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sunnydaisy1 · 3 years

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Arts and Crafts

SAM WILSON X READER

A/N: there is not enough sam fics on tumblr so here I am. I haven’t edited this i am too tired for life right now. Also please send me requests for marvel especially peter parker, sam wilson, bucky, steve and scott.

You yawned as you walked into the main kitchen and living area the avengers shared. Tony had sent a message round to everyone telling them to gather here and considering that the time was 7 o'clock in the morning you weren't best pleased. Nat was leaning against one of the counters and snorted at your sleepy expression as you walked past her to the coffee machine. You glared at her and returned to your coffee making, rubbing your eyes as the machine started pouring caffeine into your mug. Once the steaming beverage was done, you sleepily dragged yourself to the breakfast bar and plopped down into one of the stools. At that moment, Steve, Sam and Bucky entered the room, obviously having just finished a group workout as they were all freshly showered and wafting man smell everywhere. You rolled your eyes at their annoyingly energetic selves and sipped your coffee. When Sam noticed your slumped form at the bar he smiled softly and walked over to you, scooting into the seat next to you and reaching out to take a sip of your coffee. Unfortunately for you, you were too late to prevent the smirking soldier from slurping a large proportion of your beverage. You grumbled and glared at Sam who passed you back your mug with a cheeky grin. "You look cheery this morning." He said, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning onto the counter. "Well sorry mr early bird but some of us don't appreciate being woken up at the crack of dawn for a meeting stark called and hasnt even turned up for yet." You snarked back, causing a chuckle to fall from Sam, "It's quarter past 7 love, dawn was 3 hours ago." You glared at him for what felt the 100th time that morning and felt a small heat rise to your face as you saw the obnoxiously handsome smirk Sam held on his face and the way his biceps were bulging as they leaned on the bar top. "Same thing." You mumbled, draining the last drops of your coffee. Tony walked in and Steve grumbled a 'finally' as you all turned your attention to the billionaire carrying some pastries. He dumped them in front of you and Sam and you both instantly reached in to pull out breakfast. "What's this all about then Stark?" Sam asked as he chewed on his pecan twist. "Ive gathered you all here because we have got a charity event today for some of the schools in the area. You all will be hosting an activity for the kids. We have 2 hours until they all arrive." You grimaced as you vaguely remembered Tony mentioning the charity event a few weeks back but you had been so busy on missions recently you had forgotten. Judging by the similar looks on the teams' faces around the room, you gathered that the event had also slipped their minds. "So... Steve and Bucky you will be hosting the self defense taster down in the gym, a few agents will also be down there to ensure you aren't teaching them anything too aggressive..." Tony continued to list off everyone in the room and ticked off his checklist, "Okay and finally, Wilson and Agent L/N will be hosting arts and crafts in the downstairs hall." At once Sam spoke up, "wait why have I got stuck with arts and crafts?" You chuckled at his distraught expression, he obviously thought he was above painting and colouring. "Why you scared of a lil glitter Sammy?" You giggled and he glared at you, hating the effect that nickname had on him. "No...I just think my talents lie elsewhere." He replied causing you to snort. "Well suck it up Wilson." Tony replied and you saw Bucky and Steve wetting themselves on the other side of the room. Sam had obviously noticed too as he had a huge frown on his face and was scowling at them. "Alright everybody go get ready, all your supplies should be in the rooms already. And remember, 2 hours until they arrive." You sighed and stood up, placing your mug in the dishwasher. Sam was waiting by the door, and you nudged him as you both walked out, "Come on Wilson, cheer up, your stuck with me for 6 hours." Sam groaned and rolled his eyes, "Oh great." When you both reached the room, your eyes widened when you looked at the large pile of boxes brimming with craft supplies stacked in the middle of the room. "Jeeezz." Sam breathed out, walking over to inspect the mountain. You both opened the cardboard box lids and scanned the supplies, "Where do we even start?" You asked, baffled at the amount Tony had ordered. "Guess we just start with one box and empty them until it's all set up." Sam replied and you nodded, tying your hair up into a ponytail. Almost 2 hours later, the room had been transformed into a neatly organised explosion with paint, pencils, glitter glue and many other supplies on each table. "Okay, we have 5 minutes until the kiddos arrive." Sam stated, checking the watch on his wrist. "Cool, I'm gonna grab us some water and snacks from the kitchen. Try not to break anything while I'm gone." You teased and Sam playfully rolled his eyes, "Alright." When you arrived back into the room, arms loaded with bags of snacks, you immediately laughed at how awkward Sam looked surrounded by little kids all badgering him with questions. You quickly distributed the food into one of the empty cardboard boxes in the corner and walked over to Sam, giggling at his wide eyed expression of fear. "Hey everyone!" You said loudly, gathering all the little kids attentions, "I'm Y/N and this is Sam. We are gonna be doing arts and crafts with you today, how does that sound?" At once all the children cheered and you glanced at Sam who stood in awe and fear. "Okay then, lets all sit down at a table and we can start." The kids all ran to a chair and you walked over to Sam, "you okay Sammy?" He nodded slowly, "I don't know what I'm meant to do, they're so small." You chuckled and took his hand in yours, dragging him over to a table. "It'll be fine just relax, they can smell fear," You whispered. Soon, each child was creating some sort of masterpiece and you were sitting with a small group of kids who were colouring. "Wow Amy I love your dog it looks awesome." You commented, making the shy little girl beam. "Thankyou." She replied and you smiled, carrying on colouring a picture you had attempted to draw of an elephant. Glancing up to check on Sam, you looked to see he had a girl sat on his thigh as they both coloured something. You felt your heart begin to swell and butterflies fill your stomach as you watched the adorable scene. The girl was happily chatting away to Sam and he was nodding, laughing every so often and replying to many of the kids around the table. "Could you please pass me the green?" Tom asked, one of the boys sitting opposite Sam. "Yep, there you go." the soldier replied and Tom thanked him before returning to his drawing. The little girl sat on Sam's thigh tapped his arm and he looked down to her, "I want to give this to my Mum when I go home." Gracie said and Sam nodded, "that's very nice of you." Gracie blushed a little and grinned, "you should give your drawing to Y/N, then she could put it on her fridge like my mummy does." Sam glanced down at the image Gracie had drawn of Sam and you together that he was colouring. "I don't know about that..." He said and Gracie frowned, "you should give it to her and then she'll want to marry you and stick all your drawings on the fridge." Sam choked on his air a little, "why would she want to marry me because I gave her our picture?" Gracie sighed as if Sam had just asked the most obvious question there was, "because she loves you." "What? No she doesn't Gracie." Sam replied and Gracie shook her head, "Mummy told me when people love each other very much they look at each other in a special way and you and Y/N look at each other like that." Sam gaped at the little smiling girl on his lap and struggled to form any words at how outright she was being, "Oh urh no I dont think so." Gracie then giggled and said, "Plus Y/N was looking at your bum earlier so she definitely wants to marry you." Sam felt heat rise to his face and Gracie shrugged, not phased at all by their conversation. The pair continued to colour together and the topic quickly changed to the pasta Gracie had eaten last night for dinner. When the last few kids were leaving the craft room as it had eventually reached 3pm, you sighed and groaned at the mess of glitter and pens all around you. "I do not want to clear this up." You stated and Sam nodded, standing up from his chair, "Neither, I never knew kids could be this messy." You chuckled and glanced at the soldier walking towards you, instantly breaking out into laughter when you noticed the large red streak of paint across his cheek. At once Sam frowned and stopped next to you, "What?" You giggled and wiped your thumb across his cheek, showing him the red paint he had somehow managed to acquire. "Oh..." Sam said, rubbing the paint with the back of his hand but managing to just smudge it more. You chuckled and shook your head, "Sorry Sammy but your just making it worse." He huffed in frustration and put his hand down, giving up with cleaning his face, "Oh well, I'll wash it off later." Eventually, the room was turned back into a presentable state with only specks of glitter littered across the floor that you knew would be impossible to remove. You yawned and walked to the entrance, followed closely by Sam who turned the light off. "Im exhuasted." He said, trying to stifle a yawn. "Me too, I'm gonna head up for a shower." You replied and Sam nodded, "Alright, I'll see you later, chinese for dinner." You softly smiled and both walked to your seperate rooms, ready to wash off the paint and glitter encrusted into your skin. When you had given up on trying to remove all the glitter from your hair in the shower, you headed into your room and huddled under your duvet, wanting to catch up on some netflix before dinner. A knock at the door interrupted your series selection and you looked up to see Sam standing at your door, a small smile on his face. "Hey y/n." He said, closing the door behind him. "Hey Sammy, did you need anything?" You asked, confused why he looked so nervous. "Oh uh no, I just wanted to give you something." He replied, walking closer to you as you stood up and put your laptop on your cabinet. "Oh okay." You said, smiling under Sam's soft gaze. He handed you a sheet of paper and you frowned in confusion before turning it over and giggling. Sam rubbed the back of his neck nervously watching your eyes scan the drawing Gracie and him had made. "I know its stupid but I wanted you to have it." Sam said quietly and you looked up at his shy smile, "I love it." You grinned and he seemed to let out a breath of relief, "you can stick it on your fridge." You chuckled and rubbed your thumb over the drawing of you and sam standing together. "Thanks Sammy." The aforementioned soldier felt heat rise to his face and saw your eyes flick down to his lips. "Uh I should probably find Nat... see what she urm wants for dinner." You said awkwardly, trying not to focus on the way Sam was chewing his lip and the tight grey shirt he was wearing that unfairly showed off his chiselled chest and arms. "Oh right." Sam nodded, seeming to break out of a trance and opened your door, "I'll uh see you later yeah?" You nodded and he stepped out, looking at you one last time and giving you a small smile before disappearing down the corridor. You looked down at the drawing in your hand again and groaned, heart and muscles aching for you to run after the tall man and press your lips against his. Instead, you shut you door and walked to Nats room. When you knocked on her door, the red haired agent opened it with a knowing smirk on her face. "What's Wilson done now?" She asked and you groaned, stepping in to her room. You held out the drawing he gave you and Nat scanned it quickly before looking up at you in confusion. "Why have you got a drawing of you and Sam?" She asked, frowning. "He gave it to me." You sighed, causing Nat to laugh. "He gave it to you?" You nodded and Nat grinned, "wow he is so in love with you." You rolled your eyes at her sarcasm, "Wow thanks Nat. But seriously how am I meant to refrain from jumping his ass when he keeps doing adorable stuff like this?" Nat laughed and handed you back the paper, "You just need to go and tell him or you'll spend the rest of your lives dancing around each other and not doing anything about it." You sighed, "I know. But what if he doesnt like me back then I've just screwed up our friendship and the team dynamic." Nat nodded sympathetically, "I know it's scary but come on that man loves you to death and somehow everyone but you can see it." You looked down at the drawing again and nodded, "Fine, but if i end up dying on the spot from embarrassment after his rejection I'm blaming you." Nat rolled her eyes and pushed you out the door, shouting a 'good luck.' You nervously walked down the corridor and up the short staircase to the kitchen. Sam was leaning against the table, looking at something on his phone with a frown. Your heart instantly sped up and stomach did a hundred flips. You walked softly into the shared dining area and coughed lightly. At once, Sam looked up and smiled. "Urm I uh need to tell you something." You nervously stuttered, avoiding looking into his deep eyes. "Oh okay." Sam said, mind instantly running with negative ideas that you were hurt or he had done something wrong. "I urm well I... I think that you're urm." You looked up at him and his concerned eyes met yours. "Please could you uh turn around." Sam's face flitted with confusion, "wait what?" "I urm I cant talk with you looking at me like that." You said and Sam frowned but turned around. "Okay." He softly said, and you scanned his form, trying to build up the courage to tell him. "I guess I well I just want to say that I think you're the most lovely person in the world and I dont think that I could live without you Sam. You make me feel so comfortable and calm me down when I feel like the world is collapsing on me. You never fail to make me smile and I feel like the room lights up when you walk in. I love how kind and sweet you are to everyone but also how you make the stupidest jokes in the world and laugh your head off. I'm in love with you Sam and want to spend the rest of my life with you." You looked up to see Sam turning around to face you. You couldnt bear to meet his eye, knowing any possible friendship was now gone. A soft hand touched your cheek and lifted your head up, making your teary gaze meet his. "I'm in love with you too Y/N and I never want to leave your side." Sam pressed his lips against yours softly, making your heart stutter with happiness. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed your body against his, deepening the kiss as his hands squeezed your hips tightly. "Hey sam whens the chinese.... oh." Bucky said, his voice trailing off when he saw his best friend passionately kissing you. He wolf-whistled and chuckled, "Took you guys long enough." Sam broke apart from your lips, resting his forehead against yours, "Fuck off Buck." Bucky sniggered and walked out the kitchen again, hand raised in surrender. You opened your eyes to see Sam looking at you, "I love you." You spoke softly, "I love you too" before pressing your lips against his again and smiling into the kiss.

#sam wilson x reader #sam wilson #sam #sam wilson imagine #sam wilson fic #sam wilson oneshot #falcon #the falcon x reader #falcon x reader #falcon imagine #anthony mackie x reader #anthony mackie #anthony mackie imagine #anothony mackie oneshot #sam wilson is life

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fremedon · 3 years

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Brickclub 3.3.7, “A Bit of Skirt,” and 3.3.8, “Marble Versus Granite”

I feel like I don’t have much to say here that @everyonewasabird hasn’t said in his writeups of these two chapters, so I’m just going to stick a pin in Marius’s internalization of the word ‘ingrate’ and the recurring image of a character turned to stone and write up what else I’ve got, since tomorrow we hit Almost Historic. (And we’re spending the rest of the week, and the next two, on the six chapters of 3.4, “The Friends of the ABC.”

Observations, in no particular order:

--We’re revisiting the notion of destructive curiosity--rapacious curiosity, even, in the way Gillenormand and Aunt Gillenormand pry into Marius’s affairs here. And I’m struck by how well Théodule comes off despite also getting drawn personally into discovering Marius’s secrets: “And no longer acting for someone else but out of personal curiosity, like dogs that hunt on their own account, he started to follow Marius.”

He even gets a dog metaphor! Those are never good! He literally stalks Marius on tip-toe, which is a hilarious image. But, like Fauchelevent, he satisfies his curiosity and doesn’t use what he’s learned--he doesn’t inform on Marius, for money and favor or for scandal-mongering.

--Théodule deals much better than any other member of the Gillenormand family with being proved wrong. He jumps to the same conclusion Gillenormand does--Aunt G feels “her conviction grow irresistably from that word ‘sweetheart’ delivered in almost exactly the same way by great-uncle and great-nephew”--but when he actually sees that Marius’s rendezvous has been with a grave...it weirds him out, a lot, but he does actually take this new information on board and modify his behavior accordingly. Good job, Théodule.

--The narrator is lying, or misdirecting more than he usually he does here: “[Théodule] came to Paris rarely, so rarely that Marius had never seen him. The cousins knew each other only by name.” Marius has never seen Théodule, at least not to put a name to him and remember him, but Théodule recognizes Marius perfectly well.

(I assume that Marius met Théodule years ago, when he was a child and Théodule was a teenager, and remembers Théodule as being a foot taller than him with bad skin and mismatched features. He has never made the connection to the handsome man of middling height who sometimes visits his aunt. And no one’s thought to introduce them, because of course Marius has met Théodule!)

--Marius speaks “stiffly, with eyes downcast.” Like Fantine, he noticeably avoids eye contact when under stress.

--Just before that:

Marius reddened slightly and replied, “It means I’m my father’s son.” Monsieur Gillenormand stopped laughing and said harshly, “I'm your father.”

The contrast between Gillenormand’s insistence on paternity and Valjean’s attempts to disavow his is sure...something.

--Priest imagery alert: “[Marius] was the priest who sees all his holy wafers thrown to the wind, the fakir who sees a passer-by spit on his idol.”

--Fatalité alert: “There are always these little accidents of fate that complicate domestic dramas. As a result, resentments increase although no additional wrongs may have been done.” In this case, Nicolette drops Marius’s locket on the dark staircase, and Marius assumes it’s been destroyed.

--T/V variation alert: Gillenormand, “[l]eft with a vast reserve of fury to expend and not knowing how to vent it,” addresses his daughter as vous for more than three months.

--I am fascinated by the convoluted entry we get into Volume III, the Paris half of the book, and its characters. We’ve taken our time getting into Volumes I and II, but our introduction to the characters was mostly packaged up into pretty discrete chunks: We had one book on the bishop, one on Valjean, a digression of one short chapter, and then followed Fantine as as our viewpoint character for the next three books. In Volume II, we had one book of Waterloo, ending with a glimpse of Thénardier and Pontmercy; then a brief, outside-POV look at Valjean; and then book III sketches Cosette’s world in two quick chapters on Montfermeil and the Thénardiers and stays in her POV until Valjean arrives, whereupon we rejoin him.

In Book III, I’ve been trying to follow what you would actually know of the characters when, on a first reading with no knowledge of the plot, and it’s wild.

We get most of a book on gamins in general; one chapter of Gavroche’s intro, which is completely at odds with the character we’ll eventually get to know; a mention that the family that kicked him out (of their room in the Gorbeau House) is named Jondrette and that his mother loves his sisters, which is the first and so far the only clue we have to the Jondrettes’ identity; and, as the last two lines of book 1, “The cell next door was occupied by a very poor young man called Monsieur Marius. Let us explain who this Monsieur Marius was.”

...and then we jump into a whole book of eight chapters on Gillenormand. The last few lines of chapter 8 establishes that he has a grandson, still unnamed, and says “We shall return to this child”--which we do only after meeting the Ultra salons, then Georges, and then only toward the end of Georges’s chapter do we learn that his son is the aforementioned Marius. (And it takes all of Book IV, and the introductions of all of the Amis, to get Marius into the Gorbeau House.)

We talked a lot in Book I about the time it took us to properly meet Valjean, and all the outside viewpoints we get before we really get into his head, but compared to Marius’s introduction the book is *really direct* about Valjean. The narrative sneaks up on him as if he’s a cat we’re trying to pill, and I’m not sure why.

#brickclub #lm 3.3.7 #lm 3.3.8

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diveronarpg · 4 years

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Congratulations, BECKY! You’ve been accepted for the role of LADY MACBETH with an approved FC change to Karrueche Tran. Admin Cas: Ah, Lucrezia. She’s undoubtedly one of my favourite characters here, and for good reason. She’s perceptive, calculating, enchanting, and perhaps most importantly of all, utterly terrifying. I adored your application from start to finish, Becky - you captured every dark ambition, every siren song, every scheme and subterfuge that Lucrezia’s ever used to her advantage. Femininity is her weapon, and she knows exactly how to use it. Honestly, I could feel the beat of her heart in every single word you wrote. This line in particular got me: “You must shed your snakeskin and free the heart-thrum-fresh creature which lays ready and waiting beneath.” Your Lucrezia certainly isn’t for the fainthearted, and I’m so excited to watch how she flourishes in your capable hands! Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Becky

Age | 24

Preferred Pronouns | she/her

Activity Level | WFH so online daily.

Timezone | GMT

How did you find the rp? | Blast from the past !

IN CHARACTER

Character | Lady Macbeth, Lucrezia Falco

What drew you to this character? |

There’s blood on your hands and it won’t wash out. There’s blood on your hands and it glistens, deep and dark and vicious. There’s blood on your hands and it whispers like a friend, like a confidant, like a lover.

There’s blood on your hands – and you know this is the price to pay for greatness.

You will build your empire piece by piece until a crown of power rests against your brow. If the streets of Verona must run with ichor, so be it. You are the flower and the serpent. You are becoming and unbecoming. You are forging yourself anew until the person looking back at you in the mirror is a reflection you deem worthy.

Docile smiles have never been a currency you can afford to use. When you were younger, bright and teetering on the edge of foolishness, your mother and father had wished for a doe-eyed daughter. Instead, you had come home from school with a bruise marking your face and a blade-sharp smile cutting across your mouth ( the other girl had looked far worse ). Makeup had covered the purpling skin from friends and family, your mother chiding you with a loss for how to tame her daughter. Your parents had done all they could to brush aside your misdemeanours. This is what happens when you grow up in a house which thrives on concealment: you get good at hiding your sins.

You feel yourself being picked apart. The decadent dance of decaying debutante. You must shed your snakeskin and free the heart-thrum-fresh creature which lays ready and waiting beneath. Your heart turns to a sticky dark mess that slides through the fingers of anyone who dares to try and save it.

You were never built to be soft.

Venom pools in your mouth, tart on the tongue. Dark eyes shine bright in the nighttime, flashing a smile to distract from danger. Laughter echoes down a cobbled passageway and silence pools along stone grooves soon after, matching the rust-coloured criss-cross patterns that decorate your palm as soap and water cleanse you of tonight’s trouble.

Marriage. Misdemeanours. Murder. Perhaps there’s a reason they call you Lady M beyond simply carrying your husband’s moniker with you. Binding yourself to him had been necessary to get where you are now but it had not been his trust you sought to gain but that of Cosimo. The best laid plans are those that take time. You know how to lay in wait, patient when necessary, and those who do not perform as you wish them to are cut loose from their marionette strings.

There is nothing you wouldn’t do to achieve what you desire.

– Lucrezia Falco is the amalgamation of some of my favourite characters, including her namesake; Narcissa Malfoy; Marisa Coulter; Rebecca de Winter; Carmine Zuigiber; Melanie Cavill; Estella Havisham; Amy Dunne. I’m definitely drawn towards the idea of Lucrezia embracing the darker parts of herself and pushing her boundaries. I’m always a sucker for a character who stirs gossip and whispers in people’s ears so I have no doubt she’ll bring her fair share of drama with her, leaving anyone who suffers for it in her wake. A temptress at heart, she’s particularly adept at inciting trouble.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

I. ASCENT. You are destined for more. You can feel it calling to you like a siren song billowing up from murky depths. Every ounce of praise is gathered, wrung out and collected from those above you. Hierarchy is merely a concept devised to provide a clear pathway for people like you. The top is evident; the means for ascent less so. – Lucrezia sets her sights high. The absolute pinnacle of her goals is to achieve a high level rank, be it Boss, Underboss or Advisor. She isn’t fussy. I have no doubt this will put her at odds with Juliana ( who is somewhat her foil ) but who doesn’t love some tension? Vivienne and her influence is potentially tricker for Lucrezia to deal with but I envision her attempting to carve out a mentorship-type role for herself in the heart of Ms Sloane. She’ll be quick to pitch her desire to become something more and, whilst it would be great to see her achieve it, I can’t help but wonder what she may do should she be denied.

> Vaguely and conceptually curious about the idea of her becoming a hitman to take the spot Orion left behind but she’d certainly be a bit of a wildcard option, all things considered. Very femme fatale, very serpent-under-the-flower.

II. BONDS. You can feel him watch you, eyes tracking your movements. Lust occasionally sparks but love remains absent, settling like quiet of your shared abode when his conversation starter falls flat at your feet. It is not his fault, not really. You are repulsed by the idea of letting him know you well enough to know your weak spots. To let him in would be to surrender. The organ beneath your ribs serves its purpose keeping you alive and you shan’t let it soften for the sake of a husband who wants to know the woman who shares his bed better. – Ah, Mikael. Married for his connections and potential. Lucrezia is purposefully preventing herself from having any feelings towards him that aren’t inherently carnal but even those have begun to dry, the thrill of what they once had having risked returning to routine. I don’t think it’s impossible for them to fix what they have but it would take Lucrezia learning to be vulnerable in front of him which, after ten-or-so years of marriage, may admittedly never happen. For now she is satisfied keeping him ( what she assumes to be ) happy so that he doesn’t grow tired of her. It’d be interesting and very Shakespeareanly-apt were he to get wrapped up in her devious plans. For better or for worse, and all that… Perhaps they will end up breaking apart or perhaps they will overcome their current lack of love for one another. Either way, it’ll be messy.

III. MANIA. You wipe the blade against silk, a dark smear across fine fabric. Information is precious and once you’ve plucked what you need from a mouth that offers what it can in amongst strangled sobs, you dispose of the source before others can make use of it. Clean. Precise. An emissary is not expected to get their hands dirty like this but you do what you can to get noticed by the right people. And the wrong ones. But your sins are beginning to take a toll, gnawing their way into the blackened husk of your heart. Before long, you may begin to unravel.

– Emissaries trade in whispers but Lucrezia knows she needs to get ahead of the rest in order to stand out from the crowd. She’ll do whatever it takes to get information and secure deals. We love drama in this house so I am absolutely here for her getting in too deep. The more she tests her morality, the weaker her conscience grows. She treats it like an experiment to see whether she’ll ever reach a point of breaking and thus far is yet to see any signs of such. If there is a price to pay for these inhuman acts, it will be her sanity.

IV. CONTROL. You will take what is offered. You will keep climbing. You won’t turn back and you certainly won’t let anything get in your way. Or anyone. You need those ranked higher than you to look on you favourably. The thought of someone close to Cosimo thinking you are incapable makes your skin crawl. With recent deaths and absences leaving gaping holes in the mob hierarchy, you need to do all you can to ensure that those who fill them adore you.

– The higher she attempts to rise, the further the fall. Lucrezia knows she cannot achieve power on her own; she needs supporters. It will take more than a well placed compliment and a brush of her fingertips. She needs to climb inside their minds; carve out a space for herself to sit amongst dark thoughts and ensure the loyalty of her fellow Capulets. Once inspiring this in a chosen few, she will rely on them to protect her and behave in a way that snubs out the sparks of any other bright things daring to climb the ranks. As soon as a new Advisor is chosen, should it be someone she doesn’t take kindly to, she may very well start fanning the embers of mistrust in their abilities. A whisper here, a comment there. A reputation can take a long time to build but can be toppled overnight by the right sharp-smiling disarming woman.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Not currently but that could certainly change if it helped with the overall plot!

IN DEPTH

In-Character Interview:

I. ) At half past nine, in the wake of Mikael going to work and leaving her alone ( precisely the way she likes it ) in the shell of their home, Lucrezia dons her gym wear and goes for a jog. The route is specific. The timing is immaculate. She passes the wife of the mayor like clockwork, passing a smile in her direction each morning until smiles become greetings and greetings become stopping to coo at the child in her stroller.

Eventually this turns to weekly lunches and invitations to various social events. They all dance the way she desires, puppets dangling from strings caught in her hands. It’s at the book club that she learns the most; gossip spilling from the wine-loosened lips of women in power or women married to power. Falling into the latter camp isn’t so bad when it gives you a free step up in the world. Lucrezia knows this fact well.

“But is that really your favourite place in Verona?” the Capulet asks as they talk of unexciting places nestled snuggly in her Don’s territory, seeking a location fit to hold an entirely over-the-top birthday party for the mayor’s wife. She’s only been half-listening, waiting for the perfect moment to chip in with her opinion. Her valued opinion. That was important. Charm the right people into believing you have their best interests at heart and they won’t see that your own motives lay at the centre of all you do.

“What about Teatro Nuovo?” she suggests, seemingly off-handedly, gaze fixing on the mayor’s wife with familiarity and a glimmer of private acknowledgement, as though only she knew precisely where would be best. Lucrezia wouldn’t dare spend an unnecessary amount of time in Montague territory typically but this particular excuse to snoop around the building wasn’t one to turn her nose up at. With high profile politicians and their security in attendance, she’ll bet her luck that the Montagues wouldn’t dare to target her. “There’s an elegance to the theatre. Grandeur. And who doesn’t love an opera-masquerade themed party?”

II. ) “I’m trying to get a better idea of Mr Falco’s routine. What does your typical day look like?” Mikael’s PA asks, far too eager to please their boss in a way that Lucrezia would like to think only she knows the art of.

The edges of her mouth lift, hiding her irritation at the prying behind a well-practiced false smile. “To begin, Mikael and I wake up and enjoy some early morning cardio.” The lie leaves her lips, accompanied by a laugh to put the other at ease. Her wifely facade remains; she’s used to putting on this charade. It is the blush that stains the PA’s cheeks that marks her success. “And then he will leave for work and I attend a yoga class or meet a friend for breakfast.” Lie. It’s more likely to be a negotiation, securing a deal with someone whose attention lingers on her just as much as it lingers on the examples of the firearms the Capulets can offer. “I’ll typically spend some time running errands or planning a dinner party before lunch which is either eaten alone at home or out. The afternoon is for shopping or a leisurely stroll.” Another lie. Afternoons are for organising reports to give to Vivianne. Who is following through with their half of agreements? Who is falling short and needs a follow up visit from her less-charming friends? “And then Mikael will return from work and we’ll have an enjoyable evening.”

Lucrezia conjures a vision of perfection without giving it a second thought. She neglects to mention the hours spent at The Twelfth Night; or those coaxing whispers from unyielding mouths; or those scrubbing the blood of another from the beds of her fingernails.

III. ) “What has been your biggest mistake thus far?” The bespectacled marriage counsellor asks. Beside Lucrezia, Mikael fidgets. She reaches for his hand, curling her fingers around it. His wedding band is warm to the touch. He stills as he always does when she touches him as though surprised by his own wife’s affection. Predictable.

Agreeing to attend this meeting, she thinks to herself. She’d slammed a door in Mikael’s face when he’d suggested they try and talk things through with a therapist present yet agreed to attend for the sake of keeping up appearances ( he talks to Everett about their relationship, she knows this much ). “I once served garlic hors d'oeuvres at a party with an orchestra.” Lucrezia answers. “Such a bad idea when everyone had to stand so close to speak to one another.”

Her revenge on her husband’s attempt to meddle with their relationship is to be had afterwards as she says goodbye, a hand on the therapist’s arm and a sultry tone drifting from her lips. When she glances towards the door, she meets Mikael’s line of sight.

It didn’t matter what games they played, the queen was always the stronger piece.

IV. ) “What has been the most difficult task asked of you?” Cosimo’s question wafts towards her on a tendril of cigarette smoke that catches in the sunlight streaming into his office through slits in the blinds.

Inwardly, Lucrezia wants to scream. Very little can make her speak genuinely, truthfully, from the heart. This line of questioning makes it feel as if he were trying to climb inside her head and understand who she was. She doesn’t care for thinking about her shortcomings, nor does she have any intention of allowing Cosimo to do the same.

She deploys one of her usual tactics. Raises her hand slowly to pull the cigarette from Cosimo’s lips and hold it to her own, taking a drag before returning the lipstick-stained end to him. She exhales slowly. “I’ll tell you when you give me something difficult to do.” Her brow raises in challenge, settling the boss with a steady stare. Test me, she wants to tell him. I want to feel alive.

V. ) “What are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues?” Everett asks her the day she leaves his decina, chin held high in light of her promotion to emissary, no longer trapped beneath the heel of another man’s shoe. The question is posed casually but Lucrezia knows him well enough by now that Everett rarely acts without purpose – and that purpose would be sat snuggly against the morals that keep his spine straight and his expression guarded.

Lucrezia turns the question over in her mind cautiously as though it were a trap, steel jaw ready to spring shut. A smile slinks slowly across her lips as she closes the space between them until a metre of polished wooden floor is what keeps them apart ( along with a history of unresolved differences ). She squares her gaze with his. “All this time spent teaching me and you still can’t figure out what goes on inside my head, can you?” Something that isn’t quite a laugh escapes her mouth. The sound is silky, amusement winding itself around it like a serpent. “What would you like me to say? That the war is necessary? That, like you, I got involved in all this because of someone I love?”

It doesn’t take a telepath to know that Vivianne springs to the forefront of both of their minds. An emissary is only as good as her intel and sufficient background information was always a valuable arsenal to carry. Her reassignment had not been born from luck; she knows exactly what she’s doing.

Acrylic fingernails reach to brush an imaginary piece of lint from the shoulder of Everett’s suit before turning swiftly to leave, her answer falling behind her as she strides out of the room. “It’s about time we fucking won, Everett.”

Connections:

THE SPOUSE: Mikael Falco. As much as it pains her that the man she married can’t find the strength to stand up to her when necessary, she still clings to a thread of hope that she can turn him into the person she wishes he was. Headstrong. Lethal. As hungry for more as she is. The Falco name is a pretty one and would surely look just as beautiful sitting alongside the most powerful families of Verona, no?

THE ADVERSARY: Calina Sokolova. This town isn’t big enough for the both of them. Calina seems to slip through life with casual elegance whereas Lucrezia feels like her nails have left imprints in everything, working hard for what she deserves. She waits with bated breath to hear news of the Montague emissary’s fall from grace, eager for the whispers to land on the shell of her ear first so she can watch it all burn down in flames.

THE ANNOYANCE: Everett Craven. There’s fun to be had in finding new subtle ways to torment a man like Everett. She waits for the twitch of his brow or the tick of his jaw, hoping to be the cause of the vexed sigh that leaves his mouth. His seriousness mixed with his influence over Mikael are, irritatingly, things she’s never been able to break. And not for a lack of trying.

THE PUPIL: Delilah Bello. She is not one to offer a shoulder to cry on but, equally, she is not one to disregard those who do whatever it takes to stay ahead. Delilah’s choice of tactics may have been misguided and Lucrezia certainly doesn’t find the soldier’s attempts to deny what happened in any way productive – but perhaps she simply needs steering in the right direction. Making the best of a bad situation can be an enjoyable pastime when done right.

THE SOURCE: Mona Chen. Mona certainly knows how to string together a pretty sentence, words shining through the darkness that they have both made their home in. Lucrezia enjoys collecting the payment owed to Cosimo; enjoys having the privilege of hearing the secrets whispered to her as if some vessel for the truth. She turns the information over in her head, admiring it, deciding what should and shouldn’t be passed on. There’s power in that.

THE SEDUCED: Open to anyone. Lucrezia has them hooked around her finger, but unlike post-marriage Mikael they prove to be much more of a fun plaything. She knows they want what they can’t have but she’s beginning to get a taste of her own medicine. Being with them is like playing with fire, dangerous but enthralling. She won’t cheat on Mikael but she might just test a few boundaries.

THE SANCTUARY: Open to Capulets or neutrals. Even someone like Lucrezia needs a safe place to rest. Somewhere she can drop the many charades and be herself. This person is, perhaps, the only soul she has ever felt truly at peace beside. Time is what strengthened their bond, along with their fair share of helping one another out of tricky or dangerous situations.

THE TRICKED: Open to Montagues. She has no intention of harming them, for that would be counterproductive. They are a plaything, of sorts. An experiment to see what she can do, what she can achieve. When they first meet, she slips into a charade of fear. Pretends to be at their mercy if only for the sake of spinning her story: the terrified wife. A sob story can go a long way if you know how to play it.

#accepted #accepted: lady macbeth

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umamunandar · 4 years

Text

Review #4: The Illuminae Files (4.8/5)

So by this point, you should be familiar to my taste in movies and books. I mean with the lack of romance and teen fiction you see and the excessive amount of fantasy and sci-fi reviews I’ve written, you might realise that I have a thing for dystopian, sci-fi, and apocalyptic stuff.

If you’re also a dystopian geek like me, then you must have heard of Illuminae, the novel written by Amie Faufman and Jay Kristoff, which then got illustrated by Marie Lu, author of Warcross and Legend for the second book, Gemina. You might’ve heard of it’s great story, or maybe, like me, you were first introduced to its unique writing format

and i mean very unique format. (Every part I just showed belongs completely to Amie Kaufman and Jay Kristoff, of course I’m just out here throwing these pages to you so you know what I’m talking about)

Most books get very famous quickly because the themes they offer in the books, how great the storyline is. Some are popular only because the author that wrote it has a reputation for writing super famous and the readers just want to read more of their works.

But a book famous for its writing format is unheard of for me. Illuminae was the first what, novel (?) that succeeded in telling the readers a story about the destruction of a colony, and a galactic adventure just from files they retrieved from the computers used by the characters for data processing, storage, communication, and everything else you can do with a computer by the year 2575.

The year is 2575, and two rival mega-corporations are at war over a planet that’s a little more than an ice-covered speck. Now, with enemy fire raining down on them, exes Kady and Ezra—who are barely even talking to each other—are forced to escape on the evacuating fleet.

But their problems are just the beginning. The fleet’s AI has gone crazy, a deadly plague has broken out on one of the ships, and nobody in charge will say what’s really going on.

As Kady hacks into a tangled web of data to find the truth, it’s clear only one person can help her: the ex boyfriend she swore she’d never speak to again.

First, let me start with a short recap of my own.

29th of January, 2575, Kady Grant had broken up with her boyfriend, Ezra Mason. But later that day, her planet’s mining company’s rival company decided that it was a great day to attack the planet (Kerenza IV) and its inhabitants. Kady and Ezra managed to escape to two of the three ships used to transport and evacuate the Kerenza refugees. Ezra was taken to the Alexander, as he was badly injured, and Kady was taken to the Hypatia, a science vessel that happened to be orbiting Kerenza during the attack. The last ship was the Copernicus.

Everyone on board were tested to see their potential, since the fleet were understaffed. Ezra passed as a pilot, and Kady, bless her genius mind, decided that it was best to not show he full potential during the test. Not receiving the role of anything, she befriended a CommTech from the Hypatia, and became a hacker, determined to just find out what’s going on. Nobody who knew the truth would tell anyone the truth and Kady was only eager to find out.

The story was told by emails, chat boxes, documents, security camera footage, even information from the Alexander’s AI, which was pretty much messed up due to the attack at Kerenza, but was still functioning enough to tell a story, nevertheless. The second book got an illustrator, Marie Lu, the same person who wrote Warcross and Legend, and the content source didn’t just come from computers anymore. By Gemina, the information that led readers through the story was also gained from Hanna Donnelly—the story’s female lead’s personal journal, hand drawn, not soft copy from a computer.

Personally, Illuminae was the first story that brought me to loving sci-fi slash dystopian slash apocalyptic novels. I was always a fantasy geek, thanks to Harry Potter and Wildwood. Kingdoms, princesses in pretty dresses, or magic, they were always closer to me than spaceships, AI, and intergalactic war, but Illuminae completely changed my mind. I was even surprised when I found myself buying a handful of dystopian novels during a book fair the other day. They were just really fun to read.

Oh but you know what else is fun? Guessing which cuss word the characters in the books used. Sure, the story was told through files, which means some were formal documents like reports and formal emails, but remember that there are also chat boxes and the informal emails sent from one refugee to the other as a form of communication to ask how they were doing and whatnot. Cussing and slang were used constantly in the book, but because they were compiled and as I quote, ‘sent’ as a formal file, the cursing had to be censored and blocked. It was still fun to guess the words they used anyway.

Writing this review, I had already read Gemina, and Obsidio was being shipped to my house, so yes, I really love this trilogy.

I’d love to get into more depth about the two books, but since nearly every page is filled with action, I can’t really write a spoiler-free review with it so let’s get to the positive points and negative points of the book,

Pros:

The book, as we all know and as I have mentioned for the fifth time now is formatted like emails, chat boxes, documents, and literally every other thing you can extract from a computer by the year 2575. Despite all three books being thicker than 500 pages, some of the pages aren’t even full pages, and you can read them in under one minute, even for a slow reader. Some examples:

Countdown pages

Those pages when something dramatic happens, like the description of missiles travelling through the space between two ships

In Gemina (and possibly Obsidio), some pages from Hanna Donnelly’s personal journal were incorporated in the files, the second Illuminae Files. But unlike Kady who prefers writing (or typing) her thoughts and securing them with a handful of layers of security and passwords, Hanna draws hers, and they didn’t take that long to read either.

‘The pattern is always the same’

‘White light’

And everything else

I know Illuminae was my first ever sci-fi dystopian novel, but I’ve consulted a few people on the matter, and I found out that the story the series offered is a good one on its own, even without the dramatic effect. So yes, one of the pros is that it actually offers a good story. You never know what’s going to happen next. It’s like say, you just got over a dramatic point in one of the books, and suddenly the document in the next page is a bloody medical report that tells you something is up.

Another plus point would be how the events in the books are so well described, despite there being no actual description done in the books except for those surveillance camera transcripts. We don’t even know Kady and Ezra’s specific physical appearances, just the fact that Kady has pink hair and Ezra is a pretty much a teen fiction novel average golden boy, unlike Hanna and Nik who’s illustrations we see from again, Hanna’s journal in Gemina.

Cons:

We should all put this fact in consideration, that the book is not meant to tell a story from a formal standpoint. Like I said, cussing is used in nearly every page of the book, though it’s censored. Mildly explicit jokes and references were also used in the book, though no actual harm is done. Then again, I’m not against this or anything, in fact, it brings an essence to the story, but some people (*cough* boomers*cough*) might not be comfortable with it.

Personally, I’m not fond of thick books. Four hundred pages is a workload for me. I was suffering throughout the Order of the Phoenix. Don’t like thick books? Illuminae isn’t for you. All three books had like, five hundred or so pages. I know I said it was told through a less boring format for a novel, and the story is good, but you still have to read. It’s a relief I made it through both Illuminae and Gemina, there’s a possibility I might drop Obsidio and leave it to rot before reaching the three-hundredth page. Though, there is a solution to this. You can buy the audiobook instead. I heard they did a good job with it, with great casts too.

Aaand, I think that’s about it. There’s really not much I can say about the story without giving away spoilers, and since I’m dedicated to make this a spoiler-free blog, I think it’s best you buy the book if you’re interested in the story of Kady, Ezra, Hanna, Nik, and two more characters I’m not supposed to tell you about because it’s technically a spoiler (?) from Obsidio.

I’m open for any discussion too! Just, don’t tell me anything about Obsidio just yet, I’m expecting the copy this week.

#illuminae #gemina #obsidio #the illuminae files #kady grant #ezra mason #hanna donnelly #nik malikov #book review #spoiler free book review #books #reads

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radicallyred · 5 years

Text

Down for the Count

Steve Rogers is irritated.

He's been stuck in a training session for over 5 hours listening to the new recruits bitching and moaning about the heat, and if he’s honest, he’s tired of watching them run laps whenever Fury gets mad. He checks his watch as they seem to wind down. 2:30. Good. They’re done.

He really just wants to get back to the tower and see Tony. He wants to lay down on that couch across from the big window and close his eyes as he puts on a vinyl, maybe convince Tony to join him. His phone has been ringing incessantly in his pocket, vibrating fiercely enough to curious looks from his colleagues, and he'd ended up turning it off completely when Fury threatened to crush it. By the time they’re dismissed and he was able to step outside to turn it back on, he has 15 missed calls and 3 missed texts from Pepper Potts.

And, curiously enough, none from Tony.

In fact, he realizes suddenly, he has nothing from Tony, not since right after he left the tower this morning. His stomach goes cold, a heaviness settling in his gut and when his phone quiver's to life seconds later, he picks it up on the first ring.

"Pepper? What’s going on?"

Steve almost never calls her by her first name, so he can hear the woman take a deep breath on the other end. "I wanted to talk to you before you heard about it somewhere else. I don't know if you have, but I assure you, he's going to be fine..."

He turns abruptly toward one of the exits, beginning to make his way out of the facility, his free hand already in the pocket of his uniform for his keys. "Tell me where, I'm on my way."

-------

The first thing he registers is the brightness. The pure white flare of the fluorescent bulb above him makes him wince in his groggy state. He pushes back into the pillows, attempting to turn onto his side to shield himself from the light, but he finds his body somewhat unresponsive, dulled by sedatives and painkillers.

Oh, but there is some pain.

He groans out loud, squeezing his eyes shut. He feels like he's been hit by a Mack truck (in actuality, it was a Prius). He forces his eyes open, blinking slowly a few times before his surroundings begin to come into focus. Everything is white. There is a beeping. And the smell...

He swears aloud as everything crystallizes and he realizes where he is. He does everything he can to push past whatever is in his system as he tries to rise up and out of the bed, objecting audibly. He feels a hand on his arm, a hand on his shoulder, a hushing voice that is trying to calm him down but he's not feeling very calm because not a hospital, never a hospital...

"Tony, STOP, you're gonna bust your stitches!"

Pepper's voice stops him in mid-flail and he stills in place for a moment as he gets his bearing. Pepper. Not Steve. Pepper is still his emergency contact. He needs to fix that.

“Where is Steve?”

“He’s on his way.”

He allows her to lower him back toward his pillow, let's her pull his blanket up over his hospital gown and she looks down at him with something like pity as she gets up and pours him a glass of water.

"What time is it?" He asks softly. "How long have I been out? What happened?"

She hushes him gently, handing him the paper cup and telling him to take it easy. He sips at it slowly and, finding himself parched, downs the rest in a gulp. When he licks his lips, the copper taste of a fresh formed scab follows and he makes a face. Pepper has the audacity to smile a little.

"They told me it looks a lot worse than it is, but don't worry, you won't scar." She nods toward his face. "It's almost 4. You've been out all morning and afternoon, but I guess the anesthesia is wearing off."

"Anesthesia?" He gapes at her and she nods in response.

"You were crossing the street and some asshole who was texting hit you with their car. They weren't going very fast, thank goodness. But you did get thrown quite a ways. You have a broken wrist, concussion, ruptured spleen, hence the anesthesia, 2 broken ribs and bruising everywhere. But other than that, you're fine."

"Other than that." He bites. He throws his head against the pillow, arching back toward the ceiling. "Fuuuuuuuck."

"Yeah." She nods, sliding back into the chair beside him. "He's gonna be pissed when he sees your face."

He groans again, sliding his hand to grab his hair at the crown. "Thanks for that. Thanks."

He looks down at his body. He can feel where the gauze bandage is affixed under his gown near his ribs (broken, he notes, and attributes the dull throb to that) and he rolls his eyes, thinking of all the aftercare bullshit he's gonna have to deal with, and mostly, how up his ass Steve is going to be, and not in the fun way.

He hears the door to the room open and a woman walks in in scrubs with a iPad, a tired smile on her face. "Mr. Stark. I'm Amy, I'm your nurse for this shift. How are we feeling? The pain okay? You need the drip adjusted?"

Christ alive, he has an IV and everything. He closes his eyes with a shake of his head. He wants the needle out of his arm. This was ridiculous. They had taken him to surgery, they had patched him up. Yeah, he didn't feel great, but he would rather feel not great in the comfort of his own home. There, he could just stay all doped up on some pain pills and he would sleep for a couple of days straight-Steve would insist on it-and he could maybe be back on his feet by Monday, if he were lucky.

"Alright then. Let me check your incision real quick."

He suffers through the indignity of being manhandled by a stranger without much fuss and as she draws the gown back down, hums a noise of approval. She pokes around on the tablet a few times until she confirms his check up for the afternoon, and hugs the device close to her chest, smiling brightly in an overly cheerful way that irritates him, but he knows that's kind of her job, so he holds back. "We're good for now. I'll be back in a few hours to check the drip again and everything."

"When can I go home?"

"You're gonna need to ask the doctor that, but honestly, probably another day or so. They'll just want to make sure that's healing alright, but getting your spleen out is relatively routine and everything went just how it should. She'll want to talk with you about what to look out for, what to do, how to change the dressings." She nods to Pepper with a smile as well and turns to leave before stopping herself as she gets to the door. “The doctor will be in shortly as well to give you the rundown of everything. Make sure to buzz me if you need anything, okay?"

She waits for him to nod before she leaves. He doesn't hear the door close.

A woman in a white coat walks in before he and Pepper can say anything to each other, holding what is probably the same tablet as the nurse had. She assessing the information, nodding slowly, muttering under her breath and finally looks up at him as if she's just noticed he's in the room. "Mr. Stark. Welcome to GBU."

"Pleasures all mine." He responds dryly, shifting in the bed so he crosses his arms. She humors him with a chuckle.

"I want to get the shop talk out of the way. Are you alright with Ms. Potts hearing all this now as well?"

"She can stay, she knows me better than me at this point."

"Alright. We have two broken ribs, a broken wrist, contusions throughout the body, a concussion and a ruptured spleen that was removed at 10:25 this morning. As long as your incision site stays clear of any signs of infection, I wager you'll be on your way home by Sunday. We'll send you with a few prescriptions and have Pepper here makes sure you don't re-injure yourself.”

He's burning with embarrassment, a dirty look on his face as he looks between the two. He knows the doctor won't be able to tell, but Pepper is holding back a laugh. They're close enough now, and they've known each other long enough for her to know how much this is going to irritate him, and it seems to be giving her boundless amusement, especially since in the end, she won't be the one to deal with it.

He looks back at the doctor, who is motioning at the doorway. He hears it open a little more, hears the swish of a curtain being pushed aside, and he hears footsteps too heavy to be the nurse who was just checking up on him. He watches as Steve slides into view, looking at the doctor, at Pepper, anywhere but at the bed where he currently lay.

Steve looks depleted, drawn, like he's been up for 3 days straight and is barely standing from exhaustion. He keeps his eyes on the doctor, because she begins talking about work and not letting Tony push himself and that he will make a quick and full recovery if he rests like he should. Steve is nodding with spirit, and Tony knows that regardless of what the doctor was saying, his exile from everywhere but their wing of the tower is already planted in Steve’s head.

Pepper rises from his side with a squeeze to his wrist and a sympathetic glance. "I have to get going.” She says softly.

"Are you going to be alright with him, Captain?” The doctor asks. Steve nods, a small smile tugging on his lips.

"I can handle Tony." He speaks for the first time, tone placid, without any implication that something is amiss, and the Doctor nods, seemingly content with the answer. The doctor hurries out, Pepper following slowly behind, and he's pretty sure he hears the distinct sound of the lock being pushed in before the door closes. Steve has moved over to the narrow window in the corner, looking out over the city, his left side facing the bed in the middle of the room.

"Steve..."

Steve holds up a stiff hand, and Tony can see his Adam's apple working in his throat as he blinks against the sunlight. After a few seconds of silence, the hand curls into a tight fist that falls to his side as he turns to face him, meeting his gaze for the first time.

"Tony."

His name is uttered in a whisper, a shuddering breath that seems like it's been held in for hours. It's made up of both fear and relief, and his expression is pained beyond anything Tony is ever okay with seeing on that face. Steve's hands are both clenched at his side, and his entire body seems coiled tight, barely restrained.

This is because of him.

"I'm sorry." And, God, this is fucking pathetic. He’s fifty years old, damnit, why is he crying over the fact that his boyfriend looks tired?

"Tony, no." Tony hears him walk toward the bed and he feels the shift in weight towards his left side as Steve rests against it. "Baby, it's alright, I'm here." Steve responds softly. He pulls himself close to Tony's side, pulling the younger man's good hand from his face and threading his fingers through it. His free hand ghosts up along the bruises and scrapes all up his jawline, barely caressing them with a hiss. "Oh baby, your face..."

"I know, I'm sorry. I’m fucked up..."

"Tony, I'm not angry. And this isn't your fault." He reassures with a gentle hush. "That young man was texting while he was driving."

"I was definitely in the crosswalk when I shouldn’t have been.”

"Be that as it may..." He trails off, not taking his eyes off of him. Tony finally allows himself to meet his gaze fully, and his stomach flips like he's on a roller coaster to see his lover's eyes shining.

"Steve, I'm okay."

Steve doesn't respond, doesn't seem to be able to. He just closes his eyes, swallowing a few times intermittently, deep, shuddering breaths before he brings Tony's hand to his mouth. He presses a kiss to the knuckle of his thumb, working his way up to the knuckles of his fingers, just holding his hand there against his lips. When he speaks again, rubbing his thumb now along the trail of kisses, he doesn't look up at Tony.

"Pepper called me so many times and I didn't pick up until the Fury dismissed us. And when she spoke, even though she told me you'd be fine, I just..." He shook his head. "You scared me, Tony."

Bruising be damned. He lifts Steve's hand, strong and stable and safe, to his face and presses it against his cheek, turning to kiss it's heel before letting it rest. Steve curls his fingers in the strands of hair there and Tony lets himself relax for the first time since he woke up.

"Will you lay with me?"

His voice is so small, he would usually be embarrassed, but this reaction has kind of made this whole thing a reality. He got hit by a fucking car. He could have fucking died. He's always been so reckless, ever since his mother died, living like it was all on borrowed time, through binge drinking and Afghanistan, NYC and Malibu, Iron Man, all of it, because it just didn't matter.

He scoots to the far side of the bed as Steve stands and slides in to join him, molding his body to Tony's, arching his arm around his side. Tony realizes for the first time that he’s still in his Captain America Uniform. "Am I hurting you?"

"No. I don't care."

"Tony, your stitches..."

"I'll tell you if you get too close." He promises, and he would be embarrassed at how he sounded if not for the day he'd had. He may have been flippant and fiery 10 minutes ago, but the weight of the day's events reflected through Steve had changed that.

He was scared too, he realizes somewhat in surprise. He had never allowed himself to be this close to someone, to need someone the way he knew he needed Steve, had never allowed himself to be the one who was needed. Usually by this point, he'd have done something abhorrent enough to drive them away. But this was different than then. Different than Afghanistan. He feels Steve's arm tighten snugly around his midsection, and bring his left arm down intermingle with it, grasping his hand once more.

It mattered now.

"I'm sorry I scared you." His voice is small. Steve nuzzles into the crook of his neck in response, kissing it softly. He can smell the man on him now, spicy, soapy, a hint of sweat and whatever warm smells like (cause he swears it has a smell, it does).

"Just promise me you’ll be more careful from now on." He smiles as Tony snuggles into the pillow. "Only the sidewalk, far away from the cars."

Tony chuckles, shaking his head a little. Steve places a kiss to his temple and Tony leans into it, spooning closer to Steve's front, letting his fingers trail up and down his arm. "You aren't the boss of me." He finally mumbles.

This earns him a dry chuckle, a heavy hand sliding to his waist. "Aren't I?"

Steve presses another kiss to his temple, and Tony melts more into him, closing his eyes. "We'll talk about it later."

He feels Steve laugh again softly as he drifts off to sleep, warm, and safe, and well loved. He barely hears the response.

"I'm sure we will."

#stony #fanfic #radicallyred #steve x tony #SUPERHUSBANDS

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laenij · 5 years

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i am definitely in the long, drawn out process of losing a friend due to what is probably 5% my fault and 95% their fault. and i...don’t think that’s a bad thing but i’ve also resigned myself to it happening a few months ago. just because i refuse to cut contact with another friend of mine, who is an ex-friend of this person.

tl;dr: tegan holds a grudge like no one else & despite saying so doesn’t like myself & andrea being friends with someone she’s cut out, AND needs too much emotional labour to be bothered with. tegan will just block us/subtweet us before she ever talks about any issues she’s having with us.

some backstory.

tegan (friend i’m in the process of losing). anni (the other friend). me (lou). andrea (the other one in the group chat). ginger (anni’s partner).

anni & giniger are poly/in an open relationship but things are only okay if it is DISCUSSED FIRST, as in BEFORE SOMETHING HAPPENS.

at a birthday party at the beginning of last year, tegan slept with ginger. NEITHER of them consulted with anni first. now this is 95% ginger’s problem and 5% tegan’s, which i say because if i was going to sleep with a friend’s partner i would definitely be making sure that is was okay first. tegan blames on being drunk, which isn’t actually an excuse.

anyway, anni obviously feels pretty shit about this but they talk to over a lot with ginger and tegan and they all agree to not bring it up again and that it won’t happen again, but acknowledge that anni was really hurt by this happening.

a couple of months go by and everything’s going well and then anni breaks their ankle. now, she and tegan live quite close to each other and ginger does not drive. so anni asks tegan if tegan is okay with driving them to the hospital and to some appointments and tegan says yes, that’s fine. andrea also steps up to pick them up a couple of times, so it’s not JUST tegan.

a few more things happen in this time but basically they are variations on this theme.

anyway a few months after this tegan decides that anni has just been “using” her and is using the fact that she slept with their partner against her. and then decides to not talk to anni about this but just block them on everything and then block a couple of anni’s other good friends for good measure, to ensure that nothing about tegan gets back to them or something.

(for the record tegan has done this before, both with another mutual friend and andrea herself. andrea actually sat tegan down and made tegan talk about it and they became friends again but the other friend is still person non grata and i have recently reconnected with them in a very very casual way and tegan does not like that but refuses to acknowledge it)

we ask and tegan tells us it’s okay that we remain friends with anni but she’d just like a heads up if we’re going to invite anni to a mutual thing. our timeline here is now almost a year exactly. and still likes jocleyn and amy but blocked them so that anni doesn’t find out what she’s saying about them or something. (also at this point anni pulls out the big stops and makes a series of tweets saying she was never trying to use tegan but also mentions that tegan had slept with her partner and it IS a bit of a mess but it’s between them, really)

and this is the backstory you need for what happened last night.

last night we were out at the bar, the same bar we have been going to since febuary last year. myself, andrea, tegan & anni all started going there together then and as time went on anni stopped coming due to their health stuff. it was always generally known that if you knew us and wanted to rock up for an end of week bev you could, so it has NEVER been an exclusive little club.

yesterday tegan wasn’t sure if she would make it so when jocleyn asked if she could come we said sure, why not. tegan said later that she didn’t feel up to coming which was fine. now it turns out that jocleyn was ALSO bringing anni with her as anni was going to drive her to the airport. but i checked us all into facebook, as one does, and tegan immediately said to us “i’m trying to not let it bother me but it’s hurting a bit that i only cancelled on harley house like 3 hours ago and ive already been replaced by a person who has done so much damage to me”

now first of all: most of that damage was tegan making things worse than they were. trust me, i was there. i am still friends with them both because neither of them were ABSOLUTELY 100% IN THE RIGHT. they both did some fucked up stuff to the other. and none of the fucked up shit would’ve really happened at all if tegan had TALKED TO ANNI WHEN SHE FIRST STARTED FEELING LIKE SHE DID/DOES.

anyway.

i reply with “tbh joc just invited them along with her when joc asked if it was cool if she came, it wasn’t something we sent out”

tegan: “ok but you can see why it would bother me yeah, especially on a day when i’m already feeling pretty vulnerable”

now, please remember that tegan literally said that she didn’t mind that we were friends with anni still AND that harley house has never been “exclusively us” time. so i replied with “yeah i can see that, but just so you know we didn’t invite them they were incidental”

and to that i got no reply but both myself and andrea got soft-blocked on tegan’s alt twitter account and claire (another mutual friend who comes to harley house with us every week now AND who was there last night but did NOT get soft blocked) this morning said that tegan is basically having a breakdown on her alt.

so basically tegan actually does NOT want us to continue being friends with anni and wants us to constantly reassure her that she is in the right and a good person who does good things, which is both too much emotional labour and no one is 100% perfect but when we call that out we’re the “bad guys”.

tegan holds a grudge like no one else ever and i just CAN NOT be bothered dealing with it, which is why i’m probably going to lose her as friend. also because, knowing tegan and how she deals with her problems, she will just block us first without talking to us about any issues she’s having. and then be confused about why she’s still dealing with her emotions about it a year later, DESPITE therapy. i’m half checked out of the friendship at this point because i can see it coming.

#personal shit #personal #friend drama #i have definitely not changed their names because while i have mutuals who know who they are #only one who i think is actually friends with these people as well #soooo...gonna be honest #i don't care #oh wait my husband knows all these people too #so two people #also for this friend #we are literally planning a CHRISTMAS IN THE USA trip #and have been FOR A YEAR #if we weren't friends with her we would all be going to other places

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writingandchocolatemilk · 5 years

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Asylum - Chapter One

Hello, welcome to this venture !

This is a fic co-written by myself and @somebratinamask

There are several chapters planned, but for now there are two written. This is a fic primarily devoted to RusAme, but GerIta is essential to the plot and will come up later.

We hope you enjoy.

On AO3. On FFn.

Chapter One : The Delusions of Alfred F. Jones

Alfred F. Jones was an honest, true, good American, and as such, he did not lie. Well, sometimes he had to lie, but that was always for the greater good, for helping people, so it wasn't the same thing as lying-lying. It was like telling kids about Santa, or the Tooth Fairy, because it was fun and for their own good, and that was why Alfred lied, sometimes, but not today.

No, not today when the concerned nurse frowned down at him and asked him: "Why did you go into the burning building, Alfred? Can you tell me that?"

So, Alfred F. Jones said what he said when it wasn't a Santa situation, which was the truth: "Because I'm a fireman."

The nurse, who had kind eyes even if her mouth was set a little hard, looked at him with soft admiration. "No, Alfred, you're not a fireman. Can you tell me why you ran into the fire?"

Of course Alfred was a fireman, he had wanted to be a fireman since he was, what, seven years old? He had been running into smoky buildings for, what, at least six years now? Something like that, after college, and he just hadn't had time to grab his equipment, but people had been in trouble, and so Alfred did what firemen do and ran into the fire.

He told the nurse this.

And then Matthew burst into the room.

"You're an idiot, Alfred!" Matthew said, voice on the edge of hysterics.

"Calm down, Mattie, I'm f—"

"You're not fine! You almost died from smoke inhalation, Alfred, do you understand me!? You almost died." Matt collapsed in a chair and put his face in his hands. "I can't do this anymore, Alfred, I just can't."

God, his brother was so hysterical sometimes. He always blew things out of proportion and always bitched and moaned about how Alfred wasn't being responsible, but Alfred saw an issue and you know what, Alfred acted, that was more than Matthew could say for himself.

But, of course, it wasn't Alfred's job to tell Matt how timid he was. Alfred struggled to sit up under the wires checking his pulse and the IV lines and the oxygen mask, and leaned over to give Mattie a reassuring squeeze on the knee, and a kind smile, because it was alright.

"Mattie, come on now, I've gotten into scrapes worse than this. I'm a fireman, remember—"

Matthew looked at the nurse, eyes wide. "He does this. He's fine for a few months and then he'll do something fucking stupid like this and—and—he's never done anything like this before. It's just—he'll climb trees to get cats or walk around at night being a vigilante he's never… never…"

The nurse clicked her tongue.

…

In hindsight, Alfred should have lied.

He had nothing against the nurse, he was sure she was perfectly fine in her spare time, but also she was sort of a giant bitch.

…

This new nurse, a woman with a smile that was much warmer than the other nurse, took his blood pressures and asked him if he was on any medication, explained her name was Amy, and that she was going to be showing him around, where the bathrooms were, that he had to keep his wristband on with his name.

The whole place was basically a giant circle, with rooms lining either side—well, not a circle, but a square, but it looped around—and there was only one set of doors out, the one that Alfred came through. He had been buzzed in and then Amy had relocked the doors.

"Hey, Amy," Alfred said, giving her a warm smile, "why are the doors locked?"

Well, apparently not everyone wanted to be here, which was fair. Alfred didn't particularly want to be here either, but he wondered if Amy thought he was one of the unruly ones, because of course he wasn't, even if that bitchy nurse had listened to his hysterical brother, but this was a misunderstanding.

Alfred found that if he was agreeable, even if it was silly, people cut him slack.

Still though. He eyed the locked doors as they passed by. And the nurses' station was locked. He watched the nurses—who didn't wear scrubs, even though they were in the hospital—jingle their keys to enter the sections Alfred was barred from.

Amy returned. "Have you ever taken antipsychotic pills, Alfred?"

"Nah, I'm healthy."

Amy nodded, and then explained that he wasn't a fireman—Jesus, what was it with these people? You'd think they had his autobiography run through an antonym machine—and that these pills would help him have a better grip on his "situation."

Alfred smiled and swallowed them down pleasantly enough.

At least Matthew had brought him an overnight bag.

…

Alfred had never had a roommate before.

Alfred watched his sleeping form intently, chin resting in his hand. The only roommate he had ever had was Mattie, and it was exactly as much fun as was to be expected. Matthew hadn't even let Alfred get a dog—can you believe that? Get a dog, like Matt was his dad or some shit.

"Can I help you?" The roommate was looking at Alfred.

Alfred grinned. "Good, you're up. I'm Alfred F. Jones, and I'm a fireman. I hope we can split this rent evenly between the two of us, and I'm getting a dog, so I hope you're a dog person."

The roommate blinked at him. "Hello, Alfred, it's three in the morning. I would appreciate it if you would stop muttering and let me get some sleep."

Ah, so if that was how the roommate was going to be, that was fine. But of course, they wouldn't let Alfred switch roommates, it was too late or early or something, and this other nurse was much bigger and had an actual uniform on, and he told Alfred to get back to bed in a way Alfred was familiar with, because it was usually how people spoke to him before they punched him.

"Hey, easy, big guy! Alright, alright, I'm going to bed. It's just that this guy over here sucks, and—"

"Back to bed, Jones."

Two out of the three nurses so far were giant dickheads. Alfred was not impressed.

…

"Alfred?"

Alfred stood up and gave a little bow to the circle. "Hello, all! I am Alfred F. Jones, the best damn fireman this side of the Mississippi, which is saying a lot, considering how heavily populated the East Coast is! See these burns? I got them from saving people from a blaze! I had smoke inhalation."

Of course, no one was awake this early in the morning, and the nurses took his blood pressure and talked to him in soothing voices and gave him more pills and no one even asked what it was like being a fucking fireman, which was cool as shit, but whatever, fine.

One jumpy kid gave him a curious look. "Are you really a fireman?"

Alfred jumped on the opportunity this—what was his name? Feli-something? This Feli, then—gave him. Yes, you should have seen the fire. Alfred threw his hands in the air, making a whooshing noise of the timbers being eaten—the heat, Feli, you could have felt it from forty feet away, and it was night, of course, so Alfred's eyes had been drawn to the light like a moth to a flame, the cinders flying into the air so high they could have burned the underside of planes—

Which was a thought, because Alfred had a pilot's license, too—

But the fire, yes, and Alfred had just known there was someone calling for help, trapped under a fallen support beam, so of course Alfred had barged in there, searching frantically through the smoke, his glasses practically melting on his nose.

Feli watched, enraptured, captivated by this story, and Alfred was happy he could make at least one friend in this place.

…

The afternoon brought with it drowsiness. Alfred sat on his bed, looking at the bandages on his hands, rerunning the story he had told that Feli-kid, fixing details he had forgotten, like how this woman was worried about her baby and was yelling for help, that was—

"I haven't introduced myself."

Alfred looked up at the shit roommate. "Oh, now you want to talk?"

"Yes, when it's not the middle of the night, I think you will find me much more amicable. I'm Ivan."

Alfred rolled his eyes.

"So, you're a fireman? I heard that little story you told Feliciano."

Ah, so Ivan had been listening. Well, good. "Yeah, but I had forgotten some stuff. There's a lot to it, you know, there's a lot to saving people."

"And being a pilot?"

That's right, that's where Alfred had received his firefighting training. You just don't show up to a big ass fire without training, so they taught that in the air force, in case the planes ever caught fire on the air force ships, or the field, how to save people. Alfred wasn't lying about that, Alfred didn't lie, like everyone kept saying.

Ivan asked after Alfred's hands, and Alfred had to end up showing him the burns, explaining how it had been from moving fallen timbers, and of course he usually wore gear, but there was no time to act, this lady was screaming for her kid and what was Alfred going to do? What was smoke inhalation to saving a child? A baby, two actually.

Sometimes, you just needed to act.

Ivan gave him a look—probably feeling bad he had been a dick earlier. But by this point, Alfred was tired of talking.

…

Alfred didn't like this doctor.

"Alfred, I'm going to need you to cooperate. The only way you can get better is to work with me here."

The doctor was fucking condescending, that's what. There was nothing wrong with Alfred, this was all a misunderstanding, for fuck's sake Alfred was a pilot, he had saved a family from a fucking fire, he didn't need to be in the hospital, right?

And how were the meds making Alfred feel?

Tired, they were making him tired and sluggish. Alfred had slept all afternoon, and then had been kept in his room by another dickhead nurse who said it was too late to walk, so Alfred was left jiggling his knee all night and wondering where the fuck all his shoelaces had gone, and why hadn't Matthew packed him anything to do.

And look, he had a twitch.

"That's a side effect."

To what?

And then the doctor spouted off the name of the medication which meant dick-all to Alfred, and again, they were antipsychotic meds, but Alfred wasn't doing anything psychotic!

It was like having the same conversation on a loop.

…

"Alfred."

Alfred focused on Matthew. "Please tell me you brought something for me to do. I'm bouncing off the walls here, I'm going fucking crazy."

Matt nodded. "I brought you the stuff you keep hidden under your bed."

The good stuff, how did he know where Alfred kept the good stuff? All the good comics collectors would kill to have—

"Alfred."

"Yeah?"

"Alfred, why do you think you're a pilot?"

"Because how else would I have training for the fire?" Alfred held up his bandaged hands.

Mattie nodded. "So, you're in the military?"

"Yes."

Mattie nodded again. "Okay. How old are you?"

"Do you seriously not know how old I am?"

"Of course I do, I'm your brother. Just humor me and I'll give you comics."

Alfred rolled his eyes. He loved his brother, but look, again with the dad shit, the ultimatums! "I'm twenty-four."

"Okay, and when did you go to the military?"

"I—"

Mattie leaned forward. "No, think about it. It wasn't when you were eighteen, right? Because you went to college for a bit, remember? Until you were twenty-two, right? And then we moved closer to our Dads, right? How were you trained and deployed in two years?"

"People are trained and deployed in two years—"

"No, because you were there for the vow renewals, right?"

Alfred frowned. Yeah, that was right, that shit was boring and long and sappy, and Alfred had nearly torn his skin off keeping still that long, but he had smiled and hugged everyone like his Father had told him to do, good boy.

"Alfred, you're not a pilot, right?"

Right, yeah, of course. Who the fuck had been saying he's a pilot? That's stupid—although, of course, he could see where the confusion could come in, Alfred was very trim and had the calm demeanor of a pilot—but Alfred hadn't had the time to enlist, unfortunately, he was busy at school.

And busy with the volunteer firefighters, of course.

But Alfred kept that to himself and Mattie gave him a box filled with, finally, something interesting.

…

Feli was saying something interesting. "I know it's all in my head, I get that, but it doesn't stop me from hearing things, you know? And then you start to wonder what's real or not, because how can you really know, know, you know? Because sometimes you ignore something and it's real."

…

Ivan tilted his head. "What are you thinking about?"

Alfred picked at the scabs on his hands, irritated with them. They were itchy and he was tired and twitchy and the shit Matthew had brought him had only lasted—only lasted for a few hours, and now Alfred was without things to do, and he was stuck watching boring movies and walking outside for like, two seconds.

So that thing Feli had said the other day was eating at him. Because he had sounded delusional, right? That's what Alfred thought, anyways, because how the fuck do you mishear things that are real? Maybe fake things, but it's like when there's a ringing in your ears, you make a noise in your throat and the fake ringing fades back and you can figure out it was just the blood in your ears.

"Yes, Feliciano has schizophrenic."

Right, exactly, Alfred knew that shit, he was wondering more like, well, what was Alfred doing here? Clearly it was a misunderstanding, but Matthew had been here, and Matt didn't do anything without calling Papa and talking for fucking hours on end, so Alfred's parents knew he was here, but Alfred wasn't a schizo, just—

"You're not delusional?" Ivan asked, raising his eyebrows.

Alfred glared at him. "No, I'm not fucking delusional."

"You take the same pills as Feliciano, don't you?"

Ivan didn't know if they were the same pills.

"I do, actually. Small, yellow, with a line through the middle."

Alfred's mind jumped back to that morning, when meds were being passed out. Yeah, yeah, that sounded about right. That's what his looked like, anyways, and yes, actually, he was sure Feli did take the same ones.

"Same ones Feliciano takes," Ivan insisted.

Well, clearly that was just a mistake, then. All Alfred had to do was go to one of the nurses and tell them they had messed up the medication, just knock on that glass and smile like he did and tell them no, he wasn't a schizophrenic, not like Feli—

"That wouldn't work though, would it?" Ivan asked.

Alfred hesitated at the door. Ivan knew what drugs he and Feli took. "Why wouldn't it?"

Ivan gave a casual shrug and leaned back against his pillows. "I could see them messing up your drugs once, twice, maybe even three times. But you've been here, what, two weeks now? You've talked to the doctor how many times, to your nurse Amy, and they keep giving you the 'wrong' drugs?"

"You're saying it's intentional?"

Ivan gave another little shrug and flipped a page in his book.

No, he couldn't just say that and fuck off. But that didn't make sense, Alfred was in a hospital, why would they give him the wrong medication on purpose? Although, none of the nurses wore any scrubs, and that was just sanitary, wasn't it, wearing scrubs? That had been bugging Alfred, and it was weird how they took his blood pressure, what did that have to do with anything?

And the twitch. Alfred looked at his hand that moved without his permission, and how he had been telling the doctor that he was drowsy. Or maybe they were placebo pills, doctors did that sometimes, too, to test medication. That would explain why they were giving it to Alfred, to test it.

Feli was absolutely no help. He had no idea what medication he was taking, or what it looked like, and he had no idea what his official diagnosis was, he just kept saying something about dopamine, which made no fucking sense. Feli had no idea if any of the nurses were registered, he had no idea what the doctor's last name even was because it was slipping Alfred's mind—

Wait, no it wasn't. What was it that Matthew had been saying the other day? Alfred had gone to college.

Of course Ivan knew what medication Alfred was taking, because Alfred had prescribed it to himself. Ivan must have seen the slip. Relief dropped down Alfred's back like warm water, and he smiled.

…

Ivan leaned close enough to whisper into Alfred's ear without Alfred's coworkers hearing. "I see you're still taking your pills."

Alfred pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and looked at Ivan through half-lidded eyes. "Of course I'm taking my pills. It would be dumb to waste the prescription. You're wrong, by the way, Feli and I don't take the same meds. I take Flutix and he takes Harbidrole. It's an easy mistake, really, they do look similar, but Harbidrole is used for schizophrenia, while I clearly don't have schizophrenia."

"Ah, so you're a doctor, now."

Yes, of course. Alfred was a little young, sure, but he was in advanced classes, and he was halfway through his residency before this little incident, he was studying—

"And the firefighting?"

What? Oh, yes, well, that was just on a volunteer basis, just to pad his resume so he could get into medical school, which was difficult enough, but Alfred managed it after only a year and a half at undergrad. It—

"So, if you don't mind me asking, why are you in a psych ward, Dr. Jones?"

Part of Alfred's residency, plus Alfred was feeling very stressed with medical school—

"And what is your diagnosis?"

"Like I said," Alfred said primly, "stress, mainly. That's what Flutix is used for. It has to do with dopamine."

"Oh, dopamine, of course. And dopamine has to do with stress, doesn't it, Dr. Jones."

"Yes." Alfred grinned. "Exactly. Very good."

"What are you studying?"

"Psychiatry."

Ivan tilted his head. "Could I ask you a question, Dr. Jones?"

"Of course. You are in a psych ward, of course, and I am studying psychiatry." Dr. Jones was a man of the people after all, and what was a little free consultation among—

"What would you diagnose me with?" Ivan's lips twitched into a small smile. "If you would allow me to pick your brain."

Well, that was an easy one. Ivan was clearly a neurotic, distrustful, prone to conspiracy theories. Dr. Jones didn't know how to concisely put it, but it was clear in the way Ivan distrusted the medication Alfred prescribed himself, and was generally shifty—

"I'm shifty?"

Dr. Jones blinked. "Yeah, you didn't want a roommate, right? Distrustful of someone new."

Ivan's eyes lit up. "Actually, I'm very pleased with the turn of events that led to my new roommate. Thank you, Alfred, this has been enlightening."

Ivan touched Dr. Jones' elbow lightly as he passed.

Dr. Jones watched him walk down the hall. Yeah, that's right, he could diagnose people, because he was a doctor, but he hadn't much time to really get an in-depth look into most patients' brains because he was still so new on the floor, but he had talked to Feli.

Feli glanced up as Dr. Jones approached and smiled, and boy, did Dr. Jones have some great news for Feli. No, Feli, Dr. Jones, Alfred was a doctor, please, stop deflecting, Dr. Jones had some great news for Feli, he didn't have schizophrenia, he had seizures.

Yes, Feli, that's what make sense, doesn't it? It explained the weird hallucinations, why Feli was so absentminded, a mild form of epilepsy, definitely, Feli should definitely let his primary care doctor know as soon as he saw her again—

Yes, of course Dr. Jones was a doctor, he was only a firefighter on a volunteer basis, and even that was pretty rare, no, listen, Feli, Dr. Jones had graduated early from medical school through an advanced program, and was in the middle of his residency and was here to get a feel of where he would be working, and also due to stress.

…

"A doctor? Alfred, does that make sense to you?" the fellow doctor sitting across from Dr. Jones asked.

"That's Dr. Jones to you."

Dr. Jones sat in stubborn silence and the doctor had the audacity to sigh and shuffle papers in front on him, saying they'll try again tomorrow, Alfred.

"That's Dr. Jones."

…

Dr. Jones sat on his bed, exhausted, watching Ivan, who wasn't doing all too terribly much. Now that Dr. Jones thought about it, both Ivan and Mattie did the same boring shit—namely, read a whole bunch. Didn't they get bored? Dr. Jones got bored watching them, and Dr. Jones was so fucking sick of being bored.

"What are you reading?" Alfred asked, nicking the book from Ivan's hands.

"Excuse me, I was reading that."

Yeah, and it was fucking boring. Dr. Jones walked back over to his bed and bent over the book, picking up where Ivan had left off, squinting through the dense, academic writing, trying to follow dates.

"It's a history book," Ivan said from the other side of the room.

Yeah, Dr. Jones could—

"Are you a fan of history?"

No, not really. It was always so dry for Dr. Jones' taste. It was cool when it was wars or explosions or spy missions, but mostly it was a lot of riots or picketing or death or presidents, and while it was interesting to learn, things like that didn't stick in Alfred's head very well, so he was left with a jumble of information and dates that didn't connect.

"I see." Ivan was clearly trying to get his book back with all this talk, but Dr. Jones wasn't—"What does stick in your head, then?"

"Physics." Alfred blinked at his own answer. "Math. Stuff with right and wrong answers."

Ivan watched Alfred flip through the pages of his book.

Alfred looked up. "I like space stuff. I thought it was really cool they could send satellites to different moons based on the gravity and orbit of other planets. I forget the word for it, but there's a way to make a satellite orbit around another body and then have it slingshot where you want it to go. Maybe it was slingshot-ing. Called that."

"So, my history book isn't very interesting to you, is it?"

Alfred snorted. No, of course it wasn't interesting, Dr. Jones only took it to see what was so fascinating—

"I have another book you might like."

If it was anything like the current book in Dr. Jones' possession—

Ivan sat up on his bed and reached underneath to pull out a plastic bin filled with books, enough to give even Matt a rough time of reading them all, which was saying something, and he moved a few stacks around until he found what he was looking for.

He held it out to Alfred. "Here."

Alfred already had a book—

Ivan waved the book in the air. "Come on, take it. You've read through those comics underneath your bed at least ten times, and I guarantee the book you have in your hands currently will put you to sleep faster than Flutix does."

Alfred stood and quickly exchanged books. Ivan didn't say another word, and curled back onto his bed, resuming where Alfred had left the pages.

Dr. Jones wasn't expecting much when he flipped open to a random page, but to his surprise, it was about space stuff. Granted, it was still boring ass history shit, but it went into the Cold War science behind all the space missions, how spies had stolen information.

Occasionally, Alfred would reach a part in the book that referenced something earlier that he hadn't read, so Alfred would need to flip back, but he would end up engrossed with this new part that led into the thing he had been reading later, so he would flip back and forth and back and forth and back and forth until there was nothing left.

And then Alfred started again.

…

Ivan glanced up at Alfred. "I was beginning to think I had lost you in there."

Alfred handed back the book and took a seat by Ivan on the ground because the chairs were too far away and Alfred had something he needed to do. He handed back the book and then handed him #4 of Mightnighter: Out.

Ivan raised an eyebrow and looked pleased. "I don't think I can spend three days reading a comic, but I will certainly do my…" Ivan actually seemed to get a good look at the cover. "There's… a hammer. And a sickle."

Yes, of course there was a hammer and sickle, Ivan was Russian.

"How did you know I was Russian?"

Well, it was easy with his last name and his accent, so slight that nothing but Alfred's trained ears could pick it up.

Alfred jumped up and nodded, because now Ivan could read about something he liked, as well, something he could connect with and take some hours away so he wasn't fidgety, either, something to keep his mind engaged and fingers from trembling even though he had told the doctor he was sick of the tic—

Ivan held the book back out. "You can keep it."

Alfred had snatched the book before he was even aware he had done it, it was just back in his hands. "You can't keep the comic."

"I wasn't planning to."

…

Few things went in the box, stuff that thieves and spies would spend hours pouring over, the smallest detail, the smallest word, the way the color faded into black or the way the plot twisted together from other stories to merge into a perfect issue that only made sense if you read the other ones, eyes red and tired and those who would spend days and days and days pouring over these things, studying, these are things that went in the box, to keep from those who would study instead.

These were precious things.

…

Alfred wondered, faintly whenever he caught himself waking up, why there weren't any windows in his room.

…

"You seem better."

Alfred glanced up from the table to Matthew, an ocean away on pills and the hard plastic-wood tables were made of. "There was nothing wrong with me to begin with." The words the doctor used came out across his tongue: "I get carried away with things."

Mattie let out a breath of air like a deflating balloon. "How are things?"

How were things? That was a question. "I sleep, a lot. And I've walked around that fucking ward enough times to wear a track in the linoleum, but I'm…"

He was what? Alfred could feel it, vaguely, something different, something just on the edge of his consciousness that usually got him going was bound and gagged, like the hum of a TV that was muted, a different sort of noise. It was strange and Alfred was afraid to think about it too much.

"It's good," Matthew said, firmly. "It's a good thing, the doctor said so."

Alfred frowned at this, and something about the phrase scratched at the back of his mind. Mattie told him about his shifts, about how Dad and Papa missed him and sent their love, of course. Alfred had the urge to scratch at his hairline.

"Are they coming to visit?"

Matt sighed again, and Alfred wondered when he had started doing that all the time, like everything Alfred said was the tenth time he had asked the same thing. "No, I don't think so. But I did bring you some things—"

"Why won't they visit?"

Matthew stared at him like a sinking ship. "Because they don't want to. They say it makes them too sad, Alfred, and I'm inclined to agree. What are you doing here!?"

That was a good question, wasn't it?

Matthew let out another fucking sigh. "God, Alfred, what are you doing here?"

"Well, do you have something to say?"

Matthew let out a little laugh. "Do I have something to say—do you think you'll hear it? Or will you just get that deranged look in your eye and start rambling away about some—" Mattie hissed the word: "Bullshit and ruin things again?"

That wasn't fucking fair, Alfred didn't ruin jackshit—

"Yes, you have, and what's worse, you don't even think, you're a million miles away—"

Across a sea— "How the fuck do you know what my doctor said?"

Matthew froze for just a second, in the middle of looking around, of his shoulders slumping. "I didn't, I just know what an improvement looks like."

Alfred stood. "You're fucking lying. You're not my emergency contact, I didn't give you permission to talk to my doctor, it's none of your fucking business about why I'm in here."

Matthew let out a laugh of sharp air. "It's not my business—do you hear yourself? Like I haven't been fucking forced into your business for years—"

"There you go again with that dad bullshit again!"

"What on earth are you—"

"You act like I'm a little kid!" Alfred loomed over Matthew.

Matthew didn't stand, face-to-face with Alfred, nose inches from his own, didn't shove him back, no, Mattie just sank further into his seat. "You are a little kid."

"Leave."

Matthew opened his mouth—

Alfred shoved Matthew, and his brother threw out his arms to stop himself from falling backwards out of the chair. "Alfred what the—"

"Leave and take your fucking party favors with you. They don't make up for the fact you use me to feel better about yourself, that treating me like an idiot makes you feel better because no one gives a shit about you, not Dad, not Papa, and especially not me."

Matt didn't even look up at him. "You're unbelievable, you know that?"

"No, I'm just usually too nice to tell you the obvious, but I'm sick of your sighing and I'm sick of the shit you bring me and I'm sick of you talking to my doctor and I'm sick of all of this!" Alfred whirled to the blond nurse hovering nearby. "And you can tell my fucking doctor that if I hear he's been talking to my brother, there's not a strong enough lock to keep me from leaving this place."

Now Matthew stood. "You're being—"

"Leave."

…

"You talked to my brother."

The doctor looked impassively back at him over his desk. "Does that bother you?"

"Yes, it fucking bothers me. What about doctor-patient confidentiality, doc? What about you not telling fucking lies to my brother about me?"

Oh, but they weren't lies, Alfred, he was just updating Matthew on Alfred's situation, but there wasn't a fucking situation! For fuck's sake, Alfred shouldn't be in here! And it was god damned illegal to keep him here without his permission.

"Matthew was concerned about your delusions, Alfred."

Delusions, delusions, what fucking delusions, those were misunderstandings, those were idiots, those were the doctor saying things about Alfred that just weren't true, maybe you're fucking delusional!

"Clearly, you're in no position to talk right now, Alfred. We'll try again tomorrow."

…

Alfred didn't care about the fucking penguins, or about their stupid fucking eggs, or about how they were still in fucking Antarctica even though they should have fucking died off hundreds of years ago, thousands, millions, the timescale of evolution.

Alfred felt his eyes flicking from person to person until he reached an awfully large gap he hadn't noticed before, and his eyes landed on Ivan, an island in the tightly packed folding chairs of movie night.

"Look at the chick, Alfred," Feli breathed next to him.

Feli kept saying stupid shit like that, while Ivan got to have three chair-lengths of space around him like an asteroid impact.

…

And one that followed Ivan around like a bubble.

…

In the morning vitals line, Alfred could have sat in a chair between Ivan and the next person.

…

At recreation time, Ivan by the window, reading, people moving around him like water around a smooth stone that licked his finger to turn pages.

…

At meals, a table to himself, a fortress, a minefield.

…

Outdoors, Ivan could have been a hiker, alone, the last one on the Earth, walking through a field with his hands behind his back and a tent he could set up in abandoned cities.

…

A lion gripped a gazelle in his teeth while Alfred neatly stepped over the chairs in front of him and sat down next to Ivan. If Ivan was surprised, if Alfred held more interest than the stupid fucking Savannah, he certainly didn't show it.

"People are afraid of you."

Ivan's eyes held only the screen in front of him and did not turn their attention to Alfred. "I am trying to watch the movie. Your voice is loud and distracting."

"You don't give a shit about the movie."

"Interesting conclusion, because I'm watching it."

Alfred looked between Ivan and the projection. "Who gives a shit about lions?"

"Obviously not you."

Ivan's eyes were still glued to the screen and it was pissing Alfred right the fuck off.

"No one talks to you. All yesterday, no one, just the nurses and I would guess your doctor, but it must get lonely. All you do is read books and watch the shitty documentaries and nod when the nurses ask you to do something, and you don't have visitors that often, and you read fast and no one else reads the things you do so you have no one to talk to about them."

Finally, Ivan turned his eyes "So, Mr. Popular is pitying me? I have some bad news: I'm not going to sit at your lunch table."

"I wasn't inviting you." Alfred grinned at him. "But you are lonely. Or something. You didn't answer my questions, see, you're fucking deflecting and that shit doesn't work anymore. I might twitch like a motherfucker but you're lying, Braginski."

Half of Ivan's face was illuminated by the sunlit world an ocean away, and the other half was not. "And what am I lying about, Jones?"

Alfred stood and a shadow ate the projection. "You would totally sit at my lunch table if I invited you."

…

Ivan did not have any more books. He had boxes and boxes full of shit, but he did not have any more books, and Alfred should know, he had been digging under Ivan's bed nearly all evening, pulling out waste of tree pulp after waste of tree pulp and flipping to a random page only to find it wholly uninteresting.

Ivan had watched him at first, but he had soon picked up one of the books Alfred had tossed irritably away and began reading, trusting Alfred enough to look through his precious information. Not that there was much. Just shit.

"You know," Ivan said, licking a finger, "I could suggest a book to you."

No, that wasn't what Alfred wanted. He didn't want a suggestion, he wanted a book to call to him like a beacon, something influential that would change his world view like people had experienced with the Bible, but less boring than the Bible, because Alfred had tried that one and found it both hard to read and also a waste of paper and honestly, did every single book Ivan own try to use the biggest word possible? Like look, here, extraordinary, couldn't they just use great?

Ivan proceeded to tell him about the merits of more precise words to communicate blah, blah, blah. Alfred watched Ivan's mouth move and watched his eyes continue to read as he lectured and the sound wasn't bad, soft. Alfred looked up at Ivan from his position on the floor, his feet under Ivan's bed, and thought about how few people had seen Ivan from this angle, looking up as Ivan read and talked, surrounded by books. And the sound really was quite lovely and Alfred just rested his head against Ivan's knee.

…

Alfred stared at the doorway, counting the shadows that walked by, counting his heart beat, dividing it by six, multiplied by twelve and a half and then subtracting by seven, fingers twitching, restarting when the shadows walked back in front of the door, boots heavy on the floor.

He had asked to go to the bathroom three times and it was only one in the morning, they were going to tell him to hold it if he didn't stop, they were going to call the nurses if he didn't stop—

"What are you thinking about?"

Alfred looked over to the other side of the room and found a companion in bed, sitting up, eyes bright in the gloom.

"I don't want to sleep." Alfred held up his hand and watched his hand trembled. "It feels like all I've been doing is sleeping and I don't want to do it anymore." Like a fog had settled over him, slowing his movements, the whole world banging on his front door and demanding his attention. And the world was so boring.

"It is boring," Ivan said softly, "isn't it?"

Alfred blinked up at him, suddenly unsure if he had spoken aloud or not. "Why are you here, Ivan?"

Ivan head turned away from the light of the hallway, and if there had been a window in this jailcell, Ivan would have been looking out it and considering the question. As it was, he looked at the cinderblock walls and took longer to respond. "Because I was ordered to be here."

This clicked into place in Alfred's mind. So that was why people were afraid of him, because he wasn't kept here against his will by the hospital, but by someone else, because he didn't take the same pills in the morning and his responses weren't the same in group. Because someone higher had looked at Ivan and decided to make him come here.

"And why are you here, Alfred?"

Why was Alfred here. It was all people seemed to be asking him these days, and Alfred watched the shadow walk across the door and counted his heartbeat and divided and multiplied and subtracted and almost forgot to respond to a question that had been haunting him the past few days. "I'm not like Feli."

"No. No, you are most certainly not like Feliciano. Which begs the question, doesn't it?"

"I think… I think Mattie put me here." Alfred picked at some weird, dry stuff on his hands, wondering where it had come from, why it was there, when things like this started to bug him when they so clearly hadn't before. Had they? "Do you think that medication works?"

"Flutix?"

What the fuck was Flutix? "No, the shit they give me. The same bullshit they give Feli. Do you think it works? Do you think it's working? Do you—"

"I certainly think it does something."

Ivan's figure swam in Alfred's vision and his eyes burned and his head was full of fuzz and he could feel the darkness pulling him down, pulling his eyelids down and his head started to dip even as he jerked up to try and stay awake and even as Ivan stood and walked over to him and it felt so good to slip into that blank space in his head and give in and Ivan looked down at him and

…

Alfred frowned. "Where did you get that?"

Feli looked up. "Hm?"

Alfred pointed at the brownie Feli was holding. "Where did you get that? I didn't get one, and everyone else only gets Jell-O here for dessert. How the fuck did you get a brownie, Feli?"

Feli looked at the brownie in his hand like he was surprised to see it there, the fucker. "Oh, um, I don't know. It was just on my food tray, and I just thought that I could eat it because it was there—"

"Why didn't anyone else get a brownie?" Alfred leaned over and snatched the paper slip that detailed Feli's food order, and yep, the slip had Feli's name on it, so he hadn't taken someone else's tray by accident. "What makes you so special that you get a good dessert?"

Feli was staring at him with wide eyes, frozen, scrambling for an excuse. "I—I don't know, I just eat what they—"

"No, that's bullshit. They have a locked room and you have to ride on an elevator to get up here, they don't make mistakes, there aren't any windows. You didn't just get a brownie by mistake. There's other shit, too, you get more bathroom breaks at night, and I bet you there's other shit I didn't notice, either."

"Alfred," Feli said, voice bordering on yelling, defensive, "I don't know why I got a brownie." His voice wavered and his eyes were glassy and Alfred wasn't buying that shit for a second. "But I'm sure if I just tell—"

"Alfred." Ivan's voice was like a fire extinguisher, cold and calm and dousing, a tone that could get in your lungs and seep into your bloodstream and calm anger. Alfred hadn't even heard him walk over, and he leaned backwards to look at him. "Could I talk to you for a moment?"

Alfred shoved himself away from the table, glaring at Feli as Ivan gently led him away by the small of the back to the corner of the room, where he stood, head tilted as Alfred explained that Feli was fucking shifty as fuck, the brownie was just the final straw, something was off and Alfred didn't know what but Feli definitely had connections, he had a key to this place, a key or could feed notes through the heating vents to the kitchen—

"Alfred, do you really think Feliciano could pull all that off?"

Alfred watched Feli stare at his brownie, eyes wet and breath hitching, the schizo.

"Right, see," Ivan murmured, "it doesn't make sense for Feliciano to be the one orchestrating any grand brownie heist, does it?"

No. No, Alfred supposed not. No, but he was caught up in something, something he had no idea about, right over his head, a mile high. It was just a matter of who, and of course the obvious answer were the people keeping Feli here, and by extension, the people keeping Alfred here, but why, and what did the brownie have to do with it?

Well, it was obviously a reward, even if poor, stupid Feli had no idea it was. But, if there was one thing Feli was, was talkative, he could talk about the color of the tiles or about flowers or other dumb shit, so he was a spy—

"Come on Alfred, you can do better than that." Ivan looked over his shoulder at Feli. "I do wonder the coincidence, though, don't you?"

Okay, start over, Feli wasn't a spy, he was just a bystander. And Feli wasn't going to put two and two together, obviously, so that just…

Alfred bounced on the balls of his feet. "It has to do with me, I bet you. I'm the only guy in this place who's going to notice something like that, the only one who can put this together. It was a message from…"

From someone, and Alfred felt his brow furrow as he dug for answers.

"Feliciano as a means of communication. Yes, Alfred, I like that. Good boy."

…

Alfred couldn't think. He could feel the thoughts scatter away from him like marbles, ones he was constantly tripping over himself trying to capture, marbles covered in butter. Other thoughts kept interrupting on everything, stupid thoughts that made him hesitate and worry about instead.

When the doctor asked about Matthew, Alfred found himself wondering about Matt, where he was, if he missed Alfred, what he was doing with all of Alfred's stuff, how Dad and Papa were, how Matthew was, if he was still mad at Alfred, and Alfred found himself unable to remember Matthew's number when he tried to call, which just sent his mind spiraling more because what if Matthew had died of carbon monoxide poisoning, it was Alfred who had always checked the alarms and changed the batteries, how the apartment was, how Matthew was paying rent without Alfred's contribution and on and on and on and if Matt was mad at Alfred.

When Feli started avoiding him for whatever reason, Alfred's mind got on about that. Why was Feli avoiding him? It hardly seemed fair and Alfred hadn't even done anything besides out the obvious, so now Alfred watched Feli eat alone like a loser and Feli avoided looking at him and he got quiet and it was just such bullshit that Alfred couldn't comprehend it.

And Ivan. Alfred found Ivan plaguing Alfred's train of thought like a bandit. He had been ordered to be here, what could that fascinating thing mean, and did it have to do with the books Ivan read. He had touched Alfred's elbow and his back and had called Alfred a good boy, and he was always there to suggest something that Alfred hadn't even considered, make Alfred's mind reel with the possibilities and he seemed to like doing it, and he caught Ivan looking at him, head tilted and Alfred needed to figure out who was trying to get a message to him.

During movie nights, Alfred pressed his knee against Ivan's and watched Ivan pretend to ignore him.

Alfred changed in front of Ivan after his showers, dripping wet and slick, humming like he wasn't aware he was doing it, and he reveled in the eyes Ivan had for him.

But.

He needed to get his mind back on topic. He couldn't think. And there was something up with the brownie—

"For the love of God, Alfred, stop with the brownie."

-and so Alfred had a plan. Alfred had big tonsils. When he was younger, he would stare at himself in the mirror, examining his eyes and his eyebrows and his hair and his teeth and the thing that dangled from the back of his throat and his tonsils. He had forced Mathew's mouth open (and nearly gotten a finger chomped off for his trouble) to compare, and Alfred's tonsils were much, much bigger.

"I hardly see what this has to do with the brownie, or more importantly, what this has to do with your special message." Ivan was pretending to read, like he did when Alfred told him his plans.

The next morning, waiting for his meds, Alfred pretended to swallow them as the nurse checked his cheeks and tongue and cheeks, but in reality they were resting on his tonsils. If he flexed his throat right, his tonsils stuck out, catching the pills like a net catching litter from his stream of thought.

Alfred waited for the nurse to move off, and then coughed up the pills into palm of his hand grinned at Ivan.

Ivan looked at the pills. "That was disgusting," he said mildly. "But clever."

"Of course it was clever. I'm clever. Now," Alfred said, flicking the pills through the heating vent, "I can think again."

"And what a delight that will be."

Alfred grinned.

…

Ordered to be here.

Alfred watched Ivan's sleeping form as the words ran over and over again in his head. Ordered to be here by who?

Someone stalked by the doorframe and Alfred watched them without his glasses on and in a half-haze of exhaustion and his mind couldn't connect the two pieces because that nurse was familiar, wasn't he, Alfred had seen him before, he knew it, he knew it.

…

It was like Alfred had downed energy drinks, he felt like he was on top of the world, a map spread before him and he could freely wander around it and no Feli, he wasn't hyper today, this was how he always was, it's just that Feli didn't notice things like Alfred did, not that it's a bad thing.

Well, Feli, it was simple really. Remember the brownie, it was apart of something bigger, something Feli hadn't realized before. It was a test, test for Alfred, to check how with it he was, if he was still trusting the pills they gave out—not that he wasn't taking them—but it had to do with the management. Did you ever notice how everything is locked around here, no, probably not, but the only way in and out: locked. The nurse's station: locked. Certain rooms, random rooms, one where Alfred had gotten his blood tested: locked. It didn't make sense because Alfred wasn't a threat to anyone.

It was the doctor. The head doctor, the one who ran everything—no, Feli, he isn't nice—well, if he was nice, that was just a ploy to get people to trust him. Clearly, he wasn't a good guy. That was the only thing that made sense to Alfred, that he was keeping people here against their will. People like Alfred, who shouldn't be here, and Ivan, who was ordered to be here, people like Feli who couldn't do much, even if he wanted to.

"Really?" Ivan asked. "Why would he want to keep people here?"

Well, that was simple, wasn't it? Doctors had egos, everyone knew that, almost as bad as ER nurses, and they liked to flex them. So when doctors like…

"Dr. Väinämöinen."

Right, yes, Dr. V, got some people who were misunderstood, it made him feel like he had a big dick to keep Alfred here, the fucker. But he wasn't completely evil, he just wanted to see if you were smarter than him, if you could solve his puzzles, catch his clues, he would let you go. Shit like the brownie.

"You are obsessed with this brownie."

It's all apart of the puzzle, Ivan.

And it made sense, too, that fucker was condescending as fuck, broke trust constantly, didn't give a fuck about doctor-patient confidentiality, flagrantly threw his weight around by ordering bullshit prescriptions, ignored complaints, and was generally just a giant cock.

…

There was something new in his box, something that shouldn't be there, something sharp. It was a box cutter, at the very bottom, hidden under a broken gyroscope and old thermometer, one Alfred had never seen before in his life, with a fresh, crisp blade, one that fit into his palm like it had been molded to.

…

There was something higher than the doctor, Ivan. The doctor must have a boss, right? Someone who looked into the workings of this whole fucking locked loop and laughed about it. This higher-someone knew about the doctor and knew about Alfred, had seen him in the ER, had picked him for this game. This higher-someone, that's who was—

"Alfred." Ivan's breath was hot against Alfred's neck and his toes were cold against Alfred's legs. "It's too late for this."

"But you believe me." Alfred rolled his head to look at Ivan, searching his face in the gloom. "This person, they're the one who ordered you to be here, right? You're a spy, you're someone who reports back to him, aren't you?" Alfred looked for a confirmation in a movement of Ivan's face.

Ivan reached a hand up and ran a finger along Alfred's jawline.

And there were two sections, one working for the doctor and one working for the higher person—

"The General?"

Yes, the General, some were working for him, some for the doctor, and the one working for the General, they were the one sending messages to Alfred, they were the ones who wanted to get him and Ivan out, Alfred had figured it out, didn't Ivan see, it was so simple, Alfred felt like an idiot for not seeing it soon—

"Do you know all those books I read, Alfred?"

Yes—

"I would burn all those books just to listen to you talk for ten minutes."

"Ten?"

Ivan let out a sigh and bit Alfred gently on the shoulder, then kissed him in the same spot, lightly, Alfred barely felt his lips there, light as a snowflake melting. "Five, even. But it is late, and the guards will change shifts soon."

Ivan stood and retreated to his bed and left Alfred aching after cold toes.

Alfred knew what he had to do.

…

"I want to talk," Alfred said.

The doctor looked at him with interest. "That's what I'm here for, after all."

No, Alfred was going to speak and the doctor was going to listen, and then he was going to decide. Alfred wasn't stupid, he had figured out what was going on around here. It hadn't been easy, but it made sense now, the pills, the wrongful imprisonment—

No, doctor, Alfred was going to speak first.

The wrongful imprisonment, the hints, the little things, the brownie, the gift someone had sent him, Mattie turning his back on Alfred, all these had melded into a perfect picture of what was going on around here.

And, Alfred spoke louder for the microphones no doubt planted around the room, he had figured out what the General was asking him to do. But Alfred was going to give the doctor a choice first, because Alfred was a good guy. Now, the good doctor could either let Alfred go and explain to Matthew that this whole thing was a mistake, could release Ivan and stop playing this demented game—let everyone go who didn't deserve to be here, or the doctor would see exactly what the General had planned for him.

No, answer the question first.

Answer the question.

Alright, fine, if that's how he wanted to do things. And so Alfred stood and showed him the gift the General had sent him.

The doctor stood immediately but his feet got caught up in the chair and he half fell on his desk, papers—Alfred's paper, papers that tracked his progress at the games and notes to the General—slid from the folder to the floor and Alfred had made it around the edge of the desk and the doctor was looking up at him with wide eyes and Alfred raised the gift and Alfred brought the gift down but the doctor had been raising his hands and Alfred's gift came down there instead of—instead of—

And now the doctor was bleeding and yelling and there was so much blood, dripping down his arms and off his elbows and falling to the ground and getting on those white notes and he shied away from Alfred and the doctor's feet finally came free of the chair and he slumped against the wall looking at his ruined palms and another fresh wave of blood seeped down his arms and Alfred suddenly didn't know what the General wanted now and he backed away and he looked around for the cameras and he told the doctor:

"I want to leave now."

The doctor nodded at him. "Alright, Alfred." His voice was small and scared but his face was composed even as he held his hands uselessly in front of him, and Alfred could see he had gotten him in between the thumb and the pointer finger and his thumb hung down at an odd angle that made Alfred's stomach turn.

And then a nurse burst into the room and Alfred was slammed into the ground and he was sorry, he didn't mean to, he got it wrong, he was sorry, he didn't want to hurt anyone he just wanted to go, please let him go home please please please

#aph rusame #rusame #APH America #APH Russia #hetalia fanfic #writing #hetalia fanfiction #asylum #alfred f jones #ivan braginski

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myfaveisfuckable · 11 months

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Rants under the read more

mihashi/hamada: listen literally any ship that isnt abemiha or tajihana is a rarepair for this manga which deeply sucks if u arent a fan of either of those ships but i dont think this pairing even has a tag like these two are childhood friends hamada starts a cheer sqaud for the baseball team mihashi plays on theyre generally pretty close (its been a while since ive read the start of the manga but im pretty sure hamada also got mihashi into baseball in the first place? like hello??) n then theres like one fic in their platonic relationship tag so 👍👍

Nokiami : (spoilers for the game) all the fan stuff ive seen for the game is painfully straight unless its focusing on the two ships where one character is canonically gay n in love with the other (protag of the sequel game with his gay bestie i forgot the name of n yuuko/fei) n ami is usually just drawn on her own BUT theres a lot of canon subtext between nokia n ami mostly as a result of not much actually changing based on if u play as a boy or a girl regardless nokia to some extent likes ami she flirts with her talks about their relationship as if theyre already dating theres a scene that parallels a m/f couple in the game that plays exactly the same between ami n nokia with two other characters saying something along the lines of ah young love during a mandatory side quest ami gets offered an implied sex doll that looks exactly like nokia (weird story there the quest ends with it being heavily implied that the people that take the dolls end up having their organs harvested while their minds are stuck in a digital space called eden unaware that theyre not in the real world) n she has to think about it before declining the offer nokia's character arc is working to become a strong leader n reliable friend cause she wants to stand next to ami instead of relying on her theyre childhood friends but forgot about it ok i need to explain a bit more of the story so like as kids ami n nokia along with three other characters met beta testing for eden n one of them ended up getting eden syndrome to make sure theyre all able to leave safely (theres a thing called eaters that if u get eaten by put u in a coma cause theyre storing the contents of ur brain in them) n a guy who wants to use the eaters to get to the next stage of evolution removes their memories of the incident so years later as teenagers ami nokia n arata (one of the childhood friends important to the story but not to the ship) become friends again n reunite on eden where ami ends up getting eden syndrome but in a funky way cause she was logging out as she got eaten so she has a cyber body that over the course of the game deteriorates n at the end of the game ami basically dies right as everything is being fixed all the victims of eden syndrome are no longer comatose but ami is cause yknow kind of deteriorated too much n it happened right in front of nokia's eyes as she reached out for her hand so they could go home together n nokia cries for the only time in the game cause of that but ive genuinely never seen any fan stuff of them interacting so despite them being teased romantically n built up as being really important to eachother theres nothing not even like nokia with takumi (boy protagonist) im submitting it specifically as nokia/ami just cause i like wlw ships more if u want to do it neutrally protag's surname regardless of gender is aiba sorry if this is incoherent its been like 6 months since ive played the game

#poll #tournament #oofuri #digimon cyber sleuth

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weekendwarriorblog · 5 years

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WHAT TO WATCH THIS WEEKEND July 4, 2019 - SPIDER-MAN: FAR FROM HOME, MIDSOMMAR, MARIANNE & LEONARD

It’s the 4thof July weekend, which is often the bane of my existence because I’m never invited to do anything with anyone. Fortunately, I’m going back to Ohio for the first time in nine months so I’ll be spending this 4thof July with family, and hopefully, that will include some movie-watching.

The movie I’m most excited about seeing again is SPIDERMAN: FAR FROM HOME (Sony), the sequel directed by Jon Watts that returns Tom Holland to the Spidey-suit and brings back all of his friends and classmates, as well as throwing Jake Gyllenhaal’s Mysterio into the mix. You can read how much I enjoyed the movie in my review below, and also, check out my interview with the director, also below.

MY REVIEW OF SPIDER-MAN: FAR FROM HOME

INTERVIEW WITH JON WATTS ON THE BEAT

The other wide release this weekend is Ari Aster’s sophomore feature MIDSOMMAR (A24), starring Florence Pugh, Jack Reynor (Sing Street) and Will Poulter as a group of friends who travel to Sweden to observe a Midsommar ritual held by the community of their friend, but things are not what they seem. Before you can say “The Wicker Man,” they’re finding out the real intentions for their hosts.

Mini-Review: Like most, I loved Ari Aster’s Hereditary and saw it as the advent of a fantastic new vision in filmmaking and horror, specifically. Whenever a filmmaker delivers such an amazing debut, his or her follow-up is going to be eyed with equal parts anticipation and scrutiny, and that’s truly been the case with Midsommar.

Like Aster’s previous film, this one begins with the death of family members, in this case those of Florence Pugh’s Dani early on in the movie. Dani’s boyfriend Christian (Jack Reynor from Sing Street) is ready to break up with Dani, because he can’t handle her family drama. At the same time, Christian has been invited by his friend Pelle (Vilhelm Blomgren) to go to his small Swedish community to take part in the Midsommar ritual along with friends Josh and Mark (Will Poulter). When Dani finds out about it and Christian invites her (think she’ll say “No’ – she doesn’t) – it soon becomes obvious Dani will be the fifth wheel threatening to bring down the mood. That’s okay because Pelle’s friendly community might have ulterior motives for the visitors.

There’s a lot to like about Midsommar, particularly Aster’s clever way of exploring The Wicker Man territory in a new way that offers terror and horror often in the brightest of daylight, an achievement in itself. Other than the film’s look and the production design that went into making it such a unique-looking visual film, it’s hard to ignore the fact that this is the exact same “stupid young people on vacation getting slaughtered” motif we’ve seen in so many horror films from Eli Roth’s Hostel movies to Touristas to so many more.

For the most part, Aster has another strong cast -- Florence Pugh is quite fantastic in a very different role, although she does a lot of crying in this movie. Jack Reynor could begin stepping into a few of Chris Pratt’s roles without anyone batting an eye, because he has similar rugged looks and charm. I actually liked Will Poulter’s obnoxious American to the point where when he mysteriously vanishes halfway through the movie, it loses quite a bit.

Beyond that, Midsommar explores some of the same themes Aster explored in his first movie, including death and grief and family squabbles with one character crying a lot, and of course, diabolical cult rituals and lots of nudity. Aster also use the same upside-down camera shot he used in Hereditary, which itself was borrowed from Darren Aronofsky. Maybe I’d have liked Midsommar more if it didn’t feel like Aster was retreading familiar territory. I do have to wonder if Aster has ever had therapy, because he certainly seems to have issues, maybe even with a sister, driving him to kill sisters in both his films?

Owing as much to The Texas Chainsaw Massacre as the more obvious Wicker Man, MIdsommar is still not your typical horror movie by any means. If your favorite part of Hereditary was its crazy ending and you didn’t think it was crazy enough, then Midsommar is the movie for you!

Rating: 7/10

LIMITED RELEASES

Because it’s the 4thof July this week, we’re getting far fewer limited releases but I do want to call attention to a couple docs opening this week.

But first, I want to draw attention to a movie that opened at the Film Forum last week, Lila Avilés’ The Chambermaid, an amazing portrait of a Mexican maid in a high-end hotel as she goes through the day-to-day while trying to achieve her goals and dreams, all which seem to move further and further away. I was a fan of last year’s Romaand though The Chambermaid is a different type of movie, it features another amazing performance by an indigenous Mexican, Gabriela Cartol, who had appeared in a couple other movies before, but she really keeps the viewer drawn to the movie and the things that she goes through. At times, it feels like there’s no way for her to fulfill those dreams, and it’s something to which we can all relate.

A doc that’s a must see for all Leonard Cohen fans is Nick Broomfield’s MARIANNE & LEONARD: WORDS OF LOVE (Roadside Attractions), an amazing look at the relationship between Cohen and Marianne Ihlen, the Norwegian woman with whom he lived on the isle of Hydra in Greece, one of his early muses and the inspiration for the song “Goodbye, Marianne.” It’s an amazing film by the award-winning documentarian that has a lot of revelations, including the fact that Broomfield as friends with Marianne going back to the ‘60s, making him the perfect filmmaker to tackle the subject. It opens in select cities including the Angelika Film Center in New York Friday.

Opening at the IFC Center in New York is Rob Fruchtman and Steve Lawrence’s The Cat Rescuers about New York City’s 500,000 street cats and a group of volunteers who go through Brooklyn getting these cats fixed and returning them to their colonies or getting them adopted. It’s a movie that cat lovers will probably enjoy similar to the film Kedi from a few years back, but it’s also kind of sad when you realize that some of this cat population will have to be put down, because cats are adorable and you don’t want them to die.

Opening at the City Cinemas Village East in New York almost two years since premiering at TIFF is Tali Shalom-Ezer’s My Days of Mercy, starring Ellen Page and Amy Seimetz (Pet Sematary) as sisters Lucy and Martha who attend state executions to demonstrate against the death penalty. At one such event, Lucy meets Mercy (Kate Mara), the daughter of a police officer whose partner was killed by a man about to be put to death. They quickly bond before Lucy confesses that her own father (Elias Koteas) is on Death Row.

The only other limited release this weekend is Frédéric Petitjean’s directorial debut Cold Blood (Screen Media), starring Jean Reno as Henry, a hitman who is living in a cabin by a lake in the Rocky Mountains when he encounters a young woman who survived a snowmobile accident and has to decide whether to save her life. It opens in select cities and On Demand Friday.

STREAMING AND CABLE

There aren’t any big movie releases on Netflix this weekend but that’s because Season 3 of Stranger Things will premiere on the 4thof July, and I expect many people will be spending the early part of the weekend watching that.

REPERTORY

METROGRAPH (NYC):

Unfortunately, I missed something last week in terms of repertory series at the Metrograph as I didn’t realize that former Village Voice critic J. Hoberman was doing another series in conjunction with his latest bookMake My Day: Movie Culture in the Age of Reagan. The series Reagan at the Movies: Found Illusionsincludes a mixed array of films including 1951’s The Day the Earth Stood Still, a new restoration of Rambo: First Blood Part II (1985), Clint Eastwood’s Firefox (1983), Hal Ashby’s Being There(1979) starring Peter Sellers and more!

Also on Wednesday, Metrograph will be premiering a special 20thanniversary restoration of Takashi Miike’s horror classic Audition, which I think is so perfect for the remake treatment due to the #MeToo movement and its implications. Can you imagine how well a revenge thriller about a young woman getting revenge on sleazy movie producer types would go over in this day and age? Call me, Jason Blum!

This week’s Late Nites at Metrograph is Penelope Spheeris’ Suburbia (1983) while the Playtime: Family Matinees is Robert Zemeckis’ Who Framed Roger Rabbit? (1988).

THE NEW BEVERLY (L.A.):

Weds has a special matinee screening of the Bond film From Russia With Love (1963) and Tarantino’s theater isn’t taking off on the 4th of July. In fact, it’s holding a special event screening of Red Dawn (1984) and Rocky IV (1985) (You might notice a theme there… USA! USA!) Weds and Thursday are also double features of The Happening (1967) with Anthony Quinn and Land Raiders (1970), starring Telly Savalas. The Friday/Saturday double features are the 1966 sci-fi classic Fantastic Voyage with 100 Rifles. The weekend’s KIDDE MATINEE is the Disney classic The Love Bug (1968), while Friday’s midnight screening is Tarantino’s Django Unchained and Saturday at midnight is a 35mm print of Richard Rush’s Getting Straight (1970), starring Elliot Gould and Candice Bergen. Sunday and Monday is a double feature of Dean Martin’s Murderer’s Row (1966) with Ann-Margret’s Kitten with a Whip (1964).

FILM FORUM (NYC):

Elaine May’s Mikey and Nicky (1976) gets a new 4k restoration that begins on Friday, plus May’s 1971 film A New Leaf will also screen through the weekend. The restoration of Jennie Livingston’s Paris Burning continues to play through the weekend, while the Film Forum will also continue showing Elaine May’s Ishtar and the Coen’s The Big Lebowski through the 4thof July.

EGYPTIAN THEATRE (LA):

The Friday after the 4thof July sees a double feature of Steven Spielberg’s Jaws (1975) and Hard Ticket to Hawaii (1987), co-presented by Beyond Fest. Saturday is a screening of the classic Lawrence of Arabia (1962) in 70mm, while Sunday sees a double feature of The Return of the Living Dead (1985) and The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2 (1986).

AERO (LA):

Oh, look… Spielberg’s Jaws is playing here, too… but on Wednesday. Director Peter Hunt will be on hand Friday to screen his movie musical 1776 (1972). On Saturday, you can see a double feature of Jaws 3-D (1983) and A*P*E (1976), co-presented by Cinematic Void, and on Sunday is a Baseball Double Feature of 1993’s The Sandlot and Penny Marshall’s A League of Their Own (1992), both in 35mm!

MUSEUM OF THE MOVING IMAGE (NYC):

MOMI is having another screening of Stephen Frears’ My Beautiful Laundrette (1985), starring Daniel Day Lewis on Saturday, wrapping up Grit and Glitter: Before and After Stonewall. This weekend’s See It Big! Action movies are Robocop (1987) on Friday and the Wachowskis’ The Matrix on Saturday and Sunday.

QUAD CINEMA (NYC):

Opening on Friday is a 4k restoration of the Director’s Cut of Daniel Vigne’s The Return of Martin Guerre (1982), starring Gerard Depardieu.

ROXY CINEMA (NYC)

On Saturday, you can see Alfred Hitchcock’s terror masterpiece Psycho (1960) on the big screen again!

LANDMARK THEATRES NUART (LA):

Friday’s midnight screening is Tommy Wiseau’s midnight movie “classic” The Room (2003).

Next week, things slow down with two lower-profile films, the comedy Stuber, starring Kumhail Nanjiani and Dave Bautista, and the alligator horror film Crawl, from Alexandra Aja and Sam Raimi.

#SpiderManFarFromHome Midsommar TheChambermaid MarianneLeonard Movies Reviews

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seduceme-lovestruck-thearcana · 5 years

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The Secrets Chapter 3

The children

**3 years later**

Me and Anita were walking along a path in the woods. It was fall and the leaves were turning a bit orange and looked beautiful. Anita seemed to be happy and liked to look at all the children being happy. And speaking of children, I can’t wait until my child is born. Anita and I had gotten married and I gotten her pregnant. Anita’s stomach was starting to show and it made me realize how much closer we are to having children. Hopefully, more than one. I remember how happy I was when I found out she was pregnant. My mother told me because Anita didn’t even know it herself yet. My mother just couldn’t wait. Anita sighed and rubbed her back. “My back hurts. Can we sit down?” “We’re almost home. Can you walk that far?” Ive gotten more worried of her ever since she gotten pregnant. Never knew when she was needing to rest, needed food, or anything to keep the baby safe. She nodded and grabbed my hand and walked home.

“How you feeling so far, honey?” Anita shrugged as she answered my mom. My mom had made her some tea and was talking with her. “Are you ready to be a parent?” My father had asked me. I shrugged. “We won’t find out until they come now will we?” My father let out a chuckle and smiled. “Now that’s the truth dear boy.” “Have you thought of names?” Anita and I both looked at each other. We looked away and shook our heads. “I guess we just haven’t had the time to think about it,” I answered. “Well, we should start thinking,” Anita joined in. I nodded and started to head off to our room to think of some names. “John, can I talk to you for a second?” My father had rarely used my name. He usually used a nickname like “boy” or “son”. He only used my name when it was something important or I was in trouble. “Yes sir.”

He walked me to the outside and walked me to the lake that was near our house. He stood there with me for a few seconds before he began to speak. “When you have your children, I want you to be very careful,” he said. “You know that we are angels, correct?” I nodded. “And see, we have an enemy and you already know who this is.” “Lucifer,” I replied. Lucifer, or the Devil, has been our enemy. “He made a deal with one of our ancestors and that has changed our generations. We don’t know when he will come back for one of us.” That statement threw me off and made my heart quicken a bit. “Come for one of us? What do you mean?” My father sighed and seemed very sad. “He tried to come for Alexia. But, me and your mother fought back hard and didn’t lose her. So, he didn’t come back,” he explained. “Why did he come in the first place?” He sighed once more and turned to look at me. “He takes one of us to hell and uses us against our own family. He makes us forget about our past and makes us be reborn. But not reborn for the right purpose. He will come and find you and do something horrible to you, John,” he paused, “I want you to be prepared for that,” he finished. I nodded and stared back out into the lake. “That was a rough bomb to drop on you, son. But, it needed to be done. It wasn’t easy for me to hear it either,” he confessed. I let out a little laugh. “I don’t think it’d be easier for anyone.” My father let out a laugh as well and nodded. “Yes yes. It never gets easier. Now,” he said, “let’s head on back home and you can think of those names with Anita.” I nodded and we started to head back to the house.

“Hmmm,” I heard Anita hum. “What names could we do if it’s a girl?” Anita was sitting on the bed and had a piece of paper in her hand. We were thinking of good names and names that we liked the most. “Amy?” Anita shook her head. “Janice?” Anita shook her head once more. “Sarah?” Anita looked at me and wrote that down. “I want that one,” she said. I titled my head and was confused. “Why that name?” Anita smiled and looked down at her hands. “Doesn’t the name Sarah mean princess? If I named her that, then I’d have a reason to call her princess,” she said. I smiled and nodded. “It seems like a fair name. Now, what happens if it’s a boy,” I questioned her. She laid her head on her fist and huffed. “Boys are too hard to name,” she said annoyed. I laughed and sat beside her. “Well, it’ll be worth it,” I started, “because once we find a name, the next best thing happens.” Anita seemed to brighten up st that. “We would be parents,” she said with a smile. I nodded and kissed her forehead. “You’ll be the best mom.” “And you’ll be the best dad.” We both smiled at each other and laid down for a few hours. I let her rest. She seems to be much more tired recently. Is she close? Am I going to be a father soon? I can’t even remember how long it has been. Maybe 8 months? I can’t remember. But, it doesn’t matter. I’ll wait however long it does take for me to have my child.

“John!” I could feel Anita shaking me awake. I moan and groan at first. It was too early for this. But, she was my wife and I was concerned. “ITS TIME,” I heard her yell. This immediately woke me up. I sat up and looked over at her. Her eyebrows were pinched together and she was grunting with pants in between. “Stay here, I’ll go get my mom,” I said with a shake in my voice. I got up and ran to her bedroom. I could feel my legs shaking. Was I ready for this? I’ve always wanted to be a parent. But was I truly ready for it? I opened the door without a knock. My mom was still sleeping. I ran over to her and shook her awake. “MOM! IT’S TIME!” She woke up confused and sleepy. She rubbed her eyes and stared at my panicked look. “It’s Anita! It’s time!” Her eyes widened and she woke my father up and catched him up on everything. My dad went to get some water and towels and me and my mom went to get everything ready. Me and her walked back to her and I held her hand as my mom worked her through the steps. Honestly, I felt sick. And I wasn’t the one giving birth. “Breathe, Anita, breathe,” I kept repeating. She was squeezing my hand as hard as she could and was screaming. I didn’t know how to calm her down. What are you supposed to say to a screaming woman?? I just held her hand and rubbed circles into her back to calm her down. It would be over soon and we would be parents. That was the light at the end of this tunnel.

About two hours later, I looked down into my arms at the bundle of joy. It was our little girl. I looked over to see Anita still sitting down in the bed, but had our little boy in her arms. We had twins and we were blessed. The girl had her mothers eyes, my nose, and her mothers freckles. The little boy had my eyes, his mothers nose, and a little mark beside his right eyebrow. I guess it was a birthmark. “Anita,” I whispered to her as I sat next to her. “The names?” She looked down at the girl and little boy in her arms. “Jacob and Sarah,” she told me. I smiled and nodded and looked at both of them. “Jacob and Sarah.”

A few months after the children’s birth, a shadow of a man stood outside of their home, looking into the window, and smiling. Smiling so wide that too many teeth were showing. The man let out a deep laugh. “It’s time. Time for me to get a new servant,” he said. His tongue ran across his lips as he rubbed his hands together. He soon took a step forward and turned into a shadow. Next moment, he appeared into their bedroom. He looked around and noticed the sleeping married couple. “Such a shame this has to happen,” he said as he walked over to the sleeping woman. “Anita Mishoe,” he said. “Such innocence.” He started to stroke her cheek and tilted her head upwards. “Well, such a shame this has to happen, but I don’t care.” He let go of her chin and chuckled and turned towards the children. “You will suffer,” the voice growled. He walked over to the children and could sense their power. Their mere newborn bodies seemed to glow in the moonlight. He hummed and tapped his chin. “Which one should it be?” He reached out his hand towards Jacob. But, before he could reach the newborns head, he heard, “STOP SATAN.”

The man turned around while laughing at that name. “Ah, yes. It is me. Coming to take what’s mine,” he said as he saw who was there. John was standing there, wings all drawn out, and his sister was there. Their eyes were glowing and they seemed ready to do whatever it took to save the children. Anita, however, wasn’t awake. He smiled at their eagerness of fighting. Johns eyes turned toward the children and Alexias eyes turned toward Anita. They both had people to save. This would be difficult but they would do anything to save them. Satans eyes followed Alexias eyes. He walked over to her and saw Alexia and Johns eyes follow him. Satan touched her cheek and sighed. “DON’T TOUCH HER,” John yelled. Anita started to move and groan. Satan laughed and put his hand around her neck and began to squeeze. “NO!” Anita woke up and started to struggle. John heard her chokes and went lunging towards her. However, that was the plan. He hit Satans hand with his power and he heard a ‘hiss’ noise as it burned his skin. Instead of get angry, he smiled. Alexia screamed. John and Anita turned around and gasped. Satan was holding her in the air by her throat. He threw her against the wall and walked back towards the cribs. John tried to move but Satan raised his hand and pushed him towards the wall and stuck him there. Satan walked over and saw the two babies crying. He grabbed one of them. Satan has Jacob in his hands. He rocked him and looked at everyone. He put his hands around Jacobs throat and began to squeeze. But then, he stopped. “No, no, no. I will use you for another time,” he said. John looked over and saw the little girl still crying in the crib by herself. Her little hands were reaching out for someone or something. John struggles and struggled. He couldn’t move and tears started streaming down his face. “Take me instead!” He looked up and laughed. “I don’t need you,” he said. He began to walk away before, “WAIT!” He turned around and noticed Anita crying but with her hand out. “Let me say goodbye,” she whispered. It seemed like he didn’t hear her, but everyone knew he did. Sarah and Jacob were both crying. Satan walked towards Anita and held out Jacob. “Say your first and last goodbye.”

Anita took Jacob with shaking hands. She looked into his blue eyes. They were shining with tears. “Shh, shh, baby, it’s okay,” she whispered to him as she wiped his tears off his face. She looked at the birthmark on his right eyebrow. Every child of this bloodline had a Star of David on their body somewhere. She stared at the birthmark and realize that’s where it was. It was right there. She kissed right on that spot. “You will find your sister one day, and don’t leave her, follow your heart, and you will be reunited,” she whispered to him. She looked over at Satan and saw him inspecting his fingernails, uninterested at everything. Anita pulled back and stroked his cheek one last time. “Times up,” he said. He took Jacob forecefully and disappeared before anything else could be said. Alexia was still passed out on the floor and John was released from the wall and fell to the floor. He stood up and heard a door being banged open. His mother and father came running in with tears. His mother walked over to Alexia and his father went to the crib. “Father, I’m sorry,” John said with tears.

“I failed to save him.”

#The Secrets #my writing #havenfall is for lovers #hifl #havenfall is for lovers MC #AAAAHHAHAHDJAKSKW #idk if this was good #i tried so hard #but writing that satan moment is very hard #i can imagine it but writing it down #is too hard #I hope this was good

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brightbeautifulthings · 6 years

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Les Misérables: Part II, Book IV - Part III, Book VIII

Once again, I'm great at reading and bad at posting updates about it. I can consistently manage one thing on my blog--book reviews--and everything else gets fit in at random. I'm still reading Les Misérables regularly, and I just finished the Marius section this week so it seemed like a good time to post an update (although last month would have been better). This is slightly over half the book, which I'm really excited about because that means I'm slightly ahead of my schedule, and the prognosis is good for actually finishing it before the year is over.

Somewhere a while ago, I was starting to warm up to this book and actually look forward to reading it, and then I hit a bunch of dry sections including Terrifying Nuns & Their Living Habits, and the warm feelings went away. I've never had a book go so far in either direction as far as my feelings about it. Sometimes I can barely get through a section, and other times I'm completely drawn into the plot and the characters. I feel like there's probably a better way to balance this, but I don't know what it is. Maybe there's just no way to make boring historical things less boring. (In the novel's defense, history has never been my subject.) In those sections, I typically feel like I need another book just to explain to me what it is Hugo's getting at. There are probably some really good companion books out there, so I'm open to suggestions if you've read one.

"The bishop had taught him the meaning of virtue; Cosette had now taught him the meaning of love."

It's difficult not to love Jean Valjean as a character, and the contrast set up between him and Javert is one of the best I've ever seen in literature. Valjean is an ex-convict, but he's pretty much always the most (or the only) morally good character on the page. Javert is a police inspector, but he's so rigidly committed to the law that morality escapes him sometimes. He's the danger of a doctrine that only sees in black and white. The chase scene when Javert first discovers Valjean's identity is very tense. I wished the narrative hadn't moved away from describing Valjean and Cosette's relationship over the years in more depth. The next time we see them, a lot of time has passed.

Things pick up again with the introduction of Marius and Les Amis de l'ABC. I found Marius easy to identify with, since he's like a lot of academics I know. We're terribly committed to whatever theory has caught our attention lately, have difficulty resurfacing from our books, and have absolutely zero chill when the person we like is nearby. I nearly died laughing in the chapters where he walks by Cosette (again and again and again) and basically acts like a super-kook whenever she's around. Hello, my name is Marius. I am a Dork Fish extraordinaire. Except he'd never make it past hello, as most dork fish do not. If that isn't my college love life in a nutshell, I don't know what is.

I'm still having trouble distinguishing all the members of Les Amis de l'ABC. In typical Hugo fashion, they're introduced in great detail and then not mentioned again for two hundred pages. Alice and I were making each other laugh sending videos of Aaron Tveit coaching people on how to pronounce Enjolras (very helpful). Then there’s the obvious romance between him and Grantaire. "He was austere, seeming not to be aware of the existence on earth of a creature called woman." There's a word for that, Hugo. It's called gay. "But, skeptic that he was, he had one fanatical devotion, not for an idea, a creed, an art or a science, but for a man - for Enjolras. Grantaire admired, loved, and venerated Enjolras." As if it needed more angst, Enjolras kind of hates Grantaire. Ships are built on way less than that, and I can see why they're the couple who have launched 10,000 fics on AO3. I think I care more about their potential love story than Marius and Cosette's actual one.

"In the animal world no creature born to be a dove turns into a scavenger. This happens only among men."

I hope there's more Eponine later in the book, since she's my favorite character in the movie. She's played a much smaller role so far, and I'm interested to see how she moves from barely knowing Marius to being in love with him and how Marius moves from distracted bookworm to revolutionary (and I'm going to be sad if that's purely an invention of the musical). Hugo proves once again that he can build tension when he puts his mind to it, but Marius's crisis of conscience when Thénardier corners Valjean is much less satisfying than some earlier in the novel, given the outcome (trying not to be spoilery). I'm back to having mostly good feelings about the book, but also nervous about how many more sections might be passionately dedicated to a single day in history or the minutiae of the Paris sewer system.

#yrstruly #les mis readalong #readalong #les miserables #victor hugo

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laudsimogen · 6 years

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End of the Day

Summary: One of Jake’s undercover missions goes seriously awry, and he and his friends have to deal with the aftermath. Tags: Angst, happy ending Pairing: Jake x Amy Length: 4,390 words

The first and only thing Jake Peralta thought in the moment the gunshot rang out was I’ll never get to see Amy again.

And then he was down. There wasn’t any pain, unlike when he was shot in the foot, but there was some feeling of simultaneous numbness and heat blooming through him like ink in water. It felt like he could get back up, like he could push through it and defend himself the way he was trained, but he couldn’t muster the strength to stand.

A finishing shot should come soon, he thought, now that he couldn’t fight back. He shuddered to think about what an easy target he was in that moment.

But the shot never came, at least not that he could tell. He could have sworn he heard one, or even two, but it was all background noise to the uncomfortable sound of his pulse in his ears and the swaths of black clouding his vision.

It didn’t matter. One bullet or three didn’t make a difference; all Jake knew was that it was getting harder to breathe, and his heart was skipping, and he wished Amy could have been there to hold him one last time.

“Briefing room. Now.”

Amy immediately stood from her desk at Captain Holt’s words and rolled her shoulders and neck to relieve the tension that had been building there all morning. It was harder doing deskwork without Jake around to liven it up, and she often found herself stuck tight in one position for hours on end. She was grateful for any real opportunity to get out of her chair and stretch.

Of course, it was only to settle down at one of the briefing room desks, but motion was motion. She let her mind wander as the rest of the squad filed into the room, wondering whether someone was in trouble for doing something stupid, which seemed to be half the reason meetings were ever called, or whether there was an interesting new case to solve.

Holt closed the door and made his way to the front of the room. He cradled a leaf of letterhead paper on a manila envelope in his hands, and Amy hoped it actually was the beginning of a new case file.

“I have word from Marshal Johnson,” Holt began, and the room erupted with sound.

“Jake’s captured O’Bannon, hasn’t he!” Charles said, his face alight with joy. “I knew our boy could do it,” he added to Amy. “In and out, just like that. Nobody in the 99 has ever caught such a fugitive in less than a month before!”

Amy felt her insides constrict with nerves, just like they always do when there’s news from an undercover investigation. Jake had been on so many she felt she should be used to it by now—he’s a perfectly capable detective and he’s always been fine before—but her gut didn’t agree.

This particular case he was working alone. Michael O’Bannon was wanted for just about every crime under the sun, from drug dealing to murder. Jake was chosen for the job for reasons that couldn’t be disclosed no matter how much Charles had begged and pleaded, and while Amy hadn’t voiced her desire to know more about the case her fiancé would be working, the thought of him being undercover for so long without anyone else on the squad terrified her.

But here, through all the chatter, was news. Holt had actually tolerated the noise longer than Amy expected, but it didn’t take long for him to quiet them down. He cleared his throat and looked down to skim the paper in front of him before laying it down on the lectern.

“I have been searching for the words to tell you all about this since the letter arrived this morning,” Holt said, and Amy’s heart all but fell through the bottom of the floor. The briefing room was quieter than she had ever heard it. There was a long pause, as if Holt were still searching for those words, and it was suddenly glaringly obvious that something was terribly wrong.

“Detective Peralta was compromised in his mission,” he said eventually, his eyes trained on a back corner of the room to avoid eye contact. “He was killed three days ago in the line of duty.”

The room burst to life again, this time filled with pain and rage and indignation and denial. Amy could only sit still as her world shattered around her and Holt brought the clamoring back down.

“Jake was a fine detective, and a fine man,” Holt said, his voice wavering. “He will be sorely missed. I will let you all know when the service will be as soon as possible, and I urge you to support each other in this tragedy.”

Holt left the room before anyone could ask any questions, and the silence and stillness persisted long after the door swung shut. Amy’s face was wet with tears, and she could hear Charles sniffling beside her. She couldn’t tear herself away from the shock until Rosa appeared on her other side and pulled her into a hug. Her crying finally became audible as she sobbed into Rosa’s shoulder, gripping the back of her jacket like her life depended on it.

When Jake came to in his hospital bed, he could barely see through the pain enough to know he was even in a hospital bed. His whole torso was on fire and he had a splitting headache the likes of which he’d only experienced before in terrible hangovers.

It took another few minutes before he realized he wasn’t in an actual hospital. The floral wallpaper was old and cracked, and a pile of dusty toys and a plush chair sat in the opposite corner. The blinds were drawn tight in the window and there were two doors, one that must lead out of the room and another that could be a bathroom or closet door. It looked like a regular old bedroom.

Jake wasn’t sure whether he should call for somebody. He was hooked up to an IV and an ECG machine, and he was alive, so odds were good that whoever had done this was on his side. He couldn’t be sure, though, and while he didn’t have any means of defense in such a state, he didn’t want to plunge into deeper shit than he was already in.

Before he could fight through his pain- and probably drug-induced haze, the door opened and an older woman walked in. Jake had never seen her before, and she started when she saw Jake awake.

“Oh! Detective Peralta,” the woman said, “I’m glad you’re awake.”

“Where am I?” Jake asked. He wished he could think well enough to ask more specific questions.

“This is my house,” the woman said. “I’m Doctor Acosta. Marshal Johnson sent you into hiding with me as soon as I was able to get you out of the operating room. You’re not allowed to leave here no matter what,” she said. “Marshal’s orders.”

Jake groaned. “Can I speak to him?” he said. “I need to be briefed on…” he gestured vaguely around the room, “all of this.”

“Of course,” Acosta said. “I was instructed to call him as soon you were lucid.” She took a phone and a slip of paper from her pocket and dialed the number on the paper before handing the phone to Jake.

“US Marshal Johnson,” the marshal said when he picked up the phone.

“Sir,” Jake said, “It’s Peralta. What happened? How am I alive?”

“Slow down,” Johnson said. “I’ll explain everything. We found out at the last minute that your cover had been blown. I led a team to your location and we didn’t make it before you were shot, but we managed to chase O’Bannon and his men off before they finished the job.” He paused. “Most of them escaped, including O’Bannon. Doctor Acosta is keeping you hidden until you’re well enough to be on duty.”

Jake sighed. Normally he’d argue, and he probably will once he feels well enough to at least stand and walk, but for now it hurt just to breathe and he couldn’t imagine facing off against a genius criminal again anytime soon.

“Fine,” he said. “Can I at least have contact with my precinct if I’m not working the case anymore?”

There was a silence at the other end of the line, which Jake hoped meant Johnson was considering it. Superiors never seem to sway in his favor, though, and he could tell the answer wouldn’t be a positive one when Johnson finally heaved a sigh and replied.

“Unfortunately, you cannot,” Johnson said. “Even this phone call is the only one we’ll have between each other. This is a unique case, Detective, and certain measures need to be taken for your safety.”

“Okay, well…how long before I can go back on duty?” Jake asked. Johnson’s voice had betrayed some emotion Jake couldn’t quite put his finger on, but it wasn’t good. Something was off, but he hoped if he ignored it he wouldn’t have to deal with it.

“Doctor Acosta will tell you everything you need to know medically,” Johnson said. “There’s just one other thing you should be aware of.”

Jake frowned. “What is it?”

“Those measures for your safety go beyond contact,” Johnson said. “O’Bannon has eyes everywhere, and he needed to think you were dead or he would find a way to kill you. You understand why that poses a concern.”

“Okay…” Of course he understood; it was common sense. Not only did he not want to be killed, but being laid up in a hospital bed, even in a place less full of civilians than a hospital, put innocent lives in danger.

“I had to notify your captain of your death,” Johnson said. “He will inform your precinct and organize a funeral so as not to rouse suspicion. News of your death will be broadcast publicly.”

Jake paused. “You mean you notified him of my fake death,” he said.

“I notified him that you fell at the hands of O’Bannon,” Johnson said. “You are officially dead until further notice. You will not show your face, you will not use social media, and you will have no contact with anyone outside Acosta’s apartment.”

“What?” Jake cried. “No, no, no, you can’t do that,” he said. “My squad knows how to fake mourning; they’ve done it before for former Detective Pimento. You can’t tell them I’m actually dead.”

“I can do whatever I deem necessary,” Johnson said, “and I have. I understand your misgivings, Peralta, but as soon as you’re well, or as soon as O’Bannon is captured, you can go home. This situation isn’t indefinite.”

“But sir—”

“But nothing,” Johnson said. “You will be informed when you can reemerge. Until then, Doctor Acosta will take care of you.”

The phone hung up before he could protest and he reluctantly handed it back to Acosta. There was nothing he could do; his friends, his family, will think he’s dead for who knows how long. Months, maybe. As much as he’d always thought faking his death would be the coolest thing he could accomplish as a cop, imagining the rest of the squad mourning him and thinking he would never come back broke his heart.

It seemed cruel. What about Amy? She was so uncertain for so long about dating another cop, and this could solidify those uncertainties into regrets. He wanted more than anything in the world to tell her he was okay, that he loved her, and that he would be back as soon as he could. He briefly wondered if he could bribe the doctor into letting him write a letter, but tried to push the temptation out of his mind. As much as he hated to admit it, O’Bannon was too dangerous for him to try anything, and if something happened to Amy or anyone else at the Nine-Nine because of him he’d never be able to forgive himself.

So the waiting game began.

Captain Holt tried to insist Amy take time off of work, but she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t sit at home and cry despite feeling like she had enough tears to last months. Being at work was the best distraction she had, and if she gave that up, she would totally break. It seemed the same was true of most of the squad, save Charles, who hadn’t shown his face in the week since they were notified of Jake’s death.

The funeral was tonight, and Amy wasn’t prepared. She’d been grappling with her eulogy for days, knowing words didn’t exist to describe how she felt about Jake and his passing. In the end, she’d crumbled up the sixth paper she’d attempted and curled into a ball herself, wishing she could disappear.

So, instead of doing work, she only sat at her desk and stared at her computer, her mind running through how the service might go. She wasn’t sure she’d even be able to make it into the room with the coffin on stage and Jake’s portrait standing next to it. She almost considered staying home, but she couldn’t just not show up no matter how sick she felt at the prospect.

“Amy.”

Amy snapped out of her daze; she hadn’t noticed Gina walking up to her. She sighed and rubbed her temples to try to ease her headache as Gina slid her papers away to sit on the desk.

“Hey, Gina,” she said. “What is it?”

“You’re stressing about tonight, aren’t you?” Gina said, and continued before Amy had a chance to reply. “Of course you are. What say you and me ditch this depression rodeo and go pregame?”

Amy scowled. “Pregame what?” she said. “Jake’s funeral?”

“It’s what he would have wanted and you know it,” Gina said. She sighed, then added, “I’m stressing too, okay? I just think the night will be a little easier if, you know, I had some tequila and five-drink-Amy made an appearance.”

“I suppose a little confidence wouldn’t hurt…”

“That’s the spirit!” Gina slapped Amy’s back hard enough that she nearly face planted into the desk. “Oops,” she said with a chuckle. “I may have already had a drink or two.”

“Okay,” Amy said, standing up. “All right. I just need to tell Captain Holt we’re clocking out.”

And two hours later, Amy was sobbing face-first into the bar. It was the first time the number of drinks she’d had didn’t correspond to any of her drunken quirks. The crying had started after drink number two, and she couldn’t stop herself from letting out intermittent bursts of tears.

“I miss him,” she cried. “I miss him so much and I loved him so much and…and what if he didn’t know that?” She lifted her head and looked wide-eyed at Gina. “What if I didn’t say it enough?”

Gina groaned. “Your relationship was so pure it made me want to vomit,” she said. “He knew you loved him. Trust me. You were all he ever talked about.”

Amy nodded and wiped her cheeks with her sleeve. “I don’t know what I’m going to do without him,” she murmured.

“Yeah,” Gina said. “You only get one best friend. Of course, I am many people’s best friend, but I only have enough room in my life for one…and…”

Amy tilted her head. “Gina?”

“And he’s gone,” Gina said flatly. She slid out of the bar stool and pasted a smile onto her face before holding her hand out to Amy. “We should get ready for the service. Contrary to popular belief, I can’t just flip my hair and become a perfect twelve.”

Amy took Gina’s hand and slipped off the stool, stumbling into her. “I think I had too many drinks,” she said. “Oh, God, I’m going to ruin the funeral.”

“Don’t think about it and it’ll be over before you know it,” Gina drawled as she practically pushed Amy out of the bar.

When they got to the church, Amy took a seat on one of the front pews while Gina went to the bathroom, and it wasn’t long before she was flanked by Rosa and Terry.

“How you holding up, Santiago?” Terry said. “I know today must be hard for you, but I’m here if you need anything.”

Amy sighed and rested her head on his shoulder. “Thank you, Terry.” She paused, then admitted, “I don’t have a speech.”

“You don’t?” Terry frowned. “That’s so unlike you.”

Amy nodded. “If I go up there and say anything you’re gonna have to escort me out because I won’t be able to make it off the stage myself because I couldn’t even do this for him; I couldn’t write him a nice eulogy, and I couldn’t hold myself together at his funeral, and he’d be teasing me for being a mess right now, and…”

“Are you drunk?”

Amy nodded again. “Gina’s idea.” She sighed. “It didn’t work.”

“Look,” Rosa said, “if you can’t make it up there to give a dumb speech, it’s okay. Nobody is going to force you and everyone already knows how much you loved him.”

“I’m sorry,” Amy said. “Jake was your friend, too. I don’t want you to have to take care of me. This is hard on all of us.”

“Yeah,” Terry said, “it is. We all just have to be there for each other and we’ll be okay.”

Amy nodded and straightened up as much as she could as the service began. It felt longer than it actually was, and her eyes never dried through the entire evening, but she made it to the end without vomiting so she deemed it a success. That is, until it was time for eulogies.

She stiffly made her way to the microphone and stood staring blankly at the mourners, wringing one hand with the other as she tried to figure out what to say. Giving up on writing it in advance was a mistake, she thought.

“Jake…” Amy took a deep breath. “Jake Peralta was the best person I have ever known,” she said. “I was lucky to have him in so much of my life. He inspired me through my fears and anxieties, and he helped teach me how to relax and enjoy life for what it is.” She stopped to wipe her tears away again. “I wish more than anything he could come back,” she said. Her chest tightened and she was crying to the point that wiping them away did nothing, but she kept speaking.

“Jake was so full of love,” she said. “He loved so much and so hard and he deserved to be here longer than he was. I’ll carry him with me in everything I do at the Nine-Nine, and I know the rest of his friends will, too.”

It was four months before Jake heard back from Marshal Johnson. They were the longest months of his life, even longer than the time he’d spent in Florida. At least then he’d had Captain Holt around, and he could go outside, and he could get a letter from the squad every so often.

So when the doorbell rang and Doctor Acosta brought Johnson into the house, Jake felt like he’d ascended into someplace higher than Heaven. The briefing was quick and simple: the FBI had detained O’Bannon and subdued all of his men, and Captain Holt would be told the truth about Jake before he went back to Brooklyn. His life should be back to normal in just days, but the prospect of seeing his friends months after they were told he was dead was more nerve-wracking than any case he’d been on. What if they were angry? He knew he would be angry if his role had been reversed with any of them—not that he would blame them, but he would be angry nonetheless.

Jake’s plane came first thing in the morning, and he was back in New York by noon to meet Holt at the airport. His stomach churned as he left the gate and scanned the crowd for Holt, who he found with no problem. He grinned despite his nerves as he approached the captain.

“Sir,” Jake said, offering his hand.

“Peralta.” Holt nodded and shook Jake’s hand before pausing and drawing him into a hug. “It’s good to see you again, Jake,” he said. “I am glad you’re well.”

“It’s good to see you, too, Captain,” Jake said. “Really good.”

“I’ve not told the others about you yet,” Holt said once they’d caught a cab. “I only got word late last night, and I figured you would want to stop by the precinct to see them as soon as you got back, anyway.”

“Yeah,” Jake said, “I need to see them. But, uh…shouldn’t they have some warning? I mean, I think ghosts are badass, but they might not think so.”

“I will go in before you and tell them,” Holt said. “They will all be thrilled to see you, Peralta. You should know your funeral was the most emotional thing I have ever experienced.”

There it was again, that pang of guilt for things he couldn’t control. He forced a laugh and said, “Man, I was hoping it would have been a rager.”

“Some people were enraged, yes,” Holt said. “Particularly Boyle.”

“No, I meant ‘rager’ as in a wild party with drinks and fun,” Jake said.

“I’m not familiar with the slang,” Holt replied, “but Santiago did appear to be inebriated, and I know Gina was—”

“Okay, not helping,” Jake said. “Never mind. We’re almost there; I just need to take a few deep breaths…calm down…”

“Why are you so nervous?” Holt said. “You don’t have any reason to be.”

��I don’t know,” Jake said. “I’ve just never been in a situation like this before. I’m used to being prepared for anything, but I wasn’t trained for dealing with these emotions and Yahoo Answers doesn’t have many people who have faked their deaths giving advice.”

“Come on, Peralta,” Holt said as the cab pulled up in front of the precinct, “you’ll be fine. Now, stay out here and I will come get you after I have given everybody the news.”

Jake nodded and leaned against the wall to wait while Holt went inside.

“Everybody in the briefing room,” Captain Holt said as he strode out of the elevator. “I have big news.”

Amy perked up. She’d never heard the captain use the words big news before, but she couldn’t imagine it meant anything bad. Had the precinct won an award? Were crimes at a record low? She scanned her internal database for anything interesting that might be happening this time of year, but she couldn’t come up with anything big news-worthy.

Once everyone was seated, Holt took his usual place at the front of the room and immediately began speaking.

“Four months ago,” he said, “we held a funeral for Detective Jake Peralta.”

Amy felt like the wind had been knocked out of her. Thinking about Jake’s death still hurt, and the precinct found it was best for all of them not to bring it up. Why was Holt mentioning it now?

“Last night, I received a call from US Marshal Johnson, the marshal Detective Peralta had been working under. I was told he was alive.”

Amy’s breath caught, and she shook her head. “Sir, I think I must have misheard you…”

“You did not,” Holt said. Amy’s pulse raced as murmurs spread through the room. “Peralta was ordered to lie low in Maine after being compromised and subsequently shot. He survived, but Johnson faked his death for his safety while he recovered, and now that O’Bannon has been captured, he is free to return to New York.”

“Hey, guys.”

Amy whipped around in her seat at the sound of Jake’s voice and found him standing in the doorway with a sheepish grin on his face. Warmth washed over her and she felt rigid and weak all at the same time. Is this real? she thought. It is. It is real. It has to be real.

“Sorry, Captain, I couldn’t wait—”

Jake staggered under Amy’s weight as she all but threw herself out of her chair and into his arms. Her arms wrapped so tightly around his neck he almost couldn’t breathe, but he lifted his hands to hold her back and closed his eyes, breathing in her perfume and burying his face in her hair. When she finally drew back, one hand tangled in his hair and the other still wrapped around his neck, the look in her eyes sparkling with tears made his heart melt.

She pulled him back into a hug, crooning “I thought I’d never see you again” and “I missed you so much” and “I love you, Jake. Don’t you ever do that to me again” and yes, she sounded angry like he was afraid she would, but he didn’t care anymore. He just gathered her tighter into his arms and kissed the top of her head and felt her warmth and her heartbeat and her love.

And then more weight was added as Charles did his best to bear-hug the both of them, and he could feel Rosa slapping him on the back, and Terry ruffled his hair through joyous sniffles, and Gina managed to worm her way into the hug, too—something Jake would have to remember to tease her about later.

Later, there were drinks (a celebratory rager, as Holt had called it), and the ninety-ninth precinct became whole again as they recounted tales from the last four months and openly shared their love for one another.

“To Jake’s immortality!” Charles drunkenly toasted, and Jake laughed and shook his head as Charles attempted to clink glasses with everyone in the bar.

“No,” Jake said. “To my family.” He looked to Amy and wrapped his arm around her before glancing around at the rest of his squad. “You’re all incredible, and I missed you so much,” he said. “Nine-Nine!”

The chorus of Nine-Nine!s answered back as smoothly as they ever had, and at the end of the day with the sun setting on the horizon, they felt full and at peace with the world again.

#b99 #b99 fic #b99 fanfiction #peraltiago #my writing

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