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amanda-teaches · 3 years

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It’ll Be Fun

Marvel Fanfic

Summary: You finally convince Bucky to attend one of Tony’s infamous parties at the compound, but things go south fast when invaders attack, leaving all of your lives in jeopardy. Bucky’s determined to do whatever he needs to do to keep you safe, even if that means putting his own life on the line.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 3545

Warnings: Intense situations, shooting, mentions of blood/bodies, injury, suggestive content.

A/N: This is for @arrowsandmixtapes Better Love Story Than Twilight Challenge. I hope you enjoy this one, Nic! I also included the prompt “Before I do this, I need you to know that I have always loved you” which was requested by @adventureisoutthere98 for my Writer + Reader challenge (my last request to fill!).

There was nothing quite like a Tony Stark party.

You attended your first one not long after you started working at Avengers Tower. Tony had invited you himself, walking his charming self down to your office to introduce himself and extend an invite to a “small get-together” he was having for some of the staff. Of course, you were honored he invited you, but your first instinct had been to decline. You would have too if it wasn’t for the other doctors in your unit descending on you, regaling you with stories about Tony’s “small get-togethers” and how they were anything but small. They practically begged you to go, saying you absolutely couldn’t miss it.

You reluctantly agreed, but you hadn’t really believed them until you arrived at the party and saw Beyoncé was scheduled to sing right after David Copperfield performed.

You made sure you never missed a Tony party after that.

Over the ensuing years, you’d built real friendships with Tony and the rest of the team. You became one of their most trusted doctors, not only providing care at home but eventually venturing out into the field with them as well. When Bucky had been brought back to the newly-established Compound, you’d shifted gears, heading up his rehabilitation under Steve’s watchful eye. Bucky Barnes became your job.

It took a few good months to gain his trust and even more after that for him to start opening up to the others, but he didn’t open up much. It had been almost a year since he’d begun to call the compound his home, and he still spent the majority of his time with either you or Steve. You took it upon yourself to change that.

“Come on, Buck, it’s just a party.”

You plopped down on his bed, crossing your legs underneath you and staring expectantly at Bucky. He was standing with his back toward you, in front of his dresser with the top drawer open, but he stilled the moment you came in. His hands had stopped rifling around in the clothes when you spoke, and he paused, glancing over his shoulder at you. At the sight of you on his bed, he shook his head and laughed. “Yeah, sure, Y/N, come on in. Make yourself at home.”

“Oh, shush.” You admonished the sarcasm in his tone playfully, standing up and making your way to step in front of him, pressing your back up against the drawer to capture his view. “You act like I’m asking you to spend a night in jail.”

He raised his eyebrows, a teasing glint finding its way to his gaze. “A Stark party? Sounds like a form of capital punishment to me.”

“You’re so dramatic,” you laughed, pushing his chest with the flat of your hand, although it was about as effective as pushing a wall. “It’s not like it’ll kill you, Buck. All I’m asking for is one party. It’ll be fun.”

“Y/N…” You could hear the hesitation in his voice, so you cut him off at the knees.

“James Buchanan Barnes, I am your doctor, and I’m telling you, you’re going to this party. Don’t make me get Steve involved.”

He smirked, reaching one hand behind you to close the dresser drawer, his chest brushing against yours in the process. “Doctor’s orders?” he asked, his playful gaze remaining fixed on yours, the intensity in his eyes quickly accelerating your heart rate, not that you planned on letting him see that.

“Damn straight,” you directed, taking a breath and pushing him back again. This time he let you, moving back just enough for you to shimmy around him towards the door. You heard him chuckle behind you, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing you smile in response. “7:30, Barnes. I expect you to be on your best behavior. And, for God’s sake, wear something nice. If you wear a tank top, I swear I’ll kick your ass.”

His deep laugh followed you all the way out the door.

To his credit, Bucky was trying his damndest to make it through this party without killing anyone.

He’d shown up at 7:30 on the dot, dressed in a nice suit you were pretty sure he’d borrowed from Steve, although you’d never call him on it. Taking his arm, you pulled him into the hanger Tony had converted into a party room more than rivaling the one he’d had back at the tower. Bucky stiffened when he saw all the people, but he kept his face neutral, although you knew it must’ve been killing him inside not to turn around and walk right out.

Applying gentle pressure on his arm, you smiled up at him, earning a smile right back. You guided him over to the bar that took up one wall, where Steve was waiting, drinks at the ready. Over the next hour, you watched Bucky resist the urge to grimace and squirm as guest after guest came over to talk with the three of you. Two world-renowned super soldiers were quite the attraction after all, and all of Tony’s high-profile friends were clamoring for a piece of the action. You knew Bucky hated every second.

You smiled and leaned into his side, dropping your voice so only he could hear. “You’re doing great.”

He returned your smile, his teeth gritting a little too hard as his metal arm snaked around your waist. “I’m this close to punching someone.”

“Just a little bit longer, Buck, and then the entertainment starts. Trust me, it’ll be worth it. I heard a rumor Tony’s got Cirque du Soleil lined up.”

“Dear God,” he groaned, his quiet laugh transforming his forced smile into a genuine one. “Nothing like our parties back in Brooklyn. You actually enjoy this stuff?”

“Oh, come on, it’s fun. Watching Tony’s friends? That’s some prime entertainment,” you teased back. “Besides, with these parties, you never know what crazy things will happen.”

He turned his head to look down at you, but whatever words he was going to utter next were lost to the sounds of a large blast from the other side of the room. Thinking it was part of the starting entertainment, you started to twist around, but Bucky grabbed you, hauling you up against him and dropping like a weight down to the floor.

“Buck, what the hell-” you screamed, but he was already moving, pulling you with him and yelling back over his shoulder. You were anchored securely to him, but you shifted your head to find Steve following close behind, his own back shielding you. It was only then that you registered the sound of gunshots echoing all around you and panic began to rise in your throat.

By the time you finally got your bearings, Bucky had dragged you behind the bar, kicking a stool out of the way to clear a space. He plunked you down with a loud thump and reached under the counter, pulling a pistol from its place taped underneath. “Steve, talk to me.”

Steve appeared on the other side of you like a ghost, yanking his own gun out from under the bar top. “I made at least 7, probably more. Came in the south side with a modified explosive device, loaded with semi-automatics.”

They exchanged a glance and raised up at the same time, firing three rounds over the bar top before dropping back down in unison to your side. Bucky glanced over at you. “You ok? You hurt?”

You shook your head slightly, still in shock. “I, I...Wait, how long have you had guns taped under here?”

He smiled at the way the spirit had returned to your voice, shaking his head right back. “Can we talk about that later?” He jumped back up, firing a few more rounds. “A little busy right now.”

Steve drew your attention then, calling Bucky’s name. “I’m going to flank around the back, try to clear the rest of the room, get out any civilians. You got her?”

Bucky nodded. “I’ll cover you.” He stood back up, firing into the open room as Steve ran past you, leaving the cover of the bar and speeding towards the other side of the room. When Bucky stopped firing, he dropped back down next to you, firmly grabbing your shoulder. “We gotta move. I’m out of bullets.”

“What, there aren’t any more secret weapons hidden somewhere?”

He smirked. “Not here. Come on, let’s move. Keep your head low.”

He grabbed your hand and suddenly you were running, trying not to trip in your heels as you all but flew across the room. You could see the carnage of broken furniture and a few fallen bodies behind you, but you shut your eyes tight against the sight, anchoring yourself to Bucky and trusting him to get you out of there. Feeling the shiver course through you, he swept you up against his side, lifting your feet from the ground without even slowing and carrying you the rest of the way.

He made a sharp right at the hallway, adjusting his grip so you were in front of him, shielded from any gunfire, and raced down the corridor, ducking into rooms every time he heard someone approaching. Not that anyone ever got close, because Bucky could practically hear them coming from a mile away. With no obstacles, you quickly made it back to his room where he shut and bolted the door, finally releasing you.

He moved towards the far wall without a word, opening the gun safe you knew he had hidden in a nightstand there. “Buck, what’re you doing? Who are those guys?”

“I don’t know,” he rushed out, pulling two guns out from the safe and tucking one into the back of his waistband. He stood back up and looked over at you, sighing heavily. “Stay here. Lock the door behind me and don’t let anyone in until I come back.”

He started to move past you but you grabbed his arm, holding him back. “Wait, you can’t go back out there. You have no idea what you’re up against. There’s too many of them, you could get yourself killed.”

“It’s my job, Y/N. There’s people out there who need my help. Steve is out there.”

“Buck…”

He transferred the gun to his metal hand, placing the back of his knuckles on your cheek. Gently, he wiped away the tear falling down it, letting his fingertips brush against your hair. Seeing the fear in your eyes, he gifted you with a smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back before you know it.”

You stepped closer, holding his gaze just as you had that morning, hating the resignation you saw there. “I’ll come with you. I can help.”

His face hardened at that suggestion, and he shook his head resolutely. “No, absolutely not.”

“Buck, I’m not some helpless damsel, I’m a doctor. I can help.”

“No,” he snapped, hard and fast. He closed his eyes at the sound of his own voice and softened his tone. “Please, Y/N. I can’t do this if I’m worried about protecting you. Stay here. Keep the door locked. Please.”

You knew he meant it, that he needed you to agree or he wouldn’t go, so you nodded, reaching out and taking his hand off your face, intertwining your fingers with his. “Be careful, okay?”

“Always am.” He smiled, letting your hand drop from his. He moved to open the door, placing his hand on the doorknob, but before he opened it, he hesitated. Turning back to you, he just stared for a moment, like he was drinking you in, trying to memorize every last detail. “Before I do this, I need you to know that...I have always loved you.”

And, then he was gone, just like that, without another word, leaving you alone and incredibly confused.

What the hell?

What was that supposed to mean, he loved you? Loved you like a friend, a pet dog, what? No, you knew what it meant. No one told you they loved you in the middle of gunfire unless it meant the real thing, the thing the two of you had been dancing around for months, the same all-consuming, heart-stopping love you’d felt for him since the moment he first came to the compound.

But, seriously, what the hell? Where did he get off telling you that and just leaving, making you stay behind? What were you supposed to do now?

You hadn’t realized you were pacing until you found yourself on the other side of the room, your fists clenched tightly against your sides. You closed your eyes, and all you could see was Bucky’s face, smiling at you as you cried your way through yet another Disney movie or comforting you when you lost a patient.

Damnit, he had no right to do this to you, not like this. You sure as hell weren’t going to let him tell you he loved you and then just go out there to die.

Lifting your foot, you tore one of your heels off, flinging it across the room with the other one following close behind. Stalking over to Bucky’s safe, you punched in the combo he’d taught you months ago for emergencies, pulling out the small .22 you knew he’d left inside. You tucked it into the palm of your hand and moved to open the door, stepping hesitantly out into the hallway, your gun at the ready.

Bucky had taught you how to shoot using a bunch of old cans on the edge of the forest a few months ago, so you felt pretty confident with the gun, but that didn’t exactly mean you were eager to run into anybody. You stayed close to the wall instead, moving slowly and carefully.

The building was all but deserted, and you didn’t see a soul in any of the first few hallways you walked through. That changed as you neared the east side of the compound, where a chorus of sounds and crashes echoed. You stopped with your back against a wall, using it as a shield as you peered around the corner, your grip tightening on the butt of your gun.

It was Bucky, of course. Who else would be crazy enough to be standing in the middle of chaos, one man up against four, all of them heavily armed. The others looked like they had him outmatched, but this was Bucky they were up against. You knew the real odds.

You pitied the others.

He made it look effortless, the way he went through them, as easy and routine as playing a video game. They went high, he dropped low. They came from the back, he spun around to cut them off at the knees. He took three of them down so fast, you almost missed it, but the fourth one got in a lucky hit, slashing him from the side with a knife before he could turn to block it.

“Bucky!” you screamed, and his head whipped around, his eyes making contact with yours and flashing with surprise just before the assailant raised his gun, slamming it down on the back of Bucky’s head. He crumbled, dropping to the floor, and you raised your gun with a shout, firing two shots that made contact with the attacker’s shoulder and neck, killing him instantly.

Rushing forward, you dropped to your knees by Bucky’s side, turning him over and feeling along his chest and stomach for any injuries. “Buck, Bucky!”

He groaned, a whispered string of swear words flying out of his mouth, and opened his eyes. When he turned his head and glared up at you, you realized he was going to be okay and your whole body sagged in relief. “I thought I told you to stay in my room,” he grumbled, blinking a few times to clear his head as he sat up into your waiting arms.

You smiled, taking the opportunity to unbutton his crisp, white shirt and slip your hand inside, feeling the area you’d watched the knife hit. “Yeah, well, I’ve never been great at listening.” Your hand landed on the long cut you’d been searching for and he winced, but you grinned. You knew instantly that the gash was narrow and shallow, easily fixable without needing stitches, especially with his healing ability. Another wave of relief washed over you.

“You really don’t, do you?” he laughed, shaking his head, but he stilled when your hand grazed the bottom of his chin, his breath drawing in with a sharp inhale. You ran your fingers up, tracing the curve of his lip with your thumb before resting the flat of your palm against the stubble of his cheek.

“I do listen to some things,” you whispered, letting the words linger in the air between the two of you. His eyes dropped to your lips, his breaths growing labored in response.

“We should, uh...” he stumbled through his response, clearly growing flustered, but he kept his voice low, gruff. “Find Steve, make sure the compound’s secure, see if anyone needs help.”

“Mhmm,” you muttered, darting your tongue out to lick your lips and relishing the moan you pulled from him in response. “We should.”

“Yeah…” His voice died out as he finally dragged his gaze away from your lips, swallowing hard. “But, later…”

You nodded, your breathing having sped up to match his labored pace. “We’ll talk. As soon as we get a chance.”

Unfortunately, that chance didn’t come for another three hours.

It was nearing midnight, and you were exhausted. You and Bucky had found Steve and quickly split up, with him to handle the security debrief and you to lead the triage effort in the medical suites. You’d been on your feet ever since.

You’d just dismissed the last of your staff and leaned against your desk to close your eyes when the door opened.

“Can I help…” you started, turning to find Bucky standing in the doorway. You smiled in response. “Oh, hey, how was your…”

You never got the chance to finish, because Bucky stalked across the room with four long steps, taking your face in his hands, kissing the air right out of you, and stealing your thoughts right along with it. His lips were gentle, but insistent, and when his tongue prodded at your lower lip, you opened to him, spurring him to lift you up onto your desk, the kiss turning more passionate and unbridled, your hands sweeping into his hair.

When he pulled back, your lips were swollen, your cheeks were flushed, and you were pretty sure if your legs weren’t wrapped around him, you would’ve fallen backwards off your desk. He grinned at the sight of you and ran his hands down your back to rest on your hips. “Shit, I’ve been wanting to do that all night.”

“Just all night?” you teased, your laugh echoing throughout the room. “Here I was thinking you’d been thinking about it for a lot longer than that.”

His face sobered instantly, turning serious as he studied you. “I meant what I said earlier. It’s not just physical for me.”

“Me neither,” you whispered, pulling him in for another kiss, this one leisurely and sweet. You remembered vividly what he’d told you earlier, in the midst of the attack, but you didn’t want to push him to say it again. You knew how strongly you felt about him, but you also knew this was very new for both of you, and he’d had a very long night. “You want to have dinner tomorrow night?”

His smirk came right back. “Like a date?”

For a man who’d just told you he loved you and kissed you with more passion than you’d ever felt in your life, he was being awfully cheeky. “Yes, like a date,” you laughed with a roll of your eyes.

Bucky leaned down, stealing one more kiss. “How about breakfast instead? I can’t wait a whole day to hold you again, sweetheart.”

Your heart leaped at the term of endearment, but even more at the sentiment behind it, and you nodded your agreement. Then, you thought of something you knew you had to tell him, just to see his reaction. “You know,” you mused aloud, “I heard Tony was planning another party for next weekend.”

Bucky’s whole face scrunched up in pain, and you tried really hard not to laugh. “Another party?”

You couldn’t resist teasing him. Running your hands up his chest, you pressed your lips against his throat with a smile. “It’ll be fun.”

“Yeah,” he scoffed, his body shuddering involuntarily at your touch, his voice cracking. “That’s what you said last time.”

“Mmm,” you hummed against his neck, feeling his arms tighten with a groan. “I happen to think tonight was very fun.”

“Oh, just wait until tomorrow, baby,” he groaned. “I’ll show you fun.”

“Hey, Buck?” you whispered, raising your head to gesture at the clock behind you. “It’s tomorrow.”

He growled and captured your lips again, picking you up and carrying you out of the room and down the hall.

Seemed like you’d have no problem keeping that breakfast date after all.

#betterthantwilightwc #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #marvel #marvel fanfiction #bucky fanfic #bucky fanfiction

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misslilli · 3 years

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Hope you guys are not too busy with Fictober 😄 thank you, as always, for your amazing feedback!

Felix Felicis

MSR. AU. PG-13. | tagging @today-in-fic | read on AO3

Chapter 26 - A Pivotal Peppermint Mocha

[ DS ]

He respects my wishes, of course he does, and I don’t see him before or after Thanksgiving break, except for a few glimpses from afar, across the school yard or at the farmer’s market. As time passes, each time I see him, it gets less and less painful and my funk begins to lift. My kids at school breathe a sigh of relief and my friends stop tiptoeing around me. The nights get easier, too, and I manage at least a few hours of shut-eye.

I just got home from school, a little earlier than usual and I can hear the girls chatting and laughing in the kitchen.

“…and then Squirrel rolled her eyes and said: ‘But Felix, that’s impossible, no-one can stuff 100 marshmallows into their mouth, not even your dad!’ I get such a kick out of this kid, he insisted over and over again that Moose could do it and he’ll prove it to her. You should’ve seen the exasperated look on Squirrel’s face!”

What the hell? That conversation is eerily familiar because I’ve just had it this morning at recess. Why the fuck are they referring to us as Moose and Squirrel?

They jump about a mile as I step into the kitchen, guilty looks plastered all over their faces. Sarah, who just told the story, starts to speak first. “Uuuh.. hey D, you’re home early…” My hands on my hips, I give them each a long, hard stare.

“Who. The Fuck. Are Moose and Squirrel?” They share a look I can’t decipher and Holly pulls out a chair.

“You better sit down for this, D.” I do as I’m told and glance around the table, waiting for someone to start explaining what’s going on.

Sarah and Holly both make it clear by silently staring at Alex, the calm one of our group, the one they trust can explain in a way I won’t kick their asses afterwards.

Alex folds her hands in front of her and takes a deep breath. “Okay. I’d like to preface this with stating that everything we did was done with love and because we care about you and your happiness.” ‘Oh goody, I can’t wait to see where this is going…’

“We’ve been talking about Moo- Mulder a lot at our Friday night dinners and we could tell that you liked him. When nothing happened and no-one made the first move, we thought we’d give fate little pushes in the right direction.” I stare at her, starting to panic.

“Oh God, what did you do? Is anyone else in on this thing? Is he in on this whole thing?”

“No, no, no-one knows except for us. And Miss Hannigan, but only because we needed her help with the costumes and we swore her to secrecy.” I snort, you can’t swear the town gossip to secrecy.

“So the Halloween costume was your doing? That we went to the town fair in a couple’s costume?” Alex nods. “What else?”

“Just little things, I swear. Remember when we were at the Farmer’s Market and we all had various errands to run? We saw Felix and Mulder were heading over, so we scattered to give you some alone time.” Which led to our first quasi-semi-let’s not call it a date-date, yes I remember.

“So what’s the Moose and Squirrel business then?”

“Well, since it was all a secret operation, we needed codenames. Sarah came up with a play on the first letters of your last names and we thought it was cute, especially since there’s such a big height difference between these characters too. This was how Operation: Bullwinkle was born. Of course, after the basketball fiasco, we called it off… are you mad, D?” I sit in silence for a while, taking in the things my friends came up with to set Mulder and I up.

They eye me anxiously, trying to gauge my reaction and if they should run for cover right about now.

“No, I’m not mad. It was actually a really clever secret operation and I’m kind of sad it didn’t work out the way we all wanted.” Holly lifts her shoulders, relieved that I understood that they didn’t mean to cause any harm.

“Never say never, D.”

—————

[ FM ]

My mom has taken Felix with her while she’s out grocery shopping, which gives me a good part of the afternoon to leave the house and roam the streets. A good way to clear my head. It’s the first week of December, but New England hasn’t been graced with snow yet, just a misty cold that seeps into your coat and straight through to your bones.

My hands are freezing because I forgot to take my gloves, so when the green logo of the local Starbucks catches my eye, I go in to warm up and get a cup of coffee.

Usually, I avoid this place like the plague, I don’t possess the fast decision making skills required to choose from the 999 combinations, just to have a cup of freakishly overpriced coffee.

I can barely get through the door, the place is jam packed and soon, I can smell why. Peppermint Mocha season starts today. The prospect of standing in line for hours almost makes me turn back, but something stops me from leaving.

Most of the people are holding a cup in their hands gleefully already, so I push my way through the crowd to where the line starts. When I reach it, I find myself dumbly staring at the back of a fiery head of hair, a shade I’d recognize anywhere in the world and in the most crowded places.

Shi-hit, does this break the ‘giving space’ rule? No, I’m just getting a cup of coffee on a cold winter day, no big deal. I don’t even have to talk to her. Yeah right, who am I kidding?

—————

[ DS ]

I’m way too excited about the start of Peppermint Mocha season, so here I am, in a place packed with people, patiently waiting in line to finally get my hands on that glorious to-go cup of Christmas Spirit.

I’m next in line when the person in front of me turns a little too quickly, making me take a step backwards to let them pass, bumping into the person standing behind. I mumble a “I’m sorry!” over my shoulder and freeze when I hear a familiar voice respond with an “Don’t worry about it.”

Counting to ten in my head before I turn my head, I come to face with a grinning Fox Mulder, who adds “Fancy bumping into you here!” His silly pun elicits the first genuine smile I’ve given in weeks.

“Technically, you didn’t bump into me, I bumped into you.”

He grins even wider and nudges my shoulder with his index finger. “There. So, I’m new in town, what’s good here?”

I order my Peppermint Mocha with sweet cream foam and an extra espresso shot while he pretends to gag, he orders his black coffee to my snort and the barista’s comment on what kind of first name ‘Mulder’ is. We move to stand at the end of the counter to wait for our coffees.

“Sometimes, I just want to tell them my name is Bob, just so I don’t have to explain Mulder or Fox to another barista.”

“Don’t ask me how many time’s I’ve been Donna, Danny or Dinara and one time, Daniel. I think they do it on purpose. At least yours is easy to spell, Eff - Oh - Ex.”

“Oh I bet you were a regular hit at the spelling bee, with those mad skills of yours!”

“I’m a woman of many talents, Bob.”

The barista calls out our names, ‘Peppermint Mocha for Daisy, black coffee for Mouldy’ and we reach out to accept our respective cups. Pushing out way to the crowd, we continue our conversation.

“Daisy? That's not even remotely close to my real name… but Mouldy is freaking priceless!” Her giggle at their slip up almost makes it worth it to have a shitty first name.

“Yeah, yeah, make fun of the guy with the funny name. I kind of like Daisy, though, it’s a pretty name!”

I’m so happy to see that we turn to head in the same direction, strolling along the crowded sidewalk, sipping our coffee. I have to walk pretty fast to keep up with his long strides.

“It is, yeah! So tell me, Eff- Oh- Ex, how much flak did you have to take way back in the day, when “What does the Fox say?” came out?” I shudder at the memory.

“They didn’t tease me with it. Much. Just a lot of ring-ding-dingalinging. It became a thing in my friend group, whenever they asked me something, they’d add ‘So what does the Fox say?’. It went on a long time and they still do it sometimes, when we get together, just to drive me nuts!”

“I hope for your sake that Felix never discovers that song, he’d have a field day!” Oh God, she’s right. Must keep him away from it at all costs. At my panic face, she laughs an evil laugh. “We do listen to a lot of music at recess…”

“Oh no, you wouldn’t!” I point an icy finger at her. “Promise me you wouldn’t!”

“Well, it does have a lot of educational material in it, with all the animal sounds…”

“I’ll have you know that you hold my sanity in your hands, handle with care!”

“I hear they have a lot of fun pills at the asylum, maybe I’ll come visit so you can sneak me some!”

We come to stand at the junction where we have to part ways and she raises her cup.

“Have a good day, Mouldy!”

“You too, Daisy!”

—————

[ DS ]

I think about the strange but fun encounter all the way home, the world didn’t end like I thought it would when we met again and it was a rather pleasant conversation. Like a conversation between long-time friends, even though friendship is not exactly what I’m looking for here. But it’ll have to do, for now. It’s just nice to talk to him again.

#xf #the x files #xf fanfic #msr #felix felicis

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vanderlindemorgans · 3 years

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Cross My Heart (Chapter 2)

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x Reader

Rating: Explicit/18+

Summary: A traitorous Agent Whiskey returns to the United States on the run. Being cast out by Statesman, he soon finds that you’re the only person he can turn to - the embittered former flame from years long passed

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: Eventual smut, some references to alcoholism and drug use. Reader is in her late twenties but there is an age gap between her and Whiskey. Chapter specific warnings are as follows - mentions of alcohol, descriptions of blood, Whiskey being a bit of an ass and some brief talk of dead relatives.

Read on AO3 | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist

You watched him as he settled himself back down into the couch, taking note of every breath he took while he reclined back, refusing to look you straight in the eye. That didn’t bother you too much - you were too busy studying the myriad of bruises and cuts splayed along his body, from the tears and scuffs in his denim jacket to taking note of his perfectly maintained Stetson. How on Earth that thing had managed to escape from whatever situation Jack had gotten himself into unscathed mystified you, but from what you remembered of him you knew he loved that damn hat to death.

Neither of you had said a word to each other since he stumbled through your front door only moments before, that heightened sense of tension undoubtedly ripe in the air. You thought if you ever saw Jack Daniels face again that you’d have a couple of cutting remarks to say to him - if you ever did think about him that is, and you usually didn’t. Jack hadn’t haunted your thoughts for years now, memories of the summer you two first met and the cold dark of winter when you fell apart falling away to the sands of time. The last thing you ever expected was to have him show up on the front step of your ranch, looking like he’d been beaten within an inch of his life. Gazing over him now, you felt it was somewhat your obligation to make sure he was fine: despite your less than amicable feelings towards him you weren’t about to let him die on your couch.

“Can I get you anything?” you asked him, a hint of uncertainty to your tone. He turned his gaze towards you and shrugged slightly, looking no less unsettled than he had a moment before. “I’m fine for now. Trust me, it doesn’t hurt as bad as it looks”.

“You sure about that? No offense, but you kind of look like a wreck” you shot back, to which he replied with a small scoff. “Nice to see you too, sweetheart. I forgot how hospitable you were to those in your care”.

You could feel a spark of heat rise in your cheeks at his words, and almost wanted to retort back with something equally if not more biting. That fucking bastard. Here he was, lying on your couch looking like he’d walked out of a gang fight and he had the gall to give you attitude. “Alright, ignoring your completely rude and uncalled for attitude for a moment, you still haven’t answered my question. What the fuck did you get yourself into?” you asked.

There was a momentary pause where Jack looked back up at you, an expression of remorse crossing over his face in the brief glance he shot at you. Turning his gaze back down towards the wooden coffee table before him, he shook his head and sighed. “Sorry about that, darlin’.I just...I got myself into a bit of a tight situation. Things have gotten complicated now” he explained, prompting you to raise your brow at him.

“Yeah, I can see that. Who did this to you?”.

“Just some other agents. It doesn’t matter” he replied curtly.

“From where? Statesman?” you asked. After dating him for about a year, you were well aware of his position as an agent to Statesman, and you knew exactly what that job entailed. Jack had been injured before, sometimes worse than how he was now. You remembered once he came back from a mission with several different bones broken, multiple gunshot wounds and a concussion. You’d been left worried for weeks after that as he recovered, only being allowed short visits to see him due to the very nature of his job. This time was different though. You knew Jack was a survivor, but for him to show up out of the blue after several years of no contact, looking the way he did, something was horribly wrong. Studying his expression intensely, you couldn’t help but let out a low sigh in frustration. It annoyed you to some degree of how evasive his answers had been thus far. It was almost like he was ashamed to even say what had happened to him, ashamed to be even talking to you.

“No, no, they...they weren’t. That’s not important right now though” he finally answered, running the edges of his fingers over his tattered jeans. If it were any other day you would have been more upset at his dismissal of your question but upon seeing the troubled look on his face you felt it best to let it go. An uncomfortable silence had started to hang over the room, the space between you and him feeling more and more tense as the moments ticked by. You looked down at your shoes, taking note of every scuff and streak of mud as if they were the most interesting things in the world, and giving yourself another minute of hesitation before blurting out “Why are you in Dallas?”.

“It just so happened to be the place the cargo plane I was stowing away on landed. I wasn’t tryin’ to seek you out or anything, if you’ll believe me”.

His explanation gave cause for you to raise a single brow at him once more, not entirely believing it to be a coincidence that he just happened to show up in Dallas after seven years of radio silence. “Really? Why come here then? Don’t you have your agent buddies to fall back on for shit like this?” you inquired, your tone coming off far more biting and bitter than you originally intended it to. You could see Jack seize up slightly at your callousness, a pained expression passing over his face that made your breath catch in your throat for a second before you darted your eyes away from him, focusing back down to your shoes and deriding yourself for even having a moment of fleeting attraction to him. All these years and those pathetic puppy dog eyes still managed to get to you. Damn him.

“Usually, yeah. Not this time round though. I’ve…” he stopped himself, his eyes betraying the deep wounded pain woven within them, strengthening every second longer he dwelled on the memory of his former glory. “I’ve been kicked out of Statesman. Or, well, I haven’t officially been kicked but after what happened the other day I’d be a damn fool if I even tried to walk through their doors again”.

You blinked at him in confusion, his words not fully registering with you. Statesman kicked him out? Him of all people? You briefly considered the possibility that he was simply just pulling your leg and trying to gain some sort of sympathy but upon remembering the pained expression on his face you were instantly told all you needed to know about the truth behind his words. Ok, so he’s not lying, but still...why? “I find it hard to believe that they’d just boot out their best field agent. What did you do to warrant that?”.

You could see Jack’s mouth twitch slightly, indicating that he wasn’t entirely up for divulging such information. Running a hand through his hair, he trained his eyes to the ground and refused to look up at you as he went on to explain what exactly had gone down to lead him there. “Long story short, I had a disagreement of sorts with a couple of agents from a fellow organisation, and may have gone against Champ’s direct orders in order to hinder them. I guess you could say I went rogue” he elaborated, intentionally trying to keep some of the finer details out. You had half a mind to push for more info, though after another seconds thought you decided against that idea and instead settled for nodding at him semi-sympathetically. “I see. So...why are you here then?”.

He didn’t answer you right away, rather finding himself to be staring straight upwards at the wooden beams on the ceiling above. You analysed his expression, trying to find any sort of hint towards what he was thinking. Your eyes kept being drawn back to that dried gash of blood across his cheek, and you winced at the thought of him being in any sort of prolonged pain. Maybe you should have fetched some medical supplies for him after all - knowing Jack and the way he was, he always liked to downplay the dangers associated with his job. Every time he wound up in Statesman’s medical wing needing some sort of bullet taken out of him he never once admitted to ever being in pain. Getting injured was part of the job, he always said, so it wasn’t worth it to worry over him everytime he got hurt in the line of duty. He was an expert at saying he was fine when it was all too clear that everything wasn’t.

The sound of Jack sighing heavily pulled you from your thoughts, looking up to see him with his head in his hands, practically exhibiting every clear sign of tension in the book. A small part of you wanted to feel sorry for him, for seeing him like this. “Look, I realise this may be too much to ask of you, considering our history, and part of me hates that I have to in the first place but...I have nowhere else to go. I can’t go back home to either New York or Kentucky. I’m not an agent anymore, so I can’t ask any of them for help, and I’m almost a hundred percent sure that I’ve got some sort of bounty on my head now. I’m on the lam as they call it” he prattled. “I need a place to hide out, to lay low while I sort some shit out”.

The day had already been weird enough already, hearing him ask for your help was only just the cherry on top. Blinking slowly and with your mouth hanging open in utter disbelief, you blurted out “Let me get this straight: you need my help?”.

“Just for a little while, and I promise, sweetheart, as soon as I’m able to I’ll be outta your hair” Jack assured, turning his eyes upwards to you so that you could see his lovely brown eyes, the very same ones that you felt yourself get lost in all those long years ago. “I would never ask this of you unless I had no other choice. You and I both know that”.

You were at a complete loss for words. Between his tone and those frustratingly sweet eyes of his, you weighed your options carefully on what you should do. Should you let him stay with you? On one hand, with what he’d done to you years ago, something that still left you hurting even now, some part of you felt hostile towards him being around again. You remembered being young and 21, giving your heart out to him and only ever receiving empty promises in the end, leaving you with the painful memory of standing crestfallen on a flight of marbled stairs, on a night that you had sworn was gonna end with a ring ending instead with a shattered heart and never-ending glasses of merlot on your lips. Eventually, you’d learnt to live with the heartache. And pretty soon, for the most part, you’d forgotten. Seeing him there, tonight, in your living room of all places, was starting to bring those feelings back. No matter how hard you tried to stifle them, ignore them and focus on the matter at hand, you still felt the bitterness creep into your tone every time you opened your mouth.

Still, even though Jack had hurt you, you couldn’t just leave him out with nothing. From what he told you, he truly had nowhere else to run. If you threw him out now, he could be dead within hours. The mere thought of that made your heart sting, and despite any bad blood between you two you weren’t heartless, so with a small sigh, you at last settled on the answer you would give to him. “Alright. I’ll let you stay. On one condition though: you gotta help out a little with some of the ranch handling stuff. Once you’re all healed up from your injuries of course” you posited. “And don’t bother trying to butter me up, I’m not enough of an idiot to fall for your charms twice. I’m doing you a favour so it would be in your best interest to avoid pissing me off. You think you can handle that?”.

He smirked back at you, though it was void of it’s usual playfulness and felt to be more out of sadness than anything resembling his usual jackassery. “You drive a hard bargain, sweetheart, but yeah, of course. I’d be more than happy to help ya out”.

“Alright. Now…” you nodded at him before turning on your heel in the direction of the kitchen in search of some bandage and gauze for his injuries. “I am going to get you some medical supplies because even though you said you’re fine you clearly aren’t, and I’m not about to have you dropping dead in my goddamn living room. The blood would get all over the carpet and I ain’t lookin’ to pay to get it cleaned” you announced, dropping down to your knees and rifling through one of the lower kitchen cabinets for all the necessary items.

You could hear him chuckle from the living room, imagining him to be wearing a more toned down version of that charming grin he always seemed to have on him. “Ah, you wound me, my dear girl. Where are your folks?”.

His question made your heart seize in your chest, your hands grasped around the roll of bandage and bottle of antiseptic you’d scrounged out from the back of the cupboard. Rising to your feet, you stuttered on your words as you led yourself back into the living room with an arm full of different medical equipment. “They...they died a couple of years ago. It’s been just me for awhile” you answered back, doing your best to ignore the look of surprise that spread across Jack’s face. “I’m sorry to hear that, darlin’”.

Tearing off a strip of bandage, you motioned for him to give you his arm so that you could begin tending to some of the deeper cuts on him. “It’s ok. Well, not ok, really, but what can you do?” you murmured, brushing the length of his torn denim jacket out of the way and pressing down a dash of cold antiseptic cream across one of his cuts, watching as how he winced slightly from the sting. “Life goes on. It has to, or else you get left frozen”. Shaking your head, you began to tie the strip of fabric around his forearm, eager to get off the topic of your deceased loved ones as soon as possible. “I’ll put you up in the guest room upstairs. Don’t go through any of the shit in the cupboards, ok? It’s private stuff”.

“I would never dream of doing so, sugar”.

“Good. Lucky for you, none of these gashes seem too bad so they’ll most likely heal within a couple of days. I’ll just put a bit of adhesive over that awful one you got across your cheek and you’ll be right as rain in no time” you said, popping open the box of adhesive bandages.

Jack smiled at you, albeit weakly as you smoothed the bandage over his cheek. “Thank you for doing this for me. I mean it. Honestly, I didn’t think you were even gonna let me stay here”.

You shot him an odd look at that comment, leaning back down to pick up the various bits of first aid paraphernalia off the floor to deposit back onto the coffee table. “What do you take me for, Jack? I ain’t a cold hearted bitch. I hate you for what you did but I don’t want you to die or anything” you quipped, staring at him straight in the eyes as you said those words. Not allowing him a second to respond, you turned away and began to walk off towards the stairs, starting to feel the exhaustion of the day sink in once again when you placed your foot on the first rung.“You’re all good to go. I’d say go upstairs and get some rest, lord knows that’s what I’ll be doing. If you need anything give me a shout ok?”.

He nodded back at you wordlessly, abruptly turning away afterwards the lean against the couch with his back turned to you, lost back in his own thoughts. You allowed your gaze to linger on him for a moment longer then dragged yourself up the stairs and towards your bedroom, flicking off the hallway lights as you went. In an instant after you heard the click of your bedroom door shut behind you, you allowed yourself to groan out in agony at your entire predicament. So, your ex-boyfriend is on the run and hiding out in your house. This could prove to be interesting...

#agent whiskey #agent whiskey x reader #jack daniels #jack daniels x reader #kingsman: the golden circle #kingsman fanfiction #cross my heart #pedro pascal

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hopelikethemoon · 4 years

Text

Moros (Ezra x Reader) || {Moonbeams} || [smut]

Title: Moros Rating: Explicit Length: 3,900 Warnings: Mild angst, pregnant!reader, and light sexual content in the form of masturbation. Notes: Honestly, I think the first half of this is some of the best writing I’ve ever done. Part thirteen of the Moonbeams series.

Taglist: @princessbatears @djarin-junk @absurdthirst @hdlynn @legally-a-bastard @opheliaelysia @heather-lynn @sabinemorans @crazinessgraveyardsandcartoons @pedrospunk @maybege @chews-erotically @katlikeme @lose-eels @youmeanmybrain @theindiealto @irishleesh93 @seawhisperer @hdlynn @demigod-dragonrider-schoolidol @grapemama @roxypeanut @kochamcie @kiwi-the-first @hellomothermoon @soft-fanfics @spacegayofficial @storiesofthefandomloversreblogs @kindablackenedsuperhero @goblinqueen95 @nominalnebula @wheresthewater @letmybabysleep @hayley-the-comet @corrupt-fvcker @i-ship-it-ironically @mrsparknuts @the-feckless-wonder @gamingaquarius @findhimfives

Despite how disparagingly Ezra often spoke of Lykaios — as far as moons went, it was actually beautiful. It had a lush forest, rolling meadows, and at least two seasons.

If that was where you would have to call home for the foreseeable future, you weren’t going to complain. You just had to look past the trio that wanted to hurt you and the semi-feral werewolves that also called it home.

Arcadia, on the other hand, was surreal. Even from above the planet during your descent, you were struck by the planet’s beauty. There were snowcapped mountain peaks, expansive fields cut through by wide rivers that led to the sea, and waterfalls.

It made your heart hurt to think that just beside Lykaios was a planet that had everything Ezra’s heart longed for. How many times had he told you that he missed the sea?

You landed in an open meadow and armed yourself with your stun gun and a long armed blaster loaded with the silverline Shiva had given you. Proctor had made numerous visits to the planet — it couldn’t be that dangerous, right?

Though you did wonder why Sybil didn’t know about it. What was he keeping from her?

You ventured out towards one of the rivers you had spotted from above. There appeared to be an outcropping of rocks that looked similar to lunaxium deposits you had seen on Lykaois. That was the key — you just had to find out whether or not the planet could sustain Ezra’s need. You hesitated to call it an addiction, because he did actually need to take the substance.

But sometimes it reminded you of Ay-7 and the illicit affairs that could be found in the back rooms of popular cantinas. That blissed out, out-of-body look. At least Ezra came down off of it fairly quickly, though you sometimes wondered if he only took enough to bide himself through the discomfort until you were gone.

You trusted Ezra with your life, but you didn’t trust him to not lie about his own life. And maybe that had nothing to do with being a werewolf and everything to do with being a drifter. You had to build up walls to keep yourself safe.

You wore your heart on your sleeve, but you weren’t afraid to do what had to be done.

Sometimes you caught yourself wondering if you would’ve even liked Ezra if you had met him on a prospecting venture. He could be grating at times — especially if he knew more about a topic. He’d go on and on about it until you forgot what had sparked the discussion at first. He hated being wrong, but he was quick to apologize. Plus, you knew he had a long list of dead partners which made you wonder if that would’ve been you too.

It stung to even think of that because you knew what it was like to stare down the barrel of a blaster held by someone you loved. And that was why Alia was never discussed.

But Ezra wasn’t Mars or Alia or anyone else that you had given misplaced emotions to. As irrational as it seemed — Ezra didn’t seem like the type to pretend, even if he was just lonely. He was too brutally honest to mislead you.

You holstered your stun gun on your thigh as you approached the river. It must have rained recently because it had risen up over the edge of the bank, running rapidly downstream towards the sea. The water was a vibrant shade of blue, a mirror reflection of the brilliant sky above and the shiny stones that lined the riverbed.

You knelt down and dipped your fingers into the water, wiggling them in the current as it flowered around them. There were fish — which was a welcome surprise. Lykaois had no major water sources, aside from the occasional shower or snow.

You pulled your fingers out of the water and watched your reflection in the smooth surface of the water. Your face was distorted by the current and the edges bled out into waves of darkness that seemed to sink into the riverbed.

“What the—“ You murmured to yourself as you reached out and dipped your finger into the water, watching as it cut your reflection in two but the darkness seemed to pulse with life.

You stood up abruptly and took a stumbling step away from the riverbank. The darkness seemed to rise up and out of the flow, before fanning out across the ground beneath you.

You scrambled to your feet, spinning around to look for the darkness but it was gone and all that remained was your own shadow.

You grabbed your longarm off your shoulder, aiming it at the ground. “What are you?” You questioned, keeping your finger trained on the trigger.

Your shadow expanded across the ground, growing upwards before it spoke. “I have encountered many mortals who have found their way onto this planet, yet not one that came before you tried to shoot their own shadow.” The rich masculine timbre of the figure’s voice made something quake within you.

“You didn’t answer my question.” You retorted, not letting up on your aim.

The shadowy figure chuckled lowly as it moved beyond your shadow, stepping to the left and shifting into a new shapeless form. “I am only what you make of me. What do you see when you look at me?”

“I see…” You squinted as you tried to focus on the darkness, but every time you thought it came into focus it transformed into something unrecognizable. “I don’t know.”

“A path unset. Fascinating.” The figure stretched out across the ground, before rising upwards and taking on a new form. The darkness was thick and yet you could see straight through it.

“You came here seeking answers,” The voice questioned, turning an accusatory tone towards you. “You think you can defy the verdict of the fates because of love.”

You took a step backwards, glancing behind you towards the river before looking back at the figure. “I didn’t come here to defy anyone. I came here because someone I love was unjustly cursed because of the actions of someone centuries ago. I just want to find somewhere we can go together safely.”

The figure must have noticed the way you unintentionally passed your hand over your stomach.

“A child.” He spoke, moving towards you. “One of the few creatures in the universe that spring up with an unknown future laid out before them. Born innocent, clean… No other offspring have such autonomy. Seedlings sprout up, destined to nourish the earth. Mice are born to feed the snake and hawk. But a baby…” A hand stretched out from the darkness, reaching towards your stomach.

You took a step backwards, teetering on the edge of the riverbank. Trapped between the darkness and the rushing water. “Don’t touch me.”

The voice laughed harshly. “You have already been touched by me. These hands have wrapped themselves around you, around Ezra, and around the star in your belly. Everything that lives has been touched by me.”

The shadow grew, the transparent tendrils knit together into the flowing robes of a physical being. But before you could wrap your head around what you saw the riverbank beneath your feet gave way and you sank into the mud.

You braced yourself to be swept away by the river’s flow, but instead you landed on smooth stone. You opened your eyes, heart beating rapidly as you took in your surroundings.

Grand columns sprang upwards with roots winding around them. The columns shimmered blue like the river stones you had marvelled at. The walls were chiseled out of stone, covered with brilliant murals and intricate designs. Depictions of epic battles and tender moments.

“Hello?” You called out, slowly walking through the cavernous space. Your voice echoed off the stone, rippling through the emptiness like a pebble skimming the surface.

The path you took wound its way towards a narrow corridor. Within the corridor — suspended between the darkness at either end — was a thin red string that was drawn taut.

Something told you not to touch and you heeded that quiet warning. You took a step backwards, despite the desire to step into the corridor and follow the thread.

The darkness seemed to swell, engulfing the thread as the stone wall sealed the narrow passage closed.

“You are steadfast.”

You spun around to face the figure from before. The dark robes billowed out over a transparent shadowy form.

“I have seen the bravest warriors succumb to the temptation of knowing. How quick the threads were cut.” The shadowy figure beckoned you closer and you obeyed. “There is a way to break the curse that has become a plight for the one you love. But it won’t be easy. It won’t be free.”

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

“You don’t.” His voice dripped with amusement. “The one before you — Bernard. He was close. A breath away from knowing the taste of freedom, but there were debts that had to be repaid.”

“Are you the reason he died?”

“No. That was the folly of man. Only a fool thinks he can outrun fate.” The figure traced his tendril like fingers over your forehead. “They tried to pry him from your mind, didn’t they?”

“Yes.”

“But you resisted by sheer power of will.”

“I guess you could say that.”

“I have a proposition for you.”

You arched a brow, “I’ve made a lot of bad deals in my life, but making one with a shadowy figure seems like a mistake.”

“It could be. That’s the beauty of choice. You can walk away now. Or it could be the answer you seek.” The figure told you briskly. “I could untether your beloved from the moon and he could float far beyond your reach…”

“That doesn’t sound like a deal I’m interested in.”

“But how sweet would it be to know that he would still choose your company if he were no longer bound to Lykaois. That’s what you want to know, isn’t it?”

You swallowed thickly, “And what would I have to do?”

The shadow chuckled darkly, “You would have to keep our secret. You would come to me on each departure and do my bidding as I please. Once you have done all that I desire, I will release him from the chains.”

“What about my child?”

The shadow seemed to consider that, “I cannot interfere with a life not yet known. A pity, truly. But perhaps I will feel munificent when we part at last.”

Were you really going to do this?

“So in exchange for Ezra and our baby’s freedom from Lykaois, all I have to do is keep a secret and spend time with you once a month doing what you tell me to do?”

“Indeed. The tasks you find here will not be simple, but you will find yourself better for them. Choice has a way of bolstering mortal morale.”

The dark shape extended its hand to you, “Do we have a deal?”

You hesitated for a mere second, before reaching out to grasp at the hand. Your palm burned, white hot heat searing through the lines in your palm as you sealed your fate.

A beeping sound cut through the darkness swimming in your mind. You opened your eyes slowly, taking in the dim light of your quarters. You were in your bed…

The mechanical whir of your ship’s engine caught your attention.

And the beeping.

“Shit.” You mumbled as you snatched up your datapad and tapped the notification. It took a second for the connection to go through, “I’m so sorry, Ezra… I must’ve fallen asleep.” Had you though?

“I was worried,” He drawled out. “You said you would check in once you got into orbit and that should’ve been… ten hours ago.”

Ten hours?

You clicked off the connection channel and looked at your call log. He’d tried to connect with you a dozen times over the last ten hours.

“I must’ve laid down to rest my eyes and… ten hours?” You rubbed at your eyes as you moved to get out of your bed. “I didn’t mean to worry you, Ezra.”

“Don’t apologize, moonbeam.” Ezra assured you. “I am just relieved to hear your voice. Your condition has changed, it’s expected that you would need to sleep more…”

Ezra continued rambling and you tuned him out momentarily as you made your way to the cockpit to check the systems. There was no trace of your landing on Arcadia.

“Moonbeam?”

“Sorry, sorry!” You told him quietly. “I sat my datapad down to check on the flight path. I didn't intend to fall asleep that long.”

“Are you well, little lamb?”

“Just groggy.” You assured him. “How are you?”

“Better now that I can hear your voice.” Ezra drawled out warmly. “I thought the worst.”

You frowned as you looked at the datapad, “I’m sorry, I really am. I don’t know what happened.”

But the tingling in your palm reminded you of what did happen. The secret you had to keep from him. The choice you made that could’ve been a mistake of epic proportions.

“I can’t say we got much sleep your last night here,” Ezra pointed out with a short laugh. “You were probably fatigued.”

You felt your cheeks warm as you sank back in the jump seat. “I think you’re right. You wore me out, Ezra.”

Silence lingered between the two of you for a moment, before Ezra spoke again, “I miss you.”

“It’s only been half a day.”

“Doesn’t matter.” He retorted smoothly. “The second your ship departs this moon, I feel the ache of your absence.”

“You should try your hand at writing poetry.” You teased, “And then tell me how you pine for me.”

“I do pine for you, moonbeam.” Ezra assured you, his voice like honey and easily melting away your worries. “I sit here in this metal coffin and count the seconds until I’m not alone without you.”

“I’ll be back before you know it.” You reminded him. “I just need to see the medic, handle a few things with Shiva, and then I’ll be on my way back to you.”

“I wish I was there with you.”

“So do I.” You sighed quietly, flipping a switch in the panel before heading into the living area. “Do you want me to bring anything back?”

“Just you.”

You snorted a little as you stretched out on the sofa, “So no food, huh?”

Ezra grumbled, “I wouldn’t say ‘no’ to more honeysticks.”

“That’s what I thought.” You laughed softly, propping the datapad up against your legs. “I can’t imagine you turning down sweets.”

He hummed, “You can always surprise me, moonbeam. I think you know what my tastes are. It’s often difficult to know what I miss when it’s been so long.”

“I’ll see what I can bring back for you.” You assured him, already thinking about what you could track down for him on the Block.

“Where are you in the transport?”

“On the sofa.” You told him, “I go from one soft surface to the next.”

He chuckled heartily, “Still groggy?”

“A little.” You chewed on your bottom lip, “I don’t know if I’m just hyper-aware of my condition or things are starting to change.” It wasn’t much, but you definitely noticed that you felt different and that had nothing to do with what happened on Arcadia.

“Just take care of both of you,” Ezra said with an edge of emotion in his voice that made your heart hurt. “It is still a surreal event to know that I have brought life into this world.”

“Tell me about it.” Your hand went to your stomach. “I still think it’s a dream.”

“A good dream?”

“The circumstances may not be ideal, but it’s still a good dream.” You told him warmly, wishing you could reach out and smooth the worry line between his brows. You could picture him so clearly, that swirling look of concern in his kind eyes. “Have you used your lunaxium today?”

“Yes.” He huffed. “I am fine, little lamb. The beast has been sated for now.”

“I bet the beast misses me too.” You teased.

“You have no idea.”

You blinked slowly as you stared at the datapad. “Oh?”

Ezra chuckled, “You know how the beast feels about you.”

“Do I?”

He groaned, “Don’t be cruel.”

“You’re right.” You said with a put-on mournful tone. “But I’m just laying here on my sofa thinking—”

“That you’re going to drive me mad?” Ezra questioned, breathing heavily. “Fuck. I think about that night whenever we’re apart. Five years I went without feeling another person’s touch and then there was you… I tried to ignore how it felt to have you in my arms — you were injured, you needed my help.”

“I remember laying in your bed and marveling at your book collection.” You mused quietly, listening closely to the raspy sound of Ezra’s breathing on the other side of the com.

“You marveled in my bed.” He retorted, a quiet groan escaping him.

“That’s it, Ezra.” You drawled out, knowing exactly what he was doing right now. “Are you picturing that it’s my hand?”

“Mouth.” His voice cracked.

You smirked to yourself, “Look at you, letting me take care of you.”

He swore under his breath. “I love your mouth.”

“I love your cock.”

Ezra hissed out your name and you knew he’d reached his end. He was quiet, but you could hear his labored breathing as he came down from the high of the moment. “Moonbeam, I—“

“Go to sleep, Ezra.” You told him softly. “You’ve been wound up worrying about me and you should relax.”

“I’m very relaxed right now.”

You laughed softly, “I bet you are.”

“When you get back to the Block, call when you can.” He urged. “I want to know how your appointment goes.”

“I’ll try to call you every night.” You promised him. “Take care of yourself during the full moon.”

“I will.” Ezra sighed softly. “I love you, moonbeam.”

“I love you too.”

“Do you have something to say?” You questioned as you stepped around Shiva to get to the display of hyper cables. “Otherwise that look is starting to creep me out.”

“I have a lot to say.” Shiva retorted, pointing at the white cables, “You’ll want those.” They gave you another lingering look. “Unfortunately the surplus merch doesn’t carry common sense.”

You rolled your eyes as you snatched two of the cables off the rack. “Is this about what I think it's about?”

Shiva lowered their gaze to your stomach, “I clearly don’t know Ezra. A few days camped out on the moon with him and I thought he was the pragmatic sort, but nooo.” They folded their arms across their chest. “You’re really going to keep it?”

You shrugged a shoulder, brushing past them in pursuit sealant tape to repair some of the damage to the hull of Ezra’s transport. “It wasn’t a decision we came to lightly. Ezra wasn’t thrilled at first, but…” You looked back at Shiva. “It’s something we decided together.”

They narrowed their eyes at you and dropped their voice low, “You don’t even know if you’re carrying an actual werewolf.”

Quinn popped his head over the top of the shelving unit, “Did you say you needed the aero rustant?”

“Yeah.” You nodded. “Did you find any?”

“No.” He snapped his fingers, “But I did decide I’m going to call it puppy.”

You glared at him, “You should be so thankful that I’m unarmed right now. You have such a pretty face, it would be a shame to see it ruined.”

Quinn looked to Shiva, “Did you hear that? She called me pretty.”

“Find the aero rustant.” Shiva said dryly, jerking their head in a “get lost” motion. Quinn’s interference didn’t get you off the hook, however. They turned to look at you again, “I just worry about you. We don’t know what you’re actually having, he could change his mind, something could happen to you again…”

“Trust me. We’ve considered all of it.”

“I mean, what if those guardian people get ahold of you?” Their hands went to their hips, “I’m not going to put up with you not remembering who your child’s father is. Especially if it’s going to come out furry and canine.”

“Kevva preserve me.” You hissed, stepping around Shiva. “Can I please just look for what I need in peace?”

“No. Someone has to be the voice of reason around here.” Shiva insisted. “Just don’t get your heart set on this. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“I get that.”

Quinn strolled down the aisle towards the two of you, “I found the rustant.”

“Thanks.” You held out your hand, but he didn’t pass it to you.

“The warnings say pregnant individuals shouldn’t use it.”

“Quinn.” You snapped.

He grinned cheekily and tossed it to you, “Feisty. I always liked that about you.”

You brushed past him and headed for the clerk towards the front of the store to purchase everything.

“When’s your appointment?” Shiva questioned, leaning against the counter beside you.

“Three days.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Right now? Pissed off.” You shrugged.

“I just want to make sure you’re thinking everything through.” They insisted. “I’ve seen you after heartbreak and it isn’t pretty. It’s not too late to walk away.”

“I can’t Shiva.” You took your parcel of goods from the clerk and started out of the store where Quinn was loitering. “This isn’t like before. Ezra and I have a deeper connection.”

“He definitely loves you,” Quinn pointed out. “As much as it pains me to admit it, but I actually liked him.”

“Yeah, I liked him too.” Shiva admitted dejectedly. “He wasn’t what I expected.” They looked at you, “The way the two of you seemed in sync with each other was surprising.”

“So does this mean you’re going to eventually become like him?” Quinn questioned. “How does it work?”

“That’s not something either of us want for me.” You made a face. “I’m still trying to find a way for us to have a normal life… Keep researching for me. Anything you can find on Arcadia… the curse.”

Quinn smiled a little, “I can do that. Actually meant to have more for you, but those damn debt collectors wouldn’t leave me alone. Finally got that settled.”

“Who settled that for you?” Shiva slapped the back of his head.

You arched a brow, “You gave him money?”

“Quinn’s a useful idiot to have indebted to you.” They shrugged. “I was mostly doing it for you. He’s got good connections and you need them.”

“Shiva—“

“I don’t have to like this, but I do have your back.”

“Thank you.”

They shrugged, “The only thing I ask for in return is that you take care of yourself.”

“I’m trying.”

You fell into stride beside Shiva and Quinn as you headed back to the shipyard. You were trying to take care of yourself. And Ezra. And your baby.

The line on your palm tingled and you wondered if you had blindly thrown yourself into a debt that no one could help you get out of.

#ezra (prospect)#ezra x reader #pedro pascal ezra #ezra (prospect) x reader #pedro pascal x reader

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wedreamedlove · 4 years

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Xu Mo and Loneliness [Character Study]

Surprise! It's essay time again ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ! Disclaimer: I use CN translations because Elex...

One (of the many) things I love about Xu Mo's character is his juxtapositions [Character Study]. He is one of the loneliest men in the world due to his archetype and nature [Into Your World] but also the most susceptible to loneliness.

Throughout the game, he's dropped hints about his fear of being left behind:

"... But the sensitive artist was also afraid the butterfly would one day grow tired of being beside him, and so he thought about catching the butterfly and putting it in a glass jar. Like this, the butterfly would never be able to leave him." [Drowning in Love SSR - Artist and Butterfly Call]

"... But if I really did encounter the one and only color in my life, then I certainly wouldn't let them go." [Drowning in Love SSR - The Only Color Call]

"... No matter what the truth may be, I'll always be with you. Until the very moment it arrives... I just hope that, at that time, you won't want to push me away." [CH12 - Truth and False Call]

MC: Don't worry, I'll be alright on my own. Xu Mo: But I'm not alright alone. [CH13.4]

But, at the same time, he's accepted the adage that "'tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all":

"The grain, which is also golden, will bring me back the thought of you. And I shall love to listen to the wind in the wheat." [CH9.14]

Just to expand on this for those who are unfamiliar with The Little Prince story, when the Little Prince is going to leave the fox, the fox says that it is going to cry. The Little Prince feels that his taming of the fox has done it no good at all, because now it's hurt, but the fox denies this because now it has the color of the wheat fields.

"Since she was willing to gently embrace all that he was, then why not accept this pain in his heart that was caused by her alone." [Overseas Date]

"Forget it, he'll just be foolish once more with this foolish girl." [True Love Date]

One other aspect of his juxtapositions is how his wants and needs are in conflict and I think people are naturally picking up on this, which is why he's viewed as having a really intense relationship with the MC.

I'm just going to define my words in this context to make things clearer but a "want" is your desire in life, while a "need" is your raison d'etre, essentially your reason for living and your goal in life. It's not necessary for all stories or characters to have this, but they're certainly more captivating with this. (As an aside, Zhou Qiluo has this going for him too while Li Zeyan and Bai Qi do not... and maybe why Bai Qi keeps getting hit with the vanilla and boring label LOL).

So, what does Xu Mo want? To love the MC and, as a byproduct, never be alone again. What does he need? The continuing survival (and evolution) of humankind, even if that means walking a path that will leave people behind him and end with him being alone.

This internal conflict is something we see again and again in the game:

[CH13] He reveals his identity to her as Ares, but lets her go. He even sacrifices his eye and the ability to see her color.

[CH16] They're "enemies" and they draw a clear line between them at the news conference, but he then saves her and returns her home. He sacrifices their experience together in the dream world and his answer to her question about whether or not he'd even offer up the person important to him for his goals.

”Before I met you, I would be annoyed at the pace of the people with me. Everyone has their own destination and a person walking by themselves would be quicker. Mm, this isn't a good custom. But on my path, whenever I turn my head back, I would always find that you had already caught up to my side. This time as well. Perhaps, in this world, you're the only person who can make me unable to resist looking back. Or perhaps you're the only person who can reach my side again and again. So, in the future, I won't let go anymore. On this day, next year, you'll be at my side too.“ [2019 (2nd) Birthday Call]

Now, the entire reason I wrote up this post—LOL. I'm actually half-serious because his [Endless Path Date] is amazing in how they distilled his character to one of his core themes and represented that facet entirely in this AU date.

I'm going to be jumping around chronologically in the date to show how he was in the past, to the present before MC regained her memories, to after she regained her memories.

PAST

Xu Mo: I hope you don't regret the choice you made this day.

MC: ... I admit I hate them, but I don't wish to be the same as them because of this.

MC: I don't want to become a murderous demon.

Xu Mo seemed to be a bit surprised and then, after a few seconds, the crimson in his eyes faded and became a calm purple, scrutinizing me.

Xu Mo: A murderous demon... Do you believe that I am one as well?

His voice carried a smile, but I felt a formless pressure and sense of terror surround me and I shuddered.

MC: You aren't. You saved me.

Although the way was to turn me into a vampire... in a sense, he gave me a "new life".

Xu Mo: Save? It appears that, in your understanding, when vampires are hunting for food they are saving people.

MC: I'm just being factual. Also, the word "hunting"...

The corner of Xu Mo's lips pulled up.

Xu Mo: There's no rush. In the future, you will experience for yourself whether or not the word I used is accurate.

I was stunned and suddenly remembered the thirst towards fresh blood in that hut earlier which had dominated me.

Xu Mo seemed to have no intention of bothering himself with me again and turned around, preparing to leave.

MC: Um... please wait a moment.

He silently looked back, his expression indifferent and cold under the moonlight.

I summoned up my courage and looked straight at Xu Mo.

MC: Can... can you give me your blood?

MC: I heard that this was the only way to become a true vampire; they won't have to drink blood and they won't lose their reasoning, so...

Xu Mo: So I have to answer your request?

Xu Mo interrupted me, as if he heard something laughable.

Xu Mo: Vampires are not gods who never refuse a request. Or is it that all humans are such selfish creatures?

MC: N-not at all! In exchange, I can...

The wind blew through, rustling the leaves of the trees. Xu Mo calmly listened to my words and was silent for a long while before he lightly sighed, but it also seemed like a laugh.

Xu Mo: Alright, I agree.

Under the moonlight, the hand that was held out to me was pale and slender. I took a step forward and also stretched out my hand—

PRESENT

Xu Mo blinked, slowly without hurry, and swept his eyes over in my direction.

He saw me and didn't appear to be surprised at all; instead, it was like he knew I was there all along, witnessing everything.

His smile wasn't anything different from usual and even the way he set down his glass and held out his hand to me was like that day, two years ago.

Xu Mo: [MC], you came.

The color of crimson blurred my vision and the smell of blood was like a wave threatening to engulf me.

I felt like breathing was difficult and my legs were unsteady; I could only lean against the wall.

Xu Mo saw that I didn't move and walked directly over to me. It was as if everything around him had no effect on him and those two crimson eyes reflected only my figure.

He came to me like this, step by step, and the strange thing was... that I actually didn't feel any fear.

He raised a hand to support me and this let me see his eyes clearly. There seemed to be a faint worry in them.

FUTURE

Xu Mo: Do you remember everything?

A gentle voice landed beside my ear and, as I recalled the scenes of that night, I looked at Xu Mo and mumbled.

MC: I promised you that, no matter how long, I would always...

He blinked and those crimson eyes crumbled into purple, a faint smile appearing in them.

Xu Mo: Mm, you said you would be at my side forever.

The reason I transcribed these three scenes is because they're so good at showing his assumed indifference, to how fast he caved into the temptation of not being alone, to how he continues to hold this hope despite MC having "broken their promise", to the future where they get to walk in an endless night together forever.

IT'S SO GOOD. I'm a sucker for immortality concepts and PG nailed this vampire version so well; his ancientness in the past, the longing for companionship, and then the sharing of a life.

Anyway, I was actually going to post this essay after I read his newest Halloween card because, after seeing he was an exiled prince with Snow White themes, my guess was that it was going to have a heavy and explicit theme about loneliness again.

But I got impatient seeing as how I have to wait until the end of the event to redeem him. So, I guess I'm throwing it out there that this is my prediction??? For those who have read that date, you can tell me if I'm hot or cold LOL. I'm going to look like a fool yelling about loneliness themes if that isn't the case this time though.

MIMICRY

Semi-switching gears and bringing back my [Into Your World] post, I just want to add that in addition to being so intensely curious about the MC's world and trying to understand her, I've noticed that MC and Xu Mo share something pretty unique to them that's less obvious with the others.

This is the mimicry that they do to each other.

There's been psychological studies that looked into the social aspects of mimicry (Baaren et al 2009) and mimicry and attraction in romantic relationships (Nicolas Gueguen 2009). In short, mimicking someone appears to promote social harmony, comfort, and trust in the other person; it can also make you more attractive to them LOL.

I really don't think Xu Mo is doing this intentionally and that, instead, this supports his (alienated) scholar archetype, his hobby of people watching, and trying to understand the MC's world. The same goes for MC, she wants to understand his world and a part of that is experiencing things in his way.

The reason I believe this is less obvious (if at all apparent) with the others is because, when I compare Xu Mo's dates to Bai Qi dates, all of Bai Qi’s dates are more like experiencing activities together, which Xu Mo has as well, ex. [Winery Date], [Sunrise Date], [Hot Spring Date], etc.

But Xu Mo has dates where they specifically mimic each other, such as:

[Blossom Date] He covers her eyes, she then covers his eyes.

[Archery Date] Technically, he teaches her but after he gets bull's-eye, she copies the form he taught her and also gets bull's-eye.

[New Year's Eve] He gets taught and mimics the way she makes dumplings.

[Qixi 2018 Mini Story] He and the kids ended up copying the MC's flying fish.

[Rainy Night Date] The flashback about how she folded origami cranes and then taught him and they make strings of them.

They also—and this I swear is unique solely to Xu Mo—mimic each other's words or sentence structures and phrases:

[Blossom Date] Tao Yao poem and how they quoted it back at each other, essentially finishing each other's stanza.

[Endless Path Date] The beginning of the dates shows an inside joke between them where MC tries to ask Xu Mo difficult questions to stump him, because he can see through her. But he guesses the herbs she bought by the smell on her fingers. Later on, she guesses that he's going to a party based on his use of the cologne she made him and which he only uses for parties. She explicitly brings up the beginning and how she can deduce things about him too via scent.

[CH13.15] Xu Mo quotes 1 Corinthians 13:12 at MC and [CH16.12] MC quotes 1 Corinthians 13:2 at him.

[CH16.12] During the conference, MC literally quotes the words he said to her [CH13.17] back at him to go against him.

[Dumbstruck Date] Heck, this whole date was MC repeating words that the original Xu Mo said to her and making Winter!Xu Mo jealous as heck LOL.

Throughout the story, where MC draws her strength from how the other men are as people (Li Zeyan's stability and permanence, Bai Qi’s core of justice, etc.), she seems to draw extensively on the words Xu Mo has said to her, or references to the same body of literature.

EDIT: Forgot to mention, but IMO this is why he reacts the worst out of all the men to MC’s disappearance in Chapter 25+.

#love and producer #mlqc #mr love queen's choice #mlqc lucien #mlqc xu mo #love and produc(ing) meta

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meta-squash · 3 years

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Brick Club 1.4.3 “The Lark”

A slightly shorter (only very slightly) Brick Club post from me! Finally!

“To be vicious does not ensure prosperity...” So far we’ve seen two types of viciousness: rich and poor. Hugo is right that viciousness does not ensure prosperity, because I think the two types come in different ways. The viciousness of people like Tholomyes, or Bamatabois come from a sort of carelessness. These people have the money and status to treat people cruelly and poorly without even thinking about their pain. I don’t think it’s just that they don’t care that their actions hurt people; they straight up don’t think about it. Except in more direct, deliberate circumstances, like Bamatabois putting snow down Fantine’s dress, most of the time they do things for their own pleasure/benefit/whim/whatever and don’t think about its effect on others. They have the money and status to do so. On the other hand, poor viciousness is that of desperation. Those who are poor and vicious are probably aware of the damage of their actions, but they don’t care because they are focused on their own wellbeing and survival. They’re aware of the pain, but it’s less important than their own problems. One is viciousness in the midst of maintaining the status quo; the other is viciousness in the midst of clinging to the edge of survival.

I had a post about the two types of dog imagery and symbolism in the brick that included a little bit of this description of Cosette. Cosette is both literally and figuratively a dog in the Thenardier household. We get more imagery of it later on, but even here she’s fed scraps under the table like a dog. She’s treated more like a dog that can speak than like a person.

Which brings me to the fucking severity of the Thenardier’s abuse. I mean, how did Cosette turn out so lovely and sweet? How did she stay so gentle and sweet? I feel like Hugo kind of uses the biblical Jesus time-jump thing to avoid talking about Cosette working through the trauma of her abuse. At the convent we see Valjean’s idea of her more than we actually see Cosette herself. We don’t get much of her internality from ages 7/8 to about 13/14, which means Hugo can use all that time to explain away any traumas or lingering effects. Anyway, I digress. Even at five years old, they’re terrible to her. They feed her scraps under the table, they force her to wake up before everyone else and do all the chores, even the heavy labor. She’s beaten and verbally abused and throughout all of it she has to watch Mme Thenardier doting on her daughters. It frustrates me a little that Hugo seems to decide that she can’t remember any of it when she gets older. Sure, it makes sense to block out severe abuse, but surely some effects remain? Either way, it’s a wonder she turns out so lovely.

(Side note: I think this is one of the reasons people accuse Cosette of being a “flat” character or whatever. Not letting her having an aspect of hardness or hurt makes it harder to believe. It also lessens her parallel to Valjean; he has inner darkness and trauma from prison that he is actively working against through the entire book, but she doesn’t seem to get a similar darkness to also work through/against. I don’t think she’s a flat character at all, but I think this is part of where that accusation comes from.)

I always have such a difficult time with the perspective of money while reading the Brick. Seven francs sounds like nothing to me, but I don’t really know how much it would be in modern terms. I mean, it makes me think of like gas being like 30 cents back in the day and now it’s often $2.00 or more. Or, like, in the US $.70 in 1950 is the same as about 10x that today. I don’t really know what 7 francs would be equivalent to today, so it’s hard to conceptualize how much or how little money [xyz thing] costs in the brick.

Mme Thenardier is awful in a more insidious way than M Thenardier, and it extends to her own children. At first, she her total love for her own daughters means she detests Cosette and feels as though Cosette is taking from them. Later, though, this hatred transfers first to Gavroche, whom she completely abandons to the streets, then to her two unnamed sons, who she gives away, and then to Eponine, who she seems to almost entirely ignore while she seems to dote on Azelma. The specific example is when M Thenardier makes Azelma break the window; Mme Thenardier comforts and kisses her, but both parents ignore Eponine when she complains of the cold and things like that.

“Children at that age are simply copies of the mother; only the size is reduced.” I can’t help but think about the difference between older Eponine and Mme Thenardier. We don’t get much of Azelma’s characterization, but Eponine is so different from Mme Thenardier when we meet her as a teenager. It’s interesting how unlike either of her parents she is, even before properly meeting Marius.

If the townspeople think Cosette was forgotten by her mother, it stands to reason that Cosette thinks the same thing. Valjean also never really tells her much about Fantine (out of his own weird semi-religious, semi-guilt feelings about her) and I wonder how much that effects her. What would have changed in her if she knew more about her mother?

Fantine just bounces from being manipulated by one man to another. Tholomyes and Thenardier both take advantage of Fantine’s trust and her obliviousness or ignorance. It’s wild how similar both instances of manipulation are; only, in one the payment is emotion and the other is literal money. They both rely heavily on Fantine not picking up on social cues or noticing weird behavior. They also increase their behavior the longer the ruse goes on. For Tholomyes, that means cheating on her with Favourite as well as presumably ignoring her or treating her (and infant Cosette) poorly. For Thenardier, that means lies and constant increasing of payments as well as an increase in abuse towards Cosette as the payments dwindle. Both ruses end in Fantine losing something: her love, her child (twice; she dies with the knowledge that Cosette is not with her in Montreuil-sur-Mer like she had thought), her life.

Okay apparently Hugo snuck this reference to Dumollard in right before publication. Martin Dumollard was a man who lived near Montluel. He would trick women into coming with him from Lyons to Montluel under the guise of being sent by his master to find a domestic servant. He would carry the woman’s luggage on the walk from the train station to the apparent destination, but would take a “short cut” and either would kill the woman in a field and take her belongings, or the woman would sense danger and/or fight back and run away, leaving her luggage behind. When he was caught he and his wife had over 1500 items of other women’s clothing. Over 8 years he had apparently killed at least 3 women and attacked at least 9 others. His trial was at the end of January 1862, and he was executed in early March of the same year. Les Miserables itself was published in 1862 (April? I think? Someone correct me if I’m wrong), so Hugo clearly went back to add that little comment in.

We get a preview of Fantine’s story here, which I really like. I love little in-chapter glimpses of or brief chapter jumps to other characters, just to really get the sense of what things are happening simultaneously.

Like Fantine, we do not hear Cosette speak the first time we see her. “Except that the poor lark never sang.” We are introduced to Cosette in much the same way that we are introduced to Fantine: description first, and later, when Valjean comes to get her, very few lines at first. Her journey is the opposite: she becomes accessible to us as she becomes happier and more safe; Fantine becomes more accessible as she becomes more miserable and unwell.

#les miserables fanart #les miserables meta #brickclub #lm 1.4.3 #les mis #les mis meta #ever since that one video where Joe Spieldenner talked about calling Bamatabois 'BamBam' I always just want to type that instead #finishing a brick club post before 5am? it's a miracle!

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mnemememory · 4 years

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speechless

spoilers for episode 87

Caleb has been living in a constant state of delirium for approximately three days and forty-seven minutes.

He is dehydrated, exhausted, and going to throw up on the next person who looks at him even a little bit funny. This entire field trip has been a nightmare sketched straight from everything Caleb had never wanted. Frankly, the only way this could be worse was if Astrid decided to hop on by, and at this point, Caleb won’t disregard it. The world apparently has a personal vendetta against him. Well, him and his new family – but mostly him.

“Impressive business, isn’t it?” Trent Ikithon says, smiling. In every fever-dream memory Caleb has of him, Trent is always smiling. “You’ve come so far from simple sellswords and pit fighters.”

He looks at Yasha, and Caleb feels something foreign and uncomfortable squirm in his stomach.

Then Trent is looking at him, and he’s still smiling, and Caleb can’t look away.

“Especially you, Bren.”

Bren.

The name comes from so far away. It takes Caleb a moment to recognise it, the sound foreign to his ears. It has been so long since he discarded that name – it fits awkwardly around his throat, now, like a noose. Trent is smiling at him and it’s so familiar and alien.

Bren.

Caleb just stares.

His family surround him, latch onto his sides and glare out at the world. Caleb can barely breathe as Trent makes his smug swanning exit, robes billowing out behind him. Had he always looked like that? Caleb doesn’t remember a lot of things, but he thought he had long-since memorised the lines of Trent Ikathon’s face. From the ridge of his nose to the hard lines of his eyebrows, Caleb has been looking into the face of a phantom since before he lost his mind.

Trent Ikathon looks…different.

“We will not let him get you,” Nott hisses next to him, knuckles white along his robes. “You have done nothing wrong.”

That is very debatable, but Caleb is too tired to protest. They’re all running on fumes. Caleb can see Yasha’s wilting spine, Jester’s forced smile, the darkening shadows underneath Caduceus’ eyes. He wants nothing more than to sleep and never wake up. He wants to leave.

This is bigger than him, though. This is bigger than all of them.

Caleb just nods. He doesn’t trust his mouth at the moment, doesn’t trust that his voice won’t crack and reveal just how unsettled he truly is. Though, from the looks everyone is giving him, he is doing a very poor job at hiding it.

Bren.

That is his name, isn’t it? That is the name his parents gave him, that is the name he knew Astrid underneath. It was not a bad name. Caleb made it into one.

Caleb, or Bren? Are they the same people? Caleb has spent years changing his name at the drop of a hat, at the flip of a coin, at the sight of a smile. Accents are hard to shake, but names can be replaced. It wasn’t until Nott the Brave – until Veth the Breve – that Caleb settled into something semi-permanent. Bren feels like a too-small coat, now, the edges fraying the seams splitting.

“Especially you, Bren.”

What does that mean? What is Caleb supposed to take away from that?

(It is a threat. That is all. It is a threat, it is not a personal judgement, it is not a teacher complimenting growth –)

Caleb’s scars are itching. He wants to dig his nails into his skin and rip it open, until he’s got nothing left but bone. His arms are wrapped tight together, and he scrapes his thumb against the side of his palm – deeper, deeper, deeper. It isn’t enough. Everything is too blunt, too unsteady, too unfocused. They are saying something, the people around him, but Caleb can’t hear any of it. Maybe this is how he dies.

They are walking, soft hands leading him somewhere. Frumpkin leaps from someone’s arms onto his shoulders, wrapping warm fur around his neck and blocking his ears off from the rest of the world. Caleb can’t relax into it, can’t let his shoulder unclench and his spine unsnap or he’s going to break, but he does feel some relief at the new barrier. Frumpkin is warm and large and protective as he purrs into Caleb’s ear until it’s all Caleb can hear. The others are still talking, but they don’t seem to expect any kind of response from him, so Caleb doesn’t even bother trying to track their words.

He always knew this would happen. As soon as they went into Xhorhas – no, before. As soon as they walked through that festival and triumphed in the pit, with Mollymauk still at their side and Yasha smiling without the weight of the world pressing against her throat, Caleb knew that this would happen. Anonymity is for bad people. Heroes are talked about in loud voices, after all, and the Mighty Nein – for all they are a bunch of impulsive fuck-ups – are very good at playing hero.

(They’re just also very good at pissing people off).

Caleb looked into the pit and saw this happening and he did nothing, he did nothing, and this is his fault. He has no one to blame but himself. He walked into Rexxentrum with full knowledge of his place here. They have Yasha back, but they’re also about to be thrown into prison the next time Jester opens her mouth, and Caleb doesn’t know what to do.

“Should I kill him?” Yasha said, like it was the easiest thing in the world. Caleb doesn’t know if he wants to laugh or cry. He wants to do both. He feels precariously close to the edge of whatever happened to him all those years ago, with soot smudging his fingertips and sparks blowing high into the stars. He spent years in that hospital, with the screaming. Most of it was his.

He feels like screaming now.

Bren.

Bren –

“Caleb?” Nott whispers, reaching up and touching his cheek.

Caleb blinks and looks around. They’re standing in the middle of what appears to a suite of rooms, complete with elaborately carved furniture and a stained glass window. An actual stained glass window. Caleb has an eidetic memory, he knows exactly how much those things cost –

“Caleb, you don’t have to speak, but can you nod your head if you want some water?”

Caleb blinks down at her. Frumpkin is still purring away across his neck and shoulders.

He slowly nods his head.

Nott breathes out a sigh and then leads Caleb over to one of the couches, gently sitting him down. Jester immediately snuggles up next to him, Fjord a strengthening presence on his other side.

“I’ll be right back, okay?” Nott says. Her eyes don’t leave Caleb. “Yasha is standing at the door with Beau. They won’t let anyone in. Caduceus is making some food. None of us have eaten for quite a while.”

Caleb nods again, blankly.

Nott clears her throat. “We won’t let anyone hurt you.”

Jester hugs him tightly. “It will be okay,” she says.

“If anything happens, we can always run,” Fjord rumbles. “Maybe Allura would let us set up in Ta’dore. Convince the Council to grant us citizenship or something. At the very least, we have income back in Nicodranas.”

“I do not want to run from this,” Caleb says. His voice comes out small and scratchy.

“We will be here with you,” Jester says. “No matter what.”

Caleb has used up all his words. He can’t do anything but nod.

“Caleb,” Nott says. She hasn’t gone to get some water, but Caleb can see Caduceus out of the corner of his eyes brewing tea. Maybe that’s what she’s waiting for. “We will get through this.”

Caleb leans back and closes his eyes and says nothing.

#critical role #critical role campaign 2 #cr spoilers #caleb widogast #trent ikithon #basically caleb having a panic attack for 1.3k words #which y'know #fair #mighty nein #unedited because i am still sick!

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selfignitingimagines · 4 years

Note

hi could I get a teen wolf ship? I’m straight and 5’5 with long dirty blonde hair and dark brown eyes, I’m not pale but note very tan either, sarcastic and passive aggressive, have social anxiety, average grades, I dress pretty casual usually in black or red, I’m really interested in criminology and forensics , closed off and only semi-open up to a couple of people, I pride myself on intelligence, am a Virgo and Slytherin, and would do anything to protect who I love!

I ship you with Theo!

You had never trusted him, not once. When Theo first came to Beacon Hills, you felt the same way Stiles had. Theo wanted something, and you weren’t stupid enough to fall for his tricks, even if you did find yourself drawn to him. Or maybe you were drawn to each other.

Either way, you disagreed with Lydia when she said that you two bickered like a married couple, that your matched wits showed you were meant to be. Then he tried to kill Scott, and it didn’t matter that you had tried to do your own investigating. Whatever tiny sliver of hope you had that he wasn’t a monster was gone.

When Kira sent Theo down into that hole in the tunnels, you tried to put him out of your head. It didn’t matter that he tried to push past your walls more than anyone ever had, or that his intelligence was a match for yours. It was all a trick, and that was what you decided to tell yourself, even if you didn’t quite believe it.

When he resurfaced after the arrival of the Ghost Riders, things became more complicated. You had seen him put his life on the line for the Pack and for Scott, and this time, it was real. Still, you tried to avoid him at all costs, but unfortunately he had the opposite idea.

“Leave me alone,” you told him one night, as he followed you into the school library. “I don’t need someone to follow me around while I study and I can protect myself.”

“Against trained hunters who want to kidnap you?” Theo asked. “You’re crazy if you think I’m letting you out of my sight.”

“Oh and I’m supposed to trust you to protect me?”

You set your backpack down at a wooden table. It was a Friday night, and the library was deserted after eight pm, so you weren’t worried about anyone overhearing. Even the librarian had left for the night, and you and Theo had used one of Stiles’ illegally copied keycards to swipe into the school.

Theo looked slightly ashamed at your words, but just like you, he was stubborn. “I know what I’ve done. I’m trying to make up for it now.”

“By following me around?”

“By protecting you,” he insisted. “Gerard wants a banshee. You really think he won’t send someone after you?”

You bristled. It was weeks ago that Deaton had gotten a tip from an informant. There was a rumor that Allison’s Grandfather was looking for an advantage in the form of someone who could predict his death. He thought if he knew when he was going to die, he could avoid it. While it was possible for you to do that as a banshee, honing in on that power wasn’t that easy. Gerard had to know that.

“Why don’t you go protect Lydia then?” you demanded. “If us banshees are so in danger?”

“Because Malia has her covered, and I like you better.”

There he was again, flirting like he hadn’t tried to kill your friends. Suddenly angry, you yanked your bag off the ground and headed toward the exit.

Theo’s grin fell. “Wait, Y/n. What did I say?”

He followed after you, reaching out, but you knocked his hand away.

“Go away,” you snapped. “I’m not that stupid.”

His green eyes went wide. “Of course you’re not stup-”

“Shut up! All you’ve ever done is lie, and if you think I’m dumb enough to trust you, then you’re insane. Just stay the hell away from me.”

Theo stood there, stunned, as you turned on your heel and left. You let the library doors slam shut behind you, echoing through the empty school. As soon as they shut, you began to feel guilty. Maybe he had been trying to help, and it was your own attraction to him that was making you uncomfortable.

Still, you were too stubborn to turn back, and you headed toward the parking lot.

When you stepped outside, you immediately shivered. It was fall, and unseasonably cold. You regretted not taking Theo’s hoodie when he offered it during your walk up to the school doors.

You began to walk quickly to your car, trying to escape the chilly night air, but that was when you noticed two figures leaning against the fence bordering the lacrosse field. You didn’t look directly at them, instead choosing to watch from the corner of your eye as you passed. Hopefully you were just being paranoid and they were just a couple of kids hanging out. As you passed though, they peeled away from the fence and began to follow you.

That was when you started to run, and the sound of their footsteps on the asphalt shortly followed. You fumbled with your keys, hoping to get to your car, but one of them grabbed you by the backpack as your hand reached for the door.

Out of pure instinct, you screamed. Luckily, it wasn’t just a regular scream, and the force of it threw the two men back across the parking lot. They rolled over on the ground, groaning and wiping at the blood that was dripping from their ears.

“Impressive.”

You whirled around, only to be struck in the head by something hard. You crumpled onto the pavement and your bag fell off your shoulders. While your vision loomed with dark spots that threatened to pull you under, you still managed to lift your head.

You could see a woman standing over you, holding something long and metal. It glinted in the lights of the parking lot. She had dark skin and short, curly hair, and you realized instantly that it was Ms. Monroe smiling down at you.

“Gerard is desperate to get his hands on you, Y/n.”

You opened your mouth to scream, and she raised the shotgun in her hands once more. Before she could bring it down though, a dark shape barreled into her, slamming her against your car.

Your vision was growing blurrier by the second, but you could tell it was Theo who had taken her down. He disarmed Monroe in a matter of seconds, and knocked her unconscious with her own weapon. She wasn’t waking up anytime soon.

By this time, the other hunters were beginning to rise from the ground, but Theo turned around, and they ran in the opposite direction. He watched until they made it to a dark van at the edge of the lacrosse field, and sped off without Monroe. As soon as they were gone, he crouched next to you, placing a hand on your cheek.

“Y/n.”

Your eyes were closed, so he shook you gently, smearing the blood that was dripping down your cheek. “Y/n!”

Your eyes opened, just barely, and he let out a sigh of relief. “Hey, can you hear me?”

You gave a weak nod. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” he said softly. “I do.

You shook your head, but you were too dizzy to respond. All you wanted to do was sleep.

“Don’t close your eyes,” he warned.

You didn’t listen, as much as you wanted to. Somehow, you knew you would be okay, and that Theo was going to make sure of that.

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just-dreaming-marvel · 4 years

Text

ONE HUNDRED TWO - WAKANDA

LEGACY: A Tony Stark Daughter Story

MASTERLIST

< previous

Word Count: 1,875ish

Summary: The Team goes to Wakanda for help. Steve and Bucky are reunited.

The quinjet ride to Wakanda was mostly silent. We were mentally preparing ourselves for what we knew was coming, or what we guessed was coming. I was still trying to keep my connection with Tony. I could feel that he was still alive, but I was trying to reach into his mind to speak to him. Even just to say goodbye and that I love him one last time. Steve had been next to me for most of the flight, holding onto my hand. But once he stood up and began walking towards the pilots seat, I knew that we were almost there.

“Drop 2600, heading 0-3-0,” Steve instructed.

“I hope you’re right about this, Cap,” Sam said. “Or we’re gonna land a lot faster than you want to.”

I looked up to understand what Sam was saying. We were heading straight into the trees. I stood up and walked over to Steve, our hands brushing together as I stood beside him. He quickly grabbed my hand. As the quinjet continued on, the trees were revealed to be a camouflage force field and the grand city of Wakanda appeared.

Steve gave me a quick kiss on the head before turning us around as the quinjet landed. I walked out, still holding Steve’s hand, with Natasha on the other side of us. We were followed by Rhodey and Bruce, who were followed by Wanda and Vision, with Sam finishing up powering down the quinjet.

“Seems like I’m always thanking you for something,” Steve stated as his free hand reached out to shake T’Challa’s. I looked over at Bruce and watched him awkwardly bow to the King.

“Uh, we don’t do that here,” T’Challa said, waving for Bruce to stop bowing.

He reached out and took my hand, putting it to his lips for a kiss before I could stop him. “Miss Stark. It’s a pleasure to see you again. I wish it was under better circumstances.”

“Like wise,” I said as Steve gave my hand a gentle squeeze.

“The Captain has spoken very highly of you.” I gave him a small smile as a light, embarrassed blush came to my cheeks. T’Challa continued, “So how big of an assault can we expect?” T’Challa turned around and we started following him towards a building.

“Uh, sir, I think you can expect quite a big assault,” Bruce answered, trying to push his way closer to the front.

“How we looking?” Nat asked.

“You will have my King’s Guard, the Border Tribe, the Dora Milaje, and…” T’Challa trialed off and I quickly followed his eye line to see who he was looking at. I let go of Steve’s hand and froze in place as Steve continued to walk on.

“A semi-stable, 100-year-old man,” Bucky joked.

The two long-time friends shared a hug as visions of the Winter Soldier beating me played through my mind and, without me realizing, began projecting outwards. I could feel that Bucky was no longer the Winter Soldier, but it didn’t change my fear. It didn’t change what had happened. I tried to remember what it felt like when I went to help him in Bucharest, but my recent time at HYDRA was affecting my feelings towards the man. Bucky and Steve continued to chat as Sam came up to me.

“You okay, Bailey?” He asked, stepping up to my side. The visions played through his mind as he got closer. “Woah, Bai—“ He went to put a caring arm around me, but I quickly shook my head and flinched away. He retracted his hand, a concerned expression etched on his face.

“I’ll be fine.” I couldn’t take my eyes off Bucky, fear evident on my face, and Sam could see all of it.

“I don’t think you’ll be fine. And that’s okay… He has changed though. At least that’s what we’ve heard.”

“Doesn’t change what happened and the fact that I’m still scared… I know he wasn’t in control. And why I’m feeling this way isn’t exactly his fault. But—”

“But he still did those things.” Sam looked at me with sorrow in his eyes. “Does Steve know?”

I shook my head. “I don’t believe he knows the whole story.”

I believed that Steve knew that I knew the Winter Soldier, but not what he had put me through. I took a deep breath, trying to stop the projections so that they wouldn’t hit Steve. Steve turned around, excited for me to finally know the Bucky he remembered and saw the fear plastered on my face. He rushed over to my side.

“Bailey, are you okay?” Steve worriedly asked.

“Bailey?” Bucky questioned, stepping towards me. He studied me carefully. “It is you… It’s been awhile.” My breath began hitching and I couldn’t form words.

“Bailey?” Steve worried. “Sweetheart?” I flinched at the nickname but my focus never left Bucky. “You remember trying to help him, right?”

“It’s not that, Steve,” Bucky answered. “It’s about years ago.”

“Did you know her?” Steve questioned.

“Yes,” Bucky sadly replied.

Steve looked at me, finally noticing the fear in my eyes. “What exactly happened between you two?"

“I… I, um… the Soldier…”

“I used to train with the Soldier and he… he would beat me,” I quietly stated, stepping forward.

“What?” Steve questioned, snapping his head my way. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“There was never a good time…”

“A good time? Really, that’s your excuse?”

“Do you ever think there’s a good time to tell the man you love that his best friend used to beat you for not training hard enough?” I snapped. Steve took a small, cautionary step back. My anger projecting outward a little. “He was— is your best friend, Steve. Would you have believed me if I told you?”

“But you went to Bucharest to help him, why?”

“Because she loves you,” Bucky answered. “At least that’s what she told me when she showed up that day… It’s okay, Bailey. They’ve taken HYDRA out of my head.” Bucky tried to reassure me and move on from Steve’s questions. “I am so sorry.”

“Can I see your hand?” I reached for Bucky’s human hand. “I can feel that you’ve changed, but I just need to be sure… So that I can trust you and not be scared anymore.”

Bucky willingly set his hand in mine, knowing that I wasn’t trying to control him, and I searched through his mind. They had cleared HYDRA out of his mind and I was surprised to find that he even remembered me, since his memory was still being repaired. I let go of his hand and took a deep breath before forcing him into a hug.

“I am so sorry for what I did to you,” Bucky whispered as he hugged me back.

“It’s okay,” I responded. “It wasn’t you.” I took another deep breath, readying myself for what I was about to say. “I forgive you Buck,” I whispered into his neck. He held me a bit tighter.

“I don’t deserve your forgiveness.”

“Well too bad. I forgive you, for hurting me, for killing my grandparents.” He tensed up. “For all of it… Everyone deserves another chance, Bucky. Even you… Plus… My fear is not all your fault…”

Bucky pulled back, giving me a worried look before looking at Steve and then back to me. “So… You two, huh?” He pointed at Steve and I.

“I guess,” I laughed. “Crazy, isn’t it?”

“How did you end up with this old man?” Bucky joked.

“Hey!” Steve said, faking offense. Though, I could feel a tinge of real offense flow through him.

“It’s a long story,” I said. “And I still don’t know if we’re actually together. Perhaps once this is all over we can get a drink and catch up.”

“I’d like that,” Bucky responded, a hit of hopefulness in his voice.

Steve and I then left Bucky, Sam, and Rhodey to watch the grounds as we went to see what they could do for Vision. When we got to the lab, Vision was lying on an exam table with Shuri studying a hologram projection of the stone over him. Bruce was on the other side of her, watching her every moment. He was in awe of Shuri’s brilliance and the technology that she had at her finger tips.

“Whoa. The structure is polymorphic,” Shuri stated.

“Right, we had to attach each neuron non-sequentially,” Bruce says.

“Why didn’t you just reprogram the synapses to work collectively?” Shuri asked.

Vision turned to Bruce, seemingly asking the same thing. It was a solid question, what hadn’t we? Maybe because we were rushing to stop a murder bot. Just no big deal, there was no reason that we had to rush into creating Vision. Plus that he was basically created by Thor’s lightning after he had disappeared for 24 hours. So we had plenty of time to rethink everything.

“Because, we didn’t think of it,” Bruce answered with uncertainty.

“I’m sure you did your best,” Shuri reassured with a smile.

“Can you do it?” Wanda asked. Her worry was strong but I knew that it wasn’t my place to help calm her.

“Yes, but there are more than two trillion neurons here. One misalignment could cause a cascade of circuit failures.” Shuri turned to T’Challa. “It will take time, brother.”

“How long?” Steve asked, giving my hand a squeeze before he let it go and stepped closer to the group.

“As long as you can give me.” A chime went off and I watched as Okoye, T’Challa’s head guard, brought a hologram of the Earth up in her palm.

“Something’s entered the atmosphere,” Okoye stated.

“Hey, Cap, we got a situation here,” Sam warned over the comms. I watched out the window as a shield appeared over the city and one of the alien ships slammed into it.

“Gosh, I love this place,” I heard Bucky say.

“Yeah, don’t start celebrating yet, guys.” Rhodey warned. “We got incoming outside the dome.”

I watched as the shock waves and debris from the ships destroy the forest and boil up against the dome. I look to Steve as him and T’Challa share concerned glances.

I felt how scared they both were, how afraid, and the need they had to protect everyone. They have no idea what we are getting ourselves into. I turned towards the exam table when I heard Vision struggling to sit up and slide off the table.

“It’s too late,” he said. “We need to destroy the stone now.”

“Vision, get your ass back on the table,” Nat demanded.

“Agreed,” I stepped in. “Vis, I don’t want to have to force you down but you know I can and I will.”

“We will hold them off,” T’Challa stated as he and his guards started for the door. Steve turned to Wanda.

“Wanda, as soon as the stone’s out of his head… you blow it to hell,” Steve instructed.

“I will,” Wanda said.

“Evacuate the city. Engage all defense procedures,” T’Challa commanded. He stopped before fully exiting the room, turned, and pointed to Steve. “And get this man a shield.”

next >

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letshaikyuu · 4 years

Text

𝐁𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐞 É𝐩𝐨𝐪𝐮𝐞

«𝐁𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐞 É𝐩𝐨𝐪𝐮𝐞 - French for “beautiful era,” a term that describes the period in French history beginning in 1890 and ending at the start of World War I in 1914, which was characterized by optimism, relative peace across Europe, and new discoveries in technology and science.»

𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞 - 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞 - 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐰𝐨

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: profanities, abusive parents, mentioned depression and anxiety

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.7k

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

There were numerous things Semi hated about working at a coffee shop. The loud noise, the crowded space, spilled drinks on the floor when people can't keep their eyes open and arms that intentionally flail around and knock glasses off the table. He can't say that 'Primavera' is a slow-running and old coffee shop, not at all. He has been working here for the past two years and can only turn his head away when any accidents happen. But, the main problem with working in a coffee shop was the low payment.

In his hand was a small envelope that contained this month's payment. In it was the same, small amount of money, not a dollar down and not a dollar up.

'Fucking hell, I can't live like this anymore!?' He let out an exasperated sigh and aggressively raked a hand through his dyed hair. Looking around the empty coffee shop, Semi looked at his friends that were joking around and talking about how to spend this month's paycheck. If only Semi could live a, seemingly, carefree life like them.

After attending the same high school, Semi's friend group (which is equivalent to their school's volleyball team) went their separate ways. All the third years found themselves in one university program or another, the second years were all flourishing in the science field, and chose programs that made your head hurt. The only first-year chose to chase after his volleyball dreams, alongside their former captain.

'God knows where they are in the world now...,' Semi looked at his right fist that was unconsciously gripping the white envelope. Loosening his hold on the crimpled white paper, he angrily gazed at it.

High school was not a time he was extremely proud of in his life. It had more downs than ups and was constantly giving him a headache. Yes, he was part of the school’s volleyball team, but his happiness was cut short after he sustained an elbow injury that wasn't planning on healing any time soon. Out of all the body parts, his elbow was the last part he'd pick would get injured. But, there he was. Sitting on the bench during his entire third year and watching his other teammates lining up victories. He didn't know what to do after high school. His mind was empty and out of ideas to help him overcome this obstacle. When everyone was talking about their chosen programs, Semi's response would always be: 'I'm taking a gap year.'

Now, a year after that, Semi still wasn't any closer to deciding on a program he'd be content with. A program he knew he’d love and find solace in, maybe find a good job in the same field. He paid minimal rent at 'La casa de Tendou.' His best friend from high school was also a barista at 'Primavera' and offered Semi to stay at his small one-bedroom apartment close to his university. His back accommodated to the thrifted couch in the living room, but he was in no place to complain. The only thing Semi paid for was the groceries and part of the bills. Tendou was too nice to him sometimes.

The only thing he found irritating and not very comfortable are the times Tendou’s fling and he meet up in the bathroom. Yes, he is straight, but seeing the naked body of a chick his bestfriend had been fucking a few hours prior was never a nice sight to wake up to. By now, the two of them have met up countless of times that Semi doesn’t even blink. Thankfully, she remembers to put some clothes on now.

'Speaking of the devil,' he whispered under his breath as excited footsteps approached his lonely figure.

'Hey, Semi-semi! What are you sulking about now, we're eating good tonight!' He waved his still intact envelope in front of his face and stood proudly in front of him. Behind him, Yamagata and Reon were nodding in agreement. 'We're heading to an izakaya later, you know, to treat ourselves,' Yamagata's usual deep voice had an extra kick of excitement to it and Reon simply agreed.

Reon was the cashier at the coffee shop because he is the only one out of the four that can be trusted with money. Yamagata works as the baker and part-time musician whenever there's an open gig at the coffee shop. Both of them were from Semi's old volleyball team and studying at the nearby university. Of course, Semi was the only one working full-time at the coffee shop because he was the only one who doesn't have any lectures and exams to prepare for.

'Semi-semi-,' Tendou's confused voice called out to his friend who slung a bag over his shoulder, not before shoving the envelope in his bag. 'I can't come with you tonight. Have fun without me.'

Pushing past his friends and before they could even stop him and ask him what's wrong, Semi was already out the door and into the night. Sighing, Tendou looked back at the remaining two and spoke:

'Guys, we gotta do something about Semi-semi.' Evoking hums of agreement and nods, Tendou stood there for a few seconds before raising his head. A small smirk was plastered on his face. 'Satori? People can't trust you when you look like that,' chuckling at the 'scary-looking' face of their friend, Yamagata and Reon knew that Tendou was definitely up to no good. But, with Tendou, if you're not on the receiving end of said ideas, you sit back and enjoy the show.

'I have just the thing to get Semi-semi out of his slump.' Somewhat graciously turning on his heel, he picked up his bag and jacket and headed towards the door. 'Follow me, peasants! We have shit to organize! Chop chop!'

'If we're the peasants, then why do you like a badly drawn cartoon character?' Yamagata called out to him. ’Nobody appreciates the first drafts enough!’ Yelling over his shoulder, Tendou impatiently waited for the two to join him outside. Joking about how his, non-existent may I add, pet snail moved faster than them, the walk to their favorite izakaya was filled with a very euphoric atmosphere.

Can’t say the same for poor Semi.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

’You’ve fallen behind on your school work and your paintings are getting worse, yet you still find the need to disagree with me and argue!?’ The loud voice of your mother bounced off the small studio apartment you moved into a few weeks prior. It was still bare and decorated with minimal furniture and a tiny cactus was seated on the coffee table. Your mobile phone’s speaker was suffering and could hardly keep up with the volume of your mother’s loud screaming.

’I need to shove this cactus down her throat now,’ you muttered under your breath and put your face in your hands. The lecture continued for a good few minutes and she ended the call before you could voice out your own opinion. Groaning, you leaned back on the small couch and stared at the ceiling.

This was nothing new. Your talent ultimately became a curse because your parents were always funding you and sending you to the best artists in the area. Even at a young age, you were covered in paints, chalk, and various art supplies that they made sure you have. You showed remarkable talent at drawing and painting, always showing off your skill in art competitions. What your parents loved the most about your talent is not what people think. To them, you were a walking dollar sign and title that had the chance of excelling and becoming famous in a few years. Of course, that was not a far-fetched idea at all, what are you talking about. That’s why they’ve always been trying to ’support’ you when it came to your dreams, but all they wanted to have was the money you were going to earn in a handful of years.

It was in the middle of junior high when you started to lose interest in art because of the enormous pressure building up on your young shoulders. After school, you’d always be forced to draw and better your talent, but after countless of days, you’ve had enough. That didn’t sit well with your parents who weren’t letting you have a say in this situation.

’You do know we’re the ones that made you who you are today.’’How can you be so damn ungrateful after everything we’ve done!?’

Your lovely parents applied for a spot at this humble art institute close to your small studio apartment, hoping that you would get in. It was known for having numerous secrets talents that’d later flourish into the most beautiful of flowers. Unfortunately for you, you did get a spot and now are suffering through your first semester at university. You’ve made one friend and she was thankfully willing to put up with your sarcastic and depressed ass. And now, you’re suffering together with someone.

Classes regarding art history, painting classes, drawing classes, and lots of other shit took up most of the hours in your day. Art was not something you liked to learn. Institutes hardly teach you anything and most of the professors have nothing nice to say about your art and style. You’ve gotten numerous comments from teachers and peers alike that with an attitude like that you don’t deserve to be part of the institute. Yes, you may have commented a nasty thing or two, but your art was not bad. It started to suck awhile ago because of the loss of love and inspiration. But that was not your fault, your parents were to blame.

’Ye, you turned me into a huge ball of depression and anxiety,’ you commented while glaring at the white ceiling. The night was still young, but your non-existent friendships didn’t allow you to go outside. Or was it the anxiety? ’Fuck it, I’m making some ramen,’ getting up and heading towards the kitchen, you missed the buzzing of your phone on the table.

Returning to the couch, you picked up your phone to see the countless of messages on it. You chuckled as you went through each message. ’Ye right, when was a figure model ever hot F/N,’ you typed a short reply and tossed your phone aside. Munching on your ramen, you turned on the TV, but paid zero attention to the screen and noise.

’New figure model, huh...Maybe this will be good.’

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

«𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @pirate-diary, @of-heroes-and-dreams, @ukaiwachin, @kawaiibaka96, @proplayer-kenma, @shinsukestan, @brokutoforever, @mysticrainpain, @bareeganbaree and if you wish to be added to the taglist, either DM me or slip into my ask box ;3»

#contrapposto #semi eita #eita semi #haikyuu semi #semi x reader #hq semi #semi eita fic #haikyuu #haikyū!!#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu fic #hq x reader #hq fic #hq

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recklessrex · 4 years

Note

The prompt: 14 using Scar and Persi (it doesn't need to be canonically with ur fic, to avoid spoilers, I'm just curious to see them on different situations :]

“Can you explain why my phone is up there?”

The first thing Persimmian was aware of was that the sky was a rather pleasant shade of bright blue. A couple of puffy clouds here and there. Very pretty.

The second thing she was aware of was the warm, familiar weight at her side, tucked under her right arm. A quick instinctual mental assessment (thin, tall, scruffy fur, on the right he's always on the right) instantaneously identified it as her best friend Scaramouche.

The third thing she was aware of was that her left side was cold. No warm, familiar weight.

"Scar…"

The warm, familiar weight on her right shifted and settled. She wiggled her shoulder to nudge him awake.

"Scar."

"Hh?"

"Where's Crash?"

That got Scar's attention. He lifted his head. Seeing no silver spotted tom on his friend's other side, he propped himself up to look around.

"I gotta bettah question for ya," he said.

"Hnh?" grunted Persi, still staring at the pretty sky.

"Where da fuck are we?"

Persi peeled her eyes away from the pleasant blue sky and puffy clouds to take a look around. They were laying in some sort of small field behind what looked like a suburban neighborhood. Rows of rundown houses with small back gardens lined three sides of the field. The fourth side was bordered by a highway.

"Where the fuck are we?" she asked.

"S'what I'm askin' you" Scar answered, rising into a kneeling position.

"I know. I mean I don't know. Shit," Persi's mind raced. The sensation was almost comforting to her. It meant she was finally properly awake. Her thoughts were always going a mile a minute.

But none of her thoughts right now could tell her where they were or how they'd got there.

"What'd we do last night?" she wondered as she sat up.

"Well we still have all our clothes on, so we prolly di'n't fuck," said Scar, as if it were the most normal thing in the world to say. He was good at straight-faced teasing.

"Fuck off," Persi scolded softly, her mind elsewhere. She stood up and looked around some more. No sign of Crash. That's not good. Probably. She narrowed her eyes. Her ears went back. Her tail flicked back and forth, its long fur swaying.

Scar stood up next to her, eyeing his oldest friend. He knew what she looked like when she was thinking. It usually didn't take long. He looked around too, hoping to spot his other best friend laying in the grass some meters off, but no luck. Even with only one good eye he could tell they were alone in this field.

Persi could vaguely remember a party. She clung to that memory and worked to expand it. She's been there with Scar and Crash. Of course, that part was easy, they went everywhere together. The party had been mostly lame, but there had been booze. She remembered sitting on a sofa and laughing about something with the lads, beer in hand. She thinks it was beer. She didn't remember leaving.

"So what we doin', boss?" Scar's voice cut into her thoughts.

"We left the party without Crash, apparently," she said aloud, frowning. It didn't answer his question, but it was the thought she was having at that moment, and she knew what he really wanted was to hear her thoughts.

"Oh yeah, I remember, the party!" exclaimed Scar, snapping his fingers in triumph. Then he realized how the rest of that sentence went.

"Why da fuck would we do that?" he asked.

"I don't fuckin' know!" answered, frustrated and starting to worry. Scar was worried too, but Scar could shrug it off a lot easier. Sometimes it just pays to be calm about shit, even bad shit.

"Oi, Crash!" Persi called, hoping if he was in or near one of those houses he might hear her.

"Crashie!" echoed Scar "Where ya at?!" But they got no response.

"Maybe he like, was already passed out when we left or something," Scar thought aloud after a moment. It was the only thing he could think of that made sense.

"Ah yeah, maybe. I guess," agreed Persi. Then suddenly a thought came to her, one that should have come much sooner. Resisting the urge to smack herself in the face, she reached for her phone.

"Oi, where's my phone?!" she cried in alarm.

"I don't fuckin' know" shrugged Scar.

"You still got yours?"

He checked.

"Yeah."

"Call Crashie," ordered Persi.

Scar dialed Crash's number.

Ring

Oi, you've reached a badass. You know I'm badass cuz I'm Australian. Aw yeah! Leave a message!

That was a new one.

Scar hung up and opened the text messenger.

Crashie, dude, where you at?

He dialed again.

Ring

Oi, you've reached a badass. You know I'm ba-

Scar hung up. Shit.

"No luck?" Persi asked.

"Nothing," he said. "I texted him." Then he had a thought.

"Hang on I'ma try yours," he said.

They both listened close, but neither could hear Persi's ringtone within earshot.

After another attempt to call Crash, and a couple more unanswered texts, Persi decided they should head to one of the suburban streets bordering the field to get their bearings. As they walked, Scar kept trying Crash's and Persi's phones, and they both occasionally called out,

"Crash!"

"Yo Crashie!"

"Oi! Where are ya mate!"

No response.

It turned out they hadn't traveled far from the party. They didn't recognize the street they came to at the edge of the field, but a quick Google Maps of the street name put it just three blocks from the address of the party, which was still saved in Scar's phone.

They headed off in that direction, hoping to retrace their steps, and possibly even find Crash asleep on the sofa. When they reached the party, or rather where the party used to be, they let themselves in, and made a search of the premises. They properly started to panic when all they found was trash, empty booze containers, and drunk jerks passed out in various locations around the house, none of them an Aussie silver bengal named Crashendo.

The stench of drunk farts and stale booze was getting to Persi. Exiting the house to stand on the lawn she took a deep breath of semi-fresh air and tried to get a grip on her thoughts. She was out of ideas. They needed to find Crash. They needed some sort of plan. Dammit. She was a decision maker, a tactician. She thought on her feet. She didn't do plans. Crash is the planner, she thought forlornly.

Scar joined her on the lawn, phone in hand.

"Maybe we can at least find your phone," he said, his voice totally even, as if nothing was wrong. But his clenched jaw and anxious eyes told a different story. Persi was grateful for Scar's calm sensibility under pressure.

He may not be the most educated fella, but damn if he ain't the only one with a brain sometimes, she thought, allowing herself a small affectionate smirk at her friend before worry wiped it from her face again.

"I don't really give a fuck about that," she growled, "but go ahead." It was a lie. Worry was making her argumentative. She wasn't sure how finding her phone would help find Crashie, but Scar never had an idea that turned out to be useless. She trusted him.

He started to turn back into the house as he dialed, but something stopped him in his tracks.

Persi's ringtone.

From outside somewhere…

They both looked around them intently, ears twitching back and forth, trying to pinpoint the sound. It went to voicemail. Scar dialed again. It seemed to be coming from… above them?

They looked up. There, on the roof, tucked into a corner where the main roof met an alcove, laying next to two phones, asleep under the pretty blue sky and puffy clouds, was Crash.

"Oi!" called Persi, "Crash!"

"Crashie! Eyyy buddy!!"

"Crash! Wake up!"

"Ey!"

Persi picked up an empty beer can from the lawn and tossed it at her sleeping friend. He grunted and stirred, then sat up, looking thoroughly bewildered.

"Crashie!" shouted Persi.

"Persi!" echoed Crash, looking down to find where her voice was coming from, the confusion leaving his face instantly when he spotted his best friends.

"What's up?" he asked with a smile, and without a single trace of irony.

"You are, looks like," answered Scar, straight-faced.

Persi's worry had evaporated, to be replaced with intense irritation. How in the hell had he... No she didn't want to know. And how was Scar not even surprised?

She pinched the bridge of her snout where it met her eyes. If she was honest with herself, she shouldn't be surprised either. Why couldn't she have normal friends? She glared up at Crash.

"Can you explain why my phone is up there?” she inquired flatly.

"Boss, I can't explain why I'm up here," he answered as he collected both phones and stood up.

"Well den get da fuck down ya idiot!" laughed Scar.

"Get the fuck down 'ere!" growled Persi in agreement, her accent bleeding through in her frustration. "D'you have any idea wot we been through? Get your arse down 'ere!"

"Can't say that I do, boss," drawled Crash as he slid on his arse down to the edge of the roof, where he gracefully jumped off. And not-so-gracefully landed hard on his feet with a soft thud, forgetting to bend his knees to absorb the impact and nearly falling over.

"Ow," he muttered.

"Y'alright?" chorused Persi and Scar.

"Yea I'm good," said Crash, brushing imaginary dust from his wrinkled jumper. "So what've you two been up too?"

"Well first of all, we wake up in middle of a fuckin' field…"

Scar and Persi continued to fill Crash in on the morning's events as the three best friends started out for home. They quickly ran out of things to say as it turned out it hadn't been terribly eventful after all, just nerve-wracking, so they switched to other topics of conversation. On and on they walked, laughing and shoving each other and chatting about nothing in particular.

Persi put an arm around each of her friends, Scar on the right, Crash on the left, both warm, familiar weights against her sides. The sky was blue and pretty, and everything was right in the world.

#This was so much fun to write!#thanks for the prompt!#cats fic #cats ocs #my ocs #Persimmian #Scaramouche #Crashendo

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spideymybucky · 5 years

Text

Make it stop

MJ x Peter Parker (Kind of) Reader x Peter Parker, Ned x Betty, Tony Stark x adopted!reader

warnings: depression, sadness, angst, betrayal.

A/N: I was bored and did this. Based on some level of my life.

Word count: 2k+

Chapter 1, Next >>>

(Y/n) hadn’t realized when the change between MJ and Peter had started. Maybe, it was the party she didn’t go to. No, she was pretty sure it was there. Peter didn’t give out to much detail but Ned had; and with the bits and pieces she heard around school, she was sure that Peter and MJ had kissed or something similar to that.

(Y/n) didn’t say anything or wanted to ask, because that would mean her best friend had betrayed her. She had already lost to many people in her life, so the best thing she could do was ignore Peter and MJ until the flirting stopped. Was it going to be hard? Yes, but she was sure she could make it, probably.

“Hey (Y/n), you’re hearing me out? Cause I really wouldn’t want to say it all again.” Ned said, leaning against her locker. She nodded and smiled at him, not really concentrating as she was overlooking at MJ’s and Peters interactions. God, please don’t let MJ fall for him. She thought to herself.

“I know. We’ve been planning this for a while now Ned. Its gonna be MJ, Betty and Me on the big room. You’ll be next door with Pete, so we; we’re all good.” She said closing my locker. MJ smiles sweetly at Peter, as he grabs some of her stuff. Ned looks at her and then turn around to see what she’s ignoring him for.

“They’ll probably get together in Europe, y’know? I really think he deserves this, after all with Liz and her dad, and well the other stuff… He deserves happiness.” (Y/n) faked a smile and nodded. The heavy, unsettling, feeling was burning through her chest and telling her how good MJ was for Peter. She was always going to be the better version of her.

“I’ll should get going, see ya later ned” She said quickly. Ned waved enthusiastically at her and left as well. She wasn’t prepared to talk to Peter or MJ, or face the reality of her feelings towards her best friends. She wanted one more day of normality, of ignorance and bliss. (Y/n) passed right through them, not acknowledging their smiles or small hand gestures. She bee lined to the bathroom and ran to the stall, closing it quickly.

Everything was changing and it was to fast. She couldn’t handle this. Sitting on the toilet, she looked at the blue doors. Her breathes were uneven, her palms sweaty and her feeling taping away. She couldn’t control her anxiety; she couldn’t control her feeling, which made everything worse. She liked her lips and tried breathing in and out. In and out. In and out. The door opened and the sound of feet cluttering in stopped her breathing. She looked down and saw black doc martins with a white and black Adidas super stars. It was MJ and Betty.

“You’re gonna tell (Y/n) about the thing?” Bettys perky voiced broke the silence.

“What thing, Betty? That he breaths and I breath?” MJ retorted back, jumping on the counter.

“No, the thing between you and Peter, like the kiss and the semi-date to Delmars…” Betty responded pushing MJ down. (Y/n) sat there hearing everything, as her heart broke little by little.

“No, it’s not like she likes him and, this is between me and Peter. No one else should be involved.” MJ responded, walking towards the door. Betty followed her but (Y/n) couldn’t hear her answer. She walked out of the stall and looked at herself in the mirror. She didn’t know tears were running down her face, she also didn’t know that MJ, the loyal and almighty girl, could’ve done this to her. She was stupid in trusting her. This was the last time.

———————————————————————————————————

“God MJ, he’s so cute and just… hot” she said admiring Peter from afar. The way his brown hair moved as he ran through the field made her heart beat faster.

“You should stop staring, drools forming on the corner of your mouth.” MJ said, not even looking up from her book.

“You think Pete will notice me one day?” (Y/n) asked, turning her full attention to her best friend.

“He would be stupid if he didn’t.” MJ replayed with a full on smile, leaving her book down.

———————————————————————————————————

(Y/n) grabbed her bag, that was left in the stall, and quickly made her way to principals office. She entered the small common area and looked at Rachel, Mr. Moritas’ secretary. She walked straight up to her and smiled, trying to get her attention.

“Oh hey, (Y/n), shouldn’t you be in class?” She said as she adjusted her glasses.

“Yes, well I’m here cause Tony just called with an emergency and wanted me to retrieve from the Europe trip.” (Y/n) said. She looked at her nails, biting the small freckles of skin leave the sides of the nails. Tony hated when she did that, beating her nails till they were raw or bleeding.

“You already did the first deposit, and they aren’t refundable. You do know that, right?” She said looking at the screen.

“Yeah, we know that and don’t, actually, mind. I just have this really important meeting the same week as Europe so…” Rachel nodded in an understanding way. She looked at her screen for a few more minutes and printed a form and handed it to her.

“You’ll have to return this signed by your parent or guardian, ok? After that you’re laid off of Europe and can go do that important event.” (Y/n) nodded and thanked her repeatedly, only stopping when she left the room.

She looked at the time, 11:50 am, if she ran for it she could still make it to Chemistry but didn’t want to. She slowly walked down the hall, mumbling to a Post Malone song, when she saw Peter and MJ slightly close to each other. MJ turned her head and instantly jumped away from Peter. She smiled at (Y/n) and walked up to her, trying to do their handshake but failing.

“Hey (Y/n), aren’t you supposed to be in Chem?” MJ asked.

“Since when do you call chemistry “Chem”? MJ shrugged and leaned away from her. She wasn’t feeling welcoming or as appreciated like other times.

“You ok?” Peter asked, sensing something off.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” (Y/n) stated walking past both of them, not really wanting to be there. She passed the school doors, leaving towards the sunny streets. (Y/n) walked through the streets of queens, deactivating her location so she wouldn’t be found. Nothing really stuck. She was going in circles until she found a subway station. She went down, paid her ticket and boarded the first train she found. The motion of going forward and back, for the first 2 hours, made her fall asleep.

“Fuck” She squealed, startled by the smack on her cane. She looked up to see a small old man, smiling widely at her.

“Well, aren’t you a beautiful young girl.” The old man stated.

“Thanks.” She smiled uncomfortably at him and looked away.

“Well, aren’t you gonna move young lady? You’re seating on a reserved sit. I feel young but my body ain’t.” He asked again.

“Oh, sorry Mr…” (Y/n) said, quickly standing up and moving out of his way.

“Mr. Stan and you are?” She looked at him weirdly. Should she say her name or not? He didn’t seem anything but nice.

“(Y/n)” She responded courtly. He nodded and smiled, patting the seat next to him.

“What made you come on this train? You’ve been sleeping for more than hour” She looked at the time, 5:48. She was utterly fucked. Happy must be worried out of his mind, she thought. The last thing she wanted to do was put more pressure on Happy or Tony.

“Oh shit. I must’ve fallen asleep… Shit!” (Y/n) exclaimed jumping out of the seat. The train stopped and she ran out, screaming a goodbye to Mr. Stan. She grabbed her phone, turned it on and told F.R.I.D.A.Y. to activate her location status. In matter of seconds, her screen was filled with notifications from texts to missed calls, and DM’s on Instagram. With a small sigh she entered “Main Danger”, which was Tonys handle on her phone.

12:48 - School called and said you missed class. You ok?

1:58 - I’m starting to think you ditched school, might as well come back to the compound

3:08 - Where the hell are you? Happy can’t find you.

5:09 - When I get my hadn’t on you, you’re dead kid. Peter’s looking for you near queens, pray he finds you first.

She was in so much shit for this. Grabbing her backpack, she exited the subway near Delmars market. She was near Peters place and the probabilities of him finding her were big. She didn’t want that cause then he would find the need to probe into her mind, asking her why she did it. Sometimes, his nice and interested attitude wasn’t what she needed.

(Y/n) walked towards Delmars, thinking what her next move should be. Should she just go to Peters and end this or call Tony? Each one had their own consequence but the latter seemed better. Facing Tony was much better than Peter. Right now If she saw him, she might explode. She was never good with feelings, better to avoid them. She dialed Tonys number, embracing herself for the worst but hoping that he might be in a good mood somehow.

“Where the fuck are you?” He screamed through the phone.

“At Delmars, looking for a ride home.” (Y/n) sighed out.

“Wait there, I’m gonna call Peter to pick yo- ”

“No! Don’t call Peter. ” She screamed at the phone.

“What? Why?” Tony said confused.

“I’m just not in the mood. All I want to do is go home, please?” She was desperate, and Tony heard the pleading in her voice. He sighed, knowing he shouldn’t cave in but he still did.

“I’m sending Happy, don’t move ok?” He murmured.

“Don’t worry Tony, I’m gonna stay here.” She hanged up the phone and went inside the store. 30 minutes and a sub half eaten passed until Happy arrived. She walked out of the door and into the car, where Tony awaited her.

“Where the hell were you all day?” Tony screamed at her.

“I’m sorry, ok? I just feel asleep on the subway, I was tired and just…” She sighed, holding back tears. These past few weeks were hard on her, she didn’t say anything but they were. Training everyday was taking its toll. She was loosing interest in everything; going out didn’t seem fun anymore, her grades were slowly decreasing and the only thing she held hope for was Peter and her feelings towards him. She felt like MJ had taken her only hope, but she didn’t blame her. How could she? MJ was gorgeous, smart, funny, witty. She was everything she could never be.

“I couldn’t handle school today.” She whispered out. (Y/n) looked out the window, ignoring Tonys presence.

“You’re gonna have to talk to me or Pepper. She was worried out of her mind, you know? We were all worried.” He said towards the teenage girl. He thought taking care of her would be easy, thats why he volunteered when her parents died.

“It was a one time thing Tony. It won’t happen again.” She mumbled out, with her eyes closed. An hour later the mumbling of her name woke her up. Tony had already left the car, without (Y/n).

“How long have I been asleep?” She said in a husky voice.

“M'bout an hour or so” Happy said, turning off the car.

“I fucked up, didn’t I?” He sighed.

“You did kid. I haven’t seen Tony like that since Peter fucked up.” She sighed and left the car, walking towards the elevator.

“Doesn’t mean they won’t forgive you.” Happy screamed out. She stepped in the elevator, not really knowing where to go. She didn’t want to face them today, maybe ever, but it seemed easier to do it the next day. She was drained and had homework to do.

“Tony had requested your presence at the common area” F.R.I.D.A.Y. broke the silence.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y. tell’em that we can have this discussion tomorrow. I have homework to do.”

“He insists.” F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s feminine voice said.

“Just take me to my floor please.”

“Sure (y/n)” the AI responded. The elevator moved rapidly towards her floor, as she stepped out and unlocked her door. She wasn’t in the mood for anything. Exhaustion had filled her bones, as she threw herself on her bed. It wasn’t late, at all, and she should be awake but her body was refusing to cope with her.

At taping on her window startled her, making her jump out of the her bed. She looked at the clock, 11:46 PM. Who the hell has knocking at almost midnight? She thought. Slipping into her bunny slippers, she walked to her door and opened it but no one was there. What the hell? I swear to god I hear knocking. Confused, she went back to her bed and opened her phone. Missed calls were pilling up, and the text notification had grown from one digit to three. The tapping continued, slightly scaring her.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y. can you check who’s knocking?”

“Mr. Parker is outside your window, trying to get your attention.” The AI stated. (Y/n) closed her eyes and sat down on her bed. She didn’t want to see him, her wounds were fresh and it would be messy. She hated causing a mess.

“Tell him, I’m sleeping or something. I can’t do this right now.” Her voice cracked at the end of the sentence. A few minuted passed in complete silence. Tears prickled down her skin, leaving wet traces and falling down to her favorite sweater. She felt wrong and tired, like she was missing something. It wasn’t her first time feeling this but it was augmented by her feelings towards her spiderlying friend. God, she hated herself for feeling like this towards MJ and Peter.

All she wanted was to make everything stop.

#Marvel Comics #MCU #spiderman x reader #tom holland x reader #tony stark #tony stark x reader #mj x peter #peter parker x reader #mcu x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #spiderman x you #spiderman x y/n

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wroughtbetwixtfanfic · 4 years

Text

A Place To Call Home, Ch 8.

Fandom: Rosewell, New Mexico.

Summary: A canon divergent take on Roswell, New Mexico, and the relationships between Isobel, Noah, and Rosa; later parts will shift the focus to Michael and Alex, as well as Michael and Noah. What is it like to share a body with another alien? Can broken trust be mended? Do the ends really justify the means?

Rating: M.

Tags: Canon divergence, minor character death, not really character death, body sharing, polyamory, hurt/comfort, addiction problems, sickfic, revenge, fix it, friends to enemies to lovers, lovers to enemies to lovers, Noah is complicated, cw: dubious age stuff for a little bit considering Nasedo/Noah is who-the-hell-knows how old.

Word Count: 2833

Dawn broke, painting the Roswell sky lilac, magenta, and gold.

The road that led to Carlsbad was desolate. It had been easy enough to lure a driver to him, persuading them to take him to Midway RV Park. It was along his chosen escape route, lingering just far enough away from Roswell that Nasedo felt comfortable hiding there until sunrise. He kept to the scant scattering of trees, curled up against the trunk of one farthest from the RVs; sleep evaded him, but he closed his eyes and rested as much as he was able. He would have to move swiftly once it was time, and he would need whatever strength he could muster.

As the sun peeked over the horizon, Nasedo felt some measure of relief. He could feel his powers, still coiled inside his body like a rattlesnake ready to strike. It was irritating to know that it would take hours to accomplish what he, a skilled fighter, had once been able to do in minutes. Still. His powers hadn't left him. They merely required patience, and practice, to return in full. He wouldn't need more than a couple hours at most, regardless. Not if he was careful.

An old man in the RV park was shuffling past, walking towards a rusted-up truck. Nasedo waited until the man was a couple paces ahead before moving out from the trees and slinging an arm around the man's shoulder in a gesture of familiarity. "Keep walking," Nasedo said, his voice calm. "Where are you heading?"

The man's eyes glazed over. "Hagerman."

"Hagerman is a lovely place. You'll give me a ride there, won't you?"

"Alright."

Nasedo glanced around as the neared the truck. There wasn't anyone else around, but anyone could show up out of the blue. He took the opportunity to enact the first part of his plan. The lamp post near the truck had just flickered off for the day; he could still hear the hum of electricity running through it. He pressed his hand to the cool metal as the man opened the truck door, sending a surge of power through the lines. Nasedo took some of the energy into himself, sending the rest blasting outward with a crack. The power in the park sputtered and died, with lights in the distance dying soon after. The metal of the post had warped, with a lightning strike pattern branching outwards.

Time to go. Nasedo climbed into the truck, and the man drove out to Main Street without a word. He leaned back against the seat, taking a slow, deep breath. Using his powers in such a way was taxing, but it was vital to leave a noticeable trail. Manes, he recalled faintly, had been friends at one point with Valenti. The bastard would notice the signs. If Manes saw a trail leading away from Roswell, and the heirs were still in Roswell, hopefully it would pull suspicion away from them long enough for Nasedo to strengthen himself and return to the heirs more prepared.

He looked at himself in the mirror of the car. He didn't look much older than Max. Had he really been so young when he went into stasis? He couldn't remember anymore. Soldiers went straight from school and into service, and their species had such long lifespans, they didn't age the same way as humans. At least he recognized himself otherwise. Darker brown skin, brown eyes, black hair. He knew that, unfortunately, he would have to be careful. A little less than half the state was white, but that 'little less than half' was very loud and wasn't exactly known for progressiveness. He'd have to split his energy between leaving breadcrumbs for Manes and whatever parasites he had on his side, wiping memories, and turning people's attention from him. It would be a difficult day, but the end goal was simple. Leave a trail down to Carlsbad, take a bus from there to Albuquerque, and disappear into the swarm of humans that called it home.

Large fields, empty except for the occasional horse, gave way to farmhouses, a baptist church, and a gas station. Hagerman was small. Quaint, Isobel would have said with a little nosewrinkle, and not in a flattering sense. Nasedo would have to move on to a bigger city to avoid suspicion, but he wouldn't force the old man to go farther than intended. It wasn't worth the effort, if he could find another ride.

"Where are you heading, friend?" Nasedo asked.

The man barely blinked. "Rio Felix apartments."

"I see. Why don't you let me off at the church, and then you can be on your way."

"Alright."

The old man stopped, and Nasedo got out. He circled around to the driver's window, patting the old man on the shoulder. "Thanks. Do me a favor and forget you ever saw me."

"Huh?"

Nasedo walked off before the man could come to his senses. The truck sat there for a moment, idling, but kept going. The switch to the next vehicle happened fast. There was a car near the edge of the church, covered in Christian stickers with some lanky white man getting inside. A minute later and they were on their way to Lake Arthur. A young goth-looking sort outside Lake Arthur's city park got him to Aretesia. A larger city meant more potential witnesses, but it also meant more people distracted with their own thoughts, emotions, and lives. It also meant that, when Nasedo tapped into the energy grid at the WalMart and blew the power in the entire city, it was sure to make the news.

By the time he got to Carlsbad, delivered by a semi-truck driver who smelled like cigarette smoke and tequila, the sun was beating down and the air was thick with the summer heat. Nasedo stole one of several pairs of sunglasses from the truck, hopping out and taking in the scenery. Carlsbad was smaller than Roswell, but not claustrophobic like the others had been. He didn't feel like eyes were on him as much, which made swiping the wallet of some polo-shirt wearing douchebag easier. Fifty bucks. Enough for some food, and a one-way ticket to Albuquerque.

The Motel 6 was seedy, but the staff members were overworked by tourist season, and seemed too tired to care about much of anything. Convincing the older woman at the desk to give him a room for the night-- free of charge-- barely required any of his powers at all. Nasedo sighed as he flopped on the bed in the motel room, curling up and drifting off to sleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. By the time he woke up again, the sun was setting. The clock on the nightstand read that it was seven o' clock at night. It was tempting to go back to sleep, but his stomach was roiling from a lack of food; he would have to go out and find something.

A lack of phone or computer meant having to do things old school. He flipped through the yellow pages, finding a store within walking distance. It wasn't anything fancy, but it didn't need to be. He was able to buy more water, a couple frozen dinners, and enough packaged foods to make it to Albuquerque. The woman at the check-out stand gave him a warm smile, and he forced a smile back, but he felt his insides twist. The only ones who had ever looked at him like that were Isobel and Rosa. He didn't want anyone else to, certainly not some strange human who would ship him off to a lab the moment they knew the truth.

Nasedo stood in the motel room when he got back, the silence suddenly and painfully obvious. He was alone. Before he'd met Isobel, the emptiness had been maddening-- but now that he'd known her and the other heirs, now that he'd known Rosa and tasted what it was like to have someone love him and care for him, life felt hopeless. Even if he managed to bring Rosa back to life, it could take years for Max to get strong enough, and he knew in his core that Rosa would never forgive him. None of them would, would they? Isobel would never trust him again. It was useless. And yet, Nasedo knew he wasn't owed that. Rosa deserved to live, regardless of how she'd feel about him.

He sat in the middle of the bed, crossing his legs and closing his eyes. He wished that his king and queen had survived, or that he could see his parents one last time. If only he could ask for their wisdom. The only advice he had were the last words his father ever said to him, just before the attack the fell their kingdom. Don't let poison fill where love should be. His father had disappeared moments later, marching into battle alongside Nasedo's mother while Nasedo was sent away with the rest of the royal guard.

They had been warriors to their last breath, stalwart and honorable. He had aspired to be like them to the end of his days, as well, but the crash had changed everything. Anger and hatred had festered where love had been. Isobel and Rosa had been the guiding stars in his life keeping that tainted ichor from consuming him. They were lost to him, now, and the only choice he could see going forward was to use that poison inside him to save Rosa and keep the heirs safe-- even if he had to do so from afar. He could pretend, at least, that there was something noble in that.

But even if it was the most-right choice, he was no longer what he had been. He'd broken so many oaths already. Without an elder to direct him, and knowing that punishment would be handed down on him if there were any elders left, Nasedo embraced his newfound purpose. Nasedo slid off the bed and held his old clothes in his hands, focusing. They dissolved into ash in his palms, and he dumped the particles into the wastebasket. There had been stories of warriors that had become something darker-- through necessity, but they were never spoken of, and treated as outcasts among their people. They were the ones that dispatched enemies in their sleep, using night as their disguise, or slipped toxins into their drinks. War was a bloody, terrible thing.

And what were most humans to him, except enemies in a war that had begun in 1947?

It made his next task easier to think of it that way.

He packed up everything he planned to take with him, shoving it into a backpack that he'd purchased at the store. Human food tasted strange on his tongue, intense and foreign in a way it hadn't when he shared Isobel's body, and the shower's heat and pressure was almost painful on his skin. At least sleep remained the same, providing a few more hours of relief before he set out. It wasn't hard to find some loud, irate, and drunken bigot who was looking for a fight. It felt like nothing, this time, taking the ranting fool's life. Nasedo dumped the body in the bushes; by the time anyone found it, the handprint would be visible. With any luck, it'd draw anyone who was looking away from Roswell.

The ten hour bus ride to Albuquerque followed. The air inside the bus was too warm, stagnant, and smelled like sweat. Thankfully, no one opted to sit next to him; he leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes, enjoying the rush of strength that moved through him. Taking a human life did restore some of his strength, after all. He knew he should have felt some sort of shame, but the creature had been a vicious, violent thing. Remorse was a waste of time and energy on someone who wouldn't have felt remorse for doing the same. And if it eased the ache in his core, if it healed some of the damage done to him by time thanks to hiding from murderous humans, then why not revel in it-- just a little?

Besides. With any luck, it was the last life he would have to take. As soon as he got to Albuquerque, he would convince a few tourists to generously donate their wealth, and find shelter. What else did most humans need, besides a safe place to sleep? A phone or computer, to access information and communicate. Access to transportation. Food, clothes, hygiene supplies. The hardest thing to acquire would be his human identity.

Nasedo knew a little of what he had to do. After all, Isobel, Max, and Michael hadn't come with proper papers, either. Isobel and Max's parents didn't say much about it, but their father was a lawyer himself, and had shared the story of how the three had been found nameless, mute, and naked in the desert. They hadn't had any records, of course. No parents found, no proof of any of their births. He had mentioned in passing how some families chose not to have social security numbers for their children, often due to religious reasons. It was assumed that that's what had happened to Isobel and her brothers. Kids like that could still get one later in life.

All it would take was a good story, and a little persuasion.

A four hour transfer in El Paso, Texas, gave Nasedo time to grab a cheap burger from the closest fast food restaurant. It was so unlike the ones at the Crashdown-- thick, juicy beasts piled high with crisp pickles, onions, and sweet rounds of tomato-- but it quieted the snarling in his stomach. It also gave him a chance to mull around town and pick a few pockets, gathering up a small bundle of cash; he bought new clothes at a funky boutique, changing before he got back to the bus station.

It was strange to walk among so many humans after all that had happened within the last two days. He expected that, at any moment, someone would notice that he wasn't human. Or, perhaps, someone would have recognized him somehow from Carlsbad. After all, he couldn't wipe the memories of everyone possibly within eyesight. Which was why Nasedo got nervous when, as they made a brief stop in Las Cruces to pick up other passengers, an older woman stared hard at him before taking the seat at his side. Her eyes were hazel and deeply wrinkled around the ends; she had long salt and pepper hair, pulled back into a braid, and skin just a bit darker than his own. Perhaps how his mother would have looked, had she lived to become an elder.

"I'm sorry for staring," she said, with a thick accent that he couldn't place. "You look so much like my grandnephew. He lives so far away now."

Nasedo didn't know what to say, so he pretended he was talking to an elder from back home. It felt less bizarre. "I'm sorry he's far away. Do you see him at all?"

"Not often. I'm going to see him this week. He lives in Sante Fe with his parents. It's very beautiful there."

"I've never been."

"Maybe someday." She leaned a bit closer. "Are you traveling towards someone, or away from them?"

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, you have a look. I have two children, nine grandchildren. I know the look."

For a moment, Nasedo didn't respond. "Away from someone," he finally answered. His throat squeezed shut, and it was hard to speak. "I, uh. I messed up, and I'm trying to make it right."

The old woman reached out and rested her hand on his. "Have faith. You'll find your way back to them, someday."

"How do you know?"

"When you get to be my age, you know."

They spent the next eight hours alternating between silence, dozing, and Nasedo smiling appreciatively as the old woman showed him pictures she had of her 'favorite children'-- nine cats that were being watched by her eldest daughter, and her daughter's wife. Both were doctors, the old woman said with a proud look. When the bus pulled up to the station in Albuquerque, Nasedo had learned more about knitting and indoor gardening than he'd ever anticipated.

"Thank you for the company," Nasedo said to her as they got off the bus. The time had gone by faster than expected, and he almost felt sad at parting ways. "Have fun seeing your grandnephew."

The woman gave him a hug, and he didn't resist. "Bless you. Good luck."

He watched after her as she shuffled to the parking lot, and to a car that was waiting. A couple helped her in; to his surprise, the old woman looked back and waved through the window. Nasedo waved back, unable to help smiling.

Maybe, just maybe, some humans weren't so bad.

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idreamofhazeleyes · 5 years

Text

Ties of Blood -- Chapter 22

I know this is later than when I usually post chapters. I had been able to have my laptop out at work, but I’ve been needing to refocus back to that and less on the laptop. I still do plan on writing and updating as much as possible.

Warning: There is a brief moment in this chapter of suicide idealization.

@mrswhozeewhatsis @percussiongirl2017 @winchestergirl-13 @impala-dreamer @because-imma-lady-assface @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @squirrelnotsam @optimisticpeacecollector5

Chapter 22

Aaliyah turned the car off and sat in the driver’s seat. Guilt had eaten away at her the whole drive back from Wyoming. Bobby had asked her to stay with the boys for a time, but she refused. It was bad enough she had to use the three day psych hold to keep her brother safe in the hospital. With a breath, Aaliyah worked her way out of the car and into the hospital. Her mind replayed what had happened at the cemetery yet again as it tried to figure out how she survived.

Aaliyah did her best to ignore the looks from those she passed in the halls on the way to her brother’s room. The trips between hospital and the cemetery in Wyoming hadn’t given her much time for a shower and change of clothing. She swore there was a lingering scent of sulfur from the amount of demons that escaped.

“I don’t care if there’s still twelve hours left,” Aaliyah heard from the elevator bay. “I want to be released.”

Aaliyah rolled her eyes as she followed the voice. She glanced around the corner to see a nurse at Xander’s bedside and their half siblings by the one window in the room. Nissa and Leo hadn’t noticed her arrival, and Aaliyah took the chance in walking into the room.

“Legally they can’t release you,” Aaliyah told her brother, startling all four. She smirked more to herself when Nissa let out a small yelp and Leo played it off like he had seen her the whole time. “Why’d you think I requested one and had our siblings come and visit you?”

“You trust me so little to stay here?” Xander shot back.

“I’m sorry,” the nurse cut in. “Who are you?”

“Aaliyah,” Aaliyah introduced herself, shifting her attention. “His younger sister. Has he been …”

“Much trouble?” The nurse’s eyebrows went up when she finished the sentience. “Very. He’s refused any sort of medication, barely ate what we brought him. Kept going on about seeing something called … reapers.”

“I swear I saw one,” Xander tossed in.

“Yeah, and I saw a demon walking into the lobby,” Aaliyah tossed back, half trying to defuse the tension. “Actually, I think that was a custodian come to think of it.”

“And we’ve seen wendigos out in the parking lot last night,” Leo added. “Seriously, big brother, you’re seeing things.”

Aaliyah turned her full attention to the nurse while her siblings bickered in a teasing tone that Aaliyah saw right through. It was better they did that than anything else. She gestured the nurse away from the bed. “Seriously, how bad is it?”

The nurse looked over the chart in her hands. “Whatever he went up against knocked him up pretty bad.” She pulled out a film and put it up against the light box. “They took this MRI the day he was admitted.” The light flicked on. “There’s minor fractures in his spine and the doctors suspect there was some sort of spinal injury that resulted in paralysis.”

Aaliyah moved in close and studied the MRI. A couple of the fractures didn’t look good, as if those could have been the result of Xander hitting the wall and causing the paralysis. “These two here,” she gestured to the two fractures. “Could they have caused the paralysis? If so, how quick will they heal and maybe he regaining some mobility?”

The nurse gave her a look that Aaliyah wasn’t sure how to interpret. It seemed to be a mix of mild surprise that Aaliyah was able to read the MRI well enough and posed questions that anyone in the medical field would. “Former nurse,” Aaliyah said. “I did some time in radiology in school.”

The nurse gave Aaliyah the nod that meant she really didn’t believe her, but accepted the answer. “It all really depends on Xander and how well his spine heals,” the nurse answered.

Aaliyah thanked the nurse and watched her take her leave of the room before turning back to her siblings.

“What the hell, Aaliyah?” Leo snapped. “You call asking us to come here and babysit?”

“Shit hit the fan bad, guys,” Aaliyah answered. “The yellow eyed demon managed to open a gate straight to hell, and a whole crap ton of demons got out.”

“So you decided to go deal with that instead of being here?” Leo questioned.

“I was asked to help two years ago, Leo,” Aaliyah countered as her cell starting ringing. “Things got rough. I didn’t plan on things getting this deep. The two of you need to keep a look out for any signs of demonic activity. It doesn’t matter how small, you take care of it.”

“And what about you?” Nissa asked as Aaliyah turned and headed for the door.

“I’m gonna answer this call.” Aaliyah fished the phone out of her pocket just as the ringing stopped. She worked her way down to the ground floor as her phone vibrated with a voicemail.

“Aaliyah, it’s Amanda,” the voicemail started. “It’s a good chance if you’re hearing this that I’m dead. Or dying. Not sure how often you check your voicemails. But, hey, it’s been nice knowing you.”

“Oh, hell you’re not,” Aaliyah said under her breath as she ended the voicemail and called Amanda. She started pacing in the lobby as Amanda’s cell rang. Aaliyah started to pull her cell from her head when the other end picked up.

“Hey, Aaliyah,” Amanda greeted, her voice unusually calm. “It’s been a while.”

“It’s been a couple years,” Aaliyah agreed. “Sorry I hadn’t called before now; just got your voicemail. What’s up?”

“Can you … come get my body? That wendigo really did a number on me.”

Aaliyah stopped pacing. “God. Amanda, I’m so sorry. You shoulda called for help on that one.”

“You were busy.” Amanda’s voice had gotten weaker. “Off saving the world.”

“Still working on that bit,” Aaliyah said. “Could use some help with it. We can talk about it more when I come get you.”

“I’ll text you where I’m at.”

The line went dead and Aaliyah started at the cell for a minute before a text came through. Her head tilted a little before she left the hospital. Something told her that she wouldn’t make it to Amanda before she died, but Aaliyah hoped she’d arrive before that happened anyway. She sent a text to her siblings and Bobby telling them that she was off to get Amanda; and to prepare for a possible Hunter’s Funeral.

***

Aaliyah swore to herself in frustration. Picking the lock was proving to be more difficult than she expected. She wondered how Amanda managed to get back to her motel room if she suffered bad wounds from a wendigo. The lock clicked open and Aaliyah eased the door into the room. Left over food littered the table and clothing was scattered across the room with one of the beds stripped of all the blankets and sheets.

“Amanda,” Aaliyah called out as she moved toward the bathroom. “Come on, I busted ass to get out here. Don’t you die on me now.” She stopped right before turning into the bathroom and closed her eyes, trying to brace herself for seeing her good friend dead on the floor. With a semi deep breath, Aaliyah opened her eyes and looked into the bathroom. In the tub laid Amanda wrapped in the bedding. Her breath caught in her throat.

“Aaliyah.” Her name was just above a whisper. “Wasn’t sure you’d make it.”

“Told you I’d come get you.” Aaliyah knelt down to the edge of the tub. “What about your wounds?” She dared to pull back the bedding to see a large gash across Amanda’s lower abdomen and part of her intestines spilling out.

“Pretty sure it’s infected.” Amanda made some sort of noise Aaliyah accepted as amusement. “I wouldn’t worry about fixing it, Aaliyah. We both know that I’m dead anyway.”

“What sorta nonsense is that, huh? I’ll get your guts back in and you stitched up in no time.”

Amanda rocked her head enough. “I’ve been fighting off death since I put myself in this tub. Hell, I’ve been seeing a reaper popping in once in a while.”

Aaliyah adjusted herself and sat on the floor and leaned in the corner made between the wall and tub wall. She didn’t say anything or do anything.

“Thanks for staying,” Amanda said after a while, her voice quiet. “I would have hated to die here alone and become an angered spirit.”

“You were one of my best friends,” Aaliyah said, getting an amused cough from Amanda. “Yeah, I know. But it’s true. I’m gonna miss you, Amanda.”

“Same … here. Give me a Hunter’s Funeral. Keep what I left in the room.”

Aaliyah shifted around to look Amanda in her eyes to see that little spark of life fade away. The bathroom grew cold, but she didn’t move. Either Amanda was there as a ghost or a reaper decided to visit to take Amanda. Aaliyah wiped away a tear before she collapsed back into the corner and cried. It wasn’t fair that her first friend had been killed by a wendigo. The one person that hadn’t judged Aaliyah when she first started digging after the werewolf on campus near three and a half years ago.

Aaliyah wasn’t sure when the tears finally stopped, or how long she was curled up in the corner with Amanda’s corpse in the tub behind her. She eased up to her feet and left the motel room, after a quick search for the key. There were things to do before night fell, and she was on her own.

***

Several hours passed before Aaliyah found a place out in the woods of upstate New York. Armed with an axe she bought from one of the hardware stores in town and a few six packs, Aaliyah worked until nightfall on a pyre. She helped the boys with the pyre for John, but then it was the three of them. For Amanda, it was just her. With the last log in place just as the sky took on the last hues of night blue, Aaliyah stepped back and wiped the sweet off her face. The pyre certainly wasn’t the best she had seen, but it would do. With a catching breath, Aaliyah walked over to where she had put Amanda. She had wrapped up her friend in the same way John had been; the white fitted bed sheet with the top sheet ripped up to tie up the body.

Aaliyah struggled a little with the dead weight but managed to get Amanda’s body onto the pyre. She poured some gasoline in a line on the wood and struck a match, dropping it onto the gasoline soaked wood. It went up in a burst of fire, sending Aaliyah back a few steps. She stood there for a minute before grabbing a beer and opening it. Her cell rang at one point, breaking the silence, but Aaliyah ignored it. It vibrated in her pocket. When the pyre burned half way down, and Amanda’s body had turned to mostly ash, Aaliyah picked up what remained of the two six packs and started back toward the motel.

***

Dawn found Aaliyah passed out on the unstripped bed on her stomach and one arm hanging off the edge, beer on the nightstand within her reach. Her cell started ringing, startling her awake. She moaned in her motions to grab the phone and answered it.

“This better be important,” Aaliyah snapped. “I’m not in the mood for talking.”

“Nissa called, saying that you took off a few days ago,” Sam said. “Said that you had a call while at the hospital.”

“Amanda died,” Aaliyah said, keeping her eyes closed. “A wendigo nearly gutted her.”

“I’m sorry, Aaliyah,” Sam said, his voice soft. “Really. Dean told me about her. What did you do?”

Aaliyah moaned as her head started to throb a little from the beginnings of a hangover. “Hunter’s Funeral is what she wanted. What’s up?”

“We found one of dad’s storage units had been broken into,” he said.

“And something was taken. How important is it?”

“You’re hungover, aren’t you?”

Aaliyah rolled onto her back. “Do you blame me?”

“I guess not. I’ll send you where we’re at,” Sam said. “Drink plenty of water and take some pain meds.”

“Thanks, Sam.” Aaliyah hung up and laid there on her back, unsure if she wanted to move or lay there and sleep off the hangover. Sleep would be nice; and would provide a nice escape from the pain. But it would be temporary. She eased herself up to sitting on the edge of the bed before fumbling over to where she had dumped her bag for the bottle of Advil.

A seed of a thought sprouted in her mind as Aaliyah got a couple pills into an open hand. What was to stop her from swallowing the whole bottle? She had attempted to kill the pain with alcohol the night before and all it got her was the hangover. Yeah, it hurt losing a friend; but Aaliyah knew if she swallowed more than the two pills in her hand, she’d never hear the end of it. Washing the pills down with flat beer,

Aaliyah pushed past the discomfort of the hangover and worked through the papers and Amanda’s belongings. It took a few hours, but it had been done. The food she had dumped into the trash before making sure she had everything packed. With her and Amanda’s gear bags in hand, Aaliyah left the room. She settled the account for the room in the office before heading off to meet Sam and Dean.

#spn fanfic dealing with death thoughts of suicide

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the-canary · 6 years

Text

Burned, not Buried - S.R

Summary: Space and isolation are necessary things at times, but they also blind you to others. (Implied! Reader/Steve Rogers)

Prompt: i gave him the moon and stars, but all he wants is space.

Word Count: +3.6K

Masterlist

A/N: this is now @barnesrogersvstheworld ‘s 1k challenge! i think the prompt worked out both ways, rather than just towards steve. been in a big mood lately, and maybe you could feel it here. i’m not so sure about this much, but i hope you enjoy it -- at least somewhat.

As also, feedback in always appreciated.

It was kind of strange to be the one that people were looking for after so many years of chasing one particular person, but nobody really had your set of skills. No, that wasn’t exactly true, but it was better to deal with something familiar than turn to look into someone else, you might not know -- a stab in the back, a shot in the dark -- your line of work made people paranoid. Tonight, it has you scrutinizing the tall, bearded blond man seated in the back of one of your more regular pubs. The bartender --a stubby, red haired man-- knows your order as he gives you a nod before handing it to you.

You sit there, nursing it the drink, for a good twenty minutes before asking for another one alongside some snacks. You glance at the pub twice over, red bar stools with small laps in every booth though it didn’t help with seeing everyone that was in the place. It had taken you a long time to calm down when you first entered through these doors a few months back, but you had gotten used to it.

However, tonight was a different story, your back was hot with a stare you would rather not look up to meet. You know who it is and you briefly have to wonder if it was Natasha, who always knew where you were (your relationship was like that by now, even if you always rejected her offer), or Wanda who you had meet by accident near a bakery with Vision a few weeks ago.

It was probably Vision, since the Avengers were “officially” back together for some time now since one James Buchanan Barnes had been pardoned and the two leaders had made an awkward but necessary amends. He was probably pulling back the pieces of everything that used to be, not that you were that important to begin with.

“Whiskey, please,” he finally states, as you turn up slightly to see said bearded man -- Steve Rogers, Captain America in the flesh. You sigh and down your own drink in one go, the feeling of not talking and simply returning to your little dingy apartment almost overwhelming you. However, there is something deeper running through your veins, a liquid fire that you hated yourself for, that kept you glued to your seat.

“It’s been awhile,” there’s an odd timber to his voice, which causes you to look at him -- bad idea. Blue eyes are softer than usual and there’s an awkward smile on his face as he keeps looking at you, as if looking for some type of answer. It sends your brain on high alert, as you stiffen up and put your guard up.

“Could you just give me your sales pitch, so I can say no and go home,” you exclaim in annoyance, staring straight ahead, playing with your glass cup, “I really doubt it’s any different from Nat’s, though.”

“I didn’t come for that,” he answers honestly, as your eyes widen. Red alarms going off in your head because the only reason Steve Rogers would come and even consider seeking you out would be for recruitment -- getting back into the game, even though you hadn’t been on his type of battlefield in almost 3 years. Unless, someone else told him something, a breath of air leaves your body as you get up on shaky legs.

“Yeah, no. Not doing this...whatever you want,” you make hand motions between the two of you, while Steve watches patiently, only for you to pay for your drinks and leave. Steve never says or does anything to stop you, as you walk into the chilly Scottish night.

“‘m guessing you’re the man she’s been mulling over,” the bartender, steady and fatherly, ask the sighing blond.

“I guess I am,” is all Steve can say.

2011.

In hindsight, you should have headed May’s warning after Coulson had given you this assignment. You were perfect in everything you did, clean and efficient, but you had a big heart and you often got swept up in Coulson’s old Captain America stories. Don’t let hero worship destroy you, and she had been right in the long haul. Back then, you were just a field agent with the right amount psychological training and connections to Coulson (and Fury) that he wanted you to try to help integrate Steve Rogers back into modern society.

It’s not easy to win Captain America’s trust, and you are never able to in those short months you shared with him. There was anger and resentment underneath that veneer of cold politeness every time you meet him in that mock 1940’s gym. And while, he was never directly angry with you, he never lets you in either -- you’re just there to help him catch up, nothing more.

“So, there still aren’t any flying cars around?” he questions, general curiosity towards the subject as he looks over the detailed notes you had presented to him. From one to three in the afternoon, you would set up in the gym and give him a detailed report on a certain year -- today, you were hitting the 1960’s.

“No, but every few years you hear about Tesla or Stark Industries trying their hands at it,” you explain, almost not noticing how blue eyes flicker at a certain name. You don’t say anything on the matter, not wanting to bring up how Howard Stark died.

“Tesla, the inventor? I thought he died in ‘43,” Steve dodges the subject by asking another question, as you nod.

“The founders of Tesla Inc. named it after the inventor as a homage,” you state as he nods, “But, before we get into Silicon Valley, I should probably go into how the Space Race started.”

His blue eyes light up at the mention of science with a slight quirk of his lip your smile grows a bit more on its own. It’s a small crack in his suit of armor, you could handle that -- just a little more, just a little more and maybe, Steve Rogers could learn to accept this age.

Then, the Battle of New York happens.

“Good morning,” the familiar voice greets as you don’t give him the time of day, better of playing on your computer with what a certain someone had sent you than meeting whatever emotion was directed at you today. It had been two weeks since the night back in Scotland and while your heart played crazy with ideal teen fantasies, your head knew better. You still weren’t sure what he wanted with you and asking Natasha hadn’t help either, though you knew it was probably her who gave your coordinates away this time – in a little coffee shop in Prague as mid-morning slowly approached.

“It’s too early to talk about what you’re selling, Cap,” you murmur before taking a sip of your café latte, as he sits down. You look up for a moment and freeze. He still had the beard accompanied by a brown bomber jacket, that stupid white shirt that is a bit too tight, and aviator glasses. You frown as your heart stutters for a bit, someone knows your likes too well.

“Is Natasha dressing you again?” you say and while it’s supposed to a tease, your flat disinterested tone makes it a bit questionable. There’s a small smile on his face at the statement because you aren’t outright ignoring him anymore – he’ll really have to thank Nat later.

“Something like that,” he admits, but you’re already going back to work. The waiter asks him if he is going to order anything and all he asks for is black coffee. Nothing much is said after that and eventually you finish your work and get up without another word, but it feels like big step in some ways to Steve.

Let her go at her own pace and you’ll see. You’re both stubborn like that.

Natasha really did have some good advice.

2014.

Just tell him already. What’s the harm in that?

Natasha really had some of the worst advice sometimes. The redhead was the first, and only person thus far to have picked on your little crush towards America’s Golden Boy and tried to have you do something about it. However, on your own you were quick to pick that while your relationship with Steve had sobered into a semi-casual friendship. You weren’t stupid not to notice how his eyes fluttered and he smiled a bit more when Nat talked about a certain nurse that lived in his building. You had fallen for all the different sides that you had seen (that he had let you see) of Steve Rogers, and you hated yourself for it.

However, you weren’t needed, the expendable sort of person -- you weren’t like Nat, or even like Sam. You have this epiphany, as you sigh in the waiting room chair rotating your shoulder with a hiss a pain. You were sure you were going to need a cast after fighting your share of disguised HYDRA agents when all hell broke loose on the Triskelion. Hell, you were going to need a new job now too. You close your eyes and just sink in your own murky thoughts, unsure of what to do next.

“How is he doing?” a low voice ask you, as you look up to see blue eyes and a worried smile -- Agent 13, Sharon Carter. Her hair is little matted and there is a small bandage on her right eyebrow, but she still looks better than you -- black eye and busted lip.

“Don’t know,” you mumble because you don’t really know, which is really the larger statement to the present relationship you have with Steve Rogers because while you went on thinking everything was all right, he was out there looking for the Winter Soldier and brought down all of S.H.I.E.L.D down with the helicarriers. You were angry and annoyed, but more with yourself than him. This wasn’t fucking healthy.

“You know, the CIA is recruiting,” Sharon breaks you out of your despairing thoughts, probably thinking that you are more worried about what happens now that your livelihood is gone than your disastrous personal life.

“Thanks, I’ll look into it,” you give her a steady smile, as her name gets called from the other side.

Fury knows that there are two places you don’t go to -- London and Miami. The Floridian city due to a very botched mission that involved a sequin dress and a certain cartel, which Nat still didn’t let you forget when the occasion rose for it. London was more childish, the bad weather fitting your current personality, though you tried to ignore it since this present mission called for it. However, it wasn’t helping that a certain blond man with dark jacket and dark navy suit underneath that, almost as if to match your own dress, is standing next to you. You groan, as he gives you a sheepish smile.

“Nat again?”

“Tony,” he explains, as you frown and make a note to throw away any Stark Tech you might have back in your hotel room. You take a couple of deep breaths before looking at the man standing next to you, noting that you don’t have much of a choice now.

“I guess, you’re my date tonight,” you state, while putting your hands in your coat pockets and thanking whatever force up above that is stopping Steve Rogers from taking off that beard, “I guess, just sit back and look pretty.”

“Aren’t you gonna give me a debrief?” Blue eyes look at you and he can’t help but smile at how gorgeous you look, even though the those red-painted lips of you are forever frowning at him. He gives you a boyish grin, momentarily thinking that this is somewhere else, though in your head he’s with someone else.

“Nope. You’re gonna enjoy the party and I’m gonna do my job,” you declare, quickly running through the rain as you cross the street in high heels, only turning back once to yell at him before disappearing into the building completely, “You ain’t part of this, Steve!”

He knows that you’re hitting him back for everything he had done to you, but somewhere deep down he was also gleeful to hear his name coming from your lips once again, as he follows your lead and tries to make sure you didn’t get killed.

2016.

It wasn’t that your job with the JCAT usually involved going into other countries and chasing after superheroes, but after everything that had gone down in Vienna and your connection to a certain Star Spangled Man, your team leader had sent you on the first plane to get as much data as you could from Agent Ross and Carter. However, as you watched everything go down to hell, Sharon choose to help Steve and he seemed elated at it. Blue clashing with blue as you watched from the behind the vehicle, you didn’t have to be here --you didn’t have to be risking your job and livelihood for a glimpse at the unobtainable-- but, you had wanted to help, even if you weren’t needed.

It’s a look. It’s a kiss, and you do your best to look away -- to let your heart break in silence over the confirmation of many things. Steve leaves with the rest of his faction, no glance in your direction nor a goodbye as Sharon comes back to the car you drove in.

“I--” she starts, and you wonder if in someway it’s the same for her because anything she could have with Steve Rogers just flew out the window due to his dedication to Bucky Barnes and the cry of injustice his friend was suffering after all he had gone through. Maybe, Steve was chasing the little remnants of the past he had because Sharon could have been Peggy once, and Bucky would still be there. However, you aren’t part of the past, even less of the present.

“You would’ve looked cute together,” you say in a hollow voice, as she gives you a tight smile. The both of you get back in the car, ready to face the consequences of your actions.

“You ready?” is all she sees, in these few moments where your heart stutters and resurrects itself, you feel a connection with Sharon Carter that you hadn’t before.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you declare with a laugh, but it feels like you’re stating something bigger in the fact that you are ready to move on from Steve Rogers.

He disappears. Sharon gets put under disciplinary probation for a year, and you run the moment Nick Fury appears at your front door.

“You know, I saw him there other day,” Sharon states, testing out the waters as you look at her with an even stare.

In the past two years, you had formed an odd friendship with the CIA Agent, meeting here and there whenever you were in the general vicinity of each other. You had watched each other grow and hardened a little more and Sharon even allowed herself the chance at potential real love, as she had fallen for a British Interpol agent not that long ago, as you had seen from the pictures she had sh0wn you.

“And?” is all you manage to ask, as you stare off ahead into the clear, blue water in front of you. You cock your head to the side, waiting for her voice once more.

“He’s different,” she explains, “Like, he’s finally steady here. Maybe, you should see him again.”

Her suggestion is met with a hum of dissatisfaction, but she starts up again before you can give you own list of reasons as why you weren’t going to do something that she was suggesting, which happened more often that you realized. Maybe, it was just something that happened more frequently now that you were more blunt about your feelings.

“I’m not telling you to do it for him,” Sharon states, as you finally turn to look at her. A small smile on her face, as she states something way too close to your heart, “Do it for yourself, to forgive those emotions I know you hate so much.”

“When did you get so wise, Carter,” you tease and concede in your own way, though it doesn’t mean that you would be searching for Captain America anytime soon, though it was in the back of your head now, and that’s all Sharon really wanted to do.

“I think it runs in the family,” Sharon laughs, as you shake your head.

Too bad, you didn’t know that a certain man would come looking for you instead.

2018.

It was one of those newer things he was getting used to since coming back to New York, taking a day off every couple of weeks and enjoying hanging out with Sam and Bucky. Drink some beers, play some games, and sometimes just swap stories. However, it seems that Steve is feeling something close to nostalgia as Sam and Bucky notice that he keeps going on about more recent stories to around the time shortly after the Avengers had been formed. Both of his friends notice the softness that his face seems to gain around a certain person, one that neither of them had meet, which piques their curiosity even more. However, Bucky can’t help but sense that there is something more at play here.

“So, where this gal now?” Sam questions, as he takes another chug of his beer. The story had been about how she had almost burned the kitchen trying to make dinner which lead to a very wet Steve and her trying to explain everything to Tony.

“She joined the FBI after S.H.I.E.L.D fell, haven’t really heard from her since,” Steve explains as Bucky keeps observing the reaction of his best friend’s face -- wistful and almost dreamy. The blond clears his throat, asking the two if they want anything before he gets up and goes back into the kitchen area.

“She kinda sounds like that woman that was in Vienna,” Sam says shaking his head, already pretty much putting everything together, “The one with Sharon.”

“He’s probably in love with her, and he doesn’t even realize it,” Bucky sighs out in annoyance, “Seventy years and still emotionally constipated.”

“You gonna tell him?” Sam laughs.

“Nah, let him figure it out on his own,” is all Bucky says on the matter, though he is fully aware on how good a super soldier’s hearing can be.

Three months, you’re radio silent for that long, that even Natasha hears nothing. However, she isn’t one to worry because she can personally attest for your skills and while Steve doesn’t doubt you either, it’s those feelings of worry and something else that bring him back to the little Scottish pub -- to ask if you had come back and if the bartender had a way of contacting you. The answer was always no, until one night --near closing-- when he’s sitting closer to the entrance, ready to leave and head back --- that’s when the door opens.

“Vodka, please,” a rusty voice pleads, as blue eyes turn to see a figure taking a seat two down from his. The bartender hisses at the sight of your face -- black eye, busted lips, and the two men can tell that you are probably hiding more injuries underneath that coat and dark clothing that you are wearing. There is a silence between the three of you as the man lines up the small glasses and blue eyes watch you.

“What are you doing here again?” you question before doing your first shot. Steve stays silent as you turn to stare at him.

“I’m not sure what you want, Steve,” you state, confused and bitter at the same time, “But, I’m not the person you knew 3 years ago. Hell, I doubt you are too. I’m not going to reminisce down memory lane with you.”

“That’s not what I came here for,” he states calmly, as you feel a bit of annoyance and that old anger flare up again, like you already know what he wants to for.

“I’m not going back to New York. I like my job as it is now,” you declare defensively thinking that he might be here to recruit you, as he simply nods taking in what you’re saying and enjoying having you next to him, talking like the two of you used to. You take another shot and wince lightly at the burning sensation that it gives your busted lip.

“I’m not asking you to change anything. Just…”Steve pauses for a moment, unsure of how to say what he really wants to, “I just want be friends, be part of your life again. It’s taken me some time realize, but I missed you, alot.”

You stay quiet for a moment, closing your eyes and remembering what Sharon had told you awhile back.

“I...I can do friends,” you smile as best you can before an odd sound escapes your throat, almost like you’re laughing. Steve nods, before taking the seat next to yours.

“Have I ever told how much I hate Miami?” you question in all seriousness, as he starts laughing at how you say it.

“No, but I am guessing there’s a story behind it,” Steve states, smiling behind his own glass.

“Well, ya see. It started with Nat…”

There is space given and space taken, and just maybe one day both of them will realize that there doesn’t need to be any space between both of them and their true feelings.

#barnesrogers1k #steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers #steve rogers angst #steve grant rogers x reader #series: short stories #fabiola trying to write

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