#THE RELIEF AFTER A DECADE OF MOVIES THAT SOMEHOW ONLY GET WORSE | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pink-strawberry-kissess · 2 years

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Glimpse of us (Leon S Kennedy x ?)

CROSS POSTED FROM MY AO3

Summary: "She's like a part of me I can't let go."

Leon struggles with his unresolved feelings with a certain woman in red as his life falls into disarray after being forced into a relationship he never wanted under the pretense of it "being good" for him.

“-I never thought my life would turn out this way.”

Based on the song "Glimpse of Us" by Joji

pain pain pain gang gang gang

Notes: a/n: OKAY so I literally haven’t written anything for a few months now. I used to write for a different fandom, and if you’re interested in it, I can send you my tumblr. If you're not interested in that fandom/characters then i'm not disclosing it lol so you have to ask me somehow lol

SO I just haven’t been super uhh, my writing isn’t very good right now but I’m trying lol

i initially wanted to write a bit with infinite darkness leon but i felt like i couldn't get it in properly so i just axed it also leon vendetta is kinda implied but not a lot the plotline is used so-

since this is over most of leon's timeline there's different versions of him, so hopefully you can imagine which one i'm talking about when i get to it lmao

OKAY THANKS HOPE YOU ENJOY (or not)

also so i don't get crucified, cleon shippers probably dni???

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Warnings: Implied Sexual Content, Angst, Fluff, Suicidal Thoughts, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon, Divergence, POV Multiple, POV Changes, No Dialogue, Brief Dialogue, time jumps, Time Skips, could be read without much knowledge of the games but some are obviously from games/movies, Heavy Angst, certain ships do not apply here, angst with no happy ending for one ship, Non Canon Timeline, Implied/Referenced Torture, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Cheating, Established Relationship, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Gun Violence, Resident Evil 2 Leon, Resident Evil 4 Leon, resident evil 6 leon, resident evil damnation leon, Game: Resident Evil 2, Post-Resident Evil 4, Leon S Kennedy - Freeform, leon kennedy - Freeform, Ada Wong - Freeform, Mentioned Ada Wong

Word count: 3227

Regret laced through every single fibre of his being. Sharp thorns piercing him with pangs of guilt and nearly swallowing him whole in a deep carmine red of his own blood. His body aching from years of paralyzing trauma. Every painful day spent wondering if it was going to be different. Every second kept him thinking, if he made a different decision; would he still be here. Exactly like this, today.

Leon was riddled with decades of trauma, pain and remorse. Turning to the bottle as a common response to him. His coping mechanism to escape from everything that was thrown at him. Struggling with his lost innocence of youth and losing himself to the pain of it all, caused him to turn to the sweet bitter liquid one too many times. Drowning himself in anything other than what he was feeling, wanting to taste more than the metallic aftertaste of blood and the wretched stench of death that lingered in his memories.

Blue bright eyes and naive to the world, at the age of twenty one, he finally completed one of his childhood dreams of becoming a cop. Wanting to do good and be good despite it all.

Then Raccoon City happened.

Post traumatic stress disorder. PTSD is a common symptom with soldiers, along with a long list of others. Seeing atrocities that no person should ever see in a lifetime. Leon had seen more than one person should ever see in a single night. Afterwards, nights were spent alone, tossing and turning. Struggling to get a single second of relief. It was nothing other than, hell. It only ever got worse, never better. There were others who maybe suffered worse, those who never lived to tell their tale. Though, he’d never wish that on anyone. When your entire being is plagued with painful memories. The only remedy is the obvious one.

She'd take the world off my shoulders

If it was ever hard to move

She'd turn the rain to a rainbow

When I was living in the blue

Why then, if she is so perfect

Do I still wish that it was you?

Perfect don't mean that it's working

So what can I do? (Ooh)

When you're out of sight

In my mind

Somehow, she was always there. Following him around desperately like a love sick puppy. Her bright personality reminded him of himself sometimes. The younger version him. The version of himself where he truly believed that the world was black and white. Right and wrong. Good and evil. Not the shades of morally ambiguous greys that filtered his view of the world now.

Yet every, "I love you," he heard from her was supposed to fix him. That’s how ‘love’ is supposed to work, the way it brightens up your world in every hue of colours. Seeing colours you've never seen before. Every little achievement, goal reached and task finished is something to celebrate with someone that loves you. The sun shines just a bit brighter and feels just a bit warmer. Every season spent together is a new change embraced. The freezing and melting of frigid ice cold winter and the blooming of pink petals every spring. The hot humid heat of summer and the cooling cozy nights of autumn. Every little thing just feels better. Every problem is an easy enemy to defeat with someone there by your side. You feel invincible. It’s perfection.

That’s how it’s supposed to be. ‘Love’ is supposed to cure all ailments. Make you feel better. Fix you. So why didn’t Leon feel any better.

'Cause sometimes I look in her eyes

And that's where I find a glimpse of us

And I try to fall for her touch

But I'm thinking of the way it was

Said I'm fine and said I moved on

I'm only here passing time in her arms

Hoping I'll find

A glimpse of us

Despite his best efforts, he could see how he pained her. That despite it all, he couldn’t love her the way that he knew she wanted him to. Her childish fears of his true feelings for her pained him more with each lie.

“Of course I love you.”

A lie intertwined with piercing thorns with a delicate white rose a top it. Each petal, a white flag surrendering each time she asked him. Reassurance for each time she was afraid. Petrified that Leon was going to leave her. And each time another white rose raised to ease her fears. A garden of little white lies to keep her. But with each new lie, there would be more thorns he’d have to avoid catching on at some point. Ripping him open and exposing his lie he had lived for the past years he had promised to her.

First loves, no matter how brief. Change you. Years had gone by and he hadn’t been able to feel like that ever again. Pure unadulterated desire. Something so captivating in her eyes that left him haunted by the image of her every night. That very shade of warmth in her eyes, despite her cold temperament. The very idea of her left him dazed and disoriented. Hungry. Something that fuelled him in his very bones. Comfort was something he craved and desired, as for most people. But something about the thrill of it all. That excited him even more.

He couldn’t ever forget.

Her.

It was brief, the time he spent with her, but the sparks that he felt burned him from the inside out. Eviscerating any sense of reason he had. Each new revelation about her brought out new emotions in him he had kept tucked and buried away. The pain of her supposed death. The relief knowing that she had been alive all along. And the years he spent mourning her. Not only her, but the idea of losing someone. That he’d been at fault. That if he had been just a bit faster. Stronger. That maybe, it could’ve been different. Seeing her again. Her kiss against his lips felt like it was yesterday again, igniting him. The gentle brush of her hands against his body. How easy it was for her to melt into him.

6 years. 6 years is nearly a lifetime for someone in their twenties. Leon had hardened as a person, stoic and strong. Someone more cynical. Not as aloof to the world and its secrets. His recruitment into becoming a government agent was less than ideal, threatened with death or becoming an agent; he took the obvious route.

Afterwards he had already begun to realize that the world was more corrupt than he originally thought it was. Cold and cruel leaders with plastered good faces and outlooks lead the world. Little white lies kept the world in order. How naive it was to think that it was anything other than that keeping the corruption at bay. The worlds powers fought constantly for authority, threatening each other with violence, viruses and mass terror. The elite knew, that all that mattered was how much one let slip. That’s how it’s been for decades, and nothing was going to stop it.

He knew that it was a losing battle. The wrong side of the coin to bet on. Despite that, somehow he'd always find a way to fight it.

Years had passed again before he saw her again. A shot in the dark as her sharp crossbow bolt flew past him, hitting her target behind him. A threatening introduction; granted, he was quick to draw his gun at her as well- their circumstances were less than ideal. His gun quickly lowered after shouting her name.

Another woman was attached to him at the hip. And she briefly wondered about their relationship as the brunette drew her own gun at her. Helena, she heard Leon calling her. Helena’s long brown hair wavering with her as she shook in rage, tears brimming at her lashes, her gun wavering just the same.

The gun remained aimed at her. Yet her gaze was fixed on Leon. His hair had gotten just a bit longer. Still framing his perfectly sculpted face, his piercing eyes that shade of blue she could get lost in. He looked a bit more scruffy, roughed up with a few more years of age. And she secretly wondered if he tasted just the same. The slight concern of having Helena’s gun still aimed at her were quickly extinguished as Leon finally gently lowered the gun away from her.

In the brief few seconds he called out for her, he’d already wondered how she’d been since they’ve last seen each other. Despite the distance, he swore he could still remember her scent against him. The sweet saccharin taste of her against his lips. He had promised himself to another and yet he was already thinking about her again. Thinking about the nights they spent together.

They never claimed to be anything. A couple of nights of sex and shared romantic notions meant little when they knew they couldn’t be together. Their lives would never work together without heavy sacrifice. So these few nights spent together were nothing more than a fantasy. Something so sweet and just beyond reach, lingering on the edge of what could be. His thoughts lingered to dark places intermixed with longing ones. He’d wondered if she had found someone else, if someone else could quell the need she had. His sick mind already imagining her with someone else had him twisted with a slight rage.

And yet images of the moments in bed with her still tangled around him flooded his vision. Him buried in between her warm creamy thighs with her legs wrapped around his waist. Wondering if she was staying another night or not. The way she rode him how he needed her to. His fingertips pressed hard into her skin as he felt his release deep inside of her. Marking her anyway he could, the only reminder of him on her. Her manicured nails pressed painfully into his back as her walls fell down as she released herself around him. The last bit of resistance slipping away from her as she clung onto him, desperately riding through the pleasures that coursed through the both of them. In those split seconds, Leon could see her. The real her. The version of herself where she fully trusted him. His own fears about her. The constant struggle of wanting her- and knowing that it couldn’t work.

The empty pain every morning he woke alone, with nothing more than a delicately hand written letter placed on the nightstand. Her gentle scent still enveloping him. Her warmth lingering in the bed. It only made him want her more. His own inner demons was killing him, ripping through his flesh like the monsters he dealt with. Flooding him with dark red desire.

Tell me he savours your glory

Does he laugh the way I did?

Is this a part of your story?

One that I had never lived

Maybe one day you'll feel lonely

And in his eyes, you'll get a glimpse

Maybe you'll start slipping slowly

And find me again

When you're out of sight

In my mind

The interaction was brief, more dangers were always close by. More questions riddled him as he worked towards ending the case, destroying the so called evil. Helena working alongside him, her soft voice nearly whispering to him what he already knew.

“She’s more than just a friend, isn’t she? You have feelings for her.”

He didn’t need to hear it, already knowing that. His little lie he told himself to bare himself the excruciating pain of not knowing the truth. But it was more complicated than that. True, that friends don’t spend hours learning every single part of each others body. It was her kiss prints that lingered on his skin for years. Each one etched onto him like a stain, no matter how hard he’d try; he couldn’t help but feel like his skin was on fire each time she touched him. His fingers traced against her body, against each scar and new wound; asking her where it came from as she did the same for him.

She would mirror his movements, somehow timid yet sure sometimes. Deliberate but graceful. The obvious scar she’d graze her fingertip against his shoulder. The slight concave little circle against his skin she remembered bandaging all those years ago. A little morbid reminder of their first night together. The first time she felt like she let someone in.

Those nights were often the same. His fingers ghosting along her body until they were pressed tightly against her soft hips. His airy whimpers and whines growing as he tried to hold onto her for dear life. Grasping tightly as he chased her lips, wanting more and more each time, bruising her skin and marking her as a reminder of him. Finally feeling what he craved. Cradling her smaller face against his hands as he felt the short wisps of her dark black hair bouncing with each movement of their bodies. His own matted dirty blond tresses against his forehead as her delicate fingers ran through his hair, pushing them out of the way as she breathed another kiss against his skin. Inhaling each other like air. Feeling and fuelling the fire inside of him.

It was supposed to be more complicated than that.

And yet he was quick to jump from a burning building seeing her laying lifeless on the ground. Running to her the second he saw her needing him. As she laid against him, cradled into him, he whispered sweet nothings to her; much like he would during the nights she would stay. He silently prayed to see her open her eyes again. Wanting to see those warm eyes again.

A short exhale slipped from her lips as she slowly woke, “I was just resting my eyes,” she exhaled a quiet laugh, noticing Leon as his tall form shielded her from the entire world. A small smile formed on her lips, ever the hero.

“Shouldn’t sleep on the job,” he quipped back, aiding her back up onto her feet. As the city burned, the evil defeated. She was already gone again. Leon seeing her from across the tops of the building, he questioned himself again. Despite their lives being tangled together in the most messy and intimate ways, he still wondered about her. Wondered why she always helped him somehow in the end. Leading him back to her somehow.

'Cause sometimes I look in her eyes

And that's where I find a glimpse of us

And I try to fall for her touch

But I'm thinking of the way it was

Now he was stuck. Stagnant in a loveless relationship he never wanted to be in. Lifeless in a lifestyle he never wanted. Working on missions that never went anywhere. More corruption, more of the government covering up something else. And yet she was there. The ‘bright sunshine of his life’ that was supposed to brighten his day with each of her smiles. And try her best, he’d try to be better.

Each empty bottle of whiskey she would find stashed somewhere in their shared home left little to the imagination. A soft sigh slipped from her lips. This was all she ever wanted. But he was never really here. Each hug and kiss felt hollow. They haven't shared a bed in months. If they did it would only be a few hours of sleep before he'd be gone again. Each time he’d swear it was only her. She’d believe him. The way those baby blues stared back at her, she’d believe in him every time. Of course she’d want to. She didn’t want to throw away years of their lives together. Spent together, and grown together. She was persistent, wanting to make it work. But each smile he gave her only broke away at her heart. His twisted sweet smile that would tell her that everything would be okay.

She wasn’t naive. At least not towards the end of their relationship. The subtle soft scent of her lingered on his skin some nights. Airy floral jasmine and supple honey stained his skin, penetrating deeply into him. The slightest of bruising of her lip prints reddening against his neck. The way he kissed her felt off, chaste. And yet it would be lingering, like she could taste her. How sickeningly sweet she was. Like she was laced with sweet plump cherries and liquor. No wonder he always went back to her.

Even the way Leon spoke would be different, for a while. Softer, gentler and more relaxed. Somehow more like himself. Claire knew deep down that she was a stand in, a second choice. Someone who was just there because she was there. Left standing there alone when she wasn’t needed anymore. And she deserved better than this, so why didn’t she go?

Each night he was away, he would take the quietest way back, sneaking into their home at the darkest of night. Like he was a stranger in his own home. He never wanted to wake her, and yet she was awake, every time. Awake in her own nightmare.

Said I'm fine and said I moved on

I'm only here passing time in her arms

Hoping I'll find

A glimpse of us

Ooh, ooh-ooh

Ooh, ooh, ooh

“-I never thought my life would turn out this way.” Losing all of his men in a single mission was the last straw for him. The gentle tip backwards into his alcoholism. One of the last many triggers that lead him to almost putting a bullet into his head. But he never did it. No matter how easy it was to pull the trigger against an enemy, against one of those monsters. He couldn’t do it to himself. His finger ghosting along the cold metal trigger, aimed at himself. Cowardice or pride, maybe both, his finger lifted each time, his gun remained loaded, and left alone. Placed back onto the bedside table. Each time he’d lay back down, lay his body to rest, and wait for the next day to rise.

Each day, he drifted further and further apart from her. And she slipped further and further away from him. The love she felt for him, it waned everyday. Sand escaping the hourglass, their time was running out. Each time she tried to let him in, he’d simply walk away. Each fight lead to her forgiving him. Leon making the simple promise of doing better, and Claire letting him feed her the lie. They’d lay together in their bed, simply holding each other as they both wondered where the other was. Even in her arms, she knew, he wasn’t there. And as he lay there, trying to feel something, anything, a spark of a feeling. He’d try to feel. Try to feel, anything. He couldn’t.

All he could do, was try and remember.

Her.

'Cause sometimes I look in her eyes

And that's where I find a glimpse of us

And I try to fall for her touch

But I'm thinking of the way it was

Said I'm fine and said I moved on

I'm only here passing time in her arms

Hoping I'll find

A glimpse of us

Notes: also if it wasn't painfully obvious, i clearly ship one over the other

HER in italics and BOLD is always Ada and i wanted to keep it vague for angst reasons. but i think you can figure it out towards the end. i PERSONALLY always think that leon will alway find a way to go back to ada so even though i know that people like to ship him with claire, i just don't think it makes sense lol so aeon all the way for me.

uhhhhh yeah, so that being said i might post more aeon stuff soon ^__^ i just don't really know since i haven't written for this fandom and i've been out of practice (from writing) for a few months.

THANKS OKAY BYE

#leon kennedy #Leon Kennedy x ada Wong #leon s kennedy #Leon x ada #aeon #resident evil 2 #resident evil 2 remake #resident evil 4 #resident evil 6 #resident evil vendetta #resident evil damnation #resident evil #i didn't bother to tag other character because i don't wanna get crucified lol

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girlwiththegreenhat · 4 years

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i cant go back. i cant. its going to be Salt And Pepper Diner but worse in every way

#liz blogs #transformers #maccadam #bumblebee 2018 #a good movie! three bad movies. a garbage horse shit mess of a movie! A GODSEND OF A MOVIE #BEAUTIFUL CHARACTERS BEAUTIFUL STORY A SOUNDTRACK TO DIE FOR #I CRIED DURING THIS MOVIE AND I STILL THINK ABOUT IT EVERY DAY OF MY LIFE #THE RELIEF AFTER A DECADE OF MOVIES THAT SOMEHOW ONLY GET WORSE #OF HAVING A G O O D F _ _ K I N G M O V I E FINALLY #and oh lord. if we go back. if we go back. holy shit. i cant do it #i used to be able to like kinda enjoy bayformers?? first movie still holds up tbh but maybe its the nostalgia #but dear god i just. the other four were losing what little enjoyability they had with age. BB2018 was the killing blow #i cant watch bayformers anymore unless its the 1st movie or highlights of the rare wholesome moments in them on YT #IF WE GO BACK WE RIOT #I CANT GO BACK YALL #the thought of the movie being bad is Actually stressing me out holy crap i. i just cant go back man i just cant jfc

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superectojazzmage · 2 years

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A Handy Summary Of The Star Wars Franchise:

The Phantom Menace: Two hours of political babble interspersed with cool fights and annoying CGI characters. Introduced the world to George Lucas’s… interesting dialogue. Not as bad as you remember.

Attack Of The Clones: The real worst movie of the Prequel Trilogy. Obi-Wan Kenobi IS Philip Marlowe while Natalie Portman makes an admirable effort to act like she’s turned on by child murder. Worse then you remember.

Revenge Of The Sith: Depression - The Movie. The bad guy wins, the good guys are dead or turned to evil, the Galaxy falls to darkness, and the asthmatic cyborg will never get to finish his lightsaber collection.

A New Hope: The one that started it all. The heartwarming story of a himbo farmboy who joins a radical terrorist movement at the urging of an old man who says he’s a wizard. Really more of a framework and jumping off point then a real story, so everybody says they love it but don’t have much of anything to really say about it.

The Empire Strikes Back: Aw yeah, now we’re talking! The best of the mainline movies. The Rebels come out swinging and get their shit kicked in while James Earl Jones and Mark Hamill have a touching father-son reunion and Boba Fett steals the show. Not as shocking as it used to be considered because everyone copied it.

Return Of The Jedi: The OT movie everyone has mixed feelings about. The epic conclusion to George Lucas’s personal story in the setting, dragged down by the addition of hideous funk singers from my nightmares and militant Care Bears. According to Disney, nothing that happened in this one mattered btw!

The Force Awakens: Brace yourself for disappointment. J. J. Abrams blows up the Star Wars universe to get everything back to the “Empire Vs Rebels” status quo and set up his mystery boxes. Tricked you into thinking the Sequel Trilogy would passable.

The Last Jedi: Subverted your expectations that it would be good. Rian Johnson tries to salvage what Abrams did to the Star Wars universe and do something edgy and new, to severely mixed results. Luke Skywalker drinking alien titty milk was kept in but him mourning his brother-in-law’s death was cut as “unnecessary”.

The Rise Of Skywalker: Disney tries to stick the landing and breaks their legs instead. J. J. Abrams throws a shitfit over what Johnson did with his mystery boxes and torches the Star Wars universe down even more. Somehow… this movie is not good. How is this possible? Dark business, corporatizing, secrets only the Mouse knew.

Rogue One: Everybody’s dead, Jim. The Dirty Dozen if it was set in the Star Wars universe. A giant continuity filler manages to be infinitely better then the entire Sequel Trilogy.

Solo: Now the story of the smuggler who lost everything and the acclaimed director who had to film his origin story. It’s Solo Development. The tragically underrated and unlucky one, guilty of nothing but being released at a bad time and quite good removed from that.

Droids/Ewoks: Ah, yes. “Droids and Ewoks”, the first two Star Wars television series made back in the 80s, of generally poor quality and so painfully divorced from the Star Wars aesthetic that nobody acknowledges their cursed existence. We have dismissed that claim.

Clone Wars Microseries: The real first Star Wars TV show. Genndy Tartakovsky makes one of the most kickass cartoons ever in one of the most limited time frames ever. General Grievous gave you nightmares as a kid.

The Clone Wars: “This is for kids?” - The Series. The sprawling, epic story of a failing decadent government’s final days, occasionally interjected with painfully out of place juvenile comic relief. One of the big reasons for the Prequel Trilogy’s salvaged reputation.

The Bad Batch: Immediately after the Clone Wars, a crack commando unit was persecuted by the Empire. These men promptly escaped to the galactic underground. Today, still wanted by the government, they survive as soldiers of fortune. If you have a problem, if no one else can help, and if you can find them... maybe you can hire The Bad Batch.

Tales Of The Jedi Cartoon: Dave Filoni wants to get those unmade Clone Wars episodes finished and he WILL goddammit! Totally dickteased you by making you think it would be a TOTJ adaptation.

Rebels: The wacky, fanciful, fun-filled story of a terrorist cell waging guerrilla warfare on a tyrannical fascist government. Fights an uphill battle to meet the standard set by Clone Wars, and ultimately succeeds.

The Mandalorian: Dave Filoni and Jon Favreau show Abrams and Johnson how it’s done, God bless them. Pedro Pascal is sent on an epic quest to recreate “Lone Wolf and Cub” using a Yoda-themed Cabbage-Patch Kids doll. Meanwhile, the Mandalorians continue to uphold their most important cultural tradition; hating other Mandalorians.

The Book Of Boba Fett: They fucked with the wrong Māori! Boba Fett tries to become a crime lord but accidentally becomes a civic planner instead, while also going on drug trips and learning the ways of the proud “Native American Metaphor” people. Probably not what you expected it to be, but not necessarily in a bad way.

Ahsoka: Ahsoka and Sabine’s Excellent Adventure. Lucafilm decides to finally resolve plot threads from Rebels over a decade later. Tremble in fear as Rosario Dawson makes the women in your life question their sexuality.

Obi-Wan Kenobi: Live footage of Obi-Wan aging terribly due to the stress of his awful life and getting sassed by little girl Leia. Meanwhile, the Inquisitors have some office drama. Shockingly weak despite a lovely premise and some great performances. Tremble in fear as Ewan MacGregor makes the men in your life question their sexuality.

Andor: Disney starts scraping the bottom of the barrel for Star Wars spin-off ideas. Nevermind this show fucking slaps. A treat for all those fans who wanted more dark, gritty Star Wars. Sex becomes canon to the Star Wars universe as Cassian Andor re-enacts Ocean’s Eleven and some more Imperial office drama leaves numerous people dead.

Resistance: The crappy Sequel Trilogy equivalent of Clone Wars and Rebels. Shows great potential but is hobbled at every possible turn, fails utterly to mature, and ends with a whimper. At least the animation’s nice.

The Holiday Special: THIS DIDN’T HAPPEN.

Dawn Of The Jedi: The painfully obscure origin story of the Jedi Order and the chronologically earliest Star Wars story. Both more and less interesting then you would think.

Tales Of The Jedi: The awesome as fuck and woefully underrated comics that form the backbone of the whole Star Wars universe. Civil wars, tragic falls from grace, hot Sith-On-Sith action, crazy battle sequences, great characters, and a surprising amount of busting ghosts. What more could you want?

KOTOR Comic: John Jackson-Miller bridges the gap between Tales and Knights using the most pathetic failure of a Jedi ever and his quest to not get murdered for bad grades. None of the characters are who you think they’re supposed to be, except when they are.

Knights Of The Old Republic: You were Space Hitler all along and you didn’t even know! Now redeem yourself by completing side quests and beating up your disabled former friend… or screw that and use Force Persuade to bully people into giving you free stuff. BioWare makes the best Star Wars game ever and ever amen.

Knights Of The Old Republic II - The Sith Lords: Winner of both the “Unnecessarily Long Title” and the “Tragically Unfinished But Released Anyways” awards. Drew Karpyshan’s adventurous writing is replaced with Chris Avellone’s edgy nihilism. An annoying old shrew badgers you to question things while never letting you question her ever. APATHY IS DEATH.

The Old Republic: Post-EA BioWare begins their long and glorious history of shitting on their legacy by refusing to make KOTOR 3 and instead producing a Titantic-shaped MMO that inexplicably did NOT sink and die. Enjoy it for what it is, just don’t regard it as canon for your own sanity.

Knight Errant: A Jedi becomes a social activist in Sith Space. Kinda cool comics and books set between the Old Republic era and Darth Bane. Could’ve bloomed into something more interesting but Disney hates fun.

Darth Bane: A based and red-pilled Sith Lord decides the other Sith are doing it wrong and sets out to do it right. An entire novel trilogy built out of a character and backstory detail that didn’t even make the final script of Phantom Menace, and it’s awesome.

The High Republic: Novels and comics about the Jedi spending their glory days fighting evil plants and a bunch of a anarchist rednecks who know hyperspace magic. Still finding it’s feet but wins lots of points for creativity.

Darth Plagueis: A sweet old evil wizard gets backstabbed by his apprentice after getting shit-faced. Probably one of the most important novels.

Open Seasons: Jango Fett’s Life Fucking Sucks - The Comic Book. Contains vital lore for the Mandalorians which Disney took over a decade to acknowledge.

Jedi Apprentice: The prequel to the Prequels. Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan squeeze as many quirky stories as they can into the timeframe right before Phantom Menace.

Starfighter: A pair of great flight sim games set in the Prequel Era. Play as a various mercenaries, soldiers, and privateers and engage in direct action against Space Amazon the Trade Federation. You WILL love Nym.

Bounty Hunter: Jango Fett battles criminals, monsters, fallen Jedi, Mr. Krabs, and annoying level design in this sweet video game tie-in to Attack Of The Clones. Have fun getting distracted chasing after side targets!

Republic Comics: Quinlan Vos is a loose cannon Jedi who doesn’t play by the rules! Also, lots and lots of war crimes happen. One of the few EU works to be fully endorsed by Lucas himself but surprisingly (and undeservedly) obscure despite it.

Republic Commando: SWAT but way cooler because it’s Star Wars. Your tactics will confuse and frighten your men. There’s some supplementary novels too, if you feel like listening to Karen Traviss bitch about the Jedi and suck Mandalorian cock for several hours.

Battlefront: Call Of Duty but way cooler because it’s Star Wars. Watch out for those wrist rockets!!!!

Empire At War: StarCraft but way cooler because it’s Star Wars. Have fun making rancors eat people.

The Force Unleashed: God Of War but… well, it WISHES it was cooler because it’s Star Wars. Fun gameplay is held back by a completely ridiculous story resembling a terrible fanfic that is so embarrassing its barely considered canon, if it is all (it usually is not).

Purge: Rubbing the salt into the wounds of Order 66, starring Darth Vader!

Dark Times: That title ain’t a fucking joke. A Jedi struggles to keep his morals in one of the darkest, bleakest, edgiest Star Wars comics ever written. Seriously, this will give you depression.

Jedi - Fallen Order: The Dark Souls of Star Wars. Cameron Monaghan gets his ass kicked by Oogdo Bogdo so you can get that new poncho.

Vader Immortal: Battle Darth Vader himself with the power of a gimmicky thousand-dollar VR video game accessory that almost nobody owns!

Han Solo Trilogy: The ORIGINAL secret, depressing origin story of Han Solo. If you don’t feel like reading books you can just watch Solo, it’s basically just a distilled version of this.

Marvel’s Star Wars Comics: Comes in two flavors: batshit crazy 80s-era Marvel or bland and worthless 2010s-eras Marvel! At least they do great reprints.

Splinter Of The Mind’s Eye: A really really really weird early novel. Notable for being one of the first EU works and for the copious amounts of accidental incest-shipping.

Tie Fighter/X-Wing: Simulate being a pilot in the Star Wars universe, complete with getting killed by Darth Vader for minor mistakes.

Empire/Rebellion Comics: A cool and underrated little pair of comics depicting the day to day of the war between the Rebels and Empire.

Agent Of The Empire: SECRET AAAAGENT MAN! SECRET AAAAGENT MAN! James Bond comics in the Star Wars universe.

Shadows Of The Empire: Is is a comic, a video game, a book, or a toyline? The answer is yes. Important mostly for how it helped establish how the Star Wars EU could actually function.

Aftermath/Shattered Empire: Disney’s clumsy, boring attempt to make their own Post-ROTJ canon and justify the Sequel Trilogy that will be subsequently contradicted by the Sequel Trilogy itself. Roundly ignored by just about everyone aside from Cobb Vanth and periodic vague token mentions of Operation: Cinder as a thing that happened we guess.

X-Wing Rogue Squadron: Michael Stackpole sends Wedge Antilles and his merry men out onto zany, continuity-fixing misadventures and ends up creating the Chad Fel Empire that makes the Virgin New Republic look bad. Comes in comic, book, and video game forms for easy consumption!

Crimson Empire: One of those Amogus-looking red guys that follows the Emperor around takes center stage and surprises you by being totally awesome.

Squadrons: Disney’s discount version of the X-Wing/Tie Fighter games, but now with an immersive first-person perspective and a yawn-inducing story.

Luke Skywalker And The Shadows Of Mindor: The awesome novel everyone forgets. Matthew Stover fixes Star Wars continuity by pitting Luke Skywalker against his mightiest enemy yet; bad fanfiction.

The Thrawn Trilogy: The REAL Sequel Trilogy. We got military competence and clones all up in this joint! Timothy Zahn sets a standard that future Star Wars will constantly struggle to meet. You WILL root for Thrawn.

Dark Empire: Somehow… Palpatine has returned several decades before Disney did it. Generally viewed with withering contempt by everyone, which makes one wonder why Disney copied it so much over the rest of Legends. Surprisingly not the worst thing looking back.

Dark Forces Saga: KOTOR’s main competitor for title of “Best Star Wars Games”. Kyle Katarn and Jaden Korr spend four increasingly awesome video games torturing stormtroopers with the Force, solving frustrating puzzles, and busting ghosts.

The New Rebellion: Another awesome novel everyone forgets. Luke Skywalker fights one of his students turned evil. That, uh, happens a lot.

Young Jedi Knights: A fun little series of novels about the Skywalker kids becoming real Jedi, and also war crimes. Yet another example of what people WANTED the Sequel Trilogy to be.

Hand Of Thrawn: Weekend At Bernie’s, Star Wars edition, guest-starring psychic furries. Timothy Zahn sits down the EU writers class and shows them how writing for Star Wars is done.

Union: Luke Skywalker and Mara Jade get hitched and promptly get caught up in an international incident proving once and for all the power of the Skywalker Gene.

New Jedi Order: The Star Wars universe is invaded by Warhammer 40K rejects in the epic novel series that breaks all the rules, for better or for worse. Of variable quality for large stretches but ultimately settles down on being pretty awesome, if overly dark at times.

Dark Nest Trilogy: The Jedi fight a bunch of evil bugs. It exists, and that’s about all it has going for it.

Legacy Of The Force: Jacen Solo’s No Good, Very Bad Fall To The Dark Side. Has WILDY varying quality and is mostly just the nightmarish location of a huge spat amongst some of Legends’s writers. Still not as bad as Dark Nest and has some cool bits sprinkled in here and there. But really, you’re better off just skipping to FOTJ.

Fate Of The Jedi: The Jedi and Republic battle corrupt politicians, Cthulhu, and the backwoods yokel version of the Sith in the real sequel to NJO. Things get back on track after the disaster that was LOTF. Deeply flawed in some respects, but ultimately pretty good and a fitting finale for the Post-OT era.

Legacy: The spectacular chronologically final story. Politics, war, redemption, and Cade Skywalker getting high off his ass on deathsticks in the grand final battle between the Jedi and Sith.

Visions: Star Wars finally achieves its lifelong goal of becoming a kawaii as fuck anime. It’s an anthology so quality is all over the place.

Infinities: What If… Star Wars had a terrible ripoff of Marvel’s “What If…?” comics?

Tag And Bink: Abbot And Costello Meet Darth Vader.

LEGO Star Wars: Your childhood comfort food. Spend countless hours of non-canon fun killing Lego Jar Jar and trying to find all the goddamn unlockables.

Legends Canon: The original continuity. Free and experimental but wildly inconsistent at times.

Disney Canon: The new continuity. Relatively consistent but often stifled, bland, and overly-safe.

Your Personal Canon: The only real continuity.

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thefanficmonster · 3 years

Text

Angel With A Shotgun

Rick Flag (The Suicide Squad) x Reader (Female)

Warnings: SPOILERS FOR THE NEW SUICIDE SQUAD MOVIE, Death, Blood and Gore, Swearing

Summary: Being Christopher Smith’s best friend since the early days of army training camps Y/N is more than honored to be going on a mission with him. Little does she know, there are more secrets at play than she could ever imagine. Good thing the girl’s always prepared.

Requested by no one, I’m just PISSED!!! The writers did us dirty AS FUCK and I’m not gonna stay quiet about it so please enjoy this fic and let’s pretend it’s canon. Cool? Cool.

“Careful up there, ok?“ That’s the last thing he said to me before we went our separate ways, following the plan we had conjured up earlier. I knew he wasn’t referring to the bombs I was supposed to plant or the ‘always watch your back, even around allies’ rule. He meant it genuinely. And he meant it for me. That sentence coupled with the look in his eyes when they met mine was enough for me to read between the words and grasp the true message.

And all I could do was offer him a small nod and an even smaller smile.

A smile he vaguely returned before turning and walking off with Cleo and Grieves. And that’s how I remembered him, wishing for that picture to be the one I remember of him in case I die.

In case I die. I never considered the other possibility.

“Listen, Y/N. I’m gonna do something bad. Something really horrible. But it’s the right thing to do. I must do it. You know I only do things I must, right? You know me.“ He pleaded with me, eyes begging me to trust him as he basically told me he was derailing from the plan we had constructed down to the tiniest detail.

My hands shook as I adjusted the bomb to the wall, my eyes widening and any words I wanted to tell him dying in my throat, leaving me speechless before him. As if automatically, my head moved on its own, nodding. It’s the only thing I’ve known I guess. Chris says something and I automatically agree cause I trust him limitlessly. Isn’t that how it always is with best friends after all? Can anyone blame me really?

But can anyone also blame me for my gut screaming not to let it go so easily?

There’s no real friends in the field, Y/N. He’s got a mission, you’ve got one of your own. You shouldn’t even be here, goddamn it! Go! GO, right this instant!

Gut feelings, the closest thing to being psychic. And boy does Flag owe my gut feeling his life.

But heroism always comes at a price, doesn’t it? There’s always a reward and a price that you never saw coming in the first place.

The reward is easy to guess, but the price can vary so drastically it can never be measured or foreseen.

That’s what happened to me when I decided to follow Chris.

The task I gave myself upon boarding the aircraft was simple, and the biggest price in my eyes was losing my life but I was already prepared for that when Waller recruited me on the very first mission.

Little did I know the price of saving Rick would be the look of utter betrayal in my best friend’s eyes, looking at me with the same intensity as a hundred voices screaming ‘TRAITOR’ at me.

“I’m sorry, Chris.“ I managed to say, my hands gripping the shotgun with all my might just so I don’t drop it. “You were sent here to cover up Waller’s dirty laundry, and I came here to protect Flag.” I cock my gun upwards, praying Chris doesn’t notice how shaky my hands are. “So keep your hands off him!“

He shakes his head, “You have no fucking idea what you’re doing, Y/N! Him over me?! Some fucking nobody over someone who’s been by your side for a whole fucking decade?!“

I gulp, my resolve only strengthening as a result of his guilt tripping. “You heard me. Friends or family, you don’t get a second chance for being a traitor.”

“Me?! I’M the traitor here?! He just threatened to send our country into chaos because of his righteousness!“ He roared, his gun clutched just as tightly. It may be the tension suggesting it but eventually, I know it’ll come down to who’ll pull the trigger first.

And that realization has cold sweat running down my body.

“Fake peace built atop lies is worse than a war!“ I snap, now aiming my gun at him, determined to be the first to send a bullet flying across the room. Not cause I want to survive for myself. But for Rick. If I die, so will he. Chris doesn’t play fair. Rick is knocked out and Chris won’t even think before turning his body into a bag of bullets.

I won’t let that happen.

A gun’s pointed at me now too, sending my heart beating louder.

“Then you’ve picked the wrong side.“ He mutters with despise, “If you see me as no friend, I have no reason to hold back either.“

And that’s the last push I needed to send those three bullets I had with his name on them straight into his chest, at least one undoubtedly hitting his heart.

Did it hurt with all the memories we have made together in mind? Of course it fucking did. I may be a soldier/criminal but I’m not made out of stone, damn it.

But did it feel relieving knowing what he was seconds away from doing? Pains me to admit but yes.

With a heavy sigh I sling my shotgun over my shoulder and carefully walk over to Rick’s still unconscious form laying on the tiled floor.

“Colonel?“ I whisper, ducking down to give his shoulder a slight shake, “Flag, please don’t do me like this, wake up. Please wake up, Rick.“ I jump, almost losing my balance when I hear what sounds to be Harley screaming for a brief second before a loud crash echoes above.

I can’t stay here with whatever hell my teammates are going through going on above my head, threatening to wipe them all out and them Rick and me too. So, I make a quick and a rather stupid decision. Slinging one of Rick’s arms over my shoulders I wrap an arm around his waist and somehow manage to hoist him up, bringing him weakly to his feet and earning a small groan from him as if reaching me from the other side of a wall of fog.

“There you are, Colonel. Let’s go, the team’s counting on us.“ I say, desperately trying to push forward with the weight of my shotgun and Rick pushing my already exhausted and weak body down.

“Y/N...that you?“ He asks, his voice groggy, “Or am I dead? Are you an angel? Where am I?“

Damn Chris must’ve knocked his head pretty hard, I think to myself.

Just as I’m about to answer, Rick lifts up his hand to run it over his face to help himself wake up fully but he accidentally hits the handle of my shotgun, causing him to let out a chuckle. “Angel with a shotgun, I see. Then it must be you, Y/N.”

“Bet on it, Flag.“ I reply with a chuckle, almost sighing with relief when he manages to hold some of his weight up by himself, “Not gonna lie, you gave me quite the scare.“

“Never gonna happen again. That’s a promise, doll.“ He drawls, his head resting against my shoulder more as an endearing gesture than need for support.

“Better keep it. Not looking forward to finding you actually dead one day.“

“No worries, angel. No such thing will happen.“

“Good.“

He knows better than to disobey an angel with a shotgun. Smart man.

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joshslater · 3 years

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Cross Contamination

Similar stories and bonus material on my Patreon.

I'm fucking furious. To most people Jack Wilson is a hockey hotshot, but to me he is just my wife's ex that can't let go. She said they had another encounter, but wouldn't go into details, saying it wasn't just his fault. She couldn't help herself, she said. Knowing how much she loathes him I suspect she was afraid of him turning violent. He is a star athlete after all, known to have punched more than a few players on the ice.

I know he's training at the stadium right now. That's how bad it has gotten, that I even know his schedule. I'm probably speeding getting there, but nothing else is important right now. I park the car in the huge, but almost empty parking. Neverending slabs of concrete to allow for the cars of thousands of cheering fans during game day. Well, I'm certainly not a fan. Still fuming as I exit the car and heading towards the arena I see him and a few others from his team running towards the same building from across the car park. They must be out for cardio or something. I stop and shout towards them "Hey! Jack!"

I can see them slow down a little, Jack saying something to them, and then breaking apart jogging in my direction while they continue at speed towards the stadium building. I remain still, just glaring at him as he closes in on me. He slows down quite a bit away and saunters towards me, still panting. He has an aura of smug superiority. He's good looking, despite his matted, sweaty hair and week-old beard. It's not just because he's in top shape, but he has that classic athlete chin cut, and mesmerizing eyes to go with it too. He's quite a bit shorter than me, and way denser and muscled, but I would bet my weekly martial arts practice can match him if needed. "Hey, cocksucker! You managed to find your way here," he yells back at me.

"I want you to know..." "Shut up"

I don't know why, but I can't look away from his intense eyes. It's like they can see into me, see every part of me. I'm frozen in place just watching him getting closer. "I said hey cocksucker. What are you waiting for? Go ahead and suck my cock." He says this as calmly as he can, never breaking eye contact. I don't think he blinks. I don't think I blink. I slowly go down on my knees, grabbing the hem of his sweatpants, and pull down. I still keep eye contact, so I have to feel my way for the waistband of his underwear to pull it down too. I can feel the heat radiate from his steaming body. There's a smell of sweat, not the stale, musky kind, but from someone who showers every day and uses fresh clothes for each workout. He's professional and they got staff. I can hear his heavy breath as he is still recovering from the sprint. And I can feel a rather large cock in front of me that is erect, or at least a good way there. I grab it in my hands and guide the tip to my lips and begin to lick it. It doesn't really taste of much. I open my mouth and get more and more of his compression shirt wrapped abs and pecs in my view as I stare into his deep eyes, and take his big cock deeper and deeper into my mouth.

The tip reaches some point at the back of my mouth and I start to gag, making horrendous gurgling noises. I move back from him. "All the way. I want to be balls deep down your throat, cocksucker." I do as he commands, and push it in again, further. It's somehow much easier this time and my lips are tickled by his moist bush of pubes. I then start to work it, in and out, in and out. The noise I'm making is still horrendous. A wet, sloshy sound, and I hate it. "Yeah, you like that, cocksucker. Now, faster." I grab him by the hip and increase the pace. I get lost in the actions, like nothing matters but his cock, the noise, and his eyes.

I don't know for how long I was in a trance, but I feel him tensing up, pulling me tight to him, and shooting a big load of his cum down my throat. Suddenly the gaze that had held me like a vice breaks and he looks at my face rather than into my eyes. The spell is broken. I'm kneeling in a parking lot with Jack Wilson's cock down my throat, and my nose nuzzled into his pubes. His eyes suddenly widen, and his face turns into horror, like he is looking at a monster. Everything is going like in slow motion. I begin to push him away, to get his disgusting cock out of my mouth as he shoots his second load. Somehow in shock I manage to breathe in his cum. He pulls away from me as well, and his third load ends up just next to me on the concrete. "Fuck!" he says, visibly upset. "It's still in the bloodstream. Spit it out! Spit it out!"

I'm not sure I even have any in my mouth to spit out. It just went straight into my belly and into my lungs. Lungs that are desperately trying to cough up his spunky goo in phlegm-filled, deep whoops. "Fuck!" he shouts one last time, pulls up his sweatpants, and runs towards the Stadium building with one hand holding the pants up. I'm just folded over on my knees coughing and coughing while my mind is racing to make sense of what just happened. My chest is burning and I feel nauseated. There is the salty, bitter taste of cum in my mouth and a stench of athlete sweat as I gasp for air in between the coughs. I keep coughing, but less and less of substance is coming up. I spit out specks of Jack's spunk on the concrete in front of me, and realize what she had meant when she said she couldn't help herself. Did he fuck her? After what just happened I wouldn't put anything past Jack, and there is literally nothing I wouldn't forgive her for having done. She would have been helpless to stop.

I can feel my whole body burning as I get up from the concrete. I'm very aware how my clothes rubs against my body, like my senses have just gone into overdrive. Everything, every single muscle in my body feels sore. My head is spinning. Still coughing I stagger towards my car and get in behind the wheels. As I close the door the world goes silent. I can only hear my own exhausted panting. I'm confused about what is happening and feel sick as shit, but at least the world isn't spinning anymore. Somehow I must have been poisoned. What did he mean with "in the bloodstream?"

I start the car and carefully drive from the parking lot and out in the direction of home. Perhaps I shouldn't be driving at all. Crashing while driving is worse than crashing while sitting in a parking lot, but I really don't want to have to call anyone for help. Not after what I've just been through. I so sympathize with the movie cliché of a girl sobbing in the shower. I only want to cleanse myself in any way possible. To get rid of Jack from me. Even now I can feel the smell of athletic sweat, like it was clinging on to me.

There is a big pop accompanied by one of the chest buttons on my shirt shooting off in the car. The pop isn't so much heard as felt, as a reverberation in my body like someone just punched me in the chest, with dull spikes of pain in the joints. I swerve dangerously close to the side of the road. It feels like my shoulders pops into their sockets, like my chest just suddenly expands and the rest of my body catches up. There is no mirror I can look in, but I can clearly see something is off just by looking down at my body. What little movement I can make while driving the car feels different.

There is another big shift. Knees and hip joints this time, I think. I'm a little more prepared to handle that one without swerving, but this time I'm instead missing the brake pedal like the seat is set wrong. I scoot forward on the seat and reach the pedal. Now I'm getting real nervous what is happening. I'm almost home though, but I can feel my thigh muscles involuntarily flexing, my feet are hurting, and my stomach is gurgling like bad plumbing.

Her car is not home yet, thank God. I park mine as calmly as I can, screaming inside that I need to get inside and see what the fuck is going on. As I step out of the car I get a first inkling about the enormity of the changes. I almost trip stepping out of the car, and sit down again on the edge of the seat. The fabric on the trousers are straining, and I realize that my feet are probably hurting because they have swollen up inside the shoes. I try to kick off one of the sneakers, but it's stuck enough that I have to untie them. My movements feel off. It's not that it is hard to move. The opposite in fact, but different somehow. Me feet thanks me in relief as they are freed,

With the shoes off I awkwardly make my way into the house and step into the nearest bathroom. It's me in the mirror, of course, but me 5-10 years younger. I'm touching my face in disbelief. But this isn't just me regressed a decade in time. I was way taller than this then. Curious I unbutton the remaining buttons on my shirt and throw it on the floor. The chest and abs are not me 5-10 years ago. I've never looked this buff before. For one I've never had washboard abs, and the pecs and shoulders are wide and meaty. The arms more slender, though still muscular, and the core is built more for function than aesthetics. A bit too dense for the show off V shape. Dense, with a low center of gravity.

It's the body of a hockey player.

I rip off the straining trousers and the socks. Sure enough, massive leg muscles, big thighs, big ass, big feet. Jack the fucking cheater is a fraud in all areas. Whatever the fuck he is taking must have concentrated in his balls, shot into my lungs, and from there gone straight into my bloodstream to do whatever the fuck it's done to me. And there is nothing I can do to hurt him with it. Who would believe me? This is so far from any science I've heard of.

I take a closer look in the mirror again. Perhaps it isn't all bad after all.

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leafinthebreeze · 4 years

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“The road that is recovery from a childhood without a mother’s love, support, and attunement is long and complicated. One aspect of healing that is rarely touched upon is mourning the mother you needed, sought, and — yes — deserved. The word deserved is key to understanding why this remains elusive for many women (and men): They simply don’t see themselves as deserving, because they’ve internalized what their mothers said and did as self-criticism and have wrongly concluded that they’re lacking, worthless, or simply unlovable.

When I learned that my mother was failing 16 years ago, I did not go to see her, even though everyone in my life — including my therapist — thought I should go for “closure.” But I was wise enough to realize that they hadn’t walked my path, and their vision of closure was based on novels and Hollywood movies in which a-ha! moments flourish and mothers always love. In real life, I would ask the question I always wanted to be answered — “Why didn’t you love me?" — and she would refuse to answer, as always, but this time her silence would stretch out into eternity. I didn’t attend her funeral, either. But I did grieve — not for her, but for me and my unmet needs. And the mother I deserved.

"As I started finally to see her for what she was and how she will never be the mother I need and want, I started standing up for myself and setting boundaries, and her anger and insults got worse. Finally, I put my foot down and told her I would no longer tolerate her behavior and stopped all contact. And, NOW, I am really in mourning. I finally acknowledged the truth, and it hurts like hell. And I’m at the age where some of my friends are starting to lose their moms to old age and their stories, of times with their moms, are heartbreaking to me… I guess I just started this mourning process, and I’m still in it." —Annie

Grieving the mother you needed is impeded by both feeling unworthy of love and, more important, what I call the core conflict. This conflict is between the daughter’s growing awareness of how her mother wounded her in childhood and still does, and her continuing need for maternal love and support, even in adulthood. This pits the need to save and protect herself against the continuing hope that, somehow, she can figure out what she can do to get her mother to love her.

This tug-of-war can go on for literally decades, with the daughter retreating and perhaps going no-contact for a period of time and then being pulled back into the maelstrom by the combination of her neediness, hopefulness, and denial. She may paper over her pain and make excuses for her mother’s behavior because her eyes are on the prize: Her mother’s love. She puts herself on an ever-turning Ferris wheel, unable to dismount.

Those who concede the battle — going no contact, or limiting communication with their mothers and usually other family members — experience great loss along with relief. For the daughter to heal, this loss — the death of the hope that this essential relationship can be salvaged — needs to be mourned along with the mother she deserved.

The depth of the core conflict can be glimpsed in the anguish of those daughters who stay in the relationship precisely because they fear they will feel worse when their mothers die.

The stages of grief echo a daughter’s recovery from childhood.

In their book On Grief and Grieving, Elizabeth Kübler-Ross and David Kessler point out that the five stages of loss for which Kübler-Ross is famous — denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance — aren’t meant “to help tuck messy emotions into neat packages.” They instead emphasize that everyone experiences grief in a unique and individual way. Not everyone will go through each stage, for example, and the stages may not necessarily follow in the expected sequence. That said, the stages are still illuminating, especially when seen in the context of an unloved daughter’s journey out of childhood, and they make it clear why mourning is an essential part of healing.

Denial: As the authors write, “It is nature’s way of letting in as much as we can handle.” With the experience of great loss, denial helps cushion the immediate blow, allowing the person to pace the absorption of the reality. That’s true for death, but it also applies to the daughter’s recognition of her woundedness. That’s why it can take years or decades for the daughter to actually see her mother’s behavior with clarity. Counterintuitively, some women actually only see it in hindsight, after their mothers’ deaths.

Anger: In the wake of death, anger is the most accessible of emotions, directed at targets as various as the deceased for abandoning the loved one, God or the forces of the universe, the unfairness of life, doctors and the healthcare system, and more. Kübler-Ross and Kessler stress that beneath the anger lie other, more complex emotions, especially the raw pain of loss, and that the power of the grieving person’s anger may actually feel overwhelming at times.

Unloved daughters, too, go through a stage or even stages of anger as they work through their emotions toward recovery. Their anger may be directed squarely at their mothers for their treatment, at other family members who stood by and failed to protect them, and also at themselves for not recognizing the toxic treatment sooner.

Anger at the self, alas, can get in the way of the daughter’s ability to feel self-compassion; once again, it is the act of mourning the mother you deserved that permits self-compassion to take root and flower.

Bargaining: This stage has to do with impending death most usually — bargaining with God or making promises to change, thinking that “if only” we’d done x or y, we’d be spared the pain of loss. With death, this is a stage to be passed through toward acceptance of the reality. The unloved daughter’s journey is marked by years of bargaining, spoken or unspoken entreaties in the belief that if some condition is met, her mother will love and support her. She may embark on a course of pleasing and appeasing her mother or make changes to her behavior, looking in vain for the solution that will bring the desired end: Her mother’s love. Just as in the process of grief, it’s only when the daughter ceases to bargain that she can begin to accept the reality that she’s powerless to wrest what she needs from her mother.

Depression: In the context of a major loss, Kübler-Ross and Kessler are quick to point out that we are often impatient with the deep sadness or depression that accompanies it. As a society, we want people to snap out of it, or are quick to insist that if sadness persists, it deserves treatment. They write instead that in grief, “Depression is a way for nature to keep us protected by shutting down the nervous system so that we can adapt to something we feel we cannot handle. They see it as a necessary step in the process of healing.

Acceptance: Most importantly, Kübler-Ross and Kessler are quick to say that acceptance of the reality isn’t a synonym for being all right or even okay with that reality. That’s a key point. It’s about acknowledging the loss, identifying the permanent and even endlessly painful aspects of it, the permanent changes it’s made to your life and you, and learning to live with all of that from this day forward. In their view, acceptance permits us “to withdraw our energy from the loss and begin to invest in life.” Acceptance permits the mourner to forge new relationships and connections as part of their recovery.

What does it mean to mourn the mother you deserved?

Just what it sounds like — to grieve the absence of a mother who listened to you, took pride in you, who needed you to understand her as well as she understood you, a woman willing to own up to her mistakes and not excoriate you for yours, and — yes — someone to laugh and cry with.”

https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/tech-support/201703/daughters-unloving-mothers-mourning-the-mom-you-deserved

#mental health #cptsd #emotional health #emotion regulation #recovery from abuse #recovery from trauma #psychology #inner child #reparenting #narcissistic mother #mother wound #abusive mother #toxic mother #dysfunctional mother #grieving #loss #childhood emotional neglect #scapegoat child #child abuse

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mollymauk-teafleak · 4 years

Note

Hi! I love your blog and your writing! That last Juno and Ben fic you wrote was so beautiful and heartbreaking, and 'I will love you if I never see you again' was INCREDIBLE, I've read it like three times! I was wondering if I could request some Ben/Mick fluff or angst? Thanks and I hope you take care!

Thank you so, so much for your lovely words about my work, I’m so glad you like it!

And I am very sorry that this is how I’m repaying you...

---

“I think I’m going to move out.”

Mick was half asleep already, he wasn’t sure what he’d heard for a moment. He wasn’t even sure Ben had spoken, his voice was so soft and small, like he was half a world away rather than lying in his arms, their noses practically touching on the pillow.

“Huh?” he mumbled in response, forcing one eye to open even with how leaden his eyelids felt. Mick had always been a heavy sleeper.

But the sight of Benzaiten Steel was worth it. He looked so different when he was tired, without the make-up and the smiles he put on for the rest of the world. Mick always felt like he was seeing a version of Ben that no one else got to see, making him feel like the luckiest guy on Mars. So much about Ben made him feel like that. Right now he was staring at him with wide eyes, still slightly glazed, it couldn’t have been more than five minutes since he finished. His face was soft, unmanaged, vulnerable. He looked like how Mick remembered from their first night together, the night they hadn’t even needed to have sex because just being in the same bed, nothing between them, had been more than enough. He looked sixteen again.

“I think I’m going to move out,” Ben repeated, voice still small like he was worried someone would hear, “Out of mom’s house.”

Mick stopped, both eyes snapping open now. He sat up, wanting to focus, wanting to force his mind that wandered so easily to stay still and really listen because he could see now how important this evening had suddenly become. And he’d thought tonight would have been the same as any other Saturday; movies on his dad’s ratty old sofa, ones they didn’t really listen to because they were so wrapped up in each other. Sex that was amazing, sleeping in each others arms that was somehow even better and Ben waking him up as he tried to leave quietly for his early class the next morning. Mick liked predictability, he liked knowing what was coming. And he hadn’t known this was coming, not at all.

“Oh…” Mick mumbled, wishing he had something better to say, as Ben followed him in sitting up, “You...you sure?”

Ben sighed, not in frustration at Mick, he was pretty much the only person on Mars who had never and would never do that. He just sighed like he was deeply exhausted, leaning back against the headboard, curls falling in his eyes as he looked up at the ceiling.

“I just...I don’t think I’m doing any good, Mick,” he mumbled, “I thought she needed me around but...lately, more and more, it feels like me being there is making her worse?”

Mick chewed on his lip unhappily. He didn’t like to comment on Ben’s ma. He didn’t know a lot about her, honestly, for someone who’d known the Steel twins as long as he could remember. There had been the odd conversation, sure, where she’d handed them juice when they were little kids and asked about school in the way adults did, like they all read from the same script. But that was all he knew, even after nearly five years dating Ben and more than a decade of friendship with them both.

And most of that was their doing, Jay and Ben had always kept her at arm’s length from their friends. Mick more saw the periphery, he saw the impressions that were left. He saw how Jay’s jaw would tighten when the subject of parents came up in school, like when they’d read a story about a happy family or the teacher would mention taking something home to mom and dad. He saw how Ben would get uncomfortable when Mick was at his house, not like he didn’t want him there but like he was expecting something bad to happen at any moment, something where he’d need to throw himself in front of Mick to protect him. He’d seen the signs on both of them, the signs of missed meals and sleepless nights. He’d had them both turn up on his doorstep on a school night before, asking meekly, shamefaced, if they could sleep on his floor. He knew Sasha had, too.

And he’d heard the arguments since Jay had split and joined the academy. He’d seen Ben coming back from dinners with his brother, red eyed and tense. He heard his boyfriend angrily slam his comms down on a conversation halfway through.

Mick knew enough. Enough to make his stomach churn when he would drop Ben off at home and watch him walk through the door, feeling like somehow he had failed him.

But Ben had stayed, even after Jay left before the candles were even blown out on his eighteenth birthday cake. And Mick trusted Ben’s reasons for doing that, for them still not having moved in together, for there having been no word of moving beyond what they had right now, still a high school relationship with more frequent sleepovers. He trusted his boyfriend’s big heart.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t scared for it, each and every day.

“How do you mean worse?” he asked, striving for delicacy even when he knew it was so far from his strong suit.

Ben hadn’t looked at him since he’d spoken but now Mick got the sense he was deliberately doing it, “I mean...she...it’s complicated but...the pills…”

Mick reached over and took his hand, where it was lying limply on the bed. After a moment, those fingers responded, holding Mick’s tightly in return.

“She keeps thinking I’m Juno,” he admitted, voice shrunk right down, “She’s seeing things, she’s losing things when they’re right in front of her. It feels like the medication isn’t doing it’s job any more. And sometimes...she says things. To me. When she thinks I’m Juno.”

Mick felt his shoulders square, “What kind of things? Ben?”

“Nothing she means,” he said quickly, shaking his head, “It’s her...troubles talking. But I don’t think I’m helping any more. I...I think she needs to move somewhere. A facility. Where they can keep her safe when I can’t.”

Ben actually flinched, like he was expecting some divine retribution, like he was waiting for the universe to rail against him for even daring to say that about his own mother.

But there were only the two of them, lying side by side in the darkness. And honestly, Mick was doing everything he could to keep the relief out of his voice.

“Ben, you’ve done everything you can for her, more than you ever had to,” he spoke haltingly, trying so hard to find the right words to match what was going on inside him, “And deep down, she knows that. If this is what's right for her, then it’s what’s right. And...it’s not your fault.”

Ben looked up at him and Mick realised in that moment that his boyfriend had been holding back tears for a while now. He folded him into his arms and let him sob against his chest, stroking his tight curls and rocking him, just like he’d always wanted someone to do for him when he cracked like this. When he was little, anyway. Now he had Benzaiten.

Mick always hated this, he hated that there were hurts inside the man he loved that he couldn’t fix. But Ben had taught him that he could at least be there.

“Hey, hey,” he murmured, when he felt Ben’s tears start to slow, “It’s alright, sunshine. It’s okay.”

“Thanks,” Ben gasped, moving to rub his eyes but Mick got there first, gently dabbing at them with the edge of his shirt, “It’s just hard. I love her and...and she’s going to hate me…”

“She’s your ma, Ben. She loves you,” Mick tried to reassure him though, truthfully, he had no idea, “Sometimes you have to make decisions that are hard but...they’re what’s best in the end.”

“I know...I just feel so selfish.”

“Selfish is the last thing you are, Benzaiten Steel,” Mick’s voice firmed now he knew he was saying something absolutely true and he held onto his boyfriend tightly, “Believe me, I’m an idiot, but even I know that.”

“You’re not an idiot,” Ben shouldered him lightly, barely even moving his boyfriend who was much bigger than him, “Don’t say that.”

“Well don’t say you’re selfish,” Mick returned, chuckling, bringing them back to lying down, back to being nose to nose, “You just...you love so much, Ben. Everything you do is motivated by that. And it’s so nice.”

Ben sighed gently and kissed him lightly on the lips, “See? How can you say you’re an idiot when you say such lovely things?”

Mick laughed, kissing him back just because he could and because it felt so good, before murmuring, “So...if you’re moving out...do you need a place to stay? Cos I know a not-idiot who has room in his bed…”

Ben’s eyes shone and hope dawned in them, “Really? You’d be okay with that?”

“Sure!” Mick grinned, “Or, hell, we don’t even have to live here. I’ll sell my bike and we can move somewhere new, get out of Oldtown, off of Mars itself if you want. Somewhere fun and exciting and you can dance and I can write and we’ll have a million pets and a million kids and we’ll get married and love each other for the rest of our lives…”

Ben was giggling and squirming before he’d even finished, blushing beautifully and burying his face against Mick’s neck, “You’d need to sell more than your bike...but that sounds nice.”

“Sure does,” Mick held him close, able to breathe again now the smile was back on Ben’s face.

“It’ll take a bit of time I guess, finding her a place, somewhere nice where they’ll take good care of her and help her feel safe…” Ben murmured, “Somewhere away from all the noise and stress...but then I can sell the house to pay for it, Juno will help...and then…”

“And then?” Mick murmured, kissing the top of his head.

He felt him smile against his skin, a smile of pure hope.

“Then I can get on with loving you for the rest of my life.”

#tpp #fic #the penumbra podcast #mick mercury #benzaiten steel #ben/mick #angst #pre bens death #canon compliant #blame my girlfriend for this

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queenmuzz · 4 years

Text

Deep Blue Sea: Chapter XII

Living on Borrowed Time

Read the full story on Ao3 Here!

Warning: Descriptions of Violence, and mild descriptions of blood. 10:56PM

He looks so peaceful, you thought to yourself as you watched him doze off that night. He was floating gently, with only his tail moving slowly to keep him from drifting too far up to the surface, or too far down to the floor. It fascinated a part of you, of how his people had adapted to live in such a starkly different world than yours. Another part of you was enthralled by his culture, the way his kind lived, interacted, their stories, songs, customs.

And yet, there was yet another part of you, the part that had grown to like him, and then to love him, who knew this couldn’t last. You needed to set him free, and in an hour, you’d finally have the way to do so.

You thanked your lucky stars that you had not, in your ignorance, attempted to free him earlier. You would have never forgiven yourself if you had inadvertently cursed him to a fate worse than death. Perhaps being a meek, indecisive person had finally been a source of good.

But there was no indecisiveness now, no meekness. You had a job to do, and by the Tidemother, you’d see it to its completion, no matter if it broke your heart.

Of course, Vergil had been completely left in the dark in all of this, you’d seen to that. You’d kept up the facade of being a happy, excited bride to be, blaming your bouts of silence and furrowed brows on ‘just being nervous’ about the upcoming nuptials. And he’d bought it hook, line, and sinker.

You placed your hand on the glass, as you once did when you two first met, but this time there would be no reciprocating hand on the other side. It was probably better this way.

You quickly put on your jacket, keys at your hip, and codes in your head, and you slipped out into the late spring night.

It’ll be all over soon, Vergil.

11:17PM

You pulled up to the deserted building with some relief. In your haste to get out, you’d forgotten to check the security feed one last time. But it seemed okay, no one was there, and the closest person who could be alerted to the break in was your father, and he was coming home from a business meeting, and wouldn’t be back until early morning.

Still, you fumbled a bit as you picked out the correct key. Part of you wished you had had drank something, like Sarah had once suggested, to settle your nerves, but you reminded yourself you couldn’t afford being pulled over for impaired driving tonight.

You made your way through the darkened building, before reaching the safe door. This is where your family kept its most priceless documents, artwork, financial statements, and heirlooms. Placing your finger on the scanner, you waited as the computer analyzed your fingerprint, and it registered you as a family member. Once it recognized your biometrics, it asked for a six digit passcode.

After a moment’s hesitation, you punched it in, knowing that it was logging your entry into the safe. That’s why you had to do it tonight, and the plan had to go flawlessly, you’d never get another chance at this once your father checked the security logs.

And once he did? What’s the worst he could do? Call off your wedding? You laughed at the thought. After this was done, there was nothing your father could do, if he didn’t want to endanger his precious business deals that hung off this wedding. So doing this would cost you nothing…

Save for your happiness.

The hiss of air as hydraulics opened the seal, like some 80’s sci-fi movie, and the buzz of fluorescent lights buzzing to life as they lit up one by one. You cautiously made your way, pausing as you approached an old painting of your great grandfather, currently being kept here until a restorer could fix the frame and touch up the varnish. Would he be disappointed at what you were doing? You forced yourself to walk past him, your target next to the metal filing cabinet.

There, leaning against it was that damned briefcase, with locked clasps. Well, you might not have the key or code to unlocking that, but you did have something more versatile: your jackknife. Slipping the blade under the clasp, you applied pressure, and with a loud metallic CLINK that echoed throughout the space, the lock cracked. Taking a deep breath, you opened the case…

There, surrounded in custom cut polyurethane, was the most beautiful weapon you’d ever seen. Dante’s sword might have exuded strength and power, but this...this practically radiated precision and discipline. The saya was made of the finest blue lacquered wood...but not just any wood. It gave off the distinct smell of being at the beach...driftwood. You’d never thought something as worn and rough as that could be carved into something so gorgeous.

Wrapped around it and the tsuba was a sageo, but instead of rope, it was some sort of seaweed, finely woven. And despite this weapon being trapped in dry stale air, it was still as flexible as if it had just come out of the ocean. How odd. There was so much you didn’t understand about mer culture, whether they were capable of magic, or if it could be easily explained by science.

Your hand grazed against the tsuba, inlaid with mother of pearl that gleamed even in the harsh artificial light. You felt a spark, not unpleasant, but strong enough to know it wasn’t just in your head. A warning? Slowly, you placed your hand around it, and now you could swear it was humming. Taking a deep breath, you gripped a bit tighter, and with a smooth motion that you’d not expected, you expertly unsheathed the blade, with only a whisper as it left the confines of its saya.

Transfixed by it, you raised it up, to closer marvel at the metal work. It was unlike any smithwork you’d ever seen, with possibly only the finest Damascus Steel coming close to it. Ripples and waves, like an oily sheen, coated the metal, and you could have sworn that the patterns slowly changed.

You marveled at how unblemished the metal was, your reflection on it’s mirror-like surface, the reflection of your great-grandfather’s portrait, the reflection of Doctor Griffon.

Wait, what?

You turned around suddenly, to come face to face with the Good Doctor himself, his arms crossed, and a very fake smile plastered onto his face.

“My dear,” he slimely said, “I suppose it was a good thing that I forgot some of my papers tonight, because imagine my surprise when I came back to pick it up, and I came across a thief, stealing not gold, nor gems, but something much more priceless; my life’s work.”

“Steal!?” you questioned, “Strange, I could have sworn that this,” your eyes motioned to the weapon, “wasn’t yours to begin with.”

The bastard dropped the facade of fake friendliness. “You, a spoiled rich girl, coming in to dictate how I use my resources. I already gave up my access to Subject Angelo for the desperately needed financial aid your father provided, all so that his little girl” he practically spat out the insult, “could have it as a pet. But no, that wasn’t enough for her, she wants to steal the one thing that could get me into every single prestigious scientific journal in the world, to usurp my place as the preeminent expert on Merkind.”

“What?” You were perplexed. The man was so up his scientific ass, he had just assumed your attempt at a prison break was actually a burglary for his stupid research.

“You’ve got the wrong idea…” you tried to explain, knowing it was fruitless, but it didn’t matter, he cut you off.

“Oh I know exactly what you’re up to, I haven’t spent four decades being mocked by my peers in the scientific community to be that naive. I know how they backstab each other for the merest crumb of success. Now hand me back the weapon.” his hand reached out, as if he was a disappointed parent who caught his child with their hand in the cookie jar.

“Never,” you hissed, and his face turned a dark shade of red. “Of course, ‘daddy’s little girl’ has never been told no,” he practically growled, and he lunged towards you. “I won’t give my life’s work to some know-nothing rich bitch”

You dropped the saya as you barely evaded his attack, his fists missing your face by a hair. Yamato buzzed dangerously in your hand, and you placed both hands around the tsuba, almost instinctively. You brought it up in a pale imitation of a Samurai pose, the tip shaking noticeably.

Griffon now snarled and attacked again in almost animalistic rage, and this time you dodged more easily, as if you were being guided by an unseen hand.

Unfortunately, the doctor still blocked the way between you and the exit, so you would have to play this bullfighting game until you had an opening, and then make a run for it. But right now, he had you pinned, the portrait frame digging at your back. In this cramped space, you’d have only the tiniest bit of time to avoid the attack. He seemed to notice as well, as with a maniacal grin, he yanked an antique brass candelabra from one of the shelves, and after smacking it into his hand to test its weight, he struck.

You had no space, no time to move, so you brought up Yamato in a futile attempt to block, but then there was the sound of rushing wind, the smell of sea salt, and the sound of ripping fabric.

For the briefest of moments, you stood confused. You’d somehow escaped from being bludgeoned. But what was strange was your position. You hadn’t moved, and yet it was if you and the doctor’s places had switched. You stood back to back, both of you stunned.

“What the-” the Doctor started to say, but you didn’t let him finish. Your hands fluidly moved, manipulating the tsuba of yamato as if you had practiced decades with it, twirling the weapon around, and without even glancing, you thrust the blade backwards. It hit resistance, but something in you continued pushing, before the pushback stopped, letting the blade move quickly.

Immediately, the scent of copper filled your nostrils, and warmth sprayed at your back, and as you were released from whatever mysterious force had taken control of you, you heard the sound of the candelabra clattering to the ground. You turned around, already knowing what you had done, but forcing yourself to face it.

Doctor Griffon was still facing away from you looking down, as if he was admiring the disfigured face of your ancestor. A long gash marred your great grandfather’s face, caused by the edge of the candlestick. His arms now dropped slack. And sticking out of his back, like a pearl in a pile of refuse, was Yamato’s tsuba. Blood had sprayed everywhere, including the painting. He was making a strange gurgling sound.

Panicking, you gripped the katana, yanking it out of his torso before his legs could buckle out from underneath him.

As you did so, he fell backwards, nearly bowling you over with his dead weight. Blood smeared your shirt, your face, everywhere, as you frantically attempted to stop the bleeding. You took off your jacket, planning to somehow stem the blood flow, but already his skin had gone unnaturally pale. To your growing horror, you realized he wasn’t going to make it.

And then the Doctor chuckled, punctuated by wet coughs, “Ironic,” and his blue tinged lips formed into a smile, “my life’s work...leading to my death”

And with that, his head rolled to the side, and the cruel light in his eyes faded.

So there you sat, with the body of the man you hated more than anything, the man you had just killed. Perhaps some mysterious power of Yamato had guided your hands, but the fact remained, your hands were responsible for the taking of another person’s life. And just the thought of what you had done caused such a flurry of emotions, and then… you vomited on the cool cement floor.

Between heaves, you sobbed. You’d just done something you’d never thought in a million years thought that you’d do, and the guilt was threatening to drive you mad. You mentally grasped the one thing that was your sole thing to ground you: rescuing Vergil. You had to save him, and only after that, could you focus on whatever happened next. One step at a time…

Grabbing Yamato and it’s saya, you wiped your mouth, and quickly left the safe, leaving the blood spattered body, and the desecrated portrait of your great-grandfather behind.

******

You sat in the driveway in your home, car door open, attempting to spit out the taste of bile and vomit out of your mouth. But only for about a minute. The clock was ticking, and that little stunt you had pulled with the deceased doctor had cost you valuable time. You checked your clock.

11:30 PM

You had no doubt that Dante would linger as long as possible at the rendezvous point, but still, you wanted to get this done and over with as fast as possible. Taking a deep breath, you steeled yourself and, leaving the car running, you walked into your home.

Vergil was awake, and seemed agitated. Did he somehow know via Yamato what had happened? His agitation turned to outright panic the moment he saw you, and it took a moment to remember you were coated in blood, now quickly drying into a rusty red into your clothes.

“Oh don’t worry,” you assured him, masking your own emotional turmoil with faux cheerfulness. “It’s not MY blood”

It didn’t assure Vergil at all, who looked even more horrified.

You scaled the platform steps as quickly as possible, as he swam up to meet you. “You don’t have to worry about that damn doctor anymore, he’ll never hurt you again.”

“Sifa, what did you do...”

“Added bonus too, I got you a gift,” you chirped, ignoring his question, “well, technically it’s not a gift if it originally belonged to the giftee… but let’s just say I managed to retrieve a lost item,” and you thrust the katana into his arms.

Vergil gently grabbed it, dumbfounded, before clutching it close to his chest. It almost looked like he was communing with it, just like with the amulet.

As touching as this reunion scene was, you both didn’t have time to enjoy it. Without warning, you quickly gripped him around his arms, and thanks to your weeks of practice, you swung him into a bridal style hold. He had only time to give out an undignified squawk of protest, before he swung his free arm around your neck to steady himself. As you did so, you felt your engagement ring loosen, slip… and then fall off. You’d retrieve it later, if you had the opportunity.

“Now,” you said, carrying him to you car “let’s get you home”

Behind you, the pink diamond studded gold ring sank to the bottom of the tank, settling into the sand.

******

Ordinarily you’d have some tunes playing out of the radio, but it was silent.

11:43 PM

You glanced at the clock as you drove down the deserted road, with only the full face of the Tidemother as witness. Vergil, buckled in securely in the passenger seat, caressed Yamato like it was a long lost pet that recently came home. Eventually, out of the corner of your eye, you saw a blue flash, and a brief burst of salt air, before you noticed the blade was gone.

“How did you know?” he finally said, attempting to get comfortable in what was no doubt an interesting position for him.

“If I tell you, will you promise not to hurt your brother?” you responded, your eyes never leaving the road. Only a few more minutes, just needed to cross the bay’s suspension bridge, and then a side road to the beach.

“Of course, Dante would put you up to this” he muttered.

“He didn’t.”

“Pardon?” you didn’t have to look to see the shock on his face.

��This was my plan, he just gave me the final information to put this into motion. Mind you, I wasn’t going into this with the intent of anyone dying, but...well…” you looked at your hand gripping the wheel, still covered in flakes of the Doctor’s dried blood. Another wave of nausea threatened to blow up, but you managed to keep it down. Besides it didn’t seem like there was anything left in your stomach to vomit.

“Why?”

“What?”

“Why do this?” he asked.

“Seriously Vergil, you’re asking me why I set a man free who had been imprisoned for over a year? A guy who constantly tells me how much he misses the goddamn ocean?” your temper was beginning to get the better of you, and it took more and more effort to remain calm. “The question SHOULD be, why didn't YOU tell ME? Even in the beginning, if you had just said what you needed to go home, I would have gotten your soul-weapon for you. I would have done ANYTHING to get you back home. Did you not trust me?”

“In the beginning…” Vergil started out slowly, his breathing a bit erratic, “I suppose trust was an issue, with what I had already endured….”

“But afterwards, after we got to know each other, when I thought we could learn to trust each other? Why not then…?”

“Things...had changed…” he hesitantly replied.

Just admit you had feelings for me, dammit, your mind screamed, that you didn’t want to leave me, the woman who imprisoned you, the daughter of the guy who killed your parents. The thought of someone in that situation loving the person you were was confounding.

Ah, but you haven’t been truthful about your feelings either, another voice in your mind chided you, for all intents and purposes, he has no clue about your feelings about him, so you have only yourself to blame for the pain you are about to cause.

11:51 PM

“Sifa…”

“Stop.”

“Pardon?”

“Stop calling me that, please,” you attempted to blink the tears away. “When we get to the ocean, your brother will be there waiting, you’re going to go with him, preferably without fighting him. He’s going to take you somewhere far, far, away, I don’t know where, and frankly it would be better if I don’t. I’m just going to ask you to do one thing.”

“Anything.”

“Forget this. Forget me. Forget us.”

There was complete silence as Vergil sat staring at you, in complete shock. You might have well asked him to serve you a piece of the Dawnfather on a plate, judging by his reaction. After a few moments of stunned stillness, he faced forward, and sighed.

“I...I… cannot.”

The tears fell down your cheeks, and the streetlights became nothing more than blurry halos lighting the deserted road as you finally approached the bridge.

“You’re crying.”

“Great observation!” you gritted out sarcastically, cursing yourself for lashing out. He hadn’t done anything to deserve your ire.

“You ask me to forget you, but I…”

“Your brother should be nearby, can you feel him with your amulet?” you cut him off. You didn’t want to hear him admit that he loved you, because it took all of your willpower to maintain your plans. It would be too painful to say goodbye in any other case.

Vergil paused, taken aback, before nodding in resignation. “Yes, he is close.”

“Good, something is going right tonight at least”

“What about you?” he queried, concerned. “You have blood on your hands, literally and figuratively speaking, and you humans do not look kindly on that,” his brow furrowed, “even if I think he deserved far worse” he muttered.

“Don’t worry about that, I’ll deal with the fallout.”

“I still care abo-”

He didn’t get the chance to finish, as a bright light from behind, temporarily blinded you. Some idiot was driving with his hi-beams on, and was now tailgating you, as if he…

Oh no…

You recognized the car, even in the darkness. Mercedes-Benz E-class. The preferred car of…

The vehicle pulled up alongside you, the driver’s side window down, and to your horror, your fears were confirmed…

Your father.

The man began waving at you in the universal sign to pull over. In response, you gave him the universal sign to mind his own business. And then you slammed down on the gas, accelerating away. You could hear the sound of creaking leather as Vergil gripped on the seat, no doubt alarmed at the speed you were going.

Shit, as if things couldn’t get worse, you thought as you did as your father was left behind momentarily, before speeding up to match you. He must have gotten home early and found out the security alert. And he must have checked the video footage, and put two and two together. Shit, shit shit….”

You were halfway across the bridge, less than two kilometres away lay freedom for Vergil, all you had to do was get there…

BUMP

You and your passenger were jostled. You looked at your indicators, to figure out if you had blown a tire or something when

BUMP

And then you realized your father was attempting to run you off the road. Was he crazy? The lights glowed in your rearview mirror.

BUMP

And this time, the hit was strong enough that you lost control, and when you attempted to correct, you inadvertently overcorrected, causing you to fishtail in an increasingly erratic manner, eventually turning into a full blown spin out.

Eventually, you realized that you had no control over the car, and you let go of the steering wheel and gas, hoping you’d just straighten out, but the car kept spinning…

“VERGIL! HOLD ON!” You screamed as you spun towards the concrete median. You closed your eyes and went limp.

11:55PM

That was the time on the clock before the entire electrical system shut off. You pushed away the rapidly deflating airbags, wincing at the pain in your shoulder. It wasn’t a sharp pain, but it still hurt like a bitch.

A dribble of blood leaked from your nostril, but only a dull throbbing pain, so to your relief, it was probably just a bloody nose.

“Vergil!” you called out, fearful for the worst. You shoved aside the fabric to see to your relief a conscious, if a bit dazed merman. He was bleeding from the mouth, and had a few cuts on his face and torso from the shattered glass, but they quickly faded away.

“I’m… I am fine” he said, as he licked the blood off his lip, “what about you?”

“Not important right now,” you quickly scanned the bridge. There would be no way to carry Vergil to the beach now, it was much too far. Tears began to form in your eyes, you’d been so fucking close!

And then… as you felt as if you were about to give up, you looked at the guardrail of the bridge, a mere twelve metres away from the vehicle. Perhaps…..

Pulling out your jackknife, you began to saw through Vergil’s seatbelt, before pulling him out of the now crumpled up passenger seat. You winced slightly at the pain in your shoulder as you carried him, but the adrenaline would be enough to deal with it.

“Change of plans, Vergil” you said as you began to carry towards the metal guardrail. “Prepare to dive.” Part of you was secretly thankful. At least this way, the parting would be quick and painless.

Three metres away, a loud BANG rang out, and sparks sprayed far too close to you. Instinctively, you spun around, to find the source of the sound, and came face to face with your father, shakily pointing a pistol at you.

“Dad….” you shouldn’t have been surprised, the man had nearly killed you by trying to stop your car. But still, this is the man who raised you, loved you, cherished you. How could he do something like this? Or maybe… maybe you’d just assumed he had. Or had he just looked at you as an investment, a stock portfolio that he needed to increase its worth? “Sweetheart, please don’t…” your father’s voice brokenly begged, “You don’t know what damage that creature will do if it’s set free. Our family company barely broke even with all the repairs from what it has done.”

“So you’re totally okay with imprisoning him? To experiment on him!?” You yelled back in anger. Vergil stiffened against you.

“Look, is this about what happened to Doctor Griffon?” your father asked, totally missing the point. “Look, don’t worry, I can take care of everything! The police won’t ever have to know! I won’t let them arrest you!”

“Really, you think that I’m doing this because of that bastard?” you spat out. Your rage and adrenaline could only mask the growing pain in your shoulder, and you struggled to keep Vergil steady.

“I don’t want you to get hurt, sweetheart!”

“YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I WANT!” You screamed at him, and you could see the growing fear in your father’s eyes. “ALL THAT EVER MATTERED TO YOU WAS YOUR GODDAMN COMPANY! YOU DON’T GIVE A DAMN ABOUT ME, YOUR OWN FUCKING DAUGHTER, YOU JUST WANT WHAT’S BEST FOR YOUR LEGACY! MY WHOLE ENTIRE LIFE HAS JUST BEEN A WAY FOR YOU TO GROW YOUR GODDAMN BUSINESS!” Finally expelling the long contained rage and bile you’d held back for years, no decades, felt so good.

You calmed down a bit, “I’ll deal with the consequences of my actions on my own… and you can deal with yours.”

And with that, you turned back around and continued your way to the guardrail, disregarding your father’s orders and threats to stop. You were confident he’d never have the balls to shoot you. He might not care about you as his daughter, but he wouldn’t risk his ‘investment’ anymore than he had already done.

Two more metres to go, when another shot rang out, and you felt a blinding white hot pain in your lower back, and you stumbled forward a bit from the agony. Your eyesight blacked out about momentarily, and you felt yourself hit cool metal.

Only the soft voice of Vergil calling your name was enough to bring you back. In all the months you had known him, he’d never called you by your name. “What’s wrong?” he asked with fear, something you’d never heard in his voice.

Your body began to feel numb, starting at your fingertips, but there was a growing warm wetness blooming from your stomach. And the realization hit you, you’d been shot, and you were going to die.

Leaning against the guardrail, you chuckled. Of course, your father, who had practically dictated every thing about your life, would choose the manner of your death. At least, you could choose one thing. Your final action.

“Farewell, Sifa…” you managed to force out, despite the pain, and the shortness of breath.

And with his shock at what you had just said, his grip loosened, giving you the opportunity to jostle him loose, and he fell into the moonlit darkness. You could hear him hitting the water, then after a few moments of tense silence, the sloshing of water, and to your relief, you heard Vergil, screaming your name. He’d made it unharmed... and now you prayed that he would swim far, far away.

You clutched your stomach, instinctively trying to stop the blood flow, but even you knew it was fruitless. You were only delaying the inevitable.

Another voice from behind you called your name as well. Using the guardrail to prop you up, you slowly turned around to see your father running towards you, terror in his eyes.

“Sweetheart, I’m so, so, sorry...I was trying to shoot a warning shot! I just… I just got so nervous! Don’t worry! I’m going to call an ambulance, you’re going to pull through this. Please, just stay with me!” One hand on his cellphone, he reached out to steady you with the other, to slowly guide you to the ground

You were wrong. You still had one more choice you could make, how you would die. It was morbidly funny. You’d discovered the existence of merfolk over twenty years ago when you had almost drowned. And now you could pay for living on borrowed time by returning to the ocean. With your last bit of energy, your hand carrying the jackknife swung out, slicing your father’s palm. He pulled back in pain, out of instinct and you used the moment to lean back over the guardrail. With a contented smile on your face, you felt the rushing of wind.

You fell.

#Deep Blue Sea #Devil May Cry #Vergil x reader #Mergil

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allaboutthebooz · 4 years

Text

I See The Light Pt. Five

Summary: Tony takes the team to Walt Disney World and Steve is understanding why it’s so magical.

Pairing: Steve x Reader

Warnings: Just toothache inducing sweet fluff.

A/N: Well this is it. This is the end. Well, I have an epilogue ready to go at any moment. But this is it. I hope you all have loved this as much as I have. My favorite place on earth with my favorite guy.

The words that Y/N had spoken couldn’t have been truer. How could expect others to be open with him, when he hadn’t done the same thing. He wanted to make things right with her, but he didn’t know how yet. It didn’t help that she wouldn’t look at him. He could feel a wall being put up between them. She stuck closer to Clint and further away from him.

When the four of them load up the quinjet to do some recon, Y/N was silent except for the small amounts of communication with Nat. In Russian, making it harder for him to understand what they’re talking about.

“почему ты так усложняешь людям быть ближе к тебе, маленький персик?” Natasha asks.

“Ты знаешь почему.” Y/N replies, her accent rough. She opens the cabinet holding the extra weapons, pulling two guns from the wall and begins pulling them apart to clean them.

“Дайте ему отдохнуть. Он заботится о тебе.” Nat teases.

“Стоп. Не сейчас.”

“Alright, you two. You know I can’t understand you, when you go full Russian on me.” Clint complains from the pilot seat.

“Then maybe you should learn, большая голова.” Y/N smirks, wiping down the barrel of one handgun, eyebrow arched.

“I don’t need to learn Russian to know you just insulted me, kid.” Nat and Y/N chuckle and Steve’s lips curl up slightly in the corners, the humor lifting some of the tension that became stifling within the cabin of the jet. “Get ready. Five minutes to the drop.”

Ever had the feeling in the bottom of your gut, that maybe you might not make it out of this? Yeah, Steve knew that feeling well. Knowing that maybe he and the others might not make it out alive, was a hard pill to swallow. He and Y/N had managed to stick close to each other through most of the fight. Even when they were at odds, they still stayed together. They fought better together. They had a few minutes before the next influx of Ultron’s bots hit, so they were helping civilians to safety.

“The next wave’s gonna hit any minute. What do you got Stark?” Steve asks through the comms.

“Well, nothing great. Maybe a way to blow up the city. That’ll keep it from impacting the surface, if you guys can get clear.” The underlying message clear to everyone listening. Self-sacrifice.

Steve wasn’t having it though. “I asked for a solution, not an escape plan.” He watched Y/N and Nat usher others into safe building for the time being, unsure what would happen to them when the next wave hit.

“Impact radius is getting bigger every second. We’re gonna have to make a choice.”

“Cap, these people are going nowhere.” Nat resigns behind him. “If Stark finds a way to blow this rock-“

“Not till everyone’s safe.” He cuts her off.

“Everyone up here versus everyone down there? There’s no math there.” She tries to argue with the soldier.

“I’m not leaving this rock with one civilian on it.”

“I didn’t say we should leave.” She confesses.

Y/N stands on his other side, both looking at Nat. Her sapphire eyes meeting those of the young girl she saved all those years ago. A silent conversation quickly passing between them before Y/N nods and says, “There’s worse ways to go.” Steve looks to her but she’s watching the clouds they are floating above. “Where else am I going to get a view like this?”

Steve’s heart drops into his stomach, his throat growing tight at her confession. She turns her head towards him, looking up at him with her big eyes. She gives him an accepting smile and he nods.

“Glad you like the view, Y/L/N.” Fury cuts in on the comms. “It’s about to get better.” A big relief falling over the team as a helicarrier breaks through the clouds. “Nice, right? Pulled her out of mothballs with a couple of old friends. She’s dusty, but she’ll do.”

“Fury, you son of a bitch.” Steve cracks, makin the women at his sides, laugh.

“Ooh! You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

They laugh more before breaking away to gather groups of people to put on the lifeboats.

The come down after a fight like the one they just had, can be deafening. Though the threat has been defeated, the affects were long lasting. Sokovia will never been the same. It will take them years to rebuild their city and homes, even with Tony’s help and funding.

The sacrifice that Pietro made to save Clint, will never be forgotten. The heartbreak that Wanda feels will live with her forever. The loss that Nat and Y/N will feel without Clint around will heal, eventually. They understand that it was his time to hang up his bow and arrows. His time to really be home with his wife and kids. Bruce and the Hulk are gone. The team lost two of its members but gained four new ones. Things were changing, some for the better.

Y/n stood just outside of the entrance, waiting for Steve to say goodbye to Tony and Thor. When he stops to stand in front of her, he’s not sure what to expect.

“When I was only five or six, somewhere around that age, my father had a huge gambling debt that he owed to some head of power in the U.S. government and in exchange for his life, he gave me to them. My mother died when she gave birth to me. The government decided that he best place for me was in the Red Room. That’s where I met Nat. When she started to go rogue, Clint was sent to kill her, but you know how that went. The only request she asked him was that they bring me with them. She looked after me from the moment I stepped into the orphanage. That’s why I only considered them my family. Clint let us stay with him when Nat and I had nowhere else to go. We were there when he and Laura got married, we have been with him every step of the way just like he has with us. That’s why we had to keep his secret. Why we protected our family.”

“You didn’t have to tell me that. I understand why you didn’t now.” Steve confesses.

“But you were right. We are a family. You’ve quickly become one of my best friends, Steve. It’s just hard to learn to trust anyone, with the past that I have. It’s hard to break that Red Room training after it was literally beaten into my brain.”

“When I was growing up, I watched my dad constantly beat my mother to the ground, but she always got back up. She’s why I never back down from a fight, why I always get back up. If my mom could do it, then so could I. I might have been small back then, but I always knew how to take a hit.”

Y/N laughs a little. “That sounds like you.”

“Well, I guess not everything changed when I went into the ice.”

“Nothing can ever change your heart, Steve. You’re too good.”

“Let’s see if the new team thinks that after, we’re done with them.” He ushers her inside.

Their last day of vacation, Y/N and Steve found themselves back at Magic Kingdom. There was no rushing today, they took their time walking around, watching the parades and shows, they tried as many snacks as Y/N could fit in her stomach. They were walking through Frontierland after riding Bing Thunder Mountain, when a song filtered through the speakers. A song that Steve had heard before but did not know where he’s heard it. He wasn’t surprised when he looked over at Y/N and saw that she was smiling and singing along.

All those days chasing down a daydream

All those years living in a blue

All that time never truly seeing

Things, the way they were

Now she’s here shining in the starlight

Now she’s here suddenly I know

If she’s here, it’s crystal clear

I’m where I’m meant to go

He loves the way she sees the endless amount of magic in everything that they’ve done on this trip. The excitement that radiates off of her. The way she makes him feel so at ease. They way that he loves her.

Steve’s pace slows and stops all together at the sudden realization, making Y/N turn and look at him with a wonder of confusion. He loves her? Is it true?

“You okay, Steve?”

He loves her. When that happened, he’ll never know, but it’s just hit him like a bus crashing into a building. He nods and smiles at her, “Yeah, just appreciating what’s around me.”

She smiles back and offers him his hand, “Come on it’s getting dark. I want to get my picture taken with the lanterns from Tangled.”

He slips his hand in hers and lets him pull him along, much like their first day here.

And at last I see the light

And it’s like the fog has lifted

And at last I see the light

And it’s like the sky is new

And its warm and real and bright

And the world has somehow shifted

All at once everything is different

Now that I see you

How different his world has suddenly become. How he wouldn’t change it for anything.

They stood in line by the bathrooms that were decorated with purple and yellow banners full of suns. Steve’s heart pounding in his chest. He was going to tell her. He had to tell her. He didn’t know how to tell her. He was freaking out. What is she didn’t feel the same? What is she laughed at him?

They were next in line and all Steve could hear was the drum of his heart in his ears. Y/N was smiling like usual and bouncing on her feet. Tangled was her favorite Disney movie, so of course this was a huge deal for her. Was Steve going to ruin it for her if he just blurted it right now?

She pulled him forward onto the line marker that the Cast Member had put down. The employee put the lantern in Y/N’s hands and instructed Steve to step closer to her. He put a hand on her back and the other held hers beneath the lantern. She smiled up at him and all he could do was stare at her.

This woman who has stood by his side through everything that the world has thrown at them. They’ve fought side by side for the last decade and he never questioned it. Never had to doubt if he could trust her. She’s taken care of him when the world was against him. When they were on the run after The Accords. She saved him so many times and he didn’t know how to repay her.

Her big round eyes always staring up at him. Her long hair always smelling like apples. Even when she was a mess after a fight, she was beautiful. Even covered in soot and bruises. She was everything to him and he had been so blind.

He could hear the cast member giving them instructions on how to stand and how to look, but he didn’t listen. He just watched her, the way she smiled at the camera or down at the light in their hands.

“I love you.” He confesses, unable to hold it in anymore.

Her eyes grow wider than he ever thought possible, before she turns her head to look up at him. “What?”

“I love you.”

She gasps lightly. “You love me?”

“Yeah, I do.” He starts to smile. “I think I always have; I’ve just never realized it until now.”

“Steve.” She whispers. “I-I..”

“It’s okay if you don’t love me back, I just had to tell you.”

“But-But I-But I do. I do love you. I’ve always loved you. I just didn’t want to scare you. You mean so much to me and I couldn’t lose you.”

“Well, I’m not going anywhere.” He brings the hand on her back, up to hold her cheek as he crashes his mouth to hers. The world disappearing around them.

How wonderful life is, indeed.

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*if your name is crossed through, it is because I am not able to tag you. Please make sure you’re open to being searched, otherwise you will be removed after three tries.

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#marvel #marvel series #marvel reader insert #Steve Rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x reader fic #steve rogers x reader fanfic #Chris Evans #chris evans x reader #i see the light #i see the light series #Disney #disneyland #disneyworld

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violetsystems · 3 years

Text

#personal

I can’t really tell if my mood is better or worse on Sunday mornings rather than the typical Saturday. Things have reached a point where it’s just not worth explaining how awful life can be. My life story at this point is slightly more convoluted than a side job in Cyberpunk 2077. It’s also seemingly just as insignificant. That is until I realize I’ve been writing here weekly for over two years at this point. I’ve been posting on this platform for what seems like over a decade. The value of this kind of journaling has been impossible to gauge. I just paid a full year for LinkedIn to keep my career contacts alive. I post in the hashtag cybersecurity almost every day. I have a solid list of five contacts that follow my company. I post the zero day news as it happens. I promote my brand and employability. As if this is the only thing that is valuable. A twenty year resume with management experience that gets picked over by AI and human just the same. I also forget sometimes I’m a musician. I was reminded last night when I posted the RP Boo “Bangin’ on King Drive” video. I was at that video shoot. Years ago I would just run into Bu in the street with his wife randomly. I appear nowhere in that video as I was edited out much like I was the only artist edited out of a Pitchfork review for a footwork compilation from Japan that protested Nuclear proliferation. If there were any more alarming trend for me it’s that most of what I try to succeed at is locked beyond a brick wall. I sit here from week to week trying to figure out ways to keep myself from disappearing. I worry about where I can actually pivot and when. I lay awake at night alone in my bed calculating what my runway for cash positivity is before I have to leave this city altogether. It sometimes feels completely futile and useless. Everybody in America is winner take all when there’s nothing left to take. It’s cutthroat and we’re all in this together at the same time. The amount of bullying I have to process per day has left me broken down and angry ninety percent of the time. And yet angry is a shitty look for me. I lose at video games all the time. And lately I feel as if I’m living in one. To explain that any further gets into some territory of oversharing. I’ve written paragraphs upon paragraphs about my life here. And yet nobody seems to acknowledge I exist other than here. Which leads me to believe a very few amount of people actually have the reading comprehension over 140 characters to look deeper into someone’s life, liberty and value therein. I think sometimes that it shouldn’t be this hard. That something is very wrong and deeply troubled about it all. And there’s not much I can really do about the things I’m up against when it’s only me fighting it from day to day out here. So I’ve fallen back to what I know. We are still very much in the middle of a pandemic. I’m happy the relief bill has passed. I’m waiting to pay my taxes until it’s official. Which puts me back in the same mood I’ve been in the last eight months. A complete state of abandon. This nefarious field of people watching you every day waiting to pin something on you. It never comes because I know better than to fall back into that trap as much as I can these days.

The worst of this mindfuck is over for me. I don’t actually really care too deeply about how wrong things are. Mostly because I’ve done my best to make due under impossible circumstances. You’d think someone like me after all these years would have something to celebrate. I kind of do. My birthday didn’t matter to anyone really out here much last month. It was a clear indicator that I had no real peers out here anymore. As evidenced as how everyone in footwork I helped back in 2014 has literally just ghosted like the rest of my professional network. I had a couple of things to fall back on. But it’s impossible to fall back onto anything when people would rather pretend you didn’t exist. I’m always supposed to read into these psychotic projections by society because somehow I’m supposed to realize more is expected out of me. I can’t figure this out completely. Like I brought all this upon myself. That’s the vibe I get from day to day. That because I don’t share my plans, agenda, or strategy with the real world I’m shit out of luck. The irony is that I do share it verbatim. Week to week. In a very coy, oblique way this is true. But I am also a writer. This is another talent I’ve been taught by society that has no value. I wrote emails for my bosses for years on my days off. On my birthday even. This doesn’t mean it is worthless. The audience is out there. If it weren’t I would have quit sharing my feelings a long time ago. I’m fairly aware at some point I’m going to have to put this all behind me. Hopefully when the world wakes up and returns to normal like nothing ever happened. That’s going on as we speak and I don’t even have a vaccine in my arm. It’s a constant state of fear and missing out projected back at you. That the reason I’m not happy is totally because of what I choose to take on in my life. And I’m supposed to get the message when people don’t actually communicate. I had this strange realization yesterday when I discovered all my videos were closed captioned. I watch movies with subtitles all the time simply because I love to read. My videos barely get ten views if that. I often think content is content. If you put it out there someone will eventually find it and wonder about it’s value. In the age of semi-spiritual machines it’s true that the algorithms seem to be the only curators out there listening. Everything I say out loud is transcribed and mothballed somewhere on Siri’s or Alexa’s servers. When I take a screen shot of the things I say off the top of my head, I’m often aware that something acknowledges I actually said them. It’s just nobody human really wants to pay attention. They are hardcoded over my videos as proof of the value of my words. Not like you can sell the speculative value of it yet. The first tweet is being auctioned off as a NFT and you wonder how worthless I have to feel at this point. I’m sure we all feel a little of this deep down. Disconnected and in some sort of weird emotional exile. I think it just makes me realize more of what I am connected to. A history of authenticity. A life that trades the catwalk for the streets as brutal and unforgiving as they are. Nobody can stop talking shit about me. But it’s almost always a hallucination. For a person who puts it all out there, I must be a shitty fucking writer. I can spend week to week writing the same thing. That I’m completely abandoned and ghosted out here on my own. And how it’s less unsafe and more simply a degraded quality of life when it comes to my rights as a human being to be happy. I’m supposed to get the message when nobody can bother to read mine. The writing is on the wall I guess.

So instead of pining on and on about it which I just did for two paragraphs, I still look for solutions. I still broadcast weekly to let people know I’m still alive. I make funny jokes to myself and screencap them to mask deep emotional scarring that is no fault of my own. I literally feel trapped and under duress almost all of the time. And yet, I don’t really have the luxury of taking the shit when I’ve had the hope choked out of me until I can’t breathe. If the answer is to keep ignoring the problem, it’s hard to be me. Because nobody can leave me alone. No one seems to have any sense of dignity as to what I’ve been through. I never claimed to be a victim. That’s not really me. I’ve survived and been resilient. I can see that working a six figure corporate job in New York or China is probably more worth my time in the not so distant future. I can also see that I’m worth more than what people sell me short for. I know we are in a dangerous time of confidence tricks. I don’t really have much to lose other than cash positivity. I can wait this out until the end of the summer for sure. And then I start to think about spending another winter being hunted and shunned at the same time. Mentally I can’t fuck with this city after what it’s done to me alone. I can’t keep being a superhero for people who can’t be bothered to understand how painful it is to be taken for granted after all these years. I just give up on everything in the past that isn’t working and move forward as best as I can. Just like they threw the entire contents of my office in the trash I can let it go. There is a very real emotional exhaustion I have to deal with from day to day. The level of psychological torture and abuse I’ve witnessed first hand in this city is at a level that is unlawful and unhealthy. I know too much about what it’s all connected to. And I know I’m better than all of this. I don’t know how to proceed. And this is a very real and dangerous situation that I am stuck in the middle of a shark tank feeding frenzy of well meaning but rabid idiots and the pricks that prod them with a sharp stick. I don’t have a future here in this city. I don’t have a future in this state or country if you wanted me to be real about. And yet I have so much potential if I just hold on for one more year. For one more decade. For another forty years when they turn my blog into a NFT after my death like I’m the next Van Gogh. Everybody will talk about how they knew me and how tortured an artist I was. I was so misunderstood and it was beautiful. They’ll fund a school with the proceeds that kicked me out the door because I was a blight on their payroll and budget. And I’ll be a digital ghost just the same. I feel like that very ghost now every waking fucking moment. It is a pain I cannot describe in words. It is a suffering that is goaded on in the worst syndicate driven way. I have nothing good to say about any of this shit anymore. I have no more room to break down and make things worse for myself. I just have to adjust my schedule and manage my emotions with it all because it’s my fault. This is the message I keep hearing in my head projected by silent looks as I picked up my prescriptions on foot avoiding everyone who wants to see if it’s true. If I really am the bogeyman. The source of the problem. Someone to blame. The scapegoat for everything that is wrong with the world. Convenient but ultimately not worth my time to humor. Which is why I don’t really know what to do anymore other than to stay inside and wait for justice. If there’s anything poetic about it, it’s that it runs pretty seamlessly at 1440p. Much clearer resolution than what this city wants to offer me after what it’s put me through. <3 Tim

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desperationandgin · 5 years

Text

Deep As The Road is Long (Part I, Chapter 9)

Rating: P & S for pain and sadness

Also Read On: AO3

A/N: Just to clarify because someone asked and I didn't realize it might be slightly confusing--there are sometimes weeks in between moments. For example, November took place on Thanksgiving and the few days after. December picked up again on December 23rd. So some time has obviously passed. These events aren't happening back-to-back-to-back. I hope that clears things up! ALSO, I can’t keep up with the comments here. If I don’t reply to you personally, feel free to message <3 Finally, new mood board by @smashing-teacups :) thank you love!

December 2015

They know, or at least Claire and Jamie know, that Faith won’t be going home, and the day Claire told Jamie is seared into her memory and etched into her soul forever. She knows on a logical level that it isn’t her fault, that she’s done everything she can for his little girl, but to say words that gut him so badly is crushing. She feels as though she might as well have stuck a knife in his heart herself. It’s her job, it’s been her job for nearly a decade now, and it never gets easier to go down this final, sad path when she must. But this is different, this is personal, and she can’t tell anyone, can’t express it, can’t be caught weeping, because she crossed a line and fell in love with Jamie and his daughter.

She has to do what she would for any single one of her patients and their families, which means she has to be strong within the walls of the hospital. Professional. With Christmas so close, and considering Faith’s concern over Thanksgiving about Santa finding her, Claire decides to make sure there’s no doubt in her mind that she hasn’t been forgotten, even though she’s stuck in a bed far from her own. Claire’s promise to Jamie, that she would do everything she could for his daughter, is still ongoing; it just means something different now.

On the night before Christmas Eve, Claire somehow, against all odds, gets one of the busy radiologists to dress up as Santa with a large sack of toys over his shoulder. Making sure Faith is awake, Claire steps aside and lets ‘Santa’ in to charm and delight her. It’s worth it; the bright but sleepy smile on her face, her questions about all of her cousins getting toys all the way in Scotland answered patiently. When he asks Faith what she wants for Christmas, she thinks for a few seconds quietly, then shakes her head.

“Nothing, Santa.”

Of course, he asks if she’s sure, asks if there isn’t anything she wants, and again she refuses. She does get a hug and presents anyway (books, a doll, an assortment of Disney movies she can watch in her room) before ‘Santa’ leaves to go visit the other children on the floor.

“A leannan, ye dinna want anything at all on Christmas Day?”

“I want to go home, Da,” she says quietly, looking down at the doll in her hands and putting it aside. She reaches for Trunky instead and holds the stuffed elephant to her chest. “To Lallybroch.”

Claire looks down from where she’s standing, unable to meet Jamie’s eyes, feeling the guilt of not fixing Faith churning in her belly so hard she’s afraid she might vomit. Excusing herself, she leaves the room and simply stands on the other side of the closed door, a hand over her mouth as she tries not to break down into tears among the cheery ho ho ho’s she can hear echoing in the hall.

When Christmas arrives two days later, Claire brings two wrapped gifts. One is flat and wide, the other a smaller box. She can see it on Jamie’s face when she walks in, the relief to see her, but she doesn’t feel as though it’s deserved. He should be angry at her, the last person he wants to see in the hospital. Still, she plasters on a small smile mostly for Faith’s benefit. Kissing her forehead, she’s not there as ‘Doctor Claire.’ She’s simply there, trying to make the holiday the best it possibly can be. She’s brought a tin of Christmas cookies, the only thing she’s truly good at baking and decorating (God help her if she tries to make a cake), and lets Faith pick whatever she wants, which then turns into her picking a cookie for Jamie and Claire each. The smaller gift is placed aside, and after the cookies are finished, the larger one lays across Faith’s lap. Despite her insistence of wanting nothing, the grin on her face betrays the fact that she’s delighted. Any child would be, and it’s incredible to simply watch her open the present with eagerness. It’s a large sticker book; the stickers able to be removed and placed in any sort of background or scene. Dinosaurs can float in space, a girl on a bicycle can ride through a jungle. Faith may be stuck in bed, but Claire knows her imagination is sharp.

Showing her how to use it, that the plastic stickers simply come right off of the glossy pages to be reused, she sits back and finally meets Jamie’s gaze, smiling just a little. It isn’t more than an hour later that Faith is dozing off even as she struggles to keep playing. Eventually, her head bobs to the side and Jamie lays her back, moving the sticker book and tucking her in. When he sits, he looks over at the other gift. “Ye didna want her opening that one?”

Claire almost startles, so lost in her own thoughts in the quiet that his voice pulls her out of the dark. Glancing over at the gift, she picks it up. “No. It’s for you.” Standing, she relocates herself beside him, handing the gift over. “I thought it might save you some bleeding.”

Curious, Jamie opens it only to find a nice razor, refill cartridges, and expensive looking soap. Raising the bar to smell (spicy; patchouli, the slightest hint of cinnamon, a touch of tarragon) he hums appreciatively. “The disposable razors do a number on my face, ye ken?”

Smiling just a little, Claire nods. “I do know. I figured this might help.” Because he hasn't gone home once. The furthest he’s gone is down to the cafeteria, but even then, he’s back in record time and she can’t even be sure he’s actually eating anything substantial.

“Could I ask for another part to the gift, Sassenach?” he asks, pulling the razor out of the kit.

In confusion, she looks at him with a slight tilt of her head. “What?”

For a moment Jamie says nothing, just holding her gaze, looking for all the world like he’s going to say something other than what comes out of his mouth. “Would ye give me a shave?”

Oh.

“Of course, Jamie. I can do that for you.” Because it’s one of the only useful things she’ll feel like she’s done for him in weeks. Standing, she reaches out for his hand and leads him to the bathroom.

Tugging off his shirt, he takes a moment to splash his face with water to get it damp before sitting on the closed lid of the toilet. He watches her move, watches her take the bar of soap between her hands and lather up before standing between his legs and looking down at him, hands hovering. “It’s alright, Sassenach. I’m ready.”

Letting out a breath, Claire smiles just a little and begins working the soap over his skin until she’s satisfied. Wetting the razor now, she murmurs. “Hold still and don’t speak.” Once she knows he won’t move her hands begin sure work, trying to remember the way her husband taught her once before he died. She’s so close to Jamie, able to feel his breath against her forearm as she shaves. Once she’s pleased with a job well done (not clean shaven, but neater and shorter), the razor goes to the countertop, hands grasping a towel to wipe his face clean.

“I canna tell her, Claire,” Jamie says, breaking the silence, and she freezes, towel in hand and pressing to his chin as she watches him open his eyes to look at her.

“What sort of father am I? Too much of a coward to tell his own daughter that she’s…”

His jaw tightens and he takes the towel from Claire, wiping at his own face now.

Standing between his legs, she feels too close, out of place. “Jamie, you aren’t the first parent who hasn’t been able to say it. Some never do. And at her age, it’s...it’s too big for anyone, let alone a child, to wrap their mind around.”

“I dinna want her to be afraid,” he confesses, choking a bit on the words. “If she’s afraid, I’m no’ sure I could be strong for her. Because Christ, I’m terrified, but as long as she thinks she’s only sick and will go home, she doesna ask questions I canna answer.” The sound that leaves him is choked off, a sob he attempts to stop but isn’t quite successful. “I’m a selfish bastard for that, and I ken it.”

All that Claire wants to do is soothe him somehow, both hands cradling his face as a tear slides down her cheek. “No, Jamie. Christ, no. Right now she isn’t afraid, she isn’t terrified to close her eyes, she’s calm. I think it’s your choice. And if you choose not to tell her, that’s okay. It’s alright, Jamie,” she whispers. She won’t judge him for it, whatever he decides. It could be a completely different story when her symptoms get worse, as the cancer begins to take a much larger toll on her body.

For a few minutes, the two of them are in silent communion with one another; Claire still in front of him, cheek pressing to the crown of his hair as her arms wrap around him, his head resting against her chest.

They part, but she’s there every evening with him, sitting in the quiet of the room, holding him close at the end of each day. Christ knows he needs it after letting Faith take every ounce of strength he has. At midnight on January first, as Claire hugs him goodnight, Jamie lets his lips briefly brush against hers.

A soft way to usher in a year he knows is going to destroy him.

Next Chapter

#outlander fic #outlander #jamie x claire #jamie fraser #claire fraser #datril #deep as the road is long #my fic

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jackalito · 4 years

Text

This is why I personally fight!

2019 was not a great year for me. But to explain why, I must first wind the clocks back to June 2018.

So, here's the thing. My best buddy, someone I loved as though he was my own brother - my best friend for over 25 years, was admitted to hospital halfway through 2018. After experiencing an array of weird symptoms, doctors found there was a tumor in his head. At that time we didn't know whether it was benign or malign, but one thing was clear, he would need brain surgery to remove as much of it as possible. And, since it was located in the area of the brain responsible for communication, he would have to be awake during the procedure.

And so he went through it, and did so like a champ. He showed us all how brave he was at that time. Surgery was a major success - the neurosurgeon in charge couldn't be happier about it, and my dear friend began to recover from the process very quickly. However, he wasn't out of the woods. Not yet.

The results of the tumor biopsy revealed it was indeed malign, and extremely aggressive. As soon as he was feeling strong enough he was discharged from the hospital, and soon after he started his treatment: chemotherapy and radiotherapy at the same time. That's how aggressive his cancer was.

And then, in the following months, it's when he truly showed us how strong and valiant he was -men are brave-. He fought cancer like a Spartan for half a year; being able to spend most of his time at home, with his loving wife and two kids. With all his family and friends. But the disease was relentless and after a few months it was clear to the doctors that the treatment was not working as it should have.

February 15 2019, a day I will never forget: he finally moved on and found some peace away from his pain, as the cancer finally put him to rest. It was devastating for all of us who were lucky enough to get to know him well for years - to share a part of our lives with him, and enjoy his passion for life and how funny, and ingenious, and generous, and kind he was. It was at the same time kind of a relief to know he was not in pain anymore, because in those last weeks before he passed away, even morphine wasn't all that efficient.

I was lucky enough to be one of those people who got to know him well. I was there with him when he first met the love of his life. I was there with him when he met his parents-in-law for the first time (I remember he was so nervous that day he asked me to accompany him).

I was there with him when he got married, when his kids were born... And when he got admitted to hospital with the most terrifying possible news, I promised myself he would not be alone.

I would come to pay him a visit every day in the afternoon, and I would not leave him until the visit time was over in the evening. I would bring him entertainment: movies for him to watch on his tablet, magazines about sport cars or video games, even some simple presents to surprise him. And above all else, I would keep him company. I would also give his wife a lift whenever she needed it. I was simply their friend.

For weeks I went to see him to the hospital every day, until, after having recovered from surgery, he was discharged. Then, I would often come over his place to see him and his family. His wife would ask me to stay with him when she and the kids (still very young) weren't around so that he would not be alone. I'd fix him some food, help him go to the bathroom, walk with him, watch a movie together, just like we had so many times before through the years.

And then, he was gone. And I, who have myself been fighting a chronic disease for a decade -although not in the slightest as fatal and terrible as cancer is-, felt empty. Like a hollow shell. Symptoms of my own condition got worse, and due to a complication regarding a hemorrhoid related issue, I almost bled to death just a month after my brother had passed on. I had to be admitted to ER, and I was given three bags of blood. Doctors and nurses kept telling me I was lucky to have such a young and strong heart. But, at 41, in that precise moment, I wasn't feeling that lucky. And no, I didn't want to die, but it somehow felt like I no longer wanted to live either. Or, at least, I didn't care about whether I lived or not. Yet, I endured and I kept fighting. Because I knew my friend would have wanted me to -he wanted me to-. Just as he had.

After spending a week in hospital, I was discharged. I'd need to see some new doctors, so I did that. And in june, just a year after my bud had been admitted to hospital, I finally got the surgery I needed. The procedure itself was successful, and just a day later I was back home to start my recovery. However, only two days later there was a complication - not grave, just painful. It made my recovery all that more painful because of it. That's all.

But you know what? Now, I embraced the pain. By then I was already taking just a tiny fraction of the painkillers I had been prescribed. Pain was my dark passenger, a reminder that I was still alive, and now I really wanted to live. Pain was a necessary evil for me back then, if you will. I wanted to show my loved ones -including and particularly the one I had just lost-, that men are still good. I needed to show my friend I was going to be resilient, because I knew he was watching over me.

The good doctor who performed the surgery was shocked when I confessed I wasn't taking the dosage of the medication I was given. I just told him that I could cope with it and wanted to keep the pills to a bare minimum. He wouldn't understand, but I did.

I haven't mentioned this yet, but due to my syndrome my pain threshold is way lower than the average. So, yeah, it was hard, but totally doable. Was it worth it? Damn right it was!

So just a few days after that conversation with my doctor took place, I quit the painkillers altogether, and finished my recovery without them.

2019 was also hard because more people close to me suffered some accidents and had to be admitted to hospital as well. I don't remember a single year in my life when so many people around me ended up in hospital.

A good friend of mine fell down from her bicycle and broke her leg in three parts - needed surgery. And that happened just two days after my best friend had died.

And my best pal's mom was also admitted to hospital not long after this with pneumonia and a stroke, so her condition was serious, to the point where I even thought she was not gonna make it. Especially after having just lost a son. But she did, and she's still among us, God bless her. I can't imagine how painful it must be for a parent to lose a child.

So last year I thought a lot about Zack. And little by little I started to learn more about his true movie, the one we haven't seen yet. I learned more and more details about all that ugly injustice surrounding a kind soul and artist when he was going through Hell on Earth.

I don't know what it feels like to lose a child. But I do know pain. So I'm now here for him, for his whole family who have been going through something hard to imagine for most people.

Now I'm on the trenches along with all those who have been fighting, longer than me, to get him back where he belongs. To make sure Justice is served for him, his family, and all the cast and crew members who worked their asses off on Justice League.

You guys from the #ReleaseTheSnyderCut movement have become kind of a family to me too. And I look after those I care about.

Moreover, Zack Snyder's movies, particularly Man of Steel and Batman v Superman, became an anchor for me to cling onto when everything else was falling apart. And I know I'm not alone - I've been reading heartbreaking stories, similar to mine, for a while now.

My best friend, Damián, never watched the true Justice League, and I know for a fact that he would have loved to. He was a fan of Zack's movies and so am I.

However, I'm hopeful that, one day soon, when it's finally released and I get to see it, he'll be right by my side, smiling at me, and so will Autumn at her loving family.

#ReleaseTheSnyderCut

#ReleaseTheSnyderCut #HereForZack #WhyIFight #ZackSnydersJusticeLeague #2020Vision

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flyingblackhawk · 5 years

Photo

Too Late

Buckynat/Clintasha fic

2,014 words

Bucky isn’t used to any of this. He’s technically still on the run these days, but there seems to be an understanding that while he lives under Steve’s roof, he’s protected. So there’s not much for him to worry about, and with his mind unfettered by escape plans and tactics, he finds he is starting to remember things. Just small details here and there, mostly when he’s on his own in Brooklyn. He’ll happen upon a street corner and remember a deli that used to stand on the corner, or he’ll pass an alley and picture a skinny blond boy being beaten to a pulp behind the dustbins. Little things are enough, and every recollection makes Steve smile, and Bucky likes it when he does that.

Spending time with the others is harder. Bucky’s rational brain knows that these are Steve’s friends, and while some of them are wary of him - understandable, he’s tried to kill at least half of them - they trust Steve enough to relax around him, and by extension, around Bucky. It’s still strange to be handed a drink and included in conversations.

“What do you know about Natasha?” he asks Steve one night, after he’s hosted his friends in his apartment. Everyone is long gone, but Bucky is troubled.

“Not a whole lot,” Steve says. “Even with the SHIELD file leak, there was a lot I couldn’t read. Digital decryption is still kinda beyond me.”

“It’s just…” What is it just? Bucky can’t quite pin it down. Natasha hasn’t paid him much attention, and yet there’s something about her that feels… familiar.

“Bucky?” Steve prompts.

“I think I remember her,” Bucky says.

“You did try to kill her a couple of times,” Steve offers.

“No, it’s… it’s not from that.”

Bucky shakes his head, and turns in for the night. He mulls it over as he lies awake, unable to sleep. During the evening, every time he looked at Natasha, there was some spark of recognition in him that was beyond the times they’d met on the field. He knows her. He just doesn’t know how.

It’s another week before he’s in the same room as her. Steve and Bucky are invited to drinks again, at Sam’s place this time, and when they’re a few rounds deep he finds himself sitting across the room from Natasha, who is in Clint’s lap. Clint plays with her hair, and has one arm draped around her in a comfortable embrace. Very occasionally, his lips stray to her jaw to press a sneaky kiss there, or her ear to whisper something. Natasha shifts back into Clint’s chest and suddenly Bucky remembers sitting like that, with his arms around - no, surely not Natasha. He doesn’t know her, he’s never met her, but somehow he remembers sitting with her, kissing her, his arms around her.

He stands up and leaves the room. It’s abrupt enough that Sam comes after him to the hallway - Steve is getting a drink and hasn’t noticed.

“You okay, Barnes?”

Bucky nods. “Yeah, yeah, I… think so.”

“Memories?”

God, Sam’s impeccable empathy and observation can be fucking annoying. Steve often says that Sam knows better how to deal with trauma, but it’s like having someone inside his head, and Bucky’s had enough of that for several lifetimes.

“It’s about Natasha,” he finally admits. “I think I remember her. But… from before all of this.”

Sam, to his credit, doesn’t immediately dismiss him, and Bucky is grateful for that.

“Okay, so you know her?” he repeats. “That could make sense, you were both trained in Russia, and you could have been around in the… what, the eighties? She was born in ’84, right?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky admits. “I just remember her face, and… being around her.”

Sam looks over his shoulder. Natasha and Clint are being unusually affectionate tonight. “Ah.”

“Do me a favour-”

“Barnes,” Sam interrupts, “I won’t tell her. If you want, I can look into the records and see if there’s any correlation.” When Bucky looks surprised, Sam waves a hand. “Don’t worry about it.”

They return to the party, and Bucky tries to put it out of his mind.

It’s a few days before Sam sends him a message. He wants to meet up and talk in person. For some reason, that makes Bucky’s stomach sink.

“Going for a walk,” he calls to Steve, who waves him off.

He meets Sam at a cafe, where they order coffee and Sam hands him a slim file.

“You were right,” he says. “You did know each other.”

That brings Bucky an overwhelming sense of relief. He’s not crazy, or projecting. He’s actually remembering.

“There aren’t records of any relationship,” Sam adds. “But I guess there wouldn’t be. Everything was pretty tightly sealed.

Bucky takes the file and flips through the first few pages. There’s the name, Natalia, and details of her admission into the Red Room. There is a picture of the burned wreckage of a house, and then, on the next page, a picture of a very young Natasha, possibly nineteen or twenty, and Bucky has to set down the file and breathe deeply for a moment. Sam just waits, patient as ever.

“I remember,” Bucky says. “I trained her, I think. I wasn’t supposed to get attached, but I…” His face hardens. “They found out. We were both punished. I went back in the ice.”

“I’m sorry,” Sam says. He doesn’t have to, but it’s nice to hear it.

“Thank you for this,” Bucky says, clasping the file to him and standing up. He walks away, leaving his coffee untouched.

Back at Steve’s apartment, in the safety of his room, Bucky spreads the file out on his bed. He reads every detail, saving things he can’t place in his own head, and memorising details. As he reads, more of it comes back, mostly just in montages of feelings, or images of her hair, her face, her voice. They spoke in Russian, he recalls. He loved her. That’s the worst thing to remember, how she was the one point of light in the dark stretch of years where he didn’t even know himself. He wanted to save her, and he failed. But, he reminds himself, it turns out she saved herself. SHIELD found her, through their instrument Clint Barton, and she joined up and never looked back. Bucky wonders if she ever thinks about him, or if perhaps she doesn’t remember either. That would be better, he thinks. Better for her not to remember. It wouldn’t make looking at her with Clint so very painful.

Once again, Bucky finds himself at a social gathering of heroes. Everyone is chattering, drinking, and he is grateful for Sam’s friendly clap on the shoulder. Sam never looks at him with anything like sympathy in his eyes, which is one of Steve’s great weaknesses. The super soldier can’t quite stop the pity leaching in sometimes, and as much as Bucky loves him, that drives him insane.

Natasha and Clint aren’t quite as entwined as last time, and Bucky tries not to think of that as a blessing. She’s not his, he knows that. She’s happy with Clint, and that’s all that matters. There’s no salvaging anything they had two decades ago, and Bucky isn’t sure that’s even what he wants. All he needs is to know that she doesn’t remember him. She can’t. She would have tried to talk to him, to make some connection. They are each the only fragment of each other’s past that has any good attached.

So, even though he knows he shouldn’t, he goes out to the balcony when he sees her go out for some fresh air. He leans on the rail, and sees her look at him, always assessing threats even when she doesn’t mean to. He understands. He’s tried to kill her at least three times.

“How are you?” she asks. Measured. Unbiased. He remembers that tone so well now.

“Good,” he nods. “Yeah. Good.”

“Steve said you’re enjoying going to the movies,” she prompts. God, she’s talking to him like he’s an idiot, or a child. Someone to be congratulated for tiny milestones. He reminds himself that a few months ago he couldn’t leave the house for the noise and bustle of the streets outside.

“Yeah,” he says. “They’ve really improved since the forties. CGI blows my mind.”

She laughs. “They can do amazing things, that’s for sure.”

He is silent, and she takes it as a cue to leave. He doesn’t know what to do, what to say, how to ask her if she knows him as anything more than one of the countless people who have made attempts on her life. A name comes to him, not something remembered from a file, but something that’s been in his head for years, just hidden.

“маленький паук,” he says, quietly. She stops.

“That’s what I called you, right?” he murmurs. “Little spider?”

She turns around and walks the three paces back to him. The look on her face cuts him down, devastates him. She knows exactly who he is. She has known all this time, while he’s been struggling, and searching, and remembering. She has known, and she hasn’t come to him.

“James…”

Ah, there it is. The pain he has forgotten. The last time he felt this, he was being dragged away from her, and she had been screaming his name, and he had seen her being struck, and he had known this was all his own doing.

Her hand cups his cheek. His right cheek, so his real hand can cover hers. A movement made so many times under the cover of darkness.

“I know it doesn’t matter now,” he says. “And… I’m sorry, for what that’s worth. It’s just memories, but… I loved you. I want you to know that.”

“I loved you too.”

He realises his eyes are closed, and he opens them to find pity in her face. It’s worse than anger. He has remembered far too little, far too late.

“Don’t worry,” he says, and drops his hand from hers. “I’ll keep it under wraps. Sam helped me find the documents so… I guess you might want to talk to him.”

“James-”

“My friends call me Bucky,” he tells her. He tries to smile, in a friendly way, like friends do. It doesn’t work, but she nods. She leaves, and he ducks his head for a moment, sucking cold air into his lungs like it will soothe the burning in his chest, and in his throat. For a horrifying moment, he thinks he’s going to cry.

He doesn’t. The past doesn’t bury itself, he thinks, and he goes inside to get another drink. He goes to sit by Steve, and delights him by recounting partially remembered war stories that his best friend can fill in, tales of the Howling Commandos at their prime, the best of Bucky Barnes before HYDRA, before the Soviets, before Natasha. It feels good to remember things other than pain, and Bucky is grateful that his memories aren’t just trauma. Sam devours the stories, and for a while Bucky is able to forget that his heart, newly rediscovered, is broken.

She loved him. She knew him. She knows him. These thoughts return again and again as he fails to sleep that night. He wonders what is next. He’s moved on from worse, surely. It doesn’t feel like it, but in the numbers game that is his life, statistically he has to have endured something more awful.

He gets up to make tea. That’s a luxury he loves. He can have a hot drink in his hand pretty much whenever he wants, and he can make it as disgustingly sweet as he wants. It is past midnight, so he’s surprised to find Steve in the kitchen, already on tea duty, two mugs in front of him. He hands Bucky his sugary mess without a word. Bucky sits in the warmth of the kitchen, and gives silent thanks for the one good thing he has left.

#AC19 #day 12 #this one got away from me #fic #buckynatfic #avengersfic #bucky barnes #steve rogers #sam wilson #buckynat #winterwidow #avengersangst #long

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felicismagic18873 · 4 years

Text

Beyond the Blaze (7)

Summary: 4 Years old, Alyssa Potter finds her life taking a magical turn as she steps into a world of cute green giants, talking robots and misunderstood aliens. All of it is almost enough to make her forget the probable destruction of her own world.

Loki could no longer be allowed to stay in Man of iron's tower. It was too dangerous especially now that a child was involved. Thor was not able to find out where exactly the childling had come from but it seemed clear that it had something to do with Banner and Stark. Perhaps they had decided to expand their family, adoption of a child between platonic friends was not uncommon in Asgard.

The child herself was a beautiful little girl who would probably grow to be an even more beautiful maiden. Dark hair and green eyes, just like his brother. If it wasn't for the fact that he knew his brother never visited Midgard in the decade prior to the invasion, he would have confused her for his daughter. There was something about her so similar to Loki that it made him nostalgic, reminding him of the days when his only worry was Loki stabbing him whenever he got the chance.

Oh, the good old days.

But it was time to go, Loki needed to face his trial and now that he had the abhorred scepter with him, there was no reason to stay in Midgard any longer.

So, they stood on the highest point of the tower where only a scorch mark indicated how only a few days ago a portal had been opened from this point. Thor had his arm around Loki's shoulder, he told himself it was as a precautionary measure not because he had no idea when he'd be able to hold his brother ever again.

The Avengers and Selvig sans Lady Natasha and the good captain stood by saying their goodbyes and thank yous. Thor barely heard them, he laughed at the jokes and nodded solemnly at the farewell's but his full attention was on the childling hiding behind Banner's legs.

The childling who'd apparently insisted on coming to say goodbye, according to Stark the little girl had 'Killer puppy dog eyes' though he wasn't really sure what that meant. But right now, right now the child just looked solemn, she had a seriousness that shouldn't exist on a child's face. Thor didn't really like that.

So, he passed a stern look to Loki asking him to stay put with his eyes at which Loki just rolled his eyes and went near Banner, kneeling down at one knee to come face to face with the green-eyed beauty. He held out a hand smiling when a small hand slipped into his own with hesitation, then the childing came out from her hiding spot her sea-green eyes meeting his.

"Greetings, young maiden." Thor grinned knowing he had succeeded when he managed to get a small smile from the young girl. "I am Thor Odinson, I wished to introduce myself to the youngest resident of the tower before taking my leave."

The girl uncurled her fingers from where they were gripping on Banner's trousers, Thor could feel everyone's eyes on both of them. She put a closed fist on her heart and bowed her head surprising Thor.

" I am Alyssa, Thor the Thunderer."

They stared at each other for a moment and somehow Thor knew that in this whole realm there was at least one person who felt something other than hate for his brother. The childling's eyes constantly flittered to his brother even before Thor had approached her and it was with sadness that she looked at him.

Right before Thor was about to stand up, the child stepped closer to him, her eyes asking permission. When Thor inclined his head, she slowly whispered, "Help him."

All was silent for a second, Thor knew that none of the others could hear her. If it weren't for his enhanced hearing he probably couldn't have either.

"And what if he doesn't want to be helped, Childling? What if he doesn't deserve it." Thor whispered back.

"There has to be a reason. You have to find it, because-because a trickster never tells his secrets."

She was right, Loki would never admit. He'd just chase them around in circles until they got tired and just gave him his sentence.

Thor nodded his head in acceptance, he was going to try anyway so what was the harm in telling the childling that he would, especially if it could take away the sadness in her gaze.

"You have my word."

Thor smiled when two thin arms wrapped around his neck in a hug before the child slipped behind the scientist's legs again.

Thor went by to stand by his brother's side again, he nodded at the Avengers one last time before the lights of the rainbow bridge took over his senses and when they faded,

We are home, he thought.

-----------------------

Tony was lowkey glaring at Thor. Bruce had to choke back a chuckle, he bit his lip running a hand over his shirt. Bruce had always been good at reading emotions, something that he knowingly improved over the years. It was always good to know which situation he needed to get out of. But he wondered if Tony knew exactly why he was feeling sulky all of a sudden.

Thor and Alyssa were having a whispered conversation and from what little Bruce was able to make out, it was about their resident villain. Bruce had no idea why the child was so infatuated with Loki, from what he and Tony could tell from the little feed they had from 'the incident' as they called it, Alyssa had wanted to meet Loki because she knew about him. Her caretaker probably told her old Norse stories (he hoped she censored them while telling the kid), it wasn't a far stretch seeing that Alyssa did have an unusual amount of knowledge about mythology.

The kid didn't know who the current president was but she could tell you different avatars of various Greek gods. It was quite bizarre.

Anyways, Alyssa was looking at Thor with a smile and heart eyes and Tony Stark wasn't having it. How was it that the kid liked Thor more? Even if she didn't Bruce was 90 % sure that that was what was going on in Tony's head along with plans to make the kid like him more. He hoped Tony was a little laid back though. Who knows how the kid would react to his grand gestures.

"See ya later, Point Break. Stop by anytime, or maybe don't. I'm gonna have this roof repainted. No thought for my poor tower, I tell you."

And with that, the two were gone along with the tesseract and the scepter. Bruce released a breath of relief. He really didn't like the artifacts and was more than happy to see them gone even if Tony did want to run some more tests on them.

"Okay." Tony stretched his arms a little," I'm off to the lab. Your turn to look after the squirt, Merida."

Before Clint could throw something at Tony's head (Most probably one of the broken tiles) Bruce put a hand on Alyssa's shoulder and looked down at her, she was still looking at the engravings that the Bifrost made on the ground. "I've got it, for now, me and Alyssa just finished 'Lilo and stitch' when you called us. We were going to start 'Matilda' next."

Alyssa nodded her head absently, "Matilda." she softly said. Bruce wondered what she was thinking.

"You should ask capsicle to join you, maybe he if he watched some movies he'd be less of a snooze."

That caught Alyssa's attention, Bruce noticed that she made a face hearing that. Whether it was the thought of someone intruding on their time or the intruder being Steve, Bruce couldn't say. Though he had no idea why Alyssa would dislike Steve, she hadn't even met him officially.

"He's out of town, Stark."

"Yeah yeah just like our little spider, and then they say I'm the careless one." and with that final comment, Tony walked away.

Clint clenched his jaw, Bruce felt a little sorry for him. He'd heard the news of all the people who'd been under Loki's control having to undergo a physical and mental evaluation. It probably wasn't easy going through all those therapy sessions without Natasha by his side, it was clear they were pretty close even if they tried not to show it.

"Did you hear from Natasha, Clint?"

"She's following a lead."

"A lead?"

"There was an assassination attempt."

Bruce stilled, "On whom?"

"Fury," Cling ran a hand through his hair, he looked tired. Exhausted really. " Some people didn't like his decision to let the tesseract and the scepter go."

"Is he okay?", Bruce finally decided to ask. He didn't like many decisions of the director but it didn't mean he wanted him to be killed or worse.

"Tasha is taking care of it now that I'm not allowed on the field until I get a clearance pass." he clenched his fist so tight that Bruce was sure he was going to leave marks on his palm.

Bruce wondered for a second whether or not to say anything, but the desire to comfort won out his habit to remain as uninvolved as possible. "It's for your own good, you know that right, Clint?"

"Yeah, I know. I know." Clint sighed, unclenching his fist to run his fingers through his hair. "Doesn't mean I have to like it."

Silence remained between them for a while. Alyssa tugged a little on his shirt to show she was going, Bruce took a second to smile at her and nod before addressing Clint again, "You wanna join us?"

Alyssa probably wouldn't mind, she didn't show much of a reaction on meeting Clint. Maybe it was his aloof manner that made her keep her distance. He saw Alyssa walk into the elevator from the corner of his vision.

"Nah," Clint shook his head, "I just stayed around to make sure Loki was gone. I'm going back to the base now."

"Tony wasn't joking about the floor you know. He made it clear several times that you're welcome here, though his actions may say otherwise sometimes," Bruce was almost sure that the offer had more to do with Tony being lonely than a security concern.

"I know but I need some time to myself. Heck, I'm surprised you're still here."

The elevator came back up, Bruce and Clint walked in silently. Bruce thought over the comment for a while. He decided not to mention the fact that he just missed having a home, and though he'd have to eventually leave it was good to pretend for a while.

"This and that, Plus I wanna make sure the kid can find her home. Tony's not that bad you know."

After the initial overwhelming introduction, Bruce had got comfortable around him, too comfortable, and now it wasn't unusual to work with his constant chatter surrounding them. Bruce didn't talk much but it was good to have someone to talk to if he wanted to.

The elevator door opened. Bruce stepped out.

"I know." The corner of Cint's lip lifted up."See you around doc." Clint held out a hand, Bruce shook it.

"Possibly. Take care till then," Bruce stared at the closed door for a while before looking around for Alyssa. She wasn't in front of the TV as he'd expected so he went upstairs instead, to the bedrooms.

Stark tower had more spare rooms than necessary and Tony had shown both of them rooms on his own bedroom floor just above the 'Party deck' as Tony called (Bruce could have had his own floor but he didn't want...it was a commitment he wasn't willing to make yet)

He knocked on the door, "Alyssa, May I come in?"

"Yes."

She was sitting on the bed, her knees pulled closer with her arms around them and her head resting on her knees. She looked at him from under her lashes, Bruce walked closer to sit beside her on the bed.

"Are you okay?"

She hmm-d. Bruce had traveled so much but nothing had taught him how to pry into a kids mind, especially a kid that didn't want to talk. At last, he chose to stay silent. It worked with adults to make them talk so maybe it'll work with her too.

It did.

"Thor loves his brother so much." She said after a while. Bruce nodded, even though he didn't understand it (the green-eyed man had stabbed him for goodness sake) he could see how much Thor cared for his homicidal brother.

"My cousin..." She pulled her knees closer, like trying to hide away while she talked. " He was 'upposed to be like my brother."

"Dudley, right?" he remembered Tony saying the name.

"Uncle Vernon said I should call him brother, but I didn't" She mumbled, "He didn't love me. He didn't even like me.", She sniffed.

That was pretty common in siblings but Bruce didn't mention that because from what he knew about her family life, her family wasn't normal. There was no reason to suspect that she was exaggerating. Plus it may sound like he was being dismissive, so he just nodded.

"Everyone's family loves them accept not mine. Only Melina loves me and she's gone." A tear slipped from the corner of her eye. Bruce couldn't help it any longer and reached forward. Alyssa stilled. Bruce rubbed off the tear.

"Hey, don't-don't cry. Look I- I can't speak for your family but I can tell you that you're a very lovable child. And who said only Melina loves you? I for a fact know that the other- Hulk loves you, I care about you and even Tony ( though he might never admit it) already cares for you."

He didn't say that family doesn't have to be blood-related because no matter how much he ignored it, the fact was that there was most likely no way Alyssa could stay with them permanently (Would they even be allowed to have her?). He didn't want to give her false hope until they could be sure (He resolutely ignored what Alyssa staying with them meant for him). It was the only reason he hadn't let Tony decorate her room as he wanted.

But that didn't mean he didn't care for her. It took everything in him not to be selfish.

She sniffed, "You-he does?"

"Yeah."

Bruce huffed as the kid bumped into his chest, hugging him tightly. He slowly placed his arms around her as well. They stayed like that for a while.

"Can-Can we watch 'Matilda' now?"

Bruce smiled," Yeah. Sure"

#irondad #female!harrypotter #marvel #Harry Potter #tony stark has a heart #Tony Stark #fanfiction #Beyond the blaze #kid!fic

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cartoonemotion · 5 years

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i wrote a fic on the spot about splinter and his first few acts of Daditude

read it here on ao3 or underneath the cut !

It doesn’t hit Lou right away what he’s stumbled into; in fact it takes weeks before what it all means finally sinks in.

Sure, he grapples with the fact that he feels betrayed and foolish for trusting Draxum, so easily flattered by him that he was blinded to what he was really planning all along. He, reluctant to admit it, even feels afraid of what will happen next; if he’s found by Draxum as he is now, grappling with his mutation- a mutation he doesn’t know the full effects of yet. He feels confused, and lost, and sick with guilt, completely alone for possibly the first real time in his life.

But he isn’t alone. Carefully tucked in between the meager amounts of clothes he was able to grab, on top of the other limited personal items (mostly fan mail and such, which he tries not to feel vain and stupid for taking), are four turtles.

The first few weeks, Lou mostly feels sorry for the turtles.

The lack of documentation and funds makes finding any shelter hard enough, but his continuing mutation means not even squatting in some old house or shelter will suffice. He feels relieved, almost like a genius, when he thinks to retreat to the sewers. Lou might not be any kind of expert, but he knows turtles need to be somewhere damp, with lots of water. Sewer water isn’t ideal, obviously, but it’s better than nothing.

It is, however, cold. And if it’s cold for Lou, it’s freezing for the turtles; they instinctively pile on each other, clumsy foot on shell or a hand in the other’s face, but it does nothing to quiet their shivering. Lou piles what clean clothes he has on them, tries to bundle them together, but it doesn’t help much. The oldest of them- Red- is able to move around the most, and with more confidence in his motion than the others, and will often do his hardest to crawl onto to Lou, even wiggle his way under his shirt. So for many nights, Lou scoops up the turtles, cold and clammy as they are, and tries his best to keep them all together and relatively still, and tries to let them sleep. He, himself, does not as much- his guilt is still raw in his mind, and while he knows what he did was the right thing, he worries if he’s saved the four of them just to be unable to keep them alive on his own- but the weight on his chest slowly becomes routine. That, at least, convinces him to close his eyes and rest.

Not long after the sewer becomes more of a shelter than a hiding place, Lou’s brain decides it’s fair game to become irritable.

Maybe because he had almost fooled himself into some kind of sense of normalcy; he has, from sneaking above ground, coveted something almost like a home. He has a bed now, bottles of clean water, he even found a beaten up projector that miraculously still worked, which he was more thankful for than the bed and the water combined. Not to mention the most helpful of all, the woman at the pet store counter who wrote down some basic turtle care advice, even though he’s sure he creeped her out with his lurking around and odd gait, all covered up to try to keep himself inconspicuous. She did act like she had dealt with worse; he had to give it up to New York for that.

He is irritable, but he isn’t mad, of course. Getting mad at babies is pathetic and cruel, and getting mad at baby turtles seem doubly so. But he is sleep deprived, developing chronic pains, frustrated with his new physiology, and starting to wonder if he’s going insane. The turtles writhe and cry, probably from the cold and hunger, and Lou really can’t blame them. He feels like screaming and crying himself.

“What? What is it?” Lou can’t stop himself from sounding exhausted, picking up Orange, who without fail always wailing the loudest. Thinking maybe it’s the cold, he tucks him in his arm, trying to rock him while managing more of a weak shake. Orange merely shrieks louder, which in turn causes all of his brothers to respond in kind. Lou feels like the sheer shockwave of the noise is going to peel the face from his skin. His head is splitting. Suddenly, Red clamps his jaw around his bare foot, in a bite much more firm and painful than somebody his size should be able to create. The resounding ‘fuck’ probably carries all the way to New Jersey.

“Alright, you’re in time out!” He pries Red off his foot, scooping him up beside Orange in his arm. He grabs Purple and Blue too.” You, you, orange, me! All of us need a time out.”

Time out is not on their agenda, however. Blue wriggles away from the crook of his arm and starts scrambling up to his shoulders. Orange starts thrashing, trying to follow his older brother’s suite when Lou tries to twist around and grab Blue again, slipping free and clumsily slinking up the back of Lou’s neck. A franticness he has never experienced in his life crushes Lou’s heart in its hands, stopping it dead as he feels Orange slide off, already starting to fall. Almost automatic, he shoulders Purple against Red, lurching forwards on one foot to catch Orange in his free hand. Blood rushes in his ears. Orange squeals in delight and starts wiggling, trying to repeat his steps again.

And then it hits him; they’d all been bored. He sighs with relief.

“You think that’s funny, do you?” He scolds, though there is absolutely no bite to his words, and he is, in spite of himself, smiling. “Giving me a heart attack?” He collects Blue from his spot on his shoulder, and sets them all down gently. There is a slight murmur of disappointment, then Lou picks up Orange, in a smooth motion, spinning him around high into the air. Not long after the other three are tripping over each other, tugging at Lou’s ankles.

Lou lifts them up, gives them piggy-back rides, and generally resigns himself to being a playground for hours. Somehow, it feels like the most fun he’s had in decades.

Lou, after spotting a gray hair (hair, not strand of rat fur), decides it’s time to pass on the greatest staple of his legacy: grooming.

The turtles are hairless, obviously, put playing in sewer grime is no good; nobody under his watch is going to go on smelling like the inside of a rusty pipe and growing mildew on their shells. Even though turtles are supposed to love water, Lou has never met any living thing more opposed to baths than the turtles. Worse yet, it’s getting hard to rope them all in.

Orange is still getting his legs under him, really, so he is the easiest to catch, though he protests the loudest in wordless, floundering terror. This alerts his presence to all of his brothers; Blue has mastered his crawl, sliding half on his belly as his kicks and wriggles away faster than anything with a shell on its back should be able to. Purple uses his scrawniness to hide in corners and under the bed frame, making it difficult for Lou to reach. Red has grown bigger than Lou thought he would, and much quicker than he thought he would, too, and is able to toddle around on two legs. Lou feels like an idiot chasing after him while he screams “No!” over and over again. He gnaws on Lou’s arms all the way to their makeshift tub, a large bin that, while big enough for all of them, is beginning to be a tight fit with Red’s growth spurt.

Still, the turtles all try to kick and splash around as Lou scrubs them all down, stilling only when he washes the spaces where their shells meet the skin just under their collarbones. Washing their face causes a lot of grief, especially from Blue, who has not yet totally learned to keep his eyes closed so soap won’t in them. After he gets them all in the rhythm of it, though, they calm down; Orange blows bubbles at his brothers, Purple climbs up Red’s spines to keep himself afloat better, and Blue splashes the water in front of him, amazing himself. Lou then has to convince them to get out of the tub just as much as he had to convince them to get in.

He knows the second he sets them loose, they’ll waste no time getting just as dirty as before. But looking at them, grouped together, bundled up to their nostrils in towels, he only feels a kind of tired satisfaction.

When their personalities really start to emerge, that’s when Lou realizes he’s not just Lou, by himself, with some turtles who he makes sure don’t all die. Previously it had seemed more like what he imagined was the normal, random behavior of babies, with the secondary turtle instincts of course, but day after day, the turtles make their own distinctions perfectly clear.

Red, as the oldest, is the first he really notices. Though not able to do much more than babble nonsense, it’s easy for Lou to tell he has a lot of Strong Opinions about things, as much as a baby turtle living in the sewer can have. He’s gotten over his teething, but doesn’t seem to understand the force he puts behind his movements all the same; hence when he starts to roughhouse with his brothers, Purple either shuffles away or is discreetly moved away by Lou himself. And does he ever love to roughhouse; even sitting in front of the reruns of Lou’s movies, he moves along, sloppily and uncoordinatedly trying to mimic the kicks and punches. More often than not, he clumsily ends up hitting himself in the face.

(Lou was worried, at first, at showing them; less out of the conceit of babies not grasping the masteries of cinema, but more worried if they would recognize his face when they grew up, now so far removed from what it once was? What would he tell them? How could he explain?)

Purple was curious, even notably for a baby. He began hoarding things, sneaking junk under Lou’s bed, sometimes in the sheets (the amount of times Lou had rolled over the jagged edge of some something or other in his sleep, he swears). He was beginning to form into a little drama king, too, throwing himself on the floor and wailing like he’d been shot when Blue stole a toy he was playing with, giving Lou a heart attack every time thinking he’d broken his shell. Lou tied a pillow around his back, which he would sometimes try to wiggle out of, but more or less learned to use to his advantage.

Blue was dramatic himself; not as much as Purple, but enough that Lou couldn’t help but laugh at him sometimes. He was more clingy than his brothers were, pitching a fit if he were ‘alone’ for more than four seconds, finding no issue in simply shoving Purple, Orange, or Red out of the way to get Lou’s attention. Lou figured he was well on his way to becoming a life-long antagonizer, but he supposed, while they were all so little, it couldn’t do much harm- he simply couldn’t intervene every time he swiped toys or tried to ride his eldest brother like a horse.

Orange, being the youngest, was not as obvious as the others, but he was beginning to show the startings of his personality. He still insisted Lou carry him most of the time (probably because he kept tripping over his shell and ending up stuck on his back), and he scared easier than the others, but there was no doubt in Lou’s mind how attached to the other three he was. Near-inseparable, really- crawling on Red’s back, teething on the edges of Blue’s shell, clumsily rubbing his hands all over Purple’s face, if at least one of his brothers were present, he was not far behind. It made him the easiest to find, if nothing else, and the one to get in the least trouble, much to Lou’s relief.

And in spite of their differences in personality, all of them loved Movie Time.

Lou had found a chair- an amazing chair, who would throw out such a good chair?- thrown into the sewer on night, and had immediately taken it home. A full recliner, padded, with a pillow sewn in and everything. And usually, after breakfast, lunch, lunch two, dinner, or in the middle of the night when none of them would sleep, Lou would sit in his chair, turtles piled on him, and watch a version of himself captured in fuzzy technicolor that he simultaneously was envious of and relieved to see. The turtles themselves would come rushing whenever they heard the projector whirr to life. Red had even almost said “hot soup” one time, which made Lou cry in earnest, despite himself.

And as he sat there, watching the last shot fade to credits, stealing a look down to see the turtles had fallen asleep- as he figured they would- Lou realized something that he should have realized the second he had stepped foot in the sewer, the four of them cradled in his arms. He, without even knowing it, had become a father.

“My sons,” He sighed to himself, so as not to wake them. “I really need to give you real names.”

#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt #tmnt #splinter #raphael #leonardo #michaelangelo #donatello #my fic

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luescris · 6 years

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La Villian Cafe

Okay so here’s a one-shot that I whipped up yesterday. I got the idea from someone, but I can’t remember who it was so, if it’s you, please tell me! Credit belongs to them!! Enjoy!

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One would think it weird that there was a whole cafè dedicated to just Villains somewhere out there in the world. It was a place where villains could settle down every now and then, either with each other or by themselves. They knew it’d be counted as a crossover, but as long as they weren’t on screen, they were fine. It was built as a get away, as a place where they could settle down, so it was built and looked as such. It was cute and cozy, like every other coffee shop, and most of its occupants wouldn’t ever want it otherwise. Even if those occupants were very few, it was managing very well (Especially since most of them came from the Disney franchise).

It was a warm afternoon when the bell of the shop ringed with the opening of the door, and in entered the Greek God of the Underworld, Hades, from the movie Hercules. With a face that looked like he was ready to drop at any moment, he stretched his arms with a grimace, giving a long groan and dropping his arms. He made his way towards the front, where a friendly looking woman with a towel around her head awaited with a smile.

“Hello Mr. Hades,” She said sweetly. “Your usual?”

“That sounds good. Except maybe add in a doughnut and…” He thought for a moment, squinting at nothing. “Two shots of espresso.”

“Alright. Hard day in the Underworld, huh?” The woman asked as she turned to the counter behind her.

“Psh, you know it Medusa.” Hades leaned against the counter with a sigh. “These restless souls are just.. So uncooperative, you know? I tell them, ‘Hey, maybe you’re getting tortured and burned in fire, but it’s not all too bad. You’ll get used to it after some decades.’ But all they want to do is moan and complain. Drives you insane.”

Medusa nodded. “Oh I know. It’s hard to be a villain.” She turned back to him and placed a bag and cup of coffee onto the counter. “Here you go. $22.37, please.”

After paying what he owed, he turned to the shop before him and took a sip of his coffee, and gave sigh of relief. “That’s the stuff…”

“Hey, Hades! Over here over here!” A voice called suddenly, and Hades noticed that, in the corner next to a window, sat Doctor Doofenshmirtz, waving a hand wildly with a large grin on his face.

Hades sighed with annoyance, but walked over to him anyway and sat. “Hello, Doof.”

“Long time no see!” Doofenshmirtz replied. “How’s life in the Underworld? Goin’ good?”

“Just the opposite.” Hades muttered, then took out his doughnut and bit into it.

“Oh. Well, anyway, have you heard what Disney had done? Have you heard their latest news yet?”

Hades shook his head. “I don’t get told much. I live at the bottom of the Earth. It’s hard to get any news from anywhere down there.”

“Well it’s a good thing you came here! I’m telling you, you are really going to love this!” Doof added that with a wink. “It’s gonna blow your socks off!”

“Oh I’m sure it will.” Hades muttered to himself, and took another sip of his coffee as Heinz continued. But what he was about to say was definitely unexpected.

“They say that Disney has made another new villain! They say he’s real powerful, and dangerous! Maybe not as powerful as all of us combined, heh, but.. He sounds real menacing!”

Hades almost spat out what was in his mouth, interest perked as he stared at Doofenshmirtz. “.. A new villain? Did you hear a name? A-a description, perhaps?”

“Unfortunately no.” Doof looked down sadly. “But man, that description got me excited. Wonder who it’ll be…” It was quiet for a few seconds as the two mulled over the thought, the Doofenshmirtz gasped and looked up with a newly found energy. “Hey, do you think he’ll find this coffee shop? Do you think they’ll let him have access?”

“.. I dunno,” Hades shrugged. “The guy sounds a bit too dangerous for this place, though, don’t you think-?”

Suddenly, the door to the cafe opened and interrupted what Hades was saying. Both of their heads turned to see who it was, but their faces immediately became confused. There stood a boy who looked about the age of fourteen, with black hair, one blue streak in it. He looked as if he was lost, looking around the room rather awkwardly. A racoon was hanging on to his shoulders, also looking as lost as the boy.

His blue eyes seemed to have almost no light in them as he awkwardly stepped in, took a breath of air, and announced quietly, “Um… They told me to come here, so uh.. Yeah..”

From around the counter, Medusa walked up to him with a suspicious smirk. “Do you have a card, young man?”

The boy blinked at her for a second, then muttered, “Oh” and reached into his front pocket in his apron.

He handed it to Medusa, who stared at it for a few seconds, then looked back at the boy. “Hm. Fine. Welcome to La Villain Cafe. Enjoy your stay!” She handed him back the card with a half smile, then walked back behind the counter, looking at him with curiousity.

Hades and Doofenshmirtz watched as he walked himself over to the far back of the cafe, and sat with his back facing the other two. The racoon climbed into his lap with a soft coo, and the boy pet his head slowly.

“... You gotta be serious.” Doof whispered, bringing Hades’s attention back to him. “ That can’t be him, can it? I mean, he doesn’t look evil. He doesn’t even have a lab coat!”

“He has an apron and gloves,” Hades pointed out. “It’s close right? Plus, you don’t look evil either, and yet her you are.”

Doof nodded, then realized what he said and glared at him. “Hey, wait a minute

-!”

“We should go over and talk to ‘im.” Hades interrupted him, hiding a smirk that pulled on his lips as he stood and walked over.

Doofenshmirtz sat for a second, then followed behind him while muttering underneath his breath.

The boy looked up when Hades arrived with a somewhat polite smile on his face. “Hey kid, you must be that new guy we’ve heard alot about.”

The boy stared at him for a second, before saying, “... And your hair is on fire.”

Hades blinked as his smile suddenly vanished at the sudden comment, while Doofenshmirtz snickered behind him.

Hades shook his head, then grinned again and laughed. “... Heh, you’re smart kid, real smart. Nice one. Name’s Hades, Lord of the Underworld, brother of Zeus and so forth. What’s your name?”

“... Varian.” The boy muttered, then looked away and into the window. “Now go away.”

“Wow, this kid seems real depressed.” Hades whispered to himself after another stunned silence.

“Lemme try.” Doofenshmirtz stepped in front of him. “Hey, Varitos was it-?”

“Varian.” Varian replied stiffly, but didn’t look at them.

“Varian. Right. Where ya from? You seem like an interesting character. What do you do?” He waited for a response, and when there wasn’t one, Doof continued, slipping into the chair across from him. “You know, I’m an inventor. I make stuff to destroy my arch nemesis with so that I can someday rule the Tri State Area. And, maybe the world afterwards.”

This seemed to have spiked his interest, because Varian looked over at him with slight confusion at his words. “... Tri State Area?”

Doofenshmirtz grinned. “Yeah. It’s where I live in my world, though. Don’t worry about it.” He shifted his position. “Did you try to take over the world?”

Varian blinked. “Uh.. No, not rea-”

“Doof not every villain wants to do that,” Hades said with an eye roll. “How about your backstory huh? Do you have one?”

“Uh, I suppose-”

“Hey, I was supposed to ask that!” Doofenshmirtz shouted at Hades.

Hades rose an eyebrow. “And why should it matter?”

“Because I actually have one! You are only something that came from a fairy tale that’s not even scientifically possible!”

“Hey, if ya wanna see the Underworld, be my guest. Nothing’s stoppin’ ya.”

Doof glared at him, then looked back at Varian with a fake grin. “So Varian. Got any parents? Relationships? Who’s that furry little friend of yours?”

“It’s a racoon.” Hades muttered.

“I know it’s a racoon! I asked ‘who’, not ‘what’.”

The argument lasted for a while, and it lasted until Varian seemed to have gotten enough of it. He stood upright from his seat, fists clenched as he shouted, “Enough!!”

Hades and Doof looked at him, blinking with surprise in mid-argument.

“Since you won’t leave me alone about it, I guess I have no other option than to tell you my own personal business!!” Varian snapped. “I started out as a humble alchemist who wanted to simply help everyone in Corona and make my father proud of me, but nobody ever wanted my help and I somehow made things worse! Then these black rocks came in and began completely destroying my life--quite literally might I add--without stopping! The princess of my world, Rapunzel, gave me her word that she’d help me figure them out, but she practically lied to me when I went to her and begged for her help! You know why?! My father was being encased by those same black rocks!! But precious Corona apparently came first! And then, she expects me to be perfectly okay with everything?! No!! Of course I’m gonna backstab her and steal the SunDrop Flower! She did that to me!! Oh sure, she apologized before that, but if she really cared, why in the world didn’t she come and see me after that storm?! They left me there, so that I took care of myself without an adults or parents or anything!! But they’re only gonna care about what I need when I attack the castle with a robot army, capture the queen, and almost kill the queen!! Noone’s gonna care that everything I’ve done was to save my father, who I am seriously hoping is still alive!! They’re just gonna simply throw me in jail and forget about me, let me rot until there’s nothing left of me while the princess and her little group of friends goes out and explores, when everything happened because of her!! She’s the reason why I’m here, she’s the reason why my dad’s not here, she’s the reason why those black rocks exist!! She’s the reason why I’m a villain!!”

The cafe was quiet.

Doofenshmirtz and Hades stared up at Varian, who suddenly found himself standing on the table, with mouths wide open and eyes as small as dots. There were a bit more villains that had entered who stared at Varian with the same looks the other two gave, standing stock still. From behind the counter Medusa also stared at him, frozen in mid pour.

Varian was huffing slightly, and he turned his attention back to the other two and whispered past the lump in his throat, “Well… Now you know.. Happy?”

He scooped up Ruddiger from underneath the table after jumping off of it, and stormed passed the others, who quickly moved out of his way as he did so. They stared, even after the door had been slammed shut, and he disappeared around the corner, where two guards had apparently been waiting for him. One of them placed a hand on his shoulder before they had completely rounded it.

“.... No words…” Hades barely whispered finally. “Absolutely no words….”

Doofenshmirtz closed his mouth. “He looks so young… Why would they..? The kid isn’t even…”

Slowly, the rest of the people continued with what they were doing, and when Hades glanced over at Medusa, he noticed that she was facing him. He knew under those sunglasses of hers, was a glare as hard as stone.

#disney #tts #varian #doctor doofenshmirtz #hades #phineas and ferb #hercules #tangled the series #oneshot #cafe

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