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darkpoisonouslove · 3 years

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The Road of Words

Summary: Griffin is visiting Valtor at the hospital after he got injured pulling a stunt to impress her. He has to wake up to see the results of his efforts and Griffin swears to put in an effort of her own to reach back to him.

CW: mentions of coma, head injury, blood, self-harm (very minor but it counts), self-deprecation

@trashcankitty12 requested the following prompt - You’re in a coma and I confess all my feelings only for you to wake up - and I did my best to deliver. Not a scenario I usually dig but I tried to give it a spark of originality.

Songs I listened to while writing this and I feel like really fit the tone of the fic are Promise by Fytch and Tether Me By Galleaux. Give them a listen if you feel like it!

Griffin's fingers clutched the smooth pot desperately. It was heavy and slipping in her sweaty palm. There was no heat left in her body for the cold clay to absorb. The dread had numbed her to anything but the occupied hospital bed she was looking for.

She'd gotten directions at the reception after giving her name. She had to be on some kind of list with allowed visitors when she had no business being there. Just like Valtor.

She swallowed around the lump in her throat only the frozen blue of his eyes could wash away as she reached for the handle on a pristine door. Behind it was Valtor, lying motionless like she'd never been prepared to see him. For all of her resistance to his flirting, she'd always figured the first time she caught a glimpse of him in a bed would be with herself underneath him and pinned to the mattress by his rippling muscles and disarming smile.

A notification from Instagram had found her in the middle of the night curled up with a novel. Valtor had tagged her in a photo of a rare flower he'd taken hours earlier at sunset. The captured moment had found her despite the tricky signal on his mountain climbing hike and she'd drifted off to sleep with a smile still on her face and a warmth in her heart.

Her tea had been steaming in her half-empty mug the next morning when the twins had called her with the headline that Valtor had been found with a head trauma and taken to the hospital.

Coma.

She'd thrown every window of her apartment open but all the chilly morning air had done had been to shake her to her core. Her lungs had heaved with dry sobs as she'd looked down from the 40th floor, hands clutching at the windowsill. He would've climbed up the side of the building if she'd asked it of him. All she had done had been letting them both down time and time again.

Griffin pushed the door open slowly. Her heart pounded in her ears to compensate for the stillness on the other side of the door and and her finger trembled over the cactus in the pot. Prickling it would spill red to drown out the unblemished peacefulness of the hospital room in case it was too unbearable.

Valtor's parents were sitting on a couch opposite from the door amidst too much chaos in place of the rigidness she'd expected. Elinor's long black hair spilled over Ailan's suit jacket and his shoulder where she'd rested her head as if it were too heavy. Her usual stoicism had melted off of her lean form. Her eyes were red-rimmed and she'd missed to wipe away a smudge of her mascara. Ailan's hand was gentle on the crown of her head but his knuckles had turned white gripping at his own knee. His leg twitched in failed restraint to keep it from bouncing and his lips moved senselessly in his wife's hair. He was pulled taut like a bandage stretched to tearing over a wound that was too big. Nothing in their stance spoke of both their remarkable height or the power their name carried.

"Griffin," Elinor rose up from her husband's chest. He offered her his handkerchief at the sound of her nasal voice.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to intrude," Griffin was stuck to the floor, her legs made of lead. It would be like stepping on their graves to go any closer to them. Her hard-to-get routine had left their son limp in that bed.

"It's okay, dear," Ailan rubbed Elinor's back while she was blowing her nose quietly. "I'm sure he'd want you here. Maybe he'll feel your presence. He's always been attuned to it."

Griffin swallowed. Valtor had put his whole heart into getting to know her. He'd found a way into hers through the suffocation she'd subjected it to to avoid a crack in her walls. And now the only sound coming from him was that of his shallow breaths.

"We'll be outside on a short walk." Ailan helped Elinor up and they leaned on each other. Their steps were slow but steady as they passed by her and Elinor squeezed her shoulder instead of holding on to her husband.

Griffin had to push her finger on the cactus in her hands for the pain to ground her. The moment the door closed behind Valtor's parents, her knees gave out and she slumped in the chair at the side of the bed. Their company had been a punishment but one well deserved.

The quiet hit her harder now that she had proof she was the cause of it. She'd always been but Valtor had been filling it–and her lungs–with his sweet talk. She'd come to talk but her throat was parched like she'd choked on the sun.

All the ashes of the moments she'd let burn out were flickering over her skin to brand it with echoes of the words she'd never said. Her breath had stopped the first time she'd laid eyes on Valtor's shapely physique and his confident stance, on his strong jaw and striking eyes as he'd introduced himself as a benefactor to the school where she'd grown up and was working. She'd smiled to herself watching him do an art course for her students through a window after she'd refused to be the head of the project and his supervisor. She'd discussed books with him till the middle of the night and had never said a word about his pick-up lines. She'd accepted his invitations to a matinee raising awareness about endangered species in the local botanical gardens and a charity fundraiser for victims of abuse but had never replied to his date suggestions. So many things he'd said to her and she'd kept her silence, and her distance.

Her grip tightened on the pot with the cactus. She'd smeared her blood on the side like some sort of magical ritual to bind her life force to that of the cactus, and of Valtor. She'd picked a succulent that survived with the same tenacity he'd shown and bloomed in the color of her hair. She hadn't managed to kill that one even when she'd stopped tending to her plants for months on end alongside abandoning Faragonda and Valtor appreciated her and her efforts. He had to wake up and give the cactus the same devotion he'd put in the photograph that had won her over.

"In the eye of the sun," the caption had read under the glowing halo of light the sunset had become around the flower's crown of purple-bluish petals.

Griffin left the cactus on the nightstand before she'd broken the pot. She dropped off her purse next to it and wiped her palms in her charcoal skirt mindful of the blood oozing from the pinprick on her finger. She didn't take Valtor's hand into hers. She'd left her fingerprints on him.

"I came here for myself as much as I did it for you. Because it turns out you've become a part of my life no matter how much I was trying to avoid just that." She'd grasped it in the artfulness of the photograph – he was the sun and she was the flower as much as the opposite was true as well. Her eyes were the golden ones but his gaze was the only thing that would brighten her day. If he'd give it to her. If she hadn't made it to the end of the universe where sunlight didn't reach.

"I was scared to know where the road stopped for us. I didn't want to face an inevitability. But I figured I'm more afraid of not knowing just how far we can go." The sun would rise one day on a dead flower but if Griffin let herself, she could have with Valtor what his parents did. She could have a lifetime full of love – in the eye of the sun instead of the storm. "I was scared of being just a speck of ink on your life but I will be. I will be anything you want me to be."

Her finger wasn't bleeding anymore but her heart hadn't stopped. It was pumping blood in her veins frantically to keep her moving and breathing long enough to be anything to him. Being just a short footnote to his life explaining his condition would be enough for her as long as he survived it.

"What do I have to do to show you how much you mean to me if you're still not convinced?" The silence shattered from the power of Valtor's voice and air cut into her lungs.

Tears spilled from her eyes like liquid sunlight. "Valtor."

()()()()

Her heart was hammering under her palm like it was trying to knock her down where she was leaning on the wall next to Valtor's door. It'd been a long while since she'd ran out to get the doctor and then Valtor's parents. They were inside now along with her purse and her tears had dried on her cheeks but her heart wouldn't settle. It wanted to shoot out of her chest and land only in Valtor's hands after she'd dashed out the door without another word. She hadn't had any this time. Otherwise, they would've spilled out along with her tears.

The door opened and Elinor stepped outside. Her blue eyes had lit up with the light of a whole sky full of stars and the corners of her mouth couldn't contain her smile. She was steady on her heels in her own right again. Her husband was a reflection of her lightness once again rather than a crutch to support her weight.

"Thank you, Griffin," Elinor drew her into a hug that turned her stomach. "You were there five minutes and he woke up."

Griffin's hands weighed like anvils on Elinor's back and would break her spine with the words pushing on Griffin's tongue. "No, it's all my fault he ended up here in the first place," she could hear herself speaking from afar through the confusion dizzying her mind that would have sent her tumbling down if not for Elinor's embrace. If she'd been more honest with Valtor–and with herself–she never would've pushed them down that road. She'd made him feel like he needed to prove something just because she was woven from distrust in the dark. "I'm sorry."

Elinor pulled back, eyes locked with Griffin and hands on her shoulders. "You don't have to apologize to me. Valtor makes his own decisions and I wouldn't stop him. You've been unfair to yourself in your refusal to believe he was seeing your worth."

Griffin grabbed on to Elinor's arms as the world spun around her on its head. Valtor had gone to such lengths for her, to show her her own worth, not to prove his feelings. He'd risked his life for a single photograph when she hadn't believed his words. And she'd received the message – loud and clear.

"Thank you," Griffin squeezed Elinor's hands whose touch was gentle despite the strength in her arms – just like Griffin's own mother's had been. She was lucky to have found someone with the same striking wisdom to advise her in the wake of her parents' deaths.

"Go to him," Elinor brushed a strand of purple hair from where it'd stuck to the salty tracks on Griffin's cheek. "He's been asking for you." With a nod of encouragement Elinor released her.

Griffin pushed the door open to draw the attention of both men inside. Ailan nodded at her and patted Valtor on the shoulder before making his way out quickly and closing the door.

Griffin and Valtor stared at each other wordlessly. She took in the way every inch of him moved with vitality. His lungs drew in full breaths and her smile got a wide grin in return. How had she ever doubted the shine in his eyes? He was glowing like the sight of her infused him with pure light.

"Thanks for the cactus," Valtor reached over to pull it to the edge of the nightstand, fingers brushing the leather of her purse still lying abandoned there. "Now I'll have company in my prickliness."

Griffin chuckled despite herself and shook her head. "That's not why I brought it. I was hoping it would lend you some of its resilience." The confession came out whole instead of shredded in pieces like she'd feared. "It has survived through many years with me."

"There was no way I wouldn't pull through with you here but why did you come? Was it just fear that drove you here, saying the things of my dreams?"

Her heart jumped in her throat and she had to swallow it to speak, not to keep him from seeing it. She sat down in the chair by the bedside again. It was quickly becoming a monument of their relationship's development.

"I don't know how much you heard of what I said before but I was scared. I was scared I would never get to tell you the photo got through to me because I'd been so scared to act, to feel. I hardly made it through the loss of my parents," Griffin choked back the memories spilling into her eyes. "It was so hard for me to believe in my own future when I'd been pulled from my roots. I've been living on willpower and instinct but I'm ready to feel again, to love again. With you."

Valtor offered her a hand and she took it. He brought it to his mouth for a kiss, the breath from his lips scorching her nerves with the pleasant shiver it sent over her skin. They'd held hands as they'd danced but they'd never made it closer to each other than an inch apart.

"I heard you say you'd be anything I want." Valtor's sly smile had her resisting the urge to roll her eyes. He had something positively scandalous on his mind. "I want you to be my wife."

"Valtor!" Heat rose inside her – overwhelmingly invigorating in the subtlety of the romantic history between them. "Ask me on a date first." She'd say yes this time. She'd say yes any time.

"Take your time. I'll ask you on a thousand dates. We have a whole future in front of us," Valtor laced their fingers together.

#winx club #winx griffin #winx valtor #griffin x valtor #covenshipping #fanfiction #my fanfiction #my writing #200fc #i'll tag valtor's parents when i come up with a surname for them

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therenlover · 3 years

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It’s Always Been You (Part Three of Till Forever Falls Apart, A Peter Maximoff/Reader Series)

Synopsis: After a month of adapting to his new universe, Peter Maximoff can confidently say that he likes his new life more than his old one. Sure, he misses home sometimes, but he’s been far too busy flirting with his new roommate to spend time crying over the things he’s lost. Everything is smooth sailing until a strange journal in his roommate’s study leaves him with more questions than he knows what to do with. Now he’s on a mission to discover who he’s really living with before she has the chance to turn against him.

Tags: Angst, Secrets, Exposition, Pre-Relationship, Predestination/Soulmates, Post-Wandavision

Rating: T

Warnings: Mild Language, Brief Mentions of Torture/Past Trauma, Minor Character Death

Word Count: 8600~

This has been crossposted as a two-chapter fic on my AO3 under the same name

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A/N: For this fic series, the events of Endgame take place in Late September/Early October, so Wandavision takes place in late October. Also, Thor is about 3500 and Loki is about 3000. This has no bearing on their appearance or stories, it’s just older than they are in MCU cannon.

Peter couldn’t tell when exactly the mirage started falling apart.

It hadn’t come down all at once but instead dissolved in slow waves that culminated into a disastrous reveal when the pieces stopped fitting together. Part of him wished he could go back to living the lie when every day was filled with the sweet rose-tint of ignorance. Unfortunately, there was no way back to the way things were before, only a long road forward.

Not everything had been bad. In fact, most of the first month was quite the contrary.

After his disastrous run-in with the Sorcerer Supreme, a man he now knew as Stephen Strange, Y/N had taken him on a tour of the city, pointing out all of the places he should avoid at all costs. The list wasn’t particularly long, but once he knew where to stay away from he felt fully comfortable to roam the city at his own leisure. That opened up a whole new window of opportunities for Peter to have fun.

The city itself wasn’t as scummy as it had been when Peter was living there at X-Mansion. He still vividly remembered the last time he and Jubilee had taken a trip into the city, watching the prostitutes roaming around Times Square as they passed through on the way to some deli Kurt had recommended to her. Now, everything felt slightly safer and much more staged for tourists. Besides that, though, much to Peter’s surprise, there were very few changes. Of course, there were the massive new skyscrapers run by what he had gathered to be either the rich good guys or the rich bad guys (he hadn’t quite been able to figure out which when Y/N had explained it to him) but if he just pretended they weren’t there, this new New York could pass for his old New York pretty easily.

Strangely, Peter found he enjoyed living in this universe’s New York more than he’d enjoyed living back at the X-Mansion. He had freedom now. Freedom to roam the city with no curfew, freedom to get food from the kitchen at all hours of the day, freedom to spend as much time as he wanted lazing around the house playing Space Invaders in his room… life in the brownstone was paradise. Every moment was crafted to meet his exact needs. Flawless. Picture perfect in every way... Too perfect.

If Peter was forced to pinpoint where things started to go wrong, it would be the first time he noticed how Y/N’s whole universe seemed to bend at his whims.

He hated to say that Y/N was the epicenter of the problem. In fact, she was what, in all honesty, gave Peter the most happiness in his day-to-day life. Sure it was nice to spend time alone in his room binging twinkies to keep his blood sugar up, but that seemed pathetic when he compared it to Y/N knocking softly on his door and offering a plate of whatever delicious meal she had come up with at the time. Some days she would lure him out of whatever project he had taken on to show him new movies he had missed in the time jump between universes. On other days, when Peter was feeling cooped up in the house, she would take him to Central Park for cheap hotdogs so they could spend the afternoon watching the seals (which had been Peter’s guilty pleasure as a local ever since he moved into X-Mansion). No matter what, Y/N offered Peter exactly what he didn’t know he needed at every turn looking damn good as she did it.

Now that was a whole different bag of worms that Peter didn’t like to look into too deeply. Y/N was just… stunning. Everything about her seemed to call to him, a perfect siren’s song luring him closer every time he saw her. She never failed to make Peter laugh. She also took time out of her day to help him learn new things, like how DVDs worked, with all the empathy in the world. Even though she was beautiful to look at and wonderful in every way, Peter found himself attracted to the smallest things about her more than anything else. Her smile, her cooking, the way she danced to her record player when she thought he wasn’t around.

Peter had trouble putting the feeling into words. He could only imagine it was the first stages of love.

The real kicker was that she liked him! Liked him in a way he had never been liked before. It was as if, in her eyes, he could do no wrong. She laughed at his jokes and pulled him closer when he gravitated to her side and came home with little gifts she found during the day that he always found he loved. Peter’s flaws weren’t chided but instead embraced. He always felt cared for at her side.

There were some imperfect things about Y/N, though.

They weren’t large, not at first, but as time passed the small fissures in her facade grew into gaping cracks. They served as the stems from which all of his current problems grew. The biggest original fissure was just how jumpy she was.

99% of the time Y/N was cool and confident. Peter thought she wouldn’t be out of place working as a lawyer or politician. That should have been the first flag in and of itself, but that didn’t matter. What did matter is that the other 1% of the time, which seemed to be triggered randomly by things Peter said or did, she was like a deer in headlights. She would freeze, panic, and only return to normalcy several minutes after Peter either dropped the subject or clarified whatever he said. Once Peter caught on to how strange that was, other odd things about Y/N began to show through in day-to-day life.

Things like knowing facts about Peter that she shouldn’t know.

The first time she brought him home his favorite candy he assumed she had just guessed correctly, but then she brought him a VHS of his favorite movie. And bought his favorite foods when she went out shopping that Peter was sure she hadn’t bought before. And took him to a fancy Manhattan leather store to buy a very obviously custom-made silver leather jacket that she just so happened to see in the window.

He would always thank her profusely, just glad to get things he enjoyed, and remark on how odd it was for her to know him so well after such a small about of time. Y/N would just smile and chalk it up to intuition. Intuition could only count for so much.

Y/N did other, smaller strange things as well, but Peter couldn’t say he noticed them much until after he confronted her. He simply assumed she only ate at certain restaurants because she was a picky eater, and avoided cars because she wanted to save the environment. She could have just been an average person who just so happened to use gilded silverware and have a spectacular, museum-quality collection of odd, assorted antiques sitting around her perfectly-furnished, historical brownstone that she was able to comfortably live in while working a relatively low paying job…

Peter had never been known for his smarts, but looking back, even he was disappointed that he hadn’t seen the signs sooner. Love is blind and it also blinds. His eyes only opened when he found the journal.

The illusion fell apart on a Wednesday afternoon.

It was cool, with the crisp late-autumn breeze leaving a slight chill present throughout the day. The sky had turned grey, not from rain yet, just from the general gloom of the season. Peter didn’t mind. He was looking forward to the first big thunderstorm in his new home.

Y/N had left for work in the morning with a spring in her step and a smile on her lips. On her way out the door, they had flirted a little more than usual, and as a result, Peter had been thinking about her for the rest of the day. He was too busy thinking about the way she had ruffled his hair while she passed him on the couch to do anything of value with his time but much too bored to stand still. His compromise? Snooping.

There was a little study on the first floor that served as a workspace and library for the household. It wasn’t off limit’s by any means, but it was the last place left that Peter hadn’t explored since moving in (besides Y/N’s room, of course). Something, whether it was boredom or suspicion pushed Peter to go inside and explore. He promised himself it would only be for a minute.

Once he stepped inside, his plans changed.

The moment he walked past the door’s threshold it was like a wave of warmth had washed over him. Every bit of the autumn chill that had made its way into the old bones of the rest of the house was seemingly absent from the library. Peter quirked up an eyebrow. Slowly, he stepped back out of the room.

Instantly the chill was present again.

He stepped forward. Warm.

Backward. Cold.

Warm.

Cold.

Warm.

Cold.

To an onlooker he would have seemed crazed, speeding in and out of the doorway with his powers trying to find a logical explanation for the phenomenon. To Peter, though, it was like he had finally cracked the code. This was proof… okay, so a room being warm didn’t prove anything, Peter didn’t even know what it would be proof of, but something about it satisfied the constant anxiety that had been pooling in his stomach in the weeks since he had moved in. From that moment on he was fixated on finding out what was so special about the library and what it had to do with him.

Once he had steeled his emotions, he finally re-entered the room for the final time, letting himself acclimate to the comforting heat that seemed to radiate from everywhere inside while taking a look around.

At first glance, it was just a nicely decorated office. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined 3 of the 4 walls, with the remaining wall opposite the door left free to make room for a small, mahogany roll top desk that sat proudly in the center of the room on the matching wood flooring. There was some decoration on the far wall, though. Above the desk, spanning the entire length of the wall were 5 large portraits of men. They seemed to loom over the room, their eyes boring holes into whoever entered, but something about them seemed more melancholy than threatening.

“Creepy,” Peter whispered to himself as he took another step into the room, gazing up at the paintings, "really fucking creepy,"

The first portrait seemed to be the oldest of the group by far, with the paint piled on thick as if the artist had to correct themselves multiple times over while they worked. It featured a Greek or Roman soldier, dressed in shining gold armor while they bared a wolflike girn and held up a jug of wine towards the painter. It wasn’t period accurate- Peter was pretty sure a typical canvas wouldn't have held up since the greek days, and that realism didn’t really exist in paintings back then -but there was a life in the soldier’s eye that made him wonder what circumstances had inspired the subject to pose as he did.

The next three portraits, in comparison, were a bit bland. They were all pretty formal and seemed to have been done around the same time. All three frames held their own well-dressed dandy with small differences separating them. The first man had a little Gomez Addams pencil mustache, the next wore a military uniform and a sly smile, and the last was dressed in an ill-fitting suit while looking about 5 minutes from death. There could have been more differences, but Peter brushed over them quickly in favor of the final painting.

Portrait number five was, very obviously, the newest of the collection, featuring a modern man, probably 18 or 19, posing goofily on a chair Peter recognized as Y/N’s preferred sitting chair in the living room. Surprisingly, that wasn’t what caught his eye. Peter found himself gaping at the man’s face.

It was almost like looking through a funhouse mirror. Peter saw echoes of himself in the subject; the silver-blonde hair, the cheeky smirk on his face, the skid marks on the bottom of his worn sneakers. Hell, if it weren’t for the light five o’clock shadow dusting the man’s jaw Peter probably would have mistaken it for himself.

Something about the painting was both hypnotizing and sickening. Its pull was so strong that Peter only noticed he was getting closer when he knocked into the desk, sending a pile of papers falling to his feet. As he gathered them he could feel the eyes of the men above him on his back, urging him to look closer, dragging him into their strange gravitational field. Peter probably would have been more worried about the paintings before he saw the papers, though.

There, written in Y/N’s handwriting with brilliant red ink on the first page of a small, leather-bound journal, was one word: Magneto.

Peter’s heart stopped.

Nobody, especially in a whole other universe, should know about his father except him. It was a secret he was sure he hadn’t mentioned even when the FBI had interrogated him. Hell, Raven had taken the secret to her grave even despite her complicated relationship with Erik.

A deep pit of rage began to burn in Peter’s stomach. Who was Y/N? How the hell did she find out who Magneto even was? Worst of all, why didn’t she mention it to him?

Without even thinking about what he was doing Peter opened the journal to the next page and began reading. He was going to find out what Y/N was hiding if it was the last thing he ever did.

October 4th, 2023,

I returned from purgatory today. “The Snap” has been reversed and Thanos has been defeated, thankfully with little cost. If that was death, I hope I never have to face it again. Tony is still weak, as am I, but both of us will live to see another day thanks to my gifts. I hope Howard knows I fulfilled my promise and protected his son.

While I was in the in-between, the grey place between worlds, I saw Magneto again. He seemed strangely at peace with himself. Hopefully, this means there will be no trouble with him in the future.

Once we hold a proper funeral for the lost the real work begins. Tonight, though, I am glad to be alive.

His father’s name appeared, but the rest of the entry was confusing. Peter kept reading.

October 7th, 2023,

We held the funeral today. I still despise Thor with everything within myself, but he and I held a small memorial for his brother once Clint had been properly buried and eulogized. He offered a poor apology for the hostile takeover of my home, but I accepted nonetheless. It’s what Loki would have wanted. Besides, his bastard father is already dead and his home has been destroyed, so Asgard’s power over Alfheim is nonexistent. Perhaps now that things here have calmed down I’ll visit my mother and father again...

I tried talking to Wanda but she refuses to speak to me. She doesn’t understand that even though I foresaw Vision’s passing, I couldn’t stop it. The same goes for her brother. If I were her, I would hate me too. I’ll try calling her again later this week once she can properly mourn. Until then, all I can do is wait.

Peter’s stomach dropped.

He had to reach out and steady himself on the desk to keep from wobbling when he was reminded of his time in the Hex. His memories of the time were misty, clouded around the edges as he was puppeteered through a charade, but the pain, both mental and physical, was still sharp even a month later. If he pretended it had never happened life was easy but when he accepted the week or so he spent in Westview it took his mind to a dark place. Unfortunately, there was now no way to both ignore his time in Westview and pull the wool out from in front of his eyes.

He trudged forward, stomach in knots, praying that Y/N hadn’t been involved.

October 9th, 2023,

Steve almost destroyed our timeline this morning.

He had originally been assigned to return the stones to their respective places in the past, but thankfully I saw his bullshit plan before he was able to put it into action. It took both Sam and James to restrain him, but Natasha returned the stones and was able to come back to the present before he could escape. He’s still mourning Peggy and has decided to hang up the shield for the moment while he figures himself out, but James is there for him as he has always been. I am jealous in the best of ways.

Wanda still hasn’t taken any of my calls, but Stark insisted I shouldn’t worry.

I will return home today for the first time since I was revived. It scares me. My visions always get clearer when I’m there. I’m afraid that somewhere in the past five years something terrible could have happened that I never even knew about. I suppose the only way of knowing is to wait and see. Hopefully, I will be able to shelf my powers for a couple of decades soon. Seeing and preventing the future is tiring.

October 22nd, 2023,

Pietro visited me in a dream today.

He was dead, bleeding through his clothes as I held him and wept, and yet he was there sitting next to me too. I apologized like I always do. This time, though, he forgave me.

I don’t fully understand what the dream was supposed to signify but he rested his head on my shoulder just like old times and told me he knew. I asked what he was talking about and he said he knew he was going to die when he did, and that it wasn’t my fault.

I turned to ask him why he was telling me that and he was gone. I held his body until I woke up.

Nothing is clear to me yet, but something has changed. There’s been a shift in the energy of the world. Maybe Pietro was trying to warn me… or maybe things are finally falling into place. I can only wait.

October 25th, 2023,

Wanda has a whole town hostage.

She’s wielding chaos magic.

Pietro was an omen

This is all my fault.

Peter clutched his chest as he fought for air. His head was spinning

Y/N could see the future. When taking that and whatever light-based magic she used at the museum into consideration, Peter had no clue what she was capable of. Hell, she might have even more power hiding up her sleeve.

Worse than that, she knew his real name. She had never called him Pietro, not once, and yet she wrote about him like she knew him. The thought crossed his mind that perhaps she was writing about this universe’s Pietro, but he shut it down quickly. She would have told him if she knew something about his counterpart. Right? Right? He pocketed the idea. Y/N could be capable of anything.

Underestimating her could prove deadly.

There was one last journal entry, boldly written in the same red as the others but scrawled much messier as if it had been done in a hurry. Peter had to force himself to focus on the words as he shook from a healthy mix of fear and rage.

November 1st, 2023,

Jimmy called me today. Peter is here.

Well, not here yet, but he’s here. He called to ask if I could take in a superpowered individual who he had in witness protection. The moment the words reached me I could see them walking in, Jimmy and Peter. My Peter. I accepted, of course. Only 5 hours left to go until they arrive. Surprisingly, journaling is doing little to calm my nerves.

I shouldn’t be this afraid. I know the outcome. I’ve been preparing to meet him for almost 3000 years now. Still, I can’t help but think the next 5 hours will be the longest of my whole existence.

His room is already set up, as it has been for a long time, but I should dust before he gets here so it doesn’t look like I was waiting for him. If I know anything, I know that Peter cannot know about what I am or what he means to me. This burden shall be mine to bear alone.

Is it selfish to hope that he never goes home? Even if it is, I deserve to be a little bit selfish.

Four and a half hours left. Just a little more time until he’s home and safe. I’ll be counting every second.

The journal fell from Peter’s hands with a dull thud.

At that moment, the front door opened.

“Hey, Peter! I’m home, and I brought dinner,” Y/N’s voice was bright as she stepped past the threshold, “where are you?”

“The study,” he called back, “we need to talk,”

Peter could almost hear Y/N’s breath hitching in the other room. Then, silence. All of the warmth that had flowed so abundantly from every nook and cranny of the study moments before seemed to drain away, leaving the room lifeless and cold. All the while the eyes of the painted men watched on like sentinels above the world of man.

A minute passed, maybe two, but soon enough Y/N had appeared in the doorway, eyes cast down to the floor where the journal had fallen from Peter’s grasp. She smiled sadly. “I’m guessing you found my journal,”

He didn’t give her the indulgence of a verbal reply.

“How much did you read?” She whispered, walking past Peter and sitting down on the small, rolling office chair that rested in front of the desk.

“All of it,” he muttered back.

Peter had never been one for confrontation. It was in the nature of his power to want to run from things, and run from them fast. He ran from his bullies, he ran from his father, he ran from his universe… this time, though, there was nowhere to run to.

Strangely, he found that even if there were, he wouldn’t want to run from this.

Y/N slowly wrapped her arms around herself, gripping the soft knit of her sweater sleeves. “I assume you have questions… I’ll answer whatever you want me to. Once you know the truth, we can decide where to go from there,”

Peter couldn’t help himself from blurting out his first thought.

“What the hell are you?”

A small laugh escaped from her lips. It was an awkward thing, loud and crass against the quiet words that had been exchanged moments before.

“What am I,” Y/N chuckled. Slowly, she lowered her head into her hands. “Peter, I’ve been asking myself the same question for a long, long time,” She scrubbed at her eyes with her fingers. It was like she was trying to forget something terrible that she’d seen, her hands desperately finding purchase against her eyelids as she laughed at nothing.

Peter gulped. “Are you…. are you not human?”

Y/N gave him a scathing look that told him his question was a stupid one.

“Well, if you’re not human, where did you come from? Are you an alien?”

Humorless laughter continued to ring out against the cold walls.

“Are you going to let me answer your original question first, or are you going to keep speculating?” She sighed, lifting her gaze to meet him. Exhaustion danced across her face, like all of the life had been drained from her in the short time she had spent speaking to him after she got home.

He stopped himself from questioning her further for the moment in favor of deciphering the sad look in her eyes. It wasn’t hard to believe that he had been mesmerized enough by her beauty to ignore all of the suspicious things she did. In all honesty, he still was.

“I wasn’t born,” Y/N started, hugging herself tighter, “but I didn’t spontaneously appear one day either. I was created. My mother and father are… well, to put it plainly, fae royalty. They were the first fairies, high elves who had evolved to become conduits for life energy, but they were lonely. They wanted a child of their own, an heir who would be powerful enough to protect the realm from invaders, so they found the largest source of energy available: the embodiment of the sun, Lugh.”

Her leg began to bounce, her foot tapping ceaselessly against the wooden floorboards. Peter didn’t quite notice, though, too enraptured in her story to notice much of anything else.

“They combined their life forces with Lugh’s light and created a child with capabilities beyond anything the nine realms had seen up until that point. It stored massive amounts of magical energy within its soul and accomplished all of the typical fae magical feats with no problem, but it was also connected to all the life around it. Elves who met the heiress said that they felt calm in its presence, and felt compelled to give her whatever she desired when they looked into her eyes. They named the child Puck. That child was me,”

“So you’re a fairy?” Peter asked.

“Fairy, fae, elf, freak of nature…” Her voice trailed off into nothingness as she closed her eyes, “I’ve never quite fit into any of the labels I was supposed to,”

“But why do you look so…”

“Human?” Y/N’s voice quivered, “Yeah, after living here so long keeping my human face on is second nature,”

Peter couldn’t tell if he should be terrified, enraged, or intrigued.

As gently as he could manage, he padded over to Y/N on her chair and cupped her small, soft cheek in his hand. She leaned into the touch without a second thought, squeezing her eyes shut and letting a few tears fall from her eyes. His voice was soft as he perched down at her level.

“Show me?”

Y/N gave him a short nod before pulling her face away. Both of them winced minutely at the loss of contact. Slowly, though, the glamour around Y/N’s face melted away. Once it was gone, she was finally herself.

Her ears were pointed, sloping in a soft horizontal line through the strands of her hair. Her eyes were different, too. The pupil was larger, more doll-like, but not by very much. The largest difference was, admittedly, the scars.

Y/N was mostly covered, bundled up in her sweater to fight against the cold, but her hands were littered with scars of all shapes and sizes. Most were old, pale divots in her flesh, but there were a few new ones too, trailing pink and red in angry lines across the meat of her calloused palms. The scars didn’t seem to stop at her hands. Specifically, the largest and most wicked of all the scars was a thick gash that ran all the way down from the top of her cheekbone to the base of her neck. The skin looked as if it had been eviscerated, torn completely through, but somehow it had healed up relatively well.

When Peter met Y/N’s gaze, her face was full of shame.

“Isn’t it atrocious?” she muttered, revealing little, sharp incisors hidden beneath her full upper lip, “You can’t blame me for wanting to hide this from you, Peter, not after seeing me like this. This isn’t the kind of face someone wants to wake up next to in the morning,”

Peter had a hard time finding the right thing to say in response.

He was still angry, and rightfully so. Y/N had been keeping the truth about what she was away from him and still had many more secrets up her sleeve about how they were connected. If he wanted to get the truth out of her he couldn’t get away with going soft so early in the game.

That being said, he still felt for her. His heart ached as she hid the scar on her cheek with her hand. She had been so kind, so outgoing, but now she was a shrinking violet doing her best to disappear from his view.

Peter’s gut said to push forward, but his heart urged him to take her face in his hands and kiss her until the pain went away. In the end, he followed his gut.

“I don’t care about what you look like,” he said, standing up and moving to lean on the doorframe, “I care about answers,”

“Of course you do,” With a heaving breath, Y/N’s face morphed back into its human form, “everybody always does,”

Suddenly, a book flew off the shelf to Peter’s right and landed directly in Y/N’s outstretched hand. “How-” he gaped.

“A retrieval spell,” she muttered, “Now where was I…”

She searched through the pages for a moment before landing on an illustration and turning it out towards Peter. It looked ancient, hand done with some sort of brown ink and captioned in a language he couldn’t begin to understand. The illustration itself was easier to decipher. It featured a child in a crown holding up a sword in front of what looked to be an army.

“Because I was created instead of born I was able to skip all the messy parts of childhood, but that meant I had to skip all the fun ones. From the day I was born my parents had me trained to take the throne. I learned combat, diplomacy, etiquette… my parents weren’t equipped for fighting against the Asgardians who always seemed to be eyeing our land, but they were determined to make sure I was. I was a machine of rote motions until I saw you for the first time,”

Peter froze. “Me?”

Y/N cracked a smile. “Who else? I was less than 100 years old then, still a child at heart, and one night when I fell asleep I dreamed of a silver-haired man who looked nothing like any of the elves I knew in a strange room filled with mysterious artifacts. It was like seeing the world through brand new eyes. My gift was so magical back then, so new, a source of joy. I kept seeing you wherever I went, flashes of your life behind my eyes during the day and full prophetic dreams at night… things didn’t stay that pleasant for long, though,”

Her eyes began to well up with tears.

Peter considered reaching out to comfort her, but his confusion held him back. She blinked the tears away before she continued.

“I started seeing terrible things happening to you. I saw experiments, broken limbs… even death. They wouldn’t stop. No matter how much I tried to turn them off they just wouldn’t stop,” her voice trembled and her shoulders shook as she spoke. “That’s when my parents sent me away. They claimed I couldn’t let the citizens see their future leader as someone weak, so I was taken into isolation until I learned how to control what I saw. It took me almost 350 years of silent study and meditation but I was able to master my foresight. I didn’t just see you anymore, I could see anyone’s future if I put my mind to it, and I could control when I had my visions. They only let me out to fight in the war against the Asgardians, who had taken the chance to attack,”

“So you’re telling me that thousands of years before I was even born you just… saw me in the future?” Peter’s voice wavered. Y/N shrugged and turned the book back towards herself, searching through the pages once again.

“Yes and no. It’s hard to explain,”

“Well try!” his voice came out in a sudden shout. Y/N flinched. “I just want to know what the hell is going on here! Because, the way I’m seeing it right now, I got kidnapped out of my home because someone decided I was predestined to play house with an elf instead of staying with my friends and family,”

He regretted his tone the second he stopped shouting.

Y/N, despite her reaction, seemed almost unphased. In fact, she seemed to be shaking less than she had been before.

“Y/N… I’m sorry-”

“Don’t,” she said sharply, “don’t apologize. Not to me. This whole mess is my fault,”

Peter went to open his mouth again, to find something to say, but found himself speechless. He was speechless a lot around Y/N. She turned the book around again.

This time the illustration seemed to be of a woman on a throne. There was red ink on the page too, not just brownish-black like the last one. It was splattered across the woman and at her feet.

“I fought Asgardians for 50 years on the front lines, killing a great many of them in the process. Even Thor, their golden boy with his stupid magical hammer, was no match for me. I saw every move they made before they ever made it, so once I diminished enough of their troops they pulled out of Alfheim and returned home with their tails between their legs. When I returned home I was revered as a great hero and it was like I had never failed my parents in the first place. Their precious progeny was home victorious and prepared to reap the rewards. My teenage rebellion kicked in, though, so instead of taking back my place in the palace I demanded my parents let me go to earth as my reward for winning them their war.”

“Is that how you got your scars?” Peter asked.

Y/N sighed, closing the book and returning it to the shelf with a wave of her hand. “Yes.” Slowly, she raised her hand and touched her cheek where her scar would have been. “Some came later, but the worst of them are from the final battle. I only let my concentration slip for a second, but that was enough time for Thor to summon lightning with that damned hammer of his and get a good hit in,”

“I’m gonna be honest, your whole backstory sounds pretty shitty,”

She barked out another laugh as Peter allowed himself to smile. “If you think that was shitty, the next 2,500 years of history won’t be pleasant to listen to,”

“Don’t think I’m not still mad at you,” Peter said, but it was an empty threat. Sure, the rage he had initially felt was still there, but what had been at a boil when Y/N came home was now just a low simmer.

She offered him a soft smile back. “I wouldn’t dare. Now, that’s enough about my past. If there’s anything else you want to ask, now's the time,”

Peter busied himself with cracking his knuckles. “I still don’t really get what’s so special about me to you. Like, yeah you saw some bad stuff happen to me when you were a kid, but it’s been a really long time since then. What makes me so special?”

The smile fell from Y/N’s face.

“That’s… well that’s a good question, Peter,” She wrung her hands, standing to take a step towards him, “I don’t think I’ll be able to say it… can I show you instead?”

He quirked his head to the side. “What?”

“Can I show you?” Y/N gently tapped her forehead, “with my power?”

A soft ‘ah’ escaped Peter’s lips before he stepped forward, bridging the gap between them. “Do what you need to do,” He didn’t say he trusted her, but he didn’t need to. It went without saying.

She reached out a hand and touched Peter’s forehead without another word. Then, the wave hit him.

Seeing Y/N’s mind was like the first time he had ever run at full speed, an endless barrage of emotions and images blurring as he rushed towards a focal point. It felt like an eternity before the motion stopped, but once it did he found himself looking out at a rolling sea with the weight of an arm around his shoulders. In a trance, he turned his head to look at whoever was there.

“I suppose this is it for us, my dearest Lady Puck?” The man asked, running his free hand through his long black hair. His tone was light yet thoughtful. Peter easily recognized him from the first portrait on the wall.

Without any effort, a response poured from Peter’s… no, Y/N’s lips. “Y/N, Loki. My new name is Y/N,”

“Ah, yes. Remind me again why you’re renouncing your godliness and going to live among the common rabble?” The man’s words were suddenly mocking, “Oh right, you have to assimilate to prepare for your darling Peter,”

“Don’t say it like that,” The Y/N of the past pulled her knees to her chest.

Loki nodded. “Forgive me. I’m just taking this a little harder than I should be. Who would have thought that I would fall in love with my mortal enemy?” He paused, “Will our paths cross again,”

Y/N shook her head no. “You will return to Asgard and remain there for as long as I can see. I think this is where we diverge,”

Peter watched from his position of backseat driver as Loki leaned close to Y/N. “Well, all good things must come to a close at some point,” He stroked her scar, smiling softly, “but don’t think that I’ll let you go to just anyone. I know this Peter is just a puny mortal, so expect me to come back and find you once he appears. Consider me your own personal Mjolnir! I will determine if he’s worthy of your heart,”

Giggles escaped from Y/N’s lips. “Loki! Don’t you dare,”

“You couldn’t stop me if you tried, darling,” He growled back, before capturing Y/N’s lips in a kiss. When he pulled away, he smiled his sharp-toothed grin. “Fly free, Lady Puck. I’ll see you again,”

A deep, foreign ache in Peter’s heart told him that he never did. Then, Loki was gone, blurred into the flood of memories and feelings in Y/N’s mind. The second time was easier than the first, but he still felt an acute nausea as he was thrown into another memory. This time he seemed to be much closer to the present.

Y/N was sketching something on a canvas, penciling in soft, rounded lines as the man with the pencil mustache lounged on a nearby chair, tie crooked.

“So tell me about this Peter,” he asked, taking a long puff from a cigar.

“Well, everyone, where I’m from, says he must be my soulmate. He’s witty, and fast, and has this phenomenal shock of silver hair,”

Peter, despite what he’d just seen in Y/N’s memories, was still shocked at her words. Soulmates?

“But you’ve never met him, so how do you know?” He asked, “Look, sweet cheeks, I’m not one to judge, but how do you know he’s even real?”

Y/N scowled, letting her pencil slip and adding an unwanted line to her sketch. “Howard, have I ever been wrong before?”

“Well no, but-”

“Exactly,” Y/N abandoned the sketch in favor of walking over and sitting at the foot of Howard’s chair. “Besides, even if he isn’t real, I know enough about him that he might as well be,”

“Whatever you say, sweet thing,” He chuckled, offering her his cigar. She accepted it thankfully.

“Anyways, it’s like I can feel him getting closer and closer,” Peter could just feel Y/N’s grin as she spoke, cheeks flushed, “I just can’t wait to finally meet him.”

“I’m guessing that means you’ll have to give up helping me with my little projects,”

Y/N took a long puff, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke. “Not exactly. We still have time left, Howard. Besides, I don’t do much to help, I can’t even touch any of your materials,”

Howard snorted. “I still can’t believe you’re allergic to silver and iron of all things. I didn’t even know that was possible,”

“You’re just mad it means you have to buy me expensive jewelry instead of the cheap shit you’ve bought for other women,”

“You know me too well,”

They both laughed and Y/N handed Howard back his cigar.

In the blink of an eye, Peter was transported again. It was almost like riding a bike after a long time, where the deeper he delved the more comfortable he felt. This time, instead of nausea, there was a strange warmth in his chest.

Y/N stood at the edge of a crowded dance hall as the men from the 3rd and 4th portrait approached, drinks in hand. Peter was beginning to see a pattern.

“A sidecar for the pretty lady,” the bigger of the men joked while leading the group to a small table.

Y/N accepted the glass gladly, taking a long drink. “Thank you, James”

The small one sat across from her and took a long drink of his beer.

“You too, Steve,” she amended, earning a smile.

“Now doll,” James leaned in close, his forearms braced against the table, “Steve and I wanted to thank you for the little favor you did us last week. Didn’t we, Steve?”

Steve nodded quickly. “You really are a knockout gal’ Y/N. You didn’t have to, but you did, and we couldn’t be more grateful,”

Y/N shrugged. “It was nothing. Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me,”

“We never doubted that-”

James jumped in. “We just wanted you to know we were thinking about you, and Steve brought up that it would be nice to return the favor. I was thinking maybe we could help find you a beau, anybody you want, and by anybody, we mean anybody, not limited to conventional partners”

Y/N’s face began to flush as she started laughing, offering each of the men one of her hands. “James, Steve, I love you both to death and I would never want to make you feel like I felt anything else, but no. No way,”

The two men joined her in her laughter, but Steve stopped a little quicker than the other two did, looking down at his hands. “We just noticed that you don’t get out much. You’re beautiful Y/N, really beautiful, and it’s not fair that you have to be alone,”

“Oh, Steve” She gave his hand a squeeze, “you’re incredibly sweet, but my heart already belongs to someone. He…” Y/N’s voice trailed off, the ambient noise in the bar suddenly deafening. Peter could hear his own name, whispered gently from the depths of her mind.

James gave her a look of pity. “Oh, doll… did you lose him overseas? Is that why?”

Y/N was shocked but quickly covered for herself. “Yes, how did you know?”

“You’ve just got that faraway widow’s look in your eye,” James responded.

“Sorry for your loss,” Steve added quickly.

Y/N looked down and noticed her glass was empty. She stood suddenly. “It’s alright boys, it’s alright. Now, which of you is gonna do me the honor of joining me for the next song?”

Peter was pulled from the memory gently the moment James shot her a wolflike grin, drifting through the collage of colors and feelings for a moment before he heard his name, whispered from within the darkness.

There was a strong pull towards the light, dragging him out of Y/N’s mind, but something was calling for him to go deeper, delve further to find… well, he didn’t know yet. In a split-second decision, he threw himself towards the voice only to find himself strapped to some kind of chair, screaming.

No, Y/N was screaming. It was an atrocious, wet sound, and Peter could taste the metallic tang of blood on her tongue. He felt no pain physically, but he could feel the memory of pain, the phantom sensation of torturous, searing agony burning through her veins. Her screaming cut off suddenly, and Peter was once again pulled from the memory and into another.

“Prinţesă?” A man asked, and Peter looked up to find his doppelganger from the final portrait looking down at Y/N. He looked worse for wear, with dirt and dust coating his face and hair. Around them, the sounds of shooting and crumbling buildings rang out in the streets. Y/N was gripping his sleeve like a lifeline. “What are you doing?”

“Please, Pietro, don’t go,” fat tears ran down Y/N’s cheeks and Peter felt a pit of dread drop into his stomach. “You can’t go,”

“I will be right back for you,” Pietro reassured her, “and then once Ultron is defeated we will return to Stark’s compound with Wanda. Things will be good from now on. No more Hydra, no more sneaking around, just you and me and the whole world waiting to be explored,”

Y/N gripped his sleeve tighter. “You don’t understand! You can’t go. I can’t lose you like this. Not now. Not after I've only just found you after all this time!"

Pietro laughed softly. With a grimey hand, he wiped the wetness from Y/N’s face. “Draga mea, you do not have to worry about me. I am faster than those stupid machines.” Suddenly, a child’s wails filled the air. Pietro looked around, searching for the source, but Y/N didn’t budge, almost as if she expected it. “You need to let me go, I need to go help that child,”

Y/N shook her head no. “We need to go, Pietro, we need to get out of here. I can fly us off before it hits and then we can run and never look back. Please, come with me Pietro, before it’s too late,”

He yanked his arm away from Y/N’s grip, puzzled. “And leave these innocents to die?”

She nodded furiously, sobbing silently as she held herself. “Are their lives really so important that you’d throw yours away?”

Pietro backed away from Y/N slowly, disgust spreading on his face. “Yes,” he spat, “and I thought you agreed,” Then, he paused, “We will talk about this later. I am disappointed in you Y/N,” ...and then he was gone before she even had the chance to say goodbye.

The gunshots that followed were the loudest of all.

Then, Y/N was running through the streets, searching frantically for any sign of Pietro. When she found him, he was already getting cold.

"PIETRO!"

Her wail was deafening as she fell to the ground, scooping his body into her arms and hugging it to her chest.

“I can fix you, don’t worry Pietro,” she babbled, spit running from her mouth as she tried to push life energy from herself into him, “Don’t leave me alone now, not after all this time. I can’t lose you like this. Just hold on a little bit longer,”

No matter how much energy she poured into Pietro’s body, it just drained right back out. That didn’t stop her from trying, though. Somewhere in the distance, Peter could hear someone wailing his name, but he held onto the memory, gazing down at his dead doppelganger’s empty eyes.

Y/N’s babbling didn’t stop, even as the ground beneath her began falling down. She ran her fingers through Pietro’s messy hair and held him closer to her chest.

“It’s okay Pietro, you’re safe now. Nothing can hurt you anymore. Le ni meleth, Pietro. Everything will be okay now. I’ll be with you soon, nin melda. Wait for me. I am so sorry,” As an impact destroyed the street around them, Y/N pressed a soft kiss to Pietro’s forehead, and Peter was thrown forcibly from her mind.

“Peter!” Y/N wailed, hands shaking as she pressed a scarred palm to his forehead and pushed his sweat-soaked hair away. “Peter you have to wake up now, you have to wake up!”

He shot up, heaving in a breath that soothed his burning lungs. It was a shock to be back in his own body. Slowly, Peter realized he wasn’t standing anymore. Instead, his head had been resting on Y/N’s lap while he splayed out on the cold wood floor.

As he reacclimated to his body, Y/N wrapped her arms around herself and sobbed.

Once he had enough air in his lungs, Peter only had one question; “What the hell just happened?”

Y/N cried louder, rocking back and forth. “You died! I messed up and you died! It’s all my fault, all of this is all my fault,”

Peter pulled himself up into a sitting position. “Y/N,” he said firmly, “You need to calm down and tell me what just happened,”

She shook her head no, clawing at her hair as she dribbled onto the floor.

In a moment of weakness, which was probably warranted, Peter broke. “Y/N!” he shouted, “Get it together! What. Happened.”

Y/N stilled, eyes dead. “I was trying to pull you out of my memories,” she mumbled, still trembling, “but for some reason, I couldn’t get you to let go. I kept trying and trying but it wouldn’t work. Then you just… collapsed and your heart stopped. I was trying to heal you, but I had to keep the connection between us going while I did so you wouldn’t get lost in my memories and- and-” her words devolved into quiet sobs as Peter slouched against the wall, lifting his hand and finding that his cheeks were wet too.

He wanted to comfort her. To tell her it was okay, that he was okay. To make sure she knew he wasn’t angry anymore, that he understood… that he loved her too. Somehow, though, he couldn’t find the words. All he could do was stare forward and cry as the vision of Pietro’s dead body danced behind his eyelids.

When Y/N finally quieted, she stood silently. “What did you see,” she whispered.

“Pietro,” Peter wheezed back.

Y/N nodded, wiping her face.

“I’m so sorry, Peter. You were never supposed to see that.” She walked towards the door, opening it up and pausing in the doorway. “Jimmy’s number is next to the rotary phone in the den and my bank card will be on the side table in the mudroom. I… goodbye, Peter. I’ll let myself out,"

Peter turned, reaching a hand out to try to stop her from leaving, but she was already gone, so he just let himself go limp, crying for a man he never met but knew better than he ever wanted to.

-----

Elvish/Sindarin Translation:

Le Ni Meleth: I love you

Nin Melda: My dearest

a/n: Thank you so much for reading!!! The word count really got away from me, but at least now all of the exposition is out of the way! Expect the next part to be out either today or tomorrow.

Please don’t post my work to other sites, thanks! <3

#peter maximoff #peter maximoff x reader #evan peters #evan peters x reader #quicksilver #fanfic #x-men fanfiction #ralph bohner

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hiscyarika · 4 years

Text

Some Things You Just Can’t Speak About

Word Count: 2.5k

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader

Summary: Reader and Javier work through the emotional baggage that comes with their jobs in Colombia. (Unofficial Prequel to When It’s Finally Over)

Warning(s): Heavy Angst, Hopelessness, Grieving, Mentions of Death, Blood, Mentions of Violence/Terrorism

A/N: So like a lot of people, I’ve fallen in love with Taylor Swift’s new album folklore. And when I heard the song “epiphany” (which I highly recommend you listen to while you read. I would link it but I’m afraid the post wouldn’t show up in the tags. The hellsite has been weird about that lately), it immediately sparked the idea for this oneshot. I just hope that this hasn’t been done yet, because I’ve already seen that a couple of authors have used songs on the album as inspiration. I really hope you guys enjoy this. It’s taken a couple of days to get it just the way that I want it. And a special thanks to @bestintheparsec for beta reading this for me! I love you Lauren! ❤️

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Gif by @pascvl, originally from this post. Please let me know if you’d rather me not use the gif! I’ll take it down immediately with no questions asked.

The thing about Colombia is that even after the smoke clears, the blood remains. It’s a crimson river that runs through the streets of Bogotá, then dries as a deep, lingering stain. The blood of men, women, and children. Guilty and innocent alike. And so long as Pablo Escobar lives, the stain will never wash away.

Even the sky burns scarlet with the dying sunset when you finally step out of the hospital. Ambulance sirens glow bright as paramedics attempt to bring more people into the already overwhelmed building.

Early in the afternoon, over two hundred pounds of C4 had been detonated outside of a crowded shopping center. Dozens were killed on impact and the death toll has continued to rise throughout the day. For hours, you haven’t stopped moving, trying desperately to save those who’d survived long enough to get to the hospital to be treated. Fortunately, recovery will be possible for some, but what weighs more heavily on your shoulders are the countless others that you could do nothing for.

Even now that you stand outside with a chance to breathe, your lungs can’t draw in enough air. The sharp stench of antiseptic still burns your nose, turning your stomach in violent knots. Every muscle is sore with a bone deep ache as you force one foot in front of the other in the direction of your car. But none of it compares to the stabbing pain in your soul, the helplessness and defeat that throbs more fiercely with every passing second.

You climb into your car, meeting your own eyes in the rearview mirror. You tear the nursing badge from your scrub shirt and toss it onto the passenger seat, not caring when it slides off the vinyl and onto the floor. Immediately, you have to close your eyes at the sight of the bloodstains on your clothes, a gruesome token of a day spent battling death.

All your years of schooling never prepared you to fight this war. You know how to read vitals. You know how to staunch bleeding and stitch wounds. You know how to intubate someone, to breathe for them. These are all things that can be taught. And you’ve learned them well.

But watching a woman die on the table, one close to your own age, is something entirely its own. You never get used to the shrill cry of the heart rate monitor as it flatlines. Nothing can prepare you for standing in front of an elderly woman, telling her that she’s outlived her daughter. They can’t teach you how to crouch down in front of a six-year-old boy and explain to him that he’ll never see his mother again. There’s no way to gently shatter someone’s world. As their reality crumbles, it takes a piece of you with it, and you only have so much of yourself to give.

The drive back to the apartment passes in a blurred haze, your mind on autopilot as you navigate your way in the growing darkness. You repress every emotion that threatens to bubble to the surface of your consciousness. Forcing numbness is far easier than letting your humanity tear you apart.

The last of the light dies from the sky as you pull into the parking lot, right next to Javier’s Jeep. You find your only solace in the fact that he’s home. In what little news you’d been able to hear, you’d learned that the DEA had been called to the scene. Escobar had never claimed responsibility for the attack, but a confession wasn’t necessary to know the truth, so you knew Javier would be part of the investigation.

Sucking in a deep breath, you try to prepare yourself for whatever state of mind he might be in. Javier brings work home in the form of endless files and a guilty conscience. Both he processes with whiskey and sleep deprivation. But you understand. You’re fighting with him on the front lines of this war. Losses are shared just the same as victories. Even the hard ones.

You drag yourself from the driver’s seat, locking the car up once the door is closed. The stairs to the apartment seem so much steeper as you stare at them now, and it takes what little remains of your perseverance to make it up.

The usual squeal of the front door grates on your nerves as you enter the apartment, more so than it normally does, anyway. You stop for a moment in the doorway, toeing off your shoes and listening carefully for any sign of Javier. From where you stand, you can see the soft yellow glow of the lamp in the living room and after a moment you realize that the voice you hear is coming from the television.

Padding quietly into the room, you feel your heart clench when you see what’s playing on the screen. It’s one of the local news stations, replaying footage from earlier in the day. You’re too tired to mentally translate the quick Spanish that the news anchor speaks, but when the numbers appear next to her to note the casualties, it’s not something that you can ignore. There are more than you thought.

You lose yourself in that news report, your mind running back through all of the trauma that you’ve seen. The shouting and screaming and crying becomes the soundtrack of your thoughts, all blended together in a somehow deafening cacophony despite the fact that it’s all in your head. You see that little boy again, the confused look he had given his grandmother as he asked her when his mother was going to come back from heaven. Oh, how her tear-filled eyes had pleaded with you to give some kind of an answer. And you’d tried. You really had.

You’re pulled from the violent reverie when the news report is replaced by a commercial. You pay it no mind, instead looking around the room for any sign of Javier. It doesn’t take you long to find him.

He’s passed out on the couch, sitting up with a glass of whiskey still in his hand. Even in sleep, his brow is furrowed, and worry lines cut deep into his forehead. Upon further inspection, you find the liquor bottle and a messy array of manila folders on the wooden coffee table in front of him, just as you expected.

You shake your head slightly, though he can’t see the action. The ache in your heart grows stronger as you watch him, his lips parted slightly as he breathes deeply and evenly. You suppose it’s the one thing that you have to be grateful for. As closely involved as he is with the hunt for Escobar, every night he comes home is a blessing. And for him to be sound asleep despite the day’s tragedies is truly invaluable.

You decide to leave him. Better for him to rest uninterrupted than to wake him. And though you know it’s better to work through the horrors you’ve been subjected to before you sleep, you don’t have the energy to face any of it right now. So you step closer to Javi, carefully prying the glass from his hand. Against your better judgement, you finish it off. You wince at the way it burns down your throat as you place the empty glass on the coffee table, but the warmth in your chest that follows is a welcome relief.

You scan the room then. It takes you a minute, but eventually you find the remote on the floor by his feet, probably dropped after he’d fallen asleep. You don’t hesitate to press the power button on the TV, and it brings you a bit of peace to watch the screen go black. Silence falls over the room, interrupted only by a soft snore from Javi.

You turn back to the coffee table, making sure that there’s a paperclip in each file to mark where he’d been. All the while, you try to avoid reading over any classified information, not that your brain could truly process a word of it in your current state of exhaustion. You then close the folders and stack them neatly on top of each other, letting out a heavy breath as you push yourself to stand upright again.

Your face falls in sympathy as you look at Javi once more. Even in sleep he looks exhausted. Your own emotional turmoil aside, it pains you to see the way that Colombia has worn him down. Every day he grows more desperate to find the man responsible for so much suffering, and with each day that passes, you know it only seems like he’s getting further and further away. You wish there was something more you could do to ease his mind.

After another moment, you take the blanket that’s draped over the back of the loveseat, unfolding it and gently covering Javi with it. Your movements are slow and cautious in an attempt to keep from waking him. Once you have the blanket situated, you cradle his cheek lightly in one hand, leaning down to press a tender kiss to his forehead.

You close your eyes at the contact, the first and only gentle interaction of your day. As your eyes flutter shut, you feel your chest begin to swell, and emotion wraps around your throat like barbed wire. Your lips linger for a few seconds longer than necessary as the dam inside you cracks, threatening to give way to a flood at a moment’s notice.

But as you pull away, you feel the feather light brush of eyelashes against your cheeks. You open your eyes, finding soft, tired brown eyes staring back at you. You’re frozen in place as he takes a moment to rouse himself, and once he’s more alert, his eyes trail down your body, catching sight of the blood on your scrubs. When he looks at you again, there’s a knowing glint in his eyes. You don’t have to tell him what you’ve seen, because he already knows. He’s seen it too.

Javier places his hands on your hips, gripping them gently as he tries to pull you closer to him. You brace yourself against his shoulders, resisting him while you’re still wearing your scrubs. Your chin falls to your chest in defeat. It only takes a moment to understand, and he carefully pulls the shirt up and over your head, making sure to keep the bloody fabric away from your face. Once it’s off, he tosses it carelessly to the floor.

You collapse into him as the dam breaks, and he takes it in stride, cradling the back of your head as you bury your face in his shoulder. Your knees land on either side of him, and with his free hand he guides you into a more comfortable position against him. In any other context, this arrangement with you straddling his lap would be carnal and passionate, but all Javier can feel now is the same pain that you force from your body with each gut-wrenching sob.

There are no words he can give you that will ease your pain. It’s something he knows from experience, repeated experience that he wishes you didn’t share with him. He knows what this constant fight against death and injustice can do to a person. He’s not blind to the ways that he’s changed in the years since he came to Colombia. Javier would do anything to make sure that you don’t suffer the same fate. You’re too good to have your gentle soul torn to shreds.

But he knows that all he can do for now is hold you. He can let you cry and mourn and release every emotion you’ve had to keep caged since you first stepped into the hospital this afternoon. And as you wrap your fists around the fabric of his shirt, he only holds you closer, clutching you tightly as his own pain begins to bubble back up into his chest. He’d tried so hard to drown it in booze and escape it in sleep, but Escobar had taken it too far this time. The saving grace is that the rest of the country agrees.

Javier cries silently with you, and though the manifestation of his grief is much quieter than yours, it’s by no means trivial in comparison. This is the straw that breaks the camel’s back. And break he does, in the safest place that he possibly can. He knows that there’s no judgement here, and that there never will be. So he closes his eyes and presses himself closer to you, your proximity being the only thing that could possibly soothe him.

Time is rendered tangential as you mourn together, though eventually you both fall quiet again with no more tears left to shed. Only when you stir against him does Javier lift his head and open his eyes. He manages a halfhearted smile as you meet his gaze, gently wiping away the remnants of your tears with the pads of his thumbs. In turn, you do the same for him, and he turns his head just in time to press a kiss to the underside of your wrist before you pull away again.

He watches you intently, and for just a moment you seem to hesitate, but then you capture his lips with yours. Javier lets out a soft breath in surprise, but soon melts into your touch. You are the salve to his very being, soothing his soul in a way that no one and nothing else can. At the end of the day, when the smoke has cleared and it’s time to count the dead, he thanks whatever god looks down on him, because he has you. Never will he march into battle alone. And he’s grateful, because he knows that he would never survive the war without you by his side.

You pull away again, and the look in your eyes says far more than words ever could. Because in your eyes is the same reverence for him that he holds for you. It’s night like this where you question why you chose the life you did, why you endure more anguish than any one person ever should have to. But then you look at Javier, and you know that you’re fighting the good fight. You know that with him, you can keep going until you reach the end of it all.

Javier presses a quick, soft kiss to your forehead, then shifts again to turn out the lamp light. In the dark, he carefully maneuvers you with him to lie down on the couch. You’re both still in work clothes and the couch is far less comfortable than your shared bed, but that’s not important now. What matters is the feeling of his heartbeat under your cheek as your head rests on his sternum. In just a few hours, the sun will rise again and you’ll both be forced to return to the battlefield, but for now you can find just a glimpse of relief in each other’s embrace.

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#javier peña #javier pena #javier pena x reader #javier peña x reader #narcos #narcos colombia

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spider-pxrkers · 4 years

Text

we can’t || peter parker x female reader

summary: after years of being in love, you and peter learn you can’t have children.

requested: yes

warnings: angst, mentions of character death, mentions of endgame spoilers, character unable to conceive.

masterlist || add yourself to my taglist!

i do not own any gifs used. all credits go to the original creator.

Peter would never forget the first time he met you. He’d been late to a college lecture, one he could not afford to miss. He ran through campus, his hands trying to shove whatever papers he could into the bag slung over his shoulder. His feet moved him as fast as he could through the large doors of one of college buildings, making a sharp turn to the right before he felt himself smack into a figure in front of him.

On instinct, his arms immediately wrapped themselves around the figure’s frame, making sure they didn’t fall. When he looked up, his eyes met hers, merely inches from his own face.

“I’m so sorry,” the girl began, untangling herself from him. “I wasn’t looking where I was going, I-“

Peter smiled softly to himself, a chuckle escaping. “No, it’s alright. My fault really.” He grinned at her flustered state, all thoughts of the class he was supposed to attend gone. “I’m Peter.” He extended the hand not grabbing his bag out to her.

The girl took a deep breath to calm herself before looking down at the boy’s hand, her lips tugging into a smile before reaching forward and shaking it. “Y/N.”

The months following that day consisted of you and Peter getting to know each other more and more. What began as innocent study dates at coffee shops turned to lovely dinner dates at every local pizza place in the city and eventually into what you called love.

After the two of you graduated university, you moved in together in a small apartment in Queens. It was tiny, but it was home. You spent years together, and Peter spent every day wondering how he got so lucky. You were the best thing that ever happened to him. He confided in you about being Spiderman and opened up to you about every trauma he’d ever experienced since. Similarly, you found yourself telling him things you’d never told anyone. Your friends never failed to remind you both that you were each other’s soul mates.

Peter never knew the exact moment he knew he wanted to marry Y/N. It was more a combination of a series of events preceding your moving in together. It was a bit of that one night he played your favorite song during dinner and he saw the way your face lit up and you sang along to the song. It was a bit of the time you found Peter broken down on the floor on the day of Tony’s death anniversary, and though you didn’t know the man yourself, you knew exactly what to say to cheer your boyfriend up.

You both were perfect together, when you got married you used all your savings to by a bigger house near Brooklyn, ready to start a family with the man you loved. You both didn’t know anyone you’d rather be with and take this step with.

A couple months after the wedding, you began trying. You and Peter found yourselves together any moment of the day you weren’t working for months. You bought pregnancy test after pregnancy test, your heart breaking a little every time those two lines didn’t show up, and breaking even more after seeing Peter’s grinning face fall when you told him you weren’t pregnant.

It was one September evening where Peter was working late. You sat on the kitchen counter overlooking the window with your phone lying on the surface in front of you. You stared at, desperately awaiting the call from the fertility clinic. As the soft evening breeze blew you took a deep breath to calm yourself.

The house was empty. You needed kids. Peter talked about starting a family within the first year of your relationship. To have any chances of that thrown away now would break him completely.

You jumped slighting as your phone vibrated. Your hand shook as you reached to pick it up, recognizing the clinic’s number. You slide to answer and held it to your ear. You bit your lip as the doctor spoke to you, their words slow and gentle as they greeted you and your heart sunk, there’s only one reason someone’s that nice upon greeting, when they have something bad to say.

Your body shook that night as you sat on the floor in your bedroom. You hugged your knees to your chest as sobs and screams escaped your mouth. You heard the front door open downstairs and Peter’s familiar footsteps enter the house. Your heart broke when you heard him approach your room as you realized you’d have to break the news to him.

“Y/N?” Peter called out as walked through the front door. His eyebrows furrowed when you didn’t reply. He gently closed the door behind him before making his way down the hall. Upon noticing the sound of crying, he panicked, quickening his pace to the bedroom, throwing the door open and seeing you on the floor. When you looked up at him, he noticed tears streaming down your face and you face red and puffy. His face softened as he placed the flowers he’d bought for you on the dresser and making his way over to you. He crouched before your shaking frame and pulled you into a soft embrace.

“We-we can’t-“, you words escaped between sobs before he shushed you.

“I know, I know.” He whispered pressing a kiss to your head. “It’s okay. I know.” He knew the clinic was going to call today, he figured by your crying that it was true. His own tears escaped his eyes and as he pulled you closer, rocking you both. “It’ll be okay.”

The next few days were hard. Conversation between you and Peter was minimal. You felt guilty for not being able to have kids, as if it were your fault. He continuously assured you there’s nothing you could’ve done about it but you couldn’t help it. He tried his best to make you feel better, from making breakfast for you every morning to playing your favorite movie on a particularly harder nights. He once even tried giving you a brochure for an adoption center which only ended up with you crying even more and locking yourself in your bedroom the entire night, refusing to let him in.

He didn’t know if things would ever get better.

One rainy night however, something changed in you. You stood in the balcony with warm cup of tea Peter had made of you grasped in your hands while you overlooked the street below you. Your eyes wandered through the cars driving home from work before landing on a couple walking. Between them was a little girl in little rain boots as she jumped on every puddle she could, wetting her laughing parents next to her. The sight made you smile softly as you turned to look inside at Peter laying on your bed, a book perched between his hands as all his focus was in his book.

You loved him.

You made your way over inside, setting your mug on your bedside table before laying down next to him. “I love you.” You mumbled as you snuggled into his side.

He looked down at you, moving his arm to wrap around your shoulders and pressing a kiss to your head. “I love you too.”

Things were far from being okay, but you knew you both would get through this. Just because you couldn’t have kids didn’t mean you couldn’t start a family. You had each other, and you were going to get through this.

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ripspaghet · 4 years

Text

bff | 06

↳ series m.list | 00 | 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | ongoing

→ pairing: yoongi x reader

→ word count: 5,860

Prologue Summary; Your best friend's boyfriend takes an unhealthy interest in you and just as he shows up something from your past starts to creep up on you again. Could this strange and mysterious man have something to do with it? And should you trust him, or your instincts to run far, far away from him?

→ warnings: angst, swearing, cheating, self hate, trauma

Gone. Gone again. Anytime he feels he's gotten closer to unearthing the melody it slips from his fingertips, like water. It would all be so much easier if he didn't have this desire, this want. Every time it's silent he feels there's this void, something gaping within him, and life begins to feel dismal - yet, he still finds himself here, in this dark and desolate place that doesn't belong to him. A single red light aluminates in the darkness and he's left with no choice but to approach, shatter the glass, and enter. It isn't until screeching alarms pull in attention that he truly realizes that this place is not his own. Invaded. Breached. Ransacked. He's an unwelcome guest - although, these simple facts don't stop him. They pull him in, glass crunching beneath his shoes as he takes a seat. Fear and adrenaline suffocate the darkness looming around him, screaming that he is not wanted. He just needs to remember it. His fingers run along with the ivory keys, the smooth melody of the first five notes flowing into each other, only for an eerie pause of silence to follow. He lets his fingers slip from the keys. It's useless.

A soft echo of notes makes his eyes open.

He turns, looking for where the tune originated - but there's nothing, no one as far as the eye can see in this dense cloud of darkness. Nothing but the alarm filters through.

It's been exactly a day since it happened. The way your nerves are making your heart quake has, if nothing else, increased with time. You've been utterly restless - pacing around your dorm, spacing out while staring at the chipped paint of your white walls, and picking at hangnails excessively. You know you're going to have to face this. Otherwise, the rug will be pulled out from under you when you least expect it. It's safe to say you'd rather be the one pulling the rug, then be the one standing on it, waiting anxiously for your inevitable downfall.

You knock on the door about five times before it finally opens, making way to the threshold beyond it and a pair of pleasantly surprised eyes. Her gaze makes your stomach drop, so you opt for studying the interior details of her apartment. It's spacious and open, natural light pouring in from just about every nook and cranny. It suits her, she's never been one for reciting in the dark - despite her, more often than not, glaring gaze.

"____," She opens the door wider, "I didn't know you were coming, I would've made food if you called. Come in." You oblige, taking off your coat as you enter the apartment, the smell of scented candles, and floral encasing you in a spring time-capsule. You hang your coat on the rack next to the door. "It's been so stressful since the new semester started, we've barely had any time to hang out." You follow her into the kitchen after removing your shoes. "Work has been crazy too, you remember that kid that kept coming in and ripping the flowers off their stems?" She circles the center bar, making her way to the fridge and pulling out a pitcher of what you presume to be tea as she pours it into a glass, "Well, the manager refuses to ban him. He blames me for allowing the kid to destroy our merchandise." She slides the glass to you, "You prefer it cold, right?" She sighs, "That manager, such a prick. I'm really considering quitting if this keeps up." Remaining silent you watch as she fiddles with her own glass as she rambles, "I didn't mean to neglect our friendship or anything. It's just between all this and...Yoongi," Your stomach drops and your ears go fuzzy. You don't hear much of what she says, swearing you're about to barf up the chicken you'd had for lunch not all that long ago. Her voice lowers as if she's afraid someone might be listening in, "He's being so strange, showed up h-"

"Mina, I need to talk to you about something." You don't dare meet her eyes, you keep them downcast on the dewdrops of condensation rising on the glass of your untouched drink. She falls silent, the air around you becoming heavy. With a sigh, you take a seat at the bar but still neglect to touch the tea in front of you. Mina moves to take the seat next to you, still silent, observing your exhausted expression. "Listen, about Yoongi - I don't really know how to say this, so, I'll just say it. He k-"

You're startled into a flinch as fumbling footsteps followed by a loud crash of glass and fuck knows what else, cuts you off. As you turn your head, a lanky body stumbles out of the hallway into the kitchen, their back to you and Mina as a harsh swear makes your breath hitch. Dirt and glass is now spread out across the marble floor in a messy display and Mina moves quickly while you remain in your seat, watching as she rushes with worried words, "Are you okay? Did you cut yourself?"

As if you hadn't already realized, your eyes nearly bulge out of your head, heart slamming up into your throat as his dark hair falls over his brows and shifts ever so slightly with the tilt of his head, "I'm fine, " His dark eyes never leave you as Mina scans him for injuries, "your plant, not so much."

"I'll get the broom." Mina saunters off, leaving you alone with the source of your guilty conscience - you're dripping with it, a metaphorical layer of sweat against your skin that's almost suffocating.

"____-"

"Don't."

"Got it! Yoongi, hold this for me."

His mouth is quick to clamp shut as he takes the dustpan that's shoved into his chest, his eyes darting away from you, "Yeah, sure."

Mina works quickly as always, swiping the dark potting soil up into the yellow pan that Yoongi holds steady. Nervously, you shift your gaze away from the two and pick up your tea to take a large gulp.

This is going up in flames. How are you supposed to tell her with him here? You don't want to be- No, you shouldn't be caught up in this. You should have never let it happen…

"There," Mina's voice pulls your attention back up, "I'll-"

"No, I've got it." His hand lightly brushes her wrist before he turns to dispose of the dirt. The gesture is small enough to convince you that neither of them really noticed it - just a natural loving touch, nothing unusual - though, it's enough to make you look away again.

"____? Are you alright?"

Your breath hitches and you have to force the hard expression on your face to loosen, "I'm f-fine." They are together, happy, maybe even in love. He hasn't said a word to her about any of it, yet, he wasn't alone in the act. You could've stopped him. You could've pushed him away, should've told him no. She's your best friend and you let him-

"What was it you were saying? Something about Yoon-"

"Nothing," You force a big smile, "I think I was just a bit worried about you. As you said, we haven't made time for each other lately."

"Oh, " Her lips purse, "we should make time for each other soon then."

How selfish are you? Never in your life have you thought of yourself as a horrible person. But now? Your skin is crawling with self-loathe. Every time you meet Mina's gaze your stomach drops - not because of what happened, but because of how it made you feel. The images that run rampant in your head shouldn't be there. It's all the worse that there was no lust driving your actions - there was a deep-rooted desire, an intoxicating burning beneath your skin that makes you dizzy just thinking about it. A passionate fire had dwindled to life beneath your ribcage. It should make you sick. You should be repulsed at the mere thought. "I should get going now. I don't want to intrude on your couple time. I'll see you in class."

"You don't-"

"Call or text if you need me."

The hallway is clustered with people, bumping shoulders with you as you drag yourself along. Maybe it's best you act like it never happened, that Mina remains happy and not miserable knowing the man she is in love with kissed her best friend...and that her best friend allowed it - kissed him back even. And maybe you deserve this dreadful feeling that's swelling inside, growing larger day by lousy day.

You stop abruptly, a student behind you swearing at you for making them walk around. You don't know why you've stopped, don't know what urges you to turn your head but, never the less, you do. You blink at the letters next to the door. Shifting your weight from one foot to the other, you peek through the small door window. It's tantalizing, filling you with more anger than any remorse. You let this thing, this object, control you. Your every move and action revolves around running from it and for what?

Before you can convince yourself otherwise you're yanking the door open and marching in, heading straight for the ivory keys sat on the opposite side of the music room. How could you be afraid of something so ridiculous? It's pathetic. You plop down on the bench, eyes set to kill as your fingers naturally fall into the correct posture. And with a soft and steady exhale of air, your fingers slowly ignite, brushing along the keys with a fevered nostalgia.

'Prélude no.25 in C sharp minor, Op.45', a piece you once knew like the back of your hand. The memories of it still linger fresh in your mind, so much so that your hands could flow with the smoothness of the lilting notes even in your sleep. Your turmoil seems to whip and lash at your fingertips like a ravenous animal as the song crescendos, the tempo increasing with veracity and then it cuts through you, a sharp pain traveling up your right wrist and you yank your hands away. The room falls silent, nothing but the sounds of birds chirping outside and the wind whistling. Your eyes sting with unshed tears and you can't help but slam your foot into the floor out of frustration.

"____?"

Your breath catches in your throat, fear falling in the pit of your stomach as you turn your head.

"What are you doing in here?"

The sight of Jimin's blonde hair and worried eyes only calms you a little. You'd worried that maybe someone else had found you here, but it being him wasn't exactly any better. "I just-" You turn to look back down at the piano, your brows knit together, "I don't know."

"Come on," Jimin is quick to make his way over to you, yet you don't turn back to face him - even when he wraps his hand around your wrist and gently pulls it up to inspect, "you shouldn't do this to yourself." You turn slowly, reluctant to face anyone at such a vulnerable moment, but you manage to frown at him as the pad of his thumb traces soothing patterns into your skin. His hair is swept neatly across his forehead, a soft smile plays on his lips that doesn't meet his eyes, "Does it still hurt?"

"It hurts every day, Jimin." You turn away, "You know that."

"You're strong ____."

You flinch, not expecting him to say that, of all things.

"After everything that's happened, I've never known you to give up. So, stop putting yourself down." He pauses, coming to sit beside you but never letting your wrist go, "I know you can't play anymore, but your talent doesn't just exist within a piano. It's a lot more than that." Still refusing to meet his gaze, you begin picking at a hangnail, "Here," He lets your hand go and you briefly glance over to see what he's doing just as he holds a small yellow sucker out to you, "it's lemon flavored."

You glance down at the thing held up to your face, "Why-"

"You like lemonade, right?" He smiles, eyes twinkling, "Hurry and take it, we have to get to class before you're late again."

You snatch the candy from him, sniffling in annoyance, "What am I? A five-year-old?"

"You don't have to be a child to enjoy the sweeter things in life."

You abruptly plop down into your chair between Mina and Jimin, exhaling dramatically as you do. If only it'd all been a dream and you could just forget it. How many times have you thought that now? Were you in the Hundreds now? Thousands?

"Everything alright?"

Like clockwork, you sputter nervously under Mina's gaze, "Ah, yeah, just tired. Must be insomnia or something."

"Insomnia?" Jimin raises an eyebrow and tilts his head to look at you, "Do you have that?"

"Yes? No? Maybe? I'm not a doctor. Where is the professor?" Both of them turn their attention to the front of the class, seemingly not taking notice of your jumpy behavior. Though, you're sure Jimin did. He just knew when it was time to leave you be.

"Oh, that, " Mina nibbles on her bottom lip to keep herself from smiling, "Professor Lee caught some nasty bug over the weekend."

"I fail to see why that would make you smile like a little school girl that just wet herself."

She scowls at Jimin, "The professor asked a former student of his to teach the class until he returns."

What?

"Oh, wow, so Loverboy is subbing just so he can stare at your toxic face all day? I don't buy it. He must be into guys."

"Excuse me?"

You think you're about to vomit up your breakfast.

"He finds me cute and couldn't get enough."

"He absolutely does not!"

Please, for the love of all that's good in this world.

"Told me himself."

"Stop making shit up, Park!"

"As soon as you stop buzzing in my ear, you fly."

"I am not a fly! You-"

The classroom door slams and you jump in your seat, making both Jimin and Mina turn to you questioningly as you squeeze your eyes shut in denial. Slow footsteps make their way to the front of the lecture hall and the echo of them makes you cringe.

There is absolutely no way the universe hates you enough to-

"Hello, my name is Min Yoongi, a music producer and a former student of Professor Lee's. Unfortunately, the Professor is bedridden and has asked me to substitute for the time being, let's get along well."

Never mind, the universe doesn't hate you - it loathes you. You'd think that after everything you'd have no trouble avoiding him. Hell, you thought that he'd do the same, but you suppose Min Yoongi isn't going to be giving you any breaks anytime soon.

You let your head fall from your hands and slam into the desk beneath you with a concerningly loud thud.

"Woah, are you alright?" Jimin places a hand on your shoulder and you miserably slug away from him.

"Don't touch me."

The class drags on like a snail and you've sat here long enough to, staring at a head of dark hair, try to hex the man it belongs to about a thousand times - give or take. You've yet to see a beehive fall from the ceiling and send him running home though.

When the bell finally does ring you're not even granted the semblance of running out yourself as Mina cuts you off, "I'm having my birthday party early this year."

"Oh, really? When is it?" You keep your head down as the two of you mosey along, closer and closer to the front of the classroom.

"Tomorrow at my place."

You nod, more focused on escape than anything else.

"It was going to be on my birthday week, but Yoongi and I made plans together for the day of my birthday. We're going to-"

"That's great Mina. I'm sure the two of you will have a great time together." You force a smile as if your life depends on it, "Say, what time is the party?"

"Oh," Mina laughs with realization as you inwardly sigh with relief at the welcomed change of subject, "it's at eight."

"Great."

Mina bounces over to the exit with excitement, "You'll be there?"

"Of course." You force another smile as you follow after her.

Almost there, almost home free.

"Great, I'll see you then."

You nod again at the threshold, watching as Mina waves back to you.

"____, I need to speak with you."

You freeze, a deadly chill rushing down your spine. "No, thanks." You wave behind you, not turning back as you continue with your escape.

"It's about your test."

You freeze again, your eye twitching at your lack of luck today, "I'm in a real rush, I can't-"

"Come here, now."

Fuck the universe, that vindictive bitch.

Reluctantly, you turn and make your way back towards the center of the desk you had passed by with ease not all that long ago, "You failed your last test. Professor Lee informed me that you need to retake it, or you'll fail this class."

You keep your eyes directed on the wall behind him, not once sparing him a proper glance, "Okay, I'll find a tutor and-"

"There's no available tutors, because it's exam season. I told Professor Lee I'd handle this, so I'll be teaching you."

Your eyes are quick to dart to his now, "No!"

His fingers tap against the desk and they draw your attention as his eyes narrow in on you, "This has nothing to do with-" He pauses, letting out a steady breath of air and you lift your gaze back to his. Rather than being irritated or annoyed, as you expect, your surprised to find that he looks super uncomfortable, maybe even anxious, "our relationship outside of this room. And might I remind you that this test is half this semester's grade. You'll only fail again without proper help." You grit your teeth, holding back your protests. You hate to admit this, but he's right - again. "Starting next week come here after you've finished all your classes. I will be in the office grading papers. And-" He slides something across the desk to you, "your laptop, you left it."

You grab your laptop quickly before turning to leave, all the while not uttering another word to Yoongi.

The bathroom mirror is fogged over completely - except for a small spot that you've whipped at in order to dab foundation onto your neck, thoroughly painting over the purple and yellow discoloration on your skin. You juggle with your phone in your other hand, holding it to your ear, "I just- hear me out?"

"Why should I? I don't like her, so the answer is no. End of conversation."

"Please? I don't want to go alone."

"Why not? It's not like it's going to be a fun party. Doubt there will even be alcohol."

"You-"

"Get out of here already!"

"Shit," You begin shoving your makeup back into your bag, fumbling with your phone in the process.

"Listen, I know you've been having a hard time lately but there's no way in hell I'm-"

"Fine! Don't go! It's not like I need you there or anything!" You slam the bathroom door shut behide you, sure to piss off your roommate, who is washing shampoo from her hair.

"Don't be like that, ____. You know she wouldn't even want me-" Throwing your bag over your shoulder you pull the phone away from your ear and hang up. After all the things Jimin has put you through, he can't even do you the smallest of favors. You stomp over to your dorm room door, storming out into the hallway, and down the stairs. You shove the glass door to your complex open, letting the cold wind blow tangles into your freshly brushed hair as you stride toward the Lift driver that's been waiting for you at the curb for the past thirty minutes. Under normal circumstances, you'd apologize to the driver for making them wait, but as you've established, time and time again, these are not normal circumstances. As you buckle your seat belt the driver takes off, drifting at about thirty on the speedometer.

A heavy sigh falls off your lips and you lean your head against the window as the first ticks of rain make contact with the transparent glass. Your phone buzzes in your lap and you glance down at it. You half expected it to be a text from Jimin, although the notification is from an unknown number.

Message from Unknown Number-8:32pm: Let me make up for lost time. Please, answer your phone.

You begin typing only to be cut off by another buzz.

Message from Unknown Number-8:33pm: Don't try telling me I've got the wrong number. Jimin gave it to me.

You scowl down at the small screen before abruptly turning off your phone. You curse Jimin as you shove the phone into your bag.

"Thought you said you weren't going to come."

He fiddles with the ends of his hair, all the while avoiding your gaze, "Well, Jungkook agreed to come along so-"

"You can be a real jerk sometimes, you know that?"

Sighing, Jimin leans against his younger friend, but Jungkook's attention seems to lie elsewhere as he completely ignores the two of you, "You know how I feel about Mina."

"Yeah," You turn to see what's got Jungkook so preoccupied, "and you know how I feel about parties." Across the room you spot Mina and Yoongi. The two are conversing rather aggressively and you inhale sharply, barely managing to remind yourself that it's normal for Mina to blow things out of proportion and it's probably nothing. You don't need to worry. You force your attention back to Jimin.

"I have no idea how you feel about anything nowadays. You're-"

"I swear I'm never doing anything for that she-devil again."

You turn to see a rather annoyed Seokjin now standing behind Jungkook, with a large birthday cake in hand.

Raising an eyebrow, you tilt your head, "What are you doing here?"

He looks away from Jungkook, who is now laughing at his elder's misfortune, "I was conned."

"Ah," You nod and point at the cake, "she made you bake that?"

Jimin shakes his head, "What a shame you let her walk all over you."

"Yeah," Seokjin rolls his eyes before glaring over in Mina's direction, "it's too quiet in here. I'm going to start some music."

You watch Seokjin make his way over to a speaker and then leave for the kitchen. The smell of birthday cake tickles your nose now as the sound of soft pop music lulls the small crowd of people in the apartment space.

"God, this is boring."

"Beyond boring."

Those two seem to be unable to keep their moping to themselves since you arrived, although you haven't paid them all that much attention. You're more concerned with how you're going to avoid eating cake later on. You hate overly sweet things with a passion and Mina's cake is sure to taste like a sugar rush.

"We should liven it up a bit."

"Sounds like a plan to me."

"How about it ____?" You drag your gaze away from a frowning Mina to glance over at Jimin, who's holding a plate full of crumbs that were previously covered in chips. Jungkook stands next to him, bordly munching on some handmade snack you couldn't remember the name of. The two of them refused to stay anywhere that wasn't right beside the snack table. You guessed since there wasn't any alcohol, they were making do with what's available.

"Can you two behave until the candles are blown out? I don't wanna hear Mina yelling until I've already told her my excuse to leave."

Jungkook nods, "Understandable,"

"I suppose I'll wait."

You just want to go home and get some more sleep, you couldn't care less what these two goons had up their sleeves. Yes, you want Mina to have a good birthday, but you can only maintain your act for so long while around her. Faking isn't your strong suit.

"Oh, God,"

"Wha-Oh,"

You glance back over at the two of them to see that they're staring across the room. Jimin is frowning, while Jungkook looks as if his whole life is flashing before his eyes. You turn to see what it is, only to find yourself wishing you never did.

"____! There you are! You sly fox, you. I've been looking for you everywhere."

Your stomach drops, "Who told him?"

Jimin scowls as his friend makes his way over to you, "It definitely wasn't me."

"Sorry, ____. He promised me he wouldn't come if I told him." Jungkook scoots away from you out of fear of your wrath.

The guy approaching you is quick to move to your side, placing an arm around your waist. You're sure to send Jungkook the deadliest of glares that has him cowering behind a now, rather aggravated Jimin.

"Tae, what are you doing here?" You almost choke as you force a smile onto your face.

He pulls you closer to him, a smirk playing on his lips, "I heard from a little birdy that you'd be here."

As a strong urge to knee Jungkook in the crouch starts to settle in, you grit your teeth, forcing yourself to bear it and not cause a scene.

"Yah, Taehyung, who do you think you are, clinging to my best friend like that?" Jimin's brows have shot up in question as he stares Taehyung down with accusing eyes.

His arm doesn't leave you, though you can feel him stiffen under Jimin's intimidating gaze, "I-"

"If you want your dick sucked find some other girl to do it."

Taehyung frowns, "Jimin, I'm not-"

"Taehyung, " You pat his shoulder, gaining the attention of all three boys' in the process, "how about you go get me a drink from the kitchen?"

He looks back and forth between you and Jimin, slightly suspicious before nodding, and heading off.

Jimin scoffs, "The nerve of him."

"I'm going to get some fresh air. Tell him I went to the restroom or something. Also, try to keep from fighting. Like I said earlier-"

"Yeah, yeah, you don't want to ruin Mina's birthday party. Blah, blah, blah."

"Jimin," You glare, "I'm serious."

"Alright, " He groans, rolling his eyes, "I'll stop. Just go before that horny baboon gets back and tries humping your leg."

You roll your eyes but nod never the less. Jungkook whispers another sorry to you as you walk past them towards the apartment door. You only wave him off, not caring enough to bother with his inability to keep a secret. You're too tired and honestly just wish you could go home. You mean, you could go home with the excuse of, "I started feeling sick." Which wouldn't be a complete lie - thanks to Taehyung. You know Mina wouldn't fall for it though.

Luckily, her apartment is on the bottom floor and it doesn't take you long to make your way outside. The warmth from the building's heater almost seems to melt off your skin in the chilled air. It's only around dinner time, but you suspect the sun has begun to set behind the rain clouds, due to the darkness that has started settling over the city. Your steps are small as you watch your breath puff out into a cold cloud passed your chapped lips. Fiddling with the sucker that still rests in your pocket, you shut your eyes and listen to the downpour that assaults the sidewalk. You hadn't planned on being so weak, so vulnerable. After all these years you'd hoped that maybe you would've grown stronger by now - but you feel weaker than ever.

An exaggerated sigh startles you and your eyes snap open.

His back is to you as rain showers down onto the awning above, black shoes resting in a puddle on the curb of the street as he stares at cars zipping by. You've never noticed before, but the rainy weather compliments his skin. You find your eyes lingering on the pads of his fingers and the blue veins below red knuckles - a perfect contrast of colors. Really, you know better than to approach him. You know better than to go anywhere near him - but, knowing better doesn't stop you from making your way over to him with a misplaced sense of determination as he reaches into his pocket, nor does it keep you from plopping down next to him as he places the retrieved object between his velvety lips.

He pauses his actions to glance over at you curiously. You frown at him before reaching up and plucking the purple lighter from his left hand, "What are you-"

You shove the lighter into your pocket, exchanging it with your sucker. You know you'll never eat it, might as well put it to good use. You hold it out to him, "You should replace bad habits with healthy habits."

He turns away with a scoff, nibbling on his lower lip - an obvious attempt to keep himself from smiling, "That isn't particularly healthy."

You glance at the sucker, "No, but it's better than what you had before." Nudging the candy into his now empty hand you purse your lips.

Reluctantly, he takes the cigarette away from his mouth and slides it back into its pack, "So, you're talking to me again?"

"No," You stare at him as his long fingers unwrap the yellow sucker and plop it into his mouth.

"Then what do you call this?"

You look away, opting to stare at the wet asphalt and listen to the constant pitter-patter of the rain, "Why were you and Mina fighting?"

Silence falls over the two of you for a moment before he sighs and rolls the stick of the sucker along his tongue, "She wants me here while I need to be elsewhere."

"It's her birthday party."

"Yeah," He snaps, eye sharpening as they flicker over to you, "I told her a month before she planned it what days I'd have work. She did this on purpose."

"Why would she-"

"Because she thinks I'm cheating on her with my coworker." The words are spat bitterly, the sound of the sucker cracking between the tension of his teeth. Your lips clamp shut and you look away from him. Why are you getting involved? You're only making things messier for yourself. "She's not all that wrong, though. I guess I deserve this."

Your head whips back over, "W-what? Are you cheating with a coworker?"

He turns to look at you, brows furrowed, "What? No, I-" He pauses then shakes his head, deciding against it and laughs, "Why are you here ____?"

You glance around, "I-Uh-Mina said I had to come and I-"

His head tips forward, dark hair falling over his lashes, "No, why are you here, with me."

"Oh," You watch the rain as it begins to slow, "I'm not sure."

"Thought you hated me."

"I should." You grit your teeth in annoyance.

"But you don't." Rather than it being a question, it's more of a statement, as if he already knows exactly how you feel.

You don't say a word, you just blink over at his side profile, heart thudding against your ribcage.

He sighs, turning to look at you, "You and I, I know it isn't good. I know I should stay away from you and you do the same to me...but," His dark eyes trace your features, as if trying to memorize them, "I don't think-"

"Jimin! You asshole! Get out! You were never invited for this exact reason!"

You both turn to see Jimin stumbling out of the apartment complex, Mina hot on his heels, "It's not my fault your party was boring!"

Shit.

"Shut up!" She lands a solid slap that echoes off the back of Jimin's neck and through the rainy streets.

"Fuck! Jungkook! Do something she's touched me! I'm infected!"

Jungkook isn't far behind the pair, seeing as a second later he's the next person to rush out onto the sidewalk. Mina shoves Jimin's chest and he barks with laughter as he stumbles back, "Are you a child?!"

"Sure, if that's what you want me to be."

"Jimin, come on, stop. ____ said to-"

"____ said what?! Is she the one who brought you?!"

Shit.

"What? No, I-"

Next to burst through the door is Taehyung, who is quick to step in between Mina and Jimin, "Really sorry about all this Mina. I'll escort Jimin home."

"You?!" Jimin laughs dryly, "Why? So you can have another go at ____?"

Taehyung's brows crease as he opens his mouth to speak, but when he glances over to see you sitting on the curb he shifts gears, "____! There you are!"

Fuck.

All of their heads turn to you, Jimin raising an eyebrow, Jungkook looking confused, and Mina narrowing her eyes at you as she assesses the fact that her boyfriend is sitting next to you.

"The fuck are you doing out here?" You can tell that her question is directed at Yoongi, only by the small shift of her eyes. Yoongi simply shakes his head and turns away to watch the cars again.

Somewhere in all the commotion, Taehyung had made his way over to you, seeing as when he plops down next to you and snakes an arm around your waist you flinch, "Is this where you've been hiding?"

"For the love of God, Taehyung, if you don't-"

Jimin is cut off when Yoongi stands up, pulling you with him by the wrist, and glaring at Taehyung in such a way that he freezes on the curb - hands kept to himself. You fidget at the feeling of Yoongi's cold fingers wrapped around your wrist, holding your breath. The group turns dead silent before you eventually pull away from Yoongi, taking your wrist back, "Taehyung, please take Jimin home."

"What?!" Jimin squawks at you, "You said you needed me-"

"And I should've just asked Jungkook instead." You're quick to cut Jimin off, glaring at him as if he'd just stepped on your toe.

"I can't believe this. I literally-"

"Aw, poor Park. First time getting dumped on a sidewalk?"

"Shut up!" The snarl takes all of you by surprise, even Mina takes a step back, mouth clamping shut.

"Jimin,"

Jimin's eyes shift back to you, flickering over to Taehyung, then Yoongi before settling back on you, "Are you going to tell me what's going on with you?"

"What's going on with me?" You scoff, "You're joking, right?"

"Well, other than the usual shit show you have going on." His words are harsh and they catch all of you off guard for a second time. Jimin tends to be blunt when he needs to be, yes, but never harsh, "I'm fed up, ____. You won't talk to me. You're just bottling it all up. You can't expect anything the change if you-"

"You're the one who gave Hoseok my number!"

a/n: sorry it took me so long to post and that this is kinda filler🙇‍♀️ but it's the start of some character development and the conflict is raising so it's about get crazy real soon👀😳

@team-work-made-the-dream-work @seokchella @crackhead1-800 @chogiyeol-utopia @thatchampagnebitch @jeonchan26 @loveyoongles @ghoularaki @team-wang-puppy

To be tagged send an ask 🍬🚬

#bts yoongi #yoongi x reader #yoongi au #mina twice #min yoongi #bts au #bts jimin #yoongi angst #bts angst #taehyung x reader #suga x reader #suga angst #bff | 06 #bff series

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randomrichards · 3 years

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BEST MOVIES OF 2020

10) BORAT SUBSEQUENT MOVIEFILM

It’s a miracle Sacha Baron Cohen could pull off his guerilla comedy style considering how iconic his character is (especially during the COVID-19 Pandemic). Just as surprising is how uncompromising it is with its political commentary and how it never backs away from its deliciously inappropriate humour.

As everyone’s favourite anti-Semitic, misogynist dim bulb reporter (Sacha Baron Cohen) becomes a pariah in his home country, Borat tries to sell his daughter Tutar (Maria Bakalova) to Michael Pence (then later Rudy Giuliani). The result is an endless array of side splitting, cringy moments from convincing a baker to write an anti-Semitic slogan on a cake to Borat attempted disguises to avoid detection.

Not since Buster Keaton has a comic actor pulled such dangerous stunts for a laugh. Cohen puts himself in such risky situations for the sake of his comedy when he hangs around with Qanon nutjobs or barges into a Republican convention dressed as “McDonald Trump.” [1] Well, it’s not just for laughs. As with his earlier works, Cohen uses his guerilla comedy style to expose the ugly side of humanity and America’s complicity in said ugly behavior. A notable theme is the consequences of misinformation. Borat is an instigator and willful idiot for his home country’s propaganda, which makes him an easy target for conspiracy theories. It all comes to a hilarious head when his daughter becomes a rightwing pundit and breaks his heart with holocaust denial.

Maria Bakalova is the film’s breakout star. An unknown actress from Bulgaria, Bakalova matches him every step of the way as the gullible, degraded young woman. She shines in her own hilarious moments when she’s ballroom dancing with a bloody dress or cheering about the joys of masturbating in front of a Republican Meeting. She also gives the movie a heart as Borat bonds with his daughter and forces him to reevaluate his beliefs.

It’s impossible for the film to reach the same level of impact as the first Borat considering what a surprise phenomenon the original was. But it’s still surprising the sequel was as good as it was without sacrificing its inappropriate humour.

9) HIS HOUSE

Writer/Director Remi Weekes brings another great addition to the metaphorror genre with His House; a creepy horror flick about a Sudanese refugee couple who find their lives in Britain threatened by the literal demons of their past.

Dilapidated rooms with peeling wallpaper, decaying floors, and malfunctioning lights are a perfect atmosphere for horror, Weekes and his cinematographer Jo Willems takes full advantage of this environment to unsettle the audience. Bol Majur (Sope Dirisu) and his wife Rial Majur (Wunmi Mosaku) find themselves tormented by voices in the walls, and mysterious figures peaking through the crawl spaces. It’s clear these supernatural figures are the manifestations of their trauma.

Weeks contrast the supernatural horror with the real horror they face, which takes the form of an uncaring bureaucracy that sticks them in a dilapidated home in a crumbling neighbourhood with some hostile, indifferent neighbours. It shows how finding a doctor’s office in an unfamiliar land can be as scary as facing ghosts.

You care a lot about these two thanks to Dirisu and Mosaku, who bring a lot of quiet humanity and heart to their characters. You pray for them as they fight for their right to live with dignity after what they’ve been put through.

8) WOLFWALKERS

British girl/wannabee warrior) Robyn (voiced by Honor Kneafsey) joins her father (Sean Bean) on a trip to a remote Irish village where she encounters Mebh (Evan Whittaker), a wild red-haired girl with the ability to control a pack of wolves. With her father tasked with killing Mebh’s pack, Robyn must find Mebh’s mother and protect the pack from the tyrannical religious fanatic Lord Protector (Simon McBurney) in Tomm Moore’s conclusion to his Irish Folklore trilogy.

The animation is just as gorgeous as Moore’s earlier films The Secret of Kells and The Song of the Sea with his trademark storybook-like animation style. A noticeable difference between the earlier is how deliberately rough the animation looks. There are moments you can see lines and circles that are usually erased when drawing characters. It fits with the wild energy of the characters.

There’re the clear environmental themes of humans encroaching on animal lives and the need to respect nature. Lord Protector believes he needs to dominate the wilderness and the wolves. The villagers in contrast have more respect for the environment but can’t do much under Protector’s rule. So, the wolves are forced to find a new home.

Another theme of this film is the importance of questioning authority and not blindly conforming to social norms. Robyn’s father expects her to train to be a chambermaid while he’s blindly follows Lord Protector’s orders. They keep saying it’s “for the greater good,” but that “greater good” involves the destruction of a wilderness and a denial of one’s true self. It just leaves everyone miserable. And all for a religious fanatic.

It’s a shame Moore’s films don’t get more attention because they have that rare sense of wonder.

7) NEVER RARELY SOMETIMES ALWAYS & UNPREGNANT (tie)

I’m putting these two films together on the list because they have the same premise of two teen girls travelling across state lines so one of them can get an abortion. What sets them apart is how different they are in styles.

Never Rarely Sometimes Always is a grounded drama about Autumn (Sidney Flanigan) a teenage girl from Pennsylvania who secretly travels with her cousin Skylar (Talia Ryder) to New York to get an abortion without their parents knowing. Writer/director Eliza Hittman avoids melodrama in favour of grounded realism. Flanigan and Ryder keep their performances at a lowkey level to reinforce the realism. Hittman also avoids political moralizing in favour of just presenting a slice of life showcase as the cousins travel to New York, try to find the appropriate procedure for her circumstance, then tries to find the money to get back home. In a way, it makes the little moments more meaningful when Autumn is forced to watch anti-abortion propaganda or when she and Skylar plays at an arcade.

While the former goes for grounded drama, Haley Lu Richardson’s Unpregnant bears a closer resemblance to comedic road movies like National Lampoon’s Vacation and Planes, Trains & Automobiles. This time, popular teen Veronica (Haley Lu Richardson) enlists the help (and the car) of social outcast/former friend Bailey (Barbie Ferreira) to drive from Missouri to Albuquerque to get the procedure without her parents knowing. The result is a chaotic road trip with the two crashing a few cars and meeting a few colourful characters along the way. This film has quite a set of cameos including Breckin Meyer, Betty Who and Giancarlo Esposito. This film has the John Hughes blend of broad humour and recognizable heart. This film gets its point across by showcasing the absurdity of how teen girls are treated. One notable example is Veronica’s boyfriend; a stage 5 clinger who lives under the “nice guy” mindset.

Both films celebrate teen girls helping each other out.

6) THE VAST OF NIGHT

Switchboard operator (Sierra McCormick) and DJ Everett Sloan (Jake Horowitz) search for the source of a mysterious sound in The Vast of Night; a gripping and visual dazzling sci fi flick that captures the feel of the Twilight Zone.

Director Andrew Patterson and co-writer Craig W. Sanger wrote a tightly knit story the follows our heroes over the course of a night as they play detective in a 1950s New Mexico town. Never does a second feel wasted. Plus, it’s fun to see stereotypical 1950s nerds being the heroes in a story like this.

What truly makes this film stand out is its visual styles. From the Twilight Zone-esque opens plays on an old tv, cinematographer M.I. Littin-Menz has you under his spell. His camerawork is always gorgeous in both the way he is zooming into a 1950s high school basketball game and shining omniscient light from the night sky. There are also some unusual moments when the film will suddenly play on 1950s tv. This may either further the intrigue or take some viewers out of the movie.

The result is a unique experience for sci-fi fans.

5) KAJILLIONNAIRE

Emotionally distant young woman Old Dolio (Evan Rachel Wood) and her small-time con artist parents (Debra Winger and Richard Jenkins) find their lives turned upside down when a perky stranger named Melanie (Gina Rodriguez) joins in their schemes.

Some audiences may be put off by July’s stylized approach to filmmaking, especially Wood’s unusual deep voice. But for those into lighthearted, quirky comedies will be enchanted by the little visual oddities of the family stooping (or in Old Dolio’s case, leaning back) to avoid their landlord or the pink suds always flowing down their apartment walls.

Kajillionnaire fits into July’s celebration of the timid and the outsiders. But July surprises us with a dark side to the outsider. The parents reject the unfulfilling, debt filled conventional life, but they aren’t particularly good at their cons and struggle to make ends meet. It has also made their daughter emotionally distant and with severe trust issues. It takes Melanie to give Old Dolio the human connection she never had.

I can’t say much beyond that because it takes many unexpected twists and turns. What I can say is this colourful dramedy offers an assurance of human connection.

4) SMALL AXE

Ok, I may be cheating on this one since it’s five films (two of them just barely over an hour), but director Steve McQueen’s anthology complement each other perfectly with their unflinching examinations of systemic racism inflicted on lives of West Indie Brits during 1960s and the 1980s. The films are also connected by their celebration of people who celebrate life despite overwhelming odds stacked against them.

MANGROVE centers on the title Caribbean restaurant in Notting Hill. Owner Frank Crichlow (Shaun Parkes) just wants to serve customers and be left alone, but his business is a constant target of harassment by racist cops. It all comes to a head with a 1970 protest, which leads to Frank and 8 others falsely accused of inciting a riot.

The trial demonstrates how Police can brutalize protesters, then turn around and accuse the protesters of inciting violence. It also shows how the justice system is complicity by blindly taking the word of the police over civilians. Not helping is a prosecuting attorney who peddles in racist dog whistles, a defense attorney naïve about the justice system’s treatment of black people and an indifferent judge. But the defendants stand strong as they use the trial as a platform to expose racial profiling while poking holes in cop’s testimony.

The two standouts in the film are Parkes and Letitia Wright as British Black Panther Co-Founder Altheia Jones. Parkes brings a lot of sympathy as a desperate man who just wants to live his life but grows to become an activist due to circumstances outside of his control. In contrast, Wright is a powerhouse of righteous anger as she fights for dignity.

LOVERS ROCK takes us through a night at a house party, where two strangers (Amarah-Jae St. Aubyn and Micheal Ward) fall in love. There’s isn’t much plot in this one, its mostly just people dancing and playing music. But as the camera lingers on the DJ playing records and the guests dancing and enjoying each other’s company, this film enchants you with its celebration of music, dancing, and the joy of company. It feels like a much-needed break from the uncomfortable racism we see in the other movies.

RED, WHITE, AND BLUE Is probably the most heartbreaking. John Boyega portrays Leroy Logan, a young man who enrolls in the Metropolitan Police in hopes of reforming it from the inside. He underestimates the racism he’ll face during training or how the system enables the racism. What makes it worst is how his own community would turn against him, especially his father (Steve Toussaint).

Boyega gives a powerful performance as a determined and smart guy who fails to understand how in over his head he is. You feel his fury when Leroy berates his fellow officers for putting his life in danger by not answering his call for backup. Toussaint is just as powerful as a man who feels betrayed when his son joins the very people who have brutalized him for years.

ALEX WHEATIE tells the true-life story of a young man (Sheyi Cole) who would go on to become an award-winning writer after being jailed during the Brixton Uprising of 1981. We follow him from his childhood growing up in uncaring white institutional care homes to finding a sense of community in Brixton, where he develops a passion for music. Through his attempts to pursue a DJing career and his run ins with the law that he confronts his past and begins a journey to healing.

We conclude with Education, a coming-of-age story of Kingsley (Kenyah Sandy), a 12-year-old boy who was singled out as “disruptive” and sent to special classes for the “subnormal”. This film looks at an unofficial segregated system that dismissed black kids and discarded them in classes for people with mental disability. It’s clear Kingsley is a smart kid with interest in rockets and space, but he shows signs of dyslexia. But neither his headmaster nor are the special classes helpful, especially when the teacher cares more about play his guitar and teaching the kids anything useful. His parents are even less helpful when they dismiss his concerns (when they’re not working two jobs.) It leads to a sad moment when Kingsley hides inside a bus to avoid seeing his friends.

This film also shows the power of black women. You see it through Kingsley’s sister Stephanie (Tamara Lawrence) whose empathy makes her realize somethings up. You see through Lydia Thomas (Josette Simon) activism as she investigates these school conditions. You especially see it through Kingsley’s mom (Sharlene Whyte), not just from working to jobs to provide for her family but her ability to grow and learn. She goes through a journey as Lydia teaches her about the systemic racism in the education system, forcing her to realize how she’s dismissed her son’s concerns. Near the end, we see how children like Kingsley can be helped by those willing to understand his problem.

3) FIRST COW

Timid forager Cookie (John Magaro) feels out of place among the hunters and fur traders in the Oregon Territory. Then along comes King-Lu (Orion Lee), a Chinese immigrant with big dreams. Together, they swipe milk from the only cow in the area to cook and sell pastries to the locals in the area. As their little business grows, so does the bond between these outsiders. But their success comes under threat when they attract the attention of a wealthy landowner (Toby Jones) who owns the cow.

A premise like this does not sound like the type of film that attracts major audience attention, especially with Co-writer/Director Kelly Reichart’s minimalist style. But when it comes to Reichart, less is more. Reichart takes her time to take in the muted colours and natural beauty of Christopher Blauvelt’s cinematography and allow the relationships to develop naturally. It’s helped by the low-key yet engaging performances. Lee showcased the enthusiastic determination of a born entrepreneur. But it’s Magaro who shines brightest with the most nuanced performance of the year, revealing Cookie’s humanity through the subtlest gestures.

Reichart’s subtle, patient storytelling isn’t for everyone, but through her gentlest touch she enchants the audience with a haunting tale of unlikely friendships and the achievements of outsiders.

2) UNCUT GEMS

I know this is a film was released in 2019, but It didn’t come to our theatre until 2020 and It’s too damn good not to talk about.

This film is a cinematic panic attack. Never once do the Safdie brothers give you a moment to relax as fast-talking Jeweler Howard Ratner (Adam Sandler) dodges pissed off debt collectors while plotting for the biggest bet he can get. The result is an experience that keeps you on edge from opening credits to end credits. In lesser hands this would be an unpleasant experience, but the Safdie brothers uses this to create a compelling, intense portrayal of a man who gets off on standing on the edge of a cliff.

One reason it works is because beauty and ugliness make strange bedfellows in their movies. Nowhere is this more perfectly summed up than in the opening scenes where cinematographer Darius Khondji travels through an inside of a gem. The colours and lights make you feel like you’ve ascended to a magical world, but this scene happens in between scenes of African Miners being exploited and the inside of Howard’s colon. Just as beautiful is Daniel Lopatin’s new wave musical score. On its own, the music lulls you into a beautiful sense of peace. But this music often plays over uncomfortable scenes of characters screaming over each other. Somehow these two elevate the cinematic experience.

But the true strength of the film is Howard himself, which is astounding considering how unlikeable the character is. Throughout the film, he keeps digging himself into a deeper hole as he gambles even more recklessly, which makes it worst when he starts putting other’s people lives at risk. But he’s too complicated to hate. He shares a close bond with his kids and his coworkers. The film makes it clear he’s excellent at predicting Basketball games with near perfect accuracy, which gives you hope he will win. But then again, you don’t end up with over a hundred thousand dollars in debt without making terrible life decisions. He would be impossible to watch without Adam Sandler’s performance. He blends a smooth-talking charm and panic desperation to his character every time he tries to fast talk his way out of his circumstance. You can see why people like having him around.

When the credits roll, you’re relieved it’s over and were glad to experience the thrill.

1) THE TRIAL OF THE CHICAGO SEVEN

The real-life trial of seven protesters and Black Panther co-founder Bobby Seale feels more like an SNL skit than a courtroom drama. From the Merry Prankster duo Abby Hoffman (Sacha Baron Cohen) and Jerry Rubin (Jeremy Strong)’s tweaking the nose at the buffoon judge Hoffman (Frank Langella) to the Judge bounding and gagging Seale, this trial was so contrived it can only come from real life. And writer/director Aaron Sorkin exposes the absurdity of this story in The Trial of the Chicago Seven.

It’s funny how a film about a trial from the late 60s can capture the mood of 2020. But with brutal images of Police attacking protesters and Judge Hoffman’s horrific treatment of Seale, this film feels like it came at the perfect time.[2] The trial itself showcases how the Justice system works to silence discourse and smears protestors. Sorkin further emphasizes how the system attacks anyone by showcasing the contrasting beliefs of the protestors from the radical anarchism of Hoffman and quiet dignity of Seale to the moderate ideals of student protestor Tom Hayden (Eddie Redmayne) and the unapologetic pacifism of suburban dad David Dellinger (John Carroll Lynch).

Sorkin does all this while keeping the film gripping and entertaining from start to finish. He brings his sharp wit to his dialogue whether it’s Hoffman’s political speeches or the Marx-brother’s esque exchanges between the Judge and the increasingly frustrated defense attorney William Kunstler. Matching his writing are the endless great performances from the actors including Joseph Gordon-Levitt as reluctant prosecuting attorney Richard Schultz and Strong bringing out his inner Tommy Chong. But it’s Cohen who steals the whole film bringing out the uncompromising radicalism of Hoffman, who seems to have a better understanding of the situation than most of the protestors.

The result is a film that perfectly captures the political feel of 2020.

[1] At one point, he was almost attacked by protesters.

[2] Which is ironic considering it took Sorkin over a decade to get the film made.

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thecreelhouse · 4 years

Text

take care of yourself

paring: Steve Harrington x Reader

Summary: you’ve been through enough shit to believe self care is building your walls high and keeping everyone out. The Universe has no problem challenging that, though. (Or: the flower shop/soulmate AU comfort fic nobody asked for)

Word count: 4,656

Warnings: mentions of past abuse (emotional/mental/physical), PTSD, language, angst

A/N: it finally happened, I wrote a reader insert fic for once! lol. I’ve been going through a rough patch with old trauma, and this is an absolute self indulgent comfort fic buuuuuut I hope whoever reads it enjoys it. Originally it was me writing out some shit to just get it out, but then it turned to a flower shop AU, and somehow ended as a soulmate AU....? Messy, but oh well lol. if you’re an abuse survivor, pls know your pain is valid but your healing is so, so very important. 💜 title is from the song ‘take care of yourself’ by the childlike empress

Build your walls up high and strong, tall and mighty. No ladder or set of stairs could reach the top. Not even the most stubborn and determined can make their way in. Make yourself more stubborn than those around you. Leave first before you’re left in the dust.

You’ve lived this way for years. It’s lonely. It’s quiet. It has its own kind of hurt, but it’s pain in your control.

You’ve lived this way for years, and you swore you’d never let anyone take advantage of you ever again. Once vulnerable, soft, welcoming, now stoic, cold, distant; you wouldn’t feel it was necessary to stay this way if people weren’t so cruel.

If you never open up, they can’t use your secrets against you. If you keep to yourself, they can’t get under your skin. If you weren’t so foolish, so quick to trust others, you could enjoy human connection without a second thought. Now, it’s second nature to keep your defenses up, and keep them up strong.

With that comes anger, defaulted towards everyone and everything, and it doesn’t give anyone new a true chance. If that means you’re safe in the end, then that’s just fine. Maybe you are cold, maybe you are bitter, but you’re nowhere near as bad as the monster that drove you here.

You’ve lived this way for years, because it’s better than being gaslit on a regular basis. Safer than a hand around your throat, just manipulating you to stay. The pain of being lonely is a dull sting compared to the pain of your first time being stolen from you, forced to become someone else’s gain, someone else’s object.

You’ve lived this way for years, why stop now?

Why let someone have the opportunity to tear you down? Rip you apart? In the end, most people just have selfish motives, and if they don’t, they’re hard to come by. Why waste your life looking for someone worth your time?

So yeah, it’s lonely. It’s lonely as fuck. It hurts. It’s a comfortable pain that soothes you to sleep every night. It’s a wound that never heals, but at least you’re the only one disturbing it.

When you moved, you just wanted to get the fuck away from anything and everything tied to him. You wanted to destroy all links, burn all bridges; nothing was safe anymore, nothing was pure anymore. You up and left because no matter how hard you tried, someone was always waiting around the corner of your next chapter in life, eager to apologize on his behalf.

“He had it hard, you know.” And “his sister abused him, he didn’t know any better. Never got proper help.” followed by, “he’s trying, he’s changing, give him another chance.”

If manipulating someone to stay under dangerous circumstances is “trying and changing”, you wanted no fucking part in that mess. You knew better. He should know better.

So you left. You packed up and left the little bit of good sprinkled throughout town behind, because it wasn’t worth running into him one more time. Wasn’t worth glancing over your shoulder in fear anymore. You knew he was powerless once you left him, but it never calmed the storm of anxieties constantly brewing within you, the “what ifs” keeping you awake at night.

Hundreds of miles from home, you stopped in a small town. Hawkins, Indiana. Quiet. Quaint. Small towns may be frustrating in the sense that everyone knows everyone, but at least it’s a fresh start, practically off the grid compared to home.

You flowed your life into the surroundings of Hawkins quite easily; a small apartment downtown with easy to find parking, a job at a flower shop a block away, working with what you loved, and you picked up as many hours as you could, keeping busy, keeping to yourself. It’s what you always did best. Friendly at work, friendly when necessary to strangers, but you never let anyone in. It’s what you simply did best.

For a few months, you kept to your daily routine. Lonely, sure, but nothing out of the ordinary for you. You called home when necessary, just to reach out and let your parents know you’re still alive, doing just fine. Things were simple, and that was just fine. It gave you more down time to focus on yourself, focus on healing, however you saw fit.

One day, though, the focus stopped short. The perfect, mundane balance you had, went off the rails in just a quick, few minute exchange. Everything you had worked so hard to protect was screaming at you to tear the walls away.

It was a normal, Thursday evening at the shop. Quiet, watering the plants as needed, the chime above the front door tore you from your safe bubble. You switched gears, getting ready to use your pleasant “retail” voice, when your eyes fell on two boys, and your balance began to unsteady itself. One was older than the other; the younger boy looked to be in his early teens, and the older boy was much closer to your age, hanging somewhere near or in his 20-somethings.

It wasn’t the boys walking in that threw you off, it was specifically locking eyes with the older boy, forgetting to breathe for a quick second. Forgetting how to move, how to act; the cold shield you kept up at all times was begging to be let down, just over some handsome, idiot stranger. Something felt like a magnetic pull towards him, but only for a moment.

Fighting through the daze, you asked, “Can I help y’all?”

The younger boy, with messy curls flowing from under a hat and gaps in his toothy grin, immediately walked up to you. “My girlfriend is visiting, and I want to surprise her with flowers, but I don’t know what her favorite flower is, and I can’t just ask her-“

“I mean, you can, you know.” You interjected, smiling at how panicked he seemed.

“That’s what I told him!” The older boy added, walking closer. “He didn’t want to listen.”

“Yeah, Steve, because your girl advice has been proven to be shit.” The younger boy mumbled back, rolling his eyes. The older boy’s face grew red.

“Hey! Even she-“ Steve gestured to you, pausing for a moment, hoping you’d introduce yourself, or he’d find a name tag, something. “- um, sorry-“

“Y/N,” You replied, unsure how to feel in this situation. His eyes searched yours for a moment too long, and you felt exposed.

“Thank you- see, Dustin. Even Y/N agrees with my advice. Maybe I don’t always have shitty girl advice.” Steve finished his argument with Dustin.

You wanted to laugh at how ridiculous they were being, how it was giving you some comic relief to a bland, boring day... but laughing meant being friendly, and being friendly was only reserved for short conversations and interactions. You felt like you could easily fall into a conversation with these two, and that was the last thing you needed right now. Trusting anyone was the last of your concerns anymore.

“Well, there’s no real wrong choice, in my opinion. Just, don’t get white lilies, or something. Those are usually for loss and sorrow, better for funerals.” You offered, sticking strictly to business. “If you have any questions, feel free to ask. I have to get back to watering some of these plants now.”

Without waiting for a reply, you walked off across the room with the watering can, hoping they’d be quick and out of here soon. A few minutes passed, and you could hear them frantically whispering to one another across the shop, not exactly clear about what, until you did hear a clear “go talk to her!” from Dustin to Steve. You felt yourself stiffen up, not wanting to be disturbed, not wanting things to grow awkward.

Sure enough, the Universe truly loves to work against you, and a few moments later Steve found his way closer to you, clearing his throat to catch your attention. You turned from the plants you were focused on.

“Yes?”

“Uh... hi.”

“.... hi?” You replied, brow raised. “Did you need something?”

“N-no, I just- are you new here?” Steve asked, tripping over his words, hands fumbling out of nervousness. “Sorry, this is weird. I just haven’t seen you around before... and I-“

“I moved somewhat recently,” you replied, keeping things vague. “What’s it to you?”

Steve’s face fell, flustered and unable to reply to that. “N-nothing. Sorry.”

With that, he walked back over to his friend. You felt bad for being short and cold, but the last thing you needed in this town were friends. The last thing you needed was some cute, nervous guy working for your trust.

A few more minutes passed in silence, aside from more awkward whispers from the two boys, and suddenly Dustin shouted out, “Thanks, Y/N! Have a good day!” before pulling Steve behind him out the door.

You were left in confusion, wondering if your attitude scared them off, and felt bad. You just couldn’t let anyone in, even with a little bit of innocent small talk. Steve probably meant well, but you didn’t want to take the risk of finding out.

The next few days went on with your regular customers, an elderly man wanting to surprise his wife with some nice flowers, just because. A mother creating a lovely bouquet to give her daughter after her dance recital that night. A call for a funeral arrangement was what shook you to your core, though.

You’ve had them before, you’ve made them before. You were the only other employee aside from your boss who was skilled in making them. You loved doing what you could to help ease the pain of loss, but it hurt hard this time, hearing the young woman lost her life to an abusive, turbulent relationship. It sent chills up your spine. She was just a bit younger than you, still close enough to relate, though. The man was taken in by authorities, thankfully, but it still had an end no parent wants to hear of their child. No friend or family member wants to ever hear they’ve lost someone to a selfish monster.

Your heart hurt for the woman, and hurt because it’s a situation you were once in. It could’ve been you, and was a sharp reminder why you couldn’t trust anyone.

Working on the floral arrangement late Saturday night, you had the shop to yourself, trying to stay tuned into your handiwork. The funeral was the next morning, and you refused to clock out until the arrangement was perfect. It wouldn’t bring this poor girl back, wouldn’t turn back time, but if it could help honor her life, then you were doing something right.

The familiar chime of the small door bell sounded off, and you didn’t turn around to face the customer. “We’re not doing any custom orders tonight, and we’re technically closed, so make your decisions quickly, please.”

“Oh. Shit, sorry, Y/N, didn’t even realize-“

You spun around at the sound of your name to see Steve, awkwardly standing just beyond the doormat.

“Why are you here?” It came out colder than you wanted it to. You needed it to be cold, though, right?

You watched Steve wince at your attitude before responding. “I- I just wanted to apologize for the other night, when Dustin and I were in here. If we made you uncomfortable. I’m sorry.”

He wasn’t wrong, you were uncomfortable, but how would he know that off the bat? He was just being friendly, and you were the one shutting yourself off.

“S’fine.” You replied quickly before turning back to your work, busying yourself once more. “I have to keep working...”

You trailed off, wanting to tell him he had to go, but a part inside of you screamed stay, stay, stay.

Steve sighed. “Yeah, of course. Sorry, again, Y/N. See you around.”

The doorbell chimed once more, and you glanced down at your hands, crushing a few lilies subconsciously. Sighing and throwing them onto the table, you walked over to the door and locked it.

“It’s safer this way.” You reassured yourself. “It’s just for the best.”

A few more days passed, and Dustin came back in. You couldn’t be as cold towards him, he was only a kid.

“Hey, what’s up?” You asked as he crossed the room to the counter.

“I’m sorry if we bothered you last week-“

“Dustin, it’s fine, really. Steve came in the other night. You guys weren’t bothering me at all.” You tried reassuring him, but he still wore guilt on his face.

“I really do need flowers, though. And I asked Suzie what her favorites are!” Dustin said, with a growing smile. It made a smile of your own begin to grow.

“And did she tell you?”

“Yep! Sunflowers! Never woulda’ guessed on my own.” He replied.

“Proud of you, kid. Glad you asked.” You began gathering some fresh cut sunflowers into a brown craft paper bouquet. “When’s she visiting?”

As you handed him the flowers, he answered. “Tomorrow! I’m gonna’ show her around town, maybe we’ll stop in and say hi, if that’s ok?”

“Of course it’s okay, door’s always open.”

“Great!” After paying, Dustin began to walk towards the door, stopping to turn back your way. “Do you like sunflowers too?”

Brow raised at the question, you answered without thinking much into it. “They’re nice, but I like wildflowers more myself.”

“Good to know, thanks, bye!” And with that, he rushed out of the shop, leaving you confused once again.

The question didn’t make sense until the next day, when Dustin stopped in with Suzie, and a nervous Steve trailing behind the both of them, hands behind his back.

Arms crossed and brows furrowed, you said hello to the younger teens before directing your attention back to Steve. “Wasn’t expecting you here.”

“Yeah- I’m their ride for the day.” Steve nervously chuckled, shifting his weight back and forth between his feet.

“Whatcha’ got there? Behind your back?” You questioned, curious but nervous. Steve’s face flushed red before he pulled a small bunch of wildflowers from behind his back, handing them to you. Your eyes grew wide, trailing down to the roots of the flowers, clearly sticking out, freshly yanked from the ground.

“Um- uh- Dustin mentioned you like wildflowers, and I wasn’t sure what kinds, so we picked a bunch for you.”

“He picked them, I just delivered the information.” Dustin corrected, and Steve elbowed him, pulling a smile out of you.

“Thank you.” You said, feeling your expression soften on its own, and with that, Steve hesitantly let a smile grow. “I’m going to clean these up and put them in water. You can come with, if you want.”

Your own words surprised you, wondering when you became okay with any friendliness with a guy your age. But you didn’t fight it, continuing off to the back of the store, with Steve following behind, leaving Dustin and Suzie on their own in the shop among the flowers.

Steve watched curiously as you cut the dirt-covered roots from the ends of the flowers, giving them fresh ends to drink from. Your eyes darted up to his. “You didn’t have to do this, you know.”

Steve’s eyes grew wide once you began to speak. “I- I wanted to. I still feel bad for upsetting you the other night. I really meant no harm, I swear.”

Sighing, you set the flowers down gently on a counter, leaning against it and looking towards him before speaking again. “You did nothing wrong. I’m just a fucking mess, and don’t let anyone close to me anymore. You couldn’t have known.”

“Still, I’m sorry I invaded your space without asking or- I don’t know-“

“Steve.” You crossed your arms, narrowing your eyes at him. “It’s not your fault, really. I’m sorry I came off so cold.”

“I understand, though. And don’t feel pressured to like, be friendly with me, or whatever...” Steve trailed off, struggling to find the right words. “I just wanted to at least let it be known that... I dunno.... it’s okay, I guess.”

Smirking at his attempt, you moved back to the flowers, grabbing an empty vase and filling it with water. “It isn’t. It won’t be, unless I keep my distance from people. But I appreciate your sincerity.”

“Not everyone is bad, you know.” He mumbled. “I’m not just saying that to kiss my own ass, I mean it, there are good people out there, you know.”

Feeling your grip tighten around the flowers, you caught yourself before crushing them, placing them in the vase safely. “You don’t know that. You wouldn’t know that.”

“What makes you think I wouldn’t know?” He countered, unaware of the push it caused on you.

“Why are you so fixated on changing my view, huh?” You snapped, spinning back to face him. “You think you can just come along and fix that? Fix me?”

“No, I never said that.” Steve replied, frustrated. “I don’t know you. Don’t know a thing about you. But I just- forget it.”

“What? Say it.”

Looking away, Steve mumbled, “You don’t have to isolate yourself to feel safe. I know what it’s like, okay? It fucking sucks.”

“Bullshit you know anything about that. You don’t know me, don’t assume shit.”

“Who moves to Hawkins willingly?! You’re running from something or someone-“ at that, your face fell, and he paused, searching your eyes. “You’re right, I shouldn’t care. I shouldn’t be nosy and get involved, but I know what that pain feels like, and it fucking hurts. I just wanted to try and show you that you’re not alone.”

You held yourself and emotions back as he searched your eyes once more before walking away, and you let him. A few moments passed before you heard the bell chime over the door, and you were fully alone, just like you always wanted.

You’ve lived this way for years, why stop now? Why stop ever?

For a moment, a sliver of time, you felt seen, felt understood, valid in your pain. For a moment, you didn’t feel so alone, and you pushed that away.

Weeks passed, and neither Steve nor Dustin came back into the shop since. You almost missed them, almost missed how you felt a little less lonely when they were around, even if you barely knew them. Not knowing where Steve lived, worked, or anything, you just had to patiently wait, and hope either would return, and you could mend the barely built bridge you instantly burned down.

It wasn’t until one night just before closing, a girl your age came into the shop, heading straight for the counter you stood behind.

“Hi, can I-“

“This is from Steve.” The girl interrupted you, handing a VHS tape over. “Just... watch it, okay? Give him another chance, before I go insane hearing that dingus whine about how he fucked things up.”

Leaving you speechless, she left the store. You glanced at the tape, seeing it was just a plain black VHS tape, with a piece of masking tape on the side, written on it was “for Y/N”, causing your stomach to flip a little.

Curious as to what could be on it, you rushed to clean and close up the shop, running down the block back home. Immediately after getting inside your apartment, you tossed the tape into the VCR, and hit play, settling on the floor in front of your TV.

Grain flooded the screen for a moment, before a clear picture appeared, of Steve, struggling to hold the camera up on his own, panicking, trying to find a sturdy surface to set it on. You felt a smile tug at your lips at the sight of his clumsiness.

“Uh... hi. Hi, Y/N. This is probably weird, and you’re probably sick of me annoying the shit out of you-“ Steve ran his hands through his hair nervously, before looking back into the camera. “I- I don’t want anything from you. I don’t want to upset or bother you or invade your space- and you’re right. I don’t know what it’s like, not how you do, but I want to understand... and I want you to know you’re not alone-“

“Yeah! What he said!” Dustin barged into the room, and Steve rolled his eyes, shoving the younger boy back out before continuing. “See, even Dustin cares.”

You found yourself giggling at their antics.

“I don’t want to fix anything- I just- you’re not alone, alright? Even if you don’t want to be friends, just give other people a chance, yeah? I don’t know what you went through, don’t know what you survived, but you’re not the only one who’s fought off monsters... you don’t have to do it alone.”

You felt tears at the edge of your eyes, urging to break. Wiping them away, you saw the tape cut to a scene outside, in the woods, with Steve pointing out different wildflowers along a trail.

A group of kids wandered in and out of the shot, occasionally making silly faces at the camera, or teasing Steve as he filmed.

“This for your girlfriend?” One mocked, and he sighed behind the camera.

“Shut it, Wheeler, she’s not my girlfriend.” Steve mumbled, embarrassed. It rose more laughter out of your chest.

“Steve, that footage is going to be awful. Do you even know how to hold that thing?” Dustin teased, trying to reach for the camera before it was jerked away. Dustin eventually got a hold of it, pointing it towards Steve, who smiled sheepishly at the lens, and waved.

“I’ll tell her since you won’t-“ Dustin started off, and Steve reached for the camera before Dustin ran ahead with it. “- we miss you, Y/N. We hope you’re okay. Steve is worried about you, and just wanted you to know you’re always welcome to hang out with us.”

“Dustin, give me that back, you shithead!” Steve yelled off in the distance, and Dustin sped up again, bulky camera still on his shoulder.

“Gotta go! If you want to bother Steve sometime, he works at Family Video!” Dustin rattled off, then continued with Steve’s home address, before yelling a quick goodbye, ending the tape there. The static and grain of the tracking filled back into the TV’s screen and sound.

Amused, you couldn’t help but laugh at how ridiculous the video was, just like the day they came into the shop. You knew nothing about them, they knew nothing about you, but there was something telling you deep down, maybe it’d be okay to knock some height off the walls for once. Maybe you didn’t have to be so lonely, didn’t have to fight your monsters off on your own.

It was late, so you knew Steve wasn’t at work, and you figured it couldn’t hurt to try him at home. Jumping in your car, you drove off to the address Dustin snuck into the end of the tape. When you pulled up outside Steve’s house, you began to doubt yourself, wondering why the hell you’re in front of this stranger’s house.

There was a pull, though. You’ve felt it before, you felt it now, and it was hard to ignore. How could you when curiosity towered over your fear? The invisible pull grabbed tight, and led you up the steps and to the front door, and didn’t let you think twice about ringing the doorbell. You hoped you weren’t waking anyone at this hour.

The door swung open, revealing a sleepy Steve in sweats, rubbing his eyes as they adjusted to the light above the door.

“What’re you doing here?” He asked, and you instantly felt guilty for bothering him at this hour.

“I.... I don’t have a fucking clue, honestly.” You replied, confused at things yourself. Dropping your voice to a whisper, you asked, “Did I wake you up?”

Steve shook his head, “Just been a long day.”

“Someone dropped the tape off earlier. The one you made.” You didn’t want to hesitate anymore on this. “Why did you do that?”

Steve shrugged, moving aside so you could step inside, and not carry this conversation on his front steps. “This is gonna sound crazy, but since we’ve met, I’ve had this... this... thing?”

“A pull?”

“Exactly th- wait, how do you know?”

“I feel it too. I don’t know how, or why, but it’s there, and I can’t keep ignoring it.” You breathed. “People terrify me, but I don’t know what keeps bringing me back to you, Steve.”

“I see wildflowers everywhere I go, now. I see them and immediately picture the joy they bring you, and I don’t understand what the fuck is going on, but it can’t just be coincidence.” He mumbled, running his hands over his face. “I want to give you space, but something keeps telling me to look out for you, to check up on you, make sure you’re alright. That sounds insane, probably.”

Slowly, you could feel the walls crumble down some more. “It’s not as insane as it sounds... because I’m not okay, and haven’t been for some time.”

“God, fuck, so much fucked up shit has happened here in the past few years, that this doesn’t even shock me.” Steve spoke, realizing this was just another bizarre thing happening in Hawkins once more. ”There’s a connection, somehow. With us.”

“Maybe I was just meant to end up here. You even asked me who willingly moves here, and I only did because it felt right. No other way to describe it.” You mumble, realizing how wild this sounded. “The night you came in, when I was working late, something in me wanted so badly to ask you to stay.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Jaw tightening, you answered. “Because I’m not supposed to be like this. Like that. Clingy, needy, dependent. I’ve been on my own for so long, I don’t know what is safe or not anymore.”

“You’re allowed to be needy, you know. We’re only human. You don’t have to fight your battles alone.”

“And what if they scare you off?”

“They won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I don’t, but why can’t I try anyway?” Steve sighed, head spinning in circles over this. “You feel it, I feel it, why are we holding back?”

“Because I’m terrified.” Your voice cracked as it flowed out. “I have to take care of myself, and that means keeping my distance.”

“Or it just means you need to try and trust others again.” He pleaded, knowing something deeper lied beneath the surface. “Let me help you.”

Seconds that felt like hours passed before you nodded your head, covering your eyes with your hands as you began to cry. Cautious, Steve reached out to you, pulling you into a hug that felt comforting. It felt familiar. It felt like home.

“You’re allowed to take care of yourself, you know. You’re allowed to go through your feelings with someone by your side. You don’t have to do this alone.”

A peace settled within you as his words hit your ears, and it brewed a bit of courage within you too. “Neither do you, Steve.”

You weren’t sure what lied ahead, how things would unfold. You weren’t sure how the Universe connected you two together; whether romantic or just platonic, you were soulmates in some sense. In a way, you gravitated towards one another, and letting your walls down didn’t seem so frightening for once.

You owed it to your fragile, younger, naive past self back home to get through the rest of this life with love, light and hope, and allow others to help along the way. You owed it to your past, present, and future selves, to take care. Take care of yourself.

#steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington au #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things x you #stranger things x reader #flower shop au #soulmate au #take care of yourself #my fics

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ninjakasuga · 4 years

Text

Sonsal Celebration Day 6

Day Six of the celebration of best furry couple by @boundforfreedomsonsal continues! Admittedly I’ve been watching eagerly for this day as this was honestly the first of the prompts I worked on. Having finished reading @archiesoniconline ‘s fan-project version of issue 249 and 250 (in which Sally was deroboticized huzzah) and the signs of Sally dealing with the obvious aftermath; I was inspired. Add in inspiration from a few pages of Glitcher’s Sonic Retold series, and well I had material to work with. I recommend if you want to see a faithful fan continuation of the pre-reboot Archie-Sonic era give ASO, a shot or even pay Glitcher’s DA page ( https://www.deviantart.com/glitcher ) a visit. Since the old comics are never going to see an official revisit we fans are the only ones who will see our beloved characters flourish so give these guys and other fan projects a looksie! Also the lovely, AMAZING art work provided for this prompt was by the amazing @foxinadress seriously this amazing artist deserves praise. I recommend not only giving his Tumblr a visit but check their various art platforms and Patreon.

One last Author note; there is some pushing of the PG-13 as per usual, but at this point you guys expect that from me. XD Also while this takes place in my little Sonic fic-verse, it’s out of chronological order, taking place between the Double Date and Surprise prompt episodes.

HURT:

Looking out at the forest beyond Sally Acorn didn’t seem to pay mind to the setting sun, nor did she react to the sounds of the far off cheers coming from the city nearby. There was a lot to celebrate, between the Deathegg being put out of commission, for Naugus being exposed and dealt with, everyone was in a party mood. As much as she didn’t care to dwell on it, the Princess knew a chunk of the celebration was for her own safe return after spending a few months as Mecha Sally.

A few horrible, painful months where she felt like she was trapped inside her own body, unable to do anything but the screaming impulses of Eggman’s whim. She’d be lying if she didn’t thoroughly enjoy seeing his shattered expression as he fled from the Deathegg as the vile creation was torn apart by explosions before crashing into one of his bases it was poised above. It almost made up for the hell she endured.

Yet that joy felt somehow hollow still and it bugged her incessantly. She was back home, her friends and family safe, the Kingdom was safe, and yet… Sally couldn’t fully feel right. She did not feel like she deserved to be there, enjoying the celebration with everyone else. The squirrel-munk hated how she felt, not when her friends, and especially a certain Hedgehog, fought like hell to get her back. Closing her eyes Sally felt the raging memories she tried to suppress coming back. Of her time as Mecha-Sally, from being used as a tool to harm, maim, and kill her friends. Thankfully the latter never happened, but plenty of the former happened; and then there was the recollection of when she was weaponized.

A deep shudder ran through her as she curled her legs closer to her chest, her breathing reaching almost hyperventilating levels as she tried to fight down the terror and panic. By the Neo-Walkers, the Almighty, and any Deity that truly was out there, it was like watching someone dismember you and be AWAKE through it all! In lieu of blood was oil, and yet every part ripped out might as well have been an appendage or organ! While a Robian was made of wires and metal they still had a ‘core’ representing their life-force. When Eggman was taking her apart and enjoying it, her ‘core vitals’ went crazy as if even as a machine her body and true mind knew of the violation being done to her. She nearly died just because Eggman wanted to be sadistic as he prepped her to be a killing machine against all she loved.

Even a week after being deroboticized, she couldn’t shake those vague but potent recollections. Sally was able to suppress and bury most of her trauma by focusing on deposing Naugus before he took the Kingdom down with him, but now that she was left alone to her thoughts; she couldn’t drown it all out.

So lost in her own mind, her ears didn’t even twitch as a familiar ‘sonic-boom’ echoed nearby, signaling the arrival of a certain someone. The flag on the pole she sat beside on the hill of FF Headquarters, began to wave and bob from the sudden gust of wind, along with her hair and vest. Yet Sally didn’t truly seem to pay attention any until a warm hand, gently settled on her shoulder.

“Yo Sal, you okay?! You’re shaking all over!” A concerned voice uttered as the hand moved from her shoulder, and now two entire arms began to gently wrap around her, pulling her into the lap of the owner of said arms. At the feel of his warmth behind her back, Sally instinctively nestled against him, and let out a shaky breath. “I-I’m okay Sonic, jus-just a little chilly is all.”

“Bullshi-er-baloney…” Quipped back the fastest Hedgehog alive as he self-censored himself from uttering a more potent and crass choice of phrase. As he gently rested his chin atop her head, Sonic softly began to gently sway his body, rocking Sally in their embrace as he sought to help her deal with her woes. “You can’t pull a fast one over on me, I know you Sally, and this?” He gestured to her entirely. “This ain’t the wind giving you chills.” His usual jovial tone was dialed all the way to deep concern as his hands remained locked around her waist. “Talk to me Sal, please talk to me.”

Swallowing hard, Sally none-the-less tried to ease his concern with false-assurance. Not easy when those emerald orbs looked at her like that. She loved his eyes but the way he looked at her with concern and love, it almost made things feel worse because she didn’t want him to worry about her. “It’s just a little shake, and bad memories I’ll be fine-.” Interrupting her, Sonic kept his tone even, but a firmness trickled in. “Sally, don’t play this off. Now isn’t the time to pretend you’re not hurting. We sent Naugus packin’ and Egg-butt is still reeling from his toys being broken. Right now the only thing this Hedgehog cares about is the well-being of the woman in my arms. You, numero uno, the one and only Princess Sally, Acorn. The woman I love.” His hand traced along her cheek, making her lip quiver. “You’re hurting, let me help you Sal, right now we have nothing to worry about but us right now. Don’t shut me out, not this time, or ever, please. Now’s the time to let it all out because we dunno when we might get another break.”

His pleas tugged at her heart-strings, his devotion and love for her making her feel wonderful; yet awful at the same time with how her conflicted mind felt. Yet those words she didn’t know she needed to hear, eroded what resistance had been left in Sally. She crumbled like a dam that had burst after too much neglect. Turning her body in his embrace, she buried her face into his neck and sobbed, and just gushed, everything in her spilling out in tandem with the hot tears, leaking from her eyes. “I still remember being weaponized, being taken apart piece by piece, Eggman not caring if he nearly killed me in the process. I saw my own limbs and other pieces just, discarded as he smiled and hummed to music!” A deep shudder ran through her body as she clung to Sonic even more. She began to hiccup but kept talking. “Then he sent me out after everyone… I wish it was a blur, but every image is potently burned into my brain! I remember being used against everyone… I-I almost killed you, my brother, Lupe, Antoine, everyone I cared for and loved… How I managed to not kill anyone I don’t know!”

Shaking her grip on him tightened as more hot tears rolled from her eyes, matting the fur of his shoulder and neck. “When I wasn’t out in the field he made plan out methods to attack the Kingdom, or how to use my knowledge of my friends to use psychological warfare to break you all… I was even tasked to come up with methods to-to assassinate everyone!” Her voice grew hoarse as the lump in her throat got worse, along with the hiccuping. “I made fifty plans for you alone…”

Deep, burning anger, filled Sonic as much as his desire to comfort and console his best friend and love of his life. The latter won out, and so he mentally filed away his desire to race to wherever Eggman ran off too for the time being and pound his face into jelly. A rage that surpassed the killing desire he felt when fighting the original Robotnik one last time just burned in him, to the point it scared him. Mentally berating himself, Sonic tried to refocus his mind. Sally needed him, and not off fulfilling a vendetta. With one hand, he began to rub up and down her back gently, as the other rested against the back of her head; stroking her auburn tresses as she sobbed against him. “Oh, Sally…” Sonic wanted to make the pain all go away, but knowing he couldn’t just snap a finger and do so, the Hedgehog continued to cradle Sally in his arms.

Sonic was known for his fast-talking, use of quips, and using humor to play off the more dreary elements of what was going on. Keeping upbeat and focusing ahead and ready to move on without looking back much. This was not one of those times he could be flippant on the issue. Yet he wasn’t sure what to say, could he really say anything that could make it all better, even a little? He had to try. “That wasn’t you though-.”

Sally’s tear-stained face pulled away from Sonic’s chest, sending him a glare that could kill, if she didn’t look so emotionally wrecked. “Don’t bull-crap me Sonic Hedgehog, I remember doing all those things!! Me, all me! Eggman let me keep my free will so he could use my tactical prowess and memories and-.”

Interrupting her, Sonic let a low growl leave his throat as he shook his head fiercely. “That wasn’t you Sally Acorn!! I’ve been roboticized too, and I know how that song and dance went!” Shaking his head he placed a soft kiss to her forehead as he held her close still. “Buttnik didn’t give my mind as much leeway as Eggman gave you, but I wasn’t some common bot-job either. Point is you’re still programmed to follow their rules. Just like Robuttnik made me do as he wanted despite any freedom of tactical thinking he left me.” He grit his teeth trying to suppress both his memories of that time and his growing anger.

“The same applies to you being made to follow that- that, F**King Egg-face’s orders!” He cried giving in and cursing, using a word even he rarely uttered which caused Sally to gasp and stare at him in shock. Something Sonic took advantage of to press on with his words. “Even if you were given some mental free-reign Eggman still wanted dominance and control, meaning he was still using you like a puppet. You were still doing things you did not want to do deep down, because the Sally I know, the Sally I love would never do any of that of her true free will.”

Lip quivering Sally sniffled again, her grip on him tightening some. A fresh wave of doubt, both of her current crisis and old ones creeping into her mind. “Sonic, why? Ho-how could you still love me after all I did? All that I put you and the others through-?”

He interrupted her again with a kiss, soft, and quick, after breaking it his hands gently frame her face. “Because I can, because I do love you, and want to help you through this. Just like you did for me after I was roboticized and used against you all. Remember I wanted to die, but you not only turned me back but helped me deal with the aftermath.” Gently ‘booping’ her nose, he flashed her one of his soft smiles. “I still owe you a makeup date since, well the last one got interrupted by all the blow-out from the Nicole paranoia.”

Softly hiccuping for a moment as she tried to compose herself, Sally found herself slowly smiling if just a thin one. “Even if your girlfriend is a mess? Sonic I-I don’t know if I can trust myself, even if a part of me knows you’re right…” Laying her hands over his, she shook as another wave of doubt and sadness took her. “That was still me, what if what I went through woke up some nasty side of me, a part of me that willingly became a monster to-to ‘get the job done’?”

Firming shaking his head, Sonic leans in, his nose touching hers as his emerald eyes stare into her soft blue peepers. “Then the monster’s gonna have’ta deal with having me around to poke her or wag a finger in her direction. That said I don’t think there’s a monster, just the most amazing woman ever doubting herself. I understand some of what you’re going through Sal, and what I don’t I’m still here to help you along the way. We’ll get through this together like we always do.”

A true, warm, and wide smile crept onto Sally’s face before outright overtaking it. Leaning closer, her forehead, and his touch as she let herself be lost in his emerald gaze. “I don’t deserve you.”

Making a ‘hmm’ of deep thought, the hedgehog just flashed his trademark cocky smile back at her. “Hmm, judges say that’s hogwash. I think the Princess deserves nice things.”

Sally lifted an eyebrow, her mouth quivering as she barely withheld making a ‘snerk’ sound. “So you’re a nice thing?”

“Ten out of ten agree, when you go Sonic, you don’t go back.” He chimed in a sing-song, cheesy tone. Just happy to see her expression lighting up.

A happy laugh left Sally’s lips as she slid her arms around his neck. “I’ll give you that, I’d be lying saying otherwise.” Leaning closer, still staring into Sonic’s eyes, Sally craned her head to the side still leaning in. “I still think I don’t deserve you-.” “Sal-.” She put a finger to his lips. “However, I am very, very happy that you still love and want me even with all my flaws, and baggage.” “Like I’m not flawed-?” She interrupted him again, “Not finished, the bottom line is- oh screw it! I love you too, now kiss me!”’ Deciding words weren’t enough and anything else she said would be a mere retread of words already spoken. She removed her finger from his lips and closed the distance. Planting a big, ol’ wet, and hungry kiss against the Hedgehog’s lips. To which Sonic’s only response was to make a surprised if pleased sound and eagerly return the kiss. Each tightening their hold on the other as the sun fully began to set, and soon the sky lit up with fire-works from the celebration in the city. Almost as if to mirror the setting sun, giving way to the moon and the night; their kissing grew more passionate. Simple lip-to-lip meshing gave way to dueling tongues and their grip on each other began to pet and rub at the skin under their fur, as a heat grew between them.

Shrugging a shoulder, Sally let her vest start to fall off. Noticing this, Sonic started to grasp the article to help slide it back in place, but one of her hands grasped his wrist to stop him. “Don’t.” She pleaded, heat in her voice, her still tear-wet eyes opening to look into his. “I need you Sonic, I want to feel you all of you, kissing me, holding me, on me, in me…” Her soft words carried a mix of soft pleas from the inner turmoil she still felt; intermingled with a sensual huskiness that underlined her desire to be loved and make the pain go away.

Any argument about being out in the open, died without Sonic even uttering the thoughts. Certainly, the concern of being walked upon was there; as far from prying eyes as Freedom Fighter HQ was, they were sitting on top of the grassy hill on top of it. Anyone could wander by and get, well one hell of a show.

Sally’s loving, needy gaze, and soft pleas killed any objections as Sonic, helped her remove the vest and their kissing resumed. It was probably in their favor that the fireworks show went on as long as it did, dulling out sounds, a pretty distraction and if both Sally and Sonic were, to be honest, ambiance to the oldest dance they were engaged in without a care in the world besides each other.

Robotnik couldn’t destroy them, and neither would Eggman, they would endure as long as they had each other.

#Sonic the Hedgehog #Sally Acorn #Sonsal #Sonally #Sonsal Celebration #boundingforfreedom #boundingforfreedomsonsal #romance #Sonsal Week Year 2 #Prompt #hurt #Archie Sonic #Kntohole HQ #kissing

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aquaticalay · 4 years

Text

Centurion .Chapter One.

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Sequel to For Something Greater (If you have not read this, click the link to the masterlist in my bio.)

Summary: (Y/n) is an active duty Navy SEAL Commander, the first and only woman to ever become a SEAL. After successfully stopping a genocide with the help of the Avengers, she becomes a bridge between the military and the earth's mightiest heroes. But even as her relationship with Bucky grows, she decides not to tell him about the nightmares and trauma that haunt her. Both their secrets begin to unravel when Bucky accidentally stumbles upon a piece of dangerous information about (Y/n) that she doesn't know about herself— something she must never find out about.

Genre: Action, Drama, Romance

Warning/s for the series: cursing, violence, death, eventual smut, PTSD.

Warning/s for the chapter: refenrence to sex and anxiety symptoms.

Word count: 2.5k

Note: The plot is heavily inspired by the song 'in the dark' by Bring Me The Horizon, and 'Mercy' by Muse. So yeah, go listen to it if you want to :))) I'll post a new chapter every two days.

Let me know if you want to be in the taglist

(Taglist will be reblogged)

TRIGGER WARNING! THIS SERIES REVOLVES AROUND POST-TRAUMATIC STRESS DISORDER. (Including, but not limited to: anxiety/panic attacks, extreme mood swings , nightmares, intrusive thoughts, insomnia, irritability, hypervigilance, and hyperarousal)

New York was crowded, as usual. It was a good thing you weren't headed into the buzzing crowd. You didn't have to deal with the subway odors that could sting until your head hurts, or being cramped in the middle 8 million people in the center of the city. You’re going upstate instead.

These days you tend to avoid crowds. Too many things can go wrong in a place with too many people.

You just got back from a month-long peacekeeping mission in South East Asia with your squadron. It was nothing out of the ordinary. In fact, it was quite dull in comparison to your usual military operations. There wasn't a single clash in the mission, and you were thankful for it. You really needed a break from the non-stop violence, both mentally and physically.

The rest of the white squadron went home to their families, getting all the rest and relaxation they could get before the next operation briefing.

And here you are, taking a flight to visit friends, and dying to meet your boyfriend. Meeting Bucky, however, was not the sole purpose of your visit to the Avenger's headquarters. You had a job to do as well.

As you drove inside the Avengers' HQ, you were greeted by FRIDAY, who allowed you into the facility.

You parked up front, exiting your vehicle and locking it with a push of a button.

Sam was the first one who greeted you, hands folded and waiting for you outside. Friday must have notified him of your arrival.

"Captain," you said in an almost teasing tone. You gave him a short hug and a pat on the back. He returned it with a smile. "Commander," he replied just as lightheartedly, a playful leap in his tone, "You're two days early. Buck told me you weren't coming back till' Friday."

You shrugged, a smile tugging on your lips at the mention of his name. "Things went better than originally planned," you told him, "Besides, I've got something for you."

The only person present in the common room besides you and Sam was Wanda, who was making chamomile tea on the kitchen counter. The smell of roasted leaves left a hint of sweet aroma in the air. It was a nice scent, a good change of pace from the primal earthly smell of the forests of Borneo. Neither she nor Sam looked tired at all, which lead you to believe there hadn't been any missions for them lately. You greeted her with a hug and a hello, as well as sitting down to catch up with them on the events that happened while you were away.

Sam told you Bucky was going for a run, and he'd be back soon. You don't mind waiting. You might not have all the time in the world, but you did have all the patience that you needed.

As you were telling them about your mission, you heard a familiar voice coming from the entrance.

"Sounds fun," Bucky commented. He smiled, drinking water from his bottle, his hair tied in an effortless bun. And when you say effortless, you meant he really didn't care what it looked like, as it was an utter mess. You were usually there to tidy up his messy hair. But when you weren't there, he can't seem to do it properly by himself. You had mentioned that a haircut would be more practical, and he said he'd think about it. He probably won't cut his hair unless it covered his entire face. You find yourself amused at the thought of that.

He was wearing a black shirt and some running shorts, a hint of moisture in his skin, only barely sweating from both the heat and the exercise. His demeanor was confident, but not cocky. He looked like he was in a good mood.

Of course he is. You're here.

You looked back, a grin on your face. "Someone went for a run without me," you mentioned playfully, raising your eyebrows.

You walked towards him, and when you got close enough, he pulled your waist closer to his.

With a lopsided grin, he let you lay a hand on his bicep and press a kiss to his lips. It was short, like an acknowledgement. That was enough for Bucky.

He looked into your eyes. Under the glinting excitement of meeting him, he noticed that you were exhausted. You had circles under your eyes. Though it didn't look too bad, he sensed that it had taken a toll on you.

Sam cleared his throat, making the two of you look his way. "Are you done, Romeo? Or do you want us out of the room?"

"Actually—" Bucky started to say, but you cut him off abruptly with a half-forced cough. He tilted his head in confusion. "We're done," you stated shortly giving him a look that said, later. A hint of softness gave depth to your pupil, and he trusted that later, he'd have more time with you.

Still, it was unlike you to act so rushed when you just got back. Last time you got back from a long mission, you had insisted to lazily stay in bed the whole day with him. He complied that day, and he was confident to say that day was spent well.

Right now, you seem restless, and this worried him.

You walked away from him half-heartedly. The reunion with Bucky wasn't one you had in mind, as it only flashed before your eyes.

However, your visit to the headquarters this time isn’t just to see Bucky. You had a message to deliver from the US military, specifically the special forces..

Everyone that you needed to listen was here, and it was better to get this over with sooner than later. You pick your bag up from the floor, rummaging with the contents inside until you manage to take out a single brown folder, a Navy symbol at the cover. You throw it on the table, where Sam and Wanda was sitting. You sat down on one of the stools, Bucky next to you.

Sam was the first to pick it up. When he flipped to the first page, he looked at you inquisitively, "A council?" He asked.

You nodded, "To overview relations between the avengers and the special forces," you explain.

"And you agree to this?" Wanda asked, taking a look at the files. You could hear her voice falter. There was a hint of distrust in her voice. You don't blame her. She, like most of the avengers, went through the complication that is the Sokovia accords. You knew they didn't do too well with any deals that involves the government, and if anything, the accord left a bad experience.

"I don't know yet," you admit, "All they told me is that this council won’t limit your movement. You're still in charge of your own actions and missions. The only difference is that you can call special operations for back up if needed, and we can do the same, too."

"Anything else?" Sam asked, waiting for more. You shook your head, wishing you had more information than a five-page summary file. ”That’s all they said to me," you told him, "Everything else is written there. You better read that carefully. Special Ops wants an answer by next week. You have Five days to decide if you agree to this council or not."

“What if we don’t agree?” Bucky asked.

“The Avengers and The Special Forces stays separate, and we’re not allowed to go on joint missions, or collaborate in any way anymore.”

Bucky wanted more details, but anyone with decent hearing could notice the hint of exhaustion in your voice, so he didn’t push you for more explanation.

It wasn't only the mission that drained every last bit of your energy. During the last few months, you worked hard on cleansing SEAL, tracking down every last trace of Hydra, sometimes being ten feet deep in investigations until 3 in the morning. On bad days, you can't even force yourself to sleep. Nightmares become more frequent. Your mind felt more noisy, descending into chaos. Even though the reports show that you've done what you set out to do, you can't help but feel more paranoid than you should.

This paranoia wasn't your alone. It also belonged to many special operations officers who were aware of the Hydra infiltration. This resulted in the proposition of the council.

Despite knowing and understanding firsthand where the idea of the council came from, you promised that you won’t decide where you stand until you hear reasoning from both the Avengers and the special forces.

You felt Bucky's metal arm gently placed on your knee. From the corner of your eye, you saw him glance at you. He didn't seem comfortable discussing about this. It makes sense, considering that he was a victim of the sokovia accords. He was trapped in the heart of conflict that tore the Avengers apart. He didn't want his family torn apart.

You placed your hand above his reassuringly, your thumb rubbing circles across the smooth metal.

"I don't like this," Bucky muttered, finally admitting his distress out loud. "The council, the deal. Feels all too familiar." He closed the door of his room behind him. You settled inside, dropping your backpack near his closet. Inside the bag was a few sets of clothes, enough to last you a few days. You took a shirt and sweatpants out for a change. Bucky moved closer to you, and you pressed a kiss to his collarbone in an attempt to comfort him. It felt like a flutter against his skin. "At least hear them out, okay?"

You pull back, looking into his eyes. He had a slight frown on his face. His steely orbs look ghostly pale, almost baby blue. The creases on his forehead ran deep, but the longer he looked at you, the softer the lines become.

He took a deep breath, his human arm caressing your cheeks. "I'm sorry," he told you, slowly closing the gap, "It's just a lot of bad blood."

You curled your mouth into a smile that helped Bucky ease his anxiety. It helped yours, too.

"I won't let anything bad happen to you, James," you promised, pressing your hand gently against his torso. He was convinced that your words were sincere, like every other promise that ever left your lips. The way you said his name was calming, almost therapeutic. It made him inevitably fall in love with you all over again.

"I know," he replied in a fragile whisper, the sound cracking in your ears. He didn't say it, but you knew he was promising the same to you.

Slowly, he placed his lips on yours, sharing a breath of air. It started slow, increasingly gaining momentum like coin dropping from a building, going faster and faster due to the heaving effects of gravity pulling it to the ground like he was pulling you into him. You find yourself helpless, melting into his arms. You were candle lit ablaze for too long, his cold arm taming your overbearing wildfire of a flame. He held you, tasting your tongue on his, moving ever so slightly so you don't break. His touch felt so desperate and longing, reflecting exactly what he felt after over thirty days apart.

He smiled into the gesture. A contagious move that you were addicted to.

You pulled away to catch a breath, but did not stop for long. Bucky pushed a strand of hair behind your ear affectionately before resuming the long-due kiss.

You dropped your fresh clothes to the ground, turning all your attention to him, like nothing else in the world mattered, or even existed. You carefully slid your hands under the fabric of his shirt, fingers caving into every curve that felt like connecting the pieces of a puzzle.

You longed for him. You missed his touch and his breath on yours. You missed his quirky habits and playful banter. It was hard for both of you to be away from each other, but you're willing to pull yourself together for this to work. Being a SEAL was a demanding job, and so was being an avenger. Both of you go on mission for weeks or months at a time, and there was always a possibility of not coming back alive. Every second you spend together counts, making up for lost time.That's why talk about the council can wait, it has to. As important as it seemed to be, it was a job-related stress that has been thumping in the back of your head for days and days on end, consuming your body. But right now, it wasn't that important. The man in front of you was important.

Besides, changing clothes could be done in other, less conventional ways.ways.

You woke up in cold sweat when you heard a sudden sound of ringing bells at five in the morning. You started breathing heavily, and it took a moment for you to calm down and realize it was the church bell ringtone you chose for your phone. Someone was calling you.

You've never appreciated whoever invented the silent mode more than you did now.

But you were a Navy SEAL. Even if you wanted to, you were not allowed to have your phone on silent.

Grumpily grogging awake, you propped yourself onto your elbow, yawning slightly.

You could see an interruption of Bucky's chest delicate rising and falling, his soft adorable snores turning into a hitched breath. Disturbed by the noisy bell sounds, he slowly opened his eyelids. "What?" He growled quietly, his words only barely coherent. He lifted his head a little in confusion.

You sat up, taking your phone. You pointed at it. "I have to take this," you explained, "It's work."

He nodded slightly, dropping his head back on to the soft pillow.

You saw the screen and read the caller ID: It was Diego Miller, one of the men in your squadron.

You pushed the blankets off of you as you hurriedly tiptoe to Bucky's balcony, so you could talk without disturbing Bucky's rest.

"Hello," you answered hoarsely, forcing your sleepy lips and tongue to form clear words.

"Commander," he greeted, "Are you in New York?"

"Yeah." You took a deep breath and rubbed your eyes, "What's going on?"

"We've got an emergency operation," he informed, his voice alert, "Command wants you here in four hours."

You looked at the time. "Give me five hours," you said.

He answered sternly, almost immediately, "Four hours," he repeated, "It's non-negotiable."

"What's so important about this?" You ask tiredly.

"It's Hydra."

You stop in your tracks. Your posture tensed, eyes suddenly narrowing into the horizon, "Oh."

"The Naval base in Brooklyn is arranging a sonic flight for you as we speak," he informed, "You need to go there now."

You took a deep breath, sudden determination overpowering the exhaustion of your body. If it was Hydra, you were more than willing to end this once and for all. "I'm on my way."

"One more thing," Miller mentioned, "Don't tell Barnes it's Hydra. This mission is confidential."

It was not something you would keep a secret from Bucky if you had the choice, but what Miller was telling you was an order from Command. You will not defy it. It will bring more harm to your position than good.

"Okay," you manage to say before finally closing the call.

You could hear the door slide behind you, Bucky lazily walking towards you. Without warning, he laid his forehead on your shoulder, bending down so he could hold your body close to his. He was wearing nothing but shorts, his skin prickly cold like an autumn breeze. His prosthetic arm was even colder, a similar temperature to freshly fallen snow.

"They want me in Seattle," you break the news to him, wishing you didn't have to. He hums in disappointment, nuzzling further into your neck, "when?"

"Now."

"Already?" Bucky dragged the words in disbelief, "but you only just got here."

You ran your fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp to give him a sense of reassurance. "It's an emergency."

"What emergency?"

"I don't know yet," you lied, remembering the orders. You felt a pang of guilt, but you have to ignore it for now.

You pushed his chin from your neck to look in his eyes, "I'll be back before you know it."

Bucky nods.

You don't want to let go, but you know you have to.

#bucky #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes series #bucky x reader #bucky imagines #bucky imagine #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan imagines #sebastian stan fanfiction #sebastian stan #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes smut

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mirage-krp · 3 years

Photo

The guardians welcome [ SUYEONG ] to the city of Jeonseol. He is [ A WATER DEITY ] currently living in [ CORAL ] and working as [ SALES ASSOCIATE ] at [ ANDERS ].

Welcome to Mirage! Please follow the admin twitter within 48 hours of your acceptance.

Faceclaim: Choi Beomgyu - TXT Name: Suyeong Nickname(s): n/a Age: 1,000+ Date of birth: Unknown

Species/myth/cryptid/etc:

Suyeong is a water deity, considered a guardian of the ocean surrounding the Korean Peninsula. As such, he can control water both in it and out, so long as a source is nearby. He can communicate with and is a friend of all aquatic creatures, from the smallest organism to the largest. With the water as his realm, Suyeong can breathe beneath the waves and withstand the pressure that would crush humans. Though he can swim with ease in human form, Suyeong has the ability to take on the form of a sea serpent, which he uses to get through the ocean quickly.

As a deity, Suyeong is physically resilient, still able to be harmed but requiring more power to do so. If he were to be struck down, his spirit becomes locked in a seashell, protecting him until he can return after a period of anywhere from ten to twenty minutes. If the shell housing his spirit were to be destroyed, it would end him for good.

Weaknesses:

The farther away from the ocean that Suyeong is, the weaker his power is overall. If surrounded by plenty of alternative water sources, he does well, but would be very weak in an area mostly devoid of water.

Electricity / electricity based attacks.

Favourite song or quote: “You can never cross the ocean until you have courage to lose sight of the shore.”

Residence: Coral Houseboat 005

Occupation: Sales associate at Anders & jeweler

Personality:

Suyeong is a natural protector, empathetic and kind in general situations. He enjoys making friends and spending time with them, and he possesses a strong desire to help others. Though he’s seen much of the underwater world and tends to be wise, there’s still many things about land that he doesn’t understand yet. To this end, Suyeong is curious and may come off as innocent or naive. Despite his fair temperament, crossing him is done at the aggressor’s peril, as he won’t hesitate to speak up for himself. He has resorted to violence in some cases when no other option was readily available to him, though it would never be his first choice.

Mirroring the way an ocean can be thrown into chaos by storms, Suyeong is a force when swayed by anger. He can also be solitary, preferring to be left alone to reflect or when something troubles him. Solitude is more of a habit than a genuine trait, as Suyeong has spent countless years with very few like minded individuals to share his company. If he trusts the other person, he may open up and discuss his feelings rather than bottle them up, but trust doesn’t always come easily. Suyeong tends to put others before himself, particularly those with which he has developed a close bond, sometimes to the detriment of his own self.

Suyeong takes pride in his appearance, choosing to wear whatever he pleases without worrying about the opinions or standards of others. Yet, praise is something he’s weak for, and for him, flattery goes a long way. As confident as he is, Suyeong is prone to bouts of low self esteem just like anyone else. Making the leap from a world with which he’s familiar to a completely foreign world has been frequently overwhelming, the anxiety sometimes growing to more than he can handle. Suyeong dislikes large crowds full of loud noises despite his attempt at being more social, and in his dealings with others, he can sometimes do or say things that seem strange. He keeps trying, however, determined to prove to himself that he can adapt to anything.

Background:

The origin of Suyeong is a mystery, the details of which are unknown even to himself. Though his memory stretches far back through the centuries of his existence, he remembers only that he began to have conscious thought at some undetermined point in time. The beginnings of the deity’s life were largely spent at the bottom of the ocean, in the cold and fathomless depths. From there, he expanded his knowledge and his travels further. Suyeong is only sure of one thing concerning his origin: that he dwelled in the waters long before much of today’s marine life became as they are now. In his dawning years, he knew giants, beings that have long since faded into the past due to evolution and extinction.

As countless years went on, Suyeong came to love and appreciate the world that surrounded him. He befriended various aquatic inhabitants, some that would later inspire science, and others, myth. He was frequently sought out to settle disputes, being seen as impartial and fair. As friendly and as close as he grew with those that shared his home, Suyeong was, by nature, lonely. No matter how far he ventured, or how deep he dove, the serpent never found others quite like him. In this way he was isolated, a part of no world but his own. As earth took shape into islands, Suyeong looked on with interest, but feared the prospect of leaving his waters despite the temptation of finding any kindred spirits.

It wasn’t until the humans began sailing their first ships that things changed for Suyeong. At first, he would watch them sail by at a distance, enraptured and curious but cautious. Time passed, ever ceaseless, and he found himself swimming closer, then closer still. One day, he swam too close. The moment his massive, scaled head broke the surface, Suyeong was met with panicked screams. He watched confused as the humans, strange and utterly alien in their appearance, scrambled about on the decks of their ships. When they began to hurl sharp spears at him, Suyeong was the one to flee in shock, disappearing under the waves to safety.

The event caused Suyeong to observe only at a distance going forward. He watched as various ships of all shapes and sizes cruised along, but the trauma of being attacked always kept him at bay. That is, until he watched as a storm ripped a ship apart, scattering the wood, cargo and crew for miles. Whatever these creatures called humans were, they were clearly not fit for the ocean. Reluctant but knowing he couldn’t remain idle, Suyeong gently gathered all the humans on his back, swimming as close as he dared to the shore of the nearest island before allowing them to drift to the beach. He didn’t stay, vanishing like a ghost to the bewilderment of the members of the crew who weren’t rendered unconscious.

More years passed, with Suyeong finding interest in humans and their unique ways. He listened to their voices carry across the waves, rising in harmony as they worked. He watched them wage war and kill one another for reasons he could never comprehend, the sounds of their cannons the most horrific noise he could imagine. Their ships became more sleek, more streamlined for travel and battle. Suyeong was ever watchful, but it wouldn’t be long until he learned he could pass among them as one of their own. Another storm brought more casualties, but also waves stronger than even Suyeong could swim against while attempting to rescue the humans of another destroyed ship.

Suyeong woke battered but alive, curled up on a sandy beach. The crew had pulled together those who survived and had started camp, and when they realized Suyeong was awake, they appeared to offer him food. This surprised the deity. Why weren’t the humans reacting to him with fear, as they usually did? That was when Suyeong looked down at his body, and instead of seeing scales, he saw…a human form. Frightened and shocked, he fled into the ocean, resuming his serpentine body. It took him quite a long time to adjust to this new information, and with testing, Suyeong learned that he could become a human whenever he went on land. From this, he learned to hold the form, finding it possible to live in the ocean no matter which body he chose. Suyeong gained the ability to transform between human and serpent at will through practice. He used this ability to explore the islands he came across, until he became torn between living among humans and his duty to protect the ocean.

Recently, Suyeong has heard of a place inland that can house special creatures like him, far from human eyes. Ever the curious deity, he’s decided to try his luck and expand his horizons. Though he has started making a home for himself on land, Suyeong hasn’t forgotten the reason for his existence, and frequently returns to the ocean as his true home.

Any wanted connections?:

Fellow denizens of the ocean (friends, former lovers, enemies, anything!)

#m:accepted #fc:choi beomgyu #m:wanted connection

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princessromania13 · 4 years

Text

Welcome to my Life

The title is the song Welcome to my Life by Simple Plan

Tags: Isolation, trauma, nightmares, sympathetic Deceit and Remus, abusive Patton, let me know if I missed anything!

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

“Now, now, Deceit, what did I say about trying to get Thomas to lie?” Patton asked, with a grin that was just a bit too wide. Deceit gulped.

“Don’t.” he said, quietly.

“That’s right! But you did anyway. And you know what happens when you don’t obey direct orders.” the father figure said, still maintaining that ghastly grin. The scaly side nodded, avoiding eye contact.

“This was your last warning. Come with me.” Patton said. Deceit looked away. He didn’t know if he wanted to follow him or risk worse punishment.

“Come with me, Deceit. Now, preferably.” Patton ordered, firmer. He made his decision and walked after the moral side. He led him to his room. Patton stood by the door and looked at him expectantly.

“Go in.” the man said. Deceit walked in slowly, heart pounding. He headed over to his bed and sat down. He saw the door shut and heard a lock click. Of course, isolation again. He curled into a ball on the bed and sobbed.

Deceit didn’t know how long he had been in his room, but it seemed like it had been long enough. He should be let out any moment now. He got up and headed to the door, and stood there. And waited.

And waited.

Alright, he miscalculated. But it was best to check. He knocked on the door and waited for a response. It felt colder near the door than usual, he noticed. He pulled his cloak closer around him and sat down. He knocked again, a bit louder this time. Still no response.

“Is anyone there?” he asked, still hopeful for a response. Any moment now, someone would come and get him. Any moment now.

“Hello? Anyone?” he asked again. This wasn’t right. It was too quiet to be normal. Maybe everyone was asleep. That was it, everyone was asleep. That meant he should be asleep. He headed back to his bed and pulled the sheet over himself. He would get some good, undisturbed sleep and he would be let out in the morning. He kept those hopes in mind as he drifted off.

It was dark, so dark and the room was empty, apart from Deceit. He looked around frantically for a way out when he spotted a door. He ran to the door and tugged on the handle, desperate to get out. It was locked. Then the walls and ceiling started closing in on him. The door disappeared and he ran into the middle of the room as it slowly got smaller. Now the room had halved in size. Now it was only a quarter of its original size. The walls were almost touching him.

“You know what happens when you don’t obey direct orders, right?” a chilling yet familiar voice said.

Deceit’s eyes flung open as he screamed. He sat himself up, tears streaming down his face. He rubbed them away and got himself up. He shuffled to the door and tried the handly. Still locked. He sat down and let the tears flow out. Then something very unexpected happened.

“Hello, is someone being brutally murdered in there? If so, could you be a bit quieter? You’re scaring Virgil.” a voice said. He didn’t recognise the voice.

“Hello.” he replied.

“So someone IS in there! Hi, I’m Remus!” the voice said.

“My name is Deceit.” he replied.

“Funny, you’re the first side I’ve met who’s named after what they represent! At least, I’m assuming you represent deceit. Are you gonna come out?” Remus asked.

“Can’t.” he said.

“Why not?” Remus asked.

“Door. Locked.” he said. “Please could you let me out?”

“I mean I could try, how? Do I need a key? I don’t see a keyhole. Do I need to cut someone’s finger off?” Remus asked.

“Knob on the handle. Turn it.” he explained. He heard the lock click. He got out of the way as the door swung open. He could finally see what this Remus character looked like. He wore an outfit that resembled Roman’s, just more frilly, sparkly and the opposite colour scheme. He had a grey streak in his hair, a curly moustache and a big grin. Deceit cautiously walked out of the room and toward the grinning man. He left the door open.

“Scales!” he said.

“I’m so sorry the makeup must have rubbed off in my sleep I’ll cover them up as soon as-”

“What are you talking about? Don’t cover them up, they’re cool!” Remus said, interrupting his rambling. Deceit gave him a confused look.

“It’s a compliment!” Remus grinned.

“Why? I’m not worth complimenting.” he said.

“Who told you that? You know what, you seem new. I’ll show you around! Come with me!” Remus said. Deceit froze up on the spot. Patton had always said that before… before…

“Hey, you alright? Did I say something wrong?” a voice said. He felt a hand on his shoulder. A hand. On his shoulder.

“Patton says that when… when he…” sobs wracked his body, leaving him unable to finish his sentence.

“The light side? He’s not here now, he’s in the mindscape. He won’t hurt you anymore.” Remus said, pushing something into his hand. It was a small pillow that felt like it had rice or something in it. He turned it in his hand.

“Come on, let��s go get something to eat. The tour can wait.” Remus said, getting up. Deceit got up as well. When did he sit down again? It didn’t matter, what mattered was food. He followed Remus through a few hallways and into a kitchen. It was mostly made of a dark wood, unlike the white marble of the mindscape’s kitchen.

“All we have at the moment is sandwiches, neither of us are really that good at cooking.” Remus explained.

“Alright.” he said. Remus grabbed two sandwiches from the fridge and passed one to Deceit. He cautiously took a bite of the sandwich, then another, then dug right in and soon it was finished.

“Who’s that?” a new voice came from the doorway.

“Hey, Virgil! This is Deceit, and he’s from the mindscape!” Remus grinned.

“He doesn’t look like a light side.” the emo-looking side said.

“Not a light side.” Deceit mumbled.

“Well whatever you are, it’s late. D’you have a place to sleep?” he asked.

“N-no. No I don’t.” the scaly side replied. He technically did, but what if his room was moved back into the mindscape while he was still in there? This place seemed safe, wherever “this place” was.

“Huh. Well the couch is free until something’s worked out, so…” Virgil said.

“Thank you, sir.” he said. The emo chuckled.

“Virge’ll do, thanks. We don’t do formalities here.” he said.

“Right, sorry.” Deceit apologised.

“Nothing to apologise for! But it’s bedtime now, according to Virge so nighty night!” Remus said, disappearing.

“Anyways, we’ll talk in the morning, maybe. Living room’s down the hall. There’s no door there, but it’ll do. Night.” Virge said, also heading off. Deceit made his way to the living room and curled up on the couch. Maybe this place wouldn’t be so bad.

#sanders sides #royalwrites

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independentauthor · 5 years

Text

Breathless Reality Tom Holland X Original Character

Multi Chapter

Full summary: 21 year old Sydney is just trying to make dreams come true by touring the world, creating music, and making unforgettable memories. But some dreams you can’t make come true, they just happen on their own. Tom Holland falling in love with her was the most unexpected dream come true of all.

Warnings for full fic: Fluff, angst, mentions of sex, mentions of past trauma, and smutt (please let me know if I miss anything!)

Chapter summary: Tom and Sydney spend their first night together

Chapter 14

“Happy birthday Tom,” I whispered in the dark.

“Thank you love,” he answered, kissing my forehead.

It was midnight and Tom was holding me close.

We were somewhat covered by the sheets as we both only wore underwear.

Tom tightened his hold on me.

“How does it feel to be twenty-two?” I asked.

“I’m not sure,” he mused for a moment, “I don’t think it’s really sunk in yet.”

“It will once you have cakes and presents,” I said, causing him to laugh, “Did you want one now?”

“A present?” he asked, surprised, “You got me a present?”

“Yes Tom,” I said rolling my eyes, “It is customary to bring presents on someone’s birthday.”

“Alright then,” he smiled at me, “Let’s have it then.”

I moved to get up but didn’t get very far as Tom locked his arms even tighter around me.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked.

“To get your present?” I said, unsure why that wasn’t clear.

“You didn’t say anything about getting up,” he shook his head, “I’m not inclined to let you out of this bed.”

“If you want your present then you’re going to have to,” I said with a laugh.

“Mmm, I don’t think so,” he said pulling me closer, over his bare chest, “I’d much rather have you. You can be my present,” he said kissing my cheek, causing me to laugh more.

“Tom!” I said, as he kissed me all over my face, “Tom, come on!”

“No!” he said, continuing on, “It’s decided, you’re my present!”

I was consumed in giggles.

“Tom, come on! I actually spent time putting together your presents and I’d like you to have them,” I said, trying to catch my breath.

“Oh alright,” he said, his kisses slowing, “Just hurry, I don’t think I can bare you leaving this bed.”

Quickly I jumped out of the bed and rummaged through my bag, pulling out two wrapped boxes. In a moment I was back in the bed and in Tom’s arms.

He pulled me close and kissed my neck.

“Did you say presents as in plural?” he asked, stopping to look at me.

“Yes,” I nodded.

“Sydney, you didn’t have to do that. Really, you didn’t have to get me anything, you being here is more than enough,” he said.

“I wanted to,” I told him, handing him the first box, “Here, open.”

He gave me a small smile and tore off the wrapping paper.

“Wow,” he said, his face breaking into a wide smile. It was a CD that I had made him.

“It’s got some of my favorite songs on it, and songs that make me think of you,” I said.

“Thank you love,” he said, kissing me.

We paused for a moment, our lips a breath apart. But he melted his lips with mine and I responded without thinking. There was a few minutes of silence besides our broken breaths.

“Tom,” I warned against his lips.

“Sorry,” he smiled guiltily.

“No you’re not,” I accused.

“No,” he laughed, shaking his head, “I’m not.”

He looked at the CD again.

“I love it Sydney, thank you,” he said, kissing my cheek.

“You’re welcome,” I smiled.

He picked up the second gift and ripped off the wrappings.

It was a framed photo of us from the premiere.

He simply stared at it.

“I did a little looking, and from what I can tell that is our first official photo together and pretty much exactly the moment we met,” I said proudly.

He looked up at me with shinning eyes.

“This is amazing love, thank you so much,” he said leaning in to kiss me again. This time I didn’t stop him.

The next thing I knew, I was on my back and he was running his hands all over my body. It was amazing how quickly we became entangled, our bodies so close and moving together. He overwhelmed me. His hands in my hair, his fingers stroking my skin, his hips moving against mine. It was enough to make me feel intoxicated.

“Tom,” I breathed.

It was too much and not enough all at once.

I felt safe in his arms.

I had never felt safe before.

Tom continued to kiss me until he rubbed his nose against mine and smiled at me.

“You know birthday boy, if you want to enjoy any of the festivities later, we had better get some sleep,” I teased him.

“Ugh,” he groaned but smiled, “Alright then love, come here,” he said, pulling me into him as he laid down on his back.

I was more than comfortable as I snuggled my head against his chest, placing a kiss on his exposed skin.

“Goodnight birthday boy,” I whispered.

“Goodnight my love,” he whispered back.

And we drifted off into sleep.

Tags :

@cleocc

Author’s note: Thank you so much to everyone for supporting me! It means so much to me! Don’t hesitate to send me a message/ask I would love to hear from you!

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raebands · 5 years

Text

Part of Me

A/N: This is the first piece of Sabriel writing I’ve ever done. It’s also the first serious bit of Supernatural writing I’ve done! I’m rather pleased with it, even if it is depressing. I wrote this to go with the song Gabriel by Bear’s Den. As soon as I heard it, I was so inspired to write this, exploring Sam’s trauma and Gabriel caring for him.

Rating: I’d say teen and up? Nothing really horrible, but it deals with heavy themes. Pairing: Sabriel, but it’s really low-key Warnings: Potentially triggering in regards to self hate; deals with depression; references Lucifer and how he tortures Sam (nothing specific) Word Count: 1,837

Nights are always the worst. Every thought is amplified by the silence and the darkness. There is no escape from the demons that haunt the mind. The mind of a broken man. A man, who was once confident and strong, now shattered into a million different pieces, unable to be glued back together. No amount of grace could fix this.

The demons swirl, whispering damaging words that twist about, spreading the pieces of the splintered mind further and further apart. The shards will never be joined together again. The edges no longer match. There is no chance that they will ever be reunited.

One demon in particular spends an unholy amount of time in the fragmented mind. This is the demon that caused the split. Torture is this demon’s only hobby, and the skill involved overflows any healthy amount. It is this demon who can be blamed for the broken man’s instability. All the sleepless nights, the nightmares, and the sense of worthlessness originated from this demon.

And that demon’s name is -

“Gabriel!” The broken man shouts as he sits upright in his bed, unable to take the pain and pressure of being alone for another second.

No, the demon’s name isn’t Gabriel. Gabriel is an angel. A saviour. Someone who protects the broken man from the demon.

The door opens moments later. The angel wasted no time. He never does when it comes to the broken man. He stands, silhouetted in the doorway. A few shuffles later, the door is closed. The angel joins the broken man on the bed.

Strong and steady hands pull the broken man to lean against the angel’s chest. Quiet whispers calm the former’s pounding heart. He trembles in the arms of his saviour, clasping onto him tightly. Wetness seeps from the broken man’s hair onto the angel’s clothes, but he doesn’t care. He is never concerned with how he looks around the man. His deep fondness for the man prevents any thoughts about his appearance from taking over his mind.

“It was him,” the broken man says, a secret whispered into the angel’s shoulder. “Lucifer.”

That is the demon’s name. Lucifer. The demon who has tortured the man for years, ripping out everything that he’s ever loved. Tearing apart the man’s personality and replacing it with a broken shell of who he once was.

The angel hushes him, telling him that he will be okay. Reassuring him that this won’t be the end. He’s there. The angel will protect his broken man.

“He’ll leave you alone now,” the angel assures softly. “I’m here.”

The broken man turns his head up and looks at his saviour. His eyes are deep pools of sadness, dark in the dim room.

“It’s a part of me, Gabriel,” he whispers, brows furrowing. “I-I… I wish I could deny it. But… he lives inside of me. Every day. And I can hear him…. screaming in the night.”

The angel closes his eyes, frowning. Sorrow fills his bones. Sorrow for what the man has lost. He knows that now is the time to listen. The man doesn’t need to hear ways to make it better. He doesn’t need the problem to be solved in this moment. What the broken man needs is an angel’s ear to listen to his plight.

“It’s like… wherever I go, he’s always there,” the man continues, holding ever tighter onto his consoler. “He’s never far behind. I always lose against him. And when I’m alone, in the dark at night, we… we combine. We’re the same.”

A silence falls over the two of them as they huddle closer. The angel strokes over the broken man’s hair, comforting him in the way he knows works best. His heart is breaking for the man. Things similar to this have happened to the two of them before, but the angel has never seen him quite like this before. This is a new experience.

“Is this all I am?” The man’s voice cuts through the quiet.

The angel tries to reassure him; he needs to know that he is more than just a vessel. More than just a hurt man who can’t be saved.

“All that he’s won, is what I’ve lost,” the man continues.

At this point, the angel knows that there must be something he can do. It’s impossible for him to just leave it like this. He has to do something.

“How can I help you?”

The broken man is quiet. Silent. He is unsure of how to answer. He just really needs the angel to listen to him. To hear him out, and understand what he’s feeling.

“Can’t you see the shape I’m in?” He asks in his head. But those are not the words that come from his mouth.

“Just don’t leave me,” he whispers instead. “Don’t leave me alone.”

The angel has no plans of leaving. Not when he can see that the man is so fragile. So close to completely shattering in this moment. The angel can always tell when the broken man needs him the most, and it is evident that now is one of those times.

A few long moments drag by in silence. The only sounds are those of the man’s heartbeat and the soft breaths as he attempts to calm the frantic pounding of his chest. The angel keeps himself close to the man, his arms wrapped around him.

The broken man somehow looks small despite his large stature. He is tucked up into a ball, curled as close to the angel as he can get. It’s something of a mystery. How does such a large man make himself so small? The answer is surprisingly simple. Pain and fear have beaten him down to the point that his body is just a shell. A shell that has a nasty habit of crumpling in on itself.

Angel hands trail up and down the man’s back to comfort him. The pain that the man feels fills the room. It’s a heavy sensation. Like the air itself is too thick to breathe. Even the angel has to fight it, his chest feeling tight.

Time passes. No more than ten minutes. The man takes a deeper breath than those he’s been able to take. The energy in the room hasn’t changed, but something else has been added to the mix. Some sort of tension. It’s the feeling that occurs when someone is about to say something.

“I don’t even know who I am anymore,” the man’s cracking voice breaks the heavy tension. “I’m… foreign to myself. A stranger in the dark, a, a face I barely recognize.”

A sharp intake of breath splits his sentence. Try as he might, the broken man is not able to keep himself from crying. Voicing his thoughts just makes it even harder to stop the rivulets of tears rolling down his thin face. They make the dangerous leap from his chin, crashing onto the fabric of the angel’s shirt and dampening it.

“I’m not myself anymore,” the broken man continues. “When I look into the mirror, it isn’t just a shadow of who I used to be. I’ve left behind an entire life. I… I hate the person I am now.”

Truthfully, the broken man despises himself. He abhors the things that he has done. All the people he has damaged. All those who lost their lives because of him. There’s nothing left for him to like about himself. He’s just too crippled at this point to even really consider himself a whole person in the first place. How can anyone love someone this mangled?

“Will I ever be able to reconcile it?” The man whispers into the dark, clutching onto the angel tighter. “All that I’ve done? The people I’ve hurt, or gotten killed?”

The angel’s frown deepens. He’s unsure of what to say. There are so many things he should say. He should be reassuring the man.

“Is this…. All I ever was?” The broken man croaks out, his voice weak and rough. “Was this all I was ever supposed to be? A… a tool? Something to use to hurt people? I’m just his vessel, right?”

The angel can barely believe the words coming from the man’s mouth. After all the good that he has done, he still believes that he isn’t good? He remains convinced, after all the good he’s done with his life, that he was only made with one purpose. An awful purpose. And it’s just not true. Not in the slightest.

“No,” the angel whispers, his hand slowly moving over the man’s hair in a comforting way. “No, that isn’t all you are. That’s not what you are at all.”

Anger bubbles up inside the angel. The fact that the man in his arms has been put through this much and has had all of this weight piled onto his shoulders enrages him. It isn’t right for his father to do this to anyone, and surely not someone like this.

“You are a hero,” he goes on, still holding the broken man close to him. “You’ve saved the entire world. A few times, actually. You’re made for greatness, and you’ve achieved it. You are so strong. The strongest person, human or otherwise, that I’ve ever met.”

The angel isn’t sure if it’s helping at all, or if it’s just annoying the man. Regardless, it needs to be said. The broken man needs to hear and understand just how amazing he is. He should know what he means to his family. To the world.

The broken man remains silent, unconvinced. He appreciates what he’s trying to do, but it just doesn’t help. He’s heard this before. There’s nothing new in what the angel is saying, and because of that, it doesn’t have any effect on him or how he feels. It’s just the same old recycled words. Though he knows the angel is trying to help, he can’t stop the almost bitter feeling coming up in his throat.

He doesn’t know how to say that it doesn’t help. He doesn’t want to sound rude. There’s no part in his body that wants to hurt the angel. He just wishes he would stop.

“Won’t you hear me out, Gabriel?” The broken man says softly, still curled up against the angel.

The one thing he really needs right now is company. Not words. Not actions. Just simple closeness with someone who cares about him.

“Can’t you see the shape I’m in? That’s… not helping. Words won’t help. Just…. Don’t leave me alone. Just don’t leave me alone….”

So the angel does just that. He falls silent. Closeness is what his broken man needs, and closeness is what he will give to him.

They stay this way throughout the night. The angel acts as the broken man’s saviour, keeping the demon at bay. He may not be able to piece the shards back together, but he can keep the man’s mind from splitting further. And that will have to be enough.

#rae writes #sabriel #sabriel fanfic #gabriel #gabriel fanfic #sam winchester #sam winchester fanfic #gabriel by bear's den #bear's den #song inspired fic #supernatural fanfic #supernatural writing

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dustedmagazine · 5 years

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Chromatics — Closer to Grey (Italians Do It Better)

youtube

Up till now for Chromatics, style was the substance. Their main effect was to make you feel part of their icy clique of pretty people. Their stripped-down disco found hooks as needed. But verse and melody have been secondary to the perfect analog synths jiggling like the reflection of a nightclub marquee in the gutter, the guitar trembling like the ripples of rain, a breathy voice too hurt to express emotion, all of it transpiring long after midnight. Honed to an unblemished glow on their last major statement, 2012's Kill for Love, new songs have appeared sporadically. But for years now, the announced follow-up Dear Tommy has been a tease, even getting pressed to LP and CD, only to be pulled for falling short of internal expectations.

Life traumas and perfectionism had set upon main mover Johnny Jewel, taking Chromatics towards a paralysis akin to My Bloody Valentine in the wake of Loveless. Both acts share a talent for the sultry. Both tease nuance out of chaotic analog electronics. Rumors of incremental, obsessive progress didn't hurt the mystique. Then, rumor free, Closer to Grey drops suddenly at the onset of October, with a big Roman numeral VII on the cover, implying Dear Tommy and another sibling are still out there, smoking under an awning across the street, and will take the stage eventually.

Surprisingly, all that gossip now feels moot, because Closer to Grey is as tight as Kill for Love is sprawling. It hits immediately, whereas its predecessor took time building spells. Perhaps this record was written and cut quickly, explaining the new immediacy, even if it's as fluorescent as ever. Johnny Jewel has two decades of low budget glam to his name, and this might be his finest 45 minutes. All the predictable cool shit is in here — Dario Argento dread, spectacular vintage synth patches, Ruth Radelet's double tracked ennui, and a deconstruction of "Sound of Silence" that somehow wrings sparks out of a song everyone has heard too many times (and is meme fodder these days.) The band's mastery of emptiness does strange things to rock standards that have been emptied out by familiarity.

What's unexpected is how the craft has tightened up. Their originals are now songs someone else could cover, strong enough to stand free of the colored gels and hourglass silhouettes. Radelt's vocals, and the lyrics she sings, are less buried in mood. The title track is wrapped in Robert Smith styled guitars, and the whole record has something akin to The Cure — a willingness to take on stock rhymes and plain emotions, confident that the melancholy will push past cliché. There are only a few spots where they draw things past pop song length, like the fuzz throb that envelopes the sallow "Touch Red,” but every measure counts there too. There's a solo by something under heavy distortion, probably a guitar, but it's as rigid as a digital arpeggiator and takes dives into glitchy crackle. The instrument builds tension by moving through a scale like someone climbing up the stairs to their apartment after being dumped. Even instrumental interludes like "Love Theme from Closer to Grey" find this kind of weight.

The other cover on this album, Jesus and Mary Chain's "On the Wall" strips down a song that was already minimalist, simplifying jangle to power chords, and coming up with an even simpler drum machine loop. The effect showcases the clock-watching fatigue of lyrics, bringing wooly ease to a portrait of depression. But the two covers of acclaimed artists are on equal footing with the likes of "Twist the Knife,” where Chromatics wring charm from the words "you could teach me to be cruel, like the way they tortured you." There's something resembling existential wisdom running through the couplets on Closer to Grey, along with a corniness that's game to scrawl a heart with an arrow and initials on the bathroom stall. After being showcased on the reboot of Twin Peaks, validation from the master of red light surrealism seems to have nudged their confidence to the next level. This is world weary pop, but it's completely uncynical. Reserved and melodramatic at the same time, it doesn't worry about the incongruities, satisfied to be both wilted and very alive.

Ben Donnelly

#chromatics #close to grey #italians do it better #ben donnelly #albumreview #dusted magazine #sophisti-pop #disco #simon and garfunkel #jesus and mary chain

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adrianna-m-scovill · 6 years

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By Chance

This started as a fulfillment of a request but then got a little self-indulgent. There are a lot of song lyrics. I created a Spotify playlist featuring the versions of the songs that most closely resemble the arrangements I imagine in the fic (except for one song, "Tougher than the Rest" - the original Springsteen version is in the playlist because the one I wanted wasn't available. If you want a reference, though, you can find it on YouTube: Darren Hayes's cover of the song.)

Also, in this fic, The Undiscovered Country episode didn't happen, alright? I honestly wasn't sure if this was going to be before that episode, after it, or just an AU where it didn't happen, but by the time I got to the end, it seemed to fit with the emotional episodes leading up to Country, so I feel like maybe this episode happened, you know, INSTEAD of that. ;)

On AO3

Rated Mature, approx. 6400 words

I promise he’s not a weirdo, Rollins had said, and Benson kept playing the words over in her head. So far, the assessment felt accurate. He seemed normal. Nice. He held open both her car door and the door of the restaurant, and he pulled out her chair.

If they decided to go on a second date, she would tell him he needn’t bother with some of the niceties—but for a first date, she wasn’t going to fault him for his consideration. They were nice gestures, and she appreciated the thoughtfulness. All through dinner, he’d been polite, attentive, engaging. Funny. He was attractive, intelligent.

She was having a nice time, but there was something holding her back from really enjoying herself. She wanted to find something wrong with him, but she didn’t think he was the problem. It had been with reluctance that she’d allowed Rollins to arrange the blind date in the first place, and now she was wondering why she’d given in.

Nevertheless, she was determined to give him a chance. He’d taken her out for a nice dinner, and had even asked if it bothered her if he paid the bill. Rollins had vouched for him, everything about him seemed nice and normal, and it had been a long time since Benson had been out on a date—especially a first date.

If he invited her back to his place, she thought she would probably say yes—assuming it didn’t seem as though he were more emotionally invested than she was. She did find him attractive, and knew that it was mutual. He was a doctor, and she was sure they could both stand to blow off a little steam.

Her job, while always stressful and often disheartening, had been especially trying over the past few weeks. She and her squad had dealt with one horrible case after another. Barba had been doing an admirable job of piling up convictions but there always seemed to be another scumbag waiting to crawl from the woodwork. Often, it felt like a never-ending battle, and she couldn’t exactly go home and discuss the stresses of her day with her son.

She couldn’t discuss them with her date, either, but that was alright. He didn’t need to know the details; he understood stress and responsibility, and he thought he understood some of the horrors she’d seen; as a doctor, he’d often seen the aftermath of the violence with which she dealt. He didn’t really understand, of course; he couldn’t. But a partial understanding was better than none at all.

After dinner, when he asked if she wanted to go somewhere for drinks, she agreed without hesitation. More alcohol would help. They took a cab to a small bar of which she’d never heard, and she was glad. She’d been to so many of the city’s bars, investigating assaults, and she didn’t need those memories when she was already struggling to compartmentalize.

If she hadn’t agreed to go on this blind date, she’d probably already be half-drunk in Forlini’s with Barba. He’d asked her if she wanted to get a drink—which never actually meant one drink—but she’d already let Rollins set up the blind date.

She heard the piano as soon as they walked into the bar, and realized that there was live music. She wouldn’t have guessed, based on how small and obscure the place seemed to be. The pianist was playing “Let It Be,” and Benson offered her date a smile as he helped her out of her jacket.

When the pianist started singing, though, she hesitated, frowning. There was something instantly familiar about the voice, something that immediately drew her attention and made her turn her head toward the piano tucked into the far corner of the bar. She couldn’t see the singer, though, and she stepped away from her date, barely remembering he was there, trying to get a clear view past the group of women huddled near one of the tables.

Benson had just been thinking about Barba as she walked into the bar, and when she first caught sight of the singing pianist, she was half-convinced her mind was playing tricks on her. It couldn’t actually be him; rather, it must be someone who looked like him, and because she’d already been thinking his name—

But, no. It was him. Rafael Barba, ADA, playing the piano and singing a Beatles song in the back of a small, dimly-lit, off-the-map bar. He was wearing black pants and a white shirt, unbuttoned at the collar; he hadn’t changed his clothes after work, he’d simply removed half of the suit.

He didn’t look up while he sang into the microphone. His eyes seemed to be focused on the top of the piano, near his glass of scotch, and his thoughts seemed to be far away from the bar and its patrons.

“Olivia?” her date asked, and she turned, startled to see him holding out her chair.

“Sorry,” she said, giving her head a little shake. “Uh, do you mind if we sit over here?” she asked, pointing to a nearby table from which she’d have a better view of the piano.

“Sure,” he said, taking her jacket from the back of the chair and moving it to the other table. She seated herself and let him scoot her chair in, but her eyes had already returned to Barba. He had transitioned into another song. He wasn’t singing, but watching his own fingers play across the keys with a small frown knitting his brow.

She recognized the melody, but without vocals she couldn’t quite place it. She looked at her date. “What song is this?” she asked.

“‘Moon River,’” he said. She nodded, her gaze sliding back to Barba. He played beautifully, but she found herself longing to hear him continue singing. She’d never once heard him sing in all the years she’d known him, before tonight, and she was still having trouble believing it was really him. “I’ve seen him here a few times. He’s good. Plays a wide range of stuff, classical, jazz, show tunes, Springsteen. Last time I was here, he played ‘Just a Closer Walk with Thee’ and ‘The Old Rugged Cross’—nobody here seemed to notice or mind that he was playing church hymns. He sort of blends into the background, but I think he likes it that way.”

Benson nodded, unable to come up with anything to say. She felt suddenly emotional. Part of her wanted to go over there and put her arm around her friend. Part of her wanted to sneak out of the bar so he wouldn’t know she’d seen him.

“I’m going to run to the restroom, if a waitress comes could you get me a whiskey?”

Benson nodded, barely glancing at her date.

Barba finished ‘Moon River’ and reached for his drink. She thought he might glance around the room, but he didn’t. He swallowed half of his scotch, returned the glass to the top of the piano, and put his fingers over the keys. She watched him, fascinated. He hesitated. She saw him close his eyes and take a deep breath, and then he started playing.

When he started singing, her heart stumbled in her chest.

“There’s a grief that can’t be spoken…There’s a pain goes on and on…Empty chairs at empty tables…now my friends are dead and gone…”

She vaguely recognized the song as being from Les Miserables, although that was a surprise in itself; she knew almost nothing about musical theater, a fact that had exasperated Barba almost as frequently as her lack of recognition of his obscure literature quotes.

The source of the song didn’t matter, though. What mattered was the rawness in Barba’s voice. In years of working together, in years of friendship, she’d seen his eyes shimmering with tears. She’d heard his voice crack with emotion. She’d seen his face flushed with anger. She’d seen him close to losing control.

You and I are done talking, she thought, wincing at the painful memory.

She’d seen him close to losing control, yes, but she’d never seen his control actually break. And she had never heard him like this.

“Here they talked of revolution. Here it was, they lit the flame. Here they sang about tomorrow, and tomorrow never came.”

As he continued singing, she barely noticed the lyrics; the words were unimportant. Here, in a room surrounded by twenty or so strangers, Barba had sequestered himself in a corner with a piano—and laid his heart bare. He seemed unaware of the people listening to him, and yet he’d flayed himself open before them, allowing them to see a side of him that Benson had only been shown glimpses of in six years.

She wasn’t hurt or offended by that. She’d never fully let her guard down, either. Their walls were part of who they were. They shared that in common and recognized their similarities.

The pain she was feeling wasn’t because she was upset that he’d never let her see this much of his emotion; her heartache was for him. Watching him, hearing the pain in his voice—a pain not even directly related to the lyrics—made her want nothing more than to be able to comfort him.

“Oh, my friends, my friends, forgive me, that I live and you are gone. There’s a grief that can’t be spoken. There’s a pain goes on and on. Phantom faces at the window, phantom shadows on the floor. Empty chairs at empty tables, where my friends will meet no more. My friends, my friends, don’t ask me, what your sacrifice was for—”

Benson thought of all the faces she’d seen twisted in pain, all the families she’d seen torn apart. She thought of the grief and trauma that she and Barba had witnessed in just the past couple of weeks. She knew exactly what he was feeling, and her own heart was breaking in response to the crack in his voice.

She didn’t realize she was crying until her date appeared beside her. “Are you okay?” he asked.

She looked up, startled, blinking his face into focus. “Oh. Yeah.” She shook her head and swiped at her tears, suddenly self-conscious. “Just…the song, I guess.”

He nodded, but he looked unconvinced. He was regarding her carefully, and she resisted the urge to fidget. “I’m going to go get drinks,” he said, since no one had come to take an order.

“Okay,” she said, her gaze sliding to Barba as the last note of the song ended.

Barba was looking at her, and she felt a jolt of awareness as their eyes met. He seemed stunned to see her, and for a moment, neither of them moved or breathed.

“Do you want wine?”

“What? Oh.” No, she definitely needed something stronger. “I’ll take a scotch,” she said, on impulse, even though she wasn’t a fan of the stuff. Barba looked from her to her date. She saw him swallow. He reached for his glass and downed the rest of his drink without looking at her, returning it to the piano with a small clunk. “Can you do me a favor and have one sent to—the piano player, too? Neat.”

“Sure,” her date answered, still studying her with a strange look on his face.

She met his eyes and forced a smile. “Thanks,” she said. As soon as he’d turned away, however, her eyes were back on Barba.

Barba wasn’t looking at her, but she could see that he’d been affected by her presence. He was frowning at the keys. His shoulders were hunched, and he seemed unsure of what to play as his fingers hovered over the ivory. She felt guilty for having thrown him off his game. If this was the place that he came to feel safe and comfortable, to let off steam, then she didn’t want to be responsible for ruining that for him. She thought about asking her date if they could leave—either find another bar, or call it an evening.

“The world was on fire, and no one could save me but you,” Barba started, in a low voice, and she couldn’t breathe. “It’s strange what desire will make foolish people do. I never dreamed that I’d meet somebody like you. And I never dreamed that I’d lose somebody like you. No, I don’t wanna fall in love. No, I don’t wanna fall in love, with you…What a wicked game you played, to make me feel this way. What a wicked thing to do, to let me dream of you. What a wicked thing to say, you never felt this way. What a wicked thing to do, to make me dream of you and I wanna fall in love. No, I wanna fall in love with you.”

He didn’t look at her once during the song, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from him—from his defensive posture, to the scowl on his face, to the way his fingers played across the keys.

As he was finishing the song, a waitress walked up and set a fresh glass of scotch on the piano, taking his empty glass. She murmured something to him, gesturing behind herself, and Barba’s gaze followed the gesture toward Benson’s date—who was setting her scotch on their table. Her date tipped his whiskey in a silent salute, and Barba nodded once in acknowledgement, still frowning, before turning his attention back to the piano.

“It’s not simple to say, but most days I don’t recognize me. These shoes and this apron, that place and its patrons, have taken more than I gave them. It’s not easy to know I’m not anything like I used to be, although it’s true I was never attention’s sweet center—”

“Interesting choice,” Benson’s date said, and she looked at him. He was sitting beside her; she hadn’t noticed him sitting down. Catching her eyes, he smiled and, gesturing toward Barba with his whiskey glass, said, “It’s from the musical, Waitress? I’ve heard some male singers do it on YouTube.” He hesitated. “I’m guessing you don’t spend much time on YouTube, though?”

With a small laugh, she shook her head. “No,” she agreed. “And I don’t know much about musical theater.”

“She’s imperfect, but she tries. She is good, but she lies. She is hard on herself, she is broken and won’t ask for help. She is messy but she’s kind. She is lonely most of the time. She is all of this mixed up and baked in a beautiful pie. She is gone but she used to be mine.”

She might not know the play, or the song, but she knew what Barba was singing about. He was singing about her, but not just her. He was singing about himself, but not just himself. He was singing about both of them. These shoes and this apron, that place and its patrons, have taken more than I gave them. He could be singing about suits and ties, courtrooms and crime scenes, suspects and victims—these were the things that had, over the years, taken bits and pieces from their hearts; these were the things that had led them to add bricks and mortar to their emotional walls.

“Who’ll be reckless, just enough, who’ll get hurt but who learns how to toughen up when she’s bruised and gets used by a man who can’t love…and then she’ll get stuck and be scared of the life that’s inside her—growing stronger each day, ‘til it finally reminds her to fight just a little, to bring back the fire in her eyes that’s been gone…but used to be mine.”

“She—the waitress—is trying to find the courage to leave her husband, and looking back on the dreams—Are you sure you’re alright?”

She blinked back her tears and shook her head.

“We can leave, if you want. I mean…if you’re not—”

“No, it’s good. I’m good,” she said. “I don’t really know the music, but…it’s good,” she repeated, unable to articulate any better than that. She wasn’t sure why she didn’t tell her date that she knew Barba. Maybe she just wanted to protect Barba’s anonymity. Maybe she didn’t want to admit to her own emotional turmoil. Either way, her friendship with Barba felt private, personal—something to be guarded, and she didn’t bother trying to analyze the feeling.

“Okay,” he answered, looking and sounding unsure. She knew she was being unfair to him, and she took a drink of scotch with a grimace. “Do you not like scotch?” he asked.

“It’s fine,” she said. “Do you go to the theater a lot?”

“My grandmother loved only two things as much as her family—Audrey Hepburn, and Broadway. The song he played a bit ago, ‘Moon River,’ I probably heard a thousand times growing up. Breakfast at Tiffany’s was almost always playing. Now this song, is more obscure,” he said, pointing a finger in Barba’s direction. This guy, Ramin Karimloo, he starred in The Phantom of the Opera, he wrote this song for this, like, country music album he did—He sang ‘Edelweiss’ as a country—You know, ‘Edelweiss,’ from The Sound of Music?”

She nodded, but she was only half paying attention. He knew that, of course, even though she was studiously keeping her eyes away from Barba and the piano.

“There are times when I fall through. I can’ t feel the love in you. I know that I’m pushing you away from the man you knew. It’s not always black or white, the gray obscures and blocks the light. So why not paint me red tonight? But I’ve got to feel what’s right. And there you are, you’re losing you in me. And there you are, I’m losing you from me. And there you are, we’re losing you and me.”

“Seems like someone had his heart broken.”

Benson opened her mouth but closed it again without speaking. If he wanted to think that Barba was singing about a break-up, or something similarly trivial in the broad scheme of things, she would let him believe that. She knew better, though. She knew what Barba had seen and heard.

“Whenever I’ve seen him here he seems pretty serious, but he’s more…melancholic than usual.”

The past few weeks have been harder than usual, she thought, remembering the face of the girl whose murderer Barba was currently prosecuting. Benson had had twenty years of seeing similar images. Barba was newer to the horrors, but they were not something a person could ever get used to.

“No, this is not a simple choice. There’s nothing left now to rejoice. Johnny Cash and Jimmy Joyce, speak for me now, use my voice. And there you are—you’re losing you in me. And there you are, I’m losing you from me. And there you are, are we losing you and me?”

She looked at him, she couldn’t help it. Their eyes met. They both reached for their glasses of scotch at the same time, and she drank half of hers quickly, needing the emotional fortitude.

She heard Barba clear his throat near the microphone.

“Well it’s Saturday night. You’re all dressed up in blue. I’ve been watching you awhile, maybe you’ve been watching me, too. So somebody ran out, left somebody’s heart in a mess. Well, if you’re looking for love, honey, I’m tougher than the rest. Some girls want a handsome man, or some good looking Joe. Some folks like a sweet talking Romeo. Around here, baby, I’ve learned you get what you can get. If you’re rough and ready for love, honey, I’m tougher than the rest. The road is dark, and it’s a thin, thin line. But I want you to know, I’d walk it for you any time.” He looked over at her—the first time they’d made eye contact while he was singing—and her heart stumbled in her chest. “Maybe your other boyfriends couldn’t pass the test. But if you’re rough and ready for love, honey, I’m tougher than the rest.”

“This is a Bruce Springsteen song, although I’ve never heard it done like this. Must be somebody’s cover version. I think Shawn Colvin did one…”

“Well, it ain’t no secret, I’ve been around a time or two. Hell, I don’t know, babe, maybe you’ve been around, too. There’s another dance, baby. All you’ve gotta do is say yes. If you’re rough and ready for love, honey, I’m tougher than the rest.”

She swallowed the last of her scotch.

“Do you want another?”

She shook her head. She’d lost her desire to get drunk. “Thanks, I’m…going to run to the bathroom and…maybe we should go?”

He nodded. His expression was solemn, and she knew that she’d ruined whatever connection they might have forged during dinner. It hadn’t been intentional. She’d been determined to give him the attention he deserved, but she’d failed. Ever since walking into the bar, she’d been able to focus on nothing but the man at the piano, the words he was singing, and the emotion in his voice.

She glanced at Barba, who was watching her rise from the table.

He started a Billy Joel song that she recognized, and her stomach fluttered. She looked away, unable to do anything else.

“A bottle of white. A bottle of red. Perhaps a bottle of rosè instead. Get a table near the street, in our old familiar place. You and I, face to face. A bottle of red, a bottle of white. It all depends upon your appetite. I’ll meet you any time you want, in our Italian restaurant.” She was almost to the bathroom when he finished the verse, but instead of continuing the song, he transitioned into a different Billy Joel song, and she hesitated outside the door. “I never ask you where you go after I leave you in the morning. We go our different ways, to separate situations. It’s not that easy, anymore. Today I do what must be done. I give my time to total strangers. But now it feels as though the day goes on forever, more than it ever did before. Until the night, until the night, I just might make it. Until the night, until the night, when I see you again.”

She ducked into the bathroom, thankful no one was inside.

“Now you’re afraid that we have changed, and I’m afraid we’re getting older. So many broken hearts, so many lonely faces. So many lovers come and gone. I’ll have my fears like every man. You’ll have your tears like every woman. Today we’ll be unsure, is this what we believe in? And wonder, how can we go on? Until the night…”

She stood at the sink, looking at herself in the mirror. Even through the door, his voice, and his words, surrounded her. She was crying. She felt like something inside of her had been broken open. It hurt, but there was something sweet about the pain.

She went into one of the two stalls and peed, and she could still hear Barba’s voice.

“When the sun goes down and the day is over, when the last of the light has gone. As they pour into the street I will be getting closer, as the cars turn their headlights on. As they’re closing it down I’m gonna open it up and while they’re going to sleep, we’ll just be starting to talk. I’m just beginning to feel, I’m just beginning to give, I’m just beginning to heal, I’m just beginning to live—”

Sitting on the toilet in the bathroom stall of a bar, Benson put her hands over her face and choked back a sob. She couldn’t have put into words what she was feeling. She knew she had to get control of herself and her emotions, though. She had a date, sitting out at a table patiently waiting for her. She swiped at her eyes, taking a deep breath. She swallowed the lump in her throat and shook her head.

She left the stall and washed her hands, again looking at herself in the mirror. It was obvious that she’d been crying, but there was nothing she could do about it. Barba was finishing “Until the Night,” but instead of ending, he transitioned back into “Scenes from an Italian Restaurant,” and she drew another shaky breath as she stepped out of the bathroom. She had herself under control. She looked at Barba and caught his gaze.

“A bottle of red, a bottle of white. Whatever kind of mood you’re in tonight, I’ll meet you any time you want in our Italian restaurant.”

She would’ve been in Forlini’s with him, drinking, if she hadn’t agreed to this date. Barba wouldn’t be singing depressing songs in a bar, and she wouldn’t be feeling guilty about neglecting a perfectly nice friend of Rollins’s.

Barba’s song was not an indictment, though. It was an offer, and one that he’d never quite been able to put into words of his own. He’d asked her out for drinks. He’d asked her to dinner. The invitations had always been reserved, though. He’d been careful to never suggest anything other than friendship, at least out loud.

Her date didn’t bother asking—again—if she was alright. He got to his feet as she approached, and held up her jacket. She turned, letting him help her into it, and she met Barba’s eyes again. She looked away quickly. This was not the time or place for what they needed to say to each other.

Barba started “In My Life,” and she supposed it was fitting that The Beatles would play her both into and out of the bar. Her eyes were burning, but she would shed no more tears in this place. She didn’t look back toward the piano as she left with her date, but she thought she could feel Barba’s eyes following her out.

It was after 11, which meant that Forlini’s was closed. In fact, it was almost midnight. She’d gotten home around 10:30, but she never would’ve made it to the restaurant before closing, so she hadn’t even tried. He wouldn’t expect her there, anyway, not tonight. That wasn’t what he’d been saying.

He didn’t expect her to be sitting on the floor beside the door to his apartment, either. She saw the surprise on his face when he stopped in the hallway. After the surprise, she watched several emotions play across his features. Happiness, grief, fear, and relief; they were all there. She felt them all, as well.

He walked toward her, slowly. She’d changed out of her dress and high heels, and into slacks and a t-shirt and sneakers, and she’d scrubbed the makeup from her face; she’d done so quietly, to avoid waking Noah, after asking Lucy to stay the night.

She’d taken a cab to his apartment, because she’d had a few drinks before that final scotch. She was feeling very clear-headed, though, as she looked up at him.

Barba stopped by her feet and reached down a hand.

She put her palm against his, and as his fingers wrapped around her hand, she felt the warmth of his touch spreading up her wrist. He pulled her to her feet and they stood looking at each other. He chewed his lower lip for a moment, and she could see all of his emotions shining in his eyes; all of the things he’d never been able to say.

“It was a blind date,” she said.

He gave his head a little shake. He didn’t care.

She didn’t bother to add that it had been by complete chance that they’d ended up in the same bar as him. Her surprise had been as apparent as his.

“I would’ve gone for drinks with you,” she said, because she felt like she needed to make sure he knew that. “But…I wouldn’t be here, would I?” That needed to be said, as well.

“I’m sorry I made you cry,” he said, softly. He drew a breath through his nose, and let it out, slowly. “But, I’m…” He swallowed, and she saw his expression tighten. He searched her eyes, and she knew what he wanted to say. She knew, but she waited. “I’m glad you came,” he said.

She stepped forward and raised her hands to his jaw. “Me, too,” she said. She pressed her lips to his. Her heart was pounding in her chest. He closed his eyes and inhaled through his nose, but his eyes opened when she pulled back to look at him. “Do you want to let me in?” she asked, and they both knew she wasn’t just talking about his apartment.

“Yes,” he breathed, barely audible. He hesitated, holding her gaze. “Do you…want to come in?”

She smiled. “Yes,” she said. When he fished his keys out of his pocket, his hands were trembling. She touched his wrist, and he swallowed, looking at her. He let her pull the keys from his fingers, and she unlocked the door and pushed it open. He followed her into his apartment and closed the door while she set his keys on the table.

She turned and pushed him gently against the door, and as she kissed him, his hands went to her arms; his grip was tight, and she wasn’t surprised when he abruptly turned her, pinning her against the door. His hands were heavy as they settled at her waist, and his mouth was rough on hers. His knee nudged her thighs apart as he leaned into her, pressing her against the door.

She could feel his desperation; his kiss was frantic, and hard, and she could feel his pulse thudding beneath the hand she’d settled against the side of his neck. She could taste the scotch on his tongue, and she could feel the emotions that were trying to tear him apart.

She knew what it was like to feel as though she were coming unmoored, to feel like she was losing a grip on herself. She knew how it felt to give too much of herself to the world. She knew the feeling of being lonely in a crowded room, surrounded by people who couldn’t possibly understand the thoughts in her head or the feelings in her heart. She knew how it felt to desperately need an anchor, something, anything to hold onto.

She didn’t care that his kiss was rough, or that his hands were fumbling their way beneath her shirt. She didn’t care that his knee was lodged between her thighs or that his growing arousal was pressed against her leg. She didn’t care that he was half-drunk. She knew what he was feeling, and she would be his anchor.

She unbuttoned his pants and pulled his shirt from his waistband, and he made a sound in his throat; his hand was inside her shirt, hot and hard as it found her breast, and she fumbled for the button of her own slacks. He had her pinned against the door so that she could barely move, but she somehow managed to push her pants down and kick them, and her shoes, off.

She slid her hands into his boxers, cupping his backside and pulling him closer, and he broke away from her mouth, panting.

“Liv,” he said.

“I’m here,” she answered. She reached up and slipped her fingers into his hair, tugging his mouth back to hers. She draped her other arm over his shoulder, holding onto him as he grabbed the back of her thigh and lifted her leg. She bent her knee around his hip, shifting her other foot on the floor.

He entered her quickly, roughly—desperately, and she held onto him. He pulled his mouth from hers, dropping his forehead to her shoulder as he thrust into her, breathing raggedly. She kept her hand in his hair, her fingers against his scalp. His movements were frantic. She could feel the pressure building inside of her but knew she wouldn’t reach the edge in time. And, that was alright. She held onto him as she felt the tremors passing through his body, as his hips slowed, as she felt him come inside her. She wanted to hold him forever.

His breaths were irregular against her shoulder. He shifted his hips, withdrawing, and she felt a pang of regret as she lowered her foot to the floor. He lifted his head and drew back, reaching for her hand. He pulled her toward the bedroom, and she followed him on unsteady legs.

She didn’t resist when he pushed her, gently, onto the bed. He slanted his mouth over hers, and she felt his palm on her inner thigh as he urged her legs further apart. A moment later, his thumb found its target and she arched against his hand. He slipped one finger, and then a second, inside her, and she groaned into his mouth, closing her eyes.

He circled her clit with his thumb as he moved his fingers, and she found herself thinking of his hands on the piano keys, moving effortlessly across the ivory. She came quickly, tightening around his hand, trying to draw his fingers deeper, and he finally pulled his mouth from hers so they could both breathe.

He sank against her, breathing heavily, his cheek on her chest, and she wrapped her arms around him, holding his head against her heart.

“Liv,” he said, again.

She tightened her arms. “I’m here.”

“I’m afraid I might lose myself,” he murmured against her shirt.

“I know,” she said, running her fingers through his hair.

“Sometimes I…don’t know if I can…keep doing it,” he said.

Her stomach clenched. “You’re not alone,” she said. She rubbed his back, hesitating. The thought of losing him was terrifying, but she loved him too much to do anything other than support him—whatever his decision. “No matter what, you’ll never be alone,” she said. “If you need to…leave, if you—”

“I’ll never leave,” he said, his grip on her tightening.

She swallowed around the lump of emotion in her throat, trying to tamp down her relief. “You have to do what’s best for you,” she told him, quietly.

“You’re what’s best for me,” he muttered. “You’ve changed me, Liv, the way I see the world. You made me care.”

“You always cared,” she answered, softly, stroking his back. “You were the guy who took the cases no one else would take, who fought for the victims no one else believed or cared about. You might’ve had everyone else fooled with the swagger and smirk, Barba, but I saw you right away. You’re the same person you’ve always been. But this job, it takes a toll. Believe me, I know. I’ve seen it destroy people, chew them up and spit them out. But it wasn’t because they admitted they cared. It was because they tried to pretend, tried to convince themselves that they didn’t. You, you’re braver than that. You’re fearless.”

“I’m terrified,” he countered. “Terrified of pushing you away. You, you’re fearless.”

“I’m afraid of a lot of things, Rafael, but the thing I’m most afraid of is that you don’t know how much I love you—because I never told you. Because you asked me to get a drink, and I turned you down, and it’s my fault you were alone—”

He lifted his head and shifted upward, pressing his lips against hers. His eyes were closed, but after a moment, he drew back and looked down at her. “We’ve both been on our own for…most of our lives,” he said. “I always thought that’s what I wanted. The job was all I cared about, all I needed. But I was wrong. What I needed was you. Someone who would tell me when I was being an ass or remind me what I was fighting for. And maybe…maybe you needed me, too. Someone who would tell you when you were wrong,” he said, a small smile touching his lips when she raised her eyebrows. “We might not always agree but we’re always on the same side,” he added, his voice soft as he searched her face.

“Always,” she agreed.

He bent his head and kissed her, his lips gentle against hers. “Every time I think I can’t do it anymore, I look at you,” he murmured, tucking her hair behind her ear as he studied her face. “With you on my side, I can do anything.”

“Next time you go back to that bar, if you ask me, I’ll go with you. I’ll sit in the back and not even look at you, if you want. All you have to do is let me be there for you. You don’t have to tell me what you’re feeling. You don’t have to say anything. Just let me be there. I won’t let you down again, I swear.”

“Hey,” he said. “You’ve never let me down, ever. I love you, Liv. I can’t promise I’ll say it a lot but I can promise I’ll always feel it.” He let out a breath and bent his head so his lips were near her ear. “Can you stay the night?” he whispered.

“Yes.”

“Liv,” he murmured into her hair.

“Yes?”

His breath was hot at her ear. “I’ll never finish before you again, I give you my word.”

She felt a shiver pass through her. “I don’t care about that,” she said.

“I care,” he said, lifting his head to meet her eyes in the darkness. “It won’t happen again. But…thank you. I do love you, Liv. More than you can know.”

She smiled. “Oh, you’d be surprised,” she answered, softly, before pulling his mouth down for a kiss.

“Let It Be” and “In My Life,” written by John Lennon/Paul McCartney

“Moon River,” written by Henry Mancini

“Empty Chairs at Empty Tables,” written by Claud-Michel Schonberg

“Wicked Game,” written by Chris Isaak

“She Used to Be Mine,” written by Sara Bareilles

“Losing,” written by Ramin Karimloo

“Tougher than the Rest,” written by Bruce Springsteen

“Until the Night” and “Scenes from an Italian Restaurant,” written by Billy Joel

#barson #rafael barba #olivia benson #svu fic #svu fanfiction #barba singing

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