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nicolewrites · 4 years

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are these helium balloons

the roommate au makes a glorious return...

Rating: G+ Genre: Friendship Characters: Sylvain Jose Gautier & Ingrid Brandl Galatea Words: 2,035

Ingrid and Sylvain have to pick up some party decorations. It goes about as well as planned.

AO3

“No, Sylvain, we are not going to spend forty dollars on balloons,” Ingrid grumbled. She was leaning her head against the steering wheel of the car to avoid looking at her roommate.

“Oh, but come on! Can you imagine the look on his face when he sees all those balloons?”

She lifted her head and stared at him, feeling both annoyed and just in total disbelief. “Sylvain. Where are we going to keep forty dollars worth of helium balloons before Felix gets home?”

He laughed. “Oh, ye of little faith! I promise this will be one hundred percent worth it.”

Ingrid sighed again. “Sylvain, Dimitri asked us to buy reasonable party decorations. What part of reasonable do you not understand?”

Sylvain winked and opened the car door, climbing out. Ingrid huffed and undid her seatbelt, climbing out after him. They stared at each other over the roof of Ingrid’s car and Ingrid narrowed her eyes.

Sylvain batted his eyelashes at her like she was one of his stupid one-off girls. “Come on Ingrid, Ashe is like a big kid anyway. He’d love the balloons.”

She smacked her forehead. “Sylvain, why does it have to be forty dollars worth of balloons?”

“Because Ashe’s name has four letters and they’re ten bucks apiece for the big ones,” he replied immediately.

Ingrid spun on her heel and walked away from her car, lifting up her hand to lock it behind her. The car beeped, confirming that it had locked and Ingrid shoved her keys back in her pocket. She kicked her toe through a pile of leaves on the ground and shoved her hands in her pockets. It was only October, but that didn’t mean that the fall chills weren’t already starting to sink in.

“Ingrid!” Sylvain called.

She didn’t turn around, but she heard his footsteps approach as he jogged after her, pursuing her to the edge of the parking lot where they stood in front of the party goods store. Before they walked inside, Ingrid poked his shoulder with her finger, hard.

“Serious decorations first, okay? We can argue about the balloons later.”

Sylvain braced his hands behind his head, grinning slyly at her. “Alright, alright.”

The doors to the party goods store opened and they walked inside only to come to an immediate halt in front of a massive display of fake gravestones. Ingrid blinked at the display dumbly and then immediately jumped when an automated witch cackled.

“Oh my god,” she muttered. “It’s October and we’re at a party store. There isn’t going to be anything here but Halloween stuff, is there?”

Sylvain looked just as struck as she felt. “You know what? I agree with you on that one. I think we’re going to be hard-pressed to find decorations that aren’t orange and black.”

Ingrid took a deep breath and grabbed Sylvain’s arm, dragging him into the store. “If I’m going to suffer through cheap plastic masks and displays that laugh at me in horrible robot voices, you’re coming with me.”

He chuckled and let her drag him towards the first aisle, one that was labelled “Tablewear and Serving”. Sylvain scooped up a basket from the entrance to the aisle and they walked down it. Thankfully, once they left the very front of the store, the Halloween insanity of the store lessened a bit. There was still an abnormally large number of orange and black and white plastic and paper plates, but at least there were some blue ones and normal patterned things.

Ingrid had never been so relieved to see “Birthday Princess” branded cups.

She grabbed two sleeves of blue solo cups and one of yellow ones and dumped them into the basket Sylvain was holding. She moved on to grab a package of cocktail napkins and a stack of blue and white polka-dotted paper plates. She hesitated before placing the plates down, but Sylvain just rolled his eyes and grabbed them, adding them to the basket.

“It’s fine, Ingrid. Dimitri and I are covering the costs and a few paper plates aren’t going to hurt the environment that much.”

She rolled her eyes. “I just hate buying stuff like this when we have perfectly good dishes back at the apartment.”

He shrugged and walked past her towards the end of the aisle. “If you wanna break out the breakable stuff while we’re all drunk, be my guest, but you’ll be cleaning the shards out of the carpet and also possibly people’s hands as a result.”

Ingrid frowned but walked after him. “And this is why we are buying the plates, even if I don’t particularly want to.”

“Oh, hey, look at this!” Sylvain said suddenly, turning left at the end of the aisle and pointing at the wall of the store.

Ingrid rounded the corner and immediately slapped a hand against her face.

“No,” she said immediately. “You are absolutely not allowed to be ghost-decorated anything. Ashe is terrified of ghosts and since it’s his birthday, we are going to respect that, okay?”

Sylvain laughed and held his hands up defensively. “Just relax, Ing, it was a joke. I would never do that to him.”

She turned and walked the other way towards the sign that said “Birthday Essentials”. Sylvain followed her, his shoes squeaking on the linoleum floors. They turned into the birthday aisle and Ingrid groaned.

It was almost entirely taken over by Halloween decorations.

“Seriously, don’t these places understand that people still have birthdays in October?” she complained.

“Note to self,” Sylvain said, “buy supplies for Ashe’s last-minute surprise party in September or even August before the entire country decides that it’s already Halloween.”

Ingrid sighed again. “Let’s see what we can find.”

They picked their way down the aisle, finding two rolls of blue streamers and a package of green and yellow crepe paper that could be used for decorating. Ingrid quickly added all of them to the basket. At the end of the aisle, she stopped in front of the last shelf and stared at all the options in front of her.

“Will you shut up and stop complaining if I buy a pack of regular balloons?” Ingrid asked. “These are only a few dollars.”

Sylvain flashed her a thumbs up and Ingrid grabbed a party pack of balloons and tossed them to Sylvain. He caught them and added them to the basket. She strode over and looked into it, checking on their collected supplies. She looked up at Sylvain to ask him something and almost bashed her head against his since he had also been looking down.

Ingrid was suddenly flustered at how close she was to Sylvain, so she stepped back hastily and bit the inside of her cheek, hoping that the spark of pain would prevent her from blushing over the encounter. Sylvain didn’t seem to notice her awkwardness and she quickly collected herself.

“Do we need snacks or candy or anything?” she asked.

Sylvain shook his head. “Not that I can remember. Mercedes is doing the cake and Dedue is handling the food. Annette and Felix are distracting Ashe until,” he paused, checking his watch, “eight, so we have three hours.”

Ingrid mentally ran over her list in her head again. “Well, I think we got everything we need here, so should we check out?”

Sylvain nodded. “Sounds good to me.”

The check out was busy, as expected, and filled almost entirely with people buying last-minute Halloween decorations or costumes. The young boy in front of them in the line-up actually gave them a funny look when he noticed that they weren’t buying any Halloween decor. Ingrid just crossed her arms and stared right back at him, daring him to say anything.

Sylvain nudged her as they stood in line and pointed up at the wall of helium balloons above the check-out counters. “I still think that would be amazing.”

She elbowed him. “We’re buying the regular balloons. That’s more than enough. We’re already going to have a chaotic night ahead of us. Annette and Ashe are both sentimental drunks so I hope you’re ready for a lot of hugging.”

Sylvain laughed. “Well, Dimitri will just fall asleep half-way through and we all know that Dedue and Mercedes are the most responsible of all of us so they’ll make sure that nobody dies.”

Ingrid scoffed to hold back a laugh. “Well, just try to make it back to your bed this time, okay?”

“If I recall,” he replied, “you were the one who fell asleep on top of me.”

“Neither of us remembers anything from Die Hard night, don’t even pretend like you do,” she rebuffed immediately.

Sylvain just smirked in reply and followed the blinking lights through the check out lane to a cashier. They unloaded their basket onto the counter and asked for bags as the cashier started scanning all of their items. In total, they were probably over-priced, but at least they had managed to get everything in one place.

As they left the store Ingrid took one bag and left the other for Sylvain. The mechatronic witch by the door cackled and they both jumped, even though they totally should have seen it coming. Sylvain shoved Ingrid out the door on reflex and they speed-walked about halfway to the car before they both burst out laughing.

Ingrid shoved his shoulder, but she couldn’t help the smile on her face. “Why are we like this?” she asked.

“Maybe shopping for Ashe’s birthday rubbed off on us and we’re now just as scared of everything as he is,” Sylvain suggested jokingly.

Ingrid laughed. “I can do without his fear of ghosts honestly.”

Sylvain adjusted the bag he was carrying and held out his hand to take the one she was holding. Ingrid tilted her head confused and Sylvain just wagged his fingers, gesturing for her to hand over the bag.

“To get your keys out,” he explained.

“Oh, right,” she said.

She handed over the bag as they continued their walk to Ingrid’s car. She unlocked the car and pushed the button to pop the trunk. Sylvain dumped both bags in the trunk and closed it, but he hesitated as Ingrid walked to the driver’s seat. She stopped, hand on the door handle, and stared at him.

“I just remembered one more thing that Dimitri asked me to grab. I’ll just run back in and get it,” Sylvain said.

He was turning and jogging back towards the store before she could stop him and Ingrid just sighed to herself, shaking her head. She opened the car and got inside. She put her seatbelt on and started the car, connecting her phone to the Bluetooth before Sylvain would get the chance to do something ridiculous like playing the High School Musical Soundtrack again.

She had just turned on her new favourite Indie album when the trunk opened and Sylvain dumped something heavy in the back with a grunt. Ingrid twisted in her seat, trying to see what he had grabbed, but her view was blocked by the seats in the back. Sylvain closed the trunk and quickly moved around, getting into the passenger seat. He grinned at her and Ingrid was immediately suspicious.

She turned and looked back at the trunk before looking back at Sylvain. “What did you just buy?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Ingrid shut the car off. “Sylvain. As far as I’m concerned, we’re not going anywhere until you tell me what you just bought.”

His grin widened. “So you know how you said we weren’t going to buy forty dollars worth of helium balloons for Ashe’s birthday?”

“Oh no,” she said reflexively. “What did you do?”

“I did not buy the giant foil balloons,” he defended. “I just bought a small helium tank so we can fill up all the balloons we did buy with helium and have many, many, smaller helium balloons.”

Ingrid groaned loudly and dropped her head onto the steering wheel. Her horn blared loudly and the mother and daughter getting out of the car next to them both jumped and stared at Ingrid’s car. Ingrid lifted her head up and glared at Sylvain.

“You suck.”

“The tank was only twenty-six dollars. It’s fine.”

#the writing section #sylvgrid #sylgrid #roommates au #r: g #sylvain jose gautier #c: sylvain jose gautier #ingrid brandl galatea #c: ingrid brandl galatea #ship: sylvgrid #ship: sylgrid #words: 2.0k+#fe3h #f: fire emblem #fire emblem three houses

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gallowgreen23-blog · 5 years

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Mallards (A short story by Harrison M.)

Mallards

The sound of the engine was that of an old wood shop generator. The vibrations were unsettling, as if it could burst into flames at any moment or run for another 10 years. The car seemed to sweat as I made attempts with the gas pedal to feel its exhaustion as my own, easing a little, giving a little. Soon the car and myself shared the salty symptoms of stress as my palms became damp, my mind flooding with weak fragments of the automotive education I lacked.

It was a damp and misty March morning in upstate New York. The roads were desolate as we climbed the backroads of Bear Mt. The only place I could be going was to visit my grandparents. My grandfather is a man of simplicity and hard work, someone who would appreciate a good chicken parm over any material gift. My grandmother seems to have never left the kind hearted innocence one may find in a preschooler. She is intelligent in ways you would never know and naive to the darkness that exist in the world. The two of them would give the poorest bastard on earth the shoes on their feet, given opportunity presented itself.

Panic stuck as my nostrils were quickly filled with the odor of mechanical decay. A darker grey than the day itself leaked from the hood that covered the abyss of my engine. Frantically looking at the guard rails that entrapped me on from stopping I began to slow down. As my vision quickly bounced between my review mirror and the road in front of me as I approached a blind turn on the mountain. As if my fabricated prayers were heard, a large sign with gas prices appeared in the haze as I rounded one of the mountains corners. Following the sign was a lonely delicatessen/convenience store. The poor excuse of the establishment looked to that of a small lopsided barn, as if it had served just that purpose decades ago.

Crunching the gravel below, I slowly crept onto the empty lot and parked in front.

Slamming my door a little harder than usual I stood and stared in disappointment. The smoke was dense. After waiting some time for the engine to finish exhaling the smog, I decided to go in the store. I needed a drink. I anticipated a beer considering it was going to be awhile before I found the confidence to start up again.

A whiff of what smelled like an unkept pond slapped me in the face as I pulled open the double doors. It reminded me of a pond my mother would take me to as a child to feed the ducks and geese. I was always repulsed by the geese, angry and surrounded by there own shit. The ducks however seemed much more sophisticated and attractive.

The shelves were less than half stocked and “Coney Island Baby” was playing softly over head. Nobody was behind the counter, not unusual for an isolated establishment. I assumed they would hear me eventually, if they didn’t already. Scanning the store above the deserted shelfs I made my way to the beverage section. Not a beer label in sight, just expired milks and a scattered soda selection. Not even water? Irritated and thirsty, I slammed the cooler door as if it were my car. I turned and smiled. A warm and dusty can of Pabst Blue Ribbon sat alone on the bottom shelf of what seemed to be a sad excuse for a condiments section. I picked it up and waltz to the soda fountain. I was going to have this beer one way or another. I grabbed a cup and filled it with ice. SSSNAP! I popped the top of the beer and began to pour. The golden nectar began drowning the ice cubes as a warm air brushed my neck and a soft voice spoke in my ear like a friend in class. “How’s it going?” Whipping my head around in panic I saw a tall man across the store behind the register. I grabbed a napkin to wipe the spilled beer off my hand. “Afternoon” I said in a loud fluster. The man was tall, maybe 6 foot 8 with with wavy dark brown hair that supported a narrow old-school waiters hat. His eyes were an even darker brown than his hair, appearing black from across the store. I approach the counter with a sense of guilt as I knew I opened the beverage before paying for it. “How much for the beer?” I asked. His name tag read B.B. I chose not to inquire. He calmly said, “That will 46 dollars.” Expecting a smile to soon form and a joke to be made I grinned. His expression was that of stone and no smile followed. “Seriously?” I said. “The seal was broken before it was paid for. You are lucky I do not call the authorities.” Confused and nervous I open my wallet to two 20 dollar bills. “I only have 40. My car is having troubles and my whole day seems to be going wrong. Is there any way you can cut me a break?” Stone broke as a smile formed on his face. “Look here, I’ll only take 20 dollars and a promise.” My palms began to sweat for the second time as I anticipated the strange promise I was about to keep. In that moment I realized how alone I was and the trap I may have walked into. Coney Island Baby began to repeat itself for what seemed like the third time. I secretly felt my front right pocket for my phone while still holding brutal eye contact. He could see my panic. His voice abruptly overpowered the music while still holding absolute calmness. “Grab a loaf of bread over there and feed the geese at the pond up the road. They always so hungry after there long trip home.” Slightly relieved yet anxious I hastily walked over and grabbed a loaf of wonder bread and made for the door. “Promise me Harrison.” How did he know my name? “Promise.” I said as we made one final lick of eye contact. I found a new appreciation for the term “fresh air” as I lightly jogged to my car. Goosebumps ran up my forearms as I gripped my car door handle. I threw the bread on the passenger seat, locked my doors and turned the key all in one motion. My engine started up like I stabbed it with an adrenaline needle. Relief set in as I skid off the gravel lot and onto the street. As my car accelerated my heart rate slowed to its regular pace.

I thought I was home free until I noticed a clearing in the trees with a small pond. Geese descended from the sky into the water as if they were meeting me. My brain battled with the idea of giving into to the clerks promis.

He overcharged me.

He exploited the situational.

I made a promise.

I am a man of my word.

It haunted me. Its as if he knew I would do it. I kept hearing his voice in my ear. “How’s it going?”. Maybe if I followed through, the events that occurred would be easier to bury in my memory and eventually forget.

I pulled over and sat in silence staring at the geese. 5 minutes...15 minutes… I grabbed the bread and stepped out. The smell of the pond and the feces infiltrated my brain. It was as stronger than the store. Stronger than the pond my mother took me too all those years ago.

I saw a small dock and started heading towards it, ripping up the clean white the bread on my way.

I stared into the pond looking out at the geese. They began to drift towards me surrounding the dock. They were conversing with one and other in murmured quacks and skwaks, discussing the feast they were soon to enjoy. Looking over the pond my palms began to sweat a third time as I realized how many geese there actually were. There skwaks and quacks became louder with agitation and impatience. I was frozen. I couldn't focus over the increasing volume of the vermin others call birds. I became angry and withheld the bread, teasing the geese. I dangled the bag over them like a bully holding a young child's toy, smiling with satisfaction.

It was at that moment I could no longer breath. My lungs froze. The geese became silent. I looked down at my other hand full of what was once shredded white bread, now spattered in blood. A large fishing knife was protruding from my stomach and I heard the voice in my ear once more, “How’s it going?”

I felt small push on the shoulder of the arm holding the bread bag and closed my eyes.

In this dream I found direct correlation with the gas station clerk and the concept of government surveillance, more commonly known as Big Brother. I specifically found a cohesion with this dream to the darkness of internet surveillance and the traps that are set within it. My mistake in the store (cracking the beer before paying for it) symbolize the assumption people make that there information is private, when in fact all of there activity within that website has been stored and sold to advertisers without direct knowledge of these conditions. Similar to the promise I was told to keep in order to not pay so much for the beer. The beer in the story symbolize advertisements being pushed on us through websites, in the sense that when you need something the ads never show up for that item, but when you buy an item, ads for that item flood your feed because you agreed to the terms and conditions. The promise I made to the gas station clerk symbolize a user agreeing to an unknown websites “terms and conditions”. There are thousands of illegitimate websites that data mining companies and even hackers can access your information through. Also when you agree to the terms and agreements and use an internet service for a period of time, that website has the right to withhold your information for a new service fee. My car symbolize the internet. We as a society depend on the internet (and cars) to thrive. We lean on it so much and are often uninformed on how to maintain a safe internet lifestyle and prevent things like identity theft i.e. properly maintaining your car to avoid a breakdown. The geese symbolize all people who use others information for personal gain. The vermin of the internet if you will. And finally I symbolize the average internet user. Whether they are elderly and innocent or uninformed of the new fast paced world of the internet, a middle schooler who stumbles upon a dark corner of the world wide web, or a college student who does not know their true vulnerability to identity theft or political persuasions. The end of the story has room for the readers interpretation. In my eyes it was a cluster of everything bad that can happen to someone while using the internet happening at once. A digital descension into hell if you will.

-Harrison McDonald

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sebbytrash · 6 years

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Through His Eyes - Part Six

Summary - Bucky arrives at the compound to start afresh but you and him have a somewhat colorful past, colorful being that you met him once before as The Winter Soldier and it did not go well. New beginnings, yeah? If you can learn to forgive.

Pairing - Eventual Bucky x Reader

Warnings - Nothing really, some sad vibes.

A/N - I’m so sorry its taken so long to get this out. I got major bad juju and had to take a sec. Feedback loved and appreciated.

Through His Eyes Masterlist

Dead eyes.

The knife presses to your skin, dragging fire up your arm. Its agony, and yet familiar. You know this pain, you wear it well. He drops the knife, steps back into the shadows. Face distorted like an unfocused lens.

You look down. Blood rolls down your fingertips. It’s there. The next letter. Y

A blink, then another. It changes, the dead eyes turn terrified. He stumbles forward, a small red circle appears on his chest. It grows and grows till its running lines down his t-shirt. He touches it, shock marring his features, hand comes away wet and red.

He looks at you, fear in his very real eyes. Help me, he mouths, raises a hand towards you and stumbles to his knees. You look down again.

See the gun in your hand.

You gasp awake, breathing hard and heavy. Face wet and muscles aching, wipe a hand hastily across your cheeks as you sit up. A quick check of your phone tells you its 1am. Great, you’ve been asleep for an hour tops. The dreams were back, for the time being at least, had been since the mission last week. They've changed, of course, and you can guess why but choose to ignore it, choose to focus on the fear.

Bucky has been fairly scarce since the mission and you don't blame him. If you think too long on it, the guilt reaches up from your stomach and wraps a hand round your throat.

It's a while before your able to fall back asleep, chased by the screams and darkness. You dream about him until morning.

“Good Morning, Marshmallow.” Sam rests his knuckles on your shoulder as he passes.

“Is It?” You reply, the bitterness of the words taste heavy on your tongue.

“Still not sleeping?” He asks, reaching over to fill up the cup your nursing like it's made of gold.

“Not really,” You say and then quieter, “The dreams are back.”

Sam knows, he gets it. He spent years plagued by his own demons, falls and fights that still rear their heads on the odd occasion. So when he gives you the look, the not pity but a shared pain look it's not something you worry about. It's not pity from him.

“Same as usual?” He asks, taking a seat across the table from you.

“Well yeah, I mean they start out that way.” You say, look up from the cup to meet his eyes, “But I always kill him in the end.”

“Ah.” There it is. The silence you were worried about, the fears that your getting worse instead of better voiced in one single syllable. Your stomach drops to your toes, swirls around on it's way down and threatening to come back up quick.

“I thought, I mean... I felt- I was dealing, ya know? Why am I back peddling?”

“I don’t think that's what it is.” Sam states, solid and firm like he’s sure of it. That sure makes one of you.

“What do you mean?” Murder seems pretty clear, no?

“I think, maybe, that it has nothing to do with you being afraid of him. Stay with me here, but before he was hurting you, right?” You nod, leaning onto your forearms, “And that was pretty clearly fear. See now with you being the one to hurt him, I reckon it’s guilt.”

“Guilt.” Guilt. Sure, yeah, you’d been feeling a lot of that recently. Life was pretty damn complicated right now.

“Yeah. Look, what's happened, it’ll stay with you forever. But to be honest, it’s pretty clear to me that your not afraid anymore. Not fundamentally…” You arch a brow at him, thinking back to the mission but he halts you before you can protest, “Ok that was a knee jerk thing. But it’s happened now and you’ve dealt with it. I’d bet my Wings it won’t happen again.”

“You seem awfully sure of that.” Your tone sounds defeated, even to you.

“Because I am. You don’t give yourself nearly enough credit ya know.” He reaches over and places a hand on your arm, the weight of his words are giving you something to reach for, something to hold onto, “You are the strongest person I know. And I know The Avengers.”

You laugh at that, grateful for the reprieve, and he joins you, lets you lose yourself in the moment.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, kid. You’re the best of us.”

“You’re sure you don’t want to come?” Wanda asks for maybe the 5th time.

“I’m sure. Got my night planned you see, there’s a Pizza and a new season of Brooklyn 99 with my name on it.” You insist, knowing you’d rather be here than out at a club right now.

“Just...call me if you need anything, okay?” She chews her bottom lip a bit before adding, “I mean anything.”

“I promise, okay? Cross my heart n’all that. No go, get. Have a good time. You deserve it.”

Wanda and a few others were going out. Steve was on another mission. You weren't really sure who was around tonight and you didn't really care. Tonight was all about relaxing, really letting yourself have a night of nothing. No social expectations, no small talk or knowing looks. Just you, Gina Linetti and a Pepperoni beauty.

Sam had helped you remember that you’d come a long way these last few months, certainly further than the years before that. Setbacks were ok, and you were learning to be grateful for the progress and small stuff.

Forgiveness has to start with you.

You’re a good 2 hours in when the world goes black. Or the room, depends on the perspective. It should phase you, but it doesn’t. Truthfully, not much does anymore. Combat training and life experience will do that, you suppose. You wait a few minutes for the power to come back, but it doesn't. Steve’s nagging voice in your head about having emergency supplies for such occasions makes you laugh, having always dismissed him because the likelihood of that happening anywhere near Tony was infinitesimal and yet here you were cross-legged on your bed in the dark. He’ll love this.

It’s another minute or so before you huff and drag yourself out of bed, tentatively making your way to the door since you figure you better go find and somehow fix the generator. Everyone’s out, either on a mission or partying. Either way, you're on your own. Great.

In the hallways, the dim, blue back up lights are on giving you a better view after your eyesight adjusts to it. You march down the hall towards the stairs, not bothering to put on shoes in your hurry to get there and back, annoyed more than anything that this happens tonight when Tony isn’t here to take care of it. A quick eye roll at your own selfish thoughts, how quick you lean on him for these types of things. It's quiet, nothing more than the soft hum of the dim lights and the slap of your feet on the concrete, a melodic soundtrack that despite your best reasoning makes the hairs on your arms stand.

Slap Slap. Slap Slap. Surely regretting the hasty exit without those shoes now, the cold starting to seep into your toes.

You finally, finally, reach the room where the generator is, can just about make out the sign on the door and the Tony-esque warnings not to enter. It's large, heavy and takes most of your body weight to shift open but with surprisingly little noise. Figures that Tony has even his doors to near perfection. So you enter, silent, close the door quiet behind you and step further into the room. It's hotter, you notice, but also duller. Harder to make out the shapes of things, dark silhouettes give little indication where you might begin fixing the problem. You smooth your feet along the floor, careful not to overstep or miss anything, the last thing you need is ending up breaking a leg and starving to death all because you tripped over your own feet. Steve's words come back to haunt you again.

“You never know when you might need a torch, Y/N.”

Damn Boy Scout. The fucking irony.

As you get further into the room you start to make out more shapes, glance and peer along the wall until you see what might resemble a switchboard and slowly head to it. When you open the box and run your hand over the labels, it's really at this point you truly understand just how out of your depth you are.

Over 50 switches stare down at you, mocking you. Shit.

Is there an on switch? Ha!

You run a hand down your face in almost defeat, figure there's nothing for it and start flipping switches on and off at random, pausing for small moments in between for any effects. Tony will understand, you think, maybe. Probably.

“I'm not sure that's helping.” The voice comes out of the dark behind you and startles you so much you fall forward and smash your hand against 10 or so switches at once, heart thumping wildly against your ribs like it might crack them open.

You know exactly who it is, once your brain catches up, know exactly the voice and the soft tones behind it.

Bucky.

There's fear mixed with relief, but not fear of him, at least not that you can determine. It's all muddled inside you but your surer now that the relief is that it's him and no one else, and that's a new and welcome feeling.

“Shit, sorry.” He rushes out as you spin to face him, “Didn't mean to scare you.”

“No, you didn't.” You rush back, “I mean yes, I was expecting anyone to be here...but you didn't scare me.”

You watch him process the thing you're saying without saying, squint a bit in the darkness to witness the softening of his brow and small, almost infinitesimal widening of his eyes. He gets it. You hope. It's dark, sure, but you can still make out his face and it's the first time you really stop and take notice of it, without the demons. Really notice the slant of his lip into that curve, or the stellar lines of his jaw and think, objectively of course, that he was probably a hit with the ladies back in the day. His day.

He shifts a little on his feet and you realise you’re staring, but also that he is too. He's so unsure of you, so unsure of himself, shifting from one foot to the other like he's clearly uncomfortable, a vast contrast to his unflinching gaze. Like he won't move till you move. You break the stare with a few blinks and give him your back, gesture a bit at the switchboard, “So, uh, clearly I know what I'm doing… got any ideas?”

“Yeah, can I?” He points at the board and you move to let him see, step back a bit to keep the distance and watch him run along the board with a finger reading the numbers and letters like they make any sort of sense (which they don't). His fingers move over the switches you flipped, switching them back and then, you assume, makes a few calculated decisions. On the last one, there's a faint him and click, before the lights blink back on and blind you both a little.

“Well, color me impressed.” You say, and you mean it. He has fixed what you were so clearly not, and in less than 60 seconds. Perhaps Tony was teaching him a few things?

“Hhmm. I guess I learned a lot of things over the years.” He turns and heads towards the door, “After I learned how to remember, that is.”

Of course...the memory wipes. You’d heard a bit about it, but never really thought about it. Another thought barrels right to your gut, if he remembers things like this, he probably remembers it all, right? He remembers it all.

You get so lost in your own terrifying thoughts that you don’t understand Bucky’s look at first. They way he turns back to you, frustration and apprehension written on his face. So it takes you a few seconds to read him, see what he’s feeling and finally, “What is it?”

“The doors locked.”

Forever: @manawhaat @theashhole @a-little-hell-to-raise @peculiar-persephone @captain-rogers-beard @chrisevansnco @howlingbarnes @poealsobucky @vintagevalentinexx @abovethesmokestacks @imhereforbvcky @avengerofyourheart @anakin-skywalkers @shellhaeds @stormy-thomas @danijimenezv @buchonians @stevergxrs @lancefvcker @betheboo55 @palaiasaurus64 @raxacoricofallapatoriuspotter @johnmurphys-sass @katbird787 @because-imma-lady-assface @stephie-senpai @movingonto-betterthings @sexyvixen7 @hollycornish @feelmyroarrrr @jobean12-blog @justreadingfics @justareader @smoothdogsgirl @theliarone @aikibriarrose @timeladylaurel @badassbaker @earinafae @crushed-pink-petals @purgatoan @tardis-is-mine @httpmcrvel @bucky2-0 @mocking-rain @sociallyimpairedme @jezzula @bless-my-demons @winterboobaer @ign-is @indominusregina @-supernatural-coffee-llama @alwayshave-faith @itsonlysarah @thelastxgoodthing @superwholocknda @shifutheshihtzu @mizzzpink @yknott81 @haven-in-writing @xtina2191 @reniescarlett @simplyme8308 @notsoprettykitty @tinaferraldo @wickedwerewolf @ayeputita @tori-medusa-belongs-to-bucky @winchesterswantmypie @tatalopes23 @mirkwood---princess @pineapplebooboo @mizzezm @thefridgeismybestie @memory-of-a-goldfish @supernatural-girl97 @anyakinamidala @ayeputita @standing-onthe-edge

Bucky: @beautiful-aravis @miss-mcbotty @bucky-is-my-precious @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @its-daydreamer23 @learisa @the-observant-fangirl @borkybeans @almost-dean-inside @nerdy-gal316 @brandybucky @creideamhgradochas @beefthief247 @waywardpumpkin @assbutt-son-of-a-bitch @kaaatniss @blacwings-and-bucky-barnes @ladylizzieofdarbyshire @impalaimages @swimmeranxiety @c-olpevole

Through His Eyes: @ginger-wayward-assbutt @buckyappreciationsociety @blacwings-and-bucky-barnes @miss-mcbotty @beefthief247 @luckygrahams @borkybeans @ailynalonso15 @nottheopera @marvelrevival @marvelandwinchesters927 @nairobi13 @4theluvofall @poeticblissme @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked @wowspideyholland @vandread1989 @edward-lover18

#kale writes #through his eyes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #winter solder x reader #marvel fanfiction

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taekookismylifeline · 6 years

Text

(yoonseok) - trust my heart when it beats for you

ao3: (x)

Summary: Jung Hoseok has had an awkward Thing for Min Yoongi for four years of his school life. He is certain that the only thing that gets in the way of them and everlasting love is the fact that Min Yoongi doesn't know he exists, but that all changes due to one drunken text message: a pick-up line. Ready to flee to another country under a false identity in mortification, he finds himself ruining their blossoming friendship and confessing when Yoongi asks why Hoseok had tried to flirt with him. However, things take a turn after his confession when Yoongi starts to (awkwardly) flirt back.

Pairings: Yoonseok, Taekook and Namjin

Chapters: (1), (2), (3), (4), (5), (6), (7), (8), (9), (10), (11), (12), (13), (14), (15), (16), (17), (18), (19), (20), (21), (22), (23), (24), (25), (26), (27), (28), (29)

Chapter Two - i wish for sadness then i could be the one crying on your shoulder:

When it came to Saturday evening, Hoseok was more than ready, especially when armed with the alcohol that Taehyung had brought to his house making its way through his system. Taehyung had shown up with a few of his own items of clothing which he was more than happy to share with Hoseok, as long as Hoseok promised not to soil them with drinks or vomit.

Hoseok reckoned that he looked presentable and Taehyung - who was not-so-discreetly wearing the tightest shirt and trousers that he owned. In fact, Hoseok was fairly certain that they were at least two sizes too small; trousers were not supposed to... Grip like that - looked more than presentable; ravishing would be a better word choice.

“So, that shirt was pretty expensive, so try not to sweat in it,” Taehyung warned him as they got on the train. Hoseok’s eyes widened as he pulled the material from his body.

“What? You should have told me! I would have worn one of my own!”

Taehyung crinkled his nose and checked his phone. “No way, I wouldn’t let you do that to yourself – also I wouldn’t have come out in public with you. And how did you not know what brand that shirt is? I showed you the label!”

Hoseok frowned and sunk down in the chair. He watched himself hazily in the reflection and began to fiddle with his hair, he noticed that the person opposite him was shifting nervously in his seat. Hoseok realised it looked as if he were staring at them and was trying to do some kind of voodoo magic with his own hair. He dropped his hand hastily and felt his mind whir with the sudden movement, maybe he shouldn’t have drunk so much before he left the house.

Suddenly, Taehyung was tugging at his arm and he found himself lurch unsteadily when he stood up. They made their way out of the underground station following a few other people whom they vaguely recognised from Seokjin’s last party. They followed them down a few main streets until turning into a road with towering apartment blocks. The street name matched up with the information that Taehyung and Hoseok had been given by Seokjin so they trusted their fellow party-goers to direct them into the right apartment. They stopped outside of the only door that wasn’t open in the hallway that was set up for a party, with people hanging around each door with cups or bottles in their hands and a few couples getting heated.

“Okay, anyone with drugs goes to the party down the hall – ‘Jin has banned them ever since what happened last time.” It wasn’t Seokjin who had answered the door, it was Namjoon. From the back of the crowd Taehyung and Hoseok exchanged looks: ‘Jin’? Since when were Namjoon and Seokjin so friendly? Hoseok had no idea that Seokjin even knew Namjoon.

A few people dispersed from the group whilst the rest filed inside. The two soon discovered that Namjoon had disappeared from sight. Hoseok and Taehyung worked their way through the crowds of people trying to scavenge for Seokjin or Jimin, whilst keeping their eyes peeled for their respective crushes. Taehyung had been right, it was hectic inside of Seokjin’s apartment, and Hoseok was immensely glad that the party wasn’t being held in a normal student accommodation.

“Hey! I’m glad you could make it,” Seokjin bounded out of the kitchen and put his arms around their shoulders, a beer bottle in one hand. They could barely make out what he was saying over the loud pounding of the bass. He offered the beer to Hoseok after giving Taehyung a wary glance. “Not you, not after what you did last time.” Taehyung smiled bashfully whilst Hoseok pocketed the beer, just in case. “So, how have you two been?”

They didn’t get a chance to answer because Seokjin was called frantically from the living room and then the three heard a noise followed by a loud crash, he left them with an apologetic smile.

“Well, that was a great catch-up,” Hoseok commented sarcastically, his eyes scanning over surfaces for a bottle opener. “He looks fit though. He’s been working out.” He snatched the opener and balanced the beer on the counter to open the cap.

“Yeah, I’m jealous,” Taehyung admitted. “Okay, but what the hell was Namjoon doing at the door? Do they know each other, ‘Jin’ and Namjoon?” He was asking seriously but then laughed as Hoseok miscalculated and almost knocked his beer on the floor with the amount of force he was using.

“I don’t know, it sounds like they do. But we don’t know anything about Namjoon, the only person who does is-”

“Hey, guys!” Jimin yelled from the opposite side of the room, he crashed into several people in an attempt to close the distance. Hoseok noticed that he was still wearing the same sports trainers he wore to school, it was kind of cute.

Jimin was already drunk, Hoseok and Taehyung had to prop him up, his arms around their shoulders. “Guys, you should have gotten here earlier- it was wild, crazy... Crazy and wild, whoop!” He cheered and lifted a fist into the air, almost knocking Hoseok out.

The two human crutches exchanged glances and burst out in simultaneous laughter. “What happened? What did we miss?” Taehyung encouraged, looking longingly at the bottle of wine on the counter.

“Well, Jeongguk broke up with his girlfriend – who’s a total bitch, by the way, she doesn’t like rap, says it’s ‘bad influence...ing?’ Yeah, so he dumped her before the party and I was at his, right?” It was difficult to make out what Jimin was saying at parts but they got the general picture. Hoseok shot concerned glances at Taehyung who seemed determined on ignoring him, focussing on keeping Jimin upright.

“So- so she asks if there’s another girl, right? So, I say ‘fuck yeah there is’, and I kiss him right on the mouth. So she slaps him and then dumps him – even though he dumped her first – and then... Something, now I’m here! Ta-da!” Jimin attempted jazz-hands but only succeeded in swiping his hands on Taehyung’s shirt. Hoseok saw Taehyung’s eyes twitch slightly, but he wasn’t sure if it was because he was tipsy, upset about his ‘soiled’ top, or distraught at what Jimin had unloaded onto them.

Hoseok gestured to Taehyung that they should lead Jimin to a chair but they could only spot beanbags. Jimin sunk down onto one and began laughing as he swivelled his hips around, tried to get back up and fell back down straight away. Hoseok pulled two more beanbags from behind him and kicked one over to Taehyung. They joined Jimin at floor level.

“So, what happened to Jeongguk?” Hoseok began carefully. “Is he okay? Where is he now?”

Jimin rolled his eyes. “I dunno - why do you care?” He narrowed his eyes before opening his mouth in shock and pointing accusingly at Hoseok. “Maybe you wanna be Jeongguk’s girlfriend!”

Hoseok laughed in amusement, taking care not to flick his eyes over to Taehyung, and pushed Jimin back down onto the beanbag. “I’m just concerned, that’s all. He must be upset.”

“Nah,” Jimin waved his hand and then dropped it as if it were too much effort to hold up. “He’ll be fine, he’s probably at home crying.” Hoseok clutched as Taehyung’s arm when he saw him tense. “Yoongi’s with him anyway, so it’ll be fine - Jeongguk broke up with his girlfriend for a reason, so maybe he’s celebrating.” Jimin laughed and went to stand up again, he frowned at Taehyung like it was his fault that he failed to stand on his own feet. “Get drinks. Please?” He clutched at Taehyung’s wrist and pouted.

Well, who were they to deny such a request?

#yoonseok fic #yoonseok #sope #sope fanfiction #sope fic #taekook #taekook fic #namjin #namjin fic #slow burn

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worldsandcenturiesfunposting · 7 years

Text

Trump’s Bad Day 3: The Kids Are All Wrong. Sad!

Within the deepest reaches of the White House in a room designated by a hastily scribbled sticky note as “The War Room”, the President himself sat alone. His face was illuminated only by the flickering of a desk television tuned into Fox News and his hands constantly fidgeting while he desperately tried to think of a way out of his latest predicament.

It had not been a good couple of days for President 45. First, a group of liberals attacked his most loyal fanbase and while they got what was coming to them when one of his brave soldiers ran some of them over with a car, a bunch of cucks have shown themselves furious over the matter and started to attack his fans!

Following that, the fake news media actually wanted him to condemn the protesters as if they had done anything even in the slightest wrong. Wasn’t the left supposed to be the ones championing themselves as the advocates for tolerance and yet, here they were acting as if those tiki totting protesters are bad people for just disagreeing with them. Sad!

For the last several days he had been pestered non stop by the media and peasants who demanded he respond to the event as if that were a job of the Presidency. Obama would have issued a statement condemning the attacks minutes after it happened and what these people don’t understand is that he isn’t Obama! He wants to undo everything Obama has done and if that means not responding to one rinky dink death, so be it!

Alas the brave warrior couldn’t keep up his defense for long. In a matter of days of being strongarmed by the media and people, he finally made his first press statement in months. He insists he was the most clever orator, if he knew what that word was, that the world has ever seen for his unparalleled wielding of words to turn the argument away from his supporters and to the counter protesters. By using the most dishonest use of the “But both sides” argument since the pathetic attempts at shielding Islam whenever a cartoonist or apostate is killed, Trump managed shed some humanity onto the card carrying neo-nazis who proudly saluted him and have shown the world what real Trump supporters look like and the might they carry.

The absolute rush he felt during that speech must have been what Hitler himself felt when dictating his own rise to power. Granted, even people who absolutely hate Hitler would concede that the man was indeed a skilled orator, the subject of his speeches aside, while Trump is a bumbling idiot who can’t string together a coherent sentence to save his life...but what do they know? They’re a bunch of libcucks!

Unfortunately, it didn’t work out as planned. Even though he made a speech just like they were all bitching about for days, they were still mad. It just goes to show you should never try to do what’s good for the country because they’re never be satisfied. Lobbyists on the other hand always praise him when he does things for their benefit.

But even then he felt a shiver when thinking of those wonderful groups who only want even more money. The plans of repealing Obamacare have failed time and time again and now he has to sabotage it from the inside. That’s more work for him when he should be golfing and sniffing Ivanka’s underwear! Why won’t the poor just kill themselves so he doesn’t have to spend so much time trying to pass legislation that will do it slowly?

At least Fox News was there to set the record straight. He enjoyed watching the bumbling automaton on the screen recite conservative talking points to defend him. Sometimes he saw a hint of humanity in their eyes where it seemed that the host was having trouble believing their own lies, but no, that was just the screen.

Of course he couldn’t just sit down and watch Fox News all day like he could before. That fucker Robert Mueller’s investigation was closing in on his family now and he still wasn’t allowed to fire him. He promised Jeff Sessions that he’ll kill all the jews if he gets to fire Mueller but he only got some crap about “Having to follow the law on this one” as if Republicans or the rich ever cared about the rule of law. That’s for the poor people!

In order to save his family, he’d need his family’s help. It’s not relying on others because they’re still Trumps and thus have his genes in them. Unfortunately, he isn’t shoving more of his genes into Ivanka at the moment but that will have to come later.

Mere minutes after texting, Donald Trump Jr, Eric Trump, and Jared Kushner were in the room and waiting to receive orders. People say slapping around your kids doesn’t work, but it’s clear that these subordinates aren’t going to turn against him any time soon.

“Alright boys, we need to find a way to get that fuck off our case. We have the best cases, believe me. When Putin looked at my case, who I didn’t visit or talk to, but when I went to him and told him to look at my case which was my hotels, he said it was the best and I believe everything he said because he can’t do no wrong, but I’m not friends him with, understand?” He pointed at Eric, “Jr, fucking fix this!”

“Daddy, I’m Eric!”

“I don’t fucking care, Kushner.”

“Uh, Father, I’m Kushner.” The farthest to the right pipped up.

“I don’t give a shit, Billy, just figure out how to get Comey off my back.”

“Comey isn’t in the picture anymore, dad” Jr mentioned. “You fired him months ago. That’s why Mueller’s even here to begin with.”

“Do I look like I give a shit, Eric? Fucking fire Obama already!”

“Daddy, I’m Eric!”

“Did I ask you who you were, Barron?”

“I’m not Barron, daddy, I’m Eric!”

“Then where the fuck’s Barron?”

“He’s outside playing with his fidget spinner, father.” Kushner was getting tired of this.

“Why the fuck is a ten year old playing with his penis?”

“Father, a fidget spinner isn’t-”

“THAT WAS MY FIDGET SPINNER! TELL HIM TO GIVE IT BACK, DADDY!” Eric was on the verge of tears. He hated his younger brother because the kid was always bullying him.

“I don’t care who’s penis it was, damnit! If anyone’s penis should be played with, it’s mine anyways!” He slammed his tiny fists on the desk and immediately pointed to Kushner. “How the fuck do we get Mueller out of here! We’re going to end up in jail because of this and by we, I mean you because I’m not going to jail. I never get in trouble! I’m not in trouble but you are and I’m not because I don’t get in trouble!”

“Have you been able to make any deals with anyone in the FBI? Someone could tamper with the evidence so it can’t be used against you, take the fall for it, and then you pardon him. Easy as that.”

“Kushner, I make the best deals. Believe me. The best. Why when I made a deal to win the election and remove sanctions from Russia with Putin, he agreed it was the best. I never talked to him, but he knew it was the best deals. Not like Obama’s deals. His deals were bad. Bad deals. Sad! He didn’t make the best like I can. When I made a deal, it was-”

“Did you contact anyone in the FBI or not?”

“No. Why would I?”

“Oh my fucking God!” Kushner was ready to leave the room and see if he can’t fly down to Russia himself for help at this point. “Alright, father, what about the media. Can’t you get Bannon to get Brietbart to shame Mueller into submission?”

“Oh Bannon? I fired him earlier.”

“YOU WHAT?”

“Everyone was saying he was the president, Jr, but I’m the president. Me. Donald Trump, who I am and not Bannon, is the president which he isn’t. If he’s the president, why did he get fired? Only I can fire him because I’m the president so all of those cucks will have to admit that I’m the president.” Leaving over and tapping his forehead, he gave his son in law a creepy wink. “See, smart.”

“Wouldn’t Bannon be upset, dad?” Jr was now getting worried. Bannon had a lot of dirt on him and didn’t want it to get out.

“Well he did mention something about stringing us up like a bunch of niggers when he left but he was probably just playin, y’know? I have the loyal-ey-ist people out there. Everyone I hire, they know who’s the boss. They listen, believe me, they know I’m in charge.”

“So we don’t have anyone in the FBI and we don’t have a direct link to the media....”

“Sure we do, Eric! The Enquirer!”

“Daddy, I’m Eric!”

“Shut the fuck up, Tiffany. Anyways, I can get them to write articles about Mueller easy! Believe me, they write the best articles. That’s REAL NEWS! The real stuff. The best stuff. Why, when I tell them to write something, they know I’m right so they do it. Just like when Putin tells me to do something, but I don’t know him, but I do it anyways. The SAD! liberal media, they don’t have good journalists like the Enquirer. I’ll get them to write about how awful Mueller is and it’ll be done by tomorrow, believe me.”

Kushner was ready to faint. There’s a level of irony about the man complaining about fake news having ties to a publication that routinely publishes such tripe that only the non-Trump understood. Meanwhile Jr was deep in thought.

“What if we release literally everything before the fake news can? That’s what I did with my meeting with the Russians and the New York Times were totally embarrassed because they couldn’t talk about it anymore!”

“Jr, they ran the story anyways. It even meant that you couldn’t say it was fake news because you released it!”

“Sure I could, Kushner.” He tapped his forehead. “I’m smart, remember?”

Trump was pleased for the first time that night. “You see, Kushner, this is the kind of smarts the Trump family has to offer. Jr here, he has good genes. The best! Not like those blacks and jews.”

“Father, I’m Jewish. Remember?” Kushner stressed.

“AND I’M ERIC!”

“What the fuck do you think we should do?”

Eric reached to the floor and picked up a large crayon composed drawing. Various stick figures were situated in odd places among two vague masses of land. One was labeled “The Untied States” and the other “North Corea” which was succumbing to massive squiggly explosions.

“What if we nuke North Korea to get them to stop bullying us? See, that one’s you.” He pointed to an orange stick figure called ‘Daddy’ on the page, “And there’s me. I’m Eric!”

“Where am I, Eric?” Jr was looking around but couldn’t find himself.

“I ran out of room on the America side so I put you on the North Korea side. See, there’s you there!”

“Well fuck you too, bro.”

“I’m not bro, I’m Eric!”

“That idea sucks, Eric. I’m done with all of you losers. You kids couldn’t come up with a decent plan to save you lives. Sad! I’ve got to do it myself so I will. My plan, it’s the best. I already had it before you came it. I was testing you and you failed. Loser kids can’t make a good plan. Sad! So here’s what I’m going to do, because I’m smart, you see, the smartest ever like Putin said, he knew a smart man when he sees one. I’m first going to call someone in the FBI and tell them to destroy talks between me and Putin, then I’m going to call Bannon and tell him to report on how Mueller likes to watch underaged hookers pee on his bed, and then I’m gonna release literally everything between Putin and I but I don’t because as you can see, it was already destroyed. Finally, I’ll nuke North Korea and then people still stop talking about the fake news and start talking about how presidential I am. I’m the most presidential person ever. Well, after Lincoln, but he helped black people so he doesn’t count. Me, I’m the best as presidenting. The best. Believe me, when I’m president, things work. My team is the best because I only hire the best people. When they see me, they know I’m the best and if they get hired, it’s only because I hire the best but they’re not the best because I’m the best, believe me.”

“That’s a....good plan, father.” Now Kushner really wanted to know flight times to Russia.

Jr was sad that his father was going to steal his idea again but didn’t say anything because he didn’t want to get slapped anymore. Meanwhile Eric was digging around his pockets trying to find his fidget spinner.

“Now get the fuck out of here. I need to watch clips of Ivanka I got using a secret camera in her room!”

“Wait, what!?”

“Get the fuck out of here, Kushner!”

“Can I stay daddy?”

“I said get the fuck out, Kushner.”

“I’m Eric!”

#donald trump #politics #fan fiction #imagine your otp

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