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#let it remain as a time capsule of how STUPID we all fucking were
minijenn · 2 years
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Me, throwing that oneshot I wrote away for how hard it all got fucking debunked:
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serowotonin · 3 years
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˗ˏˋ 𝗴𝗼𝗹𝗱𝗲𝗻 𝗱𝗮𝘆𝘀 ˎˊ˗
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✰ PAIRING ( terushima yuuji x fem!reader ) ✰ WORDCOUNT ( 1.9k ) ✰ GENRE ( ansgt, songfic ) ✰ WARNINGS ( um one swear word, angst, implications of de*th )
all the memories that we make will never change we'll stay drunk, we'll stay tan, let the love remain and I swear that I'll always paint you golden days ♫ panic! at the disco
✰✰ NOTE.. so uH i think this is the first angst thing i wrote that im actually happy with and i know terushima isn’t someone a lot of ppl write for so to the few ppl who see this</3 hope u guys enjoy:”)
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“Ughh where is it,” Terushima grumbled to himself as he pulled open drawer after drawer. He had searched all the cabinets, all the tables, and just about every inch of his apartment but has yet to find his phone charger. 
As he closed the second to last drawer on this shelf, which held no phone charger, he pulled out his phone and saw it had 1% battery remaining. Quickly, he unlocked it and went to his contacts. Before he could make a call though, the screen turned black and he was left staring at a faint reflection of himself.
“Damn it,” he cursed under his breath. “She’s gonna get upset again.”
He clutched the now dead phone in one hand and ran the other through his hair, sighing in exhaustion. Today had been tiring enough with work and now he had this to deal with.
There was still one more drawer he hadn’t checked though. So, he lifted his hand out of his hair and pulled it wide open. 
In it sat a small box. 
He knew of its contents the moment he laid eyes on it. He also knew opening it now would only make him feel worse, not to mention, it would definitely delay his plans.
But for some reason, a longing for nostalgia or maybe the person that brought such nostalgia, his arms unconsciously moved to take the box into his hands.
Your words echoed in the back of his mind as he traced his fingers along the edges of the box.
“It’ll be like our little time capsule. For us to open when we’re all old and wrinkly…”
A deep sigh escaped his lips. 
Every rational thought that came into his head begged him not to open it, to put it back, to forget he even found it. 
Instead, his fingers moved to lift the cover and lay it down on the floor beside him.
And there you were... a polaroid of you at least. 
Your lips were curved in a sweet smile inviting him in and breaking his heart all over again. Up until now, he could barely recall what your face looked like when you were happy, truly happy. He could only remember the tears and regret you had on your face towards the end… 
But seeing you like this again, the wideness of your smile, the crinkle of your eyes… you radiated a joy and happiness he had begun to forget in you.
He stared at the picture for a good minute before turning it around to see the familiar strokes of your handwriting.
‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!!’ and under it ‘(first pic taken with the polaroid my baby Yuuji got for me<3)’
“My baby Yuuji,” he whispered.
“Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you,” he sang softly into your ear as he held you from behind, swaying gently in tune. 
“Happy birthday dear Y/n.. Happy birthday to you~”
You turned to kiss the blond and he pulled you even closer to him. 
“I love you babe, happy birthday...” 
The tiredness he had felt just moments ago seemed to have fluttered away when he found you again in the polaroids, and a longing burst from the depths as he put the picture down and picked up another one, his hands once again moving on their own will.
This one had the two of you standing together, backs facing the camera. It was taken at a beach when the sun was still high in the sky and the water glistened blue. But it wasn’t the scenery that appealed to him, nor was it the way the sun wrapped around you two in perfect golden light. 
It was how close you were to him. The physical distance between you two was barely existent. Your arms were wrapped around his waist and his were draped over your shoulders. 
‘Sea breeze, cute outfit, sand between my toes, and 1 Terushima Yuuji… Damn was today great.’
How he would give to be that close to you again.
“Ok 3, 2, 1…”
You clung on to him as tight as you could and he smiled, pulling you closer. 
At the sound of the camera click and the hum of the photo being printed, you let go and quickly turned around to thank the woman for taking the picture.
When you did that he felt off; as if a part of his body was just yanked away. It wasn’t an extreme feeling, nor was it painful in any way. It was more just a lingering emptiness that was put to rest a few seconds later when you were back by his side again.
He put his arm back on your shoulder and peered down at the polaroid in your hand. You were staring at the photo patiently waiting for the colors to fade in. And when it finally did, you smiled satisfactorily at it before tucking it away and flashing another smile to the man right next to you.
Terushima closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to clear his mind. It’s been years, he shouldn’t be dwelling on the past like this.
And yet, there was comfort in the pain the memories brought.
When he opened his eyes, they landed on yet another photo of you. And as he has been for a good part of his life, he was drawn to you. Reaching out a hand, he picked it up and let the memories wash over him once more.
After a while, he set it down and picked up another. And another. And another. Each capturing a moment with you he would never get back. 
It’s been years since he’s had to learn to live without you. Truthfully though, he never did learn how. The sun became a little dimmer, the rain a little harder, the breeze a little less refreshing. The world lost its vibrancy when he lost you. He adapted, got used to the dullness, but he couldn’t learn to live the same anymore...
He picked up another polaroid.
This one didn’t have either of your faces on it. It just showed the two of you holding hands against a dark background.
The bottom held no words but instead an arrow pointing to the right. Terushima turned the polaroid and saw a small envelope attached to the back. Curious, he opened it up and pulled out the piece of paper snuggled inside.
‘This one’s a bit longer than any other note I’ve written for a polaroid but… I kinda just realized smth really important. He drove me out at 3AM in the morning to get food because I said I was hungry. Then we sat in his car listening to some old mixtapes he had. They were pretty crappy but it didn’t matter. I love Terushima Yuuji. I’ve said it a million times before but last night it really hit me, hard. I love him in a way I’d never be able to love anyone else. 
I want to go on more dates with him. more stupid dates, more romantic ones, more 3AM dates, more cuddle dates. And even though it might be selfish of me, I want to spend my every breathing minute with him. 
If I can’t have anything else in this then I just want these golden days of ours to last forever..’
And before he realized it, tears were rolling down his cheeks. Fuck it all. He missed you. He missed the days you had together, the nights spent in each others’ arms. He missed you so much it tore a hole in his heart and all he could see when he looked at the sunlight drifting through the window was just darkness. 
It pained him to know that everything you wanted was all he ever needed. It pained him that he hadn’t realized this until it was too late. And it pained him most that you were never coming back.
Why’d you have to leave? 
He tried so hard to stop asking this question, and for a while, he was successful. But the polaroids, your handwriting, the memories, you.. there was just so much pain in the happiness of the past. 
But you were gone. He had accepted that long ago. 
┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈
“Terushima, you in here?” a familiar voice called from outside. 
Right, he forgot about Misaki. Wiping any tears left on his face, he put all the polaroids back in the box, covered the lid, and left the room.
“DADDY!!” a little girl yelled, running at him full speed. He bent down and lifted her into his arms effortlessly.
“Oh you’ve gotten heavier. How much has Misaki been feeding you huh?” he teased.
The little girl pouted as she pointed to the floor signaling she wanted to be put down. Terushima chuckled and did so.
Walking over to a slightly annoyed-looking Misaki, he muttered an apology for not going to pick her up and a thanks for taking care of his daughter. 
“Hey wait, you look like you’ve been crying… Are you ok Teru?” she asked, eyes showing her concern.
He let out a deep sigh. 
“I uh- I found a box with some old pictures of Y/n and I just-”
She put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it reassuringly. 
“Look, I know you miss her and I know you know this, but don’t get too stuck in the past. Focus on what you have now,” she said looking in the direction of the young girl who had made her way over to the small pile of stuffed animals on the couch.
He rubbed his face and nodded, “Yeah. Yeah, thank you Misaki.”
“Ok,” she replied with a sympathetic smile. “I’ll be going then.” 
Terushima nodded again and after she said bye to his daughter, he walked her to the door.
Turning back he leaned on the wall and looked affectionately at the girl playing on his couch. She was still so young, but it’s been almost 5 years now that he’s taken care of her. 
Time seemed to fly by with her and yet it felt like so long ago he welcomed her to the world. 
He understood now the past and its memories were something to be treasured. It was not something to cling on tightly though. The golden days of the past are gone, but the glittering rays that coated the floor and walls of his living room tell him it’s a new age. 
It was an age he had to cherish well.
Deciding to do something he’s been putting off, he walked back into his room and brought out the box with all its polaroids and memories.
“Yui, come here. I want to show you something.”
She stared at him before taking one frayed teddy bear into her hands and walking over to her father. Taking his outreached hand, she looked at the box he held in his other.
Sitting at the top of the pile was a photo of a beautiful woman. The sun was shining bright in the background and the light swirled around her as if she was wrapped in a golden halo.
“Is she an angel?” Yui asked innocently, pointing to the picture.
“You got that right,” he replied with a sad smile. “She’s the most beautiful angel out there..”
He watched as the young girl picked up the photo, seemingly mesmerized.
“That angel is your mom.”
“My mom?” she echoed. “Mommy is an angel?”
He smiled and ruffled her hair, “She sure is, and you know what? She’s looking out for us from heaven, so you better be a good girl for her, okay?”
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✰✰ NOTE.. pls lemme know if u guys thought this was angsty enough sdkjlsdg,,,, i dunno i can’t seem to tell whether angst is painful enough yet;-; also don’t mind the name yui dkglsd it was the first one i could think of T-T
✰✰✰ TAGLIST.. @lilikags @luna-in-luv​ @kureyama​
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hereisleo · 4 years
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stardust in our veins/
w/ s.mg x reader
g/ college!au, fluff, budding romance
w.count/ 2814
a.n/ in which upcoming astrophysicist and model song mingi is in a dilemma over the soon to be love of his life. a part of ‘back to school’ writing event with @kpopscape
t.w/ swearing
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“The universe is under no obligation to make sense to you.”
Well, fuck. Mingi thinks his luck is the worst. The one time he needed the universe to make sense of course it wouldn’t. Then again turning to his astrophysics texts for guidance in the matter of love is the wrong place to start. Love doesn’t make sense like the universe, much of it still undiscovered and will continue to remain so. There’s only so much humans can learn and that by no means is little. He’s simply too finite to understand all the ways the universe has to offer. The perks of being mortal in his opinion.
His phone lights up, a notification appears on his screen. Don’t be late, Min! Right, he has to model for his friend tonight. He sends a quick confirmation text, a little cute onomatopoeia of ‘ang!’ Out of place with his stoic exterior yet that’s how he is, best of both worlds. Mathematics and astrophysics. Fashion industry and music. He could make it anywhere he wants to be. Mingi is confident in himself, he knows he has most of the skills set required to pursue all of his dream occupations. So he straightens the loose pages of a printed pdf file and tuck them into its folder. He could buy the textbooks but why would he do that? He likes to eat the rich so to speak. All his earnings go to tuition and he would live smartly to make it through another year.
The chair squeaks in the quiet library and he winces, slightly apologetic at the flinches from students studying in the library. He doesn’t dwell much in it, he slings his back over his shoulder and pushes his chair in, lifting it a touch to prevent the grating noise. He nods at the librarian and mouths his, ‘bye.’ And it’s just him and his little kidney beans, AirPods, pumping music into his ears. He makes his way around the ground, weaving through passing students going to different classes, the stares he receives are not foreign. He’s used to it. He’s always a head and some more taller than the average or maybe it’s his clothes or his colourful hair or the way he carries himself is out of place within the Department of Astrophysics. Mingi looks like someone from the Department of Arts. A fashion or music student. Some would say he’s here because of an athletic scholarship. He is simply exercising his freedom to wear whatever he wants.
Sik-K’s “Habibi” starts playing and he mumbles his curses, a love and hate relationship he has with his playlist. He just managed to distract himself from thinking about love and here he is, back to wallow in his one-sided pining. Pitiful. You’re pathetic, Song Mingi. His strides languidly back to his shared apartment, not too far off from campus, he could take the car but he likes to walk when the weather is nice. He wonders when did he begin liking you. The first time he sees you is in the Arts building when you were fitting his feline-like friend into a stage costume. He thinks he fell for how your brow knits together in concentration as your fingers deftly repaired loose embellishment of pearls on the velvet suit jacket. He vividly recalls how inky the fabric was, similar to the sky that night, Mars was visible from the big window at the fashion studio. He would catch glimpses of you here and there and because of that, his visits to the Arts building increased. His friends caught on immediately and they wouldn’t live it down.
Before he knows it, he’s already punching the security codes on his door. A happy greeting of his name falls short with an amused laugh. Even his best friend could tell, he’s wallowing in his feelings. Mingi whines, kicking his shoes off before unceremoniously taking all the space on the couch. Good thing his playlist has come to its end, he takes out the little kidney beans from his ears and let it rest on the coffee table.
“Love doesn’t make sense, Yunho,” he groans, burying his face against the giant brown bear plushie. A hand pats his head, “Love doesn’t make sense and so does the universe yet you love them the same.” Mingi thinks Yunho has been skimming through his astrophysics texts but highly unlikely, Yunho doesn’t enjoy reading. He sighs and nuzzles deeper into the belly of the soft toy. Hell, he much rather snuggle with you but alas you’re a distant star out of his reach. He could only see you behind the lenses of his telescope. He will make do with the bear and his friends for now. He likes being alone, he likes his space but he hates the feeling of loneliness that comes out to play every once in a while. More often now since he has you to pin over. His friends could only do so much for him.
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Fuck you, Kim Hongjoong. Mingi keeps his head low and skirts around the photographer. You. He isn’t not aware you’ll be shooting him today, figuratively and literally. Yeosang has a shit eating grin on his face when Mingi sits on the chair to get his makeup done. “Not a word, Yeosang,” he mumbles and the grin widens. His friend only wipes his face clean before starting off with a quick skincare. He’s used to this, the gentle toner in white and blue packaging and the light cream patted into his skin. His friend went the length to purchase them specifically for him. He keeps his eyes trained on the mirror, tracking your movements all over the studio, talking to Hongjoong, toying with the navy and silver camera strap. He remembers buying the strap for Jongho when the old one was too worn out for use. It reminds him of the starry sky and it’s now in your hold. He bites his lip, it shouldn’t feel intimate yet here he is almost astral projecting because it feels as if you are holding part of his universe. Stop it, Mingi!
His pseudo makeup artist taps his abused lip with a warning tut, a red stain is smudged lightly before a clear gloss is patted over them so it doesn’t dry out his lips. Yeosang always scolds him for having chapped lips and this time Mingi sports dark smokey eyes, he could see hints of burgundy mixed into the brown shadows. Yeosang gives him a wink before sending him off to change. Hongjoong is a genius for designing outfits and he’s honoured to be one of the models walking in it. He wishes nothing but the best for the clothing line launch to be successful but he would be lying if he doesn’t want to wipe the smirk off the designer’s face right now.
Your fingers graze the skin of his back, his shoulders tensed and he presses his lips together to prevent any noise from escaping his mouth. Fuck this shoot. You’re just pinning his jeans because it’s slightly too big. Mingi wants to run home into the comfort of his bed and screams. Your radiating body heat is so warm and perhaps this is as close as he would ever to touch you, the human embodiment of the universe. He shouldn’t be this hypersensitive yet here he is flustered beyond his imagination. His lungs feel like they are collapsing. You are the 3-degree temperature difference in intergalactic space he learned about. His body couldn’t manage to reach equilibrium. Being around you makes his blood cells want to burst, the lack of atmospheric pressure puts a dizzy spell on him. Mingi thinks you’re an amazing being like the supercharged subatomic particles travelling almost just as fast as the speed of light. There’s only 0.1% difference. Magnificent.
Hongjoong and Yeosang smirk at his struggles. They are no strangers to his ‘internally screaming’ countenance. Mingi would have book it if they let him suffer any longer. He takes one look into the mirror, the long leather coat adds some invisible height to him, he appears taller than he already is and the chunky ribbed turtleneck accentuate his long neck. He glances over to the few more pieces hanging on the rack. Hongjoong kills it with the A/W capsule collection. He couldn’t wait to get into the patchwork trench coat and the purple overshirt that catches his attention since the prototype era. The universe has expanded further into infinity since then.
A gentle call of his name and the barely there touch on his back jolts him out of his reverie, eyes boring into yours almost bewitched. Your hand is right over where his birthmark is hidden under the layers of fabrics. “Mingi?” Your voice. Damnit, it’s so soft to his ears and the way his name rolls off your tongue raises the hairs on his arms. He dazedly hums in response, “Yes, stars?” The composition of a human being is as old as the universe itself, there are stardust running in the veins of mortals. He sees the brightest stars in your eyes. He doesn’t realise what he just called you, the term of endearment he refers you as in his head slips out to be immortalised. Sound waves travel into space and beyond, he can’t take back what he said. Your cheek is hot under his fingertips, in moments of bravery or stupidity, Mingi manages to string together a sentence, “Let’s take some pictures shall we?”
Bless Hongjoong for hooking up the music. He would run away if Taemin’s “Criminal” didn’t start playing. Don’t explode now. One more step to the front of the red backdrop. What foolish action did he do? How did he have the courage to talk to you and more over actually feel your skin under his fingers? He wants to scream and curl up on the floor. I did not just do that! Yeosang gives him a thumbs up for the corner of the studio. Thank heavens for his friends. He lets the electronic beats fill him and he loses himself in the act. His friends once told him, he’s a good actor. Now is the time for him to maximise the skill. A teasing drag of his bottom lip between his teeth, the smouldering gaze as he pierces through the camera lens straight at you just as the lyrics spews, ‘Destroy me more.’ Two can play this game and Mingi finds it relieving to find he’s not the one who is affected. It doesn’t quite make sense to you how he likes you and it doesn’t quite make sense to him how you like him. He’s not built for chasing love but now he knows you do have an interest in him, he takes the liberty to pursue it. He wouldn’t pour his love onto you yet. He has class and he’s not going to do anything that might spook you. Yes, he acts like an idiot sometimes but he’s not an idiot. He wants to make sure if you really have taken a liking of him or if he’s merely a passing interest. He doesn’t like getting hurt.
One wardrobe change and then two, the playlist continuous on, the hours blurred together. Mingi is in his last outfit, lying on the brown leather couch covered with colourful rugs and you’re hovering over him with the DSLR. He gives you, no, he means the camera, his best smirk and provocative lift of his eyebrow. From the corner of his eyes, Yeosang and Hongjoong are curling into each other to stifle bubbling laughter while monitoring all the shots appearing on the computer. The addictive riff of “Teeth” by 5 Seconds of Summer has him unbuttoning the purple overshirt. His friends are slapping each other and he hears you take sharp intake of breath. He is enjoying this way too much and he might as well. If he’s going to explode now is the time. Before the night ends, before the sky lightens, he would explode like a supernova, powerful and bright enough for its light to glow for more than a week. It’s rather selfish of him to make himself linger in your mind in a rather unorthodox fashion but he couldn’t help it, the opportunity is there for the taking. At some point the two nuclei would collide to create a new element, Mingi hopes it’s his and yours.
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The following day Mingi wakes up to a series of texts in the group chat. The sheer amount of caps lock yelling are not anything new so he didn’t check it yet. He raises his arms and lets his muscles sing with the stretch. His feet kiss the cool floor and he makes his way out to do his day off routine. “Morning, Yunho,” he greets, his voice still rough from sleep, it sounds deeper even to his own ears. He hears his roommate rustling about in the living room and feet padding hurriedly to his direction, “Afternoon already, Min! And you can’t say that nonchalantly after what you did last night! You didn’t tell me this!” What did he do last night? Ah, right! He was modelling for Hongjoong, saw you and flirted with you indirectly through the camera lens. Yunho shoves his phone in front of him.
An A-cut photograph from the shoot is attached in the chat by Hongjoong. He was in the half open purple overshirt and sunglasses hanging between his teeth, glaring straight at whoever is looking at the picture. Consecutive texts from his friend group are under it, nothing but praises and Yunho is always first to compliment him. My best friend right there! Following the trail of text bubbles, he finds a short video. He presses the play button and immediately blushes, hiding his face in his hands with an exasperated sound. Last night model Mingi was brave enough to reach for the camera. In fact, he reached past it and cradled your cheek in his palm. “It was for the shoot!” Yunho pockets his phone. “Mingi. You eye fucked the camera through and through. In fact, it’s not the camera, it’s your ‘stars’.” The mirth in Yunho’s voice is enough to draw another whine from him. He couldn’t find fault in his best friend’s statement.
He has to go back in again today and how is he supposed to face you? I should call in sick. Yet with that thought he still works the coffee machine, his body moving rotely and his friend sidles next to him to help him with lunch. He could still sense the excitement radiating from the puppy-like man. An avocado toast later, Mingi is sent out with a cheery, “Have fun!” The little kidney beans are back in his ears, a mellow summer song soothes his pounding heart. The moon peeks between buildings as if to tell him it’s rooting for him. In such an aspect, he thanked the pile of regolith and dead volcanoes hanging in space.
His takes longer strides to the campus ground, arriving earlier than expected, his body understands the excited energy simmering under his skin. To see you standing in front of the Arts building entrance sparks something in him. Don’t do or say anything weird, Mingi. He breaks into a jog, calling your name properly this time. It’s an exaggeration but this is what he thinks being struck by a space debris must feel like. The shy wave of your hand and the sunlight blanketing your skin are enough to set his heart racing. “You look different today.” He supposed he does look different to you. Your encounters with him are always within the confinement of Hongjoong’s studio. You never see him in his casual state, so the messy, half wet hair from the shower earlier, the all sweats get-up he is in and the glasses perched on the bridge of his nose are foreign to you. Hell, you never see him cooing at a soft toy or notice how slow he eats. “Have you eaten yet?” That’s good, Min, that’s a safe question. You nod with a smile, pocketing away your phone, “Just enough to get through the meeting.” Mingi wants to curl up on the floor, what is he going to do with your undivided attention on him?
“Shall we grab something together afterwards?” He curls his hands into fist within the pockets of his sweatpants. What the hell did he just ask you? He needs that space debris to smite him out of existence right now. The endearing shy smile on curving your cheeks upwards has him biting his tongue. Mingi thinks a space debris really has vaporised him, your answer leaving him a stuttering blushing mess. “It’s a date then.”
“The universe is under no obligation to make sense to you.”
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heartsofbeskar · 3 years
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from the ashes
chapter 7 | read on AO3
din djarin x oc
WARNINGS: violence, blood, mild torture, swearing, mentions of gambling
WORDS: 5.2K
EXCERPT: Knives had always been his last choice, a last resort when his firearms failed him or were no longer an option. They were inefficient in his brutish hands, often requiring close contact and were never a guarantee to kill. But in hers … they were more than just knives, they were instruments, that she played effortlessly to sing a serenade of violence.
He wondered if the Force had anything to do with it, or if she just had that many years of practice.
“You and that casino operator seemed close,” he continued musing into the silent space between them. There were no indications she had heard him, but he knew she had. Maker knew why, Din decided to push his luck. “Did you fuck her?”
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Din’s mind whirled faster than light speed as they ran back to her ship.
I am not a Jedi.
The words echoed over and over again. But she had to be … right? Or at least some kind of trainee, like Grogu was. He let his mind dwell on the small foundling. How he’d been able to lift impossible weights for his tiny body, how he’d healed terminal injuries— how he’d choked Cara just as Ten had choked the security officer who’d held a blaster to her head.
But there was no pretending Ten was some helpless creature that just happened to be overloaded with this weird power. She was a grown woman, a trained fighter. She wielded it with precision. She had to have learned how to do that somewhere, somehow.
I am not a Jedi.
The Empire … they chased me too.
If she wasn’t a Jedi, why would the Empire pursue her?
I never knew why—I still don’t.
Had she just lied to him? His skin felt like it was on fire. He didn’t know why the prospect of that bothered him so much. Many people had lied to him before, and he in turn had told many lies. His whole identity was built around an air of secrecy, but … it had felt like an intimate capsule of time, back on that asteroid. Where a barrier had slipped, for the both of them. Din didn’t want to consider it had all been false.
I am not a Jedi.
The ship entered his view, the distance closing much faster than before. Ten didn’t look back at him as she opened the hold and headed directly into the cockpit. He didn’t follow her in.
He sat on the nearest crate, shedding his gloves. He pressed the palms of his hands into his helmet, as if it were skin. A part of him … hoped she was Jedi. That she could get in contact with the ones who had taken Grogu. That he could see him again. Maybe even…
Din shook his head forcefully as he felt the ship jump to hyperspace. It was stupid and wishful for him to dwell on those things.
Ten emerged from the cockpit, avoiding his eyes. She was still wearing her cloak as she hurried into the refresher, and then towards where he sat, holding a small metal box now. He straightened.
“You’re bleeding,” she pointed out. She sat down next to him and rifled through the box. Her thigh pressed against his, and Din had the inexplicable urge to jerk away, which he ignored. He furrowed his brow beneath his helmet, turning to examine himself and — ah. A blaster graze was indeed on his arm, the fabric torn away just below the pauldron. Blood slowly dripped down onto the sleeve.
Setting the box on the ground, she slowly brought her hands up to grip the edges of his pauldron. They stilled there, her eyes lifting to his. Asking for permission. He nodded.
She pried the metal off his arm, and he groaned. He could feel the sting now, the frayed nerves hit by blaster fire. She ripped the fabric further up his arm, exposing the burn and his tanned skin.
“It’s not too bad, just partially got past the beskar,” she muttered, running her fingers over the surrounding area. They were cold, Din noticed. She touched him with a gentleness that didn’t suit her face.
As she began to wipe grime off the area, she said quietly, “Aren’t you going to ask?”
Din turned his face to look in hers, but her eyes were down, staying focused on the burn. Her brows were furrowed. He didn’t even know what the question would be. He settled for silence as she finished cleaning his arm, then reached for a small can of bacta spray.
“This’ll sting.” She began to spray the area. It did sting, but Din registered it only in some far away portion of his mind. He wanted to take the opportunity she’d opened, but his mind was still grasping at the formulation of a thought that didn’t sound … well, stupid.
As she placed a patch on the now scarring burn, he gave up.
“How can you do that if you’re not a Jedi?”
Her eyes finally flickered back up to meet his. “The Jedi do not have nor have they ever had exclusive control over the Force.”
“The Force … that’s where those … powers come from, right?”
She straightened from where she’d been rearranging the first aid box and gave a small laugh. Din … wasn’t sure he’d heard that sound from her before. Not like this.
“Powers, that’s…” she shook her head. “That’s cute, Mandalorian. Yes, the Force is what enables me to do the things most can’t. But it’s all a matter of someone’s connection.”
Ten stood, heading back to the refresher. Din couldn’t help but follow. The questions seemed to be falling out of his mouth now. Grogu had never been able to tell him anything about his powers. It felt as if by learning more he could be closer to him, somehow. Understand his son and the extraordinary life he had lived.
“Connection? What does that mean?”
She half turned towards him, shrugging off her cloak and then her jacket. Wraps encased her forearms, as Din had always seen. She raised an eyebrow at him.
“You’re more curious about this than I thought you would be,” she remarked. Facing the mirror, she turned on the tap.
“You just incapacitated someone without even touching them.”
“A blaster can do that as well,” she said, leaning down and splashing water onto her face. The edges of her hair brushed the sink ledge, the dark strands wetting slightly. Din scoffed.
“A blaster doesn’t—” he stopped. He rubbed a hand along the edge of his helmet, realizing his gloves were still off. “Why did you lie to me before? About the Empire?”
Ten spun quickly to face him, water droplets still dripping down the planes of her face. She narrowed her eyes. “I never lied to you. That armour, your helmet, that’s your Creed. This is mine. Hiding my connection from the Force is the only way I’ve lived all these years. If you were anyone else … I would’ve killed you already.”
Her eyes stayed locked on his helmet, not even blinking. He believed her. And he knew, he could tell, it was something she’d done before. He understood, so he nodded, slowly.
As she passed, he placed a hand on her arm. “I wouldn’t betray you to the Empire.”
She placed a hand on top of his. Din was acutely aware of their bare skin touching. He could feel the texture of her skin. It was softer than he had expected. Was everything about her softer than it appeared?
“People I’ve known for years have sold me out to the Empire. I’ve only known you for less than a month.”
Her vision was muddied with the blood that had erupted from her face. It clung to her lashes, falling into her eye, and she tried to rapidly blink it away. Ten spit it out when it accumulated into her mouth. She was afraid to touch her face, afraid of what she would find there.
Good morning, beautiful. Antilles had greeted her that way nearly every morning for as long as she’d known him. Beautiful. She supposed she probably wasn’t, not anymore. Quell had seen to that.
The troopers took turns shoving her with their rifles to move her along. Her ankle screamed its objections, and Ten couldn’t even tell through the blood and sweat if there were tears.
She cried out as she tripped over something hard, falling forward and landing on her forearms. A metal surface. This must be their ship, she realized. A shudder went through her. She tried desperately to reach out to the Force, to feel its steady rhythm beneath her own breathing, but it felt too far away. Pushed down by her own panic.
Someone grabbed her by the collar of her shirt now, pulling her along beside them. She felt them ascending a ramp and then she was unceremoniously thrown towards the floor. Panting, she rested the uncut half of her face on the cool surface under her. Voices filtered through the ship to her ears.
“The asset is secure. We should prepare to leave immediately. You—” A snapping noise. Quell’s voice. “Clean this up, dispose of this waste.”
A different voice responded. “Sir, if I may, it was specified that the asset be delivered unharmed.”
Quell barked a laugh. “The bitch is fine. Surface level, nothing more. It’ll heal and she’ll be just as useful to the Empire as before.”
Ten felt her eyes burning, and she knew now there were undoubtedly tears. She couldn’t muster the effort to be ashamed. Some of the blood cleared from her eye. She focused on the crate that sat directly in front of her, counting the letters of the logo stamped to the side. Footsteps echoed off the metal, louder as they drew closer to her.
“We’re about to have some fun.”
With a small gasp, Ten’s eyes flew open. The hammock she lay in was gently swaying with the movements of the ship. She slowly ran a hand over her cheek. Dry.
She was alone in the ship’s hold. The engines were humming softly. She flexed her hand in front of her; it was still a little sore. One of the wraps on her arm had slipped down as she’d slept. Ten absentmindedly rubbed the tattooed “10” on her forearm. Years ago, she used to rub the skin until it was raw, sometimes on the verge of bleeding. But the ink always remained buried beneath.
Swinging her legs over the side of the hammock, she signed, rubbing the back of her neck. She hadn’t had an outburst like that with the Force in … well, she didn’t like to dwell on the last time it had happened. At least this time hadn’t been disastrous. Maybe she really was in more control, had somehow mastered the connections with no guidance. Or she was just simply fooling herself. It wouldn’t be the first time.
Mando’s footsteps filtered to her as they came down the short hallway. Ten hurriedly rewrapped her arm as he came into view. He’d put his pauldron back on, but not bothered yet to change his shirt — she could still see some of the bare skin around where he’d been burned. The feeling of it under her fingers echoed in her mind.
As he walked towards her, she was hit with the sudden realization of him knowing … and being a Mandalorian, at that. She remembered laying under the stars, Silya’s warm arm wrapped around her. Telling her tales of the ancient days of Mandalore, of their clashes with the Jedi. The enemies of all Mandalorians. Is that how he would view her now? Did she care? She was annoyed that the first response in her mind wasn’t no, of course not.
It felt like she was being laid bare in front of him.
“I went over the communication logs we downloaded.” His helmet was downturned, looking at the holopad in front of him. “The Empire usually slingshots its transmissions around Corellia, Issiluu, and Shih, in specific patterns. I don’t see any of that in here.”
Ten rubbed a hand over her face. “That would make sense, given the levels of security. The Empire would never leave their conspirator without at least a few troopers on the property.”
“We should choose who to check out next so we can get going,” he said, fingers moving quickly over the holopad screen. She rose from the hammock, muscles protesting. He’d put his gloves back on, she noticed. She followed him into the cockpit.
Settling into the co-pilot seat, he pulled up the holographic display which began listing Karga’s associates. He tapped his finger in the corner and it began scrolling through their details.
“I still think we should focus on those who were known to deal in weapons or adjacent industries during the height of the Empire,” Mando’s voice hummed in the background as Ten watched the names go by, along with the imagery of their various business pursuits. They were beginning to blur together and Ten sighed when— she saw it.
“Stop,” she demanded harshly. The screen had already moved forward. Mando’s helmet jerked in her direction. “Go back one. Another one. There— stop it here.”
Ten leaned forward, examining the information. It was the profile of Doman Tosche. He looked mild mannered enough, round face slightly reddened in the display picture. He owned a myriad of businesses in the Core, primarily food and household goods, which he’d recently been exporting further out. The only known connection to the Empire, based on their combined records and knowledge, was a second cousin who’d enlisted decades prior.
None of that was what had grabbed her attention.
There, next to one of his agricultural businesses, Mal’s Production Incorporated. A logo. One she’d seen before.
Blood was dripping down her brow. Her body was wracked with shivers against the cold metal floor. Quell’s voice was in the background, arrogant and spiteful. The crate. The crate sat right in front of her. A logo painted onto the side. She counted the letters. Mal’s Production Incorporated.
She’d seen it before. On Quell’s ship. Years ago.
“He’s working with the Empire,” she said. She didn’t look at Mando. “He always has been.”
“You’re sure?” Ten looked at him now. He had leaned in, just slightly, and his fingers twitched like they wanted to reach. They didn’t. She nodded. “Okay.”
Taking a deep breath, she motioned to the display. “Looks like he has no centralized office, but he was in Canto Bight … two days ago, according to the shipyard logs. We should head there.”
Mando nodded, settling back in his seat, flexing his fingers. He seemed uneasy as she set in their new course. Clearing his throat, he asked, “Is this … is this a Force thing?”
“No,” she said. Her fingers tightened around the handle of the controls. “It’s a memory thing.”
“We should try to be back before the sun rises, in case there’s any New Republic officers patrolling.” Ten had her back turned to him, adjusting her weapons. The muscles in her shoulders flexed, and a strangely linear burn scar covered her left shoulder blade. Din’s eyes followed the line of her arm down to where her wrappings covered her skin. He felt a pang of guilt thinking about the glimpse he’d accidentally stolen of the skin underneath earlier. Of the tattoo he guessed she was hiding, though he couldn’t even begin to understand why. But he knew what it was to feel safe in cover, to need to block off physical parts of one’s self. He wouldn’t tell her he’d seen. She continued speaking as she turned around to face him, fastening her cloak at her neck. “I can blend in a crowd, but the beskar’s not exactly … inconspicuous.”
“You’d be surprised,” he muttered. “But I agree, we should be careful. How much do you trust this contact you have here?”
She laughed at that. “Not at all, Mando.”
As they made their way past the bright casino lights, Din could tell the reflections off his armour made her uncomfortable as they moved amongst the city’s tourists. In his experience, the reflections often had the opposite effect she feared — he was like a mirror, where the surroundings drew all the attention, and he became nothing but a neutral piece of the structure.
Ten led him down a narrower side alley, offset from the main casino attractions, which seemed to help her relax a touch, despite its much seedier nature. A few shadowy figures lingered in doorways and Din’s hand came up to rest on his blaster, even though the woman in front of him seemed unbothered by their presence.
A dirty hand lunged out from an alcove as they passed by, grabbing tightly onto Ten’s arm and yanking. With the surprise leverage, the hand — attached to a man with a face equally dirty — pushed her down into the gravel. Din pulled his blaster from his belt but as he pointed it at the man, he had already his own blaster pressed into her temple.
“Go ahead Tin Can, shoot me,” he snarled. “By the time it reaches me I’ll have pulled the trigger on your friend here.”
As if to illustrate his point, he pushed the blaster harder into her temple. His other hand rested on the back of her head, and he pressed her face into the ground. Her hands were pinned beneath his knees. Din felt the blood rushing in his ears, his adrenaline spiking.
“You fucking idiot,” he heard Ten swear at him, her voice muffled.
“Oh, I’m the fucking idiot, eh?” he responded, turning his eyes down to her. Din dropped his free arm beneath his cloak. “You cost us a right lot of credits last time you were here, bitch. Fucked over our whole operation, ya did.”
“Your operation had the constitution of a burlap sack, you absolute—” The rest of her sentence was cut off as Din launched forward, propelled by the phoenix. He slammed his body into the other man, sending them into the opposite wall, and his body protested. The small space filled with smoke and Din pulled the vibroblade from his arm as it cleared. Bringing it down in a swift stroke, he plunged it into the direction of the man’s neck. As it sunk in and blood sprayed onto his chest plate he knew he’d hit the mark.
As the man slumped to the ground, he turned to where Ten had been. She was coughing lightly through the smoke, lifting herself on her elbows. He stepped towards her.
“Are you alright?” He extended a gloved hand down towards her. She ignored it.
“Shit,” she cursed again. Din watched as she slowly rose to her feet, brushing gravel off the front of her body. There was a red mark at her temple where the blaster had been, but he let out a breath when she seemed otherwise fine. Her eyes locked onto his. “I didn’t need your help.”
“Yeah, seemed like you had it all under control,” he muttered, rolling his eyes.
Some gravel still clung to the smooth skin of her face. Before he could stop himself, his hand reached up and began to gingerly wipe it away.
Her hand darted up to grab him by the wrist. It gripped him like a vice, and neither of them moved. It felt like there was some inflexible string tying them together in that moment, constricting each of them separately. The expression in her eyes was unreadable. It was as if she had her own beskar helmet to cover her outward expression. Din wasn’t even sure they were breathing.
He had no idea how long it had been — seconds? minutes? hours? — when the grip on his wrist finally released. His hand lowered.
“I didn’t need your help,” she said, tone softer than before. Ripping her eyes from him, she resumed their previous path down the alley.
Ten clenched her fists, tight enough to hurt, beneath her cloak. If she didn’t, she knew she would shake.
Not from the attempt on her life. No, that was a pretty standard day. And she’d met that man before, when he’d helped run a ring of backdoor casinos, scalping off the legitimate casino profits. The legitimate casinos had, unsurprisingly, hired her to flush out all the information on their counterparts.
No, Ten was shaking because … well, she couldn’t really say why. Was she humiliated? Maybe. Was she annoyed? Most definitely. She wanted to turn on her Mandalorian counterpart and give him the brunt of it, about how she was no damsel in distress for him to save and protect.
It wasn’t completely logical, she knew. They were partners, and someone had her on the ground with a blaster to her head. The second time in so many days. But she bristled all the same.
And the way his hand had brushed off the dirt from her face … what the fuck? Her nerves felt frayed, as if her very skin had been peeled open and set alight.
She didn’t look back at him again as they made their way to the end of the alley. A large metal door was inset in the wall that marked the end. There was no handle of any kind, but a small window at eye level which was shut.
Approaching, she motioned to Mando to stand back behind her. She banged one, two, three times exactly on the door. With a squeak, the metal cover on the small window slid open. It was just large enough to view the eyes of the person on the other side. Their brow was furrowed.
“You have a fathier for today’s race?” a gruff voice asked.
“Yes, he’s being tended to in the thirteenth stable.”
The metal window covering snapped shut abruptly. A moment later the entire door gave a low moan, opening just wide enough for a person to fit through. Ten entered, gesturing for the Mandalorian to follow.
The small room reeked of smoke, more sour and concentrated than the smoke in the alley had been. A large green Trandoshan sat on a stool and leaned against the dirty wall, picking at their teeth. The Devaronian who let them in gave them a short grunt, which she knew to interpret as wait here. He disappeared down another short hallway, which quickly faded to blackness.
Rather than make eye contact with the Trandoshan, Ten turned herself back towards Mando. The single bulb that lit the room reflected off the top corner of his breastplate. His helmet tilted down to look at her.
“A waiting room?”
She raised an eyebrow at him. Experimentally, she clenched and unclenched her fist beside her. The shaking had subsided.
“They don’t allow weapons inside their main casino.” She nodded down the hallway. “And I don’t allow myself anywhere without weapons.”
“I take it this isn’t the operation you fucked over, then,” he said, helmet turning to look back at the entrance. Ten swore she could hear a smirk in his voice.
“I was paid by the big boys to profile everything I could find on illegitimate operations in the city,” she shrugged. “Kirana paid me even more to remain … discrete.”
Before he could say anything in response, a human woman emerged from the hallway with the Devaronian hovering just over her shoulder. She was conspicuously dressed, a bright red gown draped over her body, with a significant dip into her cleavage, opening the expanse of skin. Her red lips turned up into a smile when she entered the room with them.
“My dear nameless friend,” she cooed, embracing Ten’s upper arms. She placed a kiss on each of her cheeks. “How lovely of you to grace us with your presence in Canto Bight!”
“Kirana, you’re looking lovely as ever,” Ten gestured beside her. “This is the Mandalorian, he’s helping me with a job.”
“A nameless associate, how very on brand,” Kirana flashed them a dazzling smile. “Tell me, what can I do for my favourite devious double agent, hmm?”
“Doman Tosche,” she spat the name out at no one in particular. “We tapped shipyard logs and apparently he was here just a few days ago. He runs some businesses from the Core, but we— I— think he’s been dealing with Imps since the Empire days.”
Kirana raised a delicate eyebrow. Ten struggled to read the expression in her eyes.
“Not many reputable Core businessmen visit my establishments, I’m afraid.”
“There’s also not many people at all who enter and leave this city that you don’t know about.” With this, the well dressed woman broke into a lilting laugh that echoed off the metal walls. She ran her hands higher up Tens arms, grasping her near her shoulders, and smiled at her.
“Now that you’re right about,” she sighed. “I do know a certain Mr. Tosche was here, he likes to frequent certain girls who work by the betting tracks. However, he left after one night on a passenger caravan. Obviously under a false name if it’s not in the logs.”
Ten gritted her teeth hearing that he was already gone. She turned her head ever so slightly, looking at the Mandalorian from the corner of her eye, before focusing back on Kirana.
“I don’t suppose there’s a chance you know where that ship was headed?”
Kirana shook her head, looking rueful. “Even if I did, they usually make a number of unlogged stops, especially if they’re well paid,” she muttered. Gently, she lifted a hand to cup Ten’s cheek— the same one the Mandalorian had touched, Ten registered, somewhere in a corner of her mind. She pushed it even further back. “But, I do know that he didn’t arrive here alone. A business associate, some sort of manager, perhaps. He stayed on world and has spent the last many hours inside my humble establishment.”
“He’s in there now?” Ten asked, eyes darting to the dark hallway. “Kirana, you have to let me in to get him.”
The Trandoshan stirred now, leaning in her direction, a low growl in its throat. Ten saw the glint of beskar moving beside her.
“Now, now, there’s no reason for any sort of violence here,” Kirana turned her eyes onto Mando, narrowing them. “But you know my rules, dear. No weapons inside my premises. That includes these lovely hands of yours. However, once someone leaves…”
Mando spoke up for the first time since Kirana had appeared. “We’ll be waiting then.”
For once, their timing seemed to work out favourably. The man Kirana said worked for Tosche — Hamal Hearns — took less than an hour to stumble out of the back alley casino, yawning and scratching at the stubble that had grown out on his face.
Subduing him was too easy to even be fun, Din lamented. He spent a large portion of the walk back to the Ursa, through the still dark streets of Canto Bight then the deserts of the surrounding area, grovelling and talking about ransoms, about the powerful men he worked for, how they would pay for him, however much they needed. Ten rewarded him with a sharp punch to the nose, after which he fell silent.
She threw him unceremoniously into the storage room Din had adopted as his sleeping quarters. Din could hear him softly crying through the door.
“He shouldn’t need much pushing,” he commented, leaning against the corner of the wall. Ten was in her weapons compartment, seemingly picking out her favourite. He once again found himself marvelling at the sheer number of blades. And the single blaster he knew she carried at her left hip.
Knives had always been his last choice, a last resort when his firearms failed him or were no longer an option. They were inefficient in his brutish hands, often requiring close contact and were never a guarantee to kill. But in hers … they were more than just knives, they were instruments, that she played effortlessly to sing a serenade of violence.
He wondered if the Force had anything to do with it, or if she just had that many years of practice.
“You and that casino operator seemed close,” he continued musing into the silent space between them. There were no indications she had heard him, but he knew she had. Maker knew why, Din decided to push his luck. “Did you fuck her?”
That got her attention. Her hand snapped to his direction. She picked out a large knife, its blade slightly curved, and began walking slowly towards him. He wondered if she finally was going to stab him.
“Not that it’s any of your business, Mandalorian,” she came to a stop beside him, her shoulder brushing his. “But yes … I did.”
For another moment, neither of them moved, staring at the other. It seemed to stretch from that second into infinity, and then it ended as quickly as it began. Ten continued down the small hallway to the room where their guest was. Taking a deep breath, Din followed.
Hamal Hearns was on his knees, hands still cuffed behind his back. His face was covered in snot and sweat and tears and a small trickle of blood out of his nose from when Ten had hit him. His eyes brimmed with more tears as she held his chin in one of her hands.
“I have a very simple question for you, Mr. Hearns,” she murmured, her tone much gentler than Din expected. He crossed his arms over his chest, not missing the way the man’s eyes flitted back and forth between them. Ten’s hand on his face tightened.
“Is your boss working for the Empire?”
His eyes widened, tears spilling over, lips trembling.
“Please, please, miss, we wouldn’t do anything like that I promise—”
“Shhh,” Ten cooed. “I’m afraid you misunderstood. You see, I know the answer already, I was just hoping … you could be honest with me.”
She was kneeling in front of him now, and brought her other hand up to the cheek she hadn’t already been holding. He widened his eyes as they stayed locked on her face.
Din had expected some violence, perhaps Ten’s favourite flavour of physical torture, to get the skittish man to tell them what he knew.
But the silence only deepened, and as Ten and Hearns maintained eye contact, he watched the latter’s body begin to shake. He tried to shake his head back and forth, but she held it steady. Blood began to seep from his eyes, falling like tears, then out of his ears, and mouth.
“Please,” he whimpered. He coughed and gasped around the blood in his mouth. “I’ll—” Another cough. “I’ll tell you everything I know! He’s been selling to the Empire for years! P-please just stop!”
Ten leaned back, stretching her hands out. “Good. I knew you’d do the right thing. You’re going to tell my Mandalorian friend everything useful you know. Or I’ll be back.”
He nodded vigorously, not even attempting to cover the sobs that racked his body. Blood still covered his face, but no longer seemed to be freshly flowing.
What had she done to him?
She stood, and Din didn’t miss the shaking in her legs. As she turned, he saw the bags under her eyes that he swore weren’t there when they had entered the room. She laid a hand on his breastplate.
“Take it from here, please, Mando.”
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bread-elf · 3 years
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DWC 2020 - Day 11
May not be suitable to some readers, viewer discretion is advised.
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Passion
Post Warlords of Draenor, pre Legion prepatch
Curled up on the floor at the foot of her bed, wearing the same rags she's been in for four days, she didn't want to cope anymore.
A soft rap at the door to her cabin on the Greyshield's ship, Drax'ara Duskrunner sighed softly to himself. "Jiroki, it's me, I'm coming in."
The tall Kaldorei, with deep blue hair pulled back and swirling blue eyes, pushed his way into the room. She had secluded herself in here after her supposed wedding date with the Highborne Sasil, yet he never showed to claim his bride at the altar. Most of the other Shields in the mercenary group were too hesitant to approach, but Drake had volunteered to try and keep her under his watch, but more for personal reasons than for the Greyshields.
The room was a mess, Jiroki having spontaneous tantrums and having thrown and broken things, food on the desk he had last left previously remained untouched. At first he was startled not to see her right away, then realized where she was.
"You haven't eaten in days. I'm going to force feed you if you don't eat this now." The man had brought with him a plate of bread, cheese, and bacon, trying to entice her hungry she kept denying but also bringing something light. Jiroki gave no response, something he had learned for some time now she's prone to do when upset, and he got down on his knees beside her.
"Come on, up and at em." Setting the plate down he reaches over to help sit her up, Jiroki shifting slightly but for the most part unresponsive. He raises a brow, but thinks she must be exhausted, letting her body lean against his as she slumps towards him.
"Jiroki?" Something seemed off, and his gut clenched as it agreed with him. Bringing a hand to her cheek she tilts her head up, hearing the very faint of gasps breath, and beside her body he notices a small empty pouch.
The hairs on the back of his neck as shock starts to settle in, recognizing that pouch. Quickly he scoops Jiroki in his arms and tilts her around, setting her down on her back. He sees her face then, silver eyes half lidded and glazed over, her body overdosing. No no no-" His first instinct is to get it out of her, a bit familiar with drug usage. Quickly he rolls her onto her side and shoves two fingers down her throat. To his luck her body reacts as intended, her body gagging and starting to heave up the contents in her stomach. A grisly task, but Drake immediately scans the contents for any of her ‘medicine’ that he learned she frequently takes, and abuses. He could spot some of the white capsules she had recently swallowed that had barely started to dissolve, but there were bits that looked like she had taken some earlier… “How many did you fucking take?!” Drake growls out angrily as he starts fishing for his communication device, Jiroki coughing and remaining laying on her side while he access a specific frequency. “Draxia?! Draxia! I need you!” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Jiroki felt dull, out of her skin, not of this world. Did it work? She couldn’t tell, but slowly she was fading back to consciousness. Something cool soothed her skin, her whole body, and she felt weightless. That feeling became more physical as she can feel gentle laps of water touching her skin, being held aloft by someone as there were the faint mutterings of the Darnassian tongue. Slowly she peels open her eyes, a Kaldorei man with purple hair having a hand hovering over her body, and she could see the weavings of druidic magic around the hand. Not only that, she could see a luminescent glow from the waters she floated in. Turning her head she could recognize she now floated in a Moonwell, but how did she get here? “Drax’ara, she’s waking up.” His voice calls out, and Jiroki can start to recognize this druid as Draxia, one of Drake’s brothers. To the side she can hear some movement, and Drake himself comes into view as he peers over the edge of the Moonwell. “Gods, praise Elune…” Drake lets out a heavy breath, relieved that she seemed alright. Jiroki felt her head swim and she reached up to grab hold of it, feeling droplets of the water run down her face. “Can you sit up?” Draxia moved his hands to help her, having her sit upon a rock in the well so that she could keep her head above water. “That was certainly a close call. You need to stay in these waters for a time.” “How… How did I get here?” Jiroki knew for a fact she had been in the Swamp of Sorrows, where her ship was docked in Marshtide, yet the area around them felt like home. “Drax’ara brought you here, we are at the well in Duskwood.” The closest portal to the Emerald Dream, of course, Jiroki should have known. Drake continued to stand nearby, a hard look on his face as he stared at Jiroki, and Draxia noticed. “Brother, come and help me, would you?” Draxia asks. Drake gets taken aback by the sudden question, but he kicks off his boots and climbs into the well. The healing waters slosh a bit from Drake’s body submerging, but he comes in and gingerly takes Jiroki from Draxia, helping keep her steady. Once Draxia is freed from his burden he moves back, letting out a tired sigh and looking exhausted. “I need to rest…” Draxia says as he starts to climb out of the well. “That was very taxing. Watch her for an hour, make sure she doesn’t get out. If she doesn’t next hurt herself by getting an aneurysm…” Jiroki and Draxia didn’t exactly clash well, already the female starting to get riled up by his words and leering towards him, but she felt weak and remained put. Soon enough the druid had left, and she sat alone with Drake in the pools. “What were you thinking?!” Drake starts to scold her in a hushed whisper, she having anticipated it. “You could have been killed!” “That’s what I was trying to do before you came along!” Jiroki snaps back, glowering at him. “How dare you interfere! You had no right to!” “Bullshit I had no right to!” Drake snaps right on back, not afraid to yell at her in turn. “You’re the most selfish person I’ve ever met! Did you even think about how this would affect the Greyshields?! How it would affect me?!” “Why do you keep interfering in my life?! This isn’t what I wanted!” She hits his chest as she tries to pull away from him, but he keeps a firm grip on her shoulders, and her strike had so little power behind it anyways as her body recovers from her ordeal. “What do you want then?! Come on, Jiro! You can’t just… You mean so much to people!” His words falter; it was no secret between the two that he had deep feelings for her. “Is that why he didn’t even show up?! Because I matter so much?!” Jiroki couldn’t stop the sobs from coming. She had cried so much already the past few days, but it came wave after wave. “All this time I been- I been w-waiting for him and, and hanging on, j-just to not show up, on a day that HE picked?! What the fuck?!” Her fists hit his chest again but he just takes it, watching her carefully and with pity as she breaks down before him. “A-And you, you just k-keep getting in the way! Y-you even tried to t-take me from him! But-” It all seemed so silly now, his little pursuits for her while she remained engaged, diligently brushing him off in hopes of something she thought would be better. “Y-You don’t have the right to interfere!” “I think out of everyone I most certainly have that right.” Drake also had a stubborn streak like Jiroki, which resulted in his romantic pursuit of her in the first place. He liked a challenge. But as time went on he got far more than he bargained for, developing deeper feelings for her then he could say he’d had for anyone he’s ever met. His hands come up to cup her face as she cries. “You still have so much to live for. I’m sorry he did that, he’s the most insane person to leave someone like you at the altar, I would kill to have you. But please don’t do this to yourself, I know you’ve lost a lot, but we’d be losing so much if you killed yourself. I’d be losing so much. Look at me, please.” Her gaze had stayed downcast, but he gently coaxes her to look up, and her shimmering eyes do as such while her face is scrunched up in sobs. “I-It hurts s-so much…” Jiroki hiccups, his thumbs wiping away fresh tears that come down. “I know, I know it does…” Leaning forward he rests his forehead against hers, and her eyes shut too as she sobs some more, though his hands don’t leave her face. They sit in silence in the healing waters of the Moonwell as she lets out her emotions, though the waters slowly give back her strength as their Mother Moon resides high in the sky. “Y-You’re stupid…” Jiroki hiccups once again, and once more diverting some of her anger at him. “You c-could’ve gone for, for anyone, a-and you had to bother me…” That makes him chuckle however, his blue eyes half lidded as he grins softly at her. “What can I say? I’m a stubborn man.” His thumbs gently run back and forth over her tear streaked skin, and soon enough her own eyes open. For a time they stare at each other, unable to pull their glances away. But something lures her in. Perhaps his charm, his looks, his personalities that’s a little similar to hers. Or perhaps it was his devoted passion to her that ignited her own, and she begins to lean in. Already having been holding himself back, he takes the cue right away and meets her, their lips meeting for a tender kiss. And the kiss deepens from there, Drake gently pulling him into her lap to hold close the woman he had almost lost, and they stay tangled together for the rest of the night. (( @daily-writing-challenge​ ))
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irie-kun306 · 3 years
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Deux Mondes
Chapter I
"how did I get here, how did it all end up like this?"
"ah! yes! I remember, that woman who thinks she knows everything! She got me into this and now I don't even know where the hell I am!!!!"
"Although... now that I remember it well.... it's my fault too... I was so damn distracted by... agh, fuck it! Forget it, better forget it. I didn't even stop to ask him what that device he had invented was all about... I just remember he said something about traveling to different places in different time... or something like that?"
"well that doesn't matter anymore...what's done is done...but.... where am I..."
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TIME BEFORE THE FAILURE OF THE EXPERIMENT...
The sun peeks through a window the thin rays of its white light, the person in the room stirs in his sheets, the sun has hit his face directly, it is 5:30 AM, he gets up heavily, goes to the bathroom and takes a cold shower, he let the jets of cold water hit his body, the water slid down his soft and somewhat tanned skin, changing the temperature of it.
She comes out of the bathroom, she looks at herself in the mirror, her hair was still dripping, she only used a towel around her waist, she takes another towel from the closet and gently dries her hair, she decides to wear her usual clothes, but with a difference, today she will not wear the armor, in front of the mirror she puts on the remaining clothes, she has finished, still in front of the mirror she looks at her face, He swallows thickly and exhales heavily, it is the day, he has decided, he has thought about it for a long time, now everything is clear, he will tell her, he will tell her what he has felt for so long since he saw her, he will finally tell her what he had denied for so long, "his feelings".
He slides the glass door and takes flight, he will go to that place, that place where so many times he used to meet him to train, that place where he saw them get carried away by the emotion of the sound of their fists colliding on the opponent's skin, that place where they seemed to be themselves, without ties, without regrets, without anyone else but the two of them, a universe in which they were the only inhabitants.
But this time it was different, this time it was he who summoned him to that place. And there he was, waiting for him, something very rare indeed, he is not usually very punctual, but there he was, he turned when he felt his presence and gave him a smile, this accelerated a little more his already agitated heart.
He slowly steps forward until his boots touch the grass, he slowly approaches and the other does the same.
-Hello vegeta!!!" he says naturally as every time he sees him.
-Kakaroto- he says, trying to disguise his nervousness a little, he can hear how his heart beats, <<how noisy>> he thinks, but he doesn't take off his typical mask of "I don't care about anything", that mask that has helped him since time immemorial since he can remember.
-It's strange that you asked me to come to train, it's more common that I'm the one who asks you to come," he says a little surprised. But he plays it down, "Well, let's get started then," he says, getting into a fighting pose.
-I didn't call you for that," he says coldly.
Goku leaves his battle pose and with a big question mark looks at him puzzled.
-So?" he asks.
-There's something I have to tell you..." Now you could notice a bit of his nervousness, he took a long breath and looked away.
-y... What do you have to tell me?" curiosity had invaded him.
-Kakaroto... I... I've realized that you are a formidable warrior, it's hard for me to admit it, but that's how it is..." he was still looking to the side.
-Goku didn't say anything, he was stupefied, Vegeta saying that he was a formidable warrior? That was something strange, it was even scaring him a little, maybe this morning he had woken up in an alternate world or maybe he was still asleep.
-You are very childish and innocent sometimes, that was something that bothered me, I couldn't believe that there was a benevolent sayajin who fights just for fun. For a while I hated you with all my strength, I focused that all I felt for you was hatred because you always surpassed me in powers, my pride is something I have put before all things, and I stayed on earth with the excuse of wanting to surpass you, but I have realized that was a lie... I was lying to myself, now I know it. I realized it in that battle with Majin Boo- he was still looking at the horizon, but now he turns and looks at him with great decision in the eyes.
-Now I know what I feel for you," he says looking at Goku, who was still without saying a word but was looking at Vegeta with great attention, even though he couldn't believe what his ears were hearing.
-And you better listen well because I won't repeat it, insect," he closes his eyes, takes a long breath and slowly lets it out and opens his eyes, "and- ... I love you Kakaroto... I love you," he blurts out with great decision and without hesitation.
Goku's face was like "What?" the poor guy didn't believe it, then he thought, << Vegeta sure is joking... if that must be... it's the most logical thing>> is then that he laughs as only he knows how to do it, now Vegeta was the one who had a face of complete surprise.
Goku straightened up and looked at his eternal rival, he looked him in the eyes, those deep black eyes that made him feel so strange, now that he thought about it, he never hated the prince, in fact, he always liked him, even when he was his enemy, his intention was never to kill him or anything like that, he was always the only one who he could always face almost as equals, the only one who seemed to understand him, the only one who never judged him or forced him to do something he didn't want <<like working for example>> but. ... Could it be that what she feels for him... that nervousness, that inexplicable happiness she felt when she saw him coming... but then came to his mind the memory of Gohan, Goten and Milk, his family, he couldn't just leave her, now that he had some time with Milk he could understand the meaning of some things, and the fact that Vegeta loved him meant that if he loved him back he would have to leave his current family. No! he couldn't leave his family for something he didn't even know if he really felt, and thinking about that he decided.
-Vegeta... I don't love you... I don't see you that way... you are... my friend and I can't see you as something else... but, I want us to keep training as usual... so... how about if we pretend this never happened? Yes?...- he said even a little hesitantly.
The answer for Vegeta was like a bucket of the coldest water that could exist, he felt how ice daggers pierced his chest, Goku's words gave no respite to his broken heart, it was broken, the sound it made when it broke sure could be heard even on the other side of the continent, and then the very synical one comes out with
"but I want to keep training with you so... how about we pretend this never happened?"
Vegeta stood there in silence looking like he was gathering anger, hidden even in a surprised face.
-Well Vegeta... if we don't train today then let's train tomorrow..... well then bye- he said seeing that Vegeta didn't react, he put his fingers on his forehead and saying bye he gave him a last smile and teleported home.
He was left alone there... with his heart shattered, he had opened up to him, he showed him his feelings and put them in his hands, and what did he do? He squeezed those feelings as if they were nothing and threw them on the ground and then trampled on them as if they were nothing but garbage, the stabbing pain in his chest, a lump in his throat and endless tears that he did not let go because his pride came out at that moment, his pride that is what always kept him out of this danger that not even all the powers of the world could defeat. Now he would cling to it.
-Then you want me to forget it.... don't you?"-his voice threatened to crack, but he clenched his fists tightly, and looked straight ahead,-then so be it..... - he blurted out angrily.
Vegeta flew back to capsule corp. He got into his room, took off all his clothes and got into the bathtub, he wanted the hot water to take away all those memories, he wanted the relaxing smell of salts and oils to penetrate his thoughts and cloud everything until nothing was left, he looked at the white floor of the bathroom, as if he was looking for the meaning of life, his look was sad.
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She sank into the large bathtub, a few minutes passed, holding her breath was something of the simplest.
When he got out he went to the closet and put on some black spandex, a white tank top, this one was a little loose and the fall of it marked the hips of its user in an extremely sensual way, he also put on some Nike air Jordan type flight sneakers, but he didn't
He was not entirely comfortable, "stupid shoes" he said "why does Bulma have to buy me this kind of shoes? I like my usual boots better."
So he exchanged them for his white boots and then put on some leather fingerless biker gloves.
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He went downstairs to train in the gravity chamber, surely training with all his strength would make him forget, he always did.
Bulma was in the laboratory, she was making a new invention, this time she would try to win that international fair of scientists, she would surpass all those illusions that did not believe that she deserved that blessed prize.
Her invention now consisted of a machine that would make people travel through time, but it was not like the other machine she invented, this one would not only make them travel to another time but also transport them to other universes at the same time.
But she felt that her calculations might be wrong, something did not fit, maybe some algorithm was wrongly written, but she had to test it, she had to test the machine to clear these doubts and find the problem that did not let her move forward, but with whom? With whom?
It is then that the answer to her prayers passes by her door, Vegeta who was passing by to go to the gravity chamber to start training, was interrupted by the voice of her friend.
"In this case Bulma knew that Vegeta was not with her for love, but for the fact of taking responsibility for his actions << Trunks>> but the earth woman had endeared herself to the sayajin prince, not in the way she wanted but she had managed to make a space in his heart, she had managed to become his friend, so she had been content to at least be that in the prince's life."
-Vegeta!" the woman calls him.
-What do you want, woman? Can't you see I'm busy," he said a little tired, he was not in the mood to talk to someone.
-Come on, Vegeta, don't be like that... I just need you for a moment... I won't keep you long.
It is then that Vegeta looks at her and looks around, he sees that there is a new machine, it is then that he understood, "so you want to try that, don't you?" it was then that without listening to the woman he crossed his arms and went straight to the machine and at once he entered it.
-Hurry up woman, I don't have all day," said Vegeta in the machine.
It is then that Bulma runs to the computer, inserts coordinates, prepares the machine and looks at Vegeta.
-Well Vegeta, the purpose of the machine is to take you...".
-Yeah! -Woman... Just get on with it and get it over with," says Vegeta, interrupting her, already a little tired.
-What a genius..." says Bulma, but why get into an argument, when he gets like that there's no one who can beat him.
Bulma closed the door of the machine, went to the front of the PC and started to look at the logarithms, graphs and everything and then put on some protective glasses.
Everything seemed to be going well, the portal would be next to the machine as Bulma had planned... but.... something went wrong, the PC began to fail and the data and coordinates to distort, the machine began to crumble and everything began to spark, Bulma wanted to stop everything but could not, Vegeta inside the machine only saw how everything began to get chips, Vegeta tried to get out but when he wanted to touch the door the machine exploded, during the explosion Vegeta closed his eyes due to the light, Bulma during the big flash only managed to see how Vegeta fell into the portal next to him and it closed with him.
-Vegeta!!!" shouted the woman, she ran to the PC and almost fell off the desk, she put it back in its position and tried to turn it on, but it wouldn't turn on, she was totally desperate, where did he send Vegeta, did he kill him, did he send him to an unknown dimension, did he leave him lost in space time, could he come back?
Bulma couldn't stop thinking about where Vegeta could be... the only thing she remembered, or rather the only thing she could see was Vegeta falling into the portal and disappearing with it.
Trunks arrived a few minutes later, he had heard the explosion from far away and a little closer to home he heard his mother's scream.
-Mom," said Trunks.
-Trunks...- Bulma approaches the little boy and hugs him, the youngest still doesn't know the cause of his mother's sudden behavior.
Then he looks at the whole mess, he doesn't know what happened, he starts to analyze, he remembers he heard his mother shouting his father's name, he thinks they fought.... but no... that would be something strange... his father would not destroy the laboratory, but where was he then?... he wanted to locate his ki but he could not find it, it is then that he separates from his mother and asks.
-Mom... Where is daddy? I can't feel his ki....
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PRESENT TENSE
As he sits in a meadow surrounded by white wildflowers, he notices that he is on the earth, but something is different... it feels and looks like the earth but it is different... something is wrong.
"how did i get here?"
Hey... hi everyone, this is just a test, something just to see if you were interested in this story, this crossover fanfic.
Comment if you liked it and if you expect one more chapter.
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Imperfect Tense - Part Two
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Title: Imperfect Tense
One Shot: 2/3
Character: Tom Hiddleston/OFC
Genre: Angst
Rating: M
Summary: Secrets are powerful things. They shape who we are and how we interact with others and with the world. Tom assumed his secret was safe and his life would remain as it ever was. He was wrong.
Authors Notes/Warnings: This was written for @mrs-captain-evans writing challenge. My prompt was the line: “what did I do wrong?”. This was supposed to be a much shorter piece but alas it sort of ran away with me. Much like Brave Face this story deals with the concept of cheating. Apparently I wasn’t done with this idea just yet. Thanks, again, to @redfoxwritesstuff who not only encouraged this but was a fantastic support throughout its writing.
Tom spent the next week in constant state of subterranean fear. He’d informed Luke of his initial result and knew that his publicist was just as anxiously awaiting the remaining as well. Tom had allowed himself to go through the motions; to smile and act as if nothing whatsoever was wrong, but he was a jumbled mess on the inside. Each time his phone rang he fought the urge to jump several feet in the air, as his heart pounded in his chest. If anyone noticed his anxiousness, and Tom was certain they had (how could they not?), no one had said a word. They smiled and laughed with him. And so he kept on keeping on for lack of anything else to do.
It was midafternoon on the seventh day when the clinic finally called with his remaining results. Tom had excused himself from set, grateful that it was not his scenes they were currently filming, and ducked into a quieter area of the studio. The call had been brief and the woman he’d spoken to had been warm but professional; they’d all come back negative. All but one. And his heart had frozen in his chest at that. Chlamydia. It was treatable, the woman from the clinic had assured. And easily so. He would need to be started on a course of Doxycycline twice a day for seven days and would need to continue to abstain from sexual activity until the course of antibiotics was completed. Simple and easy. He mumbled what he’d hoped was understanding and agreed to pick up his antibiotic as soon as possible.
Tom stood staring at his phone for several minutes after the call had ended; nausea and fear rushing over him in revolving waves. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Theoretically, he knew that of all the damned things he could have ended up with he’d gotten lucky, so fucking lucky, getting something that was easily treated. In the scheme of things, this wasn’t anything like the end of the world. But that did little to quell his panic. He’d been so fucking bloody stupid. And Molly…God, Molly would be there in a few days’ time…How could he ever hope to explain…?
“Hey Tom,” A quiet female voice cut through the silence of the room. His head automatically shot up, catching sight of one of the PA’s, clipboard in hand as she rounded the corner. “Sorry to interrupt but we need you back on set.”
He nodded his assent. “Be right there.”
Once she’d rounded the corner once more, Tom fired off a quick text to Luke asking him to arrange to have his prescription picked up and brought to back to his room. Not bothering to wait for a response, he quickly pocketed the phone and headed back towards set, trying to steel his mind to the task at hand. There were still several hours left and he needed to focus.
When Tom finally made it back to his room in the late evening, all he wanted to do was sleep. Between the early set calls and the constant stress he’d been under, Tom had been left feeling beyond drained. He scrubbed his hand over his face and dropped wallet and phone onto the night stand next to his bed. Sitting next to the room phone on the far bedside table was a white bag. Puzzlement crossed his features before understanding dawned.
He pushed himself back to his feet and padded towards the mini-fridge and grabbed a bottle of water. Opening the bottle, he made his way back towards the bed, grabbing the bag and pulling out the package of antibiotics. A quick read of the pharmacist instructions and two swallowed capsules later, Tom dropped his head back onto the pillow and let out a soft sigh. He was wide awake now and somehow doubted sleep would come anytime soon. But he had to try.
Molly’s flight arrived in the early afternoon two days later. Tom had been onset and had sent Luke to fetch her in his stead. He ignored the familiar stab of guilt as his eyes turned once more to the clock above the director’s chair. She would be clearing customs by now and he could clearly picture the look on her face when she saw Luke waiting for her and not Tom. He was such a fucking coward. He technically could have gotten the day off if he’d wanted. They had shot most of his scenes and, save for any needed pick-ups or reshoots, he was, for all intents and purposes, done. But the idea of facing Molly terrified him. Misdirecting the truth on the phone was one thing (as difficult as it had been to do so), but doing so face to face….That was entirely another.
And he needed to tell her, he knew that. Especially now. But not yet…He couldn’t do it yet. She’d be tired from the flight and anxious about the red carpet the following evening (while she’d done several smaller events with him…This would be her first major outing on his arm). To throw all of this on her now would be the height of cruelty. He couldn’t ruin this for her…Or risk a scene on the carpet, because such a thing would be a disaster which would be hard to explain away…Tom cursed himself for letting that thought even cross his mind. Selfish. God, he was so fucking selfish.
He’d gotten Luke’s text saying Molly was with him and they were heading back to the hotel at a touch after two in the afternoon just as the production had broken for lunch. Tom had taken to carrying the antibiotic with him as the hours on set were long and oftentimes unpredictable, so there would thankfully be little chance of her finding them and asking pointed questions he still wasn’t sure how to answer.
How did one even begin to explain the cluster fuck that was his current situation? ‘Well you see, darling, I got stupidly drunk and fucked some random woman in a bathroom at a club and didn’t wear protection and now I’ve got an STD, but don’t worry it’s completely curable. And I know you’re undoubtedly cross with me but I still love you.’ That would go over just as well as a lead balloon. Letting Luke know that he would probably be wrapping up in about an hour, Tom made his way back onto set after a hastily grabbed sandwich and threw himself into work.
The cab pulled to a stop in front of his hotel at fifteen after three and Tom made his way up to his room, making a great effort to steady his nerves and to control his face. The last thing wanted to do was scare or worry her. Not yet. He pushed the door to his room open and had barely let it close behind him when she was in his arms. He let out a grunt of surprise, the shock of her warmth against his chest, and wrapped his arms around her to steady them both.
“God, I missed you,” she breathed into his neck.
Tom swallowed thickly, the guilt choking him now. It took several moments before he could force the words out of his lips. “Missed you too.”
Molly pulled back enough to take in his face and her own broke into a warm smile. Without a word, she leaned in and kissed him gently. He didn’t move to deepen the kiss and, after several moments, she pulled back to study him, puzzled. “Tom, are you alright?” Curiosity and concern burned in the depths of her eyes, making them shine a vivid, dark blue and burning the life out of him.
He took several steps back, stepping deftly from her embrace, and shrugged. “I’m find. Just tired. It’s been a long morning.” He held his hand out to her and she took it tentatively. He squeezed her fingers in his and added, “I’m sorry I couldn’t get you today. There wasn’t any way I could get away.”
There was a sliver of doubt in her eyes but she simply nodded. “I know. You’re here now and that’s what matters.”
Tom nodded, “I’m here now.” Silence fell between them. “So,” he started, raising his eyes to hers, and offering what he hoped was a warm smile. “What would you like to do?”
“Honestly, sleep,” She laughed softly.” God I would love nothing more than to just sleep. But I doubt very much that it would help me acclimate to this time zone if I did.”
“No, probably not.” Tom answered with a small chuckle of his own. It sounded hollow to his own ears.
“Damn.” Molly yawned, pulling her hand from his and stretching her arms above her head. “I guess that massive amounts of caffeine will have to suffice. So know any good coffee shops?”
“I think I can find us one. Shall we?”
They settled in a small, locally owned coffee shop not a terrible distance away from the hotel and talked pleasantly over their coffees. They talked about work, about what was happening with friends and family, and any small thing which popped into their heads. He was both grateful and terrified to have her so close. He had missed her dreadfully, god if he could have only seen her sooner then maybe none of this…He refused to let himself even finish the thought. This was in no way, shape, or form her fault. It was his. No one’s fault but his own.
After they had finished their coffees he’d taken her on a short walk around the city. She’d gladly taken his arm and let him tell her about the small tidbits of knowledge he’d gathered from both his own wonderings and from crew and fellow cast members. The weather was fair and for that short amount of time, Tom let himself pretend that all was well between them. That he wasn’t putting off breaking her heart and the very real possibility he’d lose her forever once he did so.
Dinner was a quick affair in the hotel restaurant. It was close, the food was decent, and Tom knew that Molly was dreadfully tired. She’d commandeered the shower not long after they’d arrived back at the room from dinner, stating that she’d planned to turn in early. While she had puttered around the rather large bathroom, Tom pulled his antibiotic bottle from the carryall he’d taken to bringing with him on set. He fished another bottle of water from the fridge and poured out two capsules into his opened palm.
He’d just tossed the capsules into his mouth when the bathroom door opened and Molly wandered out, dark hair wrapped in a towel and dressed in a loose fitting t-shirt and jogging bottoms. He nearly choked on both water and capsules, ending up in a violent coughing fit. “Bathroom’s all yours…Tom are you alright?”
Tom nodded, clutching his chest which felt very much like it was on fire. “Yes,” he managed to get out, voice hoarse from coughing. “Pills didn’t go down the right way.” He grimaced as he realized just what he’d said. Shit.
Molly’s brow furrowed, “Pills?” She hurried towards the bed and before Tom could stop her she’d grabbed the bottle, staring at it. He’d scratched out all the identifying information including his name and the reason the medication was prescribed as soon as he’d gotten the bottle; there was no such thing as too careful as far as he was concerned. She flitted her eyes to him, concerned. “Why are you taking antibiotics? What’s happened?” It was truly something, watching her slip into what he’d always affectionately called ‘nurse mode’ and normally Tom found it endearing if not a bit overwhelming. Now though, now it flooded him with fear. God, why had he fucking spoken without thinking?
He took the bottle from her and placed it onto the bed stand. He wracked his brain trying desperately to think of what to say. He knew without a doubt what he should say was the truth. Lying would only make it harder to tell her the truth. But the idea of telling her, of actually saying the words aloud terrified him. She would storm out. She would leave him. And he couldn’t let that happen. He needed her. Needed her so badly.
“You know how I’ve been off for the past week or so?” He found himself speaking, his voice surprisingly even. “I went to a clinic because I knew something wasn’t right. They ran a few tests and turns out I had a rather nasty bout of strep throat. So they started me on antibiotics.” The lie flowed far easier than he could have imagined. And once it was out, he couldn’t take it back.
Her brow furrowed. “Why is the label all scratched out?”
“Privacy,” he answered, with a small shrug. The words continued to come and he hated himself for them. “It’s fairly standard here to do that. In case it gets misplaced. I thought it odd too but…”
Molly looked anything but convinced but did not press the matter. After several minutes she pondered aloud, “I wonder why they prescribed you Doxycycline. That’s not usual…Or at least not that I’ve seen.”
Tom shrugged, “I don’t know. I was just grateful to have a reason for why things have been so off.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this earlier? When I asked?” The concern was back in her tone but this time laced with just the barest hint of doubt.
He swallowed before answering. “I didn’t want you to worry. I know you’ve got so much going on right now and I was loath to add anything more on your shoulders.” Tom smiled at her softly, hoping to ease her growing concern. “But I’m fine. No harm, no foul.”
“Tom,” she chastised, “You should have told me. Yes, work is a bit hectic, but I’m not made of glass. You can talk to me. You should have talked to me.” Molly paced around the room, standing just out of his reach. He could so easily sense her hurt at his perceived slight. Not so perceived, he thought bitterly. Pretty damned real.
“I know. I was stupid and I’m sorry. Can you forgive me?” His forced himself to lock his eyes on hers. Please, please can you ever forgive me for what I’ve done? I need you to forgive me. Tom hated himself for thinking it, for asking for something he knew he’d not earned the right to.
“Tom…” She took a deep breath and walked back towards him and the bed. “It’s alright. Just please talk to me. I love you and I worry, you know that.” Molly took his hand in hers, linking their fingers.
A watery smile spread slowly across his face as he squeezed her hands in his. “I love you, too. So very, very much.” Molly settled beside him on the bed and leaned her head on his shoulder, turning to press a kiss against it. “I am sorry,” he continued, trying desperately to keep himself in check but needing her to know just how terribly sorry he really was. Even if he couldn’t tell her why. “Truly, I am.”
“I know,” she whispered, kissing his shoulder once more. “It’s done, Tom. Now let’s try to get some sleep. It’s been a ridiculously long day and I don’t know about you but I am utterly exhausted.”
Tom nodded and kissed her the top of her head. “Alright. To bed with you then.”
Molly pulled herself from his grasp and climbed towards the left hand side of the bed, burrowing beneath the covers. Tom pushed himself to his feet, fighting the feeling of guilt the churned in his gut, and stumbled into the bathroom. He quickly brushed his teeth and scrubbed his face, taking a deep breath before returning to the main room. He pulled his shirt over his head and toed off his boots. Pulling a pair of pajama bottoms from the chair in the corner, he quickly changed and headed back towards the bed. He found himself hesitating as he approached, his guilt warring with the desperate need of normalcy. Molly turned over and patted the spot behind her. “Come here you.” He offered a small smile before climbing into the bed and flipping the light off behind him.
Sleep came easier than he’d expected and he found himself waking in confusion the next morning, feeling the warm body pressed against him. Tom cracked open first one eye and then the other, Molly’s sleeping form slowing coming into focus. She was there, he hadn’t dreamt it, and for a brief moment a flood of contentment overwhelmed him. Then reality came crashing back. He fought the urge to volt himself out of the bed, it would raise more questions and concern than he could honestly handle.
He watched her for several moments; the way her dark hair spread over the pillow beneath her, having come out of its braid sometime in the night, the way her eyelashes brushed against her cheeks, the peaceful look on her beautiful face. He didn’t deserve her. Not in the slightest. And if she knew…
“What are you staring at so hard?” Molly’s sleep laden voice broken Tom from his thoughts. He blinked rapidly and looked down to find her warm, blue eyes staring up at him in confusion.
“Sorry,” he murmured. “Just lost in thought. Did you sleep well?”
She nodded and stretched her arms above her head as a large yawn rolled from her lips. “God, sorry. But yes, I slept like the dead. Nothing like jetlag, eh?” Tom laughed despite himself. “What time is it anyway?”
Rolling to the side, Tom grabbed his watch from the bed stand. “Half eight. We’ve got about three hours until the madness descends.” Luke had sent him a text the day before confirming that his stylist (and that was still strange) and someone from hair and make-up would be coming around at about noon to get both he and Molly ready for the premiere.
Molly quirked an eyebrow. “Three hours, eh? Plenty of time for all sorts of fun.” She leaned up and kissed him. He allowed himself to be pulled into the kiss, missing the feel of her warmth in his arms. And suddenly it was as if he’d been doused in ice water. Realization as to just why he couldn’t do this. Fuck. With reluctance he pulled back, taking in the concern was steadily growing in her eyes. “Tom what…?”
“I just…I’m still not 100% and I don’t want to risk you getting sick because of me.” It was the truth, in none so many words, but he hated himself for speaking them. “Why…Let me take you to breakfast? Somewhere nice? After all if you’re in LA you might as well see what all the fuss is about.”
He climbed out of bed and made a hasty retreat into the bathroom, stopping briefly to grab a change of clothing along the way. He didn’t dare look back at Molly. Once dressed, Tom made his way back into the main room to find Molly dressed as well. She didn’t utter a word as she brushed past him and into the bathroom. Shit. Shit. Shit.
Tom hated himself for all of this and desperately wanted to her so. But he couldn’t tell her why. Not now. The stark realization made his gut clench. He couldn’t tell her. The time for that had come and gone. He’d told too many half-truths and blatant lies to have any hope of ever coming clean. The best he could hope for now was to put all of this behind him as much he was able. And then to work has hard as he could to make himself worthy of her in future.
The elevator ride down to the lobby of the hotel was spent in silence and Tom swore he could hear the frantic beating of his heart against his chest. He’d be surprised if Molly couldn’t hear it as well. She did however let him take her hand as they made their way from the hotel and down the relatively crowded streets. The small café was about a five minute walk from the hotel and by the time they’d been seated, Molly seemed to have relaxed enough to speak with him again. They made small talk over plates of egg, bacon, and pancakes (something he’d insisted she have because they were ‘utterly divine’). She smiled as he told her how he’d stumbled across this place not too long after he’d arrived and how he’d had to make a conscious effort to avoid it most days so he wouldn’t eat his weight in delicious food on a daily basis.
By the time they’d returned to the hotel it was nearly noon. At twelve on the dot madness did in face arrive. The next several hours were spent in a whirlwind of clothing, hairspray, pins, and makeup. His suit had taken little time to fit and his make-up and hair even less but having these people on hand for Molly (who had always dressed herself and done her own makeup and hair for those few events she’d attended with him) was something he’d desperately wanted.
She was a vision in a deep blue off the shoulder dress than hung just past her knees. It clung to her curves and enhanced her eyes in the most striking fashion. Her hair was piled effortlessly atop her head and her makeup was subtle but stunning. She looked gorgeous and Tom couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her. “You look utterly enchanting,” he told her with complete and transparent honesty.
Molly smiled softly back at him. “Thank you. I feel…This is so…Odd. Brilliant, but odd.” She twirled slowly before the mirror, smiling softly to herself as she did so.
Tom nodded in understanding. His phone chimed in his pocket, he pulled it out to find the car hired to take them to the theater had arrived. He shoved it back into his pocket and held his hand out to Molly. “Our chariot awaits. Shall we, my love?”
She nodded, taking his hand and allowing him to lead her from the room and down to the lobby and the waiting car.
The crowd outside the theater was far larger than Tom had expected. It was nothing like he’d ever experienced and it was nearly overwhelming. He could feel Molly’s tight grip on his hand as they climbed from the hire car and slowly made their way down the carpet. Luke flitted around beside them, causally directing Tom where to go and who to talk to. The flashes were blinding and the noise was overwhelming. Tom spoke graciously with reporter after reporter, laughing at their jokes and sharing small tidbits about filming with them. He’d proudly called Molly his girlfriend when asked but did not reveal more detail than was needed. And she stood beside him, smiling and leaning against him.
Once they’d made their way inside, Molly and Tom were ushered into the theater and to their seats. The lights dimmed and the film began. Molly gushed at how much she’d enjoyed the film on their way towards the after party; going on about the script and Tom’s acting and her favorite scenes. She’d clearly been having the time of her life and Tom couldn’t have be happier for it, for her. They’d drank and danced and generally had a wonderful night of it, stumbling back towards the hotel in the early hours.
The next morning dawned far too early for either of their likings. Molly’s flight was scheduled for early in the afternoon and they’d reluctantly set alarms accordingly. Neither had drunk to access the night, and well into the early morning, before but weren’t quite in fighting shape either. Molly had unpacked little upon her arrival which made life infinitely easier. Still it was a scramble to get the last minute bits and bobs squared away. Tom had given her one of his sweater jackets for the flight home. She’d accepted it gratefully and climbed into the waiting taxi. He’d quickly kissed her goodbye and assured her that he’d be home within the next week. Two at the most.
He’d thrown himself into finishing up his commitments, wanting to be done with LA and the mess he’d made there. Molly had been set to text him when she’d landed so when that time had come and gone without a word, a sinking sense of dread filled him. He told himself it was nothing, she’d most likely been tired and had been set on getting herself home and settled. She would call after, he had to believe that.
When his phone rang early the following morning he’d felt his heart lighten at sight of her name on the screen. “You’ve made it home then. I was worried.”
“Tom,” Molly began. “I need you to tell me the truth.”
He felt his heart stutter in his chest. “Mols, what…What’s going on?”
“I found something in your pocket. In the jumper you gave me.” His heart thudded in his chest and the blood rushed in his ears. Something was wrong. Very, very wrong. “Tom who is Heather?” Molly asked. Her voice was strangely even and it took everything he had to keep from dropping the phone.
“What?” He managed to choke out.
“Her name and number were in your pocket. On a cocktail napkin.” Molly’s words were cool, even. “Tom, I need you to explain this to me.”
Panic flooded through him. Oh god, how could he have left that stupid napkin in his fucking pocket? He hadn’t thought about it since she’d placed it into his hand that night. Hadn’t spared a thought for what he’d done with it. How the bloody hell could he have kept it? And then fucking given it to Molly? “It’s nothing, I promise you. I honestly had no idea that was even in there. I must have been given it by a fan sometime and hadn’t had a chance to give it to Luke to throw away. I would never…” The lies spilled from his lips rapidly though his voice was surprisingly even and calm, despite the chaos rampaging through him. “You know me, Molly.” Liar. Liar! You bloody fucking coward of a liar!
There was hesitation on her end and it was several moments before she spoke again. “I just…with the way you’d been acting and then the prescription and now the number…I was so scared that you…”
“Molly…” He started, fighting to keep his voice even.
“But I know you, Tom. And I know you’d never…I just…I saw it and I panicked. I’m sorry. God, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Her voice was trembling and he knew she was close to tears. The guilt was overwhelming but still…
“You’ve done two transatlantic flights in a short amount of time. That’s bound to make anyone on edge. You are alright, Molly. It’s okay. I love you.” He was the worst sort of person. A liar and a bloody coward. But he couldn’t…Not now…He couldn’t tell her now. “I’ll be home soon and we’ll be back on our feet soon enough. I’ve got a small bit of time off and we’ll do something…We’ll do something, just you and I.”
Molly laughed softly and he could hear the tears in her voice as she spoke. “That honestly sounds wonderful, Tom.”
They’d spent a weekend in Paris upon his return home. They’d spoken often of wanting to go but never seeming to have the time. He’d surprised her with the Eurostar tickets and booking information for a lovely bed and breakfast not far from the city center as soon as he’d walked in the door. She’d laughed then and pulled him tightly into her arms, kissing him soundly. They’d spent their time there wandering the city by day; visiting museums and restaurants, taking in all Paris had to offer, and then reacquainting themselves with each other by night. He’d been attentive and wonderful and so much as he had been in those first few days of their relationship; when everything was bright and new and full of endless potential.
He’d made it a point from then on to make the effort to come to her as often as he could while away and, if that wasn’t feasible, to bring her to him whenever possible. There were stumbling and false starts along the way, but they seemed to eventually get find the balance they’d needed to make things work between them. And it was just as well since his career began to skyrocket in ways neither he nor Molly had dreamed. She’d been with him every stop along the way, proudly standing beside him; still nervous and unsure but there holding his hand and ever beaming with pride in him and all he was becoming.
Molly had been with him when he’d purchased his home in London six months later; a lovely three story terraced house nestled near a large park in a grand neighborhood. Tom had insisted she come with him as it would be her home just as much as his and he needed her to be comfortable and happy with his choice. With their choice.
Within four months of moving in, Tom had proposed. It had been a small and simple affair (she had never been one for grand gestures); he’d taken the day to prepare a lovely meal and decorated the lower level of the house with dozens upon dozens of candles. The ring securely stored in his trouser pocket, he’d greeted her at the door and led her into the flickering light of the dining room.
She’d watched him with surprised and uncertain eyes as he led her to the table and poured her a glass of wine. “To what do I owe this surprise?” She’d managed to ask after settling her nerves with a restorative sip.
Tom smiled at her then, eyes warm and full of love, “Can’t I just spoil you?”
Molly quirked her eyebrow and shot him a knowing look but said nothing, only smiling in return. They ate their meal, peppering the moments between bites with conversation. He was nearly vibrating out of his chair by the time they were ready for coffee and dessert and he knew she could sense it. He could feel her eyes on him as he disappeared into the kitchen and returned carrying a tray laden with coffee press, mugs, and cake. He made quick work of serving both cake and coffee but did not return to his seat at the table.
She raised her eyes to his, her voice catching in her throat as she whispered his name in confusion. “Tom?”
Taking a deep breath, he lowered himself to one knee. Molly’s sudden intake of breath echoed above him. He took a moment to compose himself before raising his head and looking her directly in her shining face. “Molly, you are without a shadow of a doubt the most amazing, wonderful thing that has ever happened to me. I will never understand just how I ever became lucky enough to have you in my life.” He felt his throat tighten with emotion, forcing him to pause long enough to try to clear it enough to continue. “You are not only my rock but the cord that tethers me to myself. You are everything I have ever wanted. Everything I have ever needed. And everything I never dreamed I could have. I will spend every single remaining day of my life doing my utmost best to be worthy of the love you’ve shown me. I will never, ever take you for granted and I will love you with all that I am.” Tears were stinging his eyes as he spoke, holding the velvet box out towards her. “Will you do me the extraordinary honor of being my wife?”
Molly smiled and nodded, tears flowing steadily from her eyes as she extended her left hand to him. Tears shining in his own, Tom opened the box reveling the beautiful sapphire ring he’d spent months searching for nestled within. He took her shaking hand in his and with slow and deliberate care slipped the ring onto her finger. Laughing, she pulled him against her and kissed him deeply.
Tom pulled back, tears trailing down his cheeks and locked his eyes with hers. “Thank you,” he whispered before pulling her against him once more and burying his face in her abdomen. “Thank you.”
The announcement was released in the Times a few days later, shortly after both had broken the news to their respective families. Tom’s sisters had shrieked loud enough frighten all the dogs in the greater London area and Molly’s mother had broken into tears (“Happy tears my love,” she’d assured her. “He’s a truly wonderful lad and I’m so very, very happy for you both”) which had sent Molly into them as well.
Wedding planning had taken up more of her time that Molly had expected. What had seemed like a simple affair with close friends and family was rapidly becoming anything but. And the stress of it was starting to take its toll. Exhaustion and bouts of nausea had taken turns disrupting her life Between the wedding and the ever changing shifts she’d been forced to adopt, Molly wasn’t sure she would make it the six months until the wedding.
Tom had done all he could to help; spending as much time as he could on the phone with caterers and florists while juggling script readings and auditions. He’d done everything in his power to help shoulder the burden he knew the wedding prep had placed on his fiancée’s shoulders. But when promotional duty called and Tom was pulled back into the fray his professional life had become, it was with a weary reluctance Molly let him go.
“This is going to be the death of me,” She whined as Tom dropped his suitcase by the door.
He offered her a warm smile. “I don’t care where it happens, my love. All I care about is that it happens. We can simply go to the registrar’s office and call it a day.” He laughed when she wrinkled her nose at that. “Or we can go all out. That is not the important thing for me. I just want to be able to call you my wife.”
Tears streamed down Molly’s cheeks and she worked to quickly wipe them away while swatting absently at him. “God, Tom. Why are you so bloody perfect? It’s exhausting.” She laughed softly. “I’m going to miss you.”
He leaned in and kissed her soundly, hands moving to tangle in her dark hair. “I’m going to miss you desperately as well. But I will be back as soon as I can, Luke and everything be damned.”
She laughed against his lips. “Can I be a fly on the wall when you tell him that?”
Tom laughed in earnest and pulled her tightly against him, burying his face in her hair. “I really wish I didn’t have to go.”
“Me too. But duty calls.” Molly took a deep breath and pulled reluctantly back, squeezing his shoulders. “Go on, you’ve got reporters to charm and fans to dazzle. Just don’t you go forgetting about me.”
Tom shook his head vigorously. “Never happen.”
Outside the honk of a car horn echoed. Molly brushed tears away with the back of her hand. “Looks like your ride is here.” She smiled warmly. “Take care, Tom. I love you.”
He leaned in and kissed her soundly once more. “I love you too. Be home as soon as I can.”
Tom reluctantly pulled away as the car horn sounded again. He kissed her forehead and strode with purpose to the door, grabbed his suitcase, and headed out to the waiting car.
“It’s true then, isn’t it?” Molly’s voice was quiet, even, and it brought Tom crashing back into the present. His eyes locked on hers in silent panic; her question had knocked him completely off his guard.  He watched her then; the solid set of her shoulders, the stillness of her body speaking volumes of just how much his lies and silence had cost him.
“Wha…? No! NO!” The words tumbled from his lips, the denial almost reflexive. But it was too late and he’d known it.
Molly shook her head. “Tom, you look as though you’ve seen a ghost…So please don’t…Don’t lie to me.” Her blue eyes rose to lock with his, daring him to deny it. To deny what they both knew was true.
“Mols, please…You know me…You know I would never…” The ease in which the lies poured from his lips sickened him. But he hadn’t been thinking; panic driving his words, his actions. He couldn’t lose her. Not now. But it was no use and he’d known it. Molly knew the truth, knew what he had done, and nothing he could say or do now would be able to change it.  
“No, Tom, I don’t.” There was a sadness to her voice that nearly shattered his heart. “Not anymore…A week ago, I would have never, ever believed you would do this…But now…” her voice trailed off and she swallowed thickly before raising her gaze to his once again. With a slow and deliberate care, she twisted the ring, his ring, from her finger. “Take the test, Tom. Sort out your life.”
She offered him a soft smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes before pushing herself to her feet and placing the still warm ring into his hand. She took a deep breath and, gathering her suitcases, walked quietly out of the front door.
The door closed behind her with definite click that Tom felt in his bones. She was gone. He couldn’t process it, couldn’t allow himself to accept it.
He wasn’t sure how long he stood in the center of the living room, staring with a waning hope at the closed front door. Molly was gone. He’d been stupid and selfish and now it had all come back on him ten-fold. His eyes burned but the tears he knew were there refused to come. He took a shuddering breath and rubbed his hand over his mouth, trying to calm his racing thoughts and his thudding heart. He needed to change, needed to call Luke. Needed to do something other than simply stand there and watch his life crash and burn.
Tom climbed the stairs slowly, his mind set on showering, hoping that the hot water would help him gather his thoughts. Help him figure out what the fuck he was going to do. The bedroom door was ajar and the room within unnaturally quiet and dark. He flipped on the light switch and stood staring at the chaos before him; the closet and dresser drawers pulled open, their contents having been quickly removed, the bedding crumpled. Molly had been a stickler about making the bed and making sure the room was tidy. She’d told him off more than once for the mess he’d always seemed to make of their room, and wouldn’t let him rest until he’d set it right. Seeing the room now in such disarray was jarring.
He took a deep breath and shook his head to clear his thoughts, wandering from the bedroom into the ensuite bathroom, pulling his shirt over his head. He froze mid movement, his shirt slipping from his hands and onto the floor, as his eyes landed on a small piece of elongated plastic laying on the counter beside a soft yellow envelope. His blood pounded in his ears as he took two shaky steps to the counter, his fingers clumsily picking both items up.
Wordlessly, he turned the test over in his hands. Its display screen read ‘PREGNANT’ in bold, black letters. He blinked in confusion, hands shaking harder. He wasn’t conscious of moving back into the bedroom, of falling unceremoniously onto the bed. He dropped the test beside him on the light blue coverlet and turned his attention back towards the yellow envelope. It took several tries to break the seal. And when he did he slowly pulled the card inside out, staring at it in stunned disbelief. The bright green, handwritten lettering across its front seemed to taunt him. ‘Congratulations, Daddy! We’re going to have a baby!’
A strangled sob fell from Tom’s lips as the card tumbled from his numb fingers and onto the floor.
Next
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thirstyforred · 4 years
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I played The Wretched by Chris Bissette [it’s currently in the bundle] and since part of the game is to create a log I guess can share mine. It’s also kinda fun writing exercise even tho I died before I could save myself and the log just ends abruptly. I really recommend this game, especially to if you like things like Alien movies or survival horror in general [or if you’re easily spooked you can imagine your character with GLOOcannon from Prey 2017. GLOOcannon makes everything better]
Day 1, salvage ship The Wretched. Flight Engineer Martin reporting. The other members of the crew are dead and the engines remain non-operational, though ship integrity remains good and life support systems are still active. I successfully jettisoned the intruder from the airlock. With a little luck, I can repair the distress beacon and somebody will pick me up. This is Martin, the last survivor of the Wretched, signing off.
Day 2, salvage ship The Wretched, Flight Engineer Martin reporting. At 0300 fire alarm and fire suppression systems were activated. I started auto diagnosis on all systems but I'm still not sure what caused the fire. The damage is hopefully fixable. That alarm woke me up and I couldn't sleep anymore... I found a journal of A. He wrote like a whole list of things he wants to cook and eat one we get back home. Even here A managed to make something edible out of nothing. I think I was so tired, after waking up in the middle of my sleeping cycle and monitoring all systems for other fires and then reading that damned journal for hours, that- I think I heard something. Something like a whisper coming through the comms. I don't know what was it. Maybe I should also put comms through that diagnosis check? Of other things: water smells kinda like ammonia. The purification system works, just seems to be less efficient. Maybe I should be disgusted by this, I don't know, I'm just too tired to care I guess.
Day 3. I was so wrong. I was in the Mess trying to eat something when I heard that scraping sound from the corridor. I managed to duck behind the counter before it reached the open door. Thank gods, it didn't decide to actually enter! It moved past, somewhere in the direction of the Bridge, and then, I think entered the vents. It certainly knows I'm here.
Day 4. I'm carrying weapons, electric baton and a handgun, on me all the time, even tho I know it will only slow down that thing. But also I can't spend all the time locked somewhere wishing for it to be gone. So, one of the things I did today was checking my food supplies. There wasn't much to begin with, and now, that mold took over, there's even less. I can't exactly dump it, so I locked it in one of the cabinets. Maybe mold won't spread. I also managed to lock myself on the Bridge. Or it was that alien. I'm starting to think that it was the thing that I heard over the comms 2 days ago - if it can access and operate the comm system why would it be able to mess with the doors? It might be also responsible for the failure of the generator that happened 4 hours later. And failing of the backup generator as well. I had to use parts of the backup generator to fix the main one. So in case, the power goes out again it goes all down... Yeah. But after another fire alarm, I straight up jettisoned that section of the ship. It was the Crew Quarters, so all that's lost in just my sleeping bag. Maybe the alien asshole was caught and is now drifting out of the station. I can only hope.
Day 5. I spend the whole morning trying to pull the engine together. I may have an engineer as part of my title, but honestly, rocket science is beyond me. I'm afraid I only made more mess. The airlock I jettisoned alien thought the first time is still unsealed. The one in Crew Quarters locked back properly, but that one I just didn't manage to fix it properly. There's now only a single door between me, the interior of the ship, and that thing. Since it already got inside once, I guess it's only a matter of time till it finds a way to walk around it again or pry it open, and then I'll be the one that's jettisoned. There's nothing I can really do at this point.
Day 6. There's still a lot of internal damages I'm tracking down and fixing. Tiny but vital things. Like the door to the Docking Bay that M jacked to give us more time running away. It worked, even if soon later alien discovered that it prefers vents anyway. Part of the unblocking process involved cleaning whatever was left of M there - I already stalled long enough. When I finally went back to the Bridge I got to hear the last seconds of signal from some far-off vessel. I couldn't signal them back, I lost it. "Dear listeners..." they said. Might be some audio drama, sounds like fun. Also, It got back on the ship. Persistent beast. I hid in the locker when I heard it moving in the vent above. Either it missed me or just really loves to fuck with me, because it didn't immediately go for my very obvious hiding spot. But it knocked one of the desk lamps with its tail and I think got spooked. It ran back to the vents, which I soldered as soon as I was sure it's not nearby. Should have done it days ago.
Day 7. And that's a full week of living with an extra passager on my ship. At this point, I maybe should give it a name... I almost got a heart attack when I saw it on the camera feed of the corridors I have access to on the Bridge. It moves like a spider. Mr. Spider. Before it all, K told me about a children's book she heard once about. One of the spooky kind. I hate those so I kindly told her to fuck off, but now looking at that jumpy camera feed of Mr. Spider - how can stories for kids be worse than reality?
Day 8. I can no longer focus on anything. My every thought is like 'It's here! It's here!'. I'm so tired. It was here for the past week. But I got to do some spacewalking, first and let's hope the last time. I wasn't sure what to do to ensure that Mr. Spider won't try to stop me from my attempt to boost the antenna, but I opened the mold cabinet in the Mess and it seems that awful smell managed to get its attention. The antenna works, now to repair and activate the distress beacon.
Day 9. The Mess is unsalvagable. It looks like Mr. Spider decided that it's its nest now. Good thing I already moved all my things to the Bridge. Since Mr. Spider seems to be preoccupied with the mold cabinet, I decided to take care of the last of the bodies in the storage room in Engineering. That's the place we wanted to hole up in, but the vents... It doesn't like the ones there that much - too near the cold hull of the ship if I had to guess - but used them anyway to get to us. Now I also had to squeeze there to fix some cables that might help me with boosting that beacon. It was an experience. I still periodically check sensors and monitors to see if by chance there are some other vessels nearby. Of course, that's mostly wasting my time.
Day 10.
I spend some extra hours on the beacon instead of sleeping and I managed to finally fix it! Now all I have to do is wait for someone to catch my signal. I soldered the Mess door so it has only the vents if it wants to get back inside. I did it mostly for my own benefit, so when I'm going around trying to fix this rooting ship I don't have to look at things that are inside. I refuse to even guess what Mr. Spider is doing there. If it's really building a nest or something like that, it would mean that I'm the asshole for invading its territory. But on the other hand, it killed the whole crew of The Wretched, I would say that's a bit too extreme reaction on Mr. Spider's part. That being said I decided to make the list of my top 5 hiding places:
the Bridge - the real commanding center, now with soldered vents
storage room next to the Medical Bay - small and cozy, perfect for napping
Crew Quarter - already jettisoned once, so maybe Mr. Spider wouldn't look for me there
office in Life Support - mostly because it is Life Support and I would like to believe it will support my life
life capsule that's broken and can't leave its dock
I don't really intend to move out of the Bridge, but man I need some backup plans... I somewhat prepared them all today - I had to use K's keycard to get into her office in Life Support.
Day 11. I don't know how, but Mr. Spider managed to detach the whole module holding Crew Quarter from the rest of the ship. Now it's just drifting nearby. I don't know if it read my list of potential hiding places or just decided that it no longer vibes with it. Shame that the Mess didn't drift away as well. It's weird enough that it wasn't the part of the Crew module in the first place. Mr. Spider would be pissed that its nest-mess got jettisoned away... Sometimes I wonder what it calls itself. I guess something less stupid than Mr. Spider or Gorlam the Brave, my old teddy who now drifts somewhere in the space. RIP Gorlam. And I guess soon RIP me... There are weird noises in the Life Support. Not the crazy creature from outer space kind of noises, more like the machinery is failing and there's no one with enough knowledge to fix it. I'm starting to think that lying on my resume was a bad idea... At this point, I might be a better funeral official than an engineer... Today I jettisoned the last bodies. There wasn't really that much to say, so I just mostly cried.
Day 12. Gravity drive crashed today. It was real hell to drag myself all the way to it and fix it, but I managed. I should get a badge or something. The rest of the day I spend monitoring the beacon signal. It looks good. Like it might actually work kind of good.
Day 13. I fixed one of the small leaks of oxygen in the hull. I wonder how I didn't see it before. Spend a few hours walking cluelessly around Engineering trying to fix anything. I even finally cleaned M's rifle that I found by him, but I have seen no sign of Mr. Spider in the past 2 days. I wonder... [log abruptly ends here]
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winterisakiller · 5 years
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Imperfect Tense - Part Two
Title: Imperfect Tense
One Shot:  2/3
Character: Tom Hiddleston/OFC
Genre: Angst
Rating: M
Summary: Secrets are powerful things. They shape who we are and how we interact with others and with the world. Tom assumed his secret was safe and his life would remain as it ever was. He was wrong.
Authors Notes/Warnings: This was written for @mrs-captain-evans writing challenge. My prompt was the line: “what did I do wrong?”. This was supposed to be a much shorter piece but alas it sort of ran away with me. Much like Brave Face this story deals with the concept of cheating. Apparently I wasn’t done with this idea just yet. Thanks, again, to @redfoxwritesstuff who not only encouraged this but was a fantastic support throughout its writing.
Tag List: @tinchentitri @noplacelikehome77 @theheartofpenelope @nonsensicalobsessions @blacksuitofdoom @messy-insomniac-bookgirl @lettalady
Previous Part
Tom spent the next week in constant state of subterranean fear. He’d informed Luke of his initial result and knew that his publicist was just as anxiously awaiting the remaining as well. Tom had allowed himself to go through the motions; to smile and act as if nothing whatsoever was wrong, but he was a jumbled mess on the inside. Each time his phone rang he fought the urge to jump several feet in the air, as his heart pounded in his chest. If anyone noticed his anxiousness, and Tom was certain they had (how could they not?), no one had said a word. They smiled and laughed with him. And so he kept on keeping on for lack of anything else to do.
 It was midafternoon on the seventh day when the clinic finally called with his remaining results. Tom had excused himself from set, grateful that it was not his scenes they were currently filming, and ducked into a quieter area of the studio. The call had been brief and the woman he’d spoken to had been warm but professional; they’d all come back negative. All but one. And his heart had frozen in his chest at that. Chlamydia. It was treatable, the woman from the clinic had assured. And easily so. He would need to be started on a course of Doxycycline twice a day for seven days and would need to continue to abstain from sexual activity until the course of antibiotics was completed. Simple and easy. He mumbled what he’d hoped was understanding and agreed to pick up his antibiotic as soon as possible.
 Tom stood staring at his phone for several minutes after the call had ended; nausea and fear rushing over him in revolving waves. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Theoretically, he knew that of all the damned things he could have ended up with he’d gotten lucky, so fucking lucky, getting something that was easily treated. In the scheme of things, this wasn’t anything like the end of the world. But that did little to quell his panic. He’d been so fucking bloody stupid. And Molly…God, Molly would be there in a few days’ time…How could he ever hope to explain…?
 “Hey Tom,” A quiet female voice cut through the silence of the room. His head automatically shot up, catching sight of one of the PA’s, clipboard in hand as she rounded the corner. “Sorry to interrupt but we need you back on set.”
 He nodded his assent. “Be right there.”
  Once she’d rounded the corner once more, Tom fired off a quick text to Luke asking him to arrange to have his prescription picked up and brought to back to his room. Not bothering to wait for a response, he quickly pocketed the phone and headed back towards set, trying to steel his mind to the task at hand. There were still several hours left and he needed to focus.
 When Tom finally made it back to his room in the late evening, all he wanted to do was sleep. Between the early set calls and the constant stress he’d been under, Tom had been left feeling beyond drained. He scrubbed his hand over his face and dropped wallet and phone onto the night stand next to his bed. Sitting next to the room phone on the far bedside table was a white bag. Puzzlement crossed his features before understanding dawned.
 He pushed himself back to his feet and padded towards the mini-fridge and grabbed a bottle of water. Opening the bottle, he made his way back towards the bed, grabbing the bag and pulling out the package of antibiotics. A quick read of the pharmacist instructions and two swallowed capsules later, Tom dropped his head back onto the pillow and let out a soft sigh. He was wide awake now and somehow doubted sleep would come anytime soon. But he had to try.
  Molly’s flight arrived in the early afternoon two days later. Tom had been onset and had sent Luke to fetch her in his stead. He ignored the familiar stab of guilt as his eyes turned once more to the clock above the director’s chair. She would be clearing customs by now and he could clearly picture the look on her face when she saw Luke waiting for her and not Tom. He was such a fucking coward. He technically could have gotten the day off if he’d wanted. They had shot most of his scenes and, save for any needed pick-ups or reshoots, he was, for all intents and purposes, done. But the idea of facing Molly terrified him. Misdirecting the truth on the phone was one thing (as difficult as it had been to do so), but doing so face to face….That was entirely another.
 And he needed to tell her, he knew that. Especially now. But not yet…He couldn’t do it yet. She’d be tired from the flight and anxious about the red carpet the following evening (while she’d done several smaller events with him…This would be her first major outing on his arm). To throw all of this on her now would be the height of cruelty. He couldn’t ruin this for her…Or risk a scene on the carpet, because such a thing would be a disaster which would be hard to explain away…Tom cursed himself for letting that thought even cross his mind. Selfish. God, he was so fucking selfish.
 He’d gotten Luke’s text saying Molly was with him and they were heading back to the hotel at a touch after two in the afternoon just as the production had broken for lunch. Tom had taken to carrying the antibiotic with him as the hours on set were long and oftentimes unpredictable, so there would thankfully be little chance of her finding them and asking pointed questions he still wasn’t sure how to answer.
 How did one even begin to explain the cluster fuck that was his current situation? ‘Well you see, darling, I got stupidly drunk and fucked some random woman in a bathroom at a club and didn’t wear protection and now I’ve got an STD, but don’t worry it’s completely curable. And I know you’re undoubtedly cross with me but I still love you.’ That would go over just as well as a lead balloon. Letting Luke know that he would probably be wrapping up in about an hour, Tom made his way back onto set after a hastily grabbed sandwich and threw himself into work.
 The cab pulled to a stop in front of his hotel at fifteen after three and Tom made his way up to his room, making a great effort to steady his nerves and to control his face. The last thing wanted to do was scare or worry her. Not yet. He pushed the door to his room open and had barely let it close behind him when she was in his arms. He let out a grunt of surprise, the shock of her warmth against his chest, and wrapped his arms around her to steady them both.
 “God, I missed you,” she breathed into his neck.
 Tom swallowed thickly, the guilt choking him now. It took several moments before he could force the words out of his lips. “Missed you too.”
 Molly pulled back enough to take in his face and her own broke into a warm smile. Without a word, she leaned in and kissed him gently. He didn’t move to deepen the kiss and, after several moments, she pulled back to study him, puzzled. “Tom, are you alright?” Curiosity and concern burned in the depths of her eyes, making them shine a vivid, dark blue and burning the life out of him.
 He took several steps back, stepping deftly from her embrace, and shrugged. “I’m find. Just tired. It’s been a long morning.” He held his hand out to her and she took it tentatively. He squeezed her fingers in his and added, “I’m sorry I couldn’t get you today. There wasn’t any way I could get away.”
 There was a sliver of doubt in her eyes but she simply nodded. “I know. You’re here now and that’s what matters.”
 Tom nodded, “I’m here now.” Silence fell between them. “So,” he started, raising his eyes to hers, and offering what he hoped was a warm smile. “What would you like to do?”
 “Honestly, sleep,” She laughed softly.” God I would love nothing more than to just sleep. But I doubt very much that it would help me acclimate to this time zone if I did.”
 “No, probably not.” Tom answered with a small chuckle of his own. It sounded hollow to his own ears.
 “Damn.” Molly yawned, pulling her hand from his and stretching her arms above her head. “I guess that massive amounts of caffeine will have to suffice. So know any good coffee shops?”
 “I think I can find us one. Shall we?”
 They settled in a small, locally owned coffee shop not a terrible distance away from the hotel and talked pleasantly over their coffees. They talked about work, about what was happening with friends and family, and any small thing which popped into their heads. He was both grateful and terrified to have her so close. He had missed her dreadfully, god if he could have only seen her sooner then maybe none of this…He refused to let himself even finish the thought. This was in no way, shape, or form her fault. It was his. No one’s fault but his own.
 After they had finished their coffees he’d taken her on a short walk around the city. She’d gladly taken his arm and let him tell her about the small tidbits of knowledge he’d gathered from both his own wonderings and from crew and fellow cast members. The weather was fair and for that short amount of time, Tom let himself pretend that all was well between them. That he wasn’t putting off breaking her heart and the very real possibility he’d lose her forever once he did so.
 Dinner was a quick affair in the hotel restaurant. It was close, the food was decent, and Tom knew that Molly was dreadfully tired. She’d commandeered the shower not long after they’d arrived back at the room from dinner, stating that she’d planned to turn in early. While she had puttered around the rather large bathroom, Tom pulled his antibiotic bottle from the carryall he’d taken to bringing with him on set. He fished another bottle of water from the fridge and poured out two capsules into his opened palm.
 He'd just tossed the capsules into his mouth when the bathroom door opened and Molly wandered out, dark hair wrapped in a towel and dressed in a loose fitting t-shirt and jogging bottoms. He nearly choked on both water and capsules, ending up in a violent coughing fit. “Bathroom’s all yours…Tom are you alright?”
 Tom nodded, clutching his chest which felt very much like it was on fire. “Yes,” he managed to get out, voice hoarse from coughing. “Pills didn’t go down the right way.” He grimaced as he realized just what he’d said. Shit.
 Molly’s brow furrowed, “Pills?” She hurried towards the bed and before Tom could stop her she’d grabbed the bottle, staring at it. He’d scratched out all the identifying information including his name and the reason the medication was prescribed as soon as he’d gotten the bottle; there was no such thing as too careful as far as he was concerned. She flitted her eyes to him, concerned. “Why are you taking antibiotics? What’s happened?” It was truly something, watching her slip into what he’d always affectionately called ‘nurse mode’ and normally Tom found it endearing if not a bit overwhelming. Now though, now it flooded him with fear. God, why had he fucking spoken without thinking?
 He took the bottle from her and placed it onto the bed stand. He wracked his brain trying desperately to think of what to say. He knew without a doubt what he should say was the truth. Lying would only make it harder to tell her the truth. But the idea of telling her, of actually saying the words aloud terrified him. She would storm out. She would leave him. And he couldn’t let that happen. He needed her. Needed her so badly.
 “You know how I’ve been off for the past week or so?” He found himself speaking, his voice surprisingly even. “I went to a clinic because I knew something wasn’t right. They ran a few tests and turns out I had a rather nasty bout of strep throat. So they started me on antibiotics.” The lie flowed far easier than he could have imagined. And once it was out, he couldn’t take it back.
 Her brow furrowed. “Why is the label all scratched out?”
 “Privacy,” he answered, with a small shrug. The words continued to come and he hated himself for them. “It’s fairly standard here to do that. In case it gets misplaced. I thought it odd too but…”
 Molly looked anything but convinced but did not press the matter. After several minutes she pondered aloud, “I wonder why they prescribed you Doxycycline. That’s not usual…Or at least not that I’ve seen.”
 Tom shrugged, “I don’t know. I was just grateful to have a reason for why things have been so off.”
 “Why didn’t you tell me this earlier? When I asked?” The concern was back in her tone but this time laced with just the barest hint of doubt.
 He swallowed before answering. “I didn’t want you to worry. I know you’ve got so much going on right now and I was loath to add anything more on your shoulders.” Tom smiled at her softly, hoping to ease her growing concern. “But I’m fine. No harm, no foul.”
 “Tom,” she chastised, “You should have told me. Yes, work is a bit hectic, but I’m not made of glass. You can talk to me. You should have talked to me.” Molly paced around the room, standing just out of his reach. He could so easily sense her hurt at his perceived slight. Not so perceived, he thought bitterly. Pretty damned real.
 “I know. I was stupid and I’m sorry. Can you forgive me?” His forced himself to lock his eyes on hers. Please, please can you ever forgive me for what I’ve done? I need you to forgive me. Tom hated himself for thinking it, for asking for something he knew he’d not earned the right to.
 “Tom…” She took a deep breath and walked back towards him and the bed. “It’s alright. Just please talk to me. I love you and I worry, you know that.” Molly took his hand in hers, linking their fingers.
 A watery smile spread slowly across his face as he squeezed her hands in his. “I love you, too. So very, very much.” Molly settled beside him on the bed and leaned her head on his shoulder, turning to press a kiss against it. “I am sorry,” he continued, trying desperately to keep himself in check but needing her to know just how terribly sorry he really was. Even if he couldn’t tell her why. “Truly, I am.”
 “I know,” she whispered, kissing his shoulder once more. “It’s done, Tom. Now let’s try to get some sleep. It’s been a ridiculously long day and I don’t know about you but I am utterly exhausted.”
 Tom nodded and kissed her the top of her head. “Alright. To bed with you then.”
 Molly pulled herself from his grasp and climbed towards the left hand side of the bed, burrowing beneath the covers. Tom pushed himself to his feet, fighting the feeling of guilt the churned in his gut, and stumbled into the bathroom. He quickly brushed his teeth and scrubbed his face, taking a deep breath before returning to the main room. He pulled his shirt over his head and toed off his boots. Pulling a pair of pajama bottoms from the chair in the corner, he quickly changed and headed back towards the bed. He found himself hesitating as he approached, his guilt warring with the desperate need of normalcy. Molly turned over and patted the spot behind her. “Come here you.” He offered a small smile before climbing into the bed and flipping the light off behind him.
 Sleep came easier than he’d expected and he found himself waking in confusion the next morning, feeling the warm body pressed against him. Tom cracked open first one eye and then the other, Molly’s sleeping form slowing coming into focus. She was there, he hadn’t dreamt it, and for a brief moment a flood of contentment overwhelmed him. Then reality came crashing back. He fought the urge to volt himself out of the bed, it would raise more questions and concern than he could honestly handle.
 He watched her for several moments; the way her dark hair spread over the pillow beneath her, having come out of its braid sometime in the night, the way her eyelashes brushed against her cheeks, the peaceful look on her beautiful face. He didn’t deserve her. Not in the slightest. And if she knew…
 “What are you staring at so hard?” Molly’s sleep laden voice broken Tom from his thoughts. He blinked rapidly and looked down to find her warm, blue eyes staring up at him in confusion.
 “Sorry,” he murmured. “Just lost in thought. Did you sleep well?”
 She nodded and stretched her arms above her head as a large yawn rolled from her lips. “God, sorry. But yes, I slept like the dead. Nothing like jetlag, eh?” Tom laughed despite himself. “What time is it anyway?”
 Rolling to the side, Tom grabbed his watch from the bed stand. “Half eight. We’ve got about three hours until the madness descends.” Luke had sent him a text the day before confirming that his stylist (and that was still strange) and someone from hair and make-up would be coming around at about noon to get both he and Molly ready for the premiere.
 Molly quirked an eyebrow. “Three hours, eh? Plenty of time for all sorts of fun.” She leaned up and kissed him. He allowed himself to be pulled into the kiss, missing the feel of her warmth in his arms. And suddenly it was as if he’d been doused in ice water. Realization as to just why he couldn’t do this. Fuck. With reluctance he pulled back, taking in the concern was steadily growing in her eyes. “Tom what…?”
 “I just…I’m still not 100% and I don’t want to risk you getting sick because of me.” It was the truth, in none so many words, but he hated himself for speaking them. “Why…Let me take you to breakfast? Somewhere nice? After all if you’re in LA you might as well see what all the fuss is about.”
 He climbed out of bed and made a hasty retreat into the bathroom, stopping briefly to grab a change of clothing along the way. He didn’t dare look back at Molly. Once dressed, Tom made his way back into the main room to find Molly dressed as well. She didn’t utter a word as she brushed past him and into the bathroom. Shit. Shit. Shit.
 Tom hated himself for all of this and desperately wanted to her so. But he couldn’t tell her why. Not now. The stark realization made his gut clench. He couldn’t tell her. The time for that had come and gone. He’d told too many half-truths and blatant lies to have any hope of ever coming clean. The best he could hope for now was to put all of this behind him as much he was able. And then to work has hard as he could to make himself worthy of her in future.
 The elevator ride down to the lobby of the hotel was spent in silence and Tom swore he could hear the frantic beating of his heart against his chest. He’d be surprised if Molly couldn’t hear it as well. She did however let him take her hand as they made their way from the hotel and down the relatively crowded streets. The small café was about a five minute walk from the hotel and by the time they’d been seated, Molly seemed to have relaxed enough to speak with him again. They made small talk over plates of egg, bacon, and pancakes (something he’d insisted she have because they were ‘utterly divine’). She smiled as he told her how he’d stumbled across this place not too long after he’d arrived and how he’d had to make a conscious effort to avoid it most days so he wouldn’t eat his weight in delicious food on a daily basis.
 By the time they’d returned to the hotel it was nearly noon. At twelve on the dot madness did in face arrive. The next several hours were spent in a whirlwind of clothing, hairspray, pins, and makeup. His suit had taken little time to fit and his make-up and hair even less but having these people on hand for Molly (who had always dressed herself and done her own makeup and hair for those few events she’d attended with him) was something he’d desperately wanted.
 She was a vision in a deep blue off the shoulder dress than hung just past her knees. It clung to her curves and enhanced her eyes in the most striking fashion. Her hair was piled effortlessly atop her head and her makeup was subtle but stunning. She looked gorgeous and Tom couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her. “You look utterly enchanting,” he told her with complete and transparent honesty.
 Molly smiled softly back at him. “Thank you. I feel…This is so…Odd. Brilliant, but odd.” She twirled slowly before the mirror, smiling softly to herself as she did so.
 Tom nodded in understanding. His phone chimed in his pocket, he pulled it out to find the car hired to take them to the theater had arrived. He shoved it back into his pocket and held his hand out to Molly. “Our chariot awaits. Shall we, my love?”
 She nodded, taking his hand and allowing him to lead her from the room and down to the lobby and the waiting car.
  The crowd outside the theater was far larger than Tom had expected. It was nothing like he’d ever experienced and it was nearly overwhelming. He could feel Molly’s tight grip on his hand as they climbed from the hire car and slowly made their way down the carpet. Luke flitted around beside them, causally directing Tom where to go and who to talk to. The flashes were blinding and the noise was overwhelming. Tom spoke graciously with reporter after reporter, laughing at their jokes and sharing small tidbits about filming with them. He’d proudly called Molly his girlfriend when asked but did not reveal more detail than was needed. And she stood beside him, smiling and leaning against him.
 Once they’d made their way inside, Molly and Tom were ushered into the theater and to their seats. The lights dimmed and the film began. Molly gushed at how much she’d enjoyed the film on their way towards the after party; going on about the script and Tom’s acting and her favorite scenes. She’d clearly been having the time of her life and Tom couldn’t have be happier for it, for her. They’d drank and danced and generally had a wonderful night of it, stumbling back towards the hotel in the early hours.
 The next morning dawned far too early for either of their likings. Molly’s flight was scheduled for early in the afternoon and they’d reluctantly set alarms accordingly. Neither had drunk to access the night, and well into the early morning, before but weren’t quite in fighting shape either. Molly had unpacked little upon her arrival which made life infinitely easier. Still it was a scramble to get the last minute bits and bobs squared away. Tom had given her one of his sweater jackets for the flight home. She’d accepted it gratefully and climbed into the waiting taxi. He’d quickly kissed her goodbye and assured her that he’d be home within the next week. Two at the most.
 He’d thrown himself into finishing up his commitments, wanting to be done with LA and the mess he’d made there. Molly had been set to text him when she’d landed so when that time had come and gone without a word, a sinking sense of dread filled him. He told himself it was nothing, she’d most likely been tired and had been set on getting herself home and settled. She would call after, he had to believe that.
 When his phone rang early the following morning he’d felt his heart lighten at sight of her name on the screen. “You’ve made it home then. I was worried.”
 “Tom,” Molly began. “I need you to tell me the truth.”
 He felt his heart stutter in his chest. “Mols, what…What’s going on?”
 “I found something in your pocket. In the jumper you gave me.” His heart thudded in his chest and the blood rushed in his ears. Something was wrong. Very, very wrong. “Tom who is Heather?” Molly asked. Her voice was strangely even and it took everything he had to keep from dropping the phone.
 “What?” He managed to choke out.
 “Her name and number were in your pocket. On a cocktail napkin.” Molly’s words were cool, even. “Tom, I need you to explain this to me.”
 Panic flooded through him. Oh god, how could he have left that stupid napkin in his fucking pocket? He hadn’t thought about it since she’d placed it into his hand that night. Hadn’t spared a thought for what he’d done with it. How the bloody hell could he have kept it? And then fucking given it to Molly? “It’s nothing, I promise you. I honestly had no idea that was even in there. I must have been given it by a fan sometime and hadn’t had a chance to give it to Luke to throw away. I would never…” The lies spilled from his lips rapidly though his voice was surprisingly even and calm, despite the chaos rampaging through him. “You know me, Molly.” Liar. Liar! You bloody fucking coward of a liar!
 There was hesitation on her end and it was several moments before she spoke again. “I just…with the way you’d been acting and then the prescription and now the number…I was so scared that you…”
 “Molly…” He started, fighting to keep his voice even.
 “But I know you, Tom. And I know you’d never…I just…I saw it and I panicked. I’m sorry. God, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Her voice was trembling and he knew she was close to tears. The guilt was overwhelming but still…
 “You’ve done two transatlantic flights in a short amount of time. That’s bound to make anyone on edge. You are alright, Molly. It’s okay. I love you.” He was the worst sort of person. A liar and a bloody coward. But he couldn’t…Not now…He couldn’t tell her now. “I’ll be home soon and we’ll be back on our feet soon enough. I’ve got a small bit of time off and we’ll do something…We’ll do something, just you and I.”
 Molly laughed softly and he could hear the tears in her voice as she spoke. “That honestly sounds wonderful, Tom.”
  They’d spent a weekend in Paris upon his return home. They’d spoken often of wanting to go but never seeming to have the time. He’d surprised her with the Eurostar tickets and booking information for a lovely bed and breakfast not far from the city center as soon as he’d walked in the door. She’d laughed then and pulled him tightly into her arms, kissing him soundly. They’d spent their time there wandering the city by day; visiting museums and restaurants, taking in all Paris had to offer, and then reacquainting themselves with each other by night. He’d been attentive and wonderful and so much as he had been in those first few days of their relationship; when everything was bright and new and full of endless potential.
 He’d made it a point from then on to make the effort to come to her as often as he could while away and, if that wasn’t feasible, to bring her to him whenever possible. There were stumbling and false starts along the way, but they seemed to eventually get find the balance they’d needed to make things work between them. And it was just as well since his career began to skyrocket in ways neither he nor Molly had dreamed. She’d been with him every stop along the way, proudly standing beside him; still nervous and unsure but there holding his hand and ever beaming with pride in him and all he was becoming.
 Molly had been with him when he’d purchased his home in London six months later; a lovely three story terraced house nestled near a large park in a grand neighborhood. Tom had insisted she come with him as it would be her home just as much as his and he needed her to be comfortable and happy with his choice. With their choice.
 Within four months of moving in, Tom had proposed. It had been a small and simple affair (she had never been one for grand gestures); he’d taken the day to prepare a lovely meal and decorated the lower level of the house with dozens upon dozens of candles. The ring securely stored in his trouser pocket, he’d greeted her at the door and led her into the flickering light of the dining room.
 She’d watched him with surprised and uncertain eyes as he led her to the table and poured her a glass of wine. “To what do I owe this surprise?” She’d managed to ask after settling her nerves with a restorative sip.
 Tom smiled at her then, eyes warm and full of love, “Can’t I just spoil you?”
 Molly quirked her eyebrow and shot him a knowing look but said nothing, only smiling in return. They ate their meal, peppering the moments between bites with conversation. He was nearly vibrating out of his chair by the time they were ready for coffee and dessert and he knew she could sense it. He could feel her eyes on him as he disappeared into the kitchen and returned carrying a tray laden with coffee press, mugs, and cake. He made quick work of serving both cake and coffee but did not return to his seat at the table.
 She raised her eyes to his, her voice catching in her throat as she whispered his name in confusion. “Tom?”
 Taking a deep breath, he lowered himself to one knee. Molly’s sudden intake of breath echoed above him. He took a moment to compose himself before raising his head and looking her directly in her shining face. “Molly, you are without a shadow of a doubt the most amazing, wonderful thing that has ever happened to me. I will never understand just how I ever became lucky enough to have you in my life.” He felt his throat tighten with emotion, forcing him to pause long enough to try to clear it enough to continue. “You are not only my rock but the cord that tethers me to myself. You are everything I have ever wanted. Everything I have ever needed. And everything I never dreamed I could have. I will spend every single remaining day of my life doing my utmost best to be worthy of the love you’ve shown me. I will never, ever take you for granted and I will love you with all that I am.” Tears were stinging his eyes as he spoke, holding the velvet box out towards her. “Will you do me the extraordinary honor of being my wife?”
 Molly smiled and nodded, tears flowing steadily from her eyes as she extended her left hand to him. Tears shining in his own, Tom opened the box reveling the beautiful sapphire ring he’d spent months searching for nestled within. He took her shaking hand in his and with slow and deliberate care slipped the ring onto her finger. Laughing, she pulled him against her and kissed him deeply.
 Tom pulled back, tears trailing down his cheeks and locked his eyes with hers. “Thank you,” he whispered before pulling her against him once more and burying his face in her abdomen. “Thank you.”
  The announcement was released in the Times a few days later, shortly after both had broken the news to their respective families. Tom’s sisters had shrieked loud enough frighten all the dogs in the greater London area and Molly’s mother had broken into tears (“Happy tears my love,” she’d assured her. “He’s a truly wonderful lad and I’m so very, very happy for you both”) which had sent Molly into them as well.
 Wedding planning had taken up more of her time that Molly had expected. What had seemed like a simple affair with close friends and family was rapidly becoming anything but. And the stress of it was starting to take its toll. Exhaustion and bouts of nausea had taken turns disrupting her life Between the wedding and the ever changing shifts she’d been forced to adopt, Molly wasn’t sure she would make it the six months until the wedding.
 Tom had done all he could to help; spending as much time as he could on the phone with caterers and florists while juggling script readings and auditions. He’d done everything in his power to help shoulder the burden he knew the wedding prep had placed on his fiancée’s shoulders. But when promotional duty called and Tom was pulled back into the fray his professional life had become, it was with a weary reluctance Molly let him go.
 “This is going to be the death of me,” She whined as Tom dropped his suitcase by the door.
 He offered her a warm smile. “I don’t care where it happens, my love. All I care about is that it happens. We can simply go to the registrar’s office and call it a day.” He laughed when she wrinkled her nose at that. “Or we can go all out. That is not the important thing for me. I just want to be able to call you my wife.”
 Tears streamed down Molly’s cheeks and she worked to quickly wipe them away while swatting absently at him. “God, Tom. Why are you so bloody perfect? It’s exhausting.” She laughed softly. “I’m going to miss you.”
 He leaned in and kissed her soundly, hands moving to tangle in her dark hair. “I’m going to miss you desperately as well. But I will be back as soon as I can, Luke and everything be damned.”
 She laughed against his lips. “Can I be a fly on the wall when you tell him that?”
 Tom laughed in earnest and pulled her tightly against him, burying his face in her hair. “I really wish I didn’t have to go.”
 “Me too. But duty calls.” Molly took a deep breath and pulled reluctantly back, squeezing his shoulders. “Go on, you’ve got reporters to charm and fans to dazzle. Just don’t you go forgetting about me.”
 Tom shook his head vigorously. “Never happen.”
 Outside the honk of a car horn echoed. Molly brushed tears away with the back of her hand. “Looks like your ride is here.” She smiled warmly. “Take care, Tom. I love you.”
 He leaned in and kissed her soundly once more. “I love you too. Be home as soon as I can.”
 Tom reluctantly pulled away as the car horn sounded again. He kissed her forehead and strode with purpose to the door, grabbed his suitcase, and headed out to the waiting car.
  “It’s true then, isn’t it?” Molly’s voice was quiet, even, and it brought Tom crashing back into the present. His eyes locked on hers in silent panic; her question had knocked him completely off his guard.  He watched her then; the solid set of her shoulders, the stillness of her body speaking volumes of just how much his lies and silence had cost him.
 “Wha…? No! NO!” The words tumbled from his lips, the denial almost reflexive. But it was too late and he’d known it.
 Molly shook her head. “Tom, you look as though you’ve seen a ghost…So please don’t…Don’t lie to me.” Her blue eyes rose to lock with his, daring him to deny it. To deny what they both knew was true.
 “Mols, please…You know me…You know I would never…” The ease in which the lies poured from his lips sickened him. But he hadn’t been thinking; panic driving his words, his actions. He couldn’t lose her. Not now. But it was no use and he’d known it. Molly knew the truth, knew what he had done, and nothing he could say or do now would be able to change it.  
 “No, Tom, I don’t.” There was a sadness to her voice that nearly shattered his heart. “Not anymore…A week ago, I would have never, ever believed you would do this…But now…” her voice trailed off and she swallowed thickly before raising her gaze to his once again. With a slow and deliberate care, she twisted the ring, his ring, from her finger. “Take the test, Tom. Sort out your life.”
 She offered him a soft smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes before pushing herself to her feet and placing the still warm ring into his hand. She took a deep breath and, gathering her suitcases, walked quietly out of the front door.
 The door closed behind her with definite click that Tom felt in his bones. She was gone. He couldn’t process it, couldn’t allow himself to accept it.
 He wasn’t sure how long he stood in the center of the living room, staring with a waning hope at the closed front door. Molly was gone. He’d been stupid and selfish and now it had all come back on him ten-fold. His eyes burned but the tears he knew were there refused to come. He took a shuddering breath and rubbed his hand over his mouth, trying to calm his racing thoughts and his thudding heart. He needed to change, needed to call Luke. Needed to do something other than simply stand there and watch his life crash and burn.
 Tom climbed the stairs slowly, his mind set on showering, hoping that the hot water would help him gather his thoughts. Help him figure out what the fuck he was going to do. The bedroom door was ajar and the room within unnaturally quiet and dark. He flipped on the light switch and stood staring at the chaos before him; the closet and dresser drawers pulled open, their contents having been quickly removed, the bedding crumpled. Molly had been a stickler about making the bed and making sure the room was tidy. She’d told him off more than once for the mess he’d always seemed to make of their room, and wouldn’t let him rest until he’d set it right. Seeing the room now in such disarray was jarring.
 He took a deep breath and shook his head to clear his thoughts, wandering from the bedroom into the ensuite bathroom, pulling his shirt over his head. He froze mid movement, his shirt slipping from his hands and onto the floor, as his eyes landed on a small piece of elongated plastic laying on the counter beside a soft yellow envelope. His blood pounded in his ears as he took two shaky steps to the counter, his fingers clumsily picking both items up.
 Wordlessly, he turned the test over in his hands. Its display screen read ‘PREGNANT’ in bold, black letters. He blinked in confusion, hands shaking harder. He wasn’t conscious of moving back into the bedroom, of falling unceremoniously onto the bed. He dropped the test beside him on the light blue coverlet and turned his attention back towards the yellow envelope. It took several tries to break the seal. And when he did he slowly pulled the card inside out, staring at it in stunned disbelief. The bright green, handwritten lettering across its front seemed to taunt him. ‘Congratulations, Daddy! We’re going to have a baby!’
 A strangled sob fell from Tom’s lips as the card tumbled from his numb fingers and onto the floor.
Next Part
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theravenclawlover · 5 years
Text
Monster
Parings: James “Bucky” Barnes x Reader.
Warnings: +18 Mentions of torture, mature language, future smut, mentions of death, slight depression, mentions of kidnapping.  
Word Count: 2,066.
Summary: You are one of the youngest members of the Avengers, and you love it. Out of the blue an impossible mission is assigned to you alongside Natasha Romanoff, and it was sure to change your life. Lies, and betrayal from the closest people in your life; they never told you who you really were.
Chapter Number: 2.
Chapter Tittle: The Mission.
A/N: Hey! I’m back with another update for this series as you can see! I’ve been so busy with life, it’s a little tiring. Who would’ve thought that online courses could be so homework heavy... Nevertheless, I made some time to twink this thing up and some other chapter, so my prediction is that maybe later or tomorrow there’s going to be another chapter up! Thank you for being so patient with me, it means a lot! Now for those who read my Harry Potter fics, I know I still owe you lot a smutty Weasley Twins fic, and I promise I’ll post it by the end of the month or beginnigs of next, I haven’t been able to finish it for some reason. Also, I think I’ll try to start drafting chapters for my “Welcome to the Industry of Porn.” It’s been almost a year since I last updated that one. Okay, I’ll stop! Enjoy my fellow readers! 
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After getting things ready, Nat and you found yourselves in her car; Natasha on the wheel. She kept on glancing at you, not real expression set but it was kind of annoying you. At first it didn't bother you and didn't really mind it, but it had been an hour since her eyeing had begun, so the annoyance was bound to sprout from you any minute.
"What?" you said a little snappy, it couldn't be ignored any longer. It was just rude to stare.
"What?" echoed Natasha with feigned confusion.
"Why do you keep looking at me like that?" You exclaimed while turning to face her as much as you could with the seatbelt on.
"Like what?" She didn't turn like you had, but you were able to see the change of her expression from your seat, she just gave you a confused look at your words.
"Nat, you haven't stop looking at me! It might sound crazy, but you've looked worried ever since Steve mentioned this "Bucky" person." You couldn't stop from raising your voice a little. She was agitating you and you knew you probably were overreacting at the whole situation.
She let out a sigh before answering, "Y/n, we have been sent to bring the Winter Soldier by no means of force. He has memory problems because HYDRA thought it was a great idea to mess with his brain. So, I'm sorry If I can't take my mind out of it! Also, I'm not looking at you with worry, I was just wondering why you seem so calm." At the last words she'd turned to face you, having reached a red light.
"I never thought that I would witness what I believe is a mini freak out from you. Also, I had my breakdown in my room when we were getting ready. He's scary for what I've read in his report. Remember Washington? Stupid question, of course you do. Dude, I cried when you and Steve were on the run. Trust me, I'm fucking scared, but I'm trying to stay calm. I have a theory that he can smell fear. So, I'm practicing my 'I'm cool with a brainwashed assassin in the room' face," you exclaimed with the tiniest grin on your face. Joking about the matter seem to help with your anxiousness, and the exasperation from before now gone.
"To be honest with you, I'm rather impressed that you look better than I do right now," she said after stopping the car in front of a big old building that looked like it was about to fall, "we're here."
"Shit." It was really happening. All you had to do was peacefully bring a brainwashed dude with you back to the base. Should be easy. Piece of cake, right?
"Let's do this, " said Nat getting out of the car, her façade of tough—not really a façade, she was tough—assassin had 'activated' once more.
You both stepped through the rough looking doors, according to the last report on him, he was in last the floor going up. You were shaking a little when you had finally made your way up. Nat made her way toward the door with quiet steps. Once the two of you were in front of the room neither of you knew what to do next. Do we just knock, or we burst in like the badass women we fucking are? you thought to yourself, a little grin trying to break on your face. You didn't get to dwell on it for too long because Nat had knocked on the door, her face showed the clear regret of that action. She had just acted without thinking of the consequences of her actions—how odd.
There was a noise coming from inside, you could hear hesitant footsteps coming towards the door, you knew he was going to open the door anytime soon, but you didn't know what to do so you just stood there. The movements from inside suddenly stopped, you saw the shadow of someone right in front of the door from its order side. A second later, that someone opened the door, and lord did the sight made you blush.
The door opened to show a shirtless man, long hair covering his face. He looked as if he had just taken a shower, he hadn't been expecting anyone—I mean, who would? The building was mostly empty, except for the homeless that looked for shelter. You knew you were staring but you couldn't remove you gaze from his massive, muscular form, and that glistening arm.
"Good afternoon," said Natasha, breaking the silence. He didn't say anything he just kept looking at both of you trying to figure out who you two were, and most likely wondering why you had disturbed his peace and quiet. After her words, more silence came—awkward silence.
"We are here to help you out, we know who you are," Natasha proceeded to say without introductions. Wrong move. The calm face he'd had was now replace with a cold expression. Before either of you could muster words out, he'd closed the door and hurried back inside.
"Shit! Shouldn't have done that!" Natasha grabbed her gun kicking the door trying to stop him. You did the same thing, grabbed your gun and try to stop him before he disappeared once again. You knew it had been hard to get a hold on a ghost like the Winter Soldier, so you couldn't afford to mess the mission up.
Once inside, he had put out on a shirt and was ready to jump from the window. Nat shouted a 'stop' but he didn't listen, he jumped from the window. You ran to the window to see him landing flawlessly on the ground. Before running off, he turned his head, and you swore he winked your way. Without another glance, he ran and vanished from your view when he took the first turn to the left.
"Crap! The fucker ran away again! He was ready," said an angered Natasha, now standing by your side.
"That was so fast. Who gets dressed that fast?, and that bag must've been packed already," you said looking around for any type of intel you could find. You needed to know where he has heading next, that could help with the foul mood Fury was surely going to be in.
"I don't know, but what I do know is that we are in big trouble when we get back," said Natasha with a sigh escaping her lips. With one quick look around, you gave up and headed back to the car, your murder by your boss awaiting you.
                                                        °°°°°
"Sir, he just ran back inside and jumped from the window and disappeared." For the umpteenth time you told what had happened to Fury. When the two of you got to the new secret facility of S.H.I.E.L.D.—or what was left of it—you were to give your mission report to Fury. Steve was there, listening on how bad the mission had gone; he looked worried, but you had a feeling that it was because his friend was in the world off the radar rather than worried about either Nat or you being yelled at by Fury. You felt guilty, Natasha and you had messed up the chance for him to see this 'Bucky,' but at the same time you were slightly annoyed at his uncharacteristic coldness at your failure.
Fury was mad that you two had failed the mission, but he had known that someone like him was no easy target, but that doesn't mean that he let you off without some type of punishment. You knew that S.H.I.E.L.D wasn't the same organization that once was, now it was just a little group left since the incident with HYDRA. Fury told you after he had—somewhat—calm down that Natasha and you were to be in the tracking team. Meaning that you were to sit down in front of a computer until you got wind of him.
You got back to your room but not before spending the rest of the afternoon working for the new coordinates of where he could have run to hide. You opened the door to your room; once in, you kicked your shoes off and walked towards where your bed was, putting your gun and badge on the nightstand. You were exhausted to even remain awake while walking around to get things done. You went to the bathroom to take the most relaxing shower. The warm water felt so good against your tired body and your thoughts ran wild, with no care. At first it was just how bad you had mess up the mission and the guilt that came with that, but then you could only focus on him. Those piercing blue eyes that seem to take you away from reality... You shook your head trying to forget about those eyes, but you found yourself going back to them. They seem to bring you a sense of comfort that you couldn't explain. You quickly finished your shower, trying to rid yourself from thoughts of him. Once out, you grabbed your panties and the biggest, baggiest t-shirt you owned, and with no trouble you fell asleep.
                                                         °°°°°
You were in a room that seem too familiar for some reason, there was a glass window in front of you. You walked towards it; it showed another room. Your eyes landed in the person that was in the middle of the room, it was him. He was shirtless inside a capsule, he looked troubled while he slept. There were people waking him up, and when they did, they sat him on a chair not far from the capsule he had been. There were doctors around him with clipboards, and big machines were being situated around the blue-eyed man. You looked around, besides the doctors there were people in green outfits—officers. Then you looked to your other side and saw one of the doctors coming to the room you were in, he walked towards to what looked like a control panel. You saw him pressing some buttons, and the big machines in the other room started moving.
Your eyes moved to find his, he was already staring right at you; he couldn't see you, though, the glass didn't allow it. One of the doctors near him grabbed something and put it in his mouth, him never questioning what. He kept looking straight ahead, you felt as if he could really see you through the glass, it made you shiver unconsciously. One of the doctors now gave a signal towards the glass, and so, the man on your side of the glass pressed one button and the machine got closer to the man sitting on the chair. Before you could guess what was going on, he was screaming. You didn't want to see, your heart ached at the way his eyes shut abruptly, how his knuckles were now white from gripping the chair. You couldn't look away and you weren't even able to flinch at his screams. You didn't know how long it went like that, but all the screaming was soon replaced with a shrilling silence. As soon as he was still, dead-looking, some officers were now helping him up and taking him somewhere else. Everyone started to leave, doctors and officers alike—loud-ish chatter amongst them. There was one person who didn't move, and he was looking at you. The man smiled and made his way towards you, he seemed familiar and nice.
"What you just saw, Y/n, was how we made our best weapon stay emotionless, and strong. That is why he is valuable to us; he doesn't show emotions towards his victims." The man was now kneeling in front of you, "now, honey, we better get you to your room. Tomorrow is going to be another day full of training."
"Yes, sir," you said. Your voice sounded so young, probably less than ten years old. He picked you up, and you wrapped your tiny arms around his neck. It took forever to get to what you guessed was your room. Once inside and you were changed into your pajamas, he helped you get in bed, tucking you in.
"Have sweet dreams, my little princess," said the man that was looking at you with loving eyes.
You gave him a soft, sleepy smile before yawning while muttering softly, "goodnight, papa."  
Tag list:
@boredtotearz100 @john-benderr @cnco-ravenclaw-46
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spaceiplier · 5 years
Text
SPACEIPLIER: Homestuck
((THIS IS A JOKE. IT’S JUST A JOKE. IT'S NOT CANON. HAPPY HOMESTUCK DAY.))
A young man stands in his bedroom. It just so happens that today, the 28th of June, 3516, is this young man's birthday. Though it was twenty-five years ago he was given life, it is only today he will be given a name!
What will the name of this young man be?
ENTER NAME.
SALLY MCSAGGYTITS
TRY AGAIN, SMARTASS
TRY AGAIN.
MARK FISCHBACH
EXAMINE ROOM
Your name is MARK. As was previously mentioned it is your BIRTHDAY. A number of CAKES are scattered about your room. You have a variety of INTERESTS. You have a passion for REALLY TERRIBLE MOVIES. You like to program computers but you are NOT VERY GOOD AT IT. You have a fondness for PARANORMAL LORE, and are an aspiring AMATEUR PILOT. You also like to play GAMES sometimes.
What will you do?
Mark: Quickly retrieve arms from drawer.
Your ARMS are in your SPACE CHEST, pooplord!
Remove CAKE from SPACE CHEST.
Out of sympathy for Mark's perceived lack of arms, you pick up the CAKE for him and put it on his BED.
Mark: Quickly retrieve arms from SPACE CHEST.
You retrieve your FAKE ARMS from the chest. You use these for HILARIOUS ANTICS.
You CAPTCHALOGUE them in your SYLLADEX. You have no idea what that actually means though.
There are other items in the chest.
Mark: Examine contents of chest.
In here you keep an array of humorous and mystical ARTIFACTS, each one a devastating weapon in the hands of a SKILLED SPACEFARER or a CUNNING PRANKSTER.
You are neither of these things.
Among the ARTIFACTS are: TWO (2) FAKE ARMS [CURRENTLY CAPTCHALOGUED IN YOUR SYLLADEX], ONE (1) PAIR OF TRICK HANDCUFFS, ONE (1) STUNT BLASTER, ONE (1) PILOT’S HELMET, ONE (1) PAIR OF BEAGLE PUSS GLASSES, SEVERAL (~) SMOKE PELLETS, SEVERAL (~) BLOOD CAPSULES, and ONE (1) COPY OF COLONEL SASSACRE'S DAUNTING TEXT OF SPACE FRIVOLITY AND PRACTICAL JAPERY, and ONE (1) COPY OF HARRY ANDERSON'S "WISE GUY", BY MIKE CAVENEY.
Some of this stuff may come in handy at some point. For now, you decide to just take the SMOKE PELLETS.
Mark: Captchalogue the smoke pellets.
You stow the SMOKE PELLETS on one of your CAPTCHALOGUE CARDS in your SYLLADEX.
You still aren't totally sure what that means, but you are starting to get the hang of the vernacular at least.
You have two empty CAPTCHALOGUE CARDS remaining.
Mark: Equip fake arms.
You aren't totally sure if "EQUIP" is a verb copasetic with the abstract behavioral medium in which you dwell, but you give it a try anyway.
Unfortunately, you cannot access the FAKE ARMS! Their card is underneath the one you just used to captchalogue the SMOKE PELLETS. You will have to use the pellets first in order to access the arms. But this is probably unadvisable, since you'd just make your room lousy with smoke!
Your SYLLADEX'S FETCH MODUS is currently dictated by the logic of a STACK DATA STRUCTURE. You were never all that great with data structures and you find the concept puzzling and mildly irritating.
But with any hope, perhaps you will advance new, more practical FETCH MODI for your SYLLADEX with a little more experience.
Mark: Examine Space Sleuth Poster.
Is it even possible to get any more hard boiled than that? You really doubt it. This poster was one of your wisest purchases.
There is a nice spot on the wall next to it. You've been meaning to hang another poster there soon.
Mark: Read note on drawer.
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY SON
I AM SO PROUD OF YOU”
This note is rich with the aromas of MOTHERLY HERBS AND SPICES.
Beside the note is a ROLLED UP POSTER.
Mark: Take poster.
Another BIRTHDAY ARTIFACT. You wonder what is printed on the poster.
You'll need some way to hang it on your wall.
Mark: Acquire hammer and nails. They will come in handy.
You first place the HAMMER into your SYLLADEX.
But now all of your CAPTCHALOGUE CARDS are full. You wonder what will happen if you try to take the NAILS
You guess it doesn't hurt to try.
Mark: Take nails.
You captchalogue FOUR (4) NAILS into the top card, and push all the ARTIFACTS down a card.
The FAKE ARMS are pushed entirely out of the deck!!!
Oh well. They're probably completely useless anyway. But you probably don't want to do that again, unless you want to drop the SMOKE PELLETS and suffer the consequences.
In any case, you now feel like you have gathered enough things to get down to business and do some really important stuff. The next thing you do will probably be exceptionally meaningful.
Mark: Squawk like an imbecile and shit on your desk.
This is the dumbest idea you've had in weeks!!!
STUPID STUPID STUPID.
And yet the polished surface of your desk...
It beckons.
Mark: Combine the nails and hammer.
You MERGE the top two cards.
The HAMMER and NAILS are now captchalogued on the same card and can be used together.
Mark: Use hammer/nails on poster.
You use the HAMMER and NAILS card IN CONJUNCTION with the card beneath it.
Mark: Nail poster to wall.
You use the HAMMER, NAILS, and POSTER on the blank space on the wall.
It's glorious. Exactly what you wanted. Your mom really came through this time.
Mark: Examine Con Space poster.
PUT THE KHARAPIN BACK IN THE BOX.
I SAID, PUT THE KHARAPIN BACK IN THE BOX.
WHY COULDN'T YOU PUT THE KHARAPIN BACK IN THE BOX?
Mark: Examine Deep Impact poster.
Morgan Saorman's genteel, homespun mannerisms were perfect qualities for a president residing over a crisis.
STARS RISE. PLANETS FALL. HOPE SURVIVES.
WOW.
Films about impending apocalypse fascinate you. Plus, a Velm president??? Now you've seen everything!
Mark: Examine calendar.
You've marked your birthday, the 28th of June. Another day you marked was supposed to be the arrival date for the highly touted SBURB BETA LAUNCH.
It's been three days already. It's starting to become a sore subject with you.
Mark: Eat cake.
You are sick to death of cake!!! You've been eating it all day. And you have no intention of clogging your SYLLADEX with it either. The CAKE stays put for now.
You hear a notice from your COMM. Someone is messaging you.
Mark: Examine incoming message.
You pick up your COMMUNICATOR. This is where you spend most of your time. You decorated your screen with some rather handsome WALLPAPER which you made yourself. You are really proud of it.
Your COMMUNICATOR is also littered with various PROGRAMMING PROJECT FILES. You are so bad at programming sometimes you wonder why you even bother with it.
Your PESTERCHUM application is flashing. Someone is trying to get in touch with you.
Mark: Open Pesterchum.
Only one of your CHUMS is logged in. He's sent you a message.
Mark: Open message.
-- turntechLizardhead [TL] began pestering ectoPilot [EP] at 16:13 --
TL: hey so what sort of insane loot did you rake in today EP: i got a little monsters poster, it's so awesome. i'm going to watch it again today, the applejuice scene was so funny. TL: oh hell that is such a coincidence i just found an unopened container of apple juice in my closet it is like fucking scarlix day up in here EP: ok thats fine, but i just have one question and then a word of caution. have you ever seen a movie called little monsters starring howie mandel and fred savage? TL: but TL: the seal on the bottle is unbroken TL: are you suggesting someone put piss in my apple juice at the factory EP: all im saying is don't you think monster howie mandel has the power to do something as simple as reseal a bottle? EP: try using your brain numbnuts. TL: why did the fat kid or whoever drank it know what piss tasted like TL: i mean his reaction was nigh instantaneous EP: it was the 15th day in a row howie mandel peed in his juice. TL: ok i can accept that TL: monster B-list celebrity douchebags are cunning and persistent pranksters TL: also fred savage has a really punchable face TL: but who cares about this lets stop talking about it TL: did you get the beta yet EP: no. EP: did you? TL: man i got two copies already TL: but i dont care im not going to play it or anything the game sounds boring TL: did you see how it got slammed in game bro???? EP: game bro is a joke and we both know it. TL: yeah TL: why dont you go check your mail maybe its there now EP: alright. Mark: Look out window.You see the view of your yard on VENTOS BETA from your window. Hanging from the tree is your TIRE SWING. In a kid's yard, a tree without a tire swing is like a proper gentleman without a monocle. That is to say, HE CAN HARDLY BE CONSIDERED A TERRIBLY PROPER GENTLEMAN AT ALL. And there beside your driveway is the mailbox.
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artificialqueens · 5 years
Text
Under Her Eye - Chapter 5: Nolite Te Bastardes Carborundorum (Branjie) - Gab
a/n: Hi everyone! I’m back with the next chapter! Not much to say so I’ll keep this short, a million thanks to @artificialmeggie for beta-ing and helping me plan out the rest of this fic. I’m excited. It’s gonna be a whole lot of fun to write. As always, you can find me @gabby-writes for any questions and comments. Enjoy!
Chapter 5: Nolite Te Bastardes Carborundorum
Word count: 3645
It’s been four months and three days since the night Vanessa arrived in the Hytes household. Three months and twenty-eight days since the first ceremony.
Three months and twenty-eight days since Brooke first took care of her in the night. Three months and twenty-seven days since Brooke stayed a little longer.
Twenty-eight days since the last ceremony. Two days until the next.
Sometimes Vanessa thought that she could end it all before then, maybe even take the house down with her. And each time her nightmares felt far too real, each time she was faced with the blank stares of the women in the street or the bloody bodies hanging from the lamp posts as if they were Halloween decorations, she felt maybe, just maybe, today would be the day. Yet every time she thought of getting up to finally, finally, do it—light candles in the kitchen one by one, shut every window, and let the gas from the stove fill the room until it combusts—something would stop her. Maybe it was how Nina was just a touch too compassionate for her own good, or how the commander was just a touch too cocky to give in to.
Or maybe it was her.
Her green eyes that were endlessly sorrowful and endlessly searching. Her touches that were far too gentle and far too electrifying all at once. Her skin that she longed to feel against hers again. Her voice that spoke just above a whisper but never louder than the creaking of the floorboards under their feet. How they talked about their old lives, and, in hushed voices and in as many words as they dared, how they talked about their future. How she made her want to stay alive.
She whispered her secrets to Brooke on some nights—how she wished she hugged her mom one last time, how she wanted to walk around the streets screaming at the world to fuck off, how she wanted to end it all and fade away—and as they left her lips she felt the weight lift from her chest, as if Brooke was her confessor, bringing her absolution.
So the cycle continued, day after day, thought after thought.
At times she could convince herself that things were…good. The commander would be gone for weeks at a time after the ceremony, on some business trip or engagement. He’d come back too exhausted or drunk to do anything other than hole up in his office. There would be moments, a lewd comment when they passed each other in the kitchen or a look that lasted far too long when she crossed his room in the hallway, but nothing she couldn’t ignore. She was grateful for the minutes of quiet where she felt like no one was watching. She was grateful for the fading of the scars on her skin.
Her room was bare, about the size of the dressing room in the arts center where she used to perform. It had a small bed, a window, a closet, and a bathroom. Nothing personal, nothing special. During the day, it was her little box where she was tucked away like good silverware and only brought out when needed. At night, when she had Brooke by her side, it was almost comfortable, almost safe.
On some days, days when she didn’t leave the house and no one was home, she explored. She looked through the generic photos hung in the hallway and wondered if Brooke decorated the house herself. Maybe it came pre-made, ready for its picture perfect family. Other times, she stood by the window, avoiding the gaze of the guardians out on the street and watching the other handmaids walk by.
One afternoon, as the sun was just beginning to hit the treeline, Vanessa decided to look around as usual. She knew Brooke was out on another engagement with the other wives, the commander was god knows where, and Nina had gone to the other side of the city to drop off the laundry. She was never looking for anything in particular, it was a combination of chronic boredom and deep curiosity that led her to the basement.
Leaving the door open to let some of the remaining sunlight in, she headed down to the small room. It looked untouched, filled with storage containers and wrapped furniture, each box put aside and covered with old, stained bedsheets. It didn’t look like anything interesting, simply filled with junk just as generic as the rest of the house. She was just about to leave when a small pile caught her eye. The words were rubbed out, but she could still make out a faint “Brooke Lynn” on one of the boxes.
Vanessa couldn’t resist.
She pulled out a small box, opening it to reveal a few notes written in a neat script. Class schedules, studio hours, ticket prices—a time capsule of Brooke’s old life. She leafed through the pieces of paper, smiling at a few photos she found of what she assumed was Brooke in her college years. Placing it back down, she fixed her attention to another box, unmarked this time, with a faded image on the side.
She had just lifted the cover when she heard a set of footsteps making their way down to her. They were heavy, and Vanessa cursed herself for not realizing that he could come home so soon.
The fucking door—
“What are you doing here?” George waltzed in the room, a smirk on his lips as he came into view. The air in the room went cold as Vanessa felt her stomach turn at the sight. Just the two of them in the house.
“Sorry, I’ll go—” Vanessa muttered, dropping the box she was holding and moving towards the door, feeling immediately panicked.
“No, no stay.” He stopped her as she reached the doorway, grabbing her wrist and placing his other hand at the side of her neck. He put his thumb just under her chin, pushing her face to look up at him.
“After all, it’s hard to get a little alone time these days.”
Vanessa could feel the shaking in her hands start, fueled by the chills down her back. She wanted to curse him, spit out the venom she felt in her throat, but the hand around her neck seemed to constrict her voice as the smell of his breath got closer and closer.
“Might be more fun.” His smile was paralyzing as he brought her closer to him. “Don’t you think we should have some alone time, Ofgeorge?”
Vanessa wasn’t strong enough to push him away, instead opting to tilt her head as far as she could. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes as she tried not to think for a moment, tried to forget where she was, tried to let her mind go quiet—
“George?”
Neither of them heard the front door click, nor did they hear the shuffling of footsteps at the entrance to the basement. Brooke came into view, composed as ever if not for the panic in her eyes.
“What are you two doing here?”
In an instant, George had released his hold on Vanessa, eyes still darkened as he turned towards his wife, saying nothing to acknowledge her question. He stepped towards her in a move to leave, leaning into her for a moment.
“Control the handmaid, she shouldn’t be wandering.”
With that he stalked off, leaving the two women in the darkness. There was a silence as the footsteps of the commander faded, and Vanessa gave a sigh, a sob, as she clasped her hands together.
“Are you okay?”
“God what an asshole,” was all Vanessa managed, a choked laugh coming out of her throat as she said it.
“Vanessa…“
Before she knew it, Vanessa felt a soft touch on her arm, one that quickly pulled her in for a hug. She sucked in a breath, stayed quiet for a moment not quite knowing what to do. Brooke’s body against hers was warm, soft, strong. It grounded her, and her hands stopped shaking as she broke the hug. It was new, this protective side of Brooke. Another layer to her that she didn’t realize was missing until now. It felt right, safe.
“Come on, we can’t stay here for too long.” Brooke spoke softly, gently brushing Vanessa’s hair back before withdrawing her touch completely.
“Wait—” Vanessa said, snapping out of her thoughts long enough to reach down to the discarded box. She lifted the lid before tilting it towards Brooke.
“From your ballet days right?”
Inside the box was a pair of pointe shoes, clean, simple, untouched for what must’ve been years. Brooke’s eyes widened at the sight as she nodded her head, looking at the relic from her past as if it were a precious treasure. It must be.
“Show me?”
Nights came much quicker now as the trees turned to fire and cold wind blew through the air. The streets were quiet as ever, with only the sound of birds in the trees.
There was a time Brooke hated the sound. Hated hearing the birds knowing they could sing and dance and be. Knowing that she wouldn’t be able to do the same.
It must’ve been hours since Brooke found Vanessa with George in the basement, since seeing her eyes begin to glaze over as his hand tightened around her neck. She closed her hands into fists at the thought. The thought of having Vanessa alone with him.
It was enough to make her blood boil. Enough to make her do something incredibly stupid.
She had never broken the rules before, unspoken or otherwise. She never even allowed the thought to cross her mind. She was convinced that there were eyes around every corner, watching her, watching them.
But I haven’t done anything wrong yet.
She hasn’t, not really. There wasn’t a Bible verse against talking, against sitting in a room in your own house, against silently pining for a future you can’t have. She let this thought sit in her mind a little longer, convincing herself more than anything.
Being with Vanessa felt too good to be acceptable, holy, too good for Gilead to see as right.
For three months she waited to be found out. Waited for the spell to end, for the gunshots at their window, for their door to be kicked down as Gilead caught two lovers in the act.
Lovers?
No, not lovers. There was nothing to catch, nothing to see, nothing that left a trace.
Brooke looked down at the shoe box in her lap, lightly running her hands up and down the cover as though to check if it were still real. She opened it and stared at the shoes—pristine, waiting for her.
She could keep it that way, never letting the shoes out of their box. Never letting their voices venture past Vanessa’s small bedroom. Never letting their act of rebellion last longer than the rise and fall of the moon each night.
Or.
Or.
She could leave.
Just for a night.
She picked up the shoes, setting the box down under the bed. They were soft in her hands, having broken them in all afternoon. The feeling of putting them on again was bliss, but this house had no room to dance. No room for music or joy.
She was still waiting for the glamour to fade, for someone to catch wind of their plans, their nightly meetings, their hushed voices.
But nothing came, and Brooke felt a rush of adrenaline through her veins from the knowledge that maybe they could get away with this, with everything.
This is stupid.
Brooke knew it was a long shot. She knew that the consequences weren’t worth the risk, but the sounds of birds were ringing in her ears that night, along with Vanessa’s words.
“Show me?”
How could she refuse?
Brooke had on a black coat, the blue of her dress barely peeking out from underneath it. She carefully placed her shoes inside a bag which she carried over her shoulder, scanning the room, not a thing out of place, before heading upstairs to fetch Vanessa.
She was already dressed in her bright red coat and boots, her hair tied back but free from the white cap, her face quickly flickering from worry to relief as she saw Brooke enter through the door.
“So we’re really…?”
Brooke gave a nod, smiling despite the pounding of her heart in her chest as Vanessa walked towards her, the sole of her boots making dull thumps against the wooden floor.
“You can’t wear that.” Brooke gestured to her red coat. It was the color of life-blood, a deep crimson, and far too noticeable even under the cover of night.
“I ain’t got nothing else you know.”
Brooke nodded, leading Vanessa down the stairs, into her room, to her closet. She picked out a dark coat like her own, and wrapped it around her. The hem grazed the floor, but effectively drowned out the red in her dress.
“We good now?” Vanessa’s voice was quiet, or as quiet as it could be. Her eyes were bright and she was practically vibrating in the bundle of fabric surrounding her.
Brooke gave a nod as she led them both out to the kitchen area, her mind running a mile a minute on their next steps. She had planned their way, somewhat, but the gravity of what they were about to do only hit her as she stared at the back door of her kitchen.
There’s a forest that no one patrols just the next block over, we just have to be quiet and maybe the guardians won’t see us. God, but the Johnsons’ have that big window and—
“Mrs. Hytes?” A shuffling of feet followed the voice, the sound booming against the silence of the kitchen.
Fuck, Nina.
The pair turned around, Vanessa immediately reaching for a salt shaker, ready to chuck it as hard as she could.
If Brooke’s heart wasn’t beating into her ears she might’ve laughed.
They were both frozen as they watched Nina walk out, visibly tired, in a simple cotton nightgown. It was a stark contrast to the near delusional levels of optimism Nina usually had, instead replaced with a serious, worried look. Just as quickly as it had appeared, Nina’s expression softened as she regarded the pair. It was another few seconds before she spoke again, eyeing Vanessa who was still holding up the salt shaker.
“Don’t go that way, they monitor all the back exits of houses here. Take the front door and circle around.” Nina’s tone was sober, a far departure from the rule-abiding citizen Brooke was accustomed to.
“Hide by the Johnsons’ if you need to, they’re on holiday this time of the year. Guardians won’t stay in one place too long this time of night and—” She took a deep breath, shaken but determined to finish. “When you get to the forest keep walking. No one patrols the old sector of town because of radiation, but a few hours won’t hurt you.”
Her eyes met Brooke’s and she gave a small smile. “I’m making pancakes in the morning.”
Brooke’s heart broke for her.
Nina, who has watched her fall apart, fall into herself. Who was willing to take the fall if they were found out. Who understood why she needed to do this.
“We’ll be back. Thank you,” Brooke whispered, attempting to convey every ounce of gratitude in her words. Without further delay, Brooke and Vanessa headed for the front entrance, Nina’s gaze and worried sigh following them out the door.
The first breath of the cold outdoor air filled Brooke’s nose and throat as she stepped outside, listening for any sound, any movement. When none came, they walked around the block, sticking close to the bushes that lined the sidewalk, ducking away from the light of the street lamps.
The sky was dark that night, the clouds hiding the moon and the stars, not a light in the sky to give them away. They walked for a while longer until they reached the street corner, Brooke looking out on either side to see if it was safe. She saw a glimpse of a guardian on the other end of the street before he disappeared around the other block. That was their cue.
They rushed across the road, trying to keep the sounds of their feet light despite the blanket of dry leaves underneath them. They made it to the Johnsons’ house, the forest being just a short stretch away.
“Brooke.” She felt Vanessa’s hand on hers, squeezing tightly. Brooke didn’t realize how cold her hand had become as she squeezed back, looking at Vanessa, her expression unreadable.
“We’re almost there.”
“Okay.”
Once Brooke was convinced the path was clear, they sprinted across the Johnsons’ property into the forest, hiding behind the trees for a moment, catching their breath, then sprinting off again, deeper, further. They had small pen-lights that barely illuminated the path ahead, preventing them from stumbling into trees or over roots.
They made their way as swiftly as they could manage, Brooke making silent prayers that they were heading in the right direction. They turned into a clearing and saw a rooftop that told them they were in the right place.
This part of town was abandoned from residual radiation poisoning—or perhaps ghosts of the past—but it couldn’t hurt them any more than captivity did, more than the stifling life they had led up until this moment. Hand in hand, they navigated the streets, trying to make sense of the signs despite the words being rubbed off, Brooke trying to piece together what she remembered of the old area. Soon enough they made their way around, finally reaching an old theater building.
“In here?”
Brooke nodded, pushing into the theater. Unlocked, she mused, they must’ve thought it wasn’t important enough to close off.
The pair made their way to the stage, their footsteps hurried, excited. Somehow, Vanessa had found the switch board for some stage lights, a few of them flickering on, bright enough to illuminate the dusty stage floor. They both headed up on stage, Vanessa sitting by the wings, looking over the empty seats in awe.
“Do you miss it?” Brooke asked, shedding her coat and lacing up her shoes.
“Miss what?”
“Performing.” Brooke brought out a small music player, nothing louder than a phone speaker, that she had found in the commander’s office and hidden in her bag. It wouldn’t play loudly enough surely, but in the silence of the theater and with their hearing, acute and trained from many whispered conversations, it was perfect.
“Oh. Yeah, but I miss the crowds more.” Vanessa sighed sadly, still looking out at the rest of the room. “The freedom, energy—none of this ‘praise be’ bullshit, y’know?”
“Yeah, me too.” Brooke looked at her for a moment more before selecting a song on the player. The tune played out, slightly tinny, but clear enough for the both of them to hear.
“Break a leg.” Vanessa smiled as she set herself closer to the front of the stage, her coat splayed around her body, full attention on Brooke.
First position.
It was overwhelming, being back onstage. She hadn’t practiced in so long that a sudden fear of not remembering how to dance hit her, momentarily, before she started to move.
Then she couldn’t stop.
Her legs moved from underneath her, hands floating around her body as she twirled, leaped, felt every moment of it. Before she knew it, she was on her toes, kicking up her blue dress and moving across the whole stage.
Arms open, legs extended, bird-like.
She started moving faster, following every rise and fall of each note.
Crescendo.
A leap.
A spin.
This was everything she had missed, the rush of air moving through her lungs, the feel of her body moving every way she asked it to.
Total control, complete freedom.
The music was ending, slowing as Brooke gently took her final position center-stage.
Bow.
Brooke smiled, holding herself still as she took slow and steady breaths as she closed her eyes.
The lights on her skin felt like sunlight—warm, inviting.
There were tears down her face as she opened her eyes again and looked towards Vanessa as if she were the brightest light on that stage.
Vanessa was across the floor in seconds, unable to stop herself from running to Brooke and wrapping her arms around her waist. Brooke gasped and held her tightly, burying her head in her hair.
“You’re beautiful.” The awe in her voice made Brooke blush.
She placed her hand on Vanessa’s cheek, just holding her for a moment. Vanessa’s eyes were sparkling so brightly and her hands felt so warm against her sides, pressing against her, pulling her in. Suddenly all she could see was Vanessa, her dark eyelashes, her soft cheeks, her lips.
She leaned down, as if drawn by a magnetic force, and kissed her gently, softly.
She felt every beautiful, bottled up emotion bursting in her chest, beneath her fingers, in her mouth. She moved her lips slowly, deepening the kiss, feeling something flutter in her stomach as Vanessa kissed back eagerly, freely. A million thoughts ran through her head, how much she wanted to taste her, to run her hand up her dress and follow each touch with her lips, how much she wanted to tangle their legs together and run her hands through her hair.
It was near perfect.
She broke the kiss for a moment to look at Vanessa, as if to ask if she was okay, if this was okay.
She got her response in the form of lips against hers once more, as though they belonged there.
And just for that moment, they felt good. Safe.
Alive.
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tisfan · 5 years
Text
Take This Job (and shove it out the airlock) Chapter 3
Exit Interview
Title: Exit Interview [entire fic x] Square: K3 - alien planet Warning: Space travel, anal sex, infinity stone Pairing: Tony Stark/Bucky Barnes Summary: Captain America was down there, in the ice. Tony and Bucky are going to get him, or die trying. Tony’s not so keen on the dying part. Link: A03 Word Count: 2,176
“Here,” Bucky said, tapping the tiny little nav chart and blowing up the destination. Some destination, if you were interested in seas of near-frozen argon and a toxic atmosphere that could corrode most ship plating in about ten minutes.
“Yeah, well, at least you have an accurate drop-point,” Tony said. “The less time we spend here, the better.”
“How long can we spend there?”
“Theoretically, about eighteen minutes,” Tony said. “But in actual facts, you are not going anywhere. You are going to keep the pod at the lagrange point so that I can have a speedy extraction. Dive straight down, hook onto Cap’s pod, grab the Tesseract if I can find it, and haul jets out. That’s the plan, we get one chance, one attempt.”
Tony didn’t specifically say that he was trusting Bucky with both their lives, because Bucky knew it. If Bucky so much as moved the ship a mile from the extraction point, Tony was going to die.
On the plus side, it wasn’t going to hurt for long.
Steve was probably not going to die, but he was still going to be stuck down there, and so Tony was hoping that was enough leverage. Because really, the pod’s autonav wasn’t that great. The kind of Weather that came from these uninhabitable crappy little balls of incomplete rock were beyond its capacity to reason out.
Mostly because sane people didn’t come to these sorts of places, so there weren’t really a lot of records to study and emulate.
Anyway--
“Plot in the course,” he told Bucky. “The trip’ll take a few hours with this dinky little hyperdrive, so I’m going to have a last shower, a last meal, and a last nap.”
Bucky raised an eyebrow. “It’s gonna take four hours, you honestly think you can sleep?”
Tony had slept under worse conditions. “You have a better idea?”
“If we’re plannin’ our last Will an’ Testament, then yeah, I got a better idea.”
(More below the cut)
[smut]
Tony would never have imagined that Bucky could kiss like that. Or maybe it wasn’t that he couldn’t imagine it, it was that he hadn’t previously done so. It was deep, devouring, devoted. A lot of D words. It took Tony’s brain a second to realize what was going on, reboot into action mode, and get with the damn program, but in that time, Bucky had peeled his own shirt off and was working on the buttons to Tony’s without waiting for so much as a yes, a please, or anything.
Tony’s arms went around Bucky’s neck, running smoothly on autopilot, and his hand speared into that dark hair. It wasn’t love at first sight, Tony told himself. It wasn’t even lust at second glance. It was sheer survival instinct. Copulating either just before, or just after, a near death experience.
It was fine, it was good, and God, Bucky tasted like wine and promises, his tongue sweeping into Tony’s mouth possessively. Tony surrendered unconditionally, gave himself over to the moment. That was always his way, to leap first and look later. Sometimes you gotta run before you can crawl.
One warm hand, one chilly metal hand were on Tony’s hips, tugging him closer until he could feel the definitive pressure of Bucky’s interest. Tony’s heart was trotting along in his chest, obedient to the pace-maker and power source that kept him alive. It was always a strange feeling; he should be out of breath, he should have a racing pulse. And it seemed odd that he didn’t; but the hormone dump was happening anyway, waves of desire and eagerness coming over him in steady pulses.
“How about it, is this a better idea?”
“Maybe,” Tony whispered, because he couldn’t resist being an asshole whenever possible.
“Maybe,” Bucky repeated, grinding on Tony’s thigh and smirking when Tony answered that with a needy moan. “Maybe, he says.”
“Well, I’d just be using you for sex,” Tony explained, flippant, and possibly lying. He wasn’t sure. It’d been a long time for him, out on the Rim of Known Space, where any lover could have been an assassin.
This one, he thought, was one. Honesty. It was novel.
“Think I’ll survive,” Bucky said. “Ain’t a wilting flower.”
Tony slid his hand down the front of Bucky’s pants. “I’d say you’re not, at least.”
Bucky rocked into the touch, groaning.
“Still, this is probably a bad idea,” Tony said, which didn’t keep him from rubbing his palm against Bucky’s length, stroking and teasing and feeling himself getting hard, getting ready. “Attachment can cloud your judgement. You might make a stupid mistake, if you let yourself like me.”
Bucky found Tony’s ear, nipped at the shell, lavished it with warm breath, nipped at the lobe. “So tell me no.”
“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen,” Tony said. “What I’m about to tell you is more, faster, harder.”
“I can do that,” Bucky said, and Tony found himself backed up the few steps until his knees hit the tiny bunk, and then he was pushed down on it. Bucky pushed himself into the vee of Tony’s thighs, rutting down against him, rubbing. Sweet friction, with sharp nips of his teeth against Tony’s neck, shoulder. “Like that?”
“More,” Tony said, and struggled to get his pants undone. They shifted and squirmed around, cursing the lack of space, the number of snaps, the sharp corners that seemed to find elbows and knees to catch at, but eventually enough nudity happened that they could curl together in the bunk, skin to skin.
Bucky stroked his skin, licked at his body, as if he already knew everything that Tony wanted, as if he’d done this a hundred times before. He touched, rubbing with just the right amount of friction, teased with just the right amount of amused cruelty, until they were both aching for it, needy and sweating and thrusting at each other.
Tony dug around in the bedside cabinet, thinking he would curse Fury with a lifetime supply of bad food and decaf if there wasn’t-- ah, there, lube, thank the stars.
“Roll over,” Tony ordered, and Bucky was keen enough to obey. Tony ran a hand down his body, livid scars and thick muscle. Beautiful, really. Like a map of the stars. Tony straddled him, his knees bracketing Bucky’s hips, rubbing them together. “You want to do this, or let me get us ready quick?”
“You,” Bucky said, his blue eyes all but black with lust-shot dilation. “Wanna watch, you do it, baby.”
“I’m just using you for sex,” Tony reminded him, his mouth twitching up in a sardonic smirk.
“So use me already.”
Tony lubed up his fingers and reached between his legs to start the process. Wet and stretch. He wasn’t gentle with himself, he didn’t take time to build up to it. He wanted, and he wanted it now, so now was what he was getting. He was almost grateful that Bucky’d refused the offer to tease him, even if they would learn each other better that way. Or maybe not. Maybe those soft, sniper’s eyes of his were memorizing everything that Tony did, every movement he made, ever sound that came out of his throat.
Didn’t matter. Soon enough, Tony was balanced over Bucky’s hips, hands planted on his chest, lowering himself onto Bucky’s cock.
They moved together, slick and slow. The liquid sound of their lovemaking filled the small cabin. Sometimes Bucky moaned, sometimes Tony gasped, and it kept going, thrusts and slides, the way they moved together, the way they were together.
Dreamy, languid, hot and slick, Tony lost himself in it, moving as if the whole goal was to move, to belong, to be with someone else. And not just someone, but that specific person. As if he’d lived his entire life for these few precious moments.
When pressure built, a tingle in his hips, a clenching of his thighs, curling of his toes, Tony was almost surprised.
Like he’d forgotten where all of this could lead.
Bucky was breathing harder, hips snapping up to meet Tony’s, his hands digging in, fingers tight on Tony’s thighs, and--
Tony shuddered all over and clenched, everything building to one pinprick of white hot, molten pleasure, before he gasped, quivered, and came, spurting over Bucky’s chest, dripping along his side, spilling onto the bed.
Beneath him, Bucky thrust up, again, the tight, hot feel of it almost too much, and then he was crying out, too, their sounds and screams intermingled into a song of wanton joy.
Tony collapsed onto him, trying to pant for breath and his chest aching when the modifications to his heart and lungs wouldn’t let him.
But it was okay. They could rest here, for a while.
They could rest.
Bucky chuckled after a while, petting Tony’s hair fondly. “I’m jus’ using you for sex,” he told Tony.
Tony managed to lift his head and give Bucky a not-particularly noteworthy glare. “Best news I’ve heard all day. When do you plan to use me again?”
[end smut]
Tony hooked the space-cable up to the coffin-like sleep capsule. He’d already checked and double checked. Cap was alive, in perfect hibernation. “Rogers is ready for transport,” he reported.
“Copy that,” Bucky’s voice filtered down to him through miles of space, atmosphere, under tons of ocean. “Seven minutes, eighteen seconds remaining on my mark. And mark.”
“No sign of the tesseract. Are we sure it’s down here?”
“It’s presumed. Five minutes, Tony, that’s all we can spare.”
“I’m looking, I’m looking. You got any readings for me on unusual energy output?”
“Everything on that ice ball is a fucking unusual energy output,” Bucky complained. “This shit’s wreaking havoc with our systems. Pretty lights and sounds, but useless.”
“Going to have to do it the old fashioned way, then,” Tony said. “Grope around and hope I get lucky.”
Tony searched, even as hard as it was to move under the sea, as cold as he was -- and he knew that the liquid around him was even colder -- and as dark as it was. He was pretty sure he’d read something, somewhere, about the tesseract glowing, so he should be able to see it, if he just got close enough.
“Four minutes, Tony.”
He looked under the pilot’s chair, around Cap’s fridge unit, in corners where it might have drifted in the tide.
“Three minutes.”
“Copy that.”
He half-swam, half pushed his way into the second bay, even darker with no windows to catch the glow of the primary, so far away.
“Two minutes, Tony, go back to the capsule.”
“I hear you.”
“Tony!”
“Wait, wait, I’ve got it,” Tony said, seeing a glimmer of blue, impossibly far away. He’d never make it and make it back in time, but-- he had to try, didn’t he? If he didn’t get it, he was as good as dead in less than a month anyway, right?
“One minute, Tony, turn around!”
“I told you not to get attached.”
“Tony, please!”
Tony’s hand closed on the cube, which flared to life and awareness in his hands.
“Haul him up, Barnes,” Tony said, staring at the device in his hands, the sheer power of it shaking him all the way down to his core. “I can’t get back, you have to save one life.”
“Tony--”
Tony touched his ear, turning off the comm unit.
“Show me,” he said to the tesseract, twisting the cube and letting the stone inside it float in mid air near him. “Show me everything.”
Tony almost didn’t make it in time; the suit’s integrity was showing at less than three percent when he finally made the Space Stone take him where he needed it to, just inside the airlock.
He stepped through the portal, a rip in the fabric of space, just in time to see Bucky, standing over Cap’s pod, slam that metal fist into the reinforced wall.
“Uh, can I convince you not to compromise hull integrity?” Tony wondered, letting the helmet dissolve and gasping for air.
“Tony, you son of a bitch, what the hell?” And then Tony was being hugged too hard to explain. “Stars, you’re cold--”
Bucky pulled away, already shivering.
“Yeah, it’s not comfortable down there,” Tony said. “Luckily, I found a faster way to travel.” He held up the cube with the Space Stone tucked back neatly inside.
“Is, uh… that--”
“Yep.”
“So, now we can travel to anywhere in the universe?”
“In seconds.”
“Great. Because Steve needs a doctor,” Bucky said, nodding slowly, like he was planning out a route. “And I need a great deal of Asgardian meade. And then we need a really nice, big bed.”
“Still just using me for sex?”
“Once you warm up a bit,” Bucky said.
“Sounds like an agenda,” Tony replied. “I think I can rig this into the hyperdrive as a temporary measure.”
“I’ll get you a cup of coffee and let you get to work,” Bucky said.
“I think I might be using you for more than just sex,” Tony said, reverently.
“Best news I’ve heard all day.”
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kado-maschine · 3 years
Text
How to be alone?
Everyone has problems right? Those who don't, either don't understand what the term problem means, or they are inanimate matter, but even inanimate matter has problems too because of entropy.
Anyhow, my scariest bogeyman is that at best I can't make a relationship work, and at worst I even avoid the chance of having one. Why? If I want to put it simply, fuck knows. Thing is that I'm not gonna put it simple this time, as what I have learned from fake news propagated by Russian troll armies is that everything that is simple, sensational and easy to understand is not very productive apart from having the intention to muddy the waters and serve a very select few by doing so.
Since my interest is to clarify things for my own good (and maybe help or at least entertain others), truth is the name of the game with this writing (whatever it turns out to be). If there will be no other benefits, at least I’m going to be  able to cross off the mental task off my imaginary to do list.
One day, after having a rather enjoyable horse at the vet sensation, as I went to bed I had the same sensation that I was having as a child on countless occasions when I couldn't sleep or woke up randomly during the night. The bed, the sheets and most importantly the pillows felt like they are made some rigid, abrasive material, that is also disgusting. It felt like being embraced by disgust and bitterness. Normally my bed and I are best buddies, I love to sleep and I had no problem falling asleep on a beam bag in the middle of the office, during business hours. The chemistry was also supposed to help, not to deteriorate. Fast forward a few weeks while sitting on the bed and drinking a cuba made of free rum and overpriced PEPSI from the hotel's mini fridge I'm trying to figure out, when and why was I having problems with sleep before and when was I sleeping like a baby and why. In recent history, since my memory is one very slippery slope, the answer is a no, a no regarding detectable issues with my sleep. It is a no, as long as all the nights spent with gaming, night shifts or digging through obscure forums to find a track in a mix somewhere between minute 53 and 57 are not considered. Reflecting on the whole experience described above, I must have had trouble sleeping when I was a really small child and I was missing a lot. As I was growing up things got gradually better. By the time I was in high school the wardrobe have been conquered and turned into my gaming nest. The gaming room hosted my first gaming pc that I built piece by piece from a shitty Athlon that dad got screwed over by some "friend" and beloved games that kept me glued to the screen for hours on end. After the PC came my first car, job, girlfriend and slowly but surely as I moved away from my parents my own life really started to take shape. I have slept better and better. Now, armed with a mortgage, with two cars that possibly cost as much put together as a front bumper for a brand new BMW M3, two cats who are by far not the smartest but they keep me company and are cute af, two bicycles, a bunch of computers and a job that I'm grateful to have and one that fits my questionable attitude towards work, I yet again arrived to the point where the quality of my sleep is degrading faster than a space capsule entering the atmosphere, despite all the the things listed above were part of what I was dreaming of as a child and teenager/student.
Despite all of these, I'm oscillating between two states when it comes to sleep. One is the depression sleep, after taking a long hard look at my backlog that reaches to the Moon and back at least five times, taking a nap seems to be the only viable option, or multiple naps, or a humongous sleep where the only thing that can get me out of bed is the need to pee. The other one is the let's try to solve all of my problems in a purely theoretical manner, right before sleep, going over the same problems over and over, while making wild conspiracy theories about myself, because of the purely hypothetical setting. This mental kung-fu under some circumstances can turn into the above mentioned “being embraced by disgust” thing. How did I get here?
I've seen people being happier while having a lot less. What is that they have and I do not possess? Intimacy, I guess by the power of exclusion. Of course I could just short this whole thing before it gets off the ground, as a self-proclaimed good capitalist. I could say that If I can make enough money, someone will fake it for me for the financial benefit and as long as this someone does the thing right and tricks to my brain, I couldn't give less a of a fuck, or could I? Anyhow, with my current work ethic of extracting as much resources as possible form as little invested work as possible puts a cap on my earnings that limits my financial possibilities to roadside STD intimacy. Shut up! - screams the humanist from somewhere between repressed emotions and avoided social responsibilities. You have to make things work, otherwise you're just treating the symptoms, but the root cause remains and will re-surface over and over again - he continues. Now, call me Susan and you know the rest...  A multitude of attempts were made to solve this mess, so I kept failing in various ways. Yes, my now my mantra is "failure, failure, failure, failure, failure, success, failure, failure, success". Despite this attitude, one can only take so many failures before feeling exhausted and gets worse at the task on hand because of said tiredness and fails even more. People also tend to tell me that I need to learn to be happy alone. Please, shut the fuck up. Despite my shitposting, which i find genuinely funny, good and somewhat toxic way of escapism, I can be happy when I'm alone. Just to bring one example to the table, the road to this very hotel room where I'm writing this whatever right now, took me through one of the twistiest mountain passes that gets you outside of the Carpathian basin, the road goes through the city of Cheia (BV) and it has dozens upon dozens of hairpins one after another and miles upon miles of narrow, twisty roads with a bunch of elevation changes. My right foot just couldn’t care about fuel consumption. With my tires squealing in almost every corner and I was laughing loudly in the car, spanking the dash and shouting "ohh yea" while I could let the steering wheel loose for a few seconds. Dancing alone in the living room when the track of the week or month hits out of the blue, or when the right people at the right party are found to have "deep" conversations about whatever stupid topics that our brain soaking in whatever cocktail finds to be fit for purpose. The thing is, if one spent somewhere in the neighbourhood of six years trying all the gizmos and distractions of the modern society to make him or herself be happy without intimacy and succeeded to some extent, but at the same time realized that hundreds of thousands of years of evolutional biology and al the workflows tied into it cannot be cheated in a lifespan, what are the limits for being happy alone?
I have reached a point where the things that cause me unconditional pleasure are getting very complicated, time consuming, expensive or dangerous, like buying car parts, pushing transportation devices to their limits, gambling with bs crypto currencies or trying to learn skills with a heck of a learning curve, not to mention experimenting with chemically induced changes in my brain activity. I have also reached a point where it gets harder and harder to trick my biology. The ape says reproduce, while this in the modern era where global warming is prevalent and innocent eyed orphans  are making t-shirts in Bangladesh for next to nothing in a sweatshop, while China’s rivers deliver more plastic to the oceans than water kind world makes no sense. I could  at least fool the ape with just having someone around and occasionally making love or engaging in other forms of intimacy. At least the thresholds would be closer and it would be a lot simpler to fool the inner ape and the hormone levels wouldn't need to filled up with lies that much. Besides the raw biological teardown, having someone around as a partner where the positive interactions outweigh the negative ones could be the basis of a symbiosis between two humans.
If some intimacy / sex / company would help, why I’m not having any? - the question poses. In theory, the ins and outs have been mapped out. It all started, as it mostly does, during childhood. The marriage of my parents went totally south when my sister was born and I had 4 years, so my long term memory just started working. This meant that my memory had no part of seeing a single act of intimacy of my primary caregivers towards each other, just shouting, aside from my grandmother and my favourite aunt giving me a hug sometimes. It was a real battle zone where a few hours without shouting were far and few between. This and a lot of other shit that my parents were haunted by, courtesy of their own pasts gave me exactly zero knowledge on how to read woman. I’m basically fucking blind. Even if I was any good at maths I would loose count of the occasions when someone told me, “Look at that girl / woman, how she’s looking at us / you” and I had to ask where to look, in terms of general direction, not to mention the ability to pick up small signs. How do I see the sign, if a year or so have passed since we ’been together and I didn’t know the eye colour of my first girlfriend. Sounds surprising right? Well, when batshit crazy is considered normal for the first 20 years of your life, climbing out of that perspective has quite a learning curve. If that learning curve weren’t damn steep enough as is, add a stupid decision to it, and be very disciplined about that stupid decision for years, and the shitstorm will be near perfect. But I come back to the near perfection of the shitstorm in a bit.
First of all, how about that first girlfriend and the stupid decision? I think I might have been 18yo when I had my first kiss and I was 19yo when I met my first girlfriend. I would have never ended up her boyfriend if I wasn’t drunk on a particular party and were just kissed by another girl who was into me boosting my morale, the cherry on the top of the cake being that I knew from a friend of my sister that my would be ex was into me. All these factors played into the hand of a relationship that lasted two and a half years and could have been a major leaping stone for me. She looked gorgeous and a chemistry was spot on. We learned things together and I learned how and where and when to touch a woman. Since I was still in the grasp of the narrow conservative (small rural town, what do you expect?) mindset I did and said a bunch of things I’m not proud of. Hopefully she learnt more from those lessons as much as I did or even more. So, why wasn’t this relationship the bridge between my loneliness and the ability to have functioning relationships? Why instead of being a leaping stone I stumbled and fell into a ditch head first?
When it ended, the feeling was so shitty, that the most logical conclusion to my very simplistic mind was to avoid feeling like that again altogether, therefore becoming cold and distant become the primary guidelines. Six years of loneliness ensued. Going without sex, kissing anyone or hugging could be easily measured in moths or even a year. Months have passed between occasional one night stands, where the hunter was determined or drunk enough to not to care about my cluelessness, or the hunted was drunk enough to not to be totally unapproachable or clueless or both. Even if they were looking to turn the one night stand into multiple nights or maybe a relationship, due to the long stretches of loneliness and due to the weird sexual expectations that arose during said long stretches of nothingness, I felt so weird and ashamed of myself, that I turned down further invitations and couldn’t bring myself to talk to them. Basically, from their perspective, I had sex with them, than I disappeared in the ether. I have managed to show myself in a successful a-hole kind a way, while I felt like the most unlucky, ugly and talentless piece of shit (now that’s what I call “an achievement”).
Despite the fact that I found myself highly repulsive for a long time, hiding behind sunglasses and foundation I had enough self confidence to let woman try. And boy oh boy, they did try. Those who were more desperate were more determined, while those who had multiple choices open had a look, maybe had some fun and than left seeing the vast cluster of insecurities behind the sketchy façade that looked enticing from a distance, but fell apart upon closer inspection. People told me that I was good looking and I should have a girlfriend and I truly believed for years that they were only saying this to save face. Now, looking back, I’m starting to realize that I’m not ugly, I might even be good looking by some metrics. This realization came as the memory lane of old pictures was revisited again and again. Upon closer inspection all the woman around me, hugging me, giving me kisses on photos became evident. It is one thing that I couldn’t capitalize on any of that, but I realized, how lucky am I that genetics favoured me. Elsewise, if the gene pool wouldn’t have been kind to me at least in this department, I would be the most neglected man, considering my social and dating skills. Or the lack thereof, to be more precise. One thing to be grateful for.
Before this realization occurred, I shit you not, I had to realize first, that the policy I applied after I broke up with my first girlfriend was seriously affecting me. It was like one of those cases, when a temporary workaround is put in place for something, everyone forgets about it, than it causes a major shitstorm in the long run when something breaks down the line, messing up a forgotten but needed dependency. Before this realization life went by casually in a perfect state of cognitive dissonance, by not willing to open up for anyone, not willing to pay attention to anyone’s feelings and yet craving intimacy and blaming the world for not providing any.
So ok, during the time it took for the realization to kick in some amazing woman drifted away. ”What do you do now, you dumb fucking bitch?” - asks one part of the brain. “Well, you stand up, use less swearwords, or edit them out later and keep moving on hoping that each failure at least landed some useful experience points that can be used as a solid base for improvement.” - says the other. So this is how the journey of relationship 101 and emotion handling begun.
Phase 1. Trying to establish a relationship, but being emotionally unavailable.
There’s was a girl who added me on facebook after after a party and somehow I managed to puzzle the picture together. She was there, she saw me playing music, she liked me and she tried to reach out. We have started talking, we have started going out and we kept going out without me doing any advances for 3 moths, when she finally had enough and invited me over to her place to watch Narcos. That night was followed by a relationship that lasted approx two months when she kicked me out, calling me insensitive and unable to care for her emotionally. She was totally right.
Moving on, I drop a comment on some meme posted by one of the girls I met at the University a few years ago. She replies to my comment, I reply to hers, the discussion moves to chat. After a couple of days she tells me that she is coming home from abroad and we shall meet. I agree. The meeting happens, other things happen, we get along really well, meet two more times and consider ourselves to be in a long distance relationship. She’s very enthusiastic, wants to communicate with me, she’s being cute and I’m still 100% emotionally unavailable. When I finally decide to visit her, after dragging the topic for months, she cuts me loose. Rightfully so. Off course, I delete her from social media, and decide that whatever, I’ll make enough money so someone will stay with me for that, even if I’m an emotional iceberg laced with titanium (un-fucking-penetrable). What an utterly crappy response to being rejected, says captain hindsight.
Phase 2. Overflow.
Next up, wasted on party (but in a mildly good way) and another girl who remembers me from a festival that took place years ago initiates a conversation and I end up hanging out with her and all of her girlfriends. We party, we talk, we decide to go to an after at their place. Due to administrative reasons when I get there only one of them is there, so we start talking. Meanwhile people are arriving, chemicals are wearing off and kicking in, dynamics change. Finally everyone gives in and we sleep together. The next day (because the next days always counts from the moment when you wake up) we talk, have a long walk, I unload a mental excel of pros and cons about myself to her since honesty can only be good (later on my psychologist tells me the contrary, since what I do is scary and things should be let to unravel by themselves) and I leave town.  After my short city break is over we decide to meet and she’s over at my place before I could blink. We start hanging out more and more. Even If I have the tendency to make the same mistakes over and over again, just to be sure that they are mistakes and I have mastered the recipe, this time I knew that I have to open myself up. The theoretical part was ok, as the plan was to move slowly and open myself up step by step over an extended period of time.  Unfortunately the gap between theory and practice sometimes can accommodate a few light years in between, so all of the emotions that I managed to bottle up over the years managed to get out after only a few careful steps. She had her own problems, I had mine and they didn’t make a good combination, but a rather unfortunate one. Disregarding the fact that I have tried to invest emotionally, I still couldn’t care for her emotional needs. The whole thing blew up in my face, basically. Being blind to anything that is less obvious than she suddenly turning to me in the middle of the night and saying, “I have to go home”,  and having the alarm of something is not right going off is not the hallmark of being ready for a relationship. Another part of the lecture was that revealing rating systems to woman about woman is a double edged ice cream that mostly licks back instead of being licked. For those who don’t view the world from an engineering / mathematical (call it as you fancy) perspective, there are people out there who measure and categorize everything. This in a relation means that the relevant parameters like, looks, intelligence (or the lack thereof), like mindedness, biological match, size of the cultural gap (if applies), financial and social situation are all measured on a scale and the weighted average tells if the other person is a match or not, and how good a match it is. Unfolding this information in my situation turned out to be a major no-no. Based on the very narrow sample, I was convinced that this is how it is and I should never again reveal my rating system ever again. Luckily, lately a friend of mine told me that his girlfriend appreciated this kind of approach, so the analytics based way of thinking is not my mental dead end, only it has to be used after a lot of observation and in the right situation with the right people as the “target audience” seems to be quite small. By the time we got to the point of me revealing my rating system, red flags were flying all over. Thing is red flags are easy to miss even with experience not to mention barely having any. When you add that up to the fact that you need a planetary alignment that occurs every 5000 years to be able to get close to someone, you also finally manage to let your guard down and you know that giving up on things is generally considered bad and dedication is king, those red flags are rendered inexistent in the quantum soup of thoughts. All of the above combined leads to the materialization of one very specific dynamic in attachment theory, where the anxious one is trying to get closer and to invest more in general, while the avoidant is getting further and further away, creating a situation where both feel frustrated. Fast forward a little (as the whole thing lasted two months), she cuts me loose and I have no clue how to deal with the tsunami of the emotions that are now very much on the surface and the pink cloud that acted as a distraction is gone and the withdrawal starts to kick in. A downward spiral begins that ends with being so desperate to escape the sensation of a panic attack being one mental “block” away that I start taking random meds and drinking, because at one point they have to override my emotions. I don’t want to kill myself per se, but I made peace with the thought that if I need to die to escape that state of mind, I’m fine with it.
Luckily since I’m an attention whore, I’m not doing this in total silence and even if I’m not being totally upfront about it, my friends and people who are not my friends but are nice people and just care realize that something is off and rush in to help. Their intentions are really good, however, most of them are not experts and just share their best practices. Five or six best practices in, one is confused as fekk. This confusion is that finally pushes me through the barrier to seek professional help. Luck was by my side as I found a psychologist I could work with from the get go. As we were moving forward with therapy I was still trying to resuscitate a very dead relationship. The contrast between my interactions with the therapist and my ex were miles apart. While I was still rowing the waters “make her feel sorry for me” and told her how I tried to get my overboiling emotions in check, scaring her tremendously, creating a mess of emotions for both of us, the how's and whys and the to-dos were very clear during therapy. At one point the psychologist said that “You see the situation very clearly, you are also very conscious about what you did and what are the possible ramifications of your actions and you also have a plan as to how to fix them, why are you here?” My answer was simple: “While I’m in a state of rest, where I’m not being cornered by my own emotions all is clear, however, once shit hits the fan, all of the logic that was nicely put together goes out of the window and I start acting borderline crazy”.
As the therapy sessions flew by and the links to my ex started to fade, things ere starting to stabilize. All that was left is what I call “light general depression”. Light general depression is exactly what its name stands for. It doesn’t contain joy (apart from chain-smoking, watching tons of YouTube videos about video games and cars, binge eating pizza and ice cream and drinking herculean amounts of rum), existing feels bad and pointless, but it is not terrible, there are no big ups and downs and existence in this state can go on for extended periods time. As one of these days passed by as experienced from the warm hug of an unnecessarily long bath I randomly texted a friend to see what is she up to. She was hanging out by herself, drinking and asked me if I wanted to join, so I did. By the time I got there another woman was at the table. Nothing special, we introduced ourselves and carried on drinking. I did not find this new addition to my pool of acquaintances physically attractive, that under normal circumstances could have been a trigger, however she was very intriguing. As the alcohol levels in our blood gained an ever larger foothold, the discussion suddenly turned into one of those that go down the rabbit hole of serious emotions and life experiences. I love these discussions (hence the experience, wink wink), they are the bread and butter of why am I socializing. It is almost pointless to say that as the discussion turned into the two of us going on a philosophical rampage about depression and explaining the how’s and why’s to anyone around us the spark went off. Finally, as the night came to a close and everyone said their goodbyes only the two of us were left walking the through the streets bursting with nightlife telling more and more intimate stories about ourselves. As we reached her place and said goodbye I got stuck in the mental loop of what to do after a meeting and discussion like this. Luckily she promptly bypassed the situation by shaking my hand and telling me something along the lines of “till next time”. The next day the temptation was simply irresistible not to stalk her online. By the time I got a glimpse of her through her profile her friend request already landed safely.
She left town for a few weeks (if I’d be religious or into spiritual stuff, I’d say there’s a link to the previous relationship, luckily I am not, life is just hugely random), but we agreed that I would take her to party when she comes back, since she haven’t been to one since her son was born. Meanwhile I also found out that she had what she described as a “sort of boyfriend”. While all of this was unravelling my brain dripping with curiosity kicked me into higher and higher gears as my taste of the unusual and complicated got ever more triggered. Finally the day of the party came and it was the best party I ever attended where I didn’t like the music at all. We really connected. Looking back at that level of connection, I couldn’t tell if we were really alike in some terms and hugely different in others, or she is just simply darn good at showing what people would like to see. A few days later she invited me to watch a movie, we watched the whole movie without me totally being unable to do any advances, again, unless we finally decided to sleep. Things happened. That night was the starting point of a journey that lasted 7 months and included lots of love, lots of desperation, living together with ex boyfriends, handling a spoiled 4 year old boy, discussing and trying to come to terms with a father that got lost in the ether, lots of calculated action combined with a shit-ton of impulsivity and lot more. What I learned in this relationship about trauma, falling victim of compensating for trauma, overusing resources without considering the future, keeping something useless and counterproductive in your life just because it makes you feel superior, utterly useless - clueless and spoiled people, the consequences of being inconsistent in a child’s education hopefully could fill pages on its own, If I managed to learn something. All of this is still just scratching the surface. The full and detailed version of said list serves material for more writings as this paragraph could go on for dozens of pages, but it won’t to avoid further side-tracking. Also, some of these lessons still need processing time for the sake of being able to paint a picture that is more accurate rather than soaked with emotions. What is certain is that at least one writing (if not more) about overprotective parents running the risk of handicapping their children, involuntary hostage taking and kindness as a useless perk if not accompanied by other skills will come at one point. With the this pitch out of the way, let’s get back to the relationship itself. To put it simply, there was this man, dressed in black from head to toe, wearing black nail polish occasionally, being a strong proponent for nihilism and putting himself at risk for the excitement of being exposed to risk while also testing all sorts of limits because an “engineer” has to know the limits, right? During the course of a few months this man had a child seat in the back of his car, learned how to micromanage educational failures by measuring, not just feeling and truly cared for the wellbeing of a few people. He had the impression that he found his place in a world where he previously tried to fill the void by proving the pointlessness of life through reckless (and very fun) activities. Thrusters were set to 110% as the pink fog of “this is it, we have to commit and do this” descended on the brain cells locked in a hormone fuelled frenzy. Finally I experienced a Christmas where I felt happy and loved instead of trying to avoid conflict and hating the world in general.
While I was working on getting myself involved in a hot, crazy mess, thrusters 110% on, I happened to stay at my former flatmate’s parents for two days. I love going there, not just because it served as a perfect base for a weekend of partying, but it is one of those places where a family functions in a symbiosis, not co-dependence. Very-very-very fucking important difference. I love to see how people interact with one another when the main driving force is not fear, but understanding, where attachment comes from the light, not darkness. Even now it makes me to slightly tear up to know, that family can be good, not something to avoid as much as possible, if handled properly. Sights like these give hope. Anyhow, before this detour gets too big, I had good chat with my ex flatmate’s mom where she told me “Kado, don’t look for woman who fit you best, look for someone simple who is capable to learn”. Objectively speaking, this was the best advice I ever received about dating. Worry not, this will not be left unexplained, jut not right now.
So with this advice in mind, the weekend ended and the quest of getting myself deeper into the murky waters of chronic co-dependence was back. As the first few months of the relation flew by and we went from low profile affair to we’re together now and everyone should know about it, more and more details emerged of an ex that could only commit to a relationship when the imminent loss of her partner is present. It also became clear that his incompetence serves as his major attraction, since a man that is kind, but lacks any purpose and logic to derive any said purpose is highly desirable for an ego that cherishes being superior. It became evident how this dynamic eroded seven or so years of the than “woman of my dreams” into a quagmire. My nativity was strong enough to redirect the previously mentioned thrusters to pull her out of the quagmire by the power of micromanagement. The end result hovering in the distance was that my help could propel her to regain traction. As soon as she will be  in a better place and I can get just a bit more of those tiny glimpses of her former happy self, we’ll be on track to create what we referred to as a “power couple”. However, one thing that flew under my radar and finally led to the demise of this premise was an important conclusion drawn after years of being a cog in the corporate machine. Never give 100%, maybe at the beginning, but not even then. Not to talk about 110%, as no person can operate on those levels for months on end, unless driven by amphetamines or coke, but that will take an even higher price in the longer run. If one still decides to go down this path, burnout will be just around the corner. When said burnout meets with someone who needs therapy rather than relationships, shit will go down. Empathy will run out after the same mistake leads to the same crisis for the zillionth time, emotional attachment generates fear in conjunction with each re-occurring crisis and “the you shouldn’t do this, you should do that” tone prevails. The thing is, if I look at my ability to get very cruel, cold and calculating when feeling emotionally cornered as gift or as a curse, it doesn’t matter, it still happens. Detailing to a mother how others managed to solve something with relative ease that she couldn’t or barely could and that she should do this and that, in that situation is a major no-no. I think when it comes about parenting, egos flight higher than Icarus. As one of the cornerstones of empathy is to try to put yourself in the shoes of others, I tired imagining how it could feel like if someone, dunnoh, attacked me because I can’t do maths for shit, or that I have a tendency to abandon my plans. In conclusion, the grey matter sitting inside this skull that is producing these lines might just feel comfortable when it comes to shedding ego. Whit our dynamics auto optimizing themselves to counteract one another in a pretty toxic way, the inevitable happened. We agreed that we can’t understand one another no more, therefore it was time to break up.
In order to minimize the pain a full communication lockdown went in effect to add another twist to the Covid-19 lockdown. This combined with making a few new friends while doubling down on substance abuse spiced with getting into relapse territory with other woman got me ticking along. I think it is pointless to say that this mechanism used for calming emotions wasn’t the best. First, natural coping mechanisms were obliterated even before getting a theoretical shape, not to talk about trying them and maybe getting some experience, second, these coping mechanisms took their own toll on my body and psyche and third, they crumbled in the very moment when my ex reached out to me to normalize our relation as two human beings who happen to know one another. It only took a few hours for the stream of emotions to turn into whirlpool of anger and darkness where my criminal mind flourishes. And boy do I have a criminal mind. When the going gets rough it isn’t like I can’t control myself and start shouting, and throwing things around. No-no, it’s not like that at all, but it is like making plans, evil plans, plans that would make a drug cartel hitman nod in approval. The way these “solutions” from the dark end of the spectrum interact with checks and balances look like: “what I would say of a totally unrelated person who does that” or “what were the consequences if my plans were revealed and such”. This time, all these impulses distilled in ever more frequent and strategic use of creating constructive ambiguity by selectively revealing secrets and manipulation. The cherry on the top was put in place when she reached out to me when she tried to re-establish post breakup communication, consisting in grabbing all sorts of dark echoes that race through my mind, amplifying them and revealing them to her in order to make sure that she’ll be convinced that I’m a horrible, dangerous and aggressive person underneath, therefore she’ll never attempt to communicate with me, ever. It wasn’t nice, at all, but it was violence free apart from me running my mouth and it worked, for a while.
So far so good, the plan worked great. I made friends with new people, both offline and online and I had a few who were interested in me and maybe still are (as you might have noticed so far, can’t really tell). The plan was to get some mileage into the game and get more experience points and to learn, for which diversity is essential. There was a week where I had 4 dates, with 2 happening on the very same day. Result? Let’s not call it a total fucking bummer, but let’s go with a “valuable lesson”, ok? Why? One person stood out and everybody else faded into the shadows of absolute zero interest.
People who intrigue me are the ones that I feel a longing for. These are the people who have my instant and unconditional support as soon as they ask, these are the people I’m paying attention to and these are the people that I use as examples to follow in certain walks of life. So, there was one date who stood out and baaam, just like that, interest for anyone else vanished like lines from a broken phone screen at a rave. This one person turned out to be someone who exploits life just as I do, or even to a greater extent when the conditions are set. She likes adrenaline, playing around with thoughts not being afraid to be cut by some rough edges, going fast, views substances as mere tools, not like something good or bad and last but not least, she is the best looking, besides ticking a few other boxes. Did all the positives yielded a relationship or even a one night stand? Absolutely not. Was this a problem? Maybe from the perspective of my reproductive instincts, but from any other perspectives, it was interesting at worst and beneficiary at best. There are a bunch of people who tell good and bad Tinder date stories, however I haven’t heard a single one up to date that could match the level of renovate a bathroom on a tinder date. The bathroom turned out to be something both of us are showing with pride and I have learned about the ins and outs of tiling. It was also refreshing to see when a relationship between two people is based more in rational thinking than dragged by emotions, as it was the perfect contrast for my ex girlfriend who basically managed to turn a life of success into a quagmire by giving the executive powers to her unhinged emotions.
What have we learned?
When a bunch of things fail to be turned into happy factories, let it be hedonism, creativity, hard work, sport or other kinds of hobbies, all kick in the feeling of “geez, I did that, but the I have to get to the next level to evade boredom and constantly levelling up is hard work” so doing literally anything gets turned into a chore. Shitting and washing ass can feel like a chore, just like hanging out with friends can so one inevitably pulls out the good old question of “is my brain just unable to make the happy stuff and if so, what’s the purpose of living?”. After talking with quite a few people who contemplated suicide, or people who lost a loved one to suicide, one thing was clear from the get go, I will not hang myself. Based on the frequency of suicide by hanging I can only conclude that people either have a huge imbalance between being emotionally driven or just simply being very sick and incapable of any rational thought. Why? Death by suffocation combined with the rupture of the spinal cord sounds like the worst thing ever. On the other hand, driving into a solid concrete wall at any speed near 100 km/h is guaranteed death. Driving into a solid wall at 200 km/h is massive overkill and it could be proven as an accident which could make lives for relatives easier if tricky life insurance policies are in place. Finances aside, there are other policies in place for reasons like seeing the misery of those who get left behind to live and let all the people who I consider idiots to outlive me. Like seriously, if some have been labelled as idiots by some metrics of mine and they outlive me, it means that my metrics and the logic based on those metrics was flawed, proven by my very demise.
So yea, what do you do when relationships don’t work out, you can’t seem to obtain them and self destruction is also off the table? Well, since we’re all caged to some degree due to the pandemic and I already raised my alcohol tolerance to stellar levels, it was the damn time to get myself busy. To really dig into my job and to force myself to do tasks that I have just passed to someone saying I can’t hack it, to start reading stuff, to start learning stuff to start exercising and most important of all, to create routines. Routines are awesome. If nothing makes sense, at least that nothing is done on a regular basis and the very fact that nothing amounts to anything if done on a daily basis is kind of a feet and gives a chance to dopamine production.
I have also learned that having sex after a hiatus of 10 months doesn’t improve things as much as I thought, which is good, because it also means that things do not degrade a lot from prolonged abstinence.
Where to now? I guess I’ll just try focusing on myself rather than trying to please others by forcing myself into the “normie puzzle”. I’ll leave myself open for options, since it would be rather counterproductive to Sméagol hiss away anyone who tries to approach me, but it might happen nonetheless.
And one last bit before I cut this writing short at the 11th or so page... If you’re interested in me, do something. Playing the get hard card just plain simply won’t work. If I don’t get any feedback like in a 50-50 distribution style I’ll feel discouraged and move on. I’m also plain stupid when it comes to decoding slight hints (as I’ve hinted at multiple times in this text). Be blunt about it, otherwise it might go totally unnoticed. Last but not least, if you’re not interested, please don’t fekking smile at me and more importantly don’t touch me. I know, theoretically that people can be nice with one another without wanting more, but it doesn’t work for me. If you do that, I’ll reach out to spend more time together, you’ll gonna reject me and I’m going to throw you on the pile failed attempts that is getting ever more poisonous and has a high chance of totally wrecking my mood by the time someone genuinely interested would come about.
I might also try to get more disciplined since it took me more than five months to throw up these characters. I sincerely hope that I wasted your time in a way that some part of what I wrote resonates with you, maybe helps you or you found it amusing at least. Peace out.
Update: some things have changed since I wrote this piece, I got new pieces of information and the story of my craziest adventure got a healthy boost. However, if I were to re-write and edit this text in accordance to all those things, it is highly possible that it would never come out. As one of my favourite hot rod builder puts it “Lower your expectations until you reach your goals”.
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Idiots Bonus Scene: What’s in the Box?
I was trying to write the next full chapter of this story, but I kept coming back to this little scene and it was distracting so I wrote it down. Hope you enjoy the bonus backstory!
Author: fangirlwonder (wordsandwonder on AO3)
Warning: Minor (like unnamed and never mentioned before or likely after this) character death and mentions of alcoholism and neglect of a child.
Unbeta’d (and also written at like 3am, so my apologies for any mistakes and/or straight up bad writing, lol)
Sitting cross-legged on his bed with the now open shoebox in his lap, Kid couldn’t stop the huge grin from spreading across his face. “Man, I told you there’d be porn.”
Killer shook his head disapprovingly, but chuckled nonetheless as he held the beat-up magazine gingerly between two fingers. “Uh-huh. I can’t believe I let you put this in here when it’s so obviously, uh … well used.”
“Hey, you probably used it too.”
The blonde glanced pointedly at the cover, then back to his friend. “I seriously doubt that. This sort of thing is much more your style.”
Kid snatched the magazine back and looked it over fondly. “Fine. Then you don’t mind if I keep it.”
“I really, really don’t,” Killer agreed with another small laugh. “Law might, but I don’t. What else have we got in there?”
“Well, looks like we have a … what the fuck? We have a brick?”
Killer took the brick from Kid and examined it thoughtfully. “Ohhh, you know what? I bet it’s from the arcade.”
“Oh yeah!” Kid exclaimed, brightening. “From when they almost tore it down with us still inside it, protesting.”
“If I remember correctly we were actually sleeping at the time.”
“Well, yeah. We had gotten up really fucking early to go protesting, we were tired.”
“We were idiots.”
Kid flashed a thousand watt smile at the man. “Yeah, but we had fun.”
Shaking his head again, Killer leaned over to peer into the box. “Is that a broken bottle?”
Kid’s smile faded slowly as he pulled out what was, in fact, a broken beer bottle. “Oh … shit. Why the hell-“
“Is that the bottle you used …”
“Yeah.”
Killer’s mouth tightened into a thin line as he nodded. “Yeah. I guess we did do this that summer, huh?”
“Why the fuck did we keep this?” Kid asked again, frowning at the jagged brown glass.
In a voice so quiet Kid almost missed it, Killer ignored his question to ask, “Hey, is … do you see, maybe …”
He didn’t have to finish his sentence for Kid to know what he was talking about. Shifting some baseball cards and an empty pack of gum around, he finally felt his fingers brush against cool metal. “Yeah, it’s here.”
“Can I …”
“Oh, yeah. Of course.” Kid pinched the small heart between his thumb and forefinger and slowly lifted the necklace out of the box to give to his friend. “Here.”
Killer’s hands shook a little as he reached out to accept the piece of jewelry. “Damn,” he muttered. “You know how long I looked for this? I thought I lost it. Broke my fucking heart, too.”
“I remember,” Kid replied, watching the blonde closely. He should have anticipated something like this, really. After all, this was a time capsule from that summer, and that summer wasn’t exactly sunshine and rainbows. He should have remembered; should have been more prepared for what could have been in that damn box. But he hadn’t remembered, and hadn’t been prepared, and now their fun little stroll down memory lane was turning into something far less pleasant. It was hard to believe it had really been ten years since that summer. The summer Killer’s whole world fell apart.
++++
“I dunno what’s gonna happen, man.”
Kid shuffled his feet and stared at his lap. He hated how small his friend looked, hated how broken his voice was. Killer was always his rock, had always been the stable one Kid could turn to when shit got to be too much with his mom.
And now this. Now Killer needed him to be the stable one, and he had no idea how.
“They don’t even know what fucking happened. She was in remission; they said she was good. All that treatment, how hard she fought … and now …” Killer trailed off and swiped angrily at his eyes. “And of course my dad is nowhere to be fucking found. I just … I dunno what to do. What the fuck do I do, Kid?” he asked desperately, his eyes bright with unshed tears.
“I …” Kid wanted so badly to say the right thing, but the depth of emotion, the absolute agony on his friend’s face, had his throat constricting and made any words of comfort he could think of seem dismally insufficient. “You’re … you’re gonna take it one day at a time. You’re gonna do what you gotta do. And I’m gonna be right there with you! Probably getting in your way, but … still …”
“You got your own shit, though.”
“Yeah, and you’ve helped me through pretty much all of it, so just shut up and lemme help you for a change,” Kid argured gruffly.
“There’s so much to do,” Killer admitted. “I gotta call the funeral home, and I gotta figure out if she had a … a will or something, and I gotta go through her stuff, and … shit.”
“You think your dad can handle doing any of that?”
Killer scoffed and kicked a rock rather aggressively. “Hard to say. But I can’t really ask him for help when I can’t actually find the asshole.”
“You have no idea where he is?”
The frown etched into Killer’s usually calm face deepened. “Oh, I’ve got an idea, alright,” he answered darkly. “You know he hasn’t been home since she got taken to the hospital? I don’t even know if he knows that she … that she’s gone.” Taking a steadying breath, Killer unclenched his fist and stared at the necklace in his hand. He’d been clutching it so hard there was a heart-shaped imprint on his palm. “You know … I never saw her without this.”
“What’s inside?” Kid asked, rolling with the topic change because it seemed like his friend needed it.
“I don’t even know, actually. Let’s see.” It took a moment of fumbling to pry the locket open, but when Killer finally got it open his eyes started to well up again.
“What is it?”
“It’s … It’s me. It’s a picture of her and me, from before the cancer. It was a day out at the beach.” For the first time in the past few days Killer’s mouth twitched up at the corners. “That was a good day. Can’t believe she held on to it like this.”
“Well hey,” Kid offered. “Now you can too.”
“Yeah,” Killer agreed, still smiling softly at the picture. “I guess I can.”
++++
“That …” Killer’s voice cracked a little, instantly bringing Kid’s attention back to him. “That summer was something else, huh?”
“Yeah, man. I guess that’s one way to describe it.”
“And isn’t it just like us to decide to make a time capsule to remind us of a time like that?”
Kid gave Killer a lopsided, half-hearted smile. “Yeah, sounds like us. We were assholes.”
“You still are.”
Kid snorted and punched his friend gently. “So I get why we kept the necklace – although that probably wasn’t our best move, considering, you know, this isn’t exactly a secure storage place – but I seriously can’t get past this stupid bottle. Why did we keep this?”
“Cuz I didn’t want to forget what-“
“What a fucking crazy person I was?” Kid interrupted.
“What you did for me,” Killer corrected. “You barged into every bar in town, and when he wasn’t there you went to every bar in the next town, and the next one, until you found him, remember?”
“Yeah, and I just about got myself killed,” Kid laughed. “There was this one dude who looked a lot like him from the back, so I went up to him, grabbed his arm and was all like “listen asshole …” and then he turned around and he had these crazy fucking eyes and a fucking hunting knife … I about shit myself, I thought I was gonna die.”
“But you didn’t and you kept looking until you found him, even after that. And then when he tried to ignore you, you took this bottle out of his hand and smashed it and used it to threaten him into getting in the cab and coming home.”
“Yeah,” Kid agreed, rubbing his hand over his eyes. “And I still can’t believe he didn’t press charges or whatever. I cut his cheek when he still wasn’t taking me seriously.”
Killer nodded. “I remember. Honestly, though, I think he was too embarrassed that he got bullied by a thirteen-year-old to press charges or anything like that.”
“That or he was too drunk to know it was me.”
“Also a possibility,” Killer agreed.
A comfortable silence fell between them as both men thought about that summer. It had been a rough one for sure. First Killer’s mom died, and then his dad got court-ordered into rehab. They’d made this time capsule when they thought Killer was going to get taken away and put into foster care, before his grandma stepped up and took him in so he could stay in the city where he’d grown up. They’d filled it to bursting with pieces of their lives, from the stupid things that made them laugh to the precious things that they wanted to treasure forever, and then hidden it away for ten years. It seemed fitting, really, that they were going through memories from one of the roughest times from their childhood, a time when they thought they were going to be torn apart, now, after having almost been torn apart again.
Kid looked back down at the items remaining in the box. It was mostly just trinkets in there now, little mementos that thirteen-year-old boys thought were important. Dumb stuff, really. Things that they definitely didn’t need anymore …
“Oh my god!”
“What?! What?!?” Killer jerked at Kid’s sudden exclamation, worried that something was wrong.
But Kid was anything but distressed as he raised the object that had caused his outburst triumphantly in the air. “I stashed my fucking SuperBall in here! Yes!”
Killer couldn’t help but laugh as he watched the redhead turn the glittery ball, once clear rubber now turned yellow with age, in his hands, his face alight with pure joy. He should have known better than to think that Kid would want him out of his life. This was the same guy that had once plowed through every dingy divebar in the county searching for Killer’s drunkard father. This was that same guy that had figuratively held Killer’s hand through the process of making funeral arrangements, and then literally, at the funeral itself. No, there was no way Kid was going to just let him fade away, and he was an idiot for even thinking of trying to. Because when it came down to it, whether it was a stupid bouncy ball or a stupid, misguided friend … Eustass Kid didn’t let go of the things he cared about.
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I saw Alien: Covenant.
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I’m starting to notice a trend in a few of my reviews where I tend to clarify something about myself or my expectations in relation to the film I’m talking about. I guess I do this in an effort to illuminate certain things about why I like something or why I hate it in a way that maybe otherwise wouldn’t be evident from my words. 
So let me start off by saying I’m a pretty devoted fan of the Alien franchise. I have Xenomorphs all over my office, I’ve owned several HR Giger yearly calendars and artbooks. My husband and I will likely name our firstborn in honor of Ellen Ripley. 
And as of quite recently, I’ve never seen an Alien film I didn’t, at the very least, enjoy watching. I would prioritize the original Alien as the best film (as I assume most do). Aliens and Prometheus come in second place- in that I enjoy Aliens and think it’s a fine film, and that I greatly enjoy Prometheus as something I accept I have to turn off all critical thinking facilities in order to fully appreciate. I rank Alien 3 and Alien: Resurrection on the same level; as films that I didn’t hate and can actually watch to gain some minor degree of pleasure, but also acknowledge their glaring flaws. I’ll even go so far as to say that I liked what David Fincher was trying to do with Alien 3. It had the guts to try something totally new like Aliens did, and had the balls to give the audience a giant, veiny middle finger right in the first few minutes. Admittedly, I haven’t seen Alien vs Predator or Alien vs Predator: Requiem since seeing Alien and Predator maul, disfigure and murder each other would feel like watching a full length film of dogs being kicked- and yes, I realize this is an issue that is likely unique to me. I truly haven’t seen an Alien feature that I didn’t like. 
Until now. 
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What the fuck, Alien: Covenant? What the fuck, Ridley Scott? What the fuck was going on here? 
I’m gonna start talking about the plot, so prepare your anus for spoilers. If you’re doubting the fortitude of your sphincter, skip past the next image. The basic premise of this film is that there’s a ship with couple dozen people as crew schlepping 2000 colonists out into deep space to start terra-forming a new planet. The crew consists of a lot of sexual partners and I assume that they are planning to help populate, but I can’t recall if that was addressed at all. Maybe in the future, spaceship crews are allowed to bring out the wife. Whatever. Anyway, an android named Not-David Michael Fassbender accidentally fucks the ship up and wipes out a little chunk of the crew. This fuck-up results in Captain James Franco getting incinerated in front of his wife inside a stasis capsule, before he ever has a chance to deliver a line. 
In fact, had I not watched the promotional material beforehand (which features a scene that I assume precedes the one I’m talking about and also clarifies it better than the movie gave a shit to attempt), I don’t think I would have even known the schmuck getting torched by explosive oxygen in the capsule was James Franco. Nice.
This leaves the ship with a new captain, Passive Billy Crudup, who they mention a few times is a Christian, just like Dr. Shaw in Prometheus. The inclusion of his religion is even more stupid and pointless in this new iteration. He is also fairly incapable, which makes me wonder who put this booger-eater as second in line. This whole fuck up by Not-David Michael Fassbender is just a plot vehicle to get Danny fucking McBride outside the ship on a repair mission, where he receives a mysterious distorted transmission of a woman singing a John Denver song. The source of the transmission is traced back to a planet which happens not to be the planet that the crew is headed to to terraform.
Obviously, the crew decides to divert to the planet from which the signal came from instead of the planet that they are supposed to travel to, because why the hell not? 
Like the idiots in Prometheus, the idiots in Alien: Covenant decide not to wear oxygen-fed helmets or PPE because who ever heard of aspirating deadly microbes and bacteria? However, this time, that’s addressed, and predictably two of the crew members manage to get infected by the flora on this planet within 5-10 minutes of setting foot on land. They become sickened and spew white baby Xenomorphs (not chestbusters, for whatever reason). Then the crew is dispatched unceremoniously as a pack of CGI Xenomorphs whip the shit outta them in ways that will be too fast to actually see. But aren’t you happy with 0.9 seconds of digital blood? 
The remaining survivors are rescued just in time by a cloaked Actual David, who leads them back to his lair. Let me just say that Actual David confirms to one of the crew members that this lair is safe a few short minutes before a deformed Xenomorph casually enters and decapitates someone. Actual David pretends to be a bro, then makes it very clear he is NOT in fact a bro, and he carries on fucking up everyone’s shit until the end of the film, in a final twist that most viewers will see coming about 20 minutes in advance. 
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This installment of the series is a colossal pile of shit, and it really pains me as an Alien fan to lay it out like this. 
The first issue I became painfully aware of is that there is no main character. Is the plucky captain’s widow the protagonist? Is it Danny McBride? Is it Actual David? Not only is there no attempt to establish a protagonist, there is little effort in place to ensure that you know the names of any of these people. How the fuck am I supposed to be horrified, disgusted and invested when these people are dismembered if I don’t even have a name to pair them with? I actually had to check the IMDb page to recall that Plucky Captain’s Widow’s name is Daniels. Nobody matters and I didn’t give a shit about anyone. I barely gave one for Danny McBride, who seems like a likable crew member but makes some really piss-poor risk/benefit analyses. 
Because of the way Actual David’s underlying prerogatives were portrayed, I wish they hadn’t included him or anything from Prometheus. It’s become readily apparent that the only reason why this film ties into Prometheus or includes Actual David is because they couldn’t think up a fucking decent plot device to get these new people killed by an alien threat. Actual David’s story made me feel like I was watching an excruciatingly dull Star Trek: TNG three-parter where Data has some banal interaction with Noonien Soong because half the cast was on vacation that week. It felt cheap and like the screenwriters really had to push themselves over a massive hump to even write this trash. Instead of being a flawed and curious creation of sociopathic humans, Actual David becomes just another bad guy. There’s a really dumb scene where he’s trying to become friends with a Not Xenomorph that is given almost no explanation into. Did he kill all the engineers on the planet because he was mad at them for making the humans, and now he wants to be an engineer by creating inbred Xenomorphs? If they explained this, I wasn’t paying attention because I was bored to tears every time Actual David was explaining things to other characters.
After producing something like Prometheus, which I would argue has some of the best modern visual effects for its time, I can’t imagine how anyone thought Alien: Covenant was an acceptable final product. The Xenomorphs/creatures looked incredibly fake and were shown far too often. The digital blood and gore effects were wholly unsatisfying: not particularly graphic and shown only very briefly- maybe because they realized too late that CGI gore is completely unimpactful? People were screaming in disgust during the cesarean scene in Prometheus. I don’t think I heard a solitary gasp at any of the featured gore effects. I’ve read other reviews claiming “the gorehound will be sated” but I can’t imagine that unless the gorehound’s a 12-year-old with limited experience. The suits are ugly, the ship is unremarkable, and the CGI looked cheap and slapped together into the film by people who seemed to be generally unfamiliar with the franchise. I mean for fuck’s sake, if you’re going to give me a CG Xenomorph it better knock my pants off with a firm stream of shit. 
I came out of this one feeling like I’d seen some cheaply-made bullshit teen-demo weekend matinee flick from the mid-2000s, like a Final Destination or an Anacondas: Hunt for the Blood Orchid. You know what I mean, the type of movie you go see and completely forget about after a week. This film wasn’t scary, it never gave me cause to feel invested. It was utterly inconsequential, whereas Prometheus felt like it was trying to build something new, fresh and mythical. In fact, my anxiety spiked as I was leaving the theater because I remembered that Ridley Scott took a fairly active role in the production of Blade Runner 2049. That fucking movie is going to have sexy, smoldering Ryan Gosling starring and extremely competent and capable Denis Villeneuve directing and this fucking orphanage fire of a movie has me WORRIED about it. If that doesn’t discourage you from watching Alien: Covenant, I don’t know what will. I can’t even recommend it as So Bad it’s Good because it is so monumentally boring. I could write a book of all the things I would have done entirely differently. Don’t pay any more than Wednesday matinee prices for this foul, backstabbing tripe. If you told me I’d be scoring this movie an entire half a star lower than the Ghost in the Shell movie I would have shat right in your mouth. You know what? This is what we get for electing Donald Trump. 
★ ½
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