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sunsetinmyvein · 4 years

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I Know That I’ll Lose - Chapter Nine - My Irregular Heartbeat

They finally had a full break day between two shows in the same city. It had taken five weeks to get one, but now it was here at least. However, Y/N/N knew better than to assume this break day would actually be used for something crazy like a break. No, of course not. Because knowing Matty, it was not a surprise at all that he dragged the band to a nearby studio he had heard about to try and smash out this idea that had been stuck in his head for a few days now. They all seemed more than happy enough to follow him on this endeavour, and watching them work as such a cohesive unit was very interesting. It was easily apparent that they had been together for so long, because they could practically read each other’s minds. Before George had even finished his sentence on the idea he had, Adam was already playing it, or Ross was already trying to fine-tune the melody. The four of them all worked on the same wavelength. She supposed that was just a part of working together for as long as they had. But maybe that was also why they had worked together for as long as they had, because they understood each other.

“Matty, we’re gonna record a few bits. Did you have lyrics in mind?” George asked with an eyebrow raised.

“Sort of. I’ll go check what I had written down.” He nodded, picking up his guitar and strolling out of the recording room and into another section of the studio. She had figured that there was no point in hanging around only to potentially interrupt the other boys’ recordings, so she followed him out to wherever he was headed.

He led her through the halls down into a small studio space with a desk at one end and a few couches at the other, not seeming to mind that she had followed. This seemed more like a track editing room than anything else. Matty sat himself down in the desk chair in the studio, pulling his guitar onto his lap. His notebook that she frequently saw him with was placed on the desk in front of him. He played the same melody that she had heard them go over numerous times in the recording area, making sure that it was fresh in his mind. Every now and again in between the melodies he glanced at his open notebook lying on the desk, sometimes scribbling something or crossing something out. A small smile was playing on his lips as he tried to get the rhythm of the words in line with what he was going for. She wasn’t sure if he was trying to recreate something he already had in mind or write something entirely new, but either way he seemed completely engrossed in it. This was the sort of moment where she would’ve admitted she had feelings for him if he asked - the sort of moment when she could be caught off guard enough by the genuine nature of the situation to tell the truth. A moment like this when it was just the two of them without the jokes, without the front Matty put up sometimes, a moment seemingly without the bet. Him just being himself and not trying to impress or be something else. But this wasn’t the Matty that was about to press her for confirmation on something that he already knew. Because at this current point, he didn’t want to play that game. He didn’t need to. He was comfortable in this instant with how things were. And she just wanted the peacefulness of it all to remain for a bit longer, so she wasn’t exactly about to throw a spanner in the works and fuck it all up by telling him.

It was a good while before he was knocked out of the trance that he was in and looked across the room at her. He’d been so far down the rabbit hole of his own creativity that he had forgotten that there was another person in the room with him. For how much time had passed, he had figured that she might’ve been waiting patiently to ask him how long was going to be left, but she just stared back at him with a neutral expression. “You’ve been rather quiet.” He stated, scrawling a quick line down in his notebook.

“Would you rather I interrupt you while you’re trying to write a song?” She asked in confusion.

“I mean… you’re welcome to.” He offered.

“How do you write your lyrics?” She asked, eyeing the pages he kept glancing towards.

He pondered on the question for a moment. “Typically, I write to fit the rhythm of the song first and foremost. Like we had the tune for It’s Not Living before we had the lyrics and I wrote around that. But usually I just imagine a real situation, I amplify it, I make it slightly more romantic and idealistic, and I write about it. That search of trying to find something that makes me truly happy, of being on that precipice of finding it, is a lot of what my music is made up of.” He explained. She just gave a small nod in response. He waited for her to add something else, or ask something else, but she didn’t, she just watched him. “What?” He asked eventually with a frown.

“It’s just nice watching you do what you do best and seeing you so content.” She admitted with a shrug. “It’s rare to see you not being all cocky and loud.”

He gave a quiet laugh at that, adjusting the capo a fret down on the neck of his guitar. “You know full well that all that’s just an act.” Her eyebrows shot up in surprise at his blunt honesty. Maybe the genuine vibes in the room were not one-sided. “It’s a self-defence mechanism. If I act like I am those things, then it’s easier to not fall back on the more negative shit.”

“But song writing is a really important thing in my life.” He continued, “I’d kill myself without music. Immediately. Life is pointless without music for me.” He paused for a moment, but she knew better by this stage in their friendship than to try and interject when he was following a train of thought. “If you think about it, the first time that you learn about something - like a first kiss, for example - is through cinema. It looks beautiful and it’s soundtracked. That’s very important.” He looked up at her, giving her a pointed look for emphasis. “I remember the first time I went to kiss a girl, the first thing that I was aware of was that there was no music playing. And I didn’t like that.” He frowned at the memory, before glancing down at his guitar and starting the riff over again. It had a very different feel to it than the other songs that they’d put out from Notes. The melody and style of guitar he was playing almost reminded her of Chocolate. “Music doesn’t exist physically. Yet it commands every facet of my personality. It has the power to command people how to feel - music can command someone how to feel on an emotional level uncontrollably. I just find that so fascinating.” He mused. A soft knock at the door pulled him out of his thoughts.

“How’d you go Matt?” George asked as he popped his head in through the door.

“I think I have some decent stuff.” He smiled with a nod in his friends’ direction as he handed over his notebook.

The five of them regrouped in the recording area, playing over what they had tracked to make sure they were happy with it before Matty pitched a few of the lyrical ideas he had gotten together. It was interesting to listen in as the song took shape. Once everyone was satisfied that they were heading in the right direction, they packed away their gear for the day.

“Congrats on a job well done, boys.” George grinned as they stepped out onto the street. “Should we put the gear away and grab a drink to reward ourselves?” He suggested as he started heading in the direction of their buses. Thankfully for his arms- shoulders- back, he hadn’t had to set up his entire kit, just the elements of it that were unique to his setup.

“That sounds like a good plan.” Ross agreed. Once everything was packed away safely, they trekked to the nearest pub for an afternoon drink. Matty and Y/N/N took a seat up at the bar to sort out drinks for the group, while the other three found themselves a table to settle in at. The bartender who came over to serve the two of them seemed to have been having a dull day, because Matty noticed that as opposed to taking any orders, all he wanted to do was yap on about everything except alcohol. ‘How’s your day been?’ ‘Where are you from?’ ‘What do you do?’ He knew that a Tuesday afternoon probably wasn’t a very busy time for a pub, but he wasn’t there to share his life story. And it didn’t help that despite his best attempt to usher things along and get his hard-earned drink, his present company was indulging this stranger.

He didn’t like how chatty this guy was being with her, and more importantly how chatty she was being with him. The feeling of it sat weirdly in his chest and made him feel like the third wheel when celebrating his own achievement. He only had a limited amount time left if he was going to get her to fess up. Only a week left of the tour before they went back to their respective homes. Allowing her to flirt with bartenders was only going to hinder that. So, in an attempt to bring her thoughts back to where he wanted them, and perhaps to get a rise out of her, in the middle of their conversation he nonchalantly took her hand that had been sitting on top of the bar in his. There was a pause in her sentence as he did this while she tried to work out what he was playing at. She looked down at their hands in confusion, glancing over to Matty only to see him still scrolling through his phone resting in his other hand. They’d never held hands before, and this certainly didn’t seem like the time or place to suddenly start doing that. But despite this, the plan had worked in his favour.

“I, uh,” The bartended cleared his throat awkwardly. “I’ll go get those drinks, then.” He nodded. As soon as he walked away to get their drinks, Matty released her hand which she promptly pulled in closer to herself.

“The hell was that for?” She asked with a frown as soon as the bartender was out of earshot.

“What?” He asked without looking away from his phone.

“That.” She repeated as she waved the hand in question in his direction to catch his attention.

“Oh.” He slipped his phone back into his pocket, finally turning to look at her. “I just felt like maybe you’d be wanting to get back to the guys to-”

“What gave you the impression that I’d want that?” She interrupted with a frown.

“I’d like to think I know a thing or two about your wants and desires.” Normally him saying something like that would’ve tripped her up, would’ve forced her to think carefully about what her next move was. It usually would’ve ticked the right boxes of flirty and self-assured. But the juxtaposition between this Matty and the one that she’d seen no more than an hour ago in the studio was too startling. To go from genuine to cocky so quickly, the 180 practically gave her whiplash. And thinking that he had the right to make that call on her behalf, even if she was just being friendly and patient with the bartender? If he was chasing a reaction out of her, he was certainly about to get one.

“You don’t know what I want.” She fired at him. The tone in her voice hadn’t been what he was expecting, but it didn’t click until it was too late.

“I think I do.” He shot back. She could tell that he was trying to work that lilt of electric confidence into his tone, but that wasn’t going to work. He’d already said more than enough. Those four words pushed her over the edge. She’d felt like maybe Matty was getting somewhere with being an overall more sincere person to be around, but it turned out that he was still pulling the same shit as what he was months ago to get attention.

“It’s entirely unfair of you to decide what I want when you don’t even know what you want.” She spat back, the venom thick in her tone as she pushed herself back from the bar and headed towards the bathroom.

Oh no. Again. He had gone and fucked it up again. He had been doing so well and now the pieces of his plan quickly shattered around him. He was fucking up one of the best friendships he’d ever had, all for a brief attempt at attention seeking. Fuck. He pulled a hand through his hair in frustration as he tried to think of a quick and easy way to backtrack – but there was no rewind for this. There was no rewind to fix those times when his egotistical impulsiveness shone through. What had seemed like a good idea only left him feeling worse. One negative feeling had just been replaced by a far stronger one. What was worse, was that he’d also roped her into his never-ending cycle of feeling shitty. He approached his friends sitting at their table towards the back of the bar, hoping that maybe they could offer some insight into how he could fix this.

“Guys, I-”

“Sort it out.” George interrupted, not caring to hear Matty go on a fifteen-minute-long explanation of whatever he’d done wrong. He’d seen Y/N/N walk away from the bar in a huff, and she gave that boy endless chances for whatever reason. To make her leave, Matty must’ve been a proper wanker.

“But-”

“You did it, you fix it.” He said with a dismissive hand wave. Ross and Adam just threw him apologetic looks, not overly wanting to get involved either.

Their time at the bar had, unsurprisingly, come to an abrupt close after that. Once they’d finished their first round in a state of awkward chit chat, everyone seemed in mutual agreement that it was time to go. Matty mostly remained in his own head as he drank, trying to think of how to make up for what he’d done, and if he wasn’t gonna talk about it, neither was she. Once they left the bar, they headed back to their hotel that had been booked for the night. A minor perk of having more than one show in a single city, other than potential days off, was that they didn’t have to stay on the bus. This was a huge relief to George, Ross and Adam as they all struggled to fit comfortably in bus bunks. Pretty much as soon as she had closed her hotel room door behind her, she’d received a text from the offending frontman. Part of her wanted to ignore it, but morbid curiosity got the better of her.

5:23pm Will you be free in an hour?

5:24pm Why?

5:26pm Room 406

5:26pm What makes you think that I’m free?

5:30pm Are you saying that you’re not?

5:35pm Room 406 in an hour

Against her better judgement, she begrudgingly did as requested and went to his room for six thirty. Despite that she was still mad at him for being such an ass, at the end of the day he was her friend and she didn’t want to end this time with him feeling resentful. As she reached out to knock on his door, she saw that it was slightly ajar. She pushed it open, calling out his name as she took a few cautious steps inside. The standard hotel room couch that was against the far wall in her room had been dragged over to be in front of the TV, the duvet was pulled off of the bed and draped over the back of it, and there was a bowl of popcorn sitting on the TV unit. “What is this?” She asked as her brows furrowed in confusion. An all too familiar curly mop of hair stuck its head around the corner as she said that.

“This… is me trying to make up for being a bit of a knob earlier.” He explained, making his way over to the other side of the couch. “I know that I took a genuine thing and twisted it into something insincere and selfish. I thought that we could pull a movie up on the telly and maybe have a couple of drinks? Quiet night in. Just us.” He offered.

“Well, the movie sounds okay, I guess.” She started as she looked at the selection screen that he’d already pulled up on the TV. “But I think I’m over drinking for today.”

“That’s, erm, fair enough,” He nodded. In hindsight, he probably could’ve predicted that. But he’d been a bit roped up during the last hour trying to think of what best to say. Not that he’d made much progress on that front, either. “Sorry, I make excuses to drink when I’m nervous.” He added sheepishly as he scratched at the back of his neck.

She watched him with curiosity as he took a seat on the couch, motioning for her to sit down next to him. A few moments passed as she considered the offer. How fast he was jumping from sincere to arrogant today was unsettling. She felt like she was going around in circles in her head. “No funny business. I promise.” He said, holding his hand over his heart for emphasis.

She narrowed her eyes at him, trying to scope out if he was telling the truth. “Okay…” She eventually conceded as she sat down. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder, pulling her into his side as he started scrolling through movie options. At first, she went to move back from him. Experience, and forewarning from Adam, probably should’ve been enough to stop her from falling too much into this. But… She had to admit that it was pretty cold this time of year, and Matty was pretty damn warm. And it was nice. It was nice that he was trying to make up for his shitty actions with kind ones. It was nice that he had made an effort to try and cover up his usual smell of cigarette smoke and weed with hotel room soap, even if it didn’t quite do the trick. Spending time with just him was nice. The companionship, minus the bullshit and the charade they had going on sometimes, was sorely needed for the both of them. It had been quite a while since Matty had someone in his life that he could be like this with and he didn’t want to fuck that up. He supposed that the guys probably wouldn’t complain if he did it to them, but that wouldn’t really give the same effect. This felt comforting. It melted her resolve for being mad at him, and steeled his about how much time he wanted to spend around her. But he avoided thinking about the warm feeling in his chest too much. At the moment, he was trying to be apologetic and genuine. And this moment - this moment of the two of them sitting on the couch in quiet discussion over what movie to kill their time with - he suddenly realised was about as genuine as he had felt in a long time.

For once it wasn’t fake, or a staged situation that he had fabricated to work in his favour. It was real. Which should have been worrying. Past Matthew Healy would’ve either needed to put up false pretenses to feel in control or would’ve just straight up escaped from it. But this felt strangely like where he was meant to be. He wasn’t entirely sure when he started feeling like he was past that point in his life. That point where he moped around, being depressed and dwelling on past mistakes that he couldn’t fix. Altering situations until he felt in control of them. Where he spent 90% of his time putting up a front so that people didn’t constantly ask him how he was doing and then he had to think about how he was doing. But somewhere along the lines in the last few months, he had stopped having that dread that he wasn’t doing the correct thing. That he had fucked something up, or was on the verge of it. He felt like maybe he was finally… on the right track? He glanced at the girl sitting next to him. Maybe the company had done him a lot better than he expected it to. He had hoped it would be enough of a distraction that he could at least not think about his depressed state of mind for a little while. What he hadn’t anticipated was that the company would pull him out of that state of mind entirely. The sudden realisation that he was actually doing okay these days was quite surprising.

“Are you gonna pick a movie?” She asked as she looked up at him, only to catch him looking back at her instead of at the TV. “What?”

“Thanks.” He blurted out.

“For?” She frowned.

“Hanging out with this loser for a whole tour.” He answered with a chuckle. “You didn’t have to come out here. You don’t have to put up with me like you do. I know I said it once before, but company makes things a lot easier for me. Five weeks with you…” He paused, actually looking somewhat… embarrassed? “It’s done me a lot of good, I think.” He finally admitted.

He really was taking this attempt at making up for being a dickhead earlier seriously. “It’s, uh,” She cleared her throat to try and regain her mental composure. “It was in my best interests to take up the offer. So, it’s really nothing.”

“Not to me, it’s not.” He replied casually. He dropped the subject after that, turning his attention back to what movie they were meant to be watching. The two of them settled into a comfortable silence, happy to let the atmosphere between them speak for itself. Hearing his steady heartbeat as she leaned into him was like a metronome, like white noise, the sound of it was enough to stabilise her thoughts after such a chaotic day. It wasn’t long before the two of them passed out. She’d woken up eventually to see the TV that they had fallen asleep watching still playing. Matty’s arm was also still draped around her waist, though the two of them had slid quite a bit further down the couch than how they were originally sitting. After some careful shuffling to retrieve her phone without disturbing him, she discovered that it was nearly two in the morning. It was probably in her best interests to move over to an actual bed instead of spending the night on a hotel room couch. Work for the show tomorrow would be difficult if she couldn’t bend her neck to the left. She started to sit up, pulling herself up on the couch slightly and moving to swing her legs over the side. But she was quickly stopped in her tracks when a deep voice broke the silence.

“Stay.” She heard Matty mumble quietly as his arm tightened around her. She was unsure that she’d heard him right. “Please.” He added, just above a whisper. Had she not been looking right at him as he said it, she would’ve missed it. She was still rather tired, and the couch was pretty comfortable. Who was she to deny him such a simple request?

* * *

Matty woke up the next morning with a hell of a stiff neck and a feeling that he desperately needed to crack his left knee, but he somehow felt more well rested than what he had in months. The fogginess slowly cleared from his brain as his eyes refocused on the TV in front of him. But before he had the chance to stretch out his aching limbs, Y/N/N beat him to the punch and sat up, reaching her arms up above her head with a loud yawn.

“I’m sorry, about yesterday.” He muttered; his voice still hoarse with sleep.

“I know,” She nodded as she rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. “I’m sorry, too.” She added, flashing a small smile in his direction. The band had a show later that day, but Matty was pretty sure that he had an interview in the next couple of hours.

“I have to start getting ready.” He sighed, sitting up slightly on the couch. “I’ve got somewhere to be before midday.”

“Well, thank you for last night.” She said as she watched him stand up.

“It’s cool.” He shrugged. “I’m gonna go back to being a flirtatious piece of shit now, okay? But not a dickhead.” He punctuated that last point with a serious look. She just stared at him, waiting for him to continue. “It’s easier.” He shrugged. Easier than what? But there wasn’t much time to ponder that, because he made short work of getting ready and when left to her own devices it only made sense for her to head back to her own room to do the same. By ten that morning Matty was on his way to his interview, and the other four members of their posse found a nice café nearby to have breakfast in.

Y/N/N found herself sat at a small table in said café with George, watching quietly as he fiddled around on his laptop. Adam and Ross had elected to kill some time in the record store next door, having already eaten this morning. But this was of no worry to them, because it was always nice to hang out with George one on one. He had such a down to earth personality and he was exceedingly good at keeping those around him calm and level-headed. However, at the moment she could see the concentration and slight stress in his features as he tried to wrap his head around what he was working on.

“How’s the track going?” She asked after a few moments.

“It’s… going.” He laughed as he took a sip of his coffee. “I’m piecing together those bits we recorded yesterday. Slow but sure progress.” He nodded.

“How’s it sounding?” She clarified. He shuffled around the table slightly so that she could get a view of the screen.

“Why don’t you tell me?” He asked as he slipped the headset off and handed it to her. “I’m trying to sort out a few of the production kinks. So, what do you reckon, this?” He played a snippet of the track. She listened carefully, trying to pick up the nuances of it. It sounded good. “Or this?” He played the same snippet again but she could hear a few minor changes this time. But to determine the exact differences was hard. It reminded her of being at an eye exam when the optometrist asked you if you preferred slide one or slide two and to you, they felt more or less the same.

“I, uh…” She handed the headset back as she tried to think of a reasonable response. It was a struggle to try and give him a straight answer. “They’re both good?” She eventually offered. “I’m sorry, I’m probably not the person to ask.” She added with a laugh.

“It’s all right.” He chuckled. “I’ll get the boys to look over it with me later.” He said with a shrug as a waiter brought their meals over. It was as good a time as any for a break, so he shut his laptop and left that work for later.

With the rest of the band busy enjoying their late breakfast at the café, Matty had been forced out to a one on one interview at some local venue. It bothered him every now and again that certain interviewers only ever wanted to chat to him, and not the whole band. After all, he’d be nowhere if not for them. He wished that he could get away with being the quiet one, the one who just got to sit there and zone out. But he’d signed his fate in this band long ago. Everyone knew by now that he was the charismatic loud mouth who had all the answers (or just talked until people forgot the original question). So, he made himself somewhat presentable and went out to the theatre that the interviewer wanted to meet him at. It was set to be a quick, video interview which worked well for him. Rock up, yap on a bit about the band, smile at the camera, be back in time for a joint before soundcheck.

“So, we had a list sent in to us of a bunch of questions relating to each of the songs from your first self-titled album. Would you mind if we asked some?” The interviewer asked, flipping over to the next page in her notebook.

“Go for it.” He shrugged, pushing back into the wall he was leaning against.

“The question for The City: If you could fall in love in any city, what would it be and why?” She asked as she held the mic out to him.

“London. It’s probably my favourite city.” He answered with a firm nod.

“The one for Money is: Have you ever taken drugs?” She questioned, looking across at him.

“Yes.” He answered bluntly, trying his best not to roll his eyes. He was fairly certain that was pretty common knowledge at this point in his very public personal life.

“For Chocolate: Do you have a problem with authority?”

He snorted a laugh before answering, “Yes.”

“Heart Out: Do you have feelings for someone and wish they were reciprocated?” She asked.

He opened his mouth to answer with the default response but the words seemed to stall in his throat. His answer was going to be ‘no’, but the more he thought about it the more he realised that might be lying. Technically the bet he had was all about getting someone to reciprocate feelings. It was kind of the entire point. “Uh… yeah.” He said with a nod, hoping that she didn’t pry any more on the matter.

She let out an interested ‘ooo’ and he couldn’t help but grimace slightly at what he knew was about to come. “Would you pursue these feelings?” The interviewer asked with curiosity.

He thought on that for a moment. Strictly speaking, the bet was quite literally a case of pursuing them. But he was certain that she meant pursuing them in a more relationship-wise sort of way and less in the way that he was going about it. The more he thought on this, the more he found himself feeling nervous about his answer. It had been a long time since he’d been properly close with someone, especially in any capacity like last night. It was probably just that. Just circumstance. And he had an inkling that if he dwelled on it for too long, he’d lose his motivation for the bet and he knew that he was only ever getting closer by the day. “Maybe in a more forgiving set of social circumstances.” He answered eventually.

She continued on without saying anything else on the topic, “This one is for Sex: Have you ever been with someone who already had a partner?” She asked. He let out a sigh of relief that they had moved away from a topic he was trying to avoid investing too much thought in before answering the question.

“The person who wrote this list does know that I wrote these songs, yeah?” He laughed loudly. “Like, they’re about me. You can assume that they’re from my perspective.” The interviewer scrapped the remaining questions on the list after that and let him get back to his day. He went back. He smoked his joint. He soundchecked. He hung out with his friends. He played a show. He continued about the usual tour routine. But the realisation was starting to settle in that they only had three shows left. Only six days until the tour was over. Matty felt like time was closing in on him.

The next day as they drove to the third to last show, he found himself sitting in the back lounge - his feet up on the seat next to him, watching the rain trickle down the glass and the road pass behind them. His mind kept being dragged back to that question he had been asked in the interview. He’d always held an interest in Y/N/N, that much he was well aware of since the day that they’d met. But since he’d gotten so roped up in his determination to get her to confess her feelings, he’d lost sight of his own. Whenever she’d asked him back in that bar what his end game was, he had said that he didn’t know. At the time that seemed like a reasonable enough answer, his state of mind wasn’t the best and he wasn’t in a position to be committing to anything new, much less a relationship. And he’d done his best to make sure that she was aware of that so that he didn’t feel like he was putting her under false pretenses. But it had been months now, he’d come to realise he was in a much more stable place mentally and emotionally, and yet he still didn’t have any true direction. What was he going to do once she told him? He needed an answer. Soon. The tour had less than a week left. He was knocked out of his thoughts by the sound of footsteps approaching behind him.

“What’re you doin’, Matt?” George asked as he leaned against the door frame.

“Just vibin’.” He shot back. The drummer rolled his eyes. “Being contemplative.” He elaborated with a shrug, taking a sip of the tea sitting in his lap.

“About?” He asked, stepping into the room and taking a seat opposite his friend.

“To say what you want – it’s hard, innit?” George knew better than to answer a rhetorical question like that and instead waited for Matty continue. “I’ve spent so much of my life thinking about the future and worrying about stuff. Worrying about shit that I can’t change. And I’m starting to feel like maybe I should be worrying about the things that I can.”

George could sense where this conversation was going. That Matty was getting close to the realisation that his feelings for Y/N/N were considerably less superficial than he gave them credit for. He wasn’t sure what had brought on this epiphany in his best friend, but the vibe of this conversation was telling him that he was on the right track to sorting out his own head. A little voice in the back of his mind reminded him of that bet that he had made with Adam and Ross. Was now his chance to let Matty in on the secret that everyone else knew? Or should he let his friend work his way there himself?

“I think that maybe you need to think about how far you’ve come, mate.” He resigned with a sigh. Letting Matty come to the discovery himself was probably going to be the best course of action. “You’re not the same person that you were ten years ago, even if you still make similarly dumb mistakes from time to time. What mattered to you then might not be the same things that you want to take into your future.”

Matty looked back over at his friend with a confused frown, hearing in his voice George wasn’t giving him all of the information that he had. “What’re you getting’ at?” He asked as George stood up.

“Consider what makes you happy, work your way up from there.” He explained, patting his friend’s shoulder as he walked back out of the back lounge.

* * *

George’s advice perhaps could’ve been slightly… more blunt, and to the point. Because what Matty found makes him happy was often instant gratification. And what he wanted most at this exact moment was to win that damn bet. There was one show left on their tour before everyone headed back home. One show to get her to crack. He had to pull out all of the stops if he was going to make this count. But this was what he had spent the last six weeks working out. What were the best things to get a reaction – what worked and what didn’t. Now was his time to shine and prove that he wasn’t just blindly fumbling in the dark. It was a few hours before they were set to play, stage setup was done, merch was set up. He was pretty certain that the majority of his friends were on the bus waiting for soundcheck. Now was the time. Matty sent her a text to come to the green room to help him out with something and then waited patiently. He worried slightly when he hadn’t received a reply at first, but within a few minutes he heard footsteps approaching. This was it. Show time.

“Yeah, what’s-” Her sentence suddenly wasn’t able to complete itself and she had to do a double take as she caught sight of the man in front of her. Matty was leaning against the table in the middle of the green room, cigarette in hand, staring lazily down at his phone sitting on his knee. For whatever reason he hadn’t bothered to button up the suit shirt that he was wearing, and his hair looked like he hadn’t touched it in days. He was even wearing the same ripped jeans she’d seen him wear at the last show. It was possibly one of the most casual looks that she had seen him in of late, and she fucking hated that despite this, he looked hot as hell. She hated it even more that he was almost definitely well aware of this information and probably also well aware of the way that it was making the synapses in her brain short out. He glanced up eventually, letting the smoke out of his lungs and putting his cigarette out in the ash tray sitting next to him.

“Can I ask a favour of you?” He asked as he pushed himself up off of the table. That annoying level confidence that he seemed to radiate was practically like static electricity in the room.

“Anythi-“ She started, before clearing her throat anxiously and trying to get her thoughts together. Her brain seemed to have just fallen right out of her skull as she crossed the threshold into this room. “I mean, uh-” And it was extremely hard to concentrate on finding it again with Matty approaching her looking like that. “yeah. What’s up?” She asked, deciding to look at the ground instead.

His index finger came to rest under her chin before pulling her gaze back up to his. Fuck. Having to look into his chocolate brown eyes when he was acting like this, it made this whole situation all too difficult to resist. He leaned in slightly closer before speaking. “If I were trying to impress a girl who would be watching the show tonight, do you think that this would suffice?”

“Absolutely.” She blurted out without thinking.

“Good to know.” He chuckled as he brushed past her and out the door of the green room. She turned around, looking in the direction that he had gone in confusion. What had just happened? Surely that ordeal wasn’t coincidental? The tone in his voice was too suggestive for any of that to have been a fluke. He’d intentionally caught her interest and then left her drooling over him. Why would- suddenly it clicked. That cocky bastard fucking knew that he had won, and he just walked away. He didn’t even press the topic of the bet at all. “See you at soundcheck.” His voice echoed back down the hallway. That absolute fucker. Unfortunately for her, six weeks trapped in close quarters with Matthew Healy had done exactly what she had predicted it might. It made her feelings for him so much worse. Tonight was going to be difficult. She was unsure if her heart rate would be able to survive through soundcheck, let alone nearly two hours of watching him on stage. Maybe she could just skip the show? No, he’d definitely find a way for her to be there. By the time she’d finished psyching herself up to tolerate a couple of songs in soundcheck, the band were nearly ready to go.

As she walked up to the barrier of the pit, she heard Matty call her name. “Watch this.” Matty grinned, making a motion to the rest of the band. Do I have to? The familiar starting notes of The Sound started filling the empty stadium. Of course. Of course. Should she really have expected any less of him than to play this song? The annoying thing was that in this frame of mind and with him… like that, she couldn’t do anything but watch him. His direct interaction with her as they ran through the song was minimal, instead he racked his brain for the things that he’d done on stage in the past that he’d caught her watching. And it worked a treat. Her attention was trained on him the entire time. As the song came to an end, her brain felt absolutely fried. He must’ve recognised her half-dazed state because he jumped down into the space between the barrier and the stage to put the final nail in the coffin. He leant across the metal railing, and for a brief moment she thought he might’ve been about to kiss her. She was pretty certain that she might spontaneously combust if he did.

“You could just tell me, you know.” He whispered. Her heart hammered against her ribcage as she tried to compose her thoughts. After a few seconds he moved back, meeting her gaze and seeing how flustered she was.

“Fuck you.” She mumbled with her last hint of tenacity and desire to win a futile bet, tearing her eyes away from him to look behind him at the screens on the stage.

“You could if you’d like.” He quipped with a knowing look. She was suddenly dragged back to the weekend that she’d met him. That damn radio interview he’d pulled her into. It was nearly five months ago now since he’d pulled that stunt on her. Had it really been that long..? “Suit yourself, love.” He said with a chuckle as he hopped back up on stage.

Last Chapter

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#Matthew Healy x Reader #Matty Healy x Reader #Sunsetinmyvein

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uncomfortable-writers · 5 years

Text

Lovebirds (Pietro x Reader)

(Gif credit to owner)

Fandom: Marvel

Character: Pietro Maximoff

Persona: Female

Word Count: 2,077

Request: i love love love your blog and was thinking if you could write a fanfic with pietro maximoff where reader and him are best friends (secretly in love with each other) and tony (who is reader's legal guardian bc she moved away from home to be avenger's computer engineer & has been training with them) teams up with others in teasing you two to finally fess up & team calls them smth like "slavic lovebirds" since reader is also from some slavic/balkan country? and talks a lot in her native language?

A/N - <3

♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　

Begrudgingly, you stalked your way towards Tony’s lab. The cup of coffee in your hand growing colder by the second mirrored the ever souring expression on your face. You were not a morning person, not in the slightest. Raising your ID pass to the scanner the door opened with a click, “Good morning (Y/N)”, FRIDAY greeted cheerily, you grunted in response.

“Ah! (Y/N), just the person I need!”, Tony’s voice hollered loudly, he turned to face you and a lopsided grin formed on his face, “Someone got out of the wrong side of bed today”. Your frown deeped, “Заткнись“ (Shut up), with a sharp retort you took a swig of the lukewarm beverage. Tony stopped his tinkering momentarily to raise a bushy eyebrow at you, “Come again?”, he asked, spanner pointing accusingly at you. You couldn’t help but to smile at your mentor, “I said, what can I help you with?”. Half a smile pulled at his lips, “Huh..right. Can you take a look at this please?”.

You were quietly helping Tony, listening to his instructions carefully and following them still stuck in your bad mood although it wasn’t all doom and gloom.

It was fast approaching your first year of studying under the Iron Man himself. Being handpicked for an internship at Stark Industries was a dream come true for you but the end of the world for your family. Your mother and father continuously refused the applications sent through the post even going as far as to change the P.O box; it seemed nothing could sway their minds to allow their precious, (and only), daughter to leave the nest. That was until Tony Stark showed up on your doorstep. Your parents were unable to resist his charming ways, he had an answer to every question they’d asked. They had one last thing to ask. Tony had to become your legal guardian in order for you to move into the Avengers Compound and Tony agreed in a heartbeat, already feeling proud from the potential you’d shown in the tests leading up to the internship. Afterall there was no safer place in the galaxy than with the world’s only team of superheroes.

“Earth to (Y/N)”, Tony clicked his fingers in front of your face, “Something the matter kiddo?”. The recollection of events was disrupted, you answered with a sharp hum, “Just tired”. Your fingers tapped flawlessly away at the laptop placed on the workbench as you carefully documented Tony’s work. His brown eyes glanced up at you as he toyed with the machinery, “Are you sleeping okay?”, a brief expression of worry on his face, “Do you think you need to see a doctor? I can get Bruce to come give you a checkup?”. You half smiled at the Avenger, “Just tired”, you emphasised before working away in silence. Tony nodded in sympathy, knowing all too well the feeling.

The lesson passed with few comments from both parties as Tony opted to let you work in peace.

Suddenly the door opened to reveal no one. The papers scattered around the lab rustled as a precise wind flew past the desks, coming to a stop at your side. “Hey (Y/N)”, the accented voice drifted through the workspace, it belonged to the silver-haired Sokovian who you’d grown so fondly of these past months. In an instant your mood picked up.

“Hey Pietro!”, a wide, toothy grin settled on your face as you stopped your work to look up at the taller man, he was already smiling down at you, “How are you?”, Quicksilver asked politely. “I’m pretty good actually, how’re you?”. Pietro opened his mouth but he never got the words out to finish his sentence. A smirk pulled at the corner of Tony’s lips which he tried hard to bite back, “Well someone’s perked up, thought you were tired?”, his eyes darted between the two of you as he stopped his work to watch the scene unfold. A ghost of a blush painted the apples of your cheeks, smiling sheepishly at your mentor you replied, “Yeah I was but that was hours ago”.

Sassily, Tony placed his hands on his hips, “It was literally ten minutes ago (Y/N)”, he didn’t give you a chance to respond as his attention was then directed to Pietro, “And you. Why’re you interrupting our lesson?”. Now it was Pietro’s turn to be coy, “I came to bring (Y/N) a cup of coffee”. Tony looked at Pietro then to his hands and then to the desk, “I don’t see one”.

You wouldn’t of been able to tell that Pietro had dashed off had it not been for the slight movement of your hair, the rustle of papers and the fact that he now had in his hands your favourite mug, “Sorry I forgot it”. You beamed up at Pietro, eagerly you took the warm cup, “Thank you”. “Any time”, he grinned back. It was almost like Tony wasn’t there for you were both staring into each other’s eyes and smiling like crazy. “Alright alright”, Tony stated tapping his fingers against the workbench, “Stop flirting. You brought (Y/N) her coffee now dash off, we’ve got a lesson to continue”.

In a flash both your face and Pietro’s turned such a shade of red that it matched the colour of Tony’s Iron Man suit. “Yeah, yeah Stark”, Pietro rolled his eyes coolly as he tried to play off his embarrassment. Meanwhile you reluctantly returned to your laptop to hide your fluster. Slowly, but surely, Pietro made his way towards the exit, all without using his powers, “So, catch ya later for movie night?”, Pietro called, hope evident on his face. You nodded eagerly, “See ya at seven!”.

Pietro left the room and it fell into silence again until Tony couldn’t resist making a quip, “Ah so that’s why you’re so tired”.

//////////\\\\\\\\\\\

You were humming in the kitchen, wiggling your hips to the tune in your head. Your mood really improved once Pietro reminded you of movie night. It was like a shared ritual which happened whenever Pietro had free time, it wasn’t easy being an Avenger. Gathering snacks was an equally important part of said ritual almost as important as the film you were watching, (Pietro mostly let you stick on whatever you wanted without much protest, mostly).

Being so caught up in your happy state you didn’t hear Pietro enter the kitchen; one of his many advantages of being able to move so fast.

He leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his broad chest, his lips upturned in a smile as he watched you swaying about the kitchen. You were reaching up at the top shelf on the cupboard knowing it was where the silver-haired man kept his favourite snacks, but as he was at least a foot taller than you, it was impossible to get them without parkouring onto the side. Just as you were about to climb onto the counter he decided it was time to make an appearance.

“эй принцесса”,(Hey Princess) Pietro suddenly appeared next to you, looking just as dapper as ever, “нужна помощь?”, (Need a hand?). You rolled your eyes up at him frivolously, “Мне бы не понадобилась помощь, если бы кто-то не решил прятать вещи на верхней полкеь”, (I wouldn’t need help if someone hadn’t decided to of hide stuff on the top shelf). Pietro chuckled at your remark, “Last time I left things where people could reach Clint ate my entire emergency stash”, he recalled the memory with a faint frown on his face which soon ebbed away when his blue eyes focused on you again, “So do you want help or not?”. You couldn’t resist the cheeky grin which graced Pietro’s face, “I’m not grow anytime soon”, you smirked with a shrug of your shoulders. Quicksilver’s hands were played on your hips in less than a second, it was like they were perfectly sculpted to your figure. The warmth they gave off was delicious, you tried to ignore the feeling as he lifted you. You made quick work of gathering the snacks. They clanged loudly as they hit the side. Pietro lowered you to the floor where he kept one hand firmly on your hip, you didn’t mind as you leaned into his chest. It was like second nature.

Natasha observed the scene, a warm smile on her face.

“Don’t mind me interrupting”, she said softly, her steps even lighter as she crossed the doorway into the kitchen. You jumped away from Pietro like he had burnt you, “Дерьмо! Вы почти дали мне сердечный приступ“, (Shit! You almost gave me a heart attack), you clutched dramatically at your chest, trying to ignore the heat on your cheeks. “Будь немного громче в следующий раз“, (Be a little louder next time), Pietro chided wanting nothing more than to pull you back into his chest. Natasha grabbed a water bottle from the fridge, her teasing expression never fading, “Sorry for interrupting”. You quickly stuttered a reply, “T-There was n-nothing to interrupt”.

As she was leaving the room, she paused to look back at you two, “Не волнуйся, я не скажу Тони”, (Don’t worry, I won’t tell Tony). As soon as the words left her mouth, she was off.

Breathing in through his nose Pietro quickly recovered the mood, “Well grab the snacks and lets get going love”.

A few moments later and you were on the couch in front of the giant, flat screen T.V.. You’d just shoved in Cinderella. Pietro patted the empty space next to him as he held up the large fluffy blanket, he tilted his head as he waited expectantly. You waddled over and jumped into the space, practically leaching into his side as the movie started to play. His hand traced patterns into your thigh as you placed your head on his chest, “Удобная принцесса?”, (Comfortable Princess?). “Конечно”, (Of course). Happy with your answer, he rested his head on top of yours.

You and Quicksilver were too engrossed in each other’s company, the movie to realise that you had company.

“They’re cute aren’t they”, Tony watched fondly content that his adoptive daughter was happy. Natasha gave him the side eye, “They really are, but isn’t it a little weird to be spying on them?”. Tony smirked at her, “Not spying, just passing by”.

Pietro was finally building up the nerve to confess something, he hadn’t been focusing on the film just on the fact that in this moment everything felt right. He coughed awkwardly to grab you attention, “Hmm?”, you pushed off of his chest so you were face to face with him. “I’ve just been thinking y’know”, Pietro seemed to look everywhere but at you. “You? Thinking? That’s dangerous”, you teased, unable to keep the giggle spilling from your lips as his face screwed up. “I like you (Y/N)”, his voice was a mere whisper. You’re heart sped up but you tried to dismiss it as Pietro just showing his affection, “I like you too”. He sighed and moved his hand from your thigh to cover your own, “Нет, я имею в виду, ты мне нравишься больше, чем друг”, (No I mean I like you more than a friend). Your eyebrows raised to your hairline. Never in a million years did you imagine Pietro would like you in the same way too, “ты мне тоже нравишься”, (I like you too).

“What do you think they’re talking about?”, Tony quietly asked Nat. Now it was her turn to smirk at the billionaire, “You don’t wanna know”. This caught Tony’s attention, “Um excuse me what do you mean?”. Natasha just nodded at the couch, where Pietro was leaning in, both of your lips puckered.

“There will be absolutely no making out sessions on my favourite couch”, Tony whined suddenly making his presence known. For the second time today you jumped apart, “Aww come on Tony, did you have to ruin the moment?”, you moaned burying your face into Pietro’s chest. “What else was I supposed to do? Let you go full on washing machine mode while you’re sat in my favourite spot? I don’t think so”, Tony goaded, “FRIDAY’s gonna keep an eye out, she catches anymore funny business and its bedtime for the both of you”. Natasha entered the room before you or Pietro could respond, she wrapped a tiny hand around Tony’s arm and started to pull him away from the door, “C’mon Tony leave the Slavic lovebirds alone”.

#marvel #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #pietro maximoff #pietro maximoff fanfic #pietro x reader #pietro maximoff x reader #reader insert #female reader #reader x pietro #reader x pietro maximoff #quicksilver #quicksilver x reader #quicksilver fanfic #uncomfortable writers #mcu #aaron taylor johnson

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darker-side-fanfiction · 4 years

Text

🔧Cyberpunk: Android Yukimura: Part 3

Part 3: Tis but a scratch.

Trigger warnings: mention of past torture, abuse, noncon body alteration, abuse...if someone thinks I missed something, lmk.

What are emotions again and why do we have a past if not to inform the present? Nothing can be quite so simple though, can it?

❤️Story beneath the cut:❤️

Shadows claimed corners, odd shapes taking on alarming qualities whereby the imagination is given permission to run rampant. There was a light directly overhead where he’d been seated, but his hand wouldn’t be shielding his eyes from its glare. He felt like he was back in an interrogation room, though oddly he couldn’t remember when or why he’d last been in one.

What was visible beside him couldn’t be described as anything except instruments of torture. For a droid, that is. Spanners, wrenches, screwdrivers, an electric looking multitool defying identification. Everything his new owner would need to take him apart piece by meticulous, excruciating piece.

Further along the table beyond the immediate reach of the light were bits and pieces of other cannibalized electronics. Their wires poked out every which way, a very few of them recognizable for what they originally were. This was giving him flashbacks of a particularly nightmarish owner. She had made it her goal to see how many ways one could make a stubborn android beg. Being resilient and difficult to permanently damage...with an abundance of pain receptors...had its downsides.

The new gal reappeared from whatever dark recess she’d been rummaging in. She muttered to herself, something he would learn to be a bit of a habit of hers. “Let’s see about getting your mouth working again, shall we?”

Oh great. Just wonderful. Why would she want do that? So she’d feel justified in taking him apart? Cause so far, 99% of his owners would’ve agreed his ability to speak was their least favorite attribute and most likely to make them want to shoot him. Expense was usually the reason why they didn’t, but he doubted she had to pay much for him. Was it too late to be melted down for metal or was she still hoping to find something useful in his Swiss cheesed chassis?

His head was turned to the side and all he could see was the freak show that was her wall; more scraps and parts hung on hooks that though they were barely visible were also definitely terrifying. Meanwhile she messed around in the removable panel on the side of his skull. There were a vanishingly small number of those accessible on his body: the rest of his wiring required almost something akin to surgery to get at. What the inventor was thinking when he designed this series was...more than anyone had managed to comprehend. Made modifications and repair unfortunately difficult.

“—couldn’t be too smart if she thinks there’s any point.”

He’d been trying to distract himself when he realized—belatedly—that his speech functions had begun working again. Though it wasn’t as if it would change what he said...much. His glare and her raised eyebrow met when she adjusted his head to face forward. She clicked her tongue at his expression, but looked all too pleased with herself for his preference.

“That’s one detail out of the way. I want you to answer a couple of questions for me before I have to worry about what you’d do with mobility.”

“You’re out of your mind if you think that’s a possibility. ...Mistress.”

“Name’s Azar. Not ‘mistress’, not owner or whatever else the flip you’ve called people before, Az—“

“I can’t call you that.” Yuki interrupted her, earning a frown.

“Explain.”

Not doing what she wanted was a tempting idea, but ticking her off didn’t have any upside. He sighed heavily, “One of my owners wasn’t too thrilled with the words I used to describe them. It was the truth! ...And I didn’t think it was as bad as they said. But they added programming. Tweaked with my software. I can only call my current owners by the title Master or Mistress. Lot less interesting,” he grumbled.

She looked like she was holding back laughter, while being horrified at the same time. Humans were too complicated, especially women. Did all of his alterations disgust her? He shouldn’t care. He didn’t want to care. There was nothing to be caring about! Yeah...sure. Sounds real convincing.

“Alright. We’ll get to that later. Stop or correct me if I get anything wrong.” She ticked off her fingers as she listed the things that had made his life a living hell. “In my research, it was mentioned you couldn’t lie to me.” Pointer finger. “Your main programming, the one part of you no one can alter, is your mandate to protect your owner. Which means you can’t hurt them unless allowed, you’re specifically asked to, or it’s done to save their life.” Middle finger. Which, for the record, he’d like to give to her. “However, you do have leeway in a number of directions based on your discretion and your owner’s orders.”

She waited a beat before continuing, the line of inquiry setting off an uncomfortable crawl along his skin. Her thumb became finger number three. “And finally, you aren’t required to do anything your owner asks, but you can’t stop them from doing whatever they want to you.”

If he could’ve swallowed, he would’ve. Unfortunately everything from the base of his skull down didn’t work. He was beginning to wish that still included his mouth that had gone dry. It wasn’t so much a question, but he still answered, “Yes.”

She brightened visibly, though he wasn’t going to take that as a good sign. The tool was put down, and he almost took a breath in relief. Belay that, what the hey was she doing?! The blood colored substitute rushed to his face, creating a crimson hue he’d forgotten he was capable of. Judging by her stare, she hadn’t known he could do that either. “Watch your hands, Mistress!” He shouted without thinking twice and she jumped back with that multitool snagged and pointed at him like a weapon.

“What the blaze did you just do with your face?! And what’s the yelling for?” She let out an annoyed huff, “I was just taking your shirt off. Chill, okay?” She went from freaked out to calm in the space of a second, though he could tell her hands were shaking. That information was filed in the back of his mind for later. Something more than his reaction had spooked her.

He bit his tongue, wishing he could disappear into the floorboards. Or anywhere, really. Could she not peer into his eyes so closely?? That grin was something else too. “Ohh, is someone shy? Don’t worry, Red. Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

Wh-what did she mean by that? But more importantly, “My name isn’t ‘Red’, it’s Yukimura. And tha-that isn’t—I’m not—“

She didn’t wait for him to finish. His shirt was in shreds already; the frag gun that had chewed him up had left the fabric’s integrity at nearly nil and she split it easily to reveal his chest. Again she stepped back, this time her face going blank. That was okay. Yuki didn’t need her expression to tell a story. Heart rate, respiration, sweaty palms, and a gesture, raking a pesky stray lock of ebony hair behind her ear, probably a tell. She was shocked.

A good few minutes passed, only her eyes moving, roving over his exposed torso. This was just the beginning, he wanted to joke. Should see his back. ‘Course, the gaping holes where he was missing synth skin was likely the main cause of the disturbing image. Normally when damage was done, either in the line of duty or...on purpose...one would just patch it up.

Droids didn’t heal per se. But they could be fixed, the circuitry hidden again behind something more palatable for the human eye to accept. Wasn’t so bad price-wise either if you didn’t care what color it was. Easiest stuff to purchase was an off-white that basically made it look like an old scar. And unless you really cared about your droid looking pristine or had a lot of money lying around, you were going for the cheap version. He was just counting his blessings none of them had wanted to spring for a color, maybe purple, and call it art.

“So, uhh, like...you gonna stare all night?”

She startled like she’d been shot, her eyes flying up to catch his and a flicker of something...was that pity? darting across them. Nah. No one felt sympathy for droids. Not that he’d seen. Her voice told a different story, its tone soft as she moved closer—her fingertips raising goosebumps on the skin not scarred. “Does it...hurt?”

All...all fifteen plus holes in his chest? The metal fragments wedged in vital components that have caused him to all but grind to a halt? Or the tenderness she used while he braced himself for the new agony she was surely going to cause? He wanted to lie. He wanted so badly not to be vulnerable in admitting what he had been trying unsuccessfully to ignore for a week. He was fine! Just fine. It didn’t hurt and she couldn’t hurt him. Then she wouldn’t get to know what advantage she held until he screamed. A brief reprieve until then, couldn’t he ask for that much? He’d see the truth of it in her eyes soon enough, just as he had all his other owners but one. The hubris it gave them. The thirst for power. Knowing his pain or relief was in their hands.

He wanted to, but he couldn’t. There was no escape granted for him. Clearly and with as much dignity as he could muster he answered, “Yeah...it-it’s still...” He stopped, but she seemed to understand.

Thing was, if he’d been a human...well, if he were a human he’d be dead. This many vital components hit would’ve been one thing. The loss of fluid would be the next. They’d self sealed after a time, but even had the fragments not gotten into his circuitry, he didn’t have enough fluid left to function with. Much like a human with severe anemia, he was too weak.

He had forgotten or filed away the memories of how it felt when he’d first been shot. The seal had dulled much of the pain. When she cut one of them back open however, he had to grit his teeth and even then couldn’t keep the whimper down. Truth was, it all hurt. Everything hurt. From the headache brought on by stress and prolonged anxiety, to the toes he couldn’t move but annoyingly, frustratingly, were connected in a way similar to a human’s body. When one aspect was affected the rest felt it.

Eyes closed, he tried to concentrate on just one sensation. Just the scratching and clicking noises of her tools working on his chest. The pain coming from the reopened wound. Just that, as if that weren’t enough. Invasive. Frightening. Gone. What? He could tell the moment she’d stopped, his eyes springing open. Wh-where’d she go?

A loud clattering could be heard just to his side, but he couldn’t see her in his periphery. The next thing he knew, she was laying him down on the table, an adjustable lamp hovering directly over his chest. This was definitely not helping his nerves. The woman, Azar, paused and he thought she smiled. There wasn’t much to see beyond the too bright light over him. It seemed like she was reaching towards his face, but he flinched and she pulled back, squeezing his shoulder lightly instead.

“I’ll be done soon.”

Done? Done with what? What was she doing to him? Was he going to be doomed to being a music player now? Nothing more than a repurposed boombox? His imagination was going a million miles a minute, but he didn’t ask. He knew his voice would crack.

A new component was added to his chest, wires the width of human hair connecting and causing an almost ticklish sensation despite it all. A substance applied to the hole finished the operation and...it was almost more than he could comprehend. It didn’t sting, didn’t burn either. He couldn’t help it, waiting for the sealant to seep into his bloodstream equivalent and spread fire. It never came. Rather, that particular wound which hadn’t ceased sending pain messages to his processor had...silenced. And he could twitch his fingers. What the frak had she done?

“Ngh...aahHHK! Please, please just stop...” His relief was short lived. A new wound was reopened and this one must have been connected to a nerve cluster. He couldn’t see her face past the bright lights hovering over him, but he knew her hands were still moving. Slowly, methodically, the tools scraped and removed and sent receptors screaming...or was that him? She said something; her voice too soft to hear over the alarm bells ringing in his head. All he knew was it wasn’t over yet and he was right. She wasn’t any different than the others.

By the fifth one, he was out of energy. There was nothing left, and nothing replenishing his stamina. Her muttering was washing over him without much comprehension. Unless she addressed him specifically, it wasn’t worth the expenditure of energy to translate her words into something recognizable.

“Didn’t want to add the synth-flow until I was done. Will make this more messy...hm. Can’t be helped. Looks like you won’t last without it.”

A needle was inserted in the crook of his elbow, not the first from the white points dotting the skin. None of those had been voluntary either. He couldn’t see her wincing, didn’t know what to make of her tracing the scars like a constellation. Too soon her instruments of torture were back to digging around his torso.

The...odd thing was...one by one the gaping injuries she’d meddled with were being closed, the pain declining. It had been impossible to notice for a time; his thought processes were overloaded with emotions, memories, and the searing, piercing agony inflicted in whichever wound she was invading. The combination had shut down logical reasoning, but clarity returned with the infusion of artificial blood...as well as movement? Fingers, wrists, feet, neck...slight adjustments sure, but after being frozen stiff for so long, it was nothing short of amazing.

“There. That oughta do the trick.” Her hand brushed back his hair, and though he shied away from the action, she didn’t seem to notice. “Got more of that stuff on order. Friend of a friend owes me a favor.”

She gestured flippantly at his abdomen, already turning to put her tools away. Something didn’t sound right about her voice, too high and breathy, but he was too busy sitting up and gawping at his chest. There was...nothing there. No holes, no new scars. “That stuff” she’s got on order must’ve been the synth skin. Why would she waste the precious resource on him? Unless...

A clattering noise wrenched his attention away from clashing probabilities to were she’d stumbled against the table.

“I’m fine,” was mumbled. She didn’t give much credence to her words when her eyes rolled into the back of her head and her knees buckled.

Lightening fast reflexes caught her before her head caromed off the metal bench. His joints protested and the needle was ripped out of his arm, but he did what he was designed for. It wasn’t even a thought.

Laying her in the sparse but comfortable cot at one side of the room, he checked her pulse and took her temperature. Another deep sigh, appreciating the ability to take a full breath without hitching. “Great. First day and you’re already so needy. Why’d you have to go and work yourself into a fever for?”

One thing’s for sure. She wasn’t what he’d been expecting. “Just don’t go dying on me, got it? Dumm—Mistress.”

#cybird #ikemen sengoku #cyberpunk #android #yuki #sanada yukimura #yukimura sanada #my writing

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allisonbaelfire · 5 years

Text

Until My Last Breath

Pairings: Steve x Reader, Tony Stark!father x Reader

Summary: After Infinity War, you and the rest of the Team tried to find a solution, how to get half of the humanity back. Besides the guilt everyone felt, it was hard for you not knowing if your dad was still alive or not. It happens that the satellites get a signal from a spaceship, that is about to land on earth. It could be your father, who you happend seen since the registration act, where you took Steve’s side - or Thanos helpers could be back after they heard about your plan.

Word Count: 2,008

Authors Note: I think, this is by far my best Story yet.

____________________________

It was the middle of the night when you woke up slowly. You were starting to get cold, and when you noticed that Steve was no longer lying next to you, an inner unease spread in you.

Before the "snap", you never had a problem with sleeping alone and didn’t worry so fast. But now, every day, you were afraid that Thanos would change his mind, that he’d come back and take Steve like he took your father.

You got up to look for him. You perceived light in Bathroom, through the crack in the door. You opened the door slowly and saw Steve.

He didn’t notice you. You saw that he was shaving off his beard. You liked his beard, nevertheless it was a symbol of the past years. The years in which you were considered "enemies of the state", when you lost against Thanos and half of the humanity vanished into dust.

You opened the door a bit more and leaned against the door frame, “Hey Captain.” you smiled soft.

He looked at you through the reflection of the mirror. You could see that he was trying to carry the burden alone, as he looked into your eyes.

You walked slowly behind him. “You look handsome.” You kissed his back and touched gently his arms.

Steve didn’t say anything. A thank you was hard right now, but you knew it had nothing to do with you.He probably had another nightmare again. After five years, you had the first hope to bring Thanos to the track, Steve was worried that something could go wrong and he could lose even more people.

“It’ll work. We’ll get them back.” You said so softly, as if you were whispering. Not only did you try to convince Steve that your plan would work, you had to keep telling yourself that too.

Steve turned to you. He was looking into your eyes and touched gently your cheek. You leaned in his touch and closed your eyes for a split second.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do if it doesn’t.” He replied. You looked at him. “I promised Tony to keep you safe -”

He paused but you knew what he wanted to say. He would like to keep you out of the whole fight, but the team needed your strength, also Steve needed you during the upcoming fight at his side, if wouldn’t be there he would just worry.

Steve took a deep breath. “Do you regret joining me then? When Tony agreed to the registration act?”

You already wondered when he would ask you that question. He worried that you had only joined him because you fell in love with him, also he felt guilty that you couldn’t see your father for over five years and you might never see him again.

Normally, such a question would annoy you. Steve just put more guilt on his shoulders to take it away from others. You hated it when he did that. But now was not the time to be angry with him.

“I would make the same decision over and over again. And Steve, I didn’t join you then, because I was in love with you. I was against the registration act because I want to protect the world but at the same time myself and my family, my future children too.”

Steve looked relieved when he heard your answer, but still he remembered the promise he made to Tony when you had to leave the country with him.

He took your hand and placed a kiss on the top of it. You gently caressed his head.

“Let’s go back to bed, shall we?” You asked and he nodded.

~*~

“What do you need to make them work?” You asked Bruce as he explained his plan again.

“We use the information we’ve of Vision’s Stone, Wanda’s Powers and what Shuri found out.” Bruce replied.

Bruce tried to make his plan as simple as possible to give everyone new hope. The plan was to try to create Infinity Stones and use them to restore half of humanity.

Scott was helping him with the research results from Dr. Pym. Thor gave him all the information he had about the stones and you others tried to get all the materials he needed to create the new stones.

~*~

You went into your fathers old lab at the beach. The house still belonged to your family, yet it still had to be rebuild again but you liked it here anyways. It was the house were you grew up in.

You told the others you were searching for some information that could help, which was somehow true, but the real reason why you were here was because you missed him.

You always felt closest to him when you were here. You've always worked on your school research projects together, until you grew up and worked together on his iron man suits.

“Hey Dum-e.” You greeted your fathers robot. “Look what I brought you. (X)” You smiled and put the picture of them on your fathers desk. You loved this Robot and you knew your father did too, even after all his threats to disassemble him.

~*~

You were so deep in your thoughts as you worked on your Iron Suit that you didn’t notice your mother.

“Hey Sweetie,” She smiled. You shrug and let your spanner fall. “I’m sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t.” You tried to lie but your mom just chuckled.

“You really are like your father.” She admitted.

“Is this a good or a bad thing?”

“Depends.” She replied and you laughed together.

“I’ll bring him back to you, I promise.” You assured her.

She came to you and pulled you in a hug. “I don’t care how old you’re, you’ll always be my little girl.” She spoke and you tried to hold back your tears. “I miss him but I won’t survive losing you too, I know I cant stop you from trying to safe the world - like I said, you’re your fathers daughter, but please Y/N be careful.”

>>knock, knock<<

“I’m sorry to interrupt.” Steve apologized.

He looked intimidated whenever Pepper was present. After all, you were on the run with Steve for a long time and if you had been here when Thanos attacked, Tony might not have disappeared.

“You don’t.” She answered friendly.

You let go of your mom. “What’s going on?”

Usually Steve wouldn’t come here, he knew this was the only spot where you could somehow breath and take a break from everything that was happening.

“You should both come with me.” He suggested.

You knew he was trying to sound friendly, but if something was so important he came to the lab, something must have happened.

~*~

You followed Steve until you saw everyone surrounding Bruce. You rushed into the lab and all eyes where on you and your mother.

“What is going on here?” Pepper asked.

No one seemed to speak, not even Natasha who always had something to say.

You got worried. “Didn’t you hear what she asked?! What the hell is going on?”

Clint pushed Steve forward to you, he was the one who should tell you, “We received a warning from our Satellites that a spaceship is on the way to Earth, with 2 people and something else on board. We assume Tony might be on the ship. But we do not know if anyone lives.”

“How much time until its down here?” You asked without any emotion.

Bruce looked at you, “10 Minutes.”

That was all you needed. “F.R.I.D.A.Y., initiate the fight and defense suit 02 ultra.” You ordered.

“Ma’am, I suggest you take one of your old suits. They’re safer.” Friday replied.

“Do as I say.” You answered and made your way outside of the Avengers Facility.

Steve followed you, “Y/N, we don’t kn ow if its him or if he still is the man we know?”

You clenched your teeth, “And now Rogers? Do you want to do nothing and let them just crash? You know because of Shuri’s Tech, no one can land on earth without dying.”

“She did that to protect us from any Alien or better Thanos if he tries to come back again.” Bruce interrupted as he followed.

“And thats why-” You paused as your suit finally made his way from your dad lab to your location. “-I’m going to safe it. Either you help me,” You put on the suit. “or get out of my way.” You closed your face mask.

Steve looked at Pepper for a little help as she and the rest followed you outside.

She just smiled. “Y/N’s just like him.”

“Not helping.” Natasha replied.

Steve took a deep breath. He couldn’t stop you, because he would do exactly the same.

“Okay, you heard the Lady. Thor, Rhodey you’ll support her in the air. When the ship breaks through the earth's atmosphere, you have to slow it down.” Steve ordered and both nodded. “Natasha, Clint - you two get in the jet. If we're getting attacked, you fire back.”

While Steve told the others what they had to do, you were already in the air and stole Bruce's coordinates, from his computer, on where the ship would land.

“The 02 Ultra is ready, Mrs. Stark.” Friday informed you.

“Then lets get this party started.” You said serious.

The Ultra 02 was a suit you built, it should be a defense unit. Veronica, the protective equipment against the Hulk was the core idea. Only Ultra 02 was significantly larger and more powerful than Veronica, because it was build to protect the earth against Thanos.

~*~

You could finally see the spaceship. It was indeed really fast and probably to much to handle on your own but Thor and Rhodey were by your side.

“Ready?” Rhodey asked.

“I’m always ready.” Thor smiled. “Lady S?”

“You know me.” You smirked under your suit. “Now!”

You three are headed straight for the ship. It was really fast. Thor grabbed the bridge while Rhodey and you grabbed the ship below. You three tried to slow it down with all you might.

“Friday, we need a little help here!!” You screamed.

“On my way!”

She send Ultra 02 for support and the ship slowed down a bit but it’d still going to be a rough landing. Rhodey and you use all your thrusters while Thor tried to reach something with his lightnings.

“Still 2,000 feet.” You heard Bruce over your radio signal.

“You’ve to try harder or they’ll die and maybe you’ll join them.” Clint added.

“What do you think are we doing, Barton?”

“Damn it!” Bruce was angry. “Hulk, now is the god damn time to come out or they’ll all die!” He yelled.

“Y/N, break up the mission!” Steve said. “That’s an order!”

The hulk did not come out in years, and the ship was still to fast for you all to survive the landing. It seemed hopeless.

“Its Tony!” Thor yelled as he finally saw who was in the ship.

You knew, now there was no way back. You wouldn’t let your dad die after he finally made it home. You had to ignore Steve's instruction.

“I love you, Steve. I always will.” You said and everyone heard it. You You control all your power on the arc reactor to trigger a thrust that might save the ship.

Bruce realized what you were about to do, it took him a second. A second that was too important to waste - but finally, Hulk appeared and jumped as high as he could. He caught the ship with all of you.

It was still a pretty hard landing, for all of you. The ship was totally broken but everyone survived.

~*~

You landed hard on the ground. Your suit, and probably Rhodey’s too, were destroyed but you all lived. Steve ran to you and helped you to get out of the suit. He pulled you in a hug and tears were rolling down his face.

“I could’ve lost you!” He was mad and relieved at the same time. “You can never do something like this again.”

You nodded as you cried into his chest. You were afraid up there or better terrified. You didn’t thought you’d survive this.

“Pepper?”

You recognized the voice. You let go of Steve and wiped your tears away. You saw your mother running into the arms of your father. You couldn’t believe your eyes. So many years past since he disappeared and now he was finally back.

As Tony was hugging Pepper, he saw you next to Steve. He let go of Pepper and you ran into over to him. He wrapped his arms around you and hold you as tight as he could.

“I know you’d be out there.” You sobbed.

“I know you’d built a better suit than me.” You two chuckled. “I missed you so much Y/N!”

“I missed you too, Dad.”

“Where the hell are we?” A blue female asked.

~*~

Days past and everything went back to normal... or better as normal as it could be.

Tony explained to you all what happened on Titan and introduced you to Nebula. Rocket told you about her and that his team actually didn’t like her that much but besides that he seemed really relived to see her alive.

You explained what happened on earth when Thanos arrived for the Stones and told him about your plan to get half of the humanity back and maybe how defeat Thanos.

~*~

The first few days were hard for Steve. Despite the fact that Tony was back there was tension between the two.

“Can we talk?” Steve asked Tony while he was working with you on your suit.

Tony looked at you. He didn’t want to miss another moment with you or your mother anymore, but he agreed. Tony knew how important it was to you and even if he wouldn’t admit it, it was important for him to talk to Steve too.

You left the room to give the most important man in your life some time, to talk. At first it was awkward, no one dared to say a word.

“I’m sorry.” Steve let out. “I’m sorry for everything. I shouldn’t have agreed back then, that Y/N can join the Team against the registration act.” He apologized. “I feel like I took her from you.”

Tony nodded. “I thought so too.” he admitted. “But a long time ago. I realized she does what she thinks is right and most of the time she is. It sucks but Y/N is always right.” He chuckled and Steve agreed. “It wouldn’t have changed a thing, Steve. I still would’ve ended up in space. Maybe should’ve followed me but it was better that she was here with you.”

Steve was surprised by Tony’s reaction. “I’m not so sure.”

“I am, she is a great woman. And I know she was safe here with you. You watched out for both of my girls and I’m really thankful for that, my friend.”

Steve smiled as he heard Tony calling him his friend. He missed that. But he had to ask Tony something and wasn’t so sure, how he would react, and if that could destroy the friendship again.

“I don’t know if its the right time or it ever will be but I want to ask you for your permission. I want to ask Y/N to marry me.” Steve confessed. “And I really hope you agree, I know how important your approval would be for her and its definitely important to me too.”

Tony had to take a short breath. He was not back on the ground so long. But he had already expected this question.

“You remember the promise you gave me?” He asked and Steve nodded. “I need you to promise it again. We’ve a war coming, maybe bigger than the one we’ve already faced. We could lose every bit we’ve and I want you to protect her no matter what. Y/N won’t back down but you’ve to protect her. She has to survive the fight, she’ll change the world - she’ll heal it.” Tony said. “She’s the most important person in my life and I wouldn’t have survived if I didn’t know she’s safe.”

“I do. I promise I’ll protect her until my last breath!” Steve swore.

“I’m counting on it, Buddy.” He smiled and hugged Steve. “I’m glad that you two have each other and we all need something good to hold on to.” He let go. “So why not a wedding?” They both laughed together.

For a long time in awhile Steve didn’t felt so much pressure on his shoulders anymore. The Team seemed to gained their hope back and the chance grew to finally beat Thanos once and for all.

________________________________

Please let me know what you think about the story’s. I’d really love to read how you feel after reading this!!

Thank you for your time <3

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barpurplewrites · 7 years

Text

Winds of Change

@of-princes-and-savages I am you secret Santa. It has been a pleasure to writ this for you. It got a bit lengthy so I’m only posting the first chapter here and the full story can be found HERE on AO3

-x-x-x-

Winds of Change – Chapter One

An inventor and an outcast are about to change the world. Those in power are willing to throw a spanner in the works to maintain the status quo, but the cogs will turn and the future won’t be denied; is the price of progress one worth paying?

Belle frowned as she read the newspaper she had bought from the kiosk at Stepney Tram Station. It was only the shuffling from the other passengers and the chugging of the approaching steam-tram’s engine that prevented her from missing the 8:17. Once she had taken her seat she re-read the print that had her so distracted.

Mr. and Mrs. Philip Greene are pleased to announce the engagement of their adopted daughter, Miss Zelena Greene to Mr Gaston Legume, eldest son of Mr. and Mrs. Garrick Legume. An August wedding is planned at Roebury All Saints Church in Northumberland.

It was either Fate, or poor planning that had seen Gaston’s second engagement announcement published two years to the day after his first. The first one had featured her name, and she’d carefully clipped it from the newspaper to paste it on the first page of what she had thought would become her wedding scrapbook. She snorted at how naïve she had been, thinking a perfect fairy tale wedding would solve all of her dissatisfaction with her life; as if shackling herself to a brute like Gaston would have given her the freedom she craved. It had only taken a few months for him to reveal his true colours; how close she had come to a life of misery still made her stomach clench. As the steam-tram wound its way through the streets towards the river, she mused at how much her world had changed in a season.

<i>Three Months Ago</i>

Belle was weary from the ball last night, she had not wanted a large affair for her birthday, but Papa had insisted. At first he countered her suggestion of a small dinner by pointing out that his little girl didn’t turn twenty-one every day and surely she could understand his desire to spoil her. When she continued to resist his grand plans he had snapped that this wasn’t just about her, he had a position to maintain in society and he would not have people whispering that his daughter was strange for not wanting a proper birthday celebration for such a milestone year. Heaven forbid if people got the idea that there was to be no grand ball for her birthday because he could not afford to provide one for her. After listening to the predicted woes of what that sort of unfounded gossip could do to the French Mining Company Belle had acquiesced. She had tried to be a dutiful and grateful daughter as Papa increased the guest list to the point where she barely knew a fifth of the people attending the ostentatious event. The only benefit of all of those strangers was that with so many people demanding her time for a dance, or pausing to engage in idle chat as they wished her many happy returns was that Gaston had had no chance to get her alone and pressure her into setting a date for the wedding.

That she was running out of reasons to put off setting a date was worrying her. She had hoped that by now she would have been able to make Papa understand that she did not wish to marry Gaston, but he continued to dismiss her concerns. A gentle knock at the library door roused her from her desperate and increasingly futile dreams of escape. She managed to pull a smile onto her face as the young maid bobbed a curtsey.

“Yes Ashley.”

“Sorry to disturb you Miss, but there is a gentleman to see you, a lawyer, Miss.”

Belle frowned at the card Ashley handed her; “Are you sure he wants to see me? Surely he is here for Papa?”

“Oh no, Miss. He expressly asked to see Miss Isabelle Rosa French.”

Belle winced a little at her full name, these days she only ever heard it when Papa was particularly vexed with her, and even then he never uttered her middle name.

“Very well, I shall see him in the drawing room. Could you please bring us some coffee, Ashley?”

The maid hurried out and Belle took a moment to compose herself, her curiosity washing away the lingering exhaustion from last night. Ashley had left the door to the drawing room open just enough for Belle to observe her unexpected guest for a moment before she announced herself. He was sombrely dressed in tones of black and grey as one would expect for a man of the law, but his cravat and cuffs were bright flashes of colour that gave him the air of a dandy. Belle wasn’t sure what to make of him; a few years ago she would have thought him an interesting character and happily greeted him, but since her engagement she had learned that looks could be deceiving and had come to doubt her initial impressions of people; she had been proved drastically wrong about Gaston after all. She steeled her spine and entered the room.

“Good morning,” She looked at the card he had presented to Ashley, “Mr Hatter. I am Isabelle Rosa French.”

He greeted her with a tight bow and a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Good morning Miss French. May I offer my belated felicitations upon your coming of age.”

Before Belle had a chance to utter a polite thank you he bounded across the room to the table where he had laid out several piles of documents.

“It is the occasion of your twenty-first birthday that necessitates my visit this morning. As you may be aware my firm of Cheshire and Raupo have provided legal services for your family for three generations…”

Belle held up her hand to interrupt him; Mr Hatter paused and cocked his head to one side as he waited for her to speak.

“You are mistaken, sir. My father has always used Miller and Hart for legal matters.”

Mr Hatter pressed his hand to his chest; “My apologies, Miss French. I should have more correctly said that my firm has represented the Monroe family for that period of time.”

Belle blinked; it was a day for rarely spoken names, “My mother’s family.”

“Quite,” He gestured to the table, “May we be seated? I am afraid this may take some time.”

He waited until Belle had settled herself at the table before dramatically flicking his coattails and taking the seat across from her. Belle bit her bottom lip to hide her smile, she had been right that Mr Hatter had a touch of a dandy side about him. He plucked the first page from one of his piles and flicked his eyes over it, he looked her in the eye as he spoke;

“Mrs Colette French, nee Monroe, made certain arrangements in her Last Will and Testament, all others were dealt with in a timely fashion after her passing, but the largest one, the one concerning you had to wait until you came of age…”

The next hour left Belle reeling in stunned amazement, she barely noticed Ashley deliver the coffee she had requested. Her mother had left her an inheritance that amounted to seven thousand pounds a year, money that was hers and hers alone; money which her mother had hoped would be used to ‘pursue her passion in life with freedom and joy’.

Belle took a sip of the now lukewarm coffee to bring some moisture to her dry mouth.

“I’m free.”

She hadn’t realised that she had spoken aloud until she saw Mr Hatter’s eyes dart toward the gaudy engagement ring on her finger. He smiled softly, this time emotion showed in his eyes, although Belle could not say what emotion it was.

“Yes, Miss French, you are now a woman of independent means, and are free to do as you choose.”

The door to the room banged open and Papa blustered in, drawing up short when he saw Mr Hatter, who rose to his feet in greeting.

“Belle? The maid said that you were receiving a gentleman, I expected to find you and Gaston planning the wedding, at last.”

Belle made the introductions and cringed as Papa’s eyes narrowed at the name of Cheshire and Raupo. He refused to shake Mr Hatter’s offered hand.

“What nonsense has your mother dropped in my lap now?”

Belle tensed, but for the first time in longer than she cared to remember she was not bracing herself in fear, a long forgotten feeling of courage began to bloom within her. Mr Hatter took a moment to briefly outline the reason for his visit, without divulging any fine details to Papa; he really was a very good lawyer. As usual her father tried to twist the whole situation into being about Gaston.

“Not that you need to worry about finances once you are wed, but this does mean that Gaston can begin looking for a larger house for the two of you, hey Belle?”

Mr Hatter cleared his throat in a dry deliberate way that Belle was sure all lawyers learned at the Inns of Court.

“Sir Maurice, I feel at this juncture I must make clear that the stipulations of the Will are very clear, this income belongs solely to Miss French and will remain under her control regardless of her marital state.”

Her father turned red in the face, a signal that Belle recognized as the beginning of a fit of spleen. She did not have to sit and listen to his ranting any more. She rose sharply to her feet and dragged the hated engagement ring from her finger and tossed it at him.

“I am breaking the engagement! You arranged the damned thing so you can return this to Mr Legume. I have told you for months that he and I are ill suited, but you have refused to listen, you have ignored my wishes at every turn, reminding me that I am dependent upon the goodwill of you or him. Well I am not dependant anymore! Thanks to Mother I am free, free of him, free of you, free to follow in her footsteps and make a difference in the world!”

Sir Maurice took a step back in the face of her rage, but he quickly recovered and advanced on her brandishing the ring. Belle held her ground and raised her chin defiantly to meet his eye.

“Now listen to me, missy. You cannot break a near two year engagement; people will brand you a fallen woman. It that what you want, hum? To bring shame upon my name? Well, is it?”

Freedom was a heady brew, an elixir than made her bold and brave, she laughed wryly at her father’s well-worn tactics, the look of confusion on his face only fanning the flames of her burning bridges.

“Mr Hatter, as I understood matters I have immediate access to the funds?”

“Yes Miss.”

“In that case, I would like to continue to use the services of your firm. I will need to find accommodation until you can find me a suitable house. Would you mind waiting for me while I pack?”

Her father’s face flushed an ugly brick red, he jabbed his finger in her face and snarled; “Oh no! You’ll take nothing out of my house you ungrateful child.”

Belle’s eyes narrowed as she truly saw what her father thought of her, she had always tried to understand his rages and frustrations, to make herself believe that her wanted the best for her, that he loved her; now she realised that she had been blind, her father only saw her as a way to get what he wanted. She blinked hard refusing to let the turbulent emotion within her manifest as tears.

“Very well, Mr Hatter are you ready to leave now?”

“I am at your disposal Miss French.”

Her father reached for her arm, but Mr Hatter swiftly stepped in front of him, protecting Belle from his grasp.

“Sir Maurice, should you attempt to prevent me or my client from leaving your home this will become a legal matter; a very public and very messy legal matter.”

The suggestion of public humiliation was enough to make Sir Maurice step back, he stood glaring in the corner of the room as Mr Hatter gathered his papers and offered his arm to Belle. He trailed after them as they made their way to the front door.

“You’ll see sense Belle. Your Mother’s research was pointless and brought nothing but shame and failure. Follow in her footsteps and you will end as badly as she did.”

Belle squared her shoulders and stepped across the threshold and into freedom.

The steam-tram was crossing the river and the hustle and bustle of the ships provided a welcome distraction as Belle shook away the difficult memories of that day. With the benefit of distance and hind-sight Belle could understand that her Father hadn't been a good parent. Maurice French had only thought about expanding his business empire, and a union between the two largest coal mining families in the country would have done just that, regardless of the fact that his daughter had nothing in common with the self-obsessed, arrogant and violent man.

Oh Gaston had been a dream during their courtship, the perfect gentleman who asked about her interests and listened with apparent pleasure as she talked about the latest advances in metal casting and clockwork. Once the engagement had been confirmed Belle discovered that he was not a book to be judged by his cover; the mask of tender suitor had fallen away rapidly and Gaston had begun yawning when she tried to talk about anything other than him; he had laughed at her books and taken to plucking them from her hands when he found her reading. When she had tried to resist his physical advances her had called her foul names and pressed his kisses on her anyway, taking delight in pointing out that once they were wed he would be able to punish her for refusing him. Belle shuddered as she recalled him hissing in her ear how he would bring her into line in graphic detail.

Belle blew out a sigh; now Gaston had clearly moved on her father would have to stop pushing her to reconciliation. He had sent her telegrams every day in the first month after she had moved out on her own, messages of cajoling and badgering that she had given up replying to after a time. He had not listened to her arguments against the marriage in person and via the printed word she held even less sway over him. Maybe now with this matter laid to rest, they could begin to repair their relationship, although they would never be close, Belle would like them to be cordial. With that hopeful thought in mind Belle tucked the newspaper into the pocket of her greatcoat and prepared to disembark as the steam-tram approached the Isle of Dogs.

#rumbelle christmas in july #@of-princes-and-savages

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listentome-ok · 5 years

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An Evening with Karla Voss

That evening, we met at six. I had been awake for all of the night before. I had finished my book, started another, watched a film, and then gone to Rich’s flat at seven thirty to watch the sunrise. Those times, I couldn’t tell if he was coming on to me. I glinted in the morning light and watched the birds beat while he talked about his GCSE’s. He showed me a picture of his parents and I secretly found them quite bug-like. Before I left, he took me into his room and presented to me a pack of cards that he kept on his bedside table. They were motivational cards of some ilk, the purpose being to pick out one each morning and follow it’s teaching throughout the day. I picked one out - the picture on the back was a globe. ‘That’s a good one’ said Rich. I turned it over. Try and see things from another perspective.   ‘Huh. Cool,’ I said, digging my thumbnail into the side of my index finger to suppress a yawn.   ‘These are from the think tank that my dad’s friend started up, over in Leith.’ In the five weeks I’d known Rich, I had heard this story three times. ‘Yes, and you translated them into Spanish for him!’ I realised too late that my interruption could betray my boredom, so attempted to pique my sentence up at its end.  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ he didn’t notice, and carried on to the next well-trodden clause, ‘I was embarrassed because one of the people in the office was already fluent in Spanish! A bilingual! And I was just studying it!’  ‘It must have been quite difficult to translate such open phrases.’ His card has read look for the centre, not for the edge. He knew all of the cards back and front, and while we flicked through them he pulled out this one and that, cockily reciting their statements before turning them over to see that he was right. I experienced that calm disappointment of noticing that something doesn’t surprise you, though it could, except that you had gotten yourself too tangled to expect any better. My fatigue felt like acid dripping through my legs. Rich slipped his think tank cards back into their box and led me to the door. We hugged. He smelt like my first boyfriend: dirty woollen jumpers. I knew that I would catch his cold. I ran down the three flights of stairs to the door and felt giddy when the cool air hit my skin. The giant basilica beamed its power and clout down at me, and I decided that, in these trying times, it was only right to go to church on a Sunday morning.

I walked slowly, too slowly, and stopped on the way to the cathedral at a cafe. I slouched in my booth and doodled idly on my napkin with my nail. A memory from the year before was nagging me. I rolled my eyes at myself. Really, it was nothing.  I had been standing in the door of my boyfriend’s kitchen, talking to his flatmate, Josh. Things had often been awkward between us, young people can have such strong emotions. The year before that, I thought we had been close, but I guess you can never know. We nearly all lived together. Mutual friends would tell me Josh liked me. Then I had started dating a closer friend, Michael, who always had more of a suggestion, and Josh stopped talking to me so much. Then his friends stopped being my friends so much, and when I smiled at them in the streets they started to just walk on by. Eventually, Michael clocked on too and whenever Josh was with us he wouldn’t talk to me so animatedly, and eventually he stopped being able to talk to me at all and then to even look me in the eye. I didn’t know or want to admit how much of this was my fault. I didn’t know how I could have prevented it. I often felt as though I was bearing the cross of other people’s social blunders. But, I suppose, in a way, that’s all we do.   This day was unlike many others. I had gone into the kitchen to make a cup of tea, and had unwittingly caught Josh alone. This, of course, must be the secret to all social successes. I saw his panic and threw in a spanner. I asked about his weekend. Gradually, I began to feel in control again as I coaxed conversation out of him. I felt as though the atmosphere in the room was like dough that I was warming and shaping in my hands. We talked about physics, the news, the corner shop on their road. He was getting the hoover out of the closet, but he stayed and carried on talking, rather than taking it straight back to his room. Inside, I was elated: I hadn’t lost my touch yet. Then Michael came out of his room to join us.   ‘Oh,’ Josh said, lighting up, and dimming my spirits in turn. ‘Are you free on Monday, Michael? Sam and everyone are going to Carlton Bay to do mushrooms, they’re celebrating the end of exams and all.’ The spell was broken. I sunk onto my heels, not realising I had been on tiptoes the entire time. Of course. Of course, he was just talking to me to be polite. Of course, he would never have invited me too. Of course, he didn’t care if I heard, he wouldn’t bother waiting to catch Michael alone to be diplomatic. Of course, he never even clocked that I was there at all. Josh, after all, was selfish and unsocialised. Diplomacy didn’t even occur to him. Why should it bother me?  Michael shot me a panicked look. He knew I was at the end of my tether. I knew that I was in a tunnel. I was overreacting. I spent an inordinate amount of time wondering why people didn’t like me, and an even more inordinate amount asking Michael why. But they didn’t, and it confused me. All of a sudden, I wasn’t o-k to have around anymore. Michael went out without me, then invited me over to his flat afterwards so that we could fuck while he was drunk. Sometimes, he would ask me to something if he and everybody else was already there, if he had scoped the scene and deemed it inoffensive enough for me to join. He professed I was always working in the evenings, I didn’t get along with anyone, he didn’t want to step on anyone’s toes. Social isolation consumed me, and that made me feel so…stupid. I wanted to think about the Yemen crisis and The Pickwick Papers. All I could think about were awkward twenty-year-olds. I was an idiot and I knew it.  ‘Do you want to come with us, Liz?’  His voice was laced thick with discomfort. I felt awful. I ducked back into the hallway and watched the two of them standing in the kitchen. I fumbled against the doorframe. Why couldn’t Josh have included me? Or just waited? What was wrong with me? Why did Michael have to speak with such weighted carefulness? What was wrong with me? Why did I scare him so much? When did we all stop being friends? Were we ever friends?  ‘Yeah, sure, I’ll just have to see if I’m free.’ I shifted on my feet.   ‘Sam does a lot of drugs’ Josh said to me with a smile. I looked at him, exasperated. I couldn’t believe him. This was the second wave. I knew Sam. I had met Sam multiple times. Besides that, everybody knew how many drugs he did. I had seen him high and low, whiteyed and wasted. I had hundreds of pictures of the two of us on my phone. And I did mushrooms too. I didn’t have to be told about Sam or about drugs. And if Josh thought that I did, then that must mean I really had become a freak in his eyes. And that made me livid. Just because he had stopped talking to me didn’t mean I had ceased to exist. I didn’t need to be coaxed into adult society because everyone had forgotten I was always in it. They had all spoken to me normally once, and what had changed? It is an injustice that your personhood is so often formed of how people view you, especially because people are so fickle. And I stared at this short, spotty, selfish boy, who never went anywhere that was more than a ten minute walk from his flat and who had never had a girlfriend, who openly smiled back, having regained the upper ground, having given me a nugget of valuable wisdom, who Michael visibly valued the opinion of above me, and I just couldn’t believe it.   ‘Great’ I said. Then Josh took the hoover into his room, and I took the tea into Michael’s, and we watched a movie and went to bed.

 Something else struck me in the cafe, another memory that always accompanied the first. I really grimaced then. How was this still bothering me? How had this ever bothered me? Couldn’t life get a little more interesting than this?   I had been sitting at Michael’s small dining table with him playing cards, and Josh had been sitting on the sofa scrolling through his phone.  ‘Sam’s sober now. We gave him an intervention,’ he said, glancing up at Michael.  ‘Oh right,’ Michael said, flipping a card, ‘I never thought we’d see the day,’ he scoffed, ‘why’s that then?’  ‘His girlfriend doesn’t know he does drugs, and when he got his stomach pumped last week it was just too close a call. We all had to keep it a secret. Now, he’s really on the wagon, because she can’t find out.’  ‘Huh,’ Michael replied, ‘good on him.’  I wasn’t included in this conversation. They would feel awkward and embarrassed if I made my presence clear - this was confidential after all - but I was shocked. Everybody knew that Sam had done practically every drug. It was all anybody knew about him. It seemed, until that moment, to be his entire life. It was the only thing I’d ever heard him speak about, and the only thing anybody ever mentioned when they spoke about him. I hadn’t known he had a girlfriend. Where was she coming from? She couldn’t go to uni with us and not know. Had she ever met any of his friends? Didn’t he ever see her after 8PM?  I wondered if we were in a similar situation. I didn’t know what Michael did away from me. I hadn’t been with him among a group of friends in months. He went out and had the fun that I had used to have without me, because now he didn’t need me there to look at, if he could just fuck me when he got home. Or, more often, he didn’t go out at all, because there was no reason to, if there were so many other cheaper and less taxing ways to spend time with me. And he didn’t need to embarrass himself talking to me in front of Josh if he could just take me into his room.  But then, I wasn’t like this girl at all. This poor girl. That’s what you always think, poor girl, to know so little about her boyfriend. Sam’s life was hard and he had to have his stomach pumped and he had to hide things from his girlfriend and his friends had to step in to help him out of trouble. I just existed, in a cushy, uninterrupted world. I didn’t matter. Michael and I cooked for each other and watched movies. We stayed out of trouble. I didn’t have any reason to feel so bad. I was picking apart the tiniest details because I was only spoken to a few times a week. I didn’t deserve to feel so hurt because I had a boring and unremarkable life, I didn’t have anybody around because I didn’t deserve to, and I had no idea of how hard life really was for the people who actually lived.  But then, a counter thought, Josh and Michael’s friends weren’t any more important than me, no matter how hard they tried to be. Almost nobody knew that me and Michael were dating. In our early months, it made him sick with dread to think of telling Josh. Almost a year later, when asked, he said he didn’t have a girlfriend, later still said he had never even been on a date. Maybe this was why everybody stopped talking to me. Maybe people did know, and as soon as I became someone’s girlfriend I stopped being everyone else’s friend. Maybe people could sense Michael’s discomfort and decided to save him the embarrassment of having to be with me in public. Or maybe they had never seen me as a friend at all. Maybe I had been kidding myself the whole time, I had just scraped the surface, I was just a passing acquaintance. I wondered if Michael had ever had his stomach pumped. I wondered if any of them would ever get married.

And then there was that party that took place on the Monday when Sam was supposed to be doing mushrooms, two days before Michael and I left on a holiday together. Why were we going on holiday together? Wouldn’t he prefer to just stay here with Josh?   Josh and Michael threw the party to celebrate the end of exams. Josh invited friends from his course and Michael invited friends from home, who promptly hopped on a cross-country train to come over and live it up. I texted Michael about an hour after it started, asking what his plans were for the evening, and then I found out about it, and then I was awkwardly, almost painfully awkwardly, invited to join in too.   Of course, we all know boys who don’t invite their girlfriends to their parties. Sam was one of them and I suppose Michael was another. What chauvinists, we all think, to think that you can’t be friends with your girlfriend. To think that they’re incapable of talking to your friends. To never understand or appreciate their charm and wit, to never even give them a chance to show you. Michael had some flimsy reason or another for not asking me when he asked everyone else - maybe he was worried I wouldn't get along with anyone, maybe he didn’t realise it would be such a big deal, maybe he was just about to invite me when I texted him - it kept changing. But still I went, and I entertained his travelling friends, and endured Christine’s insensitive rant about homelessness, and stood in line for a club with them all and smiled. And Michael didn’t talk to me until he got drunk and pissed on a bollard and started to worry about the criminality of it all. And Sarah, who I had held the hair of when she threw up in a bathroom sink less than a year before, asked my name. And Josh acted indifferent when a girl spotted him and started to shout at him about never texting her flatmate back. And I knew, I knew that these people were a waste of time, but because they had decided that I was a waste of time first, I was obsessed with them.

I pushed the thought to the back of my mind. I was angry with myself to still be troubled by it all, to have ever been troubled by it at all, to have spent so much time with him. I got up, and went to church.  I watched the priest hold the holy book high above his head as everyone chanted in a language that I did not understand. There was a man standing behind his elderly mother’s pew, holding her steady by her elbow every time we stood for prayer. There was a man with a cardboard box, who gingerly ducked out when his phone rang. There was also a woman cooing to her crying baby daughter, dipping her up and down in her arms. I felt envy and pity towards them all. I wanted so badly to be a part of something, but it is still so painful no matter what you do. My throat hurt and then I noticed I was crying, and I thought how ironic, that these people would now pity me, and that I would never look at myself with that same air of sympathy. I left the church. It wasn’t yet noon, and we were meeting at six.

  Of course, I was deeply angry with Karla. We moved here at the same time and became pretty close. We saw each other a couple of times a week, we’d go to parties, watch movies, go to the beach, or just chat. It was nice. But then one day we just stopped talking. And, being that I had organised the last evening we saw each other, I felt that I had done something to aggravate her. And that made me angry. I had thought we were closer than that.  I walked to a bar and ordered a beer, pulled out my sketchpad and began to write some notes. I wanted to talk to her about what had happened. I wanted to ask her what was wrong with me. She would be moving away in a few months, and we didn’t really have any mutual friends, so I felt I had nothing to lose. I listed everything that had happened. The time we had both kissed the same guy at a club. The time she had left as soon as the movie was over, instead of staying to Discuss. The time, a few weeks before, when I had texted her, breaking our silence, and she hadn’t replied. The time I had wanted to leave a party she had invited me to too early.  I felt so entirely forgettable, and I couldn’t understand why everyone always dropped me. I looked at the reflective window of the bar I was in. My face was so distinct, my temperament so measured, I made sure to be so well-read, I had honed anecdotes, I listened to what people had to say and I coaxed them with questions, I tried always to act in kindness, and I couldn’t understand why I had never made the cut. Not for anybody. Not even here. I had to get an honest answer out of somebody.   Finally, we met, outside of the same cathedral. She was a little bit late. I jumped to the worst and expected a stand-up. When I saw her in the crowd, I wondered if I should pretend I hadn’t, wait for her to come to me, act a little nonchalant for once, but I didn’t. We met, we hugged, we bulged our eyes at how long it had been. It felt incredibly awkward.   We walked around the Christmas market that we had intended to meet at, alternating between not talking at all in the crowds and small-talking about what we had been up to. She hadn’t been doing much, she had changed her medication, which had affected her hormones, so she had been quite bedridden. I couldn’t remember anything remarkable about what I had been doing that I could tell her. I cursed myself for not having spoken up, but she sensed my tension.  ‘Wait…are you mad?’ she asked, pausing us as we were on our third lap of the market.  ‘Kind of, yeah.’ I replied, emphasising, thinking, wasn’t it obvious that I was and that I clearly should be?  We went to get a drink and talk about it. The bar we entered was large and full of mirrors, with a sweet British bartender in a pinafore dress. Karla ordered a water, stating she was on a cleanse, so I got a Coke.  I had trouble finding my words. I wished I could be more articulate. I tried to remember the notes I had written.   ‘I just don’t understand,’ I finally sighed out, ‘why we stopped talking.’  ‘Yeah,’ Karla was calm, ‘me either. But I’m not mad about it. I didn’t think it was something you had done - I didn’t make the decision not to talk to you, I thought we just kind of drifted apart.’  ‘Does that happen with you a lot? That you and your friends ‘drift apart’ so suddenly?’ Karla paused, taken aback, so I carried on, ‘because honestly, it happens to me a lot. People stop talking to me all the time. I don’t know why. I try everything. I wonder if I’m not fun enough, not funny enough, not pretty enough, not nice enough, or what? People just stop talking to me every singe time and I have no idea what it is that I’m doing wrong.’  Karla tilted her head up slowly, leaning back in her armchair seat, with her arms resting on either side. ‘I didn’t expect you to be this angry. I’ve never had anyone confront me like this before… and I think you’re being a little hard on yourself.’  ‘Well sometimes I think people are quite hard. Like, what happened with us? I thought we were closer friends than that, we hung out a lot, I thought we had passed through the awkward stages of not wanting to say anything. Why did you act like you were mad at me?’ I paused when she stared at me, ‘I know you must think it’s childish that I’m so annoyed by this, but I am. This kind of thing has happened so many times, normally I wouldn’t say anything but now I really don’t care.’ I didn’t look into her eyes, but kept my gaze fixed on the fairy lights next to her. ‘With timing, with Christmas around the corner and then long breaks and then you moving away, we probably won’t see each other again. So I thought, neither of us has anything to lose.’   ‘No, I’m glad you’re saying this,’ she said, though I wasn’t sure. It was certainly awkward, but I was glad about it too. It was like we were each talking to close friends about the encounter, laying our cards on the table, not bitching, but each telling our side of the story and inviting the other to share their opinion. It seemed mature. ‘But I thought you were mad at ME! That’s why I wasn’t talking!’  I let out a slow, punctured breath, searching the room. I saw my reflection in one of the mirrors above the bar. I had tied my hair, which I had recently bleached blonde, into space buns. I looked at my long legs in 40 denier tights and a new denim skirt, folded in a prim lean towards Karla. I thought that with my clothes and my posture and my hair choice and my dower expression I looked just like a little rich girl. My eyes swivelled back to Karla. ‘For realsies? How could I be mad at you? I didn’t even have the opportunity!’  ‘I thought you were angry when I left the movie early. So I gave you some time alone and then I thought it was fine but I didn’t hear from you for a few more weeks, and I thought that we officially weren’t talking anymore after that’ she stated.   Often in the evening we slipped into silences, where we couldn’t quite bring ourselves out of the discussion, but couldn’t quite put ourselves in to the awkward nature of it either. She was confusing me, and I knew that I was confusing her too. Though we didn’t really reach a conclusion, eventually enough time passed in comfort for us to return to other topics of conversation. It felt too awkward to carry on, when neither of us wanted to hurt the other. We began to talk about what we had been reading, where we had been eating, where we had been dancing. We chatted about Christmas plans and our families and our opinions on politics and school. Somehow, impossible to explain, it just got easier, and we left as friends.  

  On my walk home I thought about Michael and Josh. Big surprise. I thought that maybe if I had just asked what the fuck was bothering them so much, they would have balked and returned to normal. But still, whenever I thought of them, I was reminded of how little I must have meant to them, how little that allowed me to mean to myself. And when I remembered how rude they were, how little they tried to include people or make people comfortable, I felt so angry with them. But the problem was that they weren’t actually that rude. Just rude enough to make me aware that they didn’t consider me a friend. I thought about how I was so different now to how I had been before I’d met them: so empty, so full of self-doubt, so caged in the past. And it didn’t even matter. Neither of them would ever remember any of those conversations. I was overreacting, I was an idiot, devoid of any social life. But, at least I didn’t feel bad about Karla anymore. At least the two of us were friends. Our opinions of each other were equal. I thought, I thought, so many things that I couldn't put my finger on.

The next morning, I got a text from Karla, Hey :) On Thursday there’s an Indie Folk concert at ‘La Rogue Bar’, I found it on Couchsurfing, do you feel like going?  I Immediately replied with Yes!!!! :D :D :D. At least this one was salvageable.

#short story #karla #university #friendship #awkward

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