to tremble as he just laughed at the fear pouring out of you at this moment. Gripping the back of your neck, Kisumi pulled you toward him, his face shoving itself into the crook of your neck as he started to place soft kisses along the slope of your neck and your collarbone.

You felt his hot breath fan your skin as he answered your question. “Oh (Y/N), I think you already know the answer...I always tell you to lock your window.” The color drained from your face. Your window. The window that was always unlocked. It was something you didn’t think about because it was on the second floor. A place no human can reach because there were no trees, ledges, anything to help with climbing up.

“Am I right Kisu?” A single question you needed answered. A heavy silence hung in the air as the man in question even stopped his kisses on your skin. “You’re always right (Y/N), I knew you would piece everything together, my (Y/N) is smart after all.” You could feel the sharpness of teeth scrape against the tender flesh of your neck, your breath hitching at the sensation.

“I’ve always wanted to taste you, to know how sweet your blood is, I might get addicted to it (Y/N), but I don’t want to drain you dry...I want you around forever with me.” He laughed at the flinch in your body as he pressed his fangs a bit deeper into your neck. “You’re not ready to be changed yet either.” Sitting back up, he effortlessly pulled you into his lap, arms wrapping around your waist and anchoring you to him. “I think I’ll keep you as my personal toy until you’re ready to be changed, doesn’t my (Y/N) like the sound of that?” Fully grinning at the petrified look on your face, he showed you his sharp fangs, tongue sliding over them to add emphasis on what would happen if you disobeyed him.

You didn’t know what month it was, let alone the day. You just knew it’s been so long since Kisumi took you that night at your former house. After he had you in his arms, he told you what was going to happen. You got to pack what you could that night and he took you away. His home was your home now, or as he puts it, our home.

He didn’t let you out, the house was your own personal prison and you...you were Kisumi’s personal blood bag. He didn’t want to kill you, nor turn you yet, but he had to have a taste of your blood, he tasted every other aspect of you and he knew he’d be addicted to your blood and it turns out he was.

Your skin was littered in bite marks. He would pierce your skin and take a drink from you, enough to make you dizzy before he stopped himself. He couldn’t wait for the wound to heal which is why he bites you in any available skin no matter where it is.

He just wanted your sweet blood. Sometimes he would go overboard and will only stop if you pass out. Due to him feeding on you, you were exhausted. You turned into a shell of your former self with his constant feeding. Dark bags were under your eyes, droopy lids accompany them as well. All you wanted was rest, proper rest, but you knew you’d never get that again.

You wouldn’t get anything you wanted again.

“(Y/N), my love, there you are.” Your head lolled to the side, Kisumi standing there with his usual smile on his face. The bed dipped down as his hands smoothed over your body, caressing any part of you he could get. He kissed your lips and made his way down to your neck. Before he could do anything, you whined out, hands weakly trying to stop him.

“Please, not today Kisumi, I don’t think I can do it. I hurt so much, you drank too much yesterday, please give me a day to recover.” Kisumi cupped your face, thumb stroking the dark bags that decorated under your eyes. “Rest? (Y/N), we’ve been over this already sweetheart, I need to taste you everyday otherwise I might snap and we wouldn’t want that, right?” His hand clutched your face, squishing your cheeks together as you frantically shook your head not wanting to have him hurt you again.

“Good, that’s my good girl.” Placing a soft kiss on your forehead, he let your face go, a breath of relief escaped you as he bared his fangs and traced them over the scarred skin before sinking into the skin of your neck, a place he hasn’t touched in a week which was plenty of time to heal in his opinion.

“Ahh, Kisu...hurts, Kisu, it hurts..” Your weak voice flooded his ears, but he paid you no mind, you always struggled when he did this, but you were his to use and abuse to his desire. You were his little toy, his precious (Y/N).

The feeling of your blood sliding down his throat was beautiful. It was like a drug to him, he couldn’t get enough of it and he knew he was breaking you, but he didn’t care. He will turn you soon and you’ll be fine, but for now he needs you to keep hanging on. The quiet moans of pain only turned him on as he sunk his fangs deeper in your soft skin. “Kisu..too much, stop, please.” Soft pounding of your hands on his back snapped him out of his trance, Unlatching himself from your neck, your head fell to the side, eyes half lidded and skin heated after the ordeal.

Licking a stray drop of blood from his lips and the puncture wounds on your neck, he was satisfied for now. Even though he was addicted to your blood, he was excited to turn you. You would finally be his forever, just as it should’ve been. Smirking at your worn out body, he gave you one last kiss before throwing a blanket over you and stalking off to finish your turning ceremony.

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shadowayne-deactivated · 3 years

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Sticky notes

AO3 Wattpad

They were hot pink.

Bucky picked them out himself, his only hand poking at the small pack of paper at Target.

“For remembering,” he said, his voice low and tense and fragile.

Steve didn’t understand. He never did, these days.

He put two packs in their cart anyway.

Bucky had a small piece of Steve’s shirt sleeve fisted in his hand, a comfortable position he usually stuck with when out of their apartment, and grabbed one of the packs of sticky notes out from the red cart and held it tightly in his gloved metal hand.

Steve met Bucky’s eyes, which were dark and questioning, seeking permission.

“Sticky notes sound great, Buck,” he said gently.

Bucky nodded and clutched the pack tightly.

Steve already knew to bite back the feeling of wrong that came with seeing Bucky, his Bucky , unable to make the most basic decisions by himself.

Bucky lightly tugged on his sleeve so Steve left his thoughts and moved on to grab a couple more things.

The grocery trip went by without incident, probably because they didn’t encounter anyone in the artificially-lit aisles. 3 in the morning was Steve’s favorite time to go. It was always void of people and the few cashiers and workers there were too tired to care that Bucky looked like Steve’s shadow, hidden behind him and staring at nothing.

—

At home, their home, Steve and Bucky’s home, Steve dropped the few grocery bags off on the kitchen counter and immediately handed Bucky his sticky notes.

Bucky disappeared into their room. Through the door-less opening (doors had made Bucky feel trapped so Steve had removed them from their hinges), Steve heard him opening the packaging. He was vaguely surprised Bucky knew what they were even meant for; they hadn’t really had things like post-its when they were kids.

Steve sat down on their couch, ignoring a call from Tony. He was grateful for the supersoldier-proof apartment he’d supplied them with but it was way too early in the morning to listen to him complain about the way Pepper re-organized their pantry.

Bucky came back out of their room without the sticky notes, sinking into the armchair and curling up before looking at Steve.

“Do you want to sleep, Buck?” Steve asked.

Bucky shrugged and looked out at the night sky shining in from their balcony.

Steve nodded and picked up his sketchbook, drawing aimlessly.

Bucky was beyond awful at responding to his body. For a bit after he moved in with Steve, he couldn’t tell when he needed to eat, or sleep, or go to the restroom, which led to some unfortunate incidents that Bucky despised thinking about. Steve never minded, just cleaned and held him and explained what had happened. Steve would scream on the inside, though, because it wasn’t Bucky’s fault, it never was, it was Hydra that destroyed his mind and his body.

Bucky was better in tune with his body now, thankfully, but still couldn’t easily tell if he was tired. Generally Steve would never make him, because Bucky hated being pushed to do things after receiving bodily autonomy for the first time in seventy years. So he just stayed up with Bucky until Bucky would eventually realize that if he wasn’t sleeping then Steve wasn’t sleeping, which would result in Bucky sleeping for the sake of Steve. It wasn’t how things were supposed to be at all, but at least it worked.

Bucky grabbed Steve’s wrist eventually and pulled him to bed, curling up against him as Steve shut off the lights.

—

The first one appeared the next morning, on the light switch in the living room.

‘Keep on,' it said in harsh, scrawled handwriting.

Steve traced the rough writing with his finger. It looked unfamiliar, even though logically he knew Bucky had written it. It just didn’t seem right.

Bucky’s handwriting had been perfect when they were kids. Once, a few dumbasses had called Bucky a faggot when the teacher complimented his neat handwriting. As they’d walked away, Steve had leapt up in anger.

Bucky had just grinned, grabbing Steve’s arm. “No need to start a fight with ‘em. It ain’t like they wrong,” he’d said, winking.

Steve would give up everything to see Bucky wink at him with that humor again.

He read the note again, then frowned.

Bucky didn’t like talking to him, or talking at all. They communicated through questions on Steve’s side and painful eyes on Bucky’s side. Steve had always been good at reading Bucky’s face, but still it was limiting in expressing what Bucky needed or wanted.

Apparently he wanted the lights on.

Steve walked out onto their small balcony, where Bucky was feeding a pigeon.

“Buck?”

Bucky didn’t move to make any acknowledgement that he’d heard Steve, but Steve knew that he heard him.

Steve walked to where Bucky was sitting, leaning against the concrete ledge.

Both Bucky and the pigeon ignored him.

“I, uh. I didn’t know you wanted the lights to stay on.”

Bucky looked up at him with blank eyes, but underneath, Steve could see a light in him, an understanding.

“It was on the sticky note. On the lights.”

Bucky stared at him, then nodded.

“Okay. I’ll keep them on.”

It would cost a hell of a lighting bill, but he didn’t really care. All he cared was that Bucky got what he wanted.

Bucky looked back down at the small bag of croutons in his hands, his hair falling in front of his face, then gave another to the pigeon.

Steve walked back inside, distinctly confused. Was this a way Bucky communicated with him now? Writing things down? If it was, Steve was grateful that he could tell more about what Bucky was thinking, even in the non-traditional sense.

Nothing about anything in their lives was ‘traditional,’ really.

He was upset with himself, too. How had he not known? Was Bucky afraid of the dark? Did he not like the muffling of senses that the dark delivered? Was it something else? Why only in their living room?

He sat on the couch and sighed. At least he knew now.

—

That night, Bucky curled up into Steve under the covers, his skin hot against Steve’s, and Stev curled his arm around his shoulder.

At night was the most physical contact Bucky ever allowed.

At first Steve had offered Bucky his bed and slept on the pullout couch. Bucky hadn’t protested, just listened to him like a- like some mindless soldier. (And Bucky wasn’t that, he wasn’t .)

One morning Steve had woken up to find that Bucky had migrated to his bed, curling up against him, hot as a furnace.

Neither ever talked about it, but eventually the two got used to laying together every night.

Both of their nightmares were better for it.

Steve tried not to hope that this was a part of Bucky coming back to him, remembering in his own way that they used to fit against each other like a two piece puzzle every night, braving the cold of winter and the terrors of the dark.

Steve tried not to hope that Bucky still loved him.

(He failed.)

Keep reading

#bucky barnes #steve bucky #mine #my fics #steve rogers #stucky #stucky fic #stucky fic rec #stevebucky #steve rogers/bucky barnes #post catws #sam wilson #natasha romanoff

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cinnamonrusts · 3 years

Text

first date with the sparda boys --

Your first date with Dante/Vergil -- f!reader + mentions of alcohol + lots of fluff

DANTE-

“Devil May Cry?” your voice is chipper and tone polite, “No, Dante isn’t here at the moment. Can I take a message?” an older woman sounds off her concerns and the need for immediate attention from the legendary devil hunter himself, “I’ll be sure to pass that message on once he gets in!” the call ends and you slam the phone’s receiver down with a hard thud.

You add another tally to a long list of marks on the back of a pizza order receipt. Curses escape your lips as you continued to be annoyed by the barrage of calls. Soon, you start to mock Dante’s voice and the words he left you with, “Just gotta run a quick errand, I’ll be back in a jiff!” your head bobs side to side as you stick out your tongue whilst imitating the man.

“I’ll be back in a jiff! -- yeah fucking right...,” you jot down the woman’s name beside her tally, “..idiot.” A voice startles you, “Hope you’re not talking about me!” it was Dante. He closed the door to his building behind him as he sauntered in, smile on his lips. “Dante!,” you push yourself back from his desk and wave the wrinkled receipt in the air, “If you’re going to lie about how long you’re going to be gone. Hire a fucking receptionist, because I am not one!”

As you approach him, he lends out his hand and snatches the paper from your fingers. His opaque like eyes examine the list that you made out for him, “Wowzah. That’s a lotta people.” his opposite hand strokes his scruff, “We can worry about this tomorrow,” he crumples the paper and stuffs it into his front coat pocket. “Why don’t we go out for some fun? Since my trip lasted -- a little longer than expected.” his lips spread to that shit eating grin he always sports and you can’t fight back your trembling lips that turn from a frown into a smile. Why does he have to be so charming?

“Fine -- but you’re buying!” your eyes squint and your index finger is pointed at his nose. As you turn to grab your things from upstairs, Dante yells out, “With what money!?” you stop on the third step and face him, “Guess that’s for you to find out.”

With nightfall in the air, the wind turned cold and you dressed accordingly. Wrapped in a maroon pea coat and a black beanie to protect your head, you walked down the stairs to see Dante waiting in the same spot. His eyes locked onto you as you jogged down the stairs, he watched every movement you made and how focused you looked on each step. You shove your hands in your pocket as you approach him, he’s still staring. “What?” you ask with a shrug, a slight warmth rises in your cheeks. His lashes blink several times before his brain processes your question, “Nothing,” he answers. The man towers over you in height greatly and he places his strong palm on top of your hat, then proceeds to give you a hearty noogie. “Aw, look who looks all cute all bundled up!” he jokes.

You smack him away with the back of your hand with an angry look, “It’s like 20 something degrees outside! I’m not half demon like you, asshole. I don’t generate heat like a furnace,” you snap. Dante proceeds to fix the pom-pom on the top of your hat, “Sorry to pinch a nerve, short stuff.” you jab him in the chest with a closed fist and a poorly hidden smirk, he laughs it off and opens the door for you.

The bar isn’t too far down the road from Devil May Cry. On occasions you would go with Lady, Nico, and Trish for girl’s night out there. The building was pretty incognito and fit well for the neighborhood it was in. Just above the entrance was a crooked wooden sign that simply read, “The Raven”. Dante held the crudely painted door open for you and you ducked under his arm that held it open. Immediately you were struck in the face with the strong smell of tobacco and cheap liquor.

Your male companion took a deep breath in through his nose and exhaled loudly through his mouth, “Can’t get over that stench. Smells just like home,” his eyes gaze across the rugged crowd that frequented the joint. Some of them wave at the devil hunter while others hide their faces in their glasses. Dante placed his hand on your shoulder and led you to the bar, the two of you sat on two stools that felt like they could give way at any moment.

Dante greeted the bar tender, “Raymundo. Two gin and tonics, up.” The man behind the bar gave the Sparda a wink before going to work on the order. “You gonna pay me this time, Dante?” Raymundo asked once finished, he slid the two glasses in your directions. Dante caught his and took a gulp of the drink before answering, “Yeah, yeah. I’ll give you all I got.” he leaned over on one side as he dug into his back pocket to fish out his wallet. He opened up the dark leather bifold and stared into it with a depressed look, “All I got is a $20.” Dante pulled out the crisp green bill and reluctantly forfeited it to Raymundo. “No, Dante. Let me,” you attempt to dig into your coat pocket but Dante’s hand is immediately on your wrist with a tight grip. “No. I promised to take you out.”

Raymundo smiled as he took the money, “Aye, Dante. Out on a date, hmm?” “Yes.” Dante answers, “No.” you add, both answers in unison. The bartender let out a hearty laugh, “I think I’ll trust the lady on this one. Rest is on me, Dante.” Raymundo patted the bar a few times with his palm before leaving the two to yourselves.

Dante turned toward you with a smug look, “So, this isn’t a date?” You scoff as you take a sip of your drink, “No. More of a payment for my duties, since you never pay me anyway.” He chuckled, “So, killing demons for pleasure doesn’t cut it enough, huh?” Dante took a drink, “Well, we’ll see if you change your mind by the end of the night.”

A Few Too Many Drinks Later --

A snort escapes your mouth as you throw your head back in a obnoxious laugh. Dante laughs just as loudly. The two of you remanence of old times in the earlier days of demon killing, when you were just a newbie in the crew. “You -- you literally were knocked on your ass trying to fire that shotgun!” Dante nearly had tears in his eyes as he went through the memory step by step.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have given me a shotgun meant for a giant!” you leaned into him as you started to feel your face warm up. Both of your giggling died down to a silence as you snuggled your head into the bend of Dante’s arm. He could smell his own breath that stunk of alcohol as he looked down with his opaque eyes to see your content face that was pushed up to him.

Dante could feel the call of his instincts; his fingers ached to run through your [h/c] strands that peeked out from under your hat. His palms cried to feel the natural warmth of your skin on his rugged hands. How would you react though? Would you get angry? Or would you allow him?

The Sparda gave in to his desires and took a piece of your hair around his finger, then lightly twirled it around his digit. This caused you to stir from your spot, your [e/c] orbs flickered up to him with a glassy look. “Hmm, that feels nice,” you smile softly. Dante smiles in return, his pounding heart was now slowing as you reacted better than he thought. “Hey, let’s go home.” he offers and you comply, pushing off of his body and taking a slight wobbly step. Dante comes to your aid, one hand wrapped over yours and the other at your waist. “I’m good,” you insist and the two of you leave the bar.

When the two of you reach the front door of Devil May Cry, the only light on the street is from the pink neon sign above the entrance and the small street lamp beside. Dante attempts to lead you up the concrete step but you stop him with a tug of the arm. He turns around to ask what’s wrong but sees you looking up into the sky with wonder. White specks fall from the darkness above and drift slowly in the breeze, the light reflecting off the flakes. You put out your palm to catch the snow and observe as it melts quickly in reaction to your heat.

“Snow?” Dante asks as he too sticks out his palm. The small specks soon turn into bigger pieces that stick to yours and Dante’s hair/clothing. He takes a step down from the step to approach you and chuckles once he notices the flakes are sticking to your lashes. “You’re a snow angel,” the Sparda smiles. “Does that make you a snow demon?” you ask and Dante ponders for a moment before nodding quickly. A giggle comes from your throat and you watch as snowflakes drift into his scruff. “You got something there,” you say as you push yourself up onto your toes. Instead of brushing it off, you place a small kiss on his lips.

Dante is both speechless and motionless. He did not expect you to kiss him. Like, this was literally the last thing he would ever expect. Was this a dream? Were you going to vanish in a puff of smoke once he woke up. The man blinked several times to see that you were still there before him. His hands quickly found their way to your biceps and held them tightly, now it was his turn to kiss you. Dante kissed you like he always wanted to and his heart was pounding harder than it was at the bar. When he pulled away he asked, “You’re okay with this, right?” he wanted to ensure you were of sound mind. You smiled, “I’m not really that drunk,” one more kiss, “are you?” Dante shook his head, “I got a hell of a tolerance, short stuff.”

Your brow raised, “Was that a pun?” Dante laughed, “Maybe. Was this a date?”

You bit your lower lip as you looked in the distance in thought, “I think it was.”

VERGIL-

Ever since Vergil moved in with the devil hunter crew, he was reluctant to socialize much. Dante would often beg for his brother to do -- brotherly things with him besides hunting or training. The elder Sparda brother would brush his twin off with a huff through his nostrils and continue burying his face in his books.

Vergil peeked your interests as his mysterious nature reflected the one of your own. Despite feeling as if the others were like family, you couldn’t help but feel as if you were an outsider looking in. You felt as if Vergil felt the same way and just wanted someone to pry at his ironclad bindings. But every time you tried, you felt an overwhelming sensation of nervousness and backed out like a schoolgirl.

But tonight would be different --

Everyone was gone for the night and the only people left in the building was Vergil and yourself. He was shut up in his room and you were downstairs, bored. So, so, bored. You sat at Dante’s desk with your feet up on the mahogany, he would freak if he knew your dirty boots were on his desk. Only he could do that! Metal music screeched through the speakers of the lower level and you tossed a rubber band ball in the air several times as you suffered through the only track.

When the ball dropped from the air, you missed the catch and it bounced off your fingers, then slammed hard into the main speaker, hitting the power button. The music abruptly cut and you could hear the floorboards creaking from above. Your eyes flickered to the ceiling and remembered that Vergil was home too. You quietly made your way up the stairs and down the stretch of hall to his door. Your hand extended to knock but you hesitated, what if he didn’t want to be bothered? He seemed to be unfazed by your presence whenever you interacted. Vergil never seemed happy nor angry to see you, his face was often void of much emotion and was hard to read.

You bit your tongue as your knuckles drummed across the door lightly, then you took a step back to give him room to answer. There was no sound from within, so, you tried again. Still no noise and no answer, you assumed that either a: he left or b: he didn’t want to be bothered.

You turned to leave,

“Come in,” his cool voice calls from behind the door. The heartbeat in your chest quickened in pace as you slowly approached the knob, you sort of wished he had just ignored you; but you decided it was too late to back out and took hold of the knob to turn it. You pushed the door open just enough for you body to slide through and stopped at the threshold. Vergil was sitting on the edge of the bed with his back facing you, his head was bowed as he most likely was buried in his literature. “[Y/N],” he spoke.

“How’d you know it was me?” you asked, a bit nervous. He didn’t move, “Everyone else left. Who else would it be?.” Duh, idiot! “Heh, that’s right,” you paused with awkward silence, “Well, I’ll just leave you to --,” you turned to leave but Vergil spoke up. “No. Stay,” you stopped and slowly turned on your heels to see that he now was facing you.

His strong features looked as if they had been carved by heavenly beings. His skin was dry yet looked like porcelain. His Caucasian tone seemed like it was glowing in the natural light that peeked through his single window and his dark circles gave him character. Half demons truly were beautiful. Would it be a sin to indulge in their devilish delicacy?

You accepted his invitation to remain and decided to politely observe his room. It was empty for the most part besides his bed, a dresser, and an old shelf that was filled with different books; the antique caught your attention and you approached it. Some books looked new with fresh covers while others looked as if they could crumble at the slightest touch. Vergil’s eyes watched you steadily as you eyed his collection. You raised your right hand and gently stroked the spine of a worn, red leather book decorated in gold trimmings. “Do you enjoy reading?” the man asked.

“I do,” you answered with a smile, your eyes remaining on the interesting red book. “I can tell you do as well. From day one, actually,” your head turned to look at him, “You always got your face buried in some sort of book.” Vergil hummed in agreement, closed his book, placed it on the bed and stood to join you at his bookcase. “I see you’re interested in this one,” his strong forearm stretched past your face and his fingers wrapped around the book to pull it out.

“A collection of morbid poems,” he licked his right index finger as he flipped the book open with his left hand. “I acquired this book was a young boy, I think it was fitting for the time.” His blue eyes scanned the yellowing papers as he looked for the poem that fancied him, you studied his features again as his orbs darted across the pages.

“Ah, maybe you’ve heard this one,” he cleared his throat, “Ladies and gentlemen, skinny and stout, I’ll tell you a tale I know nothing about;” his tone was rich during his narrative. “The admission is free, so pay at the door. Now pull up a chair and sit on the floor.” Vergil paused for a moment and motioned for you to join him on the corner of his bed, you followed and he sat close to you, your knees just barely touching.

Opening the book back up, he continued,

“One fine day in the middle of the night, two dead boys got up to fight; back to back they faced each other, drew their swords and shot each other. A blind man came to watch fair play, a mute man came to shout, ‘hooray!’“ his eyes occasionally flickered to the side as he read to see if you were enjoying what he was reciting, almost smiling when he could tell you were.

“A deaf policeman heard the noise and came to stop those two dead boys...,” he stopped at the middle of the poem as the rest of the page seemed to have been torn out. Your fingers instinctively reached to touch the part of the page that was missing but Vergil lightly took your hand to move it out of the way as he closed the cover.

“How does it end?” you asked but Vergil shrugged, “I’m not sure. I was never able to find another copy of this book to figure it out.” An idea dawned on you and your hand rested on his hand that was at his side. “Say, why don’t we check the library here? There’s books that look older than most of yours, I’m sure there’s a copy there!” you smiled and Vergil looked at you with the softest expression you’ve yet to see. He could feel this twinge in his stomach. It felt warm and kind of fuzzy. Why was he feeling this? He wasn’t sure if he remembered it or liked what it felt like but he knew that you were the origin. He agreed to your proposition.

Vergil watched patiently as you wrapped yourself in a puffy grey coat and blue scarf. You stopped mid scarf wrapping to ask, “Is that all you’re wearing?” Vergil was wearing his coat which seemed to mostly for fashion and not functionality. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” his brow scrunched. “Nothing. It’s just -- winter -- outside.” The Sparda smiled. He. Smiled.

It was as if a train smacked right into you because not only did he smile but you made him smile.

He took note of your struggle with the scarf and took it into his hands. “I think I will be okay,” he said as he properly tucked your scarf. “Blue is a good color for you,” he added. The entire time you could feel your face turning several shades of pink, and you prayed the half demon didn’t notice.

As the two of you walked across town, the wind blew harshly and you struggled to continue on without complaining. “We should’ve got a taxi,” you cursed as you hugged yourself tighter. Vergil on the other hand seemed unfazed, despite the fact that his breath was visibly wafting in the air above him. “Taxis are a waste of money. Traveling on foot is faster,” he was several feet in front of you; Vergil noted your struggle and decided to stop. “Here,” he wrapped his arm around you with his coat draped over your frame and pulled you close to his side. “Better?” the Sparda asked. His body felt like a radiator, warmth oozed from him and you could barely notice the freezing temperatures anymore. “You half demons sure are warm,” you noted and he hummed.

The library was nearly empty when the two of you entered which gave you free roam of the massive building. You led Vergil to the top middle floor and all the way into the back where all the poem books were kept. He felt like a child in a candy store, the library had a collection of what seemed like hundreds of books and each section seemed to stretch for miles.

“If they have it, it’ll be here,” you noted. Both of you paced the bookcases in search of the copy but to no avail. You let out a frustrated breath as you were ready to accept defeat. “Don’t be upset, [Y/N]…,” Vergil spoke up, “I -- enjoyed this time with you.”

He was leaned against one of the cases with his arms crossed, his eyes lingering on you and a ghost of a smile on his lips. You approached him slowly.

Now face to face with the half demon, a few inches separated the two of you from touching. Vergil closed his eyes impulsively but when nothing happened, his eyes opened quickly. You weren’t trying to kiss him or anything -- but instead, you were pulling out an identical red book to the one that he had in his bedroom.

You opened the book in search of the morbid poem of dead boys when Vergil’s hands slammed it shut abruptly. It was as if a foreign force hijacked his body because before either of you could think, his lips were on yours. They were not soft by any means and were pushed hard onto yours but there was meaning behind it.

He was quick to pull away as he had a grip on his mind once again. Vergil attempted to push you away and walk out of the library but you stopped him with a yank to his coat. “Where are you going?” you asked. His face was cold and void again, just like you were used to seeing. “Stop hiding behind your tough guy façade, Vergil.” your hand grazed lightly under the line of his jaw once he was close again, “I can see you’re just a man who needs and wants more than they would like to admit.” you lowered your voice to a light whisper, your warm breath against his skin.

“Now,” you gave him a small kiss on his lower lip, “let’s see if this poem is worth finishing.”

#devil may cry #dmc #dante sparda x reader #dante x reader #dante sparda #vergil sparda x reader #vergil x reader #vergil sparda #devil may cry x reader #devil may cry imagine #dante imagine #vergil imagine #i tried to make these equal in length

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iconic-ponytail · 3 years

Text

there's always money in the banana stand

riverdale promptathon week 3: yellow + business

Even as the sun sets, even as the breeze blows, the hell furnace of July in Riverdale burns on. It’s triply as sweltering inside the tiny booth running three freezers, offloading heat to sustain the frozen merchandise inside. “How can it be so hot in there when we are supposed to be selling frozen bananas?” JB complains, at least twice a week.

She’s twelve. Complaint is her new first language. She complains about being left in Riverdale while Gladys went back to Toledo. She complains about living in a trailer park that usually does not have warm water. She complains about their father being imprisoned for covering up a gruesome murder. But most of all, she complains about working in the banana stand.

Child labor laws aside, Jughead can’t blame her for that one. He hates the damn banana stand, but it’s their best shot.

Gladys’ monthly check covers rent and utilities for the trailer. Everything else is on him, now. The idiot eighteen year old who decided to petition the court to be his sister’s legal guardian. Well, and his idiot mom who signed off on it. So he needs money, and the Jones family has never been particularly flush with cash, just trampled over by FP’s failed “business opportunities.”

Enter: the banana stand.

It’s not the fastest revenue stream, Jughead finds. But it’s got potential.

Initially, Dilton doesn’t let him sell during the Twilight Drive-In’s concession stand hours. Before or after the movie, sure, but no overlap. “I’m not worried about competition, Jones. It’s just too humiliating for me to watch you sweat through that horrible yellow polo you call ‘branding.’”

But when customers asked him more than twice a night when the banana stand would be open, Dilton caved.

It’s not like being open during the screening hours is a whole lot more preferable. He only just transferred from Southside to Riverdale High last spring; now he’s the rising senior who hands out phallic symbols from inside a giant phallic symbol. Not exactly a boon to his popularity.

Still, recently the money is enough to pay the internet bill and keep JB fed for dinner when she can’t go to the summer breakfast and lunch program at the local park district. It’s still not enough for him to eat particularly well, and the smell of hot dogs and slurp of his classmates’ slushies makes the heat feel like a minor inconvenience.

He eyes the tip jar, willing himself to wait on rampaging the concession stand until the beginning of the film roar dies down. It’s a double feature tonight, which means maybe he can score enough cash to cover those damn college application fees his counselor will start hounding him about week one of school.

Then he sees her—Betty Cooper. She’s laughing, watching Archie Andrews try to catch popcorn in his mouth, tossed by his paramour, Veronica Lodge. She pauses to sip from her slushie straw, her lips—which he’s watched argue against homophobic and racist comments in their advanced lit class, or pressed to the cheek of her other best friend, Kevin Keller. Which he’s imagined, doing slightly less savory things, though the mere thought of said imagining has his heart pounding wildly.

(Jughead’s been eating way too many fucking bananas. Someone needs to check his potassium levels.)

His absolutely pathetic gaze, once available three times a day in their shared classes where Jughead has still not managed to exert any confidence whatsoever regarding speech, eye contact, or general acknowledgement of Betty Cooper’s existence other than whatever drooling may or may not be happening, all of which he finds he has no control over… is all interrupted by the absolute polar opposite of Betty Cooper. Hiram Lodge zooms up to the banana stand on his segway, angling to a stop just before taking out the stand’s foundation.

“Still getting a hang of that, Mayor Lodge?”

Hiram grimaces. “Just checking that you’ve renewed your business permit, Jones.”

They do this once a week. It’s still the same permit.

“You know,” Hiram starts as Jughead rustles for the paperwork to make him go the fuck away, “I could find you an arrangement with a better banana supplier. For a discount. If you’re interested.”

Jughead rolls his eyes. “I’m not interested in your GMO, black market bananas, Hiram.”

Hiram gives him a pointed look. Jughead rolls his eyes even harder. “Mayor Lodge.” He proffers the papers, Hiram waves them away. “I’ll take one chocolate peanut butter dip. With peanuts.”

Jughead kisses his teeth. “That will be $3.50.”

Hiram’s whole face goes serpentine. “Not between business partners, Jones. Put it on my tab.”

Jughead grits his teeth, handing the finished banana so aggressively he hopes that the chocolate splatters and stains Hiram’s $500 tie. It is only slightly worth it to watch Hiram struggle with navigating the segway one-handed, frozen banana in the other.

He muffles a chuckle before realizing he’s used the dead end of the chopped peanut topping, and exits the stand to update the order board hanging on the outside. It’s mostly an excuse to feel a ten degree drop in temperature, a sweet relief he might be able to extend by grabbing a hot dog before the intermission rush.

He’s crossing off peanuts from the topping list and spinning around when he hears a shriek and a sudden, cold slosh across his chest. The yellow polo drips with artificial blue slushie, but Jughead swallows his fucking hell when he sees that the shriek, gaping stare of horror, and stumble in question all belong to his very own blonde kryptonite.

“Oh my god. Oh my GOD, jesus, shit, I’m so sorry!”

Jughead is frozen while Betty grabs about half his napkin dispenser and starts pawing at his shirt in a vain attempt to right the giant sticky blue mess all over his chest.

Finally, Jughead swallows the golf ball in his throat and chokes out. “Honestly, it’s fine. That stand is a sauna. I needed that.”

Betty stops, both her blotting and her stream of apologizing (which includes a fair bit of cursing, and he is a little revolted with himself by how much this turns him on).

“It’s going to get very sticky, soon. Maybe I should buy a bottle of cold water?”

Jughead can’t help himself. “Oh, impromptu yellow t-shirt contest?”

Betty grins.

I did that.

“Do you have any employees who could bring you another shirt?”

Jughead shakes his head. “Just my sister. She’s playing video games at home. There’s no earthly way she’ll bring me a spare.”

Betty cocks her head. “I had a feeling you were more than the silent back row kind of guy.”

The fact that Betty Cooper has, at any point, considered what kind of guy he is triggers full-on nervous blathering. “I’m usually very tired at school. I have this little sister—but I’m kind of um, her guardian. So I’m doing this stupid banana stand thing because it’s like one of the three assets to our entire family name I guess? Anyway, it’s hard to engage with Haggly’s basic discussion questions at eight in the morning when you spent the whole night dreaming about wholesale banana margins.”

He’s essentially vomiting words, but Betty is still smiling.

“Anyway, I should crawl back into my fruit-shaped purgatory and let you go back to your friends.”

She’s biting her lip, hedging. “Honestly, they’re probably using the alone time to make out in the car, and I’d rather let them get all their sexual tension out so that I don’t have to feel it radiating off of them for the whole second half of the double feature.”

Jughead laughs and tamps down the impulse to offer her a frozen banana, because he cannot possibly say something like that without making it sound sexual.

“What are frozen banana profit margins like, anyway?” Betty asks, either genuinely interested or legitimately flirting with him. Jughead finds both potentials baffling.

Jughead hesitates, then ducks inside the stand, pulling out his spiral bound notebook. “I’m still kind of figuring it out. All my records are in here.”

Betty sidles up to the stand, taking up the whole window. They’re both leaning over the scribbled line items on college ruled paper; he can smell her shampoo. She takes the notebook, scanning thoroughly.

“Do you have a pencil?”

He hands her one and observes her going to work, writing out some algebraic formula and calculating quickly in her head. There is a calculator within his reach, but he thinks handing it to her might come off as an insult. (Jughead wouldn’t know; he assumes Betty is in an advanced math class. Jughead is not.)

After a few minutes of watching her devoted focus, thinking about her hands touching his pencil, thinking about her hands wrapped around his hand, or his—

“I don’t know how to tell this to you, Jug.”

The shortening of his name stops his heart for a jolt, and his response is embarrassingly delayed. “What is it?”

Betty winces but smiles through it, a combination she’s surely learned to use when delivering bad news. It’s well earned, it really does soften the blow.

“There’s no money in the banana stand. At least, not with these margins.”

Jughead finds himself less than devastated by this news, mostly because it makes a hell of a lot of sense. The messenger doesn’t hurt, either.

“But,” she interrupts. “I don’t know if you’ve nailed down your course load for senior year. But I’m taking AP Econ? This could be, um, a good project. Like, if you want to take the class. Or even if you don’t. Not that you’re like a project or… whatever. I’m just saying we could figure it out. Make lemonade out of… bananas.”

Betty Cooper is extremely cute when she stammers.

Jughead doesn’t know what to do, so he gives her an easy out. “I can’t like, hire you, if that wasn’t obvious by the whole… deficit spending or whatever the whole negative circled number at the bottom of the page really means.”

She flushes. “No, that would be highway robbery. I just thought there might be an… opportunity. For um, us. I mean, for you and I. I mean—” she clears her throat, as if it’s closing up. “An academic opportunity. Or, in your case, professional. Well, a betterment of your livelihood. Okay, um, shit, just… I should go!”

She turns away, her face the deepest scarlet he’s ever seen.

“Betty, wait.”

She pivots back, eyes down at the ground.

“How about I buy you a new slushie and you come back into the booth. Tell me everything I’m doing wrong for the rest of the night.”

Betty looks up, biting the corner of her smile. “Sounds like a deal.”

They shake on it.

#this is unhinged but i had to ok #I HAD TO #riverdalepromptathon #riverdale fanfiction #bughead fanfiction #riverdalepromptathonweek3

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mldrgrl · 3 years

Text

Broken Things 23/24

by: mldrgrl Rating: varies by chapter, rated R overall (THIS CHAPTER RATED R) See Chapter 1 for summary and notes

“Go on,” Melvin says to Mulder. “Take care of your wife. I’ve got the horses.”

Mulder holds Katherine close and takes her out of the stables. She’s weeping, hiding her face in his neck and clutching at his shirt. He can feel her tears against his skin and her trembling against his chest. Her choked little cries are tearing him apart.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs to her, over and over again. “You’re alright, I’ve got you.”

He brings her into the washroom and kicks the laundry washtub over so he can set her down on something. He’s able to keep an arm around her as he lights the furnace and then shifts her from one side to the other so he can work the pump and fill the bathing tub. He finds a bottle of bathing oil in the cabinet and pours a bit in. The room suddenly smells of roses.

“We’re gonna get you warm,” he tells her. “And clean.”

“I’ll never be clean,” she whispers, and drops her head into her hands and cries harder.

“Yes, you will.”

When the bathing tub is full and the water is warm enough, he undoes the knot holding Katherine’s robe closed and pushes the ruined garment off her shoulders. Her nightgown has a few stains on it and can probably be salvaged, but he’ll throw them both out anyway. He’ll buy her a dozen new nightgowns and robes, ones that aren’t soiled or hold any terrible memories in them.

“My hair will get wet,” she says to him, when he tries to get her into the bathing tub. He runs to their room and gets the box of hairpins for her. He takes a cloth and wipes her hands clean and then she winds her braid up high on her head and even with no looking glass and shaking fingers, manages to pin it into place and off her neck.

“Okay?” he asks.

Katherine nods and then takes the hand that Mulder offers and climbs into the bathing tub. She folds up almost immediately with her legs bent and her back hunched and her head resting on her knees. Mulder takes up the rag, soaks it in the bathwater and then washes her back.

“I’m afraid of what you’ll think of me,” Katherine murmurs, her voice slightly muffled by her legs.

“I think the world of you,” he answers. “That will never change.”

She turns her face towards him and rests her cheek on her knees. He just keeps washing her back and shoulders, rubbing soft circles into her skin with the cloth. She blinks slowly at him and in her eyes he can see the pain and exhaustion of a heavy burden she’s been carrying.

“I’ve loved you from the day I met you,” he says. “And loved you even more every day since. Whatever it is, Kate, I promise you without a shadow of a doubt that I’ll still love you even more tomorrow.”

She breathes deep, ribs contracting under his hand, and then exhales swiftly. “My father is a Navy captain,” she says. “He’s highly respected and very strict. And my mother is very pious. They’re both very set in their ways. The only person I fear more than my father, or my mother, is God.”

“Mmhm.”

“I have an older brother named Bill. Bill Jr. And I have two younger sisters, Melissa and Charlotte. I was very close with Melissa. I miss her terribly.”

“Did something happen to them?”

“No.” She blinks without really closing her eyes and her head sways slightly. “My father didn’t believe much in education for girls, I think I’ve told you as much, but I begged him to stay in school. He told me I could stay until I turned sixteen and then I would have to prepare to be married. I agreed, even though I wanted so badly to be a doctor that I secretly applied to medical colleges, hoping that if one said yes, he would have to let me go. Well, there was one college that accepted me, but my father still wouldn’t let me go.”

“You were accepted to medical college?”

Katherine nods and sniffles quietly. “I told him that if he refused to let me go, then I would refuse to marry any man he tried to match me with. He said that it was my duty to marry well and that if I refused to do so, he’d put me out on the street. I said I would go happily if it meant I would no longer be under his tyrannical thumb. It’s the only time I’ve ever defied my father and I did think then he would turn me out, but instead he struck a compromise with me and said I was allowed to go to a nurse’s training school that was nearby, but that once I’d complete the training, I should have to find a husband.”

Katherine turns her face back into her knees and sighs heavily. Mulder drops the cloth into the bathing tub and massages the back of her neck. He waits for her to continue, wanting her to alleviate herself of this load, but not wanting to push her too far. The balance between encouragement and pressure is delicate.

“There was a doctor there,” she says. “Doctor Waterston. Everyone revered him, including me. Listening to him lecture, you knew right away he was brilliant. When I had my placement interview, I told him that I hoped to be a doctor one day and he seemed to take an interest in helping me. He allowed me to attend his surgeries and even permitted me to perform a few minor ones of my own, instructing me every step of the way.”

“You’ve performed surgeries?”

She turns to look at him again and nods a little. “I’ve removed a bullet from a shoulder and closed the wound and amputated a foot.”

“Incredible.”

Katherine swallows and her body weaves slightly as she closes her eyes. “Doctor Waterston invited me to dinner one night and told me he’d just received a new medical text that he thought I’d be interested in and took me to his personal office to look at it. He told me he saw a lot of potential in me and knew I could be as brilliant of a doctor as he was, one day.”

A feeling of dread creeps up Mulder’s spine. There is something about the monotone change in Katherine’s voice leads him to expect something sinister to come up.

“He…” Her voice hitches slightly and pinches off.

“You don’t have to say it, Kate, if you can’t.”

“I need to.” She shakes her head and takes a deep breath. “He offered me a glass of brandy, which I did not accept, and then he offered me a glass of water and...and he sat beside me on the sofa as I tried to review the text. I remember thinking that I felt a bit uncomfortable because he was sitting so close. And then...and then I couldn’t focus and I felt very tired and my limbs felt paralyzed. I told him that I felt strange and he said it was nothing to worry about. But...then he was holding me down and I did not know why and I told him he was hurting me and he got very angry and told me to stop talking and he put his hand over my mouth. I remember that there was some kind of stain on the ceiling and I stared at it. I don’t know how long I stared at it.”

Mulder feels like he’s going to vomit. He breathes in and out through his nose and rubs Katherine’s back, but he thinks he might be coming out of his skin. He would like to find this Doctor Waterston and rip him apart with his bare hands.

“I don’t remember getting home,” she says. “I remember waking the next morning and feeling ill and...and very sore between my legs. After that night, he behaved as though I was a stranger. He didn’t call on me in class, didn’t offer to allow me to observe any surgeries, and didn’t seem to acknowledge I existed at all. I didn’t know what I’d done wrong and I was sick over it.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I must have let him believe he could touch me.”

“No, you didn’t. You thought he was being kind and he took advantage of you.”

“My father had told me that no good would come of me going to school and he was right. God has been punishing for my ambition.”

“I don’t believe that. I don’t believe that at all.”

“I was so sick about the whole thing that I went to see a specialist about the constant nausea and body aches I was experiencing. He told me I was with child and I told him I didn’t know how that was possible because I wasn’t married. He must have thought I was so ignorant. I was ignorant, though. I’d...I’d read about pregnancy and childbirth in my medical texts, but nothing told me how it happened. My mother told me only married women could have babies. I know now how ill-informed I was.”

Katherine pauses there and then lifts her head. She tilts her face up and Mulder can see the slow tears that run down her cheeks and drip from her chin. He wipes them away, but they keep coming.

“I tried to tell Doctor Waterston about my condition, but he told me would publicly accuse me of blackmail and have me expelled from the program. He said that no one would believe me if I said the baby was his and that the word of a respected doctor meant more than that of a fallen woman. And then he gave me a five dollar note and the name of another doctor that he said would get rid of the problem.”

“Oh, Kate.”

“I didn’t. I couldn’t. That would be a sin.” She shakes her head. “I left school. I told my mother what had happened and she was very upset with me. She didn’t know how I could do such a vile and wicked thing and bring such shame to the family. She didn’t know where she went wrong to raise such a common whore of a daughter and said the devil had to have taken hold of me and the best I could do now was repent for my sins and pray that He would forgive me.”

“You did not do anything wrong,” Mulder says, emphatically. “I am sorry that your mother said those things to you, but you have to believe me when I tell you that none of that is true.”

“I don’t know what I believe anymore.”

Mulder does not know how to soothe her. He was not raised religious and until now has held no real opinions on the church, but his blood is boiling. He will forever hold malice in his heart for the ideology that would make the most wonderful woman he’s ever met feel so worthless and wicked.

“Believe me,” he says. “Trust in me when I tell you that you are not sinful.”

Katherine sighs. She sniffles and wipes a wet hand down her face. “Then why was I punished so harshly?” she whispers.

His mouth goes dry and his heart feels like it drops into his gut. Her sorrow pains him. He remembers once that he happened upon his aunt in her study while she was reviewing correspondences and she seemed very angry over a letter she had received. When he asked her what was wrong, she told him that women were always suffering for the whims of men. And then she’d stared at him hard and told him to never, ever trifle with a lady unless he intended to be a husband or a father. He was eight years old at the time, but he’d never forgotten it. And he vowed then and there to never, ever have a whim, whatever that might be.

He looks at his wife and he knows she has suffered, more than he even first suspected. He wishes he’d known her sooner. Wishes he could have had occasion to bump into her one day before anything bad had happened to her. Because he knows deep in his heart that he would have known right then and there that he would marry her, just as he knew a few months ago. At the very least, maybe if he’d gotten to her first, she would not have married Jack Willis. But, how did that happen?

“How did you come to marry Jack Willis?” he asks.

“My father knew of him and knew he had some sort of trouble with a debt. He offered to pay the debt if he would marry me. Jack agreed, but I don’t think that either of us knew that even though I now had a husband, my parents told me I had to leave and never to come back. They said I was a bad influence over my sisters. They said I could ruin their chances for a good marriage. They thought that if anyone were to ever find out the truth about the baby...”

Katherine trails off and then turns her face up again. Tears leak so constantly down her cheeks he’s afraid she may never stop crying, but she’s silent and her gaze becomes utterly vacant.

“Kate, what...what happened to the baby?”

“Jack had people in Kentucky and so he took me there. A lot of that time is...I have a hard time remembering some of it.” Katherine wrinkles her forehead and closes her eyes. She touches her face with her fingertips like her head is aching. “They weren’t very kind to me, or to Jack. An Aunt or a cousin of his said she was a midwife and said she’d see to me when the time came. It wasn’t that long before I started having pains one night and bleeding, but I had barely let out my skirts by then and I knew it was much too soon. To answer your question, I don’t know what happened to the baby. They wouldn’t let me see it. I’d lost a lot of blood and was too weak to protest. Jack said it was just as well since he didn’t want to raise a bastard anyhow.”

“That sonofabitch,” Mulder mutters, before he can stop himself. He grits his teeth in anger. Jack Willis is lucky he’s already dead.

“There were three more babies that came and went after that. I think they must have known what kind of world they might be coming into and it was a blessing that they decided not to stay. I wanted each one of them, I truly did, but I didn’t know how I would protect them when I couldn’t even protect myself.”

Kate breathes out a huge sigh after that and drops her head to her knees once more. Her shoulders start to shake and Mulder feels his throat constrict and his eyes burn with his own tears. He cries with her and for her, resting his head against the back of her shoulder as he wraps his arms around her.

↭

She’s never felt so exhausted in all her life. She wants to lay down, curl up, and sleep for days. Her eyes burn with four years worth of tears. She’s cried herself dizzy and it takes her some time to realize that Mulder is crying as well. She reaches up to run her fingers through his hair. He turns his face and kisses her shoulder.

“I’ll understand if you want me to go,” she says.

“Not a chance in hell, honey.” He lifts his head and cups her cheek. “I knew you were strong, I knew you were brave, I just didn’t know how strong and how brave.”

“I don’t feel very strong. Or brave.”

“You are.”

“I’m so tired.”

“Come on. Let’s get you to bed.”

Mulder helps her out of the bathing tub and wraps her in a towel. He lifts her easily and carries her to bed. He gets her into fresh nightclothes and undresses down to his drawers and then climbs into bed with her and pulls her tight into his arms. They’re face to face, nearly nose to nose.

“I am terribly sorry that I lied to you,” she says.

“You never lied, you just needed time.”

“I was just so afraid that...I didn’t want you to know how low I really was.”

“It never would have mattered to me. It doesn’t matter to me now.”

“I believe that you mean that.”

“I do.” He shifts and holds her cheek, stroking her brow with his thumb. “There’s something that I should tell you too. Something about my family as well.”

“Alright.”

“Are you familiar with Fawkes Publishing House?”

“I think so. Maybe.”

“Do you know the writer, E. M. Abbott?”

“Of course. I read all his books. They call him the Charles Dickens of the Americas.”

“Mm.” Mulder chuckles. “E. M. Abbott is my aunt.”

“Your aunt?” Katherine pulls back a bit from Mulder and opens her mouth, aghast. “E. M. Abbott is your aunt? The aunt that raised you?”

“Yes, great aunt Emeline. My grandmother and Auntie were the daughters of William Fawkes, who started Fawkes Publishing House. When my aunt began writing at a young age, her father told her no one would buy books written by women, but he still thought she was extraordinarily talented and of course he wasn’t going to pass on the opportunity. He told her he would publish her works under a pseudonym. Everyone called her Em since she was a young girl and she liked Abbott because it was the first name she could think of that came first, alphabetically. And so Emeline Beatrice Fawkes became E. M. Abbott.”

“That’s extraordinary.”

“And a well-guarded secret in publishing.”

“How sad though, that she could never get the recognition she deserved.”

“Oh, Auntie actually enjoyed that she’d so thoroughly pulled the wool over the literary community’s eyes. She took great delight in reviews that particularly focused on her unique perspective that was like ‘no other man.’ I would tend to get angry on her behalf though. I found it very unfair, very unjust.”

“It is.”

Mulder nods. “I have done my best to try to change things though. Fawkes Publishing puts out more novels by women than any other major house out there.”

“What?” Katherine raises her brow slightly. “When you said that sometimes you conduct business in Boston, what did you mean by that?”

“I sit on a board representing the family’s remaining interests in the company. We don’t necessarily handle any of the day-to-day anymore, but we own a significant share, which gives us, or me, rather, a fair amount of control. Let me tell you, publishing women writers has proved to be profitable over the years. Extremely profitable, actually.”

She ducks her head a little and snorts softly. “I was a little worried at how freely you spent your money.”

“I can assure you that money is not something you’ll ever have to worry about.”

“I think you could have absolutely nothing and I would still love you.”

Mulder lifts his head from the pillow and leans up on his elbow. “You love me?” he asks.

“I do.”

He smiles and then lays back down and pulls her against him with a sigh. She tucks her head down under his chin and wraps her arm around his back. A strip of moonlight shimmers on his arm and she gazes at it with heavy eyelids. She must be very tired or her imagination is playing tricks on her, but his skin seems to radiate a brilliant blue hue mixed with a bit of red.

#i wrote this #broken things #chapter 23 #MSR #AU #rated R #upsetting content warning

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samwxlsxon · 4 years

Text

worried glances.

summary: You are a tech analyst for the Avengers. After the events of The Winter Soldier, you tracked Bucky down out of curiosity. Your relationship blossomed in secret. Now that Bucky has been arrested by Joint Counter Terrorism, your secret relationship is in jeopardy of being outed.

pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader

word count: 4.2k

warnings: language and bad writing if you count that

sidenote: hi! this is my first fic of any kind so if it sucks, i am truly sorry. it is definitely going to have a part 2, but idk how many parts after that?? i hope you guys like it! any feedback is appreciated :))

read part 2 here!

If you could describe Berlin’s Joint Counter Terrorism Centre, hot certainly would not be in your description. The glass walls and empty spaces allowed for easy flow of air. Like any government building, it was surely freezing. It was the middle of summer so the AC was up full blast.

But you were melting. Your face and ears were burning and you were sure you would melt a hole in the metal handles of the doors when you pushed them aside. You were in a sundress and a light jacket, but you felt like a furnace.

You entered the building behind Tony and you couldn’t help the nerves that had overcome your body. A man, who would later introduce himself as Everett Ross, greeted you as soon as you entered.

“Tony Stark,” Ross shook Tony’s hand and acknowledged you as well. “Glad you decided to come to your senses. The Accords are good work.”

Tony rolled his eyes and responded while looking at your distressed form, “Tell that to blondie and his goon of a friend. And to this one over here. Can we get her some water? I don’t need another medical bill.”

As you were led through the glass halls, you tuned out their conversation and focused on the ringing in your ears.

The Accords had everyone on edge. Tony and Steve had obvious tensions and they seemed to have dragged the rest of the team down as well. It started to become obvious whose side you were on when you refused to attend the signing. You had stayed in New York, making adjustments to online data units just to keep your mind off things. You weren’t much for arguing. Besides, you had slightly bigger problems-- problems that involved a criminal with a metal arm.

To say you had curiosity towards the Winter Soldier was an understatement. So much so, that you managed to stick a micro-tracker to his arm during the fight on the highway two years ago. Steve and Sam chastised you for getting involved, but you didn’t care. The nasty black eye the Winter Soldier had given you was deemed worth it now that you had secured his location.

The technology was virtually undetectable-- your creation, of course. You could only notice it if you were looking for it. You knew you needed to keep a tab on him. And when you found out that he was Steve’s long-lost bestie, that only solidified the need to keep him under watch.

But the longer you stared at his location, the more you wanted to find yourself in Bucharest and knock on his door.

You wanted to talk to him, to put the pieces together- to learn about the HYDRA technology he’d seen. It would be a breakthrough. It would finally give the Avengers a boost ahead of the enemy.

You knew Steve would never look your way again if he found out you had this information or if he even knew you were thinking of paying Bucky a visit. But curiosity killed the cat.

So that’s why, a little over a year ago, you showed up on Bucky’s apartment doorstep with a black journal and a nervous smile. You figured you’d give him the journal as a peace offering, hoping that he get some use out of it. You knocked a couple times, but he didn’t even open the door as he told you to go away.

‘So much for hospitality’ you thought. The hot, dry weather made you start to regret wearing jeans. "Um, I don’t know if you remember me,” you crossed your arms and spoke against the door. “But we met in D.C. I’m a friend of Steve’s.”

There was no movement for a couple minutes. Then, you heard clicks coming from the locks and the door creaked open. He stood in front of you with a face that looked far from amused. He looked tired, metal arm mostly covered by a jacket despite the heat. His hair was behind his ears and stubble crept up the sides of his face.

He silently stepped aside, inviting you in. He watched carefully as you entered, shutting and locking the door behind you. The apartment was dark despite the florescent lights hanging from the ceiling. The kitchen area was cluttered with dishes and boxes. The couch was small and the walls were missing chips of paint. The bed on the floor looked like it had seen better days. The apartment looked like someone hadn’t thought of cleaning it for quite some while.

There was a table in the corner next to some shelves and then a singular bathroom. You looked from Bucky to the space. ‘Fitting.’ you thought. At least it matched his style- rugged and confused. You walked further inside and placed the journal on the table, sticking your hands in your pockets.

“What’s that?” he asked gruffly. He eyed the journal and leaned against the front door.

“It’s nothing, really.” You sat down on the chair next to the table and tapped on the cover of the book. “I thought you would like something to write things in. Like the stuff you learn...about yourself, or something.”

The newspaper that covered the windows prevented most light from entering the apartment. The lights on the ceiling were doing minimal to accentuate his features. You really couldn’t tell if he was even showing emotion.

He slowly removed himself from the front door and walked towards you. He was weary to pick up the journal, but when he did, he held it in his hands for a couple seconds and flipped through the blank pages.

“Thank you.” he responded. It was straight to the point. His voice didn’t waver or give any indication of what he was actually thinking. If he completely hated it, you wouldn’t have known.

You nodded and put your hands on your lap, intertwining them. “Yeah no problem.” you breathed, following the statement with an introduction.

“James. But I go by Bucky.” He took a seat in-front of you at the table. He left the journal in the middle of the table and eyed you as he got comfortable. “I know you didn’t come here to give me a journal. So what do you want?”

So then it started. You explained to him your curiosity; your curiosity for him and your desire to help him remember his past. You didn’t dare mention HYDRA. You wouldn’t want him mistaking your interest for something evil.

It quickly turned into a conversation. You asked him how much he remembered and what actually happened to him. You told him about Steve, the Avengers, New York, Ultron, everything. And he was interested. He would occasionally chime into your stories with a comment or a memory that was triggered by something you said. It was the first real conversation Bucky had in over 70 years.

And things sprinted from there. You visited him as often as you could, a couple times a month if things allowed it. You told the team you were out with friends for the weekend or visiting your family at home.

You wired your phone’s GPS to match your made-up location and found yourself at the very door you once wouldn’t even think about knocking on.

Bucky was stoic and downright intimidating, no matter how often you visited. But as you continued to bring him old pictures of Steve or excerpts from military documents at the time of his enlistment, he started to open up.

He started asking you questions about his past-his family. You had done your research on his origins, prepared to tell him everything.

He and Steve grew up in Brooklyn. His parents were Winnipeg and George Barnes. He was an officer in the 107th. You had all this information but you were so hesitant to tell him. You felt like you were robbing Steve of his moment.

You didn’t want to lie to Steve. Ever since D.C. he had longed for his best friend. It broke your heart that you were going behind his back. It felt even worse knowing that it was Steve who was supposed to be sharing these memories with Bucky.

But it was too late to tell him now. The more people that knew about Bucky’s location the riskier it would be. He was a wanted criminal after all.

But when Bucky gave you a look of curiosity and confusion, you knew he had been through enough pain to be withheld an answer. He would drink up the answers you gave him, engraving them into his memory. Every new discovery would be written in his journal.

Slowly, he began to anticipate your arrival and dread your departure. You were his first real friend in decades.

And so it went on for months. The visits and the talks. You were too intrigued to leave him alone, and at this point, you don’t think you could leave him if you tried. Slowly that friendship began to escalate. You would spend nights in his apartment instead of at the Marriott down the street. You would sleep on the couch. It was not the most comfortable sleep of your life, but you didn’t dare take the bed. He didn't deserve more discomfort.

He would greet you with a smile and a hug when you would arrive. Although the hug was brief and hesitant, it was a start. You would go on walks throughout the city and he would point out the Romanian architecture. He would teach you bits of Romanian and Russian. Common words like ‘coffee’ or ‘restroom’.

It would keep you both occupied. He would never admit it out loud, but he was grateful for your company. Loneliness and his trauma didn’t mix well.

It was like someone had taken your relationship, once so distant and weary, and turned it completely upside down.

Something as trivial as an accidental brush of his hand on yours as you reached for a french fry at dinner would stay in your mind for hours. You would lay next to him as he hesitantly wrapped his human arm around you, too scared about the unpredictability of his metal one.

He would tell you stories from his childhood involving Steve and you would laugh at the amount of times that man had found himself in alley fights.

Eight months into the visits, your relationship took a turn. You stood inside of his apartment about to leave for the airport. He had grabbed your hand and turned you to look him.

You were close. So close that you could see your reflection in his beautiful blue eyes. After a moment of staring, you did the only thing fitting at the time. You leaned in and kissed him.

He was so shocked, he didn’t move. It had been years since he had any amicable human interaction. His days had been filled with torture and pain. To see you treat him with such care and understanding made him question everything. You helped him remember.

Realizing that he wasn’t reciprocating, you pulled back, apologizing profusely. You had ruined everything. As you made another attempt for the door, he grabbed you and kissed you again. It felt right. It felt comforting. His lips molded with yours like they were peices of a puzzle; like they belonged together.

It was as if he was communicating to you all the longing and ache that was inside him all this time. Longing for affection.

So here you are, exactly six months from the kiss. The kiss eventually turned into more kisses. Those turned into feelings. He was different around you. A good different. Happy.

It became an unspoken relationship. You two obviously cared for each other. No one ever found out, no one ever could find out, especially not Steve.

If anyone discovered you had formed a secret relationship with a wanted Soviet criminal, you would be in more trouble than you cared to see yourself in.

The Avengers never really saw eye-to-eye with anyone trying to impose on them. They were independent, autonomous. But now, things were different. Tony, Rhodey, Vision, Nat.

They all agreed that the Avengers were overdue for some checks. That allowed an outlet for world governments to ease their way into putting the Avengers in their place.

When you got a call from Natasha saying something along the lines of Steve and Sam arrested, bomb at the signing, and Winter Soldier, you were on a plane to Berlin in a heartbeat.

With half of the Avengers teamed up with the government, Steve and Sam had no choice but to surrender. The Avengers were splitting.

So yeah, you were nervous. With Bucky on max-security lockdown, he would be just one question away from outing your relationship. While you never think he would, a slip-up could make you lose your job; a slip-up could have you arrested.

Ross led you and Tony to a glass office in the middle of a control center. Sharon was already inside and gave you a small wave as you made eye contact.

“You can wait in here until they arrive. Rogers and Wilson have had their gear impounded. I’ll make sure you get a copy receipt of what was taken.” Ross gave you a nod and turned to an agent beside him, ordering her to give Tony the write-up of the suits.

Tony’s ringtone made you turn your head. “It’s the Secretary. Shit. Go inside, I need to take this.” He sighed, pinched his noise, and walked towards a quieter area.

You turned around and opened the door to the office. There was a TV hanging from the ceiling. It was playing news coverage from Vienna.

‘Jesus,’ you thought. You sat down in-front of Sharon and gave her a worried look. The chair squeaked as you leaned back.

“What the hell happened?” You bit your finger nail and waited for her answer.

“A bomb went off at the signing. Large casualties. Killed the king of Wakanda. Security cameras caught Barnes on the scene. He’s the main suspect. The clean up for this is going to be insane.” She shook her head, thinking of the amount of press calls she would have to take after this was over.

You were speechless. How could it have been Bucky if he hadn’t left Bucharest in months? You had removed the tracker from his arm and apologized a long time ago, but he surely would’ve told you if he was planning on leaving, incase you came to visit.

She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “Steve and Wilson tracked down Barnes. They insisted on bringing him in instead of authorities. And look where that got them.”

Now that peaked your interest. “How did they find him? Steve has been looking for him for months.”

“They got a tip, I guess.” You noticed something in her voice when she spoke. She was too quick to answer and it sounded rushed, like she wanted to gloss over the topic.

“Next thing we know all four of them are beating ass in a public highway. Lots of damage, but what’s new.” She gave you a dry laugh.

“Four? Who else was there?” You asked.

“T’Challa. Wakandan. He’s the kings son.” She paused. “Well, king now. He has a superhero gimmick of his own. They call him Black Panther. Seems like everybody’s got a toy these days.” She rolled her eyes.

You were about to say something when there was a knock on the glass wall. Ross was standing there signaling for Sharon to come out.

“They’re here. Stay and I’ll be back.” She got up and left the office. As she opened the door you could hear the commotion going on outside. Phones ringing and people talking. Ross’s voice barking orders made you chuckle.

You stared at the TV for a moment. A reporter stood in-front of the rubble and spoke. It was muted so you couldn’t hear what he was saying.

You thought back to what Sharon had said. A tip. Someone else knew where Bucky had been. That meant that they most likely saw you coming and going from his apartment. He was being tracked. He was being watched.

“Fuck.” You mumbled. You leaned your head back to stare at the ceiling.

You were an idiot. Of course he was being watched. He’s a ninety-something super soldier that worked as a brainwashed killing machine for Soviet Inc. since god-knows-when. To think anyone even let him get away was crazy.

You began to think of Bucky. He cannot catch a god damn break. After the time you’d spent with him, you couldn’t picture why people saw him as a threat.

“Well maybe the part where he’s killed people.” you mumbled while you put your face in your hands. He was so different around you- caring and gentle, nothing like the man who had once punched you in the face.

You spun around in your chair a couple times. You wondered how he was feeling. A pang in your chest hit you as you thought of him being carried away like a killer.

Mid-spin you spotted Tony and Steve walking towards the office. You stopped yourself and let your body adjust to the slight dizziness. No sign of Bucky. Of course not.

You bit back a worried look as they entered through the door. You didn’t realize you were holding your breath until you opened your mouth.

“Biggest idiot award goes to you, you idiot. Emphasis on stupid.” You got up and gave Steve a slap on the shoulder. He probably didn’t even feel it.

Feeling slightly bad for the slap, you engulfed him in a tight embrace. He chuckled and hugged you back, having to bend at the waist a little to match your height. “Compromise. I’ll leave all the idiot with you next time.”

You pulled away and glared at him. You weren’t necessarily a mean person, so you hadn’t had much practice in the art of menace. The glare was futile. Hopefully he got the message.

“She’s right.” Tony sighed as he sat down in the chair you had just gotten up from. “You made things worse. So much worse. What the hell were you thinking? I had calmed Ross down about the whole Accords signing for now. He was so close to giving you more time. Well, if you thought the Secretary was on my ass before, you should see him now. He wants you and Wilson prosecuted, Steve. And I don’t think I can get you out of this one.”

You shot Tony another of your infamous looks of concern. “Prosecuted? Now that’s a bit much. Tony he barely did anything wrong.”

He scoffed. “Barely? Captain Righteous chased a wanted national criminal and Soviet assassin through a highway in a country he’s not even from. There was fighting. There was damage. Not to mention the sweet media blowup this is all going to get.

“I told you we needed checks. You cannot decide where you want to exert your power. The Accords, Steve. This isn’t a free for all.”

Steve rolled his eyes and started walking around the space. “I understand that Tony. You-.”

“No!” Tony’s hand slammed on the table, making you jump and rest back against the glass wall. “I don’t think you do understand.” Steve stopped walking and looked at him.

“You are not understanding the true consequences of your actions here. For too long you, we, the Avengers, have caused chaos all around the world without so much as a slap on the wrist. No consequences. No repercussions. We think in our own self-interest.

“And just to show how little you’ve learned, you get yourself involved in an arrest that no one asked you to meddle with! You need to be checked, Rogers.” Tony rested his hand on his mouth.

Steve slowly sat down in-front of him and spoke, “We help people,Tony. As much as we don’t want to, there will always be casualties. We do it our way because our way works. We will be limited under the hand of the government if we let them control us. We take risks for the better of the people. Sometimes our judgement is the best judgement because we train for things like this. Under order of a third party we give up our right to decide.

“Bucky is my best friend.” Your stomach flipped when you heard his name. “He doesn’t deserve to be locked in here like an animal. He was brainwashed- tortured. HYDRA kept him for years as a pawn in one of their sick experiments. I’d be damned if it wasn’t me who brought him in.” He intertwined his hands on the table.

Tony pushed his chair back from the desk to give him room to lean back. “You’re not allow-” he started.

“Is he okay?” You spoke quietly from against the wall.

Both heads snapped towards you. Tony gave you a funny look, probably wondering why you even bothered asking.

Steve turned his chair slightly towards you, silently thankful for an escape from the argument.

“For now. He isn’t hurt or anything, but they have him locked up. They’re giving him a psych eval and then shipping him off.” He looked down and shook his head.

You bounced off the wall. “They’re moving him? Where? Why not just try him here?” You crossed your arms and got closer to the table.

“I don’t know.” Steve shrugged. “He has pending warrants in like 3 other countries. Not to mention he is accused of killing a Wakandan king. He’s going there first. And he never really committed a crime in Berlin so he had no reason to stay.”

“So much for keeping an eye on him. ‘M sorry, Stevie.” You muttered and gave him a sad look. He nodded and gave you a small smile in return.

In reality, you weren’t sad. Not sad, but angry. You had no right to be. He was wanted. He had to go through trial. You were mad at HYDRA. You were mad that those slimy motherfuckers put him through all this. They crafted him to be a perfect weapon but didn’t think of the consequences on his life.

Tony was about to speak up when Sharon and Sam entered the office.

“Bird costume? C’mon.” Sam exclaimed, trailing behind Sharon.

She rolled her eyes and walked to the table and picked up the TV remote. “Shut up, I didn’t write it.”

Grumbling, Sam sat down next to Steve after shoving the paper in his pocket.

Sharon gave Steve a quick look and pressed a button on the remote. She changed the channel on the TV. The news network from before now gone and replaced with live footage. Live footage from inside Bucky’s cell.

Well, if you could call it a cell. It was more like a block. A block with wrist and ankle cuffs and glass that looked like clear cement. He couldn’t escape if he wanted to.

Your jaw dropped and you let out a small gasp.

“His evaluation should start in about twenty minutes. I’ll leave this up here for you. Just don’t go blabbing that you saw this, please.” She gave you all a pleading look. Everyone nodded but Steve. He was too busy staring at Bucky through the screen.

Again, you felt the guilt in your chest from keeping the tracker secret from Steve.

Sam let out a low whistle. “They weren’t kidding about the security, huh.”

A small smile crept on Tony’s face but he didn’t look up from his phone. Steve silently got up and walked up close to the TV. He sat against the table, his eyes never leaving the screen.

You tried to not let your face give away your emotions. Bucky looked lonely. You wanted to touch him. Hold him. Tell him that everything was going to be okay. But those were empty promises because everything was absolutely, most definitely, not okay.

You were about to lose the man you loved to a jail cell for who-knows how long and there wasn’t anything you could do about it. Kinda fucking blows.

You had to casually rub your eye in order to stop the tears that were about to flow freely down your cheeks.

But the footage was short lived. Sharon saw two agents approach the office door and immediately changed the TV back. You wondered why she was so picky about that, seeing as the walls were made of glass.

Wondering why the channel was changed, Steve whipped around fast enough to see the agents walk in through the door. You rested your finger tips on the side of the table and picked at the wooden edge, too entrapped in your thoughts to truly process their entrance.

However, you turned around slowly as they addressed you.

The agent on the right was taller than the other. He looked important. They both did. While the rest of the agents in the building were dressed in casual business wear, these two wore suits. When you were walking through, you had only noticed suits on people like Ross- it signaled importance in your eyes.

When you didn’t respond, the tall one called your name again. Now everyone was paying attention. Tony had set his phone down and eyed them carefully.

“Yeah?” You protectively crossed your arms and stood up straighter.

This time, the shorter one spoke. “Ma’am, if you could please come with us. We would like to ask you some questions regarding Mr. Barnes.”

And your heart stopped.

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

i hope you guys liked it! lmk if you want to be added to the tag list for my future fics. any critiques or comments you guys have are always welcomed :) requests are open xoxo

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anogete · 4 years

Text

In Between

Hi, folks. I’m sorry I have nothing to offer as far as fic goes. Things have been... ::sigh:: You know, I don’t know what things have been. Not good, not bad. Just... things. I wanted to talk--get things out of my head--this morning, but I realized I don’t have a person/outlet who can accept these things right now. So, I will put them here for anyone who cares to read them.

1) My car blew up. Well, the engine did. I was on my way back home with groceries last Saturday, and I lost all ability to accelerate and brake. So, I puttered out on the side of the road and waited to be saved. The issue may be covered under the warranty so I had it taken to the dealership. They’ve had it for a week and still don’t have answers for me besides an offer to lend me a car for free until they can figure out what to do with my car.

2) This deserves it’s own point, though I almost included it on the first point. I’ve never bought a car without my grandmother. She was under five feet tall and had a tendency to wear sweat pants and Christmas sweaters year-round. She smoked Winston Lights and carried a purse covered in rhinestones. The car salesmen didn’t know what hit them because she wasn’t at all the sweet old lady who would roll over and accept their first offer. She was hard to read and she wouldn’t give an inch. She also wouldn’t tell them what she was willing to pay. No counter offers from her; she’d just tell you to “do better.” Anyway, she worked her magic when I bought all three of my cars. When I realized the problem with the engine was serious and might require me getting a new car, I went into a mental tailspin. Yeah, yeah, I was worried about fitting it into my budget and all that, but mostly I couldn’t seem to cope with buying a car on my own without my grandma there to hold my hand. I’m almost 39 years old and the thought of doing this without her had me sobbing in the floor. Except, I didn’t realize my tailspin was due to my grandmother at first. At first, I just thought I was incapable of handling stress. Maybe that’s still accurate.

3) While we’re talking about expensive-ass shit, I knew the air conditioner and furnace on this house needed to be replaced sooner rather than later when I bought it last February. It looks like the time has come. I managed to find a nice man with very odd hair (think a longer version of the Prince Valiant hair-do, but bright white) through my boyfriend’s dad. He does this for a living and said he’d give me a discount and do for $5,000 what other places were telling me would cost $9,000. So, that’s happening next week. I have the money, but the idea of writing a $5,000 check makes me want to puke. Ugh.

4) The days are running together. I’m working from home. I can’t complain, though. I’ve got it better than most. I’m alone all day. I have a library with a desk. I can go downstairs and make tea or lunch in my own kitchen. I’m getting paid my full salary with bonuses. I can pretty much make my own hours. The company I work for is taking the pandemic seriously and has told us that we can all work from home until we feel comfortable returning to the office. Their timeline for “normal” is months. I don’t think I’ll be back in the office until late summer, if that. Those who want to return are permitted to, but they can’t use the public areas (kitchen, conference rooms) and have to abide by some strict safety requirements. And they can choose when and how often they go into the office, working the remainder of the time at home. So, better than most.

5) I’ve been doing this social distancing thing since March 19th. It’s not difficult for me. On good days I’ll exercise (I have a Peloton) before logging into work around 9am. On not-good days (which seem to be more often than not), I’ll skip the exercise and just log into work early. Work keeps me busy and I spend a decent amount of my day on the phone with clients. I go to the grocery store once a week, but I order for pickup. Someone else does the shopping for me and loads it into my trunk. This is nothing new. I’ve been shopping that way for years. Now it’s just harder to get my usual pickup slot because everyone else has joined the party. I do miss taking a break from work and leaving my office to grab a coffee and sit outside on a bench downtown. I guess I could do that outside my own house, but it just doesn’t feel the same.

6) A few months ago, a husband and wife who are clients came in to meet with me at my office. They’re in their 80s and both were having trouble walking. They parked in the garage next door and couldn’t find the elevator to exit. I walked over and escorted them to our office building. They were both struggling with walking and the wife (Rose) had been fighting lung cancer for a couple years, so I suggested they wait outside and I’d valet their car once we were done. The thought of making the trek to their car alone was painful to me because it was a monumental struggle for them to walk down a hallway. Their daughter-in-law called me two days ago. Rose passed away two weeks ago. The husband, a former literature professor for a university, was in the hospital with four broken ribs because he’d fallen shortly after Rose’s passing. He was a Jewish child in Nazi Germany during the war. He’d told me stories about hiding from the Nazis, surviving off of tree bark and whatever he could find in the forests. He also jokingly told me that he’d live until he was 120. Now, it looks like he won’t survive the year. He and Rose would tease each other all the time, but you could see all that love between them. Whenever I’d call him, he’d ask me in that wonderful accent to wait while he got “the boss” on the phone as well. Rose thought it was silly that she was “the boss,” but she humored him. You know, they’re shorties, too. Five foot, nothing. Just like my grandma. Hearing that Rose was gone and Dr. (he’s a PhD) was likely soon to follow just broke my already fragile heart.

7) Fragile heart, huh? Yeah. After the car situation and the realization that one day I’m going to have to do big life things without having my grandma to help me, I was feeling pretty raw. But I’ve been trying to be responsible and do things I’ve been putting off lately. So, I gathered up all those medical bills from Ferguson’s illness last September. (Ferguson was my soulmate little chihuahua mix that I had for over 13 years.) I had pet insurance on him and hadn’t bothered to make the claim because I couldn’t handle it. But it’s been almost a year so I pulled out the invoices, which were over $2,000, and logged into the website and starting inputting the info to file the claims. The little box asks for a description of why I took him to the vet. And answering that question just brought back all that shit like a wave. I remember reading this nice description of grief and how it is like waves. At first they’re big and they knock you around and you can’t breathe. But over time they get smaller and you learn how to navigate them. Still there, but manageable. Filling in that box resulted in a bit of a tidal wave that knocked me on my ass. My boyfriend came home to find me sobbing at my desk like a lunatic.. He’s... not so good with emotional shit. And I usually keep it bottled up so that no one knows what’s going on inside me. But some days... Some days it just overflows. So, after confirming that nothing terrible had occurred and that I was reliving September 2019, he slowly backed out of the room to leave me with my grief-wave.

8) I want to be one of those succulent people. You know, the ones who have succulents lining their windowsills. The dining room and kitchen windows are full of this oddball little plants. The boyfriend hates it, but I told him he’d have to deal. I’ll die on this hill. I’m a succulent lady.

9) I’ve been reading memoirs or, rather, memoirs through collections of essays. I don’t know if it’s the mental state I’m in or if social distancing has got me subconsciously reaching out for life beyond my head, but I can’t seem to read much else. I loved Liz Phair’s Horror Stories. I’m reading The Book of Help by Megan Griswold right now. I’m determined to procure a signed copy of What Doesn’t Kill You Makes You Blacker by Damon Young. He did a virtual event for a local bookseller recently and they have signed copies available for purchase. I just need to muster up the will to call them and ask them to hold one for me. The little snippets of their life and experiences via these memoirs through essays bring me some measure of comfort.

10) I tried to watch Euphoria on HBO. I managed to make it through the first episode, but I don’t think I can watch more. I can’t relate, but that normally isn’t a necessity for an enjoyable story. Maybe it’s just too depressing for me right now.

11) I binged Dollface on Hulu and wish I had more to watch. Parts of it hit me hard. I’ve always had trouble maintaining friendships, period. But maintaining friendships while in a relationship has been damn near impossible for me. Just like Jules. Except, I’m not nearly as cool or gorgeous as Kat Dennings. And I have no friends in this city to go back to. Just friends at work.

12) I haven’t worn makeup for 2 solid months. I’m starting to miss it. I found old selfies I’d taken in which I don’t recognize myself. Did I ever look like that? I must have since here is photographic evidence. I look like shit now. I’m forever in yoga pants and a hoodie with half-wet hair from the shower. Maybe putting on a pair of jeans and a cute shirt and some makeup will make me feel like a human being again. Maybe I’m not doing as well as I thought in quarantine. Huh.

13) I hope you all are well. If you’ve sent me a message, I’m so sorry for not responding. My mental state has been delicate lately and the silence from me has nothing to do with your kind words. I promise I read and treasure and appreciate anything that is sent to me. I’m also sorry for having no offering of fic or a promise of something to come. I haven’t written since last summer. It’s been almost a year. I guess I’m in a dry spell.

14) Since I’ve been struggling with loss/grief lately, I’ll leave you with a quote from Philip Pullman, taken from his novel The Amber Spyglass. It’s about death, I suppose. Or maybe just a transition to something else entirely. It’s nice to think of my grandma and Rose and my sweet, sweet love of a dog falling in the raindrops and riding on the wind through tall grass. If it wasn’t raining, I’d take my computer outside right now.

“Even if it means oblivion, friends, I'll welcome it, because it won't be nothing. We'll be alive again in a thousand blades of grass, and a million leaves; we'll be falling in the raindrops and blowing in the fresh breeze; we'll be glittering in the dew under the stars and the moon out there in the physical world, which is our true home and always was.”

#Anogete in real life #personal #coping with grief #Mental health where did you go #adulting #struggle bus

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derireo · 4 years

Text

night and day - misumi & hisoka

It was a bright, but chilly weekday at the Mankai Dorm. This meant that all of the students were already out of the house while the adults with jobs were probably going to come home later as per usual.

Izumi didn't have any meetings this morning so she was hoping to get some more hours of sleep in, but with Misumi startling her awake by hopping onto her bed, she feared that that was not going to happen.

"Izumi!" The young energetic man yowled happily as he bounded onto the bed then snuck under the sheets to cling onto the director who was still trying to snap out of her hazy stupor. A helpless whine blew out of Izumi's nostrils, but her arm still automatically lifted up to let Misumi cuddle against her side.

"Mornin', mornin'!" He laughed and curled his arms around her midriff, his nose just barely bumping into her jaw as he practically wrapped around her like an octopus.

Her body was suddenly engulfed by his surprisingly strong arms, and she couldn't help but sigh a little at the warmth. Even if she wasn't going to get any more time to rest, at least Misumi made up for it with his furnace like temperature.

She almost screamed in surprise when she felt something collapse into her lap next, but it was only Hisoka who was pouting and squinting due to the sunlight that was filtering in through the windows.

Her exasperated sigh was loud and clear, but she didn't do much to push away the two men who were now in her bed. Instead, she brushed her fingers through Misumi's hair as he bumbled on about something she couldn't understand while Hisoka buried his face into the plush blanket that separated him and the two.

Misumi and Hisoka are probably the only adults who don't have a job from what she can remember, but she never really thought about what they did to pass the time when everyone was out and about doing their own thing.

Now wide awake, Izumi stared up at her creamy white ceiling as she groomed the young men with her gentle, caressing fingers. Her mind was still a little sluggish as she tried to figure out what time it was, but the incessant cheek rubbing coming from Misumi kept distracting her.

"Did you two eat breakfast yet?" She questioned aloud. At this point, Misumi wasn't letting go of Izumi and effectively kept her from sitting up from the bed.

Hisoka hummed lazily from his spot near her stomach and squished his cheek against the fluffy blanket with a low sigh, giving no clear answer to the question asked.

"Yes! Omi-mi made me a triangle omelette!" Misumi crooned happily from where his face was pushed into the crook of the director's neck. Izumi thanked the gods above for blessing her with a man like Omi and ruffled Hisoka's hair next to get him to talk.

The silver haired man grumbled under his breath and raised his hand to catch Izumi's wrist between his fingers, the small curve of his lips indicating a frown was about to make its way onto his face. The woman huffed back at him and let her hand fall, palm warming the cool skin of Hisoka's cheek as her fingers lightly traced the arch of his eyebrow.

The comfort of her touch on his face nearly made Hisoka sigh, and with the selfish desire to keep her attention on him, he turned his head to press his lips to her palm as his hand tightened around her wrist, thumb brushing along the pulse that beat under her skin.

"Soufflé." He murmured softly, the word leaving his mouth a muffled mess. Izumi smiled knowingly despite the short answer and brushed the pad of her thumb down the bridge of Hisoka's nose as a reward, her touch affectionate as she tipped her chin to plant a morning kiss to Misumi's forehead.

"I still need to eat," Izumi patted their heads, "let me get up."

She was quickly pulled down by both men when she attempted to sit up in bed and she couldn't help but sigh. Figures.

Every member from each troupe always pulled her back down to her spot no matter where she was. Sakyo would make her sit beside him as he looked over bills, Tsumugi would hold onto her hand so they could tend to the same flowers together, and even Itaru wouldn't let her budge from his lap as he played on his computer.

Misumi and Hisoka were the worst from the bunch, with Banri and Masumi in tow. The two adults never let go of Izumi when it's just the three of them left in the dorm.

"I'll carry you!" Misumi volunteered right away while Hisoka grumbled. He didn't want to move.

"Do you know what Omi made me for breakfast?" The woman gazed at Misumi who was already scrambling off the bed when she did not yet accept his offer, and she groaned unhappily with Hisoka when a pair of strong arms started hauling her out of bed.

The fluffy haired man rolled onto his back and stretched with a yawn once Misumi managed to get Izumi bundled up in his arms. She held onto the energetic man's neck and sighed helplessly, it didn't seem like she was going to get much done today without Misumi or Hisoka hanging around.

"He left some karepan on the table," Hisoka managed to speak out, suddenly on his feet as he trailed behind Misumi who was practically jogging out of the director's bedroom towards the lounge, "said he made it for you."

"It's like Omi has all the time in the world to make these foods in a single morning." Izumi fawned over the absent university student with a dreamy sigh before she was gently set down on the sofa with Hisoka immediately taking his rightful place, his head plopping onto her lap as his legs dangled off of the side of the couch.

"It's still warm!" Misumi happily chirped from his spot in the kitchen, his steady hands holding the plate that held Izumi's breakfast.

Izumi gave him her thanks and beamed at Misumi a smile that competed with his own toothy grin. The sweet ball of energy plopped down on the couch beside her and held the plate in his lap after giving her a few napkins.

In one hand she held a crispy golden brown serving of karepan while the other ran its fingers through Hisoka's hair, earning the director a low purr.

She began to munch on her tasty breakfast while Misumi helped her flip through channels on the television for all of them to listen to. It seemed to Izumi that Misumi wasn't feeling very energetic and jumpy this day, and so she offered him her food despite it not being the shape he would've liked. To her surprise, the young man opened up his mouth and took a bite from the fried bread and hummed happily.

The quiet crunch of the crispy bread being eaten made Izumi hungrier and so she continued to eat, listening to the low rumble from the television as birds began to chirp outside the window. Hisoka lazily mumbled something under his breath and then yawned, stretching his legs while his arms were still tightly crossed over the other as he napped.

"Did you sleep well, Misumi?" Izumi had asked curiously when the lavender haired triangle hunter stayed silent as she ate. When she turned her head all of a sudden to look at him, Misumi jumped. His smile was almost automatic and he wiggled his shoulders playfully to reassure Izumi's squinting gaze that he was alright.

"I did!" He nodded. "I just really wanted to keep you company today."

He flashed her a grin that showed off his one sharp canine and it immediately made her relax back into the sofa with a sigh. Misumi leaned his head on her shoulder with a sigh of his own when she went back to eating and pouted instead, kicking his feet a little as he handed her the last karepan.

"You were very busy this week. Hisoka and I missed you lots." He murmured, to which Hisoka, in his sleep, mumbled in agreement.

The sad lilt to his voice was enough for Izumi's heart to squeeze with guilt. She had been very busy this week, with loads of folders with paperwork she had to go over. There was also the new script that Tsuzuru had written for the Winter Troupe that she had to read through and edit which kept her in her room more often than not.

She only showed her face when she had to do groceries or go to work and most of the time ate all of her meals in her room so that she could multitask there with no distractions.

Sure, there'd be the occasional visit from Muku or Taichi for help with homework, Homare asking to recite his poems to her, and Sakyo to remind her to take care of herself when she was holed up in her room for too long, but she managed to finish all of her work in time. She didn't think that her absence would affect Hisoka and Misumi that much considering their hobbies didn't exactly involve her most of the time.

"I'm sorry, Sumi." The director shook her head, disappointed in herself. Misumi only responded with a light hum blowing out from his nostrils before setting the empty plate on the coffee table to comfortably bury his face into the crook of her neck, his arms curling around her waist as Hisoka grumbled at all of the movement the two were making.

"We can do fun things today if you'd like?" She said through a mouthful of karepan. The offer was quickly shot down by the shake of Misumi's head and she pursed his lips in thought. She thought of doing one of those triangle puzzles Azuma had brought him one day and the colouring books he left under the coffee table, but Misumi beat her to it.

"I just want to cuddle." He yawned, his breath against her neck sending goosebumps along her skin. "Just like this until you have to go back to work."

She hummed softly as she finished her breakfast, leaning her head against Misumi's.

"Let's go back to my bed then. It's more comfortable," she coaxed, blowing away the few strands of hair that stuck to her face, "plus, Sakyo will scold us if he comes home and sees the three of us like this."

At the utterance of 'Sakyo', Hisoka's body rolled off of Izumi to quickly walk in the direction of her bedroom. It wasn't that he was scared of the man, but he hated listening to him nag whenever there was nothing to exactly be upset about. He was just saving his ears the boredom and pain.

With the disappearance of Hisoka, both Misumi and Izumi looked at each other with wide eyes before bursting out into laughter, and while Izumi was still giggling to herself, Misumi had managed to lift her up into his arms again. Her surprised yelp was drowned out by Misumi's joyful yowling back, and he quickly ran to follow Hisoka to her bedroom, the director squealing in fear at how fast they were going.

Sakyo somehow still found something to complain about when he walked into her bedroom hours later, the trio sleeping peacefully in her bed.

#misumi ikaruga #hisoka mikage #izumi tachibana #tachibana izumi #a3!#a3! imagines #a3! act! addict! actors!#a3 misumi #a3 hisoka #NO BETA BABEY

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dandelionsonjupiter · 3 years

Text

Wow, starting something new...

Either this will be something amazing or another one of my many failed attempts to do something new.

Where to start...

I won't lie and say I'm a great writer, hell I won't say I'm really good at anything really. I'm just kind of there, mediocre at best. I'm 34 and haven't accomplished much in life, nothing really to show for the years I've put in on this planet.

I grew up poor in the 90's with mostly absent parents, spent a lot of time alone never really developing great social skills. I skated by through high school and opted out of college. Landed a dead end retail job at a craft store for a long 16 years, but I guess it paid my bills. As well as I was able to be surrounded by one of the few things that bring me joy. Ok maybe I can at least say I'm creative. A jack of all trades and master of none when it comes to arts and crafts. I guess I'm a fair painter and I've made some jewelry I'm rather proud of!

Well, I decided if I didn't quit I was going to go to prison for arson for starting a fire in the yarn department. I was over worked and underpaid for the years I gave to that place. I was doing the job of what felt like 10 people and I was losing it.

I decided to start job searching because my inner voice was screaming at the top of it's lungs not to leave on job before finding a new one. "Luckily" I came across another fairly quickly with the recommendation of an old co-worker. This time a department store...still retail, why would I think it would be any better?

Did I mention I suffer from severe anxiety and depression? Well needless to say even though I hated my job at the craft store I was comfortably numb there. Throwing myself into a whole new routine with new people, new lingo, new rules, new expectations took a huge hit to my mental health. I spiraled into a pit of despair and what did my mind immediately go to? The comforting thoughts suicide to escape my situation. If you're familiar with this fun mental illness then you know how easy it is to let those thoughts just run rampant. Now, I feel 99% positive I won't harm myself, but it still scares you when you cannot escape the desire to do so. With that came the skin burning crawling sensation, the feeling of not being able to catch your breath, sleepless nights, obsessive scalp scratching, chewing holes through the sides of my cheeks anxiety attacks.

So the big turning point happened the night before last. Thought I was beginning to feel tired enough to go to bed. My girlfriend and our two dogs made our way to the bedroom and did our nightly routine. 1. Turning on the fan for the white noise and air flow. 2. Turning the ac down low due to the fact I am a human furnace. 3. Get in bed lift up the blankets on my side so my dog can get under them and sleep until she can no longer stand my body heat. 4. Turn on the TV and pick some true crime documentary to try and fall asleep to. 5. Girlfriend falls asleep in about 10 minutes and I'm sucked in and have to see it through to the end! 6. Turning off the TV and seeing if I'm finally tired enough to sleep. 7. Mind starts catastrophizing every detail of my day and then starts to get anxious about tomorrow. 8. Try to drown it out by putting my ear buds in my phone and picking some random crap on YouTube to just listen to.

Ok so by number 8 I'm usually asleep but not this night...the time is just going by and no matter what I'm listening to my thoughts are just too loud to drown out. So...

9. Get my pillow and extra blanket and go to the sofa as to not disturb the sleeping girlfriend next to me with my now agitated tossing and turning.

Well normally 9 is the final step and by about an hour out there I'm finally able to get back and bed and be done with a bad sleeping night....nope...instead I sit out there crying and crying...and well crying some more. Thinking about how to just end it all. By the time the sun came up I forced myself back into bed and just laid there with my eyes closed. I think I dozed off for maybe 15 minutes when her alarm went off. She got up and got ready for work. Luckily she works from home so it's a pretty easy morning routine. She came and laid back down with me and I cannot remember the exact words she said but whatever it was just made me lose it and start crying all over again.

I mustered up the strength to say something I've never said before to anyone and that was I think I need to get some help. Being the amazing person she is let me struggle to get those words out and continue to cry for the next few hours. She didn't pry for more information she just went and got tissues and let me lay there until I was able to calm myself enough to talk.

I've never had that before! It's always someone wanting to ask a million questions and wants you to be able to explain why you're feeling some way when you cannot always explain it. Or wanting to know what you're going to do or saying all of the generic BS that people say when they're trying to cheer you up.

She let me just be and just was there instead of immediately jumping into trying to talk about it. She suggested I pick a Disney movie to watch to take my mind off of it for a bit. It somehow helped and then I was ready to talk. She helped me come up with a loose plan which first and foremost was finding a doctor to see to maybe start me on some sort of treatment plan. Next was the hard decision because of the financial burden that it would put on us. I talked to my new boss and was honest about what was going on. I let her know that I was sorry for them training me for this new management role but at the moment I'm just unable to give it my all, but expressed I'd be willing to stay on part time so that I'd have some more time to focus on getting myself back to where I want to be mentally.

Surprisingly she was very supportive and offered me a part time position and checked in on me the next day.

This morning came and now the anxiety and self depreciation is back in full swing...why couldn't I just hold out and keep my iob...what of I can't be financially helpful enough to my family, what if I just made a bunch of huge mistakes and screwed everything up?

All I know as of right now is that I'm just going to keep going and see where this road leads. Maybe just maybe I'm suppose to be going through this right now because something better is on the other side of this.

Besides isn't that what life is? Just a series of mountain and valley's and being able to appreciate the view from both?

I don't know it sounds motivational and all I guess.

#mental disorder #anxitey #new beginnings #lgbtq #sorry for being depressing #long reads #dog mom

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olympianpandback · 3 years

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April 22 -25 The gas furnace worked well and we ran the generator to put some power in the coach batteries and to make breakfast coffee. The rock formations around the white Canyon are quite interesting and I took some pictures showing a brownish material extruding from the White Rock along the ledges of the Canyon. Along the way to the end of Arizona 95 we took a detour to an overlook. A very spectacular overlook. A lady was eating breakfast looking at a signpost. We struck up a conversation with her and after talking about RVs for awhile and so forth she asked if I knew anything about faucets. The faucet in their RV was flopping around because it become disconnected from the main nut anchoring it to the countertop. I got under neath the sink and found out that it was just unscrewed. She was amazed that I could even get under the sink to look at it. I got my channel locks and she held the faucet while I reattached the nut that goes through the hole in the counter top. Then I got back under the sink and secured the faucet again. When I got out from under the sink her sister Jill who she's travelling with was there and was asking me while I was under the sink “did I do a lot of sit-ups because I was in a bridge position. I told her, yes I used to do 200 every day, but don't do that many anymore. We talked about a lot of things, some politics and a little bit about my time living in Germany. They live in Washington State and invited us to visit them when were there in the North Cascades. She wrote down all their information, cell phone numbers, etc on the back of one of my cards. It’s amazing the things you encounter on the road and we were very happy to be able to help them get their faucet reattached to the countertop. After that, we had an uneventful but beautiful drive through Capitol reef National Park and down I-15 to Beaver Utah where we will spent 2 nights doing some maintenance on the RV and maintenance on our bodies. April 24 We met a nice couple from Vail Colorado mid-morning looking at our RV. We invited Bill to come in to look at it and he brought his wife Beth over later. They have a Winnebago, 27' with a tow behind. The winds gave them a bit of trouble yesterday. They had unhooked the Honda and let her drive that to follow him in the Winnebago. We had a great conversation and decided to have a drink tonight after we both did our own thing. We went to “The Creamery” and bought some fresh cheese and took a ride up highway 153 to the end of the road 22 miles out of town. We wanted to go to the end of the road and we did. It literally ended in a snowbank at 9000+ Ft. It was a beautiful drive and it was fun to drive back down to the campground before we went for ice cream at the creamery. Bill and Beth joined us for a cocktail and a great conversation. He was a builder built 10, 10, 10 houses 10000 ft² for 10 million dollars and the people live in them 10 days a year. Not a bad gig and he’s retired now and knows about Mercedes 2500 and 3500 Sprinters because he’s involved with a Limousine service that uses these Vans around Vail. April 25 – April 27 Midday We planned go West on the loneliest highway in the world US highway 50 and then on to Reno before entering California. We had an option that we had decided not to take which would go SW toward Las Vegas and Death Valley. Since we have a book of the most scenic and unusual routes in America, we wanted to check that off our list. We headed West in nice weather, cool but that's normal for 7000'. We decided to stop at a campground in Eureka, Nevada. It was reasonably priced and had decent bathrooms. The owner told us that we were supposed to have a dusting of snow but it wouldn't amount to anything because the ground was warm. Many of you already know what happen, but we woke up to proximately 6" of snow and it was still snowing. We thought we might have to stay there several days. Our neighbor started cleaning off his RV and truck saying he thought the road were clean enough to drive on and he was heading west. I cleaned off our RV and he and I decided that he would be the forward scout and call me to report on the road condition. He gave his 1st report 10 miles out that the roads were clear but wet. We decided to follow him and he reported that at 20 miles the road was dry and to come on. We did and we passed him about 60 miles later because we were “booking it’. Dennis call me to say you guys are getting after it. I told him diesels runs better when they run hot . I also told him I lived in Germany and there only two speeds over there, fast and faster. We had a good laugh over the phone and maybe will drop in to see him when we get to Oregon. We stopped for coffee and they passed us. We decided to see if there were any spots at Nellis Air Force base. There were spots and we were able to reserve a nice campground for 3 nights to catch up on the blog and do some repacking etc. It was nice to wake up to moderate temperatures in the 50's instead of in the 20 's in the high desert. We will spend two more days here and will head toward Death Valley in California on Thursday

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a-depressed-dwight · 5 years

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Dwight: *downed by Michael* fuck

Michael: *goes to pick up Dwight*

Dwight: *in a panic, clings to Micheal's chest*

Michael: ...

Dwight: ...

Michael: ...

Dwight: *mentally* god, I'm so dead.

Michael: ...

Dwight: ...

Michael: *awkwardly wraps his arms around Dwight*

Both: ...

~ten minutes later~

*at the door*

Meg: Dude, where is Dwight? Like, we the door is open, we got to leave before it's too late!

Jake: Maybe he's waiting for the hatch?

Laurie: we all know Dwight doesn't like using the hatch unless he has to.

David: well, if he dun show up soon we've haf' to leave him.

Jake: well he got hit earlier, and the killer has been very quiet for a while..

David: but 'e's shit at dodging.

Laurie: maybe he's distracting them some other way. I mean you said he once spent two hours in a locker with the hillbilly right?

Jake: but that wasn't on purpose.

Meg: yeah the door jammed and neither could open it. The only reason he got out was because the entity got tired of waiting.

Jake: it made sure it couldn't happen again after that

Laurie: then were is he?

David: I'm sure 'e'll show up soon.

~ meanwhile~

Dwight doesn't quite know what is going on right now, but he can't say it isn't pleasant. Michael has long since let go of the knife, much to the smaller man's relief, if favor of getting more comfortable.

Dwight knows that the gates are open and he shouldn't be enjoying this as much as he is.

Maybe he's finally lost it, wouldn't really surprise him at this point.

All Dwight knows is that he's quite comfy in Michael's lap at the moment and that the killer doesn't seem to be willing to let go quite yet.

"Might as well get comfortable, it's not like five more minutes will hurt anybody." Dwight mused.

~ ten minutes later~

*at the campfire*

Laurie: the entity should've killed him by now right?

Meg: anyone who'd stay any longer gets killed.

Laurie: are you sure?

Meg: uh, yeah pretty sure since the last time I did I got impaled.

Ace: woah there, no need ta get hostile ladies. 'M sure he'll come through the fog any second now.

Jake: it's been five minutes since we came back. Dwight has yet to show up.

Feng: maybey he's dead. Like, dead, dead.

Bill: hold your horses, we would know if he was properly dead. That thing wouldn't just pluck him up from the trial without warning.

Tapp: how can we be sure?

Bill: Say what you want about it but that thing has it's own set of rules and doesn't like to break them for some odd reason.

Nacy: maybe he became a killer? Like, it would make sense..

Claudette: it would make sense if it weren't for the fact that it's Dwight we're talking about. The man doesn't have a bad bone in his body.

Nea: I've saw him try to teach generators to Laurie's brother before. That dumbass didn't even question why they were wearing a mask or the knife.

Claudette: to be fair, the shape was new to the realm at that point.

Nea: Mask and Knife Claudette.

Quentin: maybe the killer is using him something?

Meg: like what?

Quentin: ...sex..?

Nea: pshh Dwight burst into flames if you so much as compliment him. He would die at the thought of sex much less having sex with a killer.

Feng: ..but what if he didn't have a say in-

David: woah, woah, woah. None of that now.

Laurie: that's my brother you are talking about right now!

Feng: your brother who kills all of us on a regular basis.

Quentin: he doesn't have very high morals.

Feng: and we all know that he targets Dwight when you are not in trial...

Bill: enough. We are not having such a descussion. It does not matter why Dwight is missing right now. What matters is that we keep calm and hope for the best.

The campsite when into a tense quiet after that.

~meanwhile~

Dwight was pretty sure they had went from cuddling to snuggling at some point.

He isn't quite sure though.

It doesn't matter really right now.

Who would have thought that the ground could be comfortable? Sure it's a bit chilly out but when you're basically being surrounded by a human furnace it doesn't really matter.

'This is nice,'

Maybe Dwight was a bit touch starved, by the looks of it he wasn't the only one.

A heartbeat and slow, rythmic breathing was all Dwight could hear. It seems that The shape had gotten a bit more comfortable than he intended.

Dwight could leave if he really felt like it but he himself slowly joining his companion in sleep.

A yawn broke through his lips.

Yeah, moving would be quite the hassle if he didn't want to wake michael.

'Besides,'

Dwight thought as he shifted ever so slightly closer.

'I'm sure that the others wouldn't mind if I took a quick nap..'

#dead by daylight #dwight fairfield #david king #jake park #dbd au #michael myers #the shape #dwight #claudette morel #meg #bill overbeck #ace visconti #nancy #david tapp #feng min #nea

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mukettyl · 4 years

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Train Rides and Late Nights // Chapter Two

click for Chapter One

(tumblr won’t let me minamize this, i’m so very sorry)

Two weeks have gone by and Eddie couldn’t get the train boy out of his mind. He rolled over onto his side to look out the ajar window at the grey morning mist covering the sky. Breathing in the fresh and foggy air, he began imagining different, intricate, ways that the scenario could have played out. He could have said absolutely anything besides, “Why are you staring at me?” But no, he just had to choose those particular six words.

He pulled the blankets around himself tighter, and let the warmth engulf him for a few moments longer, before getting out of bed.

He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, and shuddered. God, it’s cold.

He looked around for a second before deciding to put on a pair of sweatpants and oversized, worn, navy sweatshirt, over the t-shirt and boxers he had slept in. On his way to the kitchen, he regretted having not put on socks as he felt the cold linoleum tiles underneath his feet.

“Well good morning to you too, sleepyhead.”

Eddie looked up from the coffee pot he was now standing behind to pay attention to the voice coming from the living room in front of him.

“Good morning, Stan.” he replied groggily, dragging out the word “morning” until it had six extra sylobols. “One or two sugars?”

“Two, thank you.” Stan said, putting down his book, “I have to go visit Bill at some point today at the shop if you want to come with me. My engine light is on but I can’t figure out why, and I’ve stopped trying to guess.”

“Bill’s a mechanic?” Eddie asked, walking into the living room. He handed Stan his coffee and sat across from him on their lazy boy so that he could face him.

“No, not quite. But his dad and best friend are.”

“Oh, interesting.” Eddie took a long sip of his coffee before continuing with, “Yeah sure, I’ll tag along. I don't have any classes today anyways, so there’s nothing else I have going on.”

“Okay, that’ll work. I just need to get dressed and then we can head out now, if you’re ready.”

The two boys stepped out of the car in front of the shop. Stan had decided to completely step-up Eddie’s sweater and sweatpants by wearing a real outfit.

He was wearing a light blue polo with a blue jay embroidered onto his breast pocket, a pair of khakis, and an oversized grey cardigan. Eddie’s Betty Boop socks were no match.

Above the front doors read, “Denbrough’s Auto Repair,” in big, bold, blue letters. Eddie had never realized that Bill’s dad owned this place. He passed it all the time on the bus on his way to school, but it had never occurred to him that they could be the same “Denbroughs.”

After what seemed like ages, Bill walked out to greet Stan and help him figure out the issue with his engine light. Eddie stood there sort of awkwardly as they said their hellos and talked about the past few days in which they hadn’t had a chance to see each other.

“Hey Eddie! If you want, there are some doughnuts and coffee inside from earlier this morning. Help yourself!” Bill said to Eddie with a smile. Thank God, Eddie thought to himself, a reason to escape.

Eddie walked up the stairs and through the front doors. There was an empty front desk in front of him to the left, and a hallway that seemed to lead to a smaller room to his right. Assuming the doughnuts were in said room, Eddie took a right. He found a pot of coffee and a half empty box of a baker’s dozen on the table. Bingo.

He poured himself a cup of coffee and added creamer and two sugars. He grabbed a powdered doughnut, as well, and went to take a seat in the lobby area.

Napkins, I need napkins.

Attempting to hold his coffee upright and not drop his doughnut all while grabbing napkins was not working for him. He decided to hold the doughnut in his mouth and grab napkins with his newly freed hand, instead.

Walking into the lobby with his doughnut in his mouth, still trying not to spill his coffee, he almost didn't see the person about to walk directly into him. Correction, he did not see the person who ended up walking directly into him.

“God, my bad. Do you see my glasses anywhere?”

No way. Not now. Not today.

Eddie took a better look at the boy, who was now on his hands and knees searching for his glasses. Train boy. He recognized the tattered blue jumpsuit and the mass of dark, curly hair. The boy stood up and Eddie was able to half make out “Richie” on the jumpsuit’s nametag.

Eddie stood there dumbfounded as he watched the curly haired boy attempting to get his grounds and clean off his lenses,“Hey bud, thanks so much for the tremendous amount of help, totally not like you just stood there and let me suffer for the last minute and a- hey, it’s you!”

Two weeks. It’s been fourteen days since he last saw him, and he couldn’t get the damn boy off his mind. Richie had purposefully taken the night shift everyday he could, just in case they’d end up on the same train again. But it was to no avail.

After these two weeks of desperately attempting to run into him, Richie gave up. He decided to believe in destiny, fate, and all that, and that if they were meant to meet again, they would.

Richie got off work early on Thursday, so he decided to take his time on his walk to the train. He put in his earbuds and he was off. He naturally walked fast, so he knew that he’d have plenty of time to get to the station before the train reached his stop. He had about 45 minutes, so he decided to wander around the city. It was getting colder as the days passed, so Richie decided to start wearing his dad’s old bomber jacket.

After the death of his father, Richie’s mom decided that she couldn’t stay in Boston anymore. Richie and his dad never really got along. He knew he loved him, but the amount of fighting his parents did had been unbearable for him. He really didn't mind leaving it all behind. So at ten years old, Richie and his mom got on a plane and never looked back. They have now lived in Chicago for the past nine years, but since the move, things have never been quite the same.

Richie knows that his mom blames him for his father’s death. Remarks such as “Well if we never had you…” or: “God! I understand why he couldn’t put up with you anymore!”, helped his claim. He tries to not let it get to him, but it's on nights like this when it all builds up. The moon was almost full and the amount of stars visible was mesmerizing, for the city, that is.

Richie could hear the roar of the train’s engine as he approached the platform. He had continued to board the same car and sit in the same seat as he had two weeks ago. Not as if this would have changed, but the idea of maybe seeing him again was just adding to his reasoning.

He woke up the next morning in the dark and dying of heat. His sheets were sticking to him as if his skin were adhesive, and his mouth was as dry as the air filling his room. His blinds weren’t completely shut, but the lack of sun led him to believe that it must be before 6:00 a.m.

Fuck, it’s hot.

He knew that the furnace in his apartment would turn itself on at full blast if it got below 67 degrees fahrenheit. He knew this because he hated it with a burning passion.

He discarded the sweaty sheets off of himself by kicking at them until they fell off of his bed, and rolled over until he could reach his glasses off of his nightstand.

He sleepily propped the frames onto his nose while simultaneously trying to keep his curls from blocking his vision so that he could read the time.

5:49 a.m. Yuck.

Richie didn't have to be anywhere until 10:00 a.m. today, so he landed on a shower being his best option at the moment. Well, technically he didn't have to be anywhere today at all. But he told Bill that instead of coming in at night like usual, that he could come in today early and just stay late. Bill has been his best friend since he moved to Chicago. After hearing about the death of Richie’s father, Mr. Denbrough immediately took Richie under his wing. When he turned sixteen, Mr. D. offered him a job at his auto shop, and Richie has been working there ever since.

After lazily walking to his bathroom, Richie turned on the water in his shower. He proceeded to get undressed, which just consisted of taking off the mis-matched socks and boxers that he had fallen asleep in. The ice cold water felt soothing against his skin. He lathered his hair in shampoo that smells heavily of green apples, and just used the remnants of it to clean his body. Bill had stayed over one night and gave him trouble for not owning body wash, but couldn’t argue with the fact that Richie did always smell very good.

After drying off and wrapping a towel around his head, he walked back into his room and to his closet to get half dressed. He still had three hours before he had to leave, so there was no rush. He put on his favorite t-shirt that said, “The Revolution Is My Boyfriend” that his friend Bev had gotten him at a small thrift shop on her trip to Minneapolis with her boyfriend, and a pair of neon orange briefs.

He walked into the kitchen to make some half-assed breakfast. He poured himself a glass of orange juice and made some toast. While waiting for his bread to turn to toast, he switched on the tv. The only thing on at this hour besides infomercials and news was Seinfeld.

It’ll do.

*ding!*

“Gahh!” Richie yelped as he spilled orange juice all over himself. “Da fuck was dat foh bruhv?” To which his toaster didn’t respond.

As a child, Richie used to talk to himself extensively while his parents argued, and to keep himself entertained, he’d use accents. Now, whenever he got startled or caught off guard, he would automatically start talking in a British or Australian accent.

He picked up some paper towels and cleaned up the spilled juice as best he could. He then grabbed his toast and smeared grape jelly all over it before putting the pieces together and wrapping it in a paper towel, rather than dirtying another plate. He took his toast and the remainder of his OJ into his living room and sat down to watch Seinfeld until he had to get fully dressed.

As Richie walked up to the shop, he heard, “Morning, bud!” from in the doorway atop the front stairs.

Without looking up, knowing who it was, he responded with “Guten morgen, Big Bill!”

Instead of waiting for a response, he walked directly past Bill and towards the donuts he saw on the table in front of him. He grabbed one covered in strawberry icing and rainbow sprinkles. Without even bothering to ask if they were up for grabs, he ate basically half of it in one bite.

“Help yourself, I’m gonna go greet Stan, he just got here.”

With a mouth full of donut all Richie could mutter was, “O-ay. Hank youh!”

After scarfing down as many donuts as he thought he could muster before getting sick (three), he poured himself some coffee and decided to get to work. He went around back and put up the garage doors, took out the trash from the past week, and listened to the voicemails that had been left since yesterday. Because it was so early, he really didn't have much to do, so he went to go pour himself another cup of coffee when he walked smack dab into someone turning the corner as well. His glasses fell off of his face so he immediately dropped to the ground to start searching for them.

“God, my bad.” Richie managed, “Do you see my glasses anywhere?”

Richie was sure that whoever this kid that he had just ran into could see him frantically looking for his glasses, but just stood there as if everything was just peachy keen. After what felt like an hour, Richie’s hand finally felt the frames. While happy he found his glasses, he wanted to make sure whoever this schmuck was knew that he was no help.

“Hey bud, thanks so much for the tremendous amount of help, totally not like you just stood there and let me suffer for the last minute and a- hey, it’s you!”

It was him! It was the boy that had sat in his seat on the train exactly two weeks ago. The cute one who told Richie to stop staring at him. The one who was now standing in front of him and staring at Richie like a deer in headlights.

“Why on Earth are you at an auto shop at 10:00a.m.?”

The boy looked extremely flustered, and while holding a donut in his mouth, just responded with “I gotta go,” as best as he could.

“Wait, what’s your name?” Richie called after him, but he was already out the front door and down the steps.

A few moments later, Bill walked in, questioning, “Why’d Eddie just run outta here like that?”

Eddie.

(Richie’s shirt)

#eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier #reddie fanfic #reddie fanfiction #reddie #richie x eddie #eddie x richie #stanley uris #bill denbrough #train rides and late nights #train rides and late nights chapter two #fanfiction #it 2019 #it 2017 #It #it movie

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self-proclaimed-chaotic-good · 5 years

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Growing Old With You | Ted “Theodore” Logan x Reader (Oneshot)

Trope Prompt: Wedding

Words: 1268

Fandom: Bill & Ted

Summary: Wedding Singer AU. You and Ted are both engaged, but to the wrong people.

Never in a million years did Ted think he would be chasing after the girl of his dreams at an airport to stop her from marrying another guy. Since high school, he always thought that Elizabeth was it for him, but she thought otherwise.She only stuck around because she thought that Wyld Stallyns would eventually make it big so she could finally leave San Dimas. She wanted more than the wedding singer that Ted had become. He really should have known better.

You were different. You were kind, considerate, smart, and beautiful. You loved collecting records and sitting by the window. You loved to sit through the Wyld Stallyns’ rehearsals and give constructive feedback and encouraged him in trying to write original music.

Why were you marrying someone like Donaka Mark? Ted wondered this ever since he met him, even after knowing how he’d check other women out and cheat on you, he actually believed that you were marrying him for money.

When he finally got over Elizabeth and accepted his feelings for you, he had actually tried to get a boring mundane job at a bank. That had definitely not gone to plan and when you had asked why he had done it. He just snapped and yelled in your face. Next thing he knew it, you were on a flight to Las Vegas to have your wedding there.

You sat in the cramped airplane next to the aisle, your elbow getting rammed into each time the flight attendant passed by. Donny had preferred the window seat, saying that his limbs were too long to sit on the aisle seat. The longer you sit there, the more you were wondering why you were going through this. You thought you loved him, but then you met Ted Logan, who was nothing like Donny.

Ted was bubbly, kind-hearted, talented, and attentive. You remembered stopping by Bill’s place and meeting Joana and Missy, Bill’s step-mom that had strangely gone to high school with them. You asked them how they knew if they were in love.

“It just feels right, you know” Bill said, looking at Joana lovingly.

“And it’s not just about what you feel about them, it’s what they make you feel about yourself,” Joana added, “What about you, Ted?”

Ted thought for a moment. “I just think… you know when someone remembers your favorite ice cream or they buy you that new Van Halen record that you’ve been wanting or just knowing when something’s wrong with you, I think that’s love, right?”

“I agree, it’s the little things that count,” you said, nodding. Ted smiled at you and you couldn’t help but smile back. “Someone you want to grow old with.”

The day that your wedding dress came in, you tried it on and stare at yourself in the mirror. It didn’t feel right. Mrs. (Y/n) Mark. Mrs. Donaka Mark. It wasn’t clicking for you. What if… Mrs. (Y/n) Logan. Mrs. Ted Logan.

“Hi, I’m Mrs. Ted Logan, nice to meet you,” you said to the mirror with a genuine smile, “Hi, I’m Mrs. Logan.”

And you were so close to telling Ted your feelings about him, too, after your short fight, but his fiancee came back and it just felt like you should give up. He’s back with Elizabeth and you still were engaged with Donny. You were so upset when you found out about it, you immediately went to Donny and told him that you wanted to get married in Vegas.

You tried to settle down in your seat and sleep for the rest of the flight when there was an announcement from the speakers.

“Good afternoon, everyone. We're flying at 26,000 feet, moving up to 30,000 feet, and we've got clear skies all the way to Las Vegas. Right now, we're bringing you some in-flight entertainment. One of our first class passengers would like to sing you a song inspired by one of our coach passengers. And since we let our first class passengers do, pretty much whatever they want, here he is…”

Guitar strums began to flood the couch cabin from the first class passenger, making everyone curious of who it was. A man behind you even asked his friend if that was Van Halen speaking earlier. Then, a familiar voice began to sing.

“I wanna make you smile whenever you're sad,

Carry you around when your arthritis is bad,

All I wanna do is grow old with you,

I'll get your medicine when your tummy aches,

Build you a fire if the furnace breaks,

Oh, it could be so nice, growing old with you…”

You cover your mouth in disbelief, tears forming in your eyes, when you realized that that voice could be Ted. But how? And why? Thirty thousand feet in the air and he was actually here in the same plane as you?

The curtain that separated couch and first class parted, revealing Ted in a white suit and a bow tie playing one of his old guitars, his warm brown eyes landing on you and it was the most welcoming sight you’ve ever seen. He smiled and continued to strum, making sure you know that the song was for you.

“I'll miss you,

Kiss you,

Give you my coat when you are cold,

Need you,

Feed you,

Even let you hold the remote control…”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his lyrics. It was then when Donny woke up and took in the situation, seeing everyone’s attention on Ted as his eyes never left yours. You placed your hands on your chest, your heart beating rapidly as you smiled.

“What the hell is he doing here?” Donny muttered angrily, noticing that your eyes had hearts in them.

He got up from his seat to approach Ted. A flight attendant appeared to intercept, blocking his path with a serving cart. He growled in frustration, cutting through the middle row to get around and almost tripping as the other passengers complained. Once he reached the other aisle, Van Halen appeared with another serving cart.

“You better get out of the way, Van Halen, you have nothing to do with this. You’re going to get hurt,” Donny warned.

A tall man towered over Donny and glared down at him. “Don’t you dare talk to Van Halen like that.”

Donny threw a punch at him, but he easily grabbed his fist and pushed him away. Donny backed up, trying to find another way to get to Ted, when he was pushed into the bathroom, the door blocked by the serving cart. He cursed under his breath, kicking and slamming the door.

Ted slowly approached you and continued to sing.

“So let me do the dishes in our kitchen sink,

Put you to bed when you've had too much to drink,

Oh, I could be the man who grows old with you,

I wanna grow old with you.”

He knelt next to you as he finished the song. The passengers began to whistle and cheer, but you didn’t pay much attention to them when Ted was here.

“That was so beautiful,” you whispered, trying to keep the tears at bay.

Ted smiled shyly. “I have a most excellent confession to make,” he whispered back, “that song was about you.” Your face broke into a large smile as you let out a watery laugh. “I’m in love with you.”

“And I am so in love with you.”

Never in a million years did Ted think that he would be marrying the girl of his dreams. Someone he could grow old with.

#writersmonth2019 #Ted Theodore Logan x Reader #Ted Logan x Reader #Bill & Ted #bill and ted's excellent adventure #Ted Logan imagines #Oneshot #Wedding Singer AU #Keanu Reeves #keanu reeves imagines

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