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theladyofdeath · 3 years

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Life As We Know It {Chapter Two}

Summary: After the sudden deaths of Nesta’s sister and Cassian’s best friend, they gain guardianship of their nephew, Nyx.

Based on Life As We Know It (2010) and a prompt sent in by anonymous for our Nessian fanfic contest. This is a modern au.

Instead of doing a tag list for this story, we have decided to have a set posting schedule. Chapters will be posted weekly on Mondays and Thursdays. Chapters will be posted on both my and Shelby's blogs! >> @snelbz

Life As We Know It Masterlist

Shelby's Masterlist

Tara's Masterlist

Trigger warning: death

The vibrations beneath her pillow had nearly stopped by the time Nesta dug it out and held it up to her ear.

“Hell-hello?” she asked, barely able to keep her eyes open, barely able to get the words out.

Her eyes adjusted as she sat up and looked at the alarm clock on Feyre and Rhysand’s bedside table.

1:26 a.m.

“Is this Nesta Archeron?” a quiet, female voice asked.

It was the tone that got Nesta.

It was the tone that had her sitting up straight, her heart slowing in her chest. “Yes, this is Nesta.”

“Nesta, this is Claire from Velaris Hospital,” she began. “There’s been an accident-.”

It was all she heard.

After that, everything became blurred and the words that Claire spoke made absolutely no sense at all.

Rhys and Feyre were supposed to be home the following evening, the last she’d heard from her sister, she and Rhys were going to dinner and then out dancing before heading back up to the cabin.

That had been a little before eight, almost six hours ago. She could hear the rain coming down, much harder than it had been when she’d gone to bed, even a few hours before. Nyx had been asleep by seven, only waking up to cry once or twice a night the whole time she’d been watching him. All in all, the weekend had been uneventful, but she was ready for Rhys and Feyre to be home, so she could go home to her townhouse, to peace and quiet and blessed, blessed silence.

But as she quickly tucked Nyx into his car seat, doing her best not to wake the sleeping baby up, she tried not to think about the phone call. She tried not to think about the firm, but steady tone of voice as she drove across town, to the hospital.

She had been to the hospital before.

Twice in the last fifteen years.

Once when her mother passed, once her sickness finally took her.

And once again when their father passed over complications from his heart surgery.

Nesta hated that drive, hated pulling into the hospital’s parking lot. She didn’t trust it, not one bit. She hated it. Hated the ground on which it stood.

As she parked her car in front of the building, she looked in the rearview mirror. Nyx was still fast asleep, completely unaware of what was happening, completely unaware of the phone call that had just occurred only half an hour before.

There’s been an accident.

Nesta got out of the car. She shut the driver’s side and went to the back. She carefully unbuckled Nyx from his carseat and picked him up, holding him tightly against her chest as she covered him with his oldest, softest, favorite blanket.

The parking lot was nearly empty.

Nesta carried Nyx inside.

You need to come quickly.

She found Azriel by the doors leading deeper into the hospital, calling out his name as soon as she saw him. He turned, and she nearly froze at the look on his face, the paleness and hollow look in his eyes. But she couldn’t and she hurried to where he stood, with a stone-faced doctor.

We did everything we could.

The next few minutes were a blur of explanations and condolences, but Nesta could do nothing but hold onto Nyx, still sleeping soundly in her arms. She hadn’t even realized she was crying until Azriel slid an arm around her shoulders, offering her what little comfort he could.

They’re gone.

They had been driving back to the cabin when the storm had hit. Both of them had been drinking, but not enough to even break the blood alcohol level. The winding roads leading up into the mountains quickly grew slick and when they hydroplaned, Rhys had lost control of the car.

With how hard it was coming down, he hadn’t even seen the ledge coming up, or how far the drop was to the bottom of the ravine.

Nesta prayed that wherever they had gone after their final breath that they were together.

And that Rhysand wouldn’t be blaming himself.

It wasn’t his fault.

She repeated that prayer one after the other until she had begun to doze in and out of sleep.

When she woke, it was nearly five in the morning.

Nyx had slept through it all, hadn’t even realized what had happened. When they got home, Nesta had laid him in his crib, where he had remained, sleeping soundly, ever since.

4:56 a.m.

Nesta had managed to sleep for nearly forty-five minutes.

That in itself was a blessing.

Yet, as she threw her legs over the side of the bed, Nesta felt guilty. How could she sleep after the news she had just received?

None of it seemed real.

Her little sister, her youngest sister.

Dead.

All that was left of their family was her and Elain.

Her, and Elain, and Nyx, and Seph.

Dad. Mom. Feyre.

Gone.

Nesta stumbled into the bathroom and looked in the mirror. She didn’t feel a thing. After turning the faucet on, letting the cold water run for a minute, she splashed some on her face.

It didn’t bring her back to reality like she was hoping for.

She was hoping it was all a dream.

But it wasn’t.

Her legs carried her into Nyx’s nursery, where she sat for the next couple of hours, watching him sleep, peacefully. Not knowing, not realizing, not understanding his parents were never coming home.

She heard the front door open around seven-thirty, rushing down the stairs, praying that she had, in fact, dreamed it all and Rhys and Feyre would be coming inside, home a few hours early.

But it wasn’t Rhys, or Feyre. Instead, it was another familiar head of golden-brown hair, her eyes trained in the hardwood just inside the walkway. The door had barely closed before Nesta made it down the stairs and wrapped her arms around Elain.

They both collapsed, falling to their knees on the worn rug, as Elain sobbed into her sister’s shoulder.

The following days were a blur. A constant stream of people calling, texting, reaching out to see what could be done. Nesta and Elain handled the arrangements, with Azriel’s help, but none of them realized how prepared Feyre and Rhys had been for their own deaths.

Maybe it was because they’d both lost their parents young. Maybe it was because they didn’t want Nyx to ever have to deal with it on his own. All Nesta had to do was sign some paperwork and present their death certificates.

The funeral home had taken it from there.

She sat in the corner of the room, wearing a simple black dress that Feyre had always told her looked matronly on anyone else, but made her look like a badass CEO. It was one of her favorites. She figured Feyre would have wanted her to wear it today.

She hadn’t been able to bring herself to look into the caskets yet, to see what her sister and brother-in-law looked like, if they even looked like themselves.

She’d never be able to wipe the memory of their pale, lifeless bodies from her mind, as she and Azriel had to confirm that it was them in the hospital. Until that moment, she’d held out hope that maybe they had been wrong. That maybe someone had stolen their car and they were waiting at the bar for the rain to die down.

But even in death she couldn’t mistake their faces.

She couldn’t imagine that they looked anything like they once did, knowing that she’d never see Feyre’s bright smile or amusement sparking in Rhysand’s eyes.

The funeral dragged on, a preacher they had grown up with leading the crowd that had gathered. Nesta was asked if she wanted to say something, but she didn’t. What was there to say? There was too much to say.

Nesta couldn’t.

So, she didn’t.

They carried the caskets out and loaded them up in the hearses.

Nesta didn’t remember getting behind the wheel, didn’t remember loading Nyx into his carseat, didn’t remember driving to the cemetery.

And yet, she ended up standing in front of a set of holes in the ground with Nyx on her hip. Only a few words were said before the caskets were lowered into the ground.

Nesta wondered what was going through Nyx’s head. The one-year-old didn’t make a sound, not a peep as the day went on. He simply remained perfectly calm, his head resting on Nesta’s shoulder as she swayed back and forth.

“I can take him, if you want to say goodbye.”

Nesta spun around, meeting the eyes of Cassian Nazari.

He’d been crying, she could tell. If it wasn’t for the redness in his puffy eyes, Nesta surely would have snapped.

“There’s no need,” Nesta said, with an empty calmness. “I’ve already said my goodbyes.”

It was a lie, of course.

Could you ever really say goodbye to someone you loved?

He didn’t push her, just silently stepped up next to her and stared at the mounds of dirt. Nearly everyone was gone, Azriel taking a silent, distant Elain home. Mor, Emerie, Gwyn, Amren, and Varian had left just a few minutes after them. The only ones still present were those who had filled the graves, the preacher, saying a few final prayers for peace, and the three of them.

“I don’t…” His voice was rough, in a way she’d never heard it. “I keep waiting for him to call me and tell me it’s all dumbass prank,” he breathed. “That this was all some elaborate joke to get back at me for something.”

Nesta nodded, understanding. She blinked, but was unable to stop the few silent tears from sliding down her cheeks. She didn’t know what to say, but for once she agreed with Cassian.

“If you, uh, need anything…” Cassian began, before shaking his head and taking a deep breath. “If you need anything just give me a call.”

Nesta nodded once. She knew he was just saying it out of kindness due to the situation, but she supposed it was still a kind offer.

“I’ll be fine,” she said, after a moment had passed. Without giving Cassian another glance, she was turning toward her car, walking away.

Her legs became heavier with each step she took, but she continued onward until she was sitting behind the wheel of her little black car, Nyx buckled into his carseat.

He began to fuss.

Nesta understood.

Maybe he was beginning to realize that his mom and dad were never coming back.

As Nesta drove back toward the house, her vision blurred as the tears came.

The next few days passed by slowly. She and Nyx made it just fine, but the time seemed to drag on and on and on.

She had just put Nyx down for his afternoon nap when her phone began to ring, a number she didn’t recognize showing up on her screen.

She hesitated for a moment, not sure if she could handle another one of Rhys or Feyre’s friends offering their condolences. Their pity.

Ultimately, she grabbed her phone, swiping across the screen to answer the call.

“Nesta Archeron speaking.”

A smooth voice came from the other end of the line. “Ms. Archeron, my name is Tarquin Hadrian.”

She paused. The name didn’t seem familiar, so she cleared her throat. “How can I help you, Mr. Hadrian?”

“I’m terribly sorry for your loss, Ms. Archeron,” he began. Nesta sighed quietly, waiting for the words to continue, but he said something she wasn’t expecting. “I’m the Lunasa’s attorney. I was hoping to speak with you about their will.”

Shit. Nesta hadn’t even thought about a will, hadn’t thought about any of the plans Rhys and Feyre had made. If they’d planned everything, down to their burials and graves, surely they had prepared a last will and testament. “Of- Of course.”

“Are you free this afternoon?” He asked. “I know it’s short notice, but I’d wanted to give your family as much time as possible to grieve, however, there are some matters that need to be handled sooner rather than later.”

“Yes, I can be there any time,” she said, looking at the clock. Nyx wouldn’t be up from his nap for another hour or so, but she could figure something out. “When would you prefer?”

“Is three o’clock okay?”

After Nesta’s agreement, he was giving her the address to his office and the call was over and Nesta was calling Elain, asking to drop Nyx off on her way over. She didn’t want to wake him, nor did she think a meeting with a lawyer was a good place for a one-year-old.

An hour later, she was pulling into the parking lot of the small law office, and she froze in her car when she spied a familiar truck across the lot.

What in the hell was he doing here?

Nesta made her way inside, letting the pretty receptionist know who she was here to see and she was escorted back to a plush office.

Cassian already waited inside, sitting across the desk from a handsome, dark-skinned man.

“Ms. Archeron,” he said, standing, extending a hand. Nesta shook it with her own. She didn’t miss that Cassian merely sat there as she entered. “Thank you for meeting with me.”

“Of course,” she nodded, taking the seat next to Cassian. Neither of them acknowledged the other, which was for the best.

There was a large stack of papers on Tarquin’s desk and as he sat, he began to lead through them one by one. Sighing, he laid his hands atop the papers.

“I’m going to cut right to the chase here,” he said. “Did Feyre or Rhys talk with either of you about what should happen to Nyx in the event that both of them should die?”

A glance at each other, but they both shook their heads. Cassian said, “No.”

Another deep breath. “They...named the two of you.”

His blue eyes looked between them, and it took Nesta a moment to realize he wasn’t just speaking to her. Just as long as it took Cassian to realize the same.

As one, they both leaned forward, Nesta resting her hands on the desk, Cassian letting his elbows fall in his knees. Nesta said, “They picked us together?” at the same time Cassian asked, “I’m sorry, what?”

Tarquin cleared his throat. “I tried to advise them against it. An unmarried couple, with your own personal history…”

“I don’t understand,” Nesta said, shaking her head. “I…don’t understand.”

“Yeah, me either,” Cassian added.

“Here,” Tarquin said, handing the two of them a letter.

Neither of them reached for it, but Tarquin didn’t back down. He held out the piece of paper until Nesta snatched it and opened it up.

Cassian hovered over her as she read.

Cassian and Nesta,

We are writing this letter in case of a tragedy. Of course, we don’t expect a tragedy to happen, but you never know.

In case something does happen, you’re to take custody of Nyx. Both of you. We know you two don’t get along, but if something were to happen to us, we need you. You see, we want Nyx to have a mom and a dad. We want him to have two people who love and support him no matter what.

There’s a reason we chose you both to be godparents.

Nesta, you have a heart bigger than anyone we’ve ever met, even though you don’t often show it. When you care about someone, you care about them wholeheartedly. You devote your life to them. You make them feel loved, make them feel wanted, make them feel protected. And we know you care about Nyx.

Cass, you love more fiercely than anyone we have ever known. You were dealt a poor hand as a child, and instead of making you bitter, it made you stronger. It made you realize how you want others to be treated, instead of the opposite. You would make an incredible father. Therefore, we made you godfather.

The two of you are opposite halves of the same coin. One of you cannot succeed without the other, even though you’d both probably argue against that statement.

Look.

If you’re reading this, it means that something awful has happened. If you’re reading this, it means that we are gone. And, if we are gone, Nyx needs someone. He needs his godparents.

We know you’re scared. We know you’re heartbroken. But, if you love us, the two of you will work together to create a family-like environment for Nyx.

We love you both.

We believe in you both.

Tell Nyx we love him, too. So damn much.

Rhysand and Feyre

Nesta’s hands shook as she lowered the letter. “We… The two of us can’t… We can barely be in the same room as each other, much less take care of a child.”

“As I said, I advised them against this, especially once they explained your personal history to me,” Tarquin said, leaning back in his chair. He laid a hand atop the paper on his desk again. “As I mentioned before, they were very thorough in their planning, even going so far as to put a sum of a portion of their life insurance to pay off the mortgage of their home. They’ve left it to the two of you as well, to ensure Nyx has the easiest time possible. No on and off weekends, no moving back and forth.”

Nesta was still processing his words, when Cassian asked, “Wait, so we’re supposed to live together? Not only take care of him, which I’ll do anyways, but live in the same house?”

With a blink, Nesta looked at him. “You’ll take care of him? I’ve been taking care of him for over a week now.”

“Well, he’s my responsibility, too,” he replied, practically snarling at her. “I’m not going to disrespect Rhys’s wishes by shirking it off on someone else.”

Nesta was about to say something else, was ready to snap, but Tarquin cut her off. “It was my duty to give you the letter, per their will. What you do with it is up to you.”

Nesta left twenty minutes later, ready to set the entire city on fire. She burst out the front doors but didn’t leave alone. Cassian was just behind her, right on her heels, calling her name.

“I’m his godfather and I’m not letting Rhys down,” he said.

She wasn’t backing down, either. “You realize this isn’t a part time job, right? This is a lifetime commitment, Cassian-.”

“You think I don’t know that?” He asked, stopping in front of her. He paused and blinked, as if he’d just realized she didn’t have him with her. “Where is he?”

She scoffed. “With Elain and Seph. I didn’t want to bring him because I wasn’t sure what this meeting would entail. He’d just gone down for a nap and I didn’t want to mess his schedule up.”

She watched as the words registered, watched as he processed them. He probably didn’t even know Nyx had a nap schedule, and he sure as hell didn’t know what it was.

Nevermind the fact that she hadn’t known it the week before, when Feyre had explained it to her before they’d left. Before they’d-.

Tears stung her eyes, trying to spill over as they always did when she thought about her sister, about Rhys. The fire inside her, the will to fight with Cassian, disappeared almost immediately.

“I need to go get him,” she said, adjusting the purse strap on her shoulder, stepping off the curb towards her car.

Cassian didn’t follow her, and when she pulled out of the parking lot, he was still standing in front of the law offices, looking as lost as she felt.

#nessian #modern au #life as we know it #fanfic #fanfiction #collab #shacmc #acotar #acosf #sjm

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jamie-leah · 3 years

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MYC Part 1

Bucky x Reader

Mini-Series

Summary: Life gets complicated when your ex comes back from the dead. How the story goes is up to you...

Word Count: 2115

Warnings: angst, swearing, mentions of alcohol

A/N: I lied in the promo, this is going to be a mini-series but released in 2 day intervals so you won't have long to wait. This is something new I'm trying. This used to be a one-shot that you can find in my masterlist that I had so many requests to carry on and also lots of angry people wanting to make different choices. While I always try to write for myself, this one is for you. Enjoy Lovelies <3

Special Mention: My best friend, Jay, has drawn all the pictures you will see in this series. He is amazing and incredibly talented in lots of styles. He is super friendly so please check him out here! And show some love <3 He is also taking requests!!!

MYC Masterlist

“You know I could kick your ass any day of the week, Buck", you say with a smirk and a sideways glance in the elevator down.

Bucky chuckles and turns to you, “only because you cheat".

You look at him, jaw slack in mock offense, “I do not cheat!”.

“Oh please! Last week you started crying and you know I hate seeing you cry! You knew I had you and you took advantage of the fact I’m your boyfriend”, Bucky says, the smirk never leaving his face.

You toss him one of your own and say, “that’s just good tactics, baby. Use your opponent’s weakness against them".

Bucky tips his head back to laugh and it has you grinning when the doors slide open into the lobby of the avengers building. People are milling about like ants but it’s the commotion at the front desk that has you pausing.

A guy with sandy hair that brushes the tops of his shoulders is shouting at the receptionist, “you need to let me see her!”.

Adrenaline starts to flood your veins and you find yourself approaching without thought as you notice his ripped clothes. His voice scratching familiarly at a door you thought you closed years ago.

He shouts again, “you need to get Y/N down here now, you don’t understand”.

The way your name falls off his tongue is like a sucker punch and it takes everything not to double over from shock. You’re vaguely aware of Bucky murmuring, “is he asking for you?”.

But it’s only you and the guy in the whole of the room right now as you say, “Charlie?”.

Charlie, your ex of 4 years, whips around at the sound of your voice. You take each other in for a full minute before he makes his way towards you.

Instinctively, you take a step back. Your ex was dead. You were there when he died. You went to his funeral. This man in front of you is a ghost.

Charlie doesn’t flinch at your reaction, instead taking another step and talking to you like you’re a frightened animal, “Y/N, it’s okay, it’s me, Charlie. Please baby, you’ve got to believe me. I’ve been trying to get back to you all this time and I’ve finally found you".

You shake your head but don’t move away from him, “h-how?”.

Charlie stretches his arms out towards you, “does it matter?”.

The room rushes back as you see Bucky’s metal arm come between you and Charlie, his voice comes out hard and guarded, “actually, yes it does matter. You’re supposed to be dead".

Your head was spinning far too fast to register the switch in Charlie as he replies with equal wariness and steel, “yes, I realise that. Can I have a moment with my girlfriend”. It was a statement, not a request despite the wording.

Bucky doesn’t budge, “I’m not sure, you’ll have to ask her". Neither of them takes their eyes off each other and you can feel the air get so thick with tension you wonder when the lightning is going to strike.

You shake your head like you can clear away the cobweb of memories. You lay a hand on Bucky’s arm but look to Charlie, “I guess you should come upstairs then”.

It doesn’t take long before you’re standing in the kitchen, a fresh pot of coffee made and silence to settle. You stand leaning against the counter, Charlie sits at the island nursing a mug, and Bucky leans against the entryway watching Charlie’s every move.

After Charlie takes a sip of his coffee, he looks to you with an annoyed but desperate look, “why does he have to be here? This isn’t how I imagined our reunion”.

You look from Bucky to Charlie before saying, “he’s staying, Charlie. Bucky is, well, he’s my boyfriend”.

You realise you’re holding your breath, but you can’t help it as you watch for Charlie’s reaction. You think you see shock, but it’s quickly masked by a guarded face that could only mean he was hurt, “oh, I see”.

Your heart squeezes a little and you find yourself speaking before you think, “it’s not like that, Charlie”.

You see Bucky give you a sharp look and your head starts to spin again. How the hell did you end up in this position? There was a time you couldn’t even get a guy to call you back and now you have 2 boyfriends? Well, kind of.

You scrub your hands down your face and let out a sigh before looking to Charlie, “what happened? I saw you die. Where have you been all this time?”.

Charlie nods like he was expecting these questions, “I don’t have all the answers. One second, I have a gun to my head and I’m watching you knowing my number is up and the next I wake up in a dark cell and get tortured for the next 3 years”.

Before you can say anything, Bucky cuts in with only two words, “prove it”.

Charlie stares daggers into Bucky and it leaves a prickly heat spread across your skin, “what the fuck man?”.

Bucky shrugs, unfazed by the aggressive tone, “I know the story. I was the one that found Y/N at a Hydra base. If you were really kept and tortured by Hydra for the last 3 years, there’d be proof”, Bucky pauses to wiggle his metal fingers, “trust me. I know”.

Charlie scraps the chair against the floor, the sound echoing around the room as he lifts up his shirt. Scars of all shapes and sizes criss cross his chest and stomach. It’s a sight that has you step towards him before you finally catch yourself. Your feelings are all over the place. You don’t even know what’s an appropriate reaction anymore.

Bucky is the one to speak again, “how did you escape?”.

Charlie looks to you, anger clearly blazing in his dark brown eyes, “what the fuck is with this guy?”.

They both look to you and it makes you feel like a mother being asked to pick between her children. You want to scream, you want to run, you want to hide, but you know this situation won’t sort itself out. It’ll still be a mess for when you come back.

You look at Bucky and your trust in him is unwavering, woven into the fabric of why you love him, that unbreakable trust.

You look to Charlie and you know you still love him, the man that grew up with you, the man that was taken from you.

You turn your back on them and place your hands on the kitchen counter. You needed a moment to think, to sort through the jumble in your head, without the feel of them watching everything you do. Without the expectations.

You let your shoulders slump and say without even turning around, “how did you escape Charlie?”.

The room goes quiet for a few moments before Charlie replies emotionless, “they let me go”.

Bucky barks out a dark laugh as you slowly turn to face him again. For the first time since you saw him suspicion starts to bloom, “you expect me to believe they just…let you go?”.

Charlie walks around the island towards you and you can practically feel Bucky like a livewire in the room. Charlie grips your upper arms and looks into your eyes with a sincerity that would be hard to fake, but maybe it was the close proximity that had you all out of whack.

Charlie murmurs, “would I lie to you babe? Give me the hard truth or pass me the hard liquor, remember?”.

You smile briefly at the old saying you used to share as you say, “you don’t know where the hard liquor is”.

Charlie grins, “I wouldn’t need to. It was always the hard truth. And telling you that they let me go is the hard truth exactly because of your reaction. If I wanted you to trust what I said straight off the bat I would have made something more convincing up”.

He had a point and it was hard to argue when he was there, standing in front of you. When he was solid flesh and breathing the same air as you. You feel your resolve crumble a bit as you whisper, “you’re really alive”.

Charlie pulls you into a hug as he nods against you, “yeah babe, I’m really alive and there wasn’t a day I didn’t think about you”.

After a few moments Bucky’s voice fills the silence, “you want to hear another hard truth? It doesn’t make sense for Hydra to just let you go. It would be easier for them to kill you than to let you go unless you were still useful to them”.

You step away from Charlie at the sound of Bucky’s voice and turn to Bucky, “you’re probably right, but we have time to figure that out”.

Bucky shakes his head, looking down at the floor before finding your eyes again, “F.R.I.D.A.Y. can you watch our new guest while I talk to Y/N in private”.

F.R.I.D.A.Y. replies immediately, “of course, Barnes”.

You glance back at Charlie before following Bucky out of the room and all the way down the hall, out of earshot of the kitchen even for a super soldier.

Bucky shakes his head again, “I have a bad feeling about this, Doll”.

You roll your eyes, “I wonder why my current boyfriend has a bad feeling about my ex-boyfriend that was supposed to be dead but has come back?”.

Anger flares in his eyes, “it’s more than that, Y/N. There’s something that isn’t adding up, something we’re missing. You can’t tell me you don’t feel it to”.

You cross your arms, “I don’t actually”.

“Oh come on!-“.

“No, Buck. You come on. Someone I cared about…care about has come back from the grave and yes there are questions that need answers but…I saw him die Bucky, can’t I just have a few moments?”, you start the sentence angry but it ends in a whisper.

Bucky’s face softens at your tone. He wraps his arms around your waist to pull you into him, placing a hard kiss to the crown of your head. You breathe him in and take a moment to thank the stars for someone as understanding as Bucky.

Bucky murmurs into your hair, “I’m sorry, I get it, I just want to keep you safe. Besides, we can talk about it more at dinner tonight”.

You pull back slightly to look up at him, “I mean, we’re not going to dinner now”.

Bucky frowns, “what? Why?”.

You pull away from him to see if he was being serious, “did you not just listen to a word I said?”.

Bucky nods, “yeah, of course I did. But we’ve had this dinner planned for ages, Doll, we can’t cancel it now”.

You shake your head at him in disbelief, “it’s not every day that someone’s ex comes back from the dead, so I think that’s a good enough reason to skip the dinner just this once, Buck”.

You start to walk back to the kitchen when “no!”, bursts from Bucky.

You turn to look at him, anger heating up your skin, “what the hell is the matter with you, Barnes?!”

Bucky exhales heavily, head hung low. When he finally looks up at you, he’s wearing his boyish half grin like he’s just accepted the way life has dealt his hand, “this wasn’t how it was supposed to go, and I can’t believe my own goddamn luck”.

“What’s going on, Bucky?”, you ask, confusion tainting your words.

Bucky takes a deep breath before he pulls out a box. Your heart stops at the sight but it takes a few moments for your muddled brain to register what it is until he opens it. A perfect silver ring sits innocently inside.

Words abandon you as you stare at the man in front of you. Bucky says softly, “I was only pushy about dinner because I was going to propose tonight. I had the whole evening planned and everything. Everyone was involved…but the how and what and when doesn’t really matter. It’s the why. I love you, Y/N. More than I ever thought I could. I honestly don’t deserve you, but you make me a better man and my world is brighter with you in it. So, I want you to stay in it, forever”.

He closes the distance between you, but it gives you little comfort and you will him not to say the words, but he does, and it breaks your heart, “will you marry me?”.

[Are you going to marry Bucky Barnes? Make your choice...]

1st Choice 1 - Yes

1st Choice 2 - No

Taglist: @harrystylesisgolden @stucky-my-ship @savvywords @buckysbaby-doll

#bucky barns x reader #bucky barns x y/n #bucky x f!reader #bucky x you #bucky x female reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky barns imagine #bucky barns fanfiction #bucky fanfic #bucky angst #bucky fic

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wesimpforxiao · 3 years

Text

Say My Name and I’ll Be There: 8.2; Lantern Rite Part 1

You never had the chance to push Childe for answers on his vague statement, even after the two of you arrived in Liyue on the afternoon of the Lantern Rite. It was as busy as you remembered, though it was nothing compared to how it would be once the sun set. You weren't new to the festival, as you had gone a few times with Granny when you were a child, but that was a long time ago. You were around twelve years old the last time you had joined the festival.

Being here again was like a breath of fresh air.

It was a shame that breath of fresh air turned stale when Childe continued to prod at you. "So, ojou-chan, what will you be doing after dark?" He had intentionally turned it into a suggestive question, his smug brow raising slightly even after you glared daggers at him.

"I'm going to walk around, of course," you replied without giving him an inch. "And I'm going to find Aether and Zhongli, too."

"Oh? Aren't you forgetting someone?"

"What I do in my free time is none of your business," your jaw tightened. "You, Tartaglia, are literally a child. Why don't you step aside and let your elders do what they want? I am older than you, you know."

"I see you've picked up Signora's attitude," he moped and finally dropped the subject.

Perhaps you had, even though you hated her with all your life force after the trick she pulled at Angel's Share. Even so, you couldn't help but bite the harbinger that fed you after he made strange offhanded comments about his own behavior, or his self-proclaimed 'apology' gift, or the way he held you the first time you felt Xiao's suffering. You still couldn't figure out what was going on with him, and quite frankly, you could care less. That's what you told yourself, anyway.

Was he an ally or an enemy?

"Earth to Mezzetin." He rudely poked at your forehead. "Is everything alright? You've been obnoxiously loud all day and now you're quiet."

"You do realize you're equally as obnoxious?" You met his eyes head-on after pulling away from your thoughts. "I'm hungry."

"Ah, thought so. Here," he handed you a heavy sack of mora without warning. "I'll be at Northland Bank if you need anything."

"Eh? That's it?" You watched him begin to walk off, expecting much more of a threat to your life if you so much as thought about running.

"You said it yourself ojou-chan, you're an adult," he called out over his shoulder. "I'd expect you to act like one in these circumstances."

"Wha--!" You scoffed at his shrinking figure as he climbed the stairs to the Snezhnayan bank. "Ugh, whatever." Your gaze fell to the mora pouch in your hands. Maybe I'll stop by the funeral parlor first and find Zhongli.

When you did, the archon paled at the sudden surprise appearance. "How did you find yourself in Liyue Harbor?" He scanned your body as if you were to be handled with care. "I was under the impression you would remain at Zapolyarny Palace until further notice. How did you happen to gain the Tsaritsa's trust so quickly?"

"Eh, you'll have to ask Childe that." You didn't notice Zhongli's eyes narrow with contempt. "He won't tell me why they decided to have me accompany him here," you answered without skipping a beat. Though the archon was certainly thrown off guard, the two of you appeared to start right where you had left off like none of the events in the past two months had ever occurred in the first place. It was refreshing to be with a friendly presence again, and you sighed in relief, hiding a wince from the sharp pain in your ribcage.

The movement didn't go unnoticed by Zhongli. "Ah, yes...Allow me to brew you some tea. The leaves I've gathered recently have exceptional pain-relieving qualities, though they don't compare to that of Xiao's medications--"

"How is he?" Your interruption stopped the man in his tracks. "Is he okay?" If Zhongli knew you were feeling Xiao's pain, that meant the yaksha had been in contact.

"He's as well as he can be, given the circumstances he's been burdened with. Do not worry yourself with him. Please, take a seat."

You watched Zhongli's graceful movements as he prepared a kettle and brought the water to a boil, dropping the leaves in when it was hot enough. You were oblivious to the thoughts that ran through his mind as he sent a wry smile your way.

That day, I made a grave miscalculation, Zhongli thought back to the group's encounter with Childe in Fontaine. A guilty sigh escaped his lips as he poured the tea into two ceramic teacups.

.....................

Deception. Maybe Zhongli was a little too good at playing the part of an innocent bystander, if he had succeeded in fooling Aether not once, but twice. But this route would be the only way to ensure yours and Xiao's sanity...The archon grit his teeth as he parried Childe's relentless blows in the pouring rain. The harbinger didn't hold back even though this was all for show.

How long did the fighting go on? Twenty minutes? Thirty? An hour? Childe gave the signal to Zhongli as he summoned his fifth and final narwhal using the rain that fell around them. Most of the group was worn out from constantly changing tactics as the harbinger switched between his vision and delusion. Childe was so much stronger than the first time he faced off with Aether...but so was Aether. Zhongli understood the only way to make this plan work would be to sacrifice his two closest allies in one way or another.

"Retreat!" Zhongli gave the order and an exhausted trio followed it without question. Well, except for Aether.

"We can't leave Xiao!"

.................

He had hoped he gave Xiao the push he needed to seal the bond, but it apparently was not enough..."Here is your tea," he placed the teacup in front of you before sitting at the opposite end of the table. "Tell me, have they remained true to their word and put an end to your experiments?"

You blew at your steaming cup before taking a small sip. "Yeah...They've already begun testing on Fatui agents, but every single one of them dies. It's funny, actually. Dottore still can't figure out the correct ratio for my blood. I've watched hundreds die."

"And how are you?"

That question was loaded, but you swallowed the nervous chuckle that had bubbled in your throat. "I'm just glad to be so close to home." To him, you meant, even if the two of you never actually met up during your stay here. Your eyes trailed to the window, and Zhongli noticed the sadness in the depths of your gaze as you watched people decorate the buildings with xiao lanterns.

"Xiao will be especially busy today, fighting off the demons that rise from the festivities," he answered your looming question. "But I am sure he would find the time to meet you if he knew you were here."

"You know, I hold most of his memories, but I can never seem to know what he's thinking." Your low voice captured the archon's attention again after a few silent minutes. You were saying it more to yourself than to spark a conversation, eyes still gazing out the window. "Maybe I am chasing after a fruitless dream."

"Your love for Xiao is strong."

"Eh?" Your head snapped back to the present moment. "H-how did you--did he--?"

Your flustered composure drew out a low chuckle from Zhongli, and he set his teacup aside. "I've lived for six thousand years; I know a thing or two about human concepts and emotions. The entire group has known for quite some time."

"I was that obvious?" An insane amount of heat rose to your cheeks and you buried your face in your hands. "So did he know before I...?"

"Xiao may be a few thousand years old, but he understands humans less than I do. I can confidently say you caught him off guard."

You peeked out from behind your fingers. "Hm?"

"It is not my place to say anything more on the matter," his lips tugged into a friendly grin as he brought the teacup to his lips once again. "But I would not call it a 'fruitless' dream."

.................

The lanterns that lit the streets of Liyue illuminated the bustling crowds of people that were focused on getting food, souvenirs, and lanterns that were to be released later that evening. You had parted ways with Zhongli in an effort to find Aether, with no luck in locating the boy even after nightfall. Despite this, you navigated the festival alone in hopes of running into him as you eyed the food stalls.

That is, until the voices grew louder. You swayed on your feet from the unexpected wave of nausea that overcame you, and grabbed onto one of the support beams next to the stairs. Xiao was fighting something again, wasn't he? You had felt the damned creep up on you as the day progressed, but nothing prepared you for the jarring pains that were too similar to the first time you had felt this side effect. You nearly puked from the overwhelming sensation, coughing into your hand only for it to be splattered with blood.

Not again, you stared in horror as you hastily blinked away the splotches in your vision. A quick glance around confirmed that there were children in the immediate vicinity, and you didn't want to scar them with the sight of you on what was supposed to be a happy night. Your eyes flit to the distant building that housed the Northland Bank, and you were determined to make it there even if it was a bit too far for you to walk at the moment.

You stumbled through the crowd on unsteady feet and shallow breath until you bumped shoulders with a boy and tripped. "Ngh!" The impact worsened your dilemma, and your eyes caught those of the person you ran into.

"Sorry! Wait, are you okay, ma'am?" The white-haired boy retracted his outstretched hand and instead knelt at your side to offer his shoulder. "You..." This energy....could it be that I can finally...?

"U-um, excuse me." You struggled to your feet and tried to make your way to the bank again. This time you were immediately halted by the boy.

"Ma'am, are you by any chance experiencing paranormal activity?" His hard gaze made you hold your breath without realizing. When he saw your eyes flash as if someone had held a lantern to your face, his grip on your shoulder loosened ever so slightly. "My name's Chongyun. I'm an exorcist. Do you mind if we speak in private?"

He brought you to the docs, which were a little less crowded than the main area of the harbor. Chongyun watched as you sat down and steadied your breathing while attempting to sneakily wipe away the blood that dripped from the corner of your mouth.

I finally haven't scared them off, the boy thought as he stared at you in wonder. Why now, though? "Ma'am, can you tell me what's going on?"

"I-I appreciate your concern," you ground your teeth together while another wave of pain consumed you, "but I d-don't need your help."

"When did you start feeling this way?" Chongyun sat with his legs crisscrossed in front of you, and summoned a deck of cards from his pocket. Anger boiled as you watched him shuffle them in his hands and set them in the space between you one at a time.

"I wouldn't do that," you growled while your thoughts grew hazy.

"Don't worry, this won't hurt you." He started mumbling some sort of incoherent verses before flipping one of the cards.

"I said DON'T!"

Chongyun caught your hand before it could swipe the cards away from the pier's surface, and he locked eyes with you. He took a deep breath before speaking as if you were the one agitating him. "Those are the evil spirits talking. I can tell you're not that far gone. Sit patiently, and I can help you."

You blinked for a moment and regained some control over yourself, relaxing your shoulders once he let go of your wrist. "What is it you're trying to do?"

"Purge evil; it's my job. We exorcists have protected Liyue for generations," he flipped another card over, noting your tension rising again before dying down. Whatever he was doing with those cards seemed to piss off the voices in your head.

"Like adepti?" You grimaced when he replaced one of the cards with another.

"Yes, much like the Guardian Yaksha of Liyue," he replied calmly while testing your reaction with another card. "I have much respect for him, but--"

"Xiao? Have you seen him?" Your hand burned when you grabbed his, but you ignored it once you caught his attention. "Have you seen him recently?"

"You know him by name?" Chongyun was as confused as you were. "That's odd, I thought we were the only ones who--"

"Hey!" A high-pitched voice interrupted the conversation, and the two of you turned your heads toward the sound. Paimon was flying towards you, Aether running right behind her. "What are you doing here?! Are you okay? Did you escape? Did you kick Childe's butt?"

"I--" Aether stopped himself from hugging you when he saw the dried blood on your hand, his relieved smile fading into a concerned frown as his feet came to a halt. "...Are you okay?"

"You know each other?" Chongyun looked between the trio and summoned a new set of cards. These ones held terrifying symbolism of demonic entities you didn't wish to know the name of, and he placed them over the other ones that sat on the ground.

"Ngh!" A hand covered your eye in an attempt to put pressure against a sharp pain. "You can't help me! Enough of this!"

"...W-what's wrong with her?" Paimon trembled slightly when she heard the uncharacteristic aggressiveness in your voice. "Is she...possessed?!"

"Not quite," Chongyun returned his eyes to you in deep thought. "I've never seen this before..."

"Wait, your positivity didn't scare them off?" Aether suddenly looked a lot more concerned, and he moved so that he sat beside you. Chongyun scared every spirit away...if that didn't happen this time, it must've been a bad sign. "What happened to you in Snezhnaya?" His voice was a mix of both guilt and anger.

"Zhongli didn't tell you?" It took all your strength not to attack the three of them as Chongyun put another card down.

"The group went their separate ways after you..." Aether shook his head and put a hand on your shoulder when he noticed the malice in your stare. "What did Childe do to you?"

"It's just another side effect," you growled and pushed his hand off. "I'm not possessed like this guy is saying."

"Is this true?" Paimon's skepticism antagonized you further, but you bit your tongue.

"We should take you to Zhongli," Aether pulled you to your feet without hearing your objections. If your words were accurate, then there was no way the exorcist could help. "Sorry, Chongyun! She'll be fine!"

"W-Wait! Ah-" Chongyun already lost them in the sea of people that were getting ready to release their lanterns. It was almost time to fill the sky with the light of human prayers and wishes to the adepti.

..............

Once out of Chongyun's vicinity, the voices dispersed as if nothing had happened. "What the hell--" Your confused grumblings caught the attention of Aether as he guided you through the crowd. "This is so stupid."

"So you're able to feel Xiao's mental distress?" He glanced back at you for a brief moment once he figured out what he had witnessed. "At least now, he has someone that can understand a little bit of what he's going through, right?"

"I don't know," interjected Paimon. "Didn't Zhongli say the yakshas fell one by one from karma? Wouldn't feeling Xiao's karma kill you?"

"Probably." Your uninterested answer brought both of them to look at you, only to find that your eyes were surveying the crowd with expectation--or was it hope? Your companions exchanged knowing, but glum glances.

"He won't be here."

Aether's words went through one ear and out the other. "Yes he will."

"Um...Paimon doesn't think so. Xiao doesn't like crowds, remember?" You were so different than a few months ago...Each sound seemed to startle you or make you wince, and you had a peculiar distant look in your eyes. Your friends were growing more and more concerned about you.

Xiao, I'm here, you called out in your heart, not fully aware of it.

..........................

Coming up: A long-awaited reunion. The fears of a yaksha. A display of trust.

#genshin impact #xiao genshin impact #genshin impact xiao #xiao x reader #genshin x reader #lantern rite #xiao lantern rite #genshin impact lantern rite

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marvel-and-mischief · 3 years

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Too Hot To Handle

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader Words: 1700 Warnings: sexual tension, removing of clothes to keep cool, swearing, wandering eyes, no actual smut but thots, angst, conversation about dying, brief mention of sexism Synopsis: You and Javi get trapped in an airless filing room at the embassy. Can you both keep your cool?

Fic Masterpost

You held your hands up at this one; you only had yourself to blame. Javier had told you to prop the door open with a heavy box and instead of listening, you had used your purse, got distracted with files, leaving the purse to slip and the next thing you heard was the sound of the heavy duty door slamming shut behind you.

Javier’s head shot up, a look of panic on his face as he ran to try and pry the door open.

“Steve knew we were in here Javi, he’ll realise something’s up and come find us.”

“Steve went to have lunch. With Connie.”

Your eyes widened as you finally understood his panic. If Steve was having lunch with his wife he would be in no rush to get back to the embassy.

“Shit,” you whispered, eyeing your surroundings desperately. The filing room was windowless with no visible vents, after all why would pieces of paper need oxygen to breathe? And the door had no handle on this side because who would be stupid enough to close the door behind them?

You looked to your partner, hoping he was coming up with a solution.

“I have nothing,” Javi shook his head and slumped down the wall, wrists resting on his bent knees. He looked like he had given up already.

“Someone will notice we’ve not returned to our desks, right?”

Javi raised a sceptical eyebrow. You both had a tendency to rush out unannounced based on a tip or new evidence so the likelihood of someone thinking you were stuck in a filing room was slim to none.

“Shit,” you repeated yourself, pacing back and forth with your hands on your hips. There had to be some way out of here, or a button to press in emergencies. This couldn’t be the first time someone had gotten stuck in the filing room.

“Why aren’t you trying to find a way out of here?”

“Because there isn’t one. Stop moving,” Javi chastised with a heavy sigh, “you’re using up oxygen.”

“Rude,” you muttered whilst taking a seat next to him with a sigh, “we can’t die in a glorified filing cabinet.”

Javier scoffed at the suggestion, running a frustrated hand through his hair.

After a few minutes of silence you were starting to feel the heat of the room, only made worse by the stress of the situation. You toed your boots off and pulled off your socks just as Javier reached for the buttons of his shirt. You caught his eye, giving him an awkward smile before looking away to give him some semblance of privacy.

Javier was an attractive man and the women in the office never failed to remind you of how lucky you were to work alongside him everyday, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t agree. He was ridiculously charming and polite, a little flirty but you gave as good as you got. But you had always remained professional, keeping just this side of the line of what was ‘proper’. You couldn’t go sleeping with your partner when you’d worked so hard to be taken seriously as a female agent.

You could see him unbuttoning his shirt all the way down from the corner of your eye but you resisted the urge to stare, keeping your eyes trained on a box of files across from you as he proceeded to kick his shoes off.

“Of all the ways I thought I’d die in Colombia, I didn’t think it would be like this,” Javier said bleakly. You turned then, just in time to see a drip of sweat fall from his forehead onto the collar of his pink shirt.

“Where’s your pager?”

“Desk.” Javier’s eyes bore into yours, as if contemplating whether to ask his next question. “Don’t suppose you have a boyfriend that will ask where you are?”

You furrowed your brow.

“How long have you known me? Have I ever mentioned a boyfriend?”

Javier’s shoulders sagged, whether with relief or defeat you couldn’t tell.

You felt yourself sweating more profusely as the seconds ticked by. Your blouse was beginning to soak through and your jeans was becoming uncomfortable against your hot skin.

“Take your shirt off,” Javier muttered, eyes closing as he tilted his head back against the wall.

You hesitated. It made sense to rid yourselves of as much clothing as possible, with no ventilation it was only going to get hotter and if someone did come looking for you you needed to survive until then.

Before you could talk yourself out of it you quickly removed your blouse and flicked open the top button of your jeans for a shred of relief. Javier didn’t move but the hand resting in between you was curled into a fist.

“Who would miss you if you died here?”

It was something you sometimes thought about in your line of work, usually whilst holding a bottle at the end of a bad day. Who would care if something life-threatening happened to you (which it likely would)? Who would miss you? How many people would be standing around your grave at your premature funeral? And in the case of Javier who rarely spoke about home, who was he running from? Did he have someone he called to tell them he was safe and still alive?

Javier’s eyes opened and his jaw twitched. You wouldn’t put it passed him to tell you to fuck off but maybe he’d go easy on you given your current situation.

“My Papa lives in Texas. I give him a call now and then but if he never heard back from me I don’t think he’d be surprised.”

“You underestimate your importance to people, Javi.”

Picking up your blouse, you ran it along your bare skin, collecting the sweat there in the hope it would cool you down. You felt Javier’s eyes following the movements along your arms, the dip of your breasts and your bare stomach before wiping at the beads of sweat on your brow.

“When I first came to work here, I think you’d been here only a couple of months?” Javier nodded but didn’t interrupt, “you took me under your wing like you’d been here years. I felt safe with you. I got so much stick from people and I knew the shit they were saying behind my back about how I got here. But you, you had my back. You trusted me when I had my hunches when no one else would. I’ll never forget that.”

Javier cleared his throat uncomfortably. You knew he didn’t believe you but you had to tell him anyway, if it was the last thing you said out loud, you had to let him know how much he meant to you.

“And you’re like that with everyone. You’ve got the biggest heart in the embassy, I hate that nobody sees how much you care.”

Javier elbowed you softly, leaning closer in your space despite the humidity, or despite the tension? You couldn’t be sure.

“The people who matter know I’d lay down my life for them. That’s all that matters.”

You caught Javier’s sweeping gaze and relaxed for the first time since entering the room. If you were going to die with anyone, you were glad it was Javier.

“D’you remember when I gave you a tour of the embassy on your first day?”

“You hated giving me that tour.”

Javier chuckled, not denying it.

“This was still being built.”

“This part of the building is new?”

“Nah, it was offices. We didn’t need them.”

You frowned, the cogs turning in your head at this new information. “This was an office?” Javier’s response was nothing but a hum of agreement.

“So this room used to have ventilation?”

Javier looked confused when he turned to you.

“They bricked in the windows,” he said, matter of fact.

You knew they would have done that but didn’t say anything. Instead you let your eyes roam around the room, along the walls, in each of the corners and finally over the ceiling where you found a small ray of hope.

“There,” you pointed to a tile that was out of line compared with the others, the thin metal corner lifted down the tiniest amount.

“A vent?” Javier asked hopefully.

You stood too fast in your excitement, lightheaded and wobbling until Javier steadied you with his hands on your hips from his place on the floor.

“Careful, carino.”

You took a deep breath and padded slowly towards the tile you had your eye on. Javier wheeled a step ladder over to where you stood staring at the ceiling.

“Hold it,” he ordered. You held onto the top of the ladder as he ascended it.

“Can you pull it down?” you asked, watching as Javier inspected the tile. You kept your eyes trained on the ceiling and definitely not on the gentle slope of Javier’s small belly, his narrow waist and the sliver of hair that formed a trail that went below his belt.

“I think so,” Javier grunted with the effort. You could feel the sweat running off you, your whole body was on fire and you prayed Javier had enough strength in him to do it before you collapsed from exhaustion.

With a clang of metal the tile was thrown onto the floor. Javier peaked his head into the hole in the ceiling and let out an uncharacteristic yelp of joy.

“Tunnels! I can get us out of here. You stay here.”

You nodded, feeling the energy draining out of you. Javier struggled to pull himself up so you helped by planting your hands on his ass and pushing. Any other day you would have laughed and Javier would have grumbled but as you took a seat on top of the ladder’s platform and heard the bangs of his knees crawling above you, you couldn’t care less.

When the door finally opened you were half way to passing out, head hung in your hands to try and quell the pounding in your head. You felt arms around you as Javier picked you up and you faintly registered the sounds of a comforting voice whispering in your ear. You knew you were safe before everything went black.

Permanent tag list: @autumnleaves1991-blog @phoenixhalliwell @anu-simps @bts17army @computeringturtle

#Javier Pena #Javier Pena x Reader #narcos #Pedro Pascal

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akatsuki-shin · 3 years

Text

REVIEW: 山河令 Shān Hé Lìng (Word of Honor)

Note(s):

(Very) long post ahead

Contains spoiler

This is my personal review and does not represent the entire audience.

This review is written by someone who has read the original novel, hence there will be reference and comparison between the two works

Summary:

After the sudden passing of his beloved master, young leader of the famous Four Season Manor, Zhou Zishu, brought his brothers and loyal followers to serve the Prince of Jin whose family had been the master of his predecessors, creating a secret organization of capable spies and assassins known as "Tian Chuang".

His decision later proved to be the downfall of his sect, however, for they were quickly swallowed into ruthless political conflicts and battle for power within the royal families, causing his brothers and followers to die unjustly one after another.

Ten years later, Zhou Zishu, now the sole survivor of the Four Season Manor, resigned from his position as the leader of Tian Chuang. In exchange for freedom, he bestowed upon himself the fatal punishment that is the "Nails of Seven Apertures for Three Autumns", a torture device created by Zhou Zishu himself that would gradually numb one's five senses and ultimately took their life within three years.

After several months passed, the now free Zhou Zishu had disguised himself as a wandering vagrant, enjoying his remaining time sightseeing, drinking, and sunbathing to his heart's content.

As fate would have it, however, his unshackled days abruptly ended when he saved a young boy, the only surviving descendant of the Mirror Lake Sect, one of the renowned Five Lakes Alliance, that was destroyed overnight by the mysterious ghosts of Mount Qingya. He was soon pulled into a conflict of the pugilist world dating back to twenty years ago, revolving around a legendary "Glazed Armor" said to hold the key to a secret armory filled with the secret techniques of martial sects from all over the world.

To further complicate matters, he somehow caught the interest of a strange young man of mysterious origin, Wen Kexing, who pursued him relentlessly with unknown motive.

---------

Before we get into it, I feel that it is worth to mention some of the major differences between the novel and live action because they do affect my impression and judgment over several points in the drama.

While there are always bound to be differences between an adaptation and its original works, most of these differences seem to have been made to avoid censorship, also in order for the drama to be able to become a "stand-alone" story (since the original work is a sequel to another novel).

1. Zhou Zishu and Wen Kexing

In the drama, they are later revealed to have once been martial brothers of the Four Season Manor due to the fact that Zhou Zishu's master saved Wen Kexing's parents when they were pursued by both the righteous sects of the jianghu and the ghosts of Mount Qingya over the key of the Glazed Armor.

In the original story, they were strangers to each other that have no relationship whatsoever prior to their coincidental meeting at Jiangnan.

2. Prince of Jin and Tian Chuang

Word of Honor is based on the novel "Faraway Wanderers" by Priest, which is a sequel to her previous novel "Lord Seventh".

Originally, the master that Zhou Zishu and his Tian Chuang served should be the Emperor himself, Helian Yi, an important character from Lord Seventh - in which Zhou Zishu also made a major appearance. After Zhou Zishu punished himself with the nails and left Tian Chuang, Helian Yi and the Tian Chuang never pursued him. The story follows Zhou Zishu's journey in the jianghu and he never once went back to the capital city where Helian Yi was.

In the live action, Zhou Zishu and Tian Chuang served the Prince of Jin, a royal family tangled in internal strife for power. From what I understand, Prince Jin seems to have an ambition to overthrow the ruling Emperor to become one himself. After Zhou Zishu left, he kept an eye on him and later managed to capture Zhou Zishu, briefly bringing him back to the Jin as a prisoner.

3. The Scorpions

In Word of Honor, the Scorpion King Xie-er was portrayed as the adopted son of Zhao Jing, the main villain of the story. All the plots he devised, most of them were made with Zhao Jing's interest in his mind. There were also four remarkable assassins working under him (I don't remember their names, but you know who I mean, right?).

Originally, the Scorpions are an independent assassin group. Their relationship with Zhao Jing is that of client and service provider. The Scorpion King had his own plan to benefit himself and his organization with only his own interest in mind. There were no particular members of the Scorpions featured in the story other than him. Specifically, the Phantom Musician Qin Song was an independent assassin hired to kill Zhang Chengling, and he was believed to be dead after being defeated by Zhou Zishu on his very first attempt.

4. The Ten Ghosts of Qingya

Although the novel did mention the existence of the Top Ten Ghosts, only 4 (four) of them actually appeared in the story:

Xue Fang the Hanged Ghost (who was secretly killed by Wen Kexing in the beginning of the story, both in the novel and drama)

The Long-tongued Ghost who was also killed by Wen Kexing when he and Zhou Zishu were trapped underground in the graveyard (Zhao Family's Funeral Home in the drama)

Sun Ding the Delighted Mourning Ghost, one of the strongest ghosts who wanted to overthrow Wen Kexing's position as Ghost Valley Master; he was later killed by the Scorpions

Lao Meng (I forgot his title), also one of the strongest ghosts who wanted to overthrow Wen Kexing, but he was more lowkey and calm; he worked together with the Scorpions to first kill Sun Ding (his rival) and later to kill Wen Kexing when the jianghu heroes came to attack the Ghost Valley (although he didn't know that the Scorpion King had his own plan, hence meeting his demise during the war)

Wu Chang and his two henchmen, the Tragicomic Ghost, the Laughing Ghost, etc do not exist in the novel.

Additionally, Liu Qianqiao is also not part of the ghosts in the novel. She did have an affair with Yu Qiufeng and was manipulated by him until she died horribly in the hands of the two old couple (whose names I also forget).

5. The Ending

I think this is probably the biggest difference between the novel and the live action.

Originally, Zhou Zishu's nail wounds were removed and healed completely by Wu Xi AFTER the final battle at Mount Fengya (yes, the mountain's name is slightly different). He, Wen Kexing, Zhang Chengling, Jing Beiyuan, and Wu Xi lived temporarily at the top of Mount Changming because they need cold temperature for the healing method to work.

Wen Kexing did not sacrifice his life to restore Zhou Zishu's meridian and they did not become immortal.

Also, the Scorpion King was killed by Zhang Chengling and Gao Xiaolian after he got his hand chopped of by Zhou Zishu for trying to murder the already dying Wen Kexing (after he took his revenge on Mo Huaiyang).

There are of course, still many more differences, including when and where Cao Weining died, but the five things I mentioned above are probably the biggest ones because they directly impacted the entire plot.

---------

STORY: 8/10

Despite the changes and adjustments, the main plot of SHL amazingly remains loyal to the original story. The things they could not show, they would include it in the characters' dialog or tried to incorporate it in another way. Some examples:

Cao Weining and Gu Xiang's reincarnation story was included in Cao Weining's dialog (his dream and his wish to grow up together with her in their next life)

Wen Kexing's confession about wanting to build a grave for his parents from the Extra Chapter (where he cried and caused Zhou Zishu to let him top out of sympathy) was included in Wen Kexing's dialog when he got drunk and hugged Zhou Zishu after he defeated Zhao Jing (prior to Cao Weining and Gu Xiang's marriage)

In fact, I feel that most of the adjustments made to the story were able to deliver much better emotional aspects and intensity of the characters and important scenes.

Although more than half of the Ten Ghosts were made up solely for the drama, their existence was able to better portray Wen Kexing's image as the supreme leader of the Ghost Valley and why they all fear him.

Although many interactions between Zhou Zishu, Zhang Chengling, and Wen Kexing were either added or changed from the novel, here we could see them as a real, close family which is so much more heartwarming than the original.

Zhao Jing's pretense, evil deeds, and downfall were all arranged neatly from the beginning. If I hadn't read the novel, I probably would've been (pleasantly) surprised when it was revealed that he was the one plotting everything behind the scene.

The romance and relationship development of the main pairing (Wen Kexing/Zhou Zishu, although it was masked as brotherhood as always) and side pairing (Cao Weining/Gu Xiang) were especially well done. It allows me, as the audience, to get to know them, sympathize with them, and ultimately rooting for them (despite already knowing how Cao Weining and Gu Xiang would end up).

Gu Xiang's anguish and fury after Cao Weining died were shown so clearly. Her final fighting scene until her death was particularly moving.

Explanations and plot twists were spread evenly so there was no info dump. The plot development was enjoyable to follow from the beginning, even if the ending felt a bit rushed.

This was a bit difficult to describe, but even if sometimes I feel like "hmm, this character did not do this in the novel", when I was following the drama from the first to the last episode, everything flows smoothly and does not feel out of place. So I realized that even if what the characters did was sometimes different from the original story, it is still loyal to the plot and circumstances of the drama, which is why their adjusted words and actions still felt natural to see.

Also, when reading the novel before, I have one critic about the Glazed Armor and the armory itself being the center of everyone's fight, but in the end they didn't seem to have much importance, especially because the armory was never found and opened. At the very least, although it was due to ending change and pretty much rushed, in SHL the Glazed Armor was actually used and the armory was shown.

Though there were indeed a few things that I do not quite agree(?) with:

Tian Chuang is supposed to be a secret organization that does their job secretly, but why is it that they always light so many lanterns when launching their attack?

The bond shared between Zhou Zishu and Prince Jin was pretty clear, but I don't think it's detailed and deep enough for Prince Jin to consider Zhou Zishu his soulmate. Furthermore, from the beginning we've never been told about Zhou Zishu's family, but in the last few episodes suddenly there were talks about his father being branded a traitor because of some secret hidden in the armory. While the story makes sense, to put new information out of the blue when the plot was about to end feels somewhat strange.

Lastly, I understand that danmei adaptations always face a lot of restrictions, as in they were not allowed to have a blatant happy ending - so most either resort to tragedy or open ending (cmiiw). However, I still feel that Wen Kexing faking his death without telling Zhou Zishu was......kind of silly.

After their life was spared by Ye Baiyi, Zhou Zishu had already warned him not to act without telling him again. When he wanted to fake his death, Wen Kexing told almost everyone except Zhou Zishu, the reason being they shouldn't make Zhou Zishu fight since he was in the middle of recovery.

Zhou Zishu is a rational person, I strongly believe that he would understand if Wen Kexing explained clearly. Him not telling Zhou Zishu led to:

Zhou Zishu actually ended up fighting to save him

Zhou Zishu thinking his soulmate is truly gone and proceeded to choose a suicidal move in order to avenge his (fake) death

Honestly, while I still enjoy following this drama until the end, I feel that the cause of Zhou Zishu dying when he could've been saved by Wu Xi, and Wen Kexing ended up sacrificing his life to save Zhou Zishu, was a bit ridiculous because really, Wen Kexing brought it upon himself.

In regards to this, even if I'm happy the two of them ended up living happily ever after as immortals on the mountain, it makes Jing Beiyuan and Wu Xi's existence almost pointless. They were literally included in the story of Faraway Wanderers to save Zhou Zishu's life from the nails. But here, other than providing shelter after the Four Season Manor was burnt down by Duan Pengju, I don't see any reason why they should be there.

CHARACTERS: 9/10

Perfect casts and perfect character portrayals, both from visual aspects and acting. Some may or may not necessarily look 100% similar to their novel description, but they managed to bring out the characters to life so well.

I've said before that most adjustments made to the drama were able to deliver much better emotional aspects and intensity, and this is especially true for the characters.

Honestly, when reading the novel, other than the few main characters, others did not leave a lot of impressions on me. I don't even remember what Zhao Jing was like when he was revealed as the true villain. Gao Chong's introduction was pretty good, but then we didn't hear much about him until he was finally declared dead. Shen Shen appeared only for one chapter and the next time I heard of him, he's already dead, too.

I love the novel, but really do have so many complaints about the characters in there. Fortunately, all of these flaws had been fixed in the drama, and boy they did it so well.

Some that I found amazingly written and shown:

Wen Kexing's emotional instability and his protectiveness whenever Zhou Zishu got hurt (good job, Gong Jun)

Zhou Zishu's rich emotions to those he hold dear (good job, Zhang Zhehan)

Zhang Chengling's character being more detailed and "alive", especially his diligence, growth, and occasional mischief; he was no longer just a useless dumb kid who can't do anything

Cao Weining and Gu Xiang's dynamic is so lovely

Zhao Jing's change from the seemingly weak guy to an ambitious, manipulative mastermind

Gao Chong, Shen Shen, and many other side characters were given enough screen time + sufficient important scenes so they weren't easily forgotten

Special shoutout and kudos to the actor who played Duan Pengju. I heard he was actually the Assistant Director, but because they didn't have much budget, he was casted to play this character and he did great 🥺 Thank you for helping the team to save hundred thousands yuan!

I don't really have any complaints about the character except when Zhou Zishu and Wen Kexing have just delivered Zhang Chengling to Zhao Jing, Zhou Zishu clearly didn't want to mention his name (Zhou Xu), but Wen Kexing went ahead and introduced the both of them. Somehow I feel that Wen Kexing's character wouldn't disregard Zhou Zishu's opinion so lightly.

TECHNICAL ASPECTS: 9/10

Although this drama did not have much budget to start with, literally the only complaints I have about it is so minor, like:

A few scene transitions don't look smooth

Repeated use of sets, e.g. Gao Chong/Zhao Jing's residence is the same as Prince Jin's Palace, the Secret Armory Interior is the same as Tian Chuang's prison - but this has been mentioned in an interview with the Director(?) that they indeed use similar sets for multiple scenes to save budget

Other than that, I only ever have good things to say about this drama.

The fighting scenes should be given million kudos. Save for the flying and gliding part (which still looks kinda awkward, but better than some other Chinese dramas I've seen), the actions were just so cool and intense??? From the angle, the slow motion, to the techniques that are unique and different for each character. They even perfectly showed Zhang Chengling's awkward yet correct implementation of Zhou Zishu's teaching.

Costume designs are top notch. The visual of the seven nails on Zhou Zishu's body looks so real. His disguise was also very well done, I almost couldn't tell it's the same actor.

Some CGI and animations could've done better, but overall everything looks nice. I'm especially amazed at the visual of Longyuan Palace.

OVERALL SCORE: 8.7/10

At this point, I don't even know how to end this post other than saying please watch it, guys. It's a really well done job despite their limitations and restrictions. I've watched several Wuxia/Xianxia dramas before this and Word of Honor surprisingly exceeded every single one of my expectations. I enjoyed watching it so much, and I believe you guys will like it, too.

An additional kudos from me personally, because you can tell how the team creating this drama knows and appreciates the original author's works. It's a pleasant surprise when they incorporated a few things from Priest's other novel:

From Sha Po Lang: Zhi Liujin (the fuels used for the puppets in Longyuan Palace) and the Mechanical Birds used by Tian Chuang + Ping An Manor to deliver letters

From Silent Reading: The puppy that young Zhou Zishu and Zhen Yan played with, it was named after the cat owned by the main character of Silent Reading (also, fun fact, the name of Silent Reading's main character is "Wenzhou")

From Lord Seventh: Wen Kexing faking his death was exactly the same as how Wu Xi fooled the Emperor in order to "kidnap" Jing Beiyuan out of the capital.

Conclusion: Please watch it, guys.

#Word of Honor #Shan He Ling #SHL #Tian Ya Ke #Faraway Wanderer #Zhou Zishu #Wen Kexing #WenZhou #Review #Danmei #Priest

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ghost1643 · 3 years

Text

Melban corpsebride au

(don’t worry no one stays dead)

now also be warned this will be a seven deadly sins idea but will focus on the melban ship, which is a crack ship but I love.

So with that let's begin.

~~~~~~~💍~~~~~~~~

Okay so as we begin, Ban is new engaged. We see him rushing around with King joking having as much fun as can be seeing as they will be brothers in a matter of only hours. Everything seems perfect as they stand with the rest of their friends, minus a certain blond for reasons that will become apparent later.

That is the moment Elaine walks down the isle. Ban tears up just beaming holding her hand. He is just so happy. Everything is going perfect and he finally has a loving wife he always wanted..

That is until she drops dead during the kiss.

Now Elaine has always been sick ever since she was young. She almost died multiple times and was told her heart was weak for years. So she was expecting to die before she got to old. She prepared Ban and everyone she knew for it. She had a will. She had a grave stone set and even had her own funeral picked out. Yet, she never would have guessed as she leans in for the kiss on her wedding day that her racing heart would suddenly stop.

Neither did Ban.

All he knows is that their lips met for less then a second. He held onto her hand thumb rubbing over the ring as their lips brushed together. Then she got cold. Like suddenly cold as the winter air. He could hear the crowd cheer and as he leaned back, she dropped down to the ground dead. From there it was a blur.

Ban could remember people screaming. He could remember the panic as he tried to help. He remember carrying Elaine to a doctors....yet from there his mind goes blank. He just remembers sitting near her grave 3 days later watching as she is slowly buried, tears springing to his eyes watching her disappear bellow the ground, leaving him too soon.

From there, well he just sits in bed for days on end. Or at least he thinks so. He just remembers seeing her grave every time he closed his eyes for weeks on end as his brother in law takes care of him day in and day out. As he is cared for Ban builds up a wall. He swears he will never love anyone again until he sees Elaine. He is not going to move on ever. He is just going to wait until he can see her face again smiling and bright as ever. Until then he is happy to be alone for the rest of his life.

And he keeps to his word...He never loves again...That is until the incident three years later...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~💍~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When we open back up it's three years later and King and Diane are finally getting married. Ban is his same old self, but as mentioned before he kept to his word. He has no other loves and drowns his sores in booze whenever he has the chance.

The day before the wedding they're having the usually batchellor party with Ban as a host. They are all drinking like mad during which having fun until Escanor has to go pee which all the Drunken idiots decided to do outside with him cause fun and only real men piss in the woods according to escanor.

Once they are all done peeing in the woods they start teasing king about messing up his vows during the rehearsal earlier that day as they walk back. This goes on until King snaps holding out the ring drawing them all to try it out here then if they think they can do better.

So they attempt to do just that.

Of course they are all drunker than a sailor and keep dropping it one by one. That is until Ban gets it just as they pass by a creepy tree. One that even creeps Gwother out, which is rare. No one can say why other than it just is a freaky tree with weird branches.

Hey those thoughts are drowned away as Ban recites the vow...Except half way through ten the vows are no longer King's. The vows switch to those he told Elaine the last day he saw her as his eyes water. Just as he finishes he leans against the tree looking down where he sees a branch sticking out of the ground that looks like honey hand. The same one that belonged to Elaine all those years ago.

And slowly he slips it on the branch before kissing it picturing it as Elaine's hand giving her a finale kiss goodbye. This do course is when a few tears fall as his friends help him up to his get. King tries to comfort him walking away forgetting all about the ring until Gwother screams in terror, which is rare. Nothing scares Gwother ever after all.

Then they see the branch digging it's body out of the ground. The body of a boy who has been stabbed with a bag over his head who stands before them making them all freeze up for a few moments wondering what is happening. Then he rips the bag off his head showing the face we all Know belongs to Meliodas saying one chilling line,

"I do..."

~~~~~~~💍~~~~~~~~

When Ban wakes up he is in purgatory with souls who have died but have yet to move on, who are the demons in the anime. Yet, unlike in the anime they are just happy to be around and don't plan to kill anyone. And amongst them all is Meloidas, Ban's new husband who is just so excited to have someone to love him again.

Just like in the movie Ban freaks out that he's married to a corpse and demands to know who he is. This makes a soul move onto a musical number, which is just remains of the day, where we find out how Meloidas died.

He was the son of a rich merchant who fell in love with a beautiful women who's family was hated by his own. Meliodas asks his father for permission to marry her and gets a no. So he packed up some money, puts on his fathers tuxedo, steals his parents wedding rings and goes to run off with his women. Yet, turns out she didn't love him. Instead she just wanted money to run off with with her real boyfriend. So they knock Meliodas out and burry him alive, where he wakes up deader than a door nail a few hours later. Once he makes his way to the land of the dead and realizes what happened to him he decided he would rather stay in the ground where he was buried for the rest of time.

Yet, when Ban put that ring on his finger he made Meliodas feel something again. He made him feel joy and...well now Meliodas is back under with his friend ready to move on.

Ban upon finding out he married a corpse, runs off to try and find a way back up for his friends wedding. He just has too. He climbs every little building or stair case he can before breaking down, having a moment of silence on top of the highest balcony where Meliodas winds him with a box. Ban just ignores him for a bit, which he expects to be interrupted. Yet, mel just lets him sit there. He lets him think some more. He even waits for Ban to talk to him first.

Slowly Ban sits down near the tinier dead boy looking Star struck. How did this happen? Did he really marry a corpse?

"It's a lot to take in I know." Meliodas speaks up slowly.

"Yeah....yeah it is." Ban blurts out looking over the village of the dead. It some how seems more....alive then the normal world of the living.

"I...I shouldn't have dragged you here before explaining myself." Meliodas sighs.

"Yeah not gonna lie that would have helped." Ban sighs before looking at his more human looking face. Mel turns to face him and they make eye contact for the first time and Ban could have sworn he saw his eyes before. "Is there anyway to get back home? I have somewhere I need to be..."

"I...I...look all I can say is, I should have thought through my actions more..." Meliodas blurts out.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Well the underworld has a way out and in.."

"I mean obviously how else would I have gotten here..."

"Yeah the trouble is...Bel is it?"

"Ban actually."

"We'll Ban, you kinda have to be dead to go through the entrance back up..unless your a death mage....and I may...I may have trapped you here...."

"What?"

"Look I'm sorry-"

"HOW DID YOU NOT KNOW THIS?!"

"HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO KNOW! IT ISNT LIKE I HAVE HAD THIS HAPPENED BEFORE!!"

They just late at each other for a while before Meliodas sighs. "Look i..I know it's not much for trapping you here, but I..well I got you something..." he holds out the box he is holding.

"What? You trap me in the underworld-"

"Purgatory."

"Trapped where ever this is forever and give me a box! I don't want your damn gift!" He yells knocking the box to the ground, and out tumble some bones. He jumps back seeing their the bones of an animal that slowly start to reform into a Skelton dog. The same dog he had when he and Elaine first started doing out.

Ban finds his eyes shining as the dog jumps up on him giving him some nuzzled when something hits him. Something big.

Meliodas had gifted him a dog that died 6 years ago. A dog that had died before Elaine. Which meant, Elaine was here. She was somewhere here. He could see her again! He could say goodbye or even be with her forever.

"I know it's not muc-"

"Can you help me find Elaine?" Ban blurts out holding his Skelton dog close making eye contact with Meliodas.

"I...who?" Meliodas asks slowly crouching down to pat the dog, who just loves the attention.

"Elaine..she was my wife...."

"Oh-"

"I mean she was for less than a minute but I never got to say goodbye. It would mean the world to me if I got to see her even just one more time....would you know where she is?"

"I mean we had a girl two years ago who died on her wedding day but she moved all the way to the other side of the land of the dead to be a helper to the only death mage we have down here......but it's at least a three day journey.."Mel explains looking at his husbands face. Upon seeing the heart break in his eyes, he just sighs. He trapped him here as his husband, the least he could do is make him happy.

"I can pack my things and we can start our journey tonight...."

And from here the plot kind of goes like Shrek. They go on a three day journey to the other side of this realm. They journey trying to get there to find Elaine. And along the way slowly gain feelings for each other until they finally reach the mages home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~💍~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once at the mages house Ban makes a discover. Elaine has moved on. She moved on once she watched King get engaged, planning to see Ban again later. She moved on before Ban could learn a spell the revives the dead, giving their lungs breath once again depending on how long they have been dead.

And he's absolutely crushed. He never gets to see his wife again. He never gets to see his friend again. He is stuck here all because of Meliodas.

So they argue screaming at each other before Ban yells the only line anyone I know can remember about this movie. The way he says it goes like this.

"How was I supposed to kn-"

"I DONT KNOW YOU HAVE BEEN DEAD SO LONG I JUST FIGURED YOU KNEW!!"

"Ban, I have only been dead for like two month-"

"I DONT CARE IT IS YOUR FAULT IM HERE! THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!"

"Well maybe you should have thought about the consequences before you asked me to marry you!"

"Why CANT YOU GET IT THROUGH YOUR HEAD, IT WAS A MISTAKE I NEVER WOULD HAVE MARRIED YOU IF I KNEW IT WAS YOU!"

And with that Ban storms out to sulk leaving Meliodas sitting in there looking heart broken. While alone Mel discovers that ban technically isn't married to him. It's for two living people to marry, and with one dead it doesn't count. So he's just dragged Ban down here for no reason.

So melio sacrifices his love. He waits until Ban comes in before breaking an egg over his husbands head, whispering a spell to send him back to the land of the living leaving him alone for the rest of time.

~~~~~~~~💍~~~~~~~~~~~

Yet, Ban doesn't want that. He went in to apologize and tell Meliodas he made him feel again. And now here he is sitting on the bridge his husband kidnapped him from. He is standing here in shock before Diane rushes over hugging him tight followed by all their friends.

He's then dragged to the wedding of his friends telling them about his adventure..and realizing he just screwed up and odd sort of love. A love he might never seen again when he dies...after all he might not have any unfinished business and just move on.

Yet, now here he is helping his friend get married feeling numb all over again. All he wants to do is die and go applogize. Heck maybe even go put flowers on his body's site. Hèll maybe even take one of the photos he just walked by of him to snuggle with at nigh-wait what?

He rushes back over picking up the poster to see Mel on it. Mel is the missing rich boy Dian mentioned when he came to town. Mel has been missing for two months. Only two months. Which means the revival spell Ban learned can be used on him.

He can bring Meliodas back to life. He can give him another chance. It's all he can think about as Escanor asks what's wrong.

And with that he's off.

Ban rushes to the forest, friends hot in pursuit scared he's broken down again all the way to Meloidas's buried spot. Once there he starts the spell using his own blood, jsut two drops, for the blood to be used in the spell.

"What are you doing?" Diane panicked rushing to stop the bleeding.

"Stop! Stop please!" He yelled jerking back.

"Ban what's gotten into you?" Merlin asks trying to help.

"Please I just need to see him again! I need to see Mel again and aplogize! I need to make it up to him!" He screws crying a bit. Everyone freezes up before Diane asks what else he needs.

From here everyone helps with the spell, yet some think it's a odd way of moving on from Elaine. Maybe it's a figurative way to release her soul near a creepy branch or something.

At least that's what Diane things before the branch starts to grow skin and scratch at the ground making her scream. Everyone screams befroe Ban drops to his Knees trying to dig the hand up in a blind panic screaming that he needs help. Escanor drops near him, then Gwother, then king and soon Meliodas sits up clinging to Ban gasping for air.

He sits up as his flesh seems to regrow and his body pops back to the way it use to be. And with that he's back. Meliodas has been 100% revived in the arms of Ban. In the arms of his husband.

"Ban i-what did you do?" Mel blurts out.

"I brought you back."

"Why?"

"What?"

"Why? I thought you said you wouldn't have-"

"Mel...you made me feel again."

"What?"

"Ever since I lost Elaine I was numb. Nothing mattered. My whole world was grey and all that made me think was booze. It made me feel like I was floating. Other than that nothing else. Then you came...and you brought light back. You brought beauty back into my world. You showed me joy. You showed me fear. You showed me someone cared. And it made me feel alive again. So if I have to do a spell to revive you that may tie you to me forever so be it...I just want you here, next to me...if you'll have me..."

"Oh I-"

"OH BAN! That's so romantic!" Diane squeals tearing up making a Mel jump and blush seeing all those people. They all blush waving hi before Mel giggles.

"I see you have friends you weren't lying about..."

"Oh yeah! Mel these are my buds, and guys this is Mel my...my..."

"Husband. I'm his husband." Meliodas smiles kissing his cheek.

And with that kiss, they're together for a very long time. For the rest of their lives actually. The entire time as happy as can be...

(anybody have any other ideas for more corpse bride au’s?)

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likeawildthing · 3 years

Text

Not to be morbid on main, but everyone dies and people are rarely prepared for it. It’s so much easier when you know your loved one’s wishes. So even if you’re a teenager or twenty-three and healthy, I hope this helps you start thinking about end-of-life wishes, because it can happen to us all (both the dying and, rudely, being died upon).

Cremations are an affordable way to subvert the funeral industry, but going this route puts the burden of “the little things” on the family. I’ve learned a lot in the last 36 hours and wanted to pass those things that weren’t on any checklists, because the burden is on you to navigate the process.

Putting this under a cut because it’s so long (although not comprehensive). Obviously some of this is altered because COVID and some is meant to be applicable in some distant, theoretical future when we can go out to lunch again.

Before you die

Think about it, talk about it, write it down

Think about what kind of rememberance you want, if any. If it doesn’t matter, tell people that so they don’t fret about it and grieve in whatever way works best for them.

Communicate now to save your family and friends angst later.

Build an “in case of death” binder, zip drive, google doc with links, etc. Make sure your passwords are up to date so that’s not an administrative nightmare for your loved ones.

Advanced directives. Here’s a great article explaining the types of medical advanced directives and decisions to make before an accident or illness happens, including whether you want to donate your organs.

We lost grandma for about twenty minutes yesteday because we couldn’t find the paperwork and grandpa couldn’t remember where they signed up for services. Death. Binder. Have a death binder/folder/zip drive so no one loses grandma.

Insurance.

You likely have insurance through work, so consider that. It will also expire if you leave your job.

You can usually get, with minimal fuss, a 10- or 20-year term policy with enough to cover your arrangements and debts for less than $20 a month. Death expenses are anywhere from $5-$20k, conservatively.

Talk to your auto insurance agent and score a multi-line discount.

Body snatchers.

If you want to be cremated, talk to a local crematory beforehand and give them your basic information. It can be paid out of your estate (i.e. by your family or a life insurance policy) when it happens.

Most funeral homes (I believe) require pre-payment. It’s super morbid but there are TONS of heavily discounted grave sites for sale on Craigslist if that’s the route you want to go.

Here’s a list of certified green burial sites in the US.

Donating your body to science 101.

Memorial service.

The idea of a “proper” funeral is more or less out the window, especially in the time of COVID. Celebration of life? Religious ceremony (or not)? A picnic at your favorite park? Anything goes, so figure it out now.

When my sister-in-law died, we had a celebration of life at a non-profit who donated the space and had a poker tournament with her ash tin (she lost).

Whether you have strong or no preferences, write that down to guide decision-making.

Memorials.

Traditionally people would donate money in the event of a death to a charity, foundation, or family account, or flowers to a funeral home or church.

Family accounts (like for children) are traditionally done in care of the deceased’s bank but online fundraisers are a thing.

If you have a particular charity you love, add this to your list of wishes.

Food.

Before COVID it was pretty typical for there to be some kind of meal after a funeral. Will this be a restaurant?

This is ultimately up to the family but if you have strong preferences (i.e. no church or Italian food), tell people now.

Obituary.

Writing down the basic facts of your life, hobbies, and accomplishments you want included in your obituary means your family doesn’t have to do a guessing game.

Plants, animals, stuff, etc.

Do you want your clothes to go to a specific charity?

Do you NOT want your stuff to go to a specific charity? (Goodwill is terrible!)

Who will get your car (person, donate, sell)? Want to have your record collection to go one sister? Obviously family will divvy up stuff how they like, but write down any special considerations.

Have a plan for your pets (insurance, vet info, guardianship).

Please organize and digitize your photos if they aren’t already.

If you lose someone close:

Identify the primary griever

Support that person/those people by providing feedback when solicited, running errands as needed, and running interference so they aren’t inundated with all the little things.

Notifying people

Use the phone tree method. Great Aunt M will be happy to help by calling your cousins. Your boss, coworkers and HR. Your mom’s best friend/your adoptive aunt, your mom’s bunco group.

Ask that family not put anything on social media until the principal people are informed. I found out my grandpa died on facebook!

Esp these days, set boundaries for visits (who, where, and in what capacity).

Designate one person to be the primary contact for extended family to keep the burden off the primary griever(s).

Give this persons’ information when the first phone calls are made. It also makes sense for this person to be the travel coordinator.

This person should have a good handle on family dynamics (i.e. my aunt is flying in and would drive my grandma nuts so she’s staying with Mom).

This should be their only task because it’s time consuming.

Food

When people die, people gather, even in the time of COVID. Be responsible but expect a ton of drop by food. Clean out the primary griever’s fridge in anticipaton.

Organization

Start a shared family Google doc or sheet. Consolidate to do lists, anecdotes, important contact information, questions and inquiries, etc.

Pay to have the houses of anyone hosting (gatherings, people coming in from out of town, etc.) cleaned. Or, delegate. This can be an act of service for someone who wants to help and doesn’t mind doing the work.

Find the death binder (hopefully), legal documentation, etc. Get a folder or binder for papers if one doesn’t exist. And start a shared google doc for loved ones to track everything.

Delegate

I know I have said this three times, but it’s important. If you’re a primary decision maker do not be the primary do-er. My mom is the primary decision maker so my sisters and I are doing literally everything else.

Say YES when people ask if they can help you. Look at your running list of to-dos and say yes.

Pay to have the houses of people who are hosting cleaned. It will seriously be such a life saver, or this can be an act of service for someone who wants to help.

Social media

You will need to decide what to do with a person’s social media. Do you start a tribute page? Turn their facebook (if they’re old) into a tribute page for a time? Indefinitely? Things to think about.

Thank yous

Keep a running list of people to thank after via hand-written thank you notes. The link includes guidelines on

who should receive a thank you note (gave flowers, brought food, made donations, helped with arrangements or the service(s), did readings, or went well out of their way to warm your heart or show up)

when to send them (ideally 2-3 weeks after the funeral)

here’s how to write them (it doesn’t matter if you buy fancy, ones or dollar store ones, make sure they’re hand written).

Receipts.

Don’t be the petty biatch your cousins hate, but do save significant receipts to be reimbursed by the estate. (I.e. catering hundreds of dollars of food, paying $250 for programs and thank-you cards like I just did, etc.)

Service.

You will have a million decisions to make including

what kind of service to hold, if any

where to hold it

costs

hymns, readings, and anecdotes to share

who will be pall bearers, readers, vocalists, and give eulogies

Crematories handle cremation only, not the service details.

you will need photo boards (Hobby Lobby has nice black foamcore ones) or a powerpoint (and a way to display it depending on the venue)

a guest or memorial book

a card basket,

memorial cards, possibly programs, and thank you cards

Officiants, musicians, religious institutions, etc. all need to be paid (and tipped) for their time.

If we ever wrangle this pandemic, donating funeral flowers to a nursing homes is a fantastic way to brighten residents’ days.

Obituary.

Obituaries are expected, but traditionally costly ($200-$800). As part of the publishing fee, most newspapers keep the obituary on legacy.com indefinitely.

A funeral home will assist you with this, but the burden will be on you and your loved ones if using other methods.

These take hours to write and many hands does not make light work. Keep it to 2-4 key people. Having the facts laid out will help, and so will looking at other obituaries. I read a great tip which was to write about your loved one in present tense first, then change the tense before submission.

Newspapers will update your spelling and grammar but that’s about it. Cheaper alternatives:

Death notice which gives age, date and location of death, and who is handling funeral arrangements. Our crematory put in the death notice for us because they had her body, but the requirements on this likely vary state-to-state.

Here is a place to put a free online obituary.

Plants, animals, stuff, etc.

Save the plants and pets.

Household misc. are usually not dictated by the will, except in special circumstances or contested items. Closest members will go through possessions first. Voice early if you want something in particular, but understand that you may not get it. That’s ok.

Going through someone’s life is an overwhelming process. You may be repulsed and sad and overwhelmed and amused, all at the same time.

In deciding what to keep, as I’ve now cleared out three houses, I’ve found that quality over quantity is the way to go. The sweet spot? 1-2 sentimental + useful things. My great grandmother’s thimble and juicer? Use them all the time, and I remember her lemonade.

It’s okay to throw away some keepsakes and let things get thrown out or donated, depending on the thing.

Don’t give into guilt if you don’t want the china your Aunt Karen is pressuring you into taking when she doesn’t want it either.

Legal stuff.

If someone dies, there will be all kinds of legal things you will need to do (bank accounts, utilities, debtors, education, etc.), investments or 401k, etc.

This varies too much by state and circumstance to talk about in depth but there are guides to specifically help you.

If someone you love has lost someone they love

Do not give platitudes or ask if they’re ok

Don’t expect a response from someone grieving

Do send a card! It’s so thoughtful. I keep a stack of blank condolence cards and a set of forever stamps in my closet. It doesn’t have to be a $20 card to be special.

Don’t judge someone by how they grieve

Offer specific, actionable help if you’re close enough to give it

I am going to come over and clean at 10, leave the house unlocked

I’m at the store and am going to buy cheap vodka unless you tell me what kind of wine you want

oops I got you an uber eats gift card in your gmail sorry/not sorry

Buy thank you cards with stamps as a condolence gift, depending on the person and situation

Send a plant instead of a bouquet of flowers

Make a donation in the loved one’s name if you have the funds

If the grieving person is someone super close (best friend, sister, etc.) add the date in your recurring calender so you can check up on them this day next year with a card and/or phone call

#cw death #grief #end-of-life decisions

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ignorantarmiesclashbynight · 3 years

Text

Whumptober 2021 Day 30: digging your grave | major character death | left for dead | ghosts

He’s dug enough graves for these people already. It was something he could do—even if he hadn’t known any of them all that long—something to help ease the passing for the rest of them. Because he knows how hard it is to do for someone you love.

Two after Blackwater, Davey and Jenny, up in the snow. The ground had been frozen hard but he’d lit a fire and dug into the ashes. A day’s work with his injured hand, but he’d done it because he could see that no one else was in any state to do so. And then Arthur had come back with John all covered in blood and he’d wondered if he ought to start on a third.

But they were strong, this group, this family. It’s why he’d joined them. Not because of the grandeur of Dutch’s words, or the cleverness in Hosea’s eye, but because he could tell they cared about one another the way he’d rarely seen outside of his mother's tribe. They’d taken in the widow without a second thought. Buried her husband for her, too, on Dutch’s request—which is what makes Charles realise he chose the right people. And they might not be good people in the eyes of society but they had their own goodness—to each other, for each other—and maybe he was tired of being alone and wanted a part of that for himself.

And caring for someone means doing what you can to ease their pain, be that a kind word or digging a grave.

Next, it’s Sean. He can’t say he liked or disliked the man but no one deserves to die mid-sentence and it will never cease to terrify him how quickly a life can be snuffed out. Like a finger-snap.

Rhodes is littered with bodies that day and sometimes he wonders who buried them and where. Too many to fit in the graveyard. The utter senselessness of it—all because of some family grudge.

They build a cairn for the Irishman looking over Flat Iron lake. Karen is drunk before he’s in the ground but the reverend stays sober, stands tall, and says words that should feel empty but are spoken with a truth only family can feel.

And they might not be good people but they’re surrounded by worse. Pinkertons. Bronte. O’Driscolls...

He buries Kieran in a meadow where wild horses graze. He didn’t deserve what happened to him, either. And there’s no time for funerals these days—always running, fleeing, chasing—but he makes sure the grave is marked, at least. Plants herbs so it’ll bloom purple and white in the spring.

Something is starting to shift—like a scale, tilting too far—but revenge always seems to go that way, drawing you deeper into the mire.

And after a while all he can do is watch it splinter.

They are broken after the bank job. Lenny and Hosea gone. John taken. Dutch and the others disappeared. Sadie and Susan take the lead, holding everyone together, and Charles does what he can. He’s known them long enough and close enough now to feel the depth of the grief that runs through them all. Through his own heart. And so, when Susan asks for help laying Lenny and Hosea’s bodies to rest, there’s not a second’s hesitation.

He and Sadie steal a wagon and raid the morgue, riding as far north of Saint Denis as they can before sunrise. Two graves beneath a shady tree, side by side. The earth is soft here in the marshland, and it doesn’t take long, but by the time they’re done they’re covered in mud and too exhausted to do much more than sit in the muck and watch the sky turn pink over the ocean.

They come back to set headstones later, with the others, to speak the proper words, but it's not enough. Charles had seen a real future for Lenny—so clever, so bright, with a goodness that ran right to the bone. And Hosea, who’d known his future was short, but never let it embitter him. Always kind, to the end. The other side of Dutch’s scale, keeping them in balance. And perhaps that’s where it all starts to tip over.

He tries his best. Tries to help those that need helping. But when the road forks he knows which way he has to go. And trusts that Arthur will help the rest.

He misses the worst of it, and by the time he makes it back to Beaver Hollow it’s all over. He finds Susan by the cave, wraps her in the wagon canvas and rides a while, numb and empty and alone, to find a place that feels right. He chooses a ridge high above Elysian pool, by a crooked tree. He’s not sure why. Somewhere she can look out over the rest of them—always trying to look out for her flock, trying to keep everyone together.

He reads about the shootout in the paper. Reads the list of the dead. Those who escaped, those who fell. He climbs the mountain, follows the scuffed tracks, the scattered bullet shells, the blood.

He’s dug enough graves for these people but this one is the worst.

Arthur looks so peaceful he considers leaving him there—covering him with stone and shale until he becomes a monument—but then he remembers what the man once said, about facing west, and he knows just the place.

It’s quiet up here. Out of the way. So high in the Grizzlies it feels as if he’s overlooking half the country. He’s careful to disturb as little of the land as possible so the wildflowers can creep back over the grave and cover it with red blossoms. Sets a stone so there's no forgetting for those who knew his name. Because those who knew him, knew what he did.

Up here it’s pure sky and the sunset spreads wide and full, like some golden bird spreading its wings, like it might be the last time the light ever touches the earth. And he lets himself crumble, finally, into the fresh-dug dirt. Because even though he’s known it was all coming to an end for a while now, he wasn’t prepared for the ending. Wasn’t prepared to say goodbye.

And he’s dug more than enough graves but this is the one he leaves tears on.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Cool. Made myself cry. Do I get a prize?

Also on AO3

#whumptober2021 #no.30 #digging your grave #major character death #left for dead #ghosts #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #fic #grief #mourning #arthur morgan #charles smith

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daveyjacobss · 4 years

Text

skeletons in the bathroom

racetrack higgins x reader

summary: it’s spooky season, and is there anything scarier than having to confront and admit your feelings for one of your closest friends? (or, in which y/n is helping race get ready for a halloween party and desperately trying not to think about how much she wants to kiss him.)

a/n: i did it!! a halloween fic out for october 2020!! sorry it’s so late in the month, life has been very hectic with an overload of assignments and plenty of politics induced stress. anyway this is unedited so sorry in advance but i hope you like it :)

masterlist

__________

This had been such a bad idea. Why on earth had she agreed to this? What kind of astounding lack of brain cells had led to her saying yes to attending her own goddamn funeral?

"Albert, you would leave flowers at my grave, wouldn't you?" She turned to look at him just in time to see him roll his eyes. Jojo and Finch, sitting across from them at their table in the library, both stared at her with equally confused and amused expressions.

"Y/N if you tell me you're gonna die one more time, I'll literally kill you myself." Albert fixed her with a halfhearted glare, brushing his hair out of his face. She groaned and dropped her head down on top of her arms, resting lazily in the tabletop. Jojo laughed quietly at her, but she didn't have the heart to give him a death stare in return.

"Out of curiosity," Finch started, effectively abandoning his work, "what kind of flowers would you want?" She lifted her head, pursing her lips in concentration as she thought the question over.

"I don't know, either something really pretty or something ridiculously dramatic." Albert sighed beside her, finally putting his pencil down. Jojo had stopped actually trying to get work done a half hour prior. "Like, some pretty marigolds or daisies would be cool, ya know? But, also, a single red rose would have a very nice effect." Jojo nodded along with her.

"What about black dahlias?" He asked. Y/N perked up at that.

"Oh, yes! Definitely achieving that she-was-probably-murdered-and-the-killer-is-leaving-flowers vibe." She high fived Jojo while Finch shook his head at them. Albert hit her from her right side—lightly, but she let out a loud "ow!" anyway.

"Can you stop moping and acting like you're gonna die? You're the one who got yourself into this mess." She went back to being miserable immediately, groaning again for effect.

"Will someone please explain why she's dying?" Finch asked, directed more at the other two boys than at Y/N. Albert rolled his eyes again.

"Race asked her to do his makeup for his skeleton costume before the party tonight and she said yes, but now she thinks she's gonna die when she does it." He punctuated his words with a pointed look at her which effectively communicated all of his exasperation as well as the sentiment he had been expressing to her for almost two years, that she should just go for it and ask Race out. She ignored it completely.

"I am going to die!" She threw her hands in the air for dramatic effect, giving Finch and Jojo her best 'I'm in despair' look. "I'm gonna have to be ridiculously close to his face—and his lips—for way too long! I'm gonna either go insane and launch myself out the fucking window or die of embarrassment."

All three boys laughed at her. Insulted, she crossed her arms over her chest and pouted at them.

"Y/N, it'll be fine," Finch said, pretending to wipe tears from his eyes. "Anyway, why can't you just ask him out already and not have to deal with the funeral arrangements?" She offered him her best deadpan stare.

"C'mon, Y/N," Jojo chimed in. "What's the worst that can happen?"

"Oh no, don't get her started," Albert groaned.

"The worst that could happen? Are you kidding?" She looked at them incredulously. "Well, for starters, I could tell him I like him and then he could be disgusted because why would he ever like me back when he's him and I'm me, and then, because he was your friend first and things are super awkward between me and him, we drift apart, and then I lose all of my friends and I die alone with no one to leave black dahlias on my grave in order to entertain my dramatics." Finch blinked, staring at her with wide eyes as if he couldn't quite believe what he had just heard.

"Hold on," Jojo spoke up again, face contorted with anger. "He would not be disgusted. Even if he didn't like you back, which he does—"

"Does not," she grumbled.

"Does too," they all answered in unison.

"He wouldn't be mean about it," Jojo continued.

"And we wouldn't stop being your friends," Albert added.

"Plus, even if we suddenly become arch enemies I'm totally still leaving black dahlias on your grave for dramatics," Finch grinned, winking at her. That got her to laugh a little, smiling back at him.

"I just..." She sighed, her shoulders slumping. "I don't want to ruin anything, and I don't want everything to change between us. I'm fine being his friend, that's enough for me. It's just hard to keep my feelings in check when he gets too close to me." Her eyebrows furrowed while she fidgeted with her fingers, not liking how vulnerable she felt while telling all of them that. Albert's arm slid around her shoulders, bringing her into his side. It was awkward and uncomfortable leaning across the gap between their chairs, but she enjoyed the comfort anyway.

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to," he said gently. "You have our support either way." Jojo and Finch nodded, both smiling encouragingly at her. She smiled back at them, moving to gather up all of her papers. The boys followed suit, shoving everything back in their backpacks.

"Thank you," she said quietly just as they were all pushing their chairs in.

"Anytime," Albert grinned brightly, throwing his arm around her again and leading them out of the building. A wind blew as they walked out into the October sun, sending a chill through her body and causing her to lean into Albert's body for warmth. They all started walking in the direction of their on-campus apartments, pointing out the most colorful trees and joking about the upcoming party with easy smiles.

"Speak of the devil," Jojo muttered from behind her. She went to turn back to look at him and ask what he meant, but Albert pulled her more securely against him and she laughed.

"Hey guys!" Finch called out, waving wildly. She looked in the direction he was facing and saw Race walking in the opposite direction with Romeo across the street from them. She felt heat rush to her face automatically, lifting her hand in a small wave while sporting a shy smile. Albert and Jojo waved enthusiastically with Finch, receiving an equally energetic wave from Romeo and a small wave from Race. Y/N tilted her head in confusion, frowning. Race never missed the chance to make an ordeal out something as small as seeing his friends across the street, was something wrong? No one else seemed concerned, though, and their small group kept moving. If anything, Finch and Jojo seemed amused, snickering quietly behind her and Albert.

They parted to go to their respective apartments, all three boys giving Y/N a hug goodbye. She took full advantage of their attempts at comfort, holding them tightly and burying her head in their chests. Once she was back in her apartment, her roommates thankfully back home for the weekend, she dropped her bag on the floor and took a deep breath. Race was set to come over a little while later to get ready for the party, that left her some time to clean up a little. He wouldn't care if the apartment was dirty, but she couldn't get rid of the urge to make sure the counters were decluttered and the bathroom where she would be doing his makeup smelled nice. Plus, at least it would give her something to do to distract herself from her ever growing anxiety.

She was definitely going to die.

__________

Race was ten minutes late, but Y/N had already figured he would be when his "omw" text didn't come until a minute after he was supposed to be at her apartment. He grinned at her when she opened the door, arms (adorably) holding the straps of his backpack that she assumed was carrying his costume.

"I wasn't sure if you would want me to put on the costume before or after the makeup," he said as he walked in. "So I just brought it to change into." She liked the way he looked so comfortable in her apartment, facing her casually with his hair messy from the wind. She smiled softly at him, unable to contain her ever present joy at seeing him.

"Before, definitely. If you put it on after you might mess your face up." He nodded, already shrugging his bag off his shoulder.

"Your room okay?" He asked, gesturing in the direction of her bedroom.

"'Course. Just don't mess with anything in there." She playfully pointed a finger at his chest and he laughed as he moved into her room and closed the door behind him. She walked into the bathroom, taking deep breaths and trying to tell herself everything would be okay. Her and Race were friends, and she was perfectly capable of helping him with his Halloween makeup like a normal person. Maybe. Hopefully. Kinda. Probably not. God, she was hopeless.

He found her in the bathroom obsessively reorganizing the makeup, dressed in his full skeleton getup. She smiled when she saw him in it, happy that he hadn't picked something with a good that would have concealed his beautiful curls. With his lanky stature and gangly limbs, the costume worked perfectly for him. He grinned back at her, doing a little shimmy that made her laugh.

"You like?" He wiggled his eyebrows at her and she shook her head in a amusement.

"It looks good," she confirmed, their usual joking banter hindered by her nerves. "We should get started so we have enough time, I still need to get changed and finish my makeup, too." She patted the bathroom counter and he followed her hand, hoisting himself up so he was sitting on the counter facing her, swinging his legs.

She tried not to think too hard as she started on his face, going in with a layer of white before anything else. She could feel his breath on her wrist, but she tried not to think about it. Thinking about it meant her own breath would hitch and then, because their faces were so close, he would notice. She brought a hand up to his jaw to steady his face and resolutely did not think about how easy it would be to pull him to her and kiss him.

Part of her wanted to listen to the boys. She wanted to say fuck it and tell him how she felt about him. She wanted to flirt with him while she had him at her mercy like this, wanted to lean in and put a hand on his thigh for balance just to see how he would react. She wanted to know if his breathing would change, if his heart would skip a beat, if he would look at her with wide eyes or if he would simply smirk and carry on. Or maybe he wouldn't do anything, because it would nothing but a meaningless gesture to him. But, god, she wanted to try. And she wanted to kiss him so badly.

Still, the other part of her triumphed. The part that told her he didn't feel the same way about her, that to him she was just a good friend and if she went and did something stupid she would ruin that.

She asked him to close his eyes and he did so obediently. She took the chance to look at his lips while he wouldn't be able to notice, realizing how quiet he'd been the whole time so far. Once his face was fully covered with white he opened his eyes and she took a small break, giving herself some time to calm down her erratic heart beat. He kicked his legs out again without her standing in front of him to block them.

"So," he started, staring down at his feet instead of looking at her. She tilted her head slightly, waiting for him to continue. "You and Albert, huh?" Her eyebrows furrowed and she stopped short as she went to grab a brush, paused in confusion. "What's going on there?"

"What do you mean?" She asked, trying to laugh to diffuse whatever tension had just overtaken the room but only managing a nervous chuckle.

"You two looked pretty cozy earlier, outside. Do I gotta start preparing myself for you to be acting all gross and couple-y whenever we go out now?" His voice sounded strained, like he was trying to force the question to be casual. She figured it was because he was upset Albert and her wouldn't tell him something like—which, they totally would if that was at all a possibility. Which it wasn't. The whole idea was so ridiculous a strangled laugh bubbled out of her throat.

"Oh, god no. There is nothing romantic happening between me and Albert." She looked down at her hands, avoiding having to look at his face. "No, it was just cold, you know? And he was trying to comfort me because I was upset." Suddenly he was there, standing in front of her. He gently tilted her chin up to look at him and used his other hand to grab hers.

"Babe, what's wrong? Are you okay?"

She was going to cry. She was going to burst into tears, standing in her own bathroom with Race's touch overwhelming her senses. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that he was so handsome and funny and kind and loving. It wasn't fair that whenever he looked at her she felt like no one else existed. It wasn't fair that she couldn't breathe with his hand still resting just under her chin. And the universe was just playing dirty having him call her babe like it was nothing, like it didn't make her heart swell in her chest. Like it didn't absolutely break her. She was definitely gonna cry, her eyes already watery.

His concern only seemed to increase when he saw the distraught look on her face. He tried to take another step toward her but she moved backward, detaching herself from his hands. She breathed deeply, running her hands through her hair as she tried to keep herself from sobbing. He looked so worried—so sad—and it just wasn't fair.

"I'm—" Her words got caught on the lump in her throat. "It's nothing, really. I'm just being dumb." He looked at her disbelievingly.

"Y/N c'mon, you're clearly upset, let me—" He cut himself off at the way she back away from him again while he reached out, hurt flashing across his face. "Here, why don't we just skip out on the party? I'll stay here with you and we can watch old Disney Halloween movies or something." She wanted that so bad, she wanted that more than anything she had ever wanted. But she couldn't, it would only hurt her more.

"No," she sniffled, regaining her composure. "No, you should go. I might stay back, I dunno. But I don't wanna keep you from having fun."

"Hey." His voice was soft, the corners of his lips turning upwards just slightly. He was so beautiful she could have died over it. "I always have fun with you, party or not. If you don't go, I don't go."

"God, Race. You can't just—you can't say things like that." She huffed while he blanched in confusion. "It's not fair."

"What? I don't—"

"Listen, I'll finish your makeup, yeah? And then we'll go to the party and we can pretend like this never happened. Okay?" He nodded mutely, slowly positioning himself back on the counter. The concern wasn't gone from his eyes and his mouth was set in a frown, but he complied.

Not crying was a constant effort the entire time she finished his skeleton makeup. She felt her lip quiver at more than one point and Race's eyes kept darting down toward it. She did her best to keep it steady, not wanting him to see her cry. He had seen her cry before, of course, over classes and movies and the like, but there was a special kind of shame associated with him seeing her cry over him.

It wasn't until after she was done that he spoke up again. "Do you not want to be alone with me?" He asked it so quietly she was sure it must not have come from him, used to his loud, boisterous voice. Her heart broke all over again.

"That's not it, Race. You know that, right? It's not your fault I'm upset." It wasn't, really. If she was going to blame anyone it would all be on herself.

"What, then?" The joking tone was back in his voice, clearly trying to diffuse the tension and brighten the mood. "Too afraid you won't be able to control yourself around me?" Yes. "I know you'd love to jump these bones." She laughed despite herself, playfully hitting his arm. Her reaction made him smile again, and she was glad. He always knew how to cheer her up.

It only took a little while longer for her to change into her costume (just a regular witch in shades of black and purple) and put on her makeup. Race watched her as she put on her dark lipstick, making her nervous and subsequently causing her hands to shake, but she made it through alright.

They left just a bit before the party was supposed to start, Y/N shivering in the cold air as they walked. Race glanced at her a few times, seemingly conflicted, before cautiously wrapping an arm around her. She leaned into his touch and he gripped shoulder more firmly, pulling her into his side. When they stopped to let a car go by she turned to him and wrapped both her arms around him, basking in his warmth. Race was like a heater, generating warmth from the day she met him. He returned her embrace, rubbing her back soothingly.

"Are you sure you're okay?" He mumbled into her ear. A shiver went down her spine at his voice so close to her ear, but she nodded, holding him tighter. They were later to the party then they should've been, having spent a good amount of time in that embrace. It had made her heart all fluttery, not to mention the way it did somersaults every time Race looked at her for the rest of the walk (which was a lot, he must have been really worried).

She expected him to split off once they entered, going to look for some of his other friends, but he stuck by her side. It made her smile, the butterflies in her stomach going wild. They went to grab drinks together and ran into Finch.

"Hey!" He smiled dopily, clearly a little tipsy already. "The makeup looks great," he gestured at Race's face. "And you two look so cute together." Heat rushed to Y/N's face as she quickly took a sip of her drink in order to avoid having to respond. Race simply laughed.

"Yeah, Y/N did an awesome job, right? I knew she would, though. I could feel it in my bones." Y/N groaned and Finch cringed.

"That was awful, dude." Race grinned proudly anyway, waving as Finch left to go back to the friends he was with.

"Did you pick this costume just so you could make bad jokes?" Y/N turned to face Race, raising an eyebrow. He winked, which was all the answer she needed. She wanted to give some sort of sarcastic remark in return, but the wink made her giggle nervously. He seemed content with her response all the same.

About three thousand skeleton jokes later (he had literally greeted Davey by saying "bonejour." Davey had promptly turned around and left the two of them without saying a word), Y/N and Race were sat on the couch together, chatting amicably. She felt better with a bit of alcohol in her veins and a few buckets of false hope from the fact that Race hadn't tried to leave her side once the whole time they'd been there.

"You're such an idiot," she laughed uncontrollably as he relayed a story about him following a squirrel across campus the week prior.

"What can I say?" He grinned cheekily. Her smile dropped.

"Don't you dare—"

"I'm a bonehead." He knocked on his head for good measure.

"Okay that's it, I'm leaving." She moved as if to get up before Race reached out to grab her arm.

"Y/N, no!" He managed to get out through his laughter. "Don't leave me bonely!" She stared at him in disbelief.

"You're the worst," she groaned as she let him pull her back into her seat next to him.

"But you love me anyway." He poked her side and she looked at his face. The makeup looked good, she had to admit, but she wished it had been able to mask his face better. Because looking at his face was still looking at his face, makeup or no makeup, and she had a bad habit of getting caught up in looking at his face. His features seemed to tense, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed harshly. "Drinks!" He said suddenly, breaking their staring contest and practically jumping out of his seat. "I'm gonna go get us more drinks." She nodded, eyebrows furrowed as she watched him scurry off. That had certainly been strange.

"Fancy seeing you here." She turned to see Albert falling into Race's spot beside her, grinning around his own drink.

"Hey," she smiled, adjusting her witch hat.

"You and lover boy work things out yet?" She punched his arm and he gaped at her.

"Shut up," she hissed. "It's not gonna happen, let it go." He rolled his eyes.

"You sure? Because, from what I've seen, he hasn't stopped staring at you all night." She glared at the redhead, pouting.

"Stop giving me hope, asshole. It just makes this worse."

"Makes what worse?" She looked up to find Race standing in front of them, two drinks in hand. She took one from him with a smile.

"Nothing," she shook her head. "Albert's just being annoying."

"Isn't he always?" Race asked with a smirk the same time that Albert said "hey!" Deciding this would be her best chance at payback for teasing her about her crush on Race, she pushed Albert off the couch. Race laughed loudly, stepping over his friend to return to his seat. She smiled brightly at him and he grinned back, bumping her shoulder with his. She had to take a drink to stop the flustered laughter from escaping her throat.

"You two suck," Albert groaned from their feet. It only made them laugh more, still giggling even as Albert stood up grumpily and walked away without saying goodbye.

"Your costume looks really good, by the way." She turned to Race, her smile faltering. "I didn't tell you earlier, but I like it." He said it so earnestly, looking right into her eyes. The only thing she could think of was hoping the boys were ready with those black dahlias, because she was a total goner.

"Thank you," she said softly, lost in his gaze. She thought about them in the bathroom, how she had wanted to put her hand on his thigh just to see how he would react. Thinking of what Albert had said and taking another gulp of her drink, she did just that. She leaned forward and put her hand on his thigh to steady herself. He froze. It was hard to tell over the noise of the party, but she thought she might have heard his breath hitch. She couldn't look away from him, her eyes once again finding his lips.

"You spent so long on this makeup," he muttered. "And it looks really cool." She tilted her head in confusion.

"Huh?"

"I really don't wanna ruin it. I'm sorry."

"Why would you—"

But then he kissed her, so no question she could have asked mattered anyway. He was kissing her. Oh, Albert was gonna laugh so hard when he heard about this.

She kissed him back fervently, one of her hands tangling in the curls at the back of his head while the other remained on his thigh to keep herself steady. One of his hands rested lightly on her waist, squeezing just slightly, while the other caressed her jaw. It felt like in the bathroom earlier that night when he had tilted her chin to look at him, but so much better.

He pulled back before she was ready, eyes still closed as she unconsciously chased his lips. She opened her eyes to see his makeup smudged and definitely some her lipstick on his lips, a warm feeling settling in her chest. But his mouth was pulled into a frown and it sobered her quickly. He was pulling at his hair, his eyes wide with panic and sorrow.

"I'm sorry," he panted. "You're upset, I shouldn't have done that. I've been trying to cheer you up and now I've, like, totally taken advantage of you when you're vulnerable and—"

"Race." He looked at her, face practically begging for forgiveness. She reached for his hands with a small smile. "You're not taking advantage of me. I was only upset because I thought I didn't have a chance with you." She shrugged slightly, averting her eyes. He gaped at her.

"You didn't have a chance with me? Are you kidding?" He tightened his grip on her hands, pulling himself closer to her. "Y/N, I've been pining after you since, like, the day we met. You're ridiculously out of my league." She looked at him with wide eyes, meeting his gaze. They both broke out into grins at the same time before she was leaning in again and he was following.

He tasted like candy and alcohol and she couldn't have asked for anything better. They slid closer to each other on the couch until her hands were clasped together behind his neck, playing with his curls, and his were holding her waist. She couldn't get enough of him. She didn't think she would ever get enough of him. They were both breathing heavily when they pulled away again, foreheads resting against each other.

"You know," Y/N breathed. "If that whole 'just the two of us spending the night at my apartment and watching old halloween movies' offer is still on the table...." He laughed quietly, his head falling to the crook in her neck.

"Definitely still on the table." He pressed a light kiss to her neck and she was dragging him into a standing position immediately, fully ready to get away from all the other partygoers. She wouldn't be able to handle it if his hands wandered any further than they had already gone, she needed time to breathe and process—preferably away from the crowd.

He held her hand and lead her through the sea of people to the front door. Jojo caught sight of them as they made their way out and, presumably seeing their joint hands and messed up makeup, whooped at them. Y/N laughed and Race stuck his tongue out at his friend.

"Which movie do you wanna watch first?" She asked as they walked back, holding onto his arm and leaning into his side.

"Oh, definitely Halloweentown." She smiled, pulling him in for another kiss. He chuckled when they pulled apart. "You know, I would say a skeleton pun right now, but I don't have the guts to ruin this moment."

"Oh my god, Race."

__________

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#racetrack higgins x reader #racetrack higgins #newsies #newsies imagine #race x reader #newsies x reader #race higgins #finch #jojo de la guerra #albert dasilva #happy halloween :)#as always come tell me what you think!!#racetrack x reader #bambi can kinda write

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thepartyresponsible · 4 years

Text

two separate anons asked for a phil coulson/jason todd fic with the prompt: “what would you do if I didn’t come back?” and since that question is pretty much at the heart of this ship, i thought that was perfect.

so here’s an au where jason is a very strong psychic and phil is a human mute button.

---

When people ask, Jason tells them that there’s nothing special about his bloodlines, nothing remarkable about his family. He tells them it’s a function of where he’s from, not who he is. Anyone from Gotham can sense trouble. Jason’s just a bit better at it than most.

The truth is, he’s an orphan nobody cared enough to track, and so he’s got no fucking clue who his family is. Maybe he comes from a whole line of physics. Maybe he’s the only one. It doesn’t matter in the end, because, either way, he’s been alone since his foster mom overdosed when he was twelve.

He hadn’t known, at that time, what he was sensing. He’d smelled danger plenty, but death was something new.

Carnations and lilies and fresh dirt and rot. He smelled it everywhere when the Joker was killing him. He smells it now.

“No,” he hears, distant, faded-out. “No, he’s not dangerous to me. I need to get in there. He needs me in there.”

Grave dirt and old blood and fresh flowers. It’s everywhere, so thick he could choke on it. Might choke on it. Might die, breathing in death.

“I don’t care what he did to the guards. The guards aren’t me. Move.”

There’s the hiss and clatter of a heavy metal door opening, and Jason’s on his feet, bloody hands clenched into fists, jaw hinged like he’s going to bite out throats, and, when he breathes in, it’s antiseptic.

Soap and ink and paper.

There’s nothing. There isn’t---

“Jason.” And that’s a voice he almost recognizes. He’s too keyed-up to look anybody in the eyes, doesn’t want to read them more than he has to, can’t even look above this guy’s well-shined shoes.

But when he breathes in, the sterile clean of rubbing alcohol is smothering out the scent of death. He sucks at the air like he’s coming back from drowning, drags it in over his teeth.

“Jason,” the voice says, calmer now. Reassuring. Clinical, almost, but in a way that says everything’s under control.

“Phil?” Jason asks, because the name feels right in his mouth.

His brain is stretched, staked down in a pit of hell, and he’s pulling against it, trying to leash himself to the world he’s in. There’s grave dirt and printer toner, rotting blood and hospital soap.

“I know,” Phil says. “We didn’t expect Scarecrow.”

“Careful,” someone says. “He’s--”

Jason snarls toward the voice, teeth bared toward steel-toed boots, and he steps around Phil, puts himself between them.

“He’s fine,” Phil says. “Back off.”

The boots retreat, and the door closes, and the room fills up with the smell of office supplies and first aid kits.

“Are you steady?” Phil asks. “Do you want an anchor?”

The problem with high-levels like Jason is that, when they’re really brain-blown, even ones and twos can set them off. Sure, he can read a threat from three miles out and a mind from four floors away, but he also can’t stop reading once he’s touching skin-to-skin. Break the touch barrier, and, even with low-levels, his brain just drinks and drinks until he drowns.

It takes a null to anchor him, and true zeros are hard to find. Almost as rare as he is, at least in the adult population. Most nines don’t live past puberty, not in any shape you’d really call alive.

Jason has an idea in his head that this is something he’s allowed, that this is Phil’s job somehow. But he’s had too many minds in his head today, too many memories and lives and thoughts. Everything from the last ten years is smeared; he doesn’t know whose life belongs to him.

And nulls are rare. Important.

There’s blood on Jason’s hands, on his shirt. He’s covered in dried, cooled sweat.

Even from here, he feels steadier. He can’t smell death anymore. Ink, antiseptic. He breathes in, closes his eyes. It’s enough; it has to be.

“Jason,” Phil says. “I’m worried about you. I want the doctors to look at you, but I need you steady enough not to stab anyone else.”

Jason doesn’t like stabbing people when his brain’s torn open like this. He feels it, too, is the problem. Stabs and is stabbed, gives and takes the pain.

He feels it when he hurts people, and he feels it when he scares them. Feels it when he’s a danger to them.

He got scared too much too early, that’s what his SHIELD file says. His brain is hyperaware of danger, translates it into sensory input to ensure his focus. He literally smells danger. And grave dirt and lilies and rot, he knows what that means.

It’s him.

The threat he’s been caught on for hours is himself, reflected from the dozen or so minds in the building around him. They cleared the building to the skeleton crew, and he still can’t pull himself out of their brains, can’t stop sensing how dangerous he is to them.

He’s vibrating between minds. Tastes coffee from three floors up, someone who likes their mochas with extra whipped cream. Arthritic wrists in the basement, someone going through files. Resentment from a man reading a text from an ex-wife, a woman daydreaming about Belize. Boredom, and wariness, and round after round of fucking Candy Crush beating against the backs of his eyes.

Dirt and dead bodies and funeral flowers and other peoples’ thoughts like razorwire floss sawing through every plan he tries to make.

And then the emptiness of clean hallways personified, the reassuring blankness breathing in the room with him. A null, right there. A quiet, still pool that could stop the flickering, fluttering madness of being hooked into a dozen minds at once.

“Jason,” Phil says, again. “Do you want an anchor? You can come down alone if you want, but I’d like to help.”

“Yes,” Jason says. Because he does, because Phil asked. “Please,” he says, because it’s a ludicrous thing to ask for, an impossibility. A brain-trashed stray from Gotham’s back alleys, trying to put his bloody hands on a null, what the fuck. “Please, could you just fucking—for a second, would you--”

“Here,” Phil says, and he sounds – ridiculously – almost relieved as he brings his hands up, slides his fingers into Jason’s hair, presses his palms directly over Jason’s temples.

Everything goes silent. His mind snaps back under his skin like a rubber band breaking. He breathes out, and he’s alone in his mind, alone in his skin, at home where he belongs.

He’s Jason Todd. SHIELD found him wandering the streets of Gotham with splinters in his hands from digging out of his own coffin. He’d lit up the area with his misery, and they’d brought Clint in to counter him and Phil to neutralize him.

They hadn’t killed him. All the reason in the world to do it, and they hadn’t. It took a dozen of SHIELD’s high-levels to bring his brain back from where it wandered, but they did it. Made him useful again. Let him work.

“Fuck,” Jason says, tipping forward until he can rest his forehead against Phil’s. “Jesus fucking Christ, that was a bad trip.”

“I’m sorry,” Phil says. His hands are still in Jason’s hair. “We had no idea Scarecrow was in the area.”

Scarecrow’s a five with narrow range. Feels fear like a rollercoaster, all thrill and no threat. He makes his toxin to scare people; the fact that it boosts psychic sensitivity is just a bonus to him.

Nines rarely make it to adulthood, but the world counts its registered tens in single digits. Jason can see why they tend not to survive.

“Can I,” Jason says, shifting a little. “I need to, Phil. Can I just--”

“Yes,” Phil says. “Of course. What do you need?”

Jason drops his face to Phil’s neck, breathes in. Soap and toner, hand sanitizer and aloe vera. No threat, no risk. No thought-bleed at all.

Jason feels raw inside his own skull, mind over-stretched. Phil’s hands, the skin of his neck, it’s like rolling his thoughts into a heavy blanket of fog, letting all the details from a hundred lives he’s never lived fade away.

“How long was I gone?” Jason asks.

Phil hums, and Jason can feel the vibration of it against the skin of his cheek. “It’s been twelve hours since you dropped off comms,” he says. “An evac team found you five hours ago. There was a level two agent present. She kept you grounded long enough to get you to containment, but a medic got a bit inquisitive during transport.”

“Stabbed him,” Jason says. He remembers. He felt the knife cutting skin, a warning slash to the forearm.

“Only a little,” Phil says. He smiles when he says it, and Jason’s not looking at his face, can’t read his mind, but he knows it anyway.

Phil’s careful about things like this. About touching Jason like this. Nulls work best with skin-to-skin contact, and he’s had to anchor Jason before, but it’s always been a hand on Jason’s shoulder, or the back of his neck. Or, after particularly bad missions, he’ll sit at Jason’s bedside down in Medical and lace their fingers together.

It’s always been enough. Before this exact moment, it’s been the best thing Jason’s ever felt.

“Lost me for seven hours, Phil,” Jason says. He should pull back. He knows that. The problem with low levels is that, sometimes, you can hurt or scare or bully them without knowing. Phil could be uncomfortable, and Jason wouldn’t know it at all.

But Phil doesn’t push him away. His fingers slide deeper in Jason’s hair. He’s holding him closer.

“Not a record I wanted to push,” Phil says. “We would’ve found you sooner, but we were looking in Gotham. Apparently, after Scarecrow dosed you, you immediately stole a bike and went to D.C.”

Of course he did. He can’t remember it now, probably won’t ever remember it clearly. But he can understand why he did it. He knows damn well why, as he started to lose control, his only instinct was to run back to where Phil Coulson lives.

“Weird,” Jason says. “That’s so weird, Phil. You know I hate this place.”

“And yet,” Phil says, with a heavy, exasperated sigh, “you have never gone missing here. This makes—what? Three strikes in Gotham?”

Jason laughs. He doesn’t believe for a second that Phil doesn’t know exactly how many times he’s gone missing. He’s sure there’s a list Phil keeps somewhere, painstakingly updated, with all the relevant and seemingly irrelevant details charted and graphed and tracked.

Phil doesn’t like it when Jason goes missing. Even when it’s intentional. Even when Jason goes through the whole surreal process of requesting vacation time.

If he drops out of contact for too long, Phil finds him. Every time.

“What would you do, Phil?” And Jason moves back for this, because it feels important, feels like something he should watch. “If I went missing for good? What would you do if I didn’t come back?”

Phil looks at him, intent and focused, serious. “I would find you,” he says.

Jason went missing once. Bruce went looking too late. Didn’t find him until after it was over, until after Jason felt the crowbar hit and felt the way Joker enjoyed it, choked on his fear and the Joker’s glee while the timer counted down.

Phil’s hands in his hair are anchors keeping his mind in his skull, and the skin at the base of his neck is a mute button on the world, making everything quiet and calm. His mouth, when Jason leans in to kiss him, feels like something else entirely.

Feels clean and electric, feels like a promise meant to keep.

#writing #fic #fill

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jack-is-lost · 3 years

Note

If you made your own, perfect, self indulgent film, or series, what would it be about, look like and what details would be essential?

Hmm, hard to say, really. I feel I’ve pondered over something similar in the past, which resorted to more fanfiction ideas, but I never delved too deep. Besides, what I might reply with now could evolve into an entirely different indulgent weeks, months, or a year from now. I’ll do my best to answer, though! Fair warning topics of death, and all that comes with it, are mentioned.

First, due to my unhealthy obsession, it would be supernatural-themed. Most likely a world where they are coexisting with humans, the average beings, but not exactly out publicly. I enjoy that world-building structure that, for the most part, humanity goes about their life unbeknownst that these ‘stories’ they’ve grown up with hold actual physical truth to them — not just metaphorical.

Another weakness of mine is taking a normal person and having them fall down this rabbit hole into the unknown. Preferably due to a life-altering situation. The reason the supernatural world reveals itself to the protagonist needs to be dire, blood pumping, and basically thrilling. I don’t mind the whole ‘I fell in love with so-and-so and now I’m apart of their world’, but I would avoid it being the pivotal point in my film/series.

Instead, it is a friend and the life-altering situation would be a near-death moment. These would be essential, the turning points and anchor. Perhaps, the protagonist was out hanging with a friend they’ve known all their life, through school (currently in high-school), and that night things uncontrollably go downhill. Many thoughts come to mind of how it would go down; car accident, being held at gunpoint while at a convenience store, a freak accident at a theme park. Something out of their hands that causes the friend to act or else death would occur. It is heated, no thought just action, and suddenly there are so many questions needing to be answered. So the protagonist starts to fall down that metaphorical hole into wonderland, but — like in so many already established films/shows — having a mortal being apart of their world is dangerous. Dangerous for them and the beings hidden within plain sight. Yes, what their friend did was heroic but also frowned upon by their own kind. Discussion of what to do with the protagonist is heavy on everyone’s mind. Change them? Wipe their memory? Kill them? Within days of having their eyes open to so much, enough time to have the confusion and fear evolve into wonderment, it is decided to repress their memories. Like a fish caught on a hook, the protagonist is tossed back to sea to blindly follow the current. What I’ve mentioned would be the first portion of a film or the first few episodes of the series. It builds up, allowing the audience to know there is more — to gain a taste of wanting to only be denied alongside the main character. To also dig emotionally deeper, said friend has to distance themself in fear of triggering memories. Something could cause those repressed life-changing moments to unravel, so they back off. Calls start to go unanswered, text messages are few and in-between, and physically hanging out just stops altogether. This makes the protagonist at first resentful, upset not knowing what they did wrong — if they did anything wrong. They simply shrug it off at one point, deciding that — like so many friendships often due, theirs is simply fading. So life goes on and a time skip occurs. It is the beginning of the build-up that leads to the middle of the film/series. The protagonist is older, perhaps in their late twenties to early thirties, and they’ve followed this path to become a Crime Scene/Homicide Investigator. Known as a specialist in their field and very dedicated to their work. As the movie/series builds up to that middle act, their world once again starts to ripple like a reflection on water. Especially as they are called to an unusual scene. It is gruesome, animalistic, limbs were strewn across the dark street. And, as they kneel down to pull back the tarp to have a good look at the victim, another investigator crouches beside them. Something is off by how this person’s gaze takes in the scene, how their voice mutters visual statements, and this familiar pull inside their own head. Our protagonist has this inkling feeling they’ve met before. It isn’t until their eyes meet that it dawns on them. Despite it being more than a decade with no contact, it is their friend right beside them. They are older, face harder. Somehow, without any influence on each other, they’ve walked the same career path. And, without purposefully meaning to, found themselves teaming up as districts overlap. Except for one crucial key; their friend has specialized in supernatural criminology. The scene before them is a hot mess that pulls two parties together to solve the case. Creatures and humans equally killing and being murdered. This is where a love interest would slowly build-up — the faintest of possibilities, as they focus on solving what could be the biggest serial killer case ever. Foggy memories do start to surface, but they are old and blurry childhood moments. They could easily be deluded by watching too many horror movies, and that is how the protagonist reasons it. Yet, the further they work this job together, the more the main character has to know. The more they need to seek answers and start to avidly search between the cracks. A huge “I knew it!” moment would occur when they come face to face with the serial killer. Who is, indeed, a supernatural creature. However, being older and more trained, the protagonist doesn’t falter in the midst of a fight sequence. They might exclaim it, joke with their temporary partner on the case, but their finger is still hovering over the trigger — their gaze on the killer. Thus, this is the ‘climax’ of the story — the reveal and blood-pumping action. And, as the main character humanly try to go up against a real-life brutal monster, our protagonist is severely injured. Except now the friend/partner wasn’t there to deflect the final blow. The battle is still going as the protagonist lays upon the ground, bleeding out and fighting to breathe. That is where we see a flashback to the first incident, back to the beginning of the show/film. Their vision is a clouded memory as they blindly look up to the weathered ceiling. The pain is fading to the point they let out one of those dry chuckles while thinking fate is cruel. That they are apart of something like Final Destination to where they probably should have died back then, and now fate is rearing its ugly mug at them again. Their friend rushes to their side, the battle over, and the main character missing the ending. It isn’t though they could care much about that for their world is fading, their life leaking out of them with every slow pulse. The friend asks them then, disregarding rules and regulations, and ask if they don’t want to die. They need permission, consent, but the response is slurred and broken. Did they want whatever their friend was truly asking of them? To be a monster? They can feel the friend’s grasp within theirs, stronger than their own returning squeeze. The darkness is starting to crawl, starting to swallow their vision, and they stare up at the being who they were beginning to love all over again — more than a friend in this second chance gifted to them, and they smile. They don’t nod or shake their head. They don’t whisper an answer, but instead, allow the grim reaper to do its job. For if they were meant for the world hidden by plain sight, they would have been born for it. The ending of this show is remorseful, no doubt. We have this heroic symbol as the funeral plays out. The friend, the blossoming love interest, being the last one to lay a flower upon the grave. Now we see it from their perspective, the loss and grief. Loss of having to stop being friends, the enjoyment of meeting up again and playing a major role in their life, to the grief of losing them so soon. It would end on this sad note because it is how life works, and I’d want to solidify the hard realities within the wonderment. Yet, if a second season or a sequel were to happen, it would be through their gaze. How they deal with it and move forward, and how they find companionship again many, many years down the line. Especially when another supernatural creature has this light in their eyes when they smile a certain familiar way. They are new on the job and being saddled up with them to get field experience, nothing unusual. However, the way they laugh — how they freely speak their mind, reminds them of someone else and a part of them wonders deep down that maybe, just maybe, fate isn’t as heartless as it seemed. It really feels like their friend is right there beside them as they fall back into the fray of solving homicide cases.

#ask and you shall receive #my writing #supernatural topics #story idea #tw: death

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sulfurwrites74 · 4 years

Text

In the Hands of the Enemy - Whumptboer 2020 (Day 2)

CONTENT WARNING: Homophobia

The hospital smelt of chemicals and used bedsheets. Cecil had already asked three different nurses and two separate front desks where his brother was being cared for, but he hasn’t gotten clear instructions yet. He walked down the white halls clutching a bouquet of yellow tulips close to his chest.

His brother, Miles, was “in room 4H, dear, fourth floor and down the first hall to the right, but make sure you go through the blue hall not the yellow one they are a bit close, it’s right across from the gray vending machine you really can’t miss it.” He was dragged into an ambulance late last night after experiencing major pains in his abdomen. Cecil got the call about his failed kidneys just a few hours later. It went to voicemail and he had woken up to quite an alarming message.

Still, Cecil couldn’t seem to find it in himself to worry too much about his brother. They had a nice relationship. Or a decent one, at the very least. As decent as two identical twins with an overbearing mother and an impossible-to-please father could be anyway. The brothers got along fine, but there was always this sense of competition between them. A feeling as if there could only be one. They were nice to each other, they didn’t even fight much, but inside they both knew the other was a threat.

Their father didn’t help smother the growing flames of resentment between them either. He only ever gave one of the boys' attention at a time. He only ever praised one of them per month, only acknowledge the existence of one of them per week.

When Miles got into business school, he won their father’s attention for an entire year. It was as if Cecil didn’t even exist. He told himself he didn’t care. That he didn’t need his father’s approval, didn’t need his love. He hadn’t known how wrong he was until he came out.

Their father was never violent. He was never abusive. He never hit them, never raised his voice at them, never insulted them directly. But when Cecil had sat him down, along with Miles and their mother, and told them he was gay, their father reacted in a way no one would have ever guessed.

He stood up, walked up to his son, slapped him once across the face, and told him to get out.

Cecil’s mother was kinder. She fought with her husband for the first time that night. She demanded that Cecil was allowed to stay. Her other half raised his hand against her too, but it didn’t fly. She didn’t step down, either. She was six months pregnant at the time.

It was always like this. There was an inner turmoil between the brothers that never seemed to climax. The two had to share everything. A room, toys, friends, love, even basic human respect. Looking exactly alike was hard enough, sharing everything else as well made it even more irritating.

They had the same warm skin, the same dark brown eyes, the same thick hair, even the same skinny build. The idea that Miles now wanted to share a kidney was simply ridiculous.

Miles always got the upper hand when it came to their parents. They were probably looking down at Cecil (up at him, Cecil would insist) having second thoughts about coming here to help his brother and scoff at his indecisiveness. His father would be thinking it should have been you. His mother would be thinking you have to do this.

Cecil knew it wasn’t exactly his choice. He was the only person who could save his brother at this point. His wife would have done it without a second thought. She asked the doctors multiple times if she could, as she had explained over the phone last night.

“I’m so sorry,” she had said, “I asked if I could- if there was anyone. You need to help him. Please! I know it’s last minute, and it’s a crazy thing to ask, but you’re the only one who can help him.”

Cecil had never had surgery before. He’d never even gotten sick any worse than the common cold, so he’d never been in a hospital for himself. He had gone with Miles and their father when his mother was giving birth to her third child, but even then he spent all his time in the waiting room.

When their father came out without their mother and told the boys what had happened, he vowed to never step foot in another hospital again. Only bad things could happen in a place like this, he thought.

Their father died of a heart attack exactly one month after their mother and little sister passed. Miles prepared the funeral. Cecil attended, and spit on the grave when everyone went home.

Cecil stood in the elevator for the fourth time that day. There was no front desk on the fourth floor, so when he got lost he had to either go down to the first or up to the fifth. The slow rides did nothing to help with his nerves. The music they played on the ride up only worked to anger him more.

As he stepped out of the elevator, he left a rain of tulips behind him. He was holding the stems too tightly. He couldn’t find it in himself to care.

The idea that he would have to go through this sort of pain to make up for a problem he had nothing to do with made his ears turn red with furry.

He turned right when he saw the blue sign (the halls weren’t really blue or yellow, as the nurse had made it sound, but had little signs next to them with a circle drawn with a specific color) and walked down another hall, avoiding rushing nurses and hysterical family members as he went.

He shouldn’t have to make this kind of decision. He could die in there. If something were to go wrong, if the anesthesia didn’t work or kept him under too long, he could lose his life because of this situation his own brother was asking to put himself in. The way Cecil saw it, if he did agree to go under, there still wasn’t any guarantee it would work. Miles’ body might reject the organ, or slip away while in surgery, and there was really no reason to put his own life in danger along with his brother’s for something that wasn’t certain to work.

Cecil passed the gray vending machine and turned down into another hall.

He had people he cared about too. Miles had a wife and some kids and company to run, but Cecil had people too. He had a boyfriend and a dog. Not to mention all the houseplants that would certainly die if he didn’t return. He cared about Marcus a lot and trusted him enough to be intimate with him, but he had absolutely no faith in the man’s botany abilities.

Why should he put all that at risk for someone who never risked anything for him?

The doors finally began to guide him without too much confusion. He passed room 4B, and 4D, and 4F…

When he saw it, he slowed his gait. He crept close to the window but made sure that the people in the room wouldn’t be able to see him.

Inside, he saw Jennifer, Miles’ wife, and Rebekah, his oldest daughter, sitting around Miles’ unconscious body. They were talking through tears.

Cecil stood and watched them silently.

He could die if he agreed, but that wasn’t the only possible outcome. The worst that could happen was he died. The best is that he survived and lived the rest of his life with one kidney. He only needed one anyway. It wasn’t that bad. Surely it couldn’t be that bad.

If he didn’t agree, he would be fine. Nothing would change. But Miles would certainly be dead within days. Hours, maybe. Cecil would lose his brother and it would be all his fault.

Cecil’s hand around the flowers tightened and he clenched his jaw as he stared at the back of Jennifer’s head.

He was choosing one life over another. He was choosing between sons, between brothers. He knew who his father would have chosen. He knew who the favorite twin was. He knew who would have been left in the hospital when they were born. It was the one with a family. With a wife. With kids and money to his name. It was the one who was the owner of his own successful computer programming company. It was the one who wasn’t a disgrace, a moron, an abomination damned to Hell for things he couldn’t control.

Cecil’s hand on the flowers loosened and he turned away from the window.

He knew what the right thing to do was. He knew what the right thing was.

But he was never good, never smart, never righteous enough to do the right thing.

It’s like his father always said.

“Sometimes, you have to step over people to get ahead in life. Only the weak worry about who’s left behind."

Cecil turned on his heel and walked back towards the elevators. He dropped the tulips in a waste disposal bin on his way out.

Jabbing his thumb into the first button in the elevator, Cecil felt something. He had expected guilt, or sadness, mourning perhaps. What he felt instead was freedom. He felt a weight lift off his shoulders. He didn’t just feel free from a hard decision. He felt free from being tied to a double, to a reminder of his own shortcomings in life. He felt rejuvenated. He felt strong.

Cecil got into his car and drove back towards his apartment leisurely. He wasn’t in any kind of rush. Why would he be? He had his whole life ahead of him.

#whumptober2020 #no.2 #pick who dies #homophobia #my writing #creative writing #writers #writers on tumblr #writeblr #short story #writing

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unsettlingshortstories · 3 years

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Harlequin Valentine

Neil Gaiman (1999)

It is February the Fourteenth, at that hour of the morning when all the children have been taken to school, and the husbands have driven themselves to work, or have been dropped, steambreathing and greatcoated, at the rail station at the edge of the town for the Great Commute, when I pin my heart to Missy’s front door.

The heart is a deep dark red that is almost a brown, the colour of liver. Then I knock on the door, sharply, rat-a-tat-tat!

And I grasp my wand, my stick, my oh-so-thrustable and beribonned lance, and I vanish like cooling steam into the chilly air…

Missy opens the door. She looks tired.

“My Columbine,” I breathe, but she hears not a word. She turns her head, so she takes in the view from one side of the street to the other, but nothing moves.

A truck rumbles in the distance.

She walks back into the kitchen and I dance, silent as a breeze, as a mouse, as a dream, into the kitchen beside her.

Missy takes a plastic sandwich bag from a paper box in the kitchen drawer. She takes a bottle of cleaning spray from under the sink.

She pulls off two sections of kitchen towel from the roll on the kitchen counter. The she walks back to the front door.

She pulls the pin from the painted wood – it was my hat pin, which I had stumbled across… where? I turn the matter over in my head; in Gascony, perhaps? Or Twickenham? Or Prague?

The face on the end of the hat pin is that of a pale Pierrot. She removes the pin from the heart, and puts the heart into the plastic sandwich bag.

She wipes the blood from the door with a squirt of cleaning spray and a rub of paper towel, and she inserts the pin into her lapel, where the little white-faced August face stares out at the cold world with his blind silver eyes and his grave silver lips.

Naples. Now it comes back to me.

I purchased the hat pin in Naples, from an old woman with one eye. She smoked a clay pipe.

This was a long time ago.

Missy puts the cleaning utensils down on the kitchen table, then she thrusts her arms through the sleeves of her old blue coat – which was once her mother’s – then she places the sandwich bag with the heart in it determinedly into her pocket, does up the buttons - one, two, three – and sets off down the street.

Secret, secret, quiet as a mouse I follow her, sometimes creeping, sometimes dancing, and she never sees me, not for a moment, just pulls her blue coat more tightly around her, and she walks through the town, and down the old road that leads past the cemetery.

The wind tugs at my hat, and I regret, for a moment, the loss of my hat pin. But I am in love, and this is Valentine’s Day. Sacrifices must be made.

Missy is remembering in her head the other times she has walked into the cemetery, through the tall iron cemetery gates: when her father died; and when they came here as kids at All Hallows’, the whole school mob and caboodle of them, partying and searing each other; and when a secret lover was killed in a three-car pile-up on the interstate, and she walked until the end of the funeral, when the day was all over and done with, and she came in the evening, just before sunset, and laid a white lily on the fresh grave.

Oh, Missy, shall I sing the body and the blood of you, the lips and the eyes? A thousand hearts I would give you as your valentine.

Proudly I wave my staff in the air and dance, singing silently into the gloriousness of me, as we skip together down Cemetery road.

A low grey building, and Missy pushes open the door.

She says Hi and How’s it going to the girl at the desk, who makes no intelligible reply, fresh out of school, and filling in a crossword from a periodical filled with nothing but crosswords page after page of them…

The girl would be making private phone calls on company time if only she had somebody to call, which she doesn’t, and, I see, plain as elephants, she never will. Her face is a mass of blotchy acne pustules and acne scars and she thinks it matters, and talks to nobody.

I see her life spread out before me: She will die, unmarried, and unmolested, of breast cancer in fifteen years’ time, and will be planted under a stone with her name on it in the meadow by Cemetery Road, and the first hands to have touched her breasts will have been those of the pathologist as he cuts out the cauliflower-like stinking growth and mutters, “Jesus, look at the size of this thing. Why didn’t she tell anyone?” which rather misses the point.

Gently, I kiss her on her spotty cheek, and whisper to her that she is beautiful. Then I tap her once, twice, thrice, on the head with my staff, and wrap her with a ribbon.

She stirs and smiles.

Perhaps tonight she will get drunk and dance and offer up her virginity upon Hymen’s altar, meet a young man who cares more for her breasts than for her face, and will one day, stroking those breasts and sucking and rubbing them, say, “Honey, you seen anybody about that lump?” and by then her spots will be long gone, rubbed and kissed and frottaged into oblivion.

But now I have mislaid Missy…

The stench is unbearable, heavy and rancid and wreathed on the air. The fat man in the stained lab coat wears disposable rubber gloves. A dead man is on the table in front of him.

The fat man has not noticed Missy yet. He has made an incision, and now he peels back the skin with a wet, sucking sound, and how dark the brown of it is on the outside, and how pink, pretty the pink of it is on the inside.

Classical music plays from a portable radio, very loudly. Missy turns the radio off. “Hello,Vernon.”

“Hello, Missy. You come for your old job back?”

This is The Doctor, I decide, for he is too big, too round, too magnificently well-fed to be Pierrot, too unselfconscious to be Pantaloon.

His face creases with delight to see Missy, and she smiles to see him, and I am jealous; I feel a stab of pain shoot through my heart (currently in a plastic sandwich bag in Missy’s coat pocket), sharper than when I stabbed it with my hat pin and stuck it to her door.

And speaking of my own heart…

Missy holds out the plastic bag, “Do you know what this is?”

Vernon peers at it closely. “Heart,” he replied. “Kidneys don’t have the ventricles, and brains are bigger and squishier. Where’d you get it?”

“I was hoping that you could tell me. Doesn’t it come from here? Is it your idea of a valentine’s card, Vernon? A human heart stuck to my front door?”

“Don’t come from here. You want I should call the police?”

Missy shook her head. “I guess not. With my luck, they’ll decide I’m a serial killer and send me to the chair.”

Vernon: “Let’s see… adult, in pretty good shape, took care of his heart, cut out by an expert.”

I smile proudly at this, and bend down to talk to the dead black man on the table, with his chest all open and his calloused string-bass-plucking fingers.

“Go ‘way, Harlequin,” he mutters, quietly, not to offend Missy and his doctor. “Don’t you go causing trouble here.”

“Hush yourself. I will cause trouble wherever I wish,” I tell him. “It is my function. But, for a moment, I feel a void about me; I am wistful, almost Pierrotish , which is a poor thing for a harlequin to be.

Oh, Missy, I saw you yesterday in the street, and followed you into Al’s Super-Valufoods and More, elation and joy rising within me. In you, I recognized someone who could transport me, take me from myself.

In you I recognized my valentine. My Columbine.

I did not sleep last night, and instead I turned the town topsy and turvy, befuddling the unfuddled . I caused three sober bankers to make fools of themselves with drag queens from Madame Zora’s Revue and Bar.

I slid into the bedrooms of the sleeping, unseen and unimagined, slipping the evidence of mysterious and exotic trysts into the pockets and under pillows and into crevices, able only to imagine the fun that would ignite the following days as soiled and spilt-crotch fantasy panties would be found poorly hidden under sofa, cushions and in the inner pockets of respectable suits.

But my heart was not in it, and the only face I could see was Missy’s. Oh, Harlequin in love is a sorry creature.

I wonder what she will do with my gift. Some girls spurn my heart, others touch it, kiss it, caress it, punish it will all manner of endearments before they return it to my keeping. Some never even see it.

Missy: “Shall I incinerate it?”

“Might as well. You know where the incinerator is, and I meant what I said about your old job. I need a good lab assistant.”

I imagine my heart trickling up to the sky as ashes and smoke, covering the world. I do not know what I think of this, but, her jaw set, Missy shakes her head and she bids goodbye to Vernon the pathologist.

She has thrust my heart into her pocket and she is walking out of the building and up Cemetery Road and back into town.

I caper ahead of her. Interaction would be a fine thing, I decide.

Fitting word to deed I disguise myself as a bent old woman on her way to the market, covering the red spangles of my costume with a tattered cloak, hiding my masked face with a voluminous hood, and at the top of Cemetery Road I step out and block her way.

Marvelous, marvelous, marvelous me, and I say to her, in the voice of the oldest of women, “Spare a copper for a bent old woman, dearie, and I’ll tell you a fortune that will make your eyes spin with joy.”

“Here.”

And I have it in my head to tell her all about the mysterious man she will meet, all dressed in red and yellow, with his domino mask, who will thrill her and love her and never, never leave her (for it is not a good thing to tell your Columbine the entire truth), but instead I find myself saying, in a cracked old voice, “Have you ever heard of Harlequin?”

“Yes,” she answers, “character in the Commedia dell’arte . Costume covered in little diamond shapes. Wore a mask. I think he was a clown of some sort, wasn’t he?”

I shake my head, beneath my hood. “No clown,” I tell her. “He was…”

And I find that I am about to tell her the truth, so I choke back the words and pretend that I am having the kind of coughing attack, to which elderly women are particularly susceptible.

I wonder if this could be the power of love.

I do not remember it troubling me with other women I thought I had loved, other Columbines I have encountered over centuries now long gone.

I squint through old woman eyes at Missy; she is in her early twenties, and she has lips like a mermaid’s, full and well-defined and certain, and grey eyes, and a certain intensity to her gaze.

“Are you all right?”

I cough and sputter and cough some more and gasp, “Fine, my dearie-duck. I’m just fine, thank you kindly.”

“So. I thought you were going to tell me my fortune.”

“Harlequin has given you his heart. You must discover its beat yourself.” I hear myself saying these words, angry at my trickster tongue for betraying me.

She stares at me, puzzled. I cannot change or vanish while her eyes are upon me, and I feel frozen.

“Look! A rabbit!”

And she turns, follows my pointing finger, and as she takes her eyes off me I disappear – pop! – like a rabbit down a hole.

When she looks back, there’s not a trace of the old fortune-teller lady, which is to say me.

Missy walks on, and I caper after her, but there is not the spring in my step there was earlier in the morning.

Midday, and Missy has walked to Al’s Super-ValuFoods and More, where she buys a small block of cheese, a carton of unconcentrated orange juice, two avocados, and on to the County One Bank, where she withdraws two hundred and seventy-nine dollars and twenty-two cents, which is the total amount of money in her savings account, and I creep after her sweet as sugar and quiet as the grave.

“’Morning, Missy…” says the owner of the Salt Shaker Café, when Missy enters.

My heart would have skipped a beat if it were not in the sandwich bag in Missy’s pocket, for this man obviously lusts after her, and my confidence, which is legendary, droops and wilts.

I am Harlequin, I tell myself, in my diamond-covered garments, and the world is my harlequinade. I am Harlequin, who rose from the dead to play his pranks upon the living. I am Harlequin, in my mask, with my wand.

I whistle to myself, and my confidence rises, hard and full once more.

Missy was saying: “Hey, Harve. Give me a plate of hash browns, and a bottle of ketchup.” “That all?”

“Yes. That’ll be perfect, and a glass of water.”

I tell myself that the man Harve is Pantaloon, the foolish merchant that I must bamboozle, baffle, confusticate, and confuse.

Perhaps there is a string of sausages in the kitchen.

I resolve to bring delightful, disarray to the world, and to bed luscious Missy before midnight: my Valentine’s present to myself.

I imagine myself kissing her lips.

There are a handful of other diners. I amuse myself by swapping their plates while they are not looking, but I have difficulty finding the fun in it.

The waitress ignores Missy, whom she obviously considers entirely Harve’s preserve.

Missy sits at the table, and pulls the sandwich bag from her pocket. She places it on the table in front of her.

Harve-the-pantaloon struts over to Missy’s table, gives her a glass of water, a plate of hash-browned potatoes, and a bottle of Heinz 57 Varieties Tomato Ketchup.

“And a steak knife,” Missy said. As Harve turned, I stuck out my stick.

He stumbles. He curses, and I feel better, more like the former me.

I goose the waitress as she passes the table of an old man who is reading USA Today while toying with his salad.

She gives the old man a filthy look. I chuckle, and then I find I am feeling most peculiar. I sit down on the floor, suddenly.

“What’s that, honey?” the waitress asks.

“Health food, Charlene,” Missy replies, “Builds up iron.” I peep over the tabletop.

She is slicing up small slices of liver-coloured meat on her plate, liberally doused in tomato sauce, and piling her fork high with hash browns.

Then she chews.

I watch my heart disappearing into her rosebud mouth. My valentine’s jest somehow seems less funny.

She pops another scrap of raw gristle cut small into her mouth, and chews it hard, before swallowing.

Charlene, the waitress, goes past once more, with a pot of steaming coffee. “So what’s with the raw meat? You anemic?”

Missy replies, “Not anymore.”

And as she finishes eating my heart, Missy looks down and sees me sprawled upon the floor.

She nods. “Outside. Now.”

Then she gets up, and leaves ten dollars beside her plate.

She is sitting on a bench on the sidewalk, waiting for me. It is cold, and the street is almost deserted.

I would caper around her, but if feels so foolish now I know someone is watching. “You ate my heart.” I can hear the petulance in my voice, and it irritates me.

“Yes. Is that why I can see you?”

“I guess.” I answered. “Nobody’s ever done it before.” “Take off that domino mask. You look stupid.”

I did.

“Not much improvement,” she says. “Now, give me the hat. And the stick.” “I would prefer not to.”

Missy reaches out and plucks my hat from my head, takes my stick from my hand.

She toys with the hat, her long fingers brushing and bending it. Her nails are painted crimson. Then she stretches and smiles, expansively. The poetry has gone from my soul, and the cold February wind makes me shiver.

“It’s cold,” I say.

“No.” Missy replied. “It’s perfect, magnificent, marvelous, and magical. It’s Valentine’s Day, isn’t it? Who could be cold upon Valentine’s Day? What a fine and fabulous time of the year.”

The diamonds are fading from my suit, which is turning ghost-white, Pierrot -white.

“What do I do now?” I ask.

“I don’t know. Fade away, perhaps. Or find another role… a lovelorn swain, perchance, mooning and pining under the pale moon. All you need is a Columbine.”

“You are my Columbine.”

“Not anymore. That’s the joy of the harlequinade, after all, isn’t it? We change our costumes. We change our roles.”

She flashes me such a smile, now.

Then she puts my hat, my own hat, my harlequin-hat, up onto her head. “And you?” I ask.

She tosses the wand into the air: it tumbles and twists in a high arc, red and yellow ribbons twisting and swirling about it, and then it lands neatly, almost silently, back into her hand.

She pushes the tip down to the sidewalk, pushes herself up from the bench in one smooth movement.

She says to me: “I have things to do. Tickets to take. People to dream.” Then she leans over, and kisses me, full, and hard upon the lips.

Somewhere, a car backfired. I turned, startled, and when I looked back, I was alone on the street. I sat there for several moments, on my own.

“Hey, Pete,” Charlene calls from the doorway, “Have you finished out there yet?” “Finished? Finished what, Charlene?”

“C’mon. Harve says your ciggie break is over. And you’ll freeze. Back into the kitchen.” I stared at her. She tossed her pretty hair, and, momentarily, smiled at me.

I adjusted my white clothes, the uniform of the kitchen help, and followed her inside.

It’s Valentine’s Day, I thought.Tell her how you feel. Tell her what you think . But I said nothing, I dared not. I simply followed her inside, a creature of mute longing.

Back in the kitchen, a pile of plates was waiting for me: I began to scrape the leftovers into the pig-bin.

There was a scrap of dark meat on one of the plates, beside some half-finished ketchup-covered hash browns.

It looked almost raw… but I dipped it into the congealing ketchup and, when Harve’s back was turned, I picked it off the plate and chewed it down. It tasted metallic and gristly, but I swallowed it anyhow, and could not have told you why.

A blob of red ketchup dripped from the plate onto the sleeve of my white uniform, forming one perfect diamond.

I called across the kitchen. “Hey, Charlene, happy Valentine’s Day. And then I started to whistle.

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venomous--fics · 4 years

Text

Security.

A/n: just some dumb emotional blurb about what it’s like being a spider-person. Had this idea after writing tag, but wasn’t sure how tag was going to do, so i waited and kept this in my notes. anyways, i hope you guys enjoy it!

Warnnings: It’s a bit angsty? mentions of death, negative emotions, just kinda sad for a while. A real somber tone, if you would.

It was your typical night of patrolling. You were lounging on the roof of a building, unphased by the lack of crime happening. You were starting to think that criminals were actually scared of you and Peter. Maybe they were, and they were right for feeling that way.

You were admiring all the glowing lights of the city, paying no mind to the various noises of the night. You and Peter hadn’t spoken a lot since you’d gotten out here, but again, that was typical. Peter liked to focus, and you never felt the need to bother him. Normally, he’d speak first. ….Normally, it’d be some pop culture joke. But not tonight.

You heard a sniffle, and that’s what snapped you out of your daydream. It wasn’t cold enough to cause your nose to run, and besides, Tony had installed those heaters into the suits. So even if you were chilly, the suit would recognize that and heat you back up. Was Peter….Crying?

“Pete?” you asked quietly.

“Oh!” he cleared his throat and sat up a little straighter, “Yeah? See something?”

“Are you okay?”

He hesitated, “I’m…Alright.”

You moved closer to him, “You’re a bad liar, Peter.”

Peter slouched once more and made sure he was out of anyone’s view before he took off his mask. He held it so gingerly in his hands, looking down at it. You couldn’t read his face, there were too many emotions. You took off your mask as well, setting it in your lap, “If you wanna talk…I’m here.”

Peter didn’t break eye contact with the mask, “I’ve never told anyone who wasn’t my aunt May, but..Sometimes..”

You tilted your head a little after hearing his voice crack on the last word. “Why do bad things happen to good people?”

That was a lot …Heavier than you were anticipating, but then again, you often thought that yourself. You waited a moment and let out a breath, “I… I don’t know, Pete. I’m not sure. I was always told that things happen for a reason.”

Peter thought about that last bit. It was true. Everything that happens, always has a reason. He became Spider-man to protect people.. But on the other side of the coin, it costed him a lot more than what he was willing to ever sacrifice. It costed him everything, if he was being truly honest.

It took one of the people who truly meant everything to him away. He finds himself thinking about what happened more often than he’d admit. He remembers that night. He remembers the crowd of people. He remembers pushing through them and immediately regretting that decision.

He remembers every detail about Uncle Ben that night. He could even tell you the brand of shirt he was wearing. That wasn’t important to any ordinary person, but to Peter, it was everything.

A carjacker, they said. A shooter, one corrected. Peter didn’t care which one it was. He can only remember holding Ben’s hand until Ben couldn’t anymore. He could tell you how awful it was to watch the life fade from Ben’s eyes as his breathing stopped. He remembers the onlookers gasping or some crying, and he remembers the sobs that came out of himself. He wanted it to be him. It was his fault. He remembers hearing where the murderer was heading, and he remembers going after him.

He could tell you the hatred he felt in that moment. He could tell you how he cornered the man, and accidentally killed him. He could tell you, moment for moment, what it felt like to watch the man as he tripped and fall out of the warehouse window. The last thing he will ever remember about that man was the way he had reached out his hand and begged for help as he fell back, but all Peter did was watch.

He hadn’t meant to let the man die, but something inside of him let it happen. And he still doesn’t regret it. He knows Ben would’ve been upset, but Peter thought it was justice. And it was also the moment after looking out the broken window that he realized he needed to protect this city, and the world if he could.

He needed to protect everyone so ensure that there would never be another Ben. He never wanted to relive that moment of going home. He never wanted to hear aunt May cry again. He never wanted to remember the look on her face, or the way she dropped the phone. He never, ever wanted to relive the moments of having to tell her what had happen. He wished he didn’t have to live through the aftermath of it all. He never wanted to remember the feeling of watching Ben being lowered into his final resting place. It was something he’d seen too much of.

It brought back the memories of his parents. He was so young, and couldn’t fully understand. All he remembers is that they went away for work one day and never came home. All he can recall is May helping him fix his child sized dress top as they prepared to head out for something. A funeral, May had told him. He had never been to one of those.

He remembers seeing so many sad people, but never asked why.

He remembers not going home to his bed that night, mostly because his things were already at May’s place. They stayed there for a long time. Until he grew out of them, if he remembers correctly.

He never went home.

So young and fragile, May had sheltered him from the pain, and did her best to ease him into this new life with her and Ben. It was a good life. There was plenty of books to read, meals to eat, places to sleep. He still didn’t understand. Then one day he did.

There was a picture of his parents that was always by his bedside, on the wooden night table his parents had bought for him years ago. He remembers his small hands carrying the picture to May. He asked why they didn’t want to take him home.

That was the day he learned what misery was. It all made sense to him. That was the day that little Peter Parker had made a promise to himself.

There would be no more misery in this world so long as he was around. It was this series of moments that made him Spider-man. He became a hero built on pain, loss, and unbelievable grief. And he’s used it for good. Or so he thought. Most days he wasn’t too sure of himself.

“Peter?”

He looked over at you with a tear running down his face, he quickly looked back down at the mask. He wasn’t sure what to say, so he just began replaying a mantra in his head.

“My uncle,” Peter said almost as if he wasn’t sure where to begin or end, “He always told me that great power came with great responsibility.”

You lifted a hand to gently put on Peter’s back, but stopped midway when his words caught you off guard.

“What if I ….Don’t want the power.. Or the responsibility…Anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“I,” he sighed, sounding selfish, “I have these powers and I chose to be Spider-man, but what if I choose to be something else instead.”

You really wanted to make a joke to lighten the mood, but you knew better. You set your hand back on the cool cement of the roof and looked away, “I don’t think you get that choice anymore. I don’t think any of us do.”

“Being Spider-man costed me everything….It costed me my uncle, it….I..”

You rubbed your arm, feeling a stitched up wound reopen as your heard your own voice cracked, “It costed me my mom.”

It was in that moment that Peter realized something. Something very important that he had forgotten over the last few weeks. Spider-man was not a symbol of loss, but a symbol of hope and strength.

“I didn’t mean to cut you off,” you didn’t bother to look at him, “I just thought maybe…You’d..Know you were alone.”

“I’m sorry.”

“What for? You didn’t ask to lose someone important to you..” You wiped your eyes and finally turned back to look at him, “I just want you to know that I get it, Peter.”

Peter looked you over for a moment or two. It was so bizarre and jarring to see you cry. He had only see you cry once, but that’s because you found his joke so funny that you had actually started crying. But now you were crying out of pain, and he wasn’t sure how to feel. Maybe this was a good thing.

“I never like to get personal because, well,” You sighed, wiping your face again before looking down at all the city lights again, “It was just so sudden..She was always sick, but, we thought she was getting better.”

Much like Peter, you remember every tiny detail about that day too. You remember how her hair was styled, you remember how she had been so happy and full of joy just a few hours before. It was a curse having to remember it all.

It was a curse remember how the nurses had to drag you out of the room screaming. It was a curse knowing that there was nothing you could do. Despite having powers, you were utterly powerless.

It was a curse remembering what her grave looked like. It was adorn with all her favorite flowers that you had swung around the city gathering. You never wanted to tell a soul how god awful it all felt.

You never wanted to get close to another living thing out of fear that this would happen again. But Peter kinda messed that up. You had already gotten close to him. You didn’t mean to, it just happened.

You remember how approving your mother was of him. She was even fond of him, constantly telling you that you should ‘make a move.’ You always got embarrassed and told her it wasn’t like that, but she could always see right through you.

She always knew what you wanted, even when you thought you didn’t. She knew you. She loved you.

The morning after everything, you had woken up to an empty home. In fact, it wasn’t home at all. She wasn’t singing anymore. Her bed was cold. Dishes from the days prior were still in the sink. You didn’t want to be there.

It didn’t feel right.

It didn’t feel like home anymore.

You had found yourself staying at Peter’s place most nights. May never minded, she never really did. You took the top bunk of Peter’s bed. The nights were always silent and heavy. Both of you knew something was bothering the other, but neither of you wanted to talk first.

Most of the nights you laid so you could look out the window. You looked up at the sky and wondered which star was your mother. Was she there at all? Maybe this was all a bad dream and she was waiting for you at home. It was thoughts like that that really made it sink in. She just wasn’t there anymore.

You knew better than to let anyone see you cry, so you kept it all in. You had to pick up the pieces and try to make the most out of what was left. It didn’t seem fair, and it wasn’t, but life wasn’t fair. It would never be fair.

“I just..I don’t know..” You looked at your hands, “I still can’t wrap my head around it. Not to mention that I have no idea where I’m going to be moving to-”

“Moving?”

You remembered that you weren’t going to tell Peter that last bit because you didn’t want to hurt him. It was a big legal mess. Now that your sole guardian was gone, you were currently staying with your grandparents, but they were getting too old to do much, so they thought it’d be best to move you out of state to live with your aunt. That was your only option. You had no other family, and no other family in New York, for that matter.

“My grandparents can’t take care of me, and my aunt is a last resort.”

“What about your dad?”

Another sour note has been struck, but you kept a brave face. You honestly didn’t know what to say exactly. Your mom was always so secretive about who he was. You thought for the longest time it was out of shame, but you realized, it was just because she had moved on. She made a good life for you, so she didn’t think i twas really necessary to stress you out with the ‘I don’t know’’s and the 'I’m not sure’’s.

“I don’t know him,” you smiled a little at the thought that ran through your head, “All I remember is my mom describing him as some suave, rich party boy. Always told me he was some sort of famous celebrity. Never bothered to try to find him, mainly because I’m a nobody, you know?”

Peter looked out at the lights as well. It was so quiet now. You were leaving? Peter didn’t want to admit it, like most things, but you were like his rock. You were the only person who truly understood because you were exactly like him. Sure, Ned knew, but Ned would never know how it truly feels.

For a second, Peter thought that maybe if you’d found your dad, you could stay. But there was a long list of famous party men in New York, and he didn’t have time to just go down the list. And of course, Peter being who he is, and knowing the people he does, the first party goer that came to mind was Mr. Stark, but Tony never seemed like the type of guy to just do something like that.

Then again, he wasn’t always responsible. Okay, he is never responsible. He was the type of man who loved danger almost as much as he loved his music. Or Pepper, but he’d never tell anyone that. Why would he?

“Of course you know,” you said after the long silence, “You’re the biggest nobody I know, Peter.”

“How comforting. Thank you.”

You chuckled, “Kidding. Kidding.”

The mood in Peter’s head shifted completely. He was no longer weighed down by this darkness. Sure, he still felt a little bit like hot garbage, but hey, you were here. He liked that. He liked you. He liked your laugh, the design of your suit, the way you said his name. He liked most things that other people would hate. He loved how ridiculous your handwriting was. He loved how sometimes you could outsmart him, or even when you constantly tapped your writing utensil on things. If you left, who would he have? May, of course. Tony, obviously. Ned, most of the time. Who would he sit with on the rooftops at midnight when 95% of the city was sleeping? Who would occasionally bring snacks or extra homework supplies when they knew he needed them? Nobody.

“So,” Peter swallowed hard, “When, uh, when do you, uhm…Leave.”

“Not sure.” you shrug, trying not to seem bothered by it, “If only I knew who my dad was, and by some miracle he was in New York, this wouldn’t be an issue.”

“I’ll help you.” he blurted out.

“What?”

“Find your dad. I’ll help you.”

“Why the sudden interest?”

“You can’t leave,” he sighed, “You just can’t.”

“I don’t have a choice-”

“You always have a choice. Just like you chose to be Sp-”

“I think the law is just a little different from being a vigilante. I could be wrong, but-”

You were caught off guard by Peter pulling you into a hug. This was new, he’s never done this before. Normally you two awkwardly fist bumped or high-fived. Peter was too shy and too awkward for anything else.

“Oh, uh, okay.”

You slowly wrapped your arms around peter and rested your head on his shoulder. You felt safe and secure, and you wondered if he felt the same. He had to. Either way, you didn’t want it to end.

You wanted to stay here and just let Peter know that nothing will ever hurt him again. You wanted to tell him how you felt. You just wanted to stay with him. He made you feel strong when you didn’t even want to say the word weak. You didn’t want to seem cliche and say you needed him, but you did. Peter was home to you.

He was there for you after your mom died, even though tyou hadn’t told him why you were upset, he just assumed you were stressed about school. You two obviously were there for each other after the freak accidents that turned you into these weird scientific miracles or abominations, depending on who you ask.

“Just don’t leave. Okay?”

“I’ll try not to.”

Peter clung to you a little tighter, as if you were really his rock and he was about to be swept away and into the unforgiving sea. There’s so much he still wanted to tell you if he got the chance. He wanted to tell you how he felt, how wonderful he thought you were. He wanted to tell you that you were right. Things do happen for a reason.

Everything that happened with his parents. Everything that’s happened since moving in with May and Ben. Everything that happened to Ben. As bittersweet as it was to say, it was all meant to happen. Becoming Spider-man? Also meant to happen. Meeting you, being with you, falling in love with you? He wouldn’t trade it for anything. He understands that now.

“It’s getting late.” you said quietly.

Peter sighed a little, still holding you in his warm embrace. He smiled a little, enjoying the moment, and he promised himself to enjoy any moment like this from now on. If you did have to leave, even after everything, there was one thing Peter would not hesitate to tell you. You were the best thing that has ever happened to him.

“Just a little longer.”

#peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #spiderman x reader #spiderman imagine #marvel imagine #marvel x reader #tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader

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