#poem about old childhood jealousy

[tilbageidanmark]

Movies I watched this Week # 150 (Year 3/Week 46):

We All Loved Each Other So Much, only my second by Ettore Scola (after 'A special day'), a sprawling saga of post-World War II Italian life and politics, dedicated to and with a cameo of Vittorio de Sica. Strangely episodic and focused on friendship and the cinema. At one point he's recreating the shooting of the Fontana di Trevi scene of La Dolce Vita, with both Fellini and Mastroianni re-playing themselves - very uncanny!

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The four times is a wordless, award-winning slow-poem from 2010. Philosophically, it follows the Pythagorean notion about the four transmigrations of the soul, as exemplified in the lives of a human, an animal, a plant and a mineral. Visually, it follows a dying goatherd in a small southern Italian village, who mixes the dust from the local church floor with water to drink as medicine. Just as he dies, a baby goat is being born, then the story turns to a fir tree under which that lost goat had died, and finally into a pile of charcoal. The smoke from the burning coal turns into dust, which is what the old shepherd drank. It’s the cycle of life and death. It's a fragile and contemplative viewing, quiet and spiritual.

The trailer. 9/10.

🍿  

“Raise ravens, and they'll gouge your eyes out”…

Raise Ravens (Cría Cuervos) by renown Spanish director Carlos Saura. A mystical psychological drama about painful childhood memories. With the same little actress who starred in ‘The spirit of the beehive’. She watches her dying mother suffering in pain, fantasises about poisoning her father, relives her sad upbringing in a villa with an empty swimming pool in the back. That kind of story.

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"Pi-Kan Pai!"

Another frequent re-watch: Best (?) modern romantic comedy, When Harry met Sally. Sweet Sally (Photo Above) and Woody Allen-lite Harry, the original obnoxious mansplainer, and "human affront to all women". How they fall in love in 12 short years. His deeply cynical misogyny is an unpleasant hindrance, but eventually even he changes, becomes softer, even nice.

With a shout-out to Mallomas, the American version of the Danish flødeboller (קרמבו). Still 10/10.

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L’enfer (Torment), my 7th film by Claude Chabrol, a low-rent version of 'The Shining', about a husband who descends into madness. A paranoiac hotel owner starts suspecting that his wife is cheating on him, and his obsessive jealousy turns this whole story into an ugly, unpleasant trip. 3/10.

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Wikipedia has a list of all movies with 100% score on Rotten Tomatoes and # 6 with the highest number of unanimous reviews (129) is Minding the gap, a 2018 Oscar nominee. The debut documentary from one Bing Liu is the tremendous chronicles of himself and his two blue-collar friends. Three young skaters from Rockford, IL, from their teens until much older and sadder, they look back at their disappointed, broken lives. Rockford, IL, a dying rust belt city with 100% empty streets. 9/10.

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All inclusive, a lovely Danish comedy, made by an all-women team, about a 60-year-old mother and her two adult daughters on a Southern vacation to Malta. The one freewheeling daughter wants her mother to have some fun, so she pays a local bartender to flirt with her. My 3rd film with Danica Curcic. 6/10.

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“Call me” X 2:

🍿 Call me Chihiro is a wistful feel-good slow-cinema fairy tale, about a 29-year-old free spirit in a small seaside Japanese town. She's a former sex worker but now she services as a cashier at a Bento shop. Kind and friendly to anyone she meets, she spreads good will to anyone who crosses her path. Always smiling, but nurturing a sad heart, it's a leisurely-told story that eventually meanders over 2 hours with heartfelt snippets of the various characters she touches, but with no resolutions. 7/10.

It made me realize how purely escapist are the all movies I watch. I am satisfied walking with her at sunset on the docks of this pretty, far away town.

🍿 Re-watch: Luca Guadagnino's sensuous Call Me by Your Name. Beautifully-shot, romantic love story of an upper-class Italian summer. Great acting by two hetero(?) players, and the irritating Jewish father.

You know what things... The incredible one-shot at the plaza.

🍿

Pull my daisy, an experimental "Beat Generation" movie, made by photographer Robert Frank in 1959. Written and narrated by Jack Kerouac, and featuring Allen Ginsburg, Gregory Corso and Delphine Seyrig (!), it's a jazzy, free-form poem with an improvisational Joycean flair. A bohemian group crash a party. Nice!

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Apocalypse Clown, an absurdist apocalyptic Irish slapstick comedy about a troupe of washed out clowns, trying to find meaning after a freak solar flare wipes out electricity in the world. Silly and off-beat. 7/10.

The trailer.

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3 by Mabel Normand, silent screen director and actress:

🍿 Mabel Norman was a major female director and star who collaborated with Mack Sennet, and directed Charlie Chaplin's first films.

Mabel's Strange Predicament was Chaplin's first film where he used the tramp persona and costume. It was 1914, and he was slightly less polished: It was obvious he was a drunk, a lecher, a big tipper, his make up had his mouth in a permanent frown. Her predicament was being locked out of her room wearing pajamas!

🍿 Caught in a Cabaret, another 1914 Chaplin 2-reeler. Here he's a waiter who fakes being the Prime Minister of Greenland. There's also a real giantess, maybe a 6'5 foot extra dancing in the background.

🍿 Mabel's Blunder is a gender-bender comedy, with a secretary being hit by both her boss and his father. This short was added to the National Film Registry.

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Etgar Keret is an absurdist, postmodern Israeli poet. More that 100 of his existentialist plays were adapted to short international movies. I discovered him after reading a painful NYT essay ‘I Feel a Human Deterioration’ about the massacre in Gaza.

Wristcutters: A Love Story, based on a story of his, was a bizarre black-comedy experiment about the after-life station where people who had committed suicide find themselves. It opens with a tremendous surprising suicide, but all of its young actors are especially un-charismatic, the directing by some Croatian dude is distinctively mediocre, and even Tom Waits cannot save it. 4/10

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David Cross's 2021 stand-up I'm from the future opens with a stark and powerful story, a woman’s journey to, and experience in, the gas chamber in Auschwitz. It's an angry, scathing criticism of right wing ideology, delivered remorselessly and without pity. 6/10.

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Edgar Wright directed a fake trailer for a fictitious 1970’s exploitation horror film called Don’t. It was included in Tarantino & Rodriguez’s ‘Grindhouse’.

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Oh, how I hated Scorsese’s cult comedy After Hours! The appalling, affected yuppy character, the typecasted Soho artists, the unfunny twists and turns of the journey to ‘get back home’. 1/10.

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(My complete movie list is here)

#movies

[lindaenvision]

#emotionalbaggage #envision #improvement #lettinggo #planning #transformation

[birthdaylobotomy]

i am the crescent moon in your midnight eyes

the only object of frail, tempted desire

i never thought their car would spin off the road

never thought it would puncture thin bodies 

like the needle diving into thread

i felt gutted and raw

like some slimy lake fish

stars shaming my figure, i bowed involuntarily

who read my book that cold august morning?

who betrayed the reflection of my superficial self

was it me?

sprawled out hollow, on the bathroom floor

was it you?

red teeth kissing the sun as if it wasn’t a stranger

i watched you kiss that close blistering star

i’m not like her at all

for i will never set

#poem about old childhood jealousy #txt #poem #my poetry #my writing #text #spilled poetry #spilled ink #blood tw #gore tw

[wheredoalltheducksgo]

Books I’ve read this summer and what they remind me of.

☉Fiesta, The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemingway

Spain, crying about someone that was never truly yours, fighting people you don’t like, going around with your friends, fresh early morning, an headache after drinking too much, wine, pretty women.

☉1984 by George Orwell

Rats, cold sweat, sex, losing weight, cameras, eyes, whiskey burning your throat, oil, betrayal, polluted air.

☉The Great Gatsby by F. S Fitzgerald

Parties, booze, white wine and champagne, bright lipstick, green, boats, brand new cars, blood, admiring someone, daydreaming, fake friendships, uncomfortable silence, the sun setting.

☉The Catcher in the Rye by J.D Salinger

Worn out converses, smoking, ordering drinks as a minor, the color red, walking without a purpose, spontaneity, calling your ex, pretenciousness, getting beaten up after starting a fight, loving your family, ducks, professors complimenting your writing, letters.

☉Circe by Madeline Miller

The moment right before the sunrise, plants and flowers, moon water, the sun hurting your eyes, islands, loneliness, significant jewelery, grace, redemption, good intentions, love, not being sure about where you belong, the sea, strong women.

☉The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini

Wanting to impress your parents, writing, foods that remind you of your childhood, guilt, hate, pain, filling up notebooks, family, mistakes, goodbyes, war, tears, loosing innocence, blood, hope.

☉A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini

Women, tears, loosing hope, closeness, the sunset, loosing everything, sandals, found family, surviving, war, pain, bombs, orphanages, veils, non romantic love, women’s solidarity, betrayal, sacrifice, hope.

☉As I Lay Dying by William Faulkner

Death, misery, brothers, farms, fishes, mental illness, desperation, a lantern in the night, anger, caskets, secrets, loss of innocence, selfishness, dysfunctional families, children, yelling, the countryside.

☉The House of the Spirits by Isabelle Allende

Spirituality, ghosts, early afternoons, happy childhoods, teeth, filling notebooks, green hair, young love, baby blue, grieving, the revolution, blood, strong women, brothers, dysfunctional families, prostitutes, old books, candles, clean clothes, poverty, yearning, young deaths, songs and poems, love.

☉Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier 

Bays, the seaside, fear, the unknown, ships, court, blodshot eyes, doctors, death, guns, car rides, suspicion, jealousy, inadequacy, a white dress, flames.

#the sun also rises #ernest hemingway #1984 #george orwell #the great gatsby #francis scott fitzgerald #the catcher in the rye #j d salinger #circe madeline miller #madeline miller #the kite runner #a thousand splendid suns #khaled hosseini #as I lay dying #william faulkner #the house of the spirits #isabelle allende #rebecca #daphne du maurier #books #literature #summer reads #dark academia

[shaheenarnitipsyart]

The Chosen One

This is the 24th time joining @flashfictionfridayofficial! Thank you for the challenging prompt!

Word Count: 847

T/W: mention of death

Owain (he/him): older brother

Owynn (he/him): younger brother

The Chosen One. 

Owynn hated this title. He was green with envy whenever he heard this word whispered among people because it reminded him that he was inferior to his elder brother Owain. 

They shared similar appearances - both of them had wavy bronze hair, blue-grey eyes, and thick eyebrows. That made Owynn even worse. 

I could have been the chosen one. Why Owain? 

His glabellar lines had deepened ever since Owain was declared the Chosen One, who was allowed to wield the sacred sword passed on from their heroic ancestor. King Ossian was a legendary defender of the kingdom, and his sword had been preserved in the secret temple in the deep forest. It was a great honour to receive the title of Defender.

Owain had always been the favourite child. He had great skill with riding and sword-fighting. He had a distinctive, infectious laugh that brightened up people's hearts, and his clear, confident voice could encourage his fellow warriors on battlefields. And Owynn hated that. Owynn had been a mere shadow while Owain had been light. To Owynn's eyes, Owain's path was broad, smooth, and easy. 

Still, Owynn had some good memories of horse rides and secret journeys he made with Owain in his childhood. Owynn would sing random songs into the wind as they rode. Owain would grin at his partner-in-crime. When they were found by their family, they would tolerate the beatings together. Owain had never ignored nor abandoned Owynn. But even those memories irritated Owynn. He wished Owain would hate him as much as he did. Owynn bitterly remembered the day his brother proclaimed his new title. The ancient sword with an intricate swirling pattern shining under the blue sky. The cheers from people turned into a roar.  Owain's face was bright as ever as if the relentless blessing showering over him purified his soul. And that was the moment Owynn decided to leave his clan, never to return. 

Look how easily Owain handles the sacred sword. We do look alike, but the gods favoured him from the very beginning. Of course, he is an incredibly virtuous person, unlike me. But I won't live under his mercy - he will look at me with eyes of pity and say that we are equal, that we should defend those wretched people and the wasteful land together. Who cares? 

Little did he know, Owain was looking at his younger brother's quiet departure beyond the excited crowd, eyes full of pain. 

Now, Owynn is riding through the hills like a gale. Beyond the rolling hill, there lies the old forest, where he left a decade ago. 

The news of the defeat of his clan - and the death of Owain reached him a couple of days ago. That's why Owynn is heading to the forest despite cold rain. The hills unfolded in front of him look like a bottomless grey ocean. 

I don't care about my brother. Now I can prove that I'm better than him! The rumour says that the oracles haven't received any prophecy regarding the next Defender. Then, why not me? 

Owynn tells himself, ignoring a sharp pain in his heart. 

It is weird. 

Ever since he heard the news, he has been haunted by the flashback of his childhood - random songs and funny poems they composed together. How Owain threw his head back and laughed. His strong yet gentle hands treated Owynn's wounds. And sad eyes whenever Owynn glared at him with hatred and jealousy. 

No matter how hard Owynn tries to get rid of those, they come back to him. At last, he arrives in the forests and walks straight into the temple where the sword is kept. The guards flinch at the sight of him, but let him in without a word. 

That's a bit surprising. 

One oracle is sitting in front of the sword. Their tired eyes and Owynn's meet. Owynn can feel silence overpowering him. There is no cheer, no blessing. Before he opens his mouth, the oracle offers the sword politely. 

Finally!

Owynn's trembling hands touch the curved hilt of the sword.

What...!?

He has never thought that the sword could be this cold and heavy. The intense coldness of the sword sends a chill to the bone. Suddenly, he realises that he is alone - really alone. The weight of being the Defender is so real, and for the first time, he becomes aware of the loneliness and responsibility his older brother had to tolerate all by himself. Looking at the shocked face of Owynn, the oracle opens their mouth.

'This is the message from Owain to you, uttered just before his passing.' 

Speechless, Owynn looks at the oracle. 

'This sword carries the spirits of the previous Defenders. Whenever you charge into battles, my spirit will wield this sword with you. Afraid not, my dear brother, you won't be alone again - ever again.' 

Owynn can't help stop the tremble of his hands. 

For the first time, the burning jealousy that has consumed his heart is slowly extinguishing. 

@flashfictionfridayofficial​

#Flash Fiction Friday #fff127 #green with envy #celtic #medieval

[modern-vellichor]

Grief, is a Beautiful Thing

Stage Three: Bargaining

Warnings: Grief, death of a major character, loss, dealing with depression, explicit language, angst.

Series Masterlist

Bargaining; takes place within the mind by trying to explain the things that could have done differently or better.

Early morning light filtered through your curtains, you grimaced. The sun hadn't risen yet, pale grey light burned your eyes. You rolled over, away from the window, an attempt to escape the burning light. You were met by a sleeping figure.

shit.

You slowly reached behind you, fingers wrapping around the cool handle of your knife, and then he stirred.

"Y/N?", his voice was groggy and sleepy, but it was recognisable.

"Buck", you relaxed a little, still on guard.

"Mornin', doll", he rolled over to face you, throwing an arm over your waist. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, breathing you in. His stubble rubbed your soft skin raw, hot breath fanning over your shoulder, making you shudder.

You gently pushed Bucky off of you. He grumbled, cuddling into your pillow. He watched you as you got dressed, a button down and some slacks, you were never one for skirts. "Where you goin'?", he mumbled.

You checked the clock. 06:23am.

"work"

With that you left your own room, leaving Bucky to his own devices. He would leave eventually, besides, you had a busy day. All your days were busy lately, filled with meetings and training and recruitments, organising missions and whatnot.

So you sat, stuck behind your desk, running on coffee with extra shots and too much sugar, you always liked it sweet. Bucky watched men and women, in suits and pencil skirts, brief cases in hand, come and go from your office, he heard your sighs of frustration, he even heard you yell at one or two.

The sun was setting when he finally knocked on your door, you called out to him, voice strained and tired, barely audible, "come in".

"hey, doll", he smiled down at you, eyes sparkling with sympathy. You looked back at him, expectantly. "I was thinking, what if we go out and get dinner, you and me"

You dropped your gaze to your desk and sighed, "sure".

He smiled as you locked up, throwing your coat over your shoulders.

Bucky took the chance, reaching down to entwine his fingers with yours, you recoiled from his touch.

The cool Brooklyn evening nipped at your skin. You breathed in the spoiled city air, smoke and exhaust fumes filling your lungs. It was blissful, the moments of peace and numbness brought with dirty air and city noise.

Bucky brought you to a 50s style diner, greasy food and old jukeboxes. You enjoyed it, you missed this. Bucky and you, the team, you missed him.

He lead conversation that evening, telling you about the things you had missed while being locked in that office all day. You just smiled and nodded.

He walked you back, slowly, letting you take in the sights of the city. He was about to leave you, placing a chaste kiss on your forehead, stood in your door frame. Your hands gripped his shirt as he hugged you, close and tight. "stay", you whispered. And he did, gladly.

His arms still enveloping you, you stumbled back to your bed, collapsing into soft sheets. Tangled with each other, you whispered soft words to him, a poem Steve had muttered to you an age ago. A gentle haiku that burned through your thoughts nightly, plaguing your rigid dreams.

"In me burns the most Catholic of longings; to devour the divine."

Once he was asleep, you slipped out of the sheets, out of his grasp, to your window, to her, the moon. Your beautiful friend burned bright and full in the sky tonight, white and bright in all her dark glory.

"do you think, if I had loved him harder, he would have stayed?", you whispered, she was silent tonight, no sweet song filling your ears in response to your grieving. "maybe, if I hadn't been blipped, I could have saved him, he would still be here"

"could you have looked out for him", you asked, yearning for an answer from your lady of the night. "if I had asked, would you have saved him? like you did me?", you begged the divine being above you, celestial light burning you soft skin, aching with silence, yearning for an answer.

A pair of arms wrapped around your waist, a pair of soft lips nuzzling your lips, "nothing would have made him stay, draga mea"

The pet name made your skin crawl, in the best of ways. You leaned into his touch, he littered soft kisses over your shoulder and neck. Your divine goddess shone down on you, his love oozing from his skin into yours, making you shudder.

You closed your eyes, breathing becoming heavy as he whispered again. "Y/N, his heart was always somewhere else, you know that", you hummed sadly in response. "stay here, with me, I'm right here, just stay", he pleaded, words seeping into your delicate skin.

His hands made their way up your arms, turning you to face him. He cradled your face, thumbs grazing over your cheeks, it was beautiful, in a heartbreaking way. You always thought that in the right moments, Grief had a certain beauty to it, that longing and emptiness that one would feel, the poetic loneliness that came with the loss. Right now, grief, was a beautiful thing.

One hand grasped his wrist, the other came up to his cheek. There was something familiar about the whole encounter; memorable and far away.

His lips brushed over yours, a ghostly touch. This was far different from your last midnight rendezvous, this wasn't gnashing teeth and lust blown eyes, this was soft, gentle, a sweet song of yearning, recovery.

"do you think", you started, voice a mere whisper, his lips trailing down your neck. "that if I were more like her, he would have stayed?"

He brought his face back up to yours, pressing your foreheads together, his hands weaving through your hair.

"doll, nothing would have made him stay. Not you, not me, nothing"

You leaned forward, lips pressed against his, mouths slotting together in a ritualistic dance. Short and sweet and soft, sacred and secret in the safety of the moonlight and the closed door of your bedroom.

You instinctively brought both of your hands to meet his, cupping them, same as his cupped your tear-soaked cheeks. Realization stuck the both of you as you separated, gasping for air. Instead of recoiling, instead of turning your back, banishing him from your room, you took his hand in yours, you closed your fingers, tightening into a reassuring grip, and he did the same.

Leaning back in, your lips connected with his, sparks flying down your spine. The two of you stumbled backwards towards silky sheets.

Eventually, feverish, tear stained kisses turned to soft pecks and gentle touches. He buried his head in your neck, breathing soft reassurance over your chest, you hugged him close, running a hand over his hair, and another over his back as you cradled him.

"In me burns the most Catholic of longings; to devour the divine."

Your eyes widened in surprise, "so, you heard everything?", you mumbled, eyes closed.

He pressed a wet kiss to your shoulder, muttering nothing but " 'm sorry"

You curled further into his embrace, tears still steadily rolling down your face, glistening in the moonlight.

The tears never stopped, you shook and shuddered in your dreams, drowning in the river you had cried, Steve watching from the banks. You awoke in a cold sweat, tears hot and heavy on your cheeks, Bucky wide eyed and worried next to you, arms around your shoulders.

You found yourself far away, in a land of your own, too often for your own good. Too many times had you caught yourself burdened with thoughts of Steve, especially the last few days.

"what could I have done to made him stay?"

Nothing. Nothing would have made him stay, although he was your night in shining armour, he was your forever, you were just a casualty of his chivalry, you were just for now. His heart was always with Peggy.

"would he have stayed?"

No, you come to realise this later, staying would have killed him. He belonged there, with her, this life, this world, this love, was unnatural, and in a way, forced, and the tears fall freely now, but you'll smile later. He's happier with her.

"did he love me?"

He loved you, of course he did. You were his sunshine, his darling, his honey. You were the sacred piece of art that every bone in his body ached to memorize. You were a missing piece to his puzzle, just not the only one.

He left for his childhood sweetheart, the love of his life, the woman that sat on the backburner of his mind, haunting his every thought.

"would he be angry?"

Of course not, he left you, he broke every promise he made, and left you broken in turn. Bucky was there to put you back together, and Steve trusted him.

"is this right?"

"am I allowed to love another so soon?"

You were starting to believe, that deep down, you always loved Bucky, and just chose not to see it. He was the complete opposite to Steve, and opposites attract. It seemed, often, that you and Steve were two sides of the same coin, the exact same, so much so that you just went together, it was natural.

Bucky was always there, a very necessary third wheel in your relationship. He was always there when you and Steve fought, taking your side and supporting you. And now, here he was, picking you up and seeing you back together.

Bucky had always loved you, since the moment he first lay eyes on your soft skin and innocent eyes. From the first time he saw you kill a HYDRA agent with your bare hands. He felt the jealousy, the guilt that only built up over the years, every time you kissed Steve, or interlaced your fingers with his.

Now, here he was, luckiest man in the world. Tracing your angelic features with calloused fingers, drinking you up as you bared your soul to him, and he felt blessed. He felt whole and pure, and clean. Like you had taken him in and purged him of his sins, and he needed you now, he was too far gone.

Secrets. Secrets hurt, especially this one. The hidden kisses that you only indulged in, under the safety of the moonlight. The soft touches that were a virtue for only the dead of night, your name on his lips like a mantra that only chorused with the stars.

How you wanted to hold him, to keep him together, he was falling apart too. You could tell. Best friends on both schoolyards and battlefields, it hurt Bucky same as it hurt you.

You were taking and taking and taking, draining him of all his love and energy. He willingly gave, of course he did, he would give you anything, if you asked, but he was draining.

You could see it, his gorgeous blue eyes were grey and dull, his smile never quite reached his eyes, a constant frown gracing his godly features. He felt small, you needed to build him up, you had to, as a thank you.

So you did, you forgot about your strife, your grief, your tears, they were a figure of the past, a beautiful story of fiction, Bucky was all you knew. You spent every hour with him, cradling him in the night, holding him close and breathing him, sewing him together, putting him back in place all over again. Rebuilding.

At night as he slept, you still crept to the moon, to ask your goddess divine, what would have happened if Steve stayed, but then you look over your shoulder, and see Bucky lying there, sleeping so peaceful, angelic and godlike in your bed, and you forget all about that.

You heal his bruises with kisses, his mental scars with soft words and poems whispered in the dead of night, his touch softens with every glance you spare him.

Of course, you begin to lose yourself. How are you supporting to navigate your own when all you know is Bucky, water, water, everywhere, and not a drop to drink. You lose sight of the person you are, who you were, you breathe Bucky. He is there every second of every day, hovering over you, breathing you in.

Soon your questions to the moon turn to pleas. Desperate cries for help to the night sky.

"I don't know who I am anymore"

"Find me, please"

"Bring me back"

"My soul is with you, find it, please"

Bucky doesn't hear a thing, of course he doesn't. For nightmares no longer plague his dreams, not now that he smells you on his clothes, not now that you reside in his heart, in his hands. Not now that he can reach out and find you with your soul bared to him and only him, now that he has you, his troubles are gone.

Hes too infatuated with you to even notice. He turns a blind eye to the tear stains on your pillow, the growing grease in your hair, the fine lines making home in your soft skin. He doesn't notice how often you drift off, zoning out into some other reality, he never hears your silent cries for help, he doesn't notice how often you lie in, or take days off, because he just gets more of you. He gets to breathe you in, drink you up, take and take and take, and you just give, guilt piled up for months, broken and you still must fix. It's a toxic cycle, you need help, but he mustn't know, he cannot find out.

This is a secret that hurts, but it's one you absolutely have to keep.

@vicmc624 @dee-vn @soleil-dor

#bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #captain america x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #marvel fic

[consultingsister-aa]

five times kissed / bash ( any verse )

this meme for: @theasteriae​ verse: happy verse

I. 

Celia has never seriously dated before. There were boys but they had little to no interest in getting to know her. They just wanted to fuck her. People were always saying she was too pretty for her own good and she was starting to think that was true. 

Only Basher Moran didn’t seem that bothered about how pretty she was. Although she assumed, that was what drew him to her in the first place. It was silly and unrealistic to say otherwise and she certainly fancied him from the moment she saw him. It had nothing to do with her laugh and everything to do with his jawline. It wasn’t true anymore now. 

It had been one of the best summers of her life. She could hardly believe she had been tempted to turn Alex down, to return to Surrey, alone and melancholy. Sherlock has said he would come up but would have likely cancelled last minute. Cee has never spent so much time with people apart from at school and it took a while to get used to all the sibling and cousin dynamics. It was like something from one of her books; The Chronicles of Narnia or The Famous Five. They all had inside jokes and pet names and moved around each other like a choreographed dance. She knew her bothers well enough but she rarely had to deal with a cramped kitchen and sharing bedrooms. They knew each other differently than the Morans. 

It had been a fantasy of hers to live like this. When she was young and it was just her alone in that big house, she would daydream about having lots of brother’s and sister’s and cousins to play with. Adventures at the beach; caves and pirate treasure. She imagined herself into their childhood and al of a sudden, felt a lump in her throat. It was more than jealousy; it was something like grief. Greif for that lonely little girl who would always aways be alone. 

“What’s up?” Bash interrupted her thoughts. Clearly, her state of mind has shown on her face. 

“Nothing. I’m just a little sad to go back to school after all this.” 

Bash sighed knowingly, turning back to look out over the water. Even though she had come with Alex, Celia was spending more and more time on the beach with Bash. They sat in the dunes, a blanket around their shoulders, watching the sun fall into the freezing water. Even in the height of summer, the water was freezing. “Yeah, I’ll miss the beach,” he agrees. 

She turns to look at his profile, shoulder bumping into his. “I’ll miss you.” She didn’t quite mean you individually, she meant you as a family, but she was glad he took it that way. 

He turned to look at her and then leant in to kiss her for the first time, both their heads moving in the opposite way so they didn’t bump noses, as if it has been rehearsed. Cee had never been kissed like that before but it was almost exactly how the songs and books and poems described it. It was like seeing fireworks. But perhaps more wonderfully, when he kissed her like that, she didn’t feel so alone. 

II.

It had felt like a long time since that first kiss, although it has only been seven years. In the prospect of a lifetime together, that was short. But she couldn’t help but think about that moment, as she stood at the waters edge, champagne glass in hand, breathing deeply in the cool evening air. Behind her, her specially built carnival glows, reflecting in the dark waters. 

She’s changed from her wedding dress into a short ballet style tutu skirt, which stopped a little north of where her father, new husband and aunt-in-law might have liked. Long legs end in bare feet and she lets the water lap up against her ankles. 

“Hey, Mrs Moran-- there about twenty million people wanting to see you back there.” 

She turns back with a smile, just in time to see Bash - messy hair, jacket long gone, shirt sleeved rolled up - before he wraps his arms around her from behind, pressing a kiss into the side of her face. “There are not twenty million people, you’re such a drama queen.” 

He laughs. She does too. Then they relax into silence and both watch the waves. After a moment, Cee begins to cry. 

“Hey, hey,” Bash moves to turn her round, concern on his face. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing-- I’m just-- I’m just so--” 

“What? Oh god, you’re regretting it already. I said, if you weren’t ready, that we could--”

“Happy!” Cee interupsts him with laugh, “Bash, I’m happy. I am so happy.” 

He looks so relived, it only makes Cee laugh again; more happy tears spilling onto her cheeks. He pulls her close, a deep kiss, just them. Maybe the big party was too much. She was danced out; talked out; laughed out. She just wanted this. And the best bit was, she had it, and she had it forever. 

III. 

“Twins!?” 

“Are you fucking serious?” 

Cee can tell the nurse wasn’t expecintg that reaction from her, but she couldn’t care less. One more baby was enough of a shock, but two more? She looks over at Bash, who’s grinning and offers a look as if to say ‘what are you smiling about, you bastard’. 

“I am very serious Mrs Moran. You can see one heart beat here,” the nurse points to a black mass on the monitor, “and the second,” another black mass, “here.” Cee will just have to take her word for it. She got very upset when she couldn’t see what the nurse was talking about with Beua but she’s over it this time. She’s already over being pregnant this time and now it’s just going to be two times worse? Well, it was always two times worse but now she knows about it. “I’ll leave this up and give you a minute,” the nurse smiles at the parents and leaves the room, closing the door behind her. Cee’s face is full of panic. 

“What?” Bash moves into the side of the hospital bed, taking Cee’s hand in his. 

“What do you mean, what? Bash-- I can’t handle three kids. You’re away all the time. I didn’t even know if I could do two but three babies? I’m out of my depth here.” 

“So what are you saying? You want to-- not--” 

“No, no, I’m just-- it’s a lot, Bash. Twins. That’s twice the baby!” 

“And you,” now he moves his hands to her face. Eye contact is key with Cecelia, pyshical contact and looking her in the eye. “Are twice the woman. You can do this. You can do anything.” 

Cee takes a calming breath and nods. ���I love you,” she manages and leans forward to kiss him softly, just in time for the door to reopen. They never get a moments peace anymore. 

IV. 

Celia closes the bedroom door very gentle behind her. It feels like having babies again; a house full she doesn’t want to wake up. Bash just smiles up at her, taking off his glasses. He’s only been in the job four hours and he’s already bringing work to bed. 

“Do they love their new rooms?” 

Celia pulls an apoletic look, pulling off her dressing gown. “Immy says she wants to go home.” 

“To Suffolk?” 

“Yeah.”

“She’s knows she’s now living in Downing Street, right?” 

“You know that a ten year old could not care less, right?” 

Bash just laughs, laying his arm out over her pillows so she can snuggle in next to him. For a moment, they just sit there, head leant back against the headboard, drinking it all in. They had been working towards this for over ten years and now? The real work was just beginning. She can already feel her eyes getting heavy. “You’re happy here though, right?”

“Mm,” she hums. She’s not sure yet. Suffolk is her home, more than she ever though it would be. It was where the boys all grew up, their childhood rooms even though they were all grown up and out the house now. It was where Immy was born, where they played capture the flag and five aside football when the rest of the family came over. 

Downing Street might be a symbol of how far they had come, but it wasn’t home and she doubted, no matter how long they were here, it would ever feel like one. She already had plans to nip back to Suffolk the first weekend they could. “Yeah, this is what we’ve wanted for so long. We just need to settle into it.” Cee looks up to Bash, smiling at the fine lines already marking his face. But his eyes look the same as they did when he kissed her for that very first time on the beach. He’s so good to her, always. 

She kisses him, the sort of kiss they haven’t had in a while. Five kids, two demanding careers and a whole country wanting his attention tends to lead to pecks of affection and quickies whenever they can get it. But they have a moment now. “I’m so proud of you,” she whispers, lips still touching his. “I’m so proud of us. For everything, not just this job. I love you.” 

V. 

They had been in rooms like this so many times over the years. The bad lighting, the round tables, the stage. Only, rarely for her. She had, happily, she wanted to add, taken a back seat for most of her life. Her skillset was better suited to a life of support and planning; organising and committing herself to the task at hand. Whether they was her husband’s career, or her children’s lives. How could she call them children now though? Immy sat next to her, one arm lazily draped across her own baby bump, the other reached out to hold her mother’s hand. 

All heads had turned to the stage as a larger man in a ill-fitting suit took to the podium. His welcome speech was short and sweet, something Cee appreciated. She had told anyone who she could that she wasn’t bothered; even to be nominated was an honour but she was bothered. Her stomach swam with anxiety in a way it hadn’t done in years. 

“And the winner, of the twenty-forty-eight Booker Prize goes to... Cecelia Holmes.”

The table around her, well dressed and well mannered, rose with celebration; clapping together hands together and whooping. Immy kissed her cheek, Beua was quick to follow but she wouldn't get around them all. Although, she couldn’t forget one of them. 

Bash had sat across from her for most of the night. Although it was her night, it was also the first time in months all the family had been together in one place. Well, not all the family. You could fill the whole room with all the family. They were on stand-by, waiting for the news. They could have a party anyway, Immy had said, but they’d take down the banners if she didn’t win, though she suspected they wouldn’t have to. That had made Cee laugh. All the family tonight mean the six kids. Beua, Cass, Edmund, Perc, Immy and Hugo, ranging in ages from early forties, to twenty-two. Her children. Fuck the books, these wonderful, clever, funny, thoughtful kids were the best thing she had ever done with her life. And it was all thanks to Bash. They had caught each others eyes all night and it had made her feel young again. Like when they used to catch each other eyes over the dinner table at Nettle Cottage. 

She was aware there was a room full of people waiting for her but she was hungry for the kiss. Her hands reached for his face and she wasn’t that surprised to see a tear in his eye. “I’m so proud of you,” Bash managed, although years of shouting in Westminster had left his voice a little hoarse. She kissed him again, although she could feel the ever secible and dependable Beua trying to take her arm towards the stage. 

“Of us,” Cee corrected him, before allowing her oldest son to resort her to the edge of the stage. She hadn’t prepared a speech but she thought she might mention that first kiss, under a tartan blanket, on a beach in Suffolk that inspired a lifetime of literary work. 

#theasteriae #( i. message ) #( i. save ) #( vi. ceebastian ) #( v. happy verse )

[tisthedamnstark]

And whatever they lose, they rediscover (Stony Angst)

Read on AO3

It's a little known fact that at fifteen, Tony Stark was a gifted poet. The combination of his genius mind and his complicated teenage emotions made him an able writer, collecting and polishing words like a machine he has to restore.

Now, Tony writes again, standing in the ashes of the Avengers fever dream.

OR

Set after Civil War, Tony writes a poem for Steve when all he has left is a burner phone, broken promises and a stubborn ember of hope.

cap breaks promises. "we'll lose" in that second, every ounce of trust released unbound willing to believe whatever he says in return. "then we'll do that together too".

Tony remembers, vividly, that time when Steve promised to be there. The time when he swore, half unspoken, that no matter how catastrophic the loss, he would stay by Tony's side.

He can still feel the rush of relief, the band aid on his ageing heart when he believed he had Steve. The feeling of being wanted and trusted is burned so strongly onto his very being that he still dreams about it- even now. Standing in the ashes of the Avengers fever dream. Surveying the wreckage of his naivety.

A little part of him still believes. Tony is fully aware that he poured expensive alcohol on a flame and expected it to flicker and die, when deep down he knew that it would burn brighter than before.

One day, he thinks it was a Sunday, Peter came into the tower unexpectedly and, well. It wasn't a pretty sight, as Tony was (impressively) both drunk and hungover.

He took one look at his wasted mentor and pulled out his phone, frantically typing something.

"Hey kid," Tony slurred, "don't go telling on me. Not cool."

"I'm not busting you Mr Stark, it's, uh, your life I guess?" Peter scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, "It just reminded me of a meme I saw. Um... this one!"

Peter handed Tony the phone, saying "This is you, Mr Stark, seriously."

The meme was a yellow dog in a room on fire, sat at a table with a mug. There was a speech bubble saying 'This is fine.'

Before Tony could respond indignantly, Peter took the phone back and said he was heading into the lab to work on the web formula. Waving him off, Tony sat back into the chair holding his glass of whiskey contemplatively.

"Damn kid." He muttered, "If only he knew how spot on that analogy was."

After that, Tony drank less, which was good. Unfortunately, he also decided that a good replacement for his poisonous drink was something toxic to inhale instead.

It had been a long time since Tony had smoked like this. Sure, he enjoyed a cigarette now and then, but he kicked the habit in his early twenties.

So, to say Rhodey was surprised to see his friend chainsmoking on the balcony was an understatement.

"You gonna talk about it, Tones?" He asked softly, without judgement.

"Not a chance." Tony scoffed, taking a particularly long drag.

"Hand me one then. I'll keep you company."

The pair spent almost two hours in a comfortable silence, the only sounds from the traffic below and the occasional click of the lighter.

When Rhodey got up to leave, he placed one hand on Tony's shoulder and said "Don't break yourself over this."

Tony heard the footsteps of his best friend fade, and wondered if he'd ever open up again. Ever trust again.

Tony remembers the time when Steve promised to be there. He wonders how delusional he must have been to have seen love in those eyes.

spoken so strongly you're compelled to believe. they lost. but they lost to eachother. promises twisted and poisoned and still promises. indescript phone. indescribable promise. "whatever it takes" he promised. his promises shouldn't mean anything now; no trust. liar.

Sitting at his desk, his eyes linger on the phone Steve left him when he, well, left him. Ran off with his childhood friend because he never truly loved-

Tony quickly cuts off that train of thought, forcing it back into the darkest corner of his mind, refusing to face reality. He returns his attention to the computer, to the document full of false starts and cliché concepts.

It's a little known fact that at fifteen, Tony Stark was a gifted poet. The combination of his genius mind and his complicated teenage emotions made him an able writer, collecting and polishing words like a machine he has to restore.

When his parents died, he felt the violent roar of grief, simultaneously overwhelming his mind and numbing his emotions to the point where he was so changed that he couldn't do it anymore.

Words that once flowed smoothly like clockwork ground to a bitter halt, depriving Tony of his last healthy outlet. Thinking nothing of it in the haze, he tucked his notebook away and reached for the whiskey.

The decades passed and it was almost as if the recent events revived the poetic voice in him; maybe two wrongs do make a right.

Deciding to change tack, Tony closed the document and reached for a pen and paper.

It was if someone had ripped open a faucet, everything that wouldn't type poured out onto the page. The poem was a mess, a formless chunk of angry, brutal, beautiful sentences that expressed everything he wanted it to.

He reread what he wrote with a more critical eye, reshaping the raw emotions into palatable English, harshly critiquing his rusty wording.

When Tony was satisfied, he folded the page in half and tucked it into the locked drawer of the desk.

Three weeks later, with a cigarette in his hand and a determined expression, he pulled out the burner phone and typed it all out into a text message. (It had been a while since he used an old-fashioned keypad, so that took longer than he would care to admit.)

Wondering if he would regret this, he quickly added a short line at the bottom:

"you asked to read my poetry a couple of years ago. i didn't like that idea. you taught me that we don't always get what we want, or even what we thought we already had. -ts"

Trying not to tremble, he sent off the message, praying that the phone really would contact Steve.

Without the luxury of read receipts, Tony went to bed troubled that night, silently begging the universe to give him a break for once in his life.

The universe, unsurprisingly, didn't reply.

yet somehow despite the pain, despite the loss, there's always more to gain in him. and whatever they lose they rediscover and it burns even brighter than it did before. hurts even deeper than it did before. they love even harder than they could before.

Tony, despite his current pessimism, hates bad endings. His life seems to deal him those cards constantly and unrepentantly, ending everything painfully and pairing them with beginnings that were so beautiful he couldn't bear to ignore them.

There was Yinsen, a saviour before he even spoke a word to Tony. He knows he owes his life to the man, and that debt shall remain unfulfilled until the day he himself drops. Tony tries to believe that death was truly what his companion wanted.

Obadiah was the caring father figure that Tony desperately needed, until his jealousy got the better of him and he went from supportive to unplugging the life support. Tony cursed the man who invented greed.

These circumstances are what made losing Steve so jarring. Somehow, Tony had convinced himself that his boyfriend loved him and would never leave him behind, but... it turns out even Captain America was a bastard.

"I'm so done with bad end-"

A shrill, tinny noise comes from the burner phone. On autopilot, Tony reaches for it and answers in a split second.

"Steve?"

There was a huff of breath and a pause.

"I read your poem, Tony."

Tony hadn't noticed how much he missed Steve despite everything. Hearing his voice was almost too much, but the last thing he would ever do is hang up.

Tony swallowed. "Um. Yeah. Thoughts?"

"We lost. And I'm sorry." Steve said, trying to hide the uncertainty in his tone, "I broke a promise, and I hurt us. We both made mistakes but..." A shaky sigh exits Steve's mouth, and Tony feels the familiar ache to kiss away the pain for him.

"But." Steve spoke more surely now, "I made the bigger one. That mistake was leaving you behind. I love you, Tony, and I have completely failed at expressing that in a meaningful way."

"I love y- you too." Tony said, voice small and stuttering slightly. All his residual anger was fading hearing from the man he loved speak to him again. "We really lost, Steve. Can we really continue the story of us? When all I have left is the ashes of what we were?"

"Killing me with poetry." Steve mutters, but he spoke too close to the microphone and Tony smiles a small, hopeful smile.

Steve, unbeknownst to Tony, was stroking over the words of his poem, having copied it out as soon as he received it. "What is lost, as you said yourself, can be rediscovered. What love we had can make it, Tony." He paused, before adding;

"We'll burn even brighter than we did before."

#stony #stony fic #stony fanfiction #tony stark #steve rogers #stevetony #marvel #marvel fic #ao3 #iron man #captain america #please give me validation and/or feedback in the notes thanks

[himbowelsh]

Hi! I wanted to ask if you could do the Valentine's A-Z thing for Smokey. If you're uninspired, it's totally fine if you don't, though!! :) in case you do, thank you very much!^^

valentines day alphabet  ( accepting! )

A   :   AFFECTION.   how does your muse show affection?

He’s a very demonstrative person who’s not shy about his physicality, and most at ease around people who are able to take it; sometimes Smokey can even be thoughtless with touch, because he doles it out so casually. he loves to be touched in return, relishing the reassurance it provides   ---   Smokey’s just not someone who enjoys being alone for too long, so brushing shoulders and wrapping arms around people chases those feelings of loneliness away.

B   :   BOUQUET.   does your muse like flowers? which ones are their favourite?

He’s actually very good at picking out just the right bouquet for the occasion! His twin sister has a passion for flowers, so Smokey had to learn, okay?Flowers really aren’t that confusing, once you know how to take care of them. He’s no gardener, but could definitely keep plants alive if he tried.

C   :   CHOCOLATE.   does your muse like chocolate? which one is their favourite?

He’s a casual fan. While he won’t buy it for himself, if someone gives it as a gift  ---  or a bribe  ---  he’ll gladly accept.

D   :   DATE.   what is your muse’s ideal date? where / who with / etc?

He wants to take something completely casual and turn it into something semi-illegal. Let’s go to the movies and try to break into the projector booth, just to see if it’s possible. Best seats in the house! Let’s see if we can “accidentally” get locked in a department store overnight, and run around bouncing on beds and doing weird things in the dressing rooms. Smokey can make most casual things a lot of fun, but he thrives in situations on just the right side of absurd. He’d love a partner who can liven up even the most mundane date! (And hopefully rein him in from doing anything too wild.) 

E   :   EMBRACE.   does your muse like hugs? what are their hugs like?

Again  ----  very driven by physical contact, very liberal giving it out. Smokey hugs like it’s going out of style. He rubs people’s backs, claps their shoulders a bit, sometimes blows in their ear to make them jump...  he’s got a different hug for every occasion.

F   :   FLIRT.   is your muse good at flirting? how do they flirt?

A very playful flirt, with a collection of pickup lines ranging from inspired to creatively-terrifying.

G   :   GIFT.   is your muse good at gift - giving or do they struggle to get it right?

He thinks he’s great at gift-giving. Plenty of people who’ve received gifts from him would beg to disagree. And beg to be able to return the thing. (“Why the hell do I need a Dick Tracy lunchbox, Smokey, I’m a grown-ass man  ---”)  Always gives his gifts with the utmost confidence, even if it’s not something any sane person would want.

H   :   HEART.   is your muse quick or slow to give their heart away?

He definitely needs the right incentive, with the right partner...  but that doesn’t take much. Truth is, Smokey falls in love fast. Once he’s in, he’s in, and it’s not easy to shatter his affections.

I    :   I LOVE YOU.   does your muse find ‘i love you’ easy or hard to say?

Gah, he loves saying it. If he’s in the right mood, he’ll say it twenty times in a day, just because he loves hearing it. When it comes to love, he’s very verbally demonstrative, as well as physically. Saying the Three Big Words isn’t a big deal to Smokey, because by the time he says them, he knows he means it   ----   not like there’s any point holding them back. He’ll be the first to say it in a relationship  (and might hold his breath until his partner says it back, but he’s willing to wait all year).

J   :   JEALOUSY.   does your muse get jealous in a relationship?

Nah, not really. He’s a confident guy, and that confidence extends to his partner   ---   he’s fully confident they’d never do anything to hurt him. And...  honestly, Smokey’s got a wide circle of friends who he’s very affectionate with, so seeing the same behavior from his partner wouldn’t raise any red flags for him at all.

K   :   KISS.   is your muse a good kisser? why / why not?

Smokey is the world’s biggest tease  ---   a very playful kisser, who enjoys stringing his partner along after him. He loves pulling someone close, his arm wrapping around their back completely, a hand cupping their head; he’ll angle them slightly backwards, leaning into the kiss as his mouth finds a rhythm against their own. Slight grazes of teeth and tongue, just enough to leave them tense in his grasp, eager for more...  and then he’ll pull away with a broad grin on his face, inviting them to come get it. Very into love nips, but will pull unexpectedly tender kisses seemingly out of nowhere.

L   :   LOVE.   who does your muse love?

He’s got a lot of love to give, and when it comes to the people he cares about, Smokey loves fiercely. Probably the most important person in his life is his twin sister, Cleta, who he adores; then his parents; then all his friends, who he’d hide a body for without question; and his family should he ever start one, would immediately move to the top of the list.

M   :   MOONLIGHT.   is morning or night a more romantic setting?

He tends to get in a weirdly touchy/romantic mood anywhere around 1 - 3am, aka the hours when any sane person just wants to sleep. He’s tired too, and he knows his partner is, but when the mood strikes...

N   :   NAUGHTY.   what is your muse like in bed?

Smokey is a very attentive lover. He does not work on instinct; it’s all observation, keeping track of what his partner responds to best. Do they shiver when he nips them here? Groan when his tongue does that right there? Very interesting. He files it all away for later, stocking up an arsenal of how best to drive his partner wild. And what a tease  ---   he’ll bring his partner to the brink, only to pull them right back, so many times that they can actually get angry at him. Fisting a hand in his curls and pulling is a guaranteed way to get him compliant; he’s very sensitive at his hips, and will turn to putty if his partner directs their attentions there. 

O   :   ODE.   does your muse have a way with words?

You know he does, baby, you know he does. One of his favorite hobbies is writing long-winded poems just to troll people, but Smokey has also tried his hand at writing short stories before. Love poetry is very different  ---  much more intimate  ---  but Smokey’s sharp enough to do anything if he puts his mind to it, so he’d give it a shot.

P   :   PARTNER.   what does your muse look for in a partner? looks / personality?

Smokey wants someone with a bright personality   ----   someone who lights up every room, with a quick wit and sharp mind. They don’t need to be a social butterfly, just to entertain him; he likes to be kept on his toes. Someone with a great sense of humor, and a great laugh. Someone who loves to read, because so does he, and they can talk about books for hours; someone who makes good coffee in the mornings, and that’s crucial. Smokey really just needs someone who can bounce off of him, take a joke, and make him smile even when it seems the hardest thing in the world. 

Q   :   QUESTION.   would your muse ask the big question or expect their partner to?

If you don’t think this man will plan an elaborate proposal   ---   he’d do the most elaborate thing. He’s probably brainstormed wild proposals long before he even met his partner, just because he figured he’d have to do it someday, and wanted to be ready. Smokey would find some insane way to propose, like on the top of a roller coaster or via skywriting airplane,just to see if he could pull it off. And if it doesn’t, he has no qualms with finding another way, and proposing all over again.

R   :   ROMANCE.   is your muse a romantic or a cynic?

He’s got a super romantic heart, and is 100% willing to laugh at his own optimism. That doesn’t make it any less genuine, or make him any less eager to find love.

S   :   SWEETHEART.   did your muse have a childhood sweetheart?

His sister went through a phase when she wanted to get married, and poor Smokey was the nearest boy she could rope into playing the Wedding game with her. She got her best dress out, a little bouquet of flowers, forced Smokey to make a ring out of an old bottle cap for her...  then, somehow, a bunch of other neighborhood girls got involved. Smokey ended up with six wives, including his sister. None of them wanted anything to do with him by next week. He’s 90% sure none of those marriages are valid today.

T   :   TRUE LOVE.   does your muse believe in true love?

Sure he does! When he meets the right person, Smokey’s determined  ---  that’s going to be it. He’ll be sold. He’ll know them, he’ll love them, and the rest of his life will just be getting to show them. He’s definitely idealized romance in his head, but that’s just because he really wants to fall deeply in love with someone.

U   :   UNREQUITED.   has your muse had their heart broken?

Smokey’s not the type to be completely shattered by a failed romance, even if it were one that meant a lot to him. Something like...  losing someone he loves without warning, or having them die too soon...  that’s the sort of thing capable of breaking his heart.

V   :   VALENTINE.   how does your muse feel about valentine’s day?

It’s a fun night, and he’ll spoil his partner any way they want, but he loves using it as an opportunity to come up with dates no one else would think of. Who else would spend Valentine’s Day renting horses to ride, or going to a haunted house?

W  :   WEDDING.   would your muse get married? why / why not?

Yes! Please marry him! He wants it bad! He’ll ask a dozen times  ---  once he loves someone, he wants nothing more than to spend the rest of his life with them. Marriage sounds like a dream.

X   :   XOXO.   does your muse use / like pet names?

Oh, absolutely! He’ll make lists, just brainstorming as many as he can think of, and leave them lying around the house for his partner to find; he’ll bounce a few off of them, just to see how they’ll work.   (“honeycakes, what are you  ---  no, that doesn’t work, does it?”  // “hey, sugarpuss--” “NOPE.”) Nicknames are a sport for Smokey, and he plays to win.

Y   :   YOURS.   does your muse get protective easily?

Smokey has a very short list of people he’d go ride-or-die for. It includes his sister, his mom, a few close friends, and his partner. Once they’re on that list, no one gets to hurt them, ever.

Z   :   ZZZ.   how many people has your muse slept with?

Honestly, it’s all about finding takers. Smokey’s not shy, but wasn’t exactly rolling in girlfriends back home. Overseas, it’s easier. If asked, he’d probably quote a number much higher than the actual amount.

#3milesup #this man is 90% chaotic energy and cheese i love him #smokey gordon #band of brothers #headcanons

[britishchick09]

1984 livewatch

the time has finally come to watch the full movie! it’ll be sad, it’ll be disturbing, it’ll possibly be cringy, but it’ll be a lot of fun! :D

we start out with the mgm lion! noice ;)

epic quote B)

wait why is opera music playing i thought we’d start at the 2 minutes hate

OMG what if they’re gonna hate on opera

this looks like a drive-in movie tbh

narrator: “this is a land of peace and hope, a land of plenty...” OH SHUT UP YOU

they’re showing wheat like it’s little house on the prairie BOI YOU’RE IN LONDON

this is epic propaganda B)

what if the war footage was taken from ww2 and thus... isn’t real :o

HOLD UP is the eurasian war racist?

THE QUEEN HAS ENTERED THE CHAT

WHAT ARE THEY ALL SHOUTING I CAN’T HEAR WHAT THE FDR GUY IS SAYING SHUT UPPPPP

oh no it be u (his face is like ‘WHAT IS GOING ON’ and it’s very lol)

julia’s so into this! :o

o’brien’s like ‘ohhh!!!’

look who decided to SHOW UP FINALLY

he pauses a bit before reluctantly joining in yas ♥

OMG THIS IS LIKE A SCHOOL ASSEMBLY STOP TALKING GEEZ

good they stopped!

WOWWW DON’T EVEN LIST SUZANNA HAMILTON’S NAME WITH THE OTHERS GIVE HER A ‘WITH’ CREDIT WOWWWWW

this IS a school assembly they’re going back to work!

winston in glasses *chef’s kiss*

ooh a rotary dial! great use of tech from when the book was written :D

winston’s looking over at syme WITH SO MUCH JEALOUSY lol

what if the words they speak are just random stuff with no meaning

OMG confession!!!!!

poor winnie with his cough :(

this confession sounds JUST LIKE WINSTON’S OMG!!!!

winston: “bugger!” he’s a brit lol :D

epic B)

OMG this guy read goldstein’s book SO DID WINSTON!!!!

i love how the diary is in a brick hole that’s so cool :D

the diary scene was filmed on april 4th just like in the movie so that’s way rad man :D

i want you valley!!! :D

ooh they’re put a smol scene of his childhood in there coolio! :D

he  s l e e p

this violin squeak tho :o

OMG THIS IS THE STANDING UP SCHOOL SCENE

it’s not but i can easily imagine it lol :D

he’s a stick omg ;o

when the lady talks to him you know it’s not a recording ;)

lady: “anyone under 45 is perfectly capable of touching his toes” BOI

oh no PARSONS

parsons: “choco rations are going up” c h o c o

parsons: “i seem to have run out of razor blades for some reason’ yeah,,, for some reason... ;)

this is so a cafeteria scene at school

THEY SAW EACH OTHER OMG

♫ i suddenly see him standing there, a beautiful stranger tall and fair, i wanna stuff this weird food in my faaaace! ♫ :D

me: “this is so romantic!” winston’s thoughts: “lemme smash HER WITH A ROCK”

wait did the lady say pineapple grenade???

HIS FACE LOOOL

syme rip boi

the 11th edition isn’t thicc :/

aww winston’s smol nod ♥

parsons: “by 2050 we won’t have conversations like this!” yeah because of screens lol

OMG the food looks and taste like meat but isn’t IT’S PLANT BASED MEAT!!!! :o

parsons just pulled a ‘hey need help with that?’ and put winston’s food on his plate EPIC

julia’s lookin’ at u ;)

YAS PROLES HOPE!!! :D

oh no DON’T TALK ABOUT THE 50 YEAR OLD WOMAN SEX WINSTON

OH NOOOOOOO

he liked the ‘bright red lips’ yet...

THIS CHICK’S LIPS AREN’T BRIGHT BOI

poor baby desperate for money :(

let’s GET THIS BEAT

hand on cheek = doublepluscute ^_^

epic foreshadowing B)

OMG CHESTNUT TREE POEM FORESHADOWINNNGGGGGG

OMG a couple is making out in the bar EPIC

winston’s just like ‘nnope’

OMG THE THOUGHT POLICE WERE FOLLOWING????

he’s at an antique store in prescott bless his heart ♥

mr. charrington sounds so kind WHYYYY

THE BIRTH OF A QUEEN ♥

mr. charrington says ‘4 dollars’ but they’re in london??

YAS BELLS OF ST. CLEMENS!!!! :D

winston: “what was that?” mr. charrington: “something old.” no DUH

they see each other againnn!!!!! :D

winston writes that he hates her SAME WITH A LOOK LIKE THAT

OMG SMOL WINNIE BIG O’BRIEN????? :o

his mom is lying dead in the field like the erza kid in ‘kirsten’s promise’ :(

he’s just... staring

OMG SPYING ON THE SPICY STARING ACTION :o

she PLONKED

that ‘ow!’ was so fake jules!

this is like anna and hans but not as bad underneath!

julia: “it’s nothing!” but this is turning out to be something... ;)

we’re half an hour in and wowza it’s gone by so fast! :D

winston: *gets a cute love note from julia* YEET!

THE HELICOPTER IS BACC!!!!! they’re really not making the spying subtle

OMG THIS IS THE THOUGHT CRIMINAL SCENE YAAAAS!!!!! :D

winston is the best plummer confirmed

kid: “you’re a thought criminal!” winston: *gives a slight ‘wha’ face and smiles* ICONIC

:)

the crowd is clapping and cheering over the war yet winston’s not doing anything SAME

jules is just scooching by lol

HAND HOLDING WHILE PASSING A NOTE OMG ♥♥

the sky does exist! :o

the telescreen has some great music :D

winston’s joining the ‘big man’s hiking group’ suure you are... ;)

the train is going to the beat of the kids’ singing coolio! :D

big brother is called ‘bb’ yas bby!

YEEES THE I WANT YOU VALLEY SCEENE!!!!!

the lq audio made the twig crack and the leave brushing really weird lol

winston: “i want you.” I-CON-IC!!!! :D

THAT SMIRK THO

winston: “i want everyone corrupt.” julia: “i’ll suit you, then. i’m corrupt to the core.” *mal screech*

OH NONONONOONO SHE GONNA TAKE HER TOP OFF BI PANIC BI PANICCC!!!!!

she really went commando huh

ALL THE WAY

the sex looks like it hurts NO WAY MAN NOT FOR ME NNNNOPE

i’m glad it was only a part you couldn’t really see and not a full on thing I DON’T NEED THAT

awww she’s so peaceful after big naughty :)

this is vaguely gay...

aww winston’s hair ruffling in the wind ♥

c r o n c h

also did he just cronch into a potato???

OMG THIS IS JUST LIKE SCHOOL

teacher: “when the orgasm is finally eradicated...” totally julia: “NOT ON MY WATCH”

winston is the kid who smokes in glass while julia is the one kid who Just Doesn’t Care lol :D

thoughtcrime THIS IS THOTCRIME

wow syme is still alive?

julia: “you dropped your ink pencil” you mean pen?

winnie’s back in prescott! :D

the room is 4 bucks a night noice B)

BACC TO THE H8 BBY

the modern say 2 minutes hate is probably just a livestream with kids texting ‘h8 xd’ in the chat lol :D

winston’s thoughts: “she who is so careful...” boi she threw a dictionary at the telescreen in the book THAT’S SO NOT CAREFUL

hey girl CUTE LQ SMILE YOU HAVE THERE!!! :D

YAS THE REAL COFFEE SCENE!!!!! :D

she has so many smiles YAS!!!!

she’s so eager with showing him I LOVE YOU SO MUCH JULES ♥♥♥

she says ‘real sugar, real bread’ and... jam

winston: “how did you manage to get all this?” jules has her ways... ;)

winston: “i want you” julia: “i want you too” YAS :D ♥♥

the thiccc singer is here!! :D

she’s so pretty! ♥

aww the stroke ♥

his hands are shaking as he touches her :(

winston: “freedom is the freedom to say two plus two equals four. if that is granted, all else follows” iconic!

YAS THE PAPER!!! :D

it be gin time ;)

he scratches the face off the gin bottle woah :o

I JUST REALIZED THAT THIS IS O’BRIEN :o

winston’s little ‘yes!’ at getting the 10th newspeak dictionary ♥

that’s a look of longing my friends! :o

winston: “the call has come. all my life i’ve been waiting for it...” and now he’ll go into the unknown... ;)

AAND we cut to naked julia eating an apple! slight bi panic

she’s touching the paperweight queen love it ♥

SHE KNOWS THE CLEMENS YAS!!! :D

julia: “i just know it!” BOI YOUR G-PA HELPED OUT

winston: “the only thing to do is to walk out of here before it’s too late” thus my ‘julia lives’ au comes in! :D

winston: “never seen one another again” ...oh he was talking about that NOT IN MY AU SON

julia: “you do, i do.” omg marriage :o

YAAAS JULSTON KISS!!!!!!! :D

fluffy! ♥

julia: “i love you.” awww :)

winston: “julia. do you think the resistance is real?” julia: “none of it’s real.” STRAWBERRY FIELDS FOREVER!

♥

OMFG THERE WAS AN EXPLOSION :o

work is scrambling like eggs!

poor headache bby! :(

epic B)

winston’s dreaming of his bishy selfish chocolate mom adventure!

the rats were there when his mom and sister were vaporized! :o

she’s in the dress! ♥

they’re talking about betrayal and julia’s like ‘they can’t do that!” OH BOI BUT THEY CAN!!!!

julia: “they can’t get to your heart” aww :)

awkward...

winston sees o’brien WITHOUT JULIA THE F????

this feels like the principal’s office lol :D

o’brien’s voice is so deep and british ♥

the way he clutches the newspeak dictionary is so cute! :D

aww he’s stroking the pages as he reads :)

the oceania anthem sounds russian :o

YAAAAAAAASSSS!!!!!!! :D

so soft ♥♥

winston: “julia, my love.” MY LOVE MY LOVE AHHH!!!! :D

YEES THE COFFEE SMILEEE!!!!! :D

she’s hungry... she wants coffee... who’s gonna tell her coffee isn’t food?

omg i saw winston butt :o

:)

winston: “she’s beautiful.” julia: “she’s a meter around the hips easily” winston: “that’s her standard of beauty.” YAAAS!!! :D

winston: “the future is ours.” YAS

OH CRAP THEY SAID ‘WE ARE THE DEAD’ NOOOO

mr. charington is loud compared to how i thought in the book

his ‘you are the dead’ should’ve been quieter like winston and julia’s then he could be loud!

FBI OPEN UP!!!!!

charrington: “here comes a candle to guide you to bed, here comes a chopper to chop off your head!” OHHHH NICE ONE MR C!!!!!! :D

RIP TO A QUEEN :’(

i should be a bit more heartbroken BUT THAT MR C RHYME MAN

OMFG THEY JUST BEAT UP JULES

SHE’S IN SO MUCH PAIN NOOOO :’(

why does he look old

awww :(

delete the drunk old lady BUT GIVE US PARSONS SUUURE

i dread the scene to come...

parsons didn’t say that he said ‘down with big brother’ so that’s a bummer :/

aww poor parsons he’s crying! :(

oh SNAP room 101!!!! :o

poor parsons but at least that scene wasn’t a thing!

OUCH THAT SMACC LOOKED LIKE IT HURT

is this leading into the bloody mouth scene? I STILL NEED TO KNOW WHAT THAT IS

winston doesn’t know where he is IT’S THE I WANT YOU VALLEY!!!

hold up this is just a vision ok BUT WHERE’S THE BLOODY MOUTH SCENE

frankenstein and spirit halloween called!

also o’brien flipped the switch without warning BISH

o’brien: “you suffer from a defective memory” and you suffer from a BISH MEMORY SIR

remember winston it’s all in the mind... ;)

WHY DID O’BRIEN SHOCK  WINSTON HE SAID FIVE

'how many fingers’ is a trick question because winston sees four YET WE SEE FIVE OHHH

mother gothel vibes...

awww winston’s little scared squeak :(

winston: “i don’t know... i don’t know!” SAY FIVE WINSTON SAY FIVEEEEE

o’brien’s voice is so calming yet it spouts evil words...

julia immediately betrayed winston BECAUSE SHE HAD A ROSEMARY KENNEDY yet she’s somehow still alive without damage by the end???

ooh a new shot! :D

they just faded to black and showed a new angle which is a bit weird...

o’brien: “you’re thinking that my face is old and tired...” because it belongs to poor richard burton!

o’brien just yoinked winston’s tooth out tho :o

mother gothel strikes again!

winston to o’brien: “i love you.” you don’t say that back to jules YET YOU SAY IT TO O’BRIEN BOIIIII

o’brien: “you’re one of us. one of the chosen.” one of us gooble gobble! also ANAKIN IS THAT YOU????

winston just said ‘i love you’ oMG OMG OM WAIT WWAIIITIT

AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! :D

seconds after she says ‘i love you too’ SHE’S FREAKING SHOT DAAANG NO PUNCHES PULLED BACK!!!!!

aww he called her ‘my love’ even in a dream

so that was the infamous bloody mouth scene and it was quicker than i thought it would be? at least i have a bright julia smile! ♥

OMG winston’s calling for her yet it sounds so weird WHYYY

he’s much improved!

they’re skyping lol

after all he’s been through he still hates bb! :o

ROOM 101 :o

room 101 is a personalized experience just for you! :D

also IT’S A DREAM MIRROR

omg the rats are GOING AT EACH OTHER GEEZ

winston’s squeak at the rats no!!! :(

‘do it to julia’ sounds a bit selfish but it’s the betrayal we’ve been waiting for!

...NOT

uh oh here comes the awkward reunion...

they should’ve said “...sup.” to each other

the bartender saying “on the house!’ tiredly each time is great :D

winston: “thank you for coming.” julia in her thoughts: “yeah whateves bro.” :/

at least they can still bond over something :)

jules gin time ;)

they ratted out on each other true love???

julia: “we must meet again.” winston: “yes, we must meet again.” ...they never met again

but if they did it would be a bro time!

winston: “i have seduced party members of both sexes” BI NANI???? :o

since his crimes are like the guy’s from earlier... what if he didn’t do them and was convinced that he did? :o

in the book he says i love you to bb, but here he turns away and says it... what if he still loves julia? :o

and with that question, the movie has come to a close! it’s a fantastic little film that closely follows the book. while i would’ve liked to see julia with winston at o’brien’s and the drunk jail lady, the cutting of the gross parsons scene, the addtion of the bloody mouth scene and the possibly hopeful ending make up for it. overall, this is an amazing adaptation of such a great book! :D

#livewatch #i bet this is just as good as the book! :D

[lindaenvision]

#emotionalbaggage #envision #improvement #lettinggo #planning #transformation

[spotsuns]

finn poem

when you are born you are held lovingly in your big brothers’ arms. it is the first warmth you ever feel.

‘finnegan’ has always felt too big a name for you, you are only ‘finn’, just like how your brothers call you. you know this is who you will always be.

as you grow they hold you tight and huddle you up between themselves until they can’t keep him from you anymore.

your childhood is spent in junkyards as much as it is spent in school; in the back of a stolen car, speeding down backroads, your skin eating pavement.

you tell yourself you are a child of anarchy, but you are only a child of his. there is no rebellion in this, you were never given any choice.

your father teaches you how to throw knives when you are eight years old. sometimes it feels like the target is painted on your back instead of the tree, and you look over your shoulder at him to find him staring at you like that’s exactly where he put it.

you are loyal, you are self-sacrificing, you are full of love, love, love. your father has never liked a dull blade, and when you fall and cry he does not pick you up. you learn early on that loving is harder than anything else.

when he slides the knife into your back, you wonder when you blinked and missed it, and why you can’t hold onto your brothers’ hands anymore. they will not let you.

jail is cold and lonely and it smells like piss and you are so angry that you try taking it out on the concrete wall. you break your hand. there is nobody there to kiss the pain away from your knuckles when they bruise.

you tell yourself you won’t let go of love, though. love is everything that makes the world go ‘round, and someday it will be the most useful thing you have.

when you get out you have your freedom at the cost of everything. you are nobody. your life starts here.

you build your family again over time, people as lost and as broken as you are. you wonder if you are as well-intended as you think yourself to be. do you surround yourself with them because you have trauma in common, or is it to make yourself feel better about your own?

you want to be better, but sometimes you still hear his voice. you miss your brothers.

you see more of the country in three years than most people see their whole lives.

you find him the first time where you least expect to, just like any good gem. he is soft voice, he is warm eyes, he is like you in every way that you are not.

when you part ways, it feels like two magnets going in opposite directions. you try to ignore it.

you find him the second time when you thought he was gone for good, a seed carried by wind, one that is never meant to be held onto, the kind you used to shove into your pockets as a boy.

you realize he is more like you than you ever could have imagined, and you wonder when you’ll stop judging books by their covers. maybe this is where your love for classic literature comes from.

you want to touch him. you want to reach out and dip your hands into all that is him. you can not do this, you know it too well, so you drown him in honey and hope that he feels it on his skin even when you are not there, like lipstick kisses on love letters. honey, sweetie, sweetheart.

you wonder if you should have let go of love when you had the chance, this hurts more than you can bear. you wish you could cut out everything from the time in your life before him, and whatever will come after; your birth, your death.

when he says he likes boys you feel like your skin is on fire. you have flown too close to the sun and now your wings are melting. you hope when you hit the ground that he’ll be down there waiting for you.

there is magic in love, and here is the proof. you feel jealousy for it. why couldn’t this have been yours when he put the knife in your back? why weren’t you allowed to weaponize what happened to you this way?

suddenly, he is leaving, and it feels like you are thirteen all over again. losing him is losing family, and that’s the one thing you swore you’d never do ever again. it’s not an option. you refuse to act like it is.

you make the choice to go back to your childhood for him. love makes you stupid, and you always knew it would be your undoing.

when he trusts you it feels like you have been handed the universe and you hold it now in your hands, in your heart, in the spaces between your breaths. you don’t want to keep it to yourself. you split it open for him, you tear up the cosmos, you lay every star bare—and when he sees your constellations, you know that you made the right choice when you didn’t let go of love.

when you kiss him, the world stops. there is no beginning or ending to this story, there is only him, there is only this. when it’s all over with, you swear you will never take this for granted, you pinky-promise.

it’s a dog-eat-dog world, but you’ve never been one of them—you are too driven by love. this is a lesson you learn the hard way. love is not a casino, you can not win it on greed. there is no jackpot to come of this.

when you wake up in the hospital, your legs feel like lead, but that isn’t what you notice first. he is not here. this is your penance for wanting what you can not have.

the days go by like years, and you’d give your life just to know if he is okay, even if you don’t deserve it. you are nobody.

when he taps on your window, you wonder what you did right to finally dream of him after all the nightmares.

you look at the mess you have made in the flesh. this is not the honey you wished to drown him in. you are a wasp, you always have been, you only know how to destroy.

he forgives you, like how god forgives sinners. it does not change anything, it only serves to comfort you for what you have done, and you will both live with the consequences of your actions. call it love, call it greed—it doesn’t matter now.

you tell him you love him. you don’t know if you can live with any of this, but you could never live in a world where he didn’t know this, and that is what you do know, it is the only thing you know.

when he leaves, you want to follow. you want to take off and hit the ground running, to make up for the mess you have made. you want to hold his hand. you want to kiss him again. you want to fix it. but it’s never mattered what you want, though, has it?

you want to blame your father, but you can’t. you did it this time. it was your knife. it was in your hand. you poked out his eye with it. now neither of you have a brothers left.

you can only hope that one day you will get a postcard in the mail, one from puerto lobos, and you will know that love was worth holding onto.

for now you send your love, and you hope it will reach him, and here you are. you are nowhere.

#more writing lets go babey!!!!! #i have to accept that finn is my muse its humiliating but mom i love him . #lis2 #life is strange 2 #finn mcnamara #my writing #i am so sad

[voltage-vixen]

“I’ve been hit with Cupid’s arrow.” Toma

AO3

Valentine’s Day Countdown--- Day 2

Toma sighed for what felt like the millionth time this morning, as he glanced over at MC’s desk and rolled his eyes when he saw that she was still happily chatting away with Natsume. He glanced at the clock and saw it was already 12:30pm, which prompted the copywriter to shoot a glare at MC that went unnoticed by her.

Today was the day before Valentine’s Day, and Toma and MC were supposed to be grabbing lunch together since he had to leave town for a business trip later this evening. “Supposed to” being the key words, considering they were planning on meeting each other in the lobby at 12:15pm. About five minutes prior to their meeting time, Toma watched MC pack up her belongings and prepare to leave her desk, until her old childhood friend came strolling by to ask her a question.

While Natsume’s intentions originally were pure and regarding a prior discussion MC had with one of his clients, their conversation soon turned lengthy, and Toma assumed the old friends were reminiscing about their high school days together.

The sight of them being positively absorbed in their discussion, was causing an unknown flame to ignite within Toma. He intentionally dropped knocked a binder to the floor from his desk, and the loud sound caused both MC and Natsume to finally look over in his direction.

“Oh Toma, let me help you pick those up and sort them back into your piles,” MC offered, as she rushed over to help him grab the spare papers that were scattered over the floor.

Natsume remained at her desk and rolled his eyes before waving goodbye to MC. MC casually nodded back to him and continued to collect the papers. That is until Toma abruptly crawled under his desk, and yanked his girlfriend under with him.

“Pretty bold of you to keep me waiting that long,” Toma accused the dumbfounded woman. “It’s rude to blow off our Valentine’s Day date for another man.”

He flicked the top of her forehead, and MC scowled while quickly climbing out from underneath the desk. She smoothed over her skirt while checking to make sure their colleagues didn’t notice their secret exchange.

“I’m sorry I lost track of time, but it wasn’t intentional,” MC hissed, once she confirmed that no one else in the office was watching. “I didn’t realize you would be jealous of Natsume. He’s only a friend, so you have nothing to wo-.”

“I never said I was jealous,” Toma rebutted before MC could complete her sentence. “And if that’s the attitude you’re going to have, you can forget about Valentine’s Day this year!”

MC was about to snap back, but the sound of someone clearing their throat stopped her.

“Are you two having another one of your vivid brainstorming sessions?”

MC and Toma remorsefully spun around to see Mr. Tachibana flashing them a knowing grin.

“We’re sorry about that, sir,” Toma bowed his head. “We didn’t mean to allow our passion for the project to run overboard in the office in front of everyone.”

“We deeply apologize,” she atoned. “And actually, if you’ll excuse me, I just remembered that I have to go take care of something.”

MC turned on her heel and started to head in the direction of the breakroom.

Toma sighed in dejection and slumped his shoulders, completely forgetting about the fact that his boss was still standing beside him.

“Kiriya, this isn’t directed towards you or anything, but think of this as some general advice,” Shunichiro casually noted. “Hypothetically, I am willing to bet that most woman don’t enjoy fighting with their boyfriends, especially ones that have prior obligations that prevent them from spending a certain romantic holiday with their loved one.”

Toma’s jaw dropped as he watched the creative director return back to his office.

How does that guy manage to know everything going on inside the office?

Never mind, that! I need to go find MC and apologize for upsetting her.

He reached into the draw of his desk and found the red-jeweled heart pendant he wanted to surprise her with.

Internally scolding himself for letting his jealousy be the root cause of their petty fight, Toma squeezed MC’s present tightly in his hands, and scurried off into the direction she had left in.

MC collapsed down onto one of the chairs in the breakroom and scowled at her can of coffee.

Although she was frustrated with Toma’s reaction, MC was also irked by her own actions that lead to their fight. She had already been feeling bummed about not being able to spend Valentine’s Day on the actual day together with her boyfriend, so MC took the opportunity to get some last minute advice from Natsume on what else could be done to make their quick lunch date special.

I should have just been honest with Toma from the start about why I was running late, she glumly thought to herself.

Not that this entirely let him off the hook, of course. There was still no reason for him to take an abrupt tone with her.

“MC?”

Her head spun towards the door, where she saw a guilty looking Toma standing in the entryway. She silently watched him shuffle over and placed a colorfully wrapped package in front of her.

“This is for you,” he explained. “Ugh, I’m sorry about earlier. Let’s forget about it, and after you open your present, we can still squeeze in our lunch.”

Toma was taken aback when MC crossed her arms in front off her chest and slightly frowned.

I already apologized. What more does she want from me?

He cautiously pushed the present closer to her, attempting to gauge what was running through her mind, but MC maintained her solemn expression.

Clearly, she’s still upset. Looks like it’s time to woo her with my words, ands show her why I’m a first-rated copywriter.

“As sure as one can be when you look to the tree to see the morning sparrow, I’m equally as sure that I’ve been hit with Cupid’s arrow, when I regard my bountiful love for you.”

Toma’s face glowed a beet red color, and MC burst into laughter when hearing the corniness of his impromptu poem.

“A sparrow?” MC giggled at the silliness of the analogy.

“It was the only word I could think of that rhymed with arrow off the top of my head,” he muttered. “You’re the only person I would ever say such lame stuff too, by the way. You should feel honored.”

Toma cautiously patted the top of her head and squeezed her shoulder, before reluctantly pulling away.

“I regret how I treated you earlier,” Toma bashfully confessed. “He’s always flaunting your long-term relationship, and I was feeling a bit insecure. Especially since I can’t do anything special to celebrate the holiday with you tomorrow.”

“You don’t have to feel bad, Toma,” she tenderly reassured. “We don’t need to have a reason like a holiday to spend time together. I’m always happy to be with you, regardless of the circumstances.”

Overwhelmed with love by her sweet confession, Toma tugged her up from the chair and warmly embraced her.

“What if someone sees us?” MC anxiously wiggled out of his grasp.

Toma grabbed a hold of her sleeve and leaned in close to utter in a voice nearly lower than a whisper.

“Then it looks like our lunch is going to turn into an afternoon hooky,” he propositioned suggestively.

“Toma, what are we going to do about work?”

MC grumbled under her breath when Toma ignored her and started to head towards the elevator. Not wanting to be left behind, MC trotted off after him, only stopping to make a speedy detour at her desk to grab her bag.

Toma had already pushed the button to the elevator, and MC confronted once the doors were safely shut.

“You didn’t answer me! What are we going to do about work?”

Toma smiled knowingly at MC and thought back to his conversation with Mr. Tachibana.

“Somehow, I think they already know not to expect us back today.”

Chuckling at her puzzled expression, Toma wrapped his arm around her shoulder, and slipped on the pendant he had picked out for her to wear.

She glanced down at her new jewelry and broke into a huge grin.

“Happy early Valentine’s Day. Let’s spend every minute together until you have to leave,” she hummed into the crook of his neck.

Toma grunted his agreement, and they pulled away from each other when the elevator doors opened. MC walked out first to avoid suspicion from their other colleagues, and Toma stared longingly while he strolled behind her.  

Toma vowed that he was going to make sure MC had the best pre-Valentine’s Day celebration ever, and MC was making the same promise to herself as they walked out of the building, both planning on relishing in their sweet time together.

@agustd54, @firepurplestar

#irresistible mistakes #toma kiriya #voltage inc #love 365 #im fanfic #irresistible mistakes fanfic #valetine's day countdown #day 2 #voltage fanfic

[jawdroppinq]

helloooo , it’s bøffy again with bby #2 , who is . . . arguably much more established , so i’ll apologize for the length of this before we even begin ! with that out of the way , feel free to give this a “like” if you’d be interested in plotting , and i’ll msg you via tumblr or discord as soon as possible ! 

stats.

name: valencia montero méndez .

 nickname(s): val .

 social media username(s): valmont .

 age: twenty .

 gender identity: cis female .

 pronouns: she/her .

 sexuality: pansexual .

 birthday: 27 december 1999 .

 zodiac sign: capricorn .

 myer-briggs: estp .

 place of birth: madrid, spain .

 height: 168 cm (5’6”) .

 house: quinby .

 major: business .

 year: sophomore .

 labels: the philophobic, the spitfire, the impecunious, the loose cannon, the firebrand .

 positive: adventurous, coquettish, loyal, self-reliant, valiant .

 neutral: blunt, furtive, introspective, pragmatic, skeptical .

 negative: avaricious, cynical, irreverent, mischievous, reckless .

 pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/sundcynights/roleplay-boolies/valencia-montero/

 aesthetic.

 jet black faux leather jackets, tears of frustration, no-strings-attached hookups to distract from chronic loneliness, showcasing crimson manicures by extending one’s middle finger, becoming anti-love, numbing one’s pain with bad habits, lace-up combat boots, egotistical attitudes concealing low self-esteem, rebelling against authority, collections of sentimental photos, looks that could kill, midnight adventures, snapping photos to preserve memories, maroon-tinted lips and heavy eyeliner, holding grudges, impulsively cutting one’s own hair, showing unspoken affection through actions, insults diluted with sarcasm, 2 am drunken confessions, self-sabotaging one’s relationships, a bouquet of dead roses stored in an empty vodka bottle, firmly believing that rules were made to be broken .

biography.

 TW: brief mentions of or allusions to death, grief, drugs, alcohol, panic disorder, and anxiety .

 【𝔴𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔰𝔥𝔢 𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔢𝔰 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪, 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢'𝔰 𝔫𝔬 𝔰𝔞𝔳𝔦𝔬𝔯𝔰】

                valencia montero was born on the 27th of december of 1999 in madrid, spain . with no older siblings to act as babysitters, she relished in the luxury of growing up an only child; nearly everyday was a “bring your child to work” event as she darted between the shelves of her father’s business: a small convenience store . with the family’s income boosted by her mother’s career as an attorney, it was a given that valencia would be supplied with whatever her heart desired . ultimately, she grew up with no need to differentiate between needs and wants .

                while some parents wrote heartfelt notes on the napkins that they packed in their child’s lunchbox, valencia’s mother spoke to her daughter via copies of her favorite motivational poems . undoubtedly, her mother’s contagious passion for art easily spread to valencia . at the mere age of 4, her mother enrolled her in ballet classes, hoping to live vicariously through her as she was handed opportunities her self-made mother had only dreamed of . regardless of her mother’s selfish intentions, valencia fell in love with the art of dance, using it to express her joy and pain through much of her childhood .

                shortly after valencia’s 13th birthday, tragedy would strike their household . her mother would become the casualty of a hit-and-run car accident . for days, valencia refused to leave her mother’s side, providing nearly round-the-clock care and attention until her mother was taken off life support . ultimately, she was hardly given time to grieve before she was expected to fill the gaping hole her mother left within the household by performing a juggling act in which she futilely attempted to balance the responsibilities of school with helping her father upkeep both his business and their home .

 【𝔣𝔞𝔠𝔢 𝔩𝔦𝔨𝔢 𝔞𝔫 𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔩 𝔟𝔲𝔱 𝔰𝔥𝔢'𝔰 𝔣𝔞𝔯 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱】

               the remainder of secondary school passed by in a blur for valencia . she left the emotional outlet of dance behind, the memories of her mother all too fresh with each performance . thus, peer pressure and a general discontentment with her life left her resorting to alcohol or drugs to temporarily ease her emotional pain . unwilling to face her father in such conditions, she would avoid going home for days, crashing upon the couches of friends for multiple nights in a row . unable to maintain his gradually failing business by himself, her father had no choice but to close the small corner store and file bankruptcy .

                the way of living that valencia had grown accustomed to throughout her childhood was seemingly uprooted overnight . with the two of them now relying on her father’s measly unemployment benefits to scrape by, lavish living was no longer an acceptable option. purchases were made on a need-by-need basis . valencia took a rapid tumble down the social ladder . it was impossible to maintain friendships based upon popularity and social status when she no longer had access to the financial means necessary to arrive at school in the trendiest outfits or with the newest iPhone .

                as valencia observed the life of the wealthy elites from the sidelines, a small bug named jealousy bit her, injecting her with a resentful longing for their popularity, their material possessions, their mere comfort in life . thus, when the family’s pro bono attorney was finally able to reach a settlement (albeit, a disappointing one) regarding her mother’s death, valencia packed her bags to attend university in claremont, california . she saw an opportunity to reinvent herself in a different country, where nobody was aware of her background . she saw a flicker of hope that she could climb the social ladder yet again .

                she arrived to the university as a slightly worse version of her old self . she was very materialistic and high maintenance, continuously expecting the best and nothing less out of herself and everyone else . she would only be seen in seemingly “designer” clothing and accessories, even if they were made of faux leather or were blatant knock-offs . she continuously sought to surround herself with friends of wealth, prestige, or fame . she had a role to play, and even if it was exhausting, she did everything in her power to showcase the image of herself that she wanted others to see .

                ultimately, valencia’s one honest portrayal of herself in university was her academic plan . she declared a major in business with a minor in english . although it wasn’t uncommon to see her in class intoxicated by the effects of alcohol or drugs, she was making a genuine effort to graduate with a decent gpa . after feeling guilty and partly to blame over the loss of the family’s business, she entered university with the plan of someday opening up her own corporation, ensuring that she’d have the resources to take care of herself and her family without struggling .

 personality.

 unsurprisingly, largely surrounding herself with the wealthy while she’s tirelessly living as a double agent, desperately attempting to live amongst them while secretly attempting to stay afloat financially, has done nothing to tame her snappish attitude . ultimately, she’s prone to irritability, and exhaustion only exacerbates it . she lets small, insignificant inconveniences pile up until suddenly, she explodes, and whoever happens to be around at that moment becomes collateral damage .

 she’s not one to back down from an argument or fight . she will stand her ground until her opponent merely gives up or walks away . always has an offensive remark at the tip of her tongue, and she typically can identify the telltale signs that she’s getting under someone’s skin . similarly, she’s prone to tears of frustration and/or anger . she will 100% shout at someone with tears falling from her eyes . embarrassing? yes, 100%, but not as much as forfeiting a conflict .

 “'cause i feel like i’m the worst, so i always act like i’m the best” could describe her entire personality, honestly . she can occasionally have an aura of haughtiness and pompousness, but it’s mostly a self-defense mechanism to avoid actually having to confront her low self-esteem . ultimately, she’s continuously feeling as if she’s screwing things up and disappointing those around her, which leads to those lingering self-doubts concerning if anyone truly wants her around and truly loves and/or cares about her . despite the cold exterior, she’s actually a softie ? she just wants to feel loved and cared for .

 she has a tendency to become absolutely panicked if she’s forced to acknowledge her insecurities . she has built up a whole wall of potential defense mechanisms solely to avoid having to cope with her problems – drugs, alcohol, sex, whatever . if someone blatantly makes note of her insecurities, she’ll be subjected to that heart-pounding, lump-of-anxiety in her throat, dizzying and exhausting sensation of just … pure and utter panic .

 she doesn’t really express affection through straight-forward statements . frankly, hell will probably freeze over before you hear her speak the words, “i love you,” platonically or romantically . however, she does show affection in her own unique ways . directing playfully sarcastic quips towards someone, reassuringly squeezing someone’s hand, ensuring that someone gets home safely . ultimately, she’s an “actions speak louder than words,” type person, so if she cares about someone, she won’t waste meaningless words on them; she’ll prove it .

headcanons.

 she drives a used 2007 toyota camry solara (claims it “has character”) . sleek red exterior, black interior, and a convertible top ? completely matches her aesthetic . furthermore, she’s the type of impulsive, reckless person you’d expect to drive like a speed demon, but she’s surprisingly cautious behind the wheel . that, along with a mild case of road rage, stems from the anxiety of not being completely in control of every situation occurring on the road . catch her cursing someone out every time she gets cut off and has to slam on her brakes .

 red and black are her signature colors . every piece of clothing in her closet, every eyeshadow palette or lipstick tube in her cosmetics’ bag – it’s all red and black . her current style paints a stark contrast against her style choices growing up . catch her wearing every color in the rainbow in those old, sentimental childhood photos she keeps laying around .

 she’s not a professional photographer by any means, and doesn’t even own a legit camera . however, she’s continuously reaching for her cellphone to snap photos, and always having to delete old photos to clear space for new ones . ultimately, she became a bit obsessed with preserving memories after losing her mother . so, her close friends can expect a minimum of one selfie or unexpected candid photo per visit . she has a box filled with nothing but photos and sentimental mementos at this point .

 she speaks both english and spanish fluently . however, in the united states, she only uses spanish if she’s speaking to another native spanish-speaker, if there’s not a direct english translation for a word, or if she’s speaking too fast for her mind to truly catch up with what she’s saying . thus, unless one is a native spanish speaker, they’ll probably only hear her speak spanish when she’s angry .

 her bad habits are definitely fueled by her bad moods . she’s definitely the type to attempt to drink her feelings away, end up feeling even worse, and send a plethora of embarrassing 2 am texts that she’ll probably have to give lackluster explanations for in the morning . similarly, she’ll attempt to combat loneliness with meaningless hook-ups . overall, she has no healthy responses to complex or negative feelings whatsoever .

wanted connections.

these are mostly . . . ideas that i thought of within like, 20 minutes ? so definitely not a comprehensive list or even a well-composed list ; it’s mostly just a few ideas to get us started ! that being said , i am very open when it comes to plots , so please feel free to approach me with any ideas you have as well ! ( also , just a side note , all of these are open to any muse (f/m/nb) !

give me those negative relationships ! ex: enemies , exes , a “will they , won’t they ?” that turned into a “definitely won’t” because one of them did something ridiculous . just . . . please, this girl is vindictive and petty and 100% will drag someone’s name through the dirt if she feels they’ve wronged her . also . . . flip the tables, give me friendships and relationships that she’s screwed up so now there’s just . . . anger on all sides ?

give me those platonic relationships ! ex: unlikely friends , someone who . . . tries . . . to be a good influence , some who she’s a bad influence on , old friends who grew apart for whatever reason , solely party friends . honestly ? she’s a loyal friend , but a frustrating & hard to handle friend . someone can give her the best advice and she’d still push it aside to do what she wants to do . probably comes up with wild plans and ideas that most people would raise their brow and ask “wtf?” in response to , but y’know , she can be persuasive . would and most likely has gotten into a fight or heated argument defending any of her friends in need .

give me those other miscellaneous relationships that we’re all in love with ! ex: flirtationships , friends with benefits , past hook-ups , unrequited crushes (on either side ! ) probably the closest things she’ll get to like a . . . real , committed relationship at this point in her life , but y’know , it’s cool , she’s got plenty of time ! give me those unrequited feelings that she’s totally oblivious to (or just takes advantage of & just . . . “unintentionally” complicates their whole life), those unrequited feelings on her part that just . . . give her a whirlwind of emotions that she ? has ? no ? idea ? how ? to ? deal ? with ? . similarly , give me those hookups & such that she just . . . calls up whenever she needs a distraction from whatever she’s feeling !

#hollis:intro #tw: death #tw: grief #tw: drugs #tw: alcohol #tw: panic disorder #tw: anxiety #i know this is a lot of triggers bt most of these topics are only hinted at or alluded to #that being said #if any of these topics trigger you feel free to message me for a brief description in which they are avoided altogether !

[fiore-rosewood9]

England personal  headcanons

Warning: some of this may upset you, so if you are a small child/teen or really sensitive to certain topics, this is not for you.

England copes with loneliness and the big amounts of work by drinking alcohol until he passes out. 

He is prideful so he wouldn’t admit he feels lonely and left out just like Prussia.

Sometimes he could pout but if he is feeling angry due to the lack of sleeping he would most likely give a sassy remark to anyone talking to him.

He is someone who reads books and drinks a cup of tea either in his bed or work room, next to a candle light to for relaxing

Arthur is the type of person that watches the earlier versions of doctor who religously and complain to France over how much the show has changed.

He is an old dark bitter man, that just needs someone to listen to him and respect him after everything he has experienced. That is why he respects Russia, he thinks they have a lot in common as big powers in the past and now being mocked during and out of meetings for no longer being powerful. 

He still smokes even though it ruins his gentleman image, smoking is the other bad coping way he uses. The others are leaving without warning, drinking and at rare moments starving.

He has lost his appetite due to many reasons, he doesn’t tell why but the rumour about him losing his receptors due to drinking hot tea every day

He gets nostalgic every time he looks through old clothes and objects, and tends to cry, that is why he holds his attic locked, so no one would come in and he wouldn’t get emotional over nothing.

He is over America and forth of July but sometimes throws up in the toilet. Even though America makes big parties, he feels awkward and rarely comes because he feels out of place. The same issue is not happening with his other colonies.

Francis despite the many years of rivalry still stays his best love and friend. He feels like he can take off his mask and be honest with the other nation

Arthur would wear leather pants or jeans  just to feel a boost of confidence when he needs it.

He still has doubts and insecurities, like any other nation but he can hide them well. He still would get hurt if another nation points out something personal to him.

He still regrets what he did to Jeanne of Arc and would never admit that one of the reasons he did it was jealousy. France would never forgive him if he does.

His food is not that bad, France is just exaggereting. Some of his meals are okay, and some are good. His problem is that he is forgetful and that leaves the food burnt.

His relationship with Scotland is not as bad as it used to be. They have normal conversations over whiskey at some moments. The same cannot be said about his other brothers.

England can’t hold his liqour well, but will never admit it and would fight until the end, even if it means getting drunk.

He misses Hong Kong from time to time but would never say it.

He has good relationship with Japan still and is his guest over tea. Japan still visits his house as well. When England visits Japan he gets excited over Japan’s mythical animals and ghosts, even though Japan politely smiles and nods but when he turns around he mumbles to him self. “But I live alone.’’

England still practices magic in his basement and Norway and Romania aren’t the only ones who he talks about it to, Belarus also practices magic.

He has hard time making and keeping friends now, even though if you have met him you would probably think he is just a charming, kind man passing by.

He has cosplayed as a pirate at Paris’s disneyland. Francis just happened to see photos of him and keeps them for blackmail in case he needs to.

Francis would call him king Arthur as a joke just to tease him sometimes.

When he was a pirate and was all alone in his room he would write poems and letters to him self mostly. Francis has seen some of them and still keeps them without Arthur’s knowedge. The other people who know bout his secret are Spain and Prussia.

He has asked Spain for forgiveness many years after what he has done and has done to so to each one of his colonies, except America.

He and Prussia sometimes go to a pub and talk to each other.

Despite what everyone thinks, he has good relationship with Italy. In the begining he intimidated him but now he sees no reason to acts kind towards him.

Germany isn’t the only one who keeps the meetings under control, the other one is England, Hungary and China.

He still doesn’t have the best relationship with China and avoids him.

Even though it is rare since he is busy talkin to the others, has lots of work or is outside, he makes small talks with India, most consisting of how each other is.

Because he can starve to feel like he is still in control, he gets pissed off even more and would most likely lash out much more agressivly if he hasn’t eaten in the last 6 hours rather if he has eaten. 

Nyo England is insecure about her chest size because it is small and she thinks she isn’t attractive enough because of it, especially since she compares her self to other girls, like Belgium and Hungary and Nyo France.

Nyos and Normal nations live in the same unvierse so do the 2ps, but they rarely see each other. Each represents something different, one represents the land for example, the other the people etc.

Nyo England would most listen to rock from  70′s and 80′s as something to wake her up and has some of Queen’s songs downloaded on her phone. “Somebody to love” is her alarm.

England refuses to usually wear glasses even though with his age he needs them, so he has contacts like Prussia, even though Prussia’s eye sight is much more damaged from his childhood than Arthur’s. Nyo England doesn’t have this problem.

Nyo Canada is much more compared to Nyo England rather than Amelia, because Amelia has short hair.

Some of France’s clothes still stay in England wardrobe since the last time he visited him.

He is not on good terms with his 2p and despises everything he represents or does even though they are the same nation.

He is a cat person, but when he was a child with just a cloak and bow in hand he used to have a wild dog as protection until it was shot by villagers. When he was at the peak of his power he took a tiger because he thought it was exotic and represented power but once he saw that he couldn’t control or tame the animal he sent it to a special place where people with more experiences could take care of it. Now he is satisfied with the smaller versions of the tigers walking around his old house. Also known as cats.

He talks to Matthew over the phone or on camera much more than he visits him nowdays.

He can be annoyed with nyo France, but she is a lady, a woman and he can’t just punch her like he does with Francis. That doesn’t mean he can’t curse.

He loves children and would like to have one but he knows he can’t marry someone, especially human. That is why he has worked as elementary teacher once in his life, to live the dream.

Nyo England has three moods- black official clothes and suits, floral dresses, long dresses, mostly pastel colours and punk revealing clothes with piercing and there is no in between.

Nyo England has a tattoo on top of her chest and on her ankle, while England has on his waist and shoulder.

His cats are named after his old bosses.

He still has nightmares from the world wars and flinches no matter if he is sleeping or not.

#hetalia #england #aph #2020 #headcanons #warning

[trashcanmarvelfan]

Second Chances - A Benverly Post- IT: Chapter Two Fanfic

Summary: After everything is over, Ben finally asks Beverly about the bruises he noticed on her arm the night they arrived back in town.

Warnings: 2 uses of the F-bomb (if you've seen the movie you guys know Richie has a mouth like a sailor so that's not too bad, all things considering) and non-graphic allusions to spousal abuse. Bonus Reddie feels, although Eddie is still dead, guys.

Word Count: 2100-ish.

Author’s Note: I wish we would've gotten more sweet Benverly togetherness in Chapter Two, but that's what fanfic is for, right? Whipped this up, gave it a read-thru, and here you guys are. Enjoy.

CROSS-POSTED ON AO3 (Coming soon).

Ben Hanscom stood in a small circle with his childhood friends inside the underground clubhouse he had built during the summer they had all met, the summer that had been both of one of the best & one of the worst summers of Ben's life-- although he hadn't known it at the time. He had met Bev, Bill, Richie, Mike, Stan, and Eddie, who along with Ben collectively formed the Losers Club. During that summer Ben had also battled an evil demonic clown, wrote the first-- and last-- love poem he had ever anonymously sent someone, and had his first kiss (well, sorta). Unfortunately for Ben the person with whom he shared his first kiss was, at the time, incapacitated due to said evil demonic clown, and the poem was incorrectly attributed to someone else.

The Losers had scattered after that summer. Bev had gone to live with relatives out of state, Eddie had been dragged off to a new town by his mom, and eventually the rest of the Losers moved off as well, forgetting about Derry, that summer… and each other.

All except for Mike. He had stayed, and when It had resurfaced 27 years later, he had gathered the Losers Club to fight It again, this time defeating It for good. However, defeating It had come with a price. This time, Stan hadn't made it back to Derry and Eddie hadn't made it to the end.

Ben glanced around the circle. Each of his fellow remaining Losers were, like him, puffy-eyed and tear-streaked. They had agreed to meet one last time on their way out of town -- Bill was heading back west with the new, 'happier' ending for the film that was being made out of one of his books.  Mike had decided since It was really and truly gone that he was moving on to Florida. Richie was heading back to L.A. Beverly… Actually Ben didn't know exactly what Beverly's plans were. He knew she needed to go back to Chicago to 'wrap up some loose ends' but had no idea what her plans were beyond that.

It had taken 27 years, but Bev had finally figured out that Ben was the one who had written her the poem. Besides that underwater kiss at the Quarry though they hadn't discussed the poem or the fact that Ben had carried around the yearbook page that Beverly had signed in his wallet.

The Losers were currently holding an impromptu memorial service for Stan and Eddie before going their separate ways, and each had shared a memory about Stan and Eddie, respectively.  Ben had gone first, then Mike, then Bill and Beverly, until finally it was Richie's turn as the last Loser to share. Ben listened with a chuckle as Richie reminisced about Stan's bar mitzvah, when Stan had basically told all of the adults in the congregation to go fuck themselves, and now he was about to say something about Eddie. Richie sniffled. "I have to tell you guys something."

The rest of the Losers waited patiently.

Richie took a deep breath. "I'm gay, and when we were kids I was in love with Eddie. I was head-over-heels in love with him, and I never got a chance to tell him before he moved away. Then we came back here and all my old feelings for him came rushing back like I was 13 again."

Ben placed a hand on Richie's shoulder and gave him a gentle squeeze. He could relate--well, not the being gay part, but being in love with someone and not directly getting to tell them how he felt before it was too late. Fortunately for Ben, however, he had a second chance.

January embers

He quickly glanced over at Beverly, who was watching Richie speak with fresh tears in her eyes.

"He saved us," Richie continued. "Telling us about choking the leper and making it small… if it hadn't been for him then none of us would've made it out. But Eddie deserved to make it out too. He deserved to live..." He broke down into sobs. 

Ben and Beverly both moved to wrap Richie in a hug as he cried, and Mike and Bill placed encouraging hands on his back. 

When Richie seemed to have calmed down somewhat, Ben asked, "You ok, man?"

Richie nodded. "Eddie should've been here celebrating with the rest of us. I never got a chance to tell him how I felt before he died, but I figure if I at least tell our best friends, it'll make not getting to tell him hurt just a little bit less."

He sighed. "Life is short -- I missed my chance with Eddie, but don't you guys pass up the opportunity to tell the ones you love how you feel."

With one final sniffle he wiped his eyes. "I made all those jokes about banging Eddie's mom when we were kids when really all I wanted to do was bang Eddie," he joked.

Ben couldn't help but smile.

Bill's phone went off with an alert. "Shoot, guys. I hate to cut this short but Richie and I have a flight back to L.A. in an hour."

"I should probably get going too," Mike added.

Ben and the rest of the Losers gave them each a brief hug. "We'll stay in touch this time," Bill promised as he gave Beverly a hug, and Ben couldn't help but feel a tiny pang of jealousy before chastising himself. Bill is your friend, you ass. What he and Beverly had ended long ago. Besides, Bill is happily married.  Beverly was married too, but from what Ben had gathered he suspected it wasn't too happily.

He watched as Bill and Mike climbed up the ladder to the surface, followed soon by Richie. As Richie's footsteps faded, Ben could hear Beverly say, "I think he knew."

He turned to her. "What?"

Beverly gestured toward the ladder. "Eddie. I think he knew how Richie felt about him, and I think he felt the same way about Richie." She sighed. "They would've been happy together."

Ben nodded. "Yeah, I could see it too between them. The way they would look at each other when they thought the other one wasn't looking." That hit a little too close to home, he thought.

He cleared his throat before changing the subject. "Hey, can I ask you about something? Something personal. And it's ok if you don't want to talk about it, but…" he trailed off.

Beverly nodded and took a seat on the bench that Ben had made their sophomore year of high school, after Beverly had left and Ben started getting more into architecture in order to keep his mind occupied. She patted the spot next to her.

Ben took a seat and was silent for a few moments while he collected his thoughts. How do I go about this? 

Finally, he decided that the direct approach would probably be best. "When we got here… back to Derry, I mean… I noticed bruises on your arm at dinner. Then when you flinched away from me… Is everything ok, Bev?"

Beverly paled and wouldn't make eye contact with Ben, instead choosing to look at the floor. "Tom… my husband… he wasn't very happy that I was leaving so suddenly," she explained. "We-- we got into a fight, and he-- he--" she broke off.

Ben stiffened. "Was that the first time?"

"No," Beverly whispered, then started crying. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Hey," Ben said gently, slowly reaching for Bev and giving her plenty of time to back away. Instead of rejecting his offer of comfort, however, Beverly leaned into Ben's embrace, allowing him to wrap his arms around her as her body wracked with sobs. "There's absolutely no need to apologize for anything. None of anything that you have gone through is your fault, okay? None of it. Not the shit we went through with Pennywise, or anything your dad or your husband put you through. You hear me? None of it was your fault and you have every right to be upset." Ben stroked Bev's hair soothingly as he held her. "You're safe with me, Bev. You're safe. I swear on my life that as long as I am breathing no one will ever harm you again." 

Beverly hiccuped. "Thank you," she whispered, tightening her hold on Ben. "Thank you." She sniffled and leaned back to look at him face-to-face.

When they were kids Ben had thought that Beverly was a beautiful girl; now he thought that she was a beautiful woman. He wiped the tears from her face with his thumbs, letting his hands gently rest on her cheeks. "You deserve all the happiness in the world," he said, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead.

Beverly reached up to wrap her hands around Ben's. "I should have realized all those years ago that you were the one who wrote me the poem."

Ben tilted his head to the side. "How do you figure?"

Beverly smirked. "Bill's a great writer but he's no poet, Eddie and Richie were too busy arguing and making moony eyes at each other to be interested in anyone else, Stan probably either would've been too nervous to leave the note or would've 'fessed up almost immediately, and Mike was just trying to survive the summer-- I don't think he even thought of me as a girl at the time." She paused. "But you… you saw me, didn't you? You've always seen me. Your hair is winter fire," she recited. "January embers."

"My heart burns there too," Ben finished. "Still does. Always has in fact, although I didn't always quite remember why I was carrying around a yearbook page with only one signature on it."

Beverly smiled. "It's ok, New Kid," she said, then the next thing Ben knew Beverly was kissing him.

Their second (okay, technically third) kiss was even better than their first (okay, second). Considering the fact that Beverly was still in the Deadlights' thrall and wasn't even conscious for the first one as kids, Ben figured that shouldn't even count. Their first kiss as adults, shared under the dirty water of the quarry, paled in comparison to the feel of Beverly's lips on his own at that moment.

For a split second Ben thought maybe this was all another Pennywise-induced hallucination, then had the brief notion that maybe he had died in the battle and somehow made it to heaven instead of whatever hellscape Pennywise inhabited.

He realized it was neither when Beverly ran her fingers through his hair and gave it a slight tug, making him moan.

"Jesus, Bev," he muttered, pulling her into his lap and seeking permission to deepen the kiss.

Suddenly they heard a voice:

"It's about fuckin' time!"

They whipped their heads around to see Richie, Bill, and Mike, all watching them with shit-eating grins on their faces.

"What are you guys doing back here?" Ben asked as Bev giggled and buried her face in his neck.

Richie gestured to a now-blushing Bill. "Billy here forgot his wallet, so we came back down to get it. Didn't know we were gonna get a show as well."

"Beep beep, Richie," Bill said.

Richie ignored him. "So this is finally happening, huh? You two gonna ride off into the sunset together?"

Ben shrugged then looked at Bev, who was biting her kiss-swollen bottom lip to keep from laughing. "The man's got a point... What do you say? Come to Nebraska with me?"

Bev seemed to consider it for a few moments."I have a few things to take care of in Chicago first, so would you mind stopping off there on the way?"

"Bev, I'd follow you to the ends of the Earth and beyond if you asked me to," Ben said honestly.

Bev's answering smile made Ben fall just a little bit more in love with her.

"Okay, well, that's our exit," Bill, who had snuck over to the corner and retrieved his wallet from the table, said. "Come on, guys, let's leave them alone."

"Congratulations, you two," Mike said before heading back up the ladder. 

"We'll see you guys again soon," Bill added before following.

"And remember," Richie yelled down as he disappeared out of sight, "practice safe sex!"

Ben shook his head fondly. "Richie is such an asshole."

"Yeah," Beverly agreed with a grin, "but he's our asshole."

"True." Ben bit his lip and slid his hands up Beverly's sides. "Now, were were we?"

Beverly smirked. "I believe about right here," she replied as she sought Ben's lips out once more.

#it: chapter 2 #it: chapter two #it: ch 2 #Post-film #benverly #ben x beverly #with a side of Reddie feels #tcmf writes